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theladyofbloodshed · 3 months

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SJM Romance Week - Day 1 - First Date

@sjmromanceweek

With a fear of flying gripping her tight, Nesta just wants to be left alone to spiral in her panic - that is until a swaggering man holds her hand during take off.

The sweating had begun the second she reached the security line which was never a good sign. Nesta tried to act calm, tried not to keep glancing over her shoulders at the security agents as they scanned bags and bodies. Every damn time she made the machine bleep despite ensuring she had no metal on her, as if the machine knew she was panicking and wanted to enhance her worry. True to history, the machine went off and she stepped onto the painted feet for a guard to wave their wand over her. She didn’t know why she was so worried about the security part; Nesta wasn’t smuggling drugs.

Two hours of agony followed.

The duty-free shops didn’t hold her appeal although she’d toyed with buying alcohol to take the edge off things. She’d taken a Xanax already and mixing wouldn’t go well. A book. A new book to keep her occupied, that would do. She checked her gate, double checked it then triple checked it. Lurked near it way before it was boarding time with her new book clutched in her clammy hands. Nesta mentally catalogued her day. She’d watered the plants, Gwyn already had the spare key to water them when needed, she’d turned everything off, locked the door because she’d checked multiple times, had her travel documents on her phone and printed, had only taken hand luggage so it wouldn’t be lost. Everything would be fine. Of course it would be. She was a planner. But she couldn’t plan who was piloting the plane. Couldn’t plan the weather. Couldn’t plan if a freak bolt of lightning struck the plane and zapped them off the face of the earth. Nesta swigged down mouthfuls of sparkling water. She hated it but it made her burp and that alleviated her churning stomach.

When the agents called for boarding, Nesta was first in the queue. Priority boarding had been purchased so she could panic in her seat. Her legs trembled up the metal stairs to board the plane. Planes flew every day. Hundreds of them. All crisscrossing across the sky. And she’d be on the unlucky anomaly. Because of course she would. Nothing ever ran smoothly in her life.

With an eye mask on and a mindfulness podcast blaring in her ears, Nesta tried to block out the rest of the boarding. She was vaguely aware of bodies moving down the aisle or slipping into seats behind or in front of hers, the judder of chairs or slam of the overhead storage. When an elbow knocked into her to take the seat, she didn’t react, just kept listening to the soothing voice telling her to focus on her breathing.

Fingers tapped on her arm repeatedly until she peeled off her mask.

A man with dark-hair tugged into a loose bun at the nape of his neck was gesturing to her headphones. An air steward was watching, life jacket held aloft for the display. ‘Switch to airplane mode or turn off your devices for take off please.’

Nesta fumbled with her phone, hands trembling to change it. She listened to the safety warnings, terror soaking in.

‘Can we swap seats? I don’t want to look out of the window.’

‘Sorry, sweetheart, but I need to leg room in the aisle.’ The man gestured to his broad thighs and long, muscled legs.

Nesta knew well enough that if she even dreamed of closing the hatch on the window, a flight attendant would snap it back up so she could see just how high they were. Once the safety demo had finished, Nesta plugged back into her bubble. Her belt was on but what use was that against a plane crash?

As soon as she felt motion, Nesta was gripping her seat belt as if clinging onto it might save her. Her hands trembled, tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth in her fear as the plane approached the runway.

Then a hand reached for hers. Calloused fingers slid against her own.

Nesta ripped her mask and headphones away in one fell swoop.

‘What the hell are you doing?’

‘You seemed nervous. Thought you’d want a hand to hold.’

The man’s hazel eyes fell to their hands, still entwined then Nesta yanked that away too.

And then the plane was barrelling along the runway, the force pinning her to her seat so she grasped for that hand again. He gave a low chuckle and cradled hers with both of his. Nesta screwed her eyes shut, not wanting to glimpse the moment they took flight or the way the land below would become more and more distant. At Emerie’s encouragement, she’d watched take offs on YouTube, had even tried to play a flight simulator but both of them had freaked her out just as much.

‘Is it just take off or landing too?’

Her words wouldn’t come out. The whole thing was traumatic. The only reason she was flying was because her sister was due to a drop a baby boy any day and Nesta had agreed to be there for the delivery and first couple of weeks of his life. Without a maternal figure, Feyre had decided that Nesta was the closest thing – ignoring the fact neither of them had a clue about babies.

‘What does that beeping mean?’ she hissed.

The man just brushed his thumb in a circle against the back of her hand. ‘It means we can take our seat belts off, sweetheart.’

Reluctantly, she forced open her eyes. People were already releasing their belts and heading to the bathroom. She had held her own urination on every flight. Only poor planners didn’t go before take-off. It would be just her luck that a plane would meet a fiery end whilst she was sat on the toilet.

He leaned over to slide the hatch down, hiding the outside world from view then his fingers headed towards her lap. Nesta was too stunned to react even as he undid her belt.

‘And what happens if this plane starts to plummet from the sky?’

‘I’m sure you can figure out how to put your belt back on,’ he replied, an easy grin on his face. At her terse look, he added, ‘Relax. This plane has never crashed before.’

Nesta busied herself with her book despite the undercurrent of fear threatening to drown her every time she thought too deeply about how the plane remained airborne. The man next to her read the in-flight magazine then began drumming on the fold-out table.

‘Do you mind?’

‘Have you got a request?’

Nesta’s brows drew together. ‘Stop drumming. It’s irritating.’

When the trolley of beverages was a few rows away, he turned to her. ‘What are you having?’

‘Nothing. If I drink, I will need the bathroom. I am not getting up or going there and tempting fate.’

He gave a bellow of a laugh. ‘You’ve thought of everything. You know if the plane crashes, it will make no difference if you’re sat by me or on the toilet.’

Her face must have paled because he added, ‘But it will fly safely to our destination.’

A handsome, swaggering smile was offered to the air stewardess when she approached. ‘Two coffees, chips, M&Ms and whatever drink has the most sugar.’

There was a veritable feast laid out in front of him, but a coffee was placed on the little table that he unfolded at her seat. The M&M pouch was torn open and shook in front of her face.

‘Go on, treat yourself.’

‘Do you just fly around the country and trap women in airline seats so they can’t get away?’

He ran a hand against his black hair. ‘Should I have gotten the peanut ones?’

Nesta took a few and tipped them into her mouth.

‘Careful, sweetheart, you don’t want to choke while the plane is crashing.’

‘You are not funny,’ she complained.

‘When they need to identify your body, what name will go with it?’

This time, she nearly did choke on her handful of M&Ms. ‘Are you serious? Is that how you’re asking my name?’

He spread out his hands, evidently pleased with that terrible line, awaiting her answer.

‘Nesta.’

‘Cassian.’

They chatted as the plane continued on its journey, drinking their coffee and eating his snacks. They shared the can of coke, her inhabitations well and truly lowered by the Xanax if she was willing to swap saliva and drink from the same can as a stranger. At the first signs of turbulence, Cassian was there to hold her hands and murmur embarrassing stories about his friends to stop fear paralysing her.

Once the cabin crew had swept through to collect the final few items of rubbish on the short flight, Nesta was clamming up again. She knew what was to follow.

‘Cabin crew, prepare for landing.’

Clouds streamed past the window, adding to the turbulence. Nesta was too scared to even reach for her mask which had fallen on the floor.

Cassian wound his fingers into hers. ‘I’ve got you, sweetheart. It will be okay.’

Every bump had her gritting her teeth so hard, it was a wonder that one of her molars didn’t crack. Cassian just kept talking in a low voice about inane topics to try and shave the edges off of her fear. His arm wound around her shoulders, forehead touching her temple, whilst his other hand still held hers.

‘This is the nicest first date I’ve ever had.’

That snapped something in her. ‘This is not a date.’

The nose of the plane dipped and her stomach lurched from the motion.

‘We’ve had coffee and snacks. We’re holding hands. You’ve shared your deepest fears of dying in a blazing crash. To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die.’

Nesta ground out, ‘I hate the Smiths.’

‘Everybody does,’ he said.

With a bump that made her squeeze Cassian tighter, the plane landed. It sped down the runway and Nesta kept her eyes firmly shut for the entire duration until Cassian murmured that they had stopped.

‘You see, a safe flight after all.’

‘Fortune was cruel enough to put me next to you. A crash would have really tipped it over the edge.’

Cassian lifted her bag down for her, his black t-shirt rising to expose a strip of his taut muscled stomach. His own was a well-used duffle which he slung over his shoulder.

They walked together towards the airport building.

‘Do I get your number then?’

Nesta cocked a brow at his boldness. ‘Absolutely not. I’d rather be the one that got away.’

‘Every flight I’ll think of you, wondering if you’re stealing another man’s snacks.’

Nesta pressed her fingers to her lips and blew him a kiss as they parted into two different lines at security.

The man had to be mad, she decided as she passed through passport control. No sane man would just start holding a stranger’s hand – and she was an idiot for reciprocating that touch. But it did sting a bit that he’d accepted her refusal so easily. After how tactile and caring he’d been, she thought maybe Cassian would have pestered her again for her number or her socials. Whatever. His loss.

Her fear of flying meant that she’d sweated through her deodorant so she hurried into the bathroom to change her top, clean her arm pits with a baby wipe then slather on more deodorant to appear a little less dishevelled. Nesta spotted Cassian waiting at the baggage carousal for more belongings to come rolling around so she scurried past, avoiding his attention. Fantasy was more fun than reality. Maybe he’d be her one that got away.

After passing through anything to declare, Feyre was waiting for her. The huge belly wasn’t a surprise but it was still a shock to see her little sister so heavily pregnant.

‘Wow, look at you!’

‘I am peeing every ten minutes,’ she replied, holding up her belly.

‘Hi, Rhys.’

‘Nesta,’ he said, swooping to press a kiss on her cheek.

They’d met once. And it had been awkward as hell when Nesta realised he was eight years older than her. He wasn’t the sort of man she’d ever choose, but Feyre seemed happy. They were on “Christmas Card closeness” usually so Feyre’s call asking her to come and be close for the birth had meant a lot. Meant enough that she was willing to fly two days later.

‘Where’s the rest of your luggage?’

‘I had it sent ahead.’

Feyre patted Rhys on the arm. ‘Nesta hates flying. Everything is planned to an inch of its life. No detours, no unnecessary waiting. On the plane, off the plane.’

Even being in an airport, with its constant business, had Nesta itchy. ‘Shall we go?’

‘Do you want to head to the car, ladies? I’m worried about you standing for so long, darling.’

Feyre shook her head, golden hair cascading from the motion. ‘I’m fine. Cassian won’t take that long.’

‘Cassian?’

Nesta could practically hear the alarm bells ringing in her head.

‘My brother,’ said Rhys.

‘He works on an oil rig but he’s home for a couple of months now so you two can argue over who is the best uncle or auntie,’ teased Feyre.

There he was, striding through the doors, duffle bag slung over one shoulder while pushing a cart loaded with three more bags. His eyes snapped straight to her, a slow grin spreading over his face.

They said their greetings, Nesta and Cassian pretending that she hadn’t just been clinging to him in terror on the flight here then they fell into step together, walking slightly behind Rhysand and Feyre.

‘Fortune favours you,’ he murmured.

‘Did you know who I am?’

Cassian gave a hearty laugh that had Rhys glancing his shoulder at them. ‘Not at first. You looked familiar then you said your name and I realised you were Feyre’s sister.’

‘Lucky me,’ she grumbled.

With one hand pushing the trolley, he slung the other arm around her shoulders. ‘So, about that second date.’

#nessian #sjmromanceweek #sjmromanceweek2024

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i-am-the-niche · 4 months

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I want a sci-fi/space opera TV show with real plot and character development, and more that 2 seasons that's free to watch

have you tried Babylon 5?

I want a space opera with no filler episodes, every episode should have something relevant to the plot

have you tried Babylon 5?

I want a space opera that is respectful to other cultures and religions and shows conflicts between different cultures and how they are resolved

have you tried Babylon 5?

I want a space opera where actions (and inaction) have real consequences that the characters must navigate and deal with

have you tried Babylon 5?

I want a space opera that deals with mystical-like things but remains realistic

Have you tried B5?

I want a space opera where women are actively involved and not treated as a damsel or a plot device I want a show where you see multiple sides to a story I want a show that talks about the harm of colonization and slavery I want a show that shows PTSD and the effects of war I want a show that talks about genocide and racism I want a show with an explicitly LGBTQ+ person, I want a show with fucking fantastic 90's fashion that's 'futuristic' I want a show where every actor is a good actor, I want a show where the main cast is expanded on realistically, I want a show that deals with alcohol, drug abuse, and how it effects those around you I want a show where love is both safety and danger I want a show with a fantastic plot twist that I would never see coming I want a show with excellent quotes I want I want a show with movies that are relevant and expand upon the universe I want-

HAVE YOU TRIED BABYLON 5?!?!??!!!?

Literally the only downsides:

most of the main cast is white, there are many side characters and extras that are POC but most of the cast is white

the LGBT+ character is not expanded upon much

while B5 does have 5 seasons the 4th was supposed to be the end until they got more funding, I personally recommend not watching the 5th season

*correction, original was intended to have 5 seasons but was worried about funding getting cut so season 4 is jam packed and season 5 is flat. they both suffer but personally I find season 5 worse. thanks to @purronronner for the correction!

#babylon 5 #sci fi and fantasy #sci fi #space drama #space #drama #star wars #star trek #the orville #firefly #the mandalorian #the hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy #the martian

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afterglowkatie · 6 months

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mommy saying she’s going to take us on a little drive since she wants to show me something. maybe mommy drugs me so i wouldn’t notice how long this car ride is or the fact she’s driving us far far into the woods.

once we reach the cabin mommy carry’s me into it placing me softly on our bed. grabbing a little collar off of the table beside her and putting it around my neck. specially made so only mommy can take it off, also has a tracking device installed where mommy’s set boundaries and if i go outside them i’d get a shock. not that mommy thinks i’d try to leave her, but just in case.

i regain consciousness and mommy gets to show me around. pointing out how many and how heavy duty all the locks on the doors and windows are, claiming it’s for my safety (even though we both know it’s so i can’t escape). welcoming me to my new life as hers and hers only

she also has cameras installed so she can watch me at all times if she has to go away at any time. making sure i’m staying good or taking notes for how many punishments i’m going to be getting when she returns

#cnc kidnapping #nsft wlw #bd/sm little #bd/sm pet #md/lg little #md/lg sub #wlw ns/fw #wlw nsft #md/lg mommy #rough cnc #heavy cnc #kidnap fantasy #tw kidnapping #intox cnc #forced intox #intox kink

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moonlight-tmd · 26 days

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I’d like to think bee gets super excited during storms and thunderstorms. why? because of the electricity in the lightning, even if it’s forming or still in the sky. bee can feel it and it gives him the cybertronian equivalent of an adrenaline rush.

however cause of the slippery roads and dark scene it gives, also bee’s recklessness, he’s forbidden from driving during storms/thunderstorms. idk what he’ll do to handle all the energy he has or maybe he’ll sneak out and go nuts. the energy in the sky just makes him get all happy and crazy lol

Hahah yeah he does- that would fit well with Bee being able to manipulate electricity.

Whenever there is a storm happening, Bee can always feel when the clouds start to charge up. He always freezes when the first flash happens and bolts right to the window all excited.

He really wants to go out and play but the others just don't allow him- whenever there is a storm happening Bee is always the one to want to go out. They have to keep every door and window shut and someone always has to keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn't get out and get hurt.

They never understood why Bee wants to go out and play during thunderstorms so badly until they found out about his weird electric manipulation. The electricity in various devices gives him energy via EM field and touch(that's why he likes being in cities, lots of devices and lots of energy sources) and with a natural source of massive energy right above their fuckin helms, it's bound to make Bee all crazy- he managed to slip out for a brief moment few times before someone from the team carried him back inside.

When Bee is babysat during storms he'd most often play games- any games, and it's better if it involves interacting with other bots. The team most often ends up playing a lot of board games and listens to Bee ramble about thousand stuff at once. Sari once joked that they could put a giant hamster wheel for him to run in, as appealing as it was the idea was shut down because of safety reasons.

I imagine at one point they didn't pay attention to him for a short moment and it gave Bee the opportunity to slip out and climb on top of the shipping containers and scream "Strike me, Zeus!" at the sky.

And wouldn't you know.~

Before the others could reach Bee and take him back inside a bright flash accompanied by a loud thunder descended down from the sky.

When they looked at the spot where Bee was there was nothing but a dark mark left by the lightning. It didn't take long to figure out where he went tho- said minibot was literally making donuts around the entire factory and drifting like crazy while screaming in joy.

Nobody could catch him no matter what method they tried. He was like that even after the storm ended. Eventually he stopped and got back inside but he still was shaking from the robotic adrenaline and joy- Ratchet could swear that the kid was on drugs without actually having taken any drugs.

Now they all know why Bee wanted to be struck by lightning so badly- and they never let him outside during a storm ever again.

#maccadam #tfa #ask box #tfa bumblebee #dream video reference? what are you talking abou- yes.#electro bee au #tfa au

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vijukumar · 4 months

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Navigating the Horizon: Insights into the Cardiovascular Devices Market

In the realm of healthcare, the Cardiovascular Devices Market has emerged as a crucial player, transforming the landscape of cardiovascular care. This dynamic market encompasses a wide array of elements, including cardiovascular drugs, diagnostic devices, and safety services. In this blog, we embark on a journey through the intricate web of the Cardiovascular Devices Market, exploring its size, major players, demands, and the pivotal role it plays in shaping cardiac healthcare.

