#he didn’t choke him because there’s no discoloration of the face and his eyes are intact

[commence-screaming]

as a left 4 dead 2 player, if bain was to turn into an infected due to being injected with green flu, he would’ve become a smoker, since the mercy hospital patient showed signs of turning into a smoker (same cough sound as a smoker, face bandages in the areas where the smoker is mutated)

do what you will with this info :)

I haven’t played Left 4 Dead, but doesn’t the virus mutate quickly? It stands to reason that Bain might not have become that because the virus reacts differently to people. Different symptoms, you know?

You could argue that the Dentist was experimenting with the virus to eliminate the flaws and leaving the benefits, which could’ve been part of Bain’s super strength in the Hell’s Island heist. I mean, he punched through multiple faceplates and took out over a dozen mercenaries with his fists and a pistol. (It’s even implied that he… phased through solid metal? Which I’m chalking up to the alien thing. There’s a bloody footprint halfway through metal bars so like…)

(This is a bad angle for a picture AND the ai is standing there, I’ll take a better one later)

Just based on the super strength stuff, maybe he would’ve become a tank? Dallas mentions that Bain might’ve gotten that because his cells were burning out or something. Adverse effects based on his biology? Maybe that’s why the experiment failed. (I personally think that the Dentist injected Bain because he knew that the gang was coming for him)

But anyway I respectfully disagree—we know what the patient zero guy was gonna turn into, but Bain’s possible infection is left up to interpretation.

(Aren’t there people in L4D that are immune to the virus? So maybe Bain’s bloodline makes him partially immune… bro still dies though womp womp)

[lizzyscribbles]

An Exercise in Futility (Part 3)

(I'm wondering if I should just bite the bullet and post this on AO3 when finish it because it's already at like 4k words and I don't think Tumblr can handle that 😅)

Part One, Part Two

The sky was a deep, gloomy gray, bathing the world in a thin layer of rain and ice. The resulting cold hit him like a block of ice to the throat, drawing several prominent coughs from deep in his lungs. 

Thankfully, he didn’t have to tolerate it for long. Hisashi’s black sedan sat just under the awning, shielding him from the downpour that had started not long before his pretend appointment. Wrapping his arms around himself, and sped over to the car and hopped in the back seat, hacking quietly into the back of his hand. The leather of his seat was already pleasantly warm when he got in, it was almost like climbing into a preheated oven. It waved away the cold, shoving it out as Yoichi yanked the door shut behind him.

As he reached up to grab his seatbelt, he found himself fumbling with the strap. Despite only being in the elements for a total of ten seconds, he was still trembling, cold eating away at him as he drew his oversized coat a little tighter around him.

His hand was still plastered over his mouth, flecks of discolored phlegm coating it. He resisted the urge to groan at the sight of it. Reaching into his pocket, his heart froze as he was met with just fabric. After a few seconds of patting frantically, it dawned on him that he’d left the one piece of medical equipment he’d continued to use on his bathroom counter that morning. He didn’t have time to panic, however, as an inhaler was pressed into his shaking hand. He jumped, eyes widening as he looked up to see Hisashi staring at him with that special kind of intensity he gained when he wasn’t sure whether or not Yoichi was in danger.

“H-hey–” Yoichi managed, his weak attempt at a smile devolving into a fit as he doubled over, spitting up a particularly thick piece of mucus out into his hand. 

Hisashi shook off his loose grip on the inhaler and instead brought it to Yoichi’s mouth himself and using his free hand to brace the back of his brother’s neck. He paused his wheezing just long enough for his brother to administer the inhaler, holding his breath for several consecutive seconds to let the medication do its job before he exhaled again. Hisashi, however, wasn’t satisfied until he’d taken two or three more inhales and was no longer actively choking on his own oxygen.

Yoichi took a shuddering breath as his brother leaned over and secured his seat belt while he recovered. He frowned down at his hand, sticky with phlegm, and started rooting around in his bag for a kleenex or some form of tissue. He was already off to a bad start, he didn’t need Hisashi seeing the faint speckles of what was probably blood on his hand.

But, for better or for worse, his brother was already on top of it, handing him one of the fancy handkerchiefs he kept tucked into the pockets of all his suit coats. Yoichi cringed as he dirtied the soft, silky piece of fabric, but he did feel a lot better after cleaning the sick off himself. Strategically folding it, he shoved it into the pocket of his coat before turning to face his brother with an actual smile.

“Hi!” He croaked. “I didn’t know you were coming to get me today.” 

Hisashi looked him over slowly before answering. “I realized you neglected to bring your inhaler after you left and figured it would be better if I brought it myself. I also wanted to be sure you got the notes from the doctor this time, since you always seem to forget, little brother.”

Yoichi’s heart started beating a little faster as he smiled, sheepishly replying. “Yeah…I guess I do that a lot, but can you blame me? They always tell me the same thing every time, it’s not like I can’t remember it long enough to tell you.” He straightened up, adjusting imaginary spectacles on his nose and began reciting. “BP–118 over 79, 80 BPM, FEV1–62%–”

“Only 62%?” Hisashi interrupted as he turned up his nose. “That’s rather low, even for you.”

“Shit.” Yoichi thought. He must’ve mixed up the numbers from before he had his last hospitalization. Thankfully, a lie sprung into action before he’d even finished panicking. “Yeah, the doctor said that’s normal since it got cold all of a sudden, nothing to write home about, but obviously he’ll check on it again next time.”

Hisashi hummed, and Yoichi tried not to fidget under his brother’s gaze. After a few uncomfortable seconds, his older brother let out a quiet sigh and gestured for the driver to take them home. Yoichi resisted the urge to sigh as well, instead blowing a few strands of white hair out of his face as he tucked his legs under himself. A quiet ding from Hisashi’s phone drew his brother’s attention, but with his free hand he took a travel mug out of the cupholder and handed it to Yoichi. 

The sleeve was still hot, warming the tips of his fingers as he cradled it to his chest. He gave it a little sniff, catching a faint whiff of mint. Taking a cautious sip, he found the liquid to be pleasantly warm, as always. He would’ve liked it to be a little hotter, but alas, he had taken a while to get settled, so it was his own fault really. Leaning back against the seat, he tucked both his legs up to curl into a ball on the seat. Hisashi glanced over at him, eyebrows pinched. Yoichi smiled, waving as he took another sip. 

“Thank you, brother.” He hummed. “It’s perfect.”

Hisashi nodded, looking back at his phone as he held out a hand. Yoichi stared at it for one second, then two, but his brother didn’t say anything, just crooked his fingers. After a few more seconds of nothing, Hisashi leaned over the middle seat without breaking his attention from his phone and reached into Yoichi’s coat pocket, rummaging around. Coming up empty handed, he leaned even further to dig into the other pocket, pulling out the reminder card. Yoichi let out a quiet “ohhh” before taking another sip of his drink, watching his brother right himself and bring the piece of cardstock back.

 Hisashi’s eyes jumped from his phone to the card, back to his phone again. The corners of his lips turned down ever so slightly, and he held the card a little closer to his face, squinting at it. Yoichi froze, drink halfway to his lips. He frantically tried to recall whether or not he’d missed anything. Helga was always incredibly thorough, but could she have forgotten a detail? No, there really weren’t any details to miss, so what could’ve set his brother off?

“Breathe, Yoichi.” Hisashi said absentmindedly before setting the card down and picking up his inhaler. 

Yoichi sucked in a sharp breath, sitting up straight. “Sorry.” He waved away the offered inhaler, “s’ fine, I don’t need it.”

Hisashi held it out anyway, gesturing for him to grab it.

Yoichi couldn’t hold back his sigh, but resisted the urge to roll his eyes, “really, big brother, I’m fine, it’s just a little cough–”

“Yoichi.” Hisashi narrowed his eyes, cutting him a look as he pushed it a little further. 

The message was clear: “Do it, or I do it for you.”

Yoichi swallowed, shrinking away as he cradled his drink to his chest. The two brother stared at each other, but the younger knew he’d already lost. Face twisting into a frown, he thrust out his hand with palm up. Hisashi let out an airy chuckled, setting the device in Yoichi’s hand and gently closing his fingers around, giving them a little pat. Yanking his hand back, he shoved the inhaler between his lips and took in a dose. Holding his breath, he slowly counted as the medication sat in his lungs.

Hisashi watched on, waiting until he was sure Yoichi had actually administered it before he spoke. “I’m coming with to your next appointment, I have some concerns that I want to address with your practitioner–”

“I can do it!” Yoichi jumped, practically spitting the drug back out as he clambered to sit up straight. “I…what are you concerned about?”

“That was only five seconds, little brother.” He scolded. “You’re supposed to hold it for ten. Try again–”

“–But–”

 “Now.”

Something about his tone made Yoichi want to stamp his foot, but he settled for a half grunt and the eyeroll he’d suppressed earlier. He was well aware he was being a little pendulant, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. However, another stern glare from his brother had him obediently taking another shot of his inhaler, folding his arms over his chest as he gestured for his brother to speak while the medicine went to work.

Hisashi drew his answer out another few seconds before he replied. “I don’t like how tired you’ve become lately. I can barely get you out of bed in the morning and half the time you’re back in it before the sun sets. It can’t be a normal side effect, and if it is, then it’s time to change medications. Not to mention, your coughing is getting worse, don’t think I haven’t seen the blood–Yoichi Shigaraki do not open your mouth prematurely again, let me finish–or heard you tossing at turning at night. It's excessive, and I’m no longer confident in this specialist’s ability to treat you. But, I want to see their incompetence with my own eyes first before I move you elsewhere…”

Yoichi’s heart sank. He thought he’d been doing well at keeping the harsher side effects of his illness hidden, but he understood he should’ve known better than to expect Hisashi to be oblivious to his declining state much longer. Honestly, it was a full-blown miracle he’d been able to carry on with the deception as long as he had. And, to think, it wasn’t even the staff who gave it away, it was Yoichi’s own negligence in continuing his treatments.

“There’s a new doctor here in Japan I’d like to get you into actually. I began vetting him during your last…visit, and I think he may be just what you need to see some improvement–”

“What’s the point.” The phase slipped out before Yoichi even realized he’d been thinking it. 

In fact, he didn’t know he had said it out loud as he let his attention drift out the window, eyes tracing the raindrops as they trickled down the glass. They were approaching the manor, having just passed through the oversized gates that guarded the estate. Honestly, they were less of guards and more decorations. Hisashi had said so himself, apparently the official who had lived there before them had a wife that adored the delicate white columns and glassy beading, however impractical it was. Still, despite proclaiming its uselessness, his brother kept them for some reason. Yoichi couldn't fathom why, his brother was always so practical, and they were just big, pretty, ornately designed pieces of metal that would probably tip right over if you pushed them hard enough.

Just like Yoichi.

“…what did you say?”

[hoardcloneheadcanons]

Misread Fates Chapter 6: The Honest Words of a Heartless Man

You know I don't have to die to fulfill my fate, right? I just have to fail. You don’t have to kill me for this to work.”

“Oh, is that what this is- a plea for your life?” Phillip shrugged, “It’s better to be on the safe side of destiny, besides you know too much.”

A skip happened in Bruin’s brain.

“I wouldn’t have known so much if you hadn’t blabbed to me the moment I woke up, “he thought “ You could have lied. You’ve lied to everyone why didn’t you lie to me?” 

The days passed by surreally as Bruin healed slowly from his wounds. So many questions stayed stuck on Bruin's tongue, lost to sleep, and a lack of focus. So many times passed when he built up the courage to ask the Prince more questions before someone new burst into the room: either Mordecai or one of Phillip’s private guards coming to change shifts with him.

Bruin tried to ask them for answers but they remained silent as stone.

Then the day of the feast came.

Bruin finally, finally got to a point where he could stay awake for an entire day without his eyes crossing, or nearly faceplanting into his soup. And apparently, the townspeople were chomping at the bit to meet him and thank him, because the moment they trusted him to hold up a spoon and eat on his own there was a feast held in his honor.

He was still half covered in bandages, and his skin, while no longer in pain, was discolored, and he was unsure if his eyebrows would ever come back, but they seemed happy to meet him anyway.

Men came up to him with choked voices, and either shook his hand or gave him a (gentle, very gentle) grasp of the shoulder. Women put soups and casseroles in front of him, much of which was dragon meat, and he got a nice leather coat from the tailor, made of the leftover supplies of cowhide. 

“I would have made it of dragon leather, but I’m still figuring out its properties and how to work with it. I could only added a little of it in the details of the collar and the hem.”

The worst were the children, they almost broke Bruin.

A little girl showed him the new coat her parents had bought her. She did a little spin so he could see it all. Her dress had holes, but she had a brand-new coat and boots for the winter. She gave him her favorite rocks from her collection, including one that she found on the first night she was allowed to go outside after dark. She said it was blessed by the moon.

Then a little boy came up to him and said he wanted to be as strong and as brave as Bruin one day. Bruin nearly broke down crying in front of him,

Luckily the boy’s mother saw the glossiness in his eyes and quickly distracted the boy, pulling him away to greet their neighbors.

His face would never be the same, his family was in danger, and he’d broken his promise to his father to try and stay alive- but this. This was worth it.

He could breathe and tell himself it had to happen.

……

Bruin was flanked the entire night by Mordecai and Phillip. Mordecai gave him helpful tips about who everyone was while Phillip watched.

It was constant notable surveillance. To the passive onlooker, Phillip looked like the ever-cheerful and proud prince tending to his fighter. To the crowd, he might have looked like a little bit of a glory hog, remaining untouched and squeaky clean, while Bruin was toasted, but he seemed harmless and friendly enough.

Only Bruin felt the hand on the small of his back, ready to press in if he said something slightly out of turn. The Prince’s private guard around the room also remained ever-present. They were at ease, but none of the drinking, all were watching, and quiet, standing out from the revelry in their uniform greys and blues.

Bruin stayed at the party as long as he could. Not speaking as much, but watching, being on the sides, and distracting himself from his impending second death.

But he steeled himself, there was much to discuss and he needed a moment alone with Phillip.

Bruin attempted to fake a yawn and put a hand on Mordecai’s shoulder. He didn’t have to do much to fake it, he was already halfway gone.

“I think I’m getting worn out for the night. Thank you, for bringing me to this, for everything, but I should go back to my room and rest. You stay and enjoy the time with your friends, I’ll have Prince Phillip take me up.”

Mordecai looked stunned and… concerned? Was he over-acting? Did he seem too tired for his state of healing?

“Are you sure- I’m not sure that’s a good idea- It’s still a process bringing you to your bed, you should have someone of medicine around to make sure you can get in bed without putting undo pressure on your wounds.”

“I’ll be fine.”

In Bruin’s peripheral, he could see Phillip give him a side eye. He was ignoring it.

Mordecai looked hesitant”

“I still don’t think- it’s a two-person job really and-“

CRACK

Mordecai’s attention was drawn to Viesel the Tailor, who’d just fallen off a table he’d been dancing on, and was slowly getting to his feet woozy with blood already dripping down his temple.

“Oh, spirits Smith in his cups again. Between you and me, he shouldn’t be dancing sober. I need to tend to this. Phillip can bring you to rooms, but I’ll be up to check on you as soon as I can, this shouldn’t take more than an hour or two

Bruin turned to the Prince,

“Sire, can you bring me up to my room?

His smile was a perfectly arranged decoration.

“Why certainly- I can call over one of my guards-“

“Pleas,- I’d like to talk about the consequences of me- leaving my post while going on ahead.”

The prince looked ready to refuse him, and so Bruin said under his breath,

“Or should I tell them there was never a post, to begin with.”

The prince narrowed his eyes before his placating smile crawled back onto his face,

“Of course, I can understand wanting privacy, for such a delicate issue,” and then a bit louder, “Anything for our nation’s finest soldier.”

Phillip and one of his guards left the party with Bruin. The wheels of his transport crunched in the gravel as the prince pushed him forward towards the inn.

The town didn’t have a ready invalid’s chair, so Bruin was in a wheelbarrow.

“So,” said the prince, his voice creating warm clouds in the cold evening air, “What did you actually want to talk about?”

You know I don't have to die to fulfill my fate, right? I just have to fail. You don’t have to kill me for this to work.”

“Oh, is that what this is- a plea for your life?” Phillip shrugged, “It’s better to be on the safe side of destiny, besides you know too much.”

A skip happened in Bruin’s brain.

“I wouldn’t have known so much if you hadn’t blabbed to me the moment I woke up, “he thought “ You could have lied. You’ve lied to everyone why didn’t you lie to me?” he thought. But he persisted 

“I’m fairly good at keeping my mouth shut. I don’t talk a lot.”

“Excuse me if I don’t take your word on that.”

Bruin shook the failure off and continued forward, desperate to get any information he could

 “Where are my parents?”

Phillip gave out a half-bark of a laugh

“I don’t really have a good reason to tell you that,”

“I could run. I could just tell them you’re lying and then run.”

“That’s what the guards are for,” said Phillip, the boredom towards the questions seeping into his voice

“I could kill myself before we ever get there, make you unable to use my fate.”

“Then I have no reason to keep your family alive. Would I? Maybe I have them, maybe I don’t. Are you willing to take that chance? You don’t seem like a gambling man to me.”

He wasn’t. He’d had a plan, for so long he’d had a plan and now he had nothing. His body was broken and all he had to use was his unpracticed words.

“I-“

Bruin gave a grunt, a half-aborted scream.

“Can you tell me where we’re going next, at least”?

“We’re staying here for a while you heal. Then we’re going to take you somewhere where people can just slowly forget about you until we can find a monster stronger than a dragon.”

 “There aren’t any.”

“I’ll let our experts at the castle be the judge of that, besides, it doesn’t need to be more threatening than a dragon it just needs to seem like it is.”

Bruin tried to calm his rage- he couldn’t be threatening in this state, the best he could hope for was calm- and he was barely managing it.

“Do you know how long that will be?”

 “No.” He said. “I don’t.” Bruin hear spittle and gritted teeth behind his head” Certain current circumstances make the particular task difficult. My mother has a few contacts she’ll be pulling, but Spirits know if they’ll find anything.”

There was a rage in his voice but for once it didn’t feel directed at Bruin. It was that small moment of weakness that made Bruin want to jab at him a little.

Bruin craned his neck around to look at the prince and the guard behind him.

“So you know your mother paid off the dragon to eat everything.”

 The wheelbarrow stopped. The prince’s eyes shot daggers, while the guard beside him looked startled, and he looked back and forth between the faces of Bruin and the prince.

Before he could say much Phillip had him in a headlock,

“You’ve just disproven that you can keep your mouth shut. I’ll ask you kindly to keep that information to yourself.”

“Or what? You’ll kill me?”

“You know exactly who I’ll kill. That’s the fun part about multiple hostages. You don’t have to keep all of them alive.”

“So much about your mother- Does your father do anything?,” Choked out Bruin.

Something about being near royalty made Bruin want to be an asshole. He expected to be choked out for that one, but Phillip loosened his grip and started chuckling, slapping Bruin’s shoulder as one would a knee. It stung.

“Have you just figured out my father is useless? Funny, I’ve known for so long. Though I suppose it is impressive. You learned from a distance. You haven’t even met the man.” His bitter chuckle got lower in pitch.

Bruin could feel Phillip’s breath on his shoulder, as he talked quietly, just to him.

 “Do you know- It’s his fault this is happening to you. We wouldn’t have needed you if not for him. My siblings and I should have been able to go out slaying together with the knowledge that at least one of us could kill the beasts. We should have been certain at least one of us had the fate. And it would have been that way if my father had not slept with the entire countryside. My mother has been cleaning up his mess ever since. She shouldn’t have had to. Our fate should have been guaranteed. Instead, we had to use you, and you might be one of his bastards for all we know. ”

Bruin clenched the word pathetic in between his teeth. He wanted to scream, “YOU STILL HAVE ALL THE RESOURCES! YOU STILL HAVE ALL THE GUARDS! PEOPLE ARE DEPENDING ON YOU FOR NO REASON, YOU ARE ON THE THRONE FOR A LIE.” And even more, “HOW DARE YOU EVER IMPLY MY MOTHER WOULD TOUCH YOUR FATHER.” But all the thousands of words choked up in his throat and made him frozen and shaking and rage.

Phillip stood up and started pushing the wheelbarrow again.

 “You know it’s relaxing being around you, Slater. I don’t have to lie to you. I’ve never had that with anyone. It’s nice.”

…………………………………………

Bruin stewed his head as the weeks went by and he was slowly divested of his bandages.

He was going to die again. Phillip was determined to have it happen.

And his thoughts drifted to his mother’s words to him.

“You are not dying for nothing.”

Well, he tried, hadn’t he? He tried to stay alive for his father and now he could only keep his word to one of his parents. And his thoughts rolled toward how… similar Phillip was to the dragon.

He was sentient. He had wants and desires, and he also gave every indication that he would continue to destroy lives easily and swiftly for as long as he lived.

So there was a very simple and brutal way to make his second death count, and it was one Bruin was hesitating to do.

 It was a line he’d never thought of crossing before. It would risk his family, though he suspected their lives were forfeit regardless of what he did

His mind drifted to the time at the party and the relief on everyone’s faces.

He wanted to be the source of it again. He didn’t want them under Phillip’s thumb.

………………

Bruin spent the next few weeks waiting. Waiting, to be strong enough. Waiting for his arms to be strong enough to hold a knife and move it in a swift motion, or to knock off some of his medications in the wrong place, when there was no one else around.

Waiting o feel certain he was making the right choice.

He found himself living Phillip’s lifestyle, smiling and trying to keep a face in public while dark thoughts swirled in his head.

He may have done it, if the innkeeper’s wife, Margret didn’t intercede.

Margret had taken on the task of feeding him. She wasn’t the only one, many people had shown their gratitude in the form of soup, but she was the main one.

He liked Margret. She’d talk for a very long time about the going-ons of her family while he ate. He liked her stories. And he didn’t have to talk while she did. She was a stout woman, solidly built, but she probably came up to his collar when he stood at full height. It meant having to crane his neck when she sat next to his bed.

He felt awkward about not doing anything in return for her, so at one point he tried to hobble himself outside to help weed her garden before she dragged him upstairs and reminded that he killed a dragon, they were still paying him back, and he was still healing. She was strong despite her size.

