#body horror tag is more prevalent and you will! see why! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

retrievablememories · 1 year ago

Text

cherry bomb | part 2 | jungkook (m)

pairing: jungkook x fem reader

summary: after your town goes into lockdown because of the cherry bomb massacre, you find out that the murderer's interest is on you. eventually, you’re left with no choice but to face him.

genre: horror/slasher, angst, smut, college!au

word count: 13.7k

warnings: major character deaths, gaslighting, hallucinations, anxiety/paranoia, grief, trauma, violence (including knife and gun use), torture, blood, gore, descriptions of dead bodies, a funeral scene, fuckboy!JK, oral (fem receiving), fingering, finger-sucking, handjob, cumplay(?), hair-pulling

a/n: this part is quite rougher than the first, so heed the warnings. same notes as the last part—not meant to be entirely realistic since this *is* a slasher. block/filter as needed. i didn’t mention this in part 1 but this fic is not set in present day; more like somewhere in the 2000s? i don’t think this fic would work as well with all this advanced technology/the prevalence of social media now

...also, i had this story all written out and then decided to completely change the plot at the last minute because i figured out a way to write the original plot i had wanted to do from the beginning. 💀 yeah…just leave your thoughts below

taglist is at the very bottom of the fic—for some reason i wasn't able to tag everyone who requested, so please reblog this fic so folks can see it

sources for the fic dividers: one | two

link to part 1

you’re standing in front of some stranger’s house in the early hours of the morning, your body heavy from exhaustion as your adrenaline has run out. this is not at all how you expected your night to end when you left your dorm hours ago. it must’ve taken at least 40 minutes to get to this house, and you’re less familiar with this part of town, which you try not to feel uneasy about. you suppose the farther away from the scene of the carnage, the better.

jungkook bangs on the door, calling out the name yoongi-hyung until the porch light comes on. though it’s illogical, you’re tense with apprehension that the murderer could somehow appear at any moment, and you hope whoever yoongi is lets the both of you in soon. so much for no longer looking over your shoulder.

a man with hair just as long as jungkook’s answers the door, looking disheveled and annoyed. “why the fuck are you banging down my door at nearly 2 am—"

yoongi stops speaking as he eyes the both of you up and down, his gaze going from the bite mark bruises you left on jungkook’s neck to the dried blood on your face to the bullet holes in jungkook’s car. his expression is between surprise and curiosity. “what the fuck is going on here?”

“can we talk inside?” jungkook says, though he doesn’t wait for an invitation before pushing his way past the other man and stepping inside.

“uh…hi. sorry.” you step inside too, glad to not be out in the open anymore.

yoongi takes another look outside the door at the state of jungkook’s car before closing and locking it. “mind explaining this shit? i thought you were going to that party you told me about?

“i did,” jungkook says, his voice full of frustration. “the fucking killer showed up at the party.”

“the fuck are you talking about?”

“you know what i’m talking about. that werewolf-masked freak? he came and just started stabbing people to death. we watched him shoot a fraternity member in front of us, dude. that’s why my car looks the way it does.”

“the campus is probably dangerous,” you add. “that’s why we came here. we just need somewhere safe to stay for the night.”

yoongi goes to the window and draws back the curtain. he peeks out the small holes in the side of the blinds rather than pushing the blinds down to look outside. “and you’re certain he didn’t follow you here? i thought he only killed virgins anyway. why the hell was he shooting at you?” then yoongi turns away from the window and looks at you. “oh. is this why?”

feeling put on the spot, you blurt out: “look, i don’t think that matters much anymore. he seemed to be killing anybody who was in his way.”

“and he was on foot the whole time, so there’s no way he could’ve followed us,” jungkook adds.

yoongi shakes his head and walks away from the window. “whole town is fucked, then. come on.”

you’re relieved to be able to scrub the blood off your face and change into fresh clothes. you initially thought it was peculiar that yoongi had spare clothes ready for you to wear until he alluded to keeping them on hand for any of jungkook’s hookups that he brings over.

“sure—of course.” you’d just nodded and tried not to look embarrassed as you accepted the clothes.

even after showering you don’t feel entirely clean, though. you think it might be impossible to return to feeling anything like your former self after tonight.

the couch has a pull-out bed, so it’s not as uncomfortable as it would be just sleeping on a regular sofa, which you are grateful for. you’re still arranging the pillow and blankets when jungkook walks into the room holding his own bedding.

“i think i should sleep here,” he says.

“there’s no room on the couch for the both of us,” you protest, thinking he means to take your spot.

“i mean on the floor. earlier, you didn’t seem like you wanted to be left alone in here.”

“oh.” you try to take the edge out of your voice; it’s hard to be polite when you’re still so overwhelmed with stress. “that’ll be uncomfortable though.”

jungkook just waves his hand and dumps his pillow and blanket on the floor before going to push the coffee table out of the way. “doesn’t really matter, i think we’ve been through worse tonight than sleeping on a hard floor…”

“thanks,” you say quietly, watching him spread his blanket out on the ground. you want to say something else, but you can’t think of anything.

“it’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

after a few more moments of staring at jungkook as he arranges his sleeping area, you finally ask, “i was wondering how’d you meet yoongi? he doesn’t seem like he’s a college student. i’ve never seen him around our campus, at least.”

“he isn’t. he works as a music producer, so he’s out of town a lot, but this is his homebase. as for how we met—it’s a long story. he and my brother actually used to know each other, so…” you think he’ll explain further, but he just shakes his head. “but he’s a good friend.”

“i see. a music producer…nice. how cool for a little town like this.”

after everything is to his liking, jungkook gets under the blanket. “tonight was a lot, so try to get some sleep.”

you nod and turn the lamp off, though you’re doubting you’ll get any peace tonight. “yeah…you too.”

SATURDAY MORNING, NOV 4

you wake up around 11 a.m. on a strange couch wearing strange clothes in a strange room. with your brain’s half-conscious state, your terror reawakens; you think maybe you’ve been kidnapped by the murderer and the car ride with jungkook last night was a dream—until yoongi pops into your mind.

you try to regulate your breathing and settle back beneath the blanket, though you know you won’t be going back to sleep.

you haven’t gotten more than an hour of sleep in total, broken up into 20-minute intervals across the hours. every time you’ve tried to close your eyes and drift off, you see the frat member’s skull bursting apart again, shocking your entire nervous system. you can think of nothing but the piles of bodies and the deaths you witnessed. perhaps it’s better that you don’t sleep; you figure your dreams wouldn’t be any more tolerable than your thoughts.

as you shift around on the couch, your whole body screams with soreness. your arms, your ribs, your sides, your legs, and—to a lesser extent—even between your thighs where jungkook was last night.

you glance over and see that he’s still sprawled on the floor, blanket halfway kicked off. he’s actually awake, his face turned away from you as he blinks slowly and stares at nothing, but he doesn’t say anything and so neither do you. with you spending most of your night awake, you saw that he was able to get more rest than you did. lucky him.

it hurts to move, but you reach for your phone and check for any signs of lorelai. none. there is one text from camille, sent 40 minutes ago.

➤ camille: I talked to Lorelai’s sister. She went to go see about a missing persons report. The police took her information but didn’t seem very concerned about it and said she might have just stayed the night with other friends after the party. Apparently a lot of others had the same idea as you. Campus is a ghost town. They’re still identifying all the bodies, so no word yet.

➤ y/n: so we just have to sit here and wait to see if she’ll turn up alive or dead? that’s useless.

➤ camille: As per fucking usual with the pigs.

➤ camille: She also told me there’s supposed to be a lockdown or something. It’s on the news.

➤ y/n: a lockdown???

looking around the room, you spot the TV remote sitting on yoongi’s coffee table a few feet away. you try to sit up, but it takes you a couple minutes longer than you anticipate because of the pain. jungkook notices the movement from the corner of his eye and turns to look at you. “what are you doing?”

“tryna get the remote.”

jungkook grabs it and hands it to you, and you turn the TV to one of the local news channels.

➤ camille: They’re telling people not to leave their homes for anything non-essential while they search for him. Not sure how long that’s supposed to last. I guess now they wanna get serious about this fucking killer? Too late for that.

you and jungkook watch as the newscaster gives a rundown of last night’s events; to your small relief, it looks like the killer didn’t try to go to the campus after the murders at the party house. the newscaster goes on to announce that the police are instating a citywide curfew, which they’ll discuss further at a press conference in the afternoon. in the meantime, they advise everyone to only travel in groups, shelter in place if possible, and keep all windows and doors locked.

you laugh humorlessly, and jungkook glances at you again. “in groups? we were all packed into one damn house at the party, and how much did that help?”

➤ y/n: are you sure you’re okay at the uni?

➤ camille: I’m fine. My roommate brought some of her friends into our room so no one’s left alone. Either way, my dad is coming to help me move some of my things out and come back home.

➤ y/n: okay, please just stay safe.

➤ camille: You too.

“what now?” jungkook says once the newscast goes off. “everybody just stays holed up for like a month while they hunt for that guy?”

you roll your eyes. “people won’t stay in their homes for that long. i don’t know how any of this is gonna work. we wouldn’t be in this mess now if they’d cared when this first started happening.”

“you think so? students would still be getting killed. the only difference is that a good chunk of people would just be sitting at home freaking the fuck out and too scared to go anywhere while the killer would still be on the loose.”

“…damn. it’s truly bleak to assume we’d still be in the same situation. you’re an optimistic one.”

“better than deluding yourself about it.”

“whatever. where’s your family to freak out over you? somebody should be concerned about your whereabouts by now. didn’t you say you have a brother? speaking of, i’m gonna have to call my sister soon…”

jungkook turns back to the TV, and you can tell he’s become more tense than he was seconds ago. “yeah, but i’m estranged from them. yoongi’s my family.”

wrong thing to ask. you wonder about the reason for it but decide it’s probably better not to pry. “ah…that sucks.”

jungkook looks back at you like he’s irked by that response, but he makes a noise resembling a chuckle. “tell me about it.”

later that afternoon, after you’ve reassured your sister veronica on her work break that you are fine and at a “friend’s” house (because you have no clue how to refer to either of these men), you and yoongi sit at the kitchen table with brunch while jungkook goes outside to examine the damage to his car more closely.

it’s difficult to eat, but you do so anyway; you don’t want to be rude by wasting the food yoongi made. the news station still plays loudly from the living room as you wait for the press conference to come on.

“so, about you and jungkook...” yoongi starts, looking at you from over the rim of his cup of coffee.

“what about me and jungkook?”

“we both know he didn’t get those bites on his neck from a wild animal attack.”

you sit up straighter in your seat, a sudden spike of irritation hitting you. “aren’t we all grown here? who cares?” you try to sound unbothered despite feeling very green about all of this. after all, you’d only had sex for the first time last night.

“look, i don’t care. fuck him all you want. i’m just trying to advise you not to get emotionally involved, because that’s not how jungkook operates. the amount of girls i’ve had somehow coming after my neck when their situationship with him doesn’t work out is starting to get really old. it’d be best if you didn’t do the same.”

you’re simultaneously annoyed at his assumption of you and flustered because you want to prove him wrong about acting the same as the other girls. you hate both feelings. “i don’t want anything like that with him. i just needed something done and i got it. it doesn’t matter anymore.”

yoongi shrugs, and you get the sense he’s heard that before and isn’t convinced, but you can’t be bothered going back and forth with him about this.

the press conference comes on TV a few minutes later. they announce that classes at your university are cancelled indefinitely; parents and relatives will need to come move their students out, and the school will be operating with a skeleton staff and increased security presence for any students who can’t leave the campus. the citywide curfew will be at 8 p.m. every night, by which time almost everyone will need to be in their homes, and it will end at 6 a.m each morning.

“fun,” you say sarcastically. “at least i won’t have to worry about finals and trying not to get murdered at the same time.”

when jungkook comes back inside, you let him know about what he missed from the press conference.

“we should just stay here for now.” when you raise your eyebrows, jungkook says, “i basically live here when i’m not on campus for classes. plus yoongi-hyung lets me bring girls here all the time, this is nothing new.”

“if both of you are gonna be hiding out in my place, we’ll need to go to the store,” yoongi says. “more mouths to feed.”

“…or i could just go home?” you propose, your mind reeling at them already making plans. you feel awkward about staying in a stranger’s house for who knows how long. “i think we only really needed to stay here for the night. it’s fine.”

“will you have people there with you?” jungkook asks. “it’s not safe to be alone.”

you’re surprised he seems to be this concerned, but you answer: “well, i mean…my sister works 12-hour shifts as a nurse and she’s the only one living there, so…” you’d chosen your university because your older sister lived in the area, and because it was a tradition for women in your family to attend that school, but there were no other relatives you could turn to. your parents lived a couple of towns away.

yoongi comes to the conclusion so you don’t have to. “in other words, you’ll be alone most of the day.”

“…i guess. but i’m really not tryna impose on you by staying here.”

yoongi tilts his head, a small smirk on his lips. you automatically dislike the look on his face. “why don’t you take jungkook with you, then?”

you and jungkook glance at each other. “but, hyung…”

yoongi shakes his head. “you already know i can take care of myself. seriously, don’t worry about it.” and then yoongi winks at you. you don’t know for sure, but you take that to mean he’s probably packing heat like camille’s dad.

“if you’re sure.” turning to you, jungkook says, “so, how about it?”

“it’s my sister’s house, so i’ll have to ask her,” you say tentatively. “yeah…uh. let me do that now, i guess.” you pull out your phone to text her about it, though you know it’ll be a while before she gets another work break and can answer. “in the meantime…i think we’ll need to go to the store either way. and then to campus to pick our things up.”

“you’re right. let’s go then,” jungkook says.

the store is full of people panic-buying food and necessities in preparation for the curfew and effective lockdown, which you expected. you and jungkook end up going your separate ways to find the things you need because it’s quicker that way, and because you want to get in and out of the store as soon as possible. the crowdedness is too much like the party, and despite yourself, anxiety begins rising in you due to the claustrophobic atmosphere. you try to maintain even breaths as you keep searching for items. just what you need—a shiny new trauma to make your life harder.

you pass by a man in one of the less-crowded aisles before realizing he’s standing in front of what you need to get, examining one of the food packages. you wait a few moments to see if he’ll finish up soon, and when your eyes begin to wander, you see that there’s a long gray hair clinging to the back of his leather jacket, standing out clearly against the black. you probably wouldn’t have noticed this at all on any other day, except your mind has been on high alert for hours now; you find it strange that this strand clearly doesn’t match the shade or length of the hair on his head, which is short and plain brown. the shade of the hair also weirdly reminds you of something, though you can’t quite recall what; it remains just out of your mind’s reach.

you shake your head. he could’ve come to the store with somebody who has long gray hair, or hugged them before he left home, and a strand stuck to his jacket. it’s the least of your issues right now.

the man must feel your presence behind him because he turns around to look at you. you’re a little taken aback by his gaze; his expression isn’t mean per se, but very intense, as if his entire focus is trained on you.

there’s a second’s pause, like he’s thinking about something before he speaks. “am i in your way?” he asks, never breaking eye contact. his voice doesn’t portray any particular emotion.

“i just have to get something really quick.” he steps aside and gestures to the rows of food without a word. you slip in beside him and grab what you need before moving away again. “thanks.” you think about telling him about the hair on his jacket but decide against it; your decision is solidified when you spot a wolf figurine keychain on his keys, faded from time but still distinguishable. it makes your breath catch.

there’s no way it could be him. it was kind of dark in the party house with nothing but string lights and lamps illuminating it, and everything happened so quickly…but you do remember the colors of that mask. red, yellow, black—and that dark gray for the fur.

but maybe it’s really all just a coincidence; how much sense would it make to turn every person with wolf paraphernalia and random stray hairs into a suspect?

you walk down the rest of the aisle and away from the man with growing unease. maybe it’s time to find jungkook so you can get out of here; you can hardly keep yourself together, and despite your best attempts at logic, you can’t stop yourself from getting more frantic about those two things.

speeding up your walk and weaving through people, you look down every aisle in search for jungkook before you find him, rushing over to him as you breathe heavily.

“whoa, what the hell is wrong? did somebody do something?”

“no, i…”

“what happened?”

“it’s the…well, the…i saw, uh…”

“y/n.”

“i saw—the mask. the fur from the mask. do you remember it?”

“…you mean that stupid ass werewolf mask?” you gesture for jungkook to lower his voice. “wait, you’re saying you saw it in here?”

“no, i saw a man who had a strand of hair on his jacket…” it starts sounding ridiculous to your own ears the more you speak, but you continue. “the strand—it was the same color as that fur. the same length! and he—he had some weird wolf keychain…”

jungkook stares at you for a long moment before sighing. “you’re not serious? a random strand of hair that could be from anybody or anything? that could be from someone’s fucking grandma for all we know. plus a keychain…maybe he just likes wolves, y/n.”

you already know that saying i just feel like something is off won’t be enough to convince him. you sigh with a deep sense of defeat, considering that he’s probably right. maybe your initial assumption was the more sensible answer. “…right. i think i’m just really fucked up right now after everything that happened. can we finish up here?”

“yeah, we will. because you definitely need to lay down soon or something. you haven’t had any sleep all night, right?” the way jungkook eyes you with concern as if you’ve lost your mind annoys you. you’re about to give a smart remark when you notice something in the carrying-basket he has.

“…a baseball bat?”

“if the killer comes after us again, duh. we’ll be prepared this time. or at least i will.”