Cardiovascular Devices Market Overview:

According to Ken Research, the Cardiovascular Devices Market size was valued at USD 54.7 Billion in 2022 and is expected to have a market size of USD 91.2 Billion by 2032 with a CAGR of 5.3%.

Cardiovascular Drugs Market:

A pivotal aspect of cardiovascular care, the Cardiovascular Drugs Market plays a critical role in managing and treating cardiovascular diseases. This market segment, with its diverse range of pharmaceutical interventions, is a key contributor to the comprehensive cardiovascular healthcare landscape.

Cardiac Safety Services Market:

Ensuring the safety of cardiovascular interventions is paramount. The Cardiac Safety Services Market, with its array of services and technologies, plays a crucial role in enhancing the safety profile of cardiovascular drugs and procedures.

Cardiovascular Market Size and Demand:

As cardiovascular diseases continue to afflict a growing population, the demand for cardiovascular devices and drugs is on the rise. The Cardiovascular Devices Market is expected to experience sustained growth, driven by the increasing prevalence of cardiovascular conditions and the growing awareness of preventive healthcare measures.

Cardiovascular Diagnostic Devices Market:

Diagnostic technologies are at the forefront of cardiovascular care. The Cardiovascular Diagnostic Devices Market embraces a spectrum of cutting-edge technologies that aid in early detection, risk assessment, and precise diagnosis of cardiovascular conditions.

Cardiovascular Disease Drug Market Size:

The Cardiovascular Disease Drug Market, a subset of the broader pharmaceutical industry, has witnessed substantial growth. Its size, influenced by factors such as drug innovation, regulatory approvals, and market penetration, reflects the industry's commitment to addressing the complexities of cardiovascular diseases.

Cardiovascular Market Major Players:

Leading the charge in the Cardiovascular Devices Market are major players such as Medtronic, Johnson & Johnson, and Abbott Laboratories. These industry giants contribute significantly to innovation, research, and the development of groundbreaking cardiovascular technologies.

Cardiovascular Industry Research Reports:

In-depth research reports are indispensable tools for stakeholders seeking a comprehensive understanding of the Cardiovascular Devices Market. These reports delve into market trends, technological advancements, and emerging opportunities, guiding strategic decision-making.

Cardiovascular Market Revenue and Companies:

With a substantial market revenue, the Cardiovascular Devices Market attracts a diverse array of companies ranging from multinational corporations to innovative startups. This diversity fosters competition, innovation, and the development of a robust ecosystem committed to advancing cardiovascular healthcare.

Cardiovascular Surgery Market:

Cardiovascular surgery, a critical component of cardiovascular care, has its own niche market. The Cardiovascular Surgery Market encompasses a range of surgical interventions, from minimally invasive procedures to complex cardiac surgeries.

Top Cardiovascular Pharma Companies:

Leading pharmaceutical companies such as Pfizer, Novartis, and AstraZeneca dominate the Top Cardiovascular Pharma Companies list. Their contributions to drug development and healthcare solutions underscore their pivotal role in advancing cardiovascular care.

Conclusion:

The Cardiovascular Devices Market is a multifaceted realm, where innovation, research, and a commitment to patient well-being converge. As technology continues to advance, major players drive industry growth, and pharmaceutical interventions evolve, the Cardiovascular Devices Market remains at the forefront of shaping the future of cardiovascular healthcare. This dynamic landscape holds the promise of improved patient outcomes, enhanced diagnostics, and innovative therapeutic solutions for those affected by cardiovascular diseases.

#Cardiovascular Devices Market #Cardiovascular Drugs Market #Cardiac Safety Services Market #Cardiovascular Market Size #Cardiovascular Devices Market Demand

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whumpy-wyrms · 8 months

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The Last Lab Rat #4: Let’s Begin

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content: lab whump, experimentations, torture, needles, drugging, restraints, burns?, hallucinations, spiders, begging, paralysis, sleep deprivation, test subject whumpee, intimate/creepy whumper

—

Dew assumed it had been two weeks since he woke up in the tiny room overlooking his captor’s science lab. It was hard to tell with no concept of time down there, and having spent the last week and a few days drugged up or unconscious while recovering.

But now he was back to normal, fully healed from the surgery and honestly feeling great. Except for the small sense of impending doom that never seemed to go away.

Dew didn’t like being in open spaces here, it made him feel vulnerable and defenseless. So as soon as he could move on his own with no pain, he started sleeping under the bed again. Both to hide from the scientist, and to feel some sense of safety.

He both loved and hated that he was feeling better. It meant that he could try another escape soon, and didn’t have to be dependent on Anton for every little thing. But it also meant that there was no more reason for the scientist to delay experimenting on his test subject any longer.

He didn’t want to imagine the terrible unethical experimentation he’d be put through soon. But he couldn’t help it. He wasn’t getting any sleep either.

It was another long night of holding the blanket tight around himself, lying snugly under the bed and staring at nothing. Dew was scared, so scared. But he was starting to get bored with nothing to do, with only his racing thoughts of torture keeping him company. He hated that he felt lonely, and felt relieved when he heard the scientist’s footsteps coming towards his room.

Dew didn’t understand himself, why he felt so many contradicting feelings all at once. It made no sense, he didn’t want to be around Anton and yet he didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want to be hurt or sick, but he didn’t want to be healthy enough to be deemed ready to be experimented on. The only coherent thought in his mind was that he wanted to go home.

“Hey, Dew,” Anton said, walking into the room with a tray of breakfast.

“…Hi,” Dew said, hesitantly crawling out from under the bed, wincing at the light forcing itself into his eyes.

“How you feeling?” Anton asked as he handed Dew the tray of food. “You were hiding under the bed, I assume that means you are fully recovered, right?”

Dew shrugged his shoulders. He was feeling fine, if the never ending sense of dread didn’t count.

“Why do you still hide under there anyway? It must be uncomfortable. You know nothing bad will happen to you in here.”

“The light’s too bright,” Dew mumbled, not expecting his captor to care.

“Oh, sorry,” Anton said. He took a device from his pocket, fiddling with it until the lights in the lab started to dim. “Is that better?”

“Y-Yeah, actually?”

“You need to tell me if something like that is bothering you. I want you to be as comfortable as possible here, you know that?”

“…Okay,” Dew whispered, ignoring the fact he was literally being kept here against his will.

Anton looked his test subject up and down, “You look like shit. Did you sleep?”

“Yeah,” Dew lied. Anton looked at him skeptically.

So far nothing actually bad had happened to him yet, but he was feeling apprehensive. Anton seemed different today. Weird different. Not like he was in a bad mood, the opposite, really. Like he was excited about something. Something that could only mean bad things for Dew, he guessed.

“A-Anton? Uh, I just wanted to say um- thanks? For, you know…” Dew gestured to his chest, feeling awkward with Anton’s eyes glued to him, but not saying anything.

“Oh, no problem. You feel fine though, other than not sleeping?”

“I-I guess…?” Dew said. Anton grinned.

“Great.”

“W-What does that mean?” Dew’s heart pounded through his chest, already knowing the answer.

“It means, my little test subject,” Anton said with a terrifying grin, ruffling Dew’s hair, “that now that we got everything out of the way, we can finally begin the experiments.”

Dew gulped, staring at his captor with wide, fearful eyes. He was frozen still, unable to move from his spot on the edge of the bed, despite how much he wanted to get away from this man.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that, you knew this was coming.” When Anton moved closer, Dew put down his half eaten breakfast, and began cowering away.

“N-No, I don’t—” Dew frantically shook his head, struggling to get any words out. “Please, d-don’t hurt me.”

“They will be simple tests today, Dew,” Anton said softly. “Some will be painful, some won’t, but the more you struggle and resist, the more I’ll have to hurt you.” Dew didn’t notice the tears flowing down his cheeks until Anton brought his hand up to gently wipe them away. He grimaced at the touch, flinching away from the scientist. “I’d think carefully about this if I were you. It’d be so much easier for you to just comply.”

Dew nodded his head, and Anton backed away, removing the chain from Dew’s ankle again. Dew forced himself to gobble up the rest of his breakfast, even though he felt it might come right back out soon anyway. Anton wanted him to wear a hospital gown again, so he did. Dew didn’t struggle as Anton tied his wrists and ankles, and silently followed his captor out the room.

His heart raced, and he broke out in a cold sweat when he was being brought to the operating table again. Dew’s legs were wobbly with nervousness, breath hitching as he saw a syringe in his captor’s hand.

“Up you go, Dew.” Anton said, gently lifting Dew to sit upright on the metal table. He glanced around him, seeing all sorts of strange vials of concoctions and syringes with the same colorful liquids. He breathed heavily, trying to stifle a sob as Anton began restraining him to the table. He suddenly felt claustrophobic, unable to move even if he tried to and wasn’t completely frozen in fear.

Anton looked down at his test subject, staring— no, pleading at him with wide, terror filled eyes. Despite a small pang of guilt in his stomach, it was outweighed by the sheer excitement. He waited so long to experiment on another living human other than himself, and he couldn’t wait for what discoveries he would make with his new lab rat.

It wasn’t until Anton firmly lowered Dew flat on the table, and lifted the syringe to Dew’s neck when he found his voice.

“W-Wait, I don’t- I don’t wanna do this. J-Just let me go!” Dew whimpered, struggling against the restraints holding his body down. “Please, I don’t wanna be experimented on!” Anton tutted, a disappointed look in his eyes.

“And here I almost thought you would comply willingly.” Anton sighed. “There’s no fighting this, Dew. You’re my test subject, this is what you’re here for. You need to learn your place. I told you, resisting would only make things worse.” With that, he plunged the needle into Dew’s neck, piercing the skin and filling his body with a burning agony.

It was nothing like the injections he’d been given the past two weeks.

He screamed, incoherent sobs erupting from his chest as he felt his entire body burn as if it was up in flames. His veins felt like fire, as if acid was coursing through his bloodstream, only getting more and more agonizing every second he was forced to endure.

“How does it feel, Dew?”

It felt like fire was burning through his body from the inside out. Like he was a marshmallow being roasted from the inside, unable to escape the fire. The pain was the most excruciating pain Dew had ever felt in his life. He almost didn’t hear the question, hardly able to form coherent words between his sobs.

“Pl-p- please make it s-sto- stoppp! Please!” His sobs racked his body, only seeming to make the pain worse. Struggling didn’t help either, but there was no way he could force himself to stay still while he felt as if he was burning alive. He pulled at the straps holding him down, chafing his wrists and causing more pain. He didn’t care, he couldn’t take it anymore.

“You didn’t answer my question, Dew,” Anton cooed.

“It- h-hurts! Hurts! P-please!” Dew sobbed.

“You’re cute when you’re scared, you know that? Fine, here’s the antidote.” Dew screamed as another needle was brought to his neck, unable to stop it as it emptied more mystery fluid into his fiery veins. He tensed, preparing for more worlds of pain when he suddenly felt the burning sensation slowly fade.

“Th-Thank you,” Dew hiccuped as the pain ceased. It had only lasted for less than a minute, but it felt like an eternity for Dew. He couldn’t stand the thought of being injected with that again. “I- is it over?”

“For now. That wasn’t actually part of the experiment, I just needed to show you what happens when you resist. You know now, right Dew?”

“Y-yes!” Dew cried. “Yes, I-I’ll do what- whatever you w-want!”

“Great,” Anton clapped his hands, grabbing a clipboard from a table. “Now, all we’re doing today is a few trials of testing out different drugs and poisons, and seeing how your body reacts to them. It’ll be helpful for me to know your limits and weaknesses to these things, so there won’t be any painkillers to risk skewing the results. All of these drugs are completely unpredictable to me, but they shouldn’t kill you. It might be painful, but that’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?”

All Dew could do was numbly nod his head, hoping the scientist would just get it over with. He was so, so tired.

“Great.” Anton grabbed, yet again, another fucking needle. “I’ll inject you with this in a few seconds, and I want you to describe its effect on you. Try to be detailed, if you can.” He gave Dew almost no time to prepare before plunging another needle into his neck.

This one was different though, fainter. Something was happening to him that he couldn’t quite place. What did he expect, from some mystery poison.

“F-Feels… weird,” Dew said nervously, still not wanting anything to do with this. But it wasn’t like he had a choice.

“Weird? Like how weird?”

“Like uh—” Dew winced as he heard a sharp ringing in his ears and looked around deliriously. He watched Anton write something down, and tilt his head at him quizzically. He could see two of him, as well as… spiders. Everywhere. “W-what’s happening to me?” Dew frantically struggled, squirming, trying to get the spiders off of his body, crawling on his arms and legs, biting him and nesting in his ears.

“Dew, what are you feeling? What do you see?”

“There’s— spiders! Everywhere!” Dew shrieked, struggling more but with no use. They were crawling up his face, into his nose and close to his eyes that he had to squeeze them shut. But he felt everything, every movement of thousands of little legs crawling on his body and under his clothes, embedding themselves into his flesh and moving around under his skin.

“Spiders? Ah, so you’re hallucinating?”

“P-Please- get them off of me!” Dew coughed and gasped as he felt the spiders spinning webs in his mouth, crawling down his throat and into his body. Watching his test subject writhe in fear and disgust, Anton had everything he needed to know. He was also terrified of spiders, and felt bad for the little guy. He didn’t make his unease show as he quickly picked up the antidote.

“We’re going to end this trial early, okay?” Dew could only nod, completely out of it, as he was injected again. A few minutes later, he blinked as if he was waking up from a long nap.

“W-what happened?” Dew asked. He was back to sounding scared, a clear tell that the drug wore off.

“Uh, doesn’t matter.” Anton scribbled something else in his notes, and prepared another syringe.

A few more trials of tests and weird drugs and poisons and serums and antidotes, and Dew was miserable. The worst part was the constant feeling of the prick of a needle in his neck, his literal worst fear being poked into him against his will, over and over and over again.

“Why are we doing this again? W-what’s the point of it all?” Dew asked. “W-Why can’t— Why can’t I just go home?” Anton’s silent glare sent a chill down Dew’s spine, and he decided not to bring it up again.

The injections hurt, sometimes more than the poison itself. Dew told himself, once he’d get out of here, that he’d never let another fucking needle enter his body. He’d use different methods of HRT for all he cared.

Some of the drugs had interesting results that led to Anton curiously asking question after question as Dew struggled to comprehend the words through the pain. Disassociating seemed nice, though it was hardly possible with the constant stinging in his neck and pounding in his head. Honestly, it was all a blur. Some of the drugs didn’t do much, just making Dew feel just slightly tired or nauseous.

One of the drugs made Dew burst out laughing, not able to stop. It became painful after a few, long, agonizing minutes. The laughter turned to crying turned to sobbing profusely. It was physically impossible to get any words out, but Anton had gotten all the information he needed.

After hours and hours of agonizing testing, it was time for lunch. While Dew was recovering from the latest drug he was injected with, Anton undid the restraints and sat Dew upright, giving him some water.

“P-please, no more,” Dew begged.

“No more,” Anton repeated, patting his test subject’s head. “We’re taking a break. You hungry?” The thought of putting anything in his system made Dew nauseous, but he couldn’t not eat. Who knew if the scientist might just decide to stop feeding him to see the “effects” of that on his body? Dew nodded, extremely relieved for a break.

Anton left Dew to sit on the table as he prepared lunch. Dew had never been in the lab when Anton was cooking— if it could even be called that, more like microwaving ramen or pre-cooked frozen stuff. Dew felt a twinge of guilt for taking all of Hayden’s cooking for granted, even if it wasn’t very good. Anything would certainly be better than this. Especially if it meant he could be with his friends.

Dew ate his food in silence while Anton ate a few feet away in a chair. His mind was tired, and he would give anything for a nap. Dew thought about things his captor had said that unfortunately started to get to him, despite himself trying his best not to let it. The events of the past two weeks were finally catching up to him. Was this really his life now?

Dew hated thinking about it. He would escape soon, he just needed to wait for the perfect moment. But what if it never came? What if he’d never be able to do anything for himself again, strapped to a metal table being poked and prodded like some lab rat for the rest of his life?

He had a headache. He was so, so tired. When Anton took his restraints off to feed him, he didn’t bother tying his ankles together, or anything like that. Dew guessed the scientist knew how tired he was. Anton could seem to tell when Dew lied; he knew Dew had gotten absolutely no sleep last night.

Dew hugged his knees to his chest, helplessly hoping for a moment to rest. He couldn’t stand the thought of another needle piercing through his skin right now.

Apparently Anton noticed Dew’s extreme discomfort, put down his food, and walked over to him.

“Do you want to be done for the day?” The scientist asked softly. Dew could have hugged him, if he weren’t terrified of the guy. Yes. Anything, I just need to rest. Dew nodded his head, teary eyed.

“Alright, I guess that’s okay. It was your first time being an actual test subject, after all. You must be exhausted, huh?” Dew closed his eyes as he let Anton carry him up to that room, and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

. . .

The same thing happened the next day. Or night; there was literally no way to tell. Anton just seemed to be awake the same time Dew was, and that’s when they started the day.

It became a cycle of the scientist injecting a mystery poison into Dew’s system, then Dew would either scream in pain or describe whatever sensation he felt, Anton would check his vitals and get all the information he needed, and Dew would be injected once again with the antidote, after either a few minutes or hours of the drug flowing painfully through his system. Anton hardly let Dew get a word in besides describing the effects, and he didn’t seem to care that Dew didn’t want to do this.

Every injection was a different surprise. Sometimes the antidotes hurt worse than the drug itself, making Dew resist every time Anton came towards him with a needle. Even the times Anton didn’t need Dew to feel anything, offering painkillers to his test subject, Dew didn’t willingly accept any type of drugs from him. Whether it was his stubbornness, or the fact he was completely out of it, delirious from the drugs or sleep deprivation, he couldn’t tell.

