#as much as it frustrated me how little focus was put on the characters with this book it was still a really fun read

[my-mt-heart]

Idk how to say this but I am not as bothered about whatever is going to transpire between Daryl and Isabelle (bcoz for one thing - we know what is going to happen in the end- and for another - I honestly believe that the male execs are not at all confident abt their vision for these two as they would like to be and the whole thing would prolly boil down to ambiguity and ultimately- it will fall upon the viewers to dissect how Daryl feels - the Caryl fandom especially is really adept at reading into storylines - even stupid ones) None of this is good by any means. It cheapens the integrity of all the characters involved. It blatantly insults and reduces female characters - I believe that Isabelle deserves better. That a story should hold space for multiple female characters. Also - I am worried about putting the fate and the story of one the best female characters on TV (Carol) in the hands of someone who has proven that he can't be trusted to handle them with care. Reading S2 reviews - I am sort of reassured that Carol is treated well enough in the story - which I believe - has a LOT to do with Melissa McBride's input. Going forward - it is going to be more difficult bcoz once we have dealt with old traumas - we do need to evolve these characters and make sure they don't stay stagnant. I don't believe Zabel has the chops to do that.

sorry for that rant. I am just really frustrated.

What I worry about is the way all of this bts stuff amongst the male execs is going to impact the Caryl dynamic. Whatever the antis may think - and while McReedus has insane chemistry - I do believe that the romantic energy is generated between them by a lot of their acting choices (bcoz the underlying story is teasing a romance). What happens to all that when a romance is completely off the table? When AMC has been pushing this friendship narrative down our throats in a very evident bid to do damage control - the insecure/defensive promo that we have been getting last few weeks is proof enough that Caryl was always more than friends?

The problems were already glaringly obvious from the very beginning. the fact that Melissa isn't billed equally for a season where she is proclaimed to be the major focus? It is not even about Caryl going canon for me anymore. I love Melissa and Carol way too much for me to give up yet but I treasure the Caryl bond primarily bcoz they have always been each other's everything. it is truly a bond that evades definition. Both Carol and Daryl doesn't have what they have with each other with anyone. THAT IS A CANON FACT. I don't think I can watch that dynamic that I treasure so much being butchered - s11 was painful enough - I can't go through all of that and more again.

Going to watch s2 and then my further commitment will depend entirely upon how the characters are treated and their dynamic is portrayed?

It sucks that I am dreading watching Carol and Daryl back together on screen.

been here just for a few months but the way AMC has been fumbling with this promo - have you guys always experienced this whiplash or is it a new thing?

I’m going to include big spoilers in my response, so proceed with caution ⚠️

I respect your opinion, but I disagree with you on the point about Daryl’s and Isabelle’s arc. It seems like the male EPs (Zabel, Nicotero, Gimple) are overly confident that an explicit romance between their male hero and a younger blonde nun who accused Daryl of being like his abusive father just for trying to go home to his family will attract a larger male audience and they aren’t sparing any feelings with it because we aren’t their ideal audience anyway. To them, we’re just a bunch of “hysterical” shippers whose POV’s don’t matter and we can just take their crumbs. AMC is a bit more complicated, but I’ll get to them later.

Daryl and the nun kiss in 202, so there’s little to no room for us to dissect how Daryl is feeling. Isabelle’s death is the furthest thing from a relief because 1) it reduces her character down to man pain like you said and 2) from what I’m gathering, it completely overshadows Caryl’s reunion and then their entire arc. We get another hug that does absolutely nothing to elevate their relationship and then Carol has to face that Daryl didn’t need her to rescue him because he found a new family and become his emotionally supportive friend to help him through his grief of a lost love interest he’s known for a few months. It almost feels like it’s going to be a retread of Beth’s death, only worse. We know how Greg Nicotero views both of those relationships and to be blunt, the man needs to stop projecting his creepy fetishes onto Daryl and making it our problem 🤢

The way the story is framed, it’s not even about Caryl at all. They’re the relationship we’re the most invested in and yet all the emotional weight is given to a highly problematic relationship that developed over a dozen ish short episodes (compared to Caryl’s decade+ of emotional depth) and it’s all for nothing too. Zabel just resets Daryl like the hokey network procedural writer he is. And Caryl fans are rewarded for their years-long loyalty by getting more ambiguous subtext to analyze? Really?

I think you’re spot on about Melissa though. The reason she’s the bright spot of the season, the reason Carol’s individual arc feels true, and her spiritual connection to Daryl stays alive is because Melissa influenced all of that. She’s shown us time and time again that she understands her character so deeply and respects her fans. It really breaks my heart because I think she had a beautiful story in mind for Carol and she deserves all the support in the world, but as I’ve said many times, if damage is done to the character who has been written as her soulmate for over a decade, damage is also done to her. And I can’t watch that. I can’t watch the destruction of my favorite characters and my favorite relationship and put money in AMC’s pockets for gaslighting me. Retconning Caryl’s relationship into a platonic friendship is their way of protecting themselves from backlash. “Daryl isn’t emotionally cheating because he and Carol have always been besties?” “We didn’t mislead you. We told you they were friends, so you dumb shippers are doing this to yourselves. Please watch our slop anyways ✌️” They’re even trying to shift responsibility to Melissa by making her answer the shipping questions despite the fact that it’s Daryl’s arc throwing a wrench in everything and I expect that to continue at NYCC/Palyfest. It’s completely unethical and it’s backfiring.

Zabel cannot write for Daryl and Carol. He keeps showing us that he doesn’t understand their bond nor does he value it. A couple of the reviews mentioned it felt like Carol was shoehorned into certain aspects of the story, which tracks with what I already knew—that he and the other EPs think she’s hindering the story they want to tell about men doing manly things. That’s why they try so hard to challenge her significance to Daryl’s story and that is not going to change just because they’re moving to another location. Somebody like that should not have power to decide her trajectory. Fuck whatever he has planned for S3. I don’t want it. I still want Caryl and I still want to see them get the stories they deserve, but that’s only going to happen if we get a new showrunner who respects them and respects their fans. In case it needs to be said, Gimple is not that guy either (he can fake his enthusiasm on SM all he wants 🖕🖕🖕). A complete rebranding of the show to something that honors the characters and gives Melissa her dues (equal billing, title, etc) is the only way I’m tuning in now🤷🏻‍♀️ I don’t have the emotional capacity to sit through S2, but I will be here, speaking up, to make sure Melissa gets all the necessary praise and those assholes can’t blame her if the show tanks.

I’ve only been here a few years and there’s been a lot of turn over at AMC even just in that time (I kid you not, all of our problems can be traced back to Josh Sapan leaving. He loved Caryl and Melissa). That being said, I cannot for the life of me understand why any of the guys over there (even the misogynistic ones) would approve of the Daryl/Isabelle arc after the PR disaster that Leah caused not even that long ago and at least for that, the arc tied back to romantic Caryl and we weren’t subjected to any uncomfortable physical intimacy. Why the fuck would they make the same mistake? Why the fuck do they have to spend more time cleaning up messes than avoiding the mess altogether at every fucking opportunity they had (and they had a lot). I just don’t get it. And I’m so tired of taking the abuse.

[lala-blahblah]

I will never make this because it would be for an audience of one (me) but ever since reading "If we Were Villains" (story about serious drama kids in college who perform shakespeare and deal with a murder) I have been entertaining the thought of a crack fic crossover with High School Musical The Musical The Series where the staff decides they will no longer put on shakespeare after the tragic accident that happened at Thanksgiving, because Shakespeare plays would only increase the tension and drama. So they hire Ms. Jen who decides their spring play will actually be High School Musical (which exists in the 90s in this universe) and it ruins the vibe so much that everyone gives up on being dark and mysterious because they're universally pissed at Ms Jen for making them learn choreoraphed basketball dancing.

[astral-dragons]

Best moments in I, Strahd (but it's mostly Strahd being a dramatic bitch):

"I could scale this tower instead of taking the stairs, but I'm wearing my nice clothes today sooo..."

"At least you wore black for the funeral." "I always wear black. I just like wearing black." "... You do look good in black" "Right??"

Strahd wins the award for worst wedding gift ever.

"Lord Strahd? What happened to Sergei?" (too busy being an emo motherfucker to respond)

"Lord Strahd! We're under attack!" (too busy being a horny motherfucker to respond)

"Well, the love of my life may be dead and her corpse mysteriously gone, but at least the bats have accepted me as one of their own."

That very awkward interaction where Strahd just chucked a letter at a dude's face and ran away

Strahd becomes a furry, aka "On all levels including physical, I am a wolf. awoo"

The implication in chapter 8 that whenever Sergei and Tatyana went out for like. a romantic thing together, Strahd came along with them ("I can't believe it's finally me and you, and you and me, just us, and your brother Strahd.")

"I can't BELIEVE this man would take Tatyana into his home and treat her as family just so he could betray her trust and MARRY her. What kind of monster does that??"

Every time Strahd goes "This is it. This is how I die" like, he's just ready to give up on life at the drop of a hat

[pearlywritings]

The scent of being mine

synopsis: lately your husband has been staying deep in his thoughts as if bothered by something. It's only natural you want to figure it out and help.

pairing and characters: Neuvillette x fem!reader

tw: established relationship (marriage), tiny hurt/comfort, draconian features (scenting, growling, implied sharp nails)

word count: 3k+ words

“Beloved, you are brooding. More than you usually are.”

Your comment snaps Neuvillette from his thoughts, long lashes fluttering in surprise. He blinks, primordially beautiful eyes finally focus on the document in front of him, and the man makes a frustrating discovery - he’s been staring at one single line of text for who knows how long.

“Beloved?” Your sweet voice soothes the momentary disappointment, and Iudex’s undivided attention is on you in a second. 

“Yes, my dear? My apologies, I didn’t quite catch what you said. Could you be so kind and repeat, please?”

You lower the book onto your lap, and the man can’t help but relish in the sight of you comfortably lounging on the sofa in his office at the Palais Mermonia, with your shoes neatly put near one of its legs and your legs hidden under the light embroidered plaid. Your back and side sink into multiple pillows, half of which he fetched for you previously from the second sofa, and you look pleasantly relaxed within the walls of his work space, knowing very well that he has no meetings scheduled for the day, and the only people who can enter his office are the melusines with document delivery. And who would be uncomfortable in the presence of their own ‘daughters’?

“I was saying that you are brooding. And It won't be superfluous to note your sour mood too,” you nod in the window’s direction, where the sky is cloudy and gloomy. It has been this way for a couple of days already. “I wasn’t bringing it up since I thought you were simply a bit stressed, but after observing you for some time, I am sure there’s something on your mind that’s been bothering you immensely.”

Neuvillette exhales deeply. How could he ever hide anything from the woman he’s been married to for so long? Not that he ever tried, but subconsciously he sometimes tends to push his own worries aside not to make you fret. Besides, usually it’s not something of a big deal…

Watching the thoughts overtaking his mind again, you grab the bookmark from the armrest and soon the closed book takes its place, at the same time as you push the plaid off. Not caring to put the shoes on, you make a quick way to the grand doors to turn the key left in the hole from the inside. But changing your mind a little, you take a hold of a handle instead and crack the door slightly open, enough for the melusine at the reception to hear you.

“Sedene, sweety, Monsieur Neuvillette is taking a small break.”

You can’t quite see her perking up in her booth, but you know she is aware of what that means.

“Thank you for informing me, Madame. Would you like anything to drink or eat? I could send someone to put an order in whatever restaurant you’d like.”

“Much appreciated, but we’ll be fine.”

You hear her hum in understanding and only then close the door and lock it, turning the key two times.

“Now…” glancing back at your husband, you slowly walk back to your previous place of resting, but making it past the sofa and then around the desk, stopping right at his side. Neuvillette lifts his head, looking at you, and immediately pushes the chair back to make room. Gloved hands take a hold of your waist when you step closer and help you settle down onto his lap. One stays gingerly on your hip, the other is placed upon your knees, as you adjust your position, turning half-around to face him. Mesmerizing eyes with slitted irises stare at you with hardly-veiled adoration, and for a moment it almost fools you into thinking that nothing is wrong. Until he inhales and white eyebrows furrow slightly.

“Neuvi, what’s going on? Is it something I can assist you with?”

The man leans forward, pressing his face to your neck, silky locks of his fringe tickling you when he releases a breath. Your fingers find the back of his head, softly scratching the scalp, making him groan in satisfaction. His own digits flex, and you think you feel the claws digging slightly into your flesh through the dark material of his gloves and the skirt of your own clothes, and you let the dragon be a tiny bit greedy in expressing his affections.

“It’s not something I thought would bother me,” you hear him murmur into your neck. Instead of rushing to ask him to elaborate, you encourage him to take his time with a soft touch, gently following the pointy shape of his ear with your fingertip. The man shivers, but quickly relaxes, leaning into your body a bit more.

“Why logically I understand I’m in the wrong, but on an instinct level it doesn’t give me rest. Remember the celebration Lady Furina threw three days ago?”

Ah, of course you remember. It was a nice little feast the Archon organized to mark another successful staging of hers, to which your husband and you were obviously invited. You can’t, however, recall anything particular that could upset Neuvillette. He wasn’t offered anything to taste he didn't enjoy - had his own supply of fresh water even; he had no cases to worry about, having finished everything rather important beforehand, and he was not engaged in any interactions he could potentially be uncomfortable with. Maybe it was something related to you? However, you can’t think of anything: most of the time you spent conversing with Furina, discussing her next outstanding and grand performance, or dancing with your beloved, happily twirling in his embrace. Sure, other people approached you too, but…oh. Wait, there was something.

“Do you mean the celebration during which that opera performer from Li Yue was flirting with me?”

Immediately his body tenses and a low sound, kind of sounding like a growl, escapes his strained throat. He quickly composes himself though, once you drop your hand from his head to his back, drawing circles there.

“...I apologize for that.”

“Please don’t, I don’t mind a bit of jealousy,” you assure him, and the man finally leans back, looking at you with those fairytale eyes.

“You think it was jealousy?”

“Well, maybe right now it was just a bit of frustration, but back then I think it was jealousy,” Neuvilette hums, lowering his gaze, processing the information. You meanwhile decide to ask more. “But what sparked it? You know I am yours and that no human will ever be able to steal me from you.”

“Ah, my love, I am fully aware of that,” gloved palm leaves your knee and cups your cheek instead. “I know all that, but…but what I felt is hard to explain in words.”

“Try,” you encourage, turning your head and kissing his palm, “I’ll get it.”

“Alright,” with a sigh he lets his fingertips outline the contour of your jaw and travel down the side of your neck, sending a pleasurable sensation down your back. “I suppose I should start with what happened before, when we were still back home. You looked so ravishing and regal - a true gem to an eye, - and I just couldn’t help but let some of my scent linger on you.”

Which is absolutely fine, you love doing the same for him.

“Keeping that in mind I felt all those strange emotions wringing my heart, as he was giving you compliments, especially about the scent, not realizing it’s mine. And then more and more.”

As he doesn’t find what more to say, you stare at him, trying to analyze the information. After a couple of minutes of silence, during which you absent-mindedly braided a little braid out of his straight lock, you decide to summarize.

“So… If I understood you correctly, it felt upsetting that, basically, he caught the whiff of you on me, yet didn’t stop his attempts to hit on me. Am I right?”

“Exactly,” a small smile graces his pale lips, and Iudex presses a delicate kiss to your shoulder. “I could not have worded it better.”

“Hmm… Now I see why you are torn. It is annoying for sure, but it’s not like an ordinary human could know of draconian peculiar properties.”

He nods, thumbing at the pulse point on your neck, staring a little bit past you. His state is saddening, really, even though a tiny slither of pride infiltrates your heart - knowing your husband wants the world to know you are his as much as you want to claim the same about him… Would’ve made you purr if you were a feline.

You shiver when Neuvillette brings his face close again, soft lips pressing to the side of your neck.

“You are so dear to me, my love…” he breathes in a way that makes your heart skip a beat, voice full of unbridled devotion, something not many can hear from this stoic man throughout their whole life. “There are days when I can’t bear the thought of you not being close to me, I overcome with desire to be in your presence, to hold you in my arms, to listen to your divine voice… When you call my name, I want to bring everything I have to your feet.”

“But you already do so,” you cup his cheeks, kissing his forehead. “You don’t have to say all of it - you sound like you are apologizing, like you are trying to excuse your natural behavior. Don’t do it, please. You are so precious to me, I’d be damned if I ever felt unnerved by something like this.”

“I apologize if it sounded like this,” he sighs, long lashes flattering close, when you proceed to kiss over his eyelids. “I just meant to express how thankful I am that you chose me.”

“Oh, Neuvi,” you chuckle, kissing the bridge of his nose and when the tip of it. “I adore when you are so affectionate in private. As for the public display, if we return to the topic of scent… I think I could figure something out for the both of us. If you trust my judgment, that is.”

“How can I not?” Those eyes are staring back at you, bottomless pools swirling with wonder and elation. “Only if you truly want this.”

“I do,” your lips hover dangerously close to his. “And I will find the way.”

Soft thuds rhythmically yet quite leisurely cut through the lofty noises of the Court of Fountaine, catching the attention of the passersby. One hit of an elegant cane against the pavement equals two steps of yours, as you and your husband walk through the main square of the city. Your appearance - no matter together or by yourself - always gathers attention, and you could bet that if Fontaine didn’t have a law prohibiting photography of executives without their permission, your picture would’ve adorned tomorrow’s copy of The Steambird.

And you are a sight to behold - your hand resting in the crook of his elbow, gloves matching perfectly his today’s cravat of choice, jewelry specifically picked to mirror the beauty of their wearer’s partner, clothes tailored to clearly be a ‘couple outfit’... It is pretty evident that this outing is planned, if the Iudex’s absence from the Palais Mermonia didn’t serve as a clue.

You hold no conversation, rather relishing in the warm rays of sunlight (you did though tease Neuvillette upon stepping outside that his mood seemed to improve). Despite looking like it’s you who is clutching onto the man and him leading you somewhere, it’s completely vice versa. Your beloved has absolutely no idea what kind of ‘surprise’ he is soon to experience, but your previous words keep his mind at rest - you found a solution for his concern.

As a result, his high spirits are pretty apparent to the people who know him well. Or the melusines, if one is being accurate, who approach you two along the way with warm words of greetings and cute waves of their hands, which brightens Neuvillette’s features more evidently.

“I think we should soon visit the Merusea Village,” you suggest after bidding goodbye to Tristane. “And do a little gathering for our girls who work here, in the city. I am sure they have many stories to share with us.”

“I would really like that,” Neuvillette's smile is a heart-warming sight. You can only hope that you’ll get to see it more after today. “How about we start planning tomorrow after work?”

“That would be wonderful! I can’t wait to write an invitation to every single one. And to the village too.”

“Then it’s on you as always,” he agrees without objection, leaning a little to subtly kiss your temple when you turn the corner. Letting out a soft chuckle, you give him a fond look, and then focusing back on the street.

It’s barely a couple of minutes later when your partner sees you perk up. Trying to pinpoint what caught your eye, the man scans the signboards of the shops and boutiques lining up at both sides of yours. Jewelry? No, he doesn’t think so - you adorn each other with fine gemstones regularly. Clothes? Doubtful, given you’ve just received a couple of new outfits a week before. Maybe it’s-

You disturb these wandering thoughts, tugging on his elbow to catch his attention. Looking at you and then following the direction of your raised hand, Neuvillette lifts his eyes to read the signboard above the shop you’ve stopped in front of.

“Palais des parfums”

“So,” you start when he gives you a questioning look, “it’s a perfumery, yes. And my suggestion is the following - let’s choose a scent we could wear together. Before you get concerned about it becoming too popular, because we will use it, this shop has an option of creating something personal. We can just pay a little more to make it exclusive.”

“The same…scent?” Your husband hums, touching his chin in thought. This actually sounds quite good - created by a human master, it is to be perceived by humans, and by utilizing one fragrance on you both it will be made clear that the two of you are spouses. Not to mention the newspaper that will spread the fact for others to know. “My dear, that’s a marvelous idea.”

“Really?” A wide smile lifts the corners of your lips.

“Really. I like it a lot,” he assures you with a smile of his own. “And I do favor the possibility of making perfume specifically for us. How did you know though, my love?”

“Have done my research. And already spoke to the vendor before. Furthermore, I think we can order the creation of two perfumes. One for every day, and one for grand events where our presence is required.”

“I see you’ve done your research indeed,” his words are soft and gaze is full of admiration. It’s so hard to resist and not kiss him right in the middle of the street, yet let your fingertips gently scratch his forearm.

“I promised my husband a solution, didn’t I? Couldn’t disappoint you.”

“You can never disappoint me, if anything you astonish me every single day of our lives. Shall we get inside?”

“We shall. Just please, beware, there are a lot of fragrances mixed in the air. I am afraid your nose will be assaulted just like mine was.”

“I can bear with it, beloved. I would be a coward of a husband, if I turned back after the amazing work my wife did,” your cheeks heat up at his praise and you lightly dig your covered nails into his arm.

“Oh, stop it, no need to be so sweet, I already understood your appreciation for this,” your eyes motion to his hand resting on the hilt of the cane and fingers joyfully tapping against the wood. With a barely audible chuckle, the man unhooks your arms, wrapping his around your waist, and steps forward, reaching for the handle.

A soft chime caresses his ears, as the maddening mix of scents hits him right in the nose. Glancing to the side to check on you, he notices how you instantly switch to breathing through your mouth and follows your example. It, thankfully, gets better.

The shop owner is not hard to find, a sweet lady in her late 50’s welcomes you with a glint in her eyes upon recognizing you, which soon is replaced by the look of surprise when she sees your companion.

“Good afternoon, Monsieur, Madame, how can I help you?”

“Good afternoon, Mrs Deschamps,” you greet her with a smile, “I came by two days ago, remember?”

“Yes, yes, how could I forget our dear Madame? You were curious about my perfumes and if I do personal orders.”

“Right! This is my husband,” you motion to the man still courteously holding your waist, who bows in greeting.

“Pleasure to be meeting you.”

“O-oh! How could I not know you and your husband? Your wedding was the event of the century!”

“Haha, you flatter us,” you chuckle merrily, covering your mouth. “We are here to put in an order. We’d love to buy a newly crafted perfume. However, we have a couple of conditions…”

It’s almost evening when the doorbells chime again, marking your departure. Once again walking side by side and with arms linked, Neuvillette feels an almost primordial satisfaction. These hours spent in that stuffy, smelly box of a shop will be absolutely worth it when your order is complete. While he does feel the inevitable approach of a runny nose after test-smelling way too many fragrances, and it doesn’t feel like he left work today at all, as he was handling legal documents relied to the exclusivity of the product, he doesn’t regret a single mora spent and to be spent in the future for this.

Soft thuds once again cut through the sounds of the city, and they are gently lulling your mind. Maybe your head hurts just a little bit, but it pales in comparison to the invested state of your husband and how much evident fun he had in meticulously choosing the right aromatic notes to your future shared scent.

You can’t wait to help him apply it every single morning to come and get the same treatment in return. This is going to be a new, hopefully a long-staying option to your usual scenting routine.

taglist: @meimeimeirin

[soapsbaby]

Bunch of Deviants II

Summary: Second part of me assigning a k!nk to each of the 141 + Alejandro, Rudy, Graves, König and Valeria that I could imagine them having. You can find part one here. Enjoy!

Characters: Simon "Ghost" Riley, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, König, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, John Price, Phillip Graves, Alejandro Vargas, Rudy Parras, Valeria Garza, all x reader

Rating: NSFW (minors DNI)

Warnings: Choking, Primal Kink, Free Use, Degradation

Word Count: 1.3k-ish

Ghost - Primal

He loves the thrill of hunting you down. Even though you of course know that it's just him, the panic you feel when he catches you is genuine. The way he towers over you, eyes cold except for the sense of victory in them that he caught you and that you are now his to deal with whatever he wants to.

Usually he just takes you right where he catches you, ripping your clothes from your body and fucking you, pinning you down and just holding you in whichever position he needs you in.

He will be so humiliating and degrading, oh, you should run faster next time, are you actually enjoying this? you really are a needy little slut.

After he has come and you are all fucked out he will hold you, just pressing you to his chest until your heartbeat returns to a normal pace.

Soap - Receiving Nudes at Work

He loves when you rile him up through the entire day, sending him pictures, videos or voice messages, telling him how badly you want him, how you need him, how you've been touching yourself all day but it just doesn't compare to when he does it.

He won't be able to think straight until he's finally back home with you and gets to actually fuck you, working off the frustration you put him through.

Usually he just has to get himself off as quickly as possible, fucking you desperately, but he isn't done just because he came. Usually he'll take his time afterwards to eat you out for as long as you can take.

He also makes sure to save all of the messages so he can go through them later, especially on long missions with bad internet reception where it is all he can use to get himself off.

Price - Watching you Touch yourself

He loves watching you touch yourself for him. It started once when he walked in on you and instead of joining in, he just sat down on the foot of the bed, telling you to keep going even though your first reaction was to cover yourself with your blanket.

