#I’m fearing the worst; a couple teeth have been noticeably more sensitive

[sepiasys]

One day

One day we won’t get headaches so often

[thediamondgirl17]

Feitan Porter x Reader: A Long Time Ago

Hey everyone! I'm not dead I promise! I have been BINGING HxH and JJK for anyone who is interested in knowing. And let's just say Feitan caught my eye and sparked a bit of my creative interest! I still don't know a lot about the PT so your gonna have to give me a bit of artistic liberty here. As always if you want a second part to this, or want me to write something for you feel free to go to my ask box! I'm always open to new ideas! Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: PG-13, light HxH Season 3 spoilers, mentions of sensitive subjects. 

    You didn’t grow up in Meteor City. You lived just outside of it growing up. That meant that you weren’t exactly the most wealthy person in the world, then again not the poorest. However, you had known of the City. Murmurs, whispers, and tales of the cursed city were always among the gossip in your home town. It was never anything abnormal when the adults would whisper things to each other out of your earshot when you were little. However the one thing that had stuck with you the most was the warning that every adult gave you when you went to play by yourself as a child. 

    “Stay away from the edge of town.” 

    That was it. Nothing more and nothing less. However, children’s minds tend to block out the logical reasonings of adults so that it is able to explore the unknown for itself. And that is exactly what happened to you. 

    You had packed a bag with some food in it for a picnic. Your parents were home, and not exactly caring where you ran off to as long as you came back before sunset. So your little legs carried you through town as quickly as they could to get to the edge of town. It wasn’t that long of a walk but it had made you a bit tired. As you got closer to the far edge of town, the grass began to die and the trees begun to wilt. It was as if you crossed over to a whole new deserted world. 

     You had told yourself that you were going to stop at the edge of town. Told yourself that you were just going to admire the scenery and then head back. Of course though, children never listened, even to themselves.  So you continued on, eventually finding yourself walking along broken down buildings that looked like they would collapse. The air was dry and polluted, which made it hard to breathe. 

    “Look what we have here.” An older man had said. He looked to be in his 40s. He had this disgusting smell of cheap cologne and a dirty five o’clock shadow that covered his chin. “A cute little girl. C’mere...Let’s talk.” He smiled, revealing crocked yellow teeth. 

    Now, you had not been scared up to this point, but this worried you. You gripped your bag tightly in your hands and took a weary step backwards, away from the man in front of you. Your heart rate had quickened and you closed your eyes, moving your head away from him fearing the worst. 

    It was only until you felt a hand in your own quickly drag you away from the creepy old man that you opened your eyes. A young boy, much scrawnier than yourself, but obviously your age dragged you along. Your legs had a hard time keeping up with his experienced ones. From the looks of him, he was a native. He stopped after being sure that the two of you weren’t followed. You heaved after the two of you had stopped running and put your hands on your knees to catch your breath. 

    “Th-Thank Y-you...,” You gasped, trying to catch your breath. But there was only silence. So you tilted your head up to look at him, only to see a small pocket knife aimed between your eyes. 

    “Give me your money.” He stated. His black hair was greasy and dirty from not having been washed in a while. And his clothes were tattered and much to small for him at this point. You blinked and looked down at your bag. His cold tone had shaken you to your core.

    “I-I don’t h-have any m-money o-on me...,” You said softly. “B-but...D-do you wanna split my sandwich?” You asked looking back up at the boy, from the way that you spoke to him, the two of you knew you would have asked that question whether or not that knife was aimed between your eyes. 

    “...80:20.” He demanded. And you had offered him the softest smile that he had ever seen in his life. Though on the outside he didn’t falter, the inside of him felt...different. You reached into your bag and pulled out your sandwich. You ripped it much over half way and handed him the larger piece. 

    He was hesitant at first when he took the food. He slowly lowered the knife and began eating, quickly shoving it into his mouth before anyone or anything else could get to it. You sat down on the ground beside him and began eating your own piece. 

    “Why are you staying? I could kill you.” He demanded to know. 

    “Then you already would have and taken the rest of my sandwich...I have a water bottle in here too.” You added. “Do you want it?” He nodded. You reached into your bag and pulled out the water bottle, handing it to him. “Here.” He quickly took it out of your hands and drank half of it in one go. His shoulders relaxing ever so slightly from it. 

    “In one week.” He said, keeping his demanding tone. “You will come back and bring me food and water.” 

    “Any requests?” You asked tilting your head. He looked down at you. 

    “Just make sure it’s edible.” And with that, the black haired boy was off. 

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    From that day forward, every week, you brought him food. You learned his name and where he took shelter. You had learned how many people he had killed, and what happened to his parents. You learned his favorite food. And learned that he was a total sadist. However, you kept coming back to provide him food and water. The last time you say him was many years after your first encounter. The two of you were 15 years old. He had begun to look more handsome in your eyes. And vice versa, though he would never admit it. The two of you sat on a run down bridge that looked old and crumbly. 

    “Don’t come anymore.” He said sipping from the water bottle. 

    “Huh? Why?” You asked looking over at him. 

    “I am able to get myself food and water more often now.” 

    “Well duh...That’s obvious...I had noticed you started gaining weight like three months ago.” You paused. “I meant that as a good thing.” \

    “I know you did.” He said, talking slow like he always did, being sure to pronounce each syllable of the word. “But still.” He stood up and stretched out a bit. “I don’t want to see you anymore.” 

    “Bullshit!” You called. “Fei...What’s up with you?” You asked softly. 

    “Get out of this region. Leave and don’t come back. Make a life for yourself.” He said in that same demanding tone of his. “I have. it’s time you do too.” He turned and faced away from you. “Goodbye.” 

    “Will I see you again?” You asked standing up and staring at his back. 

    “If you do...It will end up with you dying.” And those were his final words as he walked away.

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    Each week after that you brought food to your usual meet up spot. Enough for two. But he never came. It took about five weeks for you to finally get it through your head that he...was gone. 

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    You had made a life for yourself outside of Meteor City. You had moved away to a nice countryside where everything was peaceful and relaxed. Life was almost perfect. Your job had provided you with enough money to live comfortably and go on vacations every couple of years. However, something in your life was missing. And you knew exactly what it was. However, the only thing you had taking up your mind at the moment was your vacation to York New City. Everything with the Phantom Troupe had just ended. The city assured visitors that the troupe was dead, and not a single one remained to roam free any longer. That news gave you comfort. 

    Stepping off the train, the bright lights of the city were burning brightly in your face, even though it was nighttime. You had wanted to enjoy it more, so you went to your hotel, put down your things and quickly headed out for a fun night on the town. You had your purse in one hand, and your other was free and by your side. 

    About 20 minutes of walking had passed before you had reached an old abandoned part of town. That little child that still lived inside you urged you to go and explore it. ‘A look around couldn’t hurt.’ You thought to yourself. Your shoes gently clacked along the sidewalk as you continued to walk. Through the allies and dust ridden streets. All of it reminded you of a place a long time ago, and an old friend whom you hadn’t seen in ages. 

    However, your nostalgia had faded the moment you heard a small gust of wind come from behind you. It had made you pause where you stood, and your whole happy demeanor shifted. In the last few years you had spent with Feitan, he had taught you some self defense. 

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    “Your small...like me...and easy prey for anyone.” The black haired boy said, standing up from his spot beside you. You were sitting on the edge of Meteor City where there was some dead grass. 

    “And why is this important?” Your thirteen year old self said to the thirteen year old boy beside you. 

    “I can’t always save your ass.” He replied in a slow and snarky way. 

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    That little training session had taught you a lot. Like how to unconsciously use zetsu. Of course back then you had no idea what it meant, after doing some research on it when you were older you learned it was helpful. So, you masked your presence from the person who was currently following you. You gently slipped off your shoes to limit the sound of your feet on the ground and silently began to walk forward again. 

    A woman had pinned you against the wall behind you with strength outnumbering your own. She had a large nose, a blonde bobcat, and her chest was exposed from how many buttons were unbuttoned. 

    “Who are you?” She demanded. “Why are you here? Who sent you?” She asked, holding a knife to your throat. You gulped and steadied your breathing, another thing that Feitan had taught you. Her eyes were directly on yours. ‘Good’ You thought to yourself. You lifted your leg to kick the knife out of her hand, but her other hand caught your leg with ease. You used that momentum to flip yourself over and kick the knife out of her hand. However, her hand remained grabbed tightly onto your ankle. 

    You moved and started kicking your free foot into her arm, it wouldn’t do much damage to someone like her, but would at least leave some bruising. She grumbled something along the lines of, ‘I’m gonna kill you,’ and grabbed your other leg, sending you to the ground on your back. You coughed up a little blood and used the shoes in your hand to throw harshly at her face. It caused her hands on your ankles to falter just enough in order for you to get up and start running. “If you can’t win. Run.” You heard from the memory of your old friend. You were panting and looked behind you to see if she had been following. However she stopped. And just watched from a distance. You had no idea what hit you until you were on your stomach with your face pushed to the ground and a foot harshly stepping onto your back. 

    “I’m gonna enjoy this kill...,” A familiar slow voice said from above you. Your eyes widened and you stopped moving. “Scared?” He asked teasingly. 

    “F-fei...?” You questioned and let out a cough right after. The black haired man currently standing above you felt his eyes widen ever so slightly. His grip softened and he released you. You coughed on the ground and sat up, looking as dirty as you did as a child. 

    “Leave.” He stated. “...or you will die.” 

    “Fei wait! Talk to me it’s been year-,” You were cut off when a strong hand wrapped around your neck from behind and held it harshly. 

    “You know her Feitan? How great!” A happy blonde said lifting up your body off the ground by your neck. “Let’s take her to the boss! I’m sure he’ll be happy to meet her!” 

    “No...,” The black haired man said looking at the blonde. 

    “Flip a coin. Call it in the air.” The woman from before said and flipped a coin. 

    “Tails.” Feitan called. Unfortunately the coin landed on heads. 

    You had quickly felt the air escaping your lungs. You scratched and struggled and squirmed in his grip for all but no avail. 

    “She’s got fire! I think the boss will have fun!” He said happily and dropped you onto your knees. You gasped and wrapped your hands gently around your sensitive throat. After regaining a bit of oxygen in your body, the three had started to lead you with them. You were silent with your head facing downward.    - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

    Once you had gotten to the hideout, you saw how everyone laid around relaxed and only really looked up when they saw your figure. It was quiet, dark, and damp. It was cold and held hostility. 

    “Hey Boss! Look what we found! She is very entertaining!” The blonde said happily into the dimly lit room. A man whom sat at the center of the room looked up from his book and made direct eye contact with you. You felt a shiver run down your spine and glanced away to avoid eye contact. 

    “Why is she here Shalnark?” He asked leaning back a bit. 

    “She was coming here. She knew how to use Zetsu...and she gave Pakunoda a few good bruises. I thought she would be entertaining!” He admitted almost like you weren’t a person at all. 

    “Tell me.” The leader said, looking at you once again. Even with looking away from him you still felt the intense eyes on you. “Why are you here?” 

    “Fuck off.” You spat and kept looking away from him. 

    “Feisty...Maybe we can force it out of you.” He said and leaned back more. 

    “She seems annoying.” A black haired girl with glasses said, looking up from whatever she was doing. 

    “Her attacks were...,” The blonde girl said. “Not experienced...but definitely survival.”

    “I’ll ask one more time.” The man up front said. “Why did you come here? To the den of spiders?” 

    “Spiders?” You whispered. Then you eyes widened and you shot a look over at Feitan. However he didn’t move, just kept is eyes forward in a bored way. 

    “Ah...So it seems you know him. Feitan, care to explain.” 

    “She is an old friend. From Meteor City.” He said slowly. 

    “A native?” The blonde asked. 

    “...no.” You said and looked up at the boss. “I lived right outside the city.” 

    “So still in poverty. I’m sure being that close to the city, you had met Feitan before correct?” 

    “Yes...,” You said softly. 

    “Were you trying to find him?” 

    “No...I-I’m on vacation...I came to the city to enjoy it...But this area reminded me of home...so...I took a walk...,” You admitted and looked down. “Are you going to kill me?” 

    “Probably. You know where out hideout is now.” He said and sighed. “Though I don’t care. You will either stay, or die.” 

    “Die!” Most of them shouted. 

    “Stay.” Feitan said loud enough beside you to allow him to hear.  

    “Then we flip a coin.” He stated and pulled out the same coin that the girl had. He flipped it. “I call tails.” And it landed on it’s head. “Then she shall stay. Feitan, she is your responsibility now.” He stated and that was it. Everyone went back to what they were doing. 

    “Come.” He stated and started walking down the hallway. You quickly followed behind, now noticing the slight height difference. You were only taller by a few centimeters, but it was taller. Once out of sight from the Troupe he paused. “I told you to leave.” 

    “And I wanted to see you again! It has been years after you left! Now letters. No pictures. No post cards! Nothing! I still waited for a whole month for you to come back and you didnt!” You shot at him. 

    “Still a loudmouth?” 

    “Still a heartless sadist?” 

    “It’s more of a hobby.” He said coldly, but you knew it was a joke. You smiled softly and stepped closer to him. 

    “Your so pale...Were you always this pale?” 

    “Yes. Where you always this annoying?” 

    “You know it.” You replied. 

    There was a long moment of silence between the two of you. You stepped closer to him and hesitantly reached up, and gripped on to his collar. You slowly pulled it down and moved your face closer to his, of course it was all slow and hesitant. The only time it wasn’t was when he craned his neck forward to finally meet your lips. 

    The kiss wasn’t long, or deep, but definitely was not one a friend would give. You gently pulled away from him and he did the same. Your cheeks were warm and his had the slightest tinge of pink on them, that is if you looked hard enough. 

    “Come with me.” He said lifting up the collar around his neck. “I’ll show you where you will be staying.” 

    And even though you were in a damp, dark, musky, run down building that was probably going to collapse. Everything finally felt perfect once again. 

[oh-sweet-mama]

Lonely (VII)

T.W Angst, swearing

3rd person

Sirius watched as Remus gently lead her to the shrieking shack. Remus' condition still remains unannounced to her.

The climb up the steps into the main part of the shack seemed endless in the sense of following a trios fates. James nodded to Sirius allowing room for the three.

Y/n sat on the small mattress near the window. She gazed out on to the field.

"Never knew this was here." She murmured.

"S'posed to be like that." Remus murmured back. Taking a seat next to her.

Taking her hands into his much larger ones, he held onto her, hoping it would be enough to keep her close.

"Y/n."

Y/n tore her gaze away from the window and onto his green eyes that leant towards blue.

"Y/n, I have to tell you something- well a few things, but I we'll start with the most forth coming topic," Remus looked down into his lap, then to Sirius as a source of comfort. Sirius recognizing what Remus was about to say, he took the steps to his other side and placed his hand on his shoulder comfortingly, "As you understand, hopefully of the struggle of telling close loved ones about, erm- sensitive topics, I hope that you will give me room to tell you that, I do also- have Lycanthropy."

Remus felt tears prick the corners of his eyes. Though the feeling of Sirius' comforting hold on his shoulder, he realized that Y/n had never let go of his hand. Instead she gave a gentle squeeze.

"I understand the struggle, to well, to be honest."  Y/n said. Remus looked up at her, y/c/e's, that were filled with sincerity. "Theres a lot more from where my story resides, but that will be for another night."

"Another night?" Remus asked.

"Can let you go now, can't go back to those woods, thought I was going to die last year. Got the scars to prove it."

"Well, we have about 2 and a half hours before the moon reaches it's peek." Sirius told us.

"Y/n, please, I can explain why, me- Sirius- please let me explain." Remus practically begged.

"I- Remus, I trust you, but I need a practical reason, as to why one would cheat." Y/n said, in a smooth tone.

Remus shot up, dragging Sirius, "I'll be right back ok, I need to talk to Sirius." Going to the next room over, the walls were immensely thin, in some places you could see, Y/n still sitting on the bed.

"Sirius, please please please tell her." Remus hugged Sirius, silent sobs wracked his body, "please, I- I can't be without her or you."

Sirius pondered for a moment. He never meant to intentionally hurt anyone. He didn't mean for it to be cheating either. How was he supposed to tell her?

How was he supposed to tell her that he has had a crush on Remus since he first met him, then once Remus had started dating her, first it was the pain of rejection, though he hadn't been rejected. But the pain of not knowing who he was in love with.

"All right, Rem, I'll tell her, ok? How am I supposed to though? I was sleeping with the love of her life, and it was cheating."

"I know pads but please, please try." Remus sobbed into Sirius' chest.

"Come, now Remus, we don't have much time left." Remus pulled himself from the floor, leaning on Sirius. His legs like jello, the pain of his bones starting to move around under his skin. "I've got you Rem."

As they pulled around the corner, Y/n seemed to have vanished. Her spot was vacant, worry riddled both of the boys, fearing the worst, that she decided none of the reasons was valid enough. When suddenly a sharp bark snapped them out of their thoughts.

Sirius stumbled back, grabbed the collar of Remus' sweater, yanking his back, by the throat.

The large wolf cocked it's head, it's large fluffy tail, swishing excitedly behind its.

"Sirius, let me go." Remus tried to get Sirius' death grip off of his sweater collar.

"No! how'd a wolf get into here? James! JaMeS!" Sirius continued to grip onto Remus in fear. Remus, tore his sweater off of his body, leaving his white button up under shirt. "RemUS! No!"

Remus slowly crawled towards the wolf, "Sirius, look at her eyes."

Sirius paused, looking into the wolves eyes, noticing the human definition of them, they large y/c/e's that were so contrasting, amongst the stark brown and grey of the wolves face. "Y/n?"

Again a sharp bark, and a kiss on Remus' face.

"what are you? Not a lycanthrope?" She slowly approached Sirius, her head hung low. "Got somethin' to tell you princess."

Sirius pet her on the top of her head, smoothing the fluff between her ears. A thud of her wolf-ish bum hitting the creaky floor boards, and her head resting on Sirius' chest.

"there's only one reason, I was sleeping with Remus, and when I'm telling you I'm not lying to you, I hope that you'd believe me," a soft wine came from her, "I love you, I love Remus, I can't be with out the either of you."

Warm tears ran down Sirius' face hitting the top of her head and ears, causing small wet spots. Y/n looked up, and licked Sirius' tears away. Remus came and sat on the opposite side of Y/n, and leaned down, kissing the spot between Y/n's eyes, then doing the same on Sirius' forehead.

"I love both of you Y/n, I hope you can do the same to us." Remus murmured to Y/n.

She suddenly sat up, leaving a sloppy kiss on both of their faces, before dashing out. Remus pulled Sirius' head into his chest, letting the man cry it out.

A thumping of steps, the click of nails against the wooden floor.

"5 minutes until full moon!" James told the two men on the floor. "Ah Twigs! you're a lot cuter than you told me."

James leaned down patting the wolf on the head.

"Twigs?" Remus asked, still holding Sirius.

"Yea, kinda' like me, Prongs, and Padfoot, apparently, when she first shifted, she ate a bunch of twigs, then puked them up." James laughed at the end part, and elicited a playful whine from Twigs.

Remus started to feel the effects of the full moon, his bones started to break and move. Leaning back against the wall, he lightly griped Sirius' forearm. "Sirius, time for Pads, don't wanna hurt you."

Sirius moved back, and allowed his Animagus from to be present. A dark black dog sitting now in Sirius' place. However Twigs still towered above Padfoot, by three or four inches.

Twigs ambled over to Remus carefully, her tail starting to come between her legs, ears up right and pointed forward. She was empathetic towards, the boy who was experiencing his monthly ailment, that caused heart wrenching pain to those who had to watch.

Trying to prove what comfort she could, to the love of her life was already starting to face the excruciating symptoms.

Remus felt as his bones began to move, and break, some moving so extensively, that his skin had to stretch thin. Pained screams filled the small area of the shrieking shack. Remus tore his shirt off, the first time in two years, that Y/n or Twigs had seen him shirtless.

Yet Sirius, had the ever flowing luxury of Remus's trust. Y/n wanted to love on Remus, show him how much she truly loved him. Yet a few flicks of Sirius' wand and he had Remus around. his. Fucking. finger.

An incontrollable snarl, emitted from Twigs' chest. Her lips and facial muscles curling up above her teeth, and ears pinned back against her head. A couple of blinks cleared Y/n's clouded head, a yawn, displaying a release of stress. Then promptly walking out of the room to sit in the next room over.

The Full moons light peeked through the window, then the light hit Twigs' eyes, causing a deep, emotion fill howl, and both rooms to still.

Remus sensed the pain in the Howl she let out in the next room over, he knew she maintained her Human conscious, she must have realized something.

Feeling the final effects of the transformation, Remus, prayed for this to be over soon.

Sirius watched on as his lover, cried out in pain, his legs, fingers, and arms elongating, changing Remus into Moony.

Then Moony sat up howling up at the ceiling, and walked over, nuzzling Padfoot, and looking up to the now taller, Prongs, soon joined, by a small palmed sized, Wormtail, but still missing Twigs.

Where is Twigs?

[slasherscream]

Reader gets stood up at prom ghostface boys to the rescue

(A/N): oh prom was my nightmare so this was so self indulgent to think about thanks fam

They were getting around to asking you they fucking swear on god and they were ....enraged would be putting it lightly, when some random fucking loser asked you before they could.

Listen they were just trying to take it slow to go easy on you. Like slowly heating up the water around a frog instead of dropping them into boiling water to begin with. 

You're out here thinking you've got #the two best friends in the world meanwhile they're trying to make a teenage spouse out of you but the best laid plans of dumb teenage boys often go awry. 

Even though it's totally fine to do so (and the norm for you) you were feeling strange about asking if you could be a tag-a-long for them for prom night of all things.

Them including you on all their date nights and hang-outs are one thing but being a third wheel for the most romantic/cutesy night for teenagers is something you cannot fucking parse.

You had even started secretly thinking of staying home alone that night, which you know everyone in your life would've been strongly against but what're they gonna do? Throw you into a fancy tux/dress and force you to go? 

But then a classmate asked you! Sure it wasn't particularly romantic and you didn't know each other well but they weren't the worst person in the world and they offered to buy your ticket for you and match with your color      so at least you'll be going without feeling like an interloper. 

You rush to tell the boys even though some part of you feels...bummed out you're not going with them but they're a couple and you're all best friends and you know you'll still spend time with them that night so it's fine! Everything's fine! Everything is perfect.

So yes they almost nutted the fuck up when you told them. The look on Stu's face....Billy had to hit him when you weren't looking so he could fix his face by the time you glanced over at him with that cute, excited look of expectancy. 

"That's great, Y/N!" Stu would say, trying to make his smile look as normal as possible. "Who asked you?" Billy would say, grinding his teeth to fucking dust in his mouth and already planning on murdering them brutally. 

It's only when they're alone and planning the murder do they realize they can't do that to you. You got asked to prom and how would you feel if your date happens to become a ghostface victim! They know you...you're so sweet and nice that even though you didn't particularly like the person you'd be staying home for the evening crying and sad. At the very least you'd take it as a "sign" and stay in for the night, if they were lucky.

Despite being the most possessive boys in the world they don't want you looking back at a night that could be special and magical with only the traumatic memory of a dead date. Romance really is real!

So they didn’t kill the lucky bastard who asked you even though they are so upset and bummed out. Stu mopes for the whole week leading up to the day and Billy is a special kind of grumpy asshole. 

But they get to do little prom prep things with you that you probably wouldn't have let them do with you if you were their date for the night and it's cute and montage-y even though they're still really upset. 

Helping you pick out a dress/tux/look and being your hype-men! You step out of the dressing room with something Stu picked for you (fashion icon) and he screams! Billy staring at you w/ eyes that are soft and he couldn't wipe the look off his face if he tried. Deciding your makeup/hair/look for the night with them and they lowkey do everything to match you/look good with you.

Fuck your date, man! They are your date in name only. When you look back at this night they're making 100% you'll only remember them. This is gonna be a funny story you tell your fucking kids together. They wanna throw up whenever you ruin the illusion by asking "Do you think (random ass name) will like this?" Shut up!! Stu will begin to cry he's sensitive. 

You will not be walking out of any store having paid for your own shit that week. Stu insists! He's your 18 year old (unfortunately platonic) sugar daddy. Billy never let's Stu spoil him so you have to deal with Stu's love language, which is gifts, all by yourself you poor baby. 

You're all gonna get ready at your house and you will experience soft moments such as Billy helping you with your hair with the utmost gentleness and making eye contact in the mirror. Or Stu wanting to put your lipstick on and doing a frankly fantastic job but the unbearable tension as he's touching your lip? My dude....

You try to shy out of some of the "leaving the house" pictures so the happy couple can get some alone but all your squirming just winds up with you trapped in-between them and both of them kissing your cheek at the same time. 

