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boy-comics · 4 months ago

Text

HOME SICK

── .✦ pairing; jungsu x gn!reader

── .✦ summary; home is a complicated word.

── .✦ word count; ~6.0k

── .✦ tags; alcohol use, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, fluff, small town romance, childhood best friends to lovers, not actually unrequited love, seungmom™, momsu™, the mortifying idea of being known

── .✦ a/n; still alive!!! happy valentine's day everyone n just know that i am sending you all a big heart <3

Stifled and sweaty inside your layers of winter wear, the heat in the car turned up to the max, you sit boneless in the passenger seat and wish for the summer.

"We missed you, you know," Seungmin says behind the wheel. He seems unfazed by the temperature, not a drop of sweat on his brow. "Now we'll get to hang out again like we used to."

You hum.

The reason the heat is still blasting is because you had told Seungmin earlier that the plane was freezing. Telling him that it's too hot now feels like an inconvenience, and you don't feel like removing your coat.

"I visited in September," you say.

Your cousin sniffs loudly, the telltale sign that he's about to start nagging. "That was three months ago," he says, "and you've called maybe twice since then." You lean against the window, closing your eyes when the cold glass sticks to the side of your head. "And you mostly slept the whole time. Plus, you completely avoided Jungsu, who didn't even know you were visiting home—"

You keep your eyes firmly closed when his name comes up. "Does he know what happened?"

"I didn't tell him …" He trails off, and your heart sinks before he even continues. "But … Auntie must've, because he confronted me about it last week. I'm sorry. You know how your mom is." His tone is softly apologetic as you exhale. "He was pretty hurt you didn't tell him yourself."

You know.

That had been your plan, telling Jungsu. But the shame hasn't eased like you had hoped, and before you knew it, two weeks had passed and it currently roils in your stomach along with guilt when you think about seeing Jungsu in person now.

You just didn't want him to know you're a failure.

"Maybe this is for the best." Seungmin turns into the exit, calm despite the flurries of snow flying into the windshield. The roads have long since been salted and you think you can feel each chunk being ground to dust underneath the tires. "Think of it as a time to finally rest? All you did for the past two years was work."

"I got laid off right before the holidays, Seungmin. This isn't really a vacation."

His eyes dart over to meet yours for a split second before you look out at the snow-covered fields blurring by.

Seungmin sighs a little. His hand finds your shoulder, patting it through the winter layers.

"I know. Just trying to help."

That's all anyone in this town ever does, you think, the sounds of the heater and the rumble of the tires taking over what's left of the conversation.

—

Your childhood bedroom is the same as you had left it. Well, mostly; the decade-old bedsheets have since been cleaned, and there are fresh tracks in the carpet from when your mother had vacuumed earlier today. You leave your suitcases and bags by your desk to unpack later.

"Auntie told me to stay for dinner," Seungmin tells you, falling back onto your bed and unlocking his phone. "So you'll have to put up with me for a couple more hours, at least."

"You're not gonna help with dinner?"

"I offered, but I got permission to hang with you instead."

"Suck-up," you say, and Seungmin rolls his eyes upward, poking his cheek with one finger.

You join him on the bed, taking a peek at his messages. He lets you be nosy. This is what you do best when you spend time with Seungmin—even now, you guess, you're just a kid in grownup clothes, watching your cousin navigate life and relationships with a maturity you try your best to emulate. You envy him as much as you love him, sometimes.

While watching him catch up on his mutuals' Instagram posts, your own phone buzzes beside you. Reluctantly, you flip it over, and your mouth parts when you see the notification.

"Who is it?" Seungmin asks, eyes still glued to his screen.

"Um," you slowly swipe the lock screen away, "Jungsu."

His attention turns to you fully when you admit as much. "What'd he say?"

You open your messages, a little self-conscious as Seungmin scoots closer to see the conversation. The last time you'd texted Jungsu outside of the group chat was a month ago, when you were still blissfully unaware of the upcoming layoffs and merely amused by a funny animal video that reminded you of him. The thumbnail of the cuddly, sleep-rumpled kitty is halfway visible, Jungsu's emoji-filled reply nestled right between it and the text he had sent just now.

jungsu: was your flight okay?

"Does that sound … passive aggressive to you at all?" you ask tentatively.

Seungmin squints at the message, scratching his head. "Nah, I don't think so. He's just asking."

"Okay."

you: it was fine. seungmin picked me up ^^

jungsu: good!!

jungsu: i wish i could've gone to the airport too to welcome you ㅠㅠ

you: me too haha but it's ok

"He should be off work in about an hour," Seungmin tells you, then nudges your shoulder with his own. "You want him to come over for dinner? Your choice."

The thing is, you should say yes. It should be as natural as breathing, because that's how it had been for as long as you can remember, and because Jungsu is probably still a little upset even if he doesn't admit it.

But you hesitate, and Seungmin takes it as a no.

"If it's too many people, that's—"

"No, it's okay. I don't want to leave him out," you murmur, already typing.

Like Seungmin, Jungsu will be in your life until its unspectacular end. And despite how distant you've been lately, that is still where you want him to be.

you: seungmin's staying for dinner, u wanna come over too?

—

An hour later, the doorbell rings, and you open the door to a stiff breeze, stray snowflakes, and Kim Jungsu.

His nose and cheeks are rosy from the cold. The front bangs of his hair (blond, freshly dyed, longer) stick out from underneath the knitted cap he's had since high school, dusted with snow, and the white of his breath dissipates before it can reach the toasty threshold of your home.

(You think, as you always have, that he looks pretty.)

His eyelashes flutter when he meets your gaze.

You bite the bullet. "Hey."

"Hi," he breathes.

You move to let him inside. He quickly sheds his winter gear, and you get a whiff of ginger and fried food when he gives you a hug.

"Welcome home," he whispers before he pulls away. He smiles at you, and even though you look for it, you can't find a single drop of resentment.

You manage to give him a small smile in return. His hands are a bit cold when they squeeze yours once, but the rest of him is warm. You try not to linger too close.

"Yo, Jungsu!" Seungmin leans over the back of the couch just a few feet away, and Jungsu walks over to hug him as well. "How was work?"

"Good, just busy. Some out-of-towners are staying the night because of the storm warning."

"Oh." You trail after Jungsu and Seungmin to the kitchen, where your mother has set the food out. Jungsu greets your mother affectionately, and she responds in kind before filling her own plate and heading to the living room to allow the three of you to gossip. "Anyone our age?"

"Nope."

"Damn."

"You know the only people that pass through here are old couples and families with little kids," you say, settling into your chair. The arrangement is the usual one—you on the side closest to the sink, Seungmin on your right, Jungsu right across from you. "We've never had anybody our age stop here for the night."

Seungmin points at you with his spoon. "No, there was that one guy when we were in high school, remember? The one with the shady van. Our moms thought he was trying to sell us drugs."

"He told me he was an artist," Jungsu adds, "but the entire time he stayed at the inn, I didn't see any artwork or supplies. He just had a small duffel bag that he carried everywhere."

"Drugs," you say.

"Or money from drugs," Seungmin says.

"He was really creepy." Swallowing his food, Jungsu leans forward as if you hadn't talked about the strange man countless times before, on nights just like this. "But he paid for the two nights he was here."

"In cash, right?"

"Yeah."

"If he was an artist," you say, thoughtfully, "he would have painted the view behind the inn."

Jungsu nods with a smile. "I think so, too. I don't think an artist would've ignored it." His glance towards you sticks. You shift just slightly in your seat as he chews his bottom lip and then asks, tone careful, "Do you guys want to go tomorrow morning? The sunrise will be pretty after the snowstorm."

"Sure," Seungmin readily agrees. He raises his eyebrows at you. "[Y/n]? You game?"

You open your mouth for a reply that you haven't yet formed. "... Oh, um," you finally say, nervous from the two pairs of eyes peering over into yours, unassuming and familiar though they are. "I don't know. I'm kind of tired from the flight ..."

Seungmin's mouth presses into knowing disappointment at the corners. Jungsu blinks and nods; his hopeful smile shrinks the tiniest bit, though to you it might as well be by a mile.

"Ah, right, you should rest," Jungsu replies in a softer voice, and he reaches across to pat the space in front of your bowl. "Maybe later this week?"

You stir your food around. "Sure."

"I can still meet you at the inn tomorrow morning, Jungsu," Seungmin says. He keeps his gaze on you. "I'll leave at seven, so if [Y/n] is awake, we can walk there together. Sound good to you, [Y/n]?"

The offer is well-meaning. You wonder how much pity your cousin holds for you right now, for it certainly bleeds into your own self-pity, and there is not much for you to do in response other than bob your head half-heartedly. Underneath the table, Seungmin's foot bumps yours.

The three of you finish dinner in relative silence.

And yet, after you use your excuse of fatigue once more and hug them goodbye for the night, taking a hot shower and settling into bed, you set your alarm for a quarter to seven.

—

"You're here." Jungsu sounds surprised within the warmth of his scarf and winter jacket. "You're not too tired?"

You note how the snow rises up above your knees as you nod slowly. Jungsu's eyes crescent with a hidden grin, and he takes a hold of your arm as the three of you march across the yard towards the edge of the hill behind the Kim family's inn.

Jungsu's family has owned this property for several generations, but it was only during his granddad's generation that they had decided to develop it and make a bit of money off the folks who pass through your hometown. The building is a small thing, but it is clean and very well taken care of, and the meals are always warm.

The best part of the inn, however, is the view.

It's still pretty dark outside. You stop at a bench, brushing it off and sitting down between Jungsu and Seungmin while you observe the thin sliver of orange peeking out from behind the trees.

"It's too cold."

"Don't fall asleep," Seungmin teases. "You'll get hypothermia."

"I won't," you grumble, though your eyes are half-lidded. "Jungsu has the coffee, doesn't he?"

"Here," Jungsu says, handing a small thermos to you before suddenly retracting. "Ah, wait. It might still be too hot." He unscrews the lid, steam bursting upward into the icy morning air and then sideways as he blows over the top of the drink a few times, taking a tentative sip before deeming it acceptable to share. "Okay, here."

He brings the thermos almost to your lips, but then seems to think better of it and simply hands it over with a slight blush, though not quick enough to beat the blood crawling to your cheeks.

"Thanks, Mom," you mutter, drinking from the cup. Truthfully, the drink is more of a hot chocolate, with some instant coffee added in. You refrain from being greedy and pass it to Seungmin.

Mouth and throat and stomach now warmed, you settle back, watching the sky as the darkness slowly peels farther and farther back.

When you hold your breath, you can almost hear the sun stirring underneath the indigo.

"I think you're right, Jungsu," Seungmin says over the lip of the thermos. "This is going to be a really good sunrise."

"They're always extra beautiful after a storm."

"Wow. Deep."

"It's too early and cold for deep thoughts," you mutter.

Jungsu tilts his head. "Do you need more layers? We have some inside."

"Oh, no, it's okay. I'm just finding things to complain about ..." still, Jungsu's brow remains furrowed, and you stumble slightly over your words, "as one does ..."

"Have some more coffee," Seungmin says, pushing the thermos in your direction.

You do as you're told.

The red-orange dappling the clouds has given way to something light and golden. As the minutes creep by, the sun shows itself above the trees, a shock of bright yellow whose glow reaches out and up.

It's blinding, the light, but you look anyway, wondering how something you've seen a million times can still feel like the first.

"Wow," you state into the still air, mostly to yourself.

The boys hum in agreement. You continue staring at the sky, hearing Jungsu finish rest of the coffee and snap the lid shut.

"I have to pee," Seungmin says suddenly. "See you guys inside for breakfast?"

You blink rapidly. As your cousin stands up, leaving only you and Jungsu on the bench, the slightest bit of nerves overtakes you. "Oh, I—"

"Okay," Jungsu says at the same time you start to stand, and you freeze. He is still seated, though now he casts you a surprised glance. "Oh. Do you have to go too?"

You avoid Seungmin's eyes and slowly sit back down, shaking your head. "N-No, I just thought we were all going now. Let's stay for a few more minutes."

"... Alright."

The crunch of Seungmin's boots through the snow fades into the distance as the two of you look back at the pale sky. Golden sunlight brushes the expanse of snow at the bottom of the hill, smooth and bright.

You burrow your chin into your scarf, the winter morning showing its bite in exchange for the view it is granting you.

"It's really pretty."

Jungsu's soft voice breaks through the silence. His expression is one of perfect contentment; his eyes catch the early light in a gentle way, and you find yourself momentarily at a loss for words.

When he meets your gaze, you smile quickly with your eyes, and a laugh like a small bell escapes through his scarf.

"[Y/n]," he says, "I'm glad you showed up."

"You didn't think I would."

"I hoped you would. You usually do, even though you always complain about waking up early." Jungsu pauses for a moment, and then his gaze flickers downwards. "But ... I don't know. It's been a while, I guess, so I just didn't want to get my hopes up."

He doesn't have to specify that he's talking about more than just the sunrise.

"I'm sorry." The apology is quieter than you had thought it would be, and the shame speaks louder than you had anticipated. You clear your throat. "Are you still upset with me?"

"Honestly?" He sighs. "I was still pretty upset until yesterday. But then I went to your house, and you opened the door—and then, well. I was just happy that you were back."

Oh. "Oh," you say.

Jungsu is quiet again. He tugs on the fingers of his gloves, and you track the movement idly, hyperaware of the hands that those gloves keep warm, steady hands that hold and play and tap. You swallow. Your throat feels tight.

"Can you promise me something, though?"

"Yeah?"

"Just be honest with me from now on," he requests. "We're best friends. You can tell me anything, you know that, right?"

"I know, Jungsu." The sentence is little more than a breath, but he hears you nevertheless, and he smiles before making a noise of realization.

"Ah, right, we should head inside, huh? Seungmin's probably waiting."

"He's a patient guy ... it's cold, though."

"Yeah, you've mentioned that once or twice."

You chuckle sheepishly as Jungsu stands and holds out a hand, helping you up. The sun shines behind your heads while you walk back to the inn, shoulder-to-shoulder.

You think about what he had said, and about the feeling of his hand in yours, and your heart clenches as if in warning.

Anything, but not everything.

—

Two weeks pass, and the boys still find things to keep you busy nearly every day. You suspect that it is partially at the request of your parents and partially due to worry they had mustered on their own; you are currently unemployed, after all, and they fear that idleness will make you depressed or delinquent or some other "D" word that describes small-town people your age whose hopes and dreams have been crushed by the big bad world outside. If you occupy yourself with cooking dinners and buying groceries and taking snowy winter walks, you won't have time to spiral into despair (which also starts with "D").

Today, the activity is preparing classroom decorations for the new year. Seungmin has tasked you with making lanterns and people out of colored construction paper, and so you have cluttered the table in the corner of the inn's dining area with clippings of various colors, being careful not to drop any on the floor.

"Wouldn't it be easier to print a coloring page and cut them out?"Jungsu asks after he finishes cleaning the other tables, sleeves rolled up to his elbows in a way that looks too good to have been done thoughtlessly. He leans over your shoulder, and the back of your neck prickles with heat. "Where's Seungmin, anyway?"

"Went to the store to get more stickers and colored duct tape," you say, unsheathing a craft knife to tackle the more minute details. "He'll probably come back with snacks, too."

Jungsu hums. "You're good at this," he says, sitting down next to you and picking up a cutout. You had clothed it in layers of different-colored shapes of paper, and he inspects the hem of their skirt with the tips of his fingers. "I bet you could become a teacher's aide for Seungmin's classroom."

"Probably." You take the cutout from him to paste googly eyes onto it. "Waste of my degree, though."

"… Well … I don't think we have any good tech startups around here. Or any at all. Maybe an IT job?"

You remain noncommittal, cool, even as the thought of job hunting all over again fills you with gut-curling dread. "That's probably what I'll end up doing," you say. "Not like I'm going anywhere anytime soon."

Your voice must hold more bitterness than you think, because Jungsu looks a bit uncomfortable at your words, furrowing his brow.

"Is it really that bad to live here?"

Count on you to sour the mood again. "I—no," you reply slowly, "but I mean, come on, Jungsu. You know all the good-paying jobs for me are in the city, right?"

"Seungmin and I are doing okay," Jungsu defends.

"Your family has been here forever and runs a business here, so of course you'd stay. And Seungmin is Seungmin. He'll be okay wherever he is." You tilt the cutout back and forth. The googly eyes move in response. "But I'm just me. I have to take every opportunity I can so I don't waste my life."

Jungsu opens his mouth and then closes it. His lips purse, and you can tell that you've displeased him.

(Jungsu has always been the sentimental type. He has found his dreams within the realm of your hometown; even while you both had gone to college in the city and been dazzled by the promises of big careers and changing the world, in the end, he had kept his love for the simple comforts of family, the inn, and the known. And so he had come back to stay. You understand, and at the same time, you don't think you ever will.)