He loves the way he can read your body, can tell when you are getting closer, those little whines when you push yourself right up to the edge. He knows you too well.

He loves watching you come for him while he strokes himself. You look so beautiful when you do and he takes in every aspect of you, the way your eyelids flutter shut, your legs shaking and your mouth falling open, his name spilling over your lips.

His favorite part is when he finally gets to fuck you for round two, you are so wet after you've come once already and you are so whiny and sensitive.

Gaz - Free Use

Free use goes both ways for you. Especially if you have longer periods of vacation times where you can stay home you will fuck wherever and whenever. Whether it is you walking in while he plays video games and sucking him off while he tries to not let the people on voice chat know or him pushing up your dress while you are working in the kitchen to fuck you from behind, you love being available for each other.

For convenience you both usually don't wear much clothes at home anyways and you also sleep naked.

Of course you both know that you can deny favors to one another if you are not feeling up to it, but neither of you really ever do. Each other's pleasure is enough motivation.

König - Thigh Riding

Having you ride his thigh is one of his favorite things, he loves the way it gives him close to no physical stimulation so he can focus completely on you without any distractions.

He loves the desperation in your eyes when you drag yourself across him, grinding your hips against his leg because it's the only thing he'll let you have if he's feeling strict.

Sometimes, when you are already overstimulated he will grab you by the hips and make you grind down even harder and faster, feasting on your whimpers.

It's one of his favorite ways to make you come, the way your movements stutter and he has to grab you to hold you upright, whispering sweet praise into your ears.

Graves - Pegging

It took him so, so long to admit to you that he wanted you to peg him. He was terrified that you would reject him or even be weirded out by his request. He didn't want to make you feel any different about him.

Of course you didn't, and you both loved it from the first time you tried it out. Everything about his reaction to being fucked refuses to leave your mind, the way his body just seemed to melt into the sheets, legs refusing to support him, hands tangled in the sheets for some form of support.

You have never heard him moan the way he does every time you peg him, his mind just immediately turns into putty and all of his dirty thoughts just spill out, begging for you to go harder.

Will usually be able to come hands free if you take your time with him.

Alejandro - Degradation

He loves you more than anything in the world and he respects and adores you, but there is just something about treating you like a dirty whore that gets him going like nothing else.

He loves making you give him sloppy blowjobs and making you drool all over him, he loves bending you over whichever surface is closest to you and just taking you then and there.

He loves treating you like you are property, like you're a toy he gets to use to get himself off, pushing you into whichever position he wants you in.

He doesn't let go until you have come at least a few times, his favorite is when you come around his cock, the way you clench around him and that sweet, overwhelmed look in your eyes drives him insane.

He will always make sure afterwards that you are okay and that you know that none of the ways he treated you reflect how he actually feels about you and that you know how much he loves and appreciates you.

Rudy - Choking

The majority of the time there is no clear dom-sub relationship between the two of you, however, he adores you choking him.

His favorite position is when you are riding him and then wrap your hands around his throat, just tight enough to make him a little dizzy.

He'll beg for you to kiss him, take away even more of his ability to breathe.

He comes so hard being choked, almost passing out and whimpering for you to go harder on him.

Valeria - Strap-Ons

It doesn't matter what your gender is, if you let her, she'll use her strap on you.

She almost sees it as an extension of herself, she adores seeing you on your knees and making you suck the strap, praising and degrading you at the same time as she fucks your throat as deeply as you can take it, "such a pretty slut, so needy for my cock, aren't you?"

She fucks you like she wants you to never be able to walk again, rough and deep, long deep strokes. If the position allows it she'll also use her hands on you, circling your most sensitive spots with her thumb and taking pleasure in your desperate, whiny moans.

[peterman-spideyparker]

Just a Trim (Matt Murdock x Reader)

Author’s Note: I have been INSPIRED by Charlies D23 Expo look and thinking about it A LOT. This is just a cute, fluffy little blurb that I hope you enjoy!

Summary: When a haircut goes wrong and Matt needs to be in court in the afternoon, Karen calls in a favor. You come and save the day.

Warnings: Fluff, bad haircut, flirty Matt, some swears. Initially written in mind as fem!Reader, but I think it works as gender neutral, too!

Other Characters: Foggy Nelson, Karen Page

Word Count: 2,015

Matt loves Foggy so much. They’ve shared so many successes, losses, laughs, and straight up weird experiences. Through thick and thin, they make stuff work, even if not right away. He truly is the brother he never had. 

So it’s only fitting that Matt wants to punch Foggy flat out. 

In a loving, brotherly way, of course. 

“What the hell, Fog?” Matt calls as he folds up his cane and strides through the main reception area of Nelson, Murdock, and Page. 

“Uh, buddy?” he hears Foggy say, getting up from his desk chair and walking out of his office. “I don’t—oh, shit.”

“Yeah!” he huffs. “I thought you said he was a good barber!”

“He is!”

“Then why is my hair like this?”

“He . . . Must have been having an off day?”

“Foggy, I have to go to be in court this afternoon! I’m blind and even I know this doesn’t look good! I can’t go in to court looking like this!” Even before he was blinded, Matt was never one to be hung up on appearances. However, he knows that the rest of the world doesn’t share his viewpoints, and when it comes to being an attorney—especially an attorney in New York City—looks are everything.

“Matt, just takes a deep breath. We can figure something out.”

“Like what? I can’t fix this, I don’t think you can fix this—.”

“Hey, guys!” Karen says as the door swings open. “I just spoke with some of the other residents for the tenement case and—oh, shit.”

Matt lets out a groan of frustration as he rolls his head back in distress. “What am I gonna do, guys?”

“I . . . I’m gonna call in a favor,” Karen says, moving toward the reception area to put down purse and tote bag. She whips out her phone, tapping and scrolling until she finds the number she’s looking for. 

“(Y/N), hey!” she starts. “How are you? I’m good, but I have a bit of a favor to ask. One of my partners at our firm, he got a bad haircut, and he needs to be in court this afternoon for a tenement case. Do you have any—? Oh! Oh, um . . .” Matt can feel how Karen looks over toward him, as if she’s examining his hair for some kind of barber post-mortem. “Yeah, probably.” She sighs in relief. “You rock. We’ll see you soon. Thank you so much, (Y/N).”

Matt and Foggy wait in anticipation as Karen puts down her phone; clearly it’s good news, but they need the details. “They’ll be here in ten.”

“You have a hairdresser that makes house calls?” Foggy asks, a little confused. 

“(Y/N)'s been my friend since before I moved to the city and taking care of my hair since I came here. They're an amazing stylist. If anyone can fix this, it’s them.”

Matt nods in acceptance before moving to his office, trying to focus on some of his work to take his mind off the hair on his head. The short wait is agonizing, but his ears perk up when he hears someone approach the firm. 

“Hey,” you say as Karen opens the door for you. “I got here as fast as I could.”

“Thank you so much,” she says with a big hug. “You are a lifesaver.”

He listens to the pair of you make your way over to his office. He knows you’re going to be fixing his hair, but even still, he feels embarrassed to have you see him like this. 

“Hey, Matt, this is (Y/N),” Karen introduces.

“Hi,” you say kindly. “Sorry we’re meeting like this, but, I can make it better. Would you want me to set up in here, or is there a different spot?”

“Here’s fine,” he says with a small smile. “I can’t thank you enough for doing this. I just feel bad—I could’ve come to you. Doesn’t sound like you were too far.”

“Exactly. I wasn’t too far away. Karen said you needed to be in court this afternoon. All of your things are here; you can work and prep while I fix.”

Matt’s smile grows from something small to something big, and he can hear how your heartbeat increases. He listens as you unload your things, spreading out on a small side table as you get everything ready. 

“Do you want me to stay in this chair or sit on a different one?” he asks.

“If you cold roll over, that’d be great,” you say as you switch out one of the heads on the electric razor. He does as you ask before you turn your attention to him. “Alright,” you whisper to yourself. “Let me see what we have here.”

You gracefully run your fingers through his hair, undoing the styling that was done not even an hour ago to get a better assessment of the state of things. “It feels like they might have used a hair clay . . . Do you know what they might have put in?”

“No, I’m sorry. But hair clay sounds right.”

“Okay.” You walk wound him, analyzing his hair as your fingers card through it. “It doesn’t feel like a lot, so I’ll brush it out and we’ll go from there. For something like this, I’d ideally like to work with no product in your hair, but I’m not bending you over in the little kitchenette sink and using hand soap on you. That’d be cruel, and your hair has been through enough today.”

Matt smiles to himself as he listens to you move back to your bag and grab a different brush. He loves how focused you are. He closes his eyes as you run the brush through his hair over and over, the bristles scratching comfortably against his scalp. He’s sad when it’s over, but enjoys how your fingers card through his locks to reassess the hair. 

“It’s gonna have to be on the shorter side,” you breathe, gently tilting his head to the side with your fingers to get a view from all angles, your fingertips honing in on the sides of his head. “But I promise I’ll make it look good.”

“I trust you,” he hums as you drape an apron around is neck.

You get to work, buzzing, trimming, and combing through his hair, laser focused on the task at hand. With the way your hands handle him, he feels as if he could fall asleep in the chair. He gets so relaxed, he almost doesn’t realize that you’re finishing up your work until you speak to him. 

“How does that feel?” you ask as you put your scissors down on the table. Matt runs his hands through his hair to give it a feel. You were right, it is on the shorter side, but it’s even all around and it feels good—light, neat, and even.

“It feels good,” he says with a smile. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” you hum, taking a few steps back toward him, running your fingers through his hair again and styling it a little. “And you have a bit of a beard going, so it balances your face well. Very handsome.” Matt can hear you smile. “There.” The smile stays on your face as you gently brush cut hair off his neck before you undo the apron around him and start to fold it. “Also, I promise I’m not anti-social. I usually talk when I cut hair, but, this was a special exception. My clients usually don’t get a cut and then go up against bad guy prosecution teams in tenement cases. That kind of pressure requires laser focus.”

Matt chuckles softly as he stands, moving his chair back to his desk. “It was fun to listen to how focused you were. It’s definitely appreciated.”

“I had to make you look good for court, now, didn’t I?” you chuckle. He listens to you pull out a hand-held vacuum and clean up the hair on the floor. 

“You don’t need to do that.”

“I’m not going to leave hair on the floor,” you say as if it’s simple, obvious fact.

“You’ve already done enough for me.”

“Then this is the cherry on top,” you say, starting the little machine up. “I’m nothing if not prepared and thorough.”

Matt laughs as you quickly clean up and pack. He puts his hands into his pockets, sliding out his wallet and opening the fold. 

“Oh, no, you don’t need to,” you say, putting your hand on Matt’s to prevent him from pulling out the cash.

“You took time out of your day and your schedule to fix my hair. You came here to do it. You did your job. You just vacuumed my office. You’re going to get paid,” he kindly insists. 

“I know what kind of work you guys do here. You help so many people. You have good hearts. This is on the house.” You give his hand a little squeeze as slowly start to move from his office. “Good luck in court today. You’re gonna do great.”

He lifts his hand in a small wave and listens as you say goodbye to Foggy and Karen. When the door closes, the two of them eagerly shuffle into his office and look at his hair.

“Wow,” Foggy says. “You look like an attorney.”

“Told you (Y/N) was good,” Karen chuckles. “How does it feel, Matt?”

“Well, it feels shorter than I’d normally go, but they told me that before they started, and I said I was okay with it. It feels good, and it definitely sounds like it looks good.”

“You look like a rich guy,” Foggy chuckles. “A hot, rich guy. You’re gonna kill it in court this afternoon.”

Matt just smiles to himself, his confidence boosted, ego repaired, and his mind replaying how nice it felt when your fingers ran through his hair.

“Just a minute,” you call from a side closet when the bell on the door chimes. He listens you hop off a stool of some sort before coming out. “Hi, Claire, I—Matt,” you say surprised, but a smile growing on your face nonetheless. “H-How’d court go?”

“Good,” he says with a smile. “All thanks to your skills.”

“Oh.” He can sense how your cheeks flush. “You’re giving me far too much credit. I just gave you a haircut. You’re the one with the law degree.”

“You boosted my confidence. That’s a hell of a lot of work. Thank you for that.”

“Any time.”

He takes a couple steps forward, extending the bouquet in his hand toward you. “For you.”

“These are lovely,” you smile, taking it from his hands, sticking your nose in the fragrant flowers. “I love tulips.”

“Karen helped me with that one,” he admits. “Leaving it a just a thank you didn’t feel like enough after all that you did. I still would’ve wished you would have let me pay you, though.”

“Wasn’t gonna happen. You might be a good lawyer, but I can be stubborn. I hope the flowers weren’t your way to try and butter me up to accept payment or something.”

He laughs. “No. I figured it wouldn’t work. It’s just another way for me to say thank you.”

You take a half step forward. “And?”

Now, it’s his turn to blush. “And . . . maybe to continue that thank you over dinner tonight?”

“Oh.” He senses how your heart skips a beat and more heat rises to your cheeks.

“Only if you want to,” he tacks on. “I didn’t mean to—.”

“Oh, no, trust me, I’d love to go out with you, I—.” You stop and cringe at your eagerness, trying to pivot. “Tonight is my late night. I don’t get off until eight.”

“That’s okay. Does tomorrow work better for you?”

“That’d be great. I’ll be finished up here by six. Does that sound okay?”

Matching smiles pull at your lips. “I’ll swing by here to pick you up.”

Matt takes a half step forward, placing a kiss on your cheek. “Have a nice night, (Y/N).”

“You too, Matt.”

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Matt Murdock Taglist: @two-unbeatable-beaters  @loves0phelia

[ughdontbeboring]

Wasted Days

Feyd Rautha x WoC Reader (can be read by anyone)

Feyd’s mood is easily soured by what he calls “wasted days”.

warnings: Feyd-let’s be honest the man is a menace. Smut and murder 🫠

note: I really wanna thank all y'all babes on the love my first Feyd story got. It reached over 500 notes in just a couple weeks and thats HUGE for me. So y’all are the best! Hopefully y’all enjoy this just as much. It’s not the 2 Feyd stories I said I’d put out but the one y’all voted on will be done before the weekend is over! I don’t own dune or any characters. I couldn’t give a fuck less about typos or misspelling sorry not sorry y’all lol

If yall like it, love it or fucks with it please share and comment! I love talking to y’all about our mans.

I give no permission for my work to be used anywhere.

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You watch the table of the formal dinning room shake beneath both your palms. The rare jewels that adorned your hands and writs glistened under the artificial light, gifts of your adoring husband. All the expensive glasses and dinnerware shake and rattle with each thrust into your wet cunt. 

The baron had just abruptly left the table to talk with Rabban who had busted in on the dinner the three of you were having with urgency, some business with Arrakis. 

You couldn’t care less about Rabban’s sudden appearance on his home planet, your husband had seemed to be in a mood all day. Frustrated with something he had yet to reveal to you, though you had a sneaking suspicion the whole day what had soured his mood so noticeably. He’d been so busy lately with everything while the Baron’s focus was on Arrakis and cleaning up behind Rabban. 

He didn’t have to stare at you the way he did during dinner for you to know he was in a mood, he had fled your room early after kissing you while you slept. 5 servants dead simply because of your husbands mood. You’d talk to him later about it and surely scold him when you were thinking clearly. 

Right now your only focus was your current situation and how your screams of pleasure would surly rival any whore house.

The large doors to the dinning hall were hardly closed when he had you trapped within his warm embrace. Your back to his chest as he nosed at your neck, licking and biting. Groaning how displeased he was that he hardly had time with you today. He had no time at all today to sink his hard cock into his wife’s tight little cunt.

He declared how any day he didn’t fuck his wife full of his cum at least once was a day wasted. 

A yell was ripped from your throat as he stepped closer, his knees slightly bent as he thrusted up into you harder, a tight hold on the root of your hair that had been braided. The table shook violently. The loud clatter starting to drown out the sound of your slick cunt and slapping skin. 

“Oh fuck!” You yelled out, no longer concerned the Baron or Rabban may possibly come back with how good your husband was making you feel. He was so deep, you were sure you’d start to see the stars of your old home planet if he kept fucking you like this bent over the table that you’ve hosted the emperor and nobility at. 

Hell the whole of Giedi Prime could watch and you’d bask in the power and ecstasy of being taking apart by none other then thee Feyd Rautha. 

You heard him grunt deep from within his chest from behind you. 

His hands are bruising on your round ass as he grips the flesh and spreads you wide open for him. You don’t have to look back to know where his lustful gaze is, you feel it burning into you. He groans from the view of your wet cunt sucking all of him in to the hilt. You clench involuntarily from the weight of his gaze and moans when you feel it. You’re still spread open when you feel the wetness on your puckered hole before it slowly drips down to where you both connect.

Your eyes roll back from the sensation as he keeps fucking into you watching himself completely disappear into your swollen cunt.

“Good fucking girl” his rasps as you take all of him. 

“Oh, nggh fuck!” You yelled trying to catch your breath, each thrust of his large cock punching the air from your lungs at this angle. Your heeled feet hardly touching the cold marble floors from the force of him behind you. “Feyd, gonna fu-fucking c-cum all over you! M’ ma-make a mess!”.

Your husband didn’t need to be told, even with your short time together he knew you inside and out like no one else. Literally. Much to his surprise and everyone else it had only took a brief moment of your eyes locking at a ball held by the emperor -which Feyd was forced to attend by his uncle for appearances sake- for Feyd to fall completely for you. The night wasn’t over before you had fallen in return for the ruthless na-Baron. 

This seemed to please your husband if the groans he was making were any indication.

“Fuck this is the sweetest cunt in the whole fucking galaxy and it is mine” he grunted in his raspy voice above you, you had falling forward at some point from the force of his thrusts, your palms flat and elbows on the table. 

“P-please don’t stop!” 

You felt Feyd’s strong hands grip your shoulders and pull you back forcefully. The sudden moment causing a gasp to leave you. There you both stood, your back to his chest, his hand in your hair as he fucked you deep. The drag of his cock was driving you insane. You felt so full of him this way. You felt his blacken teeth nip your ear. 

“You said you’d make a mess, go ahead little wife. Make a mess all over me” His rough voice encouraged as his full lips sucked the skin just below your ear. “Cum for me” He whispered. 

“Fuck!” You yelled out as your body jerked and the tidal wave of your orgasm came crashing down on you. Drowning you completely in the pleasure only he was able to take your body through. 

“Do not spill me wife” you heard his low begging against your neck.

You felt him continue to pump into you as you slowly started to come down from your high as you felt him swell within you. The feel of him, the sounds he was making had your body quickly chasing him again. 

Your eyes meet his as you started to rock into him again. He smirked he already knew. Knew what you need from the way those big beautiful eyes stared at him. He was quick to wrap his hand around your throat, the same hand that killed others daily but would never dream of hurting you in a way that wasn’t pleasurable. 

“Please kiss me” You choked out, hardly getting your words out as you watched him watch you. 

His lips were on yours dominating you completely before you finished begging him. His tongue licking into your mouth. You felt the slight movement of his rhythm being off and knew he was close. 

Your hand slips down to your cunt, working your wet clit softly to compliment the rough fucking when you felt the first bit of his warmth. You moaned loudly in his mouth before pulling away so you were able to watch his face of pleasure as he took you, fill you with his seed. 

Feeling full of him and filling with his seed pushed you over the edge again as your mouth fell open with a scream. Your eyes never left his as he stared down at you with that look you’ll never get over. Here you were fucked stupid and yet he looked at you like you hung the moon.

Your body shook and you almost fell forward with the strength of your second orgasm when his strong battle ready arm wrapped around you keeping you in place, slightly off the floor so he could keep his cock in at this angle. His other hand tightened around your throat as you both stared at each other, you breathing uncontrollable while your infuriating handsome husband looked like he had only exerted a little effort. Years of training did him well.

He kept his hand at your neck, tighten and relaxing his grip as his other hand sank down to your swollen cunt. His eyes showed amusement as he smirked down at you. Sometimes you’d give anything to know what he was thinking and other times he let you see, those big beautiful blue eyes either an ocean storm or a clam one would openly say what his words sometimes failed to. 

He tsked at you when you felt him work you clit a little before his long fingers brushed softly where you both were still very much connected. 

“Such a greedy girl” His rough voice teased you for chasing a second orgasm before you both could make it back to your shared bedchambers. 

You whimpered at the loss of him when he pulled out but you noticed he didn’t pull away. Before you could comment you felt his long thick fingers ease themselves into your wetness. 

You moaned as you sunk into back into his chest.

“Since my wife is such a needy one why don’t you give me one more hm? One for good luck?”

You knew you sounded ridiculous as you laughed but quickly moaned at his words you. You could tell he was curious about the laugh that has escaped you. 

“Good luck for who husband?” You asked genuinely and breathlessly as you stared at him. His fingers never stopped working you.

He looked as though the answer was obviously.

“Everyone”

You could feel the pressure building in you. You arched an eyebrow in question but could not speak words as your orgasm quickly approached. 

“Your husband is less likely to kill when his wife is well pleased” He said his forehead against yours as he pushed you both into the heavy table trapping you between literally a rock and hard place. You felt yourself clench as your pleasure flooded you “Less likely to kill when I have already fill you with my seed for the day”.

You were sure he was making you see those stars.

His grip on your neck tighten while your body shook as much as it could being trapped. You were so worked up you couldn’t even talk as you both stared at eachother. Him watching you reach another wave of ecstasy by his hand. Chest full of pride. 

Your breathing once again slowed as you kissed his lips, pecking them over and over as your hand ran up his neck and around trying to embrace him from the position you were in. 

He pulled you both back from the table before pulling out and letting your dress fall back down. His fingers were in your mouth before you could notice as you both now stood face to face. You did your wifely duty and sucked them clean while keeping eye contact with him. 

His look of approval was all you needed in your day to day life. The shame taught to you of doing such things as a noble woman long abandoned with him by your side. 

His eyes left yours to glance down at his soften cock, wet with you before his blue eyes moved to the floor where you two were standing moments before to see the mess of you both. 

You watched him tuck himself away before taking a napkin and quickly cleaning the floor. He had this thing with anyone coming close to your…release. The thought of anyone else touching or even smelling it drove him into a rage. 

He smirked as he stuffed it in his pocket. Hie eyes finally landing back on yours.

“Well wife looks like you’ll just have to take me again and this time I won’t let you leave the bed until you listen like a good wife and do not spill me”

You felt the familiar tingles of pleasure at your core from his threats. 

x

x

😅🫠

[cozage]

Taking a hit for them in battle

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji cw: blood, war, angst

You didn’t have foresight, not even close. But when the hair on your neck stood up, you glanced around the battlefield for him, and you saw it. A marine had managed to sneak up on him, and the blade would undoubtably connect. You could tell that, with luck, it would be fatal. And so your body moved before you even had time to think, and as you felt the blade connect with your skin instead of his, a cry of pain and relief escaped from your mouth. 

Luffy

“GET OUT OF MY WAYYYYYY!” He whipped his arm around, taking down 20 marines in one swoop. “Second GEA-" 

A cry from behind him made his blood run cold. He turned around slowly to see you on your knees, clutching your bloodied arm. “Y/N…why did you…”

Then, as he saw the marine raise his sword again, this time aimed for you, all of the dots connected and his horror turned to rage. You had protected him from his own careless mistake. He screamed out in anger, sending fist after fist into the marine’s body. He didnt stop until the Marine was a bloodied mess crumpled on the ground. 

The battle raged on around you, but he sank down to his knees to meet your eyes. He could only focus on you now. He needed to make sure you were okay first. “Y/N…” Concern was riddled all over his face.

“It’s fine, Lu. It’s better than you being killed.”

His fingers hovered over the wound, his eyes starting to water. “I can see bone.”

“Luffy. It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything is okay. We’ll get Chopper to fix it later, okay?”

Luffy rubs furiously at his eyes and nods. "Just stay put for a sec, I can handle these guys." He says, standing to his feet. Dozens of marines were already closing in on you.

He takes his straw hat off and gingerly places it on your head. “Hey Y/N?” He flashes his billion berry bounty smile. “Thanks for saving me! Don't do that again though, okay?”

Zoro

“Fuck!” How had he missed an attack so obvious? It was a dirty trick, one he should've anticipated. He had even noticed the attack before it struck, but had no way to deflect it. It would’ve been the first slice that had hit his back, but the blow never came. Instead, as he turned around, he saw you, crumpled to the ground, red staining the soil around you. 

“Dammit woman! What were you THINKING!” He readjusts his swords and cuts down the wall of marines that had crept up on him. 

“Scars on the back are…” you struggle to speak in a normal tone through the pain. “They’re a swordman’s shame, right?” You smirk up at him, which causes him to clench his jaw in frustration. Marines were now surrounding you two on all sides. 

“Just stay down for a second, okay?” You nod and lay back, scanning the clouds for any funny animals or shapes. You should care about the battle, you should try to get up and fight. But you can’t bring yourself to do anything more than look at the sky. Zoro can handle the marines, you've never doubted his skill in fighting before. He'll keep you safe from here on out, you're certain.

