#but once he's out he's OUT and only specific triggers will wake him up

[the-troll-book-of-mormon]

dave & karkat both having nightmares after the game but dave's has him leaping out of bed throughout the night, and karkat's has him trapped in an inescapable paralysis hell that he can barely be woken up from

[roscgcld]

HEADCANONS + GOJO SATORU || first born child

request: The gojo hcs of announcing the pregnancy is so cute! Can we get a part 2 when the pregnancy hormones are starting to kick in and they have mood swings? Oohh or maybe when the wife goes into labor? Ty❣❣

note: i like this idea a lot - it kinda made me feel all warm and happy inside c: like honestly, i love it so much haha. 

pronouns: she/her

original headcanon | gojo satoru masterlist | buy me a coffee?

announcing a pregnancy is always fun, especially when you are looking forward to starting your own family with someone you love 

you and gojo were no different - you two were excited to start this new chapter in your lives together, and to the day you get to hold your baby in your arms

but every journey starts with a simple step; and you two, unknowingly, are in for one hell of a ride 

the first thing you developed was morning sickness. thankfully you didn’t wake up every morning throwing your guts out - but you do suffer from severe nausea just smelling certain things

this has cause quite a bit of stress, since on some days you would gag at the smell of rain hitting the ground or the smell of your favourite tea; but other days you’re fine and you instead get sick because of something else

it causes gojo huge amounts of stress, constantly worrying about what smells may trigger your nausea, or worried that you may just vomit on him randomly

thankfully that didn’t last for your entire pregnancy - but what was once nausea from the smell of tea led to you developing a more emotional response to everything around you 

something as simple as dropping your phone on the floor, or you realising that you no longer fit in your favourite shoes would bring tears to yours eyes as you try to hold back the sniffles from your doting husband 

and that was the worse for gojo; he was naturally a very dramatic person. so he is used to him being the more emotional one while you handle whatever temper tantrum he throws with a fond smile on your face

however now it is different. now he finds himself having to rush over to your side to comfort you; reassuring you that everything was alright and that he was there for you if you want to rant 

and sometimes he was the reason for your tears - it wouldn’t be the first time where you would turn your tearful death glare at your husband and throw him through a loop of why you were angry with him all of a sudden 

this also throws him for a loop whenever you have certain cravings - and for some reason, one of your biggest cravings whilst pregnant was curry 

not just any curry - the specific chicken curry that is made by the old man down the street that only opens in the mornings and always have people lining up for a serving of his food

this is the one thing that gojo did excel in though - due to his terrible sleeping schedule, he would be the first one to show up at the store; greeting the elderly man with a smile and even helping him move the heavier tins of curry onto his stall

on the outside looking in, it seemed that gojo was just that good of a husband, wanting to make sure that his wife would get her cravings whenever she wants to. this good faith extended to the owner; who happily served him a much bigger portion than usual and even through him some fried veggie tempura for free

gojo had no heart to tell him that he really does do it just so he can rush back to you with the curry as soon as possible; but he does leave the older man with an extra tip, and bring him the odd gift of gensing powders and herbal teas on your request

and weirdly enough you crave nanami’s chocolate chip cookies - and while nanami would have baked them for you regardless since you begged him once over the phone, he loves the fact that the gojo satoru is begging him every week to bake cookies for you

it makes nanami feel that extra sense of smugness that he rarely gets. plus, the thought that the strongest sorcerer in the world being so tightly wrapped around your finger is a nice change 

gojo have almost burnt down the college when he found out that the higher ups were close to sending you on a mission - he all but forced their hands to make sure you were given teaching jobs and nothing more

even then, if you have a terrible bout of morning sickness or even just slightly tired, you were not allowed to leave your bed at all - let ypur beloved husband cover for you

he hires the best of the best for your nursery as well - not only does he have handmade bassinets and other accessories passed down between your families adorning the room, he commissioned personalised murals on the walls, a room decorator to personally decorate the room with both of your ideas in mind, and has already filled the entire closet with toys and plushies for your unborn child 

gojo does not really care for the gender. whatever you two have, he will be elated. but i think deep down he wants a little girl that he can spoil rotten

already has a bank account and college fund for your child - no child or children of his are not going to be spoilt

you went into labour in the middle of the night. you were chilling after you woke up realising your water broke - turning over to satoru who was on his phone in the middle of the night with a groggy “honey, i think my water just broke..”

poor man with out of bed in seconds, zooming around to pack your diaper bag as you awkwardly got up and waddled to the bathroom so you didn’t continue leaking down your thigh

after changing and drying up, you continued to waddle around to get ready; ignoring gojo trying to get you to sit down as he tries to not break into a panic attack 

“relax babe, i don’t have contractions yet. the hospital would make us go home and wait anyways.”

“with all due respect honey, i will believe that when the doctor tells me that.”

almost scares the driver from how desperate his phone call was; the man giving you a stressed but understanding smile when you apologised for scaring him awake at this hour 

you checked into the hospital, and it took 2 nurses and a doctor to reassure him you were fine - which you were, laying on the bed wincing randomly as you texted your parents about the potential arrival of their grandbaby 

was so frantic that your doctor was debating on giving him the sedative so he doesn’t work himself into a heart attack. but you waved the woman’s concern away with a tired sigh as you sat on the yoga ball, bouncing on it mindlessly with a nurse by your side

“leave him, he’s like a kid. he’ll tire himself eventually.”

when your contractions started to become more frequent and your team was preparing for the birth, gojo was beside himself in fear; but seeing you in so much pain had him focusing all his energy on you

wiping your sweat away, letting you squeeze his hand tightly as he reassures you that you were doing so well

when your doctor informed you to start pushing, gojo felt his heart hurt at how much pain you were in; reassuring you the best he can, letting you scream at him for putting you through this with nothing more but a scared smile frozen on his face

after a few hours of active pushing and screaming, your little girl was welcomed into the world. gojo was in tears when he cut the umbilical cord, and was full on sobbing when your crying daughter was placed on your panting chest 

was immediately smitten the moment she opened her eyes at you guys; fluttering her lashes as she squints up at the lights around her 

he had managed to stop his tears when she was taken away to be cleaned up, cupping your face and kissing all over your cheeks as he whispers sweet nothings and thanks for bringing your daughter into the world 

started crying all over again when the nurses asked if he wanted to do some skin-to-skin time with her; his hands shaking as he follows the instructions of the nurse to hold her correctly 

you just smiled at them from your bed, watching how gojo seems to just fall in love with your little girl as she stares up at her father curiously

“she’s probably confused why her dad has white hair.”

“...i mean, i am a dilf now.”

you almost tossed him out of your hospital room then and there for his joke, but you just gave him a half assed nasty look as you closed your eyes to rest again

you’ll let him get away with this one this one time

wanna read more?  >   gojo satoru masterlist  |  buy me a coffee?

© roscgcld — all rights reserved to me, rose, the author and creator of these works. do not repost/translate/claim my work as yours on any platform.

[veilishvixen]

“I hate that Lavellan always has to be the one to initiate contact with Solas.”

HOLD UP…she only technically initiates their first romantic scene together when she accidentally hijacks his dream and plants herself at the center of it.

Their second, third, and fourth are all TECHNICALLY initiated by Solas.

The balcony scene? Started by him when he stops us in our tracks to ask if we “have a moment.” Then HE proceeds to lead US to our OWN bedroom. Lavellan has to hold him back slightly from fleeing from the scene of his own making, but it’s still his scene.

The third is their dance at halamshiral where we will see Lavellan standing far from the crowd, trying to steal a quiet moment for herself before Solas comes skulking out looking for company. Talking about some “I’m not surprised to find you out here.” Shut up, like you ever lost track of her. Then he is the one to offer his hand and suggest that they dance.

The fourth and final we all know is crestwood. They’ll be talking about the well of sorrows, but then the topic will swiftly shift to where the future is taking them. I always choose the “I will have you at my side,” option but no matter which you choose, Solas (once again) will usher you into yet another secluded scene that you yourself can make no conscious decision to trigger. It’s all orchestrated by him.

He can also be the only one to ever say the words “I love you/Vhenan” throughout the entire main game if you choose. Lavellan may tell him she loves him while he’s breaking up with her, and she may call him Vhenan and tell him she “loved” him in Tresspasser, but choosing those specific dialogue options aren’t necessary to keep the romance alive. The only one that IS necessary is the promise she has to make him at the very end; “OUR love will endure.” This is always MY Lavellan’s first time telling Solas she loves him, even if it isn’t exactly direct.

Lavellan really only has to kiss him once in a dream, then treat him with grace and kindness afterward and Solas will eventually take up the lead if you leave it for him. Yes, he stumbles once on the balcony and she has to set him back on track again, but after that? It’s all up to him until the break up.

Afterward he will tell you your anger is justified and that he is furious with himself as well…because he knows; he played more into the relationship than perhaps even you did. He wanted your love more than his higher plans and it was selfish. Foolish because more than he loved you, he hated himself.

But apart from all of that, I think a lot of people forget that Lavellan is this man’s BOSS in inquisition and is well aware of her flirtations with him being inappropriate. She will immediately try to retreat after their first kiss, then again when Solas expresses disapproval/anxiety towards it when they wake the next morning. “If I’m pressuring you…” “If I misread you…I’m sorry.”

She was CONCERNED and more than willing to fumble her cracked mask of professionalism back into place if it meant putting his mind at ease.

Even the gossiping nobles outside will disapprove of the romance, saying they prefer a highborn scandal. A romance with Cullen would still be inappropriate, but a little less scandalous considering his high rank in society. Solas is nobody to the world…an apostate, a servant…and if he’s nobody to them, imagine what he looks like standing next to the Inquisitor. Lavellan is hyper aware of all of this and it makes more sense for her character to constantly be leaving the ball in his court rather than keeping it in her own.

Before knowing what I know now, I probably would have considered her more like I consider Mythal had she truly been the main instigator in this relationship; a woman willing to take advantage of the vulnerable and malleable to get what she wants. But she was never that to Solas and I think her vocalizing her anxiety about making him feel pressured only made me (and him) love her deeper.

[alikesical]

part 1 part 2 part 2.5 part 3

trigger warnings: mentions of death (specifically dead parents), might be out of character? idk we'll see

"Bruce? What are y-"

"Please," he said, not letting you get another word out.

He knew how this looked like. He knew it was bad, and terrible, and very very confusing, and nothing like he fantasized about.

He was at your doorstep, 3 years too late, and instead of an apology, he's got a child and a plead.

"I-" he stuttered, Bruce never stuttered, "I need help." he said, his eyes never leaving yours. It was weird, looking him in the eyes again, after all you've seen of them for 3 years were on news broadcasts, but they somehow were still familiar.

The door creaked as you opened it up, a silent invitation. A promise that whatever went down in the past, will be left there.

For now, at least.

You said nothing as he walked in, no questions asked, even if there were thousand. You could always ask them later.

"My room is in there," you pointed at the closed door, "I'll get you some spare clothes. They'll be too big for him, but it's the only thing I have." you said and headed towards your bathroom. You could hear Bruce thanking you as he moved the boy in your room, the bed creaking as he set him down.

The site that greeted you once you walked in, nearly broke your heart.

Bruce was sitting on the edge of your bed, staring silently at the boy, the softest expression you've ever seen, etched in every corner of his face. They both looked so serene, the only difference being the look of absolute, excruciating sadness in Bruce's eyes.

He almost looked like he was grieving.

"Here you go," you broke the silence, offering the clothes to him, which he took with an appreciative nod.

He turned to the boy, silently nudging him, trying to wake him up as gently as he could. You could barely hear him whispering the kids name as you left the room and closed the door behind you.

Whatever had happened to this kid must have been traumatic if Bruce brought him to you instead of going straight to the manor and having Alfred help him. Seeing another stranger wouldn't do him any good right now.

And with that thought, you moved to your living room table, picking up your mug of now cold tea and headed to the kitchen. Your movements were mechanical as you filled the kettle with water and turned it on, still confused by how your night had progressed.

You were supposed to read your book, in peace and quiet, drink your tea, and ignore the world around you for a couple hours.

Now, you had a kid sleeping in your bed, wearing your clothes, and were making tea for Bruce Wayne, your best friend whom you haven't spoken to in 3 years.

You exhaled as you filled the mugs with water, blinking a couple times, before you picked them up and headed back to the living room.

"Jesus Christ!" you jumped back when you saw Bruce already sitting on your couch, hands on his knees, spilling some of the tea on the floor.

When did he get there? How did he get there? Your floorboards are the creakiest thing in your house, which says a lot considering the apartment is very old. How did he not make a single sound? It's not like he's small. The man towered over you and probably everyone else you knew.

You shake your head a little before walking up to him. It's late, you're tired, and the night has been eventful, no wonder you didn't hear him, your thoughts are loud enough to cover up the noise.

"He's asleep." he said as he accepted the mug from your hands, "Thank you." he took a sip.

You sit down across him, pulling your legs up to your chest as you copy him.

"It's no problem," you look at him, shoulders tense, head lowered. This isn't Bruce, not the Bruce you knew, at least. The Bruce you knew always stood tall, shoulders out, radiating a calm kind of confidence. This Bruce is just a cell of who he used to be.

"You can stay as long as you need," you continued, "both of you." you say and you see him visibly tense up more, like he didn't expect you to say that.

And in all honesty, he didn't. He didn't expect any of this. Not you opening the door, not you letting him in or giving clothes to Dick, or making him tea, or letting him stay. All the while, not asking a single question.

He didn't deserve this, he didn't deserve any of it.

You saw his brows scrunch up, his eyes fixed on the mug he was holding so tightly that it could break any moment. "Listen," you spoke up again, interrupting him from falling deeper into his thoughts, "It's late and you look like hell. Why don't you go and sleep in my room with the kid and we'll talk in the morning?" you stand up, "How does that sound?" you say moving in front of him as he nods and follows your example.

You both head into the room, him making a beeline to the bed, and you heading to your wardrobe, getting an extra pillow and a blanket.

"Good night Bruce, sleep well." you say as he slowly slips under the covers, his coat resting on your desk chair.

"Good night." you hear him answer as you close the door behind you.

The next morning, you wake up, groaning as you stretched on your couch, your back hurting in ways you never thought it could.

You exhale as you stand up, feet hitting the cold floor, as you stand up and immediately head to the kitchen trying to not think about what happened last night and the reason you had to sleep on the couch in the first place.

Coffee first, you can deal with Bruce later.

You rub your eyes as you wait for the water to boil, trying to crack your neck, just to get some relief from all the built up pressure.

Thankfully, you didn't have to go to work today, so once you were done, you grabbed the mug and headed back to the couch, hand immediately reaching for the remote.

"-terrible accident took place last night as a pair of acrobats travelling with the circus, known alongside their young son as the Flying Graysons, fell to their death, leaving their son an orphan." you hear the news reporter say the moment you turn on the TV, your expression turning into one of shock,

"Their death has been attributed to an accident, the GCPD says after conducting research overnight, and their young son seems to have be taken away by no other than Bruce Wayne, who's own parents died when-" you turn the TV off, staring at the empty black screen.

So that's what happened. This is why Bruce looked so distraught last night. He didn't just watch two people die, he relived the night his parents we murdered all over again.

Flashes from the past appearing right before his eyes, leaving him unable to escape the hold they still had on him, the hold they always will...

You were pulled out of your thoughts as you heard the light pitter patter on the floor, accompanied by it creaking with every step, and before you knew it, you see the boy in front of you, wearing your shirt, that was entirely too big for him, rubbing his eyes as he looked around confused.

"Good morning," you greet him, a soft smile on your lips as he turns to look at you, only then realising there's another person in the room with him, "How did you sleep?" you ask him, but he stays silent, playing with the hem of your shirt.

"...good" he says under his breath after a while, and you exhale in relief.

"Are you hungry?" you ask but he gives no response, "I've got some cereal in the kitchen." no response, "I'll let you keep the toy," he immediately perks up, and you let a wide smile overtake your face as you stand up again.

You head into the kitchen, the boy following close behind, and suddenly a light shines on this terrible situation, because even after witnessing something so traumatising, this little boy still got excited at the thought of getting the silly little toy that came with the cereal box. After all that happened, he was still a child, and you were determined to keep it that way.

@whiskytoast hope you enjoyed it! I'm not gonna lie, while I did plan on continuing this at some point, I lowkey screamed when I saw your comment and immediately got up lmao slept is for the weak after all

[cavernned]

ENHYPEN WITH ENTERTAINER TROPES

maknae line version!

hyung line version

notes: so….. i know it’s been a while since i uploaded the first part! AND IM SORRY FOR THAT. i just got really busy and then i was honestly considering scrapping it altogether bc i thought it was kind of a trash idea (oops!) but after recieving all the love on my rating my exes smau i thought that i might as well do the maknae line! to those that were waiting on it i apologize and hope that this suffices 💜🤍 (also please lmk if you want to be added to the perm taglist for my enha works!)

word count < 2890

trigger warnings: none!

model!sunoo x stylist!reader

Sunoo is a famous model!

Not only is he famous for his great visuals but also his cute personality 

every critic online would be saying that his face did not match his onstage persona at all! 

those that he worked with never had anything negative to say about him

in behind the scenes videos he’s cheerful and can be found interacting with staff

but once he gets on the runway….

it’s like a switch is flipped!

no more smiles or giggles, just serving face

and this is exactly what makes him so popular

another thing that always caught peoples eye were his day to day looks

from the way he styled his hair, the makeup that laced his face, all the way down to the clothes on his back seemed ti be perfectly curated to make him look good

AND BOY IH BOY DID IT WORK

but of course nobody could look that good everyday without a little help

and people began to speculate…

who is the genius behind Sunoo’s looks??

In a recent interview he’s asked this question 

his fans obviously expect him to happily answer like he usually does but-

HE COMPLETELY GATEKEEPS?????

rather than answering directly he laughs it off and makes a joke about how it’s all him!

and boy oh boy this answer disappointed many

(since this behind-the-scenes stylist was in such high demand amongst not only models but celebrities too!) 

people online searched and searched for any sort of hint or trace of this mystery fashion consultant 

but there was genuinely nothing!

UNTIL ONE FATEFUL DAYYYYYYY

some deep diver finds you credited in a post made long before Sunoo was famous 

before he was even a runway model at that

and the post didn’t even have him in it, there were only pictures of you at your graduation 

in the description was your name,  “l would like to congratulate Y/N L/N not only as an aspiring stylist and fashion designer, but as my one and only.” 

welp, the cats out of the bag 😅

YOU’D NEVER WOKEN UP TO SO MANY NOTIFICATIONS BEFORE…

You definitely didn’t post anything new or had any recent requests for pieces. Hell your commissions weren’t even open anymore? To top it all off you really weren’t on your phone that much to begin with. So imagine the surprise that you felt when the buzzing of your phone was coming from insta notifications rather than the sound of your alarm.

Not feeling quite ready to deal with the day yet, you quickly pick up the device to silence the flashing screen. Before you can even put the phone back down another notification pops up. This one coming from a message sent to your business email specifically. 

The first word being proposal was all you needed to. You were caught red handed. Instinctively, you turn over to your left. Beside you was Sunoo peacefully sleeping, completely oblivious to the chaos he most likely caused. As gently as you can you wake the boy up. 

“What’s up? it’s Saturday why are you up so early.” he loudly yawns.

Instead of using your words you quickly shove the phone into his face. Not before giving you a confused look, he takes the device from your hands and looks at the screen. It only takes him a few seconds to recognize what occurred while the two of you slept. “oh shit.”

————————————-

Later in the day during he actually had a shoot. 

Usually during his breaks he would film videos for his fans. They would consist of sneak peaks, informing them about his day, or just him eating snacks 

Since his girlfriend was outed on the internet though, there was no more beating around the bush (as much as he still wanted you to be his little secret)

That day you had also come into work with him, to tag along. So what better way to show you off then to include you in his daily vlog! 

Carefully he set up his camera. “Hey guys it’s been a while!” he happily said. 

After chatting about what he’d been up to and giving little hints as to what he’d was shooting for, he finally brought up the elephant in the room.

“I know you guys have been very curious about me.” he states, “There’s been a lot of stuff circling around online, but yes I do have a partner.”

He then grabs the camera and begins making his way over to another area. One in which you’re sitting and looking through emails on your phone. Placing it right in your face to your shock.

“This is her!” and then he abruptly ends the videos choosing to limit access to you once again. He was being serious about gatekeeping you from the world, his girlfriend was too good for people to gawk at. 

“What was that about!” you ask as he begins to sit next you. He rests his head on your shoulder feeling tired from everything going on and from changing outfits about twenty times. “oh nothing..” he replied.

It was in fact not nothing. 

When the video was uploaded later in the day, he couldn’t catch a break. Reading comments about how beautiful his girlfriend was and questions as to why he waited so long to reveal such a talented and pretty lady. 

To make things worse you laughed at his sulking! When he came to confide in you about his wishes to keep you all to himself, you giggled and in your exact words said “it’s been a long time coming.”

He supposes you were right. There was just no way your talent and beauty would be hidden forever. It was obvious that you were always meant for more than just being his stylist and he never planned on stopping you when the time came for you to branch out. Even though he didn’t expect said time to be so soon, he was happy for you and the opportunities he knew were bound to come.

That didn’t stop him from pouting about it though!

influencer!jungwon x bystander!reader

I think it’d be so funny if Jungwon was like a popular content creator 

an influencer if you will

in terms of content i feel like he’d do everything 

reactions, commentary, unboxings, mukbangs, playing games

hell maybe he’d even venture into doing asmr for a little while

POINT IS that he didn’t restrict himself into one area of content

now of course the two of meet in mid video 

in the specific one, he’s actually streaming

during the live he had ordered food to eat, initially forgetting about the meal until the door bell rings signaling its arrival

he quickly excuses himself to pick up his dishes 

and low and behold

ITS YOU

the one that was paid to deliver his meal

to put it simply the interaction was quite hilarious 

since Jungwon truly believed that he fell in love at first sight he ended up stumbling over his words so badly, nearly tripping over his own feet

and to top it all off, he NEARLY dropped his entire meal onto the floor 

once the door closed he let out the loudest scream known to man

what made it worse was the fact that his chat saw the entire interaction since his doorframe was still in view of the camera. 

safe to say that his chat did NOT spare him from the clowning they did on twitter 

the next time he saw you was also, during stream (SHOCKER)

this time around he was vlogging 

on the hunt for blind boxes he’d had his eyes on for a while

as he walked throughout the busy Popmart, his eyes landed on a familiar face 

(a pretty one at that)

there you were in all of your glory

your stare zoned in on the various Peach Riot blind boxes

he signals to his chat that the pretty girl that delivered his food was here 

quickly he stuffs the tripod into his bag so his fans wouldn’t be able to see your face

and he makes his way over to you

and it wouldn’t be Jungwon if he didn’t fumbles and embarrass himself for a second time

by some MIRACLE he actually gains your number

bro left the store clicking his heels together (not before paying for your items 🙂‍↕️)

now his fans don’t officially meet you until a few weeks later in another stream he started

THE STREAM STARTED OFF JUST LIKE IT USUALLY DID…

He would start off by talking about what he’d been up to. Then move on to reading chat for a while, answering questions and clowning his viewers the same way they did to him.

Then Jungwon brought up the main activity for the stream, playing video games! Said video games just being ones on Roblox. 

As he played it mostly consisted of him rage bating, cursing out little kids, and abusing his power because of his youtuber privileges he was given in certain games. 

In the middle of his reign of terror, somebody walked into the room. That somebody being you! Not knowing he was streaming you came to check on him since he was constantly screaming (more than usual at least!) 

Seeing that you walked into his room he stopped everything that he was doing to run up to you. Now that his headphones and mic were off, his chat couldn’t hear anything but the games music and sound effects.

But they were going crazy!

did somebody just walking into his room

jungwon has friends ? wow what a shocker

who tf is that

^my bets are on the doordash person

he’s literally dying in game

did he just kiss her??????

“What are you doing here?” he questioned, “Sorry if I was too loud, were you sleeping?”

Finding amusement in his worry for your wellbeing you gently brushed his bangs away from his face, “No you weren’t too loud, I wasn’t sleeping, and I came to check on you.”

This is when he melted. He couldn’t believe that he was lucky enough to have you. Which resulted in his very bad case of cuteness aggression. Instead of giving a response like a normal person, he began placing kisses all of your face with seemingly world record speed. 

Once he’s done smothering your face with his own, instead of ushering you out of the room he drags you over to his set up, pulling out a chair for you to sit in. He quickly disconnects his headphones from his stream so they’d be able to hear your voice.

“So chat, I have something to tell you…,” he ominously says, “I’m no longer bitchless”

Cue to his fans absolutely flaming him nonetheless.

propaganda im not falling for

pretty lady blink twice if you need help

are you sure because she was just in bed with me last week 😹

theres no WAY jungwon pulled before me

lets be honest she probably got paid to be here

You cackled loudly while reading the messages that were quickly flying through the screen as Jungwon begged his fans to have some faith in him for once. 

Once your laughing dies down and hes done complaining, your boyfriend encourages you to speak.

After giving a small rundown of who you are Jungwon decides to tell the story of how the two of you became a couple. Dating all the way before the doordash incident, the both of you had a mutual friend and unknowingly went to the same college (before Jungwon dropped out which his chat also made fun of him for) 

After the whole Doordash and blind box fiasco where he managed to score your number, the two of you began chatting back and forth online. Which is when he found out about your love for playing video games! The two of you would spend most nights together on FaceTime, playing Stardew Valley and Minecraft with one another.

In a joking manner, he expressed his worries to you that maybe he was falling head over heels for a stalker. To which you were offended since you really had no clue that he was famous at all until he told. Im fact he had to show proof that he was popular online because to you he was only Jungwon, your boyfriend. Which perfectly worked out for the two of you!

Once the whole rundown thing was over, the two of you played video games late into the night basically forgetting fans were even watching the two of you. 