“good luck with that if he happens to have another gun.” rolling your eyes, you brush past jungkook to go to one of the checkout counters.

in the parking lot, you see that the man from earlier has also come out and is putting the last of his grocery bags into his car trunk. there’s really nothing spectacular about his appearance that would make him stand out in a crowd, with his average height and average looks, let alone incriminate him as a serial killer. yet that familiar unease won’t leave.

he sees you and jungkook walking towards the car together, and his eyes dart to the bullet holes in jungkook’s car. then he makes eye contact with you. you give a half-hearted wave, unsure what else to do with his eyes stuck on you. for a moment, his lips turn up into the faintest smile before he shakes his head and gets into his own car.

MONDAY, NOV 6

you’ve spent half of saturday and all of sunday trying to get used to living in your sister’s house with jungkook. veronica had been surprisingly okay with having him stay over, though most of it was her being relieved you finally found “a potential boyfriend who’s actually cute.” you didn’t have the energy to argue with her.

you’ve also been constantly checking on camille (to her eventual annoyance) and seeing if there are any more updates on lorelai. still nothing. your dread grows the further away you get from that bloody friday, but you try to keep your thoughts from straying too darkly.

right now, you, veronica, and jungkook all sit on the couch together in a neat little row, a bowl of popcorn in front of you on the coffee table and some science-fiction B-movie playing on the TV. your sister proposed the idea to distract yourselves from everything going on, but so far, you feel like it isn’t very effective. at least not for you. your mind keeps wandering to other things every 5 minutes.

eventually, veronica yawns widely, stretching her arms and legs before rising off the couch. “okay, i’m getting tired as fuck. i need to go to sleep for work tomorrow anyway. you guys enjoy the rest of the movie, okay?” she pats your shoulder as she passes by you on her way out of the room.

jungkook waves. “oh, sure. goodnight.”

“night, sis.”

when jungkook’s attention goes back to the movie, your sister makes eye contact with you and points her finger at you menacingly. you give her a shocked look while she mouths you know what i mean and swirls her finger in jungkook’s direction. embarrassed at the implication, you roll your eyes and turn your head back to the TV screen. having sex with jungkook on your sister’s couch is not high on your list of priorities tonight.

after your sister is gone, jungkook spreads out on the couch like it’s his own living room, placing his legs right over your lap. you sigh, looking over at him—and hoping that your eyes don’t linger too obviously on the expanse of thigh muscle that’s now on display from his shorts riding up higher.

“…really? i don’t want your big ole legs in my lap.”

jungkook just grins. “you should lay down too, it’s more comfortable this way.” you stare at him, and he tries to egg you on by pulling the sleeve of your shirt. “come on.”

“i’m not laying down on top of you, if that’s what you’re after.”

you do end up lying down, but on the opposite side of the couch so that your legs are tangled together, which really just increases the amount of contact between you either way—but whatever.

this makes jungkook laugh more. “ha, it’s like we’re scissoring.”

“so damn corny.”

you two continue watching the rest of the movie, but by the end of it you don’t remember half of what happened. taking the remote, you flip through the channels and try to find something else to look at. there isn’t much interesting to watch on a random monday night—which would be a school night anyway, if not for the current context.

as you search for a channel, jungkook asks: “what would you do if you found out who the killer was?”

you squint your eyes at his odd question. maybe the obvious answer would be to alert the police. but after days of having your anger stoked like a fire, that’s not exactly the answer you’d choose. “maybe i’d kill him.” the words leave your lips easily, and you hardly think twice about them once they’re out.

neither of you speak for a few long moments.

“does that scare you?” you ask, after the silence starts annoying you. you want to laugh, but there’s nothing really funny about the situation.

“…not really. angry women are kinda sexy. so are dangerous ones.”

you scoff. “i’m not tryna be sexy, you fool. and how many dangerous women have you dealt with? seems to me you only have a thing for the innocents.”

“it’s not like i only fuck virgins. you don’t even know me like that.” he nudges your leg with his foot like he’s also annoyed, but his expression doesn’t show any actual irritation.

“…if you want to go back and forth about it, go outside and argue with the wall or something. i’m in no mood, jungkook.” you shove his foot off of you. “just, holy shit. i wish i could have just one hour where i don’t have to think about any of this shit. my mind can’t even breathe.”

he’s actually quiet for a couple minutes after. you think he’s moved on from the conversation until he finally says, “i can give you an hour.”

your body becomes alert at that. the insinuation in his tone is obvious. you glance backwards as if your sister could hear you from upstairs, though you know that’s illogical. “i got what i wanted from you already,” you whisper.

“so? what if i wanted to give you more? you know you’re allowed to have sex with a person more than once, yeah?” he chuckles.

here he is making you this offer, and once again you feel like you’ve been reduced to the state of a confused lamb in front of a hungry wolf. you realize that the idea of letting yourself get more physically entangled with jungkook scares you. he is not someone you can turn into a boyfriend, who wants to be a boyfriend, and you are only looking to save yourself from any potential hurt. “it would just be sex—right? you have to know i’m not looking for anything deeper from you.”

jungkook smirks. like with yoongi, you don’t know if he believes you. “i know.”

you want to undo almost everything from the past few days. you can’t forget, but for a while, you want to just exist outside of the timeline where there’s a killer on the loose and one of your friends is missing. it’s too much to handle; your body is approaching its limits for the amount of stress it can take. you need a balm to numb the pain and the fear, and you dislike that you are giving into your base instincts to do so. you feel guilty, somehow. but pleasure is easy. at least it has been whenever you sought it on your own—and now you have someone else to give it to you. someone who is in front of you now, proposing it with all the willingness in the world. maybe there’s really nothing wrong with saying yes.

“jungkook…”

“hm?”

“please just shut the fuck up and don’t say another word about the outside world right now. i don’t want to think about anything but your…” you falter, still trying to get used to expressing what you want sexually.

jungkook sits up, his hands sliding up your legs and to your hips. “but my what?”

“um, your…” your thoughts end when he leans down and pulls the hem of your sweater up, planting a kiss on your waist where your skin meets the waistband of your sweatpants. one kiss turns into a second, and a third. the fourth becomes an open-mouthed embrace of his lips on your skin, and you make a small noise of pleasure when his tongue gets involved.

“careful. don’t want veronica to come down here, remember?”

you huff. “that isn’t happening any time soon, believe me.”

his kisses continue as he begins to slide your sweatpants down, revealing the waistband of your panties. once they’re fully on display, he leans forward to nuzzle his face between your thighs, his mouth and nose pressing into the seat of your underwear. his actions take you off guard. you actually give a brief chuckle from surprise, though you are also somewhat embarrassed. “now what the hell are you doing?”

“let me savor my meal before i eat it.” his warm breaths tickle your inner thighs as he speaks.

“ugh, don’t turn me off.”

“that’s funny, because i seem to have an easy time getting you wet.” to prove it, his fingers press into the seat of your underwear to feel the wetness that’s seeped into them; you sigh from the brief pleasure his fingers’ movements afford you before he pulls them away.

jungkook drags your panties down next, his lips trailing down your lower abdomen and across the curls of hair covering your pubic mound. your body fills with anticipation at the gradual pace of his actions and the purposeful, wet caresses of his mouth.

when he uses his thumbs to press your lower lips apart and expose you more fully to him, you have half a mind to be self-conscious about it until he places his mouth on you in earnest.

jungkook eats like someone who hasn’t done so in a while and doesn’t know when he’ll get to do it again. his mouth sucks at your clit like he’s desperate for you to come, tongue rolling over the swollen nub in an unrelenting pattern that has your stomach tensing, and you quickly realize you do have to try to silence yourself even if you know it won’t wake veronica up. you twist your hands into the sleeves of your sweater and lean your head back on the couch’s armrest as you arch your hips up closer to jungkook’s face, uncaring about how vulnerable you feel completely offering yourself up to him like this; right now, all you want is to feel good.

“gonna come quick again? maybe we can set a new record?” jungkook pins your knee against the couch with his elbow to keep your legs open as he slides two fingers inside, diving straight in instead of working you up this time. your body breaks out in a sweat and you know you really won’t last long once he does this, the tips of his fingers aiming for that dreadful, wonderful, and overpowering place inside you. you don’t know how people do this—you feel like you’re going to die when he stimulates that spot, and all you want to do is scream even though you can’t.

“a r-record? fuck off…” you choke out, though you begin to rock your hips into the rhythm of his fingers, needing so badly for him to take you over the edge again.

he chuckles. “i don’t think you want me to fuck off right now.”

you have no words for a good comeback when he buries his head between your legs and slurps at your pussy again and crooks his fingers repeatedly to where your orgasm is unexpectedly rushing down upon you, causing your body to tense as you gasp and stifle any sounds that escape with your sweater sleeve.

jungkook doesn’t stop there and you don’t really expect him to, because you’re beginning to learn he isn’t a one-and-done type of man. he keeps sucking and stroking you right into another releasewhile you push the beanie off his head, fist your fingers into his strands, and tremble over the sight of his pitch-black mess of hair between your thighs. something about the visual is so appealing to you.

after he has made you come for the third time, you watch him sit up on his knees to reach into his shorts and pull his dick out, his darkened tip slick with precum. his long hair falls into his face as he glances downward, using the hand he’d been fingering you with to lube himself up with your cum.

“come here,” you tell him, your voice coming out sharper than you intended; but he doesn’t care, because he follows your request without a word and presses himself into your side. the couch is just big enough to accommodate both of you in this position, but it’s still a tight fit, and your bodies are once again tangled together.

“let me touch you,” you say, your palm pressed to his stomach, feeling the firmness of the muscle.

he raises his eyebrows, like you didn’t even need to ask. “of course.”

“no, i mean…” he realizes what you actually mean as you brush his hand away from his shaft and wrap your fingers around it instead.

“should i teach you how?” jungkook brings his hand to overlap yours, though his breath becomes a bit strained when you slide your hand to the base of his cock and back to the tip again, the pads of your fingers rubbing over the sensitive head. seeing your fingers around him turns him on more than he thought it could, and it’s just a simple fucking handjob.

you roll your eyes. “stroking a dickshouldn’t be that hard.”

“everyone likes it differently, though. fast, slow, soft, or rough…just the tip, or the whole shaft.” you can’t deny that—or the way you find yourself throbbing at his words, his voice husky from the pleasure. which is why you let jungkook close his hand more fully around yours and guide your movements.

it’s captivating to observe his reactions from your hand on his skin—the heavy breaths he lets out and the soft moans and even softer whimpers that come in between the exhales. whenever you squeeze his shaft more firmly or rub your thumb against his leaking tip, you find yourself grinning at the rise and fall of his chest and the tongue that darts out of his mouth to lick at his lips. but mostly, your eyes are drawn back to the sight of your hand working him over, his thighs and stomach tensing sporadically.

eventually, you both look away from your joined hands and at each other’s faces. your eyes dart to his lips and back to his gaze again, and you shift your face forward to signal your desire for a kiss. he meets you there by pressing his lips to yours, and it isn’t hard for him to get lost in the meeting of your mouths and the heat from your palm on his shaft.

your free hand returns to his soft hair to tug on it as your tongues slide against each other. he grunts at the burn of his roots being pulled but doesn’t stop you; on the contrary, his body responds favorably as more precum swells from his tip and his nipples poke against the material of his shirt.

“do you like that, jungkook?” you mumble against his mouth.

“you know i do.” at some point, his hand falls away and he lets you stroke him on your own.

jungkook gives a shuddering moan into your mouth when he climaxes minutes later, thick streams of his cum shooting onto his shirt and dripping down your hand. he tries to keep quiet and doesn’t entirely succeed, but it doesn’t much matter.

you squeeze the few remaining drops of cum from his cockhead, trying to make sure you don’t grip hard enough to actually hurt him. you pull your sticky hand away from jungkook when you think he’s finally emptied, but he grabs your wrist and you look at him questioningly. you watch with shocked eyes as jungkook brings your hand up and takes your messy fingers into his mouth, sucking his cum from them. you know instinctively it isn’t the first time he’s done this—not with the look of pure satisfaction on his features as he licks his own seed off your fingers.

his enthusiastic pleasure is part of the reason why you accept when jungkook gives you a crushing kiss, passing his cum from his tongue to yours. you don’t know what you expected it to taste like, but it isn’t gross like you’ve heard others complain about when sharing their sex tales; despite being salty, the overall taste is neutral. still, it takes some getting used to.

when you pull away from each other, noses brushing and lips wet from each other’s spit, you look into his dark brown eyes and get the sudden desire to say something that’s been buried in the back of your mind for days now.

“why did you come straight to me that night?” you whisper. “like you already knew who you were there for.”

jungkook stares back, his lips curving up slightly. “i just wanted to. or i wanted you, more specifically.”

“that’s not an answer.”

“well, it’s my answer.”

“was i another one to knock off your list?”

“you think i have a list?”

“i’m not stupid. it’s not unusual for guys to have a list. plus, plenty of rumors go around.”

jungkook taps his fingers underneath your chin and kisses you on the lips again, though it is brief. “stop believing everything you hear.”

you clearly won’t be getting a straight answer from him tonight. with the moment broken, you sigh and begin pulling your bottoms back on. “…whatever you say, dude.” once you’re dressed, you climb over his body to get off the couch. you poke him in the chest as your eyes roam over him in his disheveled state, his shorts pulled down and his cum staining his black shirt. “might wanna clean yourself up, huh? i’m going to sleep. and, yeah…thanks for the distraction.”

TUESDAY, NOV 7

with the weather being as cold as it is and heading toward winter in another month or so, lorelai is surprised by how quickly the bodies began to smell.

she doesn’t know much of anything about bodily decomposition—because, to her parents’ disappointment, she wasn’t about to be a biology major and have to be around cadavers in a dissection lab—but if this were a movie or something, she would’ve thought it would take longer than just one day. the smell started to hit her the saturday after the party.

but ultimately, this isn’t a movie, and the fact that she’s trapped in a decrepit house in some remote part of town is her present reality.

she doesn’t remember anything about how she got to this house; she thinks she must have been concussed before she was brought here. her head has been hurting badly for days, and not even the simple relief of a painkiller is available.

what she does know is that she’s being kept in a dirty living room on an equally dirty mattress, her hands and legs tied by rope and zip-ties. if there were any miniscule chance of her escaping, it would be impossible to go anywhere considering both her ankles are broken, only adding to the amount of physical pain she’s been in for days.

the living room is mostly empty except for the bodies of some other students from the party, which have been scattered around the room. lorelai tries not to look at them—especially not at the ones she knows—but it’s difficult. they become even more terrifying to her when night falls, turning into dark, rotting shadows in the corners of the room. there has been nothing but the company of these corpses for days, and a couple of visits from the killer.

he's never once taken off his wolf mask or his gloves, and every other part of his body stays covered in all black. she doesn’t have the first idea of what he looks like underneath it all. he has spoken to her a few times, but the voice isn’t one she recognizes. his words when she first awoke inside this house still knock around in her mind, filling her with dread.

he’d crouched in front of her, watching her move around on the mattress and try to orient herself. he had the casual air of someone observing a flipped-up bug struggle on the sidewalk before crushing it underfoot. “you aren’t y/n, but you’ll do for now. we’ll have some real fun later on. you’ll help me give her a good scare.”

“how the fuck do you know y/n?” lorelai had struggled against her restraints, but this only made her newly broken ankles hurt worse. tears began to fall from her eyes from the pain and fear.

the killer had said nothing to that—only tilted his head curiously and stared at her, which was unnerving even if she couldn’t see his eyes.

“you have no fucking reason to go after her, she’s not even a virgin anymore you dumb fuck—” with those words, the killer had backhanded her, sending her already injured head into a fresh wave of agony.

“things would’ve been different if not for that fucking party. you students think you’re so fucking clever, yeah? and look how you paid for it.” it was impossible to see any facial expression, but his body language spoke of anger. “no matter, though. virgin or not, i’ll see this through to the end.”

now it’s yet another morning, and he has returned. he has a lot of debris in his hands—stuff like sticks and dry moss and foliage. he’s also carrying a small bag, the contents of it a mystery. everything he does causes alarm for lorelai, but now confusion joins in.

“ready to have some fun?” he asks. with duct tape over her mouth, she can’t answer back. she watches as he arranges the debris on the ground in front of her, her anxiety mounting as he takes a lighter out of his pocket and sets fire to the foliage.

leaning forward, he rips part of the duct tape away from her mouth with his gloved hand, causing her face to sting. “got anything to say?”

“wh-what the fuck are you doing?”

“i’m gonna stoke a nice fire here…get this knife hot enough to hurt.” he brings out his knife then, and lorelai shrinks away from the blade as he drags the flat of it across her throat—but there’s nowhere else to go, as she’s sitting up against the wall. “then i’ll just cut this pretty little body up a bit. the finishing touch…i think i’ll slice your throat open. how does that sound?” he takes the knife away from her neck to hold the blade over the flames.

lorelai’s breath hitches, and her stomach begins to physically hurt from the outpouring of anxiety flowing through her. she starts to sob, trying to speak through the tears and snot and drool. the only question she can muster up is, “wh-why?”

“this is for y/n—remember? i hope that concussion hasn’t fucked with your memory.” the killer watches the reflection of the flames on the blade as it grows hotter. “and…i’m doing someone a favor.” he doesn’t wait for her to speak again before putting the duct tape back in place over her mouth, leaving her to cry to herself and face her rising distress as he heats the knife until it’s burning hot. internally, she wishes there was any way in the world to get out of this situation.

it isn’t much longer before he’s finished. lorelai screams as he approaches her with the knife, and then at the feeling of the red-hot blade scorching her skin, though the sounds are stifled by the duct tape.

“now, be still while i fix you up.”