Zoro's face reappears above you after a few seconds. “Still with me?” His voice is strained, his face scrunched with concern. His eyes dart between your eyes and your wound, unsure which to focus on. You grin back at him in response, too tired to respond with words. 

“Just stay with me okay?” He pulls his shirt off and begins tying it around your wounded arm. “God, there’s so much…just stay with me.”

He picks you up as gently as he can and starts running. You can hear him screaming for a medic, and even though this is a battlefield, you can’t help but feel safe and secure now that you are back in his arms. You lean into him, trying to get comfortable.

“Are you cuddling into me as you’re bleeding out?!?”

“You’re warm.” Your simple answer makes him feel a little more at ease. At least you were speaking now, and responding normally.

“You’re insufferable!” He retorts, which makes you laugh softly. 

Sanji

He struggled to keep his footing while his eyesight slowly came back into focus. A surprise attack had left his vision blurry an his ears ringing. As he looked around the blurry battlefield, one thing came into focus. You. Right below him. Lying on the ground. Clutching at your side, which is slowly becoming crimson-colored. “Y/N-swan…”

Sanji lets out a guttural roar as he unleashes a fury of kicks against the Marines closest to you “STAY BACK!” He warns. “NOBODY TOUCHES HER!”

He positions himself over top of you, so nobody can ambush him again. He was supposed to be the one taking hits for you, not the other way around. Shame and rage fill his soul. Any time a marine comes close, he kicks them down in an instant. Getting revenge and keeping you from further harm was his only mission now. 

Seeing a break in the waves of marines rushing towards you, he scoops you up and begins to skywalk away from danger. There’s always time for vengeance, but he isn’t sure how critical your injury is. 

“I’ve never seen a battle from this view,” you murmur, trying to act as casual as possible. 

“My dear! You’re still awake! You’re still-" he can’t bring himself to finish the rest of the sentence. 

It hurts to laugh, but you can’t help it. “Did you think I would die that easily?”

He showers you in kisses as he takes you to safety. “Please, my dear, never do that again. I would rather die than see you ever get harmed even the slightest bit.”

[notedchampagne]

What makes a tlt au work for you? Do u have any favourites out there/that you’ve thought of?

its hard because it can go down to the writing! i have a huge bias for things that put focus on the characters acting awful and driving the story forward- if a story has a plot thats great, but its the difference between "gideon and harrow keep meeting up at parties and fall a little bit in love every time" and "gideons angry she lost her childhood to the cult so she attends a party with the tridentarii to shotgun adolescent experiences, and harrowhark, frustrated that gideon is pulling on her metaphorical leash, follows to stalk her". the former retains a 5+1 fic format and is more bite-size, while the latter puts more focus into their growth as characters. im not great at articulating what i like specifically, but ill put my favorite fics below:

what if nona was dogs tugs at my heart: its post-canon, slice-of-life, and has a unique concept (said in the title). i judged a book by its cover because i thought the premise seemed too silly at first but ive been made a fool and its pet clown. it feels so true to nona the way its about all the things nona loves and how she gets to explore the world through new eyes. i love the way it explores characters softening up and getting hurt through a third person pov

we have always lived in the apartment by @thatneoncrisis i keep saying this but for the love of GOD guys this au is so good it makes me cry and feel such a deep catharsis from it. it takes gideon and harrow and the ninth as a cult and explores their struggle to adapt to a modern society when noone ever gets a break (WOW ITS JUST LIKE IN REAL L-). quinn writes the sides of griddlehark i think go overlooked in fanfic often: their codependency, their tendency to lash out when theyre defensive, their mutual paranoia and different coping mechanisms, harrows psychosis and gideons bitterness, their relationships to each other as being the only other person who really understands what the other suffered through. god. i feel lightheaded.

"but SAM, i dont like angst but i want to see this writing!" read gap between a tragedy and a comedy

"SAM, i also like when gideon and harrow are horrible because theyre maladjusted teenagers! but i want more antics where the characters drive things forward over angst!" read whats eating gideon nav

you just aint receiving is one of my FAVORITE modern aus of all time (and i heavily recommend the authors other fics as well!) if you really want to see how much i love this fic the fact that my comments take up the entire phone screen probably says a lot. its hard to put it concisely: it keeps harrows air of misanthropy and cruelty but redefines it as the result of her upbringing and personal struggle to live in a university while dealing with a backpack of mental illness and frustration. it changes gideons personality as the daughter of john gaius in a way that makes sense having her grow up with johns middling parenting skills and getting everything she ever wanted (connecting it back to kirionas personality in ntn!). it brings in side characters (specially palamedes. my beautiful boy palamedes) in ways that compliment harrow and gideon but not so obviously that they only exist to be supports. they have their own lives and ideals. its a modern au that brings in the boiling politics of johns cult uprising once again in a really novel way

semi charmed kinda life by @griddlebait. jesuchristo and all his middle names this fic is GREAT for you if you want a slice of life, coming of age type modern au that explores what its like for gideon and harrow if they actually got the space to see who theyd become outside of the stifling fate tlt has for them. as far as modern aus go im usually very hesitant to read them because im afraid modernizing the characters takes features away from their core but i really love and respect the way the author treats the 69ers with care and draws distinct lines that shows me how their grow and change while keeping a line to the anchor. also they write HIDEOUS (complimentary) PINING. DISGUSTING. some of these chapters were so chock full of dyke drama that they made me nauseous and whimsical. i think once a friend said this fic felt like if gh could be reincarnated and i like that descriptor a lot

til the cows come home is another postcanon fic that made me feel sick and crybabyish about it- i would definitely recommend it if you want to explore a happier ending with griddlehark! with this and what if nona was dogs the thing i like most about them is that they mix up vulnerability with pain and fear, so it feels more lifelike that way if that makes sense. i lost my taste in fluff fics over time but when its interspersed with struggle and characters causing problems because they cant cope with themselves it feels much more earnest and raw

this became very long. im not sorry

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Quiet Ones 4

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a quiet life, but your peace is fractured by a chaotic man.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, short!shy!reader

Note: first draft of my final assignment is done, just need to do a few other things for class and I'm pretty much done.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

As night falls, you feel woozy. You don’t know how much longer you can hold out. The boxed macaroni and cheese only made your stomach hurt and you’re pretty much out of water. Tomorrow you might just have to venture outside and hope he’s not around. Somehow, you don’t think he’s ever gone. He seems to always be watching. 

You can’t focus on your book. The edges of your vision are hazy and your head is pounding. You close it and look for something to watch. You just as quickly forget what you’re doing and shut off the television. You’re too weak to make it to the bed. You're tired, you just want to sleep. 

You look at the window before you lay down, then glance down. The light isn’t there yet. Its absence unsettles you. You wouldn’t exactly prefer it was but it not being there makes you wonder if something else is coming. 

You’re too exhausted to worry about it. You close your eyes as you lay flat on the couch. You exhale and let your body relax. The tension is as tiring as anything else. You’re always wound up tight, always waiting, always watching. You just don’t have anything left in you. 

That familiar drifting sensation takes over you. Your eyelids itch and your muscles grow heavy. You slip into your unconscious little by little until your shrouded in a deep unbreakable darkness. You’re not scared or frustrated or happy or sad. You’re just tired. 

The shatter of glasses splices through your momentary escape. You groan as you eyes snap open and you lay in the dimness of your apartment. What happened? The light was on when you passed out. What was that noise? 

You push yourself up to your elbows and look at the window. There’s not green light but something worse. The window is broken. The jagged glass shines with moonlight as shards litter the floor. You sit up all the way and scramble around, unable to make sense through the darkness and your own sluggish perception. 

You reach for the lamp and try to turn it on. On, off, on, off. You shake your head, trying to free yourself from the clouds, and stagger to your feet. You go to the wall and flip the switch for the overhead light. Nothing. The power must be out. You can’t even hear the hum of the fridge. 

A tickle crawls into your throat and you cough. You smell smoke. You go to your desk and feel around for your phone. You wait for it to turn on as the dryness in your nose and throat build. You finally get the flashlight glowing on your cell and shine it around the room. 

The haze isn’t in your mind. The apartment is filling with smoke. You pull your shirt up over your nose and cough again. Your eyes burn as you try to see through the fog. There’s a dark shape on the carpet spewing fumes. What the heck? 

Adrenaline kicks in and instinct has you feet moving before you can think. You can’t breath. The smoke gets thicker as your eyes stream and you rack with coughs. You hit the door with your body, clawing at the lock, fingers aching as you twist back the latch. You waver as you step back, pulling the door inward and stumble into the hall. 

Your feet hit the floor clumsily, flat and thumping, thunderous in the hue of night. You hack again, hand on your chest, and tumble to your knees. You grip your head as the strength drains from your body, seeping away little by little. Are you dying? Is this it? 

You fall onto your side and suck in deep breaths. Your head lolls and your arm falls slack beside you. Your eyes roll up and a black silhouette appears above you. A tongue clicks and a whistle blows out. 

“I didn’t want it to be like this, baby cakes,” the timbre skews in your ears as your lashes close, “don’t worry...” the world shifts beneath you, “daddy’s got you.” 

👄

You don’t dream. You don’t think. You don’t feel. There is only endless black. 

A sliver of light pierces the void. It's too bright. Painfully so. Your eyes slit and you peek out from beneath heavy eyelids. You don’t recognise those walls, the bed is too soft to be yours, and this place doesn’t smell familiar. You take a deep breath and force your eyes open. 

Soft light glows through large panes to your left. The bed on which you lay is swathed in the dull tones of the morning rising just outside. You’re laid beneath blankets, several layers that make you sweat, and a cushy pillow cradles your head, many more litter the bed along the top. There’s too much of everything. 

The ceiling and walls are black, the bed frame too, the silky and dark, with a fluffy zebra print throw across the foot. You can’t see much more as you lay on your back. You might not know where you are but you can certainly figure who brought you there. 

On cue with your consciousness, the opposite the bed opens and you raise your head to watch a shadow enter. It reminds you of another figure, that one rippled with disorientation and impending darkness. He reaches to flip the switch beside the door and the two sconces mounted above the bet light up. 

It’s him. It wouldn’t be anyone else. That stranger from the cafe. Your personal tormentor. The man who calls himself Lloyd and a litany of ridiculous names. 

He stares back at you. You’re struck dumb with the dregs of you unconcscious and disbelief, meanwhile he looks almost giddy. A smile curves his lips under the line of hair and he rubs his palms together as he shifts his weight between his feet. He raises his hands appeasingly. 

“Jellybean, before you scream, please hear me out,” he pleads. 

You couldn’t scream if you tried. You’re too weak. This can’t be happening. Why would you be here? In a nice bed, in a nice room. You should be in some twisted torture chamber or out in the middle of the woods. If he’s going to kill you, he needs to at least be straightforward about. 

He turns and strides over to another door; a closet. He slides it open and tuts as he browses the contents. You can’t see past him. You barely even try as you let your head fall back against the pillow. 

“So, thoughts?” He turns to face you again as he holds up two hangers, “the navy is cute. I like the polka dots and the see throughness here and here, but the pink would bring out your complexion.” 

Your eyes flit down and you gape at the two dresses, one in each hand. You shake your head and blink. You bring a hand up and touch your forehead, a grumble slipping free. 

“You’re right, jellybean, it’s late,” he turns to put the dresses back in the closet, “we can deal with that in the morning. It’s not too far away... just a few hours.” 

He nears the bed and you shrink down, curling your shoulders in as you fold your arms over the blankets. He lowers himself next to you, an elbow in the pillows as he peers down at you. He reaches to touch your cheek and you try to move away. He barely seems to notice as he strokes your face. 

“I’ve just been so excited I can’t sleep,” he drags his knuckle around lightly, “but I didn’t want to wake you up. You need to rest. After everything you’ve been through.” He brings his legs up onto the bed and wiggles down to his side, “I know you don’t take care of yourself like you should, baby face, but that’s okay, because you have me now.” 

“Why... are you doing this?” You wisp out. 

He laughs, “you’re so funny...” he pets your chin, “and cute and...” he trails his hand down and squeezes your shoulder, “small. You’re adorable.” 

“Please,” you groan. 

“Why am I doing what?” He asks coyly, “why am I taking care of you? Why am I ready to give you everything? Why am I dying just to hear your voice and see your face and...” he stops and leans in, giving a deep sniff, “smell your hair?” 

You want to shrivel up. Your lip quivers as the daze recedes and the fear sets in. He’s delusional and you have no way out. You don’t even know where you are. It hardly matters, you doubt you could get very far. 

“You’re right. We should sleep. We have tomorrow to get settled in,” he reaches back to flip the light switch next to the bed, dimming the sconces back to black.  

He lifts himself to free the blankets from beneath him and sidles under them. He nestles close as you go rigid. He slips his arm under you as he nuzzles your cheek. 

“And every day after that. We have a whole lifetime ahead of us, jellybean. Me and you. Together forever...” he stretches his other arm over your stomach, “I never liked fairy tales before, babes. Not til you.” 

You close your eyes. You’re tired but there’s no way you’re falling back asleep. This is a waking nightmare. 

👄

The man, Lloyd, starts to snore. You feel his muscles relax and feel his breath steady against you. As much as you want to push him away and run, you can’t. You don’t know what it is. It’s akin to sleep paralysis. You’re awake but you can’t fight what’s happening. Something in your mind tells you it’s futile. 

The sun rise on the other side of the large windows. In any other circumstance, you would admire a place like this. The sleek furniture, the luxurious blankets, the expansive view. It’s a far cry from your cramped apartment and its small windows. 

You can only wallow in helpless self-pity. How did this happen? How did you let it happen? If you hadn’t been so indulgent, you would’ve never been seen. You should’ve known better than to go down to that cafe and splurge on something so menial. You could have made your own tea. You could’ve stayed inside, stayed safe. 

His closeness has you sweating. It’s uncomfortable and itchy. You want to rip your skin off. 

He moves and you hold your breath. He’s waking up. That can’t be good. At least asleep, he can’t do much. You curl your fingers into your palm and wait. 

“Mmm,” he leans in and brushes the tip of his nose against your cheek before planting a kiss, his mustache tickles, “this is heaven. I can’t...” he pushes himself up, planting his hand on the mattress, “I can’t believe this is real. You’re really here.” 

You look at him, almost glaring as you let your distress burn through. He doesn’t even notice as he rubs your arm and his blue eyes dance over you. Laying next to him as he looms over you, his size is more obvious. He’s much bigger than you. 

“Coffee?” He asks, “I got this new dark roast. All the way from Colombia. I haven’t even tried it. I’ve been waiting on you. Bet it’s much better than that InstaCafe.” 

You blink at him. All your fears are coming true. It’s not that he’s snatched you, it that he’s been watching you. You might never know how long but that doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change this moment. 

“And breakfast, if you’re hungry. I know you usually skip that but--” 

“Please stop,” you croak, “please...” 

“What? Honey, I’m just trying to show you all I can do for you. You don’t have to do all the work anymore. Staring at a screen is bad for your eyes. And your posture.” 

“I... I didn’t mind...” 

“Ah, that’s just you. You’re a hard worker. Resilient. You do what needs to be done. You don’t complain and you don’t make demands. Baby, you don’t have to. Whatever you need, I’ll give it to you without you even asking.” 

“I liked... being alone. I want to be alone,” your breath hitches between words as panic pulses in your chest. 

“Do you want to be alone or do you not know what it’s like to have someone? Jellybean, I’m scared too. You’re the first girl I’ve had in my bed that made it past dawn. Hell, the first girl I didn’t... you know,” he gives a crooked grin. 

Your lips part as you stare at him, dumbfounded. Sure, he didn’t do more than forcibly cuddle you but it doesn’t change what he did do. You shake your head and sputter as you search for words. 

“You followed me.” 

“I kept you safe,” he insists. 

“You turned my water off. I...” 

“That’s what the IV is for,” he reaches over to touch your other arm. You don’t know how you didn’t notice the tubing before. “I brought you tea. All you had to do was open up--” 

“You threw something through my window... there was smoke...” your lashes flutter as the memories creep back in. 

“I did what had to be done,” his grin falls away and his expression turns stony, “what you made me do.” 

You stare at him, speechless. 

“I haven’t given you any reason not to trust you. I mean, all you had to do was have a coffee with me. Or even open your door. Honey, I should be mad at you. You hung me out to dry but I can forgive you,” his face softens again, “how can I not?” His eyes go doey, “you’re so beautiful.” 

You lay there, unmoving. You feel as if any suddenness might trigger him. He traces along your cheek and jaw and down your neck, “did you decide?” 

You narrow your eyes and frown. 

“A dress? Blue or pink?” 

You don’t answer him. You just look at him as he continues to touch you. Your skin speckles with goosebumps as a chill rolls through you. 

“You know what, neither. I get it. You want something more classy. Yeah, given the occasion, I think you’re right, baby face,” he leans over you and looks you in the eye, “we’ll have a look in the closet after breakfast.” 

Before you can react, his lips are on yours. You let out a surprised squeak as he holds your chin in place. His mustache tickles you again and his tongue flits across your lips, wetting them just slightly before retracting. He pulls away and sighs. 

“Wow.” 

[nutluvs]

not sure if your requests are still open but I'd devour your take on how rdr characters would react to you giving them a hot lunch while they are hunting. Like they are sitting at the top of the hill with a hunting bow in their hands and you sneak up to them, handing them a hot meal prepared for them.

preferred characters are javier, sean and kieran but you can add your favourites as well, I will gladly read your take on that about any character! :)

also don't feel pressured if you don't feel like writing it! much love anyways, have a nice day :))

- 🦎

hot n' ready 🍰 various rdr2 characters x gn! reader

!! divider by animatedglittergraphics-n-more ♡ !! hi sweetheart ! i hope you're doing amazing today ! ♡ this is my favorite request i've gotten in ages ! it's so cute. thank you so much for sending it in. ♡ i'm so so sorry it took me so long to write, i've had like.. 0 motivation to write lately, and this is just to get back into it. i'm also very sorry if this sucks and if i didn't portray any of your favorites right, i'm only really used to writing a few characters. synopsis:bringing your dearest some good lunch you made just for him while he's out hunting. pairings (in order): ♡ charles smith ♡ arthur morgan ♡ javier escuella ♡ eagle flies ♡ sean macguire ♡ kieran duffy ♡ john marston ♡ the boy warnings: none, this is just fluff !! mentions: @pursuedbyamemoryy @deaddoedonoteat

charles smith:

he didn't expect it. at all.

although, that doesn't mean he didn't appreciate it.

when you crept up to him, his focus was entirely on the doe, whose head was tipped down to nibble at the grass beneath her hooves.

as soon as you prodded at him with the tip of your finger, he jolted and made a discontented, uncomfortable sound.

he was quick to whip around to see who it was, gripping his bow a little tighter, but when he realized it was you he visibly relaxed almost instantly.

he greets you and asks you what you have in your hands, disregarding the doe immediately. you were more important.

"a warm lunch, just for you. i know pearson's meals aren't so satisfying to eat, especially since they lack seasoning and any variation, so i made something of my own. i also made myself something, that way, we could have some lunch together.

when you say that, he feels his face go warm.

he has to clear his throat before attempting to tell you that you didn't have to do this for him and that he didn't want to be a waste of time, but you were quicker, promising him that he deserved a break from low quality food and that he deserved something nice.

so, now understanding you were absolutely sure, he takes his warm lunch from your hands with a smile, and you eat together underneath the shade of a tree, sharing conversation and warm, loving smiles.

arthur morgan:

he was a bit frustrated.

he had tried to get his hands on this damn buck for so long, but every time he'd try and shoot, the thing would get spooked off by quickly passersby.

so now, here he was, sat atop a hill, grumbling to himself about how irritating the prey was, fidgeting with an arrow and trying to calm himself down.

he had heard hoofbeats on the grass and quickly turned to see who it was, and as soon as he saw your face, all of his anger was gone. he put the arrow he held down onto the grass with his bow, and watched you approach. he noticed you had something in your hands.

"hey, darlin'. what's that you got in your hands?" he asks, watching you sit down beside him with a bit of a smile present on your features.

"some lunch for you. made it myself." you say, smiling bigger. "i figured you'd like something that isn't as bad as pearson's cooking... so i made that something."

arthur was a bit shocked, taking it from your hands when you held it out to him. he looked from the box up to you, unsure. "i don't deserve this, darlin', it's.. you didn't have to."

"i wanted to."

this makes his face go red, because he wouldn't really figure someone would want to do something like this for him. but it made him happy, and he really enjoyed your cooking. who knew you were so good?

javier escuella:

he's more of a fishing guy, so that might make it a little harder for you to reach him, but that doesn't deter you.

he went down to the dakota river to do some fishing, and he asked you to tag along, but you initially said no. he was a little sad about that.

however, when he was in the middle of wrapping a smallmouth bass so he could return it to camp, you prodded at his shoulder, causing him to yelp and drop the fish.

you apologized quickly, but he was quick to put the apology down. he wasn't mad at you, he could never be. plus, he insisted he should've been more aware of his surroundings.

after that, you handed him the lunch you made.

"querida, what's this?" he asks, inspecting it closely, as if unsure. it wasn't like you'd give him something that'd kill him, so he stopped his looking.

"a lunch i made for you, since pearson's cooking tastes like shit."

"it has a few of the meals you told me your mother used to make you, and i wanted to sorta give you some sense of home. i hope my cooking is as good as hers, and that i captured the flavors right."

his heart warms, and he feels a bit of a hitch in his breath. you took the time out of your day to make him one of the dishes from home? oh, you were just the sweetest.

he holds the lunch carefully as he brings you into a hug and kisses your cheek, thanking you before quickly sitting down to enjoy what you picked to make him.

eagle flies:

today's hunt had been very successful, and he was proud of that.

he had managed to shoot down some rabbits, and he wanted to finish off a deer as well. he found it most refreshing when he did this.

when you came over the hill, he was poised to shoot, rough fingertips pulling back on the string of his bow.

you decided to stay quiet, watching him release the string and puncture the unaware doe's neck. you smiled when he released a pleased sigh, standing to go collect the arrow and the fresh kill.

"that was a good one," you say, spotting him turn and smile right back at you. "thank you." he replies. he'd known you were there, but he had already gotten the opportunity for a perfect shot, so he didn't greet you despite how bad he'd wanted to.

you watched him pluck the arrow from the carcass and hoist it over his shoulder, bringing it back to his horse before helping you down from yours.

"so, why'd you come?"

"made you something." you say, handing him a small box lunch. "you deserve a treat for all of the hard work you've been doing lately. i know it's the least i could do for such hard work, but i was in a rush."

eagle flies smiles at the gift, his heart fluttering. "thank you, my love. i appreciate this a lot. i've always liked your cooking." he says, leaning in and pressing a tender kiss to your temple, before sitting down to eat the meal you made specially for him.

sean macguire:

he didn't know why he came on this hunting trip. hunting irked him.

he wasn't even all that good at focusing on the prey, let alone shoot it in a vital spot to kill it. he wouldn't admit that, nor the fact that he'd rather be doing something more entertaining.

he just about tossed away the bow, but you twined your arms around him in a hug and gazed up at him, a smile on your lips.

"hi honey." you say gently, "i brought you something to eat. hunting isn't your forte, and i know you like my cooking. maybe it'll calm you down."

sean stared at you for a moment, his expression flat before it grew a bit embarrassed, "i can hunt just fine!" he snapped, and you laughed. "i saw the anger in your face, honey, you hate it. here."

you pushed the box meal into his hands, and he wasn't going to deny this. as you said, he loved your cooking. he'd never say otherwise... even if he didn't like the flavor of something, he was the biggest fan of your meals and would eat up the whole plate.

he was quick to slump down underneath a tree with you, blabbering on about his day with you leaning against his shoulder. he didn't have any manners when eating, but that was fine. at least he was back to being happy.

kieran duffy:

he prefers being back at camp with the horses, let's just say that.

he didn't like the idea of hurting animals, preferring to take care of them. so, he purposefully made this a bad hunt.

he didn't even know why they asked him of all gang members to go out and hunt... although, he'd still try. he wanted them to trust him at least a little bit more. he wasn't just some o'driscoll..

he sat crouched behind a bush, expression a bit worried as he aimed the bow he borrowed at an unaware rabbit.

when he let go of the string, he jolted back, the squeaky, high-pitched sound from a pained bunny not meeting his ears. only the sound of panicked scuttling and the small thud of an arrow.

"oh..." he sighed, a bit displeased with himself. although, he sorta preferred that he didn't kill something so innocent.

"kieran?"

the sound of your voice caused him to jolt once again, and he looked up at you. "o-oh, hey, darlin'.. um, i uh.."

"i see you haven't caught yourself anything."

"nope.." he mumbled, gaze straying elsewhere. he listened to your soft laughter as you sat down beside him. "that's okay," you promised, earning his eyes on you again, "don't worry. i'll catch something later. anyway, i brought you something."

when you handed him a box, he felt the warmth seep into his palms. he looked at it, then at you. "what's this?"

