#even the clubbers are the same

[nocturnalazure]

🌟 Happy New Year 🌟

Clubbing isn't really an activity that Laurie and Erik would spontaneously choose, but I had that urge to see them dancing together. So here's my wish for these two for the new year: that they would finally be able to be together. If all goes well, there will be at least 12 updates in 2024 so we'll see if that's enough to make that wish come true!

#ts3 #sims 3 #sims 3 story #photo shoots #erik zay #laurie golzine #and yes you get some laurik on the very first day on the year #last year ended on laurik as well #just because #i totally and shamelessly reused the exact same décor as the one in which romeo and jamie hooked up #even the clubbers are the same #making extras is such a pain i can't be bothered

[hotseok]

party

#hotseoksims #hshsy #y'all kai is such a party boy atp ima give him the clubber trait like im sure he gon leave uni an alcoholic & addicted to at least one drug #meanwhile aspen was just playing his guitar & catching up with his old friends from high school - speaking of. #antonio.. like MAYA'S ANTONIO is married to the girl in the second screenshot wearing purple - cali. she's aspen's age 😭 #& antonio is maya's age. even older than her. he's like what.. 40?? & cali should be 19/20 same as aspen. i'm divorcing them IMMEDIATELY

[spenceobsessed]

post prison!spencer reid x fem!reader

genre: enemies to lovers, smut with a plot

summary: spencer can't help but despise his "replacement", especially during an undercover mission in a nightclub.

MDNI 18+

“this is insane.” penelope garcia mutters on the other end of the phone call. “there’s no way jeffery was able to absolutely take himself off the internet.” she huffs, the keyboard clicking in the background. “i’m gonna keep working. i’ll be back in a jiffy, i swear!” she says sweetly before hanging up.

the unsub, jeffery hogan had abducted then murdered four young women in los angeles california. the team had been in la for three days now, and jeffery had already killed two more women before they could stop him. all of them were getting antsy and a little angry.

you sigh, leaning back in your chair as the rest of the team begins talking amongst themselves, minus spencer, who had been staring at a map for twenty minutes.

“reid.” you say, catching his attention. he doesn’t look up, but you can tell that your voice startled him slightly.

“hmm?” he says, annoyance lacing his tone. you roll your eyes. he had been an absolute dick to you since day one. the whole team had described him as a saint, yet, you couldn’t see it. yes, he was attractive, but that didn���t distract from how hateful he was towards you. plus, you had been nothing but nice to him when you first met him, doing nothing to get on his bad side.

“did you make a connection between the locations?” you ask curtly. he huffs. “i don’t see you doing anything helpful.” he snaps, finally looking up from his map to glare at you.

“spence,” jj begins, joining the conversation unknowingly. “any connections?” he smiles and turns to face her, like you hadn’t just asked the same question.

“the one common location that overlaps with all the crime scenes and significant places in jeffery’s life is the ‘night owl’, a local night club.” reid says, smirking at you when he finishes his sentence like a teenager. you scoff.

emily gives them a look that says “act professional please”.

“we have no idea what he looks like, we only know bits and pieces of his life that garcia could dig up, how are we going to catch him?” matt asks, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed, a coffee in hand.

“i could go undercover,” you begin with a shrug. “most of the girls he abducted have been around my age and have my same features.” emily nods in agreement.

“one issue.” rossi says. “the unsub has always abducted women on dates.” you nod. that’s true.

“i could go with you.” matt says, standing up straight and taking a sip of his coffee. you open your mouth to thank him but emily cuts you off.

“no offense simmons, but what if we sent in reid instead? he closer matches y/n’s age and resembles the victims boyfriends more closely.”

spencer opens his mouth to protest but tara cuts him off with a smile. “great idea, you guys should leave in an hour or so, you better start getting ready.”

you watch as reid fights the urge to say something rude, but is quickly whisked away by emily.

jj helps you get ready in another conference room of the precinct, dressing you like the average clubber.

your outfit is a small, tight, red mini dress, with matching heels and accessories. you had to admit, you looked good. you found yourself wondering what they had put reid in and whether he would find you attractive in this tight dress.

“you look amazing.” a voice breaks you out of your trance as you’re putting in an ear piece. you smile, turning to face emily.

“thank you.” you say softly, using your hands to smooth out your dress. “i think i’m ready.” you add, slightly nervous. emily reassures you that you will do great and asks you to follow her outside.

that’s where you’re met with spencer reid. he looks unfortunately handsome, hot even, wearing the most casual “spencer outfit” you have ever seen: corduroy pants, converse, and a white button down. the white button down was sheer linen (very beachy) and allowed you to barely see his chest. you quickly remind yourself that he is in fact a dick, hoping that will somehow make him less attractive.

you watch as his eyes wander your body. emily seems to notice and clears her throat.

“you guys gotta get going.” she breathes out a smirk on her face.

reid walks over to the side of the car. you smile slightly as he opens the door, your smile fading as he slides in alone slamming the door behind him.

“petty bitch.” you mutter. your heels angrily clicking against the asphalt as you walk to the other side of the suv, ripping open the door and sliding in with your arms crossed. you slam the door behind yourself, eyes glaring into the side of reid’s face.

“look,” you begin, your tone angry. “if this is going to work you need to at least try to pretend not to be a fucking asshole.” he scoffs, turning to face you.

“watch your tone.” he says lowly, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. your arms are still crossed and you watch as spencer’s eyes go from your face to your tits, then back up again.

you remind yourself that indeed, he's just a man. he may be a genius but behind that, he’s simply just a man with needs. you were going to make tonight hell for him.

you smirk, eyes glaring into his. “do your fucking job and i just might comply, doctor.”

he turns his head away from you, staring out the window, a new type of tension in the air.

“can you guys hear me?” jj says through you ear pieces. “yeah.” reid says, you can hear how angry he is, just through one word.

the team gives you both a rundown and reminds you both of your parts.

“…remember you’re a couple!” garcia reminds you. the team agrees loudly on the line. “yeah,” alvez says. “pretend to like each other for one night.”

“we’ll try, alvez.” you reply as the suv pulls up in front of the busy nightclub.

you look over at reid. “open my damn door and look like you fucking mean it.” you say through gritted teeth. he doesn’t respond as he steps out of the car, shutting his door quietly and makes his way over to your side of the car. he opens your door with a fake smile on his face, putting out his hand for you to grab. you get out of the car, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

“grab my waist.” you demand. he huffs under his breath, reaching his large hand to rest on your waist. he leans in to whisper back. “you will not dictate this night. i have over ten more years of experience than you, on this team. you do not get to boss me around, y/l/n.” he says through gritted teeth, pulling away from your ear with a fake smile on his face. you don’t have time to respond as he says; “let’s go, baby.”

the nickname hits you like a brick, especially the way it comes out of his mouth so effortlessly. in an attempt to control your composure, you smile and lean against him as he rubs his hand lovingly across your waist.

you both enter the night club, the mix of bright lights and darkness temporarily blinds you as you grip onto spencer for support.

“don’t respond, but we see you’ve made it inside. go grab a drink from the bar then hit the dance floor.” emily orders. spencer nods, leading you towards the busy bar.

as you approach the bar, the bartender asks what you both want. “i’ll have a club soda with lime.” spencer says, turning his head to look down at you. “what do you want, baby?” he asks, rubbing circles on your waist softly. you smile back up at him pretending like you don’t want to kill him and subtly dig your ass into his crotch. he sucks in a breath.

“i’ll have a vodka soda.” you say with a sweet smile on your face. the bartender nods going to make the drinks.

you look back at spencer, his jaw clenched and his breathing heavy. you set your phone down on the bar and “accidentally” knock it off of the counter.

“oops!” you say dryly, bending down to pick it up, your ass now rubbing against his crotch. you subtly feel something twitch in his pants.

“y/n.” he warns you. you nod innocently. “hmm?” you hum. he moves his hand from your waist. you look back at him to silently scold him, but he quickly uses both hands to push you away from his crotch. he slides his hands down your waist, to your ass, then pulls down your dress in one quick motion. a man standing to his left begins complaining loudly about how he can no longer see your "fattie". you almost thank him, then remember that its fucking spencer you're dealing with.

he doesn’t say anything and simply hands you your drink, leading you away from the bar and the creepy men, to a nearby table.

you bite your lip to hold back hateful words that dare to spill out. you stand in silence, spencer sipping his drink while you chug yours.

"you look miserable." emily says in your ears. "do something." she adds.

"wanna dance, pretty boy?" you ask him, the nickname falling from your mouth accidentally. you pretend like it was on purpose as spencer looks up from his drink, slightly stuttering over his response.

"y-yeah, yeah." he repeats, regaining his composure. he grabs your hand and leads you towards the crowd of sweaty people dancing, only looking back once to make sure you were still there

spencer scans the crowd as he pulls you into his chest harshly.

"i'm not just some doll you can throw around, reid." you yell over the music, sick of his bullshit. he looks you in the eyes and shrugs.

as the song changes, couples around you begin to make out.

"kiss me, reid." you say, realizing the awkward dancing in a crowd of horny couples would defer the unsub's attention. spencer doesn't seem to hear you. "reid." you repeat, his eyes still scanning the room. "spencer." you say, the first time you've ever said his first name to him. this catches his attention. his gaze finally falls to you, his frame towering over yours as you wrap your arms around his neck.

"i need you to kiss me, spencer."

the usually dick-ish man makes no cocky response. instead, he simply tips his head down capturing your lips in a kiss. the kiss is awkward at first, but quickly turns heated as you press your body against his. his hands, which were loosely on your waist move downward, rubbing circles on your ass and somehow moving you closer to him.

you run your hands through his hair, feeling him moan softly into your mouth. his sweet noises immediately go straight to your now-wet-core. you break the kiss for a second, to catch your breath, your faces still inches apart.

spencer's pupils are blown, his hair is messy, and his lips slightly swollen, tinted red from your lipstick. fuck, you want to devour him.

spencer quickly resumes the kiss, this time you don't have to ask. you easily feel how hard he is already, with his cock pressed against your leg.

you groan softly as you push your tongue into his mouth, eliciting more sweet noises from the handsome man.

"nice job guys, we have a suspect at 3 o'clock." emily says into our ears, reminding us that we aren't alone.

“let’s go somewhere more secluded.” spencer whispers, his breath hot on your cheek. he wants to lure the unsub out. you nod, waiting for him to move. instead his hands are still on your ass, his eyes on you, like he’s taking a mental picture.

“pretty boy.” you say almost inaudibly. “let’s go.” he spins you around so you’re in front now, able to maneuver your way out of the crowd. one of his hands rests on the small of your back protectively as you head towards the back corner of the club, a stark contrast to the way he was treating you less than 10 minutes ago.

“the hypothetical unsub’s eyes are still on you guys but he hasn’t moved, we can’t seem to see his face on camera. you need to get him to move closer.” jj announces in your ears.

“she’s telling us to kiss again.” you whisper. he nods, placing his large hand on your cheek and swiping his thumb across your lips. you wrap your arms around his neck, leaning into kiss him. he picks you up slightly, just enough to allow you to sit on him as he takes a seat on a random couch.

as he moves from kissing your lips to your jaw and neck, you instinctively begin rocking your hips against his, feeling how hard he is under you.

he groans softly against your neck, his kisses becoming sloppier.

“y/n.” his tone desperate, the use of your first name alarming. “if you keep going i might not be able to maintain professionalism.”

you bite your lip excitedly. “do you want me to stop then, spencer?” his eyes stare into yours, his hands on your hips.

“no.” he breathes out, pulling you closer to him and kissing you again. he moves his hands upwards as his lips move downwards, slowly leaving kisses and rubbing your now-visible nipples through the thin fabric for your dress. you suck in a breath at the new sensation, your head thrown back in ecstasy.

“the unsub moved into the light, it’s jeffery. sending alvez and rossi in now to apprehend him. you guys can stand down, nice work.” emily says, startling them slightly. you pull away from spencer, your underwear undeniably wet and your cunt begging for attention. you awkwardly remove yourself from his lap, sitting next to him on the sofa, noticing that in fact he was hard, an outline of his dick highlighted in the odd club lighting. he squirms in his seat slightly, obviously trying to readjust.

“y/n,” he says, noticing your eyes on him. you hum in response, your eyes moving from his cock to his face. “bathroom.” he says simply.

he doesn’t give you an opportunity to respond, simply getting up and leaving the room. you wait for a few seconds, processing his words and attempting to wrap your head around the fact that an hour ago you hated this man and now you were dying for him to fuck you.

a few minutes pass and you make your way to the bathroom where you don’t even knock, you simply walk in. spencer is there waiting. immediately as you enter the bathroom, he locks it, then attached his lips to yours. you moan softly into the kiss, jumping up to wrap your legs around his waist. he, however, seems to as other plans as he sets you down on the sink and lowers himself between your legs.

he leaves soft kisses up your thighs, your legs now thrown over his shoulders. “spencer,” you beg, his lips dangerously close to your cunt. “please.”

he smiles as you beg, hooking his finger on your underwear and pulling them down your legs roughly. he lowers his head farther in between your legs, licking a slow stripe down your cunt, causing you to squeeze your legs around his head and moan.

hearing your reaction, spencer moans softly against your pussy, the vibrations making you gasp.

unfortunately the club music had been turned off and if anyone were to walk by, they would probably hear you making sounds. you cover your mouth with your hand to make sure you guys don’t get caught.

he moves his tongue farther into you, the sound of his mouth on your soaking wet cunt making lewd sounds that fill the small bathroom.

you moan into your hand, bucking your hips against his face.

he pulls his mouth away from you and without skipping a beat he inserts one of his large fingers into you, grinding his crotch against the edge of the sink to get himself off.

you open your mouth to tease him but he interrupts you by adding another finger into your pussy. you can’t help but moan loudly, feeling your walls clench around his fingers.

“so good for me.” he says breathlessly, his fingers’ pace rough inside you and his hips fast against the sink counter.

“spencer,” you say in between ragged breaths. “i’m so close!” he smiles at your words, removing his fingers from your pussy with a pop.

you groan softly, hating the feeling of emptiness.

“spencer.” you warn, sitting up to get a good look at him. he has a look in his eye, a smirk on his face.

“what’s up?” he says nonchalantly, licking you off his lips and his fingers. you ask yourself how he can be so calm when he was literally just finger fucking you and eating you out. his cock is still dangerously hard, a spot of pre-cum on his cute little pants. you catch yourself imagining how big he is.

“fine.” you huff, seeing how he didn’t seem like he wanted you to finish. you insert your own fingers into your swollen cunt, pumping them inside yourself like spencer had been only a minute ago.

you over exaggerate your moans watching as spencer begins to rub himself through his now tight pants.

“i’m not going to beg you, pretty boy, but i need your cock inside of me right now.” he smirks at your words, making his way back over to you, hands moving to your face, kissing you passionately.

“i’m pretty sure that was begging, y/n.” he says as he pulls away from the kiss, beginning to unbutton his pants.

however, loud knocks interrupt him. "spencer?? are you in there??" emily's familiar voice, fills the room.

"uh, yeah! i'll be out in a second!" he says, beginning to re-button his pants, his cock still visibly hard. emily says something inaudible from the other side of the door then walks away. you lean forward on the sink counter, resting your head on spencer's shoulder, his arms wrapping around you.

after a second of peace, you hop of the counter in an attempt to fix your appearance, sliding back on your awkwardly soaked underwear.

"can we please finish this later?" spencer speaks up, catching you off guard. you smile, your brain still processing the fact that an hour ago you wanted to kill this man.

"yes, please."

part 2 :)

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader smut #bau #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fandom #part one #smut #enemies to lovers #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spenceobsessed

[biteofcherry]

Ari Levinson Masterlist

Cry To Me

dancer!Ari Levinson x Reader

loosely inspired by a scene from Dirty Dancing and the song from the soundtrack - Cry To Me by Solomon Burke

Summary: You’re not much of a clubber. Mostly because you’re not a fan of stuffy air, pricey bad drinks and sleazy men trying to hit on you. Then your friend takes you to a place where you witness sensuality come to life in the form of Ari Levinson. Not much of a dancer yourself, you watch him from a distance, envious of what he does to his dancing partner’s body. That is until he notices you staring…

Warnings: Ari Levinson is a warning. Ari Levinson grinding to sensual music is an extra warning. Smut; oral (m receiving); unprotected sex. Less dirty and more sensual.

Additional drabble

Room with a view

Ari Levinson x female reader; dark!Ari Levinson x female reader

Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes are also present in this fic…

summary: Being Ari’s personal assistant was supposed to come with perks, but there are challenges too. Especially when he decided to cross the boundaries and make a very personal use of you.

warnings: dub-con (extremely dub-con); voyeurism; public humiliation; public sex; bondage; use of duct tape; unprotected sex; forced orgasm; dark!Ari Levinson; mafia!Ari Levinson; 

Bad Moon Rising  Masterlist

alpha!Ari Levinson x omega female reader

summary: When the alpha of your pack is defeated in a challenge, you know it’s time to run as far and as fast as you can before your new alpha catches you and makes you his (just like he’s always wanted).

warnings: primal kink; chase kink; cum marking; masturbation; a/b/o dynamics; forced relationship; wolf!Ari; alpha!Ari; shifter!Ari; mentions of mating; no bestiality; hint of breeding kink (if you squint)

Heart of Ruby  Masterlist

part of Ruby Garden series

Dom!Ari Levinson x submissive reader

summary: You wouldn't say you have a crush on Master Ari, owner of the Ruby Garden club. You just simply long for him and crave him with every inch of your being, since he did a scene with you months ago. But Ari never plays more than twice with the same submissive, never claims one as his. So you put on a brave face, smile and go about your cheeky ways with other Doms, even if they don't exactly rock your world. However, when your brattiness draws Ari's attention you worry you may have bitten more than you can chew... 

warnings: D/s dynamic; Dom Ari Levinson; brat Reader; power imbalance; brat tamer Ari; discipline; punishment and funishment;

Sweet thrill  Masterlist

mafia!Ari Levinson x female reader; mob boss Ari Levinson x female reader

summary: Many would consider your job as a dancer at Lloyd Hansen’s exclusive night club to be exciting or scary, but honestly you see it as predictable and stable. It’s mostly a routine. That’s until Ari Levinson enters the club. You draw his attention and he installs himself in your space, bringing fear and thrill along with him.

warnings: mostly consensual, but with a peppering of faint dub-con; soft dark Ari Levinson; possessive behavior; light pet play; fear kink; light Master/pet play; bdsm undertones; power imbalance; fingering; pet names; collaring; very very subtle degradation and humiliation (nothing hardcore)

Wild bloom

warlord!Ari Levinson x Reader

Summary: The lands are shaken with the ongoing war between the knights loyal to your weakened king and the hordes following a warlord honed in blood - Ari, son of Levi. When the army goes through the lands near your village, you help the way you know best - by healing the wounded. Unfortunately, your actions draw the attention of Ari himself. When the leader of opposing army enters your house, it’s only to kill or take spoils of war.  

Warnings: Dub-con/non-con; spoils of war; forced relationship; kidnapping; breeding kink;

Wild bloom - sneak peek

Summer Entrees Masterlist

summary: A triptych of three summer drabbles focusing on heat-induced, pool fun. Each drabble is with a different character.

Demolition Duo Masterlist

Ari Levinson x reader x Bucky Barnes

summary: Ari and Bucky are your friends, but this summer they push your friendship a little further. You feel helpless against them, but do you even really want to fight them?

warnings: power imbalance; dominant Ari Levinson; dominant Bucky Barnes; slight degradation; consensual (sliiightly edging on dub-con)

being sandwiched between Ari and Bucky

beard burn with Ari and Bucky

Pound for pound

Ari Levinson x reader

summary: Short ficlet inspired by a prompt from Navy. You make a stupid mistake when drunk and now have to pay it off.

warnings: soft dark!Ari Levinson; dub-con of sorts; paying off debt with sex

Ari + basement wife drabble

Pouty Ari drabble

Ari + bondage (lazy Sinday drabble)

Ari + breath play (lazy Sinday drabble)

#ari levinson masterlist #arilevinson #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x female reader

[gogandmagog]

"To the memory of 'Lucky’, the charming and affectionate comrade of fourteen years."

— the Jane of Lantern Hill dedication, Lucy Maud Montgomery

Dear Jane of Lantern Hill book club,

I’m in no way prematurely reading ahead of schedule but today as I was locating my physical copy of Lantern Hill, I thought I might take a peek at any forewords, and instead found this very sweet little dedication to one of Maud’s ‘favourite’ cats, called Lucky! Anyone who had looked through Maud’s scrapbooks (also see: above photo) will also remember ‘Lucky’ by his formal name ‘Good Luck.’ And anyway, I thought okay… surely we can talk about Lucky, before we leap tomorrow!

Off to a great start if we have a little pal like Lucky to see us off!

Here’s a little more Good Luck content (plus one extra bonus cat that seemed relevant!), and see all the Lantern Hill book clubbers tomorrow! xx

From the Life and Work of L.M. Montgomery:

1937; Montgomery’s beloved cat, Lucky, dies, and she writes a lengthy journal entry about him and dedicates Jane of Lantern Hill (complete the same year, 1937) to him. Montgomery was passionately fond of cats all her life.

TOP: One of Maud’s (numerous!!!) snapshots of Lucky.

BOTTOM: Her last scrapbook entry is also from 1937. It is a clipping of a Glaswegian, whisky-drinking film-star cat "Matthew of Greengables," that Montgomery had seen in a silent film. The caption says, "The cats had their day in Glasgow yesterday when a Cat Show was held in the City Hall. Here is Mrs. Sargent Stowe with 'Mathew of Greengables.' This pretty puss is a film star, having appeared in 'Abdul Hamid.'"

ABOVE: The Lucy Maud Montgomery Heritage Society shared this granite rock painting of “Napping Lucky,” by artist Rosemary Scully, which can be found at the Children’s Garden of the Senses, in Norval, Ontario.

“The Children's Garden of the Senses is a Sensory Garden. The Garden is dedicated to the famous Canadian author Lucy Maud Montgomery and it pays tribute to her writings especially about gardens and landscapes which she describes in a very sensory way.”

Guys. Guys. I am ‘wild with delight’ over this. 🥺🫶🏻 The painting. The garden. I’m going to be warm-in-the-heart over it all evening.

Thanks for everything Good Luck! 🐈‍⬛ What a little soul you must’ve been!

#to you sir lucky! #cheers #a cat is a true good luck charm #cats are everything #jane of lantern hill #jane of lantern hill book club #t minus six hours

[worldsover]

The Wrong Person ft. Heejin

Co-written with @kaedewrites

words ✦ 11231

genres ✧ cheating; road head; Daddy kink; doggystyle into pronebone; breeding (of course); shower facefuck; just a stranger!Heejin

Thanks to @v1ntrix and @ggidolsmuts for the feedback as usual!

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Wipe the glass. It’s already clean. Wipe it again. It’s still clean. You’re staring at the woman walking toward you. You’d say your gaze is intense, but her allure is more so. You’d say she’s walking toward the bar to which you’re tending, but her eyes connect with yours for a split second—the target is you. You’d say something.

But you can’t.

She looks away. Again, you can’t.

Why can’t your eyes find the strength? Is she really that fascinating? Chalk up your small fixation to the phenomenon of the recurring stranger. Everyone has one or two or a few in their life. It’s more than déjà vu. Mutual. Coincidental. Should be inconsequential. You’ve seen her over and over, enough that stranger becomes a misnomer in a manner. Somewhere. Somewhere. Even if your glance is innocent, guilt sets in—after all, the woman isn’t your girlfriend Hyunjin. The woman is the wrong person.

“Hey.” Her greeting cuts through the bassy music well enough, even if her voice has similarly low frequencies that should clash. She sits on the stool in front of you. 

Though the headcount is lower than usual, the clubbers on the dance floor are as soulless as usual and the DJ plays the music just as loud. You should invest in earplugs. You see all kinds as a bartender at a club. Everything from women in stuffy suit jackets to guys who definitely should have been kicked out for not wearing a shirt. But something about her casual outfit—the loose plaid blouse, the tube top, the denim shorts—throws you off more than most.

Still staring. It’s dark, yet your eyes keep snagging on the defined lines of her abs. Even when you peel away from her middle, you’re raising to the subtlest cleavage, then lowering to her equally toned, meaty thighs. Earplugs won’t help here. Do your job.

She waves, giggling to herself. “Hello? I’m Heejin.”

“Oh. You’re not ordering?” You set the glass aside. “Oh. You’re… uh.”

“Heejin, yes. And I am ordering. I’ll have a strawberry daiquiri.”

“Of course.” As you rummage for the rum, you say, “I was going to say, I know you from somewhere.”

“Ooh, really? Where do you think?” Cutely, Heejin holds her head in her hands and tilts her head.

You retrieve strawberries and citrus soda from the fridge, then mix them with ice in a blender; its whirring is annoying. After grabbing some scrap paper and a pen, you write down the word “earplugs” with a big underline.

“So I should know,” you say. “Dammit.”

“Yeah, you should.” Heejin harrumphs, her arms crossed.

The more she throws you off, the more you have trouble finding the words. However you knew Heejin, it seems to be trouble, or at least some sort of alarm is going off in the back of your head. You should finish making her drink, deal with a couple more customers, so you can finally go home to—oh, right, Hyunjin. She’s away, back at her hometown for the week. You wouldn’t consider yourself a clingy boyfriend, but the expectation of coming home to Hyunjin has just been so entrenched in your mind ever since she moved in with you. 

“Hey.” Heejin waves in front of your face. “Are you okay?”

“Huh?” You realize you’ve just been frozen in thought, rum bottle in hand.

“Seems like you have something going on.” Her voice lulls you into a false sense of security. Or maybe it is genuine and you’re thinking far too much about a small interaction. You thought you had these nuances ironed out having worked at this bar for long enough.

“No, no. It’s just that work is almost done and my girl—Ah! Right, I remember! You go to the same gym class as Hyunjin!”

Heejin has a weak smile on her face. “That’s all? She doesn’t talk about me? Well, for your information, we hang out too.”

“Yes, yes, of course. You’re her friend. Sorry, just slipped my mind.”

“Tsk. Meanie.”

You can’t follow Heejin. One moment, she acts cool, then the next, she plays like she’s as cute as a button. Again, a weird, subconscious alarm goes off. It’s her body language, how she’s leaning over and inching closer to you. 

“Can you help me out? You seem like you’re good with girls,” Heejin says with an undecipherable low tone. Her stare is not directed at you but inside of you. Your initial reaction is to draw the line right in the middle of this countertop—you’re too slow, so she continues, “Your girlfriend won’t stop talking about how good you are to her. S-so I just thought maybe you could give me a hand.”

Think about it deeper. What’s wrong with talking to Heejin? She’s just a friend of a friend, maybe a tad tipsy, maybe a bit bizarre. You’re doing your unwritten job description as a bartender by entertaining the woes of your customer.

“Uhh. Um, like… No, I’m not. Not good with girls. Really.” You’re coming out of the gates swinging with your sage wisdom. Good job. Pour out the strawberry daiquiri and garnish it with a lime. Why are you stumbling? This is the easiest drink to make. “I just got lucky.”

Heejin takes the glass, brushing your fingers. That was purposeful. But you notice more the lightest scrape of her long nails against the back of your digits, and that shouldn’t raise the hairs on your arms to their ends.

It does.

“Oh. Lucky?” Heejin takes a sip. 

Though a bar counter separates the two of you, her charismatic pull removes any perception of space. People on the dance floor are grinding into each other, and it feels like there’s more distance. Okay, so Heejin is flirting. Now that you recognize the dangerous situation, you can disengage, back up, not get sucked into her gravity. All you have to do is—

Heejin takes your frozen hand. Once again, her touch is soft, near imperceptible: her thumb just rubs a small circle on your palm. The heat from her hand turns you into ice.

“Do you want to get luckier?” she whispers.

You hear it. Loud and clear. The club’s blaring music can’t challenge a single decibel.

Heejin backs away, sensing your discomfort. She sits straight, and with the pout on her lips, it’s like she’s a whole different person again. “See, I’ve been having trouble with guys.”

You shake your head. “I-I can’t help you.”

“Sure you can. You’re a bartender.”

Just leave. Lose out on the tip. Who cares? Hyunjin finds out you were cold to one of her friends. Better yet, tell her the truth. Say you were a good boyfriend and rejected Heejin’s advances. You don’t want to ruin one of Hyunjin’s friendships, though. Or maybe you should ruin this friendship—Heejin is bad news.

However, your feet are planted. More than anything else, when a customer asks for advice, you help them out. You’ve dealt with much worse such as rowdier and more violent drunks before. Heejin could be messing with you; she seems the playful type. She could just be touchy. Your life is filled with misunderstandings leading to problems—for example, you could’ve asked out Hyunjin months earlier but didn’t because you heard she wasn’t ready to commit (turns out that was about work)—so it’s best to assume people’s sincerity.

Heejin raises her brows, her eyes wide in anticipation. Seems that she really needs the help.

You relax your shoulders. “Okay. Fine. What sort of boy problems are you having?”

“Geez, you really like to stiffen up when you stare at me.” Heejin laughs to herself, maybe more of a soft exhalation out her nose.

“Uh.”

“It just seems like every guy I meet wants to fuck me. It doesn’t even matter what I wear. But I guess I can’t blame guys for staring at my abs or my thighs”—Heejin grins when she catches you doing just that—”when I try to wear something casual like this.”

“I’m sorry, I’m—”

Heejin plows on through with her point; you can’t seem to get a word in edgewise. “I want someone committed, you know? Someone with real experience in a relationship. It’s so fucking sexy when a guy is just so devoted to a girl.”

“Don’t do this.”

“Do what? You’re all jittery even though we’re just talking.” Once more, you didn’t notice until she pointed it out, which is more of an indictment of your overwhelmed thoughts considering how carefully Heejin is speaking. She sighs plaintively. “But I heard Hyunjin was going to miss this week’s gym class. Why didn’t you go?”

You don’t have to tell her. You tell her. “She… she said she wanted some alone time.”

“Alone time? Ha!” This is Heejin’s biggest smile, a blinding light in the dark club. Her fingers rap against the countertop. “I’m lying about the commitment part to be honest. But… maybe I’m not the only one lying about commitment.”

You want to hyperventilate. The sheer thought of Hyunjin hours away with another man makes you want to throw up.

Heejin has the most pitying look on her face. “Aww. It’s okay. See, I can at least be honest about myself. I said I lied, right? I did. I don’t want a committed guy. Well, I do, but not just any guy. I want the kind of guy who would give me presents every day. The kind of guy who would show off his relationship on Insta even if she doesn’t really like to post couple pictures.”

Any sort of survival instinct you had has been burned off by possibility, by innuendo, by thoughts of adultery that should be so far from a man standing and a woman sitting across from him, but you can’t ignore the truth of the present tension.

Heejin downs her pink icy drink. “The kind of guy who gets nervous at the mere thought of other girls is so hot. I’d let him do so much to me. I would suck his dick whenever we drive home from dates. I’d let him fuck my face, then pound me until I become part of the bed. I’d warm his cock while we cuddle. All that just because he’s such a nice guy. Isn’t that funny?”

You lick your lips. Everything you do is a mistake. It’s not that funny—you can’t even retort out loud anymore.

“Do you know any guys like that?”

At your silence, your stillness, Heejin stands up. Bending over the bar, she grabs you by the collar of your dress shirt. There’s so much strength in her grip—not even physical, but her mental hold on you. This whole time, you’ve been looking away from her eyes, and that only leads down her legs. Of course, Hyunjin’s thighs are just as rippling. So why are you comparing now? Is the grass greener? Keep asking questions. That’s what makes you you. That fundamental shakiness in your core that you forgot about stops you from stopping Heejin—your heart joins the stopping train as her eager mouth presses into yours, catching a bit of drool. Violets are a symbol of love and honesty; Heejin smells like them. Do Venus flytraps smell like this too?

“Mmm,” Heejin moans into your mouth. A simple kiss feels far too good. It feels far too good to taste the drink you made her. As if you made your own sugar-tinged death.

Stop her. 

Push her off of you. 

Do it. You have to. 

You have to not fall into the soft, slick embrace of her lips now mixed with the slithering temptation of her tongue. 

You can’t.

Hypocrite. What are you thinking?

Heejin wraps her arms around your neck.

Other bargoers are cheering. Luckily, this isn’t the kind of place to have regulars since new people rotate in and out all the time, but you’re hoping that none of your coworkers are watching too. You never shut up about Hyunjin. 

Your priorities are wrong.

“Do my lips taste good, Oppa?” Heejin says in the cutesiest voice.

“Yeah.” The honesty slips past a ragged breath. Heejin’s lips are like candy and they’re luscious and they will be your perilous new addiction because you’re falling right back into her mouth without a second thought.

When Heejin lets go, a flimsy saliva thread drips. “She doesn’t let you cum inside her, does she?”

You nod dumbly.

Heejin brushes through your hair one last time, then gives a small tug on the strands before she releases. “Let’s go then. I can do at least one thing she can’t.”

When you leave your spot to get your keys from the staff storage, the same bargoers that cheered you on are now booing.

As you collect your personal effects in a rush, your coworker Jaehyo joins you in the small room. You wave weakly at him. “Perfect. Man the bar for me.”

“Oh, thank god. I thought you weren’t ditching early this week. Honestly, you should just give me your job at this point since you’re always—Hey! Why are you sprinting so…”

Heejin is taking selfies in the parking lot. As you point out your black sedan, she gives you a pretty smile.

Your head is spinning when you get in your car. You’re the one who’s been serving drinks tonight, yet it feels like you shouldn’t be driving. Your body is moving on autopilot, commanded by Heejin’s every word.

“Drive.”

Drive.

Seatbelts click. Engines roar. You thought you were done with loud music, but you turn your stereo up to drown your thoughts which have been led so astray today that you’d rather they just sink to the ocean floor; their weak bones can rot in the water, fine. The song’s lyrics might as well be gibberish in your ears. Your overwhelming car speakers might as well be a piddly Bluetooth toy. You put the whole weight of your being into driving. 

At these speeds, you shouldn’t look at your phone screen, but the notification in the corner of your eye draws your attention—Jaehyo. 

“Hey,” Heejin says, twisting the volume knob, “he says there’s a bunch of tabs that haven’t been closed and he doesn't know who bought which drinks.”

“Text him back for me.”

“Of course.” She grabs the phone from the mount. “Uh, PIN?”

“Eleven fifteen.”

Heejin scoffs. “I could’ve guessed that.”

“Tell him I’ll pay for all the drinks.”

“Wooow, Mister Big Shot over here.” Heejin types away. “Alright. Sent. Wait a minute, does that include mine?”

“Hmm. I don’t know. You still have to pay me back.” You realize how flirty this comes across when you shouldn’t be flirting with the idea of flirting.

“Wow. You’re a liar. You look so conflicted and anxious like you're fighting demons. Yet here you are, saying pickup lines like a porn star. I know how you can pay this rent,” Heejin says in a purposefully low and exaggerated voice. Her similarly deep giggle disarms you by making you laugh. Then you’re quieted by Heejin once more. “What do you really want? I think I know. You want me to fuck my face on your cock in this car, bring my lips to the bottom of your dick, hit the back of my throat with a sticky load.”

You manage to temper your erection during Heejin’s advances, though that’s not so easy when her lips are next to your ear, whispering breathy, sweltering nothings.

She fondles your crotch over your pants, and you’re doing everything to hold back—everything short of turning the car around, dropping Heejin off in the middle of the road. You should do that. You should really do that. 

Your foot is made of lead.

Heejin unzips your pants, fishes your soft dick out. Her eyes widen.

“It’s that long? Even when it’s not hard? I am mad at Hyunjin. You know that? Wasting such a beautiful cock.” The bassier notes in her voice tingle from your ear straight to the inside of your brain.

“Don’t talk about her.”

“Oh, okay. I have one way of keeping quiet.” Heejin takes off her seatbelt—you’re in no place to teach her safety. She leans over the center console and places her striking visage a hair’s breadth from your flaccid shaft. The light grip of hands weighs on your thighs like anchors, digging, tickling. You want to laugh.

Heejin has an unwavering resolve to keep her eye contact despite having to twist her neck to look at you. She runs her spit-wet mouth up and down along the underside of your shaft, puckering and kissing. Still twisted sideways to face you, a hand gripping the base, Heejin pops your cockhead in and out of her lips; each pop leads to a small bead of pre-cum happily slurped up by Heejin.

“Do you like it when I play with your cock like this? Or should it be my throat milking your cock instead? Mwah. This is for… proper payment.” 