WEDNESDAY, NOV 8

you go outside that afternoon to check the mail and have an excuse to get out of the house; it doesn’t matter if it’s only for a few moments. you’re not used to staying cooped up in one place for so long with absolutely nothing to do, and you feel like you’re not too far off from going mad with cabin fever. it hasn’t even been a week since everything happened.

you open the mailbox, and there are the usual bills along with something strange: a blank envelope with no return address. even your sister’s address isn’t written on it. flipping it over, you see that the envelope was never sealed. someone must’ve just come up and put it inside the mailbox. but who the hell would do that, and for what reason? whenever any of your neighbors have something to give you or your sister, they come straight up to the house to do it.

inside the envelope is a set of polaroids. their content makes you drop the rest of the mail. your legs grow weak, and you end up sitting down hard on the end of the driveway, some of the polaroids slipping from your hands. the pictures show the bodies of some of the students from your university, their corpses posed in odd positions and some bare of clothing—all dead.

you struggle to breathe as you frantically flip through the rest of the pictures. in the center of all the group photos is lorelai, her neck torn open and her wrists and ankles tied. she’s still dressed the way she was the night of the party, though her dress is stained with dark brown blood. there are open cuts all over her bare skin, their appearance rough-looking and uneven as if they’ve been cauterized.

there are several group polaroids, several of lorelai alone, and several angles of the outside of a house, which must be the same one the bodies are being kept in. one photo of lorelai slips out of your shaking hands, and you see there’s barely legible handwriting on the back of it, which reads, “this is just the teaser, y/n.”

you scream and don’t stop screaming until jungkook comes running out of the house holding the baseball bat, as if the killer might’ve gotten bold enough to attack in daylight. a couple of your neighbors peek out of their houses and make their way over with concern on their faces once they see you sitting on the ground, your exclamations ringing through the street.

there’s a disarrayed group of people around you grabbing at your shoulders and asking what’s wrong, what happened, and then gasps and exclamations of shock when they see the polaroids. you feel yourself being pulled to your feet and then lifted up—maybe it’s jungkook, because it smells like him—but you’re too disoriented to make proper sense of anything right now. you can only think of how much time has been wasted, and how little time lorelai actually had left.

SUNDAY, NOV 12

in the main lobby of the funeral home, you sit in a chair next to camille, staring into empty space while the other girl tries to cry as quietly as she can. she cries as if she’s ashamed of it, and you wish you could comfort her, but you don’t know what to say or do. for the past few days, you’ve mostly just felt numb.

you’re waiting for veronica to come back out so you can leave, as she’d stayed behind after the service to talk to lorelai’s family for a little longer.

lorelai’s family had opted to have her cremated after seeing the state of her body. a lot of other families did the same after the events of cherry bomb, not even wanting to entertain the idea of a closed-casket funeral. you can understand their feelings about it if you push through the haze in your mind to consider it for long enough. though the morticians have done the best they can over the past week, sometimes knowing that your loved one has multiple stab wounds and eviscerated organs beneath all the makeup and fancy clothing is too much to handle.

when veronica finally comes out, the three of you walk outside to join the rest of the people who’ve started getting in their cars. some still linger in small huddles, shaking their heads and wiping their faces.

jungkook, who’d driven you and veronica to the memorial, waits outside for you all, leaning on the side of the building. you both thought it was probably better for him not to attend the service considering lorelai was never fond of him and he didn’t know her that well.

“is it finished?” he asks.

“it is.” veronica sighs. “god, funerals are so damn…bleak.”

you notice a man waving at your group from the other side of the parking lot and realize it’s camille’s dad. her posture straightens when she catches sight of him, and she hurriedly tries to wipe the rest of her tears before shoving her tissue into her pocket. “i-i think my dad is waiting for me. i…i’ll see you guys later, alright?”

“okay, camille.” the strange absence of emotion that you’ve been trapped in for the past few days suddenly cracks open when you notice camille’s anxious demeanor as she speed-walks away from the rest of you. intense sorrow overtakes you; you don’t want her to leave, but she has to go.

you are crying before you fully understand what’s happening. veronica puts her arms around you and squeezes you against the side of her body. jungkook reaches a thumb up to wipe away your tears, though you don’t let him get very far before turning your head away and into veronica’s shoulder.

“y/n…”

“how am i supposed to go on?” you exclaim, catching the attention of a few people nearby. “the police said maybe she’s just staying with friends. and now look. plus, the killer knows where me and my sister live now…maybe he always knew.”

“we don’t even have a clue who the killer is…” jungkook mumbles. “there’s no one you know of who might have a grudge against you?”

“no, jungkook. the police already gave me all that questioning. and it doesn’t help me feel any better to think maybe all these deaths are somehow my fault.” you scoff.

“y/n, nothing’s your fault because some freak decided to go around killing people; that was his decision.” jungkook argues.

you nod slightly to his words but say nothing else, not wanting to go further into that topic. you don’t know if you can believe him about that.

the parking lot is emptying out now, so you try to pull yourself together so the three of you can leave. “well…you don’t need to keep staying with us if you don’t want to. we have those assigned bodyguards now, so…” you glance in the direction of one other car sitting beside jungkook’s—inside it are two men the police force appointed after the polaroids of the bodies were planted in your sister’s mailbox.

jungkook looks at you as if he’s trying to gauge your expression; he himself looks surprised, though he attempts to play it off. veronica glances between you both, recognizing the awkward shift in the air.

“you don’t want me there anymore? i mean it is your house—” he glances at veronica “—so that’s fine with me if—"

“what? i didn’t say i don’t want you there, neither did veronica, it’s just if you don’t want to be there—"

“i never said i didn’t want to be there, though?”

you both become quiet, jungkook looking at you and you returning his gaze for a few seconds before looking off to the side. veronica is still standing between you both like she’d rather be anywhere else on earth.

“i just figured that maybe…” why are you being so concerned about me? isn’t this the part where we go our separate ways? is what you really want to ask. you have seen and learned enough from your friends’ and even your acquaintances’ experiences to realize that any other one night stand would not have cared so much. that’s how these things go, right? but he isn’t really a one night stand anymore, either.

you don’t even know if you’re considered friends with benefits, but what would that change? you’d still seen others tossed aside without much thought by their FWBs while in times of need. considering his history, you don’t understand why jungkook isn’t following the same template now, and you don’t think you should ask why for fear of breaking the illusion.

fed up with your own confusion, you decide now isn’t the time to lament on your lack of knowledge about these things. “nevermind. that’s fine. so you’ll stay?”

the corner of his mouth lifts in a brief smile. “i’ll stay as long as you won’t try to kick me out.”

you aren’t in the mood to attempt to smile back, but he seems to understand that. “right, well...good.”

“…now that you two have figured that shit out, can we leave?”

FRIDAY, NOV 17

jungkook thought that getting outside a bit more would help you feel better and prevent you from developing a complete fear of leaving the house, which is why you’re sitting in this claustrophobic little diner now with him, yoongi, and camille—and of course, your ever-present bodyguards in the booth behind you all. but this outing isn’t doing anything to mitigate your fears.

nearly 10 minutes in, you have to ask jungkook to switch seats with you so you’re not on the outside of the booth, as you’re afraid that it’s too easy-access if anyone—say, the killer, though you’ve been trying not to think so obsessively about him—were to come in and start stabbing you to death right where you sit. being on the inside calms you for a little while until you become anxious about the window beside you; what if he has a gun again and simply shoots through the glass? all he’d have to do is stand on the sidewalk and aim, his werewolf mask laughing at you with its eternally frozen growling expression, and your brains would be all over the table just like that frat guy’s.

your meal sits half-eaten as you get increasingly lost in your anxieties. the others are talking about something, but you can’t hear what. it’s like some of your senses have shut down or begun working incorrectly. the strawberry sauce in camille’s sundae looks too much like blood and even smells like it from the occasional whiffs you get, and you find yourself staring at the sundae dish and wanting to throw it across the restaurant.

jungkook’s hand touches you on the back, and the tension in your body increases. he feels it and draws away, though he keeps trying to meet your eyes. “are you okay?” he whispers.

“why ask that? she obviously isn’t,” yoongi says, like he’s annoyed with the obviousness of jungkook’s question.

“hyung, i’m just trying to help.”

“it was your great idea to come out here when she didn’t want to, though.”

“y/n—” camille starts.

“can’t you throw that out? it smells like blood.” your mouth feels useless and hard to maneuver, but you manage to say those words.

“what?”

“the…that. that thing.” everyone looks at camille’s melting sundae. yoongi raises his eyebrows.

“blood?”

“do you mean it—looks like blood?” jungkook suggests.

you raise your voice in irritation, not understanding how everyone else is unable to perceive the same scent that you do. “no, i-it does, but it smells like blood too! just get rid of it!”

one of the waitresses comes over to the table. “is everything okay over here?”

“um, we’re fine! i’m finished with this though.” camille hurriedly hands the sundae off to her, trying to keep the situation calm.

“oh, well—the rest of you too? that’ll be it, then?” she gathers everyone’s plates and leaves with a smile that attempts to be cordial but is still colored with unease.

her departure leaves a stiff silence in which you all spare glances at each other but try to avoid directly meeting eyes. camille is the first to break it.

“i’ll ask my dad if i can stay over with you,” she suggests. she suddenly sounds much more tired. jungkook’s eyebrows furrow slightly at her words; yoongi silently glances at the younger man. “just, you know…maybe the extra company would help? he’s been treating me like a kid again, but we should be safe with the bodyguards there, so…”

“you don’t have to do that,” you say, though you’re too exhausted to truly argue.

“you’re in shambles, y/n. and it’s not just for your benefit. i’m feeling pretty fucking alone right now, and it’s hard for my dad to understand the emotional side of it, so…” camille plays with her fingers and doesn’t look at anyone as she speaks; you know talking about her father can be a sore spot for her sometimes. “uh, anyway. not to trauma-dump or anything. just let me do this.”

you sigh. “fine…okay. do whatever you have to. can we just leave?”

as you’re all walking outside, jungkook pulls you aside.

“i still worry about you after that incident at the store, you know?” he admits.

you shrug his hand off your arm and glare at him. “you think i’m crazy.”

“i don’t. i just want you to be able to relax and not feel like you’re being hunted 24/7. i don’t think the killer is constantly waiting around the nearest corner for you, y/n.”

“you don’t know how close the killer could be. he knows where i go to sleep at night. so stop the bullshit, jungkook.”

“you’ll be okay. you have me, remember? i protected you that night…i can do it again.”

you examine his face for a long moment and find that you are too overwhelmed with stress and fear to be moved by his words. “i’d like to trust you…but the killer might just murder you too. then who’ll save me?” you don’t wait for his response before walking away to catch up with the other two.

LYING IN WAIT...

it’s strange to see the police bodyguards in veronica’s driveway and backyard everyday. it’s not the same two all day—they switch off so that there are two doing a day shift and two doing a night shift.

the security team at the hospital where your sister works is aware of the situation, so you try not to get too worried about her safety when she’s away from the house—but it’s difficult.

there have been no more kills connected to your university since lorelai. it seems like half the town has forgotten their fears and tried to go back to some sense of normalcy while the other half still hides away and lives in perpetual panic, including you. the former group of people has started muddying the waters for the police, with some teenagers getting brave enough to sneak around in wolf masks and vandalize buildings with red-lettered virgin graffiti just to fuck with the cops. there have even been a few people who turned themselves in claiming to be the killer—only their supposed confessions never matched the details of the case.

reporters have tried to hound lorelai’s family and your family several times for any speculations or answers on the killer’s identity, but none of you are willing to spread misinformation just to give them something to write about. however, that hasn’t stopped other residents of your town from sharing their speculations and even implicating their own relatives or neighbors—whether as a fucked-up joke or as genuine revenge just depends on whoever’s speaking. with all of these false leads, the police are still no closer to finding the killer than they’d initially been.

everyday feels like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, though the chances of any more kills are starting to seem improbable; the university is practically empty. but it doesn’t matter to you if the school is nearly deserted, because the killer has his aims set on you now, and you only wish you knew why.

up in your room, you and camille sit on your bed gazing out the window—the window that must always remain locked now, for fear of unwanted ingress. you’ve never been uncomfortable in your sister’s house, but lately you’ve been feeling like you’re boxed in with every wall pressing towards you.

sitting up from your lying-down position, you have to find the appropriate words for a moment before speaking. “camille—i can’t stop feeling like maybe we aren’t entirely safe,” you murmur.

camille raises her eyebrows. “why not? those guys stay outside all day, and we keep everything locked up day and night. literally, the only time the front door opens is for veronica to leave and come back from work everyday.”

“i don’t know. there’s no particular reason for it…it just seems like we’re waiting for something.”

“…yeah? for the killer to be caught.”

“but he’s made no moves recently. you remember the policeman’s daughter, right? i even texted her and she hasn’t heard anything new that we don’t already know. seems like things have slowed down at the police station. it’s not like that abandoned house was in the killer’s name or anything, so what leads would they have?”

camille frowns and rubs her eyes like something’s in them, but when she looks at you directly, you see her eyes are red from unshed tears. “…i want things to be okay, though. i’m tired of living like this. you know how i had to beg just to get my dad to let me leave the house. he’s constantly on edge.” you feel even more unsettled to see camille so distressed lately, as she’s always been the only one able to pull something funny out of a terrible situation—something enough to distract you from the horrors. “all i know is they’ll have to dig his ass out of some hole in the ground at some point. he can’t hide in this town forever.”

“yeah…i guess you’re right.” you still don’t feel reassured, but you don’t voice your doubts.

WEDNESDAY, NOV 22

“i think i might go mad,” camille says from her position on the armchair, her limbs splayed haphazardly across it and one hand stuck in a bag of chips.

you sigh. “you’re the one who wanted to watch this thanksgiving movie marathon.”

“the most mid holiday of the season,” jungkook adds.

“no one cares what either of you think, thanks.” it isn’t long before the program is over and the ending credits are rolling. with an exaggerated exhale, camille gets up from the chair and crunches the bag of chips in her hand. “i’m going to your room, y/n. you two just do whatever it is you do down here, since you hate my movie choices so much!”

“means we can finally turn the channel.” jungkook snatches the remote off the coffee table and does just that.

camille goes into the kitchen to throw out the chip bag and wash her hands. your focus returns to the TV. a few seconds later, you hear the upstairs flooring creak above the noise of the water pouring from the tap.

“what’s up, sis? i thought you were sleeping.” veronica is known to be a deep sleeper, so it’s not common for her to be getting up in the middle of the night. there’s no answer to your question. you glance upstairs, but your sister isn’t standing there; she isn’t standing at all, instead being carried by someone wearing an all-too familiar mask.

you scream as the killer tosses your sister over the stair railing. her torso has been sliced open from collarbone to navel, her body leaving a large splatter of blood on the floor where she lands. jungkook jumps to his feet but is momentarily immobilized as he gazes at your sister’s body crumpled on the floor. you slide off the couch and crawl over to her, still crying out, but there’s no life left to try and salvage.

the screaming brings camille rushing to the kitchen doorway. she can barely vocalize what’s wrong? before spotting veronica’s body and stopping in her tracks. in a moment that feels like it takes forever to pass, the killer pulls a gun from his waistband—you recognize it as one of the guns the policemen carry and realize he must’ve killed the bodyguard posted in the backyard—and shoots her in the chest twice.

“camille!” when you go over to where she’s lying on the ground, she is still alive but bleeding intensely and struggling to breathe. your knees slip in the blood that begins pooling around her. “shit, camille…p-please don’t die…” you press your hand against the wounds, but they’re bleeding so much that your efforts don’t help, and the pressure of your hand causes her more pain.

there’s the sound of a gunshot at the front door as the lock is blown off, and the door is banged open a few seconds later by the remaining bodyguard. he has virtually no time to fire off another shot before the killer is shooting him in the head first.

the killer throws the gun aside, taking his knife in his other hand and making his way down the stairs. “your sister left her window cracked open. i waited for days for a slip-up like that. see how much harm can come from a simple mistake? well, she was collateral damage anyway.”

even in your panic, it’s as if all your bodily functions freeze when you recognize the familiarity of the killer’s voice. camille reacts with a rattling gasp, but her body is becoming too weak for her to utter anything; all she can do is watch as the man stops at the bottom of the stairs and pulls his mask off.

“yoongi…” your voice breaks as you try to speak again, but nothing coherent comes out.

he drops the mask on the floor and brushes a hand through his hair. “i guess you weren’t expecting that. good. we kept it up ‘til the end.”

your lips form around the word we, but your vocal cords won’t cooperate. you twist around to look at jungkook, who is still standing by the couch.

the man who you’d gotten too close to for your own good and done so many firsts with, who’d promised you that he’d protect you and was even there for you on the day of lorelai’s memorial, looks at you now with eyes glowing from the thrill as his mouth twitches into a smile—small at first but growing into a full grin. “i almost can’t believe we staged all that shit and it actually worked. you really believed it all, y/n.

not all of those kills were hyung’s, of course...there’s no way i’d miss out on the best parts. you don’t know what it’s like until you kill a person for the first time. crashing cherry bomb was his idea, though. and lorelai was mine. that bitch would’ve kept you away from me, and i needed her gone for this kill to work.”

through tears, you finally muster up the strength to ask, “wh-why have you done this? that night…y-you mean to tell me none of that was real? being shot at—why would you—” your voice rises until you’re shouting. “you-you’ve killed so many people. what was the purpose?!”

jungkook’s smile fades somewhat as he pretends to think about it, acting like he’s reminiscing on wistful memories. “i realized that killing and fucking aren’t that different, y/n. the real ecstasy of it is in taking someone pure…and doing something to them that has never been done before, and can never be done again. there’s a certain eroticism in killing someone, stabbing them, entering them…it’s like sex in the most profane sense.”

