#it has been so long since I last scrolled through this tag

[a-world-in-grey]

Oh, trust me, the glaives are plenty willing to enable their new Skyborn Cloud's Shenanigans without needing to bring Sola into Little Galahd.

If I remember correctly, Noctis gets his own invites to Little Galahd? Because of Prompto? @secret-engima did you have Prompto being raised in Little Galahd in this verse or no?

Regardless of how Noctis is first invited to Little Galahd, Sola tags along as his minder, which... could actually mean she sees Little Galahd before Tredd adopts her. I'm not too sure on the timeline off the top of my head.

Regis saying anything that even insinuates Sola incapable of protecting Noctis after she joins the Kingsglaive is not going to go over well at all.

Regis isn't any more happy about Sola joining the Kingsglaive than Cor is, but fortunately Cor is able to convince Regis not to pull Sola out of the glaive like he already tried to do. Sola's still giving him the cold shoulder over a month later.

With Sola it's not necessarily a case of Mainlander expectations. I'd have to check back through SE's posts to see if Mainlander expectations differed all that much from Galahdian expectations. No, Sola snarling at Cor was such a surprise to him because she's never actually reacted like that to him before? Snarls and growls during spars was one thing, those all had an undercurrent of playful challenge. This? Cor had no doubt Sola would have tried to seriously hurt him had he followed through on his attempt to pull her from the glaives. It helped that Sola hadn't actually enlisted - she couldn't, not when she was only fifteen and unlike the Crownsguard the Kingsglaive had a strict age minimum.

Sola later enlisting did not make any of her adult relatives happy, but she had Noctis' encouragement so if anyone actually tried to keep her from enlisting Sola would tear their arm off and beat them with the soggy end.

Titus... may not have realized that Regis and Cor didn't know? They've had the Draconian's Blessings for over two thousand years, surely they have Tales of the Blessed? He thinks that them forbidding Sola to go to Tenebrae with Noctis was them being overprotective (which he and the Galahdians approve of - Sola may be the second coming of the Immortal, but she's still only fifteen), and the insinuation Sola wasn't good enough to protect her Sky unintentional. Which is all true. What Titus doesn't realize is that Regis and Cor didn't know that what would have been an mere insinuation to anyone else was the primary message that Sola heard.

Titus doesn't realize that Regis and Cor don't know that Sola thinks she failed her Sky by not being there to protect him when the Marilith attacked, and that she thinks this is a punishment for not being good enough.

By the time Titus realizes that they don't know that Sola is operating on a set of distinctly non-human instincts in addition to her half-feral Omega instincts, it'll probably have been a couple years. Likely right around when Sola's presence in the glaive is leaked to the press and Sola has her Rage.

Eh, Lucis Caelums have always been warriors first, royals second. Anyone expecting a Lucis Caelum princess to be a doll (even back when women weren't allowed to inherit the throne) would get thrown under the cart when they inevitably pissed off said Lucis Caelum. No, the mold everyone was trying to fit Sola into was that of human sensibilities. It wasn't so bad when she was a little kid, but after she tore out an assassin's throat? In such a brutal manner and then very obviously had no problem with what she did? Oh, the scrutiny and pressure from the court to behave in an acceptable manner really got traction then. Before her cat like tendencies were cute. After? Uncivilized at best and monstrous at worst.

Spending time with the glaives might bring a bit of her Sky back? Her Sky never really disappeared, she just buried it. Because while she's technically a Sky (technically would have all six Flames if Flames existed as more than just a way to measure someone's personality by that she could blend evenly into the composite Sky Flame), Sola has always been a very strong Cloud - a stronger Cloud than she is a Sky even before she buried her Sky. So even if she ever does feel comfortable enough to be more than just Cloudy, feels comfortable enough to embrace the natural charisma that is inherent to being a Sky, Sola will always register as a Cloud first and Sky as a very distant second.

The public learns about Sola being a glaive when she's seventeen, pretty much the same time as in 'canon'. The public is not as accepting in this verse though, because being refugees soldiers is one thing, but fae-like nonhumans is entirely different.

...Sola might punch a Crownsguard a year or two earlier than she originally does if she catches any of the Crownsguard harassing the glaives for 'beguiling their princess' or some such nonsense.

If Sola existed in Stand Strong verse, what would be her reaction to Galahdians in general and Glaives in particular? Would she still join the Kingsglaive or would Regis and Cor try harder to remove her from it? Would she still have a crush on Libertus?

Oooh, Stand Strong verse! Aka the fun glaives! @secret-engima feel free to correct me if I get anything wrong, it's been a while since I scrolled through this 'verse.

Sola doesn't really meet the Galahdians in Little Galahd until after she's been adopted by Tredd, so the glaives would be the first Galahdians she meets. And honestly, Sola feel an even stronger sense of kinship with these fae-like glaives. All her life she hasn't fit. She's an Omega when most LCs are Alphas, she's an Omega Sword when Swords are never Omegas - Hearts and perhaps the occasional Shield, but never Swords - and she's got distinctly nonhuman instincts even with the instincts that come from secondary genders.

Amongst the glaives who don't care to conform to Insomnia's definition of human, Sola, for the first time in her life, actually feels at home.

Yes, she still joins the Kingsglaive. She's less demanding in this verse - the Kingsglaive is Captain Drautos' territory, and one doesn't lightly invade an Alpha's territory even if that Alpha is sworn to her father. Instead, Sola sets up an actual appointment (Cor is neatly distracted by Abyssus and Ignis and maybe some surreptitious aid from Amissa) to meet with Drautos and formally request to train with the Kingsglaive, as she's finished her apprenticeship under Marshal Leonis and seeks to expand her capabilities to better protect her King.

Titus is well aware of the Rage Sola went into not even a week prior. All the glaives know, the princess was in no way subtle for all that she kept her Rage contained away from anyone who might get caught in the crossfire. Unlike his glaives, however, Titus knows the reason for Sola's Rage. Knows the King forbade Sola from accompanying her brother to Tenebrae on the basis of it being too dangerous. And Titus has to wonder how well Regis actually knows his daughter, because even in the bare handful of times he's been close enough to the Princess to observe her Titus knew how poorly Sola would take that decision. A Cloudy Dragon of an Omega, and Regis denied her from protecting her Territory?

A Rage was inevitable.

And now the Cloud (who might have been a Sky, before attempts to make her conform into an ill-fitting mold made her retreat so far into her Cloud that any hint of Sky was thoroughly overwhelmed) is sitting on her own bristling territorial instincts, bowing her head to his authority as the Alpha of the Kingsglaive, despite technically outranking him as Crown Princess.

This isn't just revenge towards the King and the Marshal for separating her from her younger brother and Sky. Sola is desperate.

Of course she is, Titus realizes. By barring Sola on the basis of it being too dangerous, the King has implied that Sola isn't good enough to protect her Sky. Despite having completed her apprenticeship under Cor the Immortal. So Sola has gone looking for training from one of the only people capable of match the Marshal in a fight. Titus.

If he turns her away, it's likely Sola will do something exceedingly reckless to prove herself capable of standing as Noctis' Sword.

Well, at least she'll fit right in with the rest of his reckless idiots.

Cor and Regis do try to pull Sola from the Kingsglaive. Not necessarily because of the Kingsglaive's fae reputation. No, it's because they think Titus loathes Regis, and that makes them wary of Sola being in close proximity to the man. Of course, Sola puts her foot down and actually snarls at Cor when she's pulled from bootcamp and sent up to Titus' office to find Cor demanding she leave the glaive. And not the playful snarls she's always given him before during their spars or play fights. No, this is a full on this-is-your-last-warning-before-I-tear-your-throat-out snarl, complete with bared teeth and hands curling into claws.

Titus rumbles low in his throat, a wordless admonishment to keep things civil, please, and Sola forces herself to settle with only a low grumble. Cor's too well trained to rear back in surprise, but his magic betrays him where his body doesn't, and Sola can feel the shock and instinctive wariness hearing that kind of snarl from an Omega elicits. They are able to work things out civilly so that Sola can continue training with the glaives, and Cor is able to warn Regis when he comes home with Noctis so Regis doesn't try the same thing.

Of course, Sola training with the glaives means she stops conforming so stringently to all those human sensibilities, so there's absolutely rampant gossip that Sola's been turned fae by her association with the glaives. Then those that remember Sola ripping out an assassin's throat with her teeth chip in, and the gossip mutates to Sola always having been fae and it's merely a matter of the glaives reclaiming one of their own.

Before joining the glaives, Sola would not have been happy about the rumors. Now, after training with the glaives in being sneaky and pants-shittingly terrifying, Sola is all too willing to use her new skills in psychological warfare to her and her King's benefit.

Sola absolutely still gets a massive crush on Libertus, Nyx still calls her Pipsqueak and gets his kneecaps taken in revenge, and Tredd still ends up adopting her around her 19th birthday. Dunno if Sola ends up bonding with a Retinue, but if she does they're all Galahdians and the public sees it as further proof of Sola being as fae as the rest of the glaives.

[acid-ixx]

update and story excepts

guys i swear if i post chapter 4 sooner for my series: again &. again, soon, will that revive the yandere batfam/dc tag because i swear i've been consuming less content of it both lately and sadly 💔 like it's a bit dead ngl. ill reply to asks once i'm done with ch.4 istg

and yes, i'm back from my short hiatus again to announce this. and it's 3:30am but i dont care teehee. anyways, if i do post a new chapter expect it to be this week and that's final for once, since i've kept all of you guys waiting so long, i'm so sorry :(( i swear it's me trying to gain confidence through my writing and i don't know if i like chapter 4 or not. all i do know is that it's one of the most emotionally draining chapters so expect triple the angst, yippee!

anyways, excepts from the chapter below the line break:

DICK'S THOUGHTS:

he sighs, resigning his thoughts all to himself as he checks his phone every minute for a simple ring of notifications just from you. he prefers to leave his phone in silent mode from the multitude of other contacts bothering him, but god forbade if that means he'd scroll past to a single reply of yours, then he'd rather burn in hell.

dick doesn't know it. why he's suddenly obsessed with you. you? yes you, his stupidly precious sibling, the one who looked up to him, frail and wronged by the world, with so much drive behind that stare. third child of bruce, yet second youngest in the family. the one that got away, the one he has never once saw outside that one memory of glinting, awe-inspired eyes that told more stories than poets, drew more emotions than artists.

CONNER'S SCENES:

"you're hot," and if you were sober enough, you would've felt sheer embarrassment and shame from eyeing the boy, but you're not— and because you're not sober, or any bit sane, the next few sentences you spewed out were all coherent, yet wonkily pronounced utterances paired with teary eyes and sniffling nose, as you can't seem to control the feelings of melancholy in your heart and the sudden emotional burst from your ramblings.

"thank you, you too, actually— but are you alright-"

"haha! is it strange to say that you look so cute whenever you look at me with wide eyes in the short span of time we just met?"

"it's conner, conner kent. call me kon, though. or yours if it's you."

BATHROOM BREAKDOWN P.T.2 PRIOR TO CLUBBING

you don't remember the last time you looked in a mirror, looking healthy, fresh, and proud of yourself for dressing up in your style. in the back of your mind, there will always be hatred, resentment for how you look. and right now, you hate how you every bit of your appearance because...

because you look exactly just like an image of your mother and bruce wayne. a reminder, your punishment for your parents' beautifully tragic affair with one another. a billionaire who courted.the lowly dirt-class slut of gotham.

(spoilers: expect shit to go down with jason todd with you, and him with the family, and a good 4k words of you flirting with conner before actual shit goes down)

leave comments down below if you do like the direction this story is coming to! otherwise, thank you all for reading my series and supporting it from the start !! <33

[suguann]

I HOPE YOU STAY—GOJO SATORU

✎. he’d asked why your coworkers weren’t waiting outside with you—it's not safe here—at the same time you asked for a kiss. it just sort of slipped out. | wc. 2.8k+

tags. fem!reader, grinding, unprotected sex, oral sex, some mutual pining (it's implied he doesn't know how to talk to reader), there is not a world where gojo isn't rich, fwb to lovers, jealousy, gagging on how very much in love gojo is with reader and she doesn't see it, praise kink, pet names [18+ only]

masterlist

You’re not sure how it all started.

(As how all arrangements like these seem to start.) 

You remember calling Gojo on a night out with your coworkers—one too many cheap vodka cranberries in your system clouding your judgment—just as he left the office for the day, asking if he could pick you up from a shady nightclub downtown. 

(You’d hardly been acquaintances, and there was a long period of time where you’re sure he only tolerated you for Shoko’s sake since she’s the one who dragged you into their group of friends. You’re always the last one he acknowledges in the room, and he seems to clam up when you’re alone together.

You refused to let it get to you. Especially when you only see him a handful of times every other month or so, although less now that you’re around, and you pretend it doesn’t eat at you.)

It’s still a mystery why you called him out of everyone you know—you had to scroll through an endless amount of contacts just to find a message you sent him months ago that he left on read with the express purpose of annoying you—and even more surprising that he answered.

You didn’t know him as well as Shoko, but maybe a secret hidden part of you knew he’d help if you were in a pinch.

“Hello?” 

(He might be the most infuriating human you know, but he has a voice like rich bourbon. 

He’s also stupidly attractive. Beautiful, even, with his straight nose, soft-looking mouth, and thick hair that adorably curls around his ears. However, you’d never say that to his face, for his head would get too big.)

“Do you think you could give me a ride?” It was almost a miracle that your words didn’t slur.

You half expected him to hang up, but then he asked for the address, and several minutes later, he pulled up to the curb in his shiny sports car that probably cost more than everything you own combined and watched you stumble into the soft-leather passenger seat. 

It should be embarrassing how long it took you to buckle your seatbelt, but then you finally got a good look at him and took note of his expensive-looking suit: his tie slightly undone, shiny watch and cuff links glinting under the passing street lights, how his hair looked like he ran one of his bear paws for hands through it several times. 

You think it was the first time you realized he was as tall as he was wide.

The quintessential businessman in a three-piece suit. You understand the appeal now. 

(That je ne sais quoi that makes you want something out of reach. Why your friends from college ask if he’s single when all you see is a man who never takes anything seriously.)

He’d asked why your coworkers weren’t waiting outside with you—it's not safe here—at the same time you asked for a kiss. It just sort of slipped out.

Gojo gave you a look that would have made you giggle if you weren’t serious. “What?”

“I want a kiss,” you told him again.

It was the little once-over he gave you afterward, the way he missed the exit to your street and took the one that led to his, how he kissed you until your knees were wobbly and weak, and you could barely walk to his door in your heels as he pressed small ones around your mouth while his fingers sunk into your hair.

(That. That—)

You came against his thigh—staining his Burberry suit while he whispered dirty things into your ear—right there in the hallway where anybody could see if he didn’t have the whole floor to himself.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned into your mouth once he had you in his room, his hands trailing up and down your sides until he found the zipper for your dress and tugged. "I can't believe this is really happening."

(Later, you spend a lot of time analyzing what he meant.)

You urged him toward the bed when he had the black slip of fabric pooling at your feet, dropping down to your knees in front of him, and together, you scrabbled at his pants, shoving them around his hips. You’ll never forget how hot and heavy he was in your hand that first time, how your fingers barely touched and looked so small in comparison.

There was a thick vein along the underside of his cock, and you trailed it with your tongue, going up and up until you took the slightly purpling head into your open mouth.

You kept taking more of him until you couldn’t go any further without gagging, which wasn’t far because he was big—possibly the biggest dick you’ve ever seen outside of porn—and it made you a little dizzy how quickly it robbed you of air. 

“Holy shit.” He stroked your hair so softly, so sweetly, groaned things that made you preen and nuzzle into his touch. “You’re so good at this. You gonna let me cum down that throat?”

That made your belly flip—the fact that Gojo Satoru, of all people, called you good—a stone creating a current of new possibilities.

You hummed a muffled “Uh huh” and squeaked when he held your head down—the coarse hair at his pubic bone brushing against your nose—cumming down your throat in hot, heavy spurts, and you’re surprised you swallowed it all because it was a lot.

He fell back against the mattress, freeing you of his grip, arms spread wide and panting as he lay there with his eyes closed.

“Was it good?” you asked, licking away the small amount of cum that escaped the corner of your mouth.

That got him to pop his head up to look at you, a hint of something too soft on his face than you were used to from him. “Come here,” and he let you crawl into his lap.

A sigh escaped his lips as his hands hovered close to the side of your waist before letting them fall back against the mattress. “You’re trouble, you know that?” he mumbled after kissing your forehead.

(That’s how you think it started.)

~~~~~

Everything’s fine.

Perfectly fine before Gojo sits by you, casually planting himself between you and the newest member of your group of friends, Nanami. You roll your eyes at how childish he’s being, refusing to react to his blatant jealousy.

Then he inconspicuously rests his hand on your knee. You jump at first, and the few people sitting at the table with you glance at you curiously, including Gojo, who gives you a mischievous little smirk that can only mean trouble. 

Again, you roll your eyes and choose to ignore whatever is going on in that lizard brain of his.

That doesn’t last long because he’s leaning across you to grab a handful of pretzels, only to lean in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he sinks back into his seat.

“You look so fucking good in this dress right now.” His voice already sounds hoarse, stretched thin—raw with want—and you inconspicuously rub your thighs together under the table. “Are you wearing what I bought you underneath? You’d show me, yeah?”

(Because he buys you things now—perfectly normal for someone you’re sleeping with who’s not your boyfriend, but maybe your friend—and sometimes you playfully call him Daddy when he has your wrists tied above your head with one of his silky ties.

And who cares if a few of your things and a toothbrush have found their way into his place? He lives closer to your job. Nobody can blame you for choosing convenience over a forty-minute ride through the subway.

Normal.)

Distantly, you’re aware that you aren’t alone, and there are several ears within earshot distance, but that doesn’t stop the little gasp that escapes past your lips. 

“Satoru, knock it off.” You glance around the table to make sure no one is paying attention, your tensed shoulders relaxing a little when you find everyone too preoccupied with their own conversations.

Gojo already has acknowledged this, too. 

“I bet you still taste just as sweet as you did this morning. You have no idea how much I want you. It’s making me hard just thinking about it.” At that, you peek down at his lap to find the prominent bulge pressing against his khaki pants. 

“Oh?” voice soft when you finally tear your eyes away from his crotch to meet his heated gaze again.

“Mhm.” 

Oh. 

You can tell that he sees your walls cracking, that it would only take a few sweet words before you finally caved: “You’d let me have another taste, wouldn’t you?”

Your breath hitches because, yes, you would. 

That’s how you find yourself with your thighs parted and one of your legs draped over his.

You bite your lip, trying to hold back the moan threatening to escape while the rough pad of his middle finger presses small circles over the top of your panties. His fingers tease, exploring the slick seam of you and retreating when you start arching your hips up into his touch.

It feels like you can’t breathe—or perhaps you’re too fearful to find out what other noises you’d make if you did—practically choking on the torturous (because that’s what this is) pleasure you’re receiving, and you’re ready to beg. You really are. However, you aren’t prepared to face the mortifying consequences if you happen to open your mouth.

Something that sounds a lot like, please, just waiting on the tip of your tongue.

It feels like every pair of eyes at that small table are on you, but they’re none the wiser to what is currently happening beneath the party-themed tablecloth, still laughing and mingling around the yard as they celebrate Geto’s birthday. 

It’s not as if it’s all that obvious, either. 

Gojo is turned away from you, currently in the middle of a discussion with the birthday boy himself. You have no clue what they were talking about because you’d stopped paying attention a while ago—not that you’d be able to listen if you wanted to with Gojo’s fingers turning every spun cotton candy thought back into melted sugar. 

He traces lightly over the covered seam of your lips before finally slipping under the silky material—his skilled fingers working slippery circles at the apex of your thighs—and the subtle relief forces you to swallow another moan. 

“Satoru,” you warn under your breath, grabbing his wrist to stop his movements. But the feel of him patting your sticky, sensitive clit with three fingers cuts off all of your protests, forcing you to sit there and let him play with you.

Heat crawls up your neck as he explores your slick folds, the loud music, and chatter, thankfully hiding the wet sounds produced between your legs. 

He does offer some mercy when he notices the slight quiver in your thighs, how they jump and jump until he stops teasing to press to fingers inside you and grind the heel of his palm into your clit. Your hips start rocking forward against his hand slightly, and you pray nobody notices because the heat spreading through your belly is almost too consuming to stop now, making you dizzy with it. 

Your abs hurt from how hard they clench, and your legs shake, culminating in a slow drop just before you resurface. Gojo can probably feel it—attuned to your body after all these months—and starts moving in a steady rhythm, and—

The breath you’re about to take gets caught in your throat, fingers gripping Gojo’s wrist and the ledge of the table as you tip over the edge. Your legs tremble while you convulse onto his hand, and you have to lean into him to keep from falling out of your chair. 

His fingers bring you back down, slowly, rubbing soothingly against your inner thigh as the fog gradually dissipates from your brain. And what you’d give to hear him call you his good girl at that moment—

“Hey, are you okay?” Shoko asks you from across the table. “You don’t look so good.”

All eyes turn towards you, including the smug little gleam in Gojo’s. 

“Yeah,” you squeak before standing up hastily. You pull Gojo up with you, not caring that it’s the same hand covered in your sticky-wet slick. “I just remembered that I need Sa—Gojo’s help with something.”

Only a few are dumb enough to believe that lie, and you avoid the smirk Shoko gives you as she watches you practically drag Gojo toward the house.

(Because, of course, she knows.

And perhaps she’s not the only one.)

~~~~~

The tipping point in your relationship—the one that turns it from a maybe into a definite something, and not just two people who have been having sex and somewhat living together for six months—happens on a night Gojo comes home late from work. 

(Exactly five minutes to eleven.)

You’re not usually the jealous type, but you’ll admit that dating someone like Gojo—rich, attractive, owns more Tom Ford suits than you have jeans, and just important enough that he has an assistant who runs said suits to the dry cleaners—can stir up some insecurities.

A more reasonable person would lay out the facts like a deck of cards: you know he’s someone’s boss’s boss, so he likely had to stay behind to fix someone else’s mess, but the proverbial chip onto the poker table comes with his new assistant. 

Hinata.

A girl who’s fresh out of college and around him more hours of the day than you see him during the week, and from the few times you stopped by his office, you can tell she has a thing for him—her lack of subtlety could compete with Gojo’s nonexistent observation skills.

Much later, after you’ve slept on the softest sheets you’ve ever laid on, you’ll admit you overreacted. How you shouldn’t have thrown blankets and pillows at him from his bed for him to sleep on the couch with as soon as he walked through the front door—not to mention how you never give him a chance to explain himself and keep huffing whenever he opened his mouth.

After the second pillow (almost comically, if you weren’t so upset) hits him square in the face, he drops the blankets to grab your wrists.

“Would you stop throwing blankets at me and tell me what’s wrong?”

"Like you don't know," you hiss unhelpfully just to be difficult.

"I wouldn't be asking if I did." This time, his voice is softer when he says, "Talk to me."

"It’s your assistant."

He frowns. “My assistant…?”

“Yes, your assistant,” you huff, making an unsuccessful attempt to yank your wrists free. “She obviously has a thing for you, but you’re too thick to notice. You forgot your phone, and she answered and said you were busy...”

He probably sees the vulnerability on your face. Hears what you’re not telling him because he presses a kiss to your forehead—I’m not seeing anyone other than you—another to your mouth before he’s showing you with your thighs pressed to your chest that every piece of him (even the parts he doesn’t show to anyone else) is yours.

“You want me to send this video to her to let her know you’re the only girl I want to fuck?” he grunts, making sure his phone captures the way his cock pushes in and out of you, hissing dirtier things that only you hear—the tightest pussy he’s ever had. “Would you like that?”

“Y-yes,” you whine, fingernails digging into his hand wrapped around your throat. “Please, Toru. I want it.” 

“So fucking dirty,” he growls, even though he’d do it for you anyway.

He stuffs his cock into you over and over again until you’re a twitching mess underneath him, the walls of your cunt clenching down around him as you cum with a squeak.

“There you go,” he groans into your ear, tossing his phone to the side to pin you against the mattress so he can reach that tender spot deep inside you that made you cum so hard once your foot cramped, his teeth sinking into your shoulder. “Is that what you needed? To make you cum because you’re mine? Fuck, baby—I’ll never get tired of this perfect little cunt.”

“Better not,” you whimper, eyelashes wet, squirming beneath him as he fucks you hard into the soft sheets.

“Never, sweetheart, never.” Gojo’s thrusts turn rough and brutal, almost working you into overstimulation just to prove a point. "You're my girl. The only one for me."

It's not quite an 'I love you,' but it's close.

Afterward, he pulls you between the sheets, holds you close with a hand cupping the back of your head, and asks you to stay.

“For good this time. No more leaving in the morning,” he whispers, lips grazing your cheek. “You like the walk-in closet and the clawfoot tub. We have enough room to turn the spare bedroom into an office for you because you like how sunny it gets in there during the day.”

It’s not a question, but you still say ‘I do’ because you really like how the word we sounds coming from him.

“Then…stay.”

…You say yes because it’s not as if you want to be anywhere else.

[boltonbritreads]

🗣️Eddie Munson Fic Recs

This is gonna have a sappy start before I get into the fic rec portion: but I just wanted to say that at the end of May 2022, I was finishing up my first year of law school. It was rough, challenging, lonely, and basically everything you’d expect and I was in a bad place and the fandom I’d been in was slowing down just naturally. I truly wish I could remember how I even became aware of Eddie Munson because stranger things wasn’t really on my radar anymore and whoever I followed at the time that started to veer off into Eddie-mania, thank you. In the two years since then, I’ve graduated and become the worlds babiest lawyer and I genuinely owe a lot to this fandom and community on here for giving me a fun, usually safe, creative place to escape to when it got rough.

I’m just hoping to maybe remind people that there are already an incredible, incredible amount of existing stories to read and talk about that deserve your attention and love if you’re looking to read some Eddie stories. Some of these will be fics I’ve recommended before but I’m going to try my best to pull together writers and fics that I love and think everyone should read in the hopes that someone like me who still scrolls through eddie tags looking for my nightly bedtime story can find something new to them to read! ✨

Previous Fic Rec list here!! some overlap but there’s no such thing as too much hype for these writers

@munson-blurbs I hope it’s ok but I’m linking Bug’s full masterlist here because I have genuinely loved everything she has written. There are blurbs, series, and special events which are all incredible and worth a read! Bug is currently still writing the “Living after Midnight” series which is my current obsession and features rockstar!eddie x motelheiress!reader and it’s angst and lust galore

@corroded-hellfire also sharing the Eddie Masterlist here because there’s so many fics to read!! As You Wish, Big Brown Eyes, Where the Heart Is are all incredible but truly there’s so much here to enjoy

@upsidedownwithsteve SIMMER!! jk I’m actually linking the Eddie Masterlist here too because I love them all but “I Want You To Want Me” and “Simmer” are out of this world

@pinkrelish The Yes Policy I love it, you love it, we all love it and if you haven’t caught up yet oh my god I wish I was you and could read these chapters for the first time again

@ghost-proofbaby I’ve previously told people to go read 24 Hours, and you should, that’s an order; but Maroon is ongoing! and it’s actually infiltrating my every thought so go on over and get caught up bc I think it’s safe to say things are getting amped up

@trashmouth-richie I have also previously recommended Honey, I’m Home because it’s a work of art but Ziggy has a new mini series “Crash + Fall” that I’m completely obsessed with the concept for and I’ve loved every piece so far!

@tiannasfanfic I just reblogged Conviction again but I genuinely am not exaggerating when I say I think about this story and these two monthly and try and find this story all the time to re-read it endlessly. It’s a really lovely story of unplanned pregnancy and two characters not realizing they’ve been smitten for each other the whole time and I love it

@carolmunson I’m sharing another Eddie Masterlist here because I’d be making this post far too long but Carol’s stories are all incredible, complex, and honest. “Let’s go, don’t wait” just got updated and I had to read it like 3 times last night because it was too good to just read one and done

@rebelfell I just discovered Sarah’s blog after reading the most recent “Frenemy” fic and idk what I was doing wrong to not already follow her and not have already read her whole Masterlist but I’m linking the whole thing bc she’s so good!!

@the-au-thor I also only just discovered Elle’s blog and that’s criminal but thank god I found Babysitting Mun because I am a sucker for rockstar!eddie and this series has me on the edge of my seat rn

@storiesbyrhi I’m sharing the Masterlist folks because I have genuinely loved every single story and series and I have read them all now (some several times). So many of Rhi’s stories have a wonderful warm witchy vibe that I crave and I’ve read Siouxsie and the Soulmates, The Cabin in the Woods, Our Patron Saint of the Arts, Vintage Reeboks, and Burning Yarrow (insert screaming fan gif) multiple times now

@heart-eyed-love this fic is the epitome of a soft, cozy, domestic night with Eddie and if you need a hug read this 🥹

@eddieandbird I JUST got caught up on Eddie/Tour Manager series and I’m fully obsessed and desperate to know how they’re gonna navigate this - for folks new to the story, Eddie and his tour manager accidentally drunkenly get married- what could go wrong??

@eiightysixbaby the scream I scrumped when I finished reading Princess Leia, and Other Wishes - look bffs to lovers is already my absolute weakness on this earth but then you had to make it witty and funny and FLUFFY I just can do nothing but re-read and pine

@superblysubpar I’m still obsessed with this addition to The Boy is Mine writing challenge and oh god it’s so good 😩

…and while we’re talking about it - here’s the entire The Boy is Mine masterlist with an INSANE amount of incredible stories to read

@the-unforgivenn !!! tumblr hates me and deleted this bullet (so if you already saw this post, no you didn’t) but And I Need You to Know is a proper novel! I can’t imagine how much time, love, effort, planning, and work went into creating this insane and absolutely incredible world but everyone needs to read this!! and then follow up with She’s So Cold bc I love it and I am so reader

~~ this is not the end nor an exhaustive list! I just wanted to put something out there now that I plan to build on because I know I’m always scrolling and searching for new things to read or old things to revisit ♥️ ~~

[starryeyedjanai]

bad boys do it better

rated: teen | @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt: modern au tags: dating apps, innuendo, bad flirting read on ao3

✿

Eddie finally opens Tinder after downloading it in a fit of desperation.

He's tried everything but these stupid apps—bars and clubs and pottery classes and rock climbing—trying to find someone he can connect with.

But he's mostly found guys that string him along with whispered sweet nothings and half-promises they don't intend to follow through on.

So he makes his profile and then promptly fumbles and drops his phone because— no fucking way.

There's no way this is real life.

There's no fucking way the first guy to pop up is Steve fucking Harrington, his unfortunate and longest lasting crush in high school.

He picks up his phone and sees Steve's face staring back at him, unassuming, a bright, cheery smile on his face.

Steve, 28 2 miles away "Hope you like bad boys because I have it on dvd and vhs" Interests: baseball, basketball, live music, movies

He taps to get to the next photo and lets out a shaky breath—the shorts of what can only be his Halloween costume are so short, exposing hairy thighs that Eddie wants to sink his teeth into.

The next photo is a snapchat picture of him grinning wide, cradling what might be the world's ugliest dog, the text across the screen reading my nephew is so handsome 🤩🤩🤩.

The last is an obligatory shirtless mirror pic, not showing off washboard abs, but the soft, toned skin of his stomach.

He closes the app, sets his phone down, and breathes through his nose.

This can't be real, right? In what world would Steve be the first person in a sea of profiles in San Francisco of all places?

Eddie expected him to chase after Nancy Wheeler when she went to Boston, but he didn't stick around long enough in Hawkins to find out if they ever rekindled their will-they-won't-they relationship.

Maybe he's just visiting. Maybe he found his match and just forgot to delete Tinder. Because there's just no way Eddie has this kind of luck.

He opens up Instagram and searches for Steve and finds him right away because they're probably still Facebook friends.

He scrolls through his profile and deflates a little, because all of the pictures on Tinder are from his Instagram. Which means it's probably much more likely that someone is catfishing using Steve's pictures.

Because the Steve from high school wasn't into men. And he's hot enough for someone to use his pictures to scam people or whatever.

He opens up Tinder again and his thumb is swiping right before he thinks about what he's doing.

It's a match!

Okay, now he knows it's a catfish. Or maybe it's a bot.

There's no world in which Steve Harrington would swipe right on him in the twenty minutes it's been since he created his account.

He types a message to "Steve" saying so are you a bot or just a catfish?

He doesn't get a response right away, so he clicks out of the messages, looking at profiles of what are hopefully actual people he can connect with.

His phone buzzes when the message from Steve comes in.

Hi3 Eddiems, cl!ck th3 linkin my proffile to . achat I am waitin9

He rolls his eyes and goes back to perusing profiles. It's not like he thought it was really Ste-

His phone pings with another message and he clicks back into the chat immediately.

That was a joke. There's not even a link in my profile

Eddie's heart beats a little faster, his fingers typing out a response.

So a catfish then?

Why do you think I'm a catfish?????

Because I know the guy in those pictures and there's no way hes into men. That guy was a jock extraordinaire in high school and very straight

You're awfully judgey for someone who was so anti-conformity in high school. Whos to say I haven't changed?

Or like, learned new things about myself?

Eddie's breath stutters in his throat.

Also you didn't really know me since we never talked.

Okay, I mean. It's pretty easy to guess that I was counterculture in high school by looking at me. So I'm still on the fence about the catfish thing

How about we meet up then? So you can see me in all my nearing-30 glory

And watch bad boys on dvd and vhs with you?

Dude, I am not inviting you to my house on the first date

That's a third date kind of thing

Oh yeah? Is it a back-to-back feature? We start with the vhs then move to dvd?

He can't believe he's entertaining this. A catfish wouldn't offer to meet up unless they thought Eddie wouldn't call their bluff. He kind of wants to see where this is going.

No see, we start with the dvd playing in the living room and then when we inevitably start being bad boys🥵 in the middle of the movie, we can pick it back up on vhs in my room later

To be clear, we stop the movie, right? I'm not sure bad boys has a soundtrack meant for the kind of activities we'd be doing

Oh for sure. I'd even put on my "let's get it on" playlist. As a treat.

Eddie can't help but grin. Even if this guy is a catfish, this is maybe the most fun he's had talking to someone in a long time.

Are you serious about meeting up?

Uh yeah, I can't have you thinking I'm a catfish forever

What's your favorite brewery?

Cellarmaker

Wanna do tomorrow afternoon at like 2 when it's not busy?

That sounds perfect

He isn't sure if it's really Steve or if he's going to be met with someone else or stood up, but at least he'll get to drown his sorrows if it doesn't work out.

Well—he's unsure until he gets the 'stharrington started following you' notification on Instagram a few minutes later.

He screams into his pillow so loud his neighbor thumps on the wall.

[sluttysnowangel666]

The Wolf & The Wildling

Part 2 to The Woman Beyond the Wall, last part.

masterlist

Summary: One year after Cregan’s near death experience with the wildling woman he met, he returns beyond the wall to find and recruit her in hopes of fighting alongside him for Rhaenyra Targaryen at the start of the Dance of Dragons.

cw; smut af come on you know me, really rough cregan, overstimulation, bit of angst but a happy ending :3, talks of SA, childbirth, no use of Y/N but an x reader,

stop not me getting emotional at my own story bc i imagined the end of scott street by PB playing at the ending😭am i a cornball?? anyways, thank you to the anons in my asks for the inspo, i wasn’t even really sure how to continue this story, although i knew i wanted more for cregan and his wildling, you guys gave me the inspiration i needed to give them their ending! tag list: @rebeccawinters

Every day Cregan hadn’t gone back out there felt like another day wasted.

He struggled to do his duties, struggled to sleep, fight, listen, do anything that required attention from him.

And yet despite their rather harsh separation, Cregan still thought of her with every free moment he had. It didn’t help many lords were also insisting the Warden of the North marry a noble daughter. He knew he had to do his duty, but couldn’t find the strength to do it.

It had been so long since he’d seen her that he’d begun to forget his favorite parts about her. It felt as if her strange laugh no longer echoed in his mind, as if he could no longer envision her scarred yet still smoothed skin.

He had the dagger with him always. It was like keeping a piece of her with him. He remembered the pain so vividly, could still feel the throb in his shoulder if he thought about it too hard.

Yet, the ache was nothing compared to the painful thought that always seemed to stay in his mind.

Would he ever see her again?

He couldn’t help but wonder if the Gods had greater plans for them. He prayed that they did.

“My Lord.” A voice interrupted Cregan from his thoughts. He stood, turning to face the person. “A raven has arrived from Dragonstone.”

Cregan took the scroll from the maester, quickly opening it to reveal its contents. It was a letter from Rhaenyra Targaryen. She was sending her son in hopes of gaining the support of the North, and requested Cregan have an audience with her heir, Jacaerys.

He would have to return to the Wall.

He hadn’t returned, much to the dismay of the Nights Watch, since he had nearly died from his wildling’s arrows. Even the thought of going near the Wall made his heart skip a beat. She would be so close, yet so far. He knew he could no longer avoid the wall. His duty to the men there was dire, and he had let his own fears get in the way of that.

As for his lover, he wasn’t even sure she still wanted him. As far as he knew, she hated him; she wanted to put an arrow through his eye, his dagger through his chest. But that didn’t stop him from wanting to see her again. No lady had ever compared to her. He had found his other half, and now felt empty without her.

If he did find her, what would he even do? They were bonded by love, yet separated by more than a Wall.

The separation would soon not matter anymore.

Winter is coming.

———

A fortnight later

Castle Black

Cregan had welcomed the prince to Winterfell, then accompanied him to the Wall.

The young men walked, discussing terms of Cregan’s service.

“In winter, my duty to the Wall is even more dire than the one I owe to King’s Landing. I need my men here.” Cregan says to his prince.

“Whilst your men guard against wildlings and weather,” Cregan twitched at the word wildling. “the Hightowers plan to usurp the throne. If my mother is to defend her claim to hold the realm united, she needs an army. War is coming, to the whole of the realm my lord. We cannot wage it without the support of the North.”

Jacaerys trails off, standing against the guard that overlooked the entire outside of the Wall.

“My father brought King Jahaerys and Queen Alyssane to see the wall. His Grace stood at this very outlook and watched as their dragons, the greatest power in the world, refused to cross… Do you think my ancestors built a 700 foot wall of ice to keep out snow and savages?”

“What does it keep out?” Jacaerys asks.

Cregan finally looks beyond the Wall for the first time in a year, his mind thinking of her for a brief moment, and then the darkness that lies beyond it. “Death.”

“I have thousands of graybeards who have already seen too many winters. They are… wellhoned. I can ready them to march at once.”

“If your graybeards can fight, the queen will have them.”

“They’ll fight hard.” Cregan says, his mind once again thinking of his love as he says his next words. “Like Northerners.”