“You don’t have to keep talking.”

“Good point. I should just be your oral fuck hole, right?”

“That’s not what I—”

Heejin swallows your length in two motions: halfway down, your dick hits the back of her mouth, causing a gag and pause and a glob of saliva to spill, and then she breaks a barrier, your erection gliding in so easily.

Soon, you’re freed from the beautiful confines of her throat, though your sensitive tip is still nurtured by her lips. 

“Ghah, I thingh…” Heejin mumbles, “klh, you meant like thih. See? Gooh, blph, good fuck toy. Nhm.”

Heejin puts her hands behind her back. Now the only thing keeping her lips from kissing your crotch is your cock, and why would she let that get in her way? With much less control, subject to the whims of the car’s shakiness, she has to choke herself down your length. When Heejin goes up, thick spit strands fall from her giggly mouth. 

Control is slipping away from you too; in particular, it is wrested away by the choking grip of Heejin’s throat around the tip of your dick. A dangerous game, considering you’re in the driver’s seat. Truthfully, it’s a miracle you even made it this far without crashing, and luckily, you’re not too far from your destination—you’re not that far from home either. Four-lane wide roads become narrow streets leading to your neighborhood. There is no real race happening since Heejin can’t even see much past the tears in her eyes as she bounces her gorgeous face up and down, ruining her gentle makeup. However, it certainly resembles a race. The ending is obvious. The LED of the dashboard, streetlamps, headlights far behind and ahead of you. All pales next to the blissful light of…

To the blissful light of…

To the bliss…

An audible smooch as Heejin releases. “Now, now, not yet, Oppa. Didn’t I promise you something earlier?”

“You, you, f-fucking—”

“Well, we’re at your place now, silly. No matter how much I wanna taste this cum, I’m not gonna do it here in this parking lot.”

Oh, but you’re okay with your head bobbing up and down for other drivers to see? That’s what you would say. Instead, you’re silent. How is your car in your driveway in one piece? You certainly aren’t.

Heejin wipes her mouth with her forearm. “You almost hit a light pole! You’re lucky I was holding the wheel.”

You don’t even look at Heejin as you get out of the car. At the club, you couldn’t take your eyes off of her. This infinite doubt is your downfall. You worked so hard to fix this worst trait of yours.

That was with a different woman.

Years of memories in this house. The front yard where Heejin’s lips flatten against yours is the same place you and Hyunjin had picnics, fed birds, planted new flowers—these get trampled as the two of you clumsily inch toward the entrance. Whenever you came home with Hyunjin, you had this dumb little game where you took turns knocking on this very front door even though no one answered. Every knock-knock joke that followed was even dumber, but you savored every second with your beautiful girlfriend. 

That’s not knocking; that’s the sound of Heejin being pushed again and again against the front door in your impassioned kiss. You fumble for keys somewhere under your phone inside your pocket; it shouldn’t be this hard to fish them out; it shouldn’t be this hard to figure out access to your own home—your dick shouldn’t be this hard pressing into Heejin. Hope the neighbors aren’t watching.

After too long, the door is slammed open. You savor Heejin’s tongue like you’re starving as she stumbles backward. The lingering scent of bread defining your domicile barely hits your nose. You throw your keys to the coffee table. A cat-eared mug you bought for Hyunjin as a random gift, a photobook she made for your birthday. You remember the rare makeout session on the couch instead of the bed (half the passion), you remember movie nights with Hyunjin in your living room when you fished out spilled popcorn from between the sofa cushions (found some coins too), and you remember... 

Nothing.

The lovely moments with Hyunjin are swept by. They’re not solid islands; they’re crude rafts—the ocean’s cruelty prevails. You’re pulled along toward your bedroom by Heejin, and everything passes. 

Heejin jumps on you, legs clinging to you while her fingers ruffle your hair. Her lips have yet to release for a breath. Your back slams against the hallway wall as Heejin is grinding against your clothed cock so desperately that you can feel the warmth through her own pants.

Your sigh is sharp, and your heart races when Heejin finally hops off of you and onto your bed. Though the light of the lamp you turn on is dim, you take in the sight of Heejin splayed on your bed. She’s sloppy. Her hair’s a mess; no doubt yours is too. A shiny trail of spit from the fiery lip lock starts at her lips, falls past her chin, ends between her cleavage. The warm light shines too on a thin layer of sweat on her pearly skin.

There’s no way to defend anything that’s happened since your lips touched Heejin’s lips, probably even earlier than that. But some irrational part of you makes you take out your wallet and pull out the condom you never use. (Hyunjin never wants to have sex anywhere other than this very bed, plus a whole candle-lit ritual just to get going.) You feel silly. As if this protection were the last bastion from infidelity. Ridiculous.

Absurdity has yet to stop you. While Heejin is distracted taking off her clothes, you sit on the edge of the bed, facing away from her. You strip down too, though you’re trying your best to discreetly put the thin condom on with your best sleight of hand. 

Once your deception is complete, you pull Heejin, sitting her up next to you. 

Heejin tilts her head. “You don’t want to watch me strip?” 

Your vocal response is empty. Instead, your lips smack against Heejin’s neck and shoulders as your hands run around her bare body. It’s quite the intimate lesson on her curves, but you can’t believe it anyway. You recall Hyunjin’s complaints about the intensity of Heejin’s routines in the gym. They’re paying off right now in this bedroom.

Shuddering, Heejin flips her legs over yours, straddling your lap. She rocks into your thigh, and the slickness from her labia rubs off on it. Your digits dig into the ample meat of her ass.

Now that you can appreciate Heejin’s perky tits to their fullest, your sequence of kisses continues lower down her chest. Her boobs are just enough for your hands to play with while your lips suck on her tautening nipples. That floral scent is muskier, something more primal in your mind. You let your teeth graze on her sensitive tips, drawing out tiny whines before you head back to her mouth again.

“Mh.” Heejin releases first. “You’re a good kisser. I shouldn’t be surprised.” 

Her smile weakens your heart. The question of whether it will beat again is silly given its unmatchable rhythm right now, but you can’t help but wonder the rhetorical anyway.

“Finally. After all this time. I’ve been waiting so long and—” Heejin looks down and scowls. “Are you fucking—no, I didn’t come all this way here to feel some rubber. I’d just use my dildo and think about you like I always do.”

You concede. Dumb plan. Still, you trace a line that should’ve been drawn much earlier. “I don’t care,” you say curtly.

Heejin gets off your lap and pushes you onto the bed. “Fine, I’m done then.”

“Awesome. Great. Leave.”

The two of you stare at each other, heavily breathing. Your dick is twitching in need.

“I said I don’t care. Go.” You’ve never sounded less convincing in your life.

“Stop me. Stop me right now.” Heejin smirks, bending down to place her face by your crotch. You back up until you can’t anymore, your pillows bunching up at the head of the bed. She crawls to follow your dick like a pet and its toy. Her breaths are heavy; you can hear them but can’t feel their warmth. Then, the tip of her tongue darts right under your condom-covered cockhead, giving arduously gentle licks. She draws a line up your length. What should be the most sensitive part of your body feeling the most pleasure barely registers as a blip of a touch.

Your body is as uncooperative, motionless as your mind.

“I said stop me. If you don’t want to pump my warm and perfect pussy with your seed until Hyunjin comes home, then just say the word and I’ll stop.”

The line is just a metaphor after all—useless, a waste of time. “P-please.”

“Please, what?”

You can’t look at Heejin. You can’t look at the picture frame on the bedside table with you and Hyunjin on your second date. How can you possibly look at yourself in the mirror when—“Please take off the condom.”

Heejin does just that with a triumphant smile. It’s a simple motion: the upward stroke of her hand brings the protection along with her fingers. After throwing the condom straight to the trash, she sits on you again. She rubs her wet pussy lips back and forth your length a couple times, then backs up and presses your rock-hard dick against her tummy.  

"See how warm it feels?" Understanding how intensely you’ve been staring at her midriff, Heejin slaps your cock against her abs, then places her palm on top of your tip like she's measuring something. “See how deep you can go?”

Your cock approximately reaches her belly button.

"Oh my god, that's gonna hit my fucking guts. Like this." Heejin keeps slapping your cock against her toned midriff, rubbing it left and right. “But from the inside! Fuck, you’re gonna mix my guts up. Without that stupid condom, you’re gonna shoot your load straight into my womb.”

While maintaining eye contact, she lets a stream of spit fall the way down from her lips, right between her cleavage, straight to her midriff. Using your shaft like a tool, she spreads the spit across, getting the definition of her muscles nice and shiny. She traces every subtle groove with your cockhead and lathers both you and her with saliva. You admire the evidence of time and effort Heejin has put into herself, though her good shape would not affect you as intensely if her face weren’t as adorable; it reminds you of Hyunjin—here we go again.

“Gonna need some lubrication for this monster to fit in me raw. I know I'm already dripping for you, but a little more wetness can't hurt right? Ptoo." Heejin spits again, then twists her slick hands around your length. “God, are you going to fit inside me? I have to use two hands to handle it properly.”

One more time, Heejin presses your cock against her abs, but this time, she squats up and down, sliding you against her firm muscles. It’s not just the externality of touch lighting your fire; a vivid hue saturates your every sense as the deep tingly pink dances around your thoughts to subsume all that isn’t the promise of thrusting your dick inside of the tight temptress now.

“No, I don’t care if it fits. Break me. Split my little pussy in half.” 

After one more upward motion, her pussy is aligned right above your tip; drops of slick drop from her slit before she drops too, her hands squeezing down on your shoulders.

“Oh, fuck, y-you’re going to have to help me, push me down. Too, too tight.”

You hold her taut midriff with both hands and squeeze her down into your cock. It’s not just an exaggeration of the novelty or the discomfort: gravity itself isn’t enough to pull Heejin around the width of your shaft. Up, then down a bit further. Despite all the nudging and the rampant lubrication of her pussy, it still takes a full minute, probably longer, to work your entire length inside of her tightness. You’re not so much fucking Heejin as you are wearing her slowly around your cock like a fitted tee.

“Ahh! Yessss, it, it, I think it’s hitting so, so deep. Is that my cer—ouwh, god.”

Eventually, Heejin acclimates to your cock’s size, her soft, soaking walls sculpting on your dick, and a visible bulge that still fails to disturb her perfect abs. There’s such a genuine eye smile on her when your cock’s fully disappeared inside. A simple bliss wracks her whole body. You feel the same way: you could stay like this until your girlfriend comes home—

With your eyes wide open, your mind racing with regrets once again, Heejin squats and pulls herself back up, your shaft glistening. You’ve never felt more stupid at the flash-moment relief you felt since it is taken away—along with your breath—when Heejin pushes her ass down into your crotch again, faster this time, but still needing to work it in. 

Then the rhythms truly start. A heartbeat, a series of blinks, the ticking of a clock. There’s nothing so predictable, so countable in how Heejin fucks you. And it is undoubtedly Heejin fucking you, not the other way around. Every thrust in her slick walls not only erodes your morality but also your inhibitions. You couldn’t deny that your girlfriend was much meeker in bed, and so you only ever matched that energy. Her pussy devours your cock whole yet again; she ceases all movements while letting out a prolonged groan. Maintaining eye contact this whole time, she has you in a chokehold that is almost as suffocating as her immaculate tightness. Shivers run down your back as she traces a finger across your chest. With teeth carved into her lower lip, Heejin’s sultry gaze continues to pierce through your eyes. 

“Oh god, you're stretching me so fucking well.” Her mouth goes agape as she rocks her hips to and fro. “You like how tight I am? And how you're molding my pussy into the shape of your cock? Here, hold me”—Heejin brings your hands on her waist—“and use me like a proper fucktoy. Your fucktoy.”

Swallow that spit stuck in your throat. Holding Heejin in place, you start to thrust upwards into her pussy, and each time you exit her entrance, her tightness rejuvenates. You still have to struggle nearly as much the first time to pry her folds apart again, and every time her insides clench around your length, you let out a hiss. While you’re receiving sensual satisfaction like you’ve never experienced before, she’s frowning—maybe it's your slow pace, or maybe it's that your cock does not always disappear completely in her.

It's probably both.

“Fuck. Me. Harder!” Heejin confirms your suspicion and then finds support on your belly to get your entirety out of her. A strand of mixed stickiness is left hanging for its dear life; a sudden wave of coldness replaces Heejin's incredible warmth, leaving you in shivers. “With a cock this amazing, you should be fucking my brains out already. Do you go this slow with Hyunjin? Maybe that's why she doesn't let you finish in her.”

“D-don't mention—”

“Shut up.”

With your mouth sealed by hers, you find yourself backed against the bed frame. Heejin grips your cock firm—something she almost failed to do thanks to her own slickness—and positions your tip for a re-entry. Her legs extend, one forward to land beside your waist, the other backward. 

“I know you’re always thinking about her. I want you to forget about her completely. It’s just me. This bed. This perfect, perfect cock inside of me. God, this is going to go so, so fucking deep in me.” Heejin licks her lips in excitement as she sinks down on your tip.

You growl, and then you yearn for more—of Heejin's heat, of Heejin's body, of any semblance of control. With one hand on her beautifully arched back, you seize a stiffened nipple into your mouth and immediately begin nibbling on it, and the other lands on her equally well-defined ass. In one fell swoop, Heejin completes the frontal split on your cock. One hundred eighty degrees is the angle of her legs, give or take ten or twenty as she rises and falls to the force of your thrusts.

While you’re heady with pleasure from her tight and flexible body, Heejin is first to be aquiver, pulsating from her core. She is not so much bouncing as she is grinding her pussy against your crotch while your dick fills her up to her guts. 

You’re done holding back your inner desires, your most wanton fantasies. For as much as you denied Heejin, she told only the truth, at least when it came to sex. The rest of the truth is that you want to last one minute longer to savor the brain-melting grip and wetness of her cunt. 

Therefore, one hand grasps Heejin's midriff tightly while the other pins her by the neck, freezing her in place with half your shaft inside. Her legs shake, and her eyes, interrupted from rolling back into her head, are distraught. Gingerly, you peel her off your cock like a wasted condom—her labia clenching your shaft in need, her legs shaking from the splits—and then you sit the pouting, babbling girl in front of you.

With the dangerous high of power (or maybe that’s just the warm smell of sex getting to your head), you chuckle. Heejin seems too far gone to notice. 

“Call me Daddy,” you say. “if you’re going to be such a clingy cockholder.”

Right. You’re the one at the edge of the earth, frayed and alone. Far from anyone. The furthest from your lover.

“Oh. Oh, god, your dick, so, oh, fuck. I miss… I need… why did you have to… F-fine.” After gathering a mote of composure and then slithering up to your ear, Heejin whispers, “Actually, that’s very easy. Ahem. Daddy.” 

You can’t hide the grin on your face. Not in a million years would Hyunjin…

“Pwease, turn Heejin into your baby bunny cum pocket? Heejin will be such a good girl for Daddy, I’ll cum all over Daddy’s cock so you can stuff my needy pussy with your sticky load and—”

You’re already overwhelmed. Not so gingerly, you lift Heejin by the waist and then deposit her onto your cock to resume her ride.

“Fuck! Daddy!”

You slap Heejin, adding one more smacking sound to the drumbeat of her ass against your lap. “I told you to call me Daddy, not call me like a phone sex operator.”

Heejin nods, eyes watery; the corner of her lips raise.

She already won long ago, so don’t humor her small victory. As you fuck your cock up into her, you cover her mouth, restricting her air. Her tongue darts at your hand between her lips, and you let the tiniest puff of air pass as her tongue pushes between your fingers. You pinch the wet, pink tip, drawing out more of her ragged moans.

Everything wrong is perfect. Everything perfect must be wrong. You’re in a true position of power for the first time in what feels like forever—then your phone vibrates from your bedside table.

Bvvt. Bvvt. Bvvt. Bvvt.

Hyunjin.

Many times tonight, you thought you had seen your nadir. It could be overacting, overthinking. Yet, the shadows snuck, crept in the crevices of the window cracked open, letting the whistle of the wind in. Yet yet, you feel the weakest you’ve ever been, the darkest inside, when your first inclination is to ignore the call. 

You’ve never done that. 

You’re always the first to call. 

Fuck. 

You were supposed to call her.

Heejin grabs the phone and picks it up for you before slamming down into your cock even harder. You have trouble catching up as you hold the phone by your ear; god forbid, you drop the device and record the squelchy noises of your illicit intimacy.

“Hey, babe.” Already, by her gentle tone, you know Hyunjin is giving you the benefit of the doubt. Though you’re usually meticulous, you’re not perfect, and it’s not that crazy to miss one phone call.

It’s not like you’d do something crazy like—Heejin is bouncing on your dick at such a delirious rate that the parting of words from your lips is impossible.

“Hello? Busy at work? You sound like you’ve run a marathon.” Hyunjin giggles.

“Yeah. Yeah. That’s it.” You can barely breathe it out. Shudder; oh, do you shudder. “Hgh, I-I had to carry a bunch of… of, of heavy boxes. A lot of new drinks.”

“Ahh. Well, I miss you.”

Oh, she does? You could’ve just gone on the trip with her then. None of this would have happened. 

Now, you have Heejin planting kisses all over your sweaty torso. Now, you have your cock swaddled up and down. Now, you’ve hesitated.

“I…” You can’t even get past yourself, each exhalation obviously stifled.

Hyunjin gasps. Heejin too. How different can two puffs of air be? 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Hyunjin asks.

“I’m fine, I just—”

Heejin snatches the phone out of your hand and puts the call on speaker.

“Ahh, shit!” You glare at Heejin, a sly grin fastened on her face.

“Babe, do you need to go to the doctor or something?” From the speaker, Hyunjin’s concern reverberates throughout the room. At least at this juncture, you’re sure she’s missed the continuous sounds of sex, in part to Heejin’s small mercy in slowing down to… grinding halt is only half-correct. Her hips are rocking, but there’s certainly no rigidity to her motions.

Yet, you’re stammering, unable to find an excuse because you’ve never needed one before. 

Heejin does a jerking-off motion with her hand; you raise your brow. She points to the phone. 

Ah. Fuck it. Better than nothing. “Fine. I-I was mas… masturbating. And, and I dropped the phone.”

“Really?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Th-thinking about… me?”

“Who else would I be thinking about?”

Heejin grins at your rhetorical question, knowing she’s the answer wrapped around your dick. “Tell her you miss fucking her,” she whispers—her voice is soft enough, but you still tuck the phone away out of sheer instinct.

You aren't going to always obey her. “Y-y'know babe, I really miss you.”

“And you're saying that while masturbating to me?” Hyunjin scoffs. 

A genuine smile flashes across your face. “No, I just really miss you. I know I put too much pressure on you, and I'm—”

“No, no. Keep all that for when I get back. You sound really tired, so you should go take a rest. Dream about me in the meantime, will you?”

“I… Um. Yes, of course. I will. I love you. Goodnight.”

“I love you too. Mwah.”

The call ends, and the phone finds its rightful place back on the mattress. Despite the other woman coating your cock, the only thing you feel at this moment is embarrassment.

Heejin is sitting calmly on your dick. “Look at you. All in thought again. All backed up because of Hyunjin.”

You gulp as she slinks her hand underneath to paw at your balls. “You’re—you, you didn’t let me cum in… ugh, the car.”

It’s not even a full giggle, just a small blow of air from Heejin’s nose. “Right. Of course that’s what you’re thinking about.”

You have no retort but to provide some force in your waist, snapping upward to drive your length deeper inside. That's less than a retort. Full surrender.

As the bouncing intensifies, hands stop roaming when she interlocks her fingers with yours. Of all the sensual touches, this feels the most intimate. Thus, the most forbidden. And so, the most captivating. Upon a missed beat of your heart, you let go. That free hand strikes her ass crashing down into your waist, and the sweetest whimpers and hottest moans come out viscerally. More than the sweaty warmth in the air, your scent is filled with Heejin. Flowers from another garden.

You start letting your lust out in words between the slaps on her buttcheeks. If you’re going to wither, might as well satiate more of your held-back fantasies.

“So you’re a fuck bunny, huh? A needy animal in heat who can’t even control herself.”

Look how ridiculous you sound. Who’s the true animal here? Who really lost control? 

Heejin nods, putting her highest pitch into her “mms” and “mhms”.

“I’m going to fucking breed you, then. Just like you’ve been begging for, huh? Stalking me, watching me from afar. As if you were a hunter. God, ff…” Your words die when her back arches in pleasure, her hands behind her on the bed, her waist gliding smoothly to lather your length with slickness. “You’re not a hunter. Not, not at all. You’re prey, you’re a little creature, a stray, and you’re gonna take all my fucking cum inside you.”

“Yes! Oh, Daddy, fuck, yes! Heejin… Heejin is your breeding, agh, bunny!”

Heejin is not so much riding you as she is making snappy, jerky motions with her hips while her arms and legs are wrapped around you in a tender hold. It’s an unsustainable rhythm because neither man nor woman could possibly outlast the bubbling pressure. The two of you are less than either. Animals. While she is making no concession to hold back her climax, you want—substitute this word for need on all occasions—one final win. Something. Anything.

However, her walls are tighter than ever, and more importantly, that tightness is coming in growing oscillations. The rising tides are in time with your own demise, a spiral fall into the infinite depths of earthly delight. To the magma core. Unbearable heat.

You’ve certainly stained her insides with pre-cum already, but you feel the first shots of semen, the last remains of regret replaced with a surging buzz.

By the looks of Heejin’s eyes finding the back of her head, finding some god of lust hidden in her brain, she’s feeling the same high. Despite all the loving intimacy you’ve had with Hyunjin, even the times you’ve made her cum during sex, you’ve never been able to cum at the same time as her. Simultaneous orgasm is one of those rare, tricky things to actually pull off. Yet here you are. A stranger. Is chemistry just a game of chance?

Were you always meant to be with Heejin in some other life?

These are the questions that curse you when your mind isn���t working right and letting you feel momentous ecstasy for infidelity. There’s not a correct choice you’ve made, yet here is paradise, its undesired reward abundant.

You and Heejin are two warm, slow-moving, intimately combined figures, slowly returning from the abstract gratification of mutual orgasm to the sticky, sweaty reality of this bed. Your cock is slowly softening too, though you have yet to pull out, slathered in both your lewd juices. Heejin looks tired but clearly isn’t since she’s still slowly swaying her waist, still searching for the last bursts of pleasure she can find in your slumping shaft. Maybe friction, maybe heat.

“D-done? Right. Of course.” Heejin can’t hide her disappointment in her pout.

Your head is shaking.

That’s disappointment too, right? When you shake your head, it’s disapproval. A lingering distaste in your mouth at yourself, that’s what makes sense.

This is a senseless place.

“No,” you say, your voice low. Obscene sloshing noises as you pull out of her snug pussy. Get up from the mattress. “I’m not done yet.”

Heejin is in awe. She must have expected you to turn over and fall on the bed tired. To be fair, you expected the same too.

But you're energized by the bunny. Heejin lays before you, drenched in sweat, her subtle makeup smeared. While her body in motion redefines perfection, steals the very meaning for herself, so too is her body in stillness. As she sighs, her pert chest rises and falls with every cycle of inhalation, exhalation. Her abs tense, showing their strong lines, and semen leaks out from her pussy with each visible clenching.

Heejin portrays many expressions in the shocks of climax. Her flawless jawline screams pride, her parted mouth lust, clearly slothful fatigue in those frowned eyes. You wonder how much deadlier can she get.

“Hah. You're staring,” she says between each labored breath.

Heejin then looks to the side; her chest still heaves, but slower. Place a palm on the facet of the gem that is her face, you could spend hours admiring her side profile. Maybe even write an essay on her nose bridge.

It's your turn to shower her chest with kisses. Her tits aren't bigger than Hyunjin's, though still perky enough. Each peck spells a rippling wave on her delicate flesh; the saltiness of her sweat glazes your lips.

Heejin moans to your many touches while blood rushes to your groin once more. Flip her over, off of her back, and onto her tummy. You glimpse shock in her face when she looks back.

The sin of wrath—worthless vengeance—on your visage must be painted too faithfully.

Feeling Heejin’s nipples and the heft of her breasts, you wrap an arm around her torso to lift her up so that she’s on her hands and knees. You spread her thighs, her asscheeks, admiring the glisten, the glow, the glamorous stickiness with whatever is left of your dripping creampie, then pull Heejin back so that you can align your already concrete-hard dick with her entrance. 

How her long hair falls, how the flesh of her butt ripples, how all the muscles in her back create such a drool-worthy image—target. Whatever the cause may be, you’re surprised how hard your erection is. Even with the most erotic session with Hyunjin—oh, she let you try a position other than missionary, how scandalous—you’ve never had a sequel.

Keep comparing. That’ll do you good.

There’s nothing to compare when you start to pull Heejin’s hair while you push your tip, parting her cunt’s creamy lips. With one hard snap of your waist, you bury your cock completely in Heejin. The both of you moan, you out of the tightness and her out of the sudden impact. 

You run your palm along her arched back to find yourself on her neck, then trace along her skin and give it a firm grasp; Heejin starts to struggle for air. In the renewed momentum of this one thrust, her tiny figure is propelled into the welcoming mattress, and your shaft somehow finds its way deeper into her cavern. Take a moment to admire how your cock pins Heejin down, how more of your previous load oozes out onto the sheets, how Heejin groans at this sudden intrusion. 

"Mmh, Daddy, you're even deeper in me." Heejin could barely squeeze words through her gritted teeth, but she's still relentless in tickling your arousal. 

Heejin is right, of course. The new prone position affords you the deepest penetration you’ve ever achieved, slick tightness totally overwhelming your pleasure points; she, on the other hand, finds herself in discomfort yet delight simultaneously. Though struggling for air, her lustful mewls are louder than ever, and she’s fucking back into you as best as she can while trapped under your weight. The literal chokehold you have on Heejin mirrors the euphoric chokehold she has on you at this very moment—in her submission, complete triumph. 

Not wanting to lose this war of attrition, you loosen the grip on her throat to focus on pounding into her creamy cunt. Her unintelligible noises become words.

"Grrgh, guh, god. Yes, can you feel it, Daddy? Feel how deep you really are in Heejin? It's okay if you can't, because Heejin definitely can. You're so close to my womb right now it's driving me crazy. Please cum for me, Daddy, please. Cum inside Heejin. Fill whatever gap there is between you and me with your hot, warm seed. Give me a baby bunny, please. Heejin is begging you here, please, just like how you wish that ungrateful bitch would, just like how that unthankful bitch would never. Don't hold back daddy. Please. Please. Please—"

Without a sign, Heejin reaches her second peak. Her body shakes in violence to add to the creaking bed, though all are silenced by her orgasmic cries. Lean forward, and your chest now connects with her back. Slick and slippery is the texture between your skins while the entirety of your length stays hidden within her folds. 

You maintain the speed at which you were ravaging her insides. Heejin pumps herself backward to hit two birds with one stone—to match your pace and to ride out her high.

Her screams are getting too loud; you can't risk waking the neighbors. Shove two digits past her spread lips, and Heejin immediately sucks on the makeshift gag. Turning back, she tries to meet your eyes with the pleading gaze she has so perfected. 

No, you are not falling prey to her trick. Shove her face down between the pillows, and you get a good sample of her earlobe while you chase your peak. 

With one hard thrust, you feel your tip smash against her cervix. Pull back out, and Heejin's walls desperately clench around you—her desire to milk you is strong. Your lips move down to suck at her neck.

Yet another hard thrust, you slam into her core at an insane trajectory; Heejin's womb sucks you in—

“Owh, gawd, you're gonna cum so much deeper”—you bring your fingers to the back of her mouth—“mmh, I can ph-pheel iiit—”

—as if begging you to fill her womb. The fistfuls of bedsheet fail to provide enough resistance; the floodgate unlocks.

“Take my cum, you fucking slut.” You pair your words with animalistic growls as you pound her hard enough to squeeze your seeds through the needy opening of her womb. “You're nothing but a pathetic cockslut. Look at how your womb is sucking me in. I bet that's the only thing your worthless pussy is good for—to be bred by taken cocks.”

You expect her to protest; she doesn’t. You spread her cheeks apart, spitting between them; it’d be rude, but it’s aimed at her tight, winking asshole. Again, you expect more of a response when your thumb toys at the ring of flesh. Shaky breaths through her breathing orifice while all the others get filled, she indulges in her cock-drunkenness—capable of doing nothing but pitiful whimpers. As you hammer her down hard enough that she’s become part of the mattress, your thumb hooked at the temptation of her rear entrance, you fall into indulgence too.

“Fucking, fff, filling you, ugh, up!” With a sense of finality in this thrust, you turn Heejin’s womb into the promised creamy mess. Her asshole has wholly swallowed your thumb. Grasping the sheets as hard as you grasp her asscheek, she is silent as she endures the endless spurts of warmth in her tummy. 

Keep pumping. Don’t stop till you're as devoid of your seed as your soul.

At the same time, you retrieve your thumb and your cock from her two greedy holes. Your cum is leaking out of Heejin’s slit, between her thighs, onto your sheets. Her asshole dilates, contracts. Those two facts alone nearly drive you to continue the madness; maybe you could collect the slick semen as lube for anal. However, despite your dick in hand, tip rubbing against her asshole, you stop yourself.

With a resolve like you’ve never seen (or at least one you haven’t had in hours), you sprint your way to the shower. Any cure to your sickness. But this shower will fix a shattered mug as readily as it’ll fix any other problem. Fatigue sets in, claws deeper, and no amount of scathing hot water on your skin gets rid of it. You switch to cold—you shout—that wasn’t worth it either.

Your world falls apart like warm streams splitting against you. How cruel the accuracy in its manner. Look into the wall. A faint, blurry reflection of you off the wet surface. The reflection clarifies: you’re a dumbass. This heat does nothing it’s supposed to, not a tinge of mollification in its heat.

“Hey, Daddy—”

You did not notice Heejin sneaking into the shower, but the change in her hairstyle is certainly apparent. Now flaunting a ponytail—Hyunjin’s signature and a personal favorite of hers—you hate to admit that Heejin looks equally as alluring, if not more so. She’s only in her panties, and those must be semen-coated. Sure enough, when she strips them onto the bathroom floor, she’s still dripping pearly and sticky fluids from her crotch.

“How could you leave for the shower alone, I have to clean up too, you know?”

She takes up the space between you and the wall, and she quickly finds herself on the ground. Her legs wide open, Heejin fingering herself is now a scenery you’re forced to enjoy. One digit deep, then another joins the fray—she slowly fingers your cum out of her swollen cunt.

“It’s not too late to stop me,” Heejin smirks as she is relentless in teasing you. “Unless you really want to put a baby in me.”

Now with eyes shut and mouth agape, she cherishes the pleasure she’s bringing to herself. The unoccupied hand finds itself on the ground for support as she buries her fingers deeper inside her folds. Heejin’s hedonism elevates; her tongue sticking out in the air is the proof.

The droplets bounce off your body to land on Heejin's features, and for a moment, she looks adorable as she shakes the excess moisture off, giggling. But then, she’s right back, immersed in her masturbation.

Your cock finds its vitality again at such a lewd sight; Heejin need not open her eyes to realize it. Further extending her tongue to reach the thing sheltering her from warm water, she licks your tip as if encouraging you to follow the motion of her pink muscle. So, you do just that. However, she clearly isn't ready for the intrusion, her teeth grazing against your skin as you head straight for her throat.

The damned downward frown, again, and this time it's here to stay. Pressing on with the pattern of showing no mercy, you rock your hips to properly violate her mouth. The warmth from the shower pales in comparison with her cavern, and her tongue tickles the bottom of your shaft better than the water droplets bring relief to your figure. Her sloped brows scream starvation just like her pleading eyes. This isn’t a matter of wants—you have to feed her cock. As much as she can swallow. Even if it means her gagging and sloppily eating the meat.

“Guhk—your cum—guhk, musht taste as guhd as your cohk—didn’t, ghlk, get to eat earlieh”—her tears fuse with the shower water and the drool out the corner of her mouth past your shaft—“I, I, glk, need more. Need more, more, mo—”

At this point, you're already used to her insatiability, fixing it with a yank of hair. Ponytails are amazing, especially when they're presented like this as a perfect handle for you to hold on to as you fuck her face rough. Each time your cockhead hit the back of her mouth, giggles mix obscene swishing and gurgling noises straight from her throat, and her cute tits ripple softly at the force. 

There's no room in her mouth for air, so it's only natural that she opts for the natural way of obtaining oxygen. She inhales through her nose with your cock still hidden in her mouth, making her throat do swallowing motions and squeeze around your shaft. The water splashing down on her face makes her breaths uneven and struggled since she’s trying to breathe down your dick in the same motion, but she embraces the challenge since there’s nothing more important than the cock down her throat anyway.

“Oh fuck—” You groan at the random fluctuations of tightness. “You’re such a good fuckdoll. Good oral fuck hole.”

You’re not sure where you got the verbiage from, though Heejin has the closest thing to a smirk she can manage with her lips around the root of your cock. Regardless, you can tell that she’s happy with the new nickname—her tongue moving with more furiosity makes good supporting fact.

Heejin’s looks are out of this world—even when there’s a cock in her mouth. You even feel a new pang of guilt: she’s too pretty somehow for your seed to cover her features. The pangs of guilt are quickly overtaken by pangs of impending orgasm. On her face? In her mouth? You would decide, but there is no decision. Keep your tip down her throat. The pleasure is getting too intense, and orgasm soon hits. It makes sense that she wants to savor your cockmilk, but her twirling tongue proves to be too much overstimulation for you. Your body jerks, so you instinctively eject from her eager mouth to spray the rest of your load on her face. This climax ends quickly; it’s your third one after all.  While you are regaining your composure, Heejin is busy creating a composition of your cum that was all over her visage, collecting with her fingers and tongue and then finally delivering it beyond her lips.

“So fucking tasty,” she comments after one big gulp. “Now let’s really clean ourselves up.”

The following minutes are filled with mutual silence—you do your cleaning and she does hers. No further touching. You’re in quiet denial—not of the unfaithfulness up to this point but of the surprising comfort you feel in the silence only broken by the splashing of water.

You both finish washing at the same time, so you shut the shower off. Stare at Heejin. Water droplets drip off her silky smooth skin. You can’t be staring yet again; that’s going to lead to an n-th round of sex. Forget morals, you’re not going to have a rigid bone left in your body if you keep fucking Heejin. Your mouth rounds to a circle while she smiles at you. 

Without worrying about the faint trail of water you’re making in your hallway, you speed off to the bedroom to look for some extra underwear and clothes to lend to Heejin. On second judgment, how absurd the concept. Surely, Hyunjin is going to notice the missing clothes, and surely, Heejin is going to wear the missing clothes the next time they meet.

Raising your hands, you fall onto your mattress. You’re naked. Didn’t bother looking for your own clothes. Whatever. Why even care about Heejin at this juncture at all? If she wants to leave naked, then so be it, or if she wants to wear her used panties sticky with your creampie, then so be it too.

Sure enough, she walks calmly into the room, semen-stained underwear and all, a towel around her head to dry those damp locks falling past her shoulders.

You curl up in the bed, refusing to examine Heejin further.

“This pillow belongs to someone else, I'm not sleeping on it.” Refusal will never stop Heejin’s low voice from worming its way past your ears straight into your brain.

Rather weak reasoning, sure, but you're in no place to object given everything that's happened tonight. With a sigh, you turn to face her and extend your arm; Heejin lies on it, filling the emptiness between her neck and the mattress just fine. 

“Mmh, it's comfy this way,” Heejin murmurs as she curls her curves into you. “Does she do this with you after sex?”

Silence fills the room for seconds; she nudges you for an answer that she knows she shouldn’t expect.

“Ha, didn't think so.”

That’s not even true, of course. Intimacy after sex isn’t an entirely new concept to you—that’s the one thing that stands out with Hyunjin in bed—but it’s so foreign with a different person. Sniffle her hair; it’s rosy. You wrap your free hand around her waist; she’s significantly smaller in your arms than Hyunjin. Usually, Hyunjin kept her back facing you, and though you adored having her as the little spoon, something was always missing. Details, details, details. So your silence continues all the same.

“You’re enjoying this,” Heejin whispers, “aren’t you?” 

Heejin turns around to face you, her delicate fingers tracing along and tickling the bare flesh of your neck at the same pace as her breath. How can the delicate touch of air be a chokehold? Yet, that’s exactly what Heejin has on you.

“Now why don’t I make you feel better, Daddy?”

