#dick and his vanishing pov

[hoseoksluna]

A CELEBRATION OF 2K FOLLOWERS — PLEASANT, GOOD AND MERCIFUL | jjk

pairing: non-idol!boyfriend!jungkook x f. reader 

genre: smut, angst, fluff — the whole package

word count: 8.9k

summary: jungkook wanted to make the night better for you—but what he didn't expect is that he would come across his true, unabashed self while doing so.

taglist: join | cp: wattpad, ao3

warnings: jungkook, physical violence, jungkook is wearing that mesh top and that exact outfit (god, help me) and he's horny (god, help me again), abandonment issues, dissociation, panic mode, fear, swear words, dom/sub dynamics, protected sex, oral sex (f. & m. receiving), deepthroat:), teasing, pda, jungkook smokes and jungkook uses his busan accent (you have been warned), religion, praying, anxiety, hyper-independence, trust issues, begging, a little bit of a praise kink — barely, cowgirl:).

note: because we hit 2k incredible followers, i prepared this for you, my babies. a full fucking package of drama, smut, angst and fluff—all from jungkook's own pov!!!!! this is all for you bc i love you sm. thank you, guys, so much for being here with me, sticking around and reading my stupid fics. enjoy this one shot and let me know what you think. i'm sending you so many kisses until you get sick of me. seriously. i won't stop. i love you. MWAHMWAHMWAHMWAHMHWA.

It is a lucid dream, really, the way the lustrous colors of the fireworks bloom across the charcoal sky. They intertwine with the darkened clouds, like vines of wild flowers, that try and fail to remain hidden and Jungkook thinks you burst with even richer, emotive colors. 

With your kaleidoscopic glitter on the high points of your cheeks, and the tiny stars that you stuck on each arch of your brow. 

He can feel the vibration of the deep bass, belonging to the music, coursing down your chest as he stands behind you, drifting his hands down the upper half of your body while the rest of the strangers are hypnotized by the rapper on stage that he has very little knowledge of. The reason why he paid for the tickets, pumped a full tank of gas, drove you all the way to the countryside outside of the normality of your daily life and never let go of your hand—despite the fact they grew uncomfortably clammy due to the stifling heat—was because you loved the man. The vulgar headliner, whose lyrics nearly made his eyes fall out of his sockets once he fully and consciously listened to the songs that you always sing when you do your makeup or hum at random times when you’re doing your own thing. 

And what’s worse, it made his dick hard when he heard you scream out the swear words and the filthy imagery painted in the vivaciousness of the songs.

You, who scarcely cursed. 

Who omitted the vulgarity when rapping along. 

He doesn’t think he ever caught those words coming out of your mouth. Not even when he was balls-deep in you. 

Multiple times. 

It had only been four months ago when he found you and his long silent heart gained your voice. It was the sweetest, most languid sound that ever graced his ears and in an instant, you became a fleshly sanctuary of serenity. One he would find himself needing more often than he liked because the truth is—Jungkook doesn’t date. 

He considers relationships an unnecessary house of pain. If he spends a long time there, he forgets what the outside world looks like. Forgets how to get home. Forgets the roads and the rules and moralities of life and society because, deep down, he lets go of himself for the girl. 

He would kill a soul if she found herself needing it. Or at least destroy one so she would have a peace of mind. 

Break hands and break noses of people who looked at her wrong. 

That’s who he is and as much as he tried to change it, he failed every time. Failed like the clouds up above. His effort to stay hidden from you vanished into thin air because you would invariably find him and his heart would start praying with your voice. The pathetic thing would beg for mercy from the world. His knees would wobble and he’d let them sink right in front of you—all because of your deeply inert calmness and briskness that would, strangely, pour the nectar of mollification over his bloodstream. 

And he gave in to you because you didn’t ask, nor expect, anything from him. 

You didn’t do what the others did. 

You were independent and so full of life, of a different world, one he wanted to take a peek inside. 

And what he didn’t predict was that the road would be molded for his feet. And once he kissed you and learned the ins and outs of your intellect and the chambers of your heart, he still remembered the streets that line the outside world—its names, even. He remembered the address of his own apartment building, the number to his door and to the pass code. 

And so did you. 

You didn’t ask him to kill for you. And you didn’t ask him for tickets to see your favorite artists. 

He did it because he unreservedly loved you. 

And here you are, giggling, rubbing your little ass up against his groin and he detects happiness prickling his nerve endings. His hands are enveloped, snugly, as if no one was around and the artists traveled across the country for you, around your waist while your hands are up in the air, pointed fingers erect, dipping up and down to the rhythm of the music. 

And what he could never predict, not even in a million years—he’s enjoying himself. Feels the traces of the same vibrations ricocheting off your back into his chest, where the song enlivens him. 

He’s enjoying himself because you are enjoying yourself, brimming with elation and the radiance of your smile as you laugh, dance and scream out curse words that he’s equally enjoying hearing. 

Jungkook makes a mental note to pull those sounds out of you later in the early hours. 

And then you turn around, surprising him. You cup the side of his neck while you point that index finger in his face, screaming out the lyrics. And Jungkook regards it so overwhelming that he can only stare. Doesn’t know the lyrics to scream them back at you and make your experience better, but he’s learning them as he’s consuming them from you, his eyes tracing over each movement of your mouth that engraves them in his brain. He feels your hips moving under his palm at the bottom of your spine and when you roll your body forward, colliding into his like a star that meets its lover once only to never see it again, and brush your lips against his—he’s so horny and so in love with you that his eyes wet, his emotions rushing in and clouding his sight. 

The background fades out, fully, into the charcoal of the night, the colored lights softening and it’s just you that is the distribution of incandescence for the people present—and for him. And then you go down, dragging your hands down his stomach and his thighs, only to spring right up, grab his hips and make that collision happen—against the laws of the universe. 

A different star. A special one. 

Out of his darkened peripheral view, he can sense the audience having a way better time than they did before you turned around to face him. But Jungkook doesn’t give a fuck. 

Not when his cock is so tight in his pants. 

Thankfully, you’re obscuring it with the shape of your delightful body. He thinks he’s going to run with you to his car, pump more adrenaline into your body, so you can refresh the drowsy grass with a pristine layer of dew through the sound of your laughter. He also wonders if you’re wet yourself underneath that gray dress of yours and just as he’s about to lean over and yell that question into your ear, you turn around and get ready for the next song. 

And catch the glance of some guy to your right as you do. Jungkook grits his jaw because you linger for a second longer that he doesn’t particularly like.

A certain fever poisons his veins, but at the same time he feels the pinpricks of a cold sweat at the top of his spine. Who the fuck does he think he is, staring at his girl like that? 

But when he follows that line of the half broken gaze, he finds the guy’s slender face scrunched up in disgust. 

Oh, Jungkook might be ready to throw some hands and get him kicked out of this place, tell the cops it was all him so you can continue enjoying yourself in his arms. He’s seen some people sticking their tongues down their partner’s throat and he’s giving you a dirty look for dancing? 

This can easily be his very last night alive. 

Instinctively, Jungkook bunches up his fists and he’s ready to go after him, but you scream out and emit out your excitement, taking a deep breath to go absolutely mad as the rapper begins to perform the song that he’s heard you jamming out to the most. You take his hands, beaming at him from behind, and uncurl them on your tummy. Your glance was too brief and there’s still a furrow to his brows and now he worries you think he’s being a buzzkill. He doesn’t want to ruin the night for you, so he draws in closer to the crook of your neck and begins to dance, softly, with you. Your hands intertwine with his and you bang them in the air, jumping up and down at the bridge of the song that the headliner hypes up. 

And then you’re singing in a different language and he’s done for, his heart tightening in his chest. The one he’s heard your mother talk in over the phone while you replied in English. Jungkook squeezes you so hard and you let him, your smile growing. Your voice is more throatier and low-pitched and Jungkook senses your foreignness swathing his cock and he knows there’s a bigger tent in his pants. He presses it against you, makes you feel it and you throw your delicious ass. 

His eyes nearly go cross-eyed as he rolls them back, tilting his head. The wind sweeps across the sweat of his exposed forehead, sifting through his hair and he can’t wait any longer. Desire has overpowered the poison in his veins in such a mighty way and he begins to stand in the middle of a crossroad. 

Wait forty five minutes until the rapper finishes the show and then get stuck in the crowd as everyone tries to leave at once. 

Or wait two more minutes and then bolt to the car to fuck your brains out. There’s a higher chance you and him won’t be caught sinning in the backseat. It’s midnight and the villagers are asleep. And in the forty minutes, while everyone enjoys the last show, he can make you come so many times and ascertain that your experience will be heightened and ultimately better. 

He’s also sure you’ll be able to hear him—if he leaves the window open a little bit. 

He’s ready to turn you around, the decision throbbing in his sternum, but you make the move first. Swiveling on your feet, your body faces him, though your head doesn’t. Once again, he follows your gaze. You scowl at the guy, your brows knitting and your glossy mouth rounding before moving into the shape of the lyrics. You throw a dirty look his way one last time and Jungkook laughs in pride, his heart constricting in the love he bears for you, and he pulls you in, disposed to kiss you. You wrap your arms around his neck and open your mouth just as he kisses you—and it’s you who darts out their tongue, rolling it against his. Jungkook squeezes your bum, slapping it gently—and it’s simultaneous the way you and him both peek at the guy’s reaction. 

The fucker is grinning. 

You give him a vulgar gesture, the moonless blue light enveloping around your middle finger. 

Jungkook laughs so hard that heads turn in his direction and he’s fucking delighted. You devour it with your mouth, sucking his lips so intensely that he stops breathing. He senses you sealing it in him and he can’t wait any longer. 

He needs you and he tells you. 

Breaking the lip lock, he peppers kisses on the sensitive spot behind your ear, wafting his hot breath there. He feels the gooseflesh on your arm right upon his ear, too, and electricity courses down his stomach. Fuck, he loves it so much. Thinks you’re so incredible and he wants to fuck that fact into your guts. 

“Let’s get out of here. I want you,” he rasps, drifting his hand up your bum to the ends of your hair, bunching them in his fist. “I want to give you this dick. You deserve it.” 

You suck in a harsh breath and withdraw to look at him. He bites his lip at the way his words painted a palette of such flushed beauty on your face, using colors this festival has never fucking seen. And his mouth ends rise in a prideful smile, not for his ability, but for your body. For the way it’s able to react to him so wonderfully. 

And he blushes when you begin to mouth the lyrics again while dipping to the seat of the amphitheater and sliding his blazer over his shoulders. 

He knows why you did that. 

And you validate his knowledge when you take his hand and lead him away from the concert, keeping close to him just to be cautious. 

You did it to camouflage the evidence of his arousal for you. 

And when you walk by the guy, you let go of his hand. Throw both middle fingers in his face. “You wish you had someone to leave with, huh?” 

The fucker puts his dirty hand on you, stopping you from walking away, and Jungkook doesn’t fucking hesitate. Like a bolt of lightning, he grabs his collar and fumes in his face. 

“What makes you fucking think you can touch my girl, huh? Juk go sip na?” he snarls, shaking him, his Busan dialect impulsively spilling out, darkening his voice and the latter question—‘Do you want to die?’ He watches a tendril of challenge line his eyes with murkiness and what happens next is too fast. 

Too fast for his liking. 

Knuckles collide with his cheek and at the rapid, unexpected and jarring contact, his lip ring cuts his gums. Jungkook grunts at the twinge that overpowers the throbbing on the side of his face, metal percolating through the aftertaste in his mouth, but he doesn’t let go of the guy’s shirt. In fact, he tightens his hold. Seethes. Is about to push him off and leave before things get even uglier, but then he feels your hands on his back and his heart stops, your voice mute, despite the fact your whole face twists in fear and is smeared with harrowing emotions that he’s never seen on you. Shrinks at the sight of your wet, bulging eyes. Of one singular tear grazing your lower lashes in a caress before plopping onto the wildflower meadow of the glitter on your cheek. 

“Get back,” he tells you, despite the swelling of his own emotions at your state of mind. But you don’t comply in time, unclench your fist and step back because far too soon, in the middle of the distraction, another collision bursts in this impenetrable darkness. 

Falling into you or falling for you even deeper, he can’t tell the difference within the numbing pain and his temper coaxes his exceedingly too easy tears to blur his vision. You don’t topple back on your hands, for Jungkook catches you in time with a strength that you somehow help him remember that he possesses. From the force of the guy’s jab, he was only pushed into you, but it doesn’t diminish the grave mistake he made. 

One he will pay for. 

Straightening you, Jungkook guides you towards the edge of the amphitheater and you step back, at last, startled. Turning around, he swings his fist into the guy’s face and he whimpers like a little bitch. 

One hit for your dignity. 

A second one for your tears. 

And the guy would’ve received a third and a fourth one had he not been held back by different pairs of arms all of a sudden. But he shakes them off. Pushes the guy back to his seat. He lands awkwardly on his tailbone with a hard thud and moans in pain. Suits him right for thinking he’s allowed to touch you, make you cry and remain unharmed. 

Jungkook shakes his head, his chest rising with heavy breaths and numbing, adrenaline-infused fury. “Sit here and keep your fucking hands to yourself, gaesaekki. Who the fuck do you think you are, making my girl cry by hitting me?” 

The music cuts out and the rapper hollers. Jungkook turns around and finds all of the attention of the audience and the headliner on him. Doesn’t want to put you on the spot like that, so he rolls his eyes in annoyance, finds your rounded ones and tips his chin further towards the exit, signaling to you to walk that way, so no one gets to look at you. You’re still standing by the edge of the amphitheater with your tear-stained cheeks and his heart aches, though once he sees that you’re covered by the shadows, he lifts a palm towards the stage and strides off, placing a hand on the small of your back and leading you towards the grassy hill. 

People are fucking testing him and he’s not in the mood. Not in the slightest. 

He’d go with his original plan—take your hand and run with you to his car, but he needs to cool off. His anger is sapping all the delight he gained from your microcosm of joy and he doesn’t want to ruin the night more than he already has. Jungkook curls an arm around your neck, tugging you flush to his side as you strut together with no one around. Lifts your chin so he can inspect how you’re feeling on your face. 

Your cheeks are glimmering, damply, carmine in the yellow light, accompanied by the faint burn of the stars up above, but your eyes have lost their great spark and you’re no longer beaming. They trace over his deadened cheek and mouth and you whimper, stopping dead in your tracks and burying your face in his chest. You wrap your arms around his middle, a hand stroking his back—and Jungkook feels himself drifting to a state of coma. The rapper’s lines decline the harder you nuzzle your face in his mesh-clad pecs and he can’t move his own hands, can’t hug you back, his panic cascading down his sternum, which he senses your warm weight upon. A ringing noise fills his ears, but he can’t wilt. He has to put you first and make things right. 

But his body doesn’t listen. 

He wills strength into his muscles, lifting his head towards the unmerciful heavens and letting your voice sound out his prayer. You evidently need physical support and emotional reassurement and he can’t give that to you out of his own weakened will. Not when he needs it so despairingly and eminently because he’s hollowed out on the inside. Not when he can’t hear a damn thing owing to the ringing in his ears. 

He can’t ask you for help, so he lets you pray through his heart to his father’s God. 

But nothing happens.

Radio silence. 

White noise. 

A feeble, miniature whine loosens from him. He’s not sure if you heard it and he hopes you didn’t, and for that sole reason—he does the unthinkable. 

He begins to pray with his own voice. 

Because there’s nothing else to do. 

Give me strength. To be there for her and not mess this up more than I already have. Fix me for her and help me make this night better for her. 

The tiniest of lights against your face unbolts ajar in him, vines of the flowers of mitigation blooming from that sliver of open space—right into his arms that abruptly lift and wrap around your shoulders, pulling you as close as humanly possible. 

The ringing lessens. 

And then his lips move. 

He kisses your forehead, dwelling there for a moment, basking in the fact that his prayer worked, and mentally, he ejects the trepidation and agitation away and out of his system, though the fear loiters in his ribcage. The fear that the mistake he made is unfixable. And there’s no thrumming of the bass to distract it. 

What’s worse, his lower regions still ask for a release. He might not be as hard as he was, but the pressure of an ungratified arousal still palpitates in his groin. The unlit disorder of his feelings encourages the blood to pump his cock erect, slowly, and his breath quivers—as well as his body. 

The shakes are back. He knows them, intimately, from his past relationships. Feels the long-gone ghost of abandonment catching up to him—and he fears, terribly, that you’ve somehow learned its ways and you’re about to use them on him because of the way he ruined your night. Cover him from head to toe until his mind numbs and he forgets, foolishly, the direction to his home. 

To solitude. 

He lets go of you and nudges you towards his car. Lets you walk the rest of the short way. But he notices that your forehead, the place he poured his frail love upon, is smudged with blots of blood, the little stars on the arches of your brows crooked and devalued. He’s barely able to get out a cigarette out of his pack and place it in the center of his parted lips, his heart cracking and turning painfully. Though, somehow he does it—he gnites it to life, takes a big drag and hides his hands behind his back. Hides his shakes away from you. Because it’s easier to ruin yourself than it is to give. 

You don’t know about them. And in the four months he’s been dating you, he didn’t have a reason to tell you about them. Thought they were lost for all eternity, the tables turned—them forgetting about him. 

But now he realizes how naive he was. Begs his shoulder to stop trembling from the impact of his deeply-embossed issues. Wishes they were as beautiful as you when you gaze back at him with the weight of your love and he feels it, swiveling to lean against the side of his car. 

It’s a life jacket that straps him down. Abates his shakes. And he’s able to take another drag, pursing his lips in a small ‘O’ when he exhales the smoke, so it doesn’t get near you. 

Your hands are behind your back, too. They support your tailbone against the solidness of the vehicle. It reminds him that he’s glad he hurt the guy, but now he wishes that you weren’t such a delicious brat because he could’ve made you happier and pinker with the amount of orgasms he would’ve given you. Would’ve driven you home and washed you clean. Would’ve made you a late night snack to bed and held you while you replayed the songs in your head. 

Nevertheless, it’s him who needs to be held. 

Foolish, his sensitivity. Another thing you don’t know about. And he’s not too sure, at this very moment, if he’s able to let you in this closely. Let you hold him and stop, ultimately, his shakes. The fear of possibly letting that happen, only to get left behind after, paralyzes him on the spot and even though he can’t breathe, he still manages to flick the ash off his cigarette and puff on it, desperately. Needs the smoke to hold him down, mollify the raging disorder in him—the macrocosm that is too gritty and stony for your delicate feet. 

He allows a full, audible sigh to leave him and he hangs his head, but he shouldn’t have done that. 

Because he divulged to you how fucked up he is. 

You lift a hand to him. “Come here, Oppa.” 

But he can’t. He can’t get close. His legs are numb and the thick-soled boots his feet are shod in are too heavy. His fear keeps them planted that safe distance apart. And Jungkook plays it cool. Licks his lips, lifts his head and sucks on his cigarette. Feels something dripping down his jaw and he wipes his hand on the bone. His cheeks hollow out and the smoke gets in his eyes, stinging them, blurring the spots of blood on his fingers

A different type of wetness coats them now. 

“You wanna go home?” he asks, then cringes at his stupid words. The smoke makes zig zag patterns in the air as his hands shake harder. And then the breath he takes is too difficult. His chin wobbles, the tears rush in and he can’t stop it. “They’re still—” A soft sigh, a whimper. His breathing speeds up because it seems as though his lungs ask for too much air and he can’t inhale enough of it. The tears threaten to pour out and crown his fear. Ruin his life. But he keeps going as if nothing is happening. “Making hot dogs in that food stand over there. The night’s not over.”

And then he’s sobbing, sinking to his knees as his legs give out under all that weight of his issues compressing him. The cigarette burns on the concrete, as abandoned as he soon will be. And his hands feel the rough material of his jeans, needing something to bring him back to a painless reality. He’s tasting blood and the fumes of the smoke and then he sees your sneakers in front of his knees, the pink Calvin Klein shoes that he bought you last week, and he sits back, feels his head being lifted, feels himself being pushed to a point of absolute submission. 

And that’s not something he’s able to stop either. 

You sit down on his thighs, sinking your fingers behind his ears and into his hair, forcing him to look at you and he has to blink multiple times in order for his sight to clear up. Sees, while he whimpers pathetically, his bloodstained, fearful girl seeing him. The real him. The flawed, broken him. 

“Gguk, Ggukie, what’s happening? Talk to me, baby, please.” 

He only sobs. Can’t get a word out. Because you’re here and you’re going to leave him—now that you’ve seen that he’s not a half of the man you pertain him to be. That he’s weak, pathetic and emotional. That he has problems that he doesn’t like to talk about. Unresolved issues that will affect you and guide you out of his life. 

You press him to your neck, holding him to you, and you shush him, gently, rocking him from side to side. Run your wet hand up his hair on the back of his head while the other one rubs large circles on his back. The light opens wider in him—and as he listens to the lullaby of your voice, it distracts him from the fear. It stills the ringing in his ears and blesses his arms with strength that he uses, without thinking, to wrap around you. 

Something lukewarm plops onto the side of his aching cheek as he, little by little, calms down, and he realizes it’s your precious tears. The salt to his wound. 

You’ve cried too much when you should’ve been laughing so hard that you’d be sick from it. 

“What happened? Tell me.” 

Your hand caresses his bad cheek, careful around the bump that your feather-light touch traces, and it’s how he finds out it’s even there. He finds out his bleeding is from his mouth because you wipe at it and clean your fingers on your dress. And then you’re back to stroking his hair, your long fingernails scratching, tenderly, his scalp, spreading alleviation down his body. 

You’re patient and gentle, tolerant and kind, despite the fact you deserve an explanation and he’s unable to give it to you. 

It’s what makes his rationality snap back to normalcy and he tugs your dress down, withdrawing from you and helping you stand to your feet. He’s here to make your night better, not unleash his problems at you. He takes your purse dangling from your hand, replacing it with his palm, and hauls you towards his car. 

But you stay put and he bounces back to you as if he were on a leash. 

And maybe he is—because you stayed at the horrendous scene of his worst. Bound to you in a way that he’s too drowsy to comprehend. Even his fear is tired, scurrying away to some shadowed corner of his soul, instead of attacking him and remaking the scene. 

“Give me my purse back and let me buy you that hot dog,” you say, with a hint of a remarkable harshness that makes him submit to you on a higher level. Something positive that he can’t pinpoint breezes through his clavicles and he wipes his knuckles across his eyes, shyness encasing him like steel—like a shield, giving him the hope that maybe, just maybe, he can overcome this with you. 

You didn’t leave. You didn’t disappear. You didn’t wrinkle your nose. 

You held him. Cleaned the blood off his mouth. Put him, somehow, back together like a puzzle piece. Knew how to do it without needing to look at the full picture. 

He hands you the chain strap of your purse—and it’s more of a symbol of his submission to you. Of the acquiescence and the meekness that you seeped into his pores by your touch. And, oddly, he feels whole. 

His walls are broken down, but he feels whole. Confident, soft, and manly. 

Because he has you and you’re here to take care of him. 

You’re quick on your feet as you yank him by the two of his fingers. He follows behind you, but all he can look at is your pendulous, brown, leather purse, suspended from your small hand, and how that shift of the dynamic in yours and his relationship occurred by that exchange. How it’s felicitous, pretty and sturdy. How he can come back to it and remember it—if he ever wavers. Remember that it’s the cure to his shakes. 

Letting himself be taken care of by you. 

The festival has ended and the ladies at the food stand are packing up to leave. It overwhelms him how much time his issues have stolen, but when he watches you go from nice to bratty in a millisecond, convincing them to make that last hot dog from him because he feels faint and needs some greasy food in order to get home and they comply, his love for you rises sky-high. Your own expression of love for him tidies up the debris from his broken walls and he’s so warm all over that he feels as though he’ll explode. 

You pay for the hot dog and leave a huge tip, thanking them with a smile that makes his heart quiver in a way that is pleasant, good and merciful. You hand it to him and it’s another exchange that wets his eyes, that makes him dip to your mouth and give you a chaste kiss that you more than deserve. You coo, deeply, into the kiss, and it’s a sound that he’s never heard from you. A dominant, prideful sound that stirs the butterflies in his stomach that carry your name on their wings to beat so ferociously that he can’t breathe. 

In a different way now. Pleasant, good and merciful. 

You walk away from the stand and sit with him on the sidewalk. Jungkook lets you have the first bite, sliding your leg over his as he holds the hot dog to your mouth. People are exiting the amphitheater in hefty crowds, but he doesn’t care. Can’t peel his eyes off of you as you open your mouth as wide as you can and take a big bite, whining and fanning your mouth due to how boiling hot it is. He can see the half chewed up sausage on your tongue and if he didn’t love you, he’d look away now, but he can’t because he does love you and your secret, indecent ways enthrall him enough that he can’t help but to kiss you again. Kiss the ketchup and mustard off of your upper lip. Clean you up like you cleaned up his debris. Blow on the sausage in your mouth a little to make you laugh and you do more than that. You chortle so hard that you nearly choke on it and he laughs, too, strangely. 

Thinks the hot dog is the best one he has had in a long time solely because you had that first bite. 

It fuels him with energy, yet he feels lightweight. Feels as though everything’s going to be okay, despite the fact those issues in him are a persisting threat and they can be triggered anytime. But something tells him you can handle it. 

You weren’t afraid to throw your middle fingers in a guy’s face because he had a problem with your public display of affection. Weren’t afraid of Jungkook’s ugliness. Weren’t afraid to fight the ladies so you could fill up his stomach with his favorite food. 

You can handle it. 

It’s all he thinks about as he drives you to his apartment with his hand on your thigh. 

And it’s all he thinks about when he kneels before you while he takes off your sneakers and lingers there, scattering kisses just below the hem of your dress. And you know where this is going because you pull him back by his hair and as he looks up at you like this, a peasant to a queen, his heart hammers so intensively that all he wants to do is cry while he makes love to you. 

He came across his salvation—in the worst of it all. 

“Let me clean you up,” you hush out, and Jungkook doesn’t understand because you already have. Internally. And outwardly all the same. He can’t postpone this any longer. He has to give back to you, give you his gratitude on a silver platter. He needs to do it because if he doesn’t, he’ll crumble. 

“No,” he rasps in a whisper, closing his mouth over the inner of your thigh, placing a singular kiss there before he returns his gaze back to you. “Let me, please.” 

Maybe you can see his desperation in the glossiness of his eyes and it awakens your pity for him, for in a blink you nod, and for the second time today—he doesn’t hesitate to do the next thing. He fists the fabric of your dress and yanks it up over your tummy, nuzzling his nose into your clothed mound. Pink, like your sneakers. 

