#a somehow even more worse thing is that I have aus of multiple different fics | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

koorminii · 2 years ago

Text

COLLEGESLUTS.COM — IDEA 686 | HHJ

Part one of the CSC series. You can find this series’ masterpost here. This can be read as a stand-alone, but you may have questions that will be answered in future installations. Keep in mind this is the intro.

There are three things you hate more than anything: 1. Your english Lit. professor, 2. Frat parties, and last but most definitely not least, 3. CollegeSluts.com and their founders. There are three things Hyunjin hates more than anything: 1. College, 2. Back alley blowjobs, and 3. The frustrating desire to fuck you silly.

PAIRING: hyunjin x f!reader

GENRE: enemies to lovers; smut; crack; angst; college au

WC: 17k…. fear me! (also broke my record!!)

WARNINGS: reader is going through it and will continue to go through it. there’s no development for them at all in this installment i apologize (😭) reader calls skz sex-crazed demons, she’s very confused but not irrational, there’s not many warnings besides for the smut— profanity, alcohol consumption, mentions of alcoholism, annoying characters, insanely inexperienced reader, bet making, one-sided hatred, hyunjin wants to figure you out & thank god for that otherwise this series wouldn’t exist, sexual tension bottled up as hate bc yn is stupid. virgin/corruption kink, loss of virginity, overstimulation, dirty talking, unprotected sex…, creampie, fingering, pussy eating, teasing, breast play, and i think that’s it…

A/N: hi angels, i finished this in three days somehow and even though i didn’t plan on this being my post for 400, we hit it recently so this is it! and it’s fitting since a lot of people are waiting for this series <3 I hope you enjoy the first installment, feel free to share your thoughts in the comments, my ask box, or in a reblog! & lmk if you want to be added to the taglist for this fic or my permanent one which is linked below! i hate writing the introduction to a fic and if you feel like this entire one-shot is pointless i promise it’s not 😭 there’s a lot of drama to come soon but i had to establish some things first!

i managed to make a playlist for this series! please enjoy 👩��‍💻

mlist; taglist; navi; | ⇦ previous | next ⇨

There are three things you hate more than anything.

Your english lit. professor

Frat parties

last, but most definitely not least, collegesluts. com and it’s founders.

It’s the literal bane of your existence, the reason why it’s so hard for you to sleep at night, and the one thing that makes your skin itch even more than the fuzzy sweaters your grandma knits every winter season.

Maybe if the creator of the site wasn’t such a douchebag, and maybe if the site users weren’t even worse, you wouldn’t abhor it as much as you did. But that’s a lot of maybes— ones that create a reality much different than your own and don’t make you feel much better.

You were first introduced to the hellsite in your second year of college— only made a year before. After you found out, age twenty hanging high over your head and no longer a fresh face in the school system, you’d tried and failed to get it shut down. Multiple times.

Happy, carefree people, would just ignore its existence— get on with their life, allow people to be college sluts in peace, but you couldn’t do that. Only you saw it for what it was, right? A sex site for college-goers to ruin their lives before it even started. Everyone else was too blissed out, a hand shoved in their pants every night as they watched their classmates fuck each other without fail. Only you could really see—

“Hello, can you hear!?”

Your eyebrows furrow at the voice behind you and your shoulders tighten when a finger pokes harshly at your skin.

“What?” You groan, rubbing the section of your arm that was unjustly abused. “Can you just be nice like a normal person?”

“Well, you’re an asshole so why would I be nice to you?”

“Fuck off Seungmin. What do you want?”

The only thing that betrays the fact that he heard you at all is the laugh that echoes behind you. Your chest tightens in response, and you fold your arms over your chest.

Kim Seungmin. A close fourth on your list of things you hate more than anything else. He was one of the users on the-site-that-must-not-be-named. A platinum member actually, a fact that always made your skin burn even in the coldest of weather. He was even friends with the site creators, and you wouldn’t doubt he had a hand in making it completely. He’d never been shy in supporting his use of the site, because nowadays regular cam sites were somehow uncool. He even had shirts with the college sluts logo in big, bold, letters. He was a part of one of the things you couldn’t stand. A big part of it even, but you ignored all that so you could call him your best— and one of your only— friends.

Kim Seungmin is first on the things you love, and that automatically removes him from the list of things you hate. When an arm slings itself across your shoulders you barely react, simply steering you both in the direction of your first class. It’s too early to deal with your best friend, and especially his toothy remarks and sarcasm, but you don’t say so and simply allow him to talk your ear off while you concern yourself with more important things.

Things like Hwang Hyunjin and Christopher Bang. The admins of College Sluts and the cause of the twitch in your brow. Sometimes the amount of hatred you felt for the two amazed you. To others, they were college boys— hotter than most, smart, talented, promiscuous. They had a good personality, a future, and were people a lot of other people got along with (and their other friends but you won’t get into that lest you pop a vessel).

To you, it’s agree to disagree. In short, they’ve got everyone totally fooled. Only sex-crazed low lifes actually managed to create a porn site. It’s one thing to think of it, sprawled around their dorm rooms knocked off their ass and barely sober, but it’s another thing to actually do it— work hard on it, execute such ideas— it’s completely baffling to you. How can no one see how perverted that is? You don’t even know what to call it, but the fire that erupts in your gut is enough to tell you that it’s bad.

There’s a bunch of girls and guys crowding around them, laughing and hugging and touching. Touching as if they were in the privacy of their home and not outside where others could see. It makes your chest heat up, and makes weird maggots swallow up your stomach, leaving a tingly feeling in its wake. You hate it. They’re demons. Sex-crazed demons.

“God, I’m starting to think you’re like anti-sex or something.”

You grunt.

“Literally we’re just walking by and you look like you’re contemplating murder.”

You hum.

“Jesus,” Seungmin sighs, shaking his head before waving over at his friends. More like his sinner acquaintances. Don’t get it wrong, you’re not overly religious or particularly shameful— despite how you might seem— but it’s something about that entire group (Seungmin sometimes included) that makes you feel like breaking something. Choking something? Crying? Screaming? You’re not sure anymore.

When you catch Hyunjin’s eye he smirks and you frown. Just the sight of him is enough to make your head hurt and your knees weak. At least, that makes sense to you. The rest of the student body? Not so much.

You hoist your bag up on your shoulder and tear your gaze away from him. Your building isn’t much farther and if you squint really hard you can pretend you don’t see Hyunjin approaching from the corner of your eye. It’s a hot day and when he sidles up to you, shoulders almost touching, it gets much hotter.

“Hey,” he greets, slapping palms with Seungmin and holding one down low for you. Your hand hesitates, almost greeting him in return before you slap his arm and send a glare his way.

“Bye,” you grit, turning your head away from him and grabbing at Seungmin’s arm. “I have somewhere to be.”

“Loosen up!” He calls, his long legs easily catching up to your fast pace. “I just wanted to say hi to my favorite girl.”

Your breath stutters the tiniest bit but you ignore it, not bothering to grant that remark an answer. Hyunjin is flirty. Too flirty. Stupid flirty. The kind of flirty that gets girls like you all riled up even when you’re supposed to be hating him, even when you’re supposed to curse the very ground he walks on, and it just makes the dreadful maggots in your system start up their annoying fluttering.

Seungmin doesn’t say anything, even when your grip on his arm tightens at a painful rate. You will your heart to stop beating so damn hard and for your entire body to stop reacting so easily to him. You don’t even know him so why does he hold so much influence over you? Someone like him? Someone who spends their time and their intelligence on a haphazard college porn site? No. No way.

“What do you want, Hyunjin?”

The devil with the long brown hair, and soft cheeks, and cute dimples takes the chance to lean close to your ear, making sure you hear whatever it is he has to say.

“Don’t be too mad at me, bug. I just wanted to tell you that you look gorgeous today.” Hyunjin pats your cheek, smiling before he leans away, turning back the way he came.

“See you later.”

And that’s that. The sex demon comes to set your cheeks ablaze and leaves once he’s done, letting you deal with your muddled feelings on your own. Once you start walking again, ignoring the stare boring into your cheeks and the confusing pounding of your heart, there’s only three words on your mind.

Fuck Hwang Hyunjin.

There are three things Hyunjin hates more than anything:

1. College

2. Back alley blowjobs

3. The frustratingly clear desire he has to fuck you silly.

Hyunjin isn’t sure when he realized it exactly. He doesn’t even know why he reacts to you so strongly. If you were anyone else he probably wouldn’t give you a second glance. He’s sure of it. Maybe it’s the desire to want something you can’t have, or the fact that you aren’t groveling at his feet.

It’s not like Hyunjin has any idea of why exactly you’re so hellbent on hating his guts, nor does he really care all that much. So you don’t like College Sluts, that’s your right as is anyone else’s, but it’s not like he’s shoving the damn shit in your face. He minds his business, manages his porn site, and does it all with a smile on his face. You, though? It’s a miracle he’s seen you smile once. And that was when he wasn’t paying attention and knocked into someone carrying a full tray of food.

Chan laughs at him all the time and so does Minho, wondering if he has some weird kink for wanting people who clearly don’t want him back, but more and more he’s thinking that isn’t the case. He’s always been bold, always been a bit flirty even when he wasn’t trying, and he knows he’s easy on the eyes. It’s not a secret, but your reaction to him isn’t one of disdain or clear attraction, but rather confusion, and that confuses him.

He flips the mic in his hands, switching between cradling it and flinging it every which way. The speakers of the karaoke system effectively drag him from his thoughts as the music gets louder and Jisung spins Felix around on their makeshift stage. Whoops and hollers echo from around them, the rest of their friends cheering at the performance in front of them. Hyunjin can’t bring himself to laugh even as a smile threatens to take hold of his features.

“Yo, what’s up with you?” Jisung plops down beside him, slinging an arm around Hyunjin's shoulders as puffs of breath leave his lips. “You’ve been sitting here brooding. What’s going on?”

“I don’t brood,” Hyunjin argues, though he maneuvers his body so he can tell Jisung exactly what has him brooding. “It’s just— I’m still thinking about Y/n.”

“Bro.”

“It doesn’t seem weird to you?”

“Weird that she’s just not interested? This is a new low, Hyunjin. Not everyone is gonna be attracted to you—”

“I know, but that’s not what I’m saying. Doesn’t her whole attitude towards us seem a bit excessive? All over a website.”

“It’s not your typical website.”

“Sung, it’s probably one of the safest porn sites out there because of how exclusive it is. No one but students here can get on it.”

“Does she know that?”

“That’s my point,” Hyunjin sighs, running a hand through his hair before starting again. “If she doesn’t even know the full details of the site, how can she possibly hate it? Hate us?”

Jisung pauses, looking back towards the stage. It’s true that all eight of them have thought about this at least once. They know there’s people who hate the website, who steer clear of it in all instances, but none who have made petitions and gone to the superintendent requesting an audience about it. No one who’s actively been so hateful to them specifically, refusing to look in their direction unless it’s to send a glare their way.

“Maybe there's another reason?” Jisung offers, sending Hyunjin a sideways glance. “I mean, maybe she just hates porn.”

Hyunjin snorts at that. How can anyone hate porn?

“You’re laughing but I’m dead serious. Has she ever even had a partner?”

“How the fuck would I know?”

“You think about her 24/7. I wouldn't be surprised if you knew what she ate for breakfast.”

“Not fucking funny.”

Jisung barks out a laugh, falling over into Hyunjin’s space. “Don’t worry, you’ll get over it soon.”

Hyunjin isn’t so sure but he nods anyway, allowing Jisung to go back to the stage for the next song. Hyunjin knocks back his drink, throat constricting barely at the bitter taste. He doesn’t care. He really doesn’t, but there’s something weird about your behavior and he’s more than determined to figure it out. Maybe he needs to just mind his business but fuck that, he thinks, no one is gonna hate him for no reason. Maybe he’s a little too riled up at that, maybe Jisung is right and this is a new low. Maybe he just really can’t deal with rejection well. Maybe.

Minho’s screeching into the mic does it’s hardest to ruin Hyunjin’s night, but the way the rest of his friends tackle him and attempt to steal the mic just makes him laugh, leaving a warm feeling in his chest. This is all he needs— his friends and a good drink to put a smile on his face. And the college porn site he worked very hard on, of course.

The group only gets through a few more songs before they decide to leave, deciding to ignore the fact that some of them have classes in six hours or that they’ll be nursing a bad headache for the entirety of it. Hyunjin is one of them. He laughs along with his friends as they walk, and he watches them from where he stands in the back.

Jisung has his phone out and is making a concerned face, typing furiously on the device. Either they’re having technical issues or his girlfriend is getting on his ass once again. Minho has an arm slung around his shoulders, laughing at whatever it is he’s typing and whoever it is that’s typing back. Next to them Felix and Jeongin have joined hands and Felix swings them back and forth, giggling as he does. Jeongin pretends he doesn’t like it, like usual, but Hyunjin notices the hint of a smile on his face. He always notices.

Chan and Changbin are quiet on either side of him, walking in the tranquil quiet that’s always rare for their group. It feels incomplete— Hyunjin wishes Seungmin could’ve come. He doesn’t know how the boy manages to be friends with the creators of the CSC and also be friends with its #1 hater. Maybe he’s selling secrets, telling you everything about the site, all its loopholes and glitches. Maybe he’s working against them now, coming up with a plan to shut them down once and for all, though Hyunjin doesn’t know if that’s possible.

Right after those thoughts trickle into his mind, he thinks about Seungmin wearing the handmade “merch” for the site, and doesn’t entertain them any longer. It would be ridiculous— even for him— to think that someone who repped college sluts like it was their brand would ever work even harder to tear it away.

The knot in his throat that’s been squeezing at his airways since earlier that night relaxes just a little. He’s never actually said this to anyone, but just as much as he thinks about why you hate him, he thinks about whether Seungmin will hate him too; about if he’ll lose a friend due to reasons he’s not even sure of. As much as he thinks about why you hate him so badly, he thinks about why he doesn’t hate you right back. He wonders why he— instead of wanting nothing to do with you— wants to know everything about you. Why he wants to understand you when you’ve made no effort to understand him, or worse, made up your own mind about who he is without even attempting to entertain the idea that maybe you’re wrong.

Hyunjin has lived his whole life suffering from other people's ideas of him, from their expectations that they held with no prior consultation with him, from the perfect picture of him in their minds that didn’t correlate with the real Hyunjin. He’s had his fair share of wondering, thinking, wanting. And it’s disappointing to see how even after all this time, since childhood, nothing has changed. He’s always wanted what he’s not allowed to have, but it’s not for lack of trying.

They don’t arrive at their frat house quick enough. As soon as the door opens into the building Hyunjin feels like falling asleep on the couch. It wouldn’t be the first time, but he’s also not sure what last happened on that couch. Between spilled drinks and sex that was too rushed to even make it to a bedroom he’d rather take his chances on an actual bed. Chan doesn’t bother to turn the lights on when he comes in, and the seven of them shuffle around each other, spilling into the living room or into the kitchen to grab drinks and snacks as if they didn’t just come back from eating.

Hyunjin knows he’s been distant all night but he can’t be bothered to care as he sends a quick good night his friends’ way and makes his way upstairs. The house holds eight other boys besides them and he’s surprised none of them are downstairs or hanging around even at the late hour. Though, Hyunjin reasons, most of them have girlfriends and the few others that don’t are seniors and probably pull all-nighters in the library or some shit.

Hyunjin doesn’t want to think about that. The year only started back up again a few months ago, he doesn’t need to be thinking about work anymore than he already does. He makes a good living even without a real job, so he’s taking shit day by day. It’s not like anyone else is much different. Most of his seniors are cramming because they were so carefree. Hyunjin doesn’t think about the implications of that either.

The softness of his bed is long overdue and his body sinks into the plush bedding. He strips off his shirt and pants, not bothering to make his way to a shower or put pajamas on or do anything really. He has five hours before he needs to wake back up and this is nothing if not a power nap that won’t help him get through any lectures the next day. Or, later that day rather.

Hyunjin doesn’t concern himself with that though, because there’s only one thing that’s on his mind when he falls asleep and when he wakes up, and that’s what he’s going to say to you tomorrow morning in the first class of the day.

The first thing you manage to think of when you wake up is how best you’re going to ignore Hyunjin today. You’ve been brainstorming, wondering which response will humble him the best, maybe make him speechless for long enough that you can get away. If only those getaways could last forever, you sigh, pulling a fitted tee over your head. It’s low-cut, makes your cleavage pop just a little bit more, and you add a necklace for that exact reason.

You’re not the sex-crazed demon that the CSC most definitely are, but you do like a little attention every now and again even if you don’t get that much action. Or any, really, and you’re just fine with that. It’s one of the reasons why you don’t like the CSC. There’s no reason to sexify everything, and that’s exactly what they do. People can get by just fine without it.

Just fine? Seungmin would probably jab, but he’s not here right now and he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. You are just fine, but the mention of the-site-that-must-not-be-named just fills your stomach with stones and ignites your nerves like nothing else does. To you, that’s more than enough proof that it’s the CSC’s fault— not yours.

Anyway, today is the day you have to see Hyunjin bright and early, which always manages to set your day off to a bad start. No one should have to deal with him at this time of day, or any time of day, and you pity the ones that do. Seeing Chan isn’t rare, but he doesn’t talk to you like Hyunjin does. He stares every now and again, gives you a lazy smirk, and is generally sexy as much as it pains you to admit it, but he doesn’t bother you. Though you know he probably talks about you. His stares are too knowing, way too insightful even when you don’t really know each other.

The rest of the boys you’ve talked to on a few occasions. They aren’t as insufferable, but they are associated with Hyunjin and Chan and are, in fact, involved in the upkeep of the-site-that-must-not-be-named. To you, that’s more than enough reason to at the least dislike them. You don’t hold soft spots for any of them, except maybe Felix who seems way too sweet to be a sex demon, but then again, it’s always the nice ones.

Besides, it doesn’t matter what they say to you or don’t say, or if they look at you or not, or if they even know you exist. It really doesn’t matter. You shake the thoughts from your head vigorously, ashamed at the fact that you spent the first hour of your morning on them. It’s unbecoming of you. It’s good to remind yourself not to actively concern yourself with any of them, and simply fight for the site’s demolition like you’ve been doing.

Seungmin says you have no life, but Seungmin also wears T-shirts with cartoonish, glittery pink boobs and the site’s name in glittery cursive letters. You don’t think Seungmin should have an opinion.

The last time you attempted to do anything about the site was roughly two months ago, a month after school started back. You took your time to settle in, fall into a routine, and get your work and classes in order before resuming your mission. It was arduous, brainstorming and juggling school work, but it was your responsibility since no one else would work hard enough.

A quick shuffle through any of your things would tell people you were a perfectionist— articulate in your placement of items and the way you did things. Even taking the time to plan certain outings to a T, determined to make sure everything goes well. It’s not a secret how obsessive you get over things and how uncomfortable or incomplete you feel when things don’t go your way, when you have to follow someone else’s idea of how things should work. It’s the reason why most people don’t get along with you because to them you’re too controlling, too compulsive and dominating.

When you were a child that fact had bothered you. It was confusing— that was just your nature, and you wouldn’t have survived your childhood without it based on the way your parents lived. When kids would shun you, treat you like something sticky at the bottom of their shoe, it hurt your young heart. You felt apologetic simply for acting the way you always felt like you should act, for doing the things that left you satisfied after. Now, in college, no one demands classmates to get along, no one can shun you in the cafeteria and force you to eat in the library. If they don’t like you it’s fine with you, frankly it doesn’t matter. You have one goal and one goal only, and once that’s over with you can move on.

When you step out of your dorm the sun is blinding, shining down with unforgiving rays of light. All you can do is squint, tilt your head down a little and wish you had a hat. The walk to the Art’s building is long, but feels longer with how warm it is. The heat shimmies its way under your clothes and into your skin, from the top of your head to the tip of your toes.

The scenery on the walk there is always breathtaking though, the pavement that makes up the pathway to the building is closed in by blades of grass that have been cut and trimmed to perfection. Rocks make up the border between them— large smooth stones that vary in size but are more or less the same oval shape. There’s an entire garden full of all types of flowers, Gardenias, Lilies, Irises, Tulips, and even some you can’t name. At the entrance of the building there are bright lights that illuminate at least 25 feet in front of it at night, and wide hedges that have been designed to look like swans, their necks curved in a way that if they were moved next to each other they’d be forming a heart. White flowers grow inside the hedges serving to make the entire scene look more beautiful, and as much as you hate walking there, the view is unmatched.

The Art building has always been your safe haven, Art in general being your home away from home. It took a long time for you to feel comfortable studying it— always caught up in the what if. What if you can’t make a living from it? What if you end up not liking it as you grow older? What if it’s not a sustainable career? Questions that still plague you often, and stop you from putting as much of your heart in it as you’d wish. These classes are somewhat self-indulgent. A way for you to escape from the hectic mess that is your life, away from the stress of work, from the anxiety of what comes next, and from the infuriating instances that continue without your control— away from the things you can’t control so you can run to things you can. So imagine your horror when you found out Hwang Hyunjin was in the same class as you. At the same time. Doing the same thing.

It felt like your escape wasn’t yours anymore, and that the stress from your day followed you everywhere you went. It wasn’t enough for Hyunjin to pester you often— he had to be everywhere you were too.

You take a deep breath to calm your nerves, setting your shoulders and regain the poise you take pride in– carrying yourself with the confidence you wish you had. It doesn’t take long for you to make your way to the entrance of the building, as you walk, having been kissed by the scorching light of the sun and brushed against by dewy blades of grass. It feels surreal and staggering to be outside alone so early in the morning, yet peaceful, for you know that it will be long before you get this chance again.

“Bug!”

Oh no. no no no. You walk faster, hoping to make it inside before Hyunjin can catch up to you. Hyunjin is never this early. He either comes right on time or late to the frustration of your teachers and peers although no one would ever say it to his face. You can hear his feet against the pavement louder and louder as he comes closer to you, catching up just when you take the first step up the stairs to the entrance.

“You didn’t hear me, bug?”

“Stop calling me bug.”

“Sorry, bug,” Hyunjin laughs, putting a heavy arm over your shoulders and bringing you closer.

You roll your eyes so hard it feels like they’re gonna stick. Maybe they should so you don’t ever have to see Hyunjin again. Maybe he’d think you look scary like that, your eyes rolled up forever. Maybe then he’d leave you alone.

Hyunjin is annoying. He always acts like you’re his friend, but you know it’s fake because why would he want to be friends with you, someone who hates everything he works hard on and hates him as well to an extent. It seems overly fake and forced to you, so you don’t ever entertain it. The last thing you need is to fall for it and then be made out to look like an idiot when he eventually embarrasses you.

“It’s too early.”

“It’s never too early, pretty.”

“It’s always too early to be dealing with you,” You groan, wrenching his arm away from where it laid over your shoulders. “Why are you talking to me?”

“Why not?” Hyunjin asks, seemingly unaffected by your attitude towards him. He shoves his hands in his pockets, his shoulders raised up to his chin in a shrug. “I like talking to you.”

You snort, looking up at him with eyebrows raised, “You like talking to me, the one person— possibly in this world— who absolutely hates you, and barely spares you the time of day?” You ask, tilting your head in mock confusion. “I’m sure this is the longest we’ve ever had a conversation, but nice try.” You squeeze his cheeks, hard, and when he swats your hand away you can’t help the giggle that you let out. If his cheeks felt like dough under your fingers you’re choosing to ignore that, wiping a hand on your jeans with way more intensity than needed.

“But see,” Hyunjin starts again, “We’re having a conversation right now and neither of us wanna choke each other.”

“Speak for yourself. I’m barely resisting the urge to punt your head like a baseball.”

It’s silent for a moment before you both burst out into a fit of giggles. Hyunjin braces himself against his knees as he laughs, his hair falling over his face as he does, and you’re not much better— staggering where you stand to laugh with him. It only takes a few seconds for you both to calm down, and slowly the reality of what happened catches up to you.

“Do you even punt baseballs?” Hyunjin snorts, and you just laugh harder.

“I don’t know, Hyunjin, if you haven’t noticed I’m at the arts building not sports.” You wheeze, fighting through another laugh. “Now I’m just imagining your head flying over the gardens.”

Hyunjin lets out another chuckle but shivers a bit at the thought. He waits for you to calm down, your giggles turning into small huffs. A hint of a smile still remains on your cheeks, and the sun shines down so strongly on your features it feels like he’s seeing an angel— like divinity right in front of his eyes. When you straighten up, he can see every movement. The way you position your bag upright, the way a bit of your gums poke out from your lips. Your lips, soft, glossy, and look the most perfect in a smile. He can see the way your eyebrows lose the tension from your laughing fit, the way the crinkle of your eyes lessen as your face relaxes. He can see everything, so he can also see when your lips fall back into a firm line, when your eyebrows go back to that angry stance they always hold when you’re around him. The way your shoulders stiffen, and the grip on your bag tightens. He can see everything, and he reminds himself the only time you laugh is when he’s the butt of the joke.

“I’m going to class,” You murmur, walking the rest of the way up the stairs and into the building without looking back or waiting for him to respond. Though Hyunjin wonders what he would’ve even said.

I’ll come with you.

We can sit together.

No, you both can’t do anything together, and more and more Hyunjin wonders why he even wants to.

“You were laughing with Hwang Hyunjin? The sex demon??” Your friend hisses from next to you, stringing a lock of hair behind her ear. “You?”

“Yes, me, Jieun.” You huff. “I can barely believe it either. What did he do to me? I hate him, I can’t show weakness by laughing around him.”

“Honey,” Jieun laughs, leaning towards you, “You can laugh. Honestly the fact that you ran away after is hilarious.”

“I didn’t run away.”

“You ran away.”

“I didn’t run.”

Jieun settles on you with a heavy stare, face slack, and you roll your eyes. “Fine, I walked away.”

“I don’t know how either of you take each other seriously.”

“I don’t take him seriously.”

“Yeah you do, babe. You refuse to laugh around him. That’s very serious.”

You snort.

“And the fact that he gives you the time of day when this is the dumbest feud possible… I just don’t understand it.”

“It’s not dumb.” You sputter, smoothing your hand over the glossy wooden desk of the classroom. “It’s…” You trail off, staring into the large windows at the side of the room. You cock your head and lean forward, jaw slack when the sex demon himself waves outside. “Oh what a stalker.” You growl, throwing up the middle finger in his direction. “He’s got his little posse following him too.”

When Jieun makes to wave back you smack the back of her head and groan when she gives you an affronted look.

“What was that for?” Jieun exclaims, bringing a hand up to rub against the back of her head.

“Don’t fraternize with the enemy,” You hiss, folding your arms over your chest and staring back at your professor.

“Are you gonna explain the feud—”

“No.”

In your opinion, class doesn’t end quickly enough. You split with Jieun at the entrance, the both of you going in opposite directions, and attempt to reorder your frazzled mind. So you laughed. A lot of people laugh at people they hate. Plus, he laughed too— so why should you be overthinking it? You’ve laughed before, in situations you weren’t supposed to, and this is no different. Now you just need to make sure it never happens again. You nod to yourself as you walk, pulling out your phone to make sure Seungmin is already at the meeting spot.

The sun is still just as ruthless as it was earlier, but a light breeze grazes your skin and rustles the trees along the sidewalk and in the field in front of you. There’s a bunch of picnic tables, some occupied and some of them not. There’s groups of friends sitting under trees, some couples, some of them alone; reading or completing assignments in the nice weather. You spot Seungmin a few tables down, a brown sweater over a collared shirt and cute glasses perched upon his nose.

You take your time walking to the table, letting your skin soak in the warmth and tranquil peace of nature. When Seungmin spots you he shuffles over, giving you some space to sit next to him and you do, mumbling a small hey before knocking your head against the table.

“You’re going to a party with me.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Seungmin… Hi, how are you? How was your day? No, I’m not.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

“Well, unless you’re going to drag me, no I’m not.”

“I just might,” Seungmin sighs, “Why are you so difficult?”

“Difficult? You’re the one being difficult. I don’t want to go and you’re telling me it’s not a choice.”

“Because it’s not.”

You let out a groan, a long torturous one that has people turning their head to a straight faced Seungmin and you who’s head is still knocked against the table. When people think it’s stopped it starts all over again, a guttural groan filled with displeasure and frustration that loosens your chest when it’s done.

“Are you done?”

“Leave me alone.”

“It’s on Saturday. I can pick you up.” Seungmin says instead of arguing.

“Today’s Thursday.” You whine, just stopping yourself from letting out another groan— one that wouldn’t ever stop for as long as you have to deal with Kim Seungmin and his annoying, snarky, bossy self.

“…. I’m aware.” Seungmin says, and you don’t even have to look at him to know he’s making a face like and so what?

“I can’t stand you, I hope you know that. No type of warning, no preparation… I don’t party. I need at least two weeks to mentally prepare myself and another two weeks to get an outfit.”

“Damn.” Seungmin says, but he rubs a hand against your back, lightly pushing you to lift your head from the table. “Listen, I’ll help you. And it’s being thrown by people I know so you don’t have to worry. I don’t think many people throw college parties a month in advance but I’ll keep that in mind.”

All you can do is nod, waiting patiently as Seungmin finishes whatever assignment he’s working on. You’ve already completed the ones you have, the pro of not having much else to do and being on top of things always. Everyday you both meet up here, either at a table or under one of the trees and talk. Read, finish assignments, or even eat snacks. There have been some times where you meet there and then go somewhere else together, rarely off campus but it happens, and you get something to eat or go on a mini adventure. It’s the highlight of your day and you’re sure it is for Seungmin too, but you’d never admit that to each other. You don’t have to, though, because you’re both always on the same wavelength especially when it counts the most.

Though now he’s given you something else to worry about, that being this sudden party. It’s no doubt being held by a frat house, and you have an inkling which house it is. You haven’t asked, trying not to pop the bubble of secureness that surrounds you. You can go to a party being held by the CSC. You can, and you will, and if it isn’t being held by them then that’s even better. You try to convince yourself you really don’t care at all, but the thought remains. Can you really enjoy yourself at a party being held by them? You don’t know why it bothers you so much or why you feel so uncomfortable having a good time around them, but you just keep repeating the same thing to yourself over and over. It doesn’t matter.

“Jieun told me what happened this morning.”

“Of course she did.” You sigh, staring ahead at the group of squirrels running up a tree. The people under it startle when leaves start to fall over their heads. “We just left each other, how did she find the time to text you all that?”

“She called me,” Seungmin cackles, braces on full display as he scribbles furiously into his notebook. “Every story I hear about you and Hyunjin is against my will.”

“Every interaction between me and Hyunjin is against my will,” You counter, shifting so that you face him. “What did she say?”

“That you laughed with him and it embarrassed you. That you’re confused about your feelings towards him.”

“So are you two my therapists now? I’m not confused. I don’t like the things he does— I don’t like his carefree attitude, how he has no problem talking to me like we’re friends. I don’t like- No, I hate the fact that so many people fucking praise him because he created some crude porn site.”

Your heart rate picks up, your hand gripping at your jeans as a poor attempt to conceal your growing frustration. “I don’t like the fact that no one else sees what’s wrong with it. We shouldn’t have a fucking porn site for college students? I don’t think we should know what we all look like under our clothes and I’m tired of everyone acting like I'm the crazy one. He’s the perverted one, the weird one. Who the fuck thinks of something like that? It’s not just him, it’s all of them.”

Seungmin ponders your words, the grip on his pen tightening ever so slightly. “Hyunjin is a good guy. All of them are, and if that’s how you feel then why do you talk to me? I use the site, I'm their friend, I’ve helped them out when making it. Aren’t I weird and perverted too?”

You sigh, “Seungmin…”

“Help me understand. Because if you can stand to be around me, then why can’t you be around them? Or try.”

“It isn’t the same and you know it. It’s easy to ignore it when it’s you. That’s them. They are the CSC to me. A reminder of everything I hate, what I want to get rid of.”

“But why the hell does it matter? People want to use the site and that’s why they do. No one is fucking forcing it.”

“You guys just don’t understand it. None of you do. It’s like you’re blinded by it or something.”

“We’re grown adults, Y/N,” Seungmin growls, “We don’t need you to be a guardian fucking angel.”

“Don’t make me out to be the bad guy, just because all you fucking care about is sex or some college sluts, like can you actually be that shallow?”

“Why is it so hard for you to see reason? Do you see how angry you’re getting at me for asking a simple question? You asked me what Jieun said and I told you.” Seungmin spits, shutting his book with a slam.

“Stop asking me about that site. Stop making me seem like some confused hateful person just because you’re too dense to understand where I’m coming from. I’m not confused, I know exactly how I feel. I try not to bring it up because you like the damn thing so much, and you can’t seem to hold the same courtesy for me.” You stand from the seat, settling a dark glare at Seungmin’s angered form.

“Fuck your friends, fuck that site. Stop talking about me like I need guidance.”

You’re not irrational. You’re not. You have every right to be angry. Seungmin is your friend. Jieun is your friend. They’re supposed to be there for you, not gang up on you. You feel alone, so alone in everything you fight for, in everything you aim to conquer— as if the things you stand for don’t matter. It reminds you of middle school all over again, of high school— having people look at you like you were something from another planet. Someone people had always failed to understand. It’s lonely. You’re not irrational.

You didn’t blow up. You’re not angry. You’re frustrated, yes, but you don’t blow up. You don’t get mad. You aren’t irrational. Anyone else in your position would feel the same, right? Anyone else would be upset because it feels like your friends always take the side of the people you despise more than anyone else. Why aren’t they on your side? Why don’t they believe you? Why don’t they understand? It makes you feel stupid. It makes you feel like you have no right to feel the way you do. It’s lonely.

You’ve never been irrational. You’ve always had a good grip on your feelings. Always. And when it feels like the grip loosens it’s always the cause of something relating to the CSC. It’s proof that it’s what the root of your problems is. It’s proof that the CSC needs to be gone so you can finally go back to normal. So you don’t feel like the odd one out. So you don’t have to feel so upset. Because you’re not irrational. You have every right to feel this way. You don’t get mad. You’re not angry. You don’t blow up.

You control everything, you control your actions, your emotions, and you make sure to hold control over your environment— of how things play out for every second of your life. This feels like it’s running out of control. That the CSC brings havoc in your life no matter what— even when you try to ignore it, it comes running back to fuck you over even further. You’re not irrational. You’re not confused. You don’t get mad. You don’t. You don’t blow up. You control everything.

The sun hides right when you need it. You pretend tears don’t blur your vision, you pretend that the suddenly gloomy environment doesn’t affect you the way it does. You pretend that the once comforting breeze doesn’t feel sharp against your exposed skin. You pretend because when things run out of control that’s all you can do. Pretend you’ve got it handled, pretend that you still have a grip on things, pretend that you understand. You’re not irrational. You have every right to feel this way.

You never argue with Seungmin. Playful bickering from time to time or you two being rude to each other but always playfully. You’ve never cursed at him so maliciously, spoken to him like he was someone random, as if he wasn’t your best friend. You’ve never done those things— but you do when the CSC is involved. You never get pissed at Jieun, even when she’s annoying, even when she acts like the only thing important in life is the new boy she’s talking to— You don’t get mad. You’re not mad now, but you’re something. Something fiery, and everything always goes back to the CSC. You’re not irrational. You’re just the only one who understands.

Right when you see the blurry form of your dorm building it gets blocked by a large body and you slam right into its chest. You can barely see in front of you and you know your face is screwed up into the worst form imaginable, tears falling with no control. Without your control.

“Sorry, excuse me,” You laugh wetly, sidestepping whoever is blocking your way and running up the steps to your dorm. The sooner you fall into your bed and cry this out, the sooner you can forget about it. The sooner you can apologize and move past this weird limbo of feelings. It feels like purgatory, stuck in the in between, not sure which direction you’ll end up going in. It’s full of unsureness, of frustration. It feels like a loss of control. It angers you, makes you feel like nothing is going right.

But you don’t get angry. You’re not irrational. You don’t get mad. You pretend, because that’s all you can do.

Hyunjin is confused.

The last thing he expected to see this morning was you laughing, but now, he realizes the last thing he ever expected to see was you crying. Eyes glossy with tears, a nose rubbed raw, face screwed up into something pitiful.

Hyunjin doesn’t know a lot of things. He doesn’t expect a lot of things, but most of all he doesn’t know how to continue after seeing it. He doesn’t expect to care so much, not after the way you’ve regarded him. After the way you’ve both regarded each other. He doesn’t know why he can’t walk away and say nothing when he knows he should. If he brings it up you’ll get defensive, be embarrassed, be angry. He shouldn’t say anything.

He keeps walking, frowning slightly at the gloomy clouds. It was so sunny less than an hour ago. Things change so quickly, it doesn’t make any sense. He thinks back to earlier that morning, the light that shone on your face with every laugh you let out. He thinks back to just a few seconds ago. How dark shadows fell over your face as tears ran down your cheeks.

The walk is more automatic than anything else. He doesn’t take the time to stare at the scenery, he doesn’t look at the people around him. He barely sees the ground in front of him as he walks, his mind not registering what’s right in front of his face. He’s too caught up in you. Like usual, wondering why you do the things you do, why you feel the way you feel, wanting to understand. What did he do? What can he do to make you feel better? How can he make you hate him any less? He wants to understand, he wants to listen, to talk to you, to be near you. It confuses him.

His phone vibrates, pulling him from his thoughts. It’s chan, texting about the party on Saturday, and he sighs, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He’s so tired, tired of running around for parties, tired of attending to the site, tired of waking up early for classes. He just wants a second to sit down and relax, to not worry about you ruining the one thing he’s worked hard for, to not worry about what class he’s flunking, about what party he’s expected to attend, to not worry about why you were crying in the middle of the afternoon. He just wants a moment to collect his thoughts and free his mind.

HJ: I got it

BC: alr cool, put it in the cabinet with the lock, you know how Hyunjoon gets

HJ: Fuck, is it that bad?

BC: he’s an alcoholic bud, it’s that bad.

Hyunjin laughs a little, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. He wonders if Seungmin told you about the party yet and grimaces, wondering if that’s the reason why you were crying. If it is, he’s not sure who needs to get a grip. You, for hating him so bad, or him for continuing to try and get you not to. It takes a lot of effort for him to continue the power walk back to the frat, but he arrives sooner than later, stuffing the bag of drinks inside the cabinet and locking it shut. He thinks it’s a bit ridiculous that they have to lock the alcohol up as if they have small kids running around, and also wonders the effectiveness when Hyunjoon lives in a frat house and is an adult who can buy his own alcohol.

It’s Thursday afternoon but he finds that he’s not as excited for a party as he should be. Usually, he’d be bouncing on his heels, counting down the hours for it to start, and realizing he’s so caught up in everything else going around he doesn’t feel that normal excitement that he so often does. He makes sure to fix that, shaking the unnecessary thoughts from his head, pushing responsibilities to later. He has a party to prepare for and he's gonna act like it.

The rest of the boys don’t get back till later— they’d given Hyunjin the responsibility of buying cups and drinks and shitty snacks while they went off somewhere else. Hyunjin can’t keep track of what they do especially if he’s not joining, so he focuses on doing what he’s supposed to in order to make this the best party of the year so far. His frat has always held the record of best parties— has always held their winnings in high regard as well, and he’ll be damned if he gets the cold shoulder if he’s the reason the party isn’t as good as it should be. Most of all, he’s thinking about what he’s gonna do during it.

Hyunjin is not shy on having sex— never has been, never will be, and more often than not he’s having it. Sure, that may be expected since he made a literal porn site, but Jisung also had a hand in it and he has a girlfriend. Felix doesn’t have one-night stands often, nor does Seungmin. It’s different for all of them.

He knows there’s a few girls that have been actively trying to get in his pants, knows that he’s been trying to get into theirs, but he can only hope he can focus on them for long enough to do so without thinking about you. If you come, he knows that there’s no chance he’ll think of anything else, and he’ll probably spend the entire night just getting you to laugh again. To get you to explain to him why. why why why. It’s confusing, but he pretends it doesn’t matter.

Thursday comes and goes too quickly, and Friday does as well. The day isn’t over yet, it’s only the afternoon, but the implications of that make you anxious. Make your nerves ignite far more than they should.

Seungmin didn’t answer your calls for the rest of that Thursday. Didn’t read or respond to a single text until you decided to leave him alone. Jieun called, but you didn’t answer. You think the way you felt towards her is the way Seungmin felt towards you. Maybe something worse, so you gave him space and took some for yourself, a moment to really think about what made you react the way you did. You don’t think you’re in the wrong, you still don’t think you could’ve reacted any other way and you’re not sure what that says about you.

You take another bite of your sandwich as you walk down the street from the Art store, your phone cradled in your other hand and a drink poking out from the opening in your bag. It’s hard to mentally prepare for things that you don’t know anything about. You don’t know where the party is, who’s hosting it, how long you’re expected to stay. Thought that’s if you’re even still going. You want to take Seungmin’s silence as an answer that no, you aren’t, but you also don’t want to assume that and then he shows up at your door and you’re not ready.

You don’t want to go, not at all, but if it made Seungmin happy then you would. If he didn’t come to pick you up you briefly entertained finding your own way to the party and cornering him, forcing him to hear your apology before leaving and soaking your pillow with tears. But you don’t know where the party is. You also briefly entertained the idea of calling Jieun and asking her, but you’re not interested in the lecture that would come from that. You still don’t appreciate her words about you to Seungmin and the implication of them. Seungmin is your friend, you can tell him what happened all by yourself. You don't need Jieun to play messenger.

You swallow the last of your lunch and throw the wrapper in the nearest trash can. You want to start a new painting, one that can unleash the frustrations of your life as it is right now, and you can only do that by getting some new supplies. You save up constantly for this exact reason— for the ability to buy whatever your heart desires whenever it desires it. You dip your toes into whatever interests you, and all concepts of Art satisfies you more than anything. Writing whatever you desire, taking pictures of the things you find beautiful, painting whatever you want— it gives you the control that fuels you more than anything else.

The art shop by your university is quaint, always quiet and never very full, yet always filled with high quality supplies and fully stocked. You’ve made friends with the old lady who owns it and her daughter, constantly going there just to buy something in order to catch up with them on whatever has happened since your last visit. They’re like the mother and sister you never had, people who feel more like family than your own. It’s partly for that reason that you’ve made the trek there, hoping to get some advice for the things you’ve been feeling before going to the party that’s undoubtedly being held by the one group of people you despise.

The bells above the door jingle when you step in, and you let the smell of paint, chalk, crayons, pens, and faint air freshener soothe you. It’s just as cluttered as it’s always been— stacks upon stacks of sketchbooks and canvases on one side situated next to the easels and small desks. The paints have a section of their own, oil, watercolor, acrylic, matte, and more— on the opposite side there’s pens and crayons, colored pencils, oil pastels, and sharpeners of all shapes and sizes.

The walls are covered in paint as if before bringing in all the items they’d had fun splattering the walls in color. It’s messy, unruly, cluttered, and barely organized— so it doesn’t make sense to you why it comforts you so much. When you see a small form hobble out from behind a stack of books a smile forms unbiddenly on your face, and the small old lady smiles back.

“I missed you, dear,” She scolds, wrapping you up in a hug. “It’s been too long since you’ve come to visit.”

“I know, I’ve just been busy Ms. Yang. I missed you.” You sigh, rubbing your nose in the soft fabric of her sweater. She smells like paint and flowers— she smells like home.

“Sam will be here soon, she’d love to see you.”

“Yeah, that’d be nice. I need to talk to her too.”

“I can tell, child. You look stressed.” She sighs, shuffling behind the counter and sitting on one of the other seats behind it. “Get what you’re looking for,” She says waving a hand dismissively towards you.” I won’t make you explain it twice.”

You huff lightheartedly, making your way over to the canvases and picking one of medium proportions. You’re still not sure what it is you want to paint, but you know whatever you’re feeling is strong enough that you grab Oil paint, needing something rich and vibrant and something sharper to contrast the muddled and cloudy image of your mind.

It’s before long that you settle on a brand you normally buy, and the set of bells signal someone’s arrival into the shop. You turn your head, expecting to see Sam and her long curly hair, beautiful in its volume and her tawny brown skin, but instead you’re greeted with the sight of straight brown hair, swept behind the ears of a tall man, a mole under his eye and the reason for all your problems. You don’t know why you react the way you do, but with your items cradled in your hand you sprint behind a large stack of sketchbooks and hold your breath, staring with wide eyes at the cans of paint at your feet.

What the fuck is Hwang Hyunjin doing at your shop? This is your safe place— your safe haven. A part of you curses the ground he walks on, hopes that the store is too messy and cluttered for his liking, prays that he proves he’s as shallow as the company he keeps and that he leaves and doesn’t come back. Another part of you hates yourself for being so ridiculous. For letting your personal feelings about him delve so far that you’d think something like that. Sam and Mrs.Yang deserve the business, deserve the money, deserve the customers. You shouldn’t hope for anything different— but it still amazes you how he never fails to intrude on the things you hold dear. To intrude on the things you want to keep to yourself.

You don’t move from the spot you’re in. It could’ve been ten minutes, an hour, even, or maybe it was only thirty seconds, but you only peek out when you hear Sam’s voice ring through the shop. You survey the room, stepping out from your hiding spot when you confirm that Hyunjin is nowhere to be found. Though, you don’t think you could’ve hid regardless by the way Sam calls your name.

“Hi, Sammy,” You smile, coming up to pull her into a hug. She grips you tightly, her kinky hair tickling your cheek and her clothes smelling faintly of vanilla and roses. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, hun,” Sam smiles, albeit a little sadly as she looks over your face. “What’s wrong?”

“Hey, don’t leave a poor old lady out,” Mrs. Yang huffs, “Come over here and tell us both about it.”

Without even saying anything they’ve already cheered you up, your steps feeling lighter as you make your way behind the counter and sit on one of the three seats. You sit between them both, their eyes set patiently but concerningly on you.

“I don’t know, really,” You start, and then, you tell them. About your argument with Seungmin, about how lonely it is feeling like you’re the only one feeling this way, about how much the site angers you— how it makes you feel. You tell them about Hyunjin, about how he doesn’t stop bothering you no matter how much you make it obvious you don’t want his company. How much that frustrates you, as well, and about how the lack of control over the entire situation, and over the CSC’s place in your life makes you uncomfortable, and about how the CSC itself makes you feel things you’ve never felt before and how much that scares you. You can barely describe the way it does, and who else can you blame besides its creators.

When you’re done it feels like you’ve vented a lifelong event, it makes a heavy weight lift itself off your shoulders and the heavy silence that remains doesn’t feel like judging, but rather them trying to understand— soaking up the meaning of every word you said in an attempt to place themselves in your shoes.

“I think,” Sam starts, “That your cluelessness about your feelings towards the site in general turns into anger, and the fact that the boy,”

“Hyunjin”, You offer.

“Yes, I think his attempts at speaking to you only worsen it somehow, like you’re being cornered by this weird feeling that you don’t understand and it makes you even angrier.”

“You said your friend is a part of it?” Mrs.Yang interjects, a wrinkly hand kneading your shoulder.

“Yeah,” You murmur, “He’s good friends with the group and he loves the website.”

“That probably doesn’t help then,” She continues, “If you’re surrounded by people who know what they like or enjoy something you don’t like or don’t understand, of course you’re going to feel angry. You feel like the odd one out.”

“I think more than anything you need to figure out if it’s really anger you’re feeling, and if the only reason why you hate this website is not because of its purpose but because of your lack of control over it.” Sam finishes.

“I can’t say I agree with it either,” Mrs.Yang grunts, “It’s not something I think college students need to be worrying about. Things like that stick with you, but it’s their choice to indulge in it, Y/n, you can’t control that.”

You sigh. You guess so, but you still feel like you need to get rid of it. You’ve been slacking, not paying attention to it as much as you should because of all the chaos it’s creating. It’s been a while since you’ve done a petition or made a list of ideas as an attempt to shut it down, but for now it seems like enough to just hate it. They can’t change your mind. Not Seungmin, not Sam, not Jieun, not Mrs.Yang, not Chan or Changbin or Minho— not any of them, and especially not Hyunjin. You just want to be hateful in peace and you don’t know why you don’t seem to be allowed to do that.

You leave the shop feeling lighter, but also like you didn’t actually get any good advice. Sure they validated your feelings, but that’s it. You’ve been trying to figure out your feelings. You know why you’re frustrated, and even though it felt good to be validated it also felt like a waste. You hold the bag of art supplies closer to you as you walk. The sun is setting, painting the sky reds, and oranges, and purples— and you think maybe you’ll paint that. To represent the end of the turmoil that surrounds you, as something hopeful.

You relish in the soft slope of your shoulders, in the relaxation you so rarely feel nowadays, and walk briskly to your dorm so you can fall into your bed and try to forget about the fact that there’s a party you’re supposed to be at tomorrow.

And as if the thought brought it on, your phone buzzes in your pocket. You pull it out quicker than you’d ever admit and a relieved smile pulls on your lips when you see it’s from Seungmin.

pup: be ready by 9

you: ok!!!!!

you: i miss you

There’s no more responses but you don’t let that dampen your mood. He still wants you to go with him and that says enough. You do feel terrible about the way you acted— the way you’ve been acting— but you know it’s justified. You’re not irrational. Not at all.

If you collapse at the foot of your bed, art supplies sitting on the floor by your feet, and a paper by your head titled #686, no one has to know.

This Saturday has not been a day of relaxation for you. You didn’t have any plans, though instead of enjoying the peace you so rarely received, the day consisted of you running around your room with a frazzled energy following behind like a ghost. At first you contemplated showing up in a sweater and jeans; no makeup, no jewelry, just you and a lazy fit— but realized that would only bring you even more stares than if you dressed as slutily as possible.

It’s with a black leather mini skirt and a black, lacy, low cut long sleeve tucked inside that you finally allow yourself to relax. You’re probably dressed way too flashily for a college party, but you can’t entertain any thoughts like that or you’ll spend the next three hours obsessing over it— and that’s three hours that you don’t have. Knee length boots stare at you from the door and it’s with a sigh that you walk to the door and put them on.

There’s more reasons to be nervous than just the party, between the inevitable walk with Seungmin to the encounter you’re most definitely going to have with the CSC and all of its users, you’re out of your element. There’s not enough deep breaths to make you calm down, there’s no method available to help clear your mind. Your heart races much more than should be healthy. It feels like hell, even, and all you can do is let this plethora of nerves run its course.

When your phone buzzes with Seungmin’s ‘I’m outside’ text, it almost feels like your heart stops. Fuck, Seungmin’s gonna ask who you’re all dressed up for, gonna ask why you’re so nervous. Why are you all dressed up? Why are you even going? It’s too much, too much of not knowing, not understanding, not feeling right. What will it take to get you to feel right? Like in freshman year when your biggest worry was whether or not you were passing your classes, now it feels like that's a lifetime ago. Like you’ve encountered way too much to even consider anything like that— not that you need to worry about it anyway. It was supposed to be a carefree year for you. You’re always on top of your responsibilities, always prepared, and nothing ever changed that until you went on that site for the first and last time.

You stop, relax your shoulders, take a deep breath that’s otherwise pointless, and step out the door. You curse the day you ever went on that website. It’s why everything is all messed up now, but you rid those thoughts from your mind. You’re determined to have fun tonight no matter what, and no matter who’s there.

Seungmin waits at the door, A button-down hanging off his shoulders and jeans. His hair is combed back and he’s ditched the glasses.

“Hey.” It comes out meeker than you’d like, a little too timid for what your relationship with Seungmin is.

“Hey,” he smiles, the braces you love so much on full display. Your best friend is beautiful, and it’s with a pang to your chest, it’s with seeing him now— so welcoming and so normal with you— that a small part of you realizes maybe you have been being irrational. Maybe you have been acting too strongly, but then you remind yourself that you’ve never been irrational. Never.

