#let me know if you would like to be removed as well

[staybabblingbaby]

Soulmate Garden AU Ch.4 (Lewisia) a3d2

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: Growing up, you knew Soulmates weren't all that they cracked up to be. So when, on your 18th birthday, your skin is painted with a garden of flower buds, you resolve to hide it from everyone. Who had ever heard of someone with 8 soulmates, anyway?

Or; Reader has 8 soulmates and no issue avoiding all of them. It's up to SKZ to show her that while every soulbond might not be made of fairy tales, theirs certainly could be.

Word Count: 10,680

Notes: Holy shit, it's been like 3 months?????? In my defense, holidays are awful, and this is a fuckin' beast of a chapter. Binnie would NAWT shut up T^T She almost matches the word count for the entire fic so far TT^TT Plus 10 images of texting. Y am i like this??? Huge shout outs to my lovely, patient, amazing betas who made this chapter at ALL possible, @lazyfacecowboy and @brbwritingfanfic. Seriously, this would not have been written without y'all, everyone say thank you! Also special mention for @chancloud8 for negotiating me through the last bit of the chapter LMAO. She kept feeding me fics, they were my reward for doing the writing UvU

Hope y'all enjoy! And I hope it was worth the wait <3

(p.s my ass did NOT do a real final readthrough. If the formatting is weird pls forgive me, I'm sick of looking @ her T^T)

Dividers by @saradika

Warnings: Allusions to past domestic violence, flashback of verbal abuse (very vague, but still there), panic attack, she/her reader

Leave me comments or questions or anything! Love hearing from folks <3

Masterlist <3 | Prev Part | Next Part (Coming Soon <3)

The next morning marks a return to routine.

You roll out of bed half awake, sleep-mused and ready for murder. Your mood isn’t improved by the way you’d gone to bed - still in your work clothes with day-after mascara gluing your eyelids together.

A quick stop by the restroom to strip and scrub your face is a necessity, otherwise you’re liable to just crawl back into bed and rot there. You honestly wish you could. Just rot away and let all this soulmate business pass you by as you slowly return to the earth.

Alas, capitalism waits for no man.

You examine your reflection when you’ve finished, doing your best to ignore the remaining traces of grey streaks down your cheeks where your eyeliner hadn’t been as waterproof as advertised.

You try to hold onto the flash of irritation the sight brings you, to cling to the normalcy of being irritated that your makeup is waterproof enough to be a pain to remove, but not to stay through your tears. Then you remember what you’d been crying over and the pit of fear and shame that’s been your companion the last few days comes rolling back.

You don’t even know why you’d cried. Don’t feel like you deserved to cry. After all, it’s not like you were the one rejected by your soulmate for no reason.

You do your best to shake off the incoming spiral, ambling your way into the kitchen. You just need to fall back on your routines and feel normal for a bit. You’re not entirely convinced that ignoring your problems won’t make them go away, despite the dark feelings trembling in your chest.

You press your lips together to stop the bottom one from trembling and open the fridge. There’s a plate of eggs, fruit, and toast inside.

Taylor, freak of nature that he is, has been up for hours already, you know. He’d probably been up and out the door before the sun had even thought about rising. Weirdo.

Your roommate is well aware of how non-functional you can be in the morning, so it’s not unusual of him to leave you leftovers when he makes breakfast. Especially when he knows you’re not feeling your best. The little note on top isn’t new either: usually a reminder, grocery list, or a little encouragement for your day. The whole thing makes you smile, usually, and you’re always touched by his consideration.

Today that little note makes your eyes prick with a new wave of tears.

‘Give yourself a chance. Bet’s still on <3’

The $20 you’d slapped onto the counter last night is taped to the back. It feels a bit like a stone hand is crushing your heart under the weight of something unknowable and precious when you carefully tuck both the money and the note into your wallet.

You very deliberately do NOT cry, though it’s a near thing. You’d done enough crying last night. But if you sniffle a bit into cold eggs, well...

That’s for you to know, isn’t it?

It’s a Tuesday, so after breakfast you drag yourself back to your room to throw on your largest, rattiest, t-shirt and a pair of leggings to head to the gym. You’ll drag yourself through your routine with leaded limbs if you have to, you’re going to have the most regular day you can manage and everything will be fine. It has to be.

You can’t help it when eyes catch on the newly-bloomed marks on your skin as you strip away your sleepwear. The sight makes you uneasy, almost uncomfortable. It takes you a moment to realize why looking at your mark, a daily ritual you’ve kept for years, feels so foreign to you today.

It’s almost alarming to acknowledge that you haven’t actually looked at your mark since you’d met your first soulmate. The concert feels like a lifetime ago, now, despite having been barely two days ago. You’re a bit ashamed to admit that you’d been avoiding looking at it since you’d felt the first flowers bloom.

It’s no wonder looking at it feels weird, you muse as you study it now. It might as well be a whole new mark, for all the changes that have happened since you last saw it.

You decide, in the name of returning to your routine for good, that you can’t skip even this tiny part of your daily rituals.

You shuffle over to your closet, swinging open the door to reveal the full-length mirror hanging on the other side. You don’t bother with your usual rounds of self-depreciation or daily affirmations. Instead, you find your eyes glued to droopy purple petals and blankets of white stars across your abdomen.

Something wilted and small within you mourns the loss of the buds that had brought you so much comfort since they’d appeared. The new blooms are beautiful, of course, vibrant and radiant and full of so much meaning. Still, the change wounds you.

Only time will tell if it’s the healing sort of hurt.

You find your eyes glued to the fresh flowers. Their names come to mind with ease as you trace gentle fingers over echoes of delicate petals. ‘Bellflowers’ You recite to yourself, drawing your finger up thin stalks and back down dipped heads, ‘for gratitude, affection, and endurance’. Your fingers dance a bit lower. ‘Edelweiss’ you muse, lightly tapping each fuzzy white star, ‘for devotion, nobility, and courage’.

The knowledge comes easily to you, not from any cosmic force, but because of course it does. Your sister hadn’t been wrong when she’d said that asking a person’s favorite flower had been basically an obsession of yours.

The habit had started well before you’d gotten your mark. Before you’d even properly known what soulmates were, really.

It started with lazy summer days you’d been almost too young to remember. A slim hand engulfing your tiny wrist, being made to sit next to your mother while she did something in the dirt, her shadow your only shelter from the blistering sun.

Gardening with your mother had started as a way for her to drag you out of the house to get some sun while keeping an easy eye on you. Before your sister was born you’d spent many hazy afternoons learning to work the soil beside your mother.

After the advent of your favorite gremlin, you’d spent those afternoons tending to the family garden alone.

You remember being grateful to the newborn back then. Those solitary afternoons were some of the most peaceful in your memory.

At some point the ‘family garden’ had become more ‘your garden’. Your mother wouldn’t even bother to plan it out with you by the time your sister had reached her toddler years. She’d drive you to the store, hand you a bit of cash, and leave it all in your tiny capable hands.

You’d spent hours researching the best ways to nurture your plants.

What flowers liked being planted together, which ones should be separated. You learned about soil types and the nutrients found in them. You learned about ph values, how to measure them, and why they mattered. Anything to have your garden thriving more brightly, more beautifully, for longer.

If you weren’t in the garden, you were in the library by your house, nose buried in a gardening book.

You vividly remember the day it all went wrong.

It hadn’t even been that dramatic, as you recall. At least, not in terms of your parent’s usual fights. It was heartbreak—despair— that had marked the day, instead of fear.

You’d been digging up weeds, clawing up deep roots with your gloved hands and a trowel, when your father had come storming outside.

You don’t remember what he’d said. It’d been nonsense, just vitriol for vitriols' sake. Something about you always taking your mother’s side because of your shared hobby, you think.

Never mind that the woman hadn’t put so much as a toenail to the dirt since your sister had been born.

He hadn’t let up for quite a while, if memory serves. Stood there yelling at you in your safe space for close to an hour. Maybe two, but your child-brain couldn’t be trusted with the time.

It may have just been minutes, now that you think about it.

Nonetheless, he’d yelled, and yelled, and yelled. He hadn’t trampled on or broken anything. He hadn’t even made sense.

And yet, when he’d finally left, everything was different.

The blooms you’d worked so hard to nurture were no longer beautiful, the soil you’d once called home no longer safe.

You hadn’t tended another garden after that season. You’d seen your plants to winter, and you’d let go. You’d turned away from the sun and soil and leaned into your books and silly questions to fill the hole left behind.

You’re sure you’d left claw marks in the dirt.

Something like a gentle humming emanates from your soulmark, and its warmth draws you back to the present. You look down at it, noticing how tightly you're clutching at the garden around your waist, your arms wrapped around you in a weak semblance of a hug. Each of your fingers had managed to directly touch a flower.

The awkward sprawl of your fingers feels natural, as if you’d never sought to comfort yourself any other way. As if seeking out your bond, your link to total strangers, for comfort was all you’d ever done.

It was natural, you muse. It was human nature to seek resonance in their bonded. It was the universe’s way of assuring you that you’re loved. Your soulmate’s way of assuring you that they’re still there.

You gingerly pry your hands away and blankly study the crescent moons you’ve left behind, soft skin indented where petals should have ripped.

You wonder if you’ll leave claw marks in this garden too. If they’ll leave claw marks in you.

You tear your eyes away from the mirror, ignoring the warm, gentle tingling up your side where your fingers had dug in. You know it means the people on the other end are pressing against their own marks. You know it shows their care, how that gentle sensation masks the stinging ache your fingers should have left behind.

For some reason, you miss the pain.

You quickly toss on a camisole, forgoing your usual privacy wraps, and your t-shirt over that.

There was nothing for emptying your mind quite like running yourself into the ground at the gym. With full awareness that you’re going to regret your gym session later, you flee your apartment, your mind pleading normal, normal, normal.

Maybe jogging all the way to the gym wasn’t such a great idea. It’d sounded fantastic at the time, a head start on your cardio and a way to remove yourself from your negative headspace before you tried to toss around weights you barely knew how to use.

It had sort of worked, but now you hadn’t even entered the building and you were already a sweaty, panting, mess.

You enter the building after guzzling down half of your water bottle, resignation in your heart. Cardio wasn’t even your focus today.

The automatic doors slide open with their usual swish and you’re greeted by the familiar stale smell all gyms seem to share, no matter how clean. It’s comforting, even if you do kind of wanna go home already.

There’s someone already at the receptionist’s desk when you approach, talking in slow and measured English. You try not to be annoyed with the tiny delay, but while you’d successfully outrun your demons (for now), your bad mood had stuck around.

Alas, you’ve ventured into the public and found the public there. A travesty. Knowing that you just have to deal with it, you cross your arms and bite back the irritation this complete stranger hadn’t done anything to earn.

Luckily enough, the low and measured cadence of the stranger’s voice is soothing enough to zone out to. Unfortunately, he’s also the only thing around to rest your eyes on, so you find yourself studying his form.

His back is broad and built, huge biceps on display in a tight fitting black t-shirt. You kinda wanna squish them. A vivid tattoo sleeve runs all the way down to his wrist, and you find your stare glued to it.

Large, boldly colored flowers take up the majority of the space, vague outlines of crashing waves and rolling mists filling in the rest with a luxurious combination of oriental art styles.

Beautiful as it is, you can’t help but think it doesn’t look finished.

Dragging your eyes away from such gorgeous ink is quite the task, but you don’t want your admiration to be mistaken for judgement. It gets easier when you start to notice just how fine the man himself is.

You really can’t help the way your eyes trace up and down his body, now that you’re no longer anchored to his tattoo. It should be impossible, you think, to somehow bulk up in only the right places, but by Jove this man has done it. You’re jealous, honestly.

Your eyes come to a rest on the stranger’s backside. Quite jealous, indeed.

You try to shake yourself from your admiration, reminding yourself that there were very many well-muscled men in this place and that you’d always endeavored to keep a polite line-of-sight, even when they didn't. It hadn’t even been a hard ask, until now.

You drag your gaze back up to the back of his head.

You’d be polite if it killed you. Even if neither the stranger or the scrawny receptionist had noticed your wandering gaze. Especially then.

While you were.... distracted... the man’s conversation with the receptionist seemed to have gone a whole lot of nowhere. From what you can gather, he’s looking for a short-term membership, and the receptionist is trying to tell him they don’t do that.

You know that’s true, the receptionist isn’t trying to scam the guy. Even the trial period for this place was an entire month. You’d specifically chosen this gym for that reason. If you hadn’t been able to stick it out for a month, you know you’d have never used the place enough to justify a membership.

You send your sympathies to this stranger, it seems he really just needs a little less than a week. You know there are some no-commitment type places not too far though, so you wonder why he’s stuck on this place.

Their back and forth goes a while longer, but it’s evident that the beautifully-built stranger can’t really argue his case properly. Whether because of the obvious language barrier he’s working with, or because he’s run out of arguments, you can’t be sure.

Eventually he steps to the side to make a call, and you’re able to approach the counter.

The receptionist (His name is Jake, you remind yourself by reading his name-tag. The owner’s nephew, if you recall) looks relieved to see you after whatever hassling the stranger had given him.

He lazily waves the clipboard and its sign-in sheet at you in greeting. You take the clipboard, trading him your membership card and driver’s license for it, and turn to prop your knee up on the counter to balance it while you write.

Incidentally, your choice of position keeps the stranger in your line of sight.

It also happens to give Jake a view of his own, but you magnanimously ignore his gaze wandering to your chest. If only because you’re still looking not-so-respectfully at the tattooed stranger a few feet away.

You weren’t close to the receptionist by any means, but Jake is easy to chat to, when you take the extra minute to do so. The type of acquaintance you’d never remember the name of if it weren’t pinned to his lapel, but you've seen pictures of every dog he’s ever had.

It makes it easy to pry him for gossip.

“So what was that all about?” You query as you hand back the clipboard. He shrugs at you, typing a second longer.

“Some big-shot who needs a security detail,” He answers, unimpressed, “Says this is the only gym in, like, five miles of his hotel that he doesn’t need an entourage to go to.”

You hum your understanding, now trying to place if the handsome stranger was someone you knew of.

Situations like that weren’t uncommon for this gym. Celebrities that actually lived in LA weren’t spotted here very often but, since it was settled very close to quite a few high-security luxury hotels, the building saw its fair share of famous faces.

Due to its occasionally high-profile clientele, security was kept quite tightly, and a certain code of conduct was expected amongst the gym’s members. It was another justification for the long trial period, wherein one could only access the front room with the basic weights and machines. All the fancy stuff (including a pool, rock wall, dance studio, and all sorts) was in the back.

Non-members weren’t allowed past reception at all.

It was also another reason you yourself were a patron here. The high security and strict standards made for a quiet and comfortable atmosphere.

At least, as long as you ignored the judgmental looks. Most people who utilized this space were much more fit and put together than you. You tried not to let it bother you.

“What’s the issue, then?” You question Jake, “Doesn’t the owner make exceptions for celebrities?” You phrase it as a question, but you know he does. The unfamiliar faces that pop up for a few days every now and then wouldn’t show up otherwise.

Jake just sighs like he’s had this conversation a thousand times. Considering the celebrity(?) waving his hands around as he spoke rapidly into his phone not far away, maybe he had.

“He does, but he’s out of town and no one else can adjust the contracts.” He eventually explains. He finally hands you your stuff back, and you hum consideringly as you put the cards back in your wallet.

Another glance at the furrowed brows on the stranger’s masked face has pity welling up your throat.

You turn your gaze to focus on Jake.

“Do I still have that visitor pass?” You ask him, knowing that he still has your details up. Jake glances at you with a raised eyebrow, but obligingly checks the computer.

“Yup,” He confirms, “You’ve been paying for it since you dragged your poor roommate in here that one time. Why?”

“Can he use it?” you nod your head to the frustrated stranger. From where you’re sat, still perched on the edge of the desk, it looks oddly like he’s begging whoever’s on the other line.

Your visitor pass wasn’t all-access, of course. It’d just get the poor guy into the main front room plus the locker rooms and showers, but you figured it’d be better than nothing. It wasn’t like Taylor would step foot in here after you’d run him ragged last time, not even for the moral support.

Jake levels you with his most deadpan stare. It’s quite a good one, completely unimpressed. You think it must be something about customer service that allows him to make that face. Or maybe it’s just you.

“You realize that your visitor pass is you vouching for your visitor’s character, right?” He reminds you, “If he does anything, breaks anything, pisses off the wrong lifeguard- it’ll be on your head.”

You just shrug. It’s not like you couldn’t find a new gym if you had to. You’d miss this one, with its quiet atmosphere and abundant amenities, but you didn’t require its security and discretion like some of the other members did.

“I’ve got a good feeling about it.” Is all you tell Jake. It’s not even a lie.

The poor boy just rolls his eyes at you. He still turns to rifle through the desk for the right form for you to fill out though, so you’ll take it.

“You a fan of his or something?” Jake asks, handing you a different clipboard. “There are easier ways to bag a celebrity.”

“Nope!” You answer cheerfully, fully ignoring the suggestion of your motives as you start to fill out the form, “No idea who he is.”

Jakes huffs an incredulous laugh, and turns a considering gaze on your new friend. And the stranger does have to be a friend now, because ‘some guy’ is not an option on your paperwork.

“I bet he’s a wrestler,” he finally says after a long moment, “Or a sportswear model.”

You gently bop him on the head with your clipboard, “I refuse to participate in your speculation.” You admonish, ignoring his whining.

“I’ll show you his picture when you leave,” He smirks back, “and whatever google says about him.” He shrugs when you send him a cutting glare, “What? It’s public information.”

“Respect your customer’s privacy, you weirdo.” You scold. He just laughs as you hand him the form, all filled out and just waiting for the stranger’s signature. You know full well that Jake will go through with his research, regardless of what you say, so you give up easily.

It’s not like he’ll be fired for doing it, as long as you don’t go blabbing about the poor celebrity outside of the gym. Privileges of nepotism.

You exchange farewells as you hop off the counter, and he begins to wave over Mr. Celebrity. You meet the eyes of your on-paper friend and offer him a quick nod before you scuttle off deeper into the building.

Hopefully he’d be too grateful for your offer to find you terribly strange.

You manage to make it all the way through your warm-ups before your good deed gets punished. You suppose you’ll be grateful to the universe for letting you find your zen on your yoga mat before it dropped the other shoe.

You notice the legs in the mirror before you realize someone is trying to speak to you. You accidentally ignore the newcomer for several long moments, assuming they were approaching to use a different part of the mirror. When you finally realize they’re waiting for you to acknowledge them, it’s been just shy of too long.

You ease out of your last stretch and stand up, automatically taking an earbud out as you turn to face them.

“Sorry, did you need me to move?” You question as you finally look up. You‘d had your most emo playlist blasting in your ears during your warm up, an attempt to process your feelings through movement or whatever that one instructor from forever ago had tried to teach you.

So of course it’s with perfect clarity that A. Jay Popoff sings “I am my own worst enemy” into the empty space between you and Seo motherfuckin’ Changbin.

Your mental plea for a normal, routine sort of day dies a horrible death when you make eye contact with the pop-star.

And you realize you really must be your worst enemy as you do, because you easily recognize the outfit he’s wearing and the vivid tattoos on his arm.

Of course your good deed for the day led you to one of your soulmates. Of. Fucking. Course.

You’re not sure what you’d done to Karma recently for her to be throwing all of this shit at you right now, but you’d appreciate it if she’d just let you apologize instead of whatever cruel punishment this is.

Changbin must realize you recognize him, because he shyly raises a hand to fiddle with his earrings as he replies.

“Ah, no, I uh...” The hand slides to the back of his neck and he clears his throat uncomfortably. You quickly school your expression back into a semblance of normality when he glances away. You feel like you might still be a bit wild around the eyes, though.

“I just wanted to say thank you.” He concludes. He looks like he wants to say more, but you figure he might not have the English words to do so easily. It’s okay, you don’t really have the Korean to describe how you’re feeling right now either.

Your first instinct is to offer to speak Korean for him, but the air between the two of you is already wildly uncomfortable. Vastly different causes for both of you, you’re sure, but it’s enough to make you second guess your every move.

“Oh, uh, no problem.” You assure.

You stare resolutely at his nose when you speak. If you look into his eyes again you’re sure you’ll spill your entire life story. And if not that extreme, you’ll at least spill the whole soulmate thing. Something about being directly confronted with your problems makes you chatty.

But also if you look away from his face, knowing that body is supposed to be compatible with yours... It leads to some very impolite thoughts. Cute as it is, his nose is the safest thing for you to look at right now.

You offer the idol a thin-lipped smile when you realize the interaction hasn’t ended. Dear god, why has it not ended?

“Anything else I can do for ya?” you offer, inwardly cursing your manners. You’ve lived here long enough that you know people outside your tiny country-side town take that as an invitation instead of a dismissal.

Sure enough, Changbin starts to speak again, his words slow and careful. You watch him wipe his palms on his shorts, idly wondering if he’s shitting himself internally as much as you are right now. And what he’s freaking out about if he is.

“You... Recognize me? Are you STAY?” He gestures a bit while he talks, like he’s trying to cast a spell on you to understand what he’s trying to say. You think it might work, because your mouth is running off without you before you quite process the words.

“Ahh.. hah, uh,” You chuckle awkwardly, your fingers rising to pinch your lips nervously, “My roommate is. We were at your concert the other day, actually,” And even as you say the words your eyes flick down to his arm. You refocus, hopefully before he could notice the quick glance, but you can’t stop your thoughts from spiraling.

After all, he didn’t have that kind of ink at the concert. You and Taylor were front row, right up on the barricade, you’d seen all eight Stray Kids up close and personal. You’d have remembered such a vivid tattoo. And there were only so many reasons to cover a sleeve like that so completely.

Something complicated settles in your stomach as you realize that Changbin is probably a ‘loud and proud’ kind of soulmate, if he’s showing off his mark like this outside of his work. Work you know prevents him from showing off his mark.

Your mouth keeps running without you while you have your little crisis.

“I didn’t recognize you at reception, I woulda had you sign something for him.” You can’t help the rush of embarrassment that sweeps through you, even as you laugh uncomfortably at your own joke.

Why on earth would you say something like that? This situation is already uncomfortable enough! On so many levels!

Somehow, this seems to have been the right thing to say, though, as Changbin’s eyes light up at your joke, the tension easing a bit.

“I can sign,” He suggests, “It would make me feel...” He starts gesturing again, looking for the word he wants, “Less bad?” He finishes like a question.

And suddenly you understand his awkwardness a lot better. It always sucks to feel indebted to someone.

You laugh a little more freely with your new understanding, “Oh, you really don’t have to,” You assure, “I was just joking.”

He shakes his head, “Think of it as.. trade.” He nods, satisfied with himself.

You bob your head to the side, pressing your lips together with a tiny, frustrated, whine, “I really didn’t want anything from you,” you insist, “I hold onto that pass for my roommate, but he never comes with me anyways. You’re doing me a favor using it, seriously.”

You try to speak slowly and clearly, taking a page from Changbin’s book and letting your hands roam while you speak. You hope your spell of understanding works as well as his did.

He takes a moment to respond, mouthing along to some of your words. It’s kind of fascinating to watch someone translate in real time, especially when the process is written all over their face. It’s a little surreal to be on the other side of it.

Eventually his face clears, and he makes a little ‘ah!’ noise that you really shouldn’t find as endearing as you do. You’re in the middle of rejecting your soulmates, you should not be finding one of them cute right now.

“If it is roommate’s pass, more reason to sign, yes?” He reasons, looking proud of his logic. You huff a tiny laugh at him, absolutely charmed.

“Sure, big guy,” You sigh with defeat, though you can’t seem to wipe the smile off your face, “Sounds like a fair trade. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”

The two of you stall for a moment, the atmosphere leagues lighter than before.

When the moment seems over, you make a show of looking down at your pocket-less outfit, and then at the ground around you.

“I don’t have a pen on me,” you trail off meaningfully. He looks surprised for a second, like the possibility had never occurred to him.

“Oh,” He looks around as well, lost for a moment, “I can see if front desk has one?” he asks, like he’s looking for instruction. Another thought seems to occur to him then.

“Do you have...” He starts to gesture again, but you cut him off with a nod, fairly certain you’re sure what he’s trying to ask.

“Yeah, I’m sure I can find something for you to sign,” You point in the direction of the locker room, “I’ll probably have to look in my bag though.” You glance between him, the door to the locker room, and the door that leads out to reception.

“Meet back here in 5?” you propose. He seems content with this plan and nods in agreement. “Oh!” You stop him before he can fully turn around.

“Ask for a sharpie,” you instruct, “I’m not sure I’ll be able to find regular paper.” In fact, you’re pretty sure you’ll be sacrificing the spare ball cap you keep in your bag for this. You hope Taylor likes tie-dye.

With that, the two of you go your separate ways. It takes you no time at all to locate the bright monstrosity of a hat, a souvenir you abhorred from one of your father’s many ‘business’ trips. It would be no loss to you, but you take time to see if you have any actual paper around. You need the processing time.

Stars above, what were you thinking? There was no way you were getting out of this without another soulmate bond, but here you were, casually chatting with the guy instead of getting the fuck out of dodge!

You really couldn’t help it though.