“you’re disgusting,” you mutter, glaring at him through your tears. you can’t help but feel shame to think of the times you’d had sex with him. had he simply been imagining murdering you during those moments? it makes you want to throw up.

yoongi steps closer until he’s right in front of you and camille. “and as for me…i just enjoy it. practice really does make perfect. you wouldn’t believe how entertaining it can be to see someone beg for their life.” his lips turn upwards in a dark smile resembling jungkook’s. “but instead of raging at us, i think you have bigger matters to be concerned with.” yoongi gestures his knife hand to camille, and when you look down at her body, you realize she’s no longer moving.

you lift camille’s head up with your hands as if that could make her return your gaze, though you can find no sign of breathing or pulse. “god, no…” you scream in frustration, your hands slipping in her blood. you check once more and again for any signs of life, because there is just no possible way this could’ve happened, but there are none present. “please—i’m sorry…”

“time’s up.” yoongi grabs your arm and yanks you away from camille, jostling you to try to get you on your feet. you flail around in his grip, fruitlessly scratching at his arms that are covered by his thick jacket, before managing to elbow him in the groin with your frantic movements. “shit!” this causes him to loosen his grip, which is enough for you to scramble away from him, slipping in the blood as you go.

you make it to the other side of the room where the officer lies facedown—though there isn’t much left of his face from yoongi’s shot. you snatch the gun from the dead officer’s hand and point it in the direction of both men. the safety is already off; all you’d have to do is pull the trigger and kill either one of them right now. before you can act, yoongi uses his free hand to pull another gun from his waistband—his own.

“as i said before, i know how to take care of myself,” he says, flicking the safety off and aiming for you, though his stance shows he’s still in pain. “please don’t assume it’ll be that easy. do you even know how to shoot a gun?”

you and yoongi are at an impasse as you both point your guns at each other, jungkook looking on with casual amusement coloring his face. “fuck you,” you spit out. you remain hesitant to fire on him, knowing that even if you succeed, he could fatally shoot you at the same time.

“let’s not do it this way,” yoongi says, his voice low and soft in an attempt to be persuasive, though you just find it disturbing. “you were supposed to be a clean kill. a few stabs and it’d all be over. i’ll even let jungkook do it, since you seem to like each other so much. do you really want to be shot down like a dog like camille over there?”

“you and him can both fry in hell!” you shout.

yoongi glances over at jungkook. they both nod before yoongi hands the knife to him, and the younger man takes a few steps in your direction. you don’t know whether to point the gun at him or keep it trained on yoongi; your head is pounding with a headache that you’ve only just realized you have. “don’t come over here. stay away from me!”

you press your back to the wall as jungkook comes closer, inching towards your right side with his knife at the ready. you slide away from him as you keep your back against the wall. “hand it over, y/n. it doesn’t have to be like this.”

“hand it over and let you kill me? are you insane? you lied to me this whole time, you fucking piece of shit.”

jungkook scoffs and looks at yoongi as if to say can you believe this? “why wouldn’t i lie to you? you were always meant to die.”

he won’t stop coming towards you, and you’re running out of room to slide away from him. you grasp for anything to try to reason with him, though you know it’s futile. “you realize that if you kill me now and you conveniently survive, everyone will know it’s you? you’ve been living here for weeks, you jackass!”

“hyung and i have that covered. it’s not for you to worry about, considering you won’t be worrying about anything soon.”

jungkook lunges for you with the knife, thinking he can catch you off guard and overpower you. you scream and pull the trigger in your frenzied state of mind, shooting yoongi. the next few things seem to happen almost simultaneously:

you hear the crash of yoongi’s body hitting the TV stand and the TV falling to the floor.

you feel jungkook’s knife piercing your shoulder, causing you to fire a stray round into the wall from the unexpected burst of pain.

you hear another gunshot that’s not from you; you see and feel jungkook stumble into you, the knife sliding from his fingers and to the floor.

you realize that he’s been shot when his hand flies to the bullet wound on his lower back; he’d been standing in front of you, and yoongi meant to hit you, not him.

“jungkook!” yoongi’s shout is furious and regretful as he steadies himself on the TV stand.

trying to push the pain into the back of your mind, you clumsily grasp jungkook’s fallen knife and run for the stairs. more shots follow you and most of them miss but one, which strikes you in the thigh. while you cling to the stair railing and try to regain your footing, you are suddenly staring mortality in the face and understanding with a freezing-cold clarity that you will die right now if you don’t do something.

your nervous system vibrates with fear and adrenaline as you tighten your grip on the police officer’s gun and shoot yoongi with it twice—in the same area he’d shot camille.

these last two bullets finish him off immediately. you don’t think it’s fair, with how camille suffered and bled and died in your arms. for a moment, you’re so outraged that you wish he’d come back to life so that you could kill him again. you’re torn from these thoughts by jungkook.

“you bitch…he was my only family after everyone else threw me away. do you understand? i’ll fucking kill you!” jungkook is nearly writhing in the ground from his upset and from the hurt of his injury; it frightens you that this same man is someone you once thought you could grow fond of.

you aim the gun for jungkook next, but the chamber is empty. either way, he currently has no weapon, which leaves you with a small chance to get away before he re-arms himself. throwing the gun away, you stagger up the rest of the steps while his screams continue echoing up to you.

you give no thought to the blood trail you’re leaving behind as you rush to veronica’s room and to the window yoongi had entered through. you begin squeezing yourself through, keeping your grip on your knife all the while, but your injuries make it difficult to move. a few more tears slip out as you try to balance your injured leg on the tree branch beneath the window, and the desperation of wanting to give up clings to you.

you hear jungkook’s heavy and limping footsteps coming up the stairs, and you attempt to hurry, but you’re only halfway out of the window. when he crashes into the room, it’s unnervingly easy for him to grab your arm and yank your body back through the window, uncaring of how you get scraped up in the process.

he jams you up against the nightstand with one of the kitchen knives to your neck to stop your movements; his harsh maneuver causes the objects on the nightstand to rattle. the nightstand’s edge digs into the backs of your thighs, the pressure causing your wounded thigh to hurt more.

“you want to know why i picked you?” jungkook hisses, the knife’s blade stinging your throat as it begins to break skin. “you were just another choice out of many, but i decided you’d be the first one that i’d fuck and kill.”

it’s painful to hear, but it angers you at the same time. “fuck you!” in your rage, you spit in his eyes. jungkook jerks back and the knife shifts from its previous position at your neck; you take those few seconds to grasp the alarm clock off the nightstand and crash it against his head.

“shit—!” he cries out, stumbling and grasping the side of his head. he tries to grab for you again, but you jump onto the bed and crawl away from him, your stomach lurching at all of veronica’s blood soaked into the sheets. you spot a small decorative glass bowl on the dresser—the one filled with little candies that you’d always teased veronica for, saying she was so much like a grandma handing out treats to her grandchildren. when your feet touch the ground again, you clasp your hand around it like it’s a lifeline and fling it at jungkook’s head as hard as you can, just as he makes it around the bed to your side. the shards cut his face when it breaks, slowing him down further as he grabs his slashed and bleeding face. one of his eyes is blinded from the blood and glass.

this will probably be your only chance while he’s struggling to gather himself. you rush towards him with the knife handle tight in both of your hands and drive the blade into the middle of his chest, putting all your strength into that movement—just as his own knife impales your abdomen.

you are both simultaneously struck from the shock of being stabbed, and it takes you a few long moments to piece your mind back together as the pain radiates throughout your body. jungkook groans when you shift the knife around in his wound as you pull it out, letting his blood flow out freely. his breaths become wet and rattling as he chokes on his own blood, the red fluid staining his mouth and dripping down to his neck. he jams his knife further into your wound in retaliation so that the handle is flush against your body, causing your head to spin.

“i-if i die, i’m taking you w-with me.” jungkook gasps with his remaining effort. his body starts to sag from its standing position as he weakens, his hand slipping from the knife handle. he loosely grasps the comforter with one hand as he collapses to his knees, his torso becoming soaked with blood and his head bleeding from your earlier hits.

you drop your knife and lean against the bed too, shifting your body to find a position that could lessen the pain, but it’s impossible with a knife lodged in your abdomen. you know enough to understand that you’ll bleed out faster if you remove it, though, so you resist the urge. “you can rot in hell alone, jungkook.” you watch him struggle for what feels like minutes before his breaths stop altogether and his body slumps to the floor. he is just a blur of clothes and blood through your tears. you’ve never felt so lonely in your life.

you have a thought to call 911, but you’re becoming more and more lightheaded from the blood loss, and you can already hear sirens approaching on your street. you figure one of your neighbors must’ve called after hearing the gunshots; perhaps the bodyguard sent for backup before he was shot. your rescue has come much later than you would’ve preferred—or maybe everything just happened much faster than it seemed. you can’t tell anymore.

you can’t tell anymore, and you no longer want to look at the carnage around you, and nothing makes any sense. so, you close your eyes to it all; and when you feel someone lifting you in their arms—this sensation is so familiar—and maneuvering you onto a stretcher, you allow yourself to relent to it and empty your mind of everything.

@ihatemen55 @cottoncandyclouds-stuff @yunhofingers @heybabesposts @twilight-loveer @whipwhoops @mrsminho @junecat18 @hoshi-is-ult-bbg @okayiamkassandra @witchbitxhxx @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @thaiika @goldentea10 @iloverubberduckiez-blog @katie-tibo @ohsweetmimosa @dream-cvtcher @hoseokteardrop @lpgirl2324 @vanillacupcakefrosting @gukiemochi @jkslaugh97 @ahgasegotarmy116 @jeonjklibs @bangtans-momma @screamertannie @kenzietaetae @han-nah-banana @00frenchfries00 @taiwan0618 @laurynne5 @monvante @ynisthatyou @thiccthighs19 @jeonwiixard

#jungkook smut #jungkook fic #jungkook imagines #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fic #bts smut #bts x you #bts x reader #black reader #x black reader #x black fem reader #black fem reader #fem reader #female reader

1K notes · View notes

tildeathiwillwrite · 2 months ago

Text

Whumptober Day 27

27 VOICELESS | Laboratory | Muzzled | “I have no mouth and I must scream.”

Whumptober Prompts List | Masterpost

Fandom: Original Work

Words: 700

Tag List: @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion @scaewolf

@the-ellia-west

CW: lab whump, ptsd, magic suppression, muzzled

----------

I don't remember a lot from that period of my life. My body remembers more than my mind, which tried its best to block out the horrors of those weeks and months spent trapped inside that sterile prison.

Many a dream has ended with screaming, clutching at my mouth and throat for a muzzle that is no longer there. Most of the dreams fade within moments of waking. And for that, I am grateful.

Silence was preferred. Forced. The muzzle was to keep me from speaking, from pleading with my captors for freedom, respite, comfort. For compassion.

I almost forgot how to use my voice. Even after my escape from that wretched place, I would rarely speak aloud, preferring hand signs, gestures, and written words. I am told I was stealthy too, although I'm not sure when that particular response came about.

I don't doubt your surprise. But I will remind you it has been many years since my time there. That is one of the reasons I chose to speak about it now. Another reason is because it's you, and my history, no matter how… horrific… needs to be told to those who deserve to know.

Those who are in danger of suffering the same thing.

Interesting, how once you become the victim of a home invasion, nowhere ever feels truly safe. Not even a coffin buried in the ground will soothe my paranoia that they will find me and bring me back to that horrible, horrible place. It was night when they came for me. I’m not sure how they found out about me, my mother, ever the worried sort as was common in that era, drilled into me at an early age to hide my true self.

Hiding wasn’t difficult, I was allowed to express myself freely within the safety of home, so I was never as careful as I should have been. Because of the measures my mother took to keep me safe, I never felt as though the danger actually existed. So I must have slipped up.

That night is a blur in my memory. Honestly I couldn’t even tell you when it even happened, my sense of time got so fucked up I only have an estimation of my age. I remember a loud crash, and yelling. I rarely heard my mother raise her voice, so her shouts stuck with me even as most other details faded away.

After that was the facility. I was kept in a cell, with metal bracelets around both wrists and the muzzle over my mouth. The bracelets always quietly hummed with some sort of energy that I am now certain suppressed my abilities. The first weeks were incredibly disorienting as I got used to the loss of something that I had possessed all my life. It was difficult to think, let alone focus on all the fucked up tests they ran on me.

I suppose, in a twisted, bitter way, I am grateful for that.

The stink of rubbing alcohol is always prevalent in my dreams, so I assume it accompanied much of my waking moments. The taste of the leather muzzle, and the blood in my mouth were also constants. Bruises on my arms, my legs, my face…

To this day I can’t stand the sight of needles. Can’t stand the touch of any fabrics that remind me too much of the simple loose clothing forced upon me. You can see the scars from the bracelets. I… I can’t sleep in silence, or in darkness.

And I couldn’t even speak.

I got away, yes, but it took months, and I cannot pretend that I escaped on my own. I do not know what happened to the guard who pitied me enough to let me out. I can only hope that he was able to slip away as well. Insubordination within their own ranks was sure to be met with severe consequences.

I hope you understand the severity of what I am trying to convey. I do not know how I have gone for so long without being found a second time. This is why we hide. This is why we must remain the world’s little secret. Some humans may accept us yet. But for now, the danger is too great.

You understand?

We’ll see.

13 notes · View notes

kharmii · 1 year ago

Note

you think SIBLINGS FUCKING is hot but you think trans people are disgusting??? i am going to dissect you to see whats going on with you

I don't think trans people are gross. I think they are being exploited by a large-scale money-making scam. The people who claim to care about you hate you the most. It's like Bill Gates said...the Powers that Be want to reduce our population worldwide down to a billion people. They can't outright murder us, but they can convince us to either eschew children or take ourselves out of the breeding pool.

Again, not to harp on this endlessly, but why are some kinks considered worse than others? Is there some sort of tier? Why did I see someone doing fanart on the Volo tag of someone's stupid cumflation vore tentacle fic, and nobody thought it was weird? Just because that doesn't translate into any irl situation, stupid furry kinks are supposed to be acceptable whereas identical twin intimacy isn't?

We're going into spoopy month where we will see people posting their kinks in plain sight ever more prevalently. We'll see necrophilia, body horror, big Ingo/little Emmet, and especially Galvantula Emmet. Emmet as a spider necessarily won't imply spider eggs in the ass every time, but the spider itself is a kink for sure. I could have gone that route and posted a twin aesthetic non stop while saying, "Blankshippers DNI! They are expressing platonic love! There's nothing weird about a guy giving his brother a sensual full-body massage when they have a close psychic twin bond!" Then I'd post work by fuckyeahsubwaytwins all damn day.

#blankshipping #fandumb fail #srsly tho #transtrender #left wing culture #halloween #fight me #is it just me?!#trenderqueer #ask me about my million stupid bj aus

3 notes · View notes

two-are-the-trees · 5 years ago

Text

31 Days of Poe Day 1: “A Cask of Amontillado”

It’s the tale that launched a thousand memes! That’s right, for the first day of the 31 Days of Poe, I’ll be looking at “A Cask of Amontillado,” a story that captures the imagination with a masterfully simple plot and chillingly iconic imagery. The narrative follows a man named Montresor and his burning desire for revenge against the boisterous Fortunato after he insults Montresor in some unexplained way. On a chaotic night of the carnival season, Montresor offers Fortunato the chance to partake in a cask of prized wine that is stored in his underground vaults. As Fortunato joins Montresor, descending into the depths of his family catacombs, he has little idea of the horrors that await below.

This work is brilliant in its simplicity. The entire story follows the singular task of going into the vaults to reach the Amontillado, and yet Poe is able to pack so much commentary into the thoughts of our narrator and into the dialogue between Montresor and Fortunato. The setup reaches almost fairy tale or folkloric levels of simplicity, as all Montresor has to do to get Fortunato alone is tempt him with a cask of good wine, but that Is exactly why this setup has stuck with readers for centuries and why, even today, it has become a viral meme. The concoction of flattery, pride, trust, over-confidence, and temptation that leads Fortunato to go down into the vaults is universally understood and can be applied to everyone’s lives in one way or another. Don’t we all have our own casks of Amontillado in our lives that would tempt us to venture into potentially dangerous territory?

Even though the setup is a very universal one, however, Poe still manages to put his own more sinister spin on it by making Montresor an absolute master of reverse psychology rather than just a charming flatterer. Montresor gives Fortunato many, many opportunities to turn back and many more reasons why he should not go into the vaults. And yet it’s precisely this insistence that Fortunato is not “up for it” that incites Fortunato’s pride, like when Montresor claims that he can get another connoisseur to look at the wine if Fortunato cannot. Montresor even comments on his adeptness at reverse psychology when he explains to the reader that the only way to ensure that all of the servants would be out of the house was to tell them explicitly not to leave the house while he was gone. It’s a subtle and simple commentary about the malleability human nature and the inner workings of a mastermind. It also makes Montresor’s quest for revenge that much more complete when you realize that Fortunato is walking willingly to his own doom.

Another extremely important aspect of “A Cask of Amontillado” is the theme of familial legacy and pride. This will be a prevalent theme throughout my analysis of Poe’s works as it’s a theme that not only captures Poe’s imagination, but also encapsulates many struggles of the time in which he was writing. In the early to mid 19th century, society was experiencing a significant shift. Many long-standing, landed aristocratic families and estates were dying off, making way for new upper classes like military officials and urban men of business. This caused many families to cling desperately to their legacy and attempt to preserve it as best as they could. This could be the inspiration behind Montresor’s seemingly irrational preoccupation with his familial pride and the need to enact revenge on Fortunato for his insult. Montresor doesn’t even mention what the insult was; it’s not important. The act of the insult was enough. This theme is only made clearer by the fact that Montresor chooses to lure Fortunato into his family catacombs so that he can enact his revenge surrounded by the bodies of his ancestors. Is this type of familial pride morally justified? Poe doesn’t tell us in this tale; what he does illustrate though is that people can be driven to desperate lengths in order to uphold their honor.