"some lunch. i made it specially for you, you deserve a break from all that harassment they give you. even though it's not much, i thought you might like it."

kieran blushed at this, putting the box on his lap and managing a small-voiced "thank you."

you made him feel so dizzy, so stupid in love. but he liked that. he liked it a lot.

john marston:

he was pretty self confident in today's hunt.

he'd managed a few kills, a deer and some birds. nothing too big. but he was still pretty proud. and with this confidence, he felt he'd be good with another kill.

however, as soon as he plucked an arrow to shoot with, he noticed you coming up the hill. he was quick to smile all dumb, shoving his bow and arrow away.

when you came over the hill, you halted your horse, looking to him as he made his way over to you and pulled you from your horse.

you noticed quickly that he was in a good mood, as he began to swing you around when you were in his arms. "there's my angel! how are you doing?" he asks, nuzzling you as he sat you down, listening to your giggles.

"great! i don't think i have to ask you how you are..." you tease, before stepping slightly back from him. "made you a little something, by the way.

this caught his attention, and he raised a brow, "what's that?" "made you a lunch, with your favorites." you said as you handed him the lunch. "i figured you'd like it. you've told me about two million times that my cooking's your favorite." holy shit, was this day going good. john was through the roof now.

john grinned like the idiot he was and took the box from you. "thanks, my angel. always did like your cooking, you do it real good. i always wonder who taught you." he admits, wrapping you up in his arms again, careful not to spill what he has in his hands. you giggled, pressing a chaste kiss to his jaw, "i try, and i'm glad my hard work is met with a good product."

"mmmhm. now, wanna sit down and share?"

the boy:

he wasn't usually the type to hunt.

however, today, he went out hunting, and it wasn't going so good. he ended up pouting on the forest floor, leaning against a tree.

"honey?" you call out, which distracts him from his moping. he looks like he lightened up a bit, but not as much as you hoped. you sighed when he looked back to his hands.

"not much of a result, huh, love?" you ask, dismounting your horse and approaching him. you squatted down beside him, putting a hand on his cheek and tipping his head up. he grunted a "no."

"huntin's stupid. i'm the best 'round here, but these damn animals.." he huffed. you only smiled softly, leaning in close to him and pressing a kiss to his temple. "will this cheer you up?" you ask, putting a small box in his hands.

he looked at you, confused, blue eyes searching your face and waiting for an explanation.

"it's lunch i made for you. i know you're not the biggest fan of hunting, so i decided i'd make you a lunch to cheer you up... and before you ask if there's any watermelon, yes, i put watermelon in it."

he grinned dumbly, his face growing warm and dusting with a rosy color, leaning in and giving you a quick peck on the nose. "thanks, i always did like your cooking... makes me feel better 'bout this."

"oh, i know. you're blushing all silly."

"i ain't!"

here's this! i hope this suffices for my first post in 8 centuries. i hope you enjoyed, have a nice day! love you guys ♡♡♡♡

[emersonfreepress]

help i'm alive

So! Long time, no see. 2023 was a whole goddamn lot lol

I don't have a demo update to share yet, but that's because I had to scrap nearly everything I managed to write during a very, very, very bad stint of writer's block last year. I hadn't even realized it had been a block like that until I went over my work so far last month and realized it was bad -- like, trust me; a slog to read that didn't even sound like me. It's been extremely frustrating but I've finally broken free of that and it's been easy and actually fun to write again for the first time in actual years. I just hate giving updates that have no actual news in them. And I really had nothing to share other than: I deleted thousands of words and feel so much better now 😅

Anyway, little about my demo plans have changed: I'm still putting out the Chapter 3 demos in Choicescript/on Dashingdon and then will be going dark to move things over to Twine. Where I am in the process right now is... feeling like 35% done with the overhauled version of this chapter and 50% done for the next demo update.

As far as asks, I'm... not really sure what to do?? I believe I've read them all (I love you guys), but so much time has passed since getting most of them that I'm not sure if it's, like... still pertinent??? To go back and answer them?? I suppose some of them like character asks could be, but all the nice messages of support -- that feels weird since I've practically ghosted this blog since August! Idk. Y'all tell me what to do with 'em and I'll do it. Maybe I should make a poll.

Uh... that's really all there is to say regarding the game! I've added some personal stuff after the cut, but if you're done here: Thanks for reading and sticking around. It means the world, for real.

So what has occupied my time all this time? Doctor, therapy, money, and friends. And improv! But especially the first two. There was a lot of non-writing related stuff fucking up my ability to focus and write, so hopefully with my mind and body both feeling a lot better, I can get back to being present and active with the game. I didn't realize how physically unwell I was until last year and it's been like... life-long issues I've been treating. It turns out it's not normal to feel exhausted enough to sleep at any given time, at all times, for your whole life! wow!!

I also uninstalled Tumblr from my phone back in February, so you could say I'm sort of generally focused on offline life. (And what an interesting coincidence that my writer's block dissipated shortly after that...) I also just moved!! The last two weekends have been so expensive and stressful -_- But I can't even compare the old place to the new. We're basically paying the same price for idek how much more space. The cats are so happy; which means the house humans get to be happy.

My schedule is finally freed up from constant medical shit (there was a 3-month stretch this winter with multiple doctor appointments literally every fucking week 🙃🙃🙃). My mental health is doing a lot better -- literally incomparably better compared to where I was this time last year. There's live comedy now (which I dabble in, to be clear lol), but I've finally found myself able to like... balance it all. The physical and creative energy that goes into it all, anyway. The lovely thing about improv is that you kinda just show up and do your thing -- it doesn't cut into my writing time so much as it costs energy. Unless I end up in this comedy debate show thing next month, which I am very excited to give up writing time for

So like... Life is life-ing and I'm just vibing. Or something? I'll be around.

Thank you all again so much for your interest, support, patience, and readership <3

[topazadine]

Okay, okay, here's perhaps my spiciest and most controversial take yet.

Now, before I even say anything, please note that I am talking specifically about fantasy. Not retellings of myths, not historical fiction set in different countries, nothing like that. This is for second-world fantasy, where you're creating a whole different world.

Ready?

Stop making everything so damn complicated!

This is not to say that you can't have a rich and exciting world filled with lore, religion, different societies, traditions, unique geographies. Not that. Of course we want that: it's the whole reason we read fantasy. I'm talking about something else.

This is my simple takedown, and you can read the rest to better understand what I mean:

Stop jamming your story with five billion weird words.

Don't use super complicated nouns.

Keep the characters to a minimum so we can know and like them.

Don't yammer on about all the backstory.

Stop making readers do homework just to understand things.

Focus on the feeling a story gives instead of the intricate worldbuilding.

And lastly, a pre-emptive note to those who are putting their hackles up and telling me why they are an exception.

Why is it important to keep things simple?

A lot of people shy away from fantasy because they assume that every fantasy story is going to be so complicated that their head will hurt. Not in terms of plot - many people like complicated plots - but in terms of terminology and history. Things that ultimately don't really matter to the plot.

We as writers often assume that everyone cares about our story as much as we do and is equally captivated by every detail. This is simply not true.

To your reader, your story is not their life's work: it is entertainment that they want to be able to enjoy at their leisure. It's a distraction from their difficult lives and all their real-world frustrations. If they get really into it and, say, write fanfic or whatever, that's amazing! But they're not likely to do that if they feel like they'll be jumped on for doing something wrong or that they have to include every single little detail.

For example, I wrote over 1 million words of Touken Ranbu fanfic. Touken Ranbu, at its heart, has a very simple premise: you've got a bunch of legendary swords that were turned into hot men and fight evil time-traveling monsters. You can understand it with just that. There are layers to it, though, that you can slowly untangle. That makes for good writing because it works on multiple levels depending on how much you care about it.

I would have given up on the story if I felt like I needed a dictionary just to understand the plot. Most people would. Language needs to be accessible and premises need to be clear, or no one is going to want to go deeper.

Subtle little details that people can pick up are way more enjoyable than tossing every single factoid at people so that they feel overwhelmed and can't think. It's wonderful to have rich layers of symbolism, mythology, etc. That's excellent. But you can only get people to care about those things if they can actually comprehend your damn story.

A lot of the things that turn people off from fantasy are all about a writer's ego, and it oozes through the work. People can tell that you're wanting them to pat you on the back for putting so much shit in your story. It's annoying and a total turn-off when you make readers work so hard to comprehend what you're saying.

So what exactly am I talking about? This.

Using made-up terms for everything that could easily be explained with a normal English word

When I am writing fantasy, I imagine myself as a translator. After all, my made-up societies have their own made-up language (Seinish) that is referenced a few times.

However, I'm not using Seinish words all the time. I'm writing in English. I didn't write out a Seinish dictionary or even come up with most of the terms because, honestly? Most readers don't care. They want to understand what's going on in as simple of terms as possible, with only a few specific terms that remind us that we're somewhere different.

I may use some specialized terminology, but it's always couched in context clues that make us aware of what it is without actually having to just say "sdlkjfslkdjf, also known as a marketplace."

For example, in The Eirenic Verses, the High Poet Society has religious centers called meronyms. (Which actually isn't a made-up word.) We know they're religious centers because we see all the religious leaders living there. Someone sees the term "meronym" and goes "oh yeah, that's the religious place" and moves on.

It's one of the only confusing, specialized terms in the book other than place names, which people expect whenever they're reading fantasy. Because of that, it stands out and is easy to remember. It's not one of 1029310283012830132 different terms someone has to remember in order to follow along.

Even Tolkien, famed for literally writing an entire extra book full of lore for his stories, doesn't really use that much specialized terminology except for place names. My favorite author, China Mieville, only uses specialized terminology for things that have absolutely no basis in our reality and that can't be explained otherwise. And he's an extremely eloquent guy who uses the weirdest words possible whenever he can. If he can write a book that's mostly comprehensible without a cheat sheet, you can too.

If there is an English term for what you are trying to explain, just use that, for the love of god. The point of writing a story is not to show how smart and special you are: it is to tell a story. You need to remove as many barriers to access as possible.

Things that get a pass and can be made up most, if not all, of the time:

Place names (as in specific places, not categories of things)

Peoples' names

Languages

Species that don't exist in our world

Modes of transportation that don't exist in our world

Magic that can't be explained in any other way

Technology that can't be defined by our language

Look, if you have an animal that is basically a dragon, just call it a dragon. If you've got a wheeled carriage, call it a carriage. Call earth magic something based in earth terms, like "terravitae" or something, idk. There should be some connection to our world in your terminology because you are writing this in English for an English-speaking audience.

It doesn't make you a lazy writer, it makes you one that wants people to understand what you're talking about. Again, imagining yourself as a translator is a good way to keep yourself from going ham on the nouns.

Proper nouns that are way too complicated

Let's look at some well-known proper nouns from fantasy.

Middle Earth

Narnia

Earthsea

Discworld

Westeros

Ankh-Morpork

Bas-Lag

Wonderland

They're all ... simple. They're not a million syllables with weird intonations and accents and all that. If you showed this to a medieval peasant, they'd probably be able to pronounce them and would likely understand that they were place names.

Unless there's a good reason to have a weird name, don't use one. Come up with something simpler.

All of these I mentioned are three syllables or less, making them easier to remember. In fact, I'd argue that nearly every proper noun in your book should be no more than three syllables. Maybe one or two four-syllable ones.

Any very weird name should be balanced out by several easier ones so that it stands out.

40 million characters

Younger writers often want their world to feel very lived in, so they introduce dozens of characters with their own names, descriptions, backstories, etc etc etc. The problem is that this is a huge mental load on your reader, especially if a lot of the characters have very similar names. It makes reading your stuff into a chore rather than an enjoyable experience.

Now, some literary greats do have a lot of characters. But they get away with it because they're great.

I'm not great, so I don't do that.

I'd also suggest that you don't do that, regardless of how good you think you are.

To see if you have too many chracters, write out a dramatis personnae and rank it in terms of importance. Does your top tier have like 15 characters? Cut some. Figure out where they are in the story and if they don't exist for more than a few pages, delete them. Absorb them into someone else.

If a character is only in one scene, don't bother naming them. They don't matter enough. This reduces the cognitive load for your reader because they can see that character for what they are: a background person who exists only briefly.

Any time you name a character, they need to have deep plot relevance. The more unusual your character's name, the more important they should be. And they should have some sort of relationship to another character, preferably the main character. Otherwise, why are they there? Why do we care? Go away!

Way too much backstory

I am an adult and my brain is filled with 50 million other things. I have to remember stuff for my job, I have a to-do list, I have family I care about who needs me.

Your story is not the end-all be-all of my existence. Hell, my story is not the end-all be-all of my existence either. I want to be able to pick up your book, understand what's going on, and then delve a bit deeper or even make up my own headcanons.

I do not need the entirety of your story's world thrown at me right off the bat. It is overwhelming and tiring. Imagine if you visited a different country and someone immediately came up to you and started spewing the whole history of the country right after you stepped off the plane. That's what you're doing to your readers!

Think also about how you approach your everyday world. Do you reel off a million facts about your personal history the instant you meet someone? No, of course not. It'd be weird and creepy.

Are you constantly recalling facts about your city while walking down the street? Do you even know any major facts about your city? You probably know a few little trivia points and that's it. Because it's not relevant to you, and it's not relevant to your readers, either. I can't recall off the top of my head when Cleveland was settled, but I can tell you that we have the world's first Dunkleosteus fossil in our museum, because that is interesting to me. That's the kind of thing that makes a place feel lived-in, not four hundred thousand pages of exposition about the place's history.

Give your readers time to settle in, and reveal things slowly as they make sense. Maybe we hear a little bit about the country's government as they pass a parliament house, or because they have to visit the city center for a different reason. If it's not pertinent to the current scene, then don't put it there.

I've got tons of lore for my world. Some of it may be referenced one singular time, and some of it may be never referenced at all. That's okay, because it's just for me to get a better sense of the place I created. If a reader doesn't need it, then I don't bother putting it in, because it might detract from their enjoyment.

Overall: stop making your readers do homework!

We do not want our readers to feel like they are working when they are reading our stuff. Excellent writers can infuse deep themes and symbology into their stories without making it feel like work. These are the writers who are remembered forever, because not only have they made a good story that you can enjoy at a surface level, but they have also twined in deeper themes that you can dive into after you've digested the story.

I did my undergrad in British literature, so I read a lot of Shakespeare and contemporaneous authors. Shakespeare is considered complicated by modern standards because of the Elizabethan language, but if you translated it into modern terms, his stories are simple. People betray each other and stab each other, or fuck each other, or get transported to weird magical worlds.

You could watch a Shakespeare play and think absolutely nothing of the themes, but still enjoy the story. You could know absolutely nothing about Greek history and still get the gist.

This is because Shakespeare specifically wrote his plays to appeal to a mass audience. He was a god-tier author when it came to balancing symbology and plot. To be like Shakespeare, be simple. Remember that your reader does. not. really. care. all that much. They don't.

It's very unlikely that your writing is going to become someone's life's work and they're going to spend their whole existence studying. Cool if true, but unlikely.

Your job is to make a story that people like and want to read. Only when you've gotten people liking and reading do you get permission to go ham with the backstory and the characterization and the weird names, because they trust you to create a story that they will like. Otherwise, your primary objective is making people feel things so they want to feel more things and read more stories.

People care more about how a story makes them feel than the specifics

Yes, of course there are outliers to this who really want every single detail of the world, but those are few and far between. You should not tailor your story to these exceptions. Think about the average everyday person.

I have many books that I love, but I can't tell you everything about them now. I can, however, tell you how I felt when I was reading them: the plot twists that made me gasp, the thing that made me cry. I can give you a general, sweeping impression of whether I liked or disliked the story and what made me feel something. This is what people recommend books based on: how they felt.

Your story should focus on the plot and the emotion. People watch movies, listen to music, read books, or look at art to feel something, not to memorize factoids for later usage. Even if they do want to memorize factoids, they won't do that if they haven't built an emotional connection to the story.

While in life, we want facts over feelings, it's opposite in creative writing. We want feelings over facts. The emotional resonance, the mood, the characters, the plot: that is what is important, not showing off how smart you are and how much you have thought about your story.

"But Topazadine, I am special and different! I'm not going to follow your advice."

Sure. Go ahead. I can't stop you. If you want to have a million characters and an entire dictionary to explain everything, that is your choice.

No one can tell you how to write; my advice is just advice.

If you don't like what I have said here, then feel free to ignore it. You don't need to justify it to me or anyone else.

However, you must recognize that this may not resonate with readers. It will turn people off.

I'm not a completionist, and neither are many others; they'll roll their eyes and click out when they are faced with ten pages of character names upfront.

Of course you should always write for yourself first, but if you are planning to write fiction for any level of commercial appeal and you intend to make any amount of money on your work, then audience does matter. If you want kudos or comments on your AU, audience matters. You won't get engagement if you are alienating people.

Your writing decisions are always your own and no one can demand you do something different. You just need to decide whether your personal satisfaction in writing your story in a certain way outweighs your desire for validation, and, perhaps, money. I can't tell you the answer for that; it's up to you.

If you enjoyed this, maybe you'll consider reading my fantasy book, 9 Years Yearning, which does not have 121238103 characters and 3230123 strange words. It does, however, have double-tsundere-mutual-pining-gay-boy-awakening. And horses. It's also just $3.

[demonslayerunhinged]

Unhinged analysis

Why is Sanemi so aggro? (Part 2)

This section is mostly from a class/economic standpoint and doesn't really focus on the demon attack on his family. It is also not only based on my little understanding based on the research I did about poverty and class in Edo/Late Meiji Japan but also based on my experiences as someone who grew up poverty-er-adjacent.

This blog here has an article that does a deep dive into Sanemi based on Japanese culture and history. Their work was what inspired me to do a deeper dive into Sanemi's poor backgoround. It's in Japanese but the translations are so worth it, and they have writeups on other characters!

Now lets get to it, this is post is going to be very long and very sappy, be warned.

His Background

We all know that Sanemi grew up poor, but it's poor in a way that's different from the other characters. We can attribute Gyomei's poverty to his religious faith in a way, Tanjiro and Muichiro are more modest than actually poor - at least they own their houses. The Shinazugawas had a shitty landlord whose son made fun of them for being 'the poor people with too many kids', they lived in these rundown, face-to-face, the-neighbors-know-all-your-business row houses.

Sanemi grew up in the slums with a population of citizens who were essentially 'left behind' during the rise of urbanization and industrialization. These citizens not only had to deal with characterizations that portray them as being ignorant, uneducated, boorish, dirty, aggressive, mannerless and ignorant, but also with being preyed upon by greedy landlords, merchants and businessmen. The government weren't of much help either because they would rather put in efforts into removing them as far as possible from the modern cities, away from the eyes of foreigners.

In my experience, slum dwellers rarely if ever rise above their station in life. Their lack of education and exposure prevents them from making a better life for themselves and even if they do move to the city, they are stuck doing menial or manual labor jobs with shitty pay. They spend their entire lives in perpetual poverty no matter how hard they work and how many jobs they take because they're ultimately fighting a system that has not only abandoned them but also creates policies that prevent them from moving higher in life.

Due to these frustrations, a lot of them take up gambling and drinking alcohol to cope with their sorrows. Frustrations with the system and with their situations lead to a lot of them taking up gambling and developing alcoholism to cope. There is also high rate of violence among them, especially domestic violence as heads of households who were usually the ones to go out into the world and deal with the discrimination and struggles while trying to pursue low class jobs would take out their anger on their wives and ultimately children. The children who grow up in this environment, where violence is all they know would eventually go on to become abusers themselves when they start families of their own, that is, if they don't die of illness or are killed before that.

You can read more about it here, here, here, here and here.

We can see that with Sanemi's dad, the piece of shit who took out all his anger and frustrations on his wife and children before ultimately becoming a victim of violence himself.

After his death, we see Sanemi having to take up the responsibility of taking care of the family as was culturally expected of the firstborn and the oldest boy - similar to Tanjiro. When Sanemi's dad died, he had to take up a job to take care of the family. In the scene where he talks with Genya about their dad's death and their promise to take care of their mother and siblings, we can see that Sanemi is pulling a rickshaw.

Rickshaw pullers were among the lowest classes of manual labor, they were referred to sometimes as 'Human horses' and while they were mostly known for transporting people, they were also hired by merchants and regular people to transport goods as well. We're not told of the work his mother did before she turned into a demon, but she might have been a domestic worker or a waitress of some sort. It's not hard to imagine that there were times when the kids had to go hungry.

So what's the point of all this story? Well because children who come from these backgrounds are not only often violent and aggressive in their language, conduct and personality but even if they do manage to make it to adulthood and by some miracle manage to break through the class barrier they often come out of the other side with a MASSIVE inferiority complex.

And our dear boy Sanemi has one, big time.

Now that we've talked about his background, let's talk about how all this contributes to his....

Relationships

In the fandom, the main complaints about Sanemi is his behavior towards Giyuu, Tanjiro, the demon slayer trainees and Genya, so I'm going to focus on just these.

Giyuu

Like I've mentioned before @roseameilatempest already posted a great write-up about Sanemi and his complicated relationship with Giyuu, so I'm just adding to it.

The two main things that create friction in their relationship, aside from Giyuu's inability to communicate are Sanemi's low self-esteem and his aggressive personality. The low self-esteem really showed itself when he questioned Giyuu at the Hashira meeting about his 'I'm not like you guys attitude'.

In this scene he asks

Which is a really interesting question because of all the Hashiras he's the only one who voices this sentiment. Obanai just talks about Giyuu wanting to get ahead, Shinobu just asks him to explain himself, Muichiro doesn't really care, but there's the thing about being the baby of the group so he may not want to butt-in to the 'adult' matters. Gyomei is praying.

Sanemi's the only one who stands up and confronts Giyuu about the matter but given his background as previously discussed it's almost as if he's asking "Are you looking down on me?".

From the little we know of Giyuu's backstory, he didn't grow up in poverty. After his family died, he went to go live with relatives before making the decision to leave and join the corps. He has fair skin and soft looking features in contrast to Sanemi's rough, scarred ones. He has slim, delicate-looking hands with piano-playing fingers compared to Sanemi large, knobby, rough-looking hands with early-onset-arthritis-ass fingers.

Even his conduct has a certain air of class to it. So when Giyuu says stuff like 'I'm not like other girls-I mean Hashira', the inferiority complex part of Sanemi is triggered, and he takes it as an attack on him thinking that Giyuu is looking down on him because of his poor background and his class.

But Sanemi deep down cares, even if he doesn't realize it. Instead of dismissing Giyuu as just being a dick, he tries to get an answer, an explanation, but because of his rough way of speaking and his aggressive personality it comes out confrontational. He doesn't know how to express himself in a non-aggressive way because nobody ever taught him how.

Tanjiro(bestest boy ❤)

Ah yes, Sanemi's BFF. I'm honestly surprised that some people don't understand why Sanemi does not vibe with Tanjiro. Tanjiro embarrassed him in their first meeting, only to escape the consequences for his actions because of the Master's benevolence. He questioned his worth as a Hashira which, as mentioned in the previous post, is the core of Sanemi's identity.

In their second encounter, Tanjiro(bestest boy ❤) talked back to him. Now, despite all the wacky and interesting characters, the fancy mods to their uniform with the haoris and stuff, the Demon Slayers Corps are still a military organization. They have a hierarchy, they have rules and punishments for those who break them and within the context of the military and cultural values: You don't talk back to your superiors, you don't disrespect them and you most certainly don't embarrass them no matter how in the right you feel you are. It's not fair, it just is. Some superiors may tolerate it like Tengen, Giyuu, Mitsuri and Shinobu but others, like Sanemi, Gyomei, Obanai and even Muichiro will not.

I mean, even Mitsuri complained about Genya's behavior when she first met him, even though his actions were because of him being shy.

The first time Tanjiro(bestest boy ❤) disrespected Sanemi, he was on neutral ground, the Master's mansion. Kagaya is a saint, so he understood Tanjiro's actions, but remember he also chided Tanjiro a bit, even if it was in a soft manner. Now in this second encounter, He's in Sanemi's house, in his domain, and you can't come about here disrespecting your senior in their own house. And If you do, be prepared to face the consequences.

Tanjiro(bestest boy ❤) then embarrassed Sanemi again by (rightfully) calling him out on his shitty behavior towards Genya, in public, in front of his other subordinates. He then proceeds to not only block Sanemi's punch but to counter it with an embarrassing kick to the neck, RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE SCRUBS! Like what? In some organizations, you could be penalized and immediately kicked out, but like I said, Kagaya is a saint.

That's why Tanjiro(bestest boy ❤) was given the reprimand and Sanemi wasn't. Because he was in the wrong.

The concept may seem foreign to people who grew up in the west, but for those of us from home countries that have rigid power and class structures, we know this pain all too well.

That's why you talk and complain about your superiors BEHIND their backs, like Zenitsu does.

I swear, Zenitsu is probably the realest character in the series, I love him so much 😂.

Then in the last encounter they had, Tanjiro embarrassed Sanemi again, but this time it's worse because he did it RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIS CRUSH!

