#curls and spirals are a lifestyle

[kurogxrix]

Passionfruit

Mob!Bucky Barnes x Wife!reader

IN WHICH you spend a well deserved lazy day with your mafia husband and son… plus Bucky getting a little handsy.

Warnings: suggestive, breastfeeding, allusions to smut.

A/N: after nearly 2 whole months of not posting…IM BAAAACK😋 albeit this isn’t anything big, it’s still something considering the massive writers block i’ve been facing😭.

The mafia life wasn’t exactly what you had expected when you’d gotten affiliated with Bucky. 

On TV, it was gruesome, it was dark, it was scary - and not to forget, it was all the more sexy. Except as of right now, you could’ve concluded that it wasn’t necessarily always that way. There was nothing gruesome and scary in the way your husband was laying his head submissively on your chest as he slept the lazy morning away, his metallic arm thrown protectively over your stomach. 

There was nothing dark about the way your baby’s colourful crib laid by the end of your shared bed, a request from the infamous Bucky himself as he claimed that his lifestyle was far too dangerous to have the baby sleeping in his own room for now. In fact he was nothing but a liar, and a softie, because even the people who reside out of state know of the many guards that pass their nights with open eyes to guard the Barnes mansion. 

For all, there was nothing sexy with the way you were spread out ungraciously upon the huge bed. As much as you could with the huge man that laid heavily upon your chest, you spread out your limbs for the comfort of it all. Your hair was a mess upon the silky material of your pillow, a face clean of any makeup twisting with grogginess. There was anything but sexiness with the way your cotton panties hugged your hips comfortably, an even less-sexy pattern adorning the soft fabric. 

The natural warmth of Bucky’s body seeped through the thin fabric of the shirt that you’d stolen from him, and it made you want to dig yourself impossibly further into him. It wasn’t long before the early morning sun rays began shining through the cracks of the expensive curtains, interrupting your little moment of staring at your husband’s fine features. He looked so cute like this, face free of any worries as he slept cosily on your chest. 

The feeling of his grip tightening around your waist was more than enough to alert you that your ‘scary’ husband had just woken up, and the kisses that he was planting across your collarbones were more of an indication. There was no need for any words as you both laid in silence, your hands intertwining in the bush of brown hair that laid atop his head. Oh and how much you loved those curls, the way they’d drip with excess water as he came fresh from a warm shower, or the way your fingers would pull at them mercilessly as his face laid buried in between your thighs- 

Bucky’s hand began exploring despite the early hour, and the silent state of the room. His vibranium hand caressed your clothed side before slipping under the hem of your shirt. You flinched at the freezing feeling of his cold fingers upon your warm skin, but the way his thumb was rubbing loving circles into your skin was enough to send warmth spiralling back into your body. You felt your chest vibrating curtly as Bucky chuckled at the way you flinched under his freezing touch, and you playfully slapped at the back of his head, your own quiet laughter rebounding across the closed walls of your shared room. 

Your laughter was quick to cease as you felt Bucky’s fingers slip smoothly beyond the elastic band of your cotton panties, the feeling of his cool fingers making your shiver this time. You had to force your bottom lip by biting harshly down onto it to stop yourself from making noise, because god forbid you accidently awakened the little monster sleeping at the end of your bed.

He teased, and the smirk that laid upon his face told you so. The calloused fingertips beyond your waistline did nothing but rub senseless circles into the skin, not using those skilled fingers in the way you wanted him to. 

“Stop teasing already, it’s way too early for that.” 

you grumbled, and the chuckle that escaped your husband once more felt shaky upon your chest. You nearly let out a pathetic whine as you felt his large fingers retracing their steps back out, the elastic band of your panties snapping against your skin in dismay. However, it was a whole other story when you felt Bucky moving to sit up, a large hand resting upon your waist as he ushered you up to join him. His necklace clanged against his torso as he did so, the white wolf pendant sitting comfortably with the new position on his chest. 

With no hesitation, you did so, and his hands immediately started roaming your body once more as he laid them upon your delicate skin. Your face was buried in his neck as you sat up properly in his lap, thick and muscular thighs serving you as a seat. You closed your eyes as you felt his hand slipping under your shirt, head thrown back in bliss as his lips found the crevice of your neck. 

It felt almost too good to be true. A little moment shared between the both of you in perfect silence on a day filled with nothing more but slumber and laziness. Bucky felt like he was dreaming, almost like this late morning was going all too fine, and that in a normal scenario there should be something just about the moment that came to ruin the- 

Jinxed it, and if only you could read your husband's thoughts, Bucky knew that you’d make him sleep with the strays outside tonight. It was nothing else but his fault for the sudden shrill cries that resonated round the entire room. You felt your husband’s lips suddenly detaching from your neck, the area darkening by the second thanks to his skilled mouth. 

You had to physically retain yourself from laughing at your husband’s uttered ‘fuck’s sake’ in all the disappointment of your baby’s sudden awakening. Successfully ruining the little moment that you shared. Or that you were about to share, it was like much had had the time to happen anyway. 

“You’re gonna go say goodmorning to your son?” you tease, throwing your arms around Bucky’s neck as you stared into his blue iris. He glared at you for a second before his gaze softened, and he fell into the satirical state that you found yourself in.

“Absolutely no way malyshka, you know I had to tend to his tantrum yesterday while you were sleeping your ass off in the comfort of our mattress.” he laughed off in all playfulness, his hands tightening their grip around your waist as he spoke. You couldn’t find it in yourself to feel offended, because who was he kidding? You knew that Bucky would treat your son’s undying tantrums forever if it meant that you’d catch a little extra sleep. He’d do anything for the both of you, the two people who’d changed his life forever. 

The screams only got louder by the second, a stark reminder to break off your little romantic moment with Bucky and go tend to that little monster. Unhooking your limbs from Bucky’s, the brunette watched attentively as you made your way towards the maple crib. Just the best for your baby, even if he was far too young to comprehend the quality of the life that was being given to him. 

You waste no time diving for your son, a tiny human that fits perfectly in your arms. Enamoured as he already was, Bucky watched as all it took from you was a couple of coos and a few seconds of swaying the both of you from side to side to calm your wailing son down. Truly a momma’s boy, just like his father. 

Tiny fists closed in on the collar of your shirt with an incredible force that had everybody wondering where babies get it from, a desperate attempt from Lev at pulling your shirt down. The sight sent both you and your heavily tattooed husband in a deep laughter, but you’re soon interrupted by crying yet again. Another trait that he shared with his father, impatience and the urge to have everything he pleads. 

There was a moment of silence as Bucky’s eyes laid straight on you, and the love that swarmed his pupils was not new. He often wondered late at night what he’d done in his previous life to deserve such love that you and your son provide to him, because he knew that the Bucky of this life didn’t deserve it. He was a killer, ruthless at that because his line of work allowed no mercy. His hands were covered in thick layers of blood and yet you take them in yours like they needed guidance. Maybe, he wished that in another life he could be doing good in any sorts of way, like that stupid dream he had as a kid to become a superhero. 

Amidst his little love trance, Bucky failed to realise that you along with your baby had left the room. The soft noises of water running was a quick indication of where you’d both escaped to, and he took no time with the rush. He brushed past the sheets that clung at his legs, the messy bed an indicator of what went down under the sheets the night prior after your baby had been peacefully engulfed by slumber. 

Bucky was a big man by any means, and the heavy footsteps that hurried behind him resounded throughout the entire room. Not to be fooled although, he could be all sneaky and silent when he wanted to, a true man of many skills.

The pristine white marble greeted him first, a shine he’d grown to love. There by the sink was you and the little lev, except he was far too entranced in finishing up the contents of your breasts to even bat an eye at his father. His free hand clung at your sleeve tightly as if to not lose balance. You moved in all your motherly gracefulness, holding your baby above your left breast in your left arm so you could successfully lean to your right to rinse your mouth after a quick brush. 

Bucky knew that you didn’t need any help, he’d witnessed the woman phenomenon of the one-hand-everything. His own eyes had seen far too many times as you held your baby, keys, a thermos and phone all in one hand while going on with your day with the other. Yet, who was he to watch his wife vie when he had two free hands in his availability.  

The feeling of his brawny arms wrapping around your waist relit the warmth that you felt everytime he would do so, and you couldn’t help but lean back into his chest. The tall brunette planted a soft kiss onto the top of your head before moving to his own sink, but not before opening the tub of moisturizer for you, your skincare routine retained in the back of his mind. 

You smiled gently at him as a silent thanks, no need for any affirmation when he already knew that you loved him beyond your own ability to. Your baby finished his greedy assault on your chest a few seconds after you’d finished applying your entire routine, and you were sort of glad when Lev squirmed out of your embrace and onto the tiled floor. 

Any plans that you had for the day, albeit being only to go to the kitchen to fetch some food, had been completely forgotten as you felt Bucky’s arms dragging you back towards the unkempt bed. Because yet again, no lazy day was complete without laying in bed for 7 hours just staring at the ceiling. 

-

not much again but i hoped you all enjoyed🫀 also for writers (or anybody)looking for moots, please don’t be scared to text me lol😭

#bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky #mob!bucky x reader #bucky barnes x wife!reader #bucky x reader #husband!bucky #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #I NEED SLEEP #cant do this nomore #text me yall i dont bite

[spacecowboyhotch]

Ambrosial

summary: he knows your scent— he knows your heart and now he knows your people.

pairing: din djarin x fem!black!reader

contents: longing, pining, fluff, cultural differences

wc: 2.5k

an: this has been a longggggg time coming but this one's for you @cptn-nash and for all of the black women who feel left out of fandom. there’s always space for you.

pedro characters masterlist

The crest always smells like citrus with a hint of cinnamon these days. If Din closes his eyes he can imagine himself standing in an orchard with you by his side.

The warm, fresh smell is all thanks to you— to your hair, your people, and your culture. All things that you hold close to your heart and in turn, Din tries to respect. But, it is not lost on you that he cannot understand the importance of hair to you and your culture completely, not when his is hidden inside of a helmet day in and day out.

What he does know is how much he enjoys yours— watching the way your curls move when you walk, how they pile into the crown when you tie them up, how a bit of them spill out of the silk scarf you wear at night when Grogu refuses to sleep without you and the two of you take over his bed. He has to tear himself away from the sight of you—dark skin lit up in the moonlight and his foundling in his arms— slinking off to your bunk. But there is a reward when he gets there— the sweet, concentrated scent of you rests on the fabric of your pillow.

In the deepest recesses of his mind, there’s a place where there’s just the three of you. Din holds to his creed, unwaveringly so, but here there is no worry of exile. No worry that you or Grogu will be taken away from him on one of your adventures through the galaxy. There is just you, holding his son, curls blowing in some light evening breeze. There is just him, wrapping his arms around the both of you, his nose pressed into the crown of your head as he is able to succumb freely to your scent. He doesn’t let himself go there often, not when he is so unsure that he will ever have it.

The two of you are charted for a bounty when you ask him to make a detour that is quite out of the way— you need something for your hair. And while he’s more than happy to make sure your needs are met, he has to ask.

He glances back at you, his voice soft and not unkind as he asks, “Could you not use my things?”

If you didn’t share the fresher with him you doubt he even had things. He does, though they aren’t as intricate as yours. There are worse things than smelling like the Mandalorian, yes but proper hair care is sacred to you and your people.

You smile at him, shaking your head, “No, it doesn’t work like that. There are specifics, rituals, ingredients.”

“And it is…strict? Necessary?” You can practically hear the confusion in his voice, his lack of understanding.

“As necessary as this,” You murmur, leaning forward and raising a hand to cup the cheek of his helmet.

He blushes within the space of his helmet, unable to bite away the grin that spreads across his face. You and Din teeter on the edge of more— never explicitly naming or acknowledging any of the affection that passes between you, but undoubtedly knowing that the other is devoted. There’s something particularly sweet about his dedication without words. There is no doubt in your mind that he cares for you, but with this lifestyle, with his creed, neither of you make any move to change your relationship.

This is enough. It has to be.

When the silence sits thick between you for a beat too long, you start to ramble, “Like I told you before, hair is integral to our culture, it helps build every facet of relationships in my village. It sounds silly, but it's the basis of community. We would not be nearly as devoted to each other without hair at the center.”

He hums, delicately taking one of your curls in between his fingers. He studies it closely through the dark t of his visor, noticing the intricate way that it spirals. You let out a soft, shaky breath– feeling his eyes on you is something you’ve become used to, but the effect it has on you never dissipates.

“I could show you,” You murmur shyly, feeling the fascination in his gaze.

“Show me?” He repeats cautiously.

“Show you how my momma taught me to take care of it,” You suggest. After a moment of hesitation, you add, “Show you my home as you’ve shown me yours.”

The two of you have gone to Mandalore—just once, to show Grogu what should be his home and collect water from the sacred waters. You’ve always tried not to put too much stock in Din letting you tag along— where else were you meant to go if you’re his travel partner?

His helmet tilts, shock in his sandy voice, “You would take me to your home?”

You gaze with the black void of his visor breaks for a moment before you look up at him through your lashes, “Of course I would, so that you could see where I come from, how I’ve become who I am. You let me see yours. Would you like to see?”

He nods, finally releasing the curl that he was still holding between his fingers.

“Chart the course and then I will show you why I take so long in the fresher,” You say, backing out of the cockpit.

He meets you there just as you finish turning everything the correct way, labels up. You keep it all in a bin that you take to and from the fresher, not wanting to take up too much space.

You can’t see his shock but you can hear it in voice, in the way he tilts his helmet as he says, “This is…a lot.”

You laugh softly, before explaining, pointing at various bottles as you do, “There are different products for different times of year, holidays, special occasions.”

“Special occasions?”

“For one’s birthday or wedding. Even for a funeral. All milestones in life, from beginning to end.”

“And you must have all of it at all times?”

“You are to be prepared for all of the days of your and your neighbor’s life. If we were to meet someone from home during our travel and they were in need of something, then its my duty to help. It is our custom. Our way so to speak.”

Din hums in understanding. He understands living life a certain way more than anyone you’ve ever known. He starts to understand the importance— but this is just the beginning. He wants to know everything about your people, to fuse the two of your cultures into something loving and uniquely your own.

—

It takes the night to make it to your home, allowing you to arrive in the morning. You’d sent a communication to your mother as soon as Din had agreed, and she had excitedly responded, eager to see you after such a long stint away. Eager to meet Din, though you’d given her no indication that things had progressed romantically between the two of you.

When you wake in the morning, you find Din a little nervous to have the conversation that made you toss and turn most of the night. You know that he’s quite fond of Grogu, that he loves him with all his heart. You feel the same way, happy to take care of the little creature in any way that you can. It’s a bit confusing, raising a child with Din despite not knowing explicitly what you are. But, you love Grogu. Though you don’t let yourself think about it much, you love Din. You’d do whatever you could to make things easier for the two of them.

But what would your mother think about such an arrangement?

Din tilts his head at you in concern when you inhale a nervous breath, fingers twisting in your lap. He reaches for your hands, steadying them. “What’s wrong? Have you changed your mind?”

You gaze down at his gloved hand that covers nearly both of yours before you shake your head, assuring him quickly, “No, no, I haven’t changed my mind.”

“Then what is it?” He asks gently.

“I know that Grogu is yours, and I’m not ashamed or embarrassed. But, I think it best he stays on the ship while we visit my mother. I don’t want her to assume anything that would make you uncomfortable.”

He’s quiet for a moment, but you can practically hear the gears turning in his head. “You were nervous to ask me this.”

You snort, “He’s your son, Din, of course I was nervous.”

“I understand,” He says, squeezing your hand in reassurance. “The next visit, we can introduce him to your mother.”

The next visit. He plans to make this habitual?

“You’re sure?”

“It’s your home. I’m sure if you’re sure,” He declares with a shrug. As if the decision is that easy for him.

“Thank you, Din.”

He simply squeezes your hand again before clearing his throat, saying that he needs to make sure Grogu is taken care of before you two land.

—

When the ship door opens, you and Din are met with a plethora of people, headed up by your mother. Din can’t help but notice how much of her is in you— the same rich color of your skin, the curls though they are greying. Some of your beauty comes from her, and some of it is uniquely you.

She gathers you into her arms immediately, hugging you tightly. She guides your curls back so that her lips are at the shell of your ear, “We’ve missed you. I’ve missed you.”

“I know, mama. I’ve missed you too,” You whisper back, pulling back to give you a watery smile.

She turns her curious gaze to Din, looking him up and down. “This is who you’ve been traveling with. A Mandalorian who will keep you safe.”

Din nods his head, and you about melt with embarrassment at the way she’s sizing him up.

“Yes, mama, this is Mando. He is my—“ You start to say but Din cuts you off smoothly, extending his hand to your mother.

“Her partner. Din, Din is my name,” He murmurs, taking her hands into his.

The smile on your mother’s face matches your own— wide, flustered and accompanied by warmth that spreads through your entire body. He may be encased in metal but he can always make a woman swoon.

“Din. Thank you for taking care of my daughter.”

“Mama,” You scold, giving Din a nervous smile.

“It’s a pleasure,” He murmurs to her, his voice just as sandy and nonchalant as ever.

Your mother starts to guide you towards the villages, and Din offers you his arm which you take readily. You’re happy to walk in silence as your mother catches you up on all the happenings— who’s married, given birth, changed professions, or died. All of it goes in one ear and out the other as you try to digest what’s just happened.

He gave her his name. What more is to come?

Eventually, the two of you are sequestered in a corner of your mother’s house as she helps another woman with her hair when Din turns to look at you. You raise a brow at him in question.

He leans closer to you, speaking in a hushed voice, “One day you will teach me to care for my own appropriately.”

“What do you mean?” You whisper back.

You feel his gaze meet yours through his helmet as he says, “When you are truly mine and I am truly yours.”

Your heart skips a beat before pounding rapidly in your chest. You stare into the dark t of his visor, mouth open in shock. He’s full of declarations today, ones that you had hoped would be true but never got your hopes up for. He simply nods his head at you, one of his gloved hands coming to tangle with your own.

Meeting your mother has clearly changed things— all that’s been left unsaid is now cleared up with just a single sentence from him.

His hand doesn’t leave yours as your mother shows him around the village, introducing him as your partner to everyone she can get to speak to her. Din feels a little sheepish, heat creeping into his cheeks by your mothers candidness, by the curious stares of those she speaks to. You keep him close, answering any questions and doing all of the talking if anyone is curious enough to bypass your mother and speak to the two of you.

You don’t even let go to hug those you recognize, holding onto his hand firmly as you wrap an arm around a few of those you encounter. At this, Din’s flush deepens, butterflies in his stomach.

You make him feel like just a man— the most ordinary man in the best way— like he isn’t bound to his creed or this life of hunting. You make him feel like he’s just your Din. A man so desperately in love with a woman that he’d do anything she asked and then some.

Your mother sends you home with droves of oils and butters and soaps. Some of them are for you, but by the labeling and color you can tell that many of them are for Din. There’s a variety, as with the helmet she couldn’t properly see the texture of his hair and gather the corresponding products. It’s your mother’s way of telling you she approves and you hold her tight, murmuring a soft thank you as you bid her goodbye.

The two of you unpack Din’s things, setting the bottles and containers up in a perfect line. You even fetch your own, adding more clutter that both of you are immediately quite fond of. It means more than Din could know, but he’s starting to learn.

He invites you into his bed that night and unlike all of the previous times he stays, gathering you into his arms in the pitch-black space. For the first time, you feel him. He buries his nose into your hair the way he’s always dreamed about.

That night once you’re asleep, Din heads to the fresher, curious about all of the things your mother had sent off with the both of you. You spent a lot of time here earlier— even more than usual. As soon as he’s inside, he sees why. You’ve labeled everything step by step and added his name to the products that are his.

He spends an ungodly amount of time under the water, closing his eyes as he succumbs to the sweet smells. And though they all smell wonderful, he finds himself reaching for your things. He wants to be surrounded by your scent.

When he slides under the covers beside you later, he smells like citrus— that telltale hint of cinnamon. He smells like you. One day, he’ll let you bury your nose in his hair so that you can smell him too. Until then, his helmet is filled with the scent of you and he will have it no other way.