Jacaerys senses something; more words that the Warden of the North wished to speak.

“Is there something else you can offer us, My Lord?” Jacaerys asks.

Cregan hesitates. “There is a woman…” He looks. beyond the wall again. “She is fierce, deadly with a bow. If I can find her… I can ask her to lead the graybeards into war.”

“Should she accept, my mother will be more than pleased to have her.” Jacaerys asks.

“My Lord!” Cregan turns, “A raven has arrived… Urgent news from Dragstone.”

Cregan looks at the man holding the scroll, who holds a sight of worry on his face. Cregan quickly opens the scroll, reading its contents.

Cregan looks at the prince, and Jacaerys tries reading the man’s stoic features.

All Cregan can do is hand Jacaerys the scroll, and let him read for himself.

———

Another fortnight passed following the news of the death of Prince Lucerys Velaryon. Jacaerys had left the Wall at once to return to Dragonstone, whilst Cregan began to prepare his graybeards to march.

“My Lord, why must you go back beyond the Wall? The graybeards do not need a leader. I do not think it wise to let them be lead by a woman beyond the Wall, let alone the one who killed the Lord Commander of the Nights Watch.” His maester tells him, worried of how the people of Winterfell and the men on the Wall will react.

“They will not know she’s a wildling. Tis’ not important information. All they need to know is she will lead them well into battle. I trust you’ll keep this information I’ve shared with you private, Maester Windell.”

“Of course, My Lord. You can count on my discretion, always, but I fear wonder if this journey is for more than a leader.”

Cregan stops his packing, not wanting to share more information than he already has with his maester. “No, maester. I only am going to help the Queen. I will be back shortly, with or without the wildling. Winter is coming, and I will not get lost beyond the Wall.”

The maester didn’t argue, so Cregan made his fortnight journey back to the Wall, and then beyond it.

He felt fear when his horse took its first steps onto the icy tundra outside the Wall’s gate. He feared he would not find her, feared she may have died, feared she would kill him before he got to kiss her one last time.

The late summer snow was not too harsh yet, but Cregan knew he did not have long to find her before Winter came.

He searched for days for her.

He returned to the spot where he first set up camp, finding the bark where he had carved a dire wolf had been completely torn and shredded by a knife.

When he returned to the cave it was dark, and no trace of her had been left behind. It made it feel like the moments they shared in there never happened.

He felt lost. He set up his camp in the cave, but she had not snuck to it during the night like last time. If she had, she truly left no trace. But, he knew he hadn’t felt her yet. She wasn’t there.

2 weeks into the journey, he had dreamt of her.

He dreamt he was a wolf, hunting, when he finally saw her.

She was sleeping, ever so soundly, beneath a bright red weirwood. He growled at her, and she awoke quickly, immediately grabbing and aiming her bow at him.

She gasped quickly, catching her breath as adrenaline coursed through her veins.

She released the arrow into his eye, and he awoke.

He was sweating despite the cold, and the burning feeling in his eye was lingering.

He rubbed it softly, but then directed his attention back to her in the dream. It was really her. She looked different. She looked stronger somehow, and her hair had grown greatly. She had it in a long, thick braid. There were bags under her eyes, like she had been exhausted from something.

He stood and exited the cave. The sun was slowly rising, but there was a blue hue that made the snow on the ground glisten. He closed his eyes, stretched, and yawned when he heard a sound.

It was a familiar sound… the sound of a bow string being pulled tightly.

He lowered his arms from his stretch, and opened his eyes.

There she was.

There she was.

She knelt on one knee, aiming her arrow at his eye. Her eyes burnt with a fire that he’d never seen, her breathing was quick and angry, her lips turned in a sad scowl, she was fueled with adrenaline.

He smiled, laughing softly. He couldn’t believe she was here. She pulled the string tighter at his sweet smile, her heart breaking at seeing him truly here.

He took a hesitant step towards her, but stopped.

A soft whining sound came from her back.

His smile faded.

She lowered her bow slowly, eventually dropping it completely. She had a fabric diagonal across her body. She moved it underneath her arm, and then twisted it around her body.

Her hands gently found and cradled the babe.

Cregan gasped. He couldn’t believe it.

She softly hushed the babe, tracing her fingers over its face. She whispered soft, comforting words to it. The babe made gentle little noises.

“Is that…” His voice was barely above a whisper. She looked at him solemnly. His hand covered his mouth.

“This is your son, Cregan.” She finally spoke. Her voice was smooth and melodic, different from how he heard her last time. He stepped towards her, falling to his knees. His whole body was shaking, and not from the cold.

“Does he have a name?” He asks, holding his arms out, hoping she’d trust him enough to hold his son.

She nervously hands him his child, fearful he might take her little babe, her only piece of Cregan, and never return again.

“No.” She says. “I only birthed him a moon ago.”

Cregan can’t hold it in anymore, and begins sobbing. All of his emotions pent up from the last year pour out. He holds the babe close to his chest, sobbing relentlessly.

He’d missed her so greatly this past year and now seeing her here, alone with this little babe, he’d realized how badly he erred. He wasn’t there to comfort her, hold her, help her. She had suffered it all alone.

“I’m so sorry.” He sobs.

She stares at him, her face unwavering. She was so angry. She wanted to kill him so bad, to take back her babe and cut his throat.

But, she couldn’t.

He’d broken her heart in such an unimaginable way. She’d cried over him for weeks, and when her blood hadn’t came she knew the worst had happened. But now he was here, holding their babe and sobbing like a child. She didn’t even know Cregan was capable of such emotions. She didn’t truly know him, and he didn’t truly know her.

Her hand found its way to his broad shoulder to try to comfort him. Her other hand moved to cradle his cheek. He rested his face into her hand, spilling wet tears on her.

“Oh, Cregan.” She whispered, wiping the never ending tears from his cheek. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to his, hushing him like she did their babe. She wrapped her other arm around him, bringing her warm body against his while still being careful of their infant.

“I’m so sorry.” He repeats. “I should not have left you. I should have killed those men and brought you home-“

“Sh, sh, Cregan.” She whispers again. “I’m yours, as you are mine.”

Her words send him back into tears. She presses soft kisses to the tears on his cheek, weaving her fingers in his curls that she desperately missed.

“Where have you been?” He asks, minutes after calming down. “I’ve searched these whole damn woods for you.”

She smiles softly, “You think I don’t know that?” He smiles. “Why did you come back here, Cregan?”

He looks down at their sleeping babe, then back at her. “I’ve wanted to come back every day since I have been apart from you… But, I couldn’t find the strength. I regret it more than anything. I regret leaving you, I regret not coming sooner, I-“

She cuts him off, placing her warm lips onto his. Not breaking the kiss, her hands take the babe from him, setting him aside next to them.

“What are you-“

She slaps him across the face, with such a strong hand that he can’t help but stop and look back at her in total shock. She pulls his lips back into her, confusing him with her back and forth attitude. “If you ever leave me again, I really will put an arrow through your eye.”

He smirks, pulling her back into him with his strength. “Now we’re even.” She whispers.

“We were even when you nearly killed me last year.” He says, she growls at him, but they continue kissing. “I wear these scars with honor.”

She tears into his soft clothes, “Take him inside, and then come back out here and make me yours again.”

He pulls away with haste, grabbing his babe gently and walking back into the cave. She follows, right on his heels. He finds a safe spot for their babe, setting the sleeping child down.

He turns, grabbing her by the neck and kissing her, pushing her backwards out to the cold.

“Be gentle with me.” She whispers into his lips.

“No.” Cregan says, ripping off her furs and throwing them on the ground. She smirks, not wanting him to anyway.

He grabs her by her hair and she shrieks. He pushes her down to her knees, and she sits in the cold snow once again. He unlaces his breeches, and she quickly tugs them down with his soft clothes.

She presses her cold fingers onto his pelvis, and she places gentle kisses along his length. She looks up at him with her big, doe eyes. He pulls her head back by her hair again and she gasps. He pushes himself into her mouth, immediately groaning at her warm tongue. She moans around him, placing her hand at what she can’t fit in her mouth. He grabs both sides of her face, thrusting his hips into her mouth, not realizing his roughness. He had missed her so much, and he was so lost in the pleasure of her mouth.

She gagged repeatedly, her eyes flowing with tears. Her free hand rested on his toned stomach for balance, and she scratched her nails into him from time to time.

He pulled her head back with a pop of her lips, and looked down at the little mess before him. Her cheeks were stained with tears, drool spilling from her lips, her thighs rubbing together to relieve the tension between her legs.

He pushed her back into the snow and got on his knees, placing himself between her legs. He wrapped his hand around her throat again, rubbing his fingers at the wetness between her legs.

“You’ve missed me?” He asks.

“I’ve missed that cock.” She teases.

“Don’t worry. There won’t be much to miss soon.” He presses a harsh kiss to her lips, sliding himself into her. She gasps into his lips, trying to pull away to cry out, but he refuses to let her go. He pulls one of her legs to his chest to give him a deeper angle and she whines into his lips. He starts thrusting, fast and harsh, into her healing cunt. His hand moves from her throat to her breast, now round and large with milk than the last time he’d had her.

“Cregan!” She cries out loudly, finally breaking free from his lips. She throws her head back into ecstasy, her hair becoming wet from the snow. Cregan moans loudly, his thrusts sloppy and quick.

“I’m putting another babe in you.” He moans, forgetting why he was there to retrieve her in the first place.

“I’ll fucking kill you.” She says, slapping him across the face. He looks at her angrily, a wolf awakening inside him. He grabs her face, his fingers digging into her cheeks as he fucks her harshly and angrily.

“I’m gonna cum.” She whines, squeezing her eyes shut tight.

“Don’t.” He says. She gasps, begging and pleading for her release. He slows his thrust, leaving her in agony. She bucks her hips towards him, but he pushes them down, locking her in place with his strong arm.

“I fucking hate you.” She moans.

“Cum for me then, and we can see if that is how you feel for me after.” His thrusts go back to their fast, sloppy pace, and she moans. Her hands grab his wrist, clawing her nails into his forearm.

She hits her peak and moans his name repeatedly. Her fingers dig into the snow again, the other hand digging into his arm. He growls, not stopping and continuing to thrust.

“Stop it.” She whispers, her body shaking at the sensitivity. Cregan doesn’t listen, only maintaining his harsh pace. He lifts both of her legs to his chest, his length touching her womb. “Please, Cregan, fuck!” She whines, tears spilling from her eyes at the overstimulation.

Her fists hit his chest, and yet he continues. She slaps him across the face, over and over again, and he still continues, his face stoic, desperate for nothing more than to see her writhing beneath him.

She sobs as she cums on him again, slapping and hitting him harshly. Her body is a trembling mess, peaking with pleasure and pain. Finally satisfied, he lets his own peak wash over him, filling her to the brim with his seed again, right against her womb. He rests over her, moaning and biting her neck, despite her nails scratching and drawing blood against his neck.

“Cunt.” She moans into his shoulder, holding him tightly against her shaking body. He pulls out, gently, allowing her to rest before he carries her back into the cave, stepping into the hot spring with her in his arms.

She rests against him, and it’s as if they had never been apart. He looks over at their sleeping babe on the ground, smiling gently. He looks back down at his love, his smile fading.

“There is a war brewing in Westeros.” He finally tells her.

“What for this time?” She asks, drawing little shapes on his chest, not seeming to really care about his answer.

He decides to wait to tell her, instead wanting to enjoy the moment with her.

“I’m sorry for what I said to you… before I left.” He says. She sighs.

“Cregan… Do you wish to know why I killed the Lord Commander?”

He looks down at her, confused. He assumed her only reason was she hated crows. She looks up at him.

“Why?” He asks.

She waits before explaining. “He’d come out there before with some of his men. They often hunted wildlings for fun. They’d tell the men back at the wall it was for a hunting exhibition, but really… They were tired of the women from some place called Mole’s Town.”

Cregan was still confused.

“That was years ago, when I was in a tribe… But, the crows just kept coming back… And our tribe refused to leave, because our ancestors had settled there hundreds of years before.” She pauses, “The Lord Commander always said I was his favorite… I left eventually. Turns out I’m safer alone. That’s when I started killing crows.”

Cregan realized he was gripping her arm too tightly, and loosened his hold. What she said changed everything. Men were coming beyond the Wall to force themselves on wildling women. He wanted to be sick. Cregan’s last words to her before he left… that he would kill her for what she did.

Anger ignited inside him, but there was nothing he could do. The Lord Commander was dead, she got her revenge. But, the thought of that happening to her, the words he spoke before he left her alone. It was too much.

She noticed his tension, and placed her hand on his cheek. “My wolf.” She whispered. He closed his eyes and turned away from her touch.

“I’ve failed you… Again, and again, and again.” He says, tears spilling from his eyes.

She straddles him, forcing him to look at her. “Aye. You have.” He looks at her, not expecting brr bluntness. She wipes his tears. “But you’re still mine, Cregan Stark… and I’m not perfect either.”

He presses a soft kiss to her lips, wrapping his arms around her.

“So, what were you saying about the war?” She asks, resting her head on his shoulder.

“There is a war forming between the dragons. It is growing more and more dire.”

“Dragons?” She asked. “Like in the stories?”

“Aye, my lady. Except these are no stories. The dragons are dancing, and the North must stand ready to fight with the true Queen.”

“Queen?” She asks. “Aren’t you King in the North?”

“No, my love. Starks bent the knee over a century ago.”

She leans back to look at him. “Bend the knee to me.”

“I do every time I stick my cock in you.” She laughs, a sweet and gentle laugh, no longer the chaotic one she used to do.

“You’re different.” He says, a smile on his face.

“I am a mother now. My child has softened my witch heart.” She jests.

Mother. The mother to his child, specifically. He couldn’t ask her to lead the gray beards no longer. She needed to return to Winterfell with him to raise their son. His smile fades and she notices.

“You’re different.” She repeats his words. “Why did you come? Truly?”

“You are a warrior… and the North must stand ready.” He looks at her, his eyes worried.

“You… You want me to fight?” She asks, stepping off him and standing. The water stops at her hips, and he tries hard to keep his attention focused on her face. “Just a moon after I nearly died pushing out your fat little babe?”

“No, no, my lady. I do not want you fighting no longer.” He looks at her, taking her hands in his. “I want you to come home… with me. To Winterfell.”

“My home is the North.” She says, taking her hand away.

“No, no.” He stands, resting his hands on her arms. He looks over at their sleeping son. “He changes everything.”

His son would be considered a bastard, by all traits, but he was his son nonetheless. He would raise him as a Stark… as his heir to Winterfell.

“Home is not a place.” Cregan says. “A home is what you make it… My place may be in Winterfell, but it is not my home if you and my son are not with me.”

She sighs. “I’m no lady, Cregan.”

“I know… and I don’t care.”

“I will not watch you marry a noble while I am your whore that you force to work in your castle and fuck at night.”

“I would never ask that of you.” Cregan says, putting his hand on the back of her neck to pull her closer. “Starks are honorable men. You will be my wife, and my son will be my heir. I will kill any man who ever dares harm you again.”

She stares at him as he continues. “I needed an excuse to come back out here… If I told them I came out here to get you to lead the Northern army, then it raised less suspicion. But, I care no longer. I only care about you.”

“What if I say no? That I won’t join you?” She asks.

“Then I would accept.” He looks at his son. “All I ask is you let me bring him.”

She looks at their son. Cregan continues. “He will never know a cold night, he will learn to fight among men, he’ll have a full belly every time he goes to sleep, he’ll be respected by all those around him… and if you came, so would you.”

She looks back at Cregan. “He will join you.”

Cregan closes his eyes, her hand resting against his cheeks.

“As will I.” He opens them to look at her again.

“Truly?” She nods. He laughs, breathlessly, pulling her in for a deep hug. His fingers weave into her hair, holding her tightly against his chest.

“I will fight for you as well.” He pulled away to look at her.

“No.” He says. “No, I need you with me at Winterfell.”

“Cregan… A queen! You honor me, choosing me to lead your Northern army.”

“I don’t want you to.” He says. “What of our son? You could be gone for years… You could not return.”

She laughs, “My Lord Stark… You’d be a bloody fool to think any man could kill me.”

“This is hardly a war between men, my girl. This is a war between dragons, and none will ever be so bloody.”

“Cregan… I am of the free folk, which means I will always be free. Being free means I have the choice to fight for you… and for a Queen.”

———

Cregan returned to Winterfell a week later, carrying his babe in his arms on his horse, with a wilding woman behind him.

His maester was bewildered at the sight before him. “My Lord… Who is this babe you carry?”

“Maester, this is my son and this woman here is his mother… and my betrothed. She will be leading the graybeards in the war. Call upon wet nurses and maids to help foster our son while she is gone.”

“A-At once, My Lord.” The maester stumbled over his words, giving the wildling one last look before going to do his task.

Later that night, her and Cregan sat in his chambers. His lover couldn’t help but explore and ask questions about everything in the castle.

“What is this?”

“A pen and paper.”

“What does it do?”

“Well, you tell the maester a message and then he writes it down and gives it to a raven to send off.”

“And this?”

“A tub.”

“What does it do?”

“Bathes you.” It went on like this for hours, but he didn’t care. He was glad to share with her his way of life. Her naiveness at noble life was sweet.

When they cuddled up in his furs in their now shared bed, she laughed with giddiness. “Ask them to bring more.”

“My love, you’re under four bear pelts and the hearth is at full flame, you’re going to get hot.”

“Hot?”

“Warm, my girl. Too warm.”

“I don’t care. This is all so exquisite. You should’ve brought me here much sooner, you know.”

Cregan simply smiled, looking down at their son in his arms. “Did you have any names in mind for him?”

She hums, resting on her elbow to face them. “Cregan is quite a handsome name.”

“We can name give him a Stark name if you like mine.”

“Like what?”

“How about… Benjen Stark.”

“Benjen.” She whispered, sitting up and touching her son’s dark locks. “I love it.”

Her and Cregan locked eyes, staring at each other in silence. “You don’t have to go, my love.”

“I do.” She says, cradling Cregan’s cheek.

“I wish to marry you, make you Lady Stark of Winterfell.”

“I will be your… Lady… when I return.” She says, unsure of the proper term to use.

He laughs, “Wife. You will be my wife. I can have the maester teach you to read and write upon your return.”

“Truly?” She asks. “Like stories?”

“Stories, history, anything my betrothed wishes to read she can.”

“Betrothed?”

“It means we’re to be wed, at some point.”

She presses her forehead to Cregan’s. “I can’t believe I am here.”

“Neither can I, my love.”

He presses a gentle kiss to her lips, and they fell asleep like that, Benjen full and warm in his father’s arms.

Cregan and his love were only able to share a few nights together before it was time for her to march with the graybeards.

“You are strong, my lady. Command these men like you did me, and they’ll follow you anywhere.”

Cregan lifted her onto her horse, and she nervously settled into the saddle. He stepped onto his own, Benjen tightly secured to his chest as the babe was to his mother when Cregan stumbled back upon them.

She took her hand in his, and he pressed a gentle kiss to it. “Come back safe to me, my girl.”

She smirked, “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to kill some Southerners.”

“Goodbye, my sweet boy.” She says, touching Benjen’s hair one last time.

“Take care of our son, Cregan.” He nodded, tears welling in his eyes.

“I have a gift for you before you go.”

His master at arms came to him, handing him the freshly made dire wolf crest. He pinned it on her chest, and she looked down, tracing her fingers over the craftsman ship.

“You are a Stark… from this day, until your last day.” He said. She looked at Cregan, pride in her face.

“I’ll make you proud, my Lord Stark.”

He handed her the dagger, the very thing that brought them together. “I know you will.”

With that, she turned and slowly began to leave with her horse.

She turned to look back at them. “By the way, I killed your horse last year.”

Cregan’s smile faded, but then she laughed, and he couldn’t help but laugh too. She turned back around, and he looked down at his son, his beautiful little pup. The babe’s big gray eyes staring back at the ones he inherited from his father.

Cregan rode the opposite direction from her. He turned again to look at her one last time, and she turned to look at him too.

He smiled at her, letting the tears fall. She smiled back. He watched her ride the opposite way, and she watched him as he rode back to Winterfell until they could no longer see each other.

He would miss her greatly, but he knew she would return. This parting would not be forever, for they knew that they were bonded by love, seperated by only distance this time. No wall, no duty, no pain would ever come between them again.

He couldn’t wait for her to get back to them so they could start their life together.

Forever.

[sapphicvqmpires]

❁ཻུ۪۪♡ who are we?

vampire series | shuri udaku | part 2

Pairing - vampire!shuri x black fem!reader

Word Count - 19.4k (listen…either grab your popcorn or keep scrolling lol)

Contains - smut (18+), fingering, cunnilingus, clit play, overstimulation, choking/breathplay, biting, edging, strap-on sex, blood drinking, descriptions of blood, homophobia, angst, fluff, Shuri being a hot vampire asshole

Divider From - @firefly-graphics

Sneak Peak - As the words fell from your lips, a wave of warmth surged through Shuri’s undead heart and she swears she felt it beat for a second. Each word and syllable echoed through her vampire mind, a mind that knew loneliness and despair like no other but in came you, the light at the end of the tunnel and she swears she could die from how much she loved you. "Turn me," you repeated one last time, your voice carrying a soft insistence rather than a question. You caught a fleeting change in the color of Shuri's eyes, though she quickly masked it but you definitely noticed the subtle shift.

Tags - @inmyheadimobsessed @amplifiedmoan @vampzxi @heejayy @shurislover @shurismainbxtch @shuriszn @naomis-daydream @prettymrswright @pocketsizedpanther @gardenof-venus @tiii-iiiiii @ihearttish @playhousedistee @somethingcleaverandwhitty @niyahwrites @tishsrealwife @oceean @sookiesookie @cafehyunji @ventingfanfics @marsology @desswright29 @sweetalittleselfish-honey @kisskourt @dayedreamm @mcqueeferson @dejaonline (comment if you want to be tagged in future fics, 18+ only)

Writers Note: I’m so so sorry, this took so long, but I wanted it to be perfect and I had so many periods of being unmotivated, I didn’t want to force myself to write when I wasn’t feeling it. But thank you so so much to everyone that stuck around and was patient with me, I’m sure all the sneak peeks and shit were frustrating but we’re here! Grab your popcorn and enjoy my loves :) ❁ཻུ۪۪♡

Part 1 - who are you?

November 23rd, 2411, New York (continued…)

❁ཻུ۪۪♡ You were at a genuine loss for words, and it appeared she felt the same way. It had been quite a while since the last time you spoke with her, and even for a vampire, it truly felt like a long time ago. You broke the silence with the first thing that came to mind; the simplest way to ease back into the dialogue and it was a question you truly wanted to know the answer to.

“How…how have you been? Where have you been?” Your voice shook with the vibrations of sheer astonishment, still attempting to comprehend the sight of her gracefully seated before you.

"I've been... well. You know, just wandering the world, experiencing new things. Nothing out of the ordinary I suppose," she responded, and you couldn't ignore the subtle reduction in her once thick accent. It wasn't a dramatic change, probably not noticeable to human ears, but your keen senses detected it. How could you ever forget the voice that once made your own heartbeat falter?

“Your voice…”

She raised an eyebrow. “What about my voice?”

“You sound…different. Your accent…it isn’t as thick as it used to be.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, I just…it just caught me off guard is all.”

"Hmmm," she hummed curiously. "But your voice hasn't changed. You still got that annoying whiny voice," she teased with a smirk, and it was the most familiar you had felt with her so far. That confident grin paired with the sarcastic comment, your undead heart could almost swell at how it made your body react. It reminded you of just how much you truly missed her. You playfully flicked her on the shoulder, and it sparked laughter from both of you. Oh, how you missed her laugh. You missed the way her adorable face would scrunch up, and her perfectly aligned teeth would come into view. It made your stomach flutter, reminiscent of the days when you were human, and you couldn't help but get lost in that familiar feeling that you had almost forgotten.

“Well I’m glad not all of you has changed. You’re still a dumbass,” you reply half-jokingly, making you both laugh once more. Once the laughter subsides, you find yourself aching to know more about her and what she’s been up to.

“So…you’re back in New York, I see,” you comment.

“I could say the same about you, s’thandwa.”

“Yeah well…you know…what better place for a vampire than the city that never sleeps, right?”

Briefly, Shuri falls into silence but you can see it in her eyes, the way they glisten that she feels a moment of intimacy.

“You remember that?”

“Of course I remember that, Shuri. I remember a lot.”

Shuri graces you with a crooked smile, highlighting the glossy sheen that coats the irises of her dark eyes. For an instant, a comforting warmth embraces you, as if this is precisely where you were meant to be at this exact point in time.

“And what about you, y/n? How have you been?”

You stop, your body tensing as you contemplate the myriad of responses you could provide. In all honesty, the years without her have been a collision of tides, a shifting wavelength of emotions and experiences that have caused you to both love and resent Shuri. There are moments when you despise her, yet miss her with every fiber of your being. As she poses the question, a fleeting hint of anger threatens to surface, but you inhale the breath you don't need before proceeding to answer.

“I’ve been…everything, I guess? I’ve felt everything, learned everything, and now I’m just lonely. I’ve been so full and empty at the same time…I don’t know, Shuri. It’s just been—”

But Shuri interrupts with the gentle stroke of her thumb on your cheek. Her tender caress seems to fill the void that has haunted you for nearly two centuries. You can't help but feel a pathetic sense of vulnerability as her small touch impacts you, but you permit yourself to experience it fully. You embrace the warmth she imparts with that simple gesture because, in this world of loneliness, few things compare to the solitude of a vampire. You needed this.

“I know, angel. I know. Open up to me. I’m here.” Her voice drew you in like a siren's song like it did so many years ago, guiding you to the profound depths of your emotions as you shed the first tear you had in years. She gently wiped it away with the pad of her thumb before enveloping you in the warmth of her hold, and you surrendered to her care.

“I’m here, y/n. I’m here.”

April 20th, 2022, New York

It had been approximately two months since Shuri unveiled her true nature, two months since you both professed your love, and two months since you posed the unanswered question that you still desperately held in your heart. You were reluctant to press her on the matter, yet it gnawed at you that she hadn't responded. Of course there would be good reasons as to why she never answered you, but what could that reason be?

You were together, entwined in your bed sheets as the moon light shone through your window, passionately embracing her as she kissed you. The depth of your love for her and her reciprocal feelings made you wish for this moment to quite literally be everlasting. The sensation of having her in your arms was something you could never tire of, so you reveled in what she was offering at that very moment.

“You’ve been kissing me for a long time now,” you say with a smile, lying beneath her as her smile mirrors yours. She plants another kiss on your nose before resting her head on your chest, nestling her soft curls into your skin.

“I just love you,” she replies, and she chuckles under her breath at how your heart skips a beat.

“That’s not fair, Shuri.”

“What’s not fair?”

“You laughing at the way my heart reacts to you…I know you got your incredible senses or whatever but you need to quit making fun of me.”

With a quick and fluid vampiric motion, Shuri changes positions, now leaning against the headboard while you straddle her. It almost takes your breath away, even though you should be accustomed to her rapid movements by now.

“Shuriiii, fuck,” you say, trying to keep calm the dizziness.

“Shutup,” she comments, bringing your lips back to hers. “You’re so beautiful, y/n.”

And you can’t help but scoff a little. “Yeah maybe for now, until I turn old and wrinkly.”

“You humans and age. Being old does not equate to being ugly. Aging is a blessing.”

You let out a pained sigh at her statement, not satisfied with the way she tries to keep you human. “Well that would be easy for you to say. You’re gonna look young and hot forever.”

Shuri raises her eyebrow, one that shows you she has a smart remark to say.

“You think I’m hot?”

“Fuck you!,” you reply, playfully hitting Shuri’s shoulder. “You’re annoying.”

“I wasn’t so annoying when I let you ride me the other night, now was I?”

You felt your cheeks flame up in embarrassment.

“Shuri, oh Shuri! Right there, yes!,” she mocks before she subtly laughs at you. You pick up the pillow beside you and slam it against her.

“Asshole!”

Shuri could not help but laugh at you and as you attempted to hit her once again, her vampire reflexes caught you off guard, halting you before you got to her.

“Show off.”

“Only sometimes.”

Once more, her lips capture you as she draws you closer. This kiss is unhurried and seductive, syncing with the rhythm of your heart as you encircle your arms around her neck, surrendering to the intoxicating sensations she evokes within you.

“You look beautiful by the way…when you work for it.”

“Shuri—”

“Really though. I should make you ride me more often. You’re so sexy like that.”

Her words nearly elicited a moan from you, but you held back, keeping your lips connected to hers as she spoke. You were determined not to give her the full satisfaction.

“You’re a dick.”

“Watch your mouth.”

Slowly, her mouth trailed down to your throat, kissing tenderly against the scar that she left from the first and last time she drank from you.

“This is healing nicely.”

“Yeah…well,” you comment with an attitude you swore was subtle but Shuri knew you better.

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong with what?”

“You, y/n. Are you ok? Did I upset you?”

You said nothing.

“I know you have something to say, princess. Spill it.”

You could feel the nerves kindling within you, unable to escape the realization of how apparent it must be to Shuri that something was tugging at your heart.

“How come you don’t drink my blood anymore when we have sex?” Not exactly what you wanted to ask, but it was a question that was burning at you nonetheless. Shuri sighed, peeling her eyes off of you for a moment before proceeding. “Did I do something wrong? Do I taste weird or something??”

“Don’t do that, y/n. It’s not on you. And trust me…you are the best I’ve ever tasted.”

“Then what is it, Shuri?? I don’t get it.”

“Of course you don’t get it. How could you?”

“Baby…please.”

Shuri took a momentary pause, a brief silence hanging in the air, as if collecting her thoughts or contemplating her next words.

“I do not want to lose control again. I almost…I almost didn’t stop the first time. I don’t want that to happen again.”

“But you did stop, Shuri. You did. You need to cut yourself some slack. You did so good and it felt so good for me and I know it felt good for you too. I want you to drink from me again when we fuck.” You couldn't avoid appearing somewhat needy, maybe even a tad bit whiny, but you were unbothered by that. The desire to experience that closeness with her again was paramount, and you were confident she shared the same longing.

“But what if I—”

“Ssshh, Shuri. You won’t hurt me. I just want us to be able to experience each other to the fullest. You’re a vampire and I love that about you. I want you to know that I’m ok and that I want you to drink from me, especially when we have sex.”

Your words made Shuri ache, her pussy clenched at the way you craved her the way she craved you. “Ok but…if I hurt you—”

“Ah ah! You won’t, baby. I trust you.”

Once again, her gentle lips found yours as she moaned into you right before she abruptly detached from you.

“Ok, now what is it you really want to say to me?,” she questions, her deep understanding of you almost angers you, especially when you wish to simply just run away from certain situations.

“What?”

“Do not play stupid with me, s’thandwa. You cannot run away from me. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Shuri…please.”

“Uh uh. Speak.”

You sat there on her lap, admiring her beautiful features, the stern yet soft look she gave you now made your stomach churn, wanting to run away from your burning desire but the more you choked it down, the more it became harder to breathe.

“I…why did you never answer me when I asked you to turn me?”

The softness in her face diminished to something harsher, her features melting into seriousness and it frightened you a bit.

“It’s not what you want, y/n.”

You sneer at this, annoyed at how easily she makes that claim for you. “If it wasn’t what I wanted, I wouldn’t have asked you. Now would I?”

Shuri shakes her head at you, a smirk appearing on her face before speaking. “This mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble one day.”

“Please Shuri, can you be serious for one second. I’m not joking.”

“I know you aren’t.”

“Then please just…stop messing with me.”

“I’m not messing with you.”

“Shur—”

Your words were halted by Shuri's finger pressing gently against your lips. Her eyes scanned your entire face before settling back on your plump lips, swollen from your fervent yearning for her.

“Just please…shut up for a second.”

As the all-too-familiar sensation of her lips meeting yours washes over you, you whimper into her, yearning for her and everything she embodies as you welcome her intense kisses.

“Please.” It was all you could say, and you weren’t even sure what it was you were asking for at the moment. What you do know is that your body is aflame, your mouth ablaze as her tongue glides between the curves of your sweet lips.

“I want you forever,” you moaned into her mouth.

"Mhmmm," she responded, surrendering as you trailed your kisses along her angular jawline, deepening them the further you descended down her body. It didn't take much time before she took off her shirt, providing room for your mouth to explore the curves of her abdomen, and your sloppy tongue made Shuri’s pussy clench in anticipation. Slipping your hand beneath her shorts, you ran your fingers through her boxers, chuckling at how damp she already was. All this mess between her thighs as a result of her love for you, her desperate need for you. Your poor baby was absolutely soaking the whole time.

“You’re so wet, Shuri.”

“Fuck,” she moaned, bucking her hips forward for the friction she evidently craved.

“Let me eat your pussy, baby, yeah? I wanna taste that mess between your thighs.”

“Fuck. Yes, y/n. P-please.”

Hearing Shuri trip over her words as you pleasured her was a sound you would never get tired of. It made your body ache with a passion, to hear her voice diminish down to desperate pleas as you pressed your tongue against the swell of her clit, and it didn’t take long for your mouth to find her pussy. Once you ripped off her clothing and admired the shimmer that reflected off her needy cunt, you took your fingers and splayed her folds open and your mouth found her clit like a magnet, wrapping your lips around her sensitive bud before your tongue ran laps around her.

“Oh,” she faintly moaned, a habit she would do as she struggled to contain her moans but you always took it as a challenge, making sure you left her in nothing but trembling shambles as you pleased her. It was easy to see she was trying her best to hold in her moans, the way her throat let out choked whimpers every time you lapped up into her but the minute you spat on her pussy and inserted two fingers inside, you made it a challenge on her to contain the sounds of pleasure that reckoned to rip right through her.

“OH…y-yeah…yes, y/n, just like that. Oh fuck.”

Your lips lifted into a smile, proceeding to suck on her pounding clit as you felt her pussy walls clench around your fingers. She was so needy, so evidently desperate for you and you felt nothing but the same for her.

“You taste so sweet, baby,” you hummed into her. “Cum on my face. I want you to cum on my face.”

“M’kay, okay…fuck, baby.” Her high pitched whimpers made your pussy throb, the sound and smell of her squelching cunt made you fuck into her faster and harder, continuously tapping that spot inside her that you knew would make her lose it.

“Unh!”

You gaze up at her, convinced that the sight alone justifies your yearning for eternal life. The radiance of her sweaty dark skin, the rhythmic contraction of her abs as her pussy closes around you, but her face was the purest of all. Her mouth hung ajar, jaw slack, singing profanities of pleasure, her eyes grappling to connect with yours as she resists the urge to roll them back. In this moment, she is at her most vulnerable, her weakest, and observing her let her guard down is something you desire to witness for the rest of your days. And that was not even the best part; the best part was what was to come next, as you wrapped your lips around her, siphoning her swollen clit and plunging before her body released right onto your face as she came.

“Princess! Oh…UNH!”

And there it was: your favorite part. Observing the transformation in her face as her orgasm resonated through her. The shift in her irises to a deep red hue, her fangs extending to their fullest length, all while she fought to maintain control over her body amid the orgasm wracking through her was truly a sight you alone could cum from.

“UNH!”

“Yes, baby. Keep fucking my face. Give me all of your cum.”

“Oh…fuck.”

Her pussy is hard to let go of, something you latch onto even as she’s whining and shuddering in overstimulation. You lap her up like you're starving, slurping every drop of her warm juice before she grabs your hair and forces you off of her. You whine at this, wanting more but you knew she had reached her limit as you rested your head on her chest, waiting for her body to cease its trembling.

“You c-can’t do shit like that, y-y/n. I could hurt y-you,” she struggles to say and that sight makes you smirk with pride.

“Awww, poor baby. No way you can hurt me when you’re shaking like this. You must’ve cum hard as fuck,” you taunted in faux sympathy.

“Sh-shut up. You forget I could s-snap you,” she tries to snark back, but her struggle to come back down was not helping her tough image. You chuckle before kissing her pouting lips.

“Talk like that all you want, baby, but we both know you love when I put my mouth on you.”

You kiss once more before she decides to take matters into her own hands.

“It’s your turn,” she comments, suddenly pinning you down beneath her and your body is heated, writhing in anticipation before you are inconveniently disturbed by the sound of your phone ringing.

“Fuck,” Shuri spits.

“Shit. My mom is calling me.”

Shuri groans in frustration, rolling over beside you dramatically as you answer the phone.

“I know, babe, but she never calls me. Could be an emergency.”

"Fine," Shuri seethes, with an exaggerated eye roll, and you can't help but chuckle at her flair for drama. Shuri tunes into your conversation, vampire ears catching your mother's voice on the other end of the line, and you're well aware of it.

“You were listening, weren’t you?,” you question once you hang up.

“I was.”

“You’re so fucking nosey.”

Shuri just shrugs her shoulders. “Soooo, are you going to go see your parents like she asked?”

“I really don’t want to. I already know what they’re going to talk about and I don’t wanna hear it. But I guess I should go. I honestly haven’t spoken to them since Jon…”

You chose not to finish your sentence but Shuri had no problem doing it for you. “You mean since I ate your asshole of an ex??”

“Yeah…that.”

“You know, I have yet to meet your parents. I’ve known you for just over a year now, and you almost never speak about them.”

“And what is a year to you? Aren’t you like 500?”

“You think you are so funny.”

“You love my jokes,” you tease. “But really, there’s a good reason as to why you haven’t met them. Trust me, you do not wanna meet them.”

“I think it would be good for me to meet them.”

“Yeaaahhh, no. Not gonna happen.”

“Why not?”

“Because I said so, Shuri. I don’t get along with them. And besides they’re…old school. They would never accept you and me.”

Laughter escapes Shuri, finding you incredibly adorable as you worry about what her meeting them might do.

“Do you forget who I am, princess? If there is anyone who understands old school, it would be me. I would love to meet your parents. I understand you might not have the best relationship with them, but I think it would be good for us to go together. Just tell them you’re inviting a friend, there is no need to tell them that we are in a relationship if you do not want to. You do that on your own time. But I would love to meet them,”

You say nothing.

“Please?”

“You know what? Fuck it! Fine! You can meet them but don’t be surprised when things go left. I’m warning you, Shuri. They’re weird.”

“I’m with you, aren’t I? I can handle weird.”

“Fuck you!,” you say, playfully hitting her once more with the pillow and she lets you this time.

“Wait…how am I supposed to tell them that we gotta meet them at night?”

“Just tell them what I told you. Tell them I’m allergic to the sun.”

You take a moment to ponder the situation before agreeing. She nods quietly and then departs, leaving you with your thoughts, the absence of her presence leaving a lingering sense of contemplation in the air.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Sitting at the dining room table, where Shuri had left her food untouched, and your parents bombarded you with questions about your future, felt like your heart could plummet to the depths of your stomach. The atmosphere, filled with nothing but painful memories, was sheer torture. Although you were aware that having Shuri witness the deceitfulness of your parents would be difficult, you were never truly ready for the frustration that would ignite beneath your skin.

