#let alone the images being hard to stretch on paint at times...)

[thetimelordbatgirl]

OC Pride Challenge 2024 Week One: Identities Day Four: Trans

Gabby Legume, trans girl, from Descendants Family Business, Descendants Evil's Unfinished Business and various alternate universes.

[codnasties]

kinktober ₊˚ · ♡ ·˚₊ ghost & price ₊˚ · ♡ ·˚₊ hike

you wanted to go on a hike but didn't want to do it alone, so both ghost and price offered to accompany you as well as their expertise, just in case. it was lovely having those to to share the trek with, having someone to talk with, to share the experience and also as a bit of protection.

but the first thing you needed to protect yourself from was john's hands, because he tried to keep them to himself, but the view of your ass clad in those pants was way too tempting. so he decided to give you what you both classified as a playfull slap, but he actually intended to let you know he was enjoying the view.

the problem is that it wasn't just one, they kept coming, and you somehow ended up bent over, with price's hands teasing your round behind throug your thin pants. but he soon discarded those, pulling them down and giving him a view of your pants clad pussy and your ass cheeks that were rapidly turning red.

the smacks on your behind didn't stop, one after the other, maybe a teasing slap over the wet patch that was starting to show though your knickers. but he soon discarded those too.

once price had had his fill, he grabbed you by the waist and with easy he lifted you off the floor and placed you over a fallen tree, giving him easy access to your butt ad cunt in that bent over possition. it was a split of a second what it took him to get his aching hard cock out of his pants and push himself into your tight walls.

and you may ask, where's ghost? well, he was enjoying the view of your reddened cheeks and dripping pussy, adoring the image of you bent over that tree getting your pussy fucked by his captain. he was letting him have his fun first, all while palming his raging hard on through his pants.

but that didn't last long, the feeling of your tight and soaking wet walls made price, who hadn't fucked a pretty thing in a long time, cum a lot faster than he would have liked. a few strokes into you and he has already realising his seed. as much as he wanted to cum inside of you, he didn't have your consent so he pulled out -what a waste if you ask me -.

but even if joh felt like he didn't give you enough and that he may have disappointed you, there was simon ready to save the day. in the blink of and eye he was fully naked and ripping the little clothing you had left on you off. grabbing you and making you sit on his big and angry cock.

he made you bounce on it, graving handfuls of ass to guide you until he came deep inside of you. all that gave price a show while he was recovering and getting himself ready for next round. also, that cum was going to be some amazing lube.

and that cum as lube was very much necessary when you got up from ghost's lap and sat of price's once again hard cock, and simon taking place right behind you, fully sandwiching you between both of their strong and muscular bodies, and pushing his member into your weeping and already stretched to it's limit cunt, fucking you at the same time as price.

both of their dicks being hugged by your walls and the men relishing in the feeling of that and rubbing against the others cock, the sensation making the three of you moan and groan like crazy.

price soon came inside of you - because that's just what he had in mind since he put his dick in you the first time-, filling your already full hole even more, covering both your walls and his and ghost's cocks with it. but simon doesn't. he takes his dick out after his captain came and gets you on your knees.

he makes you clean his shaft, inevitably having a taste of price's seed mixed with the one he had left indie of you before, using your throat until he cums down it. he may even paint your face with it to give you the complete package and full experience.

[tadhgsstuff]

Simon fucking reader after the postpartum period and just cumming after one thrust because it feels that good

okayokayokay

thank you guys for sending in some stuff i love y’all

this is not proof read 💔

warnings: smut, insecurity, cursing etc

Simon is definitely on the more patient side (sometimes). At least he was before you had your daughter, don’t get me wrong he LOVES his little girl, he cradles her to sleep when shes fussy, he helps changing her and helps out as much as he can because he knows you’re stressed and its the first time being a parent for the both of you.

That being said, it is STRESSFUL to have a screaming child, a husband that works, and constant cleaning for the both of you, between all of this you’ve had no time to just- be together, have time with each other. Even late at night when shes finally gone to sleep, whoever didn’t put her down was already sound asleep, grasping onto whatever hours of REM they could gain.

You are both exhausted and you have no form of ‘relief’ for four to six weeks after you have the baby, and those four to six weeks were long and agonizing.

One faithful night, your mother drops by and offers to take the baby off your hands for a few hours, she lives a block away so she can call if there was any issue, at first you were hesitant to just give up your daughter but you know your mom is going to take great care of her, and probably spoil the shit out of her regardless of the fact that she cant comprehend the gifts given to her.

Finally you and your painfully attractive husband are alone, despite how much you craved him, every single centimeter of his body, his soul, his whole being, you were a little.. insecure. You rubbed your arm sitting close to him on the couch.

“Si’?”

“Yes, luvie?”

“Are you still attracted to me? Like physically? because I know I have all these stretch marks and my boobs wont ever be the same again and my body isn’t quite-“

He stops you.

“fuck are you talkin’ about? you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever fuckin’ met”

he says in a harsh tone, because he genuinely thinks you’ve lost your mind, having the idea that he wasn’t attracted to you every minute of every day.

“Well maybe before I was but-“

He cuts you off again but this time he pulls your face to his and crashes his lips against yours, a smooth but captivating kiss that gets rougher by the second

“I’ll just have to show you how fuckin’ gorgeous you are”

He stands up off the couch and picks you up with him, still holding onto the desperate and sloppy kiss, he grabs your ass on the way to the bedroom just to feel you moan into his mouth. He sets you down on the bed and unbuckles his pants, he watches you start to undress yourself and stops you.

“That’s my job baby, you jus’ relax n’ take it, ‘kay?”

He’s carnivorous, he needs you but he knows to be gentle, his goal is to make you feel good, take his sweet wife’s stress away.. he takes off your garments one by one, kissing every inch of your body revealed. His underwear grow tighter because of his painfully hard cock, aching to be taken in by you for the first time in months. He finally takes his boxers off and his dick springs up, pre-cum leaking out of the tip as you lay bare, staring up at him with those stunning eyes that have never failed to captivate him, and that just makes the overwhelming hunger grow stronger.

He teases your dripping cunt with the head of his dick, drinking in the image of you. You whine, needing him finally inside you, and just like that hes sliding himself in, slowly. Feeling your warmth around his thick member, he pulls back and pistons forward. You let out a loud moan as you grip his forearm and the sheet beneath you. Simon feels you clench up and suddenly your climax was there and done, you finished in the middle of his second thrust, squeezing your eyes shut.

“I’m so sorry baby- I don’t even know how-“

“It’s okay love, we’ll try again soon and we’ll make sure you get better”

He says with a deviant smirk painting his face, walking to the bathroom to grab a towel and then to finish the job with his hand and his imagination.

(I hope this was what you wanted!)

(Edit: Okay so I just reread the wording in the ask and I did not in fact write it correctly, BUT I can always rewrite it but reversed in the future sorry guys 😞)

[selfindulgentpixies]

Learn to play the game for me

Aventurine x GN!reader Hunger games!AU

Wrote this for @decaydaddy's event! The idea of Aventurine being a previous victor and mentor for the hunger games hit me like a truck. It just fits him really well I feel like. I can't say i'll write more for this just because I can't say i'm fully back on the writing horse yet. I was just really taken by this idea because i really enjoyed the hunger games back when i read it. Even if i only read the first two books. It'll be clear that certain scenes really stuck in my head.

header is official promo art and divider credit goes to @kaeyaphile

A sharp rip echo’s through the room before a string of curses fall from your lips. “Fuckin mother fucki’- the hell did you you warn me first?! Why do I need this done exactly?!”

“Ah ah, language, if you’re going to get sponsors we need to play up that pretty and polite image, no one’s going to want to sponsor you if you don’t.” Your mentor chides as the stylist disposes of the first paper and wax strip now coated in hair, hair that you really didn’t think there was a point in getting rid of.

You glare at your mentor, pretty as a picture as he always is. He’d even been pretty when you were young children, even if he’d lacked the flamboyantcy and refinement he now carries himself with back then. You try to ignore it as more warm wax is painted onto your leg and keep your focus on Aventurine. “And you think a few sponsors will be enough for me to survive this thing? I’ll probably end up dead, and then i’ll just leave behind a ‘pretty’ and hairless corpse.” 

Something shifts in Aventurine's eyes and he leans close to you. “You can survive this, you just need to learn how to play their game. Just like I did. Are you really ready to just give up and let yourself be chewed up and spit out?” 

Something stutters in your chest both at the intensity of his gaze and at his close proximity. Rrrriiiip- the wax strip being pulled from your skin cuts off anything you could have said, though to your credit you don’t swear this time and just let out a surprised choked sound. 

Aventurine steps back from you, the expensive heels of his shoes clicking on the hard floor as he turns away. “I’ll leave you to get finished being cleaned up.” He gives a little wave of his hand and walks away. 

___

You stand before the full length mirror, staring at yourself draped in expensive fabric you would never have  been able to imagine yourself in before. Soon you’d be sitting on a stage, selling yourself, selling the idea of you, to the sponsors who could tip the balance for you once the games begin. No. The games have already begun. Aventurine stressed that point to you, that the game began the second you were chosen as a tribute. Everything you did leading up to the fighting was just as important if not more so. You swallow thickly, your thoughts race, you weren’t cut out for this but who was? Maybe those brats in the more well to do districts. Not you though. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to keep your breathing in check.

Suddenly there are hands on your arms, squeezing lightly. Your eyes snap open, only to be met with your mentor’s in the mirror. Finally alone with him you can see concern there. “That’s right, come back to me, just breathe.” 

His words make your heart stutter but you do as he says, he breathes deeply and you mimic the action. Time stretches on forever with you mimicking his breathing until he seems satisfied. “There you are,” there’s a hint of a smile on his lips now. His hands smooth over the fabric he’d wrinkled while gripping your arms. “I know none of this is fair, but I’ll do everything I can to give you every advantage I can in order to even the odds.” His voice is serious, quiet, you might not even be able to hear him if not for how his lips are pressed to your ear.

“Aven…” before you can fully say his name he continues. 

“All I ask is that you fight like hell. Both on stage and in the arena. Don’t throw the game because you’re scared.” His eyes are intense, so much so that you try to glance away from his reflection in the mirror only for him to turn you toward him. 

He holds your gaze until you give him a firm nod. “Good.” He rests his forehead against yours for a moment and you feel your cheeks heat, your heart racing for an entirely new reason by the time he pulls away and steps back from you. Suddenly your hands shoot out to grab at his arms startling you both. 

“I-i..” A deep breath. “How… Did you manage it? You were a lot younger than I am now when you won.” Despite being your mentor Aventurine has actually spoken very little about his own games. He’s dodged most direct questions both by you and the other tribute.

“I got lucky.” He lets out a dry chuckle when your face contorts. 

“That’s a terrible answer and doesn’t help me.” 

“Ah ah but is it not in line with what they say about these games? ‘May the odds be ever in your favor.’?”  there’s a hint of something pained in his voice. 

“Aventurine, please, is that really all you’re going to tell me…?” 

He removes your hands from his arms before reaching up to cup your face. You feel the warmth of his hands seep through his gloves to your skin contrasted harshly against the cool metal of his rings. “Tell you what, you win and then i’ll tell you everything.”

“But-”

“That doesn’t help you win? Consider it a little extra motivation.” 

Before you can protest he steps away from you and turns to head toward the door with a little wave. “It’s almost time for your interview~” With his back to you can’t see that sadness in his expression. He’s not ready to talk about her with you yet, his older sister who’d given her all and made it possible for him to be standing here now. He can’t share that pain with someone who could be dead tomorrow. 

—

Very few could ever claim to know what’s going on in Aventurine’s head, and you certainly don’t count yourself among them. So when your interview concludes and you’re just barely off stage and he takes your hand, mouthing the words ‘trust me’ then without a moment for you to process he pulls you to him, his lips crashing with yours. Your sound of surprise is swallowed up by him as he deepens the kiss, your hands flying up to grip the fabric of his expensive jacket. You almost don’t register the gasps and murmurs of the crowd. You may not see it but this moment with your mentor is broadcasted on the large screens as he walks you back a step further into view. The way he kisses you and his tender embrace plain for everyone to see. 

Everything feels like whirlwind from there, granted everything since being chosen as tribute has felt that way, but this? The news of you apparently having a love affair with your mentor is everywhere. Headlines of how a pair of lovers are being forced apart and how one must watch the person he loves endure the same trials he once had to survive are abuzz. “Was that seriously necessary?!” Your face is heated and you can’t decide if you feel more embarrassed or angry as you stare at Aventurine perched on the love seat in your temporary accommodations. Shameless with legs spread and a knowing smirk on his lips. 

“It makes for a good story. Everyone loves a tragic love story.” He gives a small shrug. 

“Why didn’t you ask me first!?”

He raises one elegant brow. “Would you have agreed?”

“No!?” 

“And that’s why i didn’t ask. This is another way i can help you and make you more appealing to the audience. Besides… You didn’t seem to mind while I was kissing you.”

“That’s-!” Your stomach twists and you feel your face heat further if possible. 

He puts his hands on his knees before standing and walking toward you, when he’s about to pass you he speaks again, looking at you from the corner of his eye. “If it helps, I meant it. The kiss, I mean.” 

Your world slows. “You- you don’t get to just say things like that and walk away!” You follow hot on his heels as he begins to head for the door. You grab at his expensive jacket once again, the poor fabric seemingly doomed to your abuse, and turn Aventurine to face you. His expression surprises you, all traces of smugness gone. You swallow thickly. “You can’t play games with my feelings at a time like this…” Your fire seems to fizzle out further with each moment you look at him. 

“I’m not… I wouldn’t be putting so much work into giving you the best chance possible if I was.” 

“But… why now? After all this time.. After you were in the games when we were little I never heard from you again and suddenly now that you’re my mentor you’re telling me what? That you lo-” a deep breath. 

“And if I am?” 

“I don’t know… But i have missed you.” 

“That’s why you wanted me as your mentor isn’t it? I know you asked for me specifically.” 

“Is it why you accepted?” 

You meet eachother eyes and suddenly share a small moment of quiet laughter. 

“You’re impossible, you know that right? And don’t think I’m not still mad at you.”

“Win the games and I’ll make it up to you.” And he sounds so sure when he says it that a small part of you believes you could win, if not for yourself perhaps for him. Perhaps for the two of you.

The next day, standing on the platform waiting for it to rise to the arena you feel your resolve solidify. He stands in front of you and rests his forehead against yours. “May the odds be ever in your favor.” spoken for you only before he steps back, allowing the platform to rise to take you to the surface, away from him and he hopes it’s not for the last time. By the resolve in your eyes as you get further and further from him he can believe you have a chance, and that’s all you need to win a game like this.

I hope you guys liked it! Aventurine has taken over my brain lately. I've actually written a couple other things but I just haven't polished them. This idea forced me to sit down and write it.

Tag list: @scarabrat-archived @pastelle-rabbit @fushigurro @zorosdimples @bad-as-the-boys @likelilacwine @kweenkatsuki-fics

[ayylovley]

can i get number 7 and 9 with eli jang 🥺

7. They start developing dirty thoughts about you 9. They’re obsessed after their first time with you

Once alone in his room, Eli made sure his door was locked. He just needed a few minutes, he needs to do something to himself right he just met you at the dinner party Vasco was throwing. It wasn’t his fault he found you so, enchanting. The fact that you could’ve talked to anyone else at that party and it was him that you seemed to not be able to leave alone.

But Eli definitely didn’t mind it, quite the opposite actually. He lets out a low groan and collapses onto the bed, thoughts consumed by the intoxicating vixen that he found you were. “(Y/N)… what are you doing to me?" He murmurs into the darkness, imagining all the desires he needs to explore with you.

Within left in his thoughts, the image of you just began appearing, with every shift of himself, the noise of his mattress creaking creating this imagination of how it'd sound if he had you underneath him.

Crying out for him, and making the bed creak so much louder.

Eli feels that phantom sensation of your body against his own as his mind runs wild, the creaking of the bed amplifying the vivid fantasy "Fuck..." He rasps out, hand slipping under the waistband of his shorts at the thought of feeling every inch of your surrender to him.

In this moment alone Eli succumbs fully to the desire burning within - stroking faster, lost in daydreams of your moans and the scent of your skin. Everyone oblivious to his self pleasure when his hand holds his girthy cock so hard his arms flexes. Picturing those eyes rolling back in ecstasy as he drives himself into you over and over, it spurs him on relentlessly

"Oh yes...just like that..." Eli groans aloud, the imagination of your imagined bodies colliding echoing through the quiet night air

It isn't long before his own climax hits hard, a throaty growl escaping him as he paints his chest white with release “Mmm, I'll have you screaming for more.” He promises the empty room, basking briefly in the afterglow before cleaning up and drifting into a satisfied sleep.

—

After Eli finally had you, he thinks about you a lot. Especially when he’s laying in his bed where he pounded you dumb. That night of made hardcore love did a number on him and it's left him slowly obsessed and longing.

Over the lonely nights spent without your warmth by his side, Eli finds himself increasingly consumed by thoughts - recounting every curve, touch and moan in vivid detail as he strokes his own yearning need beneath the sheets. Your ghostly presence seems to permeate every fiber of his being - an intoxicating obsession that has taken root deep within; each day stretching into the next until only the anticipation of seeing you again keeps him tethered to sanity.

He just knows that when he does, you’ll be back on your face down against his pillow and prepped with that ass up. Begging for more of him again, and again. It’s become his addiction.

The image conjured stirs an animalistic hunger within Eli; he can picture it all too vividly - he has you completely between his sheets - and the possessive protectiveness that grips him intensifies tenfold.

"Mine..."

He growls low under his breath at this mental tableau - a silent vow swirling through the stifling air of his room as day melts into night once more amidst their shared absence.

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

New World (8)

Itachi Uchiha x Reader Fluff

Summary: The world War has met its end and Itachi has returned to his village. He questions whether he should set down his roots here when he meets a stranger. Or rather, a stranger is forced upon him by fate.

Warnings: horny babygirls

Word Count: Your girls got horny writing this. I can't remember the last time I gushed like this. ALso Every fanfic reader/writers nightmare in one chapter

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

"What the hell is this?" You whisper to yourself, standing alone in the dressing room with the most intricate Sakura painting on the paper walls, lit up by the lanterns kept in two corners. The night robe you have been given has too much flare. The fabric of the red night dress is soft to the touch and breathable. But the robe that comes over it has practically been doused in fur not letting any cold air pass through. But the reason behind your cussing has less to do with that warm robe than with the fact that your underwear is nowhere to be seen. The night dress does run down to your knees but the thought of not being in your panties and having to sleep in the enemy territory for the night makes you uncomfortable. Not to mention the constant dreadful feeling of being watched by Toge from some corner of this village. With one stretched sigh, you leave the dressing room. The bedroom awaits you with a bed decorated with the local pink rose petals and towel swans.

A little thread inside you snaps on inhaling the overpowering smell of the roses and incense. You stomp to the corner of the bed, take the white bedsheet, pull out all four corners to wrap the roses inside them and throw them outside the huge window overlooking the village before closing it shut.

Just once you want to take an easy breath on this mission. Just once. And that too seems hard to get. Especially with him around, your inner voice whispers. You do not want your thoughts to go that way, but this little devil inside you smirks and struts towards some extraordinarily shady corners in your mind. Quiet, you tell your inner voice, he makes me feel safe, shushing it as if it has spoken something outrageous. Safe enough for you to imagine yourself all over his skin. She whispers the last few words with a stressed honey-filled whisper of a moan. And with that, that image of his naked torso in the hot springs flashes in front of your eyes. Your teeth involuntarily biting down on your lips to get a hold of the reality before those outrageously defined thoughts go too far. The sliding of your bedroom door jolts you awake from your fantasy world and makes you turn around to see the familiar tall figure bow down a little to enter the room without hitting his head on the door frame.

"I brought blankets," Itachi declares with the heavy elk fur blankets looking like they weigh nothing to the man. Itachi is wearing a black fur robe which appears to be his night gown. His chest is bare and so are his ankles. His hair is loose and wet from a fresh wash and you are starting to regret having dark back alleys in your mind. The room now starts to feel small in his presence; a presence which feels positively heavy. Keeping the blankets on the bed, he moves his hand to run back those wet strands away from his face. "I feel like we should ask the village Chief to hold their...uh...ritual...ceremony...what all they call it...today-tonight. Right now." Your staggered voice is not helping your case as your eyes run up from his elbows to his arms, drawing some sketchy scenes inside your head. "Do not push yourself, Y/N-san. You need to rest." It's not your fault. It's not your fault. A voice keeps repeating that inside your head. It's the way he says your name. You do not realise when your body is flushed, sweat droplets form at your temples and the back of your neck. Itachi pauses momentarily beside the bed while you blink blankly at him. He looks at you for a second before moving again. "Let me check for any traps in the room." You nod and press yourself close to the window and out of his way. As he takes careful feline steps along the length of the room, your eyes focus on his fingers brushing against the oakwood dresser kept by the wall, your throat takes an unpreventable gulp. The source of light in this room is the oil lamps burning in the corners to give this room a pinkish hue, thanks to the Sakura theme. The only light brighter than that is the golden hues of the bonfire lit on the temple grounds across the hill. He touches the wall to discover anything unusual, his steps bringing him closer to you. His dominant hand wraps itself around the jug of alcohol to raise it closer to his face and your eyes cannot help but follow the nimble pale fingers morphing into an abstract art of popping veins down the wrist. His lips touch the jug, taking in a sip that glides down his throat. The soft golden fiery hues lighting up his features just enough in the dark are not helping your conscience in her dark alley. At all. His brows furrow momentarily, making you wonder if something is wrong with the drink. And the next second he is choking on it, his hand nearly slipping the jug and a decent bit of that alcohol spilling on his robe.