I hate the fact that he pulled her

can she date me instead

if they started streaming i would definitely subscribe

^she’s literally funnier than him

jungwon retire and give your channel to (name) thank you very much 💕

dancer!ni-ki x dancer!reader

dance influencers yayyyyy!!!

like jblaze and kirsten kind of dancers

basically well known and superrrr talented but also kind of behind the scenes

so how do you guys meet?

well this one is obvious

you’re obviously background dancers in the same mv

even then you guys don’t necessarily have to become close

but NO, in this choreography there are plenty of duo sections

and you and ni-ki were specifically partnered together

(it’s what the people want to see!!) 

since you guys are both try-hards, oftentimes you spend extra hours in the studio getting the moves down

naturally, the two of you go closerrrr 

often hosting lives and posting challenges with one another

AND THE DANCE COMMUNITY IS RAVINGGGGGG ABOUT YOU GUYS

it’s like two meteorites collided !

seeing two people be so effortlessly cool genuinely blew peoples minds

which checks out! 

once the MV the two of you were working in comes out people expect the era pf your duo to end

but no….

the lives keep coming, instagram posts, and multiple dance routines created by the two of you

at this point people are questioning if you guys are just a pair now or madly in love with each other

AND NOBODY KNOWS

up until one day

when a little stream titled “Dance Studio Tour :)” begins to go live

THE CAMERA MAN DILIGENTLY FOLLOWS

NI-KI AROUND…

He’d already covered a good amount of areas. The entrance, locker rooms, and lounge area had all been explored around with a camera. Streaming a tour of the studio he currently worked at.

Nearing the end of the livestream he finally reached the main areas, the mirror rooms.

There were three in total. Each would host a variety of different classes. Whether that be hip-hop, ballet, heels, ballroom, contemporary, or plenty of others. The first two were relatively normal. One being occupied with a class that he happily greeted and the second being wiped down by a janitor. 

Finally making his way to the third room which was obviously occupied. Loud music echoed across the mirrored walls and the lights created the perfect setting. At first glance (or direction of camera in this scenario) it looked empty, until the lenses landed on you.

There in the middle of the room you were on a tablet, closely monitoring yourself.  With headphones covering your ears, blissfully unaware of the pair that walked in.

Rather than interrupting you, he allows the viewers to focus on you for a while. Your concentrated face filling up the screen as the camera zoomed in. Watchers could slightly hear some funny narrations on behalf of Ni-ki in the background, some teasing, some in awe. 

Once you’re done checking for mistakes and errors you slowly get up to get started again. As you look at yourself in the mirrors it is exactly when you finally recognize the two figures watching behind you.

“Hey guys, what are you up to?” you questioned, being oblivious to the fact that he was filming that day.

“Nothing much, you should introduce yourself.” he urges as he and the camera man make their way over to you. 

As you’re giving a little rundown about yourself and what you’re currently working on, Ni-ki stares at you, listening intently to your words.  

Fans are definitely questioning the longing gaze he’s giving you at this point but not really going batshit insane about it.

It’s not until he’s done interviewing (teasing) you when they go berserk . As he begins to leave, he kisses you right on the lips smack-dab in the middle of the camera. The giggles of the camera man could be quietly heard in the background.

HELLO???

RUE. WHEN WAS THIS??

okay but who’s actually surprised 

^ME????

i could actually cry tears of joy

literally the best day of my life

To their surprise, you aren’t utterly shocked by his actions of kissing you in front of the camera because the both of you believed that you were being quite obvious the entire time. Considering the fact that you guys became a “dynamic duo” specifically after working together, you thought that it was all laid out for your fans.

Who knew that the lack of PDA and cutesy nicknames made people this oblivious.

Later on after the live is over, your fans expect some sort of explanation or announcement but… theres absolutely nothing! No bold instagram post or confirming tweet in sight.

I was not lying when I said you guys were pretty behind the scenes in terms of content and your personal lives! 

Which was exactly how it would stay. 

Of course, that didn’t mean you just left people hanging.

In instances such as group photos the two of you were often closely knit, when you went outside together you wouldn’t wear any masks or restricting hats and would wave at fans in passerby. 

Even in other artists behind the scenes content if the two of you were involved, a lot of the time fans could see the two of you conversing in the background. 

And every blue moon in a random photo-dump there would be one, MAYBE even two photos of you guys included.

You guys were private yes, but not secret!

masterlist ★彡

taglist: @ashirp @ninistranaut

[daisyvisions]

✦ Day 19 - Face F*cking

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Pairing: academic rival!Changmin x afab!reader

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Word Count: 1.8K

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Warnings: Smut (18+, minors DNI), will consider this a dark fic, face fucking, blowjob, blackmail (sexual favor - don't read if triggering) , mean!changmin, slight fingering and mentions of it, slight handjob and ball massaging, dacryphilia?, some graphic descriptions, names used (sweetheart, whore, slut, good girl - wow that's the whole quad), a bunch of swearing, reader is basically being used here, let me know if I missed any more! Proofread once, will edit later if needed.

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. A/N: Did not expect how this one turned out if I’m completely honest, but here you go! This was fun to write, different tone than what I usually do! Fun fact, story was based on this little Tumblr game I did long time ago.

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Network: @deoboyznet

✦ Kinktober Masterlist ✦

“Love me or hate me, both are in my favour.”

A picture quote you mindlessly scrolled pass as you were on your phone taking a break from a paper that was due at midnight. It’s not that you procrastinated this specific essay. In fact, you could even do it in your sleep. That’s just how fast your brilliant brain works.

Today just seemed like any other normal day. Wake up, go to school, come back home, the usual routine. Nothing out of the ordinary at all. But not even your brain could conjure up the events that were about to unfold in three… two… one…

Ding dong.

You looked up from your phone, eyebrows knitting together in confusion from the sound of your front door ringing. Who could it possibly be? You didn’t plan any hangouts with friends nor did you order any takeout for dinner. You think for a moment to check if you had any deliveries coming in-

Ding dong.

You got up from your chair and placed your phone down on the desk to answer the door. As soon as you swing it open your eyes slowly look up to meet another pair of eyes you were definitely not expecting to see at all.

His figure leaning against the doorframe like the men you read in your books. But only this time, you wanted to punch him.

“Hey sweetheart. Missed me?” He smirks down at you.

“Changmin? What the hell are you doing here?” You question.

“I could ask myself the same thing-” He suddenly walks into your hallway uninvited. You scoff at his rudeness (not that you were surprised, he’s always like this with you anyway.)

“Cozy-” His eyes survey the room. “-didn’t expect you to live in a place like this especially with that icy attitude of yours.” He turns his heel to face you, you roll your eyes as you close the door and walk towards him, meeting in the middle of your living room.

“Why the fuck are you here?”

“No need to get aggressive, just here to collect that favor you owe me.”

“Favor? I don't owe you any favors what the hell are you talking about?” Your patience wearing thin as his words dance around you instead of getting straight to the point.

“Oh… you don't remember?” His eyes gleam with a hint of mischief. “Let me refresh your memory then-” He turns his back to you as he walks towards the couch and plops himself down, instantly manspreading and getting comfy as if were his own home.

“If I can remember correctly, you owe me a favor from helping ward off that jackass during Younghoon’s party. Grabbing my arm and pretending I was your boyfriend so that he could fuck off. Ringing any bells?”

“Yeah, and I thanked you for it-”

“No no no. You didn’t thank me.” He interrupts you. “You said ‘Never doing this again but I owe you one.’”

“That counts as a thank you-”

“C’mon now sweetheart. You’re smarter than that.” His black orbs staring you down, slowly making you feel unsettled. He suddenly gets up from his seat and walks towards you like a predator, slowly walking you backwards until your back hits the wall.

“Enough stalling. I’m here to cash in my favor now.” His hand resting at the side of your head.

“W-what did you have in mind?” Your voice slightly shaking. His other hands lifts to hold your chin before the corner of his lips slowly curl upward.

“On your knees…”

“I’m sorry?” Your eyes widen. Did he just-

“Are we speaking two languages? On your knees. Or else…”

“Or else what?” You try to play it cool and hide the fear coursing through your veins.

Suddenly, Changmin pulls out his phone, plays the video in his gallery, and shows it to you. You were like a deer caught in the headlights as soon as you saw the figure moving through the tiny screen. Said figure was moaning and playing with themselves like some kind of homemade porn.

It was you. It was a video of you touching yourself.

“Give that to me!” You try to reach for his phone, but Changmin already anticipated your moves by holding the phone high up beyond your reach.

“Nuh-uh. I didn't say you could touch my phone now did I?”

“Where the fuck did you get that?” Panic and anger radiating from your body.

“I have my ways.” He smiled at you as if he surprised a friend at their birthday. But this was not a gift at all.

“That was for my ex’s eyes only. How. Did. You. Get. It?” You attempt to reach for phone once again.

“Well, he's not the smartest of the bunch. Seriously you dated that idiot? Expected more from you.” He says with a disappointed tone.

“Changmin this isn’t funny. Delete that NOW!” You demand him.

“No can do sweetheart. Grant me my favor and I’ll consider. If you don’t, this hot as fuck video will be played in the auditorium for everyone to see. How will the whole school think of their precious little valedictorian now?”

As you look into his eyes, you could already tell he’s not playing around. You would know this, you see that look every time he would try to win against you. And you can’t put your whole reputation down the line. Not like this.

You gulp down the saliva in your throat and let out probably the biggest sigh of defeat you’ve ever uttered your life. You pulled the hair tie out that was on your wrist and hastily tied your hair as you sink down to your knees, looking up at him with the face of disgust.

“Such a good girl. Was that so hard?” He coos at you. “Now, get to it before I change my mind.”

You hesitate for a moment before you reach out your hand to touch his bulge. Your eyes widen in surprise and confusion as soon as you touch his already hard member.

“But you’re alrea-”

“What? You think I didn’t already touch myself watching your video?” He says this like it’s common knowledge. “Needed something to work with. And trust me, it fucking worked.” He smirked down at you.

“You’re disgusting.” You grimace at him.

“And you’re taking way too slow.” Changmin unbuckles his pants and instantly pulls out his cock from his boxers.

If anyone told you your rival’s dick was rock hard right in front of your face, you would’ve vomited. But here you are, in this exact scenario. His cock flushed pink with a hot mushroom tip oozing out with what you probably thought was the most delicious pearls of precum you’ve ever seen.

“If you want this done quick, you better listen to what I say got it?” He raises his eyebrow. You nod your head in response.

“Good. Now kiss it.” You immediately hold his length in your hand and close your eyes before giving the tip a light peck, already tasting him on your lips. You give another peck to his tip before kissing the under side of his cock. Planting each kiss gently but firm at the same time.

“Fuck that’s it. Keep kissing my cock.” Changmin hisses at the feeling of your soft lips. His hand resting on the wall the balance himself. He groans suddenly when he feels your other hand massaging his balls as you continue to leave hot kisses on him.

“You’re such a little tease you know that? That’s what I’ve always liked about you. Getting me so riled up all the time just wanna fuck the brat out of you.” He mumbles as he watches you.

You’re not gonna lie, hearing him dirty talk like that sends your core throbbing like a bitch in heat. You keep kissing his cock until you’re suddenly licking it, practically making out with it at this point.

And somehow you don’t even realize that you’ve stopped massaging his balls just to snake your hand under your skirt to rub little circles on your sensitive clit, trying to relieve the ache down there.

This action doesn’t go unnoticed by Changmin however, making him smile from ear to ear at the sight beneath him.

“Touching yourself now are we? You were always a selfish one.” He tuts.

“But that’s alright. I’ll allow it. Just thank me. Say it-”

You pause kissing his member to look up at him with a raised eyebrow, replacing it with your hand jerking him off.

“What?” You slightly tilt your head to the side

“Go ahead sweetheart…Thank me.” He holds your face with his free hand and places the pad of his thumb on your bottom lip.

“Thank me. Like the dirty little whore you are.” You scoff. Of all things, he’s still looking for that? His eyes go wide at your response.

“No? Rather take my cock instead of saying two simple words?” He pulls your bottom lip with his fingers, making you whimper from the slight tug.

“If you aren’t gonna thank me, then might as well treat you like a fucking slut.” As soon as Changmin says this he swats your hand away from his cock and grabs it firmly and squeezes your cheeks to open your mouth with is other hand and shoves his whole length inside.

Before you even have the time to process what’s going on, both his hands are grabbing your face as he fucks himself in your mouth.

Gluck gluck gluck.

That’s all the sounds you can hear ringing in your ears as Changmin groans in pleasure. He fucks your mouth with raw aggression, you’re sure your throat’s gonna bruise after this from how his whole length goes in and out. He’s bigger than you anticipated, making you slightly gag as small tears from fall from your eyes.

“You’re so pretty when you cry, especially when you’re like this.” He continues to fuck himself into your mouth. The way he manhandles your face as he quickens his thrusts has you getting wetter by the second.

And without warning he instantly shoots his hot load down your throat as his hips stutter. Swallowing the warm salty liquid as it infiltrates your taste buds… and it’s intoxicating.

You cough out and try to catch your breath as he pulls his cock out of your mouth, tucking it back inside his pants before letting out a sigh of relief.

“Such a good girl.” He looks down at you with a post orgasm haze in his eyes before zipping his pants up and walking towards the front door. Your eyebrows knit in confusion.

“W-where are you going?” Your raspy voice calls out to him.

“You didn't think I was gonna stay did you?” He turns the knob and pulls the door open.

Before he sets a foot out of the door he looks back at you over his shoulder and smiles one last time,

“You really should've just said ‘thank you’ instead…”

[trippinsorrows]

with me + part six

authors note: i'm very sorry in advance for how this ends, it was just getting wayyyy too long, and there was no good place to slice it in half, so i cut it before shit unfolds, so yes please don't hate me!!!

pairing: roman reigns x black!reader

status: in progress // masterlist

warnings: fluff, language, suggestive dialogue, angst

song inspo: ‘with me’ by destiny’s child

words: 6.5k

taglist: @pixiedust4000 @southerngirl41 @yolobloggers @msbigredmachine @wanderingreigns

“Whoa.”

Mariah’s reaction is expected. Your living room, specifically the sofa, is occupied by several of Callie’s dolls. A tea party that you were so kindly invited to attend this morning. 

“Girl, you should see her playroom. Pretty soon the floor is going to be non-visible.” 

A small part of you regrets not trying to straighten up before Mariah came over, but this is also your literal best friend. You know she’s seen more than almost anyone else in your life, and she would never judge you, let alone over the state of your apartment when she has a child of her own. 

Mariah looks over at you with a raised brow. “He did all this?” You nod. “Why?”

“Because she’s his little girl and of course he’s going to spoil her. A quote.” You chuckle as you and Mariah decide to just sit at the kitchen island. It’s probably best to leave the dolls untouched as Callie’s likely to wake up from her nap wanting to play again. 

Mariah gives you a look. “You don’t find that weird?”

Confused, you ask, “what?”

Mariah shrugs and circles the top of her water bottle with her index finger. “I don’t know. He just found out about her, and now he’s buying her stuff? Seems like he’s trying to buy her love.”

“You don’t know Joe.” It’s an easy dismissal, because you do know him and know that’s the last thing on his mind. “That’s not him at all. He just wants to see her happy.”

Mariah looks unfazed and stands ten toes down, adding on, “then he should be here full time instead of randomly popping in.” You just look at her, slightly confused where this is coming from. “I mean, I’m happy she’s getting to know him, but this is all so messy, you know? He’s married. He has a wife, and he’s coming here seeing his secret child with his secret mistress.”

You can only look at her, stunned by her words, even if a small part of you knows there’s some element of truth. Joe swiftly dodged the only question you’ve asked about how and when he’s going to tell his wife about Callie. It was a valid question that deserved an answer.  But the things Mariah is saying, you can’t tell if it angers you because it’s not true or hurts you because it is. 

She seems to detect your conflicted emotions and reaches over with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be negative. I just remember how hard it was for you when you and Joe broke up the first time. I hated seeing you so hurt.”

“We’re not together, Mariah. We’re coparenting.” You hate how soft your voice is, giving away that her words now have your head spinning. 

“So you honestly mean to tell me that you have no feelings for him? None whatsoever.” You can’t give her an answer, or either refuse to. It’s another valid question but the answer isn’t as simple for you to express. You know you feel something for Joe, but that could just be because of the fact that you two share a child together. There has to be some type of emotional connection between any two people who create life. “Exactly. Just be careful. He broke your heart once before. Don’t let him do it again.”

Your feelings are so mixed, agreeing with certain aspects of what’s being said and disagreeing with others. Mariah has triggered some big thoughts, ones that you probably should sort through at some point. You’re just not eager for right now to be that moment.

“Enough about me, what’s been going on with you?”

You pray she knows you well enough to know that you’re desperate to change the subject. “What do you mean?”

“I feel like we haven’t spoken much lately, and I know that’s partially on me. It’s just been a lot on my end, I’m sorry.” 

She shrugs. “It’s cool.”

Something tells you that she’s just saying that, and there’s a level of bitterness towards you for the distance. But, you can’t allow yourself to be hurt by that, because it’s fair. Mariah has been too good of a friend to be ditched the minute your ex comes back around. 

‘How are things with Caleb? Are you guys getting along any better?” Caleb and Mariah have only been married for two years but have already hit a rough patch, enough where he’s temporarily moved out of the house. Last you spoke with her, they were supposed to meet up to discuss what they were going to do, especially for the sake of Miach.

“Did you see him at my place last time you were there?” Her response is all you need to know that that is still a sensitive spot for her as well. Understandably so, but her shut down is so cold and unlike the sweet, gentle friend you’ve always known her to be. You were always known as the outspoken, brutal friend, though it seems that maybe as the years go by, the roles are reversing. 

Unless there's something else at play.

—-------

Today is going to be a good day. 

For Callie at least. 

Your earlier conversation with Mariah, who seemed far too eager to leave when you mentioned Joe would be arriving in less than two hours, is still circulating in your head. You know she’s only trying to look out for you, and you’re very appreciative of that, but there was some undertone to the way she spoke to you that you can’t shake off. Like, it wasn’t coming just from a place of concern, but something else that didn’t seem as genuine.

“Mommy, why are we cleaning?”

Because mommy is too broke for a maid.

You instead settle on the answer, “because we want our home nice and clean, baby.”

“But, it is clean.” She’s not entirely wrong, it’s just every so often you like to deep clean, dusting, mopping, the extra shit that usually isn’t done with daily cleaning. 

Taking a break from wiping down your kitchen counters with some overpriced cleaner you picked up from Target, you see Callie is ready to be done, the dust rag you’d given here now sitting on the coffee table.

With a heavy sigh, you ask, “you wanna play, don’t you?” Her eyes widen and her head nods enthusiastically. A quick glance at the clock indicates that Joe should be knocking at your door any minute, so you try to buy some more time. “Alright, let mommy finish here, and I’ll come play with you.”

“Yay!”

Chuckling, you listen to the sound of her run in the direction of her playroom while you finish scrubbing the counters, even if they’re as clean as they can get. It’s most likely a result of all the overthinking you’ve done the past few hours. The older you get, the more you realize you’ve become that ‘i’m anxious, so let’s clean until we’re physically exhausted’ mom. Which, technically, isn’t a horrible thing, but it’s also probably not the best way to deal with your emotions.

Not that you’ve always been the best with that either.

And that’s when you hear it, the solid two knocks you’ve been waiting for all morning. 

Smiling, you call out for Callie who marches out seconds later with a doll in her hand. “You wanna see who’s at the door for mommy?” Callie looks rightfully confused. At the same time you taught her how to open, close, and lock the door because you never know what can happen, you stressed to her that she is to never open it without permission or unless during an emergency. So, you emphasize, “it’s okay.”

Shrugging, she skips, literally skips to the door. You chuckle. This kid has so much damn personality. Moving to the sink to rinse your hands, you move slowly, waiting for it.

A loud gasp. “Joe!”

You can mentally picture the absolute surprise and happiness splashed over her little face. Grabbing the towel to dry your hands, Joe walks in holding Callie who you haven’t seen look so happy since the last time Joe was in town. 

“Mommy, Joe’s here!” 

Kids announcing the most obvious things will always be hilarious. “He sure is.” Leaning against the counter, you focus on him. “Hey.” He looks good, but he always looks good. That was always the damn problem.

He takes in you for a second, eyes lingering longer than what’s probably necessary, “hey.” He easily returns his attention back to Callie who can’t seem to stop smiling, which makes you smile. You love seeing her so happy. "I missed you."

"I missed you too!" She glances over at you, partially contrite. “Mommy, I’m gonna play with Joe instead, okay?”

You pretend to be shocked, standing upright and crossing your arms and making a face before laughing, waving her off.

“That’s fine, baby, because I am going to take a nap.” It’s much needed. Your sleep has been kinda shitty lately, and you know yourself well enough to know that exhaustion makes you bitchy. And the last thing you want is to unintentionally take that bitchiness out on her. Even Joe. Walking up to them, you poke him in his stomach. Jesus, he’s ripped. “Help yourself to anything. Just make sure she doesn’t destroy my house, please. And make her clean.”

At that, her face sours, and Joe chuckles.

“You got it.”

Satisfied, you walk back into your room, deciding to close the door. Callie will absolutely welcome herself in if need be. Plopping down on the mattress, you stare up at the ceiling, taking in a deep breath, momentarily stopping yourself from closing your eyes. For a second, you forget that Callie is not alone and unattended, thus preventing you from sleeping.

Call it being an anxious, overprotective parent, you’ve never allowed yourself to nap when it’s just the two of you. Even when she’s asleep, and when you do, you set an alarm to wake you up every ten minutes, just to make sure she’s still knocked out. It makes taking time to rest pretty difficult, if not impossible, but it’s what makes you comfortable.

It’s an easy sacrifice to make for your child.

So having another adult around, her dad, of all people, is a nice feeling. You know she’s safe and watched over. And it’s what allows you to actually fall into a peaceful slumber. 

Just for a little bit.

—-------

It is, in fact, just for a little bit.

Because you’re awoken by your phone ringing, your mom on the other end wondering what time she can expect you and Callie to come over.

Shit. 

You completely forget that you’d agreed to bring Callie to see her as it’d been “too long," according to her. You partially agreed, realizing you haven’t visited your mom since the day everything went down, what with you reaching out to Joe again and that whole fiasco.

And that’s another thing.

Your mother has no idea he’s back in the picture.

Walking out of the room, you find them in the living room, of course, watching Toy Story 2. 

Callie’s eyes light up when she sees you, but that doesn’t pull her from her position, tucked right under Joe’s side on your sofa. If you had your phone, you’d try to snap a picture. 

“That wasn’t long,” he snickers, and you glare, stopping yourself from flipping him off.

You move over to the sofa, sitting on the armrest. “That’s cause my mom called and woke me up.”

“Grandma?”

Nodding, you explain to both Callie and Joe. “I forgot we were supposed to go visit her today.”

She moves up on her knees, asking, “can we go?” She looks over at Joe. “Joe can come with us!”

You consider her suggestion. Your mom didn’t even find out about Joe until you told her you were pregnant. You kept that part of your life a secret from her for good reasons. This doesn’t seem like the best way for her to find out, to drop it on her yet again. However, one look at Callie’s desperate expression, and you already know your answer.

“Of course,” you then add on, “if he wants to.” 

Callie, being Callie, answers for him. “He wants to!” She tugs on his sleeve, excitement bubbling. “You can meet my grandma!”

You glance over at him, “are you sure? I’m sorry, I know this was supposed to be one on one with her….”

He shakes his head, cutting you off. “If she wants to go, let’s go.”

You nod, praying this doesn’t end up being a bad idea.

—-------

“Mama!” You call out, watching Joe shut and lock the door behind him. Seeing that allows you to focus on where the hell your mother is. She usually meets you at the door when she knows you’re coming over. “Where is this woman?”

The car drive was pleasant enough, Callie talking almost the entire time, as expected. And Joe eating it up the whole time, also, as expected. 

You can see now he’s definitely going to be that dad. The dad who finds anything and everything his kid does to be adorable. You can’t wait for him to be on the receiving end of one of Callie’s temper tantrums and see how he handles it. 

“Grandma!” Callie suddenly calls, all the while keeping her hand in Joe’s. “I’m here!”

Finally, the sound of footsteps from upstairs as your mom comes down the stairs, home phone, yes, a home phone, held between her ear and shoulder. “I told her Bishop wasn’t gonna go for that, but you know how she is. Old fool.” It’s when she’s in the vicinity to see that it’s not just you and Callie, her eyes grow wide. “Cheryl, let me call you back.” 

Damn. 

You know that tone, that ‘let me talk to you’ tone. 

Thankfully, you get a brief save. The sight of your mom makes Callie drop Joe’s hand to sprint off to meet her on the steps. “Grandma!”

She leans down to pick up Callie, smothering her with kisses. “My favorite little lady.” 

Callie giggles as your mom descends from the steps, Callie on her hip, to approach you and Joe who’d, wisely, remained quiet up until this point. 

You watch your mom’s eyes land on him, but before she can say anything, Callie jumps in. 

“Grandma, this is Joe! He’s mommy’s friend and mine too!”

Fuck. Your mom’s eyes travel between him and Callie, once, twice, and on the third time, you know. You just know that she knows.

And that’s when you jump in, knowing you desperately need to speak with her. “Callie, why don’t you show Joe the play area?” 

Her eyes blaze with enthusiasm as your mom places her back on the ground. Callie’s little feet carry her back over to Joe who seems to understand you need to talk with your mother.

“Come on!” Taking his hand, she begins to direct him to the back of the house and through the sliding door. 

Your mom waits until she knows the two of you are alone to speak. “Girl, you done got my blood pressure all up.”

“Mama—”

“That’s Callie’s daddy, ain’t it?” She doesn’t even give you time to answer. “Don’t try to lie, either. She looks just like him.”

There’s no need in denying the obvious. “Yes.”

