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hollyhomburg · 11 months ago

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Before I Leave You (Pt.65)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: The truth always comes out one way or another, and with Jimin temporarily whisked away for surgery- it's up to you and yoongi to answer Namjoon's questions.

Tags: Angst, blood, guns, murder, discussions of morality, descriptions of dead bodies, discussion of past spousal abuse, confessions, hurt/comfort, sickfic, hospitals, reconciliation, vmin focus, Trans! tae, Everybody lives nobody dies,

W/c: 15.0k

A/N: this chapter is a bit heavy on the dialogue but! sorry that this chapter came out when it did, we're finally here! sorry for the break in chapters- I got some not great news about a family members health and wanted to spend some extra time with them over the holidays.

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

The abandoned industrial building rises without warning from the mist and fog. You could almost call in lonely. Although it has its comfort in its stillness, the same way that monsters that do not move do not instill fear. A foe vanquished but not forgotten.

The body. The dust. The puddle of blood by the door is more than enough evidence for plausible deniability. The faint splatter of it here and there like confetti left after a parade, or flower petals that fall in spring and pile up like snow.

Moonbyul stands in the doorway, like a pagan in a house of God. Out of place and out of mind. Dark coat unblemished by dust or blood. She doesn’t stoop to touch the ground or try and clean up the evidence from Jimin and Jin’s misbegotten hours here. She doesn’t think Hobi’s name, although she knows it.

God does she know it.

She’s poured over all the files that her men have collected about your pack for weeks now. Searching out weaknesses like a snake searches rabbit holes for soft fur and an easy meal. She’d spent the most time lingering over Tae’s file. The photos that shift from short hair to long, lipstick that she finds too pink and distasteful.

Red is better color.

She'd spent a long time pouring over Jin’s too because she’d needed to. Jimin and her cousins had been glossed over. She already knows enough about them to last a lifetime.

But only one file had given her paper cuts. Revenge on paper is not as sweet as it should be.

She doesn’t need to read that file anymore. Although she hears the words that the youth said so many months ago on repeat, you and Hobi in the coffee shop caught only on security camera. “I think I heard something I shouldn’t have”. As well as the ones that followed.

Contrary to popular belief, Moonbyul doesn’t like killing. She views it only as a necessity. She looks at the blood on the floor without any disgust. It’s been a long time since she’s cleaned up any alpha's mess, and she’s not going to start now.

She looks down at the blood and smiles. It’s a rare thing- seeing her smile. It’s different from her grin that bares her teeth. Sharped incisors changed and honed just before she’d been appointed the head of the moon family.

She remembers her mother's words when she’d looked at them in the mirror for the first time, She remembers that she could still taste the file they'd used to carve them. Metallic, like blood on her tongue.

“All the most dangerous alphas have fangs; you’ll need to learn to use them if you want to fill your father’s shoes.”

Familial death is more of a rite of passage than a time for mourning in the family. A time when power shifts and secrets get covered up or aired out. Like the moon waxing and waning.

Moonbyul hadn’t been born with fangs, the way alphas always are. Moonbyul hadn’t been born with a lot of things.

A smiling Moonbyul is either a happy or a bloodthirsty one. And a happy Moonbyul, when properly stroked- means they get privileges.

Privileges in their pack, amount to small little things most of the time. A night where they don’t have to take the heat inducers. A night where they can wear comfy sweats instead of the lingerie and stifling silk. But if they're extra sweet and good they get better things. A free evening where they can see their families as long as they come home before sunrise.

“Do you think he’s dead?” Solar is dressed as her clone today, with stockings pulled up her milky thighs flashing beneath the long hem. Extra extra cute in the way that she loops her arm into Moonbyuls and pouts. as if she's upset that her alpha is paying more attention to the murder than her.

She still smells faintly of sex, moonbyul, and her own ginger scent. Not like fresh cut- the kind that baked goods have around Christmas time.

Moonbyul smiles, rapping her long nails against where Solar's arm is curled around hers clinging to her as if her life depends on it. It does- Moonbyul and her both know it does. But Solar has always been a good pet. She’s never needed quite as much correction as Wheein who likes to know exactly where her cage ends and begins, or like Hyejin- who needs nearly as much combatting and careful maneuvering as their enemies.

She'd learned from Hyejin. Had never let the others have quite as much freedom or get used to challenging her. There's a reason why Hyejin had demanded to wear her mating mark and why Moonbyul had let her have it.

Omega's however sweet and however docile, still need a cage. Moonbyul's only ever tried to branch out of her tastes once, and she won't ever do it again. Disastrous as alphas are. They make piss-poor lovers and disobedient needy pets.

She sighs. Alphas and their messes.

In truth, the pack could use someone truly obedient, someone for whom being good is as easy as breathing to balance them out. The pack could use a good pup. The pack could use you.

Moonbyul burns in want, stewing in it ravenous. It’s not love, it’s not even really lust either. She’s never been an easily sated person. She’s always wanted too much, always finished the whole pint of ice cream in one sitting. She’s always wanted everything.

That’s why she’s smiling, because she’s about to get it.

She stands a little straighter, holding out her palm. “Why don’t we go see.” Moonbyul doesn’t turn to leave, however. She doesn't walk towards the body dumped at the back of the building, still bearing Jin's fingerprints. A single strand of hair would do it. She doesn’t make any move other than to reach into her pocket and take out a lighter.

She thinks of the family's assassins; The Bee, The Spider and The Wolf. She thinks of Park Jimin. The snake. Hopefully either dead or in the process of dying.

The body in the back of the building is another one of hers. She never thought that this would be the end of the Wolf, he'd always been one of their most reliable killers. Always showed up on time too, an exemplary employee. Not to be easily duped. She'll have to figure this out and pin down What did him in. But that will take time and energy, only one of which she has.

He was only supposed to wait in the wings and ensure that neither Park Jimin nor Kim Seokjin left this building alive, nothing more.

Sometimes things are just coincidences, sometimes if you're lucky- they're just bad luck.

This doesn't feel like bad luck, this feels like revenge.

Solar makes a noise in her throat, a questioning chirp. She really is trying to be her cutest right now. Moonbyul won’t reward her in a way that she likes, a way that she wants. Even songbirds still feel the itch to fly. Clipped wings and all.

She looks at the flame, sparking.

“Why won’t you just leave the evidence? Wouldn’t that be easier?” Solar is not as good as Hyejin at handling this sort of thing, not as experienced. But she’s currently handling other more important things. Things that need her finer touch.

Solar doesn’t understand why Moonbyuls going to light this place up like a fucking Christmas tree and do Seokjin’s dirty work for him. Solar is only a pup, and she’s been kept like that because Moonbyul likes pupish omegas.

She likes the innocence and obedience that people who weren't made for this kind of life have. So eager to please that they're willing to debase their souls. There is no greater sacrifice, no greater sign of love than someone willing to do anything for you.

This also happens to be why she likes you. Why she will have you. because neither Solar nor Wheein have ever been as good at this as you were. The perfect medium between sinful and pious. Cute even while killing.

And 5 is a prettier number than 4. 3 pups for her and Hyejin is a prettier number than 2. They need more than one for each.

Just one more pup, and then their collection will be complete. It took them so long to find the right one, so much trial and error. (Moonbyul despises errors. She's going to try and kill one before this is through)

She won’t let you slip through their grasp, not a second time. You should have never been Yoongi's.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to leave this as evidence? So that the FBI gets them all? We could just like- buy them off if they wanted to take her too-”

“Oh pup” she croons, half gentle. Flicking the lighter and letting it burn in front of her face before she tosses it The soil is so soaked through with gasoline that it lights as easily as a candle, slowly spreading from wall to wall and then- in the doorway, until the heat is too much and they have to move away.

“That wouldn’t be any fun now, would it?”

~-~

(Now, Namjoon)

Namjoon’s shirt is soaked so thoroughly with blood that it makes him cold. The hospital always feels cold, goosebumps rise like a mini mountain ranges on his arms. The hair pressed down where the blood has dried.

It’s not his first time covered in blood, but this time feels different.

He’s shivering, teeth clattering. His hands shake almost too bad to fill out the intake paperwork because he’d rather do it now than later. Park Jimin (registered, Kim) Alpha, weight 165 lbs (give or take a few). Blood type AB. No medications. No known allergies, no known prior conditions. No no no.

No.

Namjoon’s hands shake. He leaves Jimin’s ‘occupation’ blank.

Yoongi sits a few paces back, staring vacantly off into space. On the surface Namjoon would assume that he’s having no reaction and is feeling absolutely heartless about everything that's happened in the last 3 hours. But his breath becomes stuttered every few minutes, like he has to manually force himself to inhale and exhale. Like it’s taking all of Yoongi’s faculties to keep himself breathing and upright and not in a heap on the floor having a mental breakdown.

He kind of wishes Yoongi was crying and screaming instead. Then at least- Namjoon would feel like he had to be the strong one.

He can't get the feeling of stabbing Jimin out of his head, or the sound it it, the wet squelch of knife hitting skin.

Namjoon has cut into people thousands if not hundreds of thousands of times by now. But he’s only cut into someone he loves once, and god Namjoon never wants to do it again- won’t ever be able to touch warm prone flesh and hurt it, not after Minnie. Never again.

The pen in his hand weighs a million pounds. He contemplates asking for a piece of paper and writing out his resignation letter. he breathes in for 5 and out for 9, then sets it down on the clipboard and slides it across the counter for the nurse to take. Namjoon doesn’t hear her quiet tone asking him if he's alright and if there's anything she can do. just shakes his head on instinct.

There is a gaggle of nurses looking around the corner peering at Dr. Kim.

"Do you think he dresses like that outside of work hours?" "I never thought I'd be so attracted to jeans and a tee-shirt." Giggling in quiet voices.

It feels so strange, to hear people laughing while Jimin is dying. Namjoon almost wants to go bite their heads off and report them for poor bedside manner to the hospital manager.

This is Namjoon’s hospital. But Namjoon can’t find it in himself to smile or say thank you to the nurse when she tells him that the second she gets any news on Jimin, he'll be the first to know. He can’t say anything through the mountain of emotion in his throat.

If Namjoon’s love is a mountain, then his anguish is a river threatening to drown him. Yoongi smells like it- the line where water turns clear to brackish, Yoongi’s miserable scent has always smelled like the churning sea and now something that feels an awful lot like seasickness makes Namjoon sway on his feet.

Since he’s done with the paperwork, he promptly returns to Yoongi’s side and sits down. Only once he's sure he's stationary, does he pull a nearby wastebasket over between his knees to upend the contents of his stomach. It hits the top of old gauze pads crumpled up at the bottom and smelling like piss with a surprisingly violent sound, drawing the gaze of more than one person in the waiting room. At least it finally quiets the giggles.

Yoongi’s hand finds Namjoon’s knee, the hole in his jeans, The back of his ribs, stroking once twice. steady and hard the way that Namjoon likes. And Namjoon wishes he could snap at Yoongi. Wishes he didn’t curl into the touch. Wishes he was angrier. Wishes Jimin was perfectly alive and breathing and not going to-

Yoongi’s hand settles on the back of Namjoon’s neck, his throat, pulse hammering, thudding.

They’re just kids and Yoongi's hands are calloused. They've always been.

Deep down Namjoon still feels like he’s only 8 years old. Is just a kid and just starting to understand that the world isn’t all just papercuts and skinned knees; that it means something when people hurt. That it means something when you tell them you won’t let them hurt anymore.

He remembers promising Jimin something similar- a long time ago, the summer they all first met:

Namjoon remembers Jimin, standing in the apartment that wasn't theirs yet, after a movie night, the first movie night that the pack had ever had togeather (not totally togeather, becuase you and hobi hadn't been there yet but still).

It was the first time Namjoon had ever seen Jimin in something other than a designer sweater, sweats and a tee-shirt so ordinary that Namjoon was surprised it didn't make him look less intimidating. standing in the doorway waiting for Namjoon to notice him and look up from his medical journal.

"Yes Minnie? Did you need something?" jimin had shifted from foot to foot. looking up at jimin, a first slice of vulnerability in his eyes.

"Tae and Jungkook, they've got a bit of pain in them. I want to know what you intend to do with it." namjoon set his glasses to the side, the papers rustling as he forgets his reason.

"Make it better hopefully?" Namjoon had been struck with how oddly intense he'd been. Jimin had opened up with time and had gone sweet and trusting with the right amount of love. But he'd looked intimidating in his dark clothes and the wrinkle between his eyes like he was used to furrowing his eyebrows. A cute detail that Namjoon already wants to brush away. To touch. to cradle. To love.

He'll catalogue all of Park Jimin's cutest things in time. He'll treat love as a scavenger hunt, to find the softness in someone who tries so outwardly to be gruff and strong.

Namjoon's stained sleep clothes and promises felt all the more shabby in comparison.

"I need you to promise."

Namjoon had avoided it. Unwilling to meet his words with the same intensity. Jimin doesn't take chances with Jungkook and Tae. Tae's low laugh from the other room, Yoongi's matching grumble, overly fond already. Overly fond from the beginning.

"What about you? Doesn't everyone have pain?"

"Just promise."

"I promise to look after the three of you." Jimin had scoffed. Puffing up like a bird with too many feathers.

"I don't need looking after. Just them- when I go away for work."

"I know, but let me do it anyway." Smiling at the pretty alpha was so easy, so easy with the sounds of Jungkook and Jin's giggles in the other room. Laughter building itself into the walls around them.

"I promise not to hurt you or them. You have my word."

Namjoon lied, Namjoon lied back then and he didn't even know it. He upends his stomach again and Yoongi rubs down his spine.

“He’s not going to die Joon, he’s going to be fine.” Namjoon continues to empty his stomach, it’s pizza mostly, a bit of coffee, and a half-digested protein bar from this morning as well.

“Does hurting the people you love ever get easier?” Namjoon asks. Honesty, not anger in his tone.

Yoongi’s hair has gotten longer and hangs in his eyes. Yoongi never grew his hair out before you, always kept it in that short black sort of coconutty style. It makes him look older and all the more beautiful. Namjoon wonders if that’s why you like it; How regal it makes your mate look.

Yoongi has asked so much of Namjoon in the last few years, from leaving to coming back and bringing you. To hiding the mating mark and now this. Namjoon tells himself he should care more about Yoongi's lies and less about the fact that he just lied, period.

“No,” Yoongi grimaces. He always gets so quiet when things are bad, steady in that consistent way. He still hasn't stopped stroking Namjoon's back. Namjoon knows this is simply all Yoongi knows how to do, his first instinct is to love and not much else. “It was never easy.”

It’s not weird that they re-hash this now. Every time Namjoon learns more about how and why Yoongi left, he understands it more.

“I threw up too, just so you know- when I left, leaving you made me so sick that I hurled the second I got on that train. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.” He blinks back wetness in his eyes, “I don't remember if I've ever told you that."

Namjoon nods. He can't remember right now either.

It’s been an hour or so now since Yoongi drove fast but steady steady steady to the hospital. Namjoon in the back while he stabilized Jimin in much the same fashion that you'd done earlier. The rest of the pack should be here soon. The three of you only lingered behind to clean up a bit and change your clothes, covered with blood and muck and who knows what else.

Yoongi sits like a statue and Namjoon can’t even look at him, can’t ask any questions or even start because he already feels like he’s yelling, and Namjoon hates yelling. This isn't isn’t exactly the most private venue for secrets that could land Jimin in jail.

Namjoon's still not entirely convinced that stabbing him was worth it. Namjoon’s brain is dizzy with terror. He’s still dizzy when he turns and sees you walking through the front doors to his hospital, Jin and Hobi trailing behind you.

He remembers the way you’d looked the day they’d gotten you checked out for the first time; how you’d run and pressed your face to his chest and buried your face there like just the sound of Namjoon's heart could make every demon and monster go away. For a moment, Namjoon thinks you might do the same thing. But your steps are measured, slow, and purposeful.

Namjoons eyes train on you, following you as you walk,

Yoongi stands, leaving Namjoon sitting with a cooling pail of vomit between his legs. he says something to you, to jin, but you don't pause, continuing until you're standing in front of him.

You don't say anything to him, just peer into the bucket and make a disgusted face down at it. Namjoon's teeth feel too sharp in his mouth with such a tense jaw.

Hoseok is on the phone, face gaunt and tired-looking. He must have drawn the short end of the stick and has the job of calling Jungkook and Tae and telling them what happened. They really shouldn’t drive themselves, but all Namjoon can reasonably do is restrain himself from cornering you and Jin and start demanding answers.

He barely even turns to Jin when the omega goes up to the desk and asks if they can have a room, please. A private place for the pack to nurse their worries and not crowd the already-packed waiting room. Namjoon couldn’t name the nurse by name right now if he wanted to but he’s well known here and well-liked too. They give them one of the adjacent exam rooms to wait- Jimin’s surgery will take a few hours more, and there isn’t anything to do but wait.

Terrible terrible waiting, terrible terrible time. (You get a bucket when you want a drop and a drop when you want a deluge. Time only comes in two increments; too much or not enough.)

You drop a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder without a word. After some beckoning Namjoon follows you into the room. Legs shaking and sluggish at first. The pack is quiet even as the door closes.

But once Namjoon's moving it’s hard to stop, careening like a comet or a bullet in your direction. Staggering.

You’d taken precious seconds to change your blood stained clothes before following Namjoon. You all pulled on the first things you could get your hands on. Which is how you’ve ended up in your mate’s shirt and Jungkook’s jacket, and how Hoseok’s in one of Tae’s extra-large pink sleep shirts stained from hair dye underneath Namjoon’s puffer coat and a pair of jungkook's grey work out sweats. Jin had been a little bit more purposeful- his sweatpants match- his matching purple set.

Namjoon's shirt is dark from blood, the bloodstain drying crusty, sticking to his skin like glue.

To say that Namjoon is angry is an understatement; rage rolls off of him in quiet unending ripples carrying with it the strength to change the pack for good if he’s not careful. He doesn't walk to the chairs no- he bee-lines it to you.

He watches you startle and turn, eyes widening. You do not make to move out of his path.

Namjoon has never made you feel afraid before, but the pulse of it, the threat of fear is there as he backs you against the wall until your body lies against it. Looming over your head, so much taller and larger than you.

An alpha. An alpha hunting.

You tremble but you do not move to avoid him when he corners you.

He has a tiny bit of blood on his face, and a hairline splatter, almost like a constellation of stars across his temple. His fingers are harsh and shaking when they dig into your cheeks, pinching them until your lips open. Your knees tremble and you press your palm flat against the wall.

His scent thunders so thick and consuming that you can't physically stop yourself from trying to bear your throat. Namjoon stops you, holding you in place.

His eyes are dark and heavy-lidded as he looks down at you, He pinches your cheeks harder, shakinging you just a little. His voice is steady when he speaks, inches away from low snarl.

“Never make me hurt one of our packmates again.” You swallow, although it’s hard. And he pinches again- harder before you get a chance to speak- to try and defend why you brandished that knife at Jimin hours ago. Namjoon holds your face the same way he held the knife- tenderly.

“I mean it. Never.”

He holds you there for a second longer before he lets you go, leaving you gasping. His hand slides down your throat to your shoulder and neck, You would fall over if it wasn't for his touch keeping you up.

“I’m sorry.” You choke out, a few stingy tears making themselves known at the corner of your eyes. Namjoon rests his forehead against yours and closes his eyes. His spiky silver hair hits your skin. Rough.

After a second, he opens them again. Nodding. And his scent loses its bitter edge. He guides you to rest against his chest. You take big gasps of his scent now that he's giving you permission. Your instincts thunder through you so viciously that you can't physically stop yourself from tilting your neck and bearing your throat.

Namjoon just drags a finger down it, humming. He holds you up, arms around you, a shield and a cage.

“It’s not okay.” I’m not okay, “but I forgive you.” Your knees do give out when Namjoon’s hand brushes the back of your neck, fingers digging in, a half hearted scruff that feels a bit like an apology of his own.

Even if he wants to be angry, anger won’t accomplish anything. Especially with you. His anger will only make you afraid and although Namjoon cannot be expected to control his emotions all the time, you have no reason to fear him.

He's never going to hurt you. He promised.

He walks you two strides, to put you into a chair next to Yoongi. Your mate takes you from him. The plastic chair makes a loud scraping noise against the linoleum floor. Jin's on your other side looking just as tired as the rest of you.

You'll get no rest tonight, sleeping in Jimin's hospital room when he gets out of surgery. Every fitful dream interrupted by the oxygen monitor on his arm. the first few hours when it will go off twice and prompt examination of his vasculature and operation site as well as a fresh dose of blood thinners. The biggest danger going forward will be blood clots; one too large in jimin's arm could leave his hand with nerve damage, numb for good.

But for now, Namjoon looks down at you, yoongi, and jin sitting in the plastic chairs. Secret, killer, and agent. All there in a pretty little row. Namjoon glares down at the three of you and crosses his arms.

“Explain.” Namjoon can’t wait another minute, another second. “Explain to me everything going on in my pack that I don't know about right now or I swear I'll-"

Yoongi scoffs, "That you'll what? That you'll tear us apart Namjoon? that you'll leave? Look around you- we're already falling to pieces."

"You don't honestly expect me not to be angry that I had to stab jimin do you-"

"No, but don't yell at her. I have my limits."

"I wish I was one of those limits, but i'm clearly not since you insist on fucking over our pack-"

Jin turns, cutting them off from their argument with the true shock of his next words. You know that's what he's intending- but it sort of backfires. "Joonie, Don't get mad at Yoongi or her for this. Especially since I'm the one who shot Jimin. It was an accident."

You flinch, then put your head in your hands, namjoon's scent goes impossibly thick and angry for a second before he gets it under control. You physically watch Namjoon's hackles raise. watch Yoongi push back in his chair, leg jumping, running his hands through his hair looking from you to Jin, then back again.

"Jin, you should have kept that to yourself."

"What the fuck-"

Namjoon looks like he doesn't know weather to cry or laugh. "You don't just shoot someone on accident-"

Jin's got the best scoff, one worthy of music screens not just the quiet tomb of this room. Your relationship that's dying all around you. "You don't just stab someone on accident either and yet here we are-"

There are some secrets you take to the grave and others that you keep for too long, so long that they make a grave out of you. Keeping secrets is like keeping someone else's heart beating, you run out of blood eventually.

You might vomit up the truth all over the hospital floor just like Namjoon did a few minutes ago. You feel sick and light-headed and sort of like you might have low blood sugar. namjoon's scent, angry alpha affects you more than you realize.

You start to teater, and their next biting words get extinguished when you almost fall out of the chair, nearly sliding to the floor before Namjoon catches you. One knee dully aches as he picks you up like you weigh nothing, ducking in close, real concern in his face, all his anger gone.

"Shit are you okay?"

"Pup?"

"Just got lightheaded-" Whatever it was, your lightheadedness will have to wait for another time. It's honestly probably just stress. Your heart feels like it's beating extra fast, extra hard.

Namjoon places you gently back in the chair and Yoongi touches your shoulder, the trio of their concerned faces that you swat away.

"We should wait for Hobi." You still owe him an explanation- for earlier and these aren't the kind of secrets you say more than you have to. A cup of water gets thrust into your hands and for once, they fall silent.

When Hobi comes in he’s mostly quiet holding his phone in his hand. Looking at you from across the room. His soulful eyes watching you, head tipping to the side in deference.

"Tae's in-" It takes him a second to gather his words. "Tae's in a fucking state. She was crying so hard that Jungkook had to call them an Uber. I just told her Jimin had been stabbed and nothing else because I didn't know what to tell her."

"That's probably for the best we don't have to-" your mate starts, but Namjoon cuts him off.

"No, no more secrets. Not between any of us."

Hoseok still has a hickey from you on the side of his neck, from you earlier. Jin's fingers skim down the one on your shoulder where a mirrored mark sits knocking you out of your Hobi-induced reverie, red and bruising from his mouth. Jin raises his eyebrow at you, but now is not the time to tell him about you and hobi.

"We've got like- maybe 30 minutes until they get here."

You swallow past a lump in your throat, readying yourself for it, “better make it quick then,” Namjoon waits, Seokjin is silent, watching you, gaze flickering from you to Hobi every few blinks. Yoongi holds onto your knee, sliding his palm down to your hand, your wrist. Finger digging into the sensitive scent gland there and rubbing comforting circles.

You swallow hard. “We’re all on each other's sides, right?”

“Of course,” Jin crosses his arms like he's offended you even had to ask. You bite back your retort. Namjoon nods, so does Hobi.

Your hair flops as you nod. But you still look to Yoongi to wait for permission. After a breath your mate nods and spreads his hands, giving you the floor.

If there’s one thing you know it’s that you can’t do this alone, you and Yoongi, Namjoon and Jin, Jimin and Tae. You and Hobi. There is no separation here, not when it comes to your safety. Each of you cannot keep the rest safe on your own.

“I met Jimin a few months before I met Yoongi, I…Yoongi’s family-”

Yoongi resists the temptation to speak for about 10 seconds when you fall silent. You can sense the moment that the truth shifts, when it explodes at Yoongi’s tongue. Unbidden but frantic and relieving like it's taken Yoongi's whole being to keep all this in.

“My family, I've never liked calling them that. Blood means nothing to me, you guys, you guys were always my family more than them." The pack is silent but you lace your hands with his and nudge his thigh with yours, encouraging him to go on.