"Itachi-san! Are you okay?" You quickly grab the hand towels on the dresser behind you and dash towards him; that is what you think you do till his hand rises to make you pause right where you have been standing. Itachi coughs a bit before clearing his throat. His back straightens up and he nods. "I'm fine. The drink is...well, I've tasted better." Of course, you have. You still stand in your spot, but your hand stretches to hand him a towel. He takes it to wipe his mouth before his wet robe takes up his attention. A huge sigh leaves his lungs. "Pardon me," he declares in a low hum as his fingers undo the knot on his robe and his shoulders flex themselves to let the fabric glide off his back. Your breath is caught in your throat till you realise he is wearing white trousers underneath. Itachi folds the fabric when something catches his eye. Watching him step away from you and towards the bed sinks your heart. He stops at the edge of the bed and gets on his knees. Itachi wastes no time being on all fours and crawling just a few inches underneath the space, looking for something. On the other hand, you are glaring at his other arm that acts as his anchor, his robe between his fingers; the fingers gripping the fabric till he has found what he is looking for. And when he comes back to sit on his knees, you exhale a little, grabbing onto the window sill as your legs cross over each other and you try your best to look away from the pink-shaded abs teasing you from the distance. His hand has brought out a red cloth from underneath the bed. The cloth shines with a silken finish in his hands as he twists the fabric in one hand, wrapping it up neatly. "Don't touch this," he announces, tucking the fabric in his trouser's back pocket. "Yes, sir," you whisper without realising. And immediately regretting it. Itachi must have not heard it, for he gets up and walks past you to the other side of the room, leaving you to ravel in his natural redolence. The lone table at the other end of the room is graced by his hands on either side, curious if it can be pulled away from the wall. His arms are flexing, and so are the muscles on his back as he tries to pull the table towards him, his hips feeling the tethered force of the measle piece of furniture, forcing a low grunt to escape. Your left hand is clawing its nails into the window frame while your right thumb is being bit under your teeth with all your might. Get out of that alley, you are panting at your conscience. Please. Please. Please! The table is torn from the wall and thrown into the paper wall covering the dressing room. The remaining wood in the indents of the wall reveals two black bricks. The former assassin quickly picks one in each hand and turns to walk towards you. "Open the window," he commands in a low tone. You religiously move your hands to open the latches. Even before you are done pushing the window frames out, you feel his arms come over from behind you and throw out the bricks from either side. You turn around, calculating the proximity between you and his chest. While he is busy frowning out the window at what was possibly an attempt to poison you two, your eyes go up to land on his jaw, studying the skin, the texture, the turns; a little too well. The sound of splintering wood brings you out of the trance. Itachi's bare hands have broken the frame of the window behind you and instead of tending to the wound where a splinter has gashed through the skin of his hand, he is looking at you with the intensity of a thousand suns. Only this time you are concentrating on his wound. "You're hurt-" "I need to go," Itachi declares, taking the ripped frame with him and walking out of the door, leaving you confused. Lustful and confused.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

"You go in. I'll survey the surroundings here," Kakashi announces, disappearing into the night before Itachi can say anything about being handed the elk fur blankets. You are the only person present in the wing at this moment and he has his senses on high alert. Higher than usual. I do not trust the men here, he justifies in his internal monologue, pausing his quiet steps outside the door as he is flashed with memories of his bare chest in the hot springs. His mind has paused all the calculations now. It is purely curious now. And with that intention, he enters the room, declaring his presence. Keeping the blankets on the bed, he moves his wet hair away from his face to appear a little decent in front of you. "I feel like we should ask the village Chief to hold their...uh...ritual...ceremony...what all they call it...today-tonight. Right now." 

He can hear you. Loud and clear. But his mind is showing him his exposed arm pressing onto a thigh. He pauses. Must be some third-grade trickery by the village assassins, he thinks to himself. "Do not push yourself, Y/N-san. You need to rest." It's not your fault, he can hear the words being whispered somewhere. It's not your fault, they are echoing. With a voice too familiar to him these days. It's the way he says your name. It's you. It's your voice. And accompanied by your voice are flashes of sweat droplets running down from your temples, travelling your jaw to hurry down your neck. Itachi pauses, questioning how you are doing that. You are not, he answers the question himself and looks at you for a second to grasp any traces of Gen Jutsu around you. "Let me check for any traps in the room," he announces before moving to the nearest wall. When he brushes his fingers against the oakwood dresser, the flash comes again. This time, not as hazy as before. His fingers seem to be running over a bare abdomen, creating ripples of goosebumps. This time he can feel the skin under his fingertips and a familiar aroma in his nostrils. He moves his hand away from the table to the wall, investigating for anything out of the ordinary; that is, apart from the twisted psych attacks- if one can call them that. He can hear your heart beat faster as the distance between you closes. He pauses at the table between you two, reaching for the jug of alcohol kept on the table. The flashes come again when he raises the jug to his mouth. This time, his hand is gripping a neck, bringing it closer to him. He can smell that aroma again, this time the touch is heated and the neck is flushed. And his lips- which were reaching for the alcohol mere seconds ago- are kissing yours. When the kiss has deepened to the point of you moaning and his tongue wanting to taste your mouth, he realises the twisted reality, surprising himself into choking on the drink and spilling some onto his robe.

He hears you worry, making him raise his hand to stop you from coming any closer. "I'm fine," he coughs, apologising for his ungentlemanly behaviour. He takes the towel you offer, not able to get that image out of his mind. Itachi's instincts are riled up, his mind working ten steps ahead, ready to test the waters all the while making sure he does not cross any lines. He begs your pardon as he gets out of the wet robe. There is that aroma again. Your scent. Covering him all over. If it's the scent then there has to be- His thoughts trail off as he finally finds what he is looking for. He walks to the side of the bed and gets on his knees, to reach for the red fabric resting under the bed space. The talisman. Just when he grabs it, flashes of him gripping the silk sheets on the bed run through his mind. But that is not all. He can see his naked back clear as day, even that moles, and he can see you laying between him and the sheets looking up at him with a want. He is panting for breaths, and so are you. He can feel the drops of sweat run down his chest while he is devouring the view of your breasts glistening. Even as he comes back to sit on his knees, he can feel his hand run the length of your thighs, with your legs wrapped around his waist. The flash disappears, but the sensations remain in his mind. He seems to know what is going on but does not say. His hands work on folding the fabric and keeping it somewhere away from you. "Don't touch this," he declares as he puts the fabric in his pocket. "Yes sir," he can hear the microscopic stagger of your heated exhale in that whisper and the fog of that flash bring the sensation of a hand run over his butt. His mind curses. He does not remember the last time he cursed like this. Or that last time he felt so...filthy. But rip it in the bud, he grows internally to himself before getting up and walking to the last place that seemed suspicious- the table lodged into the wall on the other side of the room. He grabs the edges on either side to move it away from the wall, wanting the flashes to stop. To stop or else... The frustration shows externally when a grunt escapes him at the failed pull. And so it comes again.

This time you are on the table, your legs wrapped around his waist and your nails digging into his back. His flawless butt is exposed to the room as it jiggles with him sloppily rutting into you with the familiar grunts, bringing periodic coarse moans out of you. Please. He hears your voice. And he can see your face. He can see your body moving every time he pushes into you. Your eyes are tearing up. Your mouth is open wide at the edge of pleasure. Please, you beg again, this time urgently. Itachi feels his pace rush as if his body is running on your commands. Please! That moan of yours is turning into a growl as your head falls back at the peak of your climax. And before he can reach his, the table is torn away from the wall to be thrown away, bringing him back to his reality. And there they are, resting in the nook hidden in the wall- black brick-shaped gemstones. They are still hot when Itachi grabs them and orders you to open the window. Just as your hands have pushed the panes away, he throws the stones out, down the hill. He only breathes once he has heard them crash into pieces against the rocks underneath, resting one hand on the window frame. But they come again. This time with the touch of your fingers on his jaw, lazily running down his neck before he feels your teeth dig into his skin right where his jaw meets his neck. He snaps. At least that is what he thinks he did. It is the window frame that has been snapped instead. And all he can do is look at you; your eyes with no unadulterated intentions behind them as they worry about the blood that is not yours. "I need to go." He knows if he stays a second longer, he might do something there will be no coming back from. Rushing out the door bare-chested, he is already running into Kakashi in the corridor. For the first time in his life, Itachi seems the situation- that heavily involves him- requires an explanation.  "There's-" "Geisha's Opals inside? From the smell I could guess there were two stones." Kakashi seems to have figured it out. "I waking the chief up to prepare the ritual." Itachi nods. He wants to say something more but all he can do is inhale a lungful. "She doesn't realise her thoughts are more graphic than the latest volume of my favourite Icha Icha Paradise novels," Kakashi exhales, visibly tired. "You could see them-" "The burned Opals along with a rose incense are powerful aphrodisiacs," Kakashi explains with his hands as if he was having a casual conversation with his colleague, "combine that with her empath skills, she created an atomic flash of...well..." he gestures vaguely at everything and then at Itachi. "Dress up, let's just get this over with," Kakashi admits before disappearing into the night again, leaving Itachi to make peace with the fact that the Konoha village's Silver Fang saw everything. Every. Single. Flash.

[seducemefanficsandheadcanons]

If this is triggering then sorry but can you do a fic where Y/N was raped and is basically sick of her life constantly falling apart then tries to kill herslef then Sam catches her in the act. Then she tells him what happened and he gives her cuddles?

Hi<3 So, I just want to preface this by saying trigger warning for any readers. This fic will include mentions of rape, attempted suicide, depression, and angst. I'm aware this is a very sensitive subject matter, and I tried to be as respectful and sensitive as possible. Please tell me if there is anything I could do to improve or to be more sensitive regarding the subject matter. I hope you enjoy the story<3 I wrote it to be platonic, but feel free to interoperate it how you like.

You are not broken

I was shaking, almost dropping the blade in the process. I was done, life had thrown too many things at me. My father, grandfather, Malix, Diana, and today. The memories of the man invaded my thoughts, mental images of his grabbing me, pulling me into the alleyway. The feeling of him forcing my clothes down. It was too much.  I didn’t care anymore, there was no using logic to find my way out of this.

I was tired of being strong. Tired of smiling. Tired of crying.

Tired.

I tried to breathe as the tears continued falling down my face, but my lungs refused. I wasn’t making any attempts to be quiet, as I was supposed to be home alone. The shaking in my hands didn’t subside as I brought the blade down to my wrist, taking a large breath.

Suddenly, before the blade could even make contact with my skin, someone snatched it out of my grasp. In front of me was my close incubus friend and roommate, Sam, tightly gripping the blade in his hands. He was giving me a look I couldn’t quite understand. It was hard to ignore tears that formed as I stared into his eyes, frozen in place while I waited for him to do something.

My thoughts were almost frozen. Panic, embarrassment, sadness, anger was all there. But any trail of thought seemed to be as stuck as I was.

After what felt like forever, I looked away, my eyes falling on his bloody hand. “Sam, you're bleeding.”

I felt his gaze harden, and suddenly I was being picked up. Before I could register what was happening, we were out of the bathroom and standing in my room. He held me tightly to him, even as he sat my feet on the ground. I noticed the trembling which reverberated throughout his body, and I could swear I felt his tears in the crook of my neck, where his face was buried. 

I was stiff, unsure of how to respond. I just wrapped my arms around him as I tried, and failed, to speak.

Eventually, he pulled away and sat down on my bed which I followed suit. I stared at nothing at particular, barely aware of the tears which were still falling from my eyes. My fists were tightly shut, my nails breaking the skin of my palms. I failed to bring myself to look at Sam, but I knew he was staring at me.

“What the fuck were you thinking.” Sam asked. His tone was harsh, but I knew him well enough to know that he cared.

I didn’t answer, just digging my nails deeper. I found myself admiring the paintings on the walls, thinking of the feelings of my hair on my neck, anything but the predicament I was in.

Sam was impatient, however. “Y/N, what were you fucking thinking?” He asked again, louder this time.

I gulped, now staring at my hands which were bleeding from my nails. “I wasn’t.” I answered quietly.

I could hear him take a deep, shaky breath before he spoke again with a slightly weaker tone. “Why?”

I closed my eyes, the shaking in my body still very prominent. “I’m tired.”

Sam shifted closer to me. “Then let us help.”

I shook my head, crying even more. “I can’t be helped.”

“Bullshit.”

I finally looked up at Sam. His eyes were slightly red, and I could see the fallen tears on his cheeks. His expression was frustrated, worried, and saddened at the same time. “I’m unfixable.” I said, a sad smile stretching across my face.

His eyebrows furrowed, and before he could argue I spoke again.  “Anyone with eyes can take a look at me and know I’m a lost cause.”

I swallowed hard, but continued. “Everything I touch burns, and I’m tired of worrying every good thing is gonna be fucked up.”

His eyes were completely unreadable as he spoke. “You can’t let the shit that's happened in your life mean nothing. If you…” He stopped, and his eyes began to water again. 

I sighed, looking back down. “I don't know what wrong with me.” I admitted.

Sam’s arms wrapped around me. “Nothing is wrong with you, you can’t control the bad things that have happened to you.”

Something he said made me break.

Suddenly I was sobbing, turning and returning his embrace. He tightened his grip around me, his hand rubbing soothing circles on the small of my back. He let me cry into his shoulder, whispering and letting me know everything would be okay. 

“Sam.” I said, between sobs. “I was raped.”

I felt him tighten his grip and go slightly rigid for only a second before returning to his previous demeanor. He continued to sooth me, telling me it wasn’t my fault and that I’d be okay. 

After what felt like hours, I pulled away. My eyes felt swollen and my head was pounding, but the weight in my chest was slightly lighter. I wiped my face and looked at the clock. It was early, only 4pm, but I was exhausted from crying. A yawn escaped my lips, and Sam smiled ever so slightly. “You should lay down.”

I nodded, looking at him. “Will you stay?”

He just nodded, without even hesitating. He laid down, letting me lay on his chest as he trailed his hands up and down my back. In almost no time, I was falling asleep, my last thoughts surrounding how safe I felt in his arms.

[idontknowreallywhy]

I’ve so much enjoyed seeing this one develop, it’s just so full of wonderful little flashes of brilliance and back story. Like the fact John has always had stars on his ceiling and Scott helped him get the first set up there, but now when John’s away a long time Scott goes and sits under them to be near him. Such a touching image.

For his brother, Scott could take it slow 😭

I love how the roof of the villa was designed for star gazing, and of course being in the middle of the ocean with no light pollution is perfect! I bet the view is incredible from there!

They are so different and yet so similar, there are mirrors all the way through and the first that stands out to me is that stretch they both do - they both want to be a part of the huge expanse before them, just one prefers the blue and the other the black.

They are so Together. But then, NO! Scott starts doubting and questions why his brother would want him there. It’s so devastating and yet familiar… unkind words can stick so hard, even when meant in jest and poor Scott has taken the negative interpretation of his deep and generous expression of his love for people “clingy” into his self and it has been stabbing away at his self-worth for so long :( I mean “he couldn’t not take and take and take” nooo Scott, this isn’t taking!

I love how John has all the books because that’s what he does. You half wonder at the start when one has his name on why he’s dragging it up there, but then Mom. Then we know.

Then you switch so softly and smoothly to lovely comedy thoughts with The Tinies on Five and the code baby slash evil AI 🤣 love that description!!

Also very grateful for the lines that show us that although alone right now, Virg is happy and in his elements

The permission to info-dump and John’s eyes lighting up 🥰 and although half goes over Scott’s head, it’s not that thing where someone smiles and nods and humours the enthusiastic person - it doesn’t stay tiger his head because John is a great teacher and Scott is Interested in what is exciting his brother. It’s a beautiful moment.

And despite the mistakes in his past with rushing and clumsy and flying balls… Scott is allowed to look and share properly.

And then “I missed you” slips out.

It’s such a loving thing but somehow Scott still regrets saying it, thinking he’s demanding too much. And when John says it back he thinks he’s lying. Aaaaaargh!

The historical significance of the hand holding makes me teary 🥹

How John grounds him by saying how many reasons there are to love him. Because he is who he is. Not because of what he has done (or not). Don’t we all need to hear that sometimes…

Oh heck and the way you described the ubiquitous paperwork was a revelation - I think I always pictured it as dull work but heck it’s just reliving the trauma of each rescue over and over isn’t it, trying to make it cold and emotionless. Is this why he is reluctant to let his brothers help with it?

the hug!!!’

The hoodie!!! Aeroplanes plus paint marks�� John is keeping them both close!

When they both realise they are saying the same thing back and forth, justifying each other and condemning themselves… but then realise they can move through it, I want to punch the air! YES!!

We hold each other up!

Hot chocolate and then watching their sky and their stars holding hands and laughing. AAAAAAAAH IT’S JUST TOO BEAUTIFUL.

Honestly mate, you wield words like a weapon and an instrument of healing somehow at the same time. Just fab.

Stargazing

Sky and star!! Scott and John!!! Stargazing, honest talks on rooftops, some tears, and many hugs.

The tags copied from ao3 because Im pretty much too tired to see straight but I just finished this and Ive been working on it for a while now and here it is!!! Im very proud of it :)--Hurt/Comfort Angst Fluff its got all of them Stargazing which you just may have guessed given the title Hugs Crying Panic Attacks Self-Esteem Issues Scott's having a bit of a time of it and so is John but they've got each other there is much hugging and hot chocolate too and definitely some ADHD Scott and autistic John

Comes in at a scraping under 6000 words, so a nice long one!!

@idontknowreallywhy Thank you for all of your encouragement along the way. I doubt this would be what it is without you. Hugs :)

A headcanon in it, which you shall see, I believe originated from a fic by @edutainer2022 Sometime in 2023. The depths of tumblr. (cites sources)

-----

A thump followed by multilingual cussing out of the very concept of gravity were not uncommon sounds when John was earth side. Scott still looked up from his paper work in concern. 

John was juggling a telescope, a blanket over his shoulder and his satchel while attempting to pick up several books. Massive, heavy astronomy books splayed out on the floor around his feet. 

He swayed, nearly losing his balance and dropping the telescope at the same time. Scott leapt up to help. He crossed the comms room from dad’s desk to where John was in quick strides to get to his brother, worry blooming. 

John straightened up when Scott reached his side, his brows pinched and face pale. 

“Johnny, are you okay?” Scott questioned. He needed to know whether this was just a momentary thing or he needed to call Grandma and/or Virgil. He’d rather not have John fainting on him. 

“I’m fine, just a bit dizzy.” John said, “Probably my blood pressure from leaning down too fast.“ 

Scott let out a relieved breath. John’s space-related health issues weren’t uncommon to be dealing with but Scott hated to see any of his brothers potentially sick or hurting. At least without a mission in the way, Scott could trust John was being truthful and not pushing past his limits.

“And don’t call me Johnny,” John added in disgust. 

So John was just fine, with that level of vitriol. Just as it should be.

“Good to hear.” Scott put on a shit eating grin. “Johnny.” 

It was his big brotherly duty to be infuriating, at least now his concerns had been allayed.

“Fuck you,” John said good naturedly.

Scott gathered the books up. John paused, hesitated, then stepped back to let him.

With both hands still full, John leant against the wall for support, eyes half closed and head tipped back.

On the biggest book, ‘ Dr J. G. Tracy’ was written across the planet pictured on the purple cover, followed by the extensive list of letters standing in for qualifications after John’s name. Scott smiled proudly to himself.

When he had them all, and they were heavy, how had John managed them with everything else, Scott reached out to take the blanket too, which was slowly but surely sliding from John’s grip. 

“Thanks Scott. I thought I had it but—“ John gave floor where the former pile had been a glare. 

“Gravity?” Scott smiled.

John rolled his eyes. “Yeah.”

Scott shifted the books up in his arms. “Now where do you want this all?”

Since he was carrying them already, he may as well help John the rest of the way. It was easier, honestly, he wasn’t just being a smotherhen.

“Uh. I was planning to go to the roof,” John admitted sheepishly.

Scott nudged him gently. “I should’ve guessed.”

Long ago, Scott had gotten used to how John took every possible opportunity to see the stars. He’d thought the constant fixtures of their childhood would disappear when John made his dream of living in space, but they’d stayed. The telescopes from John’s bedroom window, the expeditions to every nearby and not so nearby observatory, lying outside on picnic blankets waiting for meteor showers. 

Turns out stargazing, even on earth, was just a part of who John was. The stars were constant in his universe and Scott loved how his brother loved them so much.

At night, out on the roof was always the first place Scott looked for John. In the day, so many times Scott had found John in his room, staring at the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the ceiling. Scott had helped him put up the first set, way back in Kansas when John was shorter than him because he hadn't been to space yet, and couldn’t reach even standing on a chair. When they moved to the island, the first thing John decorated his room with were more stars here too. Sometimes, when John was up on Five for long stretches, Scott would go sit beneath them, surrounded by John’s shelves of paper books and looking upwards.

They made their way out now, Scott matching John’s cautious footsteps, slow and unsteady. The balance issues from constantly being in space were worse when John was fresh down for orbit, though they never truly went away. It worried Scott, when he thought too much about it, but Thunderbird Five was never something he could take from John without breaking his heart. So Scott was always happy to slow down, to let John take his time to feel his way along, whenever he needed to. For his brother, Scott could take it slow.

The door to the roof and the wide, flat expanse were both very deliberate in their design. Having their own observatory wasn't going to stop one space brother or two from sitting up there.

Passing from the warmly lit villa into the night was sudden and jarring. Scott realised he hadn’t been outside of a building or a cockpit for too long. He took a breath, filling his lungs with cool ocean air. The clear view and barely there breeze would make landing a dream if he was flying. 

Stars covered the sky, spread horizon to horizon. John stared up at them with open delight. He placed his telescope and bag down on the roof, then stretched out his arms as if to touch the inky purple expanse above them. When John glanced back at him, Scott repeated the gesture because this was something he understood. On a perfect blue day, as the sun shone, burning away the last whisps of white clouds, the skies pulled him in with the urge to be amongst it all. That was why he flew and John launched into space. 

Scott spread the blanket out next to where the roof slanted sharply upwards, so they’d have shelter and were far away from the edge. He put the books down on a corner, preoccupying himself with neatly stacking them. John dropped to sit cross legged, immediately beginning to set up his telescope.

Scott lingered watching him as he attached it to its stand, screwing it securely in place. Long minutes passed while John fiddled with various knobs and dials. Scott knew he had a million other things he should be doing, the paperwork lurking at his desk to name one example, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

John wouldn’t want him here. He’d enjoy his evening far more without his older brother breathing down his neck. Scott should go. He made an awkward gesture at the door back off the roof, but made no movement towards it. He was probably driving John crazy just by being here, distracting him from his stars with his indecisiveness. 

Shuffling the books around had already been a thin excuse once and messing with them more would be pushing it too far, no matter how the volume second from the bottom was botheringly skewed. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms to resist straightening it. He was already pushing it too far.

Scott forced himself up, made it halfway to his feet when John pulled himself away from his telescope. His breath caught when John opened his mouth to speak.

Scott knew he was overly clingy.

The times people had called him suffocating stung. They still stung, even when he knew they were words hurled in anger and not truly meant. He couldn’t stand to hear more, because surely that’s what John was going to say. Maybe more diplomatically, more politely, but he braced himself anyway.

“Do you want to look at the stars with me?” John asked.

Scott’s mouth was glued shut. He just stared at John.

“It’s fine if you don’t.” John glanced down at his hands, now in his lap instead of on the telescope, fidgeting with his sleeves. “I just… We haven’t spent time together for ages.”

“What— what about last week?” Scott managed. John had been down last week, they’d seen each other last week.

“That was with everyone,” John said softly. “I meant just us.”

Oh. So John wanted— John wanted him to stay? 

Scott tentatively settled to sit on the blanket, next to John. He couldn’t not. If there was the slightest chance John wanted him here, he couldn’t not take and take and take. But he had to believe John, in John’s words and soft, unsure tone of voice. That John knew what he was asking for and was saying it because he wanted this too. 

After so many rescues and times in his life where John’s voice was his anchor at the end of a comm line, it was second nature to believe John. Maybe the waver in his voice was because he had trouble asking for this too.

Their knees bumped and John gave him a small smile.

Slowly, Scott unwound, letting out a breath and relaxing every muscle he’d tensed up. He leant back, bracing his hands behind him to look once more to the sky. The stars and moon seemed brighter now. What John was searching for up there, Scott didn't know, but he’d be here as he did, with John’s calm presence by his side. 

He listened to the brushing of the breeze through the trees and the rushing whisper of sea against the shores, interspersed with the fluttering of paper as John turned the pages of his books. 

John didn't need to reference his books to point his telescope at the right bit of sky, but he always brought them anyway. It was part of the routine, the ritual, a familiar comfort too weighty to bring to space. Flicking through pages of calculations, hands on the well worn covers, opening them where they fell, because they’d been read so many times before. It was another night, like this one but a long while ago, shared together when John had told him that was why he had them, connected all the way back to memories of John as a kid with mum’s astronomy textbooks, reading them by torchlight. For Scott, there was something reassuring about John surrounded by his books and his stars, his brother as he always was and was meant to be. It wasn't silly, he’d told John, that he brought old fashioned print books instead of even just a tablet, when they made John happy. 