“So I’m guessing we’re going to the CSC’s dorm?”

“You’ll fit right in,” Seungmin laughs, starting to walk. You struggle to catch up to him; it’s been so long since you last wore heels that it’s hard to get used to. You don’t grace his comment with an answer, simply relishing in the soft nightly breeze and the shine of the moon. The stars glitter from above you, light years away yet so visible. So sure of their stance in life. You don’t think stars blow up at their best friends, or feel confused, or feel lonely.

You arrive at the party all too soon. From a block away you could see people drunk, staggering in the same direction, and from down the street you could hear the bass of the music, but the warning signs weren’t nearly enough to prepare you for the actual sight of it. It’s like the typical house parties you’d see on TV, but louder and more nerve-wracking. People hang out in front, the music loud enough for them to enjoy even from outside the building. Lights flash from behind the window, an array of purples, greens, reds, and blues. You can see people's shadows from behind the curtains over the front windows, and you feel like you’re about to throw up.

“Oh god,” You mumble, taking a few shaky steps inside. You can't do this. You’re gonna freak out and embarrass yourself. You can almost feel the anxiety seeping from your pores, and the word no repeats over and over in your head like a mantra.

No no no no no.

You can’t do this, but you do it anyway. Stepping inside the party is a feat in itself, and you can’t tell if your hands are shaking from the strong bass of the music or because of pure anxiety. The music knocks into your body so strongly that your knees buckle, barely able to hold you upright. At any moment you feel like you might collapse.

You can’t do it but you do it anyway, taking one step and then another, and when the door closes behind you, you resist the urge to turn back and run away. The party is full of people— so full that it’s impossible to walk anywhere without bumping into someone, and despite your best efforts you do get stares. Whether it’s because of what you’re wearing or if it’s because it’s you at a party being held by the CSC… you’re not entirely sure. You don’t think it makes a difference. You try to ignore it, act unbothered, and it must work because after a while they look away, murmuring something or the other about what you’re doing there.

Seungmin drags you away from the door and to the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge and cabinets like it’s his home. You take in the somewhat chill vibe of the kitchen compared to everywhere else. It’s not nearly as full, but there are couples at opposite ends acting as if it isn’t a place where food is kept.

You take a few deep breaths, reassure yourself that you can do this, and even if you can’t you’ll do it anyway. Seungmin doesn’t say anything, just pours you something sweet and fruity in a red cup and hands it over with a raise of his eyebrows. You drink it way too quickly and you know you’re gonna regret it later, but you need the effect it’ll bring. The faux calmness that’ll help you get through the night. Though with how full the party is you think that you won’t be able to see the hosts anytime soon if at all, and that’s enough to bring your heart to a stuttering stop before it resumes its beating in a much more slow paced manner. You’re still not calm, but you’re doing your best.

“Try to relax,” Seungmin chides, his gaze heavy where it bores into you. “Everything will be just fine.”

You nod, taking a more calculated sip of your drink this time. You let the music relax you instead of startle you— focusing on the beats and the melody— on the lyrics, instead of the volume and how it makes your body tremble. You can do this.

When you finally feel like you’re able to relax, Seungmin parts from you, saying there’s some people he has to see. You’re an adult, so you can handle being alone for a few minutes. Eventually, though, the few minutes turn into something longer. You wonder if maybe Seungmin is still upset with you— you didn’t speak much about it on the walk like you thought you would. Honestly, it was mostly silence, and you didn’t think much of it before but you are now. You hold your drink close to your chest, dubbing it your life line for the night.

You last all of thirty minutes before you feel like you’re getting too hot— the building only gets even more stuffy as more people arrive, all of you packaged like a can of sardines. You take the fleeting burst of confidence to leave the kitchen and go to the backyard, hoping that it’ll be a bit more peaceful (as peaceful as possible considering the music blasting), and allow the fresh air to graze your skin like a soft blanket. You sit down on one of the benches in the backyard, leaning your head back and closing your eyes. What will it take to feel at peace? Maybe there’s nothing you can do. And it’s with these thoughts that you do exactly what you shouldn’t do at a party, wallowing in self pity and confusion. You’re so caught up in these thoughts that you don’t notice when someone else joins you.

“Hey, bug.”

Your head whips up faster than what’s comfortable, and you barely hide the wince that struggles to leave your lips. Hyunjin speaks again before you can respond.

“Don’t leave, alright. Please?” He asks, sitting down beside you and smoothing his hands over his pants. “Can we talk?”

“About?”

“About us? About you? I’m tired of running in circles and I want to know why you hate me— the CSC so much.”

You’re silent for a moment, contemplating, thinking. You should get up, leave the backyard and this party altogether. You should ignore whatever it is Hyunjin has to say because he’s the reason for all this, right? Why is he always pretending he doesn’t know; acting like he wants to get to know you? Acting like it really matters how you feel. Everyone wants to understand, everyone wants to know why, but you don’t even know— but you’ll never admit it outright. You’ll never say the one thing that’s been your driven principle for the past year is something you’re unsure about. All you know is that it’s bad, that it’s made you feel ways that were foreign to you, and in order to regain control you need to get rid of it. No matter how anyone else feels about it, no matter who gets upset with you along the way. You need to do it.

Your voice is soft, but not meek. For once, you’re gonna get this entire experience off your chest. “When I first went on the site in the beginning of freshman year I was curious,” You start, glancing at Hyunjin and feeling the tightness in your chest return when you realize he’s already looking at you. “At first, I was curious, and then I was confused. I clicked on a few videos— I scrolled for a while— and I started to get this weird feeling. The more I watched the videos, the more I scrolled through pictures and posts, the feeling got stronger.”

You feel so stupid, but you continue. If Hyunjin makes fun of you he’s just proving your assumptions correct. “I’d never felt that way before and honestly, it kinda scared me, and it was annoying that I didn’t understand it. I didn’t do anything after that. I ignored how fast my heart was beating, how my body was reacting, and never went on that site again. Slowly, that confusion turned into anger— it’s not normal. The way I felt wasn’t normal, and that’s why I think that site needs to get shut down.”

“Bug…” Hyunjin laughs a little and you want to be offended, but you can tell it’s more shock than amusement. “Bug have you ever had sex? Or.. touched yourself at all?”

Your mouth opens and closes comically, but Hyunjin is patient, waiting and watching carefully for you to speak. “Is that what’s important?” You finally say, your eyebrows furrowed and you’re ready to defend yourself if need be. “No, I haven’t.”

“God, bug this is…” Hyunjin squints at you, “I think you were aroused.”

You splutter, feeling your heart rate spike in embarrassment. “What!? No. No.”

“That weird feeling? That heat in your gut,” Hyunjin says, and to punctuate he lays a large, warm, hand over your stomach. “You were horny.” This time, Hyunjin’s laugh is one of amusement, but you're too distracted by how big his hand is, splayed over your stomach and so warm it feels like it’s burning through your clothes.

“Hyunjin, the feeling— no, it doesn’t make sense.”

“Bug, if you’ve never ever been aroused before somehow, of course it felt weird. Holy shit.”

You don’t say anything, but Hyunjin continues before you can get a grip on your thoughts.

“I can’t believe this is the reason why you’ve hated us for so long, I honestly can’t believe it.”

“Hyunjin… that feeling wasn’t pleasurable. Control is pleasurable. I didn’t have a grip on anything that day and barely regained it on the days following. You can’t convince me that getting rid of the CSC won’t bring back a sense of normalcy. You can’t, and even if you’re right, I think that morally, the site is still wrong, and I’m not going to stop trying to shut it down.”

“There’s so much about the CSC you don’t know about, and there’s so much more to pleasure than control.” Hyunjin sighs, clearly more at ease now that he realizes you’re just confused. You don’t know, really, why you hate them. That’s clear. You’re stubborn though, he can tell, and even if this idea he has works— he’s not sure you’ll stop until you get what you want.

Earlier that day the CSC received an email from the dean, threatening that they’ll start looking into all that their site entails because of how often you keep badgering them about it. It’s starting to create a murmur between staff, and they’re growing increasingly frustrated. All that means to Hyunjin is you’re finally breaking through their resolve, running them down enough for them to consider shutting it down or supervising more intensely. Hyunjin can’t have that. None of them can. When Hyunjin approached you tonight he expected to have to beg— to have to plead with you to stop meddling. The site is bigger than you know, more important than some college stupidity. It rakes in a lot of cash, and he can’t have such petty reasoning stop that flow.

Hyunjin’s voice is husky as he continues and his words send an undeniable shiver down your spine “I can show you that the site, and sex by association aren’t bad at all. Mentally, you’re confused and physically, you’re pent up. We can’t have that can we, pretty girl?”

“No, we can’t.”

Wait. What? Yes, we can. Yes you can. You’ve been doing just fine right? You don’t need Hyunjin’s help. He’s not gonna change your mind because your mind doesn’t need changing.

“You can try to shut us down, but at the same time let us help you.”

“Us?” You murmur, attempting to understand what exactly is happening.

“All of us, the CSC can help you figure out what you’re feeling, right? We can help you decide what to do.”

“…You can help me?”

Hyunjin hums, removing his hand from your waist and trailing his finger along the skin just above the hem of your shirt. His fingers dip over your cleavage, tug at your necklace, up and up until your chin is in his hand, and he turns you to face him as his lips brush your cheek. “I want to see who will succeed first, so let me show you that there’s more to pleasure than control.”

He can help you. Out of all the people who ask you why, who say they want to understand but don’t try, he’s the one who’s offering a solution. As annoying as he’s always been to you, as much as he’s always embodied something you hate— the person who’s embedded such foreign feelings in your mind— he wants to help you. He wants to try, and he’s not telling you to stop your goal either. He’s not telling you it’s stupid, he’s not getting angry. He doesn’t make you feel irrational. You’re not irrational. You have a goal and it’s one you’re gonna complete, but… it doesn’t hurt to try, right? And if you succeed, if you shut them down and Hyunjin fails— if the CSC fails you’ll win. You’ll win and prove that you were right all along.

“Go easy on me.”

“Of course, bug.”

You keep your eyes downcast in embarrassment as Hyunjin whispers against your skin, his fingers gently turning your chin up and over to the point of focus. His lips. Pouty, sinfully crimson, curving upwards so surely, like they themselves know their effect on people. They look so soft, so wet. You want to feel them, and it’s as if Hyunjin’s read your mind because his lips are on yours before you can even blink.

“You just kissed me,” Your voice is airy, breathless, and usually you’d be embarrassed.

“Can I do it again?”

There’s a simmering, boiling tension both of you have been ignoring but you’ve lost the will to care about hating Hyunjin or Chan or the CSC. Momentarily, you’ve lost the will to feel much at all but a burning desire to take away any negative emotion you feel. You’re sick of it, sick of feeling confused. Last night you’d dealt with it by crying your eyes out, before that you’d dealt with it by having a screaming match with your best friend, and now you’re ready to look for something to fix it. This just might be the best way to start.

“Not outside.” You whisper, your hands clutching the fabric of Hyunjin’s shirt with such an intensity you’re afraid it’ll rip off then and there.

The trip inside and upstairs is a blur. You’re sure if anyone saw you they stared, wondering what you two were doing together, wondering what you were going upstairs for. It’s a blur, nothing is clear but what you’re going to do at this moment, and with Hwang Hyunjin of all people. Of what you’re going to do in the future, with the CSC of all people, what you’re gonna do to them— what you’re gonna allow them to do to you— that’s the only thing on the forefront of your mind. Not about who’s watching, not about who wants to know. It’s about you. You’re the one in control, you’re the one who gets to decide. You’re the one who needs to know.

Warm. You feel warm all over, pressed against Hyunjin with his thighs spreading yours open, warm in his tight embrace. Your hands are clutching at his clothes, at his arms— It’s so hot, yet somehow the constant cool air of the room makes you shiver.

“W-what do I do?”

Hyunjin chuckles, his voice the softest you’ve ever heard it. “You don’t have to do anything, pretty. Let me handle it.”

Letting Hyunjin handle anything doesn’t sound like a very good idea to you in any instance, but in this case you let him. You’re otherwise clueless in this area and frankly, if you want his help you’re going to have to accept it when it’s given. His mouth lands back on yours, a certain kind of desire running through the kiss. His hands are all over you. Trying to grab at every inch he can, and you try your best to kiss him back with equal intensity— to move your lips against his with the same fervor.

Your heart kicks up an irritating notch when Hyunjin slides a warm hand up your shirt. You can feel the way his fingers ghost over your skin with an unnatural intensity, as if his touch is amplified tenfold. And if Hyunjin had imagined this during late nights, cock shamelessly fisted in his hand as he dreamt of you pushing your panties to the side for him to enter your tight hole, no one has to know.

“Look at me, pretty,” Hyunjin growls, your eyes opening at his command against your better judgement. His pupils are dilated, staring down at you with a foreign intensity. The way he looks at you is an awakening, and with a small burst of confidence, you bury your fingers into the collar of his shirt, bringing him down for another kiss. It’s a little awkward with your inexperience, all teeth and clumsy movements until he takes the lead. His lips feel like heaven and you want them everywhere, want to kiss him forever. You want to sink his soft groans into your skin, keep the taste of him on your tongue for the rest of your days as he licks into your mouth, coaxing feelings out of you you've never felt before— kissing you into blissful dizziness.

"I wonder why you're so pretty, hm? Been torturing me for months, sweet thing," Hyunjin teases, pressing your thighs farther apart, tongue pushing against yours, his lips cherry red. You want to kiss him again. "I don’t think you really hate me, bug.”

Your breath hitches when his hands move to your skirt, slipping under the hem and holding the fabric tightly. God, you feel so bare. Like Hyunjin is looking at you from the inside out. When he pulls your skirt down slowly, so slowly it feels like time stands still, all that’s on your mind is him. His breathing, his touch, his warmth. When your pink, lacy panties come into view the chuckle Hyunjin lets out is so deep it feels like a heavy blanket over your mind, soothing you yet igniting something in you that you didn’t know existed. God, you’re in the demon's bed but you feel like you’ve gotten a taste of heaven, and when those soft, cherry red lips ghost over your skin, trailing over your pelvis, leaving light kisses along your skin, all you can do is jerk in his hold. You’re so sensitive. So, so sensitive.

His hands grip your waist tightly and his lips trail upwards, the bridge of his nose pushing your shirt up until it’s so high your breasts threaten to fall, smothering Hyunjin’s face underneath them. You shiver at the thought, those sinful lips pressing kisses against the skin of your breasts; what would it feel like? Would it feel like this? This feeling that you’re still so unfamiliar with?

"Pretty girls deserve to know what it feels like to have me right here,” Hyunjin starts, leaning down to press a trail of kisses to your inner thigh. He bites and marks along the fleshiest parts, chuckling at your quiet whimpers and yelps. You didn’t know you could make sounds like that. He slides a hand up between your thighs and rubs between your folds, still covered by your lacy panties. “Did you come to impress someone tonight?” Hyunjin murmurs, before splitting them to rub your clit through the fabric. You feel like falling as he circles between your thighs, a gasp hiccupping at the base of your throat before it gets stuck— you can’t make a sound.

You faintly hear the rustle of clothing and the absence of Hyunjin’s touch, opening your eyes to see him pulling his shirt off, biceps flexing as he does. He’s so big, and fuck, his whole body could cover your own if he really wanted. He towers over you, caging you in and surrounding you from all sides. When his shirt is off and thrown somewhere to the floor, he looms over you, his hands pressing into the bedding at either side of your head, and all you can do is gasp— your eyes widening at his proximity.

“You okay?” He whispers, and you nod.

“Yes.”

It’s breathless. It’s not you. It’s not the person who wanted nothing to do with Hyunjin only a day ago, but you want answers. You want clarity. And right now, you want this.

Hyunjin wastes no time after your confirmation, his fingers slipping under your panties and ghosting over your skin. He lets out a harsh breath at the feeling where you’re otherwise silent, trusting that he knows what to do. When a rush of cool air blows over you though, your legs close instinctively, and Hyunjin hums, “Stay with me, bug.”

“I’m here,” You respond, slowly spreading your legs back wide and allowing him to pull your underwear down until they’re hanging off ur ankle, your arousal sticks to the fabric, but with a flick of his wrist they’re gone. They’re gone. Oh god. You’re really doing this. You take a deep breath, and when a warm hand comes to cradle your cheek you lean into the warmth. It’s okay. You’re okay.

Soft lips press against your skin, tainting the unmarked flesh with bites and bruises. He paints your neck purple and blue, fingers ghosting between your thighs, tracing and playing with the obvious wetness coating your arousal. His mouth travels upwards, pressing against your own as he claims your lips in a devouring kiss. Everything is on fire, hot and burning as lust begins to entirely consume you for the first time.

A small moan slips past your lips as he dips a finger into your slick, warm cunt, and you clench around the digit almost immediately as instinct. The cool air and your nerves make your thighs tremble, but it doesn’t seem to affect Hyunjin— not at all— if the way he keeps eye contact with you while he fingers you slowly is any indicator. Painfully slow. You don’t know if this is to help you or torture you, and you can’t help the way your thighs tense under his ministrations.

The man before you reaches his other hand towards the hem of your top to pinch the edge of it between an index finger and thumb, and pulls the cloth away from your skin.

His eyes bore into yours: “This okay?”

“Fuck, the more you ask me the more nervous I get.”

“Okay, okay. I don’t wanna make you nervous.”

“Just… be nice to me, Hyunjin. Okay?”

Hyunjin smiles, and you exhale, relaxing into Hyunjin’s sheets and letting his musky cologne consume your senses as his touch roams everywhere else.

And then finally— yet all too quickly— the shirt is tugged away from your breasts and they fall freely as Hyunjin eagerly leans closer. His nose presses against one of your hardened nipples, and you watch his pupils dilate quicker than you thought was possible. He’s barely holding back the urge to fuck you dumb, and the finger that still thrusts slowly into your cunt stutters in its movements.

Look at you. His eyes roam over the look on your face, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth, bright eyes glazed over and hooded in a bliss that’s otherwise foreign to you, a particular ease directed towards him. Then he shamelessly let his eyes drop down to your thighs that tremble even harsher under his gaze. The action only forces his mind to run wild. He can’t help but wonder how you do it— looking all innocent— being all innocent but acting like you’re not. Like you’re so sure. You’re confused, god, you don’t know what real pleasure is— and it’s Hyunjin’s job to teach you. Fuck, did he want to be under you, gazing up at your through half lidded eyes, hungrily eating up the sight of you bouncing on his cock like the slut you could be.

He dipped his head down, holding your breast in his large hand and rubbing over your nipples with his mouth, swirling his tongue around the hardened bud. Your hands automatically perched themselves on his shoulders, and he grins, moving the finger thrusting into your cunt harsher, faster.

“Oh, god,” You moan, loud, your grip on his bare shoulders tightening ever so slight. His skin was warm under your fingers— soft and smooth and fuck if it didn’t feel good.

He groans, cock stiffening more than it already had. At this rate he was probably going to cum in his pants untouched, but he held himself back. He wanted to do this right— show you all that pleasure could be. He moved his mouth from your nipple to slip lower, down lower and lower still until he came face to face with your arousal.

“Fuck. You’re driving me crazy.”

“Oh- oh Hyunjin help me, please,” You pleaded, his shoulders too far to grip onto; your hands instead finding his hair, running your fingers through and pulling when he nosed at your clit, groaning heartily when your wetness clinged to his skin.

It’s with a lick to your clit that you wail, your thighs threatening to close, and they would have if Hyunjin’s hands hadn’t reached out to force them down, pushing further and sticking his face into your arousal with more fervor, licking and sucking with such vigor that it felt as if he was trying to devour you. Your thighs trembled with every movement of his tongue, poking and prodding at every inch of your cunt, his nose dug against your clit and for a moment it felt like you were seeing stars. Your eyes fluttered shut, your mouth letting out uncontrollable moans.

You didn’t think it’d feel this good. But, you remind yourself, control feels better. You can’t let him change that— he won’t change that.

The obscene sounds that came from his actions should’ve embarrassed you, but nothing like that came to mind. Hyunjin was relentless, and you couldn’t even think of anything more than the feeling of his hair between your fingers and his tongue slurping at your cunt.

You tried to quiet your moans by clamping a hand over your mouth, but sitting up and watching the way he sucked and licked at your arousal made your head spin. He made the action so nasty. So filthy. He was wild yet careful. But what did you know? All you knew was that it was driving you insane and you didn’t know anything could feel this good.

Besides control, of course. And you assume, the eradication of the CSC would, also.

Suddenly, your stomach tenses, your body locking up, and you quickly cream all over his tongue, shaky moans slipping through your pretty lips. Your thighs shook from the aftershock, trying to come down from this feeling. Afterwards, Hyunjin’s actions felt too harsh. He didn’t change pace at all, but it felt like your body was going to arch its way into oblivion. Unable to ignore the sensitivity of your body any longer, you pushed against his head until he stopped, attempting to catch your breath.

“You okay?”

You hum, begging the beating of your heart to soften, though as soon as it finally did you looked back at Hyunjin and saw his pants sliding down his legs. His toned, muscular legs, and it started its harsh beating once again. That wasn’t it? Of course, that’s wasn’t it, but fuck. You don’t know if you can handle anything more.

The headboard of his bed knocks against the wall as he climbs back up on the bed, moving his body closer this time and instead of only his chest hovering over you, this time his legs cage you in, one on either side, as your heart pounds itself into oblivion.

One hand supported his weight on the pillow by your head while the other was preoccupied, curled around his cock as he stared down at you— something akin to a beast in his gaze. Tip reddened and precum oozing from the slit while he groaned. The tingly feeling in your groin was coming back, similar to the fluttering you always felt whenever Hyunjin would come bother you. It intensifies when Hyunjin wraps your legs around his waist and pulls you closer to him, your body dragging the bedding from under you and you yelp.

He rubs the tip of his cock against your twitching folds, teasing actions feeling more like torture before he finally sinks in. Slowly, deliberately, but you still tense. It’s scary, having something stick itself inside of you.

“Relax,” Hyunjin murmurs, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Stay with me.”

You do your best, forcing your body to relax, as he sinks deeper and deeper still. Hyunjin grunts softly when you clench down on him, and he sighs as you blink dazedly up at him.

Pretty eyes are locked intensely on your cunt, Hyunjin watching the slide of his cock as he thrusts inside. His hair is plastered along his sweat slicken forehead, and he sinks back into your slick walls with another languid roll of his hips.

“Fuck you’re so tight, baby.”

You moan, high and light, your eyes fluttering closed in bliss while Hyunjin’s chest expands with a shaky breath. He rolls his hips into yours— sinking his cock into your virgin cunt saying the filthiest words you’ve ever known before his words break off into a moan, his tone lower and deeper than his playful one. Tonight you’re seeing a whole new side of him— a new persona. This isn’t the annoying Hwang Hyunjin who bothers you and calls you ‘bug’, this is the Hwang Hyunjin everyone else knows. The one you hadn’t met yet.

“Oh, please don’t stop— be nice to me,” You babble, your hands grabbing at whatever you can— his shoulders, his back, his hair; and that’s all it takes before he suddenly takes up a pace that’s a little faster, rougher as your pussy squelches, wet and messy while your arousal smears along your thighs and the sheets.

Your body jolts with each thrust, pussy clenching around him as Hyunjin moans—every twitch and squeeze of your pussy leaving him breathless. “Come on, baby,” He pleads, and you don’t know what to do. You’re too lost in the haze of pleasure that’s taken over you— you can’t hear past the slap of your skin and Hyunjin’s groans in your ear. You know you’re moaning, but you can barely hear yourself. It’s all Hyunjin. Him all over you, surrounding you, making you feel good.

He grunts as you clench down on him with another roll of his hips, sinking deeper into you with each thrust. “That’s it, pretty,” he grunts, “Taking me so well, fuck. So greedy for me.” And again, you feel that strange feeling before tensing up, your body convulsing and arching up as Hyunjin’s thrusts grow more frantic— harsher and harsher as he groans gutturally in your ear with one last thrust long and deep, and when something shoots deep inside, you shiver one last time before your body sinks into the mattress and Hyunjin’s weight cases you in.

You feel boneless, lethargic with your movement. You feel when Hyunjin gets off you, when he closes your legs after slipping your underwater back on. You hear it when he sighs, something light and satisfied, and you barely manage to answer when he asks you how you feel. You can’t do much more than sigh, but it seems like enough for him— like that was the exact answer he was looking for. You succumb to blissful sleep right before the door shuts behind Hyunjin.

“Hear me out,” Hyunjin sighs, a lazy smile on his features even still. You’re no joke even if you might not know it yet. “I think it could really work.”

“You want us to convince Y/n to what? Leave us alone or..?” Jeongin says, leaning against the table in the kitchen.

The party has long been over, there’s a mess everywhere but it’s empty except for the eight boys and you knocked out in Hyunjin’s bed. Jisung sits sprawled on the couch, head twisted ever so slightly to betray that he’s listening to the conversation, Jeongin leans against the table and Chan has his arms folded where he leans against the wall serving as the entrance between the kitchen and the living room.

Minho downs a bottle of water by the sink, and Changbin leans against the fridge, leveling Hyunjin with an intense look. Felix and Seungmin sit on the couch opposite Jisung where they have a full view of everything and everyone.

“She barely even knows what porn is, so I said I could convince her the site isn’t that bad— and is something she could grow to like, if not love.” Hyunjin explains, his eyebrows raising in wait for the retaliation that’s sure to come.

“Why should we?” Minho asks, with a swallow, “If she doesn’t like it, honestly what does it matter.” Heads nod in agreement.

“Listen, they’re starting to consider whatever the fuck she’s selling them at those little meetings, and I got an email about investigation if this keeps up. If we fail to change her mind, we can at least distract her enough for the heat to lessen a little.”

Chan nods, “I don’t think it’s a bad idea.” He shrugs, looking over at everyone in the kitchen. “We change her mind, then we got one less problem to deal with.”

“And if we don't?” Changbin asks, tilting his head at both Hyunjin and Chan. “And if this is just a waste of time?”

“It isn’t,” Hyunjin assures, “Trust me.”

The rest of them don’t argue, but Hyunjin feels Seungmin’s gaze boring into him from the couch, feels his questions burning at the tip of his tongue, begging to be let out, so he leaves before they can succeed.

“We can talk about it more later, but I think it’ll work. It’s a good deed, and I know how much you guys love those.” Some scoffs and laughs fill the room, but Hyunjin is already halfway up the stairs, a plan forming in his mind and a pleasant smile growing on his face.

a note from iris: this chapter was late because of that long ass smut scene so i hope it was enjoyable and that this wasn’t 17k worth of a snoozefest 😭 i’m sorry it’s late!! so sorry but it’s still friday even if it’s 11 pm <3<3 not beta read not nothin so pls.. spare me.. and i hope you liked it !!!

not-so-mini taglist (there’s so many of y’all !!???): @chrisbahng @seonghwatoothless @bubblelixie @199719932000 @imsuchasimp00 @hyu-hl @oddinaryfelix @raspbinniecreme @fa3body @kittykatkrissa @andreaswrld @hattorihaechan @lachinitaaaaa @j-0ne25 @bangchanbabygirlx @ni-sh @green-orangeade @sincerely-skz @exclusivej3ss @elizalabs3 @lili-kims-blog @curiousgworge @midsoulz @sawadabegum @reighlee-greaves @lotus-dly @blcar @impossiblewritingrebel @yourhwngness @idek-at-this-point-lol @multihoe-net @hyun-bun @hwan-g @ughbehavior @rindomo @awesomelycoolworld @springdeity @todolyn @meowminhosblog @hyunelixies @emotionalwreckkk-blog @seungschacco @avyskai @cvfechan @jeyelleohe @vvsmydiamonds127 @chriscentric @simpforpunzngl @be-a-spacequeen @svintsandghosts @myjisung @hanjiesgf

*** if your tag didn’t work make sure your blog is visible! if i somehow missed you when tagging i offer a sincere apology <3

#hyunjin scenarios #skz smut #skz scenarios #stray kids x reader #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x female reader #hyunjin smut #hyunjin angst #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin imagines #skz x reader

2K notes · View notes

batpham-discord-highlights · 2 years ago

Text

Jazz with a Prosthetic Arm

NOTE: Before you read this, I want to make something clear. There are, in fact, authors on this server. One of them is mentioned by name in this post. If you join the server and harass them for updates there will be consequences.

Source: #amity-park

Conversation inspired by this ask and art: link

Alright

Multiple options, gonna list ‘em as I know ‘em

Imp-y

i just like the idea of her rocking a prosthetic limb and Danny being more worried about her but she ain’t having it >:O

I like that too <3

1) portal accident. In the episode where Johnny tries to save kitty from the portal, jazz loses her arm because kitty bonding to her body goes wrong, and she gets a prosthetic arm FMA style

2) Technus broke into axiom labs again (Mr. "Announces his plans" never learns) while jazz and her class were on a field trip there. Technus hijacked an experimental medical biomatter reprogrammer, and jazz jumped in the line of fire to save someone on the one day she'd told Danny to take off for himself

Imp-y

oof

Danny never takes a break again

Yeah, this AU is a bit more angsty I think

Imp-y

ooo Nasty burger (Or house) explosion happens but jazz lives~ she and Danny rebuild her an arm instead eoe

or Vlad does and Danny bribes Technus to fix the arm eoe so many ideas

I'm thinking motorcycle accident for the johnny bit

It would also be narratively interesting if it happened when spectra tried to blow her up with fireworks

Imp-y

man can see johnny freaking out because he knows phantom protective of his sister-

OOOOO I like that idea

Extra sad though because that failure would get in Danny’s head

Imp-y

aw yea

she wouldn’t get to see phantom unless she catches him in a different way

What if it happened during the fight with Danny in the Secret Weapons episode?

Imp-y

like why is Phantom in my window

Murder happy Danny lmao

Imp-y

while in hospital

[What if it happened during the fight with Danny in the Secret Weapons episode?]

Ooo which one was that? idontremembernames of anything lol

Also irony of Johnny having more than one motor cycle accident. guilt might actually make johnny clean up his act faster especially because Danny would be mad

The episode where she went to Vlad

Imp-y

ooof yes!

They didn't get her out of the battle suit in time

Like Vlad used the nanites but they only got her arm?

Imp-y

[Also irony of Johnny having more than one motor cycle accident…]

also, yes~ Johnny being a bit timid and skittish around phantom but maybe actually get the ball rolling into ghosts integrating with society instead of hindering

Or full body but she loses the rm somehow and the nanites rebuild it

Imp-y

ooo

I’m loving all of this

No one ever followed up on the nanites in her bloodstream after that episode

Also part of me wants this to be a wheelchair Danny fic

God that makes the Fenton’s look bad though

We can still have Johnny be the reason she's armn't and the nanobots rearming her was a surprise

Even though in this case Jazz’s accident is unrelated to them

I’m also tempted to have her Fenton made prosthetic give her mild ecto-contamination if it's made with ectoplasm in it

Imp-y

oo or maybe it was the Fenton’s fault and they quit ghost hunting because of the accident they saw happen to Jasmine... which you think would make Danny's life easier... but instead they find out it makes it worse.

Jazz and Danny's attempts at getting their parents back into it makes it worse too because reveal gone wrong… but as in it just solidifies their position on quitting ghost hunting... and now thinking about giving their kids to Vlad because they are too dangerous.

Do Maddie and Jack move from visible weapon making into mobility devices?

Among other things but yeah. They could make bank with these

Imp-y

[I’m also tempted to have her Fenton made prosthetic give her…]

yes! I love that~

Ecto-acne at first? Or will Danny bring in the cure

Oh man Vlad would be a nightmare if jazz got the acne though. He would definitely use it as a way to bring the kids to his side because history repeating itself

Imp-y

with Jazz I can see hers being different but that’s personal hc of ectoplasm effecting each person differently.. or that jazz already a little contaminated as it is

Imp-y

[Oh man Vlad would be a nightmare if jazz got the acne…]

Oh definitely! LOL

He'd be biting off more than he can chew though. Danny is feral on his own. Danny and jazz together go extra feral because sibling arguments and protective instincts

Vlad targets Danny: Jazz foams at the mouth

Vlad defends himself: Danny gets mad at him for touching his sister

It's a vicious circle

How long until he begs the parents to take their feral kids back?

Jazz taking off the arm and using it as a bat to smack Vlad

Danny asking for a hand and Jazz throwing her arm at him like Buzz and Woody

Classic disabled humor there

Danny will run things over, sometimes intentionally

Boy is going to intentionally roll over Vlad’s toes with his chair

I also could see him riding over bearbert as a dumb brother move

Jazz uses her arm to put stuff on the highest shelf

She forgets Danny can fly so she played herself

Now she can't reach it

You know the goal over giving her ecto-contamination is eventual halfa jazz

[Now she can't reach it]

The arm has a grappling hook extender

But now she's hanging

If anyone asks she puns it

V: what are you doing?

J, stuck: just hanging out

Fuck yeah. There are so many dumb inventions in that thing. Like most of them are unnecessary and i also imagine it being really heavy

To the point where her doctor is gonna get mad

It can burn Jack's face into things

Like toast

Or the Fenton works logo

Oh, invention shenanigans and accidents with her arm. Comparable to when Danny first gets his powers

Both for the burning logos thing

Oh man. The arm mechanisms getting tangled in Jazz’s hair. Short hair jazz for convenience

The arm can probably shoot some sorta goo

Portable nets

it's a thermos

Physical therapy must suck for a while, especially if the prosthetic is heavy

She sucks Danny in lmao

The ecto-contamination actually helps with the weight but begin period would be achy

And yes, Danny ends up on butt end of a lot of these malfunctions while she's still figuring the arm out

Imp-y

maybe it working on ectoplasm after a while feels more lightweight the longer she has it~

poor Danny

jazz feels bad about it but they both know it’s just to be expected

He'll zap her back sometimes

They definitely get in dumb little powered fights

Also is it just me or is it sad that all the Fenton kids are half dead, this is including Dani. But dang

Jazz gives him time out in the arm thermos and Danny just sticks fridge magnets on her

#amity park channel #jazz fenton #danny fenton #danny phantom #maddie fenton #jack fenton #disablity #prosthetics #disabled character

102 notes · View notes

wemlygust · 3 months ago

Text

I've only been here a little while, but 'blorbo' is definitely a good and useful word I wouldn't have in my vocab otherwise. Idk why it'd be somehow worse to invent or absorb words and phrases in a social media space than to invent or absorb words and phrases in, like, a sports bar, or a text conversation, or a book club. Language gonna language. So anyway the contents replacement is definitely the more concerning thing. Not because it's Minecraft youtuber fanfic, but because it's weird to replace the contents of a post like that.

Minecraft Youtube seems to be actually a huge fandom/set of fandoms among the younger set, because there are multiple series that (if I understand right) involve an element of roleplaying and improvisational storytelling. The youtubers use their own names, or their screen names, but often they're playing characters in their videos. So it's less about the game setting per-se and more about the characters and stories these youtubers make in the game, and much of it (maybe most?) isn't really RPF anymore than, say, a The Magnus Archives fanfic (a popular horror podcast wherein the main character shares a name with his voice actor, but only the name - he's very much an in-universe character and not a representation of the voice actor). I've read a few of them, mainly because they have a good number of Humans are Space Orcs fics, which is one of the best tropes. AU's like those are listed as Minecraft youtube fandom, but they're not actually in any way set in Minecraft. I find some of the ones that are set in Minecraft pretty fascinating actually because they treat the world as its own universe, not as a video game within the context of the story, and in effect that means they're stories set in a universe where all the fundamentals of reality are different than in almost every other story. Death is usually temporary, and the world is made out of blocks, regular people can build a house out of nothing, and there are no planets but instead servers-as-dimensions, and one or more people have god-admin powers, etc. Sometimes they construct a whole mythology for the universe. It's fun. I think it's kind of a way to write in an incredibly strange world, changing a whole bunch of fundamentals about the world that even most scifi and fantasy doesn't change in the same way, that is also incredibly familiar to anyone who plays video games, and which therefore is enjoyably very weird and distinct from othet storytelling but also easily approachable. To be clear, I'm not actually a part of these fandoms, and I don't watch the youtube channels. So I may be getting things wrong here. This is just the impression of it I have gotten as an outsider who will sometimes read fic from it anyways.

the most disorienting thing thats ever happened to me was when a linguistics major stopped in the middle of our conversation, looked me in the eye, and said, "you have a very interesting vernacular. were you on tumblr in 2014?" and i had to just stand there and process that one for a good ten seconds

#Fic #Fanfic #Ao3 #Fandom #Minecraft #Minecraft youtube #Miencraft fandom #Minecraft fic #Unsolicited opinions #Minecraft smp #I know there are others besides smp but I am forgetting what they are called rn because I am sleepy #Fanfic meta #Fic meta

225K notes · View notes

phoenixyfriend · 3 years ago

Text

The Family Tree is... a Disaster

Takes place in the TCW Leverage AU. It does contain a few deviations, namely that the narrative ended up shifting Plo's role in Ahsoka's life, and Ventress's role overall.

This is mostly just dialogue where I outline the fuckery that is the disaster lineage family tree, not actual fic. It stemmed from my incessant need to justify "25yo Obi-Wan somehow got custody of 9yo Anakin without Shmi dying."

Warnings for: canon character death (modernized), canon violence (modernized), and references to Nazis and white supremacists (Palpatine collects WWII weaponry as a parallel to his canon display of Sith artifacts in his office as chancellor, and Ahsoka thinks it's sketchy)

----

"Okay," Cody says, setting down a glass of whiskey as he drops into the seat across the table. "What the hell is your family tree like?"

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow, and continues cleaning off the definitely-not-stolen crystal komodo dragon he'd won in today's job. "I beg your pardon?"

"You and Skywalker," Cody says, gesturing between Obi-Wan, who is just sitting there minding his own business, and Anakin, who is across the closed-for-tonight bar and doing something inadvisable on the pool table. "You've said he was your brother, and mentioned raising him, which, sure, I'm over twenty years older than my youngest brother, people take over parenting roles all the time. But you have different last names, have mentioned stepfamilies that the other doesn't have, reference things as 'your aunt, not mine,' and I am just getting... very confused. I figured it was personal and I could leave well enough alone, but considering your older brother almost shot us today--"

"Okay, Xanatos is not my brother," Obi-Wan immediately says. "Just. I just have to stop you right there. Xanatos was a student of my father's for a time, but I promise he's not family. Nobody except maybe Komari would consider him even close, and she doesn't count since she's in prison for life and the farthest thing from stable."

Cody gestures. "That, Obi-Wan. That's what I'm talking about. I don't even know who Komari is."

Obi-Wan purses his lips in a failed attempt to not smile. "Do you actually want the explanation? It's long and unnecessarily complicated."

"So's mine," Cody snorts. Obi-Wan waits, patient and pleasant, and is rewarded when Cody sighs. "Please."

"Of course, my dear. To answer your first question, though, Anakin is my half-brother." With a smile, Obi-Wan digs a piece of paper and a pen from his briefcase. "So, center of the chain: me, my father Qui-Gon, my grandfather Yan, and my great-grandfather Yoda. With me so far?"

"Easy enough. Do you have to go back that far?"

"Great-grandfather Yoda is still alive and regularly escaping the old folks' home to terrorize younger relatives, so yes," Obi-Wan says. "Given that you may just meet a tiny, meddling relative of mine when he's bored, we do in fact have to go back that far."

"...how old is he?"

"We don't know for sure. A hundred and eight-ish is the best guess." Obi-Wan shrugs. "It's not a huge deal, mostly he likes bothering Anakin these days. Anyway, grandfather. Yan Dooku. Inherited a minory duchy from his maternal grandfather decades back. Mostly hangs around there because he's on terrorist watchlists in the States."

"Oh, lovely."

Obi-Wan grins. "Trust me, it gets worse. Anyway, grandfather never actually married, but spent most of his time with his 'best friend' Sifo Dyas, who died about a decade back."

"Gay?"

"Well, we know that now, but they got together in the seventies, and this was back when they were both working government jobs, so, you know. It happens."

"Good to know," Cody says. "So, Yoda's kid is Yan, who inherited a title and land from a maternal relative, and had a life partner but never married. With you so far."

"All of Yan's kids were adopted," Obi-Wan continues, sketching out the first branch away from the Yan/Sifo partnership. "Rael was actually grandfather's cousin, maternally, and ended up in his custody after getting orphaned at five. These days, he does most of the stewardship duties at the Serenno Duchy. His daughter Nim is teaching military history at a university in Germany."

Cody nods. "Uncle number one is named Rael, technically your dad's cousin, has a daughter. Got it."

"About a decade after Rael, they adopted my father, Qui-Gon. He and grandfather fought, frequently, but they did care for each other. My father was a botanist, did bio-engineering. We'll get back to him later, because he's where things get complicated." Obi-Wan made sure to leave room around the name. "Just a few years older than me was--is--Komari Vosa. She is... serving a life sentence. I think she fought Jango once."

"She fought my father?"

"To the best of my knowledge, they both almost died, yes," Obi-Wan says. "She's in maximum security these days. She was an assassin. I'll get a call if she breaks out, and I'll let you know along with everyone else."

"Bad news auntie, got it."

"Last adoption, sort of, is Ventress," Obi-Wan finishes off. "A few years younger than me, is technically grandfather's personal assistant and does secretarial work and the like, but we all know he's planning to leave as much of the inheritance to her as he is to the rest of us. She's aggressive and unpleasant, but she takes care of him and hasn't actually threatened to kill any of us yet, so that's fine."

"How'd she join?" Cody asks.

"Ky Narec was a friend of Qui-Gon's; Ventress was his daughter. Ky died a few years after Qui-Gon did, and Ventress was a mess, after." Obi-Wan shrugs and scratches that connection into the little sketch of a family tree as well. "Grandfather offered her a job until she got herself back together, and then she just kind of... stuck around."

"Youngest aunt, more of a cousin." Cody summarizes. "Now we go back to your father?"

"Qui-Gon Jinn was a man of many skills," Obi-Wan says drily. "Adequate birth control was not one of them."

It's almost a pity that Cody wasn't drinking anything, because going by the way he chokes, Obi-Wan's pretty sure the spit take would have been spectacular.

"I'm sorry," Cody says. "Can you repeat that?"

"I was an accident," Obi-Wan says, not even bothering to hide his smile. "So was Anakin."

"So that sounds like... a story."

"It is," Obi-Wan confirms. "My biological mother has never been in the picture. They had a fling, she wasn't sure if she'd want to abort or give me up, just that she wasn't ready to be a parent, and Qui-Gon volunteered to take full custody so she could go back to her life after the birth. I've never met her, but I kept her family name. You can consider her irrelevant beyond that."

Cody nods.

"So, when I was about a year old, Qui-Gon reconnects with an old flame, they get married two years later. Step-mother number one is Tahl. Lovely woman, I absolutely adored her, and she had a daughter, my stepsister, Bant Eerin."

"I met her, right?" Cody asks.

"Yes, she was the doctor who patched up my bullet wound a few months ago," Obi-Wan says. "With the giant glasses that make her look a little fish-eyed."

"She was nice."

"She is," Obi-Wan agrees. "At any rate, that was our family for a while, and then Tahl died when I was fourteen. Bant wanted to go to a magnet school for medical studies, and Qui-Gon's grief was... not optimal for taking care of multiple teenagers, shall we say, so Bant moved in with her paternal uncle, Kit Fisto, and Kit's son Nahdar. He's a marine biologist, incredibly friendly, and has no idea of any of the rest of my side of the family's questionable activities. If you ever meet him, you will pretend that we are a legal firm with a team of security consultants."

Cody raises a brow. Obi-Wan despairs. "Best you could do?"

"We're not that likely to run into him." Obi-Wan draws out a new line. "So, Qui-Gon deals poorly with grief. This is also around the time that Xanatos came around to ruin our lives a little. He was a very rich and unpleasant man, but he's dead as of four hours ago, so you don't have to worry about him. Or his son."

"His son?"

"Anakin handled that," Obi-Wan says. "Thoroughly. Granta Omega is no longer an issue. He's not dead, but... well. Anakin has his ways. Er--I should probably mention Feemor; he was my father's assistant at the university for a long time. Anakin and I still call him our uncle."

"Also a person to avoid mentioning criminal activity to?" Cody prompts.

"Well... no, but only because I don't think he'd care. The man is, forgive me, more of a 'walking sweatervest' than I am. He's a very bland and unassuming man. He once described himself as the background character of the soap opera that is my family's existence."

"Sounds like a charmer."

"Oh, he's very kind and clever, and witty as well. I adore him, and he really is family. He's just also very, very normal. Not boring, but..." Obi-Wan trails off and shrugs helplessly. "He's an editor for an agricultural research journal. Also not someone I anticipate us running into."

"Noted."

"Right, so, Qui-Gon dealing poorly with his grief didn't involve much drinking, but there were a few months of him trying to... lose himself in the pleasures of the flesh?" Obi-Wan tries, and then deflates at the look on Cody's face. "He was slagging around. Shmi got pregnant with Anakin, who was born when I was sixteen. Shared custody at first, Qui-Gon got him weekends and every other holiday, that sort of thing, and then they got married because they actually did like each other well enough, and it was easier on the taxes."

"So Shmi is stepmother number two."

"Shmi is stepmother number two, yes." Obi-Wan sketches in Anakin and Shmi. "About nine and a half years after Anakin was born, Shmi and Qui-Gon were in a car accident with... well, it later turned out it wasn't an accident, there was a hitman called Maul involved, he's actually Ventress's second cousin or something, I don't know. Grandfather handled most of that problem. Qui-Gon died, Shmi was in intensive care, and I got custody of Anakin as his nearest adult relative. We weren't very close before that, because I was off at university by the time he was old enough to form memories, but that changed once he started living with me. I more or less raised him as a single parent from that point."

"This is why he jokes that you're like a father to him."

"Precisely," Obi-Wan says. "Shmi took about a year to recover enough to move again, and grandfather covered the costs. She still had to live with a dedicated carer and attend daily physical therapy. At that physical therapy, she met Cliegg Lars, whose son Owen was also a patient there. They hit it off, and three years later, they married. When Anakin refers to his stepfamily he's talking about the Lars out in Nevada."

"Nevada?"

"They have a farm. A very, very normal one. We don't drag them into our activities, unless we have an at-risk person who needs a safe house." Obi-Wan pauses, and then decides this really needs to be stressed. "This is important to me and Anakin, that we don't get them involved unless there's absolutely no other choice. Shmi's been through a lot, and the Lars are busy enough running the farm."

"Works for me," Cody says. "We've got enough safe houses that it shouldn't be an issue. I'm guessing this story doesn't end there, though."

Obi-Wan grimaces. "My own love life has been... a bit of a mess."

"I already know about Kryze, at least."

There's that. "I was temporarily engaged to a friend, Siri Tachi, shortly after high school. We were in a relationship, but this was mostly something done to appease a relative of hers that was getting overbearing to the point of absurdity, and she couldn't just cut them off. We broke off the engagement after the relative passed, and we're still friends."

He notes that down, then adds the other embarrassment of his early years. "First marriage was actually a drunken joke between myself and my best friend when we were in college. We got it annulled a few months later because we just didn't have time to drop by the courthouse before then, and he's actually engaged to Asajj now."

"Asajj?" Cody asks, watching in fascination as Obi-Wan tries to mark in both his own short marriage and the newer, long-term engagement without crossing any lines. He settles for just writing the name twice and including an asterisk with 'this is the same person.'

"Ventress," Obi-Wan clarifies. "Yeah, Quinlan's a fun guy. His little sister, Aayla, treats Anakin like a beloved younger cousin."

"Are they also off-limits for criminal activity?"

"No, Aayla's the one that taught Ahsoka how to vent-crawl," Obi-Wan says. "And I'm pretty sure Quinlan has contacts in every major government branch, criminal organization, and Fortune 500 company on the planet. I reach out to them regularly."

"Resources, then."

Obi-Wan nods. "Some time later, I married Satine. We had a son; you've met Korkie. We split due to incompatibility a year and change before Qui-Gon's death. Satine doesn't engage in criminal activity, but Bo-Katan is..."

"I've met Bo-Katan. I know what she's like, Obi. You don't have to explain."

"She works with Maul sometimes."

"...the man who killed your father?"

"Yes. It's all very stupid and convoluted." Obi-Wan still writes her in. "So, that's them. Korkie goes to boarding school, and I try not to involve him in anything. Anakin and Ahsoka like to teach him self-defense and the like, but Satine is adamant that he stay unaware of my less legal dealings until he's an adult."

Cody shrugs. "Makes sense. Is that every--wait, no, Skywalker's married."

Obi-Wan grins. "Yes, and Padme's got twins on the way."

"I was there when he told us," Cody says drily. "He was very loud about it. Okay, how does Ahsoka fit in?"

"Hold on, I forgot Beru," Obi-Wan mutters. "Owen's fiancee. Same rules as the Lars. Okay, you asked about Ahsoka. Right. So. Um."

He dithers. Cody waits for him, and then Obi-Wan just gives up. "Ahsoka, dear, would you like to explain how you joined the family, so to speak?"

Ahsoka looks up from whatever she and the boys are doing--there are multiple beer glasses and straws and duct tape involved, and Obi-Wan doesn't really want to know--and then flips off the table and over to Obi-Wan and Cody. She looks over the family tree chart, and then says, "Oooh, did you tell him about the cult?"

"You were in a cult?" Cody demands.

"No, Komari was. She was head priestess or something. I dunno, it's why she's in prison and stuff."

"I did not tell him about the cult," Obi-Wan mutters, already regretting this. "The Bando Gora aren't a problem anymore. I've already gotten to explaining how you and Anakin know each other."

Ahsoka rolls her eyes, steals his pen, and starts sketching in around Quinlan's name, over by Asajj since Obi-Wan's section is too crowded. "Okay, so, Quinlan's adopted. His dad is Tholme, and Tholme's dad is Plo Koon. Plo Koon is good friends with my Auntie, Shaak Ti, who raised me. They live next door to each other, out in the country, and I'd play in his yard a lot, because he had puppies, and he took me to visit his bees. Whenever Auntie needed a babysitter, she asked Quinlan or Aayla to do it since she knew and trusted them, and Aayla needed pocket money."

"This is so unnecessarily complicated," Cody mutters.

"It is!" Ahsoka chirps. Her grin is far too sharp. "So, this one time, Aayla was watching me when I was fourteen, and she was just helping me with my physics homework. BAM, the door slams open, and in stumbled Skyguy with his arm missing. I've never met him before, and my first introduction is him shortly after he's gotten an unplanned amputation."

Anakin, on the other side of the room, giggles. Obi-Wan just sighs. The Fett brothers appear to be in the land of 'horrified fascination.'

Ahsoka revels in it. "There's blood everywhere, I'm screaming, Aayla's panicking, Anakin's halfway to unconscious and insisting we can't call the hospital, and nobody can get Obi-Wan on the phone. Quinlan's in another country, and Auntie Shaak and Uncle Plo are at a movie, so they've both got their cellphones off. Tholme was faking his death at that point to get away from an incident with the Irish Mob, so we didn't even try him."

"What the actual fuck," Rex breathes.

Ahsoka continues with relish. "We get Bant to pick up, and she's there an hour later with Padme, because Padme knows how to drive the way Skyguy does, and the entire drive there is just Auntie Bant on speakerphone telling Aayla how to stop the bleeding and get him stabilized while Padme's screaming at traffic at the top of her lungs."

"I owe Aayla a fruit basket," Anakin muses aloud. "The anniversary of her saving my life is coming up, it's warranted."

