#my wrists hurt but at least I know a little more French if

[lostjunjiitofan]

Gonna have to translate 68 pages of this Junji Ito story from French to English so I can read it, someone pray for me

[euphemiaamillais]

playing dangerous pt 2 - coriolanus snow 🎀

coriolanus snow has always wanted the perfect woman. he’s searched high and low, among the likes of heiresses and actresses, and even—though he’d never dare admit it—district girls. he’s given up hope, until he finds you. you’re perfect—innocent, beautiful and obedient. he’s been watching you for months, and one night, he just can’t resist taking you home and making you his.

cw: 18+//kidnapping//eventual stockholm syndrome//mentions of suicide/suicidal ideation//emotional manipulation//mentions of sex/sexual harassment

part 1 is here

you wake to the sunlight streaming through the french doors the next morning. your head is pounding, not doubt from the posca. while it had sent you into a dreamless sleep, you can feel a throbbing hangover coming on. there is little noise in the house, nothing but your breathing gracing your ears, and for a moment you forget where you were.

but when you feel the restraint around your wrist, you remember that you were in some strange man’s apartment, subject to his every whim. which, so far, you were thankful, had only been eating the food he’d brought you.

the door opens, and he comes in baring more food. this time, an assortment of spreads and toast. at least he has the decency to feed you well, though you can’t help but wonder if the food is laced with poison. you’re too starving to think too much about it though.

‘good morning,’ he grins, a positively psychopathic gaze in his eyes. he sets the tray down, and presses a kiss to your forehead. ‘did you sleep well, darling?’

you shudder at the pet name. ‘well, my wrist really hurts,’ you pout, wondering if he will be swayed by your wide eyes. ‘do you think you could loosen the restraint?’

you’re also aware of your bladder pressing against your stomach, full from last night’s posca, and you’re reminded of how desperately you need to go.

‘once you’ve eaten,’ he promises, and turns to start buttering the toast. the sweet aroma of jams and spreads fills your nose, your mouth watering. ‘what would you like, princess?’

you glance at the array, and decide on a thick pot of strawberry jam. you’d eat that every morning at home, with a cup of tea. alas, there only seems to be a very milky cup of coffee on the tray, but it’s better than nothing.

‘strawberry jam, please,’ you offer a smile, and he begins to spread the confiture across the golden toast. it does look delicious.

‘there you go,’ he hands you the toast. he’s even sliced it into little triangles, worried that you won’t be able to eat it in such big slices, seeing as you’re just so delicate.

he watches you eat it up like it’s your last meal, surprisingly ravenous for a girl your size. your tongue glides over some of the jam, and he feels his hands clench as you do so. it’s so seductive, even though you mean it with complete innocence. he can’t help but think of you doing that as you suck his cock, pink tongue gliding over the aching tip of his shaft…

‘thank you,’ you offer, seeing how he eyes you.

he hands you the cup of coffee, a little embarrassed that it’s so milky—he was distracted by the thought of you, waiting for him in that room, that he’d poured too much in. you accept it, a little disgusted by the bitter taste—you were never one for coffee—but down it with a forced smile on your face.

‘good girl,’ he coos, placing one hand on your thigh. ‘you’re so good to me, don’t you know that?’

he looks crazed, blue eyes glistening with insanity, praising you in spite of only knowing you for what, twenty-four hours? you wonder if your parents have thought to go looking for you. your mother is probably weeping. your stomach churns at the thought.

‘would i, uh, please be able to use the bathroom,’ you are clenching your legs together in desperation, bladder throbbing with need.

he tilts his head, but sees the way you gnaw at your lips. he can’t have you wetting yourself again, now that would just be humiliating.

‘alright. but you’ll have to let me in there with you,’ he admits, and you cast him an exasperated look.

‘no!’ your eyes swell up in mortification. ‘please, it’s so… embarrassing…’

he sighs, moving his hand further up your thigh, fiddling with the hem of your silky slip. ‘if you want to use the bathroom, i’ll need to watch you in case you try to hurt yourself. i can’t have you bleeding out on the tiles…’

he winces a little at the thought of you trying to slit your wrists with his razor, too distraught at the idea of having to be his that you’d rather be welcomed into the arms of death. no, you wouldn’t allow that to happen. you’re his girl.

‘oh..’ your voice trails off. you find it hard to rebut him, you’re so desperate to go. ‘okay.’

you cede all right to him, losing what seemed to be the last bit of your autonomy left. he loosens the restraint, and you clutch your wrist, nursing the nagging ache that has been bothering you all night. you see the french doors, and debate throwing yourself off the balcony. however, it’s foolish. falling that far would be terrifying—worse than a life spent with this man, whatever his name is—and so you follow him as he guides you to the bathroom.

the apartment is more gorgeous than the bedroom. high walled and of black marble, it stretches out across what appears to be the entire floor—and you come to realise that it’s the penthouse. whoever he is, he must have a lot of money. you’re not very interested in politics, but you know president ravenstill has many cronies—perhaps he’s one of them.

the bathroom is cold when you enter, but you’re so desperate to go that you rush to the toilet. you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror; you look awful. your hair is matted, and you’ve got a few fresh bruises trailing up your arm; pink and purple dots spoiling the skin. you don’t smell great either, and eye the beautiful shower in the corner.

he is watching you like a hawk, and if you weren’t in such a great need to go, you probably wouldn’t have been able to. you feel a wave of relief wash over you as you finish, and go to wash your hands with one of his fancy soaps. when you’re done, you turn to him, a tender look on your face.

‘would i be able to use your shower?’ you ask, biting at your lip. his heart pounds in his chest. his cock stirred a little at the thought of getting to see your naked form. not that he’d fuck you just yet, but the notion that he’d merely get to see you was too much.

‘of course, sweetheart,’ he nods, grabbing two towels from the cupboard by the sink.

you go to turn the faucet, getting splashed a little by the hot water. it feels delicious against your freezing skin, though. you turn back to glance at him, willing him away with your mind, but he remains.

‘would i be able to do it, alone?’ you ask softly, but he shakes his head. your heart drops.

‘i’m sorry princess, you know my rules. i’ve got to make sure you don’t hurt yourself. i couldn’t have that now, could i?’ he asks, tilting his head. you shake yours in response, and more than humiliated, you begin to strip yourself off.

he watches as you pull your slip off, revealing an elegant figure, a perfect ass, and long legs. you shiver, more out of embarrassment than cold, deeply ashamed to be exposing yourself to a man. nobody’s ever seen you this naked before, and you’re shy about the way you look. he’s begging you to turn around so he can see the front of you, but you attempt to manoeuvre yourself so that he can’t see your breasts or other parts.

the water warms your skin, and you toss your head back in delight, feeling it soak your hair and wash away the grimy feeling. you face away from him, and when you have to reach to grab the soap, do your best to move in a way that he can only see your back. it’s the least humiliating way. you’d never thought any man but your husband would see you like this, but clearly, he had other ideas.

coriolanus had to settle his breath in attempt to fight the growing erecetion in his trousers, seeing you so bare was too exciting. he wishes you’d turn around, wondering how pretty your breasts would look, how pink your nipples would be, and if your cunt was as lovely as he’d imagined. he wanted so badly to touch you, to slip his fingers inside of your tight pussy and watch you writhe beneath him. he wondered if you’d ever touched yourself—he doubted you had. you were too innocent for that.

you lather the shampoo in your hair, feeling great relief as you wash your scalp clean. you run your fingers through the mats, wincing a little as they tug. he’s got some lovely smelling soaps, you have to admit, and while you let the shampoo sit, you rub your skin with one that smells like roses. you take care of course to wash between your thighs, embarrassed that you’d supposedly wet yourself the day before, and freshen yourself up with the scent of the rose soap.

soon enough, you’re smelling lovely; it’s potent but in a clean way, the smell pleasant to your nose. you finish washing the shampoo out, and go to scramble for the conditioner when you realise that it’s not there.

‘excuse me,’ you attempt to shout with your back turned to the wall.

‘i can’t hear you, princess. turn around,’ he laughs a little, watching as you squirm, terrified of exposing yourself to him.

‘please, i just want the conditioner,’ you beg, feeling like a pathetic fool, having to plead for something as simple as hair conditioner.

‘you have to turn around for me to give it to you,’ he warns, holding the bottle in his hands.

you sigh, and remembering the knots in your hair, realising you have little choice in whether or not to turn around. you can’t have those clumps getting any worse. so, deeply ashamed, you surrender yourself to him, sliding the shower door open and stretching a hand out.

‘see, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?’ he inquires, and seeing the cruel look in his eyes, you shake your head, afeared of what he’ll do if you utter something that won’t please him.

‘you’ll learn,’ he warns as you grasp for the bottle, his other hand gripping your wrist before you can move away. ‘that i always get what i want. okay, princess? you can’t just hide yourself from me.’

he brushes your wet hair to one side, fingers trailing down to your bare breast. he doesn’t dare touch you too much, but ghosts his fingers over to remind you that this is his now. you belong to him, whether you decide to obey him or not. he knows you’ll learn to love him soon enough, and be a drooling mess, begging for his cock to fill you up.

‘so pretty,’ he murmurs, and you shudder, feeling cold droplets of water hit your back. the shower is still running, and you’re aching to get back in and finish washing your hair.

he lets you go, but watches you with scrutiny, admiring every footstep you take back to the shower. you’re so beautiful, and all his… how utterly perfect you are. after what had seemed like a lifetime of searching, he’d finally got what he wanted.

now all he had to do was make you his, in body and in heart.

—

you’d dried off after your shower, and he’d given you a robe to wear because your slip needed to be washed. you feel horribly naked, wishing there was something to wear other than a robe. it would be easy for him to take advantage of you, hands roaming up your robe to caress your thighs, and god knows what else. you’d never been touched by a man before, having only had a few stolen kisses with some of your classmates at the academy, but you were too shy to have let any of them take you.

and besides, your father was insistent that you had remained pure until he found you a suitable husband. preferably one of president ravenstill’s many sons. you got more for a virgin, as disgusting as the notion was. they were a rare commodity in the capitol these days.

once he had tied your restraint back—to your other wrist this time, he really was so kind—he pressed a kiss to your cheek and told you he was going out. you were upset, he hadn’t told you how long he would be, whether or not you were going to be alone for the rest of the day, but you didn’t press further. at least you wouldn’t have to worry about him assaulting you any further. god knows what he’d do if he sat with you, barely clothed, for more than a few minutes.

so, quite bored, you sit and run your mind across who he could possibly be. he’s got an almost familiar face; noble, an aquiline nose and the most piercing blue eyes you’ve ever seen. he can’t be that much older than you, twenty-two at most. perhaps he was a senior when you were a freshman at the academy? you remember that year well, that girl lucy gray had won, though it you were advised to forget about it, with the threat of dr. gaul turning you into one of her creations if you didn’t comply with the secret-keeping.

you’re sure you went to school together, but you can’t place his name. he’s probably from one of those old families, judging from the fact that he’s got connections with president ravenstill and how his apartment is carved out of fucking marble. your family is wealthy, sure, but you’ve never seen an apartment like this in your life. has he been watching you since your days at the academy? the thought sends a shiver down your spine.

you wonder why he even chose you, of all people? what kind of person would kidnap someone instead of talking to them? he’s obviously got psychopathic tendencies. and he’s mentioned he wants you all for himself—why could he not just have approached you and asked if you wanted to go to a restaurant in town? you would’ve accepted; he’s handsome and wealthy.

there is something brutal about him, you think. some notion of possessing you that makes his blood run hot. he can’t let anybody else have you, it seems, which is why he won’t even let you go free from the room. you’re too scared of death to try anything foolish like suicide, but perhaps if you managed to slit your wrists artfully enough you’d just end up in hospital. your parents would be able to come get you.

if he decides to touch you, you could always cry rape. that’s if the authorities would listen. but from the looks of things, the peacekeepers would do very little, and his connections that he’s mentioned would probably leave him with legal immunity. it’s a hopeless and dire situation.

you find that your face has been stained with tears—you’ve been crying, it seems. you were so caught up in your thoughts that you had hardly noticed how distraught it had made you. your lip trembles when you question whether or not you’ll ever go free. what if he keeps you here forever? what if you’re never able to go outside again, to feel the snow on your cheeks, the sun caressing your neck with its warm rays? it’s too awful to bear.

—

he returns home in a good mood, and when he opens the door to your room, there’s a smile playing upon his lips. he’s carrying an array of bags, looking almost like the women who spend their hours shopping at the ominous capitol mall. you eye him curiously, wondering if he’s come true on his promise and purchased you something more than a flimsy slip to wear.

he sets them down at the end of the bed, and undoes your restraint, which leaves you feeling more suspicious. it usually takes more convincing than a sad-eyed gaze. you crawl to the bags, your curiosity getting the better of you, and open the largest one.

there’s a lot of pink tissue paper, scented with the potent aroma of lavender, and you pull it out a little carelessly. he sees the joy light up on his face when you pull out the first dress. it’s simple, but you do have to admit, very pretty. it’s made of black satin and is quite short, but it will do—perhaps he intends to let you leave the house after all.

you dig through the rest of the bags, quite pleased with what he’s purchased you. clearly he had somebody help him; while he has good taste for a man, he obviously wouldn’t know much about what you liked in particular. you were grateful for the sweaters and tights, thinking about how frigid it was.

the last bag he pulls out from under his arm. it’s small, and the tissue paper has a familiar scent you recognise; not like the lavender of the other ones, but a more sensuous musky smell. you recall your friends going into that store to buy things to wear for their boyfriends. you shudder thinking of what he could’ve purchased for you.

he slips his hand inside the bag, and pulls out a tiny, silky thing that you’re sure will barely even cover your ass. at least it’s not as blatantly obvious as a lingerie set, but you’re still aware of his intentions.

‘i want you to put this on, now,’ he commands, handing the slip to you. it’s a soft pink, and the hem is edged with chantilly lace. if it wasn’t from him, you probably would’ve actually liked it.

‘do i have to?’ you ask, and are immediately met with a warning glare. you’ve stepped too far—and he hoists you up from the bed.

he grips at the sleeves of your robe, pulling you flush against him. his breath is heavy, and his eyes are brimming with anger. your heart pounds, and you’re certain he can hear it. hear your fear.

‘you will do as i say,’ he seethes, using one hand to undo the tie of the robe, aggressively shoving it off your shoulders.

you shiver, the robe falling to the ground, and you cling to grasp at your breasts, covering yourself up for shame. he grabs the slip, careful not to ruin it, and forces it over your head.

you were right about it being tiny. he stands back and admires you, the way it hardly covers the top of your breasts, leaving little to the eye, and how the hemline comes just under your ass.

‘turn around,’ he says, an awaiting gaze on his face.

you turn, and hear him groan a little, the soft curve of the bottom of your ass sticking out of the slip. he’s so blatant about his desire, dressing you up like a little doll and making you spin for him, showing yourself off to him. it feels unnatural, vain in fact.

‘god, you look so fucking perfect in that,’ he sighs, wrapping his arms around your waist. you feel something hard pressing against your ass, and try not to let yourself tremble with fear.

‘so pretty, baby,’ he presses a hot kiss to the nape of your neck, lips moving down your collarbone. ‘i could just eat you right up… you’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

you say nothing, too shocked for words. you feel his teeth graze against your shoulder skin, sucking a soft bruise—marking you as his own.

‘hm? why won’t you speak. i love it when i see your pretty lips tremble around the words. you’re scared, aren’t you?’ his breath is hot against your skin, but you feel so cold. his hands are like ice.

‘i’m sorry…’ you offer, but he gives your hip a pinch and you cry out.

‘you’re sorry? that’s not good enough. i need to know how thankful you are that i’ve bought you such pretty clothes,’ he scowls.

‘thank you,’ you realise you don’t know his name, and thus the words fall flat.

‘thank you? come on, that’s pathetic, sweetheart,’ he laughs, the sound ringing loud in your ears.

‘i don’t even know your name,’ you attempt to face him, but his hold is so tight that you’re locked in.

‘mhm…’ he sighs. ‘i’m sure if i tell me you’ll remember. we were at the academy together, but you were so small then. probably too afraid of the seniors to say a word.’

your mind flashes back to being fourteen—it’s not that long ago, and yet it feels like a lifetime has passed. his sandy hair and icy blue eyes—of course. he was the mentor of lucy gray… the one who had turned her into such a spectacle. coriolanus snow. you remember now. he disappeared for a few months, sent to 12. you paid little attention to politics, you were too young to care.

‘snow,’ you murmur, and he nods, a proud sound coming from his lips.

‘there you go,’ he coos, stroking your arm. ‘see, you’re not completely stupid? all that babbling and yet you were still able to recall my name.’

you’re so pathetic, he thinks. so stupid that you’ll probably be in love with him soon enough. he thinks about how desperate you’ll be for his cock, begging and whining like a little whore, mouth agape and waiting to receive him. he’s reminded of the hard bulge that’s pressing at your ass, and wonders if it’s too soon to satisfy himself with you.

‘i just can’t wait to have you,’ he whispers in your ear. you feel your stomach churn with terror. ‘can’t believe you’re not even wearing any panties… what a fucking whore. you didn’t even think to put them on.’

he’d bought you many pairs of lace underwear, but you’d left them at the bottom of the bag, too ashamed to even dare putting them on. in hindsight, you only left yourself more vulnerable. there was nothing keeping him from slipping his hand between your legs now.

‘please…’ your lip trembles. ‘i can’t do that.’

your legs shake a little, and he shoves you down on the bed. he stands above you, locking your legs between his thighs, and crosses his arms in disappointment.

‘but i’ve been so good to you,’ he clicks his tongue in displeasure. ‘i bought you all these pretty things… and you won’t even wear them for me!’

‘i’m sorry,’ you plead, tears welling in the corners of your eyes. ‘please—i’ve never done anything like that before. i wouldn’t even know what to do!’

a malicious grin plays at his lips. ‘oh, but that’s even better. i can teach you how to please me. you’d like that, wouldn’t you? getting on your knees for me and showing me how well you can take my cock? or perhaps i can take you from behind…’

you squirm, trying to scramble away across the bed, but he pulls you right back to where you’re sitting.

‘shhh, i won’t hurt you, i promise. you’re like a little doll. i couldn’t bear to break you,’ he coos, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. ‘you’ll be good for me, won’t you?’

‘yes,’ you force yourself to reply, the threat of his touches more than enough to get you to obey.

‘yes what?’ he quirks a brow, a warning gaze in his eyes.

‘yes sir,’ you reply, watching as a look of satisfaction crosses his face.

‘such a good girl, hm?’ he sticks a hand between your thighs, tracing the sensitive skin.

you can’t help but gasp—his cold hands make your skin dance with goosebumps. you hate that there’s a tingling coming from your core. your body is betraying you, signalling that you want him to touch you again.

‘look at you squirm, it’s pathetic,’ he laughs, gripping your thigh with his big hands. ‘i’ll leave you for now, sweetheart.’

he removes his touch, and begins to walk to the door. you notice he’s not tied your restraint this time, and choose not to say anything. a devious look draws upon his face.

‘don’t think you’ve escaped me yet. i’m still waiting for you to thank me properly,’ he warns, and you sink back into the bed, feeling utterly hopeless.

what are you supposed to do? surrender yourself to him willingly, or let him have you one way or another? there’s very little choice in the matter.

—

taglist: @personalque @justacaliforniandreamer @jacesvelaryons @weirdothatwritess @theallknown213 @becauseseaotters @nowitsmissing @wearemadeofstardust0

let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist—dm, request (with your user obviously) or comment on this fic! thanks for reading

[cumulo-stratus]

(dividers by @cafekitsune <3)

Fluff- ☀️ Angst- 🌧️ Angst w/ comfort- 🌦️ Moodboard- 🌨️

Requests- open!

last updated- 5/10/24

SERIES -

Flufftober -

one fic for everyday of october based around a fluffy prompt, (im sure we all know the drill by now <3)

Long Gone[e.p] ☀️ - emily and reader share their first kiss in the after hours of the bau

Rainy Love [s.r]☀️ - y/n has always loved the rain, and decides to share that love with spencer (ps this was idea was inspired by a fic by the lovely user @ssa-atlas-alvez <3)

I’ll Remember for us [s.r] ☀️ - the team goes to Los Angeles, and y/n (the ever emotionless and stone cold profiler with a soft spot for spencer) is chasing an unsub when they fight and falls, getting a concussion and fractured wrist, spencer is there for him. (no prior romantic relationship, just friends)

Rain Soaked Sleep [s.r] ☀️ - Y/n and Spencer get home after a long week at the BAU and a rainy drive home, ready to fall asleep to the sound of rain.

Oh How I Love Loving You[s.r] ☀️ - Y/n and spencer share their first dance as a married couple at their fall wedding in y/ns hometown in new england

Softest Curls in All the Kingdom [s.r] ☀️ - Y/n enjoys playing with spencers hair on jet back home

“They’re Ours!” [s.r] ☀️ - My HC's around Spencer and sharing clothes over the course of your relationship.

There’s nothing wrong with being different[s.r] ☀️ - Spencer and his husband talk to their daughter when she gets in trouble for punching someone (daughter is 10)

Soaked in Adoration[s.r] ☀️ - My HC's around spencer and bathing/showering with his partner

“For Me?”[s.r] ☀️ - Y/n brings spencer an early Christmas gift relating to their shared special interest of the sci-fi fantasy series Dune

“You do this everyday?”[s.r] ☀️ - y/n has a pretty popular cooking channel and one day after y/n doesnt edit out spencer givving y/n a kiss when he gets home the fans go crazy wanting a video where you bake together so you make a vid answering questions while making a fall recipe

Love in the form of paper[s.r] ☀️ - Spencer tries to teach his best friend how to make an origami heart- but y/n still struggles

“Lend me some vanilla?” [s.r] ☀️ - Y/n goes to spencers house to ask spencer if he has any vanilla extract when theres a possible gas leak and no ones allowed to leave their aparment until the morning when someone can come check it out...

Sneaky snuggles [s.r] ☀️ -y/n is woken up to a surprise of his boyfriend being home- despite the fact that his case was supposed to run at least another day or two.

The good days [s.r] ☀️ - spencer and y/n go stargazing, and y/n indulges spencer with facts about his special interest- astronomy

Protector[s.r] ☀️ - after an unsub tries to hurt y/n, spencer steps in.

Lover -

the love story of y/n l/n and Spencer Reid

Ours ☀️ - Spencer finally has a conversation with the boy on the train

Enchanted 🌦️ - Spencer's insecurities grow in his friendship with y/n when he finds out about Gina

More coming soon…

ONE SHOTS -

Criminal Minds -

Like we always do [s.r] 🌦️ - (request) after Spencer proposes to his partner they decide they have to tell Spencer what they had been thinking about for months- and Spencer is always ready to support his partner

Communication issues [s.r] ☀️ - reader is from France and lived there until he was 11/12 and then moved to america and his first language is french. He also has a little bit of an accent. Basically reader is new to the team and it is their first late night back home on the jet with him. And basically they learn that when hes tired he reverts back to his mother tongue.

The fencer [s.r]☀️ - reader is a fencer and is competing in the 2023 mens saber nationals and spencer invites the team to cheer on his boyfriend. (Could be read as ftm) (Also spencer is like low key autistic in this)

Smart cookie [s.r]☀️ - (request) reader asks for readers help with a new tattoo he wants, and when reader calls Spencer a smart cookie Spencer gets flustered, and reader can't help himself

Love like a fathers [s.r]🌦️ - (request) Y/n gets hurt protecting spencer from an unsub, and they spend some time together in the hospital.

Flashback [s.r]🌦️ - spencer discusses his thoughts around having kids with his spouse after putting their daughter Diana to bed (written for @cmgiftexchange)

New Years Kiss [s.r]☀️ - You and Spencer share a New Years kiss at Rossi's house to celebrate

The Little Things [a.h]☀️ - (request) you notice all the little things Aaron does for you everyday (could be read as romantic or platonic)

Fantozzi [s.r] ☀️ - (request) The BAU decides to have a movie night at Rossi's house, and Spencer you and Spencer find a quiet corner to sit in. You both fall asleep and cuddling ensues..

Glitter Girl [p.g] ☀️ - (request) Penelope and her best friend share some banter over the phone

French Press Coffee [s.r] 🌦️ - (request) Spencer insist you take a break despite your objections

Embrace [s.r] 🌦️ - spencer doesnt feel like hes anything more than his intelligence, but ethan proves him wrong.