Tonight, without the usual jets coming and going, and people hustling to emergency alarms, the island was quiet. Calm, even. 

Alan and Gordon were up on Thunderbird Five. Alan because he needed more training before he was prepared to run the station solo, and Gordon, who’d good naturedly volunteered to partner up, given John had long exceed his space hours this month. How it was going was anyone’s guess, particularly for Gordon’s mood, when Alan was likely using his temporary commanding status to full extent in bossing around his big brother. Scott snorted.

John turned to him at the sound. “What’s up? What is it?”

“Thinking of how Allie and Gordo are doing,” Scott replied. He relayed his thoughts about their younger brothers.

The corners of John’s lips turned up. “Eos is likely more trouble, even with the talking to I gave her.”

John’s code baby slash evil AI was thankfully now into causing the inconvenient type of mischief instead of the life threatening. She could be almost sweet when she’d gotten over the murderous tendencies and Scott got to know her better. He could definitely see the John in her. 

“They’ll be just fine. Might even learn a few things.” Scott had faith in his brothers’ abilities, and in the restorative properties of the celery crunch bars he’d put in the care package for Gordon.

The conversation lulled for a moment as John refocused on his telescope, before John chipped in, “Do you reckon Virgil’s figured out his masterpiece yet?”

A paint covered Virgil had been briefly coaxed out of his studio earlier in the evening with the promise of dinner. He’d made distracted conversation with Scott and John, mind clearly still elsewhere, before shovelling the last mouthfuls of food in his mouth and running off. 

Virgil hadn’t noticed the streak of violet across his forehead, emphasised by the expression he made, all raised eyebrows and gleeful realisation, when the new idea struck. To be fair, neither Scott nor John had chosen to point it out to him. He’d either see it eventually or he wouldn’t, and time would tell how many other colours joined it. 

But a Virgil in his art zone, with music coming from beneath his door, was a happy one. Reassuring for Scott too, after the weeks and months and rescues they’d all had. 

“He’s all good,” Scott said fondly. 

John echoed it with a wider smile, both of their minds on their artsy brother in the house below. 

“So, what are you searching for tonight?” Scott gestured to the sky and the telescope in a sweeping movement. 

John startled. He paused to consider then asked, “Does that mean you actually want the whole version or just the five second summary?” 

“Hit me with all of it,” Scott said. He was rewarded by John’s face lighting up. 

John’s excitement as he explained his star stuff was contagious. Scott found himself grinning. The way John flickered his hands through the air, sketching out astronomical diagrams, was mesmerising, and the way he pulled facts and figures off the top of his head was astounding.

When he showed Scott the contents of his books, Scott barely knew where to start with the calculations, because this was John’s area, not his own field of mathematics. Half the concepts went over his head until John explained them, bit by bit. 

Scott asked questions, because it had been a while since he’d looked to the stars and he was rusty on most of the finer points other than those used for emergency navigation. John was more than happy to answer them. 

They bounced questions and answers back and forth; John got to talk about his stars and Scott got to listen to his brother’s joyous excitement which he hadn’t heard for far too long. He reminded himself to call John up more often, even if it was just on the holo, to listen to him ramble about his latest research.

“You wanna see?” John asked. “The telescope is set up and tonight’s has the best conditions there will be.”

Handling any of John’s telescopes was usually a privilege reserved for a very careful Alan. Several childhood instances of toppled stands leading to cracked lenses had instituted the rule of no brothers allowed anywhere near touching range. Or, Scott cringed to think about, amateur soccer range.

When Scott agreed, John flashed a rare grin, delighted to share the stars with him.

The stars weren’t Scott’s domain the way they were for John. Both of them loved the sky but the difference was the distance. Scott much preferred to remain within the atmosphere, outside of it wasn't for him. But the sky was for them both. Him and John, who were the first ones to love it, before any of the others came along. 

Scott looked through telescope to see what John sees. 

It was… he could only describe it as beautiful. Bright pinpricks of light forming their constellations against navy sky. The planets and the stars seen from their own tiny planet in the galaxy. All brought closer by the telescope than he could see with his eyes, brought closer by sharing this moment with John.

When Scott pulled himself away from the telescope, John was watching him in nervous anticipation, twisting his hands in his lap. 

“So, what did you think?”

“They’re amazing John, thank you for showing me.” Scott poured all his honest wonder into the words.

John looked up. “They really are.”

“I missed you,” Scott blurted out. 

Immediately, he wanted to take the words back. What made him admit it, even on the solitary rooftop where no one could overhear them? Not because they weren’t true, it was always going to be true that he missed John when he was away. But usually that was something he kept close to his chest, an ache curled around his heart. His family spent plenty of time with him, even John, they just… hadn’t lately, that was all. He was being needy, asking for too much and wanting more, more, more after people already gave.

He swallowed back the lump in his throat. The stars were blurry as he looked away.

Scott flinched when John gently took his hands in his own. 

John squeezed his hands, slender fingers wrapping around Scott’s as he automatically squeezed back. 

Gripping John’s hands, holding onto him, was a lifeline built up over years and years. So deeply ingrained in who they were that it could pierce through Scott’s racing, sharp edged thoughts. 

Looking back, him and John holding hands had started when they were kids. The first time he remembered was on a trip to an aeronautical museum, with Mum telling them they had to stick together, to hold hands and not let go. Because as a kid, John would wander off out of curiosity and get left behind when he slowed down to read all of the informational signs. It had happened many times before. In hindsight, Mum was probably trying to keep Scott from running around and climbing everything too, by recruiting him for big brother duty. 

Later the gesture was an anchor for John, to lead him out of overwhelming situations, where Scott could see him shrinking in on himself at every sound that made him want to press his hands over his ears but he couldn't for appearances sake. 

For Scott, when he’s falling apart too. For John to pull him aside with a polite excuse, then away from old guard board members at Tracy Industries meetings, and out of the surveillance of crowds and reporters alike at the awful high society galas PR made it necessary to attend. Away from where people wanted, no expected, Jeff Tracy and all they got was his son, and the cordial smiles of how much he resembled his father tore Scott as deeply as the thinly veiled whispers of how much he didn’t, and he couldn't keep it up any longer.

And right now, he was falling apart, in a different place for different reasons but the chunks of his careful facade of fine fine fine are breaking off and clattering to the ground. John bears witness to it, within touching distance, within the blast radius, instead of a million miles away. 

Scott could blame his emotionalness on exhaustion. On too many caffeine fuelled late nights bleeding into early mornings this week. On hard rescues in poor conditions. Anything instead of this boiling hurt that builds and builds.

He blinked quickly, his tears stuck to his eyelashes, hot and stinging as they welled up. He tipped his head back in hopes he could keep them from running down his face. 

If he let go of John’s hands, he could wipe them away, and he and John could both pretend they were never there. But he couldn’t let go of John. 

There was no way to hide his tears from John.

Scott hunched his shoulders. He closed his eyes. He still didn’t want to know what John really thought of him. 

John’s hands gripping his own were the only point of reference he had. Scott was failure after failure, drowning in them, and John was too clever not to realise it soon enough. 

“I missed you too.” John entwined his fingers with Scott’s before he could pull away. 

The urge to tug his hands back, to take them away from John, whether in shock, or surprise or disbelief because the voice inside his head screamed he’s lying, he’s lying. Or so John couldn't pull away first, because he would, it was only a matter of time. It was always just a matter of time until everyone found out how messed up he was. Then—

Scott didn’t know anymore. He shuddered, curling in on himself, making himself smaller, making himself less of, of everything that he was.

But John was still there. Gently holding his hands. Not letting go. 

Even as Scott felt tears dripping from his chin, the tracks burning down his face. Even as he shook, heart pounding, breaths catching loud and raspy, shattering the quiet of the night.

But why, but why but why would John miss him? The thoughts whirled, as cutting as blizzard ice, through his head. And mumbled aloud, falling unbidden from his lips, they were just as awful, the same slicing edges, now out where they could harm.

John’s voice washed over him, quiet, soft words he couldn't make out. They were buried beneath the howling thoughts.

But why?

There was no reason.

No reason at all.

Nothing was left in the dark, but Scott’s worst fears, tearing him apart with no up or down or direction, his own avalanche eating him alive.

Then something broke through. Reached out into the dark to rescue him. John squeezed his hands, pulling him out of the snow, never letting him go.

And John’s voice was gentle, filtering back in like a lost radio connection.

“Because there are as many reasons we all love you as there are stars in the sky.”

“As many reasons as stars I have yet to discover.”

“More reasons than all the stars, in all the universe, that ever were or ever will be.”

John paused for a moment, taking in a breath. “Because you’re Scott.”

Slowly, Scott opened his eyes. John was close, a blur of pale face and red hair that swam into focus as he blinked. Wide, earnest turquoise eyes that saw right through him.

Heartbroken was far too easy an expression to recognise on John, not when you knew him. But so was love. His expression was a mixture of both Scott wasn’t sure what to do with.

He stared until something jagged lodged in his chest and he forced himself to look away. 

To the stars. Then down at their interlocked hands, where his own still trembled. 

He watched as John’s fingers tightened briefly. His vision blurred.

“You back with me?” John asked. The same tone he’d heard him use over comms on scared rescuees and brothers alike, but now without the static.

Scott nodded slowly. He wasn’t sure he could make his voice work.

Somehow, John understood. Somehow John understood him and that hadn’t sent him running.

“You want to take a few deeps breaths, and then we can talk?”

He nodded again, listening for John’s count. He pushed his thoughts towards the back of his mind as hard as he could.

He tried, to time his inhales and exhales to John’s voice, he really did. 

But his chest hitched, sobs tearing from his throat on every breath.

He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t do it. 

He couldn't even breathe calmly, not even with John counting for him, John was wasting his time.

Except John said, “Scott, Scotty. Listen to me. However long it takes, it’s okay. I’m here.”

Scott was still crying, and this wasn't how the evening was supposed to go. John was meant to be watching his stars, not having to hold Scott’s broken mess together. 

Scott probably wasn't meant to be here at all. He was meant to be doing mission reports, he should have stayed doing mission reports. Reliving awful memories of wrenching metal and screams to put lives saved and lost into official sounding sentences, at least would’ve only hurt him.

It took far too long for his sobs to lose their edge.

Too long to get his breathing back to shaky hiccups instead of hyperventilating.

For him to be left exhausted, with tears still flowing that nothing he could do would stop.

Over and over, John repeated, “You’re okay, we’re okay,” and, “I’m here.” 

Because he was still here, with Scott, and he wasn't leaving.

And maybe that meant something.

Scott couldn’t hide his tears from John, but maybe he didn't have to. Not when John was so close, not when he cared. Because John still had his hands in his own. Because John showed him the stars that were his entire world. Everything said he cared about Scott, no matter what he did.

“Would you like a hug?” John asked. 

The contact would be nice. But whether John wanted a hug, when he so often kept himself far apart. Scott shook his head then nodded. He didn’t know. He could barely think in the come down from his emotions. 

But he didn’t have to figure it out as John pulled him close.

Their hands were pinned awkwardly between them because Scott still couldn’t let go, but he leant into John, tucking his face into John’s neck, hidden from sight. 

John was wearing a navy blue hoodie which had gone through several brothers and might once have been Scott’s own, given the peeling aeroplane decal, but it was difficult to tell beneath the paint stains. 

The soft fabric soaked up his tears. Eventually he let one hand go, carefully, bit by bit and John wrapped his arm securely around him. 

Okay, he was okay. John was here. He just had to keep telling himself that. 

John didn’t pull away to ask, “Do you want to tell me what happened there?” He just spoke quietly, chin still resting on top of Scott’s head where he was curled around him. 

Scott swallowed. “Not particularly.”

“Is that because you actually don’t want to or because you think you’re fine.”

Scott shook his head. Even he had enough awareness to know he wasn’t entirely fine right now. Not with tear tracks barely dry on his cheeks.  Or clutching John like his world would fall apart otherwise because something inside him told him it would. 

“It’s I don’t know what you’ll think of me,” he mumbled into John’s hoodie. 

John’s arm tightened around him. He whispered, “Oh, Scott.”

Scott tensed up. 

“I’m not going to be upset with you, no matter what you’re feeling,” John added, quickly, tripping over his words to reassure Scott. 

“Promise?” Scott asked, stupidly, childishly, because he couldn't help it even though it wasn't something John could promise. 

“I promise,” John said solemnly. 

The words, their words, went all the way back to their childhood, of Scott gripping John’s hands, making him promise not to tell mum and dad where Scott’s super secret fort was built in the backyard. John had never broken one of their promises. Not even as they got older and it was a teenaged Scott crying his heart out in the far too tiny tree house, because he didn't want dad to see him getting upset over little things like trying hold their family together and looking after his siblings.

Their exchange soldified something between them. Their bond that had always been there and maybe he could believe always would be there. It let Scott lower his walls inch by inch, until he found the courage to speak, even if it was barely audible and he still wasn't looking at John.

“It’s fine. It’s just… You never seem to want to spend time with me anymore,” he admitted.

“Of course I want to spent time with you,” John stated gently, “Why would I not?” 

Scott choked on bitter laughter. “Why would you want to?”

He felt the moment John’s breath caught. How John hugged him close, pressing Scott to his chest. 

“Scotty,” John asked apprehensively, the childhood nickname coming out for the second time tonight, “Is this really how you think of yourself?”

Scott shrugged against John. “What does it matter.” 

John’s voice was thick, “It matters because somehow you’ve got it in your head that there’s no reason I’d miss you, and that’s not true and never will be true. It’s so, so not true.”

“When you’re earthside, you still spend all your time with the others,” he muttered in ugly, hurt words.

The sharp intake of breath from John was another regret. 

Scott was torn between running where he’d never hurt John again and holding him closer. 

As he pulled away, John’s hand still in his own brought him back. John always brought him back. So he clung on to John too, and starlight glinted from both their tears. 

He held on, and they were both shaking now. 

John’s “I’m sorry—I’msorrysosorry—’msosorryScotty,” was distressed and near silent. 

“But why?” Butwhybutwhybutwhy?

“I thought you wouldn't want to star gaze with me!” John burst out.

It was Scott’s turn to squeeze John’s hand. To have John’s trembling fingers gripping back. 

Scott swallowed hard. This was on him. He’d upset John. His own fresh tears cooled on his face, the sea breeze picking up to give them freezing bite. Scott had failed. Like he always did. But this was at the one thing that mattered above all others, of keeping his brothers safe and happy. 

Guilt laced John’s voice, heavy and suffocating. “Alan loves space nearly as much as I do, so I try to take him out whenever I can. Virgil will draw anything whether or not it sits still for long enough and he wanted to try painting the sky with watercolours.”

Scott almost didn't want to ask, “What what about Gordon?” Because why was it just not him?

He heard John sniffle. “We usually sit near the beach. Gordy watches the waves and I watch the stars. Then he wanted to know about the stars because apparently they look kinda like the constellations of bioluminescence in the deep sea.” John’s words got stuck and he choked out, “I’m so sorry Scott.”

“It’s— it’s fine,” Scott said, effect ruined by the break in his voice. By how he couldn’t let go of John’s hand, even as he felt more tears trickling down his cheeks. “You don’t need to worry, just spend your time with the others, I know you don’t get much.”

He wouldn't want to hang out with himself if he had a choice about it. 

John pulled his face away from where it was tucked in the crook of Scott’s neck. He still didn't look at Scott.

“I know you don’t want to spend time with me,” John said in a small, wet voice, “I’m boring. All I can talk about is astronomy and most normal people don’t care about it. I’m just weird and wobbly and awkward.”

“John—” Scott tried. 

“When I’m not in space, I only slow you down,” John continued.

“Johnny!”

That got John’s attention. “What,” he snapped.

“I do want to spent time with you,” Scott said, “Of course I do, I always do.” 

“But I didn’t really know. Most people don’t like me,” John stated, far too matter of fact. 

That hit Scott like a punch to the gut. “You’re just like me,” he whispered. 

Something he didn't want for any of his brothers.

“You feel like this too,” John whispered back, low so not even the stars could hear them. 

Like they were both back in that tree house, amongst their old promises. Tangled together because that was the only way they would both fit now they weren’t children anymore. All lanky limbs, knees and elbows and sharp edges digging into each other. 

At the same time, in the same motion, he and John hugged each other tighter. They were still the same jagged edges that fitted as closely as puzzle pieces, if they lined it up right. 

“It’s why— why I thought you wouldn’t want to spent time with me,” Scott said, unsure now. “Because why would you.” 

Scott took a deep breath and quoted, “Scott’s too clingy. Too needy. Too much, going too fast.” He kept his voice soft, pouring out old hurts, recent hurts, for only John to hear.

“And here I was trying not to drag you down when I could’ve held you close instead,” John murmured.

“Yeah,” Scott said thickly, “I could’ve been there for you.” 

“For you too.” John’s voice gained an edge, “That you can’t think of a single reason I’d miss you means I must be doing something wrong.”

“It’s not your fault.” If there was something Scott was adamant about, it was this.

John raised his head to look Scott in the eyes, brief, burning turquoise. “Then it can’t be yours either.”  

“But for everything…” Scott trailed off.

“I’m not going to love you less. None of us are. Not for being you.”

“I failed.” He had to say it, had to make sure John knew.

“No,” John said vehemently, “You were hurting too.”

Scott could feel John’s thundering heart pressed against his chest.

“Neither of us knew and we’re both trying, that matters,” John continued, “There’s also what we do now.” 

John was Thunderbird Five, but he was also John Tracy. He knew. He knew Scott. Scott had to trust him.

“We make each other stronger. And we hold each other up,” Scott said quietly. Because of who they were, not just in spite of it.

For John, with John, maybe it was just one day possible. 

They stayed like that, fused together in a hug, surrounded by John’s stars and Scott’s sky, for a long time. Scott couldn't remember when he’d last hugged John like this. To keep each other close, like they’d promised they would. He needed to do it more often. 

When they finally moved, because sitting in one place on a rooftop for so long wasn't exactly comfortable, neither of them went far. 

John dragged his satchel nearer and pulled out a thermos flask. 

“I’ve got hot chocolate,” he smiled, opening it to take a sip then holding it out for Scott. 

Scott took it, wrapping his hands around the warm thermos before raising it to his lips. 

Closing his eyes, he savoured it. No one made hot chocolate like John. No one except mum did.

He pressed his shoulder against John’s in silent appreciation. 

They passed the thermos back and forth, no words needed. 

When it was empty and they were both full of hot chocolate, the night was late, the stars turning overhead. They perhaps should have gone in, would’ve on another evening without all the everything that had occurred tonight, but Scott had worked up the courage to ask John to stay, just for a little while longer, and John wanted to.

John returned to his telescope and Scott settled close, with John happily leaning back on his chest, Scott’s arms wrapped around John’s middle and chin on his shoulder. John could still look at his stars and Scott got to hug him so it was a win for them both. 

The ocean breeze was picking up, becoming chilly in shirtsleeves when Scott hadn't brought a jumper because he didn't think he’d get to be out here so long. But John was warm and his hoodie soft, plus Scott could stick his hands in the front pocket, partially to annoy John ever so slightly, but also because his fingers were cold. 

He got a close up of that characteristic irritated but fond expression, caught in a John half smile, when John tipped his head to look at Scott. Scott couldn't help but smile back. 

Then John also stuck his absolutely freezing hands in the hoodie pocket with Scott’s finally warm fingers, vibrating with laughter because he did that on purpose. 

They both settled back, hanging onto each others hands again, staring upwards at their sky and stars.

[talesofesther]

Black and blue

Yelena Belova x Reader

Summary: Every few nights, Yelena shows up at your door; and with each visit, your heart breaks a little more.

A/N: Inspired by the brief guilty look on Yelena when she's talking with Kate in ep 5 of Hawkeye. This story has been sitting in my wips for a while, and as much as I'd like to, I won't be able to write it any better. I've been having a bit of a tough time with creativity lately, do hope it's still kinda good.

Masterlist

The TV was talking to itself in your living room, light rain was falling outside. The sound of water hitting the fire escape mixed with the low rumble of cars passing by had lulled you to sleep about an hour ago.

The remote was loosely held between your fingers, you were half laying down on the couch in a way that your neck would complain about tomorrow.

An annoyed meow coming from your lap woke you up when your arm squeezed the cat too hard. You blinked multiple times, grimacing when a bright image came up on the TV.

Soft paws were moving around above your thighs, you glided your fingers amongst the fur, stifling a yawn. The moon could be seen high in the sky through your window, falling rain being illuminated by the street lamps far away. You rummaged around for your phone, the clock read 11:48 PM once you found it.

You stretched your body, a random movie was playing on your TV. "We should take this to the bedroom, right honey?" You scratched behind the cat's ears, he purred happily.

The movie stopped playing with a click on the remote, leaving the room in darkness save for the light in the kitchen. The windows remained partially open, despite the wind being a little colder up in your apartment, you still liked it.

You were halfway through brushing your teeth when you heard the faint ding of the elevator. You wondered if it was the old lady that lived next door who was coming home late again, having spent the day with her son; you would certainly hear all about it tomorrow, she loves to talk and you are too polite to not listen. Or maybe it was the guy from two doors to the right, coming back from his weekly trip to the club.

Putting away your toothbrush, you waited to hear one of the doors unlocking; but instead, you heard a hard knock on your door.

You glanced up at yourself in the bathroom mirror. Not many people came to visit, let alone at this hour. Yet you were almost sure you already knew who it was.

Your cat trailed behind you as you walked to the door, you held your breath when you turned the doorknob.

The first thing you noticed was how her blood was staining the ground in a dark shade of red, little droplets of it traced her path from the elevator to your door; most of it was coming from an ugly cut on her thigh. She was panting heavily, you wouldn't be surprised if she had run all the way to your apartment.

Her forehead had a cut, painting bits of her blonde hair in crimson. She was leaning on the doorway, her legs not being able to support her weight anymore. You could also see dark bruises on her knuckles, and you knew that when you took off her shirt you would find more.

Your gaze moved up and down her body. Your lips were pursed in annoyance but you could feel your eyes stinging. She didn't say anything as you seemingly analyzed her, she knew better already.

You raised an eyebrow in a silent question, your fingers holding the doorknob turned white from the grip.

She shrugged as if it was no big deal, but she broke your staring contest for half a second. "Had nowhere else to go." Her voice was strained, she held her abdomen as she spoke.

The cheap light of the corridor was making her bruises look much worse, making the many droplets of rain coating her hair and clothes shine. You felt nausea building up in your stomach. "Damnit, Yelena." You heaved out a heavy sigh, bringing a hand up to your eyes.

Yelena clenched her jaw, focusing her eyes on your cat that had just hopped up on the couch. "I'll be leaving soon."

"Yeah, I know that part." You grumbled, pulling the door open for her to walk in. The air was heavy as she limped towards your couch, lowering herself to a sitting position as if every movement hurt more than the last.

The only sounds in the living room were the rain falling outside and Yelena's labored breathing as you walked to your bathroom and picked up your first aid kit, which now held much more stuff than a normal one. You felt a familiar weight on your chest, the movement of your hands was mechanical by now.