"My relatives run the largest network of organized crime on the East Coast, from Boston to Miami. Everything from racketeering to prostitution to production and distribution of pharmaceutical-grade opioids. cover ups, sale of illegal weapons, extorsion of political officials and blackmail. If you can think of a crime they do it. If you can think of a way to make money, they've got their hands in it. It’s one of the reasons why I don’t go home- why my parents-”

Yoongi breaks off, his voice going small and quiet. Wounds he doesn’t talk about- even to you.

“There’s maybe 200 of us now. I’ve got a lot of fucking aunts and uncles. We try to stay in our lanes, our cities, and deal only in our respective crimes. There's a lot of politics and a lot of people vying for control here and there, but only alphas are allowed to lead, omega's increases the bonds of power in other ways and beta's- You know how rare beta's are- in my family- i'm treated as second only to the family head. Being a beta offered me certain liberties. Other freedoms. Not only to avoid most of the violent stuff- but to leave and move around without asking for permission. It's like a get out of hell free card. Not everyone gets that."

You snort, crossing your arms over your chest, “You mean they didn’t exactly expect you to go about popping heirs or advancing the family business through murder and ruining innocent people's lives. not like they expected with me."

Hoseok shrivels his nose, He looks from you to Yoongi- eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “hang on i thought- Are you guys trying to say you’re fucking related or-”

“Oh my god daisy-”

You splutter, “gross- No, we’re not fucking like- blood-related or anything.” You tap your chest. "I'm non family- brought in from the outside. Which means I was just about as valuable as piss to the aunts. In our world the only reason to mate or marry is for power- any other reason and your spouse is considered disposable." you cross your legs, admitting something you've kept to yourself, not a secret just a suspicion. "Geumjae never intended to keep me around forever."

Seokjin makes a strangled noise and Namjoon runs his hands through his hair, “Jesus Christ.”

Hobi raises his hands bare, “Sorry! You’re not doing a good job of explaining!”

"Well, if you just gave me a minute to get to the point-" Yoongi seems to shake himself, to put himself together. “Like she said- I'm not expected to partake in the family buisness, Only alphas are allotted that 'honor'." Yoongi puts the words in quotations and adds an eye roll for good measure.

"Mainly- I’m treated as some sort of glorified advice Column. People call and ask me things and I’m required to answer or else they’d hunt me down and drag me back. They bring me in to coordinate stuff because I'm a beta and I keep everyone calm and keep them from killing each other and shooting out their squabbles. I tried to keep you guys safe that’s why I left but-“

Jin’s hand goes to yours, nodding, because he understands. “But not why you stayed away.”

“No. It's not.” The pack's eyes naturally stray to you.

“The heads of houses report to the family head and she directs them to me if they need a beta's touch. Only she hasn't- the new Don hasn't asked anything of me since taking power. When the last one died- my grandparents- I left to help with the transition. But the new Don doesn't need me."

You flinch, you try to hide it but Yoongi turns, ferreting out that there's a secret there without you having to confess it. Your voice is darker than they’ve ever heard. "It's not that she doesn't need you- it's that she doesn't trust you."

Yoongi tries not to sound accusatory. "Her trust isn't something you should be after."

“It’s not- promise I just-” You pick at a stray thread on your pants.

The linoleum floor in front of you is polished so clean that you can see your reflection in it. "She shouldn't trust me either- and she knows it. Believe me she knows it."

Now it's Yoongi's turn to look at you. To pull himself to the edge of his chair to try and get in front of you. A wordless question that he dares not speak.

"Before you, I was already trying to do whatever I had to survive. including doing what everyone else did back in that hellhole and ask for help-"

Yoongi stands, to much energy and panic in his body to stay seated. “You didn’t." This is a fight and a confession you shouldn’t have In front of the rest of them.

You look up at Yoongi, eyes beseeching. He's quiet and you make your words as measured and soft as you can. "I asked your grandparents first- and then when she told me as long as I did what she said she'd get me out I-"

“She’s more dangerous than Geumjae, you can’t have honestly been trying to trade one captor for another."

The whole pack is silent, watching the two of you. Not really understanding. But Jin- Jin pursues his lips. You don't know how he knows but he does.

Yoongi’s face goes truly white. Yoongi’s hands are shaking. Shaking until he grabs the handles of your chair, knees to the ground, bowed in front of you. Letting your silence stew for a second.

Maybe it’s a terrible thing to blame it on her, you hadn’t fought not to kill. But back then it had really felt like your only way out, the only way to escape the ever-suffocating pressure of trying not to die.

“For what it’s worth, I had no idea what they meant to you when she made me help her kill them.”

Something shifts in Yoongi’s stature, from surprise and shock to resignation so quickly you almost miss it. A tense set to his jaw but a tight-lipped understanding as his eyes flicker from your eyes to your lips and he rests his forehead on your knees.

He's very careful in his words. Slow with them and intentional when he lifts his head and stands. You don't know if they're lies. “Just like my parents, just like all of us in the family, I knew their days were numbered anyway.” But you loved them once you want to say. You’re not sure why you want Yoongi to be angry at you.

“I won’t apologize, not for what I had to do to survive.”

Yoongi cradles your cheek. Something dark and conflicted in his eyes.

“I know, but I’d forgive you anyway, even if you did it out of anger.”

“And Jimin?” Namjoon asks, Yoongi's hand drops from your cheek. "How does he connect to all of that?"

“I met him first, I asked him.” You hesitate. This isn't your secret to tell and you don't even know all of it- like how jimin even became an assassin or started killing. you don't know his motives. It's one thing to confess your own sins, and another to talk about Jimin's to them without his say-so.

Jin darts forward, holding your hand in both of his, “Whatever we say in this room- I’d never dream of recording. I’m not on anyone’s side but ours.” Jin screws his eyes shut tight, willing you and Yoongi to believe him. "Even with the FBI thing."

Namjoon whirls. He doesn't have to ask before Jin's spilling it. telling the truth.

Jin is measured with his speech, but it's his turn. No more secrets, that's what you've all agreed. "I've been working with the FBI for the last 8 years. They approached me back before we met Joonie- because of my proximity to Yoongi. First as an informant, then an agent and now the head of the task force.

"I only did it because I figured out that being a part of them was the easiest way to keep Yoongi out of jail. As long as I could reasonably assume I was the only one trusted and close enough to keep an eye on him, I could keep all the truly damning evidence out of their hands."

Jin turns to you, resisting the urge to reach out to you for his own comfort, you're looking at him like he's got three heads, but he smiles down at you, that pup-soft smile that he saves just for you when you're both nesting.

"I kept your name off of the photocopies of the recipie you used to kill them. Don't worry, no one but us knows." You look at Jin with new eyes, not a double agent but not an enemy either. Somewhere in between. Your heart pulses, and you grip his hand back.

Yoongi pulls his hands through his hair, angry, his tone grave "Well there's your reason-"

Hobi has been so quiet you've honestly almost forgotten he was there. Elbows balanced on his knees and watching the three of you on trial for Namjoon. "Answer to what."

"You don't understand Jin, you don't understand the laws of the family much less the one you've broken."

"The reason why someone's trying to kill you, if anyone finds out that Y/n killed them- everyone connected to them is fair game."

"You mean-"

"We're all done, if anyone finds out, that's probably why the new head of house was trying to take Jin out- to tie up a loose end."

"Hang on, I'm getting confused again." Hobi runs his hands through his hair, and it fluffs up. "Jimin's what again?"

“Jimin is an assassin, I asked Jimin to kill my husband for me but he said no.” You pick at a strand of thread on your pants, unwilling to look up and meet any of their eyes, not Namjoon’s or Jin’s. “Met him back when we meant nothing to each other. He still feels guilty for not saving me. We talked it out a while ago. It’s okay- I did it myself eventually- didn’t need anyone’s help.”

You look up at Yoongi and he looks like he might want to laugh or cry and can't pick which. “I don’t know much else about Jimin other than that he kills for the family."

"They've got people for everything, a few assassin's they keep on retainer," Yoongi clarifies. "People that anyone can hire if you've got the money for it. There are a few names that the family puts on a no-kill list, Children, the pack mates of the ruling pack, the heads of houses and their immediate packmates. If anyone kills a person on the no-kill list- their life is forfeit. I'm on it by default. The pack mates of the beta are on it too, All of you are on it. No one should be trying to kill you."

Yoongi's never paid much attention to the list, the waxing and waning names and faces and photos. he's been on it since before he was born and with no intent to kill or harm anyone and put himself even potentially in harm's way, he's never sought it out.

Maybe if he had, things would go differently.

A cold rush of realization rushes over you. "That's why Jimin and Jin ended up there" You stand up, adrenaline in your hands. "She was hoping they'd take each other out so she wouldn't have to break family law to kill them."

Yoongi shakes his head, "Something about this doesn’t feel right- something about this isn’t normal.”

Hobi’s phone dings before you can hash it out anymore. He looks down in his lap. “They're here,” he’s up and out of the chair, heading out the door and into the hall so quickly that the rest of you have to chase after him. Namjoon tugs you to your feet, staring at Yoongi and Jin. "Was that enough?" you ask.

"We'll talk more later." is all he says. But he does lace his hands with yours and pull you after Hobi. Your legs are so short you have to take two steps for every one of theirs.

“I wish Tae and Kookie were here for that-“

"They should know” your mate agrees, keeping pace with you in the hallway, dropping back with you when Namjoon accidentally lets go in his haste to get through the door. You make eye contact with Yoongi when you turn. Your back to one of those push doors using your body weight to push through it.

You pause, waiting with Yoongi on the other side of them.

“If anyone tells her about Minnie- should be me.”

(You know exactly how you’ll do it, you’ll tell Tae the story of you just like this. You’ll tell it like a story, with author notes and playlists near the end. You’ll talk about Jimin just like this; all of the good parts and all of the bad all in one. So that she might truly understand that having a choice doesn't always mean you're free to do whats right.)

Yoongi nods, “I can tell Jungkook. I think if I do it gently, he won’t get shocked enough to have a seizure.”

You pause before the doors open, to have just a moment with the two of you, just you and him leaning against it. He shifts closer, not holding you, hands by his side but he's close enough that you could rest your head on his shoulder. You do rest your head on his shoulder. Just to hear his heartbeat thud sluggish and heaven-sent against your ear.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” It feels like it’s been ages and ages since you’ve had a quiet moment with him like this. You resolve to have one, to make space for him when this is all over. A private date with just the two of you maybe. Whenever Jimin comes home. “To help with Jimin.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry I killed your grandparents.”

“They weren’t good people,” Yoongi shrugs, you've never seen a sadder shrug. “I always knew that. They-” yoongi breaks off, stealing himself for a quiet confession. "I think they might have had a hand in killing my parent. She didn't like it- that they had so much power over me. Future of the family and all."

"You've never said-"

Yoongi pushes through the door, and a high pitched keening cuts off your next words. "Later."

You push through the door and Tae and Jungkook are already there. Entering through the outside doors with a puff of air into Namjoon and Jin's waiting arms. Namjoon holds Tae up as she wails and wails. Her cry high like a nightingale. Jungkook looks pale and shaky, settled under Hobi's shoulder clearly in shock.

You cut through them, ducking under Jin's outstretched arm and colliding with Tae before anyone else can join Namjoon in holding her. falling to little heap on the linoleum floor, just at the precipice of the long hallway that connects to the patient rooms and the nurse's stations to other surgical suites. Drawing countless stars, countless looks from passersby as Tae's sobs renew themselves, loud and broken.

You clinging to each other. Her arms around your shoulders, cradling your head like it's the last safe thing in the universe.

“Jimin,” her voice breaks, throat closing around nothing. Sobs wet and angry, hot tears dripping down her cheeks, big and unabated by hope. "Minnie- My Minnie-"

You cling back, getting your hands on her cheeks. “He’s gonna be fine, he’ll be alright- here- here let me help you up. We've got you Tae-”

Jungkook looks a bit better, a little bit less like he’s drowning. Jin reaches for him while you hold onto Tae. And JK’s nostrils flare, he steps back, looking Jin up and down. Tae clings to you on the floor of the hospital and you look up at them. At Jin and Jungkook, standing a pace apart. Jungkook's hands keep Jin from coming any closer.

“You smell like Jimin does when he comes home from his trips, you smell like gunpowder. And mucky-” Jungkook's voice breaks, "Jin? Why do you smell like blood?"

There are too many people around, too many people for something like this. You're just glad It’s a quiet omission, Jungkook’s scent is level and so is his breath.

Maybe you should give him a lot more credit. Yoongi might not have to tell him much.

Tae's tears hit your collarbones as she crushes you, sobbing loudly in your ear, immune to the string of sweet nothings that fall from your lips. Whispered against her temple.

To everyone else in the hallway, rushing in the late-night hum, you and Tae look just the way that you’d expect; Two girls clinging to each other, one tall and the other short. One an alpha and the other an omega.

The rest of the pack is so blinded by their concern and their terror that they don’t look up. They don’t look down the hall to see the figure standing there watching them. One second the hallway is empty of the dark figure and then next she's there- waiting for you.

Her pine and medicine scent is disguised by the smell of death that lingers here. Although more than 2 of the people there might recognize it if they had the patience to sniff it out. They're too distracted by Yoongi dragging Jungkook close and whispering in his ear to keep his voice down.

Moonbyul watches the scene from the end of the hall. Two coffees in her hands. One for her and one for you because she always assumes that you'll go with her when she asks. No matter what’s going on with your pack, Moonbyul is not the kind of person who you say no to. She’ll ask nicely for you to come one more time.

Or so she thought. Looking at you and Tae holding each other is giving her other ideas.

To love a man is something she's always been able to dismiss as a mistake. Little pups just don't know what they need and even less what they want. She'd been prepared to deal with you loving them, the alphas, on paper, even the admittedly pretty omega male currently in her cousin's arms.

But another woman? Even one like that?

Rage is not like other sorts of anger, it’s not like fire burning to take. Achieng to burn until all the heat has worked itself out. Rage is quiet, rage is darkness and a hunger that needs to consume. That will destroy even if you try to stop it.

It's one thing to know that you love a woman besides her, and another to see you peck kisses along her tearstained cheeks. The rage builds as she watches you cup that female alpha’s cheeks. She watches you brush her hair back from her eyes and tuck it behind her ears. She’s got honeyed skin and smudged lipstick (so inelegant) you wipe her tears away and kiss her cheek.

But what makes Moonbyul’s hands tighten into claws, her metal-tipped nails piercing the coffee cups and making them drip onto the ground, wet and hot, is the way you smile at her.

Moonbyul’s rage is like a tidal wave.

By the time the rest of the pack looks up, the hallway is empty except for a puddle of coffee on the linoleum floor and two discarded cups. One with red lipstick stains and the other without.

~-~

(18 hours later, Jimin)

Tae’s cheek is so soft. That’s the first thing that Jimin’s aware of as he wakes from surgery.

Coming out of general anesthesia feels like being a rickety buoy on the busy ocean. One second bobbing to the surface and the next crashing below the waves and taking on water. Sloshy. Everything feels sloshy.

He only feels her at first- not the hospital bed, not the scratchy sheets, Just the feeling of her cheek resting against the palm of his hand. Her gentle breath tickling his fingers in her sleep.

Jimin will always know the particular beat and cadence of Tae’s body. Would know it if the sun got snuffed out like a candle. Would know her breath anywhere because it’s the very fuel to Jimin’s soul, the very thing that sets the tempo to the heart monitor beating out a pleasant rhythm in the midafternoon hum.

Her skin is pillowy and sweet beneath Jimin’s flayed fingers, limp and cold to the touch because of the whole almost bleeding out thing. He doesn’t know it yet, but he's needed 9 units of blood in the past 24 hours. 4 right away, and 3 during the surgery where they removed the knife and stitched his arm together. And another two units just after.

Compared to his own body, Tae feels so warm.

At least Jimin can still feel his left hand. The doctors that stitched him back together must have done a bang-up job, Namjoon even more so. a lot of people can put an arm back together, a whole slew of them, but not many surgeons could stab someone carefully enough so as to not permanently injure them. There are only so many people that he would trust to stab him.

But Jimin trusts Namjoon with a whole lot more than just that.

When he opens his eyes (a task of herculean proportions) Namjoon isn’t there, it’s just Tae in one of those absurdly uncomfortable hospital chairs. She’s bent over his hospital bed in what must surely be an uncomfortable position to sleep in. Her back arched like invisible wings weigh her down. She slept like that, sprawled as close as she could get to Jimin without the nurses waking her up and telling her not to crowd him.

The smudged mascara on her cheeks flake like falling stars, little trails there were tears rendered it useless. Jimin wipes away a black droplet like he's banishing a ghost. She’s cried so much over the last 10 hours, most of her makeup gone and sporting a bit of 5 o’clock shadow too. The faint roughness that Jimin feels no more than once. Because to derive sensory pleasure from that feels…wrong.

He looks at the ceiling, wondering where the others are. He feels the edge of his body, the spot where the wound begins and the pain ends. Who knew gunshots and stab wounds could make you feel so sore? and tired too? Exhaustion pins his body to the bed like a butterfly to a corkboard.

A wire connected to his good hand tugs, But he ignores it in favor of cradling Tae's head and combing through the tangles in her hair. It's gotten so long now, just to her shoulders, but the bits feel so soft and gauzy against his fingertips. He wishes he could feel it forever. It’s much much better than the 5 o’clock shadow.

It takes a dozen passes for Tae to stir.

And then she startles awake, flinching into being. Fresh tears disrupt the mascara flecks as she beholds her soulmate and nearly tugs herself across his bed to get her hands on his face. To hold his cheeks.

To say that Tae has looked better would be accurate for jimin to say but the words would never grace Jimin’s lips. Not even close. Even with a crusty face and greasy hair- Tae looks gorgeous- so pretty that his heart pulses dangerously quickly. so quickly that jimin's suprised the nurses don't come by and check on him.

Maybe they haven’t given him enough opioids for his shoulder because for a second he feels his heartbeat ricochet through his whole body. To his fingers where he's touching her and back to his heart. Every echo and ripple Tae Tae Tae.

Tae bends over Jimin’s body. Her hands go to his face, fingers touching his smile, and thumbs pressed to his faint crow's feet and twinkling eyes. Clutching at him like he’s her lifeline (he is, a red string of fate that keeps her from drowning, always. She was stupid not to use it like an anchor).

“Pup told me.” She says, a note of finality in her voice, lower lip trembling, tears falling anew “told me you kept talking about me even when you were stabbed" she goes quiet, whispering the words like she's scared someone might be listening in.

"Pup told me everything."

Jimin’s eyes flick from her lips to her face, her body, everything. His hands are trembling, chest building with breaths until they’re heaving and the realization of just how much everything she must know hits him.

Tae knows Jimin well enough to know what a panic attack looks like- knows enough how to soothe it. Knows just to hold on and wait for it to pass. jimin's hands splay and flex, rubbing her skin once, twice, and then a third time in an effort to self-soothe.

"It's okay,"

"You mean you're not-" Jimin's heart monitor is going so wild that Tae has to tell him to calm down. Has to run her fingers up and down his scent glands on his neck, nipping at them to settle him. "You're not angry that I'm-"

That I'm a killer, that I'm a monster. That I've kept everything from you. Jimin readies himself, preparing himself for the speech he always knew he'd have to give. You don't understand, I didn't have a choice, I wouldn't have chosen this- I didn't I just. I never killed people who didn't deserve it- because I know that you'd hate that.

For the first time in their lives, Tae and Jimin are sitting across from each other- without a single secret to each of their consciousness. both of them free and perilously unmoored for it.

But there are no words that Tae needs when she looks up at him and smiles. Wetness at the corner of her eyes.

Seeing Jimin in the hospital bed had not felt like Patroclus and Achilles, it hadn't even felt like Orpheus and Eurydice. There was no roaring anguish. The kind that follows when people leave you too soon. Or the bitter vindication that happens when people leave at just the right time (it’s the worst when people leave like that. Either linger or make me miss you. Stay too long or leave me early. Either way is fine. I’ll feel more human if I’ve got longing or hatred to feel).

In truth seeing Jimin in the hospital bed, wires and hooks connected to him- keeping him alive and keeping him breathing, had felt like a second chance. She's not going to let something as simple as a secret spoil it.

Tae knows she should want to know more about Jimin's job as an assassin and should want to ask more questions (if not to understand her soulmate better, than for writing material). She Should be more revolted or disturbed or upset that her literal soulmate kills people for a living, but at the moment, all she can find in herself is just to be glad that Jimin is fucking alive.

It’s funny, how much your priorities can shift.

Jimin looks like he doesn't believe her. "Tae, you can't even kill spiders."

"Would you care?" Jimin falls silent. "Would you care if it was me in your position?"

Jimin swallows hard and winces. He doesn’t have to ask for a sip of water, because Tae has already gotten it for him by the time his good hand closes over his throat. His shoulder is bound so tightly in bandages that he can hardly shift it. Can't reach up to stop himself from spilling a bit of the water down his chin. Her nails (red polished and chipped) wipe away a drop on his lips.

(There's more that you weren't able to tell her just yet; a lot about you and Yoongi and Jin. You've decided to save the bulk of how Jimin ended up in the hospital bed until after Jimin woke up. Later when you can get her on her own you'll tell her. Probably after Jimin's discharged from the hospital. But the other secrets can wait for now).

It won’t really hit her until later. When she’s in her closet looking at all of her pretty things and designer clothes. Fingers toeing along the fine black cashmere sweaters, to the maroon dresses, to the scarlet ones, stopping just before she reaches the pink. The Dior, the Versache, the McQueen. It will only be then that she'll put two and two together and realize they were all paid for with blood money. With people’s lives.

It will bother her then; it doesn’t bother her right now. It will never bother her enough to think about leaving jimin.

How do you make the choice? What to condemn a loved one for? How do you pin down your line of intolerance when it's someone you love with your whole being? Can you decide at all or is it something that your soul chooses for you? The weight of one sin for another. what you're willing to go through.

They would have died anyway. Even if Jimin hadn't killed them, they had someone out there willing enough to pay for their death and they'd have died anyway she rationalizes. We're all going to die anyway.

Maybe it’s a silver lining that Tae no longer believes in the same kind of sin and wrongness that Jimin does. Doesn’t believe in God and heaven at all. Tae has always believed in soulmates more and believed in Jimin the most. More than any god or afterlife.

“I should be angry, anyone else probably would be but-” Tae turns her cheek into Jimin’s fingers, pressing her lips to his trigger finger. Eyes shining when she looks at him. “I’ve wasted too much of my life being angry at you, wasted too much of it feeling anything but love for you- Jimin- if you died, I-”

Jimin cradles Tae's cheek. “I’m sorry for Namjoon’s rut- for what I said. Didn’t mean it. Never mean it if I'm mean-” Jimin’s finger rubs across Tae’s lips, the wide part of his palm splayed across her jaw, and so much is said in that little touch. But they look at each other and laugh. "Not like Noodle."

It shocks a laugh out of Tae and she presses her temple to Jimin's jaw, feels his smile when the joint moves. She realizes that Jimin's still a little high. Probably too doped up on pain medicine to have this conversation but oh well.

“I never thought it would take you getting stabbed for me to realize it,” her lip trembles, “I don’t want to waste another second being angry with you.”

“I don’t want to waste another second with you either. Won't even sleep,” his eyelashes flutter, struggling to stay awake.

Tae pulls herself more firmly on top of the bed and Jimin shifts a little, wakes a little more when she slings a leg carefully over his hips. Being gentle, still conscious of his physical state. He uses his good arm to pull her up and up until She’s splayed across his lap.

Kissing Tae never loses its edge, it always feels like their first kiss, sweet and with that knotted bundle of anticipation. Jimin sits up into the kiss, sits up until his shoulder protests and he hisses into the kiss. "Don't strain yourself minnie-"

"Don't care just-" he pulls her hips snugly. After that words are sparse as they kiss, again and again, lips working together. Sloppy messy love kisses. Every breath tastes like love, every second of it. She giggles pulling apart for a second to get her breath, the heartbeat monitors in the corner going wild. Breath that washes over Jimin like a gust of spring air, cinnamon flower sweat, and heady. Tae’s kisses are better than a first sip of coffee or a breath of fresh air. (They’re better than living, just a little bit).

“If I was any less sore, I’d ask you to bite me right now.”

Tae grins, and it’s a special secret smile. “You said something like that to Pup too."

“I’m so lucky I get to be yours- don't want to waste the luck-" Tae shakes her head stubbornly pulling back.

"I don’t think that you should say you’re lucky. I’m so lucky that this person loved me, or I’m so lucky that I got to love them. Because when it comes down to it, love and luck are not the same thing. Love is not a single event, like winning the lottery, or finding a 100-dollar bill. Love is a choice and you have to choose it a thousand times. Every day you choose it. Luck is such a cop-out. It’s been really nice.”

“God, I hope I’m more than just nice.”

Tae smiles, “Shut up” She goes a little pale. “Actually don’t shut up with me like- ever. I guess that’s what I’m trying to say.” She plays with Jimin’s hands, “Is that when either of us- whoever- goes first-“ Jimin’s grip goes knuckle tight on her waist, he's coming out of it, a little more lucid with every breath. Waking up more.

“When one of us dies- I don’t want to question if I ever loved you enough, I don't want to rely on just luck. I don’t want to think about the days that I could have gone for coffee with you or could have kissed you longer. I don’t want to think that I didn’t get exactly what I wanted and you didn’t get exactly what you wanted too.

"I want to give you one extra kiss every time so that you get twice as much as you would have gotten otherwise. I just want to think that it was nice, that every moment of it was nice- even when we fought, I want to look back on it and think ‘even the sad parts were nice and I got more than I thought I would.' No luck involved.”