Even when he’d been no more than a stranger to you, you hadn’t been able to help the way you gravitated toward Changbin. Now that you knew he was your soulmate, your actions made a lot more sense to you.

You’d always been on the people pleasing side of helpful, but vouching for a complete stranger was new for you. Even now, you were obediently grabbing an item for him to deface with a signature you don’t even want (no matter how thoroughly Taylor would murder you if you’d passed it up) just because you could tell how uneasy Changbin was with just accepting the visitor pass.

It didn’t help that the man was endearing as hell. Every little thing he did seemed cute to you, and you’d barely known him for ten minutes!

You felt like this was a new low for you. Doing things you didn’t really want to, for a man. Taylor would be so disappointed in you.

Having stalled for maybe far too long, you settle on sacrificing the atrocious hat to Changbin’s pen and put your stuff away. Something heavy and squirmy settles in your chest as you make your way back out to retrieve your prize from the man of the hour.

Surprisingly, there’s no accidental meeting of hands when Changbin autographs your hat. He did give you a bit of a bemused look for the choice of item, but you’d just shrugged at him. It was all you were willing to sacrifice, and Taylor should be grateful for even this much, in your opinion.

Unsurprisingly, the lack of first contact does not ease your mind at all. In fact, it rockets up your anxiety another thousand notches. You can’t help checking over your shoulder at every opportunity, despite the fact that Changbin hadn’t left the weights area since he’d settled there and couldn't follow you through the door to the rest of the facility regardless.

Look, you know how the whole first contact thing worked, okay? Fate would put two soulmates in the same place for whatever stupid reason, and find an even stupider reason for them to make skin-to-skin contact. You’d experienced it twice now, and you couldn’t help but think going out of your way to avoid everything Changbin was wouldn’t help you very much.

Even still, you can’t stay paranoid and vigilant forever. When nothing happens while you finish your cardio, or when you work your way through both the pool and the sauna, you admittedly let down your guard a bit.

Maybe that’s why, after you’ve made your way back to the front room to try and finish your workout, when you’re mid-stretch and staring daggers at a weight machine you’re sure you’ll figure out how to use if you glare long enough, you jump about five miles out of your skin when you hear Changbin’s voice behind you.

Jumping from such a precarious position is never a good idea, and your sudden movement has set your head on a one-way collision course with the gym’s hardwood floors about it.

Hands fly around your middle, catching you awkwardly around your ribs. Unfortunately, all this noble attempt to catch you does is slow your descent, giving you just enough time to flinch violently enough to bring your arms up and prevent your head from meeting the ground and brace for impact.

The rest of you still hits the ground pretty hard, and Changbin’s knees and elbows meet a similar fate, his own head saved by headbutting your stomach, knocking the air out of you even harder than it already had been.

The two of you sit there a moment, groaning with the pain of your fall. At least you don’t have a concussion. You’ll take every small mercy with the way the universe has treated you lately.

Some part of you is cognizant enough to give the heavens a heartfelt thank you when you notice that none of your aches and pains are from your soulbond activating. Somehow, through that entire debacle, and even considering the amount of exposed skin between your t-shirt and his, you hadn’t managed to touch. You’re still safe.

As the shock starts to wear off, you start to become aware of the warmth of large hands still resting heavily against your sides, both soothing and wildly distracting. It’s like every fiber of your being is focused on where he’s touching you, warm and weighty. Changbin’s head still buried in your abdomen doesn’t help with the building fluster taking over your brain.

You swear one of his thumbs has landed squarely on one of the flower buds directly opposite Lee Know’s Bellflowers, and the tingly feeling of the bond weakly trying and failing to establish through the thin barrier of your shirt is not helping your mushy brain at all.

You tip your head back to stare at the ceiling, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth to prevent yourself from doing something stupid, like confessing all of your sins to Changbin right then and there.

Maybe you did have a concussion after all.

It’s probably been less than a minute since the two of you hit the floor, but it feels like ten hours have passed when Changbin finally lifts his head, wide eyes finding yours frantically.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” He asks, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, are you okay?” He uses his hold on you to gently lift you to a seated position, removing them in favor of hovering politely as he fusses. You don’t think he’s realized he’s reverted to his native Korean in his panic.

“I’m alright, I’m okay,” you assure him in the same language, “Just bruised a bit, I’m fine.”

He continues to fuss a bit more, running you through a quick series of concussion tests even after you tell him that you hadn’t hit your head at all. It’s only after he’s helping you to your feet, respectfully allowing you to use a clothed part of his arm to help yourself up, that he clocks the language the both of you are using.

“Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?” He teases, “You speak Korean all of the sudden.”

You can’t help the little laugh that escapes you, nor can you help how his smug little smile makes your heart flutter. “I’ve spoken Korean the whole time.” You inform him.

“And you didn’t tell me? You just let me struggle?” The fondness in his smile assures you that he’s just joking, so you respond in kind.

“You were just trying so hard...” You shrug sheepishly and delight in the full body laugh that tears out of him. You wait for him to calm before you ask, “What did you need, by the way? I didn’t catch what you said before, well..” You gesture helplessly at the floor.

It’s his turn to look sheepish now, shoulders hiking up and a nervous hand making its way to his neck, “Ah, that.” he shrugs, “I was just saying that you had a pretty soulmark.”

The sudden compliment catches you off guard, and you suddenly become aware that your camisole has come loose from where it had been tucked into your sweats. Your hand flies up to cover the now-covered skin of your stomach, feeling sick.

You can’t remember when it happened, and the thought of however many strangers seeing your soulmark, no matter how little of it, sends a sharp note of dread through your body. You suddenly feel eyes digging into your skin, despite being covered again as soon as you’d stood up. You feel a bit sick, your skin crawling with discomfort.

You’re aware that your camisole would have ridden up to your lower back, at most, but there’s no telling how much of your mark anyone might have seen. What Changbin might have seen, what he may have noticed.

Changbin must notice your sudden pallid complexion, and continues on, trying to reassure you, probably. You barely hear him over the heartbeat in your ears, your trembling hands trying to discreetly tuck the undershirt back in while he speaks.

“I just meant that it’s very colorful and vibrant,” He explains, smile fading from his face as concern starts to cloud it at your reaction, “Whoever your soulmate is, they’re very lucky.”

“Ah, I don’t know them yet,” You counter. It’s even the truth. You hadn’t spoken much to any of your soulmates so far. Well, until now, you guess.

“Oh, well, I stand by what I said.” He asserts, his easy grin betrayed by the pinch between his brows, “Whoever your soulmate is will be very lucky to have you.”

“I don’t know about all that,” You tilt your head with self-deprecating consideration.

Maybe it’s a lingering guilt for how you’ve been handling your soulmates so far that makes you continue the thought, instead of laughing it off like the joke it should be. Maybe you just want him- want them- to know why you’ve been acting this way, “I don’t even know if I want to meet them, so I’m not sure how lucky they could be to have me as a soulmate.”

Changbin levels you with an absolutely baffled look, as if you’ve just challenged the very foundation of his worldview.

“Why not?” He asks, “Doesn’t everyone want to meet their soulmate?”

You wrap yourself in a loose hug, one hand rubbing soothingly at your elbow, and shrug, “I just... I haven’t had great experiences with soulmates, is all.” You can’t keep your eyes from straying to his soulmark, vibrant and full.

It’s an image that would be hard to elbow your way into, and you can’t imagine a way that the addition of you could possibly enhance it. It still feels unfinished to you, but it doesn’t look that way. You feel both better and worse about yourself, knowing that they didn’t need you.

A glance at Changbin’s utterly lost face has you opening your mouth before you can think about it, shoulders beginning to climb up to your ears.

“Not all soulmates get along, you know?” You mutter sullenly, almost to yourself.

Changbin seems to consider this for a moment, head tilting cutely to the side as he takes in your claim.

“I mean, sure.” He draws his words out slowly, carefully, with a little furrow between his brows. “Everyone fights sometimes, but you get through it together, right? That’s what makes you soulmates. Choosing to stick together.”

You couldn’t hold in the scoff and eye-roll combo that rips out of you if you’d tried. “Yeah, maybe.”

You’d feel bad about the venom in your voice, or the way it causes Changbin to shift uncomfortably from foot to foot, but you can’t find it in yourself to care at the moment. Something sick and dark twists around your stomach, and the battle to keep a deep scowl from your face is the only one you’re willing to fight right now.

“I have a feeling that was the wrong thing to say,” Changbin smiles wanly at you, and you meet his eyes for barely a second before you find yourself melting beneath his earnest gaze. The thorns around your heart ease just enough to bleed, and you shrug at him again.

“When people stay together just because they’re soulmates it only makes things worse.” you tell him, “Nothing gets magically fixed just because you’re soulmates.”

Surprisingly, Changbin agrees easily, “Well, yeah, that’s not the kind of sticking together I’m talking about,” He explains, “I meant more, like,” He gestures as he tries to find his words, and your heart positively aches as you realize the habit transcends languages.

You find yourself softening more and relaxing out of your defensive curl out of sheer endearment. You’re sure you’d be making absolute heart-eyes at Changbin right now if the topic at hand wasn’t so deeply uncomfortable for you.

“Ok, let me try an example,” He eventually decides, his eyes following your gaze where it had once again returned to his soulmark without your permission. He flexes a bit, making the flowers on his skin bounce and dance with a small, fond, smile. “I’m soulmates with the other members, right?”

He says it easily, casually, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. You almost nod along, before you remember that the world at large definitely does not have that information, even if you do, and you meet his smug little smirk with wide-eyed shock.

You can’t help but gape at him for the casual confession, glancing around the empty gym like someone else might’ve heard Changbin’s brazen confession. He’s already waving you off before you can sputter out the questions stuck in your throat.

“It’s not a big deal, don’t worry about it. It’s not like we try very hard to hide it.” He does a weird little half-nod-half-shrug motion at his soulmark, “But yeah, we’re all soulmates, and we all pretty much knew before debut, even though Innie’s mark hadn’t shown up yet.”

You do nod this time. Slowly, though, as you try to figure out where he’s going with this. Changbin takes it as permission to continue, and so he does.

“Well, Jeongin’s our baby, and even though marks show up at 18, you’re not an adult in Korea until 19, so there’s a lot we had to leave him out on.” He grimaces a little, “Being an Idol is stressful as it is, throwing a new soul bond and puberty and all that on top wasn’t very helpful. We were all volatile and fragile. But Innie definitely took it the worst. He felt left behind and unfair and angry with it all.”

He chuckles and gives a little shrug, “We had our share of knock-down, drag-outs.” He admits sheepishly, “It wasn’t an easy time for us.” He rolls his head toward the ceiling and, despite Changbin’s efforts, you can easily spot the smitten look on his face along with his cherry-red ears.

“But we made it through,” He says softly, “We took the time to dig into all of his insecurities and find what we could do to help him. He made the choice to be vulnerable and honest with us. It took time to get here, but we made it through.”

Changbin meets your eyes again, “That’s what I mean when I say soulmates are about choosing to stick together. You work through the hard times and disagreements together, work toward something better. Soulmates are destiny, but love is choice.”

You let his words rattle around your brain as you get lost in his earnest gaze. Let the idea settle into you like something entirely new, like it wasn’t your understanding of healthy relationships beforehand. Of course that’s the ideal, you know that. No one is perfect and all that, everyone disagrees sometimes. It’s discussing it and finding solutions together that makes a partnership work long-term. You know that.

For the first time, you wonder if you’d just always considered soulmates an exception to the rule.

You’d automatically assigned soulmates as a concept a failing grade at working their problems through. Your parents certainly never worked out their issues, and every soulmate you’d ever seen in the media was an automatic happy-ending. As soon as that bond snaps into place, the story’s over. Happily ever after.

You’d always thought ‘ever after’ must be an awful short time.

‘Love is choice’ echoes through you like something divine.

You break Changbin’s gaze and offer him a half-hearted shrug. “I guess.” you concede, “My soulmates probably have a lot of work cut out for them with me, though. So I still don’t know if they’d want me.”

“I think it’d be worth the work,” Changbin smiles gently at you, “To be your soulmate, I mean.”

You feel heat rush up your neck and bless your genetics for keeping it from showing on your cheeks. You disguise your bashfulness by lightly slapping Changbin’s shoulder (and woah is he solid under your hand when you do) and loudly complain about him being a flirt.

He responds by doing his best to fluster you, clearly enjoying putting those fanservice skills to use. You complain with every flex and smoulder, especially when he starts unleashing the aegyo, and the two of you let the banter and laughter chase away the somber mood.

Eventually you settle, and Changbin nods at the very intimidating machine you’d been staring at what felt like a lifetime ago now.

“Did you need a spotter?” He offers. You hem and haw for a moment, before sheepishly admitting that you need a teacher more than a spotter. When he lights up and offers to be that, too, you can’t help the way your eyes travel up and down his body with open admiration.

He certainly looks plenty qualified, and really, you’re only a girl. If your once-over leaves him with red ears and a smug grin, well. You’ll consider it your revenge for now.

You very quickly realize your mistake in letting him coach you.

Changbin tours you quickly around various machines, explaining their functions and the proper ways to use them to avoid injury. All well and good, and you ask permission to record short videos of him doing so in case you find yourself forgetting his advice, which he graciously allows on the condition you don’t share them anywhere.

You agree after negotiating for viewing rights for Taylor, with the reasoning that the lure of the videos might actually get your roommate back into the gym with you. It makes Changbin laugh enough to indulge you.

And then he actually starts you on a machine, after getting a rundown on what you’d already done today, and you experience hell on earth.

The thing is, he’s unfairly good at coaching you through it. He keeps up a steady stream of warm encouragement and light jokes even as you curse him out for steadily increasing the weights on each machine you work through. He’s right there to help you through the sets the moment you start to get too tired and is almost preternaturally good at pushing you to only just above your limits.

And his hands are always right there. He’s almost always touching you somehow, throughout the whole thing. His touch is light, coaching and clinical, and unfailingly polite. Still, the warmth of his skin through your flimsy gym-wear feels heavy. Nearly threatening. Distracting, at the very least.

You’ll definitely need those videos later.

It’s a relief when it’s over. You’re sore and sweaty and you have to go sit at a desk for six or more hours when you leave, which you’re very much not looking forward to.

Changbin splits with you to hit the showers, but somehow you still come together again before you pass reception.

“Thanks for today,” you say as the two of you stall your goodbyes, “I had a lot of fun. You’ve more than earned that guest pass.” you tease, smile wide and mischievous.

He’s smiling too, even as he shoves your shoulder and complains about you extorting him.

When you run out of things to say, you shuffle lightly in place. It’s not like you expect him to give you his number, he is an Idol after all, but still you can’t quite make yourself leave. You find yourself casting around for something, anything, to say to make the moment last. To stay in his presence just a second longer.

You shake yourself out of it once you notice. You might not be running from them anymore, but you certainly weren’t trying to make friends with your soulmates. The longer you stayed in his presence, the more likely it was that you’d end up with another first contact.

At last, after a far-too-long moment of silence, you hold out your hand and offer a flat, closed-lip smile.

“It was really nice to meet you, Changbin.” You tell him sincerely, eyes locked on his. You swear looking your soulmates in the eye is some kind of hypnosis, the way you always get lost in them when you do. Something about it just makes you feel a tiny bit dumb, like your brain gets switched off.

“You too, y/n.” He agrees, reaching for your offered hand. You only realize what you’ve just done as your name leaves his lips, your eyes widening as they dart down to his hand and yours, but it’s far too late.

Your breath hitches a moment before his skin makes contact with yours, and you watch it happen in slow motion. He grasps your hand and pulls you in instead of settling for the more distant and formal farewell. All too quickly you’re settled into his grasp, completely enveloped in him and dizzy with more than just his warmth as soft prickles dance up your side.

You feel more than you hear him gasp, his hold on you so complete. Your head ends up on his shoulder as you stumble into him from his pull, and you get a front row seat to the top of his shoulder filling in with outlines and shadows from your place tucked against his neck, dull colors adding a definition to the images in his soulmark and settling like they’d always been there.

Distantly, you feel chest tighten with completion, with satisfaction and something smug and proud at the sight, even as your mind starts screaming.

Changbin is solid against you, comforting and almost stiflingly warm from both his workout and shower. You catch a whiff of his soap, the scent muting the alarm bells blaring in your brain even as you lay limp against him with the shock.

And then his hold on you tightens just a bit, only for a moment, but it’s all that it takes for you to break.

Your breath begins to hitch, visions of sweet touches turning sour and threatening violence causing you to flinch violently in Changbin’s comforting embrace. You feel your eyes begin to wet as you start to struggle, needing out, out, out.

It must have been less than a second, but Changbin pulls back, still holding you by your shoulders like he doesn’t know how to let go.

“Y/n?” He asks, voice small. You can only shake your head, breaths coming out in harsh gasps, limbs trembling violently. Changbin hurriedly lowers the two of you to the floor, much more prepared than you are for your limbs to give out halfway down.

He finally releases you as you settle and you curl tightly into yourself. The places where he’d held you feel frozen now, the cold viciously settling into your bones, even as Changbin does his best to get your attention and guide you through a breathing exercise.

You can’t focus on him though, the sensation of flowers blooming on your skin overwhelming, the memory of his touch both welcome and suffocating.

“S- ‘orry, I’m-” You hiccup, “I’m so- so s’rry-” If Changbin is at all put off by your sudden breakdown, he doesn’t show it. He just tilts his head and offers you hushed words of assurance.

“Nothing to be sorry for, y/n,” he assures, “It’s alright, just breathe, ok?”

He offers you a hand and you can’t help but take it, the warmth startling a breath into you that you hadn’t been aware you needed. Changbin guides your hand to his chest, instructing you to breathe with him, and you automatically focus on the heavy thump of his heartbeat under your palm.

He keeps talking to you, trying to keep your attention, but your mind spins wildly away from you even as you finally manage a deep inhale under Changbin’s attention.

You need to tell him that you’d known since he’d first spoken to you who he was. Who he was to you, even, but you can’t open your mouth to do more than gasp another apology. You’re sure he’ll hate you, leave you there on the floor of the gym to die like you deserve, especially after all you’d told him about how you feel about soulmates.

He’ll hate you for putting his soulmates through rejection, for refusing to speak to them or even look them in the eye. He’ll leave you here, humiliated on the gym’s floor, and you’ll deserve it because you’re a horrible person who wouldn’t even give them a breadth of a chance because you were too damn scared-

A hand grasps your spare one, the one not touching him, not keeping you just barely above the waves of hyperventilating, and you hadn’t even noticed it scrabbling at the stretched out neckline of your t-shirt until it’s gently pried away and guided to a wall of firm muscle.

Your fingers instinctively grasp what’s suddenly underneath them, and your vision stutters back in as a soft tingling rockets its way up your arm.

You distantly acknowledge that it was probably a bad thing that your vision had faded off with your eyes stuck wide open, staring blankly at legs you couldn’t feel. Right now, however, all you can experience is Changbin. His mark under your fingers, grip clawing and desperate. His heartbeat under your palm, faster than it should be, but steady and loud and feeling like it’s part of your own body.

Like he knows he has your attention again, Changbin ducks down to catch your eyes. You find nothing in them but concern and a soft emotion you couldn’t hope to pinpoint.

“Y/n,” He calls softly, ���Y/n, do you mind if I touch you?” The gentleness he speaks to you with is devastating, like he’s trying to place your panicked mind on a cloud of care. You want so desperately to accept that care from him.

You nod, small jerky movements to indicate your agreement even as gasping sobs still stutter in your chest.

Changbin immediately moves, shuffling closer to you on his knees and releasing the wrist of your hand, the one still grasping at his mark like it’d disappear if you relaxed so much as a millimeter. He uncrosses his arms from the awkward reach he’d had to use to maneuver your hands where he wanted them, and reaches his now free hand to rest gently but firmly on your waist, right over his place within your own mark.

The resonance from his touch is weaker, the material of your shirt in his way, but with both sides active the feeling floods you in a way you could never describe.

You know, in the back of your mind, that you’ve read about resonance before. That you know all about the flood of endorphins and other feel-good hormones that it causes, that you’ve read first hand accounts from all sorts of people swearing up and down it feels better than any orgasm ever could. In the moment though, you feel like your brain has been reset completely. Back to factory settings, entirely blank.

You come back to yourself in slow blinks, resonance still echoing brightly between you and Changbin. Your one hand is still tightly clasped to his chest, and you’re sure you’re only breathing right now due to the steady rise and fall of Changbin’s chest. The two of you are still gripping each other’s marks.

You feel unsettled as awareness returns to your body. You feel floaty and not all there, even as you calm enough to feel the numbness of your legs and the pain in your knees from hitting the floor. An increasingly familiar tingling feeling is emanating from each of your active soulmarks, despite the fact that you know the other two should have no idea how you’re feeling right now.

Your bond wasn’t strong enough for that. You hadn’t given it the chance to be.

The thought that they might just be thinking of you gives you a soft and fluttery sort of feeling.

Finally, Changbin pulls back, removing his hand from your mark and sliding up your arm to gently pry yours from his bicep. You’d wince at the marks your nails had left on his skin if you didn’t still feel like your bones were vibrating on the astral plane from the intensity of a reciprocal resonance.

He gently holds both of your hands in his and settles them between you, catching your eye again.

“You back with me, bubs?” He asks, smile light and tone even. You’d think him unaffected if not for the redness of his ears and the slight haze in his eyes.

Right. Eight soulmates. He’s probably used to it.

He’s also trying to get you down from a panic attack, you remember as your hands begin to faintly tremble in his grip. You nod slightly at his question, apologizing again.

“Hey, no.” Changbin scolds softly, eyes locked on yours, “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, it’s okay. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

You shake your head in refusal of both ideas, opening your mouth once, twice, three times, before huffing irritatedly at the lack of words falling from your lips. Changbin squeezes your hands to keep your attention on him, expression open and accepting. His silence allows yours to end.

“I just- It’s just that I-” You breathe harshly through your nose, squeezing his hands back to ground yourself, “I knew from when I realized who you were that you were my soulmate.” you grind out in halting words, the trembling spreading from your hands up to your chest. You take in a shuddering breath, “That’s why I was apologizing. Because I knew and I still said those things to you.”

You can tell your confession takes Changbin off guard. The man blinks rapidly as he takes in the new information, slotting your earlier behavior against your reaction just now and having trouble connecting them.

“Soulmates terrify me,” you confess quietly, before he can ask, “You’re so nice, but you’re so fucking scary to me, I’m sorry.”

With that, you remove your hands from his, and Changbin just sort of helplessly lets you go, a lost expression taking over his face. You try to stumble to your feet, and he scrambles up to help you, caring even through his confusion.

You can feel the trembling travel to your legs, and you’re glad for his steady hold despite yourself. You feel like a stiff breeze might knock you over.

“I need- I- I’ve gotta- argh!” You clench your teeth with frustration, taking a deep, bracing, breath, before trying again. “I need to go home.” You’d like to say it came out strong and self-assured, but the words leave you in a breathless whimper that makes you feel small and pathetic.

Everything about this makes you feel small and pathetic.

Changbin catches your eyes again, brows creased in concern.

Except for him.

“Of course, whatever you need,” He assures, “Can I call a car for you? A friend? Your roommate?”

You shake your head, hopelessly endeared by his need to help you. You feel guilty for refusing him when he’d just pivoted from the bombshell you’d dropped on him to focus on your care but you- you needed to go home. You needed to leave, and it was taking every ounce of effort you could spare to keep from bolting.

“No, I can- I’ve got- I want- shit.” The curse spills from you unbidden, frustration with the vestiges of your panic refusing to leave you building sharply. If anything, Changbin’s concern only grows deeper as you struggle to express yourself.

“I need to move, I’ll walk.” Your mouth finally allows you to spit out, almost aggressively. Changbin almost seems to despair at your declaration.

Looking at your own condition, you can’t blame him. Trembling like a leaf and barely able to speak, you’d never let yourself leave if you’d been in his place. You can’t spare the energy to explain that if anyone tried anything at you in this condition you’d probably try to kill them first and ask questions later.

You don’t handle stress well.

Still, despite his obvious reluctance, Changbin lets you leave his embrace.

You’re more stable on your feet now, and a deep breath fills you with a facade of confidence that will see you home. Changbin’s hands still hover around you, as if waiting for you to shatter apart again.

“If you need anything, please call me, okay? Anything at all, please call me.” He pleads with you. You only manage to give him another tiny nod before you dip into a full bow and turn to flee.

Changbin watches you go with a face full of concern and confusion.

‘I think it’d be worth the work, to be your soulmate’ he’d said. You can’t help but wonder, as the gym disappears behind you, if he still thinks that.

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[mizusbabygirl]

the heart is a girl’s parachute

. ○ 🍏 ✷ 🌺 ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙

player 380 (se-mi) x fem reader ────୨ৎ──── cw: se-mi has a g!p (girlcock), breeding kink, leash usage, se-mi is touch starved, unprotected sex, blowjob (se-mi receiving obviously 🙏🙏), edging, period sex

“stop, we’re in public!” you say as se-mi kisses your cheeks non-stop in the middle of the mall. her kisses trail off down to your neck then to your collarbone. you knew she really wanted you in that moment but you were on your period and you thought that she would find it gross if you had sex with her on your period.