Your date elected to not pick you up but meet at the location which made them so fucking angry but at least this way they get more time with you. Your dates on thin fucking ice though since the boys would've done everything to make the night romantic for you ...they are Big Mad. 

You get there and you're looking around for your date and for the longest time can't find them and they're not answering your texts. You're getting nervous but the boys are mostly distracting you while sharing concerned looks over your head. 

Their fears are confirmed when they catch your date making out with their ex and they can't steer you away from them fast enough so you don't notice. Your date has the decency to apologize and look sorry that they did this but you can't work yourself up to being really mad since you didn't really like them anyway. It's just the energy of this happening to you at prom. 

They never knew you could run that fast honestly....

"Y/N? Baby? Are you in here?" The sound of the bathroom door opening immediately followed by the most gentle voice you'd ever heard Stu use in his life. 

You have half a mind to be quiet so that they'll go away and forget their loser best friend and actually have a decent prom night together but you know they'd just waste their whole night looking for you if they couldn't find you. "Yeah ... I'm in here." You sigh, holding your head in your heads. 

A knock on the door and then you hear Billy, "Please come out, sweetheart."

"I'd rather not." 

"Y/N..." Stu trails off not knowing what to say and shooting Billy a panicked look. Before either of them can figure out what to do you speak up again.

"Please go out and enjoy yourselves. You don't have to spend your night coddling me. I'm not the first person to get ditched at prom. I'll survive. It's stupid anyways." 

"It's okay to be upset, Y/N," Billy interjects, what he really wants to do is go kill your date and their dumb ex. Is there anything worse than an on-again-off-again couple? He's already imagining the fun he and Stu will have carving the two up but first they have to make their baby feel better. 

"That was a total dick move of them!" Stu says, trying not to get worked up but failing. "I'll go kick their ass for you right now."

This at least makes you laugh, "No        don't kick their ass. They don't deserve it." 

"Like hell they don't." Billy grunts, "They upset you."

"They got back together with someone they actually liked. I can't hate them for that. We barely knew each other. I just didn't want to come alone and I didn't wanna be your puppy dog tag-a-long the whole night."

This gets immediate reactions.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Billy demands.

"Y/N I'm gonna crawl on the disgusting bathroom floor and come join you in there if you don't open the door right now." Stu says.

After a second of pause where you debate how serious he is (deadly) and then take into account his lack of impulse control you unlock the door and allow it to swing open, "Don't do that. We'd have to burn the tux and you look really good in it." 

You're instantly swept up into two different sets of arm and have to admit you do feel a little better instantly. They have that effect on you. It's a comfort that they're staring at you with affection and concern and not pity. It makes you feel a little less pathetic. You still duck your head into Stu's chest and are allowed this and a moment of silence before Billy grabs you by the chin and makes you look up at them. 

"You're not a fucking tag-a-long and that loser out there was lucky you said yes in the first place." 

"Yeah baby! We woulda loved to have you all to ourselves tonight."

You laugh in a way that's heavy with self-deprecation, "You guys are sweet. That's why you deserve to have one night together that's just you. Especially prom night of all things. Don't you guys ever get tired of me always trailing after you? Don't you ever want a break?" 

They make eye contact and convey some secret message between them that makes you roll your eyes but then Billy's hand moves from your chin to hold your cheek and you freeze up. Stu leans down into Billy and grins at you from over his boyfriend's shoulder as if you're the most adorable thing he's ever seen. 

"You're not our third wheel, babe       we're a pyramid!" Stu chirps.

"Wha-?"

"We were gonna ask you to prom." Billy's thumb begins to rub tender circles along your cheek and you open your mouth to say...anything but he keeps talking, "But jackass out there beat us to it."

"Really?" You ask quietly and Billy bumps his forehead gently against yours, smiling at your shocked expression.

"Really."

"We're crazy about you, babe!" 

"You sure you're not just trying to make me feel better? I promise I'm not gonna fall apart on you or anything." It doesn't come out like a joke as you'd intended and you'd wince at how hopeful and nervous you'd sounded but Billy's lips cover yours. You'd always wondered how it felt to kiss either of them, always having to force your eyes away from them when they often kissed each other. It's a lot like how you imagined, his lips firm and warm against yours and him with total control over the moment in a way that makes your knees weak.

When he finally pulls away you can't bring your eyes to open even when they both chuckle at you. It's Stu leaning forward to playfully nip at your bottom lip that brings you out of the daze and you lean forward to peck him before he can move away. He hums against your lips and you smile into the kiss, playful and sweet. 

"Believe us now?" Stu asks when he pulls away, giving your hair a light tug.

"I might....if you guys dance with me. I think I hear my favorite song."

"Well then-" Billy smirks, pulling away from you but grabbing your hand and Stu's, leading you out the bathroom and back towards the dance, "We gotta go take our girl/boy to dance, Stu."

[burntpastel]

late

(On AO3)

Summary: Midoriya loses track of time and accidentally stays out past curfew. Mic decides he deserves a reward for having to go out and retrieve him.

Notes: a fic commissioned by Ivyblush and theDavynator on AO3! thanks again!!

italicized dialogue usually indicates usage of english.

raping people is evil. adults who date and/or fuck minors are evil. dont do it, and and don't base any real life relationships or choices off the content of fanfics.

cw rape, underage, impregnation, vomiting, trans deku

Midoriya is still, eyes locked on his target. He tries to focus on his body, his quirk, without tuning out visual information, then makes a quick, practiced movement, kicking out his leg. The force from his quirk carries across the gym, clipping two of the targets hanging from the ceiling instead of moving between them like he'd wanted, taking a decent sized chunk out of one.

Sighing, he moves a couple of feet down the line, to the last of the targets he’d prepared beforehand. He waits for them to settle back into place, then concentrates, hoping this time he can do it without breaking anything—including himself. He then kicks—

“HEY!”

The jolt of adrenaline sends his kick off course, shattering many of the remaining targets to the left of where he was originally aiming. (He’ll need to work on that too.)

“Mic-sensei!” Midoriya turns to him, and boy, does he look annoyed. He’s not even sure what he did this time. “What are you doing here?”

Mic strolls up to him with his hands in his pockets, glowering at him. It’s his turn to watch the dorms this week, and he’s wearing casual clothes. Sometimes it takes Midoriya a second to recognize him with his hair down.

“Looking for my missing student!” he provides with false cheer. Midoriya blinks. Is someone else gone, or has he been labeled missing himself?

He notices Mic’s eyes fixed on his chest and becomes painfully aware that he’s in a thin t-shirt and sports bra. He tugs his shirt away from his chest to hide his form, averting his gaze in embarrassment—not because he thinks Mic's staring is questionable, Midoriya knows he's usually covered up or has his binder on so he doesn't really blame him for being drawn to the unexpected shapes—more in a "sorry for being visibly trans" kind of way.

“It’s passed curfew, you know.”

Midoriya sucks in a breath, looking back up at him. Was he really training that long?

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know it was so late…”

Midoriya scrambles to collect his things. As he rushes past Mic to return to the dorms, he’s stopped by his outstretched hand, palm splaying against his torso and fingers brushing Midoriya’s chest in the process.

“Hold on a minute!”

Midoriya quickly scrambles back, looking up at his teacher, feeling his face burn at the accidental touch.

Something in Mic’s expression has changed. Instead of the drained irritation he’d shown before, his eyes are now intense as he stares down at Midoriya, though still calm, and he almost looks… pleased…?

Mic gestures to the locker room behind him. ”Go take a shower before we head back—you’re a mess!”

The words just sound like gibberish until his mind shifts to thinking in English. Feeling a little embarrassed that it had slipped his mind, Midoriya quickly nods. “Okay.”

He starts to turn when Mic interrupts him.

”Try again.”

Midoriya gives him an exasperated smile. That’s the fun thing about Mic-sensei—he never really stops teaching. Every moment is another chance for a little pop quiz.

”Yes, sir.”

Mic nods to him, and he sets off across the gym for the locker room. As he’s pushing the door open, Mic calls out.

“One last thing, Midoriya."

Midoriya looks back at him over his shoulder, and Mic almost looks like his usual self with the grin he’s wearing—except, it’s a little more unnerving with the way he’s peering at him over the rim of his glasses.

“Do you know what ‘I’m gonna rail your cunt’ means?”

Midoriya hesitates. He knows some of the words, but not the important ones that make the sentence meaningful. He shakes his head.

“No, sir.”

Mic’s smile grows wider, before he shakes his head, gesturing for Midoriya to go ahead with his shower.

.

Now that his body has realized how late it is and how long he was training for, he feels exhausted all at once. The water seems to be trying its best to lure him into sleep, and it is quite tempting.

After his shower he wraps a towel around himself and walks back to the lockers to get dressed. He’s in the middle of setting the towel down to slip on his underwear when he hears a soft sound—too subtle for his drowsy mind to parse immediately, but pointed enough to catch his attention. He glances around for the source of the noise, and in the same millisecond he realizes it was a laugh he spots Mic watching him from the shadows.

“Way to be alert, hero.”

Midoriya jerks his towel back up to his chest, fumbling to fasten it around himself with one hand while Mic approaches faster than he can figure out what the fuck is happening.

“You don’t like my class as much as All Might's,” Mic says matter-of-factly. “I put a lot of effort into my lessons, y’know.”

His face doesn’t reflect what he’s saying; there’s no trace of hurt, or anger or disappointment, just that same intense stare and grin. Yet, there’s no teasing quality to his voice, either.

“I do!” Midoriya spits, unsure if it’s out of politeness or fear. He takes a half step backwards for every two of Mic’s forward. “I’m just bad at English.”

“Ah, yeah,” Mic agrees. “Your last test came back pretty bad!”

...It did? He thought he’d actually done well on that one.

The amount of adrenaline pumping through his veins has his blood rushing painfully hard against every part of his body—yet, he doesn’t want to assume the worst of his teacher. His mind half convinces him that 'oh, this is about grades. That's important enough to interrupt someone getting dressed for. Yeah.'

He doesn’t run, but he does keep backing away and adopts very defensive body language, hoping that at some point Mic will get the idea that he’s uncomfortable if he curls up enough, tilts his head down, and averts his gaze.

“I know you guys hate all my quizzing, but I think you could use the extra credit!”

Mic finally stops about arm’s length away. Midoriya’s leaning so far back against the bench that he loses his balance and has to just sit down on it. He keeps his chin tucked, but stares up at Mic with wide eyes, subconsciously squeezing his legs together.

“So, I’ll make my last phrase a little easier for you…”

Mic leans down towards him, and it finally clicks in Midoriya’s head that no, he’s not just being paranoid or sensitive—this is wrong.

”I’m going to fuck you."

His stomach drops into ice.

Midoriya lurches to his feet but Mic grabs him by the arm and shoves him back into a sitting position. Midoriya squirms against his grasp, but as he’s trying to twist away and raises a hand to pry Mic off him, Mic lowers his lips to his ear and growls through his teeth, “I could end your hero career right here. Don’t even think about using your quirk.”

Midoriya freezes. Mic licks the shell of his ear before pulling back, looking quite satisfied at this. Midoriya’s eyes dart around the room as his breathing becomes frantic and uneven, lungs torn between hyperventilating and bursting into tears.

He can’t run, Mic’s quirk works from a distance, his feet are wet, and he’s naked. He can’t fight, even if he wanted to; Mic could accidentally kill him just with a cry of pain.

Can’t run... Can’t fight...

“No!” Midoriya squeals in between heaving gasps. His head feels so light he thinks he’ll topple over at any second. “Please, I d—”

“Is that any way to talk to your English teacher?” Mic chides as he reaches for the button of his pants.

“Wh—" He then switches to English, "No!"

“Good!” Mic praises, and for a second Midoriya’s blood pressure drops a fraction. “But nah. I’m pretty ticked I had to come all the way out here to get you, and you have a nice ass, so…”

Mic pulls his dick out of his pants. It’s riddled with piercings, and somehow that scares Midoriya even further. Maybe it just makes him think how this was always lurking under his teacher’s heroic facade, just like a bunch of scary metal studs beneath his clothes. Midoriya’s not even old enough to get piercings like that himself...

Mic's stroking himself and stepping closer. Midoriya wants to wake up. Wants this to be a nightmare that ends before the worst of it comes. He wants to fall out of his body. He wants to melt into the floor.

If he was trembling any harder, he’s pretty sure it would qualify as convulsions.

"I don't have to tell you how bad an idea it would be to bite me, right?" Mic puts his foot up on the bench, standing over Midoriya's lap as he holds his dick in front of his face.

His mind is blank. This isn't like an encounter with a villain—there's no one to protect, no backup coming, he's naked for fuck's sake—he doesn't know what to do. He squeezes his eyes shut and turns his head away, but doesn't get very far as Mic grabs a fistful of his hair so tight he can't move.

"Open up!" Mic chirps, yet seems perfectly content to rub the head of his cock all over his face instead. Midoriya shudders as he nudges it against the fat of his cheek, rubbing up and down and in circles—flooded with the urge to scream, to thrash, to cry and bite and kick.

But he stays still, so rigid every part of him aches. His jaw is shut tight, lips pressed into a firm line as a Mic runs his cock over them. He goes over each multiple times, back and forth leisurely.

"Come on, you never shut your mouth this long…"

He prods at the corners of his mouth, rubs against them in intense small circles. It's much more effective than Midoriya would like; he's never able to press though his lips entirely, but he manages to part them enough to draw out some saliva, especially when the ring at his tip nudges between them.

Midoriya is clutching his towel to his chest so tightly he can't even feel that arm anymore. His stomach is so tight he feels like he's going to die. Part of him welcomes it; he doesn't want to be here.

Mic then thrusts forward, his cock bumping his nose and smearing precome on the ridge of his brow as it slips up against his face. Mic grinds it between his pelvis and Midoriya's cheek as he humps his face. Midoriya can feel the way Mic's skin drags against his own, the gliding metal studs, his balls tapping against his chin with each upward thrust, a mound of wiry hair whenever his cock slips out of place. His mind is in searing, white hot pain. He can feel these sensations carving their way into his brain, never to be forgotten.

The way it feels, the way it smells, the sounds Mic is making as he does it, the fingers knotted in his hair… He already knows that, if his heart doesn't stop in the middle of this (and it might, based on how hard it's beating and how much it hurts,) that one day he's going to be trying to live his life only to be haunted by the sensation of a cock shoved against his face, of all things.

His extremities are freezing, even the tips of his ears feel like ice, but his torso is burning hot as he trembles, legs straining in unnatural ways that would give him a cramp in any other situation. He feels a headache beginning to form where Mic is tugging his hair to keep him in place.

Apparently his dick slips out from between them one too many times, because Mic draws back just enough to grasp the base between his forefinger and thumb and deliver a series of quick slaps against Midoriya's face with it. Humiliation and anger tingle painfully across every inch of Midoriya's skin, beginning from his stomach. He grits his teeth hard, trying to focus on the creaking sound of his jaw.

The contact only dully hurts when concentrated in one area too long, but occasionally one of the metal studs catches his cheekbone, making Midoriya flinch quite uselessly in Mic's grip. The sharper pain brings reflexive tears, which break the dam—his lungs spasm with barely restrained sobs, tears pushing their way through his clenched eyelids.

He hadn't wanted to cry. His lips quiver, making it quite hard to keep them pinched together, while his jaw occasionally cracks open a fraction with a wail it desperately wants to vocalize. His shoulders bounce and chest heaves with silent, choked down sobs. As if his body needed more tension.

"This would be over a lot quicker if you'd just open your mouth..."

Mic seems perfectly content to ignore his tears, carrying on battering Midoriya's face with his cock. If anything, he seems enthused, picking up the speed so that he's practically beating off against him. He moves away from his cheek closer to the center of his face, so that his slaps land partially against his mouth.

In his head, Midoriya toys with the idea of just opening his mouth, just to end whatever torment this is.

Mic groans impatiently, but it just comes out needy. Suddenly, the member assaulting his face is gone.

"Hey, Midoriya, how do you say 'beg' in English?"

Midoriya stays quiet, knowing his cock is hovering just in front of his face, waiting.

"Come on." His cock hits his face again. His nose stings so much from the blow that he doesn't even feel the scratch that the circular ring at the tip leaves on his brow. His cries ramp up another level, a whine emanating from his throat.

"You're gonna get fucked either way. Might as well pass your test too."

Midoriya's mind is eager to latch onto a silver lining.

And he really, really wants Mic's cock to stop touching his face.

"...Be—ghk!"

He's promptly rewarded with a cock inside his mouth.

He doesn't shove it down his throat, at least; still guiding it with his fingers he rubs it around; down against his tongue, or up along his inner cheek, stretching it outward.

"There we go," Mic draws out, sounding quite pleased in multiple ways.

Midoriya almost gags anyway, just out of sheer disgust. He tries to withdraw with tongue as much as he can, but that just seems to give Mic an ample platform to rub his tip against. He then tries flattening it instead, but it allows him to grind a greater length of his cock along it.

He settles for withdrawn.

Midoriya's not sure this is better than just letting him hump his face (or rather the outside of his face, because that's very much still happening.) It doesn't hurt as much, but letting him use his mouth for pleasure is just as humiliating, he thinks, just in a different kind of way.

His jaw aches from how wide he has to hold it open to avoid scraping his teeth against his dick. He's surprised the way his piercings click and catch against his teeth doesn't put Mic off more; it seems like it would hurt. Each time Midoriya feels that circular ring touch his back teeth he has the impulse to bite down on it.

Drool runs down his chin, trailing to his chest. He weeps around Mic's cock as he thrusts it against his inner cheek, his whimpers occasionally interrupted as Mic shoves it a little too far in what might be an attempt to silence him. The tears on his cheeks are starting to itch in places but he's too afraid to open his eyes and doesn't want to chance touching Mic to wipe at them.

"How do you say…” Mic trails off to think, “...'pulse' in English?"

"...Pul-thh." he answers as well as he can while crying with a dick in his mouth, careful as he forms the 'p' to not bite him.

"Mm. What do you do to cool something off?"

"...Blow."

"If a building has electricity, you could also say it has…?"

"Power."

Midoriya isn't oblivious to what he's doing; the answers all force him to seal his lips fully around him or flick his tongue against his shaft—but it's easy to pretend that it's unrelated to the way Mic thrusts into his mouth with each answer.

Just extra credit. Not pleasure.

"Good!" Mic eventually praises, entirely condescending. "Now, wrap your lips around it and suck."

Midoriya's stomach drops, wincing at the thought. He shakes his head as well as he can in Mic's grip.

"Aw, kid, you were practically already doing it before!" Mic insists. "Just like when you made a 'b'."

He tugs on his hair and wiggles his length around in his mouth, tapping it against his tongue as he continues his coaxing.

"Come on, just suck it. Suck it. Suck my dick."

"Just once. Just suck my dick. Just the head?"

"It's not that hard. Just suck me off. Do it."

Midoriya sobs around him, keeping his jaw stretched wide open. Tension ripples through his body, feeling a strong, reckless urge to bring his teeth down—and an awful, aching helplessness because he knows he can't.

"Hey, if you make me come now, maybe I won't fill up your pussy instead!"

He's going to—?

The wave of nausea that floods him accompanied by Mic thrusting just a little too far into his mouth makes him gag, and bile flows over his lips before he even knows what's happening. Mic withdraws as Midoriya hunches over in a coughing fit, idly wiping away the vomit on his cock with his thumb. Midoriya's head swims as he finally opens his eyes again, feeling disorientation like he just got slammed back into reality.

He really doesn't have the energy to spare for coughing. He forces himself to stop, allowing the remainder of the bile to just burn at his throat. He finally moves his numb arm to scrub at his chin, neck and chest with the towel, staining the white fabric with a sickly yellow.

"Alright, if you can't handle your oral exam, fine. You've got other holes."

Mic steps forward again as Midoriya takes heaving breaths, looming over him. He presses on Midoriya's shoulder, urging him back while his other hand tugs the towel away from his lap.

"How about you lay back and spread your legs for me..."

Midoriya freezes for just a moment, staring up at him in horror, before abandoning the towel and jumping to his feet to slip out from between Mic and the bench.

"No you don't!"

Mic catches his arm, twisting it behind his back as he shoves him towards the bench, exposing his back to him. Midoriya is forced to bend to accommodate Mic wrenching his arm.

"No!" Midoriya sobs as he feels something hard brush against his thighs. Mic tries to push his upper half downwards so that he's face down and ass up, but Midoriya braces his palm on the bench and locks his elbow in time to prevent it.

"Oh," Mic chuckles so darkly it's practically a growl. "You're gonna regret not making this easy for me, kid."

Midoriya clamps his legs shut as tight as he can, but it doesn't help much when he's bent so far forward, pussy poking out from between them with the incline of his pelvis. Mic's free hand slides to the back of Midoriya's thigh, thumb tugging his skin to spread his lips for him. Midoriya squirms and thrashes, but his arm is pushed further in response, a clear threat straining its way through his muscles.

Midoriya screams as Mic pushes inside, a pure, animalistic vocalization of distress, pain and protest; a contrast to Mic's soft groan. His piercings catch on his hymen, ripping through as he presses on anyway. Midoriya flinches hard, legs parting reflexively in an effort to reduce the pain, feeling much like he's being split open. He can't believe his teacher is sinking his cock inside of him. Midoriya wants to lurch away, instincts telling him to vault over the bench and run, but he only moves so far before Mic starts pulling on his twisted arm, threatening to rip it out of the socket—and before he knows it, Mic is fully hilted inside him, cock ring jabbing his cervix unpleasantly.

He freezes, trying to catch his breath with too-small lungs. He can feel his walls throbbing sharply in complaint at the intrusion. It's too big. Too dry. His thighs tremble, so hard that his knees nearly give out at times. It's unlike the fearful tremors from before; he's quite unused to having something shoved between his legs like this.

Mic's free hand grips his hip with a bruising force. "F-uck you're tight!"

If he thought pushing in hurt, pulling out is five times worse. Midoriya yelps as Mic withdraws, cock dragging against his tender insides and torn entrance, until only the head remains. Then he thrusts back in just as harshly, and Midoriya's cry takes on a slightly… different tone, much to his displeasure. Softer, more surprised. It still hurts, especially because his piercings catch on that same ring of skin again, but this time it also sends a different feeling reeling through his abdomen.

He's too breathless to even protest as Mic thrusts into him, caught between gasps, hisses, and sobs as the exact amount of pain and pleasure vary with each one. His cunt is doing its best to provide lubrication to ease the process, but it can only do so much unaroused.

Midoriya feels a sense of defeat; emptiness and humiliation stirring inside him. He's actually getting fucked, in a locker room on campus, by his teacher. He can feel his ass jiggle with each slap of Mic's hips against his skin, the sound echoing off the tiles and bouncing around the room. Midoriya's experienced a lot of unpleasant things, including public, relentless bullying over things he couldn't control, and he's pretty sure none of it was as deeply degrading as having his most intimate body parts used against his will for someone else's pleasure, while being dragged along for the ride, forced to stifle moans as he's violated by someone he thought he could trust.

He wants time to whirl by in a blur, for it to be over before he even knows it, but instead he's hyperaware of every second, every thrust, every painful jolt of forced pleasure that goes through his stomach. Every pant and gasp and groan Mic makes that fills him with a little more nausea, or fear, or anger. Sometimes it feels like it's all about to overflow, but all he does in the end is sit there and take it.

And Mic seems inclined to drag things out even more. His thrusts slow as he runs his hand up over the curve of his ass, humming a content noise behind him.

Without him pounding away, Midoriya is finally able to regain control over his lungs.

"Stop!" he gasps. "Please!"

He hates how soft and whiney his voice is, how he's moaning the words instead of commanding them.

"What was that?"

He pauses, frantically searching his overwhelmed mind. "Please!"

"Please what?"

"Stop!"

"Hmm… No, that's not right. Try 'harder' or 'keep going'."

Midoriya whimpers and hangs his head as Mic chuckles darkly, running his hand up his side. He's fucking him as if he's trying to get familiar with his cunt, like he's mapping out every crease and curve with the tip of his dick. Midoriya is overcome with the urge to crawl over the bench again, but the second he starts forward Mic yanks his arm back. It gives out a loud, threatening pop in response, and a slight pain starts to creep in a few seconds later. Mic huffs out a laugh, and fucks him just that little bit harder, like his efforts aroused him further.

Mic slides his hand underneath him to grope at his breasts, squeezing calloused fingers around them. Midoriya flinches, twisting his body to pin Mic's arm against his torso with his elbow, pressing harder when Mic pinches and tugs his nipple in response.

It's a mistake. With his arm bent Mic easily shoves him down against the bench, where he fucks him much, much harder. Midoriya's back arches, eyes rolling back as Mic pounds brutally into him now that he’s securely braced against something. He releases his arm, but Midoriya's not of a mind to make use of it, clutching at the wood underneath him until his knuckles turn white.