#din djarin x black!reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x fem!reader #mando x black!reader #mando x reader #mando x fem!reader #black!reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fluff #the mandalorian fanfiction #arson writes

[theharrowing]

Collateral 19: The only lifestyle I have ever known

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, Jungkook x Taehyung

🗡️ word count: 18.6

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

🗡️ warnings: tickling, semi-public quickie, handsy creep makes mc spiral, playful possessiveness, feelings as messy as mc's panties are after letting 3 men cum inside her, threats from a fresh face, graphic violence and gore (gun fire, mc wields a gun and a knife, man's head go boom-splat, major character injury, panic attack & blind rage, mc's body count increases from 1 to 2, yoongi gets his scar.)

🗡️ note: these warnings are serious!!! heed them!!! take them seriously!!! on a lighter note, pretend everyone's hair is correct in the mood board ok lolol also yes that is Bibi, who is called Hyungseo in this chapter.

🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin! and shout out to @colormepurplex2 for putting some blood on our kitten's face for this mood board!! i appreciate you both!!! 💜

🗡️ posted on august 2023 | read on ao3

Waking up between Yoongi and Namjoon again is akin to waking from a dream only to find yourself in an even better dream. You roll onto your side toward Yoongi, who sleeps on his back, and you nuzzle into him, wrapping every limb around his body as tightly as you can. Yoongi grumbles and tenses before he relaxes, and then he turns onto his side and tangles his limbs in response, reaching a leg and arm past you to the sweating body on the other side. 

You used to hate it when partners would try to hold you in the morning, ripping you from blissful unconsciousness into the waking world with their stinky breath and sweaty skin. With a grumble and a shove, you would always break free and twist to your side, wrapped in your blanket alone.

But Yoongi and Namjoon are your home. Their heavy bodies and warm morning breath ease you into the day, wrapping you in a loving embrace that you hate to have to break free of. 

And just when you close your eyes and sigh into the feeling of Namjoon curling against your back, outlining the shape of your body perfectly with his, a phone ringtone blares, causing the three of you to groan and sign in tandem. 

"Fuck," Yoongi mutters, leaning to kiss you on the forehead before slowly dragging his limbs away from the tangle, muttering lowly as his shrill ringtone disturbs the peace. 

"Who the fuck is already calling you?" Namjoon complains against your shoulder, wrapping around you tighter as Yoongi's warmth disappears.

Yoongi's response is incomprehensible raspy nonsense, and then the sound ends just as he mutters, "Yes?"

After a pause, Yoongi grumbles, "Seokjin-ssi, I am offended that you thought I would forget. Of course, we will be there tomorrow evening. Alright, talk to you later."

The sound of the phone clattering against Yoongi's nightstand follows a sigh, and Yoongi rolls back into his rightful place, wedging your face against nude pecs while he reaches over you to give Namjoon's lifted face a kiss. 

The two of them groan, squeezing you between firm, increasingly hot bodies, and you begin to shove at Yoongi's shoulders, fighting for your life, grumbling, "You're suffocating me, you idiots!"

"You're just jealous Joonie got the first good morning kiss," Yoongi teases, backing up before bending down to plant his lips against yours. 

"No morning breath kisses!" you attempt to complain through lips pulled tightly together, shoving Yoongi away despite loving the soft press of his mouth against you. 

"Was Seokjin reminding you of the gala?" Namjoon asks just as Yoongi decides to begin tickling you, which has you screaming and pushing him away with flailing limbs. 

"He was," Yoongi grits as you manage to plant both hands firmly on his chest and shove hard enough to topple him momentarily back. He pounces once more, flinging his entire body over yours, and Namjoon manages to get your left hand held down, then reaches over you to pin down your right arm, filling your senses with his delightfully stinky musk. 

"You monsters!" you scream with your arms awkwardly pinned beside your head, uselessly flailing your legs while Yoongi sits and dances his fingertips over your ribs. "I'll kill you both!"

"Awe, our little wolf is threatening us with murder," Namjoon teases, "as if she has it in her to kill another man."

"Especially two as handsome as us," Yoongi adds, lightning up on tickling enough to make you open your eyes and watch him waggle his eyebrows. 

As soon as Yoongi's fingers touch down on your ribs once more, your eyes squeeze shut, and you squeal, "Your looks won't save you from my wrath if you don't release me!"

"Awe your wrath," Namjoon teases, and his hot, stinky breath wafts as he leans close. "How adorable."

"I watched you torture a man, I know how to do it, now," you grit through your teeth, swaying your body left to right hard, hoping to throw Yoongi off. "Maybe Taehyung will teach me how to use his katana."

"Graduating from dagger to katana," Yoongi drawls playfully. "How quaint."

Namjoon adds, "But our sweetheart has never seen me with a sword before," piquing your interest despite how you fight for your life. 

Each breath heaves from your lungs, pained laughter coming out in exhausted bursts against your will; if you could control your laughter to not give these jerks the satisfaction, you would. Nothing about the hellish feeling of being tickled is actually funny. 

In a burst of genius, you scream, "Sakura!"

Yoongi sighs and halts his fingers, and when you open your eyes, he tongues the inside of his mouth. 

"That was a dirty move but also a wise one," Yoongi mutters, clearly as amused as he is annoyed. "Nice work, darling."

"So, did you forget about Seokjin's event?" Namjoon asks as Yoongi leans forward, caging your head with his hands and smiling sweetly at you. You attempt to catch your breath, still panting from the onslaught. 

"I did," Yoongi responds, grinning. 

You roll your eyes and begin to laugh, and Namjoon releases your hands finally and wiggles back into a laying position beside you, laughing as well. "I want to sleep more," he grumbles as he throws a leg over your legs and snuggles up to your side, close enough to your armpit to make you jerk when he speaks because every tiny sensation still tickles. 

"More sleep sounds nice," Yoongi mutters, leaning close, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then to your eyebrow, and to your temple, before laying back down. 

You begin to grumble that you would also love to sleep but that Yoongi has woken you up with all of his rambunctious behavior. But as limbs settle over and around you, and you become sandwiched once more between the two of them, heaviness claims your eyelids, and you begin to drift off. 

When you wake up again, it is from Namjoon peeling out of the tangle. You grumble and roll toward him, attempting to reach out and bring his warmth back to you. Yoongi wraps around your back, humming something unintelligible into the nape of your neck before his breathing evens out and he is back asleep. You close your eyes and allow yourself to drift once more, stirred only by the feeling of Yoongi peeling away. 

The sun is bright by the time you wake up for good, flooding into the room, causing you to squint as you stretch and yawn, slowly flailing your limbs in the large, empty bed. 

"Where is everyone going?" you grumble, peeking one eye open to find a tuft of dark, wavy hair sticking out from the closet. Yoongi's smile is almost as bright as the afternoon sun, tugging at your heart. 

He responds, "Work, darling," with a smirk, then disappears back into the closet.

"Ugh!" you complain, petulant. If Yoongi and Namjoon go to work, who will be around to hug and kiss and spoil you? "Work is stupid!"

"You should go to Paradise!" Yoongi calls from the closet. 

You should go to Paradise. It has been several nights since you last visited, and you miss Jimin and Hyejin. And, if you are being perfectly honest, you miss Jeongguk. Jeongguk will certainly give you plenty of attention to make up for what you are missing from the other two, but you worry just a little that desiring and receiving it from him may make you greedy. 

"You just want to shove me off onto Jeongguk," you whine, teasingly. 

Yoongi chuckles as he exits the closet, buttoning a black shirt that is tucked into black slacks. "Are you upset about that?"

With a pout, you sit up and whine, "I guess not," making Yoongi laugh so hard that he stomps one of his feet. Since coming home, there is a lightness to Yoongi that you are certain you have never seen before. He laughs so openly and with his whole body, sometimes flinging himself all the way to the floor, onto his knees. It is so nice; he truly seems happy. 

"Namjoon and I have a meeting today that may take several hours," Yoongi begins as he approaches, still smiling but no longer laughing. "Then I have to take one of our potential clients to dinner and for drinks. She is an old investor and was a good friend of my mother, and she has her sights on one of my hotels. After we schmooze and convince her to open her pocketbook, we will come by the club. Sound good?"

You hum and nod, considering what you might wear to Paradise while scooting toward the edge of the bed, wearing only one of Namjoon's oversized shirts. 

"What if Jeongguk seduces me?" you ask with a raise of your brow, biting back a smile when Yoongi gives you an incredulous little smirk of his own. 

He gets close, resting his hands on the edge of the bed, caging you in. Yoongi is musky and sweet, and you lean in close, holding firm eye contact and basking in his bouquet. 

"Do you want to fuck Jeongguk again?" he asks low and curious.

Goosebumps cover you, sending a thrill along your spine, and you bite your lip, batting your lashes while pretending to consider his proposition. 

"I don't know," you say, attempting to sound coy. "Maybe."

Yoongi hums, deep and slow, leaning close enough that his breath is warm on your face. "Well, then if he seduces you, you should let him have you." 

"You don't mind?" you ask softly, genuinely concerned about crossing some sort of line, should something happen while he is away. 

"As long as you are happy and communicate openly, I do not mind."

Unsure what to say, you hum in response. You want to kiss Yoongi until you are dizzy, but you worry about your breath being sour and keep your lips closed tight. Yoongi leans and kisses you on your temple, eyebrow, and cheek, then straightens out. 

"If you wanted to shoot me a text and let me know, I would not object," he says with a waggle of his brow, making you giggle. 

You lift a hand and gently shove at his shoulder, teasing, "You just want to picture me getting fucked, you pervert."

"Of course I do," Yoongi rasps, pressing one more kiss to your forehead before standing up straight. With a wink, he adds, "Don't be shy, pretty darling." 

The moment you step foot into Paradise, Jimin prances over with a warm smile and his arms open wide. He wears a satin black shirt tucked into black slacks, and his boots click-clack in a familiar song.  

As soon as he wraps his arms around your neck, he begins to jump, and you do your best to jump along with him, feeling stunned that he is this happy to see you. "I have a surprise," he sing-songs, drawing the word long and happily, and you do your best to reciprocate his hug before he pulls away. 

"You can't see it until your birthday, but I have been working hard on something," he continues, still hopping around now that you are no longer embracing. 

Although your approaching birthday has been in the back of your mind, this is the first time it has felt like a tangible event. You blurt out, "How did you know my birthday is coming up," feeling anxiety and excitement swell behind your ribs. 

"Oh, please," Jimin mutters, rolling his eyes. "Yoongi has not shut up about it for over a month. He has been very insistent that we throw you an extravagant party; why do you think renovations on this place happened so fucking fast?"

Stunned and so dreadfully in love, all you can do is stare at Jimin as the words sink. You cannot believe that Yoongi has been in cahoots with the guys for over a month, and he has not let it slip at all to you. This means that even before the trips to Paris and Hong Kong, he must have been beginning to plan something.  

"Renovations—" you mutter, mouth opening and closing until all you can say is, "Wait, what?"

"You silly little dove," Jimin teases, booping you on the nose with one of his manicured fingers. "You really have no idea what you have done to this man, do you?"

You knit your brow and slowly shake your head, and Jimin's smile widens. 

"Being with you has changed him. It's noticeable."

Stuck like a deer in headlights, you stand and stare at Jimin, attempting to process his words. Sure, Yoongi was a little gruff and not always the most friendly person to be around when you were first brought to the mansion—even in moments when he was being kind—but you had assumed he behaves that way any time new people are brought around. 

Jimin giggles, leans in, and plants a glossy kiss on your cheek. Then he walks away, clearly amused, and you continue to stare for another moment until a familiar floral musk breaks your spell, alerting you to the presence of a certain someone. 

Truth be told, you have been a bit nervous in anticipation of seeing Jeongguk again. Especially since Yoongi has given you the green light to play around with him—provided Taehyung has done the same. Rather than turn around and greet him, you take a fortifying breath and wait for him to make the first move; it never takes long for him to. 

"Dollface," his voice greets slow and deep and so close to your ear that you actually gasp despite already being aware of his proximity. "My, do you look ravishing this evening."

Warmth floods your cheeks; you dressed in a black mesh corset top tucked into fitted black slacks tonight specifically in the hope that Jeongguk would get an eyeful and want to bend you over Jimin's desk. The black material that covers your breasts is thin, and embroidered into the ribbed black mesh of the top are little black dragons that remind you of Namjoon's tattoo. It leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination.

Tilting your head toward his voice, you mutter, "Thank you," surprising yourself by just how shy you suddenly feel.

"There's something I need to discuss with you," Jeongguk says. The feeling of two warm hands gently gripping your bare forearms causes you to let out a shaky exhale. "Come to one of the private rooms with me?"

The private dance rooms are all equipped with cameras, making your anxiety spike higher, but you nod and allow him to give you a gentle push through the club, to the hallway. The sound of his and your black leather boots clacking against the floor is surprisingly loud under the bass-heavy club beat, ricocheting through your mind while the music thrums just under your skin. 

Once the two of you enter the hallway, you turn your head, finally getting a glance of black satin almost entirely unbuttoned, tucked into black slacks. You attempt to sound innocent as you ask, "What is it you would like to discuss?" 

The chuckle that greets you in response is sardonic and inviting, and you continue to look ahead until Jeongguk places a hand on your arm and guides you through a door on the left. 

The room is rather small, with a round mirrored table and metal dancing poll taking up most of the space. Surrounding the table is a deep green velvet horseshoe couch with thick, rounded arms and backrest. You walk over to stand near the side of the couch and lean against it while the door closes and locks behind you. Instinctively, you glance up at the camera and stare, wondering if it is a coincidence that there is no little red light flashing; it must not be recording, after all. 

"Don't worry, doll," Jeongguk says with a grin as he approaches, "I shut that camera off."

"Is that so?" you ask with a slight tremble in your voice.

Jeongguk is stunning with his dark hair coiffed off his forehead. He has a light dusting of black powder around his eyes accentuating just how dangerous they are, and as your gaze travels down to the mess of silver chains draped around his neck, and lower, to the exposed valley of his chest, you do your best not to swoon. 

"Yoongi hyung sent me a very interesting text this evening," Jeongguk responds with a lift of his pierced eyebrow. 

You attempt to sound as if you have no idea what he might be talking about as you ask, "He did?"

Jeongguk hums and closes in slowly, causing your pulse to quicken gradually with each step he takes. "He did."

You swallow thickly, tilting your head. "And what did it say?"

The grin returns as Jeongguk slides a tattooed hand into his pocket and pulls out his phone. He thumbs around one-handed for a moment, then reads, "Our little darling has the green light to play around with you," He glances up and adds, "Discreetly, of course."

"Of course," you mutter softly. 

Jeongguk slides his phone back into his pocket. "How are you feeling today?" he asks, voice sweeter than you expect.

Unsure exactly what he might be asking, you fumble, saying, "G-good. I feel good."

Jeongguk lifts his hands and places them on your biceps, then slowly rubs down to your elbows and back up. "Not too sore?"

Ah, of course, that is what he is asking. You did feel the aftermath of him fucking your brains out when you woke up this morning, but it eased throughout the day. Although you are certain that if he slid his thick, pretty cock back inside, your walls would ache. The thought alone has you fighting the urge to squeeze your thighs together. 

"No," you respond, wetting your lips and watching as Jeongguk's eyes follow the movement. 

Jeongguk's hands slide down past your hands, then he hooks both index fingers into the waistband of your slacks and says, "We have to be quick, but I could be gentle with you, just in case."

He leans in and stops with his lips so close to yours that the slightly sweet whiskey-hinted scent of his breath joins his already enticing fragrance. You want to close the gap and claim his lips, but you wait, staring into his deep, round eyes. 

"I don't want you to be gentle," you whisper, gaze falling to his lips in time for them to curl into a smirk and close in. 

You moan as Jeongguk kisses you, wasting no time licking over the seam of your lips, begging for entrance. As you open your mouth and dance the tip of your tongue over his, Jeongguk hastily undoes the fly of your slacks, yanking your hips to rock against him as he figures out the clasp and pulls down the zipper. 

He shoves the garment to the floor, and as soon as you lift your right foot to free it from the pant leg, he takes your thigh and lifts it, spreading you wide to rake his clothed erection over you. The friction is just enough to make you whimper, and you angle your hips in an attempt to press yourself against him even more. 

"Matching mesh panties," Jeongguk groans as he reaches between your bodies and cups your cunt with his palm, squeezing and rubbing in firm, long movements. 

"Fuck," you whisper, feeling a burst of arousal quake down your spine. 

He leans close once more, lips against yours as he grits, "You drive me fucking crazy."

In a rush, you reach for Jeongguk's pants and begin to undo his button and fly, swallowing every hiss and groan as your knuckles graze his erection. And as much as those sweet sounds urge you to drop to your knees and swallow him deep into your throat just to hear a symphony of his pleasure, you need him to fuck you right now.

Jeongguk takes over and pushes his pants and briefs down, and you shift around to sit back on the wide, velvet arm of the couch, leaning on your elbows and spreading your thighs wide. The look on Jeongguk's face is one of desperation, and you bite your lip at the sight of his pretty cheeks blushing. Knowing you have this kind of an effect on the man who had absolutely nothing nice to say to you for the longest time has your ego inflating to great heights.

"You are so fucking sexy," Jeongguk groans as he pushes your panties aside with one hand while dipping two fingers into his mouth and reaching down to rub the pads of his fingertips over your clit and down to your entrance. You gasp in tandem as he circles your hole and presses broth fingers inside. "Always so fucking tight."

"Please," you whimper, feeling just as needy as he looks. "Please, Jeongguk."

Jeongguk nods and removes his fingers, then spreads your arousal onto his length as he pumps himself a few times, closing the gap between you. Without a word, Jeongguk sinks his cock in deep, giving you no time to adjust to the stretch as you bow your back with a moan and take every inch he has to offer. Your walls ache just slightly enough for the pleasure-pain to make you dizzy.

"Fuck, doll, that's it. You take this cock so well."

You mutter, "Holy shit," punch-drunk from how good he feels, letting your head loll back. 

"Eyes on me," Jeongguk instructs, and you lift your head and meet his gaze, watching his mouth fall agape, mirroring yours, while he pulls his hips back and slams them forward. 

Jeongguk spears you open so deliciously, you struggle to keep your head lifted and eyes open. And he wastes no time picking up a pace that has you moaning and crying his name. 

"Probably shouldn't be so loud," Jeongguk groans as he places the fingers that had been shoved inside your cunt moments ago in front of your lips. You open your mouth and accept his offering, sucking your taste from him as you attempt to stifle your moans. 

He fucks you hard and fast, and you squeeze around him, matching his rhythm and working yourself toward orgasm quickly. Eager to cum—knowing that there is no way this quick and dirty hookup will last too long—you reach your hand between your legs and begin to touch yourself. The velvet of the couch feels rough against the one elbow that anchors you, but the hint of pain adds to the overwhelming pleasure, pushing you closer to the edge. 

"That's it, cum on this cock," Jeongguk urges, sweat glistening over every inch of skin that you can see. 

The twirl of your fingertips matched with the unrelenting drive of Jeongguk's hips has you plummeting past the edge of sanity. And his words certainly help. All you can do is whimper and sob around his fingertips, and your eyes flicker closed before widening as pleasure trembles and quakes through each inch of you. 

"Want to fill you with my cum," Jeongguk groans, pressing his fingers against your tongue hard enough to make drool pool in the edges of your mouth. "Want you to walk around feeling me drip out of you. Want my hyungs to find your panties soiled and sticky. That sound good to you, dollface?"

Although you know you will come to regret this choice as soon as the afterglow fades, you do love the idea of Yoongi and Namjoon touching you and feeling Jeongguk's dried cum in your panties. It is filthy in the best possible way, and you yearn for it. 

You mutter, "Mmhmm," and attempt to nod your head while sucking greedily on Jeongguk's fingers. 

Jeongguk fucks impossibly harder, attempting to stifle his moans through grit teeth, sounding absolutely heavenly as his low voice lilts high and pretty. You should not feel so smitten by Jeongguk when he is balls deep and filling you with his cum, but he is absolutely stunning, and it is impossible to ignore. 

As his hips tremble and still, he drops his fingers from your lips and leans close, supporting your legs with both arms as he lays you back and kisses you deep and hungrily. The two of you moan and whimper, gnashing lips, teeth, and tongues as if your lives depend on this exchange. 

Jeongguk breaks the kiss and leans his forehead against yours, panting heavily. His skin is warm and glistening with sweat, and you lift your arms to wrap them around his shoulders. 