The trials repeated for days, and Dew was exhausted. He tried to sleep, but it was hard. He knew Anton would do something about that if he found out, so Dew tried his hardest to at least pretend to be sleeping whenever Anton checked in on him during the night, for seemingly no particular reason. Sometimes Anton would just walk into the room, stand in the corner and watch Dew sleep. Sometimes he’d pet Dew’s hair as if he were a cat, and Dew tried his best not to shudder in disgust.

One morning, Anton told Dew that this was the last day of these particular tests with all of his weird little mystery concoctions. Dew didn’t know whether to feel relieved or terrified, not knowing what the next experiment could be. Because he was sure as hell that Anton wouldn’t tell him. The scientist didn’t bother to give any information about what he was injecting into Dew’s body, as if he wasn’t even a person at all. As if he was just a thing that belonged to the scientist to poke and prod whenever he wanted.

As if he was just a test subject, which he supposed, he was.

“Your pain won’t be necessary for this one,” Anton said in his sickeningly sweet voice. “If you need painkillers, just ask.” He knew that Dew, after the experience of the last few days, wouldn’t willingly allow any more drugs in his system. He knew Dew wouldn’t ask to be poked with a needle, no matter what was in it. He was taunting him. He wanted to see Dew squirm.

As Dew was injected with the mystery drug, he felt a literal chill flow through his spine, as if his veins were flooded with ice. It hurt.

“What does it feel like, Dew?” Anton asked softly.

“L-Like ice,” Dew said. “I’m cold, i-it’s so cold.” His mind raced. He needed it to stop. But what if the painkillers made it worse, what if it was like those other times, where they affected the drug in a way Anton couldn’t predict, and it made it worse? Dew couldn’t stand it anymore, he didn’t know what to do. Asking to be injected with anything, Dew thought, was just surrendering to his life here. He couldn’t accept this, he had to stay stubborn and show the scientist he wouldn’t succumb.

“You don’t have to feel that pain, you know.” Anton teased. “All you have to do is say the words, and the pain will stop.” Dew would do anything if it meant for the pain to stop, but asking to be injected with anything was like asking for the scientist to hurt him. He wouldn’t give himself up like that. Dew numbly shook his head, despite his cells screaming in protest at him.

Anton shrugged, “Your stubbornness will be the death of you, but suit yourself.” And to Dew’s utter horror, Anton injected him with another dose of that poison.

The effects were immediate. The coldness throughout his body only became more freezing, as if his blood and innards were pure ice, frozen solid, threatening to crack. The inside of his body felt like cold shards of glass poking into him, freezing him over and keeping him locked in place. It was hard to move, not like he could, being strapped down to the metal table.

Dew whimpered. It hurt, it hurt so bad, but he felt like he didn’t have any more tears left to cry. Like they were frozen too, like ice. Or maybe it was all of the excessive crying from the days before that he had already cried all the tears his body had left.

Anton squinted his eyes, sensing Dew’s extreme pain and discomfort. “You sure you don’t need it?” he asked softly.

Dew shook his head rapidly. That’s what Anton wanted, for his test subject to give up the only control he had left. Dew so, so didn’t want to ask for the sting of the needle he felt as it would be plunged into his neck. It hurt. He wouldn’t subject himself to that willingly. He wouldn’t.

Anton only hummed, and jabbed another fucking needle into his neck. Pain soured through Dew’s body, almost as bad as it was the first day. He couldn’t move an inch, limbs frozen solid in place, only able to move his eyes and mouth, and the faint, jagged rise and fall of his chest. He still couldn’t cry, his eyes were dry and they stung.

“W-Why are you doing this to me?” Dew sobbed. He knew Anton didn’t like hearing about this, but he didn’t care anymore. “I-I had a good life! I was happy! I had friends who I loved, and hobbies and dreams! A-And you took it all away from me and for what?!” He sobbed into the air.

“None of that Dew,” the scientist cooed, picking up another poison-filled syringe. “You remember what I told you before.” Dew lost count of how many doses of this he’d been given. His entire body was frozen solid, paralyzed to the point it was becoming hard to breathe. And then just like that, Dew couldn’t move his body anymore, not to even breathe.

“I-I can’t breathe!” He rasped out, breath being taken from his frozen lungs. “M-make it stop!”

“What do you say?” Anton cooed.

“I… I-I want the antidote. I want the injection, g-give it to me.”

“Atta boy.” Dew’s vision was going dark when another painful prick was felt in his neck. He chose that. He told his captor to hurt him.

But he didn’t care anymore. His body went numb, and he felt nothing. He frantically gulped down as much air as he could, the scientist just staring at him with a smug look on his face. Dew could still hardly move, but at least there was no more pain.

After some time had passed, maybe a few minutes or hours, Anton lifted Dew up, and carried him to the room. Dew heard the scientist say something, but he couldn’t hear him.

“You need to sleep,” Anton said, sitting Dew down on the bed. “I know you haven’t been. This won’t do.”

“I dunno what you’re talking about,” Dew said, his voice raspy and speech slightly slurred from the drugs.

“You’re a little insomniac, huh?”

“N-No,” Dew lied. The truth was, he didn’t remember the last time he slept a full night here. He had been too scared to sleep, too scared of the pain and the nightmares that were sure to follow him, that he couldn’t sleep.

“Sleep is an important part of life, Dew. It’s crucial to my research that there are no outside factors skewing the results. But you haven’t been sleeping, and it’s about time we do something about it, don’t you think?” Anton reached into his pocket, pulling out a small pill. That was certainly better than a needle, but still worrisome. He held it out for Dew to take, and Dew just stared at him.

“What do you mean? What is that?”

“It will help you sleep, Dew.”

“I-I don’t need that.”

“If you don’t sleep on your own, then yes you do. Now be a good test subject and take this pill, or do you want me to hold you down and force it down your throat instead?”

“I- I don’t—” Anton grabbed Dew’s hand, turning his palm up and dropping the pill into it.

“Think carefully, Dew. You know what happens if you resist, remember?”

“O-Okay, fine.” The truth was, he was tired. Tired of fighting, and tired in general. Anton always won, and being knocked out felt a whole lot better than this. Dew’s hand was shaking as he put the pill in his mouth, eagerly swallowing it down with the water Anton handed him afterward.

The effects were instant. He started to feel sleepy and his eyelids started to droop, feeling too heavy to keep open. Anton guided his body to lay down on the bed, and patted his head in praise.

“Good choice, Dew,” Anton smiled. “You did good today, sleep well.”

Dew could hardly comprehend what was happening as Anton tucked him under the covers, turned off the lights, and left the room for the night. Dew drifted off, finally getting a full night’s rest.

. . .

Anton lingered in the doorway for a few moments before leaving his test subject alone for the night. He looked so peaceful, sleeping soundly on his bed.

He knew Dew would learn to accept his new life here as a test subject, it was just a matter of time. Anton had to keep reminding himself that it couldn’t be easy for the guy, no matter how excited he was to go absolutely ham on the experiments. He had to take it slow, get Dew used to things, used to his new life here. Anton felt bad, he did, but he remembered his goal. His next experiment would be big.

Anton prepared his lab for the night, organizing the notes he took of the experiments that day. He’d gotten good results, definitely useful for what he planned. He was happy he was doing this.

Before leaving, Anton decided to check some old files. He cursed his predecessor for not being as organized as he was, making it extremely difficult to review his work and continue where he left off. But Anton felt prepared. Tomorrow would be one of the most important days of his life, for what he was going to attempt. He’d been planning it for years. It was time.

He closed the files. He couldn’t stand to think about him anymore. About them. Anton knew he wouldn’t make the same mistakes his mentor did, and he was already doing better than him, right?

So then why was he still thinking about them?

Anton was being better. He called Dew his name, not some dehumanizing experiment number. He gave him his own quarters instead of keeping him cooped up in a cage. He fed him actual food and let him have some sort of control, even if it was little to none. He treated Dew like a person, and he wanted to. He didn’t want a repeat of last time.

Anton locked up his lab, and started up the stars to the surface. Sleep would do him good, as well.

“Hey, Basil,” Anton said, opening the door to his pet mouse’s enclosure.

“Hi!” Basil said. One of Anton’s favorite inventions was a device that allowed animals to speak. It was a small chip inserted into their brain, hooked up to a speaker that voiced their thoughts. And because Anton almost never had any social interactions with other humans— well, besides Dew now— talking to his mouse made him feel less lonely.

Anton held Basil in his hands, and watched the mouse curl up, snuggling against him. He’d have to introduce her to Dew sometime, he’d like that.

Anton looked at the surveillance footage playing from a few monitors on the wall. It was a comforting sight. Instead of his test subject stirring in his sleep, writhing under the bed, he was out cold. The only movement from the screen came from the peaceful rise and fall of Dew’s chest as he breathed.

“You did not hurt him. Right?” Basil asked. She couldn’t have known what happened the past few days; Anton turns off the monitors once he goes into the lab. He can’t risk someone stumbling into his cabin and watching the horrible torture taking place.

“No, no…” Anton lied. “Dew’s okay. He’ll be okay.”

“When can I meet him?”

“Soon, when he’s used to his life as a test subject… And when I can trust him, with you.”

“Is he like Max?”

Anton’s breath hitched in surprise. He told himself to not think about it, but it was thrown into his mind anyway. “I’m going to sleep,” Anton said suddenly as he gently set Basil back into her enclosure, giving her a little treat for cutting their cuddling time short.

“Goodnight, Anton!” Basil said cheerily, focused on the treat and seeming to forget that the question she had asked went unanswered.

“Goodnight, Basil.” Ironically, it was Anton who couldn’t sleep that night. His mind raced of things that had happened in his past, and what would happen in his future.

But the thought Anton kept coming back to, despite the regret, was that he was glad he had Dew now. The perfect little test subject, someone he could do anything to. Someone who is his, to take and change and use to make all the scientific discoveries he wanted. Someone to experiment on, ethically or not, for science.

Because that’s what Anton was, after all, a scientist.

And that’s all he needed Dew for. He was his test subject, and that’s all he would ever be.

—

i’m keeping Anton’s backstory very cryptic and vague for now but all will be revealed eventually :)

taglist: @whumpinthepot @shywhumpauthor @whump-me-all-night-long @whump321 @fuckcapitalismasshole @sorry-i-spaced @theelvishcowgirl

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theharrowing · 1 year

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Collateral 🗡️ 12: Loose lips sink ships

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?

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🗡️ Yoongi x Female Reader x Namjoon 🗡️ word count: 11.6k 🗡️ mafia au, strangers to lovers, graphic violence, major character injury, poly, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit 21+ 🗡️ chapter warnings: the return of our favorite gossip girl Felix, graphic descriptions of violence (use of incendiary device to start fire, use of kunai knives and glass to stab & slit throats, use of drugs to force an overdose, smothering), sleep paralysis nightmare, fingering and face-sitting in the garden, joonbug is a real softie, 2seok are up to something. 🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin! <3 🗡️ posted on jan. 2023 | read on ao3 🗡️ note: happy new year, friends! so excited to kick off 2023 with a chapter of my beloved Collateral! this chapter was fun to write, and it is introducing so many things that will be important for the rest of the story. the descriptions of violence in this one are pretty wild, so please be ready!

Light pours into Yoongi's bedroom, and you grumble as you stretch your arms over your head, feeling the final dredges of sleep wash away to wakefulness. The bed is empty, and the light pouring in is still soft with hints of pink, signifying dawn, so you assume that the men had gotten up much earlier and probably will not be back until afternoon.

Feeling hunger pangs in the pit of your stomach, you grumble and concede to getting out of the warmth of the giant, lonely bed, to make your way into the kitchen for something to eat. Perhaps Felix or Changbin will be around to join you—though you still feel put off by the latter's behavior the last time you saw him, you would still welcome his company.

As you push the heavy door open, making your way out into the balcony, you find two bodies sitting on the bench outside your bedroom door. However, neither are the men you expected.

Seokjin sits tall in a burgundy three-piece suit with one leg crossed over the other, holding his phone as if he is watching something on the screen. Beside him, Hoseok is dressed in his standard black garb with his head on Seokjin's shoulder, smiling at whatever he is looking at. Suddenly, you feel exposed walking out in only one of Namjoon's oversized black shirts and panties, and you take a step back to rethink your attire and consider putting on some of Yoongi's sweatpants.

However, before you can make it back into the safety of the master bedroom, Seokjin looks up and, with a grin, clicks his phone off and keeps his attention on you.

"Well, well," he mutters, "if it isn't the wolf cub we were hoping to see."

You rock on your heels, still deciding whether or not to excuse yourself into Yoongi's room, but Hoseok sits up straight, and Seokjin stands, both with their eyes fixed on you.

"Come," Seokjin says, slipping his phone into his front pocket while holding out his free hand. "I have something I would like to discuss with you."

"Oh," you mutter, reluctantly stepping forward and padding over to the men. "Okay."

"Before we begin," Seokjin says, moving into your personal space and wrapping an arm around your shoulder. Seokjin wears an expensive-smelling cologne—woody and musky with fruity and floral notes; more feminine than you would expect. "This proposition I have for you...it has to stay between us."

"What do you mean?" you mutter as Hoseok stands before you with a pointed stare.

"We have devised a plan to spy on the rival family," Seokjin says.

"Yoongi's ex," Hoseok adds, though you already know.

"But in order for this plan to work, Yoongi mustn't know."

You hum, already feeling trepidation over doing something behind Yoongi's back that involves mafia activity. Especially considering the Shin family is all the way in Busan; how would they suppose you can spy on them?

"We have a little bird on the inside," Hoseok continues, "but he is afraid to get too close."

"We were thinking," Seokjin says, "that if we could get you into her home, you would be able to get a lot more information."

You shake your head. Into her home? Absolutely not. Not to mention—

"How would we get me into her home without him knowing?"

"Deception on both sides, of course," Seokjin answers as if it is nothing. "Yoongi gets word that you are feeling suffocated and cooped up, and you need to take a vacation. I offer to set everything up—as I am wont to do—and we send you to Busan."

"And Ryujin?" you ask incredulously. "She has already seen my face. How would we get me into her house?"

Hoseok shrugs. "Someone leaks information that you are being abused and need somewhere safe to hide from the Min family. She's a softie; she'll take you."

The thought of framing Yoongi as abusive to win his ex's favor settles like a brick in the pit of your stomach, and you tense in Seokjin's hold, clenching and relaxing your fists at your sides. In an attempt to play it off, you shrug and scoff, rolling your eyes as you glance from Hoseok to Seokjin.

"A softie? She sent men to beat your boxer to death, and to attack Jimin. I would hardly call her a softie."

"Compared to what your hubby does," Hoseok snarls playfully, "that's nothing."

A shiver runs through you at the word hubby. Something about it stirs your insides in all the worst possible ways. Setting that aside, the plan seems foolish. How long do they expect you to feign being on vacation? Getting to know someone well enough to spy on them is something you imagine would take months, if not a year, at least.

"This plan is terrible," you respond, turning away from Seokjin and letting his arm fall away from your shoulder. "I can't imagine I will be able to gather as much intel on her in the timespan of...whatever a getaway is."

Hoseok shrugs. "So we tell him you're on sabbatical."

"It won't work," you insist. "Yoongi is far too clingy for that."

Seokjin hums, and you turn to find him studying you with squinted eyes.

"If I revise the plan and make it more believable, would you reconsider?"

There is a part of you that wants to say yes, if only as payback for what they did to Jimin. But there is no way someone as possessive as Yoongi would let you leave. And even if he were foolish enough not to see through the lie, you doubt that Namjoon would be.

"If it is actually a believable plan then yes, I will reconsider."

Both men smile, and Seokjin reaches to pat you on the shoulder. He shares a knowing glance and says, "Loose lips sink ships," before turning to walk down the stairs.

"See you soon, little cub," Hoseok sing-songs, following close behind.

You sit on the bench outside your bedroom door, feeling the soft upholstery on your thighs, and wait for them to get enough of a head start before making your way to the kitchen. Part of you hopes that Yoongi has been around all along, rendering the whole conversation moot so you can all move on and forget about it altogether. But, when you finally do make your way downstairs, toward the kitchen, the main hall is empty, and the mansion is quiet.

After a small breakfast of cereal and fruit, you walk into the main hall to find Felix at the entrance, kicking off his shoes. You fail to hold back a squeal as you run through the hall, and Felix looks up with a wide smile, holding his arms wide to catch you.

"Hello," Felix beams in his deep voice, Australian accent adding unnecessary consonants—something you have missed dearly.

"Poolside!" you shout as you step out of the hug. "Champagne and catching up! Don't say no!"

"I wouldn't dream of saying no," Felix responds, rubbing a palm over the top of your head as if you are a child. To his credit, you are still running around in nothing but a giant t-shirt and underwear, which seems like something a child might do.

With a mock-offended groan, you swat Felix's hand away and turn, running for the stairs. Although Felix follows behind, his footsteps are much slower, taking his time. You slam your bedroom door open and jet into the closet, tugging Namjoon's shirt off as soon as you are safe around the corner of the walk-in, and fling open a drawer that contains bathing suits.

Grabbing a black two-piece, you hardly give it a glance as you hop out of your panties and into the suit, then you yank the first baby blue sun dress you see from its hanger and unceremoniously pull it over your head, spinning it several times around your neck before your arms line up with the correct holes.

Felix appears in the doorway in swim shorts and a tee.

"I wore the trunks here knowing you would wanna swim," he says as you pad over.