Mic's hands are right next to his. He's keeping him pinned down with his body, panting and grunting just behind his head as he snaps his hips fervently. Midoriya hates how well their bodies conform to each other.

Each of Midoriya's moans has an edge of protest. His cunt is throbbing, slick running down his thighs. He feels nauseous as he realizes he might actually come from this, from Present Mic—his teacher—cornering and fucking him like an animal.

He's so nauseated. The sensations overwhelm his body. Mic's thrusts jostle his insides. The stress of everything is—

He heaves, emptying the contents of his stomach onto the bench. His cunt tightens so hard around Mic’s cock that his piercings dig painfully into the walls of his cunt.

And Mic comes. Mic comes inside him, moaning against his neck and wrapping his arms around his waist, bucking into him as he releases his seed. At this, Midoriya retches again, his vomit flowing over the edge of the bench and splattering onto the floor and Mic whimpers pleasantly, forehead pressed against Midoriya's back as his body inadvertently milks his cock dry.

They stay like that for a while, Midoriya laying across the bench with Mic curled around him, both panting hard. He trembles, head pressed into his arm so that he's not laying in his own puke. Any trace of that building orgasm is gone, and he's not even sure whether he came or not. He’s too exhausted to cry like he wants to.

Mic pulls out, releasing a hot flood that runs down his thighs. Midoriya slowly sinks to the floor until he's sitting, head still buried in his arms upon the bench. His cunt feels quite different; irritated and sore, and... stretched out. An awful reminder.

"Fuck," Mic hisses, "that was good."

Midoriya doesn't even flinch.

He hears shifting fabric, then a zip. "Get cleaned up and let's head back to the dorms."

The idea is almost laughable. Midoriya doesn't see himself moving for a very, very long time, if ever again. The image of a very tender space, flooded with a sticky white that has a very good chance of ruining his life forever, is burned into his mind.

He hears Mic's boots clacking against the tile, getting further, then the creak of the locker room door.

"Hurry up, or I might decide to come back and ruin your asshole, too."

The door shuts.

That gets him moving.

.

Late, late, late.

Late for curfew. Late for school. Late for his period.

He doesn't want to buy a pregnancy test. He can't be pregnant—he's 15! The universe can't be that cruel. It wouldn't make him deal with that after making him quirkless, after the bullying, after all the villain attacks, after… Mic. Nothing is that cruel. It's too much.

But time drags on. He waits on pins and needles for three more days and it keeps being late and eventually his panic outweighs his mortification at having to walk into a store and buy a pregnancy test.

He stares at the box for hours. He doesn't use it. He's not pregnant—he can't be. So he sets it aside, shoved in the back of a drawer that’s promptly slammed shut.

    He gets out of bed and takes it at 3AM.

.

.

And he cries.

[7-wonders]

Like an Animal

Summary: Duncan finds himself in big trouble when he gets trapped in an elevator with you the night before his shift and in the midst of his heat.

Word Count: 3504

A/N: WEREWOLF DUNCAN SMUT Y’ALL! If you guys like listening to songs I listened to while writing this, I would highly suggest listening to ‘Closer’ by Nine Inch Nails. Enjoy!

It’s risky and downright stupid for Duncan to be out right now, but he had no choice. There just had to be a paperwork crisis at work that he had to deal with, and he’s ‘lucky’ to live close enough to work that he can easily run in and sign the paperwork instead of the company sending a courtier with his apartment. At least it’s a quick fix, allowing Duncan to slip in and out of the building when everyone but the janitors have gone home for the evening.

He pulls his jacket tighter around him as he steps out into the cool night, body automatically responding to the sight of the nearly-full moon hanging low in the sky. Before the bite, Duncan never paid much attention to the time of the month. Why bother, when his assistant was always able to remind him right before whatever commitments he had to deal with? After the bite, Duncan became meticulous when it came to dealing with his schedule. After all, he’d most likely be locked up in a mental institution if he asked his assistant to track the moon so he could plan around his shifts.

Most werewolves were fortunate enough to only have to go through a shift. They would take a couple of days off of work, drive out to a secluded place where there’s no one around for miles, and allow the beast to have control of their bodies. Some chained themselves up in solitude, while others embraced the ‘gift’ that was lycanthropy; they would join in packs, drinking and eating and partying while they shifted. Alphas, however, are different. Seeing as how the future of the pack depends on them, the Alpha goes through both a shift and a heat to allow for multiple chances at reproduction.

Alphas don’t turn during their heats, but the beast is as potent as it is during a shift. Those with mates can hide it well but others, like Duncan, take a few additional days off so as not to accidentally hurt someone or lose control. Duncan, unfortunately, is an Alpha. Even worse, he doesn’t have a mate. Devastatingly, his heat syncs up during the full moon this month.

Needless to say, he’s hustling to get home. Duncan even skipped taking an Uber to and from the office, figuring it’s quicker to walk the short distance between home and work. The cold air does wonders for his flushed skin and sweaty palms as he begins his walk, even with the moon calling to him. Thankfully, the streets are largely deserted tonight. Even with these small blessings, Duncan’s more than ready to go home and finish riding out his heat by himself.

Somehow, Duncan makes it to his apartment’s elevator without seeing another soul around. Harshly pressing the button for his floor, he watches his reflection come together as the doors start to close.

“Wait, please!” A voice calls from outside the doors. A sneaker appears between the pieces of metal, forcing the doors open again and allowing you to slip inside. Duncan tenses at the sight of you, but remains largely unbothered until he breathes in your scent. Then, he realizes that he’s in trouble.

Although you’re human, your pheromones call to him like none he’s ever smelt before. It certainly doesn’t help that you’re clad in only a tank top and running leggings, the sweat from your workout only increasing your scent output. The effect your scent has on Duncan affects him like a drug, making him dizzy with lust. His canines start to lengthen in response, and he has to grit his teeth to keep from reaching over and marking you right where you stand.

You go to press the button to your floor, but pull back when you notice what floor is lit up.

“We live on the same floor.” You note cheerfully, smiling at Duncan. He shoots you a tense, tight-lipped smile of his own.

“How convenient.”

“I’m (Y/N).” You say after a moment of silence. “I just moved in last week.”

“Duncan.” He responds, glancing at the LED numbers as he wills them to change faster. “You shouldn’t be running at night, you know. You never know what might be out there.”

You laugh, a sound that strikes Duncan as melodic.

“And you do?”

“More than you would suspect.”

Damn this elevator, of course it slows down when he needs it to go faster. Duncan’s almost ashamed at how painfully hard he is now, after barely having a full conversation with you. The longer he spends in this small lift with you, the more difficult it is to restrain himself and act like everything is normal. It’s largely silent until the floor below your destination, when you decide to speak again.

“So, what do-” A gasp interrupts your question as the elevator shudders, a harsh groaning sound accompanying the movements. It grinds to a halt, the lights flickering before going out. It’s pitch black for mere seconds before the emergency lights flicker on, painting your face in a red glow. You’re looking around in fear, questioning how long it’s going to take before you’re rescued, but Duncan only has one expression on his mind as his eyes widen.

He’s fucked.

Duncan has to bite the inside of his cheek in order to hold back the growl he can feel rumbling in his chest. This is, arguably, the worst possible situation for him to be in right now. His inner monologue is interrupted when he picks up on your panicked breathing, the protective alpha nature in him pushing aside the side of him that wants nothing more than to fuck you like it’s his last day on Earth. You’re sitting on the floor, back pressed against the wall as you try to ground yourself. Your arms are wrapped around your knees and your eyes are shut tight while you try desperately to control your breathing and not freak out.

“Hey, (Y/N), look at me.” Duncan speaks softly, crouching down to be on your level while still keeping his distance so as not to make you freak out more.

“H-how long do you think it’s gonna take for someone to fix the elevator?” You question, still keeping your eyes shut.

“It shouldn’t be too long now.”

He’s lying through his teeth; he doesn’t have a clue when anybody’s going to come across the broken elevator and call for help, but he doesn’t want you to go into a full-blown panic attack. You nod, breathing out harshly through your nose as you repeat to yourself that it won’t be too long.

“Duncan?” You call, making the man hum in acknowledgement. “I know we literally just met, but would you hold my hand? Please?” It’s now that Duncan realizes he would hang all the stars in the sky by hand if you asked him to.

“Only if you open your eyes for me. Can you do that?” It takes you a moment, but finally your eyes flutter open and Duncan smiles softly. “Hey there, gorgeous.”

“Hey.” You say shyly, tightly gripping his large hand between both of yours.

“Why are you so scared? Nothing’s going to happen to us.” I won’t allow it, he thinks to himself as he studies your face.

“I don’t like being stuck in enclosed spaces.” You mutter, eyes glancing around the elevator as if to prove just how small it really is. Checking your phone to see if there’s any service, you huff and slam it down onto the ground next to you. “Dammit!”

In all honesty, Duncan’s starting to echo your hopeless sentiments. The longer your hands are clasped around his, the harder it is for him to control himself. Although it hasn’t been an exponentially long time since Duncan was bitten (maybe a year and a half, if he does the math right), he’s still never feared the beast taking over him like he does right now. He’d never hurt you of course, he can’t even bare the thought of you being hurt, even if you did just meet. When Duncan stands and pulls you up with him, you remain silent, but your confused look tells a different story.

“I’m getting us out of here.” He declares, begrudgingly letting go of your hands.

“What? How the hell are you going to manage that?” Your voice drips with bewilderment, but it’s better than the panic you were previously experiencing.

“Just trust me, okay?” He’s half-expecting you to shake your head and call him crazy. Instead, he’s pleasantly surprised when you sigh before nodding.

“Okay. I trust you.” Duncan bites his lip, hiding a smirk as he turns to face the large doors.

It’s entirely too easy for Duncan to pry open the doors of the elevator, the screeching sound of the metal causing his sensitive ears to ring in pain. He only has to use a small fraction of the supernatural strength with which he’s gifted, and he can practically sense how in awe you are over the entire thing. The lift stopped in between floors, but there’s enough of a gap that you and Duncan will both easily be able to get up onto the floor you both live on.

“Come here, I’ll help you up onto the next floor.” You’re still extremely confused, but you do as he says regardless.

Duncan places both hands on your hips, whispering in your ear for you to ‘jump’ so he can help you reach the floor. He’s mildly impressed with how strong you are, barely needing to keep you suspended in the air while you lift yourself onto the floor and out of the elevator. After catching your breath and standing up from the carpeting that makes your skin feel like it’s crawling, you turn around to help Duncan out of the elevator. Instead, you stumble back with a gasp when you see the man already towering above you.

“How’d you get out of there so fast?” He chuckles, straightening his jacket on his lean figure.

“Just adrenaline, I guess.” Duncan can tell that you’re not satisfied with that answer, but you leave it alone for now. “Where do you live?”

“Eight fifteen.”

“I live in the other direction. Guess this is it.”

Duncan would be lying if he said he was relieved that this is where you part ways. Although it’s probably a good thing, considering his current ‘condition,’ he wants to get to know you more. Even if he hadn’t originally been drawn towards you for your scent, your alluring personality is more than enough to keep him coming back. Unfortunately, now is really not the time to hold a conversation with the object of his infatuation.

“Guess so.”

“I’ll see you around, (Y/N).” He turns to go, more than ready to lock himself in his apartment and pretend that his hand is yours for the rest of the night, but your quiet voice stops him.

“I’ve met others like you, you know.” Duncan stiffens, slowly facing you again.

“Others...like me?” Glancing around to make sure the hall is deserted save for the two of you, you move closer to Duncan.

“Werewolves.” You whisper, causing Duncan’s blood to run cold.

It’s a split-second, rash decision that he makes when he grips your wrist and drags you towards his apartment. In this moment, he’s not thinking about you as a potential mate. He’s thinking of you as a potential threat. It’s a little irrational, of course, but he’s so close to his shift that it’s mildly difficult for him to think rationally.

“How do you know about werewolves? You’re not one.” Duncan hisses after you’re both safely in his apartment and away from any possible prying ears.

“An astute observation, Duncan.” You note, smirking.

“Now is really not the time for jokes. How do you know about werewolves?” He repeats, watching you flinch at the deep growl that rumbles in his chest.

“My childhood best friend and her family were werewolves. I spent so much time with them growing up that they trusted me enough to tell me their secret.”

“Born or bitten?”

“Born, all of them.” Duncan hums, biting his thumbnail; a nervous habit he’s never been able to shake.

“How were you able to tell so easily?” He asks finally.

“You all act the same around the full moon, whether you were born a wolf or bitten and turned to one.” Your confident facade quickly changes when Duncan steps closer to you, trapping you against the wall as he leans his arms on either side of your head.

“You’re so knowledgeable, little human.” Duncan mutters, watching intently as your eyes lock with his. He shouldn’t be teasing you like this, but he honestly can’t help himself anymore. He’s been around you for far too long with no sort of resolution, and he needs something. Friction, affection, tenderness--he needs you. “Tell me, since you know so much about werewolves, do you know what kind of werewolf I am?”

“Hopefully not the kind that eats people?” Duncan smirks, shaking his head.

“Not what I meant. In every pack, there’s three different parts of the hierarchy. The alpha, the beta, and the omega. Betas and omegas are basically equal in the pack hierarchy, and they share many of the same characteristics. Alphas, however, are the leaders. The protectors. The one who the longevity of the pack depends on.”

“So you’re an alpha, then?” You squeak. The tension in the room is nearly electric, both of your chests heaving as you face each other. He can tell that you’re wracking your brain, trying to remember the werewolf history that your friend must have told you growing up. “It’s not just the moon for you.”

He’s pleased at how fast you catch on; apparently they taught you well.

“Not this month, unfortunately.”

It goes unspoken what Duncan’s currently going through, but even if you weren’t aware of his Alpha nature, the blown pupils and hungry way he stares at you would have given you more than enough visual clues. You’ve never done anything like what you’re currently considering. You’re not even sure why this is an idea now; it could be the chemistry that you’ve felt from the moment you stepped inside that elevator, like two magnets of opposite polarities being pulled towards one another. Maybe it’s how kind he was to you after the elevator had stopped, helping a near-stranger who was trying not to freak out. It’s also impossible to deny just how damn attractive he is. You run out of time to ponder the reasons behind what you’re about to do when Duncan leans in and presses his lips against yours.

The kiss is everything Duncan thought that it would be, your soft lips easily parting to allow him access to your mouth. Your hands wrap in his hair and tug him closer, and he moans loudly when you grind against him. He nips at your bottom lip in response, causing you to pull away with a giggle.

“What?” He questions, only slightly hurt that your reaction to making out with him is to giggle.

“You bit me! Do I need to roll up a newspaper and whack you on the nose with it?” Duncan rolls his eyes, but your contagious giggles soon have him laughing too.

“Dog jokes, how original.”

“I’m sorry, I just couldn’t help myself.” You blush, leaning your forehead against his.

“And I can’t help myself either.”

You shriek when Duncan lifts you up, your head as he carries you over his shoulder to his bedroom. He playfully slaps your ass before tossing you on the bed, both of you feverishly removing your clothes. Since you didn’t have much on to begin with, you lean back and watch as Duncan’s surprisingly muscled body is revealed to you. Duncan looks at you knowingly when your jaw drops at the sight of him, already fully erect and with precum beading at his swollen tip. He hates to sound conceited, but he knows how well-endowed he is. A full seven inches and thick enough to make any woman (or man) tear up at the mere thought of taking all of him.

“You, (Y/N), are a vision of perfection.” Duncan crawls towards you, laying you back against the pillows while he savors getting to kiss you again. The blush that paints your face when he pulls back to look at you could rival the most pink and vibrant sunset he’s ever seen. His hands ghost across your bare abdomen while he travels down your body, laying a path of hot kisses along the way.

“Duncan, don’t tease.” You whine, shuddering when his icy blue eyes meet yours while he’s situated in the valley of your thighs.

“If you insist.” With that he dives down between your thighs, slowly sucking on your clit.

He knows he’s being a bit of a jerk as you arch above him, desperate for him to speed up his movements. Duncan licks a stripe from your clit down to your entrance, circling it with his tongue a few times. You taste incredibly sweet to him, and the moans he makes against your core at finally getting to taste you have you crying out in pleasure. Not willing to stop eating you out but wanting to actually get to experience his own pleasure, he places his thumb against your clit and starts rubbing shapes on it.

“Duncan, please!” You cry, throwing your head back against the pillows.

You’re seeing stars at this point, and Duncan’s painfully hard against his own thigh while he works on drawing out your first orgasm. He switches his fingers and his tongue, sucking on your clit while humming the tune of his favorite song. It’s only a few more moments before you come undone above him, yelling out his name and grabbing the bedsheets with your fists. Duncan surges back up to kiss you, and you moan at the taste of yourself on his lips.

“Hands and knees, (Y/N).” Duncan mutters against your lips, sitting back on his knees while you eagerly get into the position that he asked of you. His eyes roll back in his head when you teasingly wiggle your ass for him, turning your head to give him a cheeky smile. “Don’t tease.”

You laugh before falling silent, watching with rapt attention as he rips open a condom package with his teeth and quickly rolls the material onto his length. You’re suddenly a little nervous, which Duncan immediately picks up on.

“Hey, if it gets to be too much, just tell me to stop and I will.” You nod, smiling to reassure him.

“I’m ready.”

Duncan places his hands on your hips, pulling you back towards him. He caresses the swell of your ass with one of his large hands before using it to guide his length to your entrance. You gasp when his thick head pushes past you, clenching your eyes shut at the feeling. He goes slowly, carefully thrusting inch by inch until he’s fully sheathed inside of you. Duncan’s already sweating, trying to focus on anything to keep from cumming early.

“You’re so fucking tight (Y/N), gonna make me cum before we even start.”

“Duncan, please move.” You moan loudly, head falling against the bed when he pulls out before thrusting all the way back in.

Duncan sets a brutal pace that has you clenching a pillow between your teeth to muffle your screams, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing off of the walls. He’s growling above you, and you gasp when you look over your shoulder to glimpse at him. His eyes are bright red, the color that denotes an Alpha, and his canines have elongated to fangs. You should be scared, but instead you’re even more turned on, a fact that has Duncan smirking.

“Oh, please don’t stop!” You cry, the rough thrusting dizzying you. Duncan pulls you up so that your back is against his chest, one hand on your hip while the other cups one of your breasts. The new angle makes you actually scream out loud, which Duncan responds to by sliding his fingers in your mouth.

You cum first, keens slipping out around his fingers while you shake in his grasp. Your eyes roll back into your head as you go limp, the pleasure of your orgasm jolting through you. Duncan continues rutting into you deeply, growling louder than you thought possible while he fucks you through your orgasm. Finally he comes as well, and you’re shocked at the disappointment you feel that he didn’t get to cum in you. You both collapse against the bed, Duncan removing his condom and tossing it in the trash before pulling you against him.

“So, wanna go on a date sometime?” Duncan jokes, loving how it feels to have you laughing against him. If he has it his way, you’ll be laughing against him for a long, long time to come.

Tag List: @khaleesimel @sammythankyou @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @langdonslove @heda-mikaelson @readsalot73@jimmlangdon @sebastianshoe @let-me-try-mom@trimbooohgodplsnoooo @pastel-cloudz @nana15774@queencocoakimmie @lichellaw @ultragibbycentralworld @grim-adventures58 @dolceandchalamet @dandycandy75@alexcornerblog @everything-is-awesomesauce @ccodyfern@wroteclassicaly @lvngdvns @langdonsdemon @trelaney @rocketgirl2410 @your-daddy-langdon @starwlkers @michaellangdong 

[aflowerinthecosmos]

Lexapro: One Year Later

I’ve been to therapy at two different points in my life. The first time was as a teenager during my parents divorce and the most recent one following my PTSD diagnosis at age 20. Each time was very different than the other. When I was a teenager I was forced to go to family therapy with my parents and siblings due to a court order. Having an audience and varying personalities made it counter-productive. I couldn’t share my feelings. The most recent attempt was the first time I sought help voluntarily. I met with a psychiatrist and therapist to develop a program that could help me cope with PTSD. The medication I was prescribed made me nauseous and I felt more on edge than ever. I soon became paranoid that it would cause me to have suicidal ideations and I quickly stopped taking them. I wasn’t too fond of my therapist either, which I believe is crucial to your recovery. At this point in my life, I had little to no coping or communication skills. I wasn’t taught how to deal with things. I didn’t even know how to begin. I stopped going to therapy and I spiraled, hard and fast. I had a mental breakdown at work. I called my older sister who thankfully came to get me. I felt like PTSD took over my life and I let it. My job at the time only exasperated my symptoms, so I quit and ran to the easiest, non-demanding job I could find. At the same time I researched PTSD and how to treat it. I put in a lot of effort to build coping and communication skills on my own. Practiced whenever possible. I got hobbies. Filled my time with reading self help books. For a couple years, this was enough for me to start feeling comfortable with my own mind again. I could never shake off the feeling that I wasn’t fully me anymore. I had changed. PTSD does that to you. I was diagnosed with PTSD in August of 2014. Reflecting back I had been exhibiting symptoms since late 2012.

In 2017 I started to feel off again. My birthday was coming up, and for many years I hated my birthday but never understood why I did. It was until I realized that my birthday was a trigger. Probably my strongest one because it was neither a place or person that I could avoid. I tried unsuccessfully to find a therapist. I couldn’t find anyone that was accepting new patients or accepted my insurance. The harder I tried and failed to find professional help, the more it negatively affected me. I confided in a loved one that I was spiraling again. Their reaction was the exact worse case scenario anyone with a mental health issue fears when talking to someone about it. I went over the edge and attempted that night. After my trigger had come and gone, I felt like I was on the up tick again. A new fear loomed over me now. What if I end up spiraling again? The coming year I did better, but triggers are triggers for a reason. 

2018 ended in the worst ways imaginable. I decided to end my stable life that I had created in the past 4 years and begin a new. I could feel myself ripping at the seams. It was a turning point for me. I had this moment of clarity in the midst of chaos, I can either let myself break and spiral out of control or I can go to therapy again before this gets any worse. I decided on the latter.

I loved my new therapist. I loved my new psychiatrist. I felt understood. I felt heard. I felt supported. I started taking Lexapro on December 22, 2018. My talk therapy helped immensely, but I wholeheartedly believe it was Lexapro that saved me. For a while I thought I had a grip on my symptoms and rarely noticed them anymore. I told my psychiatrist that perhaps I just had anxiety because I no longer have my normal symptoms. I sat there for an hour trying to convince this professional that I had anxiety not PTSD. I’m not always the brightest bulb. At the end of our conversation she hit me with what was the hardest reality I’ve ever swallowed. Surprise, surprise I still had PTSD. If anything it was getting worse, my symptoms changed which is why I no longer recognized them. I wanted to run out that office to cry, or scream, maybe both. I think she recognized this on my face. She was sweet. In her softest motherly voice, she told me that I should start seeing this as a long term illness and I may have to be medicated for the rest of my life. I hurt myself by thinking this was something that I could “cure” like a cold or flu. 

I was afraid in the beginning as to how this would affect my life, my relationships, and my job. DId I have to disclose this information to them? At what point when I start new friendships, or a new relationship for that matter do I tell them I have PTSD? Would they see me as crazy because I required medication to be a functioning human? The stigma around mental health issues and medication weighed on me. I kept my medication a secret for a long time. I only told a select few in my inner circle. I focused on healing in private. 

I was surprised by how much I enjoyed Lexapro. In the beginning I had some annoying side effects that I could live with in the grand scheme of things. I grinded my teeth in my sleep and I was drowsier than usual. I bought a mouth guard and slept a little more. I started off with 5mg for the first month. I started to notice a difference within the first two weeks. I no longer had sweaty palms, I no longer felt a constant sense of anxiety. It was more sporadic now. I was grateful for the moments of calm. After the first month was over, I moved up to 10mg for another month, then went up to 20mg. Going from 10mg to 20mg was the hardest transition. I felt so drowsy and my teeth grinding was incessant. I started to fall asleep during meetings, in the middle of conversations, and the most horrifying, driving. I quickly emailed my psych and we brought me back down to 15mg. The side effects quickly improved. I stayed on 15mg for another two months before trying 20mg again. This time my body handled it nicely like it had the other increases. 20mg is where I’ve been ever since. 