If the prince was around when she visited Bruin, she’d feed him too. She called him such a charming handsome young man and said she wanted to thank him for taking such good care of her homeland. She joked about wanting to get into his good graces.

It made Bruin want to scream. She didn’t know, he wanted to tell her but he couldn’t. He couldn’t even find the privacy to write “Don’t trust him” on a slip of paper and slide it to her.

So it wasn’t a surprise when Margret came up with two large bowls of steaming squash soup and a cask of nice ale.

It was a little surprising when the prince began to gently snore in his chair. But Bruin assumed he’d done it to avoid talking to Margret as he had done several times, by excusing himself from the room or switching duties at the right time.

He was surprised when Margret bunched up her skirt slightly and gave a swift kick to Phillip's shins.

That was when Bruin’s world turned sideways.

The prince didn’t wake up. Margret gave him another sharp kick just to be sure, then dropped her skirts and smoothed them out.

She turned her sunny face towards Bruin. “Ah good, it's working!- now I’m sure you have plenty of questions and I’ll answer them in just a second.”

She bustled her way over to the door, her shoulders tight with visible excitement.

“Johanson, you can come inside! The man is out cold.”

A large man with a coal-black beard came to the doorway. He filled the entire frame. He came into the room tip-toeing.

Margret gestured towards the giant, “This is my brother, Johanson, have you met him yet?”

Bruin’s eyes widened, “Yes, I have- you were the one who told me about the most fire-resistant materials- I bought arrows and a crossbow from you.’

“Glad to be remembered! My sister and I were worried about you.”

“Sister-“ Bruin’s eyes flicked back and forth between them. Where Margret was a head shorter than him, Johanson was a head taller. But on closer look, they had the same apple cheeks and when they smiled and the same hair bordering on frizzy and large biceps. They were definitely related.

There were chairs to the side of Bruin’s room that were used for visitors. The two siblings pulled them out and sat them close to Bruin.

Margret steepled her hands, “A few years ago our sister got married. You might have seen her, she runs the butcher shop- she’s tall, with dark hair, and big arms. He was a poncy fellow and we didn’t like him. We never got to see her when he wasn’t there; he never let her leave the house alone. And she was always quieter around him and didn’t smile as much as she did when we grew up with her. The man never let her leave the house alone, and she was too polite to say anything in front of him. We did this same thing to him.”

Johnson nodded sagely at his sister, “ I started to get worried. You didn’t talk like you did in my shop the first time we met. I thought it was just healing- but he never left you alone, and you don’t act like one of those guards of his. And I asked So-“

“-So he told me I made some of my special drink and here we are. He should just think the drink was stronger than he expected and the meal too heavy.”

Johnson nodded his head towards a large hammer he’d left as a doorstop, “ I also brought my Bessie just in case. I’m hoping we don’t have to use her. She leaves marks and it’s a bit riskier.”

 “So first things first,” Said Johonason, “Are you in any danger?”

Bruin had a thousand things to say. – an emphatic yes- and explanation that he’d been in danger since he was born- the fact the prince was a heartless bastard.

He looked back and forth quickly between the siblings and the sleeping Prince.

He stuck with, “He has my family-or, he says he does. And my mentor”

Margret and Johonason had mirroring looks of sympathy and surprise.

“Shit- Is that why you fought the dragon?”

“No- that was mostly my decision. The royal family did ask me, and I did suspect my family might be in danger if I didn’t. But they weren’t taken hostage until after I defeated it.”

“Why did they ask you?” said Margret “You’re so young- and you didn’t have anything when you came here. Are you actually one of his guards?”

“No. That was a lie. They asked me because if I fail they win. My family's fate is… interesting. Supposedly I’m supposed to fail to defeat a large monster and the person who fights after I fight is supposed to win.”

“Oh, that’s a bad one. We just have one of us works in the mines and whistle some every generation.”

A light rapping on the door interrupted their conversation.

“Margret, I’ve brought medicine, why is the door locked?”

“Oh that’ll be the doctor; I should probably let him in.

It was fairly common for Mordecai to step away while Margret was in the room, taking his necessary breaks and tending to patients outside of Bruin. It never occurred to Bruin until now that two seemed to be on shifts around him, never leaving him alone with the Prince or the guards.

Mordecai was greeted with the tableau of an unconscious prince and Johanson sitting close to Bruin with Margret’s empty chair right next to his.”

“What have you two done?”

Margret was the wave her hands in a ‘relax, shushing motion’

“I just slipped him a little of the herbs you gave my husband for his insomnia. He’ll be fine.”

Her voice went a little high on the fine.

“You’ve drugged a member of the royal family. Margret, you could be arrested or executed for this.”

“Mordecai,” Interrupted Johan, “He’s not a soldier.”

Mordecai squinted at Bruin, “Then why in the hell were you fighting a Dragon?”

Bruin caught him up to where he’d led the siblings. Mordecai had a few more specific educations in relation to his actual education and training and he filled him in as best as he could, leading right back into his new deal with the prince.

“He wants me to fight something stronger than the dragon and fail so that he can defeat it and look stronger and needed. He’s hoping- I think he's going to arrange it so that I die.”

The wind whistled through Johanson’s teeth.

“I thought it might be something nasty. That man washes his hands when he has to touch us. And nothing he’s said has quite added up.”

“I’ve been thinking about killing him.”

He said it quietly but it resulted in the two gentlemen beside him exploding.

“WOOAH WOAH WOAH. You could be- you will be executed for that. How old are you?”

“19”

“That’s too young to throw your life away,” Sputtered Mordecai, “You just survived a life-threatening situation. Don’t be so eager to dive head first into another one.”

“He’s going to kill me anyway.”

“There are a few more solutions. We can smuggle you out of here. Fake your death, there are options,” Johan looked exhausted.

“But my family-“

“We’ll check on your family. I have family in the capital, and we’ll send someone to your hometown. Let’s see if there’s some way we can get them safe before you do something drastic.” Mordecai let

While the two gentlemen looked frantic Margret looked considering, “It’s not the worst idea though. If he’s as bad as you say he is. We just need you to not get caught. Maybe frame bandits on the road, fake a disease. Something that doesn’t get back to us.”

“Margret stop talking about assassination attempts in front of the young man.”

Margret waved him off, “He was already considering it. And 19 is plenty old enough to kill a man. He just shouldn’t do it alone. The poor thing is till invalid.”

And just like that. The world was lighter; Bruin had a possible future again.

He really needed to get better at talking to people.

………………….

After that, he felt like he was lying less, and his smiles were more easier and more honest. He’d gotten a small talent for reading the Prince’s smallest expression and now he’d needle at him and wait for irritation, while he watched people exchange items and necessary information.

They helped him, because he mattered to them.

He liked that.

[onlymingyus]

Your Mess

header edited by me (@chogiwapadada) do not remove the watermark and do not repost

pairing; jeon wonwoo x afab reader

genre; smut (minors dni), angst, fluff

warnings; mentions a fight, crying, reader and wonwoo are sad, comfort, unprotected sex, fingering (for a moment), aftercare

word count; 2.2k and some change

request; yes

a/n; another case of this was going to be a drabble and it got out of hand.

You had your back to Wonwoo as he entered the room. The tension was still so thick, he felt like he could cut it with a knife. He could see you were wearing one of his hoodies and that you were holding your pillow to your chest. What he could also see was the used tissues on the bed from where you had been crying, the sleeves pulled over your hands that were also still discolored and damp from wiping under your eyes. 

The two of you so rarely fought, so when you did it got ugly. Things were said that neither one of you meant but he knew he had gone too far. He had said things he would never say again. He had made that promise to himself and he would make that promise to you if you would accept it. He didn’t even blame you for kicking him out of the room when you had. Hell he would have too. 

That’s why when he tried the door later that same day and found it unlocked he was timid but still moved into the room. You didn’t look back even though you knew Wonwoo was in the room. The door had been locked for hours, you hadn’t wanted to see his face or hear his voice after the things the two of you had said. But then around 30 minutes ago you began to miss him more than you were mad at him and this was your olive branch, the unlocked door and he had taken it. 

The bed sank at Wonwoo’s weight as he sat behind you. His fingers rubbing together under the sleeves of his sweater as he sighed and tried to think of what to say. He wanted to touch you so bad. You never really realize how much you miss someone until you are forced to be away from them, even for a few hours. “Baby? I am so sorry. I…” 

You sniff back tears hearing his voice and Wonwoo’s heart breaks as his eyes widen. “No, oh my god. Please don’t cry, fuck. I am so fucking stupid. I don’t even remember why we started fighting. It got so out of hand. I just want to hold you and make this better. Please, god…please let me make this better?” 

Wonwoo moves closer and tests the waters by placing a hand against the middle of your back. When you don’t pull away but instead cry seemingly harder he can’t help himself as he pulls you into his arms and rests his head on your shoulder from behind as you lean back against him. “Baby please, I’m so sorry.” 

You feel his lips press to your cheek lightly as you lift your hand to press it against his cheek. His eyes close to the feeling of your touch but also your damp sleeve making him furrow his brows. “You need a new hoodie or a shirt. Something…that’s not wet.” You laugh catching Wonwoo off guard as he moves from you looking at you as you sniff back tears looking up at him finally. 

“What’s funny? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.” You shake your head as Wonwoo goes to the closet, taking down another of his hoodies before returning to you to toss it on the bed beside you. “I don’t want another hoodie right now Wonwoo.” He sighs and moves to squat on his heels in front of you looking up at you as he pushes your hair out of your face under your hood. 

“Then just tell me what you want, baby, and it’s yours. Because all I want is for you to not look at me like this. So sad, I don’t want you to cry anymore. I’m so sorry. I’m an idiot. Have I said that?” You laugh into a choked cry as you nod. “Yeah you said that.” Wonwoo smiles and wipes his thumb under your eye wiping away more tears before he leans up to kiss your cheek then leans to press his lips gently to yours once. 

As he starts to pull away you grab his wrist as he cups your face and hold him closer with a small whine before you speak on his lips. “I want you to touch me, kiss me, hold me. Is that wrong? Is it stupid?” Wonwoo’s brows furrow as his chest tightens because it was all he had been wanting the entire day. The moment the door slammed in his face he wanted back in the room and for his lips to be on yours so he could apologize. 

“God, no baby. It’s not wrong or stupid. I love you so much.” You mutter on his lips that you love him too as he moves more to a standing position and leans you back on the bed before pulling from you. His eyes travel off you as you move back on the bed making more room for him before he watches you lift his hoodie from your body and lay it to the side leaving your upper body bare to him. 

A soft groan leaves Wonwoo’s mouth as he nods and tugs his own sweater from his body, discarding it on the floor before he crawls between your legs and presses his lips to your stomach before working the kisses upwards. Your fingers run through Wonwoo’s hair as his mouth gently presses to one of your breasts before his eyes meet yours as he kisses over your nipple making you smile as you lift your hips towards him. 

“Fuck…Wonwoo. I missed you.” He nods in agreement before moving to your other breast running his tongue along your skin making you arch your back towards him as you close your eyes. “Please Wonwoo.” He hums in question before kissing up your neck to your jaw and finally your mouth. “Tell me what you need from me baby. I said, ``Anything you want, it’s yours.” 

When you run your thigh between his legs to press against his erection that was already starting to become painful, Wonwoo groans on your lips and closes his eyes tightly. “You want my cock?” You nod and scratch your fingers along his sides as you whine into a kiss and rub your thigh along his shorts again making him hiss. “Baby...hang on. Shit, you have me so wound up.” 

You smile on Wonwoo’s lips making him laugh as he nips at your bottom lip pulling it out slightly before letting go. “Minx.” You laugh softly and watch him lean back from you as he pulls on your shorts and panties pulling them down your legs in one swift motion as you lift your hips and legs making it easier for him. 

Wonwoo shakes his head as he watches you move your legs to either side of him. His eyes falling between your legs making his mouth water at how wet you are for him. “God baby, you are killing me.” You watch as he manages to unceremoniously kick his shorts and boxers from his legs before he runs his hands along your legs up to your knees and into your inner thighs. When you shiver, Wonwoo smiles and lets one hand reach to run between your dripping folds making you whine. “Wonwoo…I want you.” 

“You have me baby.” You shake your head no and reach down to take his hand causing him to stop moving. “I want you in me.” Wonwoo’s brows furrow before he nods. “Are you sure you are ready?” You tilt your head incregiously at him before using your hand to slip his finger into your entrance so he can feel how wet you are making him groan. “Yeah okay…I just, fuck, I don’t want to hurt you.” 

You watch him take his hand back and suck his fingers clean of you with a groan as he looks at you before moving from between your legs. “Come here babe.” You nod and take his hand as he sits against the headboard and sits you over his thighs. Looking down, Wonwoo groans as he pushes his cock towards your slit teasing your clit with his head making you jump and lift your hips. “Gotta sit on it if you want it in you, beautiful.” 

Wonwoo smirks a bit, more of his cocky bed demeanor coming back as you both get more comfortable. You shake your head with a sigh as you let him help you line up your body and sink your pussy over him slowly. Wonwoo watches your face as you take him in deep and completely as you sit fully on to his lap. Your head falling forward as your hands grip his shoulders, he tilts his head and reaches up taking a breath as he pushes your hair out of your eyes. “You okay?” 

When you nod and moan out a yes, Wonwoo bites his lip and moves his hands over your legs before gripping your hips helping you to start moving as you already start to see stars at how he feels inside you in his position. Your toes curl as you choke back a cry of his name when he starts to lift his hips to meet yours, making your entire body vibrate. “Oh shit, Wonwoo!” 

He leans forward to claim your lips with a loud groan as he feels himself getting closer to his own climax knowing you are getting close with how you are clenching around him. He knew your body almost as well as he knew his own. One of his hands stays steady on your hip helping you move as the other moves to cup your head keeping your mouth on his as Wonwoo groans loudly when he feels you tighten around him like a vice as your orgasm takes hold of you. 

You moan on his lips, your forehead resting against his as your fingers dig into his flesh leaving half moon imprints that he doesn’t even seem to notice. As you ride out your high, rolling your hips over him, Wonwoo groans your name, having to throw his head back as he can’t hold on any longer. You feel warmth spread through you as he cums into you and hisses out a groan through clenched teeth. “Fuck…” 

His hands move to stop your hips as his high starts to fade. Wonwoo licks his lips, catching his breath, when he feels your forehead rest against his shoulder. He can’t help but to smile to the feeling as he moves to wrap his arms around you, keeping you close for just a moment longer in this intimate position. ‘I love you y/n.” 

Smiling against Wonwoo’s skin, you press a kiss to his neck before leaning back in his arms. You run your fingers over his jaw before telling him that you love him too. He hums in appreciation as his eyes travel over your face. “Time for a bath.” You shake your head and whine making him laugh. “Don’t complain. We are stinky. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.” 

You whine as he helps you move off him before he groans sliding off the bed moving towards the bathroom. You hear the bath start to run before he comes back and takes your hand leading you towards the tub helping you in. When you reach for him he leans down to kiss you. “I’ll join you in just a few minutes. I’m going to get you some water and get some sheets so I can change the bed before we lay back down.” 

Shaking your head as you lean back in the warm water, you watch Wonwoo scratch the back of his neck as he leaves the room to do his tasks, making you smile, your comfort was always on the forefront of his mind. You open your eyes to the sound of feet on tile as Wonwoo comes back in the room with a glass of ice water in his hand before he smiles at you. “Where is your water?” He laughs and shrugs, “Figured we’d share.” 

Wonwoo slips in the bath behind you with a content sigh before reaching for the glass making you take a sip before he does the same. His free hand cupping the warm water pouring it over your skin as you lean your head back on his shoulder. Wonwoo can’t help but to smile to himself as he sits the water to the side and wraps his arms around you just holding you in the bath. “I was going to tell you something.” 

You open one eye and glance at him, making Wonwoo laugh as he leans his head to look at you. “I was going to tell you that during the fight…I would have kicked me out of the room too. Also i promise, to me and you I will never say something so stupid again.” You look at Wonwoo fully frowning slightly before reaching up to run your hand along his cheek as you nod. “I believe you. I’m sorry too, you know.” 

Wonwoo nods and kisses your wrist as he leans his head before sighing. “We don’t have to talk about it anymore. I just wanted you to know that. Now, I just want to hold this beautiful woman in my arms and enjoy a warm bath after having some of the best sex in my life.” You laugh and shake your head and close your eyes again. “You are a mess Jeon Wonwoo.” He laughs and nods, “Your mess.” 

——————————————————

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© onlymingyus - all rights reserved. Reposting/modifying of any fic, or pieces of original writings posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations not allowed.  

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave You (Pt.4)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Yoongi makes his choice, so does Moonbyul.

Pairing: Beta! Yoongi, Omega! Reader, Omega! Jungkook, Omega! Seokjin, Alpha! Namjoon, Alpha! Hoseok, Alpha! Taehyung, Alpha! Jimin,

Tags: Graphic material, Death, Murder, Dead bodies and dying described in detail, brief suicide attempt, suicidal thoughts, depression, DARK THEMES, guilt, blood, a touch of blood kink? drugs, murder/crime themes, guilt, kinda fuck or die vibes? finally fluff at the end, mating marks, 

W/c: 7.1k

A/n: here is the moment you’ve all been waiting for! the big d word moment!!! my carpal tunnel is acting up, I will probably not be able to get the next chapter out for a few days or until next week. Chronologically the next chapter continues after part 1. 

(PLEASE READ TAGS FOR CW BEFORE YOU PROCEED)

Previous part — Masterlist

Part 4: If I Have You 

Pulling the trigger is the easiest thing you’ve ever done. 

Geumjae’s body flinches back from the force of the bullet. The ceiling splattering with the spray of his blood. It hits the side of your face too, your white shirt crested with red at the shoulders, dripping down your throat along with the blood from your mating bite. It’s a percussive splatter, noisy as it hits the wall.

People never talk about how blood gets everywhere during a murder. Yoongi is unable to stop his flinch when Geumjae’s brain matter and viscera splatter against him, just a little. 

Yoongi didn't think you'd actually do it. 

He watches you shove the body away from you, hard, what's left of his head, an empty vessel, hitting the floor with a hollow thud. His hands leave you for the last time, but the pain isn't finished. 

Yoongi barely has the forethought to lunge forward, knees scraping, wrestling the gun out of your hand before you can turn it on yourself. The barrel of the gun is hot when Yoongi's hands close around it and yank it away from your own temple. The smell of burning skin joins the metallic scent of murder. Your scent is a mess- it’s barely had a chance to mix with Geumjae’s burning wood-burning bread and wrath, rainstorms, and gunpowder. 

He shouts your name but you don't respond. 

Yoongi yanks the gun from your hands, probably hurting your fingers but panicked when he hurls the gun to the other side of the room and takes your hands in his, wrestling with you and screaming your name until the fight goes out of you. 

You’re hyperventilating when you stop struggling. Both of your wrists pinned above your head in both of Yoongi’s hands, his knees pressing your legs to stillness in a way that could be sexual but isn't- it's the easiest way for him to restrain you- both sprawled on the bloody floor. Yoongi’s crying, tears dripping down his nose, every other drop shines pink from what's on his face.  

“Yoongi please- please just let me go- I don’t want to become a ghost- I don't wanna become a walking corpse.” The way you look breaks his heart, your neck so bruised and bloody, your face swelling too from Geumjae’s hits. The way your eyes hold only darkness and no warmth as you look at him and beg- beg him to let you take your life. Your pupils are so small he can't see them at all. 

“Let me die Yoongi- please just- if you do one thing for me- let do this. let me go."

Yoongi looks at your mating mark and can already see the thin tracery of ink spreading under your skin- inky blackness spreading from your mating bite and up your throat. A piece of someone who’s dead inside of you, shot through with silver to make it stand out more. 

It’s like some silly zombie bite in a bad horror movie but it’s so much more haunting, The veins in your eyes are even starting to discolor. You have maybe a few minutes before the mating bite takes you over completely and you’re mated to someone dead.

Zombie movies were nothing more than fear of this taking root in common culture, everyone fears losing their mate. What else is more terrifying than something that takes your humanity in the way that this has taken yours. This is every person’s worst nightmare- a death sentence.  

��Ghosts’ are what society has dubbed the women and men who live after losing their partners. Most of the time they live without alpha or a pack- unable to bond to anyone else ever again once their mates are dead. Mating bites are a one-time thing. 

When one-half of a mated pair dies- a person's body has a peculiar way of letting outsiders know how to treat them gently- The mating mark turns black like a brand. A mark to let everyone know that they would never have another person to take care of them- to love them.

But you aren’t alone- you’re not alone because you have Yoongi and he’s right here with his wide palms on you. Hands that where always made to fix things, but you aren’t just some broken toy that needs a bit of glue.  He’s too late, just seconds too late and only inches away. 

He grips both of your forearms in either of his palms hands, pulling you closer. Making you sit up, dragging you into his lap like carrying your weight in his arms will fix this. Anything to hold onto you- to not lose you too soon. 

"Stop- just stop, I've got you- I've got you," Yoongi repeats it more for himself than he does for you.

But there are wounds in your body that can’t be fixed by simple hoping. There is a limit to what one person can take. Despair is one hell of a drug and while Yoongi fights and fights there is no undoing what Geumjae has done to you.

But maybe…

Yoongi dares to hope; “It’s only a half bond if we-“ he falls silent as the idea settles over him like a bucket of cold water. His brain rushing over everything he’s ever learned about mating bites and beta’s; all of the statistics and articles that Namjoon had shoved down his throat when Jungkook had first stopped having seizures. 

The medical mystery that betas were; how they were able to heal unseen hurts and maybe- maybe this was like that. Maybe the solution to this problem lays in Yoongi’s veins, in his mouth. 

His jaw aches at the very suggestion of it.  “I’m a beta- and betas don’t usually mark- because- because they’re stronger than alpha and omega bites.” 

It’s the only truth that makes sense. All of the stories of omegas and alphas going crazy after being bitten by betas, not being able to move from them too far, extreme clinginess- a bond that was too close, too strong, stronger than anything else in their life. You weren’t supposed to bond with someone so deep, the bite almost seemed to do more harm than good. 

But you’re already dying and there isn’t much worse that could happen to you.