"I'm never going to change your mind," he replies, laughing a little dryly. "Am I?"

"Probably not."

"Geez ..." A long sigh escapes him. He fixes you with a wistful smile and picks up a pair of scissors. "Then I guess we should keep putting you to work while you're stuck here, wasting just part of your life."

You kick him underneath the table. Jungsu snickers, taking a sheet of paper to cut out the lantern trapped in the middle of it.

The box of permanent markers is on the other side of where he's seated. You stand up slightly to reach around him, hooking your fingers over the edge of plastic and dragging it closer.

"You could've just asked me to pass them to you."

"Well, you were being mean, so"—you make the mistake of turning your head to look at him, and promptly choke at the close proximity—"so, uh ... um ..."

He tilts his head unbearably slowly, blinking up at you with a look of both amusement and bewilderment as you make a fool of yourself once more. Your eyes trace down the slope of his nose and pause on his lips, and your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth.

"... Are you okay?"

Soft.

"I'm ffine," you blurt, sitting down swiftly with a hot face. You do your best to hide it from him. "Stop slacking and go back to work."

"Now who's being mean?"

Jungsu gets up after cutting out the rest of the lantern, pushing it and the offending box of markers closer towards you. He pats your back gently before sauntering off to continue his daily tasks.

—

"Aw, look. It's Ankle Sprain Seungmin."

Seungmin drops his head back against the couch. "Once again, that's the dumbest thing you guys could have ever called me. C minus. F, even."

"It's more about how you got it," you explain, elementary school yearbook propped up against your torso as you tap a scrawny, cheeky-looking Oh Seungmin in the corner of one page. "It was a warm spring day, and you just had to show Kim Hayeon that you could jump down from the top of the jungle gym." Seungmin rolls his eyes. Jungsu bites down on his bottom lip, muffling a laugh, and you continue somberly. "Instead, you sprained your ankle and we had to carry you to the nurse's office."

"It actually worked, though," Jungsu counters. "Because Hayeon came up to him afterwards and asked if he was okay."

"All part of the plan. She thought I broke my ankle and was pretty worried for me."

You give a thumbs down. "Boo. Lamest way to pick up a girl."

Your cousin shrugs and takes a swig of beer. He purses his lips, flicking at the tab of his now-empty can as he says casually, "Didn't you have a crush on our homeroom teacher in sixth grade?"

This time, Jungsu bursts into laughter. "Oh, my god, you totally did!"

You slam the yearbook shut, mortified, and hit Seungmin over the shoulder with it. The jerk doesn't even have the decency to look sorry. "Shut up! Why would you even bring that up?!"

"What, I can't counterattack?"

"You're older than me, so you have to put up with it."

Seungmin squints. "Shouldn't it be the other way around?"

"No! Jungsu, you're the oldest. Tell him to toughen up."

"Okay, okay," Jungsu steps in, hands out in a placating gesture even as he recovers from his laughing fit. "Let's just say you're both even now. We all had embarrassing crushes."

"Speaking of which, Jungsu, I only remember you having one crush in high school," Seungmin says. "What was her name? She was in choir."

"Oh Jimin," you answer.

You remember Oh Jimin.

"Yeah, Jimin. She had a really nice voice."

"She did," Jungsu agrees. "I was too nervous to ask her out, though. She actually got married last year to one of her classmates."

"Really?"

Seungmin pulls his phone out to show you the wedding photos on Instagram. You look with mild interest. She's beautiful, has that glow that brides have. Her smile is the same. You remember when it would reduce Jungsu to wide-eyed, red-faced silence.

Seeing her now makes you feel guilty for the resentment you held for her as a teenager.

"Seungmin, please get married soon," you say, attempting to redirect yourself. "People will start to think something's wrong with the three of us if you don't."

Seungmin raises an eyebrow. "Find me someone to date, first," he shoots back. "And why should it be me? Why don't you or Jungsu get married?"

The 'or' in the second sentence does a lot of heavy lifting in your mind.

You cross your arms, scoffing. "To who?"

"I dunno." Seungmin pauses. Then, to your horror, he lifts a finger and waggles it between you and Jungsu. "But at this rate, if both of you are still single in twenty years, you might as well marry each other."

It's almost two o'clock in the morning. Perhaps you can blame what happens next on the late hour, or on the presence of alcohol, or maybe if you are really honest, you can just blame it on yourself.

Jungsu's cheeks have long been flushed, but you wonder if they've become just a little darker when he responds, chuckling, "O-Oh, no. No, [Y/n]'ll find someone before then."

You blink, your heart ripped in two.

"Wow, not even a maybe?" You do your best to sound upbeat, but your voice pitches oddly at the end, and you know Jungsu notices when his smile stiffens. "Am I that bad?"

He shakes his head quickly. "No, I meant that you'll find someone else—"

"But what if I didn't?"

The living room falls silent. The way Jungsu's expression turns pained tells you all you need to know.

Seungmin utters no more than half your name before you stand up and dash out of the room.

Your cousin's house is small. You reach the guest bedroom within seconds and fumble with the doorknob to open it, closing the door hard behind you.

Your feet carry you towards the hidden space between the bed and the far wall. Once you sit down, what feels like a decade's worth of waterworks turn on, and you cover your mouth and sob.

You had imagined Jungsu's rejection time and time again. But recently, you had also begun to think that, maybe—

Well. Maybe it was never.

Hiccuping, you draw your sleeve across your eyes.

Why would he even want you, anyway?

You spend what feels like hours wiping your face until your nose and cheeks feel scraped raw. More than once, you think you are finished, only for Jungsu's pitying expression to resurface in your mind and open the wounds all over again.

But eventually, the tears begin to run dry, and that's when you hear a knock at the door.

"[Y/n]?" It's not Jungsu, but Seungmin. His tone is coaxing. "Can I come in?"

You gulp. The backs of your eyes ache, and you wipe your nose. "Okay."

The latch bolt clicks. You hear the sock-clad footsteps of your cousin approaching before he sits down beside you.

He says nothing for a moment. When you lean against him, eyes closed, he wraps an arm around your shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Seungmin says. "I don't know why I said it. You can hit me, if you'd like."

"You know, don't you?"

Your voice is tiny. Seungmin squeezes you and exhales slowly, and you slump, defeated.

"Yeah."

"Does he know?"

You are deprived of an answer for a good minute. Finally, Seungmin clicks his tongue softly, and he says, "I think the two of you should talk to each other and clear everything up."

"He knows, doesn't he?"

"If he does, he'll tell you. He's still here, if you're willing to talk to him now. I just figured I should check on you first. But you need to talk to him and he needs to talk to you."

"I don't want to."

"But you have to," Seungmin says. His warmth leaves you, and you look up at him desperately as he grabs the throw blanket on his bed and tucks it around you. "You're strong. However it goes, you'll get through it."

The corners of his lips quirk upwards. You can't manage a smile, but his words touch your heart, and you curl into yourself.

"He's still here?"

"Want me to go get him?"

You nod almost imperceptibly.

A few moments later, Seungmin returns with Jungsu and a glass of water. The glass of water is given to you, and Jungsu receives a pat on the back before your cousin leaves the two of you alone.

You bring the glass to your lips and take a long, thin drink. It's cold, but not too cold, with no ice. It makes you feel marginally better.

Eventually, Jungsu speaks up hesitantly.

"Can I sit down?"

You nod, not looking at him.

So he sits down beside you, carefully moving the blanket wrapped around you so as not to sit on it. He brings his knees to his chest. There is an inch of distance between you and him.

You rest your mouth on the rim of your glass, the water touching your lips but going no farther.

"[Y/n] …" Jungsu starts. "I'm really sorry."

The second rejection stings more than punches, alcohol over the raw cut. You breathe out steadily.

"You didn't do anything wrong."

"I hurt you." You can hear the quiet shake of anxiety in his voice. "I shouldn't have laughed, but I—I got nervous, and then your question caught me off guard, too, and I panicked and didn't know how to reply—"

"Jungsu." You turn to meet his eyes, and you hear him swallow. "I'll be fine. It was a stupid question." You rip your gaze away again, digging your toes into the carpet. "Deep down, I think I already knew it wouldn't happen, anyway."

Jungsu is quiet for a long time.

You realize, with a shameful belatedness, that this is a painful conversation for him as well. Jungsu feels others' emotions like they are his own. He shies away from negative ones, sensitive to them like paper to a flame, and more often that not he appeases them with tight smiles and agreeable responses.

But here, in the dim lamplight of the bedroom, he is holding himself over the fire. He cannot run anymore, just like you.

He finally speaks, his voice nearly a whisper.

"It's not because I don't feel the same way."

Your world stops on its axis.

Your head snaps up. You stare at him with wide eyes. He faces you fully, and you scan his expression for a hint of dishonesty, but it is once again nothing but open. He looks sad. Small.

"What?" you rasp.

"I would," he confesses. "Marry you twenty years from now. Or ten, or five. If I had moved with you to the city, or if you moved back here with me. But we're ... I don't think I could make you happy."

You are sure this is your third rejection. But you are still reeling, because it sounds like it is not your feelings that he is rejecting.

"You're afraid to even try."

"You have bigger dreams than here."

"You had bigger dreams once, too. We could have been together in the city." Old grievances rear their head like a reflex to pain, souring your tongue. "But you backed out."

Jungsu's face pinches. "And if I had stayed with you in the city, what then?" he replies. "We'd hardly visit home? Call Seungmin once a month? Work ourselves to death at a place that wouldn't think twice about getting rid of us?"

Blood rushes to your face.

This is too much. Too many different feelings mixing together, too many things spilling out.

You wring out a laugh and grip the glass in your hands until it's just shy of shattering.

"You liar," you huff, new tears spilling over. "You said you weren't upset anymore."

"Well, maybe I am," Jungsu says.

But his voice wavers, and you know that he is no better than you.

So much for talking it out. The room feels as cold as it had when you'd first entered it.

You don't bother to dry your tears this time. Beside you, Jungsu sniffles quietly, the shuffle of fabric letting you know when he rubs his sweater sleeve against his face.

Somehow, it reminds you of years long past. Crying then didn't feel nearly as pathetic.

"I miss when we were kids."

"... Me too."

You stare into your glass, then drain the rest of the water and set it aside.

"I shouldn't have said that," Jungsu mumbles into his knees. "I'm sorry."

"It's ... it's okay. Um." You lick your lips and say, slowly, "I don't think I ever actually apologized for not keeping in touch as much as I should've. I'm sorry."

"… I forgive you."

"You do?"

He nods.

You relax just the slightest bit. Your shoulder touches his, and when he leans into you in turn, you feel a small amount of relief, heart no longer angry but still sore and bruised.

There's nothing left to lose now. You might as well say everything that's on your mind.

"Jungsu." He hums. "You've always made me happy. Just so ... just so you know."

His brow furrows. "I just made you cry."

"What I mean is that it's always been you."

You are being honest, like you had promised, and the way Jungsu flushes to the tips of his ears is honest as well.

"You deserve better," he says.

"I don't deserve anything. I want you. Don't you feel the same way?"

"I do, but ..." He takes in a breath, his hand finding the crook of your elbow and squeezing. "If we hurt each other and never talked again, I don't think I would be able to handle it. These past two years were already ..."

He trails off. There is a pang in your chest as he bites his lip and presses the edge of his sleeve against one of his eyes, and it dawns on you then just how much you have to atone for.

"I really hurt you," you murmur. "Didn't I?"

Jungsu turns. You are suddenly enveloped in a tight embrace, warm wool and clutching fingers. His heart beats against yours, and it's enough to make you tremble, knowing that this is far more than you will ever deserve.

"Jungsu ..."

"Can you wait for me?" The request is a whisper. "Just give me some time?"

You breathe. "Of course."

His weight bears down on you until you're nearly crushed. You find it within yourself to crack a small smile as he clings to you.

Pressing your cheek against his shoulder, one last question leaves your tongue. "Can we still be best friends?"

His answer is muffled and soft, but sure.

"Always."

—

(You wait for him. Jungsu waits for you, as well. It's a long and slow journey but you find yourselves and, in turn, find each other again.

And you are happy.)

#jungsu x reader #kim jungsu x reader #xdh imagines #xdinary heroes x reader #xh jungsu #jungsu #xdinary heroes #xdh #xh #beecee's writing #xh one shots

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acewritesfics · 2 years ago

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You Couldn't Wait That Long | JAY HALSTEAD

⚠️ THIS IS A REPOST FROM MY MAIN BLOG @/DLMLUFICS. UNFORTUNATELY, I HAVE TO DO IT THIS WAY. MORE INFO IN MY PINNED POST.

Request: From Anon.

Prompt: "Say that again."

Warnings: Swearing. Established relationship.

Word Count: 924

JAY HALSTEAD MASTERLIST || TAG LIST SIGN-UP

©️ no one has permission to copy, translate and/or repost my works on here or anywhere else.

"See you when you get back," Voight says over the phone before ending the call. Y/N places her phone back in her pocket as she makes her way back over to Jay.

"Voight wants us back at the district," she says as they clamber into his RAM truck. She fastens her seatbelt before removing her frozen gloves and holds her hands in front of the heater that is blasting hot air into the vehicle. As she warms up, her shivering and chattering teeth ease off. "How can it be any colder in Chicago? It's already below freezing."

"I told you we should have called in sick and stayed in bed all day," he recalls from their conversation as they lay in bed for an extra five minutes this morning, savoring each other's warmth.

"I'm sure Voight would have appreciated being two detectives short," she says, reminding him of why they couldn't. As much she loved the idea of spending the day curled up in bed with Jay, keeping warm in more ways than one, she is aware that Voight and the others would never believe that she and Jay are both sick.

"I was thinking that after shift, we order some food and crack open that bottle of wine your parents gave us," Jay suggests, smiling and tilting her head towards him. Before starting the drive back to District 21, he gently kisses her with his frosty lips.

As she watches him driving, she quips, "What are we celebrating?"

He responds, "Not having to go to work tomorrow and getting to spend the day in bed like we should have done today."

She smiles, turning her head to stare out the window, "That is something worth celebrating."

"I was thinking we could also talk about getting married," he says, prompting her head to jerk back to face him.

"Say that again," Is all she's able to say as she looks at him with wide eyes and a shocked look on her face. This was the first time that marriage was spoken between the two detectives, who had been dating for just over a year.

Y/N is convinced that Jay is the man she intends to settle down with, marry and have a family too. Jay has always been her person, even before they went on their first date. He wasn't just her work partner and boyfriend. He's her best friend and she couldn't imagine her life without him in it.

"We should get married," he says being more up front about it as he quickly glances at her before looking back out at the road.

"Right now?" she asks, unable to form any other words, still in shock.

"If Voight didn't need us back right away, I would marry you right now," he admits. "But I was thinking, give us a few months to plan an actual wedding and we get married then."

"You want to get married?" she asks, still processing his words.

"To you?" he asks rhetorically. "Fuck, yeah."

"Pull over!" she orders him, her voice coming out a little louder and more commanding than she anticipated.

"Are you okay?" he asks glancing at her quickly again, this time with a concerned look on worried face.

"Just pull over," she tells him, her voice much softer this time.

He indicates and pulls to the side of the road, only having a second to put the truck in park before her lips are attached to his in a passionate kiss. He reaches a hand behind her head, tangling his fingers in her hair, as he kisses back just as passionately.

Becoming breathless, they break the kiss but remain close, an inch barely between them as they look at each other lovingly. "If not right now, let's get married tomorrow."

"You don't want to plan a wedding?" he asks, massaging the back of her head, where his hand is still tangled in her hair.

"We can do that later," she says and bites the inside of her cheek waiting for his response.

"You really want to do it tomorrow?" he asks, making sure it's what she wants to do.

"Why wait?" she asks. "We both know this job is unpredictable, who knows what can happen in the next few months. But what I do know is that I want nothing more than to be your partner and your wife."

"I'll give Will a call and see what he's doing tomorrow," he smiles and kisses her once more. "I love you."

"I love you too," she replies kissing him back before moving back into her seat. Putting her seatbelt back on as he starts to drive again, she looks at him before asking, "So where's my ring?"

"In my locker," he tells her, looking sheepish as he bites his bottom lip.

"At work?" she asks surprised he had brought it with him.

"At the gym," he teases with a chuckle before adding, "Yeah, at work."

"Was this your plan all along? Propose to me while at work?"

"I was going to do it tonight but then I saw you all wrapped up in five jackets, 6 beanies and three pairs of gloves and I just knew I couldn't wait until then," he continues, teasing her about how many layers she's wearing to keep warm on Chicago's coldest day of the year.

"Maybe we should wait a year to get married," she teases back.

"You couldn't wait that long," he smiles and takes her hand in his, placing a soft kiss to the back of it.