“You barely touched your food, Shuri. Is there a problem?,” your mother asked.

“I told you she wasn’t hungry mom, just leave her alone,” you groaned, making no effort to hide your irritation.

“That is no way to talk to your mother, y/n,” your father chimed in with his unwanted comments that always made your blood boil.

“Mhmmm.”

There came an awkward silence, with nothing but the sound of utensils scraping against plates with all eyes unmistakingly fixed on you, including Shuri’s.

“What happened to you?,” your mother asked, pointing to the scar on your neck and you could just sense the subtle smirk on Shuri’s face.

“It’s nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing.”

“Can ya’ll just say what you wanna say already?,” you slightly burst. “I know why you called me here and I think it would be the best for everyone here if we forget the fucking scar and just get on with it.”

Your parents looked at each other before looking at you, both with a stern look that truly did frighten you a little but you wouldn’t dare let that show.

“Your future, y/n. The passing of Jonathan has left you with no money for your future. He was the plan all along and now he is gone…what do you plan on doing now with yourself??,” your father asked, his demeaning voice and commanding presence reverberating through the room, making the patter of your heart quicken. Your discomfort was evidently apparent to Shuri, and this was made known with the way she discreetly rubbed your thigh beneath the table.

“Dad…please—”

“Listen to your father, y/n. We say this because we care for you.”

“Care for me?? Well that’s a first, isn’t it??,” you snarked beneath your breath, purposely loud enough for their ears to catch.

“You need to find a new partner soon. We think we have someone who is interested…”

The rest of what was said drifted from you, nothing but the sound of static overcame the nonsense that you just knew was pouring out of your parents mouths. You felt nauseous, like the wind had just been knocked out of you and you could pass out at any moment. You just wanted to be free, free from the expectations your parents have put on you since you were a child; free from them using you as a pawn to bring more wealth into their family. You wanted out.

“Y/n,” Shuri chimed in, trying her best to comfort you. “Breathe baby, breathe. I’m right here,” she said not with her mouth but with her mind.

“And who are you, may I ask?,” your father interrupted, his deep voice breaking the calm that was once Shuri’s voice and you were afraid of what his confrontation would escalate into.

“Dad, please don’t start,” you muttered with a feeling of knowing exactly where this was headed. You knew Shuri and you knew your father and neither of them made room for disrespect.

“Hey…it’s ok,” Shuri murmured to you as her gaze softened in reassurance. But the look in her eyes didn’t escape your father’s notice, rather deepening his suspicions. You could see the anger simmering behind his heavy glare, that look that always made you fearful of him as a child. His demeanor shifted, the tension thickening as he repeated his question.

"Who. Are. You??,” he demanded, each word laced with venom. You knew instantly that he’d figured it out. Your father was an observant man who never failed to hide his disdain for the gay community. His hatred ran deep, and it was precisely one reason why you had always feared introducing Shuri to him. When his cold gaze shifted to you, a wave of numbness washed through your entire body.

“You brought a dyke into my home, y/n?”

“Dad…please, not right now.”

“Oh, we are doing this right now.”

The tension in the room was suffocating, hanging thick in the air like a storm about to break. Every sound seemed sharper, every movement slower, as if the very walls held their breath.

“Sir, if I may speak—”

“And why are you here with my daughter? Who are you and what are you doing here??”

A change flickered across Shuri’s face, the look of someone ready to face a challenge and it was an expression you recognized all too well.

“Shuri…please,” you softly begged.

“He’s disrespecting you and I don’t like that.” But her eyes stayed locked on your father’s. The silent exchange between them spoke volumes, a tension mirrored in the cold expressions of both your parents. Panic rose to the brim of your throat as you shot to your feet and grabbed her wrist, desperately trying to pull her toward the door and away from this place. But she stood her ground, unmoving and frozen.

“I am her father. I’m the one who raised her. Who are you to come into my home and talk to me that way??”

“Your daughter does not want to marry whoever it is you think you have in mind. She is a grown woman and her own person. She does not want him. She will never love him. And she sure as hell will never marry him!”

“And why is that?? Because you came into the picture?? A good for nothing dyke? You are a perversion of humanity, a disgust to God’s eyes and you do not deserve to know my daughter! I will never allow this!”

Shuri’s anger flared, and you noticed the faint red glow in her eyes. Just as you moved to intervene, she did exactly what you feared; she lunged at your father, her anger uncontrollably lashing. In an instant, she was on him, sinking her teeth into his throat with a terrifying, blood-fueled rage.

“SHURI!!”

Your mother’s scream pierced the air as your father struggled, desperate and terrified, trying to shove Shuri off him. Panic gripped you as you shouted her name.

“SHURI! SHURI, STOP!”

It was the desperation and fear in your voice that pulled her back to you. Her fangs retracted, and her eyes slowly returned to their usual color as she turned to look at you. Your fathers blood stained her face, dripping down her jaw while your trembling father reached for the gun hidden in the drawer. He did not hesitate to point the barrel right at her and you felt as if your heart was going to burst out of your chest. In a second, a deafening BANG rang through the room before the bullet struck Shuri in the abdomen, but she didn’t even flinch. Blood flowed freely, yet the wound sealed itself almost instantly, faster than you could exhale. The complete and utter terror on your parents face as your father shot once more, only to have the same outcome, was enough to make you almost collapse and pass out.

“Stay away from me de-demon…,” your dad stuttered while your mother held onto him for dear life, and you had never felt so afraid for what was to come next.

“Y/n, I need you to leave the room…now,” Shuri said sternly in such a matter that you knew she meant it but you did not care.

“I’m not leaving, are you crazy??”

“Now! Before I actually hurt them!”

Her words smacked you in the face, and the look in her eyes told you she was leaving no room for disobedience. Reluctantly, you stepped away, but stayed close enough to overhear what was unfolding. What you caught were only snippets of Shuri’s voice and an unsettling silence from your parents. Curiosity gnawed at you, and you held your breath as you peeked around the corner. There was Shuri, speaking to both your parents as if she had them under a trance. Your parents stood frozen, their bodies unmoving, and a chill ran down your spine, goosebumps prickling to the surface of your skin. The sight made you shiver as you struggled to keep from collapsing. Why hadn’t she told you about this when you first questioned her about being a vampire? The realization dawned on you: mind control. And now you couldn’t help but wonder if she had ever used it on you.

“Fuck. You weren’t supposed to see that,” Shuri snarled, grabbing your wrist harshly as she pulled you both out the door, out of your parents' presence, and into a painfully quiet car ride.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“What the fuck was that?,” you irritably asked.

“Do not start with me right now, y/n.”

“Don’t sta—? Excuse me?? Have you lost your fucking mind??”

Shuri flopped down onto the sofa assertively, sitting man spread as she leaned back, rubbing her face with an air of agitation and impatience. It seemed as though she was deliberately ignoring your words.

“Hello? Earth to Shuri?? What, am I talking to myself here??”

“Might as well be.”

“You are…so fucking fucked up. My dad? Really, Shuri??”

“He’s lucky that’s all I did.”

You felt a jolt of shock, your eyes widening as you were rendered speechless. The nonchalant tone in her words stirred frustration in your stomach, and you struggled to contain your rising temper when upset.

“So what? Someone doesn’t like you and what, you kill them? You’re fucking unwell!”

She didn’t answer, just scoffed like you weren’t even there.

“And when were you going to tell me about how you can control minds or whatever the fuck that was?? Don’t you think that’s important information about you I should know?!”

“So you did see that…?,” she whispered under her breath with a subtle chuckle, her head bowed in shame as she fought to connect her eyes to yours.

“Yes I fucking saw that. Like you really just fucking looked at my parents and made them forget all that shit right infront of my fucking eyes like it was nothing…like you really just did that and never thought to fucking tell me??”

“So what, y/n?? Did you want me to let them remember that I almost killed your father?? Would that have been the rational thing to do?!”

“I’m only saying it would have been nice to know! That’s information I deserve to know, is it not? I’m your fucking girlfriend, am I right?!”

“If I had told you, you would walk the rest of our relationship questioning if it was real, correct?”

You said nothing.

“Yeah, that is what I thought. I have my reasons as to why I do or do not tell you things. Do not question my decisions to do so…”

“Yeah whatever, Shuri. Let’s be all dismissive and inconsiderate. Let’s all just get angry and eat people like fucking psychopaths!,” you yelled in a sarcastic tone but your anger was anything but sarcasm.

“And you want to be just like me, right? Is that not what you want? To be a vampire for the rest of your days? Let me tell you something…that is what being a vampire is!”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Don’t piss me off, y/n.”

Her words were delivered in an almost quiet and restrained manner, as if they were small and insignificant. But beneath the surface of calmness, you sensed a simmering anger that was on the brink of breaking through her skin; the intensity of her emotions was palpable despite the softness of her voice.

“Do you see what I have to go through everyday in my life?? THAT is what I’ll have to deal with and THAT is what I want to run away from. As long as I’m human, they are all I have! And I’m nothing but a tool for them! A means to bring in wealth to their pockets because they’re nothing but scum and I want out!”

“Have you not listened to a word I’ve said?” Her sudden change in tone sent a chill down your spine, its sharpness and intensity striking a nerve. “How it has been hell on earth for me??”

The hurt in her eyes and the pain in her voice gave you an immediate pang of regret and empathy.

“So what?? You want us to be together until I die? And you move on?” Your voice caught in your throat, choked by the effort of holding back tears. Each word felt like a struggle as emotions welled up inside you, threatening to spill over.

“Yes. Because that’s the way it’s supposed to be.”

You were consumed by a mix of hurt and anger, emotions swirling within you like a turbulent storm. The room around you fell into an oppressive silence, a quiet that was deafening, emphasizing the profound impact of the emotional turmoil you fought so hard to keep at bay.

“When your dad said those things to me, called me those names, it stirred up old memories I thought I'd forgotten and I simply lost it. The way society used to treat people like you and me, it was so difficult to live even as a vampire. I used to be called every name in the book, treated like scum because where does a black lesbian woman fit into society in the 1800’s? How about in the 20’s? Or the 50’s? There was none. You guys have no idea what it means to not be who you are meant to be.”

“Why didn’t you leave?”

“What?”

“You’re a vampire. You could live anywhere in the world and anytime you wanted. Why would you stay in America of all places?”

A soft chuckle escapes her, followed by a small tilt in her smile as she quietly rolls her eyes. “I did the stupidest thing a vampire could ever do.”

Confusion washed over you like a wave, leaving your expression visibly puzzled.

“I fell in love.”

“Oh.”

“I had been alone for so many years and that was the first time in my 100 years of being a vampire, had I felt alive and full…and human.”

“Who was she?”

“She was…perfect.”

A small smile appeared on your face before it quickly washed away. “Was she…the girl in my dream? The one you gave me…”

She nodded.

“She wanted you to turn her.”

“Yes.”

“Did you?”

She shook her head.

“No.”

“Why not? You loved her. You wanted to be with her forever, right? So why not just turn her??”

“I know what you’re doing, y/n. I’m not doing this right now.”

“But…please.”

The air between the two of you grew still and quiet, filled only with the weight of unspoken words. The silence stretched on, punctuated by the sound of distant waves rolling outside her home. It felt like there was a physical barrier between you, leaving an uncomfortable tension in its wake and so you raised your voice a little.

“Why don’t you just answer my question??”

“Do you not understand?? Being a vampire took everything I’ve ever loved away from me. That is what I’m trying to tell you. My mom, my friends, my family…the list is endless.”

You walked over to her and took your place beside her, leaning your head gently on her shoulder as the fabric of her shirt collected your tears before you kissed her shoulder. Despite the sorrow that filled both your hearts, your presence conveyed a quiet reassurance for Shuri as it always does. And that’s why she loves you; you shared an embrace in the face of emotional vulnerability.

“I’m so sorry life was unkind to you, Shuri, and I’m sorry being a vampire has been nothing but hell for you.”

You looked up at her with swollen, beady eyes; the aftermath of your tears evident in your pout.

“But the difference between you and me, Shuri, is that vampirism took from you because you actually had something to lose. You had a home, a family, friends, status…I don’t have anything. Nothing. You’re all I have…and I don’t want to lose you too.”

Shuri gazed down at you with a mixture of hurt and love in her eyes, a complex blend of emotions that spoke volumes. As she leaned forward, her lips brushed gently against your forehead in a tender gesture and you exhaled in relief before she abruptly stood up.

“I’m going to go take a walk.”

“But the sun will be up in a couple hours,” you respond with genuine concern.

“I’ll be back. I just need fresh air.”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

A few hours passed by and you grew concerned as you waited anxiously. Finally, you hear sounds of movement emanating from the kitchen, and a wave of relief washes over you as Shuri returns.

“Finally, I was beginning to worry.” You approach the kitchen but she doesn’t respond. “Shuri?”

But it wasn't Shuri. Your heart nearly leapt out of your chest with fear as you entered the kitchen to find a total stranger making herself comfortable in Shuri's kitchen. The stranger was strikingly beautiful, with a deep and flawless complexion. Her hair was intricately braided in goddess braids, a wave of intertwined hair and curls that fell down to her hips, and her lips had the rich fullness of a summer rose in full bloom. All her features harmonized to form one of the most beautiful faces you had ever seen. What intrigued you the most, however, was the uncanny familiarity of her face, despite being certain you had never met her before.

“Who…who are you?,” you stammered, your shaky voice hard to contain but the woman did not answer you verbally; instead she returned your answer with a soft smile that should have been comforting but the glassy conceit in her eyes sent shivers through your entire body.

“Who are you??,” you asked once more, raising your voice a bit but still, she said nothing.

“I’m going to call—”

“Who?? Shuri??,” she cuts you off, a villainous smirk graces her face, a twisted expression that holds genuine amusement and you could feel your heart quicken beneath your ribcage.

“How do you know Shuri?”

“Oh me and her go way back,” she says so ‘matter-of-factly’.

“Wait, are you a—”

Once more, she interrupts you, appearing in front of you in a mere millisecond with a gust of air that brushes against your body. You gulp slightly as she stares you down, her eyes tinged with judgment. Fear envelops you like a suffocating cloak, yet you remain still, unwilling to challenge the woman who seemed delighted in the fear she instilled upon you.

You hear the door open behind you, and a slight sense of relief washes over you. The woman behind you breaks into a full, sinister smile.

"At last," she whispers, taking a seat on the island in Shuri's kitchen. When Shuri entered the premises, it was the most frightened and shocked you had ever seen her, her eyes seeped in fear and confusion at the image before her. But it isn’t too long before that fear is stripped away with anger, her fists balled up in frustration as both her and the unknown woman stared each other down.

"Shuri... Who is she?," you ask, breaking the stomach-churning silence.

“Please answer her, she’s already asked me twice and it's getting annoying,” the woman snarked.

“Adanna…you…you’re alive??”

“Oh, I very much died, but you know how the rest goes, I suppose,” she replies with a smirk.

“Who is she, Shuri??” Your voice takes on an edge, the words clipped and pointed. There's a noticeable tension in your words, as if each syllable is strained through gritted teeth.

“Ugh, answer your pest-of-a girl!”

Shuri's demeanor shifts noticeably as a veil of shame descends over her, her shoulders lower with a weight of embarrassment. For a moment, she does what she usually does in times like this, avoiding direct eye contact before she speaks.

“Remember that dream I gave you? The girl I showed you…? Well…that’s her.”

You remember in an instant. Recollections flood back, including Shuri's words about her passing from old age. The anger you feel is overwhelming and beyond words.

“The girl from your dream??”

Shuri nods, not even looking at you, her eyes still on the other woman.

“You…Shuri look at me!”

And she does. Without question.

“You told me she died of old age. You lied to me??”

The woman bursts into a cynical laughter. “Really Shuri? I ‘died’?? Well y/n, tell me more. What else did Shuri say about me? I’d love to hear this,” she chuckles but her admiration was sincere. You glanced at Shuri, almost seeking permission to proceed, but the notion of needing her approval quickly faded as you uncomfortably settled into the situation you were in. You were eager to uncover more about Adanna. Things that Shuri had never disclosed to you.

“That’s all she said about you. But…she showed me you…in a dream. You were human. You wanted Shuri to turn you. She drank your blood.” The details from the vivid dream began to replay and flood back into your memory. Adanna’s expression softened, resembling the poor, desperate girl that Shuri held in your dream.

"What happened to you?" Shuri interjects, genuine concern etched across her face as she observes her from a distance. Adanna's attention swiftly shifts from you to Shuri, her whole body radiating hurt and rage before she speaks.

“How dare you…” The words were spat in such a way that made your muscles tense. “You happened, Shuri! You came into my life and now what?? You are going to do the same thing to her!”

“No…I will not.”

“It’s too late, Shuri. You’ve already thought of it. I’ll tell you what’s going to happen…” She smiles devilishly, casting a quick glance in your direction before striding towards Shuri, the sound of her heels echoing loudly in your ears. “You’re going to fall desperately in love with her, if you haven’t already, you’re going to live a short life with her and then she will grow old and die. And that’s if she’s one of the lucky ones, you know how fragile they are. As long as she’s human, death will always be simple for her.”

She moves swiftly behind you, using her speed and strength to press your body against hers, as she gently wraps her hand around your throat, not to choke you, but to evoke fear in both you and Shuri at what she was capable of.

“Don’t even think about it or I’ll hurt her.”

“Please Adanna, leave her out of this.” Worry clouded Shuri’s eyes and it broke you.

“I can tell you really love her. So why won’t you turn her?? Why keep her this fragile and pathetic human being??” Her grip on your throat slightly tightens and you thickly swallow beneath her.

“You know why.”

“Oh I know full well…but does she??” She lets go of your throat, before taking a finger and caresses the thick artery that runs along the side of your neck, Your heart is pulsing in absolute terror and she chuckles at the way your body reacts to her.

“Don’t you dare hurt her.”

“Shut the hell up!”

You unwillingly tremble at her loud words.

“Oh baby, don’t look so scared,” she taunts. She skims your throat again, caressing the fang work from Shuri’s indulgence of you. “I see she’s had her fair share of you.”

You swallow, your throat bobbing beneath her touch.

“She’s really good in bed, isn’t she?”

Fear grips your eyes as you glance at her, and she giggles at your visible apprehension.

“It’s ok baby, you can admit it. I know all too well. She used to fuck me stupid too. But back in the day, people were not as…accepting of our lifestyle. I mean, really? What could be worse than being a gay, black woman in the 1920’s?? But that only made it so much more fun, right Shuri?? We had a blast didn’t we, babe? On the bar after work hours, cars in the back lane, under my dress at speakeasy tables?? Hotel rooms, back rooms…the fear of being caught… what a thrill.”

“That’s enough!”

She smiles and strides confidently toward Shuri, standing slightly over her in tall heels. With a sudden gesture, she lightly grips Shuri's jaw, catching the both of you off guard.

“Or what? What are you gonna do, baby? Kill me? We both know you never could.” She lets go of her jaw and trails her finger down her chest, admiring Shuri’s beauty and the sight makes your stomach twist; a surge of jealousy and protectiveness washes over you but what could your fragile body possibly do in a situation like this?

“You’ve gotten even sexier over the years, mm mm mm. The way I just wanna…this same chiseled jaw, used to drive me crazy.”

“Adanna…leave.”

“I guess I should, the sun will be rising soon. Or…I could just…stay here.”

“No.”

“Loosen up a bit, I’m joking.” She strides confidently toward you, locking eyes and observing the rise and fall of your chest with each labored breath.

“It was nice meeting you, y/n.”

She departed swiftly, her presence lingering like a chilling echo in the room long after she was gone.

The silence that engulfed the space between you and Shuri after Adanna's departure was suffocatingly dense. It echoed with the weight of unanswered questions and unresolved emotions, leaving a void that seemed to amplify with each and every heartbeat and breath that escaped you.

You allowed the silence to linger before stepping up to slap Shuri—a stinging blow that likely hurt you more than it did her, though you refused to show it. Shuri adjusted her jaw slightly from the impact, further fueling your building anger.

“You got something to say?!”

Shuri scoffs and starts to walk away, leaving you feeling as if your skin is melting.

“Hey…hey! I’m talking to you!”

She paces and smashes her table as if it were made of sand. You flinch, almost afraid of her intensity, but you're determined not to show your fear.

“So you turned that bitch but you won’t turn me??”

Finally her eyes meet yours. “Have you lost your damn mind, y/n?”

“Nah, I could ask you the same thing, Shuri! Because what was that?? All of that, what was it?? You gonna talk to me about how your 100 year old ex-girlfriend that apparently died from old age, was just in front of me? As a vampire…Shuri you LIED to me!”

“I did and I do not regret my decision to do so.”

The feeling of hurt and betrayal began to manifest in your body in physical ways, a sharp pain jabbing into your chest as if your heart was physically pierced. Your throat tightened up as a rush of heat and cold scattered through the thinning veins beneath your skin. Your body physically ached for her truth.

“Shuri, what is this?? What are we?? Do you like being in control? Powerful?? Is that it?? You like that your mind games are easier to play on my human brain? I don’t understand!”

“Don’t even start with me right now, y/n. I’m not in the mood.”

“You’re not in the mo—oh…ok. Ok then. I see how it is. Here you go with this bullshit. Explaining to me at your convenience! Leaving me in the dark and for what?! You know what?? I’m not doing this right now. I’m going home.”

“Home?”

“Yeah, that’s what the fuck I said.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, y/n.”

“You gonna stop me??”

“You are not going out there! She could be out there doing god knows what!”

“I’m not scared of her.”

“Well you should be!”

“And why is that, Shuri?? Because she’s a vampire?? Because she kills people?? Last time I checked, so do you. And I’m not afraid of you. Fuck you!”

“You are…fuck…you are pissing me off.”

“Boo hoo.” You roll your eyes, a gesture that pushes Shuri dangerously close to the edge. The last thing she wants is to lose her temper like she did in front of your parents.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Put your shit down, you are not leaving here,” she comments as you start packing your things but you ignore her.

“Y/n…y/n!”

“Fuck off!”

As you're about to leave and reach for the door, she rushes behind you and slams it shut with a bang, blocking your escape.

“Shuri…move.”

“You won’t make me.”

You turn around to face her, finding yourself trapped between the door she has forcefully shut and her imposing figure. Despite her menacing presence, her face betrays a hint of worry, making it challenging for you to maintain your anger.

“Let me go.”

“No.”

You arched your eyebrow, letting out a slight chuckle while Shuri stood puzzled. What could possibly be so amusing to you at this moment?

“If you need company, I’m sure Adanna is wandering around somewhere and since you’ve fucked her brains out too, I’m sure she’s all too willing to come back and give you a mind-blowing night,” you snapped, struggling to conceal your jealousy, though by now, Shuri can easily read you like an open book.

“Now you are just being childish.”

“No. I’m leaving because you’re pissing me off.”

Your second attempt to leave was as successful as the first time, with your back against the door and Shuri's hand gently snaking your throat, careful not to cut off your oxygen intake. In that silent moment, your eyes locked, conveying a power dynamic that both thrilled and frustrated you. As long as you were human, this imbalance persisted; a blend of love and resentment. Even now, Shuri's proximity was irresistible, her scent enveloping you and despite the anger you felt, the strength she had over you went beyond mere physical, vampiric strength.

“Why must you be so difficult?”

Both of you were engulfed in anger towards each other, driven by a mutual fear of losing one another. Your actions appeared selfish and impulsive, but deep down, you both dreaded the thought of being alone, knowing that each other was all you had.

“I’m not being difficult, Shuri. My request is simple. I’m only asking you to turn me.”

“And don’t you think I would have a long time ago if it was the right thing for you?” Her voice was gentle and soothing, a juxtaposition of the rage she felt.

“This is the right thing for me. You are the right thing for me.”

Your eyes softened, and hers mirrored yours. Your breathing picked up immensely and Shuri did not even try to hide her gaze plastered on the way your breasts rose with each sharp breath you took in. Her glare evolved from soft and gentle to intense and purposeful, reflecting the shift from a pure emotional connection to a more primal and physical desire. She was lustful and so were you.

The tension in the air thickened quickly, like a weight settling over the both of you. Unspoken emotions and anticipation hung heavily between you, making every moment feel charged and intense. Gazes lingered longer than they meant to, words became unspoken, and the way Shuri’s palm stayed on your throat made you gulp in desire, wanting her to push your limits like she always does.

“Drink from me.” Your words were tinged with an unmistakable craving for her and you could not help but be slightly embarrassed; how pathetic you were to beg after trying so hard to stay mad at her. “It’s been too long, baby, I need it.”

Her palm sits fairly firm against your windpipe and you inhale sharply as you feel the warmth between your legs dampen.

“I can smell you, princess.”

“See, this is what I mean. This power imbalance between us…it drives me nuts. Nothing is fair between us if you keep this from me.”

Shuri hoists you closer to her by your throat, bringing your lips in for the ghost of a kiss, an exchange of warmth before she fully presses her lips against yours and she moans into your mouth, a sound that nestled so deeply between your thick thighs.

You jump into her arms before she carries you to the bedroom, not once detaching her lips from yours. As she steps foot into the bedroom, she places you roughly on her vanity, clearing space for your plush ass to hit the surface. Shuri tears your clothing aggressively, greedy to see your beautiful body as she leaves you in nothing but your undergarments. You gasp as goosebumps rise to the surface of your skin due to the mix of sudden cold air and her warm touch. It didn’t take long before her hands found your bra and ripped that off too, getting caught in the beauty of your breasts and the way they jiggled with your pretty gasps. For a moment, your eyes connected before her gaze trailed down to the wet patch seeping through your panties and Shuri can’t help but release a condescending laughter.

“I thought you said I pissed you off. But look at you, s’thandwa. You’re so wet. Do you hate me or want me?”

"Both," you exclaimed with a desperate intensity, feeling the anger towards her fueling the fire beneath your skin, expressing just how much you craved her touch.

"Mhmm," she murmured as her hand trailed down to the damp spot between your thighs that grew by the second, creating slow circles with the pad of her thumb and you cried with ache. Shuri adored your soft pleas of desire above all else. While she relished your moaning turning into screams of overwhelming pleasure, it was your gentle whining and whimpering that stirred her vampiric instincts to the brink, challenging her ability to suppress her true nature. You were aware of this, and you reveled in it. You enjoyed pushing her to her limits, knowing she would never physically hurt you.

With care, she slid the thin panties to the side, watching the way your sticky arousal clung to the fabric. She carefully slid a finger down your slit, just enough to be overwhelming yet not quite satisfying enough.

“Oh,” you breathed out as she caressed your beating bud, her lips attacking your throat once again as your fingers cling to the coils on her head.

“I don’t care about a power imbalance…until it comes to this,” she whispered to you, bringing her hands down to your thighs, kneading the flesh before she spread them open a bit more. Her mouth on your throat went from kissing the skin to sucking it, a gesture that was sure to leave bruised marks and your heart quickened at the anticipation of feeling her sink into you.

“Breathe, baby, breathe. Your heart is pounding…why?”

“Please…Shuri…”

“Tell me.”

“Drink my blood. Please, baby, please.”

A crooked smile appeared before she looked for any hint of hesitation in your eyes but there was none to be found. You wanted this, needed it, just as much as she did and that made her turn insatiable, almost afraid that her crave for you would overcome rational thought.

She grabbed your jaw, forcing your gaze up on hers. “You want me to drink from you, y/n?”

You nodded with such urgency that it felt embarrassing. She smirked, lowering her mouth for a fleeting kiss just above the side of your throat. Your heart raced, nearly bursting out of your chest. Yet when she offered only a light kiss without delving deeper, you felt annoyed and disappointed, still craving the satisfaction that had consumed you.

“Please, Sh—,” but you were cut off with a slender finger to your lips, giving you one last peck on your pouted mouth before she gets down on her knees in front of you, placing wet, devoted kisses from your stomach down to the area just above your pussy. Shuri loved dragging you to your release, watching your body flare in desperation made her wet each and every time.

“You know what I love about your human skin?”

"Hmm?" Your thoughts were clouded, making it difficult to speak, and Shuri chuckled softly underneath you.

“I love that I can mark you up. Claim you as mine. As a vampire, you would just heal. Is that what you want?”

You didn’t reply, but simply gazed down at her beautiful curls settled between your thick thighs but Shuri was not pleased, and the way she lightly slapped your pussy over the fabric of your panties proved that.

“Oh,” you stuttered softly to her delicious touch.

“I asked you princess, is that what you want?”

“N-no.”

“Hmmm…that’s what I thought.”

Shuri planted several affectionate kisses on your clit, the final tender gesture before you received what you had been yearning for; the exquisite and familiar sting of Shuri’s fangs piercing your skin only this time, her head was buried between your left thigh, marking her territory with her fangs as she drank the crimson lifesource. The sensation was exhilarating, a familiar mixture of pleasure and pain, the boundaries between the sensations melding into a blurred ecstasy.

“Shuri,” you moaned out, overwhelming her sanity. She quickly detached from you, sending her love in equal measure to your opposite inner thigh, pushing your panties to the side to make room for her fingers to settle beautifully inside you.

“Hold this here,” she demanded, wanting your own fingers to hook the fabric to the side so she could focus on tending to your mind and body. And you complied, holding your panties in place before you felt her sink two fingers into you.

“Unh,” you softly whimpered, spreading your legs to the best of your ability to give your girlfriend more room to continue her work, the duality of her drawing blood from your inner thigh as she pumped into your thumping pussy walls had your heels digging into her back, your own back drawn into a soft arch as you worked her face.

“There’s my girl.”

Her persistent fingers continued their relentless nudging against your sensitive spot. She was cautious not to draw too much blood from you. As you neared climax, she withdrew, returning to meet your face now adorned with a pout, eyes brimming with an eternal longing for her to bring you to completion.

"I was almost there," you complained, your eyebrows softening along with Shuri's, before she swiftly positioned your body to press against hers, your back against her front as your reflections stared back through the vanity mirror. Her lips were stained in a deep red hue and the irises of her eyes matched the tone. It was an image that should have frightened you but it was your favorite look on her, Shuri in her true nature; predator and prey in its most sensual form.

“I know you were, but you know the rules. You cum when I let you cum, understood?”

You nod quickly.

“Good girl.”

Shuri grabs your breasts, kneading them as she kisses the crevice between your shoulder and your throat.

“Shuri…baby…m-more. I need more.”

And with your words, one of her hands travels upwards towards your throat as the other roams south, pushing her fingers beneath your now soaked panties as she skimmed your delicate clit, circling the bud before she dips her fingers into you with the goal to finish what she started.

“You know what else I love about your human body?”

“Hm? Wh-what’s that?”

“Your human breath and how easy it is to just…cut it off.” Her hand clasped your throat firmly, not hard enough to hurt you, but hard enough to make you feel lightheaded. “Can’t do this if you don’t breathe. And I know how much me choking you gets you wet, nkosazana, do you really want that gone?”

You squirmed briefly while she maintained her grip. You looked so beautiful in your helpless state and not once did her fingers relent their persistent and calculated strokes inside you, paying close attention to the way your pussy walls responded to her presence. She had one hand beneath your panties, the other around your neck, pulling constricted whimpers from you as you struggled for air. Your little sounds got to her, and she let you go.

“Aww, you’re ok. You’re gonna let me do it again, right?”

“Yes please, choke me again, Shuri. Please. I’m so close.”

And she does, because why would she deny her love? She clasps your throat once more, your hips canting along with her thrusts, running towards your sweet, sweet release.

“That’s it, baby. Let all your frustrations out. Good girl, let it all out.”

“Sh-Shuri…,” you choked out, pouting at the way you felt your walls tighten in pleasure around your girlfriend’s determined fingers. Shuri releases you, listening to your intake of air before she gently caresses the side of your throat. Her eyes locked with your reflection in the mirror, bracing you for what's to come. She took hold of your throat again, tilting your jaw to the side to expose the same spot she had fed from the first time. The familiar mix of slight pain and intoxicating pleasure surged through you, heightening the sensation of your impending orgasm and hearing Shuri’s soft moans of satisfaction as she drank from you only deepened your bliss. Not once did her fingers halt, her palm grazing your sensitive clit drew you nearer to the end until you let out a high pitched moan that made Shuri’s pussy clench in ache.

“Unh…Shuri, Shuri…yes! Fuck!”

She took one final taste before reluctantly pulling away, but not without struggle. Your blood was like fuel to her, and once she got a taste, it was a challenge to let go and although it should frighten you, it didn’t. Turning to face her, you met her gaze with your drowsy eyes, falling into the depths of her bloodshot irises. She looked unsettlingly beautiful, and in that moment, you realized how much you missed this, how deeply you needed it. The smirk on her blood-stained lips spoke volumes of how much she felt the same.

“You always do so good for me, princess,” she spoke with softness, slipping her cum-coated fingers between your lips as you sucked the remnants of your release off of her. You let go with a wet pop, batting your eyelashes at her before you spoke.

“I love you so much, baby.”

“I love you more.”

As soon as you both finish cleaning and tending to one another, you slip back into a deep sleep, resuming the dream where you left off a few months ago, with the woman in your arms, the one you now know to be named Adanna.

➳ the dream:

The dream setting is the same as before, with Shuri allowing you to experience everything from her perspective, as if you were living it yourself. Once again, Adanna is in your arms, pleading for you to turn her.

“I want you to do it, Shuri. Turn me. Please. I want this.” Her dark brown eyes shimmered with a perfect blend of desperation and love. You were terrified, afraid of crossing your boundaries once more, but the thought of not being with her forever frightened you even more.

"Please," she pleaded one final time before you pressed your lips to hers, savoring the warmth of her human essence before trailing down to her throat, delicately grazing your mouth across her skin and her pulse whispered against your lips. Opening your mouth, you descended, piercing her veins with your teeth and you moaned as her life source flowed into your mouth, embracing the flavor you desperately needed. As you continue to drink from her, your struggle to detach your lips from her throat grows more and more and Adanna becomes frightened, soon coming to realize that she had underestimated your thirst.

“Shuri,” she softly pleads, her mind growing fuzzy as she feels life slowly drift from her. “Shuri, please…you’re hurting me.”

You tried to fight it, but you were lost, intoxicated by the blood as you sank your teeth deeper into the one you loved. Drinking from her was unlike anything else; hunger, love, and lust blurred together and you could not decipher which was which. Her blood brought you the closest you'd ever felt to heaven, your senses heightened and explosive. Yet, in that overwhelming euphoria, you couldn't feel or hear her struggling beneath you, death latching closer and closer to her.

“Shuri…Shuri…it’s too much!”

You thought you could do it, bring her to the brink of death and then feed her your blood to restore her but you could not stop.

“I love you…need you so bad,” you mumbled against her, feeling her lifesource flow through your dead body made you feel more alive than you ever felt.

"SHURI!" she screamed one final time before you felt an enormous impact that sent you flying, landing on your feet as if you were a superhero. He came out of nowhere, a tall man who stood before both you and a dying Adanna. In that moment, you realized the gravity of your actions. You had crossed a line you never intended to, and now the consequences were clear: Adanna, helpless and nearly lifeless, was pleading for the man to save her and take her away from you. It broke your heart to see her so terrified of you.

“A-Adanna??”

"St-stay aw-ay from... me," she said with weakness, gasping as death knocked at her front door. You wanted to help her, to save her, but as you moved towards her, the mysterious man dashed in front of you with a speed that startled even you, revealing his vampire nature. It was evident he had been around for a long time, the first vampire you'd encountered since your maker left you many years ago.

“Let me help her!” You yelled in terror, attempting to fight the much stronger man.

“No,” the man gently stated, as if you were not weeping in fear as the love of your life lay dying as a result of your inability to control yourself. “You will kill her.”

“No…I can do this! Let me go! Let me help her!”

“You have yet to master the art of control. You cannot do this or you will kill her.”

“And she will most certainly die if you do not get your hands off me and let me help her!” You were in a state of panic, more frightened than you ever thought possible, and your heightened vampire senses only intensified your fear and anger.

“Stay a-way…don’t touch m-me…”

“Do you hear that? She does not want you to help her…perhaps it would be better if you let me handle this. Let me take care of her. Let me rid you of the burden of having to turn her yourself and you can be free.”

At that moment, his words made sense. You felt like a burden, and the scent of Adanna’s blood still lingered within you, making you afraid of what you were capable of.

"Let me handle this," he assured once more. It took you a moment, but Adanna was dying, losing blood by the second. With every drop that hit the ground, it became harder for you to resist the urge to go and drink it, to savor her last moments as she slipped away.

"Leave." It was a command, not a suggestion. You took in the sight of her one last time before you ran, seizing this final chance before you lost all control, leaving Adanna and the man behind. That was the last moment you saw her, the last time you held her weak body as you struggled with your instincts. In that moment, you lost all hope. You were doomed, cursed to a life of loneliness. Everything you touched, you destroyed. Everyone you loved died by your hands and you wanted no part of it. You ran and never looked back, fleeing into endless darkness until you finally woke up.

You woke up to darkness, realizing how much you had adapted to Shuri's lifestyle as you drifted off at sunrise. You sensed her presence beside you on the bed, your back turned to her. Taking a moment to process the dream she had shared with you, a window into her past, you turned around. There she was, sitting with her elbows resting on her propped-up knees, her head bowed in shame, struggling to meet your gaze, afraid you would never look at her the same way again. For a moment, you both sat in silence, the sound of your soft breath and the absence of hers filling the room as you pondered what had just witnessed.

“I thought I put that day behind me, but revealing it to you stirred up old memories I wish I had forgotten,” her trembling voice broke the silence. “It’s an indescribable feeling, the all encompassing, wretched, mind-shattering feeling of drinking from someone you love, especially if you are doing it in hopes of turning them.”

The silence settled like a weight in the room, each passing second stretching longer than the last.

“Feeling love as a vampire is much much much harder than any human love, I can assure you. Once you are turned, everything becomes magnified, including human feelings. Love as a human is already too much in itself, as a vampire it’s the most burdening feeling when you constantly crave their blood as well, not wanting to hurt them but wanting a taste…it’s overpowering.”

You sit up in front of her, taking her hands in yours for a gentle kiss.

“The guilt I felt was mind blowing, doing to her the exact same thing my maker did to me. I left her, and left her to him. I had no idea who he was or what his intentions were. I was not thinking clearly at that moment and to be fair, with all her blood rushing through me, there was no way I could think properly. I was out of my mind, high on her blood and thirsty for more.

“At first, I was not sure if she was turned or if she died, and I did not want to find out as both answers frightened me. But once I heard of all the killings that were happening in the city, I figured they were coming from her and I wanted so badly to intervene and help her, be a mentor but what kind of mentor would I be?? I could barely control myself, never mind a new vampire who was abandoned by who she thought was the love of her life. I did not intervene out of fear, and because of that, she is the monster she is now.”