Home is with him [s.r] 🌦️ - Spencer comes home to find you struggling, and does his best to help

More coming soon…

MCU -

Ill always be here [m.j]🌦️ - you come out to your parents and they kick you out after your dad slaps you but mj comforts you and lets you stay with her. 

“You know your really pretty?” [m.j]☀️ - its late and y/n cant sleep so theyre ranting to MJ, its basically just a bunch of fluff crammed into a couple paragraphs

More coming soon...

Criminal Minds -

“They’re ours!”[s.r] ☀️ - Sharing clothes with Spencer Reid

BAU/Autism [s.r] ☀️ - How the team supports you and your autism

Soaked in adoration [s.r] ☀️ - Bath time with spencer headcannons

Dating Aaron [a.h] ☀️ - what would it be like to date Aaron Hotchner?

More coming soon…

Criminal Minds -

An indie fall with Spencer [s.r] 🌨️ - (request) A moodboard for an indie fall with spencer <3

A rainy day in with Spencer [s.r] 🌨️ - a moodboard for a rainy day inside with Spencer <3

College professor AU [s.r] 🌨️ - a moodboard for a college professor spencer reid <3

One car [b.a.u] ☀️ - in which all the members of the BAU are stuck in one car for a little while

"your my pillow now" [s.r] ☀️ - spencer reid x male reader

"I can still feel you" [s.r] 🌧️ - spencer reid x gn!reader

More coming soon…

[elacular-kink]

Hicvember 22: Anxiety

Seeing this trope, it almost had to be poor Kiran. I dunno if this is actually something that happens in the poly-techhic "canon", but it certainly could.

Content: Hiccups, anxiety attack, Dysphoria (mtf), meeting the parents (offscreen), emotional hurt/comfort

Why couldn't this have happened literally any other time?

Kiran hadn't had enough experiences with her hiccups to have a number system the way Olivia did, but if she had, her current case would definitely be a 10. She didn't do anything to bring it on, either. It just came right out of nowhere. Out of absolutely nowhere. In front of Susanna. Which would normally be a wonderful, exciting thing.

Except that Susanna's mother was also visiting. And she'd been in the middle of having lunch with her, Susanna, and Olivia.

At least they were at the diner and not that french restaurant. But that didn't make it feel any worse when Kiran forced half of an apology out of her hiccuping face and ran out of the restaurant, sitting down against the outer wall and curling up into a ball.

Susanna must have been having a heart attack and her mother must have thought she was drunk or a glutton or annoying and she was already trying to deal with the fact that Susanna's mother didn't know she was trans and Susanna didn't know if it would be safe to tell her but wasn't it so fucking obvious that that was the case? Were hiccups from being on estrogen a well known thing? Had she shaved well enough this morning? She stared at her face in the mirror long enough that it made her want to cry, but what if stubble had grown in since then? Oh god, she had her knees pulled up, that was so unladylike! The dress she was wearing was long and flexible enough that it didn't cause problem, but—

"Hey." Kiran's head snapped up, then back with a hiccup, and through the blur of her tears, she saw the shape of Susanna. "I know you can't talk right now. Is it okay if I touch you?" What, to slap her? Kiran wouldn't blame her, but she didn't think she could handle that right now, so she shook her head. "Okay. Okay, that's alright. Can you, uh—" even though she was keeping her voice so low and soft, Kiran could hear so much tension in it, and the blur in front of her was pink enough to make it clear how flushed Susanna was. "Can you try and breathe with me?" Her shape expanded as she very audibly pulled in air, then just as audibly exhaled it. Kiran tried, but she was hiccuping so much and sobbing and fuck, that had to be making it worse, why couldn't she do anything right? "Hey, hey, hang on. Uh...okay, can you give me your hand?" Why would she want that? Well, at least that was something that Kiran could do. She lifted her hand up, then felt Susanna take it in both of hers, then pull it so that it was flat to her chest. Kiran felt the dense fabric of her hoodie and the cool zipper press into her palm as Susanna breathed in again. And even with everything in her body trying to stop her, Kiran managed to start mimicking her at least a little. "Yeah. Yeah, there you go. Good job, Kiran."

"I'm–*HEEK!*" Kiran sobbed between and on top of all her hiccups. "I'm so–*IUK*–sorr–*HEEK*–sorry!"

"Hey, nonononono, it's okay, it's okay. Don't be." Her shape moved and Kiran flinched, but when she did, the movement stopped. Her hands returned to Kiran's palm on her chest and she gently rubbed her wrist. "Don't be sorry. There's no reason you should be." There were so many reasons she should be. "Is it okay if I, uh..."

"Yes! *HEEK!*" Whatever she wanted to do, it had to be okay. Kiran would do anything to make it better right now, if someone would just tell her how.

"Whoa, whoa, I didn't even say the thing yet." Susanna shook slightly, and even though she knew she wouldn't be able to read more than the very basics, Kiran wished she could see Susanna's face so she could be sure that was a laugh and not a sob or scoff or something. "What I was gonna say is is it okay if I run my fingers through your hair?" Kiran was a bit too surprised to do anything but nod. "Okay. You can push me away if you need me to stop."

Susanna reached out again, and she started combing her fingers through Kiran's hair. Kiran's whole brain went fuzzy as she felt her girlfriend's nails against her scalp and gently scratching the back of her neck. Having this touch made her feel so adored, and it was so intimate, but...but wasn't that a problem? "Y–*HEEP* your m–*HMK* m-mom–*HMK-MMP!*"

"She's back inside, don't worry about her. Don't worry about anything." Susanna chuckled softly, and this time Kiran was relieved to be certain it was a laugh. "She was the one who was worried about you. I told her that it was probably best if I take care of it, and she got it. My sister has meltdowns, so she knows how it is. Worst comes to worst, though, Olivia can run interference. So you're safe. Don't worry about her."

That was a relief, but Kiran still couldn't stop sobbing. She berated herself in her head for it. "I–*HMP* I'm sorr–*HEEK*"

"Don't be." Kiran didn't know if that was possible, but at the very least she was willing to stop saying it. After a moment of Susanna gently stroking her hair, she cleared her throat and started talking again. "Uh, sometimes when Olivia...I know that this isn't, like, a sensory thing. At least, I don't, uh, think it is. But sometimes Olivia likes it when I sing to her when she's freaking out. Do you think that could help?" Kiran couldn't imagine any way it would make things worse...except wait, wasn't Susanna's favorite genre some sort of screaming post-punk metal thing? Susanna's laughter stopped Kiran from spiraling too much about that. "Don't worry. I wouldn't be singing something from my usual catalogue. Believe it or not, I like normal songs too sometimes." After a long moment, Kiran nodded. "Cool. Shut me up if you need to. What would...ugh, of course the first thing I think of is from a fucking cartoon. Whatever."

Susanna's chest expanded beneath Kiran's touch and her soft, deep voice started singing a gentle song about finding something waiting in a garden, and Kiran's whole soul felt like it was melting. She carefully moved closer to Susanna, then rested her head on her chest. Susanna's voice buckled slightly when Kiran bumped her, but before she could start apologizing or pull back, Susanna wrapped her arms around Kiran's head and kept her there, still combing through her hair.

Somehow, even though her hiccups were still shaking through her, and even though she knew that Susanna must have still been going crazy over them, her voice made a part of Kiran forget that she even had them.

[scarletsaphire]

Dani and Danny return to Amity Park after a long time away, one last time.

--

This is my first fic for @phicphight, done for @ashseadreamer's prompt: They lay side by side on a blanket, fingers intertwined as they whispered dreams into the night. The fireflies look like falling stars-- beautiful, mesmerizing, and sad.

I hope you enjoy!

"Oh thank the Ancients!" Dani called out the moment the run down, faded "Welcome to Amity Park" sign appeared in their line of sight. "It feels like we've been flying forever!"

"It does feel like its been a long time, hasn't it," Danny replied. "It's nice to be back home."

Dani laughed. "I know. I still think we should've stayed in Taiwan."

"Yeah, well, you lost at rock paper scissors, so there." Danny stuck his tongue out at her, and Dani returned the gesture. It wasn't long before they both devolved into giggles.

After the two of them regained their composure, Danny spoke again. "C'mon, we've got a few hours to kill before sundown. What do you want to do first?"

Dani hummed thoughtfully. "Do you think the Nasty Burger milkshake machine is still running?"

"There's only one way to know for sure."

There was, unsurprisingly, nobody working, but one look at the machine, wrapped in bright yellow caution tape, told the half ghosts exactly what they needed to know. Much more surprisingly was the bundle of french fries, tucked in the very back corner of the freezer and next to some nasty sauce.

"Oh, there's no way that's any good," Danny said as Dani pulled the bag out.

"It's not like it can kill us any more," Dani pointed out as she opened the bag. "Besides. It's better than nothing, right?"

"Fair point."

The two ate the fries on the rooftop of the building. They definitely didn't taste as good as Danny remembered them being, but he blamed it on the fact that they were cold. At least they were still edible. Technically.

Dani belched, the sound echoing through the quiet streets of Amity Park. "That hit the spot."

All Danny did in reply was nod. At his silence, Dani turned to face him. "What's wrong?"

Danny shrugged. "You know. Same old, same old."

Dani leaned back on her hands, staring up at the sky. The sun burnt an angry red, low in the sky. It would've hurt her eyes, if she'd been human. "Yeah, I know." She tilted her head to the side, so that it rested on Danny's shoulder. "I can't imagine how weird this all is."

She felt the ice chill of his breath on her head. "It's... something, alright." He lifted his arms, pushing Dani's head off, and floated to his feet. "But we're not going to waste our time feeling sorry for me, okay? We only have..." He glanced down at his wrist, where a sleek watch sat. "An hour and a half. So, what do you want to do? We can check out the park, or maybe those sewer rat ghosts you befriended a while ago?"

Dani narrowed her eyes at him, the same expression he made whenever he was thinking. "Fentonworks. I think we should check out Fentonworks."

Dani did not miss the way Danny stiffened, or the single, sudden swallow, but his demeanor shifted back to casual not even a whole second later. "Sure. Let's go."

--

The halls of Fentonworks were never quiet. When Danny had been little, they were filled with the noises of two small children running around, getting up to all sorts of mischief. One of his earliest memories was of himself running through the halls on tiny little toddler legs, Jazz in hot pursuit and his mother not far behind.

When they'd outgrown those kinds of games, other sounds filled the void. Jazz's tuba practice from when she played in middle school faded into Danny listening to Dumpty Humpty with Sam and Tucker faded into alarm sounds for ghost attacks and phone calls about Danny's academic performance.

No matter how those noises changed, one sound remained consistent; the sound of metal and electricity and machinery. Sometimes it was loud enough to drown everything else out, and sometimes it was nothing more than the persistent hum emanating from the walls, so quiet and routine that Danny only ever noticed it was there when it wasn't.

Coming back to that familiar hum felt right, even if he wasn't pleased to admit it.

The hum of the portal underneath his feet, still as strong as the day he'd turned it on, vibrated in time with his core, with his bones, and he felt a bit like he was slotting back into place, like a puzzle getting completed.

It was nice to feel it again, after so long.

Danny ran his hand along the shelf in the living room, his gloved hand coming back coated with dust. Without a second thought, he turned and blew the debris into Dani's face.

She sneezed, shooting herself up into the air a good foot, before floating back down to ground level. "Hey!" she shouted. "What was that for?"

Danny laughed and danced out of the way of her lunge. It was clumsy; he didn't know if she was thrown off from the dust, or everything else. "Revenge."

"But I didn't do anything!"

"Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that." Danny turned away, floating down the hallway. "Come on. Help me find a duster or something."

"But why? You've never cared about dusting before."

Danny shrugged. "Better now than never, right?"

Dani fell quiet behind him, but he didn't mind. He'd made it to the closet, and was busy searching for the aforementioned feather duster. The closet was filled to the brim with old junk; boxes of rusty spare parts, bits and bobs that would've been useless even if they were brand new, and cardboard boxes that looked more like flat pieces of cardboard after sitting under everything else for so long. No duster, or even something that could be used as one in a pinch.

He laid eyes on it after floating up to the top shelf, phasing through the boxes of board games so faded or covered in dust that their names were illegible. The blanket was folded neatly in the far back corner, and sparkled ever so slightly in Danny's natural green glow. He pulled it out without a second thought.

"Not a duster, but I guess if you're set on this idea," Dani started before Danny cut her off with a look.

The blanket was tiny and the years spent in the closet hadn't been kind to it; there were holes in the sides and center from where a moth had gotten to it, but Danny could still tell what it was.

"Do you recognize this at all?" he asked.

Dani narrowed her eyes for a moment, studying the worn fabric, before shaking her head. "Might not have gotten those memories."

"Yeah, well, I'm not too surprised," Danny said. "But this was my favorite blanket when I was a kid. I think Mom had to pry this out of my hands when i was in kindergarten, and even then I would try and sneak it into my backpack every day before the bus came."

He ran his fingers over the fabric. The edges, which had been lined with a soft silk, were still shiny, if not as reflective as he remembered them being, and the swirling pattern of pastel blues, oranges, and purples in the middle had muddied together into a faded mess. He folded it back up as neatly as he could before shoving it into his side.

"Are we using it for dusting after all?" Dani questioned.

"Of course not."

"Then why...?"

Danny didn't have a good answer, but he hadn't spent so long trash talking other ghosts to not be a quick thinker. "It might be nice to have. For later."

Dani nodded slowly. "Does this mean we're giving up on the feather duster dream? Because I'll be honest, that's not what I had in mind when I said we should come here."

"Oh?" Danny asked, flooding his voice with fake innocence. "And what did you have in mind?"

Dani opened her mouth before closing it again. "Fine. Dusting it is!"

They left Fentonworks an hour later. It wasn't perfect, but it was a lot closer to how Danny remembered it.

--

"I think this is the spot," Dani said, her hand shielding her eyes.

"Looks right to me," Danny agreed. Dani had started to lower herself to the ground before his hand on her shoulder stopped her. With a mischievous grin, he pulled the blanket out from his side and laid it out on the ground with a flourish.

"Told you it'd be useful," he said.

Dani didn't have it in her to argue.

The two of them laid down next to each other, arm pressed against arm, both pairs of eyes trained on the sky. Despite the time, it wasn't dark. Small lights danced in the sky, spinning and swirling amidst the stars.

"I didn't expect them to be so beautiful..." Dani whispered, near reverentially.

"Neither did I." Danny's tone matched hers.

"It's hard to believe they're-"

"Fireflies."

Dani spared one glance over at Danny, whose eyes remained trained on the sky. "Fireflies?"

"It's hard to believe they're fireflies," Danny repeated.

Dani shifted her eyes back to the sky. "Right. Fireflies."

She felt the blanket shift as Danny nodded his head. "We're just two cousins, watching the fireflies, on a warm summer evening."

"Just two cousins," Dani agreed. "And tomorrow, we're going to sneak into the movies, and we're going to watch the goriest, nastiest, R-rated movie we can get into."

Danny laughed, but it blended into the soft buzz that filled the air. "Yeah. And we're going to buy enough candy and popcorn and slushies to make us sick."

"Make you sick, maybe. I'm made of stronger stuff."

"If you say so,” Danny said with a roll of his eyes. 

Dani kept talking to fill the silence, even as the buzzing noise got louder. “After the movies, we're going to come back here. To the park."

"Yeah?"

It was Dani's turn to nod. "We're gonna play hide and seek."

"Whose gonna hide?"

"You will. Obviously. Because you were too weak to keep down the snacks."

"Oh, so you're going to send me on a wild goose chase through the woods?"

"We need to build your endurance for next time."

She heard Danny's sharp inhale next to her, followed by a deep cough. The scent of smoke filled Dani's nose, but she didn't need to breathe, so she didn't let it bother her. The fireflies danced in the air above her, so much brighter and closer than they were before.

When Danny had cleared the soot out of his lungs, he answered. "Next time. Right."

Dani's eyes burnt. She wanted to close them against the smoke and the angry, searing light, but she couldn't. She couldn't look away from the lights on the sky, falling ever closer. For a moment, she tore her eyes away to look at Danny's face. Tears streamed down his cheeks openly, and she wasn't sure whether it was from the air or his feelings. She reached out the few inches to Danny's hand, intertwining her fingers with hers.

"You don't have to watch," she whispered. The buzzing sound had gotten louder, changing to a whooshing that almost drowned at her words.

"You know I have to," Danny answered just as quietly. "This is my home. I can't just-" He paused for a moment. "Someone needs to see this." He pulled his hand away from hers to wipe away the tears. "I promised not to waste the time feel sorry for myself, and here I am."

Dani didn't answer. She didn't have anything to say that she hadn't said a dozen times over, through theirs hours of planning this day. She'd tried to talk him out of it, originally. She didn't see the reason they needed to be here, didn't think it was a good idea, but Danny had been insistent. Dani could understand that, at least. Amity Park had always been his home, not hers. Earth had always been his home.

It made sense he'd want to say goodbye.

The lights in the sky were closer now, close enough that the air was hot, and her watery eyes made them blur and elongate. The whooshing was louder now, so loud that she couldn't hear anything else.

The sound of the first meteor crashing was deafening, even with it being nearly a mile away. The ground shook beneath her back, and Dani couldn’t keep her eyes open against the searing heat anymore.

The world froze in an instant. Every sound, every motion, even the temperature in the air. 

Their time was up.

Dani opened her eyes, grateful to see the swirling green portal covering her view of the sky. Clockwork floated on the mouth of the portal, perpendicular to them. His face was customarily stoic, and his gaze was focused on Danny, who seemed to be staring straight through him.

"It's time to go," she said quietly. Her words shook Danny out of his trance, and he nodded stiffly before floating to his feet.

They'd made it most of the way to the portal before he turned around and hurried back to where they'd been laying, gathering the blanket back up in his arms once more, and returning to Dani's side. He mumbled something under his breath that Dani couldn't figure out, before walking through the portal. He didn't look back.

Dani did. It was a terrible sight, the world burning around her. She took one final deep breath, even though the smoke burned her nose, before stepping to the other side of the portal. It was time to say goodbye.

Their final goodbye to their dying world.

[mellow-worlds]

older

Things I don't really know how to get better. I don't think I'll ever be able to get over my will to completely give myself up for him yesterday he told me to do some things and I did them, yesterday he criticosed my behaviour and I apologized and he said I shouldn't have and then he apologized for criticising me but I mean he was right to do it. And I feel terrible becau eI asked hin ti go to my place instead of his because I'm on my period and hurting and uncomfortable and he agreed and I feel like a selfish idiot because now he has to ride around in the subway A LOT and it's alll because of me, and he complained a little about it and I said I'm sorry and I told him gain and again I'm sorry and he doesn't even know why I wanted t o go to my place. I feel terrible. At least I didn't eat today. Everthing feels terrible. Prolly just because I'm on my period. I feel terrible terrible terrible. I feel bad. Just physically uncomforta

ble. I feel terible because even when I try to apologize for me acting wrong I can't do it right and he won't take my apology. I'm so sorry I get so emotional and it's probably because of my period. Yesterday I felt like crying and got butterflies several times. Sometimes just by lookuing at him and thinking I'd do everything for him. Anyway. As I was saying, 'd never not let him kill me, I'd never not give myself up for him if only he asked me to, probably. I'll never not put him ifrsst. But that doesn#t mean that I have to hate myself. That doesn't mean that I need to be miserable. I want to do things and I want to do things and I want to d o things. I've beeen doing some things. I've been reading and drwing and studying French a lot It's nice. I want to write more. I don't think I'm ok with uni having started. I don't really like uni. I like learning and I like the toics when theyÄre interesting, butttt idk. I hate having to go here, it's a hustle. I hate having to read and write long complicated texts I don't understand because they're too complicated for my little, uncomplicated brain. I don't like the rain and I don't like that I don't know how to dress on accord of the weather. I don't like that it'll be torture to go here when it's hot I don't like that I selected so ayn courses and that I will be overwhelmed. But rn it's ok. I'mean not rn but in general. I'm not overwhelmed yet. Not yet. It's fine and I don#t haave to do this alone. L s there to support me. Another thing: I hate that L and I won't be able to spend as much time together. Maybe it's a good thing but even this morning just getting out of bed felt terrible because I wanted to keep cuddling with him because he is just the cutest. But overall I'm excited about the new semester. I'm excited about all of the things I do (French and art and reading and writing) and I'm excited about eseing myself develop and change.

I'm kind of obsessed with this girl I used to go to school with. She sometimes posts stuff on g and I relentlessly look at it when she does. She's anorexic and man she's gotten really really thin again. I'm a little scared for her. And I'm really jealous of her. She's really pretty and really thin and everybody knows she's troubled. She has posted about her (various methinks) stays at the mental hospital. She's been hospitalized. She's been hhospitalized. All I got to show for is my three little scars and the ones you can't even see. I'm not skinny. I'm not pretty. I still phantasize about killing myself a lot. In the book I'm reading a character did that becauase his lover didn't want to get married. He cried for days and then he was found dead with slit wrists. I can't even cry. I can't even cry. I can't wait for the day I break down in front of L crying. If I've cried this year it was only small little tears. And that one time in JHJanary. And no one ever noticed. And I feel a burning need to cry. It's crazy. My clothes are wet because of my stupid jacket from the 80's. I feel ohysically terrible. My head has started hurting. And I'm hungry. I want to lose a lot of weight. L says he likes my body but I don't. I don't. So I'm doing intermittent fasting an dI'll try to eat healthier. I'm a little scared. I havent eaten today. It's been 18 hrs almost. Nothing in comparison to what I could do. Idk when I'll eat. Maybe after this nect lecture. I'm mad I look so ugly today. I'll lose weight and that'll automatically make me look better. ANd I'll be fine. I'll be happy. There's no need for me to make such a big fohking thing out of this. I'm not eded- I'm not anorexic and I used to be and I'm ashamed I'm not anymore. I need to lose weight. I hate my freaking body I hate looking like this I hate my cellulite and fat and how unfit I am. I exercised a little yesterday, the tiniest bit. Because my back hurt. I should try to exercise every day, maybe. I still want to die. I want to be found dead one day. But maybe first I need to work on my legacy. I want to be mourned. Do I`Idc. I want to be remembered like remedios in cien an*os de soledad. And mostly just want to feel loved by L. I don't think he thinks about me as much as I do and I don't think he knows that he's practically my world. Adn I want to do art and experience art and watch movies and read and write.

I feel like I'm going to faint but it's not as bad anymore. I haven't eaten in almost 39 hours. I'm trying to push for 49. But most of all I'd just like to faint. I've never fainted before and yes it's scary but it would be something. It'd be something graspable, something real, not just a feeling. I want my suffering to be real. On that note, I should stop being self-condescending towards myself in front of L. I shouldn't make my suffering a show that I choose to share, if anything, people should get subtle signs because of my physical ill-being, but nothing more. Honestly, people shouldn't get any signs, but like... I want to be "heard". I know how toxic this is. I feel like I'm not ill enough and I feel like I can't get betteer until people notice how ill I am because I can't let people know retrospectively, and I've suffered for so long... I should try nto to. But I want to get worse and I want to spiral. I want to faint in front of my friends. Luckily and tragically, I made it so I won't see any of them today. I skipped two classes. Maybe I'll skip the third one as well, but I shouldn't. I feel like I really really shouldn't skip. So I won't skip the third one. It's so weird to describe how I feel. A little light headed, my bones ache, slight headache, very very heavy limbs, and I just generally feel unwell and sick. I've been tempted to eat something but like... I can't just do that. I want to faint. I want to faint in front of my friends. I want to faint in front of L. That would be the dream. I bet fainting feels nice.