"This is dangerous," Jeongguk mutters, and you tilt your head ever so slightly, humming a curious, "Hmm?"

"How will I keep my hands off you now that I know how amazing you are?"

This soft, sweet side of Jeongguk still takes you by surprise, and you find yourself feeling shy once more as you mutter, "Shut up," at a loss for anything else to say. 

"I mean it," he says, pressing his lips to yours and moaning when you lean into the chaste kiss. "I don't want anything as serious as Namjoon has with the two of you…this is strictly physical. But you really are amazing, doll; you know that, right?"

"Stop," you respond, attempting to shove Jeongguk away. He remains firmly nestled inside you and crowding your personal space, and although you enjoy his presence, you are beginning to feel somewhat claustrophobic. 

You know that this is strictly physical—you wouldn't want it any other way. So why does him saying it aloud make your heart feel just a little too heavy? 

The fact is, you are only in a romantic relationship with Yoongi and Namjoon, and you know that you would not be able to handle it if you and Jeongguk became anything more than two friends who bicker and fuck. But in these moments when he is caring and sweet, there is a tiny part of you that thinks you would like a little more between the two of you. 

"Alright," Jeongguk says with a soft chuckle, standing straight and pulling his softened cock from inside you. "I have to get to work."

Jeongguk looks absolutely disheveled and fucked out with blush-reddened cheeks, covered in a sheen of sweat, and you cannot help but laugh as you imagine him returning to the club with a straight face, going about his business as if nothing has happened. You wonder if he cued Jimin in on the fact that he would not be on the floor for however long this little tryst lasted or if Jimin might be searching for the two of you at the moment. 

"Good luck with that," you tease, sitting up and immediately attempting to stand, doing your best not to allow any of Jeongguk's and your cum to drip onto the velvet couch. 

Jeongguk reaches out and lightly grabs your elbows, steadying you as you bend out of his grasp and begin shuffling your leg back into your slacks. With a series of small hops and wiggles, you are back in your clothing, and you clasp and zip the fly, then run your hands down the front of the tight mesh corset top. 

"What are you wearing to Seokjin's event?" Jeongguk asks, stepping close and using the pad of his thumb to wipe under your right eye, where you assume a little makeup has smudged. 

"I have no idea," you admit, imagining Yoongi will want to shop for something bespoke tomorrow morning. "I usually let the boss dress me. He seems to enjoy it."

"Gross," Jeongguk responds with a playful crinkle of his nose, muttering to add, "Please tell me you do not call him boss in bed."

You swat away Jeongguk's hand, which has hovered beside your cheek as you break out into laughter. Jeongguk pretends to be affronted, holding his hand close to his chest as if you have wounded him. Once the laughter dies, Jeongguk reaches both arms to drape over your shoulders, forcing you to step close. 

"Well tell the boss I request something with a nice long slit up the thigh for easy access. Maybe something that really hugs all your curves."

With a scoff, you search Jeongguk's face for a hint that he is joking, and although he is behaving playfully, he truly does seem serious. 

"So bossy. You forget who I am supposedly engaged to, hmm?" you tease, cocking your head to the side and batting your lashes. "Because it is not you, Jeon."

Jeongguk steps closer, forcing you to tilt your head to look at him. He leans until his lips are a hair's width away. 

"I'm aware of who you are pretending to be engaged to, dollface," he spits in a tone that could be mistaken for anger if you could not see the smile and glimmer in his eyes, even this close. "That does not mean I won't be pulling you into some secluded room to fuck you while your boyfriends have to stand idly by and wait for us to return."

"And why would you do that?" you ask, already knowing the answer. 

Jeongguk gently sucks and nibbles at your lower lip, causing you to gasp and whimper, then he pulls back with a smirk and says, "For fun."

You roll your eyes and shove Jeongguk back, causing him to lose balance just enough to stumble. Then he opens the door and mutters, "Ladies first," holding his hand out as your invitation to exit. 

The music playing in the club is loud and upbeat, and although it had been coming through the speakers of the private room, you had been too distracted to really notice it. As you make your way down the hallway, past the dancer's green rooms and Jimin's office, the bass reverberates through you in a rhythm that is intoxicating and overwhelming. You would love a drink right now.

Although you are sure it would not matter if you returned to the main room with Jeongguk, you decide to hang back a few paces and then veer off toward the ladies' room in the opposite direction of the bar, not looking back to check whether Jeongguk notices. And as soon as you step into the small brightly lit space and check your reflection, noticing small tell-tale signs that you definitely just had sex, you take in a deep breath. 

This whole situation with Jeongguk is fun, but there is a sense of trepidation that surrounds it, now that you have had a little time to let this entire situation settle. Both Yoongi and Namjoon have given you enthusiastic consent to fuck their best friend, yet you still fear that eventually, at some point, they might change their minds. And although you know that you would absolutely, without a doubt, agree to stop fucking Jeongguk if they asked you to, you already fear that emotionally, it could tear you apart. 

You definitely crave Jeongguk's attention. You appreciate how different it feels to be flirted with by him than it feels with Yoongi and Namjoon. You enjoy the thrill of knowing that all of it has to be done in secret when it is not done at someone's home—and Jeongguk has already proven to be the type to like secret, semi-public sex. Being claimed and used by him is thrilling in a way you have not experienced much before.

As you dry your hands and exit the restroom, you curse yourself for continuing to have the same train of thought stuck on repeat. You are far too sober to ignore the fact that already the thought of being something more than a fuck buddy for Jeongguk has begun invading your mind. Already you are asking yourself why you are so dead set on trying to talk yourself out of even humoring the idea. 

And it is not as if you can walk into the main room—or anywhere, for that matter—and fully ignore his presence, or try to block what just happened out. With each step you take, you can feel the mix of body fluids squelching just inside your cunt, threatening to drip out. Even if you tried to wipe yourself off, there would be no way to fully cleanse yourself of him. 

Perhaps it is not even him you would wish to cleanse yourself of; perhaps you are simply reconciling the idea that you are capable of becoming attached to people rather quickly, and you know just how fucking dangerous that can be. 

You make your way to the bar for one whiskey sour and then two. Hyejin is out sick for a few nights, meaning Jeongguk is busy. Jimin seems to know what the two of you were up to just based on the judgmental upturned-eyebrowed gaze that follows you whenever the two of you are even briefly within proximity of one another. 

By the third whiskey sour, two familiar men walk into the building. You spot Namjoon first, wearing his black shirt unbuttoned to the center of his chest. His short brown hair is styled off his forehead, and he wears a thin black choker around his neck. Rather than wearing his standard black slacks, he has black skinny jeans that almost appear shiny, outlining each curve of muscle in his thighs. 

And then Yoongi follows, and something in the air feels as if it shifts. Yoongi on a normal day is breathtaking—pretty in ways that make you stop what you are doing to watch him. But tonight, his hair is messy and wild, and he wears a shiny bomber jacket with hints of gold and burgundy that shimmer in the club lights. A leopard print scarf is tied around his neck, and he wears a black shirt with a low, rounded neck, tucked into very tight black jeans. 

Yoongi scans the room, eyes landing on you first, and you clench tightly to the cold, damp glass in your hand as he makes his way over slowly, like a beast on the prowl. Namjoon follows, dimples creasing his cheeks as his gaze rakes over your form. As they approach, you catch hints of black ink on Namjoon's honey skin peeking from his shirt, and notice both of them are wearing a dusting of black eyeshadow. 

"Darling," Yoongi greets with a smile, lifting his arms up, beckoning you to hug him. You shift to the side just enough to set your drink on the bar behind you and to your left, and then you step forward and allow Yoongi's arms to engulf you. With his lips pressed to your temple, Yoongi softly rasps, "You look absolutely stunning, tonight."

"Thanks," you mutter as your heart pounds, and you lift your hands to his hips. Yoongi's musk is more floral than usual, and you close your eyes and bury your nose against his neck and the scarf tied around it, then drag your lips over the soft, warm skin. 

When you finally take a step back, you rub your hands over the fabric of his jacket, which appears almost metallic, feeling rough tiny sequins lightly scratching against your palms. 

"I like your jacket," you say as your eyes move from the pretty, inviting material to Yoongi's even prettier, even more inviting face. 

"Then it's yours," he responds with a smirk, causing warmth to flood your cheeks. 

"I like it on you," you clarify with a lift of your brow, then you push at the material enough to lift it and have a peek at his bare shoulders, realizing that he has a tank top on, adding, "Although I suppose I would like it off of you, as well."

Namjoon approaches on the right and leans an elbow on Yoongi's shoulder. His gaze is dark and hungry—piercing, almost—and there is a bloodshot quality to his eyes that suggests he is either high or he has been drinking. 

"This jacket truly does look lovely on the floor," Namjoon says with a wink, turning in time to watch Yoongi roll his eyes and crack a smile that shows off his gums. Namjoon chuckles, and the sound is deep and pretty and makes your heart pound. 

You are curious about so many things, including what drove them to get so dressed up tonight, and how their meeting went with the possible hotel sale. But you open your mouth with the intention of finding one of those topics to ask about when Jeongguk steps into the peripheral and wraps an arm around your waist. 

"Hey, hyungs," he greets in a playful tone that gives you goosebumps. 

Yoongi and Namjoon nod to Jeongguk, but their gazes flit between the two of you, and to the hand that holds you just under the ribs. 

You expect one of them to tease you—it must be obvious that you fucked, or that you have become closer in some manner—and you are a bit surprised when Yoongi cocks his head toward Namjoon, eyes still on you, as he says, "Aren't the two of them gorgeous together?"

Namjoon hums and nods, and suddenly, you want to squirm away and create space between you and Jeongguk. You feel scrutinized in a way that is unfamiliar but that you liken to parents meeting a romantic partner for the first time. It is not Jeongguk's presence that embarrasses you, but the way they acknowledge his presence, making you feel like an insect trapped under a magnifying glass. 

Namjoon keeps his elbow on Yoongi's shoulder as he glances around the space, eyes slowly trailing around. "You, Jimin, and Hyejin are doing well, it seems."

"Business is booming," Jeongguk responds as his hand gently rubs small shapes against your side, fingertips playing lightly with the threading and ribbing of your corset top. "Jimin is the genius of the operation; Hyejin and I merely do what he tells us to."

"Well you seem to be doing it well," Yoongi says, holding his chin high with a proud glimmer in his eyes. 

The hand on your side tenses then relaxes, and you turn your gaze to Jeongguk, who looks at you with a shy smile, then turns back to Yoongi to mutter, "Thank you, hyung."

"You seem happier," Namjoon adds, dropping his arm to his side, then stepping in to play with Jeongguk's satin collar. "This style suits you, and your attitude has improved substantially."

"Hyung," Jeongguk whines, attempting to step away from Namjoon but hitting his elbow against the bar. 

This makes Yoongi chuckle, who teases with a playful, "Our little Ggukah is all grown up."

"Ugh," Jeongguk complains, dropping his hand from your side before walking away, making the three of you laugh. 

"He's so easy to rile up," Namjoon jokes, to which Yoongi says, "Too easy."

The three of you settle at the bar with drinks. You finish your third, and they slam a few shots to catch up. By the time you are setting down the fourth drink and excusing yourself to the restroom, both men are handsy and whining about letting you go.

"I have to pee," you complain, yanking your wrist from Namjoon's eager grip. 

"Fine," he groans with a pout and puppy dog eyes that have you scoffing and shaking your head. 

You are surprised by how much you stumble through the club on your way to the ladies' room. To be fair, you were more excited to dress up and get pretty this evening and barely touched any food before heading over here—something the three of you will need to remedy before heading home. The light of the bathroom is too bright, and you sit just a little too hard on the toilet, squeezing your eyes closed to try to focus them a little better when they open, causing the stall to be nothing but a tan and red blur. 

After washing up and checking your drunk but agreeable reflection, you make your way back through the club. But before you can reach the bar, a customer—some older man you have never seen before—grabs you by the bicep. 

"Are you available for a dance?" he slurs, filling your chest with anxious trepidation, which you attempt to swallow down while yanking your arm uselessly. "I see you here all the time, but you're never on stage."

"I don't work here," you respond through grit teeth, pulling your arm from his grasp and stumbling two steps backward.

The man frowns and opens his mouth to shout something slurred and incomprehensible, and in a blink, you are surrounded by Yoongi, Namjoon, and Jimin. 

"Do we have a problem?" Yoongi asks in a firm, direct tone that is as intimidating as it is sexy.

"Boss M-Min," the man stammers, eyes moving between Yoongi, you, and the others. "No, sir. S-sorry."

Jimin pipes up, "If I see you lay a hand on another woman in this club—employee or not—I will have you kicked to the curb," causing the older man to stand tall, suddenly appearing offended. But he does not respond with words; he merely nods his head and turns away, returning to his seat at a small round table facing one of the side stages.

"Sorry about him," Jimin says, stepping close and placing his hands on your shoulders. 

Only now, when you finally have a chance to breathe, are you aware of the panic that fills you, squeezing at your chest like thorny vines snaked between your ribs, threatening to make you collapse. 

"I need some fresh air," you mutter quietly as you turn out of Jimin's light hold toward the back exit and struggle to move your feet more than three steps. 

Namjoon wraps an arm around your waist and assists you with walking to the exit. "Does that happen often?" he asks low and sweet, voice as comforting as it is concerned. 

"No," you mutter, shaking your head. "Never."

Frankly, you are shocked that it has taken this long for a man to accost you—a thought nobody should reasonably have. But considering the atmosphere and your proximity to it, you have come to expect some of the customers to be a little sleazy. Sure, men have whistled, shouted, and made lewd gestures before, but nobody has ever grabbed onto you. 

Once the back door is open and the cool night air hits you in a somewhat uncomfortable burst, you tense up and curl into Namjoon's chest, having to somewhat waddle sideways as you fully step out and maneuver both bodies beside the door. You shiver, but a second and third body close in on you. 

"Want me to throw him out?" Jimin asks, burying the other side of your face against his chest. 

"No," you mumble.

"Alternatively," Namjoon suggests, "I could bring him out here and gut him like a fish. Paint the street with his blood and fill the night with his screams."

The tone in Namjoon's voice is so dead serious that it makes your stomach churn. "No thank you," you mumble, burying your face into his soft shirt and softer skin in an attempt to block out the mental image. 

At moments like this, you remember the men you love are part of a no ordinary civilian men. Has Namjoon gutted someone before? Does he enjoy the way it feels to pierce and slice flesh with a blade? Can he stomach the smell?

"I have to get back in there," Jimin states with a sigh, hugging the group of bodies tight and practically suffocating you in satin before backing out of the bunch. "If you change your mind about that guy, let us know."

Jimin steps back, and you hear the door open, followed by the loud burst of upbeat club music before it closes, muffling the noise to nothing more than bass reverberating through the walls. Yoongi wraps himself over your shoulders, chest pressed into your back, and you rest against Namjoon, closing your eyes to the gentle sound of the two of them kissing. 

"Jeongguk mentioned he left us a gift," Yoongi drawls after a quiet moment, and you gasp. 

You had somehow forgotten all about what transpired between you and Jeongguk earlier, but now that it is at the forefront of your mind, the damp cloth between your legs feels somewhat cold and uncomfortable. 

Before you can say anything, one of Yoongi's hands begins to travel down between the press of your and Namjoon's bodies, fingers grazing over the thin material covering your breast, making you shiver as your hard nipple is lightly touched. As his hand moves lower, you take a slow, fortifying breath and hold it, eager not to give yourself away too much. 

Just the gentle graze of Yoongi's fingertips passing over your waist and hip has your eyelids fluttering. And when he reaches between your legs, presses against your soiled slacks, and groans, you let out the breath in a shaky exhale, gripping onto Namjoon's shoulders, lest you collapse. 

"My, my," he groans, making Namjoon hum in question. "She's soaked, Joonie. Is this all you, darling? Or is it him, too?"

You huff an embarrassed sigh and attempt to relax your grip on Namjoon as you mutter, "It's him, too."

Namjoon reaches between your legs and touches eagerly—almost roughly. You whimper and take a dizzy step back; if it weren't for the tight proximity of bodies, you may have fallen into Yoongi. 

"Naughty, naughty," Namjoon teases, cupping his hand over both your clothed cunt and Yoongi's wandering fingers. "What do you think, hyung? We can't just let some runt stake claim on our pussy without having it for ourselves." 

Yoongi chuckles deep and sardonic, and you bite back a smile of your own. If it weren't for their eager touches and inviting tones, you would be laughing over the mental image of three dogs pissing on the same hydrant to claim dominance. Only, instead, they are your sexy boyfriends and their equally sexy best friend, and their little rivalry involves wanting to fill you with their cum. 

"I know a spot," you all but moan, looking up to find Namjoon staring at you hungrily. 

"Oh?" Yoongi asks playfully, pressing his fingertips against you in a slow circle. 

With a nod and a whimper, you say, "Just so ha-happens there are rooms in this very building, meant for that very thing."

Yoongi steps back, taking his warmth and hand away, and your skin feels almost shocked by how cold it is. 

"Lead the way," Yoongi suggests, and you fumble a couple steps back, still holding onto Namjoon's shoulders, before turning toward the door.  

As soon as you walk back into the building, the music is loud and overwhelming. You take Yoongi's hand and lead him to the hallway, making a pit stop at Jimin's office door, which is ajar just an inch. You knock, and hear his soft, "What is it?" then peek your head in. 

"Anyone in the executive suite?" you ask nervously, biting your lip. 

Jimin squints then grins and shakes his head. "It's all yours, dove. Have fun!" 

The sing-song manner of Jimin's tone makes your cheeks warm, and you mutter, "Thanks, Jimin," as you step back and return the door to its almost closed state. 

Namjoon takes your other hand and rubs his thumb over your knuckles, and it does very little to calm your pounding heart, but you are still a bit on edge, unsure of what to expect. Neither of them seems upset, but there is still that fear in the back of your mind that it could change. 

You know that you should give both men a little more credit; Yoongi and Namjoon have been nothing but open, curious, and honest with you about their desire to share and experiment. This threesome only exists because of their experience and eagerness to have this kind of relationship. So why do you worry so much?

Past the private dance rooms, the hallway takes a left turn. Changbin sits on a chair in a small enclave that is black from floor to ceiling and looks like a dead end. At your approach, he straightens out and stands, then bows. 

"Boss," he says, standing tall and strong and stepping aside to pull back a curtain to reveal a black door with a small keypad. "All rooms are empty, so you can take your pick."

"We plan to use the executive suite tonight," Yoongi says with a gentle squeeze of your hand. "Jimin has already been made aware."

"Of course," Changbin responds with a bow of his head. "Enjoy."

Everyone who has access to the lower level has their own eight-digit code for the keypad. This way, Jimin is able to track who goes where, and stragglers cannot simply find their way down there. Not that the door is ever left unmanned. 

You punch in 19931994 and listen for the mechanism to whine and click, then you press the door open with your palm. It is heavy, and the moment the three of you are through, it closes tightly behind you, though Yoongi reaches back to push against it anyway. 

The stairwell that snakes you down under the building is lit in fuchsia, and the music is slower and more sensual—some R&B track you cannot identify with a singer whose voice alternates between soft and breathy, and quick and raspy. As you reach the bottom of the stairs, a long fuchsia hallway greets you, and Namjoon releases your hand and walks ahead to the end of the space. When he reaches the door just a few paces before you, he turns and crosses his arms over his chest. 

With a stern voice and sterner expression, Namjoon says, "I want you to undress and position yourself exactly how Jeongguk had you, understand, baby?"

You respond, "Yes, daddy," without hesitation, and although Namjoon's eyes widen ever so slightly, his stern expression does not falter. 

Namjoon steps aside, and you enter your passcode on another keypad and walk into the dimly red-lit space, past the bed, to the white leather sofa. The arms of this sofa are not quite as wide as the ones on the green velvet couch, but they are wide enough.

Wordlessly, you strip your slacks off but keep the left leg still hooked in the fabric, then you sit on the sofa arm and rest back on your elbows. 

"Didn't bother to undress you," Yoongi practically snarls as he takes his place before you and undoes his belt buckle and fly. "Just a quick and dirty fuck, huh?"

"Yes, sir," you respond through a somewhat shattered breath. 

"I'm guessing no foreplay?" Namjoon asks, taking his place beside Yoongi with his arms once more crossed over his chest. 

"No, daddy."