TAGGED: LINK TO TAG LIST SIGN-UP ABOVE.

#acewritesfics repost #jay halstead x reader

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wren-dy-flowergarden · 2 years ago

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𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒂 𝒊𝒔 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒂 𝒇𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒆

*ੈ✩‧˚₊⁀➴For a whole world defined by the idea of fairytales, you did not feel as if you were living one. But Cinderella got her Prince Charming eventually! Maybe you end up with your own fairytale ending once you finish your hellish shift.

*ੈ✩‧˚₊⁀➴ A/N: Sorry! A repost that only 12 people have saw before (the special ones) and I thought more ppl need to see my boi Floyd. Thank you for filling my insecurity (ノ*°▽°*).✧.*✦ *.✧

*ੈ✩‧˚₊⁀➴ Word Count: 4.3k Floyd x gn!reader

*ੈ✩‧˚₊⁀➴ Tags: friends who want more, long shifts = loss of logic, fluff and deals, a little spicy at the end? hands, Hands, HANDS!

For a whole world defined by the ideas of fairytales, you did not feel as if you were living in one.

Life has been "hectic" to put it mildly. From being pushed into a carriage (which should be considered kidnapping logic blasted away between gaps in worlds), dealing with egotistical boys that turn into a monster of repressed issues, and on top of all that studying 24/7 to even catch up with the grade level is too much to handle.

Oh, and to keep up with Grim's insatiable appetite, meaning he ordered twenty plates of tuna behind her back at Lounge Monstro leading to said terror to complain that his "poor paws" can't soak or they become little wet stubs. Not only that the animal language test was coming up and you really needed all the help you could get. Therefore, you took up some extra shifts that were available at the Lounge.

The only shift being dishwater duty.

Plummeting her hands with washed-up food and soapy water felt disgusting.

It felt like a pre-prince charming Cinderella fairytale.

Scratch that, you felt like a poorer pre-prince charming Cinderella. At least Cinderella got a fire to sleep next to (though Grim acted as a nice heater if he didn't twist and turn so much at night.)

Dousing wrinkled fingers, with clean water from the spout you gave an audible groan as the busser just pushed at least twenty more dirty dishes to her. He gave a small sorry before dashing off again.

You eyed the mess of gravy, picked clean bones, and a mountain of stacked soda glasses about to tip over. A job is a job but this is ridiculous.

Starting with the plates first you grumbled, "Stupid Azul being cheap-" scrubbing harder against a stain, "scheduling only one dishwasher today." All of a sudden, oxygen left your lungs as something heavy collided into you.

"Koebi-chan! You're here today~" Floyd grinned as he put most of his weight onto your body.

Being "hugged" by Floyd felt more like being "mauled" by a bear. A strange, friendly, sharp tooth instead of nails type of bear but mauled either way.

"You're heavy", you grumble hunching over, chest almost touching the tip of the basin, "get off me!"

You are not supposed to poke the bear but in this case Floyd really didn't mind, "Hehe~. Koebi-chan is super fun when they’re red!"

Like his twin would say, 'There is no stopping Floyd from getting what he wants without measurable danger.'. The danger might be your neck being squeezed or maybe losing a finger to pointy teeth but really what could be worse than your kidnapping from another world situation? Not much.

Yuu steadies her hands against the sink as eyes glaring at yellow, “At least help me with dishes. With you, on cooking duty instead of Jade there are at least triple the number of pans."

He leans back relieving some of the weight as he explains with clear disinterest, "Ehhhh, but I just got off!"

He snakes one arm around your waist pulling tight as you let out a squeak, his lips getting closer before he breathes out.

"Let's just stay here~" You feel his lips close to your ear, “Forever~”

You flayed, pruned hands covering your ears as a crimson red ran up your cheeks as you broke out of Floyd's grip gaping at him.

"You- You!"

Floyd breaks out into his signature grin, mirth dancing in his eyes, "Hehe. Koebi-chan gives the best reactions ever!

You glared back before turning to at least an hour’s worth of dishes that need to be done before Azul sent you home tonight. Then it was the homework and also finding the time to make a quick dinner, and ugh- "Just help me out would you? My feet are already hurting from tonight's dinner rush."

"Nahhh." Floyd says stretching his arms above his head a few pops and a shrug later he crosses his arms with the smirk of someone who would get at least 8 hours of sleep tonight, "Azul said I'm done tonight."

Well duh, you heard all the wrong orders going out. Azul probably wanted to preserve if/any profits were made tonight.

"Besides! Washing dishes are supeeeer boring." he tilts his head to the side frowning, "Not really into that."

You sighs and tries to outweigh the odds in her head:

Option one: Floyd will go bother some other poor soul after a few moments of silence.

Option two: If he did try to clean the dishes Yuu is almost 99.9999% sure that the show-off would try to recreate his basketball moves using plates as the ball which would eventually break and YOU would have to clean up.

Or get your pay docked . . .

Option one it is.

"Fine Floyd. I'll see you tomorrow then."

A slow blink before the six-foot man unrolled his arms, confusion in his voice, "Huh?"

You focused on scrubbing at a black stain on one of the pots, it's a 50/50 if it looks clean or not, "I said 'fine'. I will see you tomorrow." You would not turn back around. You are focused. Focused on these hellish stains.

So focused, you did not even notice Floyd stomp off.

An hour and a half later, wrinkled chicken skin and tender feet that hurt to walk on you were finally given the ok to head home.

It was worth it though, you gasped when Azul gave a copy of his notes. Diagrams, arrows, and color-coded entries determine which grammar was being used. If Azul wasn't such a devil when it came to business he might have been an angel.

Stuffing the notes into her book bag, she winced glancing at her feet and feeling her skin rubbed raw.

Note to self: wear better socks.

Shuffling slowly to the entrance two figures shadowed the bar, Jade polishing a glass and Floyd's with his head down on the counter.

Jade gave a perfected smile, "Ah Prefect, thank you for working so hard today," his eyes glanced down to his brother sulking on the counter, "Floyd told me you were very focused today."

A whine came from Floyd, like his puppy (do merpeople have puppies?) just got kicked. Yuu shuffled around to a bar stool leaning against it, "Well I was trying to get home before ten, but it seems like that wasn't the case tonight."

Floyd kicked his feet against the bar counter another whine leaving him.

Jade blinked, expression turning inquisitive to a not-very well-hidden smirk, "Pardon my manners, but Prefect you seem rather stressed. Isn't that right Floyd?"

Floyd let out a sound that Yuu could not tell if it was an agreement or not, but Jade knew as he placed a perfectly polished flute on the counter.

He smiles, and it sends a small shiver down your spine, "It seems you're unsteady on your feet Prefect, your shoes giving you difficulty?"

He tilts his head to his twin, grin not leaving his face, "It may come as a surprise, but Floyd may be able to help your situation."

Floyd stops kicking the bar and you are trying to make heads or tails of Jade's words. It was late. You were tired. You wanted to go home to whatever rickshaw/graveyard dorm you called a home when other dorms had where place in literally different geo spheres.

You shake your head, "No thanks, I rather deal with my bloody toes another day."

It was as if Jade expected that answer because he just nods, in full understanding, and Jade never fully understood unless it was for his gain you've learned, "It's unfortunate, but I believe this be for better than for not. Remember our favor?"

And no, you don't remember, because there could be a billion favors you owe Jade- from him giving tips to you to keep up with rush hour or simply holding the door open for you- because every act of kindness from him is a disguise for his amusement.

You stare at Floyd, who was oddly quiet at this moment, and you want to collapse but it was better not to ask about favors in front of them both.

They tend to get a little jealous and the rest of your day is gone trying to make one of the two contents until they forget. That person usually being Floyd, because Jade rarely forgets.

You groan, placing a hand on your head to stop your incoming headache.

Fine. What's the worst that can happen?

You probably couldn't imagine what the "worst" was through the pounding in your head as Floyd jumps up, joy evident on his face as he pulls you with him with Jade waving goodbye.

The "worst" was actually being carried chest to chest spinning around in circles through Octavinelle's public lounge which thank god there were nobody in sight, or should you say blurred with the way Floyd keeps twisting you around and around like a whirlpool.

You complain once about Floyd's freakishly long legs walking too fast and this is what you get.

The only way to balance yourself was ducking into his neck shutting your eyes waiting for the experience to be better. You dig in close and Floyd in response is to squeezes you closer.

…It’s not that uncomfortable.

"We're here!" Floyd shouts and you immediately put a hand over his mouth, you don't want to wake anyone else up to this embarrassing scene, for your own sake.

Floyd lowers you to the floor where you gently let go of his neck, your distress evident enough on your face because Floyd is grinning like a kid who just made bank at the candy store.

The door opens one side to messy clothes littered over every droppable surface there is sheets twisted to one corner of the bed, and papers scattered across his desk. In all honesty, it would not be that bad if not for the fact the other side looked like those real state showrooms. Nothing was out of place, no crease on the bedding, and everything was ironed and hanging on a clothing rack not very far from an organized desk. Must be Jade’s side.

Floyd pushes you a bit and you stumble toward his side of the room.

"Hey! I can still walk you know." Dodging some thrown clothes was more difficult as Floyd closes the door.

"Ehhh, but you were just staring Koebi-chan." He gets closer knocking you onto the edge of his bed. Huh. Your heart feels like it's running at a thousand miles per hour as Floyd puts two hands on your shoulders pressing you into the bed so that your sitting, "Relax, relax~ we're just getting started!"

Wha- What does he mean by that!?

His fingers glide gently down your arms, and it feels like fire touching ice for the first time. A strong goosebump sensation travels down leaving just a strange warm feeling filling up your body. It's weird and you don't know how to handle this as he keeps trails down to your hands before gripping them.

You never noticed how much he engulfed you as he gave you a tight squeeze, before lowering onto his knees. He would be between your legs if you weren't squeezing your thighs as hard as possible together. Knocking on your kneecap like a door he gives childish smile, "Move your legs Koebi-chan~" It was to- to much for your poor little heart.

You call out, well it comes out more as a half shriek half whimper as you push at Floyd who was slowly pushing one of your legs aside, "Hey- that! That's too much!"

Floyd blinks, "Too much?" He leans downward, chin onto the edge of your thigh and frowns similar to how you imagine a dog being yelled at. You do everything in your power to stop your voice from shaking, but this was the furthest you have ever gone in your life, and you haven't even kissed!

You mind was quickly turning into a vortex sucking in every single scenario locked in the back of your head and just when you feel the tip of your ears about to burn off a whine interrupts you.

"But Koebi-chan, I just need my tools."

Forget the ears, your whole head was exploding off your shoulders, "T-to-tools!?"

Another nod, "Yup," a pop of the 'p', "ya know to fix your shoes." And your face must be ridiculous because Floyd gives such an uncontrollable laugh his head tilting back before wiping a stray tear from his eye. He grips your ankle loosening the collar between shoe and skin. You let out a small wince as the shoe peels apart from bloody skin, him delicately wriggling out the rest of the shoe off.

He flips the crew shoe upside down, "You see. Koebi-chan’s foot is getting all mashed up like shark food. See, see?" You kind of notice, only the tip of the show is scrubbed off along with a large part of the heel.

Floyd flips the shoe again as he shows you the inside, the heel is worn down to the sole and there is wet blood on the side as he clicks his tounge, "Koebi-chan~ You should've given Azul the right size, now you're payin' for it!" And you would if you could, but only men's sizes are available and that kind of screwed you over a bit for your small feet.

"So- so the tools you were talking about..."

He slides his arms underneath the bed pulling out a worn wooden box. A grin blossoms to life as he unclasps the top of the box revealing what you could only assume to be a cobbler set. Unlike everything else in his room, the tools are polished to a worn type of satisfaction- like an artisan who created each imperfection to conceive perfection.

It wasn't what you were thinking of at all.

It. Wasn't. That. At. All.

Floyd’s smile widens as he sees your puffed-up cheeks, meanwhile scrunching into yourself to hopefully create a black hole to swallow yourself in rather than face embarrassment of misreading the conversation.

"Woah- this is a new phase for Koebi-chan!"

"Just! Just fix my shoes Floyd!"

You look at the clock located on Jade's side of perfection. It read 11:43, and you were surprised that Jade hasn't come back yet, well scratch that, he is dedicated to his craft. You flip over on the bed as Floyd is still extending the collar of your crew shoes. It's a different look you don't see often. Mostly Floyd will be hopping around from area to area with either a smile or frown on his face, but now he just stared in concentration using his tools to create.

You never have seen him like this, and that bothered you- just a bit. You were so used to his voice filling every space of the conversation that all you needed to worry about were your next words. Now all you had were you, him, and your thoughts.

You hate to say this, but maybe it was because you were bored?

A small cough leaks through your mouth, just enough to garner attention and it doesn't even distract him. You frown and just when you are about to turn around to stare at the clock Floyd giggles, "Koebi-chan looks like they're drying up on hot sand."

Rolling your eyes you respond, "Well I am just laying here." Floyd must be amused because you can hear him hum a little tune under his breath as he grabs a canister from the box and a small brush.

"Hey, Floyd."

"Hmmmm~ Whatcha want?"

You think of the best way to ask these questions, but you assume the simpler the better.

"Why do you know how to fix shoes?"

"Hmmmmmm dunno."

"You don't know?" You take another glance at how meticulously he handles every instrument like he carved each one from hand for its own individual purpose. You decide to rephrase, "Is it another hobby?"

Brushing another coat of the mixture onto the tip he cracks his neck turning his lamp to the side, "When I was little, Jade and I sometimes see land-dwellers on land twirling and dancing around.” He tips his brush back into the mixture, “We don’t need feet because it’s not needed ya know. Yet you guys decorate your feet in so many styles its super interesting you know. Just cause we have fins doesn’t mean we paint them weird colors. Suuuper funny you know.”

He clicked his feet together and it was just then you noticed the difference of the style of Floyd's shoes compared to your own brown ones. They were in pristine condition, as the white cut the heel and toe into two parts separating them from matte to a glossier finish with no marks on them. It was much different than the beaten-up ones he currently had between his fingertips.

You never really looked down when talking to Floyd because he was so much taller. You guess you never did notice how pristine his shoes were compared to how frumpy he wore his uniform.

"Heh, seeing how land-dwellers had so many styles for their feet is so funny." He looks at your feet, already bandaged up with some disinfectant, "It's like you have to wear 'em. You landies are so delicate that you need shoes to protect your feet! That's sooooo different~"

You're starting to understand, "And that just makes us all the more interesting huh?"

He grins in a way you can see a sharp tooth poking out on top, "But your wayyyy more interesting than the others Koebi-chan~ .”

Your cheeks start to warm up, but you don’t fall for the bait, “Oh really?”

"M'mhm almost done~"

You roll to a cooler side of the bed, "And I was just getting comfy here." It really was miles above your own cardboard spring bed, you were sinking into this bed than just laying on a rock with some sheets thrown ontop.

Floyd swivels around on his chair and just wheezes as he looks at your form, "HA- Koebi-chan looks like a starfish now!" And you can’t disagree this is one of the comfiest beds you have been on yet it was all disturbed with Floyd gripping your ankles pulling you slowly to the edge of the bed.

“Wake uppp, you have to try em on now.” He whines as you groggle. Sitting on the edge of the bed again, you have purer thoughts this time as Floyd gets down own knee. He folds up your pant leg a couple rolls to expose your ankles better.

Satisfied, he cautiously takes one of the shoes and opens the collar gently guiding your toes in making sure not to catch any of the band aids on the side. You look down at him and again he is so focused, it’s so unlike him yet it doesn’t look that unfamiliar.

Catching the heel in place you are in awe. Instead of the front frow of your toes being squished there was now enough room to wiggle, and your heel wasn’t digging into the back of the shoe anymore. Not only that a new coat of paint was layered of scratches and on the rim of the sole you could see accents of white and grey cutting the style of the shoe leaving it with a trendy type of look.

You twist your foot back and forward looking at his craftsmanship. It’s amazing its spare detail that makes you feel like it’s yours. Something made for you. You and nobody else.

It almost felt like you were Cinderella fitting on the glass shoe.

“Soooo?” He whispers breaking you out of your thoughts, “Perfect fit?” He knows it because he is wearing a grin that reads as ‘say it! say how much you like it!’.

You roll your eyes, “Perfect fit Floyd.” He’s still looking at you with those puppy dog eyes. It’s a little outside your comfort zone but you raise a hand to his scalp and rub in circles, “I really like them.”

They really were perfect. So perfect a concern crosses your mind, “How much does it cost?”

Lazy eyes blink as you stop massaging his head, “Hmmmm?” He thinks for a moment, “Well I’m feelin’ pretty nice today Koebi-chan~” And automatically your brain thinks ‘free?’ but of course this is the dorm of deals akin to mercy so Floyd continues, “How about a kiss?”