I haven't eaten in 30 hours now and I probably won't be eating in another 5 hours. If I'm lucky I won't eat today at all but I don't know. Honestly I'm a little scared, because I will be going to Ls and I don't know if we'll eat something and idk if I'll be able to log the calories. GOSH I hope that if we eat I'll be able to log them. And it's so unfair, the food at uni doesn't provide a calo

ric value and I hate that. I WISH they'd provide that. Im really happy about the decision to lgo calories again, so my weightloss will be more efficient. I really had no idea milk has that many calories. But this des´cision, as you can see, also causes me a lot of stress but it's fine, it'll be worth it. It'll be worth it. My stomach hurts. It's growly. It feels good? But my head hurts and I feel a little unwell. It's nice talking to my friends thouhg, we currently are sittig in the uni cafe. I like D and K a lot and Y is here as well. GOSH I hope I won't have to eat today. Aaand they all left. I have 50 minutes to kill now. F and the other guy from the cafe are here. I don't even know what I can write anymore. And I'm bored to death. This is something i've realized in my past ana runs, it is terrible, the boredom you feel, the inability to focus on things, it gets so overwhelming, your thoughts of food, it's all you think about and then you can't help but eat. BUT I feel good now. Rn I'm a little bored, sure, but like I feel good. I do tihnk about food a lot, but more in fear and less in desire. Well I really would like to eat, but uhm idk, it's different. It's not hard for me not to eat for such long times. Before, I struggled with my life to get to 48 hours, and it was super hard to get to 24 hours, and at times even 18. I feel fairly good. I'm able to have a really good time with my friends and I enjoy that a lot. this morning I took body check pictures and I really really resent that I deleted my old body check pictures. And honestly I look awful but I THINK i look a little less awful than wen I took those other pictures but I can't know. It's frustrating. And I really, really, hate the way my body looks. I REALLY REALLY hate it. I can't believe L would even consider saying he likes my body because Im´'m so ugly. He's got a nice body, I think, not terribly skinny or lean, but I really like his body, it's comforting. And I wonder if it is because the first time I saw his upper body I was so glad he's not as skinny as I tohuhgt, because it made me feel the slightest bit better. So yeah I really hate my body and I don't think L is lying to me, but I also think that he's telling me he likes my body so much so that I#ll feel a little better. plus it's a really nice feeling being desired. So yeah, if I lose some weight maybe hell like my body more, and I definitely will. Its o frustrating, I have lost some kgs already but Iit's just waterweight. In a way, I'm really scared of eating more regularly. I tihnk it's easier not to eat when I do it over long periods of time, like it's out of the question alrea

dy, but it's harder to do when I can eat a little. Stopping to eat is always the hardest part, I think. I just need to get more scared of food. That's why i think thatt couting calories is such a good thing. It'll make me super aware of what I#m putting into my body. that's a good thing in so many ways. Anyway. AAAH. Body checks. I hate the fact that I look this way but I'm also optimistic that I'll be able to change. I'm optimistic that I'll son look very different. Soon enough. THis months choices are next months body soooo... I'm doing well ig. It's scary trhough. I don't want to fail. But I'm making an effort to eat healthier, low calorie things like fruits and veggies and stuff. I'm happy about that. It's a little concerning that I have bruises on my legs. Apparently, they come from lack of vitamin c and k, but like... I've had them for over a week now I think. It's concerining. I've had them since before I started fasting for so long. I should take care of that, becaue I really don't want any health issues. I should make sure I have supplements etc. It's really scary. Also, osteoporosis... My risk of getting that was real even when I was eating relatively well. I'm terrified of the medical concerns of anorexia. But like I#m terrified of my body and I just don't want to stay that well. I HATE MY BODY. Maybe I shouldn't. Maybe I should find a way to find peace with it, though I still would want to change it. I dont need to be so extreme. I don't need to be so extreme. I can chilkll. It's ok. I don't need to hate my body. LAtely 've been wearing some clothes that make mee feel more confident. I still think I look fat, but I feel pretty ok about it, mst of the time. I'm really scared about L finding out. I think he's catching up to the fact that I don't like my body and that I sometimes don't eat because of it. He's asked me what I've eaten certain days maybe twice by now, and I've had to lie because the truth was that I didn't eat anything. He just believed me, though. In a way, I feel nice when he says that I don't consume enough calories and that's why I feel so cold. I feel nice and I feel noticed. But i don#t want him to find out more, and like if i want to lose a lot of weigt he will eventually notice, no? If I eat little enough hell have to, right? If I manage not to fail and not be a fatass again. But i feel pretty optimistic. I feel good about this time. Who knwos, though. I'll try my best thoug. Now that i believe in free will, I CAN'T fail, I just can't. How could it be that all of these other girls are so skinny and so deprived of nourishment, and I'm so fat and I'm already scared of failing. So tonight ill go to a concert and I'm happy about the opportunity to burn some extra calories and not really be able to eat for a little while. But I'm really low energy, I'm really tired and It's cold so I don't feel like moving. And I am a little scared about feeling weak and passing out, but like, I don'

t think I will because... Yeah I haven't eaten that little last time and I haven't not eaten in all that long. It's unrealistic that I'll faint. Even if I do it's what I wanted, no? It'd be weird in front of my school friensd but ultimately, good. It'd be good. And it'd be awful if I fainted in front of L, honestly, because hten he'd really know something i swrong with me and food and he'd try to stop me and I really really can't eat normally or even more again becauseeeeeeee iiiimmmm sooooooo fattttttttt. Normal people probably would call me chubby at best but like.... IDK I feel AWFUL about my body and no, I am fat. I feel a little lightheaded. Anyway. I'm glad I'm doing things today. I'm glad I'll be going to Ls later because it wouldn't be abig deal if I ate today, and because I just really love spending time with him. And idk. I could stand the warmth of his body. And yeah. I love him :). And I'm just happy I don't have to be alone at home where I'm almost always miserable. I wouldn't know what to do with myself. I love spending time with friends. It#s a nice feeling when my stomach growls. its nice. i am kinda hungry but it doesnt hurt.. only my head hurts a little. and my being basically alone here, but its fine, ill leve in 10 minutes. wow, how time flies when one is having fun obsessing over ones ed. i am eded, theres no denying that. i may not be anorexic but its fine. i wonder what caused my relapse. is it really hatred for my body? i mean yes, ive always hated my body... i wanted to say that i didn't want to get back to ana like maybe a month ago, but that's not true is it. ive been loggin my fasting time for a couple of months and ive always hated my body. it really is mmy body, huh. but what about now is different? what casuses me to be so optimistic and what makes it so easy for me to fast for so long? maybe i overall feel better, but usually, one relapses into these kinds of things whne feeling bad, right? Anyway. Ig i am hungry rn. butttt its fine. its not overwhelming. I don#t want to hate myself, but i want to be impossibly skinny. I hsoudl work on what I see as a failure. it's not a failure if I don't fast for at least 24 hours or if I eat today or if I eat when in Ls company, or when I don#t lose a kg per day or even gain a little because i won't be able to keep this pace up. It is maybe a failure if I eat unhealthy things and am over my calorie limit. so im good. i have no reason to currently feel bad. im doing good. my stomach is hurting a little, but its fine. it is satisfactory somehow, to have these subtle, not really hurtful signs of whatever im doing actually having an effect on me, actually doing something. what currently frustrates me is that i can#t really eat whatever anymore. I'm so terrified of not being able to log my calories and i just started yesterday hahahhahaha. but yeah. its frustrating not being able to eat things from uni etc that i don't know the caloric value of. Anyway, gotta go, bye.

yesterday was really, really nice. Except that he forced me to eat but whatever. well we were in the kitchen and he already choked me and it felt so good. he kept choking me. he kept talking to me and commanding me to do things. I wouldve done anything. it was so nice. he told me to eat and i tried eating as little as possible but yk its fine, its whatever. he was so aggressive and commanding with me and i love it when he is. i can't describe it. it felt a little different from previous times, though. I was really submmissive hahaha etc ykyk but i was able to snatch out of it fairly quickly and shit and i didn't really feel as bad. I did get a lot of butterflies though. We were in the cinema before and watched civil war and i cried a lot. I felt to many emotions. we were cuddling in the cinema and the things going on onscreen were wild and there was too many emotions. so i cired. he didn't notice. after the movie we cuddled some more and he got pretty happy, saying how lucky he was and how much he loved me. and i didn't say much because id just been cring and on the ride home i didn't say much either and i#d like to believe thats why he was able to be so violent towards me. he wasnt really violent. i wish hed been more violent. in uni we talked a little about sex and stuff so maybe thats part of the reason as well. i think hed like it if i was more dominant but i dont really see how i could be. makes me feel bad. i just want to be his pet and his housewife and i just want him to be happy. i want to please him with everything i do and i want to do everything for him. i want to be his completely, and i don#t want him to be mine. i want him to toss me on the ground and choke me and step on me and make me pass out, i want him to keep food from me and then force feed me right before i die of staration, just to keep me alive so i can be starved furter. yay ed fantasies mixed in with sexual ones. yay. yesterday it did feel kinda nice how he forcefed me but like i really didn't need to eat then. id been fasting for barely 27 hours and i couldve gone so muhc longer. but ig this way i can track his c*m. gosh I do really like it when we don't have sex and he just uses me. it feels so nice and i have to worry about notihng but his cock. well actually, if he was really violent towards me during sex it would probably be the best thing ever. he choked me once during sex, i wish he did it always. he slapped me a lot yesterday and it felt awful which means it felt awfully good. i keep remembering times when he was awful to me and they give me butterflies. its all i want its all i want. i want him to hit me more and tell me that i dont deserve him, but next time he should mean it, he should throw me on the ground and tell me im trash.it feels different from usually, though. do i still think ikm worthless? kinda, i think. bu tit doesn#t inhabit my entire mind, its not all i can think about. i can kinda snap in and out of it, rihgt? either way. my theor stands. I should be able to do everything for him and still not make mself dependable from him. I still need to be my own person and not define myself throught the things I do for him, but take them as an addition to my inner world, as just something I chose, something I want to to because I have wants and needs and opinions. so ig i'm heading in a right direction. I enjoy it when he abuses me and part of the reason why is that i enjoy making him happy.

Things have been going so well. I’m actually really happy. I ate a lot a lot this weekend but like… Idc. I’m really happy, probably also partially because of increased food intake. But I’ve started a little writing project and I’m super excited about it. And things with L have been going super well as well. I feel like I am getting better, I really think I am. I am excited about the future again and I’m excited about food and my friends and L and writing and music and drawing. I’m really happy!

Except rn I’m really hungry but I’ll go grab sth to eat after this lecture, I havent eaten in about 17 hours, a little more.

Ok my hunger is really making me feel impatient and bored. But it’s fine! I guess this is what being hangry feels like. I’m still concerned with calories. I’m a little scared because idk if I’ll be able to count calories properly again today, since i’ve had to guess yesterday a lot. but it’s fine. I’m happy about eating healthy food with L whihc is something we set out to do. AND I’m really happy I haven’t eaten any sugar in the past week. Well, sugar yes, but not like refined sugar.

Gosh I’m so impatient. I got 17 more minutes to go. I’m so excited about the food I’m about to eat! And I’m so excited about my writing project, because it’s not just about writing. And because it’s just so much fun! It takes a lot pressure away from me, it’s a really relaxed project.

[paktderpakte]

There must be more to life.

16 September 1941

Margarete climbed the steps to her apartment, struggling to balance her heels on the stairs, and the satchel that always seemed far heavier in the evening than the morning. You would think that just sitting at a typewriter all day and typing out notes, schedules, tables, wouldn't wear as much as it did, but her back always ached, and her wrists. Typewritten text swam in front of her eyes in the dim stairwell, and she leaned on the balustrade for the last few steps, then against the wall as she trailed down the hallway to her door. She turned the knob, stumbled inside, and slumped down on the couch.

Maybe Father had been right. There wasn't any glamour in this, living alone in an apartment block during the evening and typing up meeting minutes about steel production during the day, trudging between them on crowded trains and sterile concrete streets. If she moved back home, it'd probably be for the better-- her parents would be thrilled to have her back, she could help run the shop. She knew because Mother's letters always said so.

It was sweet, and sometimes, on nights like this, the idea tempted her. She did look forward more to her brother's letters, even if he made it out that he was having as poor a time as she was, holed up in one of the garrison forts on the French coast. Father would probably say that the grass was always greener for her somewhere else, that she just needed to pick something, and she smiled at the image of him chastising her before reaching back to turn the radio on.

Her brother's last letter was still on the end table as well. She'd gotten it about a week ago, and hadn't written a reply-- maybe writing Kleis would be a good way to unwind. As she pushed her glasses up on her nose, she unfolded the paper to read it again.

Grete I'm pleased to hear you got the typist job. I know Mother and Father were a bit worried about that, but they don't offer classes in it for no reason. And who knows, maybe you can get someone to pick you up as a secretary or start helping them with their actual planning. Pick you up as a wife, I'd say, but I remember how into your Bund work you were before I left. Maybe it'll be somewhere you can put your organizational skills to use. It's lucky for your new employers that they have you, but I wish you were here instead of our staff. Sometimes I think they're way too lax about things-- the French State might be allied with us now, but it's not like every *Frenchman* is. We go out without proper armament one too many times like we're cops or something and someone is liable to get hurt.

Staff says it fosters goodwill to not be carting heavy guns around on routine patrol though, makes people think of us as, yeah, gendarmes. Supposedly the secret police has stuff locked down well enough, and I'm fine so far, so maybe I just wanna play with a soldier's toys. ...besides that, they should really authorize tropical wear for Occitania. I don't care that it's Europe, in the summer like now I feel like I'm going to melt in this stupid wool tunic. At least the girls think it's sharp. Oh, also. We had some leave a little while ago, so me and some buddies took a train over to Marseilles to spend the day, and there was a guy testing out a new kind of color film that wanted a test subject. We told him he could shoot us, if he sent us copies, and he went for it. Really cool stuff-- here's one from my share of the prints. Write soon. Love, Kleis

Margarete studied the photo with a wistful smile. Three men with private's tabs, Kleis and two others, lounged on the patio of some French cafe in the afternoon sun. Like they were really here.

She kicked off her heels and took the letter and photo over to her desk, thinking about her reply-- but maybe he'd already written another letter, she thought. Sometimes he did do that, if she took a while to get back to him, so better to check the mail first.

In the basket was a mailer from the Bund Deutscher Mädel about some fundraiser, their monthly magazine, a bill, a newspaper…

...and a letter from the Wehrmacht. Not a letter from Kleis-- better stationery, like cream; a red wax seal stamped with the Eagle.

Margarete Anna Reuenthal Sister of Gefr. Nikolaus Ernst Reuenthal Andreasstraße 9, Apt. 8 Düsseldorf, Germany

Gefreiter..? Kleis was a private. She took the letter back to the desk, and-- it seemed wrong to simply rip it open like she would with something less official, and something like sacrilege to break the seal-- slit the top with her letter opener to get at the missive inside. It was typewritten, with a signature at the bottom.

Frau Reuenthal: I am sorry to inform you that your brother Nikolaus gave his life in the defense of the peace on 12 September 1940. The exact circumstances are beyond my authority to divulge but please rest assured that those responsible will be brought to justice. Niko was a good soldier. My heart is with you. Hauptmann Gregor Jung Company C commander MB Aigues-Mortes

ᛦ

Kleis's friends were looser lipped in person. There had been an ambush, some partisan cell who still deluded themselves that the Americans or the British would come to the rescue and sweep the Germans out. A grenade trap had blown the front off the truck, and Kleis, gunning from the back with an SMG, had taken a rifle bullet from the hills.

The undertaker had done a good job with his body. You wouldn't have known he was dead, looking at him laid in the box with his new collar tabs. The Gestapo were on the case, a man in a notably nondescript black suit had assured them. Heads would roll in the south of France, and in the secret police. Petain was deeply embarrassed, by all accounts, would cooperate more with the German garrisons in flushing out troublemakers.

Her father seemed far too stoic. When she and her parents had gone to see the body, he hadn't cried, or betrayed hardly any emotion at all, even with Margarete hiding her face in his shoulder and Mother refusing to even look in the casket. "Yes," he'd just said, so quietly she saw his beard move rather than his mouth. "That's my Nikolaus."

She should have realized it would come to an end at some point. At the funeral, he'd stood up, pulled away from Margarete with notes in hand, and strode to the podium to give his eulogy. "My son followed in my footsteps," he started, "quite against my wishes. I fought in the Great War, as many of you did, and forbade him to fight in what many of us believed would be another. But fortunately for him, his war ended quickly. With his help. Thank God."

"…The letter that his commander wrote me and my wife--" he shuffled some papers, produced a letter like the one Margarete had received and nodded to its author in the crowd-- "said that he 'gave- gave his life in defense of the peace'. " The break in his voice was the only forewarning; an instant after quoting the paper, his frame shook, and he gripped the lectern, turning his face down.

After a while, he spoke again, through tears. "I don't mean to insult you, Herr Jung. But isn't that the height of irony? I have to ask where the security police were. Why my son was given occupation duty in a country with whom we signed a peace treaty over a year ago." None of this was part of the speech that Margarete had heard him practicing; a few murmurs passed through the audience, but Herr Reuenthal had nothing more to say. He regained his composure, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to dab at his eyes.

"I am sorry. This is difficult for me. My only son." He straightened up, turning away from the congregation to look at Kleis in repose. "God rest his soul."

ᛉ

Rather than go back to Düsseldorf, Margarete went home with her parents, back to the village and to her old bedroom. She ate breakfast with her little sister, walked her to school, said hello to old friends who were teachers or postmen now. Kleis's room sat empty and full of his things, just as it had after he'd left two years ago.

Nobody mentioned it, but it was all they really talked about. Father got more into military matters, studying the chain of command and equipment as if he might find someone to blame; when Anja said one of her school friends' fathers was visiting from his posting in Norway, Mother had to feign enthusiasm. More than once they asked Margarete if she would move home for good and leave that "dreary apartment on the border."

She didn't know herself for a while, but one night over dinner, she heard herself say, "no, I think I'm going to join the SS."

Father stood straight up out of his chair, whether to impose himself on her as he forbade it or simply in astonishment, she wasn't sure; Mother let out something like a sob. And why the SS anyway? Staring at her food, she barreled forward to justify herself, the words coming out unplanned.

"They wouldn't put me on the front-- I'd be doing paperwork-- and Papa, you've wondered whose fault it was? Wasn't it all the red tape and the rules? In the end, wasn't it that Hauptmann's fault?"

"I'm a great organizer. I could make sure nothing like what happened to Kleis ever happens again. People are scared of SS-men. They'd do what I say. And I was so active in the Bund that they'd practically have to let me in."

"I miss the BDM too. Kleis had friends, comrades…I just type notes all day and let boring old businessmen hit on me." Tears started to drip onto her dinner.

"Honey…" Mother finally said something, scooted her chair closer to pull Margarete in for a hug. "You can come home. I knew you'd hate that job. You can be a Bund leader at Anja's school. You don't have to join the military to help people. Sit down, darling," she said to her husband, gesturing for him to relax. "Let's talk about this."

ᛋ

Her parents convinced her. They talked about it, Mother told her there were always openings at the school for secretaries or troop leaders and Anja told her that some of the teachers missed her. Father offered to help her move out of her apartment, which she refused. It wasn't that much stuff, she said.

Margarete took the train back to Düsseldorf, fully intending to pack things up, say goodbye to her landlord, and come home. The radio, the posters of singers, the books, her clothes, all went into boxes. Kleis's letter was still on her desk, and his photo, his last photo. She picked them up to tuck them in her satchel…the color made it seem so real.

Next would be to take apart the furniture-- maybe she could ask a neighbor for help. Or a carpenter would probably be better. She crossed the room to the phone to call someone, flicked through the phonebook to C…past C. H- N- S.

Schutzstaffel, recruitment office. DRake 3019.

She dialed the number.

[0funsite0]

Love in Paris - J.Jk.

Summary: Your boyfriend comes back home after World War 2. The war did its damage and imprinted some on Jungkook as well. He realizes life is too short to be wasting any of it, so he is quick to accomplish his goals.

Warnings: blood, major character death, mentions of war pregnancy, vomiting, dark thoughts...

ww2 survivor!jungkook x french!reader

1940s Paris AU

4.8K words

A/n: I recommend listening to "Indila - Love story" while reading this story!!!

~

Jungkook knocks softly on the door of your cozy little café. He placed his tiny suitcase on the stairs to free his hands and fold up the long sleeves of his white button-up and fix his collar. He even took a final look at himself in the window of the door to check his reflection. He ran his uninjured hand through his thick black hair which had grown down to his eyes.

His heartbeat took up a faster pace as he heard your footsteps approach. The door opened and there you were. A grown-up woman in all black, hair up in an elegant bun, decorated with a pitch-black accessory.

You stood on the doorstep, your eyes glued on each other. He was a grown man now. No longer the 19-year-old boy you moved in with, unmarried and without your parents' permission. He was a grown, 25-year-old man now. You changed a lot too. You were a woman now. No longer the 18-year-old girl he laid eyes on at your newly opened coffee shop. The delicate curves of your body more prominent than the last time he saw you. That was exactly 6 years ago. Six long years...

- Jungkook... - your voice was barely a whisper. You were shocked. - I...

- My Dear... - his voice broke too.

He quickly pulled you in for a deep kiss and a half-handed hug. You two stood there in silence. Well... almost in silence. Both of your muffled sobs broke the quiet air.

- You... I-I haven't re-received any le-letters from you these past months... I-I thought... I thought... - you couldn't finish. You broke out in loud sobs.

- Shhh, My Love! It's alright. I'm here now, I'm alive.

-Wha-what happened t-to your ha-hand? - you asked pulling out of the hug.

- Nothing serious, Y/n. It's just a little broken, but it will heal.

- Do-Does it hurt a lot?

- No, Dear, don't you worry, alright?

~

For the next weeks, you didn't even let Jungkook step out of your apartment above your café. You brought breakfast, lunch, and dinner directly to him.

- Y/n dear... I think this is a bit too much now. - he stated one day, about 5 weeks after he came back, which also meant 5 weeks of staying inside your few-roomed apartment. - I should go back to work now. My arm is completely healed too.

- No, no! Love, the last time you went to work, you... - you gulped at the memory. - you didn't come back for 6 years. They took you!

- All that is over now, alright? No one can take me anymore.

- But you don't have to work. I earn enough from owning the café. That is enough money for the both of us.

- Then at least let me help in the shop.

- Maybe... - you smiled.

- There is that precious smile of yours! I missed it so, so, so much, you can't even imagine.

He folded you in his embrace, his strong arms around you thin waste. You had to tip-toe to reach his lips with yours. Ever since he came home, the kisses you two shared were much more meaningful than before. Like they are your last.

This kiss was different from that though... He was... nervous?

- Love, I... - he breathed against your lips. - I think I...

- Yes?

He didn't answer. All he did was loosen the tightly tied bow at the back of your beige dress. His hands moved up to the back of your neck, as he unbuttoned the button of the collar of the dress.

- Jungkook, we... - you stopped him by gently grabbing his wrist.

- I know we aren't married yet, but... - he looked into your eyes. - If you are not ready, then I won't, just tell me so, and...

- No it's not that. Just... it is tradition, and...

- I know, I am sorry, Love. I just thought... - you kissed him. - after witnessing all those things during the war... a-and those 6 years I spent away from you... I realized... m-maybe...

You hesitantly began unbuttoning his shirt from the collar down. You felt it too. The need to connect your bodies. To feel someone for the first time in your lives. You gave it a little thought. Your parents died 3 years ago in a bomb attack in your hometown, and Jungkooks parents... well the last time he heard anything from them was before he moved from Korea to Paris. It was just the two of you.

- A-are you s-sure? - he asked.

-  Yes. I am.

~

It was 6 weeks later that the smell of coffee started bothering you. The second the first customer of the day ordered a plain black coffee and you started grinding the coffee beans, a wave of unfamiliar nausea hit you and you had to abandon everything you were working on. Of course, Jungkook, who was now your fiancé, was right at your side to hold your hair up and whisper sweet encouragements into your ear.

Since that day you had a suspicion that you might be expecting. You missed your period, which was kind of irregular anyways, but paired with the morning sickness, it must have been it.

You weren't sure how you felt about it. On one hand, you were happy, because bringing a new life into the world with the love of your life is always a blessing, however, you still weren't married. And even if you could put together the wedding before you gave birth... well... You didn't have the courage to walk down the aisle in a wedding dress, with an obvious bump. It wasn't ideal. Not in the 40s... So the last thing you wanted was to be pregnant on your wedding day... even because of the alcohol.

You weren't 100% sure yourself yet, but you decided to tell Jungkook about your observations. He used the phone in the café to call the doctor and book an appointment for you to make sure.

- Are you ready, Love? - he asked the day of your appointment.

- Just a second.

You were putting some ginger-flavored candy in a clean cloth for you to take to the doctor's office to help with your nausea.

- What are these for?

- Ginger is supposed to relieve some nausea. - you explained.

- Oh that is amazing. Where did you get those?

- In Elyna's shop.

He made himself a mental note to buy you more if you run out so you won't have to struggle with it that much.

~

The doctor took your urine and blood sample to do some tests.

- I think it is bizarre how the doctor just walked out of the room with a cup of my fianceé's urine...

You both laughed.

- It's for medical purposes. - you giggled.