You placed the kit on the sink and took a moment to lean back on the wall of the bathroom. Your unfocused eyes stared ahead at the white tiles. A part of you asked why you did this to yourself every night that she knocked on your door. The other part knew the answer.

Yelena was no stranger to you, much on the contrary.

Natasha had introduced her sister to you and the friendship was almost instant. She was captivating, and you fell right into her trap.

You never knew she had fallen on yours as well, having been too wrapped up in your own feelings to notice hers.

But that was a long time ago. A time before you both came back to a world that was five years ahead of you. You had met up with Yelena twice right after. The first time when she came to you looking for Natasha, the second when you held her body as she cried in front of her sister's grave.

For months, you never saw her again after that. Until she showed up at your door one night, bruised and battered and almost dying from blood loss. The routine had started then.

You wondered if she knew how hard it became for you.

You walked out of the bathroom and saw Yelena gently petting your cat, she was sitting stiffly on your couch. Seeing her always made you smile, despite the circumstances. You sat beside her quietly, your eyes cast down and focused on finding gauzes, antiseptics, and needles.

Yelena glanced towards you, bright green eyes pleading for words she knew you wouldn't give to her. Her fingers twitched to touch you, yet she didn't know how to reach out. With a tired breath, she moved to take off her vest and shirt, hissing at the instant pain that came with the movement.

"Let me." You said softly, finally looking her way. With gentle fingers, you opened her vest, shrugging it off her shoulders carefully. Next, you worked on lifting her shirt, mumbling apologies when quiet whimpers came from Yelena.

The air got caught up in your throat when her chest was bare to you. There were purple and yellow bruises all over her skin, some bigger than others and a prominent one on her ribs. A few cuts adorned her abdomen and upper back as well.

"Lena…" You breathed out, seeing your vision start to blur. You raised a careful hand, ghosting your fingertips over her shoulders and spine. Her skin was soft and warm under your touch, your heart was torn for seeing it so damaged though.

Visible goosebumps erupted on Yelena's skin at your touch, she leaned towards you instantly. Closing her eyes, she gulped down a lump in her throat; yours was the only gentle touch she knew these days.

"I know." Her voice was equally quiet, tainted with self-loathing.

You shook your head, drawing your hand back quickly and switching your attention to patching her up. She stayed quiet for the next hour that you spent cleaning up, stitching, and treating any and all the wounds she had tonight. You did the best you could and only hoped she'd take a day or two off to heal and rest. In the back of your mind, you knew she wouldn't.

The ice was cold in your hands, you placed it over Yelena's ribs slowly, watching as her stomach involuntarily wanted to move away from it. You held it in place as she leaned back on your couch, closing her eyes. Your gaze moved over her body, now filled with white tapes and bandages.

Yelena had yet to relax, you could see how tense her muscles were. You reached out for her hand, her eyes opened to look at you once your fingers closed around her own. You guided her hand to the ice pack on her ribs, closing her hold around it.

Her eyes never left you as you moved closer to her and started undoing the messy braids on her hair. You threaded your fingers through her soft locks, stopping at her cheek and tracing the outline of her jaw; not caring if she saw the emotions reflecting on your eyes.

Along with the movement of your thumb on her skin, a bittersweet smile appear on your lips. Your love for her clenched painfully in your chest.

Yelena's lips parted in shaky breaths, her fingers closing more tightly around the ice. Her gaze inevitably moved down to your lips, thinking about the few stolen moments you had with each other every other night. After a beat, she leaned forward in a daze.

"Why are you doing this?"

Yelena opened and closed her mouth, her nose brushed yours before she pulled back to look at you properly. "What?" She breathed out, not registering your words.

You gulped, moving away from her and retreating your hands. Burying away the thought that she was about to kiss you. "Why are you still doing this to yourself, Lena?"

The question made Yelena avert her gaze, the light of the kitchen highlighted her profile. She let go of the ice that was resting on her ribs, placing it on the coffee table. "You know why."

There was a pause, and a scoff left your lips. "No I don't, you keep hurting yourself and every time I'm the one who needs to patch you up. And for what, doing someone else's dirty work?"

Green eyes glared right at you, but the tears on them betrayed the anger. She stood up fast, her bruised leg failed her right after and she almost fell back. She limped away from you before you could reach out, searching around for her clothes.

"I'm doing a job that I'm good at, it's what I was trained to do." The words tasted bitter on Yelena's tongue, she refused to turn back, afraid of how you'd be looking at her. "What else is there for me?"

A single tear escaped your eye, having a last look at the harsh colors painting Yelena's back before she put her shirt back on. Her movements were stiff and labored, she was standing up with all of her weight on only one leg.

"It's not what Natasha would want for you." Your voice broke halfway through the quiet words, doubting you'd ever be able to make her see how much she was losing. "You don't need a life like this anymore, just... stay."

Yelena huffed out a nervous breath, making quick work of walking to the door. Anger and hurt clouded her better judgment.

When her hand hesitated on the doorknob, you decided you had enough. "I won't stand by and watch you tear yourself apart for nothing." You got up, picking up your cat to ground yourself. "I'm done, Yelena." The whisper was heavy.

Yelena turned her gaze to you, her fingers loosening on the handle.

The room became agonizingly quiet for a few seconds. Her eyes were fixed on the cat in your arms, it hurt that she wouldn't look up at you. "If you walk out that door, don't bother coming back." Your throat was tight around the words, but you forced them out anyway.

You heard the front door opening as you made your way to your bedroom.

As much as it hurt, you couldn't bear the thought of her showing up one day at your door, and you not being enough to patch her up. Or the day that she wouldn't make it to your door at all.

If your love wasn't enough to make her stay, then you weren't going to wait for her to come back either.

___

Yelena closed your apartment door with a soft click, the sound resonated through her body like a punch.

The steps she took towards the elevator were slow, water was collecting on the bottom lid of her eyes faster than the way she was moving. Alone. She suddenly felt painfully alone.

It was way past midnight and all the doors in the corridor were already closed. Rain was pouring outside, she could hear the clinking of one failing light on the ceiling. It felt wrong to walk away from the only person that remained in her life, the person she cared about the most.

Yelena was stubborn, she pressed the button to call the elevator up with a faint touch. By the heavy weight on her heart, she could tell it wasn't worth it. The job she hated doing wasn't worth losing you over.

She grimaced when a tug of pain came from her bruised abdomen, ghosting her hand over it. She would miss you.

The elevator reached her with a ding and the doors opened. All she had to do was walk two steps forward. It felt as if she would put a bullet through her own heart.

Deep down she knew she was still trying to atone for the mistakes of her past. Doing a job she was told was rightful work, even if the means weren't the best, made her feel a little more deserving of coming back to you.

But coming back every few nights and leaving before sunrise wasn't nearly enough anymore. She wanted to stay and wake up beside you.

Yelena ran a hand through her messy hair, cursing herself under her breath. She limped back to your door with the nagging fear that it might be too late.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she gently turned the doorknob. The room was engulfed in darkness already, the only light coming from the street lamps and the moonlight.

She hesitated in the middle of your living room, her eyes fixed on the opened door that lead to your bedroom. There was a catch in her breathing as she heard the rustling of sheets coming from your room. Yelena gulped down the lump of feelings in her throat.

What if you really don't want anything to do with her anymore.

Shaking her head, she ignored the pain in her leg and walked to your room. Her hand rested on the threshold as she peered inside. She could feel her stomach twisting in anxiousness, her feelings for you grew way beyond her control.

Yelena knew that you knew she was there, you heard the door opening, heard her unsteady steps.

Soft light coming through your window from the streets outside illuminated her as she walked to the empty side of your bed. She sat down first, afraid to overstep any new boundaries.

When she heard nothing but your breathing, and you kept laying down with your back to her; Yelena carefully removed her vest, then her boots, and lifted the covers.

The softness of your bed was familiar to her, she breathed in your scent. Her fingers prickled to reach out for you, she bit her lip in doubt.

Eventually, her tired body and the way she was craving to feel you, won her over. Yelena reached out a careful hand, sneaking it around your waist. When you didn't complain she moved closer, pressing her chest to your back.

As soon as you felt Yelena's warm hand over your waist, your eyes stung with tears. You didn't hold yourself back from interlocking your fingers with her hand that was now resting gently around you.

Feeling that you accepted her touch, Yelena let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding until now. She finally tightened her grip around you, nuzzling her head behind your neck and flushing your bodies together. "I'm sorry." She mumbled, lips brushing against your skin.

The single tear that you felt in the skin of your neck was warm, as was her breathing that caused goosebumps on your body.

You lifted your intertwined hands to your lips, kissing each one of Yelena's knuckles. "It's okay." You told her just as quietly.

You couldn't know if keeping her close was your best decision. But pushing her away hurt much more.

—⧗—

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are very much appreciated. <3

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[tteokdoroki]

— “PANTY THIEF + BAKUGOU.”

author’s note(s): inspired by this fanart and everyone being horny on THE DASH !! dedicated to @honeykeigo n @lady-bakuhoe for enabling my horny behaviour ok ok. also this turned out longer than i expected so ,,, have fun?

warning(s): mdni, 18+, smut, dubcon, mentions of drinking, uhh sniffed and stolen panties, slight!exhibitionism, power play dynamics, fingering, pussy slaps uwu, fem!reader + pro hero!bakugou.

“y-you uh, you don’t haf’ta do this mishta—?“

“dynamight.”

“r-right, dy-ma-might!”

katsuki had rolled his eyes the first time you spoke to him, a sweet, darling little girl too drunk on whatever shitty alcohol you’d been served at the bar on friday night. you obviously didn’t drink much, maybe even drunk too much— the hero would tell by the way your eyes crossed with your legs as you walked and the fact that you couldn’t remember the right way to spell your own name and it was clear your friends were a bunch of assholes for abandoning their shit faced friend to find her own way home.

he hated, this part of the job but he’d have felt bad if the guy following you home had done something bad to you and besides— the way you pressed yourself to the explosive hero, breasts spilling out of your tight black dress, thick and juicy thighs exposed to the fresh night air makes the whole ordeal worth it. oh you’re so cute, got katsuki’s cock stirring in his pants— his baggy hero costume suddenly becoming way too fucking tight for his liking. you’ll pay him back, he knows that you will, all of his fans do in some way or another.

you’ll be special though, if the smell of your saccharine cunt is anything to go by. slick dripping down your shaky thighs while he guides you down the empty street, and of course you’d be attracted to him. bakugou will have to indulge in you; his reward for being such a gentleman, for being your hero. “this ish me,” you squeak when the pair of you arrive at the door to your apartment complex. your words are smooshed together by your own drunken haze while you unlock the door to let yourself in.

how rude of you, forgetting all about dynamight who’d basically saved your life tonight. without much of a fight, bakugou pushes you against the door, effectively keeping it closed, his eyes cloud over— a storm thick with lust as you look up at him so innocently he could break. “not gonna invite me up, sweet stuff?” he coos, amused at the shiver that runs laps down the base of your spine. your thighs jump apart only just, giving the hero an opportunity to shove his hand up your dress to cup your sweet little cunt.

“i— i didn’t know—“ your mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, confusion etched so prettily across your face it makes bakugou want to bend you over and fill your hole to the brim. he’d save that for later though. “didn’t think you’d want to—“

the blonde growls, thick fingers easily finding your panties under that short dress of yours. the black lace is soaked to the bone, a sticky mess spreading across the digits that now pinch at your puffy clit. you jump and bakugou growls hungrily. “s’awfully rude don’cha think, sweet stuff? that’s okay though, i think you can reward me right fuckin’ here, don’chu?” a toothy smirk tugs at the hero’s lips when you dumbly nod in agreement, your body trembling from a mix of cold, neediness and excitement. “atta girl, spread those needy fuckin’ thighs for me then.”

you seem to have sobered up quickly, listening well for the hero that saved you and part your meaty thighs to let bakugou push your panties to the side and give him more access to your runny cunny. “p-please dynamight, d-do somethin,” comes your whiney voice as he lowers his to get a better view of your spread your pussy lips; he watches as your hole oozes just for him, desperate to filled and fucked. it’s too early for his cock, he needs to give you a taste of something else before you get drunk on him.

without warning, he pushes two of his expert fingers past your puckering entrance, immediately curling them in a come hither motion as his heated red eyes flicker up to watch your face. your ruby painted lips hang open in a silent moan while your fingers dig into bakugou’s shoulders so hard your nails form tears in his hero suit. “fuckin’ look atcha baby, barely even touched ya ‘n you’re already suckin’ down my fingers so greedily.” he snarls, sharp teeth coming down on your barley clothed breast.

bakugou’s thumb massages rough circles into your clit, pulling more honeyed cries from your lips as your eyes screw shut. “f-fuck, dynamight, need more of your touch, ‘m begging you please!” is all you can say, mindlessly babbling as you fail to keep yourself up right. the explosive pro hero steadies you with an arm wrapped around your waist, fingers curling again to explore more of your velvet walls.

“it’s katsuki, to you,” he barks out, using the arm around your waist to smack your sloppy cunt, the wet sound echoing across the street. “needy little thing, beggin’ me like this, who am i to deny your wishes?” bakugou grins, mercilessly scissoring his digits into your tight heat to stretch you wide open for him. he can’t believe his luck, the way you’re so pliant and responsive to him and him alone.

it’s too soon for him to be this addicted to your cute moans filling the crisp air but he can’t help himself, not when you clamp around his scarred fingers with every pump of them into your silken heat. not with the way your own fingers now curl in sun kissed blonde hair— pulling the hero upwards to suck on his bottom lip, followed by his tongue.

you cry out, the most beautiful sound katsuki’s every heard in all twenty years of living when his fingers press down hard on that gummy pleasure spot inside you, and like the good girl you are for him, you keep your shaky thighs open for him. “you’re such a good fuckin’ doll, letting me finger you out in the open like this, anyone could see us but you wouldn’t care, not when you’re creamin’ your panties for dynamight, right sweet thing?” bakugou’s lewd words go straight to your cunt, entangled with the squelching noises as he moves within you.

“yes! yes! wouldn’t care, don’ care...j-jus wanna cum for you, s-suki—fuck, please—“ you mewl into the night, doe eyes shimmering with tears as the knot in your lower tummy gets tighter and tighter until you can’t bare it anymore.

bakugou grins, curling his fingers once more to send you hurtling off of the edge. he can’t stop thinking about how soaked your little lace panties must be, about all the things he’s going to do with them once he gets them off of you.

“cum.” your pussy follows his orders for you, white flashing behind your eyes as a scream rips in your throat and shoots out into the quiet night. the knot in your stomach snaps, release splashing out against bakugou’s hand and hero suit— he makes you cum so hard you almost black out, a twitching mess in the hero’s arms.

when you finally come to, bakugou’s slurping your nectar off of his fingers, head cocked to the side as you shakily look up at him. “i, uh...t-thank you!” you breathe, blinking away the buzzing noise in the back of your head. “for...uh...”

you’re so cute, flushed with heat and slick dripping from between your legs. you obviously think that was a one time thing, but bakugou hasn’t finished cashing in his reward. the hero shakes his head, using a thumb and forefinger to tilt your own up to meet his ruby gaze. “give me your phone and take off your panties.” he orders, voice authoritative and never wavering— you’re confused, but don’t question him, just as a good girl should.

rooting around in your now discarded purse, you pull out and unlock your going for katsuki, who busies himself with your contacts. embarrassment crawls up your spine when you reach for your underwear, still wet with your arousal and release, you look to bakugou hesitantly. “do i have to—?”

“off.” he grunts, barely looking up from your device as you shimmy out of the lace garment and hand it to him. bakugou gives you the same evil smirk from earlier while you collect yourself against the door, sniffing the flimsily, wet material before shoving them into the pocket of his pants. his cock is hard as a fucking rock, but he’ll be able to deal with it appropriately after his patrol. “i’ll be keeping these. this is where we say g’night sweet stuff.”

the way you curl in on yourself, perhaps a bit humiliated at the idea of your panties being taken by the number two pro hero is adorable, and if he didn’t have patrol, katsuki would have eaten you up right then and there. “goodnight dynamight— i mean, k-katsuki, thank you for everything and h-have a safe night.” you squeak out quickly, moving to open the door again.

“not a problem, honey,” bakugou whispers with a lowered voice, pulling you in to swipe his tongue across your bottom lip, shoving his tongue down your throat in a kiss goodnight. “now get your cute ass upstairs, don’ want anyone to see your leaky cunt like this. that’s fuckin’ mine.”

you do as you’re told, bidding the hero one last farewell before dashing up the steps and into your apartment. your heart and mind race a thousand miles a minute, crazed with the fact that you had just been fingered to the best fucking orgasm of your life by the number two pro hero. you have to force yourself to shower, mapping out all of the spots that bakugou had touched you and growing giddy at the small burn marks he’d left against the inner workings of your thighs.

that night, or rather, early morning— you settle into the sheets, mind still plagued with thoughts of katsuki bakugou, when your phone pings with a text.

to: yn.

from: unknown.

— never got your name sweet stuff, care to tell me who’s name i’ll be moaning tonight?

( one attachment ).

your heartbeat thunders in your ears, familiar warm pooling between your legs yet again as you open the image— knowing that there can be only one person that it’s from. a quiet moan slips past your lips as the picture loads to reveal bakugou in your very same black lace panties from earlier— the slick from your release pressed up against his barely covered cock, while he jerks himself off, precum oozing from his blistering red tip.

you exhale, typing back your name and hitting send— thanking whatever higher power that lead katsuki bakugou to steal your fucking panties.

[a-drop-of-nightshade]

L witnessed the star’s death with open eyes, death was always a precious thing to him in the oddest way, he’d been so close to it many times he could touch it and yet he didn’t fear it, he welcomed and respected it. As the star died he became aware of its death in ways he couldn’t describe, he felt eyes from afar watching but a thread tugged and he had his suspicions as to what it was. Another alter perhaps? But he didn’t let it distract him as he felt lingering traces of manna being absorbed into his core, he silently prayed that whichever god governed the death of stars let it be known it was not alone in its final moments.

He listened to her and then smiled, “Really? Interesting choice.” He murmured, “And well, “You’ll have to see won’t you.” He whispered slowly he let go of her and got up, but he kept himself stood down her back was against his legs, he took some deep breaths and let his magic do the talking, he let it spread and flow and mingle and dance the purple light spread his eyes lit up like stars of their own, his core burned and radiated magic and he was pleasantly surprised at the reply, he bowed his head in respect, and then let his magic erupt up and out, as the colours burned and flared his own purple light wrapped around the very outmost of the explosion, it carefully nudged and coerced it into shape, he had the image in his mind and so he let it be.

L’s hands moved as if sculpting, true it couldn’t be seen just yet as he was simply shaping from the edges, but when the star was complete he would help its lingering nebula take its shape, mid leap, talons outstretched, feathered arms spread wide, a proud little beast, a memorial in the stars, a picture painted with permission and gratitude that it could symbolise such a thing. He was grateful, and he thanked the star for its beautiful death and assured it as it’s soul slipped beyond the aether that it would never be forgotten. As the lights died L let himself sink back to the floor, he flopped back on his back breathing a little hard, it had been really hard to stretch his magic that far and keep it all under control whilst holding up the force field and making sure the marshmallows were cooked so they were gooey and good, all whilst sculpting the nebula to the form of a feathered raptor that Izzy had described, “Ta-dah!” He croaked gesturing to the colourful shapes form the floor.

L took some deep slow breaths, it was fine he could do this, it wasn’t that scary. He hesitated at the door his body freezing up as he screamed internally, okay that was a lie, this was absolutely terrifying. He was wearing a pair of black jeans with chains hanging from the belt loops, he had a shirt on with the sleeves rolled up to reveal his tattoos, on his right arm he had a spiked cuff on and he had gotten his nails cleaned up and painted so they looked nice; he wore a black waist coat and the collar of the shirt was undone and he was wearing a spiked choker around his neck.

His long dual tone hair was brushed out and partially pulled back so it was half up and half down. He took a deep breath and then knocked on the door with fingers bearing rings, some with skulls others bands with Celtic knots. When the door opened he held the back of his neck and cracked a nervous smile, “Hey you ready?” He asked with a laugh, “oh uh… these are for you.” He held out a bouquet of roses, he was nervous that they wouldn’t have wanted to do this, but he had to admit he was really looking forwards to this date.

@blackparaderunner / @izzyfromdeadspace

[scaramouche-bully]

— ☆ General kink headcanons

Includes: Venti, Zhongli, and Sucrose.

[ Top ] Male reader

Contains: Exhibition, Barebacking, cum inflation, orgasm control, dumbification, somnophilia, face sitting, overstimulation, rough + gentle sex. 

[ masterlist ]

I’d like to mention now since I’ve been getting a lot of requests, not every post will be written the same. Some posts will just have headcanons while others may have extra writing at the end. It all depends on how much time I have to work on the fic so don't feel discouraged if it seems that I don't like your request.

— ☆ Venti

Exhibition

Venti is a performer first and foremost. He loves being the center of attention and showing off his singing voice, even if that singing is moans and sobs as you pound into his small frame.

He's a bit shameless and a tease. It can range from subtly rubbing your leg under the table to sitting and grinding on your lap right in the middle of a bar. He gets a rise out of seeing other people's hungry eyes on his frame and the possessive nature that overtakes you.

Being fucked in an alleyway when it's still daytime makes him cum so fast. You both could be so easily caught by one of the knights and he doesn't know how to keep quiet.

Constantly taunting you that you're being so dirty, even if he was the one that dragged out away from the main street to suck your cock, that you have to grip his braids and choke him with your dick to shut him up.

Barebacking/Cum inflation

The feeling of your cum leaking out of his loose hole has him in a mess. Venti will quickly use his fingers to try and shove your cum back inside him but he ends up making more of a mess.

He always wants you to cum inside him so he can feel that warmth fill him to his core. How his oversensitive walls milk your throbbing cock as you bite into his shoulder and paint his insides white. He can't get enough.

Venti has a relatively high libido but he tries his best to contain his urges. When you both haven't fucked in a while you cum so much that he can feel his stomach bulge a bit.

The heavy feeling as he rubs against it makes him silly that he'll walk around Mondstadt with your cum still inside him. He's lucky that his pants are loose and his stockings are white.

Rough but not too mean

While Venti loves riling you up, he still wants to have some say when you both fuck. Being a sub means being able to be bratty and he revels in that. Seeing just how hard you can slam into his prostate through his dirty words alone.

He also enjoys riding your dick in your lap too much for you to completely chain him down.

— ☆ Zhongli

Edging/Orgasm control

Zhongli is a man of patience and restraint. He's led his life with a professional face and an unbreakable resolve. So when you suddenly pull out, right as he's about to cum, he doesn't know how to handle it and slowly breaks.

It's such a dramatic shift from his routine that he grows to become obsessed over it. For once, not being in control and letting himself become stupid. He just has to listen to you and only you.

Even when it hurts too much, the rough drag of your cock against his prostate and his throbbing dick is begging to be released from the cock ring you have on him, he loves it.

When you finally let him cum, his face is red as he cums harder than he ever has in his life. He's dizzy as he grips tightly onto you as his orgasms stretches on for so long that he's sobbing that he might die. You've officially wrecked him beyond relief.

Somnophilia

Waking up to his throat horse from unconsciously moaning, his hole loose and open, and the small tears that cling to his eyelashes make him shudder violently.