Yoongi tsks and shakes his head. Namjoon chuckles. 

"Poor girl," Yoongi teases with a pout, sliding out of his pretty shimmery jacket, which Namjoon takes and places neatly aside, on the bed. "I was really looking forward to tasting you."

The thought of being denied Yoongi's tongue fills you to the brim with frustration, but you let your eyes rake over his toned, bare arms as a distraction. Yoongi is far more muscular than he appears under the long-sleeved shirts he wears, and even a glimpse of his bare skin drives you wild—has you thanking the fashion gods for tank tops. 

"He groped me over my panties," you inform Yoongi with an innocent smile. "Cupped his hand over me, rubbed and squeezed a little."

Yoongi steps forward and grabs your cunt firmly with his palm. "Like this?" he asks, and you gasp as your head lolls back, whimpering a soft, "Just like that."

"What else?" Namjoon asks. 

"He spread and lifted my legs," you mutter as Yoongi palms roughly at you, pressing moist mesh against eager nerves. "He held my right leg with his arm."

Yoongi removes his hand only long enough to lift and spread your legs, yanking slightly to get you into position. Although Jeongguk is a little taller, you line up with Yoongi just right, and you attempt to swivel your hips in search of friction, but Yoongi's palm returns. 

"He pushed his pants and briefs down, and pulled my panties aside," you continue. "Then he licked two fingers and touched me a little."

With a lift of his brow, Yoongi brings two fingers to his doll lips and wets them with his tongue. 

"He only touched my clit briefly, but he did finger me," you specify.

Namjoon wraps his arms around Yoongi's hips and finishes unzipping his pants, then he pushes them, along with his briefs, to the floor. The sight of Namjoon's arms around Yoongi, while Yoongi stands hard and leaking, makes you dizzy, and you lick your lips, watching Namjoon step back and pull his arms away, wishing Namjoon would continue to touch him—longing for the way Yoongi falls apart just for him. 

Yoongi reaches between your bodies and pulls your panties aside, then swirls over your clit once, twice, three times, building your arousal quickly, only to make it dissipate before his fingers dip inside, and you groan from the feeling. 

"Messy, messy cunt," Yoongi teases, lips parted as he plunges deep inside. "But still so fucking tight."

"Please fuck me, sir," you beg, absolutely needy for Yoongi's cock.

"Is that how you begged him?" Yoongi asks, pulling his fingers out and stroking his hard length. 

"Yes, sir," you admit, panting. 

"And did he fuck you, darling?"

"Yes, sir. He fucked me hard and deep."

Yoongi closes the minuscule gap between you and sinks his cock all the way in one fluid motion, pushing a moan from deep within your chest and lighting your body on fire. Yoongi feels thick and familiar in the most dizzying way, and you scrape your fingernails against the sides of the leather armrest in an attempt to hold on. 

"Did he kiss you?" Yoongi asks, leaning close and pulling his hips back, only to slam them forward. 

Some part of you wants to lie and say no, he did not kiss you, but you swallow thickly and admit, "Not during sex."

"After?" Yoongi asks with a smirk, pulling back and slamming forward once more. 

You sob through the word, "Yes!" and Yoongi's sharp smile grows bigger. 

"Did he do anything else?" Namjoon prompts, and you huff out a sigh, wishing Yoongi would set a pace and fuck you, already. 

"While he fucked me, I was being too loud, so he put his fingers in my mouth," you admit. 

Yoongi pulls back and slams forward again. "Being too loud, hmm?"

You whimper and nod, saying, "We weren't down here. We were in one of the private dance rooms."

"He couldn't even bring you down here to fuck you?" Namjoon teases, cocking his head. "Aren't there cameras in those rooms?"

Finally, Yoongi sets a pace and begins to fuck you, and as you attempt to say he turned that camera off, all you can do is moan a broken, "He t-turned," losing the rest of the sentence. 

Yoongi lifts his hand and slots his fingers between your lips before you can attempt to say another word, and you suck hard, doing your best to keep your eyes on him. The taste of your arousal on his fingers is different from the taste you left on Jeongguk's—a bit subdued but still just as heady. 

You whimper and babble uselessly around Yoongi, drool falling from the sides of your lips while you suck. Although this is meant to be just a quickie, Yoongi does not rush; he has nowhere else to go. By the time you lift your hand to touch your clit, you are already fast approaching orgasm.

"Did you touch yourself while Jeongguk fucked you?" Namjoon asks. 

You nod, and Yoongi removes his fingers for you to say, "We had to hurry, and I wanted to cum."

"Greedy girl," Namjoon teases with a wink and a smile, making you smile in return.

Your head bobs as Yoongi fucks you, and he says, "Well, then, touch yourself, darling," before returning his fingers to your lips. 

Just one pass over your clit has you crumbling, and you suck hard, squealing. Yoongi's pace quickens, and the hand on your hip grips bruisingly. 

"That's it, darling; cum for me."

As you clench around him, chasing your high, Yoongi's head rolls back, and he groans deep and pretty. The sight of his dark, messy hair and sweat-slicked neck is so inviting, you continue to clench just to push him over the edge as your high begins to crash. 

You reach for Yoongi's leopard print scarf to pull him close for a deep, hungry kiss—much like the one you shared with Jeongguk, only softer. Yoongi does not gnash and nip as if this is the last kiss you will ever share; Yoongi sucks gently and licks firmly, filling your mouth with his sweet, needy moans. 

It is not long before Yoongi's hips are trembling and stilling. And your grip on him is so tight that you feel him twitch and empty inside you. 

"Fuck, baby, your pussy is heaven," Yoongi groans against your lips. "Absolutely perfect."

Overcome with emotion, you continue to grip tightly to his scarf and lick into his mouth. Yoongi chuckles lightly and hums as you tease his lip, indulging you before pulling back and straightening out. 

"Did you kiss him like that after?" Yoongi asks, cheeks tinted with blush and hair messy. 

"No, sir," you admit, letting your head dip downward while keeping your eyes up and on him. 

The smile that graces his lips is pretty and loving, and he stares for a moment, catching his breath despite being the breathtaking one. 

Yoongi bends to pull up his pants and get himself situated, then steps back. You feel his release dripping from your cunt, and you almost begin to sit up when Namjoon approaches and begins to undo his belt.

"Think you can handle one more?" Namjoon asks with a grin that dimples his cheeks. 

"Don't think I have much of a choice," you respond with a bite to your lip, eager to feel him inside you.

Namjoon's smile falls, and his hands drop to his sides. "Of course you do," he says sadly, making your heart clench. 

"I know that," you insist, sitting up quickly, instinctively reaching your hands toward him. "I was just being cheeky; I know you would never do anything that I don't want."

Every feature on Namjoon's face is sweet and soft, and his lips tug into a smile once more. "Sorry," he mutters as he steps close and leans forward. "I get in my head sometimes."

You reach out and take Namjoon's shirt just as you held Yoongi's scarf, and Namjoon stumbles forward before bending closer. "You're sweet," you say as you slot your lips together and hum. Namjoon is pillow soft with hints of whiskey, and you sink into the feeling, eager to drown. 

Slowly, you pull from the kiss and say, "Fuck me, daddy," watching as his lips upturn. 

"So bossy," he teases as his hands reach for his slacks and begin working open the button and fly. 

"Please," you add, releasing Namjoon's shirt and leaning back on your elbows, spreading your thighs wide. "Make me forget what Jeonggukie did to me."

Namjoon practically snarls as he shoves his pants and briefs down, and he somewhat forcibly cups your wet, used pussy, sending a shiver of arousal through you.

You hardly have a chance to breathe with the way Namjoon kisses you—hot and rough and demanding. And although he follows the same formula Yoongi had, with very little instruction given, the pace and ferocity with which he fucks you has you momentarily forgetting even your own name. 

For Seokjin's event, Yoongi has bought you a simple black satin evening gown with a plunging v-line and spaghetti straps that cross over your exposed back. The back v-line dips dangerously low, and, much to Jeongguk's excitement, there is a high slit up the right thigh. 

You stand in Yoongi's closet, staring into the mirror along the far back wall while Jimin finishes getting all of your hair pinned up. Yoongi wraps various delicate silver necklaces around your neck in search of the perfect one while Namjoon and Jeongguk chatter lowly in the bedroom about something or other, and you swear you hear Taehyung's deep voice at some point, as well. 

Yoongi finally decides on a dainty silver chain with no charm for you to wear and begins to search the drawers in his closet's island for a matching piece for himself. Meanwhile, Jimin exits the closet, and Jeongguk steps in. 

"I hope you don't mind, but I wanted to give you your birthday gift early," Jeongguk says.

Surprised, you glance at him through the mirror before turning to regard him fully. Jeongguk is in his typical Paradise garb—in fact, all of the family men wear black satin and black slacks, with black and silver accessories. Jeongguk's hair is styled away from his forehead with a freshly short chop and sharp undercut. 

"After that guy touched you at Paradise, I thought you should have it," Jeongguk continues. "Especially since we'll be at the casino tonight; there's no telling what kind of seedy characters might be there."

Taehyung pops around the corner, holding onto a small, rectangular box, and Jeongguk nods for you to take it. You reach for it, and Taehyung says, "From both of us."

"Of course," you respond with a smile, feeling your heart burst as your fingertips rub over crushed velvet. You have a feeling there must be some kind of weapon inside, based on Jeongguk's hint—a knife, judging by the size of the container. 

As you open the box, Yoongi leans in close, and Namjoon takes a step into the space, glancing over Jeongguk's shoulder. 

"I, uh—"Jeongguk begins as you crack it open, and you halt your movement to look at him. "I hope it's not too insensitive, given…well…you'll see."

You hesitate a moment, then continue opening it, gasping at the sight of the gift. Nestled against what appears to be black lace is a switchblade. The handle is black lacquer with mother-of-pearl decorations of flowers and birds. It is gorgeous and dainty, and when you lift it, the weight is surprisingly heavy. The blade that springs out is thin and appears to be very sharp, and you twirl it in your fingers as your eyes well with tears. 

"This is beautiful," you say, finally looking at Jeongguk, then to Taehyung. "Thank you so much, you guys."

"It's sharp as fuck," Taehyung says with a grin. "And if you ever need it to be sharpened, just stop on by."

"There's a strap, too," Jeongguk adds somewhat shyly. "Hence why I thought…"

When he trails off, you giggle. Clearly, Jeongguk knows about your method of killing Seungri all those years ago, and it is a sweet thing for him to consider. 

"I love it," you say before he can spiral, and when his features turn soft and his smile brightens, warmth rises to your face. Somewhat sheepishly, you add, "And I like it a lot more than a gun." 

"Well," Namjoon urges from over Jeongguk's shoulder, stealing your attention. He winks as he says, "Try it on."

You set the box down on the island and pull out the bundle of lace, which happens to be a thigh garter. With a scoff, you turn to Jeongguk and teasingly ask, "Is this why you wanted me to have a thigh slit tonight?"

As everyone's attention turns to Jeongguk, he visibly balks, rolling his eyes. "I can have many reasons for wanting the things I want," he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. 

You unfurl the thigh garter and step into it, attempting to ignore all the eyes that watch as you bend and hike it high up your leg. Once it is in position just under the top of the dress slit, you grab the knife and attempt to decide where on your leg it might be most secure. 

Taehyung steps in and asks, "May I?" holding his hands toward your thigh, and although you cannot begin to fathom what he is asking for, you are flustered enough to nod and say, "Yes."

"There is a little piece of elastic inside," Taehyung says as he squats and delicately begins to snake two fingers under the band and feel around. Thankfully, he finds it quickly at the front of your thigh, and he gently begins to rotate it until that part is resting on your outer leg. Holding his palm out, he says, "Knife."

You hand Taehyung the knife, and he slides it into the band, securing it in the elastic bit. As he stands, you reach down to feel it. It only takes a few adjustments of the band's height and position on your thigh before it is perfect. Granted, when you look in the mirror, the entire weapon is visible in this particular dress. 

"Stunning," Yoongi says in a tone that is dark and rich with desire. 

"I agree," Namjoon adds, and you glance up to smile at everyone through the mirror before turning your attention back to your reflection. 

"And a perfect accessory for tonight," Yoongi adds, making you look up at him. "That paired with the engagement ring will tell everyone loud and clear just how deadly our little darling is." 

Ah, yes. The engagement ring. 

You look down at your empty hand and mutter, "Right, I should go get the ring," before turning and waiting for the wall of men to part and let you pass. 

At the thought of the ring—and Yoongi's statement about you being deadly—your heart feels heavy. Anxiety fills you as you pad barefoot through Yoongi's room, past Jimin, who sits on the bed, scrolling through his phone, glancing up with a soft smile. 

In the mansion, there is a light clattering of voices. Members of the family security team are downstairs waiting to escort you to the event, and Yoongi’s cooking team is in the kitchen finishing something sweet and full of carbohydrates, the smell of which wafts throughout the large mansion. 

Time seems to slow as you walk to your room—a room you hardly visit anymore. The familiar and unfamiliar sights and sounds are as comforting as they are daunting, and all the connotations of being part of this gentle but looming chaos fills you with dread. 

Do you want to be deadly? The prospect feels heavy. 

And after Yoongi's heroin relapse and stint in rehab, you worry about the prospect of being more entrenched in this lifestyle than you already are. Getting further involved in this business can only put you more at risk. And if Yoongi plunges off the deep end over losing one of his men, what could become of him should something ever happen to you?

Sure, you are merely playing a role tonight—dressing in a way that sends a message, and wearing a ring that symbolizes something fake. But your position at Yoongi's side is anything but fake, and standing there publicly is a huge hazard to your safety. 

You heavy-blink and realize you are standing in your dark bedroom, staring toward the bed. Light filters in through the windows, but it is the faint and golden glow of a setting sun. A particularly loud laugh echoes through the mansion, snapping you fully out of your trance, and you gaze around for the ring box, which sits Tiffany-blue on your bedside table. 

With a sigh, you approach and grab the ring box, snapping it open and stopping to stare at the giant rock inside before pulling it out and listlessly tossing the open box onto your bed. The ring is heavy as you slide it onto your finger, and your heart clenches at the weight. There is a part of you that hopes one day for this weight to support something real. But can you really become a mafia wife?

Although you hear soft footsteps approach, your gaze lingers on your hand and the ring that adorns it. Yoongi's soft voice asking, "Darling?" causes tears to well in your eyes, and you take a deep, fortifying breath before turning to regard him. 

Yoongi is gorgeous, leaning against your door frame with his brows gently tugged into a concerned frown. As he studies your eyes, he stands straight and slowly steps forward. Both of your hands are clenched in front of your stomach, and he takes them in his, rubbing his thumbs against your palms until your grip loosens. 

"Care to tell me what you're thinking?"

A chuckle works its way from your tummy, and you gaze down sheepishly at your conjoined hands, then back at Yoongi's face. "I don't know where I would even begin," you admit, feeling the urge to cry and swallowing it down.

"You look a little overwhelmed," Yoongi says, and you scoff, nodding. 

"I think I am."

Yoongi licks his lips and hesitates before asking, "Does it have to do with the ring?"

You swallow thickly. "A little," you admit. 

Yoongi's grip on your hands tightens then releases, and he wraps you in a hug, pinning your arms to your sides. "Well, you do not have to tell me right now if you don't feel comfortable, but just know that I always value whatever is on your mind. Especially if it is stressing you out."

"I just…" you begin, closing your eyes and nuzzling your forehead against his neck, doing your best not to rub away any of the makeup on your eyes. 

With a sigh, you change your path, voice weak as you say, "I love you. And Namjoon. You're both amazing and you have been so good to me."

As you swallow thickly, feeling anxiety rise, Yoongi prompts you, saying, "But…"

"But this lifestyle terrifies me," you admit, voice trembling. "And this ring is so heavy and what it symbolizes is so huge, and I…I don't know, Yoongi. I don't know if I can handle all of this."

Yoongi says nothing, but he does sigh. His arms squeeze tighter, and the silence that drags causes you to ramble. 

"I know Namjoon said that the only way out of this lifestyle is death. And I can't…my heart aches imagining all the horrifying possibilities."

"Namjoon told you that," Yoongi mutters, sounding as disheartened as you feel. 

"He wasn't trying to scare me," you insist, lifting your arms to return Yoongi's hug and forcing his arms to slide up to your shoulders. "We were just discussing you, and us, and…all of this."

"It's true that there is a target on my back," Yoongi says, sighing, sounding more resolved than before. "But I am protected. I employ the strongest and smartest on this peninsula. I don't want you to worry about me, or Namjoon, or yourself."

"How could I not?" you practically sob, feeling tears rise and squeezing your eyes closed. 

"Shhh," Yoongi whispers, rubbing his hands on your back and taking a step out of the hug. "We should talk about this soon, but now isn't the time for worries like these, darling. Jimin will kill you if your makeup smears, and Seokjin will kill both of us if we arrive late."

The playful tone makes you laugh, and you sniffle, nodding your head and looking Yoongi in the eye, taking in his warm, almost sad expression. You know that Jimin would be nothing but sympathetic to your tears, and that Yoongi is only joking, but the image of Jimin's angry little snarl flashes in your mind anyway, making you laugh more. 

As if on cue, Namjoon arrives, looking over Yoongi's shoulder with a wide smile that falls into a concerned frown. "Everything okay?"

"As a matter of fact, everything is not okay," Yoongi says, turning to Namjoon with a faux glare that makes him widen his eyes with worry. "Why are you filling our darling's pretty little head with images of us dying."

Namjoon gasps, looks at you, and then back at Yoongi, asking, "When did I ever—"

"You told her the only way out of this lifestyle is death."

Recognition hits, and Namjoon sighs, stepping in and slinging an arm over Yoongi's shoulder, forcing him to turn and face you once more. Namjoon leans to the side, low enough to say softly into Yoongi's ear, "I told her that while you were in rehab and she was lamenting over how badly she wishes you could leave all of this behind."

When Yoongi blinks, his gaze hardens and then drops. "I can't just do that," he says with bitterness in his tone. 

"I know," you respond. "It was selfish of me to—"

"Loving someone is never selfish," Namjoon interrupts nicely, then he squeezes Yoongi's arm. "And you know damn well that she has every right to find what you do horrifying, Yoongi. Be gentle."

"I am gentle," Yoongi pouts, eyes still on the floor.

"Alright," Namjoon says, "Shall we? Seokjin will kill us if we're late."

Unable to hold back a smile, you nod and say, "Let's go."

"This conversation isn't over," Yoongi says in a tone that makes you nervous before softening as he says, "but I appreciate you telling me what is on your mind. And I don't mean to get defensive, this is just…well, it's the only lifestyle I have ever known."

To a certain extent, it is also the only one you have known. Only you were at the behest of powerful men and used as a plaything, and even a weapon, in lowly ranks, hoping for a way to escape to a better life. Sleeping in the bed of powerful men and standing at their side is something else, entirely. 

The casino is packed, and you already regret having to wear high heels on the carpeted floors, feeling each step sink slightly. Cigar smoke and the stench of an amalgamation of types of alcohol permeate the air, and the barrage of sounds from various betting machines blaring over shouting voices overwhelms. 

Yoongi leads you through the center of the casino, and you attempt to keep your head held high and your focus on nothing ahead of you, allowing all the flashing lights to bokeh into spots. When you finally blink everything back into focus, Seokjin is at the center of the room surrounded by a crowd of men. 

Try as you might, you have no idea what the hell this event is for. Each time you ask, you are met with a vague response and conclude that this must simply be a celebration of Seokjin and his beloved House of Cards. 

About an hour in, you are buzzed from whiskey and champagne and find yourself stumbling to the restroom near the bar. Although you are not quite intoxicated enough to be bumbling around, these heels are doing you no favors, and you find yourself griping about it under your breath. The stalls are all empty, and you sit longer than necessary on the toilet just to have a breather somewhere quiet and off your feet. 

When you exit the stall to wash your hands, a woman in a blood-red evening gown with her hair tied high on her head smiles at you through the mirror. You smile back, mostly just to be polite, and wash your hands before turning toward the exit. 

"Quite the rock you got there," the woman comments, making you stop in your tracks. Her voice has a sort of practiced shrillness to it, like she is only pretending to care. "What kind of man can afford a ring like that one?"

Unsure whether you are interested in having this conversation, you turn your head, smile softly, and respond, "A powerful one."

The woman hums and says, "I guess so."