Her mouth drops open in rightful shock. “And just when did you plan to tell me he was back in the picture?” The questions keep coming, understandably so considering how you’ve just dropped this on her. “And why is she calling him by his first name?”

“Because she doesn't know,” you answer the second question, hating the disappointed look on her face. “We–he hasn’t told her yet.” 

“It just keeps getting worse.” She’s rubbing her temple and you just know she’s gonna need to take an Excedrin before the night is over. “Tell me everything. Now.”

And so, you do, starting with Callie’s initial question about her dad, to your phone call with Joe, his visit where he confirmed he had a daughter, all of it. And when you’re done, your mom is visibly shaken.

“Lord, he found out about her through social media?” You still feel badly about that, about a lot of it. “Well….does his wife know?”

You shake your head. “I don’t think so. We haven’t really talked about that yet.” Before your mom can protest, you add, “we will. I’ll make sure of it. He just wants to get to know her first. For himself.”

Your mom chuckles, obviously having studied the close interaction between the two of them in the few minutes she’s been privy to see them engage with one another. “seems like that’s already a done deal.” 

“Yeah,” you smile warmly. “He’s really good with her.”

And it’s the truth, Joe seems to be naturally good with a lot of things, but there’s something so impressive about his ability to interact and connect with Callie. It’s so natural. 

“So, are you two…..”

“No,” you shut that down immediately. “We’re just trying to navigate coparenting.”

Your mom nods but doesn’t say anything, and you know her well enough to know it’s because she doesn’t entirely believe you. But, she won’t push.

“Well.” She claps her hands together, nodding to the backdoor. “Let me go properly introduce myself, since you got me out here looking rude. Probably got that boy thinking I don’t like him.”

“I promise, he’s not like that.” You two start walking toward the backyard where you’re certain Callie is talking a hole in his head, describing the play area your mom put together just for her when she spends the night.

She places her hand on the sliding door but pauses to look at you, “let me just say this though, that is one fine young man. I see now why you had a hard time letting him go. The devil sure knows how to tempt people.”

“Mama!” You try to suppress your laughter as the two of you walk out, sure enough to find Callie on the swing, Joe pushing her as they share their own conversation. 

She walks up to him, wearing a warm smile, giving a wink to Callie. “I’m so sorry about that. My daughter just didn’t tell me you were gonna be here.” 

Joe, forever respectful, starts to indirectly apologize.  “I hope it's not a problem. If so, I can—”

She waves him off, “oh, hush.” She leans in to whisper, “you’re practically family.” He returns her smile as she introduces herself by name, he offers his, and your wonderful mother then informs, “well, this one is gonna help me tend to my garden, cause winter will be here before we know it.” She leans down and kisses the top of Callie’s head, as she’s stopped swinging and is instead sitting. Her eyes light up at the idea of gardening with your mom. The same way you used to garden with your grandma. A bit of a tradition being passed down. “And in the meantime, you two can go finish organizing the office.” 

Your eyes widen. No wonder she didn’t hear you all coming in right away. That room, once your bedroom, became your mom’s storage area and over the years has accumulated stuff on top of stuff. Nowhere near a hoarding level, but just a lot of things that she doesn’t want to part with but needs to organize. “Mama, that's not—”

“I don't want to hear no complaining. You really want me up on that ladder?” You roll your eyes, realizing she’s referring to the top of your old closet where she keeps the storage bins of memorabilia, mostly photos. “I'm not getting any younger. What if I fall? Then you gon feel bad.”

“You're so dramatic.” Your mom acts like she's 75 and at death's door sometimes. The woman is 52 and teaches a Zumba class at the rec center every Saturday. She could fall and jump right back up like nothing happened. 

She places her hand on Joe’s arm, smiling slyly. “You got this strong, handsome man to help you out.” One thing you’ve learned as you’ve gotten older is that your tendency to unintentionally flirt from time to time 100% came from your mother. Clearly. “Besides, if you do fall, you'll be fine. You got enough booty back there to cushion it.”

“Mama!” One glance at Joe, and you see him make a face that reads clearly 'she's not entirely wrong.’ At that, you shove him, not that it does anything. He's solid as a rock. “Fine, we'll organize your mess, but not for long. Joe is only in town until tomorrow night, and he did not come here to be a part of your cleaning crew.”

“I don’t mind,” Joe adds. Of course, he doesn't. He hasn’t seen it yet, and he’s a gentleman. “Whatever you need help with, I’ll do it.”

Your mom gives you another look and then looks at him. “I like you, Joseph.”

Callie lifts her head, adding, “I like him too!”

I like him too.

“Well, get to it. When we’re done, ya’ll can help me fix some dinner.” Her eyes then land on you. “Well, not you. You can make the lemonade or something.”

Joe coughs awkwardly, poorly hiding his laughter. “I’m getting really sick of ya’ll coming for me and my poor cooking skills.”' 

Your mom directs Callie to grab her caddy with their needed gardening supplies. “Baby, you are a lot of things, but a cook ain’t one of them.” She points at Joe, sharing, “remind me to tell you the story about how she almost burned down my house.”

“Okay, we’re gonna go now.” You grab Joe’s hand and lead him back into the house toward the stairs, which he motions for you to go up first, realizing after the fact that he probably did so to stare at your ass. 

This man….

Entering your former bedroom, you stretch your arm to show you just what you signed up for. He walks in, clearly surprised. “Okay.”

“Yup.” There’s items scattered all over, your mom clearly in the middle of trying to categorize the millions of family photos ya’ll have. “Still don’t mind?”

He shrugs forever unbothered. “There’s two of us. We’ll get it done.”

Sucking your teeth, you look around, trying to figure out where the hell to start. “Your optimism is annoying.”

Chuckling, his smartass remarks, “Glass half full, baby. Glass half full.”

“Yeah, yeah, well glass your ass over there and reach me the ladder. I need the box these pictures can go in from the top.” 

He follows where you’re pointing but also gestures to the closet. “That one?” Joe makes a sound and instead of following your directions, casually walks over to said closet, reaches up and grabs the box with all the ease of someone who’s 6’3. 

Smug expression on his face, he hands it to you as you glare. “Show off.”

Joe assesses you, eyes settling on your chest before redirecting them to your face. “Maybe I should have let you get up there. View and all.”

Holding back your smile is difficult, so you settle for biting on your bottom lip and bumping his side as you move past him. “Shut up.” You know his gaze is on you and that should bother you, his flirty comment should bother you, but it doesn’t.

It doesn’t at all.

—-------

“I still can’t believe you were a cheerleader.” 

There’s probably been a decent combination of conversation and organization in your time working together to ‘unmess’ your mom’s mess. That’s not entirely surprising though. Joe has always been immensely easy to talk to, to be around. And you couldn’t deny that you missed this kind of interaction with him, the most and maybe first since he’s re-entered your life. You wholly understand why he spends and devotes most of his time with Callie, but there’s a small part of you that’s missed this. 

Missed it being just the two of you. 

Chuckling, you comment, “you’re not the first. I was….different in high school and college than I am now.”

He’s intrigued, asking, “how?”

“Well, for one, I don’t party damn near every night anymore.” One thing you could never deny about your early days was that you always liked to have a good time, liked to make your expected appearances at whatever party of the week, or day, was happening. “Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t drink or smoke. That was never my thing. I just….I liked to have fun, probably too much fun more often than not.” You chuckle to yourself, grabbing a stack of photos to put in the container. “Now, I like to be in bed by 9:30, 10 at the latest.”

He smiles and looks over at the wall that still has many of your cheer accolades proudly displayed. “Obviously, you were pretty damn good.”

Shrugging, you push some of your hair behind your ear. Not that it does much. Your curls have always been voluminous and wild. “I was, but….it came at a cost to some extent. Cheer is insanely competitive, and I didn’t always handle that the best.”

Competitiveness was something you deeply struggled with when you were younger. Feeling like you had to be the best, not even better than anyone else per se, but the best that you could be. Always trying to prove that you were good enough.

Looking back now, you have a solid guess of where that came from and what drove it. 

Joe’s studying you, trying to gauge your comfort level with this conversation. “Did you like it?”

“I loved it,” you answer, honestly. “Until I didn’t. Shortly before college, I think, is when the love started to fade.”

“But you cheered in college too, didn’t you?”

You nod, explaining, “I got a scholarship for cheer, and I wasn’t about to put that stress on my mom to have her help me figure out how to pay for school when I had an easy ride.” Around that time is when your relationship with your mom started to strengthen, and the last thing you wanted to do was risk messing it back up by being selfish. You’d cheered damn near your whole life, what was another 4 years? 

“I like your mom,” he announces, almost suddenly. It’s unsurprising. Most people do. But, there is something that pleases you about her tentative approval of him and now his of her. 

“She’s really great. I don’t know what I would do without her, and Callie adores her.” You look over at him, playfully. “Not as much as she adores you, though.”

You can see the delight in his eyes. “Yeah?”

His disbelief surprises you. How can he not see how crazy Callie is over him? “Are you kidding me? That lil girl already doesn’t shut up, but she really doesn’t shut up about you. It’s Joe this, Joe that. The first thing she asks me when I pick her up from school is always if she can call you.” Deciding this is a perfect segue, you add on, carefully. “You know….you should tell her. I can promise you, she won’t be upset. She’s gonna be thrilled.”

She already loves you.

You don’t know if it’s too soon to say that, if it’s something you should even say vs let him hear from Callie herself. You just know that there’s probably very little he could do at this point to make Callie not love him. She’s hooked.

“Christmas,” he announces, adding, “I’ll tell her when I come back for Christmas.” 

This surprises you, as he hasn’t discussed his next visit up until this point. You also don’t feel the need to comment or counter his plan and timeline to tell Callie. You can’t think of a better Christmas gift for her. “You got the time off?”

He nods, providing specifics. “I’ll be here the day before Christmas Eve. Gotta fly back out on the 26th though.”

“Stay with us.” Where this comes from, you’re not sure, but there’s not a lot of regret once it's released. “I know you hate that damn hotel, and Callie would be thrilled to have you around 24/7.” Getting up off the floor, you carry the now filled container and move up the ladder you’d used a couple times because he’d been preoccupied organizing other areas. Sliding it back in the same spot, you descend down the steps only to feel strong hands grip your waist. 

Bringing you to the ground, he carefully turns you around, but that’s not what you’re focused on. What you’re focused on is how close he is to you, your chests nearly touching, his eyes burning into you. Instantly, your stomach is knotting. You know that look, know it all too well. 

“Joe….” Your voice is soft, much softer than it needs to be when trying to assert yourself. And you hate yourself for the tiny sigh that leaves your mouth when he brings his palm to your cheek. “We—we can’t—”

“I’m divorced.”

This man, so fine and kind, and damn near pressed against you is distracting, so much so that you’re briefly disconnected from what he’s just said. But, it’s forcing yourself to come back to reality that his words truly hit you. You’re not sure you could have ever guessed that statement would ever leave his mouth. 

Slightly in shock, staring at him with bewilderment, you stammer, “w–what?”

“Two months ago, Jadah and I filed for divorce. It was uncontested, and the state of Florida is one of the quickest when it comes to processing these things.” His other hand moves to your hip, holding you still, as if he knows you want to move away from him. “I got notice it was finalized a few days ago.”

You’re listening, you really are, but hearing is another story. This has to be some type of sick joke, some type of cruel prank ripped directly out the pages of a journal kept and maintained so long ago. Cause you’d absolutely written about this at one point, written about what it would be like if he were to leave his wife. 

You just never could have anticipated it would one day become a reality.

“I—I don’t understand.” Joe only found out about Callie less than a month ago, so there’s no way she was the reason for the split. Still, you have to ask. “Wh–why?”

Something flashes in his eyes. Hurt. “It was long overdue.” He doesn’t say anything beyond that, and while you expected more, you can also see there’s more to the story. More that he’s not saying, but it’s the brief glimpse of pain that prevents you from pushing. Whatever it is, it’s clearly difficult for him to discuss. 

“Oh.” It’s a stupid thing to say, but you’re truly in a state of shock and don’t know what else to say. 

The biggest and only issue that ever existed between yourself and Joe has always been his marriage, the fact that he was already taken. It was the only reason you ever broke it off with him, but now, he’s standing before you, telling you that this is no longer the case.

You’re all of the emotions: confused, nervous, happy, hopeful, and so many more that you can’t even label.

“I didn’t say anything at first, because meeting Callie was my priority. Establishing a relationship with her was a priority. And it still is, but…..” Your eyes shut as he drops his head in the crook of your neck. “I’ve missed you.” Your hands gradually lift to lay against his chest as he sighs into you, ‘I’ve missed everything about you.” Eyes remaining shut, your nails claw gently against him as he moves his mouth over your neck. “The way you smile, the way you laugh.” His hand on your back slowly inches downward. “The way you taste.” Your breath catches as his teeth graze your collarbone. “The way you feel when I’m inside you.”

“Joe,” you breathe, the air suddenly thick, your throat tight. Breathing is incredibly arduous in this moment. “I—”

“Mommy! Joe!”

Joe’s suddenly across the damn room, it seems like, as Callie enters at both the perfect and worst time with a smile, completely oblivious to what she’s just interrupted. “Grandma said come eat!”

Frowning, you glance at the clock and realize it’s most definitely dinner time and that your mom had most likely just had Callie help her prepare the meal instead of asking you two to help.

Huh.

She moves across the room, tackling Joe from the side and craning up her head as she excitedly asks, “Wanna see what I made? Grandma helped me!”

Leaning down to pick her up, he answers, “of course, I wanna see.” He begins to walk out the door as Callie calls out for you to follow behind.

And you will. 

You just need a moment.

Because what the hell just happened?

—-------

I’m divorced.

It keeps playing in your head, on a vicious repeating cycle, like that annoying song the radio plays every 15 minutes, forcing it down your throat.

For almost the entire time you were together, you infrequently allowed yourself to dream about what your life would be like if the circumstances were different, if he wasn’t already taken. If he wasn’t already married. And each time only left you feeling worse than before, because it was stupid. You were three years deep into the situationship; if he hadn’t left his wife by then, he wasn’t leaving her period.

It was a harsh pill that took you forever to swallow.

And even then, you knew that you could never be happy. Not with the knowledge that he’d left his wife for you. It may be bliss initially, but the guilt would have eaten you up and ruined things regardless.

So accepting and telling yourself that it would never work out long-term was what kept your head above water, especially in the two months after you broke things off. And once you learned you were pregnant with Callie, there was a new kind of stress, a new kind of distraction.

Not that it made you forget about him. Hardly.

Every check up, every milestone, every kick, your mind would wander to him. Wander to a fantasy world where you imagined he was with you every step of the way, the two of you preparing together for the arrival of your first child.

Even as the years went on and Callie got older, you still would find yourself from time to time imagining how different things would be if he was around.

Well, now he is. He’s not only around, but he’s going to be actively involved in Callie’s life for the rest of her life.

And he’s now single.

All of this makes for one fucked up emotional rollercoaster ride.

Dinner is an experience, only for you, maybe Joe to some extent. He’s always had a tendency to compartmentalize emotions though, unlike yourself. Granted, if it was a struggle for him, he did a damn good job not showing it. It also probably helped a ton that Callie talked a hole in his and your mom’s head.

You knew your mom could see something was up with you but graciously opted to not ask you any questions. You wouldn’t have any answers to give her anyway. 

And you indicated as much when you were back at your apartment, and Callie in her room gathering her favorite pajamas for bed. 

“I just need time to think.” 

It’s all you can offer him, because it’s the truth. There’s so much more to consider than you could have imagined, and it’s really hard to contemplate when you still have Mariah’s voice oscillating in the back of your mind, your insecurities, and even your mom. 

So many differing perspectives, it’s hard to focus and hear your own.

Thankfully, he accepts that answer, and you accept that you’re running out of different ways to escape confronting your own emotions. 

Maybe.

Because this day has already been exceedingly long, and you’re more emotionally exhausted than anything. So when Callie comes to you complaining of a tummy ache, you administer her Children’s Tylenol, lay with her until she falls asleep, and take advantage of this rare opportunity to turn your brain off and just rest.

The hard shit could wait.

—-------

“Mommy!”

There's a certain tone every person has that's reserved for emergencies, saved for moments when something is wrong. Very, very wrong.

This is one of those moments.

You nearly trip with how quickly you jump out the bed and sprint down the hall to Callie’s room. Hitting the light switch, your stomach drops when you see her.

On her side, in a fetal position, crying profusely. 

Rushing over to her, you see too that she's pale and a hand to her forehead reveals she's burning up. Sheer panic climbs up your body, settling into your stomach and the back of your throat. Still, you do your best to not show her your fear.

“Baby, is it your tummy?” You take a hand to feel her stomach, but she screams out in pain, making you jump from her reaction.

“Mommy, it hurts,” she sobs, and you're instantly moving the blankets off her, already knowing what you need to do. 

Hand on her forehead, you assure, “I’lll be right back, okay?”

You rush back into your room, sliding on the first pair of shoes that you come across. You grab your phone off the nightstand and throw it in your purse, all in under a minute, still too long. And as soon as you're back in her room, you waste no time in lifting her into your arms. 

She winces, so you reassure, “come on, baby. It's okay, you're gonna be okay.”

It's what you're telling yourself, the only thing keeping you from panicking. Unsure and uncaring at this moment if you lock the front door behind you, you carry her down the steps and into the dark of night, carefully but quickly buckling her into her carseat.

Hating to see her continue to cry, to be in pain, you kiss her forehead, “I’m gonna get you some help, okay? We're going to the hospital.”

She can only nod, and your eyes water. Your forever talkative child is rendered speechless by her pain. It crushes you.

Hopping into the driver's seat, you grab your phone, trembling fingers locating the address of the hospital. You hit share and send it to Joe before pressing the call button and tossing your phone into the passenger seat to zoom out of the parking lot.

Your phone is connected to your vehicle, ringing three times before he picks up, voice heavy with sleep. “Hey.”

“I need you to meet me at the hospital. I already sent you the address.” You do your best to remain calm and collected, to not scare Callie more than she's already scared. Even if you’re fucking terrified. “Something is wrong with Calista.”

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 | Wake up call

Sometimes you only really cherish things when they're taken away from you.

Tags/Warnings: Alien!Jungkook, Human!Reader, dystopian AU, space/Sci-fi/cyberpunk-esque, Enemies to lovers, Angst, Violence, Drama, romance, adult, angst, potentially triggering content, Hurt and comfort, JKs dad, major injury, angst, comfort, fluff

Length: 4.3k words

There is no taglist for this fic.

-> Masterlist

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It's pitch-black when you wake up, and it takes you a moment to realize that it's simply your eyes needing to adjust to the lack of light.

You instantly sit up in Jungkook's main resting spot, only to realize he's missing- instead standing at the main control screen, tapping away with his eyes reflecting the light of the screen in front of him. At a call of his name however, his face snaps towards you, the alien hybrid instantly walking towards you to cover your shoulders with a heavy blanket, before he sits down in the nest with you, clearly in a fight-or-flight state. "What's wrong?" You ask, and your sleepy voice and clearly drowsy state make him feel awfully protective over you-

and that's only partially due to his whole hormonal fiasco going on.

"We're passing a re-fueling station." He tells you, hushed and low in tone. "But the scanners show way too many ships in the area, so I'm trying to move us around." He offers as an explanation, unknowingly sitting closer to you, hands searching for any sort of physical contact with you before he just throws his pride out the window and moves to have you sit on his lap instead.

"Maybe it's just crowded?" You wonder, unsure why this is worrying him so much. But he shakes his head.

"Something's off." He simply denies, eyes focused on the large windows in the front of the ship, offering a wide view of whatever's going on in front and frontal sides- one of those windows being the one you're currently sleeping at. "I don't trust this." He shakes his head, arms slowly wrapping around you as he waits for the autopilot to steer the ship safely past the refueling station.

"Maybe it's.. you know?" You wonder, looking up at him- but he shakes his head.

"I'm.. I would've-" He sighs. "No one can really help me with my instincts because I am.. currently the only human-Bolku hybrid around, so not even Jin's mother can really.. help me understand what's going on with me." He shrugs, holding you in a relaxed, but almost clingy way. "I've simply decided to just.. take your words to heart, you could say." He tells you.

"What do you mean?" You ask, leaning into him a bit as the screen blinks with something- Jungkook looking once, before he puts his attention back onto you, apparently not alarmed by whatever message just popped up.

"You said the only life I can control is mine." He reminds you. "So I'll just.. let whatever I'm feeling run it's course, and learn to control my life instead of trying to just.. hiding in a vacuum." He explains, large ship coming into view in the distance, a few other's as well in close proximity. This catches Jungkook's attention, as he moves his body into a straighter position to properly catch a glance at the ID parts of the ships- required by law. It's typically a flag of the respective planet or organization, combined with a letter-number Identification, similar to a license plate back on earth.

And suddenly, Jungkook tenses up, eyes focused solely on one particular ship it seems like, as it passes by slowly. You're not sure what's wrong, when there's another warning tone, this time making Jungkook growl a little to himself as he gets up to walk towards the control console, tapping away.

He's scanning everything back and forth before he curses, slamming his hands onto the control board, jaw clenched, before he puts some different commands in, ship shifting, starting to steer in a very specific manner that makes the generators underneath your floor rumble in a new rhythm.

"I thought we were skipping this one?" You wonder, but Jungkook grimly shakes his head.

"We can't." He sighs. "I tend to forget that.. this ship is so old." He mumbles, clearly upset.

"It'll be fine." You try and reassure- and he looks at you for a good moment, before he grimly nods to himself.

Hoping that'll be the case.

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Jungkook is usually very much at ease when it comes to situations like these. He clearly knows his way around and is aware of how to act and what not to do in certain situations- year long experience giving him the necessary confidence to properly keep his job going.

But this time, he's on edge- never letting you out of sight, and even having checked multiple times before leaving the ship that the tracker on your new collar works perfectly just in case. He's also made you wear some of his clothes- says it's got something to do with other alien species' staying away from you if you smell like him, and in your eyes, it makes sense. Maybe his whole hormone-issue is just making him a little overprotective.

You understand that, somewhat. And you have to admit that his clothes are very comfortable to wear.

But something you also notice, for the first time, is what he's warned you about in your room, days ago. How everyone who knows his father will look at you with a certain sense of judgement- and this time, it seems like almost everyone seems to know him, because the looks are everywhere. It doesn't bother you too much- but you can feel with the way Jungkook's hand tightens around yours that it does affect him.

"Can we go eat something while the ship refuels?" You wonder, tugging on his hand to gain his attention, trying to pull his mind away from the admittedly tense atmosphere around you. He nods after a moment, nodding towards the employees currently attaching the giant tubes to the ship, before he walks away and towards the food section, numerous different small restaurants cooking quickly for customers sitting and standing close by.

"What do you want to eat?" He asks you, who's already scanning the pictures as best as you can- still not very good at deciphering the intergalactic standard writing. You should really learn it sooner rather than later- it's got to be annoying to read everything to you, after all.

"Uh.. can I eat this?" You ask him, pointing to a specific food covered in crispy fried dough- not because he pays for it, but because he also knows what humans can and can't eat.

Now this fact makes finally sense to you- because as someone who's partially human, Jungkook has to look out for certain foods as to not upset his stomach. For you, the consequences are much more severe, however, so he instead walks up to the counter to ask, just to make sure. The man behind, an alien with scars all over his face as if burned at some point, looks down at you, then at him, before he scoffs.

"She ain't gonna die from it." He says, but Jungkook is clearly not satisfied with an answer like that.

"I asked if it's safe to consume, not if she's gonna die from it." He challenges almost annoyed, a few close standing customers already clearly interested in the small scene.

"And I told you what I know. I don't usually have to feed 'em." The man replies, slamming down his large cleaver into the wooden counter in front of him, cutting a piece of meat in half.

"She can eat it just fine." A voice chimes up, deep and a little scratchy- and multiple things happen all at once.

First, people start to make room, averting their gazes as if an accident just occurred, and someone blasted their guts all over the place.

Almost at the same time, Jungkook pulls you close to him, shielding you in a way from whomever just talked behind you, body hiding you away like he needs to protect you from something.

And then, you poke your head around a little, catching a glimpse of the man.

He's clearly a Bolku with his tall build, even a good hand or two taller than Jungkook, body bulky and muscular, though the face shows the time this man has been alive. There's horns on his head curving backwards, and his eyes are what's the most prominent about him- small, halfway opened, but sharp in their gaze and a deep orange-y red, the color of pure confidence.

A shiver runs down your spine when you realize the small similarities you recognize however. This has to be Jungkook's father.

"Make two servings. I'll pay." The man orders, and the cook eagerly occupies himself with his job to flee the scene, quietly preparing the food. "Snatched a taste of human love, haven't you?" He laughs to himself, now having caught you peeking around Jungkook's arm, his eyes staring you down so much that you can feel your skin crawl.

"We're leaving." Jungkook mumbles to you over his shoulder, hand holding yours as his father chuckles lowly.

"Already? Your ship is barely halfway fueled." He says, sitting down at a table. "And the poor little thing must be hungry too. Aren't you?" He adresses you, but Jungkook hisses back towards you.

"Don't talk to him." He commands, and you nod, before you lean up towards him to speak closer into his ear.

"I'm not that hungry." You reassure him, and he nods, moving to walk away with you-

when suddenly, out of nowhere, someone tugs you away from Jungkook's hand, collar being pulled so roughly it causes you to violently cough from your throat being pushed together forcefully.

Jungkook shouts, but he's held back as well- whoever has you in their grip is bringing you closer to Jungkook's father, who inspects you from his sitting position. "Pretty thing." He comments, using his cane to tap at your thighs. "Healthy body. I wouldn't be able to resist either." He jokes, making who you assume to be his crewmembers laugh while you hold onto the front of your collar to help yourself breathe. "Ah, your mother needed one of those too. They always try and run off, don't they?" He comments, making Jungkook struggle.

You've never seen Jungkook's eyes shine in such a violent shade of red- almost as if his eyes are going to spout flames any second.