He inhales you. Inhales the beginning of your arousal—and the beginning of a brand new scene that will color his life in a soft manner. 

Dragging the waistband of your panties down your legs, he tosses them on top of your shoes. Yearns for your legs to part your royalty for him and in order for that to happen, he carries you, bridal-style, over to the white of his bedding. Pretends it’s clouds that he’s laying you down upon because he’s about to make sure he’ll bring heaven down to you. 

The heaven that helped him give back to you earlier in his worst. 

He hooks his fingers under your socks and slides them off, one by one. Makes you sit up to rid you of your dress. Ruins your ponytail in the process, but he quickly fixes it by lugging your hair tie down your length, rubbing his blood away on your forehead with his saliva-coated thumb once he places you back down. 

And it’s not an expression of his dominance, the way he disburdened you from the daytime. That has long ceased to exist in him since that exchange. 

It’s an expression of his servitude to you. 

Of his lessening and your heightening. 

And it’s pleasant, good and merciful. It doesn’t feel as though he’s giving all of himself. On the contrary, it feels as though he has just discovered his true self. 

He won’t forget the address of his home because he’s not staying over anywhere. 

He is at home. 

And your folds revealing your royalty as he spreads your legs is the feeling of homeliness. His mouth on your warm, swollen clit is the epitome of all domesticity and the only thing he can fear at this very moment is his future homesickness if he rips his mouth off your cunt. 

And you getting wet so easily just from being taken care of like a queen confirms and validates all that he’s feeling. 

And he lets you know. 

Peasants are savages and he eats your pussy like it. Sucks on your clit with a verve that surprises him and makes his cock tight uncomfortably in his pants, especially when you make those deep, guttural noises of yours. You’re not the soft girl he knew that omitted swear words in her favorite filthy songs. You’re a vulgar woman, rolling her hips into his mouth as he lets you use his tongue. 

And he stops—just to beg for those words. 

“Let me hear you swear for me, please.” 

You whimper, flopping into the mattress, only to raise your torso using your elbows. You grip the hair on the back of his neck and hump his mouth, but then you suck in a breath and draw back, sobered up all of a sudden. 

“Does your lip hurt?” you ask, rounding your brows in pity and Jungkook’s heart quickens at the portrayal of your care towards him. His senses flick to that faint throbbing on the side of his pierced lip and he perceives that he forgot about his physical pain. His cheek throbs as well, but it’s all bearable. 

You help him remember. 

“It doesn’t hurt, baby.” 

But the hand that gripped his hair slides over to his lip, caressing it with a thumb. “But it’s swollen. I don’t want to hurt you.” 

He also remembers that he was bleeding from the same place and he checks your folds if he spattered them. With the same digit, he runs it over them, finding no taints of it. Sends a quick, internal thank you to God. 

You’re pure—he doesn’t want to mar you. 

“You’re not hurting me. You’re saving me,” he utters without a breath, the words more raw than anything he’s ever said to you, alongside his first, secretly sensitive I love you. And while he doesn’t let his lungs lift, you inhale all of the air for him, wafting it over him as you pout ever so slightly. And then you caress him—the good side of his face and he does something he’s never expected to do. 

He invites you in. 

Rests his head on the apex of your thigh while you continue to brush your hand in circles. Over his cheekbone, his temple, long strands of hair and ear. An ouroboros of love so unsullied and intact that the world’s upcoming destruction could never afflict it, never even come near it. Jungkook pushes your leg back and darts out his tongue. Mirrors your circles over your clit and the gentleness he uses to do it with pull such alluring moans from the bottom of your throat that he’s nearly at the peak of his own orgasm. 

And it just makes him hungrier. 

He turns you over to your side and closes that leg of yours over his head. Flattens his tongue over your clit and eats it like his life depends on it, one hand holding yours while the other slips to your heat, rubbing the hole until you go mad. And he’s not holding your hand to keep you bound. He’s holding your hand to keep his sanity and not come in his pants like a boy. 

You move your hips so his fingers enter you and you scream out at the sudden fullness. Jungkook drips in sweat, your walls slowly stretching around him sending tingles down his spine, and he’s moaning when you fuck yourself on his digits. 

It doesn’t take long for you to come. 

It is the final piece to your own puzzle and your orgasm thunders through you, the swear words tumbling out of your mouth like refreshing raindrops. You interweave them into his name, adorning it, making it prettier, and Jungkook is so overwhelmed with pleasure that all he can do is suck on your clit until you convulse so hard that you can’t take it anymore.

You may have lost your spark earlier, but now that you’ve come so magnificently, you’ve become it. The star of light isn’t something that gets attached to your eyes whenever you’re happy anymore. 

You’re the queen of all firelights and constellations. 

He lets you lie on your side as he hauls himself up to face you. He touches your skin besprinkled with the beads of perspiration, kneading the fleshy parts and ending up at your neck. Your eyes are closed when he reposes his head on his pillow besides yours and he detects his pleasure creating a new kind of joy within him, one that etches a lopsided smile on his face. 

You said the words for him while your orgasm coursed through your body. He wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“Thank you,” he whispers against your lips, kissing you with a certain roughness that makes you whine and withdraw. You give him a playful dirty look, fragrant with your love, and Jungkook’s smile deepens. 

“Gentle,” you reprimand, fluttering your eyes back shut. “Don’t be a masochist.” 

He laughs through his nose, his heart constricting, and he kisses you with the gentleness you spoke of just to show you he can do it. 

You hum in appreciation and Jungkook thinks this must be the best day of his life, despite all. 

“There we go,” you praise, sleepily. “Gentle, so your boo-boo doesn’t hurt.” 

He caresses your face in circles in your fashion, watches you visibly relax and your eyes close all the way, your eyelashes brushing against him. His sleep-kissed queen. 

“You wanna sleep?” he asks, fondling the shell of your ear. He doesn’t mind if you’re too tired to take him; he’s willing to study the way your mouth parts and lets out long, restful breaths as you drift off to dreamland. 

He thinks it would be an honor. 

Everything had changed. The way he sees you, the way he loves you, the way he senses yours and his connection. The pupils of his eyes have been purified and he’s acknowledging himself with the ins and outs of his own relationship. 

Everything is new. 

You shake your head, humming out a sound of disagreement. “No, give me a second. You made me come really hard.” 

He nods, even though you can’t see him, and he sifts his fingers through your hair. Trails his kisses from your cheek to your neck and shoulder, dwelling there as you recuperate from your intense orgasm.

And then you’re swinging your leg over and straddling him. Your lids are so heavy from your little eye-shut that he silently coos at you, but your tiredness doesn’t stop you from mouthing kisses down his mesh-clad chest. From unbuckling his belt and freeing him from his pants. The mesh shirt is the only thing you keep on him. You bunch up its hem in your fist, stabilize his cock with your other and you swallow him. 

Not all the way, though. 

You rid him of his sanity because you pop your mouth, over and over, on the tip of his manhood. He feels the sound deep in his groin, right beneath your hand, and his chest can’t help but to shudder with each suction, his face scrunching. He unabashedly whimpers for you and you like his noises so much that you give him what he never asked you for. 

You do take him all the way. 

And your throat is your scent floating through the air of yours and his home. 

Heady, oriental and feminine. 

You slobber all over him, running your tongue sideways upon the veins along his length and Jungkook slinks in and out of his conscience. The pleasure you’re blessing him with brings him to a rose garden when you gag around him. The pink petals tickle his stomach, encouraging his shudders, and all he sees is you in the middle of that garden. A mighty statue of its queen—with a mouthful of cock. 

And then he has to physically pull you away from him because if he felt the tightness of your throat one more time, he’d be spurting ropes of cum down your esophagus. 

You’re feral, staring him down with a maddened smile, returning to your original position on his hips. And as delighted as he is to have you be in charge, he remembers something. 

He hasn’t put a condom on. 

“Wait.” 

Jungkook holds your waist as he rummages in his bedside table and once he finds the package he was looking for and rattles it, he finds it empty. Cold sweat trickles down the back of his neck, but he remembers something else as well. 

“Did you not put it in your purse?” he asks, the scene where he hands you the last square of the rubber for you to keep in your purse in case you get in the mood during the festival shooting out before his eyes. 

You nod. “Yeah, I think so. Can you go get it?” 

He sits up with you and kisses you, gently, prolonging the kiss until you whine and he thinks twice before provoking you. He can’t help it—you just keep saving him. 

Walking through your corridor, he sees your pink sneakers first, embellished with your panties of the same color. A smile tugs at the aching corner of his mouth, but he doesn’t mind. Thinks it heightens the experience. Bending to pick up your brown purse that he set beside your shoes, the time seems to slow down as he’s reminded of the exchange out there in the countryside. The shift of dynamics that liberated him. Jungkook grows emotional, his feelings liquifying and prickling his eyes. 

And it’s automatic and absolutely instinctual—the way he dips his mouth and kisses the leather material. 

Gently. 

Opening it, he fishes out the white square and hangs your purse on the hook among his jackets. Gives it a long, meaningful look before he returns to you. 

And you’re the one who wants to put it on him. You’re so diligent, tugging the peak of the rubber multiple times so you’re unequivocally certain that you did it right. And when you tug him, he whimpers so inferiorly that you emulate his hunger. 

You depict it so eloquently when you fight through your residual overstimulation and sink down on him, little by little. And the more inches your walls squeeze around, the more his new role settles within him. 

Peasant with his queen. 

You ride him like it. 

You bounce on him with such hard thuds that it provokes the pressure in his groin. His balls tighten so rapidly and the cinematic view of your breasts slapping against each other doesn’t really help slow down the incoming explosion of his orgasm. A glistening ring forms around his cock from your slick—and Jungkook genuinely considers, right here, right now, buying you a promise ring that will be an eternal reminder of this sublime salvation. 

And you’re as aware of the shift as he is because once you reposition your weight onto your feet, you pin his hands back and use them as leverage. Intertwine your fingers with his. His vision gets filled with spots of white. You clamp down on him with each stroke and even though he can’t move, he feels unshackled. There’s no ending to his moans. He’s so close, the pressure deepens in his groin, and he needs one more thing. 

One more thing and he’s done. 

“Kiss me,” he rasps, and you slow down, crying out, your orgasm catching up to you just the same, but he needs your attention, so he begs. “Please, baby. Kiss me.” 

Lowering yourself onto your knees, you lean forward. “Fuck, I love it when you beg. I’d give you anything you ever wanted.” 

His stomach spasms. Your nipples sail over his chest and you shudder, the mesh fabric stimulating you, and then you’re swirling your tongue around the arc of his open mouth. 

Teasing him, like the vulgar, bratty woman you are. 

Extra careful around the lip ring and his swollen flesh, healing it in a way. 

Jungkook whines your name. “Please.” 

You kiss him just once, but he needs more. Lifts his head off the pillow, chasing your mouth. You begin to swirl your hips in circles on the tip of his cock, just like your tongue, and the intense pleasure he gets from it forces him to bang his head back. 

You go for his neck. His collarbone. His nipple. 

And Jungkook can’t hold back anymore. 

His orgasm bursts in his groin and all the roses in the garden swell with freshness. He imagines he’s filling you up, instead of the condom and it elevates the momentous shocks of the explosion descending down all of his nerve endings. He hiccups and that’s it for you. You let go of his hands to massage your clit and you follow him out into that garden, his name and curse words trickling out of your mouth that lowers to his in a final, years-long kiss. 

His last rope oozes out of him at the feeling of your soft, wary tongue and he wants to weep due to the density of your care. More shrubs of roses bloom around your statue in that garden—and once again, he can’t peel his eyes off of you. 

Can’t stop brushing your hair back to see more of you. More of your rose-flushed complexion. More of the spark of your being that irradiates you from within. More of your care and love. 

And you give it to him. 

You wash out the dried blood on his face in the shower. Brush his teeth with extra care, which makes it more than difficult for him to stifle his tears. He lets you be a witness to his sensitivity and you welcome it, cradle it, hold him while the toothpaste foam numbs his achy lip. And it scares his fear away, most peculiarly. 

You hold him in bed, too, amidst the crisp, flower-scented linen of his fresh bed sheets, and you apologize. 

“I’m sorry for what happened tonight. If I hadn’t said a thing, you wouldn’t have ended up bruised and swollen,” you croak out, shifting the cold compress lower on his face, and you break into tears that trigger his. He had wished you weren’t a brat, but for a far different reason, and he tells you. 

“It’s an honor to get punched in the face for you.” He smiles through his tears and you sigh, removing the cold compress. “But I did wish things ended differently. I wanted to fuck you in my car. Keep the window open so you would hear your favorite rapper. But if things went according to my plan, you wouldn’t have healed me.” 

You sniffle, your eyes rounding at the onrush of your tender emotions, and Jungkook watches the waterfall of your tears. His own flows and mingles with yours, joining in unity. 

“What happened to you when we left?” you ask and Jungkook knows he wouldn’t avoid this question for long. Deems you deserve to know because of all what you’ve done for him. And he readies himself, pausing before he bares himself, fully, to you. 

“I got into panic mode because I blamed myself for ruining your night and…” he trails off, aware of the fact he needs to be more specific, and he takes a deep breath, wiping his tears with one hand before slapping it back on the duvet. “I have a constant fear that the people I care for will eventually leave me,” he explains and a wisp of pride envelops his bones for managing to get those words out for the first time in his life. You snuggle closer to his side, placing your head on his shoulder, and he gazes down at you. His fingers find your ear on their own and it comforts him enough, to touch you like that, that he’s able to continue. “I got left behind a lot of times in my past, which is why I swore off love. It just hurt too much and I stopped having the capacity for it. And when we left the concert, I thought you’d leave me, too, after what I’d done.” 

You press the cold compress back to his cheek. “I could never leave you, you’re mine,” you whisper, and another stream of tears soaks through the dish towel wrapped around frozen vegetables. Jungkook doesn’t take your words for granted. He puts great meaning to them and hides them, safely, in his sternum. “And you didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t ruin my night. It was all me and for that I’m sorry.” 

He squeezes your arm. “Don’t be sorry,” he says and means it. Lifts his head and plants a cold kiss to your lips. 

Gentle. 

“I love you, Ggukie. It’s me who should be fighting for you now.” 

Jungkook laughs through his nose. “No, I’ll keep protecting my queen.” One more kiss, gentler. “I love you,” he adds and means it. 

And he falls asleep like this. With you clinging to the side of his body while keeping the cold compress intact and unmoving with your forehead. One that he removes in the middle of the night and warms up the iciness of your skin by smothering it with his body heat. 

Returns to the rose garden and gapes at the statue of you, hand in hand with you—as a changed person, a sensitive, flawed and submissive person that is loved and accepted. 

Finds it hard to believe even in his dream. 

And you’re there when he wakes up. 

Drooling, indecent and vulgar as you are. And he wouldn’t want anyone else.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hobiberrystuff, @kam9404.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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[sparklingchim]

number 7; m | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 3k

rating: 18+

genre: hockeyplayer!jungkook, richgirlie!oc, brother’s best friend, college!au

warnings: v jelly googie 😐, brat oc & brat tamer jk !! 🫢, mirror sex, overstimulation, possessiveness, squirting, dirty talk, marking, they love bickering, cum eating, spanks, jaykay's lowkey a simp <3, taking kinda? naughty pictures 😋, choking, tummy bulging, size kink, name calling

summary: pov: your jealous fuck buddy pounds you in his jersey.

a/n: i couldn't resist 👩🏻‍💻 m tew obsessed w him what can i say ✋🏼

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

You don’t know how exactly this situation unfurled.

It just kind of happened.

One minute you were on your way to Jungkook’s shabby dorm, padding briskly across the dim campus to fetch your journal that you accidentally misplaced in his apartment – and the next, Jungkook is fucking you in front of his mirror while you are clad in nothing but his jersey.

The correlation between your initial ambition and your current circumstance is a tiny mix of fragmented thoughts in your mind as Jungkook unceasingly thrusts into you.

You just wanted your journal back.

But Jungkook gave you his dick instead.

His oversized jersey swallows your body. He has the soft material tightly bundled in his hand at your lower back.

“God, Jungkook.”

His cock stretches your cunt deliciously, rutting into you with full force.

Your palms are placed on Jungkook’s fully-body mirror, and you feel partly guilty for dirtying it with your fingerprints. But it’s not like either of you genuinely care about producing a mess the way Jungkook fiercely pounds into you from behind. You both are destined to create a mess when you’re together.

Your eyes meet in the mirror. “Look at yourself,” Jungkook rasps. His palm smooths over your clothed back, pulling your hair to the side to get a clearer view of the imprint.

Jeon Jungkook. 7.

Seeing you in in his jersey sprouted carnal desire in Jungkook, something plainly self-indulgent. It dwindled his freshly blossomed possessiveness from recent events but made his need for you grow even bigger.

“Such a filthy girl, aren’t you?” He returns your stare in the mirror, mussed bangs fluttering over his forehead.

“Harder, Jungkook,” you demand breathlessly.

“What’s the word?” You see his eyebrow twitch slightly in the mirror.

“Please - please fuck me harder, Jungkook.”

His hands are firmly anchored in your hips and he changes his lunges to sharper, rougher ones. Your heartbeat roars in your ears, legs trembling as his length is deeply sheathed inside, his tip kissing places that elicit the softest whines from you.

“You like this, don’t you?” His big hand snakes around your throat. “Like getting fucked like a slut?”

The pads of his fingers press into you and your eyes blur. Just the sight of his inked hand on your throat makes your pussy squeeze his cock, the giddiness flourishing everywhere, reaching your fingertips and bringing tears to your eyes.

“Pretty princess loves to get fucked like a slut, hm?” he whispers.

“Yes, yes I do – fuck.”

His hushed, dirty words kindle the tingle in your tummy and you fall apart beneath him, a sniffled moan scurrying past your lips.

A dark scoff hits the base of your neck. “That’s a good girl.” He plants the tiniest kiss on your shoulder, releasing your throat from his grip. “Always so good.”

Jungkook draws you into his arms, moving to his bed with you.

“On your back,” he instructs, pushing you down on his bed.

You get comfortable on his soft duvet, legs spread. Jungkook’s hand is braced at the back of your thigh. He eases his cock back into you, tongue darting out as your tight walls enclose him again.

He tugs the jersey up, staring at the way he vanishes between your velvety pussylips, your tummy bulging when he bottoms out. Jungkook moves leisurely, the way he moves his hips so sinful and practised, the thin curb chain in silver he is wearing dangles over your face.

“Pretty,” you chunter. You reach out and play with it a little as Jungkook places his palm on your tummy with a little pressure. “Mhmm, Jungkook.” Your toes curl in pleasure and he smirks, giving your knee a tiny peck. “You’re so big,” you slur.

“Your little pussy takes me so well,” he praises. His hand disappears under his jersey, and he palms your supple breast. Your tiny nub pops out when Jungkook pinches and plays with it.

You choke on a gasp. Your legs impulsively wrap around him to drag him closer.

“Mine.” Jungkook’s fierce eyes trail down your body. “All mine.”

A sprinkle of playfulness sets on your face. “You’re still jealous because of Chanyeol?”

A day has passed since the kiss cam made Chanyeol and you kiss. You weren’t able to see Jungkook after the game because his team went out for dinner after their win.

As usual Taehyung invited you, but you declined. The way your brother spoke to you with cold eyes was reason enough to stay home instead. Jungkook was following your little conversation from the back, his secret glances prickling your skin.

When Taehyung came back home, he didn’t waste a second to reprimand you. As soon as he stepped into the living room, he interrupted your Sims 4 gameplay, rudely disregarding the reality tv show that was blasting on tv, with his annoying nagging and unnecessary enquiries.

He even dared to ask is Chanyeol your boyfriend? And you wanted to answer yes just to annoy him.

But you also wanted to resume building a house for your Sims family and watch your reality tv show in peace, so you grimaced, a harsh no rolling off your tongue.

Jungkook’s tongue pokes his cheek. “ ‘m not,” he denies, thrusts turning keener.

“Sure you’re not.” The pad of your fingers trickle along his broad front. “Chanyeol-” His name leaves your mouth as a moan when Jungkook pounds into you deep, his cock reaching spots that make you breathless for a moment. “Chanyeol is a good kisser.”

“He can have your mouth.” Jungkook’s leans down, shadowy eyes staring straight into yours. You inhale shakily. “He can have a little kiss.” His tone is tinted with mockery, combined with a condescending undercurrent. “But your pussy,” – Jungkook lifts your chin with his thumb – “is mine.”

Your heart beats abnormally in your chest.

“Prove it.”

Jungkook is not in the least swayed by your provocation. He’s become used to it by now.

His brow twitches, the challenge twinkling in his eyes. Jungkook stops, his hand is on the curve of your hip, demanding you to flip over.

“Ass up.” He tugs your ass up in the air. His palm rests on the back of your head. “Face down.”

There’s nothing that makes you heart flutter more than sparking the fire in Jungkook.

He squeezes his cock between your plush pussylips. A forceful push of his hips coaxes a whiny moan from you.

“Prove it?” Jungkook ridicules you. “Fucking take it then.”

His hips clash against your body and you nuzzle your face deep into the pillow as a cry flies past your lips. Jungkook pounds you into his mattress, his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass.

He eyes keep wandering to his name printed on the jersey. Your tiny, stunning body swathed in what belongs to him. It reminds him that you want this just as badly as he does – that you keep coming back to him because you want to be with him as much as he wants to be with you. That you can’t get enough of his cock as he can’t from your pussy. That you keep this secret arrangement going because neither of you is ready to let go.

And Jungkook makes sure it remains that way by fucking you the way he knows you will inevitably cum around his cock.

“Always so naughty, so bratty,” he spits, striking your ass. “You wanna act like a brat?” He smacks you again, harder. “Then you’re getting fucked like one.”

Jungkook wears a frown on his face. The wet sounds of his cock ruining your pussy spurs him on. His skin slaps against yours, creating obscene sounds that are one of Jungkook’s favourites.

After wetting his thumb with his spit, he dips his pad into your other hole, just to tease a little. You wriggle beneath him, whiny sounds erupting from you.

“Let me tease,” he shushes, spitting on your puckered hole and circling his thumb over it. “Gonna fuck your ass the next time you behave like a fucking brat.”

“God,” you mutter into the pillow.

“You’d love that wouldn’t you?” Jungkook removes his finger just when you started relaxing, earning a prolonged whimper from you. “You’re not the only one who gets to tease, princess.” Jungkook feels your walls clamp together. He hisses at your tight pussy, swallowing his own desire to fill you up and focusing on you instead.

“G-gonna cum. Fuck – I’m so close.”

“That’s what I thought.” His voice is dripping in contempt, but that’s exactly what prompts you to reach your high like a whirlwind. “Moan my fucking name when you cum.”

“Jungkook.” You meekly whine his name, heavy puffs hit the pillow as the feeling in your tummy expands into your entire body.

“Good girl.” His saccharine lilt dispels your drowsiness, gently drawing you back to reality.

Jungkook withdraws his cock from your clenching walls. You complain in a sulky grumble at the loss.

You lift your head and crane your neck around.

His doe eyes shimmer in a way that you can’t quite pinpoint. Before you can ask him, Jungkook spreads your cheek apart with one hand, his other plunging two fingers inside your soft pussy.

Your head plops down again as a shrill squeak springs from your chest.

“I’m not done with you yet.” His fingers are fast, unyielding. “You’re gonna cum again for me.”

“Too much.”

“Yeah? Too much?” Mock sympathy bleeds from his voice. The pad of his fingers rub over your sensitive spot. “I know you can take it,” Jungkook says. “I know my pussy can take it.”

Your fingers claw at the pillow beneath your face, muffled mewls flying across your lips. He gets you to the point of losing yourself in another climax fast, his deft fingers know precisely how to move inside you, how to get your walls spasm around them as the feeling builds up in your tummy.

“Huh, princess?” His other hand delivers a teasing spank on your ass. “You’re gonna cum again, aren’t you? Always so greedy.”

You want to say no I’m not gonna cum, want to act bratty again just because, but your head answers his taunting question with little, desperate yeses like a mantra.

The muscles in your belly contract when everything in your body begins to tingle. You tremble, pussy pulsating from the sensitivity. It’s so intense your hands hurt from gripping the pillow for dear life. The sounds in the room are nasty, so wet. More prominent than usual.

You are frazzled, a quivering mess lying limply on his rustled sheets.

Jungkook’s fingers are still sheathed between your fluttering walls, but his movements have stopped. “Fuck, princess,” he says with wonder. “You squirted everywhere.”

Your perplexity wins over your need to catch your breath and you turn your head, blinking in confusion. “I did what?”

“Squirted,” he curtly repeats in a mumble, popping his fingers into his mouth to lick them clean.

It has happened before, just very rarely. But every time you have, Jungkook eyes sparkled in a lustful and dreamy way – like right now.

“Was that good, huh?” He ribs, lips curving up into a smirk.

With a tired sigh, your cheek meets the cushiony pillow. You mumble something incoherent.

Jungkook stoops down. His hand brushes over your hair, smoothing some flyaways that sprouted from your wriggling.

“Don’t underestimate me.” His voice is low, eliciting tingles on your skin, but the kiss he plants on your cheek is soft, feather light.

You smile, a little deliriously, a little awestruck.

You roll onto your back. “Where do you wanna cum?”

Jungkook sits on his heels, lazily stroking his cock. He ogles your body, tiny puffs bubbling from his mouth. Instinctively, your catch your lower lip with your teeth. Watching Jungkook pleasure himself, the view of his tatted hand in general, makes your fingertips itch in anticipation.

You exchange your hand with his while he still muses over his choices.

He gazes at you slack-jawed. “Face,” Jungkook utters between desperate moans.

You shake your head. It is tempting, considering Jungkook’s yearning eyes, but you don’t want to ruin your make-up. “I still have somewhere to go.”

A frown twists his features. “Where are you going? It’s late.”

“It’s not late,” you argue.

“It’s dark outside. I should bring you home.” His hand closes around yours, signalising to tighten your grasp on his cock. You do, pumping him with a little more pressure. The soft sounds from his lips that follow are like music to your ears.

“It’s just the stationary shop. Need to stock up on some things.”

“Stickers?” he questions, brows furrowed when your hand moves faster.

“Yeah. And my black gel pen too.”

“The 0.5 mm one?”

You giggle. “Yes, that one.”

You lean closer to add a little spit on his dick, but you can’t help but tease him a little. You glide your tongue over the underside of his cock, swirl around his flush tip and suck a little on it.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Mouth feels so good.”