It’s been almost a year that I’ve been on Lexapro. I feel like the person I was before PTSD took over my life. I’m the me I always knew I was underneath the mental health issues. A lot of my personality has changed. Some personality quirks I’ve come to know these last couple of years have all but vanished. I never realized that these quirks were symptoms of PTSD that I passed off as my personality. It probably helped me cope that way. Some of my quirks were being jumpy, non-confrontational, socially awkward, and shy. Since I was a child I have always been a confident, unafraid, social butterfly that demanded attention. I’m a Leo after all. I’ve also become less emotional. This is something new for me as I’d always been known as a cry baby or sensitive. It has its advantages and disadvantages. I don’t display emotions as much as  I normally used to. It doesn’t mean I’m incapable of feeling, there’s just not always a corresponding external reaction like before. I’m more sure of myself than ever. I trust myself. This is something I never realized I lacked. The biggest positive impact Lexapro has had for me has been the kindness I’ve been able to feel for myself. I’m no longer so self critical of myself. I accept my flaws and my shortcomings. I don’t beat myself up. The same understanding and support I gave others I now give to myself. My self esteem has flourished. I could go on and on about all the things I’m grateful for since deciding to try medication again. But, the biggest take away is that I’m finally free. 

[canyousevmyheavydirtysoul]

Bodyguard II: Familial Ties (Part I - Chapter 11) (Brendon Urie x Reader)

“You run extensive background checks on all of your agents. You knew about this.”

“It was more suspicion than cemented knowledge, Agent,” The Director’s hologram answered with a tilt of the head and a raised eyebrow, “Your father was a genius. Covered his tracks exceptionally well. There’s virtually no record of your family history. For all I know, you probably don’t even exist.”

Brendon, who was pacing up and down the conference room, waved a dismissive hand. “But you knew.”

Fury straightened his posture and raised his head so that his eyes looked down on his currently disarrayed agent. “I assumed. And I made the choice to take you in because I saw great potential. One of the best decisions I’ve ever made.”

Brendon only offered a nod in response, his mind still spinning as he tried to fully come to terms with the new information regarding his genealogy. Fury, noticing that Brendon was unusually anxious, decided to put his mind at ease.

“Brendon,” he started with a firm tone; the use of his first name and not ‘Urie’ or ‘Agent’ made Brendon turn every ounce of his attention to his boss, “the very best of you, the parts that everyone admires and most people fear – that has nothing to do with no mutant gene. That’s one hundred percent you. Don’t let this mess with your head. Things will only change if you allow them to – you’re the one who has full control over your life; don’t hand that control over to the gene. ‘Cause if you do, then your father wins, and you’re better than that. You’re better than him, and you’re better than your brother. Don’t, for even a second, stop believing in yourself. ‘Cause I sure as hell never will.”

Inhaling deeply and rubbing his hands over his tired face, Brendon nodded his head to show that he understood. In that moment, The Director had said exactly what he needed to hear, and he had never been more thankful for the man.

“Thank you, sir,” he breathed shakily.

“Don’t mention it, son,” Fury spoke softly, before once again firming his tone, “Now, get rid of that sentimentality – it’s unbelievably uncomfortable for me to see you so sensitive. Bring me my ominous agent back.”

“He never left, sir,” Brendon informed, and just like that, he switched back to his usual, ice-sculpture state, “So what should I do with the prisoner?”

Fury scoffed and shook his head lightly. “Don’t ask me. This ain’t even an official, S.H.I.E.L.D-sanctioned mission, Agent.”

“Right,” Brendon cleared his throat.

“Although, off the record,” Fury cocked one brow and smirked somewhat, “While I’d appreciate having The Phantom Warrior under S.H.I.E.L.D surveillance, locked away where he can’t hurt anyone… I do understand the abnormal circumstances. So,” he looked at Brendon and gave a curt nod, “you do whatever it is you need to do, Agent.”

~

“So he literally gave his blessing for you to murder the guy?” Dean scoffed, face showing his blatant disbelief.

“Pretty much,” Brendon replied with a bored voice as he rummaged through the cabinets in the kitchenette in search of the last of the protein bars.

“Are you gonna do it?” Dean pressed, leaning forward from his seat on the countertop; he was far too invested in the situation.

“No.”

“Can I do it?”

“No,” Brendon groaned, sighing happily when he found the snack and working his fingers along the packaging to open it. “No one is killing anyone today.”

“Aw, but I’d do such a good job,” Dean all but whined, angrily knocking his dangling leg against the door of the counter.

Brendon took a bite from the bar, chewed and swallowed it before answering. “I know you would. And believe me, I hate him. I want to kill him, and I probably will. But not yet.”

All three of The Hounds temporarily halted their respective movements – swinging their legs, chugging down a beer, tossing a baseball against the wall – and turned to exchange worried glances between them. The day that they had dreaded for the past four years had devastatingly arrived.

“You’ve gone fucking soft!”

Brendon’s jaw immediately stopped working to chew the protein bar, and his head snapped in the direction of Rollins to deliver an inexplicably evil glare.

“I have not,” he hissed venomously, “gone fucking soft.”

“Dude,” Dean chuckled giddily, readily nodding his head in a show of support of his friend’s bold exclamation, “You’ve gone soft.”

Brendon squinted his eyes and ran his tongue over his teeth. “Yeah?” he asked softly. “How about we head downstairs to the sparring room and then we’ll see just how soft I’ve gone?”

“Hey, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Rollins soothed, stepping forward as he arched his brows and held his hands up in defence, “Happens to the best of us at times.”

With his patience wearing thin, Brendon drew in a deep breath, looked up to the ceiling and skewed his mouth to the side. Once he was able to get his temper under control, he looked at each agent in turn.

“Please… do not come for me like that again. Else the only murders I’ll be committing will be yours.”

~

Mason was unequivocally dumbstruck, watching with the utmost attentiveness as Brendon loosened the restraints around the assassin’s limbs as The Hounds stood in battle formation behind their colleague, ready and willing to attack should the need to do so arise.

“What’s this?” he questioned with a frown, hesitant to make any movements for fear that he’d misinterpreted the situation.

“Alright, listen to me and listen well,” Brendon sighed, raking his fingers through his hair, “What I’m about to do goes against all of my better instincts and to be quite honest, I have no idea why the hell I’m about to do something so stupid.”

Mason perked up noticeably, chancing an upward curve of his lips. “You’re letting me go?”

Another sigh from the brooding agent.

“Much to the dismay of the three gentlemen standing behind me,” Brendon gently cocked his head in the direction of The Hounds, “yes. But not without conditions…”

Brendon stalked forward, radiating intimidation, and forcing his brother to lean back into the uncomfortable chair as he rested his hands on his shoulders.

“You run. You hide. You disappear. You don’t go back to working for Hydra and if you do, I will hunt you down and I will kill you,” Brendon threatened, his heavy stare looming over the older Urie. Mason could tell that his brother was as serious has he’d ever been and he dared not challenge him.

“And,” Brendon continued, “you do not – under any circumstances – ever try and insert yourself back into my life, in any way at all. If you do, I’ll kill you even worse. Nothing has changed between us, Mason. You helped me, yeah, but I still feel nothing for you. And I will never forgive you.”

Nodding slowly, Mason relayed that he understood. He had something to ask, though, and even though he knew that he was in an incredibly volatile situation at present and his upcoming inquiry could cause it to take a turn for the worst, his arrogance took over and he couldn’t stop himself from speaking.

“Then why are you letting me go?”

“Because I know you’re bound to fuck up at some point, and I take great pleasure in knowing that you’re out there sleeping with one eye open, knowing that when you do,” Brendon stood up straight and took a few steps backwards, giving the tiniest of smirks, “your little brother will show up to kick your ass even worse than our father did. Get rid of him.”

Brendon tossed a glance at The Hounds, and the three agents obediently started for the assassin.

“You can deny me all you want, Bren,” Mason called after his brother, who was already halfway out of the door, “but you’ll always be my little brother.”

  ✧ ✧ ✧

 The next day.

“Still think that you made the biggest mistake of your life,” Ambrose drawled, spinning around on an office chair.

“Still didn’t ask for your opinion,” Brendon replied, not lifting his gaze from his laptop, most likely engaged in some form of electronic correspondence with Dallon.

Roman and Seth entered the room then, with Seth taking a seat across from Dean and Roman walking over to the mini-fridge to grab a couple bottles of beer and distribute them to the rest of the guys.

“Alright, boss,” Seth clicked his tongue and took the beer that Roman held out to him, “We dumped your dickhead of a brother in the furthest, most remote corner of the planet. What happens now?”

Brendon pursed his lips and exhaled through his nose, scanning the screen to read over the last message he’d received from Dallon before averting his attention to The Hounds.

“I have no fucking idea.”

The room went silent after Brendon’s admission, with each agent being just as bewildered as the next. They’d spent the better part of a year on this mission, and now that it was over, the complications of it all finally sank in.

“Okay, I’m gonna go out on a limb here,” Ambrose broke the silence after a few minutes, throwing his arms out as a haughty look swept over his face. “How about we – just hear me out, here – how about we do the unthinkable…” he trailed off for dramatic effect, biting his lip and holding up one finger before delivering the punch line, “And go back to HQ.”

The Lunatic suddenly leapt up out of his seat, gasping loudly and mockingly covering his mouth as if he’d just said something unmentionable. Seth rolled his eyes at his friend’s teasing and hurriedly shoved him back into his seat.

Brendon readily shook his head to show his distaste over the suggestion. While it was the usual protocol to return to S.H.I.E.L.D HQ after every mission, the unconventional way this mission had come to be left Brendon with a great deal of problems surrounding his return home.

“No,” he said, “I’m not ready to go back yet.”

Each of his colleagues nodded in understanding, and Roman offered a solution to their current ‘in limbo’ predicament.

“I’ll make a call to The Director,” he spoke, already moving to the next room, “see if there’s any operations we can consult on.”

Brendon nodded to show that he was on board before looking at the laptop screen, sighing and slamming it shut.

✧ ✧ ✧

 Three months later. Moscow, Russia.

“…I mean, I think that he’s just nervous, ya know? And with good reason, too,” Seth scoffed, sitting in the passenger seat of the SUV, with Roman in the driver’s.

Unseen by both of the men, their fellow Hound had just rounded the corner into the alley they were parked at the end of, waving his hands and shouting in an attempt to get their attention, as a group of angry henchmen chased after him.

“START THE CAR!” he yelled, waving his hands wildly, “REIGNS! ROLLINS!”

Seth and Roman were far too engrossed in their conversation to hear the muffled shouts of their friend from outside.

“I don’t know, uce,” Roman thinned his lips and shook his head, casually leaning his arm against the inside of the car door, “I think the sooner he gets back, the better.”

“START THE CAR! START THE FUCKING CAR!”

“Yeah, but can you imagine the shit that’s gonna go down when he does?” Rollins arched his brows and leaned forward a bit, “Like-“

“START THE MOTHERFUCKING CAR!” Ambrose screamed as he threw himself forward, the top half of his body crashing through the backseat window, startling the other two and finally kick-starting their reactions.

Roman started the car immediately and tramped on the accelerator just as the henchmen opened fire. Fortunately, Seth had pointed his Glock out of the window and got some fatal shots in, himself, allowing them to get away.

Dean groaned in pain as he manoeuvred the rest of his body into the backseat and shifted himself up amidst the shards of glass.

“Nice to know I can always count on you assholes to act quickly,” he said sarcastically, groaning some more as he picked pieces of glass out of his reddened skin.

“Hey, you’re alive, aren’t you?” Seth quipped, briefly glancing back to make sure that his friend was, in fact, okay.

Dean snorted. “Barely.”

There was a resounding thud that echoed through the car – a sound effect to accompany the sudden dent on the roof of the vehicle. Seth and Dean immediately drew their weapons, aiming them at the windows and the roof, ready to attack.

Then, the other backseat window was smashed, as Brendon swung from the roof and into the car feet-first.  

Sighing in relief upon seeing that it was only the fourth agent, Rollins and Ambrose lowered their guns.

“You’re a bit too late for that to be awesome, dude,” Dean scoffed, holstering his weapon, before pointing to himself and nodding, “I did it first.”

“I did it better.”

Dean’s smug smile turned into a frown and Brendon shot him a wink before leaning forward and patting Roman on the shoulder.

“You might wanna floor it, Reigns. I wasn’t exactly a polite guest.”

Roman shook his head and mumbled under his breath. “The fact that we’re all still alive amazes me.”

Brendon was about to respond with a snarky remark, but the ringing of his cell cut him off. Checking the caller ID, he breathed out tiredly before answering.

“I know I’m miraculous, sir, but another mission already?”

“Brendon, this isn’t about a mission.”

The Director’s voice had an underlying tone of worry to it, and that coupled with – once again – the use of his first name, brought Brendon to full attentiveness.

“What’s wrong?” he asked firmly.

The response brought Brendon’s entire world to a standstill.

ᴇɴᴅ ᴏғ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪ

_______________________________

Thank you for reading x

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[inkbun]

What if Sombra got into a heated argument with her S/O but before they can settle it out they get called on a mission. Things go south and her S/O almost dies and gets amnesia?

Ooh, I liked writing this one. Doing everything but the amnesia part for the sake of time, but if you send a follow-up reminder I’ll write a sequel. Enjoy! 💔

(Warning: *Very* slight gore and drug mentions, if you’re sensitive to that sort of stuff)

Sombra

Words: 1,860

Genre: Romance, Angst & Tragedy

“You lied to me, Olivia,” you snarled, dashing your tablet on the table. The screen cracked, but you hardly cared. “I trusted you, and you screwed me over…again.”

“I didn’t lie,_______,” snapped Sombra, violet eyes caught between fury and fear. 

She reached out to you, touch pleading. You swatted her away. 

No matter how much you wanted to trust her—no, needed to—she found a way of screwing things up. At first, it’d been minor slip-ups: a shady infiltration here, a wetwork operation there. It was grey as hell and heinous in spots, but you didn’t sign up for Blackwatch to be a moral paragon. 

After all, you’d sought her out like bees after honey. Forget that you’d made a rule against sleeping with your colleagues, having turned down both Lena’s and Jamison’s advances before. 

She was technicolor bright, had you wrapped around her manicured finger from the first “Hey there.”

Brilliant, playful and menacing—it was a combination you’d never run across before. Her laugh was intoxicating, vanished all good sense and thrust you into her web for the better part of eight months. 

Things were a little disjointed—she had a habit of sneaking up on you during work, and your schedules were out-of-sync due to last minute missions.

Still it progressed, the two of you declaring yourselves exclusive two months of dating. 

Four months in and you’d saved her life during an omnic ambush at Petra—it was the first time she said “I love you.” You stayed with her in the infirmary until she was better, made it a point to volunteer for her missions whenever they had an extra spot. 

Though relationships were officially forbidden between agents, Sombra made a point of kissing you on the dropship before and after each mission. “Para la buena suerte,” she’d say, tapping a finger against your lip.

Six months in, she shattered your heart. 

While you didn’t approve of the “side hustle” excursions she did for Commander Reyes, it never took her away from you for more than three days. So, when she disappeared for a full week on a recon mission with no comms contact, you assumed the worst. 

You asked around for her, going so far as visiting the younger Shimada for intel. No one saw hide nor purple hair, widening the pit of loss in your chest to a cavern that left you dazed. You’d just begun to grieve, bawling quietly in your room until she unexpectedly returned to base.

Except she wasn’t your Olivia. 

For starters she was blonde, augments switched from purple to pink. She was twitchy and short, bouncing from gleeful to irritated in the span of minutes. 

When you asked where she’d been, she answered with a cryptic “away,” before distracting you with vicious kisses that backed you onto your bed. 

To your shame it worked, sheer relief of having her home outweighing your curiosity. 

That is, until a baggy fell from her go-bag when you were cleaning your quarters. 

It was packed with white powder, a pink sugar skull on the front. You secretly took it to the lab, ignoring Dr. O'Deorain’s scowl as you handed over the suspicious packet. Her accented voice told you what already knew. 

“Cocaine—Los Muertos product by the looks of it.” Shaken, you confronted Sombra, hoping she had a good explanation. 

She did. “A party favor from Don Galano, nothing more,_________. I couldn’t get the intel Reyes needed without a show of faith.“ 

You believed her. Sombra wasn’t a Girl Scout and you weren’t a fool. 

Los Muertos was a serious international gang and her connections were a great source of intel for Overwatch. Still, you didn’t like how quickly she’d resumed that dangerous persona. 

The ordeal blew over, though she insisted on finishing the Muertos’ coke and keeping the blonde hair. 

Discomfort lodged in your chest until at last you turned to her one night, pulling her close against you. Trembling, you pressed a kiss to her forehead; your words came out choked. 

”Promise you won’t take as many risky missions, Liv—or at least tell me before you do? I can’t lose you.“

“I promise, mi cielo.”

And then she did it again. 

This one cut you to the quick, hurt compounded by the “cover” she’d assumed. Reyes sent Sombra and McCree to intercept a Talon-bound weapons shipment ferried by Deadlock. Jesse was playing prodigal son, supposed to ask for an “in” on a courier mission to prove his loyalty. 

Olivia played his girlfriend, leveraging her notoriety as Sombra to lend some credibility to the farce.

You knew this not because she told you, but because you happened to pass by the Blackwatch control room on your way to the R&D wing. Genji, O'Deorain and Reyes were huddled around a screen, headsets on as they monitored the situation. Backup teams were on standby to bust the deal, but the Deadlock leader was skeptical of Jesse’s loyalty. 

“You show up outta nowhere and expect me to believe you, Jess?” said the portly man, hand fingering a revolver. “I don’t. Now your lady here—she’s different. I’ve seen what she can do.”Reyes’ voice rung out, jolting your terrified trance. “Sell it, Colomar. We need those weapons.”

So she did. You heard her speak the words, your heart caught between betrayal and worry for her safety—Deadlock wasn’t known for their mercy.

“And I’ve seen what he can do,” she rasped, trailing a finger down Jesse’s shoulder. “If I didn’t think he was back for real I would’ve shot him myself. He’s got my stamp of approval, O'Toole…”

Sombra trailed off, turning to face McCree. You had a good idea where this was going, had seen that same heavy-lidded gaze leveled at you so many times before.

“Don’t, Liv—please,” you whispered, not caring if anyone heard you. They didn’t, and neither did she. 

Sombra closed the gap and kissed McCree, looping her arms around his shoulders as he took her hips. 

It was enough to break you. An inhuman noise ripped from your throat, grabbing Genji’s attention. 

You scurried away before he caught up, ignoring cries of “__________, come back!”

She doesn’t care, she doesn’t care… The miserable song kicked in your head for three days, visions of her slung around McCree enough to make you ill. 

Mission or not, you hated that she was so quick to ignore the one request you’d made of her. Her refusal to tell you about the mission coupled with her kissing Jesse ached something awful.

Reeling from the hurt, you stormed 76’s office and accepted the first high-risk mission you could, bypassing his concerns with a growled,“Do it.”

Sombra’s voice tore you from your thoughts, brought them back to the woman who’d carved your heart out. “I told you, it was part of the mission and I couldn’t tell—”

“Just stop!” you shouted, slinging your go-bag over your shoulder. Furious tears wet your cheeks, belying the little composure you’d maintained. “The coke I could get past. I wasn’t happy about it, but I got why. As long as you don’t pick it up again, I’m fine. But fucking McCree? He’s been after you for months and you jump at the first opportunity to pose as his girlfriend?”

“He’s not been after me…” she started, shadow of guilt on her face.

“You’re many things, Liv; stupid ain’t one of ‘em. After you, interested in you—however you put it, he wants sex and you dangled it in front of him without a goddamn thought for how I’d feel about it…you didn’t even tell me where you were going. Again.”

Sombra’s worry hardened to outrage. “You think I’d cheat on you, __________?”

There it was, the question that haunted you at the bottom of the wine bottles strewn around your room. You looked at her—your Olivia—and remembered the flutter you’d felt the first day you saw her on-base.

She’d winked at you, tongue caught between her teeth in a silent chuckle. 

An angel, you’d thought, inquiring after her just as soon as you could. Standing here now with a chasm between, you realized just how much your opinion soured since then. You held her gaze, answering with the only truth you knew.

“I don’t know.“ 

You were halfway out the door when Sombra managed to speak. “Where are you going?”

“Does it matter?” you quipped, tired of the ache whenever you were around her. “Either way it’s away from you.”

With that, you were off to Jakarta.  A war zone since the omnic uprising, 76 sent you, Tracer, and Roadhog to retrieve an encrypted archive lodged in one of the overrun Overwatch research stations. 

He told you it’d be rough, but that was an understatement. It was a shitshow, the three of you spotted by omnics as soon as you touched down. 

Roadhog’s shrapnel gun kept them at bay while you picked them off with a pulse rifle. Tracer eliminated whatever you couldn’t down, the three of you clearing a smoke-filled path to the lab. 

Sure you were reckless, and no you didn’t need to bash that omnic’s head until you saw circuits, but there were no medals awarded for being merciful.

All was going well until you breached the archive door. Taking point, you used your decryption kit on the biometrics and walked in. Whether it was your team’s success up to this point or the tide of emotion from your fight with Sombra, you weren’t paying attention. 

So, when your foot tripped an omnic trap and activated a bot shrouded in the darkness five feet away, you didn’t notice.

But you sure as hell did when it slammed its fist against your head. You yowled, aiming your gun at the attacker. The damn thing was fast, stomping its metal foot on your ribs before you could block. 

CRACK! 

Your vision went white with agony, smeared by blood from your head wound. You wailed, jaw strained by the scream of pain.

Roadhog hooked the bot, shooting it point-blank with his shotgun. It fell dead but you didn’t care—your ribs were broken and you were clawing for breath. 

Tracer was immediately at your side, radioing for emergency evac clearance and a triage team. With another shuddering inhale came a white-hot stab of pain as you felt something pierce you. 

The air fell out of you, failed gasps burning your chest as it collapsed under the puncture.

Your vision went black at the edges as you felt a big pair of hands scoop you up, fading further as you saw Tracer race ahead to reach the dropship. Ceding to the lack of oxygen and trickling blood loss, you welcomed the black oblivion. 

In it, you saw a pair of violet eyes and her wry smile.

[some-cookie-crumbz]

I think we all want you to share all the NSFW Galra Keith headcanons now >:D

Lol! Good to know y’all are just as nasty as me! Most ofthese are going with Keith still being half Galra but presenting much more ashuman, but they really aren’t any different than they’d be if he was fullGalra. The only thing that would really change if he was full Galra would besome specifics about his height/ their size difference, so do with thatinformation as you will.

And, as I mentioned before, since I like to be consistent,these are all things you’ll probably notice in any potential fics I write whereKeith is half/ full Galra. I haven’t decided if I’ll include smut in Time, Space and Everything Between yetbut I might still write smut based in that world so a lot of this will probablybe stuff you’ll see if/ when I do! ;3c

LAST WARNING THATTHIS GETS REAL KINKY SO PLEASE PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK!!

So, first things first, Pidge accepts that she is a Furryonce she realizes that she’s in love with and physically/ sexually attracted to Keith. She isn’tsurprised about the whole xenophilia aspect of it because, well, Pidge alwaysknew that she’d be interested in alien life forms once she found them. Butbeing attracted to a giant purple cat man? She wasn’t expecting that so much,but she just kinda rolls with it.

Also, she does admit she kinda likes the way his sharp teethgraze with just enough pressure to threaten breaking the skin but knowing thathe wouldn’t. And she loves it when he bites a little rougher into the meat ofher thighs when he goes down on her, because he uses enough force to bruise andfuck does she like that sight later on.

Now, what about size kink? In my Kidge NSFW Headcanons? More likely than you think!

Because Keith is only half Galra, he doesn’t grow to be astall or bulky as a lot of other male Galra, but he’s still really tall and abit bulkier. This is a little less true in AUs where he’s full Galra but he’s still kind of a runt in those AUs in my head so he’s not too much taller than her. Like, even after puberty and the last of their respective growthspurts, Keith is still a full head taller than Pidge, so she only comes up toabout his shoulders. She will happily admit that she likes how much bigger andtaller he is than her; especially considering that she can still dom theever loving shit out of his smitten Galra tail.

When Keith and Pidge have been together for a decent amountof time and the topic of them getting physically intimate gets brought up,Krolia and Kolivan swoop in to give them each a little lesson on Galra Sex Ed.Krolia talks with Keith while Kolivan takes Pidge.

Krolia spends her time mostly explaining to Keith that,while humans and Galra are sexually compatible – I mean, Keith is a fucking thing?Huge piece of evidence – humans are a little bit more delicate than Galra are.She doesn’t exactly go into detail, but she does admit there were a few…Incidents between she and Keith’s Dad when they were figuring it out forthemselves. She reassures him, though, that as long as he’s mindful they’ll befine. Additionally, she admits there’s something that makes the intimacy betterknowing there is that difference in durability because it shows a special levelof trust and security with each other.

This helps reassure Keith because he had a fear that he might seriously hurt Pidge.