She grins down at him, that same youthful grin she’s had her whole life, Jimin thinks of it sometimes- how many times she’s smiled this way and he hasn’t seen. How many more he will see.

“Also, y/n says that you’re allowed to mate me, but not marry me. She says my ring finger belongs to her.”

Jimin slides up the bed, flipping her over, supporting himself with his good hand, sending her sprawling and giggling. His growl is half hearted but promising. Tae laces her hand in his greasy blonde hair and it stays there.

It stays there.

~-~

The rest of Jimin’s hospital stay goes a bit like this:

There is a pair of suits outside the window, dark and imposing. plain clothes police officers watching and waiting like vultures. They’ve already taken statements from the pack but demand to hear from Park Jimin himself.

Lies from the source always taste the sweetest.

There is a story ironed out and penned in stolen moments, you curled up in one packmate's lap and transferred to another, "the pup" Jin had said, the youngest, was not taking her alpha's stabbing well. "She just needs a bit of soothing, sorry." The suits are charmed enough by two cuddling omega's that they don't notice your mouth pressed to their ears, like a game of cuddly murderous telephone.

The story gets ironed out easily, you’d all gone out for pizza, had come home to find Jimin bleeding in your kitchen.

“It’s pretty normal for Jimin to be reckless with his health. I’m not surprised he tried to come home and see if I could stitch him up himself. I'm a doctor at his hospital- Dr. Kim, pack alpha and head of neurosurgery. The knife- you should know I touched it on accident he wanted to remove it himself and I just had to stop him- I’m sorry- I should have known better I was just- so shaken.” Namjoon is a passable liar at best.

Jungkook has folded himself under your mate’s arm, and Jin’s too. He’s still vaguely shaking, bunny eyes wider than usual. In a little bit, Namjoon will drag him over to an empty exam room for a quick check-up. Just to make sure he isn't about to seize on the floor. Yoongi will go with him, Will tell him the truth about all of this then.

But what, with his comment earlier, you wouldn't be surprised if Jungkook has already figured it out on his own.

Jimin doesn’t even need to be coached into remembering it. The police don’t even think of not letting the pack see him, after seeing Tae’s teary eyes. A pretty girl is the best distraction, and the pack has two pretty girls that smell sour and need to tend to their alpha before the police get a chance too.

They’re impatient as they watch you and Tae fold yourself over Jimin’s barely aware body, more preoccupied with looking at your asses than they don’t see your lips moving against Jimin’s ear, mistaking your shaking for the racking sobs. And your quiet words for sweet nothings.

Hobi had barely leashed a growl, and resisted the urge to step in front of you and block you both from their sight.

The story is so easy and simple- a true case of Ockham’s razor. The simplest story with the least details is the most likely to be believed. the story Jimin tells the police goes like this;

Earlier yesterday, a crazy fan of the idol group he guards that must have followed him from his schedule with intent to learn his schedule and get closer to them. Her description is so ordinary that they’ll never find her because she doesn’t exist. Any person found will easily be made inculpable; either by alibi or honesty. Not that the law cares much about honesty, nor that any of you care about possibly implicating a stranger.

Love always did make people go to extremes, it's easily believable.

Nothing else matters. Besides keeping everyone safe. You're united against this.

Once they're gone, other promises get made:

“I want you to quit, this is too dangerous, if something like this happens to you again, I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle it.”

“We need to make sure we travel in pairs until we figure out what’s going on, why they're targeting Jimin and Jin.”

“I can ask some of my contacts-“

“You’ll do no such thing Yoongi.”

“Do you think we should be like- Armed? Just in case?”

“I don’t think more guns will solve anything but…Maybe.”

In a stolen moment, Namjoon corners you outside Jimin's hospital bedroom, he's holding three bags of takeout, not that Jimin will really be able to eat much of it. The opioids keep down his appetite. That doesn't meant the pack won't try to fuss. As it is, Jimin hasn't been interested in anything but kissing Tae and holding her hand. Pouting whenever the nurses make tae leave.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you earlier," Namjoon has always found apologies easy and has never had so much of an ego that it would get in the way of any of it.

"It's alright, between you and me, I think it was kind of justified." You'd probably yell at all of them if they convinced you to stab Yoongi or tae or any of them.

"No more secrets, okay? Promise me this is the last one." It's easy to promise Namjoon that, so easy. To let him scent you, rubbing his coffee liquor scent all over your shoulder.

(But it's not about the promises that you make, it's about the ones that you break.)

You sit out in the hallway the following morning, still in the same clothes and starting to feel a little bit filthy because of it. None of you have gone home yet. Hobi sits next to you and Jungkook's on the other side.

They’re just checking Jimin’s stitches again, and his hospital room just got a bit crowded. The prospect of checkout is maybe a day away. Tonight is the last you'll have to spend at the hospital.

It was also time to talk over Jimin’s opioid regimen, and the doctor had been nearly delighted when Namjoon had stepped up and taken the lead, reassuring the doctor under no uncertain terms that Namjoon would manage them. You can forgive him for thinking a little too much with his hindbrain. If Namjoon leaned any more into his instincts you'd be worried he was close to going into a rut again.

“Is this what it’s like when I’m in the hospital?” Jungkook asks, sucking on some skittles. It's more sugar than he should be allowed to have especially during a high-stress situation. But Jungkook’s taking the panic to get a little bit of freedom. You cast a glance at Tae, at Yoongi and Jin, standing by the door looking like he’s about ready to twitch out of his skin with the effort it's taking him to stand outside.

Jin had apologized- him and Namjoon both, and Jimin had accepted it instantly. "If I trust anyone to shoot and stab me- it's you two so-"

"But-" they'd argued, but eventually Jimin had turned a little scary, a little threatening. showing a hint maybe- of a persona they're all unused to but you're not. Jimin can be firm when he needs to be. A quick retort of-

"Forcing me to comfort you over something I'm not upset about is not the way to make me forgive you." Shut them up for good (or at least for now).

“Yeah, pretty much.” You hold out your hand for some skittles and he gives you a few. Hobi grimaces and reaches over to take the orange ones out of your palm. He knows you don’t like those. He replaces them with a few green ones.

"It’s fucking boring. I should get you guys like- a DS or something for Christmas.”

“Don’t tell Minnie or he’ll blow all his money on-“ You cringe at your words and Hobi flinches. Jungkook just chews on his candies, they smack against his teeth with a hard clinking sound.

There is still some of Jimin's blood under Hobi's fingernails. You see it when he reaches over to take your Skittles.

The next time Hobi moves to take your Skittles, you grab his hand and pull him to his feet. "Come on."

You lead Hoseok into the women's bathroom, underneath the curious eye of the nurses, all the stalls are empty so you pull him over to the counter.

“You’ve got some- stuff- under your nails- let me.” You rip a handful of paper towels from the dispenser and wet them. You clean Hobi’s hands diligently and he lets you.

He stays quiet, Hobi's been quiet for the last day or so. He hasn't done more than whisper a few quiet words to Jimin and stay close. He didn't say anything during your secret confession yesterday. Didn't ask a single question and the silence bleeds now as you scrub the clean-smelling soap against his skin. Your anxiety builds, and you scrub a little harder. His fingers remain limp in your touch.

“Say something- say anything okay? I need to know that you’re not-” not angry with me. That you don't hate me- that you still love-.

Hobi pulls you against his shoulder in a single clean movement. His wet hands hit your stomach when he grabs your hips. Your nose brushing his throat, his nose skimming your hairline.

“I’m trying not to take too much energy from Jimin- trying not to- be a mess- because he's the only one who deserves the packs attention. I'm not even sure if I am a mess about it. Sure that sucked but-" he sighs, "you and I are kinda like- uniquely able to handle things like this cuz of-" he doesn't need to finish his sentence. Hoseok's lips brush your ear, lips touching your skin, and- he pulls back, smiling softly. It's a tired smile but there it is- soft and special and just for you.

“You’re taking things, remarkably well considering the last time we…”

“The last time we had to deal with something like this?”

You hum, scrubbing a paper towel hard over the ends of Hobi's hands. The white paper goes orange-red with dried blood. "Give it time. There’s still a few weeks for me to go crazy this time.”

But this time, you have a feeling that it will be different. Although Hobi was there the last time- and played an instrumental role in making sure you didn't literally fall apart. It's different now. Right now, your hands tangle on the counter, holding on, even though you try to clean his hands of blood. Holding on is more important, neither of you tries and pull away. You don't have the energy for shyness.

What's more intimate? Sex or murder?

He huffs a small frustrated sound and stoops to rest his forehead against your shoulder, leaning almost all of his weight on you. You take it.

“Maybe this time I’ll take a crack at going crazy.” You laugh, stopping your brushing and just settling for holding him. Hips resting against the counter. The two of you rest, just for a moment.

Your nose against the side of his face where his undercut presses to your skin, spiky. "Still have that train ticket?" Hobi humms, taking a deep greedy breath of your scent to steady himself.

You're not expecting him to pull back and kiss you, but his lips are dry but warm, faintly chapped but yours are too. Pressing soft but demanding against yours. Hobi kisses you just as sweetly as last time and you grip the front of his jacket.

No sooner has he heaved you up on the counter, fingers hooking under your thighs to kiss you stronger- than is the door clanging open and a nurse comes barreling in.

"Ugh- uhm." She's a little stunned, but you're already hopping down, faces flushed and apologizing for the inconvenience.

You don’t throw the bloody paper towels in the garbage, but the toilet, flushing them once, then twice, to make sure that they’re down. Mumbling one last apology before you exit the bathroom together.

Hobi doesn't let go of your hand. You wonder if this is what loving him is going to be like; making out in places you shouldn't, special secret stolen glances when you keep holding hands even around the pack and keep stealing kisses.

You wonder if the kissing will stretch to the cars- to the late night drives, if he'll hold your hand like this around every hairpin turn. If Hobi's going to make you a make out playlist later, full of songs that make him think of you, songs that match the cadence and pitch of your heart. You wonder if loving him will be like this, stolen innocence, like finding sea glass on the beach. There and pretty for the taking if you only look for it.

Your heart feels all warm and tight with it, swaddled. Protected as Hobi tugs you back into Jimin's hospital room. You can't wait to find out.

The next few hours look like this; Namjoon sitting on the foot of the bed his hand on Jimin’s knee, feasting on hospital food. Jungkook giggles, and nearly throws himself across Jimin’s lap so that the alpha can put his hands through his hair. Looks like more takeout, living off of it because no one wants hospital food and you can't go home and cook. You refuse to leave right now.

It looks like Tae smiling for the first time In what feels like years but has logically been only a few hours. Rubbing a hand across her jaw and wincing when she feels the stubble.

Her wince quiets the sounds of the pack happy. And you look up from your plate.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, always stupidly attuned to her and her needs, always watching and waiting.

“I need to freaking shave and I just- I haven’t had the chance to.” Tae lets out a tired sigh, the kind of deep frustration that comes with things that you have no choice but to do.

You take her hand from her chair and tug her up. Because this- this source of angst can be fixed.

“Here- come on,” A shaving razor gets found for her, Namjoon goes to the surgical ward to get the right kind. Sharp and medical and disposable along with a tiny tube of shaving gel. You drag her chair into the bathroom and make her sit while you do it. Lathering up her cheeks and tipping her head back. The whole pack a cacophony in the other room. The shock of skittles and other candies falling onto the floor. Muted words then soft laughter.

You drag the shaving razor up her chin, over her chubby cheeks. Your gentle touch, the soft scrapping of her hair against the blade a gentle accompaniment to the sounds of the pack passing the time until Jimin wants to go to sleep. Jungkook's phone plays a tictok loud, "Bunny- headphones, Minnie's trying to rest" Yoongi reminds him.

Jimin is struggling not to fall asleep, shifting to one side of the hospital bed just to get a better vantage point to look into the bathroom at Tae. Jimin cranes his neck.

Tae's face twitches, and underneath the white froth you see her reddening cheeks. “Stop looking at me.”

Jimin grins from the hospital bed, “Can’t help it, love you.”

“Love you too Minnie” She choruses back, and the pack joins her.

that night, namjoon and yoongi push three hospital cots togeather around jimin's bed and the pack piles in, sweet bodies and kissed cheaks, whiped down with sanitary towels, you end up tucked between tae and hobi, your cheek pressed to her back.

the following morning it becomes impossible to ignore both how purely filthy the 8 of you are and the fact that Jimin's doctors won't let him check out until tomorrow (and even then he'll have days of bedrest and won't be able to use his arm until he gets his stitches out.) You haven't been home in two days, no one can remember if you even locked the front door with how crazy leaving was.

It’s hard to convince Tae to go with you and leave Jimin's side. But she's less resistant when Yoongi reminds her that Jimin needs new clothes to go home in since all of his bloodstained clothing was discarded as medical waste.

“Honestly we should get like- to go bags full of a change of clothes for all of us when like, JK has his seizures,” Maybe it’s just because you’ve done overnights twice in the last week at the hospital- but the idea doesn’t seem like a bad one.

Jin drives you, Hobi, and Tae home in silence; no one tells Tae any of the other secrets yet. Tired as she is, almost falling asleep in the car. Waking with a start when you turn onto your street.

It's a little shocking. When you get home to a cold and quiet house. Jimin's blood has dried up into dark waxy puddles, on the kitchen table and the floor. There are fingerprints from someone, rusty and red on the doorframe. It's stark to see the evidence. To see a bit of it on the butcher block countertop all the terror and the color leached out of it in the grey afternoon light.

Tae is so stumbly that Hobi has to grab her twice just to keep her from walking into walls when he gets her inside. Noodles immediately yowl has you feeling terribly guilty, he circles your and Hobi's ankles. But you push at Hoseok's hands when he stoops to pick him up.

"Take Tae upstairs and shower with her, will you? I'll be up in a second, just gonna feed him and get some stuff together." She's blinking and looking at the bloodstains, eyes already looking glassy with fresh tears.

You need a second, a second in quiet, a second alone just to steady yourself. Jin comes in, dragging in a mountain of mail from your box, "I've got them, come on pups, grooming time."

Jin pecks a kiss along your forehead, "Come up the second you finish?"

You nod, "Just want to get some food first too- hungry."

Jin nods and makes to follow Hobi and Tae but pauses on the stairs. he looks like he wants to say something to you. Eyes full of something unreadable and warm. Unspoken words hover.

If he had to choose anyone, I'm glad he chose you.

But before he can get it out Tae calls from upstairs. "Jinnie? Can you grab one of my comfy sets from the closet down there before you come up?"

You stand, solemn in the kitchen, listening to the sound of them on the creaky stairs, the sound of their quiet voices. The creek of the house as they walk around upstairs.

"Here you go baby," you say, giving Noodles an extra spoonful of food. You know you left enough for him in his bowl and that he didn't suffer too badly. But still, his purring chirping is music to your ears. You pet over his back, his fluffy tail.

He's Still chubby, still good. You aren't too bad of a pet owner then.

There's the gun still there, sitting just to the left of Jimin's blood splatter on the seat of one of the dining room chairs. You're at eye level with it from where you crouch down to pet Noodle. It's the same one that you pulled out from under the bed when you found out he'd been shot. You should probably take it with you when you go back to the hospital, just to be sure.

"You got any secrets for me nu? Are you the long-lost prince of some cat kingdom?" Noodle chops down in response.

You go to the hallway closet to get a duffel bag, where the pack stores their larger bags and luggage.

"Hey!" Hobi calls from upstairs, muffled through the roar of the shower. There isn't much other noise in the house. The birds outside aren't chirping, probably because you haven't been home enough to fill their birdfeeder.

Probably.

"Yeah!?" You call back up, upending the duffel bag and sending a bit of loose change, some quarters and pennies scattering onto the floor. you stoop down to pick up a few of them, tossing them back into the closet with a metallic clang (to be dealt with later.)

“Can you grab Tae's phone charger? It should be by her computer.”

"Got it!" Tae's library room is much the same as it was when you left it, her computer is closed. The walls are green, the window dusty. You find it easily, the cord long and white, tangling in your hands.

You're not sure why your hair raises on the back of your neck.

Noodle stops his chomping.

The push of cold air startles you- the change of pressure in the house like a door being opened- the front door. The windows in the library room are leaky. You're used to being in here and feeling it, used to feeling that same draft every time one of your pack mates comes home.

You freeze where you stand.

The metallic jingle of the doorknob is so much softer than usual. You could almost convince yourself that you don't hear it, that you've made it up.

And then you hear it- Noodle's low hiss.

Call it a habit or a trained behavior but you still make your footsteps quiet everywhere you go. A thing learned from your years with Geumjae when you needed to be quiet to be safe and needed to make yourself as unobtrusive as possible to avoid pain. A vestigial survival instinct.

It serves you well now because no one in the house hears as you slide from Tae’s library through the pantry area, you don’t call out Tae’s name again, or Hobi’s. You don’t know exactly why you don’t.

Your house is an old house and you know every inch of it. You know this house that Yoongi’s built for you from the top of the eves to the shutters, from the windows up top to the ground floor and dusty half-finished basement. You know every creaky floorboard and which steps are the ones you skip when someone’s sleeping upstairs because it always sounds so high-pitched and it wakes Jimin up, light sleeper that he is.

You hear the subtle creek of the floorboards now, the small slide of heavy boots across the wide floorboards. A creak. Someone is about to ascend the stairs, up to where you can still hear Hobi and Tae talking softly. The shower off, they're probably just getting dressed.

Softly, you hear the sound of a heavy boot hitting something metallic, one of the pennies you dropped earlier and missed.

Jin might still be in the other room, that's what you tell yourself. You're just being paranoid. stupid paranoia you almost want to laugh. you're just jumpy from the last few days- that's all. Funny of you, to make it up.

The danger is all in your head.

Only it's not,

Because the first thing you see when you peek around the corner is the pitch-dark barrel of an extended gun.

~-~

Please Like, Comment, and Reblog <3 Every little bit of encouragement helps <3

Come tell me what you liked about this chapter!

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~-~

Notes:

There are some parts in this chapter, some facts about yoongi's family that haven't been touched on since the very begining chapters or jimin's secret chapters and i repeated them just so that people get a bit of a refresher but some of it feels a little monotonous to write! i hope it's not too hard to get through.

in an ideal world i would have given myself an additional week to edit this chapter, it's not the most edited and because of that i feel like it got repetitive or arduous in places.

i'm also realizing that this is like, 9th longest bts fanfic in existence. look it up on ao3 if you don't believe me. i think giving people a refresher of the begining is fair. In terms of the harry potter series (it really is a shame that no one knows who wrote it) we're just into the 6th book in terms of word count if you need that for context.

on that same vein. moonbyuls brief rant that is implied to be transphobic and sorta is- is not a reflection of my views she's just...you know...the villain?

this chapter also literally went from 8k to 14k during editing what the fuck. i stayed up till 2 am to get this done two nights in a row. i have this little nagging voice in my head that says its stupid to care about something like this but i can't help it- i love this story so much. even if this isn't the best chapter.

when the m/c has her freak out in the room where she almost passes out- that is called adrenal fatigue and it's soemthing that i struggle with as someone with ptsd. you know the feeling when you go on a rollercoaster when all of your adrenaline unloads it's self all at once? if i go through that my body goes a little haywire like- dizziness, exhaustion, dysregulation, memory fog, all of it. i still like rollercoasters though so as long i like rest and drink alot of water it doesn't affect me too much.

it's really important that you notice that no one says moonbyuls name during the moment when they're talking about their secrets between namjoon, jin, hobi, yoongi, and the m/c. i'm not telling you why just PAY ATTENTION.

Every time i think about the proverb "The child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth." i think of the m/c and how thats her storyline with the family like- she really was like "either you love me or i'll kill all of you" and i think thats cute <3

In terms of why the last don and Beta killed Yoongi's parents- i think it's because yoongi's mother found out that she was pregnant with another beta and the don and beta didn't want to deal with such a divided power. They already had yoongi under their thumb and another possible successor would have over complicated things. Yoongi would have had a little sister, i don't know if he'll ever know thats why his parents where killed- he was between the ages of 16 and 18 when they died.

although this chapter was the least edited in terms of the most recent chapters- i will also say that there are two moments in this chapter- where i 'fuck up' and write things a certian way but heres the thing- they're not fuck ups and they're actually hints so! lets see if anyone notices!!

i'm gonna be honest with you guys the part where it goes "it stays there" left me fucking winded i can't even think about it too hard or else i get misty eyed.

i am catheterizing a lot of emotions writing this i am sorry it took so long to write, there is a reason why this update took a month and thats cuz yeah- my grandmother is dying. She's got cancer and She's 91 so they're not treating it. death is gonna be a /theme/ for me over the next couple of chapters, don't be surprised if I go off on a tangent or if it takes me a second between updates.

i wish i could write the m/c just a little dumber you know?

i wrote this series with the intent to write about people in realistic relationships- showing the moments they make mistakes, the moments they react too much or not enough, the way that trauma affects us all and how we handle it and love. it feels very full circle to have this chapter come out like- this is what bily is about you know? even though they'res alot of dialouge in it.

oh~ shits about to go down~

Mini-Playlist

Dominic fike- acai bowl (kinda hobi and the m/c's song for this chapter, they're going through it)

Hozier- Eat Your Young (Bekon's Choral Version) (this is literally bily's unoffical theme song at this point)

JID, Kenny Mason - Dance now (the beginning when moonbyul setting the industrial park on fire)

Frank sinatra- thats life (the song i picture playing at the end when tae and jimin are talking out their issues).

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anon-e-miss · 1 month ago

Text

Inglorious

He had no idea how many mechanisms had fragged the mech. Jazz looked as the puddle of transfluids and lubricants at the mech’s peds and the way his aft gaped and his valve folds hung low and loose. It looked like everyone at the club had put the anonymous mech to good use and the dark-cycle was only half over. On the other side of the box, there was a hole big enough for mechanisms to stick their spikes in and Jazz wondered how many loads of cum the mech had swallowed as well. There were other gloryholes in the club but their was something about this one that seemed to have attracted the most attention. Walking over to the box, this was not even sloppy seconds, but tens or twenties but Jazz found he did not mind. He took hold of the mech’s big aft and sank his spike in his sloppy valve.

“Mm,” he heard the whisper of a moan as the mech in the box pushed back on his spike. Jazz groaned.

Despite having taken the spike of just about every club goer who had passed through this dark-cycle, the mech was not so loose that it was not a nice, wet frag for Jazz. Then again, he had quite a big spike. Usually, it took a lot of foreplay to get his partner ready. He had no mood for that this dark-cycle. Giving the mech’s aft a playful slap, Jazz gave him the full length of his spike and gave it to him hard. He could hear the mech gurgle as someone fed him their spike and he groaned. What a great slut, he took Jazz’s spike like a pro. Considering there was not even a tip jar, this mech was taking all this cock for free. It was wild. It was exciting. The slut did not even have a plug so Jazz took his time, fragging the mech’s gestational take before he overloaded deep in his belly. He groaned as he pulled out and a flood of transfluids and lubricants splattered at the slut’s peds. Polyhexian transfluids had a unique charge that repelled other frametype’s transfluids. The loads of dozens of mechansims covered the floor and Jazz got hard again. This time, he fragged the sweet slut’s loose aft. Jazz went home sated around close. When he looked back at the gloryhole, the mech was gone and Jazz hoped he had as good a night as Jazz had.

***

“Come on Smokescreen,” Prowl called. “We don’t want to miss our transport.”

“What’s are all of those!?” Smokescreen asked as he jogged up to his originator. He pointed at a collection of statues in the Hub.

“Those are the Knights of Cybertron,” Prowl replied. “Heroes of ancient Cybertron.”

“I’ve never seen their pictures before,” Smokescreen said, looking suspicious and inquisitive at the same time. It was a familiar look to his originator.

“Praxus has its own mythology,” Prowl replied.

“Mmm,” Smokescreen hummed. “I think knights sound like fun.”

“We’ll get you a book,” Prowl told him.

“Okay!”

Perhaps Prowl was spoiling him, as he had been accused of before but the happier Smokescreen was, the easier this move would be. They had left everything behind. Prowl had not made the decision to enlist in the Autobots impulsively. He had run it through his ATS a hundred times and discussed it with both his procreators at length. Ultimately, it had been his originator who had helped to solidify his decision. Camshaft had told him that Praxus was not truly Neutral and the mask made it vulnerable in all directions. With his procreators off world serving the Helix Lord’s interests off world for an undetermined amount of time, it had seemed like the best interest of his creation to pick a path and to see it through. Prowl had enlisted in the Autobots as a tactician and had accepted base housing to ensure the security of his creation, as best as he could in their unstable world.

“Will grandori and grandgeni be able to visit us?” Smokescreen asked.

“When they have leave to,” Prowl replied. “Travel between Praxus and Iacon is not banned or especially restricted. Otherwise, we would not be here ourselves.”

“That’s good,” Smokescreen said. “I miss them.”

“They miss you too,” Prowl told him, knowing it to be true. “They will make arrangements as soon as their deployment is over, I am sure of it.”

Passengers were loading on the transport when they approached. Prowl was pleased they had not been left behind. He had arranged for their baggage to be transported from the transport to the Convoy shuttle. Whether it actually had been, Prowl would not know until they reached the Autobase. It did not contain all their worldly possessions, most Prowl had arranged to be shipped. They could make do well enough with what had already arrived, namely their furniture. His first duty shift was not until the beginning of the next orn, until then, they could get settled, unpack and explore. By the time his shift started, Prowl was sure he would be halfway mad, desperate to put himself to work but Smokescreen had the unique ability to distract him from boredom. When you had a sparkling like Smokescreen, it was impossible to truly be bored.