"Of course you did," you mutter in response, delighted by how predictable you are, and the two of you bound down the stairs.

The moment you step outside, the bartender approaches, and you wonder if the poor guy ever takes time off—what must his hours be like? At least he has the wherewithal to leave the open bottle behind right away, saving himself a trip. It only takes two glasses of bubbly before your lips are too loose for your own good—ignoring Seokjin's earlier advice.

"Is the mansion bugged?" you ask as you hold your champagne flute to your lips.

Felix's eyes widen, and he stares unblinkingly for several seconds. "Why do you ask?"

With a shrug, you mutter, "Just curious."

"Are you having conversations you don't want master Yoongi to hear?"

With a scoff, you shake your head and mutter, "Please do not call him that," making Felix laugh.

"On the contrary," you continue, "I may have overheard a conversation that I wonder if he should know about."

You do not want to divulge what Seokjin and Hoseok said to you up on the second-floor balcony, and attempt to separate yourself from the conversation. All good lies come from a place of truth, after all.

"But you don't want to snitch," Felix suggests with a grin.

"Of course."

"Because snitches get stitches."

You chuckle as you say, "So I have heard," then you gulp back the rest of your champagne. Felix finishes his, as well, and takes your glass to refill it.

"No," he continues as he pours, "the mansion is not bugged, save for the dining halls, I believe—rooms where meetings with outsiders may take place. But, as far as I know, those systems are only switched on when needed."

You nod and accept your full glass, taking a sip.

"Yoongi trusts his men implicitly. So if the conversation you overheard was between two of them, then you may want to sow some seeds of discontent, making Yoongi investigate on his own. Or record any future conversations they may have."

"Do any of the family men need Yoongi's approval to enter the mansion when he's not here?” you ask, eager to sway the conversation.

Felix shakes his head. “The family men have twenty-four-hour access. And the retina scanner pings Yoongi’s phone so he always knows who is coming in and going out.”

“I suppose you also have access, since your room is upstairs.”

Felix blinks at you several times as if confused, then chuckles and shakes his head.

“We only occupy that room when Yoongi wants constant watch over someone. Changbin and I live elsewhere, on a nearby property.”

“Oh,” you mutter. That explains why you have not seen either of them in a while.

“And we do not have constant access. Yoongi sends us a code for the door that changes daily, so we can only come in on days when he wants us to.”

You suppose you should not be too surprised that Yoongi is paranoid even of his security staff. He is, after all, more powerful than even you still realize, but something about it is a bit unsettling…though, what that something is, is hard to put your finger on. You decide, instead, to sway the conversation a bit.

"And the parties that used to take place out here? Which have all but stopped."

"Mostly Jeongguk and Taehyung's doing, as far as I know," Felix responds. "But ever since the whole ecstasy fiasco, they stopped letting people over. And with Jeongguk getting stabbed..."

Felix trails off, and you find yourself biting back a smirk. It is, of course, not funny that Jeongguk got stabbed, but whenever you remember a very exasperated Seokjin carrying him over his shoulder while Jeongguk was high out of his mind, you cannot help but feel amused. He is fine, after all.

"What...was all that about?" you ask, wondering if Felix can even tell you. "Namjoon and I met up with Changkyun once to beat some information out of a couple of guys, but I haven’t heard Namjoon or Yoongi mention it since.”

The surprise in Felix's voice takes you off guard. "Yoongi never told you?"

You shake your head and shrug. "No, but, to be fair, I never asked. And we have had other things come up, I suppose."

After a pause, Felix asks, "Are you sure you wanna know?"

You nod, wide-eyed and eager, and you must really look silly because Felix chuckles and shakes his head.

"The whole thing feels like a scene from a movie, honestly; it was so weird hearing about it that I almost didn't believe it was real. Even while I watched it, myself, it felt too insane."

Anticipation hangs, and you watch as Felix stares at you with a grin. You kick his shin and urge him to continue.

"Alright, alright," he says. "But it gets pretty...gruesome at times. So stop me if you need to."

"I'm a big girl," you tease, "I can handle myself."

"Yeah?" Felix challenges with a raise of his eyebrows. "Do you know how many men Jeongguk killed that night?"

Until this very moment, you were unaware that Jeongguk had killed anyone that night. You shake your head as your eyebrows knit—the concern written on your face only seeming to delight your friend all the more.

"Fifteen," Felix says slowly, drawing out each syllable.

"Fif—what?"

With an eager nod, Felix takes a gulp of his champagne and begins. "Apparently he had these ecstasy pills that were laced with meth, and he popped two of them, drank down a bunch of whiskey, snorted a pile of cocaine and just went ape shit on a room full of men who were linked to the one guy who ripped him off."

Your mouth hangs around words like who and what and how but nothing comes out.

"I watched the security footage, so everything I am about to tell you is the truth. And you need to believe me when I say it is the craziest shit I have ever seen. At one point, Jeongguk reached into his shirt and pulled out a kunai knife that he twirled on the end of his finger. And over the course of the fight, he pulled out several more, so I don't know if he had like a bandolier of them strapped to his chest, or something."

"Kunai?" you ask in disbelief, and when Felix nods, you add, "Like, from Naruto?"

This makes Felix double over, spilling some of the champagne from his glass.

"Yes!" he shouts as his head hangs between his knees. "Like from Naruto!"

The idea is so funny that you join Felix in laughter; you know that kunai is a real weapon, but you have never actually seen them used outside of television. Of course, the fact that Jeongguk used these knives to at least kill some of the fifteen men is hardly funny, but the visual is just ridiculous. What kind of person is Jeongguk? This is a question you find yourself thinking about often. What goes on inside his head?

"Okay," Felix says, sitting up with tears in his eyes. "I will spare you all of the gory details, but basically, Jeongguk orchestrated a gathering of these fifteen men—including the one who had stolen from him, Jae."

The name Jae rings a bell from when you accompanied Namjoon to beat those two men with a baton.

"They were at some dingy bar that Jeongguk owns, and Jeongguk showed up, told the outside door guard not to let anyone out, and bid the bartender farewell. Then, he hopped over the counter and began constructing a molotov cocktail."

Already, this sounds like a fever dream, and you take a gulp of champagne, feeling tipsiness begin to swirl in your chest and head.

"So," you inquire with a raise of an eyebrow, "he grabbed a bottle of..."

"Vodka."

"Right, of course," you respond, biting back a grin. "Then he shoved a rag into it and what? Lit it on fire?"

"Exactly."

"Wh—" You begin to wonder who in real life, in their right mind, even thinks to do that. But then you remember that Jeongguk was most certainly not in his right mind.

"Then, he hopped up onto the bar with the incendiary and chucked it over the crowd of men so that it smashed against the ceiling, raining fire down on them."

Again, you attempt to ask questions that never form, only finding yourself able to mutter, "That...sounds fake."

"It was honestly incredible," Felix beams, perhaps a little too excitedly. "Fire rained down on these men and they began to panic. Only one man caught fire to the point of needing to stop, drop, and roll, but the commotion it created was precisely the type of chaos that someone like Jeongguk feeds off of.”

You imagine men running around frantically as their hair and clothing burn, and although the imagery is cartoonish in your mind, the idea makes your stomach churn.

“Jeongguk managed to isolate the Jae guy and restrain him to a pipe,” Felix continues. “It’s an older brick building, kind of industrial, with some of the pipes coming out of the walls and snaking back in, and I believe Jeongguk used handcuffs to restrain his wrist. Then, he went to town on the other fourteen while Jae watched.”

“What do you mean by he ‘went to town’ on them?”

“With the kunai,” Felix responds as if it is obvious, then he screws up his face in thought. “Mostly by stabbing the tips into the men’s necks, or slicing their throats open. A couple men attacked with punches, and he would use one blade to punch into their arms, blocking their swings, while advancing with the other kunai into this jugular. Some got headbutted before throat-gauged. It was a mess. At one point, there was so much blood on the floor, and vodka from the Molotov, that a guy slipped and broke his head open on all the broken glass.”

Suddenly, you do not think you want to know how the situation escalated so much that Jeongguk got stabbed. Though, considering he was outnumbered and the floor was covered in broken glass, you can wager a guess.

“One of the details I overheard Taehyung tell was that in his pocket, Jeongguk had a bloodstained mouth guard. Imagine that sight. Jeon Jeongguk, high out of his fucking mind, covered in blood and sweat, wielding kunai knives with this wide, plastic grin. Maniacal.”

“And he only got stabbed once?” you ask incredulously as you remember all the substances in his system while he fought all these men.

“Twice, technically, but from the same guy. He most likely got cocky. He was facing Jae—saying his final words, I assumed, judging by how he stood—and a guy who must have been playing dead before gathered two large pieces of glass and first tried stabbing him in the guts under his ribs, but only really managed to get him between the shoulder blades.”

“And, let me guess,” you deadpan, “he got a kunai to the throat?”

“Two to the stomach, I believe. He was already bleeding pretty badly, though from where, it was hard to tell.”

“And I assume Seokjin found him somehow and brought him home?”

Felix nods.

“Luckily, Jeongguk had the wherewithal to call Seokjin before it all went down and tell him he would need a ride home. Unfortunately for Seokjin, however, Jeongguk failed to mention he had driven his bike into town.”

A scoff rocks through your chest as you try to imagine Jeon Jeongguk—dressed head to toe in his standard mobster black attire with his pupils dilated into black disks—riding a bicycle like a carefree child.

“And this bike,” you inquire, failing to hold back a smile, “what does it look like?”

Felix beams. “Oh, it’s the cutest thing! Mint green with a little brown basket on the handles.”

“You’re lying,” you mutter in disbelief.

Felix shakes his head. “It has a bell and everything! He pulls up to the house and brrring brrrings it with a shit-eating grin.”

Now that is something you would pay to see.

“Wait, so Seokjin brought him back here on a bicycle?”

With a hum, Felix says, “He must have a luggage rack over the back wheel, because Seokjin complained about him sitting behind him, leaning hard into his back while his feet kept slipping from the pegs and bumping into the tires.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“Good thing I befriended Jimin and not Jeongguk,” you mutter.

With a knowing grin, Felix leans forward and says, “According to a little bird, Jimin recently orchestrated a murder, too.”

“You’re lying,” you gasp as you chug back the rest of your champagne and begin to refill your glass.

Felix shakes his head and holds his empty glass for a refill, as well. “Well, I think technically, Seokjin finished the job. Jimin is by far the biggest softie of the group.”

"And the least soft one is Jeongguk, I presume?" you mutter jokingly.

Felix's eyes widen, and he says, "That would be Taehyung."

You cock your head to the side, pointing an ear in his direction, as if you may have misheard. "Taehyung?"

A grin tugs at Felix's lips, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Taehyung didn't become a doctor because he likes to help people. He became a doctor because the human body fascinates him, and he enjoys ripping them open. He just happens to be very good at taking care of the select few men he has no desire to rip open. Evidently, the man has a stare so deadly, it makes even Jeongguk cower. But this is all conjecture; we do not dare talk about Taehyung's personal life unless he tells us something directly."

“This is too much information,” you grumble as you top off Felix’s glass and set the empty bottle onto the small table between the heads of your poolside beds.

You definitely want to know more about this situation with Jimin, but after Jeongguk’s murder party, you have heard enough; you cannot even begin to fathom what goes on behind Taehyung's closed door. Instead, you store the information away for later, chug the remaining champagne, and then ask Felix if he would like to swim.

You must have fallen asleep poolside after returning to the padded bed, feeling a little too drunk and quite a bit tired. The last thing you remember is Felix continuing to swim and convincing the bartender to strip down to his briefs and join him.

Although your eyes are open, everything poolside seems strange. It feels muted and still, and although you can hear the gentle sloshing of the water and several distant male voices, you are unable to detect any movement. Like an abandoned movie set, closed up, and left for the night.

A shadow looms over you, and you wonder at first, if you are imagining it. It looks huge—great enough to fully engulf and crush you if it wanted to. You attempt to close your eyes or look away, but you are stuck, paralyzed as the shadow hovers closer and closer. In the recess of your subconscious, you recognize that you are still dreaming and that you need to wake up.

Although you open your mouth to scream, nothing comes out. You thrash and claw at the cushion below, but it is useless as the shadow creeps closer and closer. It does not even touch you—does not have to—yet it pushes the air from your lungs until they burn, desperate for oxygen.

Warm hands touch your shoulders, and you hear a familiar voice.

"Hey, sweetheart? Are you having a nightmare?"

Namjoon—an anchor in a storm—gently pulls you from hell, and you sit up, eyes wide and pouring tears as you gasp for breath. The sun is still up, and although you are in the shade, everything is incredibly bright, causing you to squint. You feel dehydrated—mouth dry with a headache blooming in your temples. A product from day drinking in the heat.

"Fuck," you mutter under your breath, overwhelmed and out of sorts. "How long have I been out here?"

Across the pool, Felix is asleep under one of the awnings, curled up like a child and gripping onto a bottle of champagne. You cannot help but snicker.

"Long enough," Namjoon responds sweetly as he sweeps hair off your seat-sticky face and leans in to place a kiss on your cheek. "Are you hungry? We were thinking about grabbing dinner after a shower."

You do not have to ask who we is, though you do wonder where the other half may be.

With a smile, you nod and mutter, "Sounds perfect."

Namjoon stands and twists, then scoops you up, carrying you into the house. Your sundress is still discarded on the end of the pool bed, but you decide not to bother with it at the moment and curl against Namjoon's chest, breathing him in.

"Did you have a good day?" Namjoon asks, deep voice vibrating from his chest to yours.

"I did until the nightmare," you admit sheepishly.

"Wanna talk about it?"

Concern laces Namjoon's voice, making you feel so giddy, you bury your face into his neck and shake your head.

"Just sleep paralysis."

"Glad I came to find you at just the right moment, then."

Gently, slowly, you press a kiss into Namjoon's skin. Then two. Then three.

"Me too."

Upstairs, you enter Yoongi's room to find his shower is already running. Namjoon takes you straight into the en suite and sets you down beside the sink, then turns to the linen closet to grab more towels. You begin to strip from your bathing suit and tiptoe toward the shower. It feels like ages since you have seen Yoongi—even though you fell asleep in his bed last night—and you want to surprise him.

Namjoon, however, stops you with a firm hand around your bicep.

"Hey Yoon," he announces loudly. "We're here to join you."

"Perfect," Yoongi grumbles, voice sounding uncharacteristically low.

"Best not to surprise a mob boss," Namjoon mutters into your ear, giving you chills. "Even a shampoo bottle can become a weapon."

You clear your throat and nod, forcing a smile. Suddenly, you feel apprehensive to find what kind of mood awaits you. However, when Namjoon steps ahead and pulls the shower doors open, you find Yoongi standing below a stream of water with his head back, rinsing off with a small smile on his lips. Suds fall from his nearly jet-black hair, running down past taut muscle, deep scars, and pretty pale skin.

Yoongi straightens out and rubs the water from his eyes, then fixes you with a soft, happy smile.

"Darling, come," he says with his hands outstretched, and you realize you had been standing and staring from the doorway the entire time.

Namjoon makes his way past Yoongi, grabs a rag, and lathers it with liquid soap. You enter slowly, closing the door behind you, and let your eyes flit between Namjoon and Yoongi, feeling the dizzy, shitty sleepiness from napping after day drinking as you approach Yoongi and let him pull you into a hug under the warm stream of water.

"I only saw you this morning, yet I missed you all day," Yoongi mutters softly against the side of your head.

You chuckle and hug him tight, letting water pool in the space between your cheek and his chest.

"I was asleep," you tease, and Yoongi responds with a soft, "And looking so precious all bundled up."

Seokjin's proposition from this morning comes back and sends a chill through you. The thought of deceiving Yoongi and leaving him feels impossible, and you decide that even if he does come back with a convincing lie, you will turn him down again. And again, and again, as much as it takes.

"I always miss you," you admit quietly.

Yoongi kisses your temple and pulls from the hug, so you drop your arms to your sides and glance up at him, taking in his sullen expression. Even with his lips tugged into a smile, you can see sadness in his eyes, and you reach up to stroke his cheek and neck.

"Everything alright?" you ask softly.

You do not miss how Yoongi's gaze flicks to Namjoon before he glances back at you and gives a smaller, less convincing smile.

"Everything is not alright, but we are working on it."

Dread pools in your tummy, and you swallow a lump that's suddenly formed in your throat.

"Oh."

"Nothing you need to worry too much about," Namjoon says as he begins gently rubbing a sudsy cloth over your back and arms. "Jeongguk and Jimin made a couple of messes that we have to...clean up."

Your conversation with Felix returns, and you nibble on your bottom lip.

"I may have heard something about that."

"Did Felix tell you?" Yoongi asks, voice stern but steady. You worry that perhaps Felix was not supposed to tell you and that he might get in trouble, but as you nod, Yoongi's expression softens. "I was hoping he might. It probably came out a lot more playfully than if one of us explained it. And, although Jeongguk's mess is not yours to worry about, it does affect what happens under this roof, so you have a right to know."

"And Jimin?" you ask before you can stop yourself.

Namjoon washes your legs and taps each ankle so you can lift your feet one after another, making this conversation feel so out of place during such a domestic moment.

With a sigh, Yoongi's gaze falls.

"Jimin found out the man he was dating was sent here by Ryujin to spy on us. Allegedly, according to Jimin, Jiyong said that he stopped performing his duty when he and Jimin got serious, which caused Ryujin to send someone to shake Jiyong down, but rather than following his order, he ended up booking Jimin at Paradise and attacking him. You saw the aftermath of that."

"Jesus," you mutter under your breath. Your heart aches for Jimin—for how he must have felt to find out the man he may have loved was working for the enemy.