The feeling of your cum dribbling out of him and the new bruises that paint his skin has his soft cock twitching back to life. He thinks of what you're doing now? After pounding into him and treating him like a cock sleeve, did you go about your day as if nothing happened?

He's still in a sleepy haze when he wakes up in a mating press. His mind is still catching up as he makes soft whines as his insides turn to mush.

He's so compliant and lax when he first wakes up. The hard slaps of your hips against him that push his body higher and higher feel like soft rocks to his mind. He ends up falling back asleep and dealing with the aftermath in the morning.

Rough

Feel free to break him. He can take it. He was the God of War after all. Seeing the bruises and marks you put on him makes him feel happy that you don't consider him above you in any way.

The meaner you are, the dumber he becomes, and that's pure bliss to Zhongli. When he's working on important papers, he thinks about how you've fucked him stupid over this very same desk. He can't wait to go home now.

— ☆ Sucrose

Facesitting

Sucrose tries her best to hide it but the image of sitting on your face as you eat her out makes her so wet. You don't even take her clothes off properly, you just part her thighs and flip her skirt up before you start your assault.

She tries her best to steady herself above your mouth, making sure she isn’t suffocating you with her thighs or isn’t crushing you with her weight. It’s endearing that she cares so much but you just want her to let go and treat your face like a seat.

Gripping the swell of her thighs, slipping your fingers into her stockings, then pulling her cunt right on your mouth has her squealing. She’s gasping for air as she cums too quickly that she has to take a moment to catch her breath.

After coming down from her high, she squeaks when she feels your tongue dig back inside her even when she just came. Her cunt is too sensitive and she’s desperately trying to squirm away but with the bruising grip you have on her hips, she ends up humping your face instead and cumming a second time.

Overstimulation

Sucrose may seem shy and nervous when she’s out in public but when you’re overstimulating her? She ends up snapping and going feral. At first, she’s so cute and sensitive. She's begging you to please slow down. That she just came.

Hasn’t she been good? Her cat ears are turned down as she looks up at you with hopeful eyes, it almost makes you feel bad when you push further and further. Until she snaps.

She’s reversing your positions on you and aggressively bouncing onto your cock. When you try and calm her down she pushes you onto your back and tells you to be quiet and take it.

Even with the sudden burst of confidence, Sucrose is shaking and whimpering as she makes small bounces on your cock. Everything feels so good as she moans into your mouth as you both kiss.

Gentle

While she may enjoy being pushed to her limit, she doesn't want you to be too mean. She's a gentle girl inside and out so even when you're stuffing her, the gentle kisses you give her as you try and comfort the stretch? She get's so embarrassed that her face goes completely red.

If she could feel her legs she would have ran away but with how soft you are on her, It makes her heart feel warm that she bares with it.

[yanderart]

Another installment in my yandere pov series, and inspired by a few anon requests I got to paint dabi. 

Below the cut, as customary, is a one-shot I wrote for the backstory behind the portrait (Dabi x reader, 3k, dark themes). Hope y’all enjoy 🖤

Tws: nsfw, noncon, hinted kidnapping, inner turmoil. Overall nastiness.

   Staring at the marred back of the man lying beside you, eyes following the billowing pattern of his scars, it was easy to pretend you two were just another couple sleeping side by side. Pretend that you weren’t in a ratty motel room hidden away from the world, on a mattress that creaked with any slight shift of movement, and with the bitter taste of fear resting below your tongue.

   Pretend that he loved you, just like you loved him. Fantasize that it wasn’t the type of complicated infatuation corroded by trauma filled pasts, by bitterness and the phantom of brokered trusts.

  But then Dabi turned, the hitch in his breath warning you of his now alert state, and when his cobalt eyes held your stare all illusions were promptly shattered. Wishful words died on your lips before they even had the chance of being born, the frown on his face deepening as his arms circled around you, drawing you close.

   You tried to leave your mind blank then as he pressed your face into his chest, wishing it was easier to tune him out while he muttered lazy words against the shell of your ear. 

   “What happened, Princess?”, Dabi’s sluggish smile dragged the corner of his mouth upwards, making you feel the unmistakably texture of his metallic staples digging into the side of your face, “Are you lonely?”, He was mocking you, of course, and yet it was hard to not identify the hopefulness that hid behind his jest. 

   A hopefulness that went hand to hand with his need, with the sharp line of his body enveloping you and a rapidly hardening length heating up your lower abdomen. 

   A tremble shook you, prompting you to curse beneath your breath as a low chuckle was drawn from the man holding you. 

   “Or were you cold?”, and he was still teasing you, elated in your humiliation. 

   Because you were naked in his grasp, without even a blanket to aid you or any other heating present in the musty motel room. He had refused you any covers from day one, taking away what little you owned in terms of clothing and citing the fact that you needed not hide away from his glare. But you knew the truth behind his meager explanations, the reasons why he so rejoiced in seeing you exposed and trembling.

   In the death of winter, with the cold biting at your skin and the air feeling suffocating in its humidity, he was your only source of warmth.

   It became impossible not to let out a reluctant sound of relief as he dragged his palm through your sides, heating up your skin with languid movements. Although you were luckily way past the point of feeling any embarrassment at your own willingness to stop the cold, past the point of blaming your body for reacting in the way your captor had conditioned it to do so. 

   “Want me to warm you up, then”, Dabi muttered now at the base of your neck, his breath hot and almost painful as it grazed your nearly frozen skin, “Princess was so cold she couldn't even wait for me to wake up on my own, is that it?” 

   He wasn’t even expecting an answer at that point, just talking for his own sake as your shaking became even more pronounced, getting off on forcing you to hear whatever sadistic taunts his mind provided. Unwittingly pressing yourself against him as you tried to wiggle out of his grasp (dumb girl, should’ve known better than to think you would ever get away), by the time you felt the twitching of his bulge against your stomach it was too late to try and pull back. 

   His hands were pressing you down from the small of your back before you had a chance to think of voicing any discomfort, his sarcastic laughter turned into a low rumble as he proceeded to roll his own hips into you, angling you with ease so that he was pushing against a much more sensible spot lower down.  

   With your face away from him, it was too late for you to trick yourself into zoning things out. All you could see was the dirty mattress you were forced to lay on as he continued to mutter against your pulse, the rough texture of nails diving into your flesh as he coaxed you into following his movements, setting a cadence for you both as he continued to rut into you through the thin fabric of his boxers.

   All you could feel was the disgust climbing from your gut, the burning sensation of tears you hadn’t been able to shed since your very first few weeks with Dabi. 

   “I’ll warm you up, baby”, he was whispering as one of his hands crept up your stomach, tickling your ribs with its blazing touch and making you wonder if you were about to get marked again. He sounded so utterly pleased with himself, so absolutely content, that your mind was quick to conjure up images of blue flames licking at your flesh, of the barely fading scars that littered your entire body. 

   He took one of your breasts into his grasp then and snapped you away from your lingering memories, kneading it slowly, almost carefully, before his fingers made contact with the sensible bud of your nipple. Again, it would’ve been so easy to get lost in that sensation, in that revering touch, if your circumstances didn’t make it anything short of horrifying.

   (But you were warming up already, weren’t you? Your cunt reacting despite the disgust and horror you proclaimed, slick gathering as it greedily prepared for the impending intrusion. What a liar you were, Princess.)

   He continued his lethargic rhythm as his fingers toyed with your chest, teasing himself (teasing you both), before taking his other hand away from your lower back. You were trained enough not to try getting away from Dabi by that point, knowing better than to fight the inevitable, but it was still hard not to feel shame bubbling back up as you found your own hips stuttering down to meet his out of reflex.  

   In his hands, your own body became the deadliest weapon he could wield against you.

  (Yet you’re enjoying this, you like this. Therefore, you must like him too, right?)

   His now vacant arm slid up until he was roughly grasping your jaw. He angled your face down to stare into his gaze, into his scarred face and parted lips that morphed into a perfect picture of lust riddled reverence. And seeing the longing in those orbs was far crueler than all of his jests, all of the degradation and threats. Far scarier, too. 

   “Kiss me, Princess”, he commanded then, his stern voice almost succeeding at hiding away an eagerness you knew lurked beneath. 

    And you did, because you knew the consequences you’d otherwise face. You dived down to capture his lips in a mechanical way, moving dispassionately (or that’s what you tried telling yourself, as in denial as you were) until he took over. Much in the same way he had coached your hips earlier, the hand in your jaw instructed you with light movements until a pleased sound left the back of his throat. 

   “So willing for me”, he praised in a hushed tone as he briefly broke away, voice grave and dripping with desire. 

    And just like before, it wasn’t long before he decided you were well enough accustomed to the action, and then the grip holding your jaw was once more moving downwards, his scorching touch now merely tickling you as a palm pressed against your stomach, massaging your flesh as it continued its path to the same place his thrusts were directed at. 

   Your breath caught in your throat then, eyes closing as you tried to preemptively contain your emotions. 

   Dabi did not appreciate that. 

   “Look at me”, he uttered with a dark edge, a heavy order to loom over your quivering shoulders. 

   But you kept your eyes tightly shut, feeling fingers snaking between your legs and tracing the outside of your cunt as they quickly became dampened by the wetness gathering there. The squelching sound of his digits dipping inside your folds only made you cringe further, so focused as you were into keeping immobile and quiet. 

   You wanted to disappear. (You wanted to open your eyes and moan).

   Confronted with your tenacious refusals to comply, one of his fingers made its way to your hidden nub as a response, proceeding to mercilessly rub against it before he gave you any time to become accustomed. The spiralling stimulation made it difficult not to visibly shake. There was nothing teasing or slow about his movements, unrefined and harsh, yet you thought you could feel Dabi’s frustration at your stubbornness through that touch alone. 

   “Look at me before I decide that just humping your needy cunt won’t do”, he threatened, his own words breathless and hoarse.

   Which did give you a moment of trepidation as you tried and failed at ignoring his assault on your body. Your hands were now clenched into fists against his chest, nails digging into your own flesh while his fingers delved deeper inside you. They stretched you in a way which felt uncomfortably pleasant, quickly finding your tender spots in a practiced manner. 

   “C'mon, you don't have to make it harder. You've been so good for me lately, so sweet", and despite the terrible nature of his words, the slight softening of his tone had a terrible effect on you. 

   His words scared you, terrified you, and yet the backhanded compliment only made you more lightheaded, helping the unwilling pressure steadily building up due to his quick and nimble fingers. 

   You didn't notice his face getting closer, his breaths coming in hot puffs against the skin of your tender neck, but you did feel his lips as they closed against the crook of it, his teeth as they scrapped carelessly before claiming that same spot in a painful show of dominance. 

   You were trembling now despite a part of you still commanding your eyes shut. Inside you, his digits felt warm, so filling already, and you couldn’t help clasping around them despite your attempts at ignoring any unwanted excitement. 

  (Were you seriously going to cum on the fingers of your captor? Of the man whose face now plagued your nightmares, whose voice never left your conscious mind? My, my, what a hypocrite of a whore you were.)

   “Mine”, you thought you heard Dabi whisper as his love bites continued littering your skin “My princess.”

   And wasn't it fitting, how his awful nickname for you was the last thing you heard before his fingers achieved their goal. Two of them were slamming in and out of you, filling the room with horrible wet noises that you had unsuccessfully been trying to tune out, and a third one still insistently toyed with your clit. 

   It was fast, it was relentless, and your eyes were shooting open without your permission as a choked moan finally escaped your tightly shut mouth. You shook while you came, opening your fists against your assailant's chest and trying to ignore the pungent taste of shame as you found purchase on his shoulders instead. 

   From the back of your conscience, still overwhelmed by the shots of pleasure shaking your core (by his fingers that hadn't stopped for a second, insisting on accompanying you through your orgasm), you thought you heard a satisfied hum coming from the man holding you. 

   And as the pleasure numbed slowly, as the sensations turned painful while he refused to leave your oversensitive sex, Dabi was finally exiting the cover of your neck and his cerulean eyes were finding yours again. 

   There was a satisfied smirk in his lips, his expression almost soft if it weren’t for the hidden glimmer you had learned to tell apart.

   “Now, now”, he cooed at you as he continued to force your body into overstimulation, sobs fighting to exit your throat now instead of the unsolicited moan from earlier, “I knew you’d be good. You always listen to me now after all, don't you, Princess", his other hand had started kneading your other breast, left neglected until now, and your body was so unbearably hot by that point that you would have gladly welcomed back the terrible winter cold, “You'd do whatever I ask of you, wouldn’t you?”

   It was hard to think, hard to respond as the last vestiges of your pride still leaked out of you and facilitated his relentless attack on your flesh. Your nipple was being pinched roughly, only adding to the pain of being overstimulated.

   (But you were feeling It again, right? The tell-tales of your arousal awakening for a second time. So eager to please him, to be obedient despite whatever objections you claimed to harbor). 

   Another tug at your chest, this time nails lightly digging in, and you were slapped out of your dazed state into answering with rushed words. 

   “I'll do whatever you ask, Dabi”, your voice felt foreign to you, so small, so docile, “but make it stop. Don’t...”, a sound resembling a cry fought its way out through your sentence, one which neither of you knew if it was from discomfort or a pleasure quickly gearing its head back up, “make it stop, please.”

   He was so fucking satisfied to hear your meek little pleads again then, relishing on them like a man starved after so long of your stubborn refusals to speak. To his ears, it sounded like the chorus of heavenly angels descending from the heavens to reach him. He, who if there even was such a thing as Heaven, would be better fit for the scorching flames down below. 

   And that's when you felt it again, the threat of his now bare cock coming to rest against your pussy. It was a tentative probe, almost clumsy without hands to aid him in his search, and his fingers did not ease their assaults for even a second as you tried not to feel betrayed.

   (But did you really believe he would keep his word? That he'd just hump you like an eager virgin when he knew the alluring slickness waiting to hug him, to welcome him back? You were even dumber than you looked.)

    “I know I promised", he admitted while you felt his warm erection pressing slightly, teasingly, against your slit, your own body starting to reach its second cusp without the time to even completely get down from the first, “but you took too long this time, Princess. You were being such a brat…”

   And it was almost poetically ironic, how your second orgasm hit as his fingers relented and his cock finally entered you in their place. It stretched you in a way which was no longer painful but filling (it didn’t make you cry, having you fruitlessly trying to find anything to ground yourself to as it tore you apart. Not anymore anyways). You sighed and moaned while being stuffed full, finally giving in despite any apprehension, and your pussy took him in and hugged him tight as a response. It distracted you from the shame, the guilt, the remorse, and before long your keening was filling the room with its eagerness. 

   “Maybe next time”, he kept groaning against your ear, now both hands going down to grab at the supple globes of your ass, persuading your pliant body into follow the rhythm he was easily setting, “if you're better then, if you…”, even for him it was becoming harder to talk, entranced as he was by the welcoming hold of your inner walls, “if you don't wake me up, if you aren’t so needy. Maybe then, fuck.”

   You were still cumming as his halfhearted promises mingled with his excuses, as he became lost in his own pleasure, in using you as he saw fit. And, lost as you were in the sensations, you were foolish enough to think them true for a moment.

   Maybe next time, you repeated to yourself as his thrust become frantic. His grip on your ass turned painful as he lost sight of the force he was using, his palms heating inadvertently and your skin sizzling below them. You'd have more marks once all was said and done, more patterns to add to your growing collection. 

   Maybe next time he woke up he'd let you go. Maybe he'd finally understand love was not a prison nor a leash. Maybe next time he would ask for your forgiveness, understanding all the trauma and horror he was forcing you to endure. 

  (Or maybe you'd be the one asking for penance, kneeling in front of him and finally seeing him in the way he so desired. Maybe you would start understanding the dimension of his efforts then, of his love for you that he knew not how to show otherwise. A love that scared him as much as it damaged you.)

   As his hoarse moans mingled with your own, you were too drunk on your own fantasies to even attempt to squirm away before he was filling you up with his seed, your walls still convulsing around him as your body stayed attentive, pliant and tender. His lips were kissing you, licking you in poor attempt at providing comfort, and yet you felt a hopeful smile turning the corners of your lips ever so slightly. 

   So many things could happen next time. And anything would be better than this, right? Feeling his cum coating your insides as a litany of nonsense left Dabi's mouth, his softening cock refusing to leave and allow any drop to leak out. Anything had to be better than being owned, being conquered. 

   (So naïve you were, the only person you had gotten good at convincing was your damn self.)

   “Love you, princess", his head was buried in your neck again, his favorite place in your body to hide in while he slowly rocked you both, “so fucking much.”

   And in his own twisted way, as much as you wanted to fight and argue, you didn't doubt his words. Such a twisted love it was, but unquestionable in his burning desire. 

   Even as it charred you to a crisp, leaving nothing but ashes behind and deadlier than anything his quirk might subject you to. 

   Dabi loved you, his sweet little princess, and maybe if you weren't so stubborn you could start loving him back. 

****

Probably the longest one-shot I've posted alongside a portrait so far, since I'm still getting comfortable with the length of my writings (still cant believe people read and enjoy these lol). And special thanks to my pals @reinawritesbnha, @coyambition and @snappysnapo for lending me a pair of eyes before posting 🖤 love y'all !

🥀 Requests/Suggestions OPEN 🥀

[sweetbunnykook]

Only You (10)

Word Count: 11,267 // [SPOILER IN WARNINGS] angst (mention of double homicide, gore/blood, miscarriage, mistreatment of a corpse, panic attack, meltdown, blackmail, gun, abuse), toxic relationship, manipulation

Photographer!Jungkook X Noona!Reader

Summary: Jeon Jungkook, your wedding photographer, helps you escape on your big day upon learning about a secret your groom-to-be kept hidden. You soon fall for this young, passionate photographer. However, you underestimated just how much he was willing to reciprocate that love. Maybe, you think, he’s loving you just a little too much.  

A/N: Thank you for waiting so long! Please let me know if you enjoyed this chapter if you want to. Enjoy! - 🐰

The distant sound of television in your living room.

‘We bring breaking news…Kim Namjoon, the heir of…yesterday morning…in questioning…accessory of the crime…kidnapping and killing of pregnant fiancée…found motive…’

The splatter of blood on his skin, the taste of blood on your tongue. Your whole world melts into a puddle of red. You feel him inside you, around your throat, his grip tightening, his kisses searing against your lips to pin your tongue underneath his.

A whisper against your ear.

‘You’ve made me the happiest man in the world, noona.’

You wake up with a start, gasping for air as you reach over to where Jungkook should be only to be met with a gray rabbit plushie. It has been a week since the night your life changed. Whether for the best or the worse, you can’t tell just yet. You rub a hand over your stomach where you’re cramping, taking deep breaths through your nose and exhaling through your lips to calm the panic of hearing and seeing red in your dreams once more. The brain is a relentless organ. No matter how much you force yourself to forget, to justify the past, to let your anger roam free, your dreams follow you as soon as your body succumbs to exhaustion.

Jungkook gifted you a bottle of melatonin for such nights but it was rather hard to sleep when every thought goes back to the sound of Yori’s lifeless body swallowed by the rustle of a black plastic trash bag. It’s a stark dichotomy from the images you have of her in her soft chiffon dresses, bleached hair swaying in the wind, her lithe frame moving effortlessly between the trees in your family garden. To think that you would lose her in such a way is unfathomable even when there is a sick, hideous part of you that felt almost relieved that you’re alone at last. Her existence only served as a reminder of your humiliation. 

It’s why you’d spent so many weeks and months back then cursing her – hoping she miscarry during your most vulnerable nights, hoping Namjoon would leave her for another woman so she gets a taste of how you’ve suffered; yet when the day comes when she’s truly gone, your heart and mind is restless. 

As your stomach settles, the residual guilt rising like bile up your throat gives you a newfound reason to tell yourself you’re still very much a good person. You’re still the woman Jungkook loves for your understanding and hardworking spirit. Partly feeling guilt towards her death meant you still loved her in your true, good nature – or at least you love the memory of what she used to mean to you. The girl you remembered – the girl who would make crowns for you with wildflowers, paint your sleeping form, talk about all the men she wrapped around her fingers – was long gone before you found her lying at the end of a staircase. Your mother can’t kill someone who was already dead in your eyes. 

The body your boyfriend stuffed in his freezer didn’t deserve your kindness nor repentance. It’s why you were able to waltz right into work the next morning from Jungkook’s studio, drinking the same cup of coffee at your desk, working the same files, and mentoring interns with a smile albeit the sudden panic episodes had caused you to empty your stomach after each meal.

You’ve run out of fingernails to bite. You’d expected the world to crumble and fall at your feet in the following days but everything feels oddly normal. The sun still rose. Flowers still bloomed. And Jungkook still loved you. 

Sitting at the edge of the bed, the thin sheen of sweat on your body makes the valley down your spine tingle, prompting you to reach back to scratch your skin raw. When you look over at the nightstand, the red digital numbers on your clock glare into your irises through the sleep haze – it’s barely two o’clock in the morning. With a groan, you stretch an arm towards the floor and pull Jungkook’s shirt towards your feet before bringing it to your chest. The half-buttoned cotton still smells like him. Like comfort.

When you slip the black long-sleeved shirt over your head and roll it down your body, buttoning up to cover your chest, you’re struck with the realization that tonight is the night Jungkook must finish the job. He hasn’t left your side since the accident, treating you with the utmost care, his prying eyes following your every move to the point you ended up pressing your lips against his each and every time just to cease his worries. His fingers melt like butter on your skin when he cups your jaw in search of any anxieties you might have hidden from him. It’s evident that he’s in awe and in confusion at your strength. Maybe he thought too highly of your capacity for forgiveness; like the loud saccharine-faced women you work with, you’re just a tantalizing red apple infested with rot beneath. 

And it’s with that very same façade you faced the detectives. 

The police came knocking at your door two days ago. Jungkook promptly informs you that there was nothing you need to worry about for now except keeping your composure. 

The two men explained the situation – a vague description about Yori’s disappearance, suspicion with Namjoon’s prolonged stay abroad, and odd evidence that she may be kidnapped or blackmailed – just as Jungkook predicted. You feigned passive concern as they took your statement about the last time you saw your former friend, inquired about the wedding incident, and noted the places she could be from your childhood memories. You answered every question with the calmness of an experienced storyteller, comforted when Jungkook confirmed your alibi with his hand wrapped around your fingers to keep you grounded when you trembled. A few angelic tears you shed hearing about Yori softened the mens’ heart although they didn’t have a single inkling of a different kind of fear buried inside you now that there is an investigation ongoing. 

There was something about the glimmer of their handcuffs that made you fear for Jungkook playing the role of the clueless but supportive boyfriend like a seasoned actor. The thought of the men pinning your boyfriend on the ground and ripping him away from you had you hurling digested dinner over the toilet shortly after they left. Your tears must have done much of the heavy lifting during the interrogation that even Jungkook had asked if you were feeling alright, thumbs rubbing back and forth over your cold, wet cheeks. 

You can’t live without him and if he were to be taken away from you, you wouldn’t know what to do. You’ve learned to fear his absence more than his capability for murder. Such thoughts threaten to cut the last strings of sanity holding you together. 

Despite Jungkook being there for you every step of the way, he was powerless when it comes to protecting you from the stench of office gossip that you must endure for the sake of calming suspicions about your outside activities. It was obvious what your coworkers thought of you as soon as the news came flooding about Yori’s sudden disappearance. Whether you feign concern or not, there have already been rumors about a sabotaged pregnancy. Their fake kindness and whispers gave you the freedom to look as disastrous as you feel. 