Lifting your leg over her hips, Heejin has your half-erect shaft between her thighs, her slick slit shows haste in lathering you with her juices. All the recollection you’ve been doing, every hard-fought bucket of water you bail out of the hole-ridden ship, yet you forget your whole relationship in an instant. You doubt even Heejin understands the harshness of such a simple action, dragging any hope back into the ocean, cruel mistress. Moan into her mouth, and she returns the same. Finally, undo the seal on your mouth; you continue fucking her soft muscles in a telegraphed motion.

“Heejin is gonna sleep, she’s exhausted.” She smirks, that damned smile damning you to do more unspeakable things to, and with, her. “You can use Heejin’s body all night long though. I am your good little cocksheathe, after all.”

This is the actual biggest difference when you cuddle Heejin. Your cock slips inside her creamy slit so easily. It couldn’t have been an accident, yet Heejin is as motionless as sleep can make her. So is it your fault? No. It couldn’t have been. There’s no way you would have thrust yourself inside the addicting, delectable, squeezing hole for one last savoring. Right?

You must lay still as Heejin’s seed-stuffed hole continues to seize your half-hard shaft. Too sensitive, too sore, too spent. But not enough to leave. You’d think that by now, you can’t have any energy left to keep your erection lasting, but her walls warm your cock just well enough that you’re helpless to the loving embrace. If you did try to pull out of her possessively grippy pussy, you’d probably spurt another few drops, simultaneously milking your last breaths out of you.

So, pulling out is as much an option as the sun failing to rise in a few hours.

When your eyelids are yanked open by that inconsiderate light, you are alone in your bed. 

Your first instinct is to check your wallet. All your cards, your cash, a random Subway coupon. Down one condom though. Stretch, and your body disagrees. The only evidence is the sheer exhaustion in your muscles. And your balls.

 You didn’t drink.

You’ve never had a worse hangover.

No, no, it was all a dream—you wish. You could get away with being scolded for your dreams. This was a whole different beast.

Your focus is pulled by a buzz by your legs. Reach for your phone.

One. One. One. Five. A date. Naturally.

Heejin started following you. 

She’s not even in the same room as you. It’s so easy to ignore.

Then again, it’s just as easy to open the messages and type away.

Hyunjin won’t be home for a few more days anyway.

Say you sent it to the wrong person if need be.

Or you were with the wrong person to begin with.

No.

There is no wrong person.

Only the person in the wrong.

You.

Sent a message to Heejin.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

AFF, AO3

Thank you again to the wonderful @kaedewrites for working with me on this one! You don't understand how much I enjoy every collab. They always drive me to write way more than working alone. Writing is always a collaborative affair, after all. It's just annoying whenever the only person I have to work with is my dumb past self, who refuses to finish these stories for me.

:chuupeek:

#kpop smut #loona smut #male reader #reader insert #title tracks #worldsover #collab #kaedewrites

[nymphiria]

𝐀𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐒

[ ❤︎ ] - 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐈 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐔

౿ - 𝐂𝐖: angst, filmed sex, unrequited love, jealousy, possessiveness, degradation, nicknames (pretty girl), mild daddy kink, scummy ran

ଓ ◠ - 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: ran’s new girlfriend infatuates rindou to his displeasure.

dirty, sleazy, and downright atrocious — three words that rindou would say best describe haitani ran.

although a lot better than he was a few years ago, ran had still retained habits from his younger days. rindou recalls moments where ran was swarmed with girls wanting to get with him — moments that he himself wished he had more often. every few weeks ran was flaunting a new girl at his side, probably teasing rindou with how easily girls came and went with him. several feminine faces crossed his mind, none helping him recall what their names were. fortunately, he had seen ran with so many women that it didn’t surprise him when he showed up to the base sporting new arm candy.

it almost didn’t surprise him … not until he showed up with you by his side.

you were different than the type of girls ran usually takes home — you were refreshing, glowing even. your tone was always sweet, your smiles genuine, and you even seemed to extend that kindness to rindou himself. when ran introduced him as his brother, you greeted him politely and made it a point to do so from then on. you even went out of your way to make sure he was comfortable — such as making him an extra lunch whenever you cooked ran’s meal for the next day. each time he saw that wrapped bento box with his name on it, he swore his heart would’ve exploded on the spot.

countless dinners hosted in your home, seeing your figure across the room at gatherings, smelling your sweet perfume on ran’s collar — your very being was close to but far away from him at the same time. whenever he caught ran’s gaze lingering on you, he couldn’t help but notice how enraptured he was with everything about you. you were the first one to ever hold his brother’s heart in the palm of their hand — a fact that widened the void of loneliness in his chest. each instance he would see you being affectionate with the other, he couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if it were him in ran’s place.

no. he couldn’t. ran was his brother. you belonged to him, only to him. no matter how much it hurt him to see you happy with each other, he couldn’t let the thoughts of his hands on your body overtake his mind. but … what if? what if he could ravish you like his brother did? what if he could make you moan his name as you creamed around his thick cock? what if he could fill you to the brim with his cum and make you keep it there? fuck, that sounded like heaven. he could almost feel the softness of your skin as his hands traveled across your body, seeing your face contort with pleasure. if only you weren’t just out of reach for him, then he’d finally be happy.

it was stupid to even imagine you’d find someone like him attractive. ran was the older, more charming of the brothers — the one all the girls flocked to without even giving him a second glance. he was used to having few hookups, the number of women he’d slept with paled in comparison to ran’s. he thought he had come to terms with it but you did something to him that made the insecurity well back up inside him. maybe it was lust? attraction? you were obviously beautiful but his feelings towards you differed from any of his previous flings. rindou wanted you by his side, in his home, in his bed — he wanted all of you.

he was even more fucked than he thought.

nights spent at his club in roppongi were one too many. hoards of drunk men and flirty women filled every square inch of the property, a sight not unfamiliar to the lavender-eyed man. though the claustrophobia of hundreds of drunk clubbers made him uncomfortable, he knew he didn’t have to endure it for long. his brother would soon be here to close up a deal that he himself had no interest in taking part in. a few more glasses of bourbon and he could finally ride home to relax for the rest of the night.

through the merging bodies of the people down below the window of the private room, it wasn’t hard to spot the lavender-dyed hair of his older brother. ‘about fucking time’, he grumbled as he swigged down the last drop of his drink. just before he set his glass down and grabbed his stuff to leave, he noticed a smaller figure trailing behind ran and holding his hand. shit, you were coming? ran rarely ever brings you to these meetings cause he knew how boring they were for you. the first time he had you attend one you almost fell asleep on the expensive leather couch in the corner due to how long negotiations were taking. if you were here, ran must have had no choice but to take you with him.

it wasn’t long before the doors were opened and you two shuffled inside the large meeting room. after scanning the room for the people present, you smiled widely once your eyes landed on rindou as he stood in the corner. just that simple smile had his knees feeling week and his cheeks feeling hot — he swore his pupils were hearts in that very moment. you had so much of an effect on his and you didn’t even know it. one look thrown his way and he was prepared to wait on you hand and foot like you were a princess. the mood was ruined when he finally noticed his brother glaring at him like trash, something usually reserved for others that he found distasteful.

“…‘bout time you guys got here. i’ve been keeping that old fuck occupied for an hour,” he whispered disgustedly as he pointed behind him where their client sat. you stifled a giggle at his insulting comment, almost laughing when you actually got a good look at the old man. before you could open your mouth and scold him for being rude, ran was grabbing your arm and pulling you to the door you just entered. rindou couldn’t even ask where he was going before you were gone.

great, another hour he had to play entertainer.

countless messages went unanswered and ran’s cell went straight to voicemail. rindou thought maybe he’d come back but unfortunately one hour of his absence turned into three hours. the client eventually got fed up of waiting and left grumbling about “professionalism” — as if there was anything professional about this line of business. mikey was definitely going to put a bullet in their heads for screwing this one up. since it was already said and done, he just went home to blow off steam.

it was 2 AM when his phone buzzed with a new notification as he was getting ready for bed. plopping down onto the plush mattress, he realized that ran had finally text him back after going ghost for a couple of hours. the text consisted of a 3 minute long video — probably something funny he saw and needed to record. videos were always one of three things: fights, funny things, and hookups. he doubts it was the last one seeing how possessive ran was over you so thankfully it was probably the first two. he settled under the blankets and pressed play.

it was dark. muffled voices in the background were hard to make out with the phone audio. a few seconds of nothing and finally something visible came onto the screen of rindou’s phone. you — bare and spread in all your naked glory. his jaw dropped at the sight of your dripping pussy and your heaving breasts. “this has to be a dream”, he convinces himself. he must have fallen asleep as soon as he hit the bed and now he’s having a hyper-realistic wet dream, yeah.

no, definitely not. the whines were too clear, your body too visible. holy fuck, ran really sent him porn of you. he should absolutely click off the video and delete it but a part of him refuses to let him miss out on seeing it. so, he keeps watching you squirm at ran’s lingering touches on your thighs. he’s teasing you — not letting you feel his long fingers where he knows you want them the most.

“is this what you want, pretty girl? you want me to fuck you?”, ran breathed behind the camera. you frantically nodded at his questioning, obviously desperate for the touch you’ve probably been deprived from for god knows how long. a rough slap to your soaked cunt had you reeling back as a pained cry escaped your throat. you could barely do anything to hide how shaky your legs were or how tear soaked your flushed face was to the camera.

“use your words, slut. be good and i might not send it to him. now, i’m gonna ask you again. do you want me to fuck you?”, ran’s harsh tone had you rushing to obey him. “y-yes! need you so bad, daddy!”, you whined as you looked directly into the camera.

“am i the only one you want?” “yes!”

“not even my brother?”, he spoke grimly. rindou swallowed thickly at the question, feeling as if it was directed at him. that familiar feeling welled back up in his chest and made him break out into a cold sweat as he awaited your answer. please, say you wanted him.

“o-only you, ran! only one that can make me feel like this!”

the lewdness of the situation completely faded away. what was once a fiery lust soon faded into a cold loneliness. all of those exchanged smiles and laughs meant nothing to you — his friendliness only taken for that, friendship. you never noticed how his face heated up whenever you entered the room or his tendency to sit closely to you when ran was away. the realization finally set in that he would never cross the boundary he wanted to — he’d be stagnant in his position as a friend, possibly even your future brother in law. he’ll be this far away from you for aeons.

he thought he had gotten used to seeing ran have it all — looks, charm, women. unfortunately, he would never get used to seeing him be the one to make you happy, to make you feel loved. his phone laid untouched on his covers as the video still played to his displeasure. while it played, he received another notification which he sluggishly moved to check. his brother, again.

RAN: hope you enjoyed the show ♡ 2:15 AM

RAN: oh, and make sure you keep your eyes to yourself 2:15 AM

taglist: @p-antomime

#[ ᜊ ᭡ ] - writings #» tokyo revengers #» rindou #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers thirst #rindou smut #ran smut #tokrev x reader #tokyo revengers #rindou thirst #rindou angst #haitani rindou #rindou haitani #ran angst #rindou x reader #rindou x you #tokrev

[klaineccfanficlibrary]

Are there stories where their parents are friends or acquaintances and try to set them up? 🤭

Teenage Dreams and Movie Scenes by Saraklaine

Urgh… Blaine Anderson is famous singer. Kurt Hummel is even more famous actor. Kurt Hummel is youtube star cause he has a major crush on Blaine Anderson and his 4 best friends like to tape him while he swoons over said singer. They’re assholes, but not really. What happens when 4 mental patients such as them corner Blaine just so their best friend can get a chance to meet him?

~~~~~

Mr. Anderson: Matchmaker by Phantom of a Rose

Mr. Anderson is Kurt’s history teacher, probably the only teacher in the school that really, truly cares about the bullying he encounters for being gay. He’d never imagined that Mr. Anderson would actually try to set him up with his younger brother. AU