"I assume she's not for sale?" He wonders towards his son, who spits onto the ground right in front of his father's shoes, probably as a non-verbal answer. "Figured." The man says, pulling back his boot before he looks at you. "I'll be taking her anyways."

"She's registered under my name!" Jungkook argues. "I'll be sending out a patrol the minute you have to leave-" He argues, and his father laughs loudly.

"Your name means nothing in this system!" He barks back. "You have no worth, you bastard. Be happy I'll let you leave once your trash-pile of a ship is refueled." He warns.

You're starting to become tired fighting against the strong hold of whomever got their hands on you- causing your to breath harder and harder, oxygen not reaching your brain as well, causing you to become dizzy- and it's something Jungkook notices, because of course he does.

And another thing he realizes is that he knows you're in distress long before he spots the blinking red light of your collar, signaling something wrong with your vital signs.

And before you can do anything else, the edges of your eyesight begin to darken like a vignette filter, Jungkook's terrified gaze the only thing you can make out before you pass out, becoming limp in the hands of whoever is holding you.

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You're glaring at the man in front of you, refusing to eat anything that's offered.

He's already needed a large patch on his hand to cover up the aggressive bite you placed there hours prior after he tried to touch you- but he's intelligent enough to not try it again, it seems like. He thinks you're easy prey, probably- and that's what you used to be, and what you would've been if he'd been the one to find you back then.

But you belong to Jungkook- and Jungkook made you want to fight for your life, just to get back to him.

"Do you even know who he is?" The man in front of you speaks, trying to intimidate you with his gaze, but, for some reason you're not sure of, it doesn't work. "He'll abandon you the moment he finds a proper partner to mate with." He scoffs, and you just keep staring at him.

You don't believe anything this man is spewing- in fact, you're not even properly listening, rather trying to think hard of a way to escape this ship- entire layout foreign to you, since you didn't wake up until you were already on the ship. The only thing you know is that the entire interior intimidates you with it's perfect polished metal walls- something about Jungkook's old and somewhat worn down rooms and halls just makes you feel at home.

Or maybe it just feels like that because you fell in love on this ship.

So the minute you're left alone again after he insults you in Bolku language you don't understand, your brain is running at lightspeed.

Vents are out of reach, but maybe if you could push some of the furniture you could reach it- but someone might hear, and catch you in the act, making this whole plan incredibly dangerous. It's risk against reward after all- you're no use to anyone if you're dead. So you look around once more, checking out everything-

when you spot another vent, small but definitely in better reach than anything else. And the best thing is that once you're in there, there's no way anybody can reach out or crawl in behind you. The only issue?

You don't know where it leads. And from looking over Jungkook's shoulder at the general layout of his ship, you know that some vents lead straight into machines- and you're honestly not ready to be boiled alive.

Your decision however falls onto all or nothing- so you undo your collar at the emergency clip Jungkook had shown you, in case they're tracking you that way, before you crawl under the bed where the vent is, cover easy to remove as you crawl inside. It's tight, not much room and definitely not enough space to turn around now, as you move slowly, having left your shoes behind so that your socked feet don't make too much sound.

On the way, you can spot some vents you have to crawl over slowly, showing you numerous rooms of the ship. A kitchen, another prep room it looks like, multiple storage spaces, and then-

bright lights, clearly leading outside.

You crawl faster the moment you hear machines starting, finally able to see the drop-

and it's not only high up, but right next to a small engine that's clearly about to start if the radiating heat and slowly glowing metal were anything to go by. So either way- you're gonna get cooked alive, or you'll break your spine falling down.

You've got nothing to lose.

Safe to say you do end up cracking something- but the adrenaline is enough to push you through the pain, legs running faster than you ever thought you could as you make your way through the ship station, searching frantically for anything familiar so you can find your way back to Jungkook. If his father stayed true to his word, he would be allowed to leave- and you don't know how long you were out for, so you might already be too late.

Or would he wait for you?

You're searching around frantically when you can spot the familiar ship- large cargo door slowly closing, metal wall lifting, as you shout Jungkook's name as loud as you can- even though you just know he probably can't hear you.

You don't know how you manage even after tripping painfully so, but you reach the lifting cargo door just in time to jump up and lift yourself in-

when you feel warms in the back of your shoulder, something almost crawling down your back, the same feeling in another spot lower on your back, and in the back and front of your leg. It takes a good moment for you to slowly calm down, ship's door closing behind you, as the engines start, before you realize what's happening.

You've been shot by some sort of weapon, multiple times. And the feeling of something crawling, was simply your own blood.

It's ironic how you find yourself seeking at least some sort of warmth yet again under the blue plastic tarp- similar to how you first snuck onto this ship. But the tables have turned- and now, it seems like you'll find your end here too, between all the cargo and dust and by now familiar scents and sounds.

It could be worse.

Just like the first time, the large metal door hisses as it opens loudly, and once again just like the first time, you hear boots on the floor. But this time, you're not scared- this time you know who it is, and you find comfort in that.

Tarps are lifted. Cargo is inspected.

And then, the dark blue one you're hiding under is pulled back- but this time, he's not holding a gun, or a grim expression, or anything alike.

This time, he drops harshly to his knees as he pulls you close to him, holding you, uncaring of your blood staining his clothes.

This time, he wants you to stay.

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He's got you in his nest, while he steers the ship angrily, intercom blasting the sound of his father trying to get through his mind. But Jungkook is filled with nothing but rage and that need to finally break free from the shackles this man had put him in all his life.

"I saw her drop, kid." He laughs. "Stop trying to chase ghosts, you'll kill yourself too trying to move that thing any faster!" He jokes, spits at the old ship Jungkook has owned for years now. But what he doesn't know, is that sometimes, newer isn't better. Because this is a ship build during the third interstellar war-

this thing is meant to last.

And withstand.

So Jungkook lifts his face, eyes locking with the one's of his father moments before he lets it happen-

ramming right into the smaller jet ship painted white, causing sure damage to his own ship- but it's clear that whatever happened to his own, is nothing compared to the large gashes and dents in the exterior, communication cutting off as he watches the smaller white ship slowly lose engine after engine, fuel leaking without any gravity into the galaxy, fires burning out, until everything is quiet-

the wreck left behind him, just like his past.

Jungkook doesn't even check if the autopilot is really properly working- he only cares for you now, who's still breathing shallowly in the nest he slept in with you before, bandages already letting your blood seep through. He's not trained enough in human health to properly help you- he's unequipped as well, which just makes this all the more worse.

He can't help you. No matter how bad he wants to.

All he can do is wipe the sweat off your forehead before he holds you close again, curling up around your body, trying to hide you away from everything. When he heard you call, it felt odd- like a sound only in his thoughts, not clear, but definitely present. He didn't know at first what had happened- only when the security check signed to him that something was wrong in the cargo room down in the bowel of the spaceship did he check-

finding you yet again, just like the first time.

But this time, he's holding you in fear. He's not sure if he can even do anything if he reaches a destination- human health is something not everyone has enough knowledge in, and even if that's the case, the chances of finding a still practicing doctor for you are slim to none at the moment.

It's so horribly unfair.

He finally accepted not only himself but you- and now he's gonna have to watch you leave after all, the world taking yet another thing away from him, as if his childhood and adolescence wasn't enough. No- apparently his future is on the menu next, to be devoured with every breath you struggle to take.

The intercom rings, and Jungkook doesn't care for it- simply swipes his hand over the panel near the window to accept it, Yoongis surprised voice ringing out- tone changing quickly as he notices the blurred scene of Jungkook and you in the corner, transmission a little choppy due to the damage to the ship.

"I received an emergency signal- are you there?" He asks with urgency, and Jungkook just hums a reply. "Jungkook, what happened?" He worries, ship slowly coming into view of the large side windows, light blue paint flaking off the metal casing of the small ship.

"We ran into him." Jungkook mumbles, running his hand over your head in a soft manner, relishing in your warmth for as long as it's there. "He tried to take her- she snuck out.. got in last minute." He explains. Yoongi exhales a breath.

"Thank god-" He starts, but Jungkook wasn't finished.

"They shot her." He hums, voice emotionless, eyes a pale grey. "Now she's dying." He chuckles softly, looking down at you- you look like you're merely sleeping, resting against his body. "He's taking everything from me even past his lifetime." He scoffs.

"I'm tugging your ship to the nearest outpost- it's Aon, we should make it in less than half an hour max." Yoongi urges, saying something to what Jungkook assumes must be his human partner. "We have medical supplies on board. Is she still bleeding?"

No answer. Jungkook fails to see the point of one.

"Jungkook!" Yoongi barks. "Did you at least wrap her wounds? Anything?" He tries to find out, but the Bolku hybrid stays quiet- too mesmerized by sight of your eyes moving behind your closed lids. Your lashes are long. Soft. How come he's never noticed that? "Jungkook you gotta give me something to work with!" Yoongi whines almost, successfully connecting to Jungkook's autopilot, initiating the system to follow Yoongi's ship that's not in front.

Jungkook sighs. "I wrapped her up.. the best I can." He shrugs. "Now I'm letting her sleep."

Yoongi sighs. "What was she even shot with?" He wants to know, but Jungkook doesn't know. "Alright, I guess that's the only info I'll get out of you at this point." He mumbles to himself, before he cuts the intercom for the moment, quietly leading the ship to Aon- a small outpost set on a large meteorite, meant for simple refueling of smaller ships and temporary stay for some stranded people who didn't make it to the next bigger planet.

It's not much- but it'll do.

The only problem arises when Yoongi enters the ship and wants to look at you together with a doctor he'd found on Aon- because Jungkook just won't let anybody close to you, mind having slipped entirely now in the prospect of you being in such distress. It takes several people to remove the rather feral human hybrid from you, his eyes basically scanning every little move anyone makes as they check on you, everyone's nerves slowly relaxing. "Humans are truly odd in those things." Someone says, as he uses all four of his arms to properly put some bandages and patches onto your wounds. "They just sleep it off it seems like." He laughs, finishing up the patch on your back before he leaves you alone- and nods to the people holding Jungkook to let him go.

He immediately rushes back to you, tugging you closer, holding you tightly as you whine a bit in complain in your sleep, turning over to properly hold onto him as well.

"She'll be fine." Yoongi reassures, much to Jungkook's eyes turning round with wonder at that promise. "Humans are.. weird when it comes to ion guns." He shrugs. "It's just mostly tissue damage, some scratches here and there- but she'll literally sleep it off, like he said. She'll be fine- she just needs rest." He offers, causing a reaction he's not seen in years from the younger alien.

He cries, bitterly so-

but this time, it's tears of relief and happiness.

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"No no no no- come here." He scolds, pulling you close again to have you sit down on his lap at the main control console.

Jungkook is not letting you do anything whatsoever, even though your wounds are healing well. He's also become, while still moody as ever, incredibly touchy. As if that scare had flipped a switch and showed him how quickly you could be taken away from him again, it seems like he's decided that there's really no reason anymore to take things slow or be afraid of anything.

"Hey Jungkook?" You wonder, leaning your head back against his shoulder to look at him. He hums, not looking away from the control screen in front of him, and you giggle, still a little sleepy and low on energy due to all the medication you're taking. "I like you." You say, and this time, he chuckles-

turning his head to press a kiss against your cheek-

because he finally understands what you're trying to tell him.

He finally gets it.

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[sonicasura]

I have recently learned about another Sonic Exe that became their own character of sorts: Scorched.

He's much different from other Exes as this is the actual SONIC. Not an entity possessing his body or a faker but the genuine article. The summarized version of story is that the Blue Blur's world was destroyed and replaced by a rip off.

Sonic had survived but ends up in the void where he comes across the remains. He slowly transforms into a huge monster and begins to go insane over time. The only thing the fallen hero could do is watch the new world that destroyed his original reality with a growing hatred.

In both versions of the story, Scorched takes over his replacement, Hog the Tenrec, and tries to get his old life back with disastrous consequences. You can find a video on it by Duncachi or check out the Sonic Oddities Wiki.

A thought has been crossing my mind when it comes to this tragic hedgehog. What if Scorched didn't end up in Hog's world once he escapes the void? How would he react upon finding himself somewhere completely different?

One place is Green Hills from the Live Action Sonic movies, specifically two years before the movie blue blur arrives. Tom Wachowski hears a loud unrecognizable sound coming from the forest behind his house. He goes to investigate and comes across the 15'7 ft mutated hedgehog.

Since Scorched didn't take over Hog's body to recover from his constant exposure to the void, he is very badly injured. All he could do was look back at Tom with tired hollow eyes before passing out. The hedgehog later wakes up to Maddie tending to his injuries as best she can.

It is a rough few weeks for the married couple since Scorched is too big to be moved any other way so any major treatment was on hold. Nevermind his somewhat spicy temperament as it took awhile for the hedgehog's traumatized mind to process they meant no harm. He eventually does once he focuses on the bandages, ointment, and disinfectant.

I thought it would be funny that the first nonhuman the Wachowskis adopted was a monster hedgehog. Caring for Scorched is definitely a challenge to say the least but things get easier once he opens up. He's obviously too big to live in the house so Tom and Maddie helped make him a comfortable hut instead.

There's a panic button inside for emergencies since the bloke is heavily traumatized from his time in the void. Other than that, he has a TV, various books and some jumbo plushies to go with a blanket fort. Also online therapy despite the fact certain details have to be omitted for obvious reasons.

Scorched is living peacefully with the Wachowskis as time goes by. His injuries from the void had properly healed and the hedgehog's mental health drastically improved. Things are fine until he one day felt it.

A familiar gush of wind that only comes from running at high speeds. Scorched's void touched eyes shakily look up as the book he is reading begins to crackle. Looking at him in shock from his hut's entrance is a tiny pocket sized blue hedgehog.

Scorched pretty much destroyed the panic button as Toddler Movie!Sonic immediately triggers his trauma. You can bet your ass it was awkward when Tom and Maddie shows up. Their big son huddled in the corner of his hut staring at a blanket burrito'd tiny blue blur.

Scorched is still afraid about being replaced so seeing Movie really fucks up his shaky mental health. Nevermind that this cements the fact he's in an alternate version of his world so Knuckles, Tails and Eggman must also exist. Movie can't be turned away either as they learn he was just orphaned thanks to the Echidnas.

Thus Scorched has to learn to live with this universe's Sonic. He does eventually as the bigger hedgehog becomes a big brother of sorts to his much smaller counterpart. It's a long bumpy and hot coal laced road to get there though.

Hopefully he is mostly stable when the remaining family faces of his past begin to appear. At least Movie can help ground his big brother once that time comes. Everyone will need it.

Next part is here!

[traumadumpwriter]

Memory Games - 6

A dark Maze Runner romance between a very damaged girl and our soft boy Newt. With trigger warnings for self harm, abuse, assault, PTSD, mentions of suicide and general violence. Also written in the style of multiple POVs.

"All that was clear was that they were all boys - all of them - and it filled me with even more dread, instinctually defensive and fearful of the opposite sex. Even if I couldn't remember anything specific about where I'd come from, I knew that men were dangerous."

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Masterlist

Chapter Six

*Angel’s POV*

My dreams were pleasant for the first time since I'd arrived in the Glade. No confusing visions of sterile rooms, vacant deserts and distressed shouting. Instead, it was Newt's grinning face and a field of green that complimented my slumber. I couldn't remember the specifics of the dream, other than his voice gently saying "My beautiful angel" and as I thought of it it made my stomach flutter.

I was surprised when I woke up to hear noise outside, my last two mornings being relatively silent and calm, and when I looked up and saw the sun beaming through the window, I realised that I must've slept in late.

"Shit. No slacking. I better get up." I thought, jumping out of bed and to the window, seeing the movement of many boys outside. It was then that I heard a knock at the door, followed by a deep voice saying "Wake up Greenie. You're with the track-hoes today."

I recognised it as Alby's voice, although we'd hardly spoken, and I was slightly confused as to why he was the one greeting me and not Newt. That confusion was quickly squashed by excitement though as I remembered that Newt was a track-hoe, meaning I'd be spending the day with him.

"Sorry. One second." I called through the door, pulling on a shirt and brushing my fingers through my hair before opening it.

"Morning." I smiled and Alby smiled back, a real one unlike the one of false comfort he'd given me before.

"Morning Greenie. Can I stop calling you that yet?"

I thought for a moment before giving my answer. I still hadn't remembered my name, and I had a horrible feeling that it wouldn't ever come, and so in a split second I decided to keep the name that Newt had gave me. I wasn't sure if it really suited me, especially given I was the only one who knew about the marks under my clothes, but the way it made me feel was nice - soothing even. And I trusted Newt's judgment for some reason, really trusted it.

"Yeah.. my name is Angel." I answered and he nodded.

"Well it's a nice name.. suits you." He smiled, and then his tone went more serious. "Jackson is coming out of the pit today. I doubt he- or anyone for that matter- will try to harm or bother you again, but just to be safe I'm going to ask that you avoid being alone for the time being. I, or Newt, or any other trustworthy Glader of your choosing will be around to escort you from place to place. Is that okay?"

I felt a pang of anxiety at his words, thinking back on Jackson's harsh touch and predatory gaze, but nodded confidently. I didn't like the idea of being 'escorted' everywhere, especially by two people who were seemingly so busy already, but I wasn't going to disagree.

"Yeah, that's fine. Sorry for being such an inconvenience." I said to which he shook his head with a smile.

"Nonsense Angel, you're no inconvenience. I'm sorry that it has to be this way. I promise that most of the lads here have no problem following the rules, there are just a few to look out for."

He then lead me downstairs to the kitchen, where the line was now pretty short as it seemed most Gladers had started their day at work. Frypan was hurriedly pouring soup into the bowls being handed to him before sending each boy off, his voice scolding despite his face bearing its usual grin.

"What you doing up so late Greenie, I thought you were an early bird." He teased at me, taking my bowl from my hands.

"I thought I was too. Maybe I'm not." I smiled back, taking my bowl back from him once it was filled and then waiting for Alby.

"Thank you, Frypan." He smiled sincerely and the shorter boy saluted, earning a chuckle from the leader. "Greenie's got a name now by the way, it's Angel."

"Well why didn't you say? Suits you good. I'll see you later, Angel."

"See you later." I smiled, secretly chuffed by both his and Alby's reaction to the name.

Maybe it does suit me.

"You know where the garden is I take it?" Alby asked and I nodded, gesturing to the large patch across the field. I could see Newt, Zart and some other boys leant over something, their faces marked with concentration.

"Yeah. You don't need to escort me there. I'll be fine." I chuckled and he nodded, waving me off.

I sipped on the soup from my bowl as I made my way over, the flavour unimpressive but edible. A few eyes turned to me and I saw a few whispers, but they seemed to be decreasing everyday and so I was relatively unbothered. I was more excited to spend the day with Newt than anything else.

"Good morning." I said as I neared the group, all the boys shooting up from their bent positions and smiling at me.

"Morning Greenie, you seem chipper." Zart smiled and I was quick to correct him "Angel. My name is Angel."

I snuck a glance at Newt and could see he was grinning, obviously happy that I'd decided to stick with the name he chose.

"Well good morning then, Angel." Zart said before adding "Nice name, suits you."

"Thank you." I beamed before bending down to be beside him and Newt "So what we doing today?"

"Well first of all, you ought to finish your breakfast, having some food in your stomach makes all the difference in this heat." Newt smiled. "Do you want a short sleeved top? Today is gonna be a sunny one."

I thought of the scars across my forearms and quickly shook my head no, although I could already feel the heat.

"No it's okay. I'll just roll my sleeves up if I get too hot." I said.

"Okay, Angel." He grinned, obviously completely unaware of my lie. "We're cutting off the dying leaves from our crops today and if we have time later we're going to plant some garlic bulbs. Sound good?"

"Sounds great." I smiled before quickly sipping down my soup.

"You really are chipper today, aren't you? Was the extra hour of sleep that good?" Newt chuckled and I nodded, thinking of my dream, unintentionally letting my cheeks go pink.

"Yeah. It was." I tried to sound nonchalant but Newt's grin gave me a feeling that he knew what I was thinking about. There was no way he could know, maybe I was just easy to read.

Around midday I could feel that my shirt was damp with sweat, and I was starting to struggle under the heat of the beaming sun, but alas I had to act fine. I was relatively fine. The company of the track-hoes had been very pleasant, much more than the awkwardness of the builders or the silence of the slicers. I had a feeling that even if Newt wasn't there, I would've enjoyed the job. But he had definitely noticed the heat affecting me, and kept offering to grab one of his vests for me to wear, which I politely refused every time.

"You're sweating buckets, Angel. Don't you even want to roll your sleeves up?" He questioned quietly, leaning close to me.

"No." I answered quickly before casually adding "I'm fine. It's not that hot."

"Well that's a lie." He eyed me with suspicion "What's up? You don't want the boys looking at you?"

"Y-Yeah. I don't want to expose any more skin than I have to, you know?" I agreed, secretly thanking him for unintentionally creating an excuse for me.

"Well they're not going to go mad over some arm skin. Here, let me help." He moved his hands towards my sleeves, his cleaner than mine, but I flinched away and his brows furrowed with concern.

"Sorry. I won't touch you." He apologised, his voice downtrodden, and although I wanted so badly to tell him he could touch me - to tell him that he'd done nothing wrong, I just sheepishly smiled.

His conversation lessened considerably after that and I started to feel a heavy guilt in my gut mixed with a spiralling anxiety in my chest. However, I acted un-phased, concentrating on trimming the leaves and making polite conversation with the other track-hoes. Arthur and Sebastian were slightly younger than Newt and Zart but clearly skilled at their job, and so I had been speaking to them a lot. Arthur had curly, brown hair, longer than mine by a couple inches and Sebastian had striking blue eyes, contrasted by his dark hair and tan skin. I decided that I liked them and I would perhaps join them for dinner one night, as they seemed to like me too.

"You're good at this. Think it's the small fingers, you know?" Sebastian had said and Arthur agreed.

"Are my fingers small?" I wondered out loud, holding my mud-caked hand up to my face.

"Compared to everyone else's? Yeah they're pretty small." Arthur chuckled. "Do you recon you'll stay on as a track-hoe?"

The idea appealed to me, but the excitement I'd had to be around Newt was now replaced with anxiety as I realised it meant I'd probably have to tell him the truth about the sleeves or just get used to working this way in the heat.

"I don't know. I like it but I want to try everything. Being a runner seems interesting." I mused and Seb scoffed.

"Being a runner is dangerous."

"Yeah and you have to be really fast." Arthur added.

"Well I don't think I'm slow. When I leapt out the box I went pretty fast, didn't I?" I questioned and they shrugged.

"We were busy weeding, chica. Didn't see any of that." Seb answered and so I looked over in Newt's direction, who was a crouched a few feet away from us.

"Newtus, do you recon I'm a fast runner?" I called over to him and he rolled his eyes with a playful smile, which I was relieved to see.

"Not really... I mean, maybe for a girl. But in general, no."

*Newt’s POV*

As Angel flinched away from my touch, I found myself mentally questioning her boundaries, confused by the way she'd decided to go by the name I'd picked, yet was seemingly uncomfortable with my touch. She hadn't flinched away from Minho last night, we're they becoming closer than I'd realised? I had to push the jealous thoughts out of my head, knowing them to be just that - jealous - and instead try to focus on my work.

It was easier to do that today than it had been yesterday. I knew she was safe in the gardens, all of the track-hoes being relatively relaxed and friendly lads, and if anything did go wrong she would just be a glance away from my eye line. This obsession was becoming unhealthy though, I knew that as soon as I'd felt the pang of rejection at her slight movement away from me. I knew it even more when the sound of her laughing with Sebastian and Arthur started to annoy me. Maybe it would be better if I distanced myself from her. After all, if Zart had picked up on my potential feelings, who knows who else could've.

Instead, I tried to keep myself focused on all of the work I needed to get done, mentally planning the weeks ahead. The grapes would hopefully be ready for harvest soon, so maybe Zart and I could make that wine. In a couple days the potatoes and mushrooms would be fully grown, so Frypan would be pleased with that. I would have some of the boys clean and prepare all of the crops to be eaten, and I would probably be busy planting more.

"Maybe Angel would stay on as a Track-hoe. Would I allocate myself to being her personal teacher? Or would I let Zart do it?" This thought broke through my scheduling and I almost groaned out loud at myself.

My pondering lasted in silence for a little while, perhaps an hour, before Angel called over to me "Newtus, do you recon I'm a fast runner?" and I automatically smiled at her use of my nickname. Then I thought of why she'd be asking that question. We're they discussing the Runners? I know that I'd pushed for her to be able to try every role, but I didn't like the idea of her running. Still, I couldn't let her know that as so far she'd shown that being told she couldn't do something just made her want to do it more.. like hanging out with Gally.

"Not really... I mean, maybe for a girl. But in general, no." I answered, finally looking up from my work and smiling at her. "Why, you wanna be a runner?"

"I don't know. Maybe." She smiled then added. "I thought I was quite fast. Maybe with some practice I'll be the fastest in here."

"Have you seen Minho run?" I raised an eyebrow and she giggled and nodded.

"Okay, maybe not the fastest. But I might not be bad."

"Maybe. I guess we'll see." I forced a chuckle, although my mind was instantly fraught with worry.

I decided I needed to speak to Alby immediately, and so I put my tools down and stood up, wiping the dirt from my trousers.

"Where you going?" Angel questioned, looking worried.

"Just gotta check something quick. I won't be long." I said, swallowing before heading towards the map room where I knew Alby would be.

When I walked in his head quickly shot up, relief flushing his face for a moment before it was replaced with concern.

"What's happened? Someone hasn't hurt Angel again have they?"

It took me back for a second to hear him saying her name. The name I'd gave her. And it gave me another item on the agenda of things to discuss with him. How she still hadn't remembered her name, and it didn't seem like she would.. yet she had known mine.

"No. Nothing like that." I answered quickly before letting out a sigh "I was just thinking... do you think we should let her try to be a runner?"

Alby looked confused at this. "Well I thought we'd agreed that she should try everything."