If only they knew that the true reasons for your sunken eyes and weight loss are far, far beyond their comprehension. If only they knew you were on your hands and knees scrubbing bodily fluids; the longer their mouths yapped, the more you thought about the red on your fingertips, how satisfying it felt to watch it spiral down the drain.

The first week was grueling but the second week – this week – when the voices of the two detectives, blood-filled memories, and buried dreams resurface, you’re completely cornered. Oh, how much you crave Jungkook’s touch, his gentleness, his ability to read your mind and body even more now that he’s gone to settle your debts. 

You take your cellphone resting on the nightstand next to the digital clock, place the rabbit plushie under your arm, and make your way out of the bedroom. The condo is dead silent except for the muffled cracklings of vehicles running over pebbles on the highway nearby. It’s awfully cold but the sight of the fridge makes you clench your jaw and turn towards the couch, sliding onto the padded surface when another pang of panic hits your stomach, leaving you to press your abdomen inwards with the heel of your palm. You grab your laptop from the dirty coffee table with your free hand and place it on your lap, cursing once more when your nerves refuse to ignore the coolness of the aluminum surface. You squeeze the soft fur ears of the plushie, but it doesn’t feel the same as holding onto your boyfriend’s fingers in times of need. 

It’s cold in the room, you note once more, but Yori’s body curled in Jungkook’s freezer is even colder. 

Would he let her thaw before burying her? Would he burn her somewhere in the woods? Dump her in a lake? Would he admire her beauty first and brush his fingers down her cold cheeks, feeling pitiful about the woman who humiliated you just because she was carrying a child? 

You shake your head, watching the laptop come to life. You need a distraction. Any kind of distraction to forget that your boyfriend and Yori might be alone in a room right now as if they’re on a little date.

The cramp twisting your innards isn’t caused by panic this time. It’s jealousy. 

… 

Taehyung is exhausted to the marrow of his bones. If he didn’t consider Jungkook to be his only family left, he would never have flown to South Korea on such short notice. It’s expensive to leave clients on hold when he’s spending a fortune every month lining bribery pockets. He hopes Jungkook is prepared to work without pay for the next month. Judging by how eager the younger man is to see him, he decided to cut him some slack in the end. That’s what families do. 

Right now, Taehyung is only annoyed to find out that his partner – who had already left the refrigerated room – brought his least favorite pliers when he asked her to lay the tools on the table next to the body. The pliers are black but coppered with rust and prone to slips with its slippery silicone padding resting where his gloved fingers would go. He doesn’t even know when or how he came across such an awful tool but he’ll have to make do. 

He turns back to Jungkook who is sitting on a plastic-covered stool across him on the other side of the body, brows scrunched together as he looks down at the nude woman’s slightly protruding but stiff stomach. There’s no sense of discomfort on his face; a good sign, Taehyung notes, as it has been some time since Jungkook has dealt with a body. Yet he finds himself uncomfortable when looking down at the vicious woman he’d heard an earful about. It’s not a good omen to cut open a pregnant woman, not when Jungkook has been preparing for parenthood ever since he dumped your birth control down the toilet. 

“Are you sure it’s wise to leave her alone?”

Jungkook scratches behind his ears, watching Taehyung’s fingers pry open Yori’s frozen mouth to reach her teeth. The older man places a balled cloth inside the mouth before lining the plier towards the molars, gripping the frozen teeth between the iron clamps before yanking the tool to one side. The tooth pops out with a crisp snap, leaving a deep black hole in Yori’s pale gums. Freezing her made cleaning extremely easy – Taehyung can’t help but pat himself in the back when Jungkook seemed to remember all that he’s taught him about the work. He is, however, a bit disgusted that the body was kept in the same fridge as food. Hell, even an experienced butcher like himself has some decency not to do such a thing.  

“I think it’s fine,” Jungkook murmurs, watching Taehyung’s sturdy hands yank each tooth out of her gums with razor-sharp precision. “She’s been sleeping better than the first week so I don’t think she’ll be awake by the time I get back.”

“She’s not like us,” Taehyung scolds, his baritone voice low. A puff of smoke dissipates in the cool air as he speaks. The younger man lowers his head; there should be a limit to the favors he ask for and he’d crossed professional boundaries one too many times. “It’s a big risk you’re taking.”

Jungkook juts his lower lip out like a child filled with remorse. “I know, hyung. But...I trust her and she trusts me. Or else we wouldn’t have gotten this far.”

Taehyung hums at that, finding it rather odd that a girl with a fine upbringing had the guts to do cleaning work (poorly as expected, according to Jimin showing up with the rest of his crew to spot-clean the rest).

“Trust can be an expensive thing, Jungkook.”

Desperate to appease the older man, Jungkook snaps his gloves in place and reaches over to take an electric saw in his hand, watching the silver glimmer under the lights before standing. He waits until Taehyung finishes the removal, placing the teeth neatly in a plastic cup, before lining the blades to Yori’s pale neck and quickly sawing down her esophagus. The saw groans as it hits her spine but with Taehyung’s palms pushing the saw down further, Yori’s head comes apart clean from the rest of her torso. Under the sharp blue lights her insides look tar black. Such a pretty exterior holding such ugliness inside of her, Jungkook thinks, before he shakes the thought away.

Her beauty can never be compared to you. You’re a goddess. And her? A mere insect to put back into the earth. Yori had caused you immense pain and he would see to it that she will be treated with utmost disrespect.  

“What’s your plan after this?”

Jungkook moves the woman’s hair away from her face then removes the cloth from inside her mouth. He then pushes her jaw up to cover her black gums. 

“I’m going to try to convince her to leave work for a while. Hopefully...she’ll be pregnant by then and it’ll make it easier for her to marry me.”

Taehyung nods. “Then?”

“T-Then…” Jungkook nibbles on his lower lip. Something about Taehyung’s gaze makes his insides queasy and he doesn’t know whether it’s because the older man is upset or just exhausted. With a poker face like his, with eyes that sink deeper than an eternal labyrinth, it’s difficult to tell. He settles on the most comfortable answer. “Then we’ll live like a normal family. Maybe after she gives birth we can buy a house instead and live near the sea like we used to.”

It’s not a definite answer, but it will do for now. When you regain confidence that life will continue on as it always had, it should be smooth sailing from there. Namjoon or Jin have been a threat but once the baby comes they’ll know better than to approach you again.

Taehyung’s assistant comes back into the room with a soft smile. She glances down at the decapitated woman briefly before walking towards the incinerator in the far corner. Like clockwork she appears once there is a twenty minute time limit before the room reverts back to a comfortable temperature. Jungkook’s freezer preserved the body enough that they can pull apart Yori’s limbs and burn each piece separately; the burning will be handled by her but dismemberment is intimate, a family bonding type of activity that re-establishes their brotherhood.

“Are you happy you’ll have a family soon? Does it bring you joy?”

The younger man nods, lips trembling softly as he looks down at the severed head. His cold breath fans over Yori’s eyelids. “Yes, I am. Very. It’s all I ever wanted. ”

Taehyung stares. From the scar on the left cheek to the mole under his lips, he watches Jungkook as the younger man saws through the arms, letting the frozen limbs fall to the plastic-covered floor with a rustle and blunt thud. Once all four limbs are torn apart on the floor, he lines the saw down the navel just above the slight hill of Yori’s protruding belly. Just as he moves to switch on the saw, Taehyung grips his wrist with a tightness that alarms Jungkook.

They look at each other, truly look at each other in the darkness.

“Will you ever tell her the truth?”

Jungkook jaw tightens as he holds the older man’s gaze. His fingers are going numb, not from the cold but from the grip around his wrist.

The question causes him to chuckle incredulously. One small step and everything can fall apart like a house of cards. The risk he is taking burning someone closely associated with you can pull them both back into the times when they lived like rodents; hidden from light, at risk of being poisoned every step of the way out from the ground.

When Taehyung doesn’t mirror him, he falters. “…What use will it be if we tell her? She doesn’t have to know anything about me.”

“Is it because you’re afraid she’ll be hurt or afraid she might leave if you do?”

The reaction is immediate. Jungkook’s brows come together and he lays the saw on top of the torso, releasing a harsh exhale as he desperately pushes back tears. Taehyung expected the reaction; it’s what he was aiming for in the first place. The minute he walked in the room and saw Jungkook smiling happily in the distance he knew the boy has taken his delusions too far. He’s willing to oblige with the many ridiculous requests in helping him secure you as a wife, but he’s not a hopeless romantic. He doesn’t believe in soulmates and pure, perfect love that Jungkook pines for. There is only so much luck Jungkook can depend on before you stumble upon something you shouldn’t have. With a criminal bond, the stakes have never been higher.  

The boy takes his bottom lip under his teeth. “She won’t leave me.”

“Answer the question.”

“She loves me, okay? That’s all I need.”

He peels his arm away from Taehyung and brings both hands behind his head, burying his face in between the elbows. He turns away towards the concrete wall, his temples pounding from how hard his teeth are clenched. Couldn’t Taehyung just be happy for him? Couldn’t he take time away to celebrate this victorious night?

The reality is that two people who love each other may still never truly know each other. Just like how he doesn’t know the true reason why you wanted him as you watch him from the balcony in silence all those months ago, you won’t know why he can’t tell you everything about his upbringing. There’s no doubt that you would see his lies as betrayal, perhaps even worse than what Yori did because he made you believe he worshipped the ground you walked on (and it’s the truth). If you learned that the doe-eyed boyfriend part of him is dramatized, your heart will take irreversible damage. He had shown what it meant to be in love, to have a place where you both can call home, to care for each other through sickness and crime. He can’t ruin that illusion. Not when he’s this close to taking you away from everyone you’ve ever known.  

“The fire is ready.”

He brings his arms back down to his sides and turn towards the assistant who stands with her hands clasped in front of her as she looks between him and Taehyung.

When neither of them move, she kicks opens the incinerator and releases a waft of hot air towards the thawing body. Jungkook turns back to the body and kick the limbs towards the fire. He grabs Yori’s head by the hair and tosses it towards the limbs, wondering if you would still love him if you saw him now in a grimy lab coat, reeking of frozen flesh. You most likely won’t. You most likely will be disgusted with him, your eyes might resemble his mother’s, peering at him as if you couldn’t waste one more second breathing the same air as him.

“I’m scared,” he whispers at last, walking towards the torso on the table. He places his hand over the blood-stained stomach. The baby didn’t deserve this death, he thinks, but it would have ended up as miserable as he was when he was a child.

“I don’t know how not to be scared. That’s why I…I’m doing all of this for her. It’s why I still can’t tell her everything even if we’re tied together now. But…but I’m…we’re still men, right? We’re not monsters who do this for fun. We do this to protect the people we love.”

The older man puts his hand over Jungkook’s on the cold stomach and rubs his thumb over his knuckles. The younger man relaxes a bit more now that he understands Taehyung isn’t frustrated or upset that he put them all in danger, only concerned.  

Taehyung’s life’s purpose has been to protect this boy and now it’s Jungkook’s turn to protect the woman he’d fallen for. It’s all the more cruel that the woman Jungkook believes to be his soulmate came from wealth, from prestige, from a family that may be dysfunctional but more often than not normal. It pains him that he’s willing to live the rest of his life under a façade just to keep the illusion of a perfect romance alive. If only Taehyung could have convinced him that the beautiful couples in movies aren’t real, that the men in those movies are not like them and the women in those movies are not perfect little angels he think you are.

But that’s a battle Jungkook has chosen to fight and he could do nothing but support. That’s what families do.

“We’re not monsters,” Taehyung finally speaks at last as he walks towards the limbs and crouches down to the open incinerator. He brushes his long fingers along the metal edge, letting the tips of his fingers burn pink. His deep brown eyes reflect the orange hue of the fire yet his pupils welcomed no light. “But we’re damn close.”

…

Your skin prickles with goosebumps as you gulp down the remaining ice cold water from the fridge, laying your forehead on the door handle. It’s unbearably hot and cold at once and you’re growing impatient as the minutes tick by and you’re still alone.

It doesn’t take long to bury a body, does it? Jungkook never specified what he was going to do. Maybe the reason why it’s taking too long is because he’s driving far into the woods but your heart pangs in worry at the thought of a witness catching sight of him hunched over with a shovel. He seemed confident when he left (in your sleepy haze you don’t remember clearly) that the thought went away as quickly as it came. Your boyfriend can be meticulous; there’s a high chance that he’s taking extra precautions. He probably isn’t calling because he assumes you’re still asleep. He’d tucked you in and kissed you on the forehead, only murmuring something about being back soon and bringing back breakfast.

You set the glass down in the sink and walk past the kitchen counter, halting in your steps when you find your purse laying haphazardly next to the fruit basket. It’s been there since the police came and the contents of your wallet and keys threaten to tip over into the basket. You pull the undone zipper apart, rummaging around the inside to straighten the sides until your nails click against the uncapped flash drive. It makes your insides quiver when you realize you had been opening the files when your mother called during that day and the world crumbled. Oh how blissful you would be standing here if you never picked up the call, if you let her deal with her own problems, if the guilt of her being alone and scared didn’t affect your tender heart. The worry that Seokjin had written a love letter seemed rather insignificant now that your boyfriend can be taken away in cuffs if evidence surfaces. The tabloids would have another field day for sure.

You turn towards the digital clock on the stove, noting the time once more, and grasp the flash drive in your hands before making your way towards the living room. The flash drive blinks green as you slide the silver end into your computer propped on the coffee table. The laptop will keep you sane because you know damn well if you see Namjoon’s face on the television once more you’d spiral into panic. It’s not wise to speak of his name under your roof.

It’s not wise to speak of Seokjin’s name either, but if Jungkook isn’t coming anytime soon, the least you can do is read what your old friend has to say and be rid of this little tool in case your boyfriend’s curiosity leads to a temper tantrum.

Once again, the document window reveals a ZIP folder along with an array of photo files. You extract the file first, letting it load before double clicking to pull up the document window. It’s not what you’re expecting. There’s no sweet words and no mention of Seokjin’s name on the page. The document is over two hundred pages long and still loading as you scroll down the pages. There is a case number in the middle of the first page and then several police reports from several years ago, all dated within the same year.

Busan.

Two victims.

Two suspects.

Juvenile.

With your brows furrowed, you scroll further down the file, slowly falling back down to earth from the blanket of mental exhaustion. You feel a cold breeze down the curve of your spine, your fingertips slowly coaxing the cursor downwards. Several sentences are censored or cut in the corners. The further you scroll the more you find yourself asking if Seokjin had given you the wrong flash drive or if he was pulling a vicious prank on you. It all seemed like a whirlwind of information you don’t know how to translate until you pause on a page halfway through the document.

Kim Taehyung.

The name is most definitely familiar. The second name listed in the following page, however, you recognize in entirety.  

Jeon Jungkook.

The universe must be playing a sick joke, you think, as your cursor swims around your boyfriend’s name. He would have told you about an incident big enough for a case report that spans over a hundred pages, wouldn’t he? Jungkook wouldn’t hide anything important from you, not after he had urged you to be transparent with him. Not after he had punished you for something as silly as keeping jewelry gifted by or ex or forgetting to wear a brassiere in public. Something in your gut tells you to keep scrolling despite your vision beginning to blur and the air around you becoming heavier as if you’re breathing over a pot of boiling water.

You scroll further down, lips parting as your eyes scan over the document with record speed. The Jeon family massacre, the shack in Busan, the weapons used on the bodies for both murder and disposal – everything is written in clear detail. But it’s impossible, you think, as Jungkook has never once hinted that his parents were deceased. In fact, there were several times when he welcomed the idea of you meeting his family. He wouldn’t have agreed with enthusiasm if he had to reveal the details of this case, would he?

He wouldn’t have his mother’s number saved. It doesn’t make sense and the more you wonder who that woman could be in his cell phone, the more your insides twist.

When you hit the last hundred pages the censorship worsened. Most of the pages are illegible with black boxes shadowing over sentences but you don’t need the missing sentences. The last five pages summarized the timeline of the incident and highlighted possible motives from abuse to undiagnosed mental disorders for both Jungkook and Taehyung. You’re not sure if the file is even reliable considering what you’re reading and the boyfriend you’re living with seem like two different people.

There is hardly any record about the two of them except the elementary, middle, and high school they’ve attended. The paragraphs blur together as you scroll with trembling fingers. Something about Jungkook’s instability, his codependency on Kim Taehyung, the manner in which he was released shortly after Taehyung’s escape from the facility despite facing juvenile charges for second degree murder.

Then, the details of the crime.

Jungkook couldn’t do something like that, could he? Your lungs ache as you pant, a sudden sob leading you to clasp a shaky hand over your mouth. There is no reason for you to claim this case as unreliable when Jungkook is disposing Yori’s body somewhere within the twenty mile radius. There is no reason this case is talking about another Jeon when the first thought your boyfriend had when you confessed your mother’s accident was to help with the cleaning.

This couldn’t be anyone else but Jeon Jungkook, the boyfriend who kisses you until you melt like butter in his arms and pouts whenever someone looks at you the wrong way. Despite the file in front of you, you shake your head.

“It’s not him…it can’t be him.”

Closing the file window, you take a deep breath before opening the image file next to the folder. The first few photos were of the crime scene and your blood turns cold at the disfigured corpses in the room. The room is dirty with peeling wallpaper, blood splatter, broken furniture, and schoolbooks and papers. The couple in the picture is your boyfriend’s parents, there’s no doubt about it. You can see the resemblance in what remains of his father’s face and you wonder if that’s the reason why he never felt comfortable in his skin, as he once told you during pillowtalk.

With your core tightened, bracing for the worst, you open the last image. There is Jungkook, in the flesh, pictured with a uniform and handcuffs, eyes blacker than your morning coffee. His face is littered with bruises and the corner of his lips are swollen, caked with dried blood. The purple and green bruises stretch over his eye socket, reaching far back to his temples where his hair falls. Somehow the fact that his mother had abused him didn’t register in your mind until now. It feels somewhat far away, like a distant memory that has no effect on the person he is now. But Jungkook didn’t become the sensitive and hardworking man you know now because of sheer willpower; he was forced into the role.

He did what he had to do to survive and you know deep in your heart you can’t hate him for it. You can’t justify murder, but you can’t ignore that he was desperate to leave.

You place a trembling hand over your heart and lean back into the couch.

Either way you look at it, one thing remains true. Jeon Jungkook had spun lies upon lies to be in your life. He had successfully kept you in the dark, hardly ever showing how truly dangerous he can be until the time is right. His anger has been, at times, loving and sweet. Other times, it spurred fear. He had promised you time and time again he would never hurt you. Yet, that promise holds no substance when he doesn’t practice his own standards for loyalty and truthfulness that he instilled in you.

There’s the Jungkook from Busan who showed no remorse for what he did and there’s the Jungkook who held your heels in his hands as he led you to safety from that fateful wedding night. Burying your head in your hands, you fist the roots of your hair until your scalp burned.

You’ve been sleeping with a stranger.

…

The precinct is a large, block building next to the subway station that would be invisible if it were not for the newly painted gray-blue gates set around the perimeter of the building. There is a group of photographers huddled against the gates despite the very late hours of the night, sporting the same black padded coats as they tumble over each other like penguins. When Namjoon steps out of the building and into the Mercedes parked in front of the building, the camera shutters click. Reporters shouts his name for a statement. He merely glances at the crowd before stepping into the vehicle, adjusting his coat before slamming the door shut. 

The crowd of reporters part as the vehicle makes its way down the concrete path to the streets. There are no officers in sight to control the crowd, prompting him to watch in silence as they knock on the tinted glass and the side of the car. His chauffeur would seem unbothered if not for the whiteness of his knuckles as he grips the steering wheel, stepping on the gas with urgency while being careful to not anger the hungry journalists desperate for next morning’s cover story. 

He can understand Lee’s anxiety as they drive towards one of his apartments in the city with higher security. He has been in a state of paralysis ever since he landed and was immediately brought into questioning. The handcuffs at the airport wasn’t necessary, he thinks, and he’s convinced some of these cops must be journalists in disguise, blaming him for a crime he had no knowledge of. Aside from such inconveniencies, there are other problems to address such as the dent in his parents’ pocket to keep the media from prying too much into the investigation. He’d faced his father’s wrath earlier before his first shot of whiskey, and then his mother’s who cried on his shoulder as she was too relieved to see him walking freely. He doesn’t understand why people are surprised that he isn’t the culprit when there is so little evidence against him. The precinct wanted to make an example out of him, about how the rich aren’t safe from persecution; however, they fail to consider that the rich aren’t always guilty with whatever they are accused of either. It’s been an exhausting last few weeks to face the same mob of cameras before, during, and after the questioning. They must know by now that Yori’s disappearance was as surprising to him as it is for everyone else.  

There is no end to the investigation – especially when they are set on finding evidence that it was premeditated - and his exhaustion reached its peak this morning when he realizes today was the day the baby is due. Yori wasn’t fond of motherhood – unbeknownst to outsiders who only saw her poised nature – and neither was he. But he had made an oath that he would be there for the child at least financially if not emotionally and would provide the necessities while he legalize their marriage and transfer abroad for work. He swore to not touch a single drop of alcohol when the first cry of his child reaches his ears yet here he is, pouring himself a drink from the mini fridge assembled between the seats.  

“Where do you think she is?” He asks, then takes a shot of straight vodka. This was one of many times he despised how poised he can be when the situation is dire. His lawyers had advised him to be emotional, but he can’t bring himself to put on an award-winning act when he’s one sleepless night away from a coma.

The older man glances at the rearview mirror, lips setting in a thin line as he eyes the bottle in Namjoon’s hand. 

“I’m unsure, sir. The police and your father has been searching in all of the places she could possibly be. I’m sure they will find her soon.”

“Dead or alive?”

The car jolts to a stop at the red light. “Sir?”

“It’s been a week. She hasn’t called, there’s no activity from her bank account, no money taken from the house, and no report of her fleeing the country. She left her belongings behind, including her cellphone and a coat during this weather. The investigation is only ongoing because there’s data from security that she let someone in at night and the back gates were open. The surveillance in the main roads nearby didn’t pick up any suspicious cars either. Now tell me…do you think she’s dead or alive?”

Lee presses on the gas pedal and sighs, staring straight ahead at the roads but unable to focus on any of the signs. 

“I don’t think I can answer that question, sir. Please forgive me.”

Namjoon takes another shot and turns his head towards the cars passing by him. There was no money taken, which concludes that the culprit’s motive had nothing to do with financial gain. It must be the reason why he’s under suspicion.

“Perhaps…” Lee speaks again, his careful eyes meeting Namjoon’s apathetic ones through the rearview mirror. “Perhaps _____ might be able to help with finding Miss Kim. She was very close to her. Maybe she knows a few locations we’ve missed.”

He considers the offer for a moment, knowing that the detectives had reached out to you for more information at the same time of his questioning. It’s true you were Yori’s closest friend for most of your life. Until last year, you talked to her on the phone several times a week and shared a meal with her at least once a week in your former apartment. You invited her to all social events and dressed, shopped, and spent quality time together. It would be a wise choice to call you in such a catastrophic time. He does, however, understand that you would be reluctant to involve yourself in the investigation for you had started a new life with this new boyfriend of yours and had distanced yourself from even Seokjin himself. Not even your mother knew about what you were up to on most days. 