~~~~~

Anderson’s Alley and Arcade by @hkvoyage

When Kurt confessed that he was growing bored with his life in NYC, Burt suggested that he take up bowling. After all, they used to be the Big/Little league champions back in the day. Over Christmas, Burt even found a nearby place for Kurt to bowl. In the new year, Kurt visited the alley and quickly joined its bowling league so he could spend more time with the cute new owner.

~~~~~

Clinging to This Hating Game by notarelationship

Based on this prompt from the Klaine-prompt-a-fic blog on tumblr:

Kurt and Blaine couldn’t stand each other in high school, maybe one was a jock/cheerleader and the other a nerd/glee clubber. Or they were bitter rivals for competition solos if they were both in glee club. Now they both live in NY and their friends set them up on a blind date, not knowing they went to the same high school.

#klaine fanfiction #klaine fanfic #fic finder #matchmaker #blind date

[whumpsical]

A Light in the Dark

contents: trafficking, captivity, forced romance, emotional manipulation, expIicit dubcon, intimate whumper, defiant whumpee

Jian spots an opportunity

November 2019

taglist!! @yet-another-heathen @much-ado-about-whumping @minerscanary

🌲🌲🌲 -> next (soon)

The sun was already setting over the mountain by the time Dickass Lee finally decided to start heading back to the house. Jian wasn’t at all sold on the idea that the loss of light had been a simple miscalculation. The hand-holding was already easier to tolerate in the growing dark.

The woods were still a foreign territory to him, and his fear went double without sunlight. He even found himself gripping Dickass Lee’s hand in return instead of his usual dissociation, making himself limp so that his arm was like a fabric leash, just an object for Dickass Lee to keep track of him by. And Dickass Lee must have noticed the shift, because he leaned close and affectionately bumped Jian’s shoulder with his own.

“Don’t be scared, Jian.”

“I’m not scared,” Jian said adamantly, simmering with annoyance at the man’s condescending tone. But he kept his hand tightly clasped, his palm beginning to sweat as his footing grew more unsure. “I just can’t see.”

Dickass Lee chuckled. “I know these woods very well. You can’t get lost when you’re out here with me.”

Jian rolled his eyes freely in the dark. He was already lost out here, as long as Dickass Lee was at his side.

Blue-black darkness fell quickly around them, and the temperature seemed to drop another twenty degrees. The light jacket wasn’t cutting it anymore. Jian doubted the simple miscalculation of that, too. When his shivers grew violent, Jian clenched his jaw and huddled close to Dickass Lee, despite the biting nausea. Dickass Lee let go of Jian’s hand and wrapped his heavy arm around Jian’s shoulders, keeping him warm and steady as they walked. Jian tried not to feel comforted, and for the first time in ages it wasn’t a challenge. His thoughts drifted to the tall tree behind the murder shack, to his brush with hypothermia. No, Jian couldn’t see this as anything other than more manipulation of the same kind. He didn’t know what exactly Dickass Lee wanted from him this time, but he knew he’d acquiesce without much of a fight, as long as that threat of cold hung over him.

Nighttime out here was dazzlingly noisy, much louder than in the city. Compared to the soft rumble of traffic, to drunk clubbers laughing their way to the next venue, even to the occasional nearby siren, the woods were downright chaotic. With a sound like TV static blasting through concert speakers, everything alive in the forest came together in an invisible choir around and above him. Jian swept the forest with his eyes, squinting to find any hint of suspicious movement to serve as proof of the vast network of insects which were obviously still thriving here in what felt like early winter, but all he saw was black.

Jian’s eyes felt dry and glassy from straining through the darkness when he noticed movement off to his left. He wouldn’t have seen it in the daylight. He almost stopped in his tracks, but bundled up so close to Dickass Lee, he just stumbled slightly and moved along. He couldn’t hear it behind the frenzied woods swallowing up any noise that wasn’t its own, but there was no mistaking the twin dots of yellow light that rose and flashed and diminished as the vehicle’s headlights turned towards him and away.

A car, a road, people. A way out.

Jian’s mind raced. The road was a long way from the house. It was hard to gauge distance over the hills and winding trodden paths, especially when he hadn't been paying that much attention, but it felt like maybe a mile or two. He’d walked this far already. How much further could he go, if he ran? At least to the side of the road, where he might just collapse and wait for another car to rumble by what a driver might at first take for a corpse. He’d probably have better luck playing dead than if he showed up to the road with his thumb out.

He’d imagined this plot of land as an endless mountain, even an isolated universe. There was no room for other people and their cars, no way for a public road to sneak through the little snowglobe he lived in with Dickass Lee. He tried to memorize the route they were taking, to feel the direction from which they’d come and keep it locked in his body, so that no matter where he started from, he’d know which way to turn once he finally got his chance to run.

Somehow, they made it back to the house. Even Dickass Lee had stumbled over fallen branches in the dark a few times, but he laughed it off with such ease that Jian couldn’t find any sadistic humor in it, instead feeling more tense the better Dickass Lee’s mood got.

They showered together. Dickass Lee urged Jian up to the bathroom with a playfulness that made Jian’s stomach flip. Without invitation, he helped Jian undress, taking every opportunity to run gently violating hands over every soft spot he came across in the process. Jian shivered, remembering the chill outside, and didn’t fight him. Eventually he stopped trying to use his own hands at all, letting Dickass Lee unravel him to the skin. He felt his expression slipping away to vacancy, and wished his brain could do the same.

He tried to disappear into the warmth of the shower, to focus on the earthy rosemary scent of the soap that Dickass Lee was lathering onto him. His movements slowed at Jian’s shoulders, rubbing small circles into the tightness he felt there.

“Jian, why are you so nervous?” Dickass Lee asked. His voice was sweet, caring. He brushed a soapy thumb across Jian’s jawline, his hand resting steadily on the side of his neck. It could’ve been adoringly. “Hey, I promise not to keep us out after dark again. Relax. We’re home now.”

Jian swallowed and nodded, shutting his eyes and taking an intentional breath to try and let go of the tension riddling his body, imagining it flowing down the drain. He imagined it clogging the pipes, a plumber being called in, driving a painted company van along that road through the woods.

A wet hand broke through the dark, Dickass Lee lifting Jian’s face to kiss him. All of that tension bubbled right back up, gray and stinking from the sewer, boiling hot at their feet, and Jian reflexively broke the kiss with a grimace and a violent turn of his head. He stood still for a moment, blinking away flashes of bright light and panting as the sick fumes died down.

“M’sorry,” he murmured quickly, before Dickass Lee could say anything about it.

“Hey, come on. You know I don’t want to threaten you. It’s alright.”

Jian recognized the threat for what it was. He bit back another flinch, sudden echoes of pain sparking across his thighs like a match striking over his skin, and leaned back into Dickass Lee’s touch, returning the kiss when it was offered again. He supposed he should be feeling grateful for the second chance.

Just one more night. He could do just one more night of this. He ran appeasing hands over Dickass Lee’s dripping chest and up around the back of his neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss. One more surrender, and tomorrow Jian would disappear from this mountainside universe, crash through the glass of the snowglobe and spill out into another world, soaking wet and wild-eyed.

Dickass Lee pulled back suddenly, smoothing a fingertip over his bottom lip, a sideways smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That so, sweetheart?” he said in a darkly playful tone, teasing and a little bit impressed.

It took Jian a moment to realize what had happened. A moment later and he’d tugged Dickass Lee’s head down to bite him again, even harder, forging a path from the man’s lips to his jaw and down to his neck, dragging teeth over skin between each aggressive kiss.

It wasn’t long before they found themselves in the master bedroom, hair still dripping as Jian shoved Dickass Lee onto the bed, wasting no time in climbing on top of him to straddle his hips. The man’s proud fucking smile hadn’t faltered once, and Jian smothered it with another heated kiss, pinning Dickass Lee firmly to the mattress and pretending he could rip the man to shreds with the grip he had on his hair.

One more night. Why did it have to be a surrender? It wasn’t. Jian was taking his spoils of war, in a victory he just hadn’t technically earned quite yet.

Dickass Lee trawled strong hands up Jian’s thighs, his fingertips digging into the skin and snagging on short hairs as he went. Jian shuddered, and he was already grinding his hips against the warm body beneath his when those hands settled around his waist, their grip tightening along with a hitch in Dickass Lee’s breathing.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” Dickass Lee crooned breathlessly, adoring eyes flashing up at Jian, who straightened up to find more leverage and pressure. He raked dull fingernails over Dickass Lee’s torso, imagining rivers of the man’s blood in place of the little pink welts that surfaced instead. Jian’s hands faltered and froze as Dickass Lee’s began to wander downward, featherlight touches forcing out a desperate twitch and an equally as damning gasp and whimper.

Dickass Lee laughed at him softly, wistful affection clouding his face, one hand holding tight to Jian’s hip, keeping him from wriggling away while the other hand continued with gentle strokes. A sting of resentment sprang up in Jian’s core alongside the glow of pleasure, and he dug into Dickass Lee’s chest with his nails.

This wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to tear into Dickass Lee, to hurt him, to make him go along with whatever Jian bid, for once. And whether that meant beating him to a pulp or riding him until he was raw, Jian wanted to be the one calling the shots.

But Jian couldn’t help but react to the touch with exactly what the man was looking for, all but rutting into Dickass Lee’s hand, only held back by the firm grip on his right hip and his own fraught attempts to convince himself he didn’t also want this so badly.

“Someone’s in a mood tonight,” Dickass Lee said, his voice dropping to a rumble. The man’s unquestioned confidence radiated out from him like barbs that jabbed into Jian’s chest, making him sick with irritation and futile fury, despite the pleasure that he couldn’t deny or escape. “I wonder where that’s coming from. Was there something you wan--”

Shut up. Shut the fuck up.

Dickass Lee leaned down over him, taking his time, drawing out the agony in the slow roll of his hips over Jian’s ass, relishing in making him squirm even as Jian weathered through the shame of his impulsive attempt at retaliation. He nipped at Jian’s ear, breathing a fond chuckle when it made Jian’s hips twitch beneath him. Jian shut his eyes tight, breathing in little nervous shots through his nose and trying to hold back his moans.

Before he could think about it, Jian aimed a punch to Dickass Lee’s throat, his arm flying as if fueled by fire. He didn’t even get to make contact. With startling agility, Dickass Lee dropped off mid-sentence to intercept Jian’s fist, then snatched both of Jian’s arms and flipped him to his stomach with such unnerving efficiency that Jian barely had time to blink before he found himself suffocating facedown in the sheets, fighting off a wild rush of arousal as his arms were pinned behind him.

“That was cute,” Dickass Lee said, letting his lips brush against the sensitive shell of Jian’s ear. “But I’m sorry, sweetheart, it’s not going to happen. You understand, don’t you, baby?”

Jian shifted, trying to shrug his arms free, and got nowhere. He huffed out his frustration, mostly aimed at himself. Of course Dickass Lee had only been letting Jian toss him around. Of course Jian knew that. He cursed himself for getting caught up in the fantasy.

“I’m going to forgive you for that, Jian,” Dickass Lee said as he kissed a line down the back of Jian’s neck and between his shoulders, until he got to where he held Jian’s arms in that unforgiving grip. “Mainly because I’d rather just get back to where we left off. Are you going to behave yourself?”

One more night. One more surrender.

Breathlessly, through gritted teeth, “Yes.”

Dickass Lee hummed against Jian’s skin, pleased, finally letting go of Jian’s aching arms to press him more gently into the bed, one broad, steady hand on the nape of his neck and another caressing along the sides of his ribs. Of their own accord, Jian’s hips made eager little rocking motions into the mattress, and he had no way of stopping or concealing it, especially when Dickass Lee was doing about the same to him, teasing over his lower back.

“You’ll have to be good for me, Jian. No fighting this time. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

Jian arched his back, pushing his hips up and back, a mewling noise spilling out of him, only halfway unbidden. Fuck it. This was still his victory.

“Is that a ‘yes’?”

“Yes, Richard,” Jian said, his voice muffled into the sheets. He turned his face to the side, catching fresher air and glancing over his shoulder at Dickass Lee. “Fucking hell, please.”

Dickass Lee finally entered him, maddeningly gently at first, but it went on until Jian was begging at every desperate bid for a climax that Dickass Lee held just out of his reach. At some point a dull prong of actual pain started to build in his core like a lead weight in his stomach, growing with each new denial. By the time Dickass Lee finally allowed him to come, Jian had been sobbing for several rounds already.

His orgasm was blindingly bright, his vision going white as he wailed through it, and the last thing he remembered before passing out was a tender kiss on the cheek and Dickass Lee’s voice, soft between panting breaths.

“I knew you would, Jian. I knew you’d want me to.”

#eric #eric write #whump writing #noncon whump #dubcon whump #nsfwhump #emotional whump #whump #defiant whumpee #intimate whumper #sin squad #jian #dickass lee #what if i just start making all my chapter titles musical references #prizes for anyone who guesses the musical #i'll draw a lil picture for u #or no i'll sing the song and post it XD #if i don't specify that this is the beginning of my rewrite of this arc does it make it untrue #finally jian gets a genuine dubcon chapter #i'll tell u now folks #there will be more of those

[alpacaparkaseok]

How to Sell Sunshine |14|

Chapter 14. Omertà

→ Pairing: mafia!BTS x reader (not poly)

→ word count: 27.8k (literally someone sue me)

→ warnings/tags: blood, firearms used quite a bit, same with knives, explosions, death, kissing, general betrayal, this is the finale so there’s that, Lambo is spic and span and ready to roll, Jimin drank all the milk

→ a/n: Thank you for being so patient. Thank you for joining the ride. I look forward to hearing your thoughts! Please look for my note at the end of the chapter, there’s some important information there!

Past

On the morning of April 14th, 2018, it snowed. “A light dusting” the newscasters called it, covered head to toe in mittens and beanies. “Unusual” and “unprecedented” they repeated on every channel, showing the thin layer of snow covering Queen’s Wharf.

It struck you as poignant then, as you walked out into the dawn with blood spattered on your dress, that it was snowing. Little white snowflakes clung to your red gown, as if they could cleanse you of your wrongs. Walking into the silent street, you stopped for a moment as the cold nipped at your heels.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Yadiel hadn’t gone quietly, although he was much more subdued than you’d expected. Perhaps the dress really was a good choice, after all. The man always did have a strange obsession with the color red.

It’s difficult to repress a shudder as you think back on the way his eyes roved your body, how his breath felt against the back of your neck as he followed close behind you.

He saw the gun. You know that there’s no way he didn’t – not with a dress this tight. It’s the fact that he didn’t say anything about it that makes you worry, even now. Even when you left him bleeding out on the floor of his own home.

Smoothing the fabric down, you flip a long coat around your shoulders as a cab meanders by. Right on time. You step up to the curb as they roll down the passenger side window. It’s an older man, with kind eyes. He looks worried as he surveys you in your dress that probably offers little to no warmth.

“It’s chilly out,” he says, voice raspy from exhaustion. No doubt he’s coming off of the night shift. “Where ya headed?”

He doesn’t ask much more, knowing that this place is crawling with gang members. Few people come to the cul-de-sac on the east side of Queen’s Wharf for anything beyond what duty requires.

“Drop me off at 312?” The cabbie gestures for you to hop in the back, which you do so quickly. The heater is on full blast, instantly soothing the ache in your chest.

           “312 it is,” the cabbie says, instantly heading off toward the south. It’s a well-known location, a club only a block away from your dingy apartment. Anyone who steps foot inside Queen’s Wharf has either heard of it or smelled it.

           You stare out the window as the cul-de-sac turns into apartment buildings. Shock begins to settle into your bones once the 312 comes into view, and it’s a struggle to keep your hands from shaking as you finagle a wad of cash from your garter where your gun is safely tucked away.

           “Keep the change,” you blurt out before throwing the door open. A rush of cold wind takes your breath away, and you pull the coat a little tighter around your frame as you watch the cab drive off. Once he’s around the corner and out of sight, you cross the street and head up the block.

           Clubbers are wandering about in a daze, a few very clearly drugged while a couple more puke up last night’s drinks. The smell jolts you a bit, the alcohol burning your nostrils and replacing the smell of Yadiel’s aftershave that spilled on the carpet after you stumbled back from his dying body.

           Up ahead, a little green door opens up, revealing a familiar face.

           “What did you do?”

           Quickening your steps, you push past Taehyung and into your apartment. “Close the door, before you let the cold in.” He does so immediately, but you know it’s because he’s more worried about people overhearing your conversation than running up the heating bill.

           Inside, Jungkook snores on the discolored brown couch. His mouth is slightly ajar, hair ruffled with his arms wrapped around his middle. It’s an endearing sight, one that you’ve grown used to seeing as you’ve been coming home later and later.

           “What did you-” Taehyung starts again, but you hold up a finger and motion for him to follow you. Heading into your room, you close the door behind him. Taehyung looks exasperated, not caring whether or not your conversation woke up Jungkook.

           “I paid Yadiel a visit.”

           Blinking, Taehyung looks you up and down. The action sends an unwanted thrill through your body, and you can’t help but lift your head a little higher when Taehyung’s breath catches as you unzip your coat and move to hang it up.

           “Did he attack you?” He asks, eyeing the little drops of deep scarlet littering the front of your dress. “Whose blood is that?”

           “Tae, when do I ever come back not covered in blood?”

           He snorts, nodding along. “Ok, true enough. But what happened?”

           Taking a deep breath, you steel up all of the nerve you can manage. Despite the messy black hair and the pajama set Taehyung is wearing, he’s still intimidating like this. You still aren’t quite used to the possessive way he looks at you sometimes.

           “He’s had this coming for a long time.”

           Something shutters in Taehyung’s expression, screaming distrust. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

           “Yadiel was using me to get to my father. Stupid, if you ask me, my father couldn’t care less if I were dead or alive.”

           Again, there’s a slight change in Taehyung’s face. “Was?”

           Holding your breath, you stalk up to him and turn, pulling your hair to one side. The red gown clings to your body, feeling as real as the boy at your back. A part of you feels as if it was a witness to your crime last night, and now you’re two steps away from clawing it off of you. The need to get rid of Yadiel’s blood echoes in your mind, and you roll your neck, ridding yourself of those thoughts.

           “Unzip me?”

           Seconds pass, stacking on top of each other until it’s a towering pile of tension that’s threatening to crush you. You’re about to look back over your shoulder to see what the hold-up is, but then you feel Taehyung’s surprisingly cold hands on the nape of your neck.

           They ghost over your skin, feather-light and frozen. He hesitates, holding his hands there as if trying to decide whether he should kill you with those hands or do as you asked.

           It’s always been this way with Taehyung. You’ve seen the way he looks at you sometimes, with such unwavering intensity that the only words that come to mind are crime of passion.

           The zipper whispers to you as he slowly runs it down your gown. It isn’t until you feel his breath along your neck that you realize how close he’s gotten. The zipper reaches the bottom, but neither of you move. You remain paralyzed, forever stuck in this moment as Taehyung releases a shaky exhale.

           “I killed him.”

           Taehyung’s slow inhale is dizzying when you realize he’s breathing in the lingering perfume along your nape. “Hmm?” He hums out, clearly in a daze.

           “…Yadiel,” his name makes your tongue feel leaden. “I killed him.”

           The confession is barely a whisper, but it’s enough. Taehyung jerks away in an instant, eyes wild as he turns you around to face him. “You what?” He shouts.

           Wincing, you shake your head. “I had to, Tae. You knew that as well as anyone. I can’t keep living like this-”

           “Don’t call me that,” Taehyung hisses, pointing an accusing finger at you. “And don’t lie to me. We’re screwed now!”

           You’re so focused on what’s right in front of you that you hardly notice the figure in the doorway. “So you’d rather I die as a pawn? Is that what you’re saying? What do you care, anyway? You never had to deal with him! You don’t understand what kind of – of monster he is!”

           Stepping forward, Taehyung fumes as he stares down at you. “You murdered the best chance we had at getting out of this hellhole. You did this to us.”

           “This hellhole is a temporary solution for only two more weeks,” you spit back, glorying in the surprise in his eyes. “While you’ve been complaining, I’ve been planning. Pack your bags, Kim. We’re moving.”

           Taehyung rolls his eyes, not believing a single word out of your mouth. “You’ve been saying the same thing for years. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

           With that, he strides from the room, nearly colliding with a bleary-eyed Jungkook. Seconds later, the front door slams shut, leaving the two of you in the silence.

           “You…” Jungkook stares at you, shaking his head as if to clear it. “Yadiel…” Then, he tilts his head to the side, fighting an amused smile. “Your dress is a little, uh…open.”

           Jumping, you rush over to grab some sweats and a shirt, closing the door on Jungkook’s grinning face. Once you’re fully clothed again, you open the door to see him still standing there, much more solemn.

           “He’s gone?”

           You nod once, stomach knotting. “He’s gone.” Silence falls, before you recall what Taehyung shouted. “Do you think we won’t make it without him?”

           Jungkook’s response is immediate as he pushes off the wall, leading you into the bathroom where he runs the faucet for you to wash your hands. To rid yourself of Yadiel.

           “We’ll figure it out,” he quietly reassures, watching your trembling hands as you lather on more soap than necessary. Leaning forward, you look up to see Jungkook in the mirror as he places a soft kiss atop your head. It’s chaste and sweet, so stark in the face of what you’ve done in the past few hours.

           You wash your hands over and over. Jungkook doesn’t say anything for a long while before softly suggesting that you take a hot shower.

           “For the record,” Jungkook adds, lingering in the hall before you close the door. “I’m glad he’s gone. And I…” He looks at you then, looking much older in the blink of an eye. “I think you were very brave.”

           The words are meant to be a comfort, but they send a fissure through your heart all the same. Jungkook always sees the good in you – the bravery where all you see is cowardice. Not trusting yourself to speak, you simply nod before closing the door.

           The shower runs cold after fifteen minutes, but you stay until your teeth are chattering so hard that it’s starting to give you a headache. Under the water, you can pretend to drown all your worries.

           The act falls apart four years later.

--

Present

           “Look,” Jungkook whispers, leaning forward until his nose is practically smashed against the windshield of the SUV. “Looks like the changing of the guard.”

           In the back seat, Namjoon looks up from where he’s been playing a game on his phone, squinting into the darkness. On the far edge of the cul-de-sac, Yadiel’s home is a glistening gem of activity. Black silhouettes barely stand out against the navy sky, but your trained eyes immediately pick them out on the roof like a hawk from an oak.

           “Time?” You ask, not daring to look away for a mere second. Jungkook flips open the small notebook he brought with him. He’s always been funny like that, refusing to use his phone for storing any important information. A piece of paper is easy to burn, he’d say, but the internet is infinite.

           That, of course, was usually preceded by a long rant about Mark Zuckerberg, but you push that aside for the moment.

           “9:33.”

           “And the last one?”

           “9:01.”

           Pursing your lips, you nod. “32 minute increments?”

           Namjoon pipes up, keeping his voice low despite the safety of the SUV. “What if he changes it depending on if it’s night or morning?”

           “What do you mean?”

           He shrugs, returning to his game now that the excitement has faded. “Like, 60 minute intervals in the morning, forty-five minutes in the afternoon, and thirty at night.”

           Jungkook exchanges a look with you, weighing the likelihood of Namjoon’s theory. “I remember Yadiel saying something about keeping guard routes random. That could go hand in hand with schedules.” He pauses, a light coming into his eyes. “What was it like the night you…”

           “Thought I killed him?”

           Wincing, Jungkook nods. Namjoon makes an interested noise, still not looking up from his phone as he speaks. “Oh, that’s right. I haven’t heard about that night yet.”

           Watching the guards who have stilled on the roof, you sigh. The memories of that night are drudged up in your memory far too often; nightmares bringing them back to life for your own personal torment again and again.

           “I went in at half past four,” you finally say, steeling your voice. Sitting here, across from the place that’s haunted you for years, brings the memory to life in new and terrifying ways. “His security wasn’t what it is now, back then.”

           Jungkook nods, remembering it for himself. He’d paid several visits to Yadiel’s home in the past – none of them willingly.

           “So you just walked right in?” Namjoon asks. He pauses his game now, setting it face up on the seat. You catch sight of the screen. Anagrams.

           Your head is already nodding before you answer. “Yadiel called me in. I…set a few things up, before. Things that I knew he’d want me there for.”

           “What kind of things?”

           “News, from my father. Plans that Yadiel would want me to be aware of. My father was moving precious cargo that night, and Yadiel never missed a chance to send me after him.”

           Namjoon’s brows furrow. “Why?”

           You meet his eyes in the mirror, pleased to see the bond that the two of you have forged in the past 24 hours still burns bright there. “He figured I was his ticket to the top,” you shrug, still not understanding Yadiel’s logic. “Strange, because he knew that I meant nothing to my father. But the connection was still there, I suppose.”

           “Ok ok, so you walked in…and what happened next?” Namjoon moves the story along, bringing a smile to your face at his impatience.

           “I worked my magic,” you drawl, sending him a sloppy wink. It’s met with a collective groan from both boys, making your smile grow. “Hey! I can be sexy when I want to!”

           Jungkook shakes his head furiously, head falling into his hands. “Nope. No. We’re not having this conversation again.”

           Namjoon barks a laugh. “Again?”

           Trailing your finger under Jungkook’s chin, you tip his face up until his wide eyes meet you. “You really think you’re in a position to dispute my abilities?” Pink rushes his cheeks, and he slowly shakes his head as a memory swims in his vision. “That’s what I thought.”

           Guffawing now, Namjoon points between the two of you. “That’s a lot to unpack, and I-” he wipes at the corner of his eyes mockingly. “Don’t have the attention span for it. Hurry up.”

           “It was fairly simple, which should’ve been my first worry,” you admit. “I kept him distracted. He’s always had a weird obsession with the color red, you know? So I wore a red dress and talked to him.”

           “Just talked?” Namjoon asks.

           “That’s all. Talked about the past, about what I was worried about with my training, and then I asked him if he’d ever let me go.”

           Jungkook stills in the passenger seat. You’ve rarely given this much insight into your ordeal with Yadiel that night, but he knows well enough what Yadiel would’ve answered. “He refused, I assume.”

           Jaw clenched, you survey the house once more. It seems utterly calm there, sending warning bells ringing through your head. Your hand fiddles with the gear shift, wondering if it might be in your best interest to clear out for a while.

           “Sort of.” Another car has pulled onto the street, the sleek red appearing as fluid as blood as it moves silently down the road. “He said he would, but I’d have to kill you, first.”

           “Kill me?” Jungkook chokes out. “Why me?”

           Why Jungkook? You’d asked a similar question that night, appalled at the thought of killing your closest friend for a shot at freedom. You weren’t foolish – you knew what that would mean. Leaving one prison cell for a new one, riddled with guilt and regret.

           The car pulls up alongside the house, striking you as odd. It doesn’t pull through the gates, as if dropping someone off. Sure enough, the driver’s side opens and a figure that you still see in your nightmares stalks to the other side.

           “It’s him,” Jungkook whispers, mouth agape. His eyes follow Yadiel as he opens the passenger side door, and a woman steps out.

           She’s blindingly beautiful, you note. Wearing a skin-tight red dress that looks all too similar to the one you wore the night Yadiel was shot. She offers him a warm smile before he leans in for a chaste kiss on the cheek. Her long hair sways as she turns, moving with the kind of elegance you wish you could capture.

           Guards step aside, opening the gates for her to enter. Yadiel gets back in the car, waiting. You turn to look at Jungkook, eyebrows furrowing, but something else catches your eye.

           Namjoon, sitting there looking like he’s been stabbed through the heart.

           “Victoria,” he whispers. Twice, as if making sure he can still say it. “Victoria.” As if the name itself might float away if he doesn’t say it again.

           From the look in his eyes, you worry that he might leap out of the car and chase after her, completely blowing your cover. But he doesn’t move. Namjoon remains completely still as his cloudy eyes remain glued to the spot where she disappeared from view. The gate, now locked and secured, posing as a closed door to the outpouring of memories that threaten to take him down.

           “…who?” Jungkook asks gently. “You know her?”

           “The woman in red,” you mumble. “Remember her, Jungkook? She’s the one that planted Yadiel’s message at the café a couple of weeks ago.” You recall seeing her striding out of the café in a red pantsuit; each step laced with power.

           “You’ve seen her before this?” Namjoon asks, eyes unable to tear away from where Victoria just disappeared.

           “You know her?” Jungkook counters, craning his neck in a way that looks painful, trying to catch Namjoon’s eye. “Old flame?” He asks, biting back a grin.

           Namjoon’s gaze snaps to Jungkook, trouble flashing in those eyes of his. “Try the girl I thought I’d marry someday until Yadiel stole her out from under me.”

           It’s your turn to crane your neck, eyes wide. “What?”

           “You’ve never seemed like the type to settle down,” Jungkook muses, completely unphased.

           “Yeah, well,” Namjoon’s jaw ticks with a hint of annoyance, “you’ve always struck me as the type to marry the first girl that gave you an ounce of attention, so there’s that I guess.”

           “Ouch,” you hiss, dodging Jungkook’s wounded stare. “Play nice.”

           Yadiel has begun driving again, turning down a darkened street at a leisurely pace. You watch the lights fading, mind churning before you decide to bite the bullet.

           “Namjoon,” you’ve already put the car into drive, but you hold the brake. “I’m dropping you here. Keep your distance, glean whatever information you can about this place.”

           Namjoon has one foot out of the car, face set in stony determination. “Meet back in an hour?”

           You nod. “Don’t approach her.” Meeting his eyes in the rear-view mirror, clench your jaw. “That’s an order.”

           He doesn’t respond, simply stepping out of the car without a backward glance. Not wanting to waste time, you leave him to disappear into the shadows as you begin to trail Yadiel.

           The car feels smaller without Namjoon’s hulking presence in the back, leaving only Jungkook for company. You see him fiddling with his seatbelt out of the corner of your eye, clearly feeling the pressure just like you.

           “There,” you mutter once you catch sight of Yadiel’s car up ahead. It’s simultaneously a relief and a worry to have caught up to him so easily.

           “Probably a trap,” Jungkook replies, matching your low tone. You say nothing; only grunting in agreement.

           The streets steadily deteriorate as you keep a safe distance behind Yadiel. Golden streetlamps turn to seedy neon lights the closer you get to Queen’s Wharf; each block tying another knot in the pit of your stomach.

           At last, Yadiel pulls in front of a crumbling motel called River Run. You watch as he strides inside with his head tucked low, whistling a lilting tune that sends shivers down your spine. It’s a tune he often picked up while you were staking out a job. There’s a moment of stilted silence as both you and Jungkook fight out of the memories that threaten to overcome you; Jungkook breaking out of it first.

           “I’ll head in first,” he says, already unbuckling his seatbelt. You stiffen, hand jolting out to stop him.

           You push on his chest until he’s leaning back in his chair, eyeing you warily. Beneath your fingertips his heart beats wildly; a testament to his fear at seeing Yadiel again.

           “No,” you finally manage, tearing past your blind fear. “I’ll go. You stay here and call Jimin-”

           Jungkook’s hand rests on yours, feeling his own heartbeat. When he speaks, his eyes are kind despite his cold voice. “Just because I’m afraid doesn’t mean I can’t do this. Besides, we need to stick to the plan.”

           You blink. “…Jungkook.” You can’t bring yourself to care about the plan - carefully crafted last night in the wee hours of the morning - when you just saw Yadiel mere feet away.

           “Let me…” he shakes his heads, gently pulling your hand away and setting it back on your lap. “You’re the only person who thinks I break so easily, you know that?”

           Your throat constricts before you can choke out an appropriate response to that, but by the time you open your mouth, Jungkook is already walking down the street.

           “That little…” you shake your head before pulling up a number on your phone that you’ve rarely used before. The phone rings twice through the car speakers before a familiar voice answers; sounding breathless.

           “Hey, how’s it going?”

           Despite all that’s happened between you and the blond in such a short amount of time, you can’t help but grin at the way he tries to keep his tone nonchalant.

           “Jimin.”

           “Huh – yeah?” A stifled groan has you wondering who elbowed him. Most likely Hoseok. “Yes? Is everything alright?” Jimin says, sounding much more professional.

           “Fine, I think. You’ve got eyes on our location?”

            “Yes. Namjoon texted me saying that you and him split away from Jungkook. He’s trailing someone at the River Run?”

           “That’s right. Yadiel stopped in; Jungkook went in to take a look. I’ll be in shortly as backup once we’re finished here.”

A pause, one filled with pointed stares and mimed messages on the other side of the phone, you’re sure. Then, the sound of movement. A door opens and closes, and it’s suddenly quieter than before. “I’m alone now,” Jimin mutters. “Yoongi and Seokjin have eyes on the traitor.”

           You let out a long breath, eyes slipping shut against your better judgement. A headache pulses behind your eyes, and you roll your neck in one slow motion. “How’s he doing?”

           “He’s…a little agitated, but nothing too out of the ordinary. Claims that he hates being cooped up while you’re out having all the fun.”

          Stalking your psychotic mentor into a trap isn’t your idea of fun, but you suppose Taehyung has a twisted sense of humor. “I’m sorry to make you all hang back,” you say, and you mean it. “Too many of us would draw attention – that doesn’t mean I don’t trust you-”

           “You don’t have to worry about me,” Jimin cuts you off, and you can hear the rueful smile in his voice. “I understand.”

           Now is not the time for you to dive into a much needed conversation with Jimin – the one you pulled in so close only to turn your back on once things became too hard – so you settle with a curt, “Thanks. Keep an eye on me? I’m heading in.”

           “Copy that, boss. Stay safe.”

           The call ends, and you attach a small earpiece to the inside of your ear. It crackles to life, Jimin’s soft voice slipping through. “Looks like Kook’s on the second floor. Southeastern corner.”

You make a noise of acknowledgement before flipping your hood up and hopping out of the car. You check your reflection in the window, hoping to look like a moody young woman on the run and not a wanted criminal.

           The interior of River Run is nothing more than a laughable attempt at luxury. The supposedly marble countertop at the front desk is peeling, revealing the 70’s style wood beneath. Light fixtures range from a bottle green chandelier to a bald light above the front desk, which acts as a spotlight for the gum-chewing receptionist who eyes you with a look of disdain the second you walk inside.

           “Busy night,” she drawls, “we’re going to be out of rooms at this rate.”

           You hardly restrain your annoyed expression. “Good thing I already have a room.”

           Her gum pops and snaps. “Is that right? I don’t remember seeing you.”

           “My boyfriend’s the one that got the room,” you keep walking, heading for the stairs when the receptionist makes a delighted noise.

           “Oh, that guy? I would tell you to use protection but with a man like that, it might be nice to keep him around.”

           You blush down to your toes, and then feel your stomach turn as you wonder who she’s referring to: Jungkook or Yadiel. Either way, you push the door open to the stairs and call over your shoulder, “We’ll try to keep it down, but no promises!”

           Her cackle follows you into the stairwell, and you find that it’s contagious as your own chuckle pushes past your lips. Shaking your head, you ascend the steps. Soon you’re passing the second-floor landing, pushing on to the third floor.

           “Entering third floor,” you whisper.

           “Careful,” Jimin whispers back. Biting back the urge to respond sarcastically, you push the door open. It appears clear of any activity, although as you pass the first room you hear a few noises that remind you that not all of the occupants are asleep as of yet.

           “Southeastern corner…” you mutter to yourself, heading back toward the final room at the end of the hallway. A light flickers as you pass it, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Glancing back over your shoulder, there’s nobody there.

           There’s no windows in the hallway, leaving little choice but to break into room 307. Knocking lightly, you clear your throat. “An extra pillow for room 307?”

           A muffled response is all you receive, so you call out again, “Sir? Extra pillow for-”

           The door is all but ripped open, revealing a man with a very large mustache and a seething stare. “I said I didn’t ask for-”

           You move quickly, pushing the door open just enough to jam your elbow into his windpipe. The man slumps, clutching his throat while you hit him square in the temple. He wavers, staggering back while you step inside the room. A quick scan of the area shows that he’s alone; a tender mercy.

           “In the bathroom,” you haul the man to his feet, wheezing as he shifts his dead weight onto you. “Take a nice, long shower. How about that?”

           He grunts, attempting to say something scathing but only rasping out a jumble of incoherent syllables. Thankfully, he doesn’t put up much of a fight. Whether from your blows or from the alcohol that reeks of, you’re not sure. Once he’s stumbled into the bathroom, you take a bed sheet that smells of something rancid and tie one end to the bathroom door and the other to the room door.

           “…everything good?” Comes Jimin’s voice, startling you.

           “Good,” you say, holding a hand over your heart as it pounds. “Just buying myself some time before he figures out a way to get out.” A voice from beyond Jimin filters into your earpiece, and Jimin’s light laugh is tinged with concern. “Who else is with you?” You question, nearing the window. The last thing you need is for Taehyung to realize that you’re not with Namjoon but actually here, a mere level above Yadiel.

           “Just Seokjin. He came out to check on you.”

           Rolling your eyes as you open the window, you assess the descent warily. “Tell him to mind his own business.”

           Jimin begins to relay the message, but Seokjin’s voice, clearer now, cuts him off. “You are my business, sweetheart.”

          Your choked laugh seems to bounce off the brick wall right next to River Run, so close that you could reach out and brush it with your fingers. Clapping a hand over your mouth as if you could catch the sound before it left, you brace yourself for what’s about to come next.

           “Heading down now.” You’re met with silence, a testament to the stress coursing through everyone’s veins.

           A deceivingly thin rope is what you have to put all your faith in as you slowly begin the descent. Your heart ratchets up into your throat as you lower yourself down next to the windowsill of Yadiel’s room. The window is cracked open just an inch or so, allowing you to hear the gruff voices within.

           “Look at you,” Yadiel is saying, sounding for all the world like an old baseball coach, “you’ve grown up quite nicely.”

           Bracing both hands on the far corner of the windowsill, you dare to peek through the crack in the curtains.

           Jungkook stands near the door, hands in his pockets in a show of nonchalance. His eyes are trained on Yadiel, who sits on the foot of the bed.

           The mere sight of him knocks the air from your lungs.

           “Although, I will say that I never expected this from you,” Yadiel continues. He fiddles with a gleaming watch, slowly taking it off and laying it lovingly on the bed beside him. “I thought you loved our little Bianchi darling.”

           Our. The word hits you just as it hits Jungkook, who can’t quite school his features before slipping back into something between wariness and anticipation.

           “I do.”

           “And? I doubt she’ll take kindly to this visit, then.”

           “I don’t expect forgiveness, Yadiel.”

           “What are you expecting, Jungkook?” Rising from the bed, Yadiel begins to push up the sleeves of his white button-down, revealing a slew of tattoos against his tanned skin.

           Jungkook’s eyes remain on Yadiel’s. “Her safety.”

           “Her safety,” he echoes, frowning. He’s completely rolling his sleeves up, now turning his attention back to Jungkook. “I taught you better than that. What of your own?”

           “Her safety, her freedom, far away from you,” Jungkook drags his eyes over Yadiel’s tall form with disgust. “Those are my conditions. In return, do what you will with the estate.”

           Yadiel seems to be holding his breath. “And you?”

           “Am I to assume that I’m still of use to you?” Jungkook’s chin rises a bit in defiance.

           “Oh Jungkook,” he smiles softly. “I’m resourceful. So yes, I believe I could find a use for you.”

Yadiel pauses in his seemingly endless movements, pausing with his head cocked to the side as if listening to the devil that’s taken up permanent residency on his shoulder. “I wonder…” he mutters before stepping forward and grabbing Jungkook’s arm.

           He doesn’t resist as Yadiel shoves his sleeve up, yanking his arm until it’s extended. Yadiel examines Jungkook’s tattoos before settling upon one in particular. Smiling wide, Yadiel taps the tattoo of a red eye – the twin to his own just below his elbow.

           You bite back a gasp, mind reeling as you wonder how you never noticed the matching tattoos. The implications of such a mark conjure up a million different scenarios – all of them horrific.

           “A price for everything,” Yadiel muses aloud, still gazing at the twin markings. “So you do remember some of the things I taught you.”

           “A few,” Jungkook grinds out, finally taking his arm out of Yadiel’s grasp. “Do we have a deal?”

           Yadiel grins, the very action screaming distrust, before extending a hand for Jungkook to shake. “I believe we do.”

--

           Everything aches. Your tailbone, your thighs, and your right shoulder which remains jammed up against the River Run’s crumbling exterior as you listen to Jungkook luring Yadiel into a trap.

           You have to give him credit; Jungkook hasn’t tried to throttle him once.

           Step by step, the trap is set. The location agreed upon; Jungkook lightly insisting for the church in Queen’s Wharf. The bait is dangled above Yadiel like a carrot before a horse; another mafia to add to his list of conquering and an opening to move in on bigger, more notorious mafia families.

           Nearly an hour later, you jerk out of the daze you found yourself in when you realize that Jungkook is saying his farewell.

           “I’ll see you soon, then,” he mutters, door opening. You remain pressed up against the wall, refusing to risk looking into the room for fear of blowing your cover.

           Yadiel’s footsteps are light as he follows Jungkook to the door. “Thanks for dropping in. Oh, and one more thing-”

           Craning to listen to the quiet words, you freeze as your feel a tremor in your rope.

           A matter of two seconds is all the time you have to brace your legs against the opposite wall, pressing your back into the rough brick with a wince. Grappling for your gun, you point it up toward the open window on the third floor.

           It would appear that the mustache-clad man wasn’t as drunk as you thought. That, or he managed a lot of sobering up during he time in the bathroom. He sticks his head out the window, your rope in hand and mouth open with an insult surely waiting on his tongue.

           Whatever he was about to yell down is caught in his throat at you aim your gun at him. His face pales, and he throws the end of your rope down to you before disappearing back inside his room, window slamming shut.

           You curse as quietly as possible, legs already beginning to shake with the exertion. Back screaming and lungs heaving as your bruised ribs remind you of yesterday’s excursions, you struggle to steady your breathing.

           Inside Yadiel’s room, the door snicks shut. Ears ringing as you try to listen for something – anything – you splay your hands against the wall at your back.