You continue with kitten licks, eyes casted upwards to catch every reaction. The visible muscles on Jungkook’s tummy strain as he nears his climax.

“Gonna cum,” he chokes out.

You draw back, pumping his cock as breathy, helpless moans escape Jungkook. Strings of white land on his defined abdomen and you watch him release with avid eyes.

“So much,” you mumble, flicking your finger through the mess on Jungkook’s glistening skin and sticking your cum covered pad into your mouth.

Gaspingly, Jungkook reaches for tissues on the bedside table. He cleans himself up before he orders you to lie down. He spreads your legs apart by pushing your thigh and tenderly cleans you as well.

He haphazardly tosses the dirty tissues back on his table.

“Wanna take a shower?” Jungkook mutters into the crook of your neck.

You throw your leg over his cinched waist. “I gotta go. The stationary shop will close soon.”

Jungkook pulls his jersey up, leaving a trail of kisses from your neck to your collarbones and down to your tits. He shortly teases your sensitive bud with his tongue before he presses a kiss below your boob. You feel him suck your skin between his puffy lips and utter a whiny complaint.

“No marks.” You lightly kick him with your heel on his ass.

Jungkook grouses against your skin. “No one’s gonna see it here.” He says affronted.

“I couldn’t wear the cute top I wanted today because of this.” You point to the faint purple mark beneath your collarbone.

“You look cuter in this anyway,” he retorts smoothly, giving your tit one last peck. “Should wear it more often.” He covers your body with his jersey again.

You grow shy beneath his stare, but you push him off your body and stand up. Jungkook fluffs the pillow and lets his back hit the mattress.

He has a cheeky smile plastered on his face. “You look so fucking sexy in my jersey.” His tongue swipes over his pink bottom lip. “Do a little twirl for me.” With his palm tucked under his head, he watches with relish as you spin.

You giggle mid-turn, a bubbly feeling swelling in your chest.

“Pretty.” Jungkook grabs his phone from the nightstand. “Lemme snap a pic.” He sits up.

You turn your back to him, and he gently pulls your hair to the side.

Jungkook has a vast collection of pictures of you from numerous nights spent in each other's bed. He takes joy in photography, and being Jungkook’s muse feels oddly fulfilling – but only on condition that your face is not visible in any of his snapshots.

You gasp when your feel Jungkook’s sneaky hand pull up his jersey and grab a handful of your ass. He chuckles at your reaction and takes quick pictures of the pretty ass in front of him.

“Yah,” you scold him, turning around again.

He flashes you the softest, dimpled smile and you are momentarily struck dumb by his effortless prettiness.

He grabs your hand and pulls you onto his lap. “Lemme come with you.”

You arrange his tangly bangs. “You know we can’t.” You’re very careful not to be seen with Jungkook. Rumours spread quickly here.

“No one will see us in the stationary store,” he insists.

“Why do you even wanna go there.” You quirk an eyebrow. “There’s nothing for you there.”

Jungkook shrugs indifferently, but you catch the corner of his lips lift faintly. “You’re there.”

“Stop playing,” you say, nudging his shoulder. But you can’t help the smile that forms on your face.

“Watchu doing tomorrow?”

“Shopping for a dress. Mum said I should dress nicely for the dinner with Minho and his parents.”

You don’t want your parents to come over for the weekend. And you certainly don’t want to have dinner with their friends, whose son they’re trying to set you up with.

“We won’t see each other then?” Jungkook asks, squeezing your bare thigh.

Your fingers find his necklace and you toy with it a little. “Probably.” You lean closer to catch his mouth in a kiss before you get up. “I’m gonna head out now.”

“Send me pics,” Jungkook tells you in his sweet voice.

“Huh?”

“In that dress you’re gonna buy. I wanna see you in it.”

You titter at his shamelessness. “Behave for once, Jungkook.”

Jungkook clicks his tongue. “Say that again and I’ll throw you over my lap.”

He knows exactly what he is doing. He sports a proud smile on his face, cocking his head in provocation.

You muse over it as you step into your panties. Your eyes land on your journal on Jungkook’s desk.

You’d like to stay, but the stationary store. You wanted to spend a cosy evening in your room, journaling with some new supplies to finish off the hectic day.

You remove Jungkook’s jersey from your body. His round eyes immediately land on your naked figure.

Mischievousness contorts your features. “Next time,” you promise.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

read pt 1 here if u haven't <3

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Ties That Bind

Strings of Fate alt pov. (Soulmate!AU) Or, Jason Todd's soulmates see the very best in him, even if he doesn't see it in himself. ~3.3k words

When Bruce Wayne meets Jason Todd, he's wearing enough Kevlar to stop a small missile. The kid in the red hoodie is hardly his first soulmate, but he is the first to steal the tires off the batmobile.

He wavers at the sight. The kid's clearly too small for his age. Bruce is already mentally setting aside a trust fund for him, considering what favors he can call in to get the kid into Gotham Prep.

The dark blue string that glows between them makes something in him soften, even if he should know better. His attention trails between the new string, the boy, and the other, more frayed string that leads to his eldest son.

He wonders vaguely if this string will fray, too. (It will do worse. It will grey and vanish, and Bruce Wayne Batman will fail another soulmate)

He opens his mouth to speak, to ask why he's out here, if he has some place to go, if his family knows he's here, but the sound of metal clings through the alley, and the kid runs.

It won't be hard, for Batman to catch up to him.

It will be hard to earn Jason Todd's trust.

It won't be hard when a new Robin flies by his side.

It won't be hard to smile, to laugh, to see hope and light in Gotham.

It won't be hard at all, to see the best in his son, to see all the good that makes up Jason Todd.

It will be hard to hold his son in his arms. It will be harder to know he's failed him.

It will be impossible, as the years pass, to not flinch every time he looks down at his index finger and sees an empty space where a string should be.

Alfred Pennyworth has gained and lost many strings in his life. He cherishes the ones that shine, neatly tied around his arms and fingers.

He meets his second grandson in the batcave.

The boy is flighty, untrusting, and Alfred loves him all the more for it. It takes sheer patience, good books, and many plates of cookies to earn Jason Todd's reluctant trust. Alfred's proud to be one of the few people who can say Jason is relaxed in their presence.

He's proud as he watches Jason save lives, study, laugh, and bring joy. Joy. He brings it to so many people, even people who aren't his soulmate, without asking for any return.

Yes, Alfred Pennyworth is proud. He's proud, even as he watches the blue string fray and fade. He's proud as they lower a small casket into the ground.

He's still proud, when no one sees the tears that spill when he makes a recipe that used to have a second set of hands helping.

Barbara Gordan is Batgirl. She's quick on her feet, stronger than people give her credit for, and just as smart as any other vigilante out there. So, she's not surprised to see a purple string appear between her and the newest Robin.

He's small, but fast and doesn't show an ounce of fear even as she pulls him out of the way of a bullet. Her heart melts a little when he smiles at her, gap toothed and bright, and she can't help but smile back.

She may miss the practiced partnership she had with Dick, but Jason makes a home for himself in her life. Batgirl watches Robin's back, and he's just as loyal and selfless in return.

Barbara knows he's destined for great things. She can see it in the way he takes time to talk to the citizens of crime alley, to pet and feed the strays that hide from most people.

It's why she sobs when the purple string breaks. It's why she steels herself to be better, to try harder, to never let another Robin be without a Batgirl.

(She will fail at this. It will plague her. She will become stronger, better, and anything she needs to be)

Dick Grayson is not impressed by the boy wearing his colors. He's tiny, and his cape seems to swallow him whole. But he did manage to land silently next to him on the roof overlooking Penguins' latest operation.

Dick's not exactly sure why the kids here, he definitely didn't tell anyone he was going to be in Gotham. But, if the blue string glowing between them is anything to go by, they were gonna meet eventually.

He didn't mean to make a face at the new Robin, really, he just wasn't ready to meet him.

He wanted to be in and out of Gotham, not trying to deal with another soulmate he never asked for. Not while the name Nightwing is still new and the blue suit doesn't quite feel right sometimes.

Jason doesn't know any of this. (Yes, he knows the kids' names. Yes, he's been keeping tabs on Bruce.) So, Dick Grayson steadies himself and invites the kid to team up.

Robin Jason fights well, knows when to duck and when to fight dirty. Nightwing leaves Gotham feeling lighter and heavier all at once.

He'll visit his brother(?) a few weeks later, they'll get ice cream and show off to each other and it'll be nice. Jason will hand off a bag full of Alfred's cooking, and a plate of cookies he shyly admits he helped make.

Dick silently promises to be better to the kid who wears his family's colors.

He never gets the chance. Jason is dead and buried by the time he returns to Earth with the Titans. Another soulmate dies in the colors meant to spread joy and hope. (This will change him forever)

Talia al Ghul did not expect a blue string to bind her to Jason Todd. She plans for nearly everything, expects the worst, and hopes for the best.

So, when she found her Beloved's son wandering in a daze, she should have been prepared for the shimmering, ocean blue string to tie itself to her left index finger when he looked at her.

(She wasn't, and she'll stare between Jason's string, and the one on her right index finger leading to her other son for an entire night)

Thalia will take him back to Nanda Parbat, out of duty, out of hope that if she can help Jason, it will bring Bruce back to her, and out of love. The boy follows her– the string– like it's the only thing that matters.

She will never admit it, but it will break her heart. She chances the Lazarus Pit, it helps and hurts him all at once. He no longer follows her around. He trains until there's hardly a soul in the League he can not beat.

Talia watches her son become aimless, restless, and tormented by the past. She hopes with all that she has, and introduces him to Damian.

She knows a blue string forms between them when Jason flinches. He leaves in the night, and takes a part of her with him.

She understands why. It doesn't stop her from tracking him from afar until he finds himself in Gotham again, parading around under the name of his killer. Her beloved will understand soon enough, and she hopes her son will find a home again.

Batman meets Red Hood on a crumbling roof in Crime Alley. The crime lord has been a thorn in his and the GCPDs side for months. He sees the glimmer of a string start to form, but doesn't get to process it before Red Hood is unloading a clip at him.

He dives out of the way, and by the time he comes out of his roll, Red Hood is gone. Batman checks for the new string. But there isn't one, no new line leading from him to a soulmate. He checks again.

Bruce Wayne loses all the air in his lungs when he realizes what has changed. It doesn't make sense. It can't be possible. But there's no lying when it comes to strings. Jason Todd is Red Hood. And for once, Batman doesn't have a plan.

Tim Drake knows soulmates are precious. Each string he's gained is worth cherishing. Each string he's lost is a scar. (He traces where they used to be when he can't sleep)

Tim Drake knows who Red Hood is. Was it a surprise? Sure, it can only mean good things for his family, even if Red Hood is running the majority of crime in Gotham. Jason was the light of Gotham, after all.

He believes that with his whole heart. Which is why he's cautiously excited when a royal blue string ties from his wrist to Red Hood.

It's also why he laughs when Jason Todd breaks half the bones in his body. He's dealt with worse, and he breaks a few of Red Hood's bones in return.

Tim is still laughing when Red Hood stumbles away and leaves. It's kind of funny, he's lost almost all of his best friends, and now he has a brother who hates him. But it's not all bad, he decides, the tracker he managed to get into Jason's jacket will be plenty useful.

Dick Grayson finds Jason Todd by his favorite gargoyle. It's the only thing still familiar about him. But as the string reforms between him, something in his soul slots into place. He sits next to him and talks.

He's not exactly sure what he talks about, but he talks and talks until he's not sure what to say and then talks some more. Jason never answers, but he doesn't leave either. It's enough, it's a start, and he tells his little brother to visit Alfred some time when he goes to leave.

(Red Hood will show up in Blüdhaven later that month. They will work a case together, it will be sloppy and then won't know each other's blind spots. Dick hasn't had so much fun in years)

Alfred Pennyworth is making tea in the kitchen of Wayne Manor when his second grandson nearly gives him a heart attack. One moment, he's alone, and the next, the man who used to be Gotham's biggest crime lord is standing five feet away.

They don't talk much, but Jason still remembers how to make his favorite cup of tea. Alfreds packs up enough food to feed him for a week, and makes him promise to at least call once a month.

Alfred is proud to say he gets a call once a week, and a time to meet out in the city once a month. He's even prouder to say his grandson has grown and learned and thrived.

Barbara Gordan is Oracle, and she's damn good at what she does. She's working intel for the Birds of Prey when the motion sensors around the clock tower go off.

She turns just in time to see the purple string form between her and Red Hood. He takes off his helmet. She appreciates that.

He looks lost for words. She feels lost for words. But she finds them anyway. She tells him it's good to see him, and it really is. She's been keeping tabs on him, knows what he's trying to do, trying to be. He hesitantly tells her he's going to be out of Gotham for a while.

Oracle hands him a comlink before he leaves. She tells him it's her own personal line, not connected at all to The Bat. She tells him to keep in touch. (She knows he'll listen)

Both versions of The Outlaws adore Jason Todd. Arsenal and Starfire, Artemis and Bizzaro, all find good in the purple string that ties them to Red Hood. The team isn't a magical fix all, and sometimes what they do isn't right, but it's theirs.

It's theirs, and they have each other even when it seems like there's nothing else. There's a comfort in that, a comfort in the steady glow of the purple string. There's a comfort in knowing their soulmate would take on the world at their side.

Spoiler knows she shouldn't be in Crime Alley, knows that the newly returned Red Hood doesn't appreciate Bats in his territory. But she's not a Bat, so she thinks she's earned an exception. And if she's being honest, she could use someone to talk to.

Her other soulmates, the other vigilantes, well, there's been a distance between her and them since her return. So, yeah, maybe she's a little lonely and a little hurt, and maybe she's willing to risk getting shot over the chance Red Hood is one of her soulmates. (And that he'll understand)

She's optimistic when a purple string forms between them, but less so when he tells her to leave. Stephanie's never been good at following directions, so she stays. He doesn't shoot her, which she takes as permission to come back again.

And she does. She comes back again and again. She brings him coffee. After a few times, he actually takes his helmet off to drink it. Jason's a good listener, and she really doesn't mean to spill her sob story about dying and knowing what it's like to reform a string.

She knows he's dealt with enough of that. But he doesn't make fun of her, doesn't tell her to get over herself. He just pats her shoulder when she goes to leave that night. (She cries when the news reports on Red Hood delivering Black Mask to prison only two days later)

Cassandra Cain is skilled and very good at what she does. She knows this, and she's proud of it. She smiles behind her mask when she makes her new brother jolt in surprise.

If anything, he should have been paying more attention to the thugs around him; she'd taken out more than half of them before he realized she was there.

She pokes at the string connecting them, incredibly pleased it's the color she wanted it to be. She pats her little brother's arm and leaves the scene, her night is hardly over after all.

Cass doesn't need to ask for his address, she already knows it. So, she happily makes herself at home on his couch at least once a week. He puts on movies for them to watch, even though she can tell he's not exactly sure what to do with her.

She calls him 'baby brother', and he learns how to make her favorite treats in return. She likes that he bends down so she can ruffle his hair, and makes a note of how he leans into the touch. Her soulmate definitely needs more hugs.

Damian Wayne can handle himself. He's Robin. He's an Al Ghul. He's the blood son of the Bat. So he doesn't need his soulmate's help. But his mother always told him Todd is skilled. Todd has a bleeding heart for everyone. He can use that.

He's definitely not trying to work up the courage to enter Red Hood's territory, when the person in question jumps down next to him. Huh. He didn't sense him coming. Maybe he's lost more blood than he's thought.

"Mother told me to seek you if I ever needed anything," Damian tells him, and bites back a wince. Those aren't the words he wanted. He sounds like a child and he doesn't need anything from Jason Todd.

Todd is quiet for a moment, and Damian expects to be turned away. But he's not, he's led to a safehouse instead. He's able to patch his wounds up without Todd noticing, and the next night, he goes into battle with a brother at his side. (They fight like they've been spent years at each other's sides)

Duke Thomas has heard all the stories about Jason Todd. He's curious, sue him, so he seeks out Red Hood just after the sun starts to set. Duke nods like he expected it to happen when he sees the blue string that ties around his forearm. (He wasn't sure it would, but it's a shiny, good color)

Red Hood eyes him, or at least Duke assumes he does. It's kind of hard to tell with the helmet. "Do you need something," Jason asks.

Duke doesn't actually have a plan past this. But he's Signal, and he's great at thinking on his feet, so he asks Jason if he's ever had the chili dogs a couple blocks away.

He's surprised when Jason says no, and he's even more surprised when they end up eating half of food carts' chili dogs.

It ends up being fun, taking down some thugs trying to rob a bank, with Red Hood fighting alongside him. Duke throws out a few jokes, and he manages to make Jason laugh. (He will brag about it to the rest of his soulmates later)

Duke grins when he gets handed a number at the end of the night. He's proud and only a little smug to have seemingly impressed his newest brother. (He will also brag about this)

You were not anticipating getting mugged tonight. Yes, it's always a possibility in Gotham. But you were careful, the street you were on had working lights! So it's annoying when a group of men try to get you to hand over your things.

You're relieved when Red Hood drops down from seemingly out of nowhere to take them out. But you're not completely sure what to feel when a red string ties itself to your pinkie and leads right to him.

He doesn't seem to know what to feel either, because you're just staring at each other in silence on an empty street. It makes you a little braver to see him as knocked off center as you are, at least you think that's what he's feeling.

It's hard to tell when he hasn't moved, and his helmet is dipped down to get a better look at you. So, you break the silence and tell him your name.

His helmet snaps up, "What?"

Oh. Maybe he wasn't looking at you. You tentatively repeat your name, and for a second dread pools in your gut. What if he wants nothing to do with you? What if he leaves?

Soulmates not wanting each other are rare, but not exactly unheard of. You step towards him, ready to plead your case on giving you a chance.

"Red Hood," he supplies, cutting you off before you can speak. It's entirely unhelpful. You know who he is. You think this is his way of keeping the distance.

But, it's not. That thought barely gets to form before Red Hood offers to walk you home.

He keeps coming back, keeps hovering on your fire escape until you start to invite him inside. And soon enough, Jason Todd becomes a part of everything in your life.

He's sweet, kind, and so, so careful. He tugs your string when he's late to come home, a reassurance. He barely leaves your side, the first time you meet his sister.

Your soulmate is good. He makes you happy. You so badly want to be good to him, to make him happy too. You think you do, at least sometimes.

He smiled when you offered to watch his brother's dog, kissed you senseless the first time you made his grandfather's cookies.

You're not there, when Bruce Wayne offers his son a velvet box, a ring passed down from Wayne to Wayne nestled inside. You're asleep, curled into his side when he vows to be brave for you.

But you're there and wide awake when Jason Todd pulls the box from his jacket and drops down to one knee. You're there when he smiles nervously at you, tells you he's never been good at this kind of thing, at anything, really. But you make him feel like he is.

He tells you he loves you. He tells you he doesn't need a red string to know you're his soulmate. He asks you to marry him.

You say yes while peppering his face with kisses. You're giddy, when he slides the ring onto your finger, his smile matching yours.

He kisses you, again and again, and the glowing red string that ties you together seems to sing.

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 · · · · 𝚇. 𝙼𝚊𝚢 ║ ⓒⓗⓐⓟⓣⓔⓡⓔⓓ

𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 || 𝚗 𝚊 𝚟 𝚒 𝚐 𝚊 𝚝 𝚒 𝚘 𝚗 || 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 | PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x fem!OC/reader

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | CHAPTER CONTENT: POV switching, soft!Joel, protective!Joel, alarm clock!Joel, unlearning trauma responses, dicking down as a form of therapy, domestic fluff, self-worth anxieties, they're cute and weird together as usual | WORD COUNT: 4.1k

| CHAPTER SUMMARY: With the cloud of fear gone, you can finally see what's been in front of you the whole time.

It was the little things that stirred something in him. 

How you let him look after your nose until it had healed. How you used to only talk with Calum quietly, phone pressed hard against your ear, but then you started ambling around the house as you spoke a little less hushed and eventually on speaker, the both of you carrying on casually. Joel never asked to say hi, but you’d started seeking him out in the house to say hi to your brother over speakerphone.

Your eyes were a little less wide and startled now whenever the floorboards creaked as he walked into the room. You showered with the bathroom door open. You snuggled up naked against him every night, just for the comfort of warm skin against warm skin. You finally stopped fretting all the time about sitting down if he was up doing something.

It wasn’t the readily notable things that made Joel’s heart soar. It was all the small pieces that amassed and signaled your comfort and renascence. It had nearly been a month since you moved in, but it felt like you’d lived and shed lifetimes of existences in that short span – some hyperlapse of growth and dropping the things that weighed you down. Your belongings had been unpacked and given a place of their own amongst Joel’s things. The house was even starting to take on a little bit of your scent.

Joel felt like if he blinked it would all vanish in a second. He’d always seen resilience in you, but this was a new sort of strength you were trusting him with. The strength to let go and hand things over to someone else. To pass along some of that worry and fear and uncertainty to someone who wanted to shoulder it on your behalf for a little while. He could see the way you’d pause sometimes, like you were about to hold your tongue or insist on handling something yourself, and then take a deep breath and let him lead the way. It served as a way for your brain to just be able to turn off. No heightened awareness. No decision making. No worrying. Just a calm, quiet nothing.

Before you, he’d never thought that gifting someone with nothingness was much of a gift at all. But now you’d sink into that safe little place in your mind and not have a worry, and suddenly he very much understood what he was capable of giving you – understanding just how much of himself he could offer.

You hadn’t even made a fuss when all the packages of clothes got delivered. He’d wondered if it was too invasive to take pictures of the tags on your more faded, worn clothing and have Sarah find something similar but new. He admitted what he’d done, not wanting to hide anything from you, and you’d responded with a little grin. “Never had a personal stylist before,” you’d deadpanned. He was beyond relieved you hadn’t taken it as an insult or controlling or strange. 

In fact, it was him who had the first big feeling of reluctance on anything concerning the nature of your relationship. You were still healing, discolored bruising midway through fading, when you’d initiated sex. It threw him off, to say the least. Here you were, in an impromptu living arrangement, practically dependent on him for money, food, shelter, and everything in between. As much as he wanted that side of your relationship again, it left him feeling a bit gross to want it when you were still coming back from that harrowing experience with your dad. Wasn’t it inherently predatory to continue with a physical relationship with all that still in the air? You’d said you wanted to share a room and a bed, but this was something else entirely.

What if you felt obligated? Like you somehow owed him for the compassion and kindness he’d shown you? Was he putting off an air of expectation? Your options were limited in terms of independence, and he couldn’t quite shake the guilty feeling that clouded him. That was, until you’d made him look you square in the eye when you said, “I think right now – maybe more right now than I ever have in my life – I just need to feel loved. Like somebody wants me. And cares about me. I wanna feel like you feel that for me.”

The urge to pour every ounce of love into you right then and there, however you needed it, coursed through every fiber of his being. When you followed up with a soft little “please, Joel?”, that was it. He was more gentle with you than he probably needed to be, but you didn’t seem to mind it. He took his time now that he had it. And god did it feel good to love you unrushed.

Something wet, warm, and insistent building between your legs is the first thing your bleary mind registers. The gentle scratch of facial hair at the crux of your thighs comes through as your eyes flutter open. The fuzzy red numbers on the dresser clock come into focus and display a time that is well past when you should’ve already been awake.

A low, throaty moan floats up from halfway down the bed, and Joel’s firm grip on your hips is ensuring your slick, wet heat stays fused to his feverish mouth. His tongue rolls over your pearled nub and presses against it firmly, and suddenly you’re very awake.

“Joel?” you say in a breathy, sluggish whimper.

“Mmmmpphhh,” comes his muffled, self-satisfied response.

Now that you’re awake, he apparently feels like he doesn’t need to hold back any longer. He doubles down on his efforts and greedily mouths and tongues at your drooling center. Your legs fall apart to make way for him, and he seizes the opportunity to get closer and deeper.

“Oh fu– Oh my god,” you gasp. “Joel, we’re–we’re gonna be late.”

There’s no real conviction in your words, but you still want to entertain the guise that you’re being responsible. He makes some disagreeable noise and keeps going. You prop yourself up to properly see him, and his wild eyes meet yours. He doesn’t look away while he laps and spits and sucks. Your face screws up at the sight of him, something obscene in the way he unapologetically devours you. When he slips two thick fingers inside, you fall back with a loud moan. His responding grunt reverberates through your budding arousal. Maybe being late was okay – just this once.

“Can you go faster?” you croak.

He suctions harder and pumps quicker, and you’re already on the precipice. Your hands fly to his hair, searching for something to hold onto as you’re catapulted into bliss. One wet suck on your clit is all it takes to send you over, and the room is filled with the wet sounds of Joel’s efforts and your breathy little whines as you fall apart. You’re only halfway back down to earth when he’s scrambling to his knees and pumping himself over your bare torso. You’re quick to take him into both hands, his own flying to the headboard for leverage as he leans over you, and stroke with a steady rhythm. 

He’s rambling garbled nonsense as he spurts all over your lower belly, finally crashing down on top of you and pulling you flush against him. Little puffs of humid breaths coast against the skin of your neck where his mouth lazes slack, supple kisses. His lips have laid a repetitive path there, and part of you knows it's some sort of penance for there ever having been violence placed upon it. Like over time and with enough effort he can undo whatever ghosts of harm still remain. He cherishes the place where your breaths flow and your voice lives.

You find your voice now, a wooly, amused little thing, and tell him good morning. He chuckles against you, his body rocking gently with content.

“Good mornin’ to you, too, sweetheart.”

“A very good morning, I think,” you stress. “Well, as long as we’re not super late.”

“I’m on pretty good terms with the boss. I’ll put in a good word for us if we need it,” he chortles.

You playfully slap his shoulder and shake your head. He was so much more relaxed these days, and it didn’t seem like it was just because he was in his own home. Something about having you close seemed to lift a weight off him. Even though he hadn’t known all the depth of what you’d been going through, it had apparently still come to his attention in some way or another – some subconscious awareness that you weren’t doing okay. You tried not to dwell on the guilt that brought, knowing you’d caused him so much distress.

Joel between your legs was a pretty damn good alarm clock. It had been a little strange at first not plugging a wake up time into your phone, but it quickly became a routine of Joel waking up before you, getting your coffee started, and heading back upstairs with it for you to drink in bed for a few minutes. On a few occasions he’d wake you like he did this morning, mouth and hands and body pressing into yours and making you come alive before he made you come undone.