…

A kiss…?

Your thought you were in the safe but your brain short circuits all the way to outer space and back, “A- A kiss!? What are you talking about Floyd. That’s- What!”

He pouts, “Well cause after you land-dwellers finish the last song usually you guys kiss right?” He sighs sitting on the floor crossing his legs, “Ya know I dance all the time, but I’ve never kissed anyone after.”

There are so many things wrong with that logic, but your short, circuited mind isn’t making sense, so you say something just as dumb back.

“We aren’t dancing Floyd.”

He looks at you in a way that makes you look like the dense one, “Duh Koebi-chan, that’s why this is the price!” He points to his cheek, “Right here! That’s where I want the kiss!”

Being flabbergasted is an understatement to how you feel right now, Floyd just keeps looking at you expectantly from the floor as he keeps tapping his cheek. It’s just a kiss on the cheek you say to yourself, what’s the worse that can happen? You’ve kissed your mom on the cheek this is fine!

“…fine.” Floyd lights up like its Christmas and you must wonder in the back of your mind if this is really just some elaborate scheme you are playing into. He is not getting up and you are embarrassed beyond the universe as you slide off the bed onto the floor, “Tilt- tilt your cheek to the side.”

He does so without hesitation, you can still see half the smile he is wearing on his face as you put an arm out to steady you as you lean closer and closer- oh please god don’t let my heart kill me- and right when your close enough to close your eyes and quickly press your lips against cool skin you hear a chuckle.

“Eh Koebi-chan face is really cute right now.” And suddenly you feel your chin being jerked as your lips contact something so much softer than what you remember as a child. It’s a little cool and somewhat chapped as you press into him and then he moves! You won’t open your eyes because if you do it feels like the butterflies beating in your chest will explode out of you. Floyd moves his hand to stable you as he rubs the other hand behind the back of your neck relaxing you into him as he moves against you in a way that it takes all your concentration to move with him.

A breath and you are gasping for air like a person held underneath water for far too long. Red face forehead to forehead to cool eyes and Floyd slowly licks his lips and looks at you in a way a hunter has just captured its prey. Devious eyes you think before he leans in again and you follow suit because there was something so addicting with the way Floyd pulls your lower lips with his fang and the way he rubs your arm back and forward as if wanting more of you and the only way you can answer is by gripping him tighter between your fingers.

You break apart and you lean against his chest this time catching your breath as he holds you, if you listened to his heart beat it was almost as fast as yours. You gulp air still passing through your lungs, “Was- Was that enough?” It was hard to hear his response through the blood passing through your ears, but Floyd just laughs as you feel his chest move with every breath, he hold your cheek as he tilts your head up craning it towards his dual-colored eyes.

He has a pretty, pink blush on him as well covering his nose all the way to his cheek bones, you can see the fang that tugs your lips barely peeking out of his smile.

“Hmmmm~ Maybe just one more.” And you close your eyes just one more time.

───────────✧.*✦ *.✧.*✦ *.✧.*✦ ───────────────

(Around 11:25pm at Lounge Monstro)

Azul is not having a good day. Not at all. Wasted food and damages, he needed to pay for restoring table 28, 32 and 18 after Floyd for some reason stormed out the kitchen and creating destruction everywhere he went. Azul groans as he flips through number filled papers with red lines and circles.

He thought that he had properly prepared to mitigate these damages when he gave Floyd an early night off but seeing his previous number quadrupled put him into a sour mood.

Reading the clock 11:28, he locks his office ready to get at least four hours of sleep because he still needed to write that business proposal for the headmaster-

“…Jade you’re still here?” He asks taking a step over what seems to be a sleeping bag and a couple books hovering near a campsite lamp, “We talked about this. No “practice” camping in the lounge” Azul warns as he finds Jade near a booth flipping through a book all about mushroom delights.

Jade just looks, with polite smile all he says is, “You can settle all qualms with Ramshackle’s prefect.” As he flips the next page.

Azul groans, Ramshackle’s prefect, another word for headache. Always putting their nose where it’s not supposed to be, but how would that be affecting Jade? Jade being a consistent vice warden understood Azul’s clear confusion and clarifies, “Floyd is with them in the dorm.”

oh….OH

Azul waved his thoughts away, there was no need to deal with this at this very moment instead he hands over the papers in his hand, “Help me with these accounts and you can stay in my room tonight.”

“Oh, how gracious of you.”

“Be quiet. Floyd is working double after tonight.”

#twst x reader #twst floyd #twst fluff #floyd x reader #floyd x you #fluff #twisted wonderland #reader insert #.wwrenwrites

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creatchie8 · 2 years ago

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Yellow Soul: Chapter One

Mulberry

Summary: Trapped in a relationship with your high school sweetheart Perry is like a never ending nightmare of always stepping on eggshells. One winter break changes everything as you are reintroduced to his younger brother, Rhett. Looking for an escape, Rhett provides the perfect shelter you crave.

Chapter Summary: You return to Wabang with the intention of celebrating Christmas with your boyfriend, Perry. What you discover instead is much more than you would have ever dreamed.

Pairing: Rhett Abbott/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Minors DNI! No smut in this chapter, but there will be some later! Implied/Referenced Cheating!

Word Count: 7,000ish

Next Chapter - Masterlist

It’s really hard to know anyone else, isn't it? No matter how long you've known them. It's hard enough to know yourself.

The heater was on full blast, a constant whirring noise that threatened to drown out the music playing. The hot air smelled like burning dust, the scent of your light blue air freshener fading away, the little tree swinging with the bumps on the road. The dark gray truck interior is starkly different from the wintry conditions on the road outside. Dirty snow was piled up high on the sides of the road, the man made mountains sure to be taller than you.

Already you saw several unattended vehicles resting on the side banks, surrendered to the cold with orange tow tags hanging from the side mirrors.

Drumming your fingertips on the steering wheel, you look at the digital clock on the dash.

Five fifty-seven PM.

You would be at the ranch in about twenty-one minutes, that is if your poor truck could survive another second on the slick road. The blue/green salt they sprinkled on the road was doing nothing to calm your nerves. You pushed the worrisome thought away, trying to think about how you couldn't wait to see Perry, and his family of course.

You hadn't been home properly in a few years, just brief visits for a day or two.

When you tell people you grew up in Wabang, they look at you with confusion. Then, you explain it is a tiny little town, kind of by Lander, but more East.

You would think the residents at the University of Wyoming would get the concept of tiny towns by now.

You were lucky to be there. Especially in a graduate program that you were almost done with. Leaving Wabang at eighteen was definitely a difficult decision though. You left your whole family, immediate and extended for Laramie, Wyoming. That also meant you had to leave Perry, who decided to stay and work on his family’s farm after graduation, now working at a local hardware store.

You drove on the opposing side of the road to avoid a big ice chunk sitting in the middle of the path, cautiously returning to your side.

Perry made such an effort to see you, the relationship had been going for six years.

Now, the dynamic was different. Not in a bad way, but in a way that made you know he was ready to settle down. Get married. Have you be his bride. Perry was rushing you to finish school so you could return to Wabang.

The ranch land here was flat and familiar.

You would be nodding along silently as he detailed how he wanted to take over the ranch, and he wanted to do it with you. It wasn’t like you were appalled by the idea, but it was a bit depressing to think of yourself barefoot and pregnant on a ranch in the middle of nowhere after getting your master’s degree. Possibly even living with his parents.

Perry was so insistent on the idea, it was like he didn't want to give you a voice in the matter.

But you loved Perry, right? Of course you did, because why would you still get butterflies in your stomach when your phone vibrated, showing his name on the screen? Or was that nervousness? You two were twenty-three for god sake, you had your whole life ahead of you to settle down and get married, why did Perry need to do it so fast?

Off handedly, you reached into the cupholder and turned on your phone, glancing down at the screen saver. It was you and Perry, a recent picture from the last time he came down to Laramie. He had his eyes closed, pressing a kiss to your smiling face with the Laramie Plains Museum in the background, the great house looking beautiful and regal.

Maybe he was worried about losing you.

You learned quickly that you couldn’t tell him everything while you were gone. Too many times you had just casually mentioned a man’s name (whether that was a friend’s boyfriend or a lab partner) and he would give you the third degree.

Many times you would be sitting there on your bed, phone on speaker as you answered every question. Perry had like it was a mental checklist. Fiddling with the stitching of your jersey comforter, highly uncomfortable and on the verge of begging him to just drop it.

He would get mad, possessive. You knew it wasn't a healthy response, but Perry had always been like this.

All of your friends were highly jealous of you, constantly reminding you how lucky you are that you have him. They all would send you videos and pictures on social media of wedding dresses, you were pretty sure they had all figured out who was going to wear what in the event of your wedding.

Never would you think about telling them the doubts you had.

From the front windshield, you could finally see the Abbott ranch through the snowy haze. There it stood in all of its rustic beauty, a thick blanket of snow heavily sitting on top and around all the surrounding fixtures and land. A few trucks sat near the house, all angled differently.

There was that feeling of nervousness in your stomach again as you drove through their giant arch. The feeling settled itself deep in your stomach, gnawing at your intestines as you recognized all of the vehicles there. Perry was definitely here, and so was the rest of his family. You parked behind Perry.

Even though his parents were against staying together after highschool because they didn't want it to end in heartbreak, you still adored them.

Cecilia and your mom went to bible study every week and were devoted followers of Christ. It was often that your momma would drag you to their ranch with her bible in hand, toting other things like a casserole and maybe even a knitting project she was working on. They would laugh and laugh, hardly getting anything done because most of their time was consumed by gossip (which your mom had lots of, considering you lived just minutes from town square).

You would go up to Perry’s room and play with his toys, when you got older you would go horseback riding on the trail behind their house with him.

The two of you shared your first kiss on that trail.

Dad on the other hand, did have a friendly relationship with Royal but never went out of his way to become his confidant. Neither man seemed to mind though, just comfortably enjoying the silence between shared beers and musings about cattle or trucks.

But, the two moms were thrilled when they both had babies within months of one another, one boy, one girl. Destined (loosley) to be with one another.

Then there was Rhett.

Younger, rowdier, much more mischievous than Perry. Rhett did strive for his parent’s approval, but it was much less pressing in his mind than his own free will. Born three years after Perry and you, he tagged along for a while but when he got into his teen years, he would rather be caught dead than hanging out with his brother and a girl.

Last time you saw the Abbotts fully was a couple of years ago. You wondered absentmindedly if Rhett still was that lanky six foot teen with the bad attitude.

Your keys jingle as you cut the engine, but you just sat and stared at the house. Snow capped mountains loomed behind it, almost threatening to overtake it. As the heater died out, all the heat left the truck slowly and you decided it was best to go in and try to keep your butterflies under control. Even in the truck cab, the cold was seeping into your bones.

Grabbing your purse and puffer jacket from the passenger seat, you slowly made it to the porch, thankful for the tall boots you had invested in before coming here. Snow was piled up on either side of the walkway, just like the road. You looked up as you shuffled your way to the door. By the way it’s coming down, you knew the walkway would have to be shoveled again by morning.

The light wood porch is creaky under your heavy boots. You raise your hand to knock, hesitating a moment before rapping your knuckles harshly against the thick wooden door. Your hands were frozen. The quiet hum of winter was interrupted by muffled yelling on the other side of the door, footsteps walking from room to room, and more yelling. It was Cecilia’s voice by the way her inflection changed, pulling a small smile from you.

The door opened suddenly, a blast of warm air hitting you in the face as the old door groaned. The house smelled like a home cooked meal, your mouth watering. You could tell it took a moment for Royal to recognize you, his gruff face going from complete confusion to fondness after a second or two.

His facial hair was noticeably grayer since the last time you saw him. Hair still in that neat side swept style. Royal had a small scratch above his right eyebrow.

“Perry, you better get your ass down here!” He bellowed over his shoulder before wrapping you in a great bear hug, the smell of pine engulfing you. Royal all but pulled you inside, slamming the door behind you two. Footsteps stomped down the many stairs as the two of you pulled away, looking up and into the stairwell as you heard Perry’s familiar voice shout incoherent things.

“How was the ride over?” He was rough, but in a comforting way.

“Not as bad as I thought it'd be.” You replied, smiling at him. Trying your best to keep your chattering teeth at bay.

You took the moment to dry off your feet at the inside door mat. Someone must've been doing a lot of work outside today. There was a pair of dirty snow boots sitting where you kicked off yours.

From what you could see of the house, it was still rustic as ever. Dimly lit in a soft amber glow, dark wood floors and peeling wallpaper. You knew they didn't mind though, especially because it was such a historical house. It held many memories for the whole Abbott clan. The fireplace was raging, crackling and providing warmth to the whole house.

Your attention is pulled away from a knot missing in the hardwood below your feet as the creaks from the steps get louder. You smiled up at him. He hadn't noticed you yet, his eyes going directly to Royal. Grumbling something about the cold. Soon he turned to you, stopping in his tracks, mouth parted in surprise.

Perry’s hair had grown a little longer since the last time you saw him, his sideburns curling over his ears. You could see that he was still sporting his stubble, which you had begged him to shave the last time you two had facetimed. The freckles from the summer had faded slightly.

Next thing you knew you were knocked off your feet, he was crushing you in his arms. Perry was a wall of muscle, his chest solid and warm under the blue long sleeve shirt he wore.

“How- how did you even get here? I was going to see you in a few days!” He beamed in shock and excitement, pulling back to look at your wind-bitten face. His dark eyes crinkled at the corners.

“I wanted to surprise you! I missed you too much.” You mumbled and pressed your head into the juncture of his neck, your hands on his back, moving you closer to him. Your nose was warming against his shoulder.

You were excited to see him, but not as much as you hoped. The giddiness you usually had faded into a slight simmering below your skin.

“Who the hell is here? You can't just be havin’ people come in without-'' Cecilia's voice called from the kitchen, her words cut off as she sees the two of you in the foyer.

“Perry, did you know she was comin’?” She asks, practically bouncing towards you in happiness, her open flannel swinging around her sides. The Abbot family must have a collective gene that makes them stronger than bears, because Cecilia easily pries you out of his grip, crushing your ribs in a hug.

You couldn't help but let out a strangled laugh, hugging her back. You explained that you got sick of waiting in your dull apartment because all your roommates had gone home, and you missed her, of course.

That brought a huge smile to her face. Cecilia and Perry shared the same crinkles at the corners of their eyes and smile lines at their mouths.

Discarding your jacket in the coat closet full of snow pants and snow suits, the four of you settled in the retro kitchen.

Immediately, despite her protests, you started to help Cecilia finish dinner. Royal and Perry sat at the table, chatting about what they were going to do with the cattle tomorrow with the incoming snowstorm.

This was exactly the reason why you did not want to settle down yet. You knew Royal and his two sons did respect Cecilia, but every day always ended the same. She would work all day, just as hard as any of them, but even when she got home, the work wouldn't stop.

Cecilia would stay up later than everyone else to get ready for the next day.

Standing by the stove, you tended to the gravy in the big pot, adding all the seasonings that Cecilia gave you to put in it. Watching it turn from a white/beige to a slightly deeper color once you stirred in the chili powder, the savory smell making your stomach grumble.

A couple times, Perry stood and wrapped his arms around your middle, too tight, his warm breath tickling your neck, too warm, telling you how much he missed you. Each time you tolerated it for a bit, but shrugged him off. Perry smelled like freshly cut wood in the rain, the scent filling your nose.

By the time the chicken and gravy was done, it was already pitch black outside. The darkness was flush against the window above the sink, preventing anyone to see out of it.

Cecilia and you passed out plates and silverware on the table, resting them on the flaxen placemats. When you set down the fifth plate, you remember Rhett. He had not been down to the main level yet but as you were cooking you could hear soft footsteps padding around on the floor above you.

Royal got up from his seat and stood at the end of the stairs to call Rhett’s name, letting him know that dinner was ready. Your heart picked up a bit upon hearing someone close a door and walk down the stairs. Why were you so nervous to see Rhett? He was rude, standoffish, and snarky. You could swear the last time you saw him he hadn't taken a shower in a month.

Not to mention he was just Perry’s brother, not a new unfamiliar person.

To busy yourself, you dish up after Cecilia and settle next to Perry, the wooden chair squeaking against the tile. Perry’s arms snake around your hips before you can sit down, pressing his nose deep into your side where your shirt rode up, exposing your bare stomach to him.

It was a loving gesture, you told yourself. Perry loves you so much. So why do you feel the urge to brush his arms from you? The tightness distressed you, anchored you in the worst of ways to him. But as soon as it started, it was over and you were free to sit down next to him. The only lingering touch was his shoulder pressed against yours, the sound of fabric brushing against fabric filling your ears.