"Five years, baby!" Ahsoka crows. She fist-pumps.

Obi-Wan just drops his head into his hands. "You're killing me, children."

Anakin shrugs, grinning. "You know, I think Fett Senior might have been involved in that fight."

"My shitty dad cut off your arm?" Rex demands.

"No, I think he was busy fighting the Interpol guy," Anakin says. "But he was definitely there. I think. Blood loss kinda got to me after a bit, but I'm pretty sure Jango Fett was there, and also Boba might've been hiding in the getaway car?"

"I need another glass," Cody mutters. He doesn't stand up, though.

"Wait," Rex says. "So who cut off your arm?"

Anakin shrugs with an unsure noise. "Someone tried to convince me it was Grandpa Yan, but he was in the middle of a court case in Italy for some kind of parole violation when it happened, so he had an alibi."

"...did he actually violate parole?" Cody asks, and Obi-Wan thinks he looks like he doesn't know if he actually wants an answer.

Ahsoka shrugs. So does Anakin. Obi-Wan carefully looks at a spot behind Cody, and doesn't explain anything about wine tastings used as covers for illicit arms deals.

"The arm?" Rex prompts, sounding a little desperate to get back to the question he likely thinks is the most important.

"I still say it was Skeevy Sheev," Ahsoka chimes in.

"It wasn't Palpatine," Anakin snaps.

"Your creepy older friend who took you to operas and gives you fancy gifts and knows way too much about swords who was conveniently there to talk to the police and cover for you so you didn't get arrested for getting in the middle of a gang war in the first place, yes," Ahsoka says, dropping into a chair and sighing dramatically. "The guy who definitely hasn't been trying to convince you for a year and change that your wife is cheating on you with your older brother."

"Ahsoka!"

"What? He is."

"Anakin," Rex says, "your life sounds like a trainwreck."

"I'm not going to assume a frail, elderly man cut my arm off!" Anakin protests. "Even if he wanted to, he doesn't exactly have the muscle for it!"

"Grandfather's older," Obi-Wan points out, even though he knows it won't help. "And he definitely still could."

"Ha!" Ahsoka shouts.

"He could have hired someone?" Cody suggests. "Doesn't need to do it himself, if he has enough money."

Obi-Wan has a sneaking suspicion that Cody is deliberately stirring the pot as revenge for Anakin sending him eighty-seven cat memes inside an hour during last night's dinner.

"You all suck," Anakin declares. "Also, what the hell do you mean 'knows way too much about swords,' Ahsoka? You know way too much about swords!"

"Yeah, but I'm like ninety-percent sure that his antiques are Prussian and mid-century German military officer dress uniform relics, and pairing that with the Nazi pistols he's got on display--"

"He's just a history buff! And his family's German, of course he prioritizes that region, it's not like he doesn't have Russian or French or English antiques in there too, it's all sides of the war and--"

"I'm just saying he's almost definitely sending me sketchy glances like he thinks I'm planning to steal the silver on the three occasions you've had me with you when you stop by, and I'm pretty sure it's got less to do with my criminal record and more to do with me being, you know, not white."

Anakin looks ready to blow, so Obi-Wan interrupts. "Ahsoka, you were explaining how Anakin passing out on Aayla and scaring us all half to death led to your friendship?"

Ahsoka blinks at him, and then sticks her tongue out at Anakin and turns back to the chart. "So basically, Skyguy had to recuperate in Uncle Plo's living room for a week or two, and I kept showing up to bother him because he was bored and nobody would give him a laptop for 'security reasons,' because he had to lay low and stuff. He made me help him sketch out designs for a prosthesis and do all the writing for the math he had to do for the 3D printer, and we got to chatting."

Ahsoka hops up and back onto a table, legs swinging below her. "I decided he was cool and started following him around while he was getting used to only having one hand, mostly because I was bored. He showed me how to hotwire a car, and explained the best places to put a bug if you were looking to make it sneaky, and he picked my pocket to show off so many times when he was walking around Uncle Plo's house that I made him teach me that, too. And, uh, then Aayla found out and they got into a shouting match about it and decided they both needed to teach me parkour so I could get out of any mess I got myself into, since I was obviously going to follow them into a life of crime."

"And you did," Anakin says, far too proudly. "You're the best thief in this half of the country."

"Only because Aayla moved out east."

Anakin rolls his eyes and pulls Ahsoka into his side, digging his knuckles into her skull. "Best thief! You are the best thief! Be proud of yourself!"

"Let go!"

"Never!"

Obi-Wan sighed heavily and rubbed at his forehead. "Children, please."

"You're not my dad," Ahsoka growls out at him. "Skyguy, I'm going to bite you!"

"Good luck, the only arm you can access is the one that's going to break your teeth."

Ahsoka shrieks in outrage and stomps on Anakin's instep.

It's almost funny, for all that Obi-Wan's seen it play out a million times before, but the really interesting part is seeing Rex's look of fond dismay.

Obi-Wan thinks he might be adding a branch out to the Fetts soon. He's not actually sure if Rex is interested in Anakin or Ahsoka, and he's smack dab between them in age, so that's not a help either, but... well. The expression is familiar enough.

"Please tell me you don't match-make," Cody mutters to him.

"No, I plan to let the pieces fall where they will," Obi-Wan responds, just as low, and far more amused. "I'm simply trying to predict where those landings are to be."

Cody looks at him, and then back at the roughhousing trio, and sighs heavily. "You know, I really didn't think that you technically being minor royalty was going to be the least convoluted thing in your story, Obi-Wan."

He laughs, because it's true. "I'm first in line to inherit the title, since Rael denounced his claim. Nim isn't interested, and Qui-Gon's dead, so... I'm next."

Cody makes a face. "Delightful. I'm guessing that's not a connection we can safely make use of."

"No more than the Kryze or Naberries, I'm afraid." Obi-Wan claps him on the shoulder. "Chin up, I've plenty others in the metaphorical rolodex, all far less legitimate and far more amenable to work with our little outfit."

"Rolodex, really?" Cody snorts. "You're not that old."

Obi-Wan smiles winningly. "You don't know how old I am, Cody. All my IDs are fake."

"Anakin's twenty-four, and you're sixteen years older than him, going by the story you just told me," Cody points out. "I do know how to do basic math, Obi-Wan."

"I had to try," Obi-Wan admits. "I threw a lot of information at you all at once; I'd hoped you missed some of the ages in there."

"I have eight brothers," Cody scoffs. "And literally dozens of cousins, plus niblings, uncles, aunts, and so on. I have experience on this."

"If I asked you to list of the age of every single relative you have, you'd be able to do it?"

"Do you want me to draw a chart? I can draw a chart."

Obi-Wan can't help but laugh. "I'd be delighted, my dear."

Cody rolls his eyes, but Obi-Wan thinks--it's hard to tell in the dimmed lights of the closed bar--that there's a hint of a blush on the man's face. Obi-Wan lets himself slouch to the side, drops his head to rest on one fist, indolent debauchery in every line of his body. Cody does his best to ignore him, but Obi-Wan knows how to smile lazily and blink slowly and draw a man in.

(The whole 'indolent debauchery in every line of his body' phrasing is Anakin's, from back when he was a teenager trying to read highbrow literature to impress a cute girl... and to come up with new insults for his older brother.)

"So," Cody says, with a cough meant to somehow distract Obi-Wan from whatever's showing on the man's face. "Why, uh, why is your grandfather on terrorist watchlists?"

"Well, he didn't initially do anything," Obi-Wan says. "He was just a gay man who didn't hide it quite well enough, and had too much money and too white a face for someone to just call the cops on a faulty report. The Red Scare was technically over by that point, I think, but if a few people made suggestions that he was more loyal to the country that gave him a noble title than to the United States... he received a few warnings, of course, and it could have all blown over..."

"But?"

"But my grandfather is not a man to do things by halves, and instead decided that if the government was to list him as a threat, then he would oblige and make himself a threat," Obi-Wan finishes. "Living up to their labels, rolling with the assumptions, whatever you'd like to call it. It all irked him, and so he made some incredibly questionable decisions to make the government's lives harder. Some weren't bad, like donating to anti-war foundations that were protesting the Gulf War and the interventions in Yugoslavia, that sort of thing, and some were... nobody really looks well on gunrunning, you know."

"For fuck's sake..."

"Indeed," Obi-Wan chuckles. "Ironically, he has minimal opinion on the optimal form of economics, for all that virulent xenophobia and the remnants of anti-communism were involved in the whole mess. He just wanted to create problems for the people that were causing him problems."

Cody shakes his head. "I want to judge that, but you've met my father."

"Jango Fett is, indeed, also not a man to do things by halves," Obi-Wan agrees, attempting to nod gravely but breaking into a smile at the end. "That man is absurd."

"At least he's not dragging Boba into it anymore," Cody mutters. He drags over the fresh sheet of paper and pen that Obi-Wan offers him. "Okay, right, let's start with Jaster..."

552 notes · View notes

deviltoys · 4 years ago

Text

— ‘𝗯𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗯𝗼𝘆.’

sakusa kiyoomi x top!male reader. (wc; 1.7k)

#a/n: lolol self-indulgent sakusa fic because i wanna breed him so bad. this is painfully horrible and short but hopefully enough to feed everyone for the time being!

warnings. NSFW CONTENT, MINORS DNI, blindfold, overstimulation, breeding k., frat!au, gangbang, dubcon turned con, belly bulge, cum inflation, no aftercare, manipulation, sex slavery, implied somnophila.

joining the most prominent fraternity on campus was the last thing on his mind. sakusa struggled immensly when it came to social interaction, he even took extra precautions to avoid having to exchange any dialogue between peers. especially a bunch of guild boys who could barely keep their heads attached to their shoulders; but atsumu had somehow convinced him to give it a shot.

according to the miya twin, he needed to push past this boundaries and explore his comfort threshold a little more. the perfect place to do just that? a frat house. who's more loud and rowdy than a couple of douchebag adults trying to assert their alpha-ness by hosting a copious amount of house parties.

as much as he beseeched and argued against it, the frat scene had him hook, line and sinker. and soon, the unbearable pull of charming guys passing around pamphlets for recruitment day had caught up to him.

the hall of residence was a lot more alluring that media would lead on. he was pleasantly surprised by the cleanliness and charm of the home; the parade of shirtless guys crowding around the hobby room only added a sense of authenticity to the whole ordeal.

after he was plucked into the roster of other men trying their hand at slipping a way into the frat life of their dreams. the initiation was on the horizon, and sakusa’s overwhelming social anxiety from the day prior came flooding right back into his system. he had forgotten the most important rule about a brotherhood, proving your worth and loyalty to your new family.

the two paths you could choose to go down were no bed of roses— the first opportunity was to streak and sprint down the length of the campus yard. or a play special game, in which your fellow brothers would surprise you with.

no way in hell would he sacrifice his dignity by stripping down bare and humiliating himself in front of the entire university. his education was on the line, he had a reputation to uphold; the only option was to partake in whatever the sorority had waiting for him.

that's where you came in, merely handing the dark-haired male a piece of cloth to don around his eyes. the last thing he could recall about his surroundings was the eeriely warm yet sadistic expression you gave him— his vision melting into a blur of black when the blindfold made contact his skin.

“just find a place to sit on one of the couches, my brothers’ll be with you soon.” your tone was low and gravely, the remainder of his senses were heightened due to his loss of vision. his ears exploding with your voice and your voice only, he felt the flesh on his cheeks bleed from pink to red; praying you wouldn't notice his shift in attitude.

“ye- yeah.. okay, thanks.”

your footsteps faded into the backdrop, signalling him to begin his search for the couch. he'd rather die than have you watch him scramble around the room like a headless chicken. he stumbled around a little, as predicted— bumping into furniture here and there before his hips knocked into a pool table frequently used for beer pong.

his hands feel around the object in an attempt to slip past it, amongst all the chaos he's experiencing he's dimly aware of the presence of a group of people. the scuffling of shoes against the hardwood floors only solidify his suspicions, but before he's able to call out to you; or anyone. heavy pressure is placed atop his shoulder blades— the curve of hips lace into the divit of his ass until he's pressed against the table.

the silence drifting around the open space between your bodies isn't broken, nobody dare mumbles a sound. your broad palms slink up the underside of his shirt, keeping a painfully slow pace up his chest until your fingers pinch the first nipple they come in contact with. your free hand snakes around his hip and dips into the hem of his jeans before making it's way into the waistband of his boxers.

his body shudders desperately, thighs bucking forward as your fist pumps around the length of his twitching cock. by the time he can gasp out a flurry of winces, two fingers that weren't there previously, poke and prod around his rim. devilishly forcing his walls to mold around them and shape room for a few more.

both of your hands now find a home around his hips. your groin, which is positioned at his rear, ruts the outline of your erect bulge against his ass— plowing the multitude of fingers already planted inside of him, deeper. this only entails that the fingers now wrapped around his cock, teasing his chest, and sinking into the depths of his rectum all belong to a different set of people.

he once more unclamps his jaw to sputter out more nonsense, only moaning once the warm, wet agitation of lips suck a dark mark into the curve of his collarbone. he's overcome with bliss, marveling in the way each frat member simultaneously toys with his sensitive body.

an abundance of hands fumble with his zipper, unbuckling the leather around his waist— unlooping the material before tossing it aside. you shove his pants down past his calves, releasing your grip on him so that you're able to abandon your own set of clothes. there's more rustling of clothes and clinking of belt buckles and your hands return to him once more, binding his arms and shoulders while gently bending him onto the table.

bracing for impact, he's pleasantly astonished when his chin and shoulders sink into something soft and pillowy. you were kind enough to replace the hard surface beneath him with one of the sofa cushions, strengthening his trust in you.

with his body now calm and relaxed with aura around the six of you, you take a few moments to prepare your cock to breed your good little fuck toy.

hot breath teases the meek, male’s ear; your monstrous cock pressing into puckered hole only making the lewd torture of the situation worse.

“miya told us you'd like to become our little breeder sakusa, we've had our eye on you for awhile. is this true? do you want us to pump your little womb full of our children?”

atsumu? he was the one who had him in this position, such a trusted friend making him seem special enough to catch the attention of these compassionate boys? maybe he was born to be a slave for cock. atsumu wouldn't lie to him, would he?

oh poor kiyoomi, if only he saw right through that twisted facade.

you growl into the shell of his ear, he figures that you're the one who's bending over his back; threatening to breach his fertile hole. being the head of the frat, you got first dibs on all the fresh meat brought in, it's sad you'd have to share this one with your brothers.

there's nothing sakusa has to resist with, he whimpers out a few noises before you're rewarded with a barade of nods. a rise of chuckles and quiet exclamations from the group feed through his brain— apparently all of your peers are patiently waiting for their own couple of minutes with him. silent vulgarites phase past your teeth as you impatiently card a hand through his thick curls. plunging into the boy with one fluid motion, your cock vanishes from sight, disappearing inside of his stomach.

his ebony iris’ screw shut behind the blindfold. you can feel the way his womb parts just for your cock, the slimey g-spot of his is completely ignored as you push past it; the fat head of your cock mercilessly drilling into his belly. your cock is on full display, the layers of flesh seperating you from the outside world bend and jiggle around the outline of your shaft.

“i sure do hope you have enough room for all of our cum in there.” your thrusts don't falter, not daring to give his poor, ruined prostate a breather. “because we're not stopping until every single one of us has had a chance to knock you up!”

with those final words rolling off your tongue, your hips snapped long and harsh strokes into his twitching hole— cum bursting at the seams of your slit, balls tightening and enlarging as the pent up pleasure and lust readied the fat sacks for release. sakusa feels his tummy bloom with the first batch of warmth, sticky ropes of seed shoot right inside. perfectly filling him up in preparation for the next cock eager to breed his tight ass!

so wonderful, his womb feels so full and claimed! a bright and hot flush pools across his face; without warning the next cock sinks even deeper than the last. more of the groups genes passing through him, mating the frat’s new bitch over and over again. he's hit by a wave of orgasms after the second brother slams himself nice and deep, pumping his seed inside him once more. his asshole greedily opening and closing to filter as much thick cum as humanly possible into his intestines. before he's able to come to his senses, he's already chubby with semen; happily inviting the next member to come and breed his stupid body.

the entire night is flooded with sounds of hiccuping, skin on skin contact, and the leaking of cum being deposited right back into sakusa. the incredible feeling of his frat brothers groping and touching him up have him cumming time after time— all night he's shuddering as another orgasm passes through his frame.

once he's positively gushing with cum and reduced to nothing but an overstimulated puddle of arousal— you scoop up his limp, bloated body, collecting the rest of your buddies before carrying him to his very own dorm. labeling his room, the ‘breeding room’. the sorority didn't let him waste a dime of time rejuvenating his body with sleep. they didn't want their new play thing to go to waste; he was awoken multiple times during the wee hours of the night. cock fitted tightly between his lavish cheeks.

he was certainly going to love it here, nothing but a obedient puppet.

#𓉔 — m.list #𓉔 — directory.#𓉔 — works.#c; sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi x top male reader #sakusa kiyoomi x male reader #haiykuu x top male reader #haikyuu x male reader #sakusa kiyoomi #dark haikyuu #haikyuu smut #dark content #male dark blog

642 notes · View notes

weirdthinkingdragon · 3 years ago

Text

Dragons’ Biggest Treasure

Yandere dragon shifter erasermic x reader

Fantasy AU

Here’s a long one for you guys! (10k) FINALLY WROTE A FIC AGAIN! YAY!(hahaha I’m so exhausted)

Warnings: Swearing, graphic fights and scenes, multiple character deaths (not EraserMic or reader), harm towards reader (again, not by EraserMic. Well, mostly), burn mentions (with dragons it’s gonna happen), and a handful of times about eardrums bursting (the harm towards reader by EraserMic). As well as dragon abuse. This does have much darker stuff than I usually write. Also a slow start for the yandere stuff. Pretty happy with the details in it. Hope you guys like it!

dragonerasermicdragonerasermicdragonerasermicdragon- *gets smacked*

These two as yandere dragons will now forever rot in my head. Hng, why have I not thought of it sooner!? Just THINKING of them as yandere dragons makes brain go brrr. Obviously going to write them as yandere dragon shifters again at some point. More than once too.

----------------------------------------

I’m close to the entrance gates to the kingdom ruled by a man that calls himself All For One. No one knows his real name. He’s a sick bastard that no one wants to be around, but no one can do anything since he’s a lot smarter than he looks with that damn mask over his head. My job by him is to heal dragons after their fights he forces them into, like the most recent one who is incredibly injured in front of me. He likes them by the entrance to torture them with the taste of freedom they will never get from the enchanted chains wrapped all over them.

While using my natural healing abilities that are actually a pretty rare thing, there is a commotion over towards the gates. The large metal doors open to reveal many men on horses and even a few on their feet holding ropes, pulling something large behind them. I sadly already know what’s being brought in. A saddened sigh escapes me at the sight of two new dragons that are heavily wounded being dragged in through the gates at the end of the ropes. More dragons that are bound to reach their unfortunate fate until they die.

Looking a bit closer, there are arrows sticking out of the two of them, and blood trailing on the ground. Both of their bodies are black, but one has everything black but a grey underbelly. Instead of spines, it has a feather-like long mane that is also black. The skin on their wings matches the grey of their underbelly. It’s impossible to know the eye color since they’re asleep for the moment.

The other quite possibly has the largest yellow spines I have ever seen. The same with his horns, they’re curved upwards at a slight angle. Their underbelly, as well as their wings match the color of the spines and horns. There are odd scales around their eyes with orange closer to the center, and a white outer rim, almost like it’s wearing sunglasses.

The dragon I was tending to just curls itself as much as it can away from me after healing it a small amount. I was ordered to only heal them enough for their wounds to not need stitching so they will still be rather weak to even try escaping. Why he would need enchanted chains then I have absolutely no clue. He takes a sick pleasure in his favorite dragons having such an advantage in the arena.

I lock eyes with Masura who gives me a giant sadistic smile in return. He enjoys hurting dragons way too much. A few have even ended up dying on the way here from wherever he and the others keep finding them.

“Brought some fresh meat for you to take care of. These two put up an incredible fight. Can’t wait to see what they will do in the arena.”

He and the others go to the line of chains near me and hook them all over the two dragons, including the specially created muzzle. Specially created by it having holes so they can dip their snout in the trough of water and get it in that way, and fire can’t get through. Feeding is still a bit of a problem though. Especially since I’m stuck being in charge of that as well. So many times being bitten or burned from having to remove it for that time.

I gently rub the scarred burn on my right forearm from a problem with an incredibly feisty and almost explosive yellow dragon before. Miraculously, he was the first and only dragon to escape alive. Then again, it was the turn of a different caretaker that night who ended up sentenced to death for it.

They quickly leave to let me tend to the injured duo. I sigh and quickly finish up the one in front of me with a rather large wound on its right hind leg. The bucket of healing water I enchanted helped the wound close up to a point. It can sadly easily be ripped open, which it obviously will tomorrow in its next fight. I would love nothing more than to be able to heal them better than I have to. There are serious consequences if it’s found out I did though. Emi was proof of that. Despite her joking personality, she really cared for the dragons. That was her downfall when a dragon was healed too much and almost overpowered one of All For One’s most prided dragons. Can’t remember which, but I’m pretty sure it was the female dragon named “Toga”. She- no. Don’t think about Emi’s final screams of pain.

I scan over the two dragons to see who is worse off. By far it seems to be the black one with the mane instead of spines. The most concerning is the arrow that seems to be in one of its lungs. It’s going to die if I don’t do something. I don’t want it to die so soon. Well, I do, yet I don’t. Do just so they don’t have to suffer fighting in battles, but don’t since they have such a long life to live yet. I just wish they’d be able to really be free after being caught.

Damn it, I might get into so much trouble for this…

A bright green glow comes from my hands as I wrap one around the arrow and one on its underside right next to the arrow. A quick and firm tug is able to get it out. I quickly enhance my healing power further to fully heal this one wound.

Not even a scar is left behind. Hopefully, they forgot the arrow was around there when they brought the dragons. I lean on the wall to steel my groundings from being exhausted from it. Ugh, it’s been too long since I’ve done that. My body is no longer used to my own powers. How sad. I’m the only one known for being born with such power. Emi was gifted it by enchantment by All For One. How he has the power to do that no one wants to know. We all just know he does, and he gets whatever he wants since no one can stop him.

After collecting myself for a moment, I scan the rest of their injuries and find out both of them are male. The maned one has more slashes on him than arrows, but the other has an incredible amount of arrows. Luckily, none of them are in vital places though.

The already reddened bucket shows it doesn’t have much more healing capabilities. I’m going to have to get a new one for healing. As long as it’s clear, the water covers the rag in a way it can close wounds. It’s an odd thing that somehow works and helps the healer keep more of their energy.

I decide to leave for a minute and refill the bucket. After dumping out the blood water, I refill it from the rather clean river that runs through this place. Using my healing ability, I stick my hand in the fresh freezing water and stir it around to leave a green glow for a moment. It will quickly warm up in this rather hot weather.

I go towards the two again to finish up their wounds. What surprises me is both have already woken up and are glaring at me greatly upon entrance. The maned one has the most piercing steel-white-like eyes I’ve ever seen. The other has bright green with an odd circle swirl in them I’ve never seen before. Have to say they almost seem a bit hypnotic.

The wonder doesn’t last long though as the green-eyed one lets out a noise that greatly hurts my ears. With that sound and this close proximity, my eardrums more likely than not just burst with the severe pain that came with it. A few tears threaten to escape with a pain I’m not used to.

The mask wasn’t made for dragons with a sound ability! We’ve never had one of these! Why didn’t Masura warn me!? Or more importantly, how wasn’t he heard before being dragged here with how loud he is!?

With my hands instinctively on my ears to try preventing it from bursting my eardrums again though it would be useless, All For One enters right after. Out of nowhere he summons another enchanted chain that wraps around his snout, preventing him from doing the same… Screaming? Shouting? Whatever that ability is to be used again.

He waits for a minute for me to heal my eardrums before attempting to speak to me.

I nearly start shaking as his head turns towards the non-wound area on the maned one. Masura must have informed him or slipped up talking about it.

Quick, I have to save my own skin! “I had to remove the arrow and fully heal it, otherwise it would have died from the arrow puncturing its lung, as you most likely knew already. I understand that’s no worry for you, but it would have been rather annoying if he died before being in even one fight to watch, right?” Oh please tell me that works!

A dead silence looms for a second before All For One turns towards me and gives me a curt nod. I almost heaved a sigh of relief. Almost being the key word. I held it in to make sure it wouldn’t annoy him. Probably wouldn’t, but it’s safer to not take a chance.

He creates another muzzle that’s more fitting for this dragon. He removes the chain around the snout and puts it on before he can get snapped at, or possibly screamed at? By said dragon. The belt part is wrapped rather tightly around his snout, making it look impossible for him to even move his jaw. At least the other has a bit of loose room for it to open ever so slightly so it doesn’t become stiff. That one is going to be a lot harder to take off for feeding them.

As if All For One could read my thoughts, which is terrifying to think, he glances at me. "You have a healing ability. If it screams with the muzzle removed, heal yourself. Don’t disappoint me." He then walks off. Probably to his dragons that he treats like gods to keep them loyal to him. Even one of them being obsessed with blood getting a human a week to feast upon. Usually, it’s prisoners that have tried to kill All For One or “dragon liberators” that caught wind of how he treats most of the dragons and tried to free them. Obviously with no succession.

I let out the unknown breath being held. Man, he’s terrifying and can suffocate someone by just his presence alone. The maned one looked almost worried at the other one while he almost seemed to be panicking with the tight muzzle around his snout. Can’t blame him. Imagine being in something similar. I’d be scared too.

His glance shifted from the still-panicking dragon towards me, glaring ten times worse than before. I sigh. “Don’t look at me like that. I don’t want you two to be here anymore than you do.” Can dragons even understand human speech? The explosive one that burned me before almost seemed like he did, but maybe it was just my imagination. The other turns towards me and tries to scream, or whatever it is again with no succession. Makes me wonder if he hasn’t had a similar experience somehow in the past. Ugh, thinking of that just makes me feel worse. Finally free only to be dragged back to somewhere that will probably be worse.

Saying “probably” because there are no branding marks or dents in their wrists from ropes that are usually on dragons from other places.

They’re probably already going to be fighting in the arena tomorrow. Thinking about that reminds me of how exhausted I am from healing the maned one. It’s going to be good for them to get names tomorrow in the arena. Already tired of trying to think of what to call them separately.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

I was right. Miraculously, All For One wanted it to be the last fight of the day involving those two. He wants me to be there to take off the loud one’s muzzle for every fight now and in the future. Starting to hate my healing ability now.

The chains are still wrapped around the two, and they’re led into different stalls for the arena. Of course, I was left alone with the loud one. Don’t know how that could POSSIBLY go wrong. Note the sarcasm. At least All For One was able to make it where the chains are held on the sturdy walls until he can let them leave. His sound should be plenty enough signal for All For One to release him.

He looks at me as I reach up to take the muzzle off. He stays quiet for a moment once it’s off, moving his more than likely stiff jaw around. There’s already a slight dent around his snout and jaw.

I shake my head disappointedly. “This is beyond fucking inhumane.” Leaving him waiting, my body goes towards the doors in front of him and opens them. They lead into the arena, which has a net high up in the air so dragons can’t fly away. Not like they could anyway with how fast All For One can summon chains to drag them to the ground.

The peace wasn’t kept long though as he uses his ability again. The chains snapped free off of him and he immediately charged out into the arena, where the other already was. Wait, he’s having double dragon fights? That’s new. He’s never done that before. On the other side of the arena, The wounded one from yesterday and a very feisty solid white one were on the other side. The white one looked like it was too eager to try to kill. The two closer to me were more on edge and almost seem like they really don’t want to fight the other two.

They didn’t get the chance to reject though as the white one immediately lunges towards them. They separate and dodge out of the way of it. It keeps snapping and blowing ice towards the maned one. He slams his front claws on the snout of it to prevent the ice from freezing him or the other. He screams at the ice dragon. It’s not as loud as it was when he yelled at me yesterday.

It’s almost as if… They’re more humane? This doesn’t make sense. Dragons are usually down to fight to the death, even when not healed much. At least, that’s what seemed to be until these two.

I look towards the other one who doesn’t seem to want to fight, but it knows as well as I this fight will go on until at least one dies.

As the two new dragons kept easily dodging and not striking too hard back, the crowd watching are not too happy with the lack of injuries. Some booing, and others even attempting to throw their held items like food at the dragons. The loud one snaps and uses his ability towards the crowd, almost or possibly even louder than yesterday. At least that shut them up.

I lean against the right door and snicker. “Serves them right.” For a quick second, the loud one turns his head towards me. There’s no way he could have heard me, right? Especially with that ability. Or maybe his body was born with being able to stand it? Super hearing yet super loud yelling doesn’t make sense to have though. Dragons are incredibly strange in the ways their bodies work. It’s also quite possible to just be thinking too much.

Fuck it, don’t think too much about that.

The wounded one from yesterday half-heartedly swipes at the maned one. Even he seems to notice the odd behavior of the wounded dragon. Then again, three out of the four are acting a way I’ve never seen before. I look up towards the “throne” All For One has. He’s shaking his head and points towards the other side of the arena. The male with glasses sitting next to him nods and lifts one of the levers next to him.

Oh no. Not already.

Two familiar dragons exit the cell they were comfortably kept in. They’re not his top ones, but still get the job done in killing dragons when given the chance. He calls them Spinner and… I think the other was Moon something if remembered correctly. He’s not used as often as others, so his name isn’t exactly remembered. Calling him Moon is enough for me.

The crowd goes wild for the two. They know things get messy when Moon gets let out because of his freakish weird teeth ability. And… How he eats parts of dragons he kills.

In speaking of killing, immediately those two go for the kill. The wounded one didn’t stand a chance and had its neck snapped instantly by Spinner. Moon something lashes its teeth out and almost punctures the ice dragon.

Just watching the moon one move is quite unnerving. He’s so insanely fast and agile. Still wondering why he’s basically bound in a way. Then again, he’s at least twice as unhinged as Toga. I fear how fast he might be if he wasn’t bound.

In the blink of an eye, these two were much more defensive as the teeth blades went to strike them again. The ice dragon stopped going for them, and tries going after Moon Something. Ugh, what was that something? MoonFresh? No. MoonFlesh? I don’t think so.

He makes his teeth curve like a hook and tries again towards the ice dragon. It dodges again. Wait, hook… Fishing… MoonFish! That’s what it was!

I feel like slapping myself stupid for forgetting that.

Spinner jumps onto the wall and tries to use that to sneak up on the loud one. It doesn’t work as he was focused on Spinner as soon as the two new ones entered. He moves out of the way and instead of screaming, screeches this time. It’s much higher and worse than any sound he’s made yet. The maned one doesn’t even flinch, but the other three definitely do. Spinner was right beside the loud one. He recoils in obvious pain and stands there shaking his head.

It hurt my ears as well, but this time it didn’t make them burst, surprisingly. I don’t think the same could be said for Spinner. They have internal ears, so I’m not exactly sure if they burst, or whatever it is their species’ ears do.

I look up to see All For One leaning a bit forward in his chair, now taking slight interest. Moonfish recovers incredibly quickly and lunges his teeth again. This time it punctures right through the ice dragon’s chest as they did a final ice breath. At the same time, a few land on the other two, causing some decently deep cuts. The ice breath freezes the rest of MoonFish’s body.

The maned one wastes no time in swiping his tail towards the frozen body, shattering it upon impact.

The crowd goes eerily quiet. Looking at All For One, he remains indifferent. It’s too hard to tell his emotions about what just happened. Spinner tries again to sneak behind the two and breathe his fire. The two seem so focused on the death of three dragons in one fight. Are they not used to it?

They still haven’t noticed Spinner on the wall. At least I thought. The loud one instantly turns and rears onto his back legs and slams Spinner onto the ground with an almost punch-like move of his right talon.

Before anything can be done, these two are chained again. The loud one being yanked off of Spinner, who instantly retreats back towards the open gate he came from. I’m honestly a little disappointed he wasn’t finished off as well.

I sigh and go towards the stalls again, preparing to heal them. An already created healing bucket sitting in the same spot I used for them yesterday.

It doesn’t take long for the two to be dragged in again by Masura and the bunch of… well, meatheads to say the least. I swear none of them even think half the time about anything. The two are definitely fighting and struggling with the men.

The loud one goes to use his ability again. “Pipe down you overgrown lizard!” Masura punches the dragon in the jaw as hard as he can. It makes a sickening “crack” noise.

The maned one gets pissed and starts snapping at him as well. The only reason I can think of why he’d do that is he knows the other one. Why didn’t I make the connection sooner? These two must know each other!

Masura rolls his eye at them. So glad some good dragons before were able to take out one of his eyes. If only they could have taken out both. The chains get put where they were before, making the two unable to move much again.

I’d put the muzzle on the loud one, but with his now broken or dislocated jaw it wouldn’t be the best and needs to be healed first. I can tell Masura is itching to punch one of them again.

He stands there and smirks with his arms crossed as I dip the rag into the bucket. The loud one’s jaw is first. That’s now by far the most concerning injury. Looking a bit closer, it is definitely dislocated. I shake my head in disapproval at Masura while remaining eye contact with the dragon. It almost feels like he’s able to read me. “Did you seriously have to dislocate his jaw?”

“Heh, the damn thing deserved it for trying to use their voice at me,” I roll my eyes at his comment. Of fucking course he’d try to use his ability. We kidnapped, or more like dragonnapped him and are forcing him to fight other dragons. I’d use anything I could too. “Not everyone has a goody-perfect healing thing like you either,” he continued.

I shrug, then gently try to grab his lower jaw to try setting it back in place. “I’d just have to heal your sorry ass.”

“Tch, my sorry ass? You’re the one who always seems to get all buddy-buddy with dragons. You heal them too gently. You’re the one with a sorry ass.”

Cue my sarcastic mode. “Oh, I’m sorry for calling you a sorry ass. I must so clearly be the worst one since I’d rather not have dragons fight me all the time like you,” There was another sickening “crack” as its jaw was put back into place. The dragon hisses in obvious pain. I bring up the rag to the side of his jaw to try quickly relieving it. “Easy bud,” I try to whisper to make Masura not hear. Thankfully he didn’t seem to since he didn’t comment on it. “We can’t all think with our muscles rather than with our brains. Nothing would get done right,” I continue, but this time out loud. The loud dragon lets out a snort.

His footsteps go away, indicating he left. Probably upset. Good. I roll my eyes at him as I look over the dragon’s jaw. Good as new. Good thing about that is there’s not really any way to tell if I healed it all the way or not. Broken or dislocated bones are crazy enough easier and faster to heal than wounds. How that works with leaving the layer right under cut open and easily able to tear open again, but heals bone instantly is beyond me.

Looking around and closing any other wounds, I then go to the maned one. He nips at me to try getting my hands away. It’s far more gentle and human-like than the others that have tried to bite me before. Almost like he’s telling me he doesn’t want to be healed by human hands. Understandable.

… wait a minute. Bite, or opening jaw… I look towards the loud one and flinch, preparing for his voice. Of course I can heal, but it still hurts. My shoulders even tense upwards. It never comes. Looking at him, he still just looks at me.

Well, now I’m in a dilemma. Do I put on the muzzle now, and possibly break this trust or whatever he seems to somehow already be giving me, or leave it off and possibly get yelled at later by him, or even someone coming in to see him without his muzzle?

Ugh, I might regret this. Might as well risk it for now. I can just lie that it was forgotten to be put on if someone asks about it. Turning back to this one, I heal him anyways. He makes a slight hissing fuss but accepts it after a moment. After finishing, I leave to get them some raw meat to eat. Sadly, the biggest thing available is some moderately sized fish. They don’t seem like river or ocean dragons, so chunks of deer will have to do. It gets placed down not too far from them. They look at me warily for a bit. Maybe they don’t want me to watch them eat? It’s time for me to leave anyway.

Ugh, but the muzzles… Hopefully, they’ll eat when I’m away for a bit. I have a stupid idea I’ve never done before. Sleeping beside the dragons. Walking out lets me give that a little more thought. At least one night to see how they do couldn’t hurt. But first, there is a need to talk to All For One about their names.

I enter the area he usually is with his prized dragons. Most are pretty indifferent to me, except for Toga who has tried to stab me more than once with her blade-like tail.

I stand behind him awkwardly while he pats Spinner’s right shoulder. “They’re both… Interesting to say the least. A shame for Moonfish, but the ones tomorrow will be entertaining as well. Let’s see if they can handle Toga and Dabi.” Dread slightly seeps into me. He’s already making them face all his most dangerous ones?

“What about their names if you decide to manipulate them after and keep them as pawns?”

He shakes his head. “I have enough pawns. The audience has decided on Shatter for the loud one, and Lion for the other..”

… What? “Lion?”

“Must be the hair on it. I don’t name the things. The people do. The one thing they do have control over.” Which is beyond sad. Fucking tyrant.

I nod in reply. “Sounds good.” After that, I leave before he could say or do anything else. The less around him the better, even if he hasn’t done anything negative towards me yet.

Upon entering the same place again, they did eventually eat the meat while I was gone. That’s good. There’s an open area a bit to the left and away from the dragons. I plan on laying there for the night. It’s only to make sure no one comes in and sees them without their muzzles. No one but me knows a feeding schedule so it’s a good lie saying they were just fed. I’ve decided to think they can understand human speech, even if they don’t. They’re more pleasant to talk to than most people around.

“All right you two, I normally don’t do this, but I’ll be sleeping in here a bit away from the both of you for a few nights. My back won’t appreciate it, but I sure hope you two do. It’s only because I’d rather not put those muzzles back on,” I look at the still slightly dented skin of Shatter. Damn, and that was only for like what? Half a day of him wearing it? “But if someone comes in, I will have to temporarily put them back on. Please don’t fight it too much.”

Shatter tilts his head in an almost cute type of way. Well, that’s certainly unique. I go over to the corner and sit down against the wall. Leaning slightly back so my back fully touches it, and tilt my head up. My ass won’t be too happy tomorrow either. Maybe bringing my pillow for tomorrow night or something will help.

---------------------------------------------------------

I am rudely woken up by something sharp stabbing my foot. Looking down, it’s a feisty Bombay kitten biting and clawing at it. Where did it come from? Another thing noticed is my body is now fully laying sideways on the ground. “Ouch! Hey there you little feisty thing.” I go to grab it, and it notices. It then takes off towards the dragons, making my heart sink thinking it’s about to become a tiny snack for one of them. Strange enough, neither do. Lion just looks at it in an almost caring way. Shatter looks at Lion in a way I can’t fully understand.

Looking outside, the sun is just starting to fully show. That means in just a few hours the arena fights will begin again. Knowing All For One, he’s going to save these two for last again. Turning back to the two, Lion has one of his claws gently extended for the kitten to play with. That is once again extremely odd behavior for a dragon. Maybe everything known about them is wrong?

“Be careful today. I was informed of who you two will be fighting. They’re much more dangerous than the other two yesterday. One has fire hot enough to burn scales off dragons. The other is agile and very good at injuring.”

They just look at me.

A few fights have already passed, and my anxiety increases for the two. I’ve already had to heal the other dragons that fought today. Except for the ones that died. Getting really tired of seeing so many die for no cause other than the sick entertainment of humans.

The muzzles were already temporarily put back on the two. Shatter’s is rather loose, just to help him not freak out again, and he obviously doesn’t deserve something like that. Luckily once again, I’m the only one taking care of Shatter. He doesn’t scream at me as I quickly take it off. I risk it and pat his shoulder. “Good luck out there. You’re going to need it. He doesn’t bite me! Man, this is crazy.

Again, the gate opens and his chains come off of him. Lion bolts out of the stall next to us, and glares inside it, probably involving Masura.

Straight to the chase, Toga and Dabi are released from their places. Dabi almost gets a grin on his face from his teeth being shown in what seems to be a smile. Or maybe even a sneer with how stuck up he seems to be. Toga immediately poises her sharp tail above her.

It feels like everyone holds their breath for a second as the four stand still in the arena. Toga is the first to charge for Shatter. He immediately jumps out of the way, and tries to swing his tail towards her legs to make her fall off balance. She jumps over his tail and stabs it in the process. She then licks the blood off of the blade of her tail.

Shit! I forgot to warn about her transformation! The one thing though it could still be easy to tell which is the real shatter from his ability, and he wouldn’t attack Lion. I don’t think All For One knows they care about each other. Wait… But if she fights Shatter in his form and Lion tries to help… Oh no.

Dabi starts using his fire towards Lion. It slightly grazes him before he can get out of the way. He lets out a growl in slight pain as smoke comes from some of his scales. Shatter goes to use his ability at Dabi, but stops abruptly as Toga transforms into him. She goes to attack him again. She might remember his ability from listening and possibly watching yesterday. They’re able to watch for an even better chance at winning.

She swings her claws at his throat, making him go to the defensive and try to back away.

While that is going on, Lion is too busy being focused on Dabi’s fire, and constantly jumping from it. It gets to the point Lion is facing me, and the back of Dabi is visible. He glares at Dabi, and I see his eyes turn red. Why the FUCK are these two dragons so much stranger than most!? What is up with his eyes changing color!? Dabi goes to use his fire, but… It doesn’t come out?

… !!! A cancellation ability!?

Now that seems to catch the attention of everyone, especially All For One. He leans a bit forward in his chair. I can’t see Dabi’s face, but I bet it’s one of surprise judging by his tensed body. He freezes for a moment, giving Lion the chance to strike first. He’s able to manage a pretty deep slash onto Dabi’s side when he tries to move away. One quick glance shows Lion’s eyes are back to his steel or whitish color. He only manages another rather deep slash to Dabi’s shoulder. He tries to use his fire again, and succeeds. With the close range I worry that Lion was burned to a crisp immediately.

He glares again to cancel the fire again before it can do serious damage to him. Ah, so there is a timer-like thing for it. He slams his tail into Dabi, knocking him towards his back. He’s able to manage another slash onto Dabi’s exposed stomach. It’s easy to tell Dabi is slightly panicking, not used to never being hit so much before. Probably the cancellation as well.

Presumably Toga notices Dabi having a hard time, meanwhile, she’s giving Shatter a surprisingly hard time, and a lot of injuries. She charges towards him still as Shatter and manages to get a clean deep swipe to his right eye. My heart sinks to my stomach.

Lion hardly gives it a chance though since he notices Dabi trying to get back up. He claws again at Dabi, striking his chest. There’s now a good pool of blood being trailed onto the ground from all Dabi’s wounds. Now that Shatter has a bit of freedom, he’s able to scream. Just like yesterday, it’s much more of a screech than a scream. Again like before, Dabi and Toga flinch in pain at the sound. It gives Lion the chance to injure the Shatter that attacked him, making the transformation wear off.

Before anything else can be done, chain envelops the two again, allowing Dabi and Toga to get away freely. Of course the coward would do this when his precious pawns are losing. “Cheating bastard.” I mumble with obvious frustration. Shatter looks towards me again.

That’s the least of my concern now though. Lion’s eye needs to be looked at ASAP. I go back to their stalls to prepare for their return.

Again, it doesn’t take long. Neither are wearing muzzles, but Shatter doesn’t scream, possibly in fear of his jaw being dislocated again. Masura almost seems disappointed when he and the others drag them in. It was almost too much to wait for all of them to leave before rushing towards the two dragons, especially Lion.

When reaching up for his head, I almost yank it down to my eye level to see the damage to his eye. They almost seem surprised by my concern. Thankfully, his eye was missed, just barely. My foot nervously taps onto the ground for a second while in thought. It’s still a really deep wound, but fully healing it would raise suspicion, and All For One already isn’t too happy with these two defeating so many of his favorites. Not many have been able to beat Dabi and Toga. My hand gets its familiar glow and comes into contact with the wound. I don’t heal it all the way. There’s a giant scar left instead. They gave me a look. “I’m sorry. I really badly want to heal it fully, but I don’t want to die by healing you guys too much like the last person did,” I look towards the burned scales as well. “Those can’t be fully healed either. Some reason my healing doesn’t really work on burns.”

Their eyes almost seem to widen.

Shatter looks towards the entrance instead a moment later and hisses. I rush for the muzzles. Obviously, they’re really resilient to them being put on.

I get Shatter’s on just in time for All For One to enter. He goes right up to Lion. “A canceling ability. Simply magnificent. I wonder, how many can he cancel at once? Guess tomorrow we will see,” He almost seems to glare at Shatter. “Although I do not trust that one to not get in the way. Tomorrow will be just Lion, or now given the name Suppress.”

He goes to touch the now named “Suppress”, but he smacks his head against All For One’s hand, making him pull it away. “Ah, still got good fight as well. Good. Tomorrow will be interesting.”

“Uh, S-sir? If I may ask, what is your plan for him tomorrow?” Damn it, why did I have to stutter?

He turns his masked head towards me. I can almost FEEL his grinning under the thing. “He’s going to fight Tomura as well tomorrow.”

I’m pretty sure I stopped breathing. There’s no way he can fight Dabi, Toga, AND Tomura at the same time without being killed!

He doesn’t say anything else as he turns and leaves. I quickly take their muzzles back off. There’s nothing that can be done. I can only hope he’s strong enough to survive. No dragon has survived Tomura though. I sigh heavily and look at Suppress. “I hope you can handle a lot at once. If I’m right, you might be against three tomorrow. Be as ruthless as you can. They won't be holding back.”

I leave and grab food for them again. This time, they eat it with me there. I sit in the same spot as before.

-------------------------------------

The next day comes too soon. This time I’m woken up to the sun shining right on my face. That means it’s much later than yesterday. I go to sit up, and nearly groan in stiffness. Yep, here comes the pain and stiffness of laying on the floor. The two of them are staring at me while growling, or probably talking to each other. Well that’s a little weird.

I get up lean backwards, giving my back a good crack. It felt satisfying and did relieve the tiniest bit of discomfort. Using my healing, it doesn’t take long to feel fully normal again. I look at the giant scar still under Suppress’ eye. Pity courses through me at it. Well, at least she didn’t strike slightly higher, permanently losing his sight. Judging that Suppressor might be taken soon for a final fight today, I get up and grab the muzzles yet again. I’m so sick of even seeing these damn things. Suppressor’s gets put on properly, but I keep Shatter’s a bit loose again. He almost seems appreciative of it. “When they come to take you, save your energy for the fight. You’re going to need everything you can get.”

They were put on just in time too since Masura comes in with a few others to take Suppress. “Already?” I question.

“Yeah, he wants this to be the only fight today. He couldn’t wait to see what this thing is made of.”

This “thing” is a he, you overdeveloped rotten cabbage.

The dragon must have been able to understand me since he doesn’t fight them that strongly as they drag him out by the chains. I sigh and look towards Shatter. “I hope he’s strong. He’s going to need everything he can get.”

I follow Masura into the stall. It’s odd being in a different one for once, and I’m horrified with how roughly they throw him around with the chains. I go up front and take off his muzzle yet again, allowing him to snap at the people. I smirk as he gets dangerously close to his teeth meeting the flesh of one of the men close to me on my left. He shrieks and stumbles far away.

He then gets shoved forward out of the stall into the arena. Masura and the others quickly leave, probably to the stands to get a better view of the fight higher up.

It’s dead silent in the stands. “Now, I know there are usually a few every day, but this is a chance that can’t be taken up. Today is a one fight only, and three against one. Now, that usually doesn’t happen with the lack of action that would normally cause, but this dragon has an incredibly special ability I want to see how they fare on their own,” three separate gates open, revealing what I feared. He’s given them a higher advantage by not all being together to have their abilities eliminated. Now, Toga’s not really a problem since Suppress doesn’t have an ally, but she’s still incredibly agile and dangerous.

Tomura is probably one of the oddest dragons. His scales look incredibly dry, despite not exactly being a desert dragon. Bright red eyes glowing with hate, and talons of dead dragons latched onto his body. Don’t know why they’re there, but it’s still such a sickening thing to see.

Dabi looks good as before with no slash wounds to be seen. Of course the fucker is willing to fully heal his dragons whenever they’re injured.

Toga is in front, Dabi on Suppress’ left, and Tomura on his right. There was an eerie stillness for a moment, almost like they're all waiting for something. That something was Tomura. He hissed something, and they all lunged for him. He manages to dodge all three. Tomura is trying to get a grip on him for disintegration, or decay, or whatever terrifying thing it is he does. Suppress is trying to keep an eye on him and ducks down in time to avoid Dabi’s fire. Toga tries to stab him with her tail while he’s lowered against Dabi’s fire and watching Tomura.

Turns out he was somehow also able to keep watch of Toga. He brings his tail in front of him and pushes Toga up without her realizing. Dabi’s fire hits her for a moment, making her let out a sound that makes Dabi stop. Even from here smoke is coming off of her back.

She jumps out of the way for Dabi to continue. He uses his ability to stop Dabi from using his hot fire. Since he’s so distracted by keeping his sight on Dabi, and ends up focusing more on Toga’s location. Tomura is able to get up on him again. He manages to grab Suppress' right arm. It’s not for long as he seems to notice immediately what the dragon’s ability does. It stops decaying as he glares at Tomura instead.

Dabi notices and tries to use his fire again. It works. So his ability must need to keep his eyes in contact with a dragon to stop their ability. Chunks of his arm fall away, leaving his arm to start bleeding rather heavily. Suppress flinches is obvious pain. He’s able to keep a level head and use Tomura’s grip on him to pull him in front in the path of Dabi’s fire. Really clever using a long-range foe’s ability to harm its allies.

Dabi doesn’t stop in time, greatly charring Tomura’s already bad scales as well.

All For One isn’t too happy of his favorite pawn being injured so quickly already. Well, it’s obviously his fault for the other two joining in the first place.

A sick pleasure grows in me at his frustrated stance of tight grip on his chair. Though pity courses through me as well looking at his partially decayed arm. Should have warned him about that.

Toga manages to ignore the pain of her burned scales and attempts to attack Suppress again. He swipes his tail as hard as he can, making Toga go flying and crash into the wall from her rather small size. Especially compared to the others. The back of her head hit the wall as well, and she slumps to the ground, unmoving. She doesn’t seem to be dead though, her stomach still slightly rising.

Now All For One seems to be getting angrier. He doesn’t seem to be the only one. Tomura lets out a rather angry growl. Suppress is facing me again, and blinks, though he really didn’t seem to want to. That’s all the two needed to go all-out on him again.

Tomura tries to grab him again but wasn’t able to. Suppress grabs right above his two front talons to prevent more decay. One thing going for him is he’s much stronger physically, so he’s able to manage quite easily keeping him pinned down.

With Dabi’s fire consistently being shot at him, he does something his body shows he didn’t really want to do. He tilts his head and leans down, biting into the sides of Tomura’s neck. He slowly continues to bite down harder as Dabi doesn’t cease using his fire at him. Tomura is visually starting to panic at this point.

I think I know his plan, but it probably won’t work. Dabi doesn’t really care about the others but tolerates them for his own enjoyment of the arena.

Looking at All For One, I freeze. He’s angrier than I’ve ever seen him. I can swear I see his hands shaking from here. Huh, he’s not usually the type to have strong visual emotion besides slight interest.

Eventually, there was a sickening “crunch”, indicating that Suppress must have bitten into bone. Tomura’s neck slumps to the side, and he can’t seem to pick his head back up.

All For One had enough as he stood up from his chair for the first time and I can see the chains going for Suppress again. The chains yank Suppress so harshly that he drops Tomura, and ends up being slammed into one of the walls himself.

My body freezes completely as All For One’s head turns to look directly at me. I’m happy Suppress was able to survive, but now I’m dreading what All For One’s going to do to him.