Would I recommend “A Cask of Amontillado”? Absolutely; this story has stuck with so many readers for a reason. It is far from one of Poe’s scariest stories, but it is masterfully told and offers fascinating character studies of both Montresor and Fortunato, with many different possibilities for interpretation. Come on, who doesn’t like a good revenge story?

For more analysis (which contains spoilers) please read below the cut!!!

Now, we all know that the only thing more iconic than Montresor’s proposal to see the cask of Amontillado itself is his particular choice of demise for Fortunato; namely, chaining him up deep in the vaults and then walling him up behind a brick wall. So, why this form of revenge in particular? It is neither the easiest, nor most painful way to dispose of an enemy. Is there a deeper significance to this form of revenge?

It’s possible that the brick wall could be connected to Montresor’s views of the freemasonry. Fortunato reveals himself as a freemason when he performs a gesture that signifies that he is a member. Montresor describes this gesture as “grotesque” and when Fortunato asks him if he belongs to the brotherhood, Montresor responds sarcastically by pulling a mason’s trowel out of his robes, referring to the occupation of wall-builders rather than the political and social organization. If Montresor does have a distaste for the freemasons, his choice to build a brick wall to seal in his enemy is a clever irony.

But I’m guessing that there are clearly multiple layers to the brick wall imagery. One thing I found particularly interesting about this form of homicide is that it allows an unusually long amount of time for Montresor to reflect on his actions. While he is building the wall, layer by layer, he is forced to listen to Fortunato’s cries of disbelief and agony. One might think that Montresor would relish in Fortunato’s despair, yet the cries actually seem to intimidate Montresor and at one point they even cause him to pause and perhaps even doubt his quest for revenge. Why would Montresor do anything that might stall his revenge or cause him to lose heart? I personally think Montresor chose a slow method of disposal in order to test his own resolve. He combats Fortunato’s screams with screams of his own, almost like an animal trying to appear intimidating, and this strategy works as it gives Montresor the strength that he needs to quickly finish the wall. By allowing himself to move past doubt and to be exposed to his enemy’s agony, he is able to assure himself that he truly does believe in his revenge, in spite of everything. Poe demonstrates that this is not merely a crime of passion. This is a calculated and necessary measure in Montresor’s eyes.

The length of time it takes to actually dispose of Fortunato also serves a double purpose, of course, in that it also allows Fortunato the most time to reflect on his own actions. In the days after he is left to die in the dark, empty catacombs, he will surely think on all of the things he may have said or done that lead to this point, making Montresor’s revenge complete. The location of this wall is also significant, in that Fortunato will die surrounded by the corpses of Montresor’s family. He will be wiped from existence in the midst of the very people whose pride he dishonored. The wall serves as a chillingly poetic reminder of the power and influence of family legacy and the lengths that some people will go to merely for revenge.

So, what do y’all think? Is there a different significance behind the wall? Are Montresor’s motivations sound? What are your favorite Cask of Amontillado memes? Please add your comments to this post or send me an ask! You can also write your own response post and use the tag #31daysofpoe!

#31daysofpoe #gothic literature #halloween #gothic #edgar allan poe

11 notes · View notes

sweetmarzipan · 5 years ago

Note

1 - 23 hi im that person - anon

MULTIMUSE QUESTIONS

not accepting! @ofkngsdear god

Which muse(s) is/are your favourite(s)?

I’ve really really enjoyed Seth since creating them; Divali and Selene have special places in my hearts from how long I’ve had them (along with Kitae & Anthea).

Which muse(s) do you wish had more interactions?

Kitae, Kiha, Juno, Haru and Sodapop honestly. Kitae in particular, as the muns he has interactions with are on hiatus at the moment.

Which muse(s) do you currently have most muse for?

Probably Seth, Nari (not up), Cassidy and Haru!

Name a muse you have written in the past. What was your favourite thing about this muse?

I’ve written Heejoon, Selene, Divali, Anthea, Ivon and Kitae before. My particular favorite thing about Heejoon though is how his personality contradicts what his FC looks like. People look at BYG and his comeback concepts and often just assume he’s going to be this hardass dom who’s going to be aggressive and curt. And then I turn him into a gentle giant who feels like he’s far, far too big for his soul.

Name a muse you wish to write in the future. What’s your favourite thing about this muse?

I’m excited to write Nari honestly. She’s a horror writer who killed her husband and I just wanna sort of.. deal with the paranoia that she has that comes with trying not to get caught.

How is your multimuse blog organised?

I make sure every muse has their own reply tag for people to find replies easier and I make sure to tag urls so people can find threads between us better. I try to keep general tags like plots, starters and images under a single tag so that people can block a tag if I post too much. Mostly for images – multimuses that have an image tag for each muse that post a lot of photos are ones I often don’t follow, just because I can’t block that many tags and don’t wanna waste my time doing so.

Do you have crossover verses for the muses on your blog?

Uhhh I’m not sure what this means? All of my muses are in the same universe; some just haven’t encountered the supernatural underground that exists. Certain muses are friends, like Dohyun & Kitae, Anthea & Selene, etc.

Which of your muses deserves better?

So many of them tbh. Definitely Cassidy, Ivon, Benji and Kitae though, the most.

Which of your muses do you most identify with? Why?

Probably Kiha. We’re both transmasc and there’s a lot of things that go with it. He’s sort of where I wish my life would end up drifting towards, at least in the comfort he has with his body and having had top surgery.

If you could change the faceclaim for any of you muses, would you do it?

I’m happy with FCs I have for the most part! The Kiha fc change was so much better and honestly feels much better than the face he had before.

Do you have any original characters on your multimuse? If so, tell us something more about them.

All of my muses are OCs, though some of them I do draw in my spare time and a small handful of them will be incorporated into a couple of graphic novels I have in mind in the future. Anthea for example, the diner she runs in the story I plan on putting her in is kind of like the HP room of requirement. It shows up to whoever needs an ear or something hot to eat.

How many muses are you currently writing?

I have 19 listed but will be adding 3 over the coming week or two, so probably gonna try and cap at 22 for awhile.

In how many fandoms are you currently active?

I don’t consider myself part of a fandom. I enjoy kpop and the music and think the people are gorgeous, but I don’t consider myself in any fandom. I’d rather avoid some of the negative associations that claiming to be part of them bring on

What is your favourite fandom to write in? Why?

Don’t write in fandoms, not applicable. I mostly stick to KRP though because it’s what I entered in when I was a teen and is what I started tumblr rp in. It’s familiar hence me staying.

What is a fandom you wish to write in one day?

Don’t write in fandoms, not applicable.

What is a fandom you used to write in in the past?

KRP, though now I don’t consider myself part of the fandom. I listen to any good music that comes my way but I don’t follow groups or people. On occasion I check the news, but that’s every month or two and when something big happens.

What is your favourite thing when you decide to add a new muse to your blog/when you decide to make a new blog?

I get excited for the plots I have in my head or writing out the open starters. The potential interactions I can get with them is often what leads me to add a muse idea.

Share an opinion you have about multimuse blogs.

I enjoy them for the variety that can exist and the possibilities that they come with. I do think there is at least a partial right way to do them, if only for organization’s sake. Years ago I had people tell me that they liked my multi but not most other people’s because I was organized with my tags and such while often times other people weren’t. I think organization has become much more prevalent in multis which is great ! and therefore the quality of the blogs and popularity of them have increased substantially.

Does your multimuse blog have a theme? Do the muses on your blog have something in common?

Nope, not really. I tried a themed multi a couple of times over the years but I can never stick to a theme.

What is the story or explanation behind your blog name?

I was thinking of ‘sweet menagerie ’ but the definition of menagerie didn’t fit. So I looked up some M names and found marzipan, which i thought would work. I like it honestly

Share a positive experience about multimuses you’ve had in the past.

The friends I’ve made! Most of my friends have multimuse blogs and some of the better ones I’ve made I’ve written with multiple of their muses before. There’s just so many opportunities and to see people excited about new muses you plan to add feels good, y’know?

List some of your favourite multimuse blogs.

OOF. @oleandercrowns, @bvgeyman, @mythvoiced, @hclywater, @rcfuscnik, @nevstcries, @nobilitylost, @exhumesouls, @tenderlovc , @2oners @lcvewave @grimmmer !!

Tag a multimuse blog and write some positivity about them (their blog, their muses, etc.)

@oleandercrowns !! A fantastic, exceedingly kind mun with a heart of gold. Deserves all the happiness in the world; I adore them more than I could ever put into words. Their muses are detailed and well thought out with a fascinating makeup. They deserve all the love and respect.

#ofkngs #「✾ knock knock 」inbox #「✾ biscuit bits 」ooc

2 notes · View notes

toobusylyintomyself · 7 years ago

Text

Dahlia 01

WARNING: This series deals with a lot of dark topics, namely death, murder, psychosis, trauma, and sexual themes. This series really isn’t for the faint of heart, or those easily disturbed.

This is entirely a work a fiction, and should never be taken as truth.

If you’re cool with all this, by all means, read on.

Genre: Horror, romance, tragedy

Pairing: Florist!Winwin/SerialKiller!Winwin x Reader

Chapter 1

He finished washing his hands, smiling happily as the blood swirled down the drain. Once he felt clean enough he dried his hands on his apron, checking to make sure it was spotless one last time before walking back out to the front of the shop. He leaned over the edge of the counter, inspecting the floor. He noticed the calla lilies in the corner were starting to wilt, he’d need to replace them soon. He grabbed a watering pail and moved around the small shop as he watered the flowers and plants.

The sound of the bell on the door handle jingling prompted him to look up from the flowers.He saw you as you walked in, your hair cascading around your shoulders and framing your face. He felt his heart swell as he watched you, a feeling he was unfamiliar with. He brushed it off, smiling brightly at you as he stood up to greet you properly, pulling a carnation out of the basket he was near and handing it to you. “Can I help you with anything today?”

You jumped back, slightly startled by the proximity of the shop keeper to you. You looked him over carefully, he was young and incredibly handsome. You hadn’t expected it if you were being honest. You let him slip the flower into your hand, nodding softly. “I’m looking for flowers for my sister actually. She was in an accident and she’s in the hospital.” You explained quietly, feeling timid as you looked around the well cared for shop.

He motioned for you to follow him toward the counter. “What if we designed a bouquet for her?” He pulled out a clip board, pulling the pen from behind his ear. “What’s her favorite flower?”

You found yourself getting distracted by his lips as he spoke, they were unimaginably full. A short chuckle brought you back to the conversation. “G-Gardenias.” You stuttered out. “She really likes gardenias.”

The shop keeper’s lips curled into a smirk, making you blush. You were too innocent, too easy to play with. It would make you more fun to corrupt. “That’s a nice flower choice.” He practically purred as a rose hue painted your cheeks. “You’re the one getting her flowers, what about adding your favorite as well?”

You shook your head softly. “I don’t think they’d looks good together.”

He cocked his head to the side. “What flower is it?” He’d expected you to pick a fairly standard flower that would easily work into a bouquet with the gardenias.

A sad smile crossed your features and it sent a pang of… something through him. He wasn’t used to people having this effect on him, he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. “Dahlias.” You glanced down toward your hands.

For some reason, seeing you hurt bothered him. He wanted to see you smile again, the way you had when you first walked into his shop. He longed to ask why your favorite flowers name brought such pain to your eyes, but he couldn’t bear watching you sulk. “What about roses? Gardenias look lovely with roses.” He offered, pulling you out of your dysphoria.

You looked up at him, the demure smile practically painted across his lips lifting the weight you felt on your shoulders slightly. “Roses sound nice.” You agreed, a hint of a smile playing at your own mouth.

He set the clipboard on the counter. “Can I get your name and a number? It’ll take a bit for me to arrange it.”

You nodded, despite the fact you weren’t sure where you would go. “It’s Y/N, but I’ll probably just stay here until it’s done. I wouldn’t know where else go.”

A small panic set in his chest. He needed to get your number now, or he likely never would. He couldn’t let you leave with no way to contact you in the future. He took a breath, quickly devising a plan. “I typically work better if I’m not being watched,” He explained carefully. “There’s a cafe just down the street. Why don’t you head down there, try to get your mind off of it, and I’ll call you when it’s finished?” He held out the pen to you, reveling in the sensation as your fingers grazed his.

“Okay,” You agreed softly, jotting down your cell phone number on the paper. “How long will it take?” You asked, offering the pen back to him.

His plush lips turned upward into a smile. “Give me half an hour, I’ll call if I get done sooner.”

You nodded back at him before walking toward the door, surprised when he grabbed the door and pulled it open before you could walk through. “Thank you…” Your voice trailed off as you searched for a name tag or any indication of his name.

“Sicheng.” He stated, holding the door as you slipped out. “I’ll see you in a bit.” He let the door fall shut behind you, taking in a long, shaky breath as he turned his back to the entrance. You were under his skin, and he couldn’t figure out why. People didn’t get under his skin. “She likes dahlias” he muttered to himself, pulling two separate wraps out. He didn’t see the harm in making a second one for you, with your favorite flowers. He wanted to see you smile, to be the reason you were smiling. He started at his craft happily, humming along to the tune playing on the radio.

You walked down the sidewalk, seeing a small cafe tucked away in the corner of the a cross street. You slipped inside, ordering an iced americano before sitting at one of the ornate chairs that peered out the window. You let your mind wander back to the young florist, Sicheng. Something about him seemed… strange. But his presence was oddly comforting, you’d felt safe in his shop.

The barista walked over to you with your drink, handing it over. “Are you out here alone?” She asked, looking at you worriedly when you nodded at her. “Make sure you’re home before it gets dark. A lot of young women have gone missing in this area lately.” She turned her back on you, heading to the customers at the counter.

You couldn’t help but think that had been a strange encounter. You didn’t sense any danger on the slightly less populated street, no sense of dread looming over you the way you would expect in the area where people were going missing. You checked your phone, noting that only about fifteen minutes had passed since you left the small flower shop. You sighed, stirring your drink aimlessly as you thought about the day. Things certainly hadn’t gone to plan, your sister was in the hospital, the day seemed to want to remind you about your parents, and apparently people were going missing in this area. You wondered if you could ask Sicheng about it, he seemed nice enough and if he owns a shop here he would probably know something.

You stood up from your chair when there were five minutes left, walking back out into the street. You strolled slowly, looking at the other shops as you made your way back to the young florist. You felt your phone buzz while you were still a few stores away, you quickly answered your phone, still walking toward the shop. “Hello?” You chimed, walking the last few steps to be standing in front of the door.

Sicheng saw you standing outside the window as he finished tying a ribbon around the bouquet, watching carefully as you answered a call. He noticed the look of dread fall across your features and it felt like a knife had been driven through his chest. He didn’t hesitate to rush outside when he saw you collapse on the ground in front of his shop. “Y/N!” He called out to you, kneeling beside you and pulling you against him.

You looked up at him as he kept you in his arms, concern prevalent in his features. Tears had welled up in your eyes, a few spilling over as you blinked. A pathetic, defeated laugh fell from your lips, a sound that should’ve been joyful filled with an anguish unparalleled in the world around you. You sniffed, unsure what to say to the man in front of you. “I guess I don’t need those flowers anymore.”

“I... “ His voice trailed off, not knowing the best words to say in that instance. It was clear to him what had happened, but it wasn’t like him to be apologetic, much less toward a stranger. “I’m sorry. Do you want to come inside and sit for a bit?” He could deal with the new feelings later, it was too much for him to have you curled on the ground in this state.

You nodded, a new wave of tears hitting you as you did. You wrapped your arms more tightly around your chest, trying to hold yourself together, only to have them pried off by Sicheng as he wrapped his arms underneath you, lifting you with a surprising amount of ease for how thin he was. He flicked the door open with his foot, bringing you inside the shop. He set you on the counter, quickly moving the flowers out of view, knowing it wouldn’t help you to see them right now. “I can still pay for the work you did.” You choked out between sniffles.

Sicheng shook his head, as much as it wasn’t like him to turn down money, he couldn’t take anything from you, not in the state you were in now. “You clearly have a lot more to worry about than paying me for a flower arrangement.” As beautiful as he found your distressed state, some other part of him he wasn’t familiar with desperately wanted you to be happy again. He felt conflicted, unsure what route he should take he as watch you carefully pull your knees to your chest, hugging them tightly. “Do you have anyone you want me to call to come get you?”

A weak sounding protest fell from your lips, making him look at you in concern. “I think I’m cursed. Everyone I care for ends up dead.” You managed to get out before convulsing as another sob wracked your body.

If only you knew, he thought to himself, that you unwittingly walked into the shop of what most people would deem a murderer. He pulled a stool around the corner and sat facing you, tucking your hair behind your ear as he prompted you to look at him. “I’m sure that isn’t true. Maybe life dealt you some rough cards, but that isn’t your fault.” He felt a sense of comradery with you, given that most of the important people in his life had also been taken from him.

A short, hysterical laugh came out of you, unsure how else to respond. “My parents died in a fire when I was 11, and now my sister dies in a car accident. I don’t even know the rest of my family.”

He pulled you into an embrace, a small whimper of protest leaving you as he did. He felt more akin to you with each bit of information he learned. “My parents were murdered when I was 14.” You stilled in his embrace as his fingers carded through your hair. You hadn’t expected the sudden confession from him, losing your parents as a child isn’t something you often have in common with people. “My grandparents took me in, this shop belonged to them. I inherited it when they passed away.”

You started to relax, leaning into him for comfort. That made more sense to you, at least more sense than him opening a little flower shop on his own. “How did you deal with it?” You asked softly, resting your head against his shoulder. “You seem so alive and happy.”