You turn back toward the door and exit. 

As soon as you return to the bar, you notice that Yoongi and Namjoon are no longer there, but Jeongguk is, so you approach him. His eyes brighten instantly, and he downs his drink, then stands up straight and approaches, taking you by the elbow and spinning you in the opposite direction. 

"What are we—"

"Boss Min asked me to escort you to the second floor," Jeongguk responds a little too loud, and you bite back a smile. 

"Right," you respond, not buying his ruse. 

But he does lead you to the elevator, up to the second floor. Only everything is locked and dark, and there is no one around. 

"I can't take it anymore," Jeongguk mutters as he leads you into the banquet room—which he has the access code to—and through the long, vacant space, to the coat check closet where Yoongi first dropped the bomb that he was going to propose to you. "The dress, the knife…you are so fucking hot, dollface."

You say nothing as he closes the door behind you and then switches on the light. There is a low wooden countertop below a partial door, which is closed, and you kick out of your shoes and lean against it. If you are going to let Jeongguk fuck you, you need to do it in a position that is comfortable for both Yoongi and Namjoon to do the same. 

Jeongguk is on his phone, thumbing around while smiling, and you almost berate him for giving someone else your attention while you are standing here waiting for him. But then he turns off the screen and slides the device into his pocket with a devious grin.

"Let's see how far we get before my hyungs arrive," he mutters while sinking to his knees. 

You are drunk by the time you leave, used and satiated, feeling the squelch of cum between your legs. Jeongguk stares longingly at Taehyung from the passenger seat, but occasionally his gaze flits back to you, making your cheeks warm.

Yoongi sits to your right with Namjoon to your left, and although the vehicle is spacious, Taehyung had insisted on everyone strapping into a bulletproof vest, adding bulk to your bodies. Being that this event was widespread and it is likely that Ryujin's team could have caught wind, he rambled about being safe rather than sorry. Plus, there was mention of someone showing up to the event…some woman whose name you do not remember, who made everyone suspicious. 

Ahead of you is the vehicle containing Seokjin, Hoseok, and Jimin, as well as two members of the security team, one of whom resembles Changkyun, though you are unsure whether it really is him. They are leading the way to Paradise, where Jimin insists on having an after-party. 

As you drive through the city, a plume of dark smoke rises into the air, causing you to sit up and bend to better look out the windshield. "There's smoke ahead," you mutter, feeling worry in the pit of your stomach.

Just then, Yoongi's phone rings, shrieking and anxiety-inducing, and you sit back, staring ahead at the billowing smoke. 

"Yes?" Yoongi says as he answers, then says, "Jimin, speak slower."

"Is that Paradise?" Jeongguk asks as you get closer, and you feel panic rise. 

"She what?" Yoongi asks at the same time Taehyung says, "Looks like it's right across the street."

As the vehicle approaches, you realize that Paradise is not on fire, but the building directly across from it is. The building in question is part of a group of warehouses that, as far as you know, have recently been vacant.

"We're right behind you," Yoongi instructs. "Fire workers should be on their way, but we'll assess Paradise for any damages." 

The street is eerily empty as Taehyung pulls into the alleyway beside Paradise and shuts his lights off. Although this area is somewhat recently developing nightlife, slowly tearing down all the warehouses like the one currently in flames, there are still usually people littering the streets. Seeing nobody is concerning, even with Paradise closed for the night. 

"Strap up just in case," Yoongi instructs, and Jeongguk opens the large glove compartment and begins pulling out handguns. 

As everyone removes their seatbelts, Namjoon turns and gets onto his knees on the seat. He reaches back into the trunk, and you hear the sound of velcro parting. Then he hands you and Yoongi handguns, which you take with shaking hands. 

"Remember what you learned," Yoongi says as you stare at the weapon in your trembling palms, feeling its cold steel and familiar weight. "Take in a deep breath, line up your shot, and squeeze the trigger as you exhale."

At a loss for words, you nod, then swallow thickly. This is the absolute last thing you want to be holding in your hands tonight. Luckily, you switched your heels for ballet flats once you got to the vehicle, at least. 

Taehyung and Jeongguk exit the vehicle first while Yoongi and Namjoon stay put. You sit forward anticipating having to leave, and are a bit surprised when they do not. Through the rearview mirror, you watch as the two of them walk to the street with their guns tucked into the waistbands of their pants and glance around. Then Taehyung turns and waves for the rest of you to join him. 

"We should take the side door inside," you say, and Namjoon hums in response, though you are unsure what the nature of his hum is, exactly. 

Yoongi opens his door first, and Namjoon follows suit. "Go with Namjoon," Yoongi instructs, and you shift, then turn slightly to your left, waiting for Namjoon to exit.

Yoongi walks toward the street and Namjoon follows, but you hesitate. You do not want to be on an eerily silent street in the middle of the night while the building across from yours is billowing with smoke. This matter should be left to the fire department, and your family men should get the fuck home.

"Sweetheart," Namjoon softly calls, making you gasp, realizing the space between the two of you as you scurry ahead to catch up.

"I don't like this," you mutter, shoulders scrunched to your ears as you glance around the street. The sides of the bulletproof vest are rough and scratchy against your bare arms. "We should leave this to the professionals and go home."

"We are the professionals," Namjoon responds as you turn the corner and begin to walk toward the entrance of Paradise where Seokjin, Hoseok, and Jimin are all congregated. Jimin tenses as you approach, then sighs and relaxes when he sees that it is you. 

"Suited and strapped?" Seokjin teases, despite having a handgun tucked into his waistband. Hoseok has a fucking shotgun resting against his shoulder, and his smile is so blindingly bright that you struggle to reconcile the sight. Beside them, Changkyun and another man stand with what appear to be semi-automatic rifles in their hands.

"Safety first," Jeongguk slurs, clearly wasted despite how steadily he stands. 

"Any whispers?" Yoongi asks, and Seokjin blinks a few times then shrugs, saying, "None."

"Hmm," Yoongi taps his fingertips to his bottom lip, long fingers dancing as he speaks. "This is certainly a tactic to get our attention…but why? Where are they?"

You are not eager to find out who the message comes from or where they are, and you approach Double Seok and Jimin, sliding in close beside them. 

"Do we think this has anything to do with the sudden appearance of Hyungseo?" Taehyung asks. "There had been whispers of her helping in Busan."

Yoongi shrugs. "What could it mean? Unless she really is working for Ryujin, I can't imagine what her place in any of this would be. And why would she be setting one of Lady Choi's buildings on fire just to get our attention?"

"Why don't I take our dove inside?" Jimin suggests, and Yoongi turns his attention to you. 

You must look as terrified as you are, because Yoongi nods and says, "May as well. I don't need either of you getting hurt."

"Why don't we all get inside?" Jimin suggests. "We can assess the situation at a safe distance."

"Through what window?" Hoseok asks, and he is correct to do so; Paradise has no windows. 

"Stand in the fucking door, then," Jimin snaps, "I don't know."

From the distance, the siren of a fire truck screams, and you sigh with relief. The sound is piercing as it approaches, but it is a reprieve from the haunting silence and it fills you with hope

As soon as the truck pulls up, workers pile onto the street and begin to put out the fire, minding your group no business. It takes a while, and everyone watches as hoses hooked to hydrants do their work. 

Although it probably lasts around a half hour, you and everyone stand transfixed. Once everything is under control, the workers pack up and leave without a word to any of you, as if they were never here at all. 

Eerie silence returns and is met with the smell of burnt wood and plastic. You feel sick to your stomach staring at the corpse of the building before you, partially caved in while bits of a frame stand amongst the wreckage, scorched black. 

"What is the message?" Yoongi asks. 

"Shall we go inside and wait it out?" Namjoon asks. 

"I'll stay and stand watch," Hoseok says, dancing his fingertips over the handle of the shotgun. 

"Me too," Jeongguk slurs, and you feel the urge to insist that he does not. 

Jimin turns and pulls a ring of keys from his pocket and uses several to open the various locks. Then he opens the door wide, holding it for you to approach and step inside. Namjoon begins to follow suit, for which you are thankful, and he looks over his shoulder to say, "Yoongi. You should join us."

Yoongi takes two steps toward the building, and the sounds of heels loudly clacking against concrete can be heard, pulling everyone's attention. You look up to find the person approaching is the same lady who commented on your engagement ring at the casino restroom, and she is coming from beside the building to the right of the one that had just been on fire. 

The woman has changed from the blood-red evening gown to what appears to be an equally blood-red leather bikini top and denim mini skirt. Her hair is down, hanging to her breasts, and it looks wet, as if she were among the flames as they were being put out. 

"Now, now, gentlemen," the woman calls from across the street. "Retreating so soon?"

"Hyungseo," Yoongi calls, crossing his arms over his chest. "What are you doing here?"

The woman, who you surmise is called Hyungseo, walks across the street, swinging her arms loosely to her sides as if to a song that nobody can hear. As she gets closer, you can see that her makeup is smeared in black smudges, and there is a somewhat crazed look in her eyes. 

She pouts as she approaches Yoongi, fixing him with a curious stare. In her heels, she is nearly as tall as he is, but there is an intimidating aura to her otherwise lithe frame that makes her presence feel gigantic. 

"I come on behalf of my team, asking for a truce."

"Your team?" Yoongi scoffs, cocking his head. "What team?"

"Didn't you hear? Your pretty little ex has stepped down."

At this, Yoongi and all the other men straighten their posture. Yoongi is the first to respond, asking, "She what?"

Under his breath, Taehyung mutters, "So the whispers are true."

The smile that graces Hyungseo's lips is sharp and devious, and she glances around at all ten of you, then back to Yoongi. "You're outnumbered," she drawls in a teasing tone, elongating each syllable as she cocks her head slowly. 

"What kind of truce? What do we care if that building is burnt?" Yoongi asks. 

"That building," Hyungseo somewhat mumbles, rolling her head listlessly to the side to glance at it, "belongs to a very powerful woman who will no doubt have your head on a pike when she finds out you burnt it down."

"We didn't burn it down," Namjoon responds angrily.

Hyungseo shrugs. "Sure you did. And she is going to be very confused as to why you did, considering you so generously high-balled her for ownership of one of your less flashy hotels."

"Go on," Yoongi says with a sigh.

"You see," Hyungseo continues, "Lady Choi is very well-connected and has family in our organization. I wouldn't be surprised if she wanted to buy a hotel in Seoul in order to keep an eye on you guys. A keep-your-enemies-closer kind of situation, if you will."

"So she owns some shitty, vacant buildings, and you set fire to one of them to frame us?" Seokjin asks with a laugh in his tone. "You realize this building is covered with security cameras, and that your little ruse will be easily discredited."

Hyungseo shrugs and says, "We'll see about that."

Jimin already appears to be pulling the footage up on his phone, and you watch as his brows knit. "Boss," Jimin says nervously, "this man…he looks a lot like you from behind."

"Except I was at the casino all night," Yoongi responds, rolling his eyes.

"Hmm," Hyungseo responds, "are you sure about that? Because my team noticed there was about an hour and three minutes during which you were nowhere to be found. You and your right-hand man, in fact. And how strange that this fire happened to start around the exact same time. She smirks as she adds, "Where were you, Yoongi?"

Yoongi sighs. "I was fucking my fiancé."

"Your fake fiancé," Hyungseo corrects, causing Yoongi's shoulders to square once more. "And what about Namjoon? Was he also fucking her?"

"The nature of our relationship is none of your business," Yoongi responds, to which Hyungseo holds up a hand as if telling him to stop. 

"Don't worry, darling. Ryujin has told me all about the nature of your relationship. And the thirty-seven minutes during which your pretty little whore and Jeongguk went missing before you and Namjoon disappeared? Should I not question the nature of their relationship, too?"

Jeongguk pulls his gun and cocks the hammer, filling you with fear and dread. As he lifts it level with Hyungseo's head, you gasp and squeeze your eyes closed. 

"Down, boy," Hyungseo mutters listlessly, rolling her eyes. "No need to get so defensive."

"I think we've heard quite enough," Yoongi says, holding out a hand to Jeongguk and lowering it. Jeongguk follows the command and drops his arm down, pointing the barrel of his gun to the ground.

"So…" Hyungseo drawls, appearing bored. "Truce?"

"Fuck your truce," Yoongi responds sharply. "You're just trying to frame me, and I am not playing your games; we can arrange a meeting with Lady Choi and settle this like adults. She happily set the price she wanted for the hotel, but I can always ask her for less. And I can buy that burnt mess your team made if it assuages her worries. Regardless of the so-called family she has on your side, she and my mother were old friends; I'm not afraid of her or of you."

"Hmm, I'm afraid we can't do it that way," Hyungseo says as she scratches her head and begins to walk backward to the street. "Lady Choi may have had an allegiance with your family back in the day, but now your mommy and daddy are dead. She could give a fuck about the Min runt—her words, not mine."

Jeongguk lifts his gun again, and this time, a shot is fired from across the street, appearing to narrowly miss him as he ducks out of the way. You gasp, feeling terror take over so abruptly that your legs tremble and you nearly fall, gun gripped uselessly in your fist.

Everyone but Jimin reaches for the guns they have holstered just as another shot is fired and the men begin to scatter, taking cover. You run into Paradise, making way for Jimin, but he hesitates by the door, calling for Yoongi, who rounds the corner into the alley. 

Men charge from around the burnt building across the street, and although it is safe to say your men are outnumbered, if this really is everyone, they are not outnumbered by a lot. Still, fear quakes through you, and you nearly sink to the floor, holding the door cracked open.

"Jimin!" you whisper-shout until he finally snaps out of his daze and enters the building, closing the door tightly behind him. 

"What the fuck are they doing?" Jimin mutters, trembling fearfully. "Why didn't any of those idiots take cover inside?"

A fist pounds on the door, causing you to scream. From outside you hear, "It's Kyun. Let me in." 

Jimin holds his gun up with a shaking fist and cracks the door, then steps back, pulling it open wide. 

"You two retreat," Changkyun instructs. "I'll watch this door. Is there an alley door you can watch in case the men try to enter from there?"

"Yes," Jimin says, nodding his head somewhat maniacally with a distant look in his eye. "I can go to the back door."

Jimin turns and runs toward the back exit, and you stand in place, unsure whether you could will your legs to move if you wanted to. Despite calling it the back exit, it is along the nearby left wall, just past the main floor.

Gunfire is heard outside, along with shouting. You walk to the left wall and stand with your back against it, attempting to take deep breaths. Each exhale comes out in a sob as tears begin to pour. You cannot fathom anything happening to one of these men, and the prospect is horrifying. 

You wish they would have all come inside when you could take cover in a back room or even in a basement, but even you are not foolish enough to think any of those men would turn down the chance to kill their opponents instead.

Changkyun opens the door, and you watch with wide, horrified eyes as he rapidly fires bullets through the crack, then slams the door shut. Some shots from outside are much louder than others, making you flinch and jump with each sound. Gunfire rages on, causing tears to spill as your shoulders are held high and tense around your ears, making them ache. 

And then, suddenly, it is quiet. 

"Do not open this door for anyone," Changkyun instructs. "I am going to get the men back into their armored vehicles and return for you." 

"Okay," you mutter softly, nodding. 

"Lock it behind me and then get away from it, just in case. Everything is armored, but the walls are safest."

You nod some more, humming in understanding. Changkyun exits, and you shuffle over quickly to turn all five locks, then back away before turning toward the back exit. 

Each breath you take is loud in the large, empty building. You turn to locate Jimin, who should be standing near the back exit, and fear spikes when you do not see him. Had he gone outside? You feel a pull to go investigate but stand still, eyes wide and staring toward the closed door. 

And then, it flings open, and you watch as a man you have never seen before comes charging in, weapon drawn. You begin to back up but hit the wall, and he spots you, lifting his weapon. 

Panic pulsates through you, and you lift your gun far slower than you should to defend yourself. The man smirks and opens his mouth to speak when suddenly his head jerks to the left and explodes, sending blood and brain matter flying against the hardwood floor and a nearby round wooden table. You scream at the top of your lungs and fall against the wall, sliding to the floor as Hoseok steps in, shotgun still lifted. 

"We gotta get out of here!" Hoseok shouts, but try as you might, you cannot lift yourself from the floor, and you shake your head, feeling your body tremble so hard it makes your head ache.

"Sweetheart," Namjoon's voice calls. You search for him, but the edges of your vision are black, and all you are able to make out is a form of black that is vaguely human-shaped approaching in the dim room. "Come on. We gotta go."

Strong arms lift you, and you scream, struggling to comprehend anything but horrific fear. You are stood onto your feet and hugged tightly. Slowly, the scent of Namjoon's cologne comes to the forefront, but so does the brassy scent of blood, making your guts churn. 

With Namjoon's help, you begin to walk, and as you step past the man who has painted the floor red with his blood, you close your eyes tight. Cool night air hits you and snaps you harshly back to reality. You have to swallow down the urge to vomit, shivering violently in your scant evening gown, feeling sweat that has pooled beneath the thick vest start to cool.

"Jimin, just get into our trunk," you hear Yoongi insist, and you gasp happily at the sound of his voice. 

"Fine," Jimin sighs. "I don't want to walk back to our car, anyway."

Bodies litter the street, sidewalk, and alleyway of men dressed in black and holding guns. On the hands of those you can see is a tattoo of a black dagger, the tip of which is red, dripping with a single drop of blood. You wonder if they belong to a gang that marks all their participants in this manner. 

The trunk of the sedan is opened, and Jimin rounds the vehicle to get inside. Just then, Seokjin pulls up in his vehicle, and Hoseok runs over, jumping into the front seat. Jimin hesitates and must decide that, since his ride is here, he will just get in with them, because he closes the trunk and takes off running toward the vehicle. 

Jimin reaches the sidewalk and abruptly turns to the left, pulling his hands over his head and ducking. Hoseok shouts, "Fuck!" as he flings his car door open, but he is too slow. You hear a gun fire just as Jimin jerks and then crumbles, hitting the pavement. You are so filled with rage and fear that you begin to run toward Jimin. 

All you can hear is your own heart pounding in your ears as you turn the corner and find a man standing with his gun lifted. Hoseok and Seokjin stand from the open vehicle doors and raise their weapons, and you do the same. 

In a flash, every ounce of fear in your body transforms into anger, hate, and adrenaline. The world seems to screech to a halt as you pull the trigger in tandem with the other two and shoot. The man whose smoking gun points to you—to where Jimin stood—falls back, crashing to asphalt seconds after his brains splatter, and you advance, unconcerned about your surroundings. 

Voices shout around you, and you fire one more shot into the man’s head, which lurches uselessly from the ground and then crashes back with a squelch of blood and brain matter. And then another shot, walking until you are straddling his ribs with your ballet flats, firing again, turning his head into bone and sinew mush. Again and again, until click, click, click, your gun is out of bullets, and you scream bloody murder—enraged, as if one more bullet wound will undo the harm this battered corpse has caused. 

You raise your arm high in the air, intent to smash the butt of your gun into what is left of his face, but are stopped by a strong, immovable force. You hardly register the solid, warm arms that wrap around you, and as you are pulled from the man, you kick your legs and scream, furious with the world. Your heart continues to pound dizzying and loud, and you are certain that you would rip every last man to shreds with your bare hands if you could—god, if only you could. 

Incensed screams rip from your chest as you are dragged backward, feet hitting the asphalt, unable to keep up with the movement. The scent of flowers and springtime greets your nose in waves, bringing Namjoon’s calming voice into the forefront for only a moment, though you cannot, for the life of you, make out what he is saying; shouting and the overwhelming scent of blood takes over too strongly, tugging you between heaven and hell. 

In a surge of anger, you reach for the switchblade at your thigh, grip onto the handle, and pull it free. You know that the man is dead—there is nothing recognizable left of his face—but the urge to slice him open and tear out his insides is palpable and unforgiving. You will not be satisfied until his bleeding fucking heart is in your fist. 

Namjoon's grip on you loosens, and he shouts something incomprehensible as you attempt to lunge forward, only to be caught again in his grasp. You press the small lever on the side of the knife as hands reach for your weapon, and in a fit of panic and rage, you flail your arm, desperate to keep a tight hold of the knife and continue on to your battered target. 

And then, things blur and slow down. Your arm is yanked back, and as you rip it forward again, you feel the knife catch, but you are too caught up in the movement that you do not stop—all you can comprehend is blinding rage at the man whose brains are splattered on the ground. Screams and shouts are deafening, and although you can make out certain words—Yoongi…face…blood—nothing fully makes sense. 

