#i want to bite through concrete its so painful. and not to mention the fact that im SLEEPY! I WANT SLEEP!

[aria0fgold]

Waiting for my mom to wake up so I can ask her if we have any medicine or if a warm compress can help with this stomach ache cuz lads... I don't think I'm strong enough to endure this for however long it'll last until it goes away on its own orz...

[yeoldontknow]

the light keeper’s daughter | jhs (m)

A/N: written as fulfillment for the july house games at @bangtansorciere  ❂ To The Lighthouse      ⁂ Hosted by: Professor Bee @inkedtae through @bangtansorciere​ AU Type: Trident’s Tides (soulmates) Themes: God/Goddess (goddess reader); Secret Relationship Kinks: clit biting; pain kink; size kink; masturbation; degradation; overstimulation; dirty talk; cum play; panty sniffing

↝ Creative Content Contributor: @jamaisjoons​ for this incredible banner. its literally so stunning ;~; ↝ Pairing: Lighthouse Keeper!Hoseok x Goddess of Light!Reader (oc; female) ↝ Genre: soulmate au; secret relationship au; gods/goddess au; mentions of an arranged marriage; heavy angst; smut; romance; pining ↝ Rating: NC-17 | 18+ ↝ Summary: For years, you’ve kept your relationship with Hoseok a secret. As the daughter of the God of Light, you are destined to marry anyone who slays the beast in the Gloaming Isles in your honor. When that day finally comes, you go to Hoseok to tell him your relationship must end and you are set to be married. One last time, Hoseok reminds you no one will love you as eternally, as enduringly, as he. ↝ Warnings: explicit sex; explicit language; pregnancy; unprotected sex; creampie; masturbation; clit biting; oral sex (f receiving); pain kink; size kink; overstimulation; light degradation; a brief handjob; impreg kink; dirty talk; cum play; panty sniffing; crying; biting; marking; scratching; brief mentions of blood ↝ Word Count: 14.7K        ↝ special thank you to @softyoongiionly​ and @kithtaehyung​ for reading through this and being amazing betas! if there are any mistakes left over they are absolutely my own and the fact that 98% of this was written while sprinting owo

Looking at Hoseok, you think, is exactly like being struck by lightning. Which is to say, every time, all the time, looking at Hoseok means you feel him everywhere, all over and all at once. 

Inside the lighthouse, there is no escaping him. 

Pressing your back against the rough concrete of the small light room, you tilt your head to the side as the totality of Hoseok’s warmth, ardor, and fidelity blossoms over you. He flowers deep in the nodes of your lungs, your breath constricted as you take him in, studying the curve of his lips, the slope of his nose, the way he wears the night as though he is the stars.

In the distance, waves rush to the shore, kissing the land with the same enthusiasm you wish to be kissing him, only to pull away from land; the water shy, anxious of the earth’s response to its affections. Over and over, the sea rolls like thunder. Every now and then, the light that spins overhead refracts downward, illuminating the blood that has rushed to his cheeks. Flushed, his lips part as he processes the words you have just told him, all red and red and red with understanding.

As though he is burning, as though you are not burning for him, your hands clinging tightly to your skirts as you hold your knees against your chest. It should be utterly unfair, you think, for him to appear so beautiful, so exquisite, even as he remains painfully stricken by your words. The searing ache in your chest germinates alongside your love, mind racing with the apologies he deserves. Your bones tremble with the force of remaining still, prepared to reach out and hold his face and tell him it was a lie. You want to smile for him, want to tease him, want to say you’d been terribly silly and that such jokes are best kept for nights when the sky is not clouded, not cold, and instead warmed by your shared rapture. 

How you would like to give him all the kindest, all the softest, words in the world.

‘It can’t be true.’

He’s said this twice, the disbelief in his voice only just winning out against the grief. Hoseok repeats it again, taking a step towards you, eyes cast down to where you have slunk in shame and sadness. Hands limp at his sides, his fingers quake, torn between balling his hands into fists or running through his hair, their resting place for his worry. Deciding on neither, he simply stands tall and stoic, appearing so small in the light that cascades around the room.

You’d glow for him if you could, if you felt like you deserved to illuminate any part of him at all.

Looking away from his woefully dejected expression, you turn your attention to the small gap in the wall beside you. A window once blocked the wind - stained glass, exquisite. It shattered during a storm, on a night when he pressed himself so deep inside you traces of his essence lingered on your tongue. He was deep enough it hurt, rolling into you with enthusiastic vigor. Tonight, the breeze smells of low tide, acrid in the back of your nose and sour, just like your mood.

‘We knew this would happen,’ is your quiet reply. 

A weak and pathetic excuse, you hate the words even as you say them. Shameful, you think with a grimace, to have pretended that you could have a happy ending, that convincing your father would have been simple. The lies you told yourself and Hoseok, the platitudes that fell from your lips to comfort him, turn on your now, betrayals stacked against you that weigh heavily your judgement. You’ve been childish, so childish, to assume you could have ever been happy.

Hoseok shakes his head, refusing to accept your answer. All fury and rage, he comes to stand before you and lowers to his knees, demanding you look at him. His presence is a live wire, the heat and energy from his skin is vital, a pull against yours that makes you regard him once more, confronted by his enduring beauty. Flooding your vision, he is all you see, all you can fathom, your world beginning and ending with his pleading eyes. 

‘But it’s been years,’ he argues, the high pitched tone of his voice wavering and taught with emotion. He’s older than you, physically, but at this moment he has never been so young, so small, so gloriously human. ‘Centuries even. It’s unfair to you.’

A huff of breath rushes through your nose, your scoff ripe with bitterness. ‘Someone finally slayed the Sydral, as archaic as this ritual actually is. My father said I should have always expected it.’

‘And so now…’ Hoseok’s voice drifts, falling back onto his knees crestfallen. The corner of his lips drop into the beginnings of a deep frown, all manner and will to fight rapidly dissipating.

‘I have to marry them,’ you nod, answering his unspoken question.

For a long while, you hold his gaze, allowing yourself to get lost in the umber of his irises and missing the mirth that usually ignites their sparkle. It is just his breath that cascades over your skin, just the waves that rush beyond the light room, just the world that seems to turn onward, without you, time passing without either of you truly acknowledging it. In this silence, you see your history, your every moment spent with him: the day you met; the day he could not help himself any longer and kissed you soundly, without restraint; the first moment you told him you loved him; the first moment he said he needed you; the plastic ring he won at the pier arcade - extraordinary in all its ugliness - and the gentle, reverent, way he slid it over your finger, calling it a promise of fidelity. 

In Hoseok, you see it all. 

Similarly, he drowns in you, the pink of his cheeks deepening to rose with each passing breath. Posture falling slack, the strap of his ride suspender slips from his shoulder, the collar of his linen shirt loosening with the lack of restraint. A sliver of his collarbone becomes exposed, golden and rich, a tantalizing patch of skin you would caress and kiss if only the circumstances had been different. You wonder idly what he remembers of you, what he sees in your own dispirited expression. You wonder if he remembers the way he loved you, the way he loved you beyond your light and into your darkness. 

You wonder if he remembers the way he ate your shadows - with his whole mouth, with fervor, with pride. You wonder if he remembers the way you devoured him just the same. 

‘This is ridiculous,’ he announces, finally. Turning to look out the window, he regards the sky solemnly, the curve of his profile imposing in its majesty. Eyes narrowed, it is the harshest he has ever looked, devoid of forgiveness. ‘It’s supposed to be me.’

Swiftly, you shake your head, adamant in your disagreement. You reach for him, leaning forward to rest your hand against his chest, against his heart where it thunders in his sternum. Warmth from his skin radiates into your blood, taking root between your joints. Hoseok worms his way into pieces of your spirit long left abandoned, and you swallow thickly, wondering if such affection as this is normal, if it’s always this way.

‘I’d never have let you.’ Your dispute is biting, sharp enough Hoseok turns his eyes back to you, jaw clenched and tight with silent fury. ‘You’re human. It would have killed you. And then where would I be?’

‘You’d be sitting where I am,’ he argues, emphatic. 

Reaching for your hand where it rests, he covers it with his own, lifting it slightly to twine his fingers with yours. Unable to help himself, he inches closer, running his thumb over your knuckles and sending shivers along your nerves. Like always, his touch is a wildfire, the electric kinetic energy needed to set you aglow. Your mind swims with him the same way your body becomes whelmed by his devotion, but he does not let himself become distracted. 

‘Do you even understand?’ Voice little more than a whisper, Hoseok’s gaze is penetrating, a bite to his veneration that demands your complete attention. Tilting his head to the side, he continues. ‘You think I wouldn’t die for you?’

You squeeze his hand with tenacity, acknowledging his sentiment, but he does not see all the things you have witnessed. He does not know the true menace of the Sydral, does not know its tricks, its many heads, its speed, its cunning; Hoseok would die for you, and death would find him quickly. 

Instead, you offer him a small smile, one that is so fragile and close to breaking. Hoseok’s intensity burns within your chest, transforming his softness into the valor of a man that leaves you breathless. Salvaging your own strength, you lower your gaze to the white collar of his shirt, to the soft linen and the expanse of his throat where he swallows. This you can regard with pleasure, can regard without fearing you may shatter.

And so you smile, finding the will to fight him once more. ‘The problem,’ you begin, hoping the earnestness of your smile is enough to cool the rage that boils in his throat, ‘is that I know you would. And I would live my life alone, married to him while knowing you are gone. Would you really condemn me to such misery? My darling, I would die to keep you safe.’

This feels like anguish; this feels like dying, you think to yourself, growing ever more despondent the longer you feel Hoseok pleading with the emptiness that lurks behind your eyes. You can’t bear to face him, not when the tightness in your throat becomes a threat, tears lingering on the precipice of spilling. Every time his gaze meets yours it is brutal in its honesty, violent in the way your love and lust tumbles so completely into grief.

‘How long?’ he manages, breathing life to the very question you’d been hoping to avoid. 

Your future is still so far away, distant enough it makes this moment, and every moment to follow, heavy with the pain of imagination. Still, you’ve never been able to deny him anything. 

Once more, you turn to view the window, regarding it with a vacant expression as though you are regarding time itself. ‘You know this is the last time I can see you.’

‘I know,’ he bites out, unwilling to let you dodge the answer. ‘I mean how long until...you’re not mine anymore.’

‘That’s...not possible,’ you offer gently, casting him a solemn, detached grin. ‘I am always going to be yours. Even when I’m in his bed, even when I’m thousands of miles away, even in death, I am yours.’

Hoseok pulls you against him, compelling your complete attention. Eyes wide, you study his face - the resolution of his passion fierce enough to be an earthquake against your sternum, a collision of meeting worlds. His arm winds itself around your waist while he still clutches your hand, the strength of his grip stinging against your knuckles. You tremble against his powerful frame, inhaling the deep scent of cedar and ambergris that always clings to him, the salt of the ocean that lingers on his skin, the dust that has saturated his shirt from the lighthouse, and you; your vanilla and lemon, the brightness of your own natural scent that emanates from your light and always seems to find him, not unlike rays of the sun. 

Your mouth waters at this closeness, his own eyes darkened to a rich black as he studies you seriously. You’ve wounded him - worse, you’ve denied him - and he presses the tips of his fingers into the soft muscles of your back, ensuring you cannot leave him. Not until he is ready to let you go.  

‘You know what I mean,’ he breathes, words lowered to a hiss. If he were a vengeful sort of man, he would be full of venom. Instead, there is only remorse in his insistence.

Closing your eyes, you sigh. ‘Months, most likely. Tomorrow the rituals begin - the seven days feast, the Fate Tying, the Blood Gathering.’ 

When you look at him again, your lower lip begins to quake. Saying the words makes it all feel immediate, tangible, as though your father stands in the dark corners of the light room casting his judgements. You almost feel him there, his presence always so sinister for a man blessed to command the light; he resides in the silent places, giving birth to shadows, prepared to pull you from bliss at a moment's notice. 

‘All this pomp and circumstance from eras bygone,’ you continue, grounding yourself in the firmness of Hoseok’s arms and chest. The bones of his knees press into your thighs; your hand caught between your twin heartbeats; you immerse yourself in the pain of this connection and remind yourself it hurts because he was always meant to be yours. ‘It’s been centuries since a goddess has been married off, and yet somehow I’m the first for such a sentence. The wedding won’t be for at least five months.’

‘Then we have time.’ Hope saturates his words, his hold on you growing ever more unyielding. ‘You can still come to me, we can still see each other,’ he explains quickly, speaking in a rush. ‘No one will have to know.’

Biting your lips, you raise your hand to the soft strands of his hair, carding your fingers through it. All silk and satin, you relish the texture as his desperation soaks into your pores. 

‘I wish that could be true.’ Even as you speak, you focus on his hair, committing these small details to memory. The curve of his bang in the center of his forehead, the deep amber and dark sienna and all the golden highlights that come to life in the daylight, the way all of him, every piece, is soft enough to break you. Yes, you focus on it all. ‘All the Old Gods will be gathering in Teylim. There will be more eyes on me than ever before. Ladies coming to fuss over my hair, my clothes, the oils I wear; men worshiping Daeus like he’s some kind of king when, really, he’s just lucky enough to be half of a god. I won’t be able to get away.’

Hoseok’s eyes roam your face, wild and storming, waiting for you to amend your answer. When you do not speak, his brow furrows and he exhales, a small whimper released from the center of his breaking heart. ‘So this is it, then? This is really it?’

‘I’m so sorry,’ you whisper, moving your hand from his hair to cup his cheek. 

He presses himself into your touch, turning just slightly to kiss delicately at your palm. The sweetness of his tenderness splinters the last of your courage, the tears you’ve so valiantly held back starting to burn as they spill over to your cheeks. 

‘I wish it could be different,’ you plead - with everyone and no one at all. ‘I wish for it everyday. Hoseok, I can’t -’ Distraught, you choke on your own words, and Hoseok pulls you firmly against him, resting your head against his shoulder. ‘I can’t breathe without you. I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this.’

Hoseok says nothing at all as you dampen his shirt, tears spilling into the linen as you struggle not to collapse against him completely. When you are finally alone, you will succumb to the sorrow that has learned to occupy every chamber of your heart. When you are finally alone, you will eat the spirit of rage with teeth and fangs, and you will let the darkness have you, refusing to let the light erupt from your skin. But for now, you let the tears arrive of their own accord, aware that you are suddenly too sad to even weep, tears dripping into his shirt as means to remain a part of him.

Against you, Hoseok’s breath becomes uneven, his own shoulders shuddering as he minds his own heroism, fighting back his own tears. He quivers against you, his stuttering breath exhaled through his nose as he maintains his composure. The light room becomes almost too quiet, the blood rushing your ears drowning out the sound of the sea, narrowing your focus to just the shared heat between your bodies. You inch closer, removing any space that could exist between you, extinguishing any oxygen that would dare to separate you from him. What you would give for a thunderstorm, any sound at all to give life to the end of love, to the start of the war of loving. 

Unable to stomach the quiet any longer, your mind seems to become unhinged. All the tiny, miserable little thoughts Hoseok’s love kept locked away worm their way past your lips, erupting to life as though your heartbreak has given them permission to persecute you. 

‘I wish you never found me,’ you mumble, almost incoherent. Your tongue fumbles with the words, caught between weeping and speaking, making a mess of so much more than just his shirt. ‘I wish you never saw me. I could love you like that, on my own, from a distance. I could be strong enough to move through life not knowing you, loving only the idea of you. You’re so much more than anything my mind could have fabricated out of childish desire. The reality of you is heaven. And now, I’m hurting you. I should die for such a transgression.’

‘Don’t say that.’ Hoseok pulls, easing you back and lifting both his hands to cup your face. Briefly you mourn the loss of his fingers and knuckles so rough against yours, but cradled between his palms, your skin tingles, making a festival out of this contact and celebrating the nuance of his fingerprints. He looks down into you, deep enough you feel him taking root in the center of your belly. You love him most when he looks like this - fierce and unforgiving - and you cannot help the way your body responds, aroused simply by the passion of him. ‘Don’t you dare wish that,’ he commands, voice thick. ‘The day we met was the day my life started.’

‘But...’ you struggle to find the words, drifting off with the implication that, now, his life is surely ending.

‘I don’t want to know who I would be without you.’ Hoseok takes his time as he speaks, an art you cannot comprehend. 

Behind his eyes, his mind races, words living and dying before they can reach his tongue. He has so much to say, so many more promises to make, so many more words of affirmation he’d like to give you. You see them all, recognize them all - for they mirror yours, are born from your own likeness; you know them all so well, you feel as though you could reach out and touch them. 

‘I can’t fathom it, I won’t even consider it.’ Shaking his head, he denies this completely, holding onto your stare with a fixation that borders on zealous. ‘You came to me, and it felt like I could breathe. You came to me, and I felt like myself. Loving you makes me better, loving you is partly why I am alive.’

It’s difficult to swallow around the lump in your throat, its size and prowess growing ever larger in the wake of his words. In the oncoming quiet, you wish he hadn’t said it, wish he hadn’t reminded you of the way you the oncoming storm of his presence before you met him. One look at him and you had seen it all, a life designed by the Fates - marriage, children, hope, happiness. In death he’d have joined you in Teylim, youthful, young, yours. With eternity before you, you’d bask in the rapture and the joyful silliness that comes with forever. 

He felt it, too, saw it in your eyes. On your fourth meeting, he held you against him and promised you his life.

‘I will put my child in your belly,’ he announced, deliberate in the way he enunciated his words. You waited for the shock of such an exclamation to overtake you, but it never came. ‘I can’t explain it,’ he chuckled, amused by his own enthusiasm, ‘but I’m certain of it. I see my unborn children in your eyes. I think this is what the elders mean when they say there is always a plan, and you will always know it the moment you find it. I’m so certain my whole life is tied to yours.’

The memory burns within your mind, a scorch of greed mixing immediately with longing. You wish the fire of it would incinerate it to ash, that it would vanish altogether before the Fate Tying. You can handle all of these frivolous little rituals, sure of yourself and your own strength, but the Fate Tying means to unmake you. At just the thought, your stomach begins to sink. 

You will sit, hands clasped on your amber throne with the sunlight seeking your hair, your cheeks, your lips; Daeus will smile, wrapped in oak and evergreen, in the earth that flourishes beneath your light; and you will weep, watching as the Moirai unstitch your soul from Hoseok’s, peeling it apart inch by horrible inch, to thread it with the ugliness of Daeus’ strands. You will wonder, mouth dry and eyes wet, why the Moirai would bother making a man for you, would bother weaving your spirits together, only to unravel the work they had done, the love you had found. 

The movement of Hoseok’s gentle caress, pads of his thumbs running across the bones of your cheeks, returns you to the present moment. Once more he whimpers, doing his best to keep you grounded with him, unwilling to lose you before he absolutely must. Digging your nails into his shoulder as you grab fistfuls of his shirt, you wallow with him, knowing that, just like him, you don’t know who you would have become without him.

‘What do we do?’ you manage, reduced to a more pathetic version of yourself as you plead with him. Anyone else, and you’d be ashamed to appear so weak. ‘How do I do this?’

‘I don’t know,’ is all he can provide. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Promise me -’ You cut yourself off, not entirely certain where the idea comes from, what part of you would willingly propose such a request, the meaning of what you had intended to say catching up to your mind the moment you heard your own voice. Hoseok waits patiently, and you lower your gaze to the curvature of his lips, wanting to kiss and kiss and kiss him, knowing your next words will scar you both. ‘Promise me you’ll find someone else. Promise me you’ll be happy.’

Without any hesitation, he scoffs, dismissing the idea altogether. ‘Don’t ask me to tell a lie.’ 

‘I can’t, Hoseok.’ Now, it is your turn to hold his face, cupping his cheeks with veneration. Mind reeling, you envision it, certain you could take it. You are certain you would die for less. ‘I can’t do this if I spend my life knowing you’ll be unhappy. I can’t do this knowing you’re alone.’

Slowly, gently, Hoseok lets the tip of his nose press against yours, rubbing it back and forth, back and forth. Breath  a deluge down and over your lips and skin, he somehow finds it within himself to smile, empty of all amusement. 

‘It’s so unfair of you to expect that I could be happy with anyone but you,’ he chastises. ‘I’d rather be alone, utterly and completely, than to be lonely with someone. They deserve better than someone who is with them out of loyalty to another person - a promise kept to the person they truly love.’

His rejection and refusal of your plea inspires a thrill in the pit of your stomach, all manner of possessive pleasure coursing through your veins. How easily he turns you into a selfish woman, how quickly his promises of fidelity make you lose all sight of strength and future vision. What sort of man is Hoseok that he should have such dominion over you, you think to yourself. But then, you know. You know as you have always known: Hoseok is your man, your lover, your soul.

Stroking his cheeks with your thumbs, just as he had done, reverently, adoringly, you bite your lip and feel your exhale shake. ‘So what will you do?’

‘I’ll do as I’ve always done,’ he shrugs, as though the very thought is not a bruise within his ribs. ‘I’ll keep the lighthouse. Every night, I’ll let the beacon burn, and keep the light on. Even on clear days, I will let the light shine.’ Hoseok smiles as he says this, the first real smile he has managed since he saw you on the shore this evening, waiting, just like always. ‘When you’re up there, perhaps you will see the light.’ 

He shifts his gaze to the roof of the light house, looking up and beyond, past the clouds, up to the seat of the gods. Furrowing his brow, he hardens his jaw just slightly, eyes turning dark as he demands your father witness him. 

When he looks at you again, he is a changed man - a boy trapped in the throes of love, and a man on the verge of letting himself perish.

‘Maybe up there,’ he murmurs, ‘you will see my light and know that I’m burning for you, just as I’ve always been. I’ll continue to love you. I’ll be good, I’ll be pious, and maybe when I die we will meet in Teylim and even in death I’ll watch you, staying close to your light like a bird in flight.’

‘Hoseok.’ The quiver of your bottom lip disrupts the cadence of his name, besmirching it to little more than a sob.

Sucking air through his teeth, Hoseok leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours as his eyes fall shut. At such close proximity, you study the almost feminine length of his eyelashes, the pores of his skin, and wonder who or what god or demon you could barter with to stay inside him forever.

‘You’re supposed to be mine,’ he whimpers, the sadness welling up in him like a mountain. ‘You are mine, but…I will always be yours. Even when they untie us, I’ll be yours. They can’t thread me with anyone else. I don’t think my soul will allow it.’ 

Unable to sustain it any longer, your desire for him rises to a swell, erupting beside your sorrow - just as fervent, and even more unyielding. His words are a comfort, an echo you will revisit over and over when you have long departed, but your skin has learned how to ache for his touch, learned how to anticipate the way he moves over you like water, and you need it. You need him. 

The rest of your pitiful existence looms out before you, days and months and centuries passing without Hoseok to hold you and keep you, and you despise the very notion of it. You rebuke it, refusing to let yourself continue on without knowing how it feels to have him. Tonight, you do not want him as your lover.

Tonight, you want him as your husband.

‘Kiss me,’ you announce, guiding his forehead away from yours, skin prickling with the lack of his warmth. ‘Kiss me like it’s our wedding. I -’ The tightness of your voice steals your breath, words hot and heavy in your mouth as you say them. ‘I want to know what a marriage bed truly feels like. I want to know what our marriage bed would be like.’

Mad with an unbearable passion, no longer contained, Hoseok heeds your words and lets his tongue wander over the seam of your lips. You cling to him, clutching what you can of his shape, his body, and you sigh in woeful euphoria, granting him unspoken entry to the recesses of your mouth - but he does not enter. Your lover has always been disobedient, reckless in the evening when your skin and your lips and your heart are presented to him, and tonight he is no different. Tonight, he scorns the hour, taking his time as he traces over your cupid’s bow with his tongue, rendering the turn of the earth meaningless. The heat of his breath tickles your skin, a cascade in which you luxuriate, and your eyes, blurred by the urgency of your desire, lose all sense of your surroundings until there is only Hoseok. 

Hoseok - on you, around you, all over you, the rain and the wind all at once.

Only when he has had his fill of your lips does he press the whole of his mouth against yours, sucking languidly at your bottom lip. Skin growing tight, you keen into his kiss, consumed by greed. Slowly, he moves his hands down and down, letting his fingers trace indeterminate lines over your cheeks, your jaw, your bones until they rest at your neck. With his palm over your pulse, he holds you still, his touch a fever, his touch the sun, radiating deep into the caverns of your heart. 

Filled with him, you think. Absolutely alive with him, Hoseok lets his palm cradle the tether of your life until you are certain he is the oxygen made to sustain your mortal form. You, living and breathing, are little more than remnants of departed touches, composed entirely of his affections, his affirmations, his adoration.

So, too, do you kiss at him, battling against him for any semblance of permanence, demanding that you be remembered. Feeling you writhe against him, insistent in your need for closeness, he hums in pleasure, a musical sound that traverses your synapsis with unhurried ease. Gooseflesh raises on your arms, either by a passing breeze or the way Hoseok leans in, harder, rougher, all manner of dominance in the way he so desperately seeks to have you, and you shiver, delighted by the peak in your senses; delighted, fundamentally, that you will commit every moment of this last evening to bodily memory.

Willing to be devoured, you surrender to him, feeling arousal leak from between your folds as though his savagery has given it permission to spill over. It soaks into your underwear where you briefly mourn the fact that it will not coat your thighs, not yet, and that Hoseok must wait to see how easily you could paint yourself in your wanting. Like always, he anticipates you and ardent your longing; perceptive and always acutely aware of the way you have grown wanton. depraved by the strength of his kisses alone. 

Hoseok eases his hand to the back of your neck, determination apparent in his grip, and guides you forward to rest in his lap. Letting your legs settle on either side of his thighs, you straddle him, unwilling to break any contact he has with you, your skin, you, your hands on him. You come together like a cataclysm, the burgeoning tip of his erection firm and stubborn where it presses against your core, assertive and tantalizing even beneath the fabric of his trousers. 

It’s lewd the way you crave him deep inside you, jaw dropping as your mouth opens wide to gasp in delight. Hoseok wastes no time in letting his tongue glide against yours, explorative and eager, utterly deliberate in his stroking. Slowly, the tips of his fingers move from your neck to your hairline, ever deeper and ever more intrusive. A low chuckle rumbles in his throat as he runs his tongue over yours, grazing the roof of your mouth before he forms a fist in your hair and tilts your head back, swift and aggressive. 

All at once he pulls away, face hovering just centimeters above yours and gaze hooded as he explores your lustful expression. A flush creeps into your cheeks, the control he has over the flow of your blood is always surprising even if it is to be expected. Hoseok seems pleased, evident in the familiar way his eyes have become blackened by the force of his yearning and the smile that has worked its way into the corner of his lips, a secret for only you to discover. He takes a pause, disregarding his haste, to regard you: your parted lips, your heated cheeks - a fire that has spread itself over your chests and breasts.

‘You are a vision of sin,’ he murmurs, cocking his head to the side and tightening his grip in your hair. ‘What would all the gods say?’

Your own nails scratch tenderly into his scalp, gripping his hair to mirror his hold on you. Futile, you know. The strength in Hoseok is silent, a gift that makes him appear merely pretty until the seat of his power is fully revealed, a fortitude you could never mimic.

You swallow, preparing to speak, and watch the way Hoseok studies the movement of your throat. ‘They would call me a harlot.’ 

His gaze returns to yours, an otherwise thoughtful look turned menacing by the terror of his passion. ‘And are you?’

Tongue heavy in your mouth, you struggle with the few words you can manage. ‘They will make me out to be,’ you begin slowly, poignantly, ‘and it will be your fault. You’ve made me a slut.’

You hold onto the word - draping yourself over the “s”, tapping your tongue against the “t” - ensuring it lingers in your mouth long enough for him to taste it. It’s his fault, really, that you will be judged and scorned and shamed for coming to your new husband wholly impure, the construct of your virginity eradicated by Hoseok’s insatiable appetite. It’s his fault, you think, that you want him this much. That you love him this much. Your tongue caresses the word slut like it's your dearest companion, familiar with its shape and texture, and you lean upward, hoping to put it in his mouth. 

If he is half of your soul, then he should learn how it tastes to be utterly reprehensible. 

But he dodges the trajectory of your desires, moves away from your lips and your face entirely, diving down to your chest where he lets his teeth traverse the expanse of your sternum. Lifting his hand from your pulse, he trades one beat of your blood for another, fisting his hand in the collar of your dress to pull it down and expose the thin bit of flesh covering your heart. It thunders in your ears, your body a storm of his making, and you tremble as he positions himself to ravage your very spirit.

His teeth leave scars upon your nerves, eternal echoes within your pores that have you rolling your hips downward in encouragement. Again, you feel him, his cock against your core, enough to have you whimpering as though you are small and fragile, not the maker of your undoing. As punishment for your impertinence, Hoseok takes aim and bites down harshly at the slender bone of your clavicle. 

‘Hoseok!’ 

‘I know you, Sparrow.’ The husk of his breath is an avalanche into the marrow of your bones, the memory of his teeth still reverberating into your lungs. ‘You always like it when it hurts.’

Your skin still stings, yet he is relentless. You quake in his hold as he bites at the bone once again, teeth inlaid perfectly where they had been before. Your skin bends beneath the force, ecstatic hiss descending into a low moan, giving away the truth of how well he truly knows you. The pain grounds you in the moment, allows you, too, to ignore the passage of time, the ebb and flow of the waves as though the tides have halted altogether. You are prettiest when you are red and purple, black and blue by the marks he leaves in his wake, and not once, not even when he breaks your skin to bleeding does he tarnish your light.

In his arms, you are illuminated, glowing with the same intensity as the lighthouse beacon. He’s called you the heavenly sky for the way you glow under his affections, your inability to control your power when he makes you feel so impossibly good turning you into an evening star. You often forget you are blessed with a holy gift, the goddess of light as though your title has any meaning beyond providing you a seat at the table in Teylim. You often forget this is who you really are, someone happy, someone made of magic - a light kindled only under joy.

‘I will make you ache for me,’ he breathes, pushing the collar of your dress lower and lower, threatening to expose your nipple. ‘I want you alight, burning for me. Only me.’

Hoseok kisses deftly at the supple softness of your breast, diligent and greedy. His breath comes ragged, thick in the center of his lungs where he struggles around the insurmountable longing that puts force in his handling of your body. Working his tongue over the skin, he licks the stars out of the constellations of your pores, tasting the dust, the salt, the sea. Your hands run through his hair, messing the thick strands to a state of perilous disorder in your eagerness to move downward to the comforting solidarity of his shoulders.

Grinding your hips into his lap, the tip of his clothed erection slides along your slit, and you release a whimpered exclamation as the cloth of your underwear slips between your folds. Biting your lip, you breathe deep, Hoseok’s own groan of dissatisfaction vibrates into your chest. You feel him deep in your throat, his voice alongside yours, his desire matching yours in intensity. 

Hand leaving your neck in favor of your waist, his grip tightens, fingertips pressing deep circles into the muscles of your back. Thrusting upward, he teases you, laughing darkly to himself with a rough nip to your breast. The motion sends your underwear deeper into your cunt, a pressure to your clit as erotic as it is cruel. It sends a shiver down your spine, inspiring tremors in your nerves that have you clenching your walls around nothing at all, seeking the bulbous head of his cock in need. 

Pleased with himself, he raises himself from your chest to work at the buttons of your dress. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your own rolling back to present you breasts to him like a preening cat. Hungry, he takes the bait, slipping a palm under your dress to cup your breast. He presses against your nipple, a small wine tumbling from your throat to mingle with his whispered expletive. Rolling your nipple between his knuckle, he regards you momentarily, studying your dazed expression. Against him, you are an earthquake unto yourself, a cosmic shift of longing ravaging your blood, and you are pleased by it, offering him a smile of gluttony. 

Abruptly, he releases your breast, hands falling to your hips as he raises to his knees, keeping you against him. Hoseok pushes your hips roughly against his, cock a threatening force against your core as he guides your bodies down to the floor, careful to keep the shift in position painless. Once more, he thrusts at you, and you feel yourself becoming soaked, juices no longer dripping into your underwear but instead crawling slowly down to your ass. The concrete of the floor is chilled, cold enough your back and hips arch indelicately in retreat, causing you to carelessly meet his thrust. 

‘Fuck,’ he mutters, returning his hands to your front as he sits back on his knees. 

Hoseok avoids the buttons over your breasts, choosing instead to undo the buttons just beneath. Continuing onward, he takes his time unwrapping you, hungry for the pieces of your body he will mark as his. The heart of his lips parts on a silent exclamation, mouth falling open as he unveils more of your ample flesh. The light from your skin mixes with the lighthouse beacon, casting shadows of desire in his eyes, rendering him beastly. With his eyes only, he devours you; your body, the fruit of his immense craving. 