A small chuckle left his lips. “We all have our own ways to cope, right?” He let his fingers ghost over your spine. “Perhaps I’m overstepping, but would you like to stay for dinner? I don’t like the idea of leaving you alone right now.”

You looked up at him, noticing a small shimmer of hope lighting his eyes. You contemplated the offer, it wasn’t like you had anywhere else to go, or anyone to go to. His kindness affected you in a way you hadn’t cared to admit. Perhaps it was the fact he was similar to you, or the comfort he was showing you as you broke down in front of him, but you made up your mind to agree. “Okay.”

Sicheng cupped your cheek, wiping away the tears still streaming down your face. “I’ll close up and we can head upstairs.” He gave you a kind smile as he spoke, standing from his seat in front of you to go and lock the shop door. He flipped a sign, letting the public know they would be open again tomorrow. He walked back to you, offering his hand out to you.

You slipped your hand into his palm, allowing him to lead you through the back of the shop and up to a set of stairs. You felt a sickening chill run down your spine. It was dark back here, and you couldn’t see well. You had let yourself be locked in a building with a man you barely knew, you felt alarmed momentarily, though it faded once you realized the worst he could do would be to kill you, and part of you wondered if that would really be so bad. You felt his hand ghost along your back, warning you of the first step as he flicked a light on. You realized your previous fear had been for nothing, it was the most standard room you could imagine, a few tools undoubtedly used for his business scattered about, but primarily empty. You made your way up the stairs with the young florist right behind you until you reached a landing in front of another door. You turned to face him, startled by his proximity. “I never did thank you.”

He shook his head, leaning around you to slip a key into the lock before opening the door. “You don’t need to thank me. I’m doing this because I want to.” He pushed the door opening, motioning you inside. The interior was clean, nothing particularly out of place, save for a couple jackets still draped over chairs in the main room. He helped you slip your jacket off, hanging it on a rack near the door before doing the same with his own. “You can sit wherever, I’ll get started on dinner.”

“Oh, I can he-”

“Please just rest, you’ve had a long day.” He smiled sweetly at you once more, holding your gaze until you nodded, walking slowly over to the couch and sitting down. Once you were seated and flipping through your phone, he made his way into the kitchen. He leaned against the counter, throwing his head back in slight frustration. Bringing you hear was a mistake, everything about you made him need to lash out again, but he couldn’t hurt you, wouldn’t hurt you. It was unfortunate that the most recent girl had expired so easily.

He pulled ingredients out of the fridge, setting them on the counter before walking back out of the living room, plastering the most inviting smile he could on his face once more. “Do you like stir fry? I don’t have a ton of ingredients.”

You nodded, starting to get up from your seat. “Anything is more than enough, really. Are you sure you don’t want help?”

Sicheng motioned for you to stay seated. “Please, don’t strain yourself.” Once you relaxed he walked back into the kitchen. “I’ll come get you when it’s done!” He called out, readjusting in front of his cutting board. He started prepping the vegetables, humming to himself as he did, every once in awhile hearing you shift in the living room. At one point he heard you get out of your seat, though he assumed you had just gone to find the bathroom, so he didn’t concern himself much. There wasn’t anything in his living quarters that would frighten anyone. Once he finished with his task he slid the food into a pan, letting it start to cook.

You walked around the upstairs apartment, trying not to snoop, but also trying to keep yourself distracted. He didn’t seem to have that many things, likely the type of setup for most single men in their early twenties, at least you though he was in his early twenties. He certainly looked the part. After a few minutes of aimlessly walking the room and adjacent hall you heard Sicheng call out to you, informing you that the bathroom was the first door on the left of the hallway, should you be looking for it. You slipped into the room described, deciding you could use a minute to at least try to fix your appearance. You had to be looking pretty rough after the day you had.

Entering the room confirmed your suspicions, your hair was matted and there were streaks of tear stain down your cheek, making you sigh. You turned the tap on, splashing water onto your face in an attempt to make yourself presentable again. You picked up the hand towel to wipe your face off, a sound of shock tearing through your throat when you noticed the dark red substance soaked into the material. You quickly turned it back over, running your hands under the water to get rid of any trace that may be left on your skin.

Sicheng heard the commotion down the hall as he turned the stove off. He set the pan toward the back, walking over to knock on the bathroom door. “Y/N? Are you alright?” He asked softly, curious what had startled you so badly.

“I just-” You cut off, taking in a shaky breath. “I scared myself. That’s all. Do you have any clean towels?” You twisted the handle, pulling the door open a bit.

Sicheng opened the door further, slipping inside the room with you. You felt your heart rate accelerate for some reason as you tried not to let his proximity startle you. You watched his movements carefully as he opened a cabinet, pulling out a towel and passing it to you. He took a moment to look over you, noting your dilated pupils and the slight tremble in your hands as he set the towel in your hands. He crouched at his knees to be at eye level with you. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been through a lot today.”

You started to relax, seeing his genuine concern. Whatever had been on that hand towel probably wasn’t what you had initially thought. The man in front of you was gentle and caring. Even if it was blood, it was probably his own and just a product of his job, you reminded yourself. You ended up shrugging, wiping the towel over your face softly. “I’m probably just a little anxious everything that’s happened.”

You were shocked to feel him tuck your hair behind your ear before offering his hand out to you. “That’s understandable. Are you ready to eat?” He tried his best to offer you a comforting smile, somewhere in the back of his head cursing himself for being so careless before letting you wander throughout his home.

You slipped your hand into his, opting to trust the kind man before you. Perhaps something about him seemed off, but how could you justify holding that against him in this state? You’d just lost the last member of your family, and he was doing everything he could to help you despite barely knowing you himself. He understood what you were going through, you shouldn’t be trying to look for problems where there weren’t any. “Thank you, I don’t know how much I’ll be able to eat right now though.”

The warmth returned to his smile at your statement as he lead you to a small dining area. “Don’t push yourself.” He pulled out a chair, letting you sit as he walked back to the kitchen, grabbing a couple of plates and filling them before coming back out to you. He set them down and walked out again, returning seconds later with two glasses of water. “Hey, I don’t mean to push, but what happened in the bathroom?” He looked over your expression as he sat down, watching your eyes grow wider as you were reminded of whatever had scared you.

You tried to shake off the chill creeping up your neck as you responded. “Everything from today just kind of set in at once, you know?” You met his eyes briefly before looking down at your hands. “Sicheng can I ask you something a bit strange?” You waited until you heard him hum in affirmation. “Can you tell me about the girls who’ve gone missing?” You glanced up just soon enough to see him stiffen in his chair. It had to be a sensitive topic, especially for someone as kind hearted as him.

A small frown fell across his lips. “There isn’t a lot to know unfortunately.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Even though you were questioning him, you didn’t seem to suspect him. “Nothing has been found yet, hopefully there will be some news soon.” He took a bite of the food in front of him, hoping you wouldn’t be too curious.

He sounded so genuine while he spoke that you barely noticed the small curve in the corner of his lip, almost a smirk. It frightened you in a way, but you had your wits about you enough not to bring it up right now. You hummed in agreement, picking at the food in front of you. You managed to take a few bites, your appetite practically nonexistent. You sipped at your water in an attempt to distract yourself. You glanced at the time, noticing that it was getting a bit later into the evening. “I should head home. I don’t want to overstay my welcome.” You looked up at him, noticing the gentle smile on his face as he watched you. It was strange, you couldn’t imagine anything strange about him, but something just didn’t add up.

His lips quirked into a brighter smile. “Don’t worry about overstaying. Do you have a way home?”

You cocked your head to the side. “I walked here, I was planning on walking back.”

His expression fell. “Let me call a cab for you. I don’t want you walking home alone this late, especially with all the women going missing.”

His concern was endearing, pushing your earlier doubts out of your head again. “Thank you.”

He got up from his seat, taking the dishes with him into the kitchen. When he came back out he was on the phone, picking up a jacket from it’s spot draped over a chair. When he hung up he offered it to you. “You didn’t have one when you came in, it’s cold out, I can’t let a girl as pretty as you get sick on my watch.” The smile he seemed to constantly have when he looked at you returned, widening when you let him slip the jacket over your shoulders. “I’ll walk you out.” He placed a hand on the small of your back, leading you back toward the door. He handed you your purse as you both walked out into the back area of the shop, even darker now than it had been when you first went up. He flicked on a light, letting you see the back room more clearly. “Watch your step.”

He’d caught your arm as your foot hovered half on and half off the first step, making you jump backward and coincidentally, into him. “Sorry, thank you. I think I forgot I walked up a staircase to get up here.” You tried to joke light heartedly.

He slipped his arm around your shoulders, trying to regain control of the situation. “It’s okay, I just thought you were going to fall.” He chuckled nervously, guiding you down the stairs and back to the front of the shop. A car was already waiting outside as he unlocked the to let you outside. He handed you a slip of paper before letting go of you. “My number, let me know when you make it home.” He smiled again.

You felt your heart skip a beat, caught of guard by his appearance under the streetlamps as you looked at him. “Thank you, for everything Sicheng. I’ll let you know when I make it home.” You smiled back at him, slipping away as you made your way to the car. You looked back at him as you climbed in, he was still standing outside, making sure you got into the cab safely. He waved at you before you shut the door, and you quickly waved back before shutting the door.

You gave the driver your address, sitting back as you thought about the mysterious flower shop owner. He was odd, but people would probably say the same thing about you. He understood you, and what you were going through. It was nice being in his company, he made you feel like things could be okay eventually, even after everything that had happened with your family. He was kind, though he was strange. You looked out the window, happy to have found a new friend in an unlikely circumstance. Thank you, Sicheng. You thought to yourself as you watched the lights pass by on the way to your apartment.

#nct scenarios #nct #nct 127 #winwin #sicheng #dong sicheng #dahlia #horror #i'm back y'all #please read the warnings #thank you<3 #lmk what you think

129 notes · View notes

throughoutthestars · 8 years ago

Text

Some McHanzo fic recs cause yknow... i like ‘em. There’s a lot and they’re in no particular order.

Your Cheatin’ Heart by SleepySkies

Summary: “A stowaway, a wager, a deck of cards. Sex on a riverboat.”

Historical AU, completed, Explicit

Words: 6,829

A faithful companion by kaijuborn

Summary: “Hanzo is a wanderer, always on the move after leaving his home and his duties. However, when winter comes and he finds himself in an abandoned town, he decides to stay for a while. A large, three-legged wolf accompanies him, though the animal appears to be more than what first meets the eye.”

McWerewolf AU, completed, Teen and Up

Words: 10,195

Continued under Read More

Three times is a pattern by kaijuborn

Summary: “Three times Hanzo meets Jesse during their lives; three times there is a puppy involved; three times Hanzo wants nothing more than to see Jesse again.”

Completed, Dogs~, Teen and Up

Words: 6,935

Keep You On My Side by maskedhero, radiantsaber

Summary: “Hanzo Shimada has loved Jesse McCree for years. And for years, he remained silent.”

Completed, ‘two best friends raise a kid’ AU, General Audience

Words: 11,438

Magic McCree by Cawaiiey

Summary: “Hanzo Shimada does not want to be here, he does not like strip clubs and never has. And Genji is wrong, he does not need to 'get laid', no matter how long this dry spell has lasted. He knows he'll regret being here tonight, and he needs a drink. And the tall glass of water clad in plaid that just bumped into him could be what cures his thirst.”

Completed, Stripper!McCree or club AU, Explicit

Words: 15,125

Catch & Release by CaptainCorgi

Summary: “Jesse came to a full stop. This wasn't a whale or some unfortunate dolphin. The top half of the creature exposed itself as a man.“Shit.”Jesse felt his hand go to the revolver at his side, brushing the handle and approached the seemingly unconscious creature. Mers were not something he had experience with. They were a menace to sailors. Jesse had never seen one - much less one washed up on a lonely stretch of beach looking like it had been run through a shredder.��

Completed, Mermaid AU (Hanzo), Teen and Up

Words: 15,470

For all the Marbles by Kalikuks

Summary: “McCree spoils the Noodle Dragons.”

Completed, Noodle Dragons AU with Established Relationship, General Audiences

Words: 1,052

Drop Dead Gorgeous by kembrelu

Summary: “Hanzo buys and moves into a ranch in the south-western US. Why wasn't he forewarned of the angry cowboy that haunts it?”

In Progress, Ghost AU (McCree), Ghost sex (love me some ghost sex tbh), Explicit

Words: 21,463 (so far)

Who Taught You How to Hate by Valpur

Summary: “He’d always known it was going to happen. There weren’t many ways to go for a rogue like him, but all in all he would have much preferred a clean hole in his skull rather than being hanged for robbery and murder. Especially because this one single, fucking time he was not guilty. McCree is having the worst time of his life and an outlander happens to save his sorry ass. Things go awfully weird after that - and he enjoys it all too much.”

Complete, Western AU, Mature

Words: 46593

Look Up and Wonder by MarieJacquelyn

Summary: “Jesse McCree gets a job offer to rescue one H. Shimada at 3:23 AM. He accepts it at 3:54 AM. It does not go according to plan. (An Overwatch/Firefly AU)”

In Progress, so good honestly i want to consume this story if it was cake, im not joking im a sucker for this story, Firefly AU, Explicit

Words: 75,796

Body In Electric Blue by saltsoldier

Summary: ““I am inside of you.” Hanzo blurted, disbelief prevalent in the look of pure, unadulterated shock he wore.“I’ve dreamed about you saying that darlin’, but in my head it was a lot sexier.” McCree shot back, quick as a whip. A glitch in the respawn system causes McCree and Hanzo to switch bodies.”

In Progress, Body Swap AU, Teen and Up

Words: 33,721 (so far)

Bend, Bow, Break by teeterss

Summary: “Jesse McCree can't sleep and somehow meeting Hanzo Shimada makes everything a lot worse.”

In Progress, Hurt/Comfort, Explicit

Words: 23,822 (so far)

Against All Odds by CommonNonsense

Summary: “From the moment McCree meets him, he knows Hanzo is a prideful man. If there's one thing a prideful man can't turn down, it's a good old-fashioned bet. And McCree would know, because he's the exact same way.”

In Progress, Medium Burn, Teen and Up

Words: 23,338 (so far)

four days by starscry

Summary: ““I have an embarrassin’ favor to ask of you,” Jesse says. Hanzo stares at him expectantly, a single brow arched. “And what is that?” he asks. “Y’see, my family might currently be under the impression that I’m bringin’ home a date for a few days next week. And, the thing is, I don’t really have one. So, I’m currently S-O-L and would really, really appreciate it if you came home with me for a few days and, uh. Pretended. To be my boyfriend.” He stares down at his plate and jabs a fry into the enormous puddle of ketchup gathered in the center of it. If only the fry could be his hypothetical four-day boyfriend, he thinks; it would save him an enormous amount of embarrassment. It would be tastier, too. [ Or - McCree desperately needs a fake date to bring home to his family, and Hanzo never does anything half-assed. ]

Complete, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Mature

Words: 23,887

Good Fences Make Good Neighbors by vandoodle

Summary: “Hanzo Shimada regrets ever joining Overwatch after he is paired with Jesse McCree, known cowboy enthusiast, and dropped off in the middle of American suburbia. Forced to blend in with the environment, endure neighborhood cookouts, and share his new living space with his so-called 'Husband', the two prepare to preform the ultimate sting operation: taking down the Vishkar corporation once and for all. He can't help but think this will all go horribly wrong. Or, alternatively titled: the undercover fake-marriage fic that every fandom deserves.”

Complete, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Teen and Up

Words: 75,467

Hanzo’s Moving Castle by MarieJacquelyn

Summary: “In the land of Ingary, where such things as spells and dragons really exist, it is quite a misfortune to end up on the wrong side of a magical curse. Everyone knows that wizards and witches are much better at putting curses on people than they are at breaking them. If you do end up cursed, it is quite an undertaking to find another person proficient enough, and willing, to break the spell. Jesse McCree had been cursed and considered himself quite luckless for the experience.”

In Progress, Howl’s Moving Castle AU, Explicit

Words: 10,257 (so far)

hearts of glass, souls of steel by DangerDuchess, TheHiddenPassenger

Summary: “Jesse McCree and Hanzo Shimada are just friends. They're very GOOD friends, of course, but there's really nothing more than that between them... A dispute about hygiene plants the seeds of something for which neither of them is prepared and with sake to water it, the blossom blooms just a BIT too quickly.”

In Progress, shower, they’re in the shower and theyre Just Bros (tm), Friends to Lovers, Explicit

Words: 18,926 (so far)

Lost In Translation by BenevolentErrancy

Summary: “There are things you never need to hear your brother say and among that list is anything pertaining to him blatantly and shamelessly flirting with a good friend. Especially when said brother is flirting exclusive in a language said friend doesn't understand. If Hanzo doesn't get over himself and just straight out ask to kiss McCree in English Genji is going to personally kill them both, he shouldn't be forced to be in the middle of this.”

Complete, Pining, Teen and Up

Words: 36,968

Overwatch Lane by FrostysaurusRekt

Summary: “When Jesse McCree moved to Overwatch Lane to give his kids a better life, he'd never expected to have a neighbor who glared at him from his window as often as possible. Little did he know he'd be tangled up in the life of one Hanzo Shimada more than he ever thought possible. And who would have guessed he'd soon love every minute of it? Tags and rating will be updated as the story progresses. Modern-ish AU”

In Progress, Modern AU, Mature

Words: 34,164 (so far)

Popcorn Redemption by wyntera

Summary: “They say life isn't like the movies. Well, partner, they ain't never worked for Overwatch.”

In Progress, they watch movies and fall in love its great, also really long i never noticed, Not Rated

Words: 179,288

Spring Onion and the Silver Bullet Blitz by Byacolate, mywordsflyup

Summary: “Jesse McCree bares his throat for no man. For a dragon, though...”