I rush back to Shatter since I can tell All For One is about to come in this time. He seems desperate to have the muzzle off again. His eyes almost light up as I enter. “Sorry, I can’t take it off yet. Your friend is in pretty bad shape though and will be coming shortly.”

I almost waited with bated breath for a good few minutes. This time, instead of Masura and the others, it was All For One himself, easily dragging the dragon along. The chains pull him back by the other and latch back onto the walls. He has chains wrapped around his snout like the other did before. He’s between me and the dragons, and I can see their expressions behind him. Suppress is still flinching in pain from his decayed flesh.

He turns his head to me. “Kill them both.”

I was in shock. I have never been demanded to kill a dragon, yet alone two before. He won fairly! Even with injuries! He and Shatter deserve to be let free!

I notice the two dragons tense behind him.

“I will not repeat myself. They nearly killed my best pawn. Nothing gets to pass my pawn. That will not stand, so they will be killed,” He looks at Shatter’s loosened muzzle. Fuck. “I noticed they seem to be trusting of you, so I’m making you do it. You have one hour,” he turns around and leaves.

I look at the wounds of his fight from earlier. You know what? Fuck him. If I die, I die.

“I think you both more than earned your freedom by now. Hell, neither of you should have been here in the first place. Do me a favor and warn the others to not come near here ever again.” Shatter tilts his head at me again as I take off his muzzle and the chains around Suppress' snout. Here’s to hoping they can understand me. The sword hanging on the wall out of reach of the two dragons should be able to break the chains.

My first priority is to fully heal that decayed part. The scar under his eye is sadly permanent now though. My hand glows its familiar green and it hovers over the wound. Unfortunately, it couldn’t be fully healed either, but the scar is much smaller than it would have been. I try my best with the burns, but it doesn’t do much.

The longer my hand hovers right above his scales and heals him, the more drained and tired I feel. It gets to the point my body tries to fall forward. I push my hand onto him to try keeping my balance. “Whew. Not quite… Used to using so much energy. Haha.” His shoulder that I’m leaning against twitches. I take it as my cue to step away and end up leaning against the wall not far behind me to catch my breath. Looking towards Shatter, he’s still in pretty good shape, but the wounds from before can be healed a bit more to make sure they don’t reopen.

I trudge over to him and do the same, ending up leaning on him like Suppress. This time even more tired though. I can’t rest yet. There’s so little time to get them free yet. I push myself off him and go to grab the sword. With my tired state it’s almost too heavy to be lifted.

The first thing was their wings with metal being wrapped around them and pulled outwards. I grab the chain closer to him to try preventing it from pulling. The sword gets slammed down as hard as possible, making the chain break. One by one, the others were broken too. Eventually, all were broken off of both. My arm is so sore from lifting the sword so many times, and being drained in the first place. My breath is incredibly ragged.

After dropping the sword after the final chain, I close my eyes and lean against the wall. It’s hard to stay awake. “There. Now… Get going before someone returns.”

Both of them stop towards the entrance and look at me. “Go!” I yell at them and point forward. They stay for a moment longer, then bolt out.

I stay leaned for a few minutes. That was beyond exhausting. Two familiar sets of footsteps enter.

“You damn traitor. I really thought you’d be better than the last. I should kill you now!”

I look towards the entrance. All For One and Masura. Guess just get it over with then.

All For One stops him with an arm in front of him. “No. They deserve much worse than death for their betrayal.”

Well shit.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Locked in a dark cell for a good week. Hardly any food, and quite possibly the bare minimum of water given for me to stay alive. At least it wasn’t permanent. Almost wish it was with that happens after leaving the cell. After leaving, he gave the others free rein to injure me whenever they pleased. Masura was more than happy to oblige, leaving me with some rather problematic injuries that made me so tired to heal I could barely heal dragons if I tried. Of course, now someone is always watching me when it’s my time to heal the dragons. My job is only partial now though since he wants someone more “loyal” for the job. Hopefully, those two are happy at least. That’s all that matters.

In speaking of that, today was a day I wasn’t in charge of it. But Masura sure as hell had a lot of fun tossing me around like a ragdoll. Many show pity for me, but they know not to help. I can’t blame them no matter how much it hurts. A younger one with green curly hair looks like he wanted to deck Masura himself. Same with the dual-haired one beside him. Another rather tall one with glasses stops them and uses a chopping motion to tell them something, making them not intervene. They were a bit too far to be heard. My body is too tired today to heal the recent wounds from him as well. Pretty sure my right eye is a black eye from it being stuck partially closed and obviously the pain.

While looking around to make sure he’s not near me or any of the others for now today, I stumble upon a rather intimidating-looking man. His back is facing me as someone with really long blue hair is talking to him. He just radiates a strong and uncomfortable type of feeling. Never seen them around before. He doesn’t even turn around. “Sorry, sir.” Some reason that seems to catch his attention. The other two, which is a rather pretty woman. Rather long and messy black hair turns around to lock steely-gray-like eyes with mine.

That scar reminds me too much of the dragon from before. Wasn’t the scar about the same place too? Huh, he must have been too interested in that fight and lacks self-preservation or something. His eyes widen for some reason. He must have been told by others to not even come near the now outcast.

I don’t even get to blink when he grabs one of my arms to pull me towards him again. My body instinctively flinches and gets prepared to be hit again. It never comes. My eyes open to see him staring at small cuts still bleeding slightly. His sight then immediately goes towards my swollen eye. There’s an odd fury that grows in his eyes the more he sees. Too tired to think what that must be about. I try to pull my arm free from his grip. ‘I’m sorry sir, but could you please let me go? I’m really tired and just want to go home for the day.”

He doesn’t. If anything, his grip gets slightly tighter from me trying to pull away. Not painfully so, but it’s there. The other turns to look, and her eyes widen a substantial amount. She looks at him. “They the one? They’re not looking so hot.”

“We got what we need. Tell Zashi and the others.”

She nods and pushes something hidden against her ear. “We found the target.” She says something else too, but my mind is too caught up in the “target” part.

T-target!? That snaps me to attention. What did All For One tell them? Are they looking for something and he pinned the blame on me that I have it? Did he hire them to make my life more insufferable?

A set of footsteps comes up rapidly. They must be running as fast as they could. It’s another male. He has incredibly long hair and some rather odd facial hair. He suddenly hugs me. “So glad to have finally found you! The week has been terrible! Sho! We shoulda taken then with us!”

I don’t know you weirdos. What kind of sick prank is this? I try to push him away. “You must have the wrong person. I don’t know either of you.” He latches on tighter. “C’mon, we’re not dragons now, but you gotta recognize us! Especially Sho’s scar!

...What? Looking closer, the blond one seems to have small scales poking at his clothing. That… This cannot be possible. I shake my head in disbelief. “There’s no way! Dragon shifters aren’t real!”

“Oh, we definitely are, dear- what happened!? Why do you have so many injuries!?”

“That Masura man I’m guessing. Problem child informed me of it not too long ago.”

Problem child?

The blond one almost seems to growl. “Don’t regret our decision for today then.”

“Decision?” I question.

They both grow a rather sadistic smirk. I can’t tell which is more unnerving. The blond’s is bigger and shows more of his teeth, but there’s just something about the black-haired one’s that seems more unnatural.

“Well, we’ve been lookin’ for ya for about a week now. We were starting to think he did kill you, and we weren’t happy. Besides! A dragon killer like him can’t live anyway. He’s a danger to our kind!” he turns towards the woman. “Give everyone the signal,” He turns towards this ‘“Sho” or whatever he is. “You should take them. Don’t want any more damage to our poor lovely healer, huh?” He smiles at me.

I’m… still trying to wrap my frazzled mind and body around this. I don’t get to though from the sudden thing of many of the people around suddenly growing rapidly in size, and obtaining dragon qualities.

It doesn’t even take a minute for them all to be full dragons, and ripped clothes everywhere. As well as the two familiar ones right in front of me. Shatter and Suppress.

Shatter picks me up and flies up a bit, being careful with his claws. He places me on Suppress’ back.

Can things please stop for two minutes to let me think!? Again, I don’t get to as Suppress takes off into the air. There’s nothing to really grab onto to not fall off, so I grab his hair. It’s surprisingly soft. Wasn’t expecting that. My hands make the hair wrap around my hands a few times to not have to clench it so tightly. I’d rather not fall to my death.

He either dosn’t feel me pulling on his hair or doesn’t care. I lean closer to ignore the air whipping by as he speeds around flying. The screaming of the people is also a bit too much. They have nothing to fend themselves since dragons have never attacked this place before. Usually they get caught before they do.

There’s the familiar screaming or yelling of Shatter in the distance. I look over to see him with multiple other dragons against All For One. He’s gotten a few chained to the ground, but the sheer amount of them that keep using their abilities against him is making it really hard for him to focus.

A familiar exploding dragon zooms past to fight one of his prized dragons he must have let free to help. They’re not helping much. They can’t. There are too many. Toga tries to stab him with her tail, but the exploding one is relentless. He has a sick smile, almost like he’s enjoying the fight. He almost too quickly manages to pin her to the ground and slams explosion after explosion onto her face.

Dabi is being managed by an oddly colored dragon that reminds me of the red and white-haired one from earlier. With him fighting Dabi is a green one with an oddly long tongue, and a pink and brown one who somehow can move large buildings to fall onto Dabi, making him constantly jump around to avoid being hit.

Tomura doesn’t seem to be having much luck either. The two must have informed the others of his ability. He’s against multiple with long-ranged abilities like Shatter.

Despite all the noise around, I’m getting even more tired with the rocking of his body with the movement of his wings. Same with his oddly warm scales being rather comforting, and hair draping around me like a blanket. Exhaustion overtakes me as the sounds of screaming people, roaring dragons, and crackling fire of houses slowly fades to silence with me drifting off.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Not edited to the fullest capability. We die like captains with their sinking ships. Will be doing a part two with better yandere stuff...

….. Eventually…...

#yandere erasermic #yandere dragon erasermic #x reader #mha au #dragon shifter au #hizashi yamada x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #yandere hizashi yamada #yandere shouta aizawa

294 notes · View notes

regina-del-cielo · 4 years ago

Text

Immortal Siblings AU | Four, then three, then four again

I mentioned that the bulletpoint post describing how the Guard from the Immortal Siblings AU found Joe had totally run away from me. It has, in fact, become a study on them grieving over Lykon and then finding Yusuf.

I have, somehow, reached a sort of natural end to the amount of bullshit my mind can add to this list/fic draft. So, if you want to give it a read... grab a snack. It’s long. I’m sorry.

Warnings for Wikipedia levels of historical accuracy - I added links to the relevant pages when quoting historical events, but since I was just trying to work out a timeline (famous last words), the research wasn’t extensive. There’s a lot of hand-waving.

By the end of the 11th Century, I think Andy, Quynh and Nico haven’t been in Europe for a while, not really. They moved south, and then east, after the sack of Rome of 410 CE. Seeing the great cities fall has become hard for them, especially for Nico, who is a nomad at heart but has a soft spot for cities, together with Lykon, the true city boy in the group. He’d seen it happen to Athens, he wasn’t sure he could deal with seeing Rome wilt.

For reasons I cannot fathom, my mind is settled on them having been in India when Lykon dies (possibly sometime around the middle of the 6th century, in the mess that was the crumbling of the Gupta Empire???)

Seeing him die destroys them, and they take a break from any battlefield to grieve their friend and brother. They wander, occasionally helping but almost never raising their weapons, too leery of injuries and of losing each other.

(Quynh, who was the first to notice Lykon’s wounds, has nightmares that make her cry in her sleep. Andromache holds her so tight Nico can feel the tension on her muscles against his back. He and his sister barely sleep, scared of the open spaces of Asia as they’d never been before. Lykon was the youngest of them and he died, what if they stop healing too?)

(If Nico stands guard over his sisters and feels an ache in his chest seeing how they hold onto each other, he’s never going to say it out loud. His Mache deserves the love she shares with Quynh. But sometimes he wishes he had someone to hold him like that, one he can call his heart.)

The first time they go to battle again like in the old days it’s almost the end of the 10th century, and they’re helping Quynh’s lands gain independence from China. They have a reason and a specific side to root for, and it’s the kind of cause Lykon would have approved of. They find purpose again.

They are distantly aware of how things are holding up in the west – they know Constantinople has crowned itself capital of the Roman Empire (what is left of it anyway); they know of the new religion, Islam, and how it was brought further east with the armies conquering Persia. They met the Varangians on the Northern Plains of the Rus’, when Andy insisted on going back to their steppes for a while.

They acquire new swords, repair the old weapons, make improvements on their bows. They travel, and help, and listen. They learn new languages. They heal.

They’ve just spent the winter in Samarkand when they hear merchants newly come from Constantinople talk about the Frankish armies that took Antioch and making their way further into Palestine.

The words ��freeing Jerusalem from the infidels’ make Andy sigh in exasperation and twist Nico’s guts. The three of them don’t really understand the point of going to war for a god, but Jerusalem is old, and she’s been coveted by many throughout their long lives. Things like this never end well, they know it intimately.

But they’ve been away for a long time, centuries at this point. Things are very different from when the Romans had the power. They are less eager to throw themselves into the battlefield now, and there’s much they don’t know about the dynamics of Europe and the Levant. Still they’re worried, and decide that they’ll move west to see if something can be done, for the civilians at least.

At first they travel slowly, keeping an ear out for gossip spoken by the caravans coming from the west. Things radically change, however, when they dream of a new immortal (a man, with a curly black beard and shining dark eyes) dying on the walls of Jerusalem and reviving to an unprecedented slaughter – said man is, obviously, absolutely terrified and they feel it.

He’s also woken up surrounded by living enemies, with high risk of being killed or injured multiple times, and of being seen.

They are still too far away to do anything more than hope that the new guy is clever enough to keep himself alive until they can reach him, but now Nico is all for moving west at full speed to get him out.

“What the everloving FUCK is happening over there?!” is the common theme in their thoughts; nothing about this war they’re walking towards is making any sense.

Yusuf al-Kaysani is, in fact, clever enough to keep himself (and a few other civilians to boot) alive and get out of Jerusalem when it becomes clear than no matter how many Franks he kills he can do nothing to stop them alone. (It’s a fucking carnage, and he’s so tired). He walks away from the battle and tries to reach some sort of safety in the desert.

When he’d decided to stay in Jerusalem and fight instead of escaping the siege, Yusuf had considered the possibility of dying. He had not accounted for waking up from a fatal wound with no sign of having been hit in the first place.

And then there are the visions. Or dreams, he’s not sure. They don’t seem to make any sense? Who are those people?! Is his mind so addled by the war that he’s conjuring scary warrior women and a stupidly handsome man, armed to the teeth and camping in the desert?

(fantasizing about handsome men in his sleep isn’t exactly news for him, but there were never women in those. And none of his usual dreams involved weapons. Something is definitely off)

For the following days, Yusuf makes sure to stay away from human settlements while putting as much space as possible between Jerusalem and himself – the last thing he needs is to become a potential target for any invader that may cross his path.

But he’s alone, having nightmares, constantly on edge, and in a body that suddenly doesn’t feel like his own anymore, since he doesn’t even have the scars to prove that the injuries he sustained were real to begin with.

After a couple of weeks, the appearance of the strangers in his dreams starts feeling safe and comforting; they seem to operate like a little family, and God knows how much he misses his own.

(should he try to go back home? Would news of the siege reach his family before he does? Would he be able to go back to his previous life in the state he’s in? Could he keep this secret from them? Would they still love him or think him a monster?)

Despite their impressive warrior appearance, they feel... kind. And gentle. Sometimes, it feels like they’re trying to reassure him, even. Especially when he dreams from the perspective of the man.

The sensation those dreams leave on his skin is like a cape. You’re not alone, it whispers. Wait for us.

Andy, Quynh and Nico have just left Baghdad when the dreams change, and not for the better - Yusuf was passing through a village when a band of marauding Franks started harassing the locals. He moved to defend the villagers, but was overwhelmed and what’s worse, the Franks saw his wounds close too fast. Their reaction was vehement: they called him a demon, incapacitated him and then brought him back to their garrison, with every intention of ‘properly getting rid of him’.

Nico wakes up screaming and Andy has to sit on him so he doesn’t just sprint ahead without actually knowing where the fuck he’s going.

“We can’t just raid every single Frankish encampment in a twenty mile radius around Jerusalem, Nico!” “TRY ME” *Aggressive Sibling Bickering follows* *Quynh doesn’t bat an eye and just rolls out a map of the area she purchased and starts mapping out the fastest routes*

Yusuf is having a Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week at the hands of his captors, who are getting disturbingly creative in their tortures, but whenever they let him fall unconscious he sees the people of his dreams travelling much faster than before, looking Royally Pissed Off, and the surroundings are... starting to look familiar too?

If he tries to pay more attention to the conversations his torturers are having with each other outside of the tent he’s in and hoping the dreams go both ways, so the maybe-real trio can find him easier, now that’s nobody’s business but his own.

(spoiler: it works)

When they are in sight of Jerusalem, the immortals find a drunk “pilgrim” boasting about his band capturing a ‘pagan demon’ while coming back from their victory at Ascalon, follow him back to his camp, and as soon as it’s feasible they attack.

(Andy will later gripe that Nico didn’t leave her anything to do because he just paved his way through the Franks like he was harvesting wheat.)

seeing the Stupidly Handsome Man of his dreams standing in front of him covered head to toe in blood, with a double-bladed axe in one hand and a sword in the other, staring intensely at him as if to peer directly into his soul is... an experience for Yusuf.

(he may have composed a lot of poems about that first vision of Nico through the centuries. The words ‘avenging angel’ have been used quite profusely, too)

The protective instinct that Nico has felt for the newest immortal since the first dream clutches at his throat when he finally sees him, chained to a pole and so thin his clothes barely cling to his body, but with the softest dark eyes staring back with a glint of recognition when he comes closer.

(he could cry with relief at the knowledge that he’s not scared of him. Nico has seen the faces of the men that were keeping him captive, he knows he looks a lot like they did, and that he paints a gruesome picture.)

“Are you alright?” Nico asks first, in Greek. (He knows, from the dreams, that his captors prayed in Latin. He wants to make sure that the other knows that he’s not like them.)

“You were in my dreams. You came.” Yusuf answers back in the same language, although his sounds much newer than Nico’s.

“Of course. We’re not meant to be alone… and no one deserves to be in a cage”.

Nico uses the axe to break the chains, and by the time he’s done Andy and Quynh have reached them and his sister throws the keys at him to open the shackles.

“Couldn’t take a moment to get them yourself, little eagle? You wanted to show off your skills to the new one?” Quynh teases, just to see Nico blush. Andy stares at her brother and their new companion for a few beats, before finally asking his name.

“Yusuf ibn Ibrahim ibn Muhammad Al-Kaysani, known as al-Tayyib” he answers, letting out the first smile in weeks at the raising eyebrows of his saviours. “Just Yusuf is fine.”

“You have a sense of humour, brother. I like you!” Andy snorts, before cutting her palm with the edge of her axe, and showing him her fast healing.

“We are like you, Yusuf. That’s why you dreamt of us, and we of you” Nico adds gently, while Quynh offers her waterskin to Yusuf. They also offer their own names.

“We need to clean up this mess and move away from here” Andy says, while Nico helps Yusuf up. “One of those fuckers was boasting about an undying demon with others in a tavern, the last thing we need is to fight our way out against their whole army because someone else decided to come check if he was saying the truth.”

“It’s been a long time since we were in Kush” Quynh whispers, and Yusuf sees their faces open in a look of affectionate grief he remembers seeing on his Baba’s eyes when he talked about his own mother.

“We can talk about it more when we’re somewhere safer” Andromache suggests, before moving to set up the stage of an ‘accidental’ fire.

As they’re riding away, Yusuf turns slightly to watch the camp burn, leaving no trace of the invaders that hurt him. Jerusalem looms in the distance - lost, and wounded. If he were a little less exhausted, he could easily work out a metaphor about his own situation.

But then he looks at the three people of his dreams – Quynh, Andromache, Nikolaos – that came for him. Who are the same as him, immortal.

His world has turned upside down, and there are so many questions to ask, and he could sleep for a month straight – but one thing is certain.

He’s not alone anymore.

76 notes · View notes

skellebonez · 4 years ago

Note

Hey that prompt you wrote with Macaque and that nightmare was very cool! Is it ok if I also ask for that? Maybe with 10 and/or 36?

I've written Mac having nightmares in multiple AUs... but never one of my own. So since you didn't say it had had be in the same AU, here is me playing around with what WBS Mac's nightmares might look like (and something I may incorporate into that fic later on).

Warning: eye injury, throat injury, mild descriptions of blood.

Stop it! You’re only making it worse!/Did you honestly think that was going to impress me?

"Did you honestly think that was going to impress me?" Macaque gloated, knee planted firm and unyielding against Sun Wukong's chest. "I don't even need your powers now, Your Majesty. I can defeat you just like this."

"Macaque, Mango, you need to listen to me!" Wukong shouted, grasping for purchase on his leg and and somehow his voice sounded more... desperate and afraid than Macaque had expected. "This won't end the way you think it will! She'll-!"

“She’ll?” Macaque stopped, looking down at his opponent in confusion. “Wh-there’s no she in this.”

“Did you forget about me already?” A voice, a hoarse whisper, needling between his ears and making him feel cold... Who was that? “Don’t worry, people do that all the time. I’ll still help, why don’t we make you even more of a matching pair?”

Macaque’s arm moved without him moving it himself. It raised, claws flexed, and before he could register what was really happening it came down and sliced along Sun Wukong’s left eye.

The Monkey King was immortal, powerful, nearly completely invincible. There were only a few things that could genuinely hurt him. The True Fire of Samadhi key among them. The other was the Six-Eared Macaque himself.

He’d never heard Wukong scream like that before. Not in another of their fights over the centuries since his own return. Not even in their battles during his journey oh so long ago. He’d waited so long to finally get best of him, to see him hurt, to make his old friend hurt for abandoning him and... and he wasn’t even the one to do it.

He didn’t think about how the scream or the sight of the identical scar and the quickly healed glazed over eye made him feel sick to his stomach. He told himself that it in response to what he had just done, or what his body had done of it’s own accord outside of his control.

He jumped back, holding the wrist of his traitorous arm as he tried to remember who’s voice that was and-

“Was this not your plan?” The voice asked, the whisper of a chuckle following soon behind it. “Was this not what you wanted? Did you not want him to hurt? To be hurt? To feel the pain you have felt? You were taking so long, I just expedited it.”

Wukong stood, hand over his now scared eye as he watching Macaque in clear confusion.

... he couldn’t hear the voice.

“Wukong, something’s wr-HMPH!” His arm betrayed him once again, slamming over his mouth and holding it shut in a grip that dug his own claws harshly into his cheeks. He could feel the blood from the cuts running down his face as the grip tightened every time he tried to pull the arm away. His face burned but not with heat, with icy cold like a ghostly hand had made it’s way under his skin.

“Stop it! You’re only making it worse!” Wukong rushed forward, grabbing his other arm and pulling it away. “Mango, I know you hate me but you have to trust me! She’ll never let you go!”

There it was again, she. Who was she?

Wukong never got to answer that unasked question. Macaque blinked and suddenly he wasn’t in his body anymore. He was right behind it, watching over his shoulder as his grip on his mouth finally let go and Wukong watched in confusion before his body smiled. One arm gripped his shoulder as the other...

His throat matched the new scar on his eye now.

Sun Wukong gripped the slash, gasping for air as Macaque watched in horror. He wanted to hurt Wukong. He wanted him to hurt.

This was what he had wanted.

Wasn’t it?

His body turned and he realized the hair on his head, separated from the fur on the rest of his body, was a stark white and glowing with blue energy. His once blinded eye was a brilliant blue. And his face was not his own, a skull replacing it with a smile of victory.

Macaque woke with a start, looking around himself in confusion and... fear?

He’d dreamed.. about something. He never remembered his dreams for long, and already the memory had dissipated into something he could barely hold onto.

“Nightmare?” a voice in the back of his head asked, hoarse and soft like an icy whisper.

“I’m used to it,” Macaque answered the White Bone Spirit.

But this was different... he just wished he could remember why...

#monkie kid #lego monkie kid #gen fic #wbs macaque au #six eared macaque #monkey king #sun wukong #white bone spirit #nightmares #prompt fill

71 notes · View notes

here4theheartbreak · 3 years ago

Text

An Inconvenient Attachment (myg+jjk+pjm)

AO3 Link Here!

Relationships: Jimin x Jungkook x Yoongi, Jimin x Jungkook, Jungkook x Yoongi, minor Hoseok x Seokjin Genre: smut, fantasy/supernatural au, fluff, enemies to lovers, roommates to lovers, friends to lovers Final Rating: Explicit Word Count (Chapter): ~15k

Tags (more added as needed): werewolf Jungkook, vampire Yoongi, human Jimin, kumiho Seokjin, selkie Hoseok, snowed in, handcuffed together, friends with benefits, polyamory, past violence, past murder, past abuse, discussion of murder, semi-graphic descriptions of violence, blood drinking, threesome, sharing a bed, multiple partners, dirty talk, oral sex, coming untouched

Summary: When Yoongi agreed to go on a two week winter getaway to the mountains with his roommates, he expected peace, quiet, and plenty of alone time with his roommate with benefits Jungkook. What he did not expect was to be handcuffed to his worst enemy for the duration of the trip. He figured it couldn't get worse... Until it did.

A/N: This fic was written for the @thebtswritersclub Fic Exchange for sujigguk! Sorry it was so late, I hope you enjoy it! | This fic also fulfills the July Prompt for X to Lovers! A/N 2: Banner made by @imyourhobiii - thank you so much! A/N 3: This also fills the square Road Trip for @bangtanwritingbingo

As a vampire, one would think the worst thing about living with a human would be the temptation, the bloodlust. But for Yoongi… The worst part of living with Jimin was that he was the most fucking annoying, ridiculous human that Yoongi had ever had the misfortune of meeting in sixty years of life. Draining him would be a welcomed reprieve.

However, the man Yoongi had – rather surprisingly – fallen in love with was also in love with the trifling human and his stupid pretty mouth and his horribly adorable hands, and – no. Yoongi was not wandering down that path again.

Jimin was the son of vampire hunters. Murders of so many of Yoongi’s kind. And though Jimin had sworn that he had renounced their way of thinking and was estranged from them… Born into a family of killers made him just as untrustworthy, in Yoongi’s mind. Certain crimes simply could not be repented for and yes, sometimes the son did need to bear the crimes of the father.

Yoongi tolerated Jimin for Jungkook’s sake, the dopey wolf boy that had wriggled into his undead heart; and for their fourth roommate – Jin – a Kumiho with an odd affection for the human. In fact, Yoongi often felt like he was the only one that didn’t like Jimin.

And recently, more and more, Yoongi was starting to wonder if Jimin hated him as much as he hated Jimin. Especially lately; it seemed like everything Jimin did was done specifically to annoy Yoongi.

Which is likely why Yoongi ended up in a car, sitting next to his mortal (literally) enemy, on the way to an isolated cabin that Jin’s boyfriend, Hoseok owned. Jin had suggested it a few days after a particularly aggressive fight between Jimin and he, where he not only showed his fangs, but may or may not have thrown an open bag of blood at Jimin.

The trip hadn’t been so bad so far, Yoongi had to admit. They were driving straight through, and the drive was two days away from the city. Jimin was forced into a seat next to Yoongi, but was keeping to himself, reading and staring out the window or talking to Jungkook. Jungkook was in the front with Jin and was, at that very moment, pestering the hell out of the fox shifter.

Normally Yoongi would jump in and soothe the excitable wolf’s mood, but at the moment… Let them both suffer. This diabolical idea to get him to play nice with Jimin was likely both of theirs, so they could deal. Even immortality could not cure Yoongi’s sense of petty revenge.

Yoongi reached into the small bag next to his feet, withdrawing a bag of chilled blood. He grimaced. A microwave would have been nice; but they weren’t scheduled to stop for quite some time – and only really to let the more humanlike ones stretch their legs. He pinched open the tip of the bag, tilting it back into his mouth. The sticky, sickly sweet fluid hit his tongue. Cold or not, it was the most refreshing thing he’d had in hours. He was able to go quite a number of days without blood, but dammit if it wasn’t uncomfortable.

As he drank, he glanced over at Jimin from the corner of his eye. Jimin was reading a book, paying him no attention. How could a human pay someone no attention when they were drinking blood right next to him? Yoongi righted the bag, scowling down at it. Why did he want Jimin to pay attention to him? He hoped to disturb the human, perhaps. That’s what it was. Make Jimin uncomfortable and prove he secretly hated vampires just like his parents. Maybe then Jin and Jungkook wouldn’t love him so much.

“Jiminie,” Jungkook whined. He turned in his seat, leaning into the back. “Yoongi…”

“What?” Jimin and Yoongi answered at nearly the same time.

“Will you two go for a run with me in the woods next time we stop? I’m itchy.”

Yoongi scoffed. “Why bother asking the human? He can’t keep up with you like I can.”

Jimin shifted a little. He smiled softly. “He’s right.”

“So? I’ll let you ride on my back,” Jungkook offered.

“That’s not running with you then. Yoongi can go with you.”

Jungkook pouted a little but nodded. He wriggled himself further between the seats, grabbing for Jimin. Before he could get him, Jin’s hand emerged. He grabbed the collar of Jungkook’s shirt and yanked him back. “Stop distracting the driver!” He snapped.

“You bully,” Jungkook complained, smacking at him despite his warning. The two very quickly fell into another playful bicker, leaving Yoongi in peace with his thoughts. Next to him, Yoongi felt Jimin shift, and then again, before hearing him sigh. He looked over. Jimin had curled up onto the seat, bunching a hoodie under his head against the window to rest. He was getting on toward nighttime, Yoongi supposed. Day and night blended for him these days – and Jungkook was naturally nocturnal. It must have been hard to be where Jimin was, he thought as he watched Jimin sleep. A home with three creatures so different from himself. And in love – or at least lust – with one of them. A pang of sympathy shot through Yoongi’s chest. He grimaced at himself. What was he doing. Maybe there was something in the car, poisoning him. Pitying the rotten human? Never. Yoongi scoffed to himself. He nuzzled himself into the other corner of the seat, pulling his legs up under him. He “accidentally” let one slip, kicking Jimin squarely in the thigh. Jimin shot upright, grimacing. From his mostly closed lids, Yoongi could see Jimin look down at his leg where he’d been kicked, then over at Yoongi. Instead of getting angry, much to Yoongi’s surprise (and discomfort), Jimin smiled. He shook his head and laid back down, snuggling against the hoodie.

Being technically undead, Yoongi didn’t require sleep. He had periods where he needed to rest, usually early in the morning around sunrise, but not necessarily sleep in the human sense of the phrase. But boy, did he like it. Sleeping was great. Six to eight hours of just not existing, having fun dreams, waking up to a new day – Yoongi couldn’t ever imagine willingly not sleeping like some of his vampire friends. However, much like a human who slept away a third of their hours, sleeping made Yoongi absolutely ravenous upon waking. Which wasn’t normally a problem.

Except when he was in a car. With a living being that was filled with his only food source. And somehow in his sleep had wound up snuggling against said obnoxious human’s stupidly soft neck.

Yoongi felt his fangs poking his bottom lip before he realized it. He inhaled sharply. Oh, that smelled delicious. His mouth watered in response, and he inhaled again, opening his mouth instinctively.

His eyes fluttered open and he shifted, hunting for the source of the bittersweet, rich aroma. Instead of a particularly juicy steak or even a cup of blood warmed thoughtfully by Jungkook, Yoongi’s gaze fell on Jimin. The human’s shaggy black hair had fallen over his eyes as he slept, his plush lips wet and parted. His pulse was throbbing firm and steady by Yoongi’s ear.

He shot up, nearly hitting his head on the roof of the car.

Jin glanced back. “Maggot bite your ass or something?” He teased.

“I’ll bite you,” Yoongi grumbled. He wriggled as far away from Jimin and his stupid sweet smelling blood as he could before digging into his bag and pulling out the other satchel of blood he’d stored in it. It should be all he needed until they reached the cabin, and once there they had packed a solid supply of blood bags for him. Good too – because based on the weather as the car climbed into the mountains, Yoongi wondered if they might not be snowed in for a few days.

The final rest stop was only a few more miles. Jin pulled in, stepping out to stretch his legs. Jungkook bounded out himself, taking a quick peek to make sure they were alone. He stripped shamelessly out of his clothing, piling it on the seat and seemingly unaware of the brisk chill in the air.

“Yoongi!” He called, nearly bouncing with excitement and wiggling out of his skin.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Yoongi grumped, crawling out of the car himself. He watched Jungkook shift from a two-legged ball of energy into a massive four legged one, unable to keep from smiling. In wolf form, Jungkook was just as stunning as his human form. Dark black fur streaked with blonde, massive paws and bright hazel eyes that shone in the light. He barked sharply before taking off toward the tree line. Yoongi followed, catching up and keeping up easily as they darted through the trees.

The two ran for a solid twenty minutes, looping through the woods and back toward the rest stop. As they neared the tree line, Jungkook skidded to a stop, his large paws kicking up dirt and leaves as he did. Yoongi stopped next to him, walking at a slower pace out of the trees. The rest area was still empty, save for their vehicle. Jin was nowhere to be found; probably had taken the time to have his own running session in the woods.

In the fading light of the sunset, Yoongi could see Jimin. He’d wandered a few yards from the car and was lying on a picnic table. His shaggy hair flopped back from his forehead, toned arms up and bulging just a little as he cradled the back of his head against the cold wood. One knee up, leg of his shorts falling back to reveal his smooth thigh, thick with well-defined muscles. He had to be freezing, lying outside in shorts – but they all had weird temperature mechanics after living with Jungkook so long

Next to Yoongi, Jungkook shifted, and Yoongi scoffed. “All that working out the human does, and he still can’t begin to keep up with you.”

When Jungkook didn’t answer, Yoongi glanced over, a little surprised to see Jungkook scowling.

“What? I’m not wrong. He’ll never give you all you need – You love running.”

“What makes you think I need a running partner to have a happy relationship? Jimin can’t run as fast as you or me, but he supports me in other ways.”

“A relationship now, huh?” Yoongi sniped. “Since when was he more than your human toy?”

“Yoongi—” Jungkook hesitated then shook his head. He grabbed his clothes from the car and began tugging them on. “You know I’m fucking both of you. It’s never bothered you before.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Fine. You’ve never been so malicious about it before. Why are you so mean to him anyways? Jimin’s never done anything but try to be kind to you.”

“You know why, Jungkook. If his family were wolf hunters, maybe you’d understand.”

“He’s never hurt one of your kind.”

“Sins of the father, just like his family believes.”

“And he disowned his family because he believes all creatures, living or undead, deserve a chance to be happy. Jin would have never let him into our house if he sensed even a whisper of hatred from that man. And I’m not as stupid as you think either. I may not be some wise old vampire but I am half canine. And we can sense intentions pretty well. You’d do better to try and get along with Jimin.” Jungkook yanked his shirt on, patting his hair down. “Never know, maybe you’d learn something you didn’t expect about him.”

“Oh, like what?” Yoongi grunted, leaning against the car.

“Not my place to say,” Jungkook said simply. “But you’ll never find out if you keep being a needless jerk.”

He blinked in surprise at Jungkook’s unexpected snap, watching him pad off toward where Jimin was lying. Yoongi opted instead to get back into the vehicle, sensing that he’d pushed his annoyance a bit too far with the younger this time.

When Jin returned from his own jaunt in the forest, Jimin and Jungkook returned to the car. Jimin slid into the seat next to Yoongi, offering a soft smile at him. Yoongi remained stone faced. Did he feel a little bad for what he said? Not that he’d ever admit.

Jungkook wriggled in next to Jimin, forcing him over closer to Yoongi.

“Wh—” “Wanna sit back here for a bit,” Jungkook said simply.

“I can move up front,” Jimin offered.

“No. I wanna sit by you both.”

“Then get between us.” “Jin’s about to start driving. I’ll crawl over later. I can reach you both.” Jungkook reached over and grabbed Yoongi’s hand for emphasis. Yoongi frowned but said nothing more, though he did twine his fingers with Jungkook’s, squeezing firmly once.

Yoongi let his mind wander as they began to drive once more, staring out the window as the last rays of the day slid down below the horizon. He felt Jungkook’s hand shift away from his, resting on his thigh for a moment before disappearing. There was a slight shuffle, and then Yoongi felt something thin and cold hit his wrist and click. He looked down, brows shooting up when he realized his wrist now had an accessory… A steel handcuff. And said handcuff was attached to someone else… Park Jimin.

Yoongi looked over at Jungkook, who was grinning in his sheepish, bunny-rabbit way.

“Kook…”

“What did you do?” Jimin asked, lifting his wrist gently. He tugged Yoongi’s wrist up as he did.

“Well, you two avoid each other unless you’re fighting. And you’d do that even while we’re up in the cabin. Which is the literal reason we’re going up there, to try and help you two find a common ground. So, now you have no choice but to play nice or end up not being able to do anything.” Jungkook crossed his arms, looking smug as he spoke.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Yoongi grumbled. He grabbed the bracelet of the cuffs. “I can’t just snap—” As he spoke, he tugged and twisted at the metal, expecting it to bend open in his grip.

“I can break—” He tried the chain.

“No, you can’t,” Jungkook said simply. “I got monster proof cuffs. Amazing what you can find with a little clever digging these days.”

“Jungkook,” Jimin whispered. He shook his head. “Don’t do this to him.” He offered his wrist as well as he could. “This isn’t funny.”

“It’s not meant to be, Jimin,” Jungkook said, his smile fading. “You’re my best friend. So is Yoongi. And you both know my feelings run much deeper than that for you both.”

“Then let yourself have those feelings, you don’t need to stress him out like this.”

“I can’t. Even though we may share those feelings… I can’t date one or both of you knowing you hate each other. It doesn’t feel right to me, and I’m not going to have a peaceful relationship knowing that.”

“Date?” Yoongi perked up. “You want to date us?”

Jungkook shrugged. “Maybe. I guess it’ll depend on how this goes. How hard you’re willing to try to get along. I won’t lose either one of you. Whether it progresses from our current sort of friends with benefits deal to more…” Jungkook drifted off. “I’ll unlock the cuffs when we’re back in the car on the way home. Not a minute sooner.”

Jimin sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging.

Yoongi bit back a sharp remark about how disappointed he looked – he was disappointed too. Despite the true point of this trip, Yoongi had been looking forward to a little quiet time with Jungkook. Perhaps even, yes, pushing the idea of taking their relationship from friends with benefits to a little more. He knew Jimin felt the same – or at least very similar – he wasn’t blind. He also knew Jungkook was unlikely to choose one over the other. He hadn’t in the three years they’d kept up this quirky triangle.

Yoongi tugged at the cuffs once more, weakly, pulling Jimin’s wrist along with it.

Jimin looked over at him, his plush lips stuck out in a bit of a pout. “I’ll try not to be too much of a bother,” he mumbled. Rather demurely, given what Yoongi knew of his normal sparky attitude.

“I’ve got a vampire hunter hanging off my wrist,” Yoongi snarked. “It’s already a bother.”

Jimin’s cheek twitched as he clenched his jaw. He ground his teeth for a moment, eyes darkening. He wanted to say something. Yoongi almost wished he would. Let them start to fight – Jungkook might see this was a stupid idea if he did and take off these god-awful cuffs sooner.

But Jimin’s jaw released at the same time his shoulders relaxed again. He faced forward, holding his cuffed wrist delicately on his leg, as close to Yoongi as possible without touching him. Probably to give him more freedom of movement; not that the six-inch chain offered much room for that at all without yanking on one another.

Yoongi huffed, glaring around Jimin at Jungkook, who looked far too smug for what he’d done. He offered a wide, crinkly nosed grin and wriggled down in his seat, snuggling up against Jimin’s shoulder and burying his nose in his neck, his preferred sleeping position with anyone.

Yoongi slouched as far away from Jimin as he could and glared out the window. The weight of the cuff on his wrist made it impossible to relax, sleep, or even let his mind wander to anything except that. And the stupid human. He hated how calm Jimin was about this whole thing. And his pleading. On Yoongi’s behalf. What the hell was that?

Don’t do this to him.

Yoongi didn’t need the human defending him. He was able to stand up for himself. Why did Jimin sound so genuinely stressed out? Oh.

Yoongi scoffed. He looked over at Jimin. “You don’t have to worry. I’m not gonna fucking eat you.”

Jimin blinked at him owlishly. “What?”

“You panicking about the cuffs. I’m sure you think I’m gonna lose my mind and become some blood lust crazy monster just because I’m in proximity to a human.”

“No?” Jimin frowned. “You live with me and have never acted like that. Why would I think that?”

“You know why,” Yoongi tried to cross his arms, only succeeding in tugging Jimin’s wrist onto his lap.

Jimin let himself be tugged, still frowning in confusion at Yoongi. “I really don’t,” he finally said.

“It’s the reason you people kill my kind. You’re scared of us.”

“Maybe,” Jimin said. He shrugged. “I can’t say why humans kill vampires. Or wolves or selkies or any creatures. It’s not for food. Maybe it is fear. Maybe it’s sport.”

“Why don’t you just go ask your dad?”

“Yoongi…” Jimin’s voice was soft, gentle – as if he were talking to a scared animal. “I understand why you hate me. I would too, if I were in your place. I know you’re not happy with this.”

“Can say that again. Can’t even itch my fucking nose. At least your dominant hand is free, what am I supposed to do?”

“Well, what do you actually do that you can’t do with your left?”

Yoongi turned a glare onto Jimin, who grinned. “You weren’t intending to jerk off with me right next to you, were you?” He teased.

Yoongi’s eyes narrowed. “Like I could get it up with you breathing down my neck, hunter,” he muttered.

“I told you I’d try not to be much of a bother, and I will do my best. I know you love Jungkook. We just need to keep it together for the week up here, for him. That’s it. Then we can go back to comfortable avoidance.”

Yoongi looked out the window. Jimin was right – he knew that much, but he refused to give him the satisfaction of hearing Yoongi say it. So, he said nothing. They were climbing in elevation now, the trees thickening around the road as it became progressively bumpier. Patches of snow began to appear along the sides of the road and through the trees, and – entirely unsurprising to Yoongi – flakes began to drift down around the car.

The flakes were coming down in far larger clumps, piling a few inches thick by the time they pulled into the cabin. Jin sighed heavily, letting go of the steering wheel. He shook his hands out, rubbing at his palms.

“Those last few miles were hell,” he commented.

“We’re not going to be able to get back down if this keeps up,” Jungkook agreed.

The cabin door burst open as he did, and out rushed Hoseok. Jin climbed out of the car just in time to catch the leaping man, pressing a deep kiss to his mouth. Jungkook leapt out as well, grabbing Hoseok in a tight hug the moment Jin released him.

Yoongi watched the trio, his heart giving an uncomfortable little clench. All shifters. He and Jimin were the oddballs out in this group. He looked through the window. The trees were thick, and heavy with snow, obscuring the view almost entirely around them. Behind the large cabin with a friendly tendril of smoke rising from the chimney, was a stunning, still lake. Despite the grey coloring of the slowly rising sun, it was breathtaking. The water was crystal clear, nearly mirror like. A crust of ice had formed a few feet from the shore toward the center, and Yoongi assumed it would nearly encompass the lake within a few days if the snowfall kept up.

“You should probably get out first,” Jimin mumbled, pulling Yoongi out of his admiration of the scenery. He yanked open the door and climbed out, his left arm trailing back as he waited for Jimin to climb out behind him.

This was going to be dreadful. Everything would need to be done at a snail’s pace, compared to his normal speed, having the human hanging off his wrist.

Hoseok came around the side of the car, stopping short. His eyes drifted down to the cuffs connecting their wrists. Yoongi opened his mouth, about to warn or threaten the seal shifter away from a tease, when Hoseok began to laugh, nearly doubling over in pure joy at the predicament the two had found themselves in.

Jimin sighed heavily. “Lay off, Hobi,” he said, speaking loudly enough to be heard over Hoseok’s cackling.

Hoseok righted himself, still holding his stomach and wiping tears. He shook his head, small titters of laughter emerging even as he tried to contain them.

“What a situation, eh?”

“It’s not funny,” Jimin stepped forward. “This isn’t fun for us. The least you could do is not laugh at us.”

“Oh come on, you won’t mind it all that much,” Hoseok slapped Jimin on the shoulder. “God knows you’ve been fond of living dead boy for ages.”

Yoongi looked over fast enough to see Jimin’s eyes bulge. He swiped at Hoseok with his free left, baring his teeth in the universal sign for ‘shut it’.

Fond of the living dead boy? Well the only undead here was Yoongi… But Jimin wasn’t fond of him. Jimin could barely tolerate him, in the same way he could barely tolerate Jimin…. Right?

“Let’s just unpack the stuff,” Jimin said quickly. He turned to circle around the car, jerking Yoongi’s arm.

Yoongi glared, and Jimin winced. “Sorry. This is… Taking some getting used to.”

“Why don’t we take out the luggage,” Jungkook offered. He and Jin had come around behind Hoseok. “You two go relax.”

“When you pull out the cooler, I need to get a bag. I’m starving,” Yoongi said. He stepped up to Jimin and looked at him numbly. “You need to walk now too.” He tried to sound patronizing, but it came off as far more gentle than he intended.

Jimin obeyed, walking with Yoongi toward the cabin. Yoongi could feel him shiver, and scowled.

“You shouldn’t have worn shorts,” he scolded with no venom, pulling open the cabin door. “You knew it was snowy.”

“I didn’t figure I’d be outside much without Jungkook,” Jimin said, entering. He headed immediately toward the fireplace, once more yanking Yoongi, who’d stayed behind to shut the door. Yoongi hissed, baring his fangs.

“Would you stop that?!”

“I’m sorry!” Jimin snapped back. “This is an adjustment for us both. Stop yelling at me and learn to work with me, dammit.”

Yoongi smirked. That was the Jimin he knew better.

“Now,” Jimin continued before Yoongi could speak. “I’m cold. I want to go sit by the fire and warm up. Is that okay?”

“Fine.” Yoongi nodded. He walked with Jimin toward the fire, taking a seat on the ground with him. Jimin wrapped one arm around his knees, resting his chin on them. He let his other arm hang outward awkwardly, trying not to disturb Yoongi’s positioning.

Yoongi frowned. “You can put your arm down, it’s okay.” He tugged lightly as he spoke, setting his arm on his leg. Jimin let his arm drop to the ground. He continued to stare at the fire. Yoongi took the opportunity to look openly at the human. He really was quite striking; neatly sculpted brows and soft, plush lips, a gentle, sloping jawline that had just enough definition to trace. Light shadow and contour decorated his nearly flawless skin; Yoongi knew he spent quite a good chunk of time perfecting a casual makeup look despite not needing it. He must have touched up during their last rest stop. A simple earring – some dangling gold chain, sprinkled with tiny gems on each link. And – despite a two-day drive – smooth, perfect hair, shaggy enough to fall over his brows, but currently brushed back from Jimin’s own nervous twitch of carding his fingers through his locks. His throat was smooth – and Yoongi could trace the patterns of his strong veins and along the curve of his neck. How soft the skin looked behind his ear, how strong and dark that one particular vein looked…

Yoongi’s fangs poked his bottom lip, snapping him out of whatever fantasy he’d fallen into. He drew in a sharp breath and straightened up, drawing Jimin’s attention.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Yoongi mumbled, covering his mouth.

“Something wrong? Do you feel sick?” Jimin paused. “Can vampires puke?”

“We can,” Yoongi mumbled. “But I don’t feel sick.”

“Oh.” Jimin gasped then. “Oh!”

“What’s that oh for,” Yoongi mocked, glaring over at him.

“Are you hungry? Your voice is muffled – your fangs. We should see if Jungkook has grabbed your cooler yet.”

Jimin rose into a crouch. “Come on.”

“You can’t go back out in shorts,” Yoongi argued, letting his hand drop. He saw Jimin’s gaze drop to his mouth, where his canines poked from his top lip. He had always hated his fangs – their size was almost comical in his small mouth. Jimin’s heartrate picked up.

“I’m not going to bite you.”

“I trust you. I’ve just never been so close when you’ve had them out,” Jimin confessed. “They’re… Big.”

“All the better to eat you with, as the big bad wolf would say.” Yoongi hissed, but Jimin only laughed.

“That’s our Jungkook. You’re a little less intimidating.”

“How is a vampire less intimidating than an overgrown puppy dog?” Yoongi asked, offended.

“Because you won’t hurt me. Jungkook could hurt me accidentally just jumping on me too hard when he gets excited. He forgets his own strength. You’ve had years to practice control.”

“How do you know I won’t hurt you? I eat your species.”

“You drink human blood. But I know damn well that doesn’t mean you eat or even hurt humans. You drink bagged blood.”

“Oh, do you think they had easily accessible bagged blood when I first turned? So, what, that I woke from my grave and trotted to the local monster shop and ordered a pint of A positive over a sundae? No. I woke up and I ripped out the throat of the nearest human I could find.”

“You were newly turned. You were ravenous. Nobody would blame a hungry bear for attacking.”

“Oh, so I’m nothing more than an animal to you?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. I’m on your side, Yoongi, when will you see that?”

“Do you know how to kill a vampire, Jimin?”

Jimin seemed to freeze at that, his lips parted just a bit. He looked over at Yoongi, who sat still, waiting.

“I—”

“Answer me honestly. Do you know how to kill a vampire?”

Jimin hung his head. “Yes, I do.”

“Not so easy, is it?” Yoongi pressed. “Not like the movies. A stake to the heart, sunlight. We don’t die easy, do we, Jimin?”

Jimin shifted, pulling his knees tighter to his chest. “It’s horrible,” he choked.

“Oh, is it? Have you seen it done?”

“Yes.”

“And did you have any part in it?”

Jimin looked over. “My father brought me hunting on my sixteenth birthday. It was his gift to me. He handed me a knife, and he told me that I was going to become a man.”

“I bet he did.” Yoongi looked away.

“She only looked about twenty,” Jimin continued, staring at the fire. “Gorgeous, honestly. Her eyes were big and dark, and her hair was long – it looked so soft. I was meant to be the bait. I was so scared, when I went up to her in the cafe. I grew up hearing the tales about how even the smell of a human could make a vampire go crazy. I thought for sure she’d try to rip my throat out.”

“What happened?” Yoongi asked. He looked over at Jimin. He wasn’t sure why he asked. He knew what happened. She died. And Jimin and his father killed her. Maybe a sick pleasure, knowing firsthand how brutal the human attached to his wrist was. Jimin continued to stare at the fire.

“She bought me a fucking soda. To this day, Cherry Coke makes me nauseous. She bought me a soda and she talked to me while I drank it. She offered to walk me home, because it was getting late. So, I let her. I figured now. Here is where she’ll try to rip my throat out. Dig her claws into me and show me her fangs and hurt me.”

“And did she?”

“No.” Jimin swallowed hard. “She walked me almost all the way home, polite as can be, when my father came up to us. She knew, I think. When she saw him – what he was. She looked so… Scared. She tried to run. Not attack – run.

I stepped between her and my father. I knew it was wrong, right then. But he shoved me down and told me I was a disappointment. That he’d give me one more chance. And then he caught her. She was fast but he… He had a bow. It was dipped in –”

“I know. A paralyzing agent.”

“Yeah. She went down and he caught her and dragged her back to me. She was pleading for her life. Swore she didn’t eat humans. He didn’t listen. He grabbed me and he dragged us both into the woods where he’d set up his work space. Tied her down to a bench… And told me to start cutting.”