Leaving your breasts covered, Hoseok exposes your hips, your stomach, your thighs. Your hardened nipples strain against the fabric, begging for release the same way your core clenches once again around nothing at all, swallowing more of your underwear in an effort to lure him deep inside you. He meant it this way, all too aware your sensitive nipples will tease you to a point of aching the longer they rub against your dress.

The sea breeze cools your skin, so much of you exposed you feel as though you have been submerged in wind and sky. Chewing the inside of your cheek, you mourn momentarily that it is not Hoseok that covers you, not yet. Still, you enjoy being naked for him like this - naked, vulnerable, safe, and his. You open your legs further, letting the wind kiss at the wetness of your cunt, your answering grin borderline salacious. How glorious to give everything and hide nothing from him. How glorious to let yourself be worshipped, his eyes starved for the pleasure of your sex. All this joy, and yet your frustration runs over, an overflow occurring with little thought. 

‘It’s not fair,’ you whine, raising your arms to reach for him. ‘Let me undress you.’

Sitting up, you press your hands flat against his chest, becoming attuned with the ample hills and valleys of his muscles. Hoseok sits still and proud, lips reddened and wet from kissing you. Your light ignites the flush that dapples the tips of his ears, skin flushed by lust and longing. Throat running dry, you swallow thickly, committing his unrivaled beauty to memory. You refuse to forget a single moment of this, unwilling to relinquish a single detail of him. 

Slowly, you ease the suspenders from his shoulders, humming in approval at the way the loose linen of his shirt relaxes in its newfound freedom, offering you more of his neck and collarbones. As your fingers work earnestly at his buttons, Hoseok takes his time admiring you, a piercing look both penetrative and heartsick. His hand comes to cover yours, unable to help himself, and he holds it tightly, raising it to his lips. His eyes remain locked on yours as he kisses the pads of your fingers, one by one, before slipping your index and middle finger into his mouth. Your lips part on a sigh that fades just as quickly as it came, feeling his tongue swirl over the digits with purpose. 

And much the same way you did not expect his touch, so too are you caught off guard when he moves your fingers from his mouth and guides it down your stomach. Lower and lower, he guides your hand between your bodies where he slips it beneath your underwear. Your breath hitches, skin wet from his saliva and clit throbbing at the prospect of tangible contact, your own hand an ominous presence resting upon your mound.

‘Touch yourself,’ he commands.

Hoseok is so often the picture of tenderness in the way he makes love to you, always gentle and always mired in the totality of his affections. Occasionally, he is sharp and, occasionally, he is in control - only on days when he is starved, only on days when he is completely ravenous. Tonight, there is no room for argument. Tonight, he makes himself an unrelenting devil, unafraid to exert dominance.

‘Eventually we will remember little of how we undress,’ he explains, pressing your fingers over your mound, dangerously close to your clit. ‘Right now, I need to see the way you will touch yourself for me when I’m no longer around. I want to see it. I want to memorize it. Touch yourself for me.’

Removing his hand from yours, he nudges softly at your shoulder, and you obey immediately. Leaning back on your right elbow, you keep your hand in place as he grabs the band of your underwear and pulls it down. Lifting your hips, your tongue licks at your bottom lip where the skin has become dry and chapped, struggling to catch your breath as your desire becomes oppressive. Falling back on your tailbone, you spread your legs wider still, proud and impish as you slide your fingers down your slip, separating your folds to display your core. 

But he sees nothing as he lifts your underwear to his nose, fisting his hands in the fabric and pressing it against his face. Hoseok breathes in deep,eyes rolling back slightly in the effort of keeping his eyes open, a growl rumbling in his chest like a warning. Exhaling into the cloth, he laughs to himself, a high pitched, small sound of amused embarrassment before he falls completely silent once more. And then, he breathes in again, just as deep, just as fervent, lips kissing at the wet patch you have created.

‘I’m keeping these.’ Easing your underwear away from his nose, he crumples the garment and buries it in the pocket of his trousers. Cocking an eyebrow in pleasure, he takes in your exposed cunt, licking his lips. ‘I’ll fuck myself with them, imagining it’s you and your wet pussy.’

‘Pervert,’ you tease, jutting your chin forward in mock derision.

‘Whore.’ Inspired by your nakedness, he begins to undress, gaze heated and focused on your wet cunt. ‘I told you to touch yourself.’

Your fingers easily breach the barrier of your folds upon their release, wet with Hoseok’s spit and your walls slick and dripping with your juices. Years ago, you would have been ashamed of being so soaked, a damp patch expanding in the concrete beneath you in visible proof. But you no longer care, not when Hoseok’s expression of thirst is so incorrigible. 

You fuck yourself with your hand, fighting the urge to tilt your head back in relief - small as it is. In the heat of your lonely nights, you find it tragic your fingers never reach as deep as Hoseok’s slender digits; yours are too slim, knuckles not nearly as rough or pronounced. And when your mind drifts dangerously to thoughts of girth, your eyes drop swiftly to the pronounced shape of Hoseok’s straining cock. Swallowing the weep of appreciation that builds in your chest, your teeth chew at your bottom lip, clinging in anticipation.

Pressing the base of your palm against the hood of your clit, you whimper. Mild and meek as it is, your fingers bring a temporary relief, this satisfaction fleeting, and it will not be long before you are begging him to fill you. 

‘You’re dripping,’ he comments, interrupting your thoughts and removing his shirt in one swift motion. ‘Are you sure you’re not the princess of water? If I kiss your cunt I might drown.’

‘I’m in love with you.’ 

While not truly a detailed explanation, the words carry the weight of your whole chest, erupting with little thought. Your mind offers the only logical explanation for your wetness it can manage while your body grapples with the implication of Hoseok’s mouth upon your core. 

‘Say it again,’ he orders, hands tugging harshly at the zip of his trousers.

A slow smile spreads over your lips, head cocking to the side as you admire his eager expression. ‘I’m in love with you.’

‘Again.’

‘I’m in love with you.’ 

This time, you say it with venom, as though you want it to hurt and hope that it will leave scars in its wake. Hoseok tugs his trousers down his thighs, rising to his knees, appearing regal and godly. Freed from its cloth restraints, his cock springs upward to rest against his stomach, and he smirks, chest and neck flushed as your focus shifts immediately to the purpled bulbous head. 

Without hesitation, you remove yourself from your folds, the ache at your core only minutely grieving the loss of your small hand. Instead, you reach for him, fingers slick with your juices as you grasp the base of his cock with a gentle squeeze. He’s heavy in your hand, rigid in the solid way that makes your walls clench and drip once more, mirroring the way your mouth waters. Slowly, you move your hand up and down the shaft, letting your thumb rub over the leaking tip with care. 

Hoseok’s breath hitches, his hips thrusting slightly into your hand as you pleasure him. His own hands clutch at his discarded clothes, doing his best to exercise his dwindling patience, and you repeat motion, admiring the smoothness of the skin in contrast to the veins of his shaft.

‘I always wonder how you will fit inside me,’ you comment, moving your hand back down and studying the way your fingers do not meet your thumb. ‘You’re so thick.’

He rolls his shoulders back in the aftermath of your praise, inhaling sharply through his teeth. Hoseok is always free with his praises, showering you in worship and stating it is his duty to devote himself to the goddess in his favor. Always, he does this, and always he seeks nothing in return. But you have always sensed, as attuned to him as you are, that praise from you sets his soul afire. One word of praise from you and you are certain he could eat the god of Daeus entirely, rendering him completely human.

‘You were made for me,’ he explains, voice taught and words strained. Unable to hold back, he fucks your fist, seeking relief. ‘You will always stretch to accommodate me, just like your life was meant to. Just like your belly was meant to, stretching with my children.’ His gaze is penetrative, deeply serious for such an obscene state of being. ‘You were meant to take all of me. My true home is inside you.’

Your grip loosens slightly at his admission, lips curling into a small pout. ‘I so desperately wanted to give you a child.’

A choked sound rumbles through his chest, and his hand reaches yours, pulling it from his cock to wind your fingers together. With his free hand, he nudges at your shoulder, easing you back to the ground with a darkness in his eyes that has your throat running dry. Automatically, your legs spread wide, offering him space to settle between them. The tip of his cock rubs carelessly against your slit, and your focus fades, mind emptying with the single desire to have him inside you taking root. 

‘Promise me you won’t give him children,’ he commands, words thick with purpose.

He walks his hand languidly down  your body, grazing over your chest, your covered breasts, to the flat of your stomach. Beneath him, you tremble, the tectonic plates of your spine shifting beneath his touch. Splaying his hand over your stomach, he eyes your skin with parted lips and a furrowed brow. Hoseok wars with himself, his thoughts tangible behind the darkness of his irises, expression swimming with strife.

‘Promise me,’ he repeats. ‘I don’t think I could survive the thought of someone else's baby growing inside you.’ 

Raising your hand from the floor, you card your fingers through his hair while you squeeze your joined hands, determined to win his attention. 

‘I promise,’ is your soft whisper. ‘I shall bear no other child than yours.’ 

Invigorated by your promise, he returns his gaze to yours and maintains it as he works his way down your body with his tongue, kissing everywhere his hands have been. Without warning, he buries his face between your legs to bite gently at your clit, this contact a thunderclap in your spirit. Back arching off the floor, your voice shatters around his name, teeth chewing over the syllables as tears prick at the corner of your eyes. Your bones hum with the stimulation, very existence stinging and resonating, while he sucks your clit into his mouth, soothing the pain into a deep, soul burning pleasure. He swirls his tongue around it, mouth greedy and impatient, the fullness of his lips a heaven unrivaled by Teylim, and your hand tightened in his hair, body writhing in passion. 

Hoseok releases your clit with a wet pop before he kisses his way down to your folds, thrusting the flat of his tongue between them, impatient and hungry. Mindlessly, your legs spread wider, small gasps escaping from your chest as your lungs take in the scent of your sex and your hips roll upward, feeling your juices mix ceremoniously with his saliva. Consumed by the sheer power of your need, you feel yourself howl like a moonless wolf, rolling your hips against Hoseok’s face in erratic motions, inspired by the promise of your orgasm.

But Hoseok releases your joined hands, moving it quickly to your hips where he holds you still, growling against your cunt.

‘You shall not wander from me,’ he says, moving his lips against your slit as he presses you into the ground. ‘Keep still and let me feast on you.’

Once more, he thrusts the full length of his tongue between your walls, sucking eagerly at the juices spilling into his open mouth. He’s velvet and silk against your core, sturdy and solid while still gliding against all the places you have needed him most, and your voice careens off the ceiling, loud enough to drown out the ocean waves. Scratching your nails down the soft skin of your thighs, you fight back the desire to thrust against his face, wishing you could fuck his mouth and press yourself against the tip of his nose. All of it, every thrust of his tongue and every roll of your hips you suppress has you moaning, voice high pitched and growing erratic.

The feel of his tongue inside you inspires the deep desire for something larger, something thicker. Your orgasm is a threat in the center of your belly, spine tingling and tightening as each press of his tongue against your walls tames the beast of your racing heart. Hoseok buries himself between your legs with a diligence that borders on hysteria, holding you down and indulging in your

Still, his tongue only just hits the place inside your core that needs him most. You want him hard against your cervix. You want him deep enough to leave bruises on your softest pieces.

Tonight, you want the thick girth of his cock to splinter your bones. Tonight, you want his cock pressed against your cervix, a bruise you will carry for the rest of your life. Tonight, you want his cum so deep inside you it burns.

Tonight, you want him to love you and you want it to hurt. 

‘Hoseok,’ you whimper. ‘Please, I -’

Hoseok thrusts two fingers into your cunt beside his tongue, silencing you with the rough skin of his knuckles spreading your walls even wider. The contrast between his fingers and tongue elevates your hips from the floor with force, disregarding the strength of his hand. You are beastly beneath his ministrations, finding yourself caught in a wild hour and feeling as though you have abstained from him too long. He forces your hips back down with the palm of his hand, groaning against you loudly enough you feel his voice reverberate up to your tongue, and you cry out, distraught. 

Having left the top of your dress buttoned, your nipples strain against the cloth, sensitive and sending electric ripples down your arms, your shoulders - all along your nerves. Another breeze moves through the lighthouse, and it kisses at the sheen of sweat that has broken along your hairline. 

Desperately, you want him. Desperately, you need him. But still it’s not enough. 

‘God,’ you keen, ‘I need to cum.’

Hoseok hums in understanding, the vibration of it moving deep inside you once more. 

‘Oh,’ you whine, so small and so close to breaking. 

Hoseok’s tongue leaves your cunt, only his fingers remaining, and he moves his mouth to your clit where he sucks at the swollen nub deftly. Again, your hand scratches down your thighs, harsh enough to draw blood. Red and angry, the sting of these scores against your flesh makes you smile, a manic and monstrous expression you hope your father, Daeus, and all the gods can see. Frustrated and feeling the coil of your orgasm tighten, your other hand slaps into the ground, gripping at the linen of Hoseok’s shirt. You dig your nails into it, pretending it is him, his skin, his cock, anything substantial to torture him as he tortures you.

Against your cunt, you feel Hoseok begin to laugh, wearing the smirk of the devil as he sucks diligently at your clit.

His name begins in your mouth and dies on an exhale, eyes open wide as you stare up at the ceiling. Vision glazed and vacant, your body trembles as your orgasm lingers dangerously on the precipice of your nerves, skin growing hot and bordering on a point of pain. You hear yourself crying, you feel yourself pressing harder and harder against Hoseok’s eager mouth, and you struggle to discern if the rush in your ears is your blood as it moves swiftly to find him or the ocean that works swiftly to keep your coupling secret. 

And then, without any warning at all, Hoseok once more latches his teeth to your clit.

Your orgasm takes you by surprise, a wave of heat in your blood and skin, your juice cascading into Hoseok’s waiting mouth. This orgasm is an eruption, a shockwave in your soul that leaves you trembling while his relentless motions of tongue and hand milk you to completion. The tears you have held back begin to spill, soaking your cheeks as you soak his lips, a great wave over you that leaves you breathless.

‘Come up here,’ you gasp. ‘Come up here and kiss me.’

Slowly pulling his lips and fingers from your cunt, you hiss as he eases his way up your body. Using the tip of his tongue, he traces the shape of your parted lips with careful strokes, still messy and dripping with your slick juices. At your core, his cock presses, the contact sending tremors up your spine and causing a whine of pain to splinter in your throat. Granted permission by the sound alone, Hoseok delves his tongue inside your mouth and demands you taste yourself - you, your cum; him, his breath, his spit, his flavor; all of it, mixed together. Your walls clench as you kiss him, devouring him, as your folds seek to lure his cock inside you. 

Gasping against his mouth, you feel his tip press roughly against your core, your walls still sensitive but your body and spirit eager for his fullness. Hoseok pulls away from your lips to whine a low expletive, his resolve shaking and unstable, close to shattering by the force of his desire. His lips part on his sighs, breath slow and shallow, and still shimmering with you. Already, he had devoured you, drunk his fill and yet he still appears starved. As he lingers above you, Hoseok rolls his cock against your walls once more, a challenge, a reminder that he is exhausted by the prospect of not having his fill of you.

Moving your hands to his shoulders, you press your fingers into the soft skin of his back and muscles, letting them wander down and down until you grip the rounded flesh of his ass There, your grip tightens, threatening to push him inside you lest he waste any more time. 

‘Hoseok,’ you breathe. ‘I need you to fuck me.’

‘You want me to fuck you?’ he mumbles, running his tongue over your jaw before biting at your chin. ‘Tell me how badly.’

‘Please,’ you whimper, rolling your hips up against his cock, a warning against the tip. ‘I need you so badly it hurts.’

Wordlessly, Hoseok thrusts himself inside you to the hilt, balls pressing against you with a loud slap. You feel him shake inside you, body shivering with the sudden heat enveloping his cock. Hoseok’s moan is a deluge, an ecstatic exclamation howled victoriously into the juncture of your neck and shoulders, and you smile blankly at the ceiling, mind empty of all things that are not the feel of Hoseok against and inside you. 

His stillness is a tease you cannot endure, and so you clench yourself around him, his teeth biting at your skin as you release and repeat, urging him to move. The feel of his mouth at your skin, the feel of his heaviness pressed so roughly inside you, as your cunt leaking over him, back down into the floor where it coats your ass in its stickiness. Still, you pay little attention to anything other than his immense girth as it stretches you, your walls strained to accommodate him like always. 

Feeling you drip over and under him, he pulls out and thrusts back in, a knock at the door of your cervix and the sudden feel of him so deep as you groaning his name. He challenges you, repeating the motion as your bodies slide back along the floor with the force of his thrusts, the piercing sensation stealing your very breath. You are gasping as you clutch him, breasts moving against the fabric and nipples aching with the sensation, letting him push your body to its limits. 

‘Tell me you love me,’ he grits out, an echo of your earlier promises.

‘I love you,’ you choke, the words incomprehensible. 

‘Say it again,’ he hisses, executing a piercing thrust that has you gasping for breath, nails digging into his skin for purchase.

Squeezing your eyes closed, your hands move to the wings of his shoulder blades and you cling to him, a flightless bird. ‘I love you.’ 

When you hear yourself say it, you realize you are crying, your voice a sob of affirmation around tears of grief. It should be impossible to love someone this much, with the devastating whole of your existence. 

‘Tell me you love me,’ you plead, barely able to speak around the way Hoseok punishes your cervix, a punishment for abandoning him. 

‘I love you.’ Equally affected, his voice warbles over the words. Face buried in the crook of your neck, he presses the words over and over into your pulse. 

‘I love you, I love you.’

Slowing his pace, Hoseok accentuates his proclamations with brutal thrusts against your cervix. Slow as his thrusts may be, they are full of power and force, a pain against your walls and muscles ensuring you will never be free of him. Tears falling freely, your breath is as sharp as his thrusts, a burn in your lungs as you struggle to contain the cosmic feeling of love you hold inside. 

‘I know you like it when it hurts,’ he grits out, thrusts relentless. 

All you can manage is a nod, a moan, the dig of your nails into his skin, the acknowledgement that you would prefer it if he shattered you. You would prefer it if he left nothing behind of you at all.

‘I know you like it when I stretch you, when you can’t walk for days.’ 

‘I do,’ you nod weakly, legs automatically spreading wider - until your hips hurt, until you are certain your bones will bruise from the way you have spread yourself open just for him. 

Hoseok moans as a harmonic response to yours, the sack of his balls slapping diligently at your ass. You cling to him, holding him against you in despair, the vice grip of your hands matched only by the grip of your walls. Pleasure ripples through your synapses, an overload to your very synapses, little else registering in your mind apart from the places Hoseok penetrates within your core.

‘Do you want me to cum inside you?’

The pleading nature of his tone does not go unmissed, his own anguish evident in the way his hand cups your breast and his nails scratch at the flesh, wishing for entry. 

‘Yes.’

‘What if I get you pregnant?’ he muses, though he remains completely sincere. What if I fuck my baby into you? What will they do?’

‘I hope you do.’ It takes all your strength to speak without losing your breath. Once more your orgasm has started to build gloriously around the pain of taking him against your cervix, and you need him to know that you mean it. ‘I don’t care if they scorn me.’

‘I’ll do it,’ he bites out - not a threat, but a promise. ‘I’ll knock you up, fuck my baby into you. They’ll have to watch you grow someone else’s child. What a sight, huh? Bet Daeus would love to see you deliver another man’s baby.’

‘Do it.’

You see yourself, heavy and round with his child, glowing brilliantly like a constellation unto yourself. Carrying your offspring, you would be a supernova, the cradle of the very universe and you would celebrate it with every word breaking over laughter. Daeus would snarl at you, a sneer reserved for your growing belly; your father would find himself in a rage so beautiful and blinding, you think darkness would befall the earth, this winter sudden and unforgiving. The other gods would ignore you, this you are confident of and would take with pride. You’d tease them with it, finding yourself immensely confident in the power of being pregnant with Hoseok’s child. 

You’d carry his child as though this were your real pilgrimage within Teylim, your true purpose. 

And Hoseok, you know, would be your chosen king, god of the sun because he deserves it.

He deserves you. 

‘Yeah?’ he moans, hips picking up pace as he begins to chase his own high. Still, he loses none of the strength in his motions, seemingly motivated by your affirmation of desire.

‘Get me pregnant,’ you plead, biting your lip with shame at this impossible ask. A fool’s errand, a childish plea to change the way of things. ‘Make me stay with you,’ is your final whisper.

Together, you both fall silent as he fucks you with vigor, silent and awestruck by the violence of your coupling. With each thrust, your voices become a symphony of your union. Gripping him tightly, you hope it reaches the gods, your father, all of Teylim. You hope they see the way Hoseok fucks you, absolutely unforgiving. You hope they see the way you make a mess of yourself for him, that you have already decided on a husband and he is no god, no hero, but a man who loves you as though you are the whole of the sky. 

Hoseok trembles against you, and you sense his orgasm approaching in the way he gasps against your skin, thrusting harder and faster and, somehow, harder into your core. You are burning with the ache of containing him, but your own orgasm is cosmic, making its steady approach with each brutal thrust. Hoseok wanted to live inside you, wanted to give you a child, wanted to watch you swell with him alone - and it is these thoughts that send you over the edge, the universe apart from Hoseok melting into a white. In this orgasm, there is no air, no sea, no sky - only Hoseok; his breath, his smile as you cum around him, his ecstatic laughter.

You imagine yourself pregnant, learning to contain a sun inside your womb. You imagine him laughing, hands and lips at your belly. You imagine him happy. You imagine him happy, and your orgasm moves over you with the strength of a lunar tide, the same way your tears move over your cheeks, torn between sobs of bliss and sobs of grief for a life you will not have.

Hoseok continues to thrust into you with purpose, the last of your orgasm leaving you in shockwaves as the motions of his hips overstimulate your walls. It hurts to contain him, not nearly as much as it hurts to leave him, and you dig your nails into his skin, demanding all you can from him with enthusiasm. The world is tilted on its axis as he cums inside you, wave after wave of seed spilling into your core as you stroke tenderly at the hair at the base of his neck. Teeth chattering, you mumble his name, shivering as he spills himself inside you, and you pray, woefully, that he kept his word and left you with a piece of him.

‘Mine,’ he says, stilling inside you as the last of his orgasm quakes his mortal form. 

As his cock begins to soften inside you, the hand at your breast moves gently to the buttons. Your skin burns with the heat of the saliva he dripped against your neck, and he presses his cheek against your neck as he unbuttons the last of your dress. Exposed, now, to the sea breeze, your back arches slightly as the wind and his breath moves over your nipples. His hand cups your breast, too tender for the way he fucked you, and you are certain he is imagining your breasts full of milk, your body heavy, his wish granted, too. 

Pulling his cock free, you both grimace at the feeling, and he removes his hand from your breast to instead smear the cum from your core that leaks from between your walls over your folds. He strokes the tips of his fingers against your slit, the stimulation making you hiss and writhe beneath him in retreat, before you are crying out his name, his fingers dipping inside to scoop his cum from your center. As he pulls his hand free, his studies his fingers carefully, smirking not unlike the devil, before he guides them over your breasts and lets it drip.

And then, without warning, he begins to write his name along your breasts.

‘I am sanctifying you,’ he explains. ‘Anyone who pulls down your clothes will find me. I have already laid claim to your temple.’

Your smile is composed entirely of sadness, a hope that has made a home of despair evident in your expression. Holding his hand in yours, you guide his soaked fingers between the valley of your breasts to your stomach, where you hold him still.

‘With any luck it will be visible here,’ you offer, hoping he cannot hear how remorse has consumed you.

Hoseok frowns. ‘My biggest fear is that you do become pregnant and that I cannot see my baby grow in you. That I won’t be able to raise our family with you.’

Furrowing your brow, you tilt your head to the side in consideration, battling the new found grief that consumes you. ‘Did you not mean it?’

‘I meant every word,’ he promises, moving his hand from your stomach to cup your cheeks. ‘I’d put twins inside you if I had any control. But you are mine, our family is mine. I curse the gods for taking it from me.’ Hoseok falls silent, and you press your cheek into his hand, turning to kiss his mount of venus in encouragement. ‘The day I met you I saw my life with you,’ he continues, so quiet, and so unlike your Hoseok. ‘You are half of my soul.’

Abruptly, Hoseok lifts himself up and pulls away from you. As he rises to a stand, he is still warmed by your touch, the glow from your magic still draped over his muscles, turning him amber and yellow. He’s incandescent, as much as a god of light as you, more regal and more royal than any man who was lucky enough to slay a beast in your name. Running a hand through his hair, he regards you with dark eyes - embers burning in his rises of lust and longing, devotion and despair. He says nothing at all as he moves, naked and vulnerable, to the back corner of the room where he gathers his tools. 

‘What are you doing?’ you hum. Reaching your hand out, you curl onto your side, writhing in the pillow of your discarded clothes, beckoning him back to you. ‘Come back to me. It’s cold without you.’

He says nothing at all as he roots around, pulling out a thick screwdriver and hammer. 

‘He will give you rings,’ he says, more to himself than to you. 

The words come softly, barely a whisper that cuts through the air. Settling in front of the fog bell on his knees, he begins to hammer the end of the screwdriver into the metal, carving and carving. 

‘He will give you flowers,’ he grits out bitterly, ‘and will see your smiles in the morning. He will bring you food and nectar, and he will watch you glow your brightest. He will watch you glow each time you remember my hands on you, my lips on you. In bed, he will watch you glow, thinking it’s him, letting his own ego grow so immense he will get off on his own power rather than you. But he won’t know, not like I do. Not like we do.’

Sitting up, you don’t bother to cover your naked body, the breeze from the sea cooling your dampened skin. Licking your lips, you watch as his muscles strain with his pound of the hammer. Brow narrowed, jaw set, and hands gripping his tools with confidence, he marks the metal with a certainty born from a man learning to combat loneliness. 

‘He won’t know,’ he continues, words a grunt of demand and dominion. ‘No one will know that each time he touches you, you are comparing him to me. You will be remembering me. I want you to remember me. I want you to think of me, I want you to look for the light from this beacon, and I want you to outshine the anguish. I am destined to look for you the way so many people look for the North Star. My every storm is guided by you. So don’t you dare forget.’

The fog light spins overhead, clouds passing by and changing the refraction just enough to see the shimmer against his cheeks. Hoseok weeps as he carves, jaw unflinching, and hands steady with determination. A lump rises in the center of your throat, chest tight with the pain that comes from loving someone too much, entirely too much. Gasping for air, you move towards him, wanting his body pressed tightly against yours in comfort.

On instinct, you give him light - more light, so much light. From beneath your skin, you become torchlight, neon, candle flame; wrapping yourself around his back and shoulders, you rest your head on his shoulder and cling to him, becoming sunlight and firewood, banishing the darkness from his mind and mouth, a lamp unto his feet to lead him home. Pressing your lips at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, you feel him tremble beneath you, mindlessly leaning into you for more, endlessly more. 

As you turn to watch his hands, your own tears soak the corner of your eyes.

‘Hoseok,’ you breathe, regarding his craftsmanship.

‘He can’t give you light like I can,’ he murmurs, suddenly so small and so young, weakened suddenly by the ever looming distance between you. ‘He can give you all the falsehoods of husbandry, but he can’t give you light. He can’t give it back. He is not your equal like I am.’ 

Beneath the careful, diligent work of his hammer and screw, your name begins to take shape, just beneath his. The markings are deep, thick scratches unlikely to erode in any substantial length of time. Wind and sea will not wipe your names away, nor snow nor sand. Not even heaven, you think, could cause your names to smear. 

When he finishes, the bronze bell glimmers beneath your light, your names encased in a heart he artfully crafted. You imagine it in a wedding band - silver, and not gold. Gold, you think, is too soft and too malleable. The gods prefer it, a sign of eternal wealth and glory, but gold bends. Gold is too impermanent, value placed in all the wrong places. You would give Hoseok platinum, would give him silver, would give him bronze. If you had the power to move the earth, you would give him iron and steel, anything equally as enduring as the way you will be immortalized in ardor. 

‘I can’t believe this is all I will have of you.’ Hoseok stares at your names, at the jagged lines he carved into the bell, mourning. Shoulders slumped and hands folded neatly in his lap, he laments quietly to himself as though in prayer. ‘At the end of all this, this is all I have. Your name and a memory.’

Raising your hand to his chin, you turn his face to yours, biting your lip as he cries freely, tears staining the softness of his cheeks with salt. 

‘No one will have me, not like you.’ ‘He can take me, he can take my light, he can take my name, but he will never have my heart. All of me belongs to you. I am yours. Swear to me that you are mine.’

The hammer and screwdriver fall to the ground at his knees, a loud clank so disruptive for the quiet paradise you have built at the top of the lighthouse. Enveloping you in his arms, he buries his face in your neck, lips at the center of your throat - a place he has been so often this night you are determined to call it his home - tugging your hair back to make space for him. 

‘I’m yours,’ he swears passionately. ‘Not a single person will have me the way I’ve given myself to you. In a thousand summers, not a single one will pass in which I’m not yours.’

The conviction in his words undoes you, your eyes wide as you stare up at the ceiling, at the base of the light, feeling as though there is no difference between the moon and the sun, not anymore. For you, they are interchangeable, each burning in an hour of love; which is to say, there will be no hour that passes in which you do not love him, no hour passing in which your light does not belong to him and his does not belong to you. 

‘I wish I could stay like this.’ These affectionate speeches tumble from your lips, your mind empty of misgivings, wishing to be as honest as you are naked. ‘I wish I could stay this way, forever touching you.’

‘Time is meaningless,’ he muses, detached and distant, even as you hold him. ‘For me, this is the end of my life. There will be nothing else after this. For me, it will always be this way. My arms will always be around you.’

For him, you are glad. For him, you are relieved that there shall be no other moment than this. 

SEVEN MONTHS LATER

The seaside feels like the edge of destruction after so long away from it, gravity pressing at your bones. From where you stand, the unchanging nature of the earth makes a mockery of your nerves, the past beating against your sternum like a second heart.

You are poised and still, relearning the way the earth is unforgiving compared to the heavens. Too long have you been removed from such a tangible feeling of living, such a tangible reminder that you, too, are made of flesh and blood and all the things that break so easily, just like ocean foam. Your toes bury themselves into the rocky shore, rooting yourself like a tether as a promise that you will not run away, that you will not leave - not again. As though it senses your presence, the sea rages beneath a cloudless sky, the sun’s rays reflecting off the water, illuminated without any need of you.

The lighthouse looms along the hilltop, and you worry your bottom lip as you study its eternal guardianship. All these unchangeable things, loyal without you, and yet you stand here, begging for acceptance. You can hear Hoseok’s words like an echo, words not yet spoken but you anticipate them, the lump in your throat sinister in its tenacity. 

How dare you, he will shout, and the tears on his cheeks will be your parting gift. How dare you haunt me here when I did not expect you, when I had already worked so hard to give you up. 

Promises in the dead of night are easy to make when the daylight has yet to take anything from you. The earth remains unchanged but you are evidence of the passage of time, and you are certain Hoseok will have warred with himself so completely your memory of him is little more than a ghost of a man who died the moment he woke to find you missing. 

He used to be able to sense you here. Back when things were new and things were simple, back even at the end, he would sense your presence along the water and come running, a smile already at his cheeks in welcome. Stroking your naked hip with the tips of his fingers, he told you all about his skin would tingle when you were close, a static on his tongue that told him something too important to be contained by the earth was waiting for him. Even before he knew you, before he knew it was you, he felt it, as though he had been made just to know you, to find you. 

It used to be the same for you, a pull to the shore and a lightness of being that always made you stand here, in this place, waiting. Weeks passed before either of you had any idea you were near one another, before you’d even introduced yourself, and now it is the same. Your body combats the change in gravity with strength, though you realize too much has changed in you for the weight to feel the same. 

The hair at the back of your neck stands on end, rising in anticipation as the air becomes thick and heavy. You feel him approaching, a magnetic pull against your back that has your posture shifting, pulling you to your full height regardless how heavy all of you feels. Still, he doesn’t close the distance, and your lips part around a sigh, silently asking him to reach for you, to touch you.

But he won’t.

Not when he thinks you are the same as you were. Not when he thinks this is all just a memory.

Closing your eyes, you turn to face him, feeling tears burn against the lids. Hoseok makes no movement towards you, and, unable to hold back any longer, you open your eyes once more, weeping at the sight of him. Chewing at the inside of your cheek, you study the way he looks at you, the way his gaze traverses your form with a pained expression, the knot in his brow visible even from a distance. He’s far from you, far enough you cannot touch him, but he, too, remains unchanged - still beautiful, still glorious, still the sun king himself, and you choke back a bitter cry at the way it seems only you are the one who was allowed to change.