“No…Shuri, you can’t put that on yourself.” And you meant it. How could she place such a burden on herself? “I understand that you feel a sense of obligation to fix her, or be there for her…whatever it is, but Shuri…baby look at me…who she is, is not because of you.”

A small grin graced her face, appreciative of your efforts but did not believe it.

“At the end of the day, Adanna is her own being. Everything she did was a choice she made on her own. And she can blame you or the world or whoever she wants but we are all responsible for our own actions. Life isn’t fair to anybody, but we have to deal with the cards we are dealt with, Shuri. You were abandoned too, baby…remember that.”

She smiled gently, resting her cheek against your cupped hand.

“I remember once she had this crazy idea on turning all the black people in the city of New York into vampires so we could collectively take over colonial powers. It was tempting.”

She chuckled and so did you.

“So…why New York?”

You take the pad of your thumb and gently caress the final tears that escape her.

“You could go anywhere in the world…why some random house just outside New York? You could’ve literally gone anywhere and you chose to be here…”

“I suppose when you hear of a city that never sleeps, that is alive during the night…well which vampire wouldn’t want to go there??”

“Fair point.” You feel a fierce urge to ask her the question, fearful that it might ignite jealousy inside you or resurrect old emotions within her.

“How did you meet her?”

Shuri rose her brow, unsure if this is really what you wanted to hear right now. “Are you sure you wanna hear about my past love life?”

“No, but I can’t help but be a little curious,” you respond with a gentle smile, pecking her plush lips with a kiss before she speaks.

“I went to a speakeasy one night, and she was there singing on the stage. She was so beautiful, singing with one of the most beautiful voices I have ever heard and I just could not let her go. That was my mistake, of course. She could have lived a long and fruitful life without me if I just stayed away.”

“Shuri…”

“I’m not a good person, y/n.”

“I don’t believe that. I believe your life was taken from you and you were learning to survive on your own. Everything was a first for you. Loving as a vampire was a first for you. Drinking your lover's blood was a first for you. Turning her, that was your first time. You had no idea what you were getting yourself into. You made mistakes. Big mistakes? Yeah. You fucked up, Shuri. But name me one person who hasn’t.”

“You need to stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Painting me like this pure person, I’m anything but. I’ve done some terrible things, y/n.”

“And we can talk about that later, but I see what you’re trying to do here. You’re trying to scare me away, make me change my mind and it’s not working. I know what I want. I wanna be with you. Forever”

“Uh uh. Not good enough. No way I’m turning you because you love me. What happens if it doesn’t work out for us down the road? And now you’re stuck as a vampire forever. What then?”

“That’s not gonna happen.”

“We don’t know that, y/n. And I’m not saying this because I doubt your love for me or vice versa, I’m saying this because I’ve been around long enough to see how the world works. How people change. How life and circumstances change people.”

“So then what do you want me to say, Shuri?”

“Give me a reason. A real reason as to why you want this and then I can make a decision from there.”

You pause, weighing your many reasons before you speak.

“Ok. How about this…I have nothing to live for. I have no money except my parents' money, and they cut me off. No siblings. No friends. No future.”

“And you want this to be your future?? To live with an everlasting urge to hunt and kill…”

“I’ll choose not to kill.”

“It is not that simple, y/n.”

“Maybe not. But the difference between me and you is you had nobody to teach you. No guidance. No mentor. But I’ll have you. You’ll teach me to be good, I know you will. I trust you, Shuri.”

“Bast…you’re driving me insane.”

“Come on, my love…what are you waiting for?? Don’t you want to be with me…forever?”

“Fuck. Of course I want that. More than anything in the world.”

“Then what’s stopping you??”

“It did not end well for me the last time.”

“It won’t be like that. You can stop.”

“We don’t know that.”

“Maybe not, but I trust you. If you can stop while you’re fucking me then you can stop while turning me.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Shuri, pleaassee. Bring me to my final breath, and then give it back to me. I’ll be strong and free…just like you. I won’t be this fragile, weak thing that you have to worry about all the time. I’ll be able to fend for myself and I won’t be a burden to you anymore.”

“You’re not a burden to me.”

“But I am. Even if you don’t see it. I slow you down, babe.”

Her gaze narrowed, brows furrowing slightly as they peered into the distance, lost in contemplation.

“Plus, I don’t want to grow old while you stay young. It’ll look weird on my part.”

You both laugh and she shakes her head in sympathetic disbelief.

“Soooo is that a yes?”

“Most definitely not a yes.”

“Is it a ‘maybe’?”

“Hmmm…maybe.”

“Well that’s not a ‘no’.”

“I guess it’s not.”

“So we’re getting somewhere??”

She refused to acknowledge it, to admit how you were pulling at the strings of her undead heart. She had never felt so desired, so wanted in her life, not even by Adanna, and it was driving her to madness. She longed for you in every way imaginable, wishing it didn't have to be this way, replacing your breath with one that hungered for blood above all else. Yet, Shuri was always selfish, never one to deny herself what she desired. So, for a fleeting moment, her heart and mind softened, indulging in the realm of possibilities.

“Yes princess…we are getting somewhere.”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Several days had passed since the incident, spent in peaceful solitude with Shuri. One evening, you chose to rise a little earlier to catch the sunset. Despite having largely adapted to Shuri’s lifestyle, you remained human, with an innate need for sunlight and its comforting warmth.

You sat on the shore, watching the sunset painting the sky as the day gently faded away. Pastel hues glistened before your eyes, sparking a feeling of wonder and awe. It was a moment for contemplation, a brief respite from life's chaos where time appeared to stand still. As a vampire, you understood you would never have this experience again, and a part of you found solace in that. You were willing to relinquish these small, inherently human moments if it meant freedom from the limitations that came with being one.

Even after the sun fully set, you sat outside for another hour or so, enjoying your own company. You looked back at Shuri's house, finding her silhouette beaming through the window and knowing she was there drew comfort.

“I love you, y/n,” she said to you through her mind, and you smiled, impatient for the day you could telepathically say it back to her.

“I love you, Shuri,” speaking as if she was right next to you but you knew her vampire ears picked it up with ease.

“I love you.” Another voice entered your mind, a mocking one, and it left you utterly confused. It didn’t sound like Shuri’s voice, but who else could it be?

“Did you say something?,” you asked, hoping Shuri would hear you again.

“I did not,” she replied to your mind. “Why do you ask, s’thandwa?”

“Oh nothing…I just thought I heard something.”

“No baby, I said nothing,” she assured once again.

You continue to savor your moment with yourself when an unfamiliar rustling in the trees catches your attention. Startled, you glance around but see nothing. You looked at the window and Shuri wasn’t there anymore. The rustling sounds again.

"Shuri? Shuri, this isn't funny." You knew your girlfriend loved to play games and tease you whenever she had the chance, but now she was nowhere to be found. "Shuri??"

A gust of wind struck your back, accompanied by a dark presence looming over you, forcing goosebumps to rise on your skin.

“You’re still as beautiful as ever.”

Your heart thudded erratically in your chest, a frantic drumroll that seemed to echo through your entire body. It pounded with such intensity that you could feel it in your throat. That all-too-familiar voice that swept through your mind, bringing back memories of darkness and unhappiness, left you in sheer terror. It was impossible. How could this be? But as soon as you doubted, the feeling vanished, replaced by the unmistakable sensation of rough, clammy hands skimming your shoulders, making your body shudder in fear.

“Turn around my love. Let me see your pretty face,” he whispered into your ear and you complied, coming face to face with him; the man you hated beyond the hatred you’ve ever felt for anyone.

Jonathan.

Only now his face seemed harsher and more sinister; his eyes glowed a vivid, unsettling red, like twin embers burning with insatiable hunger. Your first instinct was to run, but you knew better. There was no way a human could outrun a vampire. So, you stood frozen in your spot as he extended his fangs.

“You’re probably wondering where Shuri is, right? Why hasn’t she come to your rescue…?? She’s rather…occupied at the moment with her first love. Who gave me permission to kill you if Shuri even dares to come save you.”

You say nothing.

“But that’s the problem, y/n. I don’t want to kill you…I just want you.”

He reaches out to graze your face, and you dodge his touch; something you never would have dared to do when you were with him, fearing his reaction. But now, you are filled with anger with no outlet. How dare Shuri lie to you again? You felt manipulated and used, as if she had deceived you to win you over, treating you like a pawn in her own little vampire game.

Jonathan cocks his head at the action, shocked at how you so easily avoided his touch.

“I see your time with your little dyke has made you forget your manners.”

“Go to hell.”

He smirked so deviously, like the human Jonathan you used to pretend to love but even now, you could feel how becoming a vampire has heightened the terrible person he already was even before his transformation.

“I’m going to find Shuri,” but as you walked away, his vampire speed blocked you once again in a millisecond and your heartbeat quickened.

“Get out of my way,” you whisper in malice, your eyes buried into his scarlet ones as you pretend to not be afraid. But as soon as he gripped your arm with sheer vampire force, one that could have snapped your bone if he had gripped any harder, you yelled.

“Let go of me!”

“I swear to god, if he hurts you, I’ll rip him to fucking pieces!,” she spoke to your mind, and even though you could not directly hear her words, her fear for you was still utterly discernible. But that moment of ease washed away as soon as you and Jonathan both heard intense crashing and banging coming from inside the house; sounds that made you fear for Shuri’s immortal life.

“Shuri!!”

“Hold on baby, I’m coming for you.”

Shuri burst through the door with Adanna right behind her, the two of them locked in a vicious physical fight as they sped toward you with such velocity, it seemed as though they were floating rather than running. Both bore scars on their faces and bodies, healing rapidly, but you hardly noticed in the midst of their chaos. Before you could comprehend what was happening, Shuri lunged toward Jonathan with nothing but the intention to destroy him. With her years of experience, she could easily overpower him—but Adanna intercepted her, stepping between the two of them. Shuri tried to push past, but Adanna had grown stronger over the years. The entire scene was terrifying, three sets of eyes glowing and fangs bared.

Shuri is consumed by rage, too blinded by her fury to notice little ol’ you trembling in the corner. Her only focus is tearing Jonathan apart. The three vampires clash violently, with Shuri's power overwhelming Jonathan, who looks bewildered as he struggles to defend himself. Adanna, nearly as strong as Shuri, fights fiercely to protect him, their movements a blur of speed and raw strength.

You stood frozen in terror, your fear for Shuri's safety overwhelming you more than anything. Desperate, you screamed her name, and in an instant, the chaos ceased. All three pairs of eyes turned toward you, but only Shuri truly felt the depth of your fear. Her anger immediately drained from her, and her blood-red eyes faded back to their dark brown, her fangs retracting as she softened. She ran toward you, but as she drew closer, you instinctively backed away. Jonathan made a move to follow, but Adanna held him back, her curiosity piqued by what was about to unfold.

Shuri's heart broke at the subtle gesture of you backing away from her. You were just as terrified of her now as you had been when she first revealed her true nature, and she could sense it. The pain in her eyes was unmistakable, and in that moment, she realized how deeply the fear had taken root.

“Y/n? B-baby what’s wrong?”

“You lied to me,” you whispered to yourself, but of course her ears heard you perfectly. You looked so small and helpless, curling into yourself.

“What?? Baby, no. I didn’t lie to you. I’m just as shocked as you are.”

"Stop lying!" you screamed, your voice trembling as you felt yourself losing control. Shuri's face was etched with shock, while Adanna looked on with a knowing smirk. “All you have done since the moment we met was a lie!”

“No! No nkoszana, I’m telling the truth!”

Shuri reached out to touch you, but Jonathan moved to hold her back. In an instant, Shuri had him in a chokehold, a position where she could decapitate him easily if she wished. Adanna mirrored her actions with you, gripping you firmly. She clicked her tongue and waved her finger in a silent gesture of warning.

“Let her go, or I’ll kill him!”

“You first.” Adanna tightened her grip on you, applying more pressure to intimidate Shuri, causing you pain. You whimpered in her hold, pleading for her to let go.

“Adanna…”

“Let. Him. Go.”

“What do you want, huh? Why have you come back? After all these years, why are you here tormenting me?”

Adanna smirked, then roughly tossed you to the ground, the impact nearly knocking the wind out of you. As you struggled to catch your breath, Shuri kept a firm grip on Jonathan, who looked terrified for his life. Slowly, Adanna approached him, her eyes cold as she scanned the fear etched across his face.

“I turned him.”

Shuri stood silent in confusion.

“I saw you that day, you took him out here in the middle of nowhere thinking you were safe. I saw you drain the life out of him, but you didn’t actually kill him…and there was your mistake. You left him for dead, had you drank anymore from him, he would have died. But you didn’t. You just…left him there. To wither away with his thoughts, ran away from the crime scene you invented and I came in…and saved him.”

“A quick death would have been too easy for him. He deserved to suffer.”

“Why? Because of how he treated her??,” she says in disgust. “What makes her more deserving than me??”

“So this is what it is about?? Revenge?? I know I hurt you Adanna and that is something I have to live with for the end of time but your anger will not change the situation!”

“Maybe not…but it will make me feel better.”

Adanna moved with terrifying precision, driving a thick stick into your side with a swift, calculated thrust. The pain was searing, a torment that seemed to stretch on endlessly, enough to potentially kill you slowly, but not immediately. The world around you twisted into a blur as the pain took hold of you.

You remembered Shuri’s anguished reaction, even through the haze of your suffering. She let go of Jonathan immediately, racing to your side with a desperate urgency. Jonathan, unable to resist the overwhelming scent of your blood, stumbled after you but Shuri anticipated his move, intercepted him by driving a thick stick into him with equal force. Although it didn't pierce his heart, it was enough to weaken him drastically, sending him sprawling to the ground; his new vampire strength unable to withstand the attack.

Your memories were fragmented and disjointed; fleeting images of Shuri crying out for help as she held your limp body in her arms, the echo of chaotic footsteps in the hallways, and blinding flashes of light as everything around you dissolved into a painful blur.

“What was the incident??”

“I-I don’t know, she just…” Shuri's panicked cries fade into the background as you struggle to cling to life.

“Send her to the E.R.!”

"Stay alive, my love. Please don’t make me turn you this way," her voice echoed in your mind, compelling you to fight to stay alive. You struggled until everything around you went silent, enveloping you in a deep, profound slumber that brought you into a dreamlike state. You found yourself free, transcending the limits of your mortal existence. You were powerful and flawless, feeling an exhilarating strength that made you believe you could conquer anything. The world outside was cloaked in darkness, but you felt no fear. Instead, you felt invincible, where every shadow and obstacle seemed insignificant against your newfound strength. Your senses were heightened; the night air was crisp and alive with possibilities, and you reveled in the freedom and dominance that being reborn gifted you.

You drifted. And drifted. And drifted. Into an inevitable nothingness; claiming you for what seemed like an eternity.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You had been confined to bed for a while, the painkillers draping you in a shroud of sleep. Gradually, consciousness nudged at you, and you fought to pry your eyes open against the blinding whiteness of hospital lights. As your surroundings started to come into focus, a sharp gasp escaped you, accompanied by a stabbing pain in your side; lingering reminders of your wounds. A gentle breeze brushed past, and you turned to see Shuri swiftly by your side of the hospital bed. Her presence was peace to your weary soul, her eyes filled with relief and affection, warming you even as your mind struggled to fully awaken.

“A-am I a vampire now?,” were your first words as you fought the effects of the heavy medications.

Shuri chuckles, tears rolling down her eyes as she plants the firmest kiss to your forehead. “Nurse! She’s awake!”

“Shuri…what happened??”

“It’s okay baby…you’re ok now, you are going to be ok. I love you so much, do you know that? Please say you know that…”

In a fleeting instant, the memories surged back, crashing over you like a tidal wave. The faces of Jonathan and Adanna flickered in your mind, their actions replaying with a vividness that made your breath catch. You could almost feel the crushing weight of terror that overcame you, the harrowing brush with death that had nearly consumed you. It was as if you were reliving the torment all over again as you struggled to grasp the reality around you. The emotional sting is almost as painful as the physical one, as though it might pull you under once more.

“Why didn’t you turn me?”

Shuri stayed quiet, her brows knitting together in a wordless expression.

“Let’s talk later princess…the nurse should be here shortly.”

After a series of tests and a checkup, you were finally cleared to leave. As you settled into the wheelchair and were brought to the car, you noticed a stain of dried blood on the passenger's seat, a haunting reminder of that day’s events. The car ride home was quiet, tension thick in the air but the moment you arrived, Shuri used her vampire speed to grab the wheelchair and bring it to you before you could even open the door.

“I don’t need that,” you scoffed.

“S’thandwa, do not be stupid. Sit in the chair.”

“No, I’m not a cripple. I can do this myself.”

“Y/n…”

“I said no.”

There’s a brief pause before she smirks, then suddenly scoops you up, cradling you in her arms as if you weighed nothing. You let out a startled yelp as she lifts you effortlessly.

“You want to be stubborn? Fine, be that way.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips, one you tried to suppress, hoping she wouldn’t notice. But, of course, she did. Nothing ever slipped past her.

As you entered the room, she carefully laid you down on the bed, her touch gentle and reassuring. She leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead before settling beside you. Silence shook the room once more, but your mind was anything but quiet. Thoughts swirled in an endless stream, each one begging for attention, leaving you unsure of where to even begin unraveling them.

“I’m so so so sorry, y/n,” Shuri mutters. “I should have never brought you into this. This was my fault. And now they are both out there, bast knows where, most likely scheming against me which most likely involves hurting you because she hates how much you mean to me.”

You remain silent, letting it all sink in. A lone tear slips down your cheek, soaking into the fabric of the pillow beneath you.

“So why didn’t you turn me then?” Your voice was broken and bruised, beaten by what seemed like Shuri’s innate fear to make her like you. She turns around to face you, but your gaze remains on the empty ceiling. “It was the perfect opportunity. You could have just let me bleed out a little longer, pull me to the brink of death and then turn me.”

“Because that is what she wanted, princess. She wanted me to turn you in hopes that I would have the same fate with you as I did with her.”

“So what? Does she want you back or something? What does she want from me?”

“She wants revenge. She hates to see me happy after what I had done to her. She cannot fathom me being with the person I love while she rots in anger.”

You scoff, wiping the tears from your eyes. “Well she’s dumb and needs to get a hobby.”

Shuri softly chuckles before speaking. “I also did not turn you because that’s not how I wanted it to happen.”

“What?”

“If I would have turned you right then and there, it would not have been because that was your choice. It would have been because of unfortunate circumstances and that is not fair to you. When I turn you, I atleast owe you that luxury I was never given.”

You struggled to process the words spilling from her mouth, disbelief tightening in your chest. Slowly, you turned to face her, your movements deliberate as you drew in a few deep breaths, trying to steady the ache building within you.

“Shuri…?” You had to make sure you were hearing correctly.

“This was never my intention, to let it get to this point. You were beautiful, and I was simply tired of being alone, and I selfishly took it upon myself to weave myself into your life and now we are here. I guess it was bound to happen.”

“Shuri, what are you saying??”

For a moment, she lay there, caught in the disbelief of the words she was about to speak, as if hesitating to give them life. She reaches out to caress your cheek, eyes locking in an instant and her gaze softened before she said the words you craved since the moment you truly knew her.

“You leave me no choice, my beautiful princess, but to turn you.”

A wave of beautiful relief washed over you, lifting the weight that had burdened your heart for so long. You felt as light as a cloud, as if, for the first time, everything might actually be okay. Shuri pulled you close, your face nestled against her chest as silent sobs shook your body. She understood immediately that these weren’t tears of sadness, nor were they tears of joy. They were tears of overwhelming relief.

Life had not been kind to you. People had walked all over you, leaving you feeling small, helpless, incapable of standing on your own. But Shuri was different. She made you feel like you were worth something, like you were worth fighting for. All you had ever wanted was to be free; nothing more, nothing less. And Shuri knew this. She felt it in the way your tears soaked into her shirt, as if the warmth of your need could breathe life into her dead beat heart. You needed this. You needed her. And she needed you too.

“I know baby…I know. I’m so sorry.”

You sobbed into her, inhaling her comforting scent into you, the scent you wished to breathe in for the rest of eternity.

“I’m so sorry I made it so hard for you to convince me. It’s not that I did not want to be with you forever…I was just so afraid.”

You lifted your face up to hers, her beautiful tear stained face locked in yours.

“I know, Shuri. It’s ok. I understand you.”

This was all you needed: a moment of comfort so profound that it felt as though it could last forever. And you yearned for it to be timeless, untethered by the fleeting time of your human days, existing beyond the limits of mortal time.

Weeks went by, and with each passing day, you grew stronger, your body healing and regaining its strength. Through it all, Shuri stayed by your side, every step of the way. She encouraged you to savor the human experience for as long as you could, and you agreed, finding joy in the small, everyday moments before they slipped away. Life felt more peaceful than it had in a long time, and Shuri was every bit a part of it.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“I’m ok now, love,” you giggled, as Shuri scooped you up in her arms.

“I know, I just get so worried about you.”

About 2 months have passed since the incident, and you were feeling much better. Here you were, in Shuri’s arms as she carried you to the bedroom like a princess. Your human lungs still drew in breath, and your heart continued to beat as you waited patiently for Shuri to fully bring you into her world.

When you both lied on the bed, you got the urge to try something. You straddled her, startling her as you took her mouth into yours. It had been so long since you had her, and you knew she resisted out of fear in hurting you but you missed her. Missed her touch and missed the way she made your body feel. But Shuri quickly detached from your lips and you whimpered at the hurtful act.

“No. Not yet. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Please…please just let me,” you pleaded in desperation.

“I said no”

“Why?? Stop acting like I’m easily shattered. We used to fuck so good and everyday I go without touching you…tasting you…I literally lose my mind. I know you’re afraid and seeing me like how I was when I was hurt probably scarred you but I am not a child. I can take care of myself and right now…I want you. All of you. I miss you. I miss your gorgeous, sexy body and I miss feeling you inside me.”

She raised a brow.

“Don’t you miss me?”

She gazed intently into your soft eyes and your pouting lips, shaking her head with a playful sigh. She leaned her forehead into yours before she spoke.

“More than anything, my love.”

“Then what are you waiting for??”

Shuri hesitated, but her feelings of love and desire burned even stronger, overwhelming her uncertainty.

“Just this one time.”

“Just this one time,” you repeated. Your lips met slowly at first, the hesitation giving way to a rush of heat. She gripped the back of your neck to pull her closer, deepening the kiss until it felt like you two were breathing the same air. The world around you fell away, as you rekindled that fire that had not been burned in so long.

It did not take long for clothing to start coming off, shirts being removed first from the both of you as you lay on top of her. You pull her pants off so she’s in her undergarments only, slotting your knee between her pretty thighs until it comes in contact with her pussy that was pounding with a rush of pleasure. In no time, she begins to whimper, rubbing herself against you as your parted mouth swallows her moans. She looked so beautiful like this, caught in a desperate longing for more of you and no matter how hard she tried, she could never resist you.

“S-s’thandwa,” she stuttered, clearly nearing her peak as her movements grew more frantic. But you pulled yourself away from her, a sly smirk spreading across your face as you pushed her closer to the edge of madness.

“Want you to finish inside me,” you coaxed, whimpers caught in the back of your throat as you felt the warmth between your thighs flutter in ache. And that was all the confirmation she needed. She flipped you around with her vampire speed, testing the waters to see if you were ok and you were. She smiles and kisses your nose before she goes down to your mouth which quickly becomes the valley between your breasts before she wraps her mouth equally around each sensitive nipple.

“Please.” You struggled to hold back the subtle urge to beg, but being deprived of her touch for so long made your body impatient, eager to know what she had planned to do with it.

“Are we begging already, nkosazana?,” she teased with that amused expression that always had your heart pounding and it made you so embarrassed because you just knew she could hear it. You shook your head in challenge, trying to calm your whines but as soon as you felt her remove your bottoms, all the thin patience withered away. She kissed your inner thighs, plush lips meeting the scars she left from that day she marked you there and your chest was heaving.

“You should see how fucking wet you are right now…all because you need my touch that bad?”

“B-baby…please.”

“Use that mouth you love to run so much, princess. Tell me what you want.”

She inhaled your scent before planting soft kisses to the swell of your clit and your body trembled at the touch. But you knew she was not going any further until you spoke.

“Need you, baby…I want you inside me…please.”

“That’s a good girl. My needy little princess.” You nodded, because that is exactly who you were.

Your girlfriend smiles at you, her eyes dancing as they meet your desperate gaze. Shuri rose to her feet, abs all on display before removing her boxers and reaching for the vibranium toy she adored using on you. Shuri wasted no time, her eagerness clear as she longed to stretch your tight pussy walls. She grabs hold of your jaw, pressing her lips firmly against yours with sincere passion before she holds her shaft and pushes it into your leaking hole, your pulsing walls welcoming her in with ease while you both let out the filthiest moans into each other's mouths.

“I missed you, I missed you and your pussy so fucking much,” she whispered, her pace quickening as your cries grew louder. Your body shuddered violently against hers, overwhelmed by the intensity of her gaze, which made you squirm beneath her. Shuri's love for you was overbearing, and you felt the same for her. You longed for this moment to last forever. She dreamed of the days where she no longer had to be a vampire's gentle touch when having her sexual way with you, imagining how wonderful sex would be when she could fully express her body’s need for yours without the fear of breaking you.

“Just wait until I turn you, nkosazana. I will fuck you so good without destroying you.”

“You could do it now,” you playfully replied through your heavy panting. “F-fuck me like a true vampire right now…I d-don’t care if you b-break me.”

“You are fucking crazy, s’thandwa sam.”

“You love it though.”

“Yeah…yes I do, baby.”

You could only whimper in response, your eyes glistening with want and desire as she continued to push into you. It didn’t take long for you to reach your first orgasm. Or your second. Or even your third. You missed her deeply, and your pussy ached for her even more. Yet Shuri didn't pause, her thrusting never haltered because she knew that her favorite part was a few strokes away. She relished in overstimulating you, watching as your body quivered, breasts bouncing as you struggled to be good for her. And your girlfriend could always tell when you were; the way your eyes would go glossy, your lips pouting as you breathing picked up, grappling to put coherent words together. And you did it all for her. That was what she cherished most…the way you fought against the overwhelming pleasuree because of your love for her.

A tear escaped your eye and Shuri brushed it away with the pad of her thumb.

“Awww, my poor baby. Look at you…you're so helpless.”

“Sh-Shuri…”

“Yes?”

“W-want your c-cum inside me. P-please. Unh.”

“I’m right behind you s’thandwa, do not w-worry.”

She kept going, not too fast because she knew you were overstimulated, but enough to allow you to maintain it and bring you both to the finish line. Your orgasm washed over you like tidal waves do, an intense surge of pleasure that left you both breathless and disoriented. Every nerve in your body seemed to ignite, it was an explosion from within that had nowhere to land and your mind could only think of one thing: how you desired this, desired her more than you ever wanted anything else in your entire being. You could not wait any longer. Not another week, or day, or even another hour. You needed this, now and infinitely.

“I want you,” you whispered with big, doe eyes. Your voice trembled as tears clung to your dark, damp lashes streaked with the evidence of your longing. She put her fingers in her mouth, salivating those dangerous fingers of hers before bringing them down your body to circle your puffy clit and your body jerked up. Oh, how she loved to see you like this.

“Mhmm, keep going.”

“I want you forever, Sh-Shuri. Right here. Right now.”

She wore a look of confusion, her brows furrowing as she continued to rub you. She was right here with you and had no intention of leaving, but you proceeded with your unfinished statement.

“Turn me, baby. Please. Today. Now.”

She said nothing, only looked down at your plump lips and your round breasts. You were so beautiful in her eyes, and she wanted all of you.

“Princess—“

“No…I mean it. I want you. F-fuck…I w-want to be a v-vampire…with you. Oh.”

“You don’t know me.”

“But I do.”

“Who am I to you?” She slowed her movements on your clit, her strap still lingering inside you as she awaited your words. You whimpered one last time before you inhaled to speak.

“You are the most fucking selfish being I’ve ever met. You want what you want and you go after it. You get angry quickly and I know you live everyday fighting the urge to suck every ounce of blood inside of me and it scares me sometimes when I really think about it but I also know you’ll never hurt me. I know you’re hurt and I know you carry a lot of pain and anger inside of you, Shuri. And I know you try to hide it from me to protect me but your transparency only makes me want you more, no matter how dark your past is. I know you love me and I truly do believe that because I’ve never felt this before. I never felt so wanted and desired beyond what I look like on the outside. And maybe I’m just as selfish as you, because no matter how many people you’ve hurt or how many lives you’ve taken, you love me. And that’s all I care about. And now I just want to be with you for eternity.”

As the words fell from your lips, a wave of warmth surged through Shuri’s undead heart and she swears she felt it beat for a second. Each word and syllable echoed through her vampire mind, a mind that knew loneliness and despair like no other but in came you, the light at the end of the tunnel and she swears she could die from how much she loved you.

"Turn me," you repeated one last time, your voice carrying a soft insistence rather than a question. You caught a fleeting change in the color of Shuri's eyes, though she quickly masked it but you definitely noticed the subtle shift.

She returns her love to your clit, pulling you into your final human orgasm before she pulls out of you and you leak everywhere.

“I love you so so so much, y/n. More than anything in the world. More than I ever loved anyone before and I did not think I was capable of loving harder than I already have, but you, my most perfect girl, have proved me wrong.”

“I know Shuri…I know.” And you believed it.

“And you’re sure you want this? You want it right now? There is no turning back. This is permanent. This is for as long as eternity lasts for us. I don’t think you think you quite understand the meaning of immortality. ”

“And I never will if you don’t give it to me.” You reached up to cup her face, taking her in as you actively appreciated the pain of your beating heart. You could sense that these would be the last moments you could feel the patter against your ribcage, feel the breath entering your lungs, and the last moment you would feel at a human level before your emotions exploded like any immortal would.

Shuri removes her strap, so there’s nothing between your two beautiful dark naked bodies, holding you in her arms as a tear caresses her cheek.

“What’s wrong, my love?,” you questioned.

“Nothing is wrong…I’m just scared.”

“You have nothing to be afraid of. I believe in you. You can do this. You love me enough to stop.”

“But what if I don’t stop? I would not be able to live with myself…what if I hurt you??”

You gazed up at her with a look of sympathy, fully aware of how difficult this moment was for her but your belief in her remained unwavering. Gently, you drew her closer and pressed your lips to hers in a tender kiss before speaking.

“Then I’ll die happily in the arms of the one I love.”

Shuri's grin widened as she drew you in for one last, fervent kiss; a final, passionate exchange between human and vampire. This was the last moment you shared as a mere mortal before her fangs emerged, her irises shifting to the deepest red you had ever seen and you smiled at what was to come.

She leaned her head into the curve of your throat, pressing a soft kiss there before positioning her fangs above your artery, which seemed destined for her bite. Then, you felt it; her fangs piercing your skin with a depth that was unfamiliar and excruciating. Her bite wasn’t the bite of sexual pleasure or even to satiate her thirst; this was a transformative pain, a profound shift as she began to mold you into something like her.

You clung to her curls, tilting your head back to embrace the searing pain and the sensation of your life ebbing away with every second. Shuri reveled in the intimacy of the moment, her moans vibrating against your throat as your blood flowed into her. As you approached the brink of nothingness, stars danced in your fading vision, and death almost seemed to beckon with open arms. Almost. For a moment, there was nothing. No sensation, no sight, just darkness as you drifted into unconsciousness.

But then, you tasted it: Shuri’s blood. It was rich with power and possibility, a final, potent essence that completed your transition. As your life slipped away, all that remained was the true void, the absolute nothingness as your life faded away from you.

A few moments had passed and Shuri began to worry.

“Y/n…? Y/n…can you hear me??”

But you remained silent. Your mind ceased to think, your lungs no longer drew in air, and your heart fell still. You were dead.

“Oh…oh fuck…no, no, no, no, no…Y/N!! Baby, can you hear me?? Do not joke with me right now…please wake up!”

You were still. Nothing. Lifeless.

Shuri broke down, sobbing uncontrollably, her hand pressed to her mouth in a desperate attempt to muffle the convulsive cries tearing through her throat. How could this be? She had done everything right this time. She was certain she hadn’t killed you; she had felt your heart faintly beating when she gave you her blood. What could have possibly gone wrong?

“I am so sorry, baby…I’m so sorry, I should have never come into your life! I SHOULD HAVE LEFT YOU ALONE!! I’m so sorry, so sorry, so so sorry!”

Her sobs turned into a furious outburst as she began to tear apart her house, shattering everything in her way while she wrestled with her own existence. Overwhelmed by guilt and despair, she felt she could never forgive herself for what had happened. Consumed by the conviction that life without you was meaningless, she was determined to end it all.

But…

Gradually, life began to draw you out of the void. Memories of your entire existence, from infancy to the present, surged before you in a torrent of vivid images, both the good and the bad. The light at the end of the tunnel grew nearer and nearer until, suddenly, it stopped. You were there. You were here. Your eyes flew open in panic, and the first thing that hit you like an excruciating ton of bricks was the one thing that made you understand what Shuri fought so hard to keep you away from, an overpowering wave of something you never knew but your body understood: the smell of blood. ❁ཻུ۪۪♡

Twilight who????? If you actually read that whole thing, I love you so much omg! I hope you enjoyed and don’t forget to comment and share (why do I sound like a YouTuber), I absolutely love reading your comments! Thank you so so much again, for your patience, I know it was a long as wait and I hope it was worth it :)

[ugh-yoongi]

the very last thing i decide | pjm

(or, the one in which a love exists that's easy and instinctual as much as it is painful and self-destructive.)

✘ PAIRING jimin x f. reader ✘ SUMMARY you learn what it means to love with blood on your hands. ✘ GENRE hitman/assassin au; angst, smut ✘ RATING explicit. minors dni. ✘ WARNINGS they are both hitmen (hitpeople?) so there's all the content that goes along with that: violence, death, mentions of blood (a lot) and weapons, murder, but no explicit gore. everyone is morally grey at best and downright psychotic at worst (especially yoongi). reader gets stabbed. no one knows how to be a functional human being. swearing, smoking, light smut (penetrative & oral sex), miscommunication and unrequited love but not really, i drop a classic tumblr meme in a line of dialogue. ambiguous/hopeful ending!! some of the themes here are kinda heavy and i am not entirely sure how to tag them so if you have any questions pls don’t hesitate to ask! ✘ WORDCOUNT 12k ✘ LISTEN TO manchester orchestra - telepath ✘ THANK YOU i cannot remember everyone i’ve showed this to over the years. @the-boy-meets-evil for looking this over and brainstorming with me today. @hot-soop for always being a help. @effortandmore because you told me an embarrassingly long time ago this was worth finishing. and i’m pretty sure i also sent this to @jihopesjoint at some point too. i did a quick edit of this on my own, but after nearly three years i just wanted it posted and out of my wips so i'm sure i missed things. pls ignore them. ✘ AUTHOR'S NOTE fic drops two days in a row?? who am i?? i started this in may 2021 and it was supposed to be a simple pegging fic. i abandoned it bc i was convinced no one would want to read it. between today and yesterday i have written thousands of words and made it across the finish line. i hope you like it. the violence is a metaphor for love or whatever.

[37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA]

Jimin’s hair had been red the first time he met you.

How fitting, he thinks, considering he’s currently bleeding out on a table.

Well, there’s still a bit of fight left in him. He hasn’t lost consciousness yet, which he assumes is a good sign; he can still hear Hoseok barking out orders quite clearly. The edges of his vision are fuzzy and the pain in his abdomen is sharp and unrelenting, but he still has enough brain power left to wish he’d died instead.

Because you’d saved his life. And now he’s further indebted to you.

(Jimin never leaves a debt unpaid, but he’s not sure how to make even on something like this.)

Jungkook and Taehyung are fetching supplies faster than Hoseok can ask for them. Two pairs of frazzled, spaced-out eyes. Four sets of trembling limbs. Namjoon’s wearing burn marks into the floor, his cuticles bloody and nearly worried to the bone since he can’t keep them out of his mouth.

And then there’s you.

Sitting cross-legged in a chair as you scroll through your phone. Jimin’s blood is still drying on your hands, leaving smears as you drag your thumb back and forth across the screen, and this doesn’t seem to faze you one bit.

Behind you, Yoongi takes a seat at the piano and starts playing Toccata and Fugue in D minor, and Jimin simply cannot die like this. He can’t die on a wooden table in a room with a piano on which Min Yoongi is playing Baroque organ pieces.

“What is this, a fucking funeral?” Hoseok snaps, though there’s a desperation creeping into his tone that Jimin does not like, does not want to hear. “Cut it out, Yoongi.”

Said man staunchly ignores the doctor, transitioning flawlessly into the fugue. Jimin barely hears the tinkle of your laughter but he hears it all the same, and he wants to pretend it doesn’t calm him, bring him back down to earth when he starts drifting too far away. But you do, and it does, and all he can think about is: will you miss him if he dies? Will it take you long to wash his blood from your hands?

Hoseok’s absolutely incensed, pushed to the limits of his stress at the thought of not being able to save Jimin’s life, and Jimin appreciates this, really, but not when Hoseok pushes two gloved fingers deep into the wound in his stomach so hard all he can do is cry. “Yoongi—”

You snort. You don’t even look up from your phone.

Namjoon, for all his leadership and stoicism and poise under pressure, is just as frantic and panicked as the rest. It’s not everyday one of his people is inches from death ten feet away from him. Most people usually die in the shadows. Kim Namjoon has faced down death more times than most, yet watching the life slowly fade from Jimin’s eyes is too much even for him. “Yoongi, please—”

But the fugue keeps going, tempo change after tempo change, the two pillars of this organization spiraling completely by the time the coda starts, unfocused and sweating and praying. To gods they don’t believe in, to hope, to chance—whatever and whoever might be listening. Jimin usually loves hearing Yoongi play. It’s the only thing that humanizes him, and Jimin had spent so many restless nights shoulder to shoulder with him on that exact bench in the blue hours of the early morning, hypnotized by the way the older man’s knobby fingers moved across the keys.

This is it, he thinks.

Jimin’s going to die with Toccata and Fugue in D minor playing in the background.

He’s imagined his death so many times. Stupid not to in this line of work. Violent, quick and painless, in his sleep, drawn out and gory, a message. And in all of those scenarios, it’s either jarringly silent or there’s someone screaming. Usually him, sounding much like he is now, two fingers stuck in his gut. In all of those scenarios, Min Yoongi is never playing Bach as everything fades to black.

You sigh. “Shut the fuck up, Yoongi,” you say, your tone as blasé and inconvenienced as ever.