Meanwhile, for Pidge and Kolivan… Things go a little bitdifferent. Kolivan decides to discuss with Pidge that Galra go into heat/ rutcycles. He explains that they are not only extremely vulnerable in theircycles, but that they tend to run more on instinct than rational thought,though rational thought will still appear and can be used for importantdecisions for certain situations (i.e. if there’s a threat by Zarkon’s forces).Ruts can last for as short as 48 hours or as long as a full week, depending onthe Galran, and occur once every four Earth months so he forewarns her to beprepared for that.

Needless to say, the talk with Kolivan leaves Pidge a bitconcerned about what could happen. Not for the reasons you might suspect, but we’ll get to that in a hot second.

They have sex a couple of times before Keith ever has a rutwith Pidge around, and my normal head canons apply here. The two bigdifferences, which tie directly into one another, are Keith’s ears. A sure-fireway to get Keith to melt into her hands is to lightly trace the base of one ofhis fluffy cat-like ears with her nails. This will always result in him lettingout a rumbling purr-like noise and turning into putty in her hands.

Another much smaller difference is that Keith has a bit ofextra fur in some places. There’s a small patch that covers almost all of hischest – he even has a lighter patch in the center that Pidge swears looks like alittle star – and he has a tail. The extra fluff as well as the fur on his tailare extremely silky soft, much like the fluff on his ears, and Pidge loves tosnuggle up against his chest and run her fingers through it or play with andpet his tail. Keith absolutely fuckingloves it. Keith may also make use of his tail a little when they have sexbut hey that’s just what you do when you’re a kinky alien boy with a kinkyhuman girlfriend right?

Also, Galra dick? Somewhat similar to human cocks – though she’swilling to wager they’re a bit thicker and longer than human ones - but thereare a few little grooves along it that start just below the head and go downabout 1/3 of the length of his cock, as well as a knot at the base. Pidge givesthe sensation of them grooves an A+++, best thing ever, holy shit she loves thefeel. She also learns that while the head of Keith’s cock is a little less sensitivethan she expected, the grooves are actually the more sensitive parts. She exploitsthe Hell out of this at any chance she can get.

So, back to that whole rut thing…

So, Keith is around when it’s coming up and lets Pidge know so she can decide how she wants to proceed, because he says that he’ll respect whatever decision she makes. Pidge becomes a little bit concerned because, the way Kolivanpresented the information to her, Keith was basically going to become abrainless sex monster. And she isn’t exactly sure how she feels about thatidea. Like, she likes it sometimes when Keith gets a little aggressive in bed,but the idea that he won’t be himself? She’s not really into the idea of Keithnot being himself. Because, ultimately, that’s what she likes about their sexlife; that it’s the two of them being genuine and authentic in who they are ina very intimate situation. She decides, though, that she wants to experience this with him because she knows this is a big thing for him and she’s decided that she loves him and wants to make things between them work.

She’s pleasantly surprised when, instead of becoming abrainless sex fiend, Keith being rut-horny just makes him more publicallyaffectionate and needy.

Like, she’s in the kitchen making herself an almost-bagel,standing at the counter while talking to Hunk, when all of a sudden Keith’sarms are around her waist and he’s pressing himself flush up against her anddipping his head to nuzzle ay her neck. Pidge drops the knife she was about tostick in the jar of pseudo-peanut butter and tenses immediately, her brainwhirling towards about three hundred different ways this could go, but then shefeels him slacken his grip a bit and lift his head at her tensing up. He tiltshis head to look at her better and, while his bright golden eyes are a littlehazy, she can still see very clearly that he’s still Keith and he looks worriedabout upsetting her.

And she feels absolutely relieved to see that Kolivan wasreally just preparing her for the worst case scenario. She relaxes into hisgrip and reaches up to gently combs her fingers through his hair, until her fingersglide up to reach his ear and she lightly rubs behind it. He releases arumbling purr so loud Hunk hears it and mumbles a soft “Aww,” under his breath,as none of the others have heard him get like that before.

“You hungry, Keith?” *Pidge makes sure to keep her voicequiet and gentle as she asks, continuing her ministrations.*

“Mm-mm… Just want you.” *Keith, eyes sliding shut indelirium and pressing closer. He tips his head a bit again and gently nuzzlesthe top of her head.*

“Can you go back to our room and wait for me while I make mybreakfast?”

*Quiet whine.* “Do I have to?”

“I promise I’ll only be a minute.”

*Keith let’s out another small whine but releases her,pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head, and then heads back to theirroom.*

*Pidge calmly picks the knife back up and finishes preparingher food. She pauses briefly to grab a little bag of what is essentially drycereal and two juice pouches as well.* “Hunk, can you let the other’s know I’mgonna be busy for at least the next 48 hours?”

“Um… What?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll probably be able to sneak away to comeget more food later, but just let the others know not to expect me around for awhile. Sometimes a girl just has to take care of her horny alien boyfriend.”*She flashes him a wink and then heads off herself.*

*Hunk is left there a blushing and sputtering mess, thoughhe does end up delivering her message to the rest of the team later. Hestutters and stammers the whole way through.*

Pidge heads back to their room to get to business. And, as shewas already aware, Keith being rut-horny makes him more affectionate and needy,but it also makes him much more subservient than usual. He only acts as sheinstructs him to when things start getting really heated, which is a bit of a surprise but not necessarily an unpleasantone. Pidge takes control for the first couple of rounds, just so that she can geta feel for how he reacts to things when he’s like this, but then she starts letting himtake charge and do things a bit more as he wants and that is certainly a funexperience too.

Keith gets a little bit rougher, but not to an extent thatshe’s afraid he’s going to hurt her, and is also super affectionate while hedoes. Like, he’s over her, rocking into her firm and fast with one arm aroundher waist to bring her closer to him with a sharp snap of both their hips, but hehas his head dipped into the crook of her neck, mumbling praises and littlekisses against her skin. Like, is she a bit sore after the rounds he helms?Yes, but it is the best kind of sore imaginable.

Also, in regards to the knot and knotting as a whole, Galraonly knot their partners when they’ve agreed to be committed mates. So while hedoes enjoy and get worked out by the sex they have while he’s in rut, he doesn’tactually knot Pidge because he doesn’t want to assume anything about theirrelationship.

The first rut lasts for just shy of three days. Thankfullyenough, Zarkon and the Galra aren’t particularly active during that period oftime so they don’t have to deal with any interruptions, which they agree is a benefit since this is the first time they’ve dealt with this together.

After the first time being with him in a rut, Pidge investsin some more things for them to make use of. She may purchase a collar andleash for Keith, too, and buys a pair of cat ears for herself more as a joke.Keith would be offended if he didn’t think she looked cute in them.

Also, remember that double-sided strap-on I mentioned may ormay not be a thing? Pidge may invest in some alternate strap-ons that are a bitmore similar to Keith’s cock just to see how he likes feeling what he does toher mwahahahaha.

Also, there are a few instances where Keith goes into rutand they get interrupted midway by Zarkon’s forces. Because duty calls, they’reforced to pilot and form Voltron, but Keith goes completely nuts. He is takingdown ships and darting here and there like a lunatic; additionally, he willconstantly intervene if Pidge starts getting swarmed by ships because he is NOT letting anyone mess with his girl.

Additionally, post-sex while he’s in ruts, he wants constantcuddles and affection, which Pidge is happy to grant him. She’ll snuggle upwith him and mumble in his ear about how good he made her feel and how luckyshe is to have him and he just… Gets flustered and hides his face into hercollarbone or chest, but he’ll also wrap his tail around her waist or her legsto let her know that he likes it.

Small Side Notes ThatAren’t Necessarily NSFW but Belong Here

Keith doesn’t knot Pidge until after they’re married and shespecifically tells him she wants him to. Pidge is absolutely blown away by howgood that feels and Keith wants to almost kick himself for not asking Pidge tolet him knot her sooner for both their sakes.

This is a bonus side note I had to include, but Keith willsnuggle up and purr quite for the Kidgelings when they’re babies and start tofuss. Pidge thinks it’s the sweetest thing and has hundreds of pictures savedof Keith with each one of their kids at some point when they were babies.

[glassbangtan]

Pink Prince {Park Jimin}

Words: 3007

  Summary: You and Jimin decide to dye each others hair.

  Genre: Fluff

  Notes: masterlist – enjoy :)

***

    “You're going to burn my scalp.”

   “You've said that fourteen times since you sat down, and I haven't even finished with the mixture yet.”

   “I'm just pointing out what's going to happen. There's absolutely no way we're getting through this without injury. You know what happened last time.”

   You winced, stifling the urge to chuckle; Jimin was complaining again, a thing he did far too often whenever it came to you doing your job.

   Well, technically this wasn't your job; dyeing his hair was more of a thing you chose to do whenever his stylist and management were feeling generous. It was cheaper, saying as you never asked for money in exchange for doing so, and you weren't exactly the worst at getting the job done.

    But still, you would be lying if you said Jimin didn't have some right to be a little bit wary. Whilst you had done this twice before, both times had ended with Jimin's scalp burning, the colour turning out wrong, or hair dye dripping into his eye.

   Still, you refused to back down.

   He sat in front of you now, legs folded in front of him with a towel draped loosely over his white button-down shirt. His hair was an orange colour now, but would soon be shifting to a baby pink that he had chosen himself, claiming it would go perfectly with the soft aesthetic that was the Spring Day music video.

     Of course, upon hearing that he was changing his hair colour, you were the first to jump in and offer up your services.

    “I still can't believe they're letting you do this to me,” Jimin continued to grumble as you stirred the hair dye in the small pot you had been given. “I was nearly blinded last time. My eye was swollen for days.”

    “I told you to close them!” you exclaimed, reaching over and swatting the back of his head. He pouted, shooting you a sideways glance. “It's not my fault you trust me so much. I was at least being realistic and looking out for your safety.”

    “Still doesn't change the fact that I was nearly blinded.”

  You rolled your eyes, an amused smirk appearing on your lips as you finally finished up with the mixture. It didn't look like much when you looked down at it, but the colour at least seemed right – a nice, soft pink. You could imagine Jimin with it in his hair – if things went right, this could very well be a legendary style for him.

    Although, he suited most hairstyles, so you really weren't all too surprised.

   “Alright, are you ready?” you said, approaching the back of the chair. Jimin stiffened immediately, sitting upright and clenching his hands in his lap. You noticed his feared posture, gently placed a hand on his shoulder in any attempt to soothe him, though your own nerves were eating away at your system as you did so.

   Despite the laugh you always had whenever you were assigned the task of dyeing your boyfriends hair, you never set out to make a mess of it all. Although you would never admit it, the only reason you really asked for the job was because it meant you had an extra few hours to spend with him. With his busy schedule, it was rare he had time for more than a quick chat with you before he was being ushered away to do something else entirely. He kept in touch with you through text, made sure to cuddle you extra during the night, but it would never be the same as speaking to him face-to-face.

    This was the best you could get.

   “Don't be nervous,” you said. “I think this could be the one. This could truly kick off my hair dressing career.”

   “Just put it on,” Jimin groaned, though there was an undertone of humour to his voice as he said so. You grinned, finally taking the plunge and dipping the brush into the hair dye, before smothering the first layer onto his locks.

    He yelped, the cold surely seeping into his scalp and making him shiver. You winced as you watched it melt into the strands, making contact with his pale scalp in a way that you could only assume was irritating. You had always admired how he could do this so often – at least twice a comeback, he would be dyeing his hair, and that didn't include re-dyeing. You often watched with a scowl on your face, making an internal prediction as to when his hair would finally give up and fall out.

    “How is it?” you asked, leaning forward to get a look at his face.

   He took a glance at you, his teeth gritted. “Please don't make my hair fall out. I'm still young.”

  You nodded, pulling back and continuing to lather the hair dye onto his hair. “I'll keep that in mind.”

    “Have you actually ever have your hair dyed before?” he questioned.

   “I have not,” you replied, saw him stiffen in front of you. “Jimin, we've been together for three years. It's no secret that hair dye makes me uncomfortable.”

   “Not even when you were younger?” he asked.

   “I wasn't exactly a wild child, either.” You raised a brow. “Why are you asking? Do you not like my natural hair colour?”

   Jimin scoffed, swivelling around in his chair to look at you. As he did so, the brush swiped across his cheek, spreading a thin line of hair dye across his cheekbone. You giggled, but he wiped it away, ran his finger along your jumper to get it off. “You know that's not what I meant. I love your hair. I was just wondering if you actually had any experience with this kind of thing.”

   You grabbed his shoulders, span him back around so you could continue with your job. “Well, you'll be happy to hear that I have absolutely zero experience and am currently winging this.”

   He groaned. “You could have given me the benefit of the doubt.”

   “That would be lying. After three years, we should know not to lie to one another at this point.”

   Jimin was silent for a moment longer. You continued on with the job until his hair was completely covered in the dye, and you stepped back to admire your handiwork. It didn't look like much at this stage, but you were fairly certain nothing had gone wrong; Jimin hadn't cried out in pain, and both of his eyes were still perfectly in tact.

    Yes. This might be your true calling.

   Jimin swivelled back around in his chair, flashing you that perfect, straight-teethed grin that never failed to make you smile back at him with just as much enthusiasm.

   “How do I look?” he asked.

   You nodded slowly, trailing a finger down one of his side burns. His hair was split down the middle, stuck to his head by the hair dye, making him look quite funny though he still managed to look handsome. The smile certainly helped.

    “Like a pretty pink prince.”

    He grinned even broader, before you noticed his uninjured eyes flicking down to the pot you had used to stir the hair dye. There was still quite a bit left, but that was always the case when it came to hair dye – you always assumed you needed a lot more than you actually did, and most of it either went to Yoongi or was thrown out in the end.

   His smile wavered slightly, shifting from one of amusement to one of mischief. Yours disappeared entirely at the look on his face, following his gaze down to the pot and frowning to yourself.

   “What is it? Did I do something wrong? Please don't tell Bang PD. We can-”

   “Sit down a minute,” Jimin said, suddenly standing up. You stumbled back, narrowing your eyes at him in confusion. He laughed, grabbing the pot of hair dye from your hands and nodding towards the chair he had just risen from. “Just sit down. It'll only take a minute.”

    You weren't stupid. “You are not putting hair dye in my hair, Park Jimin.”

   He laughed even louder then, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and tugging you into his side. “Would it not be cute, though? We can have matching hair styles! Me and Army match all the time, so why can't me and you?”

   “Because my hair is sensitive!” you hissed, swatting his hand away. “And besides, knowing me, I'll probably be allergic to the stuff and break out in hives.”

   “If you were allergic to it, we'd definitely know by now. The amount of the stuff you always manage to get on your hands when you're doing my hair would have killed you by now if you were allergic to it.”

   You frowned, knowing he was right. “Still... I don't know, Jimin. I've never dyed my hair before, and you've never dyed anybody elses-”

    “I've had my hair dyed enough times to know how to do it, Y/N-ah,” he chuckled, wrapping his arm around you again. He pulled himself close to you, nuzzling his head in the crook of your neck in that way he so often did whenever he was trying to persuade you to do something – it was the exact move he had done whenever he was trying to convince you to join him on tour. And now here you were – three months into their tour.

    You grumbled incoherently, folding your arms over your chest. “I don't know how much I trust you with the hair dye.”

    Jimin pulled away then, an overdramatic gasp leaving his mouth. “I trusted you with mine!”

   “And I nearly blinded you!”

   “Well I'll be more steady,” Jimin promised, gently taking your hand in his and leading you towards the chair – you weren't sure why you were letting him do this. You were fairly certain you would regret it in the long run, though you had to admit that the idea of having matching hair colours with Jimin was cute. Couples in Korea did it all the time, and Jimin was forever asking you to match with him to some extent, whether it be with clothing or hairstyles themselves.

    You settled down in the chair hesitantly, wrapping your arms around your middle. Jimin placed a small hand on your shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze that always managed to reassure you, even when you were at your most vulnerable.

    “Do you trust me, Y/N-ah?” he asked.

   You closed your eyes tightly, making them crease, making constellations appear in your vision. “Of course I do. You know I do.”

    “So will you let me be the first person to dye your hair?” he continued, his voice low, tickling your ear as he leaned in.

   You shivered. “Fine. Just get it over with. Make it quick.”

   He chuckled, pulled away, and it only took a few seconds before you felt the cold cream being placed in your hair. You inhaled sharply, eyes popping open in shock at just how cold it actually was – you always thought Jimin was overreacting whenever the dye made contact and he ended up nearly jumping out of his seat with the shock of it.

    “This is insane,” you mumbled. “This is why we shouldn't be left alone together.”

   “Oh, but where's the fun in that?” Jimin laughed. He was clearly having the time of his life with this, one hand holding the brush whilst the other one stayed firm on your jaw, guiding your head back and forth despite him not needing to do so. “I might have to quit Bangtan and become a hair stylist, you know. This is really looking good.”

   “You're lying. I bet I'm bald.”

    “You'll find out when I'm done.”

   “Park Jimin-”

   He leaned down, pressed a kiss to your cheek before continuing his work. “I'm kidding, Y/N. I really think you're gonna look great. And we'll be matching, so that's even better.”

   It didn't take long for him to finally step away; he was doing what you did, admiring his work despite it being in it's earliest of stages and probably looking like nothing more than a mess. You were half tempted to reach up and run your hands through the dye, as if you could get a feel for it by touching it. You didn't, though, instead sitting a little it straighter in your attempts to catch a glimpse of the work in the mirror.

   Jimin tapped your shoulder. “You can look now. Tell me what you think.”

   You didn't expect much. It was still only early stages – you wouldn't know the final outcome until you had washed it out, but that didn't stop you from scrambling out of your chair and rushing towards the mirror hung beside the door.

    You most definitely didn't look your finest. Your hair – similar to Jimin's – was flat against your scalp, weighed down by the cream that had just been lathered through it. It looked white at this point, but Jimin assured you that, once washed out, it would look exactly like the colour on the box.

   You had high doubts about that.

   Nonetheless, you turned and gave Jimin a big grin, which he returned just as enthusiastically. The two of you chose to ignore the fact that you may both have very well just destroyed each other's hair in an act of impulsiveness.

   ***

   “Y/N!”

   “Jimin!”

   The echoes came from both sides of the dorm, crashing in the centre. Hoseok shook his head, placed his headphones over his ears so he wouldn't have to hear the drama that was surely about to go down. Jungkook giggled to himself, getting back to his game of Overwatch. Taehyung and Namjoon pretended they hadn't even heard it, whilst Yoongi had been too deep in his own work to notice the echoing yells coming from the both of you.

    You and Jimin didn't even care about the volume, though. Not whenever both of you currently had a sickly orange colour running through your hair.

    You barged into Jimin's dorm room just as he opened the door to meet you. His eyebrows were furrowed together, jaw clenched, hair still wet but the mistake was obvious – you had messed up with the mixing of the hair dye, and now the two of you were suffering for it.

   You faltered upon seeing him, wincing at the unnatural colour of his locks. He had had orange hair previously, but at least that was professionally done, and was meant to be orange – the colour that you had somehow concocted with the pink hair dye most definitely wasn't meant to be orange, and now it was smothered through both your hair and his hair.

   His eyes snapped to look at your orange locks, and his frown immediately faded. He hollowed out his cheeks, putting a hand to his mouth in his attempts to cover his amusement.

   You groaned, slamming your hands into his chest. He laughed then, grabbing your wrists and tugging you with him as he stumbled back.

    “You only wanted to dye my hair so you wouldn't be alone whenever it got messed up!” you exclaimed.

   Jimin whirled you around, wrapped his arms around your middle to stop you from floundering around. “I didn't want to tell you you were mixing it wrong, babe. You were acting so confident.”

   “And look where the confidence got us,” you grumbled, going limp in his arms. Jimin pressed a warm kiss to your collar bone, letting his lips linger there in a way that comforted you, put you at ease. “I'm sorry for messing up your hair – again. I'll take the scolding from management.”

   Jimin chuckled. “I know you will.”

   “Do you think they'll ever let me dye your hair again?”

   Jimin shrugged, lips still lingering on the lick of skin exposed by the loose shirt you were wearing – a shirt that belonged to Jimin, though you wouldn't find him complaining any time soon. “I think they have a soft spot for you, to be honest. I don't think it'll take much convincing for them to let you get your hands on the hair dye again.”

   You craned your neck to look at him. He looked at you through the tops of his eyelids, refusing to move his lips away from your neck. “And what about you? Do you want me dyeing your hair any time soon?”

   He chuckled then, his warm breath hitting your skin and making goosebumps run up your arms. “It would be a pleasure to have you dye my hair again, Y/N. Why else do you think I still let you near it?”

    “Even though I mess it up?”

   He shrugged. “I enjoy your company. We have fun with it, and that's all I really care about. Besides, it gives us time to be alone for longer than a few minutes – what more could I want?”

   You stared at him in slight shock. The anger you had once felt, the embarrassment that came with once again messing up with the hair dyeing job, had faded to almost nothingness as you looked into his dark brown eyes, wondered how you had ever gotten so lucky. Once upon a time, you were just a normal person walking the streets of Busan, and somehow, by some miracle, you had met Park Jimin and everything had fallen into place after that.

   You leaned forward and kissed him. He grinned against your lips, hands tightening around your waist, and that was all you needed to do, really. Sure, you would soon no doubt be getting a scolding from management, but you could deal with that.

   As long as Jimin was by your side, you would be fine.

[bobajeongguk-blog]

el mariachi | bts mafia!au | 1

word count: 3k

warnings: will be smut eventually, may become graphic in future scenes

pairing: jungkook x reader

a/n: this is my first upload on my new blog so i’m sensitive aubrey

code name JOY, a hitman that does the job dirty, is recruited by a notorious mob, who have both respect for her, and a member that she shot two days ago

next

El Mariachi’s.

It lived and breathed as an entrance and exit to a night life of sin. The drinks bad and the people worse, the club radiated a thick vibe of released tension. But what the transgressors of society that inhabited this den didn’t realise is that they weren’t the monsters of the underworld. The bossmen were.

“You know, I happen to be an expert in fucking up faces,” you fired out to the men cuffing your arms with their veiny hands, “it’s sort of my job.”

The men with masks paid no attention, leaving your arms locked up in their own.

The back entrance to El Mariachi’s resembled that of an old Spanish villa’s, which made you chuckle humourlessly at how out of place it looked in a back street of Seoul. Each man on your side stoped dead at the front of it.

“Walk.”

With one of your free arms, you pushed on the heavy door, opening up into a room with wine red walls and mahogany furniture. A large desk, the size of a single bed sat in the middle under dim lit lamps. The edges of the room were impossible to find in the shadows.

“Nice to see you live up to the cliché here,” you smirked at the figure in the dark of the desk.

A seperate figure appeared from the corner of the room, “We keep tradition here. We pride ourselves in it. Let’s quit the small talk though.”

Again, another figured moved out of the shadows, and cocked his gun.  

You weren’t one for being frightened, let alone showing your fear, but the click of the barrel made you gulp. Abruptly, the two men who were on your arms before came back into view and cocked their revolvers in every synchronisation.  

“Some tradition. You’re Koreans owning a Latin themed club, correct me if I’m wrong,” as you retorted in your hard-to-fault cockiness, you glanced around the room undetectably, 5 men counted up. But where were the other two?

“Joy, you made an attempt at killing one of our men, but failed, and you’re happy about this?” The man lent onto his clasped hands on the desk, “Because I don’t know a great deal of hitmen who let the job go- unfinished.”

“What can I say, I’m clearly not very good at my job, nor am I a threat to El Mariachi’s members. So how about we forget my blunder and start over, with me walking out that door-“ you turned towards the door you once entered through but we’re stopped by the two masked men again.

“You’re not serious right? You dishonoured us, and I’m sure we can make some form of arrangement that doesn’t end with your tongue leaving your skull, si?”

You rolled your eyes at his attempt at fear provoking.

“You’re missing a couple men right? Is one on bed rest after what I did to him?”

It was his turn to gulp now, “He’s doing fine. I’m a good enough man to know how to treat the fellas who work for me.”

“Listen,” you shuffled effortlessly towards the desk and sat down in the opposing chair, “Im not here to make enemies with hard working guys such as yourselves. In fact I sort of respect you and you’re skills.”

“Y/n.” You shuddered at the use of your real name, not Joy as you had ironically named yourself, “Who said I want us to be enemies?”

He lent further now, and you finally glanced at his face and took a chance to relish in just how, to put it frankly, fuckable he was. His eyes were heavy lidded and sleepy, yet the pupils were more alive then your heartbeat at this point, and his lips looked far too bowed to be on a man that allowed such profanities to slip by them. His skin looked contradictorily soft and supple, save for the large scar that reached from the arch of his brow to his cheek bone. His lips parted dryly, “So, I was thinking of hiring you.”

“Hiring? Hiring me? Me?” Your eyebrows practically stitched together in confusion.