“baby, let’s go to my house i really want you right now,” se-mi moans as she leaves a small mark on your neck.

you both end up in her room, her lips immediately go to yours impatiently. her arms wrap around you and her tongue swirls around your mouth, savouring your taste. you felt her boner get harder and harder to the point where she was grinding up against you. “can you feel it? it really hurts, and i need to relieve myself,” she moans out as she unbuckles her belt. “se-mi…” you mumble. “it’s fine if you’re not in the mood i’ll just go take care of it by myself, you don’t have to do this if you want to my pretty girl,” se-mi caresses your cheek. “it’s not that,” you say, “i want to do it too but it’s just that i’m on my period and i don’t want you to feel gross,” you add on. a smile grew on her face as she threw off her belt and unzipped her pants.

you slowly undress yourself and remove your blood stained panties. you then pull out the tampon that’s been marinating in your pussy since the morning and make your way to the nearest trash bin to dispose of it.

se-mi pulls down her boxers and 8 inches of hard dick spring out. her tip was dripping with pre-cum and her veins sticked out on her cock.

“get on your fucking knees,” she demanded. just before you could at least put her tip in your mouth she jerked her hips forcing her dick into your mouth. se-mi thrusted inside of your mouth over and over again and pulled your hair to match to her thrusts. “look at you, not even 2 hours ago you kept teasing me non-stop and you expected me not to react to that?” she thrusts in deeper, her tip reaching the back of your mouth. “oh and you really tried rejecting my kisses after you teased me? fucking brat,” she said as her dick released small spurts of precum into your mouth.

just then, she releases a hot load of her cum into your mouth. she pulls out, your lips glossy with your own saliva and her cum. “swallow it,” she demands. you nod and swallow it down your throat.

se-mi impatiently lays you down on her bed, lifting your legs for her. your menstrual blood drips down to the bedsheets, staining them as well as your outer folds and inner thighs.

se-mi has already had sex with you countless of times and has already bred your pussy many times making you have a few pregnancy scares because of her. se-mi never liked the idea of using a condom or any sort of protection since she thinks that it’s uncomfortable even if she knows the consequences and risks that come with it. you grew to liking it after letting her breed you for the first time.

se-mi positions herself in between your legs, her hard member facing your bloody pussy. she grabs your right leg and throws it over her shoulder, giving her more access. she rubs her cum coated tip against your labia, her tip getting stained with your bloody mess. her grip on your hips tighten as she pulls you closer to her, making her tip plow inside of your hole. “keep your legs spread for me baby,” she insisted as she pushed her cock inside of you making a moan come out of you.

her thrusts started off gentle, slow wet squelching sounds slowly filled up the room. your hole was awfully tight that day so it refrained her from going fast or hard straight away. it annoyed her but she understood that it wasn’t your fault.

her dick sunk it deeper, loosening your hole up more, making her moves accelerate more. she bit her lip as your cervix squeezed her cock tight. “oh fuck, breed me,” you moan out as you felt her go faster, making the bed creak a bit. “beg for it, fucking beg for it,” se-mi said as she started whimpering seeing you under her, getting your hole well fucked by her.

“mommy breed me, i want your babies,” you plead. her eyes widen after hearing the new pet name you gave her. “what the fuck did you just call me?” she asks, her hips thrusting at an insane pace. “mommy,” you answer. loud wet slapping sounds fill the ambiance, your moans growing louder as her fingers dig deep into your hips whilst her other hand is busy holding your leg to keep it over her shoulder.

“i’m about to nut, i’m going to empty out my sack inside you,” se-mi yells out as she shoots out a large amount of hot sticky cum inside of your pussy. she rides out her orgasm by thrusting in and out of you slowly, your tight walls milking her cock clean. she lets out a sigh as she pulls out and lets out another load all over your pussy. se-mi holds her cock and draws her tip all over your cum covered pussy.

“get on all fours. i can’t stop, i really want you to milk me dry,” se-mi whimpers, watching you get in position.

se-mi reaches over to the drawer next to her bed and pulls out a leash and a collar. “here, put this on baby,” se-mi offers you the collar.

you knew se-mi was all about having crazy kinks but you never thought she was into leash usage. you quickly put the collar on as she attached the leash onto it.

“next time i’ll use a whip for this ass of yours,” she teases as she strikes your ass with her hand. “i’m joking,” she chuckles.

she starts drawing small circles with her tip around your hole, making you feel frustrated. she slowly plunges her dick inside but then quickly pulls out, making you whine. just before you could say anything, she pushes her hard member deep inside your pussy and immediately starts plowing it in and out of you.

she pulls on the leash, bringing your head back causing the collar to choke you. she never liked the idea of hurting you whatsoever but there was something about you enduring her intentional harmful activities that made her hornier. “fucking slut,” she spits out fucking her dick deep inside your hole.

after what seemed like forever, she releases inside of you but she felt tired while doing so. she pulled out and put her clothes back on and headed to the shower.

you followed along and ended up taking a shower with her. nothing sexual happened between the two of you in that moment, it felt wholesome.

after that day, se-mi’s search history was filled with period sex porn compilation videos.

afterall, she didn’t find it gross at all did she?

[angelicchris]

at your worst | chris sturniolo

in which ₊˚ the happiest triplet is the one who’s quietly struggling.

˖⋆࿐໋ for all my lovelies who find themselves having to play a happy role for others, while they’re actually at their lowest (me too ᡣ𐭩)

honourable mention ⊹ ‧₊˚ for all my glass children

word count ₊˚ 883

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chris found himself laying awake at night, staring at his ceiling, with some random background music playing on his tv. he had initially tried to listen to his favourite artists—skies, travis, mac— to try to find it in himself to be happy, but he just couldn’t. normally music was his go-to for feeling better, or a hug from one of his brothers, but chris felt as if he would be burdening them if they found out what was really, truly happening inside his head.

his entire life, chris was the triplet who was the happiest. he was the one always smiling, always cracking jokes to try and bring others up if they were feeling low. this fact was something even his fans picked up on, noting how chris was the triplet who had changed the least throughout their growing fame, and was usually the one always joking around with his brothers in their videos. unbeknownst to chris, this role he established—both within his family and fans—had taken a toll on him, and lead to a lack of expressing his feelings, unless they were positive.

still staring at the ceiling and the intricate cracks of white paint that ran along it, chris felt a tear roll down the side of his right eye, landing on his pillow. he reached up and wiped his eye, wishing, hoping that he could fix whatever was wrong with him and his mind. he considered talking to one of his brothers about his sadness, but they both have their own lives and their own problems. chris hated to say it, but matt was the one who openly struggled with mental health the most in their family, and chris knew that he would feel guilty taking any attention away from matt and his struggles. he thought, deep down, that if he told matt, maybe he’d understand what he’s feeling, but, does chris even know what he’s feeling? having enough of this, chris sits up, turning off his tv, and leaves the comfort of his room, finding himself walking up the stairs to their kitchen table. chris looks around—he notices an empty can of pepsi he left on the counter from earlier, nick’s headphones lying on the table, a half-completed lego poinsettia set that matt had been working on—and, he’s unsure why, but seeing this causes more tears to well in his eyes. his brothers, who were a constant variable in his life, yet who he felt as if he was letting down. “i can’t do this,” chris said, rubbing the palms of his hands over his eyes, hard. “i can’t, i can’t,” he continued to cry. having to act like there was nothing burdening his mind—in front of both his brothers and his fans—was finally catching up to him. chris wasn’t even sure what was causing this sadness within him. he had everything he could have ever wished for—a loving family, loving friends, a roof over his head—so, for the love of God, why was he feeling like this?

chris’ continuous sobs from the kitchen were enough to draw the attention of his older brother, matt. rubbing his eyes, confused, having been awoken from his unconscious state, matt checks the time on his phone. 4:36 a.m. he knew him and his brothers had a fucked up sleep schedule, but this was different. removing himself from the comfort of his blanket, his stuffed pug falling precariously onto the floor, matt makes his way into the hallway. as he nears the kitchen, he hears the sobs becoming louder and louder—the sobs of his younger brother, chris.

“chris?” matt says cautiously. chris looks abruptly over his shoulder at the voice, caught off guard. “oh,” he says, wiping his eyes and cheeks as quickly as he can. “hey matt,” chris sniffles a little, but tries to act as if nothing had just happened. “why are you up?” chris asks his brother. “i was about to ask you the same thing..” says matt, confused. “couldn’t sleep,” replies chris, staring straight ahead at a wall. “were you.. crying?” unsure of how to reply, chris pauses for a moment, then musters up a fake, boneless laugh. “i don’t cry,” states chris, jokingly or not, matt couldn’t tell. “chris, what’s wrong?” “God matt, nothing’s wrong, can’t you just knock it off?” chris, who was always the one asking him if he was okay, the one always making him smile, offering him a hug, was now sitting alone at their table, using his own arms as a shield, a tight embrace around his own fragile state. matt pauses for a moment, unsure of how to respond to his brother’s newfound behaviour, before deciding on the truth. “i heard you crying while i was sleeping.” what matt hadn’t expected, however, was for this revelation to trigger something within chris. “i said i’m fine, why can’t you just learn to mind your own business for once in your goddamn life, matt? geez.” chris abruptly pushes up from his spot at the table, making his way over to the stairs leading to his room, matt quickly following his brother’s strides. “chris, please..” matt pleads, not exactly sure what for. before he could receive a response, he’s greeted with a door slamming in his face, the rusty turn of a lock following suit.

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my oh my, my first fanfic ᡣ𐭩.

i honestly thought about the plot of this in my sleep, and i woke up and just kinda wrote about it.

i’m not too sure how i like this, i kinda cringed at my own writing, esp when chris & matt were talking w one another. ik i’m gonna cringe at this when i look back in a few years and see how much my writing has (hopefully) progressed, and, honestly, i can’t wait ᡣ𐭩

i’m interested to know if any of you are actually interested in writings like this, where there’s no female character/interest. ik most fanfics on here are kind of centered around romance involving the triplets, so i thought i would try something a little different that explored their relationships w one another (i didn’t forget nick, i promise)

to everyone who made it to the end, thank you so much, it means the world to me ᡣ𐭩. if u couldn’t bring yourself to read the whole thing, thank you for still taking a chance on my writing and i ᡣ𐭩

all my love x

[stanart4clearskin]

angel! art who finds twitter porn idk

a/n: i am so obsessed with this ask so thank you to the anon that sent this in!!

every since art had come to earth, he was naturally curious about everything. he'd been on the planet for nearly four months now and you decided--after he spent nearly every day begging--to get him a phone. he thought the idea of an iphone was incredible. the fact that there was so much information at your fingertips left him in awe. after buying him a phone, you added your favorite apps onto it (instagram, tiktok, twitter, etc.) but he was most intrigued by twitter. he was bewildered that all these tweets on his timeline where real people. he couldn't fathom that he was reading thousands of people's thoughts all on this little rectangle that glows.

one day while you were at work, art was lounging around in your apartment. over the past few months he had spent his days exploring your apartment and all the curious gadgets you owned. art had already exhausted his exploring so he decided that he would copy what you do. that meant sitting on the couch and spending hours scrolling on his phone. he scrolled on twitter, liking and reposting tweets when he stumbled onto something interesting. it was his first time ever seeing a tweet that had a warning before he could see the video attached. being a curious angel, he clicked the little "show" button. at first, he was confused at what he was seeing. he saw a man and a woman on a bed doing... something. at this point you had yet to explain to art what sex was, let alone porn. you weren't keen on trying to explain those topics to him because time had shown that he was a hands on learner. (he had made you take him to a pasta making class after watching one of your cooking shows. another time he had insisted that he learn how to skydive after watching a movie where the main hero had jumped out of a plane.)

he spent the rest of the day exploring this new genre of videos he had found. art didn't understand why but watching these videos made him feel tingly inside and he had to put a pillow in-between his thighs to help with the new found sensation. when you came home from work, art was still watching the twitter porn, now rutting his hips against the pillow. his cheeks turned a bright shade of pink when he noticed you standing at the front door.

"s-sorry i um... didn't know you were going to be home so soon." he mumbles, removing the pillow from between his legs and fluffing it back up. art's eyes refuse to meet yours as he stares at the small wet spot on the pillow he had been abusing.

your eyes flit from the pillow, his raging boner, and back up to his eyes. "what... what were you doing?" you ask gently, to let him know that you aren't mad about what you had walked into--just curious.

"nothing." he says quickly, tossing the pillow away from him and shoving his hands over his crotch to hide the tent in his shorts. "i wasn't doing anything."

you walk over to the couch and sit down next to him. "you can be honest with me. i won't get mad." you place a gentle hand on his thigh that makes him jump. his skin is searing hot to the touch but that's typically how he is. art says that angels always run warm.

art is hesitant to say anything so the two of you fall into a comfortable silence. comfortable for you, incredibly awkward for him. after a few minutes art manages to speak.

"i saw these... these videos on twitter. with um a man and a woman. well sometimes it's both men or both women or sometimes its multiple men with one woman or vice versa with multiple women and one man. or there was this one with multiple men and multiple women! and they weren't wearing any clothes which was confu-"

you cut art off before he can start going into detail about the porn he watched. you've known him long enough to know that he starts babbling when he gets nervous about something. "where you watching porn?"

"porn?" he finally lifts his head to look at you, his bright blue eyes staring at you in confusion. "what's porn?"

now you're at a loss for words. how does one explain porn to an angel who doesn't even know what sex is? "um..."

"is it when people engage in... um what was the word? sex?" it seems to you that art had managed to do some research while you were gone.

you let out a nervous chuckle, "close but not really. porn is... it's when people engage in, typically videoed, activity that's intended to create sexual arousal." your cheeks are now a light shade of pink and the two of you sit there blushing at the absurdity of this conversation.

"arousal?" art looks as if you'd just told him that he had two heads. his innocent little mind couldn't grasp what you were telling him.

you wracked your brain on how you could explain this to art in a way that wouldn't send him into overdrive. the best you could do was wordlessly point at his boner that was causing a tent in his shorts that was hard to ignore. art's cheeks turned even more pink then they had early and he silently nodded. maybe you should've explained this all to him from the start because now--with the way he was looking at you--it seems like he wanted a hands on lesson on sex.

[myownwholewildworld]

vi. O Seanalair - acta, non verba

chapter 5 | series masterlist | ao3 pairing: conqueror!marcus acacius x ofc!reader. summary: you irremediably find yourself in Marcus' bed again and make a discovery which may help your people. a/n: i have a genuine question. do people like long chapters? because i can't seem to stop when i start writing for these two D: as always, all interactions welcome, i do appreciate you liking, sharing and/or commenting! take care 💖 warnings: 18+, mdni. mentions of war, death, marital abuse, etc - i think you know the drill by now. attempted SA (not by Marcus), callie fights back. fluff and angst. some internal battles. smut. unprotected piv but no creampie. oral (m!receiving). fingering (f!receiving). sleepy morning sex. aftercare. marcus is 49, ofc!reader (callie) is 26. unbeta'd. if i'm forgetting anything, please let me know! w/c: ~11.3k. dividers by @\saradika-graphics taglist at the end (let me know if you want to be added/removed please!)

You couldn’t stop thinking about him, about what happened yesterday morning. Every time your mind wandered, it ran back to the exact moment Marcus buried himself in your slick heat for the first time.

How he made you feel. How he ensured you were comfortable and thriving under his touch. How he talked you through it and paced it down to make the whole experience even more pleasurable. How his fingers found refuge in your pussy, working you expertly in preparation to take him. How your cunt deliciously burnt with that heavenly stretch.

How you were gushing now for him, craving the fullness of his dick, pussy desperately clenching around nothing.

“Dè air thalamh? (What on earth?)” you mumbled to yourself, shaking your head to clear your mind.

The fact that the memory kept coming back―to your despair―was dangerous, extremely dangerous. Yes, sex had been good ― no, fucking amazing. But it didn’t mean anything, nothing at all.

A means to an end, that’s all he is, you mentally reprimanded yourself.

It shouldn’t bias you, despite how good he had fucked you. You couldn’t get… attached, because whatever this was, it was doomed from the beginning. That was what you had decided the first time you locked eyes with him in the battlefield, and you were not one to go back on a promise. Especially one you made to yourself ― to avenge your family.

To your disgust, you had to admit to yourself that it was harder to keep the focus on that now, knowing how satiated he had left you yesterday. It was truly shameful that you were looking forward to getting fucked stupid again.

In a couple of hours, hopefully. You couldn't wait to have Marcus plunge in and out of you. In... Out... So deep inside…

You bit your bottom lip down out of pure, horny desperation and pressed your knees together, containing the dampness that threatened to soak your underwear if you didn’t rein your thoughts in.

“A bheil thu nad shlàinte, mo bana-phrionnsa? (Are you well, my princess?)” Brighid’s soft voice pierced through your wet daydream, bringing you back to reality.

Blinking rapidly, you gave her a stern nod. A muted reply, since your throat felt dry with desire.

“Are you sure, my lady? You look flushed. There’s a fever going around in the village,” she pushed, lips pouted with concern.

Fuck, kill me now.

“I’m fine, Brighid, don’t worry,” you croaked once you found your voice.

Your cheeks were burning and had nothing to do with an illness. Unless feeling cock-drunk could be considered an ailment. Maybe it should.

“Are Daimh and Iona sick? Perhaps you―”

“They are fine. It’s just hot in here with the hearth running on full blast,” you cut her off, slightly embarrassed by the fact that Brighid had noticed your flustering.

But if she had been fucked the way you had been, she would fully understand. Of that you were sure.

Not by Marcus though, she can find another man. He’s mine.

What the hell was that about?

To avoid any further interrogation, you grabbed the jug, filled to the rim with wine. Veering around, you exited the kitchen promptly. The cold air of the hallway was most welcomed ― the Gods knew you needed it, considering you were about to enter the room where the personification of your wet dreams was.

As soon as you reached the double doors to the great hall, you quickly scanned the room. Every night the great hall of your family home would be desecrated with the presence of your enemy. The legionnaires were chatting and laughing loudly, goblets clinking with their contents spilt all over the wooden tables.

Once a sanctuary for your family and clan, you barely recognised it anymore. The beautiful tapestries that your ancestors had woven had been taken down, the stone walls bare and undressed. Even with the giant fireplace crackling nearby, it still felt cold. It even smelt different ― musty and sweaty, the lingering stench of death they carried coating the air.

Pushing those thoughts aside, you made your way to the dais. Only when you went up the wooden step did you realise that Marcus’ chair was occupied by a man you didn’t recognise, and Maximus’ spot was empty. Another sweep of the room told you what your blood already knew: for whatever reason, they had stepped out.

“Expecting someone else, puella (girl)?” the man on Marcus’ chair cackled as you approached, interrupting his talk with Cassius.

Raising a mighty brow, you decidedly ignored him, pouring wine in Cassius’ cup.

“I am talking to you, you stupid, savage woman,” he sneered.

Before you could think, the man laced his arm around your waist, forcing you to sit on his lap. Your blood ran hot with rage, palms itching to slap him until he fell unconscious. The need to turn around and spit on his face was a call from the Gods themselves.

But you couldn’t, not in a room full of Romans who would behave exactly the same way. You were at a loss here, and you only wished that when the day came and you encountered this bastard on the battlefield, you could slit his throat.

Clutching the jug between your hands, your eyes landed on Cassius. He was watching you with intent, almost studying you, but it was pretty obvious that he was not about to keep his man in check. If anything, he was about to fucking smile.

“Where’s that arrogant look now, huh?” the man cackled, pressing you against his tiny bulge.

“Do you really think you can threaten me with that?” you hissed, referring to the small erection brushing your buttocks. “That is the size of a barnacle.”

You definitely hit a nerve there, because the man pushed you off his lap hastily, grunting something unintelligible, but heard enough to know he was cursing you.

How bad you wished you could empty the contents of the jug on his face. For a long minute, you really considered it, running through the scenario and its outcomes in your mind ― you would be fast enough to catch him off guard, throw the jug at him and make a run for the small door on the back of the dais, latching it behind you and running up the spiral staircase to your father’s solar.

However, before you could act on any of it, Marcus’ deep voice interrupted your train of thought.

“Move, Brutus. Now,” Marcus snarled.

You turned around at the fury his tone distilled, his eyes locked on the man you now knew as Brutus. His pupils had darkened, his jaw tightened. Despite the tenderness he had shown you in the bedchamber, the General was an imposing man outside of it, and Brutus knew as much.

He soon scuttled away like the vermin he was, while Cassius straightened his back, eyes fixed to the front, avoiding contact with his General. Odd.

Maximus was a few steps behind Marcus, closing the door you had planned to escape through. The thought of both of them in your father’s solar didn’t sit well with you, but there wasn’t much you could say without blowing your cover.

“Dux Meus,” you bowed your head down, stepping aside to let him sit.

His opaque orbs lingered on you for a second too long, softening ever so slightly as he studied your composed expression.

You gave him a feeble smile, averting your eyes so people would not notice the brief exchange. By the way Maximus cleared his throat and a smirk curled his lips, you had not been as subtle as you had originally thought.

Once both men were seated, you proceeded to fill Marcus’ goblet. Your hand was still trembling with the fury that coursed through your veins, causing the jug to almost kick the wooden cup. Thankfully, Marcus caught it before it spilt.

His eyes shot to yours, and they were screaming at you. His mouth didn’t open, but his orbs spoke for him very loudly: Are you okay? What’s happened? They were mad with worry ― an honest one you didn’t expect at all. The hand that a second ago was straightening the cup, was now softly clamping around your wrist, the shaking gone under his soothing caress.

The weight of his sight, of his concern for you, was momentarily overwhelming.

“I’m okay,” you whispered before he spoke, giving him a reassuring nod.

“Are you―?”

“I’m fine, truly,” you insisted, worried that people would pick up on your hushed conversation.

Marcus finally let go of your wrist, and soon after you stepped off the dais to fill other goblets.

For the rest of the night, he couldn’t take his eyes off you. Before his private conversation with Maximus in the castle’s solar, you had been acting all lively and relaxed, but since his return, your features had been tamed into feigned calmness. Marcus could feel the anger simmering beneath your skin, seeping like venom dripping off a serpent’s fangs.

Wished he had stayed so could understand what had changed, but his duties to the Empire should come first. That morning, he had learnt that Agricola had been ordered back to Rome, claiming that the Caledonian tribes had been subdued, and his replacement would be Sallustius Lucullus. This news came like a shock to Marcus, who could not wrap his head around the fact that Rome was willing to withdraw the vast majority of troops to assist with other conflicts elsewhere in the Empire. It meant they would be left alone in an island that was far from conquered, despite what the false propaganda said.

They only had a couple of weeks before Agricola left with his men, leaving Marcus’ battalion, and other small military pockets around the area, in a very compromised position. In light of this new situation, Maximus and Marcus had discussed going to the Roman fort of Cawdor, just fifteen miles east of Inbhir Nis, to talk to Agricola before his departure.

But now, seeing your composed demeanour, he wished he could have stayed behind. It was wrong―putting you first before the Empire―but it couldn’t be helped. You lurked in the confines of his mind, ever present in his thoughts. It was even worse considering the ring that symbolised his marriage to another woman. Everything he thought he stood up for, crumbled the moment he had his first real taste of you.

His chest still swelled at the memory of you all pliable around his girth. How you had creamed, coating him in your arousal, the first time he sank into you. How you whimpered and hissed his name in ecstasy, the most beautiful melody he had ever heard.

However, it wasn’t only that what made him swoon, but how you blindly trusted him with your pleasure. How, despite being mistreated in bed, you had let him show you how a man should treat a woman. How fucking fulfilling it had been for him to see you fall apart, rediscovering how sex should really be like.

Marcus had never felt this way before ― caring, giving, in tune with your body. The connection that tethered him to you transcended the sexual aspect your relationship had taken. For the first time in decades, his heart was not as empty and cold. He found himself craving your eyes, your proximity. Not because he wanted to bed you again―he did―but because your presence put him at ease, even when war seemed to be knocking at his door again.

“I take you’ve finally bedded her,” Maximus’ jest forced his orbs onto his friend’s.

Marcus rolled his eyes to the back of his skull, his shoulders slouching. Sometimes he wished he could sew Maximus’ lips together or punch him square in the jaw to shut him up.

Briefly looking around the table on the dais, it seemed like the other men―Cassius, Valerius, Brutus and one of Valerius’ men―were immersed in a conversation of their own.

“That’s none of your business,” he gritted between clenched teeth.

Maximus palmed his shoulder, a hearty laugh reverberating in his chest.

“I’m just saying, the sexual tension every time she comes on the dais can be cut with a sword, my friend. Good for you, about damn time,” he congratulated Marcus, removing the hand from him. “I don’t understand why you want to keep it under wraps though.”

“Because some could think I’d be fraternising with the enemy,” Marcus admitted to his friend, knowing he could confide in him. “And it’s far from it.”

Maximus’ thick brows bunched up, confused with his reply.

“Because you’re fucking one of the savages’ whores? Like every man in your legion―”

“She’s not a whore,” Marcus quickly cut him off, anger firing at the distasteful insinuation.

Maximus was taken aback by his response, silence filling the gaps in the dead conversation for a minute. Marcus looked at his Commander, his own brows knitting now too. How dared he refer to you as a prostitute? The insult burnt his insides, he’d hate himself if your reputation was sullied because of your involvement with him.