Complete, Werewolf McCree and Weredragon Hanzo, this is so good i would also eat this if it was cake, Explicit

Words: 66,990

The Familiar of Hanzo by Jakallx

Summary: “He hadn’t seen the hat in the dim light of the hallways, but now he looked down at it in horror. Not only had he summoned a human, an American human, he had summoned a cowboy as well.High school sucks for Hanzo Shimada. Things get a whole lot worse when he accidentally summons Jesse McCree as his familiar. It's a Witch School AU with animal companion familiars. Basically, Overwatch, Harry Potter, and Familiar of Zero throw a party on Halloween. There's ghosts and teenage romance.”

Complete, Magic AU, General Audiences

Words: 47,597

#the fandom got pretty creative tbh #mchanzo #fic recs #very long i know

209 notes · View notes

hollygopossumlovesj2 · 8 years ago

Photo

Title: Dean Winchester Is Worried

Characters: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 7,883

Rating/Warnings: NC-17; This fic has talk of suicide, suicide ideation, Reader character is struggling with a bad case of clinical depression, explicit sexual content, the cure for depression in my story is dick, cussing, shameless objectification of Dean Winchester, unhealthy coping habits, and mention of gore from the past.

A/N: This is actually a reposting of a revised/smoothed out story that I wrote in 2017 when I was having a really rough day. I’m still struggling with depression, but I think my head is above water now. For those of you that are out there fighting to live your life, always remember the message that the Supernatural gang wants us to remember: Always Keep Fighting and You Are Never Alone!

You found yourself staring blankly at the plain, concrete wall in front of you, surrounded by darkness. There were no windows in the bunker, so you had a hard time placing what time it was or how long you'd been sitting here, petrifying in your own thoughts.

The familiar, uncomfortable rush of nerves itched beneath the surface of your skin as your hands smoothed over the tightness in your arms. Most days you could find a way to push forward, but then there were days like this one that had a way of bringing you back down to madness. You were filled with the buzzing energy to do something but you couldn't focus on just one thing. So it left you feeling lost and fidgety.

It had been a few years now, since the Winchester's had offered you shelter here as a legacy. Surprisingly enough, you'd found out that your Father's father had been a Man of Letters. Good ole grand papa that hadn't lived past his 40th birthday. You'd heard your entire life that the man was an alcoholic and crazy to boot, an absent father.

Now, however, you knew exactly why his life had turned out the way it had. That information had made you a little angry with your deceased parents for being so judgmental. You could've learned so much from him, but he was ostracized by his own family and likely died alone and bloody. You could only imagine the pain he suffered.

The hunting monsters schtick had skipped right over your parent's generation, plowing through your perfect life like a freight train. You'd grown up a little privileged and spoiled with an intrinsic drive to never fail. It was just a part of who you had been raised to be. So you could admit now that you were an overachiever and quite the nerd. Your promising future was planned down to the letter and you thought nothing could stop you.

Now, you could finally admit to yourself of the moment your problems really started and it wasn't when most people probably assumed. Your life had been perfect until the year after you'd graduated high school. It had been a transitional year, but you were on the fast track to becoming a veterinarian. You’d spent the summer at home, packing up your room, and dying to go to college already!

The Fall semester was spent making friends and learning your way around the massive but beautiful campus grounds. It meant you were separated from your tightly knit family but you were also at the college of your childhood dreams, studying veterinary sciences. No, going out of state to UCLA was not where your problems began. Unfortunately, it was during that same year of school that your parents were brutally murdered in your childhood home surrounded by suburbia. The authorities told you it had been a rogue bear attack.

Your little family had been close, and the remaining relationship with your twin brother was what had carried you through that time. Your brother was your safety and home and you knew as long as you guys had each other that you could survive.

You'd tried to go back to school and fight your way forward. Remy, your brother, even moved out to Cali with you just to be close by, but your life had been irrevocably changed. What you had seen of your parent's murder had completely derailed all thought of future.

You'd begged and pleaded with the coroner to see them just one more time, and your wish had been begrudgingly granted. That's where you'd met two mysteriously scruffy men from the "FBI" who were at the morgue investigating your parent's death. You'd known immediately that the gashes and tears in their flesh weren't the product of a bear attack. They were also, strangely, missing their hearts.

You remembered the hollow rush that had settled in your bones the minute you'd taken a look under the first white sheet.

"Are you related to the deceased, mam?" The younger of the two had asked after he'd found you leaning against the building outside, an endearing smile stretching his lips. You were falling apart, tears and snot prevalent on your face as you nodded. Your breath kept catching in your throat. There had been very little of your parents left and the images were going to haunt you for the rest of your life.

His green eyes seemed to ooze empathy when he offered you a rather beaten up tissue that looked like it had spent a life time in someone’s pocket and you found yourself telling this... Well, he couldn't have been more than 22 or 23, not much older than you, and probably way too young to be in the actual FBI. However, despite the age thing, you told him everything you knew because there was this ease with which he presented himself that made you trust him.

"That's not from a bear." You whispered through your clogged throat, practically floating in a trance. The vision of your parent's corpses danced behind your eyes every time you closed them. "It can't have been a bear." You felt like you were losing your mind as you covered your face with both hands and slid to the ground. You'd never been apt to public drama or making a scene, but you couldn't help it. Your knees just refused to hold you up anymore.

One thing you did know for sure was that you knew animals and you were knowledgeable in bear behavior. Bears just open the front door, climb the stairs and take your parent’s heart straight from their chests. Bears didn't shred an entire body for fun, either.

"You're right, you know,” was his calm reply after a moment of mentally arguing with himself on whether or not he would actually tell her the truth. The hand that he gently rested on your shoulder was a small comfort as he crouched down to your level. "I'm sorry this happened to you, but I think you deserve the truth." When you finally uncovered your face enough to look back, you realized that his eyes were now filled with a deeper understanding of your grief than you ever could have imagined. "What's the truth?" You whispered, suddenly terrified yet desperate to understand what had happened.

The man in front of you sighed heavily, dragging his free hand over his face with the reticence of a man burdened with too much wisdom. That's when he'd divulged the ugly truth about what was out there. Monsters and horrors beyond imagination that would haunt you for years before you finally believed.

The older agent had met the two of you outside and he'd insisted that they escort you home to be sure that you were safe. They were headed that way anyhow, to investigate the crime scene. The crime scene that was also known as your childhood home. You don’t even remember how you cleaned up all the blood.

The father/son duo you would come to know as the Winchester's had unknowingly inspired you to take up the mantle of hunting. However, at the time, you'd felt like you had some unfinished business at UCLA.

You'd made it through three and a half years of college before you actually gave up and went searching for the things that lurked in the night. You were unable to ignore the strange headlines that showed up in the newspaper and online, anymore. Your brother had tagged along of course, always protective because he was 5 minutes older.

You'd made it your personal goal to do everything you could to prevent what had happened to you from happening to other people. And, after a few rough starts, you finally started to have some success.

You used what you had learned in your few years of pre veterinary medicine to patch you and your brother up when necessary, grateful for some practical application of the information clogging up your brain. So, thankfully, school hadn't been a complete waste on you. However, other than medical skills, you were a complete novice at this hunting thing and it showed.

It wasn't long before the Winchester brothers caught up with you. They had undoubtedly heard tales of a rookie team out for blood that had no doubt been gossiped about through the hunter grape vine. When Dean heard your story and recognized you both he and Sam told you they would've shown up sooner, if it hadn't been for that pesky apocalypse and all.

Firmly back in the present again, you heard Dean enter the room quietly before he spoke a word. Only the soles of his booted feet against the hard surface of the floor alerted you to his presence.

The boys tended to treat you with kid gloves when you got like this, dancing around you like you might shatter, and you were never really sure if you fully appreciated it the way you probably should. Suddenly, a few weeks would be cleared of hunting jobs and they would drag you out to watch movies on the couch. Conspicuously, Garth would up and start hoarding cases or at least that’s what Dean lead you to believe. You knew Sam would tell you the truth but you just couldn’t muster enough fucks to give, so you went along with Dean’s schemes.

They'd tried taking you out on a hunt early on to keep your mind occupied once before, but that had turned out horrendously, and you couldn’t blame them for not wanting to hunt with you then. As it turned out, you have even less self-preservation instincts when you were depressed and missing your brother. Sometimes, a morbid thought would enter your head, completely uninvited, and you would feel like maybe you should just go ahead and join your brother in the afterlife. It was usually only a fleeting moment, but it was long enough to get you into trouble on a hunt. Plus, suffice it to say, you knew if you were ever to go down that route, Remy would meet you wherever you ended up just so he could kick your ass.

"Hey." Dean's voice was filled with more grit than it had been so many years ago. It was also a little gruff from disuse. The bunker tended to go quiet around this time, and you had no idea how many days it had been so far, but most of the time you hid in your room to avoid the deep concern etched into their faces. "You hungry?"

No matter how far down you got, it pained you to hear the cautious hope in his voice, but it always surprised you that his steady tone cleared a bit of the fog that thinking of your past always brought over you. You could focus a little easier with him just being present in the room.

You weren't sure if he actually knew that he quieted the voice in your head telling you what a complete fuck up you were. Perhaps you would tell him sometime, how just a simple touch from him was enough to make your heart race and your problems dim to background noise?

Maybe someday in the far distant future.

He offered you a plate that was loaded with pieces of cut up fruit and some cheese. The snacks warmed your brittle and bruised heart to imagine Dean in the kitchen, with his freshly sharpened knives, cutting diligently into several types of fruit instead of monsters. The caretaker mentality was set loose, and knew no boundaries while Dean was in the safety of the bunker.

You and Sam had even pitched in together to get him an apron that said: 'I drink and I know things,' a la Tyrian Lannister. Mainly, because Dean loved Game of Thrones and he liked to sip scotch on the rocks while he cooked. The man wore it every time he made something that took longer than 10 minutes to put together. It's adorable, actually.

He'd made an obvious effort to encourage you to eat, making a smiley face with the blueberries and pineapple on your plate. It made you feel like some royal that was locked away from the world. The princess in the tower. It was unconventional, but Dean knew what you were like on days like this, and he knew he'd have a better chance of you eating something that you could snack on rather than a full meal. Dean was observant and thoughtful like that.

He liked to pretend that he was just a selfish jerk, but he could remember the brand of your favorite shampoo, without a reminder from you, while out on a supply run. Not that Dean would ever admit to it, but no matter how tight funds could be, he always made sure you had your favorite bubble bath tucked away in your own space in the cabinet in the shower room. Dean had even gone as far as assigning a space to each of us. He’d even added a label with our names on it to make doubly sure we understood. You figured that it also helped that Dean just liked playing with the label maker.

You suspected he also snuck in a bubble bath from time to time, when no one was around to catch him. You also knew that Dean liked the little reminders that the bunker was lived in and domestic. He wanted the signs and proof that his family was close by, living right here with him. You often thought that this was how Dean kept himself from falling apart. You could relate, even after being in the same place for the first part of your life, to Dean's need to call something 'permanent' and 'his' and 'home' was something that normally helped you too.

You accepted the plate from him with a soul sucking attempt at a smile, and you only held it long enough to rest the plate on your nightstand where it would stay untouched for a couple of hours. Even as you turned away from him, you could feel the smile cracking like porcelain heated in the microwave too many times. You imagined the jagged lines and tiny chips at the edges of your lips crumbling away.

On days like this, almost a week would go by without a single bite of food. You were never hungry when you felt this way, which was the polar opposite of your normal behavior. You never passed up bar food and could out eat Dean in junk food without even trying. That was definitely not the case today. In fact, you were mostly nauseated at the very thought of food and you swallowed compulsively a couple of times because of the bile threatening to rise in your throat.

You'd thought about the reasoning behind your lack of appetite a couple of times in the past. As twisted as it might seem, you thought of it as a kind of penance for living without your brother. You would never lack the ability to passively punish yourself in some way.

Because of your erratic eating habits, you'd lost quite a bit of weight. It was easy to hide beneath layers of flannel, but you knew that the boys could tell. You were down a couple of pant sizes just in the past few months and it wasn't because of healthy eating and exercise.

You turned down every request Sam made to get you running with him in the morning. For one thing, you didn't like to run unless you absolutely had to. Two, you couldn't muster up enough motivation to try.

You knew that Dean had felt every detail of your suffering and pain himself, inside and out. He had lost his brother over and over to so many crazy situations, and he'd gone through great, sometimes irrational, lengths to keep him here.

In fact, you knew last year he'd overdosed on purpose to communicate with a reaper. Unfortunately, you had to admit that you would've made the same drastic choice if that option had been on the table. You would've traded places with your brother in a heartbeat, instead of having to go on living without him. But Remy, after learning the truth about sacrifices made just to keep a person with you, made you promise to do no such thing.

So when a poltergeist violently ran Remy right through the lung with a large Cuisinart kitchen knife, you knew that this was the end of the road for him. You'd held him close and sobbed as he bled out in your arms, his voice clicking in his throat. It was only a minute's time but it felt like it lasted forever. You'd held him until he started to turn cold and your world dimmed to shades of blue. It had been Dean, after he'd managed to send the poltergeist packing with the help from Sam, who had told you it was time to let him go. Remy had been long gone, but letting him go was the hardest thing you'd ever done. You hated yourself a little every day you spent without him, but you would always respect his wishes.

You didn’t have any tears left, just an aching numbness, as you'd finally salted and burned his body a couple of days later. Sam and Dean didn't leave your side for many days after, watching your every move. You watched them fumble all over themselves while they tried to fill Remy's place.

They tried so hard to let you know that you would never be alone.

However, you always knew it would come on days like today without a damn thing you could do to stop it. The fog that laid over you and zapped all the light and energy out of your universe would come without fail. Even a couple of years later, the days leading up to and after his death, were the worst days of your ongoing struggle with depression. Every day was a fight, the question of how hard you had to fight was the only variable.

"What can I do,” Dean asked quietly, his tone making it obvious he was worried. This was always his approach, his words smooth, like a well-rehearsed script. He always asked and you always answered back with the same thing.

"Nothing."

He sighed, and you could see the weight settle on him as he tried to shoulder your pain along with his own. You knew this burdened him, but no matter how hard you tried, you just couldn't make it stop.

"It's, uh... two years today,” he asked softly, trying to start up a conversation to gage just how bad you were doing as he sat on the side of your bed. Even the motion of reaching out to put a hand on your shoulder was done with great care, like you were made of glass. He was terrified to move you, afraid that you might shatter like you had in the past. If you were 100% right now, it would irk you to be treated like a helpless, delicate flower. You wouldn’t be afraid to tell him that you weren't a child and that you didn't need a babysitter. But right now, you couldn't summon the effort. So, you just nodded silently.

No matter how hard you tried, even feeling that maybe you could bleed the dark feelings infused into your bones out through tears, you couldn't make yourself cry. It was like you were incapable of feeling anything but negative desolation. It left you feeling trapped and useless.

You could feel the frustration of being helpless searing your insides right along with that itch of anxiety that wouldn't let you rest. It created a yearning for something that flickered just beneath the surface of your skin, as delicate as a bumble bee’s wings and just as persistent.

When Dean's hand shifted, the buzz became an unexpected spark as his finger lightly grazed your collar bone. Involuntarily, you shivered, finally looking away from the wall to meet his gaze.

You felt your lips part in surprise as you met his verdant eyes flickering with so much emotion staring right at you.

You'd never pursued your feelings for the man in front of you. Fear of rejection and awkwardness kept you from reaching out when his eyes connected with yours. Not to mention the self-deprecation always making a negative, constant static noise in your head. It told you how you would never be good enough. That, you would never be in the realm of what Dean Winchester thought was attractive, much less sexy. Who would want you?

It was distant memory, but maybe you had seen how his eyes had dilated with want when he caught you in the hallway, wrapped in a towel on your way from a shower, and equated it with passing lust. Or even just a trick of the eye because of the fluorescent lights in the hall way.

Now that you thought of it, you might have seen the softness in them when he tried to impart some sort of wisdom or comfort to soothe your pain that was usually communicated through an awkward pat on the back. Those were all excusable, but the way he would thoroughly check you over for injuries any time you got remotely near any trouble should've been your first clue.

But right now, it didn't matter how awkward, or what the consequences would be the next day if you finally acted on what you wanted. You were desperate for a break from the noise of failure in your ears. You needed an escape. You wanted his touch on your bare skin to soothe it and make you forget for just a little while. Even if it was just lust exchanged between two friends.

You watched him study your face carefully as you willed him to touch you again. "Y/N?" His voice was quiet, hoarse like he'd gargled with glass, as he slowly slid his wide palm along the vulnerable skin of your neck to rest against your cheek. Absentmindedly, he thumbed at the sensitive patch of skin just below your ear in a soothing caress.

But, it stoked a different type of buzz, and the anxious feeling was becoming a little less obvious the longer he touched your skin. The sweet softness of his touch the only thing capable fighting off the negativity that held you prisoner. Your eyes fluttered closed as you turned to softly brush his warm palm with ardent kisses.

You whispered ‘please’ as you breathed in deep the smell of gun oil and car grease, hope a strange feeling fluttering in your chest. God, that scent was home, safety, and every good memory that you held onto.

His lingering kiss pressed to your cheek was a surprise, but was done with such tenderness that you could feel the moisture starting to gather in your eyes. The spreading warmth that had started as a tiny spark in your chest was making your heart beat double time. You felt the close proximity of his body, the heat of his skin almost burning you where he touched, the anticipation feeding your new excitement.

You turned your head slowly, lightly grazing your lips against his in a brief touch. The soft push of his lips created a rush of pure pleasure capable of cleansing your entire being when he gasped. Suddenly, Dean's touch was going straight to your head. He was a drug and you needed so much more when he dropped his forehead against yours.