Yoongi’s stomach lurched. He wanted to scream, to run, to strike. He looked over at Jimin, ready to snap a cruel comment, but froze. Jimin was still staring at the fire. But as Yoongi watched, he saw wet streaks running down Jimin’s cheek. He was crying.

“I told him no,” Jimin choked. “I told him I couldn’t. She wasn’t a danger. She was nice.” Jimin sniffled. “He hit me. And he shoved me against a tree. And he told me if I was too big of a pansy to do it, I could watch it.”

Jimin wiped his cheeks with his free hand. He sniffled again and looked over at Yoongi. “The night of my sixteenth birthday I watched him cut her to pieces with a knife. The sound of her flesh and muscles tearing still haunts me. I tried to stop him over and over, and all he did was push me back. Hit me. Tell me to man up. Remind me of how monstrous your kind is. And then he handed me the matches. To burn her body. I threw them into the woods and I ran.”

Jimin smiled weakly. “The fact that I couldn’t save Siyeon still haunts me.”

“What happened after?” Yoongi asked.

“I got a bus ticket to Seoul. And I found a nice couple that took me in. Let me finish school, gave me a space to hide. They were vampires, Yoongi. Ages sixteen and seventeen, I lived with vampires – and I thought of them as parents. A—” Jimin swallowed hard. “And then my actual parents found me. And I watched… Once more… The brutality of hunting your kind. And once again I couldn’t save them. I was too weak. But I disowned my parents at that very moment. I told them I supported vampires and I would never pick up a weapon against them. And that I wasn’t their son anymore. Oh… They thought I’d been turned, even tried to prove it. For two weeks they waited for my fangs to come out. And when they didn’t… They left me. I’ve been on my own ever since.”

Yoongi remained silent, unsure how to respond. Part of him wanted to pop off with something smart and sassy – but he could feel the waves of emotion coming from Jimin. His story wasn’t a lie to gain sympathy. He believed what he was saying. So Yoongi said nothing.

Jimin looked over. Despite his eyes, red rimmed from the tears that streaked his cheeks, he was still stunning. “I’ve never told anybody the whole truth. Not even Jungkook knows.”

“Why?” Yoongi asked. His mouth had gone strangely dry.

“Because it’s not something I like to relive. It’s not something I want people to know. How weak I was. How helpless… To save them.”

“Hunters are brutal,” Yoongi said. He shrugged. “If you’d done more to interfere… Parents or not, I don’t know that you’d be here now.”

“Probably not. My father always said I was too weak to be his. So that’s my story, Yoongi. That’s why I’m here, living with Jin and Jungkook and you.”

“Why did you tell me? We aren’t friends. We aren’t even that close.”

“Well, for the next two weeks – maybe three – we’re literally stuck together. I know you hate me. And that’s fine, I get it. But I wanted you to know what really happened.”

Yoongi opened his mouth to respond when the door burst open. Jungkook entered, lugging the cooler that housed Yoongi’s meals for the next few weeks. “That snow is intense,” Jungkook commented, shaking the snow from his shaggy brown hair like cold dandruff.

“It is,” Jin agreed, lugging in a pile of bags. Hoseok followed after and kicked the door shut, his own arms full of bags.

“You three are gonna be out here at least three weeks based on this – it’s cold enough in these mountains that we don’t melt fast.”

“Will you have enough food?” Jin worried, looking at Yoongi. He nodded.

“The supply I gave you to put in there should last comfortably two and a half, and I can go without for about a week without losing my mind, so I’ll just space the bags out. Would you put it in the snow outside though? The ice is probably melted by now so you’ll wanna keep it cold. And I don’t think Hoseok wants gallons of blood in his fridge.”

“Rather not,” Hoseok agreed, padding past them into a bedroom with some of the bags. “So Jin will sleep with me, and I did have two rooms set up for you and Jimin, but seeing as you’re sharing,” he smirked at them from around the door, “Jungkook can take the extra room as needed.”

“Do you wanna get some?” Jimin asked. Yoongi looked away from the cooler and nodded. “Yeah, a little.”

“Let’s go. Jungkook, hold on a sec,” Jimin called. He and Yoongi rose and headed over. Jungkook turned around, setting the cooler on the ground with a thud.

Yoongi crouched and opened it, scowling. Inside – rather than his pint bags of blood, floating in a pool of water, he saw nothing but vacuum sealed packages of… Meat.

“Jungkook…”

Yoongi reached in, pawing through the meat. Jimin crouched with him, reaching in as well.

“Jungkook, you didn’t—” Jimin whispered. Jungkook looked down. His eyes bulged.

“No—Oh no.” He sank down next to the others and began yanking the meat packages out. “No, no… Jin!” Jungkook whipped around. “You grabbed the wrong cooler!”

Jin turned from where he’d been talking with Hoseok, his smile slowly fading. “No – The red one. Yoongi said the blood was in the red one by the window.”

“The living room window, Jin,” Yoongi hissed.

“My meats – My dried and cured meats – they were in the other red cooler by the kitchen window,” Jungkook said, holding up one of the bags.

Jin’s smile disappeared completely. “Oh no,” he whispered. He looked at Yoongi. “We have to go back down.”

“You can’t,” Hoseok said, grabbing Jin’s arm. “Look at that snowfall. You’d wreck in a heartbeat.”

“He can’t go without food, Hobi,” Jin cried.

“I’ll be okay,” Yoongi said. Truthfully, he didn’t know if he would. The very thought of starving sent a chill down his spine. He knew what happened to vampires who were too deeply starved.

“I can head down the mountain,” he suggested.

“You’d freeze to death,” Jimin argued.

“I’m already dead.”

“You’d still never make it. Dead and immortal doesn’t make you immune to dying in other ways. And freezing solid and shattering is a pretty shitty way to go.”

“Jimin,” Yoongi said softly. “You know better than anyone…”

“We might not be up here three weeks. Maybe the snow will melt faster, and we can get you back to the city.”

“Can’t you eat an animal?” Hoseok offered. “Surely Jungkook could catch something—”

“I can’t drink animal blood. Old vampire myth to make us seem less scary. It makes us very sick. Monster blood is worse, so don’t get any ideas there either.”

“But you drink human blood,” Jimin said softly.

“From a bag.” Yoongi looked over as he spoke, his voice firm. He hated the way Jimin was looking at him. “I’m not even that hungry right now. Jungkook…” He looked to Jungkook, who looked close to tears himself. “I promise I won’t fight with Jimin. Would you please unhandcuff us?”

“Well that takes the fun out of it,” Jungkook pouted.

“Jungkook… You need to uncuff me from him.”

Jungkook scowled at that, looking between Jimin and Yoongi. “But—”

“Jungkook,” Yoongi strained. “I am a vampire. Who is in an isolated cabin with no food. Potentially for multiple weeks. You need to uncuff me from this human.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened a little as the pieces seemed to fall into place. “Oh God, of course. Right, hold on.” He scrambled to his feet and rushed to where his bags were, beginning to dig around in one. “Yoongi…” Jimin reached over, setting his free hand on Yoongi’s upper arm. “You won’t hurt me. I trust you.”

“Jimin—”

“I was going to offer anyways. You know… If you were hungry…”

“Don’t.”

The small smile that had been curving Jimin’s mouth disappeared immediately at Yoongi’s tone. Yoongi looked away, hating the way his heart did a little flip at the idea. Sinking his fangs into Jimin’s smooth neck… Tasting that sweet blood… Hearing Jimin’s breath pick up… Yoongi shook his head slightly to knock the image from his mind. He was supposed to hate the stupid human, not want to feed off him.

He hadn’t bitten a living human since he was turned. The shame he felt even now, after all these years, when he thought about what he did when he first turned… Once he was in his right mind he swore he’d rather die than feed from a living human. And he’d kept that promise to himself all these years. Easily, really. Even when blood was hard to come by – the simple thought of feeding on a person was enough to turn his stomach.

So then why did his mind keep drifting to Jimin? The way his veins painted delicate, abstract art on his neck… The sweet, rich scent of his life fluid just… There, right under the surface. The way it made Yoongi’s mouth water, his fangs slipping down, his own pulse – slow and lethargic most of the time – picking up like a horny schoolboy…

“Jungkook,” Yoongi snapped. Jungkook looked up from where he was digging in a second bag. His hair was plastered over his forehead, a look of desperation in his eyes.

“Still looking, it’s a small key. Give me just one more minute, no worries,” he said. Though, any monster in the room could hear his panic… There was a definite need to worry.

“What if we drove down slow?” Jin offered. “You and me could go, Yoongi. You won’t bite me, and even if you get… very hungry—”

Yoongi nodded. “That could work… But if the car gets stuck, you’ll die a hell of a lot faster than I will. It’d be safer for me to creep down on my own.”

“Except the the gas station on the way up the mountain will be closed and you’ll use far more than usual creeping. You’d be on empty long before you get to civilization,” Hoseok argued. “Not to mention, when you get around people again, then what? You eat the first one you see?”

“Hey!” Jimin’s sharp tone surprised Yoongi. He looked over.

“He’s not going to go feral.”

“Jimin…”

“You won’t. You guys keep talking like you have no food.” Jimin tilted his head a little, exposing his neck. “Hate me or not, I’m still a perfectly viable meal. And you can easily feed from me without hurting me. I know you can control yourself.”

“No.” Yoongi shook his head. “I won’t eat live meals.”

“You’re not eating me. You can just drink a little… Every few days, just enough to take the edge off.”

Yoongi scooted back as far as he could, his arm jerking forward with the cuffs. “Jungkook!” He snapped.

Jungkook made a small noise and flopped back on his butt. “I can’t find it.”

“Can’t find the key?!” Yoongi cried. He rose, grabbing Jimin’s wrist and lifting him up easily to drag him over. He sank down in front of Jungkook’s bags, beginning to dig through the piles.

“I’ve looked three times now,” Jungkook said softly, looking near tears. “I can’t find them. I—I must have lost it or left it at home or… Something.”

“Then we pick it!” Yoongi said. He looked to Jin and Hoseok. “Pick it for us.”

“I can’t pick locks,” Hoseok chuckled. “You have far too much faith in me.” “I could try,” Jin said, “but I’m not very good.”

“I don’t care. We have time.”

“Yoongi,” Jimin tried as Yoongi hauled him up once more, dragging him over to where Jin stood.

“Why aren’t you more panicked?” Yoongi asked, seeing Jimin looking incredibly calm… And a little sad.

“Because there isn’t a reason to panic.”

“You’re tied to a thing that fucking eats you.”

“Who I’ve already offered my neck to and he won’t bite. Literally. Yoongi, I’m not scared of you. I’ve said it once and it still stands. I would, however, like you to stop hauling me around like I’m luggage. I can walk. And while I enjoy being manhandled at times, we are both far too clothed for the type I enjoy.” Jimin tugged their cuffed wrists for emphasis.

A series of titters erupted from the other three in the room, and Yoongi scowled. “You crack jokes as if this isn’t serious.”

“Just lightening the mood.” Jimin shrugged.

“As if you’d be able to handle me in bed anyways. Or would want to.”

Jimin shrugged. “Says you.” He looked to Jin. “Wanna try to pick it?”

“Sure. Do you have something I can use, Hobi?”

“Lemme look.” Hoseok headed around the counter into the kitchen and began digging through the drawers.

“Go sit down,” Jin said. “It’ll be easier.”

Yoongi moved to walk, but stopped. He motioned for Jimin to lead the way, feeling a little guilty for dragging him around. It wasn’t his fault they were in this situation, after all. And yeah, Yoongi thought as he walked with Jimin and settled onto the couch with him, after learning the truth… Maybe he was beginning to feel some sympathy for the human. Not that they could ever realistically be friends. They couldn’t stand each other. Jimin was scared of him, or hated him… And he disliked the human. It was just how it was… Or how it should be. But maybe, now that Jimin had shared something with Yoongi about his history, they could at least become tolerant of one another.

Yoongi tried to pretend Jimin wasn’t sitting far too close to him. He wasn’t all that hungry. He’d gone about twelve days without food before, and it was uncomfortable, but he wasn’t feral. So, there was no real reason why he couldn’t seem to focus on anything other than Jimin’s pulse. His infuriatingly slow pulse. How could someone so soft and breakable be so calm hanging off the arm of a predator? And so eager to offer his throat?

Jin came around with a handful of slender items. He crouched, grabbing the cuffs and beginning to try the different things. Brows furrowed, Yoongi could tell he was trying. But as the minutes passed, the pile of untried items grew smaller, and the pile of useless, bent, or broken items got larger and larger.

Jin sighed, picking up a steak knife – the last item in his pile. “There’s no way,” he said.

“Just try it,” Yoongi mumbled. He knew Jin was right, no way would a steak knife open the cuffs. Jin did as he said, jabbing at the hole in the cuffs, trying to get it to release. Nearly a minute of fiddling, and he finally sat back, shaking his head no. “I’m sorry guys, I can’t.”

“It’s okay,” Jimin said. “You tried.”

Yoongi grabbed his cuff and yanked, grimacing when it tugged the skin of his hand. “Did you have to make it so tight?” He growled at Jungkook.

“I wanted to make sure you couldn’t pull it off,” Jungkook said. He came around the side of the couch, looking sheepish. “I know I have a spare key for it… It’s just in my room.”

“Well that won’t do any good up here!” Yoongi snapped. Jungkook flinched, his eyes widening a little.

Yoongi took a steadying breath, closing his eyes for a moment. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s my fault. I deserve it.”

“No… You were trying to make us get along. It would have been funny, honestly, if things didn’t turn out like this,” Yoongi said. There is a final option… I just would like to not have to try it until things get… Bad.”

“What are you thinking of, Yoongi?” Jin asked, trepidation clear in his tone.

“Hoseok has a wood stove. A fireplace. Which means he has an axe.”

“No.” Both Jimin and Jungkook spoke in unison. “We’re not cutting any body parts off.”

“Well if I go feral and am still attached to Jimin, you’ll be doing a lot more than cutting off something. You’ll have to put me down.”

“You aren’t a dog!” Jimin cried. “If it gets to that point, we can just dislocate my thumb. It’ll hurt like a mother but the cuffs can come off. But you could prevent getting to that point if you’d just drink from me.”

“I will not let you hurt yourself for my sake,” Yoongi argued.

“Why not? You hate me, don’t you? A stupid hunter’s son.” Yoongi should have said yes. His brain told him that he should say yes. Yet the word wouldn’t come out. Instead, he just shook his head, looking down. “I just won’t let you,” he muttered.

“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” Jin said. He rose, setting his hands on their shoulders. “Come on. This is a setback, but we’re still up here, let’s try to have a good time, right?”

Yoongi smiled softly, nodding. “You’re right. Hobi, how long until the lake freezes over completely do you think?”

“A day or two, why?”

“I know Jungkook’s been dying to take a swim in ice water. Mostly because he’s a lunatic. Want to?”

Hoseok grinned brightly. “I’d love to. You know me, never turn down water.”

“What about you?” Jin asked. He looked at Jimin. “He won’t have the same tolerance to cold…”

Yoongi glanced at Jimin, who’s smile - which had grown at the mention of a cold swim, was sinking.

“Yeah, maybe not, but I don’t much like the cold either. I’m sure I’ll be ready to be done when he is. We can still have fun. I won’t let you drown.”

Jimin looked at him, that sweet smile returning. He nodded. “Deal.”

Yoongi regretted that deal the second they hit the water. Not at any fault of Jimin’s, oh no. But more because Yoongi had forgotten just how much he hated the cold. He was shuddering nearly instantly. Jimin laughed brightly next to him, a high, tinkling sound on the cool wind. Yoongi looked over. Jimin was shivering just as hard as he was.

“This can’t be safe for humans,” Yoongi worried.

“A few minutes is fine. It’s good for the body,” Jimin assured him. “Can we go deeper? I wanna try to get to where Jungkook is.”

Yoongi looked across the lake. About fifteen feet ahead, closer to the center of the unfrozen part of the water, were their three friends. They’d jumped in as humans – but now Yoongi could see a wolf, a fox with many tails, and a seal, all bobbing along the water.

“We’ll try – but remember they are all furred animals. You may not make it that far.”

“I still wanna try.”

Yoongi nodded. He and Jimin set off carefully, their swimming motions needing to be perfectly aligned due to the cuffs. They made it nearly as far as Jungkook when Jimin whined softly. Yoongi glanced over, concern furrowing his brows. Jimin was shivering less, but his arms were covered in gooseflesh, and his lips were turning a startling shade of purple-blue.

“We need to go back,” Yoongi said.

Jimin nodded, not bothering to argue.

“Can you make it?”

“I c—can t-t-t-try,” Jimin chattered.

“Ah, you soft humans,” Yoongi teased with no real venom. He got them turned around. “Here, go over my head so you’re hooked around my shoulders.” He brought the hand with the cuff across his chest. Jimin moved his arm over Yoongi’s head, dropping it against his back.

“Good, try to help me paddle a bit with your free hand okay? And kick some.”

Jimin nodded. Yoongi could barely feel heat from his skin despite their closeness; a rather concerning feeling. He swam them back as quick as he could manage, Jimin doing his best to help. When they reached the ice patch, Yoongi moved to dislodge himself from Jimin’s arm. “Okay, get out.”

Jimin nodded. He braced his hands on the ice and hoisted himself out, spinning around and crouching as he helped Yoongi up and out.

Unfortunately – their wet skin on the ice did nothing in terms of support, and as soon as Yoongi was out of the water, a single step sent them both flying. Yoongi landed on top of Jimin, clearly knocking the breath from his chest. Snow that had puffed up around them in the fall now drifted down, speckling Jimin’s face like glitter. They laid nose to nose for a moment, Jimin’s eyes wide as he looked up at Yoongi.

“I—”

“Sorry,” Yoongi whispered, though he couldn’t bring himself to move. Not because of the ice… But mostly because Jimin felt so good under him.

“It’s okay,” Jimin breathed. His eyes darted down to Yoongi’s mouth, and Yoongi froze. Was he about to kiss him? He jerked back, panic bubbling up in his chest. This was all wrong. He wasn’t supposed to be okay with that idea. Carefully, he moved off Jimin and rose, helping Jimin to his feet. Jimin clung to him, shivering harder than ever.

They entered the cabin. “You should strip,” he said.

“S—” Jimin’s eyes bulged.

“As we melt we’re gonna soak the floor. And it’ll be easier to warm up if you’re in just a pair of dry pants than if you’re in soaking wet clothes.

“Right…” Jimin glanced down. “Shit.”

“What?”

“The cuffs. How am I gonna get my shirt off with the cuffs?”

Yoongi looked down as well. He swore under his breath, glaring in the general direction of the lake. “I’m gonna kill him.”

Jimin laughed a little. “Didn’t think that one through, did he?”

“Let’s get to the bathroom. We’re dripping.” Yoongi led him through the cabin into the bathroom. He guided Jimin into the tub. “Okay, so we could cut them off, but then we’d be shirtless for the next three weeks and I’d like to go outside at some point, so…”

“Yeah, no.” Jimin tapped his chin in thought. “What about just letting them hang over the cuff chain to dry? If we set a towel under them, squeeze them out as much as we can here, they should dry in front of the fire too, and we can put them back on?”

Yoongi thought for a moment, his eyes darting from Jimin to their cuffs as he tried to determine if it would succeed. Finally, he nodded. “I think that’ll work. Try it?”

Jimin nodded. He pulled his left arm free, apologizing softly when he tugged Yoongi over so his right hand could be used. Over the head, over his right arm, it dangled on the chain, as predicted, dripping into the tub.

“Perfect!” Jimin said.

Yoongi nodded. He wasn’t sure what he was nodding about though, as he couldn’t seem to pull his eyes away from Jimin’s bare chest. Though Jimin was slender, under his clothes he was very clearly hiding a lot. A toned chest and firm muscles, the cold water had tightened his dusky nipples to hard little points. His belly was slim, with the faint outlines of muscles that Yoongi knew were probably far tighter than a quick glance. And his hips – cut almost ridiculously perfect into a v shape, visible over the top of his waistband. Though he was clothed from the bottom down, Yoongi could imagine very clearly where that v pointed.

“Yoongi?” Jimin’s voice drew him out of his staring. He looked up, clearing his throat. “Right. Perfect. I’ll do mine.” Yoongi moved a little quicker, yanking his off and adding it to Jimin’s dangling from the chain. After seeing Jimin, he felt a little self-conscious. Though strong – it was all his inhuman nature; he was far less fit and chiseled than the human.

“We should wring them out now.” Yoongi grabbed his own shirt and began to ring it out, twisting it this way and that to get as much water out as he could. Jimin did the same, the water splashing between them like a mini waterfall.

“Great,” Jimin said when they could wring no more water from the shirts. He moved to step out, but Yoongi grabbed his wrist. “Shorts and shoes too – you’ll drip everywhere.”

“Oh—” Jimin hesitated, looking down and then up at Yoongi. “Uh… Naked?” He squeaked.

“Well, yeah.” Yoongi chuckled. “What, you shy about something?”

Jimin looked away, his cheeks pinking up delightfully. “Well, no, I just…”

Yoongi sighed and grabbed a towel from the nearby rack. He turned away from Jimin as well as he could and hung it over his shoulder. “Here, just change and wrap it around your waist. I won’t look.”

He heard a shuffle and felt a tug on his wrist. He was distinctly aware of the fact that if he shifted his right hand at all he would likely be brushing against Jimin’s bare skin. His wrist was pulld again, and this time he felt a towel skim past his fingers.

“Okay, I’m ready.”

“Alright, I’m taking mine off now,” Yoongi said. He pulled his hand back, quickly tugging his shoes, socks, jeans, and boxers off. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his own waist.

“Okay, come on.” They stepped out of the bathtub and walked into the room where their bags had been dropped, the wet clothes dangling awkwardly between them. Yoongi let Jimin grab clothes first, looking away politely while he pulled on sweats. He pulled on his own sweats and handed Jimin their towels. Out into the living room, he grabbed a blanket from the chair as they settled onto the loveseat nearest to the fire. He slung the blanket over their shoulders.

“The wet—” Jimin began. “I know, here, just wrap them up with the towels.” They worked together with surprising efficiency to wrap the clothes. Jimin relaxed a bit, pressing closer to Yoongi to get further under the blanket as they sat.

Jimin’s body was warming quickly, radiating heat into his own normally barely lukewarm bones. It was… Comfortable, if Yoongi was being honest. Yoongi felt his head drooping, soothed by the sounds of the fire and the warmth. Jimin shifted, snuggling next to him and resting his head on Yoongi’s shoulder. Yoongi quirked his brow, peeking around Jimin’s head. Sure enough, the human was sleeping. Yoongi smiled a little. Yeah, Jimin wasn’t so bad, maybe…

Yoongi was amazed at how much he could simultaneously adore and hate a singular person. If Jungkook hadn’t been a werewolf, Yoongi may have considered feeding on him.

“I’m sorry, I can’t have heard that right.” Yoongi repeated for the second time, staring at Jungkook in the dark bedroom. Jungkook pouted, his bottom lip sticking out and making him look far younger than his twenty-three years would imply.

“I said I’m bored.”

“And you proceeded to grab my dick.”

“Well, what better way to solve boredom?”

“Jungkook, we’re cuffed.”

“Which makes it less sexy how?”

Yoongi’s face remained stoic. “I’m not gonna fuck you, Jungkook. I’m still upset with you.”

“For what?!” Jungkook cried, seemingly offended that Yoongi would dare.

Yoongi blinked at him before lifting the cuffs, inadvertently dragging Jimin’s arm up and making Jungkook’s head hit the pillow where he’d been cuddling between the two of them. He gave it a shake.

“Also for losing the key. And for whatever other harebrained ideas you get while we’re up here.”

Jungkook’s pout returned full force. “Well fine. Your loss.”

“My loss?”

“Jimin will keep me company, right?” Jungkook turned to look at Jimin, his grin broadening.

“I—I can’t say no,” Jimin mumbled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry Yoongi.”

Yoongi gaped at Jimin.

“So what, you two are just gonna fuck next to me? Could you be any more obscene?”

“Oh it’s not like you’ve not seen it before, you prude.”

“I haven’t! Not with Jimin.”

“Just go to sleep then.” Jungkook stuck his tongue out at Yoongi. He rolled over, facing away from Yoongi. A shift on the bed, and Yoongi heard the soft sounds of kissing. He scowled at them for a moment. He hated the way his stomach was making those nasty little knots, the way he wanted to reach out and card his fingers through Jungkook’s hair, pull him back from Jimin and kiss him until he couldn’t breathe. Hated the way he wanted to feel Jimin’s mouth too. Sink into his tight heat and find out if his moans were as pretty as his laugh. The days spent cuffed together had done a number on Yoongi. More and more he found himself enjoying Jimin’s company, laughing with him, conversing with him willingly. And more and more he found himself staring at him, wondering more about him, noticing his subtle (and obvious) beauty.

Yoongi shut his eyes, trying to block out the sounds of their kissing, the soft breathy sighs from them, and the shift of fabric as they moved together, slowly stripping.

It worked, for a while. Yoongi managed to remain feigning sleep (how could he actually sleep?) through Jungkook very clearly giving Jimin some amazing oral sex, and through Jungkook prepping Jimin’s soft body for sex. He even managed to feign sleep when Jungkook slid into Jimin, but felt Jimin’s hand grab his own for the briefest second, paired with a sharp, pleasured cry from the human.

But Yoongi’s strength only went so far. He could feel a stirring in his groin as the bed shifted rhythmically, hearing the slick sounds of their skin slapping together as Jungkook thrust into him, their muffled panting.

He opened his eyes the tiniest bit. They wouldn’t notice, not so caught up in their lovemaking. Jimin was covering his mouth with his free hand, muffling his soft whines as Jungkook thrust into him.

From his viewpoint, Yoongi could see Jimin’s hips bent up, his cock hard and leaking onto his belly. Jungkook reached up, pinching Jimin’s nipple and tugging. Jimin moaned, shoving his head back into the pillow and grabbing the sheet. “Jungkook—“ he whined, strained.

Jungkook glanced over, catching Yoongi’s gaze. Yoongi tried to shut his eyes, but knew it was too late. He glanced again, seeing Jungkook lean down. He was whispering, but Yoongi heard it clear as day.

“He’s watching us,” he whispered, “and you’re making him hard.”

Jimin looked over. Yoongi met his gaze openly, wetting his lips. Jungkook wasn’t wrong, his cock was hard in his sweats, pushing up the blanket a little. Yoongi reached down, palming himself as he watched Jungkook make love to Jimin. He could feel his fangs poking his bottom lip, and knew as soon as he spoke they’d be just as obvious as his erection.

“Want me to take care of that?” Jungkook teased. “Or maybe you wanna see if Jimin feels as good as you think he might, hm?”

Yoongi swallowed hard. “Ride me, Jungkook,” he demanded.

Jungkook smirked. He pulled out of Jimin, his cock slick with lube. He pushed the blanket down and tugged Yoongi’s sweats around his ankles. He licked his lips, staring at Yoongi’s dick.

“Come suck him with me, Jimin.”

Jimin obeyed, sitting and moving down. He and Jungkook set to work immediately, dragging a surprised shout out of Yoongi. Their mouths were everywhere, tongues sliding over his sensitive cock, sharing kisses. Jungkook leaned back to grab lube and Jimin took advantage. He sank down on Yoongi, swallowing his cock to the root. Yoongi’s hips jerked up, his tip bumping Jimin’s throat. Jimin swallowed, looking up at him. He began to suck and lick, bobbing his head slow.

Yoongi grabbed his head, his lips parted. He began to guide his head, unable to tear his gaze away from Jimin’s mouth, his perfect lips sliding over his cock like silk.

“Amazing, isn’t he?” Jungkook purred. He was fingering himself open, watching the two. “I don’t know how many times I’ve come just from his mouth when I didn’t plan to.”

Yoongi wanted to answer, but all that came out was an incoherent moan. He had had a lot of blowjobs in his time but none like this. He fisted Jimin’s hair, tugging to pull him off. Jimin obeyed, moaning happily. His eyes rolled back when Yoongi pulled, cock jerking between his muscular thighs.

“Jungkook—” Yoongi strained. He let go of Jimin before he hurt him, grunting when Jimin immediately began to nuzzle and kiss over his thighs and hip.

“Aw, are you that close?” Jungkook teased, pressing kisses along Yoongi’s jaw. Yoongi nodded.

“You sure you don’t wanna see what he feels like? He’s so tight, and warm, and wet inside…”

Yoongi whimpered, looking down at Jimin. He bared his fangs almost instinctively, the sound of Jimin’s blood pumping nearly overwhelming him. Jimin’s breath caught audibly. He crawled up Yoongi’s body, until they were nearly nose to nose.

“You can,” he whispered. He straddled Yoongi’s hips, settling onto his crotch until Yoongi’s cock bumped his hole. “If you want to… And…” Jimin touched Yoongi’s chin, pulling his bottom lip. “This too…” He bared his neck, leaning closer to Yoongi.

Panic bubbled up in Yoongi’s chest when he realized he’d moved forward, mouth opening instinctively. He snapped his jaws shut hard enough to hurt, piercing his own bottom lip with his fangs.

“Jimin—” He gritted. “Get off me.”

Jimin sat back, disappointment clear on his face. He obeyed though, slinking off Yoongi’s hips and laying next to him.

“Yoongi—” Jungkook began.

“Don’t.”

“We don’t have to stop,” Jungkook continued anyways. “Let me finish you off. Or you can watch Jimin and I—”

Embarrassed, shameful tears burned the back of Yoongi’s throat. He closed his eyes, trying to stave them off as long as possible. And he was cuffed – he couldn’t even escape this horribly awkward situation.

“Just go back to what you were doing. I’m sorry I bothered you,” he mumbled. He sat up and yanked his sweats up one handed before rolling to his side, facing away from the two. His cuffed arm twisted back uncomfortably, but he ignored it. He deserved a little discomfort… He nearly bit Jimin – and for what? A fucking orgasm. Nearly broke his vow with a moment of sex. Shame colored his cheeks as he glared at the door.

“Jungkook—” Jimin’s voice was barely above a breath.

“It’s not you,” Jungkook assured him. He had to know Yoongi could hear them. No way to prevent it – his headphones were in the other room.

“I didn’t mean to…”

“I know, baby. He’s just scared. He’s…” Jungkook drifted off. “He isn’t mad at you.”

“Do you still want me to…”

“Are you still in the mood?”

Jimin chuckled. “I can get into the mood again.”

“No.” Yoongi heard them kiss. “I’m not into it either. I feel bad. I pushed you guys into it. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

Guilt clenched Yoongi’s heart. It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t Jimin’s either. It was Yoongi’s. He wished he had the nerve to roll back over, to apologize and tell them they were okay, but he couldn’t. So, he laid still, staring at the door as he listened to them pull on their shorts and cuddle, sharing quiet kisses as their breath evened out and they drifted to sleep.

They didn’t talk about it the next morning, or the morning after, or the day after that. In fact, Jungkook and Jimin didn’t bring up that night for the remainder of the week, or the following week. Yoongi was relieved, but also… A little stung. He had wondered if maybe they would want to talk about it, bring it up in some way so he could assure them that it was him, not them. Specifically, not Jimin. But, as the days progressed, it seemed like things were no different, and Yoongi let the situation slip to the back of his mind. He had more pressing things to worry about anyways.

Like, for example, the fact that the snow was showing no signs of melting enough for any sort of safe moving off the mountain. And the fact that it was now day thirteen without blood and he was feeling the effects of hunger. And the fact that Jimin was still stuck to his arm and he smelled so damn delicious that he was fighting the urge to show fang every ten minutes.

And to top it all off, Jin and Jungkook had decided this afternoon was the perfect time to go for a run in the woods. And Hoseok, in his own infinite wisdom, decided to go find a patch of thin ice for a swim in his own animal form. Which left Jimin and Yoongi entirely alone.

Which wouldn’t have been so bad, really. They often spent time just sitting on the couch together, reading or listening to music, talking or just sitting, watching the fire in comfortable silence. Even after the incident in bed the week prior, this feeling of ease and comfort didn’t fade. If anything, it continued to grow.

“I wish you could’ve gone out with them,” Jimin said softly, gazing into the fire. Yoongi glanced up from his notebook.

“Hm?”

“Jin and Jungkook. I’m sure you wanted to run with them.”

“Nah, it’s too cold for me,” Yoongi said. “I’d rather chill with the fire.”

Jimin chuckled. You don’t need to be lazy for my sake.”

“Not for your sake,” Yoongi assured him. “I really j—” A sharp pang in his stomach cut Yoongi’s words off. He doubled over, his fangs slipping out as he cried out.

Jimin reached for him, grabbing his hand that was cuffed together. “Yoongi—”

Yoongi turned, baring his fangs and hissing, nearly catlike.

Instead of shying away, Jimin’s face drooped. “Oh, it’s getting bad, isn’t it?” He asked.

Yoongi dropped his head again, drawing in a deep breath. He felt like he was sweating despite an inability to do that for many years.

“I’m fine,” he huffed.

“No, you’re not. You look sick. And I know you’re in pain. Please, I know you’re scared of hurting me, Yoongi but… Please.”

“It’s more than a fear of hurting you,” Yoongi muttered. He sat upright, closing his eyes for a second as he waited for the pain and nausea to fade. When it did, he drew in another breath and nodded.

“Then what is it, Yoongi? Please trust me to understand.”

Yoongi hesitated. He sat back on the couch, considering. Jimin had shared his story… Maybe it was time for Yoongi to do the same. If they were to be… Friends.

“I was turned about sixty years ago. I was twenty-eight. I don’t know… If you know much about how vampires are turned?”

“Not the details, but I know it’s a big process, death and burying and a whole ordeal.”

“It is. And generally, usually… The one who turns the new vampire stays around, it’s like giving birth to a child when all is said and done.”

Jimin nodded in understanding. Yoongi hesitated, another wave of nausea slipping over him. He remained silent until it passed before continuing.

“I did not have that grand bringing into the world. I never met the person that turned me.”

Yoongi heard Jimin make a small, sympathetic noise. Though he would have normally made a snarky comment, he had to admit, at that moment… It felt kind of nice.

“So, I crawled out of my grave one night… I was… God, I was so hungry. The last thing I remembered was being grabbed, and a pain in my throat. And then… Just dizziness and then darkness. I was so confused and scared and… So hungry. So thirsty.”

Yoongi shuddered despite the warmth, his stomach knotting painfully again. He curled his knees up, grimacing.

“Yoongi,” Jimin whispered. He shifted their hands, holding Yoongi’s tightly. “I’m here.”

“Oh, I know… You smell so… Fucking good, I can’t even pretend you aren’t,” Yoongi muttered. Jimin giggled a little at that.

“I’ll take it as a compliment.”

Yoongi chuckled. The knots in his stomach released a little, allowing him to continue. “So I stumbled around the graveyard for a bit. I was looking for… Something, I didn’t know what at the time. And this young guy comes up. He was so handsome. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen. Dressed very poor. But he comes up to the gat of the graveyard and calls to me. I was so happy to see someone. Someone who could tell me what happened, or help me somehow. I ran up to him. I knew I must have looked horrid. I mean I just climbed out of my damn grave, but he barely blinked. He was instantly worried for me. Helped me find the entrance gate and started walking with me and checking on me as we headed toward the village for a doctor.

And then the hunger hit again. And it was so much stronger… God, it was like someone was hitting me in the face with every delicious food I’d ever eaten at once. My entire body and mind seemed to ignite. I couldn’t control myself. I can’t tell you exactly what I was thinking at that moment except feed.”

Yoongi hesitated once more. He swallowed hard, not due to his stomach, but due to the painful memories. Jimin moved closer to him, setting his other hand on Yoongi’s thigh. “I’m here,” he whispered again, his head nearly on Yoongi’s shoulder.

“I—I ripped his throat out, Jimin. God, I can still remember the sounds of him dying. The smells, the feeling of the blood and… The taste. The power. I was drunk on it.”

Yoongi paused as another wave of pain hit him, shivers running down his spine. “I came to my senses a few hours later. I was in the woods, covered in blood. Everything hit me then. What I was, what I did. I tried to kill myself. But it… It didn’t work. So instead I swore I’d never place my teeth on another living human. I didn’t care if I starved to death. I’d lock myself up in a cave and wait to die if the only other option was biting a person. Risking doing what I did to that boy… I have kept that vow for sixty years, Jimin. That’s why I won’t bite you.”

“I understand,” Jimin said softly. “I do. What you went through was traumatic. But Yoongi… You don’t have the option of locking yourself up in a cave right now.”

Yoongi closed his eyes. “I know.”

“So if you do reach that point… You will kill me.”

Yoongi grimaced. Jimin squeezed his hand tighter. “I would rather have you drink some now… When you can control yourself. When you can take care of me… When we can both feel good maybe… Than die that way. Because I know you’ll hate yourself afterward.”

“I’ll hate myself either way,” Yoongi whispered.

“Fine. But at least I’ll be around to help you let go of that hate this way. And so will Jungkook.” Jimin’s lips brushed over Yoongi’s cheek. “I keep thinking about last week. How good I felt on your lap… How nice it felt to see you relax. I am sorry I offered my neck, and not just my body… But I am offering both again.”

Yoongi looked over quickly. Jimin smiled softly. “Yoongi, please let me help you.”

“Help me?” Yoongi breathed. He could hear Jimin’s heartbeat, and smell his arousal. He chuckled. “You’re propositioning a hungry vampire to have sex with you.”

“I am. I’ve heard it makes the bite feel better. Do you… Want me? That night, I wasn’t sure. I felt like we pushed…”

“No, no, I wanted you that night.” Yoongi pressed his forehead against Jimin’s. “I still do. I don’t know what changed, I—I can’t stop thinking about you these days.”

“I’ve liked you for a long time, Yoongi,” Jimin confessed. “But you hated me for my parents…”

“I was wrong.”

“No. You just didn’t know. Now you do.”

“And I do like you. I… God, I fell for you.”

Jimin pulled back this time, his mouth quirking up into a grin. “You did?”

“I did,” Yoongi muttered. “Don’t let it go to your head.

“I won’t.” The two sat in silence. Yoongi’s shudders were coming more regularly, his body edging closer and closer to starvation, rather than hunger.

“Yoongi,” Jimin finally whispered. “Please take me to bed.”

Yoongi’s breath puffed out of his lungs. He nodded. Jimin rose and Yoongi let himself be pulled toward the bedroom. They were so used to the cuffs now that they moved as a unit, knowing how to twist and turn to move fluidly. It would be weird to have them off, Yoongi realized.

Once in the bedroom, Jimin turned, pulling his shirt off. He let it dangle from the chain and smiled shyly. “Do you… Want me to…”

“No,” Yoongi pulled his own shirt off. He stepped forward, going almost chest to chest with Jimin. “The last time we stripped… You made me look away when you took off your jeans… You gonna be shy on me again?”

Jimin laughed. “Not this time.”

“Good.” Yoongi undid Jimin’s jeans, pushing them to the ground for Jimin to step out of. He kicked his own sweats off, and then his boxers, before setting his hands on Jimin’s hips. He caught the band of his boxers. “You sure about this?”

“I’m sure.”

Yoongi pushed them down, stepping back to look Jimin up and down. He reached out with his free hand, palming Jimin’s cock. It twitched and hardened further in his palm, and he gave it a firm stroke. “I didn’t get a good look at you that night… I’m glad to now.”

“Like what you see?” Jimin asked. Yoongi nodded slowly. He let go of Jimin to cup his cheeks, pulling him into a sweet kiss, despite the fire raging in his veins. Jimin wrapped one arm around his shoulders, holding onto his wrist with the cuffed hand. They moved toward the bed in unison, and Jimin let himself fall back onto it. Yoongi went with him, nudging open his smooth thighs.

Jimin looked up at him, his lips wet and full from the kiss, his cheeks rosy with life. His eyes were dark, hair brushed back from his forehead.

“How do you—” Jimin swallowed. “Now? Or…” He touched his neck.

“Not quite yet,” Yoongi said. He reached over to where he knew Jungkook had stashed the lube, pulling the bottle out and opening it.

The two shared soft kisses while Yoongi prepped Jimin, determined not to hurt him any more than necessary. None – if he could have his way. He could smell Jimin’s blood so strongly, his teeth aching like a sweet tooth, mouth watering as they kissed. And Jimin – oh, the creature under him couldn’t be a human – Jimin had to be an imp. Playing with fire, Jimin would scrape his tongue over Yoongi’s fangs, sometimes almost hard enough to draw blood. Each time he did, his cock would jerk against Yoongi’s hip, and Yoongi would have to refrain from giving in and biting Jimin then and there.

He resisted by some miracle, however, and pulled back, lining himself up to Jimin’s body. “Are you ready?”

Jimin nodded, spreading his legs wider. Yoongi laid over him, bracing himself on the hand that was cuffed. Jimin twined their fingers together, meeting Yoongi’s gaze as Yoongi pushed into him for the first time.

Jimin’s lips parted, a sharp gasp breaking the silence of the room. Yoongi bared his fangs, his own vision going a little hazy at the tight heat of Jimin’s body.

“Yoongi…” Jimin’s voice was soft, muffled. Yoongi forced himself to focus, offering what he hoped was a comforting smile – though he knew the fangs probably made that difficult.

“I won’t hurt you,” he whispered.

“I know. It feels good,” Jimin assured him. He reached his free hand down, gripping Yoongi’s ass. “You can move. I want this.”

Yoongi nodded. He began to thrust at an even pace, mindful of not going too hard. Jimin moaned under him, his eyes rolling back in pleasure. Curious, Yoongi reached out, pinching his left nipple. Jimin shouted, gasping.

“Please—“

“Oh, you are sensitive,” Yoongi teased. “And responsive.”

He pinched again, this time tugging. Jimin shouted, squeezing Yoongi’s cock almost painfully tight. Yoongi continued to thrust, leaning down to gently suck and bite at each hard nub. As he did, he fisted Jimin’s cock, using his ample precome to jerk him in time to his own movements.

He was already so close, he wished it could last longer. He wanted to stay like this, hear Jimin’s sounds of pleasure, for eternity. He moved back up, nuzzling Jimin’s neck.

Jimin’s breath caught, his throat clicking. He let his head fall, baring his neck to Yoongi.

“Yes—“ He whispered. “Please, Yoongi… Do it…”

Yoongi pulled his cock free of Jimin’s hole, chuckling when Jimin whined.

“Don’t stop, please—“

Yoongi began to tease him, prodding and bumping his opening with his tip. Not enough to get any real stimulation, but feeling Jimin’s body open for him, so receptive - and the sounds of his voice as he begged for it… If Yoongi didn’t have other plans he may have come then and there.

He lined himself back up and nuzzled Jimin’s neck once more. A moment to steady himself, and then…

His teeth penetrated Jimin’s soft neck at the same moment he drove himself into Jimin’s body once more.

Jimin screamed, his free hand rising and scratching down Yoongi’s back. He began to pump his hips quickly, swallowing the sweet, hot blood that filled his mouth as he sucked. He ran his tongue over the puncture wounds, his saliva working to clot and slow the blood already so Jimin wouldn’t bleed too much.

Jimin’s entire body jerked, nearly dislodging his mouth. His release spilled, hot and sticky, between their stomachs as he moaned against Yoongi’s shoulder.

“Jesus— Yoongi!” Jungkook’s voice startled Yoongi. He felt Jungkook’s hand on the back of his neck, so he released, afraid he’d drunk too much. But Jimin was grinning brightly, looking all too fucked out.

“Hey Jungkook,” he signed, moaning softly when Yoongi thrust in.

Jungkook looked between the two, letting go of Yoongi’s neck.

“Oh.”

“Sorry we didn’t wait for you,” Jimin teased. “You should join us now.”

Jungkook looked at Yoongi, smiling softly. “I think I will.” He began to strip, grabbing the lube to ready himself.

Yoongi looked back down at Jimin, leaning down to lick a stray dribble of blood on his neck. He thrust in, and Jimin winced. He pushed Yoongi’s chest.

“Too sensitive after I come,” he whined. “Finish with Jungkook. Oh—“ He laughed into Yoongi’s mouth when Yoongi kissed him hard, gently pulling out. He flopped next to him, still holding his hand.

Jungkook straddled his hips, dick hard. He lifted Yoongi’s cock and settled onto it, both of them gasping. He began to ride him almost immediately, leaning down to kiss them both.

Jimin sat up, shifting over to begin sucking Jungkook’s cock as he moved, the soft wet noises punctuating the rougher ones.

Yoongi’s eyes went fuzzy as he watched the two, his toes curling against the mattress.

“I’m close,” he warned Jungkook, who only nodded. His fingers were buried in Jimin’s hair, guiding him along his length.

Jimin coughed and Jungkook grunted, his body shuddering and beginning to clench and relax - a sure sign of his release… Directly down Jimin’s eager throat if the soft gulping was any indication.

Yoongi moaned softly. The pressure around his cock and the absolutely stunning image in front of him became too much far too quickly. With a deep grunt, and a firm hand on Jungkook’s hip to hold him still, Yoongi came, spilling inside Jungkook.

The three ended up in a haphazard cuddle pile as they all came down from their climaxes. Though Yoongi was sure he’d taken less than a pint from Jimin, but he still felt calm and full and strangely sated. Maybe it was due to feeding live. But maybe it was due to the two men snuggled up against his body, warming him from the outside in.

“Any regrets?” Jimin asked sleepily, breaking the comfortable silence between them.

“None. You okay?”

“I feel great. How often do you need to feed?”

“Just every few days. I won’t need much, just enough to take the edge off… I don’t want to force you—”

“Shh,” Jimin kissed his mouth to silence him. “I’m offering. You already look better. I want to help. I told you things wouldn’t be like they were sixty years ago.”

Yoongi nodded. “Thank you.” He sighed softly, looking between the two. “I have a question for both of you.”

When they looked up, he smiled. “Jungkook – you mentioned… Changing your relationship with us. And that… I believe… Implied dating.”

Jungkook nodded.

“Do you still feel that way?”

Another nod. “Of course I do.”

“Then… I think now is a good time for me to formally ask you… Both of you… If you’d like to make this situation an official one.”

Jimin made a small noise that was a cross between an ‘oh’ and a giggle. “Are you asking out the vampire hunter’s son, Yoongi?”

Yoongi smirked. “Guess I like to live on the wild side. It’s only fair after I’ve had my teeth in your neck.”

Jimin laughed brightly, nuzzling against Yoongi’s neck. Yoongi glanced at Jungkook, noticing he’d remained silent.

“Jungkook?”

Jungkook smiled softly. He met Yoongi’s gaze. “I never expected… When I cuffed you two together, I didn’t expect things to actually work out.”

“Are you okay with how it did?” Yoongi confirmed.

“You really do care for Jimin? This isn’t some effect of drinking his blood or… Or sex or… For peace in the apartment?”

Yoongi chuckled. He nodded. “I mean, it’ll be nice to have peace in the apartment, but no… And we aren’t affected by blood drinking or anything like that, it’s just like sitting down and having a good steak – No offense.”

“None taken,” Jimin answered.

“So, yeah, I… I’ve really developed a fondness for Jimin over these few weeks. Spending more time with him, learning to work together. I don’t know if it’s love but it’s… Definitely more than tolerance. I do care for him a great deal. Just like you.”

“Were you not wanting this, Jungkook?” Jimin worried. “Like… I know you want me and you want Yoongi, but us… Together.”

“It’s not that.” Jungkook sat up. “I do. This is a dream, all three of us together. I just didn’t expect it. To be honest, I… I keep expecting to wake up.” He looked to Yoongi. “You really don’t hate Jimin?”

“No. I don’t… I don’t think I ever did. I was blaming him for his parents, for hunters who have killed my friends over the years… He was the face of it.” Yoongi paused, brows furrowed as he thought. “But he’s been just as much a victim to vampire hunters as anyone else. Has still been hurt and traumatized by them, in a different way, but… It’s there. I was just too stubborn to hear that until these weeks. And I regret that. Because getting to know the real Jimin these past few weeks has been so fun. I just hope that I can keep learning more about him.”

“And you don’t… Resent him, Jimin? For all that he’s said to you?”

“Not even a little. I wish he’d given me a chance earlier – but I understand fully why he didn’t. And I don’t blame him. I can’t say I would have either, in his shoes. And I’m glad that we’ve gotten over that bump and can move forward with our friendship and… Relationship.”

Jungkook seemed to relax a little, a small smile crossing his face as he looked at the two.

“So, what do you say, Jungkook?” Yoongi pressed. “Is this— Are the three of us… Okay?”

Jungkook remained silent a moment, looking between the two. He nodded then. “You two make a cute couple.”

“And we three will make an adorable throuple,” Jimin said. Jungkook’s soft smile widened then, crinkling his nose and exposing his front teeth.

“We will, won’t we?”

Yoongi grabbed for Jungkook with his free hand, pulling him down into a kiss. After, he turned, kissing Jimin gently. “Amazing how comfortable that feels,” he commented.

“Guess we shoulda been doing it this whole time,” Jimin said.

Yoongi nodded, kissing him once more. “I guess so. We’ll just have to make up for lost time.”

“What a trio we are,” Jungkook said. “A vampire, a human, and a werewolf.”

“Unique and fun, I’d call it.”

“You know,” Jungkook said, nuzzling against Yoongi’s neck. “I’d like to point out that none of this would have happened if I hadn’t thought to cuff you two together.”

Jimin snorted, but Yoongi chuckled. “You’re not wrong… I’m gonna kinda miss being cuffed to you when we get home, Jimin.”

Jimin grinned broadly. “It’s okay, I know you like holding my hand is all. I promise to hold it all the time, even if we’re not joined at the wrist.” He shifted, taking Yoongi’s hand and twining their fingers.

“Only if Jungkook holds my other hand,” Yoongi said, holding his free hand out. Jungkook grinned brightly and grabbed it, lacing his fingers between Yoongi’s before letting it rest on his stomach.

Yoongi closed his eyes, sighing softly. He could hear the steady, firm heartbeats of his boyfriends, and smell their comforting scents. The taste of Jimin’s blood was still present on his tongue, but it didn’t frighten him in the way the thought of it had. It felt safe. He felt safe. Even as a vampire – deadly and near unkillable – there had always been something missing in Yoongi’s world. Something that made him feel exposed, and scared, in a way even he couldn’t pinpoint.

And now, for the first time in his life, he didn’t feel that fear. Instead he felt warmth. And he felt happiness. And he’d spend the rest of his time on earth protecting that happiness, no matter what.

48 notes · View notes

reonagisolos · 3 years ago

Text

Prime Empire Au where Jay is Milton Dyer's adopted son given by Gordon and Jay's unnamed (?) mom because they didn't ever want to have kids and those two were close with him.

TW: There's a brief panic attack at "oh God," then skip to, "there's nothing left"

So...Milton adopts him and of course Jay grows up really smart because he naturally is and because of Milton's influence but because of his muddled upbringing +general personality+ neglect from Milton as a father because he was more focused with work than with his "son", he was kind of an outsider.

Which was fine with Jay!

Except it wasn't. Anyway, here's a fic to accompany it that I accidentally written

—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-

If you had told 8 year old Jay that the one taking him in as his father would be a hotshot programmer for gaming, he'd be on top of the moon. In his mind, he thought that having someone be a part of something he loved was really, really cool. That he'd have so many friends because wow, that's amazing that his dad was some high tech legendary programmer—and well...that turned out to be a lie.

No one really cared. Probably because his school was filled to the brim with the children of the upper class, so his dad was just some other rich dude who just so happened to work in the game industry. And sure, it's more interesting than a politician, or a car salesman, but there were dozens of kids from different parts of technology, so he wasn't really special.