"So, Jimin drugged him with the intention of killing him, but he called in reinforcements when it didn't go according to plan."

"Seokjin," you mutter, remembering the smug way he regarded you this morning.

"Gotta hand it to Jimin," Namjoon says as he turns your body to face him and rubs the cloth over your chest and stomach, "his plan was extremely tidy. Mixing triazolam and codeine into cocaine with the intention of forcing an overdose is some black widow shit. I would have just left a bullet in his skull."

The thought of Namjoon shooting a man in the head makes your blood turn cold, and you wrap your arms around your chest.

"What did Seokjin do when he arrived?"

"Smothered him with a pillow," Yoongi answers simply, and your eyes fall to the tile floor. You feel bad for Jimin, who must have been pretty heartbroken to be unable to complete the task without help.

"The men Jeongguk killed are more or less nobodies," Namjoon adds as if to assuage the tension that suddenly hangs. "Only one of them has a family who might come looking, so Yoongi is going to make them an offer and pay them off."

Yoongi adds, "Jimin and Seokjin's target is a little less of a ghost. When word travels back that he was killed by our men, Ryujin may retaliate, so we need to prepare for that. And find out if any of the people who Jimin met through Jiyong can also be bought."

"Sounds complicated," you mutter as Namjoon approaches the line of bottles and squirts more liquid onto the cloth to clean himself.

"It's not, really," Yoongi says. "Men care more about money than pretty much anything else. But, this will take me away for a day or two. I want to meet with everyone as soon as I can, while making a bit of a loop through the city to find out whether anyone may be trying to tail me. Gonna stay at one of my hotels and pretend to lay low."

"Oh," you mutter, turning your gaze from the spot on the wall that you had spaced onto, to Yoongi. "When?"

"According to the terror twins, the brother of the man Jeongguk killed has accepted an invitation to House of Cards tonight at 11 PM. If all goes well, I should be back tomorrow night."

"The terror twins?" you ask, glancing between Yoongi and Namjoon, who both crack a smile.

"It's what we lovingly call Taehyung and Jeongguk," Yoongi says, and Namjoon adds, "Behind their backs only."

You suppose that after everything Felix has told you, the name makes sense. Overwhelmed by the thought that Yoongi could be putting himself in danger by meeting with these people, you wrap your arms around him, pulling an oof from his lips as you slam his chest into yours.

"Darling, I'll be fine," Yoongi assures you as he lifts his arms and gently drapes them over your shoulders. "Namjoon will be here with you. I'm sure that with all the attention he is willing to give you, you will forget that I am even away."

Petulance overtakes you at Yoongi's candor, and you release the hug, giving his chest a playful shove as you pout, "Not funny."

"Alright, no rough-housing in the shower," Namjoon says as he takes you gently by the arms and pulls you into a stream of water to rinse off all the soap that he has so kindly covered you in.

"Let's unwind with takeout and a drink before I go?" Yoongi offers once Namjoon has finished washing himself. You find Yoongi fixing you with a devious grin, and you feel the last of your frustrations melt away.

"Fine," you concede, pouting once more, though less convincingly.

Namjoon is the first to exit, and he dries off, wrapping the towel around his hips, then he grabs a second towel and holds it open for you to step in, draping it around you with a kiss to your forehead. He does the same for Yoongi, and you watch in awe as Yoongi momentarily melts in his hold, then searches for you with a smile.

With several hours to spare, you return to the bedroom, to the large couch while Yoongi and Namjoon exit the room for several long minutes. They return with a bottle of white wine but no glasses, and you pass the bottle around and enjoy slow, sloppy makeout sessions with both men until a pile of Chinese takeout is delivered to the room by a very drunk, very sleepy Felix.

By the time Yoongi has to get dressed and leave, you are back to feeling tired, and you curl against Namjoon's naked chest, doing your best to avoid the erection beneath his towel. Perhaps later, when it is just the two of you, you will work him up again just to help him out.

"Feel free to have fun without me," Yoongi groans against your lips as he pulls you to your feet and kisses you goodbye.

Rather than respond to his invitation, you lean in for a kiss, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with worry.

"Please be safe. Come home in one piece."

Yoongi smiles against your lips.

"I will, darling. I promise."

Namjoon walks Yoongi out, muttering to him while thumbing through his cell phone, and you hang back and pad over to Yoongi's closet for some clothing as a shiver runs through you. Although you are certain that Yoongi has gone on missions that are far more dangerous, you fear for the worst.

The conversation that you, Yoongi, and Namjoon had about love has been playing on repeat, thawing a part of your heart in a way that you never expected it could, and it serves only to ramp up your anxiety. You grab an oversized tee from the section of the closet that Namjoon has begun filling with his own clothing, and a pair of sweatpants from Yoongi's side, slipping into each garment before making your way back to the far side of the bedroom.

When it is the three of you, the size and shape of the dark blue sofa is welcoming—an invitation. But alone, you feel small and uncertain, and you bring your knees to your chest to sit in a ball and move your fingertips along the soft blue fabric while you wait for Namjoon to return.

It does not take long, and when he steps into the room and closes the large doors behind him with a smile on his face, you relax and allow your lips to tug into a gentle smile of your own. You twist and sit high on your knees, resting your arms over the back of the couch as Namjoon approaches.

"Oh, sweetheart," Namjoon drawls, "don't look so worried. Yoongi is in good hands." With a playful raise of his eyebrow, he sits beside you and adds, "And so are you."

"I know," you respond softly, suddenly embarrassed by the surge of emotion that feels almost overwhelming and difficult to parse.

"What would you like to do in the meantime? We can eat some more, watch a movie, go to bed early...I think we have a stash of Jeongguk's molly if you wanna get real weird."

You let out a boisterous laugh, feeling the mood lighten.

"I think I'm good not dipping into Jeongguk's ecstasy stash after the story Felix told me."

Namjoon laughs and shakes his head.

"That shit Jeongguk had sucks. It came from America, laced with meth. The stuff we actually put on the streets and do ourselves is pure, not laced with anything. Just a clean, euphoric high."

That actually does sound nice, and you imagine how adorable Yoongi and Namjoon would be while rolling.

"Maybe when Yoongi is back," you concede.

Namjoon chuckles as he says, "Deal."

"A movie might be nice. I haven't seen anything in ages."

Namjoon reaches for a remote that sits on the small table and turns on the large television that must have been installed on the wall at some point while you were passed out poolside. Every streaming service you can imagine—and some you have never heard of—come up, and you watch as Namjoon scrolls through and chooses one, then surveys the options.

When you finally settle on a film that came out earlier in the year, that Namjoon seems excited to watch, you curl up to his side, suddenly feeling the weight of everything dragging you down. Perhaps you should have opted to sleep, instead.

Namjoon fiddles with some controls that are nestled between the various cushions, causing both your and his sections to recline, with the bottom of the couch becoming an elevated footrest.

"Is this good?" Namjoon asks with his lips pressed to your temple, adjusting to wrap his arms around you. "Do you mind if I stay here and watch the movie?"

"'S nice," you mutter against his naked chest—he still wears only a towel.

Draped over the back of the couch is a soft, tan blanket, and Namjoon grunts quietly as he twists and yanks, making his best effort to grab it without jostling you around too much. Your lips tug into a lazy smile as you wrap an arm and leg over him while he covers the two of you and pulls you close. You do not make it past the opening scene before you are sound asleep.

Briefly, you wake to the feeling of Namjoon slipping out from under you and removing the blanket. You groan from the sudden cold, and from being pulled from your slumber, as Namjoon scoops you up and carries you to bed. The sheet and blanket are cold beneath you as he sets you down on your back, and you roll in toward the center, curling into a fetal position as the mattress dips behind you and Namjoon's warm, strong arm wraps around your waist, cradling your back against his chest.

"Sleep sweet, beautiful," Namjoon mutters into your nape.

"You too," you grumble, drifting back into the dark, warm heaviness of sleep.

You are not sure if you imagine Namjoon whispering he loves you or if he really does, but you think you might say it in response if you were more awake. You think that, perhaps, you could come to mean it the way he wants you to—the way you think you would like to.

"Yoongi expects to return sometime tonight," Namjoon reports as he steps out from the bathroom with his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, wearing a plain white tee and black basketball shorts.

You nod and use the palms of your hands to rub the sleep from your eyes, then stretch with a long, deep yawn. Sunlight fills the room, dappled by dark blue curtains, and you let your hands fall to the mattress, to your sides, as you adjust to being awake.

"Alright," you mutter in response as Namjoon leaves the room to rinse his mouth. The sink runs for a moment, and you hear him swish and spit, then shut the faucet off.

"I was thinking maybe we could walk around the gardens today?" Namjoon offers as he returns.

He grins as he climbs onto the end of the bed on his hands and knees and begins to crawl to you, and you cannot help but smile back with affection blooming and bursting behind your ribs.

"That sounds nice," you respond as Namjoon places his arms on either side of you, hovering close and caging you in. He nuzzles his nose against your neck, and you giggle, attempting to push him away with one hand to his shoulder, groaning, "Why are you like this?"

Namjoon chuckles—voice as deep as the ocean—and you lift your shoulder to your chin, attempting to stop his breath and lips from tickling your skin, which breaks out in goosebumps.

"I like you," Namjoon responds playfully, nestling his face deeper into the crook of your neck.

Every nerve is on fire, and you feel jumpy from the sensation. You begin to swat and shove at Namjoon, leaning back, uselessly.

A giggle rocks through you as you complain, "It tickles, you jerk."

Namjoon only presses further, and when you fall back against the pillows with a huff, he hovers over you with a devastating smile before leaning down to slot his lips against yours. Once more, you begin to swat at him.

"I have morning breath," you attempt to say with your lips sealed as tightly as possible.

With a wide, mischievous smile, Namjoon licks a long stripe across your lips, leaving a minty scent in its wake.

"Have some of my mouthwash."

You squeal and attempt to shake your head from side to side as he licks over your lips once more, in the other direction.

"You're a monster!" you shout, giving him one more shove with both hands.

Namjoon collapses beside you with laughter, leaving you to lie dazed, staring at the ceiling ahead with your lips covered in minty spit. In a last-ditch effort to have any control, you swing your arm to the side, smacking Namjoon square in the chest with your palm while you mutter, "What is wrong with you."

Your hand is caught between both of his before you can pull it back, and Namjoon yanks you gently until you comply and roll toward him to settle with your head against his chest.

"You love it," Namjoon grumbles, a vibration you can feel better than you can hear.

You hum in response and close your eyes. Namjoon smells like a fresh bouquet on a spring morning, and you breathe his scent deeply with a smile, muttering, "I guess so," while nuzzling your cheek against his pec.

"Shall we get up and have breakfast?" Namjoon asks with a gentle squeeze of his arms around your middle and a kiss to the top of your head.

"Soon. Wanna stay this way for a little while longer."

"Alright," Namjoon responds, wiggling slightly as if to get comfortable. "We can stay this way for as long as you would like."

A dangerous proposition, you think, as you consider the pros and cons of never getting out of bed again.

Breakfast consists of omelets that Namjoon nearly burns. Despite his efforts, it comes out delicious, and you beam from across the kitchen counter at the blush that reddens his cheeks while you take another bite.

"It is hard to reconcile you being this domestic while also being the guy that beat those two men with a metal baton," you mutter with a mouth full of food.

Namjoon smirks, but something dark, possibly sad, flashes over his eyes.

"I've done much worse than that."

You hum and nod; you suppose he has, but you are not so sure you feel like asking what he means, exactly.

"Does it bother you?" Namjoon asks, sounding somewhat apprehensive.

With a shrug, you say, "I'm adjusting," then take a drink from the large glass of orange juice shared between you. "On one hand, I'm used to the lifestyle. Growing up on the streets, watching people die, finding bodies....killing a man."

The memory sends a chill through you, and you take a deep breath, then continue.

"I thought that I could escape it and make an attempt at a normal life—date a normal dude and all that. But it seems that I was always going to return. Perhaps I was never as far away from it all as I thought I was."

When you lift your gaze to Namjoon, his eyes are on his food, but he does not move to eat.

"Yoongi would have wanted you no matter what," he mutters.

All you can bring yourself to say is a soft, "Yeah."

It is a thought that has haunted you for some time.

No matter how far you would have run, Yoongi would have brought you back to him, if that was his goal all along. If you allow it to, the thought will easily consume you—make you feel suffocated and at a total loss of control. But, as you come to settle into his home and get to know his family men better, you find yourself becoming more at peace with it, as long as you do not allow yourself to overthink.

Better this than living on the streets. And if Yoongi really does come to love you the way he says he would like to, then you will be protected. At least, you allow yourself to believe that there will not be a permanent crosshairs attached to your back—you allow yourself to sleep at night with the belief that his men will keep the two of you safe.

The rest of breakfast is eaten in silence, and Namjoon excuses himself to answer a phone call as you finish up. You decide to clean, taking your time washing and rinsing the handful of dishes the two of you used and placing them in the large metal drying rack.

When Namjoon returns, he seems distracted, but he takes your hand and guides you to the pile of shoes by the front door where the two of you slip into some sneakers, then you walk down the narrow hallway, to the large glass doors that lead out to the garden entrance.

You walk much the same path that you had taken with Felix during your second or third day at the mansion, but it is nice to see everything once again. The statues and fountains feel alive against the backdrop of the clear blue afternoon sky, and birds flit around overhead.

Although the weather is warm, you are glad that you chose to wear a sweater and sweatpants from Yoongi's closet, feeling a slight chill to the air and wanting comfort. Namjoon is in blue jeans, a white tee, and a soft brown cardigan, looking perfectly huggable and not at all like the mobster you know him to be.

"I don't know why I don't come out here more often," you mutter with a sigh.

"Yeah," Namjoon responds. "I used to come out here a lot more, but lately, I haven't found the time."

"Is your home nearby?" you ask, turning to watch Namjoon, who looks to the east, nodding his chin.

"Just over the fence, in the next house over."

A smirk tugs at your lips. "Never too far away."

Namjoon tongues the inside of his mouth and smiles widely for the first time since breakfast.

"Indeed."

"And the others?"

Namjoon points as he explains.

"Taehyung lives behind this garden, and Jimin is just past my house, in between the two. On the opposite side is Seokjin and Hoseok's house, and just past them is Jeongguk. There are small roads that lead to each property so you don't have to exit the gates and use the main road, and they all lead directly to Taehyung."

"Makes sense," you respond, imagining that the doctor would need to be easily accessed.

Gently, Namjoon takes your chin in one hand and strokes his thumb over your lip.

"You're welcome to come to my home any time, you know. I can show you the path that leads there."

You tilt your head down slightly, parting your lips to take Namjoon's thumb gently between your teeth and flick the tip with your tongue. Namjoon groans and bends, standing face-to-face.

"Use your words, sweetheart. What is it you want?"

Until this moment, you had not had anything on your mind, but the gaze in Namjoon's eye is exciting, and the prospect of him putting his hands on you out here, in the garden, appeals to you. You suck on Namjoon's thumb, then release it with a pop.

"I want your hands," you respond sweetly.

"My hands?"

You hum and nod your head.

"What would you like me to do with my hands, sweetheart?"

With a smirk, you say, "I want you to touch me, silly."

Namjoon rolls his eyes and takes you by the hand, pulling you past the Greek statues to a stone bench just inside the shrub maze. He unbuttons his cardigan and shrugs it off, placing it down on the bench and tugging your hand in its direction, a silent order to sit down. Namjoon gets on his knees in front of you and runs his hands up your thighs, sending a shiver through you.

"The one time you don't wear a dress," he teases as he reaches up, slipping his fingers below the waistband of your borrowed pants and pulling.

You angle your hips upwards, lifting yourself off the seat as you allow Namjoon to pull them down, past your hips and thighs. He rubs his hands over your bare skin, up and back down, then begins to pull the garment over your knees. You help expedite the process by lifting your right leg and pulling your foot free, and Namjoon leaves the sweatpants around your left calf.

Namjoon stands and joins you on the bench, pulling your right leg over his lap and rubbing his hand up your thigh. Between Namjoon's touch and the gentle breeze, goosebumps break over your skin, and a shiver tingles down your spine.

"Is this how you want me to touch you?" Namjoon asks, leaning to brush his lips across yours.

You let out a soft, satisfied sigh and close your eyes, nodding your head.

"This is a good start."

A deep, sweet chuckle ghosts warm breath over your skin.

"A good start, you say? What can I do to make it better?"

"Touch me higher."

Namjoon brushes the tips of his fingers up your thigh and hip, and then higher, under your shirt to circle your belly button. You huff a scoff of frustration and amusement, and shake your head.

"Lower," you whine, "in the center."

With a deep hum, Namjoon nuzzles his nose against your skin as he moves his hand down, over your panties, leaving featherlight touches across your labia. The gentle contact makes you whine, sending a rush of arousal through you.

"Namjoon, please," you moan, spreading your legs further.

"Use your words, baby."

A shattered exhale leaves your lips, and you tilt your cheek toward his face, suddenly feeling shy to voice what you want.

Your voice is soft and weak as you beg, "Touch my pussy, daddy. Please."

"That's my good girl," Namjoon groans as he presses against your clothed lips and rubs his fingers up and down.

The wave of pleasure that rushes through you is abrupt, and you arch your back, moaning and shuddering from the sensation. Namjoon twirls his fingers over you several times, then he drags his hand up slowly and pushes it past the waistband of your panties.

"Does my baby like the way I touch her?" Namjoon asks as his fingers separate your lips and graze over your clit, down to your entrance, and back up, slick with your arousal. It feels heavenly, and you nibble on your lip and whimper.