“This is us,” Prowl announced and he and Smokescreen disembarked. Their luggage was deposited on the sidewalk. “Just like I said, there is a park just around the corner.”

“It looks okay,” Smokescreen declared, with the cheekiest of grins.

Thankfully, their berths and couches had arrived, along with the knickknacks Smokescreen had deemed important enough to bring with them. It was the furniture that mattered as Prowl knew the novelty of recharging in a berth designed for a different frametype wore out as soon as their doorwings started aching. He had already sent schematics to the school for the chair Smokescreen would need at his desk. He may well have been making a nuisance of himself already but Prowl thought it was important he made it clear to the school early on that he would advocate for his creation; it was a lesson his procreators had taught him by advocating for him when he had been young. They spent a few mega-cycles unpacking and exploring. The new work orn came far more quickly and far more suddenly than Prowl had expected it would. He brought Smokescreen to school and saw him to his new classroom before making his way to Tactics.

“We’ve seen the preliminaries of what you can do,” Delta Magnus declared. This was the Prime’s second in command. “I want to see what you can do first hand, however.”

Prowl found the simulations easy to navigate. The problems were not overly complex. They covered fuel shortages, power shortages, ambushes and open warfare. He made his choices with the needs of the many and the most valuable targets in processor and all without hesitation. As a rule, Prowl was not an emotive mech with his kin being the only mechanisms he relaxed that much around. Troops died in battle, it was unavoidable in war, but it was vital to limit these losses. A victory one could not hold was ultimately a defeat and this was his policy as he ran through all of his tests. If the SIC was impressed or disappointed, he did not show it. He waited for his assignment as Delta Magnus reviewed his results with other commanders.

“He’s ruthless,” Delta Magnus noted, not quiet enough to go unheard.

“He’s efficient,” said another. “He had a long career in the enforcers. He could be good with the ASF.”

“He’s restraint,” said another. “Put him with Special Operations. Primus knows they could use a shorter leash.”

“I can’t see that working,” the first said. “The glitches don’t like restraint.”

Prowl mentally bristled at the glyph. He sat quietly and waited. It would not please him to be have the first unnamed Autobot as his commander as he knew full well he would clash with anyone who used the idea of glitches as an insult. Many times in Prowl’s life he had been called a glitch, by teachers, by supervisors, by strangers and in every one of those times the mechanism used the term because they were incapable of understanding a divergent means of thinking and operating. Though Prowl had not directed any special operations in the enforcers, he did not need to. He was a tactician. He wrote strategies and analyzed data. There was no reason he would not be able to do so here.

“Autobot Punch,” Delta Magnus barked at the yellow and blue Polyhexian that stood in front of him. The one called Punch did not raise his red servos in salute but levelled the Convoy with a long look. “Autobot Prowl has been assigned to Special Operations as your new strat.”

“Ain’t heard o’ Ops havin’ a strat on staff,” Punch replied. He looked Prowl up and down. “If y’re lookin’ to add staff, a commandin’ officer is more in need.”

“You have a strat,” Delta Magnus said. “Since none of your lot have any sense.”

“Good-cycle, Autobot Punch,” Prowl greeted the mech as the SIC left.

“Good-cycle, Prowl,” Punch said. “Have ya been transferred from one of the other divisions?”

“No Sir,” Prowl replied. “I am newly enlisted. I moved to Iacon last orn with my creation.”

“Ya don’t gotta call me or anyone else in Ops sir,” Punch replied. “We ain’t sanctioned so we don’t got rank.”

“That seems... chaotic,” Prowl replied.

“It is,” Punch replied. “We make good use o’ it. Still... a strat might not be a bad thing. Do ya got any experience in Spec Ops?”

“No... Punch I was an enforcer,” Prowl replied.

“We might have some growin’ pains here,” Punch sighed.

“Perhaps I could assist whoever analyzes the data your operations uncover,” Prowl offered. “I was assigned to metaforensics. I am adept at analyzing data and uncovering what is not meant to be seen.”

“Mm,” Punch hummed. “Let’s you and me look at Jazz’s last report.”

#anon-e-miss writes #maccadams #valveplug #tf prowl #tf jazz #mechpreg #tf punch

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riddledwithrats · 10 months ago

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In The Midnight Hour

Chapter Four: And It Feels Like Home

>chapters one, two, three

Summary: Reader is taken to Falcone's office and beaten within an inch of her life.

Words: 1,808 (kinda short but I wanted to give y’all at least a little bit! one more chapter left :))

Warnings: kidnapping, extreme violence, death threats, major character death, degradation, religious imagery, hurt/comfort (18+)

“I thought you made a deal, boss?”

Voices ring in your ears and blood drips out of your nose and mouth. There’s no light and you can’t tell if it’s because the room is dark or if your eyes are shut.

“I only made that deal to placate Oz, he’s a fuckin’ schmuck if he thinks I’m just gonna let her go.”

You groan and try to roll over but your arm shoots out in pain, and a squeal of agony wretches its way through your throat. You’re too delirious to recognize the voices, your ears sound all fuzzy and you can’t see anything.

Tears begin to roll down your face as you gently prod at your eyes, they’re almost fully swollen shut. Someone has been wailing on you for a very long time it seems.

“Oh, look. The bitch is awake!” A rough voice says near you, it only gets closer. You can feel the wretched breath on your neck, it reeks of whiskey and tequila. A delicate touch follows the trail of your tears, slowly beginning to scratch the tip of their nail into your skin.

You cry out in pain, your eyes beginning to open just slightly. A sliver of light blinds you, and Falcone's face comes into view. His face is deep red, he’s seething as he stares daggers into you.

“How fucking could you?” You begin to shake and whimper as he grabs you roughly by the shoulders. His grip is excruciating, you can feel bruises forming already. “You let him fucking slobber all over you like a dog, you WHORE. DID YOU THINK I WOULDN’T FIND OUT?”

You can’t think, all you can do is scream, cry, and whimper. He begins to laugh at you.

“I just can’t wrap my head around it, angel.” He leans back a little, sitting on his knees beside your trembling form. “He’s fucking incompetent, he’s an idiot for Christ's sake! What does he got that I don’t, baby?”

Falcone grabs you by the throat and makes you look him in the eyes. He’s waiting for an answer, squeezing your windpipe periodically.

“I said, what does he got that I DON’T?” Falcone shouts and it makes your ears ring. Your mouth is dry and you can barely form words in your head but you mutter an answer out anyways.

“A heart.” Your throat begins to feel like it’s closing.

He doesn’t seem to enjoy this answer.

He grabs you by the sides of your head and begins slamming your head down onto the floor. You can’t stop screaming. Everything begins to go by in slow motion.

The air flows around you like nothing is happening, the sun shines into the office. It bounces orange and yellow light all around you, it looks so beautiful.

Stars begin to form in your sight, you can’t hear anything and you can barely focus your eyes but Falcone hasn’t let up. You feel so helpless. His hands make their way back to your throat, he pushes his thumbs into the front of your esophagus, and it burns. Your lungs feel like they’ve callapsed, your vision is even blurrier than before and you’re sure you’ve lost more than a few brain cells at this point. All you can see is the rage in his eyes.

The elevator door dings.

“CARMINE.”

Oz steps in, he’s fuming. There’s a gun in his hand. Falcone only stops once he hears Oz’s booming voice and his brace clinking against the floor. He looks up at him in awe.

Oz looks ethereal. The sun shines down on him like a halo.

A vague idea enters your head. Your gaze flickers to Falcone; Adam. To the gun; The Apple.

And finally, to Oz. A great, big, powerful Serpent.

A loud bang echoes through the office. A heavy weight falls onto your chest, and slickness splatters onto your face. Your heart is beating so fast, you’re finally free.

Your eyes fall shut and you can’t open them anymore.

Waking up in a hospital is jarring, specifically because you hadn’t expected to wake up at all. But the sterile white walls, the linen covers, and the fluorescent lights weren’t entirely unwelcome.

There’s a brace on your arm and on one of your knees, but you don’t feel any pain. You look at your injuries in confusion, why didn’t they hurt?

“They’ve got you on a lot of painkillers, sweetheart.” The rumbling voice cracks as it speaks. You look over to your left, Oz is sitting in a chair that looks much too small for him. There’s a pillow and a blanket next to him, as well as a cup of water and some magazines. He looks tired like he hasn’t taken his eyes off you in days. “Wasn’t sure you were gonna wake up, doll.”

Oz begins to choke up, he looks ecstatic that you’re awake but he just can’t stop crying. You don’t remember much of what happened. All you can remember is the pain… and the sun.

You don’t see the sun now though, it looks to be pitch black outside, like it’s the middle of the night. Oz reaches a hand out towards yours, he holds your hand gently.

“I-I’ll call the nurse, sweetheart.” He stands up and presses a button next to your bed.

“Did you kill him, Oz?” You ask as he freezes in place, hand still hovering to your side. He looks at you, visibly stiff like he wasn’t prepared for the question but simultaneously like he knew you were going to ask it from the moment you woke up.

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Yeah, I did.”

He sits back down and waits for your reply, watching every tiny twitch of your face to gauge your reaction.

“Good.” You whisper out, eyes closed and leaning back into the barely-comforting cushion of the hospital bed. It feels like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders, you feel light and free like every chain that had been holding you down finally snapped.

He snorts out a small laugh, but when you sneak a look at him he looks incredibly solemn. You’re sure there’s a lot of stuff that has unraveled, or been brought up, because of his killing Falcone. The foundation of his business has become shaky and fragile, plenty of people are going to try and make a feeble attempt at the newly opened job position.

But none of them will be nearly as fast as Oz.

“Oz?” You call out to him softly, watching as his dejected eyes raise to meet yours. A fire burns in the pit of your stomach, a sense of pride and determination flares within your chest. You take a deep breath and look him, deathly serious, in the eye. “This city is yours now. No one can take it from you.”

Oz sits up at attention, he looks at you bewildered. He secretly shudders at the realization that you definitely just read his mind. He tries to gain his composure, sending a cheeky, almost shy, smile your way as he rubs the back of his neck.

“I wish it was that easy, sweetheart.” He chuckles dryly, but stops abruptly at the resolute look in your eyes. You’re not trying to reassure him… You’re stating a fact. One that seems to be very near and dear to your heart. Oz sighs, looking at you softly.

“Thank you.” He whispers.

A few seconds go by of you both staring deep into each others eyes, before Oz comes back to reality. Just as he opens his mouth to say something else, the door handle jiggles slowly before a young women enters.

She’s dressed head to toe in purple scrubs and it makes you squint a little at the vibrant color. She says something in greeting but you don’t hear much of it, tuning out very fast as she does a routine check of your health. Asking you basic questions.

Apparently, you had been unconscious for around three days but they had kept a vigilant eye on you, and reassured Oz that you would be awake in no time. Oz had also kept a vigilant eye on you, the nurse says this after he leaves the room to fetch you something to eat.

“What?” You ask quietly, looking at her quizzically. You’re sure there’s much more important things he could’ve been doing, but the blanket, paper cup of water, and discarded coat where Oz was sitting tells a different story.

“Yeah, he barely left your side. Only really left to go the bathroom and begrudgingly get food at the insistence of myself.” She giggles a little, not noticing the expression on your face.

“Oh.”

She leaves a little while after that, only really making small chit chat after she’s assessed that you’re in fairly good shape considering the circumstances.

Of course he would stay, you think. It would be out of character for him to just leave you, a crumpled heap of a person on the floor. Although he had wanted to kill Carmine for a very long time, there was very little chance he would ever do it if Falcone hadn’t tried what he had.

The thought of Oz wanting to save you makes you blush, the heat in your face doesn’t seem to go away even as Oz enters the room with some food for you and himself.

He smiles at you, not a smirk but a real, true smile. He brandishes the plain hospital food for you to see, and your heart beats rapidly in your chest.

“The nurse said you could be discharged from the hospital today, doll.” He says as he sits down in the chair beside your bed. He hands you something to eat, before relaxing into the chair. “And uh, well… I was wondering if you’d come stay with me for a while, sugar.”

That takes you back a little.

“What? Why, Oz?” You ask in confusion.

“Well, I don’t mean this in a rude way, doll, but I feel like every time I take my eyes off you, you get the shit beaten out of you.” Oz chuckles dryly, but he looks nervous. “I just, I worry about you, y’know? Don’t want you to get hurt no more, especially if it’s because of me.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Oz…”

He doesn’t look convinced, but before he can argue the nurse comes back in. She looks shy and apologetic for interrupting, but she steps further into the room anyways.

“Your paperwork is all finished, you’re free to leave.” She says with a gentle smile, and as Oz and yourself nod she walks back out swiftly.

Oz looks at you, he seems to be thinking very deeply before he says:

“C’mon, doll, let’s get going.” He stands up and helps you get ready to leave.

#here y’all go!! one more to go!#i’m going to start writing more often so hopefully these will get out faster im so slow lol #oz cobblepot x reader #oswald cobblepot x reader #farrell!penguin #farrell!penguin x reader #the batman (2022)#my writing

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zepskies · 2 years ago

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Never Say Goodbye - Part 3

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader

Summary: The first time you and Dean sensed each other’s thoughts and feelings, you were just kids. It would take years to realize that you both were bonded for life, and even longer to finally meet. [Soulmate AU] (Rated M for eventual scenes – 18+)

Word Count: 4,500 Warnings: Language, fluff.

Part 3: Contact

As it turned out, your life started to get better after you missed that shift at the coffee shop.

Oh, you still got fired. But the experience of nearly getting splattered on the pavement by an oncoming truck gave you some unexpected clarity about your life.

Mainly, you needed to stop wasting it. You were tired of jobs that would pay your bills but not bring you closer to your career. And frivolous thoughts of coffee shop boys and…the hope of running into your soulmate.

Maybe one day, you could dare to hope, but from now on, you wouldn’t let it rule your thoughts. You wouldn’t hope too hard either.

It could save you from the disappointment of never hearing anyone’s thoughts but your own.

So you decided to check the University of South Dakota’s career board for jobs, and you discovered an opening in the history department! A research assistant for one of your favorite professors, who was writing their dissertation on the strange, superstitious, and sometimes down-right disgusting social practices of the Ancient Greeks (including bottling up the sweat of their best athletes, because they thought their musky body oils contained magical properties).

Since you were already majoring in history, you were a shoe-in for the job. And working directly with your professor gave you a great resource for future classes.

Four years later, you had earned your bachelor’s degree in History. You even decided to further your education when you were able to get a scholarship for graduate school.

Now you were just one semester away from finishing your master’s. You still worked in the history department, but you had been able to upgrade—to Executive Secretary to the Dean of Ancient Studies.

It sounded fancy, but really, you were a glorified slave. Or at least, your boss seemed to think so.

“I need you to cancel my meeting at two,” said Dr. Birch. She breezed into your tiny office without knocking, startling you from where you were hunched over your laptop.

“Good morning!” came your reflexive greeting, though it was a bit too loud and sharp. You internally winced at yourself and relaxed your posture, like a bird unruffling its feathers. “Cancel your meeting with Dr. Wells?”

Dr. Wells was a nice man, and an important one. He was the Head Dean of the entire History department. Technically, he was above Dr. Birch. It wasn’t a good look to blow him off, but you weren’t about to say so.

“Yes, I have an important lunch, and I already know it’s going to go overtime. Gary will understand,” she replied. She was looking at her phone rather than at you. For all she cared, you were just a calendar with hands.

Dr. Helen Birch was a brilliant woman. She’d published no less than five books, had won awards for her peer-reviewed articles, and she had been your academic advisor all through graduate school.

She could also rival Meryl Streep for “bitchy-ass boss” in The Devil Wears Prada.

“I also need you to grade the final exams for one of my classes,” she said. “Greek Studies this time.”

You held back a sigh. Again? I’ll never finish my own finals at this rate.

But what you said was, “Sure, I can do that. And I’ll email Dr. Wells to reschedule.”

“Yes, make sure it’s not on Thursday,” she said, brushing a finger through her thin blonde hair. “I have to leave early to get my roots touched up before I go away this weekend.”

“That’s fun,” you chatted while you revised Dr. Birch’s calendar on your computer (and sent an apology email to Dr. Wells). “Where to?”

“Oh, I have this tedious conference in Chicago. But then my boyfriend is taking me skiing in Breckenridge.” She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I simply can’t wait. This semester has been a drain on my psyche, and just terrible for my migraines.”

With the email sent, you took a little breath and gathered some courage as you got up from your desk and gathered a handful of papers you had stapled together. It was a rough draft of your thesis, which was only a bit worse for wear (including a suspect coffee stain that you didn’t remember accidentally putting there).

“Actually, I was going to ask you if you got my email about my thesis. I just wanted to go over some of the feedback you gave me on the draft,” you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

Dr. Birch raised a brow. “What of it?”

“Well.” You showed her the front page, which was covered in red ink. “Mainly the part where you crossed out the first three pages and commented, ‘Missing the point.’”

She nodded. “Yes. I’m afraid I have nothing to add about that.”

Well, that didn’t exactly help you. The first three pages was your entire introduction to your thesis, “TV & Film: The Modern-Day Mythology of the Masses.”

You must’ve had a pitiful, lost look on your face, because Dr. Birch finally took pity on you. She sighed.

“You are a creative girl. I’ll give you that, but your degree is not in cinematography. You are a historian,” she said. “And while the ‘Well of Souls’ in Raiders of the Lost Ark may be based on a real historical place in Jerusalem, that does not mean Indiana Jones can, or should be described as a ‘religious experience.’”

My ten-year-old self would bed to differ, you wanted to retort, but you kept your mouth shut and lowered your eyes. Dr. Birch nodded to herself and was about to leave your office, until she stopped short and gave you her Amex card.

“Oh. And get me a coffee, would you, dear?”

The moment your day ended and you were able to get into your car, you let out a long sigh of relief. While you waited for your car to warm up, you massaged your hand, aching from grading papers for Dr. Birch’s class.

You rubbed your hands together, this time to warm them as the frigid air draining from the car still bit into your skin. A shudder tingled through your body, and not in a pleasant way. Honest to God, I hate the winter.

On reflex, you toyed with the silver ring on your right hand—your mom’s ring. It usually comforted you, but today, remembering her made your heart heavy. Because today was the anniversary.

You still remembered that snowy day when you were fourteen, could picture it so clearly, like a scene painted on glass.

With one last sigh, you fished out your phone to call your dad. It rang for a few seconds (it always took him an eternity to answer his phone, and it drove you crazy).

“Hello?”

“Hey, Dad,” you said.

“Hey. Just got off work?”

“Yeah, I’m headed back to Sioux Falls. Want to meet at home and go together, or do you just want to meet me at the cemetery?”

The other line was silent for a moment. Longer than you would’ve liked.

“You’re coming, right?” you pressed.

“Look, I’m gonna have to work late tonight,” Jack said. “Don’t wait up for me.”

“Really?” Your voice was terse. “It’s one day a year, Dad. You can’t even manage that?”

“I told you I’m working a case.” He sounded annoyed. You didn’t care.

You were pissed.

“Whatever,” you dismissed. But then, you realized you weren’t willing to let it go just yet. “You know, I just find it interesting. On her birthday, Christmas, today, somehow you just can’t be bothered to visit your wife.”

“Hey, drop it, all right?” your dad snapped back.

“Sure. It’s none of my business, I guess.”

“I don’t need your sarcasm either.”

You silently fumed, but you weren’t willing to hang up the phone first. You didn’t want to look petty, and apparently, neither did he. You both could be stubborn like that, sitting in a tense stretch of silence instead of just…

Instead of just, I don’t know what, you could admit, if only to yourself. Eventually, his voice reached your ears.

“I’ll go when I can,” he said.

“Fine.”

And you really did hang up this time.

What should’ve been an hour drive back into your hometown took almost two with the traffic.

Oh yeah, you still lived at home with your dad. It wasn’t ideal, especially with a long-ass commute every day. But unfortunately, being a full-time student with a part-time job didn’t give you the budget to have your own life.

At least you had your car—a dark blue Camaro your uncle had restored and gifted you for your twenty-first birthday. You didn’t talk to your Uncle Bobby as much as you would like. Between work and school and taking care of the house for you and your dad, you didn’t have much free time on your hands. You did see Bobby around town sometimes, and occasionally shared a beer with him when your demanding schedule allowed.

Your dad had never liked it, you hanging around your uncle. So you didn’t tell him.

That seemed to work out better for both of you.

In fact…

You reached for your phone again and found your uncle’s number.

“Stop badgering me, Rufus. I’m busy.”

Your lips curved into a grin. “Uncle Bobby?”

“Oh. Hi, darlin’. Sorry, thought you were some riff raff that keeps spammin’ me.”

“What did Rufus do now?” you asked.

“He knows,” Bobby said. The surly edge to his voice made you smile in amusement.

“What’re you doing later? Up for a beer?”

“Usually I’d take you up on that, but I’ve got some people coming in pretty soon.”

You scoffed. “You have people? What people?”

“You’re not the only number in my cell, you know,” he said dryly.

“What, you mean Rufus?” you teased.

“All right, now you’re just runnin’ up my minutes,” he said. “If you really want that beer, you’re welcome to swing by, if you want. I’ve got a stocked fridge full of cold ones.”

You laughed, then you considered his offer. Did you really want to go home and deal with your dad (whenever he bothered to come home)?

“Well, I’m going to the cemetery first, but I could maybe swing by after,” you replied.

“Right, that’s today, ain’t it?” Bobby said. “Give your mom my respects.”

A more genuine smile grew on your lips. “Thanks. Will do.”

You hung up with him just as you got to the cemetery. It was hard not to feel melancholy here, especially in the winter. All the graves were lightly dusted with snow, and it felt like the world came to a quiet stillness here.

You bundled up with your scarf and gloves as you braced yourself for the cold, stepping out of the car. On your way in, you heard the rumble of a car going by. It was loud enough to make you turn your head and see a flash of black speeding away.

You shook your head. People drive like maniacs nowadays.

You were about to continue on your way towards your mom’s grave, when you finally heard it.

Say goodbyeee…never say goodbye-y-aaayy. Holdin’ on we gotta try, holdin’ on to never sayyy goodbyeee.~

Someone was warbling a Bon Jovi song in your mind, and it certainly wasn’t you.

But you did come to a dead stop in your path. Your eyes widened as shock claimed your heart and your brain. Soon enough though, your heart warmed as you became aware of something new. It was like a low hum at first, reverberating inside your chest.

You and me and my old friends, hopin’ it would neeever end. Say goodbye—

The singing continued, but all you could focus on was the thrumming in your skull, the thread of connection you could sense and feel inexplicably. You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt warmth trickling down your cold cheeks. Sniffling, you wiped your tears with the back of your hand and smiled tremulously.

You were finally feeling your soulmate.

Which meant, he was close by…and with that realization came an important question:

What the hell do I do now?

They were in South Dakota again.

Dean knew coming back here was…potentially dangerous. He hadn’t heard his soulmate’s thoughts in four years, since the last time he was in this state.

Truth be told, he hadn’t wanted to come here. After the last hunt though, he could use some R&R at Bobby’s for a couple of days.

This time Dean had his brother with him, albeit the circumstances weren’t…great. Their dad was missing, and Sam had lost his girlfriend in the process of trying to find him.

Sometimes, Dean really regretted going to find his brother at Stanford. Part of him thought, if he hadn’t hooked Sam into coming with him to try and find John, maybe Jessica Moore would still be alive.

A more selfish part of him (one he wouldn’t name) was glad to have Sam with him. Dean was actually having fun hunting with him. And maybe, Dean was having to get to know him again too.

“You think Bobby will have any intel on Dad?” Sam asked from the passenger seat of the Impala. They were about five minutes away from Singer Salvage, the old man’s tow business (and his house).

“Doubt it,” Dean replied, changing the radio station once Bon Jovi turned to REO Speedwagon. He could get down with some pop rock from Jovi, but REO was pushing it.

“Then why are we here?” Sam turned to him with a frown. “We just ganked a poltergeist in our old house and…we saw Mom. You think we should be wasting time right now?”

Dean’s lips pursed. Leaving their old house behind in Lawrence, Kansas was exactly why he needed a minute before jumping into the next case. As much as he wanted to find John, Dean just…he needed a minute to breathe.

Revisiting those old (painful) memories wasn’t easy for him. He wasn’t sure that Sam completely got that.

“Bobby’s got a stack of lore books to Kingdom Come. Who knows, he might have a way to help us find Dad,” he said.

Sam shot him an unimpressed look. “And if he doesn’t?”

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He got why Sam was so fired up. Really. The fact that the kid was having weird…premonition dreams about the near future was concerning. And he wanted to find the thing that killed Jess, that killed their mom, but this was clearly going to be a marathon. Not a sprint.

“In the meantime, we crack open a couple beers,” Dean said, “get one or two of free nights on actual beds, and then we’re on our way to the next gig. How’s that sound?”

Sam let out a sigh through his nose and faced the road ahead. They both knew he wasn’t happy. Dean couldn’t exactly blame him.

When they finally got to Bobby’s, the old man greeted them with a casual wave, beckoning them inside. He offered them the contents of his fridge—a few beers and a frozen lasagna defrosting in the fridge. Dean scoped it out while Sam dropped off his bag in the upstairs guest room.

“That for us?” Dean pointed to the lasagna with a grin. “Didn’t know we merited the red-carpet treatment.”

“’Cause it’s not just for you,” Bobby said dryly, then he hesitated. “...My niece might be swingin’ by later.”

Dean raised his brows in curiosity. “Didn’t know you had a niece.”