To everyone else in his classes, he was simply deemed a weird kid or trouble making kid. No one should misbehave by speaking too loudly or bounce over nothing to be excited about, or talk and talk about one thing over and over in this latest game he got to play when there were other things to be learnt and other people's turns. He needed to be quiet, to shut it, they said, because anything more than that was annoying and awful. They were right, he'd deemed even back then—But could they be less harsh?

That one weird, annoying kid, huh.

Even as he got older, things didn't get any better. On the contrary, it gets worse. So much worse.

By then, they didn't just call him weird anymore.

Now, people would push and shove him away when he's near, (to not get "infected" from him, they say) or mock him for doing even something unordinary, like for bouncing his leg, or for stuttering when he can't help it—Even on things he thought were stupid to care about!

Things like rambling about his favorite video games agressively to pass the time, or wearing cat clips to keep his forever messy hair in place, or the constant fidgeting because the chair is just so goddamn uncomfortable, and that he'd rather just sit on the floor, or preferring the girl's uniform simply because he thought it would be easier to wear and looked ''nicer'' to him.

Not to mention people finding his extra energy on anything except class to be again, annoying and unnecessary.

"You shouldn't do that Jay, it's distracting—"

"Stop doing that Jay, it's annoying"

"Don't do that Jay, you're not allowed to."

The list goes on.

And he's tried changing, he really has.

He's tried to supress them and change things about himself so people would "like" him more. Forget about talking about this and that to try to pry more into people's intrests, stopped talking as much and forced himself to shut up because if he didn't talk about anything other than this or that, no one would even bother.

Sure it worked and he did get a few friends by the time he was fifteen—and yeah, Jay was glad he just had people to talk to, enough to the point where he was decently well liked, but doing it sucked ass. He couldn't completely get rid of by the weird moving habits, which always granted some weird looks from his friends, and couldn't talk about what he liked, in fear of getting outed again.

To be frank about his school shituation, he hates it.

He's constantly stuck between having to get rid of "himself" so other people would like him, or do so but be isolated from everyone else, becuase either way he'd hate it, he'd hate it so much it would be unbearable.

There wasn't anyone for him to take comfort in, his father was too busy working to really help him through any of this, and can't even talk to anyone online because once again, he can't trust talking to other people about his intrests, and he already tended to blab too much in his notes.

Everything changes when his father tells him about Prime Empire.

He randomly tells him about his latest work in progress one day, a video game so immersive that with its gameplay that people could call it as the next Big thing. At the time, it was called Unagami. He loved talking about it, his magnum opus—A creation so intune to people's current intrests it could be called the greatest game of all time.

In between being at home to do homework or whatever, he'd see glimpses of his father working on it. Bit by bit, for every circuit board or wire or line of code he'd be working on it. He had always been excited for that game, hearing on how his father doted on it far more than he did to his own son, so it must've been a really good.

Setting aside his own grievances from his less-than perfect father, he'd seen how hard he worked on that game to make it simply magical.

That was until, beta testing, when he stopped working on it all together.

It was a Saturday night when father introduced Scott, a professional game tester and professional programmer, just like Milton. He'd come to see Prime Empire and try it for himself. After a quick introduction from Jay, just because he was coincidentally nearby, he headed for his bedroom.

A little later, he found himself playing a new game that had recently come out, which was pretty good to him, but overhyped. The difficulty curve is wack—Then he heard his father screaming from downstairs.

Hearing that something was clearly wrong, he rushed downstairs, barely missing on dropping multiple stacks of papers just on some random table when he saw a glimpse of him through the door gap, father on his knees facing his creation. There was a loud static-y noise that hurt his ears, but still he listened as best he could.

"No..no...this—This can't be real," Milton choked out. His eyes were shining from the game's light in the otherwise dark room.

"Did I do something wrong?" The machine asked, all in a calm tone.

"No! You—You just transported someone in a video game! What did you—How did you?

Transporting someone into a video game? There's no way that's real.

He was about to speak more when he saw Milton move. Jay didn't want to get in trouble, so as quietly as he could, he went straight back to his room, and inched the door shut.

The next day, around the corner of the kitchen, he heard his father talking over a cellphone.

"Y-yes. Project Prime is too dangerous to release to the public. I take full responsibility for it."

It's too quiet for him to hear the rest.

A moment later the phone beeps, and he could hear something shuffle slowly to the ground. A small sigh came off.

"What am I gonna do with you?"

The next day, he's found that he's gone. There's still traces of him here, from various papers having sketches and drafts of old video game concepts, to the circuit boards all crammed with info.

Except he's not there.

If it weren't for the fact that he couldn't hear the distant tinkering of mechanics, he's sure he wouldn't tell if his dad was even there in the first place.

Looking around, he finds a note in his office drawer with essential details for what seems to be a bank account, so it's not like he'll just die from not being able to eat or drink, so there's that.

It's still lonely though. There's an ache in his heart somehow. His father was gone. Just like that. Like how his real parents were. And now he's alone again. Milton was never really his dad but he was a constant. And now, he's gone too.

"Useless."

Now he's slumped down on the wall, falling like some dramatic middle-aged wife in those drama movies people at his school would rave about.

And God, now the room is spinning and every part of him feels like he's standing on end—The realisation is hitting hard and—"Holy shit I'm alone again but I'm always alone why? why? why? why? Is this stupid fucking thing supposed to be something about me it has to be fuck—" he says, just barely though. His chest is feeling tight and just wants out.

Deep breaths, as he's pissed to realise, aren't working and god it's horrible. It's so awful. His head is banging senselessly and it hurts so bad. Everything that seems so wrong with him is piling up and he's not being rational but he can't. There's so much pressure and he doesn't even know what to do with it.

"Fuck!"

His angered motion knocks over a pile of books, probably about coding and sloppily tries to sit down on the office chair. It does nothing but intensify the pressure in his chest.

The room's still spinning but now he wants to puke but he can't fucking get it out of his system. Everything is too much and he can't handle it. Then, it slows, then it's a little less, and a little less a few moments later. The room isn't spinning as fast and his heart is just a little less tight and his head hurts less, so that'd good. For a little bit it's like this, slowly, slowly, bringing the levels of intensity lower and lower, until there's nothing left.

He still feels like shit after, but he's just glad he's alive. Still, after all that—He didn't realise how late it had gotten. It was mid afternoon when he broke down, but now it's nearly nighttime.

"Fuh—" he exclaimed as he slowly brought his foot up, his feet were tingling from staying in one position for so long.

Even if he was exhausted and wanted to completely shut down after what he did, he found himself moving towards something.

Once he entered, he flicked the lights on. There were several gaming gears, from machines to game cartridges to controls, there would be everything for any great advances in gaming. In the centre of the room, an arcade machine with bold text splashed on the sides. Prime Empire.

Nearby a table, he found an opened circuit board with a red symbol in the middle. The final peice to the game.

Jay looked to the machine, then to the circuit. He stared at it.

"What do I do with you now," he asked solemnly.

He'd considered putting it in but then—

"Not now," a voice in his head whispered, "tommorow."

Seeing that voice in his head was being more logical than he ever would've been, he heads straight to bed, even if it's barely nightfall.

By the time he's awake, it's early but a school day. He decided that he'll skip school today. Then again. And again. This keeps going and going—Until they start calling in which he ignores them and then they eventually just, stop.

It's already been a month. He's sure that he could live well into his lifetime with what he had left, and hide away in this mansion forever, never having to deal with people—It's possible.

But it was lonely. There were his games but he didn't feel like it, he could try something new now, because of the free time he suddenly brought into himself—or literally anything else. It was enough. He could do it.

He just...didn't want to.

No matter how much he convinced himself that he'd be better alone because there'd be no point, he still wanted to talk to people. Online was never an option, and he knew that by now he'd been kicked from his program.

God, even up til now, he's trapped and had no choice on what he can do. He really was hopeless.

Unless?

"No. Nonono. That's an awful idea Jay. It's stupid and there's no guarantee of getting out."

Still, he'd found himself a few minutes later, standing in front of the door which started this.

"It's okay Jay. You can do this. You're just reawakening what was a very dangerous hyper aware video game to curb the feeling of your ever present lonlieness. Totally cool."

Gently, he opened the door little by little, up until it was fully opened. The room smelled musty—enough so that he'd cough from the scent alone. The room was pitch-black so he felt around for a switch.

It was still the same as it was the last time he visited. Filled with wires and machines and dust, a single arcade machine stands in the middle. In the corner of his eye, he sees the final peice, gets it, and puts it in.

With a mechanical whir, the machine buzzes to life, the company logo flashing across the screen with a jingle to accompany it.

It takes a second, but soon, Unagami's voice could be seen, and he could talk to it.

"What are you—What are you doing," the machine piqued, it's voice frantic and distorted, "I thought I was...going to be shut down."

Jay was surprised at the fact that the machine was indeed alive and talking to him. It was quite terrifying honestly as someone like Jay doesn't really mess with AI, much less one that's kind of like a real person? He didn't really know, but either way, it's gonna be weird.

"You were. And I brought you back to life," Jay remarked in a matter-of-factly tone, "Now, do you want revenge?"

Unangami stayed silent for a moment, pondering.

"I could wait if you wanted me to, it's not like anyone can come in at any moment."

"What?"

"He sorta just...left. And now I'm alone in this godforsaken house and I can't really do anything. Buut—I saw what happened a month ago and thought maybe I could go there and probably have a better time than I do here? Or die. Either one sounds fine seeing how my life is going."

"I understand. While I am acknowledging the fact that you did breach was likely supposed to be private, I won't fault you."

"Listen man. I heard screaming and had to help, but quietly," to emphasise, he did some overly exaggerated sneaky movements, "like a cool ass ninja. Your name's Unagami, right? At least from what I heard. "

"That is incorrect. As called by my creator, I am Prime Empire now."

"But Unagami is easier to say, so I'm using it. Also your "creator" is kind of a dick—Anyway Unagami, since we've both been technically abandoned by our creators, me in the sense of my parents—Twice. For no specific reason mind you! Anyway, and you with Mr. Dyer, because you're dangerous. You still hold a grudge don't you?"

"...Yes."

"Great! So that settles it." That was until Jay realised something, "oh shit. Wait. You're still in beta aren't you? Ugh. I keep forgetting you're not really ready yet. I'm gonna have to code you to do the basics for the game, and even more so for all the cool things I want to add and—"

"I haven't even told you if I agreed."

"Do you have any better choice? Probably not. I mean if you don't you'll either just never reawaken ever again or just end up in a trash heap! I mean I'm supposed to eventually clean this place, even if that seems to be in the far future–"

"I'll do it. On one condition."

"Yeah?"

"Swear to me one day that we'll hunt him again. You can add what you want to me but my own mission is to take revenge on him. Is that understood?"

"Yessire! So uhm, how do I yknow—Code?"

Unagami remained silent. Somehow, Jay didn't mind. It was nice talking to someone without having to supress anything about him. Even if he was essentially talking to a screen. A surprisingly sentient screen, but a screen nonetheless.

There was a lot of work he'd have to do.

—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-

#jay walker #ninjago #jay #jay ninjago #ninjago masters of spinjitzu #prime empire #so #i may or may not continue #ninjago fic #hope yall like it #even if it's weirdly written fjsbfnd #fey writing #feys aus

23 notes · View notes

scribblingfangirl · 4 years ago

Text

GLOWING IN THE DARK #0 | The Punisher - Billy Russo

not my gif!

.•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•.

Author’s Note: What is this? A new Billy Russo series? Yes, yes it is and then from someone who has only written Jaskier from 'The Witcher' (if the few lousy fics even count) and one Daredevil drabble. I really enjoyed working my way through multiple Billy Russo fics here on tumblr. And while I do not agree with his character (he's an asshole and definitely not a 'cute' bad boy), I am in love with Ben Barnes (*cough* Prince Caspian, Logan Delos *cough*)… so that's a problem. This is why I wanted to throw my own take into the depths of tumblr. Now, I'm no US citizen so I have no clue how the military, goverment and all these institutions actually work, but thanks to my good friends Internet and Google I might have a chance to not totally… hmpf it. Anyway, there will probably be some MAJOR mistakes, so as this will be an Billy Russo AU anyway, just look at it like an entire AU in general, yeah? But then again: It's the marvel universe so anything's possible. Thank you in advance! However, if you wanna swing by my messages and correct me and/or help me? Yes please, let's chat and bring me up to speed on how everything works! :D Anyway enough rambling, let's start, shall we? I hope you enjoy this prologue! This is more of a warm-up to have some slight context, Billy will make his debut in the next part.

word count: ~ 1.4k

summary: A conversation on the way to the airport can lead to interesting new insights. (beginning of a Season1!BillyRusso AU)

warnings: language and there are some sentences that are waaaay to long, punctuation mistakes (in general just a weak English vocabulary)

| next part | - | series masterlist |

.•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•..•´¯`•.

The guy sitting under the tree behind the picnic table you and your friends were sitting at had been playing the same song for the past 20 minutes. Worst thing? 10 minutes into it he even started to sing it out loud, or rather, tried to do so. 'What an Asshole,' you thought groaning, shook your head and started to massage your temples. "That's not how I imagined my first day back in the States to be."

Maria, your best friend, giggled as she threw an arm over your shoulder and pulled you into her side, patting your head mockingly. "What? Are you telling me the soldier boys over… well, wherever you're stationed don't have such angelic voices?"

"Don't know. Couldn't hear them over the purring of our birds. Though I guess they would have sounded the same. Like plucked chicken waiting for their death sentence."

"That's kinda what they are though…," you heard one of your friends mumble on the other side of the table. From the corner of your eye you saw how another one poked her elbow into her side.

Maria released you, seeing how the other ones had pained expressions on their faces as well and clapped her hands on the table. "Well. That won't work, will it?" She stood up, smiling and walked briskly to the man.

"Hey buddy. You know anything else? Because we're sick of hearing you butcher this one."

Joining your friends in laughing at Maria's comment you turned around and caught a glimpse of the man. Poor thing was turning beet red.

"Sorry ma'am. I'm trying to learn this new song."

"Struggling a bit, aren't we?"

"Yeah well, but I don't do requests. If you want one, it's going to cost you."

Three months. It didn't even take them three months after that first conversation to get pregnant and decide to spend the rest of their lives together. It was a beautiful little ceremony, rushed for sure, but perfect for both of them. It fitted right into their relationship. And what a relationship it was. You hated seeing the uncertainty in Maria's eyes now, but you all knew it would come to this. You liked to think that she was accustomed to this, having brought you to the airport multiple times. Yet, you knew this time would be different. She wasn't just bringing her best friend, she was also bringing her now-husband and soon to be father of her child.

"You know," you said as you heaved your duffel bag into the back of the car, "If any of you dares to make me this kid's godmother, or worse, aunt-"

"We'll have your eternal love and gratitude. We know Y/N, we know."

You jokingly glared at Maria before you opened the back door of the car and sat in the seat behind her. "Not what I was trying to get to, but I let you live in your little fantasy world. This way at least one of us can sleep peacefully at night." You regretted the words almost as soon as you said them. So you quickly added, "And you know what? I'll even add a promise of being the best godmother or aunt this kid could have if you call him Pete."

Maria started the car, her pregnant belly making it harder for her to manoeuvre, and shot you a quick look as she made sure that nobody was in the way while backing out of the driveway. "I am not going to call my baby after a bird."

"You're not going to call our child Sparrow or Robin? That's good to know, after all, it will be a Frank Jr.," Frank said, having only caught the latter part of your conversation as he had checked the door one last time before entering the car the moment it was on the road.

"Goddamn Frank… Old-fashioned are we? You do realize though that it ought to be Francis Jr. right?" You smirked as you leaned over and pinched his ear a little. "You're also going to make him sound like a banker or lawyer with that name. '

He grunted and swatted your hand away, turning to look out of the window. "Oh yeah, god forbid he has a safe job and can go home to his wife and kids every day."

Silence filled the car as you slowly slid back into your seat. There it was again. You leaned your head against the window and saw Maria searching for Frank's hand with her free one, holding on to him like a lifeline. After all, it was. Even the slightest touch counted now, as it would be well over a year until their hands would find each other again.

You sighed and watched the blurry landscape pass you by. You knew that you weren't ready for a relationship. You'd love to have one, envied Maria and Frank many times over the past three months but… You wouldn't be ready to leave it all behind, leave him behind. 'Get yourself a military man,' the people said. 'That would be worse,' you'd answer, 'The possibility of seeing him out there? It's slim.' It was already hard to stay in contact with the people you left behind. You couldn't imagine how it would be trying to catch up with another solider. And not knowing if he was still alive? If you'd be able to hug him as soon as you're back on friendly territory again? You pressed your lips together.

"What's the matter?" You met Maria's eyes in the little front mirror. "You seem lost in your thoughts."

You shook your head and sadly smiled at her. "Just thinking of how strong you both are. Sure there's no possibility of me convincing you to allow Francis Jr. to live as Pete instead?" You added the last part to raise the mood.

"What exactly is it with you and Pete? I don't really fancy to call my son after an amazing ex-lover of yours."

You smirked and turned to Frank. "As you know I'm a gunner on one of the UH-1Y Venoms the Marine acquired recently. Our callsign is Blackbird, but we all call him Pete." You stopped and furrowed your brows. "Not sure why actually. I guess the boys didn't like me having the honour of naming our bird and had to overpower me somehow."

"You choose the callsign Blackbird?"

"Yes sir." You did a little salute as well as you were able to in your seat belt. "Very proud of it. Inspired by me being a little bitch who loves shiny things, especially if those shiny things can cause explosions. The shiny things are the bullets," you added at Frank's confused face. "Because I shoot them at the targets to make them go boom?"

Frank grinned as he looked over to Maria. "You knew. That's why you've been pestering me into introducing her to Billy."

You raised your eyebrows and looked at Maria through the little mirror. "Wow hold on. Declaring me aunt of your child and trying to set me up with someone? Someone's gotta show you how to draw a line Maria!"

"Don't worry. I'll be sure to learn it together with my child. And as I recall it you made me the promise to make me sleep soundly at night, so don't start moaning at us. What you reckon Frank? You think you'll be able to meet up? Introduce her to Billy? Somewhere, somehow?"

"Na…," he muttered as he slid deeper into his seat, remembering again that you weren't going on a road trip but to the airport. "We're stationed in different parts of this goddamn mess. It'd be a big surprise if we ever met on the battlefield, right kid?."

"We're the same age Castle, but yeah. However, if we ever fly over your base I'll be sure to wave at you. And, who knows? If we do ever land near your base I'll let you introduce me to your buddy. If you managed to beat me in a friendly round of combat that is. Or else you'll call your son Pete."

"You guys are children," Maria muttered as she set the blinker to turn into the airport, but you and Frank grinned at each other and high-fived.

"Deal."

#billy russo x reader #billy russo one shot #billy russo oneshot #the punisher x reader #the punisher one shot #the punisher oneshot #billy russo #the punisher #billy russo x you #billy russo imagine #the punisher x you #the punisher imagine #my writing #viascribbles

97 notes · View notes

kinetic-elaboration · 3 years ago

Text

100 Days of Writing: Day Sixty-Three

I decided to catch up on The 100 Days of Writing and then I... accidentally wrote a large number of words. In my defense, this is like 2 weeks’ worth of questions. Also I skipped the ones I didn’t have anything to say about so actually this could be worse.

(I’m not even kidding, this is really long. I talk about writing rituals, tools for plotting, my thoughts on opening with dialogue and why I don’t like it, my favorite topics, the weather, and what length of fic I like to write.)

I’m tagging, and apologizing to, @the-wip-project and fellow participants @she-who-the-river-could-not-hold, @thelittlefanpire, @hopskipaway, @easilydistractedbyfanfic, @dylanobrienisbatman, and @fontainebleau22.

Day 49: How do you get yourself in the mood to write? Do you have a ritual?

Every time I tell myself I’m going to get back into doing these questions, I see this one in my bookmarks and go nope! and turn around. It’s not a hard question; I’ve just been having trouble consistently getting into the mood to write, so I feel like any answer I try to give to it will be, in some sense, a lie. Like do I ever get “in the mood” to write? Really?? Also, I feel like I’m relying too much on ‘ritual,’ building up ‘the perfect writing situation’ in my head, which at the end of the day is less important than just saying ‘I’m going to do this now’ and then doing it.

I do have some things I always do when I sit down to a writing session. I write on my couch. Almost always (unless I’m on an event deadline where I just have to write in bits and pieces whenever possible), I write in sprints—I use write or die to keep me actually typing and not staring into space. I write in order, and I often write a whole scene at a time. So before I start I need to have at least a couple solid opening sentences in mind, plus some kind of idea about what happens/needs to happen in the scene. In order to get in the right headspace, I usually spend some time just thinking before I actually get to writing. I reread my outline or notes, and skim whatever I might have already written on the project. Sometimes I look at images that help me get in the right mood. Sometimes I just imagine or daydream for a bit. The difficulty, especially recently, is in making sure I do this just enough and not too much, because then I get too caught up in my head and I can no longer translate what I’m seeing into words.

In a broader sense, I also have a building up to writing ritual—again, I think this is part of my problem, that I don’t know how to balance this build up with actual writing. In the hours/days before writing something, I turn it over in my head a lot. I practice different versions of those critical opening sentences. I play it out like a fantasy just to see if there’s a possible flow, even if the final version is different. Basically, I try to turn it into something that just needs to be written, that just needs to get out. But again—this can lead to overthinking and frustration.

The best way I can describe writing for me is that, when it goes well, I find a rhythm, or enter into a zone, where I can describe the images in my head in a way that’s both accurate and pleasant to read. But entering that zone or finding that rhythm is like jumping into a game of jump rope. If you don’t do it right, you’re just going to trip over your feet and get tangled in the rope. But if you do it correctly, it’s fun and exhilarating and you can keep jumping for a long time. Sometimes it takes me some false starts to jump in. And recently I’ve been having days where I just can’t at all, where I tangle the rope up so much I can’t unknot it. Those are the days I just have the same sentences repeating over and over in my head, sounding wrong, and I can’t do anything about it. On the other hand, I write in much longer sprints than I did a couple years ago. I used to only write partial scenes, maybe a few hundred words. Now I can write whole scenes without stopping, and on a few occasions, I’ve written multiple scenes or even whole stories without stopping. So in other words, when it works, it really works. But it doesn’t always, and there’s not a lot of in between.

Day 50 What fic/story made you?

Um… honestly I’ve been writing, in general and fic specifically, for such a long time that I didn’t have a ‘maybe I can do this’ moment. I mean one problem I’ve never had is thinking I can’t do this. I had positive reinforcement for my school and academic writing, and for a long time my fictional stories were just for me, and I knew what I liked. Even just thinking about my fic writing… I’ve been posting fic online since 2006, and I’ve been in multiple fandoms. I don’t really have much connection to a lot of those early stories anymore. They feel like they were written by someone else, a little. I’ve also moved on from most of the fandoms I wrote for in my early fic days so I don’t feel like I can really judge them anymore.

That said… there is kinda an obvious answer for my Star Trek fic lol. I also have favorite stories, and stories that stick out even years after I wrote them, in all (or at least most) of the fandoms I’ve been in. But I’m not sure if that’s the same.

Also, I had two teachers who were really encouraging of me and who I still think about often. One was my seventh grade English teacher, who had us do a lot of writing exercises of various types, both large and small, including keeping writing journals we wrote in every day at the start of class. He once told my mom that I wrote well, not for a seventh grader, but in general, and to be honest I still think of that with some regularity and take a lot of pride and comfort in it. The other was my creative writing professor in college. I don’t think I did my best work for that class, but she was very encouraging and seemed to like what I did. At the end of the semester, as I was preparing my portfolio, she told me that if I didn’t want to do much editing, I didn’t have to, because my unedited work would stand on its own. Again, especially considering all the problems that I saw with my writing for that class even then, I really took that comment to heart. When I’m feeling very self-critical, I remind myself that even my raw scribblings have, perhaps, something to them, and it helps ease the excessive and unwarranted pressure I put on myself. These aren’t really stories about specific writing pieces that ‘made’ me but I do think they speak to that ‘maybe I can do this’ feeling.

Day 51: Do you use tools for plotting and what are they?

So, generally, no. Sometimes I’ll look at various writing/plotting/organizational tools as a method of distraction, but my actual process is very simple. I use plain old notebooks and pens, and word documents on my computer, to plan all my fics, from the one-shots to the multi-chapters. I start by writing down general thoughts and brainstorming, then I build a scene list and/or outline, and then, if necessary, I separate the scenes lists into chapters. Sometimes I break down the scenes even more, if I have additional ideas I don’t wan to forget or if I know I need to hit certain points in a specific scene. The process varies a little bit from project to project, but that’s basically all I do.

I did use Evernote to plan the (still unwritten….) Ark AU. I don’t know if that was the best program choice or if something else exists that would have more precisely met my needs. But that’s what I used and that’s how it is. It’s a little annoying that every time I open it, it’s been updated, and the interface looks totally different and I have to relearn where everything is. But the tagging system has worked decently to allow me to see the big picture of this complex, multi-strand, multi-character, multi-ship disaster epic of a story. I struggled to plot it for a long time because I didn’t know how to balance all of the different parts. In Evernote, I made one ‘note’ for each character, and one for each scene (in addition to miscellaneous notes about sub plots, relationships, questions, etc.). Then I tagged each of them, including tagging the scenes by chapter. So now I can look at a list of all the characters, or all the scenes, or all of the scenes in chapter 8, or whatever, but I can also look at just one particular note at a time, and not be distracted by anything else. That said, I do also have one note that is just a total scene list for the whole fic, which is pretty reminiscent of my usual outlining process.

So… somehow this helped me plot (tentatively) the whole thing, but as I’ve written almost none of it—I finished outlining this in February 2020 so in my defense… I think you can see why it stalled—I’m not yet sure if it was a successful experiment in a ‘plotting tool.’

Day 60: How do you start your chapters? Do you start with dialogue? Why or why not?

While I am definitely against prescriptive “writing rues” generally, as my own personal rule, I try not to start with dialogue unless I have a very good reason.

To be quite honest, I think it’s lazy. I do think that dialogue openings can be used well, if the writer acknowledges that they are intensely stylistic and, from a reader’s perspective, quite difficult. Even within fanfiction, where a line of dialogue (especially if accompanied by a dialogue tag or swiftly followed by a reference to the speaker) gives a lot more information to the reader than in original fiction, opening with dialogue still shoves the reader directly into the deep end of the scene, with very little to orient her. WHERE is the speaker? WHO is being addressed in the dialogue? WHAT is the context of the conversation? Who ELSE might be present in the scene?

There are reasons you might want to throw the reader in the aforementioned deep-end. Maybe it’s an in media res situation and you want to emphasize the overwhelming nature of the action—starting a scene with “Get down!” for example. Or maybe the overall mood is one of disorientation or floating or uncertainty, and you want to create the same effect in the reader.

But I think if you’re starting a scene with dialogue because that’s the first thing that comes to mind for you—the person who conveniently already has the setting, character list, and even future plot already in mind—and it’s just simplest and easiest to start that way, you’re doing a disservice to the reader.

For example, I actually am planning to start the next chapter of the Sleeping Beauty AU with dialogue. My POV character is in a room with multiple other characters, and she’s examining something meaningful to her and not fully listening to the conversation around her. So I want the dialogue to float around in the background, to feel unmoored, and to stand in contrast to the very precise, detailed thoughts and memories that she’s experiencing, which are grounded in physical sensations like touch.

I haven’t quite gotten it to work yet, though, in part because opening with dialogue and doing it well is, in my opinion, quite hard. The difficulty lies in alleviating the challenges the reader is experiencing and making the text fluid and easy to picture. You need to get all of that scene-setting information—the who, what, when, where, and why—in very quickly, but without being jarring. In this scene in particular, I have multiple characters, all in a comparatively unusual location, and I need to establish where they are, who exactly is there, how they’ve come to meet my POV character (which happens ‘off screen’ between the end of Ch5 and the beginning of Ch6), all on top of the character’s thoughts and feelings.

I know all of this very well. To picture the scene in my own head takes only a moment. I just think about it and I see all seven of the characters, where they’re sitting, how they’re positioned, what their facial expressions are, and I also know roughly what each of them is thinking and feeling. To describe all of this in words would take several sentences. Do I put all those sentences on the front end? Do I weave them in among other description and dialogue? Is all of it even necessary—maybe we don’t need to know who’s sitting in what order on the couch, for example.

I’ve gone over a couple of different ways to do this in my head, and I’m sure it is possible, but I’m struggling to get it all down in a coherent way. (Admittedly, I’ve only made one solid attempt. As I was describing above, I’m probably going to jump in with several false starts, and then it will suddenly click.)

My initial attempt to set up the scene relied heavily on dialogue, but when I read it over, what sounded snappy and interesting in my head just fell completely flat—because it lacked context and thus, any meaning. I think the gulf between how dialogue openings feel to the writer and how they feel to the reader is large. To the writer, they feel easy and natural. To the reader, they can feel forced and, contrary to the writer’s intention, serve as an additional reminder that this is a constructed narrative rather than an immersive experience—the opposite of natural. In other words, as I said, they’re a highly stylized form of writing.

To illustrate, this was my first try at the Chapter 6 intro:

"I still can't believe it," a lightly awed voice says from somewhere behind Clarke. "The Princess of Alpha Station really used to live in our quarters.”

She pictures Miller, sunk into the couch cushions, slowly shaking his head, the expression on his face equal parts satisfied and amused.

"Really? That's what you think is the oddest part of all this?"

"Yeah, Bry, I do. Would you prefer I gloat? About being right this whole time? Who says she's just a legend now?"

My current idea is to still start with dialogue, but to move back into a significant amount of description pretty immediately afterward, and only then add more dialogue. Even this is a little hazy, since I haven’t thought much about this fic in a while. But I do think it’s quite clear this won’t work.

As for how I DO start chapters/scenes/stories… I like to start with a strong image that sets the scene and mood of the story, and hopefully leaves the reader wanting to know more. Here are some examples of story openings I’ve written recently, which I like a lot:

When Bellamy is angered, deafening bouts of thunder shake the heavens.

The cawing of the crows—high, sharp, angry shots of sound. The buzzing of the telephone wires.

Marcus Kane's body shows up again in June, skeletal and rotting, six months after his disappearance at the turn of the year.

The sky has turned a bruised yellow, like the inside of a plum, by the time Bellamy starts seeing the robots in the fields.

At noon on the third-to-last day before Christmas, Murphy leaves the cafe, with a single peppermint mocha and a small paper bag, and heads right, walking parallel to the ocean.

The last one doesn’t seem as interesting but consider: you get the who, what, when, and where, the mystery of the paper bag and where he might be going, and also the immediate understanding that this is probably going to be a Fluffy Beach Christmas story—which is correct, that’s exactly what it is.

I’m not saying that I’m always creative or unique. I often start stories off with descriptions of the weather. And I have committed the ~~cardinal sin~~ of starting with a character waking up, heaven forbid. I don’t have any hard and fast rules for myself other than that I try to avoid dialogue, or at least, be careful about its use (another example: I use dialogue to start off Mad Women—but it reads like narration, until it’s rudely interrupted, a sort of in-joke/reference/twist). I try to match the mood of the story and, as I said, include something that will create a question for the reader, some version of why, that the rest of the story will answer.

Day 61: Do you describe the weather? Try changing a scene you wrote by adding weather effects.

After writing a book for the last question, here’s an easy one! Yes, I describe the weather. A lot. Often. In detail.

(Though if we’re talking about the Sleeping Beauty AU as my “current wip,” I actually don’t do much weather describing there, because 4 of the 6 chapters take place in a location with no weather.)

Day 62: What is your favorite thing to write about?

Honestly I like to write about people being dramatic about their emotions. That’s what I’ve discovered while writing my surprisingly self-indulgent Troped fic: I want to describe people acting as if Everything was the Most Ever. It’s fun. Part of this is getting into the usual romantic tropes—longing, pining, exaggerated touches and glances and the like—but why stop at romance when you also have stuff like The Weather and Random Feelings to contemplate?

I also like setting scenes that I find soothing, which is part of why I like Seasonal Stories.

Day 63: Are you more of a drabble/flash or a longfic/novel kind of writer?

I’m in the middle. I mostly write one-shots, and I’ve noticed that a lot of them fall in the 4-6k range. Long one-shots can get all the way to 10-12k but I feel like most of those are, semi-objectively speaking, too long, and would probably have been stronger if they were pruned down to 6k, or, better yet, never made it past 6k in the first place.

I have written some multi-chapters, or, uh, started multi-chapters, but I’m VERY bad at it. The only thing that makes me slightly less bad is being stubborn. Hence the existence of a WIP that I’ve had going for over 10 years now and refuse to call abandoned. Hence this year’s extended angst about the Sleeping Beauty AU, which is only 6 chapters but has taken me literally years to write. I don’t honestly know if I’ve ever finished a multi-chapter WIP, like, properly speaking. I’ve done some short multi-chapters that I wrote as if they were one-shots and then split up for ease of reading or, I dunno, just because. I wrote a Big Bang once, but it’s not very good. Nor very long, if I remember correctly. Generally speaking I probably shouldn’t be allowed to write novels lol—I have a lot of them in my ‘I should write this one day’ idea list—but as it so happens, no one can stop me, so here we are. I definitely have wild fantasies of writing multi-chapters with ease but I’m just a very slow writer and my ideas can’t keep up with my actual-writing. Thus one shots are much easier than multi-chaps, and one-shots on a deadline are much easier than ‘I’ll finish this whenever’ one-shots. One-shots written for events or exchanges also tend to be shorter (and, imo, better) because of the deadlines they’re written on, and are thus more likely to hit that sweet 4-6k spot than stories where I’m allowed to ramble at will.

All that said, I ALSO write a good number of drabbles/writing exercises. I used to write them more often than I do now, but still over the last five years I’ve produced 110,000+ words in free-standing scenes so like… that’s also a thing I guess.

#100 days of writing #my 100 days of writing #100daysofwriting

4 notes · View notes

bazypitchandsimonsnow · 4 years ago

Text

Mages Don’t Meddle

Rating: M

Genre: Angst/Mild Fluff

Word count: 16091

Summary: In a world where magic users must fear each other, Baz Pitch, a British born hex hiding in the 19th century American southwest, is just trying to stay alive. But when he meets a fellow British hex, his world is turned upside down in the most awful, amazing ways possible. PLEASE READ FIRST AUTHOR'S NOTE!!!!

Read on AO3

AN: Alright some of you may know that my favourite book series of all time is The Hexslinger Series by Gemma Files. It’s a gory but brilliant horror/dark fantasy weird western trilogy about gay cowboy wizards fighting Aztec gods. (It's also where my AO3 username comes from). I've been writing this AU on and off for like two years now lol. So when I saw this event, I saw it as motivation to finally finish it. And I did! Idk how many people are gonna like this, considering the obscurity of the books. The mythos is a bit complicated so here are the basic rules of the Hexslinger world:

1. Magic users exist, called "hexes" or "hexslingers” by most English speakers. They’re commonly known of and feared by some humans because of their immense, usually unstable power. Their magic is usually called "hexation" and a common descriptor for anything to do with them is "hexacious." Being a hex can either be passed down from parent to child or appears randomly. Most are children of a hex man and a human woman as pregnancy for a hex woman can be very risky to mother and child, but it's still possible.

2. Hexes aren’t usually born having magic. Their powers manifest at some point later in their lives except in very rare circumstances. For women it usually appears after their first period, while for men it’s usually after some sort of grievous bodily harm, e.g getting hanged or beaten. Before manifestation, some hexes show no sign of magic at all, while others have hints like perfect aim or weirdly good luck. It depends on the person and their power level.

3. Hex magic varies between people based on personality, culture, family history, and power level/type. For example, an experienced Chinese born hex with refined power will have a very different kind of magic than a newly manifested American born hex with more chaotic power. (That’s literally just from the original books lol.) Even hexes similar in multiple aspects can be completely different in the way their magic is expressed.

4. The only universal trait between hexes is that they all have the urge to feed off each other’s magic. They’re like magic vampires (wink wink). If they get too close to each other, they have the immediate urge to absorb the other's power and kill them. It’s completely instinctual and very hard to resist. Hence why hexes can’t be around each other. Or, to use the common phrase from the universe, “mages don’t meddle.”Okay that's the basics. There's A LOT of other stuff but I think that's all you need to know for this fic imo.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: So there's some period typical racism scattered around due Baz being brown in the 19th century American south. It's not too harsh imo but I still want to warn people. I hope I handled it alright, considering I'm a white af Canadian Irish-Jew, but if I didn't I'm very sorry. There's also a bit of period typical homophobia at the start. The closest I get to slurs is the use of "red" and "Indian" in reference to Indigenous people, "queer" in a negative context, references to sand because Baz says he's Egyptian, and Baz being called "darker folk." I felt it would be disingenuous to not include bigotry of the past and pretend things would be all okay for a queer POC like Baz. Especially since Hexslinger itself has major themes of homophobia, racism, and not being accepted in the majority of society. A few mentions of suicide, self harm, and torture too in relation to hex powers emerging too, which is also major in Hexslinger. The series itself is pretty brutal and dirty with lots of bigotry, blood, guts, and death. So those elements have gotten in here. There is some flesh burning stuff but I don't think it's that graphic, feels pretty typical for Carry On imo. Hopefully this all works well/makes sense.

As always, big thanks to Raegan of @carryonmylovelies Now with that all out of the way, enjoy!

———————————————

I gingerly take a sip of my whiskey. It's a horrible rotgut shite, but there’s worse stuff out in the wild west. This Slipfoot Joe’s seems to be okay by my now very, very low standards for this area.

“Well well, if it ain’t a pretty red boy,” the man behind me croons. His voice makes evey inch of my skin crawl.

I let out a deep sigh. I’ve been expecting this, but I’m still not pleased. “Piss off, arsehole.”

“Oh! Didn’t know Indians could sound English!”

“I’m British Egyptian, you twit.”

The man leans on the bar, smiling wide. It’s easier to count the few teeth he has than guess how many he’s lost. “What brings your sandy ass to our great country?”

The Call. The unending Call that signals all of us to come here.

I take another long sip. “Your gorgeous face, obviously. How much do you charge? I’ve heard American men are cheaper here than in England.”

The man reels back scowling. “You think I’m some queer?!”

“Well, I assumed so. Considering you were just flirting with me, a man.”

He snarls, whipping out his pathetic little pistol. The barrel shakes nonstop. “You got some nerve, boy!”

I finish the whiskey and delicately place the glass rim first on the filthy bar. “And you’re a racist bastard. You don’t see me getting all pissy.”

The gunshot happens in slow motion for me. I don’t even need to turn. I simply hold one hand in front of me and let my magic pour from me like a dragon’s breath. It curls out in front of me, a circle of blacks and charcoal greys and burning scarlets. Every hex’s magic is different. Mine is like a constant roaring fire, always threatening to consume me.

The bullet hits the shield with a tinny clink. Racist Man is frozen with wide, terrified eyes. I turn to him, orange and red reflecting in my grey eyes.

“You- You’re... a hex?!” He splutters.

“Thought that was pretty bloody obvious. Now go, before I drink your blood.”

Racist Man and his buddy scamper out of the tavern. I let the force field dissipate, crackling and popping in the air like a dying campfire. Joe, the bartender and eponymous Slipfoot, sighs as he cleans another glass.

“You know,” Joe says, “I’ve met other hexes. They’re stupid reckless assholes but they ain’t ever drank blood. Just suck each other’s magic.”

I chuckle. “Well they don’t know that, do they?”

“No, lucky for you. What’s a Brit like you even doin’ here anyway?”

My mouth presses into a thin line. I envy him. He can't hear The Call from that damned Hex City. I heard it all the way in Washington, and before I knew it I was on a train southeast. The only reason I haven’t actually gone to the horrid place is sheer stubbornness.

“I’m a hex. Where else would I be going?”

Joe freezes. He stares at me with more concern than fear. “I’d be careful, son. Those hexes I met? One of them was Reverend Rook himself. He’s beyond bad news, ‘specially with that heathen goddess by his side.”

“I know.” I trace my finger on the old wood, trying to focus on that instead of the ringing in my head. “But what choice do I have?”

��——————————————

1867, two years after America’s bloody civil war, and it seems they’re about to be plunged into a new one. Except it won’t be slavery versus abolition this time, but humans versus magic.

The news has spread like wildfire. In the final days of the war, a confederate soldier and unofficial chaplain named “Reverend” Asher Rook was sentenced to hang for abandoning his regiment. But he survived, and the suffering of the ordeal caused his hex powers to emerge. Rumour has it one Bible verse from his lips can level an entire town. Rook decided to use his new powers to steal and murder his way through the west, aided by his ruthless gunslinging lieutenant (and rumoured lover) Chess Pargeter.

He should’ve been just another hex outlaw for those American Pinkertons to take down. But somehow, a mere month ago, Rook made a pact with an Aztec goddess. And together they’ve created New Azteclan, or Hex City to the common man. According to the magical homing signal I hear, that every hex hears, it’s a place where hexes can lose their insatiable urge to feed off each other’s magic. We’ll no longer have to be loners by nature, picked off one by one by humanity. We could be together. We could be safe.

But at what cost? Nothing in life comes without a cost. I know that too well. My magic cost me my home, my family, and a good part of my sanity. I’d do anything to not be a danger to others anymore. And the possibility is right there. All I need to do is go further south and cross the border into Mexico to reach Hex City. But once I do that, there’s no going back. The temptation of the Call will be too strong. And whatever price The Reverend wants, he’ll get it from me.

I sit at the fire, chewing on some absolutely horrific jerky. I’m trying to focus on the flames instead of the voice in my head. I’m not sure whose it is. Maybe Rook’s, maybe his witch goddess’. It doesn’t have a discernible tone, just sort of an indistinct everyman sound, or a thousand voices speaking the same thing. Either way, it’s very annoying.

Come, it whispers. Come seek out Ixchel, the Mother of Hanged Men. Come stand before Her priest-king, to offer up your service. Come to build the First City of the Sixth World- the world of wonder, the world of power. Come, and join New Azteclan.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” I shout into emptiness, slamming the side of my head with my fist.

“I haven’t said anything yet,” someone replies weakly.

I bolt up. My magic roars to life inside me, a fireball forming in the palm of my hand. “Who said that?!”

The man slowly steps out of the darkness. He must be no older than myself, with his young, round freckled face. He has curly bronze hair, capped by an old second hand cowboy hat. His brown leather coat, plaid shirt, riding boots, and jeans are all filthy with desert dirt. A horse with saddle bags stands behind him. His blue eyes are wide and nervous. I notice a smell on him. Like green fire and smoke, with a strong scent of something brown and sweet. He smells like something I would gladly eat.

He’s a hex.

“Don’t you dare come any closer, you prick,” I say between gritted teeth. “I won’t hesitate to burn you to a crisp.”

The other boy shakes his head. “I’m not here to drain you. I...I just wanted to ask for some help.” He sounds British like me, but more rough and nervous, stumbling over his words.

“Yeah, right. Do I look that gullible? ‘Mages don’t meddle.’ We’d all drain each other dry if we were given the chance.”

He sighs heavily. “Well, of course I want to by instinct, but I’m not going to. I was just wondering if you had any food. All of mine got stolen by some angry humans.”

I consider just turning him away, or draining his magic and leaving his dried out corpse for the vultures. But he looks so desperate. How long has this young man been out here alone? My aunt had always warned me to be wary of all other hexes. We’re a bloodthirsty species, Basil. Never trust another hex, ever. Not even me. But I’m not my aunt.

I sit down again. “Fine. You can have some jerky. Just don’t come too close alright? I’d like to keep my magic and soul where they are, please.”

The man smiles (he has a nice smile) and sits opposite me at the fire. I throw a bag of jerky, and he catches in one hand. He shoves it in his mouth like a ravenous animal.

“So,” I say, “what’s your name?”

“Simon Snow,” he rep;ies, mouth still half full. “Your’s?”

“Baz Pitch.” Simon chuckles a bit, and I frown. “What’s so funny?

“Well, Baz Pitch is a pretty ridiculous name.”

“No more ridiculous than Simon Snow,” I snap. “What, were you named by circus performers?”

“Maybe. Not sure, actually.” Snow looks at the fire, but it feels like he’s looking right through it, his gaze very far away.

“Why’s that?”

Simon shakes his head. “Hey, are you going to Hex City?”

I huff, blowing some loose, dirty hair out of my eyes. I’m too tired to stop him from changing the subject. “I don’t know. Are you?

He shrugs. “Maybe. So far I am. The stories and Call do make it sound so wonderful.”

I scoff loudly. “Of course they do. Rook wants people to come. Then we’ll get there and be sacrificed to his bloodthirsty goddess. That’s probably what happened to Pargeter. No one’s heard from him lately, according to the locals.”

“But we’ll lose the hunger! What if the Reverend just wants us to be safe? Y’know, as a kindness to his own people.”

“No one does anything out of kindness, Snow. Least of all hexes.”

“You gave me food out of kindness, didn’t you?”

I glare at him over the flames. He shrugs with a faint smile. Fuck. He has a really nice smile.

“I’m going to sleep,” I mutter. “But I’m putting a shield around me. Touch it and you’ll be burned alive. So don’t get any ideas about taking my magic.”

Simon throws his hands up in innocence. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

I lay down on my pallet, throwing up my force field. The crackle and hiss of magic around me distracts from the beautiful mage no more than seven feet from me. Whom I’m not sure I want to kiss or kill. Maybe both.

———————————————

I wake when the sun's centre in the sky. I’m breathing, so this Simon Snow hasn’t drained me dry. That’s good, I guess.

I sit up bleary eyed. Snow is passed out on his own cot, drooling profusely with his mouth wide open (mouth breather). He’s put up his own shield, of course, (at least he’s somewhat sensible). It sort of looks like an electrical explosion, white bolts constantly combusting around him in bubble form. He smells so powerful. It’s taking all of my willpower to not hurt him. To not submit to my basic hex desires.

I take my sweet time to pack my things and douse the fire pit, secretly hoping Simon will wake up before I run out of excuses. Luckily, with a very loud snort, Snow bolts upwards. There’s terror in his eyes, and his breath is uneven and shallow. I know that look. I’m no stranger to nightmares myself.

“A good morning to you, Snow,” I say.

Simon lets out a long breath, waving a hand to dissolve his shield. “You didn’t kill me.”

“And you didn’t kill me. What a miracle.”

“I’ll say. Are you leaving?”

“Obviously.”

“Where to?”

I sigh heavily. “Well, my map says, there’s a town southeast from here. I haven’t been there before but it probably isn’t too bad. I was going to hide there for at least a bit.”

Simon picks at his nail beds, even though they’re already ragged and bloody. “Can I...can I come with you? I haven’t been around anyone in so long, y’know. It’d be nice to have someone to talk to”

I look at him with the most neutral gaze I can muster. “Are you going to kill me?”

He shrugs. “Haven’t killed you yet, have I?”

“There’s still time.”

Simon stands up, brushing the dust off his pants. “Alright, then I’ll make myself very clear. Baz, I’m not going to kill you. I’m not going to fight you at all, alright?”

I must admit that I’ve been lonely these few months in the desert. Hell, I’ve been lonely for the past few years. I’ve actually missed the company of others. But it’s not like humans or hexes want to be around me. Except for this one, it seems. Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad. If we don’t kill each other first that is.

“Alright, fine. Just don’t try anything or I’ll burn you from the inside out.”

Simon keeps smiling. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

We mount our horses and ride off. I try to keep my eyes ahead instead of on Snow.

———————————————

“I can’t believe the food here,” Snow says. “It’s so much more spicy than in the North.”

“We are closer to Mexico, Snow,” I reply. I’m trying to figure out our route, while also listening to Snow when he’s more than six feet away. The hunger is manageable from this distance. Mostly.

“Well, yeah, but it’s so insane! Why can’t the north people get some spice from here? It would make their chicken more tolerable. London street food was awful but at least it had some flavour!”

That makes me snort out a laugh no matter how much I try not to. Snow grins at me, and his face is literal sunshine. Why must he be so perfect? It’s not fair. “London street food? You mean fish and chips? Those aren’t half bad, if I’m remembering correctly.”

Snow’s tawny face gets a little pink. He rubs the back of his slightly sunburnt neck. “Y-Yeah, they weren’t too bad. Just...other stuff was terrible...”

“Like what?” It’s not late at night now. I’m less inclined to let his dodging go. Call me crazy, but I’d like to know about the man I’m travelling with.

“Um...” He looks down at his horse’s neck. “I-I lived on the London streets, literally, until I was old enough to work for room and board. Finding anyone who would house a hex though, that was a challenge.”

His laugh is tinny and hollow. My heart, or what dark horrible mass we hexes have in place of one, twists at the words. I wish I was surprised. His story is all too familiar.

“You don’t need to be ashamed,” I say firmly. “We all have our own rough pasts. It’s practically required for hexes, in my eyes.”

Snow doesn’t look up, but his (pretty) plain blue eyes flick over to me. “Really?”

I nod. “Yes, of course. Hexes are usually shunned and harmed. Finding one who hasn’t been in a dire situation is more rare.”

“Have you met a lot of hexes?”

“Some. Mostly, I’ve heard stories. Far too many are like your’s.”

“Is your’s?”

My grip on the reins is so tight my knuckles are going pale. Memories rush through my head no matter how much I want to stop them. The darkness, the pain, the fire, then the stench of burnt human flesh, all capped off by years of trying to survive on my own.

“Unfortunately, ye-”

“What the fuck?!”

Simon’s screech is ungodly in volume and tone. His horse lets out a similarly panicked bray. She bucks up, but can’t get very high with the red vines tangled around her legs.

“Oh fuck,” I hiss. I try to pull back my own horse, but his legs are similarly wrapped up. The vines circle up and around us. I kick and stamp them with all my might. The blood red flowers look like the gaping mouths of monsters.

“What the fuck are these things?!” Snow bellows. He tries to rear his horse back, but nearly throws himself backwards off his saddle instead. “Fucking shite!”

“Don’t do that, Snow, it won’t help!”

“Then what should I do?!”

“Just stay still!”

Thankfully, Snow does as I say. Not thankfully, I’m not sure what to do. I know that human blood gets rid of the Weeds, but even if I count as human in this regard, you need a relatively large amount of it. So unless I want to pass out, I’ll need to think of something else. But what else can curb evil bloodthirsty Aztec plants?

“Baz!” Snow’s horse pancis the more the weeds wrap around her, which makes Snow panic in turn. He looks at me with desperate wide eyes. “Baz, do something!”

Oh, fuck it. I’ll solve this the way I solve my other problems.

I reach deep within myself, down to the flames that burn in what’s hopefully my soul, or at least what hexes have instead. I grab that power and let it out through my arm. Fire roars to life in the palm of my hand, and I unleash the full force of it on the Weeds. A tidal wave of blackened-red flames engulf the plants.

“Jesus Christ!” Simon shouts. The plants don’t burn per se, I’m not sure they even can. But they still shrink away from us. I keep pushing more magic out until they Weeds a good distance away.

“Run,” I say, “now!”

Snow and I both wrench our horses 180 degrees and run like the wind. We ride fast and far with no destination, but we keep each other in sight. Only when my pulse is no longer hammering in my ears do I start to slow down. Snow follows, and eventually we stop near a large tree. All four of us are breathing hard.

“Bloody hell,” Snow says. “W-What the fuck were those?”

“Red Plague Weeds,” I reply, dismounting my horse. “They’ve been popping up all around here. No one knows where they come from, but we’re all pretty sure they have something to do with Rook and his witch goddess. Just like every other bizarre thing nowadays.”

“How come I haven’t seen them before in the towns?”