He peppers you with kisses and compliments and eventually reminds you that you’ve got to get into the shower in the next few minutes unless you want to be running around crazy to get out the door on time. He slips into the shower for no more than five minutes and gets dressed before heading downstairs. You amble into the bathroom and angle the handheld shower head against the wall before stepping into the stall. You hadn’t asked him to install it. He’d just set up one day and worked it into the existing system. He didn’t make any mention of a reason for the change when he demonstrated to you how to operate it, but you knew. That first night and that triggering shower spray of water into your nose and mouth. It had been enough for him to alter the environment for your comfort and peace of mind.

The scent of coffee drifts from downstairs as you towel off. You slip on the softest t-shirt you’ve ever felt in your life and pair it with a fitted pair of jeans. You really have to figure out a way to thank Sarah for sourcing all these new clothes for you. It was a relief that she didn’t seem to have any sort of issue with you dating and now living with her dad. You’d said hello a few times when Joel happened to be chatting on the phone with her, but you hold onto the hope that maybe one day you can get to know her better.

“It’s gonna be a granola bar for breakfast sorta mornin’,” he announces as he strolls into the bathroom where you’re brushing your teeth. “Gonna grab a few for the ride.” His soft, warm palm rubs a few passes along your spine. He gives the side of your head a quick peck and heads back downstairs.

Your coffee, complete with its “disgusting caramel bullshit” as Joel likes to say, sits on the kitchen counter in a to-go cup. Joel calls from the front door for you to grab your lunches he packed. “Yes, chef!” you call back in a sing-song tone. Him taking over kitchen duties was certainly something you still weren’t used to. He wouldn’t even let you clear the dishes, let alone wash them. He’d allowed you to cook something a time or two, but only after you’d put your foot down and told him you really wanted to.

You felt guilty a lot of the time just basking in all of this love and care, but for Joel’s sake you held your tongue. It certainly wasn’t a bad thing to have to get used to, and it was undeniable that it made him happy.

“Hi, beautiful,” he hums as he opens the truck door for you. 

You smile and drop your cup into the holder of the console and lean to the side to tuck away the lunches. When you stand up straight again and grab the door for leverage to get into the truck, Joel holds you still for a moment and presses a soft kiss to the nape of your neck.

“You smell so good,” he groans.

“If you keep this up, we’re never gonna get to work,” you half-heartedly chide him.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he laughs back.

You snort and haul yourself up into your seat. Joel closes the door and doubles back to lock the front door. You crunch through several bites of the granola bar until you make it to a red light. Red lights had become a time where you held hands until the light turned green again. You’re not sure how it started or who started it, but it was just how things were now. Better. Consistent. Affectionate. You cover his knuckles with your palm and caress over each little ridge. The light changes, and you go back to eating your breakfast until the next red light.

You didn’t know it could be like this. He’d always been kind and caring and considerate, but you hadn’t ever been in a sustained sense of calm to truly absorb it. It was a complete sweep to your nervous system. It wasn’t just how he openly forbid you from messing with the dishes or even the dishwasher. He was upfront about it, no stepping on eggshells for fear of setting you off on a defensive eschewal. “Last time you tried it, it was too upsettin’ for you. You aren’t gonna punish yourself. You’re not gonna push yourself like that.”

And instead of the shame for not being able to override the triggers, you accepted it. He was right: it was too much right now. It wasn’t helpful to you or your healing to push yourself. Rather than crumble into yourself, you spoke up and asked what you could do instead. You, too, were upfront about it, how you needed to feel like you weren’t dead weight around the house – a burden.

“Find some options of somethin’ to watch. Read me the synopsis or whatever. We can pick what we wanna watch that way.”

So, you sat at the kitchen table most nights reading up on possible movies or shows while he cleared the dishes and loaded them up. When you snuggle up on the couch together after dinner, Joel almost always talks through the first 10 minutes of it. On the occasion that whatever you picked not being that good, you end up flipping through the TV channels while Joel tries and fails to stay awake. He holds you, nuzzles you. Clingy and endearing and protective.

You know it’s time to head upstairs, and you gently nudge him awake. He grumbles “5 more minutes,” snuggles you closer, and sometimes even pouts when you insist that it really is time to head upstairs. He checks all the locks, brings you both up some water, brushes his teeth next to you. He tells you how soft you are when he gets snuggle up against you again when you finally make it to bed.

It was a strange new world, knowing what to expect every day. The same familiar comfort of his company. The easy way you fit right into his home life, like he’d just been waiting to prove to you how much you were meant to be here. You wonder if one day the memories of your past life will begin to fade, leaving you like the bruises on your body all yellowing their way to nothingness.

“Ahhhh, just look at that,” he rasps. “Look how perfect you look takin’ this dick.”

You follow his call and glance up to catch your reflection in the bathroom mirror. Foot up on the counter. Joel’s forearm slung across your chest, hand cupped on your shoulder for leverage, while the other holds your thigh to keep your leg angled open. He fucks you from behind so you can both watch how you come undone for him.

“Never seen anything prettier than this.”

You note the blown out pupils and general hazy focus of yourself in the mirror. He’s right. It’s intoxicating to watch him, yourself, and where you’re connected.

“First one to ever open you up like this, and look at her. Just suckin’ it in like she’s starved. Fuckin’ hungry for this cock.”

You brace your hands on the edge of the counter, against his forearm, leaning into the mirror. Anywhere for something to steady yourself while he takes you hard and fast. Just like you asked. Just like you needed. All the nerves and doubts from a half hour ago feel like a far echo in the past. 

“Never even took a cock before this and look how good you do it,” he praises into your ear. “So fuckin’ good at just takin’ all of this, chokin’ it so tight—”

He lets out a deep rumbling groan, clearly getting caught up in his own dirty mouth. You loved seeing him like this, unrestrained and raw. Free to be less gentle with you, treat you like you weren’t some fragile thing moments away from fracturing into a million pieces. Ever since you moved into the safety of his home – the safety of his arms – all guards went by the wayside, all worry about saying or doing the wrong thing forgotten. You were both free now to confront all the unsightly and tangled parts of yourselves. All the ugly imperfections of your insecurities, worries, and shortcomings. All laid out bare for the other to acknowledge and decide it didn’t matter because the affection and devotion didn’t change despite these things coming to light.

“— But you’re my good girl, so of course you’re gonna take it so perfect for me, huh? Proud of my good girl takin’ all this cock all up in her guts.”

You reach between your legs to rub yourself, and Joel groans, “Fuck yeah. Can feel you gettin’ tighter. Lemme have it, baby. Lemme fuckin’ have it.”

Your body goes rigid with the force of it, a loud sound tearing from your throat, and you begin to shiver at the aftershocks. You fall limp against the counter and sigh heavily as you feel the hot bands of his spend shooting over the globes of your ass. It had all happened so fast you were glad that at least one of you remembered to pull out since you hadn’t stopped to use a condom.

A dopey smile spreads across your face when you feel him lean closer and hum a little sound of satisfaction and fatigue. Little whispers of how beautiful you are and how lucky he is. He starts the shower up, and you cock a self-assured eyebrow at him when you switch it to the overhead instead of the handheld he’d installed for you. Maybe if you’d been in here alone you would’ve used the shorter one, but Joel’s body pressed up against yours signaled to your brain that you were okay. You were safe here. You could bask in the aftermath of your physical intimacy and extend the dreamy bubble just a little longer as you held close to one another, giving little kisses here and there, washing each other’s hair.

There was no pounding pulse in your ears. No tight gut. No general unease. Just a gossamer of contentedness in perpetuity. He helped you choose between the two casual dresses Sarah had bought online for you. A pretty light blue wrap dress with fluttery sleeves. The brown, flat sandals felt a bit silly to wear, but it certainly looked like something that would make sense with the dress. Joel matched a simple button down and gray slacks, the cuffs rolled up against his forearms and the top buttons left open. You followed a YouTube tutorial on the simplest low bun you could find, and Joel opted for a light gelled look for himself.

“You sure I should drive in these things?” you fret.

You wiggle your foot to draw Joel’s attention. He tilts his head and says you’ll do just fine. He’s been teaching you to drive in earnest, and even quick trips to the store or to grab some dinner have made your confidence on the road grow like crazy. Driving in something other than slip ons or sneakers, however, was new, but neither were really appropriate for a graduation ceremony.

Kenzie’s graduation today was what had spurred this morning’s bout of insecurities and shame about not being as far ahead in life as you “should be.” You wanted to support your friend, but you couldn’t deny that you felt embarrassed in a lot of ways to be attending a celebration of people years younger than you who had their shit together with a degree to show for it. Joel had let you air out your thoughts and feelings but put a stop to it once you waded into “I feel like a loser sometimes” territory. 

He’d pointed out the hand you’d been dealt and what you’d managed to do with it, especially being able to hold onto kindness despite it all. It’s what had drawn him to you in the first place, that natural warmth and helpfulness he saw every time he came into the store to buy those lemonades. He stressed that those are the sorts of things people can’t really be taught. You avoided a pity party for yourself, but you still couldn’t completely shake the feelings of inadequacy. Joel fell back on what had been most effective as of late to shirk the bad mood entirely, and that’s what eventually got you bent over the bathroom counter.

You manage to drive without incident to the convention center where the graduation is being held. You walk arm in arm with Joel and feel steady on your feet. He finds you some seats and wraps an arm around the back of your chair, allowing for you to lean into him for the duration of the ceremony. Kenzie looks like a supermodel walking the stage, even from where you’re sat several sections back. You jump up and cheer with genuine excitement.

“Ooooohhhhhh! Oh my god. Lemonade Daddy is here?!” Kenzie squeals when you meet up with her outside. “Fuck, he looks good,” she gushes to you as if Joel weren’t standing right in front of her, looking a touch embarrassed at the compliments.

“He does, doesn’t he?” you agree, giving him a playful nudge that makes him roll his eyes and grin.

You take photos with her and even let her take a dozen of you and Joel together. Joel flushes even worse when Kenzie and her fellow graduate friends all gush over how cute he is, giggling excitedly over what a great catch you’ve got and how good you two look together.

“You got a brother? A cousin? A nephew??” one of them probes.

Kenzie isn’t quiet for long enough to let Joel answer, although you’re not entirely sure he’s upset about that at all, and simply tells him that if he does then he needs to bring them along to her graduation party in a couple of weeks. Joel’s eyes slide over to you in a silent question, and you smile shyly back at him.

“Oh. Yeah. I already RSVP’d us,” you inform him.

“Sounds like a great time,” he says without missing a beat. “We wouldn’t wanna miss it!”

You beam up at him and press a little kiss to the scruff of his beard. Kenzie’s dad shows up and chats with Joel for a little bit, and you overhear Joel mentioning he could “take a look at it when we come for the party.” You smile to yourself at him always managing to get caught up in contracting stuff one way or another.

You drive home and sling your fancy sandals off your feet the moment you get through the door. Joel laughs and shakes his head before picking them up and putting them neatly in the organizer just by the front hallway. It warms something in your chest to see him take your silliness in stride, not admonishing you for being messy or being annoyed that he had to clean up after you.

Always patient. Always kind. You wonder just how many things  you would have excelled at if only someone like him had always been in your life. There was no way to go back in time and know, of course, but the promise of what the future with Joel held was a damn good second chance.

tagging:

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[kayjaywrites]

Like Bugs in a Rug Chapter 2.5

Bonus Chapter

Previous Chapter

NOTE: Although this bonus chapter could be read by itself, I think it will hit so much harder if you at least read Chapter Two beforehand. Don't remember what happened last? Don't worry about it, this is a series of one shots, so you can basically pick-up and read in whatever order.

Story Summary: Azriel Shadowsinger, mysterious pretty boy extraordinaire himself, was head over heels in love with you for years. Everyone in the room could see it, except for you of course. A series of connected one-shots.

Chapter Word Count: 2,100 Words Chapter Music Inspo: LMS - Aislinn Davis (Does this song super relate to the chapter? Not really, but kinda if you squint. I don’t always get to choose what songs inspire me to write, and for whatever reason, this one did it for this chappy.)

XxXx

Azriel’s POV

Azriel didn’t knock. He waltzed into Rhysand’s office with swift authority. In a few long strides he was at Rhysand’s desk before the door had time to drift shut behind him. The small amount of self-restraint Azriel had maintained during his flight to The House of Wind vanished at the sight of the asshole, his fury vibrating with the need for release. He so rarely embraced the part of himself that craved such brutish violence, but as he advanced on Rhysand he tossed his gloves to the floor. He needed to feel this.

Rhysand didn’t have time to fully look up from his task. His pen was still in the middle of scribbling his signature on some paperwork when Azriel leaned over the desk and took a fist full of the front of his tunic into one hand.

He yanked the High Lord up from his chair so hard the fabric made a tearing noise. He drew Rhysand into an awkward half standing, half crouched position, holding fast as he loomed over him. Much to Azriel’s annoyance, Rhysand only seemed mildly taken aback by Azriel’s crass arrival, the bastard was expecting him.

Rhysand’s typical air of nonchalance had never bothered him in the way it did now. It was disgusting, how he could jeopardize something so precious to Azriel, and then chose fucking paperwork over trying to fix it.

He sneered in Rhysand’s face. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Hey, hey.” Rhysand tried to straighten, but Azriel didn’t give an inch. Rhysand reached a hand for Azriel’s wrist instead, as if to protect his fancy tunic from ripping further. Azriel fixed Rhysand with a scowl that promised harsh violence if he touched him, so Rhysand let his hand fall.

Maybe the High Lord hadn’t completely lost his mind, had a little self preservation instinct left in him after all.

“Az, I’m going to apologize, you don’t need to do this.”

Don’t need to do this? The cold rage clouding Azriel’s mind said otherwise. He barely registered his blue siphons flashing as his shadows rose up behind him, dangerous and menacing just like him. He pulled Rhysand closer, the thread along the collar of the tunic fraying, their faces now inches apart as he looked down at Rhysand with blatant revulsion.

The scent of your tears lingered in Azriel’s nose like you were still falling apart in his arms. For as long as he lived, Azriel would remember what it felt like to see your confidence and hope flicker like a dying flame when all he could offer you was his embrace. It wasn’t enough, he knew that, and it made him feel so helpless. All Azriel wanted was for you to feel like you belonged here, with the Inner Circle, with him.

And they had made damned good progress too, it was slow, but he could tell that you were warming up to the idea of trusting the Inner Circle. Until this dick went and fucked it all up.

So yeah. He did need to do this.

“I fucked up,” Rhysand rushed out, his violet eyes seemed to take in every twitch of Azriel’s face, reading the unspoken threat for what it was, “I’m not saying I don’t deserve this. I’m saying that I already agree with you, I went too far, and I will apologize.”

Azriel huffed an exhale, nostrils flaring. You’d been so distraught, so emotionally and physically exhausted that you fell asleep a few minutes into the flight to Mor’s apartment. You’d never admitted as much, but he knew you had a bit of a phobia of heights, it’s why he never pressured you to fly with him. He had dreamed of the first time he’d take to the sky with you, planned out each scenario, wondered how you’d look the first time you saw Velaris from above. He’d always imagined your face to be alight with wonder.

If he had any reservation about confronting Rhysand, it vanished by the time he entered Mor’s apartment. You didn’t even stir when he laid you down on Mor’s bed. He considered returning to The House of Wind while you were asleep, but the idea of you waking up here alone kept him rooted to your side. He sat on the bed next to you while he waited for Mor to return home, he knew she would take good care of you, she took her duty as a newly discovered older sister very seriously. He found himself absentmindedly smoothing your mused hair from your face. Using his gloved fingers to wipe away dried tear tracks from your cheeks. He was unable to stop comparing the peaceful expression you wore in your sleep to the heartbreak he’d seen while on the stairs.

The room was silent, but his mind was loud as he spiraled, thoughts fixated on how he'd failed you. Had Rhysand sent him away to Windhaven first thing in the morning on purpose, to set him up for failure? Were there really any rumors of an uprising in the camp? Azriel hadn't found any, and it seemed like a mighty convenient distraction.

By the time Mor arrived home he was visibly seething with no concept of how much time had actually passed while he waited. He barely greeted her, gesturing to your sound asleep form on the bed as he made his exit. 

Of course, Azriel was furious on your behalf, but that wasn’t what triggered the bloodlust, not completely. He was supposed to protect you, mind and body, and he failed you so spectacularly. He’d assumed that Rhysand had similar intentions, had fully trusted him to protect you while he was away. He would never be so foolish again, he just hoped that you’d stick around long enough to see that.

What if the damage Rhysand dealt couldn’t be smoothed over by a mere apology.

Studying Rhysand now, he seemed so certain that he could smooth this over. He didn’t seem remotely sorry enough for Azriel’s taste. His free hand clenched into a tight fist, something eerily similar to hatred bubbled in him like acid. If Rhysand didn’t feel guilt or remorse for what he’d done to you, then he certainly didn’t care how his actions impacted him either. 

Azriel meet his chosen brother’s beseeching stare with contempt as he spoke, words sharp as they left his lips. “When Feyre was first adjusting to the Night Court, I did everything I could to make her feel comfortable and welcome because one way or the other, I knew she was important to you. That made her important to me too. Well before she became my high lady.”

Something defensive surfaced in Rhysand at the thinly veiled accusation. “Are you implying that I don’t care about my own cousin?”

“No,” Azriel snapped back, “I’m implying that you don’t care about me. How dare you speak to her like that knowing exactly what she means to me.”

Rhysand inhaled sharply through his teeth, fixing Azriel with a stern frown, as if he was the one disappointed in him. “I am the High Lord, Azriel, how many times must I remind you that my duty to my Court has to trump the comfort of those in my Inner Circle? She would have had to face Kier eventually, as you know, he thinks she’s spying on us for him. Was I supposed to risk a civil war because she wasn’t prepared?” Rhysand’s calculating eyes were hard as he paused for a moment, as if considering his next sentence carefully, “Just like how I expect you to make uncomfortable choices for the sake of the Court, I expect her to do what must be done to protect the Court as well. That is what it takes to be a part of my Inner Circle."

At one point, referencing the confrontation with Rhysand after getting caught canoodling with Elain would have sent him over the deep end. That conversation marked the first time he truly questioned the depth of Rhysand’s compassion for those in his Inner Circle. Even if Rhysand had been right in the long run, the cold way in which he handled it did not settle well with Azriel. For the sake of his family, not the Court, he had backed down and buried the resentment he felt towards Rhysand. It had seemed worth it, to see Elain and Lucien so happy, and Azriel was finding his own happiness too.

Again, Azriel’s siphons blazed. Rhysand could walk all over him as much as he liked, he’d lived through worse well before he’d met him. But he wouldn’t let Rhysand treat you like that even again. You deserved so much better, especially from your High Lord. “Being the fucking High Lord does not give you the right to be an asshole. You know she already struggled with feeling out of place among us, you didn’t have to confirm her worst fears to get her to cooperate.”

“I know!” Rhysand snapped, trying a bit harder to pull away from Azriel and straighten to his full height, a warning gleaming in his eyes when Azriel didn't yield. He’d sooner rip the tunic all the way down the front than let Rhysand stand tall right now.

“I knew she would push back,” Rhysand continued, sounding offended. Good. “I knew I would have to be more stern with her than I’ve ever been before. I had a plan, but hadn’t accounted for what her magic would feel like when it went on the offensive. I didn’t know it could go on the offensive, I don’t think she knew she was doing it, she zoned out for about a couple minutes in the middle of the argument, totally unresponsive and just blankly staring at me. I couldn’t penetrate her mental shields at all. Her magic protected her from my own fiercely. I wasn’t ready, and my magic took the bait, I lost control of the situation. I’m going to apologize to her, Az. I’m going to explain myself.”

Azriel searched Rhysand’s face for any sign of deception, growing cross with Nesta and Mor for not mentioning the odd behavior earlier. Tense seconds of silence passed as Azriel processed the new information. Rhysand stayed stock still, unwavering under Azriel’s scrutiny. Jaw clenched, he filed this development under ‘suspicious’. He’d agonize over it when he was thinking clearer.

Exhaling a stressed breath, he unclenched the fist at his side. His other hand remained curled in Rhysand’s tunic, unwilling to release him quite yet.

“If she leaves because of this, I do too.” If Azriel’s intentions shocked Rhysand, the High Lord didn’t show it.

Hoisting Rhysand up until he stood up straight, Azriel made sure to tear the fabric down the front a good couple inches for good measure. “Fix. This. Rhys.” With that, Azriel shoved Rhysand away, releasing the collar of the tunic as the High Lord stumbled backwards, the back of his knees bumping into his office chair and toppling it over.

Azriel had nothing left to say to the other male, yet he was still wound so tight. Icy fury and hot protectiveness rushed through him like adrenaline as he turned his back to the High Lord, retreating to the door. 

This hadn’t made him feel better at all.

 Just as he was about to leave the room, as silent and quick as he arrived, he paused. “Meet me at the training grounds in 20 minutes.” He ordered, casting a challenging look to Rhysand over his shoulder, daring him to correct him for ordering his High Lord around.

When Rhysand remained passive, Azriel added. “Don’t make me come and get you.”

Then he clicked the office door closed behind him, making a beeline for the training grounds. He could sense his shadows scrambling to catch up with him. They’d loitered in Rhysand’s office a few seconds longer than him, and he almost reprimanded them for it. But then one of his bigger shadows materialized, curling down his arm to place his discarded gloves in his waiting palm. He dismissed the shadow, not quite with praise, but thankful nonetheless as he tucked the gloves into a vacant pocket in his leathers. It would have irked him if he had to ask Rhysand for them back, after he threw them to the floor in such a dramatic display only to not throw a single punch.

He’d get those punches in soon though, and he was going to enjoy every single one with bare hands. Then, he would focus his attention on what really mattered, supporting you. One day, he hoped to prove to you that you had people right here who would choose you over their Court every damned time.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

XxXx

Like Bugs in a Rug Tag List: @f4iry-bell @jediknightjana @microwaveallthedemons olive-main @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @5onedirection5 @lilah-asteria @witchymomfrien @landofpetrichor @quinzzelx @tsibba01 @brieflyclassymortal @hauntedstudentobservationus

[currentfandomkick]

Prompt:

Desiree overhears bruce wish for a do-over with his robins.

Said robins end up aged down and only with those memories of when they first were acknowledged as Robin by Bruce. Anything after? Gone.

Now Dick is 8 ready to destroy these people stealing his mom’s nickname for him. Yes he is deranged and feral. Yes he is assaulting Damian the most, as the kid also attacks him. He’s also certain Damian is mew to the states too and annoyed he cant understand the kid.

Jason is 12 and dealing with a Lot of homeless kid truama and whiplash of rich place and who are these other kids and why is the tiniest one trying to kill the second tiniest? Stop that! (Jason, the most responsible somehow) Damian listens to him best without the use of orders. (Only way to get Damian to listen otherwise) and is working on teaching Damian about how the states and Gotham work. Jason is the Great Culture Teacher, and hoarding food stashes and go bags everywhere. Just in case. Yes he has some for everyone and is only a little upset his peer Tim vanished before he could give him his.

Tim is 12 too, realized Batman had Jason Right There and fucked off back home to see what happened timeline wise. He decided to visit his apparent step-mom, Dana, and gets to meet his apparent(?) boyfriends (deal’s choice, just have there be two for Tim’s confusion as ‘i pulled not one but two hot boys? How?) reasons. Tim is Learning what he did in the last 6 years and is questioning how his older self stopped with a semi-regular sleep schedule and.. had no spleen? Dana, can we get that checked for me that mine’s still there and if i keep it? Yay. Oh, this should last a few months? Okay! He can work from home online and have Lucius handle the meetings—why was he made a teen CEO again?

Stephanie? Is the oldest at 15, and is baffled by the whole situation. She goes to see Oracle and handles patrols under Babs’ eye with a confused Cass. Yes Stephanie is mad at Tim and believes he was cheating on her at this time, but knows the Tim she saw was smaller. And this is in the future from her POV. She’s still mad. Also the least likely to cause problems on patrol atm as she’s already trained and threatened to break out Spoiler if he tries to stop her. Her favorites and Damian (he gets killing should be an option, but needs to work on his selection process) and Jason, who Gets being a poor kid. Dick stops attacking her on sight but is a savage and insults her form. He ranks below Tim due to proximity, and the fact this is a Tim before they dated.

Damian? Back maybe 2 years, to the mindset of ‘if i dont kill my predecessor, i am unworthy of my role by Father’s side.’ Problem: he and Dick are fighting (both initiate) and Alfred and Jason (when did his zombie guard get so small?) are the only ones able to separate them successfully. He is not allowed on Patrol, but Brown is as she’s able to run solo otherwise and Father has recruited her using Robin. Father has explicitly forbade attacking her in the manor, cave or otherwise on property, and forbid killing. Brown is the only one besides him questioning this, even if it’s mostly over comms… and he is absolutely working on learning magic to undo this spell and return to his rightful place damnit!

Bruce has Many Regrets about that wish. And hates magic

Meanwhile Danny is trying to work out which wishes of Desiree’s are safe to undo, as apparently her last spree included taking out Joker, who was well overdue for that, and helping a lot of families reunite. He’s not undoing that. But also she did help gorilla grodd take over a city. He. He’s gonna need help, isn’t he?

[thyln4gf]

Polaroid

✞ You're the love of Charle's life, and he hates not having you around... This time, he missed you a little too much.

✞ A short one - 847 words.

✞ I have synesthesia! Here's 5 songs that I associate with this fic: "Older" and "I'm yours (sped up)" - Isabel LaRosa, "Unpunishable" - Ethel Cain, "Trust issues" - Drake, "Masterpiece" - Motionless In White.

✞ Warnings - sexual content, male masturbation.

✞ Charles x reader (Charles POV)

The days that Charles spent away from you were definitely a torture. And not for him alone - but also Carlos. He'd talk the poor lads ears off. You'd attend the races more often, but studies stopped you. What a shame, right?

Charles was down bad for you. If you have ever seen a guy simp for his girl? Charles was all that and more, multiplied atleast 7 times.

He loved everything about you, but one of his favourite things were... your tits. Yes, thats right. He liked them, maybe a little too much even. He liked to touch them, lick them, leave trails of kisses over them, sleep on them, just look at them in general. All of it. If you ever sat on his lap? You better have prepared to have his hands use your tits as his stress balls (they genuinely helped him relax after a long day). You never complained though - his hands were always warm, and felt pleasantly tingly against your colder skin. So whenever he was away from home for longer periods of time... What he experienced could be described the best as withdrawals - he was addicted to them. And the fact that they were attached to you? It made it all even better.