Shocked at your audacity, one of Yoongi’s fingers slips and hits the wrong key, something dissonant and metallic as it rings out. But the music stops all the same, the silence nearly giving Jimin whiplash. Now he can hear the clinkof Hoseok’s tools, the squelching of his wound, Jungkook’s desperate pleading for him to just be alright, please God, just hang on. He wants the music back. He doesn’t want Jungkook’s crying to be the last thing he hears. Doesn’t want the sound of his own organs imprinted into his memory.

“What’d you say?” Yoongi asks, because no one talks to him that way. They wouldn’t dare. Most people try not to talk to him at all.

But you do.

And, inexplicably, Yoongi listens.

You roll your eyes. “You go deaf in your old age? I said shut the fuck up. Hoseok’s two knuckles deep in Jimin’s fucking stomach and you’re over there having your little Amadeus moment.”

He bristles. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” Yoongi repeats, and Jimin can’t see him, but he knows his eyes are narrowed, lips pulled back in a snarl, fists clenched at his side.

“Oh, princess,” you coo, and Yoongi’s fury is palpable, permeates every inch of this place, overrides all the fear and anguish. “I’m talking to you, baby. I know Jiminie’s busy trying not to die and that’s stressful for all of us, but please do try to keep up.”

Jimin hears the flick of Yoongi’s switchblade. Then he hears him say, “Please let me fucking kill her,” in that lazy Daegu drawl of his, like forming full words are beneath him. Not worth the effort when they’re directed at you.

Still seated, you uncross your legs and, through blurred vision, Jimin watches you grab Yoongi by his belt loops to tug him closer, grab the wrist that holds his knife and press it to your own throat. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Yoongi. Be a good boy and make it hurt.”

Jungkook’s near hysterics at Jimin’s side. “What the fuck is wrong with you two? He’s dying!”

Jimin tries to say I’m not, Kookie, I’m okay but the pressure on his abdomen is too intense. He can barely breathe, and Hoseok’s still digging around, still looking for that stupid fucking bullet, had to do something and do it quick so there’d been very little anesthetic and finesse, and he’s silently screaming for someone to just comfort Jungkook, tell him everything’s going to be okay, but instead—

“Serves him right for being a fucking idiot,” you say, words muffled by the knife still pressed to your throat. “What a painful, permanentlesson in not forgetting your fucking vest.”

“Stop it!” Jungkook sobs, fingers ghosting along Jimin’s matted fringe.

Yoongi’s still scowling. “Just say the word, Joon-ah. I’ll make it quick.”

You actually laugh at that. The kind of full-belly laugh Jimin would kill to be able to produce. “You wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

Someone snarls. Probably Yoongi. “You’d look so good gutted on the floor like a fish,” he replies, and if Jimin knows him at all, he knows he’s got that dreamy, faraway look in his eyes. The one he always gets when he’s about to kill—the one that makes him so unhinged and dangerous. “Left there to bleed out and die all alone like the trash you are.”

No one’s survived that look before, but you just grin, as if being on the receiving end of it is nothing more than another simple inconvenience. “Do it, then,” you prompt. “You’re so big and bad, yet here you are, waiting for Namjoon’s permission like some kind of pathetic fucking dog.”

“I’m no one’s dog.”

Your eyes slowly flick over to Namjoon. “No?” you ask, smile widening as Jimin watches you drag your heeled foot up the inside of Yoongi’s calf, his thigh, stiletto coming to rest in the center of his sternum. “That’s a shame, princess. That pretty neck of yours was just made for a collar.”

There’s no doubt in Jimin’s mind now that he actually died back in that penthouse and is now residing in whatever level of hell is watching you give his associate a semi despite him being a millisecond away from murdering you.

Yoongi would do it, too. No hesitation. You’ve been on his shit list for as long as Jimin can remember, and you’ve been daring him to put his money where his mouth is and just kill you already for just as long.

Taehyung groans. “Can you two just fuck already so the rest of us can be spared of this?”

You click your tongue, tone melting like butter. You’re fond of Taehyung, soft on him. “No can do, angel. Yoongi here knows I only have eyes for our Jiminie, and god does that hurt his little feelings.”

Your wicked smile gives away nothing—whether you’re telling a bold truth or just unnecessarily needling Yoongi further—but Jimin’s caught off guard and chokes on your words nonetheless.

Hoseok’s forceps still digging around in his stomach, there’s a quiet hurrah of triumph as he finally locates the bullet. Jimin feels nothing as he retrieves it and plucks it out, a reverberated clank! as he drops it into a kidney dish, your words the anesthetic he’s needed as they play on a loop in his head.

When he finally blacks out, either from the pain or the adrenaline or both, it’s your face that greets him. He never gets the chance to tell you why he forgot his vest.

[64.1466° N, 21.9426° W | Reykjavík, ICELAND]

Jimin’s hair is blue when it happens the first time.

It’s November. Namjoon has sent the two of you to Reykjavik and it’s dark all the time, the midnight hue of his hair blending into the impenetrable nighttime that surrounds you. Jimin works best like this—out of sight, part of the shadows. He’s light on his feet, lithe in ways no one else is, not even you, and he’s impossible to anticipate under the cover of darkness.

That’s why Jimin always takes care of the appetizers.

It’s your job to clean up the main course.

The two of you are two halves of the same lethal coin, working together flawlessly after years of carefully honed practice. Jimin slams an unsuspecting man’s head into a wall and you’re right behind him to put a bullet in it.

It’s just how it goes.

And he trusts you. He has to, otherwise he would’ve gotten taken out years ago. You’re not always in his line of sight, but he always feels you, senses your movements before you’re even on your feet. The times it’s gone wrong—and it’s gone wrong so many fucking times, despite how cautious and skilled the two of you are—you’re always right there to catch him before he even hits the ground. Just like a ghost, as if your only purpose in life is keeping Jimin safe and alive.

(It isn’t, but it sure feels that way.)

Tonight it’s another hit carried out in an overpriced penthouse overlooking the northern shore. You’re in and out, don’t waste a second more than you need to. Jimin doesn’t spare a glance at the carnage left behind. Nothing he hasn’t seen a hundred times before. All blood bleeds the same, but he still wonders, foolishly, if his looks different to you. If it feels wrong when it stains your hands and seeps into your clothes.

Jimin has never been covered in your blood before, but he likes to think it would.

The two of you don’t speak until you’re in the quiet safety of yet another hotel room, chain lock thrown across the door, deadbolt secured. A small arsenal of weapons is retrieved from ankles and waistbands and cleaned and packed away meticulously. Jimin’s the one who makes the call to Namjoon, tells him in code that the job’s done. You’ve barely broken a sweat, but under the fluorescent light of the bathroom, Jimin can see a small smattering of blood just along your temple when he closes the distance between you.

Someone else’s, of course.

Anyone who made you bleed your own blood wouldn’t be a quick, clean kill. Jimin would make sure of that.

There’s less to be done about the half-inch scar in the hollow of your throat—a pearlescent reminder of the twin scar he has just below his navel; a callback to the day your devilish mouth said the words Jimin can’t stop thinking about.

“No can do, angel. Yoongi here knows I only have eyes for our Jiminie.”

Maybe it’s stupidity. Maybe it’s the feral, years-long build up that’s been simmering between the two of you—low enough to keep warm, contained enough to never evolve into a rapid boil. Maybe Jimin’s just finally desperate enough to go seeking out answers to questions he’s far too scared to put a voice to.

(Really, Jimin knows it’s adrenaline. Nothing more than chemicals. The two of you high on it, heads floating above the clouds. Powerless; or, at the very least, indifferent to stop the very clear path that’s unfolding on the ground below.)

But, god, he needs to know.

Needs answers.

Needs to know if there’s even a chance you feel it, too: the magnetic ebb and flow the two of you have been dancing around for years. If you see how fondly he looks at you. If you have any idea how easy it is for him to get lost in you. If you know he’d let someone put a bullet between his eyes before he placed his life in the hands of anyone else.

Jimin knows he loves you. He’s known it for a long time, just like he knows all those other things that are second nature to him. Loving you is easy and instinctual as much as it is painful and self-destructive.

At least that’s what he’d thought. Until your devilish mouth said those devilish words and sent him into a tailspin he’s yet to recover from.

You have to feel it. God, can’t you? The way the air crackles between you. The way his skin ignites with a simple look from you. The trembling of his fingers at his sides, desperate to just reach out and touch you—fingers that have been bathed in blood, that have taken life. Fingers that now just want to graze softly across your cheekbones, catch on your bottom lip. Fingers that want to hand you the world on a silver platter. Jimin would do anything for you, give you whatever you wanted. You wouldn’t even have to ask.

Can’t you feel that?

He needs to know.

Jimin is composed, elegant. He kills with grace and still maintains as much of his softness as he can. Isn’t ruled by emotion the way Yoongi and Jungkook are. But now, as he teeters on the edge of the unknown, all he wants to do is jump. Wants to buck all his training, all his resolve and forethought, and jump.

“Did you mean it?” he asks, voice thick. Fingers curl into the expensive silk of his shirt just so they have something to do—something to keep them from reaching out and touching you. “Back in Seoul.”

You’re the smartest person Jimin knows. When you ask, “Did I mean what, Chim?” he knows you’re fucking with him. Dragging this out. You know exactly what he’s asking and he knows you’ll never give anything away so easily.

“What you said to Taehyung,” he answers.

You tsk, eyebrows raising in intrigue. As much as Jimin trusts you, as well as you know him, know all those dirty, dirty secrets he’d never tell anyone else, he’s never been so bold with you. “That those long fingers of his would look good wrapped around my throat? Yeah, I meant that.”

Jimin’s jaw clenches at your taunt. “Don’t play games with me.”

A smirk graces your lips. “Trust me, sweetheart,” you say, voice sickly-sweet as the affection starts popping at the last seams holding him together, “if I wanted to play with you, there’s nothing you could do to stop it.”

With Jimin pressed into the wall behind you, you turn to meet his eye in the mirror. Another smile, teeth bared as you run your tongue across your lips, and this one is his undoing. Makes his cock twitch in his dress pants. Makes him bold. “Do you want to, then?” He takes a step forward—close enough to smell the gunpowder stuck to your clothes, your hair. Close enough for the sulfur and metal to sting his nostrils each time he breathes you in. “Do you want to play with me?”

You love Jimin. Maybe it’s a trauma bond or the implicit, unwavering trust the two of you have in one another, but you know you love him limitlessly. But you also know you can’t love him the way he loves you, the way he deserves to be loved by someone, which is why your mask slips as you say, “I can’t give you what you want, Jimin.”

You try to make him understand that. Really, you do—because Jimin is the smartest person you know, and you know he’s thought about every possible consequence down to the most minute detail and has decided this is worth it anyway. You want to believe in something the way Jimin believes in you, even though he’s wrong. You want something worth throwing all of this away for.

Maybe it’s Jimin, maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s just been so fucking long since someone has looked at you with any gentleness in their eyes at all that when Jimin meets your gaze and says, “I don’t want anything more than you’re willing to give,” you take his hand and jump, too.

And there’s nothing gentle about the first time.

It’s all raw, urgent need, Jimin trying desperately to convince himself it’s more than it is while you convince yourself it’s less.

It’s the two of you finally giving up and giving in, letting yourselves be pulled taut by that invisible string tying you together.

It’s Jimin’s sharp intake of breath when you fully step out of your clothes, the sight rendering him immobile. Whatever plans he’d had before seeing the curves of your body, all the scars from years of working by his side, the mottled yellow-greens and purples from the bruises lining your skin—he has no plans now. Can barely think. Wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away from you with a gun to his head.

It’s the final bricks of the wall he’d built around himself—around his heart, around all those words and feelings he’d never put a voice to—crumbling into ash at his feet. Now he knows he can’t go back. Can’t return to a reality where this isn’t his truth. Where there’s no you and him, him and you. Where it’s just a physical exchange, a give-and-take, tit for tat.

And god, he knows he shouldn’t think like this; knows he’s keeping the truth buried somewhere deep behind lock and key.

…But now that he knows how it feels to move inside you, what else is he supposed to do?

You’re everywhere. Clenched around him. Your taste on his tongue. The feel of you on the pads of his fingers. The smell of you making a mockery of all logical thought. No—no, he can’t do a goddamn thing to stop the avalanche now it’s started.

“Fuck,” he whines, fingers digging into your hips. The soft skin he finds purchase in such a contrast from your hardened exterior, but Jimin knows. He knows you, knows the person behind the mask, sees straight through you each time it slips.

What stared back at him had always been just out of reach.

Taunting him.

Screaming come and get me, come make me yours, come and fucking take what you want.

Until now.

Now it’s tangible. Now it’s breathy, fractured moans that echo off tile walls. Now it’s the sound of his name thatleaves your lips like a prayer. Now it’s the sheen of sweat that covers both of you. Now it’s nails scraping down his back, tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.

(And Jimin won’t tell you this, but those red welts are proof that this is real, this happened, and later on when he’s alone, when his mind is working overtime, he’ll look at them and he’ll smile. Because they’re real. Because this happened.)

Now, it’s the way blue becomes his favorite color. Because he can see his reflection in the mirror as he unravels and comes to his own demise as he spills inside of you; can see the fluorescent lights reflecting off the hue of his hair.

Jimin’s hair is blue when he realizes he’s in love with you.

[34.6037° S, 58.3816° W | Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA]

Jimin is blond when Namjoon sends you to South America.

The details had been scarce: a diplomatic advisor with a rap sheet of human rights violations that have been continuously swept under the rug and his equally-corrupt lawyer. A candid photograph paperclipped to another manila folder, Namjoon a fan of all those old cliches. Likes being a little cheeky that way when he can get away with it, because god knows he can’t get away with much, doesn’t have much of a sense of humor.

It’s a simple job. You and Jimin will have it dealt with in a matter of hours. Less if you’re lucky and the universe is agreeable. But the humidity sticks to your skin, has sweat seeping into your clothes and rolling down your temples, and if there’s one thing you can’t stand it’s the heat. Makes it hard to think. And Namjoon—Namjoon, who makes sure all of his agents want for nothing—is a cheap bastard. Rarely approves nice lodging, says it’s too risky despite your arguments to the contrary, that people don’t care what you do when you have money, so you’re stuck in some shithole motel room with an aircon unit that keeps blowing out stale, warm air.

And maybe you shouldn’t, maybe you should be more cognizant of Jimin and all his feelings, but it’s fucking hot, so you peel your shirt over your head and undo the button of your pants. Sit on the edge of the bed and try to think about anything other than the temperature, how it’s starting to prick uncomfortably at your skin.

Jimin clears his throat, keeps his eyes glued to the disgusting carpet. “Got a text from Seokjin-ssi,” he says, words strained. “Looks like they’ll be solo jobs.”

You groan. Leave it to Seokjin to change the plan at the last minute. “Tell Kim Seokjin he’s a useless piece of shit.”

“Done. Anything else?”

“Tell Kim Namjoon if he ever sends us to South America in the summer again I’ll kill him myself.”

Jimin has a laugh like an anodyne. A laugh that takes all those broken, bleeding parts of you and soothes over them like a balm. “Seokjin-ssi says he’s not passing along that particular message.”

“Tell him he’s a bitch, then.”

“He’ll kill me if I say that.”

“He hasn’t done field work in years and he’s probably too vitamin D deficient to leave the basement. He couldn’t even kill a fucking rat.”

There’s another laugh. More forced, less tinkling. You recognize it right away, the sound of anxiety. Solo jobs aren’t common for the two of you. For Yoongi and Taehyung, sure, but not you and Jimin. You’re a team for a reason, and though you’re more than capable of getting this done and out of the way, it doesn’t feel right. Settles in your gut like something rotten, knowing you’ll be without Jimin.

And you know he’s thinking it, too. How he turns the burner over and over in his hands, as if there’s some combination of words he can send back to Seoul to get Seokjin and Namjoon to reconsider. Plans don’t change often; not like this, anyway. These have been declared solos for a reason, and that’s a thought you can’t linger on too long.

“Are they leaving it up to us?” Jimin nods, still not meeting your eye. “Do you have a preference?”

He shrugs, tossing the phone on the small table in the corner. Nothing else to be done. “Not really. What do you think?”

“Nah, don’t care, either. Just toss me one.”

Santiago Aguirre… 47 years old… Resides in a high-rise luxury apartment in Retiro…

Your eyes skim the file, study the black and white photograph of the lawyer. Read over the list of all his high-profile, degenerate clients and all their high-profile crimes. You read about the previous attempts on his life, the seemingly never-ending list of people who want him dead. Your eyes go back to his photograph, frowning at the smug look on his face. What stares back at you is a man who thinks he’s invincible, who thinks a penthouse apartment on the top floor and a security team in the lobby means he’s impervious to harm. A man who has made money off people just like him: dirty, corrupt, hands stained red.

“Okay?” Jimin asks, looking up from his own file.

He’s so striking. So safe. And you know what he’s done, giving you the hit he thinks is easier, willing to risk himself on a solo mission to ensure you make it out. There’s no guarantees in this line of work, in life in general, but Jimin’s brand of selfless love is certainly one.

So you just nod, knowing someone slimy like this can quickly go sideways, and decide you can do the same.

“I’m gonna get ready,” you say. “The plan is the same as all the other solo jobs. Get in, get it done, get out as quickly as possible. Lay low. Don’t come straight back here.”

Jimin rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Anything else?”

You exhale. Try to quiet the nerves roiling in your stomach. Barely resist the urge to press a lingering kiss to Jimin’s forehead before you swallow hard and say, “Yeah. Stay alive.”

It comes out more like a plea.

—

You’re good at your job.

Rarely feel much guilt over it, either, which—well, you’re not sure what that means. That something is permanently broken in your psyche, probably. Being able to take life so easily and without remorse. It’s not natural.

Kim Namjoon is a man who plays God, is the one who decides who gets to live and who has to die. His word is the only law you adhere to. And that’s… that’s something. Makes it less burdensome, takes some weight off, because Kim Namjoon wouldn’t accept a morally-ambiguous job. He wouldn’t ask you to put your life on the line for some petty bullshit.

This is how you’ve lived for the last four years. Four years of blindly following Namjoon’s word, of being a good little soldier and doing whatever is asked of you. Four years of being responsible for not only your own life, but Jimin’s as well, just as he is for yours. Four years that have served you well, all things considered.

Until now.

Something about this job hits you hard. Doesn’t settle quite as quickly as the ones that have come before. For the first time, you’d looked down at the lifeless body at your feet and couldn’t stop the trembling, could barely quell the nausea. Thought what the fuck am I doing, what kind of life is this for the first time. Thought back to that day four years ago when Kim Namjoon saved your life and offered you a job and wondered, for the first time, what would’ve happened if you’d said no.

Now, as you suck on a cigarette, legs dangling off the roof of a building looking not far from collapse, a new thought:

Would Namjoon let you go if you asked?

He’s taken care of you. For four years you’ve wanted for nothing. Have socked away more money than you’ll ever be able to spend, even if you live to a thousand. You could go anywhere, become anyone, and no one would suspect a thing. There’d just be you and a million lifetimes’ worth of transgressions, alone under the weight of all that burden; alone, except for all the ghosts that come to greet you every time you close your eyes.

Doesn’t matter. Namjoon might be willing to let you go, give you the chance to salvage something from this life in the name of normalcy, but Yoongi would gladly put a bullet in your head before he let you disappear with all his secrets.

Doesn’t matter.

You stub out the cigarette and put the butt in your pocket. Make your way down to the street. Stay under the shadows—just visible enough to redirect any suspicion shot your way. You pretend to take a call, flawless Argentinian Spanish falling from your lips as you tell the imaginary person on the other end all about your fucked up day at work. How your manager never gets off your ass, doesn’t trust you, thinks you’re too fucking stupid to run a simple executable.

No one spares you a second glance.

Not here, on this nondescript street in a nondescript Argentinian neighborhood, and not when you stumble into the tiny lobby of your shithole motel. The poor kid behind the desk doesn’t even glance up, just mutters a good evening, miss under his breath that you return in a voice far too high-pitched to be your own.

Better to be seen and be unremarkable than draw attention to yourself trying to stay invisible, you figure.

The cameras in the stairwell are broken so you take the steps two at a time. Pull the room key from its place inside your boot, happy to no longer have it digging into your skin. Pause just long enough to make sure you don’t hear anything on the other side of the door before you’re unlocking it with your free hand wrapped around the trigger of your gun.

It’s empty.

Of course it is.

Jimin stashed the burner in a place no one but you would think to look. You text one simple word to Seokjin—Hey!—and you get two in return: Who’s this?

You know who it is, you fucking dickhead.

It takes a few seconds, but the reply is a simple—

Sorry.

Then you toss aside the phone and float in the darkness of the room. There’s nothing to do but wait, because you don’t dare to do anything alone. There’s sweat and blood and fuck knows what else stuck to your skin, your hair, but you can’t risk taking a shower. Can’t risk the water dampening your senses. Can’t risk being cornered in a moldy bathroom, only one way out. Can’t risk doing anything alone. Can’t take a fucking shower.

It’s this thought, more than anything else, that has your body flushing with rage.

What kind of life is this?

Namjoon had never mentioned repaying your debt. He’d never insinuated you owed him anything at all for saving your life, but you know something like that never comes for free. Namjoon doesn’t do anything just because. Has no goodness in his heart to do anything in the name of it. Watching Jimin nearly die in front of him had been the exception to his usual nature; a rare slip-up by an otherwise detached, uncaring man.

Still, whatever you owe him has surely been repaid by now. Tenfold, if the bloodstains along your collar are anything to go by.

It’s time for Namjoon to let you go.

—

Something is wrong.

Two hours have ticked by and there’s no word from Jimin. No word from Namjoon or Seokjin, either, which is the only reason you’re still in this nauseating motel room and not out on the streets searching for him. Solo jobs don’t go like this. The two of you are always in and out, tragically efficient. Back to where you started and then back on a plane, nothing left behind except a singular bullet hole and another fragmented piece of your conscience.

You’ve had a lot of jobs go wrong, but never two hours.

You’re about three minutes from coming out of your skin. Sick to your stomach with worry, anxiety weighing you down like an anchor. You wouldn’t be able to go out searching for Jimin like this even if you could, and there’s no point in dwelling on that, examining it further. All you can do is wait.

It’s another hour before you hear the click of the lock. You’re nearly on your knees in relief, but you stay rooted to the flimsy mattress. Try not to think about how you’ll have to sleep on it, even though you’ll be up half the night with residual worry. All those lingering ghosts.

Jimin doesn’t say anything, so neither do you.

[55.6761° N, 12.5683° E | Copenhagen, DENMARK]

Jimin’s hair is orange when you go to Copenhagen.

Not for a job, just to breathe. You wanted to see the city at Christmastime; Jimin’s never been.

You crack a joke. Point out buildings of similar color, have him stand in front of one as you take a picture. Everyone smiles when they pass the two of you on the street, Jimin’s eyes fond even though he rolls them as you pose him how you want. Still stands against an apricot-colored wall and flashes a smile and a peace sign, cheeks pink from the cold. Does a good job of pretending the two of you aren’t here just for fun, that this is something more.

It’s not.

The two of you fucked in a hotel room in Reykjavik and haven’t spoken a word of it since.

You nearly lost your mind over him in Buenos Aires and haven’t spoken a word of that, either.

Instead, his hand finds yours as the two of you walk around Tivoli Gardens. You marvel at the lights and Jimin marvels at you. You share mulled wine and spiced doughnuts. Jimin tries to drag you on the swings but you plant your feet and refuse, laughing through your refusals. As dangerous as your lives are, motion sickness might be the most. He gets his revenge and poses you in front of a giant nutcracker, then again in front of one of the endless Christmas trees.

Jimin pays for the two of you to decorate honey cakes. You’re surrounded by families with shrieking children and palpable adoration, and it’s all you can do not to wonder if anyone you’ve taken out had ever had something like this. Something that makes your soul warm; something that still lingers in your bones years later.

The two of you take a selfie when it starts to snow. It stings when you have no one to send it to, so it just lives in your phone. Maybe it’s enough.

On another day, Jimin holds your hand through Torvehallerne. This time you marvel at him while he marvels at all the food, eyes wide each time he turns to ask if he should buy something. You always say yes and he always shares, and it’s all you can do not to think about why you don’t have to budget yourselves. Why you’re able to walk through the market and buy whatever you want; how you could buy every item for sale and it wouldn’t make a dent.

(You pick up small trinkets for Taehyung and Jungkook. Not because you want to, but because it feels nicer than remembering that you have no one to buy gifts for. Not really. Not anymore.)

Jimin wants to ice skate, so you do. He holds your hand then, too. More out of necessity than anything else, and he has none of his usual grace. Someone hands you a free cup of hot chocolate, just because. Jimin pouts and then it’s his hot chocolate. It’s all you can do not to kiss away the whipped cream on the corner of his mouth.

Back in your lavish hotel, after countless days have blurred together and Jimin’s fresh from a shower, skin flushed, you finally ask yourself if it’s worth putting up such a fight. If it’s really all that bad to care for Jimin and be cared for in return. If it’s all that bad to be someone else, just for a little while: someone with a normal life who makes a normal living and has a normal capability to love. Someone who isn’t damaged beyond repair.

That will never be you. Not fully, and certainly not in this lifetime, but maybe it could be, a little.

“Jimin,” you say, because you need to try. Jimin loves you in ways you’ll never understand, and you want to be better for him. “We should talk.”

Your voice is small and hesitant, and Jimin hates it. Sees trouble where there’s only vulnerability, so he misreads. Shakes his head. Takes a risk and stands between your legs at the edge of the bed—yours, because there’s two—as he tilts your head back, thumbs pressing into the contours of your cheeks. The scar still sits in the hollow of your throat, and that version of you feels so far away. That life feels so far away.

There’s no violence here. There’s no blood, no fugues. There’s just you and Jimin, whose voice is small like yours when he shakes his head and says, “You should kiss me instead.”

The second time is nothing like the first.

Jimin moves delicately. Feels like silk lace, tastes like spun sugar. Moves both his mouth and his body fluidly, no hesitation, yet he still takes his time. Still pauses to look at you with endless devotion; with awed reverence. Makes a map of your body and marks all his favorite places with his lips.

“Tell me what you want,” he says. Speaks the words against the skin just beneath your ear. “Anything. I’ll give you whatever you want, just have to ask.”

What you want isn’t tangible, isn’t possible, so you stay quiet. Thread your fingers through Jimin’s hair, gasp when he mouths along the column of your throat. Jimin reserves all his softness for you. Bathes you in it. Would kill anyone to keep it that way.

So you say, “Want your mouth,” and let slip a quiet moan when he gives you what you’ve asked for. When he situates himself between your thighs and sucks and licks until you’re writhing, making a mess, grasping fruitlessly at the sheets, his hair, his shoulders, only calming when his hands find yours and your fingers interlock.

Jimin mouths at you until you’re trembling. Until you’re needy and desperate, hips moving on their own, fucking yourself against his face. Until nothing exists except the heat in your belly, the stars behind your eyelids, the heady, fucked-out sound of Jimin’s voice as he talks you through it, murmurs praise against your cunt.

Jimin mouths at you until you forget.

This isn’t your life. This is not something you can have.

But, in the grand scheme of things, what does it matter? You’ve made peace with death, and there’s only one of two ways it’s going to come for you in the end: by Namjoon’s hand or someone else’s. So what does it matter?

This time, Jimin fucks you slow. Kisses you with your taste still in his mouth. Thumbs over a hardened nipple just to see what earns him a reaction, and what you truly want is more time—something else that’s impossible.

Jimin’s hair is orange when you think you might be in love with him.

[ 48.8566° N, 2.3522° E | Paris, FRANCE ]

Jimin’s hair is pink when—

“Sit,” he says, gesturing to the toilet.

Soaks a washcloth in warm water. Wrings it out. Stands in front of you, and there’s water dripping onto the floor and Jimin doesn’t care, doesn’t seem to see anything in this moment except for you, your hands covered in someone else’s blood, and he reaches out, gently grabs your wrist. Palm up. Someone else’s blood. Everything smells like copper and iron. Looks too surreal beneath the fluorescent lights of this hotel bathroom for your mind to make sense of it.

There is care in the way Jimin cleans your hands. There is tenderness in the way he both refuses to see what you really are and the way he’s the only one to ever see you so entirely, when you look down at the blood he’s washing away and all you can see is stigmata. When all you see is sin.

“I know you don’t love me,” he says, and there is a conviction in his words that stuns you into silence. “Not the way I love you, anyway.”

That tenderness is still there as he says this. As he presses the wet fabric into the meat of your palm, wipes the stains away, and the warmth is as calming as it is undeserved. It feels like something forbidden. It feels like salvation and condemnation all at once, like whatever sick depravity permeates you is contagious, will take over Jimin, too, just from touching you.

Jimin is close enough to reach out and touch. Close enough to see the violence that he exists in alongside you: the rips in his clothes, the scars that decorate his skin. Close enough to know he smells sickly-sweet, just like death. Your hand shakes as it reaches for him and never follows through. Doesn’t want to contaminate him.

“I do,” you finally say. Whatever is in your voice is not conviction. “I can’t.” You suck in a breath, try to steady your breathing. This is where it all comes crashing down, you think, because in all the years you’ve done Namjoon’s bidding, you’ve never cried. You can take life so freely and without thought, but you cannot love Jimin. “Someone like me isn’t capable of it.”

Jimin pauses, the washcloth stuck in the space between your ring and middle fingers. “And who is someone like you?”

Water is still dripping to the floor. Serosanguineous: blood tainting something untouched. Not something one thing or another but both, watery-pink. Looks like Jimin’s hair. “I’ve killed a lot of people,” you answer. “More than I can count. More than I can name. More than the ones that come to haunt me at night.” Your free hand moves to your chest, covers your heart. “There’s nothing here, Jimin. I’m not sure there ever was.”

The washcloth drops to the floor, and all that blood belonging to a man whose name you never bothered to learn before you put a bullet between his eyes finds a new place to rest. “I think,” he begins, clasping your unclean hand in his own, voice dropping to a whisper, “you forget, sometimes.” You gasp as he places your palm to his cheek, drags it across his face, smears a stranger’s blood across his skin. “That we’re the same.”

Jimin is always overwhelming, but the love he has for you is even more so. It consumes you entirely, embeds itself beneath your skin, makes a home, would tear you apart, body and soul, to return to him.

[ 47.4979° N, 19.0402° E | Budapest, HUNGARY ]

Jimin’s hair is lavender when it all goes to shit.

“You’re being followed.”

Seokjin’s voice is garbled through the earpiece, tinny and metallic, and you roll your eyes. Some things don’t need to be said, because you’ve known someone was following you for the last three blocks. Average height, black peacoat, close-cropped haircut. Not the kind of person that’d stand out here, and that’s exactly why you’d sent Jimin in the other direction.

“No shit,” you respond in Hungarian, because you already know the man following you doesn’t speak or understand it. “Give me somewhere to go.”

It takes Seokjin a few moments to run the translation. “There’s a side street up on your right,” he answers. “It’s tight, but there’s an alleyway at the end. You can buy some time if you’re quick.”

“Where’s Jimin?”

You pass a vendor selling lángos and duck into the street behind the stall. Just as Seokjin had said, there’s a small alleyway up on the left, and your footfall is near-silent as you break into a sprint to reach it. “Safe,” is all Seokjin says.

You take a second to steady your breathing, knowing you’re good on time—the man following you was close enough to know where you’d turned, but, if you’re lucky, not much after that. That plays on a loop: if you’re lucky, if you’re lucky, if you’re lucky. What is luck, what does it look like, in a life left entirely to chance? In a life with no guarantees?

You tuck yourself away, focus on Seokjin’s metallic breaths. Think about his basement in Seoul, why he’s in it. Ask, “What happened in Addis Ababa?” because it feels important to know.

There’s not much you know about Seokjin’s life. Whatever happened in Ethiopia had been before your time, reduced to hushed whispers and gossip fodder after your arrival. No one spoke of it, Seokjin especially, but every now and then something would slip in the same way weeds grow in sidewalk cracks.

A job gone wrong. A bombing at the consulate with Seokjin inside.

His reply is simple, words spoken carefully: “I loved someone once, too.”

He can’t see it, but you nod nonetheless; an answer that doesn’t require a response, because you know. It’s enough to fill in the rest. What Seokjin’s trauma looks like. Why he doesn’t do field work anymore. Why he prefers the solitude of the basement, rarely a sound beyond the electric thrum of the server racks.

Who had gone in to retrieve him, and why Yoongi has the scar over his eye.

“You loved someone,” you conclude, “and he would’ve been willing to die for you.”

“Yes,” Seokjin says, and it’s like the word’s been punched out of him. Sounds like something repressed, something left to rot in the darkest corner of the world.

Love, to Seokjin, looks and sounds the same as death.

“I think most people spend their entire lives searching for a love like that,” he continues, and if you could see him you think he might look dazed, off-kilter. You think he might be an avatar. Seokjin is prying his ribcage apart, unwrapping the barbed wire from his heart, saying I once was in love and this is all I know of it. “But, to me, in this life, it’s a prison. Once someone is willing to die for you, how do you keep them alive? How do you—I kissed that skin. I worshiped it. I pressed my lips to it with whatever softness was left in me. How do you look at that same skin and know you’re the reason it’s mangled?” He exhales, all tremor. “You can’t. You can’t.”

You know this all too well. You know what it feels like to look at Jimin and know, intrinsically and subconsciously, that you wouldn’t even hesitate. You’d take and give life to keep him alive and safe. You know that when you exit this world at someone else’s hand his face is the last thing you want to see.

You know it’s a liability.

You know it’s a target painted on your back. Between your eyes.

You know there’s nothing left to say, that this particular conversation has run its course. The two of you sit in an amicable silence, and you hope Seokjin can hear the life that surrounds you, however mundane. Hope he can hear the lángos vendor trying to hawk his goods; hope he can hear a city 8,000 kilometers away; hope he can hear these regular, everyday people going about their lives and remember there’s hope beyond his four walls.

I think you’d like it here, you think, but you don’t dare to say it aloud.

Time passes in a meaningless blur. Could be minutes, could be hours. No one’s come to kill you, so you reckon you’ve long since been in the clear. And maybe it speaks to Seokjin’s idea that love is a prison, because you know something’s happened to Jimin long before Seokjin speaks it into existence.

You’re up and out of the alleyway before you’re told to move. Have no idea where you’re going, but you’re racing through the streets of Budapest with a panic you haven’t ever felt in your life. Feels like quicksand; feels like molasses; feels like you have to wade through all the blood you’ve spilled, now congealed, to get to him.

“Where am I going?” you demand. Your lungs are on fire. In the split-second of silence it becomes a desperate scream. “Seokjin, tell me where the fuck I’m going!”

“The—fuck, the wa-warehouse up on your right.” You can’t think about why he’s crying. “I don’t—I don’t know wha-what’s there, you need to be careful. Please, you have to—”

Twenty seconds and you’ll be there, you’ll be with Jimin, you just need to keep running. You need to keep your head on straight. Remember your training. Remember you’ve built a life in a viper pit.

A man in a uniform is unloading a shipment around the back of the building. Faces away from you, bent at the waist. Takes very little effort to smash his head into the stone exterior and knock him unconscious, pocket his badge. You can’t get stupid now. Tell Seokjin to make sure all the cameras are cut, ask what floor when you shut yourself inside the freight elevator, unwilling to take the stairs and run into anyone who might be waiting. All the way to the top, he says, so all the way to the top you go.

—

Over the course of your life, you’ve made peace with death. Have stared it in the eye more times than you can count. Have dealt it out, evaded it, shook its hand.

You are wholly unprepared for the sight that greets you.

Red. Everything is red—the walls, the floor, what used to be a beautiful parquet pattern in the wood. In the center of the room: two bodies, maybe three. Not much that’d be able to identify them beyond a pile of teeth, no saying whose is whose. Slaughterhouse scraps.

And this is not—Jimin doesn’t work this way. Isn’t his MO. Jimin’s kills are elegant and neat, topped with a bow. What you see before you is ultraviolence. It is unhinged, it is fury, it is a complete loss of control. It’s what love looks like to Jimin, because he sits at the very edge of a rotted chair, legs crossed. Face streaked with blood, clothes covered in it.

“Jimin,” you say, because what else is there?

He tilts his head to the side, smirks a little, looks at you beneath his lashes. Eyes that used to find you across a room and calm you. Eyes that have locked onto you in the throes of pleasure. Eyes you’ve seen yourself reflected in, bathed in love and adoration.

Eyes that now contain nothing.

“Jimin, what the fuck happened?”

He removes his gloves with his teeth and doesn’t flinch away from the taste of iron. “They said they hurt you,” he states simply, “so I did what needed to be done.”

“What—” Nausea claws at your throat; for the first time, it’s all too much. This isn’t Jimin. This isn’t your Jimin, who smiled as you posed him against apricot walls in Copenhagen, who took a bullet to the stomach to protect you and never, ever told you. This is not the Jimin who wasted the last of his goodwill on loving you. “What did you do?” you whisper.

He rises to full height and it makes you flinch. You are scared of Jimin for the first time in your life: scared of who he is in this moment, what he’s capable of. And he sees it, lets that brand of anguish overtake him. Reaches for you before he decides against it and lets his hand drop to his side. Says, “I would never hurt you,” as if the words could brand themselves into your skin so you’d never forget.

“No, you’d just—” You squeeze your eyes shut. Don’t think about how one of the men nearly embedded into the floor was the one trailing you earlier.

Instead, you think about Seokjin: Once someone is willing to die for you, how do you keep them alive? You think about: How do you look at that same skin and know you’re the reason it’s mangled? You think about: In this life, it’s a prison.

You drop to your knees. Let the blood seep through your clothes and into your skin, undeserving of shying away from it.

Namjoon should’ve let you go.

You think about the men in front of you. Who they were, who they loved. The grief all of this is going to leave behind, and it becomes impossible to breathe. You grasp at your throat, think about all the times you’ve been strangled and who’d been there to cut the rope. There is no limit to Jimin’s devotion, and you understand now, how it drove Yoongi to madness. How he loved someone so much he would’ve retrieved their corpse from a building and how that same person can no longer bear to look at the damage they’d caused.

“This isn’t love, Jimin,” you choke out.

He stands in front of you. Stigmata. You’re worshiping at the altar of some kind of devil. At least his hands are clean when he places his fingers beneath your chin, forces you to look up at him. “What is it, then?”

“Destruction.”

A quiet huff of cruel laughter. “See, this is the difference between me and you, darling.” He takes back his hand, runs it through his blood-streaked hair, and your chin sags to your chest without his support. “Because I already knew that. Because I have destroyed myself every single day loving you.” He squats down, eye-level, and he says, “I need you to listen to me when I say this, sweetheart: you do not love me the way I love you, because I would do worse. When it comes to you, there is nothing on this earth I would not destroy to keep you safe.”