“Alright, she may not be a whore, but she is a savage. Don’t lose sight of that,” his friend replied, the mock gone from his eyes. “If she’s not a prostitute, then what does she want with you?” he hushed, tone dropping an octave so people would not listen. “Do you trust her?”

Marcus’ frown deepened, his friend’s words gnawing at him. He had not even contemplated the scenario Maximus was implying ― he thought he knew you enough now, and you wouldn’t betray him like that. Not after yesterday’s passionate morning.

“Again, none of your damn business,” he sneered, emptying the Carmo wine in his mouth with finality.

“But it is my business to worry about your safety, dammit. I’m your second in command,” Maximus sighed, a hand pinching his nose. “I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into, Acacius. There’s a lot at stake here, as you well know.”

Maximus’ reminder of his duty to Rome just angered him more.

The night was coming to an end, with the Roman soldiers scattering and walking back to the barracks. You had seen most of Marcus’ retinue leave the dais too, and you hoped you could catch him alone before he retreated to his chamber.

You were returning from the kitchen with an empty wooden tray, hoping to clear the last of the goblets off the tables and call it a day. Saying that you were looking forward to fuck Marcus tonight was an understatement ― not even the small incident with Brutus could put out the fire between your thighs.

As you ambled along the corridor, you almost collided with someone. Gripping the tray tight so it wouldn’t fall, you looked up to apologise, but the words stuck to the back of your throat.

Brutus. His cold hands clamped like a vice on either side of your waist, fingers buried so deep in your skin it would bruise. He slammed you against the stone wall, his body flush with yours and his nauseating mouth too close for comfort.

Your heart was racing wildly as your mind was coming to terms with the situation, drafting a plan.

“You’re not so fierce now, are you? How dare you insult me in front of my Commander, you slut?” the stench of his breath reached your nose, and you couldn’t help but make a face. “You are nothing more than a cockroach. If I want, I can squash you under my foot like the filthy bug you are.”

Before you could snap back with a retort, he grabbed the tray you carried and threw it to a side, then his mouth covered yours. His lips were cold and tasted horribly, his tongue trying to find an opening into your mouth. You jostled, but the grip on your hips was so tight you could barely move. His stubble prickled the skin around your mouth as Brutus kissed you sloppily, your teeth still shut.

Vile rose up to your throat, your initial panic transforming into steadfast resolution. This fucking cunt was about to get what he deserved. Who did he think he was? He was nothing, no one. A man you could best in the battlefield with one hand tied to your back and the other one holding a wooden sword, all whilst blindfolded.

When his hands loosened on your waist to very harshly squeeze one of your breasts, you took the opportunity. You lifted your knee up hastily, hitting him right on that tiny bulge he seemed to be so proud of.

Brutus started wailing, crouching with his hands protecting his groin. Placing your hands on his shoulders, you pushed him back ― snarling now, ready to fight. Quickly you snatched the tray off the cobblestone and as you were lunging forward to hit his head with it, a strong arm wrapped around your waist, freezing you in place.

Bewildered, you turned around in the arms that held you to redirect your anger at whoever dared to stop you.

Your resolution faltered the moment your emerald greens met Marcus’ brown irises.

Marcus didn’t understand what he had walked into but was pretty sure that Brutus was about to be in the receiving end of your wrath. Instinctually, he had jumped into the situation, hoping to deescalate it by holding you in place so you wouldn’t kill the man. Because if you hurt the man, Cassius would ask for your head, and he would be between a rock and a hard place.

But the moment you veered around in his embrace and Marcus saw the reddened, wet skin around your mouth, he understood.

For a second, he only stared at you, eyes fixed on your swollen lips. His brain had gone quiet, but the sudden cacophony of his own voice asking for blood brought him back.

“Marcus,” you whispered breathlessly, and his stomach churned at the unspoken plea.

His hands freed your hips to cradle your face, delving into your glassy green eyes. His heart flipped, torn with the idea of what Brutus had tried to do.

“Are you okay?” he asked the question he wished he had said an hour before.

“Aye,” you replied with a small voice.

It didn’t calm him down. In fact, he was seething with rage, blood boiling in his veins with a protectiveness unfamiliar to him.

Once he ensured you were alright, he liberated you from his grasp and faced Brutus. Commandeered by his own anger, Marcus seized Brutus by the neck of his toga, forcing him to stand up and pinned him against the wall as one of his hands clutched around the man’s neck.

Marcus really contemplated the idea of killing him. He wanted the man beheaded and six feet under. How dared he touch you? Force himself on you? Even if you weren’t his to claim, it wasn’t right ― Marcus could never put up with how badly some men treated women, so he would never allow it in his ranks.

“Marcus, don’t,” you called from behind, your soft hand squeezing his shoulder. He looked over it, jaw clenched, to glance at you. “I think…” you paused, “just let him go. I have a bad feeling about this.”

The sense you talked into him finally filtered in, and Marcus released the purchase he had on Brutus, taking a step back. His hands curled into fists at his sides ― he really wanted to smash his skull in, but you were right.

“Get out of my sight,” he muttered, and Brutus quickly obliged.

The moment you two were alone, he looked for you. His hands reached out, one sliding around your waist and his other thumb ghosting over your bottom lip. His heart was still pounding, ears ringing with fear. He couldn’t ask how you were, knowing it was an obnoxious question given the circumstances.

Your gaze locked in on his ― blown pupils, crazed darkened irises. But as much as he searched, Marcus didn���t see any dread in you. Had you been so used to being mistreated by your late husband that what happened unfazed you? How desensitised were you?

What he did see was the ghost of a past memory haunting you, the haze of years of abuse clouding your eyes. You didn’t need to speak it; he could feel it.

His heart cracked at the thought. And what pained him most was that one of his own men was who brought back the pain he had not seen yet swirling in your eyes. And it was so prominent now, he almost folded, lungs burning with ragged breaths.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, removing his hand from your face, afraid his touch would incite any more distress.

Your head tilted, eyes regaining part of the spark that reeled him in.

“You have nothing to apologise for, Dux Meus,” you uttered under your breath. “As a matter of fact, I wasn’t in need of rescuing, I was about to smash his head in and have his brain scattered around the floor.”

Despite your smile, there was no joke in your low tone. He realised you actually meant it. And he shouldn’t be surprised, considering he’d already seen you take a man’s life with no regrets.

“I know, but I failed on my promise.”

“What promise?” you asked, confused, with a cocked brow.

“I swore to you that I wouldn’t let this happen again. And it has, right under my nose,” Marcus confessed, the ride back to the castle after the attack still vivid in his mind. “That you wouldn’t need to defend yourself.”

Your brows lifted, expression softening and lips pouting. Were you trying to hide a grimace?

“It’s alright,” you shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

You said it as if it was meant to make him feel better, but it had the opposite effect on him. If anything, it made him feel worse.

The faded sound of footfall approaching broke the moment, both of you untangling from each other and taking a couple of steps back. Marcus watched one of the other maids scurry along, her scared eyes dancing between the two of you. For a moment, it seemed like she was about to intervene in defence of you.

“Do Ghras (Your Grace),” she mumbled in your language, one Marcus didn’t understand a word of.

Quickly, you gave her a stern look and the girl’s eyes widened dramatically, then bowed her head down and ran towards the double doors as if the devil himself was chasing her.

Your eyes shot back to his, pupils enlarged again, studying his face with a vehemence that would have forced any other man to look away. But he didn’t, mesmerised by the strength you were showing after what had happened. Any other woman in your situation would be upset, but here you were standing as if nothing of relevance had happened.

His eyes lingered on your face, deciphering how you really felt. The darkening purple mark tarnishing your bottom lip really concerned him, to the point where he couldn’t stop himself from raising his hand towards your face.

Your head snapped back away from his touch. Marcus flinched at the rejection, slightly hurt ― but he couldn’t blame you for reacting that way, he should have known where the limit was. It was understandable that you didn’t want to be touched after…

His blood began to boil again ― Brutus would pay, he would find a way to make him suffer.

As his hand dropped back to his side, you took a step forward towards him ― your fingers lacing around his wrist. The caress of your palm against his skin was warm, but your gaze was warmer. Marcus froze in place, overpowered by your eyes.

You averted your beautiful orbs, looking down to the cobblestone, as your free hand tucked away a stray red curl behind your ear. That mere gesture flooded his chest, replacing anger with care. Despite how strong-willed you were, there was this aura of innocence around you; one he had not fully perceived until yesterday morning. Now that Marcus thought he knew you a tad more, every piece of the puzzle started falling into place.

But you still surprised him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Trained reaction…” you trailed off with half-lidded eyes, your teeth sinking in the cushion of your bottom lip.

You didn’t need to finish that sentence for he knew how it ended. Your late husband was, once again, sullying your thoughts.

Heart clenching in his chest, Marcus reached for your cheek again, this time successfully. His thumb hovered over you bruised lip, afraid he would inflict more harm than good.

“No need to apologise, mel. It’s okay…” Marcus hushed, still madly worried about your well-being. “Did he… did he hurt you elsewhere?”

You nodded before nuzzling your cheek against his open palm. That simple action had his heart racing and melting at the same time. He really needed to get a grip, or he’d lose his damn mind over you ― something he could not afford amidst impending war.

“My hips,” a very long pause, “my breast.”

If his blood had been boiling before, now it became sharp icicles scratching the insides of his veins. Hearing you say that actually caused him physical pain. His heart had stilled, then resumed its maddening beating, deafening him.

When he trusted his voice had returned, he cleared this throat.

“Can I check, please?” There were no veiled intentions behind his ask, just honest consternation.

You shyly nodded after a brief pause.

You followed Marcus through the corridor, his forearm softly hugging the small of your back and his broad hand splayed on your hip. The possessiveness of his embrace was weirdly soothing.

Checking over your shoulder, you ensured no one witnessed your affectionate exchange. And once you arrived and took shelter in your old bedchamber, the tension gripping your shoulders dissipated.

But the anger inside you still burnt hot. Brutus deserved what you were about to do, had Marcus not interfered. But when he did, something about the whole night nagged at you. As if there was a bigger plan at play, one you could not construe yet.

“Your lip’s bruising, mel,” his voice tinged with concern forced you out of your thoughts.

When he touched it again, you winced. Brutus the Brute had done a bit of a number on you, one you hoped to repay in the near future.

“Can I see, please?”

Well, this was not how you expected the night to go, because judging by Marcus’ rigid stance, sex was out of the cards.

With a heavy sigh, your fingers lifted up your long skirt, exposing your loincloth. Bunching up the fabric, Marcus’ hand and gaze dropped to your mid-section, fingers careful when pushing down the hem of your underwear. His caress venerating, too respectful in comparison to how he treated you yesterday morning ― the contrast abysmal.

His eyes squinted, nostrils flaring, but he quickly tamed his furious expression. Looking down to where he was focused, you understood his reaction. Where Brutus’ fingers had sunk in the flesh of your hips, he had left deep, purpling imprints ― an aquarelle with shades of red, lilac and blue.

“What a cunt,” you hissed when Marcus’ thumbs ghosted over the bruised skin on your hips. His eyes swiftly looked up at you, apologetic. “Not you, him,” you clarified.

You hoped your half joke would lighten his temper, but it didn’t. If anything, his brown orbs darkened even more, a black veil consuming his dilated pupils.

Awright, no jokes when he’s in a bad mood, you mentally noted.

“Show me, please,” he husked, eyes loitering on the neckline of your dress.

His gravelly words shouldn’t have sent a shiver down your spine, but they did. This wasn’t the fucking time to get all worked up, but the effect he had on you had seeped further into your being than what you originally thought.

I’m so fucked up.

With a trembling hand, you pushed down the frill of your neckline, your left breast spilling over. You held back a raspy breath when the cold air of the room hit your sensitive skin and felt your nipple perking up.

You didn’t dare to look down, eyes fixed on Marcus’ torn face. His lips had fallen into a flat line, jaw clenched as if chiselled by the Gods themselves. And while you were burning hot under his inquisitive stare, his eyes were… cold.

Were you broken past the point of repair? Had Iain shattered you so much, altered your perception of sex? How would you, otherwise, explain why you were roused right now when you should surely feel at least shaken up?

By Red Cap’s beard, I’m sick. There’s got to be something wrong with me.

Sick with lust, perhaps. One you needed to control, because when Marcus cupped your breast, there was nothing sexual in his hold.

Pure, utter worry painted his features, his brown irises opaque.

“I’ll kill him,” he muttered under his breath.

When his thumb stroked the skin under your aureola, your eyes finally drifted down.

Seeing the growing bruise around your nipple was a goddamn reality check, as if someone had thrown a jar of icy water on you. It looked bad, really bad. You didn’t think he had such a tight grip on your breast, but the rush of adrenaline had drowned any other feelings, letting survival guide you.

It reminded you of a time when your body was covered with marks and lesions, and you would do your utmost effort to conceal the damage Iain had caused. How you made up excuses when your siblings queried about a bruise you could not camouflage―oh, don’t worry, I’m just clumsy―or a new limp―ah, it’s fine, I fell off a horse―that had you barely walking.

How you hid under layers of textile when visiting family so your father wouldn’t feel the guilt of shipping you off like cattle to the slaughter.

“For peace you must,” had been his final words before Iain snatched you away from the comfort of your home.

Fiercely loyal, you played your part dutifully. For clan you had silently suffered for a decade, not even once questioning your father’s decision. You endured what you had to, so your people would know peace in their time.

Never once did you let the façade tumble down. Never once did you show your fear, your desperation ― your thirst for freedom.

Never once, until now.

Seeing those bruises again brought back all those feelings you had deeply buried and thought forgotten. Panic bubbling within the walls of your chest, you blinked rapidly to clear the tears that threatened to fall.

Years of abuse crawling back, clamping your throat, stalking your mind ― it all came back in a trice. Your heartrate quickened, the sensation of nasty ants creeping along your skin unbearable. Trying to calm your agitated breathing, but the memories only making it all worse.

Suddenly you felt the searing pain when Marcus brushed your skin again. Not physical pain, but the kind that had tangled itself up around your entrails and become a part of you ― strangling your resolution, your very being. Silently suffocating you for a decade.

Why was it all coming apart now, out of all the fucking moments?

“Hey, look at me, hey. It’s okay, mel,” Marcus’ mellow voice pierced through your eardrums.

Wet eyelashes fluttering, you glanced up at him. For the first time, feeling lost in a loch of torment.

Marcus’ chest squeezed at the sight in front of him.

Your face tilted up, a downcast expression distorting your beautiful features. Your mouth had parted, letting out a trembling sigh that had him shaking with you. Your eyes, always bright, sparkly green, were now of a deep shade of a darkened hue, your blown pupils swimming somewhere in there. And they became darker with every spent tear that wetted your cheeks.

He searched your face, impending dread consuming his heart as your curated front crumbled. Something primal twisted within him, a sense of protectiveness gripping him tight.

Marcus couldn’t see you like this ― with your defences down, as if you trusted him enough to hold the pieces of you together. For a fleeting instant it felt overwhelming, staggering him.

But he knew what he had to do ― what he wanted to do. Marcus let go of his gentle grasp to envelop you in his embrace, hoping to bring you some sense of tranquillity. One of his hands softly rested on the back of your head, fingers lost between your red curls.

At first, your arms were just loose by your sides, but soon enough, when the warmth of his body seeped into yours, you laced them around his waist, hugging him in return.

Time became ethereal, and Marcus wondered if what saddened you had anything to do with today, or past events. You had hinted at a life of marital negligence, and he couldn’t help but ponder the atrocities you had to survive. Society wasn’t kind to women, at least in Rome. Was your culture any different in that respect? How had your life been?

Not easy, by the looks of it. And it pained him realising that, especially after seeing the fierce side of you. The part of you that intrigued him the most, that reeled him in despite the wedding ring on his finger.

How could someone even dare break your spirit? How did Brutus even dare to breathe in your direction?

“I’ll kill him,” he reiterated in a hush, lips pressing on the crown of your hair.

“No,” you muttered, leaning back to let him dive in your determined eyes. “I think that’s what he wanted. What Cassius wanted.”

“Cassius?” he repeated after you, confused.

You paused, lips pouting, and then nodded with averted eyes.

“Aye. There’s something about him that is not quite right… Do you trust him?”

Why was everybody making him question other people’s loyalties today? He couldn’t afford the doubt, not when Agricola’s departure was just around the corner. Marcus needed as many men as possible, and he had to trust them.

“Yes, I do. Don’t worry about him, or about―” he stopped himself before Brutus’ name leaked. “Let’s not talk about them now. Come sit.”

Marcus carefully guided you to his bed as you readjusted your dress, palm pressed on the small of your back. Once you settled, he turned around in search of the concoction Atticus had prepared for his wounds ― a mix of aloe, lemon juice and onions. The balm had been cool and soothing on his skin, so he hoped it helped alleviate your pain.

He snatched it off the chimney’s sill and walked back to you, handing it over so you would apply it. The pad of your fingers touched his knuckles, the feathery caress of your gentleness. When you didn’t grab it, Marcus foraged for your eyes.

“Will you help me, Dux Meus?” you whispered, tone stripped of your usual snappiness.

“Are you sure?” he found himself saying, not wanting to make you uncomfortable.

You gave him a soft nod in reply, gathering your long skirt and holding it around your mid-section.

Marcus crouched down in front of you, knees cracking with the friction of time, and dipped his index and middle fingers in the gelatinous mixture. He reached for your hip, one last undecided glance at you, and then gently rubbed the composite on your skin.

You sighed at the touch, shutting your eyes, muscles visibly relaxing now.

“Does it feel good?” he asked, eyes focused on the other side now as he administered the balm.

“Aye, it’s cold. Tapadh leibh a Seanalair” you muttered, palms resting on the mattress as you leaned back.

Marcus’ brows pinched together at the unrecognisable, softly delivered words, but it didn’t stop him from pressing soft circles on your skin, hoping the imprint of fingers would disappear.

“Is that―”

“That barbaric language, yes,” you retorted, head tipped to one side, your green orbs watching him with intent.

Inevitably, he flinched. Those exact words had almost slipped his tongue when you both were returning to the castle after the skirmish in the forest. It was hard letting go of the old ways ― Romans always considered other cultures uncivilised. Now having been in Caledonia for a few months hadn’t wholly changed his mind, but he was starting to see that you all were more similar than what Rome had her people believe.

As a General, he had been trained―indoctrinated―to not see humanity in others. That was the only barrier keeping him from losing his sanity. Because if he saw other people eye to eye, if he acknowledged their humanity, then the resolution to wield his gladius would falter in battle.

And his resolution had faltered. Once.

“May the Gods protect and guide her, for her path is to become darker today,” was one of the few exchanged words that Murdoch of Inbhir Nis had whispered to him before Marcus claimed his life.

They still haunted him to this day. The piercing shriek of the female warrior still rang in his ears like a broken bell, her scream a dark omen it was hard to forget.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” was his poor attempt at apologising. You cocked a brow, expectant of another explanation, and Marcus sighed, realising that was a lie. “Perhaps I did, and for that I’m sorry.”

“Not following Rome’s doctrine doesn’t make us savages, Marcus,” you hushed, expression softening. “Just different.”

“I know that. I just― Force of habit,” he shrugged, slightly embarrassed for being called out. “What does it mean?”

“Aye means yes. Then I simply said thank you, General,” you explained, letting your skirt go after the concoction had dried on your skin.

“Seanalair means General? It sounds so different,” he thought out loud. “I like it. Although Dux Meus sounds better to me,” he ventured with a lopsided smirk.

“Does it now?” you laughed, the first time a crack of happiness making its appearance.

For a moment you didn’t say anything else, just pushed down again the hem of your neckline for him to spread the mixture on your bruised breast. He didn’t waste time, being extremely careful around the sensitive skin of your nipple as to not cause you any more pain.

“You like it when I call you Dux Meus, don’t you?” you said under your breath, voice low and laced with need.

Marcus’ sight shot up to yours in the blink of an eye, removing his hand from your chest. The unexpected tone caught him off guard, so focused on spreading the balm he almost missed the seductive inflexion in your tone.

He couldn’t reply, breath hitching at the back of his throat while a ray of warmth travelled down his spine.

His reaction felt wrong given the circumstances that brought you to his bed. Feuding with himself, Marcus froze when your hand found his cheek, cradling it. You bowed down towards him, the tip of your nose brushing his aquiline one.

“Don’t you?” you insisted, your mouth now ghosting his, testing his wavering resolve.

“I do,” he avowed, eyes fluttering close when your lips caressed his. “Callie― I don’t think this is the time.”

Your head canted back, a flash of anger swirling in your pupils, robbing him of the warmth of your mouth.

“Don’t tell me what I want is wrong. I am not going to let that bastard and his ruffian manners take away from me what I desire. Who I desire,” you retorted back. Not appealing but demanding. “I want you, Marcus, and I want you now. Yesterday you asked me to come back, nothing has changed. Is this not why you’ve taken me to your chamber?”

The carnal delivery of your words gnawed at him, your last question triggering his heart to spike, rejecting such vile idea. He was not a man to take advantage of anyone, least a woman who had barely escaped the hands of a repulsive scoundrel.

“Of course not. I wasn’t thinking of― Deodamnatus (dammit), Callie, I just wanted to help you,” he gritted, springing tall to his feet and raking his curls back in muted desperation.

You swiftly followed, rising up from the bed with unravelling determination in your eyes.

“Then fucking help me. Help me forget his hands, replace his memory with yours,” you beseeched in a hush.

This was fucked up. You were fucked up in the head, it was the only reasonable explanation to why his caress while applying the concoction had turned you on, literally a few minutes after you were crying your sorrow in his embrace.

You knew you shouldn’t, but your body thought otherwise.

And despite the wrong timing, you were serious about not letting Brutus ruin this, ruin you. He was just another notch in the weave of your life, another man who had wronged you, and you were not about to let him become more than that.

You were done with letting men dictate how you should live your life. How you should or shouldn’t react, how you should or shouldn’t feel. You had been ashamed of your sexuality your whole life, forced to be a sack of meat for a despicable man since a very young age. Marcus had soothed that fear, letting you rediscover what you actually desired, opening your eyes to a new world of wants and necessities.

No, you were not fucked up. Men were. You were just dealing with the repercussion of their fucking actions the best way you could. And if Marcus thought otherwise, then he was just part of the problem, not the solution. No matter what he had shown you so far.

Good fucking riddance.

“Faex (shit),” he exclaimed under his breath before framing your face between his broad hands.

His mouth crashed against yours, teeth colliding. The moment his tongue sank between your lips, you moaned a sigh of relief, the heat between your legs enlivened.

The desperate strokes of his tongue had you answering with fierce ones of your own, fingers quick to find the V opening on the front of his toga so one palm slid across his ribs. His skin felt like fire under your touch, and you only hoped that heat was redirected south of his tummy.

Stalking the hairy trail guiding you down, soon enough you found his manhood. Still soft and pliable, you felt a throbbing pulse shooting up his length. With a smirk, your fist clamped around his girth and Marcus gifted you with a guttural groan that you eagerly swallowed.

Slowly you began pumping him, working him hard, while his mouth ransacked yours with tidal force. His cock palpitated and you felt high with power, knowing you literally had him on the palm of your hand. Thumb swiping his wet glans, you squeezed him hard, endowing you with yet another rumble.

“I want to taste you, Marcus,” you purred against his lips, drunk with the memory of your visit to Naimh’s cottage.

“Fuck,” he blurted out, jaw as tight as a bow. “Don’t― Fuck,” he repeated after another compression on his already stimulated cock.

His resolution finally dissolved. While still gripping his shaft so he wouldn’t go anywhere, Marcus unwrapped his toga in quick motions, the white fabric falling to the floor and leaving him completely exposed to your hungry eyes.

Marcus was the fucking reincarnation of Alator, all hard edges except for the welcomed softness of his lower tummy. Your mouth watered at the sight, proving it difficult to show self-restraint.

This time around, you were not shy to undress yourself, anxious to get started. Then you faced him, both standing bare in front of the other.

And without any other words, you dropped to your knees. Marcus closed his eyes, face tilted to the ceiling, while his erection swayed at your eye level, enticing and yearning for your touch.

The second you fisted his base and led him to the damp warmth of your mouth, Marcus hissed between gritted teeth, his eyes meeting yours instantly. Suckling on his flushed head, you maintained eye contact with him, but when the musky taste overtook your senses, your eyelashes fluttered close as you gave yourself free rein on his cock.

Your tongue twirled around his glans, the tip playing with his slit to clean off the precum beading there. Then your lips trailed down his length, pressing gentle kisses on your way south to lick the heavy balls underneath. When you were satisfied with the spit covering his sacks, you lapped his underside, feeling the throbbing, feeding vein until your lips sealed shut around him again, hollowing your cheeks to make room for his delicious girth.

You went through the motions over and over again, revelling on his taste, on his growing weight on your tongue. While saliva and precum overflew, dripping down from the corners of your mouth, you looked up again.

Marcus’ heavy-lidded eyes were transfixed on you, his hand gently resting on the back of your head to feel your bobbing. His hips slanted forward when you stopped, waiting for him with an open, welcoming mouth.