“Who’s that?” A gruff voice said behind you. Whipping your head around, your eyes connected with a shiny brass belt buckle a few feet from you.

Slowly, you looked up. By the time Cecilia started talking, you were still tilting your head further and further up to see his face. Slim hips, tight light gray shirt displaying a strong torso and impossibly broad shoulders.

Rhett. Of course it was Rhett. But it couldn't be. He looked so different.

“...Perry’s girlfriend, the one that you've known since…” Still, even with Cecilia talking (clearly annoyed at Rhett), your mind went blank when you saw his face. The Rhett you once knew, the gangly beanpole obsessed with bull riding, was all grown up. His face had sharper lines, all the baby fat gone from his features. Hair no longer cropped short (much to Royal’s dismay), but longer and flipping outward near his neck, pushed behind his ears.

What were they putting in the Abbott well water that caused angsty teen boys to turn into hot grown men?

Rhett listened to his mom, his piercing blue eyes boring into yours. He nodded in your direction, “Hey.” He said roughly, one side of his mouth quirking up as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Your heart was beating out of your chest.

“Hey.” You repeat and shut your mouth quickly, an embarrassed flush covering your cheeks as you turn back to your plate, hands shaking as you picked up your fork and busied yourself with your meal.

Royal led the family in prayer. Dropping your head in your hands, thankful for the moment of relief to yourself as he asked the lord to bless the family. When he made a comment about being grateful you made it here safe, you smiled and looked up from your hands.

The start of dinner eased your nerves, settling into a routine of talking when you needed and laughing.

Rhett sat right in front of you, was it on purpose or accident, you didn't know. What you did know was he would not stop looking at you. Whenever you looked up from your plate, there he was. Light stubble dusted his face, the look of it much more intriguing than Perry’s patchy stubble.

He still had the same long fluttery lashes and when he looked down, the warm buttery overhead light cast small shadows on top of his cheeks, which were freckled slightly.

Rhett’s hands were rough, you could see the callouses from here. The fork he was holding seemed like it was made for someone much smaller. Your breath caught in your chest when you noticed the veins wrapping around his forearms like snakes, disappearing under his rolled up sleeves.

It was suddenly too hot in the kitchen. You tugged at the opening of your sweatshirt, trying to fan some air down there discreetly. Vulnerable situations did not come often to you, so you felt crippled in this moment.

Dinner felt like it was hours long, but the food was good. It was torture trying to avoid Rhett’s gaze as well as his brother’s heavy arm around your shoulders. But thank god, it came to a close and now it was time to clean up. Royal excused himself outside, no doubt to shovel snow, you assume.

“Rhett, now don't go up to your room just yet!” Cecilia said firmly as Rhett stood from the table, stalling and turning to his mother. “It’s your turn to do the dishes tonight- and don't you ‘but’ me.” She added even before Rhett could open his mouth to argue.

“I can help!” You flushed at how painfully eager you sounded.

Why the fuck were you volunteering? Were you out of your mind?

“It really is no problem, it'll go by much faster with two people.” You added nonchalantly, standing up and gathering you and Perry’s plates. Cecilia protested but you assured her you were more than happy to help, pecking her on the cheek as you passed her on the way to the sink.

Perry walked over to where you were at the counter, grabbing a handful of your ass before mumbling something about being in the living room. Mustering up a half smile, you nodded and watched him go, embarrassed by the display. Cecilia thanked you again and went to start a load of laundry.

“How long are you staying for?” Rhett was behind you, still standing at his spot before picking up the other dishes at the table.

“Oh, uh, maybe like a week? Week ‘n a half? I was lucky and got it off work.” You answer, plugging up the drain with the metal stopper before turning on the sink, low enough so you could still hear him. “My truck, um, started making this weird noise on the way over. Called my dad but he couldn't do much.” You call over your shoulder, “You're good with trucks, right? Maybe you can take a look at it while I'm still here?” The thought of him leaning over your truck, in the summer, sweaty and hot, made your stomach flip.

“Yeah, no I can definitely take a look for you.” His voice seemed closer. “Almost didn't recognize you.” He was much closer now, making you turn your head to see where he was, to keep an eye on him. Rhett walked over to your side, setting the plates on the counter. The harsh ceramic scrape made you cringe.

The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

“I don’t think your daddy recognized me either, he almost left me out to freeze.” You laughed, “You look pretty unrecognizable yourself, Rhett.” He leaned against the counter beside you, folding his arms over his chest. His stance wasn't defensive, just casual as he watched you turn off the faucet and swirl dish soap into it. The water turned milky white.

“Been ridin’ more. This past season was my second one out of the senior category.”

Well, that explained his bulked up frame. You could tell by the way he talked that he was prideful about it. When you looked up from the water, a crooked smile was on his face.

“Perry’s been telling me about it. He’s pretty proud of you.” You held his gaze, swallowing the tight knot in your throat that accumulated suddenly. “Say, how ‘bout you dry, and I’ll wash?”

Rhett nodded, reaching down to open a cabinet and pulling out some rags. You quickly busied yourself with dunking the plates and using the little scrubber Cecilia had to clean them. He was almost silent for the rest of the time, which brought you a great peace of mind. It was easier to stay calm when you were too worried about scrubbing.

Desire ladled deep in your stomach. It was tight, like a snake was wrapping around your hips. But you shamefully tried to cover it up, the fire blanket you used slipping when you would glance up from the basin to look at him. The way his brows furrowed, tongue sticking out to lick his bottom lip every so often.

While you washed the dishes, Royal brought in your suitcase from your truck, which you had thanked him profusely for. Especially now that it was starting to snow heavily. Due to this, you decided to forgo seeing your parents tonight, instead hauling your suitcase and duffle bag up the stairs and to Perry’s bedroom.

It had only changed a little since you were last here. Just a few more photos of the two of you decorated the walls.

You dialed your mom once you were up there, a quick little call despite her wanting to talk for hours. The hand holding the phone to your cheek grew tired and you switched sides.

“Ma, I’m exhausted.” You finally said after talking for a while, “Don't forget we have to wake up early, I have to see you tomorrow, right?” You remind her as you sit on Perry’s bed, noting that the sheets have not changed since the two of you were teens. That should be something you should get him for his birthday.

“Right sweetheart,” You can sense the smile in her voice, “Will you and Perry meet us for breakfast? Is Odessa's Café okay?” She asks, almost insinuating you forgot the name of literally the only good diner in town.

“Yes, momma. I will be sure to wake Perry up extra early so we can meet you there. Is dad coming too?”

“He is, and he informed me that you told him you were coming home.” She says, mocking a hurtful tone. You roll your eyes, laughing as you lay down on the bed, situating a pillow under your head.

“Only because my truck started acting weird. He pried it out of me, you know how he is.” Your mom was the one to laugh this time. You loved it when she did. She had a crystal clear laugh that always echoed down the hallways of your childhood home. Momma was definitely a glass half full person, and you loved that about her.

The call came to an end after you exchanged ‘I love yous’ and you laid the phone on your stomach, looking up at the cracked ceiling. Rhett’s face drifted into your thoughts again. You sat up suddenly and vigorously shook your head, trying to get him out. It was scaring you, these sudden feelings you felt for the youngest Abbott son.

Never in your entire time of knowing him have you ever had a crush on him.

Sure, he was always cute, but in a best friend’s little brother way of being cute. Not a ‘tie me up like one of your rodeo calves’ hot. The thought made you groan in disgust of yourself. You were already doubting you and Perry’s relationship, so it would be the biggest Wabang scandal if you got with Rhett instead, the younger Abbott son, and you couldn't do that to either of the families.

Not that Rhett would even be interested in you, God, like you even were on his radar. From what Perry said during your weekly facetime, Rhett was with a new buckle bunny every week. Supposedly, he had gained quite a fan club from his bull riding adventures. Fresh, talented rider, son of a former champion.

The last name Abbott immediately turned heads at rodeos.

Rapping knuckles on the doorframe drew you from your thoughts, looking up at Perry’s kind face in the doorway. The hall light shone behind him like a halo before it was turned off, presumably by Royal who wanted to conserve electricity.

“You doin’ okay, babe?” Perry asks, walking over and sinking down on the bed next to you. It was a smaller mattress, probably a full size.

Nodding, you move closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder, desperately trying to push away the thoughts you had earlier. You feel ashamed of yourself.

“I’m fine. Just tired, that's all.” You kiss his bicep, “My ma wants us to meet her and my dad at Odessa’s tomorrow. Is that okay with you?” You ask, fingers rubbing at the fraying edge of your sage green sweatshirt. It was Perry’s, but you had stolen it before moving away.

“Sure, hun. Sounds like an amazing idea.” His words were muffled by your hair, his large hand sliding over your jean clad thigh that was closest to him. Nervousness returned in your stomach. You checked your watch, nine thirty-seven.

You should be getting ready to go to bed.

Perry’s hand drifted over your other thigh, fingertips drawing little designs into the dark wash fabric. Pulling away from him, you give Perry a sheepish smile at the sound of him huffing, annoyed you were scooting off the bed.

“Let me get ready for bed, I stink from the ride over.” Which was true, you had woken up late and in the rush to get ready to go, you had forgotten to take a shower. Perry laid back on his elbows, watching you gather your toiletry bag and some pjs.

“Hurry, I haven't seen you in forever.”

You chuckled nervously at the comment, turning to face him, a goofy smile on his face. “You facetimed me the other week. You saw plenty then.” You reminded him, turning on your heel and walking briskly out of his room. Letting out a heavy sigh as you walked down the hallway and the stairs. The best working shower was on the main level. You were praying no one was using it, because then you would probably have to go upstairs and join Perry again.

It wasn't like you didn't enjoy sex with Perry. He was a kind lover, someone that enjoyed drawing things out and ‘making love’ as he put it. That was fine when you guys were teens, and had absolutely no idea what either one was doing.

Your sex life was stagnant, and that was the plainest way of putting it.

No ups or downs and recently, you were starting to get intrigued about your roommate's hookup stories. Frequently, you found yourself sitting on the couch listening intently as she told you all the nitty gritty details, which normally you would have turned your nose up at.

Sex with him was just repetitive, and even when you tried to spice things up, he complained that he didn't like change or what you requested was too freaky for him, even when it was just a little spank on your ass.

You should have brought your phone, it was almost pitch black in the house. It seemed like everyone had returned to their rooms. Somehow, by some grace of god, you stumbled your way to the bathroom. Turning on the light ignited a low buzzing, the vanity bulbs assaulting your eyes. The main bathroom had this amazing clawfoot tub, ivory basin and brass handles. Royal installed a shower head above it a few years ago, the matching brass pipes snaking up the wall.

The water took a while to heat up, and only stayed like that for a few minutes so your shower was fairly short. You resorted to only scrubbing the necessary parts of your body like your armpits and feet, the rest of your body just got a quick once over. Casually, you cleaned between your legs with the warm water, not wanting to get yourself worked up at all.

Coming out, the steam swirled around you. But the draft from under the door was sure to kill it quickly.

The towel you brought did a shockingly poor job of soaking up the water, and you suspected that you or your roommate may have added too much soap in the washer when you were cleaning it. Still, you ran it over your body and patted yourself dry the best you could. The pjs you brought still clung to your damp body despite both the shirt and sweats you brought were both loose fitting.

Slowly though, you moisturize your face and brushed your teeth. Studying your face in the mirror. It was evident you were not the teenager you used to be. You lost your braces, your figure had filled out, and you just looked more mature in the face. Did Rhett notice how different you looked? Did he find you prettier?

Did he even care?

You grabbed onto the porcelain sink as you spit your toothpaste out, rinsing your mouth off with the freezing water. It was more than ridiculous that you were thinking about him in this way, especially because you were three years his senior. Not an incriminating age gap, but enough to where you were sure you would teasingly be called a cougar by your friends.

Folding your clothes and placing your toiletries back in the zippered clutch, you opened the door to darkness.

You tried, quietly, to make your way back to Perry’s room. Again, you cursed yourself for forgetting your phone. The flashlight would be great to have right about now.

Embarrassingly, you ended up stubbing your toe a few times on the stairs before you made your way to the landing. Each time clamping a hand tightly over your mouth to avoid waking up the whole house with your curses.

Finally, after what felt like an hour cautiously making your way to the second floor, you sagged against the wall nearest to Perry’s room, laughing internally at the crazy act you put on to get to the second floor. It was a relief that his room happened to be one of the first doors, so you slowly felt along the wall till you found it, which was cracked open a bit.

Perry must've closed it after you left.

You pushed it open and slid in, softly shutting it behind yourself. It smelled a little different than how you remembered it, more like a spicy smell with an undertone of earth. Rather than a woodsy smell. The window beside his bed was covered loosely by the curtains, the smallest sliver of light slicing through the room. Thinking nothing of it, you padded a few steps forward, leaning down and searching for your duffle bag to put your dirty clothes in. After no such luck, you dropped your clothes and toiletry bag on the floor.

It was so warm in the room, heating up your skin and making you sleepy.

The bed creaked behind you, blankets rustling softly.

Adjusting your shirt, the armpits bunched uncomfortably around your shoulders. You made your way to the empty side of the bed, your eyes had adjusted more in the dark, just enough to see a figure laying under the covers.

Your legs hang off the side of the bed when you sit down, you scrub a hand over your face, worried at what tomorrow might bring. Sure, you were excited to see your family, but it was always nerve wracking coming home. There were so many things you left behind in Wabang, including the lifestyle your parents ingrained into you.

The mattress creaked again, Perry turning towards you. It dipped as he moved closer.

A large warm hand settles higher up on your side, sliding down and fingers now curling around your hip. Your hand instinctively covers Perry’s, your thumb caressing across his knuckles. The touch made you shiver, his fingers pressing harder into your flesh at the reaction.

The pants you wore were loose enough in the waist that just by the sudden flexing of his fingers, his pinky dipped below and brushed along the sensitive skin of your hip. You were sure he would realize you weren't wearing any underwear.

“You okay?” A sleepy, groggy voice asks in the dark.

That was most definitely not Perry.

Stiffening, you tear your hand away and spin around on the bed, looking directly at Rhett. Eyes finally adjusted, you could faintly see his face, full of sleep and turned towards you. He was propped up on an elbow, the sheets once covering him now pooled around his waist, exposing his bare chest.

“Oh my god.” You whisper-shout, a metallic taste filling your mouth as you scramble to a standing position, “I thought- I thought this was Perry’s room. Oh my god I am so sorry.” You babble, walking frantically over to where you thought you dropped your bag and clothes.

“Other door, across the hall.” Rhett mumbles, voice still laced with sleep. He watched as you bent down, hands searching for your clothes. Your heart was racing and you were breathing heavily, beyond embarrassed. Rhett rolled over to one side of his bed and turned on his bedside lamp.

The lamp washes the room in a dim canary light, illuminating your things on the floor. You let out a soft oh and grab them, holding it close to your chest. The rational part of your brain tells you to leave right then and there, to scurry back over to Perry’s room and save yourself any more embarrassment. The stupid part of your brain tells you to be curious and look at Rhett in the lamp light.

Turning over your shoulder, you make eye contact with him, clutching your things tighter to you. You weren't much to look at, no makeup, hair not done, donning baggy clothes.

Even still, Rhett’s eyes raked over you, and you could swear you could feel it. What you were doing was not much better. Ogling his bare chest, you noticed a raised pink scar on his left shoulder. You couldn't help but stare more, absorbing as much as you could. A tinge of desire pooled between your legs.

You were the first to break the silence, “Thank you, for the uhm,” You tip your head towards the lamp, “the light.” You finish, now backing towards the door. His hair was messy, some strands sticking to his cheeks.

“Not a problem.” Rhett says simply, the muscles in his jaw tensing, “You uh, you smell nice.” He finishes.

Rhett was not a man of many words, not to say that he was dumb. But he never said anything unless he was told or compelled to. Like the last time he said you looked nice was when you were in fourth grade and had an unfortunate run in with the scissors, cutting yourself jagged bangs. Rhett started cackling when he saw what you had done, Cecilia smacking him on the back of the head and forcing him to tell you that ‘you look nice’.

“Thank you?” You didn't mean to phrase it as a question, it just came out that way.

Excusing yourself, you all but ran out of his room, making sure to close the door behind you, accidentally closing it a bit too hard. Cringing, you crossed the hallway and pushed yourself inside Perry’s room. He was sleeping of course, you could hear his soft snores.

Dropping your things on your duffle bag, you ease yourself next to Perry, careful not to disturb him. His back was turned towards you. Even while sandwiched between cold sheets and your boyfriend right beside you, you could still feel Rhett’s hand on your hip.

How he squeezed it, a probably innocent gesture turned sinful in your mind. How his pinky brushed over the skin of your inner hip. It burned like a branding iron.

It was still dark when you opened your eyes, the soft exhales from Perry the only thing that fills the room.