He clears his throat. Collects whatever’s in his mouth and spits onto one of the bodies. “If this is enough to have you tucking your fucking tail between your legs, then go, because this doesn’t even scratch the fucking surface.”

You can’t bring yourself to say anything, and sometimes that says it all.

Jimin presses a kiss to the top of your head. Makes a call. Cleaners will be here soon, he says, better get going.

You watch him go.

[ 37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA ]

Jimin’s hair is black when Namjoon calls the meeting.

He takes the seat across from Namjoon’s desk because they don’t meet like this often. Assignments are usually manila folders slipped under doors, hushed whispers in hallways confirmed with a nod or a text on a burner phone. Assignments are not last-minute assemblies in conference rooms and offices.

But the way Namjoon is looking at him, with his clenched jaw and a gaze that’s meant to look barbed to anyone who doesn’t actually know him—Jimin doesn’t need to ask what this is about.

Had he bothered to look, he would’ve known by the way you stood in the far corner of the room, face obscured by the mid-afternoon shadows. Yoongi’s close to you, for some reason: dressed head to toe in black, perched on a lateral file cabinet, using a metal corner to sharpen his switchblade. Just like a harbinger of death. Some sort of fucked up omen, a warning that’s come too late.

Didn’t I tell you this would end badly, he hears Yoongi taunt in his head. This is what happens when you lay with trash.

Easy for Yoongi to say when he doesn’t know what it means to be cared for by you. Doesn’t know how it feels to give in to the freefall and plummet at your feet, stripped back and laid bare. Doesn’t know how it feels to kiss secrets into your skin like constellations, to map his tongue along every unspoken confession.

Easy for Yoongi to say, because he doesn’t have to survive the aftermath. Doesn’t have to feel the heartbreak, the agony of having you and watching as you slip through his fingers. Yoongi doesn’t have to struggle just to breathe, doesn’t have to endure the nights staring at the ceiling, watching as the daylight creeps into the corners of his vision. Doesn’t have to watch you looking so unaffected.

“Jimin.” Namjoon’s tone is flat, needlelike.

Behind him, Yoongi chuckles lowly. “What?” Jimin asks, his gaze trained on the painting behind Namjoon’s head. Looks like one he’d seen in Berlin, the time the two of you had gone just because and spent an afternoon ducking in and out of museums to escape the rain.

When he closes his eyes, he still sees the raindrops stuck to your eyelashes. The beads of water rolling off the sleeves of your leather jacket. How blinding your smile had been. The laughter in your voice as you ordered beer after beer after beer for the two of you in flawless Berlinisch. A brief, fleeting glimpse at normalcy. At the kind of life the two of you could have if you were just… different. Lived different lives. Were different people.

“You’ve gotten sloppy.”

Namjoon’s words are a cold bucket of water. Snap him back to reality, yank him back to the present where he’s forced to leave those river-lined streets behind. You’re silent and Yoongi’s still snorting laughter. “Okay,” is all Jimin can bring himself to say.

Jin had gotten sloppy once, too, and Namjoon stuck him down in the basement to work logistics. Might not be so bad, Jimin reckons. He’d be away from you, spared of this fucking misery. “So you know that’s unacceptable.”

Jimin just shrugs, resigned to his fate, whatever it may be. “I’m reassigning the both of you,” Namjoon continues. “You’ll both have new partners for your next assignments, since you clearly can no longer be trusted together.”

“Who?” Jimin manages to choke out.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, clearly having expected an argument. “You’re being sent to Shanghai with Jungkook. You,” he says, turning his attention to you, “are going to Moscow with Taehyung.”

She’s fond of Taehyung, Jimin wants to say. But you’d been fond of him too, once upon a time, and that’d only ended in heartbreak, so who fucking cares.

They’re cruel, the tricks Jimin’s mind plays on him. How he convinces himself you look pained. How his fingers wring together at the thought of entrusting his life in the hands of someone else, someone new. At your life being just as at stake; at Taehyung being tasked with keeping you alive. Would you die for him, too, the way you’d always told Jimin you would for him? Would Taehyung take a bullet to the stomach to keep you safe the way Jimin had?

Even more cruel is the way you scoff, pushing yourself off of the wall as you fold your arms across your chest and say, “That’s bullshit, Kim Namjoon.”

No one talks to Namjoon that way except you.

Yoongi’s knife stops twirling. Just like a bird sensing a storm, senses on high-alert as he flicks his gaze over to you. “I’m sorry?” Namjoon says. “What part of Jimin losing his mind and nearly outing all of us seems like bullshit to you?”

“Hm, let me think,” you retort, a manicured finger tapping against the hollow of your cheek. “The part where you’re reassigning me for someone else’s mistake?”

Which part was the mistake? Jimin wants to ask. Needs to know how much you regret. Was sleeping with you the mistake? Falling in love with you? Getting too caught up in all these daydreams and letting reality get away from him?

“This organization is more important than Park Jimin getting his goddamn dick wet,” Namjoon snaps. “Keeping all of you safe—keeping you alive—is more—”

You scoff. Take an entire container of gasoline and pour it right on top of Namjoon’s flammable ire. “Then perhaps you’d be so kind as to explain to me why Min fucking Yoongi can fuck damn near everyone in this establishment, yet I have to sit here and listen to your goddamn mouth—”

Jimin doesn’t think Yoongi even knows his arm is moving.

There’d just been the trading of barbed words. His own name being spoken into the ether. Yoongi’s arm moving away from his body, switchblade clasped tightly between his fingers as he plunges it into your flesh.

Jimin watches it puncture your arm in slow motion. Feels the bile in his throat, the heat in his belly. Looks first at Namjoon whose jaw has gone slack, skin pale, as he stammers over words that won’t come. Then he looks at Yoongi—expects to find shock or guilt but finds only a muted disinterest and flared nostrils.

Finally, he looks at you. Watches the white cotton sleeve of your shirt slowly turn red and sticky-wet. Watches as your lips move around syllables and vowels and consonants Jimin can’t decipher.

“—fucking piece of shit, this is my favorite shirt! I’ll never get all this goddamn blood out of it—”

Jimin thinks he hears Yoongi say you deserve it. But Jimin isn’t really thinking much as he clambers out of his chair and moves in Yoongi’s direction. Doesn’t think at all as he lets instinct take over, lets adrenaline steer him headfirst into yet another bad idea.

He’s always known there’d come a day he’d be face-to-face with the sight of your blood. Had always known it’d come from someone else’s hand. Had always promised himself that hurting you would be the last thing anyone ever did.

Jimin has his fingers wrapped around Yoongi’s throat and he finally understands it—the joy Yoongi finds in taking life.

“What’s the matter, Jimin-ah?” Yoongi taunts. Jimin tightens his grip. Suddenly hates that fucking scar across Yoongi’s eye. “You’re never on clean-up duty. Always make your girlfriend do the dirty work. Finally grew some fucking balls, huh?”

“Fuck you,” Jimin says stupidly. Can’t think of anything more to say. Not that he needs to. Wrapping your hands around someone’s throat sends enough of a message, he thinks.

Namjoon’s still tongue-tied as you yank Yoongi’s blade from your arm, immediately pressing your other hand over the wound to stem the bleeding. The sight of your blood is making Jimin dizzy; the smell of the iron hanging in the air. All he wants to do is choke the life out of the man in front of him, but more than that, he just wants to hold your hand. Wants to comfort you, even though he knows you don’t need it. Not from him, not from anyone, but he still wants to. Wants to press his lips to the sweat at your brow.

And Yoongi can see it, too, because he starts laughing. It’s an odd, fractured noise. Jimin isn’t sure if he’s ever heard him laugh before, decides he also hates the way it sounds. Feels all wrong watching it leave his crooked smirk. Makes Jimin’s stomach plummet to the ground.

“Oh, you’re fucked, aren’t you?” Yoongi teases around Jimin’s slackened grip. “You weren’t just fucking her, you’re in love with her.”

Weird how Jimin is the one with his hands around someone’s neck and feels like he’s the one suffocating.

[ 31.2304° N, 121.4737° E | Shanghai, CHINA ]

Jimin watches the life drain from an innocent woman’s face and feels nothing.

Jimin watches Jungkook cut a man down and feels even less.

When it’s over, he cleans up wordlessly and doesn’t eat for three days.

[ 37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA ]

Jimin’s hair has faded to brown by the time he returns from Shanghai.

The more complicated job had gone to you and Taehyung. Jimin had tried not to take it personally. The Russian hits are always unnecessarily violent and Jungkook still isn’t fully trained. There’s still a phantom pain in Jimin’s stomach that warns him of the consequences of taking on more than he can chew. So, sure, Shanghai had gone fine, but his mind had been nearly 7,000 kilometers away the entire time.

Good thing he’d returned to Seoul unscathed, too, because he’s sure Namjoon would’ve eliminated him without a moment’s hesitation if he’d fucked up again.

But Shanghai had only served to prove the leader right. Jimin can’t work with you anymore. Can’t focus, can’t stomach the violence, can’t keep his goddamn head on straight.

He sighs as he glances at Jungkook to his right. Jimin had watched him murder two men in cold blood not even thirty-six hours ago and now he’s doe-eyed and sucking down his third banana milk of the morning. It really makes his head spin, being paired with this grown-up infant of a man now instead of you, but for all of Jungkook’s apparent shortcomings, he’d kept Jimin alive. He isn’t dead.

And then you walk in with Taehyung and he wishes he was.

Because you’re laughing and Taehyung’s got his arm slung around your shoulder and you look happy. It’s the kind of happiness that should be contagious, bloom warmth in his chest, but it doesn’t. It just takes the last frayed strand of hope he has and sets flame to it.

You don’t look like you miss Jimin at all. Don’t look like you’ve lost sleep or skipped meals.

“Didn’t take you long, did it?” Jimin says, because he’s wounded and lashing out. Not because he means it.

You must know he doesn’t, too, because you don’t react. “Watch your mouth, Park Jimin,” Taehyung warns, because he doesn’t know, and this only sets Jimin off more. You don’t need defending. Or had you, and Jimin had simply thought it wasn’t his place to provide it? That you wouldn’t want it?

“Or what, Kim Taehyung?”

Taehyung is cherubic. It’s part of his charm, one of many reasons why he’s so effective. If you’re looking to die, you look for the guy who looks like Yoongi, not the one who smiles wide and warm like Taehyung. So when he sets his jaw and pokes his tongue into his cheek and says, “Or I’ll cut your fucking head off, you stupid fuck,” your attention is finally piqued.

“I’m so sick of this,” Jungkook wails, banana milk tossed carelessly in the trash. “All of you need to get your fucking shit together!”

Taehyung rolls his eyes at the same time you pretend to inspect your nails. “Is that why you’re so temperamental, Chim?” Taehyung prods, looking every bit the pretentious, murderous angel he is. “Because you got sent to China on a babysitting mission while the grownups did real work?”

“Fuck you,” Jungkook snaps, rising to full height. “I’m not a fucking child.”

“Oh? Could’ve fooled me.” Taehyung’s words are razor-sharp and smell like kerosene. “Tell me, then: were you on babysitting duty? Had to look after our precious little Jiminie while he nursed his broken heart?”

You sigh, full of faux-exasperation, and place a gentle hand on Taehyung’s forearm. Dig your nails in just enough to be a warning, and if Jimin hadn’t been looking he’d miss it: the way Taehyung deflates instantly, anger dissipating like smoke, back in control. Just because you’d touched him. Just because you were there. Jimin knows that touch, how it feels to be under your control, and it makes his chest ache. Makes everything feel like it’s sitting wrong in his stomach, and he’s either going to be sick all over Namjoon’s overpriced fucking rug or wrap his hands around Taehyung’s throat the way he’d done to Yoongi.

He’s out of his goddamned mind; he feels untethered. Helpless. Like it was always going to end like this, and maybe Jimin knew that and had just ignored it. Maybe now he’s paying the price—maybe he’s finally found something he can’t afford.

Jungkook’s still going off, nasty gaze set on Taehyung because he’s the only one playing along. They’re exchanging words Jimin can’t make heads nor tails of. Words he doesn’t care about. Words that ring empty and hollow because they sound nothing like the way you say his name. Shapeless, unlike the way your lips move around those syllables.

“Jimin,” you say, the sound finally registering and bringing him back down to earth. All he can do is stare. “Can we talk?” Taehyung and Jungkook are still trading barbs.

Wonders how he got here. Looks around the room and wonders if each and every one of them is destined for this same fate, this madness. Wants to tell you why he forgot his vest, why he was three hours late in Argentina. Wants to grovel and beg and leave this place and never look back.

More than anything, he wants to know what it feels like to actually be human.

So he shakes his head. Tries not to be haunted by the way your face falls at the rejection.

There is a scar on his abdomen and a scar on your arm that both tell the same story. There is a man in the basement who is in love with a man above ground and is too weighed down by guilt to do anything about it. There is a man here who plays god, has soldiers to do his bidding, and there is very little here that Jimin has only for himself.

The two of you will have that conversation, but he needs to be human, first.

[ 34.6901° N, 135.1956° E | Kobe, JAPAN ]

This is a waste of your fucking time.

Whatever Namjoon had thought would be here doesn’t seem to exist. Yoongi can barely tolerate you on a good day, threatens to stick a dagger in your neck at least twice an hour, but the more time the two of you waste chasing ghosts, the closer he comes to unraveling entirely.

“Stop fucking staring at me,” he snaps, blowing the smoke of his cigarette right in your face.

You tut. “But you’re so beautiful, Yoongi, I just can’t help it.”

He digs his switchblade from his boot. Makes a show of flipping it open. “I can cut your fuckin’ eyes out of your skull,” he intones. “Maybe that’ll help.”

In your ear, Jimin’s laughter rings like crystal.

Ricochets off of all the corners of Seokjin’s basement, makes the echo sound warped through the earpiece. “Please tell Yoongi-ssi to keep an eye on the man with the shaved head. In front of him, roughly sixty degrees to his right.”

You relay the message. Watch as Yoongi transforms—sharpened gaze, rigid posture, disappears into the shadows. More apex predator than man. “And me?” you ask.

“Backup,” comes Seokjin’s voice. “We haven’t found your mark yet.”

You hum. Pick up the cigarette Yoongi left behind and stick it between your lips. Smoke it nearly to the filter. “You got it, boss,” you tease, just because it flusters him.

“I’m—that’s not—knock it off.”

Exhale. Stub out the cigarette. Butt in your pocket. “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Jimin says, and his voice is soft, sounds like spun sugar. “Stay alive, all right?”

Jimin’s hair isn’t dyed at all.

if you've read this far: thank you so, so much! i am more appreciative than i can put into words. this is very different from what i typically write, but i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.

i would love to hear your thoughts if you have any. &lt;3

[rebornofstars]

SEPFEMBER 2024 PROMPTS LIST

HERE WE ARE! AT LONG LAST! THE MOMENT YOU'VE ALL BEEN (HOPEFULLY) WAITING FOR! GIRL MONTH!

I honestly can't believe this is actually happening. This event was a shower thought a few months ago.

Here's a recap of the event: to participate, make at least one fanwork of any variety during September that features a woman or women from the Zelda franchise as the main character/s. All Linksmeets are welcome in this challenge, as well as general LoZ fans!

Before I drop the prompts list for those who are looking for a little direction, I'd like to mention that I have made an AO3 COLLECTION FOR THIS EVENT. It's open and unmoderated so you can add your works to it freely. And if you post on tumblr, please tag #sepfember !! I'll be scrolling through the tag every day looking for things to reblog and gush about 👀

If you have any questions at all about this event, or you want to chat about it, my askbox is open! I will also respond to comments and reblogs of this post.

Now, onto the prompts. Disclaimer: you DON'T have to use all/any of these prompts, or only create things for certain characters on their featured day. This list is just a GUIDE for those who want it. If you have other plans, go with your heart!

At the end of the day, this is a celebration, and all that matters is that you have fun. I hope some of you will join me next month in giving our girls some time in the spotlight, but if you can't, that's okay! There's no pressure! This is just a passion project of mine, really, and I am overjoyed that people are interested 💛💛💛

(apologies in advance for the terrible quality of these pics and the equally terrible commentary. i thought it would be funny. also, i've never had to come up with a prompts list before and it shows.)

DAY 1: SKYWARD SWORD ZELDA + PURPOSE

(we start at the beginning of course 💛)

DAY 2: MARIN + WASH

(it was SO hard to find a screenshot of her that didn't have link in it. they're both cute but this ain't about him.)

DAY 3: MEDLI + GIFT

(i didn't know she played the harp until i saw this screenshot! i obviously have a lot to learn.)

DAY 4: TWILIGHT PRINCESS ZELDA + FREEZE

(how creepy does she look here?! so awesome)

DAY 5: HILDA + GHOST

(SUCH a good character for real. she has depth!!!! she has a thematic purpose!!!)

DAY 6: URBOSA + LOSE

(two words: LIGHTNING POWERS ⚡⚡⚡)

DAY 7: SPIRIT TRACKS ZELDA + MISTAKE

(babygirl you are 2 entire pixels.)

DAY 8: FI + ORDER

(oh she is everything to me)

DAY 9: MIDNA + SWORD

(she looks so soulful right now)

DAY 10: HYRULE WARRIORS ZELDA + SUMMON

(what a FIRE camera angle??? her armour is so impractically attached but SHE HAS A SWORD‼️)

DAY 11: GODDESSES OF HYRULE + EYES

(hylia, din, nayru, farore, the list goes on...)

DAY 12: ZORA PRINCESSES + TRUST

(mipha, ruto... poor suckers... it can't be fun, falling for link...)

DAY 13: OCARINA OF TIME ZELDA | SHEIK + FATE

(note: I personally hc this character as a trans man, but since this isn't explicitly confirmed in-game and might not be shared with everyone, I've given them a celebration day anyway. you are free to do what you wish.)

DAY 14: MALON + GUARD

(she is adorable. look at her)

DAY 15: IMPA + BOUND

(HOTTEST MOST SEXY MOST BADASS WOMAN IN THE FRANCHISE ‼️‼️‼️ I LOVE YOU IMPA YOU ARE PERFECT. SHUT UP I DEFINITELY DON'T PLAY FAVOURITES—)

DAY 16: FOUR SWORDS ADVENTURES ZELDA + PORTAL

(i loved her in the fsa manga. she's barely in it but STILL. go read it.)

DAY 17: FAIRIES + TIRED

(the great fairies, navi, ciela, tatl, proxi...)

DAY 18: TETRA + LEGACY

(isn't she KICKASS?!)

DAY 19: EPONA + BONE

(our lovely loyal girl 🥰)

DAY 20: A LINK BETWEEN WORLDS ZELDA + HOME

(SHE IS SUCH A GOOD PARALLEL TO HILDA PLEASSSSSE)

DAY 21: SARIA + WISH

(a classic character! isn't this picture so peaceful)

DAY 22: BOTW/AOC/TOTK ZELDA + PEACE

(SHE IS EVERYTHING TO ME. SCREAMING CLAWING CRYING. MY DARLING, YOUR FANARTISTS WERE THE ONES TO DRAW ME INTO THE ZELDA FANDOM. I HOPE I CAN RETURN THE FAVOUR ONE DAY)

DAY 23: CIA + LANA + STUDY

(technically, she's one person. between the two of them they certainly only wear enough clothes for one person... )

DAY 24: ARYLL + HUG

(sister to the hero! but what's her story?)

DAY 25: ECHOES OF WISDOM ZELDA + ARREST

(YEAHHHHHHHHH GIRL MONTH GIRL DAY GIRL GAME!!!)

DAY 26: CD-i ZELDA + HOLIDAY

(hehheehehehe. i bet you weren't expecting her. neither was i tbh)

DAY 27: PURAH + FIRE

(SHE'S CLEVER! I LOVE CLEVER WOMEN!)

DAY 28: ILIA + ERUNE + MEND

(listen. i know erune is a very niche character - she literally only exists in the four swords manga - but consider. i love her)

DAY 29: ALTTP/OOS/OOA/LA ZELDA + MISSING

(she has no canon personality. you know what that means. get the building equipment out fellas)

DAY 30: LINKLE + FAREWELL

(and here we are - LAST DAY!)

THE END! YAY! I CAN'T WAIT FOR SEPTEMBER - CAN YOU?

[softspiderling]

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You rarely had a night by yourselves most days.

Majority of them, you were either hanging out with Rafe, yours or his place, didn’t really make a difference, or you were out with your friends.

This Saturday night, you were by yourself, a rare occasion.

Rafe and Sarah were in Charleston with their family for some charity that Rose was a part of. When Rafe first invited you to come, you declined, saying you’d rather stay home and hang with your friends or something (he was huffing and puffing about it for hours afterwards, until you made it up to him). When the weekend came around, you realized that all of your friends seemed to be busy: Cleo and Pope were driving out to fish with his parents and made a whole weekend out of it, John B and JJ went to Hatteras island for some surfing competition and Kie had to help her parents at the Wreck because they were hosting an event.

John B and JJ had invited you to tag along, but you a: you weren’t a good enough of a surfer to participate in the competition and b: you didn’t want to sit at the beach by yourself while the boys were in the water. You had half a mind to take up Rafe for the invitation to the charity but it was extremely last minute and you didn’t have anything to wear so you scratched that idea and came to terms with spending your Saturday night by yourself.

Since the event at the Wreck didn’t start until 7, you spent the day hanging out there with Kie, snacking on some fries, drinking your weight in iced tea and texting Rafe until you had to leave to let Kie prep for the event.

you: i’m actually so bored, i’m starting to regret not coming with you 😞

rafe❤️: told you to come, didn’t i?

rafe❤️: shows that you should always listen to me.

you: pfff, please, that is not the moral of the story.

you: maybe i’ll just go to a party 🤪

rafe❤️: funny.

You tossed your phone on the couch and ran your hand through your air, sighing in frustration. As you reached for your phone again for mindless scrolling, your eye caught onto your nails, and you paused. You hadn’t done your nails in a while, mostly because you were so busy. But now would be the perfect opportunity. So you got all your nail polishes and tools out of your closet and started on prep.

About four hours later you still weren’t done. You spent the first hour on looking for inspiration on Pinterest and then the next half hour booting up Netflix so you had something to watch while you were doing your nails. Your iced coke was chilling on the table, the UV lamp curing the last layer of polish on your right hand before you could finish with top coat. Your phone was long dead, but you were too lazy to get up from the table to plug it in, your back killing you from sitting hunched over your table for so long. Yawning, you put on the top coat on your last nail before sticking your hand under the lamp, ready to fall go to bed right after you were done. Now you remembered why you hadn’t done your nails for a while. After you were finished, you packed all the things away, plugged your phone into the charger and passed out in bed.

You woke up with a start, disoriented for a second. It felt like you’d been asleep for barely an hour, but you were unsure what woke you from the slumber, when the door bell rang again.

“What the hell,” you muttered to yourself, throwing a sweater over before you padded downstairs, hearing that the person at the door has begun to knock excessively.

“Jesus Christ, I’ll be right there!” you called, hurrying down the stairs. You glanced through the window, trying to see what psycho was ringing on your doorbell in the middle of the night, just to see Rafe standing in front of the door, clearly upset.

You opened the door, barely getting a word in before he rushed inside, grabbing your arms.

“Rafe, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Where the hell have you been?” he asked hotly, staring at you before looking you up and down. “Who have you been with? Why the fuck didn’t you text me back?”

You were starting to get anxious from his behavior and you cupped his face. “Rafe, stop. Breathe. What happened?”

Rafe took a deep breath, shutting his eyes for a second.

“You haven’t replied to a text since like before eight, and your last message was about going to a party. I thought something had happened,” he gritted out. “No one was able to reach you and my calls weren’t getting through to you.”

You exhaled deeply. “God, I thought something happened to Sarah. I’m fine, babe. I was doing my nails and my phone died,” you explained, lifting your hand to show off your nails. Rafe looked at him, his eyes narrowed.

“Pretty,” he grunted, before wrapping his arms around you. “Never do that again.”

As you hugged him, you could feel the tension bleed out from his limbs and you couldn’t help but smile into his shirt.

“You’re crazy, Rafe. As if I would ever go to a party by myself,” you huffed, pulling away to look up at him. “How did you even get here so fast? I thought you guys were supposed to spend the night in Charleston.”

Rafe clenched his jaw. “I took the boat. Ward is super pissed off because I left them stranded.”

You bit back a laugh, only shaking your head at your boyfriend.

“You’re such a worrier, I was asleep.”

“Yeah, well, how the fuck was I supposed to know that?” he muttered, pulling you back into his arms.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author's note: quick lil drabble bc i thought of how unreachable i am when doing my nails

[0310s]

gently, by your side | jaehyun

members: myung jaehyun x gender neutral reader

genre: college au, angst, comfort, best friends! to ???, more platonic stuff in this one

tags/warnings: extensive discussions of mental health and chronic/mental illness, y/n is not okay. :(

summary: jaehyun finds you after a bad week.

wc: 2.7k

a/n: this fic’s title comes from this lovely song. as someone who’s struggled with both chronic and mental illness, it really takes someone strong and amazing to keep on going, despite everything. most of the dialogue in this comes from my own musings and experiences with mental health. i wrote this for a dear mutual of mine! i hope better days will come for you soon, whenever that may be. meanwhile, i hope this gives you comfort when things are tough! sending lots of love <3 

𓉞⋆｡˚☁︎｡⋆

5 days ago 1:28 PM 🐶 cutie puppy

(y/n) we haven’t seen each other in such a loooong time imy :(( i mean i KNOW it’s just been a couple of days since we last hung out but still!!!!!!! when are we seeing each other again !!!! tell me ur schedule QUICK !!!!

4 days ago 6:33 PM 🐶 cutie puppy

heeeeyyyyyyyyy (with the intention to hang out) heeeeeeyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy heeeeeeeeeeeeyyyyyyy reply to meeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!! tell me when ur free pls i miss u :((

3 days ago 11:58 PM 🐶 cutie puppy

hey i didn’t see u at the party today i thought u said u were going last week!!!  also i asked around and people said they haven’t seen u around recently??? and they don’t know what ur up to

2 days ago 2:05 PM 🐶 cutie puppy

heeeyyyy ?????????? did i do smth?????  or are u just really busy w school and work idk either way pls just let me know :(( i won’t bother u if ur rlllyyy busy

10:35 PM sorry if i’m being annoying btw

Yesterday  11:32 PM 🐶 cutie puppy

ok i thought about it reaaaaaallly hard and i don’t think i’ve done anything to make u mad or upset w me??? well aside from that time last last week that u got mad at me for accidentally messing w ur computer and deleting ur work files WHICH IM LIKE REALLY SORRY FOR but i fixed it!!!!! i thought we were good alrd!!! are u still mad at me 4 that ?

1:00 AM (y/n)?

1:28 AM idk  i thought i was ur best friend :(( did smth change???

2:47 AM pls pls reply :(( i know we can talk this out i don’t want us to not be ok

Today  3:00 PM 🐶 cutie puppy i’m coming over.

𓉞⋆｡˚☁︎｡⋆

Sitting up from your bed, your heart thuds in anxiety as you quickly scroll through your chat history with Jaehyun. Your eyes hurt and your brain feels especially foggy, like you’re looking at the world through a particularly cloudy lens. How long did you sleep? The last thing you recall was working on your assignments last night, then choosing to sleep instead when you got overwhelmed. Even then, you slept fitfully. You remember setting an alarm at 9 AM today to continue working, but even as you sat at your desk, you couldn’t type a single sentence on your laptop. Everything felt muddled and it was as if you couldn’t understand anything at all. Even the cups of coffee you drank in desperation was of no use keeping you alert; all it did was make you palpitate.

Then you gave up, went back to bed, and you’re here now. Checking the chat timestamps, you realize you haven’t replied to Jaehyun’s messages in almost a week, which has never happened before—you talk almost everyday, even multiple times a day. Jaehyun’s last message was at 3 PM, when he said he’d come over. One look at your screen shows you it’s already 3:20. If you’ve memorized his schedule right, it takes your best friend thirty minutes to get to your dorm from his Fundamental Maths class. That means you have ten more minutes to get your shit together and clean your mess of a room. 

But right when you’ve mustered the energy to stand up, you hear a series of knocks on your door. That can’t be— “(Y/n), open up, I know you’re in there!” Jaehyun’s voice echoes from outside the door. “I asked your dormmate and she said you haven’t left your room since yesterday, so there’s no use pretending!” Shit, shit, shit! You immediately spring up and hastily fold your blankets and organize your desk, throwing away stray food wrappers and plastic cups. You open your blinds to let some air in, and the bright sunlight makes your head throb even more. 

On your way to the door, you spot yourself in the mirror. There’s no other word for it—you look like utter shit. Your eyebags are dark and prominent, your hair disheveled from tossing and turning in your sleep. You look horrendous, but Jaehyun is persistently knocking on your door, so you have no choice but to fix yourself up as fast as you can. You splash water on your face and smoothen down your hair and open the door—then there’s Jaehyun in all his glory. Your heart clenches seeing him; he looks as handsome as always, his bangs fluffy and soft and his letterman jacket fashionably oversized. He looks nothing like you in your ratty T-shirt with coffee stains and pajama shorts. His hand is halfway raised, positioned to knock at your door (he could and would probably do it all day if he had to). Upon seeing you, he blurts out: “Did I do something?”

Instead of answering him, you open your door wider as an invitation, and Jaehyun takes the hint, stepping into your dorm. Once the door is shut, Jaehyun peers at your messy room and remarks, “Wow. When was the last time you cleaned up? You’re usually not like this.”

You know he didn’t mean it like that, but his comment stings at you all the same. “Sorry, Jaehyun,” you snap, “not everyone can be at 200% energy all the time like you.” At his hurt expression, you backtrack. “Sorry, that was really rude of me.”

“It-It’s fine,” Jaehyun replies confusedly. Then he looks straight at you, eyes pleading. He’s picking at the stray thread hanging from his jacket, a habit you’ve come to known is something he does when he’s nervous. “You know what, I thought about it. For days, really, if I did anything that would make you mad and ignore me. But I couldn’t come up with anything at all. I was really worried when you didn’t reply to me for days on end, especially when we talk everyday. So if I did something, can—can you just tell me? I just want us to be okay.”

Your throat closes up and your heart pounds even faster, making you feel dizzy. You have no idea how to answer him, when all he’s ever seen of you is the perfect student who does everything right, who’s smart and good at what they do without any flaws or exceptions. How would he react if he saw you for who you really were?

The words can’t form in your mouth, and out of frustration at yourself, you tear up. Jaehyun notices this, eyes widening in worry, “(y/n), baby, no, no,” and pulls you into his arms. Almost instantly, the tears cascade down your face and sobs wrack your body. You feel pathetic crying in your best friend’s arms, but Jaehyun just soothes a hand up and down your back as you break down. His other arm is wrapped around your shoulders, and it feels like your anchor when you’re drowning in all your troubles. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he says in a hushed tone, “let it all out.” You grip his jacket even tighter as you bury your face in his chest. 

When was the last time you’ve ever been hugged like this? The last time you’ve ever been truly vulnerable to anyone without that mask of perfection you often don? The last time you felt safe just being yourself? You have no idea. All you know that is in the circle of Jaehyun’s arms, you want to be small and imperfect and yourself just this once.

After your cries die down, Jaehyun clears his throat. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I don’t know what it is I did, but I’m so sorry for hurting you.”

“It’s not you, Jaehyun,” your voice is muffled by both your sniffles and Jaehyun’s chest. You don’t want Jaehyun to get the wrong idea that he’s hurt you in some way because of how broken he sounds thinking he’s done something to make you sad. “It’s just. Me.”

“You? What do you mean?” Jaehyun leads you into your room from the doorway. He’s holding your hand and doesn’t let go even when you both settle at the edge of your bed. His palm is warm and his grip loose enough in case you want to let go; you don’t. While you muster up the courage to speak, your best friend just sits there, waiting patiently. “It’s okay, whatever you say, I’m not going anywhere.” You don’t know that for sure, but him saying that makes you want to be truthful just this once, damn the consequences.

You take a deep breath, focusing on your intertwined fingers. You’re too scared to look at his face because you don’t want to see his reaction. “Jaehyun, what kind of person do you think people see me as?”

“Well…” He takes a moment to think about it. “Someone smart, talented, and who gets stuff done?”

In turn, you let out an resigned exhale. “Well, that’s the image I project. Of someone who’s perfect… someone who does things effortlessly. People think it comes easy to me. But it doesn’t. When people tell me that I didn’t need much effort to get to where I am now, I feel undermined. When I express I’m having a hard time, people brush it off and think I’m just overreacting. Because they think I’m perfect all the time. But honestly…? That’s the farthest thing from the truth."

Glancing up from your hands, you scan your room—your desk is a mess of papers and assignments that you have yet to get to. You can’t tell when the last time you spent time being actually productive when what you’ve been is fatigued out of your mind. When you try to sit at your desk and work, all you feel is difficulty concentrating and processing work and readings. Sleep has also proven to be elusive—no matter how long you lie in bed, you never feel well-rested. Simple actions and decisions require so much energy from you that you undeniably lack. You also constantly compare yourself to others, whom things like these come natural to them. But you’ve kept these feelings of yours secret for a long time—you’re utterly terrified that you’d be undermined for being useless and overly sensitive.   

“(Y/n)?” Jaehyun squeezes your hand, and you turn to meet his eyes. His eyes are sincere and kind. “I-I know I may not be the most empathic person, but I promise I’ll hear you out without judging you. I want to be here for you… and I hope you’ll let me. Please?” 

At this, you spill everything you’ve been feeling the past weeks—months, even—to Jaehyun. You stumble over your words and your breath gets caught in your throat, but he’s there to pat your back and to encourage you to keep going. Without you knowing, tears make their way down your face once again, and Jaehyun uses his other hand to gently brush them away. “It just gets so hard that I want to just. Give everything up. I don’t know what the use of trying so hard is when I see how other people don’t need this much effort to do even the most basic of tasks. It’s just so… unfair.”

When you’re finished with your rant, you don’t know what to expect from Jaehyun—but you’re stunned to see him crying. He’s sniffling and wiping at his eyes furiously. “Why…” You have no idea what he’s about to say, but you brace yourself for the worst. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” he whispers brokenly. “I didn’t know you were having such a difficult time. I feel like such a shitty friend for not even noticing. I’m sorry, (y/n).” Jaehyun’s eyes fill with tears and he starts “I… I thought we were best friends.” The best friends tell each other everything goes unsaid, but you know exactly what he meant.

“I…” You feel awful now for making Jaehyun cry. “You’re just. You just naturally have all this limitless energy. You’re…” Normal. Not like me. “I don’t know how if you were going to take me seriously if I told you what I was going through… There were times I’d see you, and I’d be so disappointed in myself for not being like you. And I was so scared that if I did tell you, I’d be letting you down.”

Jaehyun’s expression grows more miserable at this. “I-I’m sorry, (y/n), I never meant to make you feel unheard. And I never meant for it to feel like you couldn’t tell me about these things.” 

“It-It’s not your fault, Jaehyun,” you protest, but he shakes his head, obviously disappointed in himself.

“No, (y/n), I’m supposed to be your best friend. How stupid can I be if I can’t notice when you’re having a hard time? I didn’t even stop to ask how you’ve been doing because you seemed to be doing fine. But I should’ve known better. I shouldn’t have taken things at face value. I’m such an idiot,” Jaehyun berates himself. “I’m so, so sorry.” 

At his sincere apology, you can’t help but admit it to yourself—you desperately needed Jaehyun’s support as your best friend, but you were too scared to ask for it. And honestly? You felt immensely lonely without his words and presence to comfort you. 

“(Y/n), I hope you know that I see how hard you work. I know your sleepless nights and how much effort you put into every single thing you do. Despite everything you’re going through, you’re always trying to be better than the person you were yesterday, and it’s something I truly admire about you. But I hope you know it’s okay to be imperfect and flawed and to not be okay. I want to be here on your good and bad days. I just wish I could’ve been more vocal about this earlier… I’ve really taken you for granted, huh?” Jaehyun sighs wetly, taking your hand in both of his. He’s still crying; you both are, actually. What a silly pair the two of you make. 

“Thank you for trusting me and sharing all of this. It literally means the world to me,” Jaehyun rambles. “I promise I’ll be a better friend to you, someone you feel safe opening up to about anything, whether that be your achievements or your struggles. And (y/n), if it’s not too much to ask… Could I ask you to be more honest with me in the future?” He stares at you imploringly. “I don’t want you to think you have to go through all of this alone. I want to be here for you the same way you’ve always been there for me… Okay?”

“....Okay. Okay, I’ll try,” you respond softly. “Thank you, Jaehyun. I… I’ve never told anyone about this before. But thank you so much for just listening, and not judging, and accepting me for me…” While you appreciate Jaehyun’s presence at this moment, a new wave of fatigue washes over you with all this emotional vulnerability and talking. “Jaehyun… I’m still feeling really tired, so I might go back to sleep. Sorry, I know you came all the way here to see me, but here I am being shit company,” you apologize regretfully.

“Oh! That’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow?” Jaehyun stands up from your bed to leave. When your fingers slip from each other, you feel an acute loss of warmth—both in your hands and in your heart. He makes his way to the door, slipping on his shoes, and your heart sinks. There’s something you badly want to ask of Jaehyun, but you’re too much of a coward to tell him what you truly want. You don’t want to be on your own right now, but you’d probably be asking too much of him. Accepting your fate, you settle in bed, attempting to take a nap so restless you’re sure will be of no help to your exhaustion.

However, Jaehyun himself stops in the doorway. He turns back around, a distraught look on his face. “(Y/n)... I don’t want to assume, but are you sure you want to be alone right now?” he begins. “I mean, we just had this really heavy talk. Can… Can I keep you company? I promise I’m great at cuddles—that’s what all my other friends say anyway when I annoy them with my hugs.”

When you nod, that’s all it takes for Jaehyun to shuck off his shoes, strip his jacket, and climb into bed with you. With your ear against his steady heartbeat and his comforting arm around you, you’re asleep in no time. It’s the best you’ve ever slept in months.

[bippot]

Biological Warfare

Story Summary -> Spencer is a germaphobe. He detests the thought of someone sneezing in his general area. There is an exception, though. He seems to be able to handle his girlfriend's sick day without batting an eye.

Tags -> Caretaking Idiots in Love, Domestic Fluff, Sickfic, Spencer Reid Gets a Hug, Mutual Caretaking, Medicine

Would you prefer to read this on AO3? Click here!

Previous Chapter -> Magic Hands

Spencer Reid naturally has dark patches under his eyes, always had. For the last couple of months, though, the bags that usually accompanied that darkness weren't there any more. He'd been stressed and sleep deprived for most, if not all, of his life up to this point. And recently, he'd been taking care of himself a lot more.