Slowly he fed you, rocking his hips softly, while you remained still below him. The tip of his mushroom head kissed the back of your throat, and you irremediably moaned around his circumference, clamping your lips on him.

When he pulled back, the pop sound forced you to open your glassy eyes. A bridge of spit connected his angry tip to your swollen lips ― a connection that reached further down to your gushing pussy.

“Stop, mel. Or I’m going to come,” he pleaded, caressing your cheek with a tenderness that contrasted heavily to what you had just done.

“And is that a bad thing?” you asked innocently, blinking rapidly as one of your fingers swirled in the air between you to catch the thread of saliva and push it into your mouth, licking your finger clean.

Then you pressed a kiss on his tip, lingering with parted, waiting lips.

Marcus pouted, his fist wrapping around his base to contain himself, but couldn’t resist the urge to stroke your lips, swiping his glans a few times on your mouth.

“No, it isn’t. You’ve sucked me so good, mel, but I want to fuck you as you deserve,” he admitted, and you definitely didn’t argue.

He extended a hand towards you, which you gladly accepted to stand up to your feet.

“And I want to fuck you so good, you’re even going to forget your name,” his promise made your slick pussy throb at the expectation.

“That’s all I’m asking,” you whispered, crawling onto the silky bed.

His gaze tracked you like a wildcat chasing after a vole, lingering on the swaying of your hips as you inched forward, settling on the centre of the mattress. You saw his eyes darkened with desire, taking in the moment ― for a tad too long, because his attention drifted to the bruising skin on your hips.

“Marcus,” you called softly, shifting his attention as you coaxed your thighs apart, your sweet dripping nook in display for him.

He stilled, transfixed on your sex as if it was the first time you bared yourself in front of him. His mouth fell flat into a fine line, then the tip of his tongue flicked out to lick his bottom lip ― a simple gesture that had your pussy leaking onto the linen.

Without a second to waste, Marcus joined you on the bed posting himself between your legs, his broad frame blanketing yours as you slowly sank into the feathery cushion underneath. Your hands reached up his ribs, tracing the battle-scarred map of his skin until your palms rested on his shoulder blades, pushing him down towards you.

This time, the kiss was gentler, paced. The languid strokes of his mouth pulled a wanton moan out of you as the weight of his throbbing cock rested heavily on your mound, his balls rubbing against your puffy fold every time he leaned forward. It was feverishly intimate ― the way his nuts would kiss your sex, your clit writhing in your seam.

The soft pressure of his lips turned into a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. His hand cradled your left breast with reverence, thumb skimming your pebbled nipple delicately and incessantly. Fingers intertwining with yours, Marcus brought your laced fists down your belly and past his erection.

Guiding your hand, Marcus pushed your own fingers past the cover of your seeping slit. A throaty sob escaped your lips, eyes shutting with pleasure, as the General showed you how to press tight circles on your thudding clit, leading you and your desperation right to the edge of a cliff. A now-known wet warmth pooled around the bottom of your spine, your inner walls squeezing nothing but the emptiness of your womb.

“Oh…” you cooed, back arching into his chest.

“You love that, don’t you?” Marcus teased you, his fingers moving yours against your slick nub. “You’re melting, mel. You’re so wet already, why?” You didn’t reply, brows pinching in concentration, mouth agape. “Did tasting me excite you, hm?” You gave him a little shy nod, too focused on the thunderous, pulsing feeling in your cunt. “You enjoyed sucking me, having your sinful mouth full of me… dribbling, just like your pussy is drooling now.”

His sweet talk had you gushing again, his thumb now drawing tight, precise circles on your clit as your middle and ring fingers framed it for him, for his delightful attention. The sensation was so intense, so delicious, it curled your toes as your limbs stiffened ― climbing up Beinn Uais (Ben Wyvis) was less strenuous than this.

Your lungs were burning, heaving now, but your pussy was catching fire.

“O mo chreach (oh, my goodness), Marcus― I’m coming, don’t stop,” you begged, lewd noises spilling from your mouth. “Please, please, don’t stop.”

“I won’t, sweetheart. Come for me,” Marcus purred, mouth ghosting yours, inhaling your needy whimpers, fingers insistent.

At his command, you did. Fuck, did you come… Your pussy clenched almost painfully whilst your overstimulated button pulsated maddingly in your seam ― your whole body quivered as you reached for the sky, stars bursting behind your eyelids.

And as you came crashing down, an intense orgasm hitting you from all flanks, Marcus led your fingers away from your twitching clit, down to your leaking hole. He rammed your two digits in your pliant, slimy opening, compelling you to fuck yourself throughout your blissed climax.

Your pussy wolfed down your own fingers down to the knuckles with ease, Marcus’ hand halting the movement of yours.

“Curl them,” he whispered, kissing your cheek. “Curl your fingers, touch that spongy spot for me.”

Still blissed out from your high, you followed his directions as your eyes fluttered open. His blown pupils had yours in a trance as he watched your expression transform when you found the precise point he had referred to.

Without breaking eye contact, you fingered yourself under his attentive guidance. Pleasuring yourself like this should feel wrong, but Marcus made it seem as natural as breathing. His constant reassurance became a mantra, humming his approval when your hips jerked up in ecstasy.

Suddenly, his middle and ring fingers joined yours in your tight pussy, the burning stretch almost unbearable. The feeling of fullness so severe, you started withdrawing your own hand.

“No, don’t pull out, mel. Follow my lead. I know it’s overwhelming, but it’ll be worth it,” Marcus breathed. “Trust me.”

You did. So far Marcus had shown you a path of pleasure you thought forbidden, and this was not the time to doubt him. With four fingers shoved in your throbbing pussy, the palm of your hand cradling the back of his between your thighs, you let him guide you ― it was overwhelming… but in the best fucking way possible.

Marcus knew perfectly what he was doing, because soon enough the pads of his fingers were persistently rubbing that tender spot on your anterior wall while his thumb smothered your clit yet again.

“Fuck, I-I’m coming again…” you hiccupped, whimpering aloud now as the coil inside you started tautening again.

“You’re pulsing so hard, do you feel that?” he gritted out, your walls squeezing all four fingers tight. “Such a sweet grip, mel.”

“Y-yes,” you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut as another tidal wave washed over you with an ungodly force.

You screamed Marcus’ name, tears spilling from the corner of your eyes due to the intensity the orgasm hit you with. After that, you felt your cunt beating for a very long minute, the contractions further apart as you relaxed under Marcus, all sweaty and satisfied.

“Do you think you can take me?”

Your heavy eyes flew open at Marcus’ strained voice. Looking down, you realised his cock was still resting on your mound. A constant trickle of precum had slid down his shaft, a milky puddle sitting on your skin.

Even if you were tired, you couldn’t deny him ― not when he had been so mindful with your needs. And, truth be told, you wanted him inside.

You didn’t reply. Instead, you curled your fingers around his girth and slid his glans along your slick slit, soaking him in your arousal. You lingered on your sensitive clit, rubbing it with his tip a few times until you led him down.

The moment his throbbing head kissed the mouth of your cunt, you knew you could come again, no matter how tired you thought you were. You led him in and let go of his thudding cock when he was halfway in.

You sighed, trying to relax your muscles, but your pussy had a mind of her own. His girth pried your pussy lips open and, once fully seated inside you, Marcus froze in place. His brows furrowing as you fully sheathed him, wrapping him in your wet, tight heat.

“I could stay here forever. You hug me so tight, take me so well now…” he hushed, leaning forward, his weight almost crushing you. “You only need a bit of encouragement, patience… And I am a very patient man. I’d be so happy with just making you cream, mel.”

He was right. Sadly, you were no stranger to sex, but this kind? This was so new to you, sometimes you doubted yourself ― what you were doing, how you were doing it. Something about Marcus made you feel insecure, because you didn’t want to disappoint him. For once in your life, you wanted the man to enjoy you, make you fall apart.

Your head spun around to the point of almost fainting when he pulled back softly and then back in. A wail broke free from your mouth as Marcus slowly but steadily rutted into you, picking up the pace with every mind-blowing thrust.

You dug your nails on his back, leaving bloody crescent moons behind. His mouth hunted down your lips, fusing into a deep kiss as he fucked you good and harsh. The snapping of his hips against yours filled the room with wet, squelching sounds ― the atmosphere brimming with the musky scent of sex and sweat.

Marcus dove in so deeply, you swore you could feel him in your throat. His sharp stabs hit all the right spots, another climax building up ― both of your sexes pulsing in unison, fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. It wasn’t long until you were creaming around his girth again, moaning like a madwoman as another climax overtook all your senses.

The General pumped his cock into you relentlessly, fucking you through yet another wave of ecstasy. He pulsed inside and you knew were close to finding his own release. When your walls relaxed around him, Marcus swiftly pulled out, a chesty groan bouncing between the walls of the room ― his flushed, reddened glans nudging your clit as his warm spent spurted out in thick, white ropes.

His cum clung to your pebbled nub, sliding down your tacky, swollen pussy lips and pooling on the sheets underneath.

Marcus kissed your forehead before falling to the other side of the bed, utterly spent. His skin glistened under the candlelight while his chest raised in quick succession.

As your heartrate calmed down, you giggled, the most content you’d ever been. Marcus looked at you, a creeping smile curling his lips, and extended an arm towards you, inviting you onto his chest.

You were quick to accept, your blushed cheek resting on his sternum. He kissed your forehead again, a slight brush that pulled a satisfied sigh out of you.

Neither of you spoke for a while. Surprisingly, the silence was comfortable, calming in a sense. You never got to enjoy the aftermath, too busy with keeping yourself together. This was different.

Marcus was different.

But he couldn’t be. He was just another man focused on the next battle ahead, planning your demise. Whether you liked it or not, the General was your enemy, a conqueror ― the incarnation of everything you hated. The man who had killed your father right in front of you, with his expression blank and devoid of emotion.

You hated him. You should hate him. Your determination shouldn’t falter just because you were fucking him. You were not doing it for your own enjoyment; you were doing it because you had a purpose. In fact, you should be repulsed every time he put his hands on you, every time he easily sank into you, blissfully stretching your inner walls.

And despite everything, despite knowing who he really was, you still… liked him. You were not disgusted by his touch, but horny for it, craving him.

You were so fucked.

Marcus stirred under you, battling his own demons.

He knew this was wrong but couldn’t stop himself. There was a gravity around you that pulled him in, no matter how hard he fought against it. Irremediably he found himself orbiting towards you, like two stars in a colliding path.

There’s no harm in having a little fun.

But was it just that? A little fun? Couldn’t be, not when his unoccupied mind kept drifting back to you. Before he would be thinking about the next step, what he needed to do to win the next battle, but now war was far from his mind.

He wished he could shut the door and keep the outside world at bay. He wished he could live in this little cocoon with you.

But duty always called.

You had fallen asleep on top of him, so carefully he moved you off his chest. His mind was so loud he couldn’t follow you into Morpheus’ realm.

Sitting back on the bed, Marcus looked over his shoulder at you, sleeping on your side. Your face was buried in the pillow underneath, your red curly hair an angry could around you. Completely naked on his bed, you were a godsend. A voluptuous figure with generous, round breasts; your moonlight skin glistening with the product of your pleasure.

His eyes travelled down your figure, arriving at the sweet gap between your thighs. His cum was still smeared all over your mound and pussy lips, dry and tacky, a reminder of the shared passion.

Damn, you looked beautiful.

With a sigh, he got up and walked towards the basin near the fireplace. The fire kept the water lukewarm, and he dampened a clean rag and wringed it out. Walking back to the bed, Marcus sat beside you. Delicately, he pushed one of your legs aside and swiped off his spent, cleaning your folds with extreme care not to wake you.

But you did. One of your eyes fluttered lazily, and looked over your shoulder to stare at him, slightly dishevelled.

“You alright?”

Marcus smiled softly, discarding the rag to the feet of the bed as he laid down behind you, head propped up on his hand.

“Yes, I was just wiping you clean,” he muttered, kissing your shoulder.

You groaned with a smirk, pushing your sweet ass against his hardening bulge. Your buttocks rubbed his growing erection as your eyes shut again.

“Another round?” you whispered and then bit your bottom lip, wriggling your hips so his manhood found refuge in the gap between your thighs.

“You nymph,” Marcus moaned. Your heat was turning wet again, soaking his now stiffened cock. “But I can’t, I―”

“I’ll be quick, I promise,” you husked sleepily, one of your hands slipping down your belly to grab his beating dick poking between your legs. “Just a quickie, Marcus, please,” you added, leading his leaky tip inside you.

There was no discussion after that. Groaning, Marcus plunged in in a smooth motion, your velvety walls parting to greet him and hug him tight. His arm draped around your waist to hold you in place and began fucking into you from behind. You hummed your approval, Marcus paying worshipping attention to your neck, kissing and nipping at it.

When you squirmed and whimpered, your pussy clamped down around him with force, announcing your orgasm. Still rutting into you, the hand holding you down trailed down your belly to gently pet your clit.

Your moans grew louder and needier, your ass pushing back into him, meeting every thrust. You came sobbing his name, strongly pulsing around him, wetting his cock and balls with your warm cream. Mustering all the strength he could, Marcus pulled out, his dick resting between your pussy lips.

You pressed your thighs together to squeeze his throbbing manhood and cradled his glans as he pumped himself between your inner thighs, his tip kissing your clit every time he pushed in. A minute later, Marcus came undone too, his warm spent landing on your cupped palm around his mushroom head.

Marcus remained still behind you as his cock softened and both of your breathings calmed down. Your eyes were still closed, but a smug smile curled your lips.

“See? I was quick,” you retorted.

“Always true to your word,” he joked, pulling back to grab the forgotten rag. He began rubbing your skin again and you parted your legs to have him wipe you clean. “But I really need to go.”

“So soon? Where are you going?” you pouted, craning your neck to glance up at him.

“It’s almost dawn. I…” Marcus fell silent, pondering his options.

He could tell you where he was going as a test to your loyalty. Prove Maximus wrong. He didn’t know why but confiding in you felt natural.

Marcus really wanted to trust you. If nothing went wrong, then he would know he had nothing to worry about.

“I’m going to the Roman fort in Cawdor with Maximus. We need to discuss some news we’ve just received,” he explained, carefully studying your expression.

“Oh, okay,” you muttered, completely unbothered by the information he had just shared with you, as if he had just told you that today was going to rain. “I’ll leave then.”

“You can stay and sleep in, no one will bother you here, mel,” he kissed your shoulder, heart lighter, before he stood up and started putting on his black armour.

You rolled around to lay on your other side, watching him dress with your hands tucked under your face.

“Need a hand with that?”

“No, I’m okay, thanks,” years of practice made it easy. He tied the belt around his waist and sheathed the gladius, then walked towards the bed to bend down and kiss you goodbye. “There’s some more of the concoction there. Please use it.”

You nodded your agreement, still half asleep, and Marcus stepped out.

The moment the door had closed behind Marcus, you had sprung to your feet, dressing yourself in a frenzy. But knowing you couldn’t just follow him, you had paced around the room for half an hour.

You had never run faster in your entire life. Once in the stables, you had fought with Kelpie to saddle her and trotted to Bonnie’s crannog. There you had encountered Torcall, who grilled you with questions.

“Where have you been? You’ve been gone the whole night! I was worried sick! What the hell are you up to?! Don’t tell me you’ve been with him, please.”

Needless to say, you didn’t answer any of it. You were a grown ass woman and didn’t need a nanny. Plus, it was none of his fucking business.

You had not intended on falling asleep on Marcus’ bed, but you had felt so at ease, you hadn’t fought your heavy lids.

You just told Torcall that you had gotten your hands on some valuable information and needed to go again. You knew that Marcus was testing you, if you could be trusted. If you told your father’s men about this, they would take action, outing you in the process.

No, you had to go alone. If you passed his test, then you were sure he would share even more in the future, just what you wanted.

Daimh and Iona were at the dining table, breaking their fast. You had kissed each of them before vanishing again.

It didn’t take you long to track down the prints of hoofs on the muddy eastbound path. Soon you caught up with Marcus and some of his men. Maximus, Cassius and Valerius accompanied him, as well as three other legionnaires you did not recognise.

You kept your distance from them and traversed through the forest instead of the path to avoid being seen. After three long hours, you finally arrived at your destination.

You were not prepared to see all those troops at Cawdor. There were hundreds of soldiers, the fort brimming with life. At the same time Marcus and his retinue arrived, a legion did too.

Why were there so many men here? Something was going on, something that could change the course of history. Was this just a repositioning exercise?

There were no women in sight, so you couldn’t just put a cloak on and blend in as you had intended. So you remained in the shadowy edge of the forest, hidden behind a tree.

Suddenly Marcus halted and veered his horse around. Someone from the newly arrived legion stepped out on a white horse.

“Governor Agricola,” you heard Marcus say in a greeting.

“General Acacius,” the man said back.

So, this was Agricola, the man who terrorised Caledonia. You wanted to hate Marcus, but your easy hate for Agricola burnt hot. He was the one responsible for the defeat of your people, the one who had taken prisoners in boats and parade them around the coast to show others what would become of them if they rose up in arms.

“We’ve heard the news of your premature departure, Governor. We wish to discuss the defence of Caledonia in your absence,” Marcus spoke clearly.

“Not Caledonia. Britannia, Acacius. That’s its new name. Use it,” Agricola’s arrogance seeped through his stupid smile.

Britannia? The bastards had already renamed your land? How fucking dared they?

But this was huge. It seemed like Agricola was leaving, possibly taking many of his men with him. If that was the case, the number of Romans in Caledonia would drastically reduce, giving you a fighting chance.

The snap of a branch behind you startled you, quickly turning on your heels. The forest was dark, so you squinted your eyes while scanning the area.

Perhaps it had just been an animal, so you redirected your attention back to the men.

To your misfortune, they were walking through the portcullis and a second after you lost sight of them.

“Fuck,” you whispered.

You ran back to Kelpie, needing to make the way back home fast.

Finally, some good fucking news.

@orcasoul @immyowndefender @sjc7542 @fairiebabey

@thepalaceofmelanie @harriedandharassed @whoaitspascal87

@verybigvag @jessthebaker @ivoryandflame @missadangel

@pepperstories @mewantpeepaw @inept-the-magnificent

[wlwsoccerfics]

This was not the plan (Lena OberdorfxSchüllerReader)

Summary: you and Lena really wanted to tell Lea about your relationship but things don't go as planned.

Warnings: mentions of minor s*xual activity, small argument, swearing

You and Lena have been together for 3 months now. No one knew. You planned on telling people. Especially Lea. Your older sister who also happens to be Lenas best friend. But there was never the right time. The universe has funny ways of outing people though so she was about to find out soon. And it was totally not the way you or Obi would have chosen.

Lea and Lena were rooming together again at national Camp while you were rooming with Jule. She was your best friend & one of Lenas best friends. So the fact that you & her didn't even tell Jule about the relationship was making the two of you feel quite guilty sometimes. So your plan was to tell them in the next few weeks of camp.

The Team was currently having lunch downstairs while you and Obi said that you wanted to nap. It was obviously not the case. You two just wanted some time as a couple. It was day 3 of camp so you knew how long the others usually took to eat lunch so you had around 45 minutes to yourself. You just had to skip two doors down the corridor to get to Lenas room. Which was quickly done and you didn't even have the chance to open the door before your girlfriend managed to do that for you and pull you inside the room and into her arms. Kicking the door Close with her foot. She picked you up as the two of you kissed and carried you to the bed. "Finally some alone time!" you said in between kisses. "Let's make the most out of it. " Lena replied and laid down on top of you. The kiss deepened and her hands slipping under your shirt. "Take it off, Babe!" You whimpered out. You sat up a bit with her still on top of you. The brunette quickly removed your shirt and threw it on the floor.

You two shared lots of passionate kisses until you heard some voices. "What the f*ck!" Lea yelled out. You and Lena jump apart and you quickly put your shirt back on. "I can't believe this!" Jule said, clearly in shock. "Lea, Jule, we can explain!" Lena stated. "How you gonna explain to me that you are screwing my Little Sister behind my back?!" Lea asked. Clearly angry at her best friend. "We didn't mean to keep this a secret for so long but we wanted to find out what this is between us without anyone knowing!" You explained. "Well how long is this been going on and what is this?!" Lea asked. "Good question!" Jule answered. It was obvious that she was more hurt about you two not telling her about this. Lea on the other hand was furious. "We love eachother! And we have been together for 3 months!" You told them. "And it's really serious! Lea i love your sister! I apologize to both of you! This was not what we wanted! No one was supposed to be getting hurt or anything like that!" Lena explained. Thankfully after a few minutes you were able to defuse the situation a little.

You sat on Lena's bed next to her while Lea and Jule sat on Lea's bed. "So this really isn't just about...s*x?" Lea asked. You took Lenas hand and squeezed it gently. Looking over at your sister & Jule. "No this Is real, i love her." You answered, smiling softly. "Your sister is the best. I Love her with all of my heart! And the two of us promise to not keep important information from you Guys!" Lena replied. Smiling just as much. "I am happy for you! For both of you!" Jule told you. Which you appreciated. The talk ended in a group hug and then you went to tell the rest of the team about you being together.

Around 5 months later she proposed to you and you said yes. Which you told Jule and Lea about. But they knew about the proposal before you did because she asked your parents, Lea and Jule for their blessings since they are the most important people in your Life, apart from her of course. The Wedding was 4 months after that and you couldn't be happier. Life was amazing.

[mymoodwriting]

Because You're Mine

Female!Reader x Werewolf!SKZ

Genre: A/B/O

Warning: Anxiety, Panic, Distrust, Insomnia, Suppressants, Numbness, Pheromones, Harassment, Non-Con, Revelations, PTSD, Reconnection, Mentions of Heat

Words: 4.5K

Chapter Ten

(Prev//Next) (@starillusion13 @salfetkablog @youngunknownwitch @loveforred @hydroyaksha @meowmeeps @azazel-nyx @luvyev @stellasays45 @littlebaby-bunbun @bangchansgirlsblog @puppyminnnie @bahablastplz @lemonn015 @blankperiodssn @stellasays45 @kkamismom12 @rxlvvrz @riri53 @stressymessyana @aalexyuuuhm @jutfelixdwae)

Prompt: With omegas completely removed from society, they needed their own communities and institutions to grow. All your life you had lived and gone to school alongside your fellow omegas, and orphaned alphas. You had managed to keep yourself together, but now at the university level, keeping your secret had grown impossible. You had to face your fears and make friends with an alpha eventually, and now was the time.

“I don’t like this…”

You had been locked in your bedroom with Felix, anxiously pacing around the room. You couldn’t hear much of anything going on outside and you weren’t sure if that was good or bad. Felix was taking all this better than you, merely on his phone while lying in bed.

“Maybe we should check things out, make sure Ji-”

“No, no, no.” Felix got up and grabbed your hands. “Y/n, the last thing you want to do is go anywhere near Jisung or the alphas. Everything’s going to be just fine.”

“But-”

“The alphas are trained for this, Jisung is in good hands. By staying here we are helping.”

“Trained for this… how does an alpha train to handle an omega in heat… that’s just ridiculous…”

“I mean, we’ll see for ourselves some day.”

“… right…”

Despite Felix’s words of assurance, you couldn’t shake the nerves. You asked him multiple times if he could hear anything, which he said he couldn’t and would rather not try. You didn’t sleep all night, and Felix only dozed off a bit, trying to make sure you didn’t do anything rash. It wasn’t until early morning that you heard someone outside the door, Hyunjin and Jeongin checking in.

“I thought you would have fallen asleep?” Hyunjin questioned.

“I tried.” Felix mumbled. “But you know…”

“Is Jisung okay!?” You jumped to your feet. “Can I see him!? Where is he!?”

“Easy, easy.” Jeongin chuckled. “Jisung is fine, and he’s been moved to an observation room for the time being. You won’t be able to see him for a while.”

“Observation room? What’s that? Why can’t-”

“It’s temporary. Jisung’s in a delicate headspace and needs to be closely monitored, which means no guests. Once he’s better he’ll be back and then you can ask him questions. Okay. I promise he’s fine.”

“When will he be back?”

“It takes a few days, and the timing depends on every omega.”

“… okay…”

Even though you weren’t satisfied with the answers given to you, there wasn’t much else you could do. You had no idea where Jisung was, or what you could do for him. Of course you asked about him everyday, and the answer was always the same. Jisung was fine and doing well, he would return soon. You didn’t want to be an anxious mess, but you hadn’t been away from Jisung in so long. You couldn’t help but worry about him despite what everyone told you. Not to mention this was making it difficult to focus in any of your classes. Instead you started to realize other omegas were absent from class too, and you couldn’t help but wonder if they were in the same predicament as Jisung.

“How can you be so calm?”

“I… well I trust the alphas not to hurt Jisung.” Felix admitted. “And they’re calm, so I’m calm…”

“Ah, right… your senses aren’t numbed up like me…”

You could be a light sleeper at times, and now was one of those moments. Every little sound at night made you think Jisung was back, but that wasn’t the case. The alphas told you that they’d let you know when he returned, but you were still waiting. Even if you didn’t sleep well, you were getting some sleep. It wasn’t enough to ease the alphas though.

“Y/n, can I talk to you.”