Nonetheless, the situation is too severe to preserve his own pride as well as yours. Yori is with child and there’s still a morsel of a chance that she – and the baby – is safe. You may have changed in the last several months, but if there was one thing he’s still sure about you, it’s your willingness to set aside differences to help others. 

He hopes you would take the call once he musters the courage to dial your number. Maybe he’ll call Seokjin instead if he has a change of heart.

“I’ll consider it.” Namjoon nods as Lee nods back, slightly relieved. 

For the second time in his life, Namjoon is terrified of losing someone close. He had watched you, white chiffon and silk in your hand, as you ran out of the lobby and his life forever. He hoped that he can do right and bring Yori and his child back to safety and make sure – this time – to cherish what he has rather than what he’d lost.

Knocking the last shot of vodka, he leans his head back against the plush leather upholstery and closes his eyes, hoping more than anything to be taken out of his misery. 

…

They say a woman’s intuition doesn’t lie.

You’re thankful that it’s too late in the night and too early in the morning for your neighbors to hear the ding of the elevator as you make your way down the building. You didn’t bother dressing, merely grabbing your purse with the flashdrive tucked safely in one of its compartments on the way out. You’re still wearing Jungkook’s shirt as a dress and you slid into the first pair of sandals you can find through the burning tears. You’re not sure how you’re supposed to feel in the haze of betrayal but there’s a sense of humiliation that comes with finding out you were lied to – perhaps laughed at behind your back – for months. It’s the same feeling as that wedding night, but a million times worse now that you’ve reached the end of no return.

Even if you call Seokjin and urge him to help, there’s nothing you can do to change that you’re an accomplice. There’s nothing you can do to change that a sick part of you enjoyed scrubbing blood off the floors, fucking your dirtied boyfriend afterwards, and pretending life will continue as normal.

Furthermore, there’s nothing you can do to change that you’re still utterly in love with Jungkook.

It can’t all be a lie, can it? The reason why he chased after you, jumped over fences to bury his nose in your intimates, and carve your skin isn’t because he’s using you, right? There’s only so much pretending a person can do. Deep in your heart, you feel that Jungkook does really love you. You wouldn’t feel this safe with him, even after knowing he had done something irreversible in his childhood, if his tenderness towards you isn’t genuine.

Yet, you’re also acutely aware of how much money your family has. You know how many valuable assets you have under your name after your father’s passing. You know how easily you can change your life at any given moment if you choose to meet your mother’s expectations in marrying into a conglomerate family and living without worrying about money. The reason why Jungkook helped you during that wedding night can be because he had the opportunity to be with someone who can offer him financial security he didn’t have growing up. Maybe he was attracted to how easygoing your life is, only having to worry about which restaurant you want to pick for date night, unlike his formative years surviving on scraps.

You’re also pathetic, desperate, unloved. It was too easy for Jungkook to charm his way into your life in a moment of vulnerability. He must’ve known you came from money just by the size of the venue and how much you offered to pay him for his photography services. He must’ve known how naïve you were when you were willing to sleep in his arms that night, how willingly you swallowed the painkiller he gave you.

Even then, it doesn’t make sense. He owned a studio. He bought you gifts and took offense when you denied his offer to help pay for things only married couples do. He gifted you flowers every week and take you out to beautiful places when you were sad, never thinking twice about putting down his last dime if that’s what it took to see you smile. He’s patient and empathetic. He’s kind because he understands the pain of being hurt by the ones you love but he can also be kind because staying with you is convenient.

And you don’t want to be the convenient woman. Not anymore.

…

Jungkook’s phone vibrates in the back of his pocket, prompting him to remove his gloves and throw them in the fire with the rest of the corpse. The assistant is asleep on the couch, unaccustomed to night cleaning when Taehyung keeps her in charge during the day. Taehyung, on the other hand, slides his sanitized tools back in the slouchy leather bag, turning his head towards the fire when the alcohol from Jungkook’s gloves reawaken the fire for a moment.

Jungkook reaches behind him and fishes the phone from his pocket to see the notification from a security sensor. His stomach drops when the notification loads, the buffering swirl of the loading screen feeling eerily similar to the swirling aches in his stomach. He’s relieved that there are no police cars in front of the garage, but the relief is short lived as his eyes land on your car instead, the door to the driver’s seat left open.

He quickly switches to the cameras from the inside, pointed directly at the front door to see a figure walking through. He watches as you stumble inside, falling on your hands and knees as you tumble into the boxes of books and accessories he kept near the front steps. He haven’t had the chance to throw them back in the garage when Jimin and his team took away the freezer and left behind a mess.

“What’s wrong?” Taehyung comes next to him, peering down at the phone. He watches in silence as Jungkook’s hand trembles.

He watches you grab onto the nearest table and pull yourself up from the ground before switching on the lights. And it was the sight of your swollen eyes, your bloodied knees, and your heaving breaths that had him running out of the room, grabbing the car keys and jacket from the hooks next to the door. The thought that someone might have hurt you set his head into flames. Taehyung’s assistant wakes with a slight gasp the moment Jungkook slams the door open into the bright reception desk area of a run-down funeral home. The walls vibrate.

“I’ll come with you,” is all Taehyung says as they fly out front door. His assistant would know what to do without him.

Taehyung takes the keys from his grasp and starts the car, stepping on the gas without hesitation as Jungkook buries his face in his hands and fold over in the passenger seat. He reaches over and runs his fingers through Jungkook’s hair, cursing underneath his breath. The younger man takes a moment to collect himself before his shaky fingers unlocks his phone once more, the loading screen causing him to bounce his knees as he waits. Even Taehyung’s comforting hand does nothing to soothe the panic rising up his esophagus.

“S-She’s going in the dark room,” he huffs as he keeps his eyes locked on his screen. “I don’t…d-don’t know why she-”

“We’ll figure it out when we get there.”

There are no cameras in the dark room, not even ones he can hide inside everyday objects.

In half the time it usually takes to get to the studio, Taehyung steers the vehicle into the familiar neighborhood, head swinging left and right to check if anyone else is nearby. Before he parks outside the garage, Jungkook undoes his seatbelt and steps out of the moving vehicle, running towards the front doorsteps. His shoulder crashes into the front door as he twirls his head around the studio, checking to see if he missed anything. He sees your handbag on the floor, the sliding doors to the darkroom remaining closed.

You’re inside there, hurt, bleeding, needing him. He should’ve stayed behind with you and let Taehyung take care of Yori; it wasn’t necessary for him to be there, but he didn’t want to be seen as ungrateful after asking for numerous favors.

Taehyung steps inside the studio and closes the front door behind him as Jungkook slides the darkroom doors open and step inside, sliding the wood back into place behind him. He steadies his breathing and takes a few seconds to adjust his eyes to the dark red bulbs above him. When he hears a crunch he looks down to see numerous photos of you underneath his soles, entire binders and broken photo frames laying across the concrete floors.  

Jungkook steadies himself with one hand on the wall, lining the perimeter of the room until he can spot your hunched figure in front of the metal cabinets. Your shoulders are shaking, hand patting around the inside of the of the cabinet, knocking over medication, empty film canisters, and stationery.

“Noona?”

You gasp, your hand flying to cover your mouth in the semi-darkness. The bottle of pills in your hand clatters to the floor, rolling towards Jungkook’s boots. Your back slams into the cabinet behind, eyes wide with fright as your tears roll down your face. He keeps his eyes on you as he kneels and takes the bottle in his hands, briefly looking down at the transparent bottle before looking back up at you.

“What’s going on? Why are you crying?” He asks, panting as he strides towards you with outstretched arms.

In the midst of your anger you fail to realize someone like Jungkook would have taken extra steps to track where you are. You didn’t even check if the car or phone is bugged. Even during this time you’re still stupid, you think. No wonder it’s easy for men to lie to your face with that kind of carelessness.

You shake your head, backing away from him. “Don’t.”

His eyes brim with tears as you clutch your chest, your body trembling. Jungkook shakes his head, holding his bare hands in front of him to show he won’t touch you. You look at those hands – the hands that have caressed your cheeks in the morning, massaged your shoulders after long work hours, buried your old best friend – like they were weapons.  

“I-I don’t understand,” he breathes, his hands trembling as his eyes rake over the scattered pictures on the floor, the open cabinet doors, and at your tattered appearance. You’re still dressed in his button down shirt, the material falling mid-thigh and he catches a glimpse of dried blood on your knees from your fall.

“I thought it was strange. How calm you were about all this. I t-thought…” you put your hands together over your heart, your chest shaking with sobs. He can hardly make out your words from the tears and the sound felt so painful to his ears he wanted to smother you, put his hands over your mouth, and keep you locked in his arms tight.

Your teeth clatters, not because you’re cold, Jungkook knows, but because you’re scared. Of him.

“Noona,” he whimpers again as he waits for your sobs to subside. He struggles to understand.

With the heel of your palm you wipe away the tears but the more you rub the worse it gets until you feel as if your face would drown under your own ministrations. The gut-wrenching pain you felt reading his report lingers in the depths of your stomach, churned into fear that there is a possibility you could end up just like them. How could you even know if his tears are real? How could you even know if the last few months of your relationship was even real?

“You never loved me, Jungkook. You…this is just some sick fantasy of yours, r-right?” Your voice breaks. You don’t understand what’s coming out of your mouth when the only thing you wanted to do was hurt him. Make him feel the way you do now. “Making me fall for you. Believe I can earn your dead parents’ approval. Making me your fucking doll. You got off on me being a naïve little bitch, didn’t you? You sick fuck.”

You know.

Oh god, you know.

Jungkook feels as if someone had wrapped a rope around his neck and pulled. Is it punishment for wanting happiness? Is it because he was bound to this endless life of suffering where the people he loved end up hurting him in the end? End up leaving?

Jungkook shakes his head, mouth falling open as he watches you back away from him into the corner. His sobs are loud and pained as if you had hit him across the cheeks. With every step he takes towards you, you take one step back, as if to say you don’t want him near, you don’t want him to touch you, as if you don’t even want him to look at you with those seemingly innocent eyes.

“You lied to me,” your voice reduces down to a whimper. “You promised me you’d never do that. Did you intend to keep this from me forever?”

“N-Noona…”

He falls to his knees, putting his hands together in prayer as he sobs. Through your anguish and his, Jungkook still holds your heart captive.

Like a dam bursting, his apologies engulfs you.

“Noona, I’m sorry! I-I-I didn’t know how to t-tell you,” he gasps for air, putting his hands down in front of him in surrender. He puts his forehead against the cold concrete, clasping his hands together in prayer, writhing, withering. “I swear, it wasn’t me! I didn’t w-want you to think I was a mu- murd-derer,” he hiccups, coughing as his hunched figure trembles. 

Backing away until your shoulder blades lean against the adjacent walls, your body slides down, the phone from your grip clattering onto the floor. The screen brightens with the image of you and him as Jungkook’s trembling figure creeps closer, crawling towards your feet in the darkness. You can’t feel your teeth gnawing on your thumb until you taste blood in your mouth. You watch your boyfriend’s cold hands wrap around your ankles as he puts his forehead onto your calves and begs.

“I love you, noona. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I love you so much. Please don’t hate me noona, please, I don’t know what I’ll do if you hate me. I’m sorry I l-lied to you, I swear I was going to tell you everything soon, noona. W-Whatever you saw is all wrong. I never killed them, I l-loved them with all my heart,” he surrounds your folded legs in his embrace, leaning his wet cheeks against your scraped knees as he sobs. “They hurt me. They m-made me like this, I didn’t want to be like this noona, I ju-just wanted someone to love me. I didn’t mean to b-be bad-“ His clammy hands presses your calves together, keeping your knees still.

Jungkook’s head raises, slowly, his soft dark locks falling from his face. His doe eyes aren’t focused on you but on some invisible spot on the ground. He whimpers your name before doubling over and hurling vomit onto the ends of your shirt, his head slamming into the cabinet next to you. The stench of bile wafts towards your face but you’re given no chance to move when Jungkook gags and empties his stomach once more, acidic saliva slipping down the corner of his mouth as he sobs.

With no warning whatsoever, he brings his head back and slams the side of his head against the metal cabinet doors. You’re frozen stiff, your body trembling as you watch the love of your life knock his head into the doors again and again, drool dripping down his mouth.

When he wails, you reach for him. “K-Kook-”

He brings his head back, eyes glazed, as he rams his head into the metal sheet again. And again.

“I-I’m sorry noona,” he cries, etching the words into his skull. “Noona I’m sorry…I-I didn’t meant to hurt you nng, noona…I won’t…”

With shaky limbs you crawl closer to your boyfriend, pulling him by the collar to stop but the panic causes your shaky hands to slip, merely finding success in pushing him towards the ground. He coughs, gasping for air. When his wails become louder, you hover above his writhing figure, hands on his arms to keep him still in desperation. It’s no use when he continues to apologize, not hearing your pleas to stop, to listen to your voice and breathe. Seeing him like this makes you want to take back your words.

The door to the darkroom slams open, revealing a tall man whose face you can’t see until he steps further into the red hue. You weren’t aware Jungkook didn’t come alone.

He must be Kim Taehyung; there’s no mistake from the stained lab coat he adorns to the tar black eyes that could bore holes through your skull. He looks awfully similar to Jungkook and if you hadn’t read the case and hadn’t known that Jungkook was an only child, you would think they’re brothers.

“Move.” He commands, the edge in his voice causing you to flinch back as he crouches above your blubbering boyfriend’s head and scoop him from under the armpits.

He’s strong enough to uncurl Jungkook’s shaking body, hushing the cries as he places your boyfriend’s face under his chin and press him against his chest. Like a child, Jungkook’s hand reaches up to fist the lapels of Taehyung’s lab coat, sobbing so hard that you were afraid his lungs might burst.

“Hyung is here, Jungkookie. I’m here. She’s here too, okay? We won’t leave you. Hush now.”

Taehyung’s voice is deep but filled with warmth, completely different from all the times you’ve overheard him speak through a call in your living room.

“I-I’m so-sorry noona, I won’t do it again- n-noona-,” he coughs.

The older man reaches inside his coat and fishes out a syringe. He cover Jungkook’s eyes with his long fingers, whispers a word of reassurance, before pressing the needle deep into Jungkook’s arm.

In a few short seconds, the cries lower, Jungkook’s body falling limp against the older man’s chest as your name falls repeatedly from his swollen lips. Taehyung places the syringe in his pocket and wipes the vomit and saliva from Jungkook’s chin with his thumb, his eyes sad as he peers at the boy in his arms.

The sound of water dripping down the faucet seems as loud as fireworks in the silence of the room. With your arms wrapped around yourself, knees pressed against your chest, you watch Taehyung brush away Jungkook’s sweat-soaked hair and wipe away the snot and tears on his nose and cheeks with the sleeves of his coat. Once his face is dry, he props Jungkook against the cabinet and stands to face the faucet, gathering a handful of water in his hands and cleaning Jungkook’s forehead where a bruise is starting to form.

“How did you find out?”

The tethered anger in his voice causes you to curl into the corner, making yourself as small as possible. You don’t forget that Taehyung is the reason why they are both free men; the man is every bit terrifying as he is handsome.

“A-A friend of mine…he showed me.”

Taehyung hums, knowing exactly who had caused tonight’s troubles, wiping his hands on his coat. He takes several strides and crouch down in front of you, glancing at Jungkook’s face before turning back. He stares into your eyes without commenting and you’re not sure where to look. You settle on looking down at your scraped knees, the trembling causing your voice to shake.

“Are you disgusted?”

You meet his eyes, biting the insides of your cheeks. “D-Disgusted…no. Not disgusted. I’m just…scared…s-scared of what he did.”

He exhales, his long fingers coming up to massage his temples.

“I killed them.” He blinks. He nods shortly afterwards, as if he were reliving the moment. “Jungkook was simply there. They were going to kill him. It was me who did everything you saw in those photos.”

You swallow, eyes brimming with tears as your body warms in response. Your boyfriend is innocent. Maybe not completely, but enough that you can release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“Okay.” You murmur, nodding. You’re not sure what the proper response is for that kind of confession.

“There are some people who don’t deserve to be parents. His mother, especially. You would be surprised how happy he became when we had no more family.”

You nod, keeping your eyes lowered. Your eyes fall to your cellphone near Taehyung’s shoes, your lips parting.

“T-Then…he wasn’t adopted afterwards?”

Taehyung cocks his head. “Adopted?”

“I-it’s just,” you stammer, wondering if it would anger him if you asked but something tells you Taehyung is a reasonable man albeit his brutality. “There’s a co-contact in his phone…a-and he labeled her as ‘mother’…”

The older man nods. “We call her our mother. She helped us when we had nowhere to go, gave us a place to sleep.”

As if the weight from your shoulders melted away once more, you slump against the wall. Of course, Jungkook wouldn’t cheat on you with another woman.

Taehyung continues. “We did what we had to do. We learned how to make fake documents, little things like IDs, and it kept us afloat for a while. Jungkook prefers that kind of work still, but I don’t. You’ll never see a photographer making this kind of money without dabbling into…indecent practices. It’s expensive to feel secure, I’m sure you can at least relate to that.”

He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Do you understand the kind of life we had now?”

You nibble on your bottom lip. There’s no doubt you love Jungkook but the wound remains agape, the initial ugly feeling of betrayal swimming in your belly. You have the right to feel this way, but Taehyung is rather unconcerned about your feelings. If you weren’t loved by Jungkook, he would have stuck the barrel of his gun down your throat and threaten to blow out your organs out the other end. He’ll be patient this time and let nature takes its course; there’s a possibility you’re pregnant. You won’t be able to leave now, and you won’t be able to leave once you carry the baby to full term.

“I do,” you answer, the trembling gone.

You glance over at Jungkook’s sleeping form. Despite how hurt you may be now, you need to be there for him. You can’t imagine how sick he would feel, how much panic he would feel, when he wakes.

“I’m glad you do. After all,” Taehyung stands. “You’re not completely innocent either.”

Your head snaps up to meet his gaze.

He knows about Yori.

“Did you…?”

He confirms your thoughts. “I did. There’s no need to worry unless you talk, and if you know what’s good for you, you won’t.”

You release a shaky breath. “Okay.”

You’ve reached a dead end. You can’t amend your mistakes like good people, sane people, do. You’re as good as married to Jeon Jungkook, Yori’s burial being the glue tying you to him in holy matrimony. You have no choice but to vow to protect and love him in sickness and health. In all honestly, you can’t imagine your life any other way.

Taehyung brushes invisible dust off his coat.

“There is one more thing,” he says and with new conviction you meet his gaze once more. “If by any chance you do something stupid, I will kill you. And Jungkook can’t stop me then. Remember that.”

…

Seokjin follows the scent of a cigarette. It’s hardly half past six in the morning and the wind makes him push his head down as he maneuvers through the trees to the abandoned park. The playground he played in as a child is torn down, the blue slides and yellow swings torn apart by ongoing construction. Between the trees and industrial machinery he struggles to find his former co-worker and friend who had messaged him quite suddenly about the investigation on Jungkook. It’s something big, he says, and Hoseok doesn’t say something like that unless he means it. And if it’s bigger than the case file, then it’s bound to be something incriminating. He wasn’t sure if Yoongi might be here too, but he doubt it since the man can hardly drag himself out of bed in the morning.

It’s a little odd that Hoseok asked to meet immediately and he wonders if it was because he responded as soon as he received the text. Maybe if he had answered later in the day he could sleep in before work, but with Yori’s disappearance his nights have been filled with thoughts about you. Some fresh air would serve him well.

“Hoseok?!” He turns his head left and right, huffing as he struggle to catch his footing on the uneven cobblestone paths.

When he hear footsteps near the playground he turns his head towards the noise, blinking as he struggles to make out the figure of a person on the ground. She must be homeless, he thinks, as he watches her wrap her tattered scarf around her neck while wailing in a strange, kitten-like voice. She mutters something to herself in another language.

He takes a step closer, calling out to the plump woman as she stretches a leg out in front of her and fans her hand over what looks like a bloody wound. The gash is deep enough for him to stop in his tracks.

“Ma’am are you alright?” He asks.

His phone rings in his coat pocket and he reaches inside, looking down at Namjoon’s number displayed across the screen before locking his phone. Seems like he’s quite in demand this morning. He tucks the device back into his coat and walks over to the woman.

“Ma’am?”

She looks up at him, her mud-caked face and hair crumbling as she whimpers and move her bloody leg away from his sight.

“Do you need help standing?” He asks, closing in on her rocking figure. It’s not safe for a woman – much less a homeless woman – to be alone and injured. The park hardly garners enough visitors for its awkward location. He might be her only help.

“N-no…n-no…no,” the woman holds her leg away, wailing as she rocks from side to side.

Seokjin hovers next to the woman, folding over to gauge the extent of her injuries when his eyes trails over the thin red paint covering from the bottom of her knee to the middle of her calves. She babbles and wails, flailing her arms over the leg until a silver glint flashes over his eyes and air is knocked out of his lungs. When he opens his eyes and groans, he’s facing the cloudless sky, his vision flashing purple and black. He curses and turns to his side only to come face to face with a pair of black shoes.

He doesn’t raise his chin. Rather, he’s not given the choice, not when he feels the barrel of a gun pressed upon his noggin. The sound of bullet entering its chamber sounds from behind and he realizes quickly that he’s been set up.

“Kim Taehyung,” he wheezes, sputtering as he catches his breath. The gun behind him trails up his spine until it’s pressing into the back of his skull. He doesn’t know who that woman his, but he knows for sure the man standing in front of him can’t be anyone else but Taehyung.

In his paralysis he can hardly think of how Taehyung was able to use Hoseok’s number to meet him at a place only he and Hoseok investigated. The last time he spoke to him, Hoseok had only warned that he couldn’t continue the investigation, that Kim Taehyung had formally requested him to quit meddling, and ended the call shortly after. Surely Taehyung couldn’t have done something to the man in Hong Kong? He couldn’t think of a reason why someone who isn’t even related to Jungkook by blood will go through such lengths to protect him.

“Didn’t I tell you not to meddle in my affairs?”

He nods, exhaling. “You d-did.”

The gun from behind slides from his skull to his temple.

“You should have listened the first time.”

[ericspinkhair]

quarantine longings

pairing: best friend!kevin x fem!reader

word count: 3.2k

synopsis: you and your best friend have sex because quarantine made you horny

warnings: best friends to lovers, takes place during the pandemic, spoiler of 356 days (but not the end, just generally the plot), no use of condoms but only the pill, creampie, sexual fantasies, fingering, hand-job, sex, slight angst at the end if you squint

a/n: I would literally die for kevin, I love him so much. I'll be writing a multiple parts series about him after I'm done writing scenarios for every member first.

requests are open!

masterlist + requests

you slammed your foot hard against the wall and cursed in pain. you hopped on one foot to your bed, holding your other leg in agony and tasted blood as you bit your lip to keep the volume of your suffering groans in check. someone knocked on the door.

'are you okay?' your roommate asked concerned.