"Yes but.. the maze. It's a bit different isn't it? I mean not even all of the boys have tried it out, I don't feel like it's right. There's no way she'll be able to keep up with any of the runners."

"Well no one starts out as fast as Minho, do they? And she might not even want to do it, but we need to at least give her the opportunity. To show to the boys that she's just like them."

"But she's not." I thought before blurting out "And she didn't remember her name, by the way."

Alby's brows furrowed in further confusion "What do you mean? I thought it was Angel."

"No.. I uh- chose it for her. I don't think she's going to remember the one she had before here." I stammered.

Alby raised an eyebrow, seemingly unimpressed by what I'd just said.

"You chose it for her? And she just accepted it?"

"She asked me to pick one! And I just went with the one that felt right."

He let out a frustrated huff before speaking again.

"So she trusts you then. That's good to know. But you're becoming far too attached to her. I don't expect you to come storming in here like that unless something has happened, and you're just worried about her trying out as a runner?"

"Yes! I'm worried about sending her into the maze alone with someone! You said it yourself, she needs to have someone trustworthy with her at all times - just incase!"

"And do you not think Minho is trustworthy? Or Ben? Or Nick for that matter? There isn't a single runner here that I wouldn't trust. I think what you're problem is is that you're jealous - and it needs to stop."

His words struck me in a spot that had me immediately defensive.

"But what if something happened? Not even with one of the lads, but something else. The maze is unpredictable and dangerous-" I started to protest until Alby cut me off.

"The Glade is unpredictable and dangerous. Now stop this and get back to work. Have Zart or Frypan escort her for the rest of the day. You need a break from this girl, I've never seen you act so erratic... except for when you nearly bloody killed yourself. I don't have to be worried about that now also, do I?"

I couldn't help but hang my head in shame at his words, silently nodding as I bit my tongue, knowing him to be right in his argument. It had been almost six months since my attempt and I still regretted it most days. I didn't know what I regretted sometimes though - the fact that I'd attempted it and permanently damaged myself as a result, or the fact that it hadn't worked. Since Angel had arrived I'd hardly thought on it, but now the guilt was overwhelming again and I found myself having to take a deep breath before speaking.

"You're right. Sorry. I'll keep some distance from her from now on."

"Well don't just ditch her if she trusts you. She could provide some valuable information. I could tell she was holding back with me. There's something strange going on at the moment. Just... be more.. objective."

"Alright. I will." I answered with certainty, although I was still feeling quite unsure.

I really appreciate all interaction so if you’re enjoying please let me know xx

[daechwitatamic]

Vice;Grip || chapter 2 || chs

(banner by @itaeewon)

Vice;Grip (masterpost) NSFW - minors DNI Genre: angst smut fluff, fuckbuddies!au Summary: Make it not hurt, you could have asked him. Or, at least, make it hurt in a way I choose.  A/N: infinite thank you's to @sailoryooons and @eoieopda for beta-ing!! //

Warnings: Frequent depictions of depression, depressive episodes, panic attacks, and substance abuse (alcohol, weed, and pills referenced). PLEASE know that these characters’ relationships with drugs and alcohol are not healthy and should not be emulated. If these topics are triggering to you, please consider sitting this one out.

Section Specific Warnings: depiction of a depressive episode, recreational drinking and bar scenes, allusion to oral (f. receiving), kissing, rough sex/man-handling, explicit penetrative sex, dirty talk, aftercare, didn't venture fully into writing dom!vernon but i have been informed i wrote something that might be in the realm of a dom drop, language obviously, reader is called a gendered slur by a stranger, law-breaking :), actual fluff for a second, allusions to drug use, car sex

wc: 6900

Playlist: you can call me in the middle of the night / you can leave before i wake up in the morning / and it could feel so wrong / but i'll still hold on

1 yr, 5 months ago

The onset of spring brought a lack of color. Grey clouds hung full and heavy, low over the city skyline. Grey crept into the corners of your apartment, darkening rooms during daytime so that you needed to keep lamps on even in midafternoon. Grey crept over your body, into your limbs. Days stretched and nights inched; you only got out of bed because you had to feed the damn cat.

That's part of why you'd gotten the cat in the first place, after a particularly long episode a few years ago, when Chan had presented you with a list of things he thought you should do to combat the blues, as he'd put it.

He meant well. But he always came at your depression like a problem solver, like just doing the right things could make it go away.

And sure, his suggestions were things that would help - get outside, call someone, don't isolate, shower even if you aren't leaving the house, drink some damn water - they weren't a cure. They were better reminders for when you were okay - good at keeping you okay for longer stretches. But when it was already too late, when the grey came, they all sounded fucking pointless. 

Anyway. The cat had been a good idea. 

is it bad?? 

Chan did his best. He was a good best friend. He just didn't understand it.

The answer to his question, you thought, as you flipped your phone over so you wouldn't see the notification if he followed up, was yes. Yes, this time was particularly bad. But you didn't have the energy to type those three words. 

Terrible friend, your brain accused, and it was right. 

You managed to drag yourself to work, to at least show up so you could continue to pay for your apartment and your damn cat, but not much else. You existed on cans of diet coke and microwave meals. You doom-scrolled until sunrise, then slept an hour or two at most before getting dressed for work. You left texts unanswered, the mail piled up. So did the dishes. 

Chan came by, once, did your dishes for you. It made you feel worse - useless and pitiable. You'd rather he just go away, but you held it in; you knew that would only hurt his feelings.

You learned from your mistakes, one thing that could be said in your favor. 

“Have you called your doctor?” he wanted to know.

What was the point? There wasn't a stop hating your life pill. 

“What if you tried painting?” he asked.

“What if you just let me be?” you countered, finally tripping over the line from embarrassed apathy to defensiveness. 

That pout again. “It might help,” he said. “Don't most famous artists do their best shit when they're down?”

“Get out,” you deadpanned. He dropped it, knowing this was a bigger issue, a bigger argument, than this current episode, a complex situation that went beyond the boundaries of your brain chemistry.

He put the last of your now-clean plates away. “Let's go somewhere,” he suggested.

“Chan,” you groaned. “I’m tired. I can't go gallivanting -”

“You're not tired, you're depressed,” he argued. “And going outside will help you.”

“I might have to kill you,” you said seriously, and he rolled his eyes. 

In the end, he let you win. He'd been around long enough to know that eventually you'd venture outside again, hit the bars with him again, text first again, laugh at his stupid memes again. It was just a waiting game. 

Still, when he left, you sat on the edge of your couch with your chin in your hands. On the living room rug, the cat rolled and showed you its belly. 

“Not you, too,” you groused. 

The cat did a few alligator rolls and then scampered into your bedroom and under the bed, as if chased. 

You sighed. You made your way to the spare room, which had been shut - to keep the cat out. To keep your ghosts in. 

Your easel was still set up in the corner. You were kind of surprised it wasn't covered in cobwebs. You'd been sketching just on paper last time you'd worked, trying to make decisions that way so you wouldn't waste a canvas, and it still sat there. 

You inched closer, ran your hands over your brushes. Took a step back, eyed the paper and your sketches. 

It was bad. Thank god you hadn't put it to canvas. 

You pulled the paper down, crumpled it in your hands. You chased the cat out with a gentle nudge of your foot, and closed the door again, keeping both cats and ghosts on their respective sides of the door.

There was no rhyme or reason to your brain, no map or calendar to follow for the starts or stops. But eventually, the clouds broke. The grey gave way to baby buds of green, yellows pushed through soil, determined to meet the sun.

You texted Chan - drinks??

He responded - about time!!!

You texted Vernon - hello, its me

When he didn't answer, you tried again - sorry for the radio silence. 

Still nothing. 

You checked his socials, saw that he'd been doing his thing - a smattering of selfies, some group shots with the guys he played music with sometimes, a few nature shots: the moon, once, and what looked like the river at night. 

The silence stretched. You gave up, considered it over. Grieved a little, because it had been good. 

You went out on a night that teased summer even though it was months away, sank into the familiar blur of too many shots - not enough to be a problem, but maybe enough to make problems. 

Under the club's ever-moving lights, you took a selfie, your drink and cleavage both showcased in the shot. 

Send it to Vernon, the urge to make trouble suggested, and you listened without hesitation.

And - finally - an answer.

come here after?? 

You smiled a tiny, victorious smile and knocked back the rest of your drink. 

omw.

Later, he gave you a rare and devastating pout as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smoothed fingers down the still-shaking inside of your thigh.

“What'd you make me wait so long for?” he complained, those sharp eyes sparkling with mirth. When you shrugged, still a little mindless from your high, he gave the same spot on your thigh a playful slap. “Don't do it again.”

1 yr, 4 months ago

busy tonight?

not busy but.

???

not in the best mood.

bet i could fix that.

yeah. idk.

why don't you let me try? 

“What's wrong?” you cooed, teasing, when Vernon let you into the apartment. 

He didn't smile, didn't play along, and it sobered you quickly. 

“Don't want to talk about it,” he muttered, crowding into your space. “Wasn't that big of a deal anyway.”

Just want the fix you promised, he thought. 

You moaned like liquid gold when his first kiss was a bite. Encouraged, Vernon gripped you by the shoulders, pushing you back against the wall hard enough that he heard your breath escape in a single huff. He hesitated, eyes searching your face; a question.

You lifted your chin, eyes shining with something hard. When he kissed you again, you threaded your fingers through his hair and pulled, hard enough to make him hiss; an answer.

His pace was frenzied from the start, your legs around his waist and the wall holding you up. His hand curled around your throat, not squeezing, but sliding up to grip at your jaw instead, keeping you from tilting your head back, closing your eyes, losing yourself in how he felt slamming his hips flush against yours with dizzying smacks.

When you whined that you were close, he pulled you away from the wall and lowered you both to the ground, the wooden floor of his entryway cold and hard beneath your spine. It didn’t matter, didn’t do anything to stop the vortex tightening below your stomach. You slapped a hand over your face as it distorted in pleasure, Vernon kneeling between the legs you still had gripping his waist, one of his hands braced on the floor next to your head, holding his body over you.

“That’s right,” he breathed, gritted teeth flashing over you, forehead wrinkling as his own release closed in on the chase. “Just fucking take it when I fuck you into the floor.”

Then he was pulling out, breaths hissing through his teeth as he straightened up, one hand pumping himself furiously until strings of white decorated your stomach, cooling immediately in the apartment’s chilly air.

His breathing was ragged as he sagged back onto his heels, and you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, watching him warily.

Then he stood and slipped into the hallway bathroom, the light clicking on and illuminating the unlit entryway where you’d just fucked. You heard the sink run, then shut back off, and Vernon returned. He knelt gingerly - you could see his knees were red from kneeling on the wooden floor - and cleaned your stomach first, then gently between your legs.

You sat the rest of the way up then, watching him carefully as he sat back on his heels again, avoiding your gaze. Something about the moment felt like a thing alive, unfurling between you like a casablanca lily under the refracted light of the moon.

You spoke at the same time.

“Vernon?”

“You okay?”

You swallowed, rubbed absently at your elbow where you’d smacked it on the floor during the position change.

“I’m fine,” you said tentatively. “Are you?”

He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face, and then peering through his fingers at you for a second before dropping them again. “Thought I hurt you.”

You shook your head. “I’m okay. I would have said something.”

He nodded, relief starting to bring feeling back to his hands again. He stood and reached a hand down for you. When you took it, he closed his fingers around yours and pulled you to your feet.

“I know we don’t usually do this,” you said, rubbing at the parts of you that had been on the floor - the backs of your legs, your ass, “but could I take a super fast shower before I go?”

“Yeah,” he said, so quickly that the word almost trips on itself. “Of course.”

He led you into the bathroom, rummaged in the disorganized linen closet for a clean towel, pressed it into your hands.

“If you need one, too,” you said easily, as he reached around you to turn the water on so it could heat up, “I don’t mind if you join me.”

He paused. “You sure?”

You shrugged, then leaned over to put your hand under the spray, testing to see if it was still cold. “It’s your shower.”

Under the stream of warm water, you turned to face him, front to front, looking up at him with clear eyes. Something in your expression was so open, Vernon couldn’t help but feel both the desire to step into the space you seemed to be offering him as well as the desire to get far, far away from it.

He’d been so angry before you’d texted, furious enough that he’d bruised his knuckles punching the doorframe; now, as the chemicals in his body settled down, he felt those knuckles throbbing. He was disgusted that he’d lost his temper, guilty that he’d taken any of that anger out on you, who had nothing to do with it.

He was scared of the desire he felt to be closer to you, just for tonight. Scared that fucking you hadn’t been enough to soothe whatever it was that roiled inside him, like it usually was. Scared that he felt like he needed more than sex to heal this particular burn.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and part of him thought he was apologizing in advance, like he knew already he’d run scared at some point. “For being so...”

He didn’t know what word fit best. 

“I told you,” you said, pressing a little closer, “I would have said if I had a problem.”

“Okay,” he said, frowning a little. “If you’re sure.”

Then he reached over and brushed a thumb along your cheekbone, chasing away a rivulet of shower-water. You closed your eyes for a second, and he swore he could feel you lean into the touch, just slightly.

He didn’t know how to explain how he felt. Kind of like he’d done a hot-coal-walk; the exhaustion that came with an adrenaline crash, the vulnerability that came after facing down something big, that need - the burn inside him needing cool water before it could quiet down.

With the shower off, the silence in the bathroom was loud.

“Do you…” Vernon started, then stopped. His heart hammered, the adrenaline returning. He covered the moment by toweling his hair roughly and pulling his hands through the strands so they’d lay right. “Do you want to stay for a little bit? I was gonna order delivery, maybe watch something before I finish my assignment.”

He’d expected you to think about it, to turn it over in your mind the way you turn his things over in your careful hands, the way you turn him ass over head with just a smirk. Instead, you nodded right away.

“Yeah,” you said, like it was no big deal. Like you did this all the time. Maybe you did, just not with him. “I was starving, actually. I could stay for an hour or two.”

On his couch, the leftovers of the food scattered on his coffee table, you reached for his hand, ran a thumb imperceptibly along his purpled knuckles. You didn’t ask what happened, just brought them to your lips and pressed the lightest kiss before putting them down again and reaching for your noodles, as if it hadn’t happened at all.

That was when Vernon saw the potential of it, an entire picture, framed and labeled: you could hurt him so badly if he let you, if he let it get that far. For whatever it was that burned inside him, you were the cool water… but you could absolutely be gasoline, instead.

1 yr, 3 months ago

If you closed your eyes, you could pretend the light that passed over your closed lids in a repetitive pattern was the sweep of a lighthouse beam. You could pretend that the rumbling bass of the music was the roar of the ocean. You could pretend that you weren’t here, in a shitty bar, but at the seaside. You could pretend that you weren’t alone. You could pretend that you weren’t you.

You drained your drink and caught the bartender’s eye, gesturing for another, sliding the sweating glass away from you once you knew a new one was coming.

“What are you drinking?”

The voice came from your right, and you lifted tired, disinterested eyes to find the source of it.

“G and T,” you answered, because it was one fewer syllable than saying gin and tonic and maybe that one syllable would do the dirty work for you and tell this guy that you didn’t want to talk to him.

“Nice,” he said, like you’d said something interesting, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. You didn’t return the question, just slid your phone screen on and opened your messages.

wyd

drinks at my hyungs place. wbu

damn. guess i have to settle for one of these very mid prospects at the willow

damn thats a sad story. if only you had a better option

if only my better option werent busy at his hyung’s

no one said i had to stay here. ur at the willow?

yep

The guy to your right tried again. “The DJ tonight kind of sucks, huh?”

You looked back at your phone.

don’t leave

You smiled into your drink, a thrill dancing through your bloodstream. The lights and music didn’t seem as garish as they had ten minutes ago.

“My boyfriend’s on his way to pick me up,” you said flatly to the guy who kept trying to talk to you, “so you might want to find someone else to complain about the DJ to.”

The word tasted like lemonade on your tongue - acidic and sour, sweet and refreshing, taste buds blooming and shriveling in tandem. Even the knowledge that it was a flat-out lie didn’t stop your heart from beating faster.

You expected the guy to get up and leave, maybe throw you a dirty look on his way. Instead, he seemed to call your bluff, narrowing his eyes like he was trying to read you.

“I don’t think I’d let my girlfriend go out alone looking like this,” he said evenly, and you let out a derisive laugh.

“The fact that you just said the words let my girlfriend probably has a lot to do with why you’re here alone,” you countered, a flash of victory slicing up your spine when you saw his face flush.

Before he could retort, you hopped down from your barstool, pushing your way into the crowded dance floor. You didn’t even want to dance, you just wanted to get away. If Vernon wanted to find you, he could come find you. He’d told you not to leave, he hadn’t said make it easy for me.

He found you anyway; he made it look easy. He stepped around a group of guys talking in a circle and into your space, like he was following a path, like he knew there’d be room for him.

You were happy to see him. You were happy he came. You were happy to breathe him in, to feel the warmth of his body and smell his cologne and hear your name tumble from his mouth like a statement. You were too drunk to tuck these truths away into pockets and folds where they would be harder to find.

You stepped to him and wrapped your arms around his neck. If he was surprised, his body hid it well. His hands came to rest on your lower back, pressing you closer to him as you leaned up to find his mouth.

You kissed him slowly, at odds with the frantic bassline vibrating under your feet. You let him tip your head back, changing the angle, sweeping your mouth with his tongue until you both tasted lemonade.

“Happy to see me?” he asked, a hint of a smirk on his face, one eyebrow arched in question and one half of his mouth twitching into a smile.

You didn’t have it in you to lie, so instead you said, “Your place?”

He led you outside.

As luck would have it, the idiot from the bar stood beside the front door, a cigarette between two fingers. His expression darkened when he recognized you, then further when he saw your fingers linked with Vernon’s as you stepped into the quiet night.

“Your girlfriend’s a fucking bitch,” the guy bit out, dropping the cigarette butt and stepping on it.

Vernon’s eyebrows shot up.

Evenly, he said, “She’s not -”

She’s not my girlfriend. You felt your stomach swoop, and you felt yourself flinch.

“- a bitch. She’s just smarter than you.”

Vernon tugged on your hand, leading you across the street to his parked, waiting car.

You tried to bite back a smile, and he looked sideways at you, his own lips twitching.

“What?” he demanded.

“What?” you parroted.

He scowled at you, but his lips were just smiling. “What?” he asked again.

You laughed. “Let’s go,” you said. “The bitch wants to kiss you more.”

You expected his smile to sharpen. Instead, something in it seems to soften, changing from teasing to actual affection.

“Alright,” he said, turning to start the engine. “Can’t really say no to that, can I?”

“You could,” you mused, as he pulled away from the curb and the bar slid into nothingness behind you, “but I just don’t think you should.”

1 yr, 2 months ago

wyd

melting

srsly

no, seriously. i am laying on my living room floor like a starfish trying not to turn into liquid

come to hyungs

its too hot to move

i have an idea, come meet me at hyungs

You frowned at your phone. Of course your aircon died during the only heatwave you could remember in your entire adult life. Your whole body felt sticky; you were pretty sure you were stuck to your floor.

It was too hot to move.

what’s the idea??

you’ll see. i’ll order u a car. can you bring a couple towels?

“Vernon, no,” you laughed, your voice echoing.

He shushed you through laughter, both of you leaning on each other as you stood at the edge of the yard, the grass tickling the bottoms of your bare feet. Upstairs, at his friend’s place, you’d thrown back a few shots for courage before following Vernon out here, and you were feeling them, your head swimming like your body might soon be.

“It’s a circuit, see?” he tried to explain, pointing through the night, as if you could see through all the fences and over all the hedges. “Five yards, five pools, and then we end up right back here and we get in the car and go. Just follow me, don’t stop for anything.”

“Someone’s gonna call the cops,” you complained. “And these neighborhoods all have cameras.”

“That’s why we keep moving,” he said, his grin so excited and so un-Vernon that you almost couldn’t bear to say no to him. “No one’s gonna call the cops if we’re already gone - it’s not worth it. You ready?”

You hesitated. “You’re good to drive us out of here?” you checked.

He held up his hands as if to show innocence. “Only had a beer,” he promised. “But I’ve got something fun in the car for after, if you want.”

You felt your grin turn wolfish. “Okay. I’m right behind you.”

“Try and be quiet,” he warned, then took off running across the yard, cannonballing into the pool with a splash.

You tore off after him, leaping into the water and suppressing a shriek when the cold water hit you. You felt instantly sober, jittery with adrenaline, alive with laughter. You spluttered your way to the surface and pushed water away from your eyes, trying to find him through the shadows.

He was already climbing out the other side, water running down his back, the muscle shifting in the half-light as he hoisted himself back onto the pool’s deck. You hurried across the pool, climbing up beside him, giggling wildly.

“Shhh,” he warned, but he was giggling too as he led you carefully over the fence to the next yard.

As soon as you crept close enough to the pool to jump, a motion-activated light came on, flooding the yard white and causing you to cover your eyes.

“Quick!” Vernon told you, grabbing your arm and pulling you in with him as he jumped.

You let out a stream of bubbles and water rushed into your mouth. You felt your feet hit the bottom and you pushed off hard, surfacing quickly.

Again, you followed him across the pool, both of you laughing and whispering, “Hurry! Quick!” as you climbed out and headed around the house to the front yard.

“Okay, this is the hard part,” he told you, both of you shivering as the night air caught up to you. “We have to cross the street, hop the fence, and then the pool is around back.”

“I’m ready,” you promised, with a particularly hard shiver.

You sprinted across the street, both leaving wet footprints on the pavement. His hand felt warm in yours when he helped you over the fence, warm on your body when he held your waist as you climbed down.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” you muttered, but giggles still spilled out of you.

“More fun than melting, right?” he asked, and you thought that you’d seen him smile more tonight than in whole months of coming together at night.

You thought you might move mountains to see him smile like this again, gums showing, open and honest, happy.

Then you were underwater again, swimming hard to keep up, following Vernon through the night as he pushed his way through some hedges and held them apart for you.

You made it to the last house before someone caught you, slamming the back door open and shouting, “Hey!”

“Go, go, go!” Vernon cried, laughing with such abandon that it sounded like goose honks, pulling on your hand as you both stumbled, dripping, towards the car.

You’d set towels on the seats before starting, so you tumbled into the car and he peeled away, both of you laughing wildly as you left the neighborhood behind.

It was miles before you calmed down, gasping in breaths and trying to hold them before exploding into laughter again.

“I’d better not end up on the news,” you scolded. “I’m in my underwear.

He gave you a searing sideways look. “I noticed.”

You felt yourself warm again, despite being in soaking wet clothes.

“Where next?” you asked. “Home?”

He let out a breath that was almost a sigh. “I don’t really want to go home,” he admitted. Then, “I was having fun with you.”

You considered this. “Not to be a cliche, but… I know a place.”

The quarry was quiet, surrounded by only trees; without posted lights, everything seemed to be just varying shades of black - the black of the water just darker than the black of the stone ledges just darker than the walls of trees just darker than the sky sprinkled with stars above you.

“We have to be careful,” you warned him seriously. “If you slip and get hurt, it could be bad.”

He turned the flashlight on his phone on and set it next to the metal rungs that jutted out of the stone, a makeshift ladder for the swimmers who came here during the day, when swimming was allowed.

“It’s going to be way colder than the pools,” you added.

“You’re not selling this very well,” he pointed out.

“Don’t be a chicken,” you teased.

He eyed the water. “I’m having second thoughts.”

You nudged him in the ribs, which caused him to squirm away, hands batting at yours, a noise emitting from him that made you laugh out loud.

“Are you ticklish?” you demanded. “How did I not know?”

“Come on, are we jumping or what?” he asked, laughing, still trying to keep your sneaky hands away from his ribs.

“Yeah, that’s probably the only way to actually get in,” you admitted, still laughing a little. Your abs felt a little sore from how much you’d laughed tonight.

You stood on the edge of the stone, toes curling over the ledge, Vernon’s hand tight in yours. You stood on the edge, the ink-like water beneath you rippling slightly, marring the reflection of the constellations high above you. You stood on the edge of something, knowing full well you were afraid to swim.

He counted you down, and together, you jumped.

The water was freezing - it hurt, it stung, and you shrieked and laughed as you surfaced. A foot from you, Vernon was shouting.

“The towels!” you told him, already swimming towards the little dot of light that marked the ladder.

Shaking and shivering, you reached your towel, wrapping it around yourself. Behind you, Vernon jogged up, making noises like a disgruntled horse as he found his own towel.

“Oh my god,” he groused, grabbing for you. “I’m freezing, come here.”

He opened his arms, the towel behind him like a wingspan, and you stepped into the space, letting him wrap his arms and his towel around you. You stood shivering together, trying to let your body heat chase the cold away.

You wrapped your own arms around his middle, pressing yourself closer as your legs shook, shivers rolling up your spine in waves as your body fought the chill. 

“C’mere,” he murmured above you, holding you a little more tightly, his own teeth chattering. 

It was the first time, you realized as you turned your head to rest your cheek on his chest, that you’d held each other. It was the first time you’d been between his arms when you weren’t fucking, the first time he’d tightened his grip around you for a reason other than gratification. 

You didn’t want it - didn’t want to know that it felt nice in his embrace, didn’t want to know that it fit right and felt safe. You didn’t want to know that you liked it, didn’t want to have to fight against the humiliation of wanting more.

As soon as the full-body tremors died away in the warm, sticky night, you stepped away, eager to put distance between you again. 

Later, he looked over at you from the driver’s seat of the car, red-eyed, his smile stretching slow and thick like putty. When you straddled his lap, his hands searching out the bare skin of your back, you rocked against him and pressed open-mouthed kisses to the column of his pretty throat until you were pulling groans from him with each pass of your hips. 

Forget, you thought, as you pulled your underwear to the side for him. Forget every single thing but this.

When you slipped an arm behind his neck and pressed your foreheads together as you lifted and dropped, you weren’t sure whose memory you were hoping to erase with this most recent pleasure-chase: yours, or his.