Or any family, for that matter. He knew the old man had a wife, once upon a time, but he assumed she’d passed away. No kids. Bobby had never talked about having an extended family. He didn’t have pictures on the walls, and the shelves only had books and locked boxes.

Bobby took a long sip of his beer after opening a bottle each for himself and Dean. He had one ready on the counter for Sam, who came into the kitchen looking tired. The kid hadn’t been sleeping well for the past few weeks, to say the least. Dean handed him the beer.

“I don’t see her much,” Bobby conceded.

“Why’s that?” Dean asked.

It took a moment for the other man to answer. Eventually, he was honest. “Well, she's grown. Going to school, got a job. But you could say I had a fallin’ out with her dad, a while back.”

“You have a brother?” Sam said.

“Brother-in-law,” Bobby corrected. He didn’t say anything more about it though. Sam and Dean shared a look that said they agreed: There’s something off there, but I’m not gonna pry.

“You still see her though?” Dean asked.

“Every now and then,” Bobby said, sipping at his beer again. “It’s a small town.”

That kind of pissed Dean off. Bobby was a good guy. He’d watched Sam and Dean a lot when they were kids, their dad on a hunt. He’d made sure they had decent food to eat, good movies to watch, and even played catch with Dean a time or two.

So what kind of assholes did Bobby have for family, that they couldn’t be bothered to check in on the old man every now and then? They must’ve been off living their lives, in their own little world. Must be nice.

Dean brought the bottle of Heineken to his lips, only to realize it was empty. Couldn’t have that, could we?

He went to the fridge and opened the cap, only to jump as the beer fizzed and leaked over his hands.

Damn it!

Bobby sighed. “And I just mopped the damn floor.”

“All right, Martha Stewart. Keep your slippers on,” Dean teased. “Sam, get me a paper towel.”

Bobby tried to get by him to get the mop, but beer was still dripping down Dean’s arm.

“Would you move to the sink, already?”

Sam finally cracked a small grin as Dean rolled his eyes. “Fine. Jesus. You’d think Miss America was comin’ into town.”

Damn it.

You heard him again. And this time, you could hear his voice, so you knew the thought belonged to a him. The voice was pleasantly deep, and annoyed. You actually felt his irritation and were able to recognize that the emotion didn’t belong to you.

Excitement bubbled in your throat, almost making it hard to breathe as you drove your car down the road. You had been too worked up to go see your mom, and technically you were supposed to head to your Uncle Bobby’s house, but this was too important.

You needed to figure out how to talk to him—your soulmate.

So you pulled over on the side of the road, and even turned the radio off. Okay, now what?

You didn’t know what you were supposed to do. They taught about this subject in school, sure, but that had been years ago! You’d spent the past six years filling your head with college and work and learning how to be an adult.

Okay, just breathe. You calmed down a bit with some deep breaths, and you closed your eyes. When you first heard your soulmate’s singing in your head, you remembered feeling warmth spread through your body, emanating from your chest. Then in your mind, you’d noticed a…a thread, of what could only be described as energy.

You felt it now. You could almost visualize it with your eyes closed. In your imagination, it was bright and beckoning. You focused on it, and it grew brighter, thrumming and soft.

You thought of what you wanted to say, and you tried it—sending your thoughts and your will through the connection.

Having a rough day?

Dean was still wiping beer off the floor in Bobby’s kitchen when he heard your voice ring through his mind.

Having a rough day?

His entire body tensed, and he paused with a ball of wet paper towel in his hand. Sam had taken the mop from Bobby and was about to finish off the floor, until he noticed Dean blanking.

“Dean?” he asked.

It shook Dean out of his shock, enough for him to look up at his brother. “Hmm?”

“What’s up? You were staring off into space.”

Dean feigned innocence. “Nothing.”

Sam’s brow rose, but he didn’t press the issue and went back to mopping. Dean took the opportunity to toss the wet paper towel in the garbage.

“I’m gonna hop in the shower,” he said, and made his swift exit to the bathroom upstairs, so quickly that he didn’t see Bobby watching Dean curiously from the living room.

“Don’t use up all the hot water!” Sam called after him.

Once again, Dean found himself locking the bathroom door and staring at himself in the mirror. His green eyes were conflicted as he tried to calm down. Maybe his heart was starting to beat a tick faster. Maybe a trickle of nervous sweat was making its way down his spine. Maybe he didn’t know what the hell to do.

His dad’s warning was still clear as a bell in his mind.

“Unless you’re prepared to hang up your gun, and stop hunting, don’t open that door.”

Dean knew why John had said it, and even agreed with him…at least, logically he did. His life was complicated, and insane, and bloody. How could he put someone else through what he went through? What he still went through every day? It wasn’t right.

But his chest was aching. He rubbed at it absently.

He could feel your worry again, he realized. You were anxious, probably waiting for him to respond. Dean could feel you. Having a rough day? you’d asked him.

So as usual, he made an impulsive choice.

You could say that, he carefully replied. He remembered the way your voice sounded, smooth and pleasant in his mind, and he couldn’t help smiling a little. But not for long, I’m thinkin’.

Your relief hit him in a slow, but powerful wave. It almost made him feel guilty for taking so long to answer.

Well, it’s not every day you hear someone else in your head. Maybe you’re going crazy.

She was teasing him. You were teasing him.

It brought an incredulous smile to Dean’s face. You’re one to talk. Maybe you’re just talkin’ to yourself right now.

Hmm. I don’t usually warble to Bon Jovi, but maybe you’re right.

A beat of surprise, another to remember what he and Sam had been listening to in the car earlier, and then embarrassment prickled at the back of his neck.

You heard that, huh? he asked wryly.

Maybe, you giggled. It was a cute sound, and it cut through some of his embarrassment. He wasn’t used to being put back a step by women. He was good at reading people’s body language, and usually it didn’t take him more than one look to figure out what a woman thought about him, and what they wanted to do with him.

So the fact that he couldn’t see you was a challenge. With that realization, a slow smile spread across his face. He was game for a challenge.

Well, I’m likin’ your voice so far, he said. Think I could get you to sing for me?

He felt you pause, a flutter of warmth through a tendril of shyness. I’ll leave the performing to you, Romeo.

Come on, it’s only fair.

Who said life is fair?

Dean sobered a bit at that. Ain’t that the truth.

Hmm, so you were having a rough day.

Make it a week, he said.

Yeah, I know the feeling…I wasn’t having a good day today either.

Dean sensed your melancholy and didn’t like the feeling. Well, now you’re talkin’ to me. So it should be smooth sailin’ from now on.

He could feel you brighten at that. It made warmth bloom once again inside his chest, especially because he sensed you were smiling—a bit shy, but genuine.

…What’s your name? he asked.

It took you a beat, but eventually you gave him your name. It wasn’t what he expected, but he liked it. Your name rolled through his thoughts, and he tested on his tongue.

What’s yours? you asked predictably. Somehow, Dean didn’t anticipate the follow-up.

Suddenly he realized exactly what he was doing: he was talking to you. (Something he’d told himself he wasn’t going to do.) Not to mention, he’d been locked in the bathroom for about ten minutes and hadn’t even showered yet. Pretty soon either Sam or Bobby was going to come knocking to see what the hell he was doing, so he might as well shower for real.

He answered you as he turned on the showerhead and started undressing. I’ll make a deal with you…if you can guess what I do for a living, I’ll come by and introduce myself in person.

Dean felt your shock, so he let you think as he stepped into the shower. Eventually you came back, annoyance coloring your emotions and your voice.

That’s stupid.

Dean smiled. Aw, come on. It’ll be fun.

For you!

Don’t you know, sometimes the best things in life come after some delayed gratification.

You paused for a moment, in which Dean didn’t know if you were in shock again, or just pissed. Maybe a combination of both.

Great, I got a comedian, you deadpanned. …You’re not a comedian, are you?

Sweetheart, I’m hilarious, Dean replied. But no. Good guess, though.

He sensed the equivalent of you rolling your eyes.

Just then, Sam knocked on the bathroom door.

“Hey, you better not use up all the hot water!”

“Twenty minutes of peace, Sammy. That’s all I ask,” Dean shot back. Sam made a sound of annoyance, but he went away, leaving Dean almost alone with his thoughts.

Look, I gotta go, he said regretfully. But I expect you to have some guesses cooked up by the time I get back from work.

You were still annoyed, but you begrudgingly agreed to his terms.

Fine. Just…don’t wander too far off. I can’t win the game if I can’t hear you.

Dean sensed your underlying worry, and your fear. You were afraid he was going to leave.

His heart softened. As a result, he ended up promising things he didn’t know if he meant.

Don’t worry. I’m not leaving town until you win, he said.

He felt your warm smile, along with your excitement.

Goodnight, sweetheart. We’ll talk soon.

Okay…goodnight.

He hung onto the feeling of your presence for a few seconds longer, before he let go of the connection. For now.

Dean caught himself smiling, but it quickly turned to a frown.

“Nobody should be waiting on men like us to come home bloody.”

When he once again remembered his dad’s warnings, that new warmth in his heart chilled, and it sunk like a stone. He leaned against the cool bathroom wall and pressed his forehead against the tile, while lukewarm water beat the side of his face and body.

Shit.

AN: Oh, Dean. What're we gonna do with you? lol

I hope you enjoyed Part 3! I promise they'll finally meet soon lol. What did you think of their first conversation?

To keep reading: Part 4

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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drabbles-mc · 4 months ago

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For Better or Worse

Horacio Carrillo x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+, language, angst, angsty angst

30 Fic Challenge with prompts from This List: pyrrhic- won at too great a cost

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: it's been forever and a day since i've written for my fave colombian colonel but the second i saw this prompt i knew it was made for him and his heartbreak 😌

Your relief when it was all done and over with was twenty-fold, a million different reasons to breathe easier now and they were all intertwined with one another. You were relieved in te grandiose, altruistic sense: Escobar’s death made the streets of Colombia safer for everyone. There was one less sword hanging over people’s heads, the fear of going to the shops or hailing a taxi would finally start to subside. Children could feel safe going to and from school, playing with their friends along the way. Medellín could try to take a moment to rest and recover.

Then there were the selfish, much more personal reasons that you were relieved. You could finally sleep through the night again, maybe your hands would finally stop trembling every time you heard his name. Your wedding ring wouldn’t have to keep serving as a token of prayer for the safety of your husband. You wouldn’t have to worry about where he was, if he was alive or injured, because now he would get to be home. You’d go to sleep with him there, and when you woke up he’d still be there.

Horacio had gone to war with Escobar and managed to be the one who lived to tell the tale. And you were relieved by that in a way that you couldn’t manage to put into words.

You cried when the news broke. Years of sobs that had been locked inside your chest finally getting able to break free, tears streaming down your cheeks until they fell and splattered against the floorboards. All that time spent drowning in fear that you couldn’t express, your claws digging so deeply into the few strands of hope you still had that it’d be scarred for the rest of time. But it was worth it. Every agonizing moment had been worth it because of the news reel constantly looping on your television.

You waited for the phone to start ringing. There was still work to be done, and you knew that, but you were waiting for that to be taken care of, and for Horacio to call. With every task you completed you made sure that you were still listening intently for the phone. Even on the opposite side of the house, you were waiting to hear it, ready to drop everything you were doing to answer it.

Minutes easily turned into an hour, one hour gave way to three, and the phone was still silently hanging on the wall. The sun continued its arc over the top of your house, the sky slowly changing color the closer and closer it got to the horizon line. The relief that you had been feeling earlier in the day began to fade, the knot in your stomach beginning to retie itself.

The sky was dissolving into a light gray when you heard the sound of a key in the lock of the front door. You were sitting at the dining room table, head snapping in the direction of the sound. Without realizing it, you held your breath as you waited for the door to open and for Horacio to walk through.

It was only the sound of his boots on the floor that let you know it was him. He’d never really been the type to call out for you when he got home. He wasn’t going to change now—ever the man of routine. There were a few moments of quiet, and the next set of footsteps you heard were much quieter than the ones previously, his boots surely left right beside the door now.

When he materialized in the dining room doorway, you were up on your feet before you could stop yourself. You didn’t feel your legs carrying you over to him, but before you knew it your arms were thrown around him, face buried in the crook of his neck. Your fingers threaded themselves into the hair on the back of his head, hair that was growing unruly because getting it cut hadn’t been at the top of the priority list in a long time.

His arms snaked around your waist, and as he pulled you in tighter, you felt he tension begin to bleed out of his shoulders. The breath that had been held captive in your chest made its way out with a shudder as the two of you collapsed into each other.

Time slipped away, and you weren’t sure how long the two of you stood like that in the middle of the house. When you finally pulled back from him, you didn’t go very far. Hands resting on his shoulders, fingers curled over the curve of them, you tried to dig up the right words to say.

You brought one hand to the side of his face, thumb tracing back and forth over the stubble that was beginning to grow in there. When you finally got the words out, they came in a choked whisper, like the hours spent waiting in silence had caused your vocal cords to rust. “You did it. It’s over.”

He placed his hand on top of yours, his fingers filling in the gaps between yours. He clasped your hand in his as he pulled it away from his cheek. You were looking back and forth between his eyes and your intertwined hands, tears of relief prickling the edges of your eyes as he pressed his lips to your knuckles.

You waited with bated breath to hear what he was going to say next. Waited for some confirmation of what you’d said, some expression of his own relief. His eyes shut for a moment, lips still pressed against your hand. You could see it, feel it, the way that he pulled in each deep, slow breath.

Finally, he opened his eyes. He let your hands drop down, fingers still laced together. He nodded, not frowning but certainly not smiling either as he said, “For now.”

It felt like your entire body was trying to fold into itself at that. You hated the way you could feel your bottom lip starting to tremble but you couldn’t stop it from happening. Hand on his chest, you could feel his heartbeat underneath your palm. Steady as it ever was.

“Horacio…” you started and stopped your sentence all in the same breath, unsure of what you really wanted to say to him next.

Pulling you in, he kissed you lightly on the lips before moving and placing another kiss to your temple, lips beside your ear as he gave a soft but earnest, “I love you.”

Your eyes shut, tears clinging to your eyelashes for all that they were worth. “I love you too.”

With more tenderness than the world at large thought he was capable of, he caught and brushed the tears off your face with the pad of his thumb. Whisked them away before they had the opportunity to leave a stain.

“You’re home now?” you asked, hesitation in your voice saying that you already knew the answer.

Confusion flickered across his face. “Of course I am. I’ve always been—”

“No you haven’t,” you stopped him short, a tremor still permeating your voice. “You know you haven’t.”

He frowned, and you could practically see the gears turning in his mind as he tried to figure out what he was supposed to say next. There was no rulebook for this, not that he had ever been a fan of the concept anyway. It was all uncharted territory—always had been. The two of you had been managing so far, or some approximation of that, but for you it was doable because there had always been the end-goal, the finish line. It felt as though it was always getting farther and farther away. But then today happened. And the news played. You’d done it—you’d made it to the end of the agony.

Or at least that’s what you’d thought until those first two words fell from his lips. The relief of victory was being ripped away from you when you’d barely been able to brush it with the tips of your fingers.

He felt you thinking about pulling away. Giving your hand a gentle squeeze, he tried to coax you into staying close. “I know that it hasn’t been easy.”

“It was supposed to be over, Horacio,” your voice cracked and there was nothing you could do to stop it. “He’s dead—that’s what this has all been about, hasn’t it? It’s over.” Your hands, even the one enveloped by his, trembled. “It’s supposed to be over now.” You sniffled to try to keep your tears and the rest of your emotions at bay. “You won.”

“This time,” he conceded with a nod. “But there’s always another—”

“Does it have to be you?”

“What?”

“Can’t it be someone else?”

“I’m—”

“Just this once?” you plead. “You did all of this for them. Why can’t it be someone else’s turn now?”

He shook his head, and you waited for the argument, but it never came. You couldn’t tell by the look on his face whether he was silent because he wasn’t ready to say the answer that he had in mind, or if he was silent because the answer hadn’t come to him yet. It’d be nice if he was just trying to be merciful.

Another few seconds of silence passed before he pulled you in again. You fought him for a moment before allowing your cheek to rest against his shoulder. When you felt his hands splaying across your back you tried to find the comfort in it, but all you could think about was the fact that you didn’t know when you’d get to have him like this again. He was supposed to be home. That was supposed to be the reward for the both of you, the sliver of benefit for all that this war had cost the two of you.

“I can’t,” you stammered out, “I can’t do this again.”

You felt the way he turned, lips brushing against the side of your head with each word. “What do you mean?”

Not pulling yourself off of him, you shook your head as best you could. “We almost didn’t make it through this one, Horacio. I…I know that we won’t be able to do it again.”

“We’re alright,” he reassured, and he even sounded like he believed it.

Now you pulled away. Not far, just enough so that you could look him in the eye when you spoke to him. “We won’t be if you do this again.” Your voice was level, more certain than it’d been yet.

His eyes narrowed for a moment. For a split second you weren’t his wife, you were just another person that he had to size up to see if he could put stock into the threat. It stung but you couldn’t back down now that you’d said it. All those years of silence and now this.

“What are you saying?” he asked, like he didn’t already know.

You took a steadying breath, making sure to choose your words carefully. If he was going to be The Colonel right now instead of your husband, you were going to act accordingly. “I’m saying that these last few years turned you, turned us into something else entirely. And I took it because I…I know what they asked of you. But they aren’t…they aren’t asking anymore. I almost lost you over this one. I can’t keep us tethered together for another.”

“So you’ll leave?”

“You’ll leave. Again.”

His hands were resting on the outsides of your arms, brows pinned together in confusion. “Again?”

“You haven’t been here in—”

“Yes I—”

“No, you haven’t.” You stood firm, knowing that you were right and he couldn’t take that away from you. “Not really. The shell of you might have come through that door a couple nights a week, but you,” you emphasized your statement by placing your palm flat against his chest, “haven’t made it home in a long time.”

He didn’t say it, wouldn’t cop to it so easily, but you could tell by the look in his eyes that your words had struck a chord with him. His thumb ran back and forth across your arm. “This wasn’t ever going to be easy.”

You shook your head. “But it wasn’t ever supposed to be this hard. Not…not forever, anyway.”

“You say that like this has all cost you something,” bitterness began to creep into his voice. He was teetering on the edge of getting cruel and you could feel him fighting it off.

“It has. And,” your fingers curled, gripping the fabric of his fatigues, “and if I lose you then it’s going to cost me everything.” You could feel the sting of tears in your eyes again. “I feel like it already has.”

He shook his head. “You can’t ask me to do this.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “But you can keep asking me?”

“Did it mean anything?” The edge in his tone was renewed, a freshly sharpened blade. “Your vows?”

You stepped back, your hand holding the space between the two of you. “You don’t get to throw—”

“What happened to better or worse?”

You threw your arms out, gesturing to the entirety of the world around you. “I lived it!” you snapped. “What do you think this has all been, Horacio?” You angrily wiped at the tears that were spilling down your cheeks. “This was the ‘worse’ of it all. I knew that. I knew that and I stayed because I promised you that I would. But…but if you’re all out of better for me, if all you have left for me is the worst of it, then I don’t…”

The longer that the silence stretched between the two of you, the more foolish you felt for having been relieved in the first place at all. The universe should’ve taught you to know better by now. Or, at the very least, your husband should’ve. The look he was giving you was an unwavering one, one that made you feel like you should be saying something more but it was all in his court now. If he wanted something, had something to say, it was all on him now. You said your piece after keeping it locked inside your chest for so long. Now it was his turn.

His jaw twitched and you felt it, that feeling of your breath stopping halfway down your throat. You waited for the next devastating blow, or even a surprise of him coming back with something that you wanted to hear, something that resembled compromise.

When he opened his mouth to speak, you swore that you could actually feel the way that your heart stopped as you waited for him to speak. Then the furrow in his brow disappeared, his jaw snapped shut, and you felt like collapsing to the floor all over again for a completely different reason. You ran your thumb along the wedding band wrapped around your finger, and Horacio watched silently as you did. A stalemate in the wake of victory wasn’t what either of you had been expecting, but for now it was what you had.

(divider by @silkholland 💞)

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@hauntedforsst @boomclapxox @nessamc @supersanelyromantic @padbrookcottage

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@artemiseamoon @narcolini @hausofmamadas @cositapreciosa

#narcos #narcos fanfiction #horacio carrillo #narcos netflix fanfiction #horacio carrillo fanfiction #horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo x you #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc #x reader #x reader fic

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tmnt-tychou · 3 months ago

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Thanks everyone for participating in my earlier poll. Donatello and Raphael won the team up. So here is part two.

Here is Part One

Don't Make A Sound

Part 2: Work

“There's an issue with the toilet in the women's bathroom near theater 6,” her manager told her.

Name just looked at him. She already had a full time day job. Working nights part time at the theater was just to help supplement her cash flow to pay for the expensive New York rent prices. And right now, she was very much reconsidering remaining employed.

“That's not my job,” she said flatly. “I work concessions.”

Working the theater was a job of feast or famine. There were either long lines of movie-goers, or an empty lobby between start times. Currently, they were in the middle of a lull, not a customer around.

“We don't have anyone else who can do it right now,” her manager insisted. “And it needs to be done.”

“You can do it,” she shot back.

“I'm not going into the women's restroom,” he insisted.

There was a bit more back and forth, but ultimately, Name knew she had to do this or her job would be in jeopardy. And she really liked being able to see movies for free. So she trudged off to the indicated bathroom with the janitorial cart. As unenthusiastically as one could, she put up the sign indicating the restroom was temporarily closed and wheeled the cart inside.

There was definitely a smell. And a clear puddle of water leaking out of one stall.

“Great,” she huffed. What a night to not have janitorial staff. If her work uniform got wet, she was going to be pissed.

With an expression of distaste, she set about slipping on gloves and grabbing the plunger. She could hear the movie playing in the theater next to her. The heavy thuds of explosions and loud music from an action flick. She approached the offending bathroom stall, not looking forward to seeing what exactly was in the clogged toilet.

“Ugh! What is that smell?” demanded a voice behind her. She turned and saw an old lady standing at the entrance, her nose scrunched, frowning at the wet floor. “Why hasn't that been cleaned up?”

“I'm cleaning it now,” Name responded with incredulity. “The sign was up that this restroom is closed.”

Screams were heard from the theater. Maybe it was a horror movie they were watching. She glanced toward the door. That...that was a lot of screams. That was too many screams.

“Well I thought I'd just use it since I'm here,” the lady insisted. “I didn't expect it to be like this.” Her voice rose, as did the screams in the background. “This is so unaccept--”

The woman was silenced in an instance as some...thing snatched her as fast as a snake strike and she was gone in a splatter of blood. Name stumbled back at the sight of the creature, horrified. Too scared to make a noise. She stumbled into the cart and the mop clattered to the floor. The creature immediately lunged toward the sound. She backed up soundlessly as the bulbous head opened up into a giant maw of teeth and shattered the mop handle into splinters. She wasn't sure why she didn't scream. Something in the back of her lizard brain told her to be silent. Her back hit the wall, hands over her mouth.

The monster 'killed' the mop and crouched, sweeping its head back and forth, listening. Despite it not having visible eyes, Name backed into a bathroom stall and silently closed the door. She needed something between her and it. Even then, it was still too close. Hand still on her mouth, she could hear it snuffling around. She climbed up on the toilet and crouched on the seat, praying for it to leave.

Somewhere by the entrance, screaming was heard. Then a scrambling sound on the title floor as someone ran in. More screaming. Then silence and wet sounds. It all happened so fast. Name trembled where she was, hand still over her mouth, praying she wouldn't be next.

Then she shifted. The sensor on the automatic toilet went off. The monster crashed against the flimsy stall door, easily breaking through it. Name scrambled away as the monster aimed not for her, but the thing making the noise. It was so loud, the monster couldn't hear her slither under the stall right into—oh God—the over-spill from the clogged toilet next to it. She wanted to vomit as the smell hit her. But staying alive was more important.

She army crawled through the rancid spill as the sounds of broken porcelain and spilling water clattered behind her. She wriggled her way through to the last stall and sat there in the corner, shaking uncontrollably, trying not to make a sound.

The monster must have burst a pipe, it had reacted so violently. More water spilled out all over the floor. It reached her, but she dared not leave. The sound of the water made it impossible to hear anything else. So she sat and waited, unwilling to move. She wasn't sure if the creature was still there, hunting her, or if it had left. So she sat, getting soaked as the water spilled out. After several minutes, the automatic lights flipped off. She continued to sit, too afraid to move. Shivering from both the fear and the cold of the water.

It felt like hours, it felt like days of sitting there, waiting in the darkness. Was she going to die here? She had to get up and leave sometime or she really would die here.

Then, the lights flicked back on again and she froze. The monster had come back for her. Her ears strained above the din of the broken pipe. She heard the door of the far stall open between the gurgle of the pipes. Her heart started to race. It was looking for her.

The next door opened. With a shaking hand, she reached up and locked her door. Something walked over to her stall and the door was tried, but didn't open. A little bit of fiddling and she watched in horror as the latch moved. The door opened and there...

Her turtle saviors were there, standing in front of her. They came for her! She never thought she'd see them again! She nearly cried out with relief before Donatello put a finger to his mouth as a reminder for silence. He helped her up onto her shaking legs. His hands grounded her as he wordlessly checked her for wounds. His relief to find her was just as palpable as hers to be found. He smiled at her, making her feel like as long as he was there, it would be okay. Outside the stall, Raphael skulked, sais out and eyeballing the entrance. Larger than his purple-clad brother, his presence only reassured Name that she was going to get through this. The other two brothers weren't around. Name hoped they were okay.