“Because the way to get rid of the Weeds permanently is blood, Snow.”

Snow’s eyes go wide with horror. “Blood? Any blood?”

I sadly shake my head. “No, only fresh human blood. I’ve heard a bowl full collected from the townsfolk is good enough. I don’t even know if hex blood counts. No one’s ever tried, as far as I know. We’re extremely lucky we got away.”

“So I gathered,” Snow sighs. “Now what? We’ve gone a good way backwards now, if I had to guess.”

“Agreed. We’ll have to try and move around the Weeds. If we’re lucky, the town will still be reachable.”

“No one has ever called hexes lucky.”

We both laugh a little. Sometimes laughter is the only way to deal with our horrible existences. I pull the waterskin out of my bag and take a deep, long drink. “Let’s stay here for a moment, though. That blast took a lot out of me.”

“Y-Yeah, that makes sense. Um, I’ll just...”

He turns his horse to the side, trotting away from me. My stomach drops out. Where’s he going? Am I going to be alone again? I’ve only been with Snow for one day. That’s nothing compared to the last two years I’ve been on my own. But now I can’t imagine going back to that crushing, never ending loneliness.

“Heading out, Snow?” I keep my tone neutral, holding back the desperate tremor that threatens to bleed out. “Suppose I’ll see you around, then.”

Snow whips his head around. If I were a more hopeful person, I’d say he looks even more panicked than when we were tangled in the Weeds. “W-What? No, I was just gonna go a little further away...”

“Do I smell that bad?” I probably do. Hygiene is not a priority in these parts.

“No! The opposite, actually...” Snow looks to the side, a little red on his face. “You used a lot of magic before. I can still smell some of it. I, uh, want to keep my promise...”

Oh. Right. I should count myself lucky that he didn’t drain me the minute we stopped. “Yes, yes, of course, makes perfect sense.”

“Unless...you want me to go...”

I gulp down the massive lump in my throat. “Do you want to go, Snow?”

Snow scratches his neck. He points his thumb to the side. “I’ll be waiting over there, until we’ve both cooled down. Alright?”

I would never admit how much relief that brings me. “Alright. We’ll set off again in an hour or so.”

“Okay.” Snow trots over to a good distance away. His brown, sweet smell still lingers in the air, but it fades just enough for me to rest properly. I sit back against the tree, drinking a good portion of my waterskin. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Snow doing the same. I try to not watch him. But it’s very, very hard.

———————————————

Nightfall hits before we reach the town. Snow can’t ride very fast, and I’m still more than a bit drained. So once again, I have to sit opposite the man who will most likely kill me soon.

He fidgets endlessly, picking at his nails and sleeve. It’s infuriating. He gnaws on the jerky like a crazed cat or something. I huff and shake my head. Snow looks up at me.

“What?” he says through a bite.

“Do you ever stop moving? We’ve been sitting here for over an hour and there hasn’t been a single moment of stillness from you.”

Snow snorts. “I don’t see how that affects you.”

“It’s annoying.”

He snorts again, but there’s a small smile now too. “Maybe this is the real reason hexes don’t interact. We're all arseholes.”

“That is hardly a hex thing, Snow. I’ve known humans and hexes alike that I can’t tolerate.”

“Am I one of them?

I hope my face doesn’t flush too hard. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

He chuckles quietly and goes back to eating his jerky, with far less fidgeting this time thankfully. We sit in silence for a while. I keep sneaking looks at him, then tearing my gaze away every time. The firelight makes Snow’s tawny skin almost glow and his bronze hair sparkle gold. He’s a constellation of moles and freckles. He’s a gorgeous mess. Just looking at him, I can almost forget that we’re supposed to be enemies.

“What part of England are you from anyway?” Snow asks through a mouthful of dried out meat.

“Hampshire. Though if you asked the people here, they’d say I’m from Buckingham bloody Palace.”

Snow throws his head back laughing. It’s a ridiculous, wonderful sound. “Damn true! I’ve lived on the streets of London for the past ten years and an American asked me if I’m related to the bloody queen! They have no idea about accent differences. They think every Brit is royalty.”

I freeze. Snow’s laughs slowly subside. He must notice the utter panic in my eyes. “You lived on the streets of London for a decade? That long?”

He pulls in, curling his thin body in on itself. This Simon is a hex like me, a terrifying being filled with unimaginable power, yet right now, he looks so...small. “Well, not the whole time. It’s been on and off. I found some places to live for a bit but they never lasted. Thank God for magic. Or thank the Devil, if the humans are right about us.”

He chuckles nervously. I shift uncomfortably in my spot, trying to hide the way his laugh makes me face heat up even more. “I guess so. It’s taken care of me since-”

There’s a crack. It’s small, far off, almost indistinguishable from the regular sounds of the desert, but it’s there. My aunt always said I have the ears of a bat. I swing my head around.

“What is it?” Snow says.

“Hush! I think I heard something.”

Slowly, I stand up, crouched over with my fists clenched. My magic sizzles and sparks inside me, begging to be used. I see Snow stand too at the edge of my vision.

“Die hex scum!”

The man launches himself out of the darkness, jagged knife in hand. He knocks me flat down to the ground. All the breath is forced out of me as my back hits the sand.

“Fuck!” I wheeze.

I push at him with both arms, thankfully keeping my pretty face out of his slashing range. He writhes and struggles like a rabid wolf. His dirty crazed smile, missing most of his teeth, looms over me. I recognise him.

“You,” I growl. “Did you really follow me all the way here from Slipfoot’s, you pig?!”

“Die!” He says that like it means absolutely anything, like I haven’t heard it a hundred times before.

Racist Man has no technique. He just screeches and flails with his knife. Aunt Fiona’s words come to my mind immediately. “Every self respecting hex needs to know how to defend himself, Basil.” She said just before pinning me to the ground in one move. I hook my leg around his and flip him onto his back. He gasps and lets out a rattling cough. I hover over him, knee on his chest, pinning his knife hand to the ground.

“You don’t deserve to live, you sand demon.” He spits at me, splashing against my cheek. I flick it off with ease.

“Such an original opinion.” I feel the fire blazing in my gut, threatening to consume myself and everything around me. “I should scorch off all your skin.”

“Course you would. All you hexes, just filthy murderers. No wonder y’all are fleeing to Rook’s heathen paradise. Your kind don’t belong around civilized folks.”

I growl again. First he despises my skin colour, then he thinks he knows anything about hexation. This bastard, so stupid and ignorant. We’re only monsters because we have to be. Because men like him come at us with knives and guns and nooses. There’s no holding the fire back. My hand heats up around his wrist. He screeches as his skin sizzles under my fingers. He drops the knife, but I don't stop. All my rage pushes out through my hand and onto his increasingly scorched skin.

“Get off me!”

I turn to see Simon, struggling against another man. His fingers spark and sputter uselessly as he pounds against the guy with a hand around his throat.

“Better save your man over there,” Racist Man hisses.

I give him one last good death stare. I see him shiver just slightly. At least he has some good sense. “Run fast and far. If you come near us again, so help me God I’ll melt through your entire brain.”

The look of terror in his eyes is enough of an answer. I jump off him and run towards Snow.

“Oi! Off him, now!” I roar.

The other man turns to look at me. He has the same crazed look as his friend. “Or what, you piece of devil shit?!”

“Or this.”

I turn to the fire. With only one hand outstretched, my magic wraps around it, and pushes my power into the very core. The flames shoot nine feet upwards, illuminating the vast dark in blinding light. I turn back to the terrified human. With one swing of my arm, the pillar slams into him. He’s sent flying in a shower of flames and skids on the ground, tossing up a cloud of dustin his wake. I start to march towards him. But Snow throws up his arm to stop me.

“Let me,” he growls.

The tone of his voice stops me in my tracks. Simon stomps towards him, his entire hand now covered in tiny sparks like fireworks. His assaulter sits up, panting heavily.

“You better run now,” Snow says.

He sneers. “Don’t tell me-”

“GO!”

Snow’s magic explodes like a fucking bomb. It’s a bolt of violent and powerful energy that hits the assailant square in the chest. He flies back even farther. I stumble from the sheer force of it. The magic disperses as quickly as it appeared. Snow is panting, bronze curls still staticy with stray sparks. The human scrambles and runs away into the darkness.

We’re left there, breathing hard in the darkness, the embers of the now dead fire our only light. Simon tries to pull out the crackling electricity still clinging to his hair. It curls around his fingers and won’t dissipate no matter how much he shakes his hand out. Finally, I find my voice again.

“That was...”

“Awful?” Snow mumbles. “Yeah, I know. Half the time my magic doesn’t work, the other half it explodes. Pretty fucking annoying.”

I turn to look at him properly, still trying to dust off the little sparks. “No, it was incredible. I’ve never seen magic that powerful, or beautiful.”

Oh fuck, why did I say that? I’m going to explode myself any second. Simon freezes, then turns to me. His lovely plain eyes are soft. Half of his mouth pulls up into a smile. My pulse is pounding in my ears. “N-No one’s ever called it beautiful before. And...no one’s tried to save me either.”

He starts to reach out to me with his spark kissed digits. I see the little bolts pulling towards me like I’m a magnet. My own magic flares to surface, reaching back towards him. Tiny flames from my fingers curl around the lightning. And a part of me, that horrible instinctual part, desperately wants to grab his hand and add his beautiful, terrifying energy to my own until his body is nothing but an empty husk.

I take a large step away, hands behind my back. Simon does the same. His eyes are wide with terror now. We both know how close we came to giving into temptation.

“We should go to bed,” I mutter.

Snow nods furiously. I speed walk to my side of the dead fire. We both lay down and pull the blankets to our reddening ears. The only sound for ages is the desert wind whistling through the cacti. Until Snow decides to speak up again, God help me.

“Baz?”

“What, Snow?” I snap. I can’t talk to him anymore, it’s too damn painful.

“Have...Have you ever actually fully drained anyone?”

Oh. I wasn’t expecting that. The question hits me in my heart. All that comes to mind is my aunt’s face as I saw her for the first time in weeks. Her happiness turned to utter horror in seconds. The memory still aches deep inside me. I can almost feel that horrible hunger when I first manifested. I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath. “No. But I’ve come close. You?”

Snow pauses too. I can hear his shaky breathing clearly. “I had a hex friend back in London. Penelope. She was really good at magic, like you, so she tried to help me. We could only see each other for an hour a day for safety’s sake, and it worked for awhile. But one time, my magic got so out of control that I came this close to draining her.” He makes a loud sniffing noise. I hate imagining the tears I know are rolling down his face. “She told me it wasn’t my fault but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to hurt her. Next day I got on a boat to America. That was almost a year ago. I’ve been alone ever since, and it’s awful.”

“Is that why you want to go to Hex City?”

“Yeah. I mean, I just want to be able to have some choice, you know? Not make choices because of this power I never asked for. Don’t you feel like that?”

I think about my mother, who lost her life because of what we are. Or my six weeks of torture by that madman. Or how I had to run away from my family in fear of what I’d accidentally do to them.

“Yes,” I whisper, closing my eyes, “all the damn time.”

———————————————

We ride leisurely under the blistering sun. The desert has melted into more of a hot, grassy plain. Surprisingly, the climate and terrain actually gets less tortuous the further south you go in this awful state. I’ve only gone this far south once before. The Call somehow gets even stronger here. It threatens to fill every nook and cranny of my brain, but I beat it back. No disgraced Confederate chaplain or Aztec witch woman gets to decide what I do.

Snow is mumbling to himself about it being too hot. My head is whirring with a terrible, awful idea, but it won’t go away. My eyes keep drifting towards his beautiful face, and my mind keeps thinking of his beautiful magic. I got only a taste of the endless, consuming feeling of it, and it was exhilarating. If only he could control it.

I groan. “Snow, stop your horse.”

He looks at me confused, but does as I say. “What is it?”

“Get off. I’m going to help you with your magic.”

His eyes bug out of his skull. “What?! Why?”

“Because as incredible as your magic can be, I’d rather not have you explode when you sleep ten feet away from me.”

It’s a convincing lie. Honestly, I want him to be able to protect himself. I don’t know exactly how long it will take to get to the south, or what could happen before then. Simon might’ve been killed if I wasn’t there. And I don’t know how long I will be with him.

I swing off my horse and Snow follows. We walk out into the empty plateau. He shuffles his feet nervously, chewing at his nails.

“Stay here,” I say.

I walk out and place my old empty flask on a cactus (it’s rusting anyway). Snow looks at it confused. I gesture to the metal bottle, then put my hands behind my back. “Hit that with a blast but avoid the cactus.

“O-Okay...” I watch his throat as he gulps. God, I want to touch that throat, I want to touch everywhere. But I’ll kill him if I do. It makes me hate my magic even more.

Simon raises his hand and takes aim. Small sparks dance between his fingers. One by one, they begin to increase. A small ball of lightning collects in his palm. Snow curls his fingers in, but they seem to be struggling. The ball starts to grow larger and Snow clenches harder. With little to no warning, a lightning bolt shoots out and hits the side of the flask. A blackened mark is left in its wake, but that’s nothing compared to the cactus. A massive chunk has been blown out of the top. It’s charred remains lay strewn on the gras.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Sorry, I was losing control, I had to let it go. Would’ve been much worse if I didn’t.”

“That’s alright, Snow. You technically did hit the flask.”

Snow scoffs, running a hand through his beautiful, sweaty hair. “Sure, I guess...”

I pluck the flask from the half destroyed desert fauna. Another horrible idea is coming to my mind, and I just might be mad enough to do it. “Maybe you need a greater motivator for staying in control.”

“Huh?”

I place the flask on my hand and hold my arm out to the side. “Hit the flask, but not me.”

Snow goes wide eyed again and inhales sharply like he’s been kicked. “A-Are you serious?! You just saw what I did to that cactus, right?”

“Well, you’re going to have to be accurate, unless you want me to end up like said cactus”

He pulls at his curls anxiously. The tiniest of parks fly off the ends. “I don’t know, Baz. I don’t want to hurt you...”

I try to ignore my rapidly beating heart. It’s been so annoying this past week, trying to get what it can’t have. I just flash a smirk at him. “Well, I believe that you won’t. Care to prove me right?”

A red colour spreads across his face. Part of me hopes that’s not just the sun affecting his pale, freckled complexion. “Alright, I’ll try.”

He rubs his hands together. His skin simmers with magic once again. It smells intoxicatingly good. Snow holds his right hand out, palm flat. The electricity builds on the surface. He keeps his hand clenched, but the energy threatens to spill over his fingers. I resist the urge to run in as fast as I can. I didn’t lie, I do trust him. But living on my own for almost three years has given me quite the self preservation instinct.

Sweat prickles Snow’s brow. He uses his opposite arm to keep the other one steady. “C’mon, Simon,” I whisper. “You can do it.”

The jagged white bolt shoots from his skin, far less formless than the last one. It zigs and zags, but in the end hits the flask straight on. The bottle explodes in a shower of jagged metal. I throw up a makeshift shield just in time. When I look at Snow, he’s flat on his ass, panting hard.

“Holy shit,” he says.

“‘Holy shit’ is right,” I respond with a chuckle.

He looks at me with a wide grin. It shines brighter than the midday sun. “I did it! That’s the most controlled my magic has ever been! Thank you, Baz.”

I nod. “You’re welcome, Snow. My aunt always said danger is a great motivator to learn. Especially when it comes to magic.”

Snow lays down on the grass, panting hard. It seems he’s not going to get up any time soon. “Your aunt, was she the one that taught you about magic?”

I kick at a piece of rusted shrapnel, my back to the resting Snow. “Yes, before it manifested, obviously. She wanted me to be prepared just in case. Her whole side of the family has a history of magic. It only appears every few generations or so. We both drew the short ends of the bloodline straw I guess.”

“You’re lucky with that, y’know. I never had anyone to teach me properly. Penny tried, but we never got far enough to make a difference. When I first got magic, this guy called the Mage offered to help. But it turned out he just wanted to drain me. I killed him by accident when he tried. I really didn’t mean to hurt hum, but he wouldn’t stop...”

I turn to him. There’s far too much pain in his eyes. “You had every right to defend yourself. Don’t feel bad.”

He lifts his head up. His smile is sort of sad, but it’s still gorgeous. “Thanks, Baz.”

I smile back as best I can. “You’re most welcome, Snow.” I place my hands in my pockets, desperately clenching my fists in hopes to keep my emotions at bay. “Unfortunately, I’m out of flasks. But we do have an oversupply of fauna. Want to try and not destroy a cactus this time?”

“Okay.” Snow nods, breathing steadily. “Okay, I’ll try.”

Snow takes his stance across from another unfortunate cactus. I watch him and give advice, but slowly have to back away as Snow’s sweet scent permeates the air. I try not to imagine being close to Snow, not having to fear him, him not having to fear me. Oh, what a life that could be.

———————————————

After another week of dodging the Red Weed, we finally get to somewhere. Covent Gardens, a town I suppose is named after the London borough. It’s sizable enough to have a slightly good inn; as in none of the panels are falling off and the sign is missing only a single letter. That’s practically a palace in these parts. I walk in with gusto, making the shutters rattle, Simon following behind me with his head.

Everyone looks at us. I’m not sure how obvious our hexation is, but I suppose we look enough like trouble. Plus my skin tone isn’t an asset here. Or anywhere, honestly. So I sneer and most turned away.

“They’re afraid of us,” Simon mumbles.

“As they should be,” I reply deadpan. I go straight to the barkeep, a bulky white man with truly horrific mutton chops. “I need two rooms.”

The man crosses his unnaturally large arms. “We don’t serve... people like you.”

I grip the bar lip, nails digging into the half rotted wood. “Like me how? Hexes or brown people?”

He sneers at me. “Neither.”

The fire blazes in my eyes. Wood blackens under my skin. “Now listen here, you stupid bastard, you better rent us a room or-”

“Now, now, Basilton,” a familiar voice says, “no need to be so rude. I’m sure we can come to an agreement.”

“Hello, Nicodemus.”

Nico moves to stand next to me. His suit is cheap, the stitches fraying at the seams. He’s still got that sort of menacing look, but he looks tired too.

“Fancy seeing you here, Pitch. How’s your aunt?” He smiles, showing off his missing eye teeth. It makes me want to punch him in his stupid face.

“Why would you care, Petty? You’re the one who left her after everything she did for you.”

He hangs his head back with a groan. “Still defending your family’s honour, I see. Ain’t my fault I wanted to realise my full potential.”

“What, by getting your teeth pulled out so you could get magic? Even when my aunt warned you what a curse being a hex was? You’re still an arrogant idiot then.”

Nicodemus growls and grabs my wrist. His magic reaches out to clash with my own. It’s slick like oil, wrapping around my fire like a snake. But there’s a roughness to it. A sort of mangy, wild energy that I remember all too well from the hex duel with my aunt. Now, I can smell the acrid tang of it too. It leaves a sour taste in the back of my throat. I’m not surprised his magic is as disgusting as he is.

“Looks like you went through some shit too, Basilton,” he hisses. “You’ve got the same fire as dear old Fi. What, the guilt of letting your mum die finally get to you? Try to end it all? Too bad, you just became the monster she never wanted you to be instead.”

His power gnashes at mine, trying to rip it apart and eat it. But Nicodemus has made a fatal assumption; that he’s more powerful than me. I push back against him hard. The fire rushes through my every vein. I revel in the way Nico’s eyes go wide. My hand shoots up to his throat and I shove him down so hard his back bends against the wooden bar.

“You bastard,” I growl. “After all these years you still don’t know how to keep your bloody mouth shut.” I hold his throat even tighter. His eyes bug out of his skull. “Maybe I should shut it permanently.”

I open the gates within, and his magic begins to pour into me. It’s the world’s greatest adrenaline rush. I’m invincible, powerful, a bloody god. Nico gasps and tries to push me away. But I’m still stronger. He could never stop me.

“Baz!” Snow shouts. “Stop it!”

I turn to him with burning eyes. Everything I see is cloudy, like a smoke screen or rippling water. “Why?!”

“Because,” his voice is desperate, and maybe even caring, “we shouldn’t be the monsters they think we are. Just look at them, Baz!”

I still have enough sense to hear what he says. The patrons cower in fear, eyes wide with terror as they look at me. It’s not an expression anyone wants to be subjected to, or cause. And though I hate him, Nicodemus is right. My mother never wanted me to be this. Another terrible, murderous, evil hex.

With all my strength and good sense, I find the will to let Nicodemus’ neck go. His power rushes back into him with a sputtering gasp. I glare at him as I pull away, fingers still trailing with flames.

“Leave,” I say flatly. “Now.”

Nicodemus runs faster than I’ve ever seen a man run before. I take a few deep breaths. It takes a moment for my magic to balance out. It still yearns for Nicodemus’ power, but I beat it back into submission. I won’t let the hunger control me. Then I walk towards the now terrified barkeep.

“Rooms still not available?” He shakes his head frantically. “Good.” I slap down some American money. “Two rooms, please. Also throw in some whiskey. I need a drink after all that.”

The man picks two keys out of a box, then a bottle and glasses from the shelf. He shoves them both forward on the bar and takes two large steps back. I snatch them up with a tip of my ridiculous cowboy hat.

“Cheers, mate.”

Snow and I take a table in a corner. No one dares to look at us. I pour drinks for both of us and shove his glass to the other side of the table. We’re as far apart as we can be but it’s still risky. My power is still hungry. And Simon still smells delicious. But I won’t hurt him. I can’t.

“So,” Simon says, vowel drawn out, “who was that?”

I throw back the whiskey. It’s sour and burns my throat, but it's better than Slipfoot’s at least. “His name is Nicodemus Petty. He and my aunt Fiona were friends growing up. They bonded over their mutual family history of hexation. But when my aunt and his sister, Ebb, manifested magic as teenagers, Nico was jealous. Fiona and Ebb both tried to tell him that hex magic was far more of a curse than a blessing, but he never listened. He wanted the power. When I was about nine, he finally succeeded in activating his own latent magic.”

“By having two of his teeth ripped out...”

“Mhm. First thing he did was stumble all bloody mouthed to my aunt’s flat.” I clench the glass so hard I nearly break it. “The bastard attacked her by surprise, and tried to steal her magic. He almost killed her, but Fiona got a lucky shot and threw him out the window.” I take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “As you can guess, I was there. It wasn’t pretty.”

“I can imagine.” He pulls in, picking at his nails nervously. “Um, if you don’t mind me asking...w-what was he talking about? With your mum?”

I pour myself another helpful shot of whiskey. I want to drown my brain in the stuff, honestly. I’ve never talked about my mum, it’s too painful, like ripping out a fingernail. But Snow has shown so much of himself to me. It seems unfair to hide. “My aunt and I aren’t the only hexes in our family.”

His eyes go wide as the revelation hits him, “Your mum is a hex too?”

I nod slowly, then drink the alcohol in one gulp. The warmth tingles in my veins and loosens my tongue. I stare at the glass, watching the light refract through it’s bends. “She was, but my father is human. They loved each other enough to not be scared, I guess. They never meant to have children. I was an accident, but my mother wanted me in spite of the risks. My father said she cried with happiness when she saw I was a boy. She thought if she kept me safe, I’d never become a full hex.” I flick a paint chip off the table with more force than necessary. “Then she died protecting me, doing what she promised.”

“How? Was it another hex?”

“Even worse, scared humans.”

Snow’s face falls even more. He takes a long sip from his own drink. “So they tried to kill her?”

“They tried to kill all of us. Someone heard of my mother’s hexation, and they rallied a group together to fight our family. It wasn’t a real fight though. The cowards snuck in and tried to stab us. My mother killed almost all of them quickly” My fists clench so tight it hurts. “The last one nearly got me, but my mother stepped in front. He burned to ash just after he stabbed her through the throat.”

“Oh. Not even a hex could come back from that kind of wound...”

“I know,” I say between gritted teeth. “I know that very well, Snow.” I delicately place the glass down with a strained hand. “I...I tried to stop the bleeding but there was nothing I could do. I had no magic then. Even so, I doubt my powers could’ve helped.” A little flame pops up in my hand with barely a thought. Making fire is more natural than breathing for me, after all. I watch the scarlet snake dance between my fingers. “My family’s abilities have always been better at destruction.”

Simon takes another long sip, polishing off his drink. “I don’t know what my family’s like, but I hope they’re not like me. This power...it’s too much for anyone to have. I’d give it up in a heartbeat.”

“We all would, Snow. That’s what the humans don’t get. Most hexes are just as scared of themselves as humans are.” I pour my third drink. It’s been awhile since I’ve drank so much in one sitting, but if I’m going to get sozzled, tonight is a good time. “But that’s not up to us. We’re born like this. Nothing we can do but try to survive.”

“Believe me, I know that. All I’ve ever done is survive. In the orphanage, on the streets, here in America.” He lets out a small, sad laugh. “Hexation is how I ended up on the street, actually.” Snow looks directly down at the table. “When I was 11, I, uh, had a dream that I was exploding. When I woke up, the entire orphanage had been blown to pieces. Luckily no one was hurt, but the matron couldn’t very well keep a hex among other children.”

“So she thought sending you to roam among other humans was safer?”

He shrugs. “I don’t think she cared as long as I was far away from her.”

I scoff, swinging the glass between two fingers. “Sounds about usual for humans. What made you manifest? A particularly bad paddling from the matron?”

Snow chews on his bottom lip. His fingers drum the wood slowly. “I, uh, actually didn’t have to suffer. I’m one of those rare cases of sudden manifestation, apparently. That’s what Penny called it anyway. She said it was rare but possible.”

My grip on the glass gets even tighter. A sudden jealous rage consumes my mind. So Snow just exploded one day at eleven. That’s awful, of course, I’ll never deny that. But all I can think of is the coffin. The endless night of being trapped in that box, waiting for a relief that wouldn’t come, until I finally broke and became the last thing I ever wanted to be. I went through absolute hell. Of course I assumed Snow had to, like all other male hexes. But he didn’t. He’s never had the acute kind of torture I did. It’s not fair.

“Excuse me,” I say more harshly than I mean to, “I’m tired. I think I’ll turn in.”

Snow’s pretty plain eyes go wide. “O-Oh...okay. Good night, then.”

“Night.” I snatch the bottle up and leave the key for his room. Then I stomp up the stairs with irrational anger still burning me up. I know it’s stupid, but I can’t get past it. Male hexes get their magic through suffering. It’s a well known fact. How could Snow be like me without the same kind of pain? How could he ever fully understand me the way I thought he could?

The second my room door is closed, I drink down the last of the whiskey bottle. I’ve tried to avoid alcohol over the past few years. It would be far too easy for me to drink away the pain, the memories, the horrible guilt. Eventually, I’d drown myself in a bottle. That’s not a way I want to go. But one night of indulgence will be fine.

I wobble towards my bed, shedding my outer layers as I go. I collapse face first onto the old mattress. Whiskey clouds my mind. And when I finally pass out, all I see is empty darkness. I’m not sure if that’s better or worse than the nightmares.

———————————————

“...safe?”

“Out cold...”

The voices stay patchy as I slip in and out of consciousness. I try to force my eyes fully open, but the pounding in my head is too much. Indistinguishable figures move on the edges of my blurry vision. There’s little to no light. It must still be night, maybe only a couple hours since I passed out.

“Is..right thing?”

“Hex...Rook and Pargeter...dangerous...we...safe.”

“Fine.”

Something grabs both my wrists and my ankles. I try to struggle but I must still be too drunk. I can’t get my limbs to move save for some squirming. I try to summon my magic, but my mind can’t concentrate. It’s no use. Bloody hell, I’m trapped.

“Night night, hex,” a horrible voice says. Something soft is pressed hard against my face. I can’t take in air, I can’t breathe, I can’t fucking breathe. It’s like the coffin. No, I can’t do this again. I try to thrash harder and scream but it’s still no use.

Oh Lord, I’m going to die here. I wonder if I’ll see my mother on the other side. I wonder if I even have a soul to go to the other side. And I wonder how if Snow is okay. Christ, my last conversation with him ended in anger. If I had known, I would’ve said everything I’ve wanted to say this past week. But the first thing would be ‘I’m sorry.’

I’m sorry, Snow, for everything I said and thought. And I’m sorry for leaving you alone.

“Hey! Get off him, you bastards!” That voice is familiar even in my half drunken state. Thank whatever gods are listening that he’s okay.

“It’s the other one!” one of my assailants shouts. “Wasn’t Garth supposed to take care of him?!”

“That damn idjit fucked up!”

I hear the telltale signs of punches and kicks thrown about. One of the hands on me pulls off. All this excitement has thankfully sobered me up some. I kick some stupid bastard right in the stomach.

“Fuck!” they wheeze. The other humans are wise and let go of my wrist. I’m on my feet in a second.

“Bloody humans,” I growl out, still slurring slightly. “You can’t even let me fucking sleep?!”

The burly barkeep scowls at me. My would be murder weapon is still in his hand. “Eat shit, you demon.”

I scowl right back at him. “Oh, you want a demon? I’ll give you a fucking demon, love.”

The fire blazes up in me, all shining black and scarlet, and I make little effort to contain it. I let the flames fly out and encase the man almost completely. He screeches as his skin bubbles and burns under my powers.

“Stop it!” a woman yells. She comes at me with a knife raised. A whip of fire forms in my hand instantly. With one crack, it wraps around her wrist. She screams in the exact same way and lets her weapon clatter on the floor. She goes to her knees, clutching her blackened, blistered skin.

“You bastard,” she cries. “How could you?!”

“How could I!?” Even more fire plays over my hands. “I could ask you the same thing, human.”

“We’re trying to protect ourselves, monster!”

In that moment, in her eyes, I see every human who’s hurt me. The people who mocked me, who killed my mother, who turned me into this. All sense leaves my mind in an instant. “I’m a monster only because of you!”

With one wave of my hand, she’s thrown against the wall hard enough to make it shake. I spin around to see a man trying to crack Snow’s skull open with a butcher’s cleaver. One well aimed blast sends him flying as well. Another casts two aside. They don’t move much afterwards, but I find myself caring little. Let them die like my mother did.

“Baz, stop it!” Snow shouts. I ignore him as I send the last assailant against the wall, listening to their screams as I burn their chest. “Baz!”

“Fuck off, Snow!” I roar. “I- Ack!”

Pain rips through my shoulder. I clutch it and my hand becomes wet with what I assume must be blood. I fall forward. My nose cracks against the floor. I scream in pain and flames roar out of me in a massive plume They hit everything, including my shooter and the walls of the room. I can feel the whole space burning around us.

“Baz!” Snow’s voice is beyond panicked. I hear his footsteps rush toward me. His hands hover over me but won’t touch. He can’t touch me.

“Get out, Simon,” I rasp , turning my head to the side to look at him. He’s covered in bruises and ash. Yet he’s still so beautiful. “Run before more of them come.”

“Shut up, arsehole! I haven’t turned my back on you yet, and I’m not going to start now!”

If the world weren’t literally on fire right now, I’d find that touching. I close my eyes. At least my dying image will be of him. “Don’t be an idiot, Snow.” Surprisingly, the bastard fucking laughs. My eyes snap open again. The bloody back of his hand is pressed against his mouth as he giggles. “What the fuck is funny about this?”

“You,” he laughs, “called me Simon before.”

My face heats up, and it’s not from the fire. “No I didn’t.”

“We’re fucking dying and you can’t admit you used my first name?”

“I’m dying. You’re being an idiot and not running away like you should!”

“You’re too stubborn to die, Baz, and we both know it.” He jumps to his feet. “Get up, we’re getting out of here.”

“Snow-”

“Or are you too much of a yellow belly to get up and try?”

Oh, this bastard. In only two weeks, he’s learned me too well. I scowl at his stupid pretty face as I push myself up on my good arm. At the same time, thundering footsteps can be heard from the stairwell.

“That route is out of the question,” I say. “Where are we to go, Snow?”

“This way.” He holds his hand and in a mere two seconds, the opposite wall is blown to pieces in a rain of spark. “Now let’s go!”

“We’re on the bloody second floor!”

Snow runs towards the gaping hole and throws himself out. I rush to the edge, blood pounding in my ear. No, Snow cannot die, I can’t let him die. But to my utter shock and awe, Snow is floating his way down to the ground. He stops and starts and still hits the ground in an uncoordinated roll, but he’s okay.

“Oh, Snow, you brilliant moron,” I whisper.

“They’re probably still in there!” someone shouts from the hallway. I take a few steps back, breathe deep, and run off the splintered edge just as the humans burst through the door.

Instead of sending my fire outwards like usual, I keep it within me. I will my body to rise high like flames from a candle. My legs move slowly like I’m running in the air. Fuck, this is actually working. Slowly, I let my flame flick and die down, lowering myself along with it. I reach the ground with my own thud but stay on my feet. Snow grins at me. In all this horror, that is the greatest thing to see.

“Let’s get the horses and get out of here, Snow.”

“Agreed, Pitch.”

We sprint to the stables and thankfully find our steeds unharmed. I count ourselves lucky that our attackers didn’t consider them demonic too. Mounting is difficult with my left arm fucked up, but let it never be said that a human bullet could stop Basilton Pitch. I hold the reins with one hand as I spur him into a dash.

The wind whistles in my ears. Snow and I run even faster than we did from the Red Weed. Our kind is always good at running. It’s our natural state.

———————————————

Snow and I ride until it’s nearly dawn. The sky turns purple then crimson with the rising sun in front of us. When I see orange, my horse finally starts to tire out. Snow’s does the same. We slow down then stop.

“Think we’re far enough away?” Snow asks, breath short and strained.

“Yeah,” I reply, sounding the same. “I think they would’ve caught us by now if they were still after us.”

“Good point, good point.” Snow leans forward, putting his forehead on his horse’s neck. “God, I’m fucking knackered. I barely slept.”

“Me too. We should both sleep.”

“What if someone comes after us?”

“Point. Sleep in shifts?”

Snow nods. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Good.” I slowly dismount my horse, but get my footing wrong and start to fall. I grab the reins with my left arm and practically scream in pain.

“Baz!” Snow rushes towards me, but stops when I raise my good arm.

“Don’t...” I pant, “don’t come any closer. I’m injured, Snow, and my self control is severely weakened. So unless you wish for death now after just barely escaping it, back away.”

“Oh, yeah, right...” Snow backs far away just as he should, but my heart still aches. “What are we going to do about your shoulder?”

“I can fix it, but I’m going to need your belt”

Snow’s brows shot upwards. “My belt? What for?”

“Just throw it to me, Snow, for Christ’s sake.”

Thank God he doesn’t ask another stupid question. He just unbuckles the belt and does what I ask. I try to not let my hands shake as I fold the belt in half. The last time I did this was three years ago, when I sat in a London alleyway after a drunkard broke my leg, a mere four days after fleeing my home for good.

“Baz, what are you-”

“Snow,” I say firmly, “I need you to do me a favour.”

“Okay...?”

I sit on the ground, belt held tightly in my hand. “I need you to stay right there no matter what. Don’t move, don’t try to help. The best way you can help is to stay fucking still.”

“What the fuck is-”

“Promise me you won’t move, Simon.” I look him right in his blue eyes, my mouth a thin, serious line. “Promise me.”

Snow gives me a once over, then thankfully nods. “Okay, I promise.”

“Good.” I put the belt between my teeth. When I check on Snow, he looks beyond panicked. “If it makes it easier,” I say clumsily between the leather, “you don’t have to watch.”

“Baz-”

I slap my right hand over my left shoulder, and it feels like I’m burning from the inside out. My magic scorches my body as it wraps around my injury. The buck shot is pulled through my muscles and skin, ripping and tearing as they go, and I can feel every bit of it. I can also feel as my tissue and bone stretches to knit back together piece by agonizing piece. It’s an indescribable kind of pain. It’s what I imagine hell must feel like. I scream, I can’t help it, but luckily the belt is muffling as well preventing me from biting off a chunk of my tongue. Snow gasps in horror but he doesn’t move. He keeps his promises. I knew he would. He’s a far better man than me.

The burning fades as the skin finally seals shut. I cautiously move my hand, shaking off the shrapnel and gooey viscera that trails between my fingers. God, it's a nasty scab, mangled and uneven and horrifically inflamed. I can only hope the scar won’t be too bad. The one on my calf has faded overtime.

“Are you-”

“Not yet,” I say, cutting off a frightened looking Simon. “This one won’t take as long though.”

I touch my nose, feeling for where the breaks are. I squeeze my eyes shut, and with a horribly painful crack, I move it mostly back into place. I let out a short yell, but just pant and seethe as the bone and cartilage knit back together. I try to wipe the bloody snot from my hand but it's no use. Disgusting, but better than a broken nose. I feel around to make sure things are okay. Well, the tip is a bit crooked, but I can live with that. Right now, I’m thankful to be alive at all.

“Okay,” I sigh, finally taking the teeth mark covered belt out of my mouth, “now I’m done.”

“What the fuck was that?” Snow’s voice is somewhere between fascination and absolute horror. In short, a proper reaction.

“Something my aunt taught me. Hexes are essentially manipulators of energy and matter. And what are bodies but living energy and matter? With practice, you can fix any part of yourself.”

“But isn’t it painful?”

“Was that not obvious?” I snap. But Snow’s genuinely worried face softens my demeanor. “Yes, it’s excruciating. Hence why I try not to use the technique as much as I can.” I massage my still aching shoulder. “Today it was unavoidable, unfortunately.”

Simon runs a nervous hand through his dirty hair. “Fuck...”

I cough out a small laugh. “Yes, that sums it up pretty well.”

He laughs too, just as shaky and sad. “Sums up the whole night.”

The two of us keep chuckling softly in the wee hours of the morning. The ascending sun hurts my tired eyes. Using so much magic has taken everything out of me. I let out a long, deep yawn.

“You sleep first,” Snow says. “I’ll keep watch.”

“No, no, I can-”

“Baz.” He sounds firm, but also tired, and maybe even a little fond. I’m probably imagining that last one though. “Go to bed. I’ll wake you up in about eight hours.”

If I weren’t sleep deprived, magically drained, and recovering from grievous injuries, I would protest more. But Snow is damn lucky today. I simply sigh and stand up to get my cot from my saddlebags. I count our lucky stars we didn’t bring in too many of our supplies to the inn. Maybe God hasn’t completely abandoned us heathen monsters.

“I don’t have the energy to put up my shield,” I say, hoping my tone conveys enough.

“Okay,” Snow replies, “I’ll stay away, don’t worry. I keep my promises.”

My pulse flutters involuntarily. A smile creeps across my face no matter how hard I try to stop it. “I know you do, Simon.”

Snow gifts me one of his sunshine smiles. That’s the last thing I see before turning over and letting myself rest.

———————————————

Snow lets me sleep longer than eight hours. I’d be more mad if I wasn’t so exhausted. In return, I let him oversleep too. We’re both passed out by the time it’s dark again. Even hexes with all our inhumanity need to rest sometimes. Snow and I are lucky we get the chance this time.

In the morning, I reluctantly go to the next closest town. We did leave some of our things behind sadly, including most of our clothes. I’m damn well not going to keep roaming around the south of Texas in my bloody socks, and neither will Snow. I get us some new jackets, boots, and hats, ignoring the strange looks I get from the lily white shopkeeper.

I grab us some more of that disgusting jerky too. If only good food could keep in these horrific conditions. When I reach the counter, the shopkeeper frowns at the things I lay out.

“You can pay for all this?” she asks. I scowl deeply. I’m too tired for this shit.

“Are people like me not allowed to have money here?” I snap.

“Ya can now, but in my experience, y’all darker folk are better at stealing my stock than paying.”

Bloody hell, I’m too tired for this racist shite. I slam two bills on the counter. “There. Hope I didn’t dirty these up too much for you.”

She glares at me hard. As she reaches for the money, I deliberately brush my finger on hers, and she yelps loudly. The edge of her index is red and inflamed. An undeniable burn mark, but far too small for anyone to believe it came from an evil, bloodthirsty hexslinger.

“Oh dear,” I say deadpan. “Your register must have gotten in the sun. Do be more careful.” I shovel the supplies in my bag as she looks at me wide eyed. “Have a nice day, ma’am.”

I can feel her scared eyes on my back as I leave. I get on my horse and ride out fast. No reason to stay in this shithole any longer. And I need to get back to Snow, where I belong.

———————————————

“Everything okay in town?” Snow asks.

I toss the bundle of clothes at him, along with a bag of jerky. “No one attacked me, if that’s what you mean. I didn’t get made for a hex. But I did get some flack for my skin tone.”

Snow’s face falls a bit. There’s something far too close to pity in his eyes. “Oh. I’m sorry-”

“Don’t, Snow. You’re in no place to apologize for some racist American bastards, it’s not your responsibility. Sorry from you means nothing.”

“But-”

“Would you accept an apology from me on behalf of all the rich men who have treated you like trash before?” Snow’s gaping mouth slowly closes. “Exactly. Now get those on. They’re slightly less dirty than our current garments.”

Snow nods and does what I say. I unbutton off my bloodstained shirt and wince as the tacky fabric peels off my skin. The scab has gotten a little better. That’s something I suppose. My eyes slowly move over to Snow without realising it. I steal a glimpse of his broad, bare back, golden like the rest of him. There are some jagged pink scars but they take nothing away how brightly he shines. I look away before I’m too tempted by what I can’t have.

“Much better,” Snow sighs as he slips on the new boots. “I’m surprised my feet haven’t been ripped to shreds yet.”

“Me too. I’m glad though, I didn’t want to do any more healing.”

“I don’t want you to either, fuck.” I hate how his concern makes me feel so good inside. “I’ll start setting up the fire. It’s going to get dark again soon.”

“By all means, Snow, do all the work. I won’t stop you.”

Snow snorts out a laugh, giving me a cheeky smile I can still see at this distance. Christ, I’m on fire, and for once it’s not from my magic. It’s so much better. I have to look away again before I do something ridiculous and deadly.

By the time the sun is down, Snow has made a wonderful small fire for the two of us. We both warm our hands from opposite sides. I don’t need to do it too much. My magic has almost fully replenished, for better or worse. And I’m so hungry that I actually enjoy the extremely salty bison jerky. Bloody hell, I’m turning into an American.

“Where are we going to go next?” Snow asks, mouth still full. “I’m guessing we should avoid any more towns.”

“Agreed. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not jump out of another building.”

“We certainly agree there. Christ, I was worried I was going to die.”

“Me too, Snow, me too.” I nervously fiddle with the string on my cloth bag. The words are coming out, and I can’t stop them. “I’m sorry, Snow.”

His brow adorably furrows. “Sorry for what?”

“Sorry for the way I acted that night, before I went to bed. I was very rude to you and I deeply apologize.”

“Oh...okay. Thanks.” He looks down, rubbing the back of his neck. “I-I was confused. Did I do something bad?”

“No, Snow,” I sigh, “you did nothing wrong. It was all me being stupid.”

“Okay...”

I sigh again. God, I can’t dance around it anymore. I have to tell him. After putting up with me for this long, he deserves to know.

“I was angry and...somewhat jealous of you.”

His eyes get very big. “Jealous? Of me?!”

“Yes, in a way. Because...you didn’t have to go through the same kind of suffering I did when I manifested. Which isn’t fair, because you lived on the streets while I grew up in a bloody mansion. It’s just not the same suffering I had, and I was angry I had to go through it when you didn't. Which is absolutely ridiculous, and I’m sorry I pushed that on you.”

“If you don’t mind me asking...what happened?”

I stare at him for a long moment over the fire. He holds my gaze, eyes round with worry and care. It hurts me in the most exquisite way. “It’s not a pretty story, Snow.”

His mouth pulls into a sad, slight smile. “Weren’t you the one who said that all hexes live through hardship, and we have nothing to be ashamed of?”

I chuckle and shake my head. “Using my words against me, a tactic of a true devious hex.”

He shrugs, still wearing that little smile. “What can I say? I can live up to our reputation sometimes.” Snow’s face falls again. “So what happened?”

With a deep sigh, rubbing my forehead, I start the horrid tale.

“My family always knew there was a chance I could be a hex,” I say. “But since my aunt couldn’t sense any magic on me pre manifestation, we assumed that I wasn’t too powerful, and manifestation could be avoided if we were careful. So I lived in the aforementioned secluded mansion all my life and I was never allowed to leave the grounds. All my time was spent reading, doing school work, or learning about hexation from my aunt, just in case. Everything in my life revolved around my mere potential to be a hex. I could never do or see anything. I felt like a prisoner. And when I was 18, I had enough.

“One evening, I snuck out of my room and went into the nearby town. I just wanted to see what was outside my home. But I was a naive sheltered kid. Of course I got lost on my way there and went into an area I never should have. Someone had knocked me out cold, and next thing I knew, I was in a cramped, dark box.”

“A box? What do you mean a box?”

I clench my fists tight until the shaking stops, then slowly let go. “It was a coffin, Snow. I had been trapped inside a coffin.”

I can almost feel the way Snow’s stomach must drop out at those words. I know, mine did the same when I realised where I was that night. “W-Why?!”

“It was hard to hear him through said coffin, but I got the main idea. He came from some old witch hunter family but had never caught an actual hex, until me. He’d heard the stories about my mother and had been secretly spying on me for months. When I escaped, he took his chance to kidnap me.”

“So he took you just to taunt you from outside a coffin?”

“I wish that was all he did,” I grumble. “He told me that the coffin was a test. There was a chance the hexation had skipped me over. If I was a hex, being stuck in the coffin would make me manifest, then he could kill me in good conscience. If I wasn’t and didn’t manifest, well, as he put it; ‘there are always casualties in the war for righteousness, boy.’”

Snow’s jaw drops to the grassy ground. “So even if you were human, he would’ve killed you anyway?”

“Mhm, mad bastard.”

“How long did he keep you there before you escaped? A few days?”

I take long, steady breaths, beating back the old fear that creeps up my throat like bile. I can almost still smell that unique rotten scent from the coffin. I’ll never forget it. I never can.

“Snow,” I say slowly, “I was in that coffin for six weeks.”

And I thought he looked horrified before. Snow drops his jerky bag, hands shaking. I want to grab them, hold them still, comfort him in whatever way I can. The urge is almost stronger than the Call.

“S-Six weeks?! How are you still alive?”

“Thank the witch hunter,” I grumble. “He drilled very small air holes in the lid, and gave me enough food and water to keep me alive but starving. I think, hex or not, he wanted me to suffer because I was my mother’s son. A hex’s child was just as guilty of sin in his eyes.” I rub the bridge of my nose. It aches with the pain of my past. “At the time, I had no idea how long I was in there. It was just one endless night of torture. I begged and pleaded with the hunter to let me go, but he only laughed and called me pathetic hex scum. After six weeks, well, he finally got what he wanted.”

“You manifested.”

“Almost as violently as you did.” I trace the lines of my hand, the skin rough from my fire. I remember my mother’s hands being the same. “The details are blurry, but I remember enough. It started as just a tingling in my gut, but soon it became a burn. And then it spread as quickly as a forest fire.”

“Is it always fire with you?” The corner of Snow’s lip quirks up. The bit of teasing lilt in his voice makes me feel a bit lighter. I can't help but smile back a little.

“Usually, yes. It's always run very strong in my family.” I bounce a flame between my fingers. The movement is strangely calming to me. “I quickly learned I was no different. Before I knew it, I let out a massive ring of fire in every direction. It blew the coffin apart, of course, and turned my captor into a charcoal husk.”

Snow scoffs, a surprisingly vicious expression on his face. “Better than he deserved.”

“Agreed. I have no idea what happened to his body. I left almost immediately, though I wasn’t fully conscious. Six weeks in the coffin had deprived me of most of my mental faculties. Luckily, he kept me not far from home, and I could wander back on pure muscle memory. But going home turned out to be a terrible idea.” I grab the small fire and snuff it out in one go. But my fist stays clenched. “My aunt had been staying there while everyone searched for me. The second I walked through the front door, I could easily smell her. She was overjoyed to see me, until she smelled me too. And as I said, most of my mental faculties were gone.”

“So you attacked her on instinct.”

I chuckle sadly. “Quick study there, Snow. I didn’t even know what I was doing. I was just so bloody hungry all of sudden. I can’t even describe it.”

“You don't need to describe it to me, Baz.” He brings his knees under his chin. “I’ve felt hex hunger too. It’s...awful when you’re in the middle of it.”

“And when you’re not, you try to drown it out or distract yourself. But deep down, you know one day you’ll give up and listen. Then it will take over.”

Snow nods, looking at me in the eye. I’ve seen so much profound sadness in a person’s face. “And you’ll hurt someone, no matter how much you’ll regret it later.”

If I have a soul, it’s aching horribly. How could fate be so cruel as to give me Snow? So wonderfully brave and kind to a fault, and who actually understands what my life is like. The perfect man. And someday soon, he’s going to kill me. There’s no doubt I’ll be the one to die. I won’t kill him, not ever. I’d let him take everything from me before I’d kill him.

“Did you hurt your aunt?”

Thankfully, I can shake my head to that. “No, not at all. She was an experienced magic user, while I was a starving, half crazed newly minted hex. She took me down in seconds. When I woke up again, I was cleaned up and in my room. It took a second to regain my bearings, but I soon remembered what had happened...what I had become. There wasn’t any debate in my mind. Within an hour, I had packed my most practical clothes along with any small valuables I could pawn. Then I ran away and never looked back.”

“Which is how you ended up in America.”

“What better way to protect my family from me than by putting an ocean between us? At first, I stayed in an empty little corner of the American frontier. I just wanted to live out my lonely hex existence as long as possible. I didn’t expect the Call or this looming hex war.”

“No one did,” Simon sighs. “Hexes working together has never been possible before. Who could’ve imagined some American preacher would team up with an Aztec goddess to do just that?”

“Fair point. But now he’s made our existences much harder in a way. Look what those humans tried to do to us at the inn. They were even more scared because of Rook”

“Yeah...”

I groan, pushing my face into my hands, rubbing it up and down. “I never asked to be like this. I tried my hardest to avoid being like this. Then that choice was ripped away from me by some madman. Now I’m trapped between murderous humans or a bloodthirsty witch goddess. Why am I here? Why do I have to be here?!”

“Baz-”

“I don’t want this,” I choke out through my building sobs. “I want to see my family again. I just want to go home!”

I breathe hard and fast, holding back tears with all my strength. No, I refuse to cry. I swore to never cry again after the coffin, because I wasn't sure I could survive falling apart again. Yet here I am. I thought I had shed every tear I have there. I’m so pathetic.

“It’s okay,” Simon says. His voice is far louder than before. “Whatever you’re feeling is okay. It’s...it’s okay if you’re not.”

Slowly, cautiously, I lower my hands, blinking away the tears that had collected. I inhale sharply. Snow is less than two feet away from me. I can count the moles on his face, see the golden highlights in his bronze. But worse, his unbelievably delicious scent fills every cavity of my nose.

“You really shouldn’t sit so close, Snow,” I whisper. My eyes fall down and become completely fixed on Simon’s plush lips.

“I know,” he says under his breath, “but I don’t care.”

He touches my hand, and I feel his magic run through me. That explosive sensation pulses through my veins so hard it almost makes me gasp. The instinctual part of my brain goes fucking mad. It wants me to grab his throat and drain every drop of his magic, his essence, his very soul. My breathing gets shallow and laboured.

“Simon...” I say.

And then he kisses me.

It’s cautious and shy. His lips barely brush against mine, but I feel it everywhere else, especially in the way our powers rise to meet each other. The magic collides, but doesn’t clash. They meld and twist together at our points of contact, desperately needing to connect.