Not long after that the doctor came back with the results and confirmed that you were in fact expecting. He gave you some useful recommendations about the pregnancy, what to be careful with or what was safe, and then you left.

On your way out you caught a glimpse of a book for expectant mothers. It was called "Maternity Book". You purchased one since you thought it would benefit you during your pregnancy, as you knew very little about the topic. That honestly scared you, but with Jungkook by your side, nothing was impossible.

~

You reached the 20th week of your pregnancy. This meant you were now halfway through, so you were on a mission to find the maternity book to check all the things about this week. But you couldn't find it anywhere. You looked through all the cupboards and drawers, even in the wardrobe between the freshly washed sheets.

But nothing...

Your final thought was that maybe you left it downstairs in the shop, but you highly doubted that, as you never took it out of your room.

As you enter the shop through the back door, you find your fiancé sitting on a barstool behind the counter with your book.

He had his sleeves folded up to his elbows with his wine-colored apron, which was the uniform of your shop.

You stopped at the doorstep and rested your cheek against the doorframe. You rested one of your hands on your bump that is accommodating your growing baby. You looked carefully.

The book in his hands was opened around the middle and the heading read: "What to expect at 20 weeks" A subtle smile spread across his face and he turned around.

- Good morning, Love! - he waved for you to come closer so he could kiss your temple. - How are you feeling this morning?

- We are great, thank you. No morning sickness this time, just a little headache.

- Headache? - he asked concerned. - The book says it should have gone away at this point.

- I know. It should last until around the second trimester, but it is different for every mother, so don't worry. - You kissed him.

- The book also said that little bean is the size of a banana now and is around 300 grams. - he places a loving hand over the place, where your baby is resting.

- How's the shop going? - you asked.

- The customers are returning slowly but surely.

- That is great news. - you cheered.

During the war, the shop wasn't doing well. Most of the customers were sent to the battlegrounds, others couldn't even afford basic food, not to mention luxurious items, such as coffee during that time. Everything became unaffordable for most people. Many items and ingredients from abroad didn't get imported to France anymore, so the only sources were those couple vendors that could still produce or grow these products. But regardless, they were limited and expensive. The same goes for the milk for the coffee and so on.

But luckily the world was beginning to regain consciousness. And so was your café.

- Mrs. Dupont stopped by too for the first time in years.

- Really?! I would have loved to see her again.

Mrs. Dupont is a middle-aged woman living in your neighborhood. She was the woman you worked for in her bookshop ever since you were 12 until you turned 18 and had enough money to fund your very own café. She was like your second mother.

Unfortunately, after the war had begun your connection broke.

- How have they been? - you asked.

- Mrs. Dupont is grieving. Her husband passed away in the war.

You felt sadness wash over your whole being. You never had a special connection with Mr. Dupont, but you still felt some of the pain your former mother figure must go through.

You remembered the time when you got a letter saying the military post your boyfriend was in got bombarded to the core and there were barely any survivors. The bodies were so damaged that they couldn't be recognized.

You were absolutely broken. You clung to your last hope, a letter from your lover that you would hopefully receive next month. But nothing came. Not a single letter.

You spent the next 2 years submerged in grief. You just couldn't get over the "death" of your boyfriend. You went to bed in black, woke up in black, your days were blank, and you couldn't diferate them anymore. You were nothing without him.

Turns out Jungkook was one of the few survivors of the attack and managed to escape. He was hiding for months and tried to get back home to you. But this was a difficult task when he was hundreds of miles away. He eventually decided to hop on a train in hopes of approaching Paris at a faster pace. However, he was caught among the bales of hay in a carriage.

From then on then on they kept him in captivity. But you lived in the thought that you lost him forever.

So when he unexpectedly showed up at your doorstep, you couldn't believe he was real.

Tears started beaming down your reddened cheeks. You weren't sure if this was because of your hormones, Mr. Dupont's death, or your memories that came flooding back, but one was for sure: these emotions were hitting you with the strength of a hurricane.

- Oh, My Dear! - Jungkook was quick to pull you closer. - It's alright.

- I am sorry, I just... - your sobs cut you off. - I thought you were dead.

- I know... I know, Love. I am so sorry I couldn't send you letters, but they didn't let me there.

- I know... I w-was just s-so scared.

- Shhh... It is all over now. Calm down, Dear! This mustn't be good for you and the baby.

~

It was a lovely spring day. April to be exact. Jungkook was on his way to Elyna's shop. He remembered when you mentioned where they sold those ginger candies you used so often at the beginning of your pregnancy.

Unfortunately, nausea had come back now at 32 weeks, which was very uncomfortable, but not too concerning, as many women experience this far along too. The doctor just advised you to drink a lot and eat more to make sure you didn't lose too much weight and the baby stayed healthy.

He quickly found the candies he was looking for, paid for them, and left the shop. He was eager to get back home to you. His favorite part of the day was when he could hold you close with his hands on your belly, praising you for carrying his little baby so well.

Pregnancy looked great on you. The way your breasts grew whilst producing milk for your baby, how your bump got bigger and bigger each week. All of these things your body was doing to accommodate your offspring amazed Jungkook.

- Love, I am home! - he greeted as he closed the door of the shop behind him.

He didn't hear an answer. And it worried him like crazy.

- Love?

Still nothing.

He was quick to approach the staircase to look through your apartment. However, when he took the sharp turn between the two flights of stairs, a horrifying scene occurred in front of his eyes.

- Y/N!? Oh no, no, no, no!

You laid there on the hard floor sideways, with one of your hands laying limp on your bump, the other next to you in an unnatural way. Blood was surrounding you almost everywhere and it was unclear from which part of your body it was coming from. After further examinations, it became clear to Jungkook that it was flowing from your head and from between your legs.

- Oh my Dear! - he was in tears.

He didn't dare to touch you.  He only manages to place careful fingers under your jaw to detect your pulse.

- Please, please, please, I'm begging you!!! - a sigh of relief left his lips as he felt a thud against his fingers. It was very irregular, but it was there. You were alive!

He was hesitant to leave you there alone even to call the ambulance, but he eventually had to.

- Please s-send an am-ambulance to "Coffeeshop Shine"! M-my fianceé... sh-she's 32 weeks pregn-pregnant. F-fell down the stairs. Th-there's a lot of b-blood. Please...

- Sir, please calm down! Down the ambulance will be there shortly.

He didn't even say anything, just cut the call and rushed back to you as if his life depended on it. And maybe it did. Not just his but yours and his baby's.

He grabbed his linen tissues from his shirt's pocket and extremely gently placed some over the wound on your head and a few between your legs in an attempt to lessen the bleeding. He was unsuccessful, however. All of the materials were soaked in your blood.

- God, please save my Y/n. And my baby! God, I am begging you to do everything in your power to protect them. I need my Y/n, I need my family! - he prayed with his eyes closed, forehead against yours, hand over yours on your stomach. He was helplessly choking on his tears.

It was a heartbreaking scene.

Luckily, the ambulance came relatively quickly and the ambulance men hurriedly marched in. They carefully took you from Jungkook's embrace and placed you on a gurney, then secured it in the back of the van.

Jungkook sat beside you in the back and watched what the ambulance men were doing.

- I'm sorry, Sir. You can't come to the emergency ward. - Jungkook was stopped.

- B-but I... she... she needs me! I'M HER FIANCÉ!!! - he was full of rage.

How dare they tell him not to be there for you in such a hard time? Who were they to do that? You needed him. Even if you were unconscious. He needed to be next to you, holding your hand when you woke up.

He ended up in an empty waiting room. The walls plain white, the uncomfortable metal chairs cold. He cried and cried... nothing was able to stop his misery.

- Mr. Jeon? - a calm voice called.

- I-it's me! A-are they alright? - he stood up and took a hopeful step toward the nurse.

- We are bringing her in for surgery. Put these on and I will lead you to her.

He never changed clothes this fast ever. He was eager to get to you, so as soon as he was in his white sanitary gown and mask, he barged into the hallway, where the nurse waited for him.

The few-second walk seemed like a lifetime to Jungkook, but he got to the operating room eventually. He rushed to your side and grabbed your hand.

- J-jungkook! - you studdered.

- Oh, My Love!

- Make it stop! - you sobbed in between your whispers.

His heart broke at how desperate you were to stop the pain. You looked pale and overly exhausted.

- I-I would i-if I could, Love! I r-really wish I could take a-all this fr-from you.

He rubbed your palm and cheek in hopes of bringing some blood circulation back to your body, but it was useless.

-  Doctor, she's losing a lot of blood! - a nurse called.

- Keep the towels between her legs. Juline, place the oxygen mask over her mouth and nose.

- Yes, sir!

Jungkook panicked more as the mask was put on you. You took a huge breath as soon as you felt the oxygen enter your lungs much easier.

- Miss Y/n, tell can you feel it if I move your leg like this?

- N-no.

- Alright, now that you're numb on the lover half of your body, we are going to start the procedure. If anything feels uncomfortable, tell us immediately.

Jungkook was horrified. Only a very low percentage of c-sections were successful, as it isn't perfected yet. Only a low percentage of mothers survived this kind of surgery. He couldn't live without you. He barely got you back. It had been much less than a year since he got back home to you. You couldn't leave him. Not now!

- Ju-Jungkook... I-I... I don't f-feel so good. - you cried, your voice a little muffled by the mask.

- Oh, Y-y/n. - he leaned close to your face. - You're g-gonna be alright. All healthy and strong. Just h-hold o-on for a little b-bit more!

- S-save t-the baby, p-please! The... baby.........

You closed your eyes. And didn't open them after.

- N-no! No, no, no! She... she isn't opening her eyes! Nurse, doctor, she...

He completely broke down.

- She...

- Sir, you need to leave the room. - a nurse commanded.

- No!

- Sir, you have to if you want us to do our best.

After he was told that, he left. Of course, he wanted them to save you, so if it meant he had to leave, he was going to do just that. And once again in the bald waiting room.

-

- Mr. Jeon? I am truly sorry, but we couldn't save the mother.

-

A few hours later Jungkook was able to get himself together, or at least together enough to take a few steps towards the room your body was laid in.

He was shaking. His wobbly feel carried him towards your sheet-covered body. He lifted the material covering your head just enough to see your face. There was a sign attached to the gurney-like bed:

Name: Y/n Y/l/n                                                                                                                                       Age: 24                                                                                                                                                      Cause of death: birth hemorrhage

He fell limp next to you. Your hand was peaking from under the cover. Jungkook grabbed it and pressed it firmly onto his cheek. He wasn't going to let go any time soon. He prepped himself up just enough to press his forehead against yours, still holding your hand.

You were so pale.

- T-this wasn't supposed t-to happen, Love... This... wasn't - he sobbed. - You were supposed to carry our little baby for two more months, I would have rubbed olive oil onto your belly, so you didn't have to worry about stretchmarks. I read in your book that they could hurt if t-they aren't t-treated properly. - he kissed your white cheeks. - We don't even have all the supplies for the baby yet...

Baby? He didn't even see his baby yet! He didn't even know if he or she was okay! Hell, he didn't even know if it was a he or a she.

- L-love, I'll be back, alright? I'll just bring in our little one if I am allowed to. - he took a quick glance at you and kissed the back of your hand. - I'll be right back.

He rushed outside and sure enough, he found the nurse that led him to you before.

- C-can I s-see my baby?

- Of course, you can! - she gave him a subtle smile.

-

Beautiful. Just beautiful.

His son was laying peacefully in an incubator in the newborn ward. He was sound asleep. He was extremely tiny and looked pretty fragile, but it was a baby non less. And so, so handsome.

Seeing his baby made Jungkook even more lost than before. How was all this fair? Taking away his angel and then giving him such a precious little being.

- Hi, My Precious. - he whispered behind the glass. - How is he doing? - he asked the nurse.

- Since he is eight weeks premature, his lungs still need some time to develop entirely, but aside from that, there aren't any complications that can be detected at this stage. You can hold him for a while if you want.

- C-can I bring him into h-his m-mother's room?

- You can, but not for too long. He needs to be back in the incubator and her body needs to be taken away soon too.

- P-please... I need some m-more time to... to say g-goodbye.

- Take your time, Mr. Jeon.

-

He held the baby extremely carefully in his arms. Like he was made out of glass. He pushed the door in with his leg.

- Here he is, Love! - he held the baby up to your face. - Our precious boy. He is alright. A little small and undeveloped, but the nurse said he'll be alright.

He leaned down to kiss your head and sat on the chair next to the gurney you were placed on.

- I can't give h-him a n-name alone. - he sobbed. - I need your help, Y/n... I need your help.

His son started wiggling softly in his hold, letting out tiny whimpers.

- What's wrong little guy?

The bundle started suckling on his pouty lips.

- Are you hungry? - Jungkook desperately looked at you. - He is hungry, Love... y-you need t-to feed him. - he said, nearly breathless. - You need to feed him. Please...

-

- Mr. Jeon, we need to take the baby back.

- O-okay... - he unwillingly handed the baby over to the nurse.

- People will come and take the mother's body shortly.

- N-no... p-please. I haven't had enough time yet...

Time...

He thought he had so much. With you. With his child. His family. What was left for him anymore? How will he raise a child on his own, when he's a wreck himself. He can barely hold himself up, and now he has another human being depending on him.

The door closed, so he was left alone with you.

He clung tightly to you, never wanting to let you go. He sobbed into your milk-filled chest, making your breasts leek the nurturing substance his baby was supposed to feed on. He watched as your white hospital gown darkened in color as it became damp.

All this made Jungkook cry harder and harder, thinking about what life will look like without you in it.

Blank...

All he could think of was how miserable everything was going to be. You wouldn't be there to bring your son to the playground, play hide and seek together, or wave behind the fence of the school grounds on his first day of school.

Maybe your spirit or something will be there to watch over them. He didn't really know what to believe anymore. He was so lost.

So, so lost...

-

- Sir, I am telling you for the last time. You need to let her go, or else, we will do that ourselves.

- N-no... - he choked on his sobs.

The three men who came in to take your body began removing your fiancé from your lifeless body. Jungkook was tired, weak, and he couldn't keep ahold of you anymore. He had no energy left. So he let go and watched helplessly as the gurney got wealed out of the room with you on it.

-

Your body was cremated.

Jungkook thought it was the best option, as he wanted your son to be present at your funeral too. And given as he couldn't leave the incubator and the nurses' help for too long, Jungkook had to wait till he was strong enough to come home. And being cremated, your remains were able to be preserved for long enough.

The shop was temporarily closed, and even Jungkook himself didn't know when he will be able to continue. Mrs. Dupont helped Jungkook a lot during those hard times. She helped him get all the supplies for the baby and set up a nursery.

The elderly lady bought the baby a miniature black suit with tiny shoes and even a tie. Jungkook was dressed in an almost matching suit as his son. Mrs. Dupont chose one out of her many black dresses. They were all ready to attend your funeral.

There weren't many people present. Jungkook wanted to keep it small, just with the closest people there. He knew you would want that too. It was only him, your son, Mrs. Dupont, and a couple of your regular customers from the shop.

Jungkook was staring with reddened eyes and cheeks blankly at your grave, as the priest said his prayers.

- Shh... Antoine, it's alright. - Mrs. Dupont hushed the crying 6-week-old child in her arms.

The priest closed the lid of the vase-like bowl part of your ashes were put in and lowered it into the ground.

Y/n  Y/l/n

1922 - 1946

Beloved mother and wife

The attendants were starting to leave. Mrs. Dupont handed Antoine to Jungkook and left too to prepare something for lunch for Jungkook and herself. She also had to buy some more formula for the little boy.

So Jungkook and Antoine were left alone. They knelt down in front of your grave and placed a huge, gorgeous bouquet of flowers into the little vase next to your headstone.

- Oh, My Dearest! - he started. - Look at Antoine, how big he's getting. I hope you like his name. - he let out a sad chuckle. - He looks so much like you, Y/n! It is unbelievable. But I'm thankful, because... whenever I look at him, it's like there is a part of you still with me. If it wasn't for him... I w-would have followed you... - a tear slipped out of his eye. - But you gave me something... better say someone to live for. So thank you, My love. Thank you for our little boy. - he paused to think his words though. - When it's my time, I'll come to you and then we'll have forever, but... until then... -

- Rest in peace, My Love! Rest in peace...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/n: I was thinking about writing a short little bonus story about Jungkook's and Antoine's life. Should I do it?

Also, I would be more than happy to receive requests and ideas!

Love you all!

[jackrrabbit]

Adversary /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: You make a deal with the devil to save your life, but it turns out Overhaul’s not interested in your soul.

A/N: Remember when I said I was going to do a fantasy collab and then dipped for like 9 months? Hahaha…anyway…

@pleasantanathema @ present-mel @shadowworks—if it’s not too late, here’s my part for the Pleasant & Strider Fantasy AU Writing Collab from a million years ago. Go check out the masterlist and gorge yourself on these amazing pieces!!

Tags/Warnings: dubcon, demon fuckery & occult things, big heresy/sacrilege/perversion of religion, sex in a church ft. Catholic sex guilt, other than that it’s not that bad lol, inexperienced reader, mild degradation, shameless camp and demon-fucking clichés, Overhaul calls you “little girl” 👉👈

He doesn’t look like a demon.

Not that you really know what demons are supposed to look like. But…red skin, right? Fangs and claws and swirling masses of bad energy. Maybe cloven hooves for feet. Yes, that’s the Disney version—but even if you didn’t expect a cartoon personification of evil, you didn’t expect this.

He looks like a doctor, you think. Lab coat hanging open, surgery mask pushed down under his jaw, stethoscope draped over his shoulders. No, he’s a little young to really look like a doctor…an intern, you amend, shifting back in your hospital bed. He looks like he fits right in here, not a hair out of place. Except for, you know, the polished black horns curling out of the sides of his skull.

Overhaul. It was written in the book. That’s the only thing you have to call him in your head.

He’s standing in the center of the sigil you drew at the foot of your bed before midnight, surveying the room critically without meeting your gaze. He looks annoyed—that’s not a good sign, is it?—but then again, of course he’s annoyed. You’d be annoyed too if you got summoned out of your cozy hell dimension in the middle of the night. According to the book, you’re lucky he even showed up…although ‘lucky’ isn’t really how you’d describe yourself most days.

“So,” Overhaul says after a long moment of silence in which you question every choice you’ve made in your relatively short life. “You’re dying.”

You nod.

“And you don’t want to be.”

You nod again, wondering if you’re supposed to be contributing more to this conversation. It’s a bit difficult when your mouth is so dry it feels like you’ve been eating dirt, but you suppose being in the presence of an unholy servant of Satan will do that to a person.

“Fine.” He sighs, frowns, and then finally lowers his gaze onto yours—and you shiver.

Those eyes. No human has eyes like that.

“Make me an offer,” Overhaul tells you, and through his open mouth you catch a flash of sharp white teeth.

Okay. Okay. The chirping of the heart monitor speeds up (as if it weren’t obvious enough that you’re terrified) and you fold your knees up to your chest and fidget with your ring and think. He’s giving you a chance to establish parameters. You’re supposed to start with his end of the deal, the thing you want from him. That’s what it said to do in the grimoire, aka the 19th century demonology volume your creepy cousin brought back from her pagan anthropology research trip in rural France. The one you keep hidden under your bed because your mother would burn it if she knew you were reading about summoning demons.

Offer nothing to a hell creature without first telling him your price. You know the words by heart, both the winding calligraphy of the original French from the grimoire and the rushed scrawl of the English translation your cousin left for you in sheets of lined paper layered between the pages of the book for you to read. Really, this is her fault. She was the one who slipped you the book, who told you that it worked, who snuck you the ingredients for the summoning. She was the one who left a bookmark at the chapter on this particular demon, one that specializes in ‘Contrat pour Remédier au Déséquilibre des Quatre Humeurs’, which she said meant a contract to cure any illness. Even his ‘name’ is translated in her hand, practically an afterthought in the margins of the page.

‘Le Malin qui Ravage et Rebâtit’— Overhaul?

You looked up the literal meaning of this phrase on your own. It did not reassure you.

“Girl.” His voice is cold, irate. Your eyes snap back up to his and it feels like that burning gaze is laser-beaming into your skull. “Do not test me. My time is limited…as is yours.”

You swallow. “How long do I have left?”

“Less than a single human year,” he tells you without a trace of sympathy. “Seven months, twelve days, three hours. Or so. You’ll be too exhausted to leave this bed in four months, and the pain will become intolerable in six… By the end, you’ll wish—“

“Stop,” you breathe out. The heart monitor is beeping wildly and you squeeze your knees into your chest, trying to calm down your breathing. “Stop, I—I want to live.”

“Of course you do.” Overhaul’s lip curls. “How very predictable.”

Be specific, you remind yourself, doing your best to ignore the stifling disapproval from the man—the demon—in front of you. Something about him (maybe how clean-cut he looks, maybe the indisputable authority in his demeanor) makes you want to impress him. But you didn’t turn your back on your religion—you didn’t draw pagan symbols on the floor in chalk, fill silver cups with various questionable substances (including your own virgin blood), and turn the crucifix your mother hung over your bed upside-down so you could let a demon make you feel guilty for wanting to survive. “I want to be cured. I’m okay with whatever natural death I have instead when I’m older, I just don’t want to die of this illness. I want you to make me healthy.”

“Simple enough. What else?”

‘Simple’? Your heart surges with something you’ve felt very little of since your initial diagnosis—hope. “T-That’s it. Just the cure.”

Overhaul glares at you. “Humans… Every vice in the world available to you, and you limit yourselves to the basest priority of survival.”

“But you can do it? You can cure me?” you persist.

Overhaul steps forward (quiet, so quiet you wonder if he really moved) and holds a hand out to you past the foot of your bed—you hesitate, and a second later you can see the muscles in his hand flex, stretching the latex of his plastic gloves tight over his knuckles.

Just do it. You give him your hand. Carefully. Like you’re scared the contact will burn you. It doesn’t (although his skin feels warmer than yours), but after a moment his grip tightens, sliding down past your hand to circle the fragile bones of your wrist and squeeze.

“Ow?” You wince.

The demon’s eyes flicker closed for a second, lips moving silently like he’s talking to himself—and then he drops your hand unceremoniously back onto your lap. “You could be cured before the sun rises this morning. I doubt your stay in the hospital will extend past the end of the week.”

He sounds bored, voice as flat and passionless as it was earlier, but your heart is soaring. Cured. You’ve lived with this illness for so many years, you can’t remember the last time someone told you you could be cured. And getting out of the hospital that soon? You can just imagine taking down all the decorations from the walls of your room here and setting them up in your old bedroom at home. You could see friends on the weekend and not take an oxygen bag, you could get a job or—or apply to college, you could have a life—

“That is…assuming you have something to offer me in exchange for the cure.”

Your stomach drops. You’d almost forgotten about the other half of the deal.

“Don’t tell me I came all this way for nothing.” Overhaul steps back, and the orange light of the candles you set sends strange shadows over his arrogant face. The fires look brighter now, and you find yourself tracing the lines of those shining black horns. In an odd way, they look natural—so organically framing his temples that you can’t imagine him without them.

“N-No, of course not. I have some money—I mean, my mom has some, and I can get it for you…” Which is half the truth. If you know anything, it’s that your mother’s spent most of her savings on your treatment and care. You probably have more debt than you have money in the bank right now—you’d try to get rid of that, too, if you hadn’t read in the book how important it is to keep your request as simple and straightforward as possible.

…Although it’s apparently not enough. Overhaul’s eyes narrow, molten gold irises carved into slits. “Even if I had a use for human money, do you really believe your life is worth so little?”

“No—no,” you say quickly. “I just thought—in case you were interested—”

The air crackles with energy, the candle flames spark bright blood-red, and the hair on your arms stands straight up. “I am not.”

“Okay! I get it.” You wave your hands back and forth, pulling your IV line from side to side with the motion. The book was very clear about staying calm and rational while you work out the terms of the deal, but that’s easier said than done when you have a real live (live?) hell creature in front of you. You always knew this was going to be the hard part—all the stories say there’s only one thing that a demon would be interested in, and no matter how inviting the prospect of living past this illness is, you know you’d rather die than sell your immortal soul to the devil. “I’ll give you anything except my soul! And—and don’t hurt anyone I care about, or— just don’t hurt anyone, okay? Other than that, if there’s anything I can give you, I will.”

Overhaul’s lip curls, baring a thin strip of those unnaturally sharp canines. “And is your soul really so valuable?”