Donatello pulled her in when she couldn't stop shaking. He gave her a warm, solid hug. He didn't seem to mind that she smelled like fetid bathroom water. A perk of having friends that lived in the sewers. Donatello was always both a bright, kinetic energy, and also a grounding influence on her. Name snuggled in and just let him hold her against his solid body.

Raphael poked his head in to give his own once over of her physical state. He was such a big brother. So protective of anyone deemed under the umbrella of his care. He didn't always know how to express it emotionally, but he showed he cared in his actions. He was always there for those who needed him.

Right now, she needed him—needed them both—and they had come for her.

So much she wanted to tell them. That she was so grateful to see them. That she was glad they were alright. That she loved them so much for always showing up for her. But she could not express any of it. The turtles seemed to know just as well as she did: no sound.

Donatello took her hand and she followed. Out of the bathroom, the theater was a scene of horror. There were bodies. There was even more blood. The carpet and walls were raked with claws. Everything was silent—the projectors, the popcorn machine—anything that could make noise was now forever silenced.

Name wanted to cry. From the horror and death. From the thought that Donatello and Raphael came in here, saw all the carnage, and still decided to pick through it all, trying to find her. Not knowing if she had survived. They still went in to look at the bodies for her. She squeezed Donatello's hand harder. He smiled back at her and she saw the weight of what he had seen on his face. Her turtles liked to help people, they liked to protect. They were not able to protect anyone here and she was sure it broke their hearts. If they had also found her dead...she wanted to hold Raphael's hand, too, but right now, the goal was to make it through the building in silence.

They paused once as one of the monsters skulked down the corridor. Breaths held, they carefully continued on. Through the lobby, the shattered glass doors were the barrier between them and outside. The piles of broken glass were the landmines. Step by step, they threaded their way through, making as little sound as possible.

Each step was careful among the broken glass. A touch of toes first and then the rest of the body weight. Light-footed, like a ninja. They were nearly free. They raised their feet to step out of the theater through the broken door frames. And Raphael's shell just happened to bump a sharp point of glass still sticking out of the frame. That was enough to send it and several other pieces clattering to the ground.

All three froze at the sound, holding their breaths. Two separate monsters galloped from opposite ends of the hallway, meeting in the lobby to stampede straight for them. Name froze at the sight, but she felt Donatello's hand on her wrist, jerking her out the doorway. She ran blindly, unable to see anything in front of her but the turtle's large shell.

She heard the creatures blindly crash through the broken doors, gunning for them. Fear seemed to pull the energy from her legs. How was she supposed to outrun them? What if she only slowed the turtle's down?

Ahead, she heard the familiar sound of the large fountain in the middle of the shopping plaza where the theater was located. Donatello wasn't going around. Name nearly cried out, but she felt Raphael grab her from behind and put a hand over her mouth. His strength always awed her. How easily he leaped with her extra weight. He cleared the pool and all three landed on top of the fountain, about seven feet off the ground.

Unfortunately, the top of the fountain sputtered water, too, and the three of them were getting soaked. Name hardly minded. At least this wasn't rank toilet water this time. But below, the monsters were confused. It seemed they truly were blind. But also intelligent. The sound of the fountain had disguised your whereabouts, but they knew their prey hadn't disappeared.

They began to circle the fountain, listening. The bulbous heads would open like a blooming flower, presumably to hear better. No eyes, no nose. Their only senses were sound and touch. And Donatello was going to take full advantage of that. He pulled a device out of one of the pockets on his belt, fiddled with it, and then threw it as far as he could. It hit the ground and began to make a beeping noise. The two monsters immediately took off after it. They attacked it so violently, they were hurting each other trying to get to it.

Even more horrifying, more of them came out of the woodwork. They appeared from all over, even from the tops of the buildings around them. All converging on the sound. There were so many. Name felt a heavy pit in her stomach from how many there were.

But Name and the turtles didn't stay to see what happened. The second the monsters were distracted, Raphael picked her up again. They jumped from the top of the fountain and fled the opposite way as silent as possible.

#tmnt #my art #ninja turtles #tmnt donatello #tmnt raphael

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coldmetallove · 9 months ago

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Tiktok video creator: vveqitor

TW: CONTAINS MURDER, BLOOD, SWEARS, DRUGS

AN| velvet is so obsessed with you, that she'll kill for you. Literally.

She's so fine...

YANDERE VELVET X FEM READER

Characters are 18+ is this!

Velvet watched you afar, admiring your body and your beautiful face. She stood next to Veneer as he talked to someone, but she didn't care. Her focus was on you, only you. "Vel?"

She heard her name, making her turn her head. Veneer looked at her concerned. "What?" She asked, kind of aggravated. "Oh I was just asking if you were ready to go" He asked, not minding the person he was talking to walk away.

She looked back where you were, but you were gone. She grunted as her eyes darted around the party. "No, not yet" she said, walking away to find you. Veneer raised a brow, but didn't mind it. She looked everywhere, but couldn't find you.

She looked one more time and finally found you. Being forcefully pulled into a nearby place. She walked over wearily, hearing through the door that you and the random person were behind.

"N-no stop!" You yelled, as you got slammed into the shelf. You gasped, feeling a sting in your back. You started to cry, feeling his hands travel down your body.

A bang on the door made the man stop. His hand covered your mouth, making you whimper and close your eyes. "If you say anything, I'll do way worse" He whispered, walking over to the door. He opened the door and saw Velvet there.

"What do you want?" He automatically said, but looked down his body. "Oh sorry, I thought this was the bathroom" she sweetly said, smiling. He smirked. "Well, no its not. But I can show you where it is hot stuff" He said, leaning on the door way.

She smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear. "That would be great, thanks" she watched as he walked out, holding Velvet close by the waist.

As they arrived to the bathroom, Velvet tugged the man's tie, bringing him into the private bathroom. He smiles as he locked the door, removing his pants slowly. She pulled him into a long kiss, holding him by the shirt collar.

She crept her hands into her bra slowly, taking out a small blade. She continued kissing him, slowly creeping the blade close to his face.

Velvet held his face, but in a swift move, sliced his jawline. He cried out breaking the kiss. "Ah! What the-" He cried out, but before he could finish, Velvet pounced on him. He struggled, trying to push her off. She then held up the blade, and stabbed him through the chest.

He gasped, wanting to breathe, but couldn't. She dug the blade deeper, watching him slowly die. She waited, until his eyes went lifeless.

She quickly took the blade out, looking at the small blood splatters on her face. She took water into her hands, and splashed it over her face. After she did so, she looked around the big bathroom and spotted a mop and some left over water in a bucket.

She grabbed the mop and dunked it in the water. Velvet mopped the floors, making sure most of the blood came off. Then, she grabbed the bloody mop water and dumped it in the toilet. "Shit!" She whispered, watching the blood stain the toilet.

She sighed, and shrugged it off. She would just have to clean it later. She opened the door slowly, looking around to see if any mountragons were around.

Once she saw no one around, she dragged the man's body out the back door, and into the alleyway. She picked him up, throwing him into the dumpster without care.

She rubbed her hands on her bloody coat, and threw it also in the trash. Slowly, but surely, she walked inside and saw as someone walked out of the bathroom. Shit. She wasn't done cleaning the rest of the blood off the toilet.

She bit her nails and laughed nervously as they looked at her. "Hey were you just in there?" They asked, pointing at the door. Velvet shook her head. "Oh no I wasnt" she said, scratching her nose.

"Oh okay, because I think a girl got her period or something. There's just some blood in the toilet, that's all" they random said, walking away. She sighed in relief, smiling at someone's cluelessness.

She was glad that she didn't have to clean the rest of the mess, because now she could just get back to seeing her pretty girl. Watching you.

Velvet walked around, trying to find you, and maybe veneer. Until, she had felt a soft shove against her shoulder. Whipping her head around, her eyes were met with yours. "O-oh I'm sorry" you stutterd out, looking up at the tall girl with green hair.

"Oh no, don't apologize it's fine darling" she said, as she felt her face become red. You squinted your eyes at her. "Hmm you seem familiar" you mumbled, looking at her. She tilted her head and brought her face closer.

"Do I now?" She asked. You shut your eyes, signifying that you had given up. She smirked and put a hand on your shoulder. "How bout a drink hm? Maybe it'll job your memory" Velvet asked you, looking at the bar.

You looked at her and smiled. "Sure, that seems good to me" you felt her tug you over to the bar, smiling as she did so. She ordered you both drinks, looking at you from the corner of her eye.

Once the bartender served your guys drinks, you heard yelling from behind you, making you look over.

Velvet swiftly put some drug in your drink, smiling at you as you turned back around. "Sorry, heard some crazy stuff" you said, taking the drink and taking a sip. "Hm, things you hear at parties" she said, watching you blink at the strong taste.

"Woah! What's in this?" You asked, feeling your head twist and turn images. "Not sure darling" she said, looking around as she sipped her non drugged drink. You felt lightheaded, and slowly passed out.

Before you hit the floor, Velvet leaned your head on her shoulder, holding your body close. "Don't worry, your gonna be okay now. Your with me forever."

Hey guys

Sorry if this sucked but yk I tried

First time writing yandere

Love ya

#trolls #velvet and veneer #trolls 3 #trolls velvet and veneer #trolls veneer #trolls velvet #velvet x reader #velvetveneer

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ranchracoon · 2 months ago

Text

Blood and Shadows

Dimitrescu Sisters x Fem Character

requested by: Sereniiiiiii

Lila blows into her gloved hands to try and warm her nose as she squats down by a nearby tree with a view of the entire village. She removes one glove, carefully fishing out the note with written instructions and a drawn picture of the village before her. This isn't the first time she's been hired by a secretive person; she's learned the hard way that most of her 'secret' cliental are usually people of great power. Hence why they can afford the secrecy. This contract was unlike any she had been given before; the contract itself included a ticket to Romania, instructions for finding a mountain pass, and the drawing with a note stating she would be given further instructions. At first she didn't want to do it, but the pay was too good to turn down, and her own curiosity won over her logic.

She shoves the note back into her pocket and reunites her glove and hand all while shifting on her feet slightly. It's going to be dark soon, she should make camp or find somewhere to shelter from the snow. As she stands a crow overhead startles her when it caws up above, and with in another letter slowly floats down toward her feet. She scoops it up and rips it open, looking around briefly to see if she could find anyone. How did they know she was here? Specifically in this location? She shakes her head and reads the note, there's one drawing of the castle, another of a dagger, and what looks to be a map of sorts to where the dagger is. On the back of the picture is some poorly written words that are hard to make out.

"Bring me the dagger."

How specific.

Lila huffs and shoves the new orders with the old and hugs herself as she examines the castle from a distance. It's getting too late now, so she'll have to examine the castle in the morning when she can approach without being seen. She would prefer to do this quietly, but if she has a good enough layout of the castle, it should be plausible. As the sun lowers she hears the monsters of the woods stir, beasts that she's never seen before and can only be described as 'werewolves.' She did notice the closer she got the village, the less she encountered but she'll take no chances and decides to camp out up in the nearby tree.

Her sleeping bag provides little relief from the cold, especially once night falls and she shivers violently. She has to find somewhere warmer otherwise she'll die of hypothermia before she even reaches the castle. She sleeps very little, waking every time she hears a growl or footprints in the snow below but she knows better than to engage.

* * *

Lila spends all day searching the castle grounds, it took her half a day just to get to the castle undetected. Scaling a rock wall while cold, sore, and tired did not help any. Just as she was about to give up she finds a caved in hole in the ground leading downward. Better than nothing. She climbs down the rumble carefully, cursing every time a rockslides loose and knocks downward, loosening other rocks in its path. Once she's on solid ground she scurries away from the pile as fast as she can only to be met with complete darkness. Great. She kneels and scrounges through her bag until she finds some matches, striking one to light her path until she finds an old torch. Talk about medieval. The torch illuminates her path but now she regrets doing such as she finds herself in the middle of a torcher chamber.

Rows upon rows of cell doors each with their own little horror; stretching machines, chains, iron chairs with spikes, everything one can imagine. All of them have distinct brown splattering, and some red meaning these were used recently. Fuck. What has she gotten herself into? She takes a few steps forward only to stop again when she hears metal scraping on the stone flooring. She lifts the torch up further before a skeletal figure appears with its sword raised. Lila yelps and dodges the attack, groaning softly. Now she really wishes she wasn't so cold and tired. Her reflexes aren't as fast, but she's faster than this creature at least.

She hightails it in the opposite direction toward the rumble pile seeing a set of stairs faintly in the back. As she climbs the staircase, she pauses upon hearing a droning sound getting progressively louder. She quickly douses the torch and runs down taking a sharp turn into one of the cells where she tucks herself into one of the little crevices. As she sits there listening to the droning get closer, she sees one of those creatures lying face down in front of her. When the droning stops it's replaced by hurried footsteps and the sound of something hitting another followed by a thud and clanging. It must have been the creature from earlier, but now the other creature in front of her stirs awake. Growling and snarling as it slowly rises to its feet.

"Ugh just the moroaica acting up again" it's a female voice.

The footsteps fade down the corridor then back toward the cell where Lila holds her breath as the footsteps stop. She stares at the creature, the moroaica? Now it's on its feet, staggering and snarling with a sword dragging behind it.

"Wait a minute"

There's a long deep breath in.

"Hmm smells like there might be a morsel down here that isn't supposed to be."

There's a few more steps toward her cell. Lila's eyes dart to the edge of the cell door and back to the creature as the woman approaches. The woman is just outside the cell door and Lila can see the edge of a curved weapon clang against the bars. The moroaica is now limping its way toward her direction, snarling louder and heaving the sword clearly too big for it to hold.

"Bela!" A booming voice loud enough to be heard even through the concrete walls.

"Argh! I never get to have any fun" the woman whines.

Lila listens to the droning pick up again and just as the creature is about to slam its sword down she ducks and rolls out of the way. That woman could smell her, and hear her. She'll have to take other precautions if she wants to move about undetected. She tackles the creature from behind and easily disarms it, taking the sword and cutting the creature in half leaving it laying there lifelessly. Before her very eyes the creature dissolves into a pile of ash but the cloak it wore remains which was her main goal. She tosses the sword aside and removes her pack, then she strips her outer layer and stuffs it into the pack before stashing it. She decides to travel light with only her hunting knife, the map, and backup knife before adorning the creature's cloak to hide her scent.

She climbs the stairs and finds herself in a pantry leading to a kitchen where she quickly goes back around the corner to hide. There's people working in the kitchen meaning she's not going to get anywhere quickly. So she waits.

* * *

After she deemed the staff went to bed for the night, Lila climbs out of her hiding place and continues to follow the instructions on the map. She cuts through the kitchen, the dining room, takes a right, and goes straight forward. She found the door where the dagger is supposed to be, but of course it's locked. This means she'll have to search for a key and most likely whomever that booming voice came from. Lila checks every door she can, only finding one that's unlocked and leading to a long hallway. As she walks down it, she hears that low droning again getting louder, and fast. She looks around quickly for anywhere to hide but it's useless, so she twists on her heels and runs back out the door into the main hallway. The droning turns out to be hundreds, if not thousands of insects all swarming into one black mass. She shivers and watches as the mass takes shape into a person. A woman to be specific. The woman wields a sickle in one hand, and judging from the blood stained on her face she is NOT friendly.

"Well well well, looks like someone is out past curfew." The woman chuckles.

The woman swarms her direction with her sickle raised, Lila dodges and rolls to the side, the sickle barely missing her. The woman swings her sickle again violently, this time narrowly avoiding Lila's head. The insects cloud her vision, many of them nip and bite her skin making her slap where she feels a sudden sting.

"Ouch that hurts" the woman whines sarcastically.

As Lila gets to her feet the woman grabs her and pins her up onto a nearby wall, getting a better look at who defied the rules.

"Wait-you're not a maid!"

While the woman looks at Lila, she takes the opportunity to take out her hunting knife and slam the butt into the oil lantern above her head. The woman releases her and shields her face from the fiery sparks, giving Lila the perfect opening of escape. She runs down the stairwell, through the double doors, and tries the door to the courtyard. Locked of course. Kitchen it is. Lila returns to the kitchen but is cut off once more by the woman. Lila shoves the table between them in her direction but the woman swarms to avoid it, chasing Lila now into the pantry way where she blocks the exit again. Lila strikes with her knife but the woman easily blocks it with her sickle, throwing Lila back. With her loss of footing, the woman advances and shoves her onto a nearby table in front of the windows.

"I like it when they fight back." The woman chuckles.

Lila cannot help the rush of heat to her cheeks. Why is she getting flustered now? She shakes her head and she eyes the window. An escape? Lila holds her knife up to keep the woman's sickle at bay while her other hand pulls at the woman's hand around her throat. She has to think of something quick. She tries to kick with her legs but they just go right through the woman's form. The table shakes from the weight and gives her an idea. Lila jolts her body violently, sending the woman off balance and giving her enough time to reach up and unlatch the window. With one firm shove she gets the window open. Behind her the woman screams loudly but Lila doesn't look back as she tries to jump through the window, only to be forcibly yanked back and thrown across the room. Lila coughs and grunts as a searing pain runs up her back from slamming into the shelving, as she looks up she sees the woman in a solid form.

The woman yells and her eyes lock onto Lila, now filled with more murderous rage if possible. Lila pats the ground beside her, searching for her knife or anything at this point and only finding a can of food. The woman is weakened by the cold. Lila throws the can with all her might; the woman easily dodges which is exactly what Lila planned as the can crashes through another window. Now the woman screams again and this time she charges Lila, grabbing her by the neck and raising her sickle ready to strike. The woman is solid now, Lila rears up and kicks with both feet the woman in the chest, making her drop Lila.

She goes for the sickle; her and the woman struggle back and forth until the woman lunges forward and bites Lila on the shoulder. Lila screams and elbows the woman, the two of them going back and forth in a dangerous tango, another hot searing pain rips through her back leg as she screams and falls to her knees. She looks over to see another woman, a carbon copy of the first only with blond hair instead of black. She too has a sickle now buried deeply into Lila's thigh. Lila whimpers and lays on the cold stone floor, watching the two women slowly circle her before she gives into the exhaustion and pain.

* * *

When Lila wakes the first thing she notices is the intense pain in her leg, she reaches down and grimaces when her fingers brush against the wound. However, she finds it bandaged which is a good sign. The second thing she notices is she's not in the torture chambers, rather she's in a large room with ornate decorations and intricate designs. The roaring fire heats her aching body but now she shifts uncomfortably from how sweaty she is. When she tries to stand she instantly falls due to the weakness in her leg, so she decides to scoot away from the fire to get some relief. The door across the room opens with a loud thud, Lila startles and looks over to see an extremely tall woman crouching through before standing to her full height.

"Nice of you to finally join us."

Us?

Lila leans over to see three women following her, all of them dressed similarly and now she recognizes one of them as the dark haired woman she fought. That woman locks eyes with Lila and flashes her teeth in the form of a grimace. Obviously there's still some hard feelings. The tall woman walks around and sits in a chair built for her size, in her hand is Lila's pack which looks humorously small in her hand. She tosses the pack at Lila who catches it with a grunt then looks back up at the woman.

"I'm rather impressed you managed to sneak in undetected, because of that I will give you two choices: answer my questions honestly and I'll consider letting you leave, or I'll have my daughters pry the answers out of you."

"I have nothing to hide" Lila answers honestly. All of this isn't worth all the money in the world.

"What's your name?"

"Lila Stromerst."

"Good. Starting on the right foot already. Why are you here?"

"I was given orders to obtain a dagger located in this castle."

"By who?"

"I don't know. I have the orders with me. You can look for yourself, there's no name or anything associated with them."

"I know."

There's a pregnant pause. The three women in cloaks shift restlessly as the woman crosses her legs and looks Lila over.

"So you take orders by the highest bidder, does that seem accurate?"

"I have to survive somehow."

"That's not what I asked."

"I suppose so, yes."

The woman tilts her head slightly, "so if I paid you to tell me everything you know about this castle and the dagger, would you?"

"If I'm to be honest it would be wasted money. It seems you've already gone through my belongings, so you have all the information I do. I don't know anything. I'm not paid to ask questions."

"Like a true mercenary. Then tell me, did your orders include harming myself and my daughters?"

"No. I wasn't instructed to kill anyone. I usually try to avoid conflict. What's the point of these questions? You already have everything" Lile motions with her head to her pack sitting by the woman's feet.

"Yes, I wanted to see if you would be honest or not. Your honesty might have saved you this time."

The woman stands and walks past the three women, "very well. Introduce yourselves girls and show her where the staff quarters are."

"Wait-you said I could leave!" Lila attempts to stand, failing once more.

"I said I would consider it. I considered, and decided that someone with your experience would be better suited under my watchful eye. Play nice daughters."

* * *

Months pass. At least, she thinks they have. Lila lost count after about 27 days, or maybe 28 days, she can't remember. The moment her leg healed she was put to work but not in the same capacity as the other workers. The girls, whom she learned to be Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela, watch her every moment of the day. Bela studies her like a lab rat; asking her questions about the outside world, her work, missions she's been on. Cassandra puts her to work on meaningless tasks: sharpen her weapons, clean them, organize her things, organize them again. Daniela lets her just exist, she's hard to follow most days because her mood changes so rapidly but Lila has learned she's very easy to sway one way or the other. They rotate who watches her and she's slowly learned what pisses them off, and how to suck up to them. Bela hates attitude, and if she suspects any kind of attitude then she makes Lila do exercises just like when Lila was in school.

Daniela is emotionally motived. Her mood is dependent on how she's interacted with her sisters, or her current read. Usually when she's in a bad mood Lila can tell her the plot of a movie which captivates her attention instantly. She especially loves the romance movies that Lila can recite which is not many, most of them she makes up as she goes. Cassandra is fun to mess with. Lila knows exactly how to get under her skin. Lila and her often get into screaming matches about who actually won the fight which landed her in her current mess; a rematch. Cassandra swings her sickle, slashing the air to warm herself up while Lila opted for a small sword. She hasn't dueled since she did fencing in junior high, but she's scrappy and prefers to move quickly. Cassandra agreed to do the duel outside where she can't swarm to make it neutral ground. Bela is of course the judge, and Daniela is the lookout for their mother.

Cassandra is the first to strike of course, she's impulsive but fast even while unable to swarm. She also has supernatural strength which Lila will have to use to her advantage. Lila dodges and swings her sword toward Cassandra's legs, but she dodges the attack then swings her own weapon. Lila blocks. The clash of metal on metal ignites a few sparks, Cassandra struck so hard it left a chip in Lila's sword. She has to disarm her somehow. Cassandra is pushing her further down, Lila braces on her back and kicks her legs up, pushing and throwing Cassandra over her. Cassandra lands with a hard thud on her back, but her and Lila spring to their feet simultaneously. Cassandra chases after Lila who runs for cover in the gazebo, using the large blocks of stone to hide behind.

"Stop hiding coward! This is supposed to be a fight! Fight back!"

Lila steps out and sees Cassandra raise her sickle up above her head, she waits for her to swing it downward before dodging. The sickle lands firmly in the stone pillar, and even Cassandra is unable to pull it out. Lila brings her sword up and slices upward, Cassandra barely has time to react, the sword grazing her as she pulls back. Leaving her sickle stuck in the pillar. Cassandra can still fight. She goes for the tackle, taking Lila down and knocking the sword out of her hand making them on the same terms. Cassandra uses her claw like nails to scratch but Lila blocks with her arms before she bucks her hips and rolls them over. She slams her fist down, hitting Cassandra square in the face.

"Enough!"

Lady Dimitrescu, the very tall lady, approaches with hurried steps, grabbing Lila by the waist and tossing her aside. She coughs loudly as she lands hard on the concrete, Cassandra stands up and growls looking over her shoulder.

"Daniela! You were supposed to signal us!"

"I know, I'm sorry! The fight was just too interesting not to watch."

"Honestly, wasn't sure if you two were gonna fight or fuck for a minute" quips Bela.

"She wishes" spits Lila.

"Don't think this is over" screams Cassandra.

"This is over! Cassandra my office now! Bela, take the pest down to the dungeon."

It's not the first time Lady Dimitrescu has sent her down to the cells, and certainly won't be the last either. However, Lila stashed her hunting knife, some flint, and a piece of soft wood from the last few times she got sent down there. So, at least now while she waits she has something to do. She works the wood in the dim firelight until she hears a humming drone from outside, she looks over to see Daniela opening the gate to the cell. In her arms is a first aid kit and some food, she kneels in front of Lila and smiles brightly. Lila smiles back and chuckles softly as Daniela examines her for any injuries, as she's done every time Lila has been sent down to the dungeon.

"I'm fine Daniela. Cassandra didn't get me this time."

"Still, I gotta look. I also brought you some food. Who know how long mother will keep you down here this time. She's pretty angry with Cassandra."

"Well, mind keeping me company for now?"

"Anytime."

Daniela scoots next to her, using her radiant body heat to keep herself warm as she watches Lila carve the soft wood. Eventually Bela comes to release Lila, finding her and Daniela snuggled together for warmth in the cold, dark cell.

* * *

She hates to admit it, but she's grown kind of fond of Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela. Maybe it's Stockholm, but she finds she enjoys their company. Sometimes. Cassandra no longer tries to kill her or challenge her, but she does frequently use her as a sparing partner. Daniela loves hearing stories about Lila's adventures, and the many, many movies she knows by heart. Bela is the coldest. She's analytical, factual, and she still views Lila as what she is: a threat. Even Lady Dimitrescu warmed up faster than her oldest daughter. She doesn't yell at Lila as much which she considers a win, and she's starting calling her by her name rather than 'pest,' 'intruder,' or her favorite 'stupid thing.