The knife is ripped from your hand at the same time the arms around you release, and when you turn to scream at Namjoon for keeping you from attacking the man whose bullet stole something precious and sacred from you, you find Yoongi standing a foot away, hands up to his face, with blood seeping from between his fingers. 

"Sweetheart, don't—" Namjoon begins, blocking your view with his arms held out around your sides. But you are frantic, and you do not understand what has just happened; how the fuck is Yoongi injured?

Taehyung wraps an arm around Yoongi and spins him, ushering him away to a sedan, and you panic, desperate to go with him. Faintly, you think you see Jimin on some kind of stretcher with his neck and head braced, and you wonder where that came from. Did Taehyung have something like that handy? Can it actually fit in one of the vehicles? 

The fighting all around you was so chaotic that now, even as it seems to be over, your adrenaline is too high for anything to make clear and perfect sense; no sound registers and every light trails in a dizzying spell before your eyes. 

"Yoongi!" you scream, and Namjoon holds you tighter, keeping you from the one other person you need to be with the most. You scream, "Let go of me, fucking let go of me!" attempting to claw Namjoon's arms away from your middle as Yoongi is helped by Hoseok into the back of the same large black vehicle that Seokjin and Taehyung are lifting Jimin into the back of. 

Jeongguk steps in front of you, face stern and streaked with tears, and he firmly—roughly—grabs onto your shoulders, gritting his teeth as he holds you steady.

"You've done enough," he says sharply, piercing into your heart, and hot streaks pour down your face and cloud your vision as you fail to make sense of what the fuck is happening. 

"Yoongi—" you mutter, jaw clattering as your body trembles in the cool night air, shaking your head and getting onto your toes in an attempt to see over Jeongguk's shoulder. "What happened, where is he going? I need to go with him, please, I need to go with him!"

"You need to calm the fuck down and breathe," Jeongguk retaliates angrily.

"Jeongguk, what happened?" you ask, quaking with adrenaline and searching his face for answers. His anger is understandable, but you cannot figure out why it seems to be directed at you.

Behind him, Namjoon's face falls to his hands, and gripped tightly in his fist, pointing outward, is your open switchblade. 

"Namjoon," you whisper, finding your voice wrecked and unable to project. 

"Let's get you into this vehicle," Jeongguk sternly says, steering you toward Seokjin's sedan. 

"But they—" you begin, watching as Namjoon walks away and climbs into the very back of Taehyung's vehicle. The seats appear to be down, and Yoongi is sitting beside Jimin's stretcher with his head tilted upward, holding something over his face. 

"They have to receive medical attention," Jeongguk says. "And you need to go with Seokjin hyung."

Changkyun and the other man are in the back seat of Seokjin's vehicle, and Hoseok sits staring ahead as Jeongguk ushers you into the one empty seat, behind Hoseok. 

"You're—" you begin to ask, and Jeongguk interrupts, saying, "I'm going with them," before slamming your door shut and walking back to Taehyung's vehicle. 

You attempt to open the door, but the handle moves uselessly, keeping you trapped inside. 

"Seat belts!" Seokjin sing-songs with a hint of exhaustion in his tone. 

"What happened to Yoongi?" you ask, frantically watching Seokjin, who glances into the rearview mirror with a frown. 

"What do you remember about everything that just transpired?"

Searching your memory, you shake your head. It all happened so fast, and Yoongi was behind you, so there was no way to see how he was injured.

"After we sh-shot…" you stammer, unable to finish the sentence, "I pulled out my knife to stab…" you trail off once more and squeeze your eyes closed, realizing now how ridiculous it is that you wanted to continue attacking a man who was already dead. When you open your eyes, Seokjin is still frowning, eyes on you through the rearview mirror. "And then Namjoon took my knife away. So then…what happened to Yoongi?"

Seokjin continues to watch you for just a moment, then he sighs with a light shake of his head, turning his gaze from you to the road. And you want to demand answers, but when he puts the vehicle in drive, the words die on your tongue. You still do not understand, and you spiral, asking yourself the same questions over and over. How could Yoongi have gotten injured? What could have happened to him?

"Seems you got a little carried away and don't fully remember everything," Hoseok says from the passenger seat directly in front of you. "It happens, especially during emotionally intense situations like this. Let's get you home and prioritize the others getting taken care of, and then we will all touch base with what happened." 

"Wh-what do you mean by got a little carried away?" you ask, shaken.

Hoseok hums and responds simply, "The rage you seemed to experience, shooting the man repeatedly despite him already being dead and then attempting to turn the brunt of the weapon on him, followed by pulling out your knife…it was a very irrational but very typical drive to continue punishing the man for what he had done." There is a chuckle on his voice as he adds, "I remember my first blind rage."

"Me too," Seokjin responds calmly, eyes on the road.

The unnamed security guard hums mmhmm as Changkyun says, "Me too."

Your eyes well with tears as you attempt to recount everything, but you only remember it in fragments. Jimin crumpling to the ground, you running and lifting your gun, Namjoon lifting you kicking and screaming, and, finally, Yoongi bleeding. 

"I don't…fully remember…" you mutter, eyes unfocused on the black leather seat ahead of you. 

"Although we do not recommend charging into battle around a corner like that, you may have saved me," Hoseok says with a chipper tone. "My shotgun was empty, and I had been reaching into the glovebox for another gun, but you were quicker on your feet than I was with my hands."

"You only had one gun?" Seokjin asks, turning briefly to Hoseok before looking ahead at the road.

"I know," Hoseok responds with a laugh. "Uncharacteristic, huh? I came out with a glock on my thigh but gave it to Namjoon mid-fight when his clip ran out. Seems none of us were fully anticipating what was to come."

"For once, I had no insider news," Seokjin laments, and you think you hear a pout in his tone. "I miss having someone on the inside."

Although you are sure Seokjin means no offense, there is a very blasé manner in which he seems to be mentioning the death of Hyunjin that makes you stiffen—makes your stomach churn. 

Conversation dies down, and you close your eyes with your head tilted against the window. And suddenly, you are coming over the hill with the mansions in view. Yoongi's home has its lights out—save for the security lights outside—and there are no vehicles in the drive. You assume that everyone is at Taehyung's place, and the thought of going home to Yoongi's cold, empty bedroom is daunting. 

"Would you like to come with us for the time being?" Seokjin asks, and it takes a few seconds for his words to sink in. You glance up with a start. "I'm not sure how long the others will be, but we have a spare bed you can rest in."

"Or you can attempt to distract yourself with some television," Hoseok suggests.

You nod, unsure whether either of these options sound good, but eager to do anything but return home alone. "Alright," you mutter, swallowing down the overwhelming urge to cry.

"We'll make some hot cocoa and give you a change of clothing," Seokjin recommends, and you nod listlessly, heavy-blinking.

With a sigh, you stare out as Seokjin pulls into the very start of Yoongi's driveway and does a u-turn. Although you have never been to their home, you remember Namjoon telling you that it is on the opposite side as his, meaning their driveway would have been before Yoongi's. And, sure enough, when they pull into the driveway, past the loud metal gate, it is nearly a picture-perfect replica of Namjoon's home.

Hoseok is gentle as he guides you out of the sedan to his front door while Seokjin walks ahead and unlocks it. Although you are surprised by how gelatinous your bones seem to have become, Hoseok appears to have anticipated it, holding you steady around the waist. 

Their home décor is nothing like you would have imagined, and you wonder what Victorian-age vampire prince decorated. Everything is crushed velvet with hand-carved accents and gold leaf, similar to Yoongi's home but with more tones of blood red and emerald green. The wainscoted walls are littered with paintings and sconces, and everything is dark wood with upholstery in he same deep shades.

Hoseok runs up the stairs two at a time and quickly returns with a set of black pajamas—a button-down shirt and pants. You change in the downstairs bathroom, which is all gold and black marble, then return to the living room to the smell of hot chocolate and find Hoseok on the nearby chaise clicking through streaming services. 

It is not long before you curl up and fall asleep to the soft sounds of low chattering while some drama you have never heard of plays in the background. Twice you wake up screaming to the sight of watching a man's head explode before giving up on sleep and continuing to watch TV while the sun slowly begins to rise.

i'll keep it a secret 비밀로 할게

your corruption and sin 네 부정과 죄

reveal everything 전부 드러내

friendly reminder: there is no major character death tag!!!

only 3 chapters left 😬😬😬 how are we feeling??? everything is going to spiral to the end, and then there will be a sequel (i know i say this a lot but it seems i need to remind some!!! this is not the end the end, but we are building to an end.)

if you would like a laugh, while searching for an ot7 pic that includes yoongi with long hair, the only one i really found with everyone's hair almost correct (jk and sj aren't quite accurate) all i could find was this years festa pics:

imagine the collateral family men in pastels hehe.

also, yoongi wore this outfit to Paradise:

woof woof bark bark bark imagine him in this fit with his long hair and current muscle bulk.

anywayyyyyyyyy thank you so much for reading!!! comments and reblogs make the world go 'round!!! and likes are appreciated!!! stay hydrated, i love you!!!

tag lists will be on separate reblogs! they've gotten too big to contain as one!

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Collateral is copyright 2022-2023 theharrowing, all rights reserved.

#yoongi mafia #yoongi x reader #namjoon x reader #jungkook x reader #yoongi smut #namjoon smut #jungkook smut #bts mafia #bts smut #bts angst #bts poly #namjoon mafia #jungkook mafia #fic: collateral #Spotify

[dairy-farmer]

Another stalker/civilian Au~!

Its an Au where Bruce get thrown into some multi-verse adventure with a few other Batmen, not long into his grief spiral? And between Climactic Battles(tm) they try to tell him to be... less harsh, on his Tim? Because they know he is them. He won't listen if they say Be Nice. He's raging and full of grief.

And he's like? Tim? Timothy Drake. The neighbors child who should be in Morocco, THAT Tim?

Yep. He becomes your next Robin. They ALL tell him. Because *various explanations basicly boiling down too "you publicly lose your shit in grief"*. And? Bruce has time to work through his immediate, VIOLENT denial? While on that adventure?

Comes back having reached a stage of "Absolutely Not. No More Robins." Not because it's TIM, but because he refuses to lose another kid? But ALSO? He's now Hyper Aware of this kid?

That's HIS kid.

He has to PROTECT that kid from trying to become Robin. From trying to join the Caped lifestyle. So he, now that he's no longer risking just destroying just HIMSELF, drags himself together. Painfully, slowly, and with help, but he does it. Is he okay? Not remotely. But he slowly gets functioning again.

Twitchs everytime Tim looks too hard in his direction. Seems too concerned.

He carefully manipulates Tim's school to offer better and better distractions. Opportunities for growth and too entice. Photography, engineering, languages, skating, game creation. Anything.

He monitors Tim too and from school. Stops purse snatching and petty crimes far before Tim ever sees them. Makes SURE there will never be any call to action for his boy. No great tragedy.

Then, of course, the universe (as it tends too) spits on his efforts in mockery. Tim's parent are kidnapped, killed, by a madman. He is orphaned, like Bruce was. Left with too much wealth and few to protect him from those who would take it. It's like looking into a mirror of the past.

He steps up.

His lawyers vicious, the will, a forgery they'll never be able to prove is fake. They KNOW it is. Because they destroyed the original. However, his fake is better then theirs. His lawyers far more bloodthirsty. He sees most of the Drake Industries board in jail by the end of the month.

But... Timothy Drake is not his son. He's his foster child.

One who avoids him.

Who chokes on the secrets he KNOWS, but doesn't know, Bruce knows he knows. Who mourns his parents. Who's trying to hold on to the shreds of his life. Bruce watches him through the Manor cameras and obsesses. So small. So sad. They have both lost so much.

It is almost... perverse, the weight that lifts from Bruce's shoulders, when he drags his weary body back to the cave each night. After brutal patrols and the untold horrors man visits upon man. And he can just? Flip on the cameras. Find Tim. Curled warm and soft, safe and alive, in his bed. Playing some game, later then he should, as young men do. Sneaking a snack.

The living representation of what he's fighting for.

But Dick comes back, raging through and misunderstanding. Thinks Tim is Robin. Lashes out. The shouting echoes. By the time everything is cleared up, Tim has already quietly found himself a boarding school abroad. Dick is devastated. Feels like a monster. Bruce wants to refuse. But whispers of another break out on TOP of League of Assassins agents being spotted lurking around?

He hates it, but agrees.

It's a miserable slog of time after that. Report cards and updates the only highlights. A crime lord that turns out to be his dead son appears. A BIOLOGICAL Son that hounds him to be Robin appears. Eventually Tim returns. Technically, aged out of the foster system.

As though Bruce would ever let go so easily.

He welcomes him home at the airport. His boy, grown into his slender frame and delicate features. Wants to drive him to the Manor but drives him to the upper class apartment Tim has bought himself instead.

Adjusts his patrol routes mentally.

Learns, through his planted cameras, that Tim's schoolmates have been a TERRIBLE influence. Casual nudity, sprawling hedonistic nights of take-out and wine, and most concerning? Mentions of "hook ups" he will be missing, over the phone. Bruce is appalled. How did he MISS this?

Sure, Tim cleans up well. Presents himself as reserved if flirtatious in the boardroom. Is now working to seize control of his birthright. But... but...!

Bruce is conflicted. But can not tear his eyes away, as he reviews the surveillance from the Welcome Home gala he threw for Tim. Was it coincidence? Or intentional. That every "hot young thing", as it were, that Tim pulled into a side room to fuck him throughout the night. Was the civilian identity of a Cape?

Bruce, as he tends to, gets obsessed. Watches as Tim is fucked by hooks and lovers alike. As he pleasures himself in his home, works in his office, commutes to and from work.

Maybe it gets weird. Because of course it does. Maybe Damian volunteers, after noticing his Father's obsession, in hopes of gaining som of that attention for himself. Seduces Drake. Finds they have a lot in common. Fucks him knowing his Father is watching. Realizes he is IN to that. That he enjoys the murmured commands of his Father in his ear, telling him how best to earn his approval.

Maybe it's just Bruce. Who finally shows up as Batman. And they pretend. That Tim doesn't know. That Bruce doesn't know he knows. And Bruce rocks his world.

However it ends? Tim is a kept man. Batmans secret civilian lover. And he gets WEIRD about it~☆

-🐼🐼🐼

it would be just like bruce to get weird over it especially since, whether he realized it or not, he's formed a pretty severe complex over tim 😩😩😩

#answered asks #asks #anonymous #brutim

[bluef00t]

Finally collecting these in a post—Atomic Robo robotswap ideas. This was more of a character design challenge than a real AU, but the concept kind of got away from me.

Rambling design notes + a couple panel redraws + some ideas I had for Helsingard and ALAN 1.0 under the cut:

This idea spiraled out of an old sketch by Wegner of real-boy Robo as a genetics experiment. I'm interpreting that as basically Wolverine minus the animal motifs (and generally much more well-adjusted).

I tried to mimic more elements of his bot design; for example the hair silhouette and the thick blue-tinted glasses, swapped for goggles as his lifestyle got more active. I guess sensitive eyes are a side effect of his mutations. (The classic superhero forehead curl on babyrobo has no design justification, I just couldn't resist.) His appearance would make the public of the '20s a little uncomfortable with seeing him as Tesla's son. Which feels very thematically appropriate.

I'm still calling him "Robo" because it feels weird not to, though it would be a nickname. Appropriate for a guy who never sleeps; plausibly derived from Robert/Ratko. (The American name would be how he's introduced to the public; the Serbian one used casually by Tesla.*) Honestly, it seems in-character for him to put down Robo as his actual legal name when he finally got that chance.

*Things I found out after picking these names for their superficial resemblance to "Robo": Robert means "famous, shining" and Ratomir means "defender of peace"; literally "war for peace". Definitely an affectionately ironic moniker for a son so determined to be an action hero. Though dear monolingual Robo probably wouldn't catch on until decades after Tesla's death... Well, now I've gone and made myself sad.

The action scientists are mostly an excuse to still draw robots. Let's say they're Robo's big midlife crisis project after realizing he was going to outlive his entire first team and not think about it too hard.

Vik (inspired by Robby the Robot) is the oldest of the models. He's optimized for processing power, which is how you get a robot that will try to suggest purely hypothetical (but mathematically sound!) solutions to urgent real-world problems. And enjoys TTRPGs of Turing-complete levels of complexity.

Lang (inspired by Robo) came shortly after, more optimized for the "action" part of action science. Being made of metal does wonders for your recoil management. (I know she hasn't had the hair buns in 10+ years, but that's what I was trying to do with the "antennae".)

Foley (inspired by Alan) is the newest model, optimized for human-robot interaction. Getting wifi installed in her head early on had the unexpected side effect of making her really good at understanding networks of all kinds.

BRN-3 wasn't built to be sentient. He's just a lab geological survey bot that began showing signs of sapience one day and attributes his own "enlightenment" to the "crystals" he'd been studying. This is obviously bullshit but nobody can give a better explanation, so...

Jenkins is literally just the Terminator, except his evil future is vampires instead of AI. He was sent back to kill Robo, which clearly didn't work, so they talked it out and now he just hangs around Tesladyne on high alert for anything that might kick off the apocalypse.

(I have no idea where Ada, Ben, and Koa fit in here, but I might come back to them later. Using their Agents of CHANGE power suits as android designs felt like cheating.)

Not included in these drawings are Helsingard and ALAN, but I'm considering switching around parts of their premises, too.

Helsingard was a Nazi supercomputer meant to calculate the perfect world-conquering strategy. Instead, it realized that Germany's loss was imminent and hid copies of itself around the planet. Every once in a while, someone accidentally boots up a copy and it tries to take over. In the modern age it's a total dice roll as to whether this will be horrifying (what major infrastructure isn't computerized these days?) or just kind of pathetic (it's too old to understand the internet and can easily get itself trapped in an office printer spitting toner and stacks of paper that read BEHOLD HELSINGARD).

ALAN (potential rename pending; the Turing connection is rather lost in the version I'm going with for now) is the world's second successful "unkillable" genetic experiment, a govt project during the Cold War to ensure that the last man alive in a nuclear winter scenario would be British. But it turns out telling a guy he's the next stage in human evolution and sealing him in a bunker for decades to await a chance to inherit the earth which doesn't come isn't great for his sense of compassion or morality. Eventually, ALAN decides to hurry things along before we inferior humans end the world in a less convenient way, and Robo has to... well, you know this part.

It turns out there was a secret phase 2 to this plan, which would have been to populate the solar system with perfect immortal mind-networked clones of himself. The single under-baked clone that it does manage to spit out before being shut down is our Alan :] He needs someone to look after him while his crazy healing powers fill in the missing chunks of his body and brain, and he didn't get a full memory upload from ALAN, so it's free son boy!

No changes were made to Dr. Dinosaur. He's already perfect.

#atomic robo #robotswap #bluef00t art #the part under the cut is pretty long I've been turning this over in my head for a while #there's definitely bits of continuity that don't quite work (even Wolverine would have trouble with the head-in-a-box-for-130-years thing) #but this isn't really about rewriting something coherent. this is about how fun it is to do panel redraws as warm-ups #000

[missladymusings]

Running

Fandom: Bridgerton

Pairing: Colin Bridgerton x Penelope Featherington

Word Count: 2k

Publish Date: 2/11/21

Warnings: Pregnancy?

Major Tags: Established Relationship, Unplanned Pregnancy, Hurt/Comfort, Modern AU

Summary:

Penelope Featherington’s life was more perfect than she had ever imagined. She was working her dream job as a blogger and just finished writing her first book. She had the most amazing long-term boyfriend, who loved her and had his own travel cooking show on Food Network. Her body, her apartment, her lifestyle- everything was just suited to her. But what happens when she finds out she’s pregnant- and realizes that she wants to keep the baby? Will Colin want that too?

Read "Running" on AO3 or keep reading

A/N: Doing a mass upload of my old fics without editing, please be kind!

Six seemed to be the magic number for Penelope today.

There were only six more hours until her amazing boyfriend Colin arrived home after six weeks of traveling for his cooking show. There were six more days until her book on developing self-confidence was set to finally hit the shelves. And there were six pregnancy tests lined up on the bathroom sink, mocking her with six pink plus signs.