"Why now?" His question was barely a breath against the sensitive skin of your face, but it held so much raw need. "I've wanted you... for years and every time you've..." He tipped his head so he could look in your eyes, his face so close that you had to fight from going cross eyed and maintaining your focus on his every word.

You were surprised to find that Dean looked absolutely wrecked, moisture shimmering in his green eyes. His hand urged you closer and he wrapped his arm around your back, silently giving you strength.

"I was afraid." You confessed, knowing that Dean was your touch stone and if you lost him too, you were fucked. In your old life you never would've made such a hasty decision. But, this mood made you reckless, and you didn't care about the consequences.

He nodded, his nose gently skimming your cheek and you were overcome with fondness. You felt a deep, burning affection for this solid, beautiful hunter that you knew would slay the world for you. The solidity of your feelings caused your breath to hitch in your chest as you closed your eyes, a tear slipping down your cheek.

His nose continued to slowly skim the contours of your face with the softest touch along the apple of your cheeks. He followed a lazy, unmarked path across your forehead.

He lightly touched over your eye brows and closed eyes lids, carefully ruffling your eye lashes. Reverently, his lips kissed down the trail of your tear, tasting the salt with the barest touch of his tongue.

The devotion he was showing you through the soft touch of his lips cracked something inside you, the emotions you'd been dying to feel, rushing to the surface. After dealing with the rollercoaster of emotions that depression could bring your way, the manic episodes all the way down to the absolute desolation, it felt good to be cracked wide open.

"You make me feel." You confessed on a whisper of breath, his eye lashes feathering lightly against your skin. His breath was warm as it brushed an alluring rhythm across your mouth, his supple lips centimeters away. "Please?" "Look at me." His voice was thick with deep emotion but it didn’t waver as he leaned back so that you could see him. Your gaze settled on his with matched intensity so that when he asked, "This is what you want?" He was able to see your sincerity when you told him 'yes'.

You saw him allow the desire rush through his entire body, lighting up his face with a flush of blood and a stutter to his breath before his mouth met yours. The kiss was wet and desperate with lots of teeth and tongue. You felt his need as his full lips kissed you on a wavering exhale, his entire body vibrating as he cradled your face in both of his hands. The kiss consumed you, propelling you forward with intensity.

It wasn’t long before both of you began shedding clothes, only relinquishing contact when it was completely necessary. Miraculously, you avoided knocking heads with elbows or legs. Although, you doubted that a black eye would even be able to stop you now.

Soon you were bare, facing each other and laying side by side. Your skin was flush against his as you relished how his hands fervently roamed every available inch. You felt like you were being worshiped.

A rapacious moan escaped Dean's throat to vibrate against your wet lips when you draped a leg over his hip, offering yourself up to him. He was eager, his hand sliding down your back to firmly palm your ass before possessively feeling his way down your thigh to squeeze and follow the same trail back. His hands were calloused and avaricious, creating a prefect drag against your smooth skin. Touching him like this felt like coming home, like you could do just this for the rest of your life. You were soaking wet for him, desire to feel him inside your swollen center burning you up inside.

His freckled skin was warm and littered with several scars where your covetous hands mapped his sweat sheened body. You felt the strong muscles of his back in dips and valleys, the slight bump of his vertebrae against your fingers. You marveled as you felt them contract and relax when he undulated his perfect body against yours.

You were immediately fond of the perfect dip of his spine that lead into the sinuous muscles of his ass as he thrust against you. You couldn't help but squeeze the solid, contracting muscle in your grip, shocking another moan from deep in Dean's chest.

He was pressing hot steel wrapped in silk shamelessly against you, leaving a wet trail in the bend of your thigh. When he finally relinquished your mouth you sucked in much needed oxygen as he began to place ardent kisses along your jaw and down the length of your neck. To you it seemed that Dean’s need to taste your skin was more than he needed oxygen and he panted against your skin as he went.

His warm, calloused palm then smoothed down the flat of your stomach until two fingers teased the lips of your center. When he realized just how wet and swollen you were for him, you both moaned. As he teased you he sucked a patch of skin on your neck, grazing it with his teeth and no doubt leaving a mark. When you pushed his fingers further into your soaking core, he bit down on the spot with a groan.

The pain mixed with pleasure was perfect, the feeling of complete escape from your traitorous mind just within reach. Every muscle was tensed and every nerve awake in your body, dying for his attention.

Warmth spread to your throat and face in a blush as his finger sank into you. It wasn't enough to fill you but you would take this sensation over none at all. You would take whatever he was willing to give you.

When you tucked your face into his neck, you found that it made it a little hard to breathe, but you couldn't bring yourself move. You felt the need to cling to him as the heel of his palm dragged deliciously against your clit as he thrust two wide fingers inside. You wanted the musk of his skin and the lingering scent of his body wash in your nose while the pleasure began to build.

You reveled in the loss of control, trusting Dean implicitly, as your orgasm began to build as an ache in your belly to a full out liquid heat all over. You felt sparkles of pleasure in your chest that made you smile with the rush of happiness it brought you in stark contrast to the way every muscle in your lower stomach was beginning to clamp down.

"Dean!" Your shout muffled against his neck as you tensed against him, his touch no longer grounding you but propelling you forward. "I'm gonna..." Your voice was just a desperate exhale against the salty tang of his neck before you mounded his skin with your teeth and began to suck a deep mark there.

"That's good, sweetheart. You're doing so good for me. Just let go. Fuck-" His voice was an octave lower than normal, the gravel scratch in his voice against your ear finally sending you crashing over the edge. "Yeah, that's it princess. God, that's it, sweetheart. Give it to me. Give me all you’ve got. I got you."

He didn't stop working you through it until you begged as he held you close and you writhed and moaned through the best orgasm you'd had in a long time. You felt completely blissed out as you kissed your 'I love yous’ and 'thank yous' and 'don't stops' into his bruised neck. A feeling of possessiveness coming over you.

You felt the hot, swollen head of his cock as he teased at your entrance. The floating relief of your orgasm giving way to an even deeper need to be filled. In the deep recesses of your mind you could admit that you wanted Dean to claim you and make you his. You wanted him to mark up your neck and for you to make a bigger mark on him. Just so the next time you went out the women that had a homing device for fucking gorgeous men would back the fuck off.

You traced a lazy path slowly down his back, your nails tickling and teasing against his overheated slick skin. As you reached the small of his back, a violent shiver to shake his entire body, causing him to bite his bottom lip in anticipation. As your hands spread across the plump round of his ass, his head tipped back slightly. A gasp and sigh of pleasure leaving his kiss swollen mouth before he pinned you down with his expression.

"You want this?" He was so clearly wound up, panting as he asked, desperate to be inside you, but unwilling to do anything against your will. His other worldly green eyes shimmered with need and something else you couldn’t quite identify, begging for your compliance.

You wasted no time in giving him your implicit consent by squeezing his ass hard in your hand, resulting in pushing just the tip of his cock inside. "Please?" You pressed the plea into his lips, your free hand threading through his hair to keep him close. You dragged your tongue teasingly across the seam of his lips and he granted you entrance with an anguished moan.

Despite his impetuosity, he was careful and controlled as he slowly sank into you in one long thrust. Later, you’ll think about this moment and how no one in your entire life has ever shown you so much care. You’ll feel the freely given affection as he takes the time to lay kisses all over your face as if in apology for any pain his considerable size may have caused you.

He’s a shield against the negative that was slowly eating away at you. This beautiful man centered you and all you could feel was him and what he did to you. He was everywhere. You were surrounded by the feel of his body and the scent of his skin. There wasn't room for anything else and for a moment you forgot what today was and how you felt about it.

For a moment you clung desperately to each other, your tongue lazily exploring his mouth as you felt him stretching you and molding a spot just for him. It was a strange combination as the stretch burned but the throb of his obvious want gave you goosebumps. Never had you taken the time to really pay attention to the way the first thrust feels as your core clutches him inside.

You urge him to move by draping your leg up higher, feeling him sink in just that much deeper. Needing him to move and feeling your toes curl when he finally concedes. When he finally begins to move, it’s a slow and deep rhythm that a metronome would be proud of. To you, it felt like he was taking the time to savor every move and every reaction showing openly on your face.

His grip was tight on your as he pressed into the skin of your back and hip. Like Dean was holding on for dear life as he whimpered hurt, aching noises that were exhaled into your mouth with his every move.

For a long time, you stared right back into the depths of his hypnotic eyes, watching the emotions that he tried to keep bottled up and hidden behind his carefully built walls. You could plainly see the desperation and want in his expressions and his actions, but there was something there that you hadn’t seen before.

How long had he felt this way and been unknowingly denied? Or, maybe more aptly, how long had you been denying yourself?

"Dean?" He never stopped the steady pumps of his hips, but he gave you his full attention. He was looking a little dazed, like his brain might be feeling fuzzy as his breath came in irregular pants of desperate air.

"What is it, sweetheart?" He slid a hand up from your back to cradle your cheek in his palm, blinking his eyes a few times as if he could overcome the mush his brain had become.

"I'm so sorry... I didn't know. Not really..." You sighed with satisfaction as you began to rock into his thrusts even as you still felt contrite somewhere in the miasma of emotion this man was making you feel. "I thought…"

"You thought you were just like… everyone else." He didn’t even assert his words as a question, but as a known fact instead and you could see the flash of hurt at the revelation before he could blink it away. It was exactly like he knew that you would think that you would sleep together and he would forget you when it was all over. Just like all those other women he'd slept with and left behind. His eyes were vivid and clear when he answered, "You’re nothing like them and there’s no one that can hold a candle to you."

You'd never heard so much conviction in his voice and it filled you with the sudden need for more. At this point it was just more anything, as long as it involved Dean. You carefully pulled him out before you rolled onto your back, coaxing him to follow.

He easily blanketed your body with his, wasting no time in following you and thrusting back home. "You drive me crazy, did you know that?" You felt him dig his knees into the mattress, putting more force behind the steady thrust of his hips. It was almost like you could feel him in your throat. You were completely stuffed with him and you couldn't imagine a better thing than being taken by this man as he claimed new territory inside you.

He surrounded you, protecting you from the outside world with his hands on either side of your head as he nuzzled your breasts. You reached a hand behind you to brace yourself against the headboard, putting your breasts at his mercy. They were already tight peaks before he teased them with his teeth and tongue until they were throbbing in time with your enthusiastic heart.

He groaned with satisfaction on a particularly deep thrust and he pulled as much of your breast as he could into his mouth and suckled. The satisfied noises he made in the back of his throat caused everything to flutter and throb with pleasure. You could probably come from just his mouth and tongue teasing you.

However, with him thrusting into you and nailing your g spot with the roll of his hips like his life depended on it, you knew you wouldn’t last much longer. He gave both of your breasts ample attention, leaving them wet, raw red and exposed to the air. You weren’t prepared for what he had been thinking about when he suddenly buried his face in the juncture where your shoulder met your neck.

"I. I can't. You." His voice was muffled as he huffed raggedly against your skin and fumbled his words, his body beginning to thrust a little harder with the desperation he felt. "I can't. You can't leave."

The pleading sound of his voice sliced soul deep, a vicious pain lancing through your chest just at the thought of leaving him. You gripped him tightly as he wrapped his arms around you, one of your hands sliding through the hair at the nape of his neck.

"I promise,” you responded with a pained whisper brushed against his ear. "I won't leave on purpose." It killed you to make that promise, removing your one last option to see Remy sooner rather than later. You felt every word drag against your chest as if it didn't want to be released into the world. God, it hurt.

He shivered, practically vibrating and wound so tight with his impending orgasm but unwilling to end this just yet. His thrusts finally gaining some speed as he pushed up to lean on his elbows again and watch your face. He kept his thrusts short and fast, burying himself deep inside you, but unwilling to move too far out of your body. The wet noises of him slamming into you were obscene but the feeling of his entire body shifting and grinding against yours caused your pleasure to swell just that much further.

"You're beautiful," he confessed brokenly and you were delighted to see that his expression was wide open again. Your promise quelling his fears for the moment as he confessed what he was feeling. "Always. You just have to open your damn eyes and I can't... I can't look away from you." His eyebrows bunched together as he bit his lip, his eyes wide open and wet. Your name a gasp when you clenched tightly around his cock.

"Oh, fuck. Dean." It hit you like a punch to the chest when you realized that Dean loved you, more than you'd ever allowed yourself to recognize. That this was what had been hiding in his expressions that you just wouldn’t let yourself see. "H-harder." You gasped, gripping him so tightly that you distantly worried that you might draw blood, but it was a fleeting thought.

You were completely flayed open when he whimpered against your mouth and complied with your request. You were undeniably fixated by the tender, open look still there on his beautifully freckled face. You couldn’t help but to be overcome with the love you'd never allowed yourself to really feel before. You could feel his heart beating fast where his chest was pressed against yours. Dean was unable to kiss properly anymore because his breathing was an open mouth pant as he pulled back watched you fall apart.

You finally felt like you could free fall over the jagged edge of the zenithal mountain that you’d been climbing, the buildup making you lightheaded as pleasure began to pulse little shocks through every vein. Then, as you had one leg hanging over the precipice, you looked into Dean’s familiar eyes and the unabashed love you saw there sent an electric current straight to your heart.

"Dean, oh fuck. Dean." You cursed with the startling realization that you loved him, too. That you'd just buried it down deep with the other profound emotions that you hadn’t wanted to feel. Life was a double edged sword. On one side you could feel extreme happiness and the deepest love but on the flip side there was profound sadness and hollowing loss. You couldn’t focus on that thought any further when he pulled you close with both arms tight around you as you shattered, shaking against him as he fucked you through until there was nothing left to drag out of you but satisfied sighs.

You didn't know how long you floated, but you came around to feel Dean's pounding rhythm faltering. You ran your fingers through his mussed up hair before you cupped his face in your hands. He looked like he would crack at any moment, his eyes locked on yours, and he was trying desperately not to come. "I need- I'm gonna-" He bit his lip against a rush of pleasure when you squeezed your walls against him. "Oh fuck, I'm gonna-"

“Come for me, Dean,” you said barely above a whisper and his orgasm slammed into him like a runaway freight train. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open with his air trapped in his lungs. His eye brows bunched like he was in pain before a gasping moan shook out from deep in his chest.

When his arms became weak and he collapsed onto you, his hips continued to thrust lazily as he spent his last pulses inside.

You could still feel the lingering warmth of his come inside you when he found your lips again and kissed you breathless. He cradled your face with both hands, his expression so silently possessive that it caused you to clenched down into another small orgasm. The pressure around his cock caused him to moan, vibrating against your mouth.

By the time you were completely spent you were both a sweaty, shivering mess. Neither one of you were ready to move away or start to clean up when your breathing normalized. It was an unspoken agreement that you guys were just going to lay there for however long it took for your brains to come back online. Currently, they were blissfully fuzzy as the effects of the endorphins and chemicals laid waste to any thought of motivation.

When Dean relaxed, he shifted down so that he could lay against your heartbeat. You both made a sound of remorse when the movement made him slip free. As you waited for either sleep or the endless pit of ‘what ifs’ to take you, your hands traded trailing fingers slowly up and down his back and running them through his short, sweaty hair as he took deep breaths. The way he was breathing made you think he was trying to memorize your scent, before they became rhythmic and you knew he had fallen asleep.

When you woke up and indeterminable amount of time later, it was to the gentle touch of his finger tracing over your features. You couldn't help the smile that it automatically brought to your face. There was a look of pure contentedness that you weren’t sure you had seen outside of the time that he spent in the garage working on his Baby. And didn’t that thought make you smile just a little bit wider?

"Better?" He asked, the timber of his voice still fucked out and well deep.

You did a quick mental inventory at his question even though you knew he wasn’t just talking about what had just happened between you. However, physically, you knew there would be little bruises scattered over your neck, collar bone and chest. There was also a possibility, if the burning in your thighs and ass were any indication, that you would be walking a little funny later. For now, it seemed as if it temporarily out shined the pain that had been living in your chest for days, leaving you with an exhausted feeling of contentment.

You beamed up at him as you completed your assessment, hoping that he could see exactly how you felt written on your face. "Much better."

“Awesome,” he grinned, kissing your nose before he rolled onto his back. He beckoned you with a grunt and his arms outstretched. How could you resist an offer like that?

Clinging tightly to the momentary peace you had found, you snuggled up to his chest, practically laying on him with half your body weight and holding him back just as tight. He didn't seem to mind as he pulled you closer and pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head.

Logically, you knew that this wouldn't be the miracle cure for your problems nor would it bring your brother or your parents back. But Dean’s outpouring of love and affection had been strong enough to clear the suffocating fog when you needed him to. He’d made the struggle to live from day to day a little more worth pushing through the pain as best as you could. Maybe you could survive in this world after all.

Tagging: (Forevers) @perpetualabsurdity, @maileann, @gecko9596, @gemini75eeyore, @jotink78, @dancingalone21, @winchesterprincessbride, @sandlee44, @exploratiionist, @arryn-nyxx, @littledarlinhavefaithinme, @tiffanycaruso, @boredoutofmymindstuff, @feelmyroarrrr, @raeganr99, @ruprecht0420, @anokhi07, @letsgetyourdeanon, @sis-tafics, @jensen-gal, @callmesatansprincess, @atc74, @ryansgirl5509, @notnaturalanahi, @keepcalmandcarryondean, @sea040561, @just-another-busy-fangirl, @spn67-sister, @ria132love, @mrswhozeewhatsis, @pretty-fortune, @butiaintgonnaloveem, @weasleywinchester, @akshi8278, @wheresthekillswitch, @tas898, @pansexualmeteorite, @silver9mm, @mandymoiselle1970

187 notes · View notes