'no, leave me alone, kevin,' you croaked out. you wanted to suffer by yourself.

there was an awkward silence and then you heard him sigh. soon after, the door next to your room closed shut.

why were you so frustrated, one might ask? well, the pandemic was kicking your butt and you just couldn't take it anymore. when the news of the virus had first spread, no one thought it would become this serious. but suddenly everyone was walking around with masks and spent most of their time staying at home.

after graduating high school, you and kevin had decided to move in together for college because both of you were broke and couldn't afford to live alone. you had been best friends since middle school and had been convinced that it was a smart idea at the time.

and everything went smoothly for the first one and a half years. however, after not seeing anyone else since the start of the pandemic over a year ago, it became increasingly difficult to share an apartment, but not in the way one might assume. you were neither sick of each other nor did you fight a lot. to tell the truth, it was quite the opposite.

earlier, before you had kicked the wall in anger, the two of you had painted together. kevin was majoring in art and, since you didn't have anything better to do, you joined him while he did projects for his classes. you might have been majoring in journalism but you had always liked drawing and painting, even though you weren't particularly skilled. you were a naturally clumsy person, always tripping over air and dropping things. today you were hecticly moving around your hands while telling him about a stupid video you had seen and you accidently let go of the brush in your hand. it hit the side of kevin's face, leaving a wide splodge of red paint on his right cheek.

to get back at you, he jerked his paint brush and splattered some green color on your white shirt. you saw this as a challenge and soon both of you were both drenched in the colors of the rainbow, laughing hysterically on the floor, not caring that you were spreading the paint on the poor carpet.

you turned your heads to look at each other and you felt absolutely in peace. you loved this man and couldn't be more glad that it was him and not anyone else you were stuck with inside of this apartment.

he stood up to take off his stained shirt and your smile quickly faded off your face. your lips slightly parted and you couldn't help but stare at his now exposed biceps and abs.

your mouth watered and you felt heat pooling between your legs as you took your time to study his architecture. thoughts about how badly you wanted him to thrust into you while his strong arms held you up invaded your mind. you tried to shake them off but it was impossible.

occasions like this were slowly becoming a common occurrence for you.

having mostly stayed inside for over a year, also meant that you didn't have sex for that long. it's not like you were the horniest person on the planet but you still had needs that were being neglected. with kevin being home all the time you didn't even dare to masturbate, scared that he would be able to hear you through the frustratingly thin walls. you must have gone insane with all the lust building up inside you and that's why you suddenly craved to have sex with your best friend. this whole thing was destroying everything. it was hard to act normal when he was making you this nervous and heated but you tried to pretend that everything was fine anyway for the sake of your friendship.

that was the reason why you were angry and had hurt yourself. you hated the way you felt about your best friend and you hated the pandemic for not giving you an outlet to escape so you could recollect yourself.

what you weren't aware of was that kevin was no stranger to the exact same frustration.

he would need more than his ten fingers and ten toes to be able to count the amount of times he had to run to the bathroom to hide his boner because he had done so much as look at you bend over or stretch. he didn't want to make you uncomfortable but it was a challenge to try and calm down his hormones.

whenever he jacked off, images of you flashed through his mind; your sweet curves and pink lips drove him insane.

last week, you two were cooking together and you had asked him to get the salt. he stood behind you to reach for it on the highest shelf. he was forced to press his crotch against your butt cheeks and his dick hardened against his will. he quickly handed you the salt, excused himself and ran off before you could figure out what had happened.

he might not have known the cause of your sudden outburst but he sympathized with your fury because he had a lot of pent up anger towards covid as well.

he lay in his bed and tried to focus on the book he was reading but he couldn't tune out the groans coming from the room next to his. he cursed.

'stop it!' he was panicking as he saw a familiar tent forming in his pants. your sounds triggered some weird perverted part of his brain that sent signals right to his genitals. his dick was hardening and he saw no other solution to his problem than to give in to his subconscious desires.

he pulled down his pants just far enough so that his cock had enough room to spring out. it only needed a few strokes before it stood tall and angry. kevin pressed his head into his pillow and moved his hand fast. he wanted to get over with it quickly. he emptied his cum on his stomach while imagining your greedy little mouth being stuffed by his cock. he lay there panting as yet another round of shame flushed over him.

'get yourself together,' he whispered, mentally slapping himself.

***

'do you want to order japanese or italian?' you asked kevin. today was friday which meant it was time for your weekly tradition of ordering take out and watching a movie.

'definitely italian. we've already had japanese for the past four days. I need something else for a change,' kevin complained and shuddered at the thought of having to eat sushi again. the japanese restaurant prepared absolutely delicious food but he just couldn't stand it anymore.

you laughed at his pained facial expression. 'fine, italian it is.'

within twenty minutes the doorbell rang and after about half a minute kevin came back with two huge boxes.

he opened them on the small table situated in front of your couch and the smell of freshly cooked pasta seasoned with basil made your stomach growl.

kevin wanted to dig in already but you stopped him. you had to choose a movie first.

'let's watch tall girl. I saw everyone hate on it on tiktok,' you suggested.

'I think we should watch 365 days, that was all over my for you page as well,' kevin argued. you hadn't heard of it so you weren't sure whether it would be the right movie for you. the rule was that it had to be as bad as possible.

'according to what I have heard, it's apparently even worse than 50 shades of grey,' kevin added which piqued your interest. the both of you had watched 50 shades about two months ago and you were honestly shocked by how awful it actually was. you couldn't understand why everyone had been so obsessed with it when it was first released. if 356 days was really worse, then you'd hit the jackpot. you clapped your hands.

'fine, you win. I swear if the movie isn't as horrible as you say it is then you owe me something!' he intertwined his pinky with yours to promise.

watching horrible movies was way better than watching good ones. making fun of bad storylines, stupid characters or horrible editing was one of your favorite past times.

'I guess I'll have to add are you lost, baby girl to the top 10 worst lines ever spoken. who thought ah yes this is sexy, let's have him repeat it over and over again', you complained, shoving some pasta into your mouth.

'so he's like I won't do anything without your permission while he is literally groping her boobs against her will, like make it make sense, massimo', added kevin, ruffling his hair in frustration. he almost completely forgot about the food.

'so let me get this straight: he drugged her, kidnapped her, tied her up, hung up a painting of her just because he saw her face when his dad was shot?'

'totally relatable.' both of you giggled.

you were enjoying complaining about the plot. it was horrible.

there were plenty of erotic scenes but they were honestly so funny and kinda gross that you could bare it without really being affected by them. kevin, on the other hand, had placed a pillow over his hard-on to hide the embarrassing fact that these terrible, smutty scenes had turned him on.

and then the infamous boat scene came.

massimo and laura had a huge fight, she fell of the boat, he saved her and now she was suddenly so in love with him that she begs him to fuck her. which he does.

you felt your panties become increasingly wet as the couple had steaming hot sex.

'this is embarrassing but I'm so horny,' you admitted but in a way that should have suggested that you meant it as a joke. something about this statement stirred something in kevin.

'well, what can I say?' he replied and lifted the pillow. your pupils widened at the sight of your best friend's bulge.

his eyes darkened and he looked at you with lust clearly written on his face. you reciprocated his stare with the same intensity. you tried to focus on his dark brown orbs instead of his boner but the image you had just seen was present in your mind.

his gaze shifted to your lips and, before you knew it, kevin climbed above you and pressed your back flat onto the couch.

your lips locked and you immediately buried your hands in his hair to pull him closer. you moved in sync, his lips fitting perfectly onto yours. you bucked your hips up against his crotch and earned a moan from kevin. he opened his eyes in shock as realization hit him. he quickly pulled away and jumped off the coach.

'I'm so sorry, y/n. I shouldn't have just done that. I don't know what came over me,' he apologized profusely, staring at his feet. did he really think that you didn't want this?

'give me your hand,' you told him and held out your hand.

'why?' he raised his eyebrows in confusion. you rolled your eyes.

'just do it.'

you took his hand and led it to your crotch.

'what are you- oh my god.' your juices had completely soaked through your panties and your sweatpants. 'you are so wet.'

'for you,' you added. 'there's no need to apologize. I'm literally begging you to continue.'

you didn't have to say that twice before he pulled you closer to him by your hips and engaged you in another desperate kiss. his hands were groping your butt while you let yours slide under his hoodie. you felt his naked skin and toned abs, as you rubbed his stomach. you lowered your hands and bravely palmed his boner through his clothes.

'y/n,' he hissed out against your lips. you hooked your thumbs in the elastic of his pants and underwear, and pushed the material down to his thighs. he struggled to get them off.

you stroked his hard dick as he slipped his hand into your panties to massage your pussy at the same time.

he slipped one finger inside and began working it in and out. you finally were getting the relief you had been desperately craving for for so long. kevin was skilled and your walls were trying to swallow his slim finger. you were quickly coming close to your orgasm after having abstained for more than a year. you pulled his hand out.

'I bet you can make me come even better with your dick,' you challenged kevin.

'you bet I will.' he was confident.

'let me just look for a condom.' he was already turning away to go search in his room but you held him back by the arm.

'forget about it. I'm on the pill and I want you raw. I want you to come inside me and not spill into a stupid condom.'

the idea of this sounded very tempting to kevin. he picked you up and threw you back onto the couch, drawing your hips closer to him so he could pull off all the pieces of clothing that were hindering him from accessing your pussy.

he propped up his arms next to your sides and spread your thighs apart. strings of arousal were hanging from your folds and he saw your hole desperately clench around nothing. his dick hurt from how much he wanted to finally be inside of you. he wanted to find out how close he had been able to imagine how you would feel around him.

your hole took him in easily, welcoming him happily by embracing it tightly. kevin swore he could've cum right here and there.

he went slow at first to give you a chance to adjust but you were already fully ready, rocking your hips forward to meet his thrusts.

he crashed your mouths together and you kissed him like he was oxygen and you were short of air. you smiled and your eyes rolled back, satisfied with how things had played out today and the prospects of coming looked fairly promising.

desperate for release, kevin picked up the pace, his eyes closed while fucking into you like a horny animal. he couldn't help himself and all the 'faster's and 'harder's spilling from your mouth only encouraged him to drive himself deeper into you.

you wrapped your legs around his torso in an attempt to regain the control you were losing.

'fuck fuck fuck,' you cursed, feeling your muscles starting to contract. kevin brushed away some hair that was stuck to your sweaty forehead.

'it's fine, I'm coming too,' he announced and it took only a few more thrusts before a body shaking orgasm flushed over you, making you see only white. this drove kevin over the edge too and he spilled inside you, filling you up with his hot cum. he continued to slowly ease his dick in and out of you, fucking his semen right back into you until you had ridden out both of your orgasms. he let himself fall onto the couch right next to you, panting hard.

'I very much needed this,' you sighed in content.

'same, I wasn't sure whether I could hold out any longer without having a proper orgasm.' he watched his cum drip out of you.

'we should've thought of this sooner,' you said. 'this was a great idea.'

kevin hummed in agreement.

***

so now you and kevin were having sex on a regular basis, your high score being five times in a day. it felt good to finally live out your sexuality and not having to restrict yourself. sure, you guys did it more than necessary but it was a great way to pass time and it felt fucking amazing.

today you had done it in the shower after waking up, then on the kitchen counter and you had just finished having sex in his bed.

he was spooning you from behind, his cock still placed inside of you. he nuzzled his nose into your neck.

'stop, that tickles,' you chuckled.

'sorry.'

after a while of comfortable silence you heard him let out a big sigh.

'what's wrong?' you asked as he pulled out of you. you turned around to be able to look at him.

'I don't think I can do it like this anymore,' he confessed.

'what do you mean?' you asked. 'are you talking about us having sex?'

he nodded. your heart dropped and you started feeling dizzy. you tried to search for answers in his eyes but he avoided looking at you.

'w-why?' you stuttered, trying to hold back the tears that were welling up in your eyes.

'it was amazing at first,' he started and finally raised his head to meet your gaze, 'and I went into it without much thought. I went crazy during quarantine and began fantasizing about having sex with you. then it became reality but now I understand that was probably wrong of me. I've always thought of myself as a gentleman, yet I slept with you without much thought. you see, my issue is this…'

suspense hung in the air and you were impatiently waiting for him to get to the point.

'I like you.'

you quietly gasped in surprise. you had been expecting him to say you were bad at sex and that he regretted everything but not this.

'I shouldn't be sleeping with you unless you were my girlfriend,' he finished off his ramble. you felt immensely relieved.

'do you want me to?' you asked him.

'want you to what?' kevin was confused. he had been a hundred percent sure you'd immediately jump out of the bed in disgust when he confessed.

'be your girlfriend. after all, I like you too, you moron.' you realized that you had known this for a while. you might have even been crushing on your best friend since way before the pandemic struck but it was kind of hard to track your feelings. still, you were sure you liked him too. now that he had admitted his feelings, you were able to admit yours not only to him but to yourself as well.

'wow, I didn't expect this,' kevin confessed surprised. you laughed.

'yeah, we should've realized this sooner.' he pulled you closer and kissed you. it was different than the other times. his lips moved softly against yours, in contrast to all of your rough and passionate kisses you had exchanged these past few weeks. he conveyed his emotions through the kiss.

'you're ready again?' you groaned as you felt kevin's dick harden against your upper thigh. he chuckled.

'sorry, you just turn me on so much.'

so then you did it for the fourth time. that day, you set a new record of having sex six times. you might have been happy now but still just as horny.

[delimeful]

you cant go back (1)

BTHB: Locked Up and Left Behind

first in a new alien series! this one is completely unrelated to WIBAR :)

warnings: abandonment, violence, injury, mentions of death and starvation, mild cliffhanger

-

Virgil was screwed.

This was quite a familiar phrase for him. He most frequently utilized it while trying to haul Jan away from whatever batshit scheme he was joint-deep in before it blew up in their faces. Normally, however, even he could admit that his panic, fury, and/or despair was sometimes exaggerated for emphasis.

“I’m absolutely, massively, unbelievably screwed,” Virgil tried out in a low hissing whisper, and grimaced when it came out sounding like an understatement.

In the corner of his eye, his helmet’s display screen blinked an eye-numbing red, informing him that there was a breach in his suit, and the atmospheric pressure inside had been completely disrupted. There would normally be beeping, too, the shrieking ‘you’re about to die’ kind that made his shelling turn pitch with terror in simulations, but— well.

He’d been able to endure about two clicks of the racket before giving in and tearing through the audio speakers with his teeth, ruining them entirely. It meant he wouldn’t hear any of the vital organ failure notifications, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to experience a sickening play-by-play of his death on another planet anyhow.

The others had left him in some kind of dilapidated shack, hand-painted a faded red on the outside. It looked unstable, but it was apparently built sturdier than any of them expected, enough to not even creak as he thrashed around with all his free limbs. He’d been cuffed around one of the support pillars, which meant that even if he could break it, it would probably just immediately collapse and crush him to bits.

Considering there was an enormous crack in the glass of his helmet, he hadn’t really thought he’d get the privilege of worrying about how he was going to die. Aisleen— the one who had bashed his helmet against her elbow plate— had certainly agreed. She’d waited until after the others had left, granting him a quicker death the way her culture called honorable.

Janus would have disagreed loudly. Not just because Virgil was pretty sure his only friend didn’t actually want to see him choke to death on the probably-somehow-toxic atmosphere of a Deathworld, but also because that guy could go on about interplanetary ethics for rotations if you let him.

Virgil wrenched at his restraints for the hundredth time, ignoring the hot pulse of pain that came with the movement. His chitin had to be cracking by now, but the rawness of that was easier to focus on than thoughts like, ‘I’ll never get to watch him argue someone in circles again.’

The worst part wasn’t wondering if they’d fess up to abandoning him or not. No, the worst part was he wasn’t actually sure which option he preferred.

He could imagine Janus looking for him, searching for leads that didn’t exist, stubborn the way a starving shilsho would stay locked onto flesh. Never knowing what actually happened. Jan hated not knowing things, the way Virgil hated sitting with his back to an open entryway.

But if he knew… If Janus managed to wrest the truth from them— or if they bragged about it— he would blame himself. They’d left Virgil because he was just a weaker version of Janus when it came down to it, and because he backed Janus up no matter what, and because it was funny, leaving the twitchiest guy on the crew to die on a world where anything and everything could kill you.

At least Janus wouldn’t be tempted to come down and retrieve his corpse. The other Chelcera was all about self-serving scheming, and there was no way the benefits outweighed the costs. He had to believe that much for his own sanity.

Virgil closed his eyes, trying to push away the what-ifs and the mental flash-images of Janus stuck in his position. He had more than enough to worry about already.

Since the atmosphere didn’t seem toxic enough to kill him outright (for now), there was a surplus of possible ways he was going to bite it. Weather, wildlife, or withering into a lifeless husk due to lack of sustenance.

Alliteration, nice. He was funny when he was on the brink of deathbed hysterics.

For now, he was only in conceptual danger. The shack was sheltering him from any outside elements, being terrified had killed his appetite, and there didn’t seem to be any heat signatures nearby, though his vision was limited by the sides of the helmet.

It made his skin itch, not being able to see behind him, but his auxiliary arms were spread out and taut, waiting for even a wisp of movement. If anyone tried to attack him from behind, they’d strike quick and true.

Of course, then he’d probably be immediately immolated by a pissed-off Deathworlder, but at least he could go down fighting.

If he was vicious enough, they’d have to kill him, and he wouldn’t have to worry about being taken alive. Bitter venom welled up in his mouth at the thought, and he tried to breathe deeply.

He was thinking too far ahead. For now, he’d struggle and swear and watch his atmo tank dwindle down to nothing, see if it changed anything. Maybe he was going to asphyxiate, after all.

-

He made it through the night.

The sun was close to this planet, enough that he was warm even in the stripped-down version of his bodysuit and in the enclosed shade of the barn. He thought he might even get overheated if he tried to sunbathe here, which hadn’t ever been a concern back home.

Thankfully, the meager sun that spilled through the half-open window didn’t reach him, so he didn’t have to add boiling alive to his list of potential deaths.

Unthankfully, more and more heat signatures popped up as the dawn arrived, all small but still potentially life-ending. He’d heard more than enough horror stories about palm-sized Deathworlder creatures that could kill you with one bite. He wasn’t letting his guard down.

The noise that accompanied the day was welcome— he was exhausted, and every unfamiliar chattering call or whistle made his aux limbs lift back up defensively, keeping him from dropping off into sleep.

He was not falling asleep on a Deathworld. That was just asking for trouble.

The energy crash hit hard, though, and by the time the sun was overhead, he was warm and sleepy enough that he almost missed the slow creak of the door.

He definitely didn’t miss the bright splotch of heat that trotted in, though. He quickly flicked his sensor eyes closed, getting rid of the heat-sense overlay, and felt his hair stand on end as he met the slitted eyes of a small, furry quadruped.

“Mrow?” the creature chirped at him, tail winding back and forth in the air. Its fur was colored in abstract patches, and he could see the tiny fangs in its mouth as it yawned threateningly.

Virgil resisted the urge to hiss, wriggling his wrists desperately. There was no point in antagonizing a Deathworlder creature preemptively while bound and helpless, a voice in his head reminded him. It sounded kind of like Janus.

The creature stalked a little closer, predatory grace in every one of its movements, and paused to watch him again. It’s pupils seemed rounder now, ears flicked up attentively. Virgil resisted the urge to twitch his backlegs, keeping still like a terrified prey animal as it approached at a leisurely pace.

He’d had all of his bulky outer suit stripped from him by the others-- no point in leaving the soon-to-be-corpse with a pricy surface suit. They’d even taken the shoes, which had felt a bit like insult to injury.

Now, with the local fauna drawing close to his feet, it felt more like just plain injury.

As bad as the odds were, he was fervently hoping that he could make himself seem tougher than he was. Maybe having to work for its meal would scare it off? He grit his fangs and drew himself up in preparation to lash out as much as he could in retaliation for whatever damage the creature was about to inflict on him.

It trod directly over his feet and brushed its little head up against his legs, a low rumble beginning to emanate from it.

He stared blankly down at it.

“What?” he clicked quietly, and the creature chirped back at him, taking a tight turn to loop right back around and brush against him in the opposite direction. Still, not a hint of pain.

Did… Did it have contact poisons, maybe? There was a residue of shed fur building up on the ankles of his undersuit, but it seemed surprisingly harmless.

With another, louder rumble, the creature settled into a crouched position-- directly on top of his feet. Its eyes drifted slowly closed, the vibrations it was making rolling through him.

Oh, Seryl and all her stars. It was sleeping on him.

It seemed docile for now, but what would it do if he woke it? Even he threatened to bite people who interrupted his naps, and he wasn’t a tiny wild creature governed only by survival (no matter what Janus told people). His flimsy inner suit wouldn’t stop an Ampen’s claws, let alone Deathworlder teeth or claws.

The creature continued to be a warm purring weight on his feet.

He resigned himself to a very tense next few hours.

-

Patch, as he’d taken to mentally calling the creature, didn’t end up attacking him. When it woke, it stretched languidly, chirped up at him a few more times, and then departed shortly before the sunlight began to fade.

And then, the next morning, it returned. Despite Virgil’s many fears, it continued to show no interest in harming him. At some point in the day, he even accidentally fell asleep with it, and still, no surprise ambush.

Despite Patch’s yawns and rumbles and claw-flexing stretches that could all technically be threat displays, it seemed bizarrely… almost... fond of him.

There was the slightest hitch, on the second day, when he realized Patch could come in the other windows and approach from behind while he slept. Surprisingly enough, the thought of the creature sneaking up on him was less distressing than the idea of accidentally striking out at it while asleep.

The presence of a non-hostile creature keeping him company had been... surprisingly nice when he wasn’t busy freaking out about it.

Once he’d imagined that awful scenario, he couldn’t dismiss the possibility, and so he spent an inordinate amount of time using his aux limbs to fiddle with the sealing latch on his helmet until he could tug it free. The slick surface and broken glass of the visor meant that he fumbled it basically as soon as he got it off, letting it drop to the floor behind him, but the reserve power had already long died anyhow.

And then, when Patch returned a bit after the sun’s rising, they hissed viciously at him the moment he turned his head. They proceeded to refuse to come anywhere near him for a good long portion of the day, at first bristling and pacing back and forth, and then eyeing him oddly while pretending not to, and then finally approaching slowly-- in what Virgil struggled not to view as a predator’s stalk-- and deeming his feet a suitable resting perch once more.

He’d like to say he never had a friendship so exhausting, but his best friend was Janus, so this was basically different ditchport, same junkyard.

“You two’d probably get along,” he said to Patch after he’d been forgiven for the horrific crime of exposing his face. “How do you feel about schemes?”

Patch had imitated one of his double-click noises perfectly, which was somehow mostly-adorable instead of mostly-terrifying. He tried to make one of their little round chirp sounds and mangled it horribly, but thankfully the resulting look they gave him was more alarm than offense.

By the fourth day, he’d begun to keenly feel the effects of being completely without nutrients. It was really only thanks to his nature that he’d gotten this far. Chelcerae were sporadic eaters-- big meals sustained them over longer periods of time compared to other aliens. The downside of that, of course, meant that when his body finally realized that there was no food coming, the hunger pains were going to be all-consuming.

Working at Janus’s side, he’d gotten used to having food when he needed it, or even wanted it. It just figured that he was probably going to die the same way Janus had first found him: starving.

He fell into sleep more and more frequently. It passed the time, and being asleep made it much easier to ignore his impending doom.

Of course, if he’d been aware of the rude awakening he was in for, he wouldn’t have been so eager.

In fact, if he’d known what exactly was going to find him sleeping on that fourth day, he probably wouldn’t have dared to shut his eyes at all.