Namjoon's voice is stern and low.

"Be a good girl and use your words."

"I love the way you touch me, daddy."

Namjoon spins his fingers over your clit in slow, steady circles, building you gradually as heat flushes over your skin.

"I'm dying to taste you, baby," Namjoon groans, sucking a spot gently into your skin and licking over the mark. The sensation of him teasing your neck makes you tremble and moan as you imagine that talented tongue between your thighs.

"Then taste me, daddy," you gasp.

Namjoon's hand leaves you, pulling from your panties and letting the elastic waistband snap gently against your skin. You whine, desperate for his touch once more, but he moves your leg away from his lap and gives your hip a gentle slap.

"Stand up," Namjoon instructs, and you sigh as you follow his order, watching as he stands, picks up his cardigan, and rolls it into a little ball, then places it on one end of the stone bench. Namjoon sits, then lays back with his head cushioned by the shirt, and pats his shoulder with one hand commanding you to, "Sit."

"Sit?" you ask incredulously.

"On my face," he specifies with a raise of his eyebrows.

You approach and swing your leg over the bench, kneeling on the cold stone as you place your hands above either side of his head and lift your other leg. Yoongi's sweatpants dangle from your ankle, and you reach down to yank it free over your sneaker, then lift your leg, hovering above him.

Namjoon places his hands on your ass and pulls you forward, craning his neck as you settle, and lapping his tongue against you. His tongue is warm and wet, instantly building your arousal once more, and making you moan. One hand slides away from your ass, reaching between your legs to press two long fingers inside you.

"Fuck," you moan, feeling your arousal rapidly build from the stretch. "That feels so good, daddy."

With a deep, muffled groan, Namjoon licks hungrily at your pussy as his fingers steadily pump in and out. Your hips tremble and gently grind against him as he alternates licking and sucking your clit.

Yoongi's voice pops into your mind, teasingly groaning, "So easy," as you feel yourself quickly reaching the precipice of pleasure.

"You're gonna make me cum, daddy," you whine as your hips grind a little harder. "Please don't stop."

Namjoon picks up his pace, fucking his fingers into you relentlessly, and you begin to dissolve, vibrating from head to toe as the dam breaks. A sob rips through your chest as you peak, orgasm pulsating through you, and Namjoon does not slow down, pulling wave after wave out until you can no longer take it and begin to shutter from overstimulation.

"Please," you whine. "It's too much, daddy."

As his fingers and lips slow, you continue to tremble, feeling sensitive and fucked out. As soon as Namjoon pulls completely out, you sit on his chest and lean forward on your hands, caging in his head.

"You're so good to me," you purr as you attempt to get your bearings enough to stand. Namjoon lays patiently as you slide haphazardly, placing one foot on the ground and swinging over the other.

"Of course I am," Namjoon finally responds as he sits up.

You gather the sweatpants and step out of one shoe and into the leg hole, sliding into the shoe as your foot breaches the end, then repeating with the other side, wiggling your hips as you pull the pants up. Then, you approach Namjoon, slotting a leg between his and grabbing his face as you bend to leave a soft, chaste kiss.

"I like you a lot, Joonbug," you mutter against his lips.

Namjoon wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, licking into your mouth with a moan. You melt against him, tasting heady hints of your release.

"I like you a lot too, sweetheart."

"Let me take care of you?" you ask sweetly, reaching for his erection, but he shakes his head softly and says, "Later. This was just about getting you off."

You tilt your head back to get a look at Namjoon, endeared by his soft gaze and dimpled cheeks.

"Show me your house, then? I want to learn more about you."

With a grin, Namjoon nods and says, "Let's go."

Namjoon stands and takes your hand, lacing your fingers between his.

"If we continue past this part of the garden, there is a path that leads from Tae's property to the backs of the homes, but I want to show you the more direct road from the mansion."

You hum and nod, following Namjoon's lead through the garden the way you came. Just before the driveway, there is a path that leads through trees and a clearing in the garden wall, which opens to a wide gravel area that narrows into a road. With each step, the earth crunches, and you take a deep breath, letting out a contented sigh, holding Namjoon's hand while you walk in comfortable silence.

As you continue down the road, a large brown house comes into view, partially surrounded by trees. While the home is smaller than the mansion, it is still far too large for just one person, and you frown as you imagine Namjoon returning here alone in the past, knowing he would rather be in the mansion, with Yoongi.

"Once you've been in my home, you're more or less been in them all. They were built from the same mould. Except for Taehyung's place."

"Is his bigger?"

Namjoon hums. "His is massive. It might even be larger than Yoongi's place."

"Why?"

With a chuckle, Namjoon gives your hand a gentle squeeze. "Discussing Taehyung's personal life is something I do not allow myself to do. But I will just say that the man has some interesting hobbies, in addition to his various examination and surgical rooms."

"Not cryptic at all," you tease.

Felix's words return, and you shudder at the thought of him ripping people apart in his big, state-of-the-art hospital-slash-mansion. You hope that he was trying to intimidate you by exaggerating.

Namjoon's property is surrounded by various trees and bushes, and he has a garden of his own, though it is much smaller, with more greenery and fewer statues, on the side of the house. A large black sedan sits outside the garage, looking identical to those the rest of the family men drive, and you wonder if his Porsche is inside the garage.

As you approach the large, brown two-story home, Namjoon releases your hand and steps up to the thumbprint and retina scanner, then punches in a long code before his front door clicks open. You follow his lead inside, sliding your shoes off beside his large, chaotic shoe stash. A set of stairs lead up along the nearby right wall, and the house opens into a large living room, with what appears to be a dining area past the stairs, to the right.

Namjoon takes your hand in his once more and leads you into the living room. Everything is earth tones, reclaimed woods, and leather, and you are pleasantly surprised by the number of paintings and sculptures he has displayed throughout the space. One cozy brown leather chair is surrounded by a large pile of books, and he has a small stack of art and photography books on his coffee table.

"I don't know why I'm surprised to find all this art, considering our museum date," you tease, turning to Namjoon and finding his gaze soft and sweet.

Namjoon smiles, giving your hand a delicate squeeze.

"We should do that again, sometime. Minus the torture pitstop."

"Yes," you agree with a laugh. "We can skip the torture next time."

Gently, Namjoon tugs on your hand, pulling you toward him, and you step in close, rubbing your palm over his soft brown cardigan. The room smells of his musk with earthy hints from the many plants that sit atop furniture and shelves, and it feels much more like home than Yoongi's mansion.

"It's been so long since I've brought someone here," Namjoon says, gently taking your chin in his free hand. "It feels nice letting you see me a little bit more."

"It's nice being welcomed to see you a bit more."

Namjoon leans forward, and you tilt your head up, expecting a kiss, but he leans and rests his forehead against yours, closing his eyes with a smile.

"I like you a lot."

Your tummy does a swoop, and you wrap your arm around his neck, playing with the hairs on his nape, and give his hand a tight squeeze.

"I like you a lot too, Namjoon."

When Namjoon opens his eyes, his expression is hungrier, and he tugs his lips into a smile. Then, he drops his hand from your chin and stands up straight, eyebrows knitting as he reaches into his pocket to pull out his phone, which is vibrating. One glance at the screen, and he answers the call.

"Yoongi-hyung."

Excitement and anxiety pool in your tummy at the mention of Yoongi, and you watch Namjoon as his gaze flits to you, then he nods his head.

"She's with me. We were walking through the gardens and I decided to show her how to get to my place. … Nah, I was just about to give her a tour and bring her back home, but we can cut it short and come back now. … Sounds good, I'll see you in a bit. … I love you too."

He does not take his eyes off you as he ends the call, and you feel another more powerful swoop in your guts when he speaks those last four words. Heat rises to your cheeks, and you do your best to hide how affected you are by it, keeping your expression flat while he slips his phone back into his pocket.

"He's home much sooner than expected; shall we head back?" Namjoon asks, leaning in to slot his lips against yours.

You reach for Namjoon's shirt, just above his pec, and gently gather the fuzzy material between your fingers as you lean into the kiss and let out a groan of satisfaction. Even the faintest kiss from Namjoon is so sweet and soft, filling you with warmth and adoration, and you lean into him, letting your lips slowly open and close against his—languid and saccharine.

When Namjoon releases the kiss, you open your eyes with a smile.

"I suppose we shall."

He nods as he says, "I'll give you a tour next time."

Namjoon leads you back to the front entrance, and you slip on your shoes, lamenting having to go back so soon, but eager to see Yoongi. It hasn't been long since you said goodbye, but you find yourself missing him more and more whenever he is away.

The walk back to the mansion is quiet, and Namjoon holds your hand as he hums softly to himself. You enjoy these calm, peaceful moments with him, and gaze around at the Japanese maple trees that line the area. Soon, their leaves will begin to change and become a pretty bright red.

Rather than taking you back toward the garden, Namjoon leads you along a path that opens by the driveway. Leaning against the garage door is a mint green bicycle with a brown basket on the handlebars and a slender luggage rack over the back tire, and you smile to yourself, knowing that it is undoubtedly the bicycle that Felix had described.

"Ah, Jeongguk is here," Namjoon mutters. "I wonder if that means Taehyung is, too."

"Do they often travel as a pair?" you ask.

Namjoon clears his throat and gives your hand a squeeze before releasing it.

"Sometimes."

As you approach, the front door swings open, and Seokjin walks out, dressed head to toe in black and tapping a pack of cigarettes against his palm. When he turns and meets your gaze, he grins.

"My, what a pleasant surprise. And just what were the two of you up to?"

Although you are sure all of the family men must know about the state of your relationship with Namjoon, you feel anxiety bubble under Seokjin's scrutiny.

"Going for a walk," Namjoon responds.

Seokjin hums and nods his head, then pulls a cigarette from the pack and places it between his lips. As he fishes a lighter from his pocket, you and Namjoon step past, into the door, which has been left open by a crack. The main hall of the house is empty, but you notice movement out by the pool. You step out of your shoes and wait for Namjoon to do the same, then follow him toward the back door.

"Ah, there you are," Yoongi calls from the top of the stairs as soon as you are near the landing, and you turn to find him smiling widely with his hair wavy and overgrown, wearing a black tee tucked into black slacks.

"Going to change," Namjoon mutters to you, leaving a kiss on your forehead. "I'll be back."

Yoongi begins to make his way down the stairs as Namjoon walks up, and you stand and watch as they meet in the middle with Yoongi one step higher and slightly towering above Namjoon, smiling as he pulls him into a kiss. They mutter between them, then Yoongi continues down as Namjoon walks up, in the direction of the bedroom.

"Darling," Yoongi calls sweetly, opening his arms as he reaches the final steps.

You approach, and once he is on level ground, you wrap your arms around him, burying your face against his shoulder as you squeeze him tight.

"Miss me?" Yoongi rasps, deep and oh, so sweet.

Your voice sounds breathy as you respond, "I did," releasing the hug just enough to gaze up into his eyes. "How did everything go?"

There is a twitch in Yoongi's jaw that almost goes unnoticed, and when he responds, "I handled everything," his tone is completely changed.

"I'm glad."

Footsteps come from upstairs, and you look past Yoongi to find Namjoon dressed in his standard black button-up and slacks. Yoongi draws your attention with a kiss to your temple and an invitation.

"How would you feel about joining us at a gun range?"

The question feels somewhat random, but it is something that has crossed your mind, especially living in this house with the goings-on that take place.

"Alright," you respond, clearing your throat, which suddenly feels dry. "That would probably be a good idea."

"Taehyung, Jeongguk, and I used to go on a fairly regular basis, and we have been discussing starting up again, this week. I talked to them about having you tag along and they seemed receptive to it."

You are unsure if going to a shooting range of all places with the terror twins is an exciting prospect or a frightening one, but you do not argue. You are certain that Yoongi wouldn't intentionally put you into a dangerous situation, but being that you do not know either of them very well, you have no idea what to expect.

The glass door leading out to the pool slides open, and you turn to find Taehyung entering shirtless with his wet hair swept off his forehead and a big white towel wrapped around his hips. He looks stunning with his sly boxy smile and the droplets from his hair streaking his golden skin.

"Are you excited for tomorrow?" Taehyung asks with his gaze fixed on you.

You hum and turn to Yoongi, who says, "I thought we would start shooting right away."

"Oh," you respond, eyes wide as you look back to Taehyung, who asks, "Have you shot a gun before?"

You nod; you have done shooting practice with cans and other trash, but never had to put a bullet through another person. "I have, but only a little."

"Good," Taehyung says with a smirk. "I can't wait to see how you handle it."

Yoongi gives your shoulder a squeeze, and you attempt to keep your breathing level and steady, but there is something in those sharp, cold eyes of Taehyung's that unsettle you. You glance past Taehyung through the doors to find Jeongguk standing, towel-drying his hair with a deep, unmistakable frown, and you force a smile, swallowing down a ball of anxiety as you turn back to Yoongi.

"C-can't wait."

(Mm-mhm)

숨을 내쉬고 뱉어 like (Mm-mhm) Breathe out and еxhale like like (Mm-mhm) 경계를 넘어서 like (Mm-mhm) Bеyond the boundary like like (Mm-mhm)

내 품에 널 안아 like (Mm-mhm) Hold you in my arms like like (Mm-mhm)

다른 생각은 하지마 Don’t even think about other things

🎵 visit the playlist

are we having fun? i am so sorry the updates continue to be spread out, but i am not undertaking so many side projects this year, so hopefully we can get this story wrapped up in the next three or four months. i am excited to show you more of taekook. they are a trip!

as always, please don’t be a silent reader! feedback & reblogs do so much to help content creators! and likes are always appreciated.

a seokjin pov scene takes place during this chapter, where we follow him through a typical day. you can access his pov here (or learn parts of it in later chapters from the reader’s perspective!)

tag list: @afangirllikeme-blog, @angel-121, @artgukk, @btsiguess-kpop, @bts-ficreviews @che-er-ful, @codeinebelle, @dasexydevitt13, @giriiboyy, @illnevertrustmyselfagain, @jalexad, @kissme-ornot, @leanimal90, @likeshatteredrainbowglass, @m1sss1mp, @mayeolorie, @mwitsmejk, @openup-yourmind, @sleepilysworld, @stocking221, @spookyminyunki, @thirstyforjoon, @valhallawhispers 🗡️ comment or dm to be added!

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

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genshin-side-piece · 1 year

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Yandere Pierro

I want to talk about this one, because he is equal parts intriguing and terrifying as a Yandere

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, MDNI, implied kidnapping, implied imprisonment, implied drugging, dub con, power imbalance, mind control, my bad writing and silly ideas, anything else I may have missed

This man had to watch his entire society fall to ruin. Even if he never had a family, there were still people he knew and loved that perished. You can’t tell me that he wouldn’t cling to what little happiness he can find in this world. I get a hunch he would be fiercely protective of his darling. Like, I’m talking Diluc level protective, if not higher.

Pierro doesn’t strike me as the paranoid type, but he would be 100% down for keeping the evils of the world away from his precious one. Your safety is paramount to him. That’s why he trusts no one but himself to look after you.

He keeps you nearby. The space is sequestered deep within Zapolyarny and is set up so that it can be monitored 24/7. Since the possibilities are there, it has its own independent water and ventilation system in the event that something happens to the palace. It’s even climatized for comfort. The Snezhnayan weather is infamous when it comes to the cold. Pierro doesn’t like the idea that you should be burdened with heavier clothes just to keep warm. Not when you look so nice in thin silks or nothing at all. Why shouldn’t he make sure you can be like that all the time? It’s beneficial for both of you if you are.

(As a side note, I want to believe that over the years, Pierro has found a way to surround himself with his favorite creature comforts. I would love to get to him and everything related to him is reflective of where he comes from. Assuming he’s Khaenri'ahian, it would be cool to find that his corner of the world is a recreation or reproduction of Khaenri'ah in some way.)

He justifies the space’s existence as a safe room should he need it. Nevermind that everyone involved in building it or working on it, outside of any harbingers, were eliminated and its location in the palace is generally unknown.

Your earthly possessions are limited and highly controlled. He refuses to entertain the possibility that you would injure yourself. So he makes sure you can’t.

Pierro uses synthetic humans as guards and servants to tend to you when he’s not there. They operate on a specific protocol under the guise of keeping you safe. Interactions are limited to polite greetings and assurances that your lord harbinger carries the deepest affection for you. Why else would he go to such great lengths to protect you?

Listening devices, and a crude form of video surveillance that Dottore and Sandrone developed thanks to the tech from the Ruin Golems are employed as additional security. Pierro has a small console to access the feeds. It generally stays locked up, but he does check it a few times a day, just to ensure everything is okay.

Any changes in your behavior are automatically reported and investigated. There would be zero chance of getting away from him. Even death wouldn’t be an option. Among his many projects, Pierro is actively looking for or already has a way to extend your life beyond its normal span. If he is doomed to walk Teyvat forever, then he will keep you by his side. He refuses to lose you as he has everyone else.

Your entire existence is buried under the highest security clearance the Fatui have. Only Dottore is given access to the project, but it’s limited. His knowledge of it extends to the fact that a special segment of him was specifically built for medical purposes only. It generally stays powered down and is wiped after every interaction. Any required records are securely locked away from prying eyes.

Compliance to his wishes is expected, but not assured. Nothing would give him greater pleasure than for you to return his affection. He longs to see love for him in your eyes, but he understands certain things may take time. As such he is firm, but gentle with you, especially in the beginning. You are irreplaceable in his eyes. When he touches you, it is with the greatest of care.

He’s a government official. He’s not unfamiliar with the concept of capturing and confining people. Pierro would be all too aware that there will be an adjustment period when it comes to your new reality. If anyone understands your loss, it’s him. How could he not when he's the source of it?