1 yr, 1 month ago

There was no map or calendar to this thing your brain did. It was summer, the sun shone, and yet the days bled together again, sunsets swirling down the shower drain.

The last time you’d gone radio silent, the last time your world had gone grey without warning, Vernon had answered in kind. His own silence had shouted for him until you’d tempted him back.

This time, he didn’t resort to silence in retaliation to yours. Instead, he kept trying, relentless. If you’d had more presence of mind, you might have wondered why.

wyd

[ ]

yo. whats the deal

[ ]

i will have you know that this is very insulting

[ ]

don’t get mad but im coming over

“What the fuck, Vernon.”

“I said don’t get mad.”

“It doesn’t work like that. What are you doing here?”

He leveled you with a look. “You gonna let me in?”

“Literally, no.”

You hadn’t showered in days; your apartment was probably grosser than you were. The cat milled around your ankles, trying to weasel its way outside, and you hopped from foot to foot trying to nudge it back inside.

“Why not?” he asked.

You huffed, annoyed. But the annoyance was the first thing you’d felt all day, and something inside you clung to it, desperate for more of anything but the crawling nothing that’s kept you company for days.

“Because,” you grumbled. Because there’s nothing for you here. Because I have nothing I can give you. “I’m… just not in the mood.”

He stepped back from the door so you could see more of him. “I’m not asking you to be.”

“Then why are you here?” The words fell between you, heavy. If you hadn’t been so low, if you hadn’t gone all day without eating, if you hadn’t been on your thirtieth hour without sleeping, you would have known better. You would have realized that you were asking, if you aren’t here for sex, then what are you here for? 

You wouldn’t have asked a question that you didn’t want the answer to.

He met your eyes. He seemed to teeter on the edge of telling you the truth, giving you the real answer. Then, he muttered, “Got bored.”

You knew it wasn’t the whole truth, and he knew you knew it, and yet neither of you were willing to look at it directly.

“I fail to see how that’s my problem,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

He watched you for what felt like a long time, face serious, eyes glittering and attentive. Then, instead of answering, he repeated, “Are you gonna let me in?”

You frowned at him, but there was a little more pout to it than anger. “I’m all gross,” you said, instead of answering.

Something in him softened - it was visible on his face, in his shoulders, like he knew this was your way of saying yes. “So let’s shower,” he suggested quietly.

You felt trepidation, like part of you expected him to stay soft, to try to take care of you. To your relief, Vernon acted like everything was normal, scrunching his face at you when the water was too cold as he stepped in, washing his own body in silence and letting you do your thing.

He didn’t try to hold you, didn’t ask you when you’d eaten last, didn’t try to talk about it - didn’t try to fix it. He was just… there, and this - along with your first shower in days - was somehow revitalizing in itself.

You pulled on clean sweats, which was better than the day-four sweats he’d found you in. “The apartment’s kind of… sorry,” you mumbled, looking around the living room, feeling a bit of that familiar shame crawl up your neck as you noticed the evidence that you hadn’t been picking up, or running a vacuum.

Vernon flopped backwards on your sofa, unphased, one arm bent behind his head. “We’ve been doing this for almost a year,” he pointed out. “I know how it usually is.”

It isn’t usually like this. And neither are you.

You wondered when it happened - your ability to finish his half-thoughts, your ability to know what he meant when he only said a fraction of it.

You stood awkwardly beside the couch where he was lounging, and he looked up at you with a tiny, amused smile.

“What do you wanna do?”

What you really wanted to do was cocoon yourself in blankets again and put on repeats of a show you’d already seen. But now you had to look functional. You might be mad at him for showing up like this, now that you thought about it.

“I dunno,” you said, which was close to the truth.

“You wanna eat?”

“Honestly?” you asked, pursing your lips a little. “No.”

“Okay,” he said easily, and it struck you again how different this was than how Chan treated you when you were low. Chan would have already had the food delivered, and would be chasing you around the table with loaded chopsticks, demanding you take a bite.

“Can we just… watch something?” you asked, unsure.

Vernon wordlessly reached for your remote and held it up to you, nonplussed.

You wondered if it was an act, how easy this was, how unbothered he was, how he seemed to just understand what wouldn’t help.

You knew it wasn’t; you’d been around long enough to know that Vernon’s demons weren’t all that different from yours.

You settled somewhere between his body and the back of the couch, one leg bent over his legs, one of your arms over his stomach and his arm curled around your shoulders.

“This is weird,” you muttered into his chest, and his laugh rumbled under you.

“Why?” he asked, his smile big, like he thought you were particularly funny. “Not used to being big spoon?”

Not used to cuddling - with you.

“Yeah,” you said, because that was easier.

On your TV, a show ran through several episodes, the changing scenes splashing you and Vernon with changing colors, casting his face blue and then white and then black and then red and then blue again. Sometimes he’d watch, sometimes he’d scroll on his phone. You mostly felt his heart beating under your hand and let your mind whir.

At some point he started mindlessly (or not mindlessly, who could know) stroking your back, gentle touches brushing up and down, slow, slow, the way he always was. At some point you shivered, goosebumps rising along your arms, and snuggled closer to him. At some point he shifted you from slightly beside him to on top of him, a second hand slipping under your loose tshirt and joining the first in tracing stripes up and down your upper back.

You shifted against him, something coming to life with a shudder like the furnace in your parent’s basement on cold autumn nights. Heat worked its way slowly from your core to your stomach, down your legs.

He kept his eyes on the tv, innocent, but you could hear his heartbeat. It couldn’t lie and pretend.

You shifted again, squirming until you’d worked his t-shirt up just enough that you could touch skin, too. You trailed your own fingers over the inch of exposed stomach you’d found, and delighted in the way you could feel him start to harden beneath you.

Then, you delighted in your delight. It was the first good thing you’d been able to feel in almost a week.

You said his name, and he finally looked down at you, eyes nearly black in the unlit room.

“What is it?” he asked, and his voice was suddenly so low it sent shivers tumbling down each vertebrae and tripping over to your limbs. “Want me to make you feel good?”

No, you wanted to say as you answered his question by pulling the hem of his t-shirt higher, encouraging him to lift up so you could pull it off. No, just want you to make me feel.

1 year ago

Everywhere Vernon looked, all he saw was circles. Circle of red in his bowl when he inhaled. Circle of condensation on the table when he lifted his beer. Circle of light reflecting from his phone case, laying in the setting sunlight, to the ceiling. Above him, the ceiling fan circled lazily, nowhere to be.

And you - you and him. That was a circle, too. A cycle, at least, which was close enough in his opinion. Text, hook up, skitter back to your respective places, wait out the next weekend. It was as rhythmic and routine as waves breaking and then getting pulled back out only to come shatter on sand again. It was out of his control, up to forces far greater than he was.

Vernon’s friends had texted to hang out and he’d declined. He told them he was seeing his parents, but really, he just wanted to be alone. He wanted to watch the ceiling fan circle, he wanted to let his brain go staticky quiet, he wanted to burrow deep into things that made him feel less.

But he still, somehow, wanted to see you. He wanted to be alone, and being with you didn’t feel like not getting that.

It was a little scary, he thought, that you were the exception. That he could be with you without feeling the uncomfortable pressure of being with others, of having to be on, of having to fake cheerfulness and keep up with chatter that only exhausted him.

Vernon wasn’t a kid. He knew what it meant.

whats up

honestly not a lot. want me to come over?

Yeah, he did. He did, even if you weren’t going to hook up. He did, even if you were just going to lay on opposite sides of the couch and scroll on your phones. He did, and he hoped he’d end up with his arms around you, and he hoped he’d make you laugh at least once, and he hoped you’d stay and just be there with him after.

When you came over, he asked you how you felt about it - about him, about you and him. He asked by laying you on your back in his bed, by brushing fingertips along your face. He asked you by sliding your leggings away gently, pressing his mouth to each inch of your inseam as it became exposed to his dimly lit room. He asked you by kissing you through the lace you wore for him, then kissing the same spot once that lace was on his floor.

He asked you when he crawled up your body until his tip teased at your entrance and you whined, shifting to try to take him. And - when he took it slow this time, teeth scraping at your neck and then tongue hurrying to soothe the sting, his arms bracketing your body like he was sheltering you from an incoming storm.

(Maybe, he considered, he was.)

(Maybe, he considered, he was worthless in the face of this storm’s wrath.)

(Maybe, he considered, he was the fucking storm in the first place.)

And you heard his question loud and clear. You pulled on your leggings as soon as you were cleaned up, popping your hood up over your head as you searched for your phone. You kept your eyes on your screen as you waited for a car to come, murmured, “Later,” on your way out the door.

Vernon’s apartment rang with quiet. He was alone, he’d gotten what he’d wanted.

He’d also, it seemed, gotten his answer.

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thank you so much for reading!!! i'm always happy to hear what you think!

[bardic-tales]

Chaos Incarnate - FWC / FF 7 Alternate AU Story

Summary: Sephiroth marches through the ruins of Midgar to the Shinra Building, slaughtering anyone in his path to reclaim Bianca, who has been imprisoned and experimented on by Hojo and Shinra in this alternate world within the FWC. This is set in an alternate timeline within the Remake games.

Pairing: Bianca Moore (f!OC)/Sephiroth

Other Characters: Hojo (deceased), various Shinra personnel (deceased), implied presence of Shinra executives and SOLDIER operatives

Possible Trigger Warnings: Blood, body horror, canon divergent, captivity, death, experimentation, gore, main character death, medical abuse, mind control, murder, non-consensual medical procedures, physical restraint, PTSD, torture, violence

Author's Note: This short story was written upon for a request by requested by @craftyhal. The concept, characters, and specific plot elements were provided as guidelines for the piece.

Sector 7

Midgar, Gaia

1.

This time will be different, the silvered-haired man thought. They will not take her from me.

The streets of Midgar were silent. A stillness had settled in the wake of his destruction. Sephiroth walked through the smoldering wreckage of Sector 7 over smoking debris. His boots echoed against the charred, twisted remnants of the fallen plate. The air reeked of burnt steel, flesh, and mako: an intoxicating mixture of death and rebirth.

His Masamune, still slick with the blood of those who had tried to stop him, dripped crimson onto the cracked pavement. He had dropped the plate himself. Not AVALANCHE. Not Shinra. Him. It was only fitting for what humanity had done to her. Not Mother. Her.

The weight of the massacre did not burden him. The screams had been fleeting. No, he thought. They had been almost liberating, as those insects were crushed beneath tons of steel. They were necessary casualties: pawns in a grander scheme. The fools who served Shinra had stolen from him. They had taken her.

"Stay with me," he whispered as he gazed up at the Shinra Building standing like a beacon before he begun his march once more. He knew the President was looking down upon the destruction: ruin that he thought the Turks had caused. Reno and Rude had been the first to fall under the man's blade. Their blood still wet the console that dropped the plate, and after that, he had descended to Sector 7 to finish exterminating those insects.

The timeline had tried to resist, but his will would not be denied. Never again.

A low, whispering wind stirred around him, though the air was still. Shapes coalesced in the periphery of vision. Like smoke given form, their tattered cloaks of shifting black weaved through the air. They slithered between collapsed beams and broken buildings. Each were drawn to him like moths to flame.

The Black Whispers.

They trailed after him in silence. Neither guiding nor obstructing. No longer arbiters of fate, but puppets bound to his will. He smiled. How much they resembled Cloud and his puppetry. His persistence had not been mere defiance of death. It was a rewriting. Destiny itself had bent at the knee.

And why shouldn't it? After all, he was the Chosen One, future ruler of Existence, itself. The Whispers obeyed him now.

His fingers flexed around the hilt of his ōdachi as his pace quickened. He was being drawn to her. The pulse of their bond grew stronger. He could feel her. It was faint, almost drowned out in the suffocating energy of the city, but unmistakable. She was here. His Bianca.

Shinra had dared to keep her in their grasp. Sephiroth would tear their tower apart to rectify their mistake now. Midgar already was drowning in the blood of her citizens for their audacity.

2.

As he approached the Shinra Building, the Whispers gathered in a dense formation behind him, swirling like a living tornado. Their forms writhed and merged into him as he passed through the lobby. Flesh and shadow became indistinguishable for a moment. Here, in this timeline, Sephiroth no longer needed to hide within the bodies of robed men. He was whole. They were him.

Bodies lay in his wake. Some still warm. Their blood painted the grey floors of the lobby. The elevator panel was shattered. Its buttons slick with gore and bits of brain matter from the man whose head he had caved in with his boot. How his eyeball had popped out before Sephiroth's final stomp: a glorious symphony of red and bits of stringy black.

He had carved a path through security, through SOLDIER, through anyone foolish enough to stand in his way. As he scraped the gray globes off of his boot, Sephiroth thought about one thing and one thing only. He would not be denied her. She was close. He could feel it.

3.

Now, the hum of mako engines and the sterile scent of antiseptic filled his nostrils. It brought back memories of his time here. The R&D floor. Sephiroth was close now.

As he moved, his scar itched: the telltale half-healed wound where Cloud had buried the Buster Sword in his back. The boy had tried to kill him, but he had failed. He had slaughtered all of that village and the SOLDIERs and troopers who accompanied him on his last mission. Everyone, except the Head Scientist who had found his beloved in the Underground Library and transported her to Midgar.

Sephiroth had risen from the flames of Nibelheim stronger, reborn under Mother’s will. And now? He was in control of destiny’s jailers.

The doors to the laboratory were twisted off their hinges with their metal laying on the sterile floor. His Masamune having split them apart like paper. Sparks rained from the shattered overhead lights, casting eerie shadows over shattered glass tubes and overturned medical carts. Without any expression on his face, he stepped over the remnants of the door. Glass crunched under his boots.

The scent of mako was stronger here. Thick and suffocating. They had kept her in a containment chamber.

He stepped inside, and the Whispers followed.

His breath hitched.

There she was.

Bianca lay curled within an empty mako containment chamber. Her porcelain skin marred by lingering traces of glowing residue. Her indigo eyes, once alight with fire, were dim, hazy from whatever sedatives Hojo had forced into her veins.

Clothed in little more than a torn hospital gown, her body bore the evidence of their cruelty: restraints had dug into her wrists and ankles, her skin raw where she had fought against them. And there, peeking beneath the fabric, was her scar. The mark of her suffering. The mark of what they had done to her.

The Whispers stirred behind him. Their low hissing hum vibrated through the air. Not the white ones that the flower girl had tried to stop him with. No. These were his. They were twisted, corrupted, and black as the void between stars. Their presence filled the lab, pressing in on every surface like a second skin.

One of them reached toward Bianca, dancing before the tank, but Sephiroth turned, and it dissolved into smoke at his silent command.

She was not theirs to touch.

Rage twisted inside him. The white-hot fury pulsed in his temples.

Bianca stirred, blinking sluggishly as if emerging from a deep abyss. Her gaze found his, and a flicker of recognition passed through the bond they shared.

“Sephiroth.” Her voice was weak, hoarse from disuse. But he felt her relief. He felt the way her body unconsciously reached for him even in her half-lucid state. She had called out to him in their shared dreamscape; he had responded immediately.

He crossed the distance in an instant, kneeling before her. His leather-clad fingers brushing against her cheek.

“I’m here, Bia.” His voice was quiet, but there was a promise beneath it. Humanity would pay for its sins against her. He would see to it himself.

She exhaled shakily, pressing into his touch as if to ground herself. His free hand moved to the restraints. Thick fingers curled around the cold steel. With a flick of his wrist, the metal crumpled like paper. She fell forward into his chest.

He caught her effortlessly, wrapping an arm around her waist as he stood. As he cradled with his right arm, Bianca was light. Too light, he thought.

They had drained her, siphoned her blood, experimented on her like she was nothing more than another of Hojo’s grotesque projects. Once more, rage bubbled beneath his calm veneer.

The scientist’s fate had already been sealed.

Sephiroth turned, his gaze shifting toward the far end of the room. A shuffling sound, the faint wheeze of breath. Hojo.

The man was slumped against an overturned desk. His white lab coat stained with the dark blood that pooled at his stomach. Sephiroth had left the Masamune embedded in him, pinning him to the desk, before he had searched for Bianca on the R&D floor, ensuring the scientist would not slip from his grasp.

Now, as Sephiroth approached, the dying man lifted his head. His glasses were cracked and his breathing ragged, yet there was something in his gaze: a perverse satisfaction.

“She . . . is . . . magnificent, isn’t she?” Hojo’s voice was a rasp, gurgling as blood filled his throat. “Our greatest creation . . . angel strengthened with the beauty of . . . Jenova. You should thank me.”

The Whispers circled around him like vultures, pressing close, feeding on the last flickers of the mad scientist's life. Sephiroth did not grace him with a response.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he pulled the Masamune free. The wet popping sound of steel sliding from flesh was followed by a final, gasping choke as Hojo slumped forward. His blood soaked the manila folders beneath him, blurring the lines of the last project of the Jenova Project: Project N.

A fitting end.

Sephiroth turned away, as he held Masamune in his left hand. Bianca still cradled in his right arm. The glow in her eyes was returning, and the strength in their bond rekindling now that she was free. He felt the way she clung to him. Her fingers tightened around the fabric of his coat.

“Shinra will pay for this,” Sephiroth murmured. It was not a threat. It was a certainty. "They all will pay for this."

Bianca’s lips parted, a slow, wicked smile curving them despite her exhaustion. “Burn it.”

Oh, he would.

As he strode from the ruins of the lab, stepping over corpses and shattered glass. Flames ignited in his wake. The Whispers followed. Black tendrils coiling along the walls. The air was thick with the promise of vengeance, of ruin, and of fate rewritten.

By the time the fires consumed the Shinra Building, the only thing left of the corporation would be ashes and the soundless echoes of destiny screaming in reverse. This time, Sephiroth would not be defeated. He would make sure of it.

@themaradwrites @craftyhal @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap

@inkandimpressions @arrthurpendragon

[animeomegas]

How would Shikamaru and his alpha react to finding out he’s pregnant again? Like they planned on one or two and already have three and now pregnant with a fourth because their birth control keeps failing. Especially if people think Shikamaru is doing it on purpose because of his obsession.

I have a feeling that this isn't what you had in mind lol, but here we are XD

cw: abortion

"It's positive?" you asked as Shikamaru came out of the bathroom, looking exhausted.

"Yep," he said, collapsing down on the sofa next to you with his eyes closed. You heard the muffled sounds of some sort of children's toy activating as he sat on it, but you both ignored it.

"Again?"

"Yep."

"Damn," you let out a breath and sank back into the couch until you were fully reclining just like your mate.

You both sat in silence for a while as the information sank in. You already had three children, an eight-year-old daughter, and two sons, five and three respectively. Your eldest was the only one you had planned.

"What are we going to do?" you asked finally. "We can afford it money wise, but we're spread thin as it is, another baby would-"

"Stop talking," Shikamaru said firmly, stopping you in your tracks. He opened his eyes and heaved himself upright. "If you speak about it out loud, my obsession instinct might...it might..."

"It might trigger and get weird like last time," you finished in sudden realisation, remembering the way Shikamaru had switched over night from booking an abortion to being distraught at the thought and refusing to follow through. "It hasn't triggered yet?"

"No," Shikamaru said calmly. "So, I'm going to fetch a clan medic right now, just for a 'routine health check', of course. Nothing else."

He was planning to trick himself into denial long enough to have an abortion. You shouldn't be so surprised by how intelligent your mate was after all these years, but you still found yourself impressed by his quick thinking.

"Right," you agreed. "Do you need me to come with?"

"No, it's just a routine health check, there's no need," he said, calmly getting up from the sofa and walking to the door. You followed him out and watched him slip on his shoes.

Everything was moving quickly, but you felt like the quickly forming burden had just been lifted from your shoulders. You simply didn't have the time and energy to give to another pup, it wouldn't be fair on anyone.

"And after my health check," Shikamaru continued, opening the door. "I am booking an appointment to have all my problematic organs removed."

That made a lot of sense. You had already been sterilised once but the surgery had reversed itself, something you only realised when Shikamaru already had the positive test in his hand. If he simply didn't have the necessary requirements for a baby, there would be no more babies. And maybe, just maybe, you'd finally have a form of birth control that actually worked.

"I'll watch the pups, and I'll be here when you get back," you promised, trying to reassure him as best as you could without mentioning anything specific.

Shikamaru nodded, took one final deep breath, and then stepped outside, shutting the door gently to avoid waking the two youngest pups up from their naps.

You stood for a moment, processing everything that had just happened, before a wave of determination washed over you. Your mate was going through something difficult that he had to do alone, so you would do everything in your power to make sure he came home to a clean house, delicious dinner, hot bath, and a massage.

You rolled up your sleeves, energised and ready to make the most of the remaining 20 minutes of nap time. It was time to clean like you'd never cleaned before.

[xoxoavenger]

happy birthday!! sorry you have so many angst, but could you do one with bucky where he turns into the winter solider and hurts reader? if you don’t wanna do it that’s fine too I just love your bucky works

thank you!! this is so sweet!

Everything

pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

word count: 2733

warnings: so sorry this isn't proofread i'm just so exhausted, angst, some violence but nothing specific

birthday masterlist main masterlist

Bucky is afraid he'll always be scared.

Y/N is sleeping on his right side, never his left, because he doesn't trust his left arm. He's been out of HYDRA's control for years, but he doesn't know what the arm will do. He doesn't trust himself, and he sure as hell doesn't trust that arm. But he can feel himself tense when Y/N rolls on top of him and her fingers brush the metal.

He doesn't sleep well, and he thinks that Y/N knows that, but they don't talk about it. She settles back to sleep, and he looks over to see it's three in the morning. He knows he needs to go to sleep, but he doesn't want to. He knows tonight will be a nightmare night, and tomorrow is a mission, so he can't wake Y/N up.

She can tell as soon as morning comes and they get out of bed for the mission that he hasn't slept.

"Babe," She mutters after they put their suits on. She has a hand on his face, thumb brushing against the bags under his eyes.

"It's okay," He grabs her wrist, trying to smile for her benefit. She sees right through it, bringing a hand to his chest. He pulls her hand, using her wrist to guide it to his mouth and kiss it. She feels her face warm at this, that a man she has been with for so long can still make her feel this way. She grabs his other hand, his metal one, but watches him pull away a bit.

"When we get back, we'll have a nap. Well, a shower, then nap." She tells him, pushing a hand through his short hair. She had told him to cut it when he asked, knowing that it was important to him to get rid of that part of his past. She didn't want him to think of himself as a a villain anymore, and he never had long hair when he was a hero with Steve.

"I love you." He tell her, and she just pulls him in, kissing him in a way that tells him she loves him too.

They walk out of their room and meet with the rest of the team, who's already halfway through their coffees and are moving to the Quinjet. No one is talking, it's too early in the morning, but it's supposed to be an easy mission. They were all ready to get it over with and have their alone time.

It's silent as they walk to the hanger, Natasha handing Y/N a coffee in a tumbler. Y/N is so grateful, she sighs in relief.

"Thank you." She takes a sip as they walk up the ramp, then coughs. "Oh my god, did you put alcohol in this?" She knows Natasha is Russian, but this seems a little crazy. "It's six in the morning!"

"Just a little." Natasha winks, and Y/N rolls her eyes. She downs more of the coffee and steps over to her regular seat, Bucky sitting next her. Always on her left so his arm is as far as possible.

"Want some coffee?" She asks, lowly, even though she knows he won't want any if Natasha snuck alcohol in there. She's only seen him drink a few times, only with the Avengers or with her. He got drunk once, and it was actually quite cute. He told her he loved her about a million times, then started crying, then told her that if he were ever triggered somehow by the words that she needed to get as far away as possible, to stay away from him, because he would never forgive himself if something happened to her.

"James," She had said, pushing his hair away from his face. She was slightly tipsy, not as bad as him, but she knew she needed to assure him. "No one will trigger you, okay? And if anything did ever happen, I would never blame you." She kissed his forehead, letting him lean into her. They were on the floor, but Y/N couldn't get him up on her own so that's where they'd stay.

"You don't understand," He cried, pulling at her shirt. She just shushed him and rubbed his back, because clearly he'd worked himself up. "You've never seen me like that, and I would never forgive myself." He sobbed, and she has never seen him cry like this. She rocked him gently, rubbing his back.

"Baby," She whispered, hoping this somehow helps.

"Promise me," He begged, and all Y/N could do is nod. She didn't exactly know what she'd promised, but she needs him to calm down.

"I promise." She told him, and they stayed on the floor until the next morning, Y/N only getting up briefly to grab a pillow and the blanket off their bed.

Y/N doesn't know why she's thinking about that night, but it makes her upset. She looks over at Bucky, who's really serious right now - obviously, it's right before a mission. She puts a hand over his, and he automatically interwinds them.

"I love you," She tells him, looking up at his face. He looks down, a small smile on his face.

"I love you too." He whispers. She looks down and finishes off the drink, the caffeine and alcohol rushing through her body. She can't wait for this mission to be over, because she can tell how tired Bucky is. She just wants him to be able to sleep.

Bruce, Steve and Bucky jump out of the quintet, Sam following with his wings and Tony in his suit. Y/N, Clint, and Natasha follow on foot when Clint lands the quintet, and Y/N suddenly realizes Thor wasn't there this morning.

"Where's Thor?" Y/N whispers to Natasha as they walk the short distance to the HYRDA compound.

"Hell if I know." Clint is the one that grumbles an answer, the three of them keeping an eye out for anyone that may be hidden. They can hear the siren though, so it's pretty obvious that it was all hands on deck.

"Y/N, you remember the map?" Natasha asks as they split from Clint.

"As if you don't have it memorized." Y/N tells her as they enter the already unlocked door. It was actually still locked, but it had been blown off its hinges by someone. They walk through the halls, guns held at the ready,

"I do, but that's not my job." Natasha smirks as they both turn left down a hall. "Hey, did you watch that new movie yet? The tennis one?" She asks, turning and taking out an agent before they even see the two girls.