Your stomach was in knots. It had been since you laid down, twisting and hurting. The skin on your hip was rubbed raw by the time you finally fell asleep. Your fingers tracing the same path Rhett’s took when your pants loosened.

Never would you admit it out loud. Never would you admit the commitment you had for Perry was slipping. It was too much change. You were staying with him out of convenience.

Scared. That's what you were.

The thought of breaking up with him also brought the thought of a storm that would come. You slipped out of bed soon after waking up, the cold floor like needles in your feet.

You just needed a drink of water, anything that would quench your parched throat that was like gravel. To your surprise, the saucer light above the dining table was on and it showed up the stairs. Just enough to where you didn't need your phone light.

A huge shiver ran down your spine when you saw why the light source was on. The very person you did not want to see was sitting at the end, forehead resting on his clasped fists. But when you went to turn up the stairs, it was too late.

The sudden shift of your feet caused the old stairs to let out a painful groan, Rhett lifting his head from where it was resting. So you forced yourself to make it down the last few platforms, twisting your hands nervously in front of you. A diffident smile on your face.

Rhett didn’t seem bothered by your presence, just watching as you grabbed a glass from the cupboard, filling it with tap water.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Not a bit.”

God, who knew a voice would have such an effect on you.

“Me neither. Which is bad because I have to go see my parents in a bit.” You tried to lighten the mood, pulling out the chair closest to him before settling down.

The coaster you grabbed was doing a great job at collecting the condensation sweating off your glass.

You were trying to focus on something besides him.

Rhett snorted in response, scrubbing a rough hand over his chin. His eyes were trained on the side of your face. They burned a hole in your cheek. You lifted your face up, your fingertips dragging lightly on the side of the glass.

It honestly wasn't as awkward as you thought it would be. The silence was semi-comfortable, as comfortable as it could be.

“Re-Remember when you guys still had that chicken coup near the barn? ‘N the three of us somehow managed to climb up to the roof? Perry dared you to jump and you were so confident you could fly-” You started, recounting the memory to break the silence.

“Then I broke my elbow.” He finishes with a laugh. “Listen, it still clicks.” He holds his left arm out and bends it a few times. In the silence you could hear a faint popping noise, then you snorted a laugh out your nose.

“Gosh, I tried to stop you! Almost ripped your shirt in half trying to grab you, ya know.”

“I don't think I even hesitated.” He laughed, cheeks reddened in embarrassment.

“To be honest I’m not sure how you didn’t cry. I would’ve started bawling my eyes out.”

“I think I did when you left with your momma.” Rhett said, his goofy smile fading a bit.

Cocking your head, you furrowed your brows, “Why then? I thought they took you to the doc a bit after I was gone?”

“Well- because…” Rhett rubbed the back of his neck, glancing down at the table for a second.

“I think because you were bein’ so nice to me. Like I’m pretty sure you basically carried me inside. Sat with me when my dad was lookin’ me over, brought me a glass of water too.”

You gave him a crooked smile, dipping your head, “Well… I felt bad, like really bad. Especially when Royal was makin’ you bend your arm ‘n stuff.” You cringed at the memory, “He was pretty rough for you being what? Eleven, maybe twelve years old?”

Rhett bit the inside of his cheek and hummed, a faint smile still on his lips. Behind him, the world was still black. You hoped it would stay like that for a while so you could have Rhett all to yourself.

“I was also trying to hold it together so I wouldn't cry ‘front of a pretty girl like you.”

The world stopped spinning. You could feel its immeasurable halt against your body, the velocity of the sudden stop sliding your chair so your back slammed against the kitchen counters.

Your chair never moved.

But even through all this, Rhett’s strong gaze never wavered. It pinned you in place like someone trying to preserve a moth for their collection.

“You thought I was pretty?”

I am hoping to have a somewhat regular posting schedule since I already have a few chapters written! See me on AO3 as Creatchie8 too for a full list of tags & more!

#rhett abbott smut #rhett abbott imagine #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott outer range #outer range #rhett abbott #rhett abbott fic #rhett abbott fanfiction #outer range imagine #outer range fanfiction #outer range fic #lewis pullman characters #lewis pullman

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loudlooks · 1 year ago

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Day 21 - Caught in a sudden rainstorm

30 day challenge notes: quantity over quality, limited editing, stand-alone/unrelated stories unless specifically stated otherwise, not always tiva, chronologically randomly set in whatever pre-s11 season seems to fit

A/N: S5, Tony and Ziva sheltering from the rain, kinda depressing, I wasn't going to finish this several days ago because I was convinced I or someone else had already written this, but I'm falling behind too much, and apparently can't for the life of me remember how I was going to end this story originally, so, it is what it is

Tag for blocking/following: 30 days of spring

Prompt: Caught in a sudden rainstorm

Word count: 526

The rain came out of nowhere, pelting them with heavy drops that seemed to soak straight through their clothes. They ran for the nearest shelter, an awning about 20 feet to the right.

Tony wiped the rain from his face, and fussed with his hair. “It’s raining cats and dogs.”

Ziva chuckled. “Abby would love that.” She glanced behind her, at the hotel entrance, and recognized it was the Embasero. With a faint smile on her lips, she looked at Tony. “Does this not remind you of something?”

“Yeah, I should’ve remembered to bring an umbrella, or worn a rain coat, it is April, after all,” Tony said. At Ziva’s indecipherable look, he continued. “April showers, should’ve checked the weather app before we left the office.” He peered up into the dark sky. “With the luck I’m having today, I’ll get struck by lightning right as we reach the car.”

Ziva looked away, ignoring the heaviness that began to settle inside her, and listened to the rain beating down above and around them. A chill ran down her spine and she shivered.

“I’d offer you my coat, but it’s in the car,” Tony said as he glanced around.

She gave him a tight smile, then focused on the trash can a few feet away, as memories of Ari flooded her mind. Some good, some bad, one so horrible it haunted her in her sleep, still. A lot had changed the past three years.

Ziva glanced at Tony and found him staring at her with a sad smile. She frowned, another chill ran down her spine and she crossed her arms, as she quickly looked away. In her mind, this hotel had been pivotal in her trying to save Ari, before she had found out the truth about him.

It shouldn’t matter that Tony didn’t remember their meeting, right here, but it did. She wiped at her cheek, telling herself it was just a stray raindrop.

In a matter of seconds the downpour turned into a drizzle, and Tony suggested heading for the car which was just around the corner. By the time they reached the car, the rain had stopped completely, and sunlight forced its way through gray clouds.

Tony started the engine, and suddenly turned towards her. “We should get something to eat.”

Ziva merely nodded.

“How about pizza?”

She narrowed her eyes as her chest tightened.

“And an espresso.” Tony stared at her intently.

The corners of her mouth twitched upwards for a split second. “You do remember.”

“Hard to forget.” He blasted the car heater, then patted her leg. “Once you get warmed up, and have some food in you, it’ll be easier to focus on the good times."

Tony pulled out of the parking space, and glanced at her. "There have been good times these past few years, right?" He checked his mirrors, and focused on the road ahead. "No regrets?"

Ziva stared at his profile, reading the tension in his jaw and eyes. As the hot air warmed her wet clothes and clammy skin, the tightness in her chest loosened. With a bright smile, and heartfelt confidence, she said, "No regrets."

#tiva #tiva fanfiction #my fanfiction #30 days of spring #me throwing pizza on the roof breaking bad style

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chimerahyperfix · 2 years ago

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assorted bomberman headcanons

This got rather long so to not clog the tag, ermmmm

When trying to stay awake [desperate times call for desperate measures-type deals] Blue will blast loud music directly into his ears. Think things like Enter Sandman by Metallica.

Plasma's scarf is, in fact, part of him. It follows his emotions-- if he's mad it'll spike up and will shock you, and if he's calm it'll be more of a quiet rumble, like an old CRT tv's screen static. It buzzes all the time.

Plasma can also control where his scarf moves. He usually uses it to gesture at things. This also means he can push you around or flip you off with it. Massive W.

Yellow and Aqua are twins. I will die on this hill.

The Bomberman Bros all had [keyword; had] color-coded blankets. This fell apart when Yellow traded with Aqua over textures. Now everyone has a swath of different colors. It's comforting in its own way. Pretty tried this when it was just her, White, Black and Pink-- that fell apart when she died and they split her belongings. The blankets White and Black got eventually ended up in storage, but the one Pink has is hung up on her bedroom wall.

The Dastardly Bombers all live in the same house at the moment [it is Phantom's]. It's kind of like a frathouse.

Magnet's favorite kind of music is Techno. He often plays it at max volume.

Red and Blue often get into arguments about wether checkers or chess is better.

The only game Green is bad at is Spoons. He can't react fast enough to win.

Blue collects dice sets. His favorite dice are D4. Great for laying out as weapons. His favorite set look like prisms.

Red can breathe fire. It's very system-intensive, so it's a last-ditch-effort attack.

Black likes writing. Yellow has convinced him to write small plots for him to make comic books with.

Golem names all of his birds. Phantom's house is surrounded by birdhouses.

Blue has narcolepsy. Honestly I'm pretty sure this is canon?

White can't sleep without some kind of noise. He has at least three fans, one heater, a radio and four white noise machines he cycles through.

Blue and Phantom are rivals. They often try to hack eachothers computers to put silly images onto them. Neither have ever succeeded.

White is always the last to go to bed. Yellow is almost always the first to wake up. The only exception to this is Blue, who can be up whenever.

Pink has a collection of plastic weapons. Think big battle axes, scythes, etc.

Blue always has bags of pretzels in his room. They are his favorite. No one else likes pretzels.

The Bomberman bros all have little glow-in-the-dark stars glued to the roofs of their rooms. White never got around to removing his. Black has painted a moon on his roof to go along with them. Pink counts them to sleep. Blue's room aesthetic is very star-themed, so he got even MORE stars. Red, Yellow, Aqua and Green all wanted them.

Pink consumes the most horror content out of anyone.

Aqua has a very extensive enamel pin collection and participates in pin trading. She has like. 3 corkboards full of pins.

White likes to collect reusable, recycled material bags.

Green's room is full of stuff. He says it's all put in specific places-- organized chaos-- but he puts it all in stacks. White tells him to clean his room a lot. The stacks just move around. It's a constant back and forth between them.

Aqua has drank hot sauce before. Like a drink.

Magnet is covered in scuff marks from his powers activating and pulling him against things.

Red occasionally does woodcarving.

Pretty is bad at letting go of items that can be even vaugely sentimental. She's kept almost everything she's ever been given, even if it's broken.

When he was younger, Black broke multiple handheld game consoles from overuse.

White is surprisingly good at fighting games. He mostly plays puzzle games.

Yellow likes to bake. He can make cookies, and that's it.

Golem often picks up the other Dastardly Bombers and carries them around. He often throws them over his shoulder.

#WELL I WASNT DONE WITH THIS BUT IT POSTED.#SO UH.#bomberman #headcanon post #chimera rambles #<- i just scream abt headcanons lol

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merryfortune · 2 years ago

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Mistletoe Memento

Written for the Winter Holiday Bingo

Prompts provided by @sweetspicybingo

Prompt: Mistletoe

Title: Mistletoe Memento

Ship: Hotdogshipping | Shoichi/Yusaku

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,051

Warnings: None

Tags: Age Difference, Fluff, First Kiss, Christmas

“Oh, did you put that up?” Yusaku asked, blinking.

Normally, he would have started this conversation with a “Hello, how are you?” but seeing the teeny tiny anomaly pinned, with a shiny red ribbon, to Shoichi’s food truck was enough to shock out even Yusaku’s most common decencies.

“Kind of.” Shoichi replied as he leaned out over the counter to greet Yusaku. “I hung it up, yes, but I didn’t buy it or anything. Some girl from the visitor information centre was going around and handing out mistletoe as a tourist promotion. She was giving it out to any business who’d give her the time of day.”

“That’s… nice?” Yusaku guessed.

“Yeah.” Shoichi agreed, equally as half-heartedly. Then made more conversation as he pushed a damp rag over his counter, pretending to do work. “Honestly, I just said yes because I felt bad for her. I saw her get turned around from two different places across the plaza.��

“That’s nice of you.” Yusaku agreed.

“I try.” Shoichi guessed. “Like, I dunno if eating hot dogs is an overly romantic thing to do on a date but hey. It looks nice and in the spirit of things.”

“Yeah.” Yusaku murmured.

Then, with that, the usual course of their platitudes resumed. They asked each other about their day, half yelling at one another as Yusaku came around the side of the van. His shift was about to begin and it basically began as soon as he stowed his school bag to the side.

He put on his apron over his school uniform and that was that. They put all chatter aside in taking orders, of which they began to pick up. Lots of people were out and about despite the chilly, December weather. It was absolutely going to snow later, they could all feel it in the air and in their bones. There was simply that cool shimmer and a dark cloud that prophesied it.

Now, despite hot dogs not being the most romantic food to pair with a date, the mistletoe still attracted plenty of attention as Shoichi and Yusaku took their sales. It was oddly to see, between the singles and the fries, the occasional couple who saw the sprig of mistletoe conjoined to the truck and taking full advantage. It was truly in the mood of how much of a couples’ holiday Christmas was.

Even if Christmas wasn’t until tomorrow.

As the afternoon wore on, turning into the evening and then night, Yusaku was thoroughly exhausted by the end of it. Easily one of the busiest periods he had ever worked. He didn’t envy Shoichi who had been manning the stations all day by himself. The till was practically bursting at the seams and they were out of their most common toppings, too, like cheese and onions. It was impressive how much the crowd had eaten and that made the turn all the more jarring when a cast of thousands turned into a cast of none.

It was a bit after eleven when the crowd had thinned and didn’t seem likely to pick up again. Shoichi doubted that the clubs were going to be popping much on Christmas Eve and he could typically bet on drunk people wanting hot dogs after singing, dancing, and drinking the night away but probably not tonight. So, he gave the signal for him and Yusaku could pack it up.

“I’ll drive you home Yusaku.” Shoichi said.

“Thanks, Kusanagi-san.” Yusaku said.

They brought the awning down and turned the grille off. The weather, after so long of staying steady, began to powder just as Shoichi battened down the last hatch. He encouraged Yusaku into the front of the van where Shoichi blasted the heater and Yusaku sat happily in the front seat with him. They drove off and into a light, glittering snow, no less.

Shoichi drove safely through slow traffic. It was pretty congested and so, he and Yusaku got through quite a few songs on the radio together - and some adverts, too. It was the usual mix of top forty pop songs with some carols mixed in. The former was Shoichi’s jam, Yusaku wasn’t a music person but he liked to see Shoichi enjoy himself as he made like a dag and sang out loud to the radio, belting it out.

Cheerful company really did shorten the miles. Not that Yusaku’s apartment was all that far away to begin with. It was walking distance except when it snowed.

“We’re here.” Shoichi said.

He parked out front in the kerbside. A small pile of snow crunched underneath the wheel of the van. Outside Yusaku’s flat, Ai had turned on the porch light ahead of time. The light twinkled a soft yellow. Shoichi used the auto function in his console to open the door on the passenger side for Yusaku but used the handle for himself. They disembarked together.

“Brr, it's cold when the heater’s not on.” Yusaku complained as he stepped outside the van with Shoichi.

“You stay rugged up, yeah?” Shoichi said.

“I will. Promise.” Yusaku said.

They hovered awkwardly at the front of the van and something caught Yusaku’s eye. It was sleek and shiny and red. The ribbon. It was still plastered to the side of the van and Shoichi turned his head to meet where Yusaku was staring - albeit caught off guard.

“Oh, uh, the mistletoe. It's still there.” Shoichi said. “I’d forgotten all about it.”

He sounded like he was lying. Not out of malice, merely nonchalant. Like he was just trying to make things less awkward. Only thing was, it wasn’t working. They had both copped more than above average number of kisses today from different couples amid the sea of the general public. On the forehead, on the cheek, on the lips. The mistletoe had been a hit and it would be lying to say otherwise.

“And we’re both standing under it.” Yusaku pointed out.

“Next to it, more like.” Shoichi said.

“It's tradition, you know.” Yusaku said.

“Yes, Yusaku, I know.” Shoichi retorted.

He sounded huffy but that didn’t fetter Yusaku. His eyes were uniquely and unusually naive. Hopeful.

“Please.” Yusaku quietly insisted.

“Only because it's tradition.” Shoichi said.

Though only because it was tradition felt - and looked - like a whole lot more. They both knew that there was a budding, mutual attraction between each other. Like a spear and shield, like the best of friends, or even like tomato sauce on a frankfurter, they went together perfectly.

Yusaku placed one hand on Shoichi’s breast and his other was enveloped by Shoichi’s palm. It was guided to Shoichi’s hip and for a moment, they were in a pause like a position zero in a dance. It was awkward. Yet it was oh so sweet.