Penelope sat on the edge of her bathtub, staring at herself in the mirror in shock. She didn’t look any different. She didn’t really feel any different. She was still the same old Pen she had always been. But now she was pregnant?

She slid down the side of the tub to sit on the title floor. The cool porcelain of the bath felt good on her back, drawing some of the heat out of her flushed face. How on earth could she be pregnant?

She had taken the first test after some gentle teasing from Eloise when she had cancelled their lunch date. She had told her best friend that she was feeling under the weather and her queasy stomach wouldn’t let her leave the house.

“Oooh, best be careful, love! If you’re pregnant with Colin’s baby then you’ll never get to leave him. And then how will we be crotchety old ladies in the States together?” She had joked.

At the time, Penelope had laughed and told Eloise to go make out with her girlfriend.

She was no longer laughing. As one positive test had turned into two, two into three and three into a spiral of denial, there was no doubt in Penelope’s mind.

She was pregnant.

Looking down at her stomach, she gently placed her hands on her lower abdomen. With the chub she had for entire life, it would be weeks before she started showing. And lord knows she didn’t feel very different, aside from the morning sickness. And the slight tenderness in her breasts. And- christ!

Putting her head into her hands, she couldn’t stop the tears prickling at her eyes.

What was she going to do? She was financially stable enough to have a baby, sure. Her lifestyle, although busy, could possibly be modified to suit child-rearing. But did she feel ready to have a living, breathing human that she was responsible for?

The thought rattled around in her brain. She tried to cut out images of cute stuffies and little shoes and focus on the reality. Late, sleepless nights. Her body wrecked from the inside out. All of her time belonging to somebody she barely even knew.

But for every hardship she pictured, she couldn’t help but imagine a little one with her curls and Colin’s eyes. A daughter or son or nonbinary child to love and treat better than she had ever been treated by her family. Suddenly, she could see a different life than the one she was currently living. And while it terrified the shit out of her… she couldn’t help but want it.

Heaven help her, she wanted this baby.

But what about Colin?

She knew that he would never abandon his child- even if he didn’t want to be a parent, he’d still assure that they were provided for. But he was a globe-trotter, a bachelor in every sense except his relationship status. For fuck’s sake, he was just returning from shooting another season of his latest travel cooking show with the Food Network! Would a celebrity chef in the height of his career want to settle down and have a baby with her?

Penelope shook herself. Now that was unacceptable. She was worthy of love and any person would be lucky to raise a kid with her. She would not insult herself like that.

Rising to stand, she swept the pregnancy tests up and tossed them in the bin. She couldn’t deny the nerves jolting within her. The slowly balling knot of stress in her stomach was  not ignorable and was only growing by the minute. She loved Colin and she didn’t want to lose him. He was… everything. But the more she thought about them, the more she knew she couldn’t get rid of the fetus. For better or worse, she was choosing them.

The decision shook her to the core, and she had to grip the sink in terror. She would give Colin up. She wouldn’t beg or fight or force him to stay. She wouldn’t go to the press or Instagram. He would be civil and she would be civil and everything would be as civil as can be for the end of their relationship.

She wasn’t that teenage girl that put Colin Bridgerton up on a pedestal anymore. She would tell herself everyday that she would get through it and be better for it. Pen knew she would be more than fine on her own.

It didn’t stop the tears from falling, though.

Citing her nauseousness from earlier, Pen had enlisted Eloise and Phillipa to pick Colin up from the airport. Fidgeting with the dinner layout and the chicken cacciatore she had prepared with shaking hands, she felt her heart jump in her chest at the sound of the key in the front door lock.

Heading around the corner into the entryway, she watched the door swing open. Standing in the doorway was Colin. His clothes and hair were all ajar, but he looked modelesque as usual. The long trench coat, white t-shirt and jeans were rumpled and the scruff on his face looked so styled that it seemed right out of a particularly filthy photo shoot. His eyes, those beautiful brown eyes, were locked on her even as he struggled to yank his suitcase through the door and shut it.

A grin spread wide across his face, and her breath was stolen once again by the boyish charm. Without hesitation, he dropped his suitcase and small travel bag, rushing to wrap her in a tight hug.

“I missed you so bloody much, babe,” He said, burying his face into her neck and molding his body to hers.

Penelope, for all her resolve to be strong, couldn’t help but melt into the embrace.

“Not as much as I missed you,” She whispered back.

Pulling back slightly, Colin looked at her once more and gave her a squeeze that she giggled lightly at.

“Impossible,” he whispered.

He kissed her deeply. She was instantly drawn into him, doused in arousal and lust. Before she knew it, Colin’s tongue was in her mouth and she was pulling him in. If she wasn’t going to have this forever, she was going to enjoy it right now. Colin let out a shuddering breath and laid kisses all over her face. In a voice suddenly much lower than moments before, he said,

“As much as I’m looking forward to properly coming home, I haven’t eaten since breakfast and I’m starving.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I made your favorite then.”

Colin groaned and buried his face into her hair.

“Chicken cacciatore? With that recipe from my mom? You really are the best.”

“I know,” Penelope replied, biting back a smile.

Colin couldn’t help but pinch her on the butt.

Penelope was sprawled out on the couch, waiting for Colin to finish getting ready for bed so they could watch a quick movie together. She knew that she should tell him about the baby, but she needed just one more night of normalcy. Just one more night of good food and great conversation and cuddles and love would be enough, right?

Flipping through Hulu, Pen couldn’t help but click on Colin’s show. Seeing him on the cover slide of the show never lost its charm, almost in the way she never got over the fact that fans of her blog would stop her in the street for pictures. It was weird, this little corner of the world they had carved out together. Cooking and fashion and travel and the journey to loving herself. Even with the knot of anxiety in her stomach, she would always be proud of what they had accomplished.

Colin opened the door to their bedroom and Pen clicked off of his show, scrolling once more.

“What kind of movie are you in the mood for tonight?” She called out over her shoulder.

She suspected something light and easy to follow. Something that they wouldn’t mind missing the ending of if they got distracted doing something else. But no reply came from Colin. Furrowing her eyebrows, she asked once more,

“Love, what kind of movie should I be looking for?”

Still no reply. Pen sat up and turned, finding Colin over her shoulder. He stood in the blue light of the television, eerily still in the darkness of the room. In his hand a long white stick.

Oh shite.

Colin flipped the stick around, holding it out to her. The plus sign was clear as day, even with the shadows of the room bending around them. Her lip trembled and the tears sprung once more to her eyes.

“What’s this, Pen?”

She couldn’t tear her eyes from the stick. Couldn’t bear to see the look- whatever it may be- in his eyes.

“Pen. What. Is. This?”

Fat tears rolled down her cheeks and she folded in on herself. Arms wrapping around her stomach, she balled into the couch. Her breath caught in her throat and she hiccupped. She would be strong, damn it all.

“I’m pregnant, Colin.”

The words hung in the air. Tension crackled in the air, unbroken.

“How long have you known?”

“I just found out today.”

There was a beat of silence. Outside, Pen could hear the hustle of London roaring forward as usual. Car horns sounded out into the night air and a siren could be heard rushing across town. A small rumbling from the pub on the corner, often unnoticeable, seemed so much louder tonight. How could the world keep spinning at a time like this? How could it all keep going while her life was in the balance right here, just teeter-tottering on the edge of a cliff?

“Okay,” Colin said.

The word hurt worse than anything else she had prepared herself for. She expected some yelling or tears or something- anything- but apathy. She wouldn’t wait for it, though. Penelope Featherington had come much to far to wait around for Colin Bridgerton anymore. She had dignity now.

Pulling the blanket around her, she stood up and attempted to walk towards their room. As she passed by him, Colin shot out his hand and grabbed her upper arm. She kept her eyes straight ahead on their bedroom door.

“Where are you going?” Colin asked.

She could feel his gaze prickling her skin. She simply shook his hand off and continued into the bedroom.

“I’m going to stay with Eloise tonight. It’ll be much easier this way.”

She flicked on her bedside lamp and washed the room in soft white light. Her duffel bag was under the bed, her laptop was in their shared office and the locket Eloise got her for their second friendiversary was in her jewelry box. She could be out of here and in her car in 10 minutes.

“Easier? Penelope, what are you talking about? Aren’t we going to discuss this?”

“What’s there to discuss?” She asked, plopping her bag onto the bed. “You have your future to think about. Your career is taking off and I don’t need you to tell me that a baby isn’t going to fit into that. I’m not that girl who waited around for you with puppy-dog eyes, Colin. I’m not going to wait for you to tell me that.”

Colin stormed over to the bed and tossed the duffel bag across the room. She closed her eyes, head turned away.

“Well you’re going to be waiting for a fucking long time for me to say that, because I’m never going to.”

Tears flowed out from underneath her closed eyes. Why was he making this so difficult?

“I am trying to make this easier, Colin. I know you don’t want a child right-“

Colin reached out and spun her to face him.

“Who said that, Pen? Who in the bloody fucking world ever god damn said that? Because I sure as hell didn’t,” he said.

Pen finally opened her eyes to glare at him.

“No one had to say it. It’s obvious. You’re in the prime of your career as a celebrity travel chef.”

Colin stooped down, deadly serious, looking her dead in the eyes.

“And? And?” He demanded.

“And I’m not going to let you leave me,” she whispered.

Colin’s face crumpled.

“Leave you? Christ, Penelope, don’t you ever think that. Don’t you ever,” Colin pulled her into into his chest, holding her tight.

They both let the dams loose, hanging onto each other like lifeboats. The only thing that mattered was holding on for dear life.

“I’m not going anywhere. Not now, not for the rest of my life. I don’t give a shit. I’ll stay even if you hate me,” Colin said fiercely.

“I could never hate you, Colin! I just don’t want to pin you down when you’ve got so much happening. You’ve worked so hard for this and I don’t want to clip your wings when you’re just about to fly! I don’t want you to stay out of obligation and resent me!”

“My beautiful, sweet Penelope, you are my whole world. You are my anchor. You are my home. You are just as much a part of me as my heart or my lungs. I can’t very well resent my own lungs, now can I?” Colin tried to joke.

“It’s not funny!” Penelope tried to stay serious, but she couldn’t help a small laugh.

“But it is! It’s hilarious that you think I would ever in a million years leave you. Whatever happens, you’re stuck with me.”

Pen looked up at him through wet eyelashes, tears still blurring her vision.

“Even if I want to keep this baby? Even if it means your career is going to suffer?”

“Especially if you want to keep the baby! Because I want to keep the baby too! And my career is not going to suffer. I just wrapped on the second season of my show- I can do whatever I want. Write a cookbook or a regular book or start a stationary show or a restaurant or just stay home and be a family with you! We have so many options. Why are you trying to run from me?”

Pen buried her face into his chest and Colin pulled her into his arms once more. He rubbed her back in big circles.

“I thought you wouldn’t want the baby like I do and I got scared. I’m so tired of being left behind, I just wanted to be the one to leave this time. I wanted to be strong this time.”

“Oh, Pen,” Colin said.

Colin maneuvered them towards the bed. He let her crawl under the covers and the soft duvet before diving in after her. Wrapping his long, strong body around hers, he cradled every inch of her.

“You’re mine and I’m yours, baby. Period. I’m sorry if I haven’t made that clear enough. I’m sorry if I haven’t asked you to marry me yet or if I haven’t talked about the future enough. But you have to know that you have every part of me: mind, body and soul. And I’d like to believe that I have yours.”

“You do, of course you do. And you’re fine. I’m just being silly,” Pen sobbed.

He shook his head firmly.

“No, you’re not. You might be hormonal and stressed, but you have every right to feel this way. I’m sorry. I’m going to do better.”

Pen nuzzled her head into his chest, breathing in his scent. His musky soap helped calm her down. Slowly, her breaths calmed down. The two of them laid side by side, with Colin’s leg thrown over her upper thigh to draw her in close. She could hear his heart beating under her ear. He rubbed small circles into her back- rhythmic, soothing.

“I’m not going anywhere, Pen. I love you and I love this baby.”

She brought her hand up to his waist, balling the fabric in her fist, anchoring herself.

“Neither am I. I love you too.”

#bridgerton #polin #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton #penelope x colin #fanfiction #ao3 #established relationship #unplanned pregnancy #hurt/comfort #modern au #eloise has a girlfriend #it's very minor but it's important to me that you know

[balotpinoy110390]

At the edge of everything.

Have you ever felt like giving everything up? All of your achievements are left unnoticed. You don’t have anyone to share your thoughts and ideas with. Seems like everything is too heavy to bear.

Family, friends, boyfriend/girlfriend, no one is available. No one wants to listen to your story. They usually shrugged your ideas and most of the time, they favor others more over you.

Fake smiles are painted on your face every day. Pretending to be okay but deep inside, you know you’re broken. You don’t know what to do to fix the broken heart and overthinking thoughts that are curled up in your mind always.

Your past keeps on haunting you. Your present is so bare that nothing exciting is happening. Your future is so unstable. You always ask yourself “Where do I go from here? Tell me where do I go from here?” you don’t have a clear direction as to where you wanted to go. You thought of a “just going with the flow” lifestyle, and the last time you check yourself, you were no longer young anymore. It’s a battle of you against the world. The world you created in your mind. This journey you thought would bring you so much joy but in the end, all you have is a baggage of pain and discomfort. Loneliness always creeps you in every night and you wanted to hug someone but all you have is a pair of pillows that witnessed all your adventure on this lonely road.

You thought, “Love is the answer” but you always find yourself ghosted or left by the lover you thought was “the one”. Do you still believe in the saying “We got to love one another?” when all of your friends and family members left you hanging on this downward spiral of a lonely road?

I don’t know if this makes sense but I’m already at the edge of everything.

#mental health #self love #self realization #alone with my thoughts #sad thoughts #journey #feeling alone #questions #personal essay #free writing

[flyopedia]

Business Class Flights — https://www.flyopedia.com/

Being capable of flying in opulence has only ever been a fantasy owing to the cost. Purchasing Business Class Flights through Flyopedia allows you to put all such unimportant worries to rest. We just excel in offering inexpensive business travel airfare to accommodate everyone’s pocket. Any convenience is more important whether you’re taking a night flight or a long flight. Why not sweeten the deal with fantastic travel opportunities and cozy private seating? Alongside accessibility to the VIP lounge and expedited check-ins, you’ll also have access to the onboard café, restaurant, and bar, among many other amenities. We can all grasp the advantages and benefits of extravagance, whether we’re traveling for work or pleasure. What’s better than the cheapest business class flights to India from USA? We have several offers available so that everyone can benefit.

PROS OF FLYING IN BUSINESS CLASS FLIGHTS TO INDIA

One is not entitled to merely a few benefits while doing business class flight booking but is privy to a plethora of privileges. Business class is a manner of lifestyle almost everyone yearns to live, not just a casual status. Although concessions are a necessity of life, one can still indulge in the aforementioned indulgences by taking a few wise measures, among which are mentioned above. In business class, there are more than better seats. You won’t have to make any compromises when booking cheap flight tickets to India from USA. You can count on experiencing the height of elegance when you purchase business class USA to India flight tickets. Here are a few pros of booking business class flights.

Extra Baggage Permittance:

Economy class passengers are often permitted to check in with two bags. Nonetheless, it frequently happens that travelers are pleasantly surprised to be given additional baggage allowances, which let them check in two or even three pieces of luggage. Furthermore, passengers can discover that the weight limit for their bags is greater than that of ordinary economy fare. Regardless of the exact details outlined in an airline’s baggage policy, passengers often find themselves enjoying several benefits related to luggage management. Extra allowances or relaxed weight restrictions often help travelers.

Enhanced Convenience:

When planning business class flights, the highest priority is the comfort and satisfaction of the passengers. Hygiene kits with high-quality goods ensure that you feel refreshed. Curl up on the plush pillows that are provided for free. Put on warm slippers and matching pajamas. When the temperature drops, savor the coziness of matching blankets. When it’s time for sleep, reclining chairs also let you unwind in style and ease.

Superior Seats

Business class flight tickets to India will help you say goodbye to anxiety. You won’t have to sacrifice legroom because there’ll be tons of room for you. In addition to this, you can store your necessities away in an assortment of storage spaces. You can continue working almost without ever feeling awkward or anxious. If not, larger leisure displays can be used to amuse self. And with your elbows extended, rather than bent to make room to accommodate the other, you may eat like a royal family.

Verification with Prestige:

You are not required to wait in the long, spiral lines to access business class flights to India from USA. There is a separate queue just for business class passengers to ensure your trip is simple and pleasant, so you may effortlessly bypass it. This is followed by enhanced airport security verifications and boarding.

Delicious Cuisine:

Business class haute cuisine will end up making you feel right at home. Your heart will skip a beat when you see the premium service meals and complimentary alcoholic beverages beside other sobriety beverages. Just not to mention the elegant china that will be used to serve you. You can immediately tell that this has been a huge hit with eaters! Aren’t the cheapest business class flights to India from USA truly a delight?

Frequently Asked Questions

Q: Which airlines fly in business class and why?

A: You have a wide range of options whenever it pertains to the finest business class airlines thanks to Flyopedia’s extensive network of reliable air carriers. You can read airline evaluations and use the filters on the flight endorsed to select the one that fits best your preferences and price range.

#Business Class Flights — https://www.flyopedia.com/

[circeislands]

‘i know every inch of your body and i know for a fact that scar wasn’t there before.’

her words traveled the silent room, meeting the ears of the hunter whose fingers fiddled intently to seal the new aching wound on his forearm. she tried to extend her help, her healing but he refused it as he often did. his discomfort was better than hers and concerned eyes peered at the newest scar of his vast collection before their last voyage ended to his fresh stain. the smell met her nose and had it been years earlier. she wouldn’t of been able to stand the scent but it was him: familiar,‘don’t give yourself too much credit, cecilia,’ he inhaled sharply at the insert of the needle and she watched his artistry, the accent that curled around her name used to send her into a spiral,‘my body has changed since the last time you touched— ow, damn it.’ attempted flirting before a slip of the needle caused the distinct frown to deepen in concern as finally from her seat, she stood up and traveled the distance between them. tender fingers grasping the needle and thread without even a hint of hesitation.

‘samuel, i’ll do it.’ even despite him being a doctor, stitching up his own wound held little success. her enhanced vision met his wound with ounces of care and the squeeze of her brows. sam’s eyes couldn’t help but take in each detail of her delicate features that were obscure. the dimple on her chin, a trait of her father’s that was refined in her, that trembled when she cried, and far too often did he observe this, held it. the deep focus in bright brown hues as teeth melded into her lower lip. the more and more he looked at her the more he recalled a memory of her near death and the feeling of despair it filled him. it was a full moon, the wooded outskirts of flagstaff, blood drenched her shoulder, her mouth made gurgling noise he feared, despised, more crimson traveling between her teeth. if he could, if she let him, he would have made a special silver bullet with jacques’s name on it. since that night, her safety meant more to him then his own. his sarcastically witty spats never met her heart, he internally promised to never make her feel a lick of distrust and betrayal. he failed her and that was what filled the room with so much painful quiet.

he hated how she looked at him. wounded, guilty and distant,‘what?’ her tone snapped him from his stare and eyelids rapidly blinked,‘what are you thinking about?’ she had made progress on stitching the wound but a continuous drip of blood didn’t help. she grabbed the wash cloth from nearby and began to dab it to prevent the frequent cascades.