Well, that's not entirely true. Y/N had been taking care of him, and she was doing a better job than he ever had. His girlfriend lavished him with so much love and care and affection that Reid found it hard to believe how happy he was. Life was much easier with Y/N by his side than it had ever been before.

It was weird, this happiness thing, and it was kind of like learning a new language. There was a new vocabulary he used, a new set of rules that he lived by, and he didn't refer to himself as a singular pronoun anymore, no, it was plural. His 'I' had turned into a 'we' now. It was odd but he liked it. A lot. Like, a lot a lot.

One of his favourite things was waking up. That might sound strange but, to Spencer, it was one of the most wonderful things in the universe because he was always woken up with the most giggly kisses to his cheeks, his forehead, and his jaw, or anywhere Y/N wanted to kiss him really. This was the best alarm clock he'd ever had.

He'd never been a morning person and continued not to be, yet Y/N's affection made him less grumpy when he first woke up. He was still grumpy, just a fraction less than before. And if they had enough time to lay in bed and simply snuggle for however long they had left before he had to go to work, his grumpiness would melt away pretty quickly.

So, when he woke up to the annoying ring of his actual alarm one morning, he was unbelievably cranky. His hand reached out to Y/N's side of the bed. She wasn't there. He didn't feel her body at all, and that was weird because Y/N never left their bed without waking him up - if she happened to be awake hours before him, she'd read a book or scroll through her phone until he began to stir - but she had gotten out of bed and was nowhere to be seen in their room.

Wiping his eyes, he got out of bed with a grumble and started the search for his girlfriend. She wasn't in the living room, nor the kitchen or bathroom, and he almost believed she'd started work down in the bakery until he saw that the door to the spare room was nudged open a little. Ever since they'd become a couple, his old room had become more like an office and occasional guest room since he found himself in Y/N's bed every night.

Why was the door open?

The door was soon opened wide to reveal Y/N surrounded by scrunched up tissues, her nose ruby red and the duvet creating a hood over her head as she watched a movie on her laptop. As soon as she noticed him in the doorway, she warned, "I'm sick, lovely. Stay over there."

Germs in general weren't Spencer's favourite thing in the world and Y/N knew that. His heart warmed at the fact she had gone out of her way, or out of their bed rather, to ensure her sudden increase of mucus didn't aggravate his germaphobia.

Yet, this only deepened his need to take care of her because she was so considerate towards him. He desired, no, he needed to do the same for her. If Y/N was in distress in any way, he wanted to help her. So, Spencer moved further into the room. He didn't go fully next to the bed - there was still a solid foot between the two - and seriously weighed up the pros and cons that came from embracing her.

Pro: Makes Y/N feel better and provides her with comfort. Also, it provided Spencer with comfort, and with how grumpy he was, that was needed this morning. He'd get a better picture of how sick she was. And it was possible he could diagnose what was wrong with her in an effort to more effectively care for her.

Cons: Gross. Snot and other mucus. There was a high chance of contracting whatever she had. She could accidentally cough in his face, that was a concern. And, she'd be able to see that he was in a bad mood because she hadn't woken him up, thus resulting in her feeling guilty for his bad mood.

It was a real pickle.

"I'll be okay. Go get ready for work, Spence," Y/N urged. Her words were unheeded as he finally made up his mind and took the leap. And by leap, he meant holding the back of his hand up to her forehead to check how badly she was burning up.

She was burning up. Badly. Really, really badly. Her forehead was like a furnace.

"Oh baby," he cooed.

He made up his mind. She spent so much of her time looking after him, it was about time he did the same for her. Reciprocity is essential in healthy relationships, after all.

"I'm going to call Emily - "

"No, sweetie, I can look after myself - "

"I am looking after you! No arguments."

"But I'm all snotty!"

"No arguments."

A dopey, wide smile erupted from Y/N's face. She knew he loved her. He told her every day. Yet, this proved it. She had witnessed Spencer don protective gloves and a mask when Derek merely coughed in her boyfriend's presence. He was hyper vigilant when it came to avoiding sickness with everyone but her. She was the exception. She was special.

"You really love me, huh?"

Pink overtook his cheeks. He knew she knew that but it still made him a little nervous to hear, like it was still his dirty little secret despite the fact it wasn't much of a secret these days. That's why he was a bit shy when he admitted, "Yeah, I do," and sat beside her on the bed. "Just know I'm going to be super whiny when I inevitably get this."

"I wouldn't expect anything less from you," she jeered, a bit of energy coming back so she could tease him without faltering. And there certainly wasn't any disruption when she professed, "I love you too, Spence."

His big palm smoothed down her hair. "Have you messaged Avery? Or Jonas? -"

"They know. I'm a very good boss."

"Yes, you are, honey," he agreed instantly.

It was true. Y/N was very honest and open when communicating with her employees, whether that was being confused at the memes they'd send in the work group chat or if they should really be playing Ashnikko over the speakers just as the school run rush begins. They were paid well and treated even better. So, he wasn't surprised that Y/N had sorted her sick day already.

"I'm going to the store to pick up some medicine then, I promise, I am yours to use as a pillow for the rest of the day. Sound good?"

"Sounds perfect."

With a soft kiss on the forehead, he left to go through his to-do list one by one.

Emily was surprised and delighted that Spencer was asking for a day off rather than having to be forced into one. Admittedly, she would've preferred it if Y/N wasn't sick but, hey, every cloud has a silver lining.

He did go downstairs once he got dressed and poked his head into the shop to check if they needed any assistance but Y/N's employees had it locked down. And since everything was running smoothly, a cream cheese bagel going missing wasn't going to cause a problem.

The trip to the store didn't take too long. He went heavy on the creature comforts - chocolate and coffee was a must - and bought as much flu medicine as he was legally allowed to. He also added way too many heat pads, two hot water bottles with fuzzy covers, ten pairs of fluffy socks so they could mix and match, and an adorable teddy kangaroo that he knew Y/N would love.

Grocery bags filled to the brim, he got home to find that Y/N had hauled herself and the duvet into the living room. She was half asleep and half falling off the sofa so his first point of call after he put the bags down was to kneel beside her and gently push her back on the cushion.

"Hey you," she greeted.

"Hey honey. I see you made it all the way to the couch."

"Uh-huh, got a bigger tv."

"I see you have your priorities in check." His hand darted out to find one of the bags. "Do you want a buddy to watch along with?"

When she nodded, he brought out the stuffed toy and held it out to her. The kangaroo was immediately cuddled close to Y/N's chest and Reid wasn't sure if her eyes were watering because of her sickness or if she was crying.

"Aww, I love this, love you," she choked out, the tears streaming down her face increasing. It was a mix of both, he concluded as he wiped at her cheeks. "You're so nice to me. So sweet."

Y/N's babbling was snotty and nasally and wet but Spencer didn't mind. Weirdly, he thought her emotional outburst was a little cute. It was a gross mess of fluids, yes, yet he knew he was going to be 10x worse when it was his turn.

Even when he wasn't sick, he was prone to getting choked up about how sweet she was to him. Once, all she did was tell him that he was 'Soooooo smart' when they were watching some cheesy game show and he got a trivia question right, and Spencer literally started sniffling at her compliment.

People called him smart every day. He was smart. He knew that. He's a MENSA genius for christ sake. It must've been the way she said it so casually, or maybe it was because it was late at night, or even because Y/N said it with such reverence in her voice. Whatever the case, he knew he was safe and this was a judgement free zone so emotional outbursts were just a thing that happened sometimes, and that was fine.

More and more tears were shed, though Y/N was laughing through them now and it was far more obvious that they were happy tears. Happy, snotty tears.

Medicine was taken, tissues used, scrunched up and thrown in the bin, and soon, Spencer's body was being used as a pillow for his girlfriend, just as he'd offered. Y/N tried her best to keep the fluids inside, but there was no stopping the flow once it began.

10 years ago, this would've been Spencer's worst nightmare.

1) An attractive girl that he was utterly in love with was near to him and he was expected to act normally without turning into a pile of mush and shutting down mentally.

2) She was literally on top of him! That's so much physical contact. He definitely would've shied away from merely holding her hand back then, let alone this.

3) Her snot and tears created a growing wet patch on his shirt, which still would send him into overdrive if it had been anyone else's snot and tears.

"Are you comfortable?" He asked, looking down at her and swiping some hair off her forehead. Y/N nodded, though she did move her legs around a little to get maximum comfort, and her fluffy socked feet brushed against his ankle. "Are you warm? Need more tissues? Is it too bright in here, do you want me to -"

Before he could begin to go through a very long list of things he could do to make her feel better, she gave him a look. People often gave him a certain kind of stare whenever they wanted him to shut up, but he'd never seen one that was fuelled with such softness before.

"Just want you. Don't move, never move." She squished her cheek further against his pec, her fingers fiddling with one of the button's of his cardigan. The tv was on in the background, yet Y/N was mainly paying attention to her boyfriend's breathing. Thanks to her sickness, breathing was a little difficult out of one nostril but she was trying to keep it even.

Spencer only moved a little bit. He wished he had telekinesis so he could psychically move the book he wanted to read off the coffee table to his hand, but alas, he had to disrupt her bubble just a smidge. She groaned her disapproval but was quickly quelled when he scratched the back of her head until her eyes started to droop.

"Spencer?"

"Yes, honey?"

"Read to me? Please?"

His hand reached back onto the table to grab his glasses and place them onto his face, accidentally poking himself in the eye with one of the arms. He let out a low curse before getting his bearings back and assuring Y/N that he hadn't blinded himself. Once he was ready, he began to read aloud.

"On an exceptionally hot early evening early in July a young man came out of the garret in which he lodged in S. Place and walked slowly, as though in hesitation, towards K. bridge."

"Book?" she mumbled, already teetering towards sleep.

"Crime and Punishment."

"...Got it."

By the way she said that, he knew she had mentally checked out. It was obvious. It was only two syllables but it had been so muffled with sleep and his shirt that it sounded incoherent. Still, he carried on reading, one hand holding the book and the other caressing up and down her back as she drifted in and out of consciousness.

He continued for the next couple of hours. It was far more therapeutic than he ever expected. There were 2 things he absolutely loved in life - books and Y/N - and he'd joined those two loves together for an extended period of time. Maybe he'd ask Y/N if they could do this, albeit without the illness, more often. Just take a day off work to relax and read together.

Was this the sort of thing Prentiss wanted him to take days off to do? If so, he regrets never taking her up on that offer. Why would he not take this opportunity? He would in the future, he decided at that moment.

Avery, Y/N's employee, made her way up the stairs to check up on Y/N and poked her head in to discover the two on the couch. Spencer stopped mid-sentence when he noticed the sound of the bakery door opening and turned to see his photo being taken.

"You two are cute. Don't look at me like that," Avery argued in a hushed whisper and, yeah, Spencer would have to agree. "Do you need anything?"

"We're good, kid. Thank you."

"See you, Spencer."

Then, Avery left and Spencer was left gazing down at his girlfriend in the silence. He didn't start up where he left off because he was too entranced. If someone asked Y/N if she felt beautiful at that moment, she'd say no. Blocked sinuses. Red flaking skin. A grumbly faltering voice. Shaky, staggered breathing. But to Reid, she was still the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen, and ever would see.

"Hi baby," he greeted once her eyes fluttered open. He was already looking at her so softly but, as her lips stretched into a smile, his gaze got impossibly softer. "Hi there, honey."

"You're so handsome," Y/N mumbled back, and although she believed that wholeheartedly, her voice still had that dreamy quality to it that indicated that she had no idea she'd said it out loud. It was merely what was at the front of her subconscious mind, and that fact ensured that Spencer blushed far more than he ever did when she said the exact same thing while fully awake. He couldn't help the giggle that flew from his lips.

"How are you feeling?"

"...Urgh."

"My poor baby." He rested his palm against her jaw and caressed her cheek with his thumb. "Does chicken soup sound good? I have my mom's recipe."

"Sounds so good."

Even with the understanding that he needed to get up in order to be able to make her soup, Y/N grumbled when her pillow started to move away from her. She was mostly quelled when Spencer leant down to give her a quick kiss on the forehead and returned the toy kangaroo from where it had fallen off the sofa back into Y/N's arms.

But she didn't stay on the couch for long.

Within 5 minutes, Spencer felt a pair of arms wrap around him from behind. "Hey baby, I thought you'd fallen back asleep," he commented after hearing her sigh and nuzzle her nose between his shoulders.

"Missed you." The words came out muffled by Spencer's shirt but he knew what had been said, nonetheless.

"Yeah?" he let out.

Having a girlfriend was something that still boggled his big ol' brain, but having a girlfriend who missed his presence when he was 1 room away and had only been absent from her arms for a total of 300 seconds was truly something else entirely.

"You're warm." She pressed a kiss to his clothed shoulder blade. "And handsome. Can't help myself."

He snorted as if she had said something unbelievable and turned slightly so she was giving him a side hug instead. One hand stirred the soup and the other wrapped around his girlfriend's waist, keeping her close and comforted by his body heat, whilst he pressed a kiss to her temple and hummed softly to himself.

Now he knew how difficult it was to cook and mix ingredients around with someone clinging onto most of your body. Though, he wouldn't be able to argue that he disliked the feeling of having Y/N attached to him. It was almost as much as he liked being attached to her because he really liked being held by her. And Spencer was sure that whenever he acted like koala and clutched at Y/N whenever she was baking, that she had this same feeling. Sure, it would be easier to move around without the cling on but was it as intimate? As warm? As sweet?

No. No, it wasn't.

Once the soup was perfect, they moved past the dining table and returned to the couch to eat their meal. As she sat next to Spencer with the bowl cupped in both hands, Y/N looked up at him with a content sigh.

"I love you. Thank you for this."

There were many things Spencer could have answered to that declaration. He could've told her, in case she wanted confirmation, that he loved her too. That he cherished her, adored her. That the sight of her sleeping peacefully with a dopey grin on her face warmed his heart so much that sometimes he didn't know whether he was actually alive or dreaming whenever he saw it. However, none of those words came out of his mouth.

"My mom made me this when I had days off from school because of anxiety," he admitted instead with a bashful smile. "Well, when she was lucid enough to do so."

"That was nice of her. I'll have to thank her whenever she comes to visit next."

"My mom really likes you, I think. When she's lucid, she asks for updates about us all the time."

Being liked by Diana Reid was high praise. Y/N got a bright grin on her face at the news, but then fell silent as she took a sip of soup. It was only now that Spencer noticed she was shaking slightly. With his free arm, he gently pulled her closer and rubbed his palm up and down her bicep comfortingly.

"Are you cold?" he inquired worriedly.

"No, I'm okay."

But he wasn't convinced. In an instant, Spencer was darting into their bedroom to find the oversized jumper that she always wore around the house and instructed, "Put your bowl down for me, honey, then arms up." Y/N did as she was told and was rewarded by her boyfriend tugging her jumper over her body and pressing kisses to her hair.

When he pulled away from her again, he asked, "Better?"

Y/N nodded and allowed herself to melt back into the couch with a content little huff as they continued their meal, enjoying each other's company quietly. Spencer would sneak a glance at Y/N every once in a while to check if she was okay and whenever she caught him doing so, he would quickly turn back to his food and pretend nothing had happened. She smiled at him every time he did.

After dinner Spencer thought it would be best to run Y/N a bath. Her fever was better than it had been this morning but she was still shivering and sweating heavily, and he couldn't help himself but worry. As they waited for the bath to fill, Y/N sat on the closed lid of the toilet and was busy picking at the bobbles of her sweatpants, leaning against her boyfriend's side so she didn't slump over.

"Just know I'd give you a really sexy strip tease if I had the energy," Y/N joked, earning a laugh from Spencer that sounded like music to her ears. Her undressing was far from sexy since she had sweat patches and snotty marks and was groaning every time she had to move even the slightest bit.

Nevertheless, Spencer held out his arm for her to hold and she gladly accepted the invitation for his help into the bathtub. The water was perfectly warm and soothing and when she sunk down into the depths of it, Y/N relaxed into the sensation.

"Do you wanna get in?"

"Do you want me to get in?"

"Course I do, but I understand if that's a bit much for you. Baths are basically a germ soup, afterall."

Spencer made a face. "That's a gross way to put it," he complained, yet was quick to add, "You're lucky I like your germs."

He was soon throwing his clothes off and jumping into the bathtub with his girlfriend, inching her forward a little so he could wedge himself between her back and the porcelain. She rested her head back against his chest and sighed contently as he placed kisses on the crown of her head.

"For someone who was so shitty at taking care of himself, you've taken real good care of me," Y/N joked softly, her words coming out as a whisper thanks to how tired she was feeling, but still audible enough that Spencer understood them perfectly. "Thank you, lovely."

"Anytime."

His head tipped downwards to pepper her shoulder blades with feather-light kisses, and although they were small and tender and seemed to tickle her skin, they sent shivers down the length of her spine all the same. Her muscles relaxed and her eyes closed shut as she basked in the feeling of Spencer's touch on her as Y/N began to play with his fingers to ensure she didn't nod off just yet, knowing full well that it would be such a hassle for her boyfriend to carry her completely naked sleeping soaking wet body across their apartment to their bedroom.

It was peaceful. Usually, Spencer didn't stop yapping - he often mumbled in his sleep - yet, at this moment, he was content to keep his mouth shut. Was this what peace is? As someone whose mind is constantly overflowing with everything going on around him, was this what it felt like to be able to sit here and simply think of one thing, or rather, one person.

"Honey?"

"Hmm?" Y/N replied without opening her eyes.

Slowly, he ran his hands along her arms before resting them upon the curve of her hips and squidging until she craned her head back to look at him properly and smiled when their eyes met.

"Kiss?"

"No, baby. I don't want to get you sick."

The corners of his lips upturned even more. "Baby," he parroted back in the exact tone she'd used. "There is a 98% chance that I've already been contaminated with your germs by touching you or, I don't know, the fact that we're sharing bathwater."

A soft chuckle escaped Y/N's lips before she leaned forward to press a kiss onto his cheek. That, however, wasn't enough for him and he hooked his forefinger under her chin to tilt it towards him but as he leant in, she backed he head away.

"I have sick person breath."

"Y/N," he whined. "I don't mind."

"Maybe not in theory but, in practice, it might freak you out."

"Please kiss me? Pretty please? I'm okay with this. I swear."

She hesitated but finally relented and gave him a chaste kiss on the mouth. Once again, that wasn't enough and Spencer chased her lips to extend for another kiss, which she obliged to.

After a few seconds of kissing, Y/N pulled away but only to rest her forehead against his. His hand was still cupping the nape of her neck and his thumb started rubbing in circles in a slow repetitive pattern. This was nice. This was relaxing. Just this little piece of intimacy with her lover was enough to make her feel at ease.

"You're going to be so whiney in a day or two," Y/N teased in a low voice as she traced her finger across his jawline.

"I'm going to be such a baby."

"My baby," Y/N whispered before placing her lips on his.

It was slow and innocent and sweetly romantic as they relaxed in the tub together. Spencer peppered kisses all over her face and her neck, his fingers tracing lazy patterns over her bare shoulders and down her bicep and back up again.

Eventually, though, the warmth of the water started to decrease and so they got out, dried themselves off quickly, and dressed in their pajamas to settle down for the night. Well, evening. Dusk wasn't even upon them yet and the pair were already pulling the duvet back onto their bed from the sofa and snuggling underneath it, facing one another as they spoke in hushed voices.

"Achoo!"

Surprising himself by the sheer volume of his sneeze, Spencer had to give himself a few seconds after to regain his bearings. It was official. He was sick now too, which wasn't the best news in the world but, hey, if the price of making Y/N feel better was a day or two sneezing and sniffling, he'd take it any day of the week.

"I'll go get the medicine," Y/N declared, offering him no time to comprehend what she'd said before she was making her way out of the room. It was as if a switch had flipped. As soon as Spencer seemed even the slightest bit under the weather, whatever illness she was going through was put on the back-burner for a minute so she could care for him.

They would look after each other, they'd decided with the unconscious part of their brains, and if that meant sharing a bottle of ibuprofen, so be it. Y/N came back with the pills, regular bottles of water, and 2 heated water bottles.

"That's why you were gone for so long." (She'd been in the kitchen for just over 5 mins)

"Uh-huh, I was warming up these bad boys." She lightly hit the centre of one of the bottles, squishing the water to ripple across the plastic. "Did you miss me?"

"I missed you so much," Spencer admitted, reaching up to wrap an arm around her waist to pull her flush against him. She giggled as she managed to keep everything she was holding in her grip and not send it tumbling towards his face.

His neediness had kicked back into gear.

Once she'd deposited everything in her hands, they were cradling his head as she got comfy with her knees on either side of his hips. He hummed happily into the contact, and although he was a little disappointed at himself for being a wimp as soon as one simple little sneeze occurred, Spencer just sat there and watched as his sick girlfriend checked his temperature, gave him the pills and water before she took some herself, and made sure he was cosy.

How could he do anything else? He was far too content with watching her. His eyes were round and sparkling like saucers and his lips were pursed in a cute pout like a pet who was looking for attention, and while Spencer tried his hardest not to coo and giggle like a lovestruck fool, he couldn't quite manage to hide how smitten he was.

If he had known that this was what life would be like after falling so deeply in love with Y/N, he would have done it a long time ago. Even when they'd been 'just friends', he'd been aware that she was pretty and kind and perfect for him but had been too blinded by his work, too consumed by his insecurities, too scared to mess up their friendship to admit it to himself.

Jesus, it was crazy to ponder how good his life could've been these past few years. Remembering all of the bad stuff that happened to him, if he'd come to his senses earlier, would that have happened if Y/N was by his side? He assumed that some of it would've gone down the same way but he would've had his girlfriend by his side. Maybe it wouldn't be less mentally taxing but he would've had a shoulder to cry into, he wouldn't have to go through all his trauma by himself, and wouldn't have had to wake up alone every dreary morning.

Perhaps his life would've been a whole lot happier overall.

"Where'd that brain of yours go?" Y/N asked once she noticed that he had zoned out on her and she was now stroking his hair soothingly. She looked at him in amusement as she saw the dopey expression painted across his features and chuckled.

"Hmm? Oh." Spencer shook his head slightly as he returned to the present. "Just... thinking."

"About what?" Y/N playfully poked him in the ribcage.

"You."

He broke out into a gleeful grin and wrapped his arms around her waist to flip them over. Y/N squealed at the surprise burst of energy which suddenly surged throughout him and allowed him to pin her on to the mattress with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

"Spencer!" Y/N laughed as he planted sloppy kisses along the sides of her face. She reached over to push him away but he easily moved her hands aside and continued his assault. Her face was turning red from all his affection. The tips of her ears. Her cheeks. All around her. And when he pressed his lips firmly against hers once again, she didn't back up because she was concerned with transferring her lurgy.

Since he'd already got it. He was sneezing. He was snotting. And she was sure this hyperactivity was going to deplete whatever remaining energy he had left in no time. Why bother now? Indulging in each other would make them feel better sooner, right? So, yeah. Why not?

Well, the urge to sneeze is hard to resist, you see. Say if your mouth was close to another person's and you couldn't hold the urge at bay, yeah, you'd make what had once been a sweet and lovely embrace into one filled with mucus and betrayal.

Y/N froze in shock. Her face clenched immediately as she felt the onslaught.

"Thanks babe," she mumbled sarcastically as Spencer rushed to wipe away his sneeze with the sleeves of his sleep shirt and to apologise profusely with a string of stammering words leaving his mouth. He was babbling.

"I am so sorry. Saliva can burst from a person’s mouth at nearly a hundred miles an hour and I swear I didn't mean to hit you in the face with germs that fly at the same speed as a Eurasian Hobby. It snuck up on me, okay? It was unintentional-"

"God, I love you."

Weird. If Reid was asked what would happen after he committed an act of biological warfare towards his girlfriend, he never would've guessed that.

"W-why? What? I don't understand."

"You apologised for something that a) you couldn't control, b) was my fault for passing this bug onto you anyway, and c) couldn't stop yourself from blurting out not one but two facts during your apology." She propped herself up onto her elbows. "Would I prefer to not get sneezed on? Yes. But, let's be fair, I am overrun with Spencer Reid's germs so a sudden 'burst' is not going to bother me all that much."

Her words caught Spencer off guard and his eyes widened at her confession. Was it really that simple? That easy? Did she really not mind? Life as a whole is extremely complicated, Spencer Reid's more than most, yet somehow this was perfectly simple. This was calm. This was content. This was happy.

Admittedly, they would've preferred to be disease-free and happy, but hey, you've gotta look for the silver linings.

The pair brushed their teeth, washed their faces and clung to their hot water bottles side by side. Their bed was warm and cosy despite the fact that there were 2 sniffing idiots under the duvet. Though their sickness wasn't comfortable in the slightest, their surroundings and the way they clung to each other was enough to quell them.

And when the morning came, Spencer was as whiny as they'd expected. He awoke with a groan - which wasn't that unusual for him - and immediately spiralled into a coughing fit that woke Y/N up. She huffed in protest against waking up early, but did sit up to gently palm at his back, rubbing circles between his shoulder blades until Spencer had calmed down enough to catch his breath.

*Click here for my Spencer Reid masterlist, or here for the entire masterlist*

When his coughs finally subsided, he flopped back onto his pillow, and rolled onto his back with one arm stretched lazily towards Y/N. "We're staying here all day," he concluded matter-of-factly, causing Y/N to smile contently as she shuffled closer on the bed to snuggle into his side.

Next Chapter -> Kiss And Make Up

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[rubyreduji]

ahegao and arousal — ljh

summary: jihoon just wanted to have a nice night watching anime with you, how was he supposed to know the show he picked was a hentai?

tags: smut (minors dni!) warnings: explicit unprotected sex, hentai, ji is kind of a perv, creampies, spanking, scratching, finger sucking, pinning, multiple orgasms wc: 3.6k an: ANON I SCREAMED WHEN I READ THIS LIKE AHHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH I LOVE YOU i made up my own anime plot for this hehe but watched wotakoi while writing bc office romance

orignal request: woozi and reader are at a sleepover and are both anime geeks but what’s playing is not anime and more hentai

Akira, long time secretary at Hayashi Corp, spends her days doing errands for her boss, Hiroshi, and keeping the office running. The mundane pace of her life is suddenly thrown for a loop when the new data analyst, Kaito, is hired.

That’s what the description of the show Jihoon picked said. It sounded like a cute little work place, slice of life romance anime at the time of Jihoon scrolling through what show to watch with you tonight. Oh how wrong he was.

Last week you hunted Jihoon down and insisted that it has been far too long since you two had a day to spend hanging out just you two, so Jihoon invited you over for an all night anime marathon. It’s no secret that you two are giant anime buffs, and so it was difficult for Jihoon to find something that both of you have yet to see. So when he came across this new anime he thought it was the perfect pick. It had an 8.7 review and tropes that Jihoon knows you enjoy, making it the perfect show to watch with you.

The show started out fine, a bit cliche but overall carrying the same cute aesthetic of all romance animes. Sure there were a few throw away fanservice bits, but Jihoon didn’t think anything of it. Until he did.

Jihoon’s ears burn as he tries to figure out where to look. He can’t look at you, that would just make him even more flustered, but staring at the TV is out of the option. Even as Jihoon stares at the wall, he can’t escape the lewd sounds playing out of the speakers. He can’t exactly tell what the characters are saying due to it being in Japanese, but from the excessive moaning and slick sounds, he can interpret it.

The show was going so well, to the point where the two of you were starting to root for a male lead, and then all of a sudden Akira is being cornered in an empty meeting room by Hiroshi (who is the wrong male lead, by the way) and their clothes are flying off and then Jihoon had to stop watching.

His curiosity gets the best of him though and Jihoon glances at the TV, just to take a quick peak, only to get a full view of an animated cock being slid into an exaggeratingly wet pussy (why is it uncensored!?). She cries out as the subtitles read, “He’s so big!~”. The image changes to the bouncing of Akira’s unnaturally large tits as Hiroshi starts to thrust into her. Above her tits is the image of her face, screwed up into a classic hentai ahegao. 

Now, Jihoon is well…a man, and men have certain urges that need to be taken care of every once in a while, and Jihoon often finds himself looking to certain content to help out those urges. He of course carries shame for it and would never actually admit that he watches hentai (a lot), but it's a fact that’s hard to hide when his body is reacting to the scene the way it normally would if he was watching it alone.

You haven’t spoken a single word since the scene started, and Jihoon just prays to god that you’re not looking at him or his lap.

Now in theory, Jihoon could just turn the TV off but then that would force both of you to face the reality that you have now consumed porn together and Jihoon doesn’t think he can handle that. Just thinking about it makes Jihoon’s dick twitch even harder.

Jihoon takes a shallow breath and finally risks a glance over at you. He’s shocked at the sight. Your bottom lip is placed between your teeth, being chewed up as you stare intently at the screen. Your knees are pulled to your chest and there’s a slight gleam in your eye as you watch the scene. Is it possible that you’re…enjoying this?

Jihoon allows himself to get a better look at you, as it’s clear you’re solely focused on the show. He watches as you take a shaky breath, your thighs squeezing together as well. The sight drives Jihoon just slightly insane, and it doesn’t help you’re in the skimpiest pair of sleep shorts and a tank top, sans a bra. 

You and Jihoon have been friends for a while. You two met coincidentally at an anime convention, You were cosplaying as one of his favorite characters and Jihoon made sure to get your socials. You were interested in his own socials though, noticing the OST covers he uploaded occasionally. When it was revealed you two are from the same area, you two quickly became close. Now, nearly six years later, you’re one of Jihoon’s closest friends.

The only thing is, Jihoon has a fat, massive crush on you. He has for years now. It doesn’t help that the characters you cosplay the most are either some of Jihoon’s favorites or characters who are the biggest victims of fanservice behaviors. One time you cosplayed a character who fell under both categories and that night Jihoon shamefully jerked off to the pictures you sent to him.

And now you’re here, dressed in revealing clothes, sitting on Jihoon’s couch, invested in the porn scene playing on the TV. 

Jihoon eyes travel down from your face to your chest, where your tank top does a poor job of hiding your cleavage. He can see the way your chest swells with each shuddered breath. It’s clear now that you’re very into this, and Jihoon wonders for a brief second how wet your panties are.

Jihoon then quickly chides himself, looking back at the wall and away from you. That’s where his gaze stays until the scene ends. Once the show goes back to being a seemingly innocent romance anime, Jihoon finally allows himself to glance over at you. To his surprise you’re staring back at him.

“I, uh, can’t believe she’d hook up with Hiroshi,” you say, breaking the silence between you two. “Clearly Kaito is the better choice.”

Jihoon coughs, clearing his throat. “Y-yeah. It’s also kinda weird since he’s her boss…”

The conversation fizzles out quickly after that and you and Jihoon go back to watching the TV in awkward silence. Jihoon can still feel the ache in his cock as he watches the characters fumble around each other. 

Jihoon can barely even focus on the show, too busy trying to think about anything that will get his boner to go down. He’s not sure what’s happening on screen when all of a sudden you start squealing.

“Oh my god Jihoon, it's happening!” You launch yourself across the couch to grab at Jihoon’s arm. He’s startled for a moment, his skin burning where your fingers dig into his flesh. He glances at the TV to see Kaito walking Akira back to her home.

You don’t let go of Jihoon as you settle down next to him, your body now pressed up against him rather than across the couch. God Jihoon swears his cock has never been so hard in his life. He’s sure the pillow placed over his lap is anything but subtle.

You’re not looking at Jihoon though, too invested in the conversation the two characters are having. Jihoon glances down at you, only to realize that was a bad choice as he’s now staring straight down your shirt at your cleavage. For a moment Jihoon thinks about how he wouldn’t mind seeing how your boobs bounce while he fucks you.

Jihoon’s still focused on you solely, when you gasp. He glances at you and then the screen to see the two characters posed in a kabedon. It doesn’t take long for the two to start making out and Jihoon can already anticipate what’s going to happen next. Your fingers dig into Jihoon’s arm before you realize what you’re actually doing. You go to pull your hand back, but you stop halfway through, your fingers just barely ghosting Jihoon’s arm.

“We can just skip this scene,” Jihoon finally says, seeing the internal conflict going on in your mind. He moves to reach for the remote but you stop him.

“N-no, it’s okay,” you tell him, in a voice that’s smaller than normal. “U-unless you don’t want to!”

“No, it’s uh, it’s fine,” Jihoon says. You give a slight nod, not moving your hand away.

You and Jihoon quiet down once more, staring at the TV, both of your cheeks warm. On screen Kaito is bending Akira over the counter, his cock pulled out and rubbing against her slit. Jihoon hears the labored breath you take, as your fingers slightly tighten on his arm.

Jihoon flits his eyes to glance at you, noticing the intrigued look back on your face. His fingers twitch on his lap as he stares down at your thighs, pushed together. The lewd sounds of moans and squelches fill the living room and Jihoon is five seconds away from getting up to go relieve himself in his bathroom.

Jihoon knows you. If something goes wrong you’ll both just brush it off and forgive and forget it. Fuck it.

Jihoon reaches out and slides his hand over your thigh. You jump a bit and Jihoon goes to pull back, but you stop him.

“No! You’re uh-, you’re fine.”

Jihoon just nods, trying to pretend like his mind isn’t reeling right now. His thumb brushes over your bare thigh, caressing the skin.

Your thighs are soft and he does his best not to full on grope the fat there. Just touching you like this has Jihoon’s cock leaking desperately in his boxers and he thinks about how good it would feel to touch in other ways as well. The swell of your breasts under his palms, his plump lips against your tender neck, his hard cock nestled inside of you.

Jihoon lets his mind wander too much, and the last image makes him squeeze your thigh hard, causing you to let out a moan.

“Fuck, Jihoon,” you mutter.

“I’m so sorry!” Jihoon shouts, quickly pulling his hand away. You’re quicker though, grabbing his hand and placing it on your upper thigh, his fingers just barely brushing against your crotch. Jihoon’s mouth goes dry.

“F-finish what you started, Ji,” you tell him, your voice thick with lust.

Jihoon gulps and nods. He moves his fingers to press against you harder and you automatically spread your thighs to give him more room. Jihoon can already feel how wet you are and he stifles a groan. You let out broken gasps as Jihoon continues to rub at your clit through your shorts. 

Jihoon can’t take his eyes off you, staring at you the way the swell of your breasts heaves with each breath. Jihoon shifts his position to face you so he can reach out his free hand. It hovers over your chest for a moment before he finally pushes forward, grasping your boob in his palm. Your breath stutters before you release a low moan. Jihoon can feel the clench of your thighs around his hand. 

Your pussy is dripping now, soaking straight through your panties and shorts. Jihoon’s cock is also leaking, begging to be slid into your warm walls. His cock strains against his shorts, like it’s trying to break free from the confines itself.

Jihoon groans and pulls his hands off of you and you whine. You’re not left untouched for too long though as Jihoon hooks his fingers into your waistband and starts to pull your shorts down. You lift your hips to help him out, pulling your top off your body as well. Even though your clothes did little to cover you up, seeing you fully naked drives Jihoon insane.

He stares at your slick pussy and he nearly drops to his knees then, thinking about how heavenly it would be to be in between your thighs, but his dick twitches a little too hard and he knows he has to get inside of you now. Jihoon pushes his shorts down his legs and his cock finally springs free.

“Jihoon please,” you whine and Jihoon groans. He sits back down on the couch and grabs you, pulling you onto his lap. You look pretty, perched on Jihoon’s thick, pale thighs. Your pussy rubs up against his cock and Jihoon can feel your arousal spread across his length, lubing it up.

“S-shit,” Jihoon curses. Your fingers grasp his shoulders tightly, your fingernails just starting to dig in, and the slight sting goes straight to Jihoon’s cock.

“C’mon Hoonie,” you mumble. “Just fuck me.”

That’s all Jihoon needs to properly line himself up and slam right into you. You whine loudly at the feeling as Jihoon slides right into you, your cunt already so need that there’s no resistance. Just as Jihoon expected, your walls are soft and warm as you clench down around him.

Jihoon grasps your waists, slowly guiding you up his length before pulling you back down. Jihoon can see you biting down on your lip as you roll your hips against him. He reaches up and gently pulls your lip out from between your teeth with his thumb. Before Jihoon can tell you he wants to hear your moans, your tongue darts out and licks at the pad of his thumb before you lean down and take his whole thumb into your mouth.

Jihoon’s hips buck up into you as you suck on his thumb, your tongue swirling around it. You look down at him with your sultry eyes and for a moment Jihoon wonders if you’ve wanted him just a long as he’s wanted you.

You gradually speed up your pace until you’re fully fucking yourself on Jihoon’s cock, fast and hard. You pop your mouth off of Jihoon’s thumb, finally letting your moans flow free. To Jihoon, you sound like an angel singing. As you bounce in his lap Jihoon can’t help but stare at your tits as they bounce in front of his face. He realizes that if he stares for too much longer, he’s going to cum too soon.

He leans forward and starts to pepper kissings along your neck and chest. His fingers trail up your torso until they come to your tits. He palms at your chest, hard and mean, desperate to feel you up as much as he can.

Your fingernails dig into Jihoon’s shoulders even harder, slightly dragging up and scratching him. Jihoon would never consider himself a masochist but the pain burns delightfully and suddenly he wants you to tear up his whole back.

“F-fuck, Ji~” you whine. “Your cock feels suh’good.”

Your cunt squeezes Jihoon’s cock, so close to milking him for all that he’s worth. Jihoon doesn’t bother taking his mouth off of you, just humming against your collarbone. Jihoon’s body feels like it’s burning up, the feel of your soft skin pressed against him, your warm cunt wrapped around his aching cock. If he doesn’t cum soon he’s sure that he’ll implode.

Jihoon reaches between your body and snags his finger on your clit, rubbing at the bud rapidly to get you closer to your orgasm. You gasp and whine as your hips get more frantic, breaking your steady pace.

“G-gonna cum,” you say between broken breaths. You lean down and capture Jihoon in a kiss. The feeling of your lips against his is new and Jihoon already can’t get enough of it. Jihoon pushes his tongue between your lips, licking into your mouth to taste you better.

You move your hands up to cup his face, tugging him into you even harder as your body trembles in his grip. Jihoon can feel your walls fluttering around him as you reach your high. That’s all the signal Jihoon needs to let go as well, finally letting himself spill right into your cunt. Your hips soon come to a stop and lift up off of him as your body slumps down onto his.

“You know,” you mumble into his neck, your fingers now playing with the hair on his nape, “I’ve always kind of fantasized about this happening.”

“W-what?” Jihoon asks, his mind already dizzy from his orgasm and now your words aren’t helping.

“You’re hot Ji. Like, I’ve never met an anime nerd as buff as you. You’re also just like…really nice and caring? I don’t know, ever since we met a small part of me has always wanted to fuck you.”

“Shit,” Jihoon groans. “You’re saying that we could have been fucking for years now? Baby I don’t think you know how badly your cosplays turn me on.” 