"When would I have had time?" Y/N asks, looking down a hallway and making sure it was clear. She's used to Natasha's multitasking by now, not even questioning when the red head asks about something completely unrelated to the mission.

"I think tonight we should watch it." Natasha says, right as they run into three HYRDA agents. "You take left, I take right." They ran forward, knowing they couldn't win a straight shoot out, and began hand-to-hand combat with the men.

"I can't tonight." Y/N grunts out as as he chokes a man with the retractable wire Tony recently made her. Natasha has one guy choked between her thighs and the other on the floor with her widow bites. The men are taken care of in a couple moments, the girls not even breathing hard.

"Why not?" Natasha asks as they step over the bodies and continue down their path. They see another agent, which is starting to seem weird.

"I have plans." Y/N mutters, knowing her nap with Bucky is going to take most of the day after they get back. Another agent. They're taken out quickly, but now the two girls know something is going on. "There's a lot more agents now."

"It could be because we're getting further into the building." Natasha tells her, and Y/N nods. She hopes it's just that, but something seems wrong. "What are you doing tonight that you can't watch the movie?"

"Tasha," Y/N groans, going to the left when two more agents show up. They take care of them even quicker this time, warmed up now, but Y/N knows something is going on now.

"We need to go quickly." Natasha knows too, and they pick up their pace. They see even more HYDRA agents. They take them out, but they're starting to get hit now. Y/N can feel a bruise blooming on her ribs, blood on her thigh from the bullet that had grazed it.

The girls were deep in the building, close to the information they needed. They were breathing hard, and Y/N knew Natasha had to be hurting even though she wasn't limping. They were about to turn into the room with the information when they heard yelling. They made eye contact, because this isn't a normal sound to hear on a mission.

"I'll check it out, you get the information." Y/N says, nodding to the room. Natasha agrees and then they split, Y/N running toward the sound.

"We have a problem!" Steve says over the coms, and Y/N almost startles.

"What's going on?" She asks, the yells getting louder. They start to get more clear, start to sound like Bucky's. Her heart drops, and no one responds.

"Stop!" Steve screams, and Y/N can feel chills. She turns the corner and sees about fourteen agents all on Bucky, holding him to the ground. He's struggling, but there's just too many of them. Steve's shield is on the ground, and Y/N is frozen for a second as she watches six men hold Steve to a wall. They're struggling, but it's not enough. She's about to slide for the shield when she hears one of the HYDRA agents yell.

"Dobroserdechnyy," Y/N doesn't know Russian well, but she knows that word. That's one of Bucky's trigger words.

She leaps into action, sliding to grab Steve's shield and free him first. If she can get him free then they can help Bucky, but she can't take on fourteen agents at once. She uses Cap's shield to get a couple agents off him, freeing him enough that he can fight the rest away. She hands him the shield quickly and he nods, Russian words pounding into the back of her skull as one of the agents continues to say them.

"We need help!" She yells into the coms, starting on the men around Bucky. She hears Odin being spoken and knows they're screwed.

"Get away!" Bucky yells, realizing she's there. Around the men restraining him she can see part of his face, enough to discern the panic in his eyes. "You promised! Leave!" And she finally realizes what he meant.

"Tovarnyy vagon." The man finishes, and everyone goes still for a moment. That is until Y/N kicks into gear and knocks out half the agents before they know what hit them.

"What's going on?" Sam asks in the comms.

"Where are you?" Tony grunts out.

"The Winter Soldier," Steve mutters into his comm link as Bucky raises from the ground, eyes glassed. He's speaking with the other man in Russian, and Y/N wants to kill him.

So she does.

It wasn't a hard decision, pulling out the gun and shooting the man who turned the love of her life back into a brainwashed killer. She didn't even flinch. But the Winter Solider didn't like that, turning sharply to her.

"You've gotta get out out of here." Steve steps in front of her as Natasha runs from around the corner, data file hopefully stuck safely on an information stick in her pocket.

"I can't leave him." Y/N says as Bucky begins to stalk toward them.

"He doesn't want you here." Natasha argues, grabbing her arm. "You know he doesn't." But she can't leave Bucky.

"Hulk, we need you." Steve says as he begins to fight the Winter Solider. Y/N slides out of Natasha's grasp and runs to him.

He backhands her immediately.

She falters, sliding against the wall. She feels stupid, but she runs back to him.

"We have to knock him out!" Steve yells to her, throwing his shield. The Winter Solider catches it and flips it back, the other three heroes dodging. Y/N elbows him as hard as she can, but he just flinches like a fly hit him and starts to choke her. She grabs a knife from her belt, not sure what to do with it. She would never actually stab him, not wanting to hurt him any more than he needs to. Her vision begins to swim, and she jams the knife into the metal plates. He lets her go just as Steve throws the shield again, and this time it does hit the Winter Solider. He doesn't go down, but Natasha's widow bites cause him to kneel.

"He's going to kill you and then us." Natasha mutters as she kneels, choking the Winter Solider until he falls unconscious.

"We can't," Y/N starts to say, but she begins to cough. Her injuries are catching up with her, and her throat hurts. She reaches a hand up, and she can feel the swollen skin of her throat. "We can't tell him." She rasps out. Her head is pounding, not only from Bucky's backhand but from the rest of the fighting with the agents.

"Y/N," Natasha shakes her head as she stands. She's looking at Y/N's neck, and she knows that even if they keep him backhanding her from him, there's no keeping the bruise forming on her throat. Y/N takes a deep breath, and even that hurts.

"Let's just go home." She whispers, looking at her lover passed out on the ground.

~

Bucky hasn't talked to anyone in three days.

Y/N and Bucky usually lived together, but Bucky holed himself away in a private room and refused to speak to anyone. Y/N was worried about him; so worried, in fact, that she told Fury, who told her that he was at least forced to sit on a call with a therapist once a day.

"Let me see him." Y/N demands on the third day.

"He needs time." Steve tells her. Steve had seen him last night for the first time, and Y/N was ready to burn down the building to make Bucky come out. She may have done it if she didn't think that he would just burn with it.

"You told him what happened." Y/N accused. They were right outside Bucky's room, Y/N about to break the door down.

"I showed him the video." Steve admitted, and Y/N felt the urge to punch Captain America.

"I'm gonna kill you." She says lowly, watching Steve's eyes widen.

"He has the right to know, Y/N. You can't protect him from everything." He tells her. She just shakes her head.

"I could at least try, which is better than what you did!" She yells back, clearly hurt.

"I've known him for longer! You can't tell me how to treat my best friend."

"He's my best friend too!" Y/N cries. She's about to scream again when the door between them opens. She turns to see Bucky, looking rough but still gorgeous. She wants to run out to him, but she knows that would be a lot for him.

"You broke your promise." He whispers, looking at her. It's silent as Steve begins to back out of the area.

"I couldn't leave you." She tells him, turning fully to him and resisting the urge to reach out.

"I hurt you." He's crying now, so she does reach out. He flinches but she holds tightly, and he grabs her just as tight.

"It wasn't you." She whispers, tears leaking out of her own eyes. "You would never. And I know you don't trust yourself, but I trust you, James. And I always will. That hasn't changed, and it never will." She puts a hand on his face, rubbing the bags under his eyes just like she did the day of the mission.

"I love you. I don't deserve you." He tells her, but she shakes her head.

"You deserve everything, James Barnes. Everything." They fall together into a kiss that's too perfect and passionate to be real.

"I just need you." He tells her after they separate momentarily.

"Then it's a good thing I'm never leaving." She smiles as they come together again. 

//

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187  @one-sweet-gubler @thefandomplace @mcueveryday @icequeen1371 @kenzi-woycehoski @multifandom-boss-bitch

[sonotpattismith]

lord knows it would be the first time | just say when (chapter six)

chapter five.

playlist | masterlist

song inspo for chapter: please please please let me get what I want by the smiths

chapter specific warnings: mentions of depression, hopelessness/worthlessness, suggestive content

warnings: this story contains explicit mentions of depression and suicide. if these are topic that are triggering for you, please refrain from reading. I will be putting a warning on the chapters that may be particularly triggering. please enjoy otherwise xo <3

The situation was looking grave. Well, they’d certainly seen worse in terms of mission prognoses, but the real problem, aside from the curse that had outsmarted Megumi and Nobara one too many times, was this thing was making him start to sweat about making it to Zumi on time that night. Of course, he knew they’d make it out alive, but fuck, this thing was wasting his time. He had known it would be cutting it short when he and Kugisaki were sent on a last minute mission just an hour outside of Tokyo, but he quickly assured Gojo, who offered to ask Nanami to come stay with Zumi that night instead, that they’d have everything taken care of in time. 

That was five hours and three curses ago though, and the duo was now staring down the final curse that had been haunting this chilling funeral home for the past few weeks. Multiple morticians and directors had been claiming that the corpses had been… whispering to them during their late hours. Little did they know, it wasn’t the corpses that had suddenly gained consciousness, but instead the curses that had manifested in the wake of the mourning family member’s of said corpses. 

The first couple had manifested together, being the weaker of the bunch. They weeped mockingly at the pair, likely imitating the loved ones that had created them. Megumi hadn’t even had the chance to summon any of his shikigami before Nobara sliced evenly through the trio of monsters. She landed on her knees with a thud, groaning softly at the impact. The boy, after confirming they had truly been finished off, sped over to help her up, to which she brushed him off with a claim that this was mere child’s play. 

And to that effect, she was right, because what came after definitely made up for the previous lack of challenge. It was located in the morgue. As soon as they’d kicked the door open, it grotesquely squeezed its way out of one of the freezers. Its face, what could be made out from it at least, was painted stark white, dramatic blush littered its supposed cheeks. It was mimicking the makeup a mortician would typically apply to a corpse to make it appear presentable for it’s funeral, but seeing it so unnaturally on the uncanny face of this curse was almost nauseating. 

Above all else, it reeked. The stench had gotten so putrid once its full form had exited the freezer that the pair had a hard time keeping their lunches down. 

 “God— I can barely concentrate with that smell!” Nobara shrieked as they caught their breaths, backs pressed against a wall and invisible to the curse. Truth be told, they were both exhausted already. The creature was relentless— the mocking cries of the previous curses was only amplified in this one. It rang in their ears, pulsating in their ear drums until they were forced to clamp their hands over them in an attempt to stop the ambush. 

Despite the upturned gravity of the situation, Megumi’s shaky hand slid his phone from his pocket to check the time, a drop of blood falling from the cut on his brow bone and splattering across his screen. 

“Shit.” He cursed as he slid his phone back into his pocket and stood up, squaring his shoulders. It was getting late, and he knew it would be a drive to get back to Tokyo as well. This needed to end now. He looked down at the red head who was already stumbling back up to her feet. Nodding toward her, he formulated a plan while keeping a careful eye on the curse that was inching closer and closer toward them. “Kugisaki, if I distract it while Demon Dog gets a piece of it, can you take care of it?”

By take care of it, she knew he meant her resonance. She nodded affirmatively, and he was already summoning his dog. Kneeling down to place a hand on his head, Megumi instructed it to tear a piece off for me, and he ran ahead of the animal who was growling viciously behind him at the grotesque curse. 

With the running start, he hopped on the sturdy, tall enough trash bin leaned against the wall before expertly flipping mid-air, landing a forceful kick against the curse’s oddly painted cheek. Of course, he didn’t expect the kick to do much other than distract it from the animal that was stealthily charging at it. So, it was expected when the thing grappled at his abdomen as if he was a mere rag doll and screeched its cursed wallow into his face. 

Between the aggressive tightening against his ribs, the stench that was now unbearable with such proximity, and the hot blood that began to drip slowly from his ears, Megumi felt as though all his senses were ablaze— violated. This was all part of the strategy though, so he couldn’t fight it off just yet. He’d allow the thing to keep its focus on him until Demon Dog retrieved what he was called for. Maybe it wasn’t the safest option he could have chosen to fight this thing, but Nobara’s resonance would certainly be the quickest way. That’s all he needed— to get out of here on time.

Through the undeniable pain ringing in his weeping ear drums, he thought he heard Nobara call out to him. The boy was too focused on not retching as bits of spit and what he presumed to be flesh hurled from the curse’s mouth and onto him. A growl sounded below him, and on cue, there was a grotesque squelching as Demon Dog tore off a chunk of— finger? Toe? Okay, an appendage off the thing. 

It dropped Megumi in an instant, the impact on the concrete floor pushing up the bile he had been holding in. Rolling over, he spilled the contents of his stomach at the creature’s now mangled feet. There was no time to waste gagging as his body was instinctually doing to rid itself of the rest of its waste. In one, quick and dizzying motion, he staggered up to his feet and retrieved the grimy body part from his dog’s awaiting mouth. With a quick hand to his now matted fur, he released the dog just before the curse could get its hands on him. 

“Kugisaki!” Megumi hollered, prompting the girl to slide out from her spot behind the wall, her hand already outstretched for the item the mangled boy was hurling her way. He wasn’t able to see if she caught it or not, because the peculiarly large hand that had been attempting to come down on his dog landed on him instead. The air whipped through his raven locks as his body was flung across the hall, and his back slammed forcefully against the unforgiving concrete wall. His head lolled to the side in a daze as he watched the curse bludgeon toward him once again. He had to move, he had to get up. The pain shooting through his ribs and back wouldn’t allow for any such movement though. 

Hazily, his hands came up to summon his rabbits— anything that would distract the damn thing until the air came back to his lungs and he could help Kugisaki. 

Please, he thought to himself— to any higher being that would listen— please just let me get out in time. For a moment, he thought about the unfairness of fate, how it had a way of ripping each moment of ease and tranquility from his grip mercilessly. He thought about how he’d never been selfish in his life, never asking for a thing that wasn’t for the betterment of someone else. God, please, just give me this one thing. His fingers trembled against one another. Let me make it to her, please. 

Before he could complete the motion, the red head’s piercing voice sliced through the moaning and squelching of the beast.

“Resonance!” 

The injured boy barely had enough time to shield his eyes from the pieces of flesh— if you could even call it that— that flew toward him, splattering the walls and floor around him. The pain in his abdomen radiated with each harsh rise and fall of his chest. The shrieking had ceased, and he allowed his hands to fall limply to his sides. 

“Is it gone?” Megumi called out hazily, slipping a bit as he rose up weakly to his feet. Kugisaki was hunched over with her hands on her knees, dry heaving due to the stench of the damned thing now spread across the entire hallway. 

“Jesus, it’s gonna take like twenty rinse and repeats to get that stench out of my hair.” She groaned indignantly before making her way over to the wavering boy. 

He could recall her telling him how busted up he appeared. Ijichi, who had been awaiting them outside the facility, anxiously called Shoko upon seeing the state of the boy stumbling out of the building. The ticking time on the car’s display taunted him as he stared at it with bleary eyes the entire drive back to the school. At one point, he even gritted out a demand for Ijichi to speed it up a little, but the supervisor assumed his pain was getting the best of him. 

Shoko was in the middle of placing a final stitch on the deep cut that had been made on his eyebrow. 

“Sit still, Fushiguro,” the healer muttered in frustration. His bouncing leg was making it increasingly difficult for her to do her job. She had already done what she could with the injury to his ribs, which were thankfully not fractured, but thoroughly bruised. “You’re almost done.”

As soon as her needle equipped fingers left his face, he was hopping off of the table to grab his discarded top. Urgent hands on his shoulder halted his movements. 

“Slow down!” Shoko scolded, softly dragging him back to place the small bandage over his fresh stitches. “You can’t run around like that so fast. They're not broken, but your ribs still need a chance to rest. And so do you. The painkillers haven’t kicked in yet either.”

“I have somewhere to be.” Megumi explained dryly, scowling irritably as she lifted his dirty shirt once again to inspect the bruising skin. The woman glanced knowingly up at him. She was the only other person, other than Nanami (who refused to partake in the gossip Gojo so desperately wanted to spill) that knew about Zumi. So, naturally, she had already received an earful from the man about the ‘blinding waves of young love’ that has been supposedly budding between the two. 

“I’m sure she’d prefer you in one piece as well.” She muttered under her breath before slipping the soiled, latex gloves from her hands. 

Now, Megumi knew his eardrums had taken more than a bit of a beating that night, but he was sure he heard exactly what she’d just uttered. His dark eyes shot up to her in shock, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze. How did Shoko know about Zumi as well? He thought it had just been him and Nanami. At least in the case of the blond sorcerer, there was a reason for his knowledge of the secret girl. Why did Shoko know? 

Pretending to busy herself with cleaning up the aftermath of his care, she quipped casually over her shoulder. 

“I thought you had somewhere to be, Fushiguro.”

The pain searing into his abdomen went ignored as Megumi raced to his dorm to scrub the remnants of the curse off of himself and change into clean clothes. He didn’t bother to dry his sopping hair before flying out the door. A soft groan slipped past his lips as he collapsed against the unforgiving seat of the train. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, and he wasn’t racing against the clock, the events of the night slammed him like a truck. Exhausted— he was exhausted, but he was almost there. 

Amidst his almost nap with his head leaned back against the hard seat, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He peaked one eye open to read the message before him. 

Gojo: hey kid, I’m gonna call Nanami to come. I heard you got your ass beat. Send pics! 🥳🥳🥳

His tired eyes widened at the message, and he quickly sat up to type up a quick, desperate response. 

         Megumi: I’m already on the way. 

         When he didn’t get a response, he sent another message. 

          Megumi: I’m five minutes away. I feel fine.

Maybe his ETA was a bit of an exaggeration, but he’d be damned if he had endured this hellish night for nothing. It ended up being twelve minutes later that Megumi finally made it to Gojo’s door, attempting to knock as firmly as he could on the door. 

“Woah,” The white haired man whistled as he glanced over the state of the boy before him. Though he was clearly trying to appear nonchalant, the slight hunch in his usually pristine posture, redness in his tired eyes, and rapid panting in his chest were all telltale signs that Megumi Fushiguro had seen better days. “Did it at least buy you dinner first?”

The boy huffed indignantly before pushing past his sensei. His eyes squinted shut as the impact of Gojo’s shoulder radiated down his chest and into his injured ribs. He fixed his face quickly, looking around the seemingly empty apartment. The door shut with a click behind him. 

“Did you see Shoko?” The blindfolded man questioned, though he already knew the answer. The woman had texted him about the boy’s state just twenty minutes prior. 

“Yeah. Like I said, I’m fine.” Megumi stated dryly as he turned back to look at Gojo. “Where’s Zumi?” The girl was usually waiting for him in the living room when he arrived, or at the very least she would bound out from her room upon hearing his arrival. 

The small smirk on Gojo’s face seemed to go unnoticed by the distracted boy. “She already fell asleep.” He informed. A very, very small part of him felt bad that his little prodigy rushed all the way over here in such a state, only to have not made it in time to see the object of his attraction. A much larger part of him though couldn’t have found the situation more amusing. He could swear he saw Megumi deflate just a hair. “Which you should probably be doing too. Take my bed if you want.” 

Fushiguro, dejected in every sense of the word, sighed with furrowed brows as he slumped down on the couch. He shook his head. 

“I’m fine.” He claimed for the third time that night. 

“Suit yourself.” Gojo shrugged, picking up his bag from beside the door. His covered eyes lingered on the shadow user for a tad longer than they normally would, as if assessing if he was really okay enough for him to leave. A small smile graced his lips. His pride would take him out before any injury could. “My room is open.” 

The reminder fell on deaf ears, because the boy was already slumped against the couch, his eyes drifting shut against his will. The soft click of the door stirred him. He looked around abruptly before settling against the plush cushions once again. His gaze drifted to Zumi’s bedroom door dejectedly. Would she wake up before Gojo got back? Would it be selfish of him to knock on her door, or inconspicuously knock something over out here so she’d wake up? He grumbled at his own selfish thoughts and instead opted to lay down across the heavenly soft sofa, a moan of relief slipping past his lips that he blamed on whatever medication Shoko had given him, he allowed himself to succumb to his exhaustion. 

It was dark outside when Zumi woke from her impromptu nap. The moonlight against her window settled across her room like a blanket, enveloping her in tranquility. The book, which she had been desperately rushing to finish before Megumi arrived, lay forgotten beside her with only a chapter or two remaining. With the recollection of her expected visitor, she sat up frantically in bed and scrambled for her phone. It was tangled within the sheets and fell to her carpeted floor with a soft thud at her frantic movements. Hopping down from the solace of her warm bed, she snatched the device up and checked the time. 

        2:38 AM

“What?” She muttered breathlessly, running a hand through her messy hair. With a haphazard glance in her mirror, she attempted to adjust the tank top across her frame so it didn’t appear so skimpy. After a minute of this, she opted to throw a crewneck on instead. Her fingers, which were still tingling with the remnants of sleep, rubbed aggressively at her tired, puffy eyes. 

Zumi grumbled a quiet fuck this before grabbing her discarded book (she was fully prepared to berate him for his depressing choice in literature again) and swinging the door of her room open, ignoring the onslaught of nerves that filled her at the thought of what was awaiting behind it. A soft sigh fell from her lips at the sight before her. 

The very boy she had been anticipating seeing all week had shown up after all, sprawled carelessly across the large sofa. Despite his clearly unconscious state, his brows were still set in their almost permanent furrow, as if perpetually displeased by the world. One arm hung loosely off the side of the couch, the other placed softly against his chest. The awkward position his neck was in was giving her a cramp just looking at it. Sparing one last glance at him, she placed the book silently against the arm of the couch before she retreated to her room to retrieve a pillow. 

Now as she stood, hovering over his comatose figure on the couch with a plush pillow clutched in her hands, she was unsure of her next move. If he woke up to her ministrations, would he be weirded out that she had placed her hands on him so casually in his sleep? Not wanting him to continue the remainder of his night sleep in such discomfort, she bit the bullet and kneeled down beside the couch. Her breath hitched as she carefully slid her finger under his head to angle it up and slide the pillow under. The soft, still damp locked of his raven hair felt like silk under the pads of her fingers, and she had to resist the urge to drag the digits down the nape of his neck. The pounding of her heart could be felt in her throat as she gently placed his head back down against the pillow. 

With bated breath, she watched as the furrow of his brow softened just a hair, and he sighed almost silently. A fond smile spread across her lips at the sight. Looking around the living room, she grabbed a fluffy, cream colored blanket from atop the ottoman and draped it across his sleeping form. As she assessed her handiwork, she noticed the new bandage that graced his brow bone. There was a small, barely noticeable patch of blood beginning to seep through it. She instinctively leaned forward to brush her fingers against it. Megumi hissed softly in his sleep, causing her to retract her hand quickly as if she’d just placed it into a blazing fire. That aggressive furrow was smacked right back onto his face, and he attempted to turn over on the couch. A sharp, guttural groan left him at this movement. 

“Megumi?” Zumi called out, now concerned as his forehead broke out into a cold sweat. His hand subconsciously clutched at his abdomen, and, without much thought, she peeled the freshly placed blanket back and lifted both the hoodie and tshirt that he had layered on. A sharp gasp shook her as her eyes fell upon the large expanse of blue-black, bruising skin that traversed up the right side of his ribs and across his back. The moment her frigid hand met the skin left hot by the bruise, he shot up like a corpse in a shitty, 80s zombie movie. 

Zumi shrieked as his hand shot out to clutch her wrist anxiously. He yanked her down in time with his tired eyes batting frantically open. Upon seeing the familiar, long white locks cascading around him and the timid, wide blue eyes, Megumi’s fight or flight slowly deactivated. Holding herself up with a hand on his chest to prevent her from embarrassingly falling straight on him, she stared incredulously down at him. His breathing was still evening out from the scare, and his Adam’s apple bobbed with a tight swallow.

“Zumi,” he murmured in an almost drunken haze, his navy eyes scanning her startled expression. Having been ripped out of REM sleep so abruptly, he barely had time to gather his thoughts. All he knew was that the girl he had been waiting all week to speak to was right before him, moonlight casting an ethereal glow over her soft features. There was only one thing he had rehearsed to say to her when he saw her again, so it spilled from his lips in spite of the ridiculous circumstances they were currently under. “Did— Did you like the book?” 

“You fucking idiot, what happened to you?” She angrily whispered, moving to push his shirt further up his chest to get a better look. He wanted to swat her hands away, tell her he was fine as he’d been repeating all night, but as her delicate touch trailed up his chest and shoulders, he couldn’t find the willpower in him. Instead, he leaned forward and allowed her to pull the layers over his head. A chill ran down his spine as she grazed over the portion of the bruising that extended toward his back. 

“Nothing’s broken.” He stated simply, staring down intently at his blanket covered lap as she inspected him from behind. His back arched uncomfortably as she unknowingly pressed too firmly on a particularly dark spot, and a hiss escaped him. 

“Sorry! I’m sorry, Megs.” She gasped. Placing a comforting hand on his shoulder she jumped up from the couch to rummage through the kitchen cabinets. Seemingly retrieving what she had been searching for, she plopped down behind him once again with her legs crossed. “Here, this might help. It’s a heating patch.”

There was a rustling of the wrapper that sounded unbearably loud in contrast to the silent apartment. After a moment, he felt a sticky cloth being placed against the more abused part of his back. She rubbed over the fabric softly as if she could make it work faster by pure will alone. It only took a moment for the chemical reaction to start, and flashes of heat began to penetrate his sore muscles. Unable to keep upright any longer, he fell back limply, his head falling haphazardly against her lap. To her surprise, he made no move to shift from the position. 

She hesitantly brought her hand down to brush the hairs away from where they stuck against the sweat on his forehead. Indulgently, she allowed the tips of her nails to graze softly against his scalp on its way back. 

Selfish— he was being so selfish, he thought as he leaned into her touch. Had he been more conscious, he would have been more embarrassed of the soft moan that fell from his lips at the feeling. Luckily, she didn’t mention it. Instead, a warm smile befell her at his boyish reaction, and it encouraged her to pick up her hand and repeat the motion, slower this time around so he could savor it. 