You don't have anything to lose but Yoongi does. You shake yourself free from his arms and pull back. Recoiling from what he’s offering to do for you; tether him to you forever when you might not make it. 

You can already feel the mating mark taking hold- It's already starting to cloud your judgment, deep down, the part of you that cares if you survive this is already winking out. The blankness sinking through your every inch, The emptiness. You’d be surprised if you lifted your hand to your chest and found your heart still beating. 

“Yoongi- No- you don’t have to- you’ve already got a pack and don’t- don’t bind yourself to someone like me.”

It’s the same argument that you had before but there’s no force behind it- every stupid excuse you had for him not to love you is moot now that your husband is dead next to you. But you're done; Every breath takes more effort than it should and you feel so heavy. You look down at your lap and feel the lethargy sinking beneath your bones like lead. Hidden hands gripping around your throat cutting off your words.

You feel like you’re choking on something. 

You’ve felt depressed before (how could you not have given what your life was like before Yoongi). And having a mating mark from someone deceased feels like that but worse, like it's turned up by a factor of three. A weird mixture of dizzy, absent, and dissociative. You have never felt less connected to your own body, it feels foreign.

You are nothing but a soul inside a body, craving release. A thread of black that wants to tug you down to where ever Geumjae is now. 

The sinking sadness says to you with gentle hands- this is a fine spot. You can just sit here, It’s okay. You don’t have to move, you can just sit here until you die. As long as no one bothers you and hurts you again, you could just sit here, as long as it was quiet and peaceful. Things don't even have to be good, you don't need good things, you just need it to not hurt anymore. Until the earth reclaims you like it takes abandoned buildings. 

 A sharp pain that goes through your heart, an ache so deep that it speaks to cavernous places, wakes monsters that you didn’t know where there. 

You’ve never really wanted to die before, maybe as a passing thought- but didn’t everyone think that way? it’s so different now- where the thoughts are all consuming, running over your words in your head like oil spreading and staining cloth. 

Die- want to die- want- want- want die- wanna go- wanna be quiet- wanna fall asleep and not wake up- want to- 

But if you decided to lay here and not get up again, Yoongi would stay too.

He would try and get you to move, probably beg and try to get you to live. Even if he never bit you, he’d stay next to you until the end, just to hold your hand so that you didn’t have to be completely alone. You thought dying would feel more lonely,  But maybe it doesn't feel that way because Yoongi’s here. 

His hand closes around yours, his thumb rubbing soothing circles as he cries. And you think if you want one thing; it's for him to stop crying. Out of all people- Yoongi doesn't deserve the hurt (but maybe you're biased because you love him).

That tips the scale in his favor.

Geumjae’s blood is pooling on the floor. His body gives a twitch, the last remnants of his misfiring nerves as he dies. You feel the painful jerk in your mating bond. Yoongi watches the muscles of your neck twitch. 

Neither you nor Yoongi pays him any mind. 

"You don't have to do this Yoongi." Yoongi’s hand on your cheek- is like a balm to those words, pushing them out of your head. “You can’t take it back. If I die- you could die too.”

“But I want to” he kisses your cheek- and the contact lights a flame down your neck to your touch starved heart. The heat flares to light and the next second your body and your mouth are aching to bite. Your instincts an avalanche around you begging you to complete the bond that’s tearing through you making you shake. He kisses a little closer to your lips, cheeks wet and cool against your skin.

Geumaje and Yoongi were related by blood at all, maybe your instincts can’t tell the difference. 

“I don’t care if it does- I can’t- I’m not going to just let you die” his voice breaks on the last word. Not when it was me who was too slow to save you; He won’t say the words or whisper his guilt into the open air. 

“Please sweetheart- let me.” He kisses your lips. So soft- achingly soft, Your first kiss, you wish it had happened under better circumstances.

You hate that the first kiss you and Yoongi share tastes like blood.

But there would be more- there could be more kisses if Yoongi manages to do what he’s saying he can. The mark on your shoulder is already healing, the blackness stretching to scar treacherously fast. Normal mating bites usually take a day or so to heal, but not yours, it’s already scabbing and sealing in the poision.

If you’re going to try this- if it’s going to work- it has to be now. The bond is advancing, regardless of the fact that Geumjae is barely dead, barely cooling beside the two of you.

It’s barely been 10 minutes since you shot him. And if you listen carefully- you can hear sounds in the rest of the house, maybe someone else from the gang here- about to come upstairs and discover the mess of you three. muffled voices and heavy footsteps grow louder by the second. 

Yoongi is safe but you’re not. “Yoongi,” you say, his name a broken hymn on your mouth. Musical- and Yoongi can’t think of a time when he wouldn’t want to hear it. Hoping for more of this closeness and maybe one day, a love that doesn’t hurt.

You get the feeling that even if you are broken beyond repair, this man could fix you. Wide hands and careful fingers that rub the blood away from your skin, hands made for making things and mending things when they break. And maybe you’re selfish enough to let him bind himself to you- broken as you are.

You press your forehead to his, you have to ask one more time. "Are you sure Yoongi?"

He nods, quick and small, "I'm sure." there isn’t anything in his eyes that makes you doubt him.

"Okay," you say softly, tugging him closer, tilting your chin up to the sky, your skin stings where it stretches around the mating mark. "okay. Come here then."

Your hands tangle in Yoongi’s hair as you guide his mouth to your throat, and his mouth sliding into the space where Geumjae was just minutes ago. He lingers for just half a breath before sinks his teeth over the mating mark, a little deeper- his mouth a little wider. He makes the bite a tiny bit offset.

Your breath hitches, back arching. His hands-on your waist go hard, holding you closer to him, as close as he can get you. Unlike before when Geumjae’s bite was agony, this feels like heroin- like every drug mixing together sending you up and up.

If you looked down and saw your hands were tipped in gold you wouldn’t be surprised. For a second you think you can taste colors, and then the chocolate sea salt of Yoongi settles over your tongue delicious, like ambrosia- fuck it’s so strong, it’s halfway between a headache and a high. You gasp when you feel it, feel Yoongi all over, Goosebumps rising on your arms as he touches you. The smell of ocean breeze and chocolate filling you in a way that Geumjae’s scent didn’t.

Geumjae’s bite was nothing compared to this, a whisper to a symphony. 

This must be what a mating bite feels like when you want it. You cry out. Gripping the lapels of his coat. Yoongi’s heartbeat thunders in your ears, the only thing you can hear, until the beat matches to your own, heartbeats pumping in sync.

Your blood tastes sweet and he wonders what it says about him that he likes the taste. He gulps at it- once- twice- and then a third time just to make sure the mark sticks, maybe he could suck a little bit of Geumjae out of you.

His kisses get feverish, lapping up your blood with wide laves of his tongue, moaning a little. and this time when you kiss- with your blood in his mouth, they get hurried and rushed like he can consume you, each one sweeter than the last. There is one moment of nausea, only one moment where Yoongi sees the black tracery receded and feels it dim. 

Maybe it’s not gone, but at least it's buried.

Yoongi can almost feel you, can almost feel the bond, but not yet. Your scent, it's all cake-sweet now. You kiss him until your jaw aches until your lips feel bruised. Until you know the sounds below actually are people, rushing around trying to find Geumjae. Calling out your names. 

Yoongi is the first to break apart, the room spinning. “Do me” he lifts the edge of his shirt, picking out a spot that he likes, the meat just above his hip. A spot is half-hidden by his shirt and his pants.

Not everyone likes to have their mating marks on their neck (you certainly would have chosen to have yours another place had you been given the chance). And Yoongi stretches out so that you can get your mouth on him, your mouth on the spot he wants to bind your soul to his.

He holds one of your hands in both of his hands so gently as you cup his hip and bite down, even as you begin to make out the noise of gang members coming up the attic stairs. Yoongi bites down a moan, lets you take one gasp of blood into your mouth before your teeth leave his skin.

The high rushes over him and he knows his pupils are mirrors of yours, black and dilated. He just has time to wipe his blood from your mouth and get you as close as he can, before the attic door creaks, the barrel of a gun pushing it open. And the gangsters enter the room with practiced steps.

Yoongi pulls his shirt back down just before they have a chance to see.

You play the part, slumping against him and letting him take the reigns. the people must take it for pain even though you’re shaking not with sobs, but from the feeling of Yoongi’s soul intertwining with yours. Full body shivers and something solidifying between the two of you. 

Together you shake, Yoongi is barely aware of the gangsters clearing the room. 

You feel like you can taste his thoughts, though you can’t actually hear what he's thinking. You can feel the way they tumble like small waves over each other. You feel concern and something else, something that feels an offal lot like love shoot down the fledgling bond as Yoongi’s arms pull you up, firmer against him.

It makes shivers rise on every inch of your skin, the pleasure he feels when he touches you that you're now hyper-aware of. It's what your body has been craving- the completion of the bond.

You both bleed- your blood dripping onto the floor. One part sacrament and sacred love and another part poisonous longing for a man you hated so much more than you ever loved him. This feels strange, it feels wrong, and that you have one part of you reaching out for something that’s not there. And then this- with Yoongi, right and front of you and inside of you. Completely occupying your heart and your mind and your body.

Accept for that one poisoned inch; you might not be completely his, but it's enough now, the bond with yoongi occupying those thoughts you'd had minutes before.

The gangsters don’t touch Geumjae, at least until Moonbyul enters the room, unarmed. Yoongi’s cousin eyes Yoongi from the door. There isn’t enough room in this torture room for the 12 or so gangsters and the three of you, they press against the walls, guns at the ready.

Moonbyul approaches Geumjae’s corpse, turning him over with her foot to see his blankly staring face, turning it towards the heavens instead of hell. For a moment, Yoongi thinks she might actually kick him. She plucks her pink handgun from the floor. Someone passes her a rag and she wipes it free of blood and fingerprints.

Her eyes on Yoongi are hard; a bit of mirth playing on the edge of her mouth as she plays her hand. A queen in a room full of pawns and knights, and the king underfoot. Her hand of aces. 

Betting it all on a simple game of roulette- red or black- will Yoongi challenge her or not. Yoongi doesn't miss the way her finger hovers on the trigger. 

“I suppose this entire situation would be concerning to me- if you hadn’t already named me as Don.” she nudges Geumjae's body again with her foot. "I guess he didn't take it well?"

She lies effortlessly, taking the moment to seize power. So this was what she was waiting for. Yoongi doesn’t challenge her words for fear of what she might do right now, not that he really would anyway. 

Yoongi tips his head forward in difference, “No he didn’t,” 

Moonbyul tucks her gun back into her waistband, and holds out her hand to pull yoongi to his feet. 

Yoongi takes you with him, small and still a little high in his arms. You hide your face in Yoongi’s shoulder, Holding onto him tight. You don’t know if you could take it if they tried to separate you now. 

Yoongi has to swallow to continue, struggling to think before he speaks with so many new sensations shocking his body. He's intimately aware of the way you shift in his arms, arms tightening around you at the very idea of you moving more than an inch away from him right now as you settle onto your own two feet. still a little unsteady. 

“He- he mated her against her will, and then he tried to kill us when I told him I wouldn’t- and- and after-” It’s not a lie- not really, but it still feels that way. Moonbyul doesn't need to do anything more than that to nod to call her men off, and they all relax around the room. 

They instantly fade from engaged concern to understanding. The other heads of household will probably grill Yoongi more. But you’ve both got time to get your story straight. For now, they need to clean up the body.

It helps that threatening the beta is a punishable offense; no one will question Yoongi killing him- especially since they’re brothers. Most of the families tend to think that inner house spats that family's business. Yoongi doesn’t know which of his relatives will inherit the title of head of the Min family, but it won't be Yoongi.

You’re small and silent in Yoongi’s arms, so vulnerable, he keeps you a few paces away from any of the mobsters, bites down a growl whenever any of them come too close to his mate. It’s just the mating bond making it’s self-known. You are his. No one can touch you.

Yoongi has never been a possessive man, but now he is. The mating mark tearing through him and screaming at him to protect, to provide, to nurture, and keep safe. He strokes down your back as his cousin quietly orders the others to clean up the mess and Geumjae’s body. The family has cleanup crews on call for this very reason.

They quietly offer to burn the house down to stage the death but Yoongi doesn’t care. He guesses it belongs to him now or maybe you. It depends on which bond the family will consider more important; the bonds of a half mating or the bond of brotherhood.

“I’ll handle it-“ his cousin has the good grace to offer comfort to Yoongi that way when he gets you into her car. she doesn't say anything about the dents in the side.  

Yoongi doesn’t quite hate her for any of this, but he doesn’t trust her the same way he did before either. She’s gotten what she wanted- the Don position. Plucked it from Yoongi’s hands.

“You haven’t had a chance to call the heads of house and tell them about your decision yet, but after that, you should be free to go” she reads him easily as always, The only other manipulator up to par with Yoongi himself in the gang. She knows that not an inch of Yoongi wants to stay in this house or this city a second longer.

At the idea of leaving you to straighten up in Yoongi’s lap to listen in a little more, you share a look with Yoongi. Your mate, your body sings the eye contact makes you shiver in your seat. Yoongi pulls you closer, stroking up to your arm mistakenly thinking you’re cold. You pull yourself closer to him- but it feels like you can’t get close enough, He makes a dissatisfied noise in his throat.

Yoongi will have to get used to this feeling. Like his soul is walking outside of his body. It feels incredibly vulnerable and intimate- He can feel your panic, how physically you’re being torn apart right now, every few minutes you shake. Yoongi puts your legs over his and holds you close. Watching your face closely for every twinge of pain as the lights of the city flicker over you two.

The meeting with the heads of house is tense, though the usual group of is two short now, standing only at eleven members now that Geumjae is gone and Moonbyul is named Don. You cannot be Don and a head of house at the same time.

It takes every bone in Yoongi’s body to let you be taken into the other room by Moonbyul’s mate to check over your injuries. He stops her with a hand on her shoulder. He catches Moonbyul’s nostrils flare, but she doesn’t say anything. “Would you look at her bruises for me?”

Later Yoongi will check them himself, again and again until he's sure you're all right. But the sooner you get ice on the nastier bruises the better off you’ll be. Someone should look at your ribs and your head too- he has half a mind to take you to the hospital before you leave the city. He doesn’t know how long it will be before you’re stationary again. He’d stay in the city tonight if you needed to. But he can feel your panic down the bond, The sooner you both get out of here the better.

With Geumjae dead there is no true opposition against his cousin's rule. She stands at the head of the table like she’s meant to be there. And still- the heads of the families talk through the night, kicking the non-proverbial dead horse into the ground. There is little mourning for Geumjae, one granny who cries faintly in the other room while the heads argue. Yoongi supposes he should look more upset, but no one pays attention to him now that he’s made his choice.

No, what they spend most of the time discuss is you. Sat in the other room, able to hear all of this, the men and woman weighing your fate and deciding what to do with you. If Yoongi listens, he can hear Hyejin’s quiet voice. Can feel your discomfort as the ice hits your ribs, maybe broken, definitely badly bruised.

Yoongi flinches every time he feels the pain pulse down the bond. Maybe in time, it will feel less sensitive but right now- Yoongi can feel your hurts just as bad as he can feel his own. A part of him is reaching out into the other room, screaming in his ear to go comfort his mate.  

He has a mate. Yoongi can scarcely believe it.

The gangsters around the table remain blissfully unaware of that fact. Most of the heads are on the same page, and he won’t reveal his mating mark unless he absolutely needs to, he will let that secret stay secret unless necessary. It’s a good bargaining chip. They wouldn’t kill you if they knew it was going to kill him too. But still- it’s hard to hear them argue over your fate when he can’t intervene.

“You know the rules- no divorces and no separations,” one alpha says, he’s older- nearing 60, but Yoongi can’t excuse that cruelty with age. The youngest, the head of the Ahn house does the rebutting for Yoongi, and he bites his tongue.

“But it wouldn’t be a divorce; she’s his widow now and his ex-mate technically.”

“Yes but that’s only a half bond.” There is only one omega head, and the woman snubs her long cigarette out on the table leaving an ashy circle 

“It’s only the alpha bite that matters- or have you forgotten?”

To her credit, the omega doesn't back down. “Chances are she’ll die anyway why are we even talking about her, we should start transitioning already.”

“That’s easy to say- if she’s got nothing left to lose what’s to stop her from going to the police.”

“I can keep an eye on her,” Yoongi volunteers, jumping at the chance to turn the discussion to his favor. They can all go fuck themselves if they ever dare to try and hurt you. “You say she’s as good as dead anyway. So you shouldn't mind if she comes with me.” 

The likelihood of anyone living after their mate dies is in the teens. Yoongi knew that and even then he bonded to you anyway. He can only hope that with his bite coursing through your veins and your body confused that you’ve got better odds than that. Yoongi did what he promised to do, now your odds are both 50/50. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t go to the police.”

Through the bond he can feel your curiosity and a little bit of fear too, you’re listening in. And he does his best to let his calmness comfort you too. Your panic instantly relaxes and he senses you reaching out. If you were next to Yoongi you’d be holding hands, and it kind of feels that way. If you could ever hold hands with someone’s soul.

“You realize that if you make her your responsibility, anything bad that happens will fall on your head as well” their betas might be sacred- but they aren’t free from the rest of the laws of the gang.

“I understand.” The Don lifts her head, regarding Yoongi with a heavy look. “She’s his widow and whether we want to address it now or not, the law says she’s inherited his wealth.”

It's met with immediate opposition, several heads of house start speaking over each other at once,  but Yoongi speaks up again, shouting over them. A beta raising their voice is about as strange as one giving or getting a mating bite, everyone falls silent. “Give it to me or her- I don’t care.”

another few minutes and they’re ready to let you go. they vote on it, and only 3 out of 11 heads vote to have you killed. Moonbyul gives the all clear, “Then you’re free to go.” Yoongi doesn’t even say goodbye, going to you in the other room just as quickly as he can without outright running. The Don’s mate is crouched in front of where you sit. Your body is mostly clean of blood and you’ve been put in other clothes; a pair of sweats and a baggy shirt.

Yoongi can see all the bruises on the side of your face turning purple and Yoongi wants to cup your face and bring it to his, kiss away the pain coloring your skin like watercolors, but can’t do it here. “Do we need to go to the hospital?” 

“Not for her but maybe for you, no ones checked you over yet, have they?”

yoongi grits his teeth, seconds away from snapping at hyejin, he wants her to get away, get as far from you as possible. “i asked if she needed the hospital.” 

Hyejin stands when Yoongi crouches. shaking her head when it becomes clear yoongi isn’t to be argued with right now. “There’s something wrong with her- but I think you know what” her eyes hover on Yoongi’s hip.

 So at least she’s figured it out. She has the good sense to utter the words quietly. Though the people in the other room aren’t concerned with Yoongi anymore, they’ve already launched into discussions about transitioning power and re-defining responsibilities. It seems Moonbyul had a plan on how she wanted the family to run from the beginning.  

He shakes off his annoyance, “Thank you,” he says to the omega, holding out a hand to you, which you take, still not saying anything. Tiredness holding you down to the chair. The same kind of look you’d had when Geumjae had died. The mating mark has been taped over but some of the blackness is still there. Yoongi wonders when it will fade, if it ever does.

“I wish I could say I’ll see you soon but I don’t think I will.” You and Yoongi nod, your hands twined between the two of you. She knows that neither you nor Yoongi has a love for the gang. No one stops you and Yoongi when you leave the house. Immediately hailing a taxi. You stop only at Yoongi’s safe house for a spare 20 minutes, while he packs up a fraction of his belongings in a hurried rush, anything to get out before someone tries to change their mind.

If Geumjae had any hidden loyalists the beta that killed him and his runaway wife would be the first targets. Let alone their reaction if they knew who had really killed Geumjae. The quicker the two of you get away from the city the better.

You end up at the train station, Yoongi breaks the bracelets off of your wrist- the same ones that he saw you wear on you the first night- and the ones that he’s always thought looked like shackles. He yanks at them as hard as he can until they snap; kissing your wrist after each one is off. You throw them over the side of the chain-link fence and into the darkness- to be lost forever you hope. The symbols of all you’ve lost.

When you get on the train, you cuddle close under Yoongi’s jacket and into his warmth. He’s a protective barrier between you and the third seat that thankfully remains empty this late into the night it’s so late it’s nearly early morning. Most of the train is empty besides an elderly couple at the front. Regardless, the two of you sit behind them. Yoongi can’t take his eyes off of the potential threat. Actually flinches when the conductor comes around to stamp your tickets.

You head off into the night- your little box of light in a sea of street lamps and hidden dangers. You almost fall asleep a few times, head bobbing as you catching yourself before it hits his shoulder. After the third time this happens he pulls you in close, tucks your head close to his scent gland, and commands “sleep” in a voice that you cannot disobey.

Eventually, you wake, the car is bright with the midday sun and the car is half full. Yoongi’s eyes are bloodshot as they train on every passenger who comes in and leaves your train car. Yoongi holds your hand, rubbing his thumb up and down the back in an endless trail. A conductor opens the door of your train car to pass through, bunching a few tickets here and there from the new passengers who have boarded the train.

He passes by where you're bundled and Yoongi flinches so hard it wakes you fully. his shoulder accidentally nudging a bruise on your cheek, He murmurs his apologies, panicked hands fussing over you. He could feel that he hit one of your bruises and the horror of hurting you make him wide-eyed and worried. You catch his hands, pressing the pads of them to your lips. Yoongi's hands shake as they touch you, hours later, he's still high on adrenaline. 

“You need to sleep Yoongi” it’s been a long few days for both of you.

He doesn’t answer with more than a grunt. But you get off the train at the next stop and it’s nearing noon by the time the two of you stumble across the street to a motel, and it’s shitty and smells like cigarettes and the lady at the front desk asks if you need the hourly rate or the daily rate. Though she does give you a discount because Yoongi’s a beta. Eyeing the blood-soaked collar of his jacket and the bloody bandages on your neck.

You should be holed up somewhere safe away from prying eyes to adjust to your new mating bite- not in a hotel where the smells of other people assault your nose. Making you press close to Yoongi because everything smells so new and scary. Like your senses have been turned up and only Yoongi can quell their sensitivity.

you don’t realize that the attendant gave you two beds until you get to the room. you both stare blankly before you cough and separated. the closeness too much now that you’re alone and free from threats. Though it doesn't feel that way. 

you hate it- you don’t want to curl up across the room from Yoongi- you want to be next to him. you almost whimper when he He steps away to the other bed to set down his backpack. You want to cry, your skin feels irritated and itchy without his pressed to yours. You want him to touch you but you can’t stay it. Don’t know how to ask around the thickness in your throat.