He carries no guilt for what he's done to you. The world is simply too dangerous for you. Your freedom had to be taken. Your choices had to be eliminated. He tried to bring you to him willingly, but you are a stubborn one, aren't you?

Your anger at him is understandable. He’s been there. He stood in the ashes of an old life once. He felt the undeniable grief that came from such a terrible loss. His ambition to change the world was born from that grief. While he doubts your adjustment will be that profound, he knows that you will adjust. Your grief for your past life will fade and like him, you will eventually move forward with your new one. Should you refuse to adjust and opt to wallow in your anger for too long though, he has ways of making you more pliant.

The Fatui have the possibility of mind control devices. They have two experts in it. There’s bound to be some sort of technology he can use. Barring that, mild sedatives keep you calm, while aphrodisiacs will have you on your knees with need. It’s all a lie, but it’s easy to set his pride aside when you’re begging for his touch. You can’t hate him when you’ve been fucked stupid, so it’s his pleasure to have you like that as often as possible. You’ll let him hold you then, mewling while his seed lewdly drips out of you and onto the floor. Perhaps he can encourage you to move on if you become addicted to his c*ck and how it can make you feel. Perhaps he can make you love him if you're needy enough.

If not, he has the ultimate trump card. He has the supposed Goddess of Love on his side. It would be nothing for the Tsaritsa to defy your will and give Pierro that which he desires most. She likes to keep her most loyal servant happy. Your eternal love is a fitting reward if it means he will continue to fulfill his promise of peace to her. She can change your anger to love in the blink of an eye. She can make you so utterly devoted to him that he’ll wonder how he ever lived without you.

Meanwhile, you’ll be none the wiser. You’ll accept this is how it’s always been, just like you accept the sun will rise in the east. You’ll smile for him when he confines you. You’ll love him when he’s cruel to you. You’ll submit to his whims and desires when commands you too. Because in the end, you’re forever his. Just like he’s always wanted.

#pierro #pierro genshin impact #pierro genshin #genshin pierro #yandere pierro #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #yandere fatui #yandere fatui harbingers #fatui harbingers #the fatui harbingers #giving the old man some love

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whileyoureinschoolidothisallday · 5 months

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LOYALTY - Dabi x f!reader

youtube

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿

synopsis: After years of being a Villain, you're trying to be good now.

Fucking a Villain isn't the same as being one.

Right?

word count: 7216

warnings: f!Black!reader. Reader is a foreigner and is very chronically ill, using a wheelchair while also having a tube in their throat for respiratory issues. club scene. implications of drinking and off-screen drug use (reader is high and probably drunk throughout the oneshot)

A/N: HI!!!!!!!! =D

I've been trying to write this for a year and finally got it out of me! This is a companion piece to my much longer wip, "Bury My Ashes at Sea" (aka Hex!fic). I have many companion pieces planned for AFTER Hex!fic, that would explore the events of their relationship more, but after seeing these pics of Dabi, this became a very impromptu entry. It was only supposed to be literally just a short scene about watching Dabi's face in the water but it uh...got away from me. I really hope I don't regret posting this first, but I had to get it out.

This is very MC centric, whereas Hex!fic and other companion pieces will be Dabi centric. This is also primarily angsty as you're kinda having an existential crisis!!!!!! I'm not super sure anybody's gonna like this but me, but if you do, I love you and hope you tell me everything you liked in the tags and comments!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Enjoy! <3

(header made by the beautiful amazing @xxlvndrxxhzexx )

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You could always be found by the water.

The ocean was obviously your favorite, but any water would do. It called to you, no matter where it was. No matter where you were. Even if the closest thing you had was a bathtub, sometimes you just had to soak. Life felt worse if you didn’t. Your family used to joke that it was supposed to be your Quirk—it just got lost in the mail somewhere, or stuck in your already clusterfucked excuse for DNA.

It’s how they came up with the name Siren.

But you didn’t use that name anymore.

You were trying to be good now.

The music swelled and thumped in your chest, all while you sipped your drink through a straw in the corner, unfocused and unfazed. As soon as you heard there was a pool at this place, it was constantly tugging at the back of your head. You wandered around the party, head buzzing with a mixture of substances and a booming baseline, and still somehow ended up within view of the back door. No matter where you went, your eyes still glanced to the alluring outside. Maybe it was the drugs, but the longer you stayed here, the urge for the water was becoming an almost desperate pull. Like for some reason you were drowning on air. Eventually, you caved and decided to find your date before bailing. You clicked your teeth a few times and the fox-like creature standing guard beside you followed close to your wheels.

Apollon was a Quirk Pet, named so because of his psychokinetic Quirk. When you insisted on moving to Japan of all places—where they had enemies even more troublesome than the constant mass of Heroes everywhere—and refused to take any of your family or their allies, refused to use your support devices anymore, refused anything more from your Villain life than the house and the store they gave you, this was was your adoptive moms’ final attempt at a safety net for you.

At first you resisted—Quirk Pets were a relatively new (and sometimes dubiously bred) accessory for the Quirkless elite or their children to feel special like the rest of society, and that kind of flash didn’t exactly fit your attempt at a normal civilian lifestyle. The only people that could afford one of those things were high-profile Villains and crooked billionaires. But since your usual mode of assistance at the time was even less fit for civilian life, and you sure as hell weren’t taking a bunch of nursing staff, you relented. Of course, it didn’t take you long to fall in love with the little bastard.

It was at least a good signal for the more seasoned Villains to know you were someone somehow. You were seen enough around these spots now that they mostly left you alone, lumping you in with the rest of the regular slumming civs—Villain arm candy, nightly entertainment—which you supposed was what you technically were now. Apollon was never a part of your Villain life, so while you were conflictingly more comfortable in seedier places like this, he was on edge, showing his teeth at anyone who got too close.

Which, despite sleeping with him for a while now, still included Dabi.

It was a casual arrangement between the two of you. Sometimes you asked, sometimes he did. Tonight was him. Need my girl for something, the text read. You could never refuse when he called you that. He needed a way to get into this party—for recruitment purposes, you guessed—and a pretty little thing like you could get an invite with a plus one a lot easier than he could. It’s about the only time he ever took you out for anything other than crashing at your place. For someone who called herself retired and put an ocean between herself and her old life for a reason, you should’ve said no. But without the issue of his dealings—which technically he did not tell you about, per your relationship rules, and you were not participating in whatsoever— a party was a party. You worked hard. You were trying to be good now. Other civs were here, and a lot more often than you were. If they were still allowed their normie cards, then there wasn’t any reason you couldn’t get down and dirty every once in a while without having an existential crisis over it.

…As long as by ‘Once in Awhile’, you meant ‘Any Time He Gave You An Excuse’.

The first few times you tagged along to one of these events, it was typical for nosey audiences to be watching the two of you. Now it was only the has-beens and wannabes that still bothered you. You think you hated Villains with lingering Hero complexes more than overbearing civilians. At least you expected the latter to think you were less than them.

Do you know who that is? They’d corner you with hushed voices when Dabi was out of ear-shot, their tone implying anything other than conscious agency from the crippled foreigner.

The pope. What do you fucking think?

You’d want to shout Do you know who I am? Because the covered tattoo on your shoulder would shut them up real quick. But the answer would be, no.

They didn’t know who you were. That was the point. You didn’t talk about that on purpose.

Siren didn’t exist anymore.

You were trying to be good.

Lucky you, it didn’t take much longer to find Dabi. Good news: the VIP space was very close to the poolside door. Bad news: Based on his body language, you weren’t leaving any time soon. Whatever he was doing, it was getting irritating. He had the same stoic posture as usual, just with an impatiently tapping foot. And he wasn’t with any of the other thugs you saw him with earlier, the ones you guessed he was trying to win over. They were a lot more uppity than the people he usually dealt with, way too high-brow and established to risk dealing with an upstart like the League. You could’ve spared him the time and energy from the second you saw them talking—they were not League fans. Their tune was all wrong. And even if they were, they were far from meeting the type of standards a group like the League would be looking for.

Not that you knew what those standards were, of course. You didn’t ask and you insisted that you didn’t wanna know. No details, no involvement—those were the conditions you set. It was just a guess, guessing didn’t count. All you were here for was the drugs, the drinks, and the eventual sex. You were trying to be good now.

You took another drink.

Zzt zzt.

The sound of your phone snapped you out of your spiraling.

{if I wanted some stalker freak staring at me I would’ve brought toga.}

Dabi took a swig of his drink while his phone rested in his freehand. He didn’t acknowledge you in any other way.

Finally, you smiled.

{It’s not my fault. Stop being the prettiest boy in the room~}

You could see him roll his eyes from here.

Dabi had been your favorite thing to watch since you met him. Watching, listening, whatever you wanted to call it. It was a habit of yours that you had no intention on breaking—your ever-growing excuse to keep Siren closer to the surface than you should.

All the world was a stage and every human had a harmony to perform, and it used to be your job to chart out the melodies. It was the one and only skill you had over your family. You were almost certain it played a large part in your moms’ decision to take you in. It was always something you could do—you listened to your targets until you memorized every beat. Then you added your voice. Timing your words to the rhythm of their heartbeat, adapting to the tempo of their bones, matching the key of their Quirk with perfect pitch. A single missed step or chord out of place and you noticed like blood in the water. They’d be so enthralled with the perfect duet that they never noticed your voice leading the song. They never noticed that it was your show now and they were the mimicking puppet, blissfully following you all the way to the inevitable end at the bottom of your family’s shark-infested ocean.

Dabi was no different. Granted, you weren’t trying to kill or extort him, and his melody was a lot harder to tape down than others, you’d give him that. To put it bluntly, it was unpleasant. Repellent was an even better word. It sounded wrong, cacophonous. Like…two different songs layered on top of each other and fighting for the lead. Far too bright and intense and hot to listen for long. But somehow, he took the stage and paired the noise with an effortless stride. His steps were controlled, steady. So deceptively quiet you almost didn’t notice him the first time he was in your store. You watched him turn the madness into the most elegant choreography you’d ever seen. A swan on the water.

If it was anyone else, you would’ve minded your business. But maybe you’d been good for so long that now, you were just bored enough Siren couldn’t resist the challenge. Maybe it wasn’t anything to do with his song, but how you were so homesick you couldn’t ignore someone who felt so familiar, so much like the walking ghosts you were used to. Either way, you hadn’t stopped watching him since.

Although the longer this went on, the more it felt like you were the one under the spell.

Dabi didn’t entertain you with a further response, instead downing the rest of his drink. The sloshing liquid made you feel like you were swaying with it. It felt like you were being rocked by the waves. You closed your eyes again. Waves made you think of swimming, and swimming made you think of the pool. You turned your gaze to the outside to catch a glimpse of the water, but all you could see was the top of a table’s umbrella.

It took about five more seconds for you to solidify your decision.

[Come outside with me] You text Dabi quickly but you were already moving toward the door.

[no. why.]

[Want the water]

[course you do.]

[=(((((( Don’t be mean. If they’re gonna keep you waiting around, you might as well wait with me.]

Again, he didn’t respond. You pouted at your phone. Unfortunately, you were just high enough to try your luck a little further.

[Pretty please? I want you to sit with me.]

He exhaled, his shoulders twitching just a bit more than they should. A knowing grin grew on your face. Exactly what you were looking for. You studied his steps. You charted impossible melodies. You hummed along with harmonies that made your mouth burn until finally, you followed the performance. You could keep up with him. After months of watching his flawless routine, there was only ever one misstep. The only note you had on him.

I want you.

Didn’t matter when, how, or why you said it. Whenever you told him you wanted him, there was always a sudden stutter in his rhythm. Expertly corrected, blink and you’d miss it. Every performer knew that the audience only recognized mistakes if you told them, and Dabi was nothing short of a professional. You thought that was why he was so good at this. No one ever watched long enough to know the difference.

But you did.

You could dance and sing with the boy in the water all you wanted, but once he bleeds you’ll remember you have fangs.

You memorized the note and sang it again. And again. You watched him trip on the sound of your words until your mouth watered. Curiosity turned predatory—the part of Siren you couldn’t kill. As soon as you found that perfect note of desire, you couldn't help but sing encore after encore until they drowned in it. It was a compulsion. You tried variations. Different tempos, different octaves. You swished the sound around in your mouth and probed your tongue along its edges like a missing tooth. Strangely, it tasted cold. You wondered if that was the appeal, if every refrain was like a single drop of rain on him.

I want you to listen to this with me! I think you’ll like it. (Fingers twitch.) When are you coming back? I want to see you. (Throat clears.) Do you like sweets? I want to make something for you! (Rubs his neck.) I want you to stay. (Jaw tightens.) Want you to kiss me. Want you to touch me. Want you, right there, please, please, please. (A hitched breath.) (A harder kiss.) (A choked moan.)

But he never gave you more than a flinch. Never more than a glance at the waves before he corrected. It drove you a little nuts. You wanted to see him fall. You wanted to pull him under. How long would you need to hold the note to break his performance? How many times did he need to hear your song before he loved your voice more than air? Dabi wouldn’t even tell you his name. He couldn’t be mad you were like this. It was like dangling himself on a hook and expecting you not to bite.

You were trying to be good, but you can't change your nature.

When he still didn’t give you a response, you sighed—dramatically enough that he could see your shoulders lift and fall with the motion—but didn’t bother pestering him further. There was a fine line between playful banter and being a pest when it came to Dabi, and you were getting quite proud of yourself for figuring out how to blur the boundaries, just enough to get under his skin in a good way. If anything, it made the sex better.

Instead, you clicked your teeth a few times for Apollon to follow you and help you out the door. The second the night air hit your face, you exhaled. You hadn’t realized how stifled you felt inside. Out here, everything was so still. You stopped moving and inhaled the moonlight. The silvery threads were cool and calming against your skin. It was like you stepped into the safety of a liminal space, outside of time, outside of the rest of the world. Only the dampened boom of the music to remind you of the real world waiting behind you.

When you opened your eyes again, the glow of the pool was waving along any surface it could reach. It kissed you with the same light, calling you. Apollon perched himself on the poolside table closest to you as you moved closer to the water. You kept moving until you reached the light, until the purples and blues lighting up the water rippled along your face. The closer you got, the more urgent it felt. Like something was lurking behind you and this was the only sanctuary.

There was a reason humans always searched for water to repent.

You snapped out of it when Apollon chirped with concern. He watched you from on top of the table, curled into a comfortable ball. Any closer and you would’ve sunk like a rock.

“Oh, stop. You’re not gonna let me fall in.” You laughed it off. Apollon responded best in English, by design. A small security measure to make sure he only responded to you. Not that he didn’t ignore everyone else anyway.

You pointed at your high heels. “Help me take these off.”

He made another quiet noise to let you know his hesitance, but did what you asked. Your heels floated from your feet first, then with another point, you floated down to the edge of the pool. Apollon kept pressure on your spine so you could sit up properly—you were a ragdoll outside of your wheelchair, even on a sober night. This way, you could dangle your feet in the pool.

You were weightless like this. It was the only time you could really move so easily. You didn’t even mind the freezing water. The cold forced you to take in a slow breath, and it was like the first breath you’ve taken all night. It cleared up your head a little, drifted you back to the floating cloud of your high. You closed your eyes and let yourself sway to the music. It changed to a song you knew, warped by the DJ to be slower and pitched down. It sounded distant and muffled, like you were listening underwater.

(“It’s a secret society. All we ask is trust. All we got is us…”)

You hummed along under your breath and lost yourself in the ripples of the water. The coolness kept the doubt away, so much so that you nearly forgot what made you so desperate to come outside in the first place.

And then you noticed the moon.

Or the lack thereof, rather. A waning crescent. The reflection glistened on top of the neon glow of the pool. A tiny sliver of light, uselessly persisting against its shadowy fate, even its reflection nearly swallowed by the dancing blue of the water. Your stomach twisted at the sight. Once again, you were suffocating. Peace evaporated just as soon as it arrived. Now the music only reminded you of what you were running from. The walls were closing in on you, just like that moon. It was only something you could avoid for so long.

You were trying to be good, but you can’t change fate. (”Loyalty, loyalty, loyalty…”)

If you want out, then be out. Your eldest sister’s voice echoed over the thumping bass in your head, the last thing she said to you after finding out about your recent flirting with Villainy. Her disappointed tone still shivered hollow in your bones. You could always tell when it was her talking and not the spirits using her Channeling Quirk—while they always twisted her features into the manic bloodthirst most were familiar with, she, herself, only ever looked tired. You haven’t seen or heard from her since, but her voice still haunted you like one of her ghosts. Looming in the shadows, like that moon’s underbelly, chastising your indecision.

Even now, Apollon could help you swim if you wanted. Would keep the water from getting into the tube in your throat. But this is all you do. It was the same problem no matter where you ran.

You can never commit.

("Loyalty, loyalty, loyalty…")

“What the hell are you doing?”

You jumped, once again getting snapped out of your spiraling. You tilted your head all the way back, Apollon supporting your movements but not enough to let you fall. Dabi was near the door, a cigarette dancing between his fingers now instead of a drink. His delicate face was scrunched up with a rare expressive look.

“There he is!” You smiled, bright and inebriated. There was a sigh of relief in your voice. Your favorite distraction, always in the nick of time. “I knew you’d miss me. Or were you just bored?”

“Wanted a smoke.” He mumbled around the stick now pressed between his lips, his expression returned to its usual sour scowl. He narrowed his eyes at you. “What’s wrong?”