While you were trying to do an assignment Changbin knocked on your door. He stayed out in the hall, but he still wanted to talk. He didn’t look upset, and even if you couldn’t pick up on his pheromones you felt like you were in trouble. That was probably written on your face.

“Yeah… what is it?”

“You’re not in trouble for starters.”

“Oh, then what?”

“I need you to calm down.”

“Huh?”

“I know you’re just worried about Jisung, but your anxiousness is rubbing off on Felix. Not to mention you’re not sleeping well either.”

“… sorry…”

“You don’t need to apologize, it’s not your fault.”

“I just want to know what’s going on…”

“When Jisung gets back he can answer all your questions.”

“I know but-”

“You’re gonna make him worry about you, and if you keep this up you’re gonna freak out Felix. You know it’s bad given you’re on suppressants and still affecting him.”

“… oh… right… right… I just…”

“I know the idea isn’t your favorite, but I could help you with my pheromones.”

“No. No, I don’t-”

“Hear me out. I know the last time I did such a thing it wasn’t consensual, but this would be different. You’re on suppressants so to get the desired effect it would take a lot longer than normal, so we can go slow and at your pace.”

“I… I don’t know…”

“You won’t get overwhelmed, but if you don’t want to I am going to need you to at least take sleeping pills. You need rest.”

“Fine… we can try… the pheromones first…”

“Okay.”

You weren’t entirely sure what Changbin had in mind, but he wasn’t going to do anything in your room and mess up your safe space, again. So instead you went to the living room. He turned on the TV and let an old show play, asking you to sit next to him. You had brought your assignment, wanting to work on it, but you only managed a bit before giving up. You sat back on the couch, keeping close to Changbin but not too much. He hadn’t said anything the whole time, creating a calming atmosphere and letting you ease into it. The others were out for the time being, so there wasn’t anything to interrupt.

You focused on the show, getting a bit engrossed in that and unknowingly leaning against Changbin. Even though he had noticed he didn’t draw any attention to it. His intention was for this to be slow and gradual. He carefully moved his arm to wrap it around you, pulling you closer. You were starting to feel a bit tired, leaning against Changbin as you dozed off. Changbin slowly pulled you into his embrace, adjusting his position and letting you rest against his chest. A hand softly pet your head, soothing you and getting you to sleep. This was long overdue for you, and very necessary. 

Come morning you woke up in your own bed, actually feeling well rested. It was surprising, but you also didn’t feel as anxious anymore. Still, you weren’t gonna be completely better until Jisung returned. The wait wasn’t long after that night with Changbin, and you felt such relief when you saw Jisung again. He returned to the dorm early one morning, and you immediately rushed to hug him. You were so happy to have him back, and of course you couldn’t help but berate him with questions about what happened and how he was doing. For everyone’s sake, the alphas let you and Felix catch up with Jisung.

“I’m just fine, I promise.”

“But what happened to you!? The alphas said you were in an observation room.”

“Yeah, I was, they just had to keep an eye on me as my memories came back to me.”

“So you really blacked out?” Felix questioned. “After the whole ordeal?”

“I mean… yeah, it was… intense… and the alphas were very nice.”

“Yeah I bet. Did all six of them-”

“No! No, let’s not talk about that.” You interrupted. “What matters is that you’re back, and you’re not gonna disappear again, are you?”

“There’s no reason for me to. I’m sorry I made you worry.”

“It’s not your fault. Something like that is out of your control.”

Things seemed to go back to normal now that Jisung was back, and you were very much at ease. You figured everything would be fine, but what happened with Jisung was only the beginning. One night you were up late doing some reading when you decided to get snacks. The dorm was quiet enough, so you snuck over to the kitchen. There you discovered you weren’t the only one up late, seeing Felix rummaging around the fridge. You chuckled and cautiously approached him, tapping his shoulder.

“You gonna share?”

“Sh! Only with you.”

The two of you giggled and grabbed something to munch on, sitting on the kitchen counter top. You didn’t need to talk, just enjoying the quiet of the night and your snacks. You wanted to get back to your book, but Felix caught you by surprise when he followed you, hugging you from behind. He nuzzled into your neck, tickling you.

“Felix, cut it out.”

“Don’t go, not yet.”

“It’s already late, we shouldn’t be up anyway.”

“But we are.”

You tried to get Felix to let go, but he wouldn’t budge. You figured maybe he was just sleepy and a little delusional so you started moving with him in tow, planning to take him to his bedroom. At one point he stopped and held you in place, whimpering.

“Felix, come on now.”

You tried again to get Felix to release you but his grip only got tighter. You groaned, grabbing at his hands and really forcing him off. You got free, but only for a moment before he pounced on you, pinning you to the ground with his body.

“Don’t be so mean.”

You tried to get Felix off of you and then your hands brushed against his face. You felt this warmth, cupping his cheeks and pressing your palm against his head. He was burning up, but you began to realize this wasn’t just a fever. You immediately began squirming and trying to break free, but Felix wasn’t letting you go.

“Help! Help! Chan! Minho!”

You knew this wasn’t Felix’s fault, but you shouldn’t be anywhere near him in this state. All you could really do was scream for help.

“Changbin! Seungmin! Someone! Help! Hyunjin! Jeongin! Please!”

You didn’t know who it was, but all of a sudden Felix was yanked off of you, another pair of hands pulling you back and getting you to your feet. You heard some scuffling, but didn’t get to see much before you were taken away. Next thing you knew you were in your room, Chan looking you over.

“Are you alright? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“… no… no, is Felix okay?”

“He will be, we’ll look after him.”

“… sorry… I didn’t mean to scare you…”

“You did the right thing. Now you stay here, okay?”

“I know… wait, what about-”

Before you could finish your question Hyunjin came in with a sleepy Jisung in tow. You pulled him over, having him lay down in bed.

“You two will be okay, right?” Chan questioned. 

“Yeah…”

“Okay. Stay here, like last time. Someone will check in later.”

“I know.”

Even though you had been through this before, you were still worried. You hadn’t seen what Jisung was like before the alphas took him away, but seeing Felix. He didn’t do anything to you but you could only imagine what would happen down the line. 

“Y/n, take it easy.” Jisung mumbled, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Felix is gonna be just fine, he’s in good hands.”

“…”

“I was in his situation before, and now I’m here. You know he’s gonna be alright.”

“Yeah… you came back no problem… but what if-”

“No, no, no, no, none of that.” Jisung went to hug you. “Don’t think like that. This is just a normal part of being an omega, it’s okay.”

For a moment you felt at ease, processing Jisung’s words and then something dawned on you. Jisung was right, this was a normal part of being an omega, and given that Jisung had gone through this not so long ago, it meant you were surely next. You didn’t like that idea at all, holding on to Jisung tighter than before.

“Y/n, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t like this…”

“Maybe it’s just Felix’s lingering pheromones, how about a shower? Then we can get some rest.”

“Sure…”

You washed up with Jisung, the shower actually helping. Even if you were worried about your own future right now, you couldn’t get any answers until later. You focused on the present, deciding to try and sleep while everything else went on. You only managed to doze off here and there, getting some rest. Jisung slept through the night, but he would wake if you disturbed him too much. He kept you wrapped up in his arms, not wanting to lose track of you even while he was sleeping. Come morning there was a knock at the door, and you looked over to see Chan and Seungmin peeking in.

“Couldn’t sleep again?” Seungmin teased.

“I tried…” You mumbled. “And Felix?”

“He’ll be away for a few days.” Chan said. “He’s just fine.”

“Good… uh… I wanted to ask… uh…”

You felt a bit embarrassed to ask, so Chan gestured to talk elsewhere to let Jisung sleep. You carefully slipped out of bed and headed out to the living room. The other alphas weren’t around, but you were still nervous.

“Did something happen?” Seungmin asked. “You can tell us, we won’t be mad.”

“It’s not that… I just… Jisung and Felix… am I… gonna… you know…”

“Ah, you’re cute, but no. You shouldn’t be going into heat anytime soon. You’re on suppressants.”

“So as long as I take them, I’ll be fine?”

“Not necessarily.” Chan continued. “The suppressants will certainly delay your first, but it can’t prevent it. Not forever.”

“… is there anything… I can do…?”

“Omegas have heat cycles, it’s a natural thing. It’s gonna happen eventually, but honestly, I don’t think it will be anytime soon.”

“How do you know?”

“Cause you don’t trust us. You don’t feel completely safe around us and the stress of that means your body won’t put you in such a vulnerable state. You’ll get there in your own time.”

“… okay…”

Jisung stayed close while Felix was gone, feeling a greater imbalance in the dorm for the time being. You mostly stuck to your room, wanting to distract yourself until Felix was back. Also to not think about what Chan had told you. While at your desk doing homework you noticed a random scribble on one of your notebooks, seeing a phone number and name, Gunil. You suddenly remembered that when you got back from the party you had written down Gunil’s number before going to wash up. You had completely forgotten about it until now. The thought of texting him crossed your mind, but you weren’t sure it was a good idea given how much time had passed. Still, curiosity won out, so you send him a message.

“Hi… it’s y/n… sorry I didn’t text sooner.”

There wasn’t a response, and you figured he was probably busy with something. As you were about to put your phone down you felt it buzz.

“Hey, nice to hear from you. How you been?”

“Good, and you?”

“Same old stuff. Just working on this paper.”

“Oh, I don’t mean to interrupt.”

“You’re not. I need a break anyway. What are you up to?”

“Just some reading.”

“I’m kinda jealous you just get to learn and not take exams.”

“It has its perks, but also feels pointless to a degree.”

“Touch��. You know, I have some free time later today, wanna meet up?”

“Sure.”

You thought things over for a moment, and you figured it wouldn’t hurt to see Gunil in person. Besides, there were some things you wanted to ask, and only he had the answers. Now the problem was going out. You never did that, so obviously the alphas were gonna ask questions when they saw you heading for the door.

“And where are you going?” Jeongin asked, walking over. “Your classes are done for the day.”

“I know. I���m just going to meet up with a friend…”

“A friend? Who?”

“I knew him back in high school and we recently reconnected… he gave me his number at that party…”

“Is he an alpha?”

“… yes…”

“Since when-”

“Let her go.” Minho cut in. “She wouldn’t be going out to meet with some alpha if she didn’t trust them, and she’s not lying either. You can hear her steady heartbeat.”

“Fine. You won’t be out late, right?”

“No, no, I’ll be back before sundown.”

“Good. Call us if you need anything.”

“Okay…”

You agreed to meet up with Gunil outside the library, wanting to be out in the open. When you arrived you saw him sitting on a bench browsing his phone. As you got closer he looked up, seeing you and smiling, getting up to meet you halfway.

“Hey, it’s good to see you.”

“Hi…”

“I’m glad you agreed to meet me. Why don’t we get something to eat and talk, no interruptions this time, right?”

“Yeah.”

There were a lot of places on campus that you hadn’t been to before. You knew of them, but the idea of going and potentially getting mobbed by alphas frightened you too much. Things were different now with the suppressants, and you weren’t alone. Gunil bought some snacks and drinks, the two of you finding a table to sit at.

“You got my favorite…”

“I was hoping that was still the case. I remember when I used to leave them on your desk with a note. I don’t think I ever saw you eat them.”

“Uh… well… I didn’t…”

“Didn’t want me to see?”

“… didn’t know…”

“Huh?”

“I never found any snacks on my desk…”

“Oh…”

“I would have thanked you… and probably told you it wasn’t necessary…”

“I see… I guess I should have kept a better eye on that.”

“Yeah… I’m sorry…”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I suppose… you know… after everyone switched classes… I didn’t see much of you anymore…”

“Did you miss me?”

“… I’m not sure I can answer that…”

“It’s okay. I know what you mean.” Gunil got silent for a moment. “Even though we weren’t in the same class anymore, I still saw you.”

“You did…?”

“Yeah. Out in the halls, always scurrying off and keeping your head down… I could tell something was different about you. Everything and everyone seemed to frighten you, and you avoided alphas as if they were the plague. You seemed stressed, and I didn’t want to add to that, so I waited. Yet you were always sad, so I kept my distance, for your sake.”

You had always wondered what happened to Gunil. You wouldn’t have been able to face him after the incident, but his sudden absence didn’t go unnoticed. All this time you thought he only paid attention to you cause you were in the same class, and now that you weren’t, he didn’t have time for you. It was a long time ago, but knowing the truth now was comforting.

“… thank you… for your kindness… back then… I really do appreciate it…”

“Y/n… I am sorry for what happened to you.”

“… what? Did you…”

“Only recently.” Gunil explained. “I heard about those that got expelled, the names were familiar, and I remembered what they were like back then… so I just put the pieces together… it was my fault… and I understand if you can’t bring yourself to face me after this but… I would still like to keep in contact, if that’s possible.”

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.” You took a moment. “I’ve been… healing… slowly getting better… I dorm with some alphas… and they’re all pretty nice… even if they have their secrets…”

“I’m glad to hear that. There was certainly joy and life in your eyes when I saw you at the party, something I hadn’t seen in a long time.”

With the heavier side out in the open, the uncertainty between you two seemed to lessen. You found it easier to talk with him, and just be friends. In a way he helped you look back on your high school days in a more positive light. You had been stuck in one place for so long, and were only now shedding the past and living in the present. You did keep your promise to the others though, excusing yourself before sundown, telling Gunil you’d message him later. He was glad to see you smile, offering you a quick hug before letting you go. When you got back to the dorm you heard a lot of commotion, and a familiar voice.

“Felix!”

You ran to hug Felix tightly, glad to have him back. You didn’t even have to ask as he began to tell you that he was alright.

“It was a nice long vacation, but I’m back now, and I’m perfectly fine.”

“Good.”

“I am sorry about before…”

“I know it wasn’t your fault. It’s just good to have you back.”

You could finally feel at ease with everyone back, knowing there were no more surprises in store. Or at least, no one was gonna spontaneously leave. Although now that you weren’t worried about those two, you could finally sit down with everything else that had happened. You kept texting with Gunil, glad to have a friend, and he helped you see things a bit differently. In reality, he let you see things as they really were. When you were around the dorm you found yourself staring at the alphas. You knew them more than any other alpha. You had seen the good and bad from them, but you knew that at their core they wanted to do good. Jisung and Felix never had any reason to be weary of them and liked them from the start. Perhaps if things had been different you’d feel the same.

You knew more than you should and it changed your view of many things. There were serious consequences for alphas who did not do well, and you didn’t want anyone to suffer in such a way. You wanted to do better, to get better, but you knew that was still a work in progress. As long as you were open to the idea, things should work out. Still, you weren’t quite ready to talk to the alphas, but you still wanted to do good. For the moment you’d just stick to what you did best, knowing you’d get there at your own pace. One day as you were doing some reading you were starting to get frustrated, getting hot. Perhaps you needed a break so you went to take a shower. The cool water felt so refreshing, yet after a moment you realized it wasn’t helping.

“Y/n.”

You jumped a bit when you heard Jisung calling your name, knocking on your door. You didn’t want to see anyone at the moment, so you called out from the shower, saying you were busy. You thought he left but then heard another knock on your bathroom door.

“Y/n, are you okay?”

“I’m fine…”

“Are you sure? You don’t sound-”

“Go away!”

You felt bad for yelling, but you hoped he’d take the message. It had the opposite effect as Jisung entered the bathroom. You screamed when he pulled back the shower curtain, covering yourself. Jisung apologized but still reached over to grab you, pulling you closer and pressing his palm against your head. You shook him off, telling him to leave again, but he didn’t move.

“Y/n… you’re kinda burning up…”

“I’m fine, now get out!”

“You know… you’re likely going into heat…”

“I’m not!”

“The alphas are gonna notice eventually, and you’re gonna get worse.”

“It’s not that, now go!”

Jisung decided to do as you asked this time, leaving you alone, but he put the idea in your head, and now you were starting to panic. You sat down in the tub, hugging your legs to your chest and just telling yourself it wasn’t true. It was probably just some fever or something and you’d be fine. You just needed to get some medicine, but you didn’t feel like moving. You hadn’t felt any better since Jisung called you out, and you were scared if he was right.

“Y/n…” You heard Chan’s voice knocking outside your room. “Are you alright? Jisung-”

“I’m fine! Don’t come in here!”

“I won’t, I promise, but are you-”

“Go away!”

Chan honored your wish, but he wasn’t happy. After talking to you Jisung ran to him, and he could catch your faint scent on him, and he knew what was going on immediately. He knew you wouldn’t just let him in, let him help, but he couldn’t just let you suffer. It wasn’t long before the others realized what was going on, wondering what to do.

“She can’t be alone.” Changbin said. “We need to do something.”

“I know, but this is still a delicate situation.” Chan stated. “We can’t just barge in, even if she’d forgive us in the end. This is an important time for her, we shouldn’t mess it up.”

“Then what are we going to do?” Hyunjin asked. “It’s only gonna get worse the longer she keeps to herself.”

“Which is why she won’t be.”

“She won’t…? Wait, are you suggesting Jisung and Felix help her?”

“Yes.”

“Are you nuts?” Seungmin snapped. “Her pheromones are gonna trigger them, then we’re gonna have three omegas in heat.”

“It will help her though.” Minho added. “And that’s the priority here. I think we can handle three omegas. Only one of them would be going through their first.”

“It honestly sounds kinda fun.” Jeongin chuckled. “But are we sure we can deal with this? Y/n’s going through her first, she needs the most care and attention. If we have to worry about Jisung and Felix too, things are gonna get complicated.”

“It will help though…” Jisung mumbled, making his and Felix’s presence known, the pair having been eavesdropping. “Right?”

“She needs to feel safe and be in a good state so she accepts our help.” Chan explained. “If you can help her with that, it would be very good for her.”

“We’ll do it.” Felix confirmed. “We can help.”

♥♥♥♥♥

You wanted the cold water to help you feel better, but it wasn’t. You were scared, having no idea what was supposed to happen. Reading books and being told about it was all just theory, and everyone had a different experience. While lost in your own head you heard knocking, looking up in a panic only to see Jisung and Felix. They knelt down by the tub, Jisung reaching for your hands.

“Hey… you can’t stay like this… the water won’t help.”

“Just leave…”

“We’re not gonna do that.” Felix said. “We’re gonna help you.”

The two helped you get out of the tub, shutting off the water and wrapping you in a towel. They dried you up a bit, but without the water you were starting to feel worse. The heat in your body was spreading, making you anxious. This didn’t feel like a normal fever, and it was hard to deny what this really was.

“You two… shouldn’t be here…”

“We know.” Jisung admitted. “But we can’t just leave you alone. The alphas don’t just want to help unless you’re okay with it.”

“I don’t want them to… help…”

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” Felix wondered. “It’s gonna get worse. They can help, trust me they really do, and-”

“No… no, I’ll be fine…”

“You’re gonna change your mind.”

“I… I won’t…”

[mj-iza-writer]

Whumpee stared sadly at the candy jar while they waited for Caretaker to check them out of their doctor's appointment.

They didn't dare ask for any candy. They would just sit quietly in their wheelchair.

Butterflies danced in their stomach at the thought of asking for things. They had been hurt too many times when they had let their needs and wants be known.

Caretaker reached into the jar and pulled out one of the lollipops. Whumpee watched, hoping that it was for them.

They looked down after Caretaker popped the sucker in their own mouth. The sad feeling they felt was quickly hidden.

Whumpee looked up again when they felt someone walk beside them.

"Are you ready to go?", Caretaker smiled and patted their shoulder before unlocking their wheelchair.

They were still too weak to walk. They could barely even move the chair on their own.

"Y-yes", Whumpee nodded.

Caretaker wheeled them out to the car and got them situated in the front seat.

They paused before buckling the seatbelt for Whumpee. They smiled gently.

"You wanted something in their... didn't you?", Caretaker whispered.

Whumpee looked down nervously, trying to hide from Caretaker's eyes.

"I don't know what you mean", Whumpee gulped nervously.

Caretaker reached into their pocket and pulled out a lollipop to show Whumpee.

Whumpee looked at it nervously. They waited for Caretaker to laugh and pull it away just as their abuser had.

"I had a feeling you wanted some candy", Caretaker grinned, "there was a mirror, I could see your reflection. You were staring at the jar longingly. You only looked down after I grabbed some. I mostly did that as a test to see if you wanted one. I grabbed another after you looked down."

Whumpee blushed, "oh, I-I'm sorry."

"Nothing to apologize for", Caretaker looked at them, "would you like it now, or later?"

"Um, whichever you prefer", Whumpee looked at the lollipop longingly.

"I can tell you want it now", Caretaker sighed, "but I need you to tell me that. I know that you have a hard time expressing your needs. I want you to tell me because it is your right as a person to have your wants known."

Whumpee looked at Caretaker nervously, "can I have it now?", they whispered so quietly Caretaker could barely hear, "please."

"You can absolutely have it now, very good", Caretaker handed over the candy.

Whumpee cautiously reached for it, thinking that any second it would be pulled away, and they'd be slapped.

They marveled at the candy while Caretaker put the wheelchair into the trunk. Then they realized they had no idea how to open it. They lowered their head in defeat. So close, yet so far.

Caretaker got in and looked over at them, "would you like some help opening it?", Caretaker buckled their own seat belt, "I'm sorry I didn't ask before going to put the chair away."

Whumpee looked up with a defeated look and handed them the candy, "please", they whispered.

Caretaker gently took it and very slowly showed them how to remove the wrapper before handing the candy back to Whumpee.

"Thankyou", Whumpee made a small grin as they took the candy, "it's been a long time since I've had candy."

"Oh really", Caretaker watched Whumpee's eyes light up as they placed the sucker in their mouth, "I guess we will have to get you more candy, luckily, I know a place."

Whumpee had almost zoned out, they turned to Caretaker.

"I'm sorry, please forgive me. I didn't hear you."

Caretaker smiled, "it's okay. How about we go home, have lunch, and you take a nap after. Later today, we can go to a store I know of that sells all kinds of candy. In celebration of you getting better we can get a few things to try."

"Really, you're going to take me to a store with you?", Whumpee looked at Caretaker in surprise, "I don't embarrass you. I was always told I was embarrassing to be around."

"No of course not, I enjoy being around you a lot actually", Caretaker grinned, "we can go get you candy, but it is time for.... well, would you be interested in eating out today. I know a restaurant that isn't too busy for lunch. So you won't be overwhelmed. Go get some candy after, then head home. You won't miss your nap by too much."

"I haven't eaten out in a long time... are you sure though?", Whumpee whispered lowly, "what should I eat?"

"You can get anything you like", Caretaker nodded, "is this something you would like to do?"

"Yes please", Whumpee nodded.

Caretaker looked over at Whumpee as they drove home from the candy store.

Whumpee excitedly looked into the bag of candy they had selected.

"Are you excited to try all of those?", Caretaker grinned.

Whumpee looked up with watery eyes, "yes, thankyou so much."

"You're welcome", Caretaker smiled, "let's go home."

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived

@sacredwrath @porschethemermaid

@monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz

@bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13

@notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots

@whumpbump @everythingsscary

@skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr

@theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee

@candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers

@starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

@lumpofsand @watermeezer

@indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains

@risk606 @electrons2006

@paperprinxe @whumprince

@kaz-of-crows @mis-graves

@decaffeinatedtimetraveler94 @sausages-things

@isikedmyself878 @daffyduckcommittedtaxfraud

@valravnthefrenchie @glennemerald

@jasperthecapser @does-directions

@deafeninglittlecrown @jumpywhumpywriter

@blackbirdsinatrenchcoat @mylifeisonthebookshelf

@thenormalestever @whatwhump

@galatic-worm @starmoon-constellation

@bacillusinfection @whumpsandbumps

@tobiasbones @octopus-reactivated

@string-of-broken-hearts @weirdthingweee

@kawaii-cakes @phoenixpromptsandstuff

[wakeup01]

Dronezoned

“As you can see here, the ancient Egyptians once believed that mummification was a form of…” The narrator droned on from the television speaker.

“Sigh.” Rae bemoaned next to you on the couch, with exasperation. “Bud, I hate to say it, but I think I’m demoting you to drone status.” The TV suddenly switches off, half way through the latest episode of ‘Historic World’.

“What….I….why?” You sit up in a panic and glance across at your young friend. You had met him a couple of months back and found him immediately charming, and admittedly, rather cute. But it quickly became clear how high maintenance and demanding the 24 year old could be. A fact that was solidified when he had described his expectations of his friends, and the consequences of letting him down.

He turns towards you momentarily, his piercing eyes affording you a second of their time before he leans back and stretches his arms. “Look, you’re just not great ‘best friend’ material. Weekly episodes of ‘Historic World’ topped with yet another superhero movie? Death would be a more exciting prospect. Face it, you’re kinda boring.” Rae places a hand softly upon your shoulder, as if he was delivering bad news about a family member. “Even Charlie had more going for him, and he liked painting those little models. Now? Now he’s a drone that likes being my big butt’s seat. You understand.” Rae smiled at you warmly, it was a look that scarcely disguised the weight of his words.

“No—please! I can do better. Give me a chance to prove myself. I don’t want to be like the oth—others.” You stammer erratically, recalling the time he proudly showed you his previous bff ‘rejects’. Imagining the same thing happening to you causes you to shudder.