“We know how you work. We admire your work- hmm- ethic.” You smiled internally at your impressive and non harmful way of making money. What can you say, you loved fucking people around, but not enough to kill.  

“So you’re asking me to become your own personal hitman, except not really since I’m not bona fide?”  

To say you were shocked would be an understatement. You did dirty worse than most hitmen: pay half upfront, mess around with the target enough to freak them out, then never finish the job. You weren’t a killer, you didn’t have it in you, but neither were you a good person. Trouble never really came your way because, how does a criminal get another criminal into trouble?  

Snitching was the worst crime of all in the underworld. But that didn’t stop you from making a lot enemies down below.

“Sort of,” He fishes around his desk draw to look for something, “You have good gun talent, stamina, aim, steady hand. And us hiring you would create a lot of business deals since you’re so feared around here.”

You thought about becoming a part of a team, your entire life had been independent. Solo. Isolated.  

“I will consider joining on one condition.”

The man’s eyes subtly lit up, “Yes, name it,” he kept his voice steady.

“You must introduce me to all members first.”

All men inside the back room led you down a dimly lit corridor, where you could hear the amplified bass on the other side of the wall.  

“Through here. We’ll order a private booth and some drinks in there.”

Each monster, barring the one who had introduced them, still had masks on and hoods up, guns re-pocketed in their holsters as they walked through into the nightclub, El Mariachi’s.

It looked like a generic dance club, low ceilings and elevated dance floors, except at the far end was a stage, and on it was a live band playing and female dancers along the edge. It was distinctly unusual for a dance club, and everyone still moved along. You sort of wished your visit here hadn’t been a business one, just so you’d get an opportunity to go have some fun and wreak havoc.

“Later,” He whispered into your ear as he clasped your forearm and took you along with all the others to a separate curtained booth. The inside was circular and had a small table in the middle, as well as an ashtray and cigarette dispenser. Each wall covered in a mirror from top to the leather booth. You could see yourself in eight different angles. You looked flushed, but hard-faced as always. You could see why a girl as averagely built as yourself mustered up anxiety in even the mightiest of men; you had a nose ring through your right nostril, and a nick taken out of a brow that kept a scar in its place. Your eyes were darkly rimmed with kohl-Black and your lips there usual full and chapped selves.

“Please sit, y/n.”

You scooted along to the back and watched as it filled up enough for the two closest to touch you shoulder to shoulder.

“They can come off now.”

You watched as the rooms collective each reached to detach the elastic from around their ears and lower the masks and hoods.  

“I’m Yoongi by the way,” The man already known to you tells you, “I’m second in command here.”

“You mean you aren’t the boss?” The question resulted in a chuckle from the rest of the members. You were too afraid to look them all in the eye just yet, so made eye contact only with Yoongi.  

“Do you really think a boss is gonna let himself be left so vulnerable?” You looked over to where the voice came from and met eyes with a shit eating grin and crescent shaped eyes, “I go by J-Hope here, I’m a big fan of your gun work.”  

He leans in and places a kiss on your ring decorated knuckle. Your eyes roll upwards, but you smile non the less. His hair is straight and shiney, yet still messy, as if his hands spend a lot of time running through it (or someone else’s do).  

“And I’m Jin, the gang’s prettiest,” one eye is blackened with bruises, and his full lip is busted open and more swollen then they already are with natural plumpness, “And don’t mind J-Hope, he’s a little trigger happy.”

“I gathered that,” You reach to shake his extended hand and notice how muscled his forearm is. A throat clearing broke your contact with Jin as you turned to the next person. Sat to your right was a small but well built member, with a soft smile and soft eyes, completely out of place for his surroundings.  

“I’m Jimin. I drive people places and, well, get shit done.”

You’d done this long enough to know what that meant. A silent nod showed him you understood. He was well stacked enough for you to know that he had definitely got his hands dirty once or twice.  

“Sorry if we hurt you earlier, no hard feelings about the dragging around yeah?”

Rolling your eyes, finally, you turned to your left and were face to face with a man who looked to handsome to have ever needed to make money in such a wrong way. His eyes were intense and his lip had a ring going round into his mouth, his tongue absentmindedly fiddling with it.

“Taehyung. I suppose I’m their trademark robber. I’m pretty handy with a knife too.” Your mind immediately imagined him with a knife clutched in between his teeth, the sight easy to believe.

“Nice to meet you.” You shook his hand like a professional and turned away from one another. But there was one member you hadn’t met. The member you shot yesterday in the parking complex.

“What about um..” you trailed off, not knowing how to bring up the member injured at your hands.

“Jungkook. He’ll be okay. You’ll sort of be taking his place for a week, then consider your debt repaid. After that we’ll pay you for each deed done. Satisfying?”  

“How much per?”

“Two.”

“Hundred?”

“Grand.”

Your mouth made an ‘o’ shake. To the average eye, it seems like a skint amazing for such a high risk line of business, but considering how often deals come up that racks up a few thousand a week. Your mind was already made.

“So,” You sipped your drink innocently, “when do I begin?”

A half hour drive in a stretch Bentley later, you arrive at what is known as HQ. Jimin truthfully told you it’s just where they eat, sleep and train. Never anything illegal happens there. It’s sort of an unspoken rule.

All 5 pairs of eyes were on you in the drive over, watching you, calculating you, figuring you out. Jhope, Jin and Jimin were well mannered and welcoming to you, but Taehyung’s gaze on you was so burning you couldn’t help but stare back. His eyes reflected threat and warning. You squirmed in your seat uncomfortable nude his eye.

The building you arrived in front of was a warehouse style and shape, but a high up window had a dim light glowing from it.  

“So this is home,” Yoongi half heartedly gestured to the structure, “The contract for your membership is in Namjoon’s office, but I doubt you’ll want to go through all of that now. For now, I’ll show you to your room.”

You were taken aback, “I’ll be living here?”

“Yes. We need to be able to have you at hand for jobs whenever. This line of work doesn’t have shifts.”  

You shrugged and nodded it off, but in your mind, you couldn’t be more thrilled.  

Your apartment was a door down from a meth addict, a door up from a teen mother and her badly cared for baby, and directly above was a couple arguing every night.

“If you want,” J-Hope lent across to speak into your ear, “We can swing by your place tomorrow on the way to pick up supplies and grab your belongings.”

You thought about it for a while, “Believe me. There’s nothing there I want to see ever again.”

The line of you led up and into the warehouse, Yoongi flicking the switch. Lights flickered on in strips one by one across the high ceiling. Across the vast space were sectioned off areas of training equipment. A gun guard and target sheets took up a part of the wall, along with a boxing ring and punching bags, weights and gym equipment. At the far back wall there was an open plan kitchen. It was your heaven.

Jin found your taken aback expression amusing, “You like, newbie?”

“Like? This is my fuckin’ dream, dude!”

“Yeah well speaking of dreams, you gotta get rest. Namjoon hates cranky, tired people. Yoongi being his only exception,” Yoongi shrugged over in yours and Jin’s direction, “So I suggest you go to bed. I’ll take you to the empty room.”

You turned to head up the stairs and saw the remaining men already sat at their coffee table, playing a game of poker with scotch glasses.

“Night y/n!” J-Hope yelled towards your retraining body. You simply waved back at the men’s attention.

Jin took you up the dim stairs and you heard muffled voices from behind a closed door, “Don’t mind Jungkook. He has things he’s gotta sort out at the moment.”

You nodded back, Jin stopping at your door.

“Let me know if you want anything. Oh and breakfast is at 7am sharp every day. Training at 8. Don’t be late, Namjoon isn’t afraid of any form of punishment needed.”  

And with that, Jin left.

You couldn’t sleep. Your mind was racing with thoughts of the boy in the next room to you, and how you inflicted a pretty hefty bullet wound onto his thigh, just missing his kneecap. ‘I could see this not going down too well’ you twisted and turned in you sleep as you imagined his reaction when he finds out you nearly crippled him for life.

Your night’s train of thought was disturbed by your need to pee a few hours later. Opening the door softly, you crept down the corridor to the open door that held the loo.  

When you’d finished, you twisted the knob for the door and opened it and instantly walked straight into another body, your scantily clad skin making direct contact with someone else’s naked torso. Your body stumbles onto him as his falls back out of the doorway into the corridor. Your arm hit the handle on your way down, leaving a nasty cut in its place.

“Fucking hell- that’s twice you’ve injured me,” You freeze instantly from your wincing and look down at the boy underneath yours. His face is covered by a messy flop of fringe, his smile slightly crooked and slightly visible, his eyes his eyes holding as much intensity as Taehyung’s that you had looked into earlier.

“I am so sorry about the-“

“Don’t worry about it. You don’t know me. You were only doing your job, it’s pointless having hard feelings in this job.”

You blushed, a thing you hadn’t done in years, at how foolish and careless you could have been. It wasn’t like you to let your guard down and in a few short hours you had allowed yourself to team up and trust strangers.  

His face contorted into a frown as he looked down at the gash you hadn’t noticed yet, “You’re bleeding.”

“It’ll be fine, I’ve had worse,” you glanced at it nonchalantly.

“Let me help.”

You rolled off of him and jumped back up, allowing him to stretch his body up. You watched his muscles contract with each minor movement, admiring how his physique clearly showed his hard work and dedication. He was broad, overwhelmingly broad, and his back muscles were pronounced. As he bent his legs to get up, his thighs tensed and you could see the thews shift.  

His brawny arms reached up to a shelf with a box reading “first aid” on it.  

“You don’t need to do that,” you insisted, suddenly feeling sheepish.

“Namjoon will be pissed if he finds out a new recruit is already injured, much less at the hands of me,” he outstretched his hand to your arm. With delicate surprise, his calloused fingers padded lightly on your own scarred skin.

“I still have yet to meet this Namjoon. What’s he like?”  

“Not as scary as he likes to think. However you can’t outweigh his intelligence. People treat people like him as ‘nerds’, but it’s an underestimated skill,” He takes his time wiping the stray blood, “I’m Jungkook by the way. I’m a bit of a baby in comparison to everyone else.”

“My name’s Jo- Y/n, my name is Y/n.”

“You have impeccable aim and precision, but you didn’t hit me anywhere critical. Why?”

“I don’t kill. Simple.”

“You won’t be saying that for long around here.”

You gulped with dread for what felt like the hundredth time that night. He pulled the lid off a bottle with his teeth, “This is gonna sting a little.”

You chuckled at his concern, “I think I can handle it.”

The liquid stung but nowhere near as bad as any pain you’d already felt.  

“So who did you work for before us?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Don’t worry we won’t-“

“It’s a hitman rule. You never tell people who hired you, and they’ll pay half up front.”

“Yes but don’t forget you broke the hitmen rules by never actually killing,” He smirked at you. His smile was contagious enough to pass onto your lips.

“I didn’t work for anyone. I worked for myself. Namjoon isn’t buying me out of anyone, he’s hiring me.”

Jungkook’s face turned into one of surprise, he stopped wrapping bandage around your arm to look at you. His eyes showed signs of confusion and unrecognisable emotion.

“You’re telling me that you, a girl that reaches my nose in height, is a solo gunner?”

You grinned back at him and walked towards the door, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Sleep came a lot better the second time round.

next

[kpopfanfictrash]

Blackjack (IV)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Jungkook

Rating: 18+ (explicit sex... with a detachable sink hose - look, idk; descriptions of past abuse)

Warning: physical abuse

Word Count: 7,721

Summary: Bangtan is one of the most vicious mafias on the west coast. Only six members are known by name though, with a mysterious seventh member dubbed only as ‘the shadow.’ When you become indebted to the worst of the worst – how, exactly can you find a way out?

It is as though the world slows, or perhaps only you do.

Jungkook stares, piecing together the strands you have shown him. You remember what you said the morning after sleeping together – you said Lena did not know everything about you, that no one did. You remember what you told Lena about wanting to protect Jungkook from harm. In the mafia, there is a strict code to be followed: women are protected by the men who love them. Of course, this rule exists in varying degrees and forms throughout the families– in the Vine and likely in Bangtan, the rule applies to both genders.

What it means though, is that sleeping with another member’s sister, their wife or their daughter are all considered unpardonable offenses. The member who is ‘wronged’ has full liberty (sometimes, they are even encouraged) to seek revenge – whatever the word means to them. Thievery, violence, blackmail – even death. All are acceptable under the martial law of mafias. Even being removed from the Vine, even having disappeared all those years ago – if your brother ever found out and discovered you with Jungkook, he would be at full liberty to seek Jungkook’s death.

Jungkook does not react for a moment. He goes still, grip tight on your waist. After a long minute, his expression softens. Leaning forward, he stops an inch away from your face. 

“And?” he whispers.

Eyes widening, you find yourself confused by his lack of response. “And?” you repeat. “He’ll kill you, Jungkook.”

Eyes narrowing, Jungkook smirks. “He can try.”

“Right. He will try,” you say, rolling your eyes. “I don’t want you to get hurt and I...” Hesitant, you look down. “I don’t want my brother to be hurt, either.”

At this, Jungkook becomes gentler. “I know. But,” he says, sliding his hands to your hair. “If your brother is a member of the Vine, how has he not found us already?”

Swallowing, you try to ignore how close he is right now. Jungkook’s eyes are burning, piercing and each time you try to speak, the words stick in your throat. “I ran,” you admit. The walls of your apartment are thin here, and you do not know who might be listening. “When I turned eighteen, I changed my name and I ran. They haven’t found me – or at least,” you say, shaping your fears into words. “I don’t know if they’ve found me.”

Looking past, Jungkook stares at the rain. “I haven’t noticed anything unusual,” he mutters, though he hesitates. “But I can’t say I’ve been entirely… focused, as of late.”

Hands slipping further into your hair, he steps closer. Bending his head, Jungkook stops with his lips a centimeter above yours.

“It’s not safe, Jungkook,” you whisper. “I’m not safe.”

Jungkook seems slightly amused. “And I am?” he asks, fingers pushing a piece of hair behind your ear. “Am I,” he exhales, brushing his lips to your neck, “safe? Is that what you think of me?”

Shivering, your hands rise to wrap around his waist. Jungkook presses kisses to your skin, moving you backwards until your hips hit the counter. “Jungkook,” you groan, eyelids shutting. “Stop.”

He obeys, pulling back to look at you. “Tell me,” Jungkook demands quietly. “Is that all?”

“Is... what all,” you blink, unsure what he is asking. “What do you mean?”

“Is that all?” Jungkook leans forward until his hands find the counter. “Your brother is a part of the Vine, you ran when you were young. If they find out about us, they'll try and kill me. Is that all?”

Staring back, you manage a nod. “Yes. Is that not enough?”

Jungkook merely arches a brow. “I hear you. I understand what you’re saying. Hear me then, when I say I don’t care. Hear me,” he interrupts, seeing your face, “when I say your family doesn’t dictate who you are. Only you do. The Vine is dangerous. My being with you is dangerous. But Y/N,” Jungkook says, softening. “Life is dangerous. People are lying who say otherwise. Life is struggle, life is hardship, life is pain. All of it intermixed with fun, joy, love. There are always obstacles, always things to overcome – but that doesn’t make the good things less valid.”

At this, you hesitate. You have spent so long on the run, so long in hiding that it is difficult to imagine another way. For some reason, you remember the little girl behind the table. You remember the girl who hid in her home, unable to fight. You are not that girl anymore. You are older, stronger and perhaps it is time you stopped running.

Realizing this, your grip tightens in his t-shirt. Jungkook smiles, inhaling sharply when you press your lips against his. The first kiss is soft, tentative – somehow, it feels like the very first one. The kiss is a confirmation, an answer to something he asked.

You want him. He wants you.

Jungkook’s body presses closer, hands fumbling with the counter behind you. Something falls to the ground – an old magazine, maybe a phone bill – before he bends, grabbing your legs to lift you onto the counter. A groan escapes you, pulling him closer, wrapping your legs around his waist.

His shirt is still damp, sticking to his body while his hands slide up your legs. “Jungkook,” you exhale, playing with the material. “You’re getting me wet.”

“That’s kind of the idea,” he mutters, teeth scraping your neck. “Why is that a problem?”

“Because,” you giggle. Jungkook shifts and nearly falls, attempting to maneuver inside your cramped kitchen. “It’s making you fall all over the place.”

He catches himself quickly, returning his mouth to yours and losing himself in the process. His hands are everywhere – in your hair, on your waist, yanking you closer. Your body molds obediently against his, seeking his touch. Kissing down the side of your neck, Jungkook tugs your shirt with his teeth.

“Maybe,” he gasps, hands groping for the counter, “the problem is that you’re not wet enough.”

When you open your eyes to respond, Jungkook retracts his hand and sprays you with the sink hose. A shriek escapes you, recoiling but he is too fast to avoid. Gasping, you sputter as your eyes widen in shock. Before, you were dressed in a white t-shirt – a description which seems woefully inaccurate now, with the material soaked through.

“Ah.” Jungkook’s thumbs brush peaked nipples over the fabric. “That’s better,” he murmurs. "Are you wet enough now?"

Warmth pools between your thighs. “Fuck off,” you hiss, punching him hard in the arm. "That wasn’t what I meant," you say, but you laugh. It is hard not to, faced with the stupidest grin on his face.

Cocking an eyebrow, Jungkook seems ridiculously pleased with himself. "No?" he asks. You consider smacking the smirk right off him. “What if,” he murmurs, hands drifting over your body. “I make it up to you?”

The word how is on your lips when Jungkook’s fingers slide beneath the waistband of your sweats. Tugging them lower, he removes them entirely and drops them to the floor. You are not wearing underwear and when Jungkook discovers this fact, he exhales. “Naughty,” he murmurs, brushing a kiss to your shoulder. Grabbing your waist, he deposits you close to the edge of the sink. “You should really wear underwear when you have company over, Y/N.”’

“I didn’t invite you – oh, fuck,” your groan, when Jungkook turns on the faucet.

Watching your face, he moves the hose to your body. The noise torn from your lips is embarrassingly breathy. Keeping you still with one hand, his other controls the hose and its movement, slipping it lower to slide over your sex. Water pulses, sliding against you – you gasp when Jungkook finally reaches the nerves between your thighs.

He smiles at your response. “More?” he murmurs, watching you squirm.

With a fervant nod, you push your hips forward. The water streams between your thighs, over the sensitive mound and arching against him, you nod. “Yes,” you whimper, broken. Clutching him tighter, you balance yourself on his arms. “That feels so good, Jungkook – keep going.”

He nods, tugging you forward – his right thumb flicks upward, changing the setting and the water switches to torrent. Kissing you fiercely, Jungkook readjusts the position of the hose underneath you. Water pulses over your clit when he slips a first finger in. Curling inside you, Jungkook withdraws from your body and replaces his finger with water. Suddenly, the pulse is relentless, a punishing rhythm which leaves you gasping against his lips.

“Fuck,” you choke, clutching his arms. “Jungkook, I –”

Legs trembling, you try to keep still – and Jungkook chuckles, pulling away. “You don’t get to come,” he murmurs, sliding your wet t-shirt up on your stomach. “Not until I say so.”

His eyes gleam when you nod. Tonight, you sense Jungkook wants to be in control. The past few weeks have been so full of uncertainty; he need to know you are his, which is something you understand. Nodding again, you spread your legs wider as Jungkook increases the pressure. The water pounds into your body, hitting your g-spot and making you moan. Jungkook kisses you roughly, bringing you to the edge several times before turning off the water completely.

Tossing the hose into the sink, he grabs your hips and lifts you from the counter. Legs wrapping around him, Jungkook walks from the kitchen and into your bathroom – it is a short trip, barely more than a couple of steps.

When Jungkook sets you down, you nearly slip on the tile. His hands catch you quickly, steadying your frame. Grip tightening on your waist, he stares at your breasts through the shirt – then changes his mind, dragging the cloth overhead. When you stand naked before him, he inhales. Jungkook remains fully dressed in everything but his jacket, but there is something enticing about being completely at his mercy. Your heart thumps, seeing how his gaze curves over your skin – he searches, seeks, and still wants for more.

“Spread your legs,” he insists, stepping forward. Obedient, your feet move apart as Jungkook drops to the ground.

When his tongue finds your center, you exhale, fingers sliding into his hair. Jungkook’s hands spread you further, tongue slipping between the slickness of your folds. He traces you gently, sucking your clit between his lips and alternating with kisses – until your knees start to tremble above him. Every inch of your skin feels aflame, every touch of his lips molten and when Jungkook sees you he takes pity, sliding a hand higher to brace you against him. Pulling you close, his tongue flicks lazily against the lower half of your body. You whimper, hands curling into his hair while his tongue continues, merciless below.

His hands are gentle at first – then harder. Jungkook is your anchor, grasping flesh and kneading your ass with his hands. A moan escape when one of his fingers trails lower. Your eyelids flutter, breath shallow – and Jungkook abruptly stands, taking your orgasm with. Eyes flying open, you see his cock hard, straining the front of his pants. Grabbing your hand, Jungkook brings this down to the bulge.

Inhaling sharply, you cup his dick over the fabric. Jungkook groans, lifting his shirt overhead. The muscles of his body flex, tossing this aside. “Jeans,” he mumbles, when you move your hand higher.

Unbuttoning a button, you keep your gaze firmly on him as you move to the next. Finding his zipper, you push the pants past his thighs. Jungkook’s boxers are removed and when his dick springs up, you lower yourself to the ground.

“No,” Jungkook declares, catching your arms to step free of his jeans. “No more teasing, Y/N. I want to be inside you.”

There is little time to respond when he pulls you against him. Kissing you roughly, Jungkook walks the two of you into your bedroom. Breaking away, he disentangles himself long enough to sit on the edge of your bed. He stares at you there, his cock red and hard. “Y/N,” he groans, watching you slowly kneel over him.

Reaching down, you stroke his length with your fingers. Brushing over the tip with your thumb, you try not to moan when it comes back wet with pre-cum.

“Condom?” Jungkook whisper, suddenly urgent.

With a nod, you reach for the bedside table to rip open a packet. Jungkook patiently while you roll it on and then grabs your hips, aligning himself to your core. Teasingly, he pushes in halfway before pulling back out. His cock enters you in slow, easy thrusts – none of which satisfy your ache.

“Jungkook,” you whimper, waiting for him to kiss you.

His hands slide into your hair, pushing his hips against yours. Jungkook’s hands slide to your waist, bracing himself and you whimper, lowering onto his cock. He slides into you easily, your body so wet that the sound is sinful, each time you lower yourself further.

Biting your lip, Jungkook pulls this between teeth and pushes himself upwards. Hands grasping your body, he guides your hips – only to groan, when you pick up the pace. Resting both hands on his chest, you help by lifting and lowering yourself on his cock. Forehead bent to his, you tilt your pelvis so Jungkook finds a deeper angle. Moving harder and faster, Jungkook nearly slips out when you drop up and down on his dick.

“Easy, babe,” Jungkook grunts, grabbing your ass. Leaning back to the headboard, he braces himself. “Here,” he murmurs, lifting you – only to slam his hips upwards. His gaze darkens when your chest bounces at the motion. Fucking you harder, he moves until you gasp above him with pleasure.

When his hand slips between your thighs, you cannot control the noises you make. Jungkook’s fingers start gentle, playing with your clit as you groan. You begin losing control, falling prey to the rhythm of his hips, the subtle sin of his fingers.

Suddenly, Jungkook sits up to pull your chest against his. Helping you along, his fingers continue moving while his cock thrusts inside you – until you come apart, stuttering around his hard, throbbing length. You gasp, doubled forward to bury your face in his neck.

Jungkook catches you gently, pulling you in – and grabbing your hips with his hands, continuing to move until he comes as well. Your legs begin to relax, softening as Jungkook releases into the condom. He swears, biting down your shoulder; following this with a gentle sweep of his lips.

You stay like that for a while. Flushed, spent and sweaty against him.

Jungkook does not try to move. Instead, he holds you, rubbing small circles against your back. “Y/N,” he sighs. Nose brushing your jaw, he pulls back to look at you. “I don’t want to leave.”

You find you do not want him to go. Already though, you feel your fear rising. No one has ever stayed here before. The fear of the Vine, your brother chokes you and it is only the gentle press of his body to yours, the feel of his hands on your skin which alleviates the pain.

“Okay,” you whisper, aware you are agreeing to more. “Stay.”

Jungkook nods, lifting you off. Rolling from bed, he removes his condom and throws this in your trash. When he goes, you lift yourself on your elbows and watch him disappear. It is hard to look away from the motion of his legs and when he returns, you fall flat on your back.

“Why is your butt so great?” you mumble, staring up at the ceiling.

Jungkook laughs, the sound shocked into being. Joining you on the bed, he hands you a washcloth, cleaning gently before setting this aside. Lowering himself to a pillow, Jungkook wraps his arm around your waist to survey your place. 