He gets a clean shirt from his black backpack and helps you put it on so that you don’t irritate the mating bite. You can’t lift either of your arms much and neither can he but he pushes through the pain for you. He only has 2 or three sets of clothes that he grabbed from the cottage, and it’s all you’ve got.

“We’ll get some more clothes for you tomorrow.” He doesn’t say that you should have grabbed some of your clothes- because you both know you couldn’t handle staying in that house a second more than was necessary. You barely thought to linger long enough to grab your purse, which thankfully had everything you really need in it. 

Somehow he has athletic tape in his bag, and he spends a few minutes changing out your soaked through bandages, bundling up toilet paper, and taping it over your mating bite. Only after yours is taken care of does he let you do the same for his bite on his hip, and the burns on his hands. 

You pull his pants off and then his boxers down just enough so that you can get at it, small from your mouth, the skin around it irritated and pink. You try not to let your eyes hover on the small happy trail that traces from his belly button downwards. The band on his boxers is stained with blood- and you wonder how much it hurt to have it dig into it all day.

You curl up in separate beds, and only when you’re under the covers do you slide off your pants. leaving you only in a large shirt that smells like yoongi.  Yoongi does the same, says “goodnight” and shuts off the light but doesn’t turn away from you, keeping his eyes on you in the darkness. 

You’re silent for a few minutes, but you can tell that neither of you is falling asleep. Your bed feels cold and you wonder if he feels the same, you let the distance hurt for a minute before you give in.  

"Thank fucking god-" He peels back the blanket for you the second you make the move and dash across the cold room. you scoot into his warmth and he lets out a little ‘oof’ when you collide. Letting him pull you closer, put the blanket over your back, and make sure all of your skin is covered.

It’s not enough for Yoongi and he pulls you sideways so that he can get some of his weight on top of you. A growl building in his chest at the thought of anyone walking through the door right now.

He needs to check the lock, make sure that no one can possibly disturb you. Needs to- the instinct filling him so harshly he can’t breathe. He tries to pull away, but your hands tighten on him, and you let out a whine so heartbreaking that instantly has him releasing comforting chocolate, flopping back on top of you nuzzling under your chin, you feel like you’re drowning in it. 

Your love with Yoongi is still too new and raw to be close like this without feeling shy- and yet you can’t resist, your mating bond is like a fresh burn that you can’t stop picking at because it hurts. (Like there’s something dead there that you need to get rid of, you can’t heal around, you need to tear it out so that it feels more like bleeding rather than something that was carved out by hungry heat.) You fiddle with the bandage at your neck before Yoongi takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together.

For a moment, you crave the release that blood might give you- and like he can feel it. Yoongi presses a kiss to the back of your hand. “Couldn’t sleep?” Yoongi says. You shake your head. The motel creeks and overhead you can hear someone else moving in an adjacent room. Yoongi gets his head on your pillow and adjusts his hand around your waist so that he’s not hitting the vicious bruise that Geumjae left with one of his kicks.

The last 24 hours have been such a tangle. It feels weird to not move now. Yoongi’s heart is still hammering; you can feel it under your palm. You’re both unwilling to relax and close your eyes even for a second even though you’re both exhausted.

You’re worried if you close your eyes you’re going to see Geumjae's face.

Yoongi left the light in the bathroom on for you. Sensing that the shadows would be too thick with nightmares for you to handle for long. You look at each other in the darkness before Yoongi lets out a shaky little giggle.

“Do you know what I just realized?” he says, the words quieted against the too scratchy bedspread. “We could have gotten a better hotel, we easily have enough money for it now” and that’s true.

If Yoongi’s orders were followed and the gang's accountant really did transfer all of your inherited wealth to your name then- fuck- both of you saw the bank statements. Both of you know how much money Yoongi’s family had amassed- the same wealth that Geumjae had inherited and now you.

“Fuck you’re right,” you say, ducking in so that you don’t have to meet Yoongi’s eyes. Geumjae used to hit you sometimes if you did that- and trained habits die-hard. 

yoongi kisses your brow, slow little pecks that travel down your cheeks, as unhurried as they are sweet. It's strange to be close to him now when it’s all you’ve wanted for the last few months. You never thought you’d get this. It feels like a daydream and a nightmare all at once.

“We could buy a whole house- or three” and even then you’d have more than enough money to live on after. For the rest of your days, comfortable and cozy even if you were foolish with the money. Yoongi still gets his stipend from the gang. No doubt to be greater now that he’s the only beta.

He stops his kisses, mouth hovering on your cheek, “We could do that.” he sounds like he’s barely containing his excitement. 

You’ll both be fine. Neither of you will ever have to worry about money again and it makes you feel sick and happy with something that feels a terrible lot like grief.

Even if you got that- the last 24 hours haven’t been worth it. You’re not entirely out of the woods yet. The mark on your shoulder is scabbing over and inky. But every few hours of closeness that the two of you have- Yoongi think’s he sees the color fade- just a little bit.

You don’t know where the giggle comes from but one moment it comes out of your mouth and you laugh, and Yoongi joins in the sound startling out of his chest. He presses his forehead tight against yours and sighs at the sound. You see the moment clarity falls on him and an idea settles into his mind the second it hits. And dim happiness settles over your bond.

Yoongi lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses your bruised knuckles. “Let's buy a house.”

You smile- tired from today but still willing to placate him. “Okay Yoongi, we can do that.”

Now finally, his eyes are starting to droop, every few seconds he tries to keep them open, but you know he's seconds away from sleep. His words slurred when they whisper, his sweet chocolaty breath tickling your cheeks. “Goodnight sweetheart- love you.”

“Love you too,” it’s the first time you’ve ever said those words to each other. It feels like the first of many times you’ll say it. Forever- you and Yoongi will be mated together until you both die. And who cares if that happens tomorrow or months from now. Who cares? Because you have him and that’s all that matters.

Yoongi holds you and knows- that he will love you- as long as he can.

He watches you sleep, waits until your eyes are closed. Until he can make sure you’re safe and warm. A gentle purring fills the hotel room, soft and peaceful. yoongi hears it louder when he presses his ear to your chest. He tries to keep his eyes open, but somewhere around the second hour- they fall closed.

Neither of you dream.

—————

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[messers-moony]

Cheating | F.H

Paring: Five Hargreeves X Fem!Reader

Summary: Klaus gives Five’s girlfriend a dare to see how he’ll react.

“ Are you sure this a good idea? “ Klaus queried as Y/n began applying makeup to her neck, “ What do you mean? “ Y/n asked in response as she looked in the mirror to stare at the male.

“ He’s an assassin, for Christ sakes! He’s going to literally kill me. “ Klaus retorted as if it were the most obvious thing ever, “ And so was I. “ Y/n beckoned, turning around.

Klaus sighed, “ I know that. I just don’t think this is a good idea. “ Klaus repeated, and Y/n crossed her arms, “ Well, it was your idea in the first place. “ Y/n informed.

“ I know. “ Klaus said defeated, “ Great! All you have to do is stay in our apartment. It’s not that bad. “ Y/n spoke as she began walking to the kitchen.

“ I suppose. What do you wanna do in the meantime? “ The male asked as Y/n grabbed snacks, “ Mario kart? “

Klaus grinned, “ Perfect! “

Y/n and Klaus sat on the couch playing the game for hours on end. Truth be told, Y/n was relatively fearful that Five would take this prank too far, considering how possessive he is with her.

Nonetheless, Y/n knew that if things got out of hand, she’d be able to stop him. Just a few days ago, Klaus thought of the brilliant idea to prank Five, saying how Y/n was ‘cheating’ on him.

Obviously, he didn’t expect Y/n actually to do it. It was a playful comment that held absolutely no meaning, but Y/n was determined to go through it. Honestly, she wanted to see what he’d do too.

The plan was Y/n would make a hickey on her neck with makeup. It was the most cliché way of going about it but definitely the most practical. Klaus would be in the bedroom, and when Y/n gave the signal, he’d enter the main room.

Hanging out with Klaus was definitely the most effective way of getting Five’s jealousy through the roof. He loved his girl with all of his heart and wanted no one to take her from him. This was the girl he planned to spend the rest of his life with.

Five initially hated this girl. She was cocky, sarcastic, and witty beyond belief. The girl worked at the commission and was assigned his partner, which they both despised, seeing as they were both independent.

However, since time works in weird ways, they both became fond of each other. She found herself catching feelings for him much before he did himself. It took months for them to become friends, let alone love interests, but it happened.

Now, Five couldn’t ever get enough of her. Being with Five was like endless cuddles, kisses, affection, and meaningful conversations. The communication between the two lovers was through the roof. No stone was ever left unturned.

“ Okay, Five just texted me saying he’s three minutes away. Go hide in the bedroom. “ Y/n rushed as Klaus jumped up from the couch, “ Yep! “ Klaus shouted from the bedroom.

Y/n began cleaning up the mess they left, and when Five entered the room, he discarded all unneeded items. Then he walked towards his loving girlfriend, washing dishes.

Five walked towards her and wrapped his arms around her waist gently. She’d be lying if it didn’t make her cheeks flush a brilliant pink color. The male nuzzled his nose into her shoulder.

“ I’m home, my love. “ Five’s muffled voice spoke as her shoulder covered his mouth, “ Nah, I couldn’t tell. “ Y/n retorted sarcastically.

The female placed the dishes in the sink and turned around his arms. Now they faced each other, both her hands cupping his cheeks as his green eyes stared into her e/c ones. Both were in a loved-filled daze, and Y/n completely forgot about the prank.

That is, until Five moved some hair from her neck, noticing the discolored skin, “ Love? “ Five slightly pouted, “ Mmm? “ Y/n hummed in response, unable to follow his eyes.

Suddenly his love-filled eyes turned more with an upset look, “ What's on your neck? “ Five asked curiously as he gently swiped his finger over the makeup, “ I- I don’t know what you’re on about. “ Y/n nervously stated.

“ I need to ask you a question, and you need to answer honestly. “ Five spoke with his voice as firm as possible, making Y/n nod and gulp in response, “ Are you cheating on me? “

Fives hands went from her waist to her cheeks, and hers fell to her side. Y/n let out a sigh, not locking eyes with his. Admittedly she was surprised with how calm he managed to stay during this whole situation.

He took her silence as a yes and let go of her. Without another word, he walked into the bedroom. This prank had failed because she wasn’t planning on him being so calm. But when he entered the bedroom to see a boxer wearing, that’s when his anger released.

“ What the fuck! “ Five yelled from the bedroom, “ Shit! “ Y/n cursed, running to the bedroom.

She found Five holding Klaus against the wall choking him, not killing him but making it painful.

“ Five! “ Y/n yelled, “ You won’t lay your hands on my girl ever again. Cause I swear to god if you do, I will kill you myself- “ Five spat as he ignored his girlfriend, yelling at him.

“ It was a prank! “ Y/n shouted, and Five immediately dropped Klaus, “ That got your attention. “ Y/n murmured.

Five looked at her, and through his anger-filled look, she could see his eyes filled with tears. He was trying so hard not to cry when sneering at Klaus, and she could see that now. Klaus scrambled up and left the room. He probably left the apartment too.

When Klaus left is when Five fell apart, “ This was all a prank? “ Five managed through gritted teeth, “ Mhm. “ Y/n hummed.

“ Prove it. “ Five demanded, and Y/n sighed.

The girl walked over to her vanity and grabbed a makeup wipe. She showed him the white towel and rubbed it over the makeup on her neck. Afterward, she handed him the towel, now covered in blue and purple makeup while her neck was its original color.

Gently Five lifted her jaw and moved the hair from that area to see it completely gone. To say he was relieved would be putting it lightly. The girl who he loved and planned to marry had just lifted every weight off his shoulders.

Without a second thought, he embraced her tightly, and she did the same, “ If you do that again, I will kill you. “ Five spoke, “ I won’t. “ Y/n responded.

“ Good because I love you too much. “

[erodasfishtacos]

“are y’not gonna let me finish my workout, little minx?” h is working out and the missus is horny seeing him all sweaty and his muscles flexing 🥵

gangrry.

-

YN was on the stationary bike in their home gym. Her legs were pushing the pedals with laziness due to being distracted.

Her husband was currently shirtless, only in a pair of short black athletic shorts and his trainers as he did bicep curls with large weights.

His skin was glistening, no clear space from his neck disappearing into his shorts of his naturally pale skin just tattoos.

“Focus, brat,” Harry makes deadly eye contact through the mirror as he watches her put no effort into the workout.

“Fuck off,” She replies sweetly, keeping her feet at the same, snails pace as she watches his back muscles flex tightly.

Harry grunts as he finishes out his last repetition of curls before dropping them heavily on the ground, and turning towards her.

“Y’not in here to try to fuck me. Y’need more stamina. If you had it, y’wouldn’t have a fucking black eye,” His shoulders are tight and a angry frown on his face.

YN softens, stopping her movement completely,“Stop blaming yourself. It’s not your fault that guy punched me. I wasn’t paying close enough attention.”

Harry trails over, unhappy as he thumbs over the discolored skin, “It is m’fault. Y’my wife, the only person I care about protecting.”

“I think you made up for it in the fact that you literally murdered them right after they did it,” YN replies, grabbing at his wrist to kiss his palm.

It was so interesting when Harry melting into this loving, protective, vulnerable person that he’d never been around anyone but YN.

“Kill anyone f’you. I just can’t let anything ever happen t’you,” Harry says forcefully, “You’re my only reason.”

Harry didn’t hug before YN.

Harry would have pushed the person off with a scoff or tensed up like he was going to be attacked - he’d never understood the gesture.

But now he asked for hugs.

He felt comfort when he could wrap up his wife into a tight hug with his nose buried into the nice-smelling locks that adorn her.

He had also had to learn that physical closeness didn’t always mean sex. He could enjoy having someone close to him without the intent of more.

YN steps off the bike to embrace him, arms tight around his middle and digging her face into his strong pec.

He responds instantaneously, pulling her in as close as humanly possibly to him , and his strong arms coming to wrap around her shoulders.

“You can’t protect me from everything,” YN reminds him quietly, hands trailing underneath the band of his shorts to massage at his hips.

“Yes, I can,” Harry mutters back defensively with a sharp edge.

YN shakes her head, knows it’s a losing battle, and pulls back a little to make eye contact with his dark, irritated glare.

“I love you,” She murmurs simply, thumb coming to rub over her own name thats inked boldly on the side of his neck.

Harry’s heart rate jumps embarrassingly enough every time his wife tells him that, he responds truthfully, “y’the only thing on this earth I love.”

YN leans up to brush their lips, fingers slipping into the front of his shorts to be met with the hot, thick skin of his length.

She giggles girlishly, “Worst gang leader to every roam London street and he gets a hard on when his wife tells him she loves him.”

Harry chuckles darkly, reaching down to grip her wrist tightly, and move it to his cock to wrap around it.

“Y’the only one who gets this cock, s’you got to take care of it,” He hisses when she squeezes right underneath the tip with delicious pressure.

YN shrugs, “I don’t know…I was in the middle of an intense work out.”

“Mm, tha’ work out consisted of you daydreaming about how y’want me to fuck you. Now tell me, brat, wha’d you decide on?”

When YN’s avoids eye contact, gets a bit shy, and nibbles on her bottom lips - he fucking goes crazy for it.

His tone becomes more goading, encouraging, “C’mon, already know y’not gonna let me finish my workout. Tell me how y’picture me givin’ it t’you and I will. Always give it t’you like y’want.”

“Thought about you fucking me in front of the mirror,” YN’s becoming a bit breathless with it.

Before her, Harry never even knew what sexy was. He thought it was the girls who’d come right up to him in clubs and offer him a blowie outright.

The girls who would be begging to be choked and called him daddy during their first encounter were the norm.

But when he met YN who was more subtle, made Harry work to figure out what she wanted, and then instead of trying to impress him just enjoyed the pleasure he gave her.

Well…he can’t imagine ever being attracted to anyone but his wife ever again.

The girls at the clubs could go for hours, in different positions that didn’t even feel good or elicit pleasure, and they never shut up with the dirty talk.

He’d never been more attracted than when YN got whiny because her thighs were tired, when the only words out of her mouth weren’t dirty but little praises of adoration and love, and when she was so fucking aroused still but exhausted that she laid there lazily encouraging H to do all the work.

He would have never guessed those were his actual turn ons, not the generic ones all the girls have picked up off watching too much porn.

In no time, Harry was sat on the workout bench, facing the mirror, with YN riding him facing towards the mirror as well.

Her movements were slow from her previous bike exercise, and she was more focused on anything of just grinding instead of bouncing.

Her eyes focused on where they connect, his shaft occasionally peeking out just to be encased again. Harry was going to let her do this for as long as she wanted, his hand finding home in her sensitive nipples.

It wasn’t turning into the heated, high-intensity sex he was expecting but rather a slower, more intimate bonding that he secretly liked even more than the former.

“Baby, look at how y’pretty pussy takes me. Know s’your husband’s cock, hmm? Let’s me right in,” He coos, smirking when she squeaks at a hard tweak of her nipple.

He’d never had slow, nonrushed, emotions-attached sex before his wife.

Now he couldn’t get enough.

“H, please,” She whimpers, he knows what she wants.

“Ask me nicely, brat,” He hums in return, watching her thighs flex to keep herself balance, her breasts heaving as she breathes heavily.

“Touch me,” YN chirps sweetly, hand laying lightly over his when he finds her swollen bud - her eyes hazily focused on where they’re joint.

“Tha’s it, did it proper. Good job,” He praises when he feels her tense up around him, walls hugging him tightly as her whines turn into beautiful moans.

Harry can’t help but snicker when she goes dead weight after she rides out her release, leaving Harry to do all the work as he sits up and pounds up into her.

“Selfish little brat.”

But there is a disgusting amount of fondness laced into the insult as he smears kisses on her shoulders and comes himself.

[gothgirlmahi]

City Girl Saga: Beginnings

Series Summary: Lee can’t help but be drawn to the new waitress at the diner. She’s pretty, (almost) twice-divorced and Lee can’t help but think she’s hiding something. Or running from something. He doesn’t know if starting an affair with her is the best decision he could make, but he’s going to do it anyway.

This is going to be a series of one shots and drabbles. I might not post them all in chronological order but the masterlist will be arranged that way.

Chapter Summary: Lee Bodecker meets you for the first time.

Masterlist (coming soon)

--

The first time Lee laid eyes on you, he knew he wanted you. He could remember the first time he saw you in the diner. You were prettier than you had any right to be, dressed up in your uniform and dashing around the small place. Your eyes looked tired but you seemed energetic enough as you buzzed around, wiping down tables and serving the few customers in the place.

He beckoned you over and taking a glance at his table, you ran to get the coffee pot before coming over to him.

“Just what I wanted,” he said as you poured the cup, an easy smile on your face. As you leaned over he caught a glimpse of something dark just below your collar. Discolored skin and—bruises. There were bruises below your collar.

He looked down at your hand around the pot handle and didn’t see a wedding ring. He didn’t have time to dwell too much on the thought because you said something to him.

“Anything else, sheriff?” you asked. Your voice was sweet and melodic, something he knew he wanted to hear more of. He glanced at your name tag, pinned on your dress near your collarbone. He said it out loud and liked the way it rolled off his tongue.

He shook his head.

“A slice of pie.”

“Apple or cherry?”

“Apple. My favorite.”

You nodded and ran off behind the counter before he could say anything else. He watched as you cut him a big slice of apple pie before plating it carefully and coming back. Before you could run off again, he said your name once more.

“You’re not from around here.”

You tilted your head with an amused little grin. Lee took a careful sip of the hot coffee you had given him.

“What?”

“I said you’re not from around here. Most people don’t move to a town like this for no reason.”

Your lips curled into a larger smile as you regarded him.

“I suppose they don’t. I was looking for a change of pace.”

“Where you from?”

“Columbus.”

“What you doing out here?”

You rolled your eyes before giving him a once over and a smirk. You leaned in close.

“Sheriff, if you’re gonna interrogate me, at least cuff me first.”

Lee choked on his coffee.

“What?”

You leaned back and shrugged.

“Can I get you anything else?” you asked. Lee shook his head.

You walked off again, going back behind the counter and into the kitchen.

Oh yes.

Lee definitely wanted to get to know you better.

[lowkeyorloki]

Thorns

Fine, I’ll try my hand at a sex pollen fic

Also yes, I do still post here!! Don’t worry, I was starting to doubt it too...

This is smut, so if you aren’t 18+, please don’t consume! For the rest of y’all, happy reading, and let me know how I did!

~

“Come on, Loki.” You try to keep your tone even. “We’ve been searching for hours. We’re not going to find it here.” 

Loki lets out a disproving grunt. He tosses his cloak to the side, searching the planet's discolored ground for the weapon Thor had sent you here for. 

“I have better things to quarrel with Thor over than a staff.” He responds, moving a pile of leaves over with his foot. Something catches his eye, and he kneels to further inspect it. You cross your arms. 

“Loki.” You say softly. You see the prince’s shoulders relax slightly when you breathe his name. “I’ll explain everything to Thor. He’ll understand.”

Loki turns around, his eyes meeting your own. You see a plant of sorts, unlike anything you’ve ever come across at his feet. It must have been what Loki was looking at.

“That’s a pretty flower.” You say. Loki looks at you, the flower, then back at you. He reaches forward, ready to pick it. Your stomach jumps, but you barely have time to wonder if Loki’s intentions were to pick the plant for you before it releases a power-looking substance into the air. It seems to envelope Loki, surrounding him as your mouth drops in surprise. Loki coughs, falling backwards. You rush towards him, helping the god up. 

“Are you alright?” You ask, eyes wide. Loki coughs again, then clears his throat and steps away from you. 

“I,” he says. “I believe you were right. We’ll search again tomorrow.” Loki turns sharply, heading back in the direction of the small ship you came in. You follow Loki, struggling to keep up with him. He throws off his cloak once you’re back in the ship and leans over the console, planting slightly. He clutches the metal, knuckles turning white. 