“Just needed some air,” you said, swallowing the automatic ‘nothing’ and opting for more believable half-honesty. Dabi didn’t tell you his full truth, and right now you weren't interested in telling him yours. “Think I’m getting a bad trip. Got really paranoid all of a sudden.”

“Don’t get so fucked up I gotta deal with you crashin' later. ‘M not your babysitter.”

“Oh, such a Gentleman.”

Without another word, he cupped his hands around the cigarette, blue light sparking it to life. You watched him blow out a stream of smoke, staying downwind from you. He didn’t say anything more, so you signaled Apollon to sit you back up and returned to kicking at the water.

As soon as you weren't looking, you felt the blue embers of his gaze heating up your back again. You pretend you didn’t notice, only because you knew it drove him nuts. Another one of his rare tells. Dabi hated talking, but if he thought you were ignoring him you could nearly count to a beat when he’d speak again.

1. 2. 1-2-3-4—

Exhale.

“You fall into that, m’not fishin’ you out.”

You smiled to yourself. (”I’m always on your mind…”)

“That’s fine. I got Pollo.” You said with a shrug. You played your part well. Nonchalant and coy. You thought he liked it better when you pretended not to know what he wanted.

Apollon chirped smugly and Dabi scoffed again. You still weren't looking at him. Eventually, you heard him stomp out his cig, followed by his heavy footsteps. You feel the heat from his body before anything else. He sat behind you, just close enough to place his hands around your hips, but Apollon growled before he could fully reach you. A psychic pulse kept his hands from getting any closer, like a sudden field of gravity.

“Call off your damn beast,” Dabi snapped. Your snickering only made him more irritated.

“Pollo, be nice. Let him go.”

Another disapproving growl. He did what you asked, but laid down and kept an unflinching gaze on Dabi, waving his tail in the air to sense any changes before they happened. There was a grumble from Dabi you couldn’t make out, then his hands were finally on you. Warmer than you usually liked, but not completely uncomfortable. He was irritated. Maybe tired too.

“You’re freezing,” he said. His grip briefly tightened on you again, tugging you a little closer to him and out of the water before you placed your hands on his to stop him. The idea of leaving the water still made your stomach drop.

“Aww. You care about me.”

His voice sharpened. “You’re not much use to me sick, are you?”

“Guess not.” When he bristled at your matching sarcasm, you laughed under your breath. “So, I take it by your current winning attitude that recruitment isn’t going well?”

“Thought you didn’t wanna know the details?”

“It doesn’t count if I can guess.” You pouted. “But you’re right, you don’t have to tell me if—”

“No. It’s not going well,” Dabi snapped. Usually he played along a little longer. He must've been more tired than you thought.

He exhaled deeply, then you felt his forehead resting against your back. He grumbled against your skin.

“Waste of my fuckin’ time. Nothin’ but tasteless trash, as usual.”

“Don’t you usually kill them when they’re like that?” You started rubbing your thumb along the top of his hand, trying to aid the soothing process.

“Gotta squeeze some money out of ‘em first.”

“Oh? The League’s broke?” You said. “I can pack up some leftover food from the store if you need it.”

“Typically humans need more than sweets to live.”

“Damn, that’s wild. But see, there’s also this thing called takeout, and I have like, a real job, so I can exchange money for goods and services.”

“Doesn’t sound very uninvolved to me.”

You took back what you said—he was fine. You could feel his petty little smirk on your back. The banter was probably helping him recover, the bastard.

He didn’t give you a chance to respond before continuing. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, doll. Haven’t starved yet, not gonna start now. Just got a few more negotiations before I can seal the deal.”

“Negotiations?” You quirked a skeptical eyebrow at him. “You know that ‘trash’ is planning on jumping you later, right?”

“Aw, you care about me.”

You smiled back, poisonously sweet. “Not very useful to me dead, are you?”

He shrugged. “Wouldn’t make much of a difference. I’m already dead.”

This time it was you that bristled at his answer.

He said it on purpose. You could feel the smirk still there. On a normal night, it would only be mildly irritating. You’d ignore it, or sidestep. He’d commented about being dead since you’ve known him—it was such a common statement out of his mouth that you wondered if he was trying to remind you or himself. Still, you always flinched. It never mattered that you knew what he was doing, that you heard the intentionally dropped beat in the performance every time, you always fell for the bait. He loved reminding you that it wasn't just you.

He had your number too.

“You know I don’t think that’s funny.” Your voice was uncharacteristically quiet. If he noticed, he ignored it.

“Wasn’t joking.”

Again, he was just as bad as you. Pressing the only button he knew just to hear how your voice stalled.

Just to see for a fact that he affected you.

Salt drenched your tongue and turned your voice bitter. It was to the point where you didn’t trust the sound it'd make if you spoke, so you swallowed it down to the best of your ability and focused back on the water. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of hearing your sour notes. It was what he wanted after all. When Dabi was mean, his song turned cold. Feral flames swapped for a freezing arctic. It was a lot more effective on you. You could be as good as you wanted, but the ocean’s salt would always linger on your skin, and mixing salt with ice seared just like a flame.

Both of you were too stubborn to get off the stage first, so it was a frequent competition to see who would win: your drive to pull him under or his drive to push you away and prove himself right.

There was blood in the water and demons were just as hungry as sirens.

There was a long, tense silence between the two of you. Ignoring him worked just as well as anything you’d say or do. You’d silently steep in the toxic waves and poison you both before you gave in. But soon, you felt his mouth moving against your back. Slow, soft. Absent, even. It was something to do with his mouth other than suck on a cig, but most importantly it was something you couldn’t ignore. Even if you wouldn't talk to him, his presence was still undeniable.

For someone who insisted he was dead, he sure did hate when people acted like he wasn’t around.

He gradually inched up to your shoulder, then your neck. His body temperature slowly cooled to the usual warmth you sunk into. You hated how nice this was when you were still so irritated. Even with the tiniest touch, his heat spread through the branches of your veins like a good high. Fireworks bursting in slow motion. Champagne bubbles floating to the top until your head was swimming again. With your lack of muscle, it was hard as hell to gain warmth and just as easy to lose it. Dabi made you so spoiled. A few hours in his presence and you forgot how cold the rest of the world was without him. Even the water seemed warmer. You closed your eyes and sighed quietly. The sound morphed into a quiet hum under your breath.

“I noticed, by the way.”

Dabi’s voice interrupted the syrupy sound of your humming and pulled you back to your irritation. At some point, you leaned over for him to get a better angle at your neck. His mouth moved with a little more intention now, possession tinging his lips. There was no way you were going back inside without a few new marks to show for it. Dabi’s apologies were never spoken, only delivered in deeper kisses, lighter touches, softer words. Whatever he can to make you feel good.

“What?” Your voice still came out as a cross murmur.

“The thugs that are gonna jump me? I noticed,” he said. “Kill ‘em later. After I get you home.”

The word made you tense again. He said it so goddamn casually. He started slipping every now and then and calling your place ‘home’. You didn’t think it started intentionally, but as soon as he heard your voice shake in response, it was too late. It didn’t take long for an accident to turn into a test. Now he did it at least once every time you saw him. More so if he thought he made you legitimately upset. Whenever he spoke it, there was always a question hidden in the off beat. A whisper, something cold again. Like a toe in the water to make sure you really wouldn’t bite. (”Loyalty, Loyalty, Loyalty…”)

Normally, you would take the time to sing around his trap and answer correctly, dodging anything that would be too encouraging (or you’d scare him off) without being too discouraging (or you’d never hear that chilled vulnerability again). But tonight, it was especially irritating. That little timid voice still asking if it’s safe, like you would leave him for this littlest thing. Like you were the flight risk. Like he wasn’t the one literally reminding you that he would never stay. Nothing you want would ever stay. No matter how far you ran, no matter how good you pretended to be, you were doomed to watch it die and fade away, just like that moon.

How dare he call your place home when the only space he planned on claiming as his was six feet under.

You finally gave in and let the salt flavor your tongue. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I don’t fuck corpses.”

“Oh? Since when?”

“Since always, jackass.”

There was a brief pause before he shrugged again. ”Guess you can go home then.”

“Dabi.”

He laughed. A quiet, wheezy chuckle that paired perfectly with his smirk. It made an irritatingly pleasant shiver run along your thighs, even now. He returned his mouth below your ear and you let him.

“There’s my girl.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You scowled, but still decided to signal Apollon to let you slouch back into him. “Keep ruining my buzz like this and you won’t have to worry about the thugs. I’ll kill you myself.”

Another whispered sound of smug amusement brushed against your hair. “I’d let you try.”

“How romantic.”

The lazy rhythm of Dabi’s lips was replaced by the slow drag of his fingertips along your arm. Compared to the rest of him, his scarless fingers felt like silk. You wiggled yourself closer so your head was underneath his chin. You were barely in the water anymore. He was sneaky, tangling you further into the seductive heat of his body with every inch you relinquished to him from Apollon. It looked as cozy as it felt, you were sure.

But cozy or not, even this was calculated. You almost always did this after he said those stupid comments about dying or already being dead. Obviously he wasn’t. But he said it with such conviction, and the sound of his voice was never the right pitch for sarcasm or jokes. Despite what you could clearly see with your eyes, it always made you so anxious. So, in your cuddled position, you angled a little so your ear was against his chest, and you listened. It probably would’ve been even more subtle to check his pulse points, but Dabi’s wrists were covered in too much scar tissue for you to ever get a good reading. Instead, you could always hear it thudding along the healthy strip of his chest. After a few seconds, you would pull out your phone and use it to count.

It was always still beating. Maybe a little faster than it should be from all the stress he put his body under, but still beating. Still breathing. Still here.

Dying, maybe. But not dead.

You were very aware it was an important difference.

Once upon a time, it was just another part of the deal. Dabi was clearly hellbent on checking out, but that terminality was one of the main appeals. You knew what Villains were like. He was just as temporary as you were. This way, you could both get your kicks, you could get the teetering threat of relapse out of your system, and there wouldn’t be any reason for attachments when you both knew exactly what you were getting into. Limited time was built in the design. Quick, easy, painless.

You wonder if he used the same justifications for you in the beginning.

You wonder if it was backfiring for him the same way.

It was why you left. You spent your whole life being told and expecting that you would be the buried, not the burier. It was the bond your whole villainy was based off of. Everyone was dying here. You were all on a train to Hell one way or another. It didn’t matter how or why. You all had the same destination, the same rage, the same brutal apathy. Death was inevitable, and the only thing that mattered was making sure every Hero fuck that signed your sentence felt it when you finally reached that stop. It was a lot less scary when you had people to laugh about it with. It was spoken like a badge of honor. Yeah, the world wants me dead too. Come on in.

And then you woke up one day with the audacity to want to live. (”I’m hangin’ on the fence again…”)

The realization gnawed at you with panicked desperation. You looked around and discovered that everyone you loved was dying much faster than you, killing themselves in a blaze of glory. This wasn’t a party, it was a suicide pact. None of the civs or the Heroes tried to intervene because this was the point—the job was being done for them. The only way to win the game was to not play at all. Get to the exit. Live.

But it was what the Heroes never understood, and something you should’ve known better.

Everyone else always knew where the exit was.

It was always there, in blinking neon, unlocked and unguarded. Anyone could leave whenever they wanted. It’s why no one tried to stop you. This was what your Moms did, after all, since they retired from their own battle wounds—worked in the shadows, helped those who wanted out disappear without a trace, supported those who didn’t, take in the unwanted in-betweens until they could make a choice. Like you. Like your family. Like your sister.

Everyone knew they were free to go, but there was never anything to save.

And this is what Heroes would never understand. Why things would never get better until the question was addressed. They could point out the exit sign all they wanted, try to heroically lead them into a bright new future, but every Villain would always ask the same thing:

Why?

You didn’t think you’d be waiting here, dancing with the burning boy on the train tracks, if you ever found a good answer.

(”10-4, no switchin’ sides…”)

You looked up at him without moving your head. His eyes were fixed on the still water with an empty gaze. He was somewhere far away, farther than you could reach. Sometimes Dabi looked so goddamn fragile you thought you’d split at the seams, like him. The blue reflection from the water danced along his skin like his flames, and he looked so beautiful in your element that your chest ached at the unfairness of it all. You never wanted a Quirk more in your life. You wanted to be able to hum and wrap his wounds in water. Put the pain that was so loudly screaming out of his skin to rest with soft, cool lullabies. Whisper a single sound and keep him here with you a little longer.

You insisted that you didn’t want to be involved, but you started keeping ice packs and bandages tucked away for him, in the same spot as the black market quirk suppressants you still keep for your sister, just in case. The occult and mysticism books you borrowed about restless ghosts were piled with the new highlighted articles about burn wounds. You memorized the numbers of Dabi’s burner phones like everyone in your family, and you couldn’t help clocking the twitches and tells of the men he talks to like you were still a good spy for the cause. You let him stay in your house, your bed.

You let him hear you sing. (”Ain’t no other love like the one I know…”)

Sometimes, on the rare occasions you woke up before him, and he was still sleeping softly next to you, you thought about telling Apollon to bring you the syringe in the cupboard. They only worked for about two hours on your sister anymore, but you were sure Dabi wouldn’t have as much of a tolerance. You could keep him from going back out there. Without a Quirk, Apollon could easily keep him from running away or trying to fight. He would be safe, and you could finally, finally do something other than watch while those you loved destroyed themselves. There was no need to go back inside. It’s safer in the water. Stay, stay, stay.

But you can never commit.

You were trying to be good.

The song was long over but it still played in your head. (”Loyalty, loyalty, loyalty”)

It haunted you with a demand you couldn’t run from. (”Tell me who you’re loyal to”) You said you wanted to move far away from your old life, but you made sure that your store was far on the outskirts of town, off the path for Heroes, easily accessible for any undesirables that might need some bread or sweets, or a place to warm up…or flowers for their mom. You said you didn’t want to be a Villain anymore, but you wouldn’t serve licensed Heroes.

(”I said, tell me who you’re loyal to”) You refused to use your support items, but the metal rings around your fingers never felt as heavy as when you were sitting on the train, listening to the civs gush about Heroes. You were trying to be good, but you listened to them cheer and celebrate the capture of the ones like you—the people you love (“Does it start with your woman or your man?”)—and your perfect pitch stalls. It was the one note you couldn't hit. They made you want to honey your voice like you used to, lead them along like oblivious puppets. Warp the role of non-threatening into a eulogy for the ones that forced it on you, the last sound they ever heard before the snarls of your family’s bloodthirsty Quirks. (“Does it end with your family and friends?”)

But then you remember what happened last time. The blood. The screaming. Something suffocating on itself. It was why you left, wasn’t it? You knew better. There was only one thing this life could give you. You were cursed just like that moon. At some point, there would be no more delaying it. It felt right, it felt like home, but when you woke in the morning there was no one left but you.

So in the end, you always kept your mouth clenched shut.

You were trying to be good.

(”Are you loyal to yourself in advance?”)

“Dabi.” You spoke with your own eyes on the water, fixated on the rippling moon. “Can we go?”

“Now?”

You nodded. There was a sudden spark of urgency inside you. You couldn’t stand to be in this place for another second. You were trying to be good now. There was a house waiting for you. For him. You didn't have to go back in there. You could lock yourselves behind those doors and sing until he didn’t remember there was a life before your voice, until his touch burned the blood from your skin and finally made you clean again. You would cling to what you loved until you wasted away or they did, and not a second sooner.

You tilted your head to kiss Dabi’s neck. Just a single, soft smooch. You knew he couldn’t feel it there, but you always did it anyway, leaving a bright red lipstick mark as proof. Mine. If you weren't allowed anything else, this counted as something.

“Want you.” You looked up at him from the crook of his neck. It was the truest thing you said all night. “Please?”

He stared at you. The full force of his sapphire eyes was disarming, like his own siren charm. You could tell that he was studying your face for something. Like he knew there was more to your shifting mood tonight than a bad trip. There was something hidden in your notes—something silent, something off. But you wouldn’t let him hear it. He wouldn’t even tell you his name. He didn’t want to know. You didn’t want to tell him.

“Yeah. Alright.” His stare never wavered, like he was still focused on listening. But when you still wouldn’t give him what he was searching for, he started to move. “They should be back by now.”

He whistled at Apollon and nodded his head toward you. For as much as they didn’t like each other, they’d gotten into a groove. Moving in time with their own routine, at least when it came to you. It was a seamless transition—you barely had the chance to wobble before the weightless feeling of your pet’s Quirk replaced his embrace.

But as soon as Dabi left, you shuttered. It was a jarring shock. The cold seeped into your bones until your limbs were heavy with ice. You cussed with chattering teeth. Apollon floated you back in your chair quick enough, but the cold overshadowed everything. It caused time to start again. How long had you been out here? When did the song change? You didn’t recognize it. The bass thumped in your chest to an ominous rhythm that felt more like a hungry threat. The growl of the inevitable before it swallowed you whole. It was enough to snuff out what little sparks of resistance you were gaining. Instead, they were replaced with a desperate need. You kept saying you didn’t want to be involved, but what good was abstinence when this was your reward? The water kept you safe and secure, but what was the point of safety without warmth?

You were trying to be good, but you were so, so cold.

“You comin’?” Dabi turned to your shivering form. You heard the ghostly echo of a familiar song, refusing to die, whispering with his waiting steps and wrenching itself in the center of your ribs.

(”All I want is, all I want is…”)

“Yeah.” Your voice is a resignation. Out of the cold, but into the dark.

At least he’s a light.

#dabi #touya todoroki #dabi x reader #sometimes I do this thing with words #dabi!oneshot #Loyalty oneshot #I CAN FINALLY DROP THE TITLE YAYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#I'm so nervous about posting this lol #Youtube

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