This throws you for a loop. Isn’t that the standard deal? A soul for a wish? That’s how it’s supposed to work—at least in this twisted version of reality where you can summon a demon to perform unholy miracles for you. But if you think about it, it doesn’t really make sense, does it? Why would your soul be valuable to him? You can’t form an argument, especially since you’re not willing to barter it away in the first place.

Your mouth is pursed open as you search for a response, but Overhaul doesn’t seem willing to wait. A gloved hand wraps its way around the railing at the side of your bed, and he leans in closer. “Little girl…what makes you think you possess anything I desire?”

Little girl. You’re not a little girl, you’re a grown woman—and yet there’s no untruth in the statement. In front of him you feel insignificant, immature, weak. You have nothing real to offer, and something tells you that you’re not going to get rid of the demon you summoned without a sacrifice you’re not willing to make.

You twist your ring around your finger—the nervous habit you haven’t bothered to break because you’ve always had more important things to worry about—and the glint of silver in the candlelight must catch Overhaul’s eye because before you even notice him moving, your delicate hand is trapped in his larger one to give him a better view of the tiny piece of jewelry. “What is this?”

“It’s—um, a ring. A purity ring.” Has he never seen one before? Well…actually, that makes sense.

Overhaul turns your hand over in his without touching the band of silver. He’s looking at it closely, inspecting the lovingly engraved cross in the design and the inscription on the other side. “Matthew 5:8,” he reads out.

“…Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God,” you recite cautiously. It feels wrong to speak the words in front of him, but somehow you can’t help yourself.

Overhaul’s hand doesn’t leave yours. “This ring is important to you.”

“It’s a symbol of a—a promise I made to God. To save myself for my future husband.”

“To ‘save yourself’? To save what?”

You can’t believe you’re explaining this to a literal demon. You close your eyes and inhale slowly and taste smoke. “My…virginity. It’s a promise that I won’t have sex until I enter into a biblical marriage.”

At this, Overhaul is quiet. You give him a moment to answer, half expecting him to question why you think God cares about your sexual status (honestly, you’d be lying if you said you haven’t wondered this yourself), but he stays quiet until you peek up at him to try and gauge the look on his coldly handsome face.

He’s still staring at the ring. He hasn’t touched it—maybe he can’t, because of the cross?—and through the latex, his skin feels hotter than a human’s is supposed to be.

“Is there…” you start, but you trail off when you realize you have nothing to ask. You give a little tug to try and take your hand away and you’re surprised when your wrist actually slides out of his grip to fall back on the nest of sheets in your lap. You didn’t think he’d let you go so easily.

Overhaul turns his head to the side, eyes drilling into you so you feel like you should lower your gaze. The candlelight flickers in strange shadows over his horns. “This will do,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“In exchange for your cure.” The demon taps his own left ring finger, the place where the purity ring sits on your hand, and your heart soars. He actually wants that? It’s just a simple silver band, not worth much, but you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe it has some special significance because of the religious connotation. Your mother will be angry you’ve lost it, but you’re happy to cope with that if it means living to actually get married!

“Yes!” you blurt out before he has a chance to rethink his offer. Sure, you’ll miss the purity ring—you’ve had it since you were a kid, after all—but there’s no question you’re getting the better end of this deal. At least in your opinion.

Something flashes through his yellow eyes, something you don’t even want to try and identify. “The contract, then.”

You barely have time to notice that his voice has gentled, that it’s practically silken in comparison to before, when the candlelight flickers again and suddenly the contract is everywhere. Everywhere. Writing appears on every surface in the room, covering the walls, stretching over the ceiling, coiling around the sides of the hospital equipment and decorating your bedsheets until you and Overhaul are the only untouched surfaces in sight. The characters are inscribed in red, dark red like—don’t think about that, you tell yourself squeamishly. You can make out some of the letters, even a word here or there—French, you recognize, mixed with what looks like Latin and interspersed with what you can only guess are runes.

“I can’t read this,” you tell him, fidgeting with your ring for what you now realize will be the last time.

“I only need your name,” he purrs, and then you feel a fragile weight in your hand: a feather, pearl-black and glossy and too large to belong to any bird you can think of, its angled tip glistening with wet ink. There’s an empty space in the writing before you, and Overhaul’s gloved hand comes to yours again to guide you into place.

This feels wrong…then again, of course it does. Even if you’re getting off relatively easy and just losing your ring rather than your soul, you’re still making a deal with a demon. You sign your name, forcing yourself to think about the future you have ahead of you rather than a disapproving white-bearded caricature of The Man Upstairs wagging his finger at you for haggling with a literal servant of Satan. People have done worse things to survive, haven’t they? It’s just a ring.

You set the feather down and Overhaul sighs, thick black eyelashes obscuring his intense gaze for a moment—and then the contract is gone, leaving your hospital room as blank and sterile as it’s supposed to be (well, aside from the candles and all the other ritual stuff you threw together to summon a demon in the first place).

“Are you going to cure—heal me now?” you ask.

“…Patience, little girl.” He’s pulling his glove off, peeling it down his fingers to bare the pale skin of his hand. You catch your breath and wonder what this is going to feel like, and then the tips of his fingers meet your cheek and—

you stop breathing.

It doesn’t hurt.

Or if it does, you don’t remember the pain a second later when breath floods back into your lungs. What you do feel is energy. Strength in your muscles, blood pumping through your veins, every inhale and exhale as light as a bird and freer. You feel healthy. You’re surprised you even remember what health feels like but you do: it’s like you’ve only been half alive, and now life is surging into you and through you and around you, bubbling up in your core like a spring overflowing. You blink rapidly, thinking you might cry from the sheer pleasure of it, but when you open your mouth it’s laughter that comes out. You’re healthy. You’re alive. You barely notice the IV line literally falling off of your skin because the hole where it entered your vein is sealed shut and healed perfectly.

No more needles. No more hospitals. Even without all the monitors beeping out your heart rate and measuring your vitals, there’s not a shred of doubt in your mind that you’re cured.

“Thank you!” you laugh, looking up at Overhaul and for the first time, not caring that he’s evil incarnate. “I feel—I’m okay! It worked!”

“Of course it did.” His expression is inscrutable, but he lets you have a few moments to enjoy your newfound health.

You roll your shoulders back, flex each muscle you can isolate one by one to test, make fists with your fingers and then run them over your hair, which is already thicker and shinier than it was a moment ago. Your body thrums with energy—you want to run, to feel the ground against your bare feet and the cold night air on your face, and you think you could do it! Your legs are already swinging over the side of your cot, ready to run barefoot out of the hospital if that’s what it takes, but before you can stand up Overhaul’s pushing you back down onto the bed.

“Have you forgotten your end of the bargain already?”

Honestly you did forget, but only for a second, only because you were so excited to just be outside again. “Oh, yeah. Of course.” Your hand goes to your left ring finger, ready to slip the ring off and hand it over, but Overhaul shakes his head.

“Not here.”

“What—?”

You’re falling. Your hospital room is disappearing, the image of your walls and your window and your bed disintegrating into yawning black, and you’re falling through it into nothing, into emptiness, and Overhaul’s still-bare hand in yours is the only anchor you have so you clutch onto it and squeeze your eyes shut. You want to scream—that’s the sane thing to do when you’re falling through miles and miles of empty space, right?—but when you open your throat the sound is swallowed up just like the light was…

Overhaul’s hand burns into yours, an improbable lifeline that you pull closer more out of terror than conscious thought. The slick, empty air rushes around you and you think I am going to die like this and then, incredibly, as soon as you’ve accepted your imminent demise, you feel your back mold onto a chilled, flat surface, vertebra by vertebra up to the back of your head, as if you’ve been lain down onto it.

Your heart thuds in your ears and you brace for an impact because your body hasn’t quite accepted yet that it’s not falling anymore—but at the same time, you know you’re lying down on something. You pry your fingers away from their vice-grip on Overhaul’s arm and feel around blindly for what’s underneath you, and when it seems reasonably tangible you let yourself open your eyes.

Way above, vaulted dozens of feet over your head, is a ceiling studded with gilt-edged frescoes and stained glass. It’s raining (even though it wasn’t in the hospital, you think) but through the massive panes of colored glass there’s enough oily blue light to make out that you’re in a church.

You’re in a church, with a demon. Isn’t that against the rules?

You sit up stiffly and look over at Overhaul, who’s standing at your side and looking down at you…which is how you realize the soft, cold surface you’ve been deposited onto is the blanket on top of the altar in the sanctuary. “Where...did you take me?”

“You should know this place.”

And you do, when you look around. It’s empty now and you’ve never been here at night, but this is a church your mother would bring you to when you were little, back before the disease got so bad you couldn’t risk traveling to it anymore. This is where you took your purity vow…the ring feels heavy on your hand. “Why—why—“

“I can’t stand human hospitals. Filthy places… How that reek of illness and death doesn’t bother your kind, I’ll never understand.” Overhaul pulls his latex glove back on. He’s dressed differently now, no longer impersonating a doctor—black shirt, black pants, and a…bird mask in red leather and gold. So are you, as a matter of fact. Instead of your hospital gown, you’re in a gauzy white dress that’s already been pushed up to pool around the tops of your thighs.

The slip is too thin for the cold, and you can feel your nipples standing up under the cloth so you fold your arms over your chest and hug yourself. “Why did you take me here?” The sound of your voice echoes off the walls eerily and you wish you hadn’t spoken so loudly. The reflection of your words sounds girlish, nervous.

“I told you. Your side of our contract.” Even in this dark, the angular features of his face are clearly concentrating—on you. “Are you already having second thoughts? Such a fickle little thing…”

“You mean the ring?” You reach for it again, ready to tear it off and throw it at him if that’s what it takes to see your deal through, but Overhaul snatches your hand away, pinning it above you.

“Not the ring,” he says. “The promise.”

The…promise?

A chill makes its way down your spine despite the heat radiating off the demon’s body and onto yours. “I don’t understand.”

“The promise,” Overhaul repeats—and you hear a sound almost like wings flapping and then he’s on the altar with you, knees straddling your hips as a single hand holds both your wrists above your head. “To remain a virgin until marriage. Your promise to God.”

A streak of lightning cracks down on the other side of the stained glass window behind the altar, illuminating the room briefly in spectacular pits of red and orange and yellow…and then it’s dark again, and the only color you can make out is the gold in Overhaul’s eyes.

“I’m going to break it,” he murmurs, lowering his head toward your ear right as the answering thunder rolls through the sanctuary, up through the altar, up into you.

///

Méfiez-vous de son piège, the grimoire said. Beware of the catch.

Of course it wasn’t just a ring.

Overhaul’s fingers are in—inside you, his middle and ring finger pumping through the length of your cunt like they belong there, like you were made to be touched this way. A mixture of your juices and your own spit cling to the latex because he made you suck his fingers before he put them in you and he hasn’t bothered to take his gloves off—not that you asked. You’ve been too busy biting your lip to try and muffle the moans that he keeps forcing out of you. He’s bracing himself on top of you with one hand and fingering you with the other, so your own hands are free to push into your eyes and hide your face…until he yanks your arm back and stops.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes are screwed shut and you shake your head back and forth, the movement shuddering your whole body right down to your pussy wrapped around Overhaul’s fingers. He slows the movement and kneels back, pushing one of your thighs up into your chest as he does it.

“Look at me.”

And you’re not sure whether it’s some unearthly power he has over you or the plain old deterioration of your willpower, but you can’t refuse him. You crack your eyes open and he’s glaring down at you, skin pale as ice in the blue light. Once he’s satisfied that you’re watching, the demon leans back in to fuck your cunt with his fingers, slowly at first and then quicker when he hits something inside of you—a spot, a place on the inner wall of your pussy that makes you feel like you’ve been shocked— heat blooms through you like blood in water and you gasp and he curls his fingers up to pet over that spot again.

“Wait—wait, that’s—it feels—weird!” You’ve never felt like this before. You’re not supposed to feel like this, it’s wrong.

“I understand you’ve never touched yourself, but don’t pretend you don’t like it.” Overhaul says, voice as indifferent and calm as ever even though your cunt is dripping clear sticky liquid over the plastic of his glove.

He pushes back in and grinds his palm over the little button on the top of your pussy—your clit?—and you want to scream. “No, I—I don’t—nnhh...”

Do you like it? The demon’s body is so hot next to yours, like he’s running a fever except you’re the one going out of your mind… You’ve heard metaphors for sexual pleasure before (that it’s like having something to drink when you’re dying of thirst; or that it’s the ultimate act of intimacy, love in physical form) but all of that’s a fucking lie. There’s nothing to compare it to, no reference that makes sense, because it doesn’t make sense—you don’t even want him to keep going, do you? You’re only doing this because you signed your name on a devil’s contract, because you don’t want to die and there’s no alternative…but that doesn’t explain why you feel so warm from the inside out, why you’re squirming and your hips are rocking involuntarily no matter how much you try to keep still. This isn’t right. You feel like you’ve been lied to.

A good girl wouldn’t like this.

Overhaul isn’t going to let you close your eyes, so you don’t—but the sounds coming out of your mouth are so…indecent (and how can you think these things about yourself? the word feels like someone else is saying it when you hear it in your head) that your hand is drifting up to your mouth before you can stop yourself, trying to stifle all of it…

“Let your voice out. I want you to hear yourself moan.”

Long fingers slide their way out of your pussy and then move up to rub quick little circles around your clit and you moan, like a whore, like a girl getting her cunt rubbed by a demon— “Oh, uhhhn—something, it’s—coming—“ There’s something building up in your core—a peak, a climax, something that makes you fist your hands in the nightgown he put you in (so tight you’re surprised the thin fabric hasn’t torn) and tilt your hips up into him, begging without words because you don’t have any to express what your body is asking for…

But he doesn’t give it to you. Overhaul takes his hand away from your pussy and the shock of the cool air after his too-hot touch is almost enough to send you over that edge—almost. Not quite. And without it, you’re left shivering and quaking, thighs twitching as your baser instincts beg you to just put your hand between your legs for once and hump your fingers to completion if the demon won’t do it.

You’re not going to risk that, though. Not when Overhaul’s dragging your body closer, bunching up the blanket on the altar under your spine, so your pelvis is angled to his… He’s already shirtless and you hear him unzipping his pants but you can’t bring yourself to actually look at him, even when you feel something hard and hot nudging up against your inner thigh and then aligning to your sticky wet slit.

“This will hurt a bit, but I want you to look,” he says, and you don’t even understand at first until you make yourself feel it—his cock, pushing up against your tight cunt to finish this, this perversion of what your first time was supposed to be…

And what was it supposed to be? Roses and candles and soft kisses? A nameless, faceless husband unzipping your wedding dress and making love to you with the lights off? The way the demon touches you should be cruel in comparison but it isn’t, it’s lighting fires under your skin and turning your brains to mush, so how is your body supposed to tell the difference?

It’ll hurt, you know that, you’ve heard enough about sex to know that it always hurts the first time for girls…women. It was already a stretch to fit his fingers in your virgin pussy, so of course his cock is going to hurt. You turn your head toward the window at your side and try on look out at the rain drawing rivulets like veins over the glass, something to focus on instead of him.

“I said look,” the demon hisses, and his hips push forward a bit and you bite off a whimper of pain. “Watch me take your virginity…look at your tight little cunt swallowing me up just like it was made to.”

“N-No—“ you whine, even though it’s not like you can ignore it. “Don’t make me, don’t make me look, I can’t—“

“Then look at me.”

It’s what he wants, some kind of wicked satisfaction he gets off on, but you’re lucky enough to even get an option so you choose that one, shifting your gaze up into his face instead of the place where his cock is pressing deeper and deeper inside you. Overhaul’s eyes are half-lidded and it’s hard to tell from behind the mask but the look on his face is…pleasure? No, that would be too human. Restraint, at least. He could just thrust up into your body in one stroke, but he wants you to feel it for some reason.

Maybe because it’s a worse betrayal of your chastity if you want to get fucked.

Lucky for you, though, you can barely feel anything aside from the pain. The heat you felt building earlier is draining out of you even as Overhaul tilts deeper, layering his chest over yours. You’re almost grateful for the modest barrier the dress provides between your torso and the solid muscle of his abdomen. His cock in your pussy feels like it’s too big too deep too much and it’s the first time you’ve felt like your body wasn’t created specifically for this purpose so you hold it tight.

“Does it hurt?”

A second of clarity makes you want to snarl (of course it fucking hurts, I’m losing my virginity to a demon I summoned from hell) and you dig your fingernails into your palms to stop yourself from saying it out loud. Overhaul pulls out a fraction of an inch and then pushes back in and you feel like the breath’s being pushed out of your lungs. “Yes! Yes, it—it hurts—“

“I can make you enjoy it…for a price,” he sighs, settling into a slow rocking motion of his hips pushing into yours.

And you want to, every sore muscle in your cunt is telling you to give in and give up, give him what he wants so you can enjoy it like he says—but you’d rather hate every second of this than make another deal. You shake your head quickly and because you’re still too afraid to look away from him, you don’t miss the look of surprise that flits across his face before he tamps it down. “I don’t—I don’t want to—like it,” you gasp out between thrusts. “It’s better if—if it h-hurts…”

This time it’s obvious—his eyes really do widen, and you feel some petty triumph at having caught him off guard like this. Who’s predictable now? you think—and then he’s lifting one hand off the altar at the side of your head and tugging his glove off with his teeth, and you don’t even have time to be afraid of what he’s going to do to you because it’s too late, his bare fingers are already stroking over your mound and onto your core, massaging into the flesh of your stomach so he can feel his own cock sliding in and out of you—

and it doesn’t hurt anymore?

You only have a second to try and understand—he cured you, he healed the pain from your first time just like he healed your illness?—before he hooks his grip under your thigh and folds your legs into your chest so he can fuck into you harder than before. His cock slaps into your pussy and you can hear it, hear how wet your filthy little cunt is, smeared through with your juices. It’s sick—the sound of skin against skin, and the moaning you can’t hold back, you sound like a woman in a porno and you wish the pain would come back just so you could keep hating what he’s doing to you. “What—what did you do—“

The demon ignores you. “It feels good, doesn’t it.”

“Nn—“ It’s deeper like this…deeper and rougher and you can feel it. Now that the pain’s been reduced to the dull ache of a stretched muscle, you can feel everything—his cock sliding against that same spot in your cunt that makes you want to squeal, the friction of his body moving against your clit, all of it, everything you wanted to block out— he pumps into you and you hear your breath sobbing out a moan a second out of rhythm, the sounds of you bouncing on demon cock echoing over the walls. “Please—ah, ahhh…”

“‘Please?’ Are you begging—me, little girl?” Overhaul pushes your thigh up and drags his cock through you, excruciatingly slow, forcing you to feel the thick head slide over every gummy wall in your slick pussy.

You shake your head, mewl, try to force your hips to stop rocking back into his and grinding your clit against him. But you can’t. You’re a—you were a virgin, for fuck’s sake! Overhaul’s immortal. Probably thousands of years of experience on how to make you feel like you want this, like you’re only alive in the places he touches you… You’re at his mercy, if he has any. You never stood a chance.

“Then are you begging your god?” His body lowers directly onto yours and like you’re being controlled by puppet strings your arms fold around him and rake your fingernails uselessly into the smooth skin of his back. You can feel the vibration of his mirthless laughter through his chest. “It must hurt terribly…to know he isn’t listening.”

“Don’t—stop, please,” you sob. “Don’t say—don’t stop—please!”

“Listen to yourself, girl—“ Overhaul’s breath is faster now, but you don’t have time to question it because you feel your peak coming again, the tension rising up through your cunt and your abdomen, harsher and crueler than when his fingers were in you but you want it just as much. More. “Has he ever answered your prayers? Has he...ahh, fuck—who’s the one giving you what you need?”

“No— please, please just let me let me, please—“ You’re talking nonsense now, begging for the release—at least then it’ll be over, and you need it, you need it so badly you feel your muscles locking up, cramping, your ankles crossing each other behind Overhaul’s back.

“Good girl,” the demon breathes, and then he lifts off you so he’s kneeling upright with the two of you still connected, his thick, heavy cock still speared in your pussy, and his fingers come down again to rub at your clit. Everything’s so wet you can hear the motion of his fingers slicking themselves through your juices, sliding up and down the little button over and over and it feels so good that a tiny part of you almost wants to drag it out, to savor it, but the rest of your body is going to die, is going to go crazy if the demon doesn’t let you cum right now, right now, right now!

And he does. Praise the Lord. The pads of Overhaul’s fingers pass over your clit one last time and your head rolls back, your throat moves but you can’t even make a sound, your legs shake and you cum.

You didn’t know it was like this.

Your cunt squeezes down on his cock, throbbing and pulsing and your toes literally curl (you didn’t think that was a real thing!) and your vision goes black for a moment and—oh fuck oh fuck i want this i want more how is it possible that i’ve never felt like this—you understand, more intimately than ever, why sex is wrong:

because nothing that makes you feel this good could possibly come without a cost, could it?

///

It must take longer than you thought for you to come back to your senses, because when you regain awareness of your body you’re in your hospital bed. You’re clean, too, and you wonder for a second if Overhaul bothered to clean you up? Or no…he probably just snapped his fingers and transported you back to your room. You’re not really sure how it works.

What you are sure of, however, is that you just got fucked by a demon. You’re sore in places that you didn’t know it was possible to be sore, and there are already bruises forming on the flesh of your thighs from how tight he was holding you. You don’t really have time to inspect these, though, because apparently your…ordeal (if you can call it that) isn’t over.

Overhaul’s still here.

He’s facing the hints of sunrise through the east window, dressed again in the immaculate lab coat and surgeon’s mask. “You’re awake,” he says without looking at you.

You nod hesitantly. You’re not really sure what the protocol is in this situation, but at least you’ve finally held up your side of the contract, right? And so has he. Despite having been up all night doing sinful things, you’re still itching to get out of this bed and test the limits of your healthy body. “You’re…going to leave, right?”

“Yes—”

At that, you sigh in relief and settle back into your starched bedsheets.

“But there’s one more thing you owe me.”

“Goddamnit,” you swear for the very first time in your life. After what you just did, taking the Lord’s name in vain seems like a relatively minor sin.

Overhaul’s mildly irritated expression doesn’t change, but he holds his hand out to you, palm up, the way you imagine someone would if they were helping you out of a car or requesting a dance at an old-fashioned ball. And really, you want all of this to be over—you want to get out of this hospital, you want to taste what the air outside is like, you want to distract yourself from what you just gave up in exchange for a future. At this point you’re just going to have to hope God isn’t as picky about the whole premarital sex thing as you grew up believing.

So you put your hand in Overhaul’s.

Slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid it’ll burn him, he slides your purity ring down your finger and balances it in the palm of his bare hand. It sizzles when he touches it, glowing orange until it eventually burns down into a ash-black circle in the center of his palm. Once he’s satisfied that your pretty little ring has been reduced to nothing more than a scorch mark, he closes his hand around yours and you feel something sharp, painfully hot, etching onto your finger.

It’s over in a second, but you still yelp and yank your hand away from him as soon as he lets you. “Ah—ow, what was that?”

He burned you, he literally burned you! He’s already healed it, but there’s still a thin, pale scar, an intentional one left wrapping around the skin at the base of your left ring finger. Like a wedding ring.

When you look close, you can make out a symbol on the back of your finger where the cross used to sit—and even though your conscious mind doesn’t recognize it, the sight of it rings out something inside your ribcage, deeper and truer than flesh and blood. It’s the devil’s mark, you think. It’s his.

“…A promise,” Overhaul says softly, and even though it’s a chilly morning, you can feel the heat of his hands on yours a long time after he vanishes back into the dark.

[earlgreydream]

slytherin parties.

| draco malfoy x reader | smut |

anon requested.

we party like slytherins here ✨ I’m really putting myself out here with this one

a/n: my blog is a judgement free zone. maid costumes aren’t my thing, but i’m doing this because i love my angel babies. also, i promise this will be draco x reader, just give it a bit

this is super fucking smutty

“You lost the bet, mate. Dress up, princess,” Theo sneered at his best friend.

The group of you were piled in Draco’s private prefect room, playing drinking games. Theo had won against Draco in a round of the game, and now Draco was paying the penalty of it, brutal humiliation.

Theo waved his wand, and Draco was suddenly clad in a slutty maid outfit. Your eyes darkened a bit, finding something inherently arousing about just seeing Draco humiliated. You shifted in your seat, and Pansy smirked at you, reading your mind.

“Y’alright Y/N? You look a little... horny?” Blaise snickered, and Draco shot him a murderous look.

“Fuck off, you don’t talk to her that way,” Draco snapped possessively.