“Loki?” You ask, slowly approaching him. “Are you you okay?”

Loki visibly tenses, his head bowed. “Something’s not right.” He says through gritted teeth. You reach out, now close enough to touch him. Loki catches your wrist, holding it tight enough that you yelp out in pain. He releases you, an action that wouldn’t do much to another Asgardian, but in your mortal body, you fall to the floor. 

Now facing you, you can see the frenzied look on Loki’s face. You’re overcome with worry, and you’re just beginning to stand back up when-

Oh.

Your eyes are drawn helplessly to Loki’s crotch, taking in the bulge that resides there. Loki’s member is straining against the leather of his clothing, looking almost painful.

“What-?”

Loki’s jaw sets turns his face.  “Don’t touch me.” 

Your mind reels, trying to figure out what was happening. You replay every event from that day. Leaving the palace with Loki. Traversing this planet, looking under every rock, bush, and tree...

Your heads snaps up when you remember the flower, the way it expelled pollen at Loki. In the back of your mind, you can recall reading about a plant that matched what you had seen. 

And if you recalled correctly, that pollen made anyone who’s come into contact with it...

Oh.

“Okay.” You say. “It’s going to be fine. You just-”

“Stop talking.” Loki bites out. He sits on the metal bench attached to the wall, and runs a hand through his hair. “You’re... You’re making it worse.”

You swallow, unsure of what to say. You feel like your body is on fire, and you’re trembling just from the way Loki is eyeing you. 

“We have to get back to Asgard.” Loki tells you. You flinch.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you begin, but are interrupted again. 

“I can’t be here with you!” Loki snaps. 

“I know it’s uncomfortable,” you say. “But the effects should be able to be suppressed, just as long as you don’t come across someone you... care about.” You try to figure out how to explain so long as Loki wasn’t around someone he viewed as lover, this would pass. Loki meets your eyes, glaring at you so harshly it you stutter. 

“You’re so insufferable,” he says. “And... beautiful.”

You blink, unsure if you heard him right. Loki’s gaze doesn’t falter. 

Tentatively, you join Loki on the bench. He keeps watching you. Sweat has formed on the man’s brow, and you reach forward to tuck a strand of dark hair behind his ear.

Your back is slammed into the harsh metal before you can even do so. Loki towers over you, his knee wedged between your thighs. You feel a wave of heat wash over you, a coil tightening in your stomach. You gulp.

“Tell me to stop.” Loki’s voice is strained. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

You reach up, taking his face in your hands.

“I won’t lie to you.” You tell him.

Loki instantly breaks. His lips fall on top of yours, taking your breath away without even trying. 

Loki is greedy, his tongue exploring your mouth as his hands roam your body. He finds the hem of your shirt, sliding his hand over your stomach and finding your breast, massaging it over your bra. You let out a moan, lips still against Loki’s.

He pulls away only to rid you of your shirt. Loki pauses, like he’s going to kiss you again, but changes his mind as he rids you and himself of every layer you’re wearing. 

The sight of Loki’s nude form awakens every single nerve ending in your body, and you arch your back, trying to feel more contact. Loki growls, his hands pinning your hips down. He looks at you with blown-out eyes, then licks from your navel to the base of your throat. He takes his time there, sucking a bruise on your skins as a cacophony of your moans fill the ship. You clutch Loki’s shoulders, leaving the shape of half-moons. You lean forward, kissing over the harsh marks to make up for it. 

You run your hands over Loki’s strong chest, pausing to let your thumbs flick over his nipples. Loki hisses, and you feel his heavy cock, pressed against your belly, twitch. You look down, and Loki’s head is red and angry, leaking with precom and desperate for attention. 

You reach forward, taking Loki in your hands. His hips buck, and Loki lets out a curse as his head falls into the crook of your shoulder. 

You give him a few strokes, amazed by the size and girth of the god in front of you. You wonder if he can even fit, but the thought just spurs you on, asking you to try and see.

“I want,” you try to say through pants. “Loki, I want you inside me.” 

Loki’s hands snakes behind your neck, grabbing your hair and pulling so it angles your face towards him. You shake, anticipation and shock getting the better of you. Loki’s free hand covers your left breast, his eyes darkening. 

“Your heart is beating fast.” He tells you, which makes it beat even faster. Loki suddenly rolls his hips, his cock brushing your entrance. You make a choking sound. Loki begins placing hungry kisses on your neck, trailing down past the curve of your breast, the soft skin of your belly, until he pauses at your core. You writhe, feeling Loki’s breaths against you. 

“You smell amazing,” he says, then flicks his tongue out over your clit. You throw your head back, a scream building in your throat. “You taste amazing, too.” He smirks. You manage to look at him. 

“Please, Loki, please,” you beg him. “I need you inside me.”

Loki curses, lining himself up with your entrance. 

“You’ll tell me,” he manages to say. “If I hurt you.”

“I wouldn’t care,”You’re so hazy you wonder if that flower had affected you as well. “You can do whatever you want to me, Loki.”

“Is that a promise?” Loki asks, and you’re about to answer, but Loki thrusts himself into you before you can. You cry out, the sound joining Loki’s moan. You throw your hands around his shoulders, clutching him close. 

You flutter around Loki’s cock, walls clenching as your body adjusted. Loki pulls out for just a moment before he enters you again, reaching a spot so deep inside you that you didn’t even know it was there. 

“You’re so tight,” he grunts. “So warm. So ready for me.”

“Yes.” You nod. Loki quickly sets a pace, ramming into you and driving you closer and closer to the edge.

Loki drinks in the sight of you, eyes screwed shut and mouth open in pleasure. He find your clit, guiding his hand between your joined bodies, and begins to tease it, flicking it with the pad of his thumb.

Tears prick at the edges of your eyes as you try to keep yourself together, but your efforts are in vain.

“I’m going to cum!” You exclaim. Loki does nothing if not rub your clit faster, adding even more to the fire in your core. You hold him closer, as close as possible as you come with a shout.

Loki comes soon after, shooting sticky ropes into you as he pants in your ear. You shiver as he puts out of you, leaning back on the wall. 

You sit there in silence for a few moments, both of you quiet under the guise of catching your breath. Finally, you steal a glance at Loki.

“Was that only because of the sex pollen?” You ask. Loki stares forward.

“No.” He answers.

You smile. 

[silversatoru]

hands

sukuna x f!reader

a/n: remember that thirst i posted the other night about sukunas fingernails? u bet i wrote a quick fic about it. i am not sorry

synopsis: an exploratory study on the intricacies of what sukuna could do with those goddamn hands of his 

tags/warnings: 18+, pain kink, scratching, mentions of blood, biting, bruising, hitting, blindfolding, restraints, overstimulation, monster fucking, dom sukuna, very soft aftercare sukuna (<3)

word count: 1.8k

One of Sukuna’s long, sharp nails traced down your body, from your neck to your toes and leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He placed his talon on your neck for the second time, trailing it down your body again but pressing a little harder this time. Shivers quaked through your body as he left a puffy red line down your skin. He ran his finger over your exposed clit, a sharp bolt of pain and electricity shooting through your veins. 

Sukuna had you completely at his disposal, hands secured tightly behind your back and eyes covered by a thick blindfold. He loved to see you shiver under his touch — quake and twitch as he gave you nothing but the bare minimum. 

You felt the bed shift as he straddled himself over you and leaned down, his breath hot against your neck. His long, warm tongue left a streak of sticky saliva up your neck, and then he blew cold air on the wet skin, sending more quivers through your body. 

“Look at you baby, looking like such a pretty slut for me,” He cooed between licks, the praise coaxing a few soft moans from your lips. 

His tongue disappeared and was quickly replaced by pointed teeth and soft nibbles. Your body gushed with pleasure as you felt a second and third mouth nipping and lapping from Sukuna’s hands at your torso. His ability to duplicate his body parts wherever he wanted gave him terrible amounts of power in situations like this. 

You could barely handle the tripled stimulation, your head growing foggy with desire and your mouth filled with strangled moans. A resounding whimper leapt from your throat as the mouths got more aggressive, dotting your skin with discolored marks. They nibbled and gnawed on every inch of you, squeezing down to give the occasional bite, which sent you spiraling. The sharp pains felt indescribable, every single sting absolutely electrifying. A mixture of pain and pleasure crawled over your skin as he continued to cover your body in imperfections.

“It’s pitiful how quickly you come undone for me, princess,” The words dripped off his tongue like thick honey. 

Your clit twitched at his words, but you refused to be embarrassed or ashamed by how pitiful you looked right now — not when he was making you feel this good.

Not being able to see or resist his actions made them all the more exhilarating, your heart pounding as he sat up. Your skin felt cold and empty without his tongues keeping you warm, and goosebumps trailed up your arms as the anticipation of what he would do next grew greater. 

The mouth that belonged to his face connected with yours, and one of his hands clasped over your cunt — a mouth for each pair of lips. Quivering whimpers and raspy whines spilled from your throat into his, the tongue from his hand working fervently on your aching entrance. The pleasure was almost intolerable as the second mouth engulfed your cunt, it’s tongue swirling small circles around the swollen nub. Your body began to tremble underneath him, your toes curling and legs shaking. 

Two extra arms boiled their way out of sukuna’s body, each lurching foward and grasping a handful of your breasts. He kneaded and massaged them in the roughest way, his nails leaving small scratches as he worked. Two of his fingers grasped each of your nipples, twisting and rubbing them with incredible force — your body twitching and teeth clenching together. Between the rough kisses, nipple simulation, and hot tongue that was eating away at your cunt, you thought you just might combust. Your body was incredibly overstimulated, trembles rolling under your skin over and over.

Eventually his tongue slowed, leaving lazy licks up and down your cunt now. The antagonizingly slow pace made your skin crawl, frustration building inside of you. Your hips rolled out of desperation, you needed more of him so badly — but this just earned a rough a slap to the side of your torso. His motion left a large, red hand mark in its place, your skin aching and tingling as your eyes rolled back into your head from complete bliss.

Sukuna sucked in a sharp breath, it was impossible to punish you like this, ecstasy surging through you every time he inflicted pain on your body. But it was also what made you so perfect for each other, your ability to handle whatever he wished to do to you. Regardless, he’d need to find other means of punishment, like restricting you until the last second — not letting your pretty little cunt come until you completely deserved it.

His second mouth shot its tongue deep inside your entrance, curling and lapping at your hot cavern. A warm feeling began to boil in your stomach, your climax inching closer and closer from the wonderful feeling. Throaty groans ripped through your teeth, your back arching and legs growing stiff as you trembled right on the cusp. Just as you thought you might fall over the edge, the hand disconnected from your aching clit — strings of curse words and echoes of Sukuna’s name flying from your lips. 

“Not yet, baby,” he purred, “You know it’s not that easy. You need to make me feel good before you get to come”. 

You gave him a desperate nod, the need for his cock growing increasingly more intense as he left you laying untouched. You whispered a strangled combination of “yes”, “please”, and various curse words, bucking your hips forward. 

“Look at you, so fucking eager for me,” His voice was almost a snarl now, “Open those pretty legs”. 

You wordlessly obliged, pulling your legs wider and stretching yourself for the ravenous curse. A deep, throaty groan rippled out of his mouth at the pretty sight of you, his own needs growing stronger than his desire to keep you waiting. 

He wrapped his thick fingers around his now exposed shaft, giving it a few lazy pumps as he stared down at your quivering body — your hands still pulling on your knees and stretching yourself open in the most beautiful way. He was aching to stuff himself inside of you, to fill you up and feel you squirm under his grasp. After a few more strokes up his girthy length he positioned himself in front of you, pressing his swollen tip into your clit. Your body jerked and twitched from the feeling, an evil smile stretching across his face at the sight. 

“Maybe I should make you wait a little longer,” He teased, moving his inflamed head up and down the entrance to your cunt. 

A small “no” was all you could manage, your lips trembling as you spoke — but it was perfect. Your fragile state and utter helplessness was exactly the motivation he needed to thrust himself into you without warning. A suffocated scream lurched from your throat, a horrible pain filling your stomach as you struggled to adjust to his monsterous size. 

He grasped your waist with an incredible force, his talons sinking into your skin and drawing blood. The small crescent-shaped cuts from his nails felt like tiny flames igniting on your skin, sending endorphins bursting through your brain. Between the pleasure derived from that pain and your body becoming accustomed to his member you were caught up in absolute bliss — your head spinning and your vision growing cloudy.

Sukuna let out a raspy, feral growl, his pace almost too much for you to handle. “You take me so well, pretty girl,” He mumbled, scratching one of his hands down the front of your chest.

His nails left more red lines down your fragile skin, small droplets of blood leaking down your torso. The continued overstimulation of burning pain and forceful pleasure was enough to brim your eyes with tears, choked sobs beginning to force their way out of your throat. His two extra hands were still working on your breasts too, the lumps aching and smeared with blood from the small wounds he continued to inflict.

His occasional praises were the only thing that kept you sane, your heart doing small backflips every time he used such endearing names for you. The scale between calling you princess and then lacerating your skin and railing you into oblivion somehow balanced itself perfectly in your mind. 

A tight, warm knot began to churn itself in your core, and you began to move in sync with Sukuna’s body. You were so desperate to reach your climax and coat his member in your fluids — you’d been deprived of this for much too long now. 

You were incredibly lucky that Sukuna pitied you as much as he did, because the curse didn’t really have a breaking point. Honestly, he’d fuck you straight through the night if you’d let him, but he tries to limit himself to accommodate to your poor, human body. 

He can tell you’re close now, whispering encouragement and coaxing sweet moans to fall from your lips. When he finally tells you to come, giving you the permission you so frantically needed, you let yourself completely unravel. You melted into a mess of whimpers, moans, and trembles — waves of euphoria surging through your body. Your tight walls became impossibly tighter, squeezing his aching cock and pushing him to his climax just a few moments after yours. He thrusted hard into your shuddering legs, pumping you full of his liquids and snarling strings of curses and praises into your ear. 

The two of you collapsed into a messy heap of contentment, your skin tainted with mixtures of blood, sweat, and semen. After a few minutes to compose himself, Sukuna scooped you into his arms and carried you to the bathroom. He was so incredibly gentle with his aftercare, but you never pointed it out because he got terribly insecure when you did. He hated admitting that he felt more than just lust for such a worthless human like yourself.

“You did so good, princess,” He cooed, holding you tight to his chest.

He untied your arms and removed the blindfold from your face, placing a soft kiss to your forehead. He sat you down in the bathtub and turned on the warm water, using a soft washcloth to gently scrub the various liquids from your skin. Once you were clean and dry he even rubbed some ointment over each of your cuts, not wanting them to get inflamed or infected. 

After making up for the damage he did to your frail body, he effortlessly lifted you back up and carried you back to bed. The two of you laid in silence while he played with your hair, softly scratching and massaging your scalp with the same nails that had done such serious damage earlier. They were much more soothing now, the soft sensation helping you to drift closer to sleep while you laid curled in his arms.

[jaedore]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 | 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: jaehyun x reader

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: mythology!au, angst, romance

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: swearing, suggestive (just making out lol), mentions of alcohol, violence (mentions of choking)

𝐚/𝐧: if you are uncomfortable with these themes then i highly suggest you no longer interact! also, thoughts/emphasis are italicized. I'll just put the header on when I have the patience bc I felt like this is long overdue

[4.5k words]

You woke up finding your body was stiff and sore. It overpowered the pain in your wounded knees that stung with every movement of your limbs. Yesterday seemed like days ago, it felt like a fever dream. No, a nightmare. All you wanted to do was just curl up in bed, but then you remembered that your mother and you were having dinner at Jaehyun’s place. You’ve never gone to the Underworld, you didn’t hear many good things about it and that terrified you. What if Cerberus ate you? What if a wandering, lost soul stole your soul? The questions were endless and it sent you down a spiral of nervousness.

“Y/n?” Your mother softly came in, an apron hung around her neck and the aroma of breakfast food seeped into your room.

“Morning, mom,” you croaked.

“How are you feeling?”

Your mind flashed back to yesterday; Jaehyun in your room, tending your wounds, being flirtatious, or whatever. You remembered it as clear as the Fountain of Youth.

“I’m fine,” you answered, swiping the sheets away from your body to peer at the wounds.

You gently peeled back the bandage a bit only to see that the wound was almost gone. It held a faint discoloration as it was in the process of healing, but you were impressed nonetheless.

“So,” your mother began as she sat on the edge of your bed, “tonight, I was thinking about bringing a pasta dish. Or should we bring a cake? A pie maybe?”

“We can just pick up a pie from the bakery,” you brushed your hand in the air, dismissing any ideas, “it’ll be easier anyways.”

“Ah, yes. Hades does like his spicy chocolate pies,” your mother hums as she smoothes her palm against your bedsheet.

“Ugh, I don’t know how he eats that stuff,” you grumble, swinging your legs off your bed.

“Well, he is the God of the Underworld,” she raises both of her eyebrows at you, “so, what will you be doing today? It’s super nice out.”

Peering at your window, the sun shines brightly in the sky. The sky is bare of clouds and it does seem like a beautiful day today. You can imagine yourself sitting in the grass with a book in your palms. But you had more important things to do today, like beating the shit out of Maeve.

Your shoulders slump as you reply, “I’m going to go train with Mark.”

“You’re always training with that boy,” she narrows her eyes at you, “are you in love with him?”

“Mother!” You raise your voice, snapping your head to her, “No, I am not.”

Athena only laughs at your reply as she gets up and makes her way out of your room.

“Hey, Y/n?” her voice stops you before you step into the bathroom.

“Yes, mom?”

“You know you can tell me anything right?” she asks, her voice sweet and loving.

You nodded, recalling the things that happened last night at the beach. You haven’t told her and she must be worried, but you’re too drained and confused to spill it. So you spare her a small smile as you walk into the bathroom, not saying a word about what happened.

--

“Come on! You can hit harder!”

Annoyed at Mark’s ‘words of encouragement’, you purse your lips as you attempt to hit the boxing pad with your mitts. You were beginning to get tired, your arms burned from the repetitive movements and your knees ached as it chased after your feet. Mark hasn’t given you a break since you’ve gotten here and it’s almost been an hour of constant hitting.

Growing frustrated, you shouted in protest, “I’m done!” you throw your mitts on the dirt.

Mark sighs, seeing the frustration in your eyes, “Okay, what’s really going on?”

You exhale a short breath, “Nothing you’d be interested in,” you answer him sharply as you walk towards one of the rocks to sit on. Mark follows you closely, but quietly afraid to set off the fuming bomb of anger you always held.

“You know,” he starts, “I’ve heard a lot of mysterious things about you,” he plops right next to you.

You curl your legs up to your chest as you stare forward at the waterfall, “Like what?” you mumble, really not interested in what he’s heard because it’s all been bad stuff.

“You tell me,” Mark shrugs.

You tighten your hold on your legs, “I think someone’s out to get me,” you whisper.

Mark leans in to hear you clearer, “Maeve?” he whispers back.

You shudder, her name bringing back awful memories, “Yeah, but I’m not sure why. I have nothing that has to do with her. Sure, I provoked her on the first day, but...it wasn’t severe to draw it out this far.”

Mark’s eyebrows furrow, “What do you mean?”

You explained what happened last night at the beach party. You quivered as you retold the story from your perspective. It was a vivid nightmare that you didn’t know how to wake.

“Where is Lucas now?” Mark asked.

You fumed at the male’s name. He hasn’t texted or called you since last night. He would be the key to all of your answers, but he wouldn’t answer any of your messages or calls. Lucas was friendly, always nice, and shined bright like the sun. You just wondered what he was up to.

“I don’t know,” you sighed, picking up the mitts from the ground, “come on. We came here to train. Plus, I want to forget it all.”

Mark quickly jumps to his feet, “do you think this has anything to do with the feud between Hades, your mother, and her’s?”

You tilted your head to the side, “What feud?”

Mark smirked, “Guess you don’t know then.”

“Mark,” you lowered your voice when he dismissed your question, “what. Feud?”

“I’ll tell you if you can beat me,” he said, picking up the other pair of mitts that laid on the ground.

--

Storming into your house, you shouted, “Why didn’t you tell me about the feud you had with Hades and Eris?”

Taken aback, she looked at you with wide eyes, almost dropping the spoon she held, “w-what are you talking about?”

You inhaled, “Why didn’t you tell me that after the Titan War, Hades, and apparently Zeus, imprisoned Eris in Tartarus? And that you were helping them and now she’s after me, possibly because of it?”

“Who told you that?” your mother calmly put down the spoon and rubbed her palms on her thighs.

“Does that really matter right now, mom?” your voice rose in anger.

“Sit down,” she wipes her hand on a napkin, discarding it as she walks towards you, who begins to be seated at the dinner table.

“Eris and I were good friends, we trained together as kids. She was good, almost better than me, but there was always the tension of competition between us. One could only be good in the eyes of Zeus so we grew up and trained with that mindset. As we got older, we were still good friends, but there was always that silent tension between us. When the Titan war came to be, Eris rebelled and fought against us,” your mother sighed, anguish tainting the streaks of her face, “I tried everything in my power to persuade her to fight with us, to be on our side, but that’s when she said all of the things that were never said. That I was the favorite, I was the best only because I was the favorite, I was only fighting along Zeus because he favored me more than her. Not because I was good or tactful, she disregarded our training together...our friendship, the bond that we had growing up. It was stupid really, but eventually, we beat their army and imprisoned her. According to Zeus, she did more damage during the war that I wasn’t aware of. That’s why she’s imprisoned in Tartarus. I haven’t asked because she’s...she’s dead to me really.”

You leaned back in her seat, realizing that Maeve probably was only acting out of feeling because of the relationship between both of your mothers. Her mother was imprisoned in the deep abyss below the Underworld, while yours lived a perfect, rewarding life.

“Is that why we’re going to the Underworld tonight? To talk to Zeus?” you quietly asked.

Your mother nodded, “I know I should’ve told you. I’m sorry. I just didn’t think of the possibilities of her coming for you through her daughter because of me.”

You shook your head, “It’s fine. I just want this to stop,” your fingertips brushed against your neck.

“Well,” your mother sighed, peering at her watch, “you don’t really have time to get ready, so why don’t you rinse your face from the sweat, and then we’ll pick up the pie and head on down.”