‘Hello,’ you try, offering a weak and unsteady smile.

Hoseok says nothing as he closes the distance, eyes trained at your middle, focused enough you feel him move inside you. He lets himself get close, close enough your skin calls out to his eagerly, begging him to touch you. You can smell him on the wind, the same musk, the same ambergris, the same dust that you remember, and your hands twitch at your sides, straining to reach out to him. 

‘What is this?’ he manages, not looking you in the face.

‘I -’ A small cry cuts you off, and you press your hand to your lips, forcing yourself to keep your composure. 

Hearing the anguish in your voice, he raises his gaze to yours and you see the way he mirrors your pain, confused and bewildered. 

‘Tell me what this is,’ he whispers, fierce and demanding. 

‘It’s exactly how it looks,’ you explain, feeling terribly pathetic.

It’s so simple, you know. Absolutely obvious. Your pregnant belly sticks out far enough now it leaves a distance between you, a gap where your child grows the only thing that separates you. 

‘Did you come here to mock me?’ he spits, leaning forward with venom.

‘No!’ you exclaim, holding your hand up in surrender. ‘I…’ you drift off, uncertain where to begin. You decide, perhaps, it’s best to begin with the truth. ‘The baby is yours.’ 

Hoseok’s expression shatters, a thousand different feelings breaking over his face before he settles on disbelief and quiet rage.

‘Why would you show me this?’ he pleads, sounding so small. ‘Have I not suffered enough? You knew I wished for this and now you tease me with it?’

‘I’m not here to show you anything, Hoseok, and certainly not to cause you pain.’ It’s shocking how tired you are becoming, putting in the effort of not reaching for him, not weeping for him, not rushing to an end you both deserve. ‘They...rejected me,’ is all you manage in the end.

Hoseok sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes watering as he lowers his focus to your belly once more. ‘They stopped the wedding?’

He speaks so softly you almost do not hear him over the rolling tide, and now, you cannot be contained. In one swift motion, you reach for his hand twining your fingers together. Your hold on him is unrelenting, not allowing him a single escape. Feeling his palm against yours is all the motivation you need, a resurgence of energy you have been missing for months.

When you continue to remain silent, he narrows his brow and persists. ‘Are you unmarried?’

‘They were going to go through with,’ you explain quickly, not allowing him any room for interjection. ‘They were going to make me marry him. Daeus even said he’d give the child to a human family, make it go through a Hero’s Journey to join us back in Teylim. Gods, the fight I put up to stop that from happening. The Fate Tying went poorly,’ you finish with a sardonic grin.

Gently, you tug Hoseok against you, forcing his stomach to bump against yours. His heated breath cascades over your skin, and you sigh in pleasure.

‘The child is completely human, my love,’ you whisper, eyes searching his face. ‘The Moirai refused to untie us.’ Incredulous, you laugh, looking out over the grassy hill in wonder. ‘The old crones are always right.’

The weight of your explanation steals Hoseok’s breath, and he falls against you, clinging to you as he sobs into your shoulder. Holding him close, you remember the last time you were in this position, your tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt, your hands clutching him, unwilling to be removed. As though sensing the great wave of his emotion, the child in your belly stirs abruptly, pressing against your womb to get his attention. 

You jump slightly at the feel of it, and Hoseok looks down, laughing, incandescent in his joy. He brings his hand to your belly, touching softly at where your child had just been, and he sniffles, looking to you and back down, cheeks reflecting the light you suddenly cannot contain. 

‘It’s a girl,’ you state, always wondering how he would react to knowing he’d have a daughter. ‘Our daughter kept me with you.’

Falling to his knees, he holds your belly in his hands and presses his forehead against its peak, too overcome with emotion to utter a word. Instead, he simply breathes deeply, wrought with bliss. Lowering a hand to the crown of his head, you thread your fingers through your hair and think that this, this precise moment, is what it means to be a goddess.

This is what it means to truly be sanctified.

[btsmosphere]

The Web | PJM

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

~summary: Nearly dying was just the beginning. While struggling to deal with the direction life has thrown you, you find yourself at the heart of a web of conspiracy. Maybe it will bring you back to Jimin - if you both make it out alive. Jimin x reader ~word count: 6k ~mafia au, established relationship, angst, eventual fluff?(in future parts) Rating: pg15 Warnings: mentions of death, attempted murder, violence, homelessness, swearing, breaking and entering, burglary ~a/n: it’s here!! I am super excited to show you guys this new mafia au, I worked long and hard on it! I will be updating every 7-8 days. Let the mystery begin...

The hushed rumble of breath sounds, as if from behind a curtain.

It isn’t clear enough for you to hear its source, but it’s all you can hear. Curiously, you can hear more than you can see. Your eyes must be closed.

It takes your groggy mind until about five times to come to this realisation before it does something about it. Your eyelids feel rusty as you heave them apart.

A pinprick, somewhere ahead. But it isn’t light. In fact, the pinprick you can see is barely brighter than the darkness encompassing you. Squinting, you think it might be blue.

It’s getting closer.

Vision rushes to you then, slams into you all at once like a train, stealing your air as it punches through you, throwing your senses at you full-force and suddenly you can’t ignore the burning in your throat, the stinging of your skin, the bite of the hard ground against your side. And the breathing.

It’s yours.

You’re breathing.

For a moment, you sort of wish you weren’t, with the way it hitches in your flaming throat like a dagger. You can’t do much but cough, wincing at each weak burst.

As the initial shock of pain flares down, you notice there is a strange taste in your mouth. Much like your other concerns, you can’t muster the strength to address it. Instead, you let your shivering form cling to the stony ground.

A particularly strong shiver wracked your spine as an icy drop of water slid from your hair, carving a chilling path across your skin.

It occurred to you that you could call for help. Almost instantly, you killed the thought, biting your lip even though you probably had no voice to speak if you tried.

Just as your eyelids were drooping again, another thought struck you.

And now they were wide open.

What if somebody had already seen you?

You had no idea where you were. Pulling your head off the ground was like tearing two magnets from each other, but you stubbornly kept it up, waiting for the world to fall into place before your squinting eyes.

When it finally did, only a bare stretch of path was revealed to you. The river glistened black beside it, water deceptively still within its banks.

No one was around, the only sign of life some distance away on the bridge where buses trundled beneath the suspended glow of streetlights.

Given it was night, no one seemed to be anywhere near you, and no one from the bridge could possibly see this far thanks to the darkness. And though the night was cold, it was at least good cover for you as you dragged your body to stand.

Ignoring the protest of your muscles, your feet stuttered forwards.

You had to get out of sight.

Even in this state, you knew that. If bangtan wanted you dead, they would get their way – something you knew better than most. The fact you were still walking was a miracle. So, even though you were in pain, you knew this was something you had to cherish.

You almost weren’t so lucky.

Finally reaching the base of the bridge, the deep shadow underneath it looked tempting. But you couldn’t stop here. Now you were up, you should keep moving.

The patter of your feet on the damp ground bounced from the concrete pillars as you passed underneath the bridge. Clutching your arms tighter around yourself, you assessed the street on the other side before emerging.

Though you had already established it as empty, you couldn’t help your eyes darting around you as you hurried to the next corner.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew these roads. Even so, it took you longer than you hoped to reach the spot you aimed for, just beside the launderette on the corner a kebab van usually resided in. By the time you arrived, you were limping slightly.

Finally approaching your destination, a clothing donation bin, you leaned against it to hobble around the side where the door was.

There was no streetlamp here, so you let your fingers feel their way to the lock. Still numb from the water, it took you several tries, going over and over the frigid metal, but at last you located it.

You were sure you had a hairpin somewhere. Though soaked and tangled into the ponytail it was in, your hair shed one after enough prodding, allowing you to pick the lock.

Once more, you weren’t up to your usual standard, slipping and fumbling and starting over more times than you could count. The click of the simple padlock opening only came when you were already slumping against the brickwork.

Shifting your weight forward to kneel, you cringed at the screech of the metal bolt scraping open.

This bin was rarely used, and even more seldom emptied, so you had a reasonable chance. Groping around inside, you found it barely half full, but you weren’t fussy. Scooping at the first piece of fabric you found, you brought the raggedy shirt to your face, scrubbing it dry before making a hopeless attempt on your hair.

Eventually, you had peeled off your jeans, squirmed from your sodden top and thrown both over the top of the bin. Maybe they would dry.

In this cold, you were sceptical.

The hoodie you had managed to find was ripped at the shoulder and very thin, but it was something. There had been a t shirt too, though it was considerably larger than the hoodie and stuck out from the bottom. Tracksuit bottoms finished off what you were sure was a killer outfit, but there had been no shoes. Or even socks.

Sliding down the wall, your thoughts turned longingly to your trainers lying at the bottom of the river.

You had moved to a tiny path that ran between the rows of buildings. If possible, it was even darker here. It would be so easy to just fall asleep…

Squeezing your eyes, you hunched your shoulders further and shook off the thought. Like you had concluded earlier, being alive was something to cherish. You weren’t about to blow it by falling asleep with a concussion.

Of course, you might not have a concussion.

Of course, that was just wishful thinking.

No nausea so far, just a headache, which was promising, but Kwangsu had knocked you out earlier. And if that wasn’t a sure-fire way to injure someone, you didn’t know what was.

It had taken everything in you not to draw his attention when you woke up in the back of his car. You had done a lot of waking up today, you mused. And you didn’t know which was worse.

In the car, you had been certain you were about to die. On the riverbank, you found out that you weren’t, in fact, dead, but god did it hurt. And you were still cold.

Rubbing your hands together, you breathed over them in a futile attempt at becoming your own heater. Giving up, you shoved one under your armpit while running the other over your face and neck.

The base of your collar was tender, probably bruising. That would be where he had pinned you against the wall as you gasped for air, before his arm had raised and-

Ah, yes. There was the lump that must have been from the knockout blow. However, he had got in a good few punches before that, evident in the grazing along your cheekbone.

Finding nothing else more significant than your split lip, you resigned your hand to your unoccupied armpit with a sigh.

Staying awake was difficult. And not just because of the moments you would catch your head falling to your chest, jolting back only to have the action repeat moments later.

No, it was worse in the moments your mind became occupied, not tempted by sleep.

Because all your pounding head could think of was Jimin.

All you could see was his smile, the one that creased his eyes as he looked at you, full of wonder in the early light. Your fingers moved without your willing them, dreaming of running themselves through his hair.

Out here in the cold, floor and brick hard against you, the bed you shared with him seemed like a distant dream. If you closed your eyes, you could will yourself to feel the familiar shape of him wrapping around you, holding you safe in his arms.

But it was never quite enough.

Your eyes would open and your breath would cloud again in the chilled air, nothing but heavy mist circling your form.

Anything would be better than this. With no idea of where you could go from here, what you should do, all that was left to occupy your mind was increasing bitterness.

You had considered bangtan your family. It was evident to you now they never felt the same. There was no way they could sentence you to die if they cared about you in the slightest.

If only you had run faster, they would see you were right about Kwangsu. Though it was probably a matter of hours, it felt like a lifetime ago when you had found him with those plans in his hand, proof they never should have trusted him.

He was going to rob them blind.

Well, they were already blind, you supposed. Blind to how he was tricking them, refusing to listen to your calls for them to see sense.

With sudden clarity, you realised that was the last thing you had said to Jimin. The last time you two would ever speak, and you had said – what was it? – ‘I know it.’

‘He’s not trustworthy. I know it.’

Why didn’t he listen?

Struggling to hold in a sob, you buried your face in your hands.

All your thinking, about how you had lost everything you loved, and you would never get to say goodbye, seemed stupid. They were the ones that wanted you dead, why should they care about saying goodbye to you?

Even Jimin, who you knew so well, who you loved, hadn’t acted any differently.

How long had he known you were going to die?

The first indication that you had fallen asleep was being woken up.

Shit, you hadn’t meant to fall asleep. At least you were still alive…

Hold on.

Your terror at falling asleep was renewed as you noticed you were being woken up by a person. Someone had found you.

Jerking upright, you tried to scramble back only to be greeted with a wall already at your back.

“Hey, hey,” the woman cooed at the sight of your wide-eyed stare, “are you okay? It’s bloody cold out here, you’re lucky you didn’t freeze overnight!”

“Uh-um, yeah, I-“ you stumbled over words, voice hoarse.

“Do you want to come in?” she asked next, warm smile on her face, “I own the launderette.”

Though you made no reply, you took her outstretched hand and allowed yourself to be pulled from the ground, much to the dismay of your muscles. If she noticed your hiss of pain, she made no mention of it. A purse-lipped look of concern crossed her face, but she turned to lead you inside.

“I’m Mindy, by the way,” she spoke.

As you followed her through the back door, you were met with a heavenly blast of a heater at the threshold. From the quiet clanking sounds inside, you guessed only one or two people were using the machines at the moment, but still the smell of detergent filled your nose.

Standing hesitantly in the doorway, you watched as Mindy pulled up a chair with an encouraging smile.

First, you glanced to the side. The door separating the little back room from the main shop had a slim window at the side, but you couldn’t see anyone through it.

Unable to resist longer, you stepped further into the warm and gratefully sank into the chair. Only a cheap plastic thing that didn’t sit flat, it nonetheless felt like luxury compared to the concrete outside.

Mindy bustled away, muttering something about tea.

It was as you sat there, accompanied by the faint sounds of washing machines, that your hands began to tingle. Overnight, you had gone too numb to notice how cold you were anymore. Being coated in river water certainly made things worse. You were ashamed to admit that by the time Mindy returned with a steaming mug and a plate of toast, your eyes were once again drooping.

“Are you sure you’re alright there?” she questioned, setting them down on a rickety table beside you.

You simply nodded mutely. She did not move away, so you reached for the toast and began to eat with her watching.

“What did you say your name was?”

It was asked with a smile, but still gave you pause. Taking your time with swallowing down your toast, you said the first thing that came to mind in your panic.

“Echo.”

Perhaps not your brightest moment. While not your real name, using one of your bangtan aliases was hardly better, given the few people who knew it wanted your head.

“Well, it’s good to meet you, Echo,” she said, “do you mind me asking what you’re doing out here all alone?”

Okay, this was getting too much. Maybe she was just friendly, but with the position you were in, you couldn’t afford to give people the benefit of the doubt.

Rapidly swallowing more toast, you stayed silent until she eventually spoke up again.

“…is there someone I can call for you?”

You shook your head.

“Parents? Siblings?”

Once again, negative.

“A Boyfriend? O-or girlfriend?”

Your head stilled.

Picking up on this, she pushed on.

“There is? They’ll be worried about you, you know.”

“They won’t,” you muttered, pushing down the twinge in your chest.

“Are you sure, love?” she went on.

A nod.

“Don’t they love you?”

A shrug.

“Don’t you love them? Want them to know you’re okay?”

Lip now trembling, you bit down on it.

“Oh, honey, come on now-“

Before you knew it, warm arms were around you, and you didn’t even care to protest, tears finally escaping your eyes, shoulders shaking. Despite the suspicion, the paranoia, that somehow you would be found by the wrong people, you couldn’t bring yourself to object as she held you.

Until your breathing had caught up with itself once more, you focussed on her hand rubbing up and down your back.

You were almost resentful when she let you go.

“Want to tell me about them?”

Met with hesitation, she prompted you further.

“Are they pretty?”

It felt so wrong, but you couldn’t help the small smile coming to your face.

“So pretty,” you told her.

“And they treat you right?”

Your sad sigh must have escaped her notice. Choosing for the moment to avoid the truth, you let yourself indulge.

“Yes. He always keeps me safe, makes me happy…”

“Then let me call him for you?”

Her words popped straight through your bubble of fantasy.

“I can’t.”

Stubbornly avoiding her frown, you made a start on your tea just as a bell rang from behind the door. The small cup was drained soon after Mindy rushed off to her customers, leaving you alone again.

Absently, you rubbed your hands together. The feeling had returned to your fingers, and with food, albeit a small amount, in your stomach, you itched to get moving.

Taking a glance outside, then back to the door Mindy currently stood behind, you decided to take your chances. Anyone could be on the other side of that door. Of course, the first face that flashed across your mind was the one that had snarled at you as he hauled your body from the car, over the railings…

That could have been the last face you ever saw, and you had no intention of seeing it ever again.

But it could be Jimin instead. You didn’t know what you would do then. Berating yourself for letting him invade your thoughts again, you knew it was better not to risk it at all.

The empty plate and mug lying beside you made guilt sit on your chest, but you pushed yourself up regardless.

Then you were out of the door.

And wow, it was cold. How on earth had you managed to spend the night out here?

At the corner of the street, you grabbed your old clothes (still soaking wet, as predicted) and shoved them roughly into the bin you had stolen from last night.

It didn’t take you long to get your feet going under you, fatigue still weighing you down, but you didn’t slow down until you were back on the other side of the bridge. Keeping your wits about you, you constantly glanced around, dodging away from any cameras. In this area, they were few, scattered at street corners, but it paid to be cautious.

The area you found yourself in now was far more familiar. Soon, you came to a stop under a broken fire escape, quickly discovering you had been too hasty to start running.

Grasping at the brickwork, your body wracked with coughs, each hack giving strength to the headache that haunted you again.

When they finally died away, allowing air to enter your body once again, you slumped, leaning heavily against the wall. Giving in to your body’s cries, you flipped yourself around and slid down the wall until you hit the ground.

This was certainly not what you were used to. Years of running around with bangtan didn’t exactly prepare you for going slow, but that was what your body needed right now.

You suppose that’s what getting beaten up and thrown off a bridge will do for you.

And with no more idea of where you could go from here, you decided that perhaps it would be best to give in.

Behind the takeaway store, weeds pushed up between the cracks. Even they were wilted, collapsing wearily on the tiny patch of asphalt just like you.

You had discovered this place, and it was the best you could get at the moment. There was a vent at the back of the shop from the kitchens which pumped out warm air well into the evening. It was secluded, even with a slight overhang on the roof that might shelter you if it were to rain.

But you knew you couldn’t stay here.

It had been a couple of nights, and you suspected it was probably the weekend if the drunken parties of students teetering past were anything to go by. The benefit of this was that you had managed to score a couple of free meals; you were surprised at the number of people who dropped their still-full boxes of takeout on the floor.

Today, however, your luck seemed to have passed.

Even the sky knew it was Monday, blooming with grey overhead. You felt there should be some way to make it final, but with nothing to take with you, all you had to do was stand up and leave.

The last of the day’s light was barely lingering as you made your way through the city. Head down, hands in pockets, you stayed close to the edge of the path, tracing these routes by memory.

While your body healed a little, you had had time to formulate a plan. It wasn’t a very solid one, but hopefully it would keep you alive. What with the intimate knowledge you had of bangtan, you knew if they got wind of you, they would want you gone in a heartbeat.

So you had to make sure they never found out you were alive.

You weren’t a stranger to sneaking around, so you fancied your chances at stowing away on a train, or something, until you were far away. Then you could simply… move on.

Who were you kidding, it would never be that simple.

You would never be able to forget Jimin, or any of them. Sighing sharply, you determinedly carved your path still, reminding yourself of the danger they would perceive in you.

Not many people in this world had ever seen their prized possession. Le déluge, it was called. A painting. Passed down the Kim line for generations, it was the group’s insurance, in a sense.

While its name was whispered, carried on the lips of the criminal circle in the city, not many knew just why it was so treasured. Although it admittedly was a beautiful artwork, two lovers entwining hands beneath a sheet of falling water, it was said to contain a secret weapon.

Even you hadn’t been shown precisely where, but within the frame was hidden a set of locations. The places bangtan could run to should everything go up in flames, the places they could crawl back from and build their empire once again.

Bangtan never died, you see.

And that knowledge alone would cost you your life, let alone the fact you knew the core members personally, knew their passions, their fears…

Still your footsteps fell, carrying you forwards.

It was hard to pull your mind back to the task at hand when you had done nothing but daydream for what seemed like nights on end. Food had to be your first stop. You were seriously missing the impromptu meals Seokjin would plonk down on your desk, even in the middle of the night, when he was worried about you.

Then, you would need clothes. Proper clothes.

Again, this shouldn’t be a problem, you had shoplifted before; it would be the least of your crimes.

Grasping the backpack you had fished from the trash, you thumbed over the material as you walked around the store, filling it up as quickly and surreptitiously as you could. As you wondered over to the staff door, your heart clenched tight in your chest, holding its breath with you until you were safely outside.

Now, clothes. Your fingers danced with the hairpin in your pocket as you circled the backs of shops. Each one seemed to have code locks, alarms, bars on the doors. With good reason, you had to admit, considering you were currently looking to rob one.

Frustrated, you continued your search. Back with bangtan, it would have been no problem to bust into any of these places. But armed only with a hairpin, you couldn’t afford to take the chance. It wasn’t worth the risk of being found.

Forced to backtrack, you were aware you were getting further from the station, but it wasn’t as if you had a schedule to stick to.

Turning yet another corner, a realisation suddenly struck you. Beneath you, your feet slowed, giving your mind time to decide if you should stop. But this might be your only chance…

Darting down a thin, unlit alley, you eyed the side door of your target. Bangtan owned this shop, but they didn’t care about the business. It wasn’t a place they worried about, being far from their main strongholds and firmly within the territory of your allies, the red clan.

Their allies, you scolded yourself. Any ally of bangtan was no longer a friend to you.

But either way, you knew the way in, and it was likely to be unguarded. Providing the locks were still the same.

Looking over your shoulder as you worked, you were surprised when the lock sprung open in your hands. Relief easing the tense set of your shoulders, you slipped inside, familiar smell of new clothes meeting you.

Not turning the light on, you relied on the faint glow of the streetlamps outside to make your way around, yanking a few unsuspecting items off their hangers and scooping up a pair of shoes.

But just as you stuffed them into your bag, the screech of tyres outside made you freeze.

Holding still, you waited to hear the rumble of the engine die away.

It never came.

Instead, the sound only got louder, crunch of asphalt sounding clearly in your ears as the vehicle stopped. Right. Outside.

And then footsteps were falling heavily on the pavement, pounding closer, tracking their way to the side of the shop. You had reacted before the second set of steps even hit the ground, sprinting between clothing stands to the back of the shop and throwing yourself into one of the fitting rooms before bolting it in one motion.

There was a window in here, easy for you to hop out of – if only the footsteps weren’t already inside the building.

Hearing the door burst open, you barely dared breathe, all your movements now restrained. Your hand, reaching slowly up to the window latch, could easily have been suspended in mid-air with the painstaking pace it crawled at.

“Who’s there?”

Heart stuttering, you closed your eyes, forcing your breath out, smoothly, silently.

It was Jimin.

He was right there, only separated from you by the inches of wood in this door. Like this, you could imagine that perhaps he was looking for you, but in reality, he must be circling the shop floor like the killer he was, gun drawn and ready to fire.

Fingers finally landing on the latch, you eased the window open.

Before, you might have been concerned that it wasn’t locked, but right now it was your ticket to safety.

“Check round there,” you heard his voice again, that low tone he used when he was in command.

Grimacing, you forced yourself to keep pushing, letting the window open bit by bit.

Finally at full stretch, you let out a breath. And then, footsteps again. Closer and closer they fell, your heartbeat punching harder with each step as you hoisted yourself to sit slowly on the window ledge.

“Come out from there!”

At the bark, your hand nearly slipped from the sill. Jimin had never used that tone with you.

Of course, he didn’t know it was you. And if he did-

Maybe he would look at you and smile, just one more time. What you wouldn’t give to see that again. If only you had stared at him while you had the chance, memorised every pore, every hair, if only you knew that would be the last time…

Jimin may be a killer, but you couldn’t imagine him killing you.

Kwangsu’s face flashed in your memory then, an ugly reminder of the truth.

Maybe Jimin wouldn’t kill you. No, he would send someone else to do the job.

You leapt down from the window.

The moment your feet hit the hard ground, however, a shout came from behind you. Once again, your brain had no time to kick in before your heart screamed run, already fuelling your feet as they leapt into action.

More of those heavy footfalls were filling the air now, directly behind you. As you threw your body forwards, pushing desperately further away from them, you tugged your hood over your head, blocking off all view except the road immediately ahead as it disappeared under you.

How many of them were there?

At the last moment, you saw an opening you were about to pass and hurled yourself through the gap, not slowing as you found yourself in a much smaller alley. Reaching the end, your lungs burned, but the shouts and steps of your pursuers were relentless.

Panting heavily by now, you refused to slow your pace, instead relying on twists and turns down narrow backstreets you would probably recognise if you had the time to look at them.

Lurching left, then right, the thumping of your feet faltered for the first time as you spilled out onto the main street lined with shops.

Whipping your head both ways, you stumbled back, out of the streetlight but closer to the impending footsteps, just around the corner-

Just as you were prepared to launch yourself back into motion, something trapped your wrist. Sharply tugging, it yanked you backwards before so much as a yelp could leave your terrified lips. When a sound did leave you, it never met the air, blocked by a rough hand over your mouth that refused to budge even when you attempted to pull away from it.

A moment later, the lights of the road disappeared from your sight as a door swung shut. You only thrashed harder.

“Shut up will you, I’m not one of them,” a voice hissed in your ear.

Though you still struggled, now you were still your sprint was catching up with you and your movements grew weaker, body finally taking its chance to regain enough air.

Quickly, though, the thunder of footsteps grew louder and louder, only drowned out by the blood in your ears. They were right on top of you. Freezing in the arms of your assailant, you felt them hold their breath too.

While you held still, your fearful eyes had a chance to roam the space you found yourself in. The walls were stained dark, dust and junk covering the floor, though you could barely make it out as the windows in this place – well, simply didn’t exist.

Cheap wood was nailed across them, boarding it up. The footsteps outside had scattered, echoing like bullets against the wooden planks in the silence.

Faintly, a voice carried to you.

You could barely hear it, though it said something about ‘lost them’. It wasn’t happy.

But that wasn’t why you slid your eyes closed, trapping your lip with your teeth. Like you needed another reminder of what you had left behind, Jimin had to be the one here right now, ordering the troops.

Straining your ears, you knew you weren’t safe yet. They hadn’t gone.

Accepting your fate for the moment, you remained compliant with whoever had grabbed you. You were just thankful you were away from their sight, out of danger. For now. But your most recent attacker clearly wasn’t keen on handing you to bangtan, and they were your biggest enemy right now.

Although, it was strange… in all your time with bangtan, you had only visited that shop once or twice, and then it was only for minor deals. It was almost never guarded, being in friendly territory.

Perhaps they were expecting you?

At the thought, your throat closed, heat spreading from your neck. What if they knew you were still alive? Why else would Jimin, a member of the inner circle, much too important to be concerned with a little shop, be in charge of defending it?

With your thoughts racing inside you, it took you a moment to realise that silence now reigned.

Your resumed struggle met no resistance, and you tore your face away from their hand, throwing them off you. As you whipped around to face them, your breath came out in bursts though you had long caught your breath from running.

A girl with mousy hair stood in front of you, arms folded tightly.

“Who are you?” you shot.

“I’d like to ask you that,” she returned.

Returning her narrow-eyed stare with your own level gaze, you caused her to roll her eyes. Her foot began to tap.

“Well? What’s your name?”

You swallowed.

“Echo,” you bit out.

“What’ve you got there?”

She nodded towards the bag hanging off your shoulder. Guiltily glancing towards it, you clutched at the strap protectively.

“Just food. Some clothes.”

“Give it here, then.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Give it.”

No words presenting themselves, you frowned at the girl, but she wasted no time. Marching up to you, she plucked it from your shocked hands, dodging your attempts to grab it back. All that running had taken more of a toll than you realised – you may be a lot better than you had been a few days ago, but there was still a way to go.

“What are you-“ you spluttered as she cast the clothes you had just picked up onto the floor.

Bending down to scoop them up, you patted cascades of dust off them as the girl turned the shoes over in her hands.

“These are nice,” she mused.

Then, before you knew it, she was kicking off her own shoes and slipping on your stolen goods. Gaping, you simply stared at her in outrage.

“But-“

“You can have my old ones,” she gestured carelessly, already rummaging through the food at the bottom of the bag.

“Excuse me?” you asked, incredulous.

“Did I not just save your skin from that lot outside?” she questioned in return.

Huffing, you closed your mouth, reaching for the tattered sneakers she had abandoned.

“You can have these,” she decided next, tossing the bag back at your feet.

Her eyes remained on you as she ripped open the packet of jellies she had picked. Midway through her first bite, as you were stuffing your things back inside the bag, she spoke again.

“I’m Sorrell, by the way.”

“O-okay,” you said.

“You’re not from round here, are you?”

“Uh-“ though the truth nearly spilled from your lips, you soon corrected it, “n-no. I’m not.”

“Shows,” she chuckled, munching on the next snack.

“Uh, yeah, um,” you frowned, trying hard not to be offended, “why were there… those people…”

“You went in the shop, didn’t you? Clothes place down the road.”

“Yeah…”

“Yeah, so you’re crazy,” she laughed drily, “bangtan own that place. Heard of them?”

“Uh, yeah,” you nodded, “but why – I mean, it’s just a shop.”

Sorrel’s hand paused between her mouth and the sweet packet. The stare she fixed you with made you wonder just what you were missing. Her eyebrows had climbed halfway up her forehead as she regarded you with half amusement.

“Where have you been?” she shook her head, “bangtan have been all over, because this-“ she stepped forward, gesturing around her, “-is red clan territory.”

Popping another jelly in her mouth, she seemed to think that had cleared it all up. Still, you stood, staring at her blankly. When she caught your eye again, another eye roll was directed at you.

“You’re not going to tell me you don’t know who the red clan are.”

“No,” you shook your head, “but I don’t understand… aren’t they, well aren’t bangtan-“

“They were friendly,” she sighed, “but like I said, you must have been under a rock the last few days. It’s over now, they’re at war.”

Though she threw the statement casually away, your eyes widen in an instant. At war?

“What happened?”

“How should I know?” she shrugged, “I’m just trying to stay out of the way. And so should you.”

Breathing deeply, you nodded absently.

“And you should put on those clothes you nicked, too,” she added soon after, “you look like shit. Then we need to move.”

“Thanks,” you said, dripping sarcasm. Then, “sorry, what do you mean ‘we need to move’?”

“You clearly can’t last on your own around here. Unless you’re planning on running off anytime soon, I can take you with me. Show you where I sleep… stop you getting yourself killed, you know.”

“Right,” you nodded, “okay then.”

Hidden around the corner as Sorrell stood with her back turned, you slipped on the jeans, your options laid before you. Not long ago, you had every intention of getting on a train and never looking back… but something was going on. How was it that bangtan’s closest ally had become their enemy the moment you left the picture?

So, though you had no plan, you found yourself agreeing to go with Sorrell.

Maybe you could never just leave Jimin behind…

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Nobody: Spencer Reid

Summary: After an accident on a case, the reader is left with trauma and anxiety. A miscommunication between her and the person she needs most (Spencer Reid) begins to eat her alive and he just so happens to be the only one there when she breaks again.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings/Includes: mentions of kissing, mentions of traumatizing events (not specified), depictions of anxiety, fluff, miscommunication, angst to fluff

A/N: The song is Nobody by Mitski. Read with this for the ultimate experience.

Sometimes things felt too literal. Words start to sound weird and feel weird when you say them, clothes feel too much like clothes against your skin, the texture of any food in your mouth becomes too prevalent while eating.

These things started happening after you witnessed and endured something awful on a case. You wouldn't dare bring up the full memory in case it took over and killed you all over again. It wasn't PTSD, but it was the cause of your anxiety attacks most of the time when they occurred.

After that case, you spent a week in the hospital where they happened nearly every day and the doctors weren't much help, to be frank. The only people who really ever helped were your friends and the person you were so close to dating, Spencer Reid.

It was a long story. To dumb it down, the case event happened and you and Spencer thought you were about to die so he confessed his feelings for you and of course they were reciprocated. He asked, then and there through stuttering words, 'If we make it out of here please go out with me?" As his last bit of hope, and he kissed you before you were taken away by the unsub. He didn't endure nearly as much as you did which was why he wasn't as affected. But you had said 'yes' to that question and three weeks later, you still hadn't talked about it.

When the anxiety attacks happened, you often felt like you couldn't breathe, like the walls were pressing in on you. Sometimes you'd be with JJ when it happened. She would immediately ask you what you needed and often that would just be a hug.

Emily witnessed one at your house when she came over to check on you. She rushed over, caring voice and soft hands and told you to put your head between your knees, stroking your hair until you felt better.

Penelope made the 30-minute drive from her house every Friday night she wasn't working on a case to bring you dinner she had made and chat with you about anything you wanted.