Charles was in his hotel room after a race, as per usual. But he couldn't sleep - his "withdrawals" today were stronger, and the thoughts about the absence of you and your tits kept him awake. He turned to his other side, again, letting out a frustrated groan. He was even starting to think of asking you to send him something, but he quickly shook the thought off. You were never the one to send nudes over text, but so was he. But suddenly...

He got reminded of something that completely vanished from his mind - something that could offer him a quick fix for his current problem.

He doesnt even have to leave the bed to grab his wallet - it was in the drawer of the bedside table. He starts to open it up, with slightly shaky hands. His fingers find the polaroid that he keeps in it, almost dropping the wallet in the process. He looks at it, and sucks in a breath. You see, the polaroid... was of your tits. It was a beautiful sight - you were laying down on the bed, clearly battling a hangover. Your arms were stretched over your head, covering your eyes from the golden hour sunshine coming through the window. The sheets were messy - a reminder of a fun night for both of you. And your tits were exposed. Charles thought of that moment atleast three times a day - you could definitely call it his "roman empire".

He stares at the polaroid for another 10 seconds, and it takes him maybe 5 to get hard. He wastes no time, because he knows that it would happen eventually. He reaches down into his underwear, his fingers gently teasing along his hard dick, and he breathes in quickly. He then wraps his hand around it, and thinks for a second. He felt a little ashamed, but he was getting rather desperate. He wishes that you were here, doing this for him - but this will also do, for now.

He starts stroking it, and a few soft moans already escape his throat uncontrollably. He is looking at the polaroid, thinking of you and your voice, the way you... feel, and even the way you smell, while getting himself off at the same time. He already knew that he wouldnt last that long, a few minutes at best - but he didnt care.

The stroking picked up pace in a few seconds, him getting more and more desperate to get the release - the thought of you felt way too good, teasing him in a way. More involuntary moans slip from his mouth. Oh, what he would give to hear some of your own right now.

He could finally feel himself getting very close, and he closes his eyes, picking up more pace - to reach his orgasm faster. And he succeeds - a few seconds later his hips are already moving up on their own, shaking slightly - just like the rest of his body. He collapses into the bed completely right after.

The hand that just finished pleasuring himself returns back up, to be able to grip the polaroid with both hands, as he opens his eyes again. The sight of one of his favourite things ever greet him, and he cant help but let a smile appear on his face. The time periods that you spend away from each other didnt matter to him - he was beyond lucky to have you, and wondered what the reason might be almost every day.

The relief hit him, but now the exhaustion followed. His eyes were already starting to close - but the thought of having to clean himself up woke him up again. He groans.

Fuck, chérie... The things that you make me do...

-----

Authors note: dedicated to a lovely human. Thank you darling<3 (you know who you are.)

[chimcess]

→ Chapter Eleven: Following Rivers Pairing: Jimin x Reader Other tags: Werewolf!Jimin, Witch!Reader, Shifter!Reader, Shifter!Jimin, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha!Jimin Genre: Supernatural!AU, Werewolf!AU, Angst, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Smut, Word Count: 14.5k+ Synopsis: Within the four realms of Lustra lay the Bangtan forest home to the Foxglove pack of the south and known as the “land of magic.” It is also home to the Bridd, a powerful witch from a cursed bloodline who is one of the sacred guardians of the forest. Y/N is the newest Bridd, a young girl who was given her position too early. Now a woman, Y/N is revered amongst the wolves as the most powerful witch they have ever known, but hiding under the surface is a woman who has to battle between her duty and her heart. Warnings: ANGST, strong language, PTSD, flashbacks, self-hate, self-depreciation, talks of death, everyone is going through it, getting to know some more characters, love-triangle, Jin is being kind of a dick, I promise we'll start seeing more Jimin as this goes on but he's just really depressed right now, Sam is a HUGE flirt, Kook is a vibe and I love him, Secrets to be reveled later, disabilities are going to be a huge part of Yoongi's life now and his arc so bear with a lot of that being in his povs, he's my favorite person in this series (so far, later you'll meet by baby for life), possibly wrong medical terminology, sexism and misogyny will be hinted at, everyone is going through it, lots of grief and heartache, Babyboy just wants his best friend back, mourning her life she's dead, let me know if I missed anything... A/N: Thanks for reading <3

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Yoongi pov

The night hummed with an eerie energy, alive with murmurs that made the air feel thick and electric. The new witches had gathered, their voices weaving together, filling the darkness with spells that seemed to breathe and shift around us. I sat on the porch, my fingers tracing the worn lines in the wood, trying to remember when I could still look up and see the stars. Before everything became shadows and shapes I couldn’t quite make out.

The clash with the elves had left me like this—caught in a strange, half-blind world. It didn’t take all my sight, but what was left was blurred and foggy, like a permanent mist hovering in front of me. I’d catch a flash of movement or a glimmer of light, but it would vanish before I could be sure it was real. It was maddening—a reminder of everything I’d lost, every single day.

Blindness wasn’t the darkness I’d imagined. It wasn’t nothingness; it was worse. It was this hazy dream I could never wake from, where sounds felt bigger and sharper, and the world I knew slipped further away each day. Even the crickets, which used to be comforting, now grated on my nerves, their chirps too loud, almost painful. Leaves rustling in the wind scratched at my ears, reminding me of how much had changed.

The porch used to be my refuge. I could almost see Bridd and me sitting here years ago, trading stories as the sky darkened and fireflies began to blink. Those days felt like they belonged to someone else now, someone who hadn’t been left behind. Now, I was just trying to keep up, stumbling to find my place in a world that had become a stranger. I felt like I was slipping more often than not, the weight of everything pressing down, suffocating and relentless.

Laughter from next door cut through the quiet like broken glass. Sharp and startling, it reminded me that the world outside my darkness was still alive, still spinning. I’d always felt a little disconnected, but now it was like I’d been completely cast out, left to linger on the edges while everyone else went on with their lives.

I took a deep breath, the air heavy and thick. Memories clung to me like smoke, lingering in the silence. The witches’ voices grew softer, their spells fading into the night, and I felt everything more intensely now—the rough wood under my fingers, the sounds, the memories.

Then, footsteps. I heard her voice, soft and familiar. My mother. “Yoongi,” she said, her warmth reaching me before her touch did. “How are you holding up?”

I took a shaky breath. “Trying,” I said, and the word felt heavier than I could explain. “Just…trying to find my way.” It felt like climbing a hill I couldn’t see, carrying all the weight of what I’d lost.

She sat down next to me, her hand gentle on my shoulder. “You don’t have to do it all alone,” she murmured. “It’s okay to rest. To take things slowly.” Her words wrapped around me like a soft spell. “It’s alright,” she repeated.

I nodded, feeling my head dip forward. “I miss her,” I whispered. “Bridd… she made it all easier.”

She sighed, her hand steady. “She was special. But remember, there are still people here who care about you, Yoongi. Seokjin’s still here. Maybe you could reach out to him.”

Her words stirred something—maybe hope, maybe fear. Seokjin had once been an anchor for me, but now it felt like we were drifting, each of us lost in our own way. “I don’t want to be a burden,” I mumbled.

“You’re not,” she said firmly. “Friendship isn’t a burden—it’s something we share. You were there for them; now let them be there for you.”

Her words stayed with me, even as the witches’ laughter rose again, filling the night with a reminder of everything I couldn’t see. Wendy’s laugh rang out, soft and familiar, laced with something unspoken that lingered between us. I knew her feelings, even if we’d never said it out loud. But my heart… it was somewhere else, always just out of reach.

And then Wendy was closer. I felt my mother’s hand on my shoulder, grounding me, as Wendy’s voice cut through the night. “Yoongi!” she called, her tone bright but with a hint of something fragile beneath it. There was something in her voice that drew me in, even though I knew how dangerous it could be to let her in too far.

Jin and I were already on thin ice, and if he saw us like this, he’d definitely get the wrong idea.

“Hey,” I said, my voice coming out tight. Wendy stepped closer, her warmth hitting me before her hand did—just like my mother’s touch. She always had this way of seeing right through me, straight to the parts I tried to keep hidden.

“You okay?” she asked softly, her tone so gentle, like I was made of glass. I hated that she even had to ask.

I shrugged, the movement small and stiff. “Just thinking,” I muttered, barely meaning it. It was a filler, a shield. “Got a lot on my mind.”

She paused, letting the silence sit heavy between us. I could almost feel her studying me, like she was trying to piece me together. “You don’t have to do this alone,” she finally said. “We’re here for you, Yoongi. Jin and I…we care about you.”

Hearing Jin’s name hit me with a pang of something—hope, maybe, mixed with doubt. Did they really get it? Or were they just saying what they thought I needed to hear? I wanted to believe them, but that nagging doubt wouldn’t quit.

“I’m used to it,” I said, looking down at my hands. “I’m fine.” It was easier to be alone in my head, to keep everything locked away where no one could reach it.

Wendy shook her head, stepping in closer. “You’re not fine,” she whispered. “And that’s okay. You don’t have to be.” Her fingers brushed against mine—a small touch, but there was a tremor in it. She was scared too. We all were.

In that tremble, I felt something real, something solid. Maybe…maybe enough to take one more step forward, to move toward a world that didn’t feel like my own anymore. I nodded, just a small tilt of my head, and she stayed. No more words, just her warmth beside me as the witches’ laughter faded in the distance. It wasn’t everything. It wasn’t what my life used to be. But it was enough for now—to keep breathing, to keep moving.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” I whispered, almost too quiet to hear. Being vulnerable felt foreign, like it was borrowed from someone else.

“You’re not a burden, Yoongi,” Wendy said, her voice soft but steady. “You’re my friend. We care about you.” Her words hung in the air—delicate but so powerful.

The chatter and laughter around us felt louder then, a reminder of all that was bright and alive in their world. The world I wanted to reach again but didn’t know how. I sat there, the distance between us like a wall separating their colorful lives from my shadows.

The horizon stretched before me like an endless fog, a blur that mocked me, a constant reminder of what I’d lost. Days had passed like this, silent and heavy, filled with burdens I kept to myself, not wanting to weigh others down. Wendy’s voice was a quiet anchor, though, pulling me back from the edge.

“Yoongi,” she said, her words gentle, a lifeline. “I know it’s hard, but if you ever want to talk, I’m here. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

For a second, I almost told her I was fine. Pretending was easier, a mask I’d perfected over time. And the words did come, almost automatically.

“I’ll manage,” I said, but even I could hear how empty they sounded.

Wendy didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. She just waited, her patience a steady presence beside me. Silence settled around us, thick with everything unspoken, all the fears I’d locked away. Finally, I looked down, the truth hovering on the edge of my mind, but I held it back.

“I’m not used to asking for help,” I finally admitted, the words coming out rough, almost resentful.

As I said it, regret flickered through me—showing weakness like this felt wrong. The days since my injury had blurred together, each one marked by this fog that clouded my sight. Sometimes I thought I saw things—faces, trees, the distant horizon—but they always slipped away. It was as if my eyes were covered in jelly. The harder I tried to see, the worse it got. So, I’d learned to rely on other senses—the sound of a voice, a hand’s touch, the scent of the forest around me. But it wasn’t the same. It would never be the same.

Wendy moved closer, her warmth cutting through the chill creeping in with the night. The shadows around us felt less intimidating with her beside me. I could feel her gaze, steady and searching, like she could see past all the walls I’d built to the doubts and fears I tried to keep hidden. But I kept those walls up.

“Yoongi,” she said softly, her voice firm but gentle, like she was tossing me a lifeline. “This doesn’t have to be everything, not right now. Just take it one step at a time. I’ll be here with you.”

Her words were comforting, but I didn’t let myself hold onto them. I couldn’t. Vulnerability felt too dangerous now, after everything I’d lost. So I just gave her a nod, a silent acknowledgment. Nothing more.

“Okay,” I murmured, more to keep her from worrying than anything else. “I’ll…try.”

But trying felt impossible some days. Every moment was a battle. Losing my sight had taken so much more than just my ability to see—it had pulled the world out from under me. Faces, landscapes, even the simplest things now felt foreign and unreachable. I found myself pulling away, retreating from the world and clinging to the past, tracing familiar shapes with my fingers, trying to remember what they used to look like. I wasn’t just blind—I was a stranger to myself.

Wendy’s hand rested on mine, her touch a steady reminder that I wasn’t entirely alone, even if it sometimes felt that way. Something flickered inside me, something I refused to name as hope. Hope was too fragile. I’d learned to live without it. I just focused on her hand in mine, and that was enough—or at least, it had to be.

But even with her there, memories clawed their way back—the chaos of that last battle, the roar of voices, the clash of weapons. The elves had come at us with everything they had, leaving no mercy. I could still feel the weight of that moment, the way darkness had swallowed me whole and left me here, grappling with nothing. My fists clenched without meaning to, the memories hitting hard.

“Wendy,” I started, my voice thick, my walls barely holding. “What if this is it? What if I can never really be a part of things again? What if I’m just…a burden?”

Her hand tightened on mine, a solid anchor. “Don’t say that,” she replied firmly, her voice a steady beat in the storm. “You’re not a burden, Yoongi. You’re still you. That matters more than anything. Even if you can’t see, you’re still one of us.” She softened, her words warmer, sinking into me. “Being open is a step toward healing. Don’t let fear take that away from you.”

I nodded, but I still couldn’t fully believe her. It felt safer to keep a distance, to hold onto the pain like armor. I didn’t want to drag her down with my despair, didn’t want to risk the letdown that came with hope. So I swallowed back the emotions, burying them where they wouldn’t touch anyone else.

The witches’ laughter drifted over, light and distant, reminding me that life still existed out there, in a world I couldn’t reach—not yet, maybe not ever.

“Thank you,” I whispered, meaning it even though the words felt fragile. I hadn’t realized how much I needed her assurance, her steady reminder that I wasn’t weighing everyone else down. But even as I said it, I knew I couldn’t lean on her too much. I had to stand on my own, even if that meant facing it all in silence.

The night deepened, and Wendy stayed, her presence grounding me, pulling me back from the edge. She was like a lighthouse in this fog I was stuck in, a reminder that maybe things could be different one day. I let myself imagine it, just for a second—that maybe, somehow, I could belong again. But I quickly pushed the thought away. I didn’t have room for dreams.

Wendy’s fingers tightened slightly, her gaze lifting to the stars scattered across the sky. “Yoongi,” she murmured, her voice carrying that unbreakable hope she always seemed to have, “We’ve all lost something. None of us feel whole, not completely. But we can help each other move forward, one step at a time.”

I caught the slight tremor in her voice, that hidden hurt that I knew all too well. Her mother’s death in the last battle had left a wound we all felt, a gap that reminded us of what the war had taken. That final clash had left us all scarred in ways that didn’t show.

I looked at her, our grief mingling in the quiet, binding us in this shared loss. “With Bridd gone… it’s hard to hold on to hope,” I admitted, the words raw and real. Bridd had been a constant, someone we all relied on. Without her, everything felt fractured.

Wendy’s eyes met mine, fierce and unwavering. “Bridd is strong. She’ll find her way back to us. And until then, we hold on to each other. That’s how we get through this.”

Wendy moved closer, her warmth a welcome contrast to the evening chill settling in around us. The shadows seemed less overwhelming with her beside me. I felt her steady gaze, like she could see past the walls I’d built and right into the mess of fears I tried to keep buried. But I kept those walls up.

“Yoongi,” she said softly, her voice like a lifeline, steady but gentle. “We don’t have to know everything right now. Let’s just make a promise—to hold on to each other. No matter how dark it gets, we keep going. For Bridd, for each other. That’s how we honor what we’ve lost.”

Her words sank in, like rain on parched ground. For a second, I felt a flicker of hope, a small reminder that maybe I didn’t have to carry all this alone. But I knew myself; I wouldn’t let myself rely on anyone too much. I couldn’t.

The witches’ laughter echoed in the distance, reminding me of life’s strange mix of light and dark, joy and pain. It was almost comforting, that reminder of life moving forward.

“Wendy,” I started, the words feeling awkward and unsure, “What if… I’m not who I used to be?”

She gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “Then we’ll help you find who you are now. You’re not alone, Yoongi. As long as I’m here, you’re not.”

Her conviction cut through my despair, but I kept my guard up. The night stretched out before us, full of unknowns, but as I sat next to Wendy, her presence like a steady anchor, I didn’t feel quite as lost. Maybe I’d try to take it as she said—one step at a time. But those steps were still mine to take, alone if I had to.

And as the darkness pressed in, I took a deep breath, letting the warmth of her presence fill the empty spaces inside me. She didn’t press for more, just stayed there beside me, as constant as the stars overhead.

Her quiet understanding eased something raw within me, like a wound finally starting to heal. “It’s… everything feels different now,” I admitted, my voice breaking a little, surprising even me. “I can’t see any of it, and it terrifies me.”

Wendy’s hand found my shoulder, her touch gentle and steady. “You’re still here, Yoongi. Losing your sight doesn’t mean you’ve lost everything. We’ll find a way through this, together. You still have us.” Her words hung in the air, easing the fear that had taken root inside me, creeping through everything like vines.

I let out a shaky breath, clinging to the faint hope her words had sparked. Maybe this wasn’t the end. Maybe, if I let myself reach out, there was still a way forward, a way to heal. “Thank you,” I whispered, the gratitude catching in my throat, barely able to express everything I felt.

Hope had become something strange and distant to me. Since the injury, my days had blurred into an endless stretch of darkness—more than just the absence of light. I could barely see. Everything was trapped in this cloudy haze, as if something thick coated my eyes. Shadows passed by, shapes that could be anything or anyone, but I never got a clear view. Trying to make sense of it all only left me with splitting headaches, so I stopped trying. The sight I had left was useless, a cruel reminder of what I’d lost.

I’d started relying on sound, on touch, to make sense of the world, but it wasn’t the same. I couldn’t see the faces of my friends or the beauty of the trees, the sky, the stars. All the things that used to ground me felt unreachable. My world was small and unfamiliar, and every step felt vulnerable, a reminder of everything that had changed. It was like drowning in the dark with no way out.

The night thickened around us, heavy with memories and things left unspoken, but Wendy’s steady presence kept me grounded. My thoughts drifted to Bridd—how her laughter had always lifted me, how her presence had once made even the hardest days bearable. The ache of her absence cut deep, but Wendy’s warmth stirred something faint and new in me, a promise that maybe I could find my way through this darkness, one slow, uncertain step at a time.

After a while, Wendy slipped into the shadows, her warmth slowly fading, leaving me alone again with the night. Minutes later, another set of footsteps approached, each step sharp and confident. I didn’t need to look to know who it was. Sam. The wind elemental who’d fought by our side, her presence like a storm, fierce and unrelenting.

“Mind if I sit?” she asked, her voice direct, cutting through my thoughts.

“Go ahead,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady, bracing for the bluntness Sam always brought with her. She wasn’t like Wendy—she wasn’t soft. But her honesty was something I couldn’t ignore.

And I couldn’t deny how much I enjoyed her company. Sam always found me, always made sure I knew she was there, even when everyone else seemed to forget. It was comforting in its own way, and though I’d heard whispers about her and Kim Namjoon, I never let that stop her visits. Her people weren’t known for sticking to one person, and I wasn’t looking for anything anyway.

She lowered herself beside me with a kind of ease, though there was always a tension in her, a restless energy that seemed to vibrate between us. “You look like you’ve been trampled by a dragon,” she remarked with a smirk. “What’s got you in knots, Yoongi?”

I let out a dry laugh, trying to shrug it off. “The usual,” I said, waving a hand like all of it—war, waiting, the constant unknown—was nothing more than a passing annoyance. “The war, the waiting, the not knowing… you know.”

She didn’t laugh. When she replied, her voice was serious. “Yeah, and it’s not getting better anytime soon. Bridd’s out there, trying to bring in allies, and here we are, waiting for the next storm.”

“Thanks for the pep talk,” I said, irritation slipping out. I could feel her smirk, though, a bit of satisfaction in her voice.

“What, you thought I’d sugarcoat it?” she shot back, arching a brow. “You’re not the only one carrying heavy stuff, Min. We’re all in this.”

“Are we?” I muttered, bitterness creeping into my voice. “Or are we all just pretending we’re fine?”

“Pretending doesn’t change anything,” she said, her tone softening. “Sometimes you’ve got to stop fighting so hard and just… breathe. Give yourself a moment to let it be.”

I clenched my fists, the rough wood of the porch pressing into my palms. “It’s not that simple, Sam,” I murmured, feeling the weight of everything I’d lost. “You don’t get what it’s like… to lose everything familiar.”

She didn’t say anything for a while, and I thought maybe she’d let it go. But then, she spoke, her tone more serious than usual. “No, I may not know what it’s like to lose sight. But I know what it’s like to lose things—things that meant everything. To build up walls so high you forget who or what you’re even keeping out.” She paused, her words hitting harder than I wanted to admit. “It doesn’t bring you peace, Yoongi. It just leaves you alone.”

Her words cut deep, and I felt a flare of anger, my instinct to push back. “I’m not asking for advice, Sam,” I said, warning in my voice.

“No, you’re asking to drown,” she shot back, her frustration seeping through. “You’re letting it swallow you whole. And here’s the thing—life keeps moving, Yoongi, with or without you.”

Her words were like a jolt, breaking through the numbness I’d wrapped around myself. I wanted to argue, to say she didn’t understand, but I couldn’t deny there was truth in what she said. As much as I hated to admit it, she wasn’t wrong.

“What do you want from me, Sam?” I asked finally, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Nothing,” she said, her voice softening. “But maybe you should want more for yourself. Stop hiding in the dark. You’re not alone, no matter how much you try to pretend you are.”

Silence stretched between us, charged with all the things neither of us had said. Sam stayed beside me, solid and warm against the night, and I felt something shift inside—a flicker of realization that maybe, just maybe, she was right.

Her words felt like stones dropping into a still pond, rippling through the calm I’d forced myself into. Part of me bristled at her bluntness, but another part—the part I tried to ignore—felt grateful. She didn’t flinch from my darkness. She leaned into it, unafraid to call me out.

“I’m not great at letting people in,” I muttered, the words feeling strange, like they belonged to someone else. Keeping people at arm’s length was easier, safer, even if it meant being alone.

“Yeah, I got that,” she replied, her usual sarcasm softened by a surprising warmth. “But maybe you should try. Life’s too short to be a lone wolf forever. Cadoc taught me that much.”

“It’s not that easy,” I said, feeling the weight of it all press down on me. “Not everyone’s an optimist like you.”

“Optimist?” She laughed, a dry, almost bitter sound. “I’m not an optimist, Yoongi. I’m a realist. But you don’t have to change everything at once. Just… consider it.” Her voice softened, a tenderness I wasn’t used to hearing from her. “You never know what might happen if you let someone in.”

Her gaze held mine, steady and a little unnerving, as if she could see past every wall I’d built. I swallowed hard, my chest tight with a mix of fear and something else. “And what if I ruin it?” The question slipped out before I could stop it, the vulnerability raw and real.

Sam shrugged, unbothered. “Then you mess up. We’ll deal with it. That’s what friends are for. At least you tried.”

A small, reluctant smile tugged at my lips, the tension in my chest easing just a bit. “I’ll… think about it.”

She leaned back, a satisfied smirk on her face. “Good. And if you need practice, you know where to find me. I promise I won’t bite… much.”

A laugh escaped me, surprising and low, breaking through the heaviness of the night. “You’re something else, Sam.”

“Yeah, I know,” she replied, grinning. “And you’re welcome. Anytime you need a reality check or a kick in the backside, I’m your girl.”

We sat in a comfortable silence after that, the night air cool around us as we watched the shadows shift. It was rare, I realized, to have someone who didn’t turn away from my darkness—someone who met it head-on instead. And as Sam stayed there beside me, I felt a flicker of something I hadn’t let myself feel in a long time: hope. Maybe, just maybe, I didn’t have to carry this alone.

But that hope was fragile, and doubts clung to me like shadows. Trust was a risk, a leap into something unknown, especially when everything felt so uncertain.

After a while, Sam shifted closer, her eyes gleaming with a mischievous spark. “You know, Yoongi,” she began, her voice dropping into a playful whisper, “I’ve always thought you were kinda… cute.”

“Wait, what?” I blinked, caught completely off guard, my voice suddenly caught in my throat. The porch, the night—everything seemed to close in, amplified by her words.

She laughed, clearly amused by my reaction. “Yeah, you’re a good-looking guy. Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not true.” There was a teasing edge to her tone, but underneath it, a hint of sincerity that made my heart skip. “Honestly, it’s a shame you don’t put yourself out there more. You could have anyone you wanted.”

I scoffed, trying to brush it off even as my pulse raced. “Anyone? That’s a stretch.”

“Not at all,” she replied, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “You’ve got a good heart, even if you are a bit of a lone wolf. People like that.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but she cut me off, her expression shifting to something unexpectedly serious. “I get it, though,” she said, her voice softer. “You don’t want things to get complicated.” She paused, then added with a smirk, “But I’ll be honest, I’ve thought about it. You and me, I mean.”

“Sam—” I began, feeling my face grow hot. “I’m not really looking for—”

“Let me finish,” she interrupted, leaning in closer, her breath warm on my cheek. The space between us felt charged, her words hanging in the air. “I’ve also had my share of thoughts about Namjoon. Can you blame me?” She shrugged, her tone turning flippant again. “But I know neither of you would go for it.”

I shook my head, trying to make sense of what she was saying. “So… you’re saying you want both of us?”

She shrugged again, almost casual. “Why not? You both bring different things to the table. But I’m realistic. I know it wouldn’t work. You’re dealing with your own stuff, and Namjoon’s got his demons, too.”

Part of me wanted to push her away, to tell her this was ridiculous, but another part—an unexpected part—was intrigued by her openness. “It just… seems messy,” I admitted, my voice softening.

“Messy is life, Yoongi,” she said lightly, though there was a hint of something else in her eyes. “But don’t worry—I’m not here to push you into anything. Just being honest.” She leaned back, her playful demeanor returning. “It’s not like I’m actually going to do anything about it.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, the tension loosening but not completely gone. “I just… I’m not looking to get tangled up in something like that. I’m barely handling my own mess right now.”

The porch felt smaller somehow, old memories and regrets pressing in on me like a heavy mist. I still carried the shadow of someone else—someone whose laughter still echoed in the quiet corners of my mind, someone who’d been my anchor back then.