Yusaku had to go on his tip-toes, just slightly and Shoichi held his hand firmer. They were all on their lovely lonesome on the street corner, just the streetlamp and the mistletoe to observe as they inched closer and closer until finally. They kissed,

The cold swirled around them with the beautiful snowdrift. The light twinkled behind them and it was utterly cliche but it truly was magical. It was everything that they had both dreamed for longer than they should have that it would be. Neither could deny the mutual pining between them, soft and ever present but always unspoken.

Every wrong making a right as they kissed. He was too young, he was too old, they were just acquaintances brought together by something horrible and yet. The feelings that they had for one another that existed in the negative space between the sharp edges of their entwined pasts were precious and irreplaceable.

The feel of Yusaku's lips, the scratch of Shoichi’s beard. Little, tiny sensations by the thousands all built up to make six seconds feel like they could last an eternity. It was their first kiss, as a couple, not that they were but for now it felt as though were, and Yusaku’s first kiss as an individual and to him, what a wonderful kiss it was.

He relished every sensation. The feeling of Shoichi’s breath and the way his own hitched as he marvelled in these precious six seconds of the kiss. His heart didn’t race but Yusaku became all too aware of it as he felt the throb of Shoichi’s pulse in his lips as they shared in this mutual intimacy.

It was almost regretful but they did break it off. Tradition didn’t state how long the kiss had to last and they both knew that if it lasted any longer, it would be inadvisable. Yet, Shoichi didn’t let go of Yusaku’s hand that had been on his hip as it slipped back. So, together, they stood on the street’s corner holding hands.

“Sleep tight tonight, Yusaku.” Shoichi said. “Stay warm. And I’ll see you in the new year, yeah?”

“Yeah…” Yusaku murmured.

Shoichi squeezed Yusaku's hand and then finally let go. Yusaku nodded and he was already going to miss the sensation - the weight and the warmth - of Shoichi’s hand on his own. He stepped aside awkwardly and Shoichi glanced at the mistletoe.

“Do you want to keep it?” Shoichi asked as he reached for it.

His fingers grazed the shiny, red ribbon, he played with the dangles and traced along the shape of the tiny, white bulbs that made up the flower of the mistletoe. It looked cheap because of its mass-made origins and oddly out of place against the off-yellow of the truck’s outer shell but there was such fondness in his voice for it.

“Like a memento?” Yusaku asked.

“Yeah, like a memento.” Shoichi replied.

“I’d like that.” Yusaku said.

“I’m glad.” Shoichi murmured.

The mistletoe had been sticky-taped in place, of all things, with a scrunched up bundle behind the main head of the flower. He gently coaxed it off the truck and then tore off the sticky tape. Shoichi took these small actions purposefully and then met Yusaku’s eyes before entrusting him with the little souvenir of a tradition.

“Thanks.” Yusaku said as he covered it with his fingers, wanting to hide it and squirrel it away.

“You enjoy the holidays, yeah, enjoy some days off from school and work, you hear.” Shoichi said.

Yusaku nodded and made a small noise. He wasn’t sure how much enjoyment he would get from pining for Shoichi but they had different schedules. Different family commitments. That sort of thing.

“Okay, now get inside already, don’t wait for me and don’t catch your death either.” Shoichi worried for him.

“Alright, alright, see you later, Ku-Kusanagi-san.” Yusaku said and his voice cracked as he spoke his most valued companion’s name. Not in a bad way, just a teenage boy way.

Shoichi chuckled at his expense and the cold wind blew. It hurried them both along as the idea of lingering toyed with them. It was awkward and bittersweet but that’s just how saying goodbye - even temporarily - went as they turned their backs on one another.

Yusaku heard the kerchunk of the truck's door opening and his heart leapt to his throat. Now or never. It wasn't as good as an I love you or a confession but the words that got caught in his throat were just as good to release his feelings. His chest felt tight as his lips quirked into an unnatural position: a smile. A genuine and whole-hearted smile that was ear to ear and had his eyes crinkling.

Yusaku quickly twisted around and with a rosy face, he announced, "Merry Christmas, Shoichi. See you next year."

Shoichi smiled and gave him a signal through the glass that he had been heard loud and clear. That's all Yusaku needed to be happy. More than happy, even, beyond happy. He then faced forward and heard the engine rumble, he opened the door where Ai and Roboppi greeted him. Shoichi drove off so he could return home to Jin.

The tradition of the mistletoe was a secret for only them. He held onto the mistletoe a little tighter in secret, cherishing the feeling of the leaves and stem digging into his palm. But maybe next Christmas, when Yusaku was just that tiny bit older, it wouldn't be just tradition when they kissed by the mistletoe.

#yugioh #yugioh vrains #vrains #hotdogshipping #sweet and spicy bingo #writing tag #Christmas #Mistletoe Memento #fujiki yusaku #kusanagi shouichi #kusanagi shoichi #age gap cw #long post

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deepinsonder · 2 years ago

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Simple Man, Dean Winchester x reader

Pairings: Dean winchester x female!reader

Warnings: Cuteness

Tags: Fluff

Summary: Dean never thought he’d be one to appricate the small touches you give him, but he loves it more than he cares to admit.

10:00 am

You were tired, not for any reason but the cold air around you. You exited you and Deans shared room, with a blanket folded on your arms and your computer.

You weren’t sure where Dean was but at least you knew Sam would be huddled at the table, researching cases to wits end. Making your way through the brick laid bunker, your feet padded on the cold concrete floors.

“Sam,” you said in a sing song voice, before you came to the library area. As you looked up, you met eyes with a tired looking Sam, you knew he wasn’t sleeping well but you also knew he took care of himself better than anyone could.

“Hey,” He said, before turning his eyes back onto the screen in front of him.

“Where’s Dean?” You asked, placing your laptop at the table across from Sam and your blanket on the chair.

“Kitchen,” Sam said, still clicking away on his computer, you sighed and made your way to the kitchen, the chills were getting to you, perhaps you should have layered up more.

As you arrived in the kitchen, you noticed a hunched over Dean staring at a book in front of him.

“Hey handsome,” you said walking up to him, he turned around and gave you the same smile he always did - the one that reminded you how lucky you are to be loved by Dean Winchester.

“Morning, Sweetheart,” Dean said, turning his body, anticipating the hug you always gave him in the mornings - Dean never thought he’d be the type of man to like being hugged but every morning when he would wake up before you, he counted the minutes until you eventually found him and wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

You walked up to him, and pressed your body against his, breathing in the scent as you lifted yourself by the tiptoes and held him - Dean wrapped his arms around your back and mumbled a quiet “i love you” into the nape of your neck.

“What are you up to today?” You asked, lightly pulling yourself away from him to look up into his eyes, his smile caused the lines around his eyes to crinkled as he looked down at you.

“Was waiting for you to decide,” He said, bringing his face in to kiss your lips. Your soothing hand touched his cheek as he continued to smile against your lips.

“There’s a farmers market, half an hour from here - we could go check it out?” You said, breaking away from your embracing and picking up a glass cup to get a drink of water.

“A farmers market?” Dean asked with a small groan.

“Yep,” you said with the pop of your lips, leaning your back against the kitchen counters, the cool metal pressed through the fabric of the t-shirt you were wearing.

“Okay, I’ll get ready,” he said, with a nod as he began to clean up the mess he had made on the counters. You giggled at how quickly he agreed to go with you, normally you’d have to plead but today he was in a good mood you figured.

You came up beside him and placed a small kiss against his upper arm before turning around and walking toward your room.

11:00 am

You were glad you layered up because the cold air hit you like a brick. You breathe turned cold as the air froze around you. Dean opened the car door for you before opening his own and taking a seat, turning up the heater.

You took a seat and turned the radio on, blasting his favourite Led Zeppelin song. He smiled at you before turning around to back out of the garage.

“I need to get some ugly sweaters,” You said, turning your body to face Dean, bringing your you legs to cross on the seat.

“What why?” Dean asked, scrunching up his face him faux disgust.

“For Sam- he’s been working really hard, lately,” You said, taking Dean’s hand from the gear stick and onto your lap, you held his cold palms against your own, rubbing them together to warm you both up.

Dean chuckled at your remark, the thought of Sam in a stupid sweater made you both smile.

He wrapped his fingers through yours giving them a little squeeze as his smile grew, silence consumed the car as you played with his fingers. He would occasionally turn his head to look at you as you met eyes with him and smiled back.

11:45 am

You and Dean stepped out of the car, the cold air wondered around you as you made your way over to him. You took his hand in yours and huddled up close to him, to keep you both warm. You wished the scarf around your neck was thicker as you walked toward the stalls with a glint of anticipation in your eyes.

Picking up the first green and red sweater you saw, you decided it was perfect. Dean pulled out his wallet and handed the shop owner at 10 dollar bill before placing an arm around your shoulders.

“We should get some fresh eggs,” You said, leading you and Dean toward the chicken coups, where there were cartons of eggs displayed.

“Two, thanks” Dean said to the shop owner as he paid and you watched him bag the cartons.

“You look handsome today,” You said, admiring his face and furrowed eyebrows.

“I always look handsome,” He mumbled, with a coy smile playing on his lips. You brought your lips to his as you kissed the smile of his face, “and you always look beautiful,” his comment made you blush - your cheeks turned more red than they already were.

“What else do you need,” You asked, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Let’s just look around,” He smiled against your forehead.

For the remainder of the market, Dean watched, lovingly, as you bought things and picked things up. He hadn’t had many perfect days but today was probably the best he’d had in a long time. He would never admit it to you but when you touched him, his hands, his face - he felt more loved than he had in a long time.

He didn’t need much to be happy but you gave him so more than you would ever know. He was a simple man, he didn’t need much but he knew he would always need you.

#dean winchester x reader fluff #dean winchester angst #dean winchester masterlist #dean winchester #supernatural #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester #supernatural x reader #dean winchester series #dean winchester imagine #fluff #cute #family #love #relationship

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 2 years ago

Note

If your taking requests at the time you get around to seeing this can we get some flirty Keegan? My man needs more love and I'm starving for more stuff with him. Maybe some downtime just cuddling and flirting and being relaxed with his s/o at home. Or perhaps some jealous Keegan, a night out and he doesn't like the way someone keeps eyeing his s/o. Your choice. ❤️

Gentle Worship

Pairing: Keegan P. Russ x F!Reader

Synopsis: The days when Keegan was home were rare, but always cherished.

Word Count: 5.03k

Warning: Slightly suggestive, pure fluff

A/N: Since these two requests were pretty much the same I combined them, hope you two don't mind. (I'll just tag you, @angsty-microwave, so you'll know right away that I posted this). This is the fluffiest thing I've ever written...Enjoy!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

His arm was wrapped around your waist, tight and gripping you like you would disappear if he let go. The sweeping sensation of his hand was spread over the skin of your abdomen, nestled under your large shirt, and a calloused thumb moves gently back and forth over any available flesh. Just above the swell of your opposite hip, which digs heavily into the mattress, fingers tighten as you shuffle slightly.

It was early – perhaps too early to be awake – but Keegan was nothing if not as constant as the morning birds who sing their songs outside the window every day. Cascading light was just beginning to crest into the shared apartment, rendering your sheer shades useless.

The only upside to that cheap purchase was that it helped get you out of bed in the morning, even if it was only to find a blanket to throw over the curtain wrack.

Your boyfriend’s bare chest expands over your back and a silent sigh rustles the strands of your hair. A nose is pressed into your neck, a soft nuzzle leaving the flesh of your lips twitching into a sleepy smile. It was rare you woke up with him still home, but quickly remembered this was his scheduled day of leave.

“I know you’re awake,” Keegan’s voice blesses your ears, deep and layered with gravel. You wondered if he got any sleep last night; when you went to bed he wasn’t back from work yet.

The man fixes his grip on you and pulls, and, unbelievably, you end up closer to him. The Ghost presses your form deeply into his body like you were a teddy bear and not a grown woman before he continues. You go willingly, of course, the sheets rippling like water around the two of you as you slide. There was no better space heater than Keegan, and when he touched you, your skin turned to malleable clay.

Smiling, your eyelids keep stubbornly closed as a kiss is pressed into the fabric of his t-shirt you had stolen, just by your shoulder blade.

“How?” Your voice whispers, lips forming a smirk. How had he known you were awake? The answer was incredibly simple – you already knew it, in fact. But it was better when you heard it from him.

Keegan grunts, legs intertwined with yours. Sluggish, his free hand goes to circle around under your neck, leeching onto your throat as you sleepily make a noise at the action – not surprised but more annoyed at the jostling of your head. He doesn’t apply pressure, simply grips you and curls his fingers to find that specific place.

“Pulse,” He says, squeezing for a moment and feeling your heart rate spike before his hand drops like lead. Your face heats, lungs tighten.

Stifling a small giggle, you bring your limp hand up and grab at Keegan’s digits. You intertwine your fingers with his and pull, flipping his hand over and bending his wrist to an angle so you can lay a quick kiss to the burn scar along his knuckles.

He had gotten it shielding Ajax, another Ghost, from debris flying off a grenade blast a long time ago. The damage extended down his arm and ended at his elbow – he always said it was ugly, and from then on you had never gone a day without kissing it. Every part of him was damaged, but you had never seen someone as beautiful as Keegan.

The Ghost shivers at the feeling of your lips, and his breath stills in reverence as you lay another.

To think he knew you so well he could tell when you had awoken by a small uptick in your veins; hear your heart pulse back to consciousness with his ear pressed to your neck, curled around you so tight you didn’t need a blanket for warmth.

The man thinks to himself that even if you were a thousand miles away he would always know how you were just because of how much he cared for you. Like some fucked up sixth sense.

When Keegan was out in the field he often looked at his watch and knew exactly what you were up to – at seven you woke up, made the bed, and entered the kitchen at seven fifteen still in your pajamas. From then on you made breakfast, took a shower, and so on. He could be in a gunbattle with Federation soldiers and his mind would blank when he spies his timepiece.

She’s going on a walk right about now, The Ghost would blink, balaclava bunched over his nose and chin; he would snap back not a mere second later as if he was never distracted.

If anything those moments grounded him – reminded him of what he was going back to when the sting of gunpowder made his eyes burn and his blood thumped with adrenaline. They should have distracted him, made him sloppy, but the thought of you waiting for him turned his focus to razor-sharp. He’s never going to leave you waiting for him for too long, hoping beyond hope that he’s not dead somewhere.

“Welcome home, Kee,” You whisper against the skin of his wrist, and the man seems to remember to breathe as his heart skips a beat in his ribcage, “I’m glad you’re back.”

Keegan hums, expression softening, and the grip on your hip moves back. His callouses leave goosebumps in their wake, scratching your skin so perfectly as they start a journey to the opposite side of your waist. Traveling, the limb tenses to roll you onto your back with practiced ease. Keegan moves slightly, and you half-open your eyes with a grunt of surprise only to be graced with the blurry view of his toned chest, ivory scars you love just as much as the rest of him on full display. Grey sweats sit loosely around his tapered waist, the string united and tickling your navel as Keegan shifts his weight to be above you, knees pushing your legs open. Slumping forward, his hands land right by your head, crimpling the pillow below you and bringing your adoring attention to his eyes.

Gun metal blue, with flecks of pure iron near the center – usually hard and cold, they stay half-lidded and weighed down by the early morning; silken in a way only you knew.

You loved his eyes, how they gave you so much so willingly. It was a feat that others could dream about but never attain as you had.

Keegan’s black hair is ruffled, the longer bits sticking out in a way that reminded you of a black cat who had just gotten into a fight in the back alley. The rising sun caresses his sharp cheeks and makes playful shadows.

Gawking at him would be an understatement, but it wasn’t like the man wasn’t doing it back to you.

Your body was sagging with fatigue, eyes red at the corners and watery. The shirt that once belonged to Keegan was now claimed as your own, baggy and swamping the sleep shorts you wear as if they weren't even on you. But that wasn’t really a surprise anyways – the shorts were barely sizable enough to be considered attire.

Keegan wouldn’t have it any other way.

His eyes travel the expanse of your visible throat, how it bobs as you swallow, tongue clicking; going down he grunts lowly as his gaze lands on your bare thighs and the way they spread nicely around his fitted body and allowed him to grip you where he saw fit.

You were so small compared to him…different. Soft and good. There were times the man was confused as to how this relationship even worked as well as it did because of how starkly contrasted your worlds were. Keegan, when he was away, was silent – so silent people could go days without comment from him unless it was necessary to the mission, so how you got him talking to you at that bar was an utter mystery.

She’s good, Keegan thinks to himself as he spaces out above you, hands near your head tightening into the pillowcase, Didn’t even realize it was too late ‘til she had me in bed with her.