“Be nice, Draco,” you warned, a threat dripping from your tone.

The energy in the room shifted, and Draco’s grey eyes widened slightly.

“You can sit there and quit your whining. You lost, so you get punished.”

Draco swallowed at your words and your tone, and Theo’s face filled with gleeful amusement. This was playing out much more entertaining than he had originally perceived. Everyone was surprised, including Draco, to see you acting dominant like this with him. Although Draco was embarrassed, he was getting aroused from the way you spoke to him, bold enough to do it in front of your friends.

“Truth or dare, Y/N?” Blaise asked you.

“Dare.”

“I dare you to make out with Pansy.”

There was a moment of silence that fell over the group, and you turned to your best friend. You moved to her, a devilish smirk on her face.

“Come here, baby,” she said sweetly, and you straddled her lap, your arms going around her neck. The quiet from all the boys was deafening, and Draco’s eyes were wide with anticipation.

You leaned in, and Pansy closed the gap, kissing you. Her lips were full and soft, and she kissed you deeply. You could feel the boys’ gazes boring into you, and the two of you decided to put on a little show for them.

You parted your lips, and Pansy slipped her tongue into your mouth. The two of you were moaning and frenching, her delicate hands gripping your ass and sliding under your skirt.

“Holy fuck,” Theo murmured, watching the two of you make out pornographically in front of them.

Draco was overwhelmed, so hard it was hurting. The sight of Pansy making you moan like that was making his head spin, and he needed to relieve the pressure so bad.

“Hand me a shot, Theo,” Pansy commanded, breaking your kiss.

The stunned brunet did as he was told, and she slid her hands up the front of your body, palming your chest before pushing you to lay on your back on the floor in front of her.

All of you were already slightly buzzed, the sensuality of the events unfolding only adding to it. You looked up at Pansy, painfully aware of your throbbing cunt. She was aware too, and likely everyone in the room. 

The boys couldn’t tear their eyes away from the two of you, and you were even more aroused by the knowledge of them watching. 

“You’re going to be my good girl, aren’t you?” Pansy asked, tracing her fingertips up your thighs, dipping under your skirt.

“Yes, Pansy. I’m your good girl,” you breathed, playing along. She smiled at that, the shot still in her other hand.

The two of you had already fulfilled your dare, and now it was just sick, erotic pleasure. Her knee was between your thighs as she leaned over you, her eyes slowly dragging over your body shamelessly. 

“Open your mouth, sweet girl,” Pansy instructed provocatively, and your lips parted in obedience. The boys watched, the anticipation nearly eating them alive. Blaise and Theo had nearly forgotten Draco in his slutty outfit, ashamed and aroused to their left.

Pansy tipped her head back as she took the shot, though she didn’t swallow. She bent over you, spitting the shot into your open mouth. “Swallow.”

The alcohol burned your throat going down, and your head was spinning from the taste of firewhiskey, and the taste of her. You were soaked, the heat between your legs spreading and making you desperate. 

“Go ahead and touch yourselves,” Pansy offered the boys permission to relieve them, and you looked over at them, and they were past the point of shyness. 

“Not you. You keep your hands off and just fucking watch,” you snapped at Draco, a strangled whimper of desperation leaving the blonde. 

Blaise and Theo stroked their cocks, their breathing becoming louder as they watched Pansy feel you up, playing with your tits and making you squirm beneath her. She pulled off her short dress, standing up off of you and tossing her thong off with it. 

“I’ll play with them. You deal with your fucking brat,” Pansy told you, going to sit by Blaise and Theo, nodding at Draco. You tossed aside your own dress, leaving you in a deep green set that made Draco audibly moan at the sight. You glanced at Pansy for encouragement, and she nodded, parting her thighs so that Theo could play with her dripping pussy. 

“Look at you, watching us get off while you humiliate yourself, dressed up like a little bitch,” you mocked Draco, gaining confidence from being watched. Draco’s stunned gaze was wide, taking in your words and the sight of your mostly-nude body. You muttered a spell, and the fabric covering him disappeared, leaving him bare in front of you.

“Hand me your tie. Now!” You ordered, and he obeyed.

You bound his wrists together so he couldn’t touch himself, or you, even if he wanted to. The contrast of you and Pansy being so sweet, to degrading your boyfriend was jarring, and Draco didn’t object. He was hard and bright red with need, and you teased him by licking his tip, a broken cry tumbling from his lips as you lapped up the pre-cum. 

When you sat back up, Draco was nearly crying from need, unable to bear being teased and toyed with. 

“Look at you, all pathetic and crying because I won’t let you come,” you frowned. You grabbed his jaw and made him look at his friends across from you, and you forced him to watch Theo come all over Pansy’s tits as she pulled her mouth off of him. Blaise was buried in her cunt from behind, both of them getting off with moans of ecstasy.

“That’s only the first time that they get to orgasm. Maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll let you come too,” You whispered in his ear, licking a stripe up his neck and making him shudder. 

“If you want to come, you have to work for it,” Pansy chimed in, helping you lead. 

“Please,” Draco pleaded, kneeling before you, pulling weakly at the bounds. 

You laid him down in front of your friends, who were still going at it. Pansy was on Blaise’s lap, bouncing on him while Theo’s lips smeared against hers before they turned to watch you with Draco. 

“Help her,” Pansy instructed, and Theo moved to where you stood, hooking his fingers in your panties, dragging them down your legs to reveal your soaked pussy. You shivered slightly as the cold air hit you, and Theo smirked. He unclasped your bra, and Draco watched as Theo tugged at your nipples, making them harden under his touch. You moaned softly, leaning back against the much taller boy, keeping your eyes trained on Draco as Theo touched you. You turned and kissed him roughly before pushing him back to Pansy, who praised him sweetly, telling him what a good job he did with you. 

You climbed over Draco, your knees on either side of his head as you hovered above him. You lowered down, sitting on his face. Draco was desperate, and he began eating you out. His tongue slipped between your folds, teasing your clit and licking the sensitive nerves. You rocked your hips lightly against his face as his tongue pushed past your tight ring of muscle, your arousal dripping down his face. 

The other three watched every movement, taking in every pleasured moan that you released. You tangled your fingers into Draco’s blonde locks, pulling his hair fiercely. His moan sent vibrations through your slick heat, and you screamed as his nose brushed your clit, fucking you with his tongue. 

“Desperate slut, eating my pussy in front of your friends like a dirty slut,” you sneered, and rocking your hips down, forcing him deeper inside of you. 

Your orgasm hit you like a train, pleasure washing over your body in violent waves. Your screams echoed off of the dark walls, mixing with Blaise, Theo, and Pansy’s moans. Draco lapped up your come like a starved man, helping you ride out your orgasm as long as possible. 

Your thighs were trembling as you climbed off of him, and Draco’s chest heaved, his eyes blown out with lust. His cock was red and angry, begging for attention. You were filled with a sweet, sick sense of dominance from making Draco a ruined mess. It spread a heat through your body, and Pansy grinned, looking pleased with you. 

“Good job, darling,” she hummed, kissing your shoulder, her naked body pressed against your own. 

“Please let me come,” Draco begged, and you smirked.

“Should I? Or should we play with our toy a little more?” You asked, snapping your fingers to free the ties on Draco’s wrists.

“I want to have a little fun with him.” Theo said, and you nodded.

“Be my guest.”

“I want to know what you taste like.” 

He pulled Draco to sit up, and he was obedient and pliant with Theo, wanting to be good so he could get off like the rest of you. Being dominated was incredibly hot, and Draco was basking in it, not objecting in the least bit. A sick part of him enjoyed the humiliation and being used for your pleasure, all on display for his friends.

Theo kissed Draco, pulling the boy close. Draco moaned into his mouth, Theo swallowing the noises as he tasted you on Draco’s tongue. His large hand wrapped around Draco’s throat, squeezing lightly, the sight turning you all on. It was filthy, erotic, and primal, sending you into a deeper state of arousal. 

You leaned back against Pansy’s chest, and her and Blaise’s long fingers dipped into your hole, stretching you out so you could finally give Draco what he wanted. You were moaning and writhing on Pansy’s chest as Blaise scissored his fingers, prepping you. Pansy was playing with your nipples, tweaking and pinching them with her sharp black nails, whispering praises and affirmations into your ear as you watched Draco and Theo make out, Draco stroking the brunet’s cock. 

When Theo finally let you at him, Draco was delirious with need. 

“I know, I’m going to get you off now,” you hushed him. Pansy knelt behind him, placing his head in her lap. Blaise took Draco’s place with Theo, and you got back on top of your boyfriend. 

You slowly sank down onto his cock, taking him inside of you. Draco screamed from all the pent-up sexual frustration, and Pansy scratched her nails lightly over his pale chest, making him twitch and snap his hips up into you. 

You rolled your hips as you bounced up and down, riding him and finally getting him off. You leaned forward, connecting your lips with Pansy’s again, moaning as you tasted the other boys’ come on her tongue. Draco thrusted upward roughly, meeting you as you dropped down onto him, the force blowing your mind. It didn’t last long with how much you had been dragging out the teasing. 

Draco came inside of you with a guttural scream, filling you up and making your eyes roll back, Pansy’s kiss muffling the deep groan from your chest. You were weak from the violent, aggressive, experimental sex the five of you had indulged in, your minds all fuzzy with pleasure. You took a few minutes to catch your breath, a hazy quiet falling over the five of you.

You eventually made your way to the deep tub in the floor, cleaning up in the large prefect bath together. You kissed Draco sweetly, and he kissed you back, letting you know that he wasn’t mad about the night’s events. 

“Did I complete your dare, Theo?” you asked, and Pansy leaned her head on your shoulder above the water, giggling. 

“I don’t know. Maybe we should try again sometime,” he answered, the five of you laughing. 

[officialcharactersimp]

Mending & Amends

(Graduation Gift Part 4)

Summary: the fourth installment of my graduation gift series (can be found on my masterlist). This picks up literally seconds after the end of pt 3 with Natasha trying to find ways to make amends and get you to trust her again. No smut, but still not appropriate.

A/N: author’s note WC: 3k (holy heck)

CW: dark fic; mommy!nat; there is no porn, I repeat no porn; but there is mommy milk/breastfeeding; reader is injured; dubcon existence; 18+ only, do you hear me??

While you’re out, Natasha has time to tend to your injuries without you cowering and crying. Without all the guilt.

She picks your limp form up gently and brings you back out to the basement proper and lays you face-down on the bed-crib. She goes to get some medical supplies and cleans you up, then bandages the open bits and rubs some healing salve all over you. With only a few strikes having landed on your core, she’s satisfied with rubbing some of the salve there.

She gets you to drink some water from a bottle in your sleep, your natural instincts she’s been nurturing taking over. She checks your temperature, a solid 99, which isn’t too bad. She wipes the sweat and tear-tracks from your face, then brushes your hair out again. She lays down beside you and drapes an arm over your waist, burying her face into the back of your neck as she tries to think of what she’ll do when you wake up.

An idea forms slowly as she runs her hand along your waist. Yes, that will work. You might not like it at first, but it will work if she bears through it. She’s not sure how much of the fear and pain on your face she can handle, but she needs to.

She moves you off the bed to make it up nice, then sets you down gently, face down. Whenever you’re healed up you’ll be able to lay on your back, but right now that’s not possible. She ties your hands and feet to frame corners with plenty of slack—she wants you to be able to move.

Finally, she reluctantly removes your collar, biting her lip as she does so. It looked so precious on you, a symbol of the progress of your relationship. All gone now, thanks to her paranoia and overreaction. As much as she doesn’t want to remove it, it’s not right to keep it on if it speaks a lie.

Then she waits for you to come to. It shouldn’t be much longer now, maybe another half hour or so. She sits in the rocking chair in the corner, anxiously bouncing her leg. She needs to get herself under control before you wake. She knows her little baby needs for her to be the collected, caring, soothing mommy right now, and that you will for some time.

You mumble a little as you begin to stir, picking your head up a little. She takes a deep breath and smiles before going over and crouching down to look at your face while she gently tucks your hair back.

“Hey baby,” she says softly. “How’s my little sleepyhead feeling?” she asks. You whimper and inch away from her.

“D-don’ touch me,” you stammer.

“It’s okay baby, mommy isn’t gonna hurt you,” she says.

She sits down beside you. “I am so so sorry about what I did earlier. I was scared you were gonna try to leave me and get hurt. It’s a nasty drop from that window. But I didn’t take the time to think past my initial reaction or ask you, and that was wrong. I overreacted out of fear and anger without stopping to think, and I’m so sorry, little one. I never should have done that,” she says, tears brimming in her eyes. You turn your head to look up at her, eyes searching hers for any sign of ingenuity. You find only regret and sadness.

“You mean it?” you ask softly.

“Yes baby,” she says. “And mommy promises never to punish you without talking first or before taking some deep breaths, okay?” she says.

“Pinky promise?” you ask.

“Pinky promise,” she sticks out her pinky to hook with yours. She’s thrilled that you’re already starting to be a bit little again. As you move to interlock with her, you notice the restraints.

“Wait, what?” all traces of your headspace are gone as you jerk up to look around at your tied limbs. “What the hell?”

“Baby, it’s to keep you safe. See? They’re not tight or anything,” she tugs on all the loose rope.

“This is insane! All of this is insane!” you shout at her for the first time in weeks. It breaks her heart even more.

“I told you, mommy’s gonna fix what she did. Mommy’s gonna show you you can trust me again, gonna take care of you, of everything. Make it so this collar means something again,” she taps it on the bedside table, just out of your reach. You bury your face in your pillow and sob.

“It’s gonna be okay, baby. Mommy’s here. Mommy’s gonna make it all better,” she curls up beside you and puts an arm over you again. Despite how upset you are, you lean into it, wanting the physical comfort you associate with her.

“How’s your bottom?” she asks.

“Hurts,” you mumble.

“Do you think some Advil might help?” she asks. You nod and she gets up briefly to go get it. “Here you go, baby,” you tilt your head up and she puts the pills in, then grabs your bottle of water. You roll your eyes but suck on it to get the water to wash the pills down. You nod a thank you.

“Are you hungry?” she asks. You nod. “What do you want? I’ll even go drive through somewhere if that will help,” she says. You think for a moment.

“McDonalds?” you ask hopefully. She nods and smooths your hair back.

“McDonalds will be here soon,” she assures you. “Mommy has to go see a friend, too, so it works out. I’ll be back in half an hour or so, okay?” she says. You nod.

She kisses your head, which you recoil from, and leaves. You’re left alone to lay face-down on the crib-bed, restrained and in pain, until she returns. It’s silent. It’s lonely. You’ve grown used to either having Natasha or the sounds of the TV running since you came down here.

You think back to this morning. Everything was so different. You honestly trusted her this morning, even if it wasn’t the strongest trust. But this afternoon reminded you that she was an unstable, dangerous, paranoid lunatic. And it scared you.

Truth be told, you’ve grown to like being “little,” as Natasha calls it, letting yourself stop thinking too much and trust your mommy—Natasha, you correct yourself—to take care of you. You liked playing with her and cuddling. And when she touched you, it felt so good. So much better than when you had touched yourself. You felt loved and cared for in some twisted way.

But that was all in the past, now. You’d been doing so well, both of you, and now this. How does she expect you to trust her again? You’re not sure. You turn your head and close your eyes.

—

“You’re sure this will work, Wan?” Natasha asks her friend anxiously as she pulls her shirt back on. The red glow around her is fading. Her bra feels painfully tight and she winces.

“I’m positive. It worked for me, and especially given that you told me it’s happened before with those meds. If not tonight, by tomorrow for sure. And here’s these,” she hands Natasha a package. “They’ll be much more comfortable.”

“Thanks, Wanda. I don’t know what I’d do without you, in all honesty,” she says. Wanda smiles and hugs her.

“I could say the same to you,” she smiles. “Go on, get back to your little one,” she shoos her playfully. Natasha waves and leaves, then drives by McDonalds as promised. She’s back in a little over half an hour to see you dozing. It warms her heart to see her precious baby sleeping.

“Come on, little one, mommy brought your food,” she says, shaking you gently. You open your eyes and push yourself up off of the bed some. “Let’s get you comfy,” she helps you find a position that isn’t too uncomfortable for your aching rear, then hands you your food. “What do we say?” she asks.

“Thank you,” you say with a french fry in your mouth. She smiles. The mommy will come back later. She won’t push it for tonight.

“Do you wanna watch some cartoons?” she asks. They always engross you and help you into your littlespace. You nod and she flicks through the TV until she finds one she knows you like.

You both eat in relative silence, watching the TV. At least you’re not trying to cower anymore. That’s good, right? Progress? She hopes so.

“I’m gonna use the potty,” she tells you, then gets up. You don’t notice her bring the package with her as does.

When she returns, you notice something different about her, but you can’t tell what. It’s a small difference, then. Maybe she just fixed her hair. She’s smiling though.

You’re finished with your food soon enough, and the show ends shortly after.

“Let’s get you in the bath now baby, hm?” she suggests. You feel gross anyways, so you nod. She unties you and scoops you up in her arms.

“Let me down!” you squirm.

“Hush now, like mommy told you, I’m gonna take care of everything. Gonna show you you can trust me again,” she says. You squirm all the way to the bathroom anyways. She sets you down on the toilet facing the wall, almost straddling it.

“Huh?” you ask.

“It’s less pressure on your little bottom,” she explains. You nod and use the toilet while she gets the tub ready, but when you go to get some toilet paper, Natasha beats you to it. “I’ve got it, baby,” she says, wiping your tender area gently. You wince and try to get away from her.

“Stop it, I’m not a baby!” you try to grab her hand and move it, but she stays still, unmoving.

“Come on, little one. I know you’re in there. I know you want to let mommy take care of you,” she says. You shake your head. “Baby, this is about me proving to you that you can trust me to take care of you,” her voice is even. “I want you to choose to let me prove it to you. That’s why I haven’t given you any of the medicine I used to. But that doesn’t mean I won’t. I’ll do whatever it takes to get you to believe how much I care about you again,” she says.

“But—“ you don’t know what you were planning on saying. “But I wanna do it myself. I can do it myself,” your voice is quiet as you lose your grip on her wrist, barely audible.

“That’s the thing, precious,” she steps closer to you, finishing her task and then using her other hand to pet your head. “I know you can do it. But you don’t have to. That’s why I’m here,” she says. You groan and lean forward on the toilet tank. “Come on, you’ll feel better when you’re clean,” she picks you up and sets you in the tub, then flushes the toilet.

You sigh and let her bathe you. Your body is too sore from getting dragged and caned to wash yourself that effectively anyways. When she gets to your most sensitive areas though, you squirm away from her and reach for the soap.

“It’s too sore. I wanna wash it myself,” you say quietly.

“I’m gonna be so careful, you won’t even notice,” she gently moved your hand away and got the soap again. Tears brimmed in your eyes and your bottom lip started to form a pout. “No, baby, don’t cry,” she gasps, petting your cheek. “Tell mommy what’s going on,” she says.

“I’m scared,” you say. “I don’t want you to touch it because you hurt me,” you say. Her heart breaks again.

“Okay, sweetie, how about this: we can do it together,” she takes your hand and puts it over hers, then begins to wash you gentler than ever. Your breathing hitches and your heart kicks up, but it’s over before it can go into full-blown panic.

“All done. You did such a good job, little one,” she praises you. “Ready to get out, or do you want to play in the water some?” she asks.

“Ready to get out,” you say. She picks you up out of the bath and dries you off with a soft towel before taking you out to the bed. She pulls on a soft shirt, leaving your bottom half uncovered so as not to irritate it. She changes into the spare pjs she keeps down here and crawls into bed beside you. You don’t welcome or recoil from her touch, which she’ll take as progress.

Her chest is still dully aching, but she knows she’s pushed you far enough for tonight. Maybe tomorrow she’ll be able to coax you into it.

—

When day comes again, Natasha is treating you the way she did when she first brought you down here, only with gentleness and tenderness where there was hardness and strictness before. The lack of the sedative drugs in your system makes it more difficult, but she’s able to maneuver your squirming form through the daily ritual of getting up, using the toilet, getting dressed, brushing your hair and teeth, and finally breakfast. Whenever she can, she has you laying on your stomach on the bed, and this is one thing you don’t protest.

You notice her shifting in discomfort the whole morning though, and despite how much you dislike her at the moment, you hate to see her in pain. You work up the courage to ask after a while of watching cartoons.

“Are you hurt?” you ask.

“I… well, I have a side effect from a treatment I had done that’s causing me discomfort,” she admits.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “That sucks.”

“There’s a way you can help me,” she says, sounding more timid than you’ve heard her maybe ever before.

“What is it?” you ask. To your confusion, she started to unbutton her shirt, and then she unclips her bra, but from the top? What?

“Huh?” you blurt out.

“I’m lactating,” she says simply, squeezing her nipple a little, causing a drop of what can only be breast milk to come of it.

“I—what do you want me to do about it?” you ask, dumbfounded.

“They hurt because they’re too full,” she explains. “And it would be really helpful if you would, well… empty them. I don’t have a breast pump, of course,” she says.

“Wait, like, you want me to—to drink your milk?” you’re turning bright red. Even after everything you’ve done with her, you’re almost unbearably embarrassed.

“Yes, baby, it would really help me, plus I think that you’ll like it. And it could help us…feel closer,” she chooses her words carefully, gauging your reaction.

“It’s kinda weirding me out,” you say honestly.

“Just try it, please, baby? It’ll help me feel so much better. And I promise, if you hate it after a little while then I’ll get a pump,” she crosses her fingers behind her back.

“I… okay,” you say. This whole situation is so absurd you can hardly bother trying to resist it. She smiles and adjusts the both of you to where you can reach her breast.

It’s not like you haven’t had her tits in your mouth before. You’re not sure why you’re so nervous right now. Natasha gently puts a hand on the back of your head and pushes you a little closer. You wrap your mouth around her nipple hesitantly, unsure of what to do.

“It’s like your bottle, sweetheart,” she senses your confusion. You tentatively begin sucking, and you’re surprised by the flow of milk into your mouth. You jerk back, but Natasha keeps your head in place, groaning in relief.

When the initial shock wears off, you realize she was right—you do like it. It’s warm and sweet, and the sucking action soothes you. You relax a little.

“That’s a good baby for mommy,” Natasha says gently, stroking your head with her thumb on the hand supporting you. “Do you like mommy’s milkies?” she asks. You nod, slipping into littlespace quickly as you drink from her. “Is it yummy?” she asks out of her own curiosity. You nod, not wanting to stop to answer. She chuckles. “It’s all yours, little one.”

She moves you to her other breast when you’ve finished, looking down and noticing that her other one is indeed smaller, and it certainly feels better now. You clutch at her gently to get a good angle, and her heart swells. She’s so glad this worked, but then again, Wanda’s advice has yet to fail her, so she shouldn’t be surprised.

When you finish, your eyelids are droopy and you nuzzle into her willingly, a rarity even before she fucked everything up. She pets you gently.

“Sleepy, little one?” she asks you softly. You nod. “Want a nap?” she asks. You nod again. Between your body being exhausted already and the soothing effects of her milk, she’s not surprised you’re already tired even though you’ve only been awake for a few hours. “Let mommy check your bottom, okay?” she turns you on your tummy. You’re healing nicely. “Do you want a blankie? I think it won’t hurt,” she says. You nod and she covers you with a blanket.

“Mommy stay,” you say when she gets up. And how is she supposed to argue with that? The answer is, she isn’t, so after she turns the lights off, he curls up next to you and holds you close.

“Mommy’s here, little one,” she assures you, finding your favorite stuffie and handing it to you. “Mommy will always be here, don’t you worry.”

[dinogoofy]

Day 2- Treat.

I'm calling it this is my favorite one so far. Liu Kang in this one is heavily inspire by his 1995 version.

Pairings: Liu Kang/GN!Reader (Romantic,)

Warnings: gross French kissing.

Word count: 843

.

.

The crisp Autumn air was the perfect weather for meditation. Not too hot, not too chilly, just completely and utterly perfect and without distraction. Or at least, that's what it would be. Liu found it very hard to block everything out with you nearby, but he was thankful that you were trying to be quiet so that he could focus.

Meanwhile, you weren't really trying to keep quiet. Well, maybe at first you were, but you, unfortunately, were starting to get a little restless. You had spent who knows how long admiring the man next to you, and as much as you loved the sight of the sweet monk, you were starting to get hungry.