Sam softened, her usual tough exterior easing for a moment. “I get it,” she said quietly. “And I’m sorry if I pushed too far. That wasn’t my intention. Just… wanted to keep things real, you know? Like always.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” I said, managing a faint smile. “Maybe tone it down once in a while?”

She laughed, a warm, genuine sound that chipped away at the tension between us. “Not a chance,” she said, her eyes shining with humor. “But I’ll be more mindful. Last thing I want is to make things harder for you.”

“Thanks,” I murmured, feeling a small wave of relief, like some weight had been lifted, even if just for a second. “I’m just… still figuring things out.”

“Fair enough,” she said, her voice lightening like the night breeze. “Just don’t shut me out, okay? I’m here, whether you like it or not. Even if my taste in people is a little… unconventional.”

Despite myself, a smile crept onto my face. “You’re relentless.”

“It’s a gift,” she replied with a smirk, her eyes bright as the stars above us. “But seriously, if you ever need to talk—or just need someone to set you straight—I’m here. I might not have the answers, but I can help point you in the right direction.”

“Thanks,” I replied, my voice softer, my gratitude real this time. As we sat in the quiet of the night, the silence between us was calm, not tense like it so often was. There was a warmth that settled in my chest, something unexpected and gentle, that made the weight I’d been carrying feel just a little lighter. Sam was right—life was messy, but maybe there was room in that mess to let others in, to share the load I’d been holding onto alone.

The night pressed on, and the laughter from the others faded into the distance, blending with the quiet of the forest. With Sam next to me, the loneliness that had clung to me for so long felt like it was starting to loosen, replaced by a small, unfamiliar warmth. Maybe—just maybe—I could let someone in, let myself feel something beyond the weight of the past, let go of the fear and regret.

But just as the thought sparked, I felt a familiar ache tighten in my chest, a reminder of love lost, of empty spaces that had once been filled with warmth. Sam’s presence was comforting, but the shadows inside reminded me that I wasn’t quite ready to move on. Not yet. Not while Wendy’s memory still held me back.

The night seemed to hum with energy as Sam and I drifted into easy banter—her laughter, her teasing—familiar like an old song I hadn’t heard in a while. Before the moment could settle, the front door swung open, snapping us out of our thoughts. Jungkook appeared in the doorway, his face split in a wide grin, his presence like a burst of fresh air.

“Guess who!” he called, stepping out onto the porch. “Hope you two haven’t died of boredom without me!” His energy lit up the shadows around us, brightening the quiet with his usual cheer.

“Not yet,” Sam shot back, crossing her arms and leaning against the railing, smirking. “But we were kind of enjoying the peace without your endless enthusiasm.”

Jungkook laughed, undeterred, and set a couple of bottles on the small table between us. The clinking of glass echoed in the stillness. “Peace? Boring,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s why I brought drinks—to celebrate surviving another day in this beautiful chaos we call life.”

“Ah, yes,” I said dryly, sarcasm slipping out. “Because nothing says ‘responsible adult’ like drinking while the world falls apart.”

Jungkook clutched his chest dramatically. “Ouch! Here I am trying to lighten the mood!” He grinned, undeterred, holding out the bottle. “You two should be thanking me.”

Sam rolled her eyes, but I could see the smile tugging at her lips. “And you think a few drinks are going to save us from doom?”

“Hey, laughter is the best medicine,” Jungkook countered, shrugging as he passed out the bottles. “Besides, a little fun never hurt anyone, right?”

“Fine, but don’t expect me to hold your hair back if you pass out,” Sam teased, clinking her bottle against mine, her eyes glinting with mischief. The sound felt like a quiet pact between us—a shared defiance against the weight we were all carrying, a promise to keep going despite it all.

In that moment, under the stars, surrounded by the quiet of the night, we shared the burden of our fears and hopes. And for a little while, it felt like enough.

The evening felt heavy and still, and as I lifted the bottle, the chill against my fingers brought me back into the moment. The sharp taste burned a little as I took a sip, a welcome distraction from the dark thoughts that had been gnawing at me. “Not bad,” I said, grudgingly giving Jungkook a nod of approval. If nothing else, he had decent taste.

A grin spread across his face, his eyes catching the faint light of the porch. “See? I knew you’d like it.” He leaned back, taking a swig before casting a curious look between us. “So, what were you two talking about? Deep fears? Secret crushes?” He waggled his eyebrows, clearly enjoying himself as he tried to shake off whatever tension lingered.

Sam’s laughter broke out, bright and unguarded, dissolving the last bit of heaviness between us. “More like avoiding any deep topics,” she shot back, daring him to push it. She took another long sip, keeping her gaze steady. “Something you probably wouldn’t understand.”

“Hey, I can be serious,” Jungkook protested, still smiling but with a flicker of something else in his eyes—a shadow of something heavier that he quickly brushed off. “Truth is, things aren’t exactly easy on my end either.”

“Oh?” I glanced at Jungkook, my curiosity kicking in. He was usually the one keeping things light, making jokes to push away the weight of the world. But now, I could see something different, something heavier beneath that grin. “What’s going on?”

He sighed, looking down at the ground. “Family’s a mess,” he said quietly. “My dad’s still reeling from everything that went down in the last battle, and my brother… he’s acting like he’s the only one carrying the weight of it all. Sol’s off doing her own thing, holding grudges, and honestly, the whole place feels like it’s one spark away from going up in flames.” His voice was softer than I’d ever heard, raw in a way that caught me off guard.

“That sounds… intense,” I said carefully, feeling the weight of his words settle around us. Jungkook’s carefree attitude had always masked a lot, and seeing him now, letting that mask slip, made me realize just how much he’d been holding back.

Sam leaned over, her voice surprisingly gentle. “You know we’ve got your back, right? You don’t have to handle all that alone.”

Jungkook let out a hollow laugh. “Yeah, well, you either let it chew you up, or you drown it out with jokes and a few drinks.”

“Solid plan,” Sam said, her tone light but her eyes showing a hint of worry. “But, for what it’s worth, laughter doesn’t really fix things. Sooner or later, you’ve got to face it.”

“And who says I’m avoiding anything?” Jungkook shot back with a smirk, though there was a hint of something unsteady beneath it. “Look, I just think there’s a time and place for heavy stuff. And right now? I’d rather laugh with my friends than dwell on things I can’t change.”

I raised my bottle with a nod. “Sometimes, laughter is all we’ve got.”

“Exactly!” Jungkook’s grin was back, and he lifted his bottle high. “To laughter, and to the best friends a guy could ask for!”

We clinked bottles, the sound breaking through the quiet night. In that moment, our laughter felt like defiance against everything weighing on us, a tiny spark of hope pushing back the dark. Just being here together, sharing the night, dulled some of the sharper edges we all carried.

“So,” Jungkook leaned in, eyes gleaming, “what’s next? More drinks? Truth or dare? Let’s shake things up!”

“Let’s not get too wild,” Sam cautioned, but there was a glint in her eye that showed she was curious. “There’s enough chaos in our lives without us adding more.”

“True,” Jungkook said, still grinning. “But hey, look at us—we’re here, aren’t we? That’s got to count for something.”

The weight of reality hadn’t disappeared, but for now, with their laughter and lightness, it felt manageable. The past and future could wait. Right now, the warmth of friendship was enough.

Sam’s eyes lit up, mischief in her expression. “How about a round of ‘I Bet the Devil’? Ever played, Yoongi?”

I raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at my lips. “Oh, I’ve heard of it. Are you sure you’re up for it?”

Sam laughed, leaning forward. “Try me.”

“Fine, I’ll start.” I tried to keep a straight face. “I bet the Devil… I’ve never snuck out at night.”

Sam snorted, shaking her head. “Who hasn’t done that? That’s like, a rite of passage!”

“Way to ruin my dramatic moment,” I shot back, fighting a smile. “For the record, I wasn’t held as a child either.”

“Oh, so tragic,” Sam replied with exaggerated pity.

Jungkook leaned in, grinning. “My turn! I bet the Devil… I had a crush on a teacher.”

Sam and I groaned, and Jungkook laughed, looking only slightly embarrassed. “What? They were cool!” he defended.

“All right, my turn,” Sam said, her eyes dancing with mischief. “I bet the Devil… I frequently trip over nothing.”

I raised my bottle with a smirk. “Taking shots at my coordination? Thanks, Sam.”

She shrugged, unapologetic, and the laughter that followed wrapped around us like a warm blanket, each joke lifting a bit of the heaviness that had weighed us down. Just for this moment, everything felt lighter.

As the night stretched on, our laughter softened, giving way to a comfortable silence that settled between us. Jungkook’s smile was contagious, and Sam’s quick wit kept us laughing, creating a kind of rhythm that made the night feel almost normal—like nothing existed beyond this porch and the quiet shadows.

The morning light, dim and sluggish, barely cut through the grimy tavern windows, casting a muted glow over the worn-out room. I slouched over my so-called breakfast—a sad pile of overcooked eggs and toast that was more like cardboard. But hunger didn’t leave much room for pickiness. Each bite felt like swallowing down the previous night: the greasy taste of regret, the lingering headache from too much drink and forced laughter, and the ache of trying to hold onto any scrap of connection left.

I pushed the plate away, the clink of the fork against the plate feeling too loud, too sharp. Since I’d lost my sight, sound had filled the emptiness, each noise amplified, vivid, impossible to ignore. It was like living without a filter, with every creak of the floorboards and murmur of conversation in the tavern drilling straight into me. The voices around me rose and fell, snippets of people’s lives passing by while I just… sat here, feeling like I was drifting somewhere I couldn’t quite reach.

The door creaked open, and a cool morning breeze slipped in, carrying two voices I’d know anywhere. Hoseok’s laughter rang out first, light and familiar, followed by Hyuna’s soft chuckle. Their voices cut through the clamor, warm and reassuring in a way that made me remember what it was like to feel grounded.

“Mind if we join you?” Hoseok asked, his tone as easygoing as ever, though I could sense the weariness beneath it all.

I gestured to the empty seats, managing a small smile. “Not at all. Just be warned, the food’s about as appealing as it looks.”

Hyuna eyed my plate with a smirk. “Greasy, stale, and questionable… just like this town, huh?”

“Pretty much,” I muttered, pushing the plate even farther away.

Hoseok chuckled, though it lacked his usual energy. “Hey, at least it’s not rations straight out of a tin. I’ll take overcooked eggs any day.”

We shared a weak laugh, but the moment was short-lived. The weight of everything we’d been through, the constant worry, crept back in, thick and heavy. Hoseok leaned back, his eyes distant. “Bridd saved my life in the last battle,” he said quietly. “I don’t even know how, but she did. I keep thinking about how… it should be me out there instead of her, alone.”

Silence settled over us, broken only by the faint clinking of glasses and low murmurs from across the room. I felt a pang deep in my chest, the reminder of Bridd’s absence hitting hard. She’d been our anchor, the one who always kept us steady. Without her, it was like we were all just… floating.

“You miss her,” I said softly, voicing what I think we all felt.

Hoseok nodded, his face etched with worry. “I think we all do. But Jimin’s taking it the hardest. He’s been beating himself up ever since that argument they had before she left. This war… it’s wearing us all down. It’s not just the fights; it’s the way it’s breaking us on the inside.”

Hyuna’s face softened, her gaze somewhere far away. “I keep thinking I should have said something to her, thanked her for everything. But I didn’t. None of us did, really. We just assumed she’d always be here, like she’d always be the one holding us together.”

I swallowed, the words coming out rough. “She’s the heart of this group. I don’t know if she realized how much she held us all together.”

Hoseok’s hand rested on the table, fingers tapping lightly. “I can’t even think about what it’d be like if she doesn’t come back. Jimin’s putting on a strong front, but he’s falling apart.”

“He’s been so distant lately,” I murmured, barely louder than a whisper. “It’s like he doesn’t know who he is without her.”

Hyuna nodded, her voice low. “We have to keep an eye on him. He’s carrying too much of this alone. We can’t let him fall apart.”

Their words echoed my own thoughts, the fears I tried to keep buried. I clenched my fists under the table, feeling the rough wood grain against my fingers, grounding myself as the tavern’s hum of voices and clinking glasses filled the background. Out there, life went on, ordinary and uninterrupted. But here, in our small corner, the weight of it all pressed down on us, keeping us isolated even in a crowded room.

Hoseok broke the silence with a sigh. “I just hope Bridd’s safe, wherever she is. The longer she’s gone, the emptier it feels around here. It’s like… we’re all just drifting, waiting for something to pull us back together.”

“Wherever she is,” I said, my voice barely a whisper, “I hope she knows she’s not alone. That we’re waiting for her.” I raised my glass, the coolness a small comfort in my hand. “To Bridd,” I said, feeling a tightness in my chest. “To her strength, her courage, and her safe return.”

Hoseok and Hyuna lifted their glasses, the quiet clink a small promise between us. “To Bridd,” they echoed, their voices low. For a brief moment, as we drank, a flicker of warmth settled over us, a fragile spark of hope.

But as soon as it came, it faded, leaving us with the same hard reality pressing down. The brief lift of hope slipped away, and the weight of everything yet to come settled back in.

Hoseok set his glass down with a soft thud, looking at me with an unusual seriousness. “Yoongi,” he said quietly, “have you thought about what happens after all this? After the war?”

The question hit me harder than I expected. Survival had become everything, the only thing. Thinking beyond it felt foreign, like I didn’t even remember what it was like to dream of something else.

I needed air. Somehow, I managed to make it outside, bumping into a few chairs and a table on the way. Once I felt the cool breeze hit my face, I leaned back against the weathered wall, letting the cold ground me. It cut through the fog in my head, the chilly morning a relief from the tavern’s stuffiness.

As I stood there, I let my mind drift back to the battle that had left me like this, fumbling in a world of shadows. The same battle that had taken Bridd from us, casting her out into danger alone. The chill pressed into me, anchoring me in the present, but memories of that day, of everything that had changed, still clung to me like shadows I couldn’t shake.

The smell of blood and smoke had filled the air, the screams and clashing steel blurring together. I remembered the weight of my sword, the way it vibrated with each swing, each hit. The elves had charged us like shadows given form, fast and brutal. I’d fought, felt the sting of cuts I barely noticed through the adrenaline. And then, in one blinding flash, my world went dark.

Since then, darkness was all I’d known—a constant, suffocating shadow. Every day felt like stumbling through a world turned upside down. Sounds felt sharper, sensations more intense, but none of it made up for what I’d lost. Each day was a battle just to keep going, to find some sense of myself in all this.

“Yoongi?”

I turned, steadying myself against the wall. Hoseok’s footsteps were careful, like he didn’t want to startle me. I hadn’t heard him come outside.

“Are you okay?” His voice was soft, laced with concern, the familiarity grounding me a bit, even as the question lingered. I didn’t have an easy answer.

“I just… I needed a minute.” I tried to keep my voice steady. “Everything feels so heavy. Like I’m trying to keep my head above water, but there’s this weight holding me down.”

Hoseok was quiet for a second, then I felt his hand on my shoulder, a steady, grounding presence. “We’re all carrying more than we should. You can talk to me. Maybe it’ll help. What does it feel like?”

A bitter laugh slipped out. “It’s not that simple, Hoseok. I can’t even see what’s in front of me anymore. Everything I counted on—it’s all gone.”

“I know.” His voice softened, like he was reaching back to who he’d been before the war changed us both. “But we’re still here.”

The words settled over me, and instead of comfort, they just felt like a reminder of everything I’d lost, of how far I’d fallen. Bridd’s absence gnawed at me, an ache I couldn’t shake.

“What happened between Bridd and Jimin?” I asked, barely above a whisper. It was something I’d been wanting to know since she left, a question that hadn’t let me rest.

Hoseok let out a heavy sigh, like the weight of the whole story was bearing down on him. “It’s complicated,” he said. “They argued about Sol, about her leaving. Bridd was trying to protect him, and Jimin pushed for answers, and it got heated. Things were said they both regret. But Jimin…” He paused, his voice quiet. “He’s a mess without her. Regret doesn’t even cover it.”

Frustration bubbled up, and I felt my fists clench. “And Taehyung? Is he just hiding while we pick up the pieces?”

Hoseok’s grip tightened on my shoulder. “It’s not that simple, Yoongi. They’re keeping a close eye on him in the palace. He’s trying to keep his family safe and deal with everything he’s set in motion.”

“That doesn’t excuse him,” I snapped, my anger spilling over. “It doesn’t excuse any of this. We’re out here fighting while he sits behind walls. And Bridd…” My voice cracked, the ache in my chest almost too much.

“Yoongi.” Hoseok’s voice was firm, cutting through the haze of anger. “We’re all in this mess, every one of us. Blaming Taehyung won’t bring Bridd back or make this easier.”

“I know.” The anger faded, leaving only the hollow ache behind. “But it feels like everything’s falling apart, and I can’t do anything to stop it. I can’t see. I can’t fight. I’m barely holding on.”

Hoseok’s hand left my shoulder, and I sensed him leaning back against the wall beside me. “You’re stronger than you think,” he said gently. “You made it through that battle. You’re still here, and that means something, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.”

The street around us was still, the morning quiet wrapping around us like a thin shield against the chaos of everything beyond. In that moment, it felt like we were in a bubble, the noise and weight of war held at bay just for a second.

Hyuna’s voice broke the silence as she joined us, her tone steady and sure. “We’re going to get through this, together.” Her hand found mine, warm and solid, and I gripped it like a lifeline, like something real I could hold onto.

I swallowed hard, nodding as some of the tightness in my chest eased. “I want to believe that,” I said, my voice thick with everything I’d kept buried.

“You will,” she replied, her tone unwavering. “Bridd may be gone, but we’re still here. And as long as we’re here, we’ll keep going—for her too.”

The morning air was crisp and biting, but with my friends beside me, I felt a spark of warmth, a small flicker of hope breaking through the shadows. We’d lost so much, and there was still more to face, but standing there, I felt like maybe we had enough to hold on to.

After a few minutes of quiet, Hoseok headed off to find his wife. He was more on edge about her than usual, especially with the threats creeping through Leeside, cutting through the town like a knife.

I leaned against the cold, rough wall of the building, trying to catch my breath as my mind spiraled through everything that weighed on us—the war, the losses, the unknowns stretching out in front of us like some endless road. I closed my eyes, hoping for a moment of peace, but the darkness clung to me, seeping into every corner of my mind.

The sound of footsteps pulled me back to reality. I turned toward them, and relief flickered through me when I saw Sam and Jungkook. They walked with that same quiet resolve we all seemed to have now, their faces showing the weight they carried, but just seeing them grounded me. Reminded me that, somehow, I wasn’t alone in all this.

“Hey,” Sam said, her voice soft, but her eyes searching mine like she could see straight through me. “You okay?”

I forced a small smile, though it felt like it might break at any second. “Just needed some air,” I replied, even though my voice sounded as worn out as I felt. “How about you two? Holding up?”

Jungkook shrugged, his jaw tight, his usual spark dimmed. “Same as everyone else, I guess. Just… trying to make sense of it.” His voice was low, a shadow of his usual tone. He looked away, staring into the distance like he was holding back everything he couldn’t say out loud.

Sam took a small step closer, her expression softening. “We figured you’d be here,” she said gently, her tone carrying the same sadness that weighed on all of us. “Hyuna told me what happened. Are you alright?”

I swallowed, the ache in my chest tightening, sharp and cold. “Yeah,” I managed, barely above a whisper. “I’m just… everyone keeps talking about Bridd, and it hurts knowing she’s not here to see it.”

The three of us stood there, caught in a silence heavy with grief. The world around us blurred, leaving only the sting of loss and the weight of everything we’d been through. Bridd was more than just a friend—she’d been our anchor, our hope, our strength when we needed it most. And now, that strength was gone, taken from us by this relentless war.

Sam finally broke the silence, her voice a little rough, almost choked. “You know, Jin told me once that Bridd used to say hope was like a stubborn weed. You could try to pull it out as many times as you wanted, but it would always come back, even stronger.” She let out a soft laugh, one that sounded more sad than happy. “I never thought I’d be clinging to her words like they were all I had left.”

“She believed in that hope, even when the rest of us couldn’t,” Jungkook added, his voice raw. “She made us believe, too.”

I nodded, the sharp ache of missing her settling deep. “She wouldn’t want us to give up,” I said, feeling the truth of it as the words slipped out. “She fought for this—for us. I can’t let her down.”

Sam reached out, her hand resting gently on my shoulder, her touch grounding me. “We’re with you, Yoongi. No matter what happens, we’ll face it together.”

Jungkook moved closer, placing his hand on my other shoulder, his grip strong. “For Bridd,” he said, his voice filled with quiet determination, “and for everyone we’ve lost.”

Bridd had given everything she had to protect us, to stand for something bigger than herself. And even though she was gone, her spirit lived on in each of us, in the bonds we shared, in the unbreakable strength that kept us going. The road ahead was dark, full of uncertainty, but we’d walk it together.

As the sun slowly rose, casting light across the worn cobblestones, I felt a hint of warmth—a reminder that dawn always comes after the darkest nights. We couldn’t change the past, couldn’t erase what we’d lost, but we could honor Bridd’s memory by holding onto hope, by fighting on. She’d left us with that much: a spark of resilience even in the deepest dark.

“For Bridd,” I murmured, looking at Sam and Jungkook, feeling that small spark of hope catch once again.

I stood by the river, watching as the first golden light of the sun hit the water, scattering in a way that felt like promises—warm but fleeting. The river sparkled, flowing along like nothing had changed, as if it didn’t know how wrong things were now. Each flicker of light only made the ache inside me worse, a reminder of everything I’d lost: my sight, my strength, and the confidence that had once felt as natural as breathing. Now, whenever I tried to summon my magic, it was like grasping at smoke—something just out of reach, slipping through my fingers no matter how hard I tried to hold on.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to reach for the magic, like it was still somewhere inside me. It used to come so easily, like a flick of my wrist, a thought. But now, every attempt was a struggle, a tugging on something deep within me that felt barely there. The light that had once danced at my fingertips was barely a spark now, flickering out before it could even form. Frustration twisted in my chest, sharp and tight, a constant reminder that I wasn’t who I used to be.

Flashes of the last battle came back to me—the clash of metal, the roar of flames, the chaos that blurred right before my world went dark. The elves had come at us like shadows, swift and ruthless, their arrows deadly. In those final moments, something inside me had broken. And now, as much as I wanted to fix it, I wasn’t sure I knew how.

I tried to shake the memory off, forcing myself to focus on the gentle sounds of the river. But even that peace felt distant. Bridd’s face surfaced in my mind, and I felt the sting of her absence all over again. Then, I could almost hear Ji-Hyun’s laughter, taunting me with every failure, every spark of magic that sputtered out. I clenched my fists, trying to channel the frustration into something useful—something that might remind me that I hadn’t lost myself entirely.

“Come on,” I muttered under my breath. “You can do this.” But all I got were a few faint sparks that faded into the air. Every failure widened the hollow ache inside, gnawing at my resolve. Without my sight, everything felt strange, like I was stuck in someone else’s life. Doubts crept in, telling me all the things I didn’t want to believe.

The riverbank was too quiet—a thick, lonely silence that just reminded me how isolated I felt. I wished someone were there, just to break me out of my own head for a while. A rustling in the bushes made me jump, my body tensing instinctively. But it was only a bird, flapping away, leaving me alone again. I sighed, looking up at the sky, where the sun was beginning to set, stretching long shadows over the ground like reaching fingers.

I tried again, reaching for the magic, but it slipped away, useless. Every failed attempt felt like a punch, reminding me that I was no longer the person everyone had once counted on. I was just a shadow now—stumbling through the dark, holding onto pieces of my old self that seemed to drift further away each day.

Frustration built up until I couldn’t hold it in, and I let out a shout—raw, loud, breaking the quiet. I kicked at the dirt, wishing I could do something—anything—to shake this feeling, to get out of the cage I felt trapped in. But the river kept flowing, steady and uncaring, while I stood there, stuck.

“Get it together,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “You’re stronger than this.” I had to be. For Bridd, for Jimin, for everyone who’d counted on me in that battle. I had to believe there was a way forward, even if it meant stumbling through the darkness, even if I had to reach for the parts of myself that still felt out of reach.

I took a step back from the river’s edge, feeling the solid ground under my feet—something I could still rely on. My magic was still there, somewhere, even if it was weak and fractured. I had to believe I could find it again. I wasn’t ready to give up, not yet.

The sun dipped lower behind the mountains, painting the sky in soft hues of orange and purple—colors I could barely make out but remembered vividly. The river glowed in the twilight, and the world felt softened, muted. I leaned against a twisted tree, still caught up in the mess of my own frustration, when I heard her voice.

“Yoongi?”

It was soft, like she wasn’t sure if she should interrupt. But there was warmth in it, something gentle that made my chest ache in a way I couldn’t name. I turned toward the sound, and even though I couldn’t see her, I could feel her presence. Sam had this way of showing up without even needing to touch you, her warmth reaching out on its own.

“I thought I might find you here.”

I tried to smile, though it probably came out tired. “Hey,” I said, my voice sounding as worn as I felt. “Didn’t realize it had been that long.”

Her footsteps were soft as she came closer, careful, as if not to startle me. I could picture her there, head tilted, looking at me with that slight frown she wore whenever she was worried. Sam always watched without saying much, checking in without needing to ask.

“You looked like you were somewhere else,” she said quietly. “I just came from Jimin’s. He’s… well, he’s managing. Sort of.”

I swallowed, the guilt biting deeper. “Is he alright?” The words slipped out before I could stop them.

She hesitated, and I felt her shift, searching for the right thing to say. “Not really,” she admitted. “But he’s trying. We all are.”

I nodded, her words tightening something inside me. “It’s hard to shake this feeling. Like I’m trapped, stuck in this loop, trying to make sense of everything.” My voice broke a little, and I hated how small and raw it sounded.

Sam moved closer, her hand resting lightly on my arm. She didn’t pull me into a hug or make a big deal of it; she just stood there, steady, her warmth comforting. “You’ve been practicing, haven’t you?” she asked, so gently that I almost wanted to cry.

“Yeah,” I said, lifting my hands, as if to show her what I couldn’t put into words. I focused, feeling the faint warmth start to build up, just enough for a small glow—but then it faded, leaving my hands empty. “It’s like… I can’t even trust myself anymore.”

She didn’t speak right away. Her hand stayed on my arm, her thumb tracing small circles on my sleeve in absent comfort. “I get it,” she said finally, and I could hear the honesty in her voice, like she really did understand. “But fear’s tricky, Yoongi. If you let it, it’ll take over. It’s okay to be scared, but don’t let it make your choices for you.”