           Jimin’s voice crackles to life in your ear. “Everything alright?”

           You’re frozen, not daring to make a sound as you stare at Yadiel’s window. The thought of him lurking just inside and you dangling here like his next meal is enough to have you shaking in equal parts strain and terror.

           “No, she’s still here Seokjin. Because I can still hear her breathing, that’s why. Why would I-”

           Aggressively rubbing your ear against your shoulder, you pop the earpiece out. The second you do, the world seems to press in around you. A faint clatter from below seals the death of your earpiece, making you wince in guilt. Still, you can’t think when Jimin’s in your ear trying to explain your lack of a response to-

           A creak sounds and you watch in horror as Yadiel’s window slowly opens the rest of the way. Long, scarred fingers curl around the windowsill before the rest of a body leans out, like a snake emerging from its den.

           Yadiel looks different from the last time you saw him. More lithe, like cupping a puddle of water only for it to turn into a torrent in your hands. Something tells you that there’s been more changes than just the physical differences you see now as he angles himself away from you.

           If only you could melt into the shadows – you press your legs harder against the opposite building in an effort to do just that. Yadiel sighs longingly up at the moon, which is barely visible between the slivers of buildings.

           “Yes, he just left.”

           You hold your breath in a desperate attempt to preserve yourself, heartrate jolting as you study Yadiel’s razor-sharp jawline. Eyes scanning up, you almost cry with relief as you realize that Yadiel isn’t speaking to you.

           He fiddles with an AirPod in his left ear, listening intently before speaking once more. His voice is like a rosy grave, one that you can’t help but shy away from, further into the shadows.

           “Yes, sir.” A small chuckle, and despite not being able to see his face, you know exactly what kind of smile he’s wearing. “Fine. Si, signore.”

           Then, he’s ending the call. Tapping the AirPod with his fingers, and you feel your stomach churn as you notice the blood under his fingernails. Brown and caked, it’s a sight Yadiel rarely sported in exchange for his typical clean and composed self. Yet when he did, it was more as a warning than an oversight.

           Yadiel breathes in the night air for a moment longer, drinking in the evening while you hang precariously close to him, wreathed in shadows. You bite your lip as your right foot slides down a few inches, leaving your hands bleeding at you scramble for some sort of purchase.

           He doesn’t move at the sound, eyes still carefully angled away. As if you’re a ghost; one that doesn’t exist if he doesn’t acknowledge it. A shudder passes through your already trembling frame, wondering which of his mind games he’s up to now.

           A flicker of movement and you squeeze your eyes shut in preparation for the pain. Yet something cool drifts your way, and you open your eyes slowly.

           Yadiel has flicked open an ornately decorated fan and now waves it softly in front of his face. You gaze at it, drawn in by the deep blue and shimmering crimson; all drawn together by a neatly printed swan at its center.

           That swan digs into the cobwebs of your memory, jolting something out of you. A fan, this fan is one you’ve seen before. One you played with on your father’s knee at a young age.

           Back when your mother was still alive. Before you were old enough to understand the constant threat hanging over your head.

           Squinting and momentarily forgetting the ache in your trembling body, you look for the tell-tale sign: Bianchi scribbled in fine ink along the edge.

           “We must mark what is ours,” your father had said when you cried out in indignation as he marked the beautiful fan. “What we love most, we protect.”

           “It’s a fan,” you had responded, small voice annoyed. You watched as your father blew on the ink before passing the fan back to you. “It doesn’t need protection.”

           He smiled then, although it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Everything that is mine, I protect.”

           Yadiel continues to fan himself, taking up a merry tune you’ve never heard before. The sound of his whistling is as sharp as a blade itself, filling the quiet alleyway with too much noise. It makes you feel naked, as if he’ll discover you with the mere sound of his whistle.

           Yet, as you watch the fan your father bought you when you were no more than six years old, you realize two things.

           First, Yadiel already knows you’re here. Every word – every breath has always been a calculated move with him. This show of ignorance is yet another piece to the puzzle.

           And second…

           Yadiel must have retrieved this relic of your childhood when he paid your father a deadly visit not long ago.

           “It was sitting on his dresser.”

           You jolt at the sound of Yadiel’s soft voice, barely stopping yourself from careening down to the alley below. He still doesn’t look at you, keeping his face hidden even as he continues to speak.

           “I thought it seemed out of place…until I realized that after all these years, after your betrayal and vow to kill him off; he couldn’t quite let go of you.”

           A shuddering breath works through you, matching the way your knees shake from exertion. You won’t last much longer like this, that much is certain. Your body is giving in to the pain.

           “I’m not sure if that makes you a ghost or a god.” His scoff is low and dry. “Doesn’t matter. You’ll still be forgotten, before the end.”

           The fan snaps shut, and Yadiel tilts his head to the side, awaiting a response.

           Your response doesn’t come by way of words. It arrives in the form of aching ribs and sweat trickling into your eyes as the strain grows unbearable. You squeeze your eyes shut against the burning pain; the outline of the fan bright against your eyelids.

           Yadiel’s lie fills in the gaps in your vision. Forgotten? Hardly. After all these years, your father kept a piece of you close to him. Perhaps you are a ghost – were a ghost, to him.

           Dead, but not forgotten.

           It’s with that declaration ringing through your mind that Yadiel slips back inside, hardly making a sound. You catch sight of a long shallow cut along the side of his neck before he disappears from sight and the window gently closes and the lock slips into place.

           --

           Time slows to a drip; the minutes marked only by the sound of your hands and feet scraping along the brick. Inch by inch, you’re falling.

           Blood oozes from your ruined palms, and you press your head back against the brick as tears of frustration pour out. The night is quiet and still, only the occasionally passerby interrupting your silent struggle.

           Yadiel’s window has gone dark. Whether he’s left or he’s continuing to toy with you, you’re unsure. You’re not sure it matters anymore, either. Not when everything hurts and you keep replaying that ancient memory again and again.

           “Everything that is mine, I protect.”

           That statement, that blatant lie he told you stokes the raging inferno within. All you see is that fan, crimson detail jumping out at you like blood as a scream tears through you.

           You scream until the sound of it is bouncing off the buildings, carried through the night on a dark wind. Throat seizing and body slipping ever closer to the ground below, you scream. If this is how you end, so be it. Blood on your hands and betrayal in your heart seems a fitting end for the web of lies your life ended up being.

           At last, your body gives up.

           Skidding and sliding down the brick, you cradle your hands to your chest in agony as the flesh is torn open even more. Picking up speed, you let your eyes fall shut, bracing yourself for the impact. For the snap of bones and the long night ahead.

           The concrete rises up to meet you, but you don’t hear a snap. There’s no sickening crunch; only a muffled groan quickly followed by a staggering breath.

           “Look at me, Bianchi.”

           The commanding tone is efficient, sending your eyes flying open as you realize that you’re not nearly as broken as you thought you’d be.

           Perhaps that has something to do with Jeon Jungkook, flattened out like a pancake beneath you. Arms still outstretched, wrapped around you like a safety net.

           “Welcome back to the world of the living,” he coughs out, and you scramble off of him only to stop and hiss as your hands burn. “No rush. It’s just as awful here as you remember it.”

           Jungkook sits up slowly, wincing a little and rubbing the back of his head. You watch him like a hawk, mind reeling as you feel solid earth beneath you. “You…”

           “Caught you?” He cracks a smile. “Something like that.”

           “How?”

           His smile falters. “I heard you screaming.” His eyes are shaky, as if your screams were still echoing through his mind. “What happened to your rope?”

           Everything that happened over the past thirty minutes seems like an enormous weight, so you settle for, “Compromised.”

           Slowly climbing up to his feet, Jungkook frowns as he notices the state of your hands. “Did Yadiel…?”

           “It wasn’t him. Some drunk guy a floor up.”

           Jungkook nods, grabbing your forearm and helping you up. You sway on your feet, legs utterly useless. He doesn’t hesitate to turn around, scooping you up into a piggy-back.

           “Did Yadiel see you?”

           “…not exactly.”

           The two of you fall silent as Jungkook trudges back to the car. You note that Yadiel’s car is still here, making you stiffen.

           Jungkook sets you down, letting you rest against the hood while he opens the door. Getting in without leaving bloody handprints everywhere proves difficult; so much so that Jungkook takes things into his own hands.

           “Here,” he pulls his black shirt over his head, revealing a toned chest that instantly sends a flush to your cheeks. “Wrap them up in this until we get you home.”

           “Uh,” you reply, staring so hard at the shirt that you hope it doesn’t start smoking, “the whole – you didn’t just wanna rip the bottom part -”

           Jungkook stares at you, arms crossing in front of his chest. You note with some reluctance that it’s a very nice chest; one that he’s clearly been working on since the last time he strolled around the house shirtless.

           “Like they do in the movies?” You finish lamely, staring back down at your hands. Blood still streams out of them, but it appears to be slowing down.

           A huff and Jungkook places the shirt gently on top of your hands, face dangerously close to yours. Your eyes flit to his, anger flaring up as you see the amusement in his.

           “I don’t do crop tops.”  

           The door closes, leaving you alone with your frenzied thoughts. “Uh-huh,” you mumble to yourself, watching as Jungkook rounds the car to hop in the driver’s side. Near-death experiences and shirtless men don’t mix well, apparently.

           You huff a strained chuckle, the pain in your ribs fading in lieu of everything else that aches. Who knew?

--

           Namjoon is waiting for you when Jungkook circles back to Yadiel’s neighborhood. You’re relieved to see him; even more relieved that he isn’t covered in blood.

           “How’d it go?” Jungkook asks by way of greeting as Namjoon hops into the back seat. Namjoon fiddles with his seat belt, annoyed at having to be in the back again.

           “Fine. Didn’t run into anyone really. Just lurked.”

           “Mm.”

           It’s quiet for a moment before Namjoon speaks again. “…what happened to you two?” He’s clearly looking you over, noting your disheveled state; the way your eyes appear blank and unfeeling.

           Jungkook glances your way while you carefully avoid his gaze. He sighs lightly, focusing on the road again. “We’ll report back to everyone. It’s…easier that way.”

           Normally, Namjoon would have called him out on that, but tonight, he knows something is off. It’s obvious from the way you sit, stiff-backed and silent.

           “I’ll let them know we’re on our way back,” Namjoon concedes, pulling out his phone. The sound of his phone click-clicking as he types out the message rattles around your brain, but you say nothing.

           Say nothing. Do nothing. Because the moment you open your mouth, the screams will return. The indisputable anger will claw its way up your throat and you’ll have no way of stopping it.

           You clench Jungkook’s shirt a little tighter, allowing the flash of pain to distract from the restlessness growing inside you.

           Amidst the quiet hum of the car, Jungkook speaks, his voice pitched low.

           “It’ll be over soon.”

--

           The debriefing is like walking a tightrope with one leg.

           Hard. It’s hard.  

           Together you weave a plausible story of what you discovered with Namjoon, all the while pretending you never saw Yadiel. That you were never within a mile of him.

           “Did you see anything else of interest?” Hoseok asks while Taehyung yawns next to him. Tonight, you’re all strewn about the kitchen. Jungkook remains close to your side, thankfully wearing a sweatshirt now. Seokjin had retrieved it for him not long after you walked through the door, tutting something under his breath about common decency.

           “Namjoon?” You ask pointedly, watching with a wary eye as Seokjin smothers your now clean hand in Neosporin.

           Namjoon doesn’t seem to appreciate what your indicating, but he gives up the knowledge for your sake. “I saw Victoria. An old…friend.”

           Yoongi’s eyebrows flick up from where he sits with his legs laid out on the chair in front of him. “I remember you mentioning her. She’s still with Yadiel?”

           “Did you approach her?” Hoseok follows up.

           Namjoon shakes his head. “No. I only observed her from a distance. And yes,” he responds to Yoongi. “It would appear so.”

           “Do you think she could be a chink in his armor?” Jimin pipes up. He’s bent over in front of the sink, blond hair bright against his yellow shirt. “Maybe if you could contact her…promise her a way out…”

           “That’s if she wants one,” Namjoon replies, a bite to his cold voice. “She chose him before, Jiminie. She’ll choose him again.”

           Jimin raises his hands, backing off. Wisely, he changes the subject. “Alright. So Jungkook’s set the trap and we’ve got a general layout of Yadiel’s estate. What else do we need?”

           Everyone looks to you, save for Seokjin, who is busy focusing on wrapping your hands with gauze now. You sigh, leaning back in your chair and watching him work.

           “We still have the element of surprise on our side,” you begin methodically, ticking off all the checkpoints in your head. “We know our location, the time, the day. So for now…” shrugging, you fight off a yawn. “It’s important that we keep an eye on things to make sure nothing changes. Yadiel doesn’t trust us; chances are he’ll try to find a way to switch things up on us. We’ll need to be prepared.”

           “Good enough for me,” Jungkook says. There’s a veil of exhaustion over his voice, one that instantly makes your eyes droop in response. “Anything else?”

           Everyone seems just as eager to get to bed, shaking their heads. One by one they get up, chair scraping and feet shuffling as they head off to their rooms. Seokjin lingers a moment, and you realize why when Taehyung comes your way.

           “Feeling alright?” He questions, eying your hands. “Sounds like a nasty fall. Can’t believe nobody saw you.”

           Right. You’d explained your injuries away by saying that you fell when scaling the wall on your way out of Yadiel’s estate. If Taehyung didn’t look too closely, it was believable enough.

           “Pretty lucky I guess,” you chuckle, flexing your fingers. It still stings; enough so that you know you’ll struggle gripping a gun for the next week or two. “I’m just glad that something went right, for once.”

           It’s as blatant a lie as they come, but you smile your way through it. Taehyung smiles right back, hand reaching to brush your hair back over your shoulder.

           “You know,” he muses, watching the way your hair falls, “having you out there tonight, sitting here worrying about you…it reminded me of old times.”

           Taehyung pulls up a chair, sitting between you and Seokjin. Meeting your eyes over Taehyung’s shoulder, Seokjin gives you a slow nod.

Just give me a signal.

Your eyes shift back to Taehyung. Leaning back in your chair, you summon as much nonchalance possible before shooting him a lazy smile. “Back when we lived off of a steady diet of spam and the day-old bread they sold on the corner of Pelican and 8th?”

Taehyung’s eyes widen in mock horror. “That was spam? Jungkook always told me it was ham!”

“Well, one could argue that it is.” You bring a glass to your lips, sipping lightly. “Partially.”

Seokjin laughs, and Taehyung cracks a smile. “Spam or not, it doesn’t matter now. We were happy, that’s all that matters.”

Happy. The word has never carried such weight as it does now as you stare at Taehyung, trying to place him in the upheaval of your life. You know that once the dust settles, there may no longer be space for him.

“Tae…”

Looking up, you find two pairs of dark eyes on you. Seokjin looks tense but he makes no move to intervene as you meet Taehyung’s gaze.

You could swim in those eyes. They glitter and shine with unspoken words and unshared plans. It’s difficult not to question him here and now. For now, you allow yourself one last dive into the memories locked there.

“Take a walk with me?”

--

Pine needles silence your steps as you walk alongside Taehyung. Above you, the moon can’t help but shine its light on him, illuminating his dark hair like some unholy halo.

Now that you’ve got him alone, the words have all dried up. The quiet of the night becomes your companion instead, acting to call your racing heart as Taehyung tucks his hands into his pockets and saunters along.

“Beautiful night,” he comments. His voice is quiet in the great expanse of the outdoors.

All you can manage is a nod before you scrape up some words. “Beats Queen’s Wharf, at least.”

“Anything beats Queen’s Wharf.”

You arch an eyebrow. “Oh? This coming from the man who was just waxing nostalgic about the good old days?”

Taehyung follows the curving path around the outskirts of the house. He didn’t question you when you claimed that you didn’t want to venture too far; and Seokjin looked a little less worried when he realized that he’d be able to have eyes on you at all times.

“The good old days,” Taehyung mimics, nudging you with his shoulder, “were good because there were fewer walls separating us. Not because of Queen’s Wharf.”

You study him, pausing. Taehyung stops as well, meeting your gaze. His collar ruffles in the wind while he waits through your analysis, making him appear like a very realistic sculpture.

“Be honest. Do you mean that?”

His eyes burn right through you. “Of course I do.”

           “That’s a lie and we both know it.”

Taehyung stills, and for once, you see something beneath those arrogant eyes that you’ve never seen before.

Panic.

           “How so?”

           “Because you always yelled at me for being too loud in the mornings.”

           His laugh is loud and boisterous as Taehyung turns on his heel, stepping away from you. “You still are!”

           It’s contagious. You laugh as well, stumbling after him. “I’m silent as a mouse.”

           “You’re about as quiet as a horde of mice riding in on a calvary of donkeys, capa,” Taehyung giggles, peeking over at you with a mischievous glint in his eye. It’s replaced the panic that was there moments ago.

           “No,” your side aches along with your ribs as you laugh. “That’s Jungkook.”

           “Is it?” He tilts his head to one side, studying you with an appraising eye. “How dare you throw Jungkook under the bus as soon as he’s not here to defend himself!”

           It’s his incredulous tone that keeps your laughing, and the way he’s looking at you that sends a dagger into your heart.

           You quicken your pace, gazing up at the stars in an effort to hide the tears that prick at your eyes. It hurts, being here with him. Like this. Laughing, wondering if he’ll look at you with those stars in his eyes when he twists the knife in your back.

           “Agree to disagree,” you finally mumble, shaking your head to rid yourself of the thought. Taehyung’s laughter subsides as he matches your pace. He walks close enough to nudge your shoulder with his own as he saunters along, the action achingly familiar.

           A million questions lie on the tip of your tongue. A piece of you refuses to believe that he could betray you. It thrashes and shakes at the very idea.

           You need to know. From his own lips. You need to know if your oldest friend has truly betrayed you.

           “Tae?”

           “Hmm?” He’s looking up at the stars, too. It makes him look infinitely younger. Like the boy you once met in Italy, giving you a false name. When he feels your gaze, his eyes fall to yours and he offers you a soft smile.

           “Do you feel like…” you pause, shoving your trembling hands into your pockets. “Like everything is ending, somehow?”

           It’s a question to hide the real question you’re dying to ask him. Do you know that we’ll never be the same now? Did you ever think of that when you went crawling to Yadiel?

          Taehyung’s eyebrows furrow as he considers your question. “In what way?”

           You push out a long breath. “I feel…” you breath catches as tears burn anew. He doesn’t speak, only staring at you with an intensity you’ve long since grown accustomed to. “You know that feeling, where you’re surrounded by people, but still alone?”

           The only response he conjures up is a stuttering nod, eyes catching on the way your throat bobs.

           “I’m alone,” you whisper, eyes falling.

           “You have Jungkook,” he immediately replies, voice strangled. “And everyone else in that house. Seokjin hasn’t taken his eyes off you this entire time, you know.” He waves half-heartedly at a shadow in an upstairs window, making you croak with a chuckle.

           It’s all the answer you need. Closing the curtains to your one-woman play, you nod, rising up on your tiptoes to plant a kiss on Taehyung’s cheek. His hands drift lightly to your waist as you linger for a moment too long, eyes squeezing shut as the confirmation sets in.

           I’m alone, you’d said.

           You have everyone, he’d replied. Everyone, but me.

           “Thanks, Tae,” you whisper, shrinking away. “I needed that.”

           His answering wink is the last thing you see before walking away. “Anything for you.”

           You don’t look back as you leave him, entering the house once more. Inside, Seokjin stands in the foyer with an air of concern about him.

           “How’d it go?” He asks, quiet voice like silk against your skin. You shrug, not feeling up to a heart-to-heart at the moment. Seokjin nods, stepping aside and gesturing down the hall. “How are your ribs fairing?”

           It’s easy to report the state of your body as if it were nothing more than a machine. Easy to lose yourself in the technical way Seokjin speaks about how you should take care of yourself. He twiddles his thumbs as you walk side by side down the hall toward his room. There’s a sudden urge to reach out and stop the nervous action, but you stop yourself when you remember that he’s already shut you down once before. No need for him to get the wrong idea.

           “I’m mainly sore and tired,” you conclude as Seokjin welcomes you into his rooms. He sweeps you into his adjoined bathroom, hardly allowing you much more than a cursory glance around. It’s clean and colorful, with a book on the bedside table with a familiar symbol.

           Seokjin closes the bathroom door behind you just as you voice your question with a crooked smile. “You like Zelda?”

           “What?” He chokes out.

           “That book, by the bed. Isn’t that the Triforce on the cover?”

           Seokjin’s answering smile is a sight for sore eyes. “Wait a minute, you’re a geek, too?”

           “Stitch me up, doc, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

--

           Taehyung stands in the garage, overlooking his car. An old shirt in one hand and a bit of polish in the other has proven to work wonders for the bright green Lamborghini. It shines like new under the lights, making him smile.

           His uncle had a car like this, once. It was a deep cherry red, the kind you see on covers of magazines and the like. It was so iconic, in fact, that the whole of Sicily knew exactly what was about to happen every time that cherry-colored Lamborghini rolled into town. Windows shuttered, doors locked, and children yanked out of the streets to be coddled in the supposed safety of their homes.

           Respect, his uncle had called it. He could still feel the ghost of his uncle’s hand in his hair, ruffling up the black locks with a proud smile. Without respect, our world would wither away.

But Taehyung knew what it really was.

           Blind fear can bring out an interesting side to people. A magnificent tool, when used in the right hands. Taehyung gazes down at his own hands, frowning at the calluses there. Heaven and hell know that he’s spent countless hours honing himself into the perfect tool. His hands certainly made Ortega sing when he was confronted with his own death.

           Respect, on the other hand, was the game his father played. It was what he laughed at when observing the mafia world on this continent – child’s play, he’d dubbed it. They carry no respect for each other, how can they expect us to stay away when they’re practically begging for a king to rule over them?

           “Looking pensive tonight.”

           Taehyung doesn’t move for fear of appearing caught unawares, so he simply smiles before applying a bit more polish to the ratty tee. “Evening, Hoseok.”

           “Polishing it up?” Hoseok stands atop the stairs to the garage with a perfectly balanced expression on his face. He nods at the Lambo, a smile playing at his lips. “Looks lovely.”

           Taehyung nods his thanks, crouching down to scrub at a particularly stubborn spot on a hubcap. “It was overdue for some pampering.” When Hoseok makes no move to respond, Taehyung sighs through his nose, collecting himself. “Did you need something?”

           He’s looking at Taehyung with the same uncertainty everyone’s been assessing him with lately. He knows it’s only a matter of time before the truth is revealed; he can only hope it’s revealed on his own terms. After all, Taehyung loathes it when things don’t go his way.

           “The Boss asked me to join up with you tomorrow. Just letting you know.”

           Taehyung’s eyebrows flick up in surprise. “Oh? We’re buddies tomorrow?”

           “Seems like it,” Hoseok beams, appearing genuinely happy at the prospect of being buddies for a day.

           “Odd.”

           “How so?”

           Shrugging, Taehyung rises to his feet again to inspect the hubcap. “I just assumed you’d be with Yoongi. You always are.” He glances at Hoseok, who hasn’t moved an inch this entire time. Taehyung would consider it unnatural if it weren’t for the man’s successful occupation as a hitman.

           As still as death, his mother would say. Yet, in Taehyung’s experience, death is often a writhing, thrashing affair.

           “Yoongi is with Namjoon.”

           Another note of surprise ticks Taehyung’s features. “And so capa is with…?”

           “I’m not sure, actually.”

           Hoseok doesn’t break eye contact; doesn’t even blink. His tone is steady and warm, a friendly smile still ghosting his lips. Yet there’s something hard beneath those eyes. Something like a challenge.

           Jung Hoseok is lying.

           “I see.” Taehyung smiles politely. “Thanks for letting me know, partner.”

           Finally, Hoseok moves. Back through the door, into the house. “See you tomorrow, buddy.” Taehyung nearly flinches at the word being thrown back at him. Just before the door closes, he notices the outline of a firearm in Hoseok’s back pocket. The sight only turns his smile feral.

           Tomorrow. Taehyung leans down, inspecting the hood of the car meticulously before slowly making his way around it. All the while, his mind is on tomorrow.

           It will all end.

           He knows what he needs to do. Knows the plan better than he knows himself. Yet there’s still a part of him – the part that you own – that hesitates.

           Closing his eyes, Taehyung conjures up an image of a gleaming crown. The one that his father will award him with once all is said and done.

           The Mafia King. The man whose power spans continents. Unstoppable, unbeatable.

           His eyes wrench open and he storms from the garage as the image of his uncle, bleeding out in the back seat of his cherry-red Lamborghini comes to life.

           Unlovable.

--

You didn’t ask Seokjin where he procured the drugs he slipped into your hands on the way out of his room earlier that evening. Now, perched on the edge of your bed and staring at the little orange bottle of Toradol in your hands, you can’t help but stifle a laugh.

Ernest Feeney is printed out on the label. To be taken orally once a day.

“That little snipe,” you whisper before popping the bottle open. Your body thrums with pain, begging relief. Tonight, it will arrive via the small pill that was originally intended for someone named Ernest.

Outside your door, a floorboard creaks. Nearly choking on the pill, your ears strain to hear who might be lurking in the hallway at this hour. Goosebumps cover your skin, and you shiver involuntarily as different scenarios invade your mind; each bloodier than the last. Ortega’s mangled crime scene that you discovered just yesterday morning plays out before you like a movie screen; so vivid that you’re tempted to swat it out of the air.

Another scuffle, this one closer to your door. Without thinking, you lurch to your bedside table, grappling for the gun hidden beneath the drawer. Within seconds the safety is off and you stand in front of your door with it aimed and ready.

One deep breath and then you’re ripping the door open. Teeth gritted and mind gloriously empty save for the weapon in your hands and the threat in the hallway, you squint into the darkness.

Jungkook’s hands are already up in the air, his eyes wide but calming as he waits for you to recognize him.

“Jungkook?” You breathe out, heart skipping up into your throat. “What are you doing creeping outside my room?” The words sound harsh, but they’re laced with delayed fear. Your arms lower, switching the safety back on before letting the gun hang loosely by your side.

“Just…uh…” his eyes linger on the gun before making their way back up to your face. “Checking on you.”

There’s a generic response on the tip of your tongue, but it slips away before you can verbalize it. Instead, you stay standing in your doorway, staring.

Jungkook’s hair is a mess from what you suspect has been a restless night spent tossing and turning in bed. His black hoodie is beginning to show the signs of wear and tear, basketball shorts kissing the tips of his knees and making him look simultaneously childlike and ancient in a single moment.

Finally, your eyes catch on his hands. His right one looks bloodied, reminding you of the state in which you found him only two days prior. Taehyung’s nearly broken nose and bruised jaw that came courtesy of Jungkook fill you with confused satisfaction.

“Come in.” You pause as you retreat back into your room. “Please.”

Jungkook hesitates for a moment, looking worried, before stepping in. He closes the door softly, leaning against it as you put your gun away. The feel of his eyes on you is as tangible as the gun in your hands, but you ignore it.

“Are you ok?” You find yourself asking, the tone of your voice not quite what you wanted it to be. It’s too hard, too cold. Almost annoyed.

“Are you?”

You deflect the question with a shrug and a poorly timed joke. “Better than Ortega.” Wincing, you shake your head. “I mean…I shouldn’t…” your head drops into your hands, hiding yourself from Jungkook as best as you can. “Sorry. I just can’t stop thinking about him.”

It’s a chink in your armor, and Jungkook notices immediately. He pushes off the door, coming closer until the bed dips beside you. He doesn’t touch you, and for some reason, it’s a relief.

“No, don’t apologize,” he mumbles. “Well, not to me, at least. Ortega’s ghost probably didn’t appreciate that, though.”

A weak chuckle works its way out of you. “The last thing I want right now is to be haunted to the ends of the earth.”

“Should’ve thought about that before using comedy as a shield, then, huh?” Jungkook nudges you lightly, enough to make you finally raise your head to look at him. He smiles demurely, pulling you out of your hiding place a little more.

“Thank you,” you whisper, nudging him back. “For catching me earlier.”

The light in his eyes shutters and he quickly looks away, red creeping up his neck. He opens his mouth just to close it again, at a loss.

“Jungkook?”

He lets out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “You know, after all these years, you think you know someone…” Running a tattooed hand through over his eyes, he takes a deep breath. “The last thing I expected to find tonight was you dangling from a building.

“You and me both.”

“And Yadiel…” Jungkook is looking at you – really looking at you. His doe-like eyes take in every detail of your face, ruffling through you as if you were a book on the shelf. He’s unguarded in this moment, every emotion playing out across his tired face. “He didn’t see you?”

How has so much happened in such a short amount of time? How long has it been since your father died? Two weeks? Sometimes it feel like two days, and other times, two years.

It’s all too much, too fast.

Perhaps that’s why you continue to step around Jungkook’s question like it’s a live explosive. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

You look away from him for fear of your lie playing across your face. Although, now that you think about it, it’s not truly a lie. Yadiel never looked at you.

He just toyed with your mind while your body was already on the verge of breaking.

           “How are you doing, though?” You ask, turning the spotlight back on him. “That can’t have been easy. Seeing him again.”

           Jungkook’s eyes shutter. “No, it wasn’t.”

           “…but?”

           Jungkook takes a deep breath, and you can see that he’s been preparing for this moment all night.

           “It was worth it,” he breathes the words out as if they’ve been trapped inside a crypt for centuries. Once they’re out, more tumble after them. “I meant every word I said to him. And I wish –”

“Jungkook-” you begin, instantly drowning in guilt, but the words turn to ash on your tongue. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I don’t need an excuse. And if you were to fall in love with anyone, I suppose Taehyung would’ve been the inevitable choice, but-”

“I’m not in love with Taehyung.”

Jungkook shakes his head, frustrated. “Call it what you want. Infatuation, lust, love – it all leads to the same ending!”

Your heartrate spikes once more at the hurt in Jungkook’s voice. “What are you even talking about? Same ending? As if I even have the time or energy to start something up with somebody – let alone look at someone like that!”

Rising to his feet in one smooth, swift action, Jungkook runs both hands through his hair, tugging at the roots. “That’s your problem!” He bounces on the balls of his feet, struggling to keep his voice down. “You’d rather hide behind responsibility than look at what’s right here in front of you! You run and run and never find what you’re looking for because you overlook it every time!”

You’re standing too, now. Pacing the room with clenched fists before stopping inches from Jungkook. “My problem is a little more serious than some elementary-school crush, Jungkook. People are dying, and you’re yelling at me for trying to be responsible?” The sound of your laugh scrapes against your ears, loud enough that the sound of footsteps ascending the stairs goes unnoticed.

Cold flames sprout in Jungkook’s eyes, jaw ticked as he glares down at you. “I’m not stopping you from doing your job, so quit gaslighting me.”

“Then what’s your motive, here?”

Jungkook sways, inching a little closer. You jump a little when you feel his warm hands at your back, holding you gently despite the anger in his eyes.

His eyes dip to your lips. “I’ve never had a motive,” he utters, voice low. “That’s the difference between him and I.”

You tense at his words just as he dips his head, nose bumping your own. Jungkook’s eyes remain on your lips, half-closed as he shakily inhales.

“You…” the words trail off, but Jungkook hears them loud and clear as his eyes flit up to yours with a sense of urgency.

You love me?

“It doesn’t matter,” Jungkook whispers. His eyes fall to your lips once more, and you wonder if he’s remembering that night from years before just like you are. “Because you clearly don’t.”

He hesitates, almost expecting a response. Then, Jungkook steps around you and marches toward the door. He rips it open to find a crowd waiting just outside, Jimin unabashedly waving while Yoongi has the good sense to at least try to blend in with the shadows. Down the hallway, Taehyung’s door is propped open just enough for the Italian to prop up against the doorframe with a grim expression.

You’re hit with the sudden urge to scream. Hands tightening into a fist, all you see is red as Taehyung’s eyes meet yours for a split second before they return to Jungkook’s retreating figure. Like a spider watching potential prey, Taehyung looms larger than life.

“Goodnight, Jungkook. Taehyung.”

Eyes immediately locked on yours, Taehyung furrows his brows just enough to show his dislike at being ordered around. “Something wrong, capa?”

You’re sure that there’s no way he doesn’t notice the way Jungkook stiffens at the title before he slips inside his room. “Yes. Go to bed.” Then, turning toward the staircase, “You as well.”

Jimin rolls his eyes but turns to leave. Yoongi, on the other hand, doesn’t budge. “We’d like to speak with you.”

“It’s two in the morning.”

“So you do know how to tell time,” Yoongi observes calmly.

Teeth gritting, you remind yourself that Yoongi serves you better alive and refrain from throttling him. “Are you really that incapable of passing a night alone?”

His smile itself could pass as a threat. “And here I was thinking that that was our little secret.”

The sound of Jimin choking on his own spit has even you breaking out into a grin. Striding out of your room with as much dignity as possible considering the fact that you’re still very much clad in Christmas-themed pajamas, you pause to whisper something under your breath that only Yoongi can hear.

“As soon as all of this is over, I’m killing you.”

Descending the stairs, Yoongi sighs as he trails after you. “Promises, promises.”

--

“How did it go?”

           Hoseok paces the length of the study while you sit across from Yoongi. Jimin lounges in the chair next to you, eyes closed. If it weren’t for the way he’s drumming his fingers against his legs, you’d think he was asleep.

           “Fine, if you feel alright manipulating Jungkook and Taehyung’s already-fraught relationship.”

           “No offense Bianchi,” Jimin croons, voice sleepy, “but their so-called friendship has already gone up in flames.”

           You can’t help but glare at Jimin, ignoring the way he sends a lazy wink your way. “Aren’t you supposed to be outside keeping watch?”

           Jimin groans but gets up nonetheless, shutting the door quietly behind him.

           Yoongi snorts, circling the rim of an empty glass on the desk. “As frustrating at this entire situation is, I feel the need to add that Jungkook did willingly volunteer to go into there and make a scene tonight. Considering his little…tiff he had the other night with Taehyung, it seemed only natural that he’d seek you out.”

           The plan supposedly went perfectly. Jungkook sought you out, acting the part of the scorned lover a little too well for your taste. Yet it was just another way to make sure Taehyung was feeling nice and secure. There’s no need for him to catch onto what you already knew. Especially now, on the eve of the end of your world as you know it.

           You keep your mouth shut as you recall Jungkook’s quiet confession tonight.

           That was most definitely not in the plan.

           “Our plan is fragile as it is,” Yoongi sighs, leaning back in his seat and running a hand over his eyes, “I can’t help but feel like we’re running behind. We needed to move yesterday; now we’re just making it up as we go.”

           “Great. That’s what I’ve been doing this entire time. And nobody’s died yet. Or…” you pause, frowning. “I guess Ortega has…and my father…”

           Hoseok smiles grimly, placing a firm hand on your shoulder. “Don’t think about it too much. You’ve done your best, and that’s all-”

           “All due respect, but we don’t need your best,” Yoongi interrupts, “we need you to get the job done. No matter the cost.”

           You gaze at him for a long moment, recalling your deal that was hatched earlier with Russo. A deal that might just seal Yoongi’s fate, which he happens to be blissfully ignorant of at the moment. “Right. Whatever it takes. So even if I kind of recruited some extra help from someone I know you won’t agree with…?”

           If he clenches his jaw any tighter, Yoongi might split a molar. “And who might that be?”

           Curse Namjoon and his absence at the moment. If only you could throw him under the bus right now, fleeing the scene before Yoongi could shoot you where you stand. Instead, he’s off getting his beauty sleep and shaking the walls with his loud, albeit impressive, snoring.

           “Maybe Russo?”

           Hoseok curses, but it’s lost in the clatter of Yoongi’s chair scraping along the floor before he launches into a string of violent Korean expletives, hands flying and face turning an unnatural red.

           “I have no idea what you’re saying,” you shout back at Yoongi, who still hasn’t subsided in his anger, “but if you keep yelling at me I might start crying because it’s been a long day and I hurt all over and I haven’t had sex in literal years because I’m constantly surrounded by the world’s moodiest men!”

           Your ribs ache and scream at you in protest as you heave a labored breath. Yoongi stops with his mouth still wide open, words cut off as he and Hoseok glance at each other in confusion. Hoseok shakes his head once, but Yoongi completely ignores him.

           “…like…” Yoongi’s breathing matches your own, and he’s flushed down to his collarbones. “How many years?”

           The breath you inhale to scream at him turns into a mangled chuckle as you shake your head. “I just dropped a Russo-sized bomb on you, and that’s the first thing you think to ask?”

           “It’s not every day that you drop a Russo-sized bomb on us and then follow it up with an update on your sex life!” Yoongi replies, annoyed.

           “And hey,” Hoseok nudges you, feigning offense, “we’re not all moody.”

           It’s your turn to blush down to your collarbones. “…right. What were we talking about?” The clock on the wall reads just after three, and you can feel the late hour down to your bones.

           “Russo.” Yoongi says the name like a bad omen. “What, exactly, did you two agree upon?”

           You cringe away from the look in Yoongi’s eyes. “Yadiel is a mutual problem-”

           “Russo will find a way to rob you of everything you’ve ever loved and call it a fair deal!” Yoongi retorts, back to his fury. “You should’ve come to me first!”

           “And what? Have my head bashed in with a bottle of Woodford Reserve?!”

           Mouth opening and closing like a fish, Yoongi appears too furious to form a proper response. Hoseok steps in, standing beside your chair like a bodyguard. “You and I both know that you’d never have to worry about that happening. He’d die before wasting a good bottle of whiskey.”

           Yoongi’s eyes flash, sending a jolt of electric fear through you. “Don’t worry. Those bottles don’t break easily.”

           “I understand that this sucks, Yoongi. But we need back-up. We simply don’t have the numbers or the brute force that Yadiel has at his disposal.”

           “Do you? Do you really understand?” Yoongi has grabbed his glass and looks tempted to fill it up.

           “What? Going behind someone’s back and partnering up with their sworn enemy?” You lean back in your chair, head pounding and vision blurring with exhaustion. “Yes. I do. Now are we done here?”

           “Absolutely n-”

           “Yes,” Hoseok interrupts, practically throwing you out of the chair. “For the sake of us all.. Go to sleep. Tomorrow is a big day.”

           Yoongi doesn’t look sold on the idea, but Hoseok shoots him a sharp look that has him rolling his eyes. “Very well. But look,” he points a finger in your direction. “I trusted you to do the right thing. If I so much as feel Russo looking at me wrong tomorrow…”

           “Kill me yourself, then.” You reply, exhaustion coloring your voice. Hoseok blanches, but Yoongi stares you down, weighing your words. When you don’t take them back, he nods solemnly.

           “Hoseok?” The hitman glances across to Yoongi, disbelief coloring his features. “Give us two minutes.”

           He looks like he might put up a fight, but you lay a hand on his arm, nodding. “Two minutes.”

           Hoseok doesn’t look remotely happy about it. Lowering his voice, he leans a little closer to Yoongi. “Do you understand what I’ll do to you if you lay a single finger on her?”

           “We’ve had this conversation a million times,” Yoongi says dismissively, although he struggles to meet Hoseok’s eyes. “Yes, I understand.”

           “And you,” Hoseok turns, glaring down at you. You widen your eyes, hoping to appear somewhat innocent. “The second you start causing trouble, I’ll personally tie you up.”

           “You promise?”

           You can’t help yourself, the need to deflect the seriousness with a stupid comment is too strong. Hoseok lets out a startled laugh, and even Yoongi cracks a grin. “You really are a little frustrated, aren’t you? Sexually, I mean-”

           “Out!” Both you and Yoongi yell, sending a hysterical Hoseok out the door. You can hear Jimin’s incessant questioning as soon as he opens the door, making you drop your head in your hands. Then, all is quiet, and you fight to pluck up the courage to look at Yoongi.

           When you do, his eyes are already on you. And in those eyes, you see something of yourself reflected there.

           All the pieces you try to hide.

           Yoongi silently rises from his seat, making his way around the desk. You track his movements, eyes involuntarily scanning him for weapons. He comes around you, grabbing a hold of the chair that Jimin previously sat in

           Arranging his chair so he’s facing you directly, Yoongi places his elbows atop his knees and fixes you with a stoic stare. Catching on, you move your chair until your knees are almost touching.

           Your eyes fixate on the space between your knees. The air between you seems to buzz with trepidation. It’s only multiplied when Yoongi speaks, voice like a dagger in the dark.

           “I trusted you.”

           You don’t bother to hide your wince. “I know.”

           “And I…I still believe in you.” You glance up into his face, seeing the internal battle waging there. “But you went behind my back when you ran to Russo.”

           “…I understand.” Other words – excuses, really – linger on your lips, but you know better.

           Yoongi’s hands slide down to his knees before he takes a steadying breath. Then, he’s reaching out to rest those hands on your knees.

           His grip is firm and unwavering. And as you see the shift in his expression; the light draining from his eyes and his lips forming a hard line, you see this for what it is.

           This is not a lover’s touch. That much is obvious.

           “I don’t want anything to do with him.”

           “Understood.”

           “If whatever deal you struck with him makes me…” Yoongi shakes his head, unwilling to finish that thought. His eyes fixate on where your pulse rockets in your throat before sliding up to your eyes, leaving a trail of burning tar along your skin. “I need you to understand that I will kill you, if I am implicated.”

           Whatever slew of sarcastic comments were pending before now take a nosedive as Yoongi begins tracing an ‘x’ along your kneecaps. You wish you could sink through your chair, but something stops you from slinking away.

           This man doesn’t own you. And as much as it hurts to put your budding friendship on the line, you understand the stakes. And surviving meant more.

           “Kill me if you must,” you whisper, stopping his hands and grabbing onto one. “You’ll still answer to me, even in death.”

           Yoongi watches as you bring his hand to your lips, dusting a kiss to the fingers that were just tracing lines into your skin. You don’t bother to smile when you stand, towering over him. He looks up at you, the very action sending a rush of power through your veins.

           “It’d do you well to remember who brought you here, Yoongi.” You brush a hand through his hair, dropping it to trace the line of his cheekbone. “Goodnight.”