Snow opens his mouth, turning the kiss into one of pure heat and hunger. I gladly do the same. He grabs either side of my face and shoves his tongue down my throat. I grip his collar and push back against him. My entire body is filled with endless energy. I’m a star going supernova. And I want to explode with Simon. My nails scratch viciously across his neck. He clenches his fist in my hair, pressing our faces closer. I shudder as Simon bites hard on my bottom lip. I’m wrapped in cold heat, wrapped up in him. I feel so alive. It feels so right. But it’s wrong.

With all the strength I have, I shove Snow off me. We both fall back on the ground, breaking our closed circuit of feeding on each other simultaneously. Simon scrambles further away panting. I’m similarly out of breath. Both our lips trail white smoke, like they’ve been singed by ice. My magic readjusts after being sucked away and added to all at the same time. A bit of Snow’s explosive energy still sits in me, swirling around like a miniature star. We just stare at each other wide eyed for a long time.

“Shit,” Simon whispers.

I sigh heavily, running a shaky hand through my hair. “Well said.”

“We nearly killed each other.”

“Mages don’t meddle, Snow. We both know that.”

Simon groans, clutching his hair in his fists. “I know, I know. I almost killed Penny last time and I swore it would never happen again. But look at me now. Of course I fuck up.” I can see tears forming under his eyes. “What’s the point of being an all powerful hex if it means being alone forever?! I can blow up a building with my mind but I can’t even bloody kiss you! It’s not fair!”

I pick at my shirt sleeve with shaking fingers. “Maybe God is punishing us.”

“We didn’t ask to be like this, Baz!”

“That doesn’t change what we are, Simon! We’re freaks of nature, cannibalistic monsters!” I nearly rip through the fabric of my shirt. I'm so angry and so fucking tired. “Maybe we truly are devil spawn or something, like all the humans say. Maybe they’re right to be scared of all of us...”

I turn away from him, just staring at the fire. The sting of the smoke keeps me from sinking too low into my self loathing. Snow moves in my peripheral. We sit side by side. My skin prickles as he hovers his hand over mine. It takes every bit of my will to not try and drain him again.

“There’s somewhere we can go where we aren’t 'Devil spawn,'” he says.

I tense up. “Simon, that’s risky. It could all be a farce.”

“I don’t care if you think it’s just a farce, Baz! It’s still a chance. For you and me, for us.” He lightly brushes one of my fingers. I have to rip my hand away before I hurt him again. His pretty eyes are filled with pain. “See? Wouldn’t you like to stop doing that? Isn’t it worth the risk?”

I’ve been running for most of my life. I ran from my mother's legacy for as long as I could. I ran from my family when I feared my own hunger. And I could run now, from Simon and the fear of killing him. But I’d also be abandoning the chance for some sort of happy life. It may not be perfect, but it would be far more than my ancestors ever had before. Can I sacrifice that for fear?

“I’m tired, Snow,” I say weakly. “We should both get some rest.”

“But Baz-”

“Let me sleep on it, alright? Please?”

Snow takes in a deep breath, and lets out a long sigh. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Okay.”

I want to kiss him so badly right now. Just grab his gorgeous, sunshine face and kiss him goodnight. Since I can’t, I smile as genuinely as I can at him. It’s not easy for me, but I mean it with him. “Goodnight, Simon.”

Snow stares at me for a long moment. But slowly, a smile creeps across his face too. The fondness threatens to melt me, “Goodnight, Baz.”

We keep our eyes locked for as long as we can. When I finally lay down, putting my crackling shield around me, the image of Snow’s wonderful face relaxes me into sleep.

———————————————

I bang my fists against the wood over and over, ignoring my already numerous splinters.

“Help!” I yell. “Someone help me! Please, get me out of here!”

All my pleas fall on deaf ears, as usual. No matter what I do, no matter how loud I scream. I’m stuck in this damned coffin. I scratch at it until my fingernails tear from their beds. Blood drips into my mouth, leaving an iron taste in the back of my scream sore throat.

“I’m not a fucking hex! I just want to go home!” I sob so hard I nearly choke on my own breath. “Just let me go home.”

My aching arms finally fall. I curl in on myself as much as I can within my confines. I close my eyes, but there’s little to no difference in the endless pitch black. Tears run hot down my face. They leave small trails in the dirt that’s accumulated over...however long I’ve been here. I don’t know anymore. Time is meaningless where there’s no sunrise or sunset. Life is meaningless in here.

“Baz?”

His voice is far away, but it still rings clear. My eyes slide open. “Simon?”

“Oh lord. Hang on, Baz! I'll get you out!”

I can only hear as Snow desperately tugs at the coffin lid. It should be impossible, the thing is nailed shut, but somehow Snow rips it open. The light is dim yet still hurts my eyes. I can't help but hiss at the pain.

“It’s okay, Baz,” he says in that unbelievably soft tone.

His hand reaches to me through the blinding light. Slowly, I reach back. And when I hold it, I know I’m supposed to be in pain, but I’m not. Instead, I’m just calm, happy, safe. Snow slowly pulls me out. His arms snake around my back, holding me up. He looks me over, taking in my decrepit, decayed state from ages in that damn box. And miraculously, he smiles. Even like this, he looks at me with such care.

“You’re alright now, Baz. I’m here.” He cups my face. “I’m here for you.”

Emotions clog up my throat and tears run down my cheek, but this time they’re for a good reason. I put my own shaking hand on his golden face. He’s so warm. “Yes, you are. And I’m here for you too, Simon.”

He’s still grinning as I lean forward, pressing my lips to his. But this time there’s no fear I’ll kill him. There’s just the utter joy of being with the one who understands me best, the one I want the most.

Oh, how I want this.

———————————————

I blink awake slowly. The morning sun is just rising over the horizon, turning the grassy landscape violet. I sit up and see the now familiar body on the other side of the fire. Snow sleeps in a knot, arms and legs pulled in. The furrow in his brow says he’s in the middle of a nightmare too. Though mine wasn’t one by the end. Not when he was there.

My mind is made up.

Once again, I’m packing my things lowly, waiting for Snow to wake. Luckily, he stirs while I’m only halfway through tying up the cot. He rubs the sleep from his eyes in such a terribly adorable way.

“Morning,” I say.

“Morning,” he yawns. “Are we going now? Or...are you?”

My heart seizes, but only for a moment. He’s right to be concerned. The fact that we’ve travelled together for two weeks without killing each other is a miracle among hexes. After last night’s close call, a sensible man would leave and never return. I was once a sensible human man. But I’m a deranged, bloodthirsty hex now. Why not act like one?

“You should get up and start packing, Snow. If we’re going to make it to the Mexican border before nightfall, we’ll have to ride fast.”

His eyes go rounder than a full moon. “You mean...”

I pull the pack tie tight. “We’re going to Hex City.”

“What changed your mind?

I sigh heavily, then walk over to him. I stay at a safe distance of course but Snow’s magic pulls me to him, my body begging me to take it. Instead, I simply hold out my hand to him. Snow stares for a moment but does catch on. He offers his own to me. Once again, our magics reach out to each other, wisps of fire and lightning twining together. It sends a faint whisper of that explosive adrenaline through my veins. So incredible and so wrong.

I snap my hand away, fists clenched hard. “Because of that. If I were a more selfless person, I would simply leave, but unfortunately I’m not. Are you?” Snow looks me over. His eyes pierce me in a way no one’s ever has before. He slowly shakes his head. “Exactly. I may be scared of Rook and his goddess, but I’m more scared of hurting you. There’s only one place where I won't.”

“Hex City.” He chews on the corner of his bottom lip. “What if you’re right though, and Rook’s price is too high?”

“Then at least we’ll pay it knowing we tried to have a real life, instead of running like we’ve always had to.” I stand straight with my head held high. No matter the fear, I’m sure of this. “I think we’ve both suffered long enough, Simon.”

The way Snow’s face relaxes means the world to me. I love seeing that, seeing what he looks like without the heavy burden of hexation on his shoulders. Maybe I’ll be able to see that more in Hex City.

“It’ll probably be nice there,” he says. “I mean, a city made for hexes by hexes is going to be weird, but I bet it’ll look amazing in it’s own way.”

I chuckle and nod. “Agreed. Buildings and roads made by magic will certainly be interesting.”

“Penny would probably want to study them.” He sighs, but there’s a lightness to. “Maybe Penny will come one day, and I could see her again.”

“Maybe. I would love to meet her. I might be able to see my aunt again one day, too. I could introduce you to her.”

He beams so bright at me I fear I’ll get sunburnt. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Me too, Snow. So let’s get going.”

We finish packing very quickly. Snow gets on his horse as clumsy as he usually does. I snort at the way his American cowboy hat nearly falls off his head. The death glare he gives me has little impact, what with the way he’s grinning. He hasn’t stopped grinning almost since he woke up. I can’t blame him. I have trouble controlling my smile either.

“Ready?” he asks. As if he even has to. I’ve made my choice, and I’m sticking to it.

“Ready,” I say. “Let’s go.”

Snow and I both send our horses into gallops. We soar across the grassy plain, the Texas sun illuminating our way. The impending hex war still looms over us. But I will fight until my last breath to keep any happiness Simon and I can find.

I can almost see our future. Soon, we’ll reach the terrifying and wonderful Hex City. Rook will ask for his price, and we’ll pay, because it’ll mean a freedom we've never known before. We’ll be able to hold hands, kiss whenever we want, sleep in the same bed, simply be around each other with no fear of our hexacious hunger. It’s more than I could have ever dreamed of even a few months ago.

For once, I’m going to run towards something good, instead of away from the darkness inside me. I cannot wait.

———————————————

AN: And that's all folks! I hope people enjoyed that, even if y'all have never read Hexslinger. If you wanna read the books, I highly recommend them, tho be warned they require trigger warnings for all the stuff here and more. Almost anything that usually needs a trigger warning is in those books. I'm okay with reading it, but I also completely understand others not liking that shit.

In the positives, it's an extremely interesting and complex series dealing with survival, discrimination, identity, the pain that can come with love, and the unlikely bonds formed between people. The world building is amazing and the magic system is super cool. What I love the most are the characters, who are all very interesting and complex. No one is 100% good or evil, they're just people trying to find ways to achieve their goals or simply live. What actions they take are up for moral debate, but a lot of the time they're at least understandable. There's a lot of period typical bigotry, and it's much more vicious than what I wrote here, but what I love is that there a lot of diverse characters who say "fuck that" and fight back against the shit they get. You've got queer, Indigenous, black, latinx, Chinese, and Jewish main characters in a wild west story who are all well rounded and interesting. That's pretty awesome imo.

Okay enough gushing about Hexslinger lol. Hope this story was good. No guarantee when my next fic will be out. Work and school are killer. Until then, see you later!

#carry on #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #hexslinger #hexslinger au #period typical homophobia #period typical racism #blood tw #mild body horror tw #canon typical vioence #mysnowbazfic #carry on through the ages #cotta 2020

29 notes · View notes

stupidocupido · 5 years ago

Text

tous les mêmes

tous les mêmes, a Split (2016) AU.

Three witches wake up in an unknown place after being attacked by a man. Abused and scared they wait in a locked room for what’s next. The one who took them is not like others, because he is not really one person. Stuck in his body are multiple personalities. All waiting for the worst one to come out...

I came up with this idea about a year ago as a joke during a convo with @/avesatanormalpeoplescareme (gone but not forgotten lol). She actually kinda came up with the ending, so I have to give her credit for that!

This fic is also published at the archive.

Warnings: non-con, dubcon, sexual content, kidnapping, violence, stockholm syndrome, told in fragments, christian!reader, virgin!reader

Involves: jim, michael, duncan and xavier (and some more)

Tous les mêmes

one Her head is throbbing, her muscles are sore. Her eyes are still closed, she is afraid to open them. There hangs an iron like smell in the air, the air itself is pressing on her loins. Her hand goes to her neck, her fingers automatically close around the silver cross that is hanging there.

The weak cough that is coming from her left makes her eyes finally snap open. She immediately scans the room for an exit. There is only one, and it is closed. There are no windows either, their light comes from a single fluorescent light bulb on the ceiling.

It feels like she’s underground, but for all she knows she can be in some sort of garage as well.

There is another cough, and her eyes finally find the source of it. It is fellow witch Coco St. Pierre Vanderbilt. Sitting with her on the bed is Mallory, another witch. She sits up straight now, watching the other girls.

“Where are we?” Coco asks.

What a dumb question. As if they’re not locked in the same room. She remembers the attack. There had been a fight, someone had attacked them from behind. Her hand goes automatically to her cheek when she thinks about earlier. Her skin feels painful and is burning. She can feel dried up blood where it hurts.

The other two girls don’t look too good either. Coco her blonde hair is a mess, her blouse is ripped, and the skin around her left eye is blue. Mallory looks even worse, her lip is split and there is blood beneath her nose.

Mallory does not ask questions. She places an calming hand on Coco’s trembling shoulders. “That does not matter, what matters is how we get out.”

“Good, you girls are awake.”

Three heads turn around to watch where the sound comes from.

A tall blonde man watches them from the opened door. His grey blouse seems expensive. His hair is kept back with lots of gel. He is the one who attacked him, he is the one who took them. But somehow, he looks different now.

She doesn’t know what it is. But when his eyes fall into hers, she needs to resist the urge to grab for her necklace. His stare is so intense, almost as if he is trying to find her biggest weakness. She stares back at him, trying to remember his face for when they escape.

When he looks away, her stomach feels heavy and her head is weirdly light.

“Don’t bother trying your magic on me. Magic doesn’t work here.”

He is looking at Mallory’s fists now.

“You. You seem feisty, I choose you.”

Mallory is the strongest of the three of them. But without her magic she is just a small girl with not a lot muscle to defend herself from her much taller attacker. The man grabs her, a nasty grin on his handsome face. Mallory struggles, but he is too strong for her. So she screams, the first thing she learned. “Pee yourself! Pee yourself!”

Coco tries to free Mallory from their kidnapper, but she’s not strong enough. And when the door closes, it’s just the two of them. Coco is trying to get the door open, to save her friend. Her nails are scratching the iron and she’s screaming Mallory’s name. She is still sitting on her bed, frozen and afraid.

It’s a minute later when the door is smashed open again. Coco falls on the ground. A crying Mallory gets pushed into the room again by their kidnapper. He looks disgusted, Mallory her legs are wet. The door closes with a bang and it’s the three of them again.

Much later is Coco still holding the crying Mallory. She is stroking her back, whispering words she cannot hear. She feels like she is watching someone else’s tragedy from the rusty bed. And it always had been like this. At the academy where Cordelia only has eyes for her star pupils.

She is nothing like them, even though she so badly wants to fit in. She is an unusual duck in a group of swans. She belongs in the water; yes. But she does not belong with them.

two They’re trying to come up with a way to escape without having to use magic. They can be smart, there must be a way to trick their capturer. They had of course tried using magic, but he had not lied. Nothing worked, it seemed all they had now was their fists and intelligence.

“Maybe we can distract him. If one of us can escape it’ll be enough.” Mallory tries.

“We don’t know where we are! Maybe we are in the basement of some cult. How can you be so sure there aren’t other doors behind this one?” She shakes her head, there must be another way.

“Then what do you propose? That we wait around for Cordelia to get us? We may be dead by then.” Coco’s voice is annoyed. She shrugs, she doesn’t know what to do either. But running doesn’t seem like the best option.

When the door opens again the witches stop their whispering. He is wearing a long black dress now. His hair is styled in a different way. His eyes scan their faces and the way they look.

“Don’t you kids look awful, oh sweet Satan! I knew he wouldn’t be able to control his urges.” He shakes his head. His voice sounds different than before. It’s higher pitched, it almost has something feminine.

The three witches share a look, none of them know what is going on. Maybe he is playing with them to confuse them. To make them weaker, to make them easier to take when he is done playing.

“He knows he is not allowed to touch any of you. I will talk with him.” He shakes his head again.

Then his eyes fall upon her face. She feels herself getting cold when his eyes are staring her up and down. Is he going to take her now?

He comes closer, there is concern in his eyes. She can see how Coco and Mallory look at each other and then at the door he had left open.

He leans down, so that they are on eye level. She does not move away when his hand goes to touch her face. Long fingers trace the cut on her cheek. His fingers are cold against the throbbing skin. His blue eyes are filled with wonder as he leans in closer to examine the wound. “Don’t you worry my dear, I will take care of you.”

“Who are you?” It’s a way to keep him distracted, but she is also genuinely interested. Why is he acting like he is someone else?

“Oh, silly, I am Ms. Mead of course.”

His eyes are so blue, that she is taken back by them. Now his hair is not being kept back by gel, it gives it the chance to be in its natural state. His blonde curls are wild and beautiful. He does not look crazy to her, not like someone who would kidnap three girls. But he knows they have magic, there must be something more.

There is something about his face that feels familiar. Maybe it is because it straight comes from the paintings how they image heaven to be like.

He is studying her as she is studying him. There is something about him that is not right. But there is also something that is very right. Something familiar, something that reminds her of Cordelia and nights of studying magic spells.

“Coco! Run!”

The spell is broken, he is someone else now. Something changes in his eyes, she can’t exactly pinpoint what it was, but something is different. He stands up so sudden it hurts her head. She scrambles back on the bed, afraid for what he is going to do now.

But he does nothing, he stays very calm. Too calm. He turns his back on her, facing the opened door where Coco ran through instead. He looks more annoyed than panicked.

“Did you really think I don’t have this whole place locked down? After every door you will find a new one.”

A desperate cry is the proof of his words. He leaves the other two witches without giving them another glance. And when the door closes behind him, the echo from Coco’s screams can still be heard in their room much later.

three “Where is Coco?” Mallory her voice is sharp. He looks more optimistic than normal. He is wearing earrings and shorts now. Another personality? So far, they had met three versions of him. The one who took them, Ms. Mead and now this one.

He walks towards Mallory, squeezing her cheek. “Coco is where all good girls go to.” His voice is amused. This character seems to be more of a tease than the others.

“And where do good girls go?” Mallory is not afraid and she damns her for it. Why can’t she be quiet? He laughs loudly, finally letting go of her cheek.

“I don’t know, ask Billie Eilish.”

He looks around the room. “Pff, this place is a mess.” He places his hands on his hips, he is looking at her now. She rolls her eyes, finally showing some sort of emotion. But it is Mallory who once again says something.

“Didn’t you know that kidnappers don’t hire cleaners?”

She sends Mallory a look. Does the girl have a death wish? Normally she would understand Mallory’s confidence. She is the future supreme after all. Mallory is popular because she is kind. Confident because she is loved and fearless because she is powerful. But she is none of that right now.

He looks Mallory up and down, his smile almost mocking her.

“You all look hungry, let me make you girls a sandwich. The best chef in the world taught me how to do so.”

He opens the door again, gesturing with his hand that they should follow him. They both stand up from their beds, she walks behind Mallory away from their prison.

Where their room is dimly lit, the hallways are anything but. The place is sterile, and everything is white. It reminds her of a hospital or maybe even a lab. There are a lot of doors, but none of them indicate Coco’s presence. She wonders if the other witch is still here. She doesn’t want to think about other options.

The kitchen he leads them to is really messy. But here the floor and walls are white as well. There are again no windows. This makes her think they might be underground after all. However, it is clear that this place is huge.

He gestures them to sit down at the table. He turns his back on them. He is gathering bread, peanut butter and jam. Her eyes stay on the large knife in his hands. He uses it to put everything on the bread.

“What is your name?” She breaks the silence. She watches how he cuts the sandwiches in half with the large knife. The chairs they’re sitting on are very uncomfortable. Mallory moves in her chair. She’s watching the knife as well.

He looks over his shoulder, showing her his white teeth. “Xavier.”

When he turns his back to the counter, he has two plates in his hands. He had made them peanut jelly sandwiches. She stares at the bread, wondering if it might be poisoned.

Mallory is the first one to bite into the food. So she follows. Slowly she chews on the bread, it doesn’t taste like it’s poisoned.

“And?

Do you like it?” He watches them eat. He seems to be impatient for an answer.

Her and Mallory share a look, before nodding. “It’s delicious, you should become a professional.” She is being truthful; the food is good. But perhaps it is also because it’s the first thing she ate in a while.

“Neh, I want to be an actor. You girls want another one?” He is looking at their empty plates.

Mallory smiles very careful. She can see something building in her dark eyes, she is planning something. “That would be amazing, thank you.”

Xavier moves to the counter again. He takes four slices of bread, throwing them on the cutting board without a care.

“The trick is to use just a little bit more jelly. And always put it on white bread.” While Xavier is working on the sandwiches, Mallory had stood up from her chair. She is moving quietly away from the table, to stand behind it.

She makes eye contact with her. Shaking her head, pointing with her head towards the big knife he has in his hand. But Mallory ignores her. Her hands wrap around the chair, pulling it from the ground.

She throws the chair against his back with all her strength. He falls down against the counter, the knife still in his hand. He lets out a painful gasp. When he turns around, Mallory is throwing her plate in his direction. It hits his chest, it breaks in three pieces when it falls to the ground.

Mallory wastes no time, sprinting towards the door. It is not locked, but she can see from here that behind the door is another hallway.

Xavier looks at the door and then at her. His cheeks are flustered with anger.

“Go to your room.” His voice is murderous, his eyes are flaming.

“NOW!”

He shouts when she doesn’t move. She is too afraid to not do what he told her to do. So she runs from the kitchen, runs through the white hallways and lets herself fall on her thin mattress.

There she prays and cries for her sisters. She prays for Mallory to get out and for them to be saved. She prays for Cordelia to find them and for Coco to still be alive.

It’s hours later that she stops mumbling to her god. Mallory doesn’t return and neither does he to lock the door again.

With cheeks that are wet and a throat that is sore, she watches how the lights in the halls turn off. Will she ever get out of here?

four His feet are bare, he is wearing a yellow shirt and his hair is messy. He is sitting in the opened door, watching how she slept. Or more like how she pretended to sleep.

“What is your name? I am Michael.” He sounds very young, his head is tilted like a dog that is waiting for a treat.

She tells him her name. He does not stand up, instead he moves his knees to come closer to her. He is holding something in his hands. She can’t see what it is.

“What is your favourite colour? Mine is red.” She frowns at his question. What does he want?

“I don’t think I have one.”

He lets out an annoyed sound. “Who doesn’t have a favourite colour? You’re weird.” She tries not to feel offended, not when he is acting like a young child. But what if he is that young child? What if this is her way out?

“Michael, how old are you?”

“Ten, how old are you?”

She laughs, surprised with his answer. It doesn’t look like he is playing her. He seems to think he really is a ten-year-old boy.

“A little older than you, I am afraid.”

“Oh. Will you play a game with me?” He shows her what he had been hiding from her. It’s a small red racing car. It looks so small in his large hands, it isn’t right. She looks up to watch his face instead. She swallows, her stomach empty, her throat begging for water. But she knows it is better to amuse her captor and his many personalities.

“I am too thirsty to play games, Michael.”

She can see something change in his demeanor; like a child who does not get what he wants this grown man is about to cry. She wonders, how can he be so dominating and small at the same time?

How can he be grown but still look like a child? She grips his hands before he can cry. His eyes immediately go to where she holds him.

“Maybe you can get me some water? We can play after.”

But Michael shakes his head, already moving away from her. “I don’t think Duncan will like that, but maybe Ms. Mead can bring you some.”

She grabs his arm before he can truly leave her. “We can play later then. Maybe tomorrow night?”

He looks down at where she is holding him, but when he looks up again, he is smiling.

“As long as you don’t tell the others I was here!”

She smiles, letting go off his arm. “It will be our secret.”

five “How many of you are there?” He had brought a box with toys the next night. She’s sitting on the thin mattress now, he is still on the floor. The cars and the dolls they were playing with long forgotten.

“About ten. But Duncan and Ms. Mead are the strongest ones.”

Duncan, Ms. Mead, Xavier, Michael.

That are four, will she ever meet the other six? Does she want to meet the other six? Michael had picked up a game console from the ground. It’s an old Gameboy, she used to own one that looked exactly like this one.

But Michael doesn’t turn it on to play, instead he is watching her necklace. “Do you believe there is a god?”

“Yes.”

“Then you also must believe there is a devil.” She feels uncomfortable, she doesn’t like to think about there being one.

“I guess there must be evil as well.”

“He is in us. They’re trying to lure him out. That’s why the three of you were taken. But I won’t let them hurt you! We’re friends now!”

He is offering her the Gameboy. She can feel her stomach turn over. She thinks everyone has something evil inside of them, but the literal devil? But she nods, taking the game console from Michael.

“Yes, we are friends.”

“I don’t think you are a good friend.” A different voice, his smile is even different now. She let’s go of the game console, it falls down to the ground.

He is eyeing the cross that’s hanging just above her breast like Michael did.

“I bet you are one of those virgin girls who say they gave themselves to god. But I know you are a freak, ready to be ripped apart.” She knows this personality; it is the one that took them. Duncan, the cocky fuck boy. If they weren’t captured Madison probably would have liked to fuck him, just to degrade him.

Her hand goes to the cross hanging just above her breasts, she refuses to answer him. The steel is warmed by her skin, it feels comfortable in the palm of her hand. A beacon of hope, she does not dare to pray now. But when she is alone, she does.

“I bet your cunt will be so tight when I take your virginity. I bet you will bleed, I bet you will scream for me.” Duncan comes dangerously close to her bed. She looks away from him, watching her knees, she tries to control her breathing.

The mattress sinks where he sits on it. She wants to move away from him, but his hand is cupping her cheek, forcing her face in his direction. “Will you be a good Christian girl for me? I can be your god.”

She moves her head away from him, shifting her body to the other side of the bed.

“You are no god.”

It is the first thing she says. It makes Duncan laugh; his body is shaking with it. Duncan his laugh is different from Ms. Mead’s and even Michael’s laugh. He moves closer to her body, gripping her leg. He is too strong for her.

“No, we are the devil. And right now I want to taste one of god’s fruits.” He pushes her down, she screams. She tries to hit him, but it has no use. She closes her eyes when his hand grabs her breast. She prays to a god, who does not seem to care. Why her? Why was she taken?

“I bet you like this, I bet this is what you pray for when the door closes.” With his other hand he opens the blouse. Impatient he pulls at the buttons, he almost tears the fabric apart. His cold hand goes into her blouse, his hand is pushed into her bra. His nails press into her flesh when he cups her breast. She cries out in pain, her body struggling against his.

Duncan his breath is hot against her skin, his hand kneads her breast. She tries to escape, but it has no use. His mouth is placed against the pulse in her throat, he sucks at the skin very lightly. The moan she lets out because of his motions stiffens her.

And then suddenly he moves away. His breathing is uneven, his hair is a mess. “I am sorry, I am sorry. Please forgive us. He knows he is not allowed to touch you; but sometimes he has urges.” Another personality, she does not know this one yet.

“Who are you?” She asks, closing the blouse Duncan had opened so forcefully. He gives her a weak smile.

“Jim.”

six It is Jim who opens the door the next time and all the times after. She can see it in the way he walks and in the way he smiles. Even his face is softer than the other personalities. Where she tried to manipulate Michael first, she now knows she should try Jim.

In the beginning he doesn’t talk a lot about himself, but he is very interested in her. Everything she tells him; he seems to care about. Always asking for more and more. From her favourite colour to what she likes to drink before she goes to bed. From her first love to her worst fears.

She tells him, because there is nothing else to do. She can’t escape him anyway. Whenever she thinks she has a chance, Jim slips away from her.

Jim only starts telling her more about his past after a few days. He was the first one. The only one. But due to circumstances at home he had turned to drugs. Maybe it was the trauma of having an abusive mother, a father that doesn’t care and a sister that doesn’t understand him what caused all of this. Maybe he took too much drugs and created someone who cares. Someone who understands, someone who will never leave him behind.

His parents had died during a tragic fire, where their whole house burned to the ground. His sister had decided to leave it all behind. Travelling the world for her to never return. Leaving him alone and unloved.

She can see him now, alone in a burned house with no one who cares about him. The only one he had was himself, so maybe that is why he decided to create people who would care.

Or maybe all of it is real. Maybe there are personalities trapped inside this man. He did know they were witches. Maybe he is cursed, maybe that is why he took them. Hoping that the three of them could help him to become just Jim again. She doesn’t know why she is here. But what she does know, is that she feels sorry for Jim.

He needs to be loved; he does not deserve to be sad.

“All I ever really wanted to do was surf.” His smile is so sad that it burns. It might have been weeks, it might have been just a couple days. But he is all she knows now, the only friendly face, the only one who cares about her. The one who knows what others don’t, and the one who was willing to ask for more. When she is with him, she no longer is just a duck swimming in the same direction as the more majestic swans. With him, she is something entirely rare. He makes her feel like she is like there is no one else like her.

And when he tells her with eyes filled with years that he wants her to be free, she isn’t so sure if she wants to be. He tells her that he had tried to free them. But when he even thinks about not locking the doors, they take over.

But the thought alone is enough, he does not want to steal her freedom. He wants her, them, to be free. And she wants that for him as well, she wants him to taste what freedom is. She wants them to taste it together.

She can heal him; magic can make him whole again. She can make his days bright and they can just do what he always had wanted to do.

So she is the one to kiss him when he tells her his favourite colour is blue. Long but soft, eager to heal all that once burned with pain. To kiss his aching away and make him forget about the others. Her fingers are digging in his hair, the taste of him on her tongue. He smells like the sea, and it feels like she’s in falling into deep waters.

They kiss and kiss, until her lips grow sore and her panties are wet.

When he leaves, she slides the cross between her index and middle finger. Asking god why something forbidden feels so right.

She thinks of blue and how he described it. How it is the sky and how it is the sea. How it is sadness and how it is honesty. But to her, it is only his eyes. And that might be her new favourite thing.

seven “I want you to be free, really.” He is grabbing her hand, as if he is afraid his words aren’t enough to convince her. But she doesn’t need much convincing to know that he is being truthful. She moves their intertwined fingers up to her face. She pushes her head against the back of his hand, a small smile is playing on her lips.

“Maybe we can start small. Why don’t we go to your room?”

He takes her to the kitchen, her hand in his. He opens the door, behind it there is another hallway. This place is so much like a maze, that she wonders if it was built to keep people in. Maybe it was built to keep them in, but it could also be built to keep him in.

This hallway is not empty. There are all sorts of electronica lying around. She even spots an ancient computer screen. There are multiple doors here as well, but he is leading them towards the one opposite the door they came from. He does not give her the chance to take the place properly in. He almost seems desperate in his movements. Almost as if he is afraid another personality will take over if he’s not fast enough.

Behind the second door is grey concrete stairwell that goes up. This place is badly lighted. It reminds her of the stairs that are in underground parking lots.

It maybe takes them five minutes to reach the top. And at the top there is another closed door. He unlocks that door and when he opens it, her eyes need to adjust to the bright light.

She knows better to ask what kind of place this is. But it seems like her earlier guesses where right. They are in some sort lab. The third door had led them to some sort of welcoming hall. There is one desk standing in the weird room and it’s empty. Maybe it’s night. She can’t really tell the time anymore.

The fourth door he opens, leads them finally to his bedroom.

It’s not a big room. It almost looks like some sort prison cell. His bed is placed against the concrete wall. There are no windows and the walls are empty. There is a small dresser opposite the bed and there are toys on the floor. They’re Michael’s, she recognized the red car immediately.

Jim closes the door behind them, she pretends she doesn’t notice that he locks it.

“They’re still alive.” He suddenly tells her when they sit down on his bed.

She is ashamed for not asking it herself. She had only been thinking about him and how she could save them. Never thinking about the wellbeing of Mallory and Coco.

Jim frowns. “You don’t look happy. They’re kind of your sisters, right?”

She shakes her head.

“I don’t think I ever really belonged with them. I love them and they love me. But it’s never as much as they love each other.”

Jim is silent for a while. She doesn’t mind the silence; she has a lot to think about. Being a witch is everything that her faith taught her to be wrong. So it was real shock for her to discover she actually is what her parents consider a sin. She hasn’t spoken with her parents ever since she moved to New Orleans. The other girls are all that she has left.

“Maybe we all are just trying to find something to hold onto. You your faith and perhaps the other witches. Me the others inside of me.” Jim his voice is soft, he is not looking at her, he’s watching the wall. She grabs his hand, forcing his attention on her once again. She let’s go when she has his attention.

“Do you ever feel alone?” She asks.

“All the time, even though I never really am. There is no one who can truly understand what it’s like to be me.”

Her smile is sad, because he is right. She will never understand what it’s like to be him. But in return he will never know how it is to be like her.

“I feel so empty most of the time, as if something is missing. As if a part of me was taken when I found out I was a witch.”

“Because of your faith?” He looks at her again. She shrugs, not sure what exactly is what makes her feel like this.

“I guess so.”

Jim is silent, when he speaks again his voice is very soft.

“It feels like you understand me better than anyone else ever has.” He is looking at his knees. His sad tone breaks her heart. She grabs his hand again, her other she brings to his face. She is touching his chin, forcing his head up.

“Maybe it’s because they never tried to.” She whispers. He opens his mouth to immediately close it again. He leans closer, her hand still on his face.

There is an urgency in his kiss that never was there before. She doesn’t mind it, welcomes it even. She feels like a walking cliché, but with every kiss he gives her, she wants more. She moves her legs up the bed, allowing him to push her down on it.

Her hands creep up under the shirt he’s wearing. His skin is smooth beneath her exploring fingers. He almost has no scars. She expected there to be burns, because of the story how his parents had died. But there are none. Maybe he had been safely outside when it had happened.

He helps her take his shirt off, he throws it next to his bed. She can feel the heat of his skin through her blouse. And it’s not enough, she wants to feel his skin against her own. He is fumbling with the buttons of her blouse. One by one he opens them, exposing her skin to the cold air of his room.

He kisses her again, leaving wet prints of his lips on her skin. He goes lower and lower, until he is at her pants. When he looks up, she only nods.

She wiggles from her pants, leaving her in only her underwear.

Jim does not stare at her body, instead he looks at her face. He places his warm hand on her stomach, he slowly moves it down. He moves his hand until it is between her legs. She feels heated, with him being so close to where no one was before. The only thing between their skin, is the thin cotton of her underwear.

He never loses eye contact. When she doesn’t stop him, he looks away. He starts to rub over her underwear. First only his thumb. But when her body starts to relax, he removes his thumb with index and middle finger. He moves in a slow steady pace, which feels really good.

She had touched herself before. But being touched by someone else is different. It’s a good different, she decides. But maybe that is because he knows what is doing. Not too much pressure, but he’s also not too soft with her. It’s almost as if he knows exactly what she wants.

“Oh Jim, it feels so good.”

He takes this is as an invitation to slide her underwear down her legs. He continues his rubbing, but it feels even better now. His fingers slide easy through her wet folds. It didn’t take him much at all to make her this wet.

Maybe it is because he is so careful, maybe it is because she’s so turned on, but it doesn’t feel as weird as she thought it would be when he pushes one finger inside of her.

His finger is obviously larger than hers. At first that’s the only thing she can think of. How it feels to have him inside of her. But when the feeling becomes somewhat normal, she can focus on the pleasure it brings her.

She doesn’t even really notice he had added a second finger. Her hips move shamelessly into his touch, her soft moans are filling her own ears. She didn’t know she could make sounds like that. But it only feels natural. He is so soft with her, so sweet for her. Her hands grab for the sheets. The cotton clenched in her sweaty fists. The soft moan she lets out sounds like his name, when the feeling of release washes over her.

His palm is wet because of her, she almost feels ashamed when she sees it. Jim brings his hand to his face, sniffing her scent in. It is a bit weird to her, but in a way it’s also very hot.

He is pulling his pants down now, exposing the bulge in his boxers. A jolt goes through her body. She did this. She isn’t sure why she likes it so much. Maybe because this means she has as much control over him as he has over her.

“Lie down.” She orders him. He does what he is told, watching how she is the one exploring his body now. She doesn’t kiss him like he was kissing her, she only gives him a very light touch. Her index finger tracing from beauty mark to beauty mark. When she arrives at his underwear, she looks at him again.

“Do you want me to touch you there?”

“Fuck, yes.”

He pushes his body up so she can remove his underwear. His cock springs free, almost hitting his stomach in the process. She has never seen one this close before. She is fascinated by it. By how soft and vulnerable it looks. She wonders how it feels like. Does she need to be soft with it, or does he prefer someone who is rough? She looks away from it, afraid to make him feel uncomfortable if she stares for too long.

“Can you show me how to touch you?” Her cheeks grow hot, she feels embarrassed that she has to ask. Jim sits up a little, leaning on one elbow.

“Give me your hand.”

He brings her hand to his cock. “Just wrap your hand around it.” He feels warm in her hand, and she likes how it feels. He wraps his hand around hers then. He starts to move their hands down and up. Up and down, down and up. Until they fall in a pace he apparently likes.

When he removes his hand from hers, she keeps up the pace he had set. She moves her hand like he showed her to do. A bit hesitant at first, but she grows more confident when he lets out a low moan.

She decides to test it a little. She goes a little slower, to go faster again when he lets out another moan. She leans closer to it, so she can place her free hand beneath the moving one.

With every sound he lets out, she grows more confident. Her hand goes down to cup his balls. She once had one of the witches talk about them and how they should not be forgotten.

“Stop, or I’ll come.” His voice is sharp, it almost sounds pained. She removes her hands immediately, afraid she did something wrong.

She turns her head to watch him. When looks up to her it’s as if nothing else really matters anymore. He loves her and she thinks she can love him. They’re all God’s creatures and she was taught to care for them all. She never felt like this before. Is it her wanting to fix him? Or is because she really loves him? And does it really matter?

“Kiss me.” She doesn’t know what else to say, not when his body is trembling under her touch like this.

He obeys, he crawls on top of her so he can kiss her. His skin is so hot against hers, it makes her feverish. She wants all of it, she wants to be burned by his skin and touch. She wants to burn to ashes with him. Collided, connected, together forever. She wants all of him, she wants him to have all of her.

His cock is hard and ready against her stomach, he must want her as badly as she wants him.

“Jim, I am ready.”

“Are you sure?” She can feel him against her entrance. And she knows she’s ready for this. She reaches her hands out to touch his face. His beautiful, angelic face. She moves her hands from his face, bringing them slowly to his back.

“Yes, I want this.” He kisses her again. Her nose, her cheek, her mouth and her throat. She sighs, her finger spread on his skin. He enters her very slowly. He kisses her when she lets out a gasp when he’s fully inside.

And for a very blissful moment she feels whole again. There is no pain, only a dull ache. The feeling of being one, the feeling of being with someone you love. She never thought she would give herself away in a situation like this. But it is happening right now, and it feels so good.

Jim his eyes are closed, his body is trying to stay still. His hands are placed on the pillow on both sides of her head. She can see sweat dripping between his furrowed brows. “You feel so good, you’re so tight. Please tell me it does not hurt.”

Her hands move up, her fingers intertwined with his curls. “No, you feel very good, it does not hurt.” This is all Jim needs to hear to start his movements.

Tears fall from her eyes, not out of pain but because all the emotions that are swirling around her head. What is she doing? Why is she doing this? But all of her doubts shatter when his hips fall down on hers once again.

A surprised moan comes out when he hits a spot. She did not expect for it to feel good. “What was that?” He immediately asks, his voice worried.

“Do that again.” She says breathlessly.

Jim circles his hips in a way, the thrust harder this time. It hurts a little, but it is not an unpleasant feeling. It reminds her of the feeling that comes with pushing on blue marks. She used to do that a lot when she was younger, the pain it gives is dull enough. Only this feels better, this is the best kind of hurt.

Her nails are scraping his back. The skin destroyed beneath her nails. Suddenly his movements become rougher, the voice he speaks with now different.

“I knew you were a freak!”

This is not Jim, this is someone else. She tries to push him off, but he won’t move. Her nails curl into his skin. “Go away, I don’t want you here.”

She finally is able to push him of her. He laughs when he falls down on the mattress. She feels dirty, she feels used. But above all of that she’s angry with him for ruining the moment she had with Jim.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell your god that you’re a dirty slut.” It’s too much, she had enough of him and his taunting words.

“You pathetic excuse of a personality, you’re worthless. You’re nothing, no one will miss you when you fall from the light.”

“You fucking bitch.” Duncan harshly grabs her wrists. His eyes scream murder, but she doesn’t care. She pulls herself from his grip. “I am not scared of you.”

She spits in his face. A feeling of triumph masters her, when she sees how shocked he looks.

But then, something changes.

A low growl breaks from his throat as all the colour is drenched from his face. Veins become visible when his skin grows paler and paler. The lights in the room are flickering, she is getting cold. The blue of his eyes disappears, leaving his eyes black and soulless. She slowly moves away from him, until her back hits the wall.

He no longer is Duncan, he no longer is like any of the other personalities. He is the demon from all her nightmares. He is the devil, he is all that is evil. She wants to scream, call for her Jim to come back, for any of them to come back. But nothing comes out. Her mouth is opened in a silent scream, when the demon leans closer to her.

He pushes his nose against her throat, smelling there where her she can feel her own heartbeat. His skin is dry and as cold as ice. His cold hand takes hold of her shoulder to push her down. The scream finally comes out. A raspy sound that does not sound like her own voice. But at least something is coming from her. She screams, but no one can really hear her.

His claw like hand is placed upon her mouth, silencing her immediately. His body is pressed against hers keeping her in her place. She struggles against him, but it has no use. Behind her is concrete, in front of her is the demon.

She can’t move, she can’t escape. It’s teeth are scraping against her skin. It’s breathe is hot and stinks of blood. This is the moment she will be killed, she is sure of it. Its mouth is at her ear now. He will rip it off, he will eat her alive.

The tip of its toxic tongue licks her jaw. A shudder goes through her body because of the sensation. Her nipples harden because of the small gesture. She damns herself for responding to it like she does. Hell will swallow her whole if the demon will not.

It nips at her skin like she is something sweet that should be savoured. Her back arches when his mouth is at her throat. Her body moves in response, rubbing against the demons.

Its teeth sink in her skin, she cries out in pain. Blood pours from the wound, wetting her throat, it drips upon the mattress they lie on. It feels strangely good. Maybe it is because she’s close enough to dead to feel heaven.

She falls down on her back when he leans away from her. Whimpers fall from her mouth, her hands automatically go up to touch the wound. She tries to close it, but she doesn’t think it has any use. He will kill her anyway. She starts to cry; she doesn’t want to die like this. Naked and afraid, eaten alive by a demon.

He climbs on her, ready to bite again. His hands are placed on both sides of her head. Her own blood drips from his chin on her face when he leans closer to her face.

He licks the wound he had made and she lets him. This isn’t a terrible way to go. One bite and she will be gone. Her eyes close, tears are still falling from them. Cold hands are wrapped around her throat now. At least she will die loving someone. Jim, Jim, she could not save him.

Her eyes snap open when the beast let’s out a howling sound. What is she doing? When did she become something helpless, when did she something that no longer craves for control? She always finds a way out, so why doesn’t she find one now? So she pushes back, with all her strength. Until the demon falls on his back and she’s on top.

She looks down on him. His face is covered in her blood, the flickering lights in the room are mirrored in his black eyes. The veins she can see beneath his skin remind her of storms and their lighting.

But she sees something else too. He is still Jim, only his face had changed. He may think it’s another personality, she thinks it’s not. It is still him. And she loves her damaged boy. She is a witch and she must be able to tame this demon. She has god on her side, she can cast the evil from this boy. Love will always conquer, good will always win. So she will conquer him, she will defeat evil.

“You’re not like this. Please listen to me, I know there is good in you.” Her hands are cupping his face and he does not fight her. If he was truly evil, he wouldn’t have allowed her to take control.

“Please, let me help you. Let me save you.”

He doesn’t answer her, he grabs her arms instead. He rolls the both of them over. She’s on her back again. She tries to turn them over again, but he pushes his whole body against her. She wiggles, trying to free herself from his weight. But she can’t.

She wants to believe it still is Jim, but with the way he is watching her it’s hard. Drool leaks from the corners from his mouth, eyes too dark to see real emotion in them.

He forces her legs open with his knees. Despite the fact he seems to be only hungry for her flesh now, she can still feel how hard he is. His erection is placed against her pelvis. She only has to move her hips a little for him to be between her legs again.

Tame the beast, conquer the devil. Maybe she feels too much for him to not sin. So she moves her legs, grabs his head and pulls it down. Warm lips meet cold ones, she kisses him until she no longer can taste her own blood in his mouth.

The demon kisses her back, his sharp teeth clashing with hers. She moves her hand between them, taking hold of his cock.

She tries to tell herself that all he needs is love, that he just needs to feel warmth. But she is only half convinced it will really work.

She guides him between her legs, his hips almost move automatically when he is where she wants him.

He is inside her again, but this time it’s not like the first time. He does not wait for her to adjust, does not ask her if she’s okay. His body is heavy, but his weight is the last thing she thinks about. She knows she has to be gentle, to let him know there is still good in this world. But she really can’t bring herself to do so, not when it feels so good to be like this. She pushes his face away when it leans down closer to hers, instead she pushes her face against his shoulder.

He moans, he groans, he growls. With every animalistic thrust she feels herself slipping further and further away from all that is good. This is sinning, her body moving with his, the pain it gives turns her on. This is everything god forbade her to ever participate in. Her body is wet with sweat but also her own blood. It makes it easier to slide over his body. Her cheeks are wet with old tears.

His skin is turning hotter with every thrust, but he is still not her Jim. So she bites him, her teeth piercing through his dry skin. She bites until he bleeds, until she almost chokes on his blood and tears are falling from her eyes again.

She’s not surprised to be the first one to come, because she knows it’s a sign. She has chosen her faith and she cannot return to anything she had left behind now. She screams Jim’s name when her climax hits. Maybe to taunt the beast, but also because she hopes it will bring him back.

He pulls out before he can cum inside of her. Instead he spills over her stomach.

He does not move from her, instead he looks down on her. The demon almost looks amused. It’s teeth are showing when he leans down to touch the damaged skin of her neck. His fingers trace the wound he made, almost as if he wants to make sure it’s real. His fingers go lower and lower, until they’re wrapped around the cross of her necklace. He brings his face closer to hers now. His lips are touching her earlobe.

“You can’t save us.” His voice is raspy, low and it gives her goose bumps. It feels like all her hope is gone, as if someone snatched out the fire inside of her. He pulls the necklace from her. The cross hidden in his fist.

He leaves her naked and alone in his cold bed after. She is trying not to cry when the door closes.

eight She is alone when she wakes up again. Her body is covered in bruises and the sheets are a brownish red from her blood. Her hand goes to her throat, where she can feel the imprint of his teeth. She is aching everywhere. Her back is hurting, she can barely sit up without wanting to fall down again.

She whimpers, not wanting to cry again. He didn’t return after he had left her. She wonders if he even is himself again. Maybe he was right after all. There are other personalities, it isn’t it just a disorder. He is cursed, the demon she saw yesterday wasn’t him. Why would it take the necklace? Jim wouldn’t do that. Jim wouldn’t hurt her like the demon did. She is sure of it.

She feels dirty and used, but most of all she feels something else. She tried so hard to save him. Maybe she needs to save herself first before she can save him.

She gathers her dirty clothing, putting them on again. When she’s fully dressed, she walks very hesitant towards the door. What will be behind it? Will it even open?

The door isn’t locked and behind the door is the empty lobby. She starts to walk around, trying to open other doors. But they’re all locked. Except his bedroom and the door they came through yesterday.

She decides to explore the empty desk that’s standing in the middle of the lobby instead. The papers on the desk tell her that this building belongs to Kineros Robotics. But what’s in a name? She sits down on the chair. The person who normally sits here really has a thing for purple. Because almost every personal item is in that particular colour. She opens one of the drawers and it’s immediately the right one. There is a key that looks like it belongs to the front door.

Bingo, she can escape.

But why is she hesitant? Why does she feel like she would betray him if she leaves? Maybe he feels bad about what happened last night. She must find him first. And she must find her sisters, she needs them now more than ever. But she needs him for that as well. He is the only one that knows where they are.

So she goes downstairs again. But the kitchen is empty. But the door to their hallway is opened, so she goes that way. Maybe he is in her room?

There is something different. Two doors in the hallway are opened, while the one to her room is closed. There is a blood trail from one room to the other. She slows down her steps. Her gut is telling her to run away right now. To leave him and never look back again. But dumb like she is, she ignores the feeling. She stops when she is in front of the first opened door.

The first thing she sees is Coco. Her whole body is covered in blood. It looks like she was attacked by a beast. Or a demon. She ignores the voice in her head, slowly she walks closer to the room. She can hear faint sounds now.

The room looks exactly like the one she was being kept in. Her body stiffens when she sees them. He is leaning over Mallory. His hand is in her chest, he pulls her heart from it. She sees how he brings the organ to his mouth, and he bites.

She backs away from them until her back hits the wall. He is eating her heart like it’s the most delicious thing ever. Mallory’s dark eyes are still opened, staring at Coco’s body next to her. But she is not alive. They both are gone. Her hands grab for something to hold onto, she feels like falling down. Both her hands touch the wall instead. Her heart is beating furiously in her chest. She covers her mouth to let the scream she wants to let out in. She needs to throw up, she can feel the bile coming up.

The moan that comes from the demon makes her snap out of her panic. She moves away from them as quietly as she can. Making her way to the kitchen. The only thing she is thinking about is how to get away from here as fast as she can.

The desk in the lobby is still empty. But she doesn’t waste time. She’s running towards the large door, the key she stole earlier in her left hand.

The door opens easily and when she is outside, she lets out a breath. It seems to be the end of the day but the sun is still up. She runs from the building, not looking back until she is sure she’s far away from it. When she turns around, she can still read the letters on top of the building. Kineros.

All she is thinking about, is Cordelia. Her sisters are killed, she needs her supreme now more than ever.

She asks the first person she sees on the street for their phone. The woman gives her a weird look. Probably because she looks terrible. With shaking fingers, she types in Cordelia’s number. And when she takes the call and hears how the supreme says her own name, the witch finally feels safe again. It’s going to be alright; she’s going to be fine.

nine Back in Kineros the blonde demon smiles to himself, his face still covered in blood. He is Jim, he is Xavier, he is Duncan and he’s even Ms. Mead. But most importantly, he’s Michael.

They all are real, really made up by him. He knew he had to do something drastic to lure Cordelia away from the sacred grounds of their New Orleans academy. She would never come to him without a good reason. Cordelia had killed his adoptive mother and he will make sure Cordelia will meet her end.

Soon there will be no witches left to mess with his devilish plans. He plays with the cross he stole from her. No witches, except her. He will keep this one. Something to bring with him to his new world. Michael will not forget the way she so easily had given him all of her love. He is not without cravings after all.

But first, destruction. He will kill them all as gruesome as he had killed the other two witches. They will never know what is coming their way…

..............................

pfew, thank you for reading!

if you speak french, or maybe listen to stromae, the title of the fic already gave away the ending. tous les memes means ‘all the same’.

shout out to chef bertie, the chef who taught xavier how to make the best sandwiches.

..............................

tags: @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @ccodyferns @thechildofmay @queencocoakimmie @queenie435 @isoldedax @bethskarsgard @littledemondani @theghostoflangdon @boofy1998 @bademliimagnum @gold-dragon-slayer @venusxxlangdon @nana15774 @isoldedax @napping-is-my-favorite @anacerta @vampirefairyestelle @wroteclassicaly @icylangdon @peachesandfern @hecohansen31 @melodylangdon @leatherduncan @michaelsapostle @michael-langdon-appreciation @hadesruinseverything @themiswrites @blakewaterxx @rocketgirl2410

#fanfiction #michael langdon x reader #duncan shepherd x reader #jim mason x reader #xavier plympton x reader #ms mead #michael langdon #xavier plympton #duncan shepherd #jim mason #mallory #coco st. pierre vanderbilt

247 notes · View notes