Your friends cared for you, it was so prevalent. It was almost always that fact that was getting you through this as you continued to get better. You would return to work in two weeks because now the anxiety attacks were only once in a while and better controlled by you and Spencer still hadn't spoken to you since.

It was now nearly two weeks later. You would go back to work on Monday.

"He did come to visit you in the hospital before you woke up," Penelope said, stirring her cup of ramen. It was just another Friday and she sat across from you in your chair, cross-legged. "I don't know what's up with him if he isn't speaking to you, he seems fine at work."

You sighed, swallowing your bite. "I'm just scared that he regrets what he said and did before I was dragged away. It was those words and that kiss that got me through what the unsub did and I keep thinking about it and him..."

"It was romantic," she noted, waving her chopstick in the air. "I think you should call him, rather than just text him. It'll catch him off-guard and in-the-moment."

"Now?"

"Yes, so I can listen!"

You smiled a little, pulling out your phone as your heart began to race. What if he did pick up? What if it was awkward? What if he somehow didn't remember?

You pressed on his name, then pressed call. It began to hum quietly with pending rings. One ring, two, then five, then seven, then there was a small beep.

'You've reached Dr. Spencer Reid, uh, leave a message,' his voice said through the machine, still as sweet and youthfully scratchy. You bit your lip and nodded.

"I should have known that he didn't want to talk. Penelope, I can't stop thinking about him and he keeps ignoring my calls and I'm... frankly I'm afraid that nothing will ever happen and he'll ignore me forever."

Penelope cringed, "(Y/N), uh... there's... it's gone to voicemail and you're recording."

"Shit!" You panicked, looking at your phone. "How do I stop it?!"

"The red button!"

"That's the end call button I-" you pressed it by accident. Oh my god, the message went through. You just sat there with Penelope, both of you frozen in shock. That did not just happen... did it really just happen? Your one moment of self-pity and worry was one moment that Spencer would hear if he touched his phone on a Friday night.

The rest of the night was spent with you fighting off panic, pacing your room. Penelope agreed to stay overnight, but you could not handle the fact Spencer would hear what you said. It was humiliating to think about him hearing you stress over something like that.

This is what nagged at you all weekend, threatening the impending anxiety that was building up. Every second was agony, spent pacing and overthinking. Sleep was hard to get, so you took melatonin and your dreams taunted you with it all over again.

Monday morning you rushed to get dressed. You needed to see Spencer, no matter how hard it was to face him. You pulled on dress pants and a navy blue cotton v-neck shirt with bell sleeves. Laundry was forgotten through two days of panic, so this was pretty much the only shirt you had.

You brushed through your hair and applied your regular makeup and there, you were presentable and didn't look like you'd lost your mind over the weekend. You were going back, finally. It was somewhat refreshing if you dismissed the Spencer ordeal.

The drive there was fine. Music helped to calm you down and you listened as long as you could. Stepping into the BAU was different, it felt like you were being crushed the moment you stepped in.

"There's my girl!" Derek Morgan was the first to notice you walk in and he greeted you with open arms and a crushing hug. You smiled, letting him. It had been a while since you last saw him. He let you go after a few seconds, but his hands stayed on your shoulders. "We missed you here, things weren't as fun without you."

"I bet," you grinned, heading to your desk. You could hide your freakout well. "I missed the smell of coffee and paper in the morning."

"(Y/N), glad to have you back," Hotch said, walking down the steps. He did seem honestly glad to see you as there was a small twitch of his mouth when he approached you and Derek. "You're sure you're alright to work again? I assume today is a file day, but we'll be back out there soon."

You nodded, smiling back. "Getting there, but it's controllable now," He narrowed his eyebrows. "I'll be fine for the field and if I'm not, I can always stay at the precinct to work things out there."

Hotch looked to Derek, then back at you. "Sounds good. Again, glad to have you back, agent." Hotch shook your hand and passed you, heading into JJ's office.

"Morgan..." You started, fiddling with your fingers. "Have you seen Spencer?"

"Yeah, he just went to the washroom, why?"

"I need to talk to him..."

The day went on and of course, you saw Spencer, but he paid you no mind. Not even a 'welcome back' or anything. You were just there and it was like you never left, except Spencer didn't even look at you. He was busy with his work and you constantly found yourself watching him. Maybe he'd heard your voice mail, maybe not, but either way, he didn't seem to care anymore.

That month and a half you spent recovering- was it possible that he used that time away from you to get over you? The idea was haunting and tugged at your heart. To be the only one all-in was such an incredibly painful idea. What he said before you were dragged away into the depths of hell meant something to you and it kept you alive... and to think he probably didn't mean it...

You needed to stop thinking about it before it made you burst into a million pieces. To be surrounded by everyone who you loved and loved you back wasn't enough if you couldn't have Spencer, too. Selfish, it sounded so selfish, but it shook you to the core that he wasn't amongst them.

The day continued and more pain was endured. More overthinking, more fear, more insecurity. The day was nearing its end.

Everybody seemed like nobody when Spencer was out of the picture. You had spent so much time thinking about him in the hospital and at home in recovery, who were you without wondering you could make it work? Nobody. Without the fantasy you could be his, you stranded on some sort of island. You were nobody if not Spencer's.

So you were nobody.

It was that thought that keeled you over the edge in the parking lot of the BAU. So much fear, so much pent-up emotion, it was too much to contain and just... spilled over onto everything as your hands began to shake, followed by that godawful feeling in the pit of your stomach. Your knees gave out and you fell conveniently onto the curb next to your car.

There was nobody there, either. You were alone on the concrete curb, face in your shaking hand and the other shaking hand gripping the curb so hard your knuckles turned white. Too much, too little, everything was wrong and you couldn't face Spencer.

You looked up for a brief moment and there was a brief look at someone in a beige cardigan and khaki pants and your heart fell to the pit of your stomach- as if you were humiliated enough. Footsteps, closer.

"A-are you okay?" His voice was a little panicked, definitely not as bad as yours, though. Overall, you were just glad he was within six feet of you.

Of course, you were pretty much unable to reply. Your face stayed in your hands and you felt light fingers on your shoulder, his, and they were somewhat grounding. God, he was here and you couldn't even talk to him, you couldn't even raise your head.

"What do you need, I- what happened?" He cared. But to what extent? His hands felt frantic- they shook a little (again, not nearly as bad as yours) and they moved from your shoulder, to upper arm, to near your neck, to the side of your head. "If this is my fault, I-"

He stopped himself. How could he possibly know that it was the thought of him that sent this into motion? The voicemail didn't entail much other than he was on your mind. You hardly even noticed that you were crying from the anxiety attack until you felt how wet your hands were. Your words kept piling on your tongue and the panic rose again in an entirely new wave.

"Do you- do you need help? I can get Hotch or... Derek, Derek knows, I know, but I don't- I don't think you like me very much and I won't be of help-I-I-I-" His voice continued to ramble and you were flooded with new thoughts. How could he possibly think that you didn't like him? In those moments before you were taken, you had said yes to going out with him if you both made it out. You kissed him back then before the arms grabbed you and dragged you off. Where did the idea of you not liking him come from? It was you who was afraid he didn't like you back.

You wanted to speak, you wanted to say something but you were stuck in your own mind, desperately trying to fight this off, trying hard to calm your breathing. The most you could do was take your hand off of the curb and frantically grab his. You took his hand and you held it tight, trying to slow the sharp intakes of breath. That's when Spencer squeezed your hand and you began to feel better.

And when you did start to feel better and your breathing was still harsh, but better and you could finally move a little more, you did what you had wanted to do every day in the hospital. You leaned forward and wrapped your arms around Spencer, your arms resting around his shoulders. You needed it and apparently so did he, because he squeezed you back the same. Either it was that or he knew pressure helped. All you could do was hope it wasn't the latter.

Spencer of course buried his face in the crook of your neck like he had before and you knew now that this feeling was coming to an end. The tide was washing out and there was calm after the storm. No words, just your breathing becoming more natural and the wind over your ears. This was all that you needed.

He stayed like this with you for a good five more minutes before you could finally release him, pulling apart and your hand coming up to wipe under your eyes. He didn't speak then, either- he just watched, his face furrowed in concern.

So you spoke, "Spencer wh-" your voice cut out from still being in that state of anxiety. You coughed into your arm, tried again. "Why would you think I don't like you?"

"I-I- don't think that's the question, I- are you okay?" His hands went back to your shoulders bracingly.

You smiled a small smile, "I'm better, it's passed, but Spencer...' You slid into a whisper with the crying coming back. Had it really passed?

"Yes?" His reply was wary. As if afraid to break you, he tiptoed.

"Answer me, please."

He bit his lower lip into his mouth, sighing. "I don't know if I should, you're- you're upset."

You looked at him, dead-on, determined. "Please."

"You didn't call. Not once and I-I-I was worried and then I started to think about it and everything t-that happened before you were taken and that you probably only said and did that because you were about to-to-uh, die." He rambled, words spilling out. "So I thought maybe you didn't really like me and-"

"I was waiting for you to call, too," you actually let out a laugh. He smiled in realization. "Because I was afraid of the exact same thing. I was afraid you didn't mean it and I worked myself up- I called Friday night, though-"

"I didn't- I didn't know that-" he fumbled to bring his phone out of his pocket and he must have seen that he had a voicemail from you and nodded, a little smile appearing on his worried face. "So you did mean to say yes?"

"And you did mean to ask?" You inquired, head tilted.

"Y-yes, of course."

"Then yes," you replied, smile widening to a grin. "How is Saturday night? I think I'll be better by then."

He was positively beaming as he helped you back to your feet. "Saturday is... great. Are you sure you're alright?"

"Much better.... truthfully." You nodded excessively and Spencer began walking back to his car, but then came back quickly to kiss your cheek.

He was like a child excited to go run and tell friends, "Goodnight!"

"Night, Spence." You stood there, basking in the glory that was solved miscommunication. You weren't nobody, you were in fact, somebody. And you were soon to be Spencer's.

Tags: @ellyhotchner, @softhairedhotch, @laurakirsten0502

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[mgsapphire]

Ethics and morality... and how they're not the same...

Weird title, and I don't even know if I'll properly approach this one with all the topics I wish to this discuss in today's The Devil Judge essay, because a lot of things peaked my interest, I was debating on doing a separate post for each subject, but I'll do them all in here:

Starting simple

I know we're only 4 episodes in, but I want to break down the things that I often look for in a new show:

Cinematography

Soundtrack

Character building

Plot devices

Social commentary (sometimes)

Of course, these are things most people would consider basics, but I find that a lot of TV shows don't have enough balance in them. Also, cinematography and soundtrack are pretty up there for me because when a plot gets slow, or something like that, I stay for those two (biggest example: King Eternal Monarch).

The soundtrack in The Devil Judge is amazing and the cinematography can be a character of its own. They really get me hooked and are used as tools to properly tell a story. And I'll get into that further down this post.

The onlooker will never understand the actor

Experience is your best friend not only applies to job hunting, but it's true in the real world too. You can't truly weigh in on something unless you've experienced it yourself, you can give it your judgment and everything, but when bad things happen to someone, you'll never truly understand their pain. Am I bringing up because of the difference of mind in Judge Kang and Judge Kim's opinions? On how the public treated the minister's son? No. I'm talking about a very specific scene, where the cinematography told me to think that way and not the dialogue (it's that easy for my mind to be swayed). In episode 3, when the rich are about to dine right after the foundation's commercial for a better future, we see this aerial shot:

What's interesting about this? The seclusion and the enclosed feeling it conveys as a counterpart to the poverty shots we were just shown. Yet, these are the people making ads for a better future, what do they know?

They live comfortably behind concrete walls with no windows to see what goes on apart from the bubble they live in. This idea is further enforced at the party in episode 4, where they're not even a part of the donations, and watch and mock from afar as spectators. Yet, these people call the shots. They even call it commenting, as if they were watching the pain of others on TV.

The intriguing personality and the duality it encites

Now, this was a costume and wardrobe decision, but it was also very well thought of:

Judge Kim wears white and Judge Kang wears black. One is morally perceived by viewers of the show as morally good and the other is perceived as morally dubious at best. However, besides the costume and wardrobe thought put into this, we also have to think about the delivery of this scene and how it may further affect my detailing of this section. Judge Kang brings down the coats, and hangs over the coat to Judge Kim, he's the one who is making that annotation: You're pure, I'm tainted. This can have one of two interpretations:

Either Judge Kang believes Judge Kim to be pure and innocent due to his status as a rookie in the field

Or he believes Judge Kim to be morally white and himself morally black as he's looking at his brother's face and not at Judge Kim's heart.

Because most of the back story we're unveiling is through Judge Kim's perception, there's also an inherit bias we're having as well, because in Judge Kim narrative, he believes he's doing what's right and believes Judge Kang to be evil. In being served information about Judge Kang through Judge Kim's eyes, our bias is inherently skewed.

Another thing is that, when they put on the coat, they're standing in front of the other, as if the producers of this series are telling us they're two sides of the same coin.

The duality is made in more deceitful ways, which include:

A difference of classes that implies one has suffered while the other has not.

A difference of experience that implies one is more tainted while the other is pure.

A difference of age that implies one is a sly fox while the other one is is bunny about to be eaten.

A difference of temper that makes one erratic and the other logical.

Power dynamics

This one, in this one I could make a whole thesis based on just a couple of scenes in the drama. And you know I have to mention it: director Jung being the puppeteer.

It may not be as unexpected at first, nevertheless it brings forward a lot of things I've wished to touch upon for quite some time now. A woman being a puppeteer of an old man in the portrayed dystopia that The Devil Judge is painting makes much more sense than more common demonstrations of these dynamics where it's either a:

A man of power being controlled by a bigger man of power.

A man of power being controlled by a seemingly man of a lower status.

A woman being controlled by a man of power.

Although, there's nothing wrong with those power dynamics, and if they were to be used, a message could also be conveyed, this one in particular works as a megaphone.

A subversion of power in such a way can be interpreted as a true indication of the weak overcoming the powerful. Why? It is not that woman are naturally weaker than men, but that in society, patriarchy has been a big factor in taking voice away from women in order to give it to men.

In order for Director Jung to achieve her purposes, it's smarter for her to do it under the pretense that an old rich man in power is the one calling the shots.

This is better exemplified by her stance when the old man tries to excuse his behavior, and what her moral compass is. I'm not saying I agree with her unethical conduct, but that her morality is directly impacted by the perception of the public of her as a weak woman:

Just because a dog bites a human does the person get dirty?

This is telling on how she perceives the actions of the old man in gropping the waitress. She didn't do anything wrong, even if you touched her, you are the dirty one.

While she's evil, it's a refreshing and deep evil.

The public's opinion and how there's actually logic in the show's portrayal

The public opinion can make or break a person, even if it's not on a public trial like this. While "cancel culture" barely works in today's society, a person's reputation is forever tainted. The show does tell that, but it also exhibits the scary downside of it, by showing how easily it was to make people accept flaggelation as a fitting punishment.

There are many experiments that have tried to test the effect of societal pressure on an individual's decision and the effect of the authority's enforcement of power in the outcome of these decisions. Furthermore, theories based on analysis of human behavior not necessarily relying on experiments can also help break this down. What do I mean? Here's a small attempt at explaining:

Milgram Experiment on Authority: which measured the individual willingness to carry out actions that go against their conscience due to an authority's approval.

Argument from Authority; The idea that people are more likely to use an authority's opinion on something as an argument for their reason. This is often seen in science, where trusted authorities have done the research and offer it to the public. In here, authority bias also plays a role, as we often believe, at first, that an authority must be right.

Moral disengagement: basically speaking, because this is evil or bad, I'm not part of it and I most probably am not actively participating in it. One may disengage by moral justification, which means that before engaging in something that has been previously perceived as immoral, I'm changing my stance on it based on what I tell myself to be logical arguments. This particular form of moral disengagement is very effective in changing the public opinion. I'll be touching on another form further down this post.

Other factors played a part, but these ones in particular came to mind when public flagelation as a form of corporeal punishment was wildly accepted. First, an authority is the one telling them it's correct, to go ahead. Secondly, another authority (the minister) had previously shown approval to such unusual punishment. Thirdly, they are not the ones to be engaging directly in the act, and even if they were, it would be acceptable because an authority has told them so. They may even believe the punishment to be a necessary evil for the greater good.

In fact, the minister's son was actually correct when pleading his case, they were accepting it because it wouldn't affect them directly.

Regarding the cinematographic descent of the public opinion regarding the situation can better be exemplified by the old man we've seen through the episodes.

Does suffering justify misdeeds?

Today I came along the difference between excuse and reason. You may give a reason for your behavior, but it doesn't excuse it.

Not because I've suffered through shit, means I have to make you suffer too.

I may explain myself, but it's on the other side to excuse me.

Why I hate the unreliable narrator and why I love it so much

This story has been told mostly through the eyes of Judge Kim and what he hears and sees regarding Judge Kang, if anything, the narrative is very close to that of the narrative we've seen in The Great Gatsby. An enigmatic man is being narrated to us from the eye of a man who hasn't known him for a long time.

How is that an unreliable narrator? The narrator has their own set of bias and moral standards which function as lenses through which they see the world.

Another way of putting it would be the way teenage romances are often written in a first person narrative where either of the two teenagers is the narrator, so the author can sell to us something as simple as offering a pack of gum as the most romantic act on earth. We're perceiving interactions through rose tainted glasses.

In this case, we're seeing the interactions through Judge Kim's eyes who doesn't trust Judge Kang from the get go due to his own preset bias.

The narrative becomes even more unreliable as we're not exactly sure if what Judge Kang disclosed himself is a fact.

The reason why I love this narrative is because it leaves a lot of space to make simple plot twists to a narrative and make them seem grand, and can elongate a story without making it obvious.

The reason why I hate it is because sometimes, in tv shows mostly, we as viewers can see the other side of the story and grow increasingly frustrated with the main character's prejudice and misunderstandings (I'm looking at you my beloved Beyond Evil).

Also, because I have to wait for a long time before I actually have a clear picture of it.

[simp-legend]

This is a one shot that I decided to share from my aot one shots

⚠️TW: Mentions of violence: gun shot, blood, bruises⚠️

I didn’t process the click of the trigger until I saw red seeping through my shirt. A sharp sting in my abdomen made me bite my tongue and fall to my knees. I looked down to see red liquid spurting out in chunks and I couldn’t resist the urge to gag. Waves of pain hit me instanously as I stumbled to the ground. This was it. After years of fighting this was the end. I was about to die. My mind, gripped with the acceptance of death and the fear of leaving my loved ones had me breaking down in the worst of ways. I’m not scared of death, but I don’t want to die. Living the life of a vigilante had its downfalls, but being alive for years in this type of work made me feel like everything would be okay; guess I was wrong.

I let out an exasperated groan, unpleasantly ripping my shirt and ignoring the fact that I was exposing myself in a alley while hiding from my murderer. My lower stomach was engulfed in blue and purple patches, bruised and bloodied from the fights I had to endure for so long. I took a piece of my ripped shirt and tried to apply pressure to the bullet wound. I cursed in a short breath, I had lost too much blood already. My back was against a concrete wall and my sight was slowly becoming a blur.

“Hah, so this is how it ends.”

I scrunched my eyes, fighting to stay conscious and taking in deep breaths to try and reduce the immense pain. The people who walked passed me were oblivious to the fact that someone was bleeding to death. Minutes passed and it seemed that the world had stopped. That’s when someone appeared.

“Fuck, what happened to you.”

2nd pov

Striking hazel eyes and blonde hair adored a face of a boy no older than seventeen. He would’ve looked like an angel if it wasn’t for his face contoured in a mix of emotions.

“You shouldn’t be here, people are looking for me. Run.”

That was all the bleeding woman could give out. Each word she said felt like knives cutting deeper into her.

“I can’t leave you like this, you need help, I can get you to help.”

The boy’s eyes formed tears but he didn’t cry. They were trained to not cry, but who wouldn’t when they were seeing their dying in their arms?

“We both know that I can’t go to a hospital,” the woman cracked out, she was fine going out, but not with her watching.

“I taught you to be strong in this world

“No, please don’t say stupid shit like that, please don’t leave me!”

“You’re going to be fine, just believe in yourself.”

A small stream of moonlight shone on the two in the alley as they looked at each other for the last time.

The woman smiled, “Thank you for everything, you were the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

“Don’t say that,” the boy cried out, hugging the lady in a gentle embrace. “I’ll bring you somewhere where you can be treated, and once you’ve healed we’ll go back to how it was. Just you and me.”

It wasn’t going to happen and they both knew it.

“Goodbye Reiner,” the woman said, spreading out the last smile she would ever give out.

“No no no! Please, please…”

He couldn’t believe it, he didn’t want to believe it.

“Don’t leave me (Y/N).”

[qblester]

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44

-he loves shitty phone games and will spend 100′s on gacha pulls, he always gets bored of them within like, the week though. -he has several tattoos! his barcode/identifying tattoo on his back(going straight down the middle ontop of the spine, krissa has a similar one) but he also has a few stick and pokes. A blue house on his ankle, and in red on his lower stomach “this is not for you” (a quote from house of leaves)((he was very intoxicated at the time and deeply regrets this tattoo)) He has one helix cuff piercing he got with krissa. -he doesnt really decorate his belongings ever, most of his stuff is black, in black cases, and has no identifying marks. -if you run your fingers through his hair you’ll feel several odd scars on his scalp, from various fights with his sister and otherwise. the other FORTY! answers below the cut

-he loves to drive, and has a nice newer car, something very safe like a honda. Krissa has put stickers on the back window despite his protests. Despite this he usually rides with krissa in her car, which is something ridiculous, with the big wheels and lift and a different color wrap on the thing every month or two -he is a freak and doesnt care about what pens he uses. he just steals whatever pens he finds around the office or on the ground -in a non-gilhue/normal au he ends up being a medical illustrator with a service dog :) -he refuses to have a favorite animal because it feels mean -similarly he hates stupid pet names, like when people name their cats “concrete” or anything similar. -he is a serial cheater, anytime he gets into any sort of relationship he usually cheats within the week. its not out of malice he just likes attention and has problems -CANNOT RIDE A BIKE! cannot figure it out! lacks the balance for it -used to bite his nails to the point of them bleeding as a child -he pretends to hate krissa’s parties more than he actually does (for context krissa will throw huge parties for money inside of penthouses or mansions that are “currently unoccupied” she holds these for friends of hers that are looking to play music, do raves, ect ect) when he’s given time beforehand to prepare for them he does enjoy the loud bass and drugs. -i havent brought up my favorite fact of all time in a while so i will mention it here; he lost his virginity WHILE his dad was dying. he got the text and ignored it. -inside his office is a small lockbox where he puts jewelry he finds on the people he vivisects. He has no idea why he keeps it, or what he’s going to do with it, it makes him feel bad to think about though. -twice a year he has to go through a weapons test wherein he gets in the whole hunter getup and has to do some basic maneuvers with krissa. its a huge pain in the ass but quite fun honestly. like playing laser tag -he and krissa have custom lego minifigures of eachother on their keychains -he has an atleast 20 minute phone call with his mother every day -every month he has to meet with Dr.Witting to ensure he is of “Strong mental standing” which basically means they just want to make sure he is not suicidal or homicidal -he is soooooooooooo afraid of the dark. its ridiculous. he has no other real like strong fears in that same vein besides like, you know vampires and such which is a given -he doesnt shower normally, he puts the water on really hot and then takes a nap on the floor of the shower until the water gets cold enough to wake him up, wherein he then actually showers in the cold. -has never really enjoyed reading to be honest, but he loves audiobooks -FUCKING LOVES DDR SO MUCH!!!!!!ITS RIDICULOUS -ive made 40 hours of playlists for him -he gets freckles if out in the sun, but alas doesnt hang out in the sun so we all miss out on this -instead of getting new glasses every few years he just gets the lenses replaced -has the worlds strongest praise kink. it is absurd. -to add onto the above he DOES cry after or during sex every single time. -favorite fruit is apple slices with peanut butter. will not eat apples otherwise -favorite candy is those wierd flat suckers you get from the bank -used to vape using a juul but when those got banned he started vaping from this chunky rig, he has years worth of fruity ass juice for it already stockpiled -his hair is pin straight but very thick and full of cowlicks, he’ll wake up with it full on anime boy sticking up usually -if he had the time or space he would 100% be constantly fostering kittens, like the really small neonates and the ones that need to be bottlefed especially -he has alerts on for ebay to tell him when people post new calico critter hauls, he’s always looking for pieces that he’s missing and will buy a 100+ dollar haul to get one piece of furniture he’s missing -him and krissa grew up in a strange victorian home in rural michigan, as part of an effort to keep them away from “mitigating and changing factors of development” it was very shining-like. -him and krissa starting sleeping in the same bed consistently around age 7 -his favorite dessert is lemon bars :) -can do complex math in his head and has pretty much always been able to -has some small level of synesthesia -was not allowed cable until they moved to california, so he and krissa spent their childhood watching selected vhs tapes and cds -loves going to the zoo so much. will spent hours upon hours just wandering around and looking at the animals. one time inside an aviary a bird landed on his arm and its one of his favorite memories -when both him and krissa are comfortable theyre pretty much always physically touching eachother, leaning against eachother, sitting close to eachother, ect -knows a surprising amount about setting up amps and various concert stuff since he’s helped krissa and her friends with this sort of thing semi-frequently -despite the constant fighting he is on ok terms with a few members of the occultics dept, not friendly but they will talk to eachother if theyre on a smoke break at the same time -Dr.Witting used to be almost a surrogate mother figure? his relationship with her is odd because shes a mother/boss/therapist/ect. -he will get drunk and start talking to whoever he can corner about random topics, he will pull up wikipedia and start basically reading the articles to them

[yeojaa]

( GHOST IN MY BED. )

Sometimes, hating someone is the only thing you can do. 

pairing.  jjk x (named) f!reader.

genre + rating.   rockstar!au.  e2l (exes n enemies!).  angst.  general.    

tags / warnings.  the angst is heavy in this chapter.  there’s also mentions of drunk driving, a reference to drug use, and really, just a lot of sadness.  proceed with caution! 

beta reader(s).  @hobi-gif​ and @periminkle​ i lob you both! 

wc.  2.8k

chapter one.

You’ve barely moved an inch, rooted to the spot by fear and sadness and three long years of distance.  It feels far too strange to be so close, to see him somewhere other than an illuminated screen.  You know you should say something, do something - anything - but every tired bone in your body is telling you to run and that’s something you can’t do.  Not after you’ve come so far. 

So you take a deep breath - deep as you can manage without bursting the dam that packs itself with flimsy sticks and stones - and step forward.  It feels monumental, far more than a single footfall. 

He’s watching you, carefully, as he’s always done, with awe written into every line still visible beneath bandages.  You see the way his jaw tenses, how the muscle works in agitation and hopelessness.  He’s holding himself back, much to your surprise.  You think you only recognize that because you know him so well.

And then you remember - you don’t know him at all.  Not anymore.

Because he might seem like the same boy you’ve loved for most of your life, but he’s nothing but a ghost now.  A figure from your worst nightmares, draped in white linen and gauze.  

His hair’s far longer than it’s ever been, sweeping over the sharp contours of his cheeks, past the singular scar he’d gotten in third grade.  It curls over his ears even in its dishevelled state, looking in desperate need of a cut and yet endearing all at once. The way he stares at you remains the same - intense, achingly familiar - and his smile - a little battered and bruised now - stretches like pavement, concrete and grounding.  

You hate that it does something to your heart, the delicate frame of your rib cage rattling with the way the organ nearly launches itself out of your throat and into his hands.

You take another step.  Jungkook doesn’t look away.  

“I missed you,”  he says, as if you’re an old friend, someone who’s come to hold his hand.  As if he hadn’t broken your heart into a million pieces and this isn’t the first time you’ve seen him since you managed to piece it back together.  

How you’d managed to rebuild yourself after that, you’re not sure.  You’d collected the broken bits, filled the cracks with gold, and mended it into something different.  A bit flawed and imperfect, but whole - stronger and illuminated.  You’d done that all on your own.

That doesn’t mean it doesn't still beat for him, just a little.  

A part of you aches to return his words.  It’s halfway off your tongue when you cut it off, severing it with a bite of your teeth and a resolve that just barely holds on.

You reach his side - still a good foot from the edge of the bed - and settle into the worn leather chair to his right.  It’s comfortable, surprisingly so, but you can’t find it in yourself to relax.  You’re ramrod straight, line of your spine strung like a bow.

It’s hard to look at him directly - to recognize the parts of him you’d once called yours - so you don’t, instead allowing your gaze to bounce across the room.  There are large bouquets of flowers against the few surfaces, all larger-than-life arrangements that look at odds with the barren body that’s laid up beside you.  You wonder, idly, who they’re from.  Friends?  Family?  Your heart stutters.  Fans?

There’s a bag and personal effects on the couch.  Black leather, exorbitantly expensive, embossed with his initials on the interior pocket.  The gift you’d gotten him for your last anniversary - the same one he’d nearly lost on tour despite the fact that it cost you more than you’d have cared to admit.  Something like anger simmers in your stomach at the sight of it.

When he speaks again, you’re still glaring at the bag, unable to tear your eyes from the supple material and all the memories it carries.  

“Pumpkin?”  

The nickname tears you from your reverie.  You can’t help the way you suddenly stare at him - all wide-eyed surprise.  “What?”

Something close to relief floods his expression, spilling like wet paint over the curve of his mouth, the corners of his eyes.  It spreads delight into every inch, unrelenting and unrepentant.  “I said I missed you, Pumpkin.”  He repeats himself not because you haven’t heard him but because he wants that reaction again - the one that tells him everything he needs to know.

You resent him for it.    

“Please don’t call me that.”  You wish it were stronger - that you were stronger.  It’s hard.

You know you shouldn’t love him anymore and that none of this should affect you.  After all, he’d thrown your heart into a blender with three shots of vodka and chased it down with some pills and cigarette smoke.  He’d filled all the space you’d given him with other things - riches and women and thin white lines - and he’d had the audacity to be surprised when your own sadness had slipped in, too. 

He’d always imagined you’d keep it locked up, held so closely he’d never have to face it.  You’d thought so to, really.  Hadn’t expected the way it spilled out regardless, too much misery to be kept in a little glass house. 

There was only so much you could take before it all came crumbling down. 

So, it’s hard.  You love him because he’s him and you’re you and that means more than you can possibly put into words.

“Don’t call you what?”  It’s almost patronizing, like he can’t quite believe his ears.  

“You know what.”

He scoffs - a low, broken sound that catches halfway out, muffled by chain-smoking and not nearly enough sleep.  “You never used to have a problem with it.”

“We were together then,”  you retort quietly, sandpaper grit and burnt coffee bitter. 

“Just tossing me aside then?”  

You’re not quite sure where he pulls it from - the sheer, idiotic confidence he somehow fits into his words, framing them like you’re in the wrong.  You wonder if it comes from years in the spotlight because it certainly wasn’t there before. 

“Don’t say it like that.”  What’s meant to be reproachful comes almost pleading, soft and sad and stained with saltwater.  

“Then don’t tell me what to do.”

The silence that falls is paradoxical, miserable and fulfilling all at once.  

It hurts in the worst of ways, sparking from the tips of your toes to the tops of your ears.  It feels like being outlined in neon - vivid pain in shades of pink and green that burn through your veins.  Proverbial I told you so’s curl over your ankles and around your heart, little reminders that this is who he is now and every path would’ve led you here anyway.  Parallel lines meant to converge only once before diverging once more.

“I’m sorry.”   His apology feels infinite, as if it’s meant to make up for multitudes.  “I just…”

Nothing further comes.  You don’t know what you’d expected. 

“It’s fine,”  you say, even though it’s decidedly not fine.  Absolutely nothing about this was even remotely fine.  You weren’t even really sure why you’d agreed to come.  You were still working through all your reasonings, turning them on their heads in hopes of receiving an answer other than the glaringly obvious ones that spilt out like salt grains. 

“Is it?”  Something about how he speaks, how the question seems so small, prompts you to meet his eyes.  You wish you hadn’t.

There’s an infinite galaxy swirling in his irises, a million words he hasn’t spoken.  They beg to be loved regardless, to feel even a semblance of the warmth your smile had once offered.  It breaks your heart all over again, splitting it into pieces where the cracks and crevices haven’t quite fused together fully.

“I missed you, Pumpkin.”  You don’t have it in you to rebuff him.  Not when he reaches for you - a feeble gesture that pulls his figure close, entire bruised frame reassembling like a shuddering skeleton.  He’s starry-eyed and intoxicating, drawing you into the Jungkook-shaped supernova you’re helpless against.  “I missed you so fucking bad.”