Your senior's business is not your business, if you see them fighting, it's best just to leave them alone and pray it's the one you hate that gets his ass kicked.

So here's Sanemi trying to communicate with his crush, and he's about to get to the part where they get to put their hands on each other ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°). Then Tanjiro comes up and gets between them, ignoring the restraining order and then asking if they were fighting over ohagi.

He then reveals Sanemi's biggest secret: That he's gay-I-mean-er likes ohagi. Neither Tanjiro(bestest boy ❤) nor Giyuu see any problem with this because soft boys but for a tough, scary man like Sanemi this is a problem. He's a man, he shouldn't be taking sweets! (which is like a real thing in Japan, so i learned. You can read about it here, here, here and here), also Sanemi loves ohagi becuase his mom used to make it; men shouldn't be thinking about their mommies! Men should be tough and only eat manly things like raw bull testicles and cement!

Then Tanjiro(bestest boy ❤) drives the knife even further by asking him about his ohagi preferences, while Giyuu (who unknown to Sanemi is glad to have found an opportunity to rizz him up) asks him to confirm but in Sanemi's mind he thinks Giyuu is making fun of him too.

So Tanjiro has, so far, called him a shitty Hashira, a shitty brother, and now a shitty man. All he wanted to do was smash and now he's getting pressed by a 16 year old. So yea, our boy is going to react in the only way he knows how - by giving Tanjiro a swift clock to the jaw.

At this point, you've gotta pity Sanemi, he's the real victim in this relationship. But let's move on.

The Trainees

This is another complaint that also confuses me because the answer is so obvious. Why is Sanemi hard on the trainees?

Because Sanemi's training is Infinite Strikes! Because his training is supposed to be hard! Because they're at war! Because Muzan might be coming soon! Because this is a military training! Because the Hashiras are basically Drill Sergeants! Because Sanemi says fuck you!

But seriously, I don't understand why Sanemi and Obanai are getting hate for their training methods when Tengen's was just as harsh, Mitsuri was basically ending family bloodlines, Muichiro deadass was about to sashimi someone's child.

And Gyomei? Gyomei's training basically qualifies as torture by the Geneva convention laws. You see these guys below? These boys are all dead! Dead, i tell you! You can't convince me otherwise!

Even Inosuke died!

The training is meant to be harsh because it's not just the trainees lives at stake, it's the people of Japan, it's the lives of their friends, families and loved ones. The Hashiras know this and Sanemi whose whole life revolves around being a demon slayer and killer, especially knows this.

He and Obanai don't have the luxury of sending the junior slayers back for their protection like they did in the mansion. Like we saw in the last episode of the season, Muzan came after everyone not just the Hashira. Despite his rough and harsh exterior, Sanemi actually cares about his colleagues and his subordinates and he doesn't want them to die needlessly. If that means he has to be the 'bad' Hashira, then that's fine with him.

Genya

There's no justification for the shit he pulled trying to poke Genya's eyes out. I've made like two posts regarding this before about how his actions were not only stupid but will ultimately be pointless because Genya is amazing!

Aside from wanting to keep Genya safe (whatever that means), I think one of the reasons Sanemi doesn't want to come in contact with Genya is because when he's around Genya he's reminded of the past and trauma that he's trying to repress. I don't think it was a random choice that older Genya is dressed in a way almost similar to baby Genya. So everytime Sanemi sees him, despite Genya's size and the awesome things he's done, all he can see is that little boy that he almost failed to protect, that called him a monster, that rejected him and seeing that reopens that old core wound. That he's a monster.

Sanemi isn't ready to face all that, so with the little understanding of his own emotions and the trappings of toxic masculinity, he pushes Genya away becuase doing so is way, way, way easier than talking to his brother. It's easier than revealing to Genya that Genya's words did hurt him, that he failed to protect their mom and siblings and that maybe Genya is right, he is a monster, that even though he saved Genya it doesn't change the fact that he used his very hands to kill the only person that loved and protected them in this world.

I think a lot of people really underestimate the gravity of what baby Sanemi did. Tanjiro couldn't kill Nezuko and I'm sure he himself would've rather died than raise a hand to his loved ones but Tanjiro was lucky in a sick way because Nezuko was not only the only survivor but encountered Giyuu who who gave him the opportunity to save Nezuko, essentially giving her a second life. Sanemi never had that chance. In order to protect his brother, he had to kill his beloved mother, and you can just imagine the amount of damage that can do to a child's psyche.

I read a comment on Youtube that said this was probably the reason why Sanemi was so feverently against the Master's defence of Nezuko and that when Nezuko rejected his blood, his whole worldview must have shattered because if Nezuko was able to overcome her demonic urges and still maintain her sanity, why couldn't his beloved mother?

But you might ask, how come Genya seems fine? Well, he wasn't at first, he was basically Sanemi 2.0 but he was able to make peace with himself, escape the trappings of toxic masculinity and the violence that they were raised in. Instead of bottling up his emotions, he wants to reach out, to apologize for his behavior, to mend their brotherhood because no matter how Sanemi is now, no matter how many times he tells him to get lost, no matter the harsh words he throws at him, to Genya he'll always be his Aniki.

The same Aniki who's been looking out for him, the same Aniki that sought him out and comforted him after he punched the landlord's shitty son, the same Aniki who gave him a piggyback ride despite them practically being the same height just to make Genya feel happy and loved, the same Aniki who let out that brilliant laugh after they made the promise to protect their family as he pulled the Rickshaw to make some money for the family, the same Aniki who is the sweetest, kindest person in the whole world.

While we see the rough, scarred, aggressive and scary Sanemi, Genya only sees this:

I'm sure a lot of us know what it's like to be angry, to lash out, to push people away and how difficult it is go through life in a world that doesn't care about you or your trauma. We know what it's like to be left behind and forgotten. We wander aimlessly through life hurting with a feeling of emptiness and we don't even know why. Some of us overcome, some of us don't. We just make do with the tools and little resources we have and Sanemi is a painful reminder of that.

In Conclusion, Sanemi is a complex character. He's not all star good, he's a dick, some of his actions are straightup unhinged, but that's what makes him human. He's not perfect, and for us to appreciate this character we have to accept him in all his wild, raging, scarred, petty-ass, little-brother-eye-poking, women's-size-7-feet-having, ohagi-loving glory.

[theharrowing]

Collateral 🗡️ 21: It's now or never

Your ex-boyfriend gets in over his head working for the local mafia, and Boss Min has come to collect his payment: You.

But was it simply a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or has he always had his sights on you?

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

🗡️ Yoongi x Female Reader x Namjoon, Jungkook x Female Reader

🗡️ word count: 19.4k

🗡️ mafia au, strangers to lovers, graphic violence, major character injury, poly, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit 21+ 

🗡️warnings: anxiety spiraling; Yoongi's scar; baby Jimin is still in a coma; explicit smut (oral, vaginal, and anal sex; face riding; squirting; spitroasting; getting messy with cum; all holes tended to; ass eating and mutual fingering; some very interesting positions that i don't know how to name; subby Yoongi; mc being a bit more dominant; Namjoon is Namjoon; subspace; multiple orgasms; overstimulation; semi-public sex); graphically violent dreams; mc has a lot a lot a lot a lot of feelings.

🗡️note: we're speedrunning the healing time of a headwound okay medical professionals. ignore how fast Yoongi heals. anyway, big should out to @sweetestofchaos for the existence of Dionysus, the club in this fic. more details in the end notes so please check those out!!! also lmaooo this chapter made me and my beta reader cry so good luck!!!

🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin!

🗡️ posted on dec. 2023 | read on ao3

The flight to Hong Kong is a little over three and a half hours, but you are so antsy the entire time that it feels like it takes all fucking day. Namjoon attempts to distract you with episodes of an anime that involves demon hunting, you think, but you are unable to focus on the plot.

He even attempts to distract you with his hands and lips, leaving warm kisses along the expanse of your neck while his hands push up the skirt of your floral sundress, charting familiar paths they took only a few hours earlier and so many times before—many times which had ended with your thighs wrapped around his neck, begging for reprieve from overwhelming pleasure. 

But you are unable to stop your mind from running in circles. You cannot relax.

All you can think about is Yoongi and his wound. Yoongi and his distance. Yoongi and whatever the fuck he is doing in Hong Kong. Yoongi meeting with members of the Busan family—meeting with his ex. 

This morning, lying in Yoongi's bed, it was much easier to relax and let go of your worries. But now, in the air, on your way to see him, you cannot quiet your mind for the life of you. 

Mere hours, laying in Yoongi's large bed with an afterglow from Namjoon's talented mouth and hands, the two of you had a nice talk about his fears and worries, putting a lot into perspective and assuaging all the feelings of bitterness and frustration that you felt over the last several days. You truly do not blame him for needing to have some time and space to himself—he and Yoongi have a bond so deep, it is no wonder that Namjoon's thoughts become insurmountable. 

Namjoon admitted that he had actually not been able to get ahold of Yoongi and that you were going to surprise him with a visit tomorrow, having already spoken to Uiseok about dropping in. Everything he said about Yoongi regretting creating distance and all that was just him babbling because he was high and stressed out—something you relate to after the night you and Jeongguk shared. He was desperate to keep you from worrying as much as he was.

But then Yoongi finally responded to Namjoon's texts and it changed the trajectory of everything, spurring you two to get onto a plane as quickly as possible. What was originally meant to be a trip to bring him home tomorrow became a mad dash to pack a suitcase and get onto a flight as soon as you could. The piggyback ride from Jeongguk's place was only about nine hours earlier, yet it feels like so much time has passed. 

And if all of this is not enough, you spiral thinking about the whirlwind of returning to Namjoon's arms after the tumultuous night spent with Jeongguk, barely able to fathom the fact that you are closing in on Hong Kong and that in the next hour or so you will be back in Yoongi's arms. It takes all the effort you have to not think back to Jeongguk asking those fateful words. Do you think you could fall for someone like me?

All that matters to you is that you, Yoongi, and Namjoon will soon be back together at last. It feels like each time you make progress in your relationship and something good happens that pulls you closer, something terrible happens that rips you apart. You are certain that you cannot possibly handle another thing ripping the three of you apart. Not after all you have been through. 

When the plane finally begins to descend, your heart goes haywire. All you want is to wrap your arms around Yoongi and bring him home. There has been too much distance between the two of you lately, and you are beginning to feel sick with worry. Instead you hug your purse tight to your chest, feeling cool black leather against your palms.

You operate on autopilot as the cabin door opens and Namjoon ushers you out into the cool evening. Once more, you are landing in Hong Kong in the later hours of the day, and once more you have no intent on enjoying your stay, despite how much a small part of you wishes that you could. 

Uiseok and the rest of The Tigers have done absolutely nothing wrong, as far as you know, yet they are the last people you want to sit and schmooze with. Your nerves are too on edge and fragile, and you are not sure you have the patience for any amount of socializing at the moment. 

You practically insist on the pilot keeping the engine running, and you are thankful that the two of you have packed nothing more than a suitcase each with the bare minimum items that you need in order to enjoy a brief stay away from home. A member of the family's staff rolls the suitcases behind you, and you have half a mind to tell him to just leave them on the plane.

"Worst case scenario, we should be able to sleep in Taehyung's suite," Namjoon says as you stomp toward the familiar red and white car, hoping to find Yoongi inside—hoping to drag him out by the lapels and usher him straight onto the private jet. 

You hum in response and round the back of the car, bending low to peer inside, feeling your anger rise when you realize it is only Sohee who waits for you and no other passengers. A low, impatient grumble works from your chest through your lips and you sigh, then reach for the door handle and yank. 

"Welcome back," Sohee sing-songs with a sweet smile, body rotated to face you as best as she can.

Although it feels unconvincing, you smile back, doing your best to appear as friendly as possible given the current circumstances. It is not her fault that you are so pissed off, and you do not wish to take your anger out on her. 

Namjoon surprises you by approaching the front passenger seat and sliding in, and you huff out a sigh as you reach for your seatbelt and fight the urge to insist Sohee drives now before you lose your fucking mind. 

"I would have brought the lover boy but Uiseok mentioned it was meant to be a surprise," Sohee explains as she drives off, away from the jet. "I have a feeling the surprise has already been ruined, however; he was getting into the shower shortly before I left and muttering about getting presentable."

What kind of state is Yoongi in, you wonder. Has he been drinking and doing drugs? Has he been busy with new ideas for keeping the family safe? Is his hair still the same? Has he let himself go? More than a week has passed but it feels like it has been months.

Although you have only been here once, the scenery looks familiar. Green makes up the bulk of the neon lights, with bright bursts of red, yellow, and blue, and you allow your gaze to linger on details just long enough to capture them but not long enough to try to decipher anything. You even space out long enough that when Sohee pulls past a familiar restaurant front, you feel a burst of anxiety and begin to somewhat mindlessly pick at the hem of your soft light blue sweater sleeve. 

Without a word, the three of you exit the car as soon as she pulls up across the street from the pseudo restaurant. If you had a key to the place, you would be sprinting ahead, but instead you linger back and stumble forward at times, unsure what pace your body wants to keep; unsure whether you can handle being here at all. 

Namjoon's hand finds your lower back and the warmth is nice, but everything else about this trip feels ominous and off. There is something in the air that you cannot sort out the weight of, and it makes you want to squeeze your eyes closed and curl into a ball. 

Only when the door to the fake restaurant is opened and you enter the fluorescently lit space, do you realize Namjoon and Sohee are carrying on conversation. But what they are talking about flies right past you. 

That is, until Namjoon says, "Nah, I haven't spoken to her in years."

"Hmm?" you mutter as Namjoon's warm palm guides you to the right, through the kitchen and toward the walk-in cooler. 

"She was much more soft-spoken than I expected," Sohee says, and you turn your attention to your left, to Namjoon, waiting for what he has to say next, in search of context clues because you do not want to admit that you have not been paying attention. You step into the cooler and blink as your eyes adjust to the much darker room.

Namjoon cracks a smile but his eyes are glazed over and distant as he stares ahead. "Her being soft-spoken is a mask, but so is any show of confidence. Truth be told, I don't think her father ever allowed her to learn how to express herself genuinely." He turns to you with a wink and adds, "Which is probably why Yoongi was so drawn to me while they were together," and you realize they are discussing Ryujin. 

"Was she here?" you ask as the three of you exit the cooler and you are forced to go in front of Namjoon while entering the narrow hallway. 

Sohee hums an affirmative with a shrug and halfway glances over her shoulder at you without looking past her curtain of dark hair to say, "But don't worry, Yoongi didn't seem too thrilled to see her."

The implication that you may be jealous makes you somewhat mad but you are in no mood to voice it. Sohee is not exactly someone you are eager to be on friendly or unfriendly terms with, and saying anything one way or another might sway you out of your current stance of perfect neutrality. You would rather keep your mouth shut and accomplish the task that you came here to see through without any conflict. 

You do hum, however. A burst of sound that is vaguely a drawn out consonant. Namjoon's hand rubs a small circle, and you keep your eyes on the furnishings that come into view when you enter the large chaotic maroon and gold space at the end of the hallway, doing your best to avoid looking at Sohee and anyone else who may be in the room. You can already sense that Yoongi is not present because neither Yoongi or Namjoon would be able to keep his presence a secret. 

"Like I said," Sohee yawns, tilting her head toward a hallway to the left, "in the shower."

As soon as the words leave her lips, you can hear the unmistakable sound of running water coming from a room down the hallway, and you toe out of your black sneakers and begin to make your way toward it. 

"Guest room is the third door on the right," Sohee informs and you nod while making your way to that very doorway without hesitation. You can sense without looking that Namjoon is following close behind. 

With heavy footfalls and a light sway to your step, you feel drunk—senses heightened yet somehow dull; details bright and twisted as if through a kaleidoscope. How many more times are you going to have to feel this dreaded anticipation laced with hope? This cannot be the lifestyle that you grow accustomed to and yet, you cannot stop your body from moving forward. 

The door is closed and you do not bother to knock before reaching for the small brass knob and pushing your way through. A terrible, dark part of you expects to find some sign of Yoongi's ex lingering in the room as if she has been the one to keep him company in your absence. But all you find is a small bed with the sheet pulled down on one side, one pillow that is indented and one that looks perfectly untouched, and a metal rack on which several black suits hang. 

A suitcase is sprawled open beneath a window that lets in the glow of streetlights and light reflected from the nearly full moon, and there are shirts, joggers, ties, and a square black bottle of cologne sitting on top. No sign of Ryujin, because why would there be?

The water shuts off in the bathroom, and rather than join Namjoon, who takes a seat at the foot of the bed, you yank the bathroom door open and call, "Yoongi!"

"Darling?" Yoongi responds through the fog and your legs turn soft, threatening to topple you over. 

Somehow your limbs manage to carry you forward, and you step into the yellow tiled room and come face to face with the man you love, gaze gravitating straight to his wound. Yoongi keeps the injured eye closed and you can see the stitches that run over his lid and brow and down to the apple of his cheek, along a reddened gash. Nausea rises, and you stumble to the right, hand gripping to the edge of the sink. 

"Fuck," you mutter before you can stop yourself, but Yoongi's smile does not falter.

He stands before you dripping wet and nude, and if you were not so overcome with the urge to vomit and run far, far away, your hands would be reaching to explore. How could you have done this to him? How can he smile at you as if it is nothing?

"Just a scratch," Yoongi says as he steps close, failing to assuage your anxiety. It almost angers you how nonchalant he is about it. 

"No," is all you can bring yourself to say, voice shaken and deep.

"Darling, please," Yoongi tries, stepping close with a pastel pink towel dangling from his fingertips that he makes no move to use on his wet skin. "You didn't come all this way to be too afraid to look at me, did you?"

Consonants and vowels attempt to pass through your lips as you shake your head, eyes and mouth worried and wide. "N-not— I'm—"

"Hey handsome," Namjoon says from behind you, ripping you from the trance you feel stuck in, and you twist quickly, slamming into Namjoon's chest before scrambling around him, out of his weak attempts at grasping you as you stumble back to the bed. 

All at once your body disagrees with gravity and you fall to your knees, arms reaching out to the bed but barely able to hang on. "What have I done?" you mumble weakly under your breath. 

Your head shakes listlessly while your eyes attempt to focus on the patterns of the comforter that you can feel but cannot see—lines of embroidered thread in shades of pink and red. You feel frantic and dizzy; sick to your stomach, and you are tempted to ask Sohee to drive you back to the jet. 

"I imagine it can't be easy," you hear Yoongi say sweetly in that kind and gentle voice that is reserved for you and Namjoon. "I am not offended in the least."

"Sweetheart," Namjoon calls, forcing your shoulders to lift to your ears. Why can't you disappear, just for a moment? Poof into thin air and become a dust mote while you get your bearings and stop panicking. "Did you take your medication this evening?"

It occurs to you that you have not. You manage to slide your arms down and rotate until you are on your butt on the floor with your shoulder leaning against the side of the mattress. You open the flap of your black leather purse and reach in to grab your phone, wondering why your daily alarm never went off, and you pull the device out only to realize that it has died. 

With a sigh, you rummage further in search of a little square pill packet. Before you can ask for water, you hear the bathroom sink running and a moment later, Namjoon emerges and hands you a small, dark yellow glass cup, which you reach for with shaking hands. You take a gulp of tepid water before setting the cup onto the floor and ripping open not only a packet of your medication, but a packet of Xanax, as well. 

"Would you prefer to stay here for the night or in Taehyung's suite?" Namjoon asks as he crouches before you, lifting a hand to gently rub the backs of his knuckles against your arm. 

"I wanna go home," you mutter weakly before knocking the pills from your palm to your mouth and swallowing them down with another gulp of water. Your eyes stare ahead to the side of Yoongi's open suitcase and the pile of black linen that pours from it.

"We could go home if you wish," Yoongi says, legs coming into the periphery.

You drink the last of the water and clench the small glass tight in your hand, then say, "I'm sorry," while closing your eyes.

"There's no need to apologize," Yoongi responds, voice close as if he, too, is crouched beside you. 

You keep your eyes closed as you mutter, "I didn't mean to react so poorly. It's been a long day…a long fucking week." 

"Care to talk about it?" Yoongi asks.

Namjoon's knuckles continue to run up and down your arm, pushing and pulling gently at the fabric of your sweater, and you squeeze your eyes tighter and shake your head. "I want to sleep."

"Here or in Taehyung's suite?" Namjoon asks once more. 

"Or in the jet?" Yoongi adds. 

What you really want is to turn around and go home. You feel exhausted and seeing Yoongi is much harder than you expected. But it feels like a waste of time and resources to fly all the way here only to go straight back, so you concede to a night in Hong Kong and even allow yourself to consider doing a little sightseeing tomorrow if the three of you feel up to it. 

"The suite," you finally say, and Namjoon stops caressing you in order to stand and place a phone call. 

"Darling," Yoongi tries, and you finally pry your eyes open, finding that you have to blink a couple of times. When you turn to him, his injured eye is still closed and his open eye is downturned and concerned. "Is it really that horrible to see me?"

"No," you admit, because you really ought to stop being such a baby.

"I've missed you so much, but if I am being honest, this is one of the reasons I have been keeping a distance."

Guilt overtakes your fear and you suddenly feel terrible. "Oh."

"I thought that maybe if I healed first, you would want to look at me like you used to," Yoongi says with a frown. 

You begin to peel yourself off the end of the bed and rotate fully to face Yoongi, who crouches in just a pair of black briefs with the pink towel slung around his shoulders. His hair hangs like a damp black curtain around his pretty face, cheeks a little flushed, and you feel the sudden urge to crawl into his arms. 

"It's not that I don't want to look at you," you respond weakly while Namjoon paces around the bathroom speaking into his phone, presumably to Taehyung. "I just feel so awful, and seeing the injury is a reminder of how I fucked up."

Yoongi sighs and his lips turn up to a soft smile. "Darling, I can never hold an accident against you and Namjoon. Please know that I am not upset with you."

"Alright," you respond, unsure whether you are fully ready to accept what Yoongi says, but willing to at least try.

Namjoon returns and says, "Tae's calling the hotel now."

"I took a Xanax," you admit with a frown and both men begin to chuckle. 

"Do you want to try to eat something before you get too sleepy?" Namjoon asks, and you shake your head, making his smile widen. "Alright, then we'll order room service once we get there, because I definitely need to eat something."

The rest of the evening is a blur, in part because your emotions are all over the place, and in part because the medication completely dulls those emotions as you begin to shut down. Yoongi takes no time at all to get dressed and pack his suitcase once Taehyung calls with the confirmation that he has booked his suite for the three of you. 

Rather than ask one of The Tigers to drive you to the suite, Yoongi calls a driver who picks you up in the same type of armored vehicle that the men drive back home. You close your eyes once you are settled in the backseat and barely register Namjoon carrying you from the sedan to the penthouse and tucking you into bed. 

Thrice you wake up—once to pee and once because you hear a loud sound from the main room of the suite, you presume from the television. And then you wake up to the feeling of the bed dipping on either side of you and warm arms wrapping you in an embrace that feels like home.

You are somehow the last to wake up in the morning, and you find both Yoongi and Namjoon getting dressed in black tees tucked into black slacks. Yoongi wears his black eyepatch and has the top half of his hair pulled into a bun atop his head while the rest hangs almost to his shoulders.

"Are we leaving?" you ask, catching the attention of both men, who turn to you with smiles.

"Is it alright that we do?" Yoongi responds, threading a black leather belt through the loops of his slacks. "I know we have never done proper sightseeing here, but I am somewhat eager to get home."

"We can go home," you say as you sit up, stretching your stiff limbs and feeling groggy from getting too much sleep. 

Namjoon adjusts the Rolex around his wrist, then approaches with a smile, kneeling on the edge of the bed to lean close and give you a kiss, which you meet him halfway for. "After we have some breakfast," he says, and you smile widely and nod. 

Part of you laments going home already because you do not wish to return to a world where Yoongi has responsibilities. You imagine how nice it would be to stay in bed all day with the two of them and it tugs at your heartstrings. 

What would it be like to have a couple of days off like regular people? Sure, Yoongi has the money and influence to go anywhere and do anything, but it only feels like an illusion of freedom.

By the time you roll out of bed and stumble into a pair of black leggings and tug on a black sweater, room service is delivered and causing the entire suite to smell of eggs, meats, sweet breads, and coffee. The three of you share an easygoing breakfast with Namjoon and Yoongi discussing the deal that was struck while you space out and stare ahead at the table of food. 

And once you are finished eating, the three of you head back to the airport for a nice flight just short of four hours that involves the two of them talking over the same demon hunting anime that you struggled to pay attention to the first time.

Hoseok greets the three of you at the airport, and you are pleased to see his smiling face. You even surprise him with a hug when he exits the vehicle to hug the men, and you assure him that you have been taking good care of the pajamas he so graciously gifted you.

"So, the deal," Hoseok prompts as soon as everyone is settled, with Namjoon in the front seat and Yoongi joining you in the back.