Head on down. You whimpered as you stood up. And it wasn’t because of your sore legs.

As you washed your face, you wondered if Jaehyun would be eating with you guys. You recall that Hades said Jaehyun was always at the Mourning Fields talking to the souls that wandered there. There, holds the souls that wasted their souls on unrequited love. Does Jaehyun love someone? Or does he not? Then you remembered how he took up space in your room last night. His fingertips sent icicle daggers through your skin that you felt their phantom as you wiped your face on the nearby towel. With the hopes of Jaehyun not speaking to you tonight, you braced yourself on the journey of walking down into the Underworld.

--

You jumped back at the sound of barking. Cerberus. The three-headed dog barks at both you and your mother. No matter how powerful your mother, Athena, was, she had no power over a creature created to guard the gates of the Underworld.

“Why isn’t he coming? I rang the doorbell like five minutes ago,” your mother grumbled.

As if on cue, the gates opened and the growling sounds of Cerberus silenced in question.

“They are not the enemy or the dead, Cerberus. They’re our guests.” a voice rang above you. You found out later that the voice belonged to Hades, but you saw Jaehyun stepping out from behind the black, iron gates.

“Good evening, sorry for the wait.” Jaehyun bowed to you both.

Your mother paused, regretting the comment she made before as she saw how handsome Jaehyun was, “You’re Jaehyun, right? You grew up so well.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Tch “ma’am”. As if you actually had manners. You rolled your eyes at his sense of poise. You wonder where he learned such acts in a short amount of time.

Your mother nudged you, “do you have anything to say?” she whispered.

You inhaled a sharp breath, narrowing your eyes at the prideful male in front of you, “Thank you for having us,” you mumbled, barely nodding to him.

“Please, this way.”

Jaehyun led your mother and you towards Hades’ Palace, the stone tower tall enough to peek through the rising fog of the evening. Across the path to the left stood the Judgement Pavilion. Several souls lined up waiting for their next home where they’d be trapped forever. One of the souls snapped their eyes to you as if they knew where you stood, who you were. Their eyes were full of darkness and fury, almost consuming you into a tunnel of doom.

Jaehyun snatched your arm, his grip vice-like, “Don’t look at any soul who hasn’t been through the Judgement Pavilion, it’s their last chance to steal a living being’s soul before they’re judged into exile.” You hadn’t realized it but it was only you and Jaehyun who stood on the pavement that led you to Hades’ Palace.

You looked ahead not seeing her, “Where’s my mom?”

“She already went in. We didn’t even notice you were gone until she asked you something to only find you not behind us.”

You inhaled a sharp breath, “How long have I been standing here?”

“Around five minutes, you didn’t hear me call you?” Jaehyun’s eyebrows furrowed.

Shaking your head in denial you said, “No, I didn’t until you grabbed my arm,” you eyed down to your arm seeing that he still held you. Jaehyun’s grip loosened as he also realized that he hadn’t let go yet.

“Come on, let’s go,” his hand tightened around your arm once again as he dragged you towards the stone palace.

“I can walk myself,” you snapped at him, attempting to yank your arm from his clutch.

Jaehyun turned to you, his eyes cool and icy, sending chills down your spine, “I know,” he lowly said, “but I’m not taking my chances,” he gripped your arm again, leading you to his home.

The moonlight barely shined against the copper stone of his palace, creating sheer darkness looking like it hadn’t been touched for centuries. As unwelcoming as it felt, you could smell the complete opposite; a small scent of mint, the natural smell of tree bark, and the faintest feather of lavender. You glanced forward at Jaehyun, he hadn’t spared you look as you two made your way towards his home.

Jaehyun led you past the Asphodel Meadows, only tugging on your arm harder to bring your senses back. He was right to do so because looking at it was hypnotizing. You were even surprised that the ground-up dirt was able to grow flowers, and not knowing what kind they were, they were the most beautiful you’ve ever seen. The trees that sheltered them were bare of leaves and plants, creating a haunting aura, but it didn’t alarm you enough to look away.

“Come on,” Jaehyun tugged at you once again, this time gaining your attention.

You glared at him making you feel like some child that wasn’t able to concentrate. “What’s down there?”

He glanced back at you, mirroring your expression, “You don’t want to know.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t. Now hush, we’re almost there.”

After a few more steps, you both came to face his home. The palace was bigger than you expected as it loomed over you. It felt like you were walking into your own exile.

“I thought you got lost,” your mother called to you as you walked in with Jaehyun behind you.

“She almost did,” he mumbled as he passed you to sit at the dinner table.

“She’s always been a curious one,” your mother laughed.

“That could get you in some serious trouble, girl,” Hades walked into the room with spoons in his hand. The high-pitched cackling sound of the spoon hitting the dishes made you wince, “come sit, it’s almost time to eat.”

Obeying Hades’ words, you idly sat next to Jaehyun with shame settling in your bones because you felt embarrassed that he had to drag your ass back to his place. The skin where his hands once grasped your arm felt tingly and you couldn’t burn it from your mind. It’s not like you and Jaehyun had many encounters, or rather, pleasant encounters, but you can’t help yourself but stare at him from the corner of your eye. Jaehyun sits with poise and pride, but you can see the burden he carries in the way he slightly slouches and the exhausted sigh that wriggles from his lips.

As everyone eats, you can’t help but think what Jaehyun’s thinking about. You can tell he’s thinking about something from the tension in his brow and the small pout coming from his bottom lip. From time to time, you ignore the small moments where his arm or leg brushes against yours or when you both reach for the same dish. And there’s a sort of tension over the table as everyone silently hides their comments as their food reaches their lips.

Hades is the first to speak, “So, I’ve heard you’ve had quite the events lately,” his tone low and cautious.

You clear your throat, “Um, yes.”

You begin to tell him everything that’s happened from the start of Maeve to the event in the Phantasms Forest. Not leaving out a single detail, you didn’t even notice your hands tensing up until you felt warmth from another on top of your chilled skin. Turning to your mother, she nods to you in comfort, letting you know that you’re doing well and you’re strong for facing what you’ve been through. Hades listens closely, not reaching for his food and feeling the slight disgust from those who caused you harm. Truth be told, he knew what was happening and why it was happening to you. Slightly nodding at your mother, they both lifted themselves from their seats and walked out the door leaving you and Jaehyun alone.

You turned to the male to your right, “Where are they going?”

Jaehyun shrugs, grabbing the nearby plates, “Probably to Tartarus.”

“What?” You snapped up on your legs, immediately following him to the kitchen sink, “Why?

“I’m sure you know that’s where they’re keeping Eris,” Jaehyun spares you a glance as he begins soaking a sponge in soap.

“Yeah,” you crossed your arms, “but why are they going down there? To talk to her? What is she going to do? What are they going to do? How long is this going to take?”

Tired of the overload from your questions, Jaehyun turns to you. Unbeknown that you were leaning forward towards him as you spoke, your eyes widened as you came face to face with the hot-headed male. His eyes were a pool of darkness with a hint of brown like melted dark chocolate. You stood in front of him with your feet glued to the ground. Heat radiated off your body as you parted your lips. Jaehyun’s eyes flickered down. He sharply inhaled to only let it out as he turned away and began scrubbing the dishes again.

“Bring the dishes to me and I’ll wash them,” he said before you could turn away from him.

You clutched the collar of your shirt. What was that? Your fingers trembled around a plate when you realized that he didn’t even answer any of your problems.

Setting them on the counter next to him, you snapped, “You didn’t even reply to my questions.”

“You talk too much.”

Stunned, you purse your lips and walk away. He can clean the kitchen by himself. You sat yourself in their living room, plopping yourself on the couch. If it weren’t for the dim lamp that flickered in the far corner of the room, you would’ve walked around blindly. The walls were painted in black, the rug was black, and even the couch you sat on was black. Everything was black like a fire had torn through the palace. The only color that caught your attention was the pictures that sat on top of the unlit fireplace. Making your way towards the photos, you found family photos of Jaehyun and his parents. It looked like a regular family you would suspect in the human world, a mother and father playing with their toddler son in the park. Except it wasn’t a park and it wasn’t a regular family. The field Jaehyun played on was the Field of Asphodel, but it was beautiful, there was greenery, grass, and beautiful flowers that bloomed around little Jaehyun. You wondered what happened to the breathtaking scenery. Your eyes landed on a particular picture that made the corners of your lips lift in the slightest. There, laid little Jaehyun sleeping peacefully in the embrace of Cerberus who also laid in slumber around the little boy, sheltering him from the rain that penetrated to the Underworld. Cute. The faint blur of a finger covered the corner of the picture, you wondered who took this photo. You thought that maybe it was his mother, Persephone, who no one’s heard of for years. The last thing you heard was that Hades kidnapped her after eating six pomegranate seeds and she was forced to live six months in the Underworld and six months in the mortal world, Earth. But she hasn’t returned from her six months on Earth. And it’s been 20 years.

“No, I don’t know where she is, nor do I really care,” Jaehyun said beside you.

Jumping, you didn’t even realize he was there. Holding your chest, you panted, “I didn’t even say anything this time.”

“I know,” he glanced at you, his gaze flickering back to your lips, then lower to your neck, “but you were thinking it.”

“I-”

“Come, I might have some ointment left for your neck,” Jaehyun doesn’t even give you a chance to protest.

Grabbing your wrist, you obediently follow him back into the kitchen.

“Sit,” he commands.

You look around in question, “Where the hell am I going to sit?”

Jaehyun reached up to the upper cupboard, the bottom of his shirt slightly lifting with his shoulders to reveal his back, “on the counter, of course,” you averted your eyes somewhere else when he turned to face you, “unless you want to sit on my lap,” he smirks.

You shake your head, lifting yourself on the counter. Even if you sat on the counter, you were only tall enough to meet him at eye level. Snapping the cap open, the familiar smell of mint and ginger filled your nose as he dipped two fingers in the gooey substance. A very sinful scenario flashed across your mind as he pulled those fingers back out, his digits drenched in the healing fluid. Squeezing your legs together, you cleared your throat as he crept closer to you, but that only led to Jaehyun sliding his free hand around your nape to pull you closer.

“I don’t bite,” he whispers, that smirk returning.

“I didn’t ev-”

You tensed as Jaehyun’s fingertips brushed on your skin to apply the ointment. Both of your bodies were so close to each other, the only blockage being your knees that dug into this stiff abdomen. It also didn’t help that Jaehyun’s face was incredibly close to yours. With one movement, your lips would’ve met.

“Relax,” he whispers, his eyes switching up to meet yours.

Chills shoot down your spine, a sudden heat pooled at the bottom of your stomach at the breeze of his breath. But eventually, you relaxed. Until you felt his hand on your neck rubbing circles. He repeatedly dipped those long digits of his in the ointment and reapplied it to your neck. To be honest, you thought it looked fine, it was still sore and hurt in certain places but it felt like he was lathering you in it. Once in a while, you’d wince at the pressure Jaehyun’s fingertips pressed against some of the bruises.

“Sorry,” he’d murmur. You’d thin your lips but relax as soon as he apologizes, his voice sounding sincere and gentle.

Slightly turning to the side, you let out a troubled breath, sharply inhaling another, repeating those steps over again and again until Jaehyun slowly pulled away. His warm hand slipped from your nape and your breath trembled, the cold air settling on it as soon as he pulled away. You watched him set the ointment back where he got it from, not missing the flutter of his skin that revealed the slight muscles in his lower back. Oh boy, you sighed.

Jaehyun turned back to you, “You alright?”

You nodded, “Will it still be there by tomorrow?”

Jaehyun walked to you as you stayed glued to the counter, he hummed, “Considering that you almost met death twice in the span of two days, it’ll take a few days,” he was closer once again, “just be careful,” his voice in a low whisper.

You could feel his breath brisk your cheeks. You didn’t know if it was your own heat warming you up or the faint warmth of the words that escaped his plump lips. You felt his abdomen on the curl of your knees like before and there wasn’t a way to bring them closer because it’d reveal to him what you were thinking...or feeling. Maybe you weren’t thinking clearly, maybe you were just lonely. But the longer you stayed in front of him, your desire to kiss him grew. He’s been nothing but cold and mean, but he’s been so kind and taking care of you despite his spiteful aura. You sucked in your bottom lip, stopping whatever trembling words attempted to escape from the cage of your tongue.

You sucked in a sharp breath when Jaehyun’s hands slid to your waist.

“Don’t do that,” Jaehyun brought him closer to you, prying your legs open to create space for him.

You sucked in another sharp breath, “Do what?”

“You know exactly what you’re doing.”

Jaehyun seemed to be drawing closer to you, his gaze occasionally glancing at your lips as both of your breaths began to weigh down. Closing your eyes, you swore you felt his lips brush yours until you realized he wasn’t kissing you at all, but instead lifting you until you were back on your feet. With bodies still closer than the stars were to the moon, you tipped your head up to meet his gaze. Already looking at you, Jaehyun let out a heavy sigh.

You should’ve inhaled another breath because the next second, you found yourself against Jaehyun’s lips. Those lips that were so pink and so inviting met yours. It felt like Olympus was on pause and it was just you and him. No Maeve, no darkness, nothing. A heavy sensation of peace settled in the curve of your palms as you dragged them down his chest. You gasped when he bit your lip, sucking and, licking it for permission of entrance and you immediately complied, not giving it any thought at all. Those calloused hands of his wrapped around the small of your back, pulling you closer flush against his body, against his hips. Jaehyun’s tongue danced with yours, a gasp revering the way he held you close to him, the way with each stroke, you moaned enough to satisfy him. Until he pulled away.

With panting breaths and blinking eyes scattering across yours, you could see the panic in his eyes. You could see instant regret that pooled in the darkness of his eyes, yet you couldn’t help but inhale when he stepped away, the heat of his body replaced with his familiar coldness. Your eyes follow Jaehyun as he runs out of his home. Not saying anything to you, but leaving you alone in the darkness of his home. In the Underworld. Standing alone in his kitchen, you could hear the loud beating of your heart penetrating your ears, blocking the sound of droplets from the faucet, the hum of the house, and the confusion in your breath. Your fingers fly to your lips, the feeling burns yours like a scar. Was it something you said? Was it something you did? Gulping, you frantically searched the cupboards for a cup of water, thirst reaching your throat, but instead you found a section that opened up to bottles of whisky and wine.

Even better. Finding a drying cup in the sink, you poured yourself a glass of the bronze liquid, not caring for it’s age or make. You winced as the liquid scorched your throat, coughing at the slightly burning sensation that warmed your mouth, but anything was better than the searing feeling of his lips and the pain of when he pulled away.

[getoutofmytown]

A lean man teetered on exhausted legs. Because his entry only allowed them to view him from the side, from that angle they saw he wore a brown leather jacket discolored by smoke stains and was torn at the shoulder. The jeans on his legs were tainted and ratty, and his shoes only held together by determination.

From what could be told of his profile, this man’s face had retained most of its features, despite the crusty, black skin covering every inch. His dark hair lay flat on his head, save for a wispy few strands that fanned loose over his brow. Misshapen scarring created a thick, blinding patch over his visible eye. And lastly, the reason his nonstop weeping was muffled was due to a mouth sewn shut so many times that it was replaced by nothing but a bulky, knotted mask.

But this visage was nothing compared to his cargo. In his hand he held a smaller one attached to a thin, tiny arm, of which was connected to the raw and burned corpse of a little girl. She was on her belly, her head hung like a sack of sand between her shoulders, obscuring her face, and her stringy, oily black hair dangling and swaying with every move the man made. On her body was a tattered blue dress, perhaps once long-sleeved as suggested by the remains of ripped fabric at her elbow, and black shoes over white socks patched by dried orange blood and char. Wherever she was forced to go, she left a wet streak of black and crimson in her wake.

James scrutinized this gruesome new monster hard while it shuffled directionless and wracked with demoralizing sobs. It didn’t seem to know they were there and moved at such a slow pace that James figured they were in no immediate danger. He looked at Harry for guidance.

Harry, however, was in no state to do anything but remember how to breathe. His face was contorted in grief and oddly, recognition. James eyed him, somewhat disturbed by it but moreso uncertain, then took his stare back to their visitor.

The victim of a fire unknown changed his direction, somehow having noticed they were there and faced them. Wherever it could be seen, his skin was indeed blackened, cracked, and flaking like bark, and revealed that both of his eyes were blindfolded by the scarring. Beneath the leather jacket, which sported a broken replica of their flashlights, was a sweater vest that bore a royal blue color somehow notable under the charcoaled damage. It was frayed at the hems and layered over a shirt that was once white. But now that he had confronted the resident and veteran full on, James could have never been prepared for what brought it all together:

The bereaved’s left hand which, until now, had been hidden on his other side, was not empty - and never could be. His arm hung lifeless and his fingers welded, forever clutching, a long, rusted, and bloody steel pipe.

James’s lips parted, and his heart dropped like lead straight through the floors.

Neither moved, and the man, at his snail’s pace, sought to meet them. The next garbled cry caused Harry to twist his bludgeon so hard in his white-knuckled fists that his arms briefly trembled. Each step drew the walking corpse a little bit closer, and still, they couldn’t find their feet. With the pieces having fallen together, the implications of what was before them pulled the ropes in James’s stomach tight enough to make him vaguely nauseous.

James heard himself utter a whisper of his companion’s name. His voice seemed to shake Harry out of his stupor, and in time to choke back sob of his own before it began.

He didn’t even feel his vocal cords nor his tongue move when he spoke again. “Is that..”

“It’s me,” Harry said thickly. “Yeah. That’s me.”

commissioned work by capitán solsikke

[bqstqnbruin]

I hate the way you lie

Hello hello, here I am with the next part....get mad at me. Do it. This and the next part will make you angry, the 9th part will make you sad, and the 10th, well....I’ll let you guess

Read the whole series:  I hate the way you talk to me and the way you cut your hair // I hate the way you drive my car // I hate it when you stare // I hate your big dumb combat boots and the way you read my mind // I hate you so much it makes me sick, it even makes me rhyme // I hate the way you’re always right // I hate it when you lie // I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry // I hate it when you’re not around, and the fact that you didn’t call // But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you, not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all

_________________________

“Why do I have to make sense?”

“Why do you keep denying everything?”

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

The sudden change from her music to her ringtone made her jump, Evelina nearly dropping her plate on the ground once she saw who was calling. “I always forget you have my number,” she answers, shoving her chicken and rice in her mouth. 

“How do you forget that?” Matthew’s voice comes through on the other end, “Am I really that far from your mind at all times?” 

“Yes.” 

Matthew scoffs, hating that sometimes he has to go through Evelina to get to you. “Whatever,” he lets out. “I need help.”

“Not shocking,” she lets out monotonously, the sound of her eating indicating she was putting no care into helping Matthew in the first place. 

“Evelina!” he raises his voice, causing her to jump again, frustrated at himself more so than he was at her, “Sorry. Just, please, take this seriously?” 

She feels her entire body tense up. “Sorry, yeah. Go ahead,” she lets out, pushing her plate aside to give him her full attention. Whatever it was, Matthew had to be serious if he was calling her like this, anyway. 

Matthew takes in a deep breath, knowing he can say it because he technically already did. “I’m in love with Y/N.” He waits for some sort of reaction from your roommate, silence the only thing he heard, “Ev?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Yeah, I was waiting for you to tell me something I didn’t already know.” 

She hears him groan, shoving more food in her mouth as she’s clearly unamused by what he just told her. “I said it last night to Y/N.” 

“What?” she yells, followed by choking on her rice. Sending herself into a coughing fit, she hears Matthew panicking, calling her name to ask her if she were alright. “Fuck,” she coughs, “I’m fine, I’m fine. You said what?”

“I said, ‘I love you,’ after our phone call.” 

She stops for a minute, trying to process what he just said. “After? As in not during the phone call? Did you say it over text? Do I have to have Elias kill you?” she spitfires, thinking Matthew would get flustered over the bombardment.

“She hung up before I could tell her, I didn’t say it over text, and he won’t hide my body well enough to not get caught. What do I do?” he responds. He was used to talking and listening to your rambling; Evelina could ask him ten questions in a row and he could answer them all thanks to how much time he spent with you. 

“Tell her in person?” 

Even though he knew she couldn’t see him, he couldn’t help but roll his eyes at her. “Don’t you think I would if I could? Everytime I try I fucking panic like a wimp. How much of the list does she still have?” 

Taking another bite of her food, she tries to even think about where the list is. “I have no idea. Maybe three or four things left?” She waits for him to say something else, hearing nothing but a sigh come from him. “Look, you have a week and a half left.”

“A week and a half left of what?” you ask, coming into the kitchen to make yourself food, not noticing Evelina practically jumping out of her skin at the sound of your voice. 

“Sorry,” she says, hanging up on Matthew without letting him get in another word. “I was talking to Jasmine about the presentation.” 

You turn to look at her, the uncertainty in her voice telling you something was up. You shrug, turning back to the fridge to try to find something to make for yourself. “Uh,” you say, reaching in and pulling out the only thing that wasn’t food in the fridge, a now discolored piece of paper. “I forgot this was in here,” you say, holding up the crumbled list with two fingers. 

“Wh-why?” Evelina drags out, clearly confused as to how neither of you had noticed it had probably been in there since the weekend she was visiting her parents. “Why was that in the fridge?”

Tossing it in the trash, you explain, “Matthew almost saw it so I threw it in there and said we were making a list of your kinks.” You hear her scoff behind you, not even wanting to turn around to see the glare she was sending in your direction. “Ok, what else was I supposed to do?” 

“Not have the list in the first place.” 

Pulling out the left over pasta you had, you roll your eyes as you threw it in the microwave. “It was your idea,” you remind her.

“What’s even on it at this point? The way he cuts his hair, his driving, the teasing, the staring,” she starts listing, counting off on her fingers, “How he reads your mind and makes you rhyme.” 

“I’m ignoring the mocking tone while you listed the last two. But he’s right when he shouldn’t be. It’s annoying,” you say, her holding up another finger.

“That’s seven things so far, babe.” Evelina sits there, studying the expression on your face. It’s not really sad, but there’s just something off about it. “Have you figured anything when it comes to him?”

“No.”

“Well,” she starts, “you at least were happy with him last night. But, why scream ‘fraud?’”

You can feel your face turning red, turning towards her. You were technically smiling, even if it was being overpowered by the cringe you were showing, “You heard that?”