Frustration spiked again, making my voice come out sharper than I wanted. “It’s not that simple, Sam.”

She didn’t pull back, didn’t flinch. Instead, she squeezed my arm a little tighter. “No, it’s not simple. None of this is.” Her voice was fierce, like she needed me to understand. “But you can’t keep running from it. You’ve got to face it, even if it scares you.”

Her words hit me hard, and I felt my throat tighten. “I wish I could be as strong as you,” I whispered, the vulnerability slipping out before I could stop it.

She slid her hand down, finding mine, her grip warm and steady, like she wouldn’t let go. “Being strong doesn’t mean you’re not scared,” she said. “It just means you keep going anyway. I’m scared too, Yoongi. We all are.”

Her words settled around me, and for the first time, the weight on my chest felt a little lighter. I swallowed, her honesty touching something deep that I hadn’t let anyone near. “I don’t want to bother everything,” I said, the words breaking as they left me.

“You’re not bothering anyone,” she said, her voice fierce. “Not me, at least. You matter, Yoongi. You matter to us.” Her words felt like a lifeline, pulling me out of the storm.

Something warm flickered in my chest, fragile but real. “I just… I don’t want you to feel like you have to carry me,” I murmured, barely audible.

She squeezed my hand a little tighter, her voice softening. “I care about you, Yoongi,” she said, her voice almost like a promise. “And that’s not something you get to decide for me. You matter, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Even without seeing her, I could feel her gaze, warm and steady. I let out a shaky breath, realizing that maybe I didn’t have to be strong on my own. Maybe there was strength in letting others stand with me, even when I couldn’t see the way forward.

“Thank you,” I whispered, feeling the weight of those words, knowing they weren’t enough. Her kindness, her unwavering support—it was something to hold on to, something to keep me grounded, even if only a little.

She smiled, and though I couldn’t see it, I felt it. “You don’t need to thank me,” she said softly. “Just let me be here, okay?”

I nodded, and we let the silence settle around us—a silence that

spoke louder than words. The river murmured, the leaves rustled above, and as the night crept in, I felt the gentle hum of life still moving forward.

The darkness wasn’t gone—it never really was. It still hovered there, like a shadow clinging to my mind. But with Sam’s hand in mine, something shifted, like those shadows had loosened, just enough to let a little light slip in. The sun had finally dipped behind the mountains, leaving the sky streaked in deep oranges and purples—beautiful, but tinged with a kind of sadness, like saying goodbye to another day. But maybe that wasn’t so bad. I took a deep breath, letting the cool night air settle me, and felt more grounded than I had in a long time.

“You’re right,” I said quietly, my voice a little stronger, even though I still felt shaky inside. It was a steadiness that came after a storm—no idea where I stood exactly, but clearer than before. “I need to face this. All of it.”

Sam gave me a soft smile; I could hear it in her voice. “One step at a time, okay? You don’t need to have it all figured out. None of us do.” Her words felt gentle but solid, like something to hold onto.

I nodded, feeling a gratitude I couldn’t quite put into words. The darkness was still there, but knowing I didn’t have to handle it alone made everything feel less impossible.

After a moment, Sam’s tone shifted, her voice taking on that playful edge I’d come to rely on. “So, I’ve got some gossip for you,” she said, like she was letting me in on some juicy secret.

My curiosity sparked, tugging me out of the heavy thoughts weighing me down. I let my fingers dip into the river, feeling the cool water wash over them, almost like it could rinse some of the dark thoughts away. I could sense her leaning in beside me, close enough that her warmth pushed back against the night’s chill.

“What’s the gossip?” I asked, my tone lighter, a bit of the old playfulness sneaking back in.

“Turns out Hyun-Jin was the one who tipped Sol off about Bridd,” she said in a low, secretive voice, like we were swapping secrets under a blanket fort. “Taehyung only confirmed it when she backed him into a corner. She wouldn’t have believed it otherwise.”

Hyun-Jin’s name made my stomach clench, any hint of lightness vanishing. “Why would he do that?” I muttered, not really expecting an answer that would make any of this better.

Sam leaned in closer, her breath warm in the cool air. “Lorcan overheard Hyun-Jin arguing with his wife,” she whispered. “Hyun-Jin’s best friend died in the siege, and he blames Bridd for not warning them. He thought she knew and kept it quiet. He’s angry, Yoongi, and telling Sol was his way of lashing out.”

I clenched my jaw, feeling the bitterness rise. Hyun-Jin’s grudge was like a poison, and his need for revenge was threatening to tear apart everything we’d fought so hard to hold together. “Great,” I muttered sarcastically. “Just what we need. Another reason for everyone to turn on each other.”

Sam sighed, her shoulders slumping a little. “Exactly. Everyone’s already on edge, and Lorcan thinks Jimin doesn’t know yet. We can’t let him find out—not like this.”

I stared out at the river, watching the way the water flowed, steady and constant, even as everything else seemed to be falling apart. I could picture Jimin’s face if he found out, the anger that would rise up in him, fierce and unchecked. “If Jimin finds out,” I whispered, the weight of it settling on my chest, “it wouldn’t surprise me if he killed Hyun-Jin. And that would be the end of whatever stability we have left.”

“That’s why we can’t let it get to that point,” Sam said, her voice sharper now, cutting through my spiraling thoughts. “We have to handle this carefully. One wrong move, and everything could fall apart.”

I let out a long breath, feeling the weight of her words pressing down. “But what can we really do, Sam? We’re just trying to keep from drowning here.”

“Maybe,” she admitted, her tone softening. “But we can watch, we can listen, and we can make sure Jimin hears the truth in a way that won’t tear everything apart. We know him, Yoongi. We’re his friends.”

I turned toward her, even though I couldn’t see her face clearly. “Together,” I echoed, letting the word settle. It was simple, but it felt like a promise, something solid in the middle of all this uncertainty. “I like the sound of that.”

She nudged my shoulder, a smile clear in her voice. “Good. Because I’m not letting you carry this alone. You’ve got enough to deal with.”

A real smile crept onto my face, a warmth flickering to life. Despite everything still weighing me down, Sam was like an anchor—a reminder that maybe, just maybe, I could get through this with her by my side.

As we sat there in the quiet, though, the ache of Bridd’s absence hit me hard, sharp and raw. I could almost hear her laugh, see her smile, and for a second, it was like she was still here. But then it was gone, leaving that hollow ache that wouldn’t quite fade. Sam’s hand rested on my shoulder, steady and warm, but even her kindness couldn’t fill the space Bridd had left behind.

The last of the daylight slipped away, leaving the sky a deep indigo. I took a breath, letting the cool air calm me, and nodded to myself. “You’re right,” I said again, the words easier this time. “No more hiding.”

Sam’s smile was soft but sure. “One step at a time, Yoongi. We’re all just trying to figure this out. You don’t have to have all the answers right now.”

I nodded, letting her words settle in. Sam always knew when to be gentle, even when the world felt like it was unraveling. Tonight, I was more grateful for that than I could ever say.

“So he’s punishing Bridd for something she couldn’t control?” I shook my head, the disgust settling in my chest.

Sam nodded, her expression hardening. “Yeah, but he’s misjudged how this’ll play out. Callisto isn’t taking it lightly either. If she finds out about Hyun-Jin’s involvement, things could get… ugly.”

I clenched my fists, feeling the tension build as I imagined the fallout. “If Jimin hears it from anyone but us… it’ll destroy everything. It’ll be a civil war, and there’s no way the Park brothers could fight each other like that. It would all fall apart.”

Sam’s eyes softened, the sharpness fading as she looked at me, something real and unguarded in her expression. “Then we make sure he hears it from us,” she said firmly. “But we have to confront Hyun-Jin first. And we need to tread lightly. If he feels like we’re accusing him, he’ll just deny everything.”

“And if he does?” I muttered, running a hand through my hair, feeling the frustration build. “What if he thinks we’re just sticking our noses where they don’t belong?”

Sam’s gaze held steady, her determination like a solid wall. “Then we make him see this isn’t just about him. It’s about all of us—especially Jimin. If Hyun-Jin has any loyalty left, he’ll understand.”

I let Sam’s words sink in, and for the first time, the grip of doubt around my heart loosened, even if just a little. The uncertainty was still there, but her conviction—it was hard not to let it stick. “You really think he’ll listen?” I asked, almost talking to myself more than to her.

“Everyone’s got a weak spot, Yoongi,” she replied, her gaze steady. “We just need to find his. And from what I’ve seen, Callisto might be it. The heart of a wolf is always bound to his mate.”

Her words felt like the first hints of a plan, fragile but real. I could almost picture a way forward as we started walking along the riverbank, the twilight casting everything in shades of silver and deep blue. A quiet sense of purpose stirred inside me, growing stronger with each step beside Sam.

“And Jimin?” I asked, my voice tight. “If he finds out before we talk to Hyun-Jin…”

“We won’t let that happen,” she said quickly, her tone so steady it made me feel braver. “We’ll get to him as soon as we can and tell him the truth. He’ll trust us, Yoongi. He has to.”

“Yeah,” I replied, letting her confidence seep into me, feeling my doubts start to ease. “For once, maybe we’ll actually get ahead of it all instead of watching everything fall apart.”

The evening deepened, stars slowly coming into view, softening the world around us. The night felt quiet, like it was giving us this rare moment to just breathe. I glanced at Sam, the gratitude I felt for her presence warming me in a way I hadn’t expected.

“Thanks, Sam,” I murmured, my voice catching a little as I looked away. It didn’t feel like enough, but I meant it. “For sticking with me through all of this.”

She gave my hand a gentle squeeze, her touch warm and grounding. “No need to thank me, Yoongi,” she said, her voice as steady as ever. “We’re in this together. Besides,” she added, a little smile creeping into her tone, “you keep me grounded too. Honestly, I might’ve lost it ages ago without you around to keep me steady.”

A laugh escaped me, breaking through the quiet. “So we balance each other out, huh? Fire and ice?”

“Fire and ice,” she echoed, her eyes gleaming with that familiar spark of mischief that always seemed to make things feel lighter. “But I’m air, and you’re more like earth than anything else.”

We kept walking until the path ended, the night stretching out above us in a blanket of stars, their light soft and calm. For a brief moment, I felt a sense of peace settle over me, a quiet resolve wrapping around me like a shield against the cold.

Whatever happened with Hyun-Jin, whatever came next with Jimin, I knew we’d face it together. And somehow, in that moment, knowing that was enough. It felt fragile, like a flame flickering in the wind, but it was real. And that was all I needed.

I stared into my drink, watching the amber liquid swirl, blurring like everything else in my head. I didn’t want to think about why I was here or what I was doing, but somehow, even with all the whiskey in the world, my mind refused to let go. The tavern was its usual dim, loud self—a mix of voices, clinking glasses, and the smell of stale beer hanging in the air. None of it could drown out the emptiness that seemed to have carved a place inside me.

Then the door swung open, and a familiar laugh sliced through the noise, grating and sharp. I glanced up, the blurry form of Hyun-Jin stepping into the dim light, his mouth twisted in that smug, careless grin he always wore. He spotted me right away, and instead of looking the other way, like a decent person would, he headed straight toward me. I could already feel my chest tighten, my hand curling into a fist around my glass.

“Well, well, look who’s here,” he said, sliding into the stool beside me without an invitation. “Didn’t expect to find you out, Yoongi. Figured you’d be off somewhere crying about poor little Y/N.”

His words hit me like a slap, but I bit down the anger that flared up, keeping my eyes on my drink. “You don’t get to say her name,” I muttered, my voice low, hoping he’d take the hint and leave. But he just laughed.

“Oh, I don’t?” He leaned in closer, a sneer twisting his mouth. “Last time I checked, I was free to say whatever I wanted. She wasn’t exactly the saint you all like to pretend she was.”

That was it. I couldn’t keep it in anymore. I straightened, turning to face him, letting all the anger I’d been holding back finally show. “You’re one to talk about Bridd. This mess? You’re the reason it all went to hell in the first place.”

He rolled his eyes, leaning back, looking completely unfazed. “Oh please, don’t try to put that on me. What did I do, exactly?”

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to stay calm. “You told Sol. You’re the one who told her Bridd left town. You basically handed her all the ammunition she needed to turn everything upside down. It's your fault the story was so twisted and convoluted. You manipulated a teenage girl to run and tell your brother a bunch of bullshit about his girlfriend, so you didn't have to get your hands dirty, you filthy mutt.”

Hyun-Jin snorted, a bitter laugh escaping him. “Oh, so now I’m responsible for her choices? Bridd wanted to play hero. She got what she deserved.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The rage bubbled up, twisting my stomach, and before I knew it, I was out of my seat, my fists clenched tight. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. Bridd was trying to protect us, all of us. She had the guts to do something while you sat around running your mouth.”

His face twisted into something ugly, his eyes flashing. “Protect us? Please. Bridd was a selfish, arrogant mess, always acting like she was better than everyone. And you? Pathetic, moping around here, pretending like she cared about you.” His words turned venomous, each one a slap in the face. “She didn’t give a damn about anyone but herself. She's a murderer.”

That was it. Every bit of anger and grief I’d been trying to bury boiled over, and before I knew it, my fist connected with his jaw, the impact sending a shockwave up my arm. Hyun-Jin stumbled back, clutching his face, but he recovered fast, his face twisting with fury. He came at me, grabbing my collar, and his fist crashed into my cheek, hard enough to make my vision blur.

The tavern around us erupted in shouts, people scrambling out of the way, but I barely registered it. All I could focus on was Hyun-Jin’s smug, hateful face, and the satisfaction of finally, finally hitting him. I was ready to go at him again, but then someone yanked me back, a strong hand pulling me away from the fight. Dizzy and disoriented, I looked up to see Jimin, his face tight with anger.

“That’s enough,” Jimin said, his voice cold and hard, a tone I’d rarely heard from him. He was glaring at Hyun-Jin, and even through my own fury, I could see the barely contained rage simmering under his expression. “Get out, Hyun-Jin.”

Hyun-Jin wiped the blood from his lip, glaring back at me. “Maybe you should keep your little witch on a leash, then,” he spat, his voice dripping with venom. He threw one last look my way, filled with contempt, before storming off, muttering curses under his breath.

Jimin’s grip on my shoulder tightened as he steadied me, his gaze full of disappointment and frustration. “Sit down,” he muttered, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re going to regret this tomorrow if you keep going.”

I pulled away from him, stumbling back to my seat at the bar, feeling the sting in my cheek where Hyun-Jin had hit me. The pain throbbed, a dull ache that only added to the hollow feeling gnawing away at my insides. Jimin lingered a moment, watching me like he wanted to say something, but I couldn’t bring myself to meet his gaze. Eventually, he turned and walked off, leaving me alone in the swirl of whispers and judging stares.

The other patrons were all looking at me now, whispering, and I could feel their eyes on me, sharp and heavy. I tried to ignore them, tried to focus on the glass in front of me, the warmth of the whiskey as I took another sip. But the shame, the humiliation, settled over me like a weight I couldn’t shake.

Hyun-Jin’s words echoed in my head, twisting and cruel, sinking into the darkest parts of me. He’d said she didn’t care. He’d said I was pathetic for mourning her. And no matter how hard I tried to drown them out, his words stuck, settling in the back of my mind, dragging me down.

Bridd would hate seeing me like this, sinking into anger and self-pity, letting someone like Hyun-Jin get to me. She’d tell me to get it together, to focus on what mattered, to stop hiding behind the bottle. But even her memory wasn’t enough to pull me out tonight. I was tired. Too tired to pretend that I could just keep pushing forward. The weight of everything—her absence, the fallout of Hyun-Jin’s betrayal, the feeling that I was failing everyone—felt like too much.

I took another long drink, ignoring the whispers that had grown louder, filling the room like an invisible fog, thick and suffocating. I couldn’t shake the feeling that they were right. That maybe I was pathetic, maybe I was just another broken piece left in the wake of everything Bridd had tried to hold together. The thought settled like a stone in my chest, heavy and cold.

So I sat there, alone with my drink, letting the shadows press in closer. The world around me blurred, slipping further away as the familiar numbness took over. The ache in my chest, the bruising on my cheek, the weight of everyone’s stares—all of it faded into the background. All that was left was the silence, dark and all-consuming, wrapping around me like a blanket, pulling me under.

And for the first time, I didn’t try to fight it.

Taglist: @greezenini @adventures-in-bookland @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @zae007live @jimin-neverout @nikkiordonez12 @canarystwin @yamekomz @chimthicc @michiiedreamer @amorieus @mima795 @yunki-yunki-yunki

© chimcess, 2024. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[batboysoneshots]

Vampires? (AU)

Hey its been literally months since I updated anything so here is a request.

Request: Can you make a fic where the Justice League realizes that the Bat-Family are vampires (wait and see if you understand me) please

(I literally bought DC VS Vampires (the graphic novel) yesterday)

Third person pov...

The Justice League Watchtower was abuzz with an unusual tension, a palpable unease that even Superman's sunny disposition couldn't entirely dispel.

It wasn't a villainous threat looming, at least not in the traditional sense. It was something far more insidious, something that gnawed at the edges of their understanding of their closest allies: the Bat-Family.

It started subtly, with observations that were too easily dismissed as quirks. Bruce Wayne, known for his nocturnal habits, seemed to avoid sunlight with an almost religious fervor.

Dick Grayson, his former ward and current Nightwing, had a startlingly fast healing rate after a recent encounter with Deathstroke.

Jason Todd, the volatile Red Hood, was seen avoiding garlic bread during a casual pizza night – a detail that, in hindsight, was a glaring red flag.

Tim Drake, Known as Red Robin and his quick strategies, was seen managing to talk down one of the villains thugs from setting off a large bomb.

Damian Wayne, the youngest Robin known for his temper and finest when fighting was seen taking down a man that was three times his size and weight with out breaking a sweat.

Then, there were the whispered rumors from Gotham's underworld. Whispers of a bat-like figure moving with impossible speed, of a crimson streak that materialized and vanished in the blink of an eye. Whispers that were quickly dismissed as the ramblings of paranoid criminals.

This confused and worried the Justice League, "There's something…different about them," Diana had said, her voice low, her brow creased with concern, during a tense meeting in the Watchtower.

At first, the others were skeptical. Superman, ever the optimist, believed there was a logical explanation, some advanced technology or a new breed of Gotham criminal responsible for the strange occurrences.

But Diana's convictions, coupled with the increasing number of unusual observations, began to chip away at their doubts.

Flash, with his super speed and ability to traverse time, was tasked with gathering evidence.

His quick trips to various crime scenes and Gotham's back alleys revealed a pattern—strange bite marks on victims, an unnatural speed during attacks, and a complete lack of any trace of conventional weapons.

The pieces slowly fell into place, building a grim picture that painted the Bat-Family, their own allies and friends, as something far more terrifying.

"Vampires," Green Lantern said, his voice heavy with disbelief. "The Bat-Family? It seems impossible."

His words, though spoken in stunned astonishment, echoed the sentiments of everyone in the room.

Superman then spoke after a moment of silence as the revelation of what the Batfamily where sunk in. "...We should confront them about it...just so we are curtain" he tells them, his blue eyes lookong around at the rest of the heroes.

Wonder Woman, Flash, Green Lantern, Martian Manhunter all give a nod of agreement with the Kryptonians words, the Justice League take the zeta tubes teleporting down into the Batcave.

As the five of them step off their arw greeted with a surprising sight, Batman was sat the batcomputer chair turned towards the Zeta rubes, Beside him stood Knightwing arms crossed as he leant against the chair.

Red Hood was standing in the shadows a book in his left hand that he was reading, Red Robin was sat to the right on the floor tapping away on his laptop.

Robin was infront of the zeta tubes, as if they knew the Justic League would come down to the Batcave, they watch the Heroes as they step off.

Superman steps forward his mouth open to speak. "...Bruce-" He's cut off by Red Hoods voice. "...bets off..you win Dickiebird" came the teens voice as he continued reading.

Nightwing cheers from his spot against Batman's chair. "..Hah! Told you...you three owe me 10 dollars each" he tells his little brothers who each groan and grumble annoyed before digging into their pockets and tossing the bills at the man's face.

Nightwing only grins as he grabs his money, Batman then speaks. "...how did you find out?" He asks the stunned heroes, Flash then speaks. "Well...it all fits in, avoidance to sunlight, speed, strength, fast healing" explains the speeders as they watch the Batfamily infront of them.

Robin speaks up watching the league. "...you aren't as idiotic as I thought then" he tells them as the Bat-Family smirk at being found out, they weren't worried about the league finding out, they just hoped that the heroes would've found out sooner.

Nightwing smirks. "...Any questions?" He asks before they get bombarded with questions from the League which they take turns answering, it was a strange conversation but in the end it made sense why they Batfamily were as mysterious as they were.

The end!

Hoped you liked this one shot so sorry for thr wait I know its been months since I last updated, sorry for any grammar and Spelling mistakes.

Requests are open!

Word count: 875

[highlordofkrypton]

TALK TO ME ABOUT CASSIAN X TAMLIN BROTP PLEASE?

I WAS IN BED WHEN YOU SENT ME THIS I HAD TO WAIT UNTIL I COULD GET TO A COMPUTER AHHHHH I love talking about this himbroship I'm buzzing where do I even start omg omg

This is 10000000% fanon, but it's good, happy, soft and silly!

Cassian and Tamlin met during the First Hybern War; Rhysand was like 'hey ya'll meet my new friend' and like any normal person Cassian was like OH YEAH, TAMLIN'S NOSE MEET MY FOREHEAD

They ended up wrestling bc the broness called to one another, so obviously they had to test each other

It's now a normal greeting for them for Cassian to barrel into Tamlin and tussle with him; Tamlin loves it because it's the relationship he never had with his brothers

Cassian is THE shorter older brother, he's at least 30 years older than Tamlin, but Tamlin is 6'5"+ and Cassian is built like a BAKED BEAN

Tamlin is definitely the more introverted one because he's insecure, but Cassian will double down on ANYTHING Tamlin says or wants. OH UR VEGETARIAN BRO??? BEANS ARE THE SHIT AND GRASS TOO

Cassian doesn't know what exactly vegetarians eat except grass and beans, he tried once and cried he did not like whatever the hell a 'bean patty' is

Having a friend outside of the Night Court is a really fascinating experience to Cassian because even though they both had different upbringings, they have similar... vibes? Tamlin is quiet and curious, Cassian and loud and will put his hands/mouth on anything to figure out what the hell this new thing is. They both had 2 brothers with a MEH dad, warrior training, they punch first and ask questions later, it's just really cool to connect with someone on that level

It's also nice for Cassian to be able to chill w/ someone else and get an outside POV when he's going through something w/ his brothers

Cassian 10000% percent vibes with Tamlin's let's just fuck off and live in nature, it's very peaceful

Tamlin's great great great great great grandmother is a willow tree who has the hots for Cassian, lots of shh shhh and stroking his face with her vines when he's being so dumb

Cassian is seemingly more hot-headed than Tamlin, but Tamlin is the one with rage issues; it actually helps Tamlin a lot to have a friend who will BLURT OUT the first thing that comes to mind especially when confronted with something shitty like 'YO DUDE THAT'S A FUCKED UP THING TO SAY' and 'OK U WANNA GO?? MET ME IN THE PRYTHIAN PARKING LOT 1V1 ME'

Cassian's bluntness also helps drag Tamlin out of depressive slumps. Trauma can really re-wire someone's brain and make you act out, but Cassian also turns his loud honesty on Tamlin like 'FIRST DON'T TALK ABOUT MY BEST FRIEND LIKE THAT' and 'YOU'RE BEING A DICK is this how you feel or is this a reaction my broski' -- his heavy hand is an excellent contrast to Tamlin's other best friend LUCIEN

The humour shared between Tamlin and Cassian makes zero sense to anyone. At all. They will die laughing at a bag of 70% cacao and Cassian will over the 'o' and they've been laughing at 'caca' for the last 10 minutes. It's very freeing for them.

Tamlin loves fruit, Cassian general does not eat fruit or vegetables. Tamlin introduced Cassian to a giant fruit bat and lied to say 'he's very disappointed u don't eat ur greens' and CASSIAN TOOK THAT PERSONALLY??? he eats mangoes now and other tropical fruits to honour his batcestors bat-ancestors???

Yes, they can have an entire conversation in 'bruh's

IF we transpose this friendship that started in the canon 'Tamlin trained with the Illyrians in the war' to TODAY, Cassian never recovered from the falling out between Rhysand and Tamlin. It's really difficult for him to reconcile what happened to HIS family with his friend he knew, loved and trusted. When Rhysand vanished, his first instinct would have been to go see Tamlin for help (but there's a lot of guilt for not checking on him either since Cassian knew Tamlin didn't have.... a support system like him).

In Modern AU, Cassian and Tamlin have DEFINITELY those ugly shirts wit each other's face on them and their names in ✨GLITTER✨

Fuck it, Cassian gets really into shirt printing and just prints shirts for them for every occasion, they're ugly on purpose -- he also has swim shorts that are just Tamlin's face going 8D all over them

Cassian started the 'BIG STRETCHY' trend whenever Tamlin stretches and it's law EVERYONE DOES IT NO MATTER WHO THEY ARE

Anyway, I love them a lot and ummmm I absolutely not normal about them I will DIE on their bestie hill

THANK YOU FOR THIS ASK I HOPE U LIKED READING IT AS MUCH AS I LIKED RAMBLING ABOUT IT

[batfambrainrotbeloved]

How to Writing multiple characters in a scene!!

Writing tips w/ Sunny (part 1, because I ramble and im positive ill end up doing this again if people want or for my own satisfaction)

This is just my methodology put in a way I think makes sense, if this doesnt apply to you thats okay everyone has different stradegies that work for them <33

SO lets begin.

"Rules" of writing multi character scenes + arcs, (First half is how to add them into a scene, second half is maintaining and not letting them vanish)

AHEM- Well there are four ways to place a character in a scene

Narration POV Aka the protagonist, this is the perspective ever present unless you CLARIFY the story is now through the lens of another character (Take for example my fic, while I play with multiple perspectives- a bulk is from Tims POV)

Secondary POV This is the character that DIRECTLY interacts with the narrator aka their "first point of contact" so to speak, they ground the narrator in the scene as not alone and is actually interacting with other people. (This DOES NOT have to be a speaking role, it can be purely observational if need be- but its the character that gets the most attention via the narrators perspective SIDE NOTE- THIS CAN SWITCH AS WELL)

Interactive POV Now we get to the "filling"- since Secondary doesn't need a direct tie to the narrator, you can have another character interact with the secondary character. But since they are not the focus of the scene its good to have a REASON they "Enter" or else if you spend so long giving the narrators perspective on #2 then you risk having someone "Materialize" in thin air. (This isnt really a concern unless you wait too long into the scene to go "Oh this guy exists-" you have time as you paint the reader a picture of the new enviornment/scene)

Enviorment POV Last but most certainly not least (and the one i've seen people struggle with the most) is the character that is PRESENT A N D NAMED- But serves no plot importance/relevance (to the narrator) during the opening part of the scene.