“Jungkook.”  

His name sounds like it’s about to break apart just like your heart, shattering wide open into a thousand splintered fragments.  

“Please don’t do this.”  Not again, you think.  Not after all this time.

“I can’t,”  he says and it’s shipwrecks and car crashes, misery in the form of broken teeth and battered bones and endless blue in his eyes.  “I need you.  I need you.”

It doesn’t escape you that you’ve heard these words before.  You’d tucked that memory into the furthest corner, up and above your head in a shelf that you’d never touch.  You’d folded it away into the box labelled JEON JUNGKOOK and tried to forget about it.  You haven’t been able to.

It bursts out now, bouncing around your skull and in your ears - a feedback loop that won’t stop.

“Please.”  You try again.  

He’s gripping your hand so tightly - with a strength that feels far too much for someone only a day past a terrible accident - and it feels white hot and alive.  Where his skin touches, he burns candle wax and coaxing - honeyed and warm.  You imagine you’ll peel the drippings off later and be left with scars in the form of his hands.  You wonder just how much more you can take.

“Please.”  You try a third time.  It’s feeble, frayed from holding on too long and too tight.

He hears it just as well as you. 

“Stay with me.  I don’t have anyone else.”

A part of you wonders how true that is.  Surely, he had his family - his lovely parents that you’d practically considered your own.  You can’t imagine they’d leave him here to rot. 

Your resolve still crumbles, just a little, from the topmost pillar. 

Ever the opportunist, Jungkook watches the fall of your Roman empire with rapt attention, hopeful as a new god.  If only you weren’t so easy to read - full hand laid out on the table. 

“What happened?”  You pose the question in place of an agreement, words offered in the same instance you remove your hand - or try to, anyway.  It doesn’t get very far.  He seems adamant in keeping your fingers twined, knuckles stark white and riddled with tension.  You wonder if he’s oblivious to it or if he just doesn’t care.  It wouldn’t be the first time.

So focused on the way he holds you - claims you in the iron shackle that he deems he needs - you almost miss the way his features contort, rolling through a myriad of emotion before settling into a defensive mask.  

You hadn’t expected a bared soul or a confession of all his sins - you knew enough of them already - but you’d hoped for some semblance of honesty. 

By his expression, you wonder if you’ll even get that. 

“I was in an accident.”  It’s short, terse and held tightly between his teeth.  

You don’t mean it in any way but observational.  “I see that.” 

He still takes it the wrong way, scowl fitting like a glove.  It steels his jaw and hardens the line of his mouth, the moulting of purple over and around his eye doing little to hide the storm that grows in his stare.  

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You can feel a headache coming on - the first pinpricks of it just behind your eyes and at your temples.  It forms in bits and pieces, a silhouette of a man that burns your retinas and makes your grit your teeth. 

“Nothing, Kook.”  It comes far more tired than you expect it to, weighed down by something you can’t quite place.  It feels like you’ve run a marathon in this small room.  You wonder if this is what it’s always like - draining and miserable and reminiscent of the hell of tenth grade gym class.

“I’m sorry.”

How many times has he said that now?  Will it ever be enough?  For him?  For you?

You shake your head, a slow gesture that doesn’t really register at first.  You’re so used to appeasing him - even three years later - and it comes of its own accord, bobbing your neck on your shoulders like second nature.  You could hold it back, but you seem just as intent on repeating yourself as he does.  “It’s fine.”

Maybe this is what the two of you are destined for - two lost lovers stuck on a merry-go-round.  

“It’s not fine.”  He’s released your hand now - you try to ignore the sudden, overwhelming disappointment that crashes into you like a tidal wave - and uses the bruised, bandaged one of his own to scrub down the side of his face.  It’s a surprisingly tired gesture, as if all of a sudden the weight of his situation has settled on his shoulders.  You barely catch the words that fumble out next, hidden behind the palm of his hand and the ink that swirls over his ink.  “I just…”

You’re hopeful for a split second.  Hopeful that he might let you in, despite the fact that you know you shouldn’t even be knocking at that door. 

“I don’t want you to look at me differently.”  It comes so small, your heart clenches in your chest. 

Then you wonder - what had he done?

“I won’t.”  It’s not a promise but it sounds like one, filled with sunbeams and reassurance.  You wish you could offer it any other way, maybe with careful regard and just the right amount of distance.  Instead, you’re committed, poker chips piled high on green felt.  All or nothing.  You can’t help it.

“I fucked up.”  

For the first time, you see him as he was those years ago - full of promise and hope, eager for a taste of the unknown.  You see him as the Jeon Jungkook you’d known and loved, vulnerability threaded through all five feet ten inches of his frame.  

You want to help him.  You shouldn’t, but you do.  “You can tell me.” 

“We just finished the tour.”  Pride colours his answer in glimmering strands of gold, threads that glint as he speaks.  Charisma oozes out of every pore, shimmering like precious stones hidden behind his molars and within his stare.  It’s easy to understand how he’s done so well for himself.  “I was… celebrating.  You know.”  You certainly don’t, but you nod along regardless.  “Things got a little out of hand.”

His attention seems far away, focused on something you can’t see.  He continues carefully, cherry picking his words.  

“I probably shouldn’t have driven.  She—”  Everything comes to a stuttering halt, his doe-eyed stare suddenly finding yours with alarm.  “—I mean, they.  Uh.”  The damage is already done.  You can feel it taking root - that same hurt you’d felt creeping into your throat before you’d stepped foot into this space.  You swallow it down as best you can, tearing your gaze from his to train somewhere on the cotton that rests in his lap.

“Go on.”

He’s stuttering just a bit, because he can’t help it.  He knows he’s been caught.  You know he’s been caught.  Gone is the Jungkook you’d once known.  You see him for all he is yet again - a poor boy dressed in leather and lies.  It hurts far more than it should.  

“Uh.  W-w-we were in, uh, the car.”  The intensity of his gaze feels like two little laser beams.  You can practically feel them burning through the top of your head as you refuse to meet his eyes.  “I was— I was drunk and I didn’t— I didn’t see the other car.”

You’ve heard enough.  

You wonder if the way you’re staring at him now is the way he’d most feared.  It must be by how his face falls, crumples like a house made of playing cards.  

“I’m glad you’re okay.”  You mean it - really, you do - but that’s the only thing you can give him.  

For his and for your sake, you need to leave.  Now.

“Please remove me as your emergency contact.”  Your voice wobbles, falling apart as you speak.  You worry the tears will follow soon after.  You can barely make out his expression, the wetness crowding heavily along your lashes and turning everything into a strange amorphous blob.  

It’s getting harder to breathe the longer you stay.  Each step towards the door feels like your head on the chopping block.  Once you cross that threshold, it’ll be severed clean off.  You’ll leave your heart in this room, with this boy who hasn’t grown a single day in the last three years.

You think he must be speaking to you but you can’t make it out.  Everything’s muffled, like you’re underwater and about to drown.  It fills your ears and steals your senses, narrowing your focus to the polished steel door handle that’s just within reach.

“I’m really, really glad you’re okay.”  It’s all you can manage before the dam breaks and you’re throwing yourself into the hallway and the waiting arms of your brother.  You don’t know how to stop the noise that rips out of your throat, wet and desperate and barely coherent.  

Yoongi was right - you shouldn’t have come.

author note.  this was quite short but it didn’t feel right with another scene added to it.  the next chapters will move the story along a lot more.  ty for reading!  💖

tag list.  @jalexa83​ 

[pa-panda-heroes]

im the same anon who sent the pro-hero + league thing and dabi, shiggy, toga 🥺💞💖💖 thank you, lovely.

Enjoy, anoni!! I’m realising my scenarios are aren’t really scenarios, are they?

Strict!Pro-hero!reader being seduced by Dabi, Tomura, and Himiko!

Warning: N/S/FW content. Minors, do NOT interact. Seriously! This is no place for you. (Edit: that means a anyone under 18. That’s the threshold I’ve seen others use, so I’m sticking it’s that.) Note: there are individual warnings for each character so that you know what you’re about to read ^v^b

Dabi:

Warnings- adult content, thigh riding, biting, edging, alcohol mention, swearing

To say that you were known for being cool-headed and strict was a major understatement. You weren’t as popular as All Might, but those who knew you understood you to be a hero who, no matter how any villain taunted or insulted you, was concrete and unbending to their childish games. You went by the book and rarely made exceptions.

And then Dabi entered the picture. Cynical, rough, sardonic as hell, and quite the lawbreaker - and flirt. He’d stir some trouble in the streets, and then dip out when things got sketchy for him. In the midst of doing so, he’d always send some nasty smirk and comment your way. “Some nice legs you got there, doll. They’d look nicer above your head, though,” was his favorite; or perhaps it was your response he vied for so much. Because boy, you wanted to respond. You couldn’t deny the selfish gratification that came of his antics, knowing someone didn’t treat you as a gripey, square of a woman.

But that was the last thought on your mind as you sauntered through an alleyway on your walk home from having harmless fun with your fellow heroes. You hadn’t drank a sip, afraid of trouble spurring and hence your being called in. Your focus was fixated on your phone in your hand as you read the text one of your coworkers sent you.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, babe,” you suddenly hear, and instantly recognize the bastard of a voice. And instantly you feel that familiar throbbing at your core at the sound of it.

You look up from your phone, stone-faced as always, and try to resist the urge to scowl at him. You fail, though. He’s standing not far from you with his hands in his pockets, but it doesn’t look like this encounter was intended. “Don’t call me that,” you warn shakily, only for his smirk to widen and show off his teeth before he closes the gap between you. You elect to swing a fist at him but miss entirely before a blur flashes over your vision and your back hits the hard brick of the alley.

“Why not? We both know you enjoy it,” he snickers, his forearm across the front of your shoulders, his left hand occupied with pinning your wrist to the wall and knee stuck in-between yours. “If you really meant that punch, I wouldn’t have been able to dodge it, right?”

Right.

He even left your other hand free to prove his point.

Your breath is heavy and fluttered as he leans closer. You said nothing, but the fact that your wrist was relaxed in his hold told him everything. You see him smirk again, thereafter his arm leaves your chest so that he could put his thumb under your chin, the rest of his fingers splayed out on your jaw and you gulp. Your eyes fall half-lidded when he leans in close, but he quickly pushes your head back and veers off to the side to suckle at your neck, earning a quiet whine from you. Dabi acknowledges it with an eerie chuckle, to which you nearly respond with suspect before a cry leaves your lips at the sensation of teeth gnashing at your collarbone, the feeling of his chin staples rolling over your skin surprisingly heavenly. He resorts back to suckling and you’re sure he’s leaving at least a few hickies, but you’re too wrapped up in his hands fondling your hips and ass to care. They’re so warm, it’s ecstatic. He’s sweltering hot, unlike the cool wetness settling between your legs.

“Aah, Dabi...!”

You can’t help the whine of your lips or buck of your hips, nor the yelp that results when you unintentionally grind your throbbing core against his thigh. Dabi pulls off of your neck with a pop before he grabs your hips with both hands to pull you closer, encouraging you to ride his thigh. “My leg, ah?” he breathes, his voice more curious than either of you would admit. He leans in towards your ear, hot breath sending a chill down your spine. “Go on, do it,” he demands, his voice a whisper. “Lift that skirt and cum on my thigh, doll.”

You shut your eyes tight and moan at such a filthy command, his husky voice a contributor. Dabi’s too impatient with you to let you move your skirt out of the way as he does it himself, his returned grip on your hips surely to bruise them. You’re able to look down as he guides you, and there’s a clear streak of wetness soaking his pant leg. You shiver at the sight of your arousal, and again when he reaches to move your panties out of the way to let you grind bare against his jeans. You stare at the sight, not having it in you to look away. He must’ve followed your graze, his chest rumbling with a chuckle as you begin to cry out and moan louder. Dabi’s tongue is awfully quick to find and lick at your ear, while his teeth occasionally gnaw at it and pull. You were so pent up, even after a night of fun, it was no surprise your climax was already catching up to you. Your pace gets faster and faster, until that tightened coil-

Doesn’t snap. Dabi retreated his thigh from you and grabs your jaw to force you to look at his simper, earning a pout from you. “Aw, c’mon. Don’t make that face,” he taunts.

“You didn’t really think that’d be it, did you, babe?”

Tomura:

Warnings- adult content, spanking, swearing, orgasm denial

Being an infamously stoic hero had its perks. No one expected you to goof off on talk shows or crack a corny joke in interviews. Everyone liked that you weren’t careless and rambunctious; it just suited you not to be. A downside was being viewed as a “strict, rule-hungry old bag,” though. And you weren’t even old! But because you took being a hero seriously and followed rules, it gave you a public opinion not far off from Endeavor’s.

Getting on the trail of the leader of the League of Villains was a royal pain in the ass, much less staying there. It didn’t help that he seemed to take a special interest in you. There was always a hungry look in his eyes when you faced off, and nearly every time it felt like he’d planned the encounter as if to merely get a glimpse of you.

It wasn’t something you hated. This game of cat and mouse was exhilarating. Constant. Safe. It was a release. The more it happened, the more you thought it was the same way for him.

That theory was confirmed in its entirety when he randomly showed up in your apartment and looked at you as if he’d waited a significant amount of time. On you. You freeze in place after shutting your door, your bag of groceries still in hand as he stares at you from the couch. The silence that falls is thick, and not entirely uncomfortable, but it is unwelcome. You walk over to the kitchen area and set the bag atop the counter, before turning around to see Tomura standing right in front of you, the lack of hands adorning his body confusing you. “Why... are you here?” you ask hesitantly, noting the unconscious clenching of your thighs.

“You wouldn’t make a damn move, so I had to.”

His answer was simple and dry, and you begin to wonder if that meant anything other than what you wanted it to. His intentions are clear when he approaches further, backing you into the counter and caging you with an arm on each side. Tomura just stares at you. It was your turn. That’s how your little game went. And so you jolted forward, latching onto his lips with your own. Your dominance is short-lived, though, as he deepens the kiss when you yelp from his hand smacking against the side of your thigh, his tongue invading your mouth. Tomura’s hands are quick to snake up your shirt and paw at your uncovered breasts, the villain then smirking at the realization that you weren’t wearing a bra while he chuckles at your moan. His fingers pinch your hardening nubs, resulting in your pulling back from his lips and mewling.

His breaths are getting heavy, as are yours. Tomura grabs your arm and spins you around so that your backside is facing him, your ass end poking out at him when he grabs your head and pushes down to bend you over the counter. You glance back at him, but your focus is broken when you feel his hardened cock against your ass. Your whine only encourages him to briskly unbuckle your pants and pull them down, and you half-expect him to grind against you again - but he doesn’t. You begin to push back against him, albeit a hand on the small of your back lunges you forward and you scramble to get a grip on the counter beneath you. Hard to do that on a flat, smooth surface.

“Funny, you’re such a stickler about rules, and yet here you are, trying to make your own,” he jeers, and you swallow thickly. “You can follow a command, can’t you, hero?”

You gulp again and try to writhe in place, only to shriek when a hand lands sharp on your ass cheek as his other hand digs into your back. “Can’t you?” he repeats, and the feeling of your cunt clenching practically resounds throughout your body. You’re soaked, it’s clear. You pant instead of responding, almost sounding like a bitch in heat before another slap sounds against your reddening asscheek and you moan aloud, earning yourself yet another.

“I can!” you nearly scream, white-hot tears prickling the corners of your eyes - either from the pleasure, or the pain, you’re not sure.

“Don’t cum.”

You gasp and glance back at him, lips agape as you felt the pulling down of your panties. All you can see is those dark, red eyes glaring at you like a predator about to devour its prey.

Himiko:

Warnings- adult content, mentions of stalking, biting, oral, slight knife use (your poor panties), swearing, home... invasion?

Note- I’m not sure how old Toga is. Granted that she wears a school uniform and she crushes on Izuku, I’m setting her age to 20 here because I’m really not sure.

Being stalked by villains is not something you’re unfamiliar with. Being called a stone-faced, soulless shell of of a woman is not something you’re unfamiliar with either, a result of the public eye constantly fixated on you. On the contradictory, a grown ass villain flirting with your austere being was something you were quite unused to. Toga Himiko of the League of Villains was always hot on your trail, quick to retreat when noticed yet quick to notice you first. The smile that would crack her lips open was clearly meant for you and for you alone, always used as a flirtatious taunt. It wasn’t uncommon for you to track her down and chase after her, nor was it uncommon for her to track you down and leap after you.

Your game of push-and-pull had been on for a while. She was always so quick to escape no matter the situation, and you couldn’t for the life of you figure out how she did it. Nor could you figure out how the hell she got into your apartment. While you were there. Granted, you were asleep, but still...

She grins at you again in your bedroom doorway, that grin you know well, and seems to fiddle with the belt loop at her shorts, having long since abandoned the school girl schtick. It only worked for so long anyway. “Y/n-chan,” she beams, nearly drooling. “I had a nightmare, can I sleep with you tonight?” Her voice is sweet and lilted, and for a split second you believe her. She still had that sweet and harmless-looking appearance despite being a hardened villain. You lick your lips almost unconsciously, which she takes as an invitation to your bed, except she yanks your bedding off of you unceremoniously to replace it with her body as she straddles your hips.

You stare at her, your hands instinctively going for the sides of her thighs, with which she seems quite pleased as she squeaks at you. “You look so small down there, hero,” she mutters, her grin ear-to-ear. “So cuuute!” Her eyes then narrow almost darkly at you and she cocks her head sideways. “So quiet. Are you still sleepy, hm?”

Her thighs are so plump and sweet that you gulp underneath her while wondering what she’d taste like, but she shakes her head at you. “No, not tonight, lovey.” Himiko leans down and lunges her tongue into your open mouth, your moans mixing together as she does so, albeit yours increases in volume when she palms your breast through your shirt and squeezes before flicking her finger at your hardening nipple. The villain pulls away from you too quickly, sitting up so briskly your head almost spins, as she ignores the trail of saliva that follows. Her hips are adjusted atop you before she grabs the hem of your shirt and brings it up to your mouth. You catch on immediately and comply, biting the fabric into place as she goes to town kissing and licking your sternum between your tits. Golden, sharp eyes never leave yours in the moment, and her mouth feels hot against your skin as you moan. Her groping at your legs only serves to make you more vocal.

The bloodthirsty woman travels down your navel, yet goes right past where you want her most, while your whine is punctuated by the bucking of your hips. Himiko instead elects to suckle at your hip and upper thigh, before she parts your legs and settles between them. You jolt a little as she licks a stripe up your thigh until her tongue is a finger’s width away from the throbbing wetness between your legs. She giggles at your response, then landing a quick, tiny bite on your thigh before licking her lips. You don’t realise you’ve reached out to grab the top of her head and pulled it toward you until you feel the softness of her hair underneath your fingertips and another giggle escapes her. Himiko’s tongue pokes out from her lips as she pulls a knife from her belt to shred away at the hip of your panties before pulling them down to give her access to your throbbing clit.

Her tongue is quick to prod at your hole, then dragging up towards your clit before her lips are around it and sucking away. You cry out as a result, hips bucking again as your free hand clutches the bedsheet beneath you. You hear what sounds like a growl come from Himiko’s throat, then watch as her arms hook around your legs and hold your hips down. The sweat starting to coat your skin keeps her from getting a decent grip, so she uses force while her tongue dips into you and pokes around with her thumb rubbing at your swollen, puffy clit.

“Toga-chan-!”

Your whining out her name encourages her thumb to rub circles and increase its pace, Himiko finally letting out her own moan into your soaked cunt as her tongue begins to lick and suck away. Your grip on the sheets tightens until your knuckles are white, your mantra of moans music to her ears. Until suddenly, she pulls away, your essence coating her lips and practically dripping down her chin.

“Y/n-chan,” she says almost darkly, with the look in her eyes making your cunt clench around nothing, “you can’t cum yet.”

[jacksons-goddess-gaia]

Wolf Rider~ Got7 Werewolf x Reader Chapter 1

❖ GOT7, Jinyoung x reader

❖ Series, Angst, Fluff, Werewolf AU, Alternate Universe AU

❖ TW: Blood, Gore, abuse, knives, guns, alcohol, kidnapping, violence, non major character death, and torture

❖ wc: 3488

❖ Tag List: @atiny-piratequeen @atiny-dazzlinglight @queen-of-himbos @angel0taiyo @storytimedragon @gettin-a-lil-hanse @kimnamshiks @wonderland-obsession

❖ Masterlist ❖

. ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

I would love to hear what you guys think <3 

. ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

You huffed, gritting your teeth as you dragged yourself across the floor to the cage. The big black wolf growled low in its chest, though, it seemed less from warning you and more out of concern for your wellbeing. Nails tearing as they dug into the concrete floor, blood dripping down your leg as the movements caused your wounds to reopen. Your brow furrowed with pain, the tear-stained pathways cutting through the layer of dirt and grime that marred your beautiful face. 

But you ignored him, dragging yourself to the edge of the cage, finally reaching the wolf who had been your companion in this hell hole for the last few nights; though how many nights had come to pass you didn’t know. 

They had brought him in after you, jeering at him for falling into their hands so easily.  When his sight landed upon you slumped against the wall he had broken loose. You had been fading in and out of consciousness at that moment, so you had only vague memories of him tearing apart three of the men as he placed himself between you and them. You had blacked out not long after waking up to an injured wolf watching you with helpless whimpers. 

One of the men had dragged you to your feet, shaking you in his face, a knife pressed to your neck. The man's voice rose, yelling something about “her getting it” if he didn’t act like a good boy. You were too delirious, unable to understand how he expected the giant creature to understand him. As you opened your mouth to voice these doubts you could see the nearly human-like desperation and fear in the creature’s eyes as he whimpered, snarling as you were struck harshly in the stomach making you drop to the ground heaving and gasping for air. More words were exchanged as someone barked orders before you were dragged back to the other side of the basement they were keeping you in, throwing you into the wall to crumple down upon yourself in a heap upon the dirty floor.

Since then, you only saw them when they moved you. You would be forced upstairs and allowed to use the bathroom before they shoved you into a van riding to their next destination. Once there, they would throw you into the basement or shed with him, forcing him into his cage again with a simple threat towards you.

As if he understood, he never put up a fight ensuring your safety as he limped into the cage, injured, starved, and aching.

Many times you had protested this, protested the horrid chain they kept on the giant iron collar around his neck. The blows they delivered to him or the kicks and beer bottles they chucked at him and his cage. But he never reacted to them, not until they’d turn their torment upon you. It was one such game that had ended with your leg as it was now when you protested their taunting towards him with food. How you had become so brave in the face of your captors and imprisoners you knew not, but fury filled your veins with each word or action against the beautiful creature. 

You wanted to protect him, as he had tried you. Protect him and free him from this horrible place even if it costs you everything. Thus why you provoked the man to turn his attention from the wolf to you despite the fear pounding in your chest. 

His blows had nearly knocked you senseless, your lunch leaving your stomach and blood blossoming in your mouth as he split your lip and bruised your eye. Nothing compared, however the agony that seized you when he drove the knife deep into your thigh. This, at last, had drawn a scream from your lips as he had wanted, though it also drew a roar of rage from your friend and he threw himself against the bars of the cage.

This brought down the others to the room, they punished the wolf first, much to your cries to leave him alone. Watching you attempt to claw your way forward to them to stop them, the man laughed twisting his knife in your flesh before ripping it free. Your yells of agony whipped the wolf into a frenzy biting and throwing himself against the bars. Despite their attempts to keep him at bay with the electric probs and whips, it wasn’t until a man you didn’t recognize arrived that everything calmed down. Though beaten and injured the wolf never ceased his low growl at him, especially as he came near you; through your tear-filled and swelling eye, you couldn’t make out his face hidden by a mask and glasses. 

The next few minutes you were bandaged, the cage was left alone finally and the man who had damaged you so badly had been killed. Shot by their boss before your very eyes, yet you felt no better. It seemed touching the merchandise as he called you was off the table.  

You were once again left alone with a tray of food, saving your dinner you dragged yourself across the room.

“Here eat this.” You murmured to your protector offering him a kind smile as the horse-sized wolf just watched you in befuddlement. As your hand slipped through the bars you never wondered if he’d bite you. In fact, had he so chosen so, his giant jaws would have easily snapped your arm off in one bite.

The plate of cold sandwiches was barely a morsel for him and probably unappetizing, which seemed true as he tried to use his nose to nudge it back to you. But you shook your head.

“If we’re going to get you out of here you need your strength.” you urged him pushing it back closely. For some reason you didn’t feel the need to treat him like a normal animal, something inside you just believed he’d understand you. And as he rolled into a sitting position you knew he had. He snuffled you once through the cage and you smiled at the small whine of gratitude before he munched down on the sandwiches. Gosh, he looked so cute taking teeny tiny bites as though attempting to hold back in front of you. You giggled at the sight of a monstrous predator eating with manners. Grabbing the bars of the cage you hauled yourself up grimacing with pain as your leg seared with agony. 

His sharp eyes missed none of it, stopping to look up at you, a low rumble of what you took to be concern leaving his chest. Leaning against the steel bars of his cage you grinned at him offering your hand up for him. Deep intelligent brown eyes glittered as he leaned forward to sniff you again softly before butting his head beneath your hand, eyes closing in bliss.

Never before had you felt such warmth, such deep connection with any other being as he put his head against your hand, his broad head rubbing against you and the bars of the cage. 

Enveloping you in soft fur; the smell of pine trees, ocean, and mint hit you all at once. Your eyes fluttered shut as you found yourself leaning into him through the cage. Your arms were wrapped around his broad head and neck, face buried in his neck as you squeezed between the bars. From his earlier tantrum, they had bent, nearly enough for you to slip through completely if only you would turn your body slightly, not nearly enough for him though. However, that thought slipped your mind as a wonderous world of peace and happiness filled your mind and soul. 

So much so you never realized the wolf's neck had suddenly become much smaller until a pair of arms wrapped around you.

Jerking your head up you were shocked to come face to face with the most handsome man you had ever laid eyes upon.

“Hello, Kitten.” had it not been for that warm fuzzy feeling still permeating your every sense you might have screamed at the naked man before you, looking at you with the most tender gaze. As though he had found all the stars in the sky and each was more beautiful and delicate than any creature known to man.

“Wha-” his thumb brushing over your lips sent shivers of pleasure down your spine; a shuddery gasp leaving your throat, tingles racing across the skin from his touch. The feel of his warm hand against your cheek nearly lulling you into closing your eyes, a tiny smile twitched at his lips.

“I don’t have time to explain right now. But I will, first I need you to close your eyes and hold on until I tell you to open them ok?” he murmured his face so close to yours you could feel his body heat radiating off him. You nodded before realizing suddenly you were sitting inside the cage, the bars you had been leaning against bent apart and nearly torn from their spots. The man looked pleased with your compliance, giving you a real smile that took your breath away. He was more beautiful than the moon as he grinned. “Good girl kitten. Now, remember to close your eyes and don’t open them no matter what.”

At his urging you complied, a fluttering feeling bouncing around your chest at the nickname and praise. The more sensible part of you wondered where he’d come from, not to mention what had happened to the bars or how you had ended up inside. But the feeling of his muscled form in your arms quelled all thoughts; within a moment you found yourself lifted up into the air upon something large and fluffy before the wind whipped your face.

Splintering wood crashed in your ears, and bounced off your skin. Men’s yells and the sounds of furniture and bullets flying caught your attention, but you squeezed your eyes tight, burying them in the soft fur beneath you as you surged forward into an unknown world of conflict and noise.

Minutes later you were out in the rain for only rain could it be soaking you in an instant, yet you felt no cold. The being beneath you radiating enough heat that you merely felt a coolness in the wet of your jacket and hair, wind wiping your face. The sound and feel of feet pounding against earth and tree surrounded you. The smell of rain mixing with that piney, mint-scented ocean spray you had smelt earlier. Only one word coming to mind, as you held on tight bounding through the endless night and far away from your prison.

__________________________________

A hair-raising howl broke you from near sleep hours later. Still perched upon his back you had nearly passed out, however, the howl had you springing awake. And accidentally breaking his rule too. At the sight of three giant wolves running alongside you eyes focused upon your form, you couldn't resist it. A scream ripped itself from your throat as you toppled from his back. 

Hitting the ground at 40 miles an hour hurts. Hitting the ground in a forest doubly so, however hitting the ground from six feet up in the air, already severely injured was just pure agony. You toppled, rolled, and bounced before skidding to a stop covered in mud and nearly faint from pain. It felt like your leg had been ripped open all over again.That with the new cuts and bruises littering your body it was no wonder you laid dazed for a moment. Upon opening your eyes, the ringing dimmed in your ears and you wished you hadn’t opened them, to begin with. Three large wolves running straight at you. Lifting your arms over your face you screamed jumping with fright as soft wet black hair engulfed you. Pain richotted through your body as you were jostled, a horrible roaring snarl of a bark thundering above you. Seconds later all the sound ceased and you found warm strong hands lifting you up dragging you into a strong muscled chest.

“Kitten? HEy-HEY!” the hands trembled as that handsome face from before appeared above you, more afraid than before as he held you close. Long fingers pushing your wet and tangled hair from your face as you shivered from pain and cold.

“Kitten-”

For some reason the sight of his gorgeous brown eyes dark with worry and care, chiseled features dripping with rain, you broke down. Tears flooded your eyes as you tried and failed to speak. This combined with the chill quickly settling into your bones scared him more. He dragged you into him hiding your face in his shoulder.

“Shhh, it’s ok I’ve got you. Shhh.” he cooed in a pleading tone as the warmth of his bare skin seeped slowly through to you.

“Jiny-”

“You’re dead after this Yugyeom, dead.” The furious rumbling growl leaving this tender man surprised you as did the sound of three other apologetic voices. His tender voice returning, you could feel his lips move against your hair. “I’m going to carry you, it's just up here, just a few minutes I promise, hold on Kitten.”

Gritting your teeth you tried to suppress the scream of agony as he lifted you into his arms.

“I’ll carry her-” but the concerned voice merely received a snarl in return, his grip tightening around you. You were just conscious of a light ahead when you finally slipped into unconsciousness. 

___________________________________

Warmth, soft comfortable warmth was the first thing registering to your senses. Its soft pillowy texture brushing against your skin like a caress. A warm pine fresh smell mingling with ocean waves filling your senses with relaxation as your muscles tensed and stretched. Slowly you opened your eyes to a wonderful golden light streaming in through off white sheer curtains. You were snuggled down into a ball surrounded by fluffy pillows and a soft duvet comforter. The room was definitely masculine, dark blue linens and carpeting with modern minimalistic furnishings. The men's suit jacket draped over a chair nearby enough to confirm this was a man's room.

In your attempt to sit up to better address where you were, pain came crashing down upon your soft kingdom.

Everything hurt in some way and degree, though nothing more than your thigh. Gingerly as every move hurt you slowly pulled yourself up into a sitting position. A horrifying discovery awaited you, someone had bandaged your wounds but upon doing so changed your clothes.

Panic set in as you hurriedly checked beneath the man's shirt and to your horror realized the underclothes were also not your own. Before you could truly send yourself down the road of totally freaking out, you wracked your brain. Taking deep breaths you recalled all that you could of the escape. You could bring up everything of your escape up until losing consciousness with fierce clarity, afterward though was a muddle. 

Feint images as though through some thick haze came and went, chunks of time missing between the snippets of light. Blurred faces and a familiar voice fading in and out, pain, warmth, and a woman's scolding voice. Words of comfort and a hot bath then nothing.

The relief was foremost in your mind as you recalled the woman who had tended your injuries and bathed you. She must have been the one to have changed you, and while still embarrassing it was much better than the idea one of the blurry-faced men to have been the one. Your hair was dry plaited and smelled softly of lavender, a soothing and comforting smell. Taking in your surroundings more calmly now you could hear the low rumble of voices broken intermittently with laughter from somewhere outside the room's door.

Knowing there was no way your leg would support your weight to the doorway you gathered your courage together, checking to make sure the shirt was covering you, you swallowed before tentatively opening your lips.

“H-hey…” You wanted to shake your head at your weak cry barely loud enough to be considered talking let alone a call to reach whoever was out there. 

Thus all the more surprising as the door opened with a bang like a canon. 

“Kitten?!?” Before you knew what had happened the most handsome-faced man was before you eyes wide with concern, curved lips turned down in worry.

“Okay you’ve got to tell us is Kitten really your name?” At the cheerful, if dubious voice the man growled, turning his face away from you to glower at the smiling man.

“None of your business Jackson-”

“It’s Y/N. Y/n L/n.” His head spun back at your tentative voice expression softening.

“Y/n…” He marveled, and oh did the sound of your name on his tongue send burning heat to every part of your body, toes curling as a breathtaking smile crossed his lips. “Y/n l/n...it's beautiful it suits you.”