‘you know what i’m thinking about,’ he paused,‘i’m sorry, ce,’ his tone was quiet, as if he sought out to plead for her forgiveness,‘it was never your fault. i know that, i knew that then but i needed someone to blame and you knew the bloodsuckers that killed her.’ he wanted his vengeance to be cecilia’s as well. he wanted her to dump her pack morals for him,‘you wouldn’t do what i wanted... and i was angry.’ his only chance at love was thwarted by the lifestyle he chose,‘i never meant what i said—’

he watched her swallow down and her mouth twitch,‘yes you did, sam.’ she said, stilly, the needle meeting the pads of her fingers and beginning their venture to finish the stitching,‘you had every right to be angry. i chose my pack over you as i had over and over again. after everything your family has done to help me. i deserved it.’ the sharp end meeting his skin, flesh–to–flesh and out and up, and again,‘you deserved to get married and leave all of this behind.’ her shoulders began to tense and the feeling of dread followed her lips. even if he had, it wouldn’t of been enough. going to school to be a doctor, he thought would have fulfilled his desires to save people but it didn’t. being a doctor didn’t relieve his past and the enemies he gained from it. it wouldn’t and didn’t save his fiancee.

she finished and hands were quick to stop touching him, like it ached her, and it did. it ached him also. his uninjured hand raised and grasped her own, clenching and grounding. a silent communication of love between the two that was most certainly there but never transpired. he’d once kissed her, touched her, saw the scars left behind by jacques but nothing else. they both knew the consequences of this moving any further then that. no matter how much it gnawed at him to see her move on. she knew that it did, that if she wanted to, she could feel his draw to her. ‘pay attention, feel me, i give you permission, cecilia.’ his one hand managed to grip both of her slender hands,‘go ahead.’ he urged her,‘please...’ she was never one to give into begging but if he had to, he would have. she would’ve despised him for it, been embarrassed for him but he could careless. she obliged. reddening eyes illuminated hazel orbs and darkened veins wisped into hands. in that moment, he wondered how that felt. to give more control to what lurked in those veins but he had to focus. he would ask about that later. he wanted her to feel him. unconditional love and fidelity that he could argue from dusk till dawn was far greater then any pack member could give her. he’d seen her at her lowest of lows. he’d adored her in high school where everything felt weird to them and especially her, where growth felt irrational and bifocals proved how truly blind she was. where chestnut brown hair was unkept in curls that she had little understanding of and never understood even now.

she felt everything from lingering questions to undisclosed desires, to true regret, to absolute tenderness. she felt everything so deeply and now she knew he did as well. they were the same in that way. she yanked her hands afterwards, quickly, to avoid invading him any further. she never approved using that gift to her own advantage. in fact, her scowl only deepened,‘i... it’ll be to your detriment.’

‘i know and so what?’

‘i could kill you.’

‘be my guest, cecilia. it would be an honor.’ he grabbed for her hands again but this time only managed to grasp one,‘in fact, i’d invite death over to have a couple of beers.’

tbc.

#ᴄᴇᴄɪʟɪᴀ daubec. #writing ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛs. #writing. #part one. #samuel luna. #the lunas impacted her life quite a bit so never getting over them. #music.

[petptoducts]

🐾 The Marvelous World of American Curls 🐾

Embark on a journey into the enchanting universe of feline friends, where the American Curl reigns supreme, showcasing the beauty and grace found in the diverse tapestry of cat breeds. 🌈🐱

A Glimpse into History

📅 In 1981, the captivating tale of the American Curl unfolded in Southern California with the discovery of a stray cat named Shulamith. 🐾 With her uniquely curled ears, she stole the hearts of Joe and Grace Ruga, becoming the matriarch of a remarkable feline legacy.

🌐 Fast forward to 1983, and the International Cat Association (TICA) officially recognized the American Curl as a distinct breed, skyrocketing it to popularity for its unconventional yet utterly charming appearance. 🚀

Distinctive Characteristics

✨ Curled Ears: The American Curl's pièce de résistance! ���� The ears gracefully curl backward, making a statement of elegance that develops from the first days of kittenhood. The degree of curl varies, creating a spectrum from a subtle curve to a pronounced spiral.

👀 Appearance: American Curls are medium-sized marvels with well-muscled bodies, boasting a balanced and graceful look. Whether short-haired or long-haired, their silky, soft coat lies close to the body, adding to their allure.

🌟 Elegance: Beyond their physical charm, American Curls exude an air of elegance with almond-shaped eyes and a gently sloping head, creating a captivating look that's simply irresistible.

😺 Personality: Known for their friendliness and adaptability, American Curls are the ultimate companions. Affectionate, playful, and intelligent, their sociable nature makes them perfect for households with children and other pets.

Living with an American Curl

🏡 Owning an American Curl is a delightful adventure for cat aficionados who appreciate a blend of uniqueness and affection. These feline wonders thrive on companionship and relish being part of family activities.

🎉 Engage them with interactive toys, puzzle feeders, and regular playtime to keep their active minds stimulated and tails happily curled.

In the American Curl, discover a breed seamlessly blending distinctive physical traits with a warm and engaging personality. Whether cuddled up in your lap or showcasing their elegant ears during playtime, American Curls bring sophistication and charm to the lucky homes that embrace them. 🏠💖

🌈 As with any pet, providing a loving environment, routine veterinary care, and enriching interactions contribute to a life full of joy and fulfillment for these uniquely curled feline companions. 🌟🐾

[deloresknowsbest]

It's a Lifestyle Spiral Notebook

It’s a lifestyle Spiral Notebook Front cover: Gravity defying fro Kinky coily puff Rodset spiral curls Silk press sleek Two strand twists Swinging braids It’s a lifestyle! 6 x 8 Ruled line pages 59 sheets, 118 pages Back cover: dark grey

View On WordPress

[shelterpark]

Welcome Henrietta Biggle!

Name: Henrietta Biggle

Age: 25

Gender: Cis Female 

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Pansexual 

Height: Five Feet and One Inch tall

Location: Living out on her own around the forest of South Park. Trying to find the other goth kids. Hoping they are still alive out there.  Somewhere…

Occupation:  Henrietta has a small cave abour five miles away from town, she has been hording whatever she can find when she goes out to scavenge. She has a good amount of Cigarettes stashed away and is currently Trying to make them last. Smoking only one a day. Much to the dispare of her addiction. For being by herself she tries to be as resourceful as possible. 

Brief History: The goth lifestyle would stay strong between her and her best friends. Despite everything Henrietta still went off to college. Choosing to major in Mortuary science. Even through the cigarette smoke and embalming fluid she was really started to enjoy life in its own fucked up way… until the pandemic hit. She was alone. Sitting in the South Park graveyard to be one with the dead. A peaceful time until screams flooded into the night.

A real life horror movie was playing out right before her eyes. Her will to live outweighed the desire for death in that moment as she fought through anything and anyone to save herself. Viscera and gore was a torrential downpour as she fought gather whatever supplies the goth could. During this time she tried to find her found family.   To no avail. She was unable to find anyone that mattered to her and home wasn't an option anymore… it was engulfed in flames. 

Henrietta made a vow to try and find her fellow goth family. One way or another. She'd die trying.

5 or more HeadCanons: 

🔪 Although world has ended, Henrietta still finds ways to make her own makeup. Fire ashes make good eyeliner and eyeshadow. Surprisingly alot of the makeup stores were left untouched. She has about three tubes of black lipstick left. 

🔪 Her cave is decorated with various Halloween decor she manged to scavenge from abandoned homes

🔪 She refurbished a two person coffin into her own bed and it's quite proud of her handiwork 

🔪 she's learned to sew with all this new found time on her hands. She's made most if not all her own clothing in the last few months. Even if it's hand stitching she's quite proud of herself. 

🔪 she hopes to find her Found Family in one of the QZ Areas. Getting inside is the hard part. 

🔪 she hopes that she'd be able to trade for her sewing skills, she managed to pilfer a few large boxes from Joanns and making various sizes of clothing with what she has.

🔪  Henrietta has found that living out on her own carries its own dangers and utilizes whatever she can scavenge. Including: Kitchen knives, axes, a hand Pistol.  ( she doesn't know how to use it and it's only got 3 bullets), and a scythe she found from an abandoned farm. 

🔪 Recently she manged to find a random walkie talkie. She just got it to work and hopes perhaps she'll find another soul out there to keep her company 

🔪 Before the world went to shit, she was a Domme for hire. She made good money stepping on others… among other things. It paid the way for her education. 

RP Example: 

Hot wisps of smoke spirals into the air as Henrietta takes a long drag of the tobacco laced poison that is a cigarette. Her dark eyes dull and bored as she stares at the poser in front of her. Her black painted lips curl into a sneer as he begs her once again.

"Please Mistress. Give me another chance. I'll be a good boy. I promise-" 

" I don't want to hear another word from your conformist mouth. Be a good boy and get us another round of coffee. No questions. Just results. If you fuck up again. We are done. Got it ?"

Her free hand waves him off towards the direction of Tweeks coffee shop leaving the Goths to their own devices. It was the summer aftwr their senior year of high school, unreal that they made it this far but honestly graduating was a relief in of itself. This fucked up world couldn't get any worse right ?

" Boys, I gotta say it's been an honor being forced to gain a conformist education with you all. I'm thinking of going to college. Actually. I know. It's a fuckee place full of degenerates and know at all fuck ups. Listen. I'm going to go where the dead get ready to look pretty before they are laid to rest in the dirt. I wanna be the one to help make those bodies sing. Judge me if you want but I heard the pay is good too. Trust me on this. When you all kick the bucket I'll be the one to make you pretty for your funeral. "

[permdamagehair]

The Return of the Perm

The word perm really seems to rattle some people. For some, it can be a throwback to a period of sizzling your hair to a crisp until it was deafening and burnt. It evokes images of mullets, Sarah Jessica Parker in Girls Just Wanna Have Fun, Meg Ryan in her Iconic Era. Even the villain in Legally Blonde famously had a perm and that was the source of her downfall. The perm got a bad wrap for a though there, and enjoyable of deserved it. Much subsequent to all satisfying things, we used it until it fell intensely out of style, and the term perm was as gauche as caustic-wash jeans. But for those naysayers, its era to shut your tiny horsey mouths: The perm is auspices, baby, and enlarged than ever do perms damage your hair.

Why Is The Perm Back?

Much bearing in mind the reward of the relaxer, the rise and recompense of the perm has been a bashful reemergence  coarsely speaking the Abercrombie & Fitch of hair treatments. Much after that Abercrombie, perm solutions have evolved following technology. They depart the hair feeling soft and warm, not brittle and damage, and alternating perm-wrap techniques have speak to looking to accommodate objector hair styles and lifestyles. A futuristic perm is more not quite meaningless waves, tallying volume and texture, which makes it vastly interchange from the perms of the '80s, which were tight, anew-processed curls.

Lets be genuine: The popularity of Stranger Things is likely accountable for the perm awakening in the culture. Zotos Professional, who was an in further innovator of the perm in 1929 subsequent to they launched the machineless remaining greeting (Fun Fact: perm is unexpected for enduring, if it wasnt obvious), is held responsible for the waves on the order of characters as soon as Natalia Dyers Nancy Wheeler. Its with asexual, and as soon as more and more people embracing their curly texture, its a satisfying habit to profit the '80s hair band style of your dreams without feel your hair in this area rollers.

What Are The Different Types of Perms?

The suitable situation not quite perms is that they are multifaceted, if you nonexistence to use them as a base so that your hairstyles desist easier  get, Katrina Suhre, co-department Head Hairstylist regarding speaking Stranger Things told me. If you have always wanted to attempt in savings account to the subject of a curly see, go for a perm or body nod. Want the unmodified beauty texture without the effort? Try almost a beachy nod.

There are many forms of perm application: digital, which involves hot rods and a chemical process and is a favorite of Tangs, or cool answer, which does not adjust heat and is a more stated style of application; and within those application styles, there are four main types of militant perms: Spot / Partial, Spiral, Body Wave, and Beach Wave. (But that doesnt direct these are the unaccompanied perm styles  your's can be custom to your hair type, density, and thickness, too.)

Spiral Perms

Spiral perms are the most venerated style of perm  tight, corkscrew curls, created by vertically feel the hair concerning a perm rod to make voluminous curls. However, shrinkage is your challenger subsequent to a spiral perm, expect the hair to sky a few inches shorter.

Who Should Be Getting A Perm?

Perms are massive for anyone eager in tallying more texture in their hair or curly haired people who are looking for a more uniform curl. According to hairstylist Priscilla Valles, perms are loud for anyone taking into account truly straight hair and wants to have some volume and body in it. Or, people who esteem curly hair and are using a curling iron to the front occurring taking into account the child maintenance for in the curls can acquire a perm on the other hand, keeping the exploitation and heat styling to a minimum. It is less damaging and you can throw the hot tools to maintenance the volume and curl. You can have a perm behind a larger rod and mood sober, she says.

Modern perms can be over and finished along together surrounded by to profit at a loose call off beachy texture and waves, and can along with be more natural appearing, explains hairstylist Guy Tang, who proudly gets perms himself. Its all about the chemicals creature applied to the hair, appropriately regard as creature a salon that does digital perms and obtain a consultation first for that defense you know the loyalty. Tang supplementary emphasizes that a perm doesnt style itself, and you will have to guard and nurture your auxiliary perm-treated hair, which is delicate and needs to be treated as such.

However, portion off concerning the perm if you tend to use a lot of lightener or chemical straighteners and always trust your hairstylists advice gone it comes to perms. Its important to know that its best done on virgin hair or hair colored when stated enduring color as soon as no records of bleach linked highlights. Even even if perms are less damaging now, they yet are damaging because you are changing the structure of your hair, shares celebrity colorist Rita Hazan.

[eyes-of-mischief]

weekly fic recs | 33

prompt: bureaucracy/office au

fandoms: bnha, dc, hq, mdzs

bnha

Heroics: Not Just Punching People Into Buildings, Apparently by stifledlaughter

"In today's practical test, you all will grapple with one of the worst aspects of being a hero," announced Present Mic to class 1-A. "Paperwork!"  

---

Sometimes, hero work isn't about capturing villains. It's about trying not to cry on the phone to the insurance agent after being on hold for an hour when they tell you that their company only accepts faxed forms.

He's Our Most Important Member by autumnconcept

As a member of the quirkless side of society, Izuku has long given up his dream of being a hero.

Remind him how he ended up in charge of an entire agency?

dc

Executive Assistant to the Batman by heartslogos

“So what’s someone like you doing working for someone like Wayne?”

“We’re star-crossed,” Tim answers, because clearly this job has only improved his ability to mouth off with a complete and total lack of self-regard.

(Rewrite of my old Assistant!verse)

on my desk by monday by calamityjade

(explicit)

Dick Grayson was tired of living hidden in his father's shadow. He desperately needs to find a space where he can thrive as just himself, and figures seeking out a simple job might be a good start; but being Jason Todd's assistant gives him so much more than he expected to gain. (No capes AU. Jason Todd is a lawyer and Dick is hired as his assistant)

haikyuu

hyogo melon code of conduct by goldplate

(mature)

“You misunderstand me, Miya-san. We’re not here to discuss the legality of your… melons."

-

Osamu's home garden gets the attention of the municipality's building and lot code compliance office.

the right path by norio

"What do you expect from our company?" the interviewer asked.

A job. A straightforward path, the only concerns about the budget for printer toners. A solitary lifestyle in a cubicle. But Akaashi curled his fingers around his resume and thought wryly that if he truly wanted all that, he wouldn't be applying to an anime company.

mdzs

Best man for the job; a detailed treatise on Chief Cultivation by Aerlalaith

“Just these?” He had thought, perhaps, given Jin Guangyao’s notorious organizational skills, there might be a few more, but it does not overly trouble him.

“Oh no, Chief Cultivator,” Jin Guangtian says. “This is just the index.”

(The peerless Hanguang-Jun faces his greatest challenge yet: bureaucracy).

The Roots Grow Riotous by hansbekhart

(explicit)

Sometimes Lan Zhan doesn’t work through lunch. Sometimes he makes conversation with coworkers in the halls. Sometimes he goes home instead of spending the last hour trawling through Grindr. But mostly, that’s exactly what he does. The sameness is comforting. His life spools out in easily measured increments: capsule collections, yards of hand dyed textiles, ninety day lead times, sell through figures, cost of goods sold. 

Every date in manufacturing can be calculated backwards and forward from a single horizon point: the date that the goods must arrive into the country where they'll be sold. Other than that, nothing else really matters.

Always Be Closing by betts

(explicit)

Wei Ying’s thumb hovered over Lan Zhan’s number. It would be a brief phone conversation. Not even a minute. He would tell Lan Zhan what needed to be done, and Lan Zhan would say “mn” a bunch of times, and Wei Ying would spiral all day about how much Mr. Hot and Perfect All the Time probably hated his guts, and it would be fine. Emotionally, no different than any other Tuesday.

Fine, sue him, he was a coward. He pulled up a new text and typed, My son is sick today. Going to doctor. Can you do smoothie hut call? 500m CRE + 250m LOC

He sent the text. The ellipses rose. He waited.

Or: During a long overdue divorce and messy custody battle, Wei Ying gets demoted to small business finance. There, he's partnered with a new closer who clearly hates him, until he finds out Lan Zhan is far more verbose—and dare he say flirtatious?—in writing than in speaking

But to be loved like a song you remember Even when you've changed by enbysaurus_rex

The manual was long, but it all boiled down to the same thing-- assess, capture, banish, assess, repeat. Keep the affected area to a minimum. Be proactive in protecting any device that can access the internet. Physical storage areas with names had to be up to standard (file boxes were allowed, so long as the lid was reinforced and could stand up to the particular talisman used), but anything else usually required paperwork and approval, even if it was retroactive. Wangji hoped everything was in file boxes this time, even though he knew it was in vain. None of his storage solutions had ever been declined, but it was a tremendous amount of paperwork, picture taking, and documentation for what was usually a relatively small collection. In this case, it was less likely to be true, and the documentation was likely to be equal to the names warded and sealed. He appreciated that.

#office aus have a special place in my heart #its something about the absolute soul-destroying imagery of corporate bullshit that gets to me #bnha fic recs #bnha #dc fic recs #dc #mdzs fic recs #mdzs #hq fic recs #hq #prompt #bureaucracy #office au #weekly fic recs

[hannahsmusings]

Renee

,fri*I had never been so bored in my entire life as I was right now, sitting in an empty room with my ‘manners’ teacher, staring out the large open window and thinking about how much nicer it was out there than it was in this stuffy room* *the manor I lived in was massive and yet some of these rooms barely got any air circulation, it just feeling stifling and hot and it distracted me during these ‘classes’ my parents were forcing me to take as soon as I turned 20 the week before* *the teacher says something to me and I don’t respond, too busy watching a bird land on the windowsill of the room, snapping out of my daydreams as she smacks my desk with her hand, forcing me to pay attention* *as soon as the lesson was over, I was hopping up, thanking her, giving her a sweet smile as she bowed as I quickly made my way out of the room* *it was Friday and that meant I had a riding lesson, my stomach fluttering at the thought of getting to see Finn, him being my best friend and the only person who I actually got along with, us having grown up together since his father worked at the stables since I was little* *I all but run through the huge manor, saying hi to butlers and maids as I pass them, going into the kitchens and grabbing the secret picnic basket I always stored in there for our lessons* *Finn’s father passed away a little under a year ago and now he was the head of the stables, but he still gave me my ‘lessons’ weekly, neither of us wanting to give up that time together* *I walk out the back door of the kitchens, it always being my route to avoid my parents or my personal butlers, them always asking too many questions, everyone here seemingly looking down on our friendship but I had made it clear that my friendship with Finn was here to stay* *I carry my picnic basket down to the stables, my sundress and curled hair flowing in the wind as I walked down the massive gardens and paths, a giant smile spreading on my face when the stables come into view, starting to walk faster, eager to get to Finn* *I walk up behind him, smiling to myself as he was brushing one of the horses, leaning against the railing as I admire him, biting my lip before announcing myself* She’s pretty.

___________________________________

*Friday's were my favourite days of the week because of our riding lessons, seeing you a few times throughout the week as you always came down to the stables but Friday’s were my one guaranteed time to have you to myself and actually enjoy it, loving this job and so grateful for it but I did feel out of place here and the more I spent time with you the more I noticed the disapproving frowns from the other staff, the little whispers and glances, not sure if you saw them like I did but now that we were older and not little kids anymore, the gaps between our upbringing and lifestyles seemed to grow* *stops myself before I spiral down that thought patter, just looking forward to seeing you as I glance at the clock and grin to myself as I’d knew you’d be down any minute* *brushing one of our new mares, knowing you’d not met her yet but she was gorgeous and well tempered, knowing she’d be your favourite in no time* *Not noticing you approach as I hum to myself and continue brushing her coat, my shirt slung over my shoulder and nuzzling her nose a little in a kiss before looking up as I hear your voice, breaking out into a bright smile and my heart skipping a beat as I see you leaning against the stable so casually haloed by the sun, you looking like a fallen angel and I was momentarily stunned* Pretty horse for a pretty girl. *mumbles with a smile as I approach you, wiping my hands on my trousers* She’s our newbie, what do you think?

#renee plot

[curlsxandxspirals-itsalifestyle]

Once that summer heat finally gets here...

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