Suddenly, you remember the candy you had packed in your bag earlier, and almost deviously, you smiled. Silently reaching for the bag, you tried your best to not interrupt Liu Kang's meditation. Not yet anyway. The bag of candy crinkled a little when you took it out, and you froze for a second to make sure Liu Kang hadn't noticed. Or if he did notice, that he couldn't tell what delicacies were inside. After a moment or two of Liu Kang remaining in deep meditation, you popped the plastic bag open with a horrible little smile on your face.

Liu Kang immediately calls your name, and you almost flinch in surprise. "Is that candied fruit?"

"Noooo?" You whisper, lifting a piece into your mouth. Liu Kang chuckles, a sound that makes you blush heavily, and he cracks an eye open at you.

"You're sure?" You giggle in a mischievous way and hum in response, mouth still full of candy. Liu Kang fully opens his eyes now, just to roll them at you. He reaches across you to sneak his own hand onto the bag, but you're quicker than that. 

Liu Kang smirks at you, laughing a bit more as you rip the bag away from him and keep it behind you, shaking your head at the man.

"Nope! All mine. You're supposed to be meditating, remember?" Kiu Kang smirks at you in a way that makes your legs feel a little weak, and suddenly he's lunging for the candied fruit again. Again, you manage to be faster than him. Liu Kang ends up on top of you, trying to reach around you to get the fruit from where you hid it under your back. The both of you are giggling like mad, and it's a wonder Raiden hasn't passed by to scold you yet.

"No! -you can't have any-" You say, trying desperately not to choke on the candy in your mouth as you giggle. Liu Kang stops the assault for just a moment, his strong arms on either side of you. For some reason, he looks at you in… in some kind of way. You feel butterflies in your stomach, and your face flushes a deeper red when you realize the position the two of you are in. 

"So there's no way you're letting me get to that bag, huh?" You smile again, shaking your head. One of Liu Kang's hands comes up to push some stray hairs out of your face, and you almost freeze. He leans in slowly, before pressing his lips to your own. You kiss him back after a moment of flustered shock. His mouth moves against yours slowly, and you wonder how he learned to kiss so well. You run a free hand through his hair, the other still behind you with the candy bag that had been completely forgotten.

His tongue laps at your bottom lip, and you gingerly open your mouth for your tongue to meet his own. You feel like you're going to pass out. Liu Kang runs a hand up your side, and his tongue brushes across the sweet candy in your mouth. Before you know it, he's pulling away, smirking at your flustered self beneath him. 

"I… uhm…" You can't seem to figure out what to say, and as you brush your wrist across your mouth to wipe the spit, you feel something missing in your mouth.

"LIU!! That's so gross!" You shout, punching him in the chest. He pretends to be hurt, clutching a hand to his chest and rolling over on his back next to you, a shit eating grin on his face the whole time as he savors the candy.

"I was going to get a piece one way or another." You guffaw at his cheeky words, and roll over, straddling him just so you could hit him in the chest again. He laughs again in a happy, giddy way, and you can't help but smile and roll your eyes. You lean down to kiss him again, and again, getting insanely flustered at the feeling of one of his hands sliding up your thigh. A crinkle of the bag pulls you away from him to see his sneaky hands trying to grab the bag from where you had left it on the ground, and he grimaces, knowing he was caught.

"Oh no you don't!"

[lubdubsworld]

Change of Heart ( Taehyung ) ( Complete.

Chapter 1   Chapter 2    Chapter 3     Chapter 4     Chapter 5   Chapter 6  Chapter 7   Chapter 8    Chapter 9

Summary : Times are changing. After years of being oppressed, werewolves are taking a stand against humans , demanding equal rights and fair treatment. Heading the movement is Kim Taehyung, the breathtaking heir to the Kim fortune and one of the few remaining Alpha werewolves in the country. His disdain for the human race is well known and well warranted. They killed his family after all….. He wants to change the world , to put humans in their place but when his five year old daughter takes a shine to their very human neighbor , maybe he has to start with a change of heart , first.

: Pairing : Taehyung x OC / Werewolf AU!!

Genre : Romance, Explicit Content

Chapter 10

“Baby....you up?” Taehyung sleep heavy voice against my ear made me stir, blinking groggily as I tried to make sense of where I was. The window was still dark and I groaned. 

“What time is it?” I whispered and I felt the press of his lips against my shoulder, gentle and wet. 

“It’s a little past five in the morning.”

I whined in disbelief.

“Why would you wake me up so early?” 

I could barely see him in the darkness and I felt my breath catch when he moved to straddle my hips, hovering over me before grabbing the back of my thighs, spreading my legs apart and leaning down till the head of his cock pressed right up against my entrance. I felt myself clenching in anticipation and my body thrummed with the need to be filled, although I was still so sore from last night. 

“I’m sorry.... I need to head out but i wanted to...” Taehyung whispered, and I moaned when he kissed me  lightly, groaning when he slid right in, cleaving a way inside me, my walls pulsing around the hard length of. I flinched, the dull ache of it making me whimper a little and it took some effort to ground myself, to relax and not seize up against the intrusion. I could feel my heartrate speeding up, the last vestiges of sleep fading into the air. 

Taehyung, pressed gentle fingers to my waist, stroking my skin before running them up my torso, soft little touches to my ribs and up to my breasts, cupping the warm weight of them before rubbing his thumb over the tip till my nipples hardened. 

“So pretty...like this...” He whispered, pulling out and pushing back in and the movement jarred my insides , drawing a pout onto my lips. 

“you’re too big..” I complained and he responded by moving his hands to my knees, gripping the back of them and drawing them up and apart till I choked, spreading me so wide that my thighs screamed in protest, and he laughed at the look on my face .

“We should join a yoga class or something. Your flexibility is atrocious.” He commented mildly and I gasped, affronted. 

“What on earth-” He cut me off with a kiss, before grabbing my ankle and throwing my leg over his shoulder and pressing in closer, his cock sliding in even deeper. I choked out, laughing in sheer disbelief because I wasn’t made to bend like that. Nobody was. I was sure of it. 

“You’ll get used to it...” Taehyung laughed, “ Get used to me... Get used to my kisses and of course get used to my fat cock in you every damn night. ” he growled and the filthy words made me clench down on him, so hard that i almost cramped up. 

He kissed me slowly and I wrapped one arm around his neck, trying to breathe through the stretch of him fucking into me, each push and pull abrasive but amazing. . 

I stared at his beautiful face, trying to drink in the features, and I felt myself fall deeper, the look of affection in his gaze somehow so much more arousing than the things he was doing to me. And i realized how badly I wanted this...This and him for the rest of my life. 

And in the wake of it came the reminder that +my father was out there. 

A powerful man. 

A dangerous man who wanted Taehyung gone.

“Are you going to be in danger?” I whispered, pressing my palm against his face and he chuckled. He lightly grabbed my wrist and pressed a kiss to my palm before bringing my hand down to his shoulder and kissing me gently. 

“I always am.” He reminded me , lips brushing mine . It was far from reassuring and I gripped his shoulders harder, trying not to let the anxiety take over. 

“But you’ll be safe, right?” I demanded, willing him to look me in the eye and Taehyung gave me a soft smile.

“Would you miss me terribly if I was gone?” He grinned and I felt my entire body go ice cold at the very prospect of it , my lips parting and my mouth going sandpaper dry.  Taehyung’s smile faded at once, his arms tightening around me. 

“Hey...hey... I was just joking...baby. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have joked about that. Rae, I’m going to be fine... Look at me. ” He whispered urgently and I curled my fingers into his shoulders, trying to breathe. 

“Hey...Come on, Rae.. Don’t look so scared. ..” He pressed kisses to my cheeks and I swallowed.

“Don’t underestimate my father. Tae....“ I said hoarsely.” He has so much more to lose than you do. He’s desperate and I don’t want you to be blindsided by anything. “ I whispered. 

He nodded.

“i know. i won’t. Now come on, let me make you feel good, yeah?” He kissed me again and I hugged him. He picked up the pace, thrusting into me faster and I closed my eyes, gripping his waist and hanging on as he sent my senses into overdrive. 

My mind was still too worried to experience any sort of overwhelming pleasure but I liked this. 

Liked having him like this, over me, inside me and wrapped all around me,. 

It meant he was safe. At least for this moment, he was here and he was safe. 

I felt the moment his orgasm hit him, warm wetness spilling into me and I closed my eyes at the sensation, blushing for some reason.

This time i felt him swelling inside me again and I froze, panic starting before I could stop it and he hugged me closer, lips pressing soothing kisses as he stroked my skin, gently soothing. 

“it’s okay baby... You’re mine... You were made for me. it won’t hurt... I promise.” He whispered, holding me closer, and I swallowed, bracing myself . 

“Oh, God, Taehyung... “ I whispered, burying my face into his shoulder as he pressed in a little deeper and he was right. It didn’t hurt, it felt overwhelming, like it was too much and like I was going to absolutely explode but it didn’t hurt. ....

Taehyung trembled a little, as he tried not to move, his knot lodging itself deep inside me, so deep that the smallest movement sent pin pricks of sensation all over my body. It didn’t even feel weird or animalistic anymore I thought , awed. it felt normal. Felt like us. Him and I locked together. Felt natural.  Or maybe the early morning grogginess was making me mellow. Maybe once i had my head on straight, I’d be more terrified. 

He groaned into my shoulders, body going lax on top of me and I choked a little because he was heavy, but there was a dull throbbing pleasure in it, the weight of him grounding me. 

I stared up at the ceiling, stroking the back of his head as he shuddered a little inside me. 

Time seemed endless as he stayed inside me and I felt my eyelids growing heavy, even as I heard his breathing even out.

Wasn’t he supposed to leave? 

But I couldn’t bring myself to wake him up. 

For a few more minutes, I stayed still, watching the windows grow lighter and as the first rays of the morning sun began spilling into the room, I felt sleep take over. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I won’t be going in at all. The Narcotic department is going to handle the whole thing. You know Namjoon and Seokjin right? They’re the one who’re going to be there and they’re going to make sure things go smoot. I’m going to be safe ...in the comfort of my luxurious office .... “ Taehyung’s voice  sounded completely steady and firm through the phone and i willed myself to trust him. 

Luna sat in my lap, happily sketching on a drawing pad as we sat cross legged in front of the huge French Windows in Jungkook’s apartment. Jungkook himself was in the kitchen, whipping up some milkshakes for us. 

I sighed deeply.

“ Can we come over today then? It ends today right?” I asked urgently. I buried my nose in Luna’s hair and the sweet scent of green apple and strawberries made me melt. She turned around to flash me a wide grin, eyes dancing with happiness. 

Taehyung didn’t respond for a few seconds. When he did, his voice was low and soothing. 

“I’m not sure Rae. These men, they aren’t the kind of people I can take lightly. There are going to be repercussions and I don’t want anything to happen to you or Luna. You’re safe there. Jungkook’s going to stay with you till I come get you and I’ve hired enough men to keep watch. I just need to hang around long enough to make sure we end this cleanly. “

“Okay. I love-”

“Don’t.” He said softly. 

I blinked.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s the first time I’m hearing you say that. I’d rather hear it in person.” Taehyung said softly. 

I laughed.

“You’re such a sap.”

“Only for you. Now, what is my feral daughter upto?” 

“Luna, Dada wants to talk to you...” I handed the phone over to her and she squealed.

“Hi Daddy....” She said cutely. “ When are you coming home daddy?” 

I couldn’t hear his side of the conversation but the pout on her face told me that she wasn’t pleased.

“But that’s soooo long....”

“I was drawing . RaeRae showed me how to draw a wolf. It looks angry like daddy.”

“No daddy, I’m being a good girl. I ate a bowl of rice and veggies too.” 

“I don’t miss daddy because RaeRae’s here.” 

And then she giggled.

“Of course not daddy...you’re both number one.” 

A sound at the door made me look up and Jungkook held the door in place with his leg, flipping the doorjamb down before carefully carrying the tray of milkshakes in. 

I gently maneuvered Luna off my lap before moving to help him. 

“Smells delicious, Mr. Jeon.” I grinned, taking a sip of the chocolate concoction. “Ooh..that's really good.”

“Its a premade mix I added water to.” Jungkook grinned. I laughed. 

“ Still a great cook !” I turned to watch Luna who was now flat on her back on the rug and going on about how Jungkook had let her borrow his sketching tab. 

“She’s adorable.” He commented with a smile and I hummed.

“When are you heading back to the preserve?” I asked gently and he shrugged.

“Not for a while. Taehyung told me they’re not yet sure how far this whole drug thing has spread. There’s going to be a lot of arrests and protests in the next few weeks. Messing with a wolf’s ability to scent his mate...that’s terrible stuff, Rae. Wolves are gonna be fucking furious. There’s going to be a huge fall out over this and we can only hope it wouldn’t be too violent.” 

I swallowed.

“Do you think I could get my job back, at the preserve?”

Jungkook looked surprised.

“You’re not gonna be with Tae?”

I turned to stare at Luna.

“Of course I’ll be with Tae but.. i love my job. I made a difference there. I’m not going to make a good trophy wife. I want to be able to help people in someway, not just hang around in the backdrop.” I said desperately.

Jungkook looked worried. 

“I’m not sure if Tae will agree to that Rae. You know how he gets about his job. As his wife you’ll have plenty of stuff to do as it is..,....”

“I’m not his wife...” I muttered under my breath, although it was kind of a useless statement.

“ Umm...you know he’s going to ask you to marry him as soon as possible? You’re already wearing his mark. in fact , in our world you’re already married as far as we’re concerned,” Jungkook pointed at my neck and I rubbed the small scar on my shoulder where he’d bitten me. 

“I can still do the things I want to do right? Taehyung isn’t going to lock me up , is he?” I laughed.

Jungkook tilted his head, watching me carefully.

“You don’t know him very well, do you Rae?” He said quietly. 

My heart flipped over in my ribcage at the words and the tone with which he said it. 

“What-What do you mean?:” I asked , nervous. 

Jungkook opened his mouth to respond, only to be interrupted by Luna’s laugh. 

“RaeRae!!! Daddy wants to talk to you!!” Luna came bounding over with the phone held out and I took it from her.

“Tae?”

“I’m going to head in now. We’re going to be coordinating with Seoul PD and they’ll send the guys in around 2 hours. You’re going to  okay right? I’ll call you when it’s over?” 

“Okay, Tae. Stay safe.” I whispered.

“I’ll be just fine. Don’t worry about me. Love you. Both of you. ”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jungkook and i sat on the couch, eyes glued on the TV as the news played out watching the entire country erupt in chaos. 

“Fire broke out today on a popular resort in Jeju Do, owned by  Hotelier Cha Eun Woo..... Interestingly, the resort had been closed for the weekend with minimal staff and only a few VVIP customers . So far there have been reports of nine casualties, all of them guests including billionaire philanthropist Yoon Jae hyun....”

I felt the breath shudder out of me, equal parts relief and disbelief. Taehyung had closed the whole thing down with minimum fanfare and with no one any the wiser. I knew that the eight men were the major distributors in the entirety of Korea, and that with them gone, it would only be a matter of time before the entire racket collapsed. 

“These guys are good.” Jungkook commented mildly and I stared at the screen, fascinated... The whole thing was being written off as an unfortunate tragedy, a gas leak or something.  

A small crowd of people in uniforms stood huddled in a corner and I squinted, grinning when I caught sight of Kim Seokjin’s golden blonde head and Kim Namjoon’s tall figure, dressed like waiters. .

I felt my lips quirk at that. 

The phone rang just then and I exhaled, “ Taehyung...”

“Did I do good?” He whispered. 

I laughed. 

“ I think I know now, why you’re an amazing politician Kim Taehyung ssi. “ I said softly. 

Taehyung chuckled.

“Real life isn’t like the movies baby.... I suppose you were looking forward to some good old fashioned action sequences and a lot of alpha posturing?” He teased. 

I smiled.

“I’m just glad you’re safe. “ I whispered. 

“I’m sending a limo to Jungkook’s place. You should  come over to my condo.  I have a present for you. Will you come? ” He said gently. 

Curiosity piqued, “ Of course. I’ll be there. What is it?”

Taehyung laughed softly, his voice deep. 

“I think you’ll like it.”

I stared at Jungkook, who could probably hear the conversation.

He had a very odd expression on his face. Part resignation and Part worry. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.. I’m just thinking that I’m lucky...”

“Lucky?”

“That I didn’t think about pursuing you. “ 

I laughed. 

“What do you mean?”

“I’m just saying. i wouldn’t want to be on Kim Taehyung’s hit list.” 

I rolled my eyes. 

“Don’t be dramatic.” 

“I’m not. Be careful Rae. He’s a very dangerous man.” Jungkook said quietly, picking up the smaller glass of strawberry milk and lifting Luna up into his arms. i watched him laugh and carry her to the balcony. 

And i wondered what that was about. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So , what’s the present?” I asked impishly , wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him soundly. He hugged me close, reciprocating with fervor and I moaned into his mouth. I could kiss him forever.

“Patience , little one. It’s on the way. First , tell me is your brother alright? I’ve been trying to reach him but i can’t.” He sounded worried and i felt warmth bloom in my chest.

“Yuggie’s fine. He left his phone somewhere ...i spoke to him on the way here. He’s upset of course but for now, he’s not going to come anywhere near the family business. My father handed things over to his nephew a few years ago is what I heard. Yuggie’s heading back to the States after the funeral.”

“What’s his name? This nephew...do you know? ” Taehyung asked thoughtfully.

“Kim Ji Hoo. He owns a bunch of casinos across the country. When I was in college i once heard him talk about getting girls from somewhere to my dad. I don’t remember where .... ” I said apologetically. 

“That’s fine angel. Thank you for telling me... I’ll keep an eye on him.” Taehyung said with a smile. 

“So this is it? The drug racket is down??” I asked nervously and he sighed.

“Hardly. We don’t know a lot of things but the Narcs caught a lot of evidence today from these idiots and their laptops and phones. Seokjin and Namjoon are going to head the investigation. We’ll probably not reveal anything to the public until we know the true extent of the operations.”

“Which would be once you get to the local dealers.”

“Yes.... but that is out of my jurisdiction so I’m going to respectfully step away and let them do their job.” He smiled. 

“And the whole sex trade thing in Eun Woo’s hotel..What about that?”

“We rescued the girls earlier. There were seventeen of them, three of them underage.” His voice shook a little. 

“He’s a monster. I’m glad he’s dead.” I whispered. 

A knock on the door made us pull away from each other. 

“Speaking off, your present’s here...” He smiled. 

Grinning , i turned to the door.

And then the smile froze on my face when I saw who it was. 

Seokjin stood framed in the door way, dragging another man in front of him. I couldn’t see who it was because of the black bag over his head. 

“Special delivery for Alpha Kim.” He grinned, shoving the man forward till he crashed to his knees in front of me. Seokjin pulled the bag off . 

“Taehyung.” I froze in disbelief, staring at the familiar man in front of me , on his knees , bloodied and battered, wrists caught in handcuffs and face swollen and gagged..

Cha Eun Woo was almost unrecognizable. 

Taehyung stepped right up behind me wrapping both hands around me in a warm back hug, chin resting on my shoulder as he peered down at the beta wolf. 

“Do you like your present?” He whispered, kissing my neck gently. 

“Taehyung, what is this?” I said , my fingers shaking a little, my skin icy cold because of how cruel Taehyung looked and sounded, talking down to Cha Eun Woo. 

“I thought you’d enjoy a little action, angel... Life get’s boring sometimes if I don’t indulge my wolf once in a while, don’t you think, baby?” 

 “Tae, no.” i said desperately. “ Let him go. please don’t...”

Taehyung hummed. 

“Are you sure baby? You don’t wanna see how us wolves solve things?” 

I shook my head frantically. 

“No.. No I don’t wanna see you kill another man.” I laughed, voice just a little hysterical because why did this even have to be said. When Taehyung said present I was thinking a bottle of champagne and some roses.... not the prospect of cold blooded murder..... . “ Please.,.just... Don’t.” 

Taehyung pulled away from me and moved forward. I stumbled back and away, watching as he reached Eun Woo, hand reaching out to hold the man by his hair, the veins in his hand pulsing from how tight his grip was. 

Eun Woo whimpered, moaning out slurred syllables that were impossible to understand because of the gag in his mouth. 

“Are you sure angel? “ Taehyung pouted, holding one hand out.. I flinched when his claws popped out , three inches long and sharp as razors. 

My throat went dry as he grabbed Eun Woo by the shoulder, claws digging straight in with so much force that blood spurted out .

I whirled around, looking away , pressing my hands to my eyes, a scream forming at the back of my throat threatening to spill out.

Taehyung groaned in disappointment. 

“Fine. I won’t kill him.” He said boredly. “ Seokjin...” 

I turned back around , staring at him. Taehyung looked as he always did , a soft smile playing around his lips, eyes kind and warm ,  his voice even tempered and gentle. 

But the unconscious man at his feet, the pool of blood spreading out over the carpet , the mangled shoulder..... they didn’t fit into the picture. 

And suddenly, I understood just why everyone was afraid of him. 

Seokjin appeared at the door. He glanced at Eun Woo and wrinkled his nose.

“Did the bitch pass out again? i swear to God, my grandmother has a higher tolerance for pain than this fucker...” He glanced at Taehyung.

“Tie things up yeah?” Taehyung said evenly and Seokjin nodded, dragging the prone body away. 

“You look terrified.” Taehyung smiled, moving to the mahogany sideboard and grabbing a bottle of water. i watched as he casually washed his hands , getting rid of the blood. 

“You... Would you have killed him? If I didn’t ask you to stop?”

Taehyung stopped scrubbing under his nails, giving me a look.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you.. do you do this often? Kill people?” I said shrilly. 

Taehyung laughed. 

“You were plenty happy when I killed your father.” He pointed out. 

I swallowed. 

“That’s...That’s different.. He’s... He deserved it...” 

“And Eun Woo doesn’t? Come on , Rae...what he was doing with those girls was filthy.” 

“Yes.. yes but...” i was so confused, my brain refusing to come to terms with the fact that Taehyung, the man i loved, actually killed people. Personally. 

“Anyway... you told me to stop and i stopped. Didn’t kill him, right?” He smiled. 

I nodded. 

“Thank you for letting him live.” I whispered , turning away . I could feel a head ache come on. .

“Oh, i didn’t let him live.... He’s still going to die.” Taehyung said casually. 

I whirled around , gaze clashing with his as my lips parted in surprise. 

“You.. You said you weren’t going to kill him...” I said hoarsely. 

Taehyung blinked at me, looking confused. He grabbed a pure white towel, wiping his wet hands carefully. 

“Yes, I said  I  wouldn’t kill him. Seokjin will.” He said casually. 

My entire body went cold at that, sweat gathering on my hairline because of how scared I suddenly was. 

“Taehyung ...this isn’t... this scares me.” I whispered, taking a step back. 

He laughed at that, moving closer and reaching for me.

“Come now, angel. You know i have to right? Men like Eun Woo don’t change... He’ll find something more vile and awful to do , probably even try to get back at me by trying to hurt you or Luna... i can’t have that can I?”

“So you just...you kill people who get in your way?” I felt like I had been dipped in a vat full of cold water. Taehyung drew me into his arms, hugging me close.

“Only when I am protecting something i value.” He said softly. “ I can’t afford loose ends, Rae. They get tangled together and trip me up. As my wife, i expect you to trust me. Trust that i won’t do anything without reason.” 

“I’m not your wife.” I said dully, feeling just a little overwhelmed.

“Semantics.” He brushed my words off easily, pulling back to rub his fingers across my cheeks.

“I’m being sworn in officially, tomorrow. I want you by my side on the podium. You and our daughter. I know its going to be new to you... My world. But I think you’ll like it. I’m the king there and I want you to be my queen. ” He kissed me gently. 

I stared at him, this man who i loved because of the side of him I had seen so far. The kind, considerate father, the passionate leader and the tenderly sweet lover. 

But then i remembered the cold cruelty with which he had dug his claws into Eun Woo, who was after all a childhood friend of his. Was this the other side of Kim Taehyung’s perfection? Was he also a ruthless , heartless man who would do anything to protect his interests , destroy anyone who got in his way?  

I pulled back an away . 

“Taehyung are we rushing into this? I... do you think we should slow down? Maybe date a little and-”

He didn’t reply, his face unreadable. 

“And where do you intend to live?” He said quietly. “ You don’t have a job.”

“The preserve....”

“....no longer hires humans. The law came through last week.” 

It was like a knife slashed right through my insides. 

“What?” i whispered, confused. 

Taehyung inhaled sharply. 