To put in better perspective- think of being in a room, The Narrator is you observing your surroundings (depending on POV style how "into the mind" of the narrator we go)

Secondary is the person you focus on, you hear their conversation, see their body language, expression, clothing, etc. They are the personal "focus" (there can be multiple as well)

Interactive is people SURROUNDING the focus, those who still play a semi active and visible role. They can either be within your line of sight interacting with the enviorment or speaking to a secondary/narrator character.

Enviorment is the person in the back of class that you know, but don't really register unless they do/say something- but you are still AWARE of their presence. CAREFUL NOT TO INTRODUCE THEM TOO LATE, OR ELSE YOU HAVE THE "MATERIALIZE" PROBLEM AGAIN

Now into a scene(aka recycling an old one)

Tim starred ahead silently from his side of the couch, watching Jason fidget with the soda tab on his shitty off brand Doctor Pepper he always insisted on getting. Around and around over and over, it was giving him second hand anxiety.

Thankfully they weren't forced to stay in the moment as Dick leaned over and pressed his shoulder into Jasons with a beaming smile "Oh come on it'll be fun"!

"Says you golden boy" Steph teased, half hanging off her chair and a foot almost knocking over Cass chip bag, only stopped by the fact Duke snatched it and moved it further along the table.

Well at least Damian seemed to be reacting rationally, seeming intent on slouching in on himself the more Dick tried to pull him and Jason together into a "group hug". It was a wonder his arms could even reach that far- even more so that they were still intact.

But Jason, like the rest of them, was weak to Dicks puppy dog eyes. Tim saw the moment he gave up a losing battle and his shoulders slumped in defeat, though his scowl ever present. "If I say yes will you fuck off"

"Ah ah language, we have children here"! Dick gasped, placing his ears on Damians ears which only earned him a snarl in return.

"I don't think Damian counts as a kid- and I just turned 16 which is basically an adult" Duke tried to defend, but his 'fierce glare' had less effect with his hand stuck in a bag of gummy worms.

Tim huffed- if Dick kept it up, they would end up with "family night", and he doubted all of them would come back alive.

(END SCENE)

Now to break down- Tim was of course the "Narrator" perspective that was viewing the scene, we get his insight even while not directly interacting with the characters just by his description tone.

Jason was of course the main "Secondary"character (though Dick was a mix as well) where the scene introduced by Tims perpective and tone by someone else in the enviornment.

Then you have Dick who is a perfect mix of Interactive character (how he entered the scene via movement, placing himself in perspective to the established other two) while shifting to have the most "scene impact" whilst still not being Tims focus.

Finally you have everyone else serving as Enviornment characters, with either a simple Line-action (ex-Steph) or a name drop in general placement (Cass) or establishment through movement, and only relevent later in the scene (Duke).

Damian kind of floats between, he is introduced via a reaction + Narrator observation, but then is mostly just an eviornment character. He is THERE but not really awknowleged beyond that.

NEXT- If that doesn't help much you can rely on "Environment rule"

Aka everyone is always doing something in any space they occupy- apply that to your characters. It can be as simple as when you have one character speak loudly to the narrating POV, another character shifts away or laughs.

They didn't need to speak nor did you need to detract from the tension/pacing of a scene by describing in detail their expression, positon, etc.

BUT in that moment your reader just clues in to "Oh okay x is here-" that is established, and whether or not x plays a role in a future scene within that enviornment doesnt matter much.

This is also the PERFECT oppertunity to give characterization. If a tense moment is going on you can have the narrator notice another character stiffen/flinch (aka affected by the conflict, even if not an active participant)

FINAL PART- MAINTAINING

This is where shit can hit the fan f a s t- getting a bunch of characters in a scene is one thing but keeping them there?? Hell at times.

But once again this all relies on "Narrator perspective" and unless you are switching narrators, you need a "cone of vision" to determine what is or isn't important unless you might break the tension of a scene.

Methods include-

Reactions

Two+ background characters interact (verbal or not)

Interact with enviornment

Enter/Leave a space (of note)

A sound registered but not explored (a chair creaking back, a glass dropping, snack bag rustling, or even my favorite which is the sudden absense of sound implying an audience)

"Incidents" (Someone drops something, attention goes to them for a sec- apology/oneliners, then switch back)

Check ins from NON NARRATOR, (or narrator, but usually works better to keep track of who is focused on who)

Characters don't need to be "ever present" just remind your reader they exist somewhere generally in the scene (and keep them in your back pocket)

But The best possible tool at your disposal?? BANTER.

Let characters interact, feel out their dyanmics- If you dont know how they interact in non tense situations, how does that change when tension amps up. Have a background character throw in a one liner- or the narrator observe a conversation they aren't a part of.

LET PEOPLE BE PEOPLE- And they basically write themselves

Last but not least- if you feel stuck or lost?? Treat EVERYONE like a narrator.

Who are they paying attention to? What are they seeing? How do they REACT to that? Do they speak up, do they tense, do they try and slip away or stay strong?

You don't need to know this for EVERY scene- but sometimes it helps out of a rut moment

ANYWAYYSS- This is my rant and personal methodology of how I place/maintain multiple characters. I hope this helps for anyone interested, if not find what works for you!!

My Asks are open if anyone wants me to give any other advice, tips, or just general ramblings about writing.

Otherwise,

Happy writing!!

[pinetreepilgrimage]

I nearly cheered when The Elder’s Quest peak chapter actually talked about Oakfur, the cat that has been left to his own devices for well over a decade now. I thought they were gonna kill Oakfur off between books but I do hope he has a shot at being given an actual character like some of the RC cats. I’m actually really glad Oakfur and Mosspelt weren’t entirely forgotten cats, so consider this an appreciation post for them both!

Being apart of the series for that long, both Oakfur and Mosspelt have seen and survived many tragedies and events. Oakfur specifically has survived the aftermath of Brokenstar’s bloody leadership and the sickness that followed, The Kin, The merge of ShadowClan into SkyClan, Mudclaw's Rebellion (as a participant!)

Mosspelt has survived Splashtail’s reign, the death of all her children, The Kin’s raid on RiverClan (which she actually walked away from unlike some of her clanmates who were forced to stay), the fire on RC and the closed border situation.

They both witnessed giant plot events like The Great Journey and the destruction beforehand, The Battle with the Dark Forest, the drought, The Tigerclan situation, BloodClan battle, and many MANY historical bouts of disease.

Basically every large plot point after Into The Wild.

Some more info about Oakfur

-He’s a GIANT DICK. He canonly calls a RiverClan cat a slur during Star and gets his ass handed to him, he also watched Berrykit struggle in a fox trap. Like, he’s been an asshole for YEARS. He has these nice moments here and there but in his most recent appearance he hasn’t learned.

-Oakfur has been alive since the first arc, he was an apprentice RIGHT after Brokenstar’s rule, he’s seen the rise and fall of 5 leaders (do remember that Tigerclawstar and Nightstar’s leaderships weren’t long lasting, and Rowanstar didn’t have the longest reign either.)

- He’s mostly known for being thrown into a tree by Fireheart

- He’s trained four apprentices; Tawnypelt, Smokepaw, Ferretclaw, and Tawnypelt’s son the 2nd Tigerheartstar!

-Speaking of sickness, he’s survived being very ill several times unlike the other cats in his age bracket who died long ago to similar circumstances.

-Oakfur has actually been given a lot of opinion agency as a bg charcter, having joined Mudfur in his rebellion and years later leaving The Kin on his own accord. Which gives us a lot of questions about his morality. I think the many Erins forget about him and just use him as a vessel for SC hate but they… just kept doing that. Therefore I’m taking his character at face value. I feel like Oakfur is one of the very few remaining cats who has the early other-clans-are-enemies mindset. He acts a lot like cats in long ago super editions that had a very survival of the fittest attitude in contrast to how the Clans are now. Current era clans are a lot closer to how the DOTC clans were at the end of that series than to how they were in Tallstar’s Revenge.

Now Mosspelt!

Mosspelt is a RiverClan elder. She’s been given more focus in Frostdawn’s and in Nightheart’s POVs while they were in RiverClan.

- She’s survived 5 leaderships; Crookedstar, Leopardstar, and Mistystar’s being long healthy reigns while Splashtail’s ended quickly and Icestar’s has just begun. She was also a survivor of the Kin’s raid on RiverClan.

- She was a foster mother to Feathertail and Stormfur, though a mysterious queen named Greenflower was supoosed to take that role. She later vanished from everything as a handful of first arc cats did. I should write about her too. Mosspelt was actually super friendly towards Graystripe, and loved fostering his children. Though she did have maternal children; Dawnflower, Robinkit, Woodkit, and the late RC medicine cat Willowshine.

- Mosspelt had 3 apprentices: Swallowtail, Pebblefoot, and Perchwing.

- Mosspelt is most likely the oldest cat in the Clans right now, being a queen in Fire and Ice. Mistystar may have been impossibly older than her but she got nine lives which extended it quite a bit. Mosspelt survived with only one AND outlived her.

-Mosspelt doesn’t take a hostile role in the RC conflict, making her one of the only RC cats with clean paws.

-She survived a direct fox attack

Here’s some offical art for these characters

Mosspelt

her design is shockingly consistent.

Oakfur

He’s neat your honor

Welp, here’s to these forgotten old people, I hope they survive this arc or are given character roles that give them interesting deaths or development.

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

Gentle Birds Dont Learn How to Fly (Only the Broken Do)

by m1mos4 Red robin is glacial. He is deliberate in his laughs, none without undermining venom poising beneath his benign skin. Damian does not understand him, nor does he want to, his brother’s wraith of a partner; who shuts down Nightwing’s pleading and Hood’s fumbling jabs with an uncanny grace that precedes his instability, his unworthiness, who never relents in the mission. Red robin is Glacial, Robin has yet to see him crack (or has he? The cave-). — A simple shot, a lucky gap in the cacophony of gunpowder and sweat and desperation and that is all it takes for the Glacier to melt, vanishing in swathes of crimson and dyeing the lands red. To himself, he muses quietly. Perhaps red robin is glacial, but Tim drake is far, far too fragile. Words: 282, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Tim Drake (DCU), Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth Relationships: Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Jason Todd Additional Tags: Tim Drake-centric (DCU), damian is my baby, So is Tim, both are my sad little meow meows, DC stands for Disregard Canon, damian speaks like a little Victorian era boy and Tim looks like one, Can you tell I have favourites, Tim Drake Angst (DCU), Damian Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Tim Drake is Bad at Feelings, Batfamily (DCU), Bruce Wayne’s C+ parenting, Age Regression/De-Aging, Hurt/Comfort, Tim Drake's Missing Spleen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, POV Multiple, Damian Wayne-centric via https://ift.tt/CQGBWwh

[pankowperfection]

Lessons Learned (Chapter Two)

Summary: Rudy has his own thoughts about one particularly hard to ignore student, you

Warnings: smut, 18+, dirty thoughts, mentions of sex, masturbation

Link to the series master list here

Rudy’s POV

Another semester of giggling girls (mostly) who didn’t give a single fuck about this course. God, I’m so tired of only having a handful of students each semester that are as passionate as me about classic literature. This particular cohort wasn’t all that bad, except for y/n.

From day one she’d caught my attention. Failing to sneak in late, flushing a beautiful shade of crimson when I reprimanded her. She quickly schooled her expression to one of indifference, taking her time to look me over head to toe. The heat in her gaze alone made blood rush to my cock, having gone far too long without a woman to keep me entertained. 

Each passing lecture only piqued my interest further while also adding to my annoyance. Either her clothes were shrinking from the shitty campus laundry machines or she was trying to get me to see her well defined curves. My eyes often traveled in her direction as I lectured, trying not to linger too long on how her lips looked wrapped around her pen she always seemed to have in her mouth. 

When she spoke up the first few weeks, she showed her intelligence by actually asking the right questions or participating in the discussion. Then she started to slip in compliments. “Such a great point Professor Pankow, and might I say you look so good in your suit today.” She always lingered after class, torturing me with her exposed cleavage and the curve of her ass barely hidden by her skirt. 

The day I thought I’d lose my control for sure, career be damned, she’d shown up early, choosing a seat in the front row where I’d have no choice but to have her in my field of view throughout our entire hour together. She’d slowly been spreading her thighs apart while scooting down in her chair, unnoticeable to her other peers no doubt. While everyone was turning to the right page in their textbook I made the mistake of letting my eyes wander up her long legs. 

I instantly stopped in my tracks, every thought vanishing from my mind. She was wearing the tiniest pair of light pink, fucking lace panties. Her pussy lips were slightly peeking out the sides, begging to be worshiped by my tongue. The fabric covering her was damp enough to darken the material, all the blood rushing below my belt once again. When I dared to meet her gaze she was smirking, mouthing “like what you see?” to me. I had to end class early in fear another student would see the tent in my pants.

She was starting to infiltrate every thought. Making me second guess myself if she actually wanted ME or if she was just playing around. Lately she’d kicked it up a notch, slipping in innuendo when she answered my questions, smirking in victory when she saw that annoyance flicker across my face. God, I’d love to teach her a lesson, show her why she should not fall out of my good graces. 

That thought sticks with me as I climb into the shower, steam filling the room. Before I even realize what I’m doing my hand is wrapped around my dick, already hard because I’d been picturing y/n bent over my desk. I bet she’d make the prettiest sounds when I spanked her, licked her, fucked her. That smart mouth has been begging to be filled with my cock, tears streaming down her cheeks while she tries to take all of me. 

The thought of her on her knees, struggling to please me has me tightening my grip, starting to stroke faster. I wonder if she’d beg me to stop or to fuck her harder? Would she prefer it sweet and slow? Or was she an animal who could never be tamed, letting me tie her up and fuck her in any position. Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to fuck her in my office, letting everyone nearby hear her scream. “Oh shit,” my balls tighten, dick jerking in my hand before I shoot my load onto the tiles. This girl was gonna be the death of me.

@adventuresinobx @starkeyobx @paradisehamilton @ailee-celeste @pankhoeforlife @outerbankspov @houseofperfecttaste @drewbooooo @maybankslover @maybanks-luver @blueicequeen19 @toystory2wasjustokay @onmykneesforrafe @penny4yourthoughts @maddie-routledge @ilovetheavenger143

[ravenzeppeli]

Claimed

Chapter 23 - Big Happy Family |Illuso + Formaggio x Reader|

Warning: strong language, threats, light sexual situations.

Illusos POV

Formaggio lived right above Illusos' head, so picking you up today would be very easy. He carried a box filled with some pastries as well as a few coffees up the apartment complex stairs. Having breakfast with Formaggio was a normal thing for him, but this was the first time they've included you. Last time they were alone with you they fucked up, hopefully this time will be better.

That day was something that he replayed in his head over and over again. He's fucking terrible for doing that to you, doing that to the woman that he genuinely loves and cares about. He loves you so fucking much, it happened so suddenly. One day he looked at you and he just felt as his hate vanish and it was replaced with deep love for you. He actually fucking loved you. He couldn't believe it.

It's been four months, but for some reason, he feels as if he's known you forever. You actually listened to him, and he could actually tell you about his life and his job. He could let you into his world, and you seemed eager. Despite you not loving or liking him much, he could tell that you sometimes enjoyed his company. That was good enough for him.

He understood why you didn't like him. He's been terrible to you. He's punched you, said horrible things to you, he only pleases himself during sex, he's cheated on you, and he let Formaggio beat you and leave you in a dark closet covered in your own vomit. What he's put you through these past four months was downright evil. He was a bad dude, but despite that, he really loved you, and he wanted for you to one day love him back. Not abusing you was a good start.

He knocked on Formaggios' door, pushing it open when he heard Formaggio call out, "Come in, you jackass." He rolled his eyes at the insult, wearing a smirk on his face as he stepped into Formaggios apartment, heading to his kitchen.

You were sitting at Formaggio's kitchen table, his laptop in front of you. You seemed to be typing something, your eyes heavily focused on the screen. "You." You didn't bother looking up at him, your voice low.

"Me," he replied, putting the coffees and pastries on the table. He grabbed a coffee, placing it next to you. He leaned down, leaning in for a kiss.

You leaned forward quickly, your lips pressing against his. He was slightly taken aback. You've never kissed him first. He always had to kiss you while you made no attempt to kiss him back. You pulled away quicker than be liked, your head immediately pulling back from him. "Good morning."

He studied you, resisting the urge to bend you over and fuck you as he saw a shot of your cleavage down your shirt. His eyes studied your face, your beautiful features, your soft pouty lips. It wasn't even about your looks anymore. He was starting to like your personality, despite you being snappy at times you were really good to Illuso and the other men. He liked that. You were a good woman.

"You look pretty," he replied, sitting down next to you. You closed the computer before he could look at what you were doing. It didn't raise any suspicion to him considering you were on Formaggios computer. Maybe you were looking at some pics of his dick or something. "I don't know what kind of coffee you like. I just got you caramel. What coffee do you like?" He needed to learn these things about you.

"Thanks, caramel is fine." You took the coffee, taking a sip. "You look nice today. I notice you're wearing a new cologne. It smells nice."

He was surprised that you noticed that. "Yeah, well.. you know. I like to smell good for you." You suddenly smirked, causing him to smile. He was glad you weren't ignoring him anymore. "Do you forgive me?" He still had to ask.

"Yeah," you replied, shrugging your shoulders. "Let's just never mention that day to anyone. Ever." As you said that, Formaggio walked into the dining room, placing his hand on top of your head.

"Look at us, we're one big happy family, eh?" Formaggio questioned, you rolling your eyes in response. Illuso couldn't help but smirk at you. "Hey, be happy. Smile."

You shrugged. "You're messing up my hair. How can I smile when you're messing up my hair?"

"Who cares about your hair?" He replied back, ruffling your hair roughly, messing up your hair. "You look better with messy hair. Illuso is probably gonna fuck your hair up real good tonight."

"I'm fucking a lot of things real good tonight," Illuso added in, a grin appearing on his face. He'll have you screaming his name and squirting soon enough. He's going to start working real hard to make you cum.

Formaggio nodded his head, removing his hand from your frizzy hair. "You heard that Y/N? You better do some stretches!" He sat down at the head of his dining room table, in front of Illuso and you. "Look at us. See? All three of us.. we can make this work. One big happy family." He repeated the phrase again, green eyes staring into yours.

"Sure," you replied, clearly not convinced. You were very convinced of them. Illuso regrets fucking up with you as badly as he did. He's beaten all of his girlfriend up in the past, he always beats on his women. He really needed to stop.

Formaggio grinned, reaching out to move your hair behind your ear. "You'll always be a part of this family. No escaping us. We'll just track you down and find you."

"Oh goody," you replied, clearly being a smart ass. Illuso doesn't like your smart ass mouth that much, but Formaggio never seems to mind. "You know, I'm good at running."

"We believe you," Illuso replied. "Don't try and prove it to us." He had a strong feeling that you would try and run away from them all one day. That would make him very sad, and he hoped that you would never do that. He was confident that he would quickly track you down and bring you back, but he would feel hurt by the fact that you ran away from them. Running away would be your way of saying that you hated all of them. He hoped you never did that.

"For real, like I'll let you do whatever you want, but running away is forbidden. You better not ever do that shit, we'll find you," Formaggio told you, wearing a taunting grin on his face. "Do it if you wanna get your ass beat. How's that sound?"

You rolled your eyes at Formaggio, clearly annoyed with his threat. You rarely showed fear. Even when Illuso punched you, you showed no fear. You were very brave.. and also very stubborn to not even be a little scared of them. No matter how much they beat and threaten you, you always stand your ground.

"I'll keep that in mind," you replied, earning a chuckle from Formaggio. Illuso smirked, a laugh almost escaping his lips. And he would have laughed if the thought of you attempting to run away from them didn't absolutely terrify him.

Illuso took a sip of his coffee, leaning back in his chair. "Keep it out of your mind," he warned you, "now, let's eat. No more talk about you running away."

----

Illuso wasn't a dirty guy, but he was really messy, always tending to just throw things around. He was usually a single man. He lived alone and didn't care how his place looked. Now that he was a taken man and actually in love, he spent hours cleaning and organizing his apartment so it would look good. He wanted to impress you, but he couldn't really tell how you were feeling.

You were in his kitchen by the sink, loading the dishwasher, his eyes landing on your ass as you bent down, placing a plate on the bottom rack. You closed the dishwasher, pressing the button to start it as you stood up, turning to face him. You walked over to him, standing in front of him.

He grabbed you, his arm hugging around your body, tightly wrapping around you. "You cook too much at the base. You don't have to cook over here. I always just eat takeout anyway." Suddenly, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small black box. "Please? These are just some earrings. Can you please take them? I really want you to have these now." He would try again, deciding to buy you a pair of rose quartz earrings. He hoped you wouldn't reject him again. It's really starting to piss him off.

"I'm not a gold digger," you immediately replied, staring at the box that be held in front of your face. "You don't need to buy me things."

"You're my girlfriend, and I want to buy you stuff from time to time. And I will. So take the earrings," he replied, a sudden sterness appearing in his voice. You weren't taking the box.. damn it. It was so hard keeping his temper under control. "We want to take care of you. It's offensive as fuck how you keep saying no when we get you shit. Accept it, just take it. I don't want a thank you or something in return, I just want you to take the goddamn box Y/N." You better fucking take it.

You let out a sigh, grabbing the box, quickly putting the box in your pocket. "Thank you, but please stop buying me stuff."

"No," he replied, feeling himself calm down. "Good girl. Now, was that really so hard? Stop being bad." He kissed the top of your head agesssively, his hand sliding down your back to squeeze your ass. "Why are you being like this, hm? You're doing a lot of shit for us. We're allowed to do stuff for you, too. You don't make the rules around here, babe."

"You don't make the rules around here, babe," you said in a mimicking tone, catching him by surprise. Did you seriously just mimick him? No woman had ever done that to him. "I just don't need stuff bought for me. Just invest your money."

"I am," he replied, smacking your ass with a little more force, that smack being a warning for you to stop. "Stop it. Now. I'll buy you whatever I want, and you'll accept it." He was just going to start leaving the jewelry in your room. He didn't need a thank you. He didn't want a thank you. He just wanted to spoil you a little, and he could afford to do that.

You didn't react to the smack, your arms instead wrapping around his waist, actually hugging him, making his heart instantly skip an actual fucking beat. Fuck, you were so cute, so sexy, he fucking loved you so much. "Relax, it's not even that serious. Why don't we go take a shower and get ready for bed. It's late."

Illuso had a strong feeling that you were trying to distract him. He didn't care. The distraction worked. What was he even talking about? "Well fuck, that sounds good to me. I've been meaning to get my hands on your wet, sexy, naked body."

[argentumcor]

A flare-up of Arkham Trilogy fandom has been triggered, and so I spent entirely too much money on the Arkham Knight Genesis comic. Art is nice, writing is pretty good. I'm not a comic person, and find most comics to have ugly art these days, but this one (and Soulfinder from Iconic Comics) impressed me.

I always liked this version of Jason coming back best since I heard of the character. A plot device like a Lazarus Pit needs to be kept to a minimum because otherwise it just breaks everything and the Arkham version where the Pits are nearly exhausted and restricted to the Ra's plots is the best way to approach them. Jason being crazy because of torture and not mystical woo-woo side effects offers more interesting directions to go in to me, problems that can't be easily solved because they are choices he made while at least somewhat in possession of his faculties.

Man, I thought the backstory I cooked up for Arkham's Jason was dark but the canon one is darker. I had it where he never knew his dad and his mom was an addict who OD'd when he was young, but in the comic both parents are meth addicts who tried to sell him to the mob to pay their debts, which didn't work because that's nuts even in Gotham, and so abused him until he was thirteen, when Jason sold them out to the mob and watched them get killed in exchange for getting a small bit of turf where he was left alone to do small time crime.

I always liked the version of him meeting Batman by trying and semi-succeeding at stealing the wheels off the Batmobile, but the Arkham version where he saves Batman's life during a tussle with the Joker is a better fit for this universe.

There's conflict between the game City Stories version of how he got caught and the comic one. The game one is much darker, from what drove Jason after Joker (horrible murder and mutilation of children at a school in the game vs. pride I think in the comic) to the actual getting caught (Jason's hubris and sense of righteousness making him very stupid in the game vs. purely a trap the Joker laid in the comic). The game lore version of events is better, though harder to depict I think in the pages the comic had for various reasons.

One thing stands out about Arkham Jason: everyone in his life had given up on him from the moment he was born...except Bruce and the family. Bruce met him for only a few minutes at most and saw that Jason could be more than just another doomed rat in the dirty alleys of the city, wanted in some way to be more (Arkham Knight Jason disputes this in narration but it's clear from what happened that's the case). But a lifetime of being given up on doesn't just vanish in a year-ish of being really valued- and Joker brilliantly weaponized it against Jason and in doing so against Batman.

The comic is from Jason's bitter angry broken pre-Arkham Knight POV but there are hints that the darkness hasn't consumed him. I think Dick naming Tim as his brother in a fight hurt him- because I think they would have had that bond before Jason was taken and 'Tim as my replacement' is a big thing for Jason. He's ruthless, yes, and apathetic to the world around him but he sees that Bruce has a memorial to him in the Batcave and it triggers really intense emotions- anger because that's almost all he has anymore and then something else he can't and refuses to even try to process.

That's why, I think, Bruce extending a hand to Jason at the end of the boss fight destroyed the Arkham Knight. I also think that getting Gotham to evacuate civilians was Jason's idea. There's no logic to it from Scarecrow's POV; more people in the city would mean more fear to, uh, imbibe. It's not that Jason is worried about collateral damage, exactly, it's that he isn't totally gone. You can see that in the game audio logs. I wish we would have gotten an encounter with him and Dick, either as the Knight or as Red Hood. I think the rivalry there with Tim is built in as a matter of history and personality but with Dick there's a brotherhood that got broken through no fault of their own.

The Red Hood smart-assery is also present in the narration in the comic. I think it was there with the Arkham Knight, too, here and there, but he's on the furious hunt in most of what you hear from him so there isn't a lot of room for it.