“You’re gonna turn me on again,” you murmur.

“Good,” Jihoon responds. “Because I still have one more round in me.” Even after cumming, Jihoon’s cock is still hard and he easily flips you around and presses you down against the couch. Your face is now buried in the cushions as Jihoon pulls your hips up to meet his.

“S-shit,” you gasp.

Jihoon pushes his thumb against your folds, rubbing at them for a moment before pulling one to the side. Your cunt is shiny from your arousal and as Jihoon forced your entrance open, some of his cum from earlier starts to spill out. Jihoon is tempted to finger fuck it back into you, but it’s not too much of a loss when he can just give you fresh load.

Jihoon’s tip rubs up against your slit, teasing you. You wiggle your hips slightly, begging for him to put it in. Luckily, Jihoon is just as desperate as you are and pushes his hips forward, his tip easily sliding into you.

You just had Jihoon inside of you and yet the feeling of his cock rubbing up against your walls as you moaning and drooling on the couch cushions.

“So good for me,” Jihoon mutters to himself. “Fuck how do you feel ever better the second time.”

Jihoon’s hips slam into yours, rough and slow, making each stroke intentional. His grip on your hips is tight, making sure you stay in place as he fucks into you.

As much as Jihoon loves staring at your tits bouncing in his face, the view from the back is just as good. He can’t help himself as he lifts his hand up, letting his palm smack against your ass as he brings his hand back down. He watches satisfied as your ass recoils, the fat jiggling deliciously. He repeats this action a few more times until he’s sure your ass is warm and stinging from the hits.

“H-hoonie, faster, please,” you beg. You push your hips back, trying to force Jihoon to pick up his speed.

“You need more, baby?” Jihoon coos teasingly. “Want my cock to pound your little pussy?”

“Yes,” you sob out. “Need you to fuck me hard.”

“Okay baby, your wish is my command.” Like a switch flipped, Jihoon starts to plow into you, the head of his cock ramming into your g-spot with each thrust.

Jihoon slides his hand up your spine, his fingers coming up to cup around the back of your neck, and he pushes down, holding you against the couch. It’s dirty, your ass sticking up in the air as your face is squished against the cushion, but that just gets Jihoon going even more.

“You look so pretty like this,” Jihoon tells you. “Back arched just for me.”

You can’t even respond, just letting out a spew of babbles and moans. Your fingers grip onto the edge of the cushion and Jihoon wonders if it’s second nature for you to dig your nails into something when being fucked. He’ll have to test that another time, your nails raking over his back as he fucks the life out you.

For now he’ll stick to railing you into tomorrow.

“S’close,” you slur. “P-please. Need to cum.”

“Aww, you need to come? Okay baby, cream all over my cock.”

Jihoon continues to abuse your sweet spot with his cock as your body tense under him. Your cunt clenches down tight into a vice grip as you whine high pitched and loud. Jihoon rubs at your hip as you orgasm. It isn’t until you fall spineless to the couch that Jihoon allows himself to fill you up once more. He milks himself dry inside of you, making sure you’re stuffed full. Jihoon knows you’re on birth control (you’ve complained about the change in hormones to him before) but the knowledge that Jihoon pumped you full with two loads still drives him slightly insane.

Jihoon slides out of you and slumps down on the couch as well. You shuffle around so you can cuddle up into his side and press a soft kiss to his jaw.

“This was fun,” you mumble and Jihoon laughs.

“Yeah…we should do it again.”

You grin. “We should.”

Before Jihoon can say anything else, you’re both caught off guard by a loud shout coming from the TV. You both whip your heads back to the screen, it seems in the midst of your own fun you both forgot what started it all.

A smirk crosses your face as you look at Jihoon. “You know, for my next convention maybe I should dress as Akira. I think I have a blazer sitting around in my closet somewhere…”

The thought alone sends Jihoon’s mind reeling. The thought of you dressed up in a tight blazer and short skirt, knowing that the character is from a hentai. He’s not sure he would be able to keep his hands off of you.

“And who knows, maybe you could dress up as Kaito with me.” You send a wink Jihoon’s way and it’s enough to have Jihoon’s dick twitching to life a third time.

Oh yeah. He definitely won’t be able to keep his hands off of you, but something in Jihoon tells him you won’t mind too much.

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[borzoilover69]

just scrolled through your hs2:oot tag, looks great looking forward to it! ^^

yeah about that...

my interest in homestuck other than certain factors of it has been dead for a while. I dont think i have the motivation for it and desire to see that storyline through.

HOWEVER.

Since its.. on permanent hiatus. I suppose i can just spoil the entire storyline and the determined outcomes of the entire thing? So click below if you wanted to see how THAT story goes.

-----v

HS2:OOT was to take place at the end of the long hiatus of hs2. After crocker targets johns house and burns it to the ground, jake comes back and finds the house, burning. BGD appears to torment Jake, arguing over fault, their relationship, and whether BGD is really saying what dirk would say. BGD also makes mention of the "cosmic asshole in space". As tensions rise, they reach a point where BGD decides to nope the fuck out and kill himself to detach himself from jake.

(ill add the pnale reference in a bit)

Jake has a breakdown.

After the breakdown, Jake seeks out john. john has just exited roxy and calliopes house (again this took place after the great pause, everything that came out this year-ish wasnt around) and talk over issues, concluding that things HAVE been off. For a long time now. That they have to do something, but what?

Hesitantly, Jake asks about Johns retcon powers. They deliberate, John hesitant even though they are "off canon" these are still their friends. They go back and forth on this before john argues that he doesnt even know WHERE to retcon to. Yet they still give it a try. MEANWHILE.. CRUSIING THROUGH PARADOX SPACE AT THE SPEED OF WHATEVER...

A SHIP GOES DARK. DAVEBOT: hey is it getting dark in here or what DAVEBOT: what the fuck is happening ARADIA: oh dear we've run out of time DAVEBOT: no no fuck this wasnt supposed to happen shit. DAVEBOT: aradia the fuck are you talking about ARADIA: we've run out of time, i'm sorry dave. DAVEBOT: i thought doomed timelines were for the game only DAVEBOT: the whole fucking point of this was that we were going to get out DAVEBOT: we were supposed to get out DAVEBOT: shit callie what the hells going on

Jades body stiffens and falls limp.

Retconning without purpose brings them to a blank space. Specifically, the black hole in which alt calliope resides. And man is she PISSED. Shes vague, condescending, and focuses on the fact they were "comfortable" and "safe". This is met by profuse denials, they want things to happen and "hasnt nothing been happening enough?"

CALLIOPE: The page and the heir were to remain. JOHN: ok. shut up.

[bickering later ]

JOHN: ok, i don't really care though, because clearly none of this is right!! this is the most garbage i've ever heard!!! They argue and bicker, and even fight somewhat. Calliope kicks their asses royally, and yet their defiance raises an eyebrow. They decide to do a trade deal. Calliope will grant them a set amount of time and they must defeat or at least put a stop to Jakes cosmic ex. If they fail to do that, she will take ultimate control and send them all back.

Calliope sends them back to a point before dave ascended and before the wormhole closed. Its a bright sunny day, and jake appears a little bit after john does. When asked, he said that calliope was asking him for something. John doesnt ask what.

John asks out of the blue if they can head to karkats house. When asked why, he talks about johns situation and the guilt he vaguely references from their last conversation. karkat isnt fully part of the revolution yet, and since the happy nuptials of jade and dave, hes been staying home and bedrotting. Isolated from human society and the new troll society, he prefers it that way as he lacks aim or purpose.

They ask for his help, explaining their situation. "We need your help beating my cosmic ex." "WHAT THE FUCK SORT OF COCAINE DID YOU TWO DO. THAT SOUNDS LIKE BULLSHIT. REPEAT WHAT THE FUCK YOU SAID TO YOUR LOCAL PSYCHOLOGIST." He also goes into the whole "thing with dave" (writing by august)

Karkat isnt budging, bringing up multiple points on why he shouldnt go, even if what theyre saying is true. This could really honestly be a cosmic fuck over. So when in doubt, reverse psych it out. John nonchalantly says ok, thats fine. We are going to respect your decision here. And karkat gets mad. REALLY. REALLY. MAD.

They end up reverse psychologying him into thinking its a personal FAVOUR that hes doing them by making sure they dont asphyxiate on dead air in space. Karkat and john talk about stuff happening, while Jake says he has to run a few errands. Karkat bringing up more questions about how easily john is doing this, john fumbling but probing more into what this pre-revolution karkat thinks to try and understand what the other karkat was on about. Jake returns, and the ship is ready to go.

this music

[Cue flash that shows the ship, then the town zooming out as. callback to when janes house entered the medium, and then zoom in on the ship as it takes off, entering through the wormhole into paradox space. Sollux on the roof gets blown over by the breeze, watching them. Inside the wormhole, Jake celebrates and highfives John before walking out, leaving karkat behind as he stares up into the soaring heavens. The perspective switches to the front of jakes ship, showing that its more reminiscent of a large battleship before it switches to dirks ship, flying through space he looks up at the screen. Slow pan over the members of the cast going to be relevant, terezi in front of a board of pinned papers and threads, rose watering plants, a timelapse of jakes ship and its occupants setting up and personallising the space. Alt calliope, davebot, the meat crew. etc. Cut to black and fade in text: HS2:OOT]

Ill put more later. But that was all of act one. maybe ill put up act two and other plotpoints later in another post along with the exclusive business.

[kentosovertime]

𝕖𝕔𝕔𝕖𝕕𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕤𝕕𝕚𝕒𝕤𝕥; (n.) someone who only pretends to smile

𝕤𝕪𝕟𝕠𝕡𝕤𝕚𝕤… when geto and gojo grow apart, resulting in their break up, gojo finds friendship and belonging with you and when geto returns he decides he wants you for himself 𝕚𝕟𝕗𝕠… 2.7k wc, college!au series, satosugu, geto x gojo x afab!reader, explicit content and language, includes themes of manipulation, jealousy, angst, spiteful behavior, etc. toxic friendships, emotionally constipated men, mentions of alcohol, exhibitionism, voyeurism, heavy petting 𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣… reblogs and likes are appreciated 𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥… send me an ask (link) if you want to be tagged

𝕤𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕤 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 | 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 | 𝕥𝕒𝕘 𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 | 𝕒𝕤𝕜 𝕓𝕠𝕩

Satoru waits until he hears the refrigerator close in the kitchen and footsteps approach the front door of the apartment before he leaves his room to get ready for class. He frowns to himself, sighing heavily as he goes to make a quick breakfast and pack his bag. 

He shakes his protein in his shaker bottle and scrolls mindlessly through his notifications to distract his self loathing thoughts. There are plenty of notifications for matches on his phone… Maybe he could find someone new to take some of his restlessness out on?

Satoru is in the middle of messaging a girl back with a small, satisfied smirk when keys jingle in the door and Geto comes back in, stopping short when he takes in the app on Satoru’s screen. 

“Forgot my laptop…” He mutters and disappears into the room they used to share, coming out a moment later with it propped in his arms. 

Satoru bites the inside of his cheek, looking down at his phone without a response. Sometimes he really despises how much he still cares about Geto. When their relationship had blown up in their faces, he hadn’t pressed him to move out. It was hard enough to find an apartment in a college town and it was quite another thing to afford one alone.  

After he had stormed out that night, he came back when he knew Geto would be at work, emptying his belongings from their room and moving into the sparse guest room that used to be his before they finally decided to give into the tension between them. He sighs at the memory, something deep and tucked away in his heart aching for something that could no longer be. He swallows around the lump in his throat, remembering how happy he was that Geto was away so he could cry in peace, not wanting anyone to see him like that, so weak. 

He still cared for Geto and the last thing he wanted was for him to end up on the streets or living in his car. Satoru would have been fine, he has more than enough money to spare, but he’s not a total asshole. 

In his own defense, when he had decided that he wouldn’t press the issue, Geto was barely around anyway. There had been weeks at a time that he’d go before seeing him between classes, his job and internship, and Satoru’s conflicting schedule. But now, with the internship done, his classes and work had returned to normal… but they hadn’t. 

He was still having trouble adjusting, even after a couple weeks passing to get used to a different routine.. 

“Hey…” Geto clears his throat, shifting on his feet. “I meant to ask before leaving, but you weren’t up yet. Is everyone still meeting up for coffee?” 

“Yeah, we’ll be there starting at 2.” Ah, the other compromise that Satoru had silently made. Having the same friend group since before they started dating complicated things on top of their living arrangement. It wasn’t fair to make them side one way or the other and deep down, Satoru was afraid that the rest of the group only tolerated him and would pick Geto when it came down to it… Well everyone except for (y/n). “Just stop by whenever you get out of class.” 

“I should be there around 2:30…” Despite his nervous shifting, a small smile graces his lips and Satoru’s heart skips a beat, missing seeing happiness on his face. “I’m excited to see everyone again after so long.” 

“Shoko hasn’t shut up about it.” Satoru snorts, and takes a swig of his shake. “And (y/n) is excited to finally meet you. Try not to be a total offstandish ass to her.” 

“No promises, Gojo.” Geto finds his smirk growing as he playfully rolls his eyes, knowing that Satoru is fucking with him. He was always a gentleman to women, even if he wasn’t as personable as the man in front of him. Geto was shocked that the group still acknowledged he existed, thinking that Satoru would have been the obvious choice after their split. “I’ll see you later.”

He huffs out in acknowledgement, sagging when the front door finally closes behind Geto. He didn’t mind making room for Geto in his life again for Shoko, Mei Mei, or Nanamin, but having to share you?

His gut tightens in protective possessiveness. You were everything to him; his best friend. The title used to belong to Geto, but that’s no longer the case for obvious reasons. And it can’t belong to Shoko with how she ends up moderating the two men.

You had pulled him through his hardest days, seen him through the dark months when he was piecing himself back together, making bad decisions to compensate for the hole that was punched through his heart. He doesn’t know what he’d do without you. 

You had barreled your way into his life only a few days after the breakup, approaching him in one of his classes to hand him a summary of the notes from the class he missed. When he had asked you why you’d gone out of your way so selflessly, you simply said that you noticed he didn’t seem himself and you thought he could use a friend. 

He found that he loved that you were his, that you weren’t tainted by Geto and that he didn’t have to share you with him. 

When he makes it to the cafe later that afternoon, he makes sure to take the space next to you on the leather couch. Leaning into whatever you were animatedly explaining to Shoko. 

“I’m just saying that if we tie him up and throw him in the trunk, what will he do?” You reason, like what you’re saying is completely normal. “If he screams we can gag him.”

“I’m here for the vibe, but how about we just lie to him?” She snorts loudly and takes a puff off of her vape, blowing the smoke away from the group. 

“Who exactly are we talking about?” Satoru buts his way into the conversation, curious and ready to aid and abet at a moment's notice. 

“We’re planning something for Kento’s birthday in a few months.” You grin wildly, leaning closer to him so you can conspire with him, whispering as if Nanami’s scowling face will appear out of thin air. “It’s his 20th birthday! We have to party and force him to attend. And if we book him accommodations in a love hotel for shits and giggles, so be it. You can smell the man’s sexual frustration from a mile away.”

“I always loved charity work.” He snickers, all but offering his help with whatever you need. He stands and stretches his limber limbs, cracking his neck before he announces he’s going to use the restroom. Before he goes his gaze softens and he smiles at you. “Do you want me to grab you something on my way back? One of those cinnamon rolls you like?” 

“Yes, please~” The soft smile you shoot his way has his heart racing for some unknown reason.

By the time he comes back carrying your plate, someone else is sitting next to you. He stops in his tracks, deflating slightly when he sees Geto, making himself at home, leaning into your personal space with that sly, flirty smirk Satoru knows so well. And it feels like a stab through his heart when he sees you laughing at whatever he told you. 

Three things crash through Satoru at once as he starts to pale. First, he realizes, watching your smile light up your face and have it not directed at him, that he likes you. Second, the hot churning sensation in his stomach was jealousy, something he hasn’t experienced in years. Lastly, to his shock, the jealousy isn’t just directed at Geto, but at you.

You have his attention, his smile, even his touch as Satoru watches him lay his hand on your thigh, thumbing the surface of your skin under the hem of your shorts. 

Why hadn’t he asked you out before this? He asks himself as something punches him in the gut and hollows open his insides.

“‘Toru!” He blinks rapidly, clearing his mind with a shake of his head, as he sees you making aggressively cute grabby hands towards the plate he was holding with the cinnamon roll on it. An excited noise leaves your throat as you take it and bite a huge chunk out of it. “Thank you, bestie.” 

“No problem, you fucking gremlin.” He rubs your head affectionately, smirking as Geto’s eye twitches at the familiar touch. “You getting along with Mr. Tightass over here?” 

He kicks your leg, making you shuffle over and push Geto down the couch so he could settle on your other side, wanting to sit next to you more than before. 

“Of course she is,” Geto scoffs at him before leaning back against the arm of the couch with the sly smile returning. “I’m a pleasure to be around.” 

“He’s going to bring me over to that book store with the bar in it after this.” Satoru can see you teeming with excitement despite the shy look plastered on your face, complete with a light flush on your cheeks as you look back and meet Geto’s eyes. 

“Oh?” Satoru’s voice is falsely curious with just a hint of the teasing he normally levels at you, like he isn’t having the rug pulled out from under him. “Hot date?”

“N-No-” You stammer in embarrassment at the exact same Geto chuckles, pulling your attention back to him.

“Damn. I thought I was pretty obvious about it.” He grins, reaching out to gently thumb your cheek, sending your heart rate through the roof. “Sweetheart you already said yes, don’t break my heart.”

“I.. Y-you’re sure?” Satoru hates how his insides churn as he watches you fully face Geto, saying yes to the man less than fifteen minutes after meeting him. “I could be crazy, you know.”

“Oh I know you are if you’re friends with that-” He nods behind you with a knowing smirk, seeing Satoru’s murderous glare on him. Really could he be more obvious? “Good thing I don’t mind crazy, baby.”

“Wow. Shafted and ditched bestie.” Satoru whines and acts annoyed so you don’t see that you’re ripping his soul in half. “What about me?”

You playfully smack his arm with a little grin, like he’s just fucking with you. You think that he can be such a needy baby sometimes, but he just had such a big heart you couldn’t help but want to be his friend. 

“Don’t you have a million matches to respond to?” Geto hums like he isn’t letting you know that you have hundreds of other girls to compete with, all with the sharp edge of disapproval out of his own selfishness over Satoru. 

“Shit, yeah I forgot I need to go tell them to fuck off.” Satoru tries for a tone that’s silky sweat but it comes out just a bit too snippy. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow, gremlin. You still have those notes for me from the class I missed?”

“Of course I do, you degenerate. No way you’d graduate in the Spring without them.” You tease, hiding a sad look that he’s already packing his bag up to head out. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Satoru wandered aimlessly for the evening, eventually too bored of the campus’s study rooms to stand it anymore. The sun was setting, casting golden yellow rays of light through the budding leaves as he walked across the campus quad, heading to his favorite hole bar in the wall where he could drink in peace without being bothered. 

He hadn’t been here since right after the breakup, so the staff looked confused to see him back, but promptly kept his drink full in his hands without having to ask. The last thing he wanted was to go home and have Geto try to talk to him about what happened, but they had to close eventually and he could tell they were itching for him to pack up so they could lock up.

He didn’t even want to wake up in the morning and have to hear the same exact story that Geto told him, but this time from your pretty pink lips while you smiled with that shy excitement that only came out when you liked someone. In all the time he’d known you, while you were a chaotic little shit, you didn’t have a malicious bone in your body, you just weren’t capable. 

He kicks a pebble down the sidewalk with a sour taste in his mouth. He shouldn’t be upset with you, he just wants the attention you’re getting and also desperately wants to give you that attention too. 

He knew how charming Geto could be, how calculating he was when he decided he wanted to do something. He just hoped that he wouldn’t hurt you like he did to Satoru. He’d finally find it in him to truly hate him if Geto ever caused you to question your worth like Satoru had. 

This all made him so fucking sick. And he saw that look in Geto’s eyes, he knew how Satoru felt about you. It was hard not to scream in frustration. He wanted to push him and see what his intentions were with you. 

He sighs when he’s met with the sight of his front door, putting his keys in the lock and slipping inside. He stares blankly at the shoes in the entryway, his heart beating in a sick rhythm when he sees your boots laying neatly next to Geto’s hightops. 

But it's so late… His brain refuses to connect the dots until a masculine groan he’s all too familiar with sounds further inside. 

“Fuck-” A breathy moan slides down the hall and into his ears as he edges his way to the living room only to be greeted to the sight of the two of you together on their couch.

His eyes widen at the sight of you straddling Geto’s lap half naked, your shirt thrown carelessly across the area rug with Geto’s. His gaze catches every torturous detail in high definition. 

Geto’s hand fists into the hair at the nape of your neck, jerking your face into place as he lips devour yours, his tongue tangling with yours, easily dominating you and pulling a defeated whimper from your throat. Satoru’s eyes dip to Geto’s free hand that’s shoved its way under your bra, greedily groping the mass of flush, paying special attention to your nipples. 

The attention has you hazy, your eyes cloudy and unfocused when Satoru watches your face break away from Geto’s falling back with a loud moan. Geto surges forward and takes advantage of your new position to attack your neck, sucking stark marks onto the column of your throat so dark you wouldn’t be able to go out without hiding them. 

It’s easy to imagine that it's him doing this to you, that you had chosen him instead. But when you shove your hand needily into Geto’s pants, stroking his cock in such a delicious rhythm you have him bucking into your touch, his hands leaving you to start pushing down your leggings in a rushed manner, Satoru loses it. It should be him doing that.  

“Thought we said no fucking in the common rooms?” He snaps meanly, loving how you jolt and push Geto away in a panic, hastily wrapping your arms around your front to cover yourself up as a crimson blush radiates all the way down your chest. “Make sure to use protection, Geto will try to convince you he doesn’t need it.”

Satoru growls and turns on his heels, slamming his door harshly when Geto’s only response was a smirk and satisfied, taunting sparkle in his eyes. 

He seethes as he throws his bag to the ground, jealousy rampant that you were free to be loved by him and resentment burning that Geto may have ruined his new hope for happiness.

tag list: @sugarbooger513 @sugarmapoops @roughwithfluff @severelytalentless @silversslut @dreamyyholland @wobblewobble822 @rafzaha @chososhoney @littlemochi @bebechinas99 @saoney @pelicanpizza @damncakie @katgalle @honeyyjems @tsukikoxo @kibananya @reine-son[[ if your blog name is crossed out i couldn't tag you]]

[mxnsterbabe]

Male Troll/Female Reader SFW Wordcount: 3,343 Tags & Warnings: plus size monster Part One (here) | Part Two (coming soon!) Commissions | Ko-fi | Masterlist

You’re an escort, but the last thing you expected was to fall for your favourite client.

You pause outside the sleek facade of the restaurant, the cool evening air caressing your skin. Glancing at your phone one last time, you scroll through Sorrel's profile, absorbing every detail. Sorrel, an unusual name for an even more unusual client.

Trolls rarely make their way into the heart of the city, preferring the solitude of their natural dwellings. Yet here you are, about to meet one for dinner in one of the most upscale places in town.

Your job often demands a chameleon-like ability to adapt, to mould yourself into whatever your clients desire. A laugh here, a sympathetic nod there, all performed with the ease of a well-rehearsed play.

Sorrel's request is refreshingly simple: just company, and above all, authenticity. It's both refreshing and daunting. How long has it been since you were asked to simply be yourself?

Taking a deep breath, you tuck your phone away. Your reflection in the restaurant's glass doors gives you a moment's pause—a young woman, elegantly dressed, poised on the edge of an unfamiliar encounter.

With a final steadying breath, you push the door open and step into the warm, amber-lit interior.

A pretty waitress, with a smile as polished as the cutlery, guides you through the restaurant when you enter. The beauty of the place unfolds around you; all soft lighting and hushed tones. Chandeliers cast a golden glow over tables draped in pristine white linen, each adorned with delicate glassware and silver.

The murmur of conversation blends with the gentle clinking of dishes, and soft, classical music plays. It doesn’t strike you as the kind of place a troll would like; they’re known for their love of natural living, not fine-dining.

As you take in the opulence, a flutter of self-consciousness washes over you. The elegance of your surroundings makes you feel suddenly underdressed, and you can't help but wonder about Sorrel. The cost of dining here must be astronomical; does he intend to make a statement, perhaps to showcase you as a trophy of his affluence?

As you approach the booth, you see him. Sorrel is a striking figure, a hulking presence that commands the space around him. His mossy green hair, a wild, natural crown, complements the dense fur that covers his body. His eyes, sharp and discerning, fix on you, and there's an intelligence in his gaze that belies the brutish stereotype of his kind. Despite the tailored suit that strains slightly against his muscular frame, there's no disguising the power in his broad shoulders, the soft curve of his belly. The suit, while elegant, seems almost a concession to human norms, doing little to mask his inherent, rugged appeal.

A wave of unexpected attraction washes over you, stirring a flush of excitement in your stomach. It's an odd sensation, this pull towards someone so different.

Gathering your composure, you slide into the booth, the soft leather cool against your skin. The space between you and Sorrel crackles with an energy as you offer a gentle smile.

"Hello," you begin, your voice well-rehearsed. You're acutely aware of your posture, the calculated tilt of your head, the practiced smile. Sorrel asked for authenticity, but it’s difficult when faced with such an imposing man.

Sorrel's response, however, is not what you anticipate. His voice, deep and resonant, carries a gentleness that seems at odds with his formidable appearance. "Good evening," he rumbles, his sharp eyes softening. "I hope the night finds you well."

As he speaks, the tension in your shoulders begins to ebb. There's a sincerity in his words, a vulnerability that peeks through the confident exterior.

With a smile, you turn to the menu. You hesitate, the array of exquisite dishes foreign and intimidating. There are a lot of words, and a lot of words that you don’t understand.

Maybe sensing your uncertainty, Sorrel leans in. His hands brush against yours, and the warmth of him makes you shiver..

"The risotto is my favourite. The salmon, too - it’s this one here, at the bottom."

You glance up at him, face flushed. You’ve been on countless escort jobs, and it’s always just been that. A job. Yet, as you soak in Sorrel’s warmth, his fur tickling your palm, something stirs inside you.

The words stick in the back of your throat as a waitress arrives. All you can do is nod in agreement as Sorrel makes a suggestion, and the waitress departs with your order.

There's a lull in the conversation, a moment of silence as you take in the man before you. "I must admit," you find yourself saying, breaking the quiet with a nervous laugh, "I didn't expect someone like you to be in a place like this." The words are out before you can stop them, and a flush of embarrassment warms your cheeks. "I mean, I made assumptions based on... well, what I thought I knew about trolls. I'm sorry."

Sorrel's laughter, rich and warm, fills the space between you. "No offense taken," he assures, his smile genuine. "I often find myself frequenting these types of restaurants. The same way the forest holds its charm, so does a well-crafted dish or a beautifully composed piece of music."

"I've not had the chance to dine in places as grand as this very often," you admit with a laugh, the restaurant's opulence still wrapping around you like a soft blanket. "It's a rare treat. You must do quite well for yourself, Sorrel. What is it that you do?"

Sorrel sets his glass down, the light catching the deep green of his eyes. "I left my clan some years ago," he begins, his voice solemn now. "We had... differing views on how to engage with the expanding human world. I believed in integration, in finding a way to coexist beneficially."

You lean in, captivated by his story, the depth of his conviction. "So, what did you do?"

"I started my own company," he says, a hint of pride in his voice. "We specialize in eco-friendly construction materials. It sounds dull, I know, but it’s something I care about."

Your chest flutters. "That's incredible," you respond, genuinely impressed. "Although, I’m sorry about your family.

He shrugs. “Don’t be, it’s been a long time since I’ve been back home.”

The arrival of the meal serves as a delicious interruption, and the garlicky, savoury smell makes your mouth water. The risotto you chose under Sorrel's recommendation is creamy and rich, with the earthy aroma of truffles enveloping you. Sorrel's salmon is presented with an artistry that matches the taste, the fish's delicate flesh flaking at the touch of his fork.

"This is incredible," you murmur, savouring each bite, your previous apprehensions about the evening melting away with the flavors on your tongue.

Sorrel smiles, watching you with a contented gaze that makes your heart flutter. "I'm glad you're enjoying it."

You smile, delving in, beginning to forget that this isn’t a real date. As you eat, the conversation meanders from the culinary arts to travel, to the hidden corners of the world each of you dreams of exploring. He’s a traveller, like you, although he’s visited places you could never dream of.

As the main course plates are cleared away, Sorrel suggests a dessert to share, a classic tiramisu that promises to be as light as air. When it arrives, you both lean in, the spoon Sorrel hands you brushing against his, sending a spark of electricity through you. You scoop a small portion, the dessert's creamy layers dissolving instantly on your tongue, and you can't help but close your eyes in appreciation.

"Good?" Sorrel asks, his voice low and tinged with amusement.

"More than," you reply, opening your eyes to find his gaze lingering on you with an intensity that quickens your pulse.

It's easy, in the soft lighting and over the shared sweetness of dessert, to forget the nature of how this evening came to be.

It's only when the waiter discreetly presents the bill that reality nudges you back into your role. Sorrel doesn't hesitate, reaching for his wallet with a grace that belies his size.

"How would you prefer the payment?" he asks, his tone casual but with a hint of something more, perhaps a reluctance for the evening to end in such a transactional manner.

The question jolts you back to the present, a reminder of the professional boundary that, for a fleeting moment, had seemed all but erased. "A bank transfer would be fine, thank you," you manage to say, your voice steady despite the way your stomach twists.

As you stand to leave, the warmth of the restaurant's ambiance contrasts sharply with the cool detachment now settling over you. Sorrel escorts you to the exit, his presence as reassuring as it is imposing.

At the doorway, you turn to him, the night air cool on your skin. "Thank you, Sorrel, for a truly wonderful evening," you say, sincerity lacing your words.

"Thank you," he replies, and something like regret flickers in his eyes.

On impulse, you rise on your toes and place a gentle kiss on his cheek. It's a small gesture, but it carries the weight of all the evening's revelations, his fur soft against your neck.

“Goodbye, Sorrel.”

“Goodbye. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

As you part ways, the night swallowing his towering figure, you're left with a warmth that no chill can dispel. The memory of the evening, of Sorrel, lingers like a sweet aftertaste, leaving you wondering just how you’re supposed to forget about him.

***

A week slips by, quieter than usual, leading you to pick up part-time shifts at a local hotel to fill the gaps. The monotony of the days contrasts sharply with the vivid memory of your evening with Sorrel, which lingers no matter how much you try to forget.

When a new request pops up on the escort site from Sorrel, your heart leaps. The anticipation, the unexpected thrill of seeing him again, infuses your routine with a newfound energy. Preparations for your meeting are made with a care and attention you hadn't realized you'd been missing.

The park chosen for your rendezvous is entirely different to the opulent restaurant of your first encounter. As the evening draws in, the tranquility of the park, with its towering trees and the soft murmur of the evening breeze, soothes your nerves.

You spot Sorrel at the agreed-upon spot, his imposing figure somehow at peace among the natural surroundings. Today, he’s wearing a more casual fitted black shirt that hugs his generous curves.

His face lights up as he sees you approach, a genuine smile spreading across his features.

"It's wonderful to see you again," he greets, his voice carrying a warmth that wraps around you like a comforting embrace.

"The feeling's mutual, Sorrel," you reply, your own smile reflecting your genuine happiness. "I wasn't sure if you'd... well, want to meet again."

"Why wouldn't I?" he asks, his tone laced with genuine confusion and a hint of amusement. "Our last evening together was more enjoyable than I've had in a long time. I've been looking forward to this all week."

Your heart flutters at his words. It’s your job, you know, to be liked - but hearing it from him sends a thrill through you.

"I'm glad,” you say. “I've thought a lot about our last, er, date."

Sorrel's gaze softens, the park's gentle evening light casting a serene glow over his features. "I've found myself doing the same. There's a simplicity in your company, a peace I've come to... crave."

The admission hangs between you. It's clear that the bond formed over that dinner has only deepened with time, but you have to wonder if this feels all a little too real.

"Would you like to take a walk?" Sorrel suggests, gesturing to the winding path that leads deeper into the park.

"I'd like that," you agree, and together, you begin to walk. You link an arm through his, enjoying how big and sturdy he is. It’s difficult to resist the urge to lean in close, soaking up the scent of his cologne.

The park around you is quiet, the occasional rustle of leaves and distant sounds of the city the only interruptions to the silence.

As you walk alongside Sorrel, the proximity and the gentle brush of his hand against yours send ripples of excitement through you. Each step seems to synchronize with the beating of your heart, a rhythm that echoes the growing closeness between you. The thrill of all surprises you, and you find yourself leaning deeper against his plush side.

The small talk that fills the air between you is comfortable, and you find yourself eagerly listening to Sorrel’s deep, rumbling voice. You chat about the park, and the mundane details of your respective weeks. Yet, beneath the surface, there's a tension, as if there’s something more floating beneath the surface.

It's Sorrel who breaks the veil of casual conversation, his voice taking on a more somber tone. "You know, I've always found myself caught between two worlds," he begins, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. "In the city, I'm too troll for most people to understand. Among my own kind, my views, my... aspirations make me an outsider. Too modern for my own kind, but too different for everybody else."

You listen, your heart aching at the vulnerability he's willing to share. The loneliness of his position between two worlds, becomes achingly clear.

"That's part of why I sought your company initially," he continues, his voice barely above a whisper. "I needed to feel understood, even if it was just for a moment, even if it had to be... bought."

The honesty of his admission strikes a chord within you, the professional facade crumbling further with each word.

"Now," Sorrel pauses, taking a deep breath, "my mother is ill. She's asked me to come home."

The weight of his words hangs in the air, heavy with the gravity of his decision. The silence that follows is filled with a thousand unasked questions, each one a reflection of the complexity of his situation and the depth of your concern for him.

"What will you do?" you find yourself asking, the question laden with more than professional curiosity. It's a question born of a connection that's deepened beyond expectation, a genuine concern for his well-being.

Sorrel stops walking, turning to face you. In the fading light, his expression is a mix of resolve and uncertainty, green eyes thoughtful.

"I don't know," he admits, and in that moment, the vulnerability he displays, the raw honesty of his predicament, draws you even closer.

You stay quiet, allowing him a moment to think.

Sorrel's gaze drifts away for a moment, lost in thought, as if he's trying to piece together the puzzle of his future right there in front of you. "I think I need to go back," he says finally, his voice steady but tinged with a hint of resignation. "I want to be there for her, help her heal. She's always been the anchor of our clan, and without her strength..."

He trails off, the weight of his responsibilities, of his love for his family, evident in the pause. "Once she's well, perhaps I'll return to the city. Or perhaps not. The truth is, I don't know where I truly belong."

The vulnerability in his admission, the open-ended nature of his future, pulls at something deep within you. You reach out, almost instinctively, your hand finding his. The touch is electric, and you let out a muffled sigh.

"It sounds like you've got a tough road ahead," you say, your voice soft but full of empathy. "Being there for your family, making sure your mother has everything she needs to recover... it's a beautiful thing to do, Sorrel. It speaks a lot about the kind of person you are."

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and in his eyes, you see a mixture of gratitude and something else, something deeper.

"Thank you," he whispers, and there's a warmth in his voice that wraps around you like a comforting embrace. "For understanding, for... for being here with me now."

The moment stretches between you. So does the quiet. The world around you fades into the background, leaving only the heavy thrum of your pulse in your ears.

"You should do what's best for you," you find yourself saying, your words laced with an unspoken sadness at the thought of his departure. "Your family needs you, and it's clear your heart is with them, too."

Sorrel squeezes your hand gently, a silent acknowledgment of the truth in your words. "I guess I always knew my path would lead me back home, eventually."

A twinge of disappointment tugs at your heart as the reality of Sorrel's impending departure settles in. Despite the professional boundaries you should adhere to, you can't deny the longing that has blossomed between you. Yet, beneath the layers of what-ifs, you find resignation setting in.

As you both resume walking, the conversation gently shifts, weaving through lighter topics. You admit, you’re grateful for the change of topic.

You share stories of your travels, the places Sorrel has been, places you’d love to go.

"I've always wanted to visit Thailand," you mention wistfully, the image of crystal-clear waters and verdant landscapes painting your words. "The culture, the food, the beaches... it seems like a world away from here."

Sorrel listens intently, his interest genuine. "Thailand is beautiful," he agrees, "you should go sometime."

The conversation takes an unexpected turn when Sorrel, with a look of determination, insists on paying you extra for your time. "Consider it a contribution towards your Thailand adventure," he says, his tone brooking no argument.

You hesitate, aghast at the number when you check your bank account. Three-thousand dollars. The offer touching yet tinged with the finality of a parting gift.

"Sorrel, that's too generous, I can't—"

"Please," he interrupts, his voice soft but firm. "Let this be my way of ensuring you get to experience the beauty of the world. You deserve it."

The sincerity in his eyes, coupled with the depth of gratitude you feel, crumbles your resistance. "Thank you," you say, the words barely a whisper, laden with a mix of emotions. "I'll never forget this."

You don’t know what else to say; but as it is, you don’t need to.

As you stand there, on the brink of farewell, Sorrel leans in. His kiss is unexpected but fervently returned as you stand on your toes, arms looping around his wide, plush waist. His lips are firm against yours, nipping at you with a passion that ignites a fire within you, the heat of his touch searing through the cool night air.

The kiss deepens, and for a moment, the world falls away, leaving only the two of you locked together, pulse racing.

As the kiss ends, a lingering warmth remains. You stand there, caught in the afterglow, the night air now charged with longing.

Sorrel's gaze holds yours, a myriad of unspoken words swirling in the depths of his eyes. "This... This was unexpected," he murmurs, the raw honesty in his voice mirroring the vulnerability in his gaze.

You nod, a gentle smile curving your lips despite the ache in your chest. "The best things usually are," you reply, your voice soft, laced with the bittersweet tang of parting.

There's a pause, a moment suspended in time, before you lean in for one final kiss. This one is softer,, a whisper of a goodbye in the brief touch of lips.

With a light-heartedness that feels forced, you step back and offer a playful smile. "Keep in touch, okay?" The words slip out, half in jest, half in hope, even as you understand the impossibility of the request.

Sorrel's smile is tinged with a gentle sadness, an acknowledgment of the unlikelihood of such a promise. "I'll remember this," he says, his voice a low rumble, rich with emotion. "I'll remember you."

You know, from the snippets of his life he's shared, that returning to his clan means stepping away from the world as you know it. The isolation of his people, their disconnection from the modern trappings of communication, almost brings tears to your eyes.

As you part ways, the echo of his final words lingers in your heart. The night wraps around you, and you shudder.

You hope to see him again someday. Somehow, you have the feeling that you will.