“Why didn’t you stay home, Megumi?” Zumi asked softly. His head’s soft push against her hand was the only indication she had that he was still awake. Fushiguro had never experienced a touch so delicate— so intimate— solely for his own pleasure. The soft scrapes of her fingernails against his scalp were setting him ablaze in ways that would likely scare her if she could take a glimpse into his mind. “Why did you come over here like this?”

“You were supposed to tell me what you thought about the book.” He mumbled mindlessly, growing sleepier against her soft touch. Still, he popped his eyes open to look up at her. “Did you hate it?”

Zumi laughed softly at his irrelevant concern and shook her head. 

“Well,” She began, a slight blush covering her cheeks as he stared expectantly at her. “I… didn’t finish it. I fell asleep.” 

Somehow in the midst of his countless injuries and unwavering exhaustion, he still managed to roll his eyes in a very Fushiguro fashion. 

“Finish it.” He demanded softly, his eyes fluttering shut once again as he adjusted the blanket over his bare chest. The warmth of the patch she’d placed on his back was helping ease the tension in his muscles, even if just a fraction. Between the sudden relief, and her absentminded hand threaded through his hair, Megumi could feel himself slipping away once again. “I’m gonna… close my eyes for a second.”

She waited until his breathing had evened out, which didn’t take long at all, before removing her hand from his hair to retrieve the book beside her. With his soft breaths beneath her, she fell back into the damned book that prompted more questions than it did answers, and raised more concerns than it comforted— much like the complicated boy sleeping soundly against her. 

This time around, it didn’t take her as long to finish the remaining two chapters of the book. In between paragraphs, she would anxiously glance down at him as if he was going to pop up and ask if she was done yet. But as she turned the last page, he was still sound asleep. Sighing softly, she placed the book down on the arm of the couch and settled against the cushion. Her fingers once again found themselves tucked into his soft locks of hair, and she too fell asleep. 

When she awoke again, it was due to a familiar moan of pain falling from Megumi’s lips. The sound made her shoot awake deliriously, taking in her surroundings with a start. The source of the offending noise was also stirring awake, likely from the pain shooting across his back. With her eyes barely open, her hands shot out to feel around for the heating patch, finding it had already lost its previous warmth. 

“I’ll get you another patch.” Zumi mumbled sleepily as she carefully stood up, allowing his head to fall back against the cushion. On her trek to the kitchen, she didn’t see how he staggered up from the couch to follow her. It wasn’t until she turned around, fresh patch in hand, that she was faced with the sight of him just inches away. The sudden appearance made her jump back in shock. 

Now that he wasn’t hidden under the covers, his chest was completely bare to her. What she hadn’t noticed before when she carelessly threw his clothes off of him was how toned Megumi was. Sure, she had suspected he was packing some punch under all those baggy clothes given the nature of his job, but Jesus. He wasn’t completely bulked by any means, but he was lean and defined all the way from his broad shoulders, to his slim waist, and tense arms. Daring to peer down farther, she was graced by the sight of his delicate yet firm abs. Her cheeks flushed as she followed the prominent veins of his abdomen as they cascaded down into the waistband of his black sweatpants. 

Fuck, did it suddenly get really hot in this apartment or is this heating patch radiating from the packaging? 

Quickly averting her gaze from the direction it had been unintentionally going down, she placed a hand on his firm shoulder to turn him around. Hopping up on the counter to have a better view, she carefully peeled the old patch off his skin. Glancing at the time on the microwave, she noted that three hours had already passed since they’d fallen asleep. 

Megumi turned back around once she finished smoothing the fresh patch onto his back. Truthfully, he already was feeling significantly better following the peaceful nap he had been able to take, but the warmth did feel nice against his bruised ribs. He hummed softly, moving to stand between her legs. The sudden boldness was unlike him. His movements were always calculated, almost over thought, but he assumed the opioid coursing through his blood wasn’t just calming his pain. 

“Did you finish the book like I told you to?” He questioned softly, unconsciously leaning in just a hair closer to her. 

She hummed in response, nodding so softly he wouldn’t have seen it had he not had such a laser focus on her at the moment. Zumi was worried that if she opened her mouth to speak, all that would come out was a squeak. 

“And?” He prompted.

“It was ass.” 

His head fell against her shoulder in defeat, a soft chuckle delicately shaking his shoulders. Zumi’s eyes widened just a hair at his uncharacteristic behavior. 

“Straight dog shit.” She laughed, aware of the way her heart was ready to beat out of her chest at his proximity. As her laughter died down, her eyes skimmed his abused back, and she reached a hand back to touch it softly. “So, are you gonna tell me what fucked you up so bad?” 

He was silent against her. So, she tried a different way. 

“Can you give me one?” Zumi asked quietly, almost uncharacteristically shy as her fingers trailed up his back and to his shoulder, unaware of the fire she was fanning within him. “One Megumi thought?”

It was slow— so slow how he lifted his head from her shoulder to stare into her eyes. She tried to swallow back her rapid, shallow breaths. In an instant, his hand came up to grip her cheeks in a motion she’d performed on him countless times now. His fingers were delicate but firm against her jaw as they squished at the fat of her face. There was a calculated gaze in his dark eyes, one that she’d be lying if she said didn’t intimidate her just a bit. 

“How about you give me one for once.” Megumi suggested lowly, searching her face for a moment. “Hm? One thought from the mind of Azumi.”

Her breath hitched as he leaned in impossibly closer, his other hand clenched in a fist and holding himself up on the counter beside her hip. There were so many thoughts running through Zumi’s head right now— none that she would dare say out loud to him though. She’d never been put in a position like this before, where something she wanted so badly was right there in front of her. All she would have to do was take it. She’d never felt anything like this before— this heat that was pooling in her stomach and threatening to burst out of her chest. She wanted him to swallow her whole. Still, he was expecting his answer. 

“Maybe you can start with the woman that comes to your house for appointments.” The sun was just beginning to peek up from the horizon, casting a low light on his harrowing face as he stared into her soul. How could she do it? Expect him to spill his heart out to her all the time when he knew virtually nothing about her. He wasn’t trying to pry the information out of her with malicious intent. No, he just wanted to know her, to understand her for a change instead of being constantly left in the dark. “Or maybe…” he mumbled, his eyes flickering up to the medicine cabinet above her before falling back on her wide eyes. “With the pills in your cabinet.”

She gasped softly, brows furrowing at his meticulous tearing down of her walls. Her lip trembled just a hair, and his eyes quickly fell to them. It was almost instinctual, her urge to smack him back and tell him she was fine. There were enough people in her life tiptoeing around her, afraid that she might break if they expose her to too much of the harsh world around her. Megumi couldn’t end up like Satoru— shielding her from his world and cocooning her in glass enclosing under the false pretenses of safety. 

“What does it matter to you, Fushiguro?” It was an attempt to sound firm, to protect her secrets from him, but it was a game he too was a master at. He saw right through it. His fingers flexed ever so slightly against her cheeks. 

“I just want to understand you. I don’t… I won’t see you any differently.” 

Her azul eyes searched him, as if assessing for danger, but found nothing but raw sincerity and curiosity. Would it be worth it for her to test the waters? To see how he’d take it? After all, he’d been the only one to take a chance on her, give her a chance at life and experiences. She wanted to hold onto that and hold onto him. 

“I was… raised in the shadow of my brother.” Zumi whispered, unsure of how far she was willing to take this story. He stayed silent, willing her to continue. “I was always told how my life would look like— what it didn’t have to look like because of him. He freed those in the clan from the obligations of upholding the name, but they’d been doing it their entire lives. Of course they were fine waiting on him the rest of their lives if it meant not having to concern themselves with the politics of it all or… put their lives on the line again.”

“But you wanted a choice.” Megumi assumed. Zumi nodded softly, her leg settling comfortably around the sides of his hips. 

“It’s privileged.” She automatically shut her own feelings down. “But I have lived my entire life as just Satoru’s achilles heel.” Tears threatened to spring from her eyes, making her turn her gaze down and away from him as best she could with her face still gripped between his fingers. “I don’t blame him— I never have. He’s just done the best he can all his life, but… even when he took me from the clan, he still saw me as just that—”

“His weak point.” He finished for her. His thumb reached up to swipe the stray tear that fell down her smushed up cheek. 

“I just couldn’t do it anymore— living with no idea of how my life would end up, if it’d even be worth—” She stopped herself. Maybe that’s where she should draw the line for now. Judging by his now tensed shoulders, Zumi assumed he had caught enough of what she was inferring. He didn’t need to know everything. “So yeah, Satoru’s gotten me some help. That’s… that’s what all that was.” 

The air around them was thick with the implications of her words. Megumi pondered on them silently. She didn’t know if it’d be worth… seeing how her life played out? He wanted to sit in her words, to absorb how she must have felt all these years— how lonely it must have been— how worthless she must have felt. There was no purpose in her life, no light at the end of the tunnel. He wanted to fault Gojo for it. He thought it would be easier to blame him for sheltering her away from her potential than to face the fact that the world they were apart of truly could be at risk because of her. Megumi wished he didn’t understand his sensei— but he did. 

Painfully aware of how she was staring apprehensively at him, trying to gauge his reaction to her dark words, he looked up at her. 

“So… do you think it was the pills or the mental health yoga that did it for you?” 

It was silent, and he feared she wouldn’t have found his dry attempt at a joke as amusing as he would. All he wanted was to prove to her that things didn’t have to change between them, that he wouldn’t subject her to the same treatment her brother had. It was quiet for a beat longer before her boisterous laughter filled the air around them. A breath of relief escaped him, and he found himself smiling along with her, the hand on her jaw pulling her that much closer. He wanted to see her smile up close, to feel the vibrations of her laughter against him. As his nose grazed her, he wondered briefly if he was treading on ice that was all too thin— because her laughter slowly died out. 

“Give me another one?” Megumi prompted, his voice just barely above a whisper. “Another Zumi thought?” 

She wished he’d release the grip he had on her just so she could think straight at all, but it had been there for damn near ten minutes now without any signs of dropping. His breath fanned against her cheeks shakily as she reached out to place a hand on his shoulder. It was meant to push him back just a bit, but she couldn’t— opting to grip onto the deliciously defined muscle of his arm instead. 

“I was thinking of how much it scared me to see you bruised up like that.” She whispered breathlessly, trailing her hand down to his chest— god she just couldn’t help herself. Her hand was small and cold against his hard chest, and for the second time that night, Megumi was struck by the intimacy of her touch. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before— someone wanting to explore him like this, to study and map him out. Leaning into her touch, a soft groan bubbled in the back of his throat. 

“Another one.” He gasped, the hand that had been idle on the counter reaching up to tentatively grip her waist, sliding up the fabric of her sweater oh so subtly. The shaky breath that escaped her nearly drove him insane, making the fingers that had found her waist squeeze down on the soft flesh.

“I’m thinking about how nervous you’re making me right now.” 

This made him pause, and the hand that was gripping his pectoral drifted down to the ridges of his abs. They were quivering under her fingertips. The sensitivity he had to her touch was making her mind reel, wondering what he’d do if she continued her timid exploration across his body. He quickly moved his hips away from her just an inch lest she feel the consequences her wandering hands were wreaking on him. 

So close now, she could see the flecks of near black in his navy eyes as they stared half-lidded at her. His fingers tightened once more on her cheeks before he leaned in to her, prepared for once in his life to take something just for himself. 

But outside the apartment door, they heard a bag fall to the ground— keys rustling. For the first time in what felt like ages, his hand fell from her face. Their gazes shot across each other's faces in panic. Megumi, in record timing for someone with severely bruised ribs, flew across the kitchen and hopped over the back of the couch. In one quick motion, he pulled his hoodie back over his head, yanking it down slightly to cover his groin and shoving his discarded tshirt under the couch. Zumi hopped down from the counter and opened the fridge, pretending to stare thoughtfully into it as the door creaked open. Honestly, she was hoping the cool air of the fridge would do anything to calm her burning cheeks. 

“You all are up early.” Satoru remarked as he locked the door behind him. Pulling out a carton of strawberry milk as to not look suspicious, Zumi felt brave enough to face her brother with a tired smile. 

“You’re back early.” She stated simply, shakily stabbing the straw into her milk. Though he still donned his typical, black blindfold, Zumi knew her brother well enough to tell he was squinting at her from behind his cover. A tiny, amused smile tugged at his lips.

“Ended up being a grade two, easy peasy.” The man waved off, pulling the covers from his eyes upon noticing the dim lighting in the apartment. He looked around for a moment, gaze landing on Megumi, who had since been silent on the couch, trying to calm his racing heart and think of anything else that would get his blood rushing anywhere else in his body. “Feeling better, Fushiguro?”

The boy simply nodded with a soft hum. 

“Just… staring at the wall?” Gojo pressed, noticing that the television was off. The pair mentally cursed at themselves for forgetting that detail. 

“I… I just woke up.” Megumi explained, staring off to watch the sun rising outside the balcony window. Gone was his previous, wonder struck and dumbfounded gaze, and in its place was his familiar, flatline expression. Zumi thought it was impressive, yet a little concerning how fast he was able to switch it up. 

“Right,” Satoru drawled, picking up his bag and making his way to his room. He’d likely only sleep a short two or three hours before waking up to get his day started once again. His sister never understood how he could function at such a rate. “Feel free to crash on the couch until you’re… feeling better.” With a subtle wink to his sister, who paled slightly at the gesture, the man retreated for the morning. 

It was comically timed, the way the pair’s gazes shot to meet each other as soon as the door shut. Their eyes both held a similar, unspoken understanding— Satoru was most definitely onto their asses.         

What they didn’t know though, was that the man in question had heard the tail end of their conversation as he was making his way up the hallway. So, maybe he dropped his bag a little too roughly on the ground and jingled his keys a little louder than necessary before entering the apartment that morning. He was a considerate brother, after all.

chapter seven.

[captainremmington-13]

A Lady Made of Snow

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own The Hunger Games franchise, the images above, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, or any of the characters in this fic other than Bellova. I also do not condone the beliefs or actions of Coriolanus or Bellova.

SUMMARY: Coriolanus hands Bellova over to Dr. Gaul, knowing that she is his only chance to regain control of her, and subsequently, his future.

⚠️Warnings⚠️: THIS IS A DARK CHAPTER. It contains violence, torture, verbal/physical abuse, mention of suicide, Coriolanus and Dr Gaul being evil, swearing

A/n: I’m s o sorry this took FOREVER to write, it took me a long time to figure out what direction I wanted to take the plot☹️

Coriolanus shivered, pulling his expensive trench coat tighter around his body. Dr. Gaul’s lab was always cold, and she refused to turn up the temperature, as she claimed it would compromise the well-being of many of her beloved mutts.

The doctor, his boss and mentor, walked into the small room, standing at his side. She looked down at the unconscious Capitol heiress in the middle of the room, and smiled brightly. 

“I daresay this is the prettiest lab rat I’ve ever worked on.”

Coriolanus nodded wordlessly. He had always had a hard time understanding how Dr. Gaul was able to treat humans like dolls without feeling remorse. Now, he was finally starting to get it.

Bellova laid on a metal table, dead to the world. She was completely nude, which would’ve flustered a younger, weaker Coriolanus. But in the present situation, he was much more concerned with what Dr. Gaul had in store for her. 

There were thick leather straps secured around Bellova’s ankles and wrists, preventing her from leaping off the table and trying to escape. Even if she somehow undid them, there were Peacekeepers right outside the laboratory door that would intercept her in a heartbeat.  

Dr. Gaul set her case of equipment on the stand next to the table. She opened it up swiftly, revealing a plethora of tools. There were several syringes with odd-colored liquids inside, sharp instruments that gleamed menacingly in the brilliant white light of the room, and a variety of unidentifiable objects (which Coriolanus assumed she’d invented herself). 

“What are you planning to do?” Coriolanus asked. 

Dr. Gaul gave him her signature crooked grin. “Pull up a chair, Mister Snow.”

Coriolanus did as he was told, moving a chair from the corner of the room to the side of the table. Once he sat down, Dr. Gaul spoke again.

“I am going to run a scan of her brain while she’s still unconscious. See what went wrong with the serum I gave you. Then, I will determine what the next course of action should be.”

“What do you suspect happened that reversed the serum’s effects?”

“Her sheer willpower,” the doctor replied. “Miss Reginelle has always been extraordinarily strong-willed, it is not completely surprising that her mind was able to fight against them and win.”

“Is there something that triggered it specifically?” 

Dr. Gaul pursed her lips. “I don’t have a clue. But perhaps with a little…persuasion, we can get her to tell us. That way, we can ensure that the same mistake is not made again.”

.

.

.

After a thorough physical inspection was conducted, Dr. Gaul determined it was time for Bellova to wake.

As Dr. Gaul pushed the needle that housed the serum that would bring her back to consciousness into her arm, Coriolanus found himself holding his breath. He paced back and forth, wringing his hands anxiously. He wasn’t sure why he was so afraid. She was completely helpless, strapped down and trapped in the laboratory, and yet she still seemed to pose a threat.

After a few moments of silence, Coriolanus saw Bellova’s eyes open slowly. The sharp gaze in her pupils immediately told him she was still her true self. That wouldn’t last for long, thankfully. 

Bellova squirmed, tugging at the leather straps. She looked frightened, even more so than when Coriolanus had wrapped his hands around her neck.

“Where am I?” she croaked.

Dr. Gaul cackled quietly, the harsh noise echoing slightly throughout the room. “Oh, little bunny, you’re in my lab. You’ve been here so many times, you must recognize it.” The condescending lilt in her voice made Bellova’s pale face flush pink. “Or perhaps your mind is too frazzled to think properly.”

“I can think just fine, thank you,” Bellova hissed. “And don’t call me bunny. Now untie me, or I’ll make you wish you were never born, you sick, decrepit bitch.”

Coriolanus stifled a laugh. The fact that Bellova still possessed the courage to hurl insults while completely vulnerable was truly astounding.

Dr. Gaul just smiled wider. “Oh, but what’s the fun in letting you get away? Mister Snow and I are going to help you, make you a much better version of yourself. Isn’t that what you want?”

“No-“

“Too fucking bad,” Coriolanus interrupted her, casting her a cruel smile. “You don’t have a choice in the matter.”

Bellova’s body tensed as she tugged on her restraints, clearly wishing she could hit him. This only amused Coriolanus further.

Dr. Gaul leaned down, her lips inches away from Bellova’s right ear. “If you don’t stop struggling, I’m going to slit your pretty little throat and cut up your flesh to feed to my babies.”

Bellova shuddered, and squeezed her eyes shut. She was clearly trying her hardest not to cry. 

“I don’t care if you kill me,” she whispered. “A brutal death is better than a lifetime of domestication.”

Dr. Gaul looked at Coriolanus. The gleam in her eye told him that she had an idea. 

And knowing her, it was bound to be a gruesome one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As soon as Coriolanus stepped out of the elevator and onto the floor Dr. Gaul’s lab was located on, he was able to hear the screams. 

He winced, and gripped the strap of his satchel tighter as he strode down the hallway. He’d started to get used to the ear-splitting sounds, but that didn’t make them any more pleasant.

When he entered the laboratory, he hung his bag on a hook on the wall and headed towards the isolated experiment rooms. Dr. Gaul had set aside most of her other projects and left them to her assistants and the other Gamemakers. 

She was hellbent on breaking Bellova past repair. 

“How is it coming along this morning, Dr. Gaul?” Coriolanus asked as he swept into Bellova’s room cell. His mentor looked up from her work, and gave him a knowing grin. 

“Our little bunny seems to be just as stubborn as the first day we began playing with her.” 

He sighed, walking over to where Bellova laid. She looked awful. Her hair was matted, the whites of her eyes were bloodshot, and she was clearly malnourished. She was shaking, undoubtedly from pain and exhaustion.

After all, Dr. Gaul had been literally poking and prodding at her for almost four days straight. 

“When are you going to just give in?” Coriolanus asked, his tone dripping with venom.

“Fuck you,” she spat, crying out a moment after. Dr. Gaul had pressed a device that delivered an electric shock throughout her body to her neck, making her convulse and twitch. 

“Mind your manners, little girl,” she snarled. “Or I’ll increase the pain tenfold.” 

Bellova closed her eyes again, as if trying to disassociate to escape her reality. 

Dr. Gaul walked around the table to stand at Coriolanus’s side. 

“She’s not going to give in,” she murmured. “She keeps saying that she’d much rather die. There’s a high risk she’ll try to commit suicide. Her death would cause commotion within the Capitol’s elite, and I can’t have such disorder disrupting the peace we’ve worked so hard to instill.”

Coriolanus exhaled sharply. “So what do we do? Pretend she’s a rebel and turn her into an Avox?”

Dr. Gaul shook her head. “That would make you look extremely suspicious. You would also be seen as a threat to the Capitol. No, the only option we have is to create a new version of the serum. One that will take a stronger hold on her brain and make her truly, completely compliant. And you will never have to worry about any…unsavory behavior from her again.”

Coriolanus nodded. “I think it may be wise to keep a syringe with me at all times. That way, if something does occur, I can quickly take back control.”

The doctor gave him an approving pat on the shoulder. 

“You’re thinking more and more like a true Gamemaker every day, Mister Snow. Perhaps I’ll meet with the others soon and discuss having you join us officially.” 

Coriolanus smiled to himself, glancing once more at Bellova’s defeated form. 

Snow lands on top indeed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A week later, Dr. Gaul called the Snow penthouse, requesting for Coriolanus to head to the Citadel immediately. It was nearly midnight, so the doctor had to call almost three times before a groggy Tigris answered.

As he pulled open the laboratory doors, his heart pounded annoyingly fast. What if something had gone horribly wrong? What if Bellova had finally succumb to the torture, and her death would be the end of his climb to glory?

“Come in quickly, Mister Snow,” Dr. Gauls voice sounded. Coriolanus did what he was told, hurrying to Bellova’s room, trying to hide the panic that was threatening to overwhelm him.

When he threw open the door, he stopped dead in his tracks. 

Bellova no longer looked like a corpse. In Coriolanus’s opinion, she looked absolutely perfect.

Her hair has been washed and brushed, ridding it if the mats and tangles it had acquired in the past several days. Someone had clearly styled it, as her naturally straight hair now fell in mesmerizing curls across her back and shoulders. A makeup artist had covered her bruises and various scars, giving her skin a glass-like finish. Her body was covered with a light pink dress adorned with lace and cutesy bows, which contrasted her original personality so much that it was comical. A pair of white socks covered her feet, which matched perfectly with the dainty heels she wore.  

Coriolanus thought back to when Tigris was a young girl, and played with porcelain dolls. They had been a gift from her mother, and she treasured them more than anything. That is, until they were lost during the war. Coriolanus vividly remembered the single picture Tigris still had of her dolls, which she had kept on the wall of her room for years. Their perfect but lifeless figures were nice to stare at, but lacked character and depth.

It was almost eerie how much Bellova resembled them.

“What did you do to her?” Coriolanus blurted out, cringing internally at how unprofessional it had sounded.

Dr. Gaul smiled proudly. “I fixed her, of course. She put up quite a fight, though. Wouldn’t stop screaming and kicking until I had sedated her. Then, I did some minor brain surgery to remove any trace of the old serum before injecting the new one. This one should be completely devoid of flaws.”

He glanced at Bellova, who was still out cold on the experiment table. “So…has she lost her memory again?” 

The doctor sighed. “I hope so. But there is no true way to tell until she is awake.”

Coriolanus felt his patience start to deteriorate at an alarming rate, and grit his teeth to prevent himself from loosing his temper. “Please wake her up now, then.”

Dr. Gaul raised an eyebrow, and he could tell that she was inquisitive of his desperate tone. He didn’t understand why. Didn’t she know how important this was to him? If Bellova wasn’t truly fixed, he would have to spend even more of his time and energy protecting his reputation against the damming information stored somewhere in her mind.

But if Dr. Gaul was truly confused about his urgency, she didn’t vocalize it. Instead, she grabbed a terrifying-looking device that somewhat resembled a gun and pressed it to Bellova’s temple.

As soon as she pressed a red button, the device sent a shock through the unconscious girl’s body, causing her to jolt awake. Her grey pupils darted around fearfully, and she let out a pitiful whine of distress. 

Both the mentor and the apprentice held their breaths, anxiously anticipating Bellova’s first words.

Bellova’s lips, which has been painted over with a shiny cosmetic gloss, trembled ever-so slightly. She made eye contact with Coriolanus, and he swore he could feel his heart leap into his throat. Not in the romantic sense, of course. It was simply the thrill of being in control. 

“Coryo,” Bellova whispered, reaching out to him.

Coriolanus slowly walked towards her, taking one of her hands cautiously. Despite her innocent appearance, he didn’t trust her just her. 

After all, she’d tried to kill him mere days ago.

Bellova’s eyes swarmed with large tears, gripping his hand tightly. “I’m so confused, w-what’s going on? Why am I not at home? Am I sick?”

Coriolanus barely held back a groan of frustration. He’d have to lie on the spot, again. It was hard enough the first time, and he would have to alter the facts now that the initial lie was no longer completely relevant.

But before he could start weaving the web of deceit around Bellova’s fragile mind, Dr. Gaul spoke up.

“Silly girl, don’t be worried. You’re just having your routine checkup.”

Bellova’s brows furrowed. “Checkup?”

“Yes, my dear. I have to poke around your brain every once and awhile to make sure you’re alright.”

“Oh,” she replied simply. She turned to Coriolanus once more, her expression one of utter helplessness. “But…why am I so…Coryo, I don’t understand. I don’t understand myself, or anything or…”

Coriolanus met Dr. Gaul’s piercing gaze. Her expression was blank, but it told him everything she needed to know.

He was so close to winning the game he’d played with Bellova since they were children that he could practically taste it.

All it would take to secure his eternal victory was a handful of well-chosen words.

𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈𝐈

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊❆ ‧

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Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think in the comments! Again, I deeply apologize for the long wait for this chapter, I promise the next installment will come out much faster🖤

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