           As you walk to the door, you wait for a response. He remains silent, so you pause at the door. Seconds tick by before a quiet, “goodnight,” reaches your ears.

           Satisfied, you push the door open to find Hoseok and Jimin chatting in hushed whispers. They straighten at your presence, and you offer them both a strained smile.

           “You alright?” Jimin ventures. You sure you look haunted, but you shrug it off.

           “You should see the other guy.” Then, brushing past them, you offer them a quiet goodnight. You can feel the other questions they have lingering in the air, but you ignore them, trudging up the stairs and into your room.

           And there you stay, staring at the wall.

           You wish the medication Seokjin had given you made you drowsy, at least. At this rate, you’ll never fall asleep. Not when you’re sick to your stomach while thinking of Yoongi’s distrust in you.

           Yoongi’s distrust, Jungkook’s confession, Taehyung’s betrayal. Do you get a medal for three consecutive disappointments?

           It’s not until another hour has passed and you find yourself still in the same position with the same thoughts circling your mind that you decide to finally do something about it.

           The house is nearly silent as you tiptoe out of your room and down the stairs. You take each step deliberately and slowly, afraid to wake anyone. Even though you already know that Taehyung sleeps like the dead and can hear Jungkook’s snoring from down the hall.

           It feels like an eternity passes before you’ve made it down to the foyer. You fumble for the light switch, hissing in discomfort when the lamp switches on and nearly blinds you.

           It’s four in the morning, leaving you only a handful of hours before you need to get up and start preparing for the long day ahead. This is probably pointless, but as you lift the nondescript vase and spy the key laying beneath it, you can’t help but let out a sigh of relief.

           Your relief doesn’t last long when you hear a door creaking open. Holding your breath, you try to melt into the shadows as someone tiptoes down the hallway, coming your way. You’re unsure if you’re just trying to avoid a scolding for being up so late, or if you really don’t trust people as much as you thought.

           Then again, Yoongi did just promise to kill you only a handful of hours ago.

           A light bobs up and down before someone emerges from the hallway, eyes half closed. And only half-dressed, you note.

           Jimin maneuvers his way toward the kitchen by light of his phone, sighing through his nose when he bumps against the wall. You can’t help but stifle a laugh at how disheveled he looks, but apparently you don’t do a good enough job.

           Eyes suddenly wide, Jimin whirls, and you hiss as he shines his phone’s flashlight directly in your eyes.

           “Oh,” he says, not lowering the flashlight. “It’s you.”

           “It’s me,” you echo. “Blind now, but still the same.”

           Jimin lowers the flashlight, and you blink, trying to adjust to the dark again. “Sorry. Didn’t realize – wait, were you going to use that against me?” His flashlight alights on your hands, and you look down to realize you’re still holding the vase. Hastily replacing it and covering up Seokjin’s spare key with a pang of regret, you shrug.

           “Maybe. Depended on who you are.”

           “Ah.” Jimin stares at you for a moment longer, eyes still bleary but clearer now, rubbing at a bold tattoo along his torso. Then, he turns and saunters away. “Come on.”

           Surprised at yourself, you follow without a single word. Jimin heads straight into the kitchen, grabbing two glasses from the cupboard and setting them on the island. You ease onto a stool, watching him silently as he grabs some milk out of the fridge.

           “Milk or water?” He mutters.

           “Milk.”

           Nodding, he proceeds to fill both glasses before passing your glass across the counter to you. He puts the milk back in the fridge and then turns, leaning against the sink as he sips his milk, watching you while you watch him.

           There’s something strange about the early morning hours, something that smooths the rough edges of people and leaves us less wary than before. As you find your gaze settling on the tattoo marking Jimin’s torso once more, you find that you don’t feel as if you’re prying by looking at him so openly. In the wee hours of the morning, soft gazes and quiet whispers are a welcome guest.

           “I didn’t know you had a tattoo.” Your voice is laced with exhaustion, softening it.

           Jimin nods, taking another sip of his milk. “Mhm.”

           “What does it mean?”

           “What were you doing down here?” Jimin shoots back, voice just as tired. It’s always an eye for an eye with him.

           Quirking a smile, you shake your head. “Nevermind.” Jimin smiles, too.

           You fall into a comfortable silence, eyes falling to the countertop. As your mind finally slows to a sluggish pace, you find yourself feeling oddly peaceful while Jimin remains a silent observer across the way.

           It crosses your mind that you could have had many more nights like this, had you not pushed him out of your life as soon as he entered it. You make room for the pang of regret that’s meant to follow such a thought, but nothing comes. Only mild curiosity takes its place.

           “Do you do this often?”

           Jimin takes a moment before answering. “Occasionally. On the nights I can’t sleep.”

           “And how often is that?”

           “Too often.”

           You nod. “I should’ve joined you earlier, then.” When he doesn’t respond, you continue. “Thanks for looking out for us last night.”

           “Just doing my job.” He holds his glass to his chest, eyes glued to the countertop.

           “Then, thanks for doing your job.”

           The quiet hum of the refrigerator is the only response you receive, but you don’t mind. Jimin is someone with whom you’ve racked up a lot of history in a short amount of time, and you don’t quite know what to do with it. You’ve never had someone dedicate themselves to you so fully so quickly.

           “You know,” he mutters, the words coming out half-whisper due to the rasp in his voice, “I always feel silly around you.”

           “Silly?”

           “Silly, foolish. Like I assumed so much about you when we first met, but then you surprised me again and again. I assumed a lot about us when I first started out.”

           Jimin’s three conditions pop up in your head uninvited, and you recall the way you practically melted through the floor during that first meeting.

           And now here you are. Sitting in the kitchen with a glass of milk, like a couple of kids.

           For the first time, you decide that you like Park Jimin. He’s someone you want to be friends with. Perhaps, it’s not too late.

           “I’m sorry for holding you at arm’s length,” you reply. “I honestly didn’t know what to do with you…with any of you if I’m being honest. There’s a lot that goes on in this house, and I thought I had you figured out. So I started thinking it’d be easier to keep my distance.”

           Jimin chuckles wryly, but there’s no malice in his eyes. If anything, it’s relief shining back at you. “That, you did.”

           “Are you still planning on leaving if I don’t fulfill all of your conditions?”

           Blinking, Jimin shakes his head. “No.”

           “Why not? Do you not…?”

           You remember the way he looked at you at that first meeting so long ago. The way he drew you in just like a magnet. It was instant, those feelings that popped up for each other.

           But everything changed, so quickly. You try and fail to pinpoint the exact moment when Jimin’s coy flirting became a façade he hid behind in order to keep up appearances.

           “I’ve come to realize that there’s something more important,” Jimin says, meeting your gaze with a soft, albeit regretful, smile. “After I thought you died, I was shocked to the core. And angry.”

           “I seem to recall the anger, yes,” you chuckle.

           “I was mad because I was played like a fiddle,” he whispers, voice still holding some of that dark emotion. “In my head, I was still there. On the dance floor. Frozen. Like a broken record, just waiting for time to start up again.”

           He’s looking at you but not seeing you. At least, not the you of right now. Instead, you can almost see yourself, dancing with Jimin the night of the gala. Opening up for a spin, opening up for a bullet.

           “Time didn’t start ticking for me until the night I went to the library.”

           The library. The night Jimin found Yadiel’s book, which you’re still using to search for clues. The fact that someone – someone that you don’t want to believe is Taehyung – cut out the famous, et tu, Brute? line is something you want to forget.

           “What happened?” You pry, curiosity getting the best of you. Jimin’s eyes sparkle as he leans forward, abandoning his glass for his tale.

           “For the first time, I was doing something…useful. I wasn’t a pawn; I wasn’t expendable. I was…essential to the plan. And I actually pulled it off. I found the book. I stopped Ortega from doing something horrible.” His smile still seems sad, but there’s a tinge of hope there, now. “I belonged.”

           “Oh.”

           Oh.

           You recognize that sad smile, now. It’s the smile of someone who has never belonged anywhere. Who has fought to survive and remain useful, but at too heavy a cost.

           “That night,” Jimin utters, “I drove home with Jungkook. And we talked, about a lot of things. He opened up to me, for the first time.” He arches a brow at you, leaving you wondering just what they talked about that night. “And it felt…nice. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always had Namjoon. But there’s always been a clear line between being colleagues and friends. Here…we’re family. All of us.”

           Family.

           Family is a complicated thing. In your experience, family arrives by blood no matter what. Whether it be by the blood pulsing in your veins or the blood, sweat, and tears you carve out together, family is an inevitable part of life.

           “That’s what I wanted,” you muse aloud, eyes wandering the kitchen. “Back when I first started entertaining the idea of building my own empire. I think it was all some grand scheme for me to start a family of my own. The kind that will never die.”

           That light in Jimin’s eyes is contagious, you conclude, as he leans forward a little more with a grin. “Your legacy begins today, Bianchi. And I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

           For the first time that you can remember, your family name makes you smile. Perhaps because it’s your mother, not your father, that you’re thinking of.

           No longer do you fear what you come from.

           “Thank you, Jimin.” Clinking your glass of milk with his own, you let out a contented sigh. “I’m glad I harassed you in that parking garage where we first met.”

           There’s a bit of milk left on his upper lip as Jimin chuckles at the memory. “And I’m glad I didn’t kill you on the spot.”

           After all, he would have missed out on all the fun.

--

           Sleep found you, after all. It’s a bleary memory at best, one including a seemingly endless trip up the stairs and a few more glasses of milk. Jimin spoke with you for another hour before heading off to bed, barely able to keep his eyes open.

           When he left, he gave you a tight hug. You’re grateful that he pretended not to see the tears that formed when he did, unable to stop the tide of emotion and gratitude for such a good friend. Even if he did look at you a little differently than you knew you looked at him, even if he paused to place a loving kiss on the top of your head, it was obvious that Jimin was first and foremost your friend.

           It felt nice, to have a friend again.

           Groaning into your pillow, you chance a look at the clock only to groan once more. It’s nine in the morning; much later than you were originally supposed to wake up. Nobody had bothered to try anything, knowing full well that you’d need your strength for the day ahead.

           Rolling onto your back to stare at the ceiling in dismay, you listened to the sounds of the morning. It became readily apparent as to why you woke up now. Outside your door, you could hear the flurry of activity taking place.

           “Only three cars?” Jungkook is calling outside your window.

           “Three!” It’s Namjoon who yells back, from inside. From the sounds of it, he’s probably in the foyer, yelling out the front door.

           “But I thought there were four pairs?” Jungkook replies, still confused.

           “So?” It’s Yoongi now, his voice moving with him as he ventures outside. “We believe in carpooling, Jungkook. Saving the planet, or something.”

           You snort, despite yourself. The easy banter, the seemingly normal questions. It’s almost as if your little house is getting ready for a road trip rather than a heist.

           A moment later a car revs, the sound of it as familiar as your own face in the mirror. Taehyung’s Lamborghini.

           Someone whistles lowly. “Is it shinier than before?” Jimin asks.

           Taehyung’s chuckle is barely audible, but somehow it snakes its way into your ears. “I spent some time on it last night. A little polish goes a long way.”

           The sound of his voice is enough to propel you out of bed and directly into the bathroom. It’s more than enough of a reminder as to what you’re about to do today. Your skin feels clammy as you turn on the shower, waiting until the water is near scalding before jumping in.  

           Oddly enough, this shower reminds you of the one you took four years ago. The morning you thought you murdered Yadiel.

           Gazing down at your hands, you inspect them for traces of blood that has yet to be shed. Your eyes play tricks on you. One moment, your hands are sudsy and clean, and the next, they’re drenched in blood.

           Whose blood is this? You wonder, eyes going in and out of focus. Yadiel’s? Or could it be Taehyung’s?

           Despite the hot water, you shiver.

           Again. And again.

           Until you realize that you’re not shivering, but shaking. Uncontrollably so.

           It’s all you can do to shut off the water and hop out, reaching for a towel but stopping abruptly and dropping to your knees instead.

           There’s not much that comes up, only then remembering that you didn’t have dinner last night. Yet despite the lack of contents to throw up, your body convulses and heaves until hot tears are forced from your eyes and an assortment of bodily fluids dribble down your chin.

           “Ugh,” you groan when the worst of it has passed. You raise a shaking hand to your cheeks, wiping away the involuntary tears. “Gross.”

           Then, you flush the toilet. You stand, taking your time on trembling knees. With contemplated movements, you wash your face, brush your teeth, and dress.

           Only when you’ve completed these steps do you glance in the mirror. Your appearance is to be expected; what with the puffy eyes and pale face. Offering your reflection an apologetic smile, you take a deep breath.

           In.

           Out.

           “Ok,” you whisper to yourself. “Let’s do this.”

--

           It takes you much longer get ready today, but you planned for that.

           By the time you emerge from your room, it’s nearly eleven. The chatter from outside hasn’t ceased, and you force yourself to listen to Taehyung and Jimin talking shop for a few minutes in order to dull your ears to the sound of betrayal before greeting Taehyung face to face.

           Now, standing at the top of the staircase, you make sure to lift your chin and school your features into an expression of cool control. There will be no slip-ups today.

           Today, Yadiel will see a Bianchi when he looks into your eyes. It will be your mother reflected there.

           He’ll see Madame Bianchi.

           The title carved into your flesh seems to sing as you descend the stairs. Only a few remain in the foyer, but it’s Seokjin who notices you first. When he does, he arches a brow even as he grins.

           “Is your date with the devil all lined up, then?” He remarks, eyeing your all-black outfit.

           “If all goes well, yes.” You step off of the last stair, heading straight toward the kitchen without stopping. “Has everyone eaten?”

           “Getting ready for lunch now, actually,” comes Hoseok’s voice just as you step into the kitchen. “Sleep well?”

           You grin wryly, and you note the way he glances at your teeth as if they sharpened overnight. “Wonderfully.”

           The preparations hardly pause as you fry up a couple of eggs before slapping them on toast. Seokjin watches you from across the island while Hoseok grumbles about the milk being nearly gone. You take extra caution to save your clothing from any spills, glancing down at your cashmere sweater warily.

           Who said you couldn’t wear nice clothes on a day like today?

           “Painted your nails,” Hoseok remarks, nodding your way. You hold your nails in front of you, smiling. The bright red hue glints and gleams, reminding you of a certain dress you wore four years prior.

           “What do you think?”

           “Very pretty.”

           Red nails, to stand out against your black outfit. “I thought Yadiel might appreciate them,” you muse aloud, studying your nails. It took you a good long while to perfect them, but you’re pleased with the result. “He’s always liked the color.”

           Neither men respond, but you don’t mind. You’ve finished your breakfast now. All it takes is a quick wash and then you’re ready to get to work. Turning, you see Seokjin watching you expectantly.

           “Everyone knows their positions?” You question. Hoseok and Yoongi should have informed the others last night of their individual roles while you were keeping Taehyung distracted with your little spat with Jungkook.

           “Yes.”

           “Good.” Gesturing for him to follow, you feel the power thrumming through your veins as Seokjin falls into step beside you. “Then let’s get to work.”

           --

           The basement is as silent as a tomb as you and Seokjin wander the halls. He does a final count of your supplies, fiddling with an antique lighter as you walk. Not a single gun is missing, much to your relief. Everything appears to be in order.

           “Hoseok and Taehyung will roll out at seven,” you explain, reviewing the plan. “Hoseok will part ways to post up across from Yadiel’s home, Taehyung will scout the area.”

           Seokjin nods knowingly, falling in with the half-truth. “Jimin and Jungkook will follow as backup.”

           “We’ll be close behind, setting the stage.”

           “Yoongi and Namjoon?” Seokjin questions, eyes trained on the end of the hallway as if waiting for Taehyung to stroll down here at any possible minute. You pass the room where Ortega was held, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling.

           “We’ll meet up with them at the rendezvous point,” you reply, forcing your voice to steady itself. “You know the signal.”

           Seokjin laughs drily. “It’ll be hard to miss.”

           “You’ll send everyone down?”

           He nods, face schooled into that of a patient arsonist. Soon, he’ll get to burn. You can almost feel the way he itches for it. Heading up the stairs, Seokjin leaves you behind, but pauses on the fourth step.

           “This will work, you know.”

           You blink, unable to set aside your armor that you so meticulously put on this morning. “Right. I know.”

           Seokjin’s half-smile softens the craving etched into his face that he gets when it’s almost time to burn. He doesn’t offer up any other words of comfort, only nodding once before leaving you alone in the basement.

           Watching him leave does something to you that you don’t like. It’s easier to shove it aside rather than examine it any further, so you do just that. Tapping your foot and humming a tune fills the silence of the basement, pushing your thoughts of Ortega far from your mind.

           It doesn’t take long before your first visitor arrives.

           “Did I keep you waiting?” Jimin asks, bouncing down the stairs. He’s similarly dressed as you – they all are – making him look like a dark angel as he approaches.

           “Not long,” you reassure, already feeling yourself relax. Still, you maintain a safe distance from him. “C’mon, let’s get you suited up.”

           And so your afternoon goes. One after the other, your mafia comes to you to be outfitted for war. Weapons are strategically placed, plans reviewed, and words of reassurance offered. Your mask is kept firmly in place for it all, although you can tell how much it bothers Jimin in particular.

           Jungkook comes after Jimin, quieter than usual as you suit him up. He doesn’t say much at all while you quietly go over the plan, glancing up into his guarded face.

           “Any questions?” You ask, voice tight. You know that he’s thinking of last night, of the way he longed to lean in just a little closer.

           There is a question, but he doesn’t dare ask it. Not now, when so much is riding on you maintaining your composure. So instead he shakes his head and quietly wishes you good luck before trudging back up the stairs.

           Hoseok is a breeze when he comes down the stairs, clipping his weapons in as if he were shopping for accessories rather than guns and knives. You take extra care with Hoseok, even giving him a parting smile before he leaves.

           “Thank you, Hoseok,” you murmur, squeezing his arm. “You’ve taken on the hardest task.”

           Hoseok shakes his head, returning your smile tenfold. “You forget why you hired me in the first place. I always get the job done, no matter the stakes.”

           Indeed he does. Hasn’t he always been the one you trusted to follow through? Even when it came to putting his own life in danger by shooting you, he pulled off the act flawlessly.

           “Consider yourself tenured,” you call after him as he heads back upstairs. His laughter is music to your ears, lifting some invisible weight from off your shoulders as he disappears.

           Namjoon appears next. Stoic eyes take in the armory before he points out a few specific items he wants to carry. Matching his energy, you quietly suit him up, double checking that everything is securely placed before looking back up at him.

           “You’re thinking of her,” you mumble, and his eyes flash before he gives in and nods. “I can’t promise anything, but everyone has agreed not to harm her unless she becomes a threat.”

           A wry smile tugs at his lips. “She will. That’s what I worry about.” Pausing, Namjoon’s eyes soften as he regards you. “I think we understand each other on this, you and I.”

           Taehyung and Victoria. Victoria and Taehyung. Two people you two deeply cared for, two heartbreaking betrayals.

           “That means you’ll do what’s necessary, then,” you croak out, fighting the urge to let your calm façade crumple. Namjoon nods once more, eyes searching your face for some chink in your armor.

           “I’ll follow your lead.”

           You’re still thinking about his words when Yoongi arrives. Unsurprisingly, he ignores you as much as possible. You allow it, only gesturing at the dwindling armory and waiting quietly, arms crossed as you lean against the wall.

           When he’s snatched a few weapons, he hastily clips them in without waiting for your assistance. Only when he’s finished do you approach, double checking that everything is in order. Tugging at his belt, you nod in approval with the gun strapped there doesn’t so much as budge.

           “Russo offered the numbers that we need, in exchange for a shot at having you back.”

           Yoongi stiffens, and you eye him warily. Half-expecting him to draw a gun right now, you continue quickly.

           “He also plans to provide us with a steady income, although it would be at the cost of doing his bidding.”

           “Why would you agree to that?” Yoongi seethes, hands fidgeting. “That’s a death sentence for us all!”

           “I didn’t say I was going through with it,” you shrug.

           Yoongi stares at you, trying desperately to see what you’re planning. “…what?” Then, his panic sets in once more. “If you go behind his back, they’ll know. Your life will be forfeit the second they realize you’re even thinking of planning something-”

           “It’s already done.”

           Stopping, Yoongi gapes before collecting himself. “What do you mean, it’s already done?”

           Patting him on the back, you smile up at him in earnest. “I just need you to pull off the finishing touch.”

           It doesn’t take long to explain to Yoongi what he needs to do. He understands everything perfectly, smiling wryly as he departs.

           Lastly, Taehyung. Trying to not watch him too closely is like trying to hold your breath; eventually you give in. His normally wild hair is tamed now, a bit of product making him look prince-like. He picks a few generic items, strapping twin pistols across his chest.

           “How’re you feeling?” You ask, watching as he fiddles with the various buckles and straps adorning his body.

           “Good. Ready.” He meets your gaze, eyes swathed in shadows. “You?”

           “Good.” You bare your teeth in a smile. “Great, actually.”

           “I’m glad to hear that.”

           You give him a brief overview of the plan, even as you know deep down that there’s a high likelihood that he won’t follow any of it. Taehyung nods along, asking clarifying questions, keeping up the act. It’s impressive, to be honest. If it weren’t for the evidence you found and the way he looks at you as if he almost regrets it, you would never question his loyalty.

           “All set?”

           Taehyung breezes past you, heading for the stairs. “See you there, capa.” He begins up the stairs while you linger below, watching him. It’s almost as if he holds the loose thread to your heart, and each step only serves to unravel it even more.

           When he stops, you hold your breath. Slowly, he turns, looking down at you with furrowed brows.

           “If you need anything…” he trails off, unsure of how to finish his sentence. Because what can he do, truly, if you need his help?

           Years of companionship, and this is where it ends. In a silent house, armed for battle. The history between the two of you will not prove enough to fill the void his lies have wrought.

           Yet still, peering down into that void, you care.

           “You’ll stay safe, won’t you?”

           It’s a farewell, as close to a goodbye as you dare go. Taehyung’s expression shutters, but he nods all the same. “I will.”

           And then, just as quickly as he entered your life, Kim Taehyung is gone.

--

            “Rolling out in 3…2…” Hoseok’s voice crackles to life in your earpiece. “…1.”

           The bright green Lamborghini peels out of the driveway, taking Hoseok and Taehyung with it. You stand on the porch, arms crossed. Once the car disappears from view, you press the small button on your belt, activating your microphone.

           “Team two will follow in ten minutes.”

           Ten minutes later on the dot, Jimin and Jungkook roll out in Jimin’s black Mercedes. Your heart pounds, the nerves starting to set in, but you wave goodbye with a smile.

           “Team two, on the road,” Jimin says before switching off his mic. Namjoon snorts, pointing at a beaming Jimin before they disappear from view.

           “He looks giddy,” Namjoon observes. “He spent a solid hour polishing his car after he saw the Lambo.”

Once an hour passes, Seokjin comes to you. “Everything’s packed up,” he says, clapping his hands. “You ready?”

           Glancing back at Namjoon and Yoongi, you nod. “Don’t forget to lock the door on your way out,” you remind them, trying to force some normalcy into your voice.

           “Stay safe,” Yoongi chides in return, demeanor significantly warmer now that you’ve involved him in your little plan.

           Once you’ve piled into the SUV and ascertained that you do indeed have all the equipment you’ll need, you start the engine and head out.

           “Team Fiery Firebird is on the loose,” Seokjin says, your earpiece echoing the phrase. You snort, rolling your eyes.

           Sure enough, another voice pops up. “Wait, we can have actual team names?” Comes Jungkook’s whine, and if you close your eyes, you could picture his exact expression.

           “No. We’re team three. Ignore Seokjin,” you say, ignoring Seokjin’s appalled expression.

           “Jimin and Jungkook are Team Second String,” Hoseok’s voice is loud and clear. “How does it feel to be playing second fiddle, boys?”

           You can hear the mock outrage in Jimin’s voice. “Do you shoot such big guns because you’re compensating for something, Jung?”

           Seokjin cackles beside you. “Oh, that’s gonna sting,” he commentates lovingly. You grin, the easy banter calming your nerves. Glancing at your partner, you note how Seokjin’s eyes sparkle in the evening light with unkept mischief.

           “Wouldn’t you like to know,” Hoseok responds coolly.

           “How do I remove myself from the group chat,” Namjoon chimes in drily.

           And so the banter continues, until one by one, the line falls silent. They sign off for the time being, opting for the cover of silence as they begin their work.

           You park down the street from Yadiel’s home, in a neighbor’s driveway. The neighbor is gone for the week, off on vacation. They have a tendency to ask friends and family to check on their home every so often, in fear of returning to a ransacked shack rather than the luxurious mansion they left behind.

           Today, you and Seokjin will be those friends they called up. It wasn’t too difficult to spy on the people that arrived yesterday, while you, Namjoon, and Jungkook were scouting out the area. They did very little to hide what code they were putting into the garage.

           “Backpack me,” Seokjin says, giving you a mock salute as you pull into the garage. Filling the bag with various minor explosives and a bottle or two of gasoline, you meet Seokjin around the hood of the car and hand him the backpack. You watch him with varying levels of worry as he straps the bag onto his back as if it were filled with nothing more than his lunch he brought from home.

           Double checking that your gun is strapped securely along your hip, you touch each individual throwing knife wrapped around your thigh. Seokjin watches, his curiosity getting the best of him.

           “I didn’t know you had a thing for knives.”

           “Just the throwing kind,” you murmur back, taking the entrance to the backyard and squinting into the fading sunlight. “They won’t do me much good if I get too close.” You check your watch. 8:32.

           “Then let’s hope nobody gets too close.”

           Traversing from back yard to back yard, you’re impressed as Seokjin remains nearly as silent as a cat while jumping fences and prowling around dog kennels. Hopefully there won’t be many left behind Yadiel’s estate that will hear your approach, but you know that no matter how well Hoseok does his job, there will still be a few left behind that will not hesitate to take you down.

           Now, perched on the wall that separates Yadiel’s home from the rest, you watch for any sign of movement. A few shadows line the windows, you count six. “Down we go,” you whisper, just as your earpiece comes to life once more.

           “The sun has already set.”

           Hoseok’s coded message sends your heart to your throat, and you nearly land on your face because of it. Seokjin drops down beside you, scanning the area with sharp eyes before deigning to look down at you.

           When Hoseok asked you what he should say when Taehyung finally gave him the slip, you came up with the setting sun. At this point, Taehyung would have heard the message just the same as the rest of you, but that won’t be a problem for long.

           “Reconfiguring,” Yoongi’s voice comes next. “Done. See you on the other side.”

           Wordlessly, you and Seokjin tap the buttons on your belts, tapping until you’ve arrived at the desired channel.

           Wave number five. You were all equipped with earpieces that reached up to five channels – all save for Taehyung. He can’t listen to you here, giving you the cover you so desperately need.

           “Everyone here?” Yoongi asks once a few moments have passed. “Team one, sound off.”

           “Made it,” Hoseok responds. “Taehyung gave me the slip about five minutes ago. I’m still posted up across from Yadiel’s place.”

           “Team two, present. Hoseok, we’re moving toward your position.” Jimin sounds off, although his voice is much quieter. He must be near enemy lines.

           You take a deep breath, activating your microphone. “Team three, we just made it to the house. I can spot six guards within the house. Hoseok, how many do you have eyes on?”

           “Not enough. Maybe…five? Team two already took care of the ones patrolling the grounds, so four there.”

           Motioning for Seokjin to follow, you shrink down as much as possible and approach the back of the house. Once you pause, Seokjin gets straight to work.

           “Roughly eleven left, then,” Namjoon says. “Although I would bet that there’s closer to fifteen, some out of view. Some in the basement. How long until the changing of the guard?”

           You consult your watch, but Jungkook beats you to a response. “Twenty-four minutes. Team three should be off the premises in twenty.”

           Seokjin contemplates this. “All we need is fifteen.”

           Listening to the constant updates fed to you via Hoseok, you watch Seokjin’s back as he sets up explosive after explosive. They’re strong enough to take down the entire house, if placed in the right spots.

           That’s why, when he frowns at the final explosive in his hands, you can’t help but mirror his expression.

           “What?” You whisper, glancing up at the nearest window. The shadow there hasn’t moved an inch.

           Seokjin makes sure his microphone is off before speaking. “We already know that Yadiel isn’t here. Neither is Taehyung.” Whether he notices your flinch at Taehyung’s name or not, he doesn’t show. “Who do you think he left in charge?”

           You consider it for a moment, but it doesn’t take long before the answer appears. “Do you really think so?”

           Nodding solemnly, Seokjin taps his fingers along the cold metal. “Victoria is the only other one he trusts from what we’ve seen. She’s here.”

           Your heart falls as you consider what you’re about to do. You’ve already considered the guard’s lives forfeit, but Victoria?

           As much as you hate it, you know you have to ask what you’re both thinking. “What makes her worth saving?”

           Seokjin’s mouth forms a hard line as he thinks. To be honest, neither of you know any concrete reason for saving Victoria. Especially not when she seemingly chose Yadiel of her own free will, leaving Namjoon for a monster.

           “You were …like her, once. Weren’t you?”

           “It’s been fifteen minutes. How’s it coming team three?” Jungkook can’t hide the worry in his voice, no matter how hard he tries.

           You’re stuck staring into Seokjin’s golden-brown eyes and seeing yourself reflected there. You did think it strange, the way Yadiel dressed Victoria up in red, just like he wanted you to be. She was a pawn.

           Just like you were, when Yadiel lauded himself over you.  

           “And if she’s just as bad as him?” You ask, eyes pleading for an answer you can work with. “I’ve messed up too many times to make a mistake now, Seokjin.”

           He nods before placing the explosive in its designated place and straightening. “I know.” His eyes soften. “I’ll follow your lead.”

           Namjoon said those same words to you earlier.

           What Namjoon – your friend through many dangers – would do, if Victoria were found dead amidst the rubble you’re about to reduce this house to, is what has you nodding your head.

           “I thought you were supposed to be the heartless maniac,” you chide. Seokjin’s smile does little to calm your nerves as he channels the persona you just named.

           “Watch and learn, Bianchi.”

--

           You had no plans to break into Yadiel’s home, but you always carry a lockpick around. What kind of person would you be if you didn’t?

           It’s not easy to break, but eventually the back door does creak open.

           “Team three, status update.” Yoongi’s commanding tone almost has you cowering.

           “Shh,” Seokjin says in response before powering off his microphone. You wait, almost expecting a snide response, but receive nothing. For once, they took him seriously.

           A long hallway is what lies ahead, the sight of it hardly encouraging. “Wait for my signal,” you whisper, creeping forward before Seokjin can say anything else.

           There are muffled voices up ahead, and it doesn’t take long to locate them. An open doorway reveals a large room filled with maps, photos of various criminals, and a pool table. Around it stand two men, clearly guards.

           “I don’t care what he says,” the larger one is saying, “I don’t trust her.”

           “Victoria has always had that look about her…” the smaller one agrees, walking around the pool table to find the best angle for his next hit. “Like she’s planning something.”

           “See? Exactly the reason why she should never be trusted!”

           They don’t see you lurking just outside the door.

           Nor do they see the knives, careening toward them.

           The big man is struck on the side of the neck, downing him in an instant. The other sees this, and begins to turn, a yell on his lips.

           He turns right into the second knife.

           Hitting the floor with a thud, you wait until both lie completely still before signaling Seokjin. The arsonist hurries your way, cursing under his breath when he sees what you’ve done.

           “Told you I like knives,” you whisper. Tiptoeing inside, you fish out your knives with an expression of disgust before wiping them on your pants and placing them back inside their holders.

           “That was…” Seokjin shakes his head, smiling widely. “Nice. Really nice.”

           You’d think he was talking about a play he just saw instead of a double homicide, the way he speaks. It makes you grin right back, despite the gory scene before you.

           “C’mon.”

           Continuing on, you come into a large bar area a few rooms over. It’s a central location, and completely empty for the time being. Eyeing Seokjin, you wait for his approval.

           His approval comes by way of him snatching a bottle of gasoline and uncorking it with his teeth. He spits out the lid on the ground before smothering the surrounding area with the liquid.

           “We’ll only have a few minutes before the fire spreads and it becomes a madhouse,” he explains. “But it should give Victoria enough of a heads-up that she makes it out before the explosion.”

           “Let me guess: you want me to inform the others, now?”

           Seokjin smiles sweetly. “Yes, please. For me?”

           Rolling your eyes, you tap on your mic. “Team one and two, are you up for a challenge?”

           A second later Jimin’s voice chimes in. “It’s about time. We’re dying for some entertainment up here.”

           “Glad to hear it. Hoseok, you’ll want to take out those that you have eyes on here in a couple of minutes. Team two, pick up the spares. We’re flushing them out.”

           “Flushing them out?” Hoseok asks. “What do you mean?”

           “Everyone, except for Victoria, you pick off. Understand?”

           Quiet. And then, Jungkook’s soft voice, as if he had foreseen this. “I know what she looks like; I’ll keep an eye open for her. Do not engage?”

           You glance at Seokjin, who gives you a nod. “Probably for the best.”

           “How’re you flushing them out?” Hoseok asks once more. “Wait, are you ins-”

           The rest of his sentence doesn’t quite reach your ears as you notice a hint of red in your peripheral. Whirling, you immediately freeze as you realize what’s happening.

           Victoria, perhaps having smelled the gasoline, has come downstairs to investigate. Now she stands, frozen just like you, in a daring red jumpsuit and with an expression of utter shock on her face.

           Silvery-blue eyes jumping from you to Seokjin, she opens her mouth and for a moment you can see it. She’ll scream. Everyone will be alerted to your presence. If she’s smart, she’s carrying a gun on her. She won’t be fast enough to kill you both, not if you act quickly.

           Without a second thought, you step in front of Seokjin.

           He makes a small noise in the back of his throat, reading your position. Directly in front of him, making yourself a human shield. Just as his hands curl around your waist, ready to swing you out of the way, Victoria makes her move.

           She…laughs.

           It’s a croaky, artificial laugh, but a laugh all the same.

           “Crap,” Seokjin whispers in your ear. “Maybe she’s crazy after all.”

           Victoria doesn’t budge, nor does she make any move to pull a gun on you. Instead, she looks around the room, taking in the gasoline-soaked carpet with a strange smile.

           “He’s not here,” she finally says. Her voice is strained, revealing hints of a carefully manufactured persona that’s trying to break free.

           “Team three, you have four minutes. Evacuate the premises immediately.” It’s Namjoon.

           “We’re not here for him,” Seokjin says, coming to stand beside you.

           Victoria takes him in, eyes dead. “Enlighten me, then.”

           Something about her seems…off. Like a beautiful shell, she stands there so still that it throws you off. As if she’s used to posing.

           “I would like one reason,” you say, hand falling to your hip where you gun sits. “That I shouldn’t kill you.”

           Seokjin looks at you, a little in shock, but you ignore him. Answers, you need answers for this gray-area named Victoria.

           Victoria doesn’t seem phased by your threat, which is in line with living with Yadiel for years. She only gazes at you mildly before shrugging her shoulders.

           “I’ve been killed a thousand times before,” she murmurs, those dead eyes locking on yours. “What’s one more?”

           “Team three, if you’re not out in sixty seconds, we’re coming in after you.” Jungkook. Always worrying, always looking out for you.

           Jungkook is the reason you’re not in Victoria’s place right now. He always gave you an excuse to leave, a way out. He carried you home on your worst days and came to get you on the nights when Yadiel had you under a knife.

           You realize then, Yadiel’s desire for Jungkook to get out of the picture. His deep-seated hatred for the boy that began even before you knew he’d met him. Without Jungkook and perhaps, without even Taehyung, your life would have led to this.

           Perhaps Victoria can find her Jungkook. Maybe, it’ll be Namjoon. But first…

           “We’re burning this place to the ground in twenty seconds. There are explosives that will detonate in about three minutes. My team has agreed to hold fire when it comes to you, but only you. Get out, Victoria.” You stare at her, seeing her in a way that makes her too similar to you.

           Just with better calves.

           “And if he returns?”

           “He won’t be,” Seokjin practically growls out.

           Together, you and Seokjin watch as Victoria absorbs this information, processes it with warring emotions, and makes her decision in about three seconds.

           With seventeen seconds left to spare, she does something that you know you’ll always remember.

           Victoria steps forward, nearing the bar. Then, she swipes a bottle of scotch.

           Nodding at you, she tucks it under her arm and walks away, not even bothering to glance back at you to ensure that you uphold your promise.

           “We’ll be out in ten seconds,” you whisper, turning on the microphone feature. “Victoria is on her way out as well.”

           Radio silence is your only response while the others take in this new information. You watch as Seokjin takes the antique lighter from his pocket, flicking it open and watching the lone flame that appears with untapped curiosity.

           “…thank you.” Namjoon’s voice is so soft you hardly pick up on it.

           “Ready?” Seokjin asks you, not looking away from the flame. You step around him, mindful of the gasoline.

           “Go for it.”

           A crooked grin that he reserves for occasions just like this crosses his lips before Seokjin crouches down and takes a deep breath. His shoulders drop, all the tension there disappearing as he brings the lighter down to the carpet.

           Fire immediately roars to life, spreading at an impossibly fast speed. Seokjin hardly moves, only taking a cursory step back before his full attention is enraptured. “Look at it,” he whispers adoringly. “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?”

           The fire alarm begins to blare.

           “Lovely. Let’s move.” You tug on his arm, and he reluctantly follows. Jogging down the hallway, you look back just in time to see that the entire living room is now engulfed in flames. Seokjin is looking back, too, a bit of a dazed look in his eyes.

           “Just think of it. It won’t be long now before every terrible thing that’s ever happened in this house is turned to ash.”

           Practically dragging him into the yard, you match his smile. “Now that, I like.”

--

           You have no choice but to leave the SUV behind when Hoseok voices his concern that Taehyung might have left trackers on all the vehicles. That leaves only the Mercedes, which Jungkook will use to meet up with Yadiel at the church in Queen’s Wharf. It’s the only thing they’ll expect.

           “We’ll meet at the rendezvous point in about thirty minutes, then,” you concede. It shouldn’t take too long of a walk to get where you need to go in Queen’s Wharf. “Hoseok, Jimin; you’re all eyes on Jungkook. I want you ready for anything.”

           You ran from Yadiel’s home, only catching a glimpse of Victoria, who was heading in the opposite direction. Most of Yadiel’s remaining forces have been eliminated now, thanks to the fire and teams two and three picking them off.

           “Phase one, completion pending.” Yoongi says, ever the professional. “Awaiting the big boom before initiating phase two.”

           “Big boom coming up in about sixty seconds,” Seokjin pants, slowing until he’s beside you. You take a sharp corner, heading straight for Queen’s Wharf. “Second boom will follow in ten minutes.”

           It was Seokjin’s idea to create two waves of explosions. To deter anyone from getting near the house until it was nothing more than a smoldering ruin. The first wave would come from the east, the second from the west.

           For now, your lungs are on fire as you push yourself a little harder. You want to put as much distance as you can between yourself and Yadiel’s home. Each step carries you a bit closer to Queen’s Wharf – a little closer to where it all began.

           Seokjin informs you when there’s ten seconds left, and you slow to a walk. Sure enough, you hear the explosion right on time. A moment later, you see it.

           Smoke rises from above the buildings, and you can even see some of the flames that must have crawled up to the top of the house with the help of the bombs. People peek out of their homes, frantic. Chatter begins, phones are whipped out, and prayers are uttered.

           “See?” Seokjin says. “Boom.”

           “Beautifully done,” Hoseok says. “We’re nearing the car now. Another ten minutes and we’ll be on our way.”

           Jimin had left the Mercedes at a midway point, not wanting to draw suspicion. They should be only a few streets down from where you and Seokjin are watching the plume of smoke grow taller and taller.

           “That gives Jungkook about ten minutes that he’ll be on his own with Yadiel,” you surmise, gut twisting. “Let’s keep moving.”                                  

--        

Queen’s Wharf lies deathly still tonight. Like a cat glaring at you from the shadows, silently seething and waiting for a chance to swipe at your bare ankles. It makes you skittish, jumping at any little sound.

           You and Seokjin have not spoken for the past fifteen minutes. Perhaps that’s why, when a familiar voice whispers in your ear, you nearly trip over the curb in surprise.  

           “Arriving now. There are two men out front, and we suspect about four more patrolling the surrounding area. Be on your guard when approaching from whichever direction.”

           It’s Jungkook. His voice is low, and you can picture him approaching the church now, clinging to the shadows like old friends. Your stomach knots and twists at the thought of him and Jimin circling the building, creating a perimeter while they wait for you to get there.

           “I’m posted up right across from him. There’s an additional six men inside. No sign of Yadiel or Taehyung.” Hoseok reports.

           “And Russo?”

           “He’s been here. Bugged the area, too. Let me look…” Hoseok pauses. “Yep. Eyes on Russo, in the alley behind the church. Looks like he brought about ten men.”

           This is actually happening.

           “Jimin?”

           “Slipping in through the back,” he whispers back. “I’ll take the east, Jungkook will take the west.”

           That should ease your racing heart, but it does little. Not when you know what Yadiel is capable of.