“I like your apartment,” he decides, fingers tracing your skin.

“Well. I like you,” you respond, returning his gaze to yours.

Jungkook smiles. “But Y/N,” he whispers, pulling you close to bury his face in your neck. “You barely know me.”

When you realize he is making fun of you, you shove him – unable to stay mad for long when he wraps his arms tighter. He fake-bites, growling lightly to flop down on his back. For a moment, you watch him like that, propping yourself up on your elbow.

“Can I ask something?” you venture, and Jungkook looks over suspiciously.

“You can,” he nods – but grins. “I might not answer.”

“Why,” you continue as though he has not spoken, “were you dressed as a police officer the night we first met?”

Jungkook stares for a moment and starts to laugh. “Oh, that,” he says. “I was undercover. A dirty cop is selling our information to the Coalition – another mafia – oh, you know that. Right. Anyways, Namjoon wanted to know how much they know about us, where their information is coming from – that kind of thing.”

“I see,” you nod. 

Jungkook moves closer. Legs intertwining with yours, he huddles under the sheets. 

“So, you’re Bangtan’s spy – more or less.”

Jungkook ponders, then nods. “I suppose. That’s what I used to be for the government.”

At this, you arch a brow. “The government?”

The corner of Jungkook’s mouth lifts. “So much you don’t know about me.”

“Well,” you inhale, rolling your eyes. “Since I told you a secret of mine, tell me one in return. You owe me. Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

Pretending to think, Jungkook purses his lips. “I hate cheese whiz. It’s not,” he says, brows furrowed, “cheese. I’m very passionate on the subject.”

A soft laugh escapes, poking his chest. “Fuck,” you complain, poking him harder. “That is a lot of muscle. But – seriously, cheese whiz?” you say, not one to be deterred. “That’s it, that’s your big secret?”

Jungkook laughs, quieting the longer he thinks about it. Finally, he exhales. “I’m an orphan,” he states. He says so simply, without much fanfare. “My orphanage was raided for mistreatment, which is how the government found me at all. I don’t know if you noticed,” he says, shifting on top of the bed. 

When he turns – the moonlight hits the curve of his shoulder.

Before, you noticed Jungkook’s scars but you did not think much about them. There were so many, you considered them a part of his job. This was insensitive, you realize, given the source of your own. Now, you reach out to brush over his skin. The longest scar is obvious, puckered from shoulder to waist. The line is thick, badly healed – as though Jungkook did not have the resources to mend at the time.

“Will you tell me about it?” you ask quietly.

Jungkook pauses a moment before rolling to face you. His gaze is dark in the moonlight. “It was given to me by our matron,” he says. “I blabbed about the condition of the orphanage on an adoption interview –  she punished me with the scar and we were raided the month following. The government saved me, placed me in a special program for children similar to me. I later found out they were turning a blind eye to similar orphanages and left. I became a vigilante of sorts, struck out where I could until finding Namjoon. Actually,” Jungkook admits, half-smiling. “Yoongi was the one who found me. I was under his surveillance, long before he showed up at my door. When he visited, he didn’t even speak. He just handed me a list of all my bank accounts, all my passwords from the past ten years, along with my social security number – I accepted the meeting with Namjoon the following day. Since then...” Jungkook shrugs. “I’ve worked for Bangtan.”

You don’t respond at first. Taking this all in, you observe Jungkook for a moment. For someone so young, he has dealt with a lot of deception. It would make sense then, that he does not like, nor trust the law. Inching closer, you trace a different scar on his chest. The line of this one is long, moving lower until – Jungkook grabs your hand.

“Uh-uh,” he chuckles, nuzzling your neck with his lips. “Already? You’re insatiable, aren’t you?”

Smiling, you wrap yourself gently around him. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think,” he exhales, giving you a pointed look. “You do.”

His words are soft, not important in content but in meaning. His voice is intimate, as though he cares. The way he stares is important as well, since no one has looked at you with such open sincerity before. Here Jungkook is, saying things he has likely never told anyone and asking to know these things about you, in return.

“My father died when I was young,” you say suddenly. “He died when we were young, and my mother never recovered. The man after, he was abusive. He was part of the Vine and he liked to hurt my brother and I – my brother joined the Vine to fight back at him. I ended up leaving the Vine. Leaving him the moment I turned eighteen.”

Jungkook’s chest rises and falls beneath the sheets. “Is he...” Jungkook falters, struggling to control his obvious anger. “The man who hurt you – is he still a part of the Vine?”

With a shrug, you try not to show how much the thought bothers you. “I don’t know,” you admit. “I’m not even sure if my brother is alive, or what position he holds. I like to think he still is.”

Inhaling softly, Jungkook looks at your sheets. “We will have to be careful,” he agrees, echoing what you said earlier. “I’ll talk to Namjoon in the morning and see what he thinks about how to proceed.”

“No,” you blurt, clutching his waist. Jungkook looks up, surprised. “I don’t want anyone to know,” you say. “Not Namjoon, not anyone – it’s not safe for them, Jungkook. Please.”

Staring, Jungkook’s brow lowers. “But Y/N,” he responds. “This might be the only way to protect you – it might be the only way to protect us. I trust Namjoon, I really do. If Namjoon helps, we’d have the entirety of Bangtan behind us.”

Body tense, you immediately understand what Jungkook means by this statement. Having Bangtan’s protection would be a formal declaration. It would mean you belong to Bangtan, mean you are a part of them – and it would mean the Vine has no claim on you anymore. They would likely fight it; your brother would definitely fight it.

“I belonged to them once,” you say to him softly, a reminder. “I once was a part of the Vine, which means I am technically your enemy.”

Jungkook’s gaze turns determined. “Not if you don’t want to be,” he says simply. “Not if I vouch for you, and I will – so long as you want that. I would never force you into Bangtan’s protection, Y/N. I just want you to be safe.”

When he pauses, the air between you is heavy – there is emotion, along with something else. An odd sort of hesitancy exists, as Jungkook lays himself bare. He holds his feelings out and waits for your response. Staring back at him, you feel something crumble inside your chest. The look he gives is deafening and, unable to stop yourself, your curl into his torso. Pressing closer, you rest your cheek on his chest.

“What if,” you whisper, brushing a kiss to his skin, his scars. “We both protect each other?”

Nodding, Jungkook’s chin brushes the top of your head. “I can live with that.”

“Good,” you murmur, looking up – breath hitching, his lips find yours. He kisses you softly, gently before pulling away.

With a yawn, Jungkook settles onto his side. Arms tightening around you, he pulls you into him. “I’m not tired,” he mumbles, already half-asleep. “Tell me another truth.”

“You might not be tired, but I am,” you whisper, barely getting the words out before your head hits the pillow.

The night passes in this way; your body, soul and thoughts entwined with his. For the first time in over a week, you do not dream.

In the morning, you are woken by a phone call.

The shrill ringing pierces the silence, following by vibrating on top of your nightstand. Jungkook moves sleepily, nearly squishing you as he rolls on top. “Hey,” you gasp, jerked awake by his weight. “Jungkook!”

“Morning,” he grins, grabbing his phone and brushing your nose with his.

“You’re squishing me,” you mumble, squirming until Jungkook props himself up on one elbow.

“Hello?” he answers. Instantly, his expression changes at the voice on the other end of the line. “What’s wrong?” he demands, voice lowering.

Whoever it is, they speak quietly. Their words are barely more than a whisper, but Jungkook hears exactly what they are saying. “Understood,” Jungkook mutters, body tense. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

At this, your stomach sinks with disappointment. You were looking forward to spending the morning in bed. Maybe making breakfast, lounging around in your apartment, continuing more of what happened last night.

“What do you mean?” Jungkook asks, all traces of laughter disappearing. It appears the conversation is not over. Rolling out of bed, the sudden departure of his weight is disconcerting. Sitting up, you wrap the sheets tighter. “No,” Jungkook mutters, facing the window. A long pause follows, where Jungkook listens and does not speak. Then, “And what if I say no?”

You do not hear the response, but whatever it is – Jungkook does not seem pleased by it.

“Fine,” he agrees, clearly not okay with the situation. “Fine – but you owe me. You owe me big.”

Jungkook hangs up. Tossing the phone away, he turns to meet your gaze. For some people, standing naked might be comical but for Jungkook, it only makes him that much more intimidating – he seems comfortable, scars and all. Running a hand through his hair, he also seems agitated.

“Who was that?” you ask, finding your voice. “Who was on the phone?”

“Namjoon.” Jungkook struggles to keep his tone light. “He asked me to come in this morning.”

“O-kay.” You nod, not understanding why he is upset. This can hardly be the first time Namjoon has called him in early. “Is that all?”

“No,” Jungkook admits. Walking closer, his expression remains inscrutable. “He wants you to come in, too.”

“Me?” You blink, taken aback. “But why?”

“He wouldn’t say,” Jungkook says – the longer he stands there, the more uncertain he seems. “He said I needed to come in and that you needed to come with. That’s all.”

“I,” you stutter. Mind reeling, you recognize history repeating itself – you wonder, when you became a twisted version of your mother. Without a second thought, you invited a dangerous criminal into your home, let him into your bed. One who could ruin you at any moment – you let yourself think you meant something to him, only for him to turn you in to his boss.

Jungkook must see your shock, since he moves swiftly forward. Lowering himself to the mattress, he cups your face with both hands. “Hey,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to come. Namjoon can fuck off, as far as I’m concerned – he doesn’t own me. He doesn’t own you.”

Breath quieting, you struggle to remain calm. “Jungkook,” you sigh, pushing his hands away from your body. “These are dangerous men – stop trying to pretend that they’re not.”

“Yes, but I’m also dangerous.” Jungkook flashes a smile, only to sober. “I know, Y/N. I know that they are. I’ve been in this world a long time. But,” he hesitates. "The one thing I will say, is that Namjoon is smart. He’s intelligent, strategic and if he wants to talk – it might be in your best interest to listen.”

“My best interest?” you say, fierce. “Because the other option is he’ll hurt me, is that it?”

“No, no,” Jungkook says, hands encircling your wrists. Quickly, he lets go. “Nothing like that. I’m not doing a good job of explaining. All I meant was that if Namjoon wanted you dead, you would be already.”

You stare back at him. “Gee, what good news.”

Jungkook looks up at the ceiling. “The fact that he wants to talk in person – he has information to give us. Information that needs to be delivered face to face.”

Despite your self-preservational instincts, curiosity crosses your spine. “What kind of information?”

“I don’t know,” Jungkook says, looking down. “He wouldn’t explain over the phone. Yoongi probably thinks I’m being tapped. Y/N,” he exhales, hands finding yours. “I trust Namjoon completely. He won’t hurt you, I’m sure of it.”

“How can you be so sure,” you say softly. “I don’t trust him, nor anyone like him.”

Bowing his head, Jungkook considers your bedspread. “That’s fair. Let me ask you this, though – do you trust me?” he murmurs, awaiting the answer.

You take a moment to consider. Staring at his dark crown of hair, you slide your fingers under his chin. 

“Yes,” you exhale, lifting his gaze to yours. The answer is true – no matter how ill-advised, how idiotic it sounds – you trust him. “I trust you.”

“Then,” Jungkook inhales. “I will vouch for him, if you’ll trust me.”

After a long moment, you nod. The weight of it is heavy, as though sealing your fate, but you cannot deny you are curious. You want to know what Namjoon wants. 

“Just,” you hesitate, as Jungkook pulls away. “Know it only takes one betrayal to lose a person’s trust.”

Jungkook’s gaze darkens, and you wonder what he remembers. “I know,” he states, looking down at your hands. “I know.”

The room is quiet until you stand, sheet falling from your waist to walk into your bathroom. “Get ready,” you call, tossing Jungkook’s pants from the hall. He starts, moving to stand from your bed. “It’s probably important to look your best when meeting the head of a mafia.”

“That so?” Jungkook feigns surprise, eyes wide. “Golly.”

“Yes,” you say, ducking into the bathroom. “So, go put on some pants and tuck your penis away.”

An hour later, Jungkook pulls up outside an unmarked building. He hesitates in the car, placing it in park and turning your way. “This is it,” he warns. “You don’t have to do this, Y/N – despite Namjoon’s threatening tone, you don’t have to go in.”

Rolling your eyes, you unbuckle your seat belt. “Let’s just get this over with, so I can go home and eat lunch.”

“So, we can go,” Jungkook corrects, grinning. Leaning over the console, he breifly captures your lips with his. “I’m not done with you, yet.”

Cheeks furiously heated, you pull back. “Save it for later, Jeon,” you demand, briskly leaving the car.

He laughs, following and slamming the door shut behind him. Squinting up at the sun, Jungkook’s gaze sweeps the area – you wonder what he looks for until a silver-haired man walks from a building.

The door bangs shut behind him, loud in the otherwise silence.

“Morning,” Yoongi calls, tossing a small black box at Jungkook. The tech of Bangtan is dressed casually, in a sweater and jeans – although to you, Yoongi always seems to have the air of a businessman. Before he belonged to Bangtan, you have no idea what Yoongi did – likely, this is purposeful on Yoongi’s design. “You know the drill,” he drawls, looking at Jungkook.

Grabbing the box, Jungkook turns to face you. “Arms out,” he instructs, and you do so. Raising your wrists, you hold them parallel for Jungkook to scan over your torso. Your arms, chest and legs are similarly covered in clinical movements, while Yoongi watches.

His gaze flickers, but no emotion shows through. Yoongi watches impassively, ensuring you carry no weaponry, no metal of any kind – he smiles when Jungkook nods, clicking the device off.

“Done,” he announces, tossing it back to Yoongi. “We good, here?”

Yoongi nods, turning around. “Follow me,” he says, walking away.

Looking to you, Jungkook motions you follow. He locks the car as you leave, his shadow catching up to you easily. Leaning in, he whispers, “You don’t have to speak if you don’t want to.”

You nod. “I know.”

Jungkook’s hand finds yours, interlacing. “Not that you can’t speak. You can, if you want to,” he adds.

Glancing at him, you fight back a smile. “I know that, too.”

When you look forward, you feel grateful you took the time to dress. Black jeans, combat boots and a brown suede jacket. Sometimes, looking the part is enough to make you believe it. Clothing is similar to armor in a way; it is a means of blending in, when you have lost all control.

Jungkook’s grip tightens as you enter the building. The hallway is chilly and small, with just enough space to walk beside Jungkook. Yoongi does not look back as he enters, continuing to face forward. You note his eyes continue to move. His fingers constantly twitch, in a constant state of observance – almost trance-like in his intensity. You realize it would be difficult to slip anything past him.

Two large men stand at the end of the hall – seeing them, you shrink in on yourself. You remember men like these, remember them visiting your mother and remember hiding behind couches until you were certain they were gone. The two men seem to recognize Yoongi; Jungkook, as well. They step quickly aside.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Yoongi says, walking past. He is shorter than the men – much shorter, but both of them seem scared when he passes.

The one on the right glances at Yoongi’s hands – and you understand their nervousness, seeing his phone. It hangs loose from his grasp in a non-threatening gesture but to Yoongi, this is a stance of attack. Walking into the room, he flashes a smile and blends into the shadows. Melting off to the side, he slinks out of view and sits down.

Before you are two rows of three chairs; six in total. The seventh chair is at the front of the room, although you do not look there yet. Six of the chairs before you are full. The last one is empty – a seat situated directly to the left of the Head. The chair must be Jungkook’s, since the man seated behind the desk is none other than Kim Namjoon.

Walking forward, you fight to keep your gaze steady. You have only seen Namjoon once prior, and never have you spoken. He has always remained aloof, which is how he intends it to be: fear can be a powerful motivator. Namjoon stays seated as you enter, feet flat to the floor and palms flat on the table.

He watches you walk. For some reason, you get the feeling Namjoon is always watching. Not in the same way as Yoongi, though. Yoongi watches out of boredom, watches just to observe. Yoongi does not truly care what he sees, all he wants is to know things.

Namjoon seeks to understand. Each visual is a data point and you know he is intelligent enough to string the answers together. His gaze is unnerving and you begin to understand why he commands such respect. Coming to a stop before him, you realize you have yet to observe the rest of the room. The remaining chairs hold – from right to left – Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok, Kim Seokjin, Kim Taehyung and Park Jimin. Such is the respect Namjoon commands that you did not notice them until now.

All in one motion, he stands. Smoothing an immaculate tie, Namjoon gestures for Jungkook to shut the door. Jungkook obeys, which surprises you, but when he returns he laces his hand in yours. The gesture presents you as a united front. Trying not to flinch, you notice Jimin staring. He frowns at your hands, before turning to Namjoon.

Namjoon does not react, merely inclines his head. “Welcome,” he allows. “Thank you for coming, Y/N. It shows a great deal of trust on your part.”

“Some would say foolishly so,” Taehyung adds – when you swivel to face him, he winks. “Hey, Y/N,” he grins. “How do I look today? Pretty?”

When you grimace, you see Jungkook arch a brow. “Pretty?” he murmurs, leaning towards you.

Shrugging, you manage to avoid his gaze. “So, sue me,” you whisper. “He is.”

Facing forward, Jungkook clamps his lips together. It appears as though he tries hard not to laugh – until Namjoon sighs at the front. “I’d ask everyone to be seated,” he muses, waving a hand, “but it seems we only have seven seats.”

“Well,” Seokjin sighs, filled with frustration. “If I had been given proper notice, I would have spoken to facilities and arranged for more. As it is,” he exhales, waving a hand. “You woke me from my sleep thirty minutes ago.”

For the first time since sitting, Yoongi looks up from his phone. “What the hell?” he asks, clearly appalled. “It’s almost eleven ’o’clock in the morning.”

Seokjin stares back in challenge. “Some of us,” he sniffs, “sleep for a full eight hours. It’s how we maintain our status as the best-looking.”

“Uh.” Taehyung raises a hand. “About that. I’d like Y/N to weigh in on the question of who’s the best-looking.”

“Jungkook,” you say, automatic and six heads turn to face you. Jungkook does not react, except to smile. “Jungkook is the prettiest.”

At the front of the room, Namjoon groans. “That’s enough,” he says, waiting for the room to fall silent. “Squabbling isn’t why we’re here. Besides,” he adds, glancing at Seokjin and arching a brow. “I rather think power is the most attractive quality, no?”

Seokjin looks up at the ceiling. “There’s no power section in the Miss Universe pageant, Namjoon. That’s all I have to say.”

Namjoon’s lip twitches, leaning forward to counter. While the two of them bicker, you look at the rest of the room. Yoongi and Jimin sit closest to you and the doors. Yoongi clearly does not pay attention, staring at his phone and scrolling aimlessly through. Jimin is exactly the opposite – he watches you closely, staring between you and Jungkook with obvious concern. His stance is lazy, legs spread and one hand on his knee. He seems almost angry, but that does not make sense. You have done nothing to offend him – but then Taehyung moves, drawing your attention to him.

Hoseok and Taehyung sit across from one another and both of them look steadily at you. Hoseok is silent, leaning forward with both hands steepled under his chin. He observes you calmly, calculatingly; sizing you up in order to determine the level of threat you pose – Hoseok would be the one to restrain you, should it come to that. Taehyung sits opposite him, both in stance and in manner. He remains confident, overly so; his grin only widens when you roll your eyes at him and move on.

Seokjin is the last member you see, seated across from Jungkook’s empty chair. He watches you silently, almost like Hoseok. Unlike the former though, his expression is unreadable. His dark hair is styled perfectly back from his face and despite what you said about Jungkook, Seokjin is truly the prettiest in Bangtan. This is all a part of his game, though. Seokjin exists to lure others in, to make them forget themselves – to lull you into a false sense of security and get you to tell him everything. Then, he will crush you.

Seokjin smiles, rather unsettlingly before Namjoon cuts in.

“I apologize for the early morning meeting. It was unavoidable.” Here Namjoon pauses, tilting his head. “I received information earlier this morning from Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi raises a hand, continuing on with his phone.

Jungkook looks at him sharply. “What kind of information?” he asks, grip tightening on yours.

Namjoon’s gaze drifts to his. “Normally,” he murmurs, quiet. “I do not care who my members date.” Despite the content of this statement, there exists no malice in Namjoon’s tone. “So long as the relationship does not put my members, my organization at risk – I do not care who, or when they date.”

Taking a half-step forward, Jungkook shields you from view. “What,” he demands, voice low and dangerous, “is this, Namjoon? You swore she wouldn’t be hurt. You swore it.”

If you hadn’t been paying attention, you would have missed it. The second Jungkook steps, the others react. The movement is small, slight – but Hoseok and Taehyung pull back. This has happened before; Jungkook and Namjoon have fought and from the way the others react – it is not a pretty sight.

Namjoon nods, curt. “I did say that. I meant it. It’s only,” he exhales – and for a moment, Namjoon seems tired. “I need to know you want this. Need to know you choose Y/N because if you do, there will be certain consequences which follow. We will need to deal with them, as they arrive.”

Jungkook does not react. “This is my decision,” he states, absolute. Then he looks at you. “This is your chance,” he says. “You can leave now, if you wish. No one here would stop you.”

The words are soft, but resigned. Glancing around the circle, you find that no one contradicts him. Returning to Jungkook’s gaze, you silently nod – you do not trust yourself to speak at the moment. There is not really a choice for you, not anymore.

The moment you agreed to come here, you knew what you were agreeing to.

Namjoon nods, seconding Jungkook’s motion. “Then it is done,” he declares. “We accept, we move forward.”

“Hang on,” Hoseok interrupts, leaning in. He glances from Namjoon to Yoongi. “What kind of information was intercepted? What consequences are you referring to? Is Y/N,” Hoseok says, upper lip curling, “a spy? Does she work for the police? What the hell did Jungkook sign us up for?”

Jungkook’s answering laugh is soft, dangerous. Hoseok’s eyes widen when Jungkook crosses the room and places a hand on his chair. “Do you really think,” he murmurs, words silken. “I wouldn’t know if Y/N were a cop?”

Hoseok’s gaze narrows, about to respond when Namjoon interrupts.

“There’s been a hit,” he responds, bored. He watches the entire room freeze, regaining their attention. “There has been a hit issued on Jungkook’s head.”

Slowly, Jungkook straightens. Glancing at you, his face remains drawn. “What for?” he queries, although you both know the reason.

Namjoon exhales. “It appears Y/N is rather well-known within the Vine. They saw her leaving our club and recognized her with you. A hit has been ordered for violating one of their women.”

When he says this, you bristle. “I am not,” you hiss, finding your voice, “one of their women.”

Namjoon’s gaze brightens, curious. “I understand. The facts remain though, that a hit has been ordered on a member of Bangtan. What I do not understand though, is why.”

When Jungkook looks at you, you nod. 

“Her brother,” he explains, facing forward. “Her brother is a member of the Vine. Y/N ran from them when she was younger – but it appears they have found her. I wish to offer her my protection.”

Namjoon exhales, as though he feared it would come to this. “A bold offering,” he says softly. “Does Y/N wish for our protection, in return?”

Meeting Namjoon’s gaze, you are surprised by what you see there. He does not seem surprised, though you imagine it would take a lot to surprise a man like him. Rather, he seems resigned; as though he has already mapped out this chess game in his head and this is merely the first move.

Rather than give off an impression of weakness, you lift your chin. “I do,” you say.

The moment you speak, Seokjin nods. “I offer.”

Hoseok follows suit. “I do, too.”

“I offer,” Taehyung nods, oddly solemn. 

It is surprising to you, how fast they agree – glancing at Jungkook, you begin to grasp the respect he commands.

Now, there are just Yoongi and Jimin. Yoongi glances up from his phone, scanning your frame. “The messages I received said nothing about Y/N being a spy. There is little data to support that conclusion. I offer her my protection as well.”

A tiny, bubble of hope swells within your chest – as all eyes turn to Jimin.

Jimin stares back, unreadable. “Your brother is a part of the Vine?” he asks, voice low. Jimin tilts his head to one side. “What is his name?”

You blink, about to answer when Jungkook steps in between you. “I do not think,” he states, holding Jimin’s gaze. “That is applicable. Not for this conversation.”

Jimin’s lips tighten, unsaid words passing between them. After a long moment of silence, he nods. The gesture is curt, before sinking even lower. “Fine – I offer Y/N my protection, as well.”

Namjoon exhales, relief clear on his face. “Then it is done. We offer Y/N our full protection as Bangtan – she will be inducted within the month.” Smiling grimly, Namjoon lowers his hand to the table. “Welcome to the family, Y/N.”

[Master List]

© kpopfanfictrash, 2017. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[thethespacecoyote]

How about "stop telling me you're okay?" For the hurt comfort, with any ship ya want. ;]

I’m still on my injury kick hahah >> so here’s some, this time with rhackothy!