Just as your body started to squirm with anticipation from how Keegan was admiring you with eyes that bleed lust, his weight suddenly drops on top of you without any warning. Going to press his lower body between your legs, your sleep shorts bunch at the skin of his waist; his arms snake under your shirt - groping at any skin available. You yelp as your eyes bulge but don’t say a word as the Ghost situates himself as a gigantic dog would. A quiet moment passes where you hear the birds outside the window, chirping away and calling to their mates, but then your chest jerks in raspy, delayed, laughter; face wrinkling as warmth floods around your all-encompassed body.

You were all but disappearing under him like you were never there.

Keegan smirks from where his head is pressed into the crook of your neck, muttering, “Good to be back…Missed ya.’”

“Hm,” You make the sound in the back of your throat, raising a hand to card your fingers through his hair, “Well, you better have. I made brownies yesterday.”

Itching at his scalp, the man releases a sound akin to a purr, and the grip on you tightens, shoving you down even further into the mattress. By now the sheets had been pressed to the far end of the bed, thrown into a pile you would have Keegan straighten out when he made the bed later. You continue your action on his head as the weighted blanket above you presses light kisses to your sleep-warm skin.

Keegan pours himself into the action – knowing how to tell you everything without uttering a word.

It wasn’t long before your eyes started fluttering again, a delicate sigh falling from your lips as Keegan’s nose slides up your pulse point to your sensitive ear.

“Go back to sleep,” He says, voice so smooth it travels over you like rain and leaves you shivering, “It’s too early for you to be up yet.”

“M’kay,” You mutter, knocking your head to the side so it lightly connects with his scalp, the strands itching your cheek. He chuckles from over you, and you feel it more than hear it, but nonetheless, it leaves a warm fire in your veins as your breath evens; your lungs suck in careful breaths.

You don’t notice, but your hand stays pressing Keegan’s head into you, latched onto the ebony of his hair strands like a lifeline. His hands around your waist squeeze once before they fall stationary – pointedly staying still as his heart beats opposite yours.

And then a slow, steady, silence.

The birds chirp and the sun rises, but in the bedroom, two lovers fall into a gentle slumber that only they could achieve in each other's presence. A strange phenomenon, really, to find a man like Keegan so eager to disappear into a dream – he rarely had nice ones. But, one could suppose that when he was with you the bad dreams never plagued him as they did in No Man’s Land during extended Ops.

Because he never uttered a peep as he, in a pure sleep, nuzzled his head deeper into your neck instinctually.

—

The sun is noticeably more visible, no longer a deep red but rather a goldish-orange that makes it look like the curtains are on fire. There are shadows of flying birds passing by behind the glass, whizzing about to catch insects mid-air before zipping back to their nests; no doubt feeding hungry children.

Groaning your fingers twitch under the cream-colored comforter pulled up to your chin, and your eyes blink open. There’s a moment where you wonder where the weight on your chest has gone before you realize the absence was much more than a force.

Where did Keegan go?

His weight was absent from over you, his defined muscles not heavy on your skin just the way you like. The disappearance of those rough hands carding over your body made you huff, nose scrunching in annoyance. Already you knew he wasn’t in the bedroom or the Master Bath.

Keegan was always silent when he went about, but when he was home you always found him making more noise so he wouldn’t scare you – walking more heavily, closing the cabinets so they made a small thump, even whistling when coming into a room you were in. There were too many broken mugs in the garbage admittingly but, now, the numbers had all but halted.

Sitting up, you rub at your eyes before yawning, stretching your arms above your head, and arching your back before feeling the chill of the air invade your now-shed cocoon. Goosebumps rise as you shift your body and throw your legs out, bare feet dancing just above the wooden floors. Before you were about to graze your toes a grating sound from the kitchen stalls you; freezing your body as it leans forward, hands by your hips.

With twitching ears, you look at the slightly ajar door, eyes wide as your head tilts.

“Keegan?” You ask, eyebrows furrowing.

“Kitchen!” Your boyfriend calls back, and the scraping of a cast-iron pan makes itself known to you.

Smiling, you look down at the cold floor and come up with an idea to keep as much body heat as possible while also making it to your Lover in record time. Throwing off the remainder of the covers you bolt to the door like a deer, pushing it to the side and squealing as the chill begins to enter your bones. Bouncing, you dash down the hallway laughing with a wide smile before entering the joint living room and kitchen.

You see Keegan’s bare broad back at the stove, defined build falling to a tapered waist that begs for your legs to be wrapped around it. He still wears those gray sweats, only held up by the swell of his hips. Keegan’s head tilts to the side, listening to your glee as his hand lowers the spatula to rest on the counter.

What’s she up to this time? He wonders, face blank but eyes crinkling at the sound of your echoing laughter. Keegan loved your laugh – loved it even more when he realized it was only for him to keep.

Taking a step back from the eggs he’s cooking, the man is just about to turn around to see what’s going on, and why you’re running feet are pounding over the floor, but you’re already upon him.

Thumping up the two stairs that separate the kitchen and living room, you dodge the island counter with nimble feet and launch yourself at Keegan’s back.

Grappling like a koala, the Ghost below you grunts in surprise as your arms wrap around his neck; legs over his waist and locking. Reeling back away from the heated stove top so no one gets burned, Keegan’s hands snap back to your scalp and to your thigh. His eyes widen as he whips his head to the side to stare at you. Shock lives in the deep pools of his iris’.

“What the hell are you–?!”

Your laughter interrupts his loud exclamation and the boar of a man pauses under you, fingers at your thigh squeezing the flesh like you were going to fall off of him; as if your legs weren’t clasped around him for dear life. Keegan keeps eye contact, raising a brow in mute exasperation.

“You mind tellin’ me why you thought that was a good idea, Doll? One mistake and you would’ve sent me right into the stove.”

You press your face into the back of his skull, cheeks heating with sheepishness as you nuzzle the strands of his hair, “...The floors were cold…”

A moment of silence ensues, the sizzling of the eggs in the pan the only sound bouncing off the walls. The nothingness trickles before a jerking motion of the body you hold makes you bounce up and down, hands along your form tightening.

Keegan chuckles velvet-like, eyes crinkling at the edges as a small smile stretches his lips. You, in turn, giggle quietly into his skin, peeling your head back just a smidge to look him in the eye with a mischievous glint. The man turns his head back to the pan and releases the hand from the back of your head, going to grab the spatula with long fingers. His second stays on your thigh, lightly squeezing when you lean farther into his back.

He shoves down the feelings of delight that your close contact gives him.

“Smells good,” You comment, chin going to rest on Keegan’s shoulder. It was a wonderful thing that your boyfriend was tall – you had a perfect view of everything below you so long as you used him like playground equipment, “I missed you cooking half-naked in the mornings. Gave me a good view and a meal…” Cheekily, you nudge his ear with your nose, “Sometimes both at the same time.”

You hear the man huff, but the redness that blooms over his ears makes you smirk, half the grip around his neck moving to trail over his Adam's Apple; nails lightly dragging over the scars and burns over his pecks and upper body.

“Careful,” Keegan warns, but the gravel in his voice betrays his enjoyment. As well as the sly tone he takes.

“I am being careful,” You tease, drawing your hand back for stability when Keegan moves to grab the plates from inside the nearby cabinet, “If I was any more careful I’d be you.”

“You’re makin’ it sound like an insult,” He distributes the eggs evenly, sending you a quick glance out of the side of his eye – the makeup of them back to that regular blank slate but still glazed with care – and raised a brow.

You have to choke down the whimper in your throat when he stares at you like that.

“Well, how do I put this,” Looking to the side to hide your burning cheeks, you continue, “You’re the only person who could be you, attractively, Love. I think It would induce a heart attack if anyone else acted like you around me.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean, Civ?”

You laugh as Keegan jostles you, shaking his shoulder so you have to grip him tighter around the neck and waist. He scoffs, but a slight curl to his lips tells you everything you need to know.

The damn bastard likes me hanging off him, You realize, Son of a Bitch.

But you can’t help the way your pulse sings.

Grabbing the filled plates, Keegan moves to the island with you still stuck to his back before striding smoothly to grab forks; carrying you like you weigh nothing to him.

For a man like your boyfriend, you do weigh nothing.

“Off you get,” Keegan mutters, turning around when he gets back to the island so your backside is just above the countertop, “Careful.”

You release your legs from around his waist, flinching lightly at the chill of the granite as your skin connects, and allow the man to turn around with your fingers still locked together behind his neck.

“I think you’ve forgotten something,” You lift a brow in expectation, and watch Keegan tilt his head.

“Forgotten? I don’t forget things, Doll,” He says, but steps closer regardless, placing down the forks on the island with a clink before his large hands go to your waist, pressing heavily into the fabric of your shirt, “You’ve confused me with someone else. Hesh, probably.”

“Hmph,” You roll your eyes, “If I remember correctly you woke up first, so it’s your turn, Kee. And Hesh isn’t that bad at forgetting stuff – he remembers Riley’s birthday well enough.” Smirking, you puff out your chest.

Keegan frowns down at you.

The man’s grip rapidly travels to your back, forcing you right into him with a dig of his fingers and all you can do is gasp in retaliation. You feel his muscles move and writhe with the action, biceps bulging over your side as they shove into your flesh.

“Hm,” Keegan grunts from above, and you feel his chest expand against yours because of it. He leans closer so that his breath hits your lips, and utters sarcastically as his eyes bore into you wide ones, “Alright. But only because my girl asked so nicely.”

Keegan moves his hand to grip your chin tight and angles your head up without hesitation, thick digits brushing your skin before his lips descend and encompass yours.

All of it happened so suddenly that you barely had time to react before he was already groaning into your mouth, guiding your head to the side. Sighing through your nose, your eyes flutter shut as you both move together, and when you dig into the sensitive skin of his neck with your nails you let your teeth graze his plump flesh.

Pulling at his bottom lip, you revel in the sensation of his palms sliding down your spine, going to tighten a hold over the band of your shorts at the small of your back. He opens his mouth for you, allowing your tongue to meet his own. A deep humming in his chest showed his pleasure.

Keegan could never fully describe how kissing you affected him – how it broke down his psyche to the bare essentials that he would use to make you feel good in turn. It was like trying to describe a drug trip, wanting more with a deep ache in his chest.

This really was the best way to wake up.

Grunting and pulling back for air, you pant as your nose twitches. The scent of the eggs was at your side, tempting your empty stomach like a Keegan was testing your willpower. Smirking when the man’s bitten lip comes into your field of view, your boyfriend moves and puts his forehead against yours. His eyes silently urge you to continue what you were doing moments ago, but you pause.

“I’m hungry,” You say simply, eyes sparkling as your heart bounces inside of you; lungs slowly gaining back the air that Keegan had stolen. Ever the overachiever, he doesn’t even look partially winded.

The Ghost’s expression shifts, eyebrows turning in at your comment. He mutters, “I can take care of–”

A finger snaps to his mouth, and you press until the skin bulges out at the sides. Chuckling, you catch Keegan’s fake pouting and less-than-amused expression and use your free hand to ruffle his hair. He scoffs, pulling his head away from your attacking grip.

“For eggs, Keegan Russ.” The man groans quietly, backing up a step, “You perv.”

Your arms immediately gravitate to one of the forks and a plate, legs still handing off the counter limply.

“Tease,” Your boyfriend mutters before squeezing your thigh and going to grab the milk from the fridge. Smiling, you watch his back as he saunters away, chewing the food he had made for the both of you.

—

“Love?” You call from the living room, digging around in the drawer, fingers sliding over the old vinyl records, muttering the names under your breath before pausing, “Where’s My Way?”

“Frank Sinatra?” The man asks from the office where he was finishing up some reports from Elias.

Usually, you would be annoyed by the Ghost leader for giving your boyfriend more work to do on his day off, but seeing as it was only a single file this time, you could stave off the fiery phone call to the Captain.

It’s a good thing Elias’ nice, You think with a furrowed brow, Otherwise, I’d have no problem yelling at him.

“...Third drawer to the right, fifth down just under Louis Armstrong.”

“Thanks!” Following Keegan’s instructions, your dig around and, sure enough, after passing What a Wonderful World you find the blue sleeve depicting Frank Sinatra’s face and smirk, “There you are, lovely,” Muttering, you close the drawer and carefully peel the vinyl out of the protective layering and walk over to the record player sitting on one of the side tables near the couch.

Dropping the sleeve on the coffee table, you set everything up just right and place the needle in the groove carefully, making sure not to scratch it. Soon enough the catchy song is wafting out into the air, leaving you nodding your head along to the late ’60s tune. Humming, and feeling quite content, you turn to go and grab a book and wait for Keegan to be done with his work; your comfy pants and sweatshirt hugging you warmly along the way.

“Thought you hated Sinatra?” Yelping, your heart stutters as your head snaps to the hallway opening, “Called him overrated, if I’m not mistaken.”

Leaning against the wall, Keegan watches you closely, a black tank top on but still sporting those gray sweatpants. It was like he knew that you loved the way he looked in them.

“You need a bell, Kee,” You force out a quick breath, frowning over at the man, “You know that? And I did not say I didn’t like Sinatra – that was The Beach Boys.”

Keegan rolls his eyes but stays where he is, arms crossed as you still hum to the song under your breath. He looks at your clothes, freshly washed hair, and the way the light covers you like a shroud. You looked so simple like that…domestic…he calls the word forward to his mind.

It was one he never thought he would use to describe a situation he was in – not even when before ODIN was fired over the Western United States. Domestic. Try as he could, being like that with you was far better than anything he had ever experienced.

You brought him comfort that he would kill to keep.

Suddenly, Keegan pushes off the wall just as you start to head over to the bookshelf. You had simply expected him to leave and go back to his office; finish those reports so the afternoon could be free.

“Keegan?” You ask as he continues to stalk forward, your legs halting in turn, “What are you doing?”

He stops right in front of you as the song meets the high point and his silent feet pause ahead of you. Looking at him strangely, you tilt your head and smile, slightly confused.

He has to finish work…why is he…

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Amusingly creasing your brow, you watch as Keegan tilts his head. He holds out a hand to you, beginning to smirk at the question.

Wasn’t it obvious?

His eyes were burning again, littered with wells of silver and iron that gleam like stars when the warm light hits them. You’re reminded of a story you were told as a child about an immortal prince of starlight, who waited through every century to find the reincarnated woman he loved – the lady only able to remember their lives together when she looked into his eyes.

Now, Keegan was no prince. He was far too covered in blood and gore to ever be considered one…but at that moment you swear he came close to one.

“Dance with me, Doll.” Your expression freezes, breath stilling, before a heavy heat blooms all over your face and neck; ears burning. Watching your boyfriend with soft wonder, your heart beats out of order.

Dance? You can’t help the giddy look on your face, ears twitching, He wasn’t to dance with me?

The music in the background swells as you place your hand in his, feeling his rough callouses and sucking in a breath when he squeezes your limb so gently – like you were made of glass.

Your hands go around Keegan’s shoulders, fingers itching the back of his neck as his own circle your waist. Both of your chests brush, and you wonder if he can feel how fast your heart is beating. Humming My Way under your breath, you begin to sway back and forth softly as your boyfriend stares down at you. A smile graces his lips, pulling back to show pristine white teeth.

Those true smiles were only promised to you, and you would have it no other way.

“You’re a real softy, Mr. Russ,” You whisper, setting your head into the crook of his neck and sighing, “What would you do if your friends saw you like this? Slow Dancing? Talking all the time instead of grunting out orders?”

“I’d have to off ‘em,” He grunts, ironically, with his breath rustling your hair, “Can’t ruin my reputation now. Worked too hard for it.”

Pressing a kiss to your head, you feel Keegan’s chest begin to rumble, causing you to let your body lose all tension and tautness. Closing your eyes, you let him guide your movements with his own and listen to the sound of him humming to you. The music was lost to the two of you, only absorbed in each other – the feeling of skin and beating pulses.

These moments were rare, but so, so, worshiped. You knew Keegan’s job was dangerous, but, hell, the world was dangerous now. All you could ask was that he came home – not that he would come home uninjured because he almost always would. Your boyfriend was selfless, giving so much and never asking for anything. Worthy of all the love in the world.

And you would give that to him – freely. Because you know he loved you in turn.

You were both the receivers of a gentle type of worship; a blessing that can only be given to a kind of bond that would never be broken despite the limitations of death.

And as Keegan lays his hand under your chin and brings your lips into a kiss, you knew that even long after you were both dead and gone the very bones that live in you would always yearn to be by his.

Keegan was your future, and, so too, were you his; he would always return home just for you.

For this.

For a gentle, unselfish, worship.

#keegan p russ #keegan x reader #cod x you #cod x reader #cod #call of duty keegan #call of duty #cod: ghosts #x reader #female reader #cod fanfic #cod fandom

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alpacaparkaseok · 3 years ago

Text

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.

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

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