The staff give her a wide berth, many of them mumbling under their breath about how she can freely roam. If any of them even thought about talking back to the ladies, they would find themselves on the business end of a sickle. Lila on the other hand, has nothing to lose considering she's stuck here so she pokes and prods as much as she can. Bela is with her today, keeping a close eye and to make sure she doesn't cause anymore issues. She's a tough nut to crack, but Lila's determined to find her soft spot.

"So...what do you like to do for fun?" Lila asks.

"Shut up" Bela snaps.

Lila scoffs and rolls her eyes. She's been here for how long and Bela still won't engage in conversation. Lila pauses upon seeing a passageway she hadn't seen before, she's pretty much scouted this entire castle by now but she's never been down here before. Lila tilts her head and starts walking before she's forcibly grabbed by the arm and tossed onto the ground.

"Hey! What the hell was that for?" Lila snaps.

Bela simply narrows her eyes down at her, indicating she won't give any information. Lila has all but forgotten about obtaining the dagger, but Bela is still suspicious. The second an opportunity opens Lila will dart, like a house cat wanting to be outside. Bela continues walking but pauses before looking down the hallway again, Lila climbs to her feet and listens as well. Bela takes her sickle out as a nearby window bursts open and a dark figure stomps on the ground. He pulls out a gun and aims but Bela is quicker even with the rushing cold air. She slices up, her blade going clean through his arm, he screams out as hot blood gushes from the wound.

Numerous others break through the glass, Lila looks between the intruders and Bela then the broken glass. She could easily slip through and climb down via the rope they swung in on. Lila watches Bela move slower and slower as the cold freezes her body, if she doesn't act Bela will die. Lila groans loudly and grabs the fallen gun from the dismembered arm, she aims and shoots. She hates guns. She prefers quieter weapons and the recoil makes her miss the first shot but captures the attention of a few intruders. Lila shoots more, dodging one of them who swings at her. She manages to injure enough of them for Bela to finish the job, the last one shoots and grazes Bela, making a large hole appear in her side. Lila aims again and pulls the trigger to find the gun empty.

Bela falls to her knees, unable to move much more as the intruder approaches. Lila throws the gun with all her might, hitting the assailant square in the head giving Bela enough time to swing and hit their leg. Lila runs up and straddles the intruder, slamming her hunting knife through the eye, the blood bursts and splatters across Lila's face. She pants heavily and slowly removes the hood from the intruder. She gasps and stares down at the familiar face, as she looks over the body she sees a note sticking out of the side pocket; addressed to her.

Lila takes the note and reads it, 'join us and we'll let you go.' Lila knows this handwriting, it's the same writing as the orders she was given to first obtain the dagger. She crumples the note and stands on shaky legs before she's, once again, grabbed and pinned to a nearby wall. Bela holds her sickle up to Lila's throat, hard enough the sharp edge cuts the soft tissue lightly.

"What do you think you're doing?" Bela growls.

"A simple 'thank you' would suffice."

"Why did you help me? Why didn't you run? Did you have anything to do with this?"

"No! I swear. I-" Lila hesitates, her mind spinning a million miles a minute but Bela didn't like the hesitation.

Bela drops Lila to the ground, growling lowly as she holds her side in pain. She looks toward the unhooded figure then back at Lila.

"You know them" she states matter of factly.

"I do."

"Who are they?"

"Family."

* * *

Lila twiddles her fingers as she sits in the office of Lady Dimitrescu, she looks downward at her missing pinkie finger as she sighs heavily. The doors open to reveal Lady Dimitrescu with her daughters in tow. Daniela, sweet, caring Daniela who Lila considers a close friend now comes swarming over to her. She cups her face and examines you to make sure she is okay before Cassandra starts bombarding Lila with questions about the fight. Bela is the last to enter, moving slowly but looking better than before as she takes a seat beside her mother, not looking in Lila's direction.

"You have some explaining to do, and if I sense even a hint of lying" Lady Dimitrescu flexes her fingers as long sharp claws elongate, Lila flinches back having never seen those before.

Lila nods her head quickly in understanding.

"Who are these intruders? Bela says you know them. Did you bring them here?"

"No I didn't. To be honest I didn't think they'd find me out here."

"Tell me everything. Now."

"I was orphaned from a young age. I got involved in the wrong crowd and found myself in some hefty debts that needed to be paid. I started taking odd jobs which landed me a slurry of enemies, and I ended up betrayed by those closest to me. Those I considered family. Now I'm being hunted by them because they think I'm the one in the wrong. I thought I lost them long ago but it seems they've found me. Again."

"I need to inform Mother Miranda of this. As for you, you will tell me everything you know about them when I return. Cassandra, search the castle for any others that might have gotten through and for any weak spots. Daniela I need you to interrogate the staff, one of them must know something."

Daniela gives Lila a quick kiss on the cheek before swarming off. Cassandra narrows her eyes at Lila before she too swarms away, leaving Lila and Bela alone. Bela shifts uncomfortably as she looks toward the fire then sighs.

"You never answered my questions from before."

"Hm?"

"Why did you help me? You could have easily ran off, escaped, but you didn't."

Lila looks at her hand once more, "I guess I'm just tired of running. I'm supposed to be a prisoner here yet, I feel oddly welcomed. I consider Daniela a friend, Cassandra an equal, and you, well, I don't know you enough to label you as anything. I've grown fond of you three. I guess...I didn't want to make the same mistake twice."

"Did they do that?" She asks, motioning to Lila's hand.

"No. I did. I planted it after my last job that went wrong, hoping they would think I was injured or died. It bought me at least five years of solitude until now. I don't know how they found me."

"Can I ask what happened? Why are they hunting you?"

Tears start to form in Lila's eyes, "I had a little sister, not a biological one, but she was orphaned around the same time as me. I did these jobs, earned all this money to try and pay back my debts. Worked myself to death so she wouldn't ever have to experience what I did. Then this rich tycoon fucker found her and -" Lila sniffles and sobs quietly, "be said he would release her if I betrayed the mercenary group I called family. He promised."

Lila covers her eyes until she feels a presence next to her, when she looks up through blurry, tear stained eyes, she sees Bela sitting beside her. She has one arm around Lila's shoulders, pulling her closely to her uninjured side. Lila couldn't help but lean into her and sob into her shoulder as the fire crackled in the background.

* * *

Daniela discovered one of the maids was communicating with someone outside the castle, and somehow word of Lila got to outside sources. That maid was quickly dispatched of, and no word has been heard from this Mother Miranda that Lady Dimitrescu keeps talking about. Cassandra preps her weapons for when the rest of the mercenary group attacks, which according to the maid, will be in a few days. Lila and Bela spend time reenforcing the windows to make sure no one can break through them again. At night, Daniela sneaks into Lila's room claiming that her room is 'too cold' even with the fire and wants to use Lila's heat instead. Cassandra has also been hovering closely when Lila is working alone.

The day arrives when the attack is supposed to happen, Lila waits in the main hallway with all three Dimitrescus and Lady Dimitrescu in the room adjacent to them. There's only silence. Lila hates silence, it makes her nervous and fidgety. Just as expected the group bursts through the hallway door, half of them in the room with Lady Dimitrescu, and the other half with Lila and the girls. Cassandra cackles loudly as she swarms in for the attack, followed by Daniela and Bela.

Lila opted for a short sword and crossbow, using the bow to knock guns out of hands but the bullets did nothing for the daughters. The fight was brutal. Blood stained the wooden flooring and it looked as though they were winning. Lady Dimitrescu could cut through three intruders at a time while her daughters took down one after another. In the time it would take Lila to take down one, they would take down 8 or 9 total. Lila disarmed one of the intruders, slamming their hand with their gun against the railing of the stairs. She pulls out her short sword and shoves it clean through the gut before kicking the body and pulling the sword out.

Cassandra nearby gives Lila a wink of approval before she too returns to slicing bodies in half. Lila looks over to see another figure headed straight for the double doors on the other side. Before she can react, they place a glowing orb on the doors and run back, she knows that blinking anywhere.

"Bomb!" Lila screams.

Lila ducks for cover behind the stairs as the bomb goes off, sending shards of wood everywhere and the freezing air inside the room. The girls scream from the cold as the bullets cutting through their forms now take out sections of them. Lady Dimitrescu cuts her way to her daughters, shielding them from the icy blast as she continues to cut down those attacking. Lila steps out and watches as the smoke clears and the figure appears, holding the dagger she was originally supposed to obtain. The figure removes their mask, making Lila gasp and her eyes widen.

"Mick?!"

"Hello Lila. Long time no see."

"What are you doing here?"

"What does it look like?" He holds the dagger up, "you didn't think you were the only one after this did you? You being here is just icing on the cake. If I bring this, and your head, well, I'd be a god damn hero."

Lila sneers and charges Mick, he reacts faster, taking a gun from his hip and hitting Lila straight in the thigh. She screams and drops to her knees, gripping the bullet wound to try and stop the bleeding. Mick approaches her, his gun inches from her face with her staring up the barrel.

"You know, you should have taken my deal."

Lila's eyes widen. Mick was the one who sent the note. The orders. How did he even know she was alive? How did he find her in the first place. Mick only smirks and cocks the gun. Lila closes her eyes, ready to accept her fate but it seems fate is not ready to accept her. She hears a wet schlop followed by a thud, and when she opens her eyes she sees a half frozen Cassandra standing there. A headless Mick lays on the ground beside her.

"Consider us even" Cassandra snickers.

* * *

Daniela kissed Lila first, and Lila kissed her back. While her bullet wound healed, she visited every day, bringing a new book to read with Lila. On this particular day she brought her favorite romance book, and she couldn't help it. Lila looked at her just the right way, her lips looked so plump and welcoming that she had to kiss her. To say she was ecstatic is an understatement, she practically tackled Lila when she kissed back. When she ran off to tell her sisters Cassandra snuck in to confess her feelings too but in her own Cassandra way.

"You're a good fighter. I guess, and I enjoy sparing with you. I guess-what I mean is-I would like to keep sparing with you. As a partner."

"Um-"

But before Lila could respond to her, Cassandra swarmed off in a flurry of embarrassment only to be replaced by Bela. Bela sat on the bed with her, held hand and spoke softly.

"Thank you for helping us. Again. Mother has called Mother Miranda and, should everything go well, I do hope you'll choose to stay. I've grown rather fond of your company."

Shit.

Eventually Daniela returned with Cassandra in tow, Cassandra growling the entire time and Daniela on the verge of tears. Apparently all three of them did not communicate with each other beforehand. Lila slunk into her bed, wishing the mattress would open up and swallow her to avoid this. How can she choose? Daniela is so sweet and kind to her, but a bit sensitive and extreme when she doesn't get her way. Cassandra always gets what she wants, one way or another. Bela has given Lila the cold shoulder since day one, but ever since her admission she's been treating Lila differently.

"You have to choose one" Cassandra threatened.

"I can't! I love all three of you" Lila admits, covering her mouth when the words leave her.

"You love us?" Daniela asks shyly.

Cassandra's anger turns into a coy smirk, as she snickers, "wow you love us?" She teases.

"Yes. I love you."

The three of them look at each other before sighing softly, "we love you too" Bela admits.

"Bring me the dagger."

How specific.

* * *

"Ugh just the moroaica acting up again" it's a female voice.

"Wait a minute"

There's a long deep breath in.

"Hmm smells like there might be a morsel down here that isn't supposed to be."

"Bela!" A booming voice loud enough to be heard even through the concrete walls.

"Argh! I never get to have any fun" the woman whines.

* * *

"Well well well, looks like someone is out past curfew." The woman chuckles.

"Ouch that hurts" the woman whines sarcastically.

As Lila gets to her feet the woman grabs her and pins her up onto a nearby wall, getting a better look at who defied the rules.

"Wait-you're not a maid!"

"I like it when they fight back." The woman chuckles.

* * *

"Nice of you to finally join us."

Us?

"I have nothing to hide" Lila answers honestly. All of this isn't worth all the money in the world.

"What's your name?"

"Lila Stromerst."

"Good. Starting on the right foot already. Why are you here?"

"I was given orders to obtain a dagger located in this castle."

"By who?"

"I don't know. I have the orders with me. You can look for yourself, there's no name or anything associated with them."

"I know."

There's a pregnant pause. The three women in cloaks shift restlessly as the woman crosses her legs and looks Lila over.

"So you take orders by the highest bidder, does that seem accurate?"

"I have to survive somehow."

"That's not what I asked."

"I suppose so, yes."

The woman tilts her head slightly, "so if I paid you to tell me everything you know about this castle and the dagger, would you?"

"If I'm to be honest it would be wasted money. It seems you've already gone through my belongings, so you have all the information I do. I don't know anything. I'm not paid to ask questions."

"Like a true mercenary. Then tell me, did your orders include harming myself and my daughters?"

"Yes, I wanted to see if you would be honest or not. Your honesty might have saved you this time."

The woman stands and walks past the three women, "very well. Introduce yourselves girls and show her where the staff quarters are."

"Wait-you said I could leave!" Lila attempts to stand, failing once more.

"I said I would consider it. I considered, and decided that someone with your experience would be better suited under my watchful eye. Play nice daughters."

* * *

"Stop hiding coward! This is supposed to be a fight! Fight back!"

"Enough!"

"Daniela! You were supposed to signal us!"

"I know, I'm sorry! The fight was just too interesting not to watch."

"Honestly, wasn't sure if you two were gonna fight or fuck for a minute" quips Bela.

"She wishes" spits Lila.

"Don't think this is over" screams Cassandra.

"This is over! Cassandra my office now! Bela, take the pest down to the dungeon."

"I'm fine Daniela. Cassandra didn't get me this time."

"Still, I gotta look. I also brought you some food. Who know how long mother will keep you down here this time. She's pretty angry with Cassandra."

"Well, mind keeping me company for now?"

"Anytime."

Daniela scoots next to you, using your radiant body heat to keep herself warm as she watches you carve the soft wood. Eventually Bela comes to release you, finding you and Daniela snuggled together for warmth in the cold, dark cell.

* * *

The staff give her a wide berth, many of them mumbling under their breath about how she can freely roam. If any of them even thought about talking back to the ladies, they would find themselves on the business end of a sickle. Lila on the other hand, has nothing to lose considering she's stuck here so she pokes and prods as much as she can. Bela is with you today, keeping a close eye on you and to make sure you don't cause anymore issues. She's a tough nut to crack, but you're determined to find her soft spot.

"So...what do you like to do for fun?" Lila asks.

"Shut up" Bela snaps.

"Hey! What the hell was that for?" Lila snaps.

"What do you think you're doing?" Bela growls.

"A simple 'thank you' would suffice."

"Why did you help me? Why didn't you run? Did you have anything to do with this?"

"No! I swear. I-" Lila hesitates, her mind spinning a million miles a minute but Bela didn't like the hesitation.

Bela drops Lila to the ground, growling lowly as she holds her side in pain. She looks toward the unhooded figure then back at Lila.

"You know them" she states matter of factly.

"I do."

"Who are they?"

"Family."

* * *

Lila twiddles her fingers as she sits in the office of Lady Dimitrescu, she looks downward at her missing pinkie finger as she sighs heavily. The doors open to reveal Lady Dimitrescu with her daughters in tow. Daniela, sweet, caring Daniela who you consider a close friend now comes swarming over to you. She cups your face and examines you to make sure you're okay before Cassandra starts bombarding you with questions about the fight. Bela is the last to enter, moving slowly but looking better than before as she takes a seat beside her mother, not looking in Lila's direction.

"You have some explaining to do, and if I sense even a hint of lying" Lady Dimitrescu flexes her fingers as long sharp claws elongate, Lila flinches back having never seen those before.

Lila nods her head quickly in understanding.

"Who are these intruders? Bela says you know them. Did you bring them here?"

"No I didn't. To be honest I didn't think they'd find me out here."

"Tell me everything. Now."

"You never answered my questions from before."

"Hm?"

"Why did you help me? You could have easily ran off, escaped, but you didn't."

"Did they do that?" She asks, motioning to Lila's hand.

"No. I did. I planted it after my last job that went wrong, hoping they would think I was injured or died. It bought me at least five years of solitude until now. I don't know how they found me."

"Can I ask what happened? Why are they hunting you?"

* * *

"Bomb!" Lila screams.

"Mick?!"

"Hello Lila. Long time no see."

"What are you doing here?"

"You know, you should have taken my deal."

"Consider us even" Cassandra snickers.

* * *

"You're a good fighter. I guess, and I enjoy sparing with you. I guess-what I mean is-I would like to keep sparing with you. As a partner."

"Um-"

But before Lila could respond to her, Cassandra swarmed off in a flurry of embarrassment only to be replaced by Bela. Bela sat on the bed with her, held hand and spoke softly.

"Thank you for helping us. Again. Mother has called Mother Miranda and, should everything go well, I do hope you'll choose to stay. I've grown rather fond of your company."

Shit.

"You have to choose one" Cassandra threatened.

"I can't! I love all three of you" Lila admits, covering her mouth when the words leave her.

"You love us?" Daniela asks shyly.

Cassandra's anger turns into a coy smirk, as she snickers, "wow you love us?" She teases.

"Yes. I love you."

The three of them look at each other before sighing softly, "we love you too" Bela admits.

#resident evil village #re8 #alcina dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #dimitrescu sisters #cassandra dimitrescu x female character #bela dimitrescu x female character #daniela dimitrescu x female character #dimitrescu sisters x female character #enemies to lovers

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fortisfilia · 9 months ago

Text

Promised Part 3 - Tom Riddle x reader

Info: This is a rewrite of a story I've posted on my old account years ago. If it sounds familiar, that might be why :)

Summary: In this story, Tom didn't grow up as an orphan, but with his grandfather and uncle. Reader's sister got very sick and the Gaunts offer their help. But not without asking for something in return.

Warnings: Arranged marriage

Word count: 2.5k

Masterpost | Masterlist | Part 2 | Part 4

Part 3 - Parallels and Potions

It was dark in the corridor you found yourself in. So dark, you could hardly see anything but the low light on its end. The light was subtle, yet it pulled you towards it. As you started walking, you noticed you were holding something in your hands. It was oddly shaped, but not too heavy and you couldn’t see enough to detect what it was. So you kept on walking towards the light and although it seemed so close, it felt like you had walked for hours on the spot.

Finally, you reached the exit and entered a small room. It was bright all of a sudden and made you squint your eyes. Dozens of chairs were lined up left and right from you, with a path in their midst. The seats were all empty, except for two. Your parents sat in the first row, staring straight ahead, not looking back at you. Another person was standing at the end of the path. Tom. He wore a black suit and tie, his hands intertwined on his back as he watched you walk towards him.

Now that you could finally see, you looked down and were able to recognise what you were wearing. A floor-length, white dress. A wedding dress to be precise, classy and modest, with lace fabric that wrapped around your arms. The thing you had brought with you was a bouquet of flowers. Red roses, each one flawless and beautiful.

Tom smiled as you were slowly approaching him. He turned around and looked at his grandfather, who stood at the podium. The light went out and it was dark again. Someone screamed. Elsie. Her voice echoed in your ears as you turned to find her, stumbling around blindly. You knocked over a chair when the lights went back on and her voice fell silent. She was nowhere to be seen.

Only then you looked around and noticed how Tom’s smile had turned into a vile grin. Both your parents were lying on the floor, unmoving. You tried to run to them, but your feet stayed pinned to the ground. The floor was drenched in red. Blood. Everywhere. It was soaking up on the fabric of your dress when Tom threw something your way and it landed in the puddle before you, more splatters of red hitting the white fabric. It was a penknife, dangerously sharp and flipped open.

Hissing noises came from the bouquet in your hands. The roses had turned into snakes. You shrieked and tried to throw it to the ground, but your hand didn’t let go of it, no matter how hard you tried. Marvolo’s scornful laughter got louder and louder until you couldn’t hear anything else and you fell to your knees screaming.

You sat up in your bed, your forehead covered in sweat. A nightmare. Just a dream.

The poor sleep had drained you. Sipping on your second cup of tea, you slouched in the great hall during breakfast, when headmaster Dippet placed himself in front of the teacher’s table.

“Good morning students,” the Professor spoke. “Just a brief announcement for your information. I’m aware some of you have already eagerly waited for the reveal of this year’s head girl and boy. Well, it’s my pleasure to tell you now.”

People had stopped talking and the great hall turned quiet. Dippet looked through the rows of students with a big smile on his face. He was probably more excited than anyone else in the room. Head boy and girl. Wow. You hadn’t even thought about that yet. Naturally, your mind had been somewhere entirely different.

It would be someone from your year, though. Those were the school rules. The headmaster chooses two students from year seven. And, although most students didn’t care that much about the title, everyone knew that head girls and boys had an easier start into the world of employment after Hogwarts. It was a boost. An unspoken recommendation.

Dippet had always chosen students with top grades and little to no detention records. Mostly prefects, but not exclusively. For just a second you wondered if he had thought about you while making his decision. You had good grades. Nonsense, you had great grades. You never got in trouble, you were respectful, reliable, punctual and maybe a tiny bit full of yourself in just this moment.

What were you thinking? You didn’t have the nerves or the time for being head girl. But it would feel so good to be valued this way.

Dippet cleared his throat and all eyes turned to him.

“This year’s head boy, fellow witches and wizards, is,” he announced blissfully. “Tom Riddle.”

A murmur went round the hall when Tom arose from the table until Professor Slughorn, head of Slytherin, applauded for his student and the crowd joined in. Tom went up to the teacher’s table, where Dippet congratulated him.

It was quite clear why Tom was granted this title. He was Dippet’s showpiece. Always had been. Top of the class in most subjects, quiet yet observative, intelligent, the list went on.

“And now to our head girl,” Dippet said.

No, this couldn’t be. It would feel like some sort of mockery if he would say your name. First the engagement and now this? No, no. Or maybe? You would make a great head girl, now that you thought about it.

“This year’s head girl is,” Dippet went on.

Tom looked at you. Maybe he knew. Could it be?

“Freda Morris.”

Oh. Your heart sank more than you liked to admit. Tom’s gaze went right to Freda when the crowd applauded for her. She stood up from the Slytherin table and clumsily walked to the front as well. Freda… What a swot.

“Congratulations you two,” Dippet said and shook both of their hands again. “I’m sure you’ll make a great team.”

Yes, great. Brilliant. Freda and Tom shook hands as well and the sweet aftertaste of breakfast tea turned sour on your tongue.

“Two Slytherins as head boy and girl. Now that’ll be fun,” Camille said when you walked to your Potions class together. “Totally fair Professor Dippet, as always. Thanks for acknowledging the other houses.”

You smiled. “I know, right? And Freda Morris? What was he thinking?”

“Well, I don’t know. But she seems quite okay, doesn’t she?”

“You think so? She’s such a muppet.”

“Oh,” Camille laughed. “I had no idea you wanted to be head girl. You never told me.”

“What? No, I…”

“Come on,” she grinned.

“Yeah, maybe. I hadn’t even thought about it until today. And then I thought, well, I could see myself as head girl. Then Tom got picked...”

“And you thought it was destiny,” she gushed.

“Something like that,” you said before nudging her shoulder.

You entered the Potions classroom and went to the table Camille and you always shared. When you turned around to check where she was though, you saw that she had been stopped by the door, where Tom was talking to her. Camille nodded to him, then shot you an excited look. She winked at you with a smile and went to another table while Tom walked over and sat down beside you. Oh, Merlin.

“Um, hello,” you said, wondering what he had in mind.

All it took was Tom raising his brow to make absolutely sure he didn’t like you one bit. He even seemed appalled that you had the nerve to talk to him. Why on earth would he sit next to you then? Alright, no small talk. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

Professor Slughorn entered the classroom and started his lesson by congratulating Freda and Tom once more. Your eyes, too, rolled once more. He then instructed everyone to brew Moonseed Poison, just like he had taught you in last week's lesson.

“And as always, help each other out,” he said and sat down at his desk.

Fantastic. You opened up your book and skimmed the recipe again. This shouldn’t be too hard. You took a gurdyroot and started cutting it into small cubes, making sure not to breathe in right above it, as the fumes would burn your nose.

Whispers and chatter filled the room as the class began to prepare the potion. Camille sat with Clara McKinnon, glancing over her shoulder at you and wiggling her eyebrows as she looked back and forth between Tom and you. In response, you only shook your head and she grinned even wider before Clara turned to her so she could show her something in the textbook.

When you went to the next step and picked on some knotgrass, Tom cleared his throat. You resisted looking over to him and kept on picking carefully. He cleared his throat again. And again.

You turned your head. “Are you trying to talk, or are you choking?”

“I…,” his eyes went wide. “Excuse me?”

“First you sit with me, then you’re looking at me like I’ve gone mad when I greet you. So I can only assume you don’t want to talk to me, do you?”

He sighed and started picking knotgrass as well. “I did… want to talk to you.”

“About what?” you asked as you rolled the grass to shape it.

“I wanted to apologize on behalf of Lestrange and Avery.”

“Oh.”

The two shared a table at the other end of the room. Avery's sight collided with yours as you peered over at them, but immediately turned his back when he noticed. Both of them seemed lost in their task. They had always been among the less gifted when it came to Potions, mulling over the ingredients and Lestrange was most obviously reading the same sentence in the recipe for the umpteenth time while Avery half-heartedly began chopping up various items.