"The girls are going to back off," Yoongi responds through a sigh as if he is bored of talking about this already. "We are keeping the dock in Busan and I am offering them a higher cut to keep them off our asses. With Jimin still injured, there is nobody I trust to oversee Serendipity aside from Jeongguk, so I have offered it to Ryujin as a consolation prize."

"Eager to keep Jeongguk home?" Namjoon asks.

Yoongi hums in agreement. "We just got him back here full time and I would like to keep it that way. Once Jimin does wake up, he will need all the help he can get at Paradise."

"And did they have anything to say about the attacks?" Hoseok asks, causing you to feel uneasy.

Yoongi hums and takes his time responding, reaching across the empty middle seat to find your hand and hold onto it. You lace your fingers with his and stare down at your conjoined hands, waiting for him to continue.

"Ryujin apologized and admitted she was being a brat. She had the gall to say she was only sending out pawns to shake things up a bit, and that she never expected any of us to get hurt."

"Fucking bitch," Namjoon grits just barely loud enough for you to hear, and although you agree, you are surprised to hear him say that.

With another sigh, Yoongi adds, "She seems very remorseful for Jimin and offered a handsome sum of money to assist with his hospital bills, but I turned her down. The last thing I need is to give her a reason to hold anything else over my head…plus I don't need her fucking money. When she promised never to attack again, it felt genuine, but I suppose we will have to see how it goes."

"And Hyungseo?" Hoseok asks.

"It seems Ryujin has given over responsibility to Hyungseo but still calls the shots in many ways. I can't quite figure the two of them out."

Namjoon turns enough to look over his shoulder at Yoongi. "What do you mean?"

"They seem…close," Yoongi says, gently squeezing your hand as he pauses. 

Hoseok's voice is dripping with intrigue. "Close, how?"

"Too close to just be friends," Yoongi responds, "but maybe I am just reading into things too much. Either way, she kept her distance from me when we met, so whatever Hyungseo is doing, it is keeping her distracted."

"Thank god," you mutter before you can stop yourself, earning another squeeze from Yoongi's hand. 

Before anything else can be said, Hoseok makes a right turn and you hear the telltale sign of the metal gates scraping open, gaining you access to the mansion. And as soon as Hoseok pulls into the driveway, your eyes land on a sleek dark grey Porsche that sits in front of the garage. Atop the sports car is a giant red bow, and you know before asking that it is a gift for you.

"We're still two days away," Yoongi explains, referring to your birthday as he squeezes your hand once again, "but we couldn't resist."

You are so focused on the Porsche that you do not notice Jeongguk until Hoseok pulls up beside the car and he comes walking over from the mansion's front door, twirling the key fob around his index finger. 

Jeongguk is dressed in satin as if he is headed off to Paradise next, and the thought makes you feel sad; you wonder if they will bother to open it back up before Jimin recovers. The feeling does not have a chance to linger, however, because before you can hone in on the thought for too long, Jeongguk is opening your door with an impatient smile, eyes wide as if wondering what the hell is taking you so long to unbuckle your seatbelt. 

"Dollface," he says, kicking up butterflies and anxiety in your tummy.

"Gguk," you respond softly as you reach for the seatbelt and undo it. 

Everyone else is out of the vehicle by the time you are shoving Jeongguk out of the way and placing your feet on the ground. Your legs are tired from sitting for so many hours, and you stand on your toes to stretch before reaching for the key to your new car, which Jeongguk predictably holds over his head. 

With a huff, you reach, but it is no use, making you frustrated enough to shove at his chest with your palms, barely making him stumble backward. Thankfully Namjoon is on your side, and he reaches for the key fob and frees it from Jeongguk's grasp, making the youngest pout. 

"Thanks, Joonbug," you say with a wink as he hands it over, leaning close for a kiss before he lets you have it. 

The car is gorgeous, but there is only one problem…

"I haven't driven in years," you admit sheepishly, feeling your palm begin to sweat as it grips onto the key fob. "I don't know if I even remember how."

Namjoon says, "We'll teach you," at the same time Jeongguk says, "We can take her for a spin," making your cheeks warm. 

You turn to the left to find Yoongi—who has been awfully quiet—leaning against the nose of Hoseok's sedan. He smiles and nods his chin to Namjoon, saying, "He's an excellent teacher," and that settles it. Or, perhaps you will allow both men to give you guidance, and Yoongi if he wants. It takes a village, and all that.  

Although you are thrilled to be trusted with this symbol of freedom, you are also swallowing back so many emotions. This car has to have cost them quite a lot.

"She's armored," Yoongi says, pulling your attention back to him. As he steps toward the car and rubs his palm over the curve of its hood, you laugh to yourself over the way he is already personifying it. 

But then his words sink in, and you understand the gravity of them. Your concern must show, because he cocks his head, searching your face before adding, "As an extra precaution. We armor every car that we buy, darling; no need to worry."

"Of course," you mutter, returning your gaze to the car, then looking around to the men present. Your eyes trail from Namjoon to Jeongguk as you say, "Thank you," before returning to Yoongi.

"Yoongi bought it," Namjoon says playfully. "We just helped pick it out."

"It's beautiful."

"This is the first of many gifts," Yoongi says as he approaches, dragging his fingertips along the hood of the car until he no longer can and letting his arm fall to his side. "You will have plenty to unwrap in the coming days."

Your heart pounds and you smile, taking a step toward Yoongi and reaching for his belt loops, giving him a little tug that makes his smile widen. 

"And what if I just want to unwrap you?" You ask, causing a sigh and a groan from two of the four men present.

"This is my cue to leave," Hoseok announces while Jeongguk mutters, "Take me with you, hyung," and you laugh softly, eyes never leaving Yoongi.

He says, "That can be arranged, darling," and you raise your eyebrows, eager to find out just how much he means it. It has been far too long since you have gotten to enjoy him and now that you are home, you would like nothing more than to climb into bed.

"Alright, peace out," Jeongguk shouts, followed by the chime of a bell, and you turn to find him riding away on the mint green bicycle that feels more like a thing of legend than a real object. 

Without saying goodbye, Hoseok simply drives off, leaving you, Yoongi, and Namjoon alone with your suitcases standing on the driveway. 

"Shall we?" Namjoon asks, and you nod, turning your gaze to him as he begins to unlock the mansion. 

"Yes, please," Yoongi responds, taking your hand and leading you toward the door. 

"The luggage," you say, pulling toward where the suitcases sit, but Namjoon says, "I got it. You focus on unwrapping your present," with a wink.

You are pulled up the steps into the mansion, stopping just fast enough for both you and Yoongi to kick out of your shoes—Yoongi never dropping your hand—then through the mansion and up the stairs to the second floor. Yoongi yanks one of the bedroom doors open and tugs you straight to the bed, then he spins and releases your hand to take you gently by the face and pull you in for a kiss. 

Yoongi's lips are soft and his scent is familiar, causing you to instantly relax into the feeling and lift your hands to rub over his ribs and chest, palms gracing over clothed nipples until he gasps against you. When he mutters, "Missed you," it is into your mouth and chased by his eager tongue, giving you no time to respond. 

As Yoongi begins to pull at your clothing and undress you hastily, you close your eyes and sway to the movements, lifting your arms over your head and slowly lowering them back to his chest. The air hits your bare skin, causing you to shiver, and when he eagerly shoves at your leggings, you begin to giggle, opening your eyes to find him staring at you with his one good eye.

"You're so beautiful," Yoongi mutters softly, squeezing at your heart.

All you can do is complain, "Stop," but he shakes his head and says, "It's true."

Footsteps travel up the stairs and you hear the sounds of small wheels rolling over marble and softening over a rug before the noise ends. You expect Namjoon to join the two of you, but then the sounds of slippers slapping against the steps recede, likely to continue collecting suitcases. 

Yoongi continues to paw at you, leaving the thin lace bra and panties on and pulling you at the hips to get impossibly closer while you begin to untuck Yoongi's black tee and gather the bottom hem before lifting the garment over his head. His hair is a bit wild when you toss the shirt away and you reach to push your fingers into it, mussing it up just enough to make him laugh and shake his head. 

"You're so beautiful," you say with a grin, watching as Yoongi blushes so slightly.

Namjoon's footsteps return and you begin to undo Yoongi's belt, slotting a thigh between his to apply just enough pressure to his crotch to make him hiss. Hands reach around you to assist with undressing Yoongi, and when his pants are dropped to the floor, you turn so Yoongi can assist you with undressing Namjoon.

Without words exchanged, you kiss and touch, caught between bodies, eyes cloudy. The three of you tangle together on the bed and slowly explore one another as if the time spent apart has made your fingers and lips uncertain despite following expertly charted paths. 

You make love, taking turns to focus two on one at a time, worshiping to the point of overwhelm, murmuring soft promises and professions of love. Your heart feels full and your limbs light as a feather, tingling from pleasure as you drift to sleep, unsure how much time has passed save for the gradually shifting light that comes in from outside. 

Even from the moment you wake up, you feel emotionally heavy. Your sky is overcast and the clouds are thick and threatening to burst, unlike the bright evening that greets you from outside. 

Yoongi and Namjoon are fully dressed and curled on the couch watching something on the television while Namjoon plays with Yoongi's hair. As you stir and stretch, both men notice, and Yoongi begins to sit up with a loud yawn, stretching his limbs. 

"Hey guys…" you begin, uncertain. Lately you have really been wanting to visit Jimin. And you are not sure why asking for it is so difficult, but you swallow thickly as the two of them watch you with soft, patient expressions, and you ask, "Do you think we could go see Jimin?"

Yoongi beams and Namjoon nods, and you let out the breath that felt trapped in your lungs. 

"I can call Tae and find out whether we could go right now if you want to," Yoongi suggests, and you nod, stretching one more time.

You hobble out of bed pad over to the closet to change out of the joggers and tee you slept in only to grab a new set. Your sweaters are in your own closet, and you make your way out of the master suite and over to your room, feeling like a zombie with legs that are too heavy with each step. 

Without turning on a light, you reach into the dark space and feel for a cotton sweater, yanking the sleeve out enough to see that it is a nice forest green and then yanking it harder to free it from its hanger. Since you are already in your bedroom, you brush your teeth in your own sink, then you haphazardly yank the sweater over your head and make your way back to where the men are. 

Yoongi and Namjoon stand beside the door to the master suite, and you nod to indicate that you are ready despite nobody asking, then the three of you make your way down the stairs to the main hall. You slide into some black sneakers and open the front door, greeted by a cold wind and warm sun. Winter is on the horizon. 

The walk to Taehyung's place is quiet, save for the crunch of gravel and fallen leaves underfoot. You hold Yoongi's hand on the right and Namjoon's on the left, letting go of Namjoon when you come out of the clearing at Seokjin and Hoseok's home to wave hello to the two of them who smoke on their front stoops, dressed dapperly in black and white. 

Jeongguk is also outside when you come upon his property, and he asks whether you mind that he joins you, stepping in line behind you three and filling the air with weed smoke and light conversation about the quickly changing weather. 

Once you arrive at Taehyung's house, you feel antsy. You have never seen someone in a coma before and you are scared of what you may find. 

Taehyung greets you at the front door, taking the joint from Jeongguk and offering it around before stamping it out. Being high will only make you sleepier, so saying no is easy. 

He leads you all downstairs to a large fluorescently lit space, to the right past several doors. "It is likely that he can hear you, so try not to say anything you wouldn't want to hear while in a coma," he instructs, and you swallow thickly and nod, steeling yourself for whatever state Jimin could be in. 

Only, as you enter the room and approach the bed, you find Jimin looking just as he always does—angelic and beautiful. He lays on his back with his eyes closed and his arms at his sides with various tubes attached to his hands, and there is a steady beeping coming from a monitor on the other side of the bed. 

Chairs already surround him, and as you step closer, Taehyung calls out, "You have company today, Jiminah!"

The way his silence and stillness tugs at you makes tears break instantly. You sit in the center chair closest to where his hand rests, and you take it gently in both of yours, careful not to pull on anything attached to it. 

"Hey, Jimin," you say weakly, fighting the tremble behind each word, "I've missed you a lot. I'm sorry I haven't visited yet."

The others take their seats, Yoongi and Namjoon to your right and Jeongguk and Taehyung to your left. They greet Jimin and tell him the good news about the deal that went through with The Tigers and the Busan girls. Yoongi tells him about your upcoming birthday and you tell him that you wish he could be there as tears pour down your cheeks. 

It feels surreal. Jimin appears completely unharmed and yet he lays there, succumbing to and healing from a pretty serious injury. Taehyung informs the group that the wound on his shoulder from the bullet is healing nicely, but that they are just waiting for him to wake up. He sounds hopeful that Jimin could wake up any time—that his brain is functioning and every once in a while, his fingers ever so slightly twitch. 

The mood is somber but also happy, and you are glad to finally see your friend again. Taehyung and Jeongguk offer everyone a drink, to which you all agree, and Namjoon follows the two of them out, leaving just you and Yoongi at his side. Your hands sweat from holding onto Jimin's so tightly but you refuse to let go. 

Yoongi places a hand over yours, and when you turn to him, tears fill his eyes. Then he blinks and they run down his cheeks, followed by a sniffle. 

"Baby," you mutter and Yoongi shakes his head, wiping at his cheeks with his free hand and saying, "It's alright. He'll come back to us."

The two of you sit a little while longer and the others return with glasses of whiskey. They regale you with stories of the crew from the early days, commenting on how young and innocent Jimin has always seemed but especially back then, and you have a hard time believing his soft cheeks wide eyes could have ever been more cherubic than they are now.

By the time you all decide to head back home you feel much lighter, and with a kiss to Jimin's forehead and cheek, you promise him that you will see him again soon. And then you exit the room beside Namjoon with Yoongi and the terror twins close behind. 

"Do you shave him?" Namjoon asks once you are out of the room.

"Of course I do," Taehyung responds as if offended. "Can't have our angel laying there with a beard sprouting from his face. He would kill me."

You laugh in tandem with the group and imagine Taehyung shaving Jimin's pretty face with a straight razor, or even a knife. The five of you convene upstairs and have one last drink, then you head home for the day feeling a bit tipsy from enjoying so much whiskey on an empty stomach.

"Pizza," Namjoon announces once the mansion is in sight, and you and Yoongi hum in agreement. Pizza sounds amazing.

After a post-pizza nap, you wake up with the desire to touch and kiss the men who hold you on either side. Yoongi is pressed against your back and you arch your body to rub your ass against his crotch while your lips and teeth find Namjoon's neck. 

Namjoon is the first to stir, groaning and sighing as you suck and kiss harder, right hand drifting across his chest and down to his cock which is already erect. He stretches and begins to shift around, pressing against you and muttering, "What's this, sweetheart?"

"Need you," you whine in return, still on the edge of sleep but eager to shake it away as one hand gropes Namjoon and the other reaches behind to paw at Yoongi.

Yoongi finally grumbles, and you look over your shoulder at his pretty, groggy face while Namjoon begins to pull off his clothing and settle on his side. You allow Namjoon to undress you, kicking your joggers and panties down under the comforter while your shirt is tugged over your head. 

With Yoongi waking up and stretching his limbs, you roll onto your side to face him and begin pulling at his clothing. His eyes open and he cracks a sly smile, saying, "Well hello, darling," in a tone that is extra gravely from sleep. 

"I need you, kitten. How should we have you?" you ask, fingers moving to his button and zipper, eyes never leaving his face.

Yoongi's lips open but no sound comes out, and you kiss along his chin and neck, reaching your hand into his slacks to give him a squeeze over his briefs. 

"Excellent question," Namjoon says from behind you, mouth dragging over your shoulders and neck.

You swish your bare ass against Namjoon, causing him to hiss and groan, hand gripping onto your hip as if desperate for you to be closer. You shove at Yoongi's slacks until he finally begins to kick them down, then you yank at his t-shirt, giggling as he groans half asleep and struggles to help pull it over his head.  

"I have an idea of how I want the two of you," Namjoon continues as his hand moves from your hip and gently grazes over your labia in the faintest touch. 

"Oh?" you ask with a shudder, eyes on Yoongi, who settles on his side.

Yoongi leans in close and slots your bottom lip between his, sucking and nipping hard enough to make you groan. You open your lips for him to explore but he sticks to the bottom one, licking and teasing it with his teeth and tongue. 

"I want you to sit on my face, sweetheart," Namjoon says, voice deep and low beside your ear. You feel him reach around you and begin to stroke Yoongi, who whimpers against your lips. "And I want Yoongi to fuck you while I eat you out."

Before you have a chance to say anything, Yoongi deepens the kiss, licking against your lips before probing his tongue eagerly against yours. Namjoon's mouth finds your neck and you gasp and shiver into the feeling, body turning to hot wax between them, melting into the mattress.

"On your knees," Namjoon instructs, and Yoongi breaks the kiss to smile against your lips.

You do as you are told, rotating onto your knees while Namjoon scoots down the bed away from the pillows. Once he is settled you crawl over to his head.

Your panties sit bunched up beside Namjoon’s knees and you grab them and reach back to shove them into Namjoon's face, giggling to yourself as he groans but opens his mouth to accept his fate. Then you settle back onto your knees and straddle Namjoon's head with your hands beside his knees, keeping your hips lifted so that he has to reach for you. 

It is futile to be a tease with two men who are much stronger than you, but you try your best, lifting your weight when Namjoon attempts to pull you into place, giggling and trembling when he gives your ass a playful smack before somewhat roughly forcing you to sit back. 

Your panties are still bunched up around his chin when he holds you in place and begins to lick and suck at your pussy lips and clit, sending a burst of arousal through you. Behind you, the bed dips, and you do your best to sit tall with your back straight, hands anchored against your thighs for stability. 

Namjoon's talented mouth and the sounds he makes when he savors you—hums and groans of satisfaction—work you up quickly, and with each lick and suck your body quakes with pleasure. Yoongi's arms wrap around you, hands claiming and squeezing your breasts while he gets close enough for you to bow your spine and rest your head against his shoulder. 

"Just look at you," he mutters against your neck, teeth grazing over your skin and adding to the overwhelm of bliss. "I want you to cum before I fuck you. Can you do that for me, darling?"

"Yes, sir," you all but moan as the steady tongue and lips work you over and send you close to the edge. 

"That's our good girl," Yoongi praises, pinching and rolling your nipples between his thumbs and index fingers. "Always so perfect for us."

The way the two of them make you feel has your head spinning. Yoongi's words of praise rasped in his deep voice while his hands tease; Namjoon humming and groaning while he pushes you quickly toward orgasm, gripping your legs so tight that you have no choice but to stay in place; everything is a lot. 

"I'm gonna cum," you whimper as your quakes deepen, making your body jerk uncontrollably. 

"Of course you are," Yoongi teases, nipping at your neck, making you feel somewhat humiliated by how he always has to tease you for being easy. "Make a mess of our Joonie."

The thought of Namjoon's handsome face glistening with your cum is the push you need to plummet over the edge, and you bow your back further, digging your head into Yoongi while broken sobs and moans fall from your lips. You cum hard, pressing your pussy against Namjoon's mouth as your body trembles through each heaved breath. 

Namjoon lays his tongue flat for you to use and each movement drags your lips and clit over it, feeling heavenly. That is, until the overstimulation kicks in. 

"Fuck," you whimper as your hips continue to convulse, unable to settle and relax. 

"Bend," Yoongi instructs, releasing your breasts to rub his hands over your back and shoulders only to begin pressing you forward. 

You obey, leaning forward until you are down on your elbows and close enough to Namjoon's cock to begin teasing the tip with your lips and tongue. Namjoon moans and you giggle as his dick jumps from the gentle touch. Precum dribbles from his slit, inviting you to lap it up and tease him with your lips.

Namjoon's lips and tongue continue to pleasure you, and you are thankful that from this position you are able to relax a little more, settling on one elbow while you lift your other hand to slowly stroke his length. Namjoon is vocal, moaning and groaning muffled sounds against your cunt that encourage you to not to stop.

Two hands grip your ass and you expect to feel the blunt tip of Yoongi's cock. In fact, you are so eager to feel him that you clench around nothing in anticipation. When Yoongi's tongue greets you instead, probing into your dripping hole and then dragging up, over your ass, you squeal and dig your face into Namjoon's pelvis. 

Two tongues as skilled as these are dangerous, and you do your best to breathe through the quick pace at which your pleasure builds and threatens to drown you. Yoongi focuses on your asshole, licking and teasing, digging the very tip of his tongue inside and making each breath come out ragged and quick despite your best efforts.

"Oh my god," you moan as the pleasure feels too intense you fear you might not make it out of this alive. You knew it would feel amazing to be devoured by the two of them, but never could you have imagined it would be this good. 

When Yoongi's tongue laps over you one last time and you feel the mattress dip while he adjusts behind you, there is a brief moment in which you are disappointed. But then his cock rubs over your entrance and you feel the eager thrill fill you once more. 

However, before Yoongi presses into you, he drags himself lower. Namjoon's lips leave your cunt and you hear a gasp and a hiss come from Yoongi that makes your heart pound. Yoongi holds onto your hips, digging his weight into you as he thrusts downward and you wish you could watch his cock disappear between Namjoon's full, pretty lips. 

Then Yoongi spreads and slightly lifts you, and before you have a chance to anticipate how he may feel, he thrusts deep in one swift movement, spearing you wide. The stretch makes you shout and whimper, and you bury your head into Namjoon's soft thigh skin while Yoongi pulls back and snaps forward again and again.

Sobs and broken moans fall from your lips, and a second pair of hands grabs your thighs and holds you in place. You feel Namjoon's lips and tongue drag over your clit in broad, sloppy strokes, and any ounce of sanity you had left crumbles away. 

Namjoon's skin is hot and moist against your lips, and you lift your head just enough to take a mouthful of his cock and do your best to suck while Yoongi fucks you. Precum leaks from Namjoon's tip, heady on your tongue, and his thighs quake as he moans loud and eagerly against you, urging you to suck and stroke as purposefully as you can.

"God damn," Yoongi groans as he gives your ass a firm stinging smack, causing a muffled squeal from your throat. "I missed you two so fucking much."

Namjoon groans, "Gonna cum soon," against you.

"I want you both to cum at the same time," Yoongi instructs. Luckily for him, you are very close. 

It is almost comical the way you and Namjoon both suck and lick with a little more intention, eager to push the other over the edge. And it works. 

You feel yourself climbing higher and higher toward the precipice of bliss, and you are right on the edge when a wet finger rubs over your asshole with a hint of pressure. A squeal sputters from your lips, and you drool around Namjoon's throbbing cock. 

"Fuck," Namjoon attempts to warn, but there is no need. You can feel him pulsate against your lips, and you relax your mouth while stroking his shaft in anticipation. 

Namjoon's deep voice cracks as the first spurt of cum hits your tongue, and he muffles his voice against your clit and sucks hard enough to make the dam break once more. Orgasm rushes over you so intensely that you struggle to keep your head steady and end up with ropes of his warm release on your nose and lips. 

"That's it, baby," Yoongi praises, pressing the tip of his finger deeper into your ass and intensifying every little sensation. 

"Fuck!" you scream, drool and cum dribbling down your chin. Yoongi fucks at the perfect angle to make you feel like you might squirt, and you attempt to warn Namjoon, but all you can get out is, "I'm gonna—oh fuck, I'm—"

Yoongi's grip is firm and his hips are punishing. Your body goes limp before it tenses once more and pleasure rushes from you, covering Namjoon. You think you hear deep moans and deeper praise, but your pulse is loud and heavy in your ears and all of reality seems to slip away from you. 

It is a mercy that Namjoon stops licking your pussy and slides back until you are straddling his chest. Little by little, your senses return, and Yoongi adjusts his position, anchoring one foot on the mattress as moans pour from his lips. 

You can hear Namjoon's mouth working Yoongi over, undoubtedly eating his ass, and you wish so badly that you could see it. But hearing it is enough, and you grip onto Namjoon's thighs for stability as Yoongi continues to fuck you at a punishing pace. 

Slowly, Namjoon begins to slide down the bed, out from under you, making you sit up and attempt to give him space. Yoongi very gently pulls you by the shoulders and forces you to stay sitting high on your knees while Namjoon repositions himself on his knees, facing you. His face and neck are drenched and his short dark hair is a wild mess. 

You weakly lift your hand to reach for him, beckoning him close. Namjoon smiles and knee-walks closer, taking you by the chin and rubbing a thumb over the cum that has begun to dry against your chin. "I see we both made a mess," he teases, and you nod as best as you can while moaning through Yoongi's deep, quick thrusts. 

"Fuck, I'm close," Yoongi grits between his teeth.

Namjoon licks his lips with a smirk. "Want you to cum in my mouth, baby," he instructs with his eyes on Yoongi but his lips closing in on yours. 

You lean ever so slightly forward and press your lips to Namjoon, moans and sobs falling with each quick exhale, some of which he swallows and some he merely licks around. Your tongue darts out weakly in an attempt to return Namjoon's sloppy kiss, but you struggle with each movement, hypnotized by pleasure. 

"Joon," Yoongi moans, hands gripping you tightly while he pulls his hips all the way back, pulling out and shifting his body to the side. 