“I’m pretty sure Mrs. Rose heard that and she takes out her hearing aids after her four p.m. dinner.” You nearly choke on your food, Evelina laughing at your expense as she pushes her water towards you. “Why are you even going to rewrite the list?” 

You finish what she had left in her glass, getting up to refill hers and get yourself your own. “I mean, I said I would.” 

“But you’ve already been on the date with him and slept with him, and not in that order, I might add.” You roll your eyes at her, even though you knew she was right. “Babe, all I’m saying: the point of the list was so you wouldn’t have to go out with him, and you’ve already done that. So now, what’s the point of the list?” 

“I told you, I need to figure out how I feel about him,” you insist, even if you were pretty sure how you felt. You just couldn’t say it. Putting your face in your hands, you groan, “I don’t even know what I am to him.” 

“What do you want to be?” 

----------

“Hey, it’s me!” Matthew calls, letting himself into your apartment like he always does. He doesn’t hear any noise coming from either of your rooms even though you were supposed to be leaving in a few minutes to head to the bar and meet the guys. “I have presents.”

He rolls his eyes as you both come running, Evelina more excited at the prospect of a gift than anything else. “What is it?” she says, bouncing up and down, eagerly waiting for the box he had in his hands while you stood behind her waiting to say hi to him. 

“Can I say hi to my gir-” he starts, stopping himself. He was going to say girlfriend, pushing past Evelina, whose mouth was hanging wide open, the heat rushing to your face at the thought of him calling you that. Who cared about some stupid list? “To Y/N first?”

He kisses you, his free hand cupping your face. “Hi,” you say when he pulls away, Evelina going silently feral behind the two of you. You reach up, gently grazing your thumb along the scratch under his eye from Johnny’s stick. You kinda liked how it made him look. But, “as much as I like you, I want the present,” you tell him, taking the box from his arms, leaving Matthew standing there as you pull Evelina to the couch to open the box. Inside are two red jerseys, Lindholm and Tkachuk stitched across the back. “I wonder which one’s mine,” you joke as Matthew sits down next to you. “Thank you,” you tell him, giving him a quick kiss, almost forgetting Evelina is sitting next to you.

“This isn’t the type of thing where you ask us to only wear your jersey and nothing else is it?” you hear Evelina say, pulling you back to reality.

“For you? God, no. For Y/N, however?” he says, putting his arm around you and pulling you into his lap, your cheeks burning while Evelina enjoys every minute of your embarrassment. 

He nuzzles into your neck, his lips connecting with your skin as you’re very aware Evelina is right there next to you. “So should I leave without you two, or what?” she asks, Matthew groaning at her words instead of how you were making him feel.

“No,” you say, pulling Matthew away from your neck by his curls, a pout on his face, “We said we would meet the guys, so we need to get going.” As much as you wanted to stay there with him, a promise is a promise. 

Matthew pouts as you wriggle free from his grasp, taking the jerseys and bringing them to your rooms. You practically had to drag Matthew off the couch, doing everything in your power to not just send Evelina to the bar and stay there with him. The entire walk to the bar, he had his hand in yours. He and Evelina were bickering about something, you not paying attention. He almost called you his girlfriend. And you liked the idea of being his girlfriend. But you couldn’t justify calling yourself that if you hadn’t actually established that with him first. 

Evelina bounces off to find the boys, Matthew staying by your side. “Think of everything we could be doing right now if we were back at your place,” he whispers in your ear as he pulls you close to him. He dips his head down to kiss you, his hands tightening on your hips as he presses you flat against the wall. Your hands stay on his chest, you swear you could feel his heart racing. He pulls away, his forehead pressed against yours. “Can we please just go home?” he begs. 

You can’t help but laugh at his pleading, kissing him before gently pushing him off you and leading him through the bar. “We said we would be out with the guys tonight, so we’re going to be out with the guys tonight.” 

You finally find the rest of the guys, all having drinks in front of them, clearly buzzed. Even Evelina was already near their level as she polished off what was clearly the rest of Elias’ drink while they were all laughing at whatever story Sean was telling them. “And I look over to the table next to us, and what do I see? These two guys fucking arm werestling in the middle of the restaurant. Their elbows weren’t even on the goddamn table. And, to top it off, one of them is wearing overalls. Nothing else. No shirt or anything underneath. Just. Overalls.” 

The boys were going wild, you and Matthew laughing along not nearly as hard as they were, either because it simply wasn’t funny, or because you weren’t as drunk as them. “So what you’re saying is,” Matthew starts, a smirk on his face telling you he was about to chirp his teammate as his arm snaked around your waist and pulled you in to him. “This guy had better style than you?” 

That line had you laughing, burying your face in Matthew’s shoulder, him kissing the top of your head while Sean glares at him. “Watch it, Chucky, you don’t want both of your black eyes to come from teammates.”

“You act like Johnny is talented enough to do this on purpose.” 

“Hey!” Johnny protests, “I won the Hobey in 2014!” 

“How many years ago was that?” Matthew counters, both of you laughing at the site of Johnny trying to do the math in his head. 

The boys send themselves into a bickering fight, you and Evelina sitting there laughing at them. They were technically men, professional athletes, arguing with each other over what? Who knew.

“What do you think about Matthew’s battle scars, Y/N?” Elias brings you back into the conversation, all the guys looking at you.

You turn to Matthew, reaching up to touch the cut again. “I don’t know,” you tease, scrunching your face up before turning to them, “You still look like a rat,” you joke. The guys burst out in laughter, Matthew’s face getting red. Just loud enough for him to hear, you whisper into him hear, “But, fuck, it’s hot.” 

He kisses you, for a moment forgetting the guys were surrounding you until they start screaming at the sight in front of them. Matthew pulls away, rolling his eyes. “I’m gonna get some drinks for us,” he tells you, getting up and leaving you with his teammates. 

“It’s weird seeing him so in love,” Elias says, staring down at his drink. 

You feel heat rushing to your cheeks, panic coming over you, suddenly praying that Matthew would come back as fast as he could with your drinks. “In love?” you barely squeak out. Evelina gave you an ‘I told you so’ look. “We’re not in love.” 

Elias lets out a laugh, the rest of his teammates feeling the awkward energy that you were producing from being increasingly more comfortable about the prospects that could come from this conversation. “I never said you were. But he’s been in love with you since he met you. It’s nice that he’s finally acted on it.” 

You really didn’t know how to react. You had thought that Evelina was just exaggerating this entire time, that he just liked you at most. You were both just horny, the nearest single person to each other. But in love? “Um, I think I’m going to go see where he is,” you say, getting up and leaving before they could say anything else that would make you uncomfortable. 

Pushing your way through the crowded bar, you can’t find Matthew ordering the drinks like he said he would. You get up to the bar trying to see if you can find him, ordering your own drink while you wait for him. 

“So, I’ve never seen you here before,” a guy’s voice comes in your ear, a chill running down your spine knowing that it wasn’t Matthew’s voice. You just nod at him, hoping that it would give him the signal that you weren’t interested. You turn and look past him, trying to find Matthew in the group of people. “Are you here with anyone? A boyfriend?” 

You ignore his weird question, trying to find Matthew in the crowd. You finally spot him, against the wall where he had you pinned when you first walked in. He was leaning there, casually, almost with too much comfort as the girl he talked to laughed and hung onto every word he said. You weren’t bothered by it until you notice he has one drink in his hand, the girl holding a drink that looks much like the one he would have gotten you, a vodka sour. Whatever love Elias thought Matthew felt for you, obviously wasn’t there tonight. Focusing your attention back to the guy in front of you, you swallow hard. “No, no boyfriend.” 

“Perfect,” you swear the guy says, moving closer to you as he signals the bartender to get you a drink on his tab. He starts rambling about something, something that you can’t pay attention to while you’re watching the girl talking with Matthew. She was perfect: skinny, pin-straight blonde hair, from where you were sitting she looked to have perfect skin, style way better than yours as you looked down at the simple jeans and plain shirt you had on. He’s fixated on her, clearly because she was attractive. You can’t understand why him talking with another girl is even making you feel this way.

You aren’t his girlfriend. Why should you care? Why do you care? 

But why wasn’t he looking over at you and this guy who was so clearly trying to flirt with you?

The guy in front of you keeps talking, either not noticing that you’re not looking at him, or not caring. “Have you heard the one where the guy is found dead but he’s suspended in the air with nothing underneath him?”

You look at this guy, having no idea how you got to the conversation you found yourself in. “He stood on top of a block of ice and died once the ice melted away underneath him. Did you know in Early Hollywood, when child actors were misbehaving on set, they would be sent to the ‘black box,’ which was a block of ice they had to sit on as punishment?”

“That’s nice,” the guy responds, not listening to begin with as he goes on another rant about whatever. Matthew would have had you tell him more about Early Hollywood, watching how you lit up as you told him that on the set of the African Queen, everyone got dysentery from drinking the contaminated water except for Humphrey Bogat and John Huston because they would only drink scotch.

Not listening, you absentmindedly sip the drink the bartender had brought you while you watched Matthew. This shouldn’t be bothering you as much as it did, but seeing her touch his arm while she laughed at whatever he said made you insane. He was there, flirting with another girl, when he said he was getting you a drink. You try to take your focus away from Matthew, the guy much closer to you than you had expected him to be. You could practically feel his hot breath against your skin as he talked, hating every second of it.

Matthew is no longer against the wall, the girl still standing there. You swear she was looking at you, taking your attention away from the guys lips connecting to your cheek. You try to push him off, his hands around your waist refusing to let go. 

“Hey,” you hear Matthew’s voice, his hands on your shoulders, prying you away from the  guy, “Get off my girlfriend.” 

“Matthew-” you try to cut in, your hand on his hand while he holds you back, you trying to pull him away so he doesn’t start anything.

“Hey, she said she didn’t have any boyfriend,” the guy says, putting his hands up in defense. 

Matthew turns to you, pain covering his face. He couldn’t look at you without the threat of tears falling, his chest was rising and falling rapidly. He drops his hand, forgetting the guy standing there with you. Trying to stay calm, he bites his bottom lip, shaking his head. “You don’t? That’s great. Good for you,” he says, walking out of the bar. 

“Matthew,” you call, running after him. “Matthew, wait!” The cold from the air outside hits you immediately, direct contrast to the humidity you felt in the bar as you try to catch up to Matthew. 

You finally do, grabbing his hand and turning him around to face you. His face was red, either from the cold or from his emotions getting the best of him, his eyes shining with tears about to fall. “What? What do you care? Go back in and flirt with him.” 

“What about you?” you fire back, Matthew taking a step back at your voice raising, “You said you were getting me a drink and then I find you standing against the wall you were kissing me against not an hour earlier with another girl.” 

He scoffs, shock covering your face, “So because we’re seeing each other, I can’t talk to another girl? You’re the only girl I can have in my life?” 

“I’m the girl in your life? Who even am I to you? You couldn’t call me your girlfriend in front of Evelina, my best friend, but you can say it to some creep in the bar? Did you just call me that to get him off of me, or do you actually think of me that way?” 

He looks down at his shoes, his curls moving more than the rest of his head as he shook it in disappointment. Looking up at you, a sad smile was plastered on his face. “You really don’t know? After all this time, you don’t know how I feel about you? I shouldn’t even have to say it to you, Y/N.” 

“I’m not a mind reader, Matthew, I need you to say it. I want you to say it,” you spit back at him, the distance between you too big for your comfort as tears rolled down your cheeks. “We haven’t talked about anything. How am I supposed to know how you feel when I look for you and you have another girl throwing herself at you. You could take home any girl in that bar, except for Evelina, if you wanted to. And who’s to say you wouldn’t?”

“You’re fucking joking,” he says, you taking a step further from him. “There’s no one I want to go home with in that bar besides you. You’re the only one I ever want to go home with.”

“Then what am I to you?” you ask him again, the cold air hitting your cheeks. You knew the people walking around you were stopping to stare at the scene you and Matthew were causing there in the street. 

“What about me?” he asks, calmly. “What am I to you? It doesn’t matter what you are to me if you can’t figure that out.” You both stand there in silence. You know Matthew is staring at you but you can’t muster up the courage to look at him. You can’t tell him, for whatever reason. You can’t admit to yourself, to Evelina, especially not to him how you felt. “You know what?” he breaks the silence, “Just go finish your fucking list about why you hate me. It’s certainly better than just being your fuck buddy.”

You feel your breath stop, panic washing over you. “What?”

[synchlora]

I Promise

major warnings here, please heed them. there is lots of blood, major injury, and self-harm. also mentions of suicide, alcohol, and past abuse, both physical and emotional.

time period is in the days just after tubbo discovers where he believes tommy killed himself. so just as exile was ending basically

-----

It could’ve been a bird.

The cry that echoed throughout the SMP wasn’t entirely distinct. Could’ve been anything honestly. It was loud, it was unidentifiable, and it came from the general direction of the graveyard.

That was all Quackity knew when he set out from his home. He had been working on paperwork for L’manburg, staying up long after his fiances, with the whispered promise he’d join them in their cozy bed once he was finished.

But something was up. Something that he wasn’t willing-- or was far too curious-- to ignore. He's not one to be superstitious, but a shriek coming from a graveyard isn't exactly something you can sleep on after hearing. So he left the warmth of his home and headed out to the graveyard, armed only with a lantern and a healthy fear of what he may encounter.

The night is chilly and the crisp autumn wind bites at face as he makes his way towards the source of the call. He holds his lantern close, trying to convince himself the tiny flame can provide some semblance of warmth. Looking to the screensaver of his fiances on his communicator, he suddenly wishes he were back at home snuggled under the covers with them.

But as he walks down the path to the graveyard, he can instantly tell something’s wrong. The ground ahead of him is dark and stained in some places. Feeling his heart beginning to pound with dread, he approaches the parts of the path that have been discolored. Lowering his lantern to the ground, his heart sinks as red fills his vision.

The pathway is covered in a trail of blood.

Holding his hand to his mouth to stifle a gasp-- and maybe also to choke back the bile that rises in his throat-- he follows the trail back to one gravestone in particular. The normally grey stone is stained with red, a spattered pattern of fresh blood now accenting the bold name etched into the granite.

Tommy.

And in an instant he knows exactly whose blood it is.

Feeling sick with concern, he nearly trips over his own feet hurrying back down the path to follow the blood leading out the gates. He knows it has to be Tubbo’s, no one else visits Tommy’s grave nearly as much. No one else visits Tommy’s grave at all. But he can’t bring himself to imagine what happened. Doesn’t want to imagine the young president with such an injury that would cause this much bloodshed.

Even as the trail ends at Tommy’s old house, he’s still in denial of the situation.

Bursting through the doors of Tommy’s old home, he sees Tubbo standing in the corner, shakily holding an axe to the base of an already-bleeding horn. It's skewed at an awkward angle and it takes Quackity a moment to see the cause of that unnatural turn. Covered in fresh, red blood, there’s a deep gash at its base. He meets the eyes of Tubbo and frantically begins to speak.

"What the hell happened?" his eyes are flickering over the scene before him as he tries to process what’s going on.

Tubbo looks at him, unblinking, shaking as he moves the axe away from his own skull. He glances to the blood-soaked hand holding the hatchet and looks up to the man standing in the doorway. With a sudden fervor that was not in his form moments prior, he shoves the axe forward, holding it out to Quackity.

"Can you fix me?"

"What?" Quackity stands back for only a moment of confusion before snapping back to the present moment. He has one goal right now: protect Tubbo.

He lunges forwards and quickly takes the axe from the young boy's hand, discarding it on the floor behind him. Tubbo frowns as the axe clatters to the ground and he looks up to Quackity, desperation now painting his features.

"Please make me stop being Schlatt."

Quackity’s breath is gone in an instant.

"What??" Quackity once again voices his obvious confusion, stepping closer to Tubbo and feeling his stomach lurch at the sight of his mangled horn. "What do you mean?"

"I don't want to be like him," a sob escapes the boy's mouth as he babbles on, "I’m becoming him and I don't want that to happen."

There’s fear in the horned boy’s eyes, genuine concern laced with the sharp pain that he is no doubt feeling.

And Quackity is livid.

Not angry at the small figure before him, no. He is instead enraged at the memories of sharp teeth and whiskey-tinged breath. Enraged at the thought of his old mentor, the man who he watched kill the boy in front of him without hesitation or remorse. The echoes of a shouting voice fill his ears as he takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself.

How could Tubbo ever think he was anything like Schlatt? Schlatt was a monster, a cruel man who wanted nothing but to hurt others. Tubbo is just a kid. A young president who was caught in the crossfire, forced to make decisions no man, much less a child, should ever have to make.

And he can’t let Tubbo convince himself that he’s even a fraction of that evil.

Kneeling down to his height, he holds out a hand to the younger and gets his attention back from staring at the bloody axe behind him. Tubbo looks to him, eyes glassy and not seeming to fully take in the situation he’s in.

"You are nothing like him, Tubbo, okay?" there’s a stern assuredness to his voice that he’s never had before, "No matter what, I know you could never be who Schlatt was."

He offers out an arm for the younger to accept. He quickly does, falling weakly into a hug before whimpering in pain at the movement of his severed horn. Quackity cringes upon hearing Tubbo cry out, tears welling in his eyes just at the sight of the kid he sees as a younger brother in pain. He has to get his horn fixed and fast, there’s no time for--

“I exiled him,” Tubbo quietly speaks through broken sobs, voice building into a shout, “I exiled him and now he’s dead and-- and-- and it’s all because of me!”

Tubbo cries and pushes himself away from the hug. Quackity’s heart aches as Tubbo shrinks away from him, curling himself into the corner of the room. He’s hyperventilating now, whole body shaking as he cries, though Quackity can’t tell if it’s from pain or grief.

“Tubbo…” Quackity cautiously approaches him and sits down a few feet away, “There’s-- you couldn’t have known what Dream would do to him--”

“I should have!” his voice is hoarse with tears as he screams at the older. Wincing at the pain the sudden exertion of anger causes, he crumples in on himself and hugs his knees to his chest continuing to sob.

“He’s my best friend,” Tubbo’s voice is hardly audible as sobs catch him in his mistake, “was…”

Tubbo nearly falls over, Quackity catching him before he fully faints.

“You never should’ve had to make that decision,” Quackity shifts to help Tubbo sit up better before continuing, “That’s the difference between you and Schlatt.”

At this Tubbo looks up, puzzled.

“Schlatt would take any chance to hurt others but you... you can’t bear that pain even when forced to make those choices.” Quackity gently rubs reassuring circles on Tubbo’s back, “you are not a cruel person.”

Tubbo tries to speak, though he instead simply shudders as his voice trails off. He feels physically weaker, now hardly sitting up on his own, much less able to continue speaking. The only words that leave his mouth now are incomprehensible ramblings about a pillar and an island that Quackity has never heard of before.

He’s bleeding badly, the wound to his horn gushing blood readily and staining his face and clothes as it continues to bleed profusely. He has to get that blood to stop before he loses too much.

Quackity shifts slightly to get a better look at it, feeling himself get dizzy at the sight of so much red. He can see that Tubbo took one solid swing at it but it didn't cut cleanly through. There's still a portion of horn holding on in vain to the rest of it. A tiny, cracking bridge between the base and curling end.

The base of his horn is where it’s bleeding. He’ll have to get some bandaging and hold pressure there to get it to finally stop. But god, it’s an awkward angle with that piece of horn and there’s no way he can manage to keep steady pressure with it in the way.

Quackity’s heart sinks as he realizes what he needs to do.

He'll have to break it off.

There's no way he'll be able to get the rest of it to stop bleeding with that portion of his horn in the way. It’d be impossible to hold pressure on the wound with it there. And if he doesn’t, well. He’d rather not think about that outcome.

He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, though the sight of blood doesn't leave his mind. Regaining his composure, he shrinks away from Tubbo slightly. Tubbo mumbles something through his delirious state, though Q can't tell what it is. He sits up and places a hand on Tubbo’s shoulder to get his more direct attention. Tubbo looks up.

“I--" he's not sure how to even begin to phrase this, "I need to clean up your wound and stop the bleeding."

Tubbo nods along, wincing at even the slight movement.

“But in order to do that I've got to…” Quackity clenches his teeth hard. This isn't going to be easy, "I have to break off the rest of your horn."

Tubbo flinches at this proposition despite himself. He was the one begging Q to cut it off only minutes before. Why is he feeling so resistant now? He’s why they’re in this situation to begin with, why his view is filled with red and his mind is buzzing with pain. He wanted this.

But now he’s afraid. The pain has caught up with him and his mind is reeling with thoughts of survival before anything else. And oh god, is he going to die? Is Quackity going to be the last person to see him as the light drains from his eyes? Better Quackity than Tommy, he supposes, though it’s not like it’d even be possible for Tommy to see him now. He blinks a few tears from his eyes as he pictures the cold stone of his friend’s grave.

Tommy wouldn’t want you to die.

With what little energy he has left, he lets out a quiet, raspy yes.

Quackity nods and pulls him into yet another hug. Tubbo weariy obliges, weakly wrapping his arms around the older’s back and letting his tears soak into his shirt.

“You want me to count down?” Quackity’s voice is practically a whisper, feeling as though if he speaks too loudly it’ll somehow shatter the fragile thing that is Tubbo in this moment.

Tubbo nods lightly into his chest before sitting back and wiping tears from his own face. It doesn’t do much more than smudge more blood across his eyes. Looking defeatedly up to Quackity he says one more thing.

"Please just--. Just make sure no one hears me?"

Quackity feels his heart break at the request. Tubbo, despite it all, still doesn't want to be a bother to anyone. Despite being on death’s door, despite all of the pain he’s in, he still worries his problems will only burden others.

And despite how much it pains Quackity to do so, he agrees to muffle his cries.

"I promise."

Nodding to the younger, he gently kneels in front of him. Placing one hand to keep his horn steady, he gently grips the mangled end of it. The sight alone is just about enough to make him puke, but he bites back the bile that threatens to rise up his throat. Taking a deep breath, he starts to count down.

"Three," he feels Tubbo tense his shoulders but quickly regain his faked composure. He’s trying to breathe in calm patterns to little avail.

"Two," Quackity can feel his own hands slick with blood and questions whether or not he can stomach hurting Tubbo, even if it helps him in the long run. Gods, this is horrible.