“They won’t trouble you again,” Tom said. “And, if it makes you feel better, they’ve learned their lesson.”

“What do you mean by that?” you asked as you leant forward to put ten drops of leech juice into your potion.

“I punished them.”

You almost dropped the flask. “Punished?”

“Nothing too bad. Although I think you wouldn’t mind, would you?”

“That depends. What did you do?”

“I’d rather not speak of it,” he shrugged as something in his face lit up when he added the leech juice to his cauldron. “I’ll have to set a good example as head boy from now on. Let’s just say, they were excluded from our group for a little while. Separation is the greatest punishment for the spineless.”

He really was a ruthless leader. And they weren’t his friends. They were his inferiors.

“Okay,” you answered, although it sounded more like a question. “You didn’t do that for me specifically, I assume?”

Tom crushed a toadstool and smiled. “I did it for myself. And you. If they disrespect you, they disrespect me. And I can’t let that happen.”

“I see,” you said. “Oh, don’t add the toadstool yet.”

“Why not?”

“It’s better to let the leech juice simmer for a little longer.”

“It makes no difference.”

“It does make a difference. And you need to crumble it some more. It has to be really fine.”

“I know what I’m doing. I’m good at Potions.” Tom dropped the toadstool into his cauldron without batting an eye, before he looked at you as if he was waiting for you to snap back again—a challenge.

“Yeah, I know. But I’m great at Potions,” you said and watched Tom’s grin dropping with delight.

“I let Slughorn be the judge of that,” he said and you laughed.

Tom stirred his potion while you continued to crush the toadstool in your mortar. “Congratulations on becoming head boy, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

Short answers, as always. But he finally talked at least. This had to be used well, so you asked, “Were you expecting it?”

“Not quite,” Tom said. “I’ve been thinking about it last year and was sure I’d make it to Dippet’s top three. But then I didn’t think about it much until today.”

Freda probably thought about it all summer long. Maybe she even prepared for it. You watched from the corner of your eye how carefully she worked on her potion. The steam coming from her concoction was a cerulean colour already, she was a few steps ahead. Perhaps Dippet had made a good decision by making her head girl. But still… She was too eager for the position and was bound to go mad with power.

“Two Slytherins as head boy and girl,” you mumbled. “Like last year. Camille thinks Dippet’s playing favourites.”

Tom smirked, “How can he not, when the best students always get sorted to the same house?”

The toadstool was as fine as sand already but you pestled it even harder now.

“Although I have to admit,” he went on. “Freda Morris was not on my list of potential school representatives.” His eyes met yours and something shifted in his gaze as he watched you. Either your expression gave you away, or he could actually read minds.

“At last, we agree on something,” you said, putting the toadstool dust into your cauldron. Perhaps disliking other people was what you two had in common. “Don’t touch the moonseed. It’ll burn your skin.”

“I know,” Tom sighed. “I’m not daft.”

Smiling to yourself, you levitated the poisonous plant before a sharp scream travelled through the classroom. Avery had touched the moonseed with bare hands, of course.

“There was something else I wanted to tell you,” Tom said. “My uncle sent an owl. Your sister. She’s better.”

“She is?“ You put your wand down to look at him properly. “What exactly did he say?”

“Still not cured he said, but she’s gaining weight again and has an appetite.”

“That’s great news,” you said and had to keep your voice low, so you wouldn’t yell just from how glad you were. “Merlin, I’m so relieved to hear this. Thanks for letting me know.”

Tom stirred his potion and nodded. “It’s ready. Professor!”

Slughorn walked up to your desk and examined both of your works. “Oh, would you look at that,” he cheered. “Tom, yours is excellent.”

It was evident just how proud Riddle was, especially after being lectured by you all lesson long.

“But yours Miss,” Slughorn turned towards you. “Yours is perfect. Outstanding that one! Very well done.”

Smiling felt like mockery now, so you schooled your features, not ready to dare look at his reaction - he wasn’t one to mess with. When you finally took a glimpse, he stared blankly down at the table, a ghost of a smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

“Don’t say it,” he mumbled. “I get it, you’re great at Potions.”

Masterpost | Masterlist | Part 4

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kuni-is-daddy · 2 years ago

Note

Ive been reading a lot of yan!scara fics but i was thinking.. how would scara be with a yandere s/o???

Boss! Scaramouche X yandere Assistant/Bodyguard reader PART 2?

OoF. that made my brain stop while i was just 'struggling' writing something anon. U CURED MY WRITERS BLOCK.

where we last left off in the "boss scara series" you confessed to him and made the first move. the both of you began to truly cling onto eachother. but what if y/n finally shows their obsessive behavior..

Scara ranting to childe :((

CAPI'S NOTE: IM TRAUMATIZED. PART 1 GOT A COMMUNITY LABEL :/ now I have to be a little nice in the smut parts. Any advice on how to avoid it is appreciated :)

AM I FREAKING OUT FOR NO REASON? GN😭❌ ITS 12:13AM

BOSS! SCARA. PART1

Part3!

AMAZING ART

Scara masterlist

WORDS 1.2K

MINORS DO. NOT. INTERACT.❌❌❌

Sparring:

i feel like reader would start acting a bit creepy, Like for example Scara would usually just have you wait outside the building for him to come back from changing his attire back into his suit after you two 'spar' but reader insisted to wait for him 'outside the changing room' Scara thought you we're trying to act like a tease as usual and say things around 'hmm? You wanna see more my pet?' or even down right have you suck him off in his personal changing room. When it comes to sparring your always giving him such praise for his strength, its not everyday or..at all. where someone can surpass you of all people. but you just couldnt EVER wrap your head around him~ "Your so strong master~ I never expect anyless from you" You'd both usually spar for around 5+ rounds but scara started to feel..Different about it.

Fighting/Missions:

"Tsk. Another boring ass day coming to aclose.." He'd say while turning off his favorite song, bohemian rhapsody. He adjusts his tie while opening the door to see you with a big smile on your face. With his already needed paperwork you got from his 'bestie' childe. "The fuck is all this?" "Its your paperwork for the week master~ I already filled it all out for you and childe helped me-" He snatched it away from you." "Alright shit..You dont have to act like such a fucking nerd y/n."

The both of you walked through narukami island, through the outskirts to inazuma city while a bunch of nobushi tried to ambush you. With one swift draw of your weapon you murdered them all in one blow. Scara barely shifted his eyes away from his paper. Only to see your bloodthirsty smile as the nobushi rogue samurai began to cough up blood. He was use to seeing and experiencing reactions like this due to him always being around childe when they train within the abyss. But you. Something was off about you lately.

Scara would purposely drag you into the abyss when its usually just him and childe. He whispered to childe, pointed at a group of abyss creatures and said that they 'are after him' and the both of them would watch as you rabidly charged at his 'enemys' like a dog. Blood splatters all over your suit as you laughed at their pathetic attempts to try and get a free hit at you.

Childe

"Hey comrad! How are ya' today?" The ginger said while sitting next to you in the hallway waiting room. "IM great childe! Me and kuni went out to eat today and it was so much fun. Have you seen the way he fights childe? The way he pulls out his katana..." You daydreamed and ranted off about scaramouche to childe. The both of you shared the same bloodthirsty perspective, Weather over your s/o or just in general. But little did you know he put on a happy face infront of you. Scara asked him to 'spy' on you and ask about what the two of you did today and hear your reaction.

---

"Childe something is up with y/n. I dont know why the fuck they keep acting like that."

"Like what? Dont you usually have the same type of attitude scara.. Dont you Like that?"

"Ugh. I knew talking to you was going to be pointless. Childe, I dont know who is more of a fucking burden. You or Y/N."

Then they suddenly heard you knocking on the door. "Kuni!! Are you in their kuni!"

"the fuck-" Scara said under his breath. He halfly opened the door as childe kept quiet.

"Mmm~ master there you are.. I was hoping you could help me with my sparing tonight." You began to open the door farther and push at his tie. "No. im fucking busy." He removed your hand. "Kuni..But your always busy. And didnt i already help you finish your work today?" He sighed at your perseverance. "Y/n. One day im gonna fucking fire you if you keep pissing me off. And the fuck has been up with you lately?" "N-Nothings wrong kuni! I-im sorry. I just wanted to spend more time with you.." That was all you needed to hear to severely apologize for bothering him and went 'home'

"Well shit. Comrad ill leave this up too you :D -" the ginger patted the short mans shoulder and walked towards the door.

"where the fuck are you going?"

"Im going home-"

He looked at childe with a dead expression.

"Hey listen. If this is really a problem to you, Just get rid of y/n. Your stronger then them right? Problem solved."

"Im not going to fucking kill them."

Y'all do it 🤪

scara would obviously feel some sort of way about your sudden change in behavior But be entertained at this 'game' he'd play with you. You came off so sweet and well put together. you would apologize and blush at the littlest of things but now you we're addicted to him. You murdered with no hesitation, Every thought you had was about him. You'd send nude pictures of yourself, Even videos to him while he was at meetings of you fingering yourself. But it was nothing he couldnt handle. He knew how to always put you in your place, He already surpassed you in everyway. He was stronger then you and certainly had you wrapped around his finger. He threatened to fire you hundreds of times just to see how fucking scared and how'd much you beg but never did fire you unlike everyone else, Yet every single time your heart would skip a beat at the word. Leaving kuni was something you never wanted to happen. Ever. Kuni concluded that he'd have fun with you for as long as he wanted. He knew dam well you weren't going anywhere unless he chose.

his phone rang.

"What?" Scara answered in annoyance.

"K~kuni i~" He was greeted to the sound of you moaning "im- F-fuck~ Im s' sorry for earlier. Can i be your good pet and make it up for you daddy? Im waiting for you at home"

Scara went to his penthouse and when he opened the door to his room, while taking off his tie. You we're putting on a show for him, face down ass up with 2 of your fingers going back and forth inside your wet hole. "Kuni~ your home....P-please~ I want you inside of me~" "Oh yeah? Is my little slut that desperate f' me?" He took no time taking off his belt and shoving his pants aside to stuff his cock inside of you.

#scaramouche smut #scaramouche headcanons #yandere reader #genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin x y/n #genshin x you #scaramouche #genshin impact #yandere genshin imagines

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rageagainstmymachine · 1 year ago

Text

Kinktober 2023 | Edward Richtofen/ F! Reader | Fic 6

Uniform Kink

Words: 3,362

Tags: Ultimis Richtofen, perceived Nazism, Nazi uniform, unwanted uniform kink

"This has got to be the worst place we've been." You groan, letting your head roll to the other shoulder, a heavy sigh showing your great displeasure. You were in some swampy marsh somewhere in japan, you think. It was a lot like the one you went to early on in your travels, the one right after than German insane asylum.

"You say that every time we go somewhere new." Richtofen hummed, his hands busy fiddling with some strange contraption. He happily whistled some tune, obviously not the least bit concerned with your unhappiness.

"Because every time we go somewhere new its worse than the last."

"What about the moon? The moon was fun! It was the moon!"

"I hated the moon. There was no air and that fucking weird cosmonaut was chasing us."

"That what made it fun! Well, that und how the blood und guts splattered farther with the gravity und such." He waved his hand dismissively.

You groaned again, your head rolling back over. You just watched as Edward fiddled with whatever he was fucking with, examining his features. His face was pale, almost grey and had dark circles around his eyes. You were all very tired, but Edward always seemed the most tired, despite being the most energetic. You had no idea how he did it, you wondered if he was on some sort of drug. Pervatin, maybe. That could explain a lot.

"You know, a picture would last longer. Just be sure to get mein good side, ja? What am I saying? Every side is mein good side."

You felt your face heat up at the realization you had been caught staring and averted your eyes. "Spaced out."

"Awh, and here I was thinking you were admiring my handsome face und perfect body."

You couldn't deny he was handsome. Hell, he was gorgeous. He was tall and slim, but he had muscle, even at his age. How old was he anyways? Fifty? He looked fifty. Not to mention that his uniform hugged him in all the right places, his broad shoulders and small waist...

Stop it! That uniform is monstrous! It represents everything that's wrong with the world! It represented fascism! It's ugly and you should hate it! You shouldn't be fantasizing about the way the fabric stretched over his broad shoulders or how perfectly his belt hugged his slim waist...

"I can practically see you thinking. Think any harder und you might explode." He teased, standing and approaching you. You couldn't help but watch his hips sway as he approached, or the way his long legs strode towards you. "I wonder what you could be thinking of to cause such a reaction..."

He stopped directly in front of you, smirking down at you. It was unnerving when he did this. You stood up, a subconscious reaction as nervousness began to creep up your spine.

"It must be quite exciting." He hummed, getting impossibly closer. You had to crane your neck to look up at him. He was so close you could feel the heat radiating off him.

He is coming on to you. Not that you're surprised. He has been suggestive to you in the past. Well, suggestive to everyone actually. Even a few zombies. Inanimate objects too... he was a weird man.

You hated the fact his seduction attempt was working. You could feel yourself becoming flustered. His uniform was so close. If you reached out, you could touch it. You wanted to touch it. To touch him.

You were ashamed of yourself.

He chuckled softly, leaning over and pressing a hand against the wall next to you, his body only inches away. You could hear your heart beating in your ears, as well as his breathing. "Oh, I think I know." He said lowly, his accent heavy, tone husky. "You want to fuck the enemy, don't you?"

Your breath hitched and you felt a shiver run down your spine. His eyes were lidded, a smirk tugging at his thin lips.

"You want to devour the big, bad German. And I do mean big in... multiple ways." He whispered the last part in your ear, making you let out a little gasp. Your hands found his lapels, torn between pushing him away and yanking him closer. When he didn't receive an answer, he clicked his tongue, bringing his hand up to grab a fistful of your hair. He tugged on it to force you to look at him. "Oh, you are much too prideful."

He crashed his lips into yours. You let out a muffled moan, kissing him back hungrily. This was a very bad idea. He was insane, this was his own twisted game, this was treason... But God, it was hot. It was right in all the wrong ways.

Richtofen kissed roughly, hungrily, desperately. It was messy, and you could taste the bitter iron of blood, you didn't care enough to ask yourself why. His teeth pulled and bit at your bottom lip, causing you to groan. The heat was building in your core, pooling low in your abdomen.

Your hands ran along the fabric of his coat, trailing across the embellishments on his lapels. You could barely even focus on the kiss as you touched the belts across his chest. Your movements froze when you touched something cold and sharp. Fingertips danced from one point to another, your eyes fluttering open and downwards as you realized you were touching his iron cross.

Your mind wandered to what he did to receive that metal. Did he fight in the Great War? It would make sense with his age. You couldn't be sure but you don't think you see a swastika on it, it had to be a Great War iron cross. Was he this insane back then as well? Why were you just now thinking about it?

He sensed your distraction and pulled away, fast enough to see where your eye line was. He peered down and grinned, finally noticing your hand on his medal. "You must be wondering how I got this, huh? Imagining all the ways one soldier can receive one." He said, his voice dropping an octave lower.

You couldn't help the fear appearing in your eyes as his tone became serious. It was terrifying when he was serious. He searched your face for a few seconds before his smirk returned, his tongue flicking out to lick his dry lips."Don't look so terrified, I was a field medic in the Great War"

"How the hell does a field medic get one?" You finally found your voice again, the confusion forcing your words out.

He laughed, a sound that sent shivers down your spine, whether it was in excitement or fear you didn't know. "Perhaps it's best to keep that a secret." He purred, leaning in close again, his lips ghosting over yours. "Just make sure those American hands of yours stay off the medal, ja? You can look all you want, though. It's more than obvious you have a thing for it…und the rest of mein uniform."

You swallowed thickly, looking away in shame. Damn.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of." Edward chuckled darkly. "In fact, I've heard before that women go nuts for a man in uni-"

"Just shut up and kiss me again, Richtofen." You groaned, grabbing his lapels and tugging him closer, crashing your lips together once more. He hummed into the kiss, his hands gripping your hips, squeezing them firmly. He unabashedly rutted his hips into yours, his growing bulge pressing against you.

He pulled away from you, leaving you wanting and needy. God, so stupidly needy. He put distance between the two of you, and you almost asked why, but soon he was smoothing down his uniform, giving you a playful twirl.

"Tell me, fraulein, what do you like about it?" He questioned. "The fabric is a bit rough und tight, the belts are always digging into me, but if you find it appealing, who am I to judge?"

"Richtofen..." You warned.

"Do tell, I'm curious." He mused. He had that grin, that stupid fucking grin that made your blood boil. He knew exactly what he was doing to you. He was teasing you and loving every second of it. He was getting off on your frustration and embarrassment.

It's the way the coat sits well on your broad shoulders, tapers down to your slutty little waist! It makes you look taller too especially with the cap, it commands authority. It's because your pants make your ass look so damn good. And the boots look ready to step on me. And god, how I want you to step on me. That white button up and tie combo makes you look professional and sane, yet you aren’t professional and nowhere near close to sane. It’s the Luger attached to your hip, ready to be pulled out and used, the belts just begging to be gripped, and whatever the hell is on your other hip! Is it a bag? And dear god, it’s the iron cross you wear. I can’t even imagine what you’ve done to receive it, I just know I want you pressed against me so hard, it leaves an indent against my breast.

Your head spun as you admitted this all to yourself in rapid fire. If you didn’t run it through your mind, as much as you didn’t want to, you knew you would blurt it out. You had to get a hold of yourself.

Edward seemed to enjoy the silence, watching your face intently, waiting for you to give an answer. The only sign of his patience wearing thin was the tapping of his foot.

"You just look good in it, okay?" You tell him, giving him an inch. But he wasn't satisfied with that, he wanted the whole mile. You should know to never try to appease a German. Look what happened to Czechoslovakia.

He snickers, shaking his head. "Come now, Fraulein. You can do better than that." He purrs.

You huffed, chewing on your lip before glancing back to him, your resolve crumbling as you took in his gorgeous appearance."God, it's hot. Okay? It's super fucking hot."

His smirk widened, but he continued to prod.. "Why? Why is it so hot?"

"Because it shows off your broad shoulders and slim waist, and makes your ass look great… You're just a prick, but I want you inside me." You spat out, crossing your arms. "Happy now?"

"Ohohoho I'm very happy." He chuckled, removing the straps that crossed his torso. He set the satchel he carried aside, unclipping his holster and setting his weapon on the table. The way he didn't remove anything else signaled he had no intentions of removing his uniform tonight. He knew what he was doing. He still stood a ways from you, seemingly waiting for you to do or say something. You were too aroused to play these games. You relented to his wants.

"Are you going to fuck me or not, Richtofen?" You growled hoping to sound annoyed and not as needy as you felt.

"I might if you ask nicely." He cooed.

You clenched your fists.

"Please, Richtofen." You said, through gritted teeth. "Fuck me."

He grinned, stepping over to you. His hand caressed your cheek, before his fingers wrapped around your throat. You couldn't stop the moan that escaped your lips, or the way your hips rolled. You could feel his length press into you and it was heavenly. He leaned in, his nose brushing against yours. "Say that again, but this time, less formal."

"Edward, please fuck me." You whispered, and he let out a guttural growl. He released your throat and gripped the backs of your thighs, lifting you and pressing you into the wall. You let out a little yelp of surprise, your legs instinctively wrapping around him. He captured your lips, his hands wandering, kneading your flesh; pinching and grabbing. his hands were just as eccentric as the rest of him.

He didn't waste time, carrying you away from the wall to the windowsill, setting you down to begin removing your pants. You kicked off your boots as you let him, watching as he tugged down the clothing. He took your panties with them, leaving you completely bare from the waist down. You felt the urge to cover yourself, but his hungry gaze and the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips quelled that. He was quick with his own pants, tugging them down his slim hips, freeing his cock. He wasn't here for romance, or foreplay, but neither were you.

He was quick to slot himself between your legs to line himself up, pressing his length into you in one smooth motion. You hissed at the stretch, his earlier remark about big things wasn't a lie.. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you moaned out his name. He wasn't gentle. He gave you no time to adjust. He began pounding into you immediately, a brutal pace, his hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise.

"I'm just a militarized Kraut for you to get off to, ja?" He hissed in your ear. His breath was warm, accent thicker than before, "Is that all I am to you? Just a uniform und a cock to satisfy that cunt of yours?"

"F-fuck, Richtofen."

"You think of me as a Nazi, yet here I am being your personal sex toy." He purred. His hips snapped against yours, his thrusts rough and quick, hitting that one spot. The one spot that made your back arch. He chuckled, his eyes half lidded and full of lust. "Where are you democratized morals now?"

"Fuck, I hate you."

"No, no, Fraulein. The word you are looking for is love." He grinned, his eyes dark. You felt a shiver run down your spine. He was scary, and yet somehow that excited you.

His thrusts were getting sloppy, his breath ragged. You were close, so close, you just needed a little more. He must have noticed, his hand reaching between the two of you to rub circles around your clit. The added stimulation sent you over the edge. Your back arched and you threw your head back as you came, a strangled moan of his name escaping your lips.

You could feel him shudder against you, a long groan escaping his lips as your walls squeezed around him tightly. He stilled inside of you, his grip on your hips bruising. He was quiet for a moment, and you opened your eyes to find his own staring into yours. They were lidded and full of want and need. He got too close to the edge, and he didn't want to cum just yet. You could feel him throbbing inside of you, and it wasn't long before he started moving again. He was relentless, his thrusts deep and rough, his fingers digging into your hips. "I'm not nearly done with you yet."

"Give me a moment." You breathed, but he wasn't having any of it.

"Oh, fraulein. You'll take what I give you und I'll continue until I am finished."

He fucked like a man starved, his thrusts hungry and greedy. You were still sensitive, and every thrust against your g spot was a wave of overstimulation. You whined and begged for his mercy, but he would give none.

"You'll cum again for me, und then I'll consider stopping."

You cried out, clinging to him desperately, trying to find anything to ground you, anything to take away the intensity. It was too much, yet not enough. "Edward..."

"If you don't shut your mouth, I'm going to shut it for you, Schlampe." He hissed.

You couldn't stop the whimpers if you wanted to. It was too much.

Richtofen growled, seemingly fed up with your noises. Your clit got a much needed break as he removed his hand to paw at his chest. He wrapped his glove clad fingers around his Iron Cross and quickly yanked it off, pressing the medal to your lips. "Bite."

You opened your mouth and his fingers pushed the Iron Cross in. The taste of the iron filled your mouth and you moaned. He resumed rubbing your clit, the feeling of biting down hard on the cross was enough to ground you - your whines were significantly decreased.

The way that Edward looked at you with a deeper stare made you wonder if he was getting off to watching you bite the medal he got all those years ago.

His thrusts continued to be hard and fast, but you could feel him becoming more and more erratic. The hand on your hip tightened, and his breath became heavier.

"You better cum before I do, otherwise you are in for a long night." He hissed, his thrusts slowing a bit. His hand picked up its speed on your clit, causing a moan to escape past the medal.

It was too much. The feeling of metal between your teeth, the way Edward was looking at you, the fact that he was wearing his uniform. The way he fucked you without mercy. It was all too much, and soon enough you were coming. Your body trembled, your eyes crossing as stars littered your vision. Your legs clamped around his waist as your cunt spasmed again, milking his cock.

He didn't last much longer, the feeling of your cunt squeezing him bringing him over the edge. A strangled moan escaped his lips as he spilled his seed into you, thrusts shallow and uneven. He stayed there, his breathing labored and his heart pounding as he continued to lazily pump his cock into you until he had nothing left to give.

The muscles in your jaw failed as your mouth quivered open, the Iron cross falling on your chest. It was coated in saliva and blood, which made Richtofen's cock twitch inside of you. He grabbed it, not bothering to wipe it off before pinning it back on his coat.

He slipped out of you, and you couldn't stop the whimper that left your lips. You could feel his cum dripping onto the windowsill. Richtofen didn't seem to care though, as he went about redressing himself. He was nice enough to throw you your clothes, and you took the hint. You didn't bother with panties, slipping your pants back on.

He didn't look at you. His hands were quick to fix his coat and uniform, smoothing out any wrinkles. He grabbed his hat and straightened it on his head, looking as polished as ever. Once he was finished, he finally looked back at you. His eyes held a warmth and rawness that looked terrifying on him.

"I'm not actually a Nazi, you know." He finally spoke.

You stared at him, eyes travelling down to the very obvious Nazi uniform.

He seemed to notice this and let out a snort, his gaze flicking downward. "Ja, ja. I know. But I didn't really have a choice in the matter. It's all rather complicated; Group 935, monetary needs, Maxis making promises to... certain parties. Which I strongly opposed, mind you."

"But-"

"It's a lot more complex than simply being a Nazi, fraulein. Besides, do I really look like the type to be a Nazi? "

"Absolutely you do." You say bluntly.

"I'm hurt." He gasped. "Und after I went through the trouble of telling you the truth. It was quite painful too - so much emotional torment." He feigned offense, putting a hand over his chest. "I may be an insane scientist, but that's all I am, I swear."

You could help the smile that found your lips. You tried to look away fast enough to hide it, but he saw it clear as day.

"There we go, I knew there was a smile under there." He smiled, his eyes soft. "Now, let's do this again soon, ja? Aber, I am a proper boy, you'll need to buy me dinner first before you seduce me, next time."

You laughed, shaking your head. You turned and left before you tried to stay longer, leaving Edward to chuckle at the door.

"Till next time, fraulein."

This fic on Ao3

All fics (Ao3)

I'd appreciate it if you left kudos!

#call of duty #cod zombies #call of duty zombies #edward richtofen #ultimis richtofen #x reader #reader insert #female reader #smut #fanfic #kinktober #kinktober 2023

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