You are held in place while Namjoon drops to his hands and leans forward. Although you turn your head to the left in an attempt to watch, all you see is Namjoon's head bobbing while Yoongi trembles and muffles his mouth against your shoulder. 

Yoongi moans and sobs and Namjoon groans, all the while you catch your breath, sitting in place until you are given instruction for what to do next; unsure whether you could control your body if you tried. 

The room quiets and Yoongi leans a little further into his hold on you before sitting back, causing you both to fall onto your butts against the mattress. When Namjoon returns, taking your face in his hands and pulling you into a slow, deep kiss, his tongue is coated in Yoongi's release, and you lean into it and savor him. 

"More?" Namjoon asks against your lips.

You feel exhausted, but you definitely want more of these two. Anything they have in mind. 

"I wanna fuck Yoongi. How does that sound to you, sweetheart?"

It sounds amazing. "I want to watch you fuck Yoongi."

Namjoon sits back with a grin and nods, then he pats the bed off to the side from where you sit and says, "Come right here, baby. You can watch me stretch him."

It takes a moment for Yoongi to release you, and as soon as you crawl to your spot in the center of the bed, all the sweat and cum begins to turn cold, and you settle with your legs pretzeled and reach for the comforter to drape over your shoulders. 

Namjoon crawls past you to the small table on Yoongi's side of the bed while he instructs Yoongi to get on his hands and knees and crawl just enough that his ass is in view—perky and soft. He settles on his elbows with his forehead pressed into the mattress, and Namjoon opens a drawer and closes it, then returns with a clear half-empty bottle of lube. 

With a chance to settle and catch your breath, you are eager for more. But first, you want to watch Namjoon pull Yoongi apart. You have no idea where you may come into this equation, but you are unconcerned; they will make space for you. 

Namjoon sits behind Yoongi, takes his ass in both hands—dropping the bottle of lube to the mattress—and leans forward to lick over his rim, groaning and devouring him the way he devours you. Yoongi moans into the sheets, reaching for the bunched up comforter and squeezing it in his fist and you feel hypnotized watching Namjoon's tongue lap over him in firm, broad strokes. 

The vision is sinful, stirring arousal deep as you watch as Namjoon's hands squeeze and smack, making Yoongi moan and shake with each movement. Then you watch as Namjoon slicks up his fingers and buries them deep inside Yoongi one at a time. 

You wonder what it feels like to finger Yoongi and you get onto your hands and knees and crawl close, shivering as the comforter falls away, leaving you bare. Three of Namjoon's fingers disappear inside him, and you sit close on your knees, watching intently while reaching first to cup and squeeze at his soft ass and thighs, and then to tease the stretched skin of his stuffed rim with your fingertips. 

"Can I?" you ask, rubbing a finger between two of Namjoon's to slick the tip with lube and gently prod. 

Namjoon twists his hand and pulls nearly all the way out, pointing his knuckles downward and giving you an opening in between his fingers that are in almost a v-shape. You lean close and dribble spit onto his fingers, and then you slide your pointer to fit snug with his and slowly join him in stretching Yoongi wide.

"Oh my god," Namjoon groans as Yoongi trembles and sobs. He feels warm, tight, and soft, and you do your best to match Namjoon's pace pulling out and back in, out and back in. 

You ask, "You like the way we feel, kitten?" as you reach with your free hand to gather the precum on Namjoon's hard, neglected cock and give it a stroke that matches in pace. 

Both men moan and you pull your gaze from Yoongi's greedy ass to look at Namjoon who stares at you with a hunger that only excites you more. You bite your lip and give him your widest, cutest fuck-me-eyes and giggle when his expression morphs from pleasure. 

"You are so fucking sexy," Namjoon groans as he pulls your fingers out completely and takes your hand to lift it to your mouth. "Taste him," he commands, and you obey, lifting your finger to your lips and darting out the tip of your tongue.

Yoongi is heady and tangy-sweet, but his delicate natural flavor is masked too much by the artificially sweet lube. Still, you suck your finger into your mouth while holding eye contact with Namjoon, then you place your palm onto the bed and lean toward Yoongi, eager to taste him a little more. 

You feel a bit shy as you drag your tongue over his rim, but the way he moans and clenches around nothing urges you to do more. Namjoon slowly crawls forward, dick still trapped in your hand, and you spin your tongue over Yoongi, letting drool gather and drip to make him nice and sloppy. 

Namjoon settles with his cock so close to your mouth that you turn and take the tip, sucking in your cheeks just hard enough to make him whine before turning back to Yoongi to lick and tease. You can tell by the quick huffs and sounds Namjoon produces that he is growing impatient, and you continue to alternate sucking and licking until you feel satisfied with how worked up they both become. 

With one hand, you search for the bottle of lube while the other strokes Namjoon against your tongue, which is held out flat and drooling. Then you give his tip one last suck and sit back, popping open the bottle and squirting a generous amount of the sticky liquid onto your palm. 

You warm the lube in both hands and then smear some on Namjoon and some on Yoongi, dipping the tips of your fingers inside him to get him nice and ready, grinning when he trembles and sobs. And you stay on your hands and knees and rest your cheek against Yoongi's hip, spreading his cheeks wide and staring up at Namjoon as he shifts forward and lines the two of them up. 

Namjoon towers over the two of you like a god and you hold eye contact as he slowly begins to press his cock inside. Yoongi quakes and gasps, and you lift your head up just enough to watch as Namjoon carves him open. 

"Wow," you mutter, mesmerized by the sight of Yoongi's tight, perky ass swallowing a cock so big. 

With a deep groan, Namjoon asks, "Like what you see, baby?" 

You look up at him through your eyelashes and nod, responding, "Yes, daddy," in the cutest voice you can muster. Then you sit up on your knees and begin to crawl to Yoongi's head. 

Namjoon begins to fuck Yoongi hard and fast, punching sharp breaths from him and making his voice break. You sit on your knees in front of Yoongi and take a handful of his soft, sweaty hair, then you lift his face out of the blankets and force him to look at you. 

The scar takes you by surprise, making your stomach churn, but you quickly notice the rest of his fucked out, reddened face, and you lift your other hand to slot two lube-sticky fingers into his mouth giving him something to suck on. 

Yoongi sputters and sobs, lips gripping tightly to your fingers while his eyelids flutter, barely open. You very gently say, "Eyes on me, baby," and delight when he opens them wide. 

"Do you like how daddy fucks you?" you ask, giving his hair a gentle lift, causing his eyes to momentarily roll back before he focuses them on you. 

He attempts to say, "Yes, baby," but the words jumble cutely around your fingers.  

A loud smack makes Yoongi squeal, spit sputtering from his lips, and you glance up at Namjoon who stares down at you with a crooked grin. "I have an idea," he says, and you lift your eyebrows and cock your head.

"An idea?"

Namjoon hums. 

"And what is that, daddy?"

With a deep groan, Namjoon slowly pulls out, causing Yoongi's face to screw up with pleasure and then impatience. You keep your fingers nestled between his doll lips, watching as he breathes deeply through his nose, then you turn your attention back to Namjoon. 

"Yoongi baby, lay down on your back."

You slide your fingers from Yoongi's mouth and sit back, watching him flop down to the mattress and roll onto his back. Namjoon grabs his hips roughly and yanks him closer, spreading his legs wide. He wastes no time sliding his dick back inside, saying, "Now you sit on his face."

"Oooh, yes, daddy," you say excitedly, crawling over Yoongi's face. His cock slaps against his tummy, leaking precum, and you settle against him and waste no time reaching for it, eager to suck. 

Yoongi grabs onto your hips and wastes no time licking your pussy, surprising you with his sudden burst of energy as he reaches with one hand to finger you while squeezing your ass in the other. You attempt to moan as you swallow his length, sucking eagerly the moment a mix of his and your fluids grace your taste buds. 

You keep your eyes open to watch Namjoon's cock disappear inside him, and you make loud, needy sounds with the hope of urging one of them to cum again. This time, you want to be the one to swallow. 

Only Namjoon has other plans.

"On second thought, you should sit on his dick, baby."

You suck in your cheeks nice and hard one last time, then open your mouth wide to let all the drool that has collected on your tongue drip down his length. When you begin to sit up and move away from Yoongi's face and hands, he whines and attempts feebly to keep you in place before giving up and letting you go. 

Without anything obstructing his mouth, Yoongi's moans are loud and raspy; music to your ears. You turn around and straddle his waist, then reach between your legs and grab onto his length. 

With one pump of your hand, you line him up and slide yourself down, back bowing from pleasure and causing your head to gently bump into Namjoon's shoulder while you and Yoongi moan in tandem—his trembling from his lips at the rhythm of Namjoon's hips and yours falling short at the end. 

Namjoon wraps his arms around you, holding you in place against him while he fucks Yoongi—one hand slides to your throat and the other grabs onto one of your breasts—and you swish and circle your hips, burying Yoongi deep inside you and reaching spots that make your eyes roll back. 

Pleasure with these two feels like something out of a dream. Yoongi reaches with a slickened thumb and twists it over your clit, and you grind harder, matching Namjoon's rhythm and chasing your next high. You have no idea where you end and where one of them begins, and the sounds the room fills with—the moaning and sobbing; skin against skin—is absolutely hypnotic.

You cum without warning and scream, back arched and eyes wide to the tall ceiling. Namjoon fucks Yoongi hard enough that you barely have to move, body jerking uselessly while your senses tingle and dull once more and you fight your body to stay upright, thankful that you are held in place. 

"Look at him," Namjoon instructs, and you slowly drop your gaze to Yoongi, who lays with one hand high above his head gripping to the comforter and the other reaching for you. His eyes are closed and his mouth is agape, lips trembling around unvoiced sounds. With his dark hair fanning wildly against the bed and his skin slick with sweat, he is breathtaking. 

"F-fuck," he mutters, eyes opening only to roll back again. "I'm gonna— oh my god."

"Cum for us, pretty Yoongi," Namjoon says, hips never losing their steady pace. 

Yoongi moves his lips as if to respond to Namjoon but he appears too lost in pleasure to form words. You swish your hips and squeeze your pussy around him, pleased with yourself when his back bows and he begins to sob.

"What a fucking sight," Namjoon groans and you nod, unable to take your eyes off Yoongi as he squirms and pants, reaching his high. 

Without warning, Yoongi cums, filling you with his warm release while he gasps and continues attempting to form words that never make it past his pretty lips. Namjoon picks up his pace, cursing under his breath as he rattles and shakes Yoongi into a trance with his mouth and eyes wide.

Somewhat frantically, Namjoon gropes your breasts and tummy, squeezing as he huffs and moans against your shoulder, sucking harshly against your skin. He quakes and then freezes momentarily, moaning warm, moist breath into your neck. Then his hips rock in and out and in before he pulls all the way out with a groan. 

"On your back," he commands through an airy tone, and you do as you are told, not sure how he plans to continue going considering all three of you are fucked past the point of exhaustion. 

You hobble off of Yoongi and throw yourself down onto the bed, barely able to adjust before Namjoon has your legs spread wide and his face buried between them. He slurps at your dripping pussy, tongue pressing as far into you as it can, causing you to quake from overstimulation and pleasure as he laps up various fluids inside you. 

And then he breaks away and falls into a seated position and then further back onto his elbows, tilting his head to the ceiling and panting heavily. Your feet slide against the bed and you relax in a heap, instantly turning cold as the sweat settles on your skin.

"Bath," Namjoon mutters, and you nod in return. 

Yoongi grumbles incoherently and you cannot help but giggle.

"Fucked him stupid," you say, staring up at the ceiling and smiling as Namjoon begins to laugh.

After a bubble bath the three of you go to sleep, and you do not dream at all. Endless darkness holds you in its embrace. You sleep until an early hour of the morning, only to wake up and tiptoe to the bathroom, then return to sleep some more. 

You feel rested and happy when you fully rise several hours later, and a little shy when you find the room has been covered in vases full of roses and wildflowers of various colors. 

It has been years since you have celebrated your birthday.

Yoongi and Namjoon dote on you from the moment you wake up until it is time to get ready for your party, bringing you pancakes and mimosas in bed and taking you for a spin in your brand new car to get manicures and pedicures together. You allow them to insist on having your nails painted white with gold french tips, and you delight in how ticklish both their feet are as the poor technicians pamper them. 

Namjoon drives around the city until you find an ice cream stand along the river, and wearing average casual attire with masks covering your faces and baseball hats worn low over your faces, you almost feel like normal people doing normal everyday things—despite the security detail that stays ten feet behind you at all times.

And you capture everything. The flowers, the nails, the ice cream—everything is photographed and added to a folder to be uploaded to Instagram once you return home. Being that you are a semi-public figure, you worry that if news got out about your birthday and you did not post, people might start whispering. 

Yoongi takes a scenic route back to the mansion, holding your hand while he handles your sports car with ease, and you allow yourself to bask in an absolutely perfect day, thinking about how nice it would be if the three of you could exist this simply all the time. 

When you return home, the men kiss you and tell you to wait in your room while they get dressed for your party. Yoongi informs you that you have time to shower if you would like, and Namjoon says he cannot wait to see you all dolled up later. 

You do not feel the need to shower, so you strip down to a little black thong and find a black silk robe to lay around in, holding your hands up high to inspect your manicure and kicking your feet as you smile to yourself. Then you imagine how the giant engagement ring would look shimmering on your finger, and you hold your hands close to your heart.

In the quiet moment all to yourself, you drift in and out of sleep, unsure what to expect from the evening. And although you feel groggy when there is a light knock at your door, you sit up with a start and prance over quickly to greet your guest. 

With Jimin absent, a soft-spoken woman with long, dark brown hair and foxlike eyes named Yeji bows in your doorway. She is dressed like the family men in a black button-up tucked into black slacks, and carries a charcoal grey garment bag draped over her arm and a large black makeup case in her hand. 

You lean-sit against the edge of your bed, suddenly feeling a bit bare in your silk robe while she sets the case down and begins to unzip the garment bag and pull your gown free. To your surprise, the dress is off-white and all you can think about is how much it reminds you of a wedding dress.  

Yeji hands you the gown and turns her back to you as you stand, shed the robe, and begin to delicately step into the garment. You are going to need to swap your black thong for a white one, but otherwise it is perfect.

The top gathers in a halter over your chest, wrapping in a circle around your neck and leaving your back bare. Gold embroidery accentuates the neck and waist, and the skirt flows in layers of chiffon with high slits up the both sides, making you feel like a Greek goddess.

Yeji produces several blue Tiffany boxes and opens all but one of them. She adds beautiful gold bracelets with delicate diamond encrusted vines to your wrists and a matching gold and diamond vine ring to your right hand. Then she recommends several pairs of gold strappy shoes and offers a pair of gold ballet flats for later in the evening, smiling shyly the entire time. 

Your hair is pulled and twisted from your head and your makeup is minimal—hints of black with a dusting of gold on your lids and gold highlights on your cheeks. You assume there must be earrings in the final Tiffany box, but she leaves it untouched and gently lifts her fingers to your chin, urging you to straighten your posture as she scrutinizes your appearance with a soft smile.

"You look like a princess," she says, blushing and averting her eyes as you stand before your vanity and dance your fingertips over the skirt. 

You feel like a princess, and you smile widely as you say, "Thank you, Yeji."

A familiar knock on the door kicks your pulse into high gear and you hold your breath as Yoongi walks in wearing all white. A ruched, tunic-style linen dress shirt with long fluted sleeves hangs somewhat loosely but fitted in a way that shows off his broad shoulders and firm muscle. He wears fitted white slacks, gold necklaces, and his hair is styled in beautiful waves around his face. 

But what really takes your breath away is that for the first time since the accident, both of Yoongi's eyes are wide open and his stitches have been removed. A deep, pinkish-red gash greets you, making Yoongi's fierce dark brown eyes seem even more menacing; a fitting scar for a man in his position.

Your heart sinks at the sight but it also stirs something inside you. Somehow, the scar makes Yoongi even more attractive—a thought that you will need to unpack some other time. 

"Wow," you say, ripping your tear-filled gaze away from Yoongi's face and studying his outfit once more. "You look amazing."

For once, Yoongi is speechless and it makes you feel somewhat antsy. Rather than respond, his eyes continue to take in your outfit and his silence feels maddening. Is he also thinking about how much this gown looks fit for a bride? Is that why he looks at you this way? Luckily Namjoon appears and breaks the tension.

Also outfitted in all white, Namjoon wears a dress shirt tucked into fitted slacks and a white leather belt. His jacket has gold and clear gems embroidered in decorative bursts on the left shoulder and right breast, and gold gems line the wrists of his sleeves. His short dark hair is styled back from his forehead, and he wears dainty gold chains and bracelets, and small gold hoop earrings.  

"Sweetheart," Namjoon mutters as he steps up behind Yoongi and rests his chin on his shoulder. "You look…"

"Incredible," Yoongi finally says, eyes wide and teary with his arms straight down to his sides. 

"Just missing a couple more things," Namjoon says with a smile that dimples his cheeks as he turns to the vanity and grabs the final blue box. "While we were in Paris, Jimin and I went shopping for all of this jewelry. Do you like it?"

You lift your hands and inspect the vines that grace your wrists and finger, and you feel your eyes well with tears thinking about Jimin and the Paris trip that changed everything in more ways than one.

Your voice is soft and laced with emotion as you say, "I love it."

"I was particularly fond of these," Namjoon says, pulling your attention with the sound of the last box opening, "and we crafted the rest of tonight's theme around them."

Diamond encrusted gold earrings in the shape of vines shimmer from the soft blue box, and Namjoon lifts them for you to see. 

"May I?" he asks, and you nod emphatically, tipping your chin to give him access. He gives you the box, which you take in shaky hands, and then he delicately adorns each of your ears, warm nimble fingers working swiftly, giving you shivers as they brush against your skin. 

You glance into the mirror then take a step forward to get a view of your reflection. It appears as if the dainty vines climb up your lobes and they are absolutely stunning. The thought of Namjoon picking out the jewelry makes your heart swell with affection, and when you glance back at him and Yoongi, they watch you with reverence.

"Thank you," you say, eyes roving between the two of them. "This is too much, really."

"Nonsense," Yoongi responds, "you deserve the world. And Namjoon and I intend to give it to you."

Suddenly you feel shy and you lift your hands to cover your face, doing your best to hold back tears. You know in your heart that these men mean it when they say such ridiculous things. And you love them so deeply for it, even if the prospect terrifies you.

Your left hand is gently tugged away from your face, and before you can inspect who is responsible, you feel the cool kiss of gold on your ring finger, followed by the weight of the diamond it holds. Your heart pounds harder, and you continue to swallow back the urge to cry. 

"Shall we?" Yoongi asks, letting go of your hand and revealing a gold and diamond Rolex hiding under his long sleeve. "The party has begun but I thought we should be fashionably late."

Namjoon holds you in place as Yoongi helps you step into gold strappy heels, then he drapes a white fur evening jacket over your shoulders that barely covers your torso. Hoseok is in the driveway sitting behind the wheel of a red stretch limo sedan, and you shake your head at the emissions a beast like this must give off as you approach. 

The door opens from the inside and Jeongguk’s smiling face greets you. Taehyung is in the seat beside him and they are dressed in white fitted tuxedos and gold bow ties. 

“Dollface,” Jeongguk beams, taking your right hand while Namjoon steadies your left arm and you hoist yourself into the vehicle. 

“This is fucking ridiculous,” you laugh as you get seated facing the partition behind the front seats. Jeongguk and Taehyung have their backs facing the partition, creating a large square shaped space littered with gold confetti and buckets containing iced bottles of champagne. 

“How is our honorary buttercup?” Taehyung asks as he pops a bottle open. Yoongi enters to your left while Namjoon gets settled on your right. 

“A little overwhelmed,” you mutter while Taehyung pours a flute that Jeongguk holds onto before handing it off to you. 

“Well, I hate to break it to you, darling, but the night is young."

You turn to Yoongi and lift your brow. From behind the black partition, Hoseok begins to leave the driveway as you ask, "And what is that supposed to mean?"

Jeongguk pipes up, "Means you're gonna be overwhelmed as fuck when we get to Dionysus."

Everyone laughs and you join in, only somewhat showing your unease. The cold, bittersweet champagne helps calm your nerves, but it is difficult to feel settled when four pairs of eyes pierce into you—even Taehyung stares more openly than usual. 

You are tipsy by the time Hoseok reaches the city, and you silently pep talk yourself as the vehicle pulls up to a tall marble building with a red carpet outside. To your surprise there is a crowd waiting.  

Namjoon gets out first and steps aside, offering you his hand, and cameras flash in your eyes as you take it and slowly climb to the rug below, attempting not to stumble and struggling to lift your eyes. Although there is a stir from your presence, people begin to clap and cheer when they see Yoongi. 

You cannot fathom who any of these people are, nor can you imagine so many strangers so openly recognizing him. Are all of them somehow involved in the syndicate, as well? Does Yoongi have another reputation that you are unaware of?

The unmistakable whispers and murmurs begin about his scar, about your dress. Once Yoongi is by your side, crooking your arm into his elbow, Namjoon gets back into the stretch sedan and Hoseok drives off, leaving the two of you to make an entrance. 

You keep your eyes ahead, too shy to look at the crowd, and you walk under a large white and gold awning that stretches from the sidewalk to the large glass doors. Camera flashes threaten to temporarily blind but nobody stands in your way, and when you enter the hotel, everyone follows behind. 

Large gold and crystal chandeliers brighten the massive hotel lobby, and the red carpet stretches through the space, stopping at a set of gold elevator doors. You glance around at the light marble, white furnishings, and confused hotel guests littered throughout, noticing several armed guards stationed around the space dressed in white with gold bow ties, similar to your friends.

"What is this place?" you ask with wide eyes. 

"This is the hotel that I sold to lady Choi, the woman who was friends with my mother," Yoongi mutters close to your ear while you walk ahead, eyes dancing over the marble and gold, appreciating the extravagance. "What did Hyungseo refer to it as? One of my less flashy hotels?"

You remember the night in front of Paradise when Hyungseo taunted Yoongi—the night Jimin was shot. If this is what she refers to as less flashy, what do Yoongi's other hotels look like? Surely, she was just trying to rile Yoongi up, and you can see why it may not have worked. 

Yoongi leads you through the lobby to a gold elevator, and you are not in the least bit surprised when it takes you to the uppermost floor. You are surprised, however, when the doors slide open and the scene before you is somehow more decadent than the one you left. 

"This," Yoongi says magnanimously, "is Dionysus."

The tall walls and high arching ceilings are made of white iron and glass, allowing the glow of the moon and light pollution to add to the ambiance. Large arches of elegantly designed iron spandrels and ornate columns draw the eye to a second floor mezzanine that wraps around the space where guests stand with drinks, some dancing along to the music that sounds modern and downtempo but unidentifiable to your untrained ear. 

The floors are ash grey hardwood, and the furnishings are white and gold with the exception of  a massive oval-shaped bar made of dark hardwood in the center of the space. Tracking lights hanging from the grandiose ceiling assist delicate white and gold sconces that are placed throughout to brighten the space. 

"For obvious reasons, we chose to move your party," Yoongi informs as you step forward, gaze landing on more people you do not recognize than those you do. Changkyun and the rest of the members of the security team wear white tuxedos with gold bow ties, as well. Other guests are dressed in an array of colors, but it appears that nobody else wears white. 

An attendant approaches to take your jacket and you bow your head at him, shivering from the lack of warmth as Yoongi continues. "We renovated Paradise for this occasion, but I felt that having the party there might be too painful for all of us. Of course, a larger venue called for a larger crowd."

You hum in response, still taking in your surroundings, undoubtedly with your mouth hanging wide open. "Wow," you finally mutter, lips moving like a fish out of water as you struggle to find the words to describe the way you feel.

Dionysus is massive, and the lengths staff members must have gone to in order to decorate for your party do not go unnoticed. Gold streamers and green vines entwine, snaking up columns and along the edge of the mezzanine and bar, and gold balloons are placed throughout accentuating corners, tables, and various other points, along with piles of gold disco balls scattered around shimmering with reflected light. 

The staff wear gold leather and latex. Clothing is scarce, barely covering them, and they are painted from head to toe in gold glitter as if carved from the shimmering alloy, carrying intricately carved golden trays of food and drink. 

"Are you pleased?" Yoongi asks. 

You nod emphatically and turn to Yoongi with tears forming, forcing yourself to look into his eyes and not stare at the reddened slash that cuts over one of them. Although the sight makes your stomach momentarily ache, you are undeniably happy. 

"Yes," you say, taking a step forward and placing your palms over Yoongi's chest. The giant rock on your left hand shimmers in the bright light of the venue, sending a pang of uncertainty and worry to your gut that is only somewhat masked by your joy.

"Let's get you a drink," Yoongi says, gently grabbing your wrists before spinning around and linking your right hand in his left while tugging you toward the bar. 

A nearby server carries a gold platter of champagne flutes, and when Yoongi reaches for one and hands it to you, there are even gold flakes floating around inside. Ridiculous, you think to yourself, but also very thoughtful.