           Seokjin is watching you closely, but you turn away, unable to take the scrutiny. Taking a few deep breaths, you tap in once more. “Jungkook, be careful. You know as well as I do what Yadiel can do.”

           “Worried about me?”

           His playful albeit quiet tone sends a pang of nostalgia through you, reminding you of all the times before when he was the one fiercely protecting you. It was usually your job to poke fun at his overzealous attitude. Now, the roles have switched. He’s too far away to reach, to pull out of harm’s way. Your fingers twitch at the thought of it.

           “Never.”

           Yes. Always.

           You’re struck with a form of heartache that you realize you finally have a name for. The desire to tell him you love him, care for him, and wish him all the joy in the world; but the knowledge that you can’t.

           Because you can see by the way Jungkook looks at you, that he loves you in a very different way.

           The last thing he needs is to be sent into the enemy’s den with false hope. So instead, you remain silent. Literally shutting your mouth as you stare straight ahead, eyes unseeing. Seokjin is your shadow, keeping close behind but remaining out of sight. Allowing you this moment.

           It’s only when you’ve sighed for the fifth time that he speaks, startling you with his low voice so close behind you.

           “Is your mic off?”

           You double check hastily, then nod. Coming up beside you, Seokjin doesn’t hold your eyes for very long. Instead, he focuses on a lamp post about a block down. The light has just come on, warding off the encroaching night.

           “You and Jungkook…” he trails off, frowning slightly before any emotion is wiped from his face. “Do you have feelings for him?”

           Perhaps it’s because the sentiment has been hanging off your tongue for the past five minutes, but your response is immediate. “I love him.”

           Seokjin blinks, and something flits across his face that you almost recognize before it’s gone. “Oh.” Then, “Good.”

           “I mean-” you stutter an explanation out, “he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I love him, but I can’t – I don’t – ugh this is ridiculous.” Throwing your hands up in the air, you say, “I love Jungkook and I wish I could fall in love with him, but I don’t think that’ll ever happen. I care for him. Like a best friend whose been through hell and back with him only could. Nothing more. Well, he’s attractive and stuff. But it’s Jungkook. He’s my…”

           Friend isn’t the right word for it. Jungkook is more than that.        

           “Did you love him, once?”

           The question isn’t unwelcome – you would’ve asked yourself the same thing had Seokjin not beaten you to it.

           Even the motion of shaking your head feels like a betrayal, somehow. “I…wanted him. Drowned in the wanting for a long time.” It’s odd to admit it so freely, but you shake off the awkwardness and allow the next statement to fall from your lips. “But no. It was never love.”

           “For you.” Not a question.

           “Or for him,” you counter, glancing sidelong at Seokjin. His jaw is set and his calm eyes are still tuck on the streetlamp down the block. “Infatuation dappled with undying dedication-”

           “Undying devotion, more like.” Seokjin sighs out a laugh. “That’s about as real a love as you can hope to find these days.”

           “Call it love, then,” you concede. “In love with the idea of me. And I was obsessed with the idea of him, too. Nobody’s hands are clean in this.”

           Silence takes its seat between the two of you, and you make a point to ignore it. It’s far easier to flood your mind with more pressing matters, rather than diving into the mess you’ve made of your life.

           You’ve made it to the streetlamp Seokjin was studying earlier when he finally speaks. His tone is soft, bordering on a whisper.

           “And then what?”

           Smoke tickles your nose, letting you know that time is not to be wasted. Still, you don’t move. Can’t. Because you’re staring into Seokjin’s eyes and seeing nothing but your harsh reflection. Unable to escape from the reality of yourself.

           Seokjin is a mirror. He offers you no escape from yourself, no distractions.

           It’s appalling and mortifying. Infuriating.  

           “Jungkook views me as his savior. You and I both know I’m not as saintly as he would hope me to be.”

           “So you were crushed under the pressure.”

           “I’m trying to do the one saintly thing I can manage,” you shoot back, still angry for some reason. “By taking myself out of the picture so that he can see me for who I really am.”

           You’ve made it to the streetlamp. It only registers when you realize that you’ve stopped walking, matching Seokjin.

           “Who are you?”

           The question Seokjin poses as he takes a step closer gives you pause. You practically bare your teeth like a wild animal that’s being cornered. “Don’t you know by now?”

           Because it’s been Seokjin who’s seen you fall apart time and time again. Seokjin, who caught you at the gala. Seokjin, holding you as you mourned your unworthy father. Seokjin, mending your ribs. Rejecting your request for a kiss, drunk on your own tears. Confessing your twisted feelings for Jungkook.

           Seokjin Seokjin Seokjin.

           He closes his eyes for a brief moment before they open once more, carefully composed. “Not nearly enough to satisfy my curiosity.”

           He’s walking now, down the sidewalk away from the light. Pace picking up, already running from what you know is lurking just behind those hazelnut eyes. Because he’s just like you, sometimes.

           Sometimes, he’s a coward, too.

           You don’t budge from the streetlamp as you watch his retreating figure. The words are building up in your chest, until finally, they explode.

           “I found the spare key last night.”

           He freezes, so completely that you’re tempted to check your watch to see if time really has stopped.

           “Looking for another distraction,” he replies dismissively.

           You shake your head even though he’s still turned away. “Looking for you.”

           He still doesn’t move, so you do. Slow, measured steps, as if he might startle easily. You note the way his shoulders stiffen as you approach. Preparing for the worst.

           Dreading the best.

           “I wanted to go find you, but-”

“Wanted? Like how you wanted Jungkook?” He questions as he spins about. It’s difficult to hold the weight of his gaze, but you straighten under it. “I don’t deal in wants and whims.”

           “What, then?” You spit out, taking another step forward and feeling the way goosebumps rise on your skin when Seokjin doesn’t step back. “Don’t lie to me and say that you’re waiting for true love to knock on your door. We both know that’s not how you operate.

           Nostrils flaring, Seokjin opens his mouth to no doubt bite out a response but stops. You’re panting, hardly able to see straight as your gaze keeps returning to those fiery eyes, wishing that they’d just consume you whole.

           “I deal in absolute,” Seokjin grits out, taking your hand in his and placing it upon his chest. “So until you’ve figured out your wants in life, I belong only to myself, sweetheart.”

           His heartbeat is a rapid thud beneath your fingertips, a testament to the fire swirling around you. “There are no absolutes,” you breathe out, chancing one last step. “Not tonight.”

           “I don’t-”

           “Seokjin.”

           There’s a spark of light to the east, followed by the sounds of an explosion. The second wave. Neither of you so much as move an inch.

           “Seokjin.” You whisper in time with the mantra in your head.

           His brows furrow ever so slightly, some unseen war waging behind his eyes.

           “But I…” he shakes his head, clearing an unwanted thought. “Because I…”

           You’re unsure who moves first.

           One moment, you’re pinned in place by his gaze, and the next, you’re nearly crumpling from the sensation of Seokjin’s lips against yours.

           As if sensing your thoughts, his arms wrap around your waist to keep you upright even as he guides you back against a wall. Your breath comes in short spurts as you find the nape of his neck, hands diving into his hair while he kisses you with a dizzying combination of heartbreaking gentleness and frenzy-inducing desire.

           You can’t get close enough, can’t process enough. Not as his lips press against yours in a sudden surge of desperation. His hands move to cradle your face, pulling back once but returning before you even have a chance to open his eyes and question his absence.

           When he returns, his kiss is slow. His lips carry a thousand words, all of them sounding like your name. Seokjin drinks you in as if you were honey, taking his time even while your knees shake. This is the kiss you asked for the night he held you in his arms, this is the distraction to end all distractions.

           This is it.

           You squeeze your eyes tighter against the onslaught of emotions, gasping for air. Seokjin pulls back, breathing heavily while his hands leave your skin.

           When you open your eyes, the world is on fire.

           Haloed in oranges and red as a plume of smoke rises into the night sky, Seokjin regards you with eyes that have nothing left to hide. What you see is a man completely ruined by you, lips swollen and eyes soft. Your mind reels even as your heart struggles to remain in your chest. It’s as if he’s reached in and taken it out himself, and you wonder if he realizes that he holds it in his hands right now.  

           “It’s ok,” he whispers. “You scare me, too.”

           A laugh escapes your lips, making him smile. “Holy sh-”

           “Team one, what’s your ETA?”

           Both of you jump at the sound of Yoongi’s voice. You wonder if they can hear your heart pounding as you respond.

           “About…two blocks away. How’s it going?”

           “Yadiel just walked inside.”

--

           The Queen’s Wharf church is a behemoth that looms above the surrounding buildings. The very sight of it is enough to quiet the elation in your veins, replacing it with icy fear.

           Russo is apparently with Namjoon, who is chatting with him in the alleyway. If all is going according to plan, Yoongi should be skulking in the shadows, holding a very important document right now.

           One that might just change everything.

           “I’ve got eyes on team one,” Hoseok informs the group.

           “Any sign of Taehyung?” You ask, keeping your back to the wall as a couple of Yadiel’s lackey’s keep a wary eye out for any newcomers.

           “Nada.”

           “What about a blindspot?”

           “Northeast corner. Heading back toward Russo.”

           “Bingo.”

           Seokjin brings up the rear as you slink around a neighboring building. Moonlight dances along the smooth doors of the church, outlining two figures that stand as sentinels. “Anybody else outside?”

           “No. Just the two up front.”

           “There’s only one entrance,” Namjoon chimes in. “Not much for them to guard.”

           “What are my chances of being discovered if I take them out right now?”

           There’s a slight hesitation, then Hoseok speaks. “I’d leave them alone for a minute. Yadiel might be using them as bait to alert him to unwanted company.”

           You sigh. “I hate it when you’re right.”

           Skirting around them doesn’t prove very difficult; it’s scaling the northeast wall. It’s been a few years since this church has been serviced, that much is apparent in the way the rusty ladder creaks and shifts with each step. You freeze up a couple of times, certain that someone must have heard you and will surely come to investigate, but nobody ever does.

           Seokjin is waiting on the ground below, acting as your safety net should the old ladder give in. Now, he looks like an ant as you near the top.

           “Almost made it.”

           “I can see you,” Hoseok affirms. “Just try not to fall off, that’d be-”

           His words fade from coherency as you clamber to your feet atop the roof and realize that you’re not alone.

            Sitting in a patch of shadows behind a spire, Yadiel looks like a demon freshly summoned from hell as he smiles serenely at you.

           “Glad you could make it.”

           Hoseok curses in your earpiece when Yadiel’s figure comes into his line of sight.

           “I thought you might come up here. This is, after all, a very sentimental place for you.” Yadiel takes a few steps forward before crouching down to what you recognize is the cleaner’s entrance. “Isn’t this the last place you saw your mother? Nevermind the fact that she was dead.”

           “How did you-”

           “I’ve always kept an eye on the things I value most.”

           He heaves open the entrance in one smooth movement, grinning at the spot of light that peaks through. Crooking a finger, he gestures for you to come closer. You don’t budge. You’re paralyzed.

           “Suit yourself,” he hums, straightening. He brushes his hands off on his pants before turning away. “Thought you might like to see the show.”

           “Where’s he going?” Hoseok asks.

           “Who?” Seokjin’s breathing is coming up short, and you can hear the ladder creaking as he makes his way up.

           “No, Seokjin. Stay down there. Yadiel, he…” you shake your head but your throat seems to be constricting. “He’s on his way down.”

           You can hear Jungkook’s voice drifting up and out of the church, and temptation nearly overcomes you. But it’s a trap, you know it. Yadiel wants you in there, where you’re too far away to do anything that really matters.

Scrambling to the side of the roof where Yadiel just disappeared, you curse when he’s nowhere in sight.

           “Coming down,” you say. “We need to act quickly, I think. Something’s not right. Yadiel…he knew that I’d be up here.”

           “Ready when you are,” Namjoon says, voice tight.

           “The sooner the better,” Yoongi adds. “Russo’s getting restless.”

           “I see him,” Hoseok suddenly says. “I see Yadiel.”

           You pause on the ladder, nearly to the ground now. “Where is he?”

           The sound of the doors opening is answer enough.

--

           You’re standing outside the entrance when Russo approaches with Namjoon beside him. His ten muscly friends are close behind, looking ready for a fight. Good. They’re sure in for one. Seokjin is a few steps behind, offering you a grim smile. Yoongi is nowhere to be seen.

           “Madame Bianchi.” Russo greets you with an incline of his head. You don’t bother with the niceties.

           “You know what to do. Kill him, and you can have Yoongi.”

           Russo faulters, baring his teeth in what he must call a smile. “I’ve been thinking…is the Min boy really worth all of this?”

           Your heart stutters to a stop. “…what?”

           “The Father likes to…collect things. People, if you will.” Russo’s eyes sparkle. “He thinks you would all prove to be a very valuable addition to his collection.”

           You can feel Namjoon’s eyes on you, but you refuse to look. This can’t be happening. Not now. “You want all of us?”

           Russo glances back at his men, shrugging. “Yes, I believe those were his instructions.”

           No, no, no. Russo was supposed to take down Yadiel – possibly even die in the process. This was supposed to look like two groups, the Genovese family and Yadiel’s men, all going against each other.

           They were supposed to tear the world apart. Burn the forest.

           You were supposed to be the new life, sprouting from the ashes that they left behind.

           “You know,” Russo whispers. “I’m smarter than I look. Do we have a deal? I take care of your little problem and you come on home with me?”

           Seokjin’s voice breaks through before you can even form a coherent thought. “No!”

           Russo doesn’t even bother to look at him. He merely shrugs. “Your loss.” As if on cue, all ten of his men pull their guns. “The Kim’s offered more money, anyway.”

           The doors to the church are ripped open and just like that, your entire world is flipped upside down. Because Russo and Yadiel didn’t end up slaughtering each other tonight.

           They joined forces.

           The world turns blurry as your pushed inside. Seokjin and Namjoon are close behind, and Jimin and Jungkook are shoved in a few seconds later.

           You feel oddly empty as you’re roughly pushed down the aisle, like some unwanted bride. There’s a ringing in your ears that makes it hard to hear the harsh tones coming from all around you, but you don’t mind.

           “…at me.”

           Blinking, you will the ringing to come back, to block out the familiar voice. But it doesn’t return, betraying you, too. Just like Russo. Just like Taehyung.

           Just like your father.

           “Have you gone deaf?” It’s Yadiel, standing directly in front of you. “Look at him.”

           Him? Who else is there? Why does Yadiel, for once, want your focus somewhere other than himself? You’re about to ask him this when your eyes snag on something heartbreakingly familiar.

           Taehyung.

           He sits atop a dais, not a scratch on his pretty face. Just…looking at you. Smiling. As if this might turn out to be some elaborate joke. Like he’ll ask you if you really believed he could betray you like that. When he finally opens his mouth to speak, his voice is light. Carefree.

           “I want you to look at me when I hurt you.”

           Odd, you didn’t notice the way he carried himself before. He rises from his chair as if it were a throne and you, his favorite subject. The way he moves makes you feel small. Like the same child he met all those years ago in Italy, when you gave him and false name and he gave you a false friendship.

           “Taehyung?” You ask, because this can’t really be him.

           The man wearing Taehyung’s face smiles angelically. “I’ve always loved how you say my name. She��s so sweet, isn’t she?” He’s looking over your shoulder now, toward Jungkook. Then, holding Jungkook’s gaze, Taehyung flicks open a knife.

           His attention returns to you and he steps closer, but something has him pausing.

           “Jungkook!” Jimin yells, but Jungkook is already moving. He’s nothing more than a streak of light, jumping in front of you, screaming at Taehyung.

           “We trusted you!” Jungkook screams. He strides toward the traitor, spit flying as he screeches. “You were my friend! I trusted you to keep her safe!”

           Someone else is moving past you, trying to get to Jungkook. Jimin or Seokjin, maybe Namjoon – you can’t focus enough to tell. Because you’re watching in horror as Taehyung glances at Yadiel and gives him a composed nod.

           “You liar! You filthy-”

           A gunshot rings through the church, and all goes silent.

--

Jungkook’s body hits the floor with a sickening thud.

He does not get up.

And all you can do is stare. Stare and stare, that ringing back in your ears. Because that’s blood soaking the floor beneath Jungkook’s body. And he’s not getting up.

“No!” You scream the word at him, at Taehyung, at yourself. “No!” The word is a feral animal, clawing its way up your throat and careening into the, shattering everything in its wake. You lunge forward, barely managing a step before two arms entrap you in their iron-like grip. Thrashing and screaming, you try to wound whoever has trapped you with your elbows or your feet, but each blow does little to loosen the grip around you.

“Look at me, little one.” Yadiel’s voice is too soft, it grates against your skin. “Struggle all you wish, but if you attempt to harm any of us, you will have to choose which one of your comrades falls next.”

Struggling ceaselessly, you find it hard to see past the tears cascading down your cheeks. Taehyung, walking toward you with an awfully blank expression, reaches you and pauses just out of reach. He regards you as he would a wild animal, waiting for you to fall slack so he may come a little closer

“Arms,” Yadiel mumbles, and two men immediately flank you. Your arms are held out to the sides, in a position you know that could have them easily snapped. Sensing the danger as your body screams at you, your body stills.

You’ll never be able to kill Taehyung if your arms are broken.

It’s the only clear thought among many incoherent ones. You chant it to yourself over and over again, kill Taehyung, kill Taehyung.

“You,” Taehyung whispers, and it’s the tinge of adoration in his voice that makes you shy away even as he extends a hand out to you, “almost made me regret this.”

His hands are steady and warm as he wipes the tears from your eyes. He looks at you lovingly as he pushes your hair back, smiling softly even as he watches your tears begin anew. They’re for Jungkook, who remains still and lifeless on the floor; for Taehyung who you lost before you ever had him.

“So beautiful,” he says, and the way he looks at you makes you feel as if he can’t see the man at your back. The men holding your arms, prepared to shatter your bones if you make one wrong move. They might be Russo’s men or Yadiel’s, but it doesn’t matter. They’re prepared to maim you at whatever cost. “You’ve grown to be so beautiful, tesoro. And strong.” Then he gives Yadiel a wry smile over your shoulder. “I’ll miss you more than I care to admit.”

“Why?”

You can barely manage to speak above a wheeze, ribs aching as you fight to remain upright in Yadiel’s cage. Yet, Taehyung understands the question easily enough.

He does, because he’s been your – your friend, your lover, your roommate – your most loyal companion for years. Of course he’ll understand what you’re asking in your darkest moment. He’s led you down this path while you unwittingly followed, dragging six others behind you like a fool.

Moving forward with that ineffable grace you once adored, Taehyung takes you by surprise when he takes your hands from the men at your side and holds them tightly, bringing his lips up to your forehead in a slow, painstaking kiss.

When he pulls away, hands still intertwined with your own, he looks almost pained. As if he’d prefer that this was all forgotten; and he’d wake up tomorrow in your old apartment, grumpy and harmless.

In the blink of an eye, he returns to the ruthless man he’s kept hidden from you all this time. Eyes darkening and lips flattening, he speaks.

“Not that I loved Caesar less,” he whispers fervently, as if you’re the god he’s been praying to all this time, “but that I loved Rome more.”

You’re gasping for air that just won’t come. Gasping, clawing to no avail. The others are in similar situations, outnumbered and in shock.

“What a ragtag group you were,” Yadiel chuckles in your ear as Taehyung retreats to the dais. He steps over Jungkook as if he were nothing more than a discarded rag. “Look at you now.”

But you pay him no heed, tapping your belt before your arms can be withheld again. Hoping against hope, you utter two syllables that might prove to be your last hope.

“Hoseok.”

Taehyung’s eyes flash and he dives just as the stained glass shatters. Bullets fly through the air, and men drop to the ground.

All hell breaks loose.

And you’re standing in the middle of it.

“Get down!” Someone yells at you before you’re forcefully tugged to the floor. It’s Seokjin, but you hardly register his face before your attention flies elsewhere.

“Jungkook,” you croak, already reaching for his body. Jimin has beaten you there, and he drags Jungkook’s bloody body behind a pew, grimacing.

Namjoon is posted up behind the same pew, opening fire on anyone and anything. Seokjin soon joins him, shielding you with his body even as you sit gaping at the trail of blood on the floor that belongs to Jungkook.

It’s too much. Too much blood lost.

The door flies open and a bloodied Yoongi staggers in, already firing. “Yadiel! He’s getting away!”

This cuts through the gunfire like a torpedo, sending you staggering to your feet as you spy Yadiel careening through a broken window. Someone – Yoongi? Seokjin? – screams your name as you take off after him. You pay them no mind, replaying the way Yadiel shot Jungkook without a second thought so easily. Like he was nothing more than a prop.

The glass bites into the palms of your hands as you crawl out the window, cutting through your bandaged hands like butter. The pain is hardly noticeable, especially when you see Yadiel climbing the rusty service ladder up to the roof.

You fly after him, unsure if you’re screaming in your head or out loud. Yadiel has the good sense to look afraid as he glances back at you, quickening his pace.

He makes it to the roof mere seconds before you, but when you climb up, he’s waiting. Ready.

His body slams into yours at a breakneck speed, but you duck just enough to brace yourself and avoid toppling over the edge. Yadiel’s knees make a strange noise as you do, and he groans angrily before righting himself.

But you’re two steps ahead of him. Anger sharpens your senses, but fury unleashes them.

Kicking out, you watch as Yadiel’s legs go out from under him and his back hits the roof with a loud thunk. He holds his gun up, aiming it at you with decades of experience, and you laugh.

Laugh as you pull out a knife and throw it in the next heartbeat, nailing the muscles in his forearm. Yadiel howls as you repeat the movement on the other side, effectively disabling his grip and then some.

“Who is he?” You yell, the sounds of gunshots from below punctuating every word. “Tell me who he is!”

Yadiel, despite the beads of sweat forming from the pain, smiles at you. “You’ll have to be a little more specific than that, Bianchi.”

Another knife, another slash. This time, down his side. Blood immediately seeps out of him, dribbling onto the roof. Tonight, the rain gutters will flow with blood. That much you can promise yourself.

“Who.” A flick of your wrist and another blade goes flying. “Is.” Swish. “Kim.” Swish. “Taehyung.”

Yadiel’s laugh sounds more like a gasp, and you realize that he’s choking. On his own blood.

Too soon. None of your knives have pierced anything vital just yet – Yadiel should still have hours to go until death claims him. Unless, of course, he kept a cyanide pill handy.

The sight of him is almost enough to have you turning away, but you refuse. Not yet. You’ll stay here until the very end, until he’s long dead.

You’ll never make that mistake again.

Yadiel tries to speak but the words get caught. You lean down, straining to hear the words.

“My…king..”

He takes one last heaving breath before his eyes go blank. His chest stops moving.

Yadiel is dead.

You think you are, too.

--

You remain on the rooftop for a long, long time. Long enough that the sky goes from black to bruised purple – long enough that you can no longer feel your arms or legs.

Hoseok must have had eyes on you, that would explain why none of the others came looking. That, or they’re all dead, too.

You’re in the middle of entertaining this idea when a voice calls up to you, worn and thin.

“You’ll want to see this!”

           Numbly, you crawl to the edge of the roof. Past Yadiel’s unseeing eyes, to where Yoongi stands on the ground below, looking skyward.

           “Is he dead?” You ask in response. “Are they all dead?”

           Yoongi shakes his head, and even from here, you can see the way the action pains him. “Come down.”

           Descending the ladder takes eons, especially when your entire body feels numb. You brain can hardly communicate what you need to do next, but eventually, you stumble your way down to Yoongi. You look at him expectantly, sure that you look like a ghost.

           “Tell me.”

           And so, Yoongi tells you. He tells you of Russo finding him and nearly killing him before Yoongi slipped away, which explains why he looked so beat up by the time he made his appearance in the church. He tells you about Jungkook, bleeding out but maintaining a weak pulse that Jimin kept a close eye on until the wee hours of the morning, when the last of the enemy had fallen.

           He tells you about Hoseok, raining hellfire from above. Of Namjoon, who is nursing a broken nose, a couple of bullet wounds in his legs and arms. Of Seokjin, performing CPR on Jungkook when Jimin cried out frantically.

           “He’s…touch and go,” Yoongi admits. “But alive.” He glances sidelong at you, reading your dark expression. “And Yadiel?”

           Your mouth is dry when you speak. “Dead.” The church is in ruins, the door hanging off the frame like a gaping maw. “Taehyung?”

           “That’s what I wanted to show you.” Heading inside, Yoongi limps past the broken glass that litters the floor. Jimin sits on the front pew, head down as if he were sleeping. He jolts awake when he hears Yoongi approaching, eyes wild until he realizes who it is.

           “Where are the others?” You croak, still hesitating in the doorway.

           “Home. Monitoring Jungkook. Getting patched up.”

           It becomes clear to you that Jimin and Yoongi remained behind in order to clear the bodies. Yoongi gestures for you to come, and you step inside. Glass crunches underfoot, but it doesn’t bother you.

           Jimin’s haunted face matches your own as you slowly approach. He nods his head in greeting, but doesn’t open his mouth to speak. Instead, he turns his attention to Yoongi, who waits for you on the steps to the dais.

           “What is it?” You ask. He nods to the seat that Taehyung occupied last night. The one he used as his very own throne.

           Just like Yadiel said. My king.

           Because it was never Yadiel behind all of this. No, he was just another pawn. One set in place years before you came into the picture. A scapegoat.

           “Taehyung disappeared.” Yoongi winces, hating the words as much as you do. “But he left this behind.”

           Stepping up to the dais, you see a small, rectangular card. A business card, from the looks of it. Its glossy cover bearing a coat of arms is embossed in deep gold.

           It screams wealth.

           “Read it,” Jimin says, voice scratchy.

           Touching this thing sounds about as appealing at the plague, but you obey. You don’t have it in you to fight anymore. Picking up the card, you take a closer look at it.

           “It’s the Kim family crest,” Yoongi whispers when you don’t say anything for a long moment. Of course, you’d recognize this crest anywhere. It’s the symbol of the powerful Sicilian mafia – the father of all mafia. Their founding goes back hundreds of years, making prominent families such as the Genovese family look like children in all their squabbling.

           “Flip it over.” Yoongi whispers the words, but they sound like screams in the empty church.

           The crest seems to pop out at you as you flip the card onto its back, breath catching. Scribbled in handwriting almost as familiar as your own, lies two words.

           Taehyung’s parting gift.

           Got you.

previous 

support my dream of becoming a writer? | ko-fi

a/n: did you really think we were finished? I’ll be letting you guys in on a very special secret in one week! pls don’t kill me for lying to you all

also the tag lists will be reblogged in the morning thanks!

#bts mafia au #bts fanfiction #bts x reader #bts scenarios #mafia!bts #ot7 bts #htss

[crescentblossom66]

Bond of the Beasts Chapter 10

He jumped out of his car and practically stumbled over his own feet as he sprinted to the much less flashy back door of his club. The front had neon billboard that had “20 Grooves” written in cursive with several stars and that switched on and off repeatedly, it had a slight tilt which was by design and not due to poor moorings, the DJ found it simply added a bit of flair and looked more...wild. He had felt even worse for his employees when he drove by and took note of the long queue that had formed outside the club. If only those stupid monster hunters had left him and the others alone, he would have been able to help his poor personnel.

As he was fishing out his keys from his pocket, using the light of the small, insufficient light spending lamp. that was the only source of light in the small alleyway that he was in, he continued to wreak his brain with an explanation for his tardiness. After ruling out a car crash, as his vehicle was fine...if a little dirty from driving through the woods for a bit more than half an hour, he wondered if he could simply say it was a family emergency which wasn't even a lie. This day had been trouble since he got up in the afternoon. First, he had misplaced his favorite comb and had to take his spare, which really couldn't handle his thick hair all to well, leaving it to look almost messier than they had been when he got up. If that hadn't been bad enough, he spilled a bit of his coffee, which wasn't at all too sweet and creamy by the way, onto his favorite jacket, it had taken him a full ten minutes to scrub the stain out. And, of course, when he was about to head to work, all of that chaos happened.

He sighed deeply as he finally found his keys and opened the door, he had to say that he felt in no condition to run his club, much less sing tonight, but he knew that everyone in the club enjoyed his singing, and today was the day that he was supposed to give a small concert. The dark-skinned man pushed his shades back into position and straightened his jacket, putting on a smile to mask his exhaustion and unease, caused by recent events. Pushing aside the grim thoughts that currently occupied his mind the most; Would they be safe in their new spot? Would the little werewolf girl live?...Was he going to meet the same fate as those dear to him? The latter question caused him to shiver as the memory came flooding back, he immediately pushed the picture of the bloodied, sorrowful faces that haunted his nightmares out of his mind, and instead focused on getting ready.

“There you are, boss! We were starting to get worried.” The first face that greeted him was that of Martin, who was rushing by him toward the bar to resupply it with what appeared to be Champaign and a fine white wine.

As the shorter man was struggling to get the door open, the DJ opened it for him. “I'm sorry that I'm late, darling. I had a small family emergency, it's all sorted now though. The other nodded, but not before giving him a slightly concerned expression.

“I'm here if you need to talk about, alright?” The basilisk just smiled and closed the door behind Martin before heading to backstage. Just playing music form disks was plain and boring in his opinion, at least if it was the only source of music heard in a club, so he opted to place a stage for bands to play on at the back of his establishment. Real instruments just sounded clearer and had a certain...sound and weight to them that recorded music just failed to capture. Apparently, he wasn't the only one who thought like that, as his club quickly became the favorite night club in the city. Today, however, he almost regretted the decision of setting it up, as he had to go up to the stage and present his rather disheveled looking self to the masses, something that he wasn't looking forward to.

He soldiered on though, heading outside to greet the cheering clubbers who either didn't care, didn't notice, or were too drunk to make a comment on his appearance which he appreciated. After getting the people hyped up a bit, something that thankfully was really easy for him to do, he sat down on the piano bench and internally thanked Martin for having sorted his music sheets and placing it on the stand. His own voice nearly caused him goosebumps, not because it sounded pleasant to listen to and was strong and moved those that heard it, but because it sounded strained and raspy, so much so that he almost didn't recognize it as his own...even the Conductor's voice sounded less ear grating when his did now, he though, The dancing and cheering folks on the dance floor once again failed to show any signs of having noticed any changes, easing his concerns somewhat. One thing that didn't change though was the tiredness he felt, he was already aware that today clearly not his day, but he found it especially difficult to keep a positive mindset.

The rather poor condition of the owner of the club may have slipped past most of the guests and workers, yet one person's keen eye noticed that something was off with him today. A tall woman sat down next to him, the woman wore an elegant dark blue dress with a silk scarf and black high heels, her voice caught his attention earlier than her presence did, however. The voice of the stylish lady next to him was on the lower side for a woman, yet it sounded quite pleasant. “You look a bit stressed, rough night, I take it?”

DJ Grooves turned his head to face her and was greeted by a gentle smile. “You could say that. Nothing's going my way today, darling. Never mind that though, I don't think I've ever seen you around here before, darling, and I most certainly would have noticed someone with as great a fashion sense as you, ma'am.” He gave a smile which caused the woman to chuckle.

“Oh please, no need to speak to me so formally, just call me Jezaille.” The woman had dark brown hair and tanned skin, maybe she came from the south. The thing that caught his eye immediately was a scar she sported on her left eye, for a moment DJ Grooves wondered how she had acquired such a nasty injury, asking about it right now would have been rather rude however, so he refrained from doing so, and instead continued to make small talk.

“Alright, Jezaille, what brings you to my humble nightclub this fine evening?”

The woman seemed to eye him closely which made him a bit uncomfortable, if he was being honest. It was like she was searching for something on him. “I heard it was the best nightclub in town and thought it a good idea to check it out.”

He simply nodded while she went and ordered a drink for him and herself. He was about to tell her that she didn't need to pay for his drink, Jezaille seemed to have none of it as she simply rose her hand to told him that it was fine. “You didn't have to do that.”

“Oh, but I wanted to. You look like you need a break from everything.” She turned to her drink and took a sip. “Do you want to talk about what is bothering you?” She gave him a worried look and he sighed.

If only this stranger knew what went on in his life, it was pure chaos for years now. It was starting to take a toll on him. “I'm just a bit...down lately, due to what is going on. It's no big deal. I'm sure that you have a lot of things you need to worry about as well.” He tried to force a smile which was not returned, she instead seemed to frown. “Oh, I'm sorry if I reminded you of something bad, Jezaille.” He didn't want to upset the woman that was only being nice to him.

Her face shifted from a rather forlorn look back to a small smile as she shook her head. “No, it's nothing. Is it those frequent monster attacks that worry you?” She inquired and noticed that her interlocutor flinching ever so slightly.

The basilisk really wanted to avoid that topic altogether, but just switching to another might be suspicious. “No, it's familial issues. I heard that people are getting scared though, that's why my coworkers and I work harder than ever to cheer our guests up and bring some joy back into everyday life, darling.” He gave a proud smile, hoping to shift the conversation away from magical creatures.

His efforts seemed to not bare results as she continued. “A friend of mine once told me that those terrifying creatures live among the populace like normal humans. She once overheard a child say that she was a sorceress.” She shivered in horror and looked a bit fearful.

The DJ tried to stay calm, but he wondered if it was Hattie that she was talking about. He recalled the day Bow, Cookie, Hattie and him went shopping to get the kids new clothes. “I don't think we have to worry, darling, the authorities will deal with those abominable werebeasts if they get too close to the city.” The DJ tried to reassure the lightly panicked woman.

“I sure hope so, I'm really starting to get worried, I don't want any of those creatures to roam around an hurt innocent people.”

“I'm sure this will all calm down soon.” He put a hand on that of the woman, who flinched and nearly pulled her hand away. Maybe she thought that he was trying to make a move on her, but he was just trying to calm her down, it could just be that she was uncomfortable with physical contact. “I'm sorry, Jezaille, I was just trying to comfort you.” He removed his hand from hers and averted his eyes from her, before he did so, he had only seen confusion and surprise, thankfully no resentment.

Jezaille cleared her throat before speaking again. “I'm sorry, I simply didn't expect to be touched so suddenly.” She chuckled weakly. “Well, I think that I should take my leave, I have a long day ahead tomorrow.” She got up from her chair. “it was nice to meet the owner of club in person, my friends weren't lying, you're quite the charmer.” She gave a warm smile.

The DJ blushed slightly, but gave a wave. “I'm pleased that I made such a good impression on you. You know, you really have to tell me where you buy those stylish clothes of yours. They caught my eye right away, darling.” He got up as well pointed at her silk scarf. “That scarf especially, it's beyond adorable.”

“I'll tell you next time, I really have to go.” She smiled and gave a curt bow.

“I'm glad I haven't scared you off, darling.” He watched her make her way through the crowd, wondering if she'd truly come back again. He had really enjoyed their little talk.

-

While the DJ was at work, most everyone in the house was long asleep...with a few exceptions. Mu's eyes snapped open and her eyes adjusted to the low lighting in her room, which came from a single tiny lamp on a nightstand. For a moment she felt safe, thinking that maybe everything that happened to her so far was a bad dream and that her parents were alright. Fear and sadness overcame her when she realized that the room looked nothing like her own room, it was fairly bland and lacked a few key features such as her fish tank, her toy box, and most importantly, the collection of pictures of her and her parents camping. The young werewolf slipped out from under her covers and quietly went to her door to the hallway, she opened it just a crack and took a look outside. She breathed a sigh of relief when no one was there. The blonde girl tried to piece together what happened, but her recollection of the events was impaired by having been in so much pain that she had had trouble paying attention to her surroundings. She remembered that those hunters had shot her, a look to her side after moving her shirt up a bit confirmed that she recalled that correctly, the wound was there, but looked like it was starting to heal, some sort of cream had been applied to it. She recalled the low hoot of a wereowl and that she swore that she was dropped off on the ground in front of some sort of building, by then her vision had been to blurry to properly identify it. The last thing she recalled was looking at a pair of orange glowing eyes, another werebeast's perhaps?

It didn't matter right now, she needed to figure out where she was and how to flee...but first she needed to find food, she was starving! She carefully tiptoed down the stairs, perking her canine ears to catch any noise, any movement from the residence, thankfully all she heard were normal house noises, like the cold wind howling through the attic and cracks and creaking of wood. Her injury still ached a bit with every step, but it was more of a slight inconvenience now rather than anything life-threatening. After reaching the ground floor, she looked down the hallway into the living room, and headed to the kitchen that came into view as soon as she had descended the stairs fully. For a moment she hesitated about taking any food, she could hear the scolding tone of mother every time she had looked for food in other people's homes when they visited friends and family “You can't just take other's food, that's stealing, Mu!” Her ears lowered at the memory. Those weren't good people though, right? They had captured her in their home! Mu gave into her hunger and started to eat the ham and pepperoni slices that she found. She was about to bite into nicely smelling sausage, when a noise startled her. Footsteps!

Wasting no time, the blonde girl hid beside the door of the kitchen, out of view of everyone looking in. She forgot one thing though, the fridge door was still wide open and the light inside was on. She heard the shuffling, toward the kitchen, slow and rather heavy footsteps. She readied herself to either flee or attack the person. She had no idea if the doors were locked, so that she couldn't escape, or how fast and strong the stranger was, the good thing was though, that she had the element of surprise. A fairly short man entered the kitchen wearing a pajama and one of those obnoxious hats to go with it. The man went to close the fridge, mumbling something about electrical bills and the food inside spoiling, it was now or never! The wereowl let out a sharp yelp of pain, not as loud as Mu was expecting, however, when she bit down on the leg of the man. She had planned to make a run for it while the pain was distracting him and cause him to have trouble walking. Instead of him grabbing his leg in pain, he grabbed her arm instead. “Is that how ye treat the people that saved ye, lassie?” She was caught by surprise and tried to writhe out of his hold, but his grip was strangely strong.

“Let me go! I'm not going to end up as a wall decoration!” She tried to bite his hand and succeeded, the strange thing was that he didn't even flinch.

The wereowl simply waited until she stopped after realizing that it was futile. “Calm yerself, I ain't gonna hurt ye.” She stopped to speak for a moment.

“That's what they all say before they try to stab me or strangle me or do who know what!” She watched his face go from one of slight annoyance at her violent reaction to one of sadness. She finally noticed something that his dumb hat hid quite well, he had feathers right behind his ears. He was the wereowl she had heard! “Wait! You're a werebeast too, right?” Mu stopped her biting and was surprised that he let go off her the moment she ceased her struggling.

“I see that yer injury is healin', that's good.” When he mentioned her wound, she instinctively turned the other way.

When he tried to reach out to get a better view, Mu took a step back. “Hey, don't ye dare touch me, you creep!” He recoiled.

“i ain't no creep, lassie! I was trying to check up on that wound, you got hit by a silver bullet, ye wee mutt.”

“Mutt! Oh I should bite your ears off for that! I'm a proud werewolf!” The red-hooded girl crossed her arms with a huff. “What kind of weird place is this anyway? Are you trying to lure me into a false sense of safety before you rip my fur off the next full moon!?”

He shook his head, biting back a rather sarcastic remark, he had the feeling that the girl went through a lot...like everyone in this household. “Nae, lassie, we're just trying to survive. All o' us are magical creatures, same as ye. We'll talk again tomorrow, it's a bit much all at once, aye?” Mu nodded after her posture relaxed a bit.

“You're better not trying to trick me, old man.” She let him lead her to the room she previously stayed at.

“Just talk ta the red-haired woman, ye'll see, she's very nice.” The Conductor brought her back to her room and watched as she went back to her bed. He closed the door, hoping that the little girl would stay.

#ahit bond of the beasts #ahit monster au #ahit fanfic #ahit dj grooves #ahit mustache girl #ahit conductor

[cinberella]

Devil in Disguise

Artist: @skylar102

Thanks for the mood board and all the banners ❤️💕❤️

Rating: M Pairing: Malec Word Count: 48.500

This fic was created for the ​ Mini Bang 2023 presented by the @malecdiscordserver

CHAPTER 1/7 UNREACHABLE

It's challenging, almost impossible, not to look up at the restricted area where the very important people are. It is probably as difficult for Alec as it is for anyone else in the club. In fact, people keep dancing and having fun, mostly minding their own business. Or so it seems. Presumably, they are afraid to be caught gaping disrespectfully at one of the most powerful men on the planet, but it is easy to notice how the bravest ones among the crowd do attempt to throw a fleeting glance up to the VIP area, every now and then, certainly dreaming of being admitted into the inner circle of those - lucky bastards -  who can hang around the ridiculously stunning owner of the club.

Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn and prominent object of desire is the even-too-aware recipient of all the ill-concealed curiosity, reverence, and a certain amount of suspicion coming from his diverse clientele. He must know even too well the emotions he arouses in the clubbers, the power he holds over them. Well, not over Alec. He is a Shadowhunter, after all. He’s no one to be easily intimidated. But aroused? Well, that he undoubtedly is.

There is something in the way the man looks so out of reach that makes Alec crave him badly and, at least, he can fill his eyes with the Warlock’s charm and incredible persona. It’s a treat he indulges himself in, but Alec has no false hopes or dreams to be able to get closer to the man.

Up there, the Warlock looks more like a King, actually, or a God looking down at humanity from his personal Olympus; maybe it’s the ridiculously huge throne he is sitting on that makes him look so regal, but the power overflowing him is almost tangible even from the underbelly of the club, where almost everything is allowed. Almost. Warlock Bane hates troublemakers and bad-mannered people. The audacious display of his power makes people behave rather properly and, in the end, he magnanimously stands there for everyone to admire him, mannerly and respectfully, but never up close.