“G-Guys, I’m fine, c’mon…” Rhys tried to insist, but the waver in his voice betrayed the pain throbbing through his body. He gritted his teeth, hissing as Tim’s fingers carefully rolled the cuff of his pant-leg up to his knee. Still, he tried to be tough, taking a couple of breaths before attempting to speak again.

“Seriously, it’s okay, we really need to—“

“Kiddo, shut up and stop telling us you’re okay.” Jack snapped from besides him. He had both hands firmly planted on Rhys’ shoulder, holding him still in his seat on the ground as Tim examined the wound on his calf. The young man’s teeth clicked as he shut his mouth, trying to figure out where he should look or what he should do. Jack gave both of his shoulders a comforting squeeze, which helped, but not by much.

Through the haze of the pain, Rhys felt his cheeks heat up with embarrassment. They’d scarcely been outside Concordia for an hour before Rhys managed to get himself surrounded by a pack of kraggons. Tim and Jack had dispatched most of them easily, and Rhys had even blown apart one’s skull with a cry bullet between the blazing eyes, but not before a pair of rough, fiery fangs dug into his leg. He remembered screaming as incendiary damage flooded through the limb, sizzling his blood and burning his punctured flesh.

Honestly, he was amazed he hadn’t already passed out, but even that surprising show of endurance couldn’t fight away Rhys’ shame at getting injured. He’d agreed to come on this trip with Jack and Tim to show he wasn’t just some soft pencil-pusher, that he could hold his own on someplace as rough and wild as Elpis.

So much for that, he thought bitterly as Tim stretched his injured leg out against the cool, greenish dust of the ground, giving him a good look at the wound for the first time.

His vision suddenly tilted, swimming with nausea. Something acidic burped up the back of his throat, burning the sensitive skin as he let out a distressed whine. Somehow, it managed to look worse than Rhys had feared. The teeth of the kraggon had clamped around the meat of his calf and dragged violently over his skin, leaving strings of flesh and muscle hanging in its bloody wake.  Any patch of skin not streaked with gore burned horribly bright pink, pockets of fluid bubbling up in nasty scorched boils. Tim had taken off his glove, the crevasses in his hands pooling with blood as he assessed the wound with gentleness Rhys wished he could find reassuring.

Strong fingers gripped his chin, forcing his eyes away from his wound. Lips, slightly chapped and moving, pressing up just below his port.

“Just look at me, sweetheart. It’ll be okay.” Jack’s voice, though still hoarse, had softened considerable. He sounded more worried than angry, now, and the concern in his tone would’ve frightened Rhys more if not for the lips against his temple and the wave of Jack’s cologne distracted him from the burning, metallic stench of his wound. That was one of those things he’d noticed when he’d first set foot outside Concordia into the desolation of Elpis proper—the lack of smell. It’d unsettled him, leaving a truly alien weight in his chest.

Rhys clung to the smell and touch of his boyfriend, listening to Jack’s comforting words as Tim tended to his leg. Every press of fingers against his calf burned, and even when Tim finally found a decent enough spot to inject the healing hypo Rhys couldn’t help sobbing in pain at the feeling of the syringe digging into his ruined skin. Tim caught his flesh hand as he depressed the hypo’s plunger with his other, squeezing Rhys’ trembling fingers as he pushed the glowing red fluid into his bloodstream. It burned, though not as badly at the kraggon bite. Still, Rhys let a strangled cry, louder than his previous sobbing, eke out from between his teeth as his toes curled and scraped inside of his boots.

“Easy…easy, it’s almost over…” This time it was Tim who spoke, remaining firm and comforting even as Rhys practically crushed his hand in his grip. The young man’s entire body tensed and trembled as the hypo forcibly knit muscle and flesh back together and snapped his fractured bone back into alignment.

Then, suddenly, the epicenter of the pain faded, leaving only lingering twinges spreading out from the wound. Rhys gasped, body still trembling slightly from the adrenaline as he relaxed back against Jack’s chest.

“H….Holy fuck…” Rhys spat out the swear without thinking, earning a small, reproachful squeeze on the shoulder.

“Langua—…you know, I’m just going to let that one slide.” Jack’s chuckle brushed against the top of Rhys’ head, followed by a firm kiss to his scalp. The young man couldn’t help but laugh lightly along with him, a touch hysterical.

“That…” Rhys swallowed roughly, mouth still tasting of stomach acid. “Was the worst thing I’ve ever been through.”

“Well…All things considered, I think you did pretty well.” Tim patted Rhys’ knee, smile reassuring. “Honestly, I was worried if you freaked out too much you were gonna kick me and jam your heel in my eye.”

“And that’d have been a lot more messy than some little kraggon nibble.”

“A nibble?” Rhys’ brow furrowed, glaring down at the patches of flesh regrown over his wound. “Jack, that was hardly a nibble…”

“In any case, it’s gonna be a little tender for a bit, and you might have a hard time standing on it…” Tim commented as he carefully rolled Rhys’ cuff back down his leg. He raised his head to catch Jack’s eye. “Might have to put off the mission for another day or so…”

Rhys winced.

“You guys really don’t have to…I can like…just chill in Concordia or something…” He tried to hide the disappointment from his voice, but honestly, he was far too tired to do it in any meaningful fashion. He hated sounding whiny, but he’d honestly been looking forward to showing off and proving himself. And now he’d been put out of commission right off the bat.

He’d just about resigned himself when Jack grasped his chin and made him look up into the CEO’s eyes.

“You seriously think we’re just gonna drop you off after coming all this way?” Jack scoffed as he supported Rhys into a proper sitting position, before helping him to his feet with Tim’s help. “Nothing we have to do is super time intensive, kiddo. We can take another day to let you rest and relax before giving it another go.”

Rhys blushed as his boyfriends supported him on both sides, slowly helping him walk back the way they came. His leg smarted a bit with each step, but Jack and Tim helped keep his weight off of it as they hobbled off towards Concordia.

“Think of it this way,” Tim murmured gently in the young man’s direction, “once we get there, we can get you a new pair of lucky socks.”

Jack smirked and looked down to the singed garments in question, before patting Rhys’ back.

“Maybe ones that actually work this time.”

[bangtan-spells]

Seokjin Scenario: Black Beauty.

Request: a scenario with Jin and he is a hybrid (cat hybrid or anything, you choose) and he was abandoned by his owner and he had to live and survive in the streets all by himself, then the reader sees him and decides to take him in. The reader heals his wounds and lets him stay at her home and as the weeks progress, they become closer like best friends, and then Jin tells her that he is grateful that she helped him and tells her his story and cries and the reader comforts him and tells him that he can stay with her forever and then basically all fluff and stuff

Genre: Fluff - Cat Hybrid AU

First thing you saw was the blood, bright red dripping down his arm, staining the tore shirt and the water down the sidewalk. Everything was gray, dull and cold and you were drenched from head to toe, just as him. The sight made you stop in the middle of your run, you were just a couple blocks away from your apartment building and you thought the only thing you wanted to do was to get there, but now you couldn’t really move, your eyes were glued to the spot in which he was curled, clearly in pain by the wound on his arm.

You shouldn’t be approaching a bleeding stranger in the middle of the street because you knew you didn’t live in the best part of the city, but apparently your common sense was drowned by the downpour because you kept moving towards him, trembling as you were.

- Are you alright? - you asked in a whisper, and then shook your head because that was the worst possible question, he clearly wasn’t. -I mean…-

What you thought was just hair perked up, a pair of fluffy cat ears responding to the sound of your voice. They were as dark as his hair so you couldn’t notice the difference from afar. Then you saw the tail just as drenched as the rest of him curled behind and around his body in a protective sort of way, he had deep black eyes that fixed on yours cautiously. It didn’t matter the rain, the fear, the unexpected of this, you were captivated beyond words. He was a hybrid and he wasn’t supposed to be there.

He backed off a little, you could see he was also scared, you didn’t know what he’d gone through but you couldn’t find it in yourself to leave him there bleeding or walk away so you crouched in front of him.

-I won’t hurt you- he nodded but still kept his distance. -Do you have anywhere to go?- he denied with his head and you were not surprised. - Can you walk?- he nodded again, you knew he was inspecting you somehow maybe wondering if you weren’t really going to hurt him, you could see he was being cautious but alert.

-You can come with me, you don’t have to but like… you can come with me, you need to take care of that and it’s not good for you to be outside around here, my place is not super fancy or anything, but at least is dry- you ended with a little smile and he mirrored you, which made you feel good somehow because his face totally changed with the smile.

It was more like a silent agreement, he only stood up with a little difficulty, you wondered what left him wounded like that but you also marveled at how tall he was, this was the closest you’d ever seen a hybrid in your lifetime.

-Just follow me, we got to be quick- he didn’t say anything and just tagged along with you, you supposed he was either the quiet type or wasn’t in the mood to say much.

When you reached your place he stood the whole time standing next to the door until you noticed.

-It’s alright, you can come in- you said, draping a big towel around him.

Now that you thought, you didn’t know if you had any clothes that could fit him, but that was the least you cared for at the moment. You led him to the bathroom where the first aid kit was and started to clean his wounds. He winced a little when you tended the biggest one that was on his left arm, you wanted to ask what happened to him, why was he wounded in the middle of the street. Hybrids had a place in society, there were a little more common now, but it hadn’t always been like that, it took a lot of time for people to actually get accustomed to their presence and to not treat them as mere monsters.

Most hybrids were owned by richer people and taken care of, treated like part of the family but you knew there were still people out there who liked to mistreat and abuse them, you just hoped he didn’t encounter with one of those.

-Do you have a name perhaps, maybe a voice? - you joked softly, not wanting to be referring to him as the hybrid in your head, his black eyes fixed on you for a moment until he finally spoke.

-Seokjin - he whispered. -but I like Jin more-

That made you smile. -Then can I call you Jin?- he nodded and you couldn’t help anymore to ask a bit more about him. -Do you have an owner Jin? -

This time he averted his eyes from yours and you noticed that this was a thorny topic.

-Not anymore-

He retreated his arm so you felt bad for asking, but you didn’t want to get in trouble for keeping somebody else’s hybrid at your house.

-And what were you doing in the middle of the streets alone? it’s not safe for you-

-I didn’t have anywhere to go-

It would be a lie to say that your heart didn’t tighten with his words. You were more the lonely type of girl by choice, but at least you had a place to return to each day and there wasn’t only loneliness on his voice, but also longing. You pulled yourself together and told him to wait for you there while you went for a clean towel and whatever clothes could fit him.

You returned with an oversized tee that you were now proud of having, socks and the biggest sweat pants you owned.

-Clean yourself, I won’t want you getting sick alright? you can wear this and when you finish, meet me outside- you smiled kindly at him, maybe that was just what he needed. a little company and comprehension.

You waited for him at the little space that combined your kitchen and living room. Maybe his owner was looking for him? Most likely not for the response he gave you. Maybe you just shouldn’t press the issue too much.

Jin came your way wearing what you’d given him and you ended patching up his arm and the rest of his wounds, when you asked if he wanted something to eat he just asked for a glass of warm milk. You kept your little smile to yourself and observed him drink the milk contented. He was cute, definitely.

-You can stay here, sorry I have nothing better to offer, you must be accustomed to nicer things- you stared mindfully to the mat you arranged for him with two spare pillows and fluffy duvets.

-This is great- he said getting in, you laughed softly and left a lamp at the kitchen on, he was just outside your room and he seemed pretty happy about it.

-Sure you’ll be alright?- he had been focused on arranging the duvets around him to comfort when his eyes fixed on yours again and he nodded, his ears perked up and you had to fight the urge of staring too much.

- You’re too kind Y/N, I’ll be fine-

-Alright then-  you turned around suddenly flustered out of nothing and went to your room. -call me if anything- you didn’t really close the door, just in case he needed something.

Black eyes fixed on you was the first thing you saw in the mornings. Since the first morning Jin would stand at the entrance of your bedroom observing, waiting for you to wake up and it would be a little creepy if you didn’t find him so utterly cute. His tail was always swaying side to side softly when he wished you good morning. He was, as you found out later, quite the chatty type.

-You’ll freak me out you know?- you said softly and he laughed, stretching a little.

-I’m sorry- he said but with such mischief in his eyes that he would most probably keep doing the same every morning. -But you do the same with me-

-I… what?- you nearly choked and faked indifference, so Jin laughed again, crossing his arms while you made your way to brush your teeth. -Staring, you do it when you think I’m not aware-

-That’s because one doesn’t always have someone like you so close hanging around their place-

It was a little routine you had by now, you worked in the afternoons so you would usually have breakfast with him and run some errands while he waited at home, you suspected maybe he was afraid of going out but you had decided to not say anything about it yet. You would make silly little picnics at the rooftop when the day was sunny, play fight about most things and even if it had been only almost three weeks you were so accustomed to having Jin around now, his company was nice, you felt comfortable with him and noticed he felt the same now that he was a little more carefree with you.

Not in your wildest dream would imagine yourself having a hybrid with you, more than just that because you didn’t see him as a mere acquaintance or pet of sorts. You turned around in your bed, you couldn’t sleep and Seokjin was the reason of that.

Tiptoeing out your bed you made your way to where he was sleeping, you got used to leave the kitchen light on so you observed him in silence, kneeling by his side. His hair was so black and shiny, his skin a perfect ivory.

His tail was resting over his arm, as if protecting him and you started to recognize that pose of his. It made you smile softly and reach out but your hand stopped halfway. You had not touched him besides the times you tended his wounds.

-You can do it- he whispered softly, you flinched in your spot and then Jin’s eyes were fixed on yours.

He’d been awake the whole time, just wondering what were you up to. He sat mirroring your pose.

-I’m sorry for waking you up- you said ashamed, he knew you didn’t mean to but he had sensitive ears.

-It’s alright Y/N, don’t feel bad- he saw your eyes following the soft swaying of his tail and he moved it a little closer to you. -You can touch it-

-Sure?- you asked softly, he’d noticed your eyes lingering one too many times on any trait of him with innocent curiosity and he didn’t mind it, so he closed the remaining space between your hand and his tail until he could feel your fingers caressing through his fur. -It’s so soft-

-Well what were you expecting?- he laughed making you do so as well.

-I don’t know Jin, but this is cool- you laughed while moving your fingers softly along his tail and blushed, he could see it perfectly in the dim lights. Then you moved your hands towards his ears and caressed them with the same feathery touch, marveled by them.

A soft purr escaped his lips and both of you laughed again. It wouldn’t have happened if he wasn’t do at ease with you. He liked you, he appreciated the time you had taken to help him out, how you’d taken him in and how careful you were with him. So he leaned to your touch a little longer and decided to say what he’d been meaning to.

-Thank you Y/N- he said softly, too soft perhaps since it was new for him.

-For the little caress? - you voice was playful and you tried to fix your eyes on his.

-For everything, for helping me, for letting me stay with you- you let go of his ears and he took the chance to hold your hands, they were as soft af the first day you took care of his bleeding wounds. -You’re such a great person, so kind, I’m grateful it was you the one finding me that day-

-You have nothing to thank me for -

-I do, I have everything to thank you for- you squeezed his hands and he went on. -I had a good life and another good person by my side that I took for granted, and I never thanked her, she had me since I was little and then she passed away, just like that, and I was kept by her son, that man treated me the worst, he had no respect for me like his mother did and I was mostly locked in a dark room for so long, he only remembered about me when he wanted an entertainment freak-

Jin heard you gasp and then you were pulling him to you for a hug, he let you do so because for the first time in his life, he cried. He told you how he escaped, how he got used to live in the streets, how the day you found him he was running away from a mean crowd of people that attacked him and how he’d thought it was going to be his end, but you changed that offering him a dry place to stay with your smile and positivity and now he was there, better than he thought he could be with someone who cared for him for real.

-I’m sorry you had to go through all that Jin- you were still hugging him. -It’s so unfair… but listen to me, you’re not a freak ok? Never believe otherwise, you’re special and some people just can’t appreciate it- you caressed his back softly and he nodded against your neck, then straightened to look at you.

His eyes were impossibly black right then and you were glad he trusted you enough now to tell you how he ended the way he was before without you even having to ask. Now you just wished to never hear him so heartbroken again.

-You don’t have to live like that anymore, you don’t have to go back to wandering in the streets because you have a place here now, you have a place here if you want to stay with me- you wouldn’t imagine kicking him out now, and you had been thinking about this already. You wanted him to stay with you. - That would make me very happy you know -

You caressed softly one of his ears and then he hugged you again, and just like the day you took him in, it was a silent agreement, this time made in the dim lights of your tiny apartment. You wanted to keep him right there, to keep waking up to his beautiful black eyes and to make him feel as especial as he was, because at the end of the day he’d been making you feel especial and lucky too and you just wanted to give it all back to him.

[mysmesomefluff]

omgomg for the one thing 6,15 or 30 for Saeran?? I can't decide 🤔 btw I love your writing so much it's 100/10 👌👌

6: a kiss of relief

A/N: Aww, thank you anon! :) Hope you like this one!

I’ll be doing 15 next because another anon requested it too. :D (15: a hope-we-don’t-get caught kiss)

“Out of the way! Move!”

Crowds of people standing about in the hallway were shoved roughly aside by a man who was currently barreling through them, his face looking like hell. His angry red hair was a big mess, the tips dripping with perspiration. His tank top was drenched in his sweat, droplets of it sliding down the sides of his face and the back of his neck.

There were comments of protest and disgust coming from the people he pushed past, but he could barely hear them over the sound of his throbbing heart hammering painfully against his tight, constricted ribcage. He was panting, gasping for air because he had just sprinted the whole way here. He hadn’t run like that in a long time. Nor had he been so frightened or frantic since back then, when he thought Saeyoung wouldn’t come back for him.

He had gotten the news just a couple minutes ago, over the phone. Because he was your emergency contact and he had been the first person they called.

All that had managed to sink into his head was “car accident” and “hospital” before he felt all the blood drain from his face. Something in him snapped, the worst immediately springing to mind. Thoughts of you lying motionless on the road, a pool of blood underneath your lifeless body. Thoughts of you with blood trailing down the side of your mouth, your limbs twisted in odd, unnatural angles.

Thoughts of you not breathing, covered in a white sheet.

And… thoughts of you leaving him for good. Without even a goodbye.

He had nearly thrown up, his knees giving way as he collapsed to the floor when the world around him darkened for a moment. No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening, not when he had just found you, not when he had so many more things he wanted to do with you. He had even made a list of it in his head, and he wasn’t even halfway done. You couldn’t leave him like this.

Crippling fear then turned into desperation, and with a strangled cry in the back of his throat, tears starting to spill over his cheeks, he had sprinted out the door.

He had to get to you.

And now, here he was, finally at the ward where you reportedly were. His hand was on the cool metal handle, but he hesitated just for a second, afraid that he wouldn’t like what he would see. Afraid that once he walked past this door, he would have to face the reality that he was alone again, that you too, had abandoned him for good, and that he would have to live the rest of his miserable life without you in it.

Shaking those thoughts aside, he burst through the door, his noisy entrance startling some of the other patients in the ward, as well as their visitors. He scanned the ward frantically, checking to see where you were.

It was the patient at the end of the room that caught his eye.

His eyes found familiar ones. Wide, blinking, moving.

Alive.

And without another moment to lose, he was striding over to your bed, not even giving you time to say his name before he wrapped his arms around you in a hug, one that stole your breath away, quite literally.

You were about to protest because the numerous scratches along your arms and face hurt with the amount of pressure he was applying with his tight embrace, but then his shoulders began to shake. For a moment you were confused, until you registered the moisture that was building on your sleeve, and heard the sounds of his muffled sobbing.

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. All you could do was hug him back, squeeze him with all your might, assure him that you were alive, that you were safe, and that you were still here, with him. Tears pricked your eyes, the ordeal you had been through earlier, the fear that you would never wake up again when you lost consciousness, and the guilt for giving Saeran such a huge scare hitting you all at once.

You tried to hold them in, only allowing two or three to slide down your cheek as you buried your face in his clothes, fisting your fingers in his hair. His skin was sticky and he smelled of perspiration, but you didn’t care.

Both of you were together now, and that was all that mattered.

And then Saeran pulled away, allowing you full view of his tear-streaked face. You wiped them away with your thumbs, while he cupped your face in his cold hands, his fingers ghosting over the little cuts on your cheek and chin. His gaze came to rest on the bandages that had been wrapped around your head, covering your temples and forehead. You saw fear in his eyes, mind-numbing fear, but slowly something else mixed in with it, replacing it little by little.

Relief.

There wasn’t a need for words. Not now.

With his hand at the nape of your neck, he yanked you forward, crashing your lips roughly against his. It wasn’t the gentle, tender Saeran you normally knew. This was the Saeran you knew when he woke up shaking from a nightmare he had, the Saeran who would punch the wall with his bare fists, crying when he was having another bout of torture by memories of his dark past.

This was the Saeran who was deathly frightened of ever losing you, of ever letting you slip past the crevices of his fingers.

He had lost enough in his lifetime, after all. You knew he couldn’t bear losing you either, in the same way you would never be able to bear losing him.

He was cradling you in his arms now, tears sliding in between your cheeks as he cried, kissing you over and over, fiercely, roughly. You could taste the the salty tang of his tears on his lips. Teeth nipped at your lips, biting, pulling. His tongue slid in between your parted lips, moving against yours sensually, dominating you completely. You tried to pull away, suddenly realising that you needed air, but he didn’t let go. Caging you with his strong arms, he prevented you from moving away and began sucking on your tongue harshly, making you moan into his mouth. Your mind went blank then, allowing him to do as he wished with you, because you knew he needed to be sure of you, to really know that you were real, here, and that this was not a dream.

It was only when the both of you were truly in desperate need for air that you broke apart with a gasp, both panting heavily, but still holding each other in a tight embrace. There were other people in the ward, and you could feel stares on the both of you, likely stares of disgust and disbelief for doing something as brazen as this in a hospital of all places, but you could care less about that.

“You okay?” you asked hoarsely, running your fingers through his hair. You knew he liked it when you did it. It was calming, soothing for him.

“I will be,” he admitted, his voice muffled against your shoulder. “I’m just… When I got the call, I thought that maybe you had– I thought I’d lost you, and I…”

“Shh,” you shushed him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’m here,” you murmured in his ear, making sure he could hear you crystal clear. “I’m safe. And we’re together now. Sorry for scaring you like that.”

“What happened?”

“I got knocked down by a car. Drunk driver. But, thankfully someone close to me managed to push me away in time so I avoided the worst of the impact. Could have died– I mean, I’m fine. Got away with just a few scratches,” you rambled on, regretting the use of that word, with Saeran being so sensitive right now.

“That motherfuc–”

“It’s okay, Saeran.”

“How can it be okay? That person nearly killed you! Or could have someone else! I’ll kill that fucker if it’s the last thing I do–”

“Saeran, look at me,” you cut in, pressing your hands on either sides of his face and forcing him to face you. “He’s with the police now. Let them handle it.”

“The police,” he repeated with an eyeroll. “Of course. Count on them to do everything right, like let criminals get off scot-free.” He was speaking from past experience, back when he was a hacker at Mint Eye.

“Saeran, please. I’m right here. Isn’t that what matters? That we’re together? Safe?”

His eyes softened then, and he averted your eyes, hanging his head in shame. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I got carried away.”

“It’s okay. You’re just upset right now.”

He made a dismissive grunt at that, emitting a long sigh. Then he asked the inevitable. “Are you hurting anywhere? In any pain at all?”

“Saeran, I’m really fine,” you insisted with a chuckle. You had been waiting for him to ask this, because obviously he would shoot you a bunch of questions about whether you were feeling alright and doubt your positive answers too. Your lighthearted reply only made him frown, so you added in the most convincing voice you could muster, “The doctor said I can go home after a quick check-up. Just needed to check for a concussion, since I did pass out earlier.”

He still looked unconvinced, and in response you cheekily poked at the creases on his forehead. “You should really stop worrying. I’m fine. I promise.”

“I know. I just can’t help it,” he muttered, balling his hands into fists. You noticed the slight tremor going down his arm, and you placed a hand over his fist, raising it to your lips to plant a kiss on his knuckles.

“It’s okay, Saeran. Everything will be fine. I’ll go home with you once the doctor gives the green light. Does that sound good?”

“Yeah, it does,” he nodded, his shoulders finally sagging, relieved from all the tension from earlier. “I’ll need to do a thorough check up for you when we get home though,” he added under his breath, shooting you a flat glare. He was probably kind of peeved because of the huge scare he had gotten, even if it wasn’t your fault.

Well… you weren’t about to complain though. “Be sure to make it a thorough one,” you said with a smirk, prompting his lips to curl up into one as well, while his pupils dilated ever so slightly.

“I’ll make sure of it,” he promised, and you felt a delightful shiver go down your spine at the look in his eyes.

Oh, what you would give to get home right this instant.