Color flushed to your cheeks causing you to wince breaking the spell his gaze had upon you as your eye throbbed.

“Knew her name wasn’t kitten. You owe me five bucks Bammie!” Cackled the boy by the door to another thinner young man staring at you curiously.

“Shut it.” Growled Jinyoung at them but his worried eyes never left you as your fingers felt at your swollen and tender eye.

“Don’t.” He murmured, long beautiful fingers reaching out and pulling your hands away from your face. His touch sent tingles of warmth through your skin banishing any residual pain as his warm fingers gently soothed the offending area. He was like a prince, so caring and perfect, every feature crafted by artists. A black shirt tucked into the front of his jeans hiding the muscled physique you had come only too close to and admired.

His well-put-together attire and beauty suddenly made you feel underdressed in the oversized long sleeve, and small PJ shorts hidden beneath the blankets.

“How bad is it?” You asked, for some reason suddenly even more embarrassed at your battered and bruised form in front of his princely self.

“Not bad-” but his beautiful voice was cut short by ‘Bammie’.

“It's like half a panda.” At his words, Jackson smacked him, while your jaw fell open in horror.

“See there's a mirror there!” Not seeming to learn his lesson pointed to the full-length mirror off to your left. Your Prince wasn’t fast enough to grab your face to stop you from looking at the open closet door. The sight was horrifying, your bottom lip was swollen and split, a shadow of a bruise and scrape over the one side of your jaw but your right eye and the area around it was deep purple and under your eye swollen. 

You couldn’t resist the gasp sweater paws flying up to feel over the injuries.

“OUT!” Jinyoung snarled, while he chased them in his fury slamming the door behind them, you threw off the covers. The shirt just barely reached past the microscopic shorts, revealing the massive and blood-stained bandages wrapped tight around your thigh as well as another wrapping around your opposing calf. Both tinged red with blood, the rest of your legs speckled and blotched with scrapes and bruises. You could feel your arms were not much different. 

“I’m so sorry.” Coming back to your side he looked down at your injuries with a face of guilt-filled agony. “I should have stopped sooner, warned you I just wanted to get you as far away-I’m so sorry.”

Looking over your injuries you shook your head.

“You told me to hold on and not to look, I messed up. This ugly-”

“You’re not ugly.” his voice was stern eyebrows instantly bunching together, he looked as though you had insulted him rather than yourself.

“I look-”

“Beautiful.” You would have laughed and told him not to try and make you feel better only the seriousness of his gaze as he looked down at your hands gently taking yours in his, had you at a loss for words. “A Princess.”

Then your heart exploded as he lifted your hands to his lips placing a soft kiss upon your knuckles.

“P-prin-” You couldn’t contain your spluttering as he turned that charming expression back on you. 

“Without these…” His fingers brushed over the bruise with the gentlest of touches. “You’d be brighter than the moon. A goddess.”

“I- '' unable to meet the flustering intensity of his gaze, or know what to do with the blissful sensation of his touch you backtracked. Inhaling slow and deep you braced yourself for your next question. “So you’re a werewolf, right? Because that's the only thing that my mind can come up with for everything that's happened. Outside of hallucinating or insanity. ”

Sobering up instantly at your words he nodded, eyes watching you warily the dark brown swirling in thought. 

“Are you scared?”

[omniswords]

Chronicles of a Parisian Dumbass 16

oh gosh, i'm so sorry for the late update!! i promise i'm still working on this, little by little. i am on vacation next week, so maybe i'll get the chance to really put some work in.

in any case, enjoy today's update c:

okay, so who the hell was gonna tell me that CBG’s designed a whole-ass album cover for my favorite artist of all time?

scratch that. who was gonna tell me she designed my FAVORITE album cover for my FAVORITE artist of all time?

Bubbles, as it turns out, has known Marinette Dupain-Cheng since he was four years old. Went to school with her and everything. So that’s another scoop to the shit Luka’s landed himself in. He still isn’t sure what gave him greater whiplash: finding out about that connection, or finding her name in the fine print of Jagged stone’s album credits. He also isn’t sure whether it’s a good thing that Nino mentions little else, and especially dodges the question of if it’s even cool to actually admit to having a gigantic crush on Marinette Dupain-Cheng, or whether he’s just wasting his time.

Cool.

Cool, cool, cool.

(Luka is most definitely not cool.)

Especially for those freeze-frames of time that he wonders, to his own horror, if Bubbles has been Adrien Agreste all this time.

It takes him the better part of an hour of pacing and fidgeting with his guitar pick to realize that no, he hasn’t been casually messaging a fashion mogul’s son who also just so happened to be Marinette’s own gigantic crush. He doesn’t seem like the type to use “dude” in everyday conversation, and for another thing, it didn't exactly like up with what Marinette had said about them knowing each other in middle school.

One day, Luka swears, he’s going to take this anxiety thing out back and have it meet its maker.

Even if, maybe, he sort of is its maker.

(Okay, maybe he's going to take his brain out back, because he's definitely not responsible for that.)

But he figures, once that initial panic and urge to scream into his pillow wear off, that it might be a cool talking point between him and Marinette. One that, for once, doesn’t have much to do with either of their jobs. Or with how tongue-tied he gets around her because she just won’t stop being so pretty. Not that that’s a problem; both his sister and his mother would have his head for ever thinking that way, and even then, Rose would tell them to get in line. Something about how they didn’t raise him this way, even if two of them didn’t even raise him at all.

Luka waits a couple of days before stopping by the bakery again; it gives them both some breathing room and the time for those postcards to be finished and printed. He thinks about it a lot. The postcards. The effort. Marinette, too, but in his quietly flustered opinion, he thinks that’s a given. He doesn’t get the chance to come until close to closing time again because of his delivery shift; he just hopes they don’t mind too much. He braces himself the whole ride over for whatever may be coming: another friendly crack about napoleons and pear tarts, the beauty of the postcards, maybe even another offer of kindness if Marinette’s pattern is anything to go by.

The one thing Luka doesn’t brace himself for—which, of course, is the one thing that ends up happening—is the door propped open, and the music drifting out through the crack. And he can’t even revel in the fact that it’s one of his favorite songs playing, because…

Because Marinette is dancing. Rag in one hand, spray bottle in the other. No, it’s not like, a flawlessly choreographed routine or anything. It’s more like a mix of what Rose does during their down time when she has too much energy and nowhere to put it, and what Juleka does when she’s trying to find the rhythm of a new song. It’s blissfully unaware, and beautiful, and it feels like home, and Luka can’t stop staring.

He doesn’t mean to. He knows he shouldn’t. It’s just… he can’t remember ever seeing a moment when she was simply “Marinette, “instead of “Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Friend to Practically Everybody.” or “Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Daughter of the Owners of The Best Bakery In Paris.” or even “Marinette, the Girl Behind the Counter with the Sketchbook Full of Secrets and the connections to Jagged Fucking Stone.”

Okay, maybe he’s been watching a couple too many fantasy movies lately.

And he definitely needs to look away, like, right now, because she does this thing with her hips that makes his brain forget how to function for a second, and he needs his brain to function in every sense of the phrase, and God fucking damn it, Marinette Dupain-Cheng is hot and he’s not supposed to think that she’s hot—

And she’s looking at him. Frozen. right as he’s about to get off his bike and knock.

And, like the total idiot he can only manage to be at the worst possible times, he trips. Over his bike. And faceplants, right in front of Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

He’s somewhere between waiting for death to take him, and thanking his Ma for always getting on him about wearing a helmet, and wondering if he really was so stupid that his first instinct was to run, when the bell over the bakery door rings like mad. Someone cries out his name, and the music cuts, and there’s a skitter of footsteps on concrete. When he comes to himself and starts to sit up, he finds himself face-to-face with Marinette, who's kneeling beside him and already scanning him for any injuries.

The first thing she says, with her hand in her hair, is, “Oh, God. She’s gonna kill me.”

The first thing he says, with a wince, is, “Yikes.”

It’s then that the pain sinks in, dull and searing and throbbing all at once, as if punishing him for choosing to say that, of all things. He sits up a bit more, pain chasing up his spine and stinging his palms; his knee is badly scraped and starting to swell, he realizes once he gets a good look at the rest of him. He can’t tell yet, whether Juleka would call this karma or kismet. All he can think is that at least his jeans were already ripped.

“Can…” Marinette swallows hard, but otherwise she’s entirely unfazed. “Can you stand? Put weight on it? Oh God, oh my God, she’s actually gonna kill me.”

“I…” Cautiously, Luka tries to get to his feet, and Marinette makes space for him. All it takes is one step for a jolt of pain to shoot up his leg, and he staggers and clutches the closest streetlamp, nearly tripping over his bike again in the process. “Shit,” is all he can bite out after drawing his breath in through his teeth and holding onto it for too long. He lets it out, little by little, and his grip on the lamppost loosens. “It’s okay, I’m—I can just walk my bike to the metro station, and—”

It’s like she isn’t even listening to him; she’s looking around the bike, evidently searching for something. Finally, she finds it—his bike lock—and after it and the bakery door are secure, she coaxes his arm around her shoulder. It’s almost comical, because he’s got a good thirty centimeters on her, but it hurts too much to laugh. Or, apparently, to stammer in protest when she leads him through the side door and up the stairs to her apartment.

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. Seeing her in her pajamas was enough of an invasion of her privacy. But seeing the inside of her literal, actual home? Oh, no. No way.

“You’re hurt,” she says simply, as if she’s read his mind; her voice is trembling, the way voices do when they know they shouldn’t. “It’d be against like, everything I am as a person if I just let you leave.” She only lets go of him to unlock the door, and only then does it occur to him that, for a few moments that should have been blissful, they were side-by-side, and in some places skin-to-skin.

Mr. Dupain gives them a funny, almost unreadable look when Marinette opens the door. One look at Luka’s leg seems to answer any questions he might have had, and effortlessly he helps Luka to the couch while Marinette disappears into the bathroom. “You know,” he jokes under his breath, “When I imagined someone falling for my daughter, I didn’t mean literally.”

Luka’s face goes hot. “I didn’t—I’m not—”

Whatever he wants to say falls on deaf ears, and Mr. Dupain makes himself scarce as soon as Marinette emerges from the bathroom. Even as she lifts his leg onto the coffee table, Luka swears he can feel those kind, quietly insistent eyes burning holes into him all the way from the kitchen. He doesn’t get to think much more about what Mr. Dupain might have meant, or what he would have said to refute it, because Marinette is pressing an alcohol pad to the scrapes, and it stings like a motherfucker—which is probably a good thing for more reasons than one.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says weakly, because somewhere along the way, I don’t deserve it got stuck in his throat and refused to come out.

Marinette gives him a look. He can’t quite figure out what it means. “Yeah. I do.”

“Nah.” He readjusts, braces himself for the second sting of the ointment and the bandages. “I kinda deserved it. Jules would call it karma, I guess.”

There she goes again, wincing at the mere mention of Juleka. Or maybe… maybe it’s something else. Without a word, she gets up and disappears into the kitchen, and he spends her whole absence wondering what he said or did. He’s only relieved when she returns with a bag of frozen corn and a shrug as if to say, It’s all we had. She presses the bag to his knee, breathing deep in time with him, or maybe in hopes that his breathing will start to match hers. Then she speaks, and her voice wavers.

“Why would you ever think,” she murmurs, “that you deserve any pain?”

Luka opens his mouth. Shuts it. Opens and shuts again. This time, at least for a while, the words don’t even make it to his throat. Eventually, all he can spit out is, “I was. Watching. You.”

“I know,” Marinette says, turning as pink as her shorts. “I saw.”

That’s the one thing he can appreciate: she doesn’t try to downplay it or say it was dumb. Even now, she’s unapologetic, and direct, and God, maybe he’s just fallen a little more. “I shouldn’t have,” he says. “I was gonna knock, I was…” He shifts again, his knee still in her gentle grasp, and flinches. “I just… wanted to see your postcards.”

I just wanted to see you.

“Marinette.” His lips tingle just from saying her name, and his stomach is churning. “Who… who’s gonna kill you?”

This time, Marinette goes scarlet; it would look about as pretty as literally every other color and pattern she wears if she didn’t seem so… mortified. “I’ll go get one of—the postcards,” she says—stammers, more like—and as she’s heading upstairs she calls out, “Papa, he can’t walk. Can we drive him home?”

From the kitchen, Mr. Dupain winks.

1 Photo Attached

RIP lol

and no, i’m not talking about my jeans. those were already like that.

but also. 😬 oh boy.

[finn-ray-nal-beads]

I JUST GOT HOME FROM WORK AND SAW YOUR POST SO I HOPE I SENT THIS IN IN TIME, BUT DADDY!CLYDE TRAINING HIS BABYGIRL TO LACTATE WITHOUT BEING PREGNANT (BECAUSE THAT IS 100% A CLYDE KINK) AND BEING SO PROUD OF HER WHEN SHE FINALLY STARTS PRODUCING AND HE CANT STOP SUCKING ON HER TITS. OKAY LOVE YOU BYEEE!!❤️❤️

@clydesfavoritegirl SO, I HAVE BEEN WRACKING MY BRAIN ABOUT THIS AND I HAVE A WIERD THOT ABOUT IT. 

So, little fun facts about Sara, I have had a baby (she’s five now), I breastfed for about a year (very hard to keep up), and I have also donated my eggs for other people to have babies in the future. All of this mentioned above is not easy to accomplish and requires patience and willpower to do. 

Any way you have a child is valid no matter which avenue you are given in life. If you want kids by all means have them, if you don’t that’s totally and completely fine. If you want to use formula to feed them, do it queen all the power to you, the same goes for breastfeeding. Adoption is just as important as shooting baby out yourself and surrogates are true angels in my eyes. I had not considered this lactation thing until I did research on it, because I really wanted to know if it was possible to accomplish, and it is. 

Upon my research I saw that it takes months and months of hormone therapy to produce milk without being pregnant and even then, doctors prescribe it for couples adopting and or trying surrogacy for new babies coming into the family. SO, that being said, I can twist this into maybe Clyde and yourself looking at adopting or using a surrogate for a child, and you want to try to breastfeed them because you want to bond with your new baby. And of course Clyde is ALL about it because anything that makes you happy and comfortable!

PLEASE INDULGE MY THOTS ON OUR SOUTHERN BELL CLYDE AND HIS INEVITABLE LACTATION KINK.... 

**I’m gonna put warnings on here because it mentions some heavy stuff (plz don’t read if you are triggered by any of this): Infertility, hormone therapy, angst, depression, adoption, and surrogacy**

“Baby girl?” Clyde calls from the living room, his nose deep in the baby books you both had purchased over the months of trying to start your big happy family, fumbling though his phone at the same time.

“What’s goin’ on big bear?” you chime, busy fixing yourself up in the mirror after a relaxing shower to wash the sex from your skin after a session with big daddy. 

Adjusting you hair, wincing as you lifted your arms, “Jesus,” groaning out, feeling the soreness from your heaving breasts as they felt like concrete on your chest. 

_______________

Ever since you'd begun the injections and pills, your body was hating life. The raging hormone cocktails running through your bloodstream causing every single emotion to emit from your body at once. 

You’d be happy and cheery one second, followed by crying in your shared bed under the sheets in the fetal position, and finally raging about the fact that the TV was turned too damn loud in the other room, when it all actuality it was the same level you’d always kept it at. 

No matter the tears and agony, Clyde and yourself took all of this one day at a time, just as you had when you found out that children may not be a possibility when it came to the old fashion way of doin’ it. The pain was so hard to bear that day. You cried and cried, locking yourself away from the world as you cursed whomever was in charge of your fate, feeling like less of a woman the more the days droned on. 

It took a few months for you to smile again, Clyde painstakingly trying to solve your problems with everything under the sun, reading books, catering to your needs, holding you when you sobbed yourself to sleep over your vacancy. 

Cradling you when you felt like less of a person for not being able to accomplish one simple thing you’d both hoped for in the future. He’d hush your tears away, forcing you into him as he felt you shudder during the night, silent tears falling from his face as he prayed for some kind of sign or solution to all of this. 

Then it all fell into place one day. Clyde was working his ass off during the nights, leaving you to stew about things at home, which inevitably led you to the internet. 

You looked up all kinds of solutions, message boards talking about infertility, therapies, injections, adoption, and surrogacy. All of them possible in your eyes if it played out like it had for the folks at the various agencies you’d looked up. Finally, a glimmer of hope in this shit-storm of uncertainty, as you glanced over the testimonials and pictures of various families, so happy with their children healthy and happy. 

“This is it,” you had muttered under your breath, a flutter from deep in your stomach causing tears to well up in your eyes as you thought about Clyde and you taking home a sweet new addition. 

You’d brought it up to him immediately upon entering the house at and ungodly hour, to which you were scolded by your big bear after you’d made your sales pitch to him. 

“I think it sounds perfect baby girl,” he cooed as you both laid in bed that night, caressing your sweat sheened skin after a good punishing from his cock, “if ya want ta do it, m’ happy with anything ya want,” whispering as he felt you sink into him to relax for the first time in months. 

“I jus’ wanna make ya happy to big bear,” kissing his thick chest as you inhaled his musk, “I think this is the way we can have that family we want,” ghosting your lips up his sternum as he sighed into your touch. 

“Mhmm,” he embraced you further, “I’ll adopt as many babies as ya want honey. Yer jus’ gonna be the best momma regardless,” hearing your light cries in the quiet of the darkened bedroom. 

“T-thank you big bear,” you strained out, still hiding in his neck as the tears spilled, “I can’t wait ta make ya a real daddy finally,” gripping the back of his neck as you fell into another chorus of cries. 

_____________

“What’s up?” your v-neck t-shirt straining on your heaving tits, the bra you’d picked certainly not fitting you as the days went on and on. 

“I think I found the pump ya were wantin’,” he gulped, seeing the peaches poking through your top half as you bent forward to look at the contraption he’d found. 

“Oh ya!” you jumped slightly, your tits bouncing in a ripple at your excitement, causing Clyde to salivate at the sight. 

“Thank ya big bear!” jumping into his lap as you pulled him to you, kissing his cheeks as he buried his face in your pillows, running his thick hands over your sweatpants. 

“A-anythin’ fer ma baby girl,” he panted, burying his prominent nose deeper into your rock hard tits, “Gah damn yer so juicy darlin’,” lifting his head to place pecks all over the tops of them. 

“Ya like ma milky titties baby?” biting your lip as he started sucking a mark over the soft skin, “ya wanna taste a mama’s milk?” cooing in his ear as he moaned into his make out session with your chest, rubbing his head to press it further in the valley of them. 

“Ya think they’re finally full baby girl?” he glanced up, his eyes glimmering with love and lust in the same gaze. You pet his precious face, the hopeful look only making this more special as he’d been helping you with your injections since you’d gotten the go ahead from the doctor and the agency. 

“I think so daddy,” feeling them tense up at your words, the soreness pulsing all the way to both nipples as you tried to avoid making faces in front of him. He helped you remove your fresh top, exposing your lacy bra, the skin popping out with colored veins, gravid from the fullness of them. 

“Fuck me,” he drooled, reaching behind to undo the clasp, eyes widening even further when he saw them perked up out of their hiding spot. The nipples taut and ready for his lips to suck on at his leisure. 

“Ya look so damn perty baby girl,” raising his hand to grip the skin, feeling how heavy they were on your chest, “ya want daddy ta see if they’re ready ta go?” practically begging as he ran a thumb over the sensitive nipple. 

You reared your head back at the slight touches he made, “please daddy,” whining as he watched you fall apart from his motions, “suck on my tits big bear,” shoving your chest closer to his waiting mouth as he inhaled deep, a growl brewing as he went to latch his pink lips on your areola. 

“Mother fuck!” you cried out, the pleasure releasing from your throat as he sealed himself on your tit, massaging the sore skin as he coaxed the sweet liquid to fall from it. 

He vacuum sealed his lips, sucking lightly at first, feeling you writhe and find the back of his to grip his mane, pushing him further into your warm skin. 

“O-oh g-god baby,” you moaned out, feeling a burning feeling build in your boob that felt both uncomfortable and welcoming as he sped up his jaw on your nipple. 

“Mhmmmm,” he whined out, feeling the body temperature liquid seep from your tit, coating the insides of his mouth in a warm embrace as he sucked more and more. 

Just then, you felt your other tit release a trickle of fluid, the stream of white beautiful in contrast to your skin as you glanced down in awe and pleasure. The cement block feeling escaping as Clyde sucked down your sweet nectar. 

“Oh f-fuck d-daddy,” you gasped, a mixture of elation leaving your body, “I-I’m l-leakin’,” you winced out, feeling Clyde let up on your boob, picking his head up to reveal a white sheen covering his lips and part of his mustache. 

“That ya are darlin’,” he eyes completely dilated as he looked over at your stream sliding down the underside of your neglected tit, making its way down your stomach in a perfect line, “yer doin’ such a good job baby girl.” 

Gripping the other tit in his large hand, coaxing the nipple into his mouth sucking your sweetness down in a frenzy. Your hand massaging the back of his head as you arched your back into his motions, feeling a huge relief as he emptied your other aching tit. 

He lifted his head in a gasp, wiping his mouth from the mess he’d made, watching as your sultry eyes bored into him. The both of you panting and elated at the hard work it had taken to accomplish this huge step. 

“Ya perfect, baby girl,” inching his lips to yours as you tasted your milk in his mouth, sighing into his tongue wrapping around yours. 

He pulled away for a moment, the noticeable bulge in his jeans ever present as he fulfilled his fantasies he’d had since he’d met you, “I don’t think m’ gonna be able ta keep up with these tits though as much as I’d like ta suck on ‘em fer every damn meal,” giggling as he lowered his mouth to your neck, sucking more marks on the skin as you mewled under him. 

“Don’t worry big bear,” you purred, gripping his hair again, arching yourself into his lips, “ya can help me when I get that pump we saw,” feeling him smirk under your neck at the prospect of him watching that show. 

“But fer now,” you lifted him by the ears to gaze into his precious eyes, “I think mama needs ta take care a daddy,” gesturing to his now tented erection. 

“Please mama,” he begged, watching you get up from your spot to curl and index finger as you backed into your bedroom again for round two. 

___________

God I hope I did this ask alright for you honey! Thank you for sending it in so I could learn something from it, as well as indulge in this juicy Clyde thot!

oneshot taglist: @maybe-your-left, @safarigirlsp, @clydesfavoritegirl, @emeraldsiren20, @thepalaceofmelanie, @bpdbensoloblog, @hopeamarsu, @caillea

🖤,

ray-nal-beads 

[solarianvoidthearoace]

Excerpt#1 of my Gerry Keay/OC Magical/Mythical CollegeAU

CN/TW: Social Anxiety, discussion of mental illness, discussion of past trauma, awkward coming-out, miscommunication, misunderstanding, it/its pronouns for Michael Shelley, he/they pronouns for Gerry, they/them pronouns for OC, narrative mention of Mary Keay, mention of alcohol, mythical people living in a parallel society and amongst humans, original character talking German (two sentences; extrapolable from context)

“But sure, you're seeming nice so no problem.” Heaving a relieved sigh, Gerry followed them into the room. The two taking seats in the lower rows of the auditorium, seeing as Gerry’s companion wore glasses. Unpacking their notepads, pencil cases, and Gerry setting up his laptop. There was still time until the lecture was set to begin, so Gerry turned to his table neighbour,

“Your look sends very mixed signals, if I’m being honest.” They grinned, propping their chin up on the back of their hand,

“All the right ones, apparently”, demonstratively looking Gerry up and down. Making them look away, clearing his throat. They laughed,

“Not flirting, don’t worry. I’m Yanis.” He tried masking his relieved sigh best they could,

“Gerry.”

They did pay attention to the lecture, still, Gerry found out a bit more about his dyed ginger saviour. Yanis was in the same semester and some of the same courses has he was. Though they didn’t study for the same engineering degree, there was a decent overlap. Some courses Gerry needed for his software engineering degree much the same as Yanis needed for mechanical engineering. They easily offered they could study together. Yanis having been at the campus since they started their degree and knowing the ins and outs of it.

Having easily found common ground in their discipline of study, as well as their taste in music, Gerry had no qualms following Yanis to the canteen for a late breakfast. They kept chatting, switching back and forth between languages.

“So what if you’re 31?”, Yanis shrugged,

“I also had to take care of my health first. Plus we’re both neurodivergent so starting a college degree at all is more stressful to us. It’s not like anyone is rushing you.” Gerry rolled their eyes,

“Still. Being autist and depressed doesn’t exactly help my case here. That’s ignoring the ADHD and trauma.” A painted-black nail flicked his nose,

“Nope. None of that, you’re not demanded to keep pace with anyone and if your personal reasons bared you from even looking into college education until you were 25, then that’s how it is. Besides, it’s eight years between us. Don’t be dramatic.” Gerry tried to glare but they simply raised a brow in challenge, shutting him right up. While they weren’t in the same major, they compared their course schedules some more and found they were in the same philosophy and ethics courses for their minor. Gerry having decided to not put that on hold and taking the according courses in his semester in Germany as well.

By the end of the day, Gerry felt they had a better handle on his new college-everyday and possibly even made a friend. Which raised a few problems all of its own.

While Gerry had no problem with Yanis finding out what concretely had delayed his life so much, they had another problem. Gerry wasn’t human. And neither was their best friend Michael, for the matter, it being a changeling and his nature chaotic to a fault. Gerry themself was, depending on what one believed, involuntarily threatening to humans.

His mother having been a hulder, a mythical being almost looking like a human. The feature most telling of their mythical nature, though, the fact that they look hollow if seen in the right light, from the right angle. Akin to forest spirits, hulders were drawn by their nature to lure townspeople into forests. Not inherently malicious, of course, their blonde hair and fair skin drawing mostly men in.

With an established mythical society existing in parallel to the non-magical human society, there were laws and proper paperwork surrounding magical and mythical people’s “otherness” and characteristics.

Characteristics which were the life-long obsession of his mother. Her trying to create offspring of her own that would be inherently dangerous to humans and as malicious as she had been. Gerry hated thinking about his father almost more than he hated his mother. But matter of fact was, being half-hulder, and his father having been a river-nix, Gerry was… alluring. Drawing people in without them realising as much if he acted the wrong kind of way towards them. Gerry forced to be constantly mindful of their nature, as to not accidentally harm someone.

Which was why they usually didn’t make friends. Having to make sure the person wasn’t human as to not endanger them.

And yet, they got stuck with Yanis. Gerry was glad it was autumn, the chance of light hitting him in just the wrong way dwindling. But he couldn’t help their worried unease, recognising Yanis and them grew closer.

It wasn’t that Gerry was set out to avoid Yanis, having taken them up on an invitation to lunch and even to revise notes and study together. But Gerry had a bad feeling about it, especially when he grew to see them as a friend. They did try bringing some more distance between them, an attempt so he didn’t need to outright evade Yanis. Declining their invitations more often than not, excusing themself and finding reasons to convince himself it was the right thing to do.

Having forced himself to take a step back, Gerry caught themself looking for them. It had started so he could more easily get around them, trying to deter Yanis from inviting him in the first place so they didn’t have to turn them down as often.

Gerry wasn’t oblivious to their whole demeanour getting muted once it had clicked that he was trying to push distance between them. But seeing Yanis less cheery and energetic made Gerry realise some things about them.

Yanis wasn’t much smaller than him, a few inches at most. But they carried themself in a way that made them stand out. Gerry had learned Yanis had chronic pain, making it hard on them to be on their feet the entire day. Rarely, they wore leg braces, limiting their range of motion further than their chronic pain already did. Still, Yanis was confident and most days glossing over their frequent aches with relative ease. It had been more apparent when they hadn’t been upset but the way Yanis walked was… with purpose. Every step seeming deliberate and not to be questioned. While that cocksure confident way to carry oneself wasn’t all that remarkable, it stood out in Yanis.

And Gerry needed a good long while to figure out why.

Michael had badgered them to get out and socialise. It was the last week before winter break and there was a social happening of the engineering faculty. Gerry had put on a nice button shirt and proper slacks before touching up their black nail polish and putting on a hint of eyeliner.

Yes, he was cautious not to accidentally draw humans in but that didn’t mean he wasn’t allowed to tart themself up. Gerry hadn’t even really planned to talk to anyone, if they were being honest. Just mingling among people and feeling alone in the crowd instead of feeling alone by himself.

That was, until aquamarine and black varnished fingers held a bottle in his field of vision. Gerry couldn’t fight down his smile before closing their eyes. Shaking his head, they just let it happen. Let that gentle affection wash over him for just a moment.

“Thought you might be here tonight”, Yanis held out the drink,

“The crown cap is still sealed.” Gerry pulled a face as to not smile despite themself. He sighed,

“You’re quite persistent.” Yanis raised a rather expressive brow at him,

“If you honestly wanted me gone, you would have told me. So I dare say you don’t want me completely gone. It’s nice having someone who can keep up with my ADHD jumping through topics, plus being able to overlook what allistics call me weird for.” When he finally took the bottle, their smile turned from friendly to bright. He bit his lip, trying to hide it behind the bottle. Yanis offered them their bottle opener.

“Got me there. And yes, having a neurodivergent friend is quite unwinding”, he admitted. Opening the drink, Gerry took them in. A proper once-over. They weren’t primped either but certainly had put thought into their casual suit not clashing with their once-again stark-red hair. Gerry having seen Yanis cycling through vibrant red washing out to ginger, before they went back to dyed poppy-red.

Gerry felt admittedly awkward standing together with them. Very much aware of how they had avoided them after all. Nursing their drinks, they kept quiet. Even though Gerry noticed Yanis also taking in his appearance. After some time he sighed,

“I’m sorry. It’s…”, they broke off, shaking his head.

“Complicated?”, Yanis offered with a huff,

“That’s one way to put it, I suppose.” Gerry raised a brow at them. Before he could ask what they were referring to, though, Yanis turned to him properly.

“Did you notice there’s a dance floor?” They blinked in surprise,

“Uh… yea, I did.” Yanis snorted, taking his empty bottle from them and depositing the glass on a nearby tray for used tableware.

“So, can you dance?”, Yanis’ smile inviting and warm,

“And would you dance with me?” Gerry froze, biting his lip and looking away. He knew they shouldn’t. They were very much aware that Yanis needed to keep their distance from him. He swallowed thickly,

“I can dance but…” Yanis hummed expectantly.

“We shouldn’t, okay? I don’t want to elaborate on that.” Yanis’ face cleared as they gave a soft ‘oh’ of understanding.

When Gerry looked back at them, Yanis was looking at them. The expression in their eyes making him pause. A glint of intent, resolve. But their overall demeanour had changed as well. That deliberate way they carried themself was back, not in a way that intimidated. But even standing next to Gerry, he could see they were moving with an intent, with a conscious focus on the way they moved to get there.

Yanis licked their lip,

“I will respect your turndown. But I would like you to know that I know.” Gerry froze. Raising a brow, Yanis’ tone turned gentler still,

“And I really don’t want to push you towards anything. Or put you up to anything.” Gerry felt his amusement bubbling up when Yanis said as much. The idea of someone human inciting a mythical or magical person to anything at all seemed a bit laughable.

“I’m aromantic myself”, they shrugged,

“And asexual.” Their smile turning into a bit of a smirk, cheeky just around the edges. Gerry’s face cleared in surprise, his jaw dropping a bit. His amusement freezing over with a faint ‘oh’ of their own. Before he grimaced,

“I am aromantic, yes, but that’s not it. I’m sorry, you’re a really nice person. You have been nothing but friendly and a reliable friend at that. It’s…”

Yanis closed their eyes, brows raised, before they snorted.

“Let me stop you right there. I know you have been avoiding me, I have respected that you were avoiding me”, they looked him in the eye,

“If you want me gone, I won’t bother you again. I’ll be out of your hair and we don’t have to even talk again.” Gerry felt his face fall, nervously biting his lip once more. Yanis wasn’t done just yet,

“But if you would like to, I want to get to know you”, a short jerk of their head,

“Properly get to know you. I think both our first gut feeling about the other was that we could become pretty great friends. And that’s all I’m suggesting.” Gerry needed a moment to process that. To let sink in that Yanis was really just curious about his friendship. Something they had so far always had to be wary around. At least until Gerry knew whether the person in question was human. Yanis huffed,

“While you process whether to give us a try, I’ll get us new drinks.” Gerry blinked, then nodded when they realised Yanis was waiting on his okay. Another one of those bright friendly smiles before they turned away. Gerry didn’t know what it was but they followed Yanis with his eyes. Their red hair easy to make out even in the crowd.