Does Alec play by these rules? Well, yes and no. He has the impertinence of a 20-year-old young Shadowhunter on his part, and the black stark runes on his arms and his neck dissuade the numerous bouncers in defense of the VIP area from telling him to eye up at their boss with less insistence and insolence. After all, staring isn't illegal, maybe just a little daring or even a bit rude, but Alec's gaze is irresistibly drawn to that fucking throne strategically placed in the exact center of the elevated platform. From there, the club owner overlooks all the people dancing with an oddly detached grin.

He is magnificent and Alec wants him. He has wanted the man since the first time he saw him.

Tonight is just the same story as usual. He will play his staring game for a while, drink a few cocktails, and when he loosens up a bit, letting the stress of the day bleed out of him, Alec will give in standing on the sidelines and finally will look for someone else more attainable. It’s a familiar routine by now. As is the fact that the Warlock will populate his dreams. Later and in the next few nights. But at least in dreamland, Alec can indulge in doing unspeakable things to the hottest man he's ever seen.

Anyway, it’s way too early for that; Alec is still sipping his first Cosmopolitan near the bar; his siblings already vanished into the crowd. And he is still shamelessly enjoying his show. A show offered for free.

Tonight the Warlock is even more impressively dressed up than usual. And Alec almost drools taking in all the details of his perfect facial features, focusing on the bloated makeup around his otherworldly eyes - his demonic mark on display. The Shadowhunter is fascinated by those little specks of gold in them - and ok, yes, he may have activated a couple of runes to enhance his sight both from afar and in the dimness of the club, so what?

The High Warlock of Brooklyn is a man as much feared as desired, and in Alec’s opinion he knows perfectly well how wanted he is and enjoys it a great deal. Everyone wants to be in his good graces, to get close to him, even if it means spending hours kneeling at his feet like obedient pets. Pets who are dressed - or rather undressed - only in leather and piercings, Alec muses.

Oh, Alec would kneel before him… Not up there for everyone to see, he is not much of an exhibitionist, even if he knows he is quite attractive and that maybe, in another World, he could quite fit with the picture the Warlock makes for himself.

In fact, Magnus Bane usually surrounds himself with people who are aesthetically up to it; he uses them to make his public image even more suggestive. He may be naturally beautiful of course, but the way he dolls up? Perfect. That shirt perpetually open on his chest, those necklaces, not to mention his hair, always styled in a way that seems to defy gravity.

Magnus Bane looks unattainable, no… He is utterly untouchable. He is totally out of reach, especially for rune-bearing people like Alec, who in the end is just content to admire the man from the dance floor, and bask in the energy and grandness that emanate from him. Magnus Bane is like a rock star performing on stage. For everyone to look at, and for no one to get close to. The Warlock doesn't even need to hold his own glass, there's always someone there for him to promptly bring a drink to his mouth, just at the minimal gesture of his fingers. Fingers that are often glowing with an intimidating blue light.

His magic.

Alec is fascinated by the idea of so much power held by one man alone. He sighs. Surely the Warlock is the most attractive man he has ever seen. No one on the dance floor, not among Downwolders, nor among Shadowhunters, holds a candle to him.  Not by a long shot.

Well, Alec may have this little crush on Magnus Bane, but that doesn’t change a thing. Because he is just invisible to the man. Things are not so easy between their people and as proof of this, Alec has never been with a Warlock. Not once. Yet, given a chance, he would surely have one ride on the sex carousel with this particular Warlock.

Oh well, it’s just a stupid thought that Alec doesn't waste much time mulling over. What would be the point? Magnus Bane has a reputation, although it is commonly known that he never hangs out with Shadowhunters, if not for business. He despises them, to some extent; even though, Nephilim are allowed into his club. It would be too bold a move, politically speaking, to forbid them from dancing at Pandemonium. After all the Lightwood siblings and a few other Shadowhunters from the New York Institute are quite popular among the Warlock’s fellow Downworlders. So, free ticket to Pandemonium for them. That's how it works, and honestly, it works just fine for Alec.

He enjoys his little escapades at the club and Magnus Bane never looks down at him. Even if the Warlock must be aware of his presence in his club. Yet, he just seems not to care. He just ignores him, as well as the other Shadowhunters that usually come together. Alec is again  thinking of inexpressible things he would do to the man - and luckily Warlocks cannot read minds - until the last drop of his cocktail touches his tongue and he darts toward the dance floor to find someone not so out of his league to spend the night with.

It’s easy, as usual, and once again the guy he approaches smoothly while moving to the music is a werewolf. When their gaze met, his eyes gleamed with a greenish light and Alec knows what that means. And he is game, because why not. The young man is tall and has a knockout smile lingering on his mouth. Alec immediately knows he is going to walk off with him. On the other hand, this is why he came, this is how his evenings at Pandemonium usually go since he started coming a couple of years back. He has flirted, hooked up, and even had brief flings with a considerable amount of Downworlders, mostly werewolves. His sister Isabelle, on the other hand, has a weird penchant for vampires, while Jace has a preference for Seelies. Sure, they've gotten into trouble a few times, especially Jace, for having broken more than a few hearts in his wake.

Despite them being rather reckless in their dalliances, they have maintained good relations with a lot of people, having established a few good friendships and alliances, also because, Vampires, Seelies and Werewolves usually don't hold grudges for too long, not over trivial things like hooking up with a Shadowhunter.

Maryse and Robert Lightwood, the Heads of the Institute, had decided to ignore their children’s endeavors and, admittedly, have done a lot to build courteous relationships both with the pack of New York, and the local vampire clan, surely with more orthodox methods than exchanging body fluids. Connection with the Seelie Court was a bit more difficult, but the Queen wasn’t interested in getting in the Shadowhunters’ way and the established agreement was live and let live.

As for the Warlock community, well, every interaction with the Institute was based on business, on making financial deals, especially with a few talented healers and, rarely, the High Warlock himself. Everyone knows the Heads of the Institute have a lot to be forgiven for, but their leadership seems to work out well, after all. The only ones who seem unable to overcome what they did in their youth are their own children. Stories about the abuse they perpetrated on Downworlders have somehow come to their knowledge. The truth is that while other exponents of the Circle were exiled or sentenced to death, Mr. and Mrs. Lightwood were inexplicably pardoned and were even given an Institute to run. It was meant to be a punishment, but Alec hates them for having gotten away with their misdeeds so easily.

Alec was educated to be a politician, so he understands it was all a game of power, of honoring the Lightwood name in front of the Clave, of making alliances, but he can't help but be disgusted by his parents, whose hands are stained with the blood of so many innocent people, including children. That’s unforgivable in Alec’s eyes and conceivably, that is the reason why Warlocks in New York do not normally socialize with Shadowhunters. They are the ones who have suffered the worst persecution of all. They are half demons after all. While werewolves and vampires were once human and Seelies have also angelic blood in their veins, Warlocks were treated just like their demon parents and slain without mercy. Magnus Bane, being the High Warlock in the City and owner of one of the highest-ranked clubs in the Shadow World, can't always avoid dealing with the angelic people he loathes so much. Alec knows that his mother has met him on occasion at the Institute, but the Warlock has never been officially introduced to the younger Lightwoods.

It’s almost funny that Maryse is probably ashamed of them. In her eyes, they are not capable of a diplomatic relationship with such an important representative of the Downworld. 

They are disobedient, reckless, indiscreet, often insubordinate and recalcitrant in following her orders, and always prone to defy her authority. In the last couple of years, Maryse has turned from being constantly enraged to resignedly disappointed. Alec remembers the furious quarrels when she used to try to marry him off to one girl or another from Alicante. Alec flipped her out each time, not only metaphorically, and refused to abide by her unreasonable request. The main reason for his refusal to marry a girl is that he is gay. But even if they required him to marry a guy, he wouldn't do it. No way. He values his freedom too much, he is still young and is not ready to marry and have a bunch of children - even adopted ones. Moreover, their parents know he is gay, as well as they know Isabelle and Jace are bisexual. They came out together, right on the occasion of a family dinner, when Maryse continued to insist that Alec at least should date a girl of their choice, give her a chance. Their combined - and epic - coming out only exacerbated the already tense relationship, especially with Maryse. And since then her irate screams have turned into sad, almost pitying looks. Alec doesn't know what pisses him off the most. He knew how to deal with his mother yelling angrily at him. But not with those miserable eyes. He just wanted to tell her, "there's nothing wrong with me, nothing you need to feel sorry for." 

Alec has never questioned his mother’s love for them, but he knows she considers her offsprings her greater failure. So, they never get to be involved in her business even for something simple as showing the Warlock around to allow him to reinforce their wards. No. They weren't even considered capable of taking care of a task so uncomplicated.

On the other hand, though, she was also afraid of Magnus Bane, she didn’t trust him and so maybe she was also trying to protect her kids. Alec does not know, but one thing is for sure.  The High Warlock of Brooklyn doesn't seem to have gotten over the old grievances that seem to have festered since the end of the Uprising. It's been a little over 18 years since Valentine was killed, by his own wife and the man who had sworn to protect him with his life, his parabatai no less, but Magnus Bane has been distrusting the Clave and its people with the same intensity for all these years. If not more and more profoundly through the years.

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"Alec, my God, have you slept with a werewolf or have you tried something new and fucked a vampire?" Isabelle exclaims laughing and pointing at his neck.

Alec groans brushing his hand over the deflect rune on his throat, which is thoroughly bruised all around. As usual, after having been at the club and having parted ways for the night, the three siblings met at a nice bistro not far from the Institute for breakfast, before sneaking back inside. Their walk-of-shame is something that happens quite often and when they stride into the Op Room after a night out, their fellow Shadowhunters usually just give them a benevolent and a little envious look. Among all of them, they are the wildest and most devil-may-care.

"Shit… I know, he mauled my neck… didn’t he?”

Jace snorts not really in an elegant way. “You, dog!"

Alec laughs. His brother can be so crass.

“Technically, he was the dog. And a very satisfying fuck.” He deadpans sarcastically, making his siblings giggle. He knows how to be crude too apparently. But these dog-related puns with the werewolves are a common joke and no one gets offended by that anymore.

“Anyway, I'll heal it with an iratze.” He sniffs at his T-shirt and grimaces, “God, I do need a shower. What about you? All good?”

He asks casually sipping his black coffee. He must admit that he enjoyed his night with the werewolf at his place. It was intense and quite rough but it helped him to blow off some steam after the unsatisfying patrol they had been on. No demons to slay last night and a lot of pent-up energy to put to good use. Jace smirks proudly, as usual, and eloquently wriggles his eyebrows.

“Yeah, sure, mission complete. I went to Roselyn’s and well, her sister was there too, Miriel, Mariel, Muriel? Something like that, I don’t remember her name, but I do remember that she was very flexible... When I bent her over…"

"Jace, good Lord... we don't need details. We never do, really."

“Well, this could be educational for you, you know?”

“No, that would make me feel like I wanna throw up, so please, shut up.”

Alec rolls his eyes, trying not to picture his brother having hetero sex with two Seelie girls, while Isabelle is putting on her red lipstick, with a hand mirror, and lets out a muffled chuckle at her brothers’ bantering. Jace seems extremely pleased with himself.

“Ok, ok… well, I had fun anyway, thanks for asking. That’s all. But you’re such a buzzkill, bro. What about you Iz?”

“Uhm, all good. I spent the night at the Dumort Hotel, with Stéphane. It was lovely, he whispered French words to me all night, he was very… charming.” She clicks the mirror closed with a smug smile on her red lips.

“Ugh… Sure, you went there to listen to him speak French. That’s right.” Jace mocks her, with a playful patronizing tone.

“No… I went there to get laid, actually, and I did, but it was… sweet… He is a very nice guy, that’s all; maybe I’ll see him again.”

Alec thinks she might obliterate the poor guy, eventually. She never sticks around for too long with the same vampire and she has a couple of on-and-off relationships with a Seelie man and, incredibly, also with a Mundane. She says his obliviousness about the Shadow World gives her thrills.  Not that Alec cares, Isabelle can handle her flirts and hookups as she sees fit.

They dawdle at  the table, chatting and enjoying their coffees together, treating themselves also with some pumpkin muffins. Differently from the usual, there is no rush this morning. Their parents are in Idris - thanks to the Angels  - and they shouldn't be back in New York for at least another couple of days. They both have been summoned to Alicante for who knows what crisis impending the Shadow World. Not that their parents ever involve them in the Institute's political decisions. They are just little soldiers, mere executors of orders, and do not make much use of their theoretical privileged status of being the children of the Heads.

Indeed, quite the opposite of that. They are often punished for insubordination, put on ichor duty, or sent on night shift patrol for days without respite. The night before when they decided to go dancing, it was already after midnight, and they had been patrolling for more than six hours. However, the situation was unusually quiet along the streets, with no suspected demonic activity whatsoever, and so instead of returning back with the others, they ended up staying out all night. But as they say, when the cat's away the mice play, right? Or they go dancing... Or… Whatever.

Alec likes his life after all. It could be better, but it could be so much worse. And luckily he has his siblings by his side, and that’s all that matters.

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As soon as they set foot in the Op Room they stop dead, finding themselves in the presence of their parents. Well, none of them saw that coming.

Their furious, unsympathetic, disappointed parents are back. Hurray. As soon as Maryse sees them, she stalks toward them, stopping them from getting away from her clutches.

"Where the hell have you been?" She spits out through her teeth, angrily. Alec looks her straight in the eyes. He isn’t afraid, and they did nothing wrong.

"Out." He replies, flatly.

"Alexander..." There is a threatening hint in her voice, that makes Alec snap.

"What? We're all of legal age, we don't have to explain ourselves. We went on our patrol shift, dutifully, and got back in time for today's assignments. Who cares where we've been last night? Why do you even care?"

"Well, I care, because I already know where you've been... You went to Magnus Bane’s club, didn’t you?"

"And even if we were? I don't see how that can be a problem. You and Dad are such hypocrites…"

"We are just realists and we worry about you. That man… He is dangerous… And you are so naive.”

“Naive? That’s new…”

“Well, at least, you are unaware of the truth… You may not believe me, but  I was so worried… Your father and I need to talk to you, ok? It’s…urgent.”

She sounds oddly frantic and genuinely concerned.

“What is it?” Isabelle asks suddenly worried. She doesn’t like her mother’s attitude. What the fuck may have happened?

“I just can’t believe that we returned earlier from Idris just to warn you and you were dancing at that horrible place! By the Angel, how could you always be so irresponsible?”

“Mother, just tell us what’s going on, ok?” Alec interrupts her, exasperation clear in his deep voice.

“Ok…” she concedes and then sighs before continuing. “Disturbing news was brought to our attention and we must take measures about it as soon as possible. The Clave is counting on us and your father and I... you know the delicate situation we are in."

"Of course, we know, how could we not? Your alliance with Valentine has ruined our future. Despite our family name, all positions of prestige are precluded to us. Because of you and your fucking lack of judgment. So, pardon me if I don't pity you with your delicate situation."

Maybe this is not the best time to dredge up the past, but Alec is so angry with his parents. He can barely hold back. They are there, all judgmental and distraught, thinking they can tell them how to live their lives.

"Alec..." It is their father who has come forward, deeming it necessary for him to intervene.

"Look, we are perfectly aware of our mistakes and you know it. We have always been honest with you, never hidden our… past. But we were young and stupid and we've been trying for years to fix what we did and this may be the occasion to do something important. But we need your help."

"What? This again? I told you, I won't let you marry me off to secure your alliances in Idris."

"This is not what we want from you, in fact, I would say the opposite. We need your…   interpersonal skills."

Alec frowns at that. It’s quite unexpected and… unsettling. It is enough to make him shut his mouth and keep his frown on his forehead.

"What do you mean Dad?"

Isabelle asks warily, stepping closer to her brothers. Jace has only folded his arms over his chest in a defying stance.

"You know… Given your particular proclivities and tastes..." Robert begins, but Isabelle snorts loudly.

"Oh God… Proclivities?"

"Isabelle wait... This is important, ok? We need you to go on a mission for the Clave."

A mission?

They are suddenly more interested in what their parents have to tell them. This would be a first, after all. A real mission, not just patrolling around the city.

"What mission?"

Maryse sighs and looks at them more calmly, now that she and Robert have their attention.

"Someone is plotting against the Consul. There seems to be a coalition of Downwolders who believe that the Mortal Instruments are not safe in the hands of the Clave and that they are a danger to all the demon-blooded. We got very worrying intel. It seems that the leaders here in New York have allied with the Seelie Queen to carry out a coup in Alicante. Their final goal is to eliminate all the Shadowhunters, it is not clear how, but it seems there may be a spell capable of… deruning us somehow.”

Alec hears Isabelle gasp.

“What? That’s… horrible.”

“Exactly. Vampires as well as werewolves and Warlocks could be involved in this. What we ask of you is that you gather information. You are good at hanging out with them… Just be careful, now that you know the truth you wouldn’t want to trust them as blindly as you’ve done so far. You don't have to overdo it, nor expose yourself too much. Just try to figure out through the grapevines if anything is going on in the Downworld. Something shady or just… kept hidden.”

“What happened to we are worried about you. Are you ready to throw us into the lion's den now?"

Jace asks and then throws his hands in the air in an exasperated gesture. “You’re fucking incredible…”

“Jace, we are telling you this, so you can be prepared. But as I said, your peculiar skills may be too useful to think about missing this opportunity. I mean, Jace you could get closer to Camille Belcourt, while Alec may try his hand with Maia Roberts? We know you go to eat at the Jade Wolf quite often, and Isabelle? You are surely able to befriend Magnus Bane, aren’t you?”

The three siblings gape at their parents as they had gone insane all of a sudden. And then Jace chuckles hysterically, but it’s a sound that makes Alec shiver.

"You really don't know what you're talking about, do you? Camille has been deposed and the new head of the clan is Raphael Santiago, who is a very close friend of Isabelle’s. And Magnus Bane? He is just an asshole who won't let any of us get anywhere near him. And there's no way Maia could be charmed by Alec because, you know, Alec is gay and enjoys sleeping with male werewolves."

Maryse steps forward, her face a sharp, hard mask of anger, barely contained at this point.

Jace rubbing Alec’s sexuality in their face was the last straw.

“Look, I honestly don't care how you intend to pursue this task, and least of all, who you sleep with, as long as you can get info from your precious Downworlder friends. There could be a war, do you understand? A war! So we must do anything and everything to avert this crisis; we need to do it, at any cost. Also, we could finally get the chance to restore our name in front of the Clave. But we need your cooperation. So, you’ll do as you were ordered if you do not want to be transferred elsewhere with immediate effect!” The woman concludes with a wicked grimace.

“What? You can’t be serious!” Alec shouts in disbelief. But his mother laughs in his face.

“Oh, I can assure you I am. You have been nothing but a thorn in our side. And now… if you can't even achieve the one thing that is required of you, for the benefit of this family, for our future, and probably for the future of all Nephilim alike, well, I can only deem you so useless that you can go and fill the ranks in some other Institute with a shortage of personnel. You know… Seul, Lima, or Stockholm… they keep asking the Clave for recruits. And you know what? You could just go and be useful there, as far as I am concerned. Do we understand each other?”

Maryse’s outburst leaves them at a loss for words, so they just nod their heads, more to acknowledge her words than to agree with them.

“Good. Silence and compliance look good on you. You'll only report to me and your father. We count on your discretion. If there are no questions, you are dismissed. And go make yourself presentable. You look… obscene."

She adds scrunching her nose and looking intently at Isabelle’s skimpy outfit before striding away, followed suit by her husband.

Alec is speechless. Apparently, they are good to fuck around but not for real diplomatic, sensitive missions. What the Hell? Is this the idea their parents have about them?

He feels offended and unfairly belittled; it may be true that they weren't exactly cooperative during their adolescence and that they never missed an opportunity to embarrass their mother or piss her off, but Jace is a formidable warrior, Isabelle has strong diplomatic skills and Alec, well he's strong and resilient, an excellent fighter and with innate strategic and leadership aptitudes. And yet, it had always been clear that bearing the Lightwood name, they would pay the price for their parents' crimes. And they have never been inclined to make sacrifices to redeem themselves from something that wasn't their fault in the first place.

The most they can aspire to is to stay at the Institute for life, and maybe Alec can one day become Head, if he doesn't keep screwing up every chance to show off his skills.

Alec looks at Isabelle and Jace. They are as bewildered as he is, if not more. What their mother has asked them is basically to betray their friends, and double-cross them. But then another thought flashes through Alec’s mind. And an unexpected one at that.

Apparently, he now may have a chance to get closer to the man who has been living rent-free in his wet dreams for years. Sure, he doesn't like having to submit to his mother's blackmail, and honestly, he doesn't even believe that what Maryse reported can be accurate or true. New York Downworlders have been loyal friends to them, their relationship with the young Shadowhunters is based on cooperation and reliability, and now their parents want to jeopardize the lasting peace between them by sending them to spy on their allies? That’s insane. Isabelle and Jace are still looking at him with a baffled expression on their faces. But Alec snickers at them; there is nothing to worry about, actually. Maybe they just have to humor their mother for a while, faking to play along with her mischievous plan until the intel from the Clave turns out to be what it actually is, i.e. bullshit. And then everything will be back to normal.  This is just another glitch of the Clave, and Alec is used to dealing with their shenanigans. There is nothing to be concerned about. On the contrary, this could be a great opportunity. In fact, Alec now needs to come up with a plan to approach the most unapproachable of all Downworlders, a way to become his friend (and hopefully more than that). Magnus Bane is the most fascinating challenge he has ever found himself to face.  And the hottest of all. Alec is going to find out if the Warlock is really as unreachable as he seems.

But first, he needs to talk to his partners in crime, his perplexed and visibly worried siblings. They won’t let him down, Alec knows that.

#malec fic #shadowhunters #shadowhunters fic #shmb2023

[iamdexter123]

The person of the question of the second season

Well, I'm a fan of Winx Club. Obviously, Fate The Winx Saga disappointed me in many ways. I asked you the question because I wanted to know in what areas the second season disappointed. It's funny how there are Winx Club fans who did accept the second season, and there are Fate fans who were disappointed.

I think this disappointment comes from how Fate The Winx Saga was planned from the beginning. There was no planning for the second season, and that was already confirmed even without the series being released. The first season rejects Winx Club, and the second season embraces Winx Club. The second season made direct references to the Winx Club, naming Marion the Company of Light, and even treating the Dragon's Flame with the same treatment as in Winx Club. I even think that the second season took things for granted, known to the audience it was addressed to, the Winx Club fans.

Is this a good or bad thing? Good in the sense that Winx Club exists for the writing team, bad for Fate fans, who see certain aspects that they want condemned. What I want to say is that the decisions that were made by the writing team from the beginning also ended up condemning fans like you, and that's not fair either.

I think Ben's character just disappeared because he wasn't an original Winx Club character, and I think this happened with Andreas, Rosalind, Sam, Silva, Dane (He didn't disappear, but his arc was non-existent from chapter four), even Farah. It's curious how the characters that are original from Fate The Winx Saga disappear... to make way for the original Winx characters (like Marion, and Icy and Darcy, who were going to arrive in the third season). I also add that Beatrix suffered this in some way.

It's funny, but I guessed that characters like Ben, Andreas and Rosalind were going to disappear, and not because I wanted it to happen, but because it was obvious that the second season was going to correct the course.

In summary, I really like to analyze these aspects in an objective way and I hope that this does not bother you my comment. Much of these failures comes from how it was planned from the beginning, and that in the end both fans and Fate fans (not all) ended up disappointed as well in a certain part.

Anon this follow-up was PERFECTION, thank you! I was going to mention Winx Club stuff in my original answer so I’m glad I get to talk about it now.

I never watched Winx Club, and I’m not a die-hard Fate fan. I just happened to watch a Netflix show that for various reasons floated my boat, so I consider myself a bit like Switzerland. I say that because I’m aware that there are two camps to the TV show, each with their own *thoughts*. So let’s discuss that a little bit below!

Here’s the context: until Fate, I didn’t even know fanfic existed. I was too busy doing other things (I drank beer and sung badly in public karaoke bars of multiple cities) to realise that people could not only talk about their favourite TV shows but also write about them. Fandom for me only existed in dialogue from the Big Bang Theory.

But anyway, the week I got Covid (for the first time) I binged on Fate. And then my fever brain didn’t let it go. And then suddenly I’m googling it, and I find A03, and I read fic about it, and then I’m writing my own fic, and then suddenly a year later I’m still writing about it. Amongst all that like any good lawyer I researched (thanks wikifandom), and I figured out there was some beef between the Winx Clubbers and the Fate-alists (nicknames have been given without intention of offending anyone, btw. I’m Australian; my life is nicknaming things that don’t need to be nicknamed). Wikifandom influenced how I continued my own fic writing, because if the TV show was based on Winx Club, then surely it was important to involve Winx Club lore. I have nevertheless taken plenty of artistic license.

At some point (was it pre-release of S02 or after? I can’t remember) I read that there were some creative differences between the Fate writer Brian Young and the Winx Club creator, and that S02 got mixed up in it. From my understanding, that’s where S02 became a mishmash fix-it for Winx Clubbers and Fate-alists.

And you’re absolutely right, it seems like no one is happy with the outcome and that probably can be reverse-engineered to how Fate was approached to begin with. You’d think that in this day and age that people who develop TV shows (especially adaptations) would realise that there are fans of the originals, and if you want something to succeed you don’t put them offside.

Luckily for me I have a foot in neither camp—I just like a tidy story—but I can imagine the disappointment for people who are invested either way, so I’m sorry that you were let down by this. I did read that the WinxClub guy Iginio Straffi was excited about a Winx movie at some point so I hope that comes to fruition for the Winx Clubbers such as yourself? Oh also, I tried changing the AO3 tags on my fic to be Fate-specific but they revert back to Winx Club tags and I’m sorry about that too.

In sum, there’s probably only one, big question that needs answering:

Did Tobian rock snails appear in Winx Club? If they didn’t, those interloper Gastropoda need to die in ignominy.

#fate: the winx saga #fate the winx saga #ftws #winx club #I include the Winx club tag in peace and love #thanks anon! #you are officially MVP for my week and I work with some pretty awesome people #I’ve never felt so murderous towards snails before

[writtenjewels]

Roommates part 7

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

He was supposed to be going out to meet someone else, and instead Salim found himself at the club with Jason. Truth be told, he was relieved. He already felt awkward and out of his element; at least with Jason, he had a friendly face to gravitate toward. It didn't hurt that Jason's clubbing outfit was just tight enough to accent his muscles. Salim stuck close to him for an entirely different reason once he noticed just how many clubbers were eyeing the former marine.

“Two club sodas!” Jason shouted to the bartender.

“You can drink if you want, Jason,” Salim protested.

“Maybe I like club soda.” Jason smirked at him. “Besides, I should cut back on alcohol anyway.” He paid for their sodas and they settled in chairs to drink. Salim surveyed the crowd and though there were some attractive faces in the mix, he didn't feel a spark of interest.

“What do we do now?” Salim finally asked.

“See if anybody wants to dance with you.”

Salim rolled his bottle between his hands, focusing on that rather than Jason's gaze as he asked: “Do you want to dance with me?” He got no response and quickly added: “It's only that I'm not sure how to club dance.”

“It ain't hard. C'mon.” Jason got up and held out his hand. Salim took it and followed Jason out to the dance floor. Without thinking he slid his fingers through Jason's to link them together. Jason took their linked hands and directed them up to his shoulder. “Just follow me,” Jason directed.

And Salim did as best as he could, bobbing and swaying along with the younger man. At some point his hand slid around Jason's shoulders to his back and gently pushed to bring the other forward. Jason gripped onto his elbow and used it to pull even closer. The proximity made Salim even more aware of every shift Jason made, every sway and bob, every subtle grind.

Grind? Yes, the way Jason sometimes moved felt like he was grinding up against Salim. He nervously looked around and saw other dances were doing the same. Was this just how people danced in clubs? He looked back at Jason and saw a flush on that freckled face. Could just be from the dancing, or maybe...

“Salim.” The somewhat breathless quality of Jason's voice caught his attention. Too husky, too inviting. The younger man smiled and gently poked his cheek. “You're blushing.”

“You're flushed too, my friend.” Salim poked back. Jason leaned into him and Salim wished they were back in the quiet and privacy of their apartment. He debated on suggesting this, knowing how silly that would sound when they were hardly in the club for ten minutes. He put his hands on Jason's hips and tugged him closer.

“Salim.” They weren't dancing anymore. Jason's flush was spreading down to his neck.

“Should we... leave?” Salim asked him.

“We just got here.”

“That isn't what I asked, jarhead.”

“Smart-ass,” Jason snorted. He took a breath, swallowed, and answered: “Yeah. I think we should.”

#jason kolchek x salim othman #jason/salim #jason x salim #jason kolchek #salim othman #jalim #house of ashes

[starsmaligned]

WANTED PLOTS stars (click to see muses)

zeki / capricorn

zeki works many jobs. some days he works as a barista during the morning rush, some evenings he works as a busboy, then some nights he works late at the clubs, cleaning up and delivering drinks around the club. but one familiar face keeps popping up at very job, and zeki begins to wonder if he's actually being stalked, or if it's all just a coincidence

shushu, a stereotypical fluffy white dog, has become infatuated with zeki's next door neighbour. zeki isn't the happiest about the situation, but has started sitting outside after dinner so shushu can enjoy the company of his neighbour through the balcony bars, and slowly but surely zeki comes to find a friend in his neighbour ( can stay platonic but can be turned romantic if the chemistry and want is there )

more tba

enoch / aquarius

enoch is a bit lazy - or rather, his head is always in the clouds. his neighbour has started making extras for dinner, making sure enoch eats meals ( and also avoids any more fire alarms being set off, which is a burden to all neighbours ). in return, enoch helps buys groceries and does the dishes - which is a nice little deal for both of them, and the aquarius enjoys the routine dinner plans they have

more tba

llyr / pisces

llyr is a known wanderer. your muse often finds him in the same park every morning, even begins to bring him an extra meal, thinking he is a homeless lad. but llyr begins to bring back the containers with meals in it, thinking they were just friends exchanging food. a conversation is needed to explain the situation, llyr thinks

a lost boy. he wandered a little too far this time, and he's found himself in a completely unknown area, perhaps even a dangerous area. normally he would just sit and wait for his brothers to find him, but there was no where safe to wait. your muse, seeing him in trouble, takes him in for a few days, making friends with this strange, water obsessed male who's eyes seem to glitter with wonder ( and stars )

more tba

kristofel / aries

tba but seriously he needs a friend to take the stick out of his ass he's so fucking uptight jesus christ

thelonious / theo / taurus

theo is too stubborn and wants everything to be perfect, which often means he works himself to the ground out of stress, and drives himself to artist block. while out and about, he spots your muse, and instantly knows he needs them around, whether as a model or not, because they bring an insane amount of inspiration to his life, helping him out of his creative block ( can turn romantic if the chemistry and want is there )

some nights, theo goes out to avoid cy, his brother and roommate. he's not the biggest clubber, but he goes out and sees a stranger wearing some of the clothing he designs. he goes up to speak to them, to ask what they thought about it, while trying not to let up that he's the designer ( and perhaps he's failing at it ). eventually he ends up using that person to send samples of new products to, to see how someone outside of the designing world views or likes his clothing and whether it'll be well received or not

more tba

yves / one half of gemini

yves is a psych major, and kind of hung up on a past relationship. he can psychoanalyse himself all he wants, he knows its irrational, but he is still hung up on them. to get rid of memories of them he rents out their old room, but didn't expect his new roommate to take up the space left in his heart

he doesn't even belong to any clubs, so why is he here? he had to take the spot of a mutual friend to help at a club booth during orientation week, and while he would usually hate this kind of thing, the person he is helping run the booth gets along extremely well with him, and perhaps he would join the club too, just to spend more time with them

(plot including cy) the universe is sick of the bickering between the two, deciding to give them a sitter of sorts, someone who has to live with the two of them and play referee, to try and get them to sort out their differences

more tba

cy / second half of gemini

classic good vs neutral evil. cy is not interested in much in life, but your muse always seems to be around when something cy touches mysteriously goes missing. cy tends to think of it like a game, and one time after they sit and have a more serious talk, cy opens up a little more, and perhaps thinks of your muse as more of a friend than originally thought

cy is responsible for a lot of bad things happening to innocent people. at least, he was in the past. and sometimes that catches up to him, especially at night. he spends most nights sleepless, wandering the streets and just thinking, sometimes running from his thoughts. he somehow runs into your muse on a regular basis ( whether they be a worker at an all hours convenience store, or just another night dweller ) and slowly reveals his past - he doesn't know why he's comfortable enough to spill the beans, but without realising he has become comfortable enough to tell his almost entire life story to a stranger he barely knew

(plot including yves) the universe is sick of the bickering between the two, deciding to give them a sitter of sorts, someone who has to live with the two of them and play referee, to try and get them to sort out their differences

more tba

sauveur / cancer

being a doctor, he sees a lot of patients come through those doors at the hospital. but he sees your muse pretty often, usually for some clumsy reason. it creates a sort of bond, and always puts a smile on his face whenever he sees them. but one day they come in a little worse for wear, and he is forced to use his powers more than he normally would to heal them, not willing to give up their life just yet, a rare selfish moment for the cancer

with all of his brothers moving out of home, it had begun to feel a little bit empty in his house - even though he has shimkoong, it's not the same! one day he finds your muse needing a place to stay ( whether they be homeless, needing to be closer to uni, needing to move out due to a bad situation, etc ) and he's more than willing to let your muse move in, happy to have another mouth to feed and someone to talk to - roommate bonding ensues ( can turn romantic if the chemistry and want is there )

shimkoong and your pet have a close bond, one that sauveur indulges in because he likes seeing his princess happy - and its nice for him to make a friend outside the brothers and work

more tba

othniel / leo

othniel had been a protector, ever since his first life on earth. he sees your muse being attacked, whether by bullies, thugs or anything of the like and steps in, protecting your muse and fighting on their behalf. it becomes a somewhat silent bond from that point, othniel always looking out for your muse and keeping them safe - until one day your muse finally strikes up a conversation with them, and the friendship can begin from there

the leo is scarred in many places from previous fights, but it doesn't stop him from adding new ones from new fights. othniel always comes and finds your muse after a scuffle, coming to be patched up and looked after - it makes him feel a little more special, always having someone to care for his bruises and cuts and scrapes after protecting someone. he wouldn't admit it, but he likes the gentle way your muse touches him, cares for him instead of using him as protection. one day your muse gets attacked, and nothing can stop the leo from tracking them down and getting revenge for hurting one he holds so dear

more tba

arek / virgo

arek fell in love with his job as a lecturer. however, there is one thing that irks him - your muse, who works at the university ( whether as another lecturer, or as a receptionist ). it's not that he hates your muse, but it's just that they always challenge him, they always have opposing views but it drives him crazy in the best way possible, always looking forward to their next conversation but HATING that conversation nonetheless

arek is known for packing up and going camping. one night while sitting by the campfire your muse appears, and asks to sit at his fire. he agrees, and even leaves a bed for your muse in his tent. he's not sure where your muse comes from, whether you're just another hiker, or some kind of mystical being, but he tries to return to that spot at least once a month, to have your muse return to keep him company once again.

more tba

septimus / libra

this boy literally has so many plot ideas already, there's too many to put here, just ask for him and I'll give you a small list if you want

victorien / scorpio

he is a hard boy to deal with and i am not even sure what plots he could do because it takes a LOT for him to warm up to someone and get past his fuckboy persona

evander / sagittarius

kinda a mix of septimus and victorien - so many plot ideas already, but takes a lot for him to warm up to someone. loves his dog named Dog, so animal loving muses can line up

elio / the sun

idk man but please can someone have this himbo for something other than his looks as well he has a great personality if you can get past the big tiddies. he's very passionate about fitness and really wants to find ways to be happy in gloomy weather

luan / the moon

a little recluse. lives in the woods, perhaps he can befriend someone from the city who can help him get things that he needs without him having to venture into the city?

idk man i'm just a massive sucker for the 'you were attacked by something in the forest and i saved you and bought you here let me nurse you back to health' trope

mystical beings befriending each other

cethin / the eclipse

so many plots but hard to get close to

idk please socialise this boy

watch out he bites

#out of constellations #wanted plots

[gcldfanged]

@unforestalledreturn

Scaevola Tanne: Third Class. 

Like so many other Thirds, he seemed to have peaked shortly after surviving mako treatment. Unremarkable in stats- Strength and endurance above average. No magical affinity nor aptitude. Mental fortitude, acuity, and resourcefulness so-so. Main skills (if any) seemed to be observation and adaptation, mainly situational improvisation. Had a decent enough appearance that he could manage to be seductive, slightly above average.

All in all, ‘slightly above average’ was the club he wielded over even weaker recruits. He was a bully and a coward, an opportunist. Yet his unremarkable qualities were what made him so dangerous- He was virtually indistinguishable from any other ‘normal’ person working for Shinra, aside from being part of the SOLDIER program.

By far, he was the easiest to pin down in terms of habits, schedule, and pattern. Approaching Tanne during on-duty hours wouldn’t be impossible, but Jae-hyo wanted to deal with the Third alone, without his entourage of sycophants.

He wasn’t sure how long the abuse had been going on, but it was safe to say that Scaevola was a repeat offender. He liked being in control for all the wrong reasons, used his physical strength and imposing figure to lord over others and quash any hopes of retaliation. The type to apologize and gaslight in the same breath, truly and utterly without remorse or self-awareness.

There wasn’t a type based off of appearances alone, but he did target those who appeared the most vulnerable. Shy singles alone at the bar, pretty faces built on artifice masking non-existent self-confidence. Binge drinkers especially were Scaevola’s favorite flavor, swooping in to play the concerned bystander, the Nice Guy. Luring barely conscious young clubbers into taxis or down barely used alleys to get his ‘reward’ for his apparent chivalry.

All it took was some hair spray, heavier make up, and a change in wardrobe to become more appealing to his prey, but the performance had to be flawless.

Paying off the bar keep ahead of time, Jae nursed a handful of watered down cocktails as the night progressed- making sure that the number of emptied glasses were clearly visible. He made sure his body language was more confident, if loose-limbed and clumsy, flirting and dancing with a bevy of strangers. All it took was an ‘accidental’ trip into Tanne’s arms and the trap was set.

The Turk leaned heavily against the Third’s side, affectionate and uncoordinated. Scaevola wasted very little time taking him back to his apartment, pouring yet another drink to ply his inhibitions. Straddling the larger man’s lap, letting Tanne slobber all over him like a dog was a small price to pay for what he had planned as the payoff.

He jams a syringe into the side of Tanne’s neck and shoves the plunger down before he’s shoved off, as the Turk already at a disadvantage against a mako-roided SOLDIER who could probably take a hit from an oncoming train. After that, it was simply evade an enraged Third Class until his little cocktail of drugs kicked in.

“What’s wrong, I thought you liked slapping pretty boys around-” Jae purrs, driving his elbow into the blonde’s gut, before slamming his heel straight up into his lower jaw. 

He picks up a marble ashtray off of the coffee table, quite enjoying it’s heft as he swings it and connects with the side of Scaevola’s forehead. Head injuries bled a hell of a lot, which was enough of a spectacle to make the larger man begin to question if he wanted to fight back.

Lowering himself, Scaevola attempts to shoulder tackle Jae-hyo down, only to receive a swift knee to the groin. That makes him fall over and hurl up a mixture of beer and bar food across the hardwood floors, hands between his legs in abject pain.

Jae lifts a leg and slams all of his weight down against one of Tanne’s kneecaps, relishing in the crunching sound it makes.

“How fast do Thirds heal again? Missing some teeth, fingers, and toes you’d be able to survive, but...” he trails off, pulling a chef’s knife out of a wooden block in the man’s kitchen.

“Unless you’ve got some Cleansing materia on hand, I doubt you’ll be surviving the night. That’s a pretty potent neurotoxin I just shot you up with, but it does take a few hours to really run it’s entire course through your system. You should be feeling a kind of buzzing sensation in your fingers and toes, spreading through your arms and legs. Like effervescent tablets in a glass of water, nice and bubbly.”

He squats down on his heels next to Scaevola and slaps him in the face a few times, looking only slightly annoyed by how easily he’s giving up. 

“Guys like you are all the same-You’re all about power. Granted, it makes sense, but as soon as someone stronger than you shows up, you just fucking fold. You didn’t fear me when you thought I was some weak-ass little twink, but now you respect me... because I’m a threat.”

Tap-tap-tapping the flat of the blade against a burly shoulder, he yawns in a tired fashion. 

“This isn’t how I expected things to go. I’m really just kind of disappointed.”

#unforestalledreturn #◈ RP THREADS #◈ GIVE ME A KISS THAT MELTS AWAY THIS FIRST DEATH IS FOR YOU [UNFORESTALLEDRETURN] #torture cw #vomiting cw #alcohol mention cw