He takes a deep breath.

"One," he sharply pulls his hand back, gripping the end of the horn. A sickening crack fills the air and Quackity feels the horn break from the base. As soon as he sees that the horn is fully detached, he tosses it across the room and in one swift motion, hands still covered in blood, he wraps his arms around Tubbo and pulls him in close.

He has to keep his promise.

While the citizens of L'manburg and the Dream SMP alike may not have heard Tubbo, Quackity will never be able to get his shriek out of his head. Never forget how tightly Tubbo clung to the back of his shirt, never lose the scarring of etched fingernail imprints the younger left on his arms, never clean off all of the blood that cakes the indents in his communicator’s keys as he shakily called for someone-- anyone-- to come help him. But he keeps it to himself.

He can’t break his promise.

[cosmicbash]

I'm hesitant to post this, because??? Honestly?? I'm not 100% sure I haven't already posted it. I was perusing my Google docs trying to relabel stuff as posted and such to better organize and found this, which @lemon-coke and me both can't figure out if I ever posted. So.

Better to repost it and give you all something to reread then not post it all I assume.

Sorry!

It starts out as a misunderstanding, of course, because how else would their relationship begin?

A series of short tentative chats that somehow blossom into a full on dinner together, Colson sweating and more anxious than he's ever been in his life. It just doesn't seem real, that not only could he be mending this feud with his idol but also sitting across from him at some fancy restaurant table learning Eminem eats his steaks well done like some child. And laughing about it. 

He's actually laughing. With his idol, his rival, his highschool crush. Long legs kicking out under the table at his own bad jokes, Em half smirking back at him. Their feet brushing one too many times for the color to leave his cheeks even after he's done giggling.

By the time Colson is talking Em into splitting some crazy good looking chocolate cake he actually feels better than he has in years. Since before the beef. So of course something has to go wrong. It really would have to be a dream for things not to sour.

He wants to pretend the first few flirty comments are in his head. That Em reaching across the table to roughly rub some chocolate off his cheek is a Detroit thing. But by the time they're finished eating and waiting for the check Colson's creeping suspicion has turned into full on alarm bells blaring. There's just no way to excuse the nervous looks or Em's almost hesitant invitation up to his hotel room. 

It feels like a slap to the face. Everything suddenly makes sense. Why they're eating in the other rapper's hotel, why Em is even speaking to him. None of this is to repair their relationship or end the beef. It's all just some poorly hidden buttering up before Em asks him to get down on his knees. 

Colson should blow up. He should just lash out and throw his fist into Em's face. Storm out and flag down the valet. He's not some escort that the rapper can rent for the night and feed a fancy dinner to.

But there's that guilty feeling that has settled into the pit of his stomach. The one that's been there since he first lashed out and ruined everything with his diss track, the comments about Hailey, his childish bitching in interviews. It's only doubled since they first sat down to eat. Every muffled chuckle and weakly hidden smile from the older man digging that pit deeper and deeper. Showing him what he carelessly threw away in some desperate grab for attention.

It's got a small voice in the back of Colson's head warning him how if he says no and storms out he's just doing the same thing all over again, cutting Em out of his life. This time possibly forever.

So Colson bites his tongue and nods. His fingers anxiously climbing up into his hair to help hide the guilty look he knows must be on his face when he stutters out a "y-yeah, yeah, sure."

The genuine smile Em flashes back at him at his agreement just feels like a knife being jammed next to the shovel.

How can the man look so fucking blissful about something that feels like borderline blackmail?

But Em does. He looks stunned, downright flustered even at first at his response. Then happy. A happy that isn't hidden by some fake cough or behind a delicate yet strong looking hand for once. It gives Colson something precious to hold onto in the sea of uncomfortable and nasty emotions twisting up his stomach while the older rapper pays. 

The knot just twists itself up tighter once they're in the elevator, his silence thankfully brushed off as nervousness by Em. The almost shy glance of steely blue eyes his way making him feel so small while buttons are pressed. Usually Colson would blame this kind of nausea on the ride itself, but for once his phobia of the small metal deathtraps is actually being overpowered. A new fear worming its way through his guts as each floor number blinks to life.

He doesn't want to freak out. To run away, but hes too goddamn sober for this. Avoiding smoking and turning down the offer of wine at dinner just to try and impress his idol was threatening to be his downfall. If he'd known Em was going to show such little respect and consideration to his being like this he would have lit a fat one up right there at the table. Hell, maybe that would have changed the older man's mind about propositioning him in the first place. Surely a druggie asshole was less appealing to make drop to their knees instead of his current carefully put together primped and meek self.

"Only a few more floors. Don't go green on me just yet Kelly." 

Colson didn't know whether to take the playful nudge as comforting or creepy. Maybe, a little flattering? If Em had actually looked into him enough to learn about his problem with elevators and the man just wasn't guessing off the apparent discolor of his face that is.

"Y-yeah."

Imagining Eminem of all people actually following his interviews or caring about his personal life that much felt like a pipe dream though. 

Outside of the next 20 minutes or however long it took for the bastard to get his rocks off he highly doubted Em would put much thought into his existence at all. Which would be fair. After all the shit he's said and done he really doesn't deserve the time of day from his idol. 

A ding and the elevator doors were opening. Colson's legs feeling numb beneath him when he finally lets go of the railing in the elevator to stumble forward. Thankful that Em's focus was on digging his room's keycard out of his wallet and not his clumsy steps. Each one bringing them closer and closer to their destination, making the whole situation so vividly real he couldn't help but panic again. The other man's forced small talk about how he "Doesn't usually book the penthouse suite-" falling on deaf ears.

It’s ironic, how often he had dreamed for this exact scenario. For Eminem to be leading him up to some fancy high end hotel room, promising to shower him fully in his attention and gaze. Only now, with his dream coming true right before his eyes he can’t help but feel bittersweet about the heated gaze holding him frozen just outside the door. Em’s final offer for him to back down before they both step through the threshold clear as day in the look.

The twist in his gut tells Colson to take it, to just spin around on his heel and run away with his tail tucked between his legs. Accept he’s too much of a coward and too full of himself to actually mend their beef.

But the desperate need he feels for forgiveness and absolvement pushes Colson forward instead. Sheer will alone giving him the confidence to twirl his idols hoodie strings around his fingers to drag Em inside with him. The loud beat of his heart completely smothering the other man’s flustered outburst. 

Just like in church the blonde finds himself on his knees not too long after entering. Mouth open and hands clasped together, ready to ask for forgiveness. Except this god he’s praying to is running it’s fingers through his hair, and there’s a stiff cock separating his palms. A chorus of curses and “Holy fuck, K-Kelly just wait a second, shit, your tongue is-“ tickling his ears instead of hymns.

He’s never sucked a cock before, and it’s embarrassing how quickly he finds himself choking. But Colson doesn’t give up, even when his jaw starts to ache and the grip on his hair grows a bit too tight. His discomfort doesn’t matter here. He just needs to make Em happy, earn the forgiveness he doesn’t deserve.

“Can I- fuck, can I fuck your face?” Both of the older rapper’s palms are holding his bangs away from his face, tilting his head back just enough to force their eyes to meet. The shame in his chest doubles but so does the surprising tightness in his jeans when he sees the uncharacteristic flush to Em’s cheeks.

He isn’t experienced, the smart thing to do would be pull off and admit that. He’s seen first hand how disastrous things can go but his head bobs in a yes anyway. Eyes already starting to water from how the action jabs the other rappers cock right against his gag reflex.

A low groan is all the warning he gets before Em’s fingers are knotting in his hair, forcing his head down to meet the thrust of strong hips. Stuffing that hard dick down his throat so fast it burns and his hands can’t help but flail, helplessly grabbing onto the meat of the older rapper’s thighs through his sweats. Unable to even steal another gasp of air before it happens again. Em’s hips pistoning forward to fuck his mouth like some cheap replaceable toy. 

Even after he gags and gurgles spit the rapper doesn’t stop. 

The harsh pants of praise and encouragement burning his ears just as hotly as the tears in his eyes. “Ah, so good. So fucking good baby, the best, ah-“

Colson doesn’t know what’s worse, how quickly his heart skips at the surprise tern of endearment or how pathetically his cock jerks in his underwear. Not that he has much time to think on it with how Em abruptly forces his face right down to the bone, soft and scratchy pubes tickling his nose. Startling him before the other man’s blowing his load, Colson’s eyes widening and nails cutting deeply into Em’s legs while he chokes. There’s too much, even with his throat reflexively swallowing it still fills up his mouth and bursts out the sides. Dripping down his chin and out onto his shirt when Em finally pulls him off.

It’s salty, and thick. Nothing like the eggnog Rook’s joked to him it tastes like. There’s nothing sweet about this thick cream, even if the lightheaded feeling he’s got from milking it out still makes him feel drunk. 

“Shit. I wanna take a picture.“ Em’s palm is tilting his head back again, dragging his glassy eyes up away from the twitching spit slick cock in front of him. Thumb forcing his tongue down flat to flash what he can only imagine has to be a white mess before the hand in his hair is fumbling out a phone. “Can I?”

He almost wants to laugh at how the brunette doesn’t even wait for his answer before there is the unmistakable flash of a phone light temporarily blinding him. A curse and then another two, these ones at least allowing him the chance to shut his eyes tightly.

The shame within him is boiling, burning through his veins like lava and making his heart drop down into his stomach.

“So pretty-“ Em’s fingers are releasing his tongue and jaw to rake through his bangs yet again. Exposing his face even though Colson wants nothing more than to hide. A stifled sob tearing at his aching throat while he swallows what he can inside his mouth without completely gagging.

He can’t cry. That would ruin the mood wouldn't it? And if it doesn't, Colson doesn't know how he would handle having Em laugh at his tears. The almost soft demeanor and shy quality to his tone is all thats keeping the blonde from running away as it is. 

The shuffle of shoes and curl of strong fingers pulling him up startles Colson's eyes back open. Lashes fluttering to blink away the brief flash of wetness that's blurred his vision before he realizes he's being kissed. That Em's palms are cupping his jaw yet again, helping him to his feet. 

It's scratchy, and softer than he expects. Not that he was expecting Eminem to be kissing him in the first place, but the man doesn't relent. Just keeps kissing him, even after he's grown to his full height and the angle of their heads has switched. Em's tongue snaking its way inside his mouth while they stumble back further into the room. Until Colson's head is feeling fuzzy and his knees weak, the cushioned crash of his body hitting a mattress barely felt.

It feels wrong when Em's hands smooth up over his chest and down inside his jeans. The uncontrollable kick of his hips up into a tight hand around his cock almost blasphemous. There's no reason for Em to even be bothering with touching him there, he doesn't deserve it. But the rapper is sucking and nibbling along his neck, up into his ear to whisper a dozen filthy praises and compliments. None of them possibly true.

"So pretty-" "Perfect-" "Wanted to touch you for so long-" 

"Stop-" Colson's hands feel shaky as they drag his idols face back up to meet his in a messy kiss. Breath tight while he tries to speak between pecks. "Just- fuck, just hurry-"

When he winds up on his stomach some point into the night, Em's too big cock pressing hard against his entrance he can't help but cry out. The pitiful fist he shoves between his own teeth doing nothing to stifle the sound.

It hurts, more than the thin fingers he'd taken only moments prior. But not as much as the soothing shushes and affectionate run of hands through his hair. 

[xbunnybunz]

Daybreak (5/?) [Wolf Keum x Reader x Alex Go]

Summary: The day brings to you Alex Go, and in the night, Wolf Keum. Your past is inescapable. They build you up and tear you back down, but this is what you need to survive.

Genre: Romance, Angst, Drama

—–

The shop is big, spacious, and refreshing. The windowpanes take up most of the wall space, dousing the entire café in golden afternoon light and complementing the cream and brown wallpaper and flooring.

The light purges the heavy thoughts from your mind. It’s an ethereal sensation, and the combination of the serene atmosphere and Alex’s presence help even out your breathing.

You stay close to Alex when he speaks to a waitress. There was a gentle hum of pop music over the speakers, you appreciated the way the songs blended into the sparse chatter and gentle tinkering of metal forks on ceramic plates.

You wondered how you didn’t know a place like this before, perhaps it opened recently? Your fingers raise to skim the engravings on the front desk. The discoloration on some of the dark wooden chairs told you otherwise. The divots in the polish whisper that you’ve been left behind, that time keeps going on, no matter how much you retract into yourself.

A small sigh slips from your lips and you divert your gaze to the floor, eyes sweeping over the pretty marble tile, catching the light through the windows and winking at you with a flourish.

Since that dreaded day, you had lived your happy afternoons in miserable loneliness in your bedroom, curtains pulled close to keep the sanctifying light off your cursed skin. You always knew the world would move on without you, but you had no idea it would hurt so much.

A gentle hand brushes your elbow and you look up.

“Come on,” Alex smiles at you, “Let’s grab a seat.”

You’re both seated in a corner booth, right by the windows. You like it because the way the sunshine hits Alex’s face makes his eyes glimmer with yellow flecks. His smile doesn’t seem half as blinding when the sun is right beside him.

“Haha, we got a good spot!” He laughs. His unending excitement with life is refreshing and the radiant energy that emits from him is amazing. So why can’t you get that damned streetlight out of your head?

You push it back again, but the darkness still seeps out, spilling over the table, the chair, the marbled floors.

“I really like how much sunlight we get in here.” You say, ignoring the tingling in your fingers. “I hope the food is as good as the vibe.”

Alex chuckles and hands you a menu from the stack propped up on the side. “Oh trust me, the food is the only real reason I keep coming back here.”

He pops the menu open and you eye the way he pours over the food selection, a wide smile on his face as he hums along with the tune overhead.

He’s so happy it’s strange, so happy you can’t understand it. Being so carefree was something you could barely remember. It was a breath of an old memory, calling out, beckoning and begging you to come back. But you can’t and you can only watch, enchanted, as someone else bathes in that blissful peace.

“Truth be told, Ben and I always get take-out here but this is the first time I’ve dined in. It always seemed like somewhere people studied, or took someone to impress them.”

He chuckles, scratching the side of his head.

“So I never had a good reason to eat in, until now.” He peeks at you shyly and your stomach flips at the expression he’s making, soft, endearing, and something else.

“Well, unless you brought study guides with you,” You raise an arm and prop your cheek on your palms, eyes meeting his with a spark, “I’m impressed.”

He ignites like a firework, all smiles, sparks and red coloring his cheekbones, and it’s amazing to watch, to feel, to know he’s so close you could almost touch him. Your fingers rebel, flexing out, but your arm stays anchored to the table.

“I, ah, that makes me really happy to hear.”

You can’t believe you’re the source of his happiness, but his grin right now is too earnest, too honest, and you wonder who the hell told him to wear his heart on his sleeve like that, who told him it was alright to smile at anyone the way he does.

“Ah, I really wanted to try this last time but Ben wanted the chocolate mousse instead. Let’s try this one today!”

You lean slightly across the table and peer at what he’s pointing at, and he follows in suit so you don’t have to move too far.

Up close, you can inhale his scent, lawn clippings and pine, a hint of something like pencil shavings. You peek at him through your lashes, watching the avid manner he spoke in, all drivel now that you were so close to him.

His eyes, aglow, alive, so endless and deep with a green hue you could watch them forever, embrace the way he understood the world through them, admire the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled too big, or laughed too hard.

You take in the way his eyebrows shoot up when he sees something he wants to order, or furrow when he complains and asks why it’s in French.

The way his lips curl, his cheeks push up, his hair falls, it’s all so expressive it almost hurts you to watch him, longing and captivated all at once.

“Ack! I’ll just get this one! It’s so hard to decide when everything looks so good. What about you?”

Alex glances up at you and catches you watching him, and the world shifts in an odd, enthralling way when his enthused expression melts into a calmer one, subdued compared to his previous energy, like a tiptoe around what was going on in his mind.

A moment passes, one, two, and his eyes trail down, down, down but you break the silence before his gaze can reach your lips. Look back down at the menu, and the tension is gone.

“The French toast looks good, we can both share so we taste more of the menu in one go.”

You pull back a bit, and his eyes follow you. Thrilled and confused.

“Sure, we can go with that.”

His voice sounds breathy, coarse. It raises the hairs on the back of your neck, but you just fold up the menus and recite the orders to the waitress who comes to pick them up.

By the time she leaves Alex has settled down again, though his gaze is still curious.

You don’t pay him any mind and rescind into the comfort of your soft leathery seat, not caring about the way it squeaks against your legs.

It’s a strange but comfortable silence. You think about how the quiet that occurs at home is so much more heavy and burdensome than the one now, wonder why that is, wonder how it’s so different, if the stillness should all be the same.

Maybe because it’s not stillness. There’s a sort of bubbly sensation in your stomach and chest, like pop rocks in your mouth, when Alex Go continues to ponder about you.

He doesn’t ask, but you can tell by the way he’s folding and unfolding his tissue and chewing on his straw. His mouth opens like he’s about to pose a question, but it evaporates into the air.

He does this until all the food comes, and only after everything is on the table do you ask,

“What’s wrong, Alex Go? Something on your mind?”

He looks shocked, like he has no idea how you read his mind, but relieved at the same time.

“Yeah actually, but I wasn’t sure how to ask without seeming… Intrusive.”

He pauses, doesn’t touch his food. Strange, because you swore you remembered him saying how hungry he was on the way here.

“You can ask me.”

Your voice is soft and reassuring, and you hope it’ll be enough to coax the question out of him. And it is.

“Well, I noticed that a lot of the times you seem really sad.”

He picks up his fork, spins it, but doesn’t eat.

“When I first met you, and that day at the market. On the way here, too. I know we aren’t super close or anything, but if telling me anything helps, I’d gladly hear you out.”

He scratches his ear. Scritch scratch. You’re taken aback, but you suppose you shouldn’t be surprised. You had cried the first time you met him and tried to pick a fight with a wall. But it’s the straightforward manner that he asks that shocks you the most.

You notice he’s still not eating, wonder if it’s nerves. You pick up your fork, making sure it clicks against your plate, and break off a piece of French toast. Almost like this reminds him there’s food on the table, Alex follows suit and begins to eat.

“There was a traffic accident.” You say. It comes out easier than you thought it would, easier than those times you choke up recalling the memories alone in your room.

“Not too far from here.”

Right by that accursed intersection, right by that damned flickering stoplight that had broken for reasons unknown to you until recently.

Alex looks up at you. He stops eating again and you curse yourself. His with eyes filled with a certain type of pity you’ve grown to detest, somehow it’s even more heartbreaking coming from him.

“I think about it a lot, about him a lot… I just can’t forget. It’s agonizing.”

Like a curse, the memory plays in your head, the stark contrast of streetlights against his silhouetted body.

“I wish I could’ve… Your hands ball up, your voice faltering. “I can’t help but wonder how things would be different if I had seen it coming.” There’s a pulse in your windpipe that makes it hard to breathe or speak. You begin to drift. Your eyes cast downwards and your wrists feel numb, a painful mark of the day that had changed your life and taken so much from you. You remember him, can’t ever forget him, see him in the distance, fading into a darkness you could not reach into. Then Alex’s voice pulls you out of your daze.

“It’s not your fault.”

You look up, eyes glassy with tears you hadn’t realized were forming. “What?”

“I said it’s not your fault.” Alex looks up at you, and those soft green eyes are harder now. “No one can protect everyone.” His knee brushes yours under the table and you stiffen. You can’t help it and he doesn’t notice.

“It’s easy to blame yourself for these things, I know.”

There’s a look in his eye, one of pain, one of regret, you know it because you regard those feelings as good friends, as bad friends, as longtime friends.

“But your friend, he wouldn’t want you to hold yourself back because of it. No one would wish that on someone they cared about, even if it’s hard for us to believe...”

You swallow, but the lump stays in your throat. The feeling is back, bitter and dark, crawling along your skin and piercing your mind with thick venom.

“What if you’re wrong?” You ask, voice barely a whisper. What if you wanted someone to blame for this?

“I’ve lost everything and I have no one else to blame except…” You fix your gaze upon Alex Go but all you can see is yourself, reflected in his eyes. You turn away, a grimace forming on your lips. “…I need to talk to him again, but hell, what if that’s not an option?”

The desperation in your voice inches up and out of your lips, it consumes your words with the darkness that has always lurked deep within your mind, taunting and keeping you up at night, harboring you to the bed in the morning with a grisly type of sickness.

“I hate living like this. But I just can’t move on, every day is reliving the same damn memory, but this is what I deserve.” You choke out a laugh, “Gone. Just like that. Because of me.”

“You’re wrong!”

Alex’s voice rises enough to cause some murmurs, but he doesn’t care. You raise your eyes, so far gone that the roaring fire in his eyes feel only like a flickering candle.

“What good does it do to hold someone else back because you can’t let go of the past?” He cries.

You know he’s right, but his words burn, they sting, they feel like an attack. You want to block your ears and drown him out, but you know it won’t work now. They’re already inside of your head.

So you just sit there with your hands in your lap, hiding the way they tremble like leaves in a storm.

“It’s hard.” You say, and it’s true. Anger is all you’ve ever known since it happened. “I can’t help it.”

Alex snakes his hand over the table, an invitation for comfort.

Your body bursts with adrenaline and you want so badly to press your fingers into his, aching for the warmth of acceptance, the precious grasp of someone who will hold you gently, treat you delicately. But you are at war with your mind and it is terrified of the light, flinching away whenever Alex Go opens his mouth to rain upon you the blessed sunshine you crave yet fear so deeply.

You have been functioning only on the fuel of fear and anger since the crash. You are accustomed to the way it sears at the back of your eyes and the pits of your stomach, so you pretend to not see his offer. He’s so lost in his thoughts he doesn’t notice.

“I know.” He says. “But this isn’t fair to you.”

It sits in the air and curdles there, mixing with the inky blackness oozing from your pores and leaving behind a rancid odor of shame that only you could smell.

“I’m sorry.” You say. For being miserable, for making a scene, for blaming Alex, though he was not aware.

He smiles at you, always that damn smile. “You don’t have to be.”

But you are. You always will be.

You smile back at him, try to convince him he’s said the right things. “Let’s dig in.”

He grins at you, and his eyebrows quirk in that way that let you know he’s bought it.

“Let’s.”