Just as he was about to turn away, he noticed something. Yanis was a very body-aware person, conscious and deliberate to a point it might seem standoffish. They had explained how it related to their chronic back and joint pain. But as Gerry watched them move through the crowd, he realised just how easily they moved around people. Almost light-footed, turning out of others’ ways with ease.

Despite them being almost as tall as him, and dressed in dark clothes, something about Yanis’ way through the crowd seemed almost airy.

It didn’t fit. It should have clashed immensely.

As they moved back towards him, Gerry realised what had been so weird about Yanis’ bodily confidence. They didn’t seem to make way for themself. Not at all. While that sureness was clear as day, written all over their most minute movements.

The way Yanis moved was the harsh opposite. Gerry was tempted to call it floaty. He knew they could make a way for themself through people, had witnessed as much a few times in the bustle of the campus. But how Yanis moved around people seemed just as natural.

Not even the slightest touch between them and the people around, as if some shimmer was keeping Yanis from being touchable. Kept up their airy strut, as if they weren’t turning and stepping around people.

The contrast did not make sense. And seeing as Gerry’s best friend was a changeling, well, if things didn’t make sense, it was likely some faerie or other was involved.

Which, on the one hand, would mean Yanis was safe from his own magic. But on the other hand it would raise so many more questions around them. About them.

Gerry couldn’t help his sceptical look when Yanis returned. Frowning at them, unsure whether to trust what they had seen.

“You're looking at me like that again”, Yanis raised a brow at him. Gerry gnawed his bottom lip,

“You’re a bit of a mystery, if I’m being honest.” But took the offered bottle none the less. Yanis’ warm smile returned,

“Well, I suppose it’s on you whether you care to figure me out, then.” An easy shrug as they raised a brow at him.

Gerry didn’t reply. They had not clue what to reply to that. And what they wanted to reply in the first place. Yanis didn’t push him. Much to Gerry’s relief. They fell back into companionable silence, emptying their drinks. When the bottles were empty, Yanis looked at him for a long moment. Searching their face. Yanis’ expression fell a bit, their smile not reaching their eyes anymore. Still, they only grimaced a little before sighing,

“So… have a good night, then.” Taking his empty bottle to take it away with their own, Yanis turned to go. Looking back over their shoulder,

“I guess I’ll see you around.” And with a final shrug and smile, they were gone in the crowd. Gerry stared after them before he closed their eyes and sighed. Silently cursing themself, he turned away from the crowd as well. One hand coming up to cover his mouth. Yanis had been right, if Gerry really had wanted them gone, he could have told them as much anytime. If they had wanted Yanis gone, he could have told them as much when they literally offered to leave him alone.

But Gerry didn’t. Because Gerry hadn’t and still didn’t want them gone.

They spent another few minutes turning things over in his head. What he had to consider if they really tried building a genuine friendship with Yanis.

Once he started looking around for them, Gerry regretted their delay. Not able to make out the red shock of hair, Gerry pulled out his phone. If he couldn’t find Yanis, he might at least tell Michael about his hunch. They had been friends for forever but Gerry still wasn’t all that confident to make out people that were connected to faerie. It was his best idea at the moment but he might just as well be off. Asking Michael for his opinion was a solid thing, also maybe it could distract Gerry if they really didn’t find Yanis again. Which meant Gerry would have to approach them around their next shared lecture.

Pocketing their phone, he looked up and around once more.

And huffed in amusement, Yanis standing almost directly in his line of vision. Albeit turned from them and leaning with their chin propped up over a bar table. Despite having avoided them, Gerry knew their usual posture well enough to see Yanis had to adjust to their pain at the moment. Holding their weight cautiously and reducing tension in their back and legs. Coincidentally, Yanis was looking at their own phone when Gerry came closer. And if he wasn’t mistaken, they were looking at the recent chat chronic between the two of them. The small frown pulling down the corner of Yanis’ lips gave Gerry a weird boost of confidence.

As he stepped up to the table, Yanis looked up.

“Du schon wieder”, they raised a brow but their frown had vanished. The quip good natured and accompanied by a small smile. Gerry couldn’t help smiling themself. With a slight head-tilt, he shrugged,

“Well, I can admit that I went looking for you.” Feeling a blush creep up on him, they tried fighting down his smile. Yanis turned to them fully, still with one elbow leaning on the table, they raised a brow. Giving Gerry a once-over. A short jerk of their head,

“Okay, und?” Gerry took a deep breath,

“You wanted to dance with me”, he shrugged,

“How about that invitation?” Yanis’ smile brightened a bit, stepping away from the table and coming closer. They offered him a hand,

“Your lead or mine?”

[aliendes]

Natural Borns - Chapter Four

Banner made by @thebannershop​

Series info/genre: Angst, fluff, (possible) smut NSFW due to darker themes

Pairings: ot7 x fem reader (eventual)

Warnings: mentions of sadness, indecent thoughts? maybe, if you squint. it gets a little steamy, I suppose, but mostly just fluffy sadness, if that’s a thing. This series will have different trigger warnings listed for each chapter (if there are any), but as a whole, this series will include violence, mentions of depression & other mental illnesses, cursing, abuse, drugs/alcohol, some shitty medical descriptions because i am NOT a doctor, self-esteem issues, fluff, and possible smut in future chapters (but that’s undecided). i will add more warnings/tags in the future if there are any.

Description: In the year 2613, over half of the world’s population are what scientists consider ‘designer babies’. YN is a small town girl who is a true natural born, someone born naturally without he help of a lab or gene splicing. Her DNA is greatly sought after, but what is she willing to do to protect it?

Word count: 8k~ (whoops so sorry. if you like longer chapters like this, let me know!)

A/N: *deep breath* ok here is chapter 4. things are starting to heat up, but i cut this chapter in two because it was like over 12k long.... i go back to work tomorrow, so updates may start slowing down, but i’m hoping to post updates every Sunday night. i was feeling a little bit bogged down last week, not seeing as much influx with chapter three than i have with the other chapters. if you enjoy reading, please reblog so others can see it, too. thank you, as always. xx - Des

Updated: 8/9/2020

But the second he took one look at you, standing outside, wet and bloody, saw the look in your big beautiful eyes as he so heartlessly demanded things from you, he knew he stood no chance. 

Yoongi sat in his makeshift office on an old torn recliner they found in the warehouse. Surprisingly, the warehouse had been decently furnished when they found it. Granted, it was all old, worn furniture, but furniture nonetheless. The building was incredibly old, but it was also very large and had a lot of empty rooms on two levels. The entire place was made out of concrete, meaning it hasn’t seen much weathering over the years. It was a place they could call home for now. 

Yoongi leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and stared at his beloved laptop in front of him. He wasn’t trying to think about you, no, in fact, he wanted nothing more than to erase the memory of you. Try all he might, his thoughts kept wandering back to the scared, small girl he saw earlier tonight. He let out a deep sigh and closed his eyes, letting his head loll back. 

The blonde man was snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of footsteps outside his door. He picked his head up and spun around in his seat right as Hoseok came through the doorway. 

“Hey,” Hoseok said, leaning against the doorframe, “I heard they found her.” His tone was indifferent, not happy, nor sad. Hoseok didn’t really have an opinion on you yet, voicing to Namjoon he didn’t really mind either way if they found you or not.

“Have you seen her yet?” Yoongi asked the red head knowing he hadn’t, as his demeanor would’ve changed the moment he did.

Hoseok shook his head, confirming Yoongi’s suspicions. “Good,” was all Yoongi said in response.

Hoseok gave him a puzzled look, cocking his head to the side. A bright grin started to take over his face as he took in the disgruntled look on Yoongi’s. “Are you letting her get under your skin that quickly, Yoongs?” He asked the older man in a teasing voice. “Is that why you’re hiding away while they fix her up?”

Yoongi’s blonde head snapped up at Hoseok’s words. “What do you mean ‘fix her up’?”

Hoseok’s smile started to slowly fade from his face, leaving a knowing smirk in its place. “She was pretty banged up from what Jungkook said. Poor boy was distraught when he came running into my room earlier.” Hoseok watched Yoongi’s face closely as his lips pursed into a thin line and he tried to act as if he didn’t care about you. Hoseok could see right through him.

Yoongi tried to keep his breathing steady and stared Hoseok right in the eye. “Who cares,” he shrugged as he turned back around in his chair and started typing away at his laptop. 

“Who cares?” Hoseok asked rhetorically, “I think you do.” The red head walked over to Yoongi’s chair and put his hands on the back of it, pulling it down a bit so he could look into Yoongi’s eyes. He raised a questioning brow at the hacker, waiting for some kind of response.

“I don’t care about her,” he scoffed, “I don’t even know her.” Yoongi looked away from Hoseok as he spoke, knowing his closest friends would be able to see his lie. He didn’t want it to be a lie, what he was saying he wanted wholeheartedly to be true, but he knew it wasn’t. Why did he care about you? He really didn’t know you. But as Hoseok chuckled and walked away from the chair with a breathy ‘yeah right’, Yoongi’s thoughts just drifted to you.

“Please stay still,” Jin pleaded with you for the third time. You were currently laying on what you assumed was his bed while he took a look at all your wounds. He was looking at your bruised, and possibly fractured, according to him, ribs. It was painful and you weren’t sure how he expected you to stay completely still. 

You had been laying here for the last twenty minutes, staring up at the ceiling, going over your conversation with Namjoon prior to letting Jin take a look at your wounds. You had learned that the five of them had been staying here for the last three weeks. They stumbled upon the place when exploring the surrounding forest. It was devoid of life, but a lot of furniture and supplies had been left from workers or from kids who threw parties here in the past. They made it into a base of sorts, where they could live and work. Work, you learned, was mostly Yoongi trying to hack into Big Hit’s, and other companies, systems, while Namjoon dealt with contacting people and said companies to get more information. Apparently, they had found out about you through Jimin, who had overheard some of the lab techs talking about a female natural born living on the outskirts of Seoul. You still weren’t certain what exactly made you all ‘special’, but Namjoon had said it had something to do with the markers in your DNA that made you desirable to these designer baby companies.

Namjoon had also told you that they were planning on going to Big Hit soon, in hopes of getting Jimin and Taehyung out. As they helped you limp to Jin’s room, he told you that he and Jungkook were going to help Yoongi and Hoseok with the planning tonight, and told you to get some rest.

When you first got to Jin’s room, you were pleasantly surprised by the cleanliness of it. For an old warehouse, they really tried to make it feel homey. Seokjin’s room was small and looked like it used to be some kind of office or file room. There was a small double mattress in the corner, which you were currently laying on, a small desk on the opposite side of the room, a small wooden end table, and a couple of backpacks and duffle bags laying about. While everything in the room looked old and worn down, it still smelled nice. It smelled like Jin, like pine and soap. Speaking of soap…

“Hey - how do you guys have lights and running water here?” You were curious, previous experiences made you think this place was totally abandoned. 

Jin looked up from poking at your ribs, “Oh - Yoongi. He was able to get the electric and water companies to turn stuff on under a fake name,” he trailed off after noticing the apprehensive look on your face, “I know it’s not the most ethical way to go about things, but we don’t really have much of a choice right now.” The solemn look on his face told you that he regretted their actions, but truly had no other choice. 

You nodded at his answer and jumped a bit when he went back to putting cream on your ribcage. “Please - stay still YN.”

“Sorry, sorry. It just hurts,” you groaned out and he finished his work. Jin let out a short sigh before pulling your shirt back down your torso. He picked up one of your hands and started to unravel the bandages to clean and rebandage it. 

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ll try to be quick,” he gave you a quick smile and gently ran the back of his knuckles along your bicep. You tried to ignore the way his action made you feel, he was just trying to comfort you, right? He was a caring person, and he probably just felt bad seeing you in pain. That’s what you told yourself anyway.

You went back to staring at the ceiling, biting the inside of your cheek and Jin disinfected your cuts and scrapes. The feeling of his hands on you leaving you confused. 

Once Seokjin had finished tending to your wounds, he gave you an old t-shirt and some sweatpants to change into before giving you a little privacy. After you had changed, you hobbled back over to the mattress and sat down. You stared around his room for a moment, finally letting the events of the day sink in.

You inhaled a deep breath as you thought back to everything that had happened. In just a few short hours, you had met these strange men who took you out to a forest and made you question your entire existence, witnessed your father make some kind of deal or exchange with a man who was likely trying to take you away, and ran away from your life, your family, and your friends. You didn’t even know who you could trust anymore, aside from probably Mina and Woo, but who knew when, or if, you would ever see them again. The thought alone made tears prick at the back of your eyes. You looked up to the ceiling to try and stop the hot tears from falling, to no avail. What were you getting yourself into?

As you felt a tear roll down your cheek, you heard a knock at the heavy door of Jin’s room. Quickly, you wiped the back of your hand at your face with a sniffle, before telling whoever was knocking to come in. 

To your surprise, it was Jungkook who walked through the door, not Jin or Namjoon like you had expected. You blinked owlishly up at him for a moment as he shut the door and ventured into the room. He took a few steps in your direction, hands behind his back, and looked even more shy than you had seen him earlier. 

“H-hey, noona?” He timidly asked, eyes locked on the floor.

Your eyes softened at his hesitancy. You made a sound of affirmation, urging him to continue speaking. Slowly he brought his hands from behind him back and extended them in your direction. He was holding a water bottle and a container of what looked like pain relievers. “Jin-hyung wanted me to tell you to take two of these,” he started, walking towards you with his hands outstretched like he was feeding a tiger, “and to drink the whole bottle.” 

You gave Jungkook a small smile as you took his offering. He seemed so sweet in that moment, you couldn’t stop yourself, “Jungkook?” Your voice made the poor boy jump a little, but he relaxed as soon as he saw your smile. His big doe eyes somehow got slightly bigger as he nodded his head at you. “How old are you?” You asked him, head cocked to the side.

“Twenty two,” he said easily. He’s only a year younger than you, it was odd to you he was so timid, almost childlike at times. You hummed in approval. You truly did want to get to know these men, and Jungkook seemed like such a sweet guy. He was shy, but you could tell he had a kind soul. You wondered what had happened to him to make him so quiet. You hoped you would find out with time. You had a sort of affinity toward him. Maybe it was because he had literally carried you through a forest without so much as a complaint. You weren’t entirely sure. 

The boy hesitated for a moment before turning around to walk out of the room. Just as he was about to reach the doorknob, he stopped and turned around to face you. “Noona?” His voice was so small, you almost asked him to repeat himself. Instead, you made a noncommittal noise, urging him to continue. “How old are you?” You wanted to coo at how cute Jungkook looked right now. Cheeks rosy, head slightly cocked to the side, eyes wide with mirth, almost like he was thankful for a reason to speak to you. 

You gave the boy a bright smile before answering, “Twenty three.”

Jungkook stared at you for just a second longer, before nodding once and leaving the room.

“Who the fuck is Pearl?” 

Hoseok shrugged his shoulders, not even looking up from the game he was playing on his phone. 

“Are you even listening to me Hobi?” Yoongi was aggravated, to say the least. Namjoon, Seokjin, and Jungkook brought you to their base last night and he hadn’t gotten a lick of sleep. Namjoon brought him your phone, asking him to remove data from it so it couldn’t be tracked. He did so immediately, but the damn thing was burning a whole in the back of his head while he tried to sleep on the old, black leather couch in his room. Eventually, he got up from tossing and turning, and decided - against his better judgement - to look through the device. He knew it was wrong, knew it was a huge invasion of privacy, but he didn’t particularly care for you. Besides, he was curious, who could blame him?

The red head, currently sitting upside down on Yoongi’s couch, just huffed in response. Yoongi just rolled his eyes and spun around in the old, squeaky rolling chair. He had your phone open on his desk. It was early in the morning now, he figured you and the rest of the boys, aside from Hoseok, were probably still asleep. Hoseok tended to be an extremely early riser, yet still went to bed late at night. Yoongi never understood how he had so much energy with so little sleep.

Yoongi had already looked through your apps and photos. You didn’t have any social media that he could tell. Your apps were incredibly boring, just a few games and a notepad app that he found some of your notes on. Mostly things like grocery lists and dreams that you had. Nothing too interesting. Your photos weren’t very exciting either, mostly pictures of trees and fruit. You had some photos of your mom and dad and a couple of animals he assumed were yours. You seemed to live a pretty boring life, based on what was on your phone. The cynical side of him wanted to tell himself this meant you were a boring person, but he knew that was an unfair assumption.

The last thing Yoongi decided to snoop through, were your text messages. While he hadn’t found much there, aside from conversations with your mom, dad, and a group chat with someone named “Mina” and “Woo”, he did notice how everyone seemed to refer to you as ‘Pearl’. Aside from when your mother called you by your name yesterday, you were almost always referred to as Pearl. This piqued Yoongi’s interest, but he wasn’t sure why. Maybe this was evidence as to why the others shouldn’t trust you? It’s a simple nickname, but Yoongi was suspicious of you from the beginning. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he knew he was looking for reasons to hate you, to make the others hate you. 

Yoongi nearly jumped straight out of his skin when the door to his room was swung open with such ferocity it slammed into the wall. Hoseok jumped straight up from the couch and Yoongi nearly fell out of his chair at the noise. “Jesus kid!” Yoongi yelled as he righted himself.

Jungkook had the graciousness to look ashamed as he entered the elder’s room. “Sorry hyung, I- I didn’t mean to,” he murmured without meeting the eyes of his older friends. 

Hoseok sighed and relaxed a bit before pushing a hand through his bright locks and announcing he was going to ‘find something better to do’. Jungkook nodded at him as he left and took Hoseok’s previous spot on the couch. Yoongi surveyed Jungkook as he sat down. He looked tired, like really tired. He could see the small bags forming under the youngest’s eyes, a purple tint to his nearly perfect skin. Yoongi also noticed how skinny the kid was looking these days. He narrowed his eyes at the boy, “You doing ok, kid?”

Jungkook lowered his head into his hands and rested them on his knees, shaking his head back and forth slightly, “No hyung. I- I miss them,” Yoongi could hear the tears that were threatening to fall. He always did have a soft spot for Jungkook. He rose from his seat and sat down gingerly next to Kook on the couch, making the leather creaked beneath him, and slung his arm around the dark haired boy.

“I know, I miss them too. We all do,” he bagan, running a soothing hand up and down Jungkook’s upper arm, “we will get them back, Jungkook. I promise.” Jungkook lifted his head and looked at his hyung, eyes glazed over. He believed him, he really did, he just missed his best friends. 

Jungkook nodded his head as he worried his bottom lip between his teeth. Yoongi thumbed at the younger’s lip sweetly, prompting him to release it. He knew Jungkook’s stress, he understood it. He missed the twins too, and he was working his hardest to get them back. Soon. He could feel it. 

Last night had gone about as well as you thought it would. After Jungkook left you alone, Jin never returned to his room. You took the painkillers they offered you, but you thought for sure someone would be back to check on you, and you didn’t feel comfortable enough to wander around the place. You also felt a little bad for taking Jin’s bed when he had been so gracious to you. So after a while of waiting - and mentally hoping - for someone to walk in, you tried your hardest to fall asleep, to no avail. You tossed and turned in Jin’s small bed for what felt like hours, but you didn’t really know how long it had been. There was no clock in the room, you didn’t have your phone, and there were no windows. You guessed you finally fell asleep sometime in the early morning and had a very short, fitful rest before Jin was coming in to wake you.

“YN?” You heard Seokjin’s soft voice from the doorway. You blearily blinked away sleep as you tried to fully regain consciousness. As you rolled over in bed to face the door, you saw Jin standing there with a plate of something that smelled absolutely delicious. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were, but your stomach was beginning to rumble at the sight of food. You remembered the last time you ate anything was yesterday morning at breakfast.

Jin walked a little further into the room and sat down at the edge of the bed. He wanted to laugh at how entranced you were by the food in his hands, and at the erratic way your hair was sticking up. “Hungry?” He asked, arm outstretched towards you with the plate. You let out a small yawn and reached your arms above your head with a small pout. The large t-shirt you were wearing - Jin’s t-shirt - rode up slightly as you stretched and Jin thought you had to be the cutest thing he’s ever seen. As you finished your much needed stretch, you nodded your head with one eye open, taking the plate. 

“Thank you, I’m so hungry,” you mumbled, voice still thick with sleep. Jin’s plump lips upturned into a bright smile as you started to eat a piece of toast from the plate. “You’re able to cook here?”

“There’s a small kitchen,” Jin nodded as he spoke, “it looks like it was an old staff lounge or something? We aren’t entirely sure what this building used to be, but it seemed like some people used to live here. There were beds, couches, even an old television when we got here.”

Now, feeling a little more awake, you nodded along with Jin, “Where do you get the food?” 

Seokjin didn’t even miss a beat before answering, happy you were coming out of your shell a bit, “I go to the market at least once a week,” he smiled, “I take Jungkook with me sometimes…” he started to trail off a bit, looking away from your eyes, almost like he was embarrassed. “That’s actually how we found you.”

You stopped chewing, mid-bite of scrambled egg, “Found me?” You mumbled, mouth full. 

Jin nodded, looking bashful, “Jimin told us he overheard people at the lab talking about a girl, a natural born living in this town. We honestly didn’t think we would find you here,” Seokijn rubbed the back of his neck as he continued, still avoiding your gaze, “We came out here and found this warehouse, it ended up being perfect for us to stay in,” as he continued his eyes finally met yours, he mentally noted how cute you looked, cheeks puffed out with food staring at him, “we needed food, so me and Jungkook went to the market. When I saw you, I knew.”

Your stomach was doing flips at Seokjin’s admission, and you weren’t entirely sure why. They were harmless words, maybe even a little reassuring. They weren’t stalking you, they happened to stumble upon you. So you weren’t sure why you were suddenly feeling so shy. His words almost sounded like a love confession you would hear in a blockbuster movie about soulmates. You could feel your cheeks heat slightly as you finally swallowed the eggs. “What do you mean, you knew? I don’t remember seeing you, or talking to you,” you prodded for some more information.

For a moment, Jin just stared into your eyes, and you thought he wasn’t going to answer you. Then, his plush lips parted as he quietly murmured, “Well, YN, you’re breathtakingly beautiful. I hope you know that,” he never broke eye contact as he uttered his next words, “and now that I’ve gotten to know you more, I can say you have a beautiful soul, too.” You were reeling. Were you the female lead of this made for TV movie your head conjured up?

You stared back at Seokjin with wide, glazed eyes, lips slightly parted in shock. No one has ever said anything like that to you, aside from Mina telling you how beautiful you were and how jealous she was of your skin. Jin was gazing at you as if you were the only person in the world, and you would be lying if you said it didn’t make you feel incredible. You were high on his attention, you loved the way your stomach was erupting with butterflies. 

You were still seated on his bed, legs crossed and hands sitting in your lap, food forgotten next to you. Seokjin was still staring intently into your eyes, with an intensity you’ve never felt before. Slowly, ever so slowly, he lifted his hand and went to lightly brush his knuckles against your cheek bone. The action made you flush, eyes closing at the soft feeling of his hand. Just as you were leaning into his touch, a soft smile on his lips, the door to his room opened, causing both of you to jump backwards, eyes shooting towards the person intruding on such an intimate moment. 

“Jin,” Namjoon looked slightly embarrassed, cheeks pink realizing what he walked into, “we need you in Yoongi’s room.” He bowed his head once at you both before turning on his heels and walking away. 

Seokjin cleared his throat and you found it endearing how his neck and ears were turning a beet red. “S-sorry,” he sputtered out, “I - I’ll be back in a little bit?” He sounded unsure as he scrubbed a hand down his face. You gave him a small smile and nodded, a little sad at the loss of companionship you were just starting to get used to. You couldn’t quite place the emotion you were feeling, but you knew it was nothing like the platonic friendship you felt for Woo or Mina. Jin stood up from his bed, making his way towards, before giving you some parting words, “I’ll have Jungkook come show you where the showers are.” 

After your encounter with Jin this morning, you were reeling from the onslaught of emotions you were feeling. You weren’t given much time to think too much about it though, because once you finished your breakfast, Jungkook came to give you a short, and rather quiet, tour of the building. 

Like Seokjim promised, Jungkook showed you where the one bathroom was located, which looked more like a gym locker room than a bathroom. There were shower stalls, benches, and a couple of toilets and sinks along with a wall of lockers. It looked to be a changing room for employees of the mill. Jungkook had brought with him your black linen pants, washed by Jin according to him, and another large t-shirt. He didn’t want to admit it was his this time, and blushed fiercely as he handed them over to you, along with a clean towel.

Jungkook kindly showed you how to work the showers, helping you turn one on because of your hands. He also sweetly helped unwrap your hands and feet so you could properly shower and clean the cuts and scrapes. After he was done, he turned away, telling you he would wait on the benches for you to finish. As he was retreating, you reached out your hand to grab his forearm, “Wait - I- I can’t really lift my arms up,” you mumbled, warily looking up into his wide deer-in-headlights eyes, “can- can you help me?” You’ve never been shy about your body or nudity, but something about Jungkook seeing you nearly naked, made you feel like a shy teenager again. 

You thought Jungkook was about to spontaneously combust the way he was staring at you. His shoulders were squared and nearly meeting his ears, lips pursed into a tight line, and eyes the size of dinner plates. You almost laughed at his expression, but then remembered how awkward this situation was for the both of you.

“I- I - ye- yes,” Jungkook was a stuttering mess, but wanted to offer you his help regardless. He felt like he was on fire with the way his cheeks and neck were heating. Slowly, you retracted your hand from his forearm when you felt like he wasn’t about to bolt out of the room. Jungkook carefully reached for the hem and your shirt and you turned around so your back was facing him to make this all less embarrassing. The boy audibly gulped as he slowly pulled your shirt upwards removing it from your head first, pushing it towards your front. He stepped closer to you so there was barely an inch of space between your now bare back and his front. Reaching his arms around you, he gripped the shirt and slid it down your arms, removing it from you completely. His fingers ever so slightly brushed the skin on your arms and made a shiver run up your spine. Jungkook didn’t miss the way you let out a strangled breath, almost inaudible.

 He needed to cool off, quickly. 

You quietly thanked him, quickly covering your breasts with your arms, as he turned away still holding Jin’s shirt and made his way out of the bathroom without another word. 

After your much needed shower you struggled to dress yourself, but you would rather cut off your own arm than go through the embarrassment of finding Jungkook to help you again. Once you were finally decent, you found Jungkook sitting on the benches outside of the shower room, just like he said he would be. He has visibly calmed down, now wearing a calm expression. When he noticed you walk into the room, he gave you a small smile. “Feel better?” 

You nodded enthusiastically, happy to feel clean again.

Next, Jungkook showed you the small kitchen that Jin spoke of earlier. It was more like a kitchenette, almost like an employee break room. It had a tiny refrigerator, cabinets that were filled with dry goods, a sink, and one electric burner. The building was so old, you were shocked to see the kitchen in such great condition. At the shocked look on your face, Jungkook told you that Jin really loved to cook and worked really hard to clean it up and keep it that way. Your face flushed at the reminder of the older man who was making your heart feel things just this morning. The thought of him caring so much about his kitchen, moving about in here cooking the delicious food you ate for breakfast, made your stomach twist in a pleasant way. 

The last place Jungkook showed you was a mostly empty room on the second floor of the building. He told you that they didn’t use the second story much, considering the state of disrepair of the place, they didn’t want to risk getting hurt up here. But this room, Jungkook told you, was his favorite place to hang out. It was a rectangular concrete room that had a large expanse of windows on the far  wall. Some of the windows were broken, allowing the breeze from outside to enter. In front of the windows sat a small tan sofa that looked like it had seen better days. Jungkook led you over to the windows, and you quickly realized why he liked this room so much. 

You could see the entire quarry from up here. It was beautiful. At the bottom of the quarry was water that took on an incredible aquamarine color, turning almost green in the sunlight. The water was completely still, no disruptions on the surface, making it look serene. Along the bank of water, there were lush, green bushes and trees swaying slightly in the wind. On the other side of the quarry, you could see a small patch of yellow and purple flowering plants. Along the steep sides of the cliffs, you could see the smooth surface of exposed marble. Over the years, the marble has become weathered and looked smooth to the touch. The late morning sun, high in the sky, was reflecting off of the stone in a way that made it sparkle. It was an incredible sight, and you were surprised you’d never seen it like this before, having been out here in the past. 

As you stood there, taking in the breathtaking scenery, Jungkook was taking in you. You had a look of mirth in your eyes, and he mentally patted himself on the back for bringing you up here. He took in your side profile, admiring your sharp features that looked as if they were carved from the very marble you were currently staring at. He loved the way your soft lips were forming a small pout, eyes focused on the sight in front of you. He didn’t realize he was grinning at you, until you turned around with a look of shock on your face.

A grin spread across your face as you saw Jungkook’s smile for the first time. It reminded you of a bunny, large front teeth on display for you to admire. You stood there for a moment, smiling at each other before you both started giggling. “Thank you for showing me this, Jungkook,” you crooned once the laughter had subsided. He just smiled at you in return before looking back out towards the quarry. You stayed in a comfortable silence after that, before Jungkook deemed it time to head back downstairs. 

Downstairs, Jungkook led you to a room that was right in the middle of the long hallway that contained all the other rooms. “This is Yoongi-hyung’s room,” he cautioned, hand on the door, “don’t worry, Joon-hyung told him to be nice,” he rushed out, seeing the fearful look on your pretty features. 

You were still uncertain, but nodded at Jungkook anyways, prompting him to open the door. Jungkook waited patiently for you to enter the room on your own with no pressure from him. You peeked around the corner to find the occupants of the room all staring right at you. You purse your lips into a tight line and avert your gaze to your newfound safe harbor, Seokjin, who was sitting on a black leather couch. His eyes softened at your uncomfortable look before scooting over to make room for you on the couch, patting the seat next to him, inviting you over. You hesitantly walked over and plopped down on the soft cushion.

Jin rubbed a large hand on your shoulder briefly to calm you down before placing both hands in his lap. As you felt yourself relax a bit, you took in your surroundings. Jungkook was still standing near the door, leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. He looked oddly stoic, shedding the shy persona he usually wore. The room was fairly large, or at least, larger than the rest of the rooms you’ve been in. Against the right wall was the black leather couch you and Jin were currently sat on, and to your right against the far wall were two arm chairs, one of which was occupied by Namjoon. Sat in a desk chair in front of what looked like an old corporate desk, was Yoongi, with multiple laptops and devices sprawled out in front of him. Leaning against the wall behind Yoongi was another man, one you didn’t recognize, but you assumed was Hoseok. He was staring intently at you. His expression was unreadable, not cold, but not welcoming either. He looked intense with bright red hair, a sharp jawline that looked like it could cut diamonds, dressed in all black. He was a little intimidating and not at all like the golden retriever type boy Namjoon had described to you last night.

As you took in the men around the room, you hadn’t noticed Yoongi and Namjoon discussing a possible plan to break the twins out of Big Hit. “Jimin said there might be a window of time where no one is around,” Yoongi scoffed, “but you remember what happened last time he said that.”

Namjoon nodded his head. Now you were listening intently to their conversation, as were the other men in the room. “We need to trust Jimin, Yoongs. He’s the one inside there, he sees what’s going on, we don’t,” Namjoon sighed, running his hands over his knees, apparently a self-soothing mechanism, “if you think you can get in and knock out the cameras, we might as well give it a shot. We will make sure we’re better prepared this time.” Namjoon seemed defeated. You weren’t sure what happened ‘last time’, but it didn’t sound good.

“It doesn’t matter how prepared we are, he was wrong about the window last time. By two hours. If he’s wrong again we could get caught, or killed,” Yoongi snapped, anger apparent in his eyes, “I’m not willing to risk you guys again.”

“What about her?” This time, it was the redhead who spoke. You hadn’t noticed his eyes on you throughout the entire conversation, assessing you.

“No!” Both Jin and Jungkook barked at the same time, making you jump in your seat. Jin set a soothing hand on your shoulder as you looked at him, and then at Hoseok with wide eyes. Jin shook his head aggressively before looking at Yoongi and Hoseok, “No way. She’s never been there, she would have no idea what to do. You’re not willing to risk one of us, but willing to risk her?” He snarled, you haven’t seen him angry before, and you were positive you didn’t want to be on the receiving end of his anger. 

Over by the door, Jungkook had uncrossed his arms and was walking towards Yoongi’s desk. “You can’t send her in there, hyung,” he started, placing both hands palm down on the desk, “please.”

Yoongi looked up at the maknae with soft eyes before pursing his lips and sighing through his nose. Behind him, Hoseok raised his hands in surrender, “It was just a suggestion,” he sighed out passively, “we’ve all lived there at some point or another, they would recognize us immediately, just like last time.”