“See, this is what I’m talking about. ‘Give me a chance to prove myself’. Wah wah. Dull as dishwater dude. I gave you a shot and it just doesn’t work.” Rae explains with fake resignation, slowly getting to his feet. “Oh well, let’s get this over with then.”

“Just wait. Bud—we can work this-“

*snap*

Your pleas immediately screech to a holt, like slamming the brakes at a red light. His snapping fingers inexplicably steal your undivided attention. Your eyes going crosseyed at his outstretched hand.

“Engage. Stand up.” You go to laugh, but your legs involuntarily lift you from the couch. “Good. Face towards me.”

“R—Rae! What’s ha—happening? Why am—“

“Talking mode off.” Your mouth snaps shut the second the words leave his lips. “Dude. I kinda thought this might be the case. I had you chipped about a month back. You know, when you thought you got stung by a bee. God, you were annoying then too.”You wriggle slightly on the spot as he openly chastises your apparent ‘inadequacies’. “Makes this whole tedious ordeal much easier. Now, come on, be a good drone and take those clothes off before we both die from sheer boredom.”

You tell yourself you will absolutely not strip in front of your attractive friend. What you tell yourself and what your body does, however, is a different matter. Your hands feverishly remove every item of clothing as if you were on fire.

“I’ve never seen you move with such excitement before. Sure you’re not into this already? Your dick is hard bud, how humiliating.” You blush as you feel cold air brush against your nethers. “Hm? Maybe you want to be my ddf, my dumb drone forever? Hehe.” He teases while trying to hold back a wide grin.

He walks up to your frozen body and snaps a metal ring like device around your neck. It tightens against your body. “Trust me dude, you’ll be much better like this. More…interesting.” Your eyes follow a shimmering wave of squeaking rubber as it travels down from your neck, passing over your chest and stretching over your groin. Turning everything it touches into smooth plastic. Your dick begins to swell to a unbelievable size, feeling like the most intense erection of your life. Your cock embarrassingly hardens, bounces and slaps against your stomach. You see the flared tip pointing up at you, the sunlight reflecting off its unnatural surface. There was no denying it, it looked like a plastic sex toy. For all intents and purposes, your dick was a huge rubber dildo. Your veins were moulded onto the shape.

The wave travels all the way down to your feet, encasing your toes in the slick substance. Your new shiny skin felt too tight for your body, as if it was being vacuumed sealed. It pushes on you until your physique begins to match the other drones Rae had shown you. Giving you a basic set of abs on a slim frame, and inflating your butt into a firm round bubble. Rae sure had a type…

The rubber slips between your enlarged butt cheeks and invades your entrance. Your insides are coated and ribbed, becoming a slick chute with a clear purpose. Your body instinctively pushes your hips out, making your rear entrance spread out enticingly behind you. The humorous pose - much to your own chagrin, felt comfortable and befitting for your newly uneven body proportions. You were essentially a living fuck doll, inside and out.

Humiliating as it was - standing to attention, with your butt on display at your friend’s whims; you really needed to cum. You’d surrender just about anything right now to blow a load. You needed relief from this aching, pulsing sensation that racked the space between your legs. Teetering on the edge, a single touch would cause you to explode. Hell, a light breeze would probably suffice. The dull throbbing made your groin subtly rut back and forth at the air, trying to find some feedback.

Attempting to keep yourself together, you momentarily shake away the pleasure coming from your dildo. You cringe as you look pleadingly at Rae, praying that he’ll reconsider. Or maybe just let you cum at least…

“No, no this doesn’t work for me. Bleh. Sorry bud, but I’m revoking your facial privileges.”

‘My what’, you think, before the answer quickly presents itself. The sensation was like no other, feeling your lips meld together, ears flattening against your head. And then, then your face effortlessly smoothes over, like a wave washing over it, blurring all the details as your features fade into the rubber. The hair on your scalp slips free and falls to the carpet like a wig. Your face had been left completely blank, like a mannequin.

“Go on, feel it. It’s amazing.”

On request, your fingers run across your face. Your plasticised skin is incredibly sensitive. Senses had seemingly been enhanced. Every touch sends a jolt to your oversized dick. You desperately try and find your mouth, your nose….your eyes. But it’s like stroking the surface of a rubber ball. You had been stripped of your identity! A burst of anxiety overwhelms you, but at the same time, a weird sense of contentment. Your face, it was, it was gone. Blank. Anonymous. Smooth. Smooth. So unbelievably smooth. It felt….nice.

“Let’s see…you look the part. Now lets demote that whole ‘friendship’ status. I think you’re ready to be wiped. That ‘blah’ personality needs to go. Say goodbye ‘bud’. Drone. Purge.”

For a millisecond you wonder what he means and then your back stiffens like a plank, the most intense pleasure shoots up your groin and is expelled out of your rubberised dildo dick.

PURGE.

You climax on command. Cum splashes across your sleek chest and showers around you. Your mind is drowned in a fuzzy haze of pure horniness, one that shows no sign of clearing. A whirlpool swirls in your head, washing away the thoughts caught in its pull. No post nut clarity greets you as you lose yourself to the emptiness. Quite literally lose yourself, your identity and everything you ever held true squirted out of your dildo. Your dull, barely noteworthy personality dribbling down onto the floor into an embarrassingly small pool.

P U R G E.

You attempt to think, to think of anything. To bring forth a single concept, an idea. But it’s all for naught. There is *nothing* to think about. Not a single idea left in your brainwashed head. Quite literally washed, washed clean. Your mind is stuffed with pure nothingness, thoughtlessness, an overwhelming absence that fills you to your core and becomes everything you are and ever will be. You are no longer a person, an ‘It’. A thing. A husk. ‘You’ are gone.

YOU ARE PURGED.

YOU ARE DRONE.

IT IS ACTIVATED.

“Drone wiped.” A monotone voice announces. Yours? It sounded like it was coming out of a small speaker. After all, drones don’t have mouths. “Relationship demotion complete. Drone status achieved.”

“Geez. About time…” your fr—master groans, rolling his eyes.

The concept of ‘friend’ was now unknown to you, friendship was something between two equals. You were not equal. A single word takes precedent over your mind. OWNER. He was your owner. A master of charm and taste. He was perfect in every conceivable way. Every facet of his being was mesmerising. You were awestruck to even share the same space as him. He was everything. And you were just his simple drone.

“Yeah, this suits you much better. What’s your new designation, drone?”

“Drone AS032. Sir.”

“Yeaaaaaahhh. I’m not gonna remember all that. I guess I could write it down, but eh. Why bother? I gave up on distinguishing my individual drones a while back. There’s just too many at this point. You’ll all identical anyway.” He shrugs apathetically.

“Of course S—Sir” You reply, stuttering slightly. Was that really all you were? All you were…to him? Surely you were better than all the others. You feel a sudden swell of concern hit you, something felt wrong.

“Oh. Still resisting there? Impressive, but I know a little trick that’ll help. Wanna see?” Rae steps forward and then reaches down to your groin. With a loud *pop* he removes your ridiculous looking cock. Simultaneously, you feel a similar pop in your head, like a radical change in air pressure. It felt amazing, a permanent sensation of being high. Floating like a balloon in the sky, filled with nothing but air. Your doubts dissipate faster than they appeared. Of course you were just a simple toy, how could you think otherwise? Just look at your cock. It was unmistakably a dildo. Your cartoonishly large balls were fused to the base, looking full. You could feel them in his hand, his fingers brushing over the hardened surface. Every touch was a lesson in frustration; feeling on the cusp of relief but the possibility being completely denied. Without the phallic protrusion, your groin was just smooth shiny plastic with an unremarkable bump.

“Cock toy detached.” You announce redundantly, while Rai marvels at your enlarged plastic rod. He places it down beside the couch, the tip pointing straight up as it sits on the flat base.

“See, that’s better. Drone. Activate service mode.” A pleasant tingle converges on your head, filling it with an intense desire of subservience. To submit without question. “Loosen rear entry. Hm, you’re so much more interesting like this. Don’t you agree Drone?”

“Yes sir. It exists to serve.” You obey, pulling apart your cheeks with your hands as your ribbed pleasure hole automatically stretches wide.

“Whatever. I just need to fuck you and then we’re done.” Rae remarks coldly, removing his clothes. The sight of his bare muscled chest is only a reminder of his superiority, you couldn’t help but feel amazed in its presence. That was doubly true when all 8 inches of his glorious dick rose into view. Unlike your own, his was demonstrably *real*; something you would soon have proven to you firsthand.

“Yes sir.” You repeat. Betraying no hint of personality. Incapable of saying anything else. Your body leans forward slightly while master Rae’s hands roughly grip your sides. Whatever small part of your old self that might remain is about to be fucked, fucked throughly out of existence. That little voice - no longer in control, would have to sit and watch themselves be initiated into their new role as a glorified sex doll.

“Darn. I always forget something.” Master bends you further over, and then subsequently pushes something cold against your hips. “A drone isn’t complete without fuck handles. You know, for when you get FUCKED.” You don’t see them, but you can feel a set of pliable rubber bars fuse to your body. His fingers then wrap around them, positioning you like you were a mere toy. The anticipation was palpable.

And then it just happens. Without a word, Rae dispassionately fucks you from behind. His thick cock easily sliding back and forth without resistance. Only the plapping of your plastic rear echoes in the room. He uses you in the same way one would use a fleshlight. That was basically what you were after all. With a lone grunt, master unceremoniously cums inside you, his seed filling up your rear cavity. He hastily pulls out and lets his juice slowly slide out from between your huge round cheeks. You continue to just stand there, joyously being debased as you feel your hole become frustratingly empty. Empty like your head.

“Well done, drone. Here’s a reward.” The compliment lit your tiny world alight with satisfaction.

With a sudden jolt, Master Rae kindly pushes your own dildo cock into your rear, your balls resting against your smooth parted cheeks. You could feel it nestled inside of you, as if you were fucking yourself. It was - to put it simply, an odd sensation. Your body couldn’t help but rock slightly back and forth, pushing your rear outward before clenching around your shaft. The slightest of movements brought about unbelievable pleasure to your hardened rod, but there was still no sign of relief. It did, however, make sure to keep you appropriately docile. You desperately needed to be given instructions.

“It exists to serve.” You admit once again with complete submission to your flawless

owner. He had successfully claimed you as his own. Standing with your legs together and your cock throbbing inside your ass.

“Sigh. I guess. Drone…footstool mode.” Rae utters with pure indifference as he sits back down on the couch, turning the television on again. “At least now you have some use.”

“And that’s how they became what pop culture commonly refers to them as…” The shows flat narrator continues before the channel quickly switches, being replaced by the sounds of a loud action scene and gunfire bouncing around the room.

“Yes sir.” You fall to your knees in front of him as he leans back in his seat. Your dildo is lodged further up your hole. His legs lift and rest his big feet on your nulled face. Even without a physical nose you can still smell his sweaty boy soles. You were proud he deemed you worthy of such a honour. The scent makes your dildo cock rhythmically pulse inside you. Your body locks into position, seizing up like a statue. Your arms lifting up to hold his legs in place. He turns the television up and completely disregards your existence below him as he taints you with his foot stench. You were just happy to be of use to your master. To worship him like a god. You would stay here for eternity if he asked you to. Not that you would have a choice anyway.

….

“Oh crap, look at the time. It’s been half an hour already.” Rae sits up, shoving his ripe toes over your head. “Damn. You know where the other drones are kept right? I’m sure there’s space in there for one more mindless, obedient, pathetic reject drone. And hurry up. I’ve got a new best friend candidate coming by and you already stink of feet dude.”

“Yes sir.” You obey, without a hint of hesitation.

“Oh - before I forget, engage mute mode.” He quickly adds, loudly pulling open a bag of chips. As instructed, you say nothing in response. Instead you quietly get up from the ground and begin to move towards a familiar door, a door that just an hour ago would have filled you with dread. Now though, you open it without concern, delivering yourself to your new storage space, walking down the stairs into the dim basement. Every step caused your hips to sway, squeezing your hole around the plastic cock filling your insides. The scent of master Rae still wafts around your face. You hear the sounds of masters other playthings shuffling around in the dark as you join your place amongst them, feeling their smooth blank bodies brush against yours. The crowded room sits in silence, patiently waiting to be of service again. Or until the next boring friend is deservedly added to the group.

After all, he was right - you’re far more interesting like this. Like a dutiful piece of furniture. An object he would - on rare occasions, use to rest his sweaty feet upon or, if you’re lucky, to empty his hefty balls inside of. That was the purpose he deemed fitting for you. That personality you had just got in the way, not that you had much of one to start with. Even still, Master Rae had been very kind to fix that. Purging your boring identity to leave beautifully pristine nothing in its wake.

You feel your own cock shudder inside your gaping rear as you wistfully think of your new owner. At him successfully demoting you to drone status. A sensation obviously shared by the rest of his drones, as they vibrate all around you in bliss - indulging in the joy of sheer emptiness.

[denial-permanente]

What would happen if your catch Tom out of his chastity without permission?

Well... first, I would assume that he's going to the doctor or for a long bike ride. Or on an airplane. Because other than that, he does not have permission to remove his cage, at least not without me knowing.

Somebody asked about this not long ago. And even though your question is a little different my answer is still mostly the same.

I think you're expecting an answer like I'd be mad or upset or hurt. But what I'm going to tell you is this. That would never happen. My husband has made a sincere lifelong commitment. He has never once complained or begged to be let out. He has quite literally been locked through sickness and in health. He has remained locked when we have been angry with each other. He has stayed locked for months and months with no orgasm. He was denied for almost a year and a half, no orgasm, with no cage.

I'm going to be very clear here. I see the messages and comments that a lot of men say they would love to have a life like this. But I honestly think that very few of them could really handle it. There are a lot of men who seem to be overgrown bratty children. They need teasing and edging and constant attention. They secretly remove their cage to have a little jerk off because they can't handle a few days, let along a few weeks or months without their little orgasm.

My husband is not perfect. But I trust him because he is a grown man. And maybe some of the men who want to have the kind of lifestyle that we have should start acting like men and not like whiney little brats.

[autumn0689]

Something that gets me about Midnight Mass is about John Pruitt’s relationship with religion and himself. Now I’m not going to suggest that he isn’t religious, he absolutely is, but it’s so interesting how, in my opinion, he’s not as devout as he tries to present himself as.

His confession to Mildred that he would have stepped down if she had asked him, how he doesn’t perceive his brief relationship with Mildred as a sin, and that his daughter is not a sin is so interesting. It circles back to him not feeling guilt for killing Joe (which i can analyze because he seemed like he was in shock and basically shut down until Bev came in) how he claims that he was spared of it, how he tried to justify it, and yet he isn’t in denial that most would consider what John did to be a sin, and he knows that, but he states that no, they are not a sin, and its so interesting seeing how… human he is.

Obviously we saw how much he cared for others, but he was first and foremost a priest, helping others and granting them ‘miracles’ but all his walls come down when Mildred was with him, and we already knew he was flawed, but learning the subconscious reason (because I do believe he brought the Angel because he wanted to help others, but it all comes back to the subconscious, in my opinion) why he brought it is… devastating.

He has a fear of death, but, now you may feel free to disagree with me but this is how i interpreted it, it’s not much to do with himself, but with others. Now I do think he is scared of dying, but with how he described himself in episode 3, how Paul Hill talked about John Pruitt seemed so distant, and how it wasnt until the end that he began using first person rather than third person. It’s interesting how his identity is because he does think highly of himself, but also thinks somewhat negatively. He sometimes comes off as superior, and yet his sense of identity is… fractured, and it makes sense, he was deaged, so he lies, lies about his identity, about who he is, and in episode 6 he confesses that he is John Pruitt, but I don’t think its until Mildred is with him that it fully hits him, and that’s when he realizes his subconscious reason on why he did what he did.

His fear of death drives him as well. He doesn’t want Mildred or Sarah to die, and it’s devastating because of what he did results in Sarah dying before him and Mildred dying alongside him. It then reveals that they are so important to him, he lets the church burn, he removes the collar, and he asks Mildred for forgiveness. I don’t interpret it as him losing faith, but him symbolically letting go and being with Mildred.

Just… having John, a character who is a priest, openly admit that he would have left being a priest for Mildred does something to me. If you disagree then please let me know what you disagree with! My interpretation of his character may differ from others, and if I got anything wrong do let me know!

[damnfandomproblems]

Fandom Problem #7260:

I hate how people get so upset when authors remove their fics rather than orphaning them and acting like the author was soooo selfish and that orphaning is the only right and justice choice for them to make, especially when the fic in question had a handful or even no comments.

Like, people share their fics for community and connection. I share my fics for community and connection. I will always write for myself, but I share them for the human connection. If there's no connection? Well, I'm not going to share then, and I sure as hell am not going to orphan because that's MY fic, MY hard work, why would I want to remove myself from it, to not be able to show it to others and say "hey look at this thing I made, what do you think?" just because a stranger who doesn't even have the guts to tell me they like it, likes it? And there's no such thing as an individual, so many other fic authors likely do/think the same.

"Oh, but you aren't entitled to comments!" You're right, but you also aren't entitled to millions of stories at the wonderful cost of $0.00 either. It isn't selfish for people to choose to not comment, but it also isn't selfish for authors to delete and/or abandon their fics when they get no comments.

"But what if that fic helped someone through a hard time? Saved their life?" Should've told the author that, can't blame the author for prioritizing their own mental health when they weren't even aware they were carrying the burden of a stranger's mental health too.

Writing is already so hard even if you're doing it for yourself. Sharing it is terrifying. Letting people, strangers even, know the things you like, your traumas, your mistakes? The only thing that makes sharing worth it is knowing that there are other people out there who like the same things, share your traumas, and won't judge you by your mistakes and that by sharing your stories, you can find them and even if it's just for a moment, just a single small interaction.

But if you can't find them? They don't let you know that—yes, we're alike! I like this too! I understand this character! I don't mind that you're imperfect, we're human!—Why keep sharing? Why leave all these painful pieces of yourself scattered about if you gain NOTHING from it? Why leave something that was meant to be a bridge of connection up, when it goes unwalked? It's an abandoned house, an unused lot, a corpse. Community interaction is the lifeblood of fic, and if the blood doesn't flow, it will be buried.

Yes, fandom may not cost money, but there needs to be an exchange if you want it to continue because fandom is and always will be a community, not just fics and art.

"But I'm scared to comment!" "I just want to lurk!" etc.

That's valid, but you can't complain when authors delete their fics, stop posting, and fandom begins to dwindle because all they received for their efforts and nakedness is silence. Kudos and likes will always be appreciated, but that's not connected, that is not community, and that's not what authors share and bare their hearts for. Of course, you can be upset when fics disappear and authors leave, but don't bitch if you know the reason why and could have helped prevent it. If you don't play your part in the community keep your mouth shut when it dies. Don't cry at the funeral a fandom you did nothing more but look at.

Let authors delete their fics and disappear in peace. They were shown how little the community valued them when they were left in silence, and no amount of complaints and cutesy positive posts are going to change that.

Deleting fic isn't evil. It's the acceptance that no matter how much you share, how much effort you give, the community doesn't care enough to even give you a single thumbs up and it's the action of parting ways with that community.

And asking those people who just want to leave and be left alone because the community was neglectful to keep sharing AND walk away if they don't like the silence by orphaning their fics instead of deleting them is so selfish. It's cruel to pressure them to keep their work up when they're ready to leave because YOU want to just take, take, take, and give not even a thanks in return.

I'm so sick of being treated like a monster when I post a fic, work it for months upon months, see the hit could rise higher and higher, and get not even a single person interacting but being treated like a selfish monster for deleting it when continuing to share it eventually became too painful.

"Oh, but write for yourself! You shouldn't write for the comments!" I write for myself, my Google Docs are full of dozens upon dozens of fics that I read and reread, laugh and cry at. But I only share for the comments/community, and well, the community decided that it doesn't want me and so I'm done sharing. I'm never sharing again when I'll just be fucking ignored. I'm done letting people call me and anyone else who has also decided they're done sharing selfish entitled pricks for just wanting to connect with others when they didn't give a damn dollar or even just a fucking smile emoji in return

[sennenpharaoh]

"...Don't say that." Atem whispered, the familiar emotion starting to intensify the moment he heard Roy now be the one to give him an out. Hearing that Roy never wanted to get close to anyone, that he doesn't deserve happiness, that he thinks Atem actually hates him, that he doesn't have to stay...

That he could walk away.

That all of this could end, and he wouldn't be with his Colonel anymore. No more Roy, no more late nights drinking and watching bad movies, no more laughing and playing around under covers, no more special moments in his studio. All of it gone... and Atem would be left by himself. All... alone.

...

No!

Forget the hurt for those who lost their lives at the hands of the Colonel! Forget the anger towards the families that have been ruined! Forget the disdain at the Colonel's actions in that damn war, that damn genocide! To hell with those feelings, no matter how true or valid or right they were, they meant nothing if it was going to cost him all the good that was brought to his life because of his Colonel! Push them away! Lock them away! Bury them! Dispel them! Destroy them! Remove them! Anything!

Don't... take my Colonel away from me. Don't leave me all alone.

"Don't say that!" Ill-advised and without even thinking he wrapped his arms around Roy's shoulders, clinging to him as close as he could possibly be. "I don't care if what you've done was unforgivable! I don't care if I hold disdain and resentment towards what you've done! I don't care if your hands are covered in blood! Wipe them off on me for all I care! Let your demons haunt me! Let them call me a hypocrite for wanting to stay with a murderer, I don't care!"

"I've stayed because I was willing to push down and lock away those feelings because I wanted you most of all, and I'll do it again in a heartbeat if it means you stay. I've allowed your blood soaked hands to hold me because I want them to hold me, and I always want them to hold me, feelings be damned!" There was a panic in his voice, a rushed clinginess to his tone as he just held Roy tight and refused to let go.

"Yes you've done some horrible things, but so have I! And if staying with you means I shoulder that burden of my Colonel's crimes, all the lives he's taken then so be it. I have taken the responsibility of a village's massacre before at the hands of my predecessor as Pharaoh, and I will gladly do it again for the one I love! I will do anything and everything I have to to give you the happiness you deserve! No matter what! For better or worse I will gladly bear it!" He pulled away, panicked worry in his eyes as he looked right at Roy. This was fear, but a different type of fear. The one emotion he was afraid of feeling, as he had felt it far too many times and he wasn't about to let it take him again.

Loneliness.

"I've walked away once, and I refuse to walk away again! These past seven months with you have made me the happiest and most fulfilled I've ever felt with you, and not a single day goes by where I don't think of you! And I am not about to throw all of that away because of my weakness and cowardice! So don't you dare ask me if I want to walk away, because I don't ever want to lose you! I don't... I don't care what this looks like or what this means, I don't want to lose you. I don't want you to go away. I'll never bring it up again, I'll not even think about it! I'll do anything to make you feel like you deserve happiness because you do, and you have, all this time! So please..." He buried his face into Roy's shoulder, knowing damn well it was only a matter of time before he was moved away for being too "clingy", for not helping things. Doesn't matter. All that mattered is he didn't want to leave his Colonel, nor did he want his Colonel to leave him.

"Don't ever ask me if I want to leave. Don't you dare ever say that."

He pulled his hand back from him when the other pulled away from him as he gave him a sad look. He knows the other wants him to be upset, but he had no right to be upset because the things he’s done he can’t take them back, and the inner self hatred he feels for himself show.

“It doesn’t matter how I feel, Atem. I don’t have a right to be upset for how you feel. That’s what I am, a murderer, a war criminal. Those titles will follow me for the rest of my life. I can’t take back what I have done, and you have a right to feel the way you do about it. If you don’t wish to be with me for this reason alone, I understand.” He looks at him seriously.

“This is something I have done and I’m holding myself accountable. It won’t change the past, it won’t bring back the people that are already gone because of me. I still wish to make everything right, even if I die in the process. That’s why I took this path, because I don’t want to see anyone suffer and I don’t wish to kill anymore people in such a way again.” He takes a shaky breath.

“I’m glad you were honest with me. Whether you understand or not why I think that, it’s because you’re a good person with a good heart. When you cause someone pain you feel guilty too. I don’t expect you to just sit there and accept the things I’ve done. Nobody should accept it, the things I did were terrible and should be condemned. I was naïve and a fool to think at first what we were doing was just following orders. I should have stopped them from doing this, I should gotten replaced, but I was too much of a coward.. so I went through with it, I continued to do as ordered, when I did it I wasn’t myself, i wasn’t the young teen that I used to be with dreams of protecting my nation. I was a monster, a murderer, following orders. I never forgot the people I’ve killed. I remember all of their faces. My brain doesn’t let me forget. These haunting memories will follow me for the rest of my life.”

He looks down looking at the hands as they shake softly as he whispers. “This is why I never wanted to get close to anyone. I don’t deserve it, and if you don’t wish to be with me because of this, I won’t stop you. If you hate me truly, if you don’t wish to be with me because of all that I’ve done, you don’t have to stay. I want to be with you, but if you really don’t want all of me, if you don’t want any of my demons that will follow me for the rest of my life even after death, I won’t stop you from walking away right now. “ He swallowed softly, his shoulders trembling.

“What right do I have? I never deserved any of this, yet when you accepted me for me, I was surprised.. Especially after seeing the archive… you still stayed, you even said that these blood stained hands deserve to hold the person I love. I won’t force you to stay if you don’t want to. I love you, you’re my everything. You’ll always be my everything. It’s up to you.. I don’t have a right to ask for your hand. After all that I’ve done… I don’t deserve happiness.”