One sip of the champagne takes you by surprise; it is light and sweet, different from what you are used to. And, to your delight, the gold flakes seem to have no flavor. 

"Ah, here they are," Yoongi announces, and when you look up, the other five family men—dressed in the same white and gold attire—are approaching, holding matte black gifts of various shapes and sizes.

"Oh, no," you mutter to yourself, feeling your cheeks become hot. "This party is already enough."

"Nonsense, darling," Yoongi whispers close to your ear, voice deep and inviting. 

The music changes and suddenly the entire room is singing happy birthday. You feel embarrassed enough to hide behind your hands, but Yoongi gently takes your champagne flute and sets it aside, then tugs your wrists downward, forcing you to watch as the family men approach with their gifts.

"I thought the switchblade was my present," you tease, looking between Jeongguk and Taehyung the moment the song stops. Of course, since that fateful night, you have not moved the switchblade from where it sits in its case atop your bedside table in Yoongi's bedroom.

"Well, since you must announce the elephant in the room," Taehyung teases, holding out a rectangular box about five inches long and two inches tall, "we worried that you may hold some animosity toward that weapon and decided to gift you another option."

Another weapon, he means. You already know from the size and weight of this box that Taehyung is gifting you a handgun. Still, you tear at the matte black gift wrap and pretend to be surprised as you reveal a black velvet box containing a subcompact Glock. 

You do gasp, however, when you notice the beautifully carved flowers and vines along the handle of the gun, and you feel somewhat emotional when you look back at Taehyung and say, "Wow, this is beautiful."

"We have a variety of holsters that you can choose from," Taehyung says with a proud smile. "Come by anytime to rummage through our collection."

"Alright," you respond as you turn to hand the gun off to Yoongi. Staff seem to have carried over a round high marble-topped table and he sets the box in the center.

Next is Hoseok, who gives you a stunning Tiffany statement necklace that is shaped like a gold scorpion tail, and Seokjin gives you a dainty gold Rolex watch with a mother of pearl face.

Jeongguk steps forward and hands you a box that contains a little metal cocaine vial and you laugh so loud, your voice echoes through the large venue. "I have one more for you," he mutters quietly, "but it would be inappropriate for you to open it here, so you'll have to come by my place some time soon."

Namjoon kisses your forehead with a smile, making your cheeks warm at the thought of the crowd noticing as he says, "The rest of my gifts are at the mansion." 

You shake your head, knowing that all of the jewelry you wear is from him, muttering, "You've already done too much."

But then he hands you a small gift box and says, "This one is from Jimin."

Suddenly your heart feels heavy, and you accept the box with a tremble in your hands. You rip at the matte black paper but your hands shake so hard that you have to turn and set the box onto the table just to open it. 

You expect more jewelry to greet you and it takes a split moment to process what you are looking at. In a small pile against black velvet is a gold keyring containing three keys and a golden dove charm. You lift the keys to inspect them, finding each one inscribed with one word: Paradise, Studio, and Home.

Tears well and you drop the keys back into the box, cursing the universe for being so unfair. Jimin has given you sanctuary in so many ways and you are unable to thank him. 

Shaking your head in an attempt not to cry, you are hit with a dizzy spell, but in an instant, arms are around you on three sides, pulling you into a soft shield of material and warmth. You keep your head tilted upward, worried about staining anyone's white jacket, then take in a deep unsteady breath. 

All you can think about is how happy Jimin had been for your approaching birthday—how excited he seemed about your gift. Although you just visited with him yesterday, you miss him now more than ever.

Yoongi, Namjoon, and Jeongguk take a step back, and you smile, wiping the tears from your face and gently as you can, worried about smearing your makeup. 

"Thank you," you say weakly, causing the room to erupt with cheers and clapping, reminding you that you are surrounded by strangers. 

Another table has appeared while you were not paying attention, and one after another, strangers bring gift bags. You are informed by a member of the security team that each gift has been carefully inspected, but you feel too embarrassed to watch as guests come and go, bowing and muttering words of thanks without looking anyone in the eye, and turning instead toward the bar. 

Yoongi sidles up to your right and turns you gently by the shoulders to face him, rubbing his thumbs beneath your eyes. To your left, Namjoon orders seven glasses of neat whiskey. 

Guests come by to wish you a happy birthday as you wait for your drink, and you thank them politely and glance around the space looking for somewhere to go to have some privacy. When Namjoon finally hands you a glass, you waste no time gulping down some of the rich liquid. 

"Do these people know who I am?" you ask into your drink while smiling and waving to strangers who greet you from a distance. 

"In theory, yes," Yoongi responds, placing a hand on your elbow and leading you past dancing bodies to the far side of the space. "They know who I am, and they know about the ring you wear."

"They're treating me like I'm the queen of England," you complain, slamming back the rest of your drink.

Yoongi's voice gives you chills as he leans close to say, "That's because you're the queen of Seoul, my love."

Ahead, under the mezzanine and past a group of partygoers, is a black curtain hidden somewhat inconspicuously with Changbin clad in white and gold standing guard with a wide smile.  Changbin greets you with a warm hug while Yoongi pushes the curtain aside revealing a door through which you quickly walk, finding a carpeted storage room full of cardboard boxes and stacked tables and chairs. 

"Thank god," you grumble, turning to Yoongi to begin searching his pockets for his cocaine; yours is out on the gift table. "This is a lot more overwhelming than I expected."

"We could find another way to overwhelm you, if you'd like," Yoongi offers with a grin, leaning his forehead against yours as you unscrew you the vial and lift piles of white powder to one nostril after the other.

You inhale harshly and rub a knuckle against your nose, asking, "We?"

Seconds pass before the door opens and in walks Namjoon and Jeongguk. 

"We," Yoongi finally responds, lips tugging into a devious smile. The cocaine shimmers through you and you waste no time taking him up on his gracious offer. 

"Yeah, okay," you say, grabbing a chair and sitting with your legs spread wide, bare from the high slits in the skirt that make it fall open on each side and between your thighs. "Do your worst, gentlemen."

The three of them drop to their knees, Jeongguk crawling forward first, hands rubbing over your calves, up to your thighs. "I should be quick and get back out there," he says, wasting no time lifting the skirt flap that covers you and burying himself beneath. 

He makes a mess of your panties, nipping and sucking over the mesh, driving you wild with anticipation long enough to make you begin whimpering, "Please, Gguk. Please stop teasing me."

Jeongguk yanks your panties to the side and devours you, lips and tongue dancing a familiar, glorious dance over your clit, making you sink in the hard wooden chair while doing your best not to let your hair touch anything. Although you are sure nobody on the other side of the door can hear you, you muffle your voice with the back of your hand and use the other to grip Jeongguk's head as best as you can with layers of fabric in the way. 

It takes very little time for Jeongguk to make you cum, back arching off the chair and hands falling to your sides to grip its wooden edges to keep you from sliding to the floor. Jeongguk appears from under your skirt, face flushed and hair tousled, wiping your release from his lips and chin with a dopey smile. 

"Bathroom is to the right when you exit," Namjoon teases as he begins to use his fingers to fix Jeongguk's hair. Jeongguk stays for a moment longer on his knees, searching your face as if he has something he wants to say before finally getting to his feet, leaning close, and pressing a heady kiss to your lips.

"Happy birthday, beautiful," he mutters, though his eyes say a lot more. 

"Thank you," you respond meekly, struggling to hold his soft, caring gaze. Your mind echoes, Do you think you could fall for someone like me? And once again you think that you could.

As soon as Jeongguk turns to leave, Namjoon lifts the center flap of your skirt and tosses it over your hips, revealing your cunt, which feels cold behind wet mesh. Yoongi spreads you further as he crawls beside Namjoon, and the two of them take turns using their hands and mouths to slowly pull each thread of sanity from you. 

You cum twice more and the two of them keep going, ignoring your pleas for mercy, teasing as they say, "I can't take anymore isn't your safeword, baby."

"Too bad we can't make a real mess of you," Namjoon complains as he nips against your thigh and keeps the thrusting of his fingers to shallow movements. 

"Tonight," Yoongi insists, and you nod robotically, feeling too fucked out to do anything but let pleasure overwhelm you, just as Yoongi promised it would.

Your legs may as well be cooked al dente by the time they finish and you stand in an attempt to straighten yourself out. Spit and cum cause your panties to stick uncomfortably but you feel too blissed out to care. 

Namjoon goes ahead, placing a soft kiss against Yoongi's lips and then yours, and Yoongi delicately does his best to clear away any makeup that has smudged beneath your eyes. He kisses you deeply, moaning in tandem as you melt against him and taste yourself on his lips, and you think to yourself that this night is nearly close to perfect.

"I have one more thing," he says, and when you meet his gaze, it is soft and a little worried. "I hope you don't mind how unromantic this room is…I just can't bear to wait any longer."

You continue to catch your breath after the orgasmic ringer those three put you through, and when Yoongi reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small blue box, your brain screeches to a halt before attempting to make sense of what you are seeing. 

Yoongi holds up the box and says, "I just want you to know that when you feel ready, this one is the deal," but the words do not compute. That is, until he opens it.

Nestled in blue velvet is a platinum band adorned with three diamonds. Although the center stone is much smaller than the ring you wear, there are two pear-shaped stones on each side. Tears cloud your vision and the sound of your pounding heart is deafening. 

"Namjoon helped me pick it out," Yoongi continues as if you are not in total physical distress, falling apart with each second that passes. 

Your next breath heaves from your lungs and you feel your knees threaten to buckle. Is Yoongi actually proposing to you on your birthday, tucked away from everyone else? A promise for when you are ready to receive it is still a promise that is spoken in real time, and the weight of it is crushing. 

"Darling?" Yoongi tries, but his voice feels distant and you stumble backward, feeling as if you might faint. 

Yoongi is quick to catch you by the elbows and sit you back down on the chair. "Darling, are you alright?" he asks, but you feel too sluggish to respond, heavy-blinking but unable to focus on him. 

Yoongi takes out his phone and thumbs around. "Taehyung," he says, voice laced with worry. "Come to the storage room quickly."

Although you want to shake your head and insist that everything is fine, you are not sure you can do that much. Time and space elude you, your ears ring a high, terrible pitch, and you squeeze your eyes closed, only opening them when a cold compress touches your forehead, zapping you into the present.

"There you are," Taehyung responds, gently rubbing his knuckles along your cheek. "We lost ya for a bit."

Your skin is cold and clammy, and you shiver, wishing you had your jacket. To your surprise, Yeji is at your side with a stoic expression, and she opens her black makeup case. 

"Sorry," you mutter, dizzy and uncertain of what just happened. Yoongi and Namjoon stand behind Taehyung watching you with concerned expressions, and you begin to worry about how long you have been away from the party. 

"You didn't miss much," Taehyung says as if reading your mind. He lifts a small flashlight to your eyes from the side like he did the night he checked you for a concussion. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired," you admit with a sigh. "Hungry."

Taehyung hums and nods, saying, "Once she touches you up, come back out to the main hall. I'll tell them to bring out the cake."

Cake sounds incredible and you nod, mouthing, "Thank you," with barely a sound coming out. 

Yeji touches you up quickly, blotting away sweat and applying a little makeup before bowing and taking her leave. And when you stand, you feel much steadier on your feet, albeit a bit jittery. 

When it is just Yoongi and Namjoon left in the room, the two of them kiss before Namjoon kisses your forehead and leaves. Yoongi swallows thickly and watches you as if he is waiting for you to speak first, so you do, voice trembling and weak.

"That wasn't a reaction to the ring," you lie. It may have been, but you do not want to face that possibility at the moment. "I don't know what came over me. Sorry, baby."

With a nod and an uncertain smile, Yoongi takes your hand in his and tugs you to the door, out into the small dark space and past the black velvet curtain. And in an instant, you remember that you are completely surrounded with strangers and that you need to keep your cool and stay on your feet. 

As soon as the two of you walk out into the main hall, staff members cart out a massive cake while more of them carry bottles of champagne crackling with sparklers. The room erupts into shouting and clapping and you feel yourself go hot under everyone's stares, wondering whether anyone is speculating on what happened while you were away. 

You eat a slice of decadent strawberry jam cake, and once you feel better, you drink and dance and drink some more, doing your best to push out all thoughts of that ring. Felix even joins you, spinning you around and laughing like old friends. Euphoria kicks in with the family men around, and you find it easy to return to the feeling of joy, eager to face everything else in the morning. 

By the time you return to the mansion, you are stumbling from your feet aching but also from all the champagne and whiskey. Namjoon carries you from the stretch sedan to the front door and Yoongi peels away your strappy shoes before taking you into his arms so that a drunk, clumsy Namjoon can get out of his shoes. The three of you make your way upstairs and you bury your face into Yoongi's neck as you ascend. 

"We still have more gifts," he mutters and you sigh happily, insisting, "Tomorrow."

"Would you like to sleep now?" Namjoon asks. "Or shower first?"

Although you know that you should clean your face, you are exhausted and whine to be taken to bed. Thankfully Yoongi carries you into the ensuite first and sets you onto the cold marble counter so that he and Namjoon can gently wash off your makeup, remove all of your jewelry, and encourage you to brush your teeth. 

They help you undress and step into warm joggers, pulling a soft black tee over your head. And the moment your head hits the pillow, you are out like a light. 

You are riddled with nightmares and toss and turn, struggling to stay asleep but too groggy to stay awake. 

In some, Yoongi's wound bleeds while you grip onto the dripping knife. In another, he and Namjoon have cast you aside and left you to fend on your own with nothing but the little black dress and combat boots that you wore into the mansion on the very first day they kidnapped you and brought you home against your will. 

They laugh and tease and make you feel foolish. Like a conquest and nothing more. Cheap, tossed aside, and all used up. 

But the dream that really shakes you to your core is one of Jimin's funeral. He lays in a glass casket wearing a gorgeous black lace gown and veil, face pale and lifeless as marble, and you sob uncontrollably, throwing yourself at the glass and begging for him to wake up. 

The funeral crowd erupts in cheers and laughter, and when you glance up, hundreds of the man who shot him surround you, holding out his smoking gun. You lift your gun and shoot, sending hundreds of the man to the floor with his brains leaking through his many foreheads. 

And then you wake up screaming. The room is empty with the exception of the many flower vases that surround you, and you feel dizzy as soon as you quickly sit up, grabbing for your pounding head.

Moments pass with nothing but your own sobs and you cry loud and horrific, clenching the black and gold comforter close to your chest with one fist, desperate to get the image of Jimin lying dead out of your mind. But it is no use; you can feel residual anguish leftover from the dream clawing its way into your heart for safe keeping.

Footsteps rush to the door and you hear Namjoon barrel forward, shouting, "Sweetheart, what is it?"

Unable to speak, you shake your head, but then a piercing pain around your temples and in the back near your neck halts your movement and you cringe and grab once more onto your head, leaning forward. 

You hear, "Darling," but Namjoon quickly says, "Get Taehyung!" and Yoongi's voice drifts away as he shouts for him. 

You wonder if they have been meeting in the main hall, and you thank your lucky stars that they are all there. Then you feel the urge to vomit, scrambling for something to get sick into before everything fades to black.

In a blink you are on your back, laying in bed with a cold wet compress against your head. The family psychiatrist Christopher is there and he and Taehyung are muttering about medication side effects as you blink them into focus and stretch your limbs. 

"Buttercup," Taehyung says softly as he approaches and leans close, feeling your forehead. "What do you say we take a trip to my examination room so I can have a look inside that pretty little head of yours, hmm?"

"Oh," you respond sluggishly, licking your dry lips and weakly nodding your head. You ask, "Did I faint again?"

With a frown, Taehyung says, "I'm afraid so."

Namjoon approaches with a hoodie and Taehyung helps you sit up. In the back of your head there is a sharp pain, and you feel nauseated the more you move. They slide one arm after the other into the sweater and then Namjoon sits on the edge of the bed with his back to you and tells you to climb up. 

It takes effort but you knee-walk to Namjoon and fling yourself over his shoulders. He stands slowly and adjusts your legs in his hold, and you bury your face against his neck while he carries you from the room, down to the main hall, and out the front door. 

You hear the voices of the other family men but none of them regard you, and for that you are thankful. The air is chilly and you hold tightly to Namjoon, listening to the familiar crunch of gravel and leaves underfoot while Yoongi and Taehyung chatter lowly behind you. Briefly, you think you may begin to fall asleep. 

The examination is not so bad, but the MRI makes you nervous. The whir of the machine is scary, and although your eyes are closed, you feel claustrophobic inside the enclosed space. After getting a good look at your brain, Taehyung checks your heart, draws blood, and leads you to a small bathroom where he asks you to pee in a cup. 

Then he asks you to meet him in an examination room where he will join you shortly, but you go to a different room instead. With a sigh pouring through a smile, Taehyung assists you with gently moving Jimin's arm, making space on his small bed, careful of all the wires and tubes.

You lay on Jimin's bed, head against his chest and listening to the steady beat of his heart with your eyes closed against bright white fluorescent light. Namjoon and Yoongi sit on the other side of the bed with their heads leaned close, not speaking a word, and after you find yourself drifting off for a moment, Taehyung returns. 

"I can't determine a physical cause for your sudden bout of fainting spells," he says, which should be good news but not having an answer is also worrisome in its own right. "They began before you started taking your medication, so the best I can surmise is that it is not a side effect to that medication, and that it is likely caused by trauma and stress."

You hum, unsure what to say. Yoongi and Namjoon also say nothing. 

"Did you take your medication yesterday?"

Truthfully, you are unsure, but you are inclined to think that you may not have. Shaking your head softly against Jimin, you mutter, "I don't think so."

Taehyung hums. "I want you to be a little more mindful of your medication, alright? Lay off any drugs or alcohol for a little while, and eat on a regular schedule. We're going to monitor your heart rate and blood pressure regularly, too. Does that sound alright?"

"Alright," you respond automatically, attempting to let everything sink in. 

Trauma induced fainting is not something you want to deal with on top of everything else. And with Yoongi's most recent proposal of sorts, nausea kicks up and you begin to fear for the worst.

"Could be that you need a vacation," Taehyung continues, writing on a pad of paper as he speaks. "A lot has happened around these parts lately, and perhaps this is your body telling you to get away for a while."

Get away for a while. 

You know in your heart that getting away could be the only option. With your mental health deteriorating so fast, it is hard to imagine it won't get worse. 

But how much time away from the mansion is long enough? How much longer will you attempt to heal and move on from everything that has happened while surrounded by your stressors and waiting for the other shoe to drop?

The only solution is to get away entirely.

How will you break things off with Namjoon and Yoongi, especially after that gesture last night? Whereas the ring you have been wearing symbolizes a fake union, the ramifications of it have always been real. Real threat of danger; a real target on your back. 

Now, with the prospect of genuine engagement looming over your head, your fight or flight instincts have you feeling the strong, overbearing urge to run far away and never look back. Playing mafia wife is one thing but becoming a mafia wife is petrifying. 

How long will you be able to look Yoongi in the eye knowing that you gave him that scar? And if Jimin never wakes up, how long before you stop blaming yourself for his injuries? It is easy for Yoongi to assure you that he does not hold anything against you now, but how do you know that won't change? 

And if you are at the heart of one more tragedy—one more grand fuck up—and Yoongi dies with a needle in his arm, will Namjoon not blame you? Is that something you can live with?

Sometimes important decisions—ones that we know we have to make—still hurt like hell.

"Alright," you mutter again, unsure what to say. 

On the other side of Jimin's bed, Yoongi and Namjoon hold onto one another while you think about how you are going to approach Seokjin. After all, he is the one offering you a way out. 

You hate that this might be the last time you ever see Jimin again, but you feel grateful that at least Yoongi and Namjoon have each other. At least all of the family men have each other, you tell yourself. They can and will get through this next phase together. 

It will hurt like hell. They may all come to hate you. It could even push Yoongi over the edge. 

But you are certain that you cannot be around to witness another crack in the foundation. And you cannot put your well-being on the line just because someone else's may be threatened. 

You cannot keep doing this, but there is no other way that you can see turning down another one of Yoongi's proposals without disappearing instead. Even imagining the prospect of walking away breaks your heart and causes tears to form in your eyes.

Maybe in another life you could have been perfect. But in this life, all you have is heartache. In this life, all you have is fear and uncertainty and the brassy scent of blood. 

The only way out of a life like his is death.

Above all else, you know that you can not wait around to watch someone die. You cannot hope and dream and wish for a normal life while the men you love continue down paths of uncertainty and danger. 

You deserve a chance at a normal life. You cannot keep living this way. They cannot force you to stay in the mansion and live like this any longer. 

It's now or never. 

Calm myself A cup of tea Could give me good comfort Calm myself A couple of weeks Could make me forget you

🎵 visit the playlist

ONE MORE CHAPTER, AHHHH!!!! and then a sequel!!! don't worry this is not the ending!!! but it is still an ending so to speak, so HOW DO YOU FEEEEELLLLLLL??? any ideas of what Jungkook gifted her for her bday???

you may have noticed that some of the scenes did not get the usual Collateral treatment of the reader being fully aware of everything mc is aware of, including the mention of a conversation mc & Namjoon had at the start of the chapter, as well as the conversation that happens when Jimin is in a coma where i breeze over her being regaled with stories from their past. the first conversation is in Namjoon's POV scene, and i have been planning for a long time for the conversation at Jimin's bedside to be the topic of Yoongi's POV scene, so i left those details out. more information, including a teaser for Yoongi's scene to come in the near future! (sorry for the cross-outs, but i made some changes!!!)

as promised in the beginning notes, let me distract you a little with Dionysus!!!! it is actually a club in Chell's fic Blessed With a Curse (which you should absolutely read!!!) and i became obsessed and wanted to steal it (with permission!!!) (it turns out it's a real place lolol.) much of my ability to describe it at all came from Chell's writing and i am so grateful to have an amazing friend who allows me to use their inspiration for my own. she's a super talented writer who is also a big fan of this story, and more than anything i wanted the presence of Dionysus in this story to be a nod to her because i care so much about her.

check this fucking place out:

obviously i changed some details here and there, and really did not even fully go into detail because it is a lot and architecture words allude me and i really have no idea what i am doing. (if you know more technical terms that could add to the description, i would love to know!!! i have no qualms with sneaking info into the fic on the sly.)💜

these end notes are becoming so fucking long lmao i am so sorry. i used to put nothing at the ends of fics/chapters and now i am writing entire dissertations.

REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE THE LIFEBLOOD OF THIS SITE, BUT LIKES ARE ALSO SUPER APPRECIATED!!! THANK YOU FOR READING, I LOVE YOU!!!

tag lists will be on separate reblogs! they’ve gotten too big to contain as one! if you would like to be tagged in this fic, please let me know!!! 💜💜💜

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[littlebluespoon]

as a big tiddy person can I request something with Octo!König and a reader with a larger chest? He’s canons, drabble, whatever you feel like doing 💕

I do try to write most of my things as neutral as possible so that no one feels excluded, like if I said reader had boobs and you don't, and that takes you out of the fic. That's something I don't want to do to people. That being said, I will absolutely write something specific if requested <3

so here we go!

Female Reader is a civilian and is already married to Octo!König. This got a little carried away and there's not so much focus on the size of readers chest so if you'd like more or different do let me know :)

tw: 18+ MDNI, female masturbation, monster fucking? maybe, tentacles, hybrid character, female anatomy described

Dinner at home without your husband was always hard. It was lonely and sometimes he had been gone so long that it didn't even feel like you were married. Of course you knew what his life was like, you agreed to it but it doesn't mean you can't feel sorry for yourself sometimes.

So tonight dinner was popcorn and whatever sad romcom you found first. In an effort to feel good you had put on the lingerie that made you feel confident and sexy. It was also Königs favourite set on you, it's the one that no matter how crazy it drives him, he refuses to rip it. He takes it off of you slowly, hesitantly so that no harm comes to the delicate lace and he can see you in it again.

---

Popcorn stale, the credits of a movie you didn't pay attention to rolling in the background, everything was drowned out by your own fantasies as your fingers pumped in and out of your pussy, never quite hitting the spot. As you desperately chased a high that wasn't coming you missed the door and your husbands greeting. You didn't even hear as he walked in and right up to the couch you were laying on,

"Missed me Perle?" the voice startled you as you scrambled to cover yourself before realising who it was, " You seem frustrated, would you like some help?"

He fixed his eyes on you, a stare that would make grown men weep but for you, it's a promise of pleasure. A small nod was all it took and his own fingers replaced yours. Thick fingers that knew exactly which spots to hit, how deep to go and how to stroke your clit just right to have you seeing stars.

As you cam down from the high you felt König's fingers leave you and the tell tale suction from his hybrid form make its way across your skin. This was one of his favourite ways to cuddle and destress from work. He burrows his way around your boobs. His head sat squarely in the middle as his arms wrap around your breasts and pull them together, effectively squeezing himself in between them. Of course he can't leave your nipple out in the cold so he always makes sure to cover them with his arms and even takes care to place a sucker right on top, so he can play with you all he wants.