“They know her too. Hyunwoo has been scouting her for months, according to Jimin. We can’t let her go in there.” It was Namjoon who was being the voice of reason this time, causing both Jin and Jungkook to let out a collective sigh of relief. The five men continued to argue while you got lost in your thoughts. Hoseok wanted you to navigate Big Hit? Alone? You mulled it over in your head for a minute, remembering Yoongi’s words. If he was able to hack the cameras, they wouldn’t be able to see you, right? You felt so grateful towards Jin and Namjoon, and even Jungkook, for helping you, you wanted to contribute in some way. You wanted to help them, ease their pain at the loss of their friends.

With this thought in mind, you spoke up, “I could do it…” you trailed off, voice quiet. All five of the men’s heads snapped towards you, most with looks of disbelief on their faces. Even Hoseok hadn’t expected you to agree, he was testing you, to see how you would react. Yoongi looked at you curiously, waiting for your next words. He couldn’t deny the clench in his heart at Seokjin’s words. No, he wasn’t willing to risk you, but if you were offering... “I mean.. I want to help,” you hesitated, looking between Jin and Jungkook who were now looking angrily at you. You shrunk in on yourself a bit, awaiting their response. 

“Then it’s settled,” Yoongi remarked. He was trying hard to contain the fear he felt at allowing you to enter Big Hit alone. He knew it was dangerous, and he really wanted to not care about your well-being, but try as he might, he was terrified of allowing you to do this. He assumed he hid it well though, because everyone bar Hoseok was looking at him with incredulousness. 

“No way,” Seokjin spoke first, his tone leaving nothing up for discussion, “this conversation is over.” Jin stood up abruptly, looking directly at Namjoon, “You aren’t ok with this, are you?” The look in his eye was intense, and Namjoon could feel it. He could feel the emotions Jin felt towards you, that he was going to do whatever it took to protect you. Namjoon would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t feel the same way.

Namjoon let out a short sigh and closed his eyes before setting his gaze on Yoongi, “We can figure this out without involving YN.” 

“You heard her,” Yoongi growled, “she’s willing to risk her life. Who am I to tell her no?”

From there, the argument got even more heated, Jungkook even getting involved at one point. You were starting to feel uncomfortably hot in this cramped space. You understood both sides. You wanted to help, but you also knew that whatever you were volunteering yourself to do was dangerous. You needed air.

Suddenly, you stood up from the sofa announcing to the others that you ‘needed space’ and bolted out the door. Jungkook turned to run after you, but Hoseok, who was now standing next to the youngest, put his hand on his shoulder to stop him. “Let me go Hobi-hyung, I need to make sure YN is ok,” Jungkook rushed out, turning to the elder.

“Let her go, Kookie. This is probably a lot for her,” Hoseok told the boy, who looked like his heart was breaking at his words, “She’ll be ok, give her time.”

In your haste to remove yourself from the situation, you missed the look of absolute devastation on Jin’s face. He didn’t want you to feel like you had to do anything to repay them. He didn’t want you to feel like you owed them. He couldn’t believe how strongly he felt for you after only one day, longing for your presence next to him, now that it was suddenly gone. He could see that Jungkook - and to some extent, Namjoon - felt similarly. 

Namjoon’s heavy sigh could be heard by everyone in the room, even over the loud chatter between the boys, as he slowly rose from his seat. As he made his way over to the door, he looked over his shoulder at the hacker. “Fix this.” His words held a finality that made Yoongi gulp. The blonde had a stoic outer shell that was hard to crack, but no one in this building could deny Namjoon was the one in charge, the one they wouldn’t defy. Yoongi nodded, biting the inside his cheek to hold back his retorts as Namjoon left the room. 

After you burst out of Yoongi’s room earlier, you ran towards the big metal door that led outside the warehouse. You didn’t really want to go home, you were way too scared of what might be waiting for you there, but you did need some fresh air and some time to process everything that has happened to you since yesterday. 

You made your way down the long winding path that led back to the fork in the path at the edge of the forest. You were thankful Jungkook had found you a pair of slippers earlier and you were no longer barefoot. You passed the broken fence blocking the dirt road down to the quarry and carefully hiked down until you were at the embankment and sat on the edge of the water. It really was beautiful and now that you were up close, you could see how clear the water was. It looked like liquid gemstones, barely rippling in the slight breeze. The marble looked so pretty up close, nearly snow white with swirls and lines of grey. It was calming out here. You took a few deep breaths, inhaling the scent of the water and the trees. 

You have never done well with crowds of people. Not that five men were a crowd by any means, but you weren’t used to being around more than a couple of people at a time. Growing up, you had severe anxiety, especially while at school, and it carried over to adulthood. You also haven’t had many chances to socialize as an adult, outside of Mina and Woo. Being thrown into a situation with five men, two of whom you don’t think even want you around, is a lot. It’s only been twenty four hours and you’re already starting to regret leaving your home. You thought about your mom, and the huge breakfasts and dinners she would make for you and your father. Your father, who you didn’t know if you could even trust anymore. You’ve lived your whole life putting all your trust in your parents, as one should. But now you were questioning everything. Were they aware of your genetic rarity? Did they know about Big Hit all along? You had so many unanswered questions that you would probably never have answers to unless you went home.

Your mind wandered to Mina and Woo. How you weren’t sure if you would ever get to see them again. You were worried about them, worried that they would look for you and find themselves in some kind of trouble. They were your only friends growing up, and you didn’t even get to properly say goodbye to them. You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt something wet and warm drop into your lap. You were wearing the pants that you got dressed in yesterday morning before what could’ve been your last breakfast with your family. At that thought, the dam within you broke and the tears started flowing. 

While staring at your damaged hands, you were reminded of Seokjin, and his caring nature. The tall, broad shouldered man who has shown you nothing but kindness. He was so gentle with you, like no one ever has been before. He made your heart flutter and your mind blank when he spoke to you. You thought back to how angry he had been with his own friends, over you, a girl he just met. He was defending you, and it made you feel like you were tearing a family apart. You didn’t want to bring him, or anyone else for that matter, any pain or harm. But then you thought back to how nice his large hand had felt against the delicate skin of your face this morning, and how his words had made you blush with fondness. You’ve never loved someone outside of your family, never even had a crush before. You weren’t sure how to define what you felt for Seokjin, but it felt good. 

Then you thought about Namjoon, the well spoken and intelligent man who was the reason you were brought in with welcoming arms. From what you’ve gathered, he was the one who pushed to find you, to make sure they did something to stop Big Hit from getting to you. You were thankful for him, and you didn’t want to put him in a position where he had to choose you or his brothers. He cared for them deeply, you could see that clearly. 

Jungkook was mysterious to you. He seemed so shy and timid, yet he was so angry with Yoongi earlier in defense of you. He had shown you one of the most beautiful places you’ve ever witnessed before, and given you one of the most precious smiles you’ve ever seen. You wanted to learn more about him, get to know him, be his friend. You felt drawn to the boy and wanted to protect him. It was odd, you’ve never felt an instinct to take care of someone else before, aside from maybe your cat. You wondered if that was how Seokjin felt towards the rest of them, the thought causing your heart to clench, emphatic towards him.  

The red haired man, Hoseok, was the one you knew the least about. It felt like he didn’t really like you, but he was so hard to read. You remembered what Namjoon said about him being excitable and friendly, but you had yet to experience it yourself. As much as you felt unwelcomed by him and Yoongi, you still felt inclined to get to know him better, a pull to him, much like the others. You couldn’t explain these feelings, and they were confusing you.

The last man of the group, the blonde. Yoongi. He definitely didn’t want you here, and definitely made you feel unwelcome. But could you blame him? You weren’t mad at him. No. You understood completely how he felt. You were a stranger, disposable, and you weren’t his friend. He had no reason to care about you. None of them did. You mentally berated yourself for allowing your mind to conjure up the idea that they owe you anything, that you deserved their care and affection. 

As you sat and cried silently to yourself, you let the dark thoughts take over your mind. Were you some kind of charity case to Namjoon? Like he felt the need to save someone who was like him and that’s all you meant to them? Maybe they felt sorry for you, and that’s why they were treating you so kindly. Seokjin acted caring towards everyone, why were you anything special? You were acting crazy, it’s only been a day with these men and you’re already feeling such a strong pull to them. You need to get a hold of yourself. You continued to sit there, on the edge of the water, shoulders hunched as you cried silently. As the day went on, and the sun started to set beyond the hills, your mind was plagued with the thoughts that this was all a horrible, horrible idea. 

To be continued….

A/N: if you made it this far, first of all, THANK YOU! If you want to be added to the taglist, make sure you’re following me and send me an ask. if you enjoy the series consider reblogging so it can reach more readers. i’m feeling a little down about writing right now, so i’m trying to make sure to update next sunday. we will be meeting the twins in the next couple chapters, depending on how long they get, and you will be getting some steamy scenes between YN and (a) boy shortly. much love 

xx Des

taglist:  @minifruity​  @mrcleanheichou @arantxaglz​ @chim-possible​ 

copyright 2020 aliendes

[whumpywhumper]

Ohh can we have some uh 'painful wound cleaning' for the BTHB? That is such an underused trope, but damn is it good -S

So this ask has been sitting in my box for like. . . a year? Sorry it took so long 😅 @badthingshappenbingo prompt

Tagging: @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @captivity-whump @insanitywishes @oceanthesarcasamfox @walkingchemicalfire @voidwhump @imagination1reality0 

Huge thanks to both @0idril0 and @rosesareviolentlyread I couldn’t ask for a better hype team 

Follows directly after: Help Me Find You and here is the Masterpost

PAINFUL WOUND CLEANING 

V***V 

“Oh, good. You’re awake, darling.”

Amused, Lucien looked down at the witch as he leaned against the door frame. He watched as his newest acquisition moaned pitifully, wet tear tracks glistening on his cheeks from the overhead fluorescent lighting. Lucien knew that the first injection was always the hardest on his prey, the victim’s body not knowing how to make sense of the toxin, the venom wreaking havoc on their senses. The witch was no different. Markus was visibly trembling, curled on his side, his tall frame wracked with spasms as he tried, and failed, to move away from the door.

He wouldn’t be able to for a while yet. There was enough venom in Markus’s system, by Lucien’s instincts, to keep the witch down for days. He had absolutely flooded the other man with it in an effort to neutralize him long enough to get him to the nest, and even a day later, the smell of it was thick and heavy with every pulse of the witch’s heart. The venom did more than keep Markus down though, it marked him as Lucien’s, and any other vampire would be facing the Elder’s wrath if they tried to claim the witch’s blood for their own.

Markus was Lucien’s to do with as he pleased. To hurt, to bleed, to take apart piece by piece. That possessive thought made him rumble deep in his chest, the sound making Markus flinch and softly gasp. The predator part of Lucien’s brain picked up on the pain, disorientation and confusion his darling was expressing. The vulnerability. All for Lucien.

It was delicious. Intoxicating. He wanted more.

His venom glands throbbed with the burgeoning desire to release more of his toxin into the long column of Markus’s throat, to throw the writhing anguish of the witch into a tailspin so that every lungful of air was an agonized gasp, every flutter of skin over thudding arteries was a bruising throb. It would be easier if the witch gave in, let his brain accept the chemicals that would light up the pleasure center in his brain, so that all he would feel was ecstasy. But this had its own appeal, its own power that added to the high of magic in Lucien’s belly. The Elder had  downed something powerful enough to make lesser predators afraid, and Lucien had turned it into his own private feast of pain and blood.

Lucien let his lips pull away from his fangs in a smile, eyes coating with black as he allowed the predator under his skin to stretch, appreciating the moment. His tongue pressed against the swollen glands in his mouth, skittering jolts of pleasure running down his spine. The Elder knew the effects of his own venom intimately. Not as vicious as a Red like Christine’s, not as intoxicating as a White’s. His venom rode the line, and the harder Markus fought against it, the more it would make him feel sick and drugged, like every movement was tearing his muscles apart.

Based on the pained whimper that punched out of Markus’s chest as he squeezed his gorgeous, green eyes closed, he was fighting it hard.

It was easier, usually, to control his prey if Lucien glamoured them into giving in, glamoured into going under with waves of pleasure so that they were malleable and compliant, but that wouldn’t work with a witch. All but the weakest would be able to fight off a vampire’s glamour, one of their few defense mechanisms, and Markus was anything but a weak witch.

The magic in the other man’s blood had almost knocked him on his ass as he’d tasted it.  Rich and earthy, full of subtle notes of honey and spices. Even a day later, Lucien’s slow metabolism was still working through the residual magic, the high thrumming through his system. Not to mention the fact that Markus had put up a hell of a fight for being unprepared, injured, and taken by surprise. Lucien could still feel his face burning from the direct burst of sunlight to his skin, his glamour blowing apart, the way he’d been thrown through the air with only a word. It was fucking impressive.

If Markus had been prepared for him in that alley? Lucien wouldn’t have been able to take him, and the Elder wasn’t going to refuse this gift of coincidence.

The dynamic pull of the promise of strong prey had Lucien scenting the air, and the sweet smell of magic laced blood made his mouth water and his venom glands swell further. His eyes were drawn inexorably to where he’d quickly bound the gunshot wound in Markus’s shoulder. The temporary dressing was soaked through, dark red blooming through the white gauze.

Lucien wanted to feed, but the wound needed to be cleaned or the witch was going to die of infection before Lucien could enjoy him.

He stepped forward, dropping the heavy, black bag dangling from his hand onto the hard concrete with a thump. His rumble turned into a purr when the witch flinched, little noises of pain tripping out of his mouth like daisies in a field, and pushed the door closed behind him. Trapping them together in the small room. They would be moving back to the nest soon, but he wouldn’t give Markus any opportunity to escape, however unlikely.

Markus whimpered when the door slammed home, muscles tightening under his faded t-shirt as he shifted away from the noise. Lucien tutted, moving slowly toward the witch like one would a wounded animal. “Don’t worry, darling,” he crooned, “I promised I’d take good care of you, didn’t I?”

Kneeling next to Markus, he pressed his fangs into his lower lip to still his growing grin as the witch blinked rapidly, eyes wide as he tried to focus on the predator above him. He reached down to put his fingers through Markus’s sweat damp hair, but the witch jerked back, crying out as the venom tore through his body.

Lucien chuckled softly, finishing the movement to wrap a handful of silky strands around his fingers. “You can’t get away from me that easily, darling.” The witch’s breathing was turning sharp and panicked, and Lucien drank in those unfocused green eyes that stared up at him with dazed terror before pulling his hair, stretching the long column of his throat so he could see the sealed bite wound over his jugular.

Markus groaned, eyes squeezing shut, and another possessive thrill ran up Lucien’s spine, his purr deepening as he pressed his thumb against it. The pulse of blood under the other man’s skin was so alive, frantic and pumping with abandon. The witch’s breath hitched when he moved his injured arm, ostensibly to push away Lucien’s hand, the scent of fresh blood filling the air as he aggravated the bullet wound.  

The vampire shuddered, glands filling with more venom as the urge to bite became almost unbearable. He swallowed thickly, tasting the venom that spurted out onto his tongue. “God, you’re not going to be good for my self control, beautiful.”

The witch’s eyes cracked open to glare up at Lucien, his weak flare of defiance subsumed by delirious terror. “Fuck off,” he panted, trying to pull away from Lucien’s hold on him. The Elder couldn’t have that. He tightened the grip he had on the witch’s hair, other hand sliding from his neck to grab a hold of his bicep tight enough to bruise. “AH!”

“We’ve talked about you being nicer to me, Markus,” he murmured in warning, “that’s no way to treat the person caring for you.”

Markus turned his face down toward the floor with a tight groan, but he didn’t try to get free again, his breaths coming in short, staccato jerks. From this close, the Elder could hear every strangled noise that Markus’s corded jaw held back, could feel how his lax muscles faintly trembled under his grasp. Licking his lips, the vampire loosened his hold on Markus’s bicep, running his hand over the warm, exposed skin of his arm as he examined the stained gauze wrapped around the witch’s shoulder.

Lucien didn’t like using a gun, the waste and damage of it irritating him, going against his usual methodology. But, after Chicago, he wasn’t in the mood to run down his preferred prey.

He let the glamour hiding his claws fade away, the sharp tips allowing him to cut through the blood glutted gauze easily. Markus flinched at the soft skkrt of ripping fabric, hair pulling taught under Lucien’s other hand. “So jumpy,” the vampire taunted, drinking in Markus’s pained moan as he pulled the pressure pads away from the injury, “I told you I was taking care of you, Markus. The least you can do is believe me.”

Markus whimpered, eyes wide with impotent fury as he drew agonized breaths through fear clenched teeth, weakly struggling to get away from Lucien’s restraining hands.  The defiance was beautiful. Even overpowered and terrified out of his mind, the witch wasn’t surrendering to him. Making Lucien fight for every inch of dominance.

It thrilled him, made every noise a surrender.

Lucien couldn’t hold back his chuckle, his claws shredding through Markus’s t-shirt to expose the witch’s shoulder, ignoring the weak squirming and half-voice protests as more and more skin was revealed. “S-stop, fuck--nnn!”

“I have to see it to treat it, darling,” he purred, releasing the other’s black hair to settle along the join between the witch’s shoulder and neck, preparing to hold him down. Slowly, carefully, he palpated the area around the bullet hole, fingers staining red as they smeared through fresh blood.

Markus’s eyes screwed shut, throat working on a muffled scream as he tried to jerk away from the pain. “Now, now, darling,” Lucien scolded, pressing him down, exerting enough pressure to bruise as he controlled the other man’s movement. Despite Markus’s weak struggles, Lucien kept the witch on his side so he could see the entry and exit wounds before dragging the bag he’d brought in closer. Straddling Markus’s stomach, his powerful legs caging in the witch’s torso, Lucien reached over to slide open the zipper, revealing his medical supplies.

Before he got started, he slowly pet through Markus’s sweat damp hair, his thumb brushing over his tear streaked cheek to spread the salty moisture. “I guess I should have expected that you wouldn’t be able to hold still yourself,” he murmured, feeling the clench and release of Markus’s abs as the witch panted through the pain. He brought his hand back to Markus’s throat, making the witch still under him as his claws pricked against the delicate skin.

Lucien revelled, for a moment, in the satisfaction of holding his prey down. His eyelids fluttered, and he swallowed a sticky gush of venom as he took in a deep breath of blood scented air. The simple act of pinning Markus against his best efforts to get away soothed some of the predatory drive that was pulling at him, telling him to feed and subdue. The undeniable control settling some fractured part of his soul.

Groaning under his breath, his blood  stained hand followed the line of Markus’s arm to find his wrist, squeezing hard enough to hear the bones grind together. “Though, I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy your struggling, beautiful--” he leaned forward, pressing a kiss against the bloody ball of Markus’s shoulder, “--it will probably hurt less if you don’t.”  

“Lemme go,” Markus whimpered, voice thick and slurring, his wrist flexing in Lucien’s grip. Behind him, the Elder heard the other man’s feet seeking purchase on the floor, but Lucien’s weight was more than enough to keep his weak prey in place.

“Darling,” Lucien crooned, a smile in his voice, “you’re not going anywhere.” His long fingers spread around Markus’s throat, squeezing until the witch’s breathing turned into a harsh wheeze. “Now, shhh, stop struggling.”

Markus’s Adam’s apple bobbed against his palm as the witch struggled to breathe, his eyelids fluttering  as his oxygen was restricted. His lips separated, mouth slung open on a desperate gasp as he started shaking in earnest. His already weak struggles weakened further, ugly wheezing his only movement until Lucien let up. He didn’t remove his hand completely, but the witch stayed still, a low sob coloring his next inhale. “Good boy,” Lucien praised softly,  “good boy.”

<~>

“Good boy,” the man murmured, his voice barely audible over the frantic pounding of Markus’s heart, “Good boy.”

Markus whimpered, red hot shame filling his lungs as he dragged in another mouthful of air, his head pounding from the lack of oxygen. His body refused to do more than shake, too weak and addled to do anything other than obey the implacable command to stop struggling. The hand resting on his throat and the impossible weight straddling his torso reinforced the fact that he was helpless. At the mercy of someone much stronger than himself.

He wanted his magic, but he couldn’t sense the energies in the air, the touch of bare skin against his own igniting nothing more than rabbit-like fear. Mindless terror infested Markus’s muddied thoughts, scattering them like roaches. Nothing made sense without his magic, he’d never been without it, and every rational, decision-making part of Markus’s brain was on the verge of jibbering screams.

I want Illyn back, please, fuck, just stop.

His bad arm was manipulated at the wrist, trapping it with the other man’s knee against Markus’s belly, and a ragged moan dragged itself out of the witch’s mouth like reluctant roadkill. The noise entwined with the lingering ache of his esophagus as air rasped through his vocal cords, and he swallowed past the cottony taste of dehydration.

With his eyelashes clumped together against his cheeks, Markus couldn’t see what his captor was doing, but the sudden jettison of liquid against his shoulder made him cry out as the throbbing bullet wound ignited. Markus screamed, bucking up against the heavy weight over his torso, his pained shout transforming into choked sobs as the assault didn’t let up. The liquid spread down his chest to soak his shredded shirt and puddle on the ground. Markus shuddered, every jerking inhale an agonized moan through numb lips as the flush moved to the exit wound.

“Easy, darling,” crooned the honey-coated voice, strong hand still an unforgiving shackle around Markus’s neck, “just have to clean it out.”  

Markus swallowed back more dazed sobs, the hollow ache in his shoulder spreading up his neck and down under his sternum, stealing the strength from every heartbeat as more acidic pain pulsed through him.  He flinched when something clattered in front of his face. Blinking open tear blurred eyes, he made out an empty bottle of saline, the innocuous plastic so out of place that it didn’t even make sense to the overwhelmed witch.  

A wet breath hissed through Markus’s teeth, and he shivered. His damp skin chilled in the cold air of the concrete cell, eyelids fluttering as the cold rooted its way through his shocky system. Stop, please, stop. He couldn’t tell if the words pushed past his rebellious tongue or were left to burn their way through his skull, but, mercifully, nothing else was poured into the raw wound in his shoulder.

Black licked at the lingering remains of his excoriated consciousness,  and Markus felt the bruising grip on his throat release as something was pressed firmly against his shoulder. He couldn’t hear the faint, half-formed moans that caught in his throat, and he didn’t have enough control of his body to resist as his arm was moved. The hollow ache transformed into a numb kind of overwhelming agony that wasn’t soothed even as he realized the bullet wound was just being bandaged.

His eyelids fluttered, pain rocking through him again as a hand ran through his hair, the strands at the back of his head grabbed and tugged so that Markus’s slack features were drawn up toward the light. The breath stuttered in Markus’s chest, the movement like spiked chains pulling tight from the base of his skull down his spine, forcing his scant attention on his captor.

There was the impression of blond hair and pale skin before black coated eyes registered, and Markus’s heart sped frantically, fear curdling sour and heavy in his stomach. He made a truly pathetic sound as the vampire, the belated realization sliding in to join his venom laden blood, leaned over him, breath ghosting across his face. He tried to move away, but the air was knocked from his lungs as he was shoved from his side and onto his back.

Markus gasped, lungs refusing to expand for an infinite moment until his diaphragm ripped free of his spinal cord, and a harsh, agonized gulp of air forced its way down his throat. His head was drawn further back, the angle awkward and painful as a low, malicious laugh caressed his ears. “Something you’re scared of, darling?” A cold hand forced its way under the ragged edge of Markus’s ripped, wet shirt, resting heavily over his sternum. “Your heart is about to beat right out of your chest.”

“S-stop,” he stuttered, voice faint, strained, “you can’t—“

“Shhhh,” long fingers pressed over Markus’s lips, silencing his tattered protests, “I can, and I will. You can’t stop me, Markus,” he chuckled as black eyes examined him, a slow, lazy smile revealing long fangs, “you can’t even try.”

Cold, bottomless dread seated itself in Markus’s chest. Taking cozy residence as tears slipped down his temples, and he trembled.  

“You can call me Lucien, little witch,” the vampire said, voice thick with anticipation as he lowered his face, nose brushing along the line of Markus’s exposed throat. The witch was instinctually conscious of the  thud of his pulse, how thin the skin was that separated his life-blood from sharp, piercing fangs, “and, you and I, we are going to get very well acquainted.”

[bowl-of-shortness]

Would you mind saying that again?

Necromancer AU

It had been a relatively normal day, or, well, as “normal” as it could get when you’re secretly a necromancer walking the streets of very anti Necromancer Atlas.

Just a normal day, with the same forgettable Atlesian Soldiers sometimes ordering you around, and the same old ironwood not learning how to shut his mouth for at least a few seconds. Despite how annoying it was, Ozpin managed to bite his tongue and not shoot a comment back at the soldiers.

He had never liked Atlas. Not only did it mean horrible things to him, but was much different from Vale, in all the worst ways. It was dull, grey, and unfriendly. Atlas looked easily forgettable because of its appearance, but it was far from it due to the horrors these grey concrete walls hold.

But unfortunately, he had work to do. And so Ozpin dragged his feet on despite the irritation of having to be in a place where he isn’t welcome.

Eventually, he was at the door of the one person he had resented the most. The man who somehow thought they were “friends”. The giant iron plate on the door had bold words carved into it, “General Ironwood.”. He was there for a meeting, a meeting where Ironwood would most likely go off on one of his tangants about how necromancers are the worst people alive and how they deserve the worst, other than that Ozpin had no idea what the meeting was about. Not that he particularly cared.

Ozpin had already mentally prepared on the way here for this meeting, he had to everytime, since the General loved to go off constantly. Reluctantly, he knocked on the door. It opened to reveal Ironwood himself.

“I’m surprised General, normally you would have one of your soldiers open the door.” He mentioned as he walked inside the equally dull and grey office. Ironwood swiftly closed the door behind him, “I didn’t want my soldiers around for what we are going to talk about.”,

Ozpin inquired, mildly irritated, “And that is? You haven’t exactly mentioned what we are going to speak about today.” The two went to go sit down at the meeting room table.

“Ruby Rose.” He stopped walking. “What about her?” Ozpin grew nervous, he mentally pleaded for it not to be what he thought it was. “She is a necromancer, were you aware of that?” Ironwood said sharply. He mentally cursed, “Of course not. How could I have been?” Ozpin replied quickly, turning around to look at the General “If I had known I would’ve told you.” His tone was cold.

Ironwood nodded, “I figured you would have. I know that she’s here in Atlas traveling with you and playing the both of us like idiots, do you happen to know specifically where she is?” Oz found himself growing increasingly anxious as the conversation went on, he knew what would happen if he let Ironwood get anywhere near her, it happened with her mother, Pyrrha and countless others. He had to think of something, he had to warn her.

“I unfortunately do not, but I have a few ideas of where she might be. I personally feel it would be better if I went to go find her instead of your soldiers because she trusts me, if your soldiers go after her she might run.” Ozpin spoke, keeping the same tone as earlier, hiding his anxiety. He mentally breathed a sigh of relief he had a solid plan, and a good way to warn her without getting suspicious.

“I suppose that’s the easiest way isn’t it? Well, please go do that, I expect her to be here around sunset at the latest, good luck Ozpin.” Ironwood smiled, gods he hated that smile. The smile of a murderer who thinks he’s right.

“I will see you then.” Ozpin gritted his teeth as he left

Ozpin hurriedly rushed to the small hotel he, Qrow, Glynda and the kids had been staying at, one that not even the Atlas military knew existed.

As he ran up the stairs the conversation kept playing through his head, “I can’t let him do anything to her.” He mentally repeated over and over again. Once he got to the door he knocked frantically, Ruby answered. “Uncle Ozzy? Welcome back!” She smiled curiously. He melted slightly at the nickname and her smile.

He shook off the feeling quickly, now wasn’t the time for that, “Love, we need to go now, I know this may seem confusing but I will tell you as we get there.” He spoke anxiously.

Ruby’s smile faded “He found out, didn’t he?” She said quietly, he nodded sorrowfully “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head “Don’t be.”

“So,”

“What do I need to do?” She gave him a determined look.

——————————————————————————

If there was one, singular, thing Ironwood was good at, it was catching on to things he shouldn’t have caught onto.

The plan was quickly found out by ironwood and now his bloody soldiers were now running around vigorously looking for her.

This was his fault, he shouldn’t have done anything like this in the first place. He couldn’t worry about that now, this was where they were now. He had to do something to help Ruby, anything.

“What do you mean you can’t find her?! That stupid leech is running around the military base in bright red clothes and you ‘can’t find her’?! Get off your ass and do your damn job before I do it for you!” He suddenly heard Ironwood yell.

It irritated him to no end, this was how ironwood was, treated his soldiers like tools, treated necromancers like animals, and treated anyone he deemed under him horribly. But nothing would make him feel quite as angry as what happened next.

“Found You!” A soldier yelled, Ozpin’s heart stopped. He looked over and could see her struggling against the soldiers. And then she just, gave up.

Suddenly, everything was all too familiar. That red coat, now white, the feeling he had when he had to come home and tell her family what happened, the funeral, everything. He refused to put anyone through that again, he refused to let another person he cared about die again, and he refused to bare witness to it like he had done so many times before.

Ironwood put due process to Ruby’s head, and Ozpin’s breaking point was beyond reached.

Before he knew it, his magic lashed out across the room, throwing them all back with such force to knock many of the soldiers unconscious. This luckily included knocking Ironwood to the floor.

Ozpin wasn’t the kind of man to get angry, but to be okay with killing innocent people, to be okay with killing an innocent teenager, was one of those things to make him enraged.

He walked up to the now shaking Ironwood, beyond enraged. “Uncle Ozzy?” A small voice quietly said, Ozpin quickly turned his attention to the girl behind him. His expression softened. “Run, go find the others. I will catch up with you later” he said softly, but there was still a hint of anger that seeped through.

“What are you going to do?” She questioned. Ozpin looked behind him once more before looking back to the monster in front of him, “I believe I have some…business…to take care of”

She nodded and then left, good, he didn’t want her to see what was going to happen next.

“You—“ “knew? Yes I did, and you have a knack for finding out things you shouldn’t find out about.” He said being eerily calm. He started walking up to Ironwood as the General pathetically tried to back up, “You know I have a real issue with egotistical dictators who hurt my family.” He stops in front of him.

Ironwood originally didn’t think Ozpin was an intimidating person, quite the opposite in fact, but it seems he was very wrong with the way Ozpin was looking at him in this very moment. Eerily calm, tall as hell, and seeping rage. He wouldn’t let the silver haired man know that though, he needed to stand his ground. “You are scum of the earth, all of you are! You all deserve what Atlas gives you what I give you!!” He screamed. Ozpin stared at him, not saying a word.

There was a long silence, a long, uncomfortable, silence.

Ozpin shook his head and spoke “I don’t think you understand how much necromancers can actually do. We are beyond kind to revive people and give them life, but there’s another side to it you need to consider.”.

“A-and what’s that?” Ironwood nervously questioned, almost accusingly. All of sudden the General felt a massive amount of excruciating pain all throughout his body. “W-What the h-hell?!” He said through gritted teeth, trying not to yell at how painful it felt.

Ozpin crouched down to his level, it was only then did Ironwood notice his hand was glowing a mysterious green. And then, just as the green light went away, so did the pain. Ozpin stood up and looked at him, “We can take away life just as easily as we can give it, so I’d be careful with who you hurt. Just because Summer was nice enough to revive you doesn’t mean that I will be as forgiving.”. Now Ironwood was visibly frightened, good.

“The next time you come anywhere near a necromancer to kill them, keep in mind that we can take away life just as easily as we can give it.” Without speaking further, Ozpin walked past him to leave until he heard Ironwood’s painfully annoying voice.

“And why should I listen to you?! I’ll kill you, I’ll make sure of it!” The General yelled at Ozpin. “Funny thing about killing me,” He turned around and stared at Ironwood “I. Can’t. Be. Killed.” Ironwood paled.

“Or, well, I can, but it won’t stay that way for long.” Ozpin shrugged nonchalantly “It’s a nice thought though.” He turned around again before stopping once more at the sound of Ironwoods voice, dear god this was getting annoying.

“Then I’ll kill those stupid brats! They don’t deserve to exist, and I’ll kill that leech the same way I killed her monster of a mother. I’ve done it once and I’ll do it again, Ozpin.” He said, his voice filled with anger and fear. This time Ozpin broke his facade of calmness. “Oh?” Ozpin challenged before turning around and walking towards the general.

All of sudden that horrible pain was back, but worse, and Ironwood couldn’t stop from yelling out in pain this time. He couldn’t even move the pain was so unbearable. Ozpin loomed over him. His eyes were…green?

“Oh dear.” He started “Would you mind saying that again?” Ozpin questioned, feigning politeness as he crouched down to Ironwood’s level.

“I don’t think I heard you very well.”