This was his inner self hatred coming out of the wood work, it hadn’t been as bad as it usually was because of Atem always being there to make him happy and tell him how much he meant to him. With the real feelings Atem had though, they came back ten fold, reminding him how much of a pathetic piece of garbage he thought he was.

[darkeraurora]

Admissions - Chapter 3

Small Moments

Word count 3617 SFW Spanish translations are at the end.

Content warnings: swearing (our boo does that), and details of how Simon got his face scars.

Image is by NoteszB on Twitter. Look at this beautiful thing and his freaking long blond eyelashes! I didn't see a watermark or anything asking to not repost, and I don't have Twitter (image is from Google), if anyone knows if NoteszB prefers their work not be reposted like Umikochan, or if the watermark has been removed, please comment and I'll happily change it.

“Feels like I’m about to blast off.”

Sereza hummed. “MRIs always gave me Star Trek vibes.”

“Is this thing gonna blow up with me in it?” Soap asked over the mic inside the scanner.

“Uh,” the petite female began. From the back of the room, the silent skull and the captain watched her scroll through several images of Johnny’s head. The team had a vested interest in this; if it went well, she’d said, the drain could be removed and the 141 would be much closer to getting back to their hunt. “Nahhh,” she finally answered back a bit too casually.

“Not very convincing Lass,” the Scot griped.

 Slender fingers flicked past several more images. “I’m like, 67% sure it'll be fine.”

“What?!!”

“Steady soldier,” Ghost’s deep voice commanded. Dark irises looked down at the woman when she shivered. An eyebrow arched, inquisitive.

“LT don’t let me die in here!”

Fucking hell, so dramatic. “Keep it tactical Sargeant.”

“Ugh, fine. But I want my chest candy for this!” Soap wagged his finger in their general direction.

���Best I can do is let you keep your grippy socks,” the peanut replied dryly. Price barked out a loud laugh. Even the stoic Brit shook a bit with a silent chuckle before reaching out and patting just above her ponytail. Silent praise for her quick wit.

Both men straightened and came to attention as Raphael rounded the corner, knocking his knuckles against the open door. “Vete a la chingada,” Sereza snapped.

The major smirked. “Well that’s not very nice.”

“Don’t care.”

“So spicy,” he crooned, lifting an arm toward her hair.

Sereza swatted his hand away viciously. “Ya te dije que no hicieras eso!” The corner of Simon’s mouth tugged upward beneath the mask. It seemed the tiny peanut could also be quite the spitfire. It further fascinated and amused him.

Raphael jumped back, wearing an affectionate grin. He enjoyed teasing his sister. “You’re in a mood today. I come to apologize for this morning, like a good big brother, and you’re being mean to me,” he lamented, then ducked to the side as a pen flew at his head.

Perks of being his sister, the Brit thought to himself with a hint of envy. There had been a few majors and others over the years he’d have liked to sling something at.

Price waited. And waited some more, discreetly watching Ghost’s profile. But the skull remained silent and only observed the siblings’ banter. Hm.

 “Cállate, now get lost,” the pint-sized female ordered. “Unlike you, I have work to do. Lárgate.”

“Bloody hell, who you yelling at Lass?” Johnny cut in.

At his interruption, the major gave up and left his sister to her work. “Absolutely nobody important,” she answered into the mic. Price chuckled as he explained to Johnny that he’d missed the squabble and his best guess was she’d told her brother off.

Johnny gasped. “Told off the major?!”

“Yo no dije nada, si eso es lo que estás pensando,” Sereza replied innocently with a shrug. “Now, back to your brain.”

The captain took note. No direct interaction between the younger man and the doctor to speak of, but what hadn’t happened was telling. Despite having no idea what was said, she had been made clear her brother was not allowed to pat her on the head, yet she hadn’t objected to Simon doing the same in the hallway the other day and again just a moment ago. And another, more fascinating thing was missing:  Simon’s customary ‘speak English’ remark.

The Scot was constantly chastised whenever he spoke Gaelic within earshot of the Brit but Sereza, it seemed, got a free pass. And Ghost was not known for giving free passes. To anyone.

How very unlike him. In John’s experience, people speaking another language made the lieutenant uneasy. He needed to know precisely what was going on around him at all times. But he’d stayed calm with her; not a single annoyed remark or complaint.  

What exactly are you doing here, son?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Morning drifted quickly into evening, the arctic sun setting several minutes earlier each day.

The masked lieutenant stood outside Sereza’s office. For a moment he watched her, observed, while her mouse cursor flew across the screen. Head propped up in her other hand.

Unaware of the silent shadow, the little one gathered her long honey-hued curls and rapidly twisted them, exposing the back of her delectable neck, coiling her hair on the back of her head and securing the mass in place by shoving a pen through it.

Simon always wondered how women were able to do that. And so deftly.

It was fucking adorable.

Bloody hell. Such a pretty kitten.

He felt like a damn stalker.

Annoyed with himself, the Brit cleared his throat.

“Holy shit!! Ghost!” The little one jumped in her chair. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!”

“You’re jumpy.”

“And you wouldn’t jump if another one of you just materialized out of fucking nowhere!?”

“No,” the skull deadpanned.

“Ugh!” Sereza moaned dramatically, tossing her head backward and slapping her hands over her eyes. She let out a deep sigh, muttering something under her breath in Spanish, then turning to him with her professional face back on. “What can I do for you sweetie?”

The Brit almost filled the doorway as he walked in. “Anything on Johnny?” he asked, improvising on the spot.

She clicked through several screens. “Nothing official for you yet; still waiting on the report. But I can tell you that I didn’t see anything that would make me want to leave the drain in longer. In my personal professional opinion, it’s ready to come out, however I’m not a radiologist, so-” she waved away the rest of her sentence.

Simon nodded. The peanut drew her legs up and folded herself into her chair, making her appear even smaller. His gaze roamed over her, memorizing her, until he stopped at the socks barely peeking over her shoes. “Your socks are really small.”

“Very random Ghost.” She shoved the edge of her desk, spinning in her chair around to face him, “There is a substantial size difference between the two of us, you may have noticed.”

He chuckled until Sereza held up her palm to him. Confused, the skull stared momentarily. Eyes flicking between hers and her outstretched hand.

“Come on, let’s see,” she prompted, wiggling her fingers.

She wants me to touch her?

The Brit, moving almost as if he might scare her off, pressed his gloved hand against her palm and as expected, he completely dwarfed her. A quiet laugh tickled his ears as she pushed back against him, turning their hands from side to side. Simon found himself captivated. Her smile, expression sparkling with her amusement, the feeling of her – touching her –  and the warmth of her seeping through the glove to his…

Sereza fell silent and looked up, meeting dark eyes that had softened and crinkled at the corners. “Ghost? Are you smiling?” she asked, tilting her head to one side and grinning wider at him.

“…Yeah,” he admitted. Somewhat reluctantly, but dammit that beautiful face…

It made him want to tell her things. Things he knew he probably shouldn’t.

Most definitely shouldn’t.

“I bet you have a nice smile under there.”

Ah shit, here it comes. Cue the same old tired lines about his balaclava followed by the pressure to take it off then the endless questioning about why he wouldn’t. Honestly, he had been starting to wonder when this was coming; it always did eventually. People’s curiosity about his mask was understandable, of course, and a few courteously-worded questions were fine, but he didn’t understand their inability to take no for an answer. Removing it was out of the question.

Sereza noticed the change in his expression, how the hidden smile dropped and his posture changed, curling inward almost imperceptibly. Protectively.  He really didn’t like that, but… I don’t think it’s about his smile... “Not that I think you should take it off or anything; it was just an observation. I’m just happy I’m learning how to read you,” she explained. Lacing her fingers through his, she gave Simon’s hand a quick reassuring squeeze before breaking their contact and turning back to her work.

His metaphorical mask was firmly fixed in place. All his defensive walls were up and ready to field yet another attack on the object that provided him a sense of comfort, safety, and anonymity in this god-forsaken world.

Except for once the attack never came.

“Why aren’t you asking about it?” he couldn’t stop himself from saying. Surely she wanted to; everyone had something to say about it. Some unsolicited and unwelcome bit of advice. Or they’d have something to say behind his back at the very least.

Those lean shoulders casually shrugged, “I didn’t have anything to ask, honestly. I think you’re expecting me to bombard you with questions about it but I don’t have any. And before you ask why not I suppose that’s because, in my view, you’re an adult making an adult decision and therefore whatever I think doesn’t matter.”

But do you hate it too?

Simon’s chest began to hurt and he realized that, surprisingly, it would actually really hurt him if she hated the balaclava. Hated this part of him.

“Maybe it’s the surgeon in me that makes me partial to skulls but, for what my opinion’s worth, I think it looks nice on you. Both your styles.”

Like skulls, do ya’ Lovie?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

There was one instance where Simon disliked his masks – when his facial hair grew too long. He’d never cared for it, even before he began covering his face. Almost as soon as he started growing peach fuzz he’d started shaving.

How John willingly put up with all that hair on his face Simon would never understand.

Ghost could go about two weeks between shaving before the stubble became annoying, but he could still tolerate it when he had to. Long missions in the middle of nowhere had given him plenty of practice. By four weeks his face was beginning to really piss him off and at five he was willing to use his combat knives to get rid of the hair, the resulting razor burn a price worth paying.

Shredding his skin wasn’t necessary this time. Luckily for him and his face, the commissary at Westforge was pretty good. Shave cream, pack of decent razors, body wash he didn’t think would leave him smelling like a goddamn fruit basket after a shower – perfect.

Movie night was in just over an hour; might as well knock it out while he waited. Maybe she’d be there… He shoved the thought away.

Dark gaze roamed from his fingers in the running water, waiting for it to warm up, to his balaclava staring back from where it lay on the edge of the sink, down to the walking boot protecting his fractured foot, and coming to a stop at the bruises and scabs his bone gloves had kept concealed. Remnants of a fight. One that had turned out to be his opponent’s last.

Large hands cupped the warm water over his face and applied shave cream. This part of shaving was an almost automatic task for him; not requiring much focus. His mind began to wander…

Her laugh faintly played in his ears.

The sound of her accent when she’d told him the name of her hometown.

Feeling her touch him while she traced his tattoos. And holy hell that smile.

“I bet you have a nice smile under there.”

She’d held his hand-

Ghost blinked away those thoughts. Fucking hell, get your head on straight. Picking up the razor and taking the first swipe, each stroke revealed more of the disfigured face. Simon rinsed his razor. He exhaled resentfully, having come to the parts he never liked doing – around the scars. The tiny nicks from fighting or the typical mishaps as a kid were negligible. He could, and very often did, completely overlook those.

Others…

The line near his temple where no hair grew from a time his father had backhanded him, causing Simon’s head to hit the corner of a table. His mother hadn’t been allowed to take him to get stitches until the following day.

As shit as his father had been, he hadn’t been the one responsible for most of his scars…

Small pieces missing from his ear.

Old burns on his neck and chest where they’d put out their cigarettes.

Narrow lacerations through his eyebrow, one extending down across his nose and to the corner of his inner eye.

The corner of his lip sliced through.

Rough, red scars crisscrossing his cheeks.

What remained of a gash extending from in front of his ear, underneath and behind, then up into his hair. Carved into his head by one of his torturers.

A sunken, cross-shaped scar Roba had personally cut deep into his cheekbone. That was probably the worst thing marring his face.

He rinsed the razor and took another swipe. Then stopped.

Or was it his eyes? Dark as coal, just like his father’s, his mother had always said.

“They’ll always be a piece of him in you.”

Simon rinsed the clean razor again. Pausing in his task, the haunting glare at his reflection intensified.

His nostrils flared. With a fierce yell, he hurled the razor across the small bathroom, the plastic shattering against the tile wall. His palms slammed onto the edge of his sink, the porcelain groaning under his white-knuckled grip. Head hanging, teeth clenched, eyelids squeezed shut in an effort to stop other, weaker, signs of emotion from leaking out.

No sense in lying to himself.  He would disgust her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Simon was going to go insane.

If he didn’t get out of here and back to work soon…

Two weeks. Two more fucking weeks, he mentally reminded himself. His heavy footfalls stopped in the middle of the hall leading to the common room. Now what? Rolling his eyes, he backed up a few paces and looked around the corner. He’d been hoping his sight was deceiving him, but no. Simon wasn’t that lucky.

He frowned behind the skull balaclava as he surveyed the room. A herd of random people, gathered beneath an open vent for… what reason exactly? Just as he was getting really curious one of them yelled into the ceiling, “Got it?”

Is there a fucking person in the damn air vent?!

“Almost, not yet,” a feminine voice echoed back from the darkness.

No...

The onlookers had begun teasing, oblivious to the shadowy lieutenant looming behind them, urging her to “get a move on.”

“Could you have some damn patience?”

“Bet I could be faster.”

“Bet not. There’s no way you’d fit in here. It’s like being in a damn coffin, even for me.”

Simon’s pulse raced, his feet carried him into the room and through the crowd until he stood directly under the vent, people scattering out of his way at just his presence alone. Not that he paid them any attention; he was only vaguely aware of them at best.

Alarm spider-walked up his spine. The little one… in the dark… squeezed into a space the size of a coffin. The room felt like it was spinning. Sound became muffled.

He wanted her out, and out right fucking NOW.

His mind screamed at him to get to her, to tear the fucking ceiling apart if need be. Whatever it took to pull her back out into the light where she belonged.

A loud bang almost made him flinch, followed by the hum of the air system as it came back online. “Got it!” she called from within the ductwork. There was a round of clapping and ‘atta girl!’ but Ghost stood still and silent as a statue in the middle of it all, the gaze drilling into the black void in the ceiling. She was taking too long…

The others began wandering off, back to whatever business they had, but the lieutenant stayed resolutely adhered to the floor, wide eyes trained on the vent. There was the rest of the world and everyone in it, then there was her – his little one – and it was taking every ounce of his self-control to not bring the entire ceiling down. Finally, a flash of movement in the darkness; the black sole of her shoe as Sereza worked her way out. Simon could almost breathe again, but not until she was safely back on the ground.

Moving slowly since she couldn’t see where she was going, Sereza shimmied backward out of the vent. Large arms wrapped around her thighs, easily taking her weight, then a steadying grip on her waist lowered her the rest of the way out. She blinked rapidly as oppressive darkness gave way to those stupid fucking florescent ceiling lights she hated. Her hands held onto broad shoulders for support as she was lowered to the floor. Looking up, hazel irises locked with worried dark ones hidden behind eyeblack and a bone balaclava.

Ghost was almost panting, his gaze rapidly skimming over her face and frame. He was worried about her? But there wasn’t even a second to ponder on that before she was crushed against a hard chest, his arms wrapped across her back and masked face buried against her hair. Ear to his chest, she could hear his heartbeat pounding away.

Dios mio… He smelled divine.

Gunpowder, naturally, woven among the scent of leather and the outdoors. Another more subtle scent – cedar? His choice of body wash, she supposed. And buried beneath it all, his natural musk that she could only describe as unmistakably, intoxicatingly, and deliciously male.  No human should be allowed to smell so good, she decided. Smiling to herself, Sereza sighed contentedly and curled her fingers into his hoodie as she snuggled back against him.

For right now, nothing else mattered. She let herself be surrounded by Ghost, his warmth, and his presence.

In the back corner of the room, behind a cigar, bright blue eyes narrowed at the pair.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Not until the group reached the common room did Simon manage to peel himself away from the little one’s side comfortably. He still trailed after her, but she headed for the bathroom and he was forced to fully separate from her. Goddammit.

He sunk into one of the ancient, sagging couches. A spot on the outer edge to keep him away from the chattier crowds and also protect his broken foot from getting accidentally kicked, an armrest at his left preventing too many people from sitting beside him – not that they did to begin with… Simon couldn’t have a better spot. A bone glove palmed the contents of his pocket.

A feminine sigh from behind him made his eyebrows rise high on his forehead. To Simon’s complete surprise, the peanut headed straight for him, weaving past Soap and Garrick. Sereza folded herself up and squeezed between Ghost’s side and the threadbare armrest, tiny feet perched on the edge of the cushions.

“She’s like a damn pretzel,” Gaz remarked to the other sergeant.

Sereza pulled her legs in closer. “If I fits, I sits.”

Simon was positively chuffed to bits.

The little one yawned. Fucking hell that was adorable, like everything she did. “Long day?” he asked.

She covered another yawn as she nodded, “Long and very, very early.”

The lights clicked off as the opening credits began playing. Before the show could get started, he dug the noisy package from his pocket and sliced it open with his knife. Sereza’s head tilted his direction. “Yes, Peanut?” his deep voice whispered, laced with amusement.

She shivered again. Was she cold?

Didn’t feel cold in here. Then again, she was a gnat-sized little thing with almost no meat on her bones. Maybe she was.

“N-nothing,” she quietly squeaked.

Ghost’s dark eyes twinkled in the light from the screen. He tipped his hand, offering her the open bag. That smile – that fucking gorgeous smile – spread across her face as she pulled out a gummy worm.

“I love sour gummy worms!” she murmured.

Deadpool was pretty good and Simon didn’t care that it was a bit of an older movie. He wasn’t usually one for the superhero genre but he enjoyed the character’s sass. The mix of action and dialogue was good too-

He started.

A small weight had dropped onto his shoulder.

The little one’s head.

Oh sweetheart.

Her breaths were deep and slow. Poor thing must have been more exhausted than she’d let on. That or she felt safe enough to fall asleep in a room full of men. What a luxury it must be to feel that safe. That included many guys on her brother’s team who also saw her as their sister, but still. Such a thing was beyond Simon’s comprehension.

Midnight eyes looked over the tiny curled-up figure. Even as a few of the lights came back on she didn’t stir. Definitely sound asleep, which meant she was entirely vulnerable. The urge to watch over her consumed him.

Looked like he was stuck.

The room cleared out. Simon waved off offers to help get the little one to her room and shot his most murderous glares at those who tried to wake her up. Johnny smiled and passed him a throw blanket. The Brit slouched back into the cushions, stuffing his hands in the front pockets of his hoodie and getting comfortable for his watch. For as long as she needed.

A new, warm feeling bloomed in his chest as she let out a soft sigh and pressed closer to his arm.

…I want to hold her.

Spanish translations:

“Vete a la chingada.”        

Go to hell.

“Ya te dije que no hicieras eso!”        

I’d already told you not to do that!

“Cállate.”                                                                   

Shut up.

“Lárgate.”                                                                   

Get lost.

“Yo no dije nada, si eso es lo que estás pensando.”  

I didn’t say anything if that’s what you’re thinking.

[gunilslaugh]

hihi! was wondering if I could request dyeing Junhan’s hair at like idk 3 AM 🙂‍↕️😸

Hello Hello! I hope that you like this!

Han Hyeongjun Summary: Dying Hyeongjun’s hair at 3am when you two should be sleeping. (idol au) WC:640 Warning:none

photo not mine credits to owner.

Browsing the hair dye section at 2:45 am definitely wasn’t what either Hyeongjun or you had planned, but sometimes it was fun to make spontaneous and maybe a little questionable decisions. 

“Won’t the company be mad at you dying your hair without permission though?” you asked with a hint of concern as you inspected a box of dye. 

“I might get scolded a bit, but they’re pretty open about letting us try out hair that we want,” he answered, picking up a box of sapphire black hair dye. 

“Ooh that would look good on you,” you say, taking the box from his hand. “The blue in it will help make the black not look flat and it matches your skin tone well,” you add, holding the box up to his face. 

“I didn’t know you knew so much about hair,” he said with a slight chuckle. 

“I’m no cosmetologist, but I do know a few things,” you shrug. “Do you like this color? Should we get it?” you questioned. 

“Yeah I like it and I trust your opinion,” he smiled. 

“Great , let’s get it,” you smile back at him. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Currently you're both in the bathroom of your apartment. Changed into clothes that you guys don’t care about. Your hand gloved up, but you can still feel the coolness of the dye seep through them. Hyeongjun is seated on the edge of the tub as you apply the dye to his head. His eyes are closed, enjoying the feeling of your hands working the dye into his roots. 

“Ah,” you let out, suddenly removing your hands from his hair.

“Are you ok?” Hyeongjun checked, eyes shooting open. 

“Yeah I’m fine, it’s just…” you sniff, scrunching your nose. “My nose itches and I can’t-” you sniff again, shaking your head a little. “Scratch it.” Hyeongjun let’s a relieved breath and a slight laugh. 

“Come here,” he says gently. You crouch down in front of him. He lifts his hand to scratch your nose. “Here?” he asked. 

“Up a little bit.” He moved his hand up. “No wait down-ah right there.” Hyeongjun’s nails satisfy the itch on your nose. “Thanks,” you say standing back up. Your hands resume massaging the dye into his hair. Hyeonjun’s eyes fell closed once more. 

“Now we wait,” you announce, removing the gloves from your hands. After you made sure that his hair was thoroughly covered with the dye.

You set a timer for thirty minutes and Hyeonjun pulls up a playlist for you two to listen to while waiting for the dye to sit in his hair. 

Once the timer rings you turn on the water in the shower, adjusting the temperature and begin to carefully rinse the color from Hyeonjun’s hair, watching as the stained water disappears down the drain. 

“There all done,” you state, setting the towel you were using to dry his hair to the side. The pair of you walked over to the bathroom mirror so that Hyeonjun could see the finished result. “What do you think?” you asked. 

“I like it. You did a good job and you're right I think it suits me,” he replies. 

“It totally does. Villains are gonna freak out,” you say playfully, making Hyeongjun laugh. “Come on, let's take some pictures,” you insist. After snapping some pictures you send them to Hyeongjun, so that he can upload them. 

By the time you're finished cleaning up the sun is starting to peek out from the horizon. You and Hyeongjun can definitely feel the drowsiness starting to kick in. The two of you make yourselves comfortable under the covers of your bed. Knowing that you’ll have to be up in a few hours, but neither of you really care as you wrap your arms around each other whispering out ironic goodnights to each other as the sun rises.

taglist: @purplelady85 @gingerjunhan @chewednails @ezlynkisses @mon2sunjinsuver @mxlly143 @seungseung-minmin @junhanism

comment or message me to be added!

[wisteriaiswriting]

Befriending Scout and Sniper

Words: 466

Request: Hi! Huge fan of your writing!!! (Tf2) I was wondering if it would be possible to request a male reader who’s a new mercenary, around high school age, who took the job to leave an emotionally abusive and toxic family life. They’re finding it very hard to adjust to life with them because of their anxiety around an entirely new group of people. At first, they barely speak two words to them, maybe a few communications on the battlefield, but Sniper and Scout get them out of their shell when they find out some similar interests, especially in art (with scout) and nature (with sniper). Once they  become better friends and talk more frequently, their confidence gets a lot better and the mercs realize they’re a lot more chill than they originally seemed.

Requested by: 🪣 anon

“That seems like everything…” Miss Pauling was flipping through her small stack of paperwork, pausing suddenly one on. “Oh, actually, there’ll be a new guy around, I’ll be back with his details.” Glancing over at Medic during the last sentence before leaving.

“Oh yeah! Hopefully he’s not some old geezer like you lot.”

***

Days later Miss Pauling returned, this time with someone new in tow. And it turns out Scout was right, you were nowhere near the others in age, probably younger than Scout himself. Luckily most of the other Mercs were busy doing whatever they were doing, leaving Scout and Sniper to welcome you.

“Hey dude, let me show ya’ around even Snips will join us!” Throwing an arm around your shoulders while pulling you closer, “Mate–” “I’m good.” Gently but quickly removing his arm, “I’ll go set up my room.”

The two watched you pick up the few things you had brought, which was much less than either of them expected. Surely someone of your age should have more stuff, but what do they know?

***

Even as the weeks passed and the fights started up again, you barely changed. The main difference was now you had an official uniform. Giving a few call outs here and there but you were almost a second Spy with how quiet you were.

Today the team decided for whatever reason to get out early, it might’ve been the fact they lost last time but who cares? A few mercs were hanging around one spot, talking about whatever, Sniper and Scout were up in Sniper’s normal spots. Scout had started rambling about a new comic when Sniper spotted you.

You, who was sitting next to a flower, likely the only one. A small sketchbook was open in your lap while you were drawing, which somehow caught Scout’s attention. “Yo, they can draw? I gotta see what they’re doin’!” “Scout, the match is about to start, you can bother them after.” “Ugh, fine!”

***

“Yo, Y/N!” Just as you were about to leave the locker room, you heard the already familiar voice of Scout, or as he insisted, Jeremy. “You gotta show me what's in your sketchbook, I saw you drawing a, what was it?”

He was really thinking about it, “Mick said it was a… desert pillow?” “Willow, a desert willow.” “Yeah, that. He wouldn’t shut up about them when he saw it. You two should talk more, actually, MICK!” “Quiet down you, what do you want?” “Y/N really knows his flowers, you two should be friends.”

“Just because we like plants doesn’t mean we sh–” “Yeah, well…” Almost instantly you zoned Jeremy out, looking over to Sniper, only to see him doing the same. “Let’s get outta here.” Following him out leaving Jeremy ranting to no one.