“We talked about this? There are a lot of qualified weres who don’t have a job, who cannot find work here in the mainland.”

“And what about me? The preserve is the only place where there’s a laboratory studying werewolf microbiology which is kind of what I’ve majored in. I can’t work anywhere else .” I said softly.

Taehyung sighed.

“Baby, hear me out... As my wife, you’ll be heading charities, working with the most intelligent people in the country , running organizations that directly help improve quality of life for underprivileged weres everywhere. It is so much bigger than anything you could accomplish in that tiny laboratory in the island. “

“So, I just move in with you right away?” I asked quietly, already knowing the answer. 

Taehyung gave me that same, maddeningly rational look. 

“The customs department is going to go through your father’s assets... Everything he owned is going to come under scrutiny and I’m sure his wealth is going to dwindle to nothing once they’re through with him. As it is, I know he wrote you out of his will. If you’re going to insist on working some minimum wage job , living in a dilapidated apartment somewhere just because you think, we’re going too fast...” He smiled, “ I’m going to have to put my foot down.” 

And in a moment of startling clarity I just knew exactly what he’d done. 

“You planned this didn’t you? “ I blinked at him. “ It’s surreal, all these pieces falling into place so perfectly..... You knew I would want to  go back to my job in the preserve . That i would never agree to marry you so quickly. Why else would you rush a law like that? “ 

Taehyung didn’t reply. 

“i know how laws are passed Taehyung. You must’ve put quite the pressure on your bosses, to pass such a mundane law so fast...” 

He stared back at me without an ounce of guilt in his gaze. 

“I won’t apologize for wanting my mate by my side.” He said evenly. 

“Will you apologize for being a cunningly manipulative bastard, then ?” 

“you’re over reacting...” He said calmly. 

“Am I, Taehyung?” I said sharply. “ It’s been a week since I found out i was your mate. A week.... And now suddenly, i have your mark on my neck, no possibility of getting my job back and no other option but to cling to you.... I’d say I’m reacting how any woman would react.... You played me like a fiddle and I’ve been dancing to your tune all along. “ 

Taehyung sighed. 

“You make it sound like I’ve done something terrible. “

“ Haven’t you?? “ i demanded. 

“ No, I haven’t. I love you. I care for you deeply and so does my daughter. She needs you as much as i do and she loves you so much. Your own family is almost non existent right now. your brother is three thousand miles away and I am here offering you my love, my home and the chance to be a part of my family. Tell me what are you losing out on? Tell me what it is I’ve taken away from you?” 

 My choice,  I thought with clarity. You’ve taken away my right to make that choice. 

 He held my face gently, thumbs brushing across my cheeks. 

“I know you’re frightened. But trust me. I’m going to be here by your side. Eun Woo dies today, not because of those girls he destroyed but because of  you. Because he dared touch you , knowing you were mine . Tomorrow the whole country will know it and no one will dare to even breath wrong in your direction. Because they know what your mate is capable of.” 

He pressed a kiss to my forehead and I let him hug me, staring over his back at the opposite wall. 

The painting on the wall caught my eye. 

A beautiful, dainty gazelle, cornered against the edge of a huge cliff,  staring down the barrel of a hunter’s gun. And on her side, a big beautiful wolf , gorgeous and tempting as it seemed to call for her. And it was obvious that in her panic , she was going to run into the arms of the wolf. 

Not knowing that the wolf was just as dangerous, just as deadly as the hunter and the cliff edge. 

I closed my eyes hugging him tight. 

I was so tired. 

“Tell me you’ll marry me. “ Taehyung’s hypnotic voice wove its spell over me, soft and soothing and filled with all the reassurances a naïve young girl would ever need.  

I took a deep breath, trembling in his arms when i exhaled. 

And then I replied. 

The End 

~~~~~~~~

Author’s note : Tell me how much you hate me. 

Taehyung isn’t a saint wbk. So of course there’s going to be a sequel.

Soon. Hopefully. 

Taglist : @veronawrites

@ladyartemesia

@bumb1e-bee

@jeonlovescoffee

@bonyg

@unicornbabylover

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Quite at Home in Hell

For @whumptober2021 day six & day 21:  blood-matted hair & hunger

CW: Vampirism, blood drinking, noncon touch, creepy whumper, sadistic whumper, biting, captivity, dehumanizing language

Vampire Chris AU Masterlist | Follows directly from this piece

Thanks to @boxboysandotherwhump for helping me with the German & @alittlewhump for helping with the French!

-

1918, the Western Front of WWI

The prisoners are held in a small, hastily constructed sort of barracks far too close to the front lines.

Gefrieter Erich Eeten knows why, of course. The hope is that his own people will hesitate before they blast this bit of dirt apart, that they will be concerned enough about killing their fellow soldiers that they’ll give up a few key moments of pause to the French, the Americans, and the British. Give them the advantage in a firefight.

They want to shield themselves with the bodies of the men in this tent, unwashed and dirty, who are exhausted from a day spent digging trenches for their enemies to hide in. 

He can’t exactly blame the Allied powers for it. 

It’s a brilliant bit of strategy, if less and less effective as men on both sides become so battle-hardened that they cease to care about their own lives, let alone each other. Still. He’d almost rather be at one of the true POW camps further away from the front lines, where the Red Cross at least comes to check on their treatment.

Here, so close to the front, there is no one keeping watch on what happens to them at all… and the longer the war draws on, the more viciously they kill each other, the more the prisoners kept here too far for oversight feel like they are teetering at the edge of some terrible invisible cliff. 

There’s a stiff breeze outside the tent, whipping the heavy, waterproofed canvas edges. They’re flapping a little, making a sound that Erich will one day hear in his nightmares. The cold sneaks in through the slight space between tent and ground, and the men in here are huddled together for warmth, sharing the meager blankets they are given. 

At least, though, their captors are officially the French. 

Say what you will about the blasted frogs, they never deny their prisoners a nip of strong cognac to help hold off the cold. The Americans, on the other hand, seem to be laboring under an enforced lack of good liquor, not just for prisoners but for their own soldiers, too. That seems a worse crime than nearly any other, in circumstances like this. To force a man to be a cruel killer without even a nip or three to soothe his conscience… to Erich, it sounds like brutality.

There’s a bit of a scuffle outside the tent, and the prisoners look up. Erich is at the back, leaning back against the rough frame of a cot he sleeps on at night, cards in his hands wrapped in strips of bandage cloth just for warmth. What happened to his gloves, he’s no idea. Probably one of the Allies took them for a souvenir.

The canvas wraps work well enough.

“Au garde-à-vous, prisonniers! Sur vos pieds!” Erich knows the voice - it’s the main guard of the tent they sleep in, a man named Alain who looks entirely too old for war. Here he is, anyway, all moustache and silvering hair, pulling open the entrance of the tent, moving the flap aside. 

Erich glances left and then right, meeting the eyes of his fellow prisoners, and the half-dozen of them that share this single small tent push heavily to their feet, shifting apart as much as the tent will allow, hands behind their back. 

His stomach dips, a low drumbeat of dread alongside his heart. Something tells him this isn’t a social call he wants to be part of. 

He’s even more certain when a tall, thin American steps into the entrance, nearly silhouetted by the dim, barely-there light behind them. Their hair is long, in a loose plait with parts undone, and their eyes gleam, briefly seeming to glow in the dark. Erich is reminded of his mother’s cat, who would stalk mice at night and whose eyes did just the same when light hit them.

He feels very… mouselike.

They wear a medic’s uniform, but it’s a little tattered. There are unrepaired bullet holes through the heavy woolen tunic, and they move with grace and disdain for how heavy wet wool must be, how itchy and uncomfortable. As if it simply doesn’t matter to them.

Because, of course, it doesn’t. The damn thing is a walking corpse, baring fangs in a grisly smile.

“Hello, soldiers,” They say, in a voice that isn’t quite a purr. “You all look a fright.”

“Verdammte Blutsauger,” Lukas Müller mutters to his right. 

Erich hates the bloodsuckers. Everyone does. They come with the Americans, monsters brought from the shadows as a kind of secret weapon. Erich has never seen vampires out in the open before - back home, they are creatures of hiding. They live in cellars and basements and houses with the windows painted in thick matte black. They sweep along the streets at night, a risk for anyone who stays out too late.

But they’re not part of anything. 

Here, they’re death itself, demons quite at home in hell.

 Oh, sure, the Americans claim they use them only for bringing the injured back to safety - and some of them, he’s sure, are kept to that purpose. Some kind of ability to deny the truth of them, if there are enough seen doing only what the official story claims.

Erich, though, has seen one dispatching wounded German soldiers one by one left behind in a field, killing them before they can be recovered by their own people. He’s seen one with fangs buried in the throat of a man who would otherwise have lived. They’re listed as medics, but those things are what keeps the Germans on their own side of the battle lines after dark, and everyone knows it. 

His own side brings canisters of poison gas. The Americans respond with an army laced around its edges in abominations the gas can’t touch.

The vampire sighs, faintly disappointed. “No good morning for me from my audience?”

Erich speaks the best English out of them all - his grandmother was English, taught it to his father in the cradle, who taught it to him. It’s made him more or less the spokesman for his small group of prisoners, and for the larger group when they are moved and briefly allowed to interact with the others. He clears his throat, stepping forward slightly. Lukas and Vilhelm, on his other side, nudge him just a little with their shoulders. It’s meant to be support, he supposes. 

He feels like he’s being pushed onto a target painted on the floor, one invisible only to him. 

“Good morning,” Erich says, voice flat, letting his accent roll far more heavily off his tongue than it needs to, turning good into gut. It’s always good to let the enemy believe you know less than you really do, so he pretends that English comes with difficulty and not ease. “Should you not turn to ash?”

Their eyebrows raise just slightly, not quite in amusement, and they give a brittle little laugh. “First off, Fritz, that’s a myth. Secondly, it’s not even morning. Probably close to evening now, honestly.” 

Erich rolls his eyes. Lukas mutters something under his breath next to him, but the slight creaking of their boots seems to cover it too much to be understandable. Erich sighs, heavily. “Then why did you have us say to you good morning, Blutsauger?” 

“Because it’s funny that you don’t know what time it is, of course. All right, who here is Fritz, who is Hans, and who am I just going to call Kraut?” 

“No one here is named Hans and no one is Fritz, fangs.” Erich tips his chin down slightly, a lock of greasy brown hair falling into his eyes. “May you drown in holy water.”

He spits at the vampire’s feet.

He feels a pang of regret when the vampire turns to look at Alain, the French guard and points back at Erich, cheerful. “I want that one. He’s rude.”

“Das ist pech,” Lukas whispers.

When Alain simply stares at them blankly - and Erich knows Alain speaks English, they’ve spoken before in a tongue they had in common when neither spoke the other’s mother-tongue -  the vampire groans. They don’t seem to know Alain is pretending not to understand them. “Fine. Let’s try this again. Je veux cet homme, s'il vous plaît.”

Alain’s expression tightens a little. He nods, and he won’t look Erich in the eyes as he draws the entrance open a little wider. “Emmenez-le alors.”

“Merci beaucoup,” The vampire says, giving a little bow. Erich backs up, but there isn’t anywhere to go, and none of them is armed. Besides, any resistance is met with removal of meals, with being denied the smallest comforts that make this bearable. With the possibility of all of them being handed over to a vampire, not just one.

This war had been civilized, in some ways, before the Americans brought their monsters.

It’s not actually true, but in this moment it comforts him to pretend it, to have a place to put his furious disgust as the vampire’s thin, long fingers close around his arm and yank him forwards with inhuman strength. They’re clicking their tongue against the top of their mouth in a strange animal way. Erich thinks again of his mother’s cat, making just that sound watching birds outside the windows.

“May your hands be pressed into the holy cross,” Erich snaps as he’s forced out into the freezing humid air outside the tent. There are others walking around - a war camp is never less than controlled chaos, no matter the time of day - but none of them will look at him. No one acknowledges him, although they’ve all seen this before. They know what’s going to happen here. 

“Je déteste ça,” Alain mutters.

A bell is rung, clanging in a discordant note, and soldiers move into the POW tents. Erich is led towards a pole in the center of the ring of prisoner tents, something that a half-century ago might still have been a flogging post, a punishment for mutinous men. 

“Crosses don’t really harm us,” The vampire says, careless and casual. “Very little does, actually. I’m a big fan of garlic, for instance. Silver, though…” They hum, dragging a fingernail over Erich’s wrist. “That hurts.”

He jerks his hand back and free, only to have the vampire laugh, bright and brilliant, and grab him again, spinning him around until they’re behind him, chest pressed to his back, using that demon strength to twist his arms up his back until his bones creak and ache, forcing him forwards towards the pole. 

“I hope you have silver shoved down your throat,” Erich manages, but his heart is pounding in fear as the vampire grabs his hair and jerks his head to the side, forcing his cheek against the rough-hewn wood. Splinters bite into his skin and he grunts as his arms are moved, forced to encircle the pole. His wrists are tied with rope, leaving him looking a little ridiculous, as if he decided today to go for a hug. 

Another rope goes around his shoulders, keeping him in this awkwardly pressed position. He tries to kick back, pulling viciously, but then his ankles come next. The rope goes from them to small metal hooks driven hard into the ground, keeping his legs more than shoulder-width apart. He can’t kick, or even balance himself. He must rely entirely on the pole he’s tied to in order to stay upright. 

“I’m going to enjoy you,” The vampire murmurs. 

Behind Erich, the sounds of a crowd gathering begin. Soft mumbles, exhalations of surprise and disgust. He closes his eyes against the rush of heat he feels - more rage than tears - knowing the prisoners are being brought out to witness this, to be shown what could happen to them next.

It does an excellent job of making them grateful for every day it’s not.

The French commander of the POW camp is barking a running list of commands to his men, but Erich doesn’t speak enough French to clearly understand them. Someone comes close by behind him, and he jolts as there’s a clap to his back. There’s a laugh behind him, not the vampire but someone else.

He manages to see from the corner of his eyes. A different American, of course. Comfortable enough with the vampire to get this close to them. 

“Isn’t this a sorry sight,” The American says, and laughs. “What’s the prize for, fangs?”

The vampire lifts their hand, gently brushing Erich’s hair from his eyes. He spits in their face, this time, and is gratified by a flash of very real anger that briefly overtakes their constant amusement. They slowly wipe the spit away, then clean their hand - sort of - on Erich’s uniform. 

It’s so dirty they’re probably even less clean after that than they were before.

“Reported a desertion. Now I get fresh food.” They lean down, meeting Erich’s furious hazel eyes. “I’m so hungry, Fritz. All the time. Imagine being surrounded by schnitzel and cabbage as far as the eye can see, and you’re not supposed to eat your fill. Imagine how empty you would feel.”

“Fick dich.” 

“What, you won’t even curse at me in English anymore?” The vampire pouts, lower lip sticking out. He hates them more than he’s hated anyone during this godforsaken war. “Come on, you have to understand how hard this is for me, right?”

Erich ignores them, jerks his wrists again, trying to yank himself free of the ropes through sheer force. His back already is aching from being slightly bent forward, his thigh muscles stretched. He does the only thing he can think of - he slowly, with effort, drags his face along the wood and manages to turn away, and look the other direction. 

“Well, fine. I suppose you’ll be mad at me for acting like you all eat schnitzel and cabbage, too,” The vampire says behind him. He doesn’t dignify them with an answer. He fixes his eyes, instead, on a point in the dark roiling clouds in the sky, above the remaining trees. 

“The prisoners are well-positioned to witness,” A French officer states, speaking with a light, dancing accent but without the difficulty and hesitancy some of the regular infantry have. “You may feed when ready, Private Saathoff.”

That gets Erich’s attention. “Saathoff?”

“That’s right.” The vampire laughs, stepping up behind him. Their fingers move through the hair that curls, grown a little too long, over the back of his neck. He shudders with disgust at the intimacy of it. Their mouth moves close to his ear, but there is no heat of breath. Only the brush of lips. “Ich bin Deustcher, genau wie du.” 

“Nothing like me,” Erich grinds out with his teeth gritted together so hard his jaw is already aching. He presses his forehead into the rough wooden pole and closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath. 

If he’s going to die…

“Vater unser im Himmel,” he begins, halting. He hasn’t seen the inside of a church since he was fourteen, and that was twelve years ago now. Still, the words to the Lord’s Prayer come easily, more muscle memory than thought. “Geheiligt werde dein Name. Dein Reich komme, Dein Wille geschehe, wie im Himmel so auf Erden-”

“Zu jeder anderen Zeit hätte ich dich als Haustier behalten.” They use his hair to jerk his head back, and their fangs jam into his neck with a flash of sudden agony.

It’s a white-hot pain that races down his spine to the very tips of his toes, and Erich screams, the sound strangled and thin but still echoing, bouncing off of trees and tents and back into his mind, crashing like the shells that slam into the earth. 

Lukas jerks forwards as if to run to help him and is pushed back by one of the French soldiers, their expression set in a grim line. They have to twist Lukas’s arms behind his back to hold him as he shouts, angrily, that this isn’t fair, it’s against the laws of conduct. 

There’s laughter, at that, from their captors. 

The other prisoners grumble and shift uncomfortably, look at anything but Erich whenever they can, but they can’t escape the sound of his horror, of his pain. 

There’s no pulse of the much-spoken-of venom. There’s no numbness to drift in, there’s no fog to cloud out his awareness of what is happening to him. Every muscle of Erich’s body is tensed tight enough to snap the bones they wrap around, the veins standing out in his throat as if giving them a roadmap of where the food can be found.

He didn’t know vampires could choose not to use the venom.

He didn’t know they could make it feel like this.

When his scream dies, he can’t get enough breath to make another. All he can do is let out high-pitched, thin whimpers and cries. Spots dance before his eyes. Beneath the sound of his heart pounding in a sudden panic to push more blood faster to replace what is being lost, he can feel - can hear - a low rumbling sound against his back.

Erich has heard the rumors that vampires purr, and now he knows they aren’t rumors at all.

He can feel it right through his back, just barely. It’s a vibration that would be pleasant if it didn’t seem to be somehow making everything hurt even worse, waking up his nerves the way the venom is supposed to deaden them. Their hands are closed around his ribs, pressing the tips of their fingers rhythmically against them, as if playing a piano, as if he is dough to be kneaded, as if he isn’t human at all.

As if he’s nothing but a field mouse that found his way into the wrong house, and the vampire is the housecat who has waited too long for a living toy to torment.

There is no prayer, in pain like this. There is no thought beyond the body’s fight for survival and the mind wanting to flee from it, if surviving means this feeling will not end. There is nothing but the feeling of his blood being pulled forcefully out of his body, nothing but his nerves screaming to escape it, nothing but the bite of the ropes that ensure he can do no more than jerk in his bonds and choke on his agony.

It feels like forever - and like a moment - when their fangs pull free, their cool rough tongue lapping at the wounds to close them, purring against his ear with contentment. Their fingers knead into his skin a little bit longer, drawing the moment out as he slumps against the wooden pole he’s tied to. He’s only standing because of the ropes.

Pain rolls through him, breaking against the edges of his body from the inside, like the smaller waves after a storm falling onto a beach already strewn with debris. He slumps. His own breath is a rasping wheeze, taking far more effort than it should.

Nein, Erich, Erich stirb nicht…” Lukas’s voice comes from somewhere so far away, filtering through the noise in Erich’s mind slowly. He can’t even begin to form a response. His mouth won’t answer his commands. It only hangs open, panting, pulling in the chilly air over his tongue. He starts to shiver as the breeze hits the cold sweat in his hair and on his neck, cuts through his uniform somehow.

He doesn’t have enough blood left to warm himself.

Their tongue licks up his neck behind his ear, matting his own blood into his hair there, sticky and hot. It starts to cool and dry immediately in the cold air. Erich’s stomach twists.

“Oh, he won’t die,” The vampire coos, petting through his hair slowly. Their nails scratch at his scalp. “Not today.” Their mouth presses back against his ear. “Thanks for the meal, Erich. And for being so entertaining. Maybe I’ll find you after the war. I’ll buy you a beer… and some schnitzel.”

They push themself away from him, turning away to wipe a bit of blood from the corners of their mouth, and walk with a jaunty step through an opening that appears in the ring of watching prisoners, whose eyes follow them with apprehension and no small amount of fear. 

When Alain comes up to untie him, Erich simply collapses into the Frenchman’s arms as soon as he’s free of the ropes. Lukas is allowed to move up to stand at his other side, putting Erich’s limp left arm around his shoulders, while Alain supports his right. Erich lets his head fall into Lukas’s shoulder, hitching his breath as he forces down a sob. 

“Wh… why do you let them do this?” He asks, his English slurred with the exhaustion that means he is dragged with his boots carving paths through the mud back towards the tent. 

Alain is silent until Erich is dropped onto his cot, the hard frame digging into Erich’s back right through the thin mattress. He glances over his shoulder, the three of them alone in here for the moment, and then looks back. 

“It is believed that this is how we will win,” He says, and pats Erich’s hand. “My apologies. I do not believe in the monsters, but I am not the one to run this war.”

“None of us are,” Erich says, weakly. He closes his eyes. “We are only the ones who must fight in it.”

There’s a pause, and Alain’s exhale is audible in the quiet tent. “I will ensure you are given extra meat rations tonight, and I will find you some schnapps. Essaye de dormir, maintenant, si tu peux,” he says with soft regret lacing his voice. Then there is a shuffle of footsteps, and he’s gone.

Lukas shifts and sits with his back to the cot, in the same position Erich was in before. He swallows, picking up the abandoned cards from the game they’d been playing, looking over Erich’s hand. “You’d have won, you know, on the next hand,” He says in German, before he reaches out to grab the others’ cards and reshuffle the deck.

“Do I still get my… my winnings?” Erich can barely move his lips to speak. He’s so tired. So, so tired. He can feel his hands starting to shake, now that it’s over, the trembling moving slowly up his limbs, stuttering his breathing. 

“My share of the liquor? Not on your life.” Lukas pauses, and then his tone gentles as he looks Erich over again. “You know what... of course you can. You’ll need warmth. What did the bloodsucker say to you, anyway? I couldn’t hear.”

Erich thinks about the promise to find him after the war, about the way they spoke into his ear as if he were little more than a toy top to be spun at their command. In another time, I’d keep you for a pet, they had whispered, before they bit down. 

He shakes his head, slowly. “Lies,” He answers, and feels the softer-edged darkness of sleep begin to take him.

“Lies?” 

“I hope… I hope they were lies.”

For the moment, at least, he is too exhausted by the present to feel terror for the future.

-

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @newandfiguringitout @astrobly @endless-whump @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump @thefancydoughnut

[angelkurenai]

Heaven on Earth - Dean Winchester x Reader (French Mistake/Soulmates AU)

Title: Heaven on Earth

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word count: 4,221

Warnings: Spoilers for 15x20 I guess

Prompt: Hey! I love your fics a lot. Especially the French mistake trope ones! I was wondering if you're taking requests cuz if you are I would so love a soulmate french mistake one for the finale.. had been something how you'd give it your own take. If not, it's totally okay I love your work regardless! <3

Imagine instead of dying and going to heaven, Dean is brought back to life by Jack who choses to give Dean the ending he deserves. An ending which he had been hoping to live through but never got the chance. An ending, a life, where he gets to meet his soulmate, you, whose name is written on his wrist and whom he never got to meet simply because you weren’t in the same universe. 

“Huh?” Dean breathed out and blinked several times, letting his eyes adjust to the change of scenery that came a little bit as a shock for all the different kind of reasons than anyone else would expect “Looks like I finally made it. Who would've thought?”

He let an easy smile rest on his lips as he took the scene around him, unfamiliar as it was there was still a great deal of hospitality that made his so comfortable in this lovely tiny living room. It wasn't familiar in any way that meant that he had seen it before but it was something he could very easily get used to, a place to love and call home. So much so that he had to ignore the pang in his chest when he remembered that he couldn't get to show it to his brother, not anytime soon that is. It was something that he would have to accept, no matter how hard it proved to be.

“Weird.” he mumbled, approaching a window and looking outside, the city although again not familiar, looking as calm and normal as it could be “I don't remember this one.”

The change of scenery while, yes, expected after one's death – and Dean was no stranger to the concept – did make him frown at what he was really coming face to face with. “Did they change things around here?”

He asked practically at nobody but that didn't mean that he wouldn't receive an answer “Well, to be fair I do think that chair was by the other side of the room. And those books, she must have moved them too.”

“Son of a-” Dean jumped in surprise and soon pressed his fist against his mouth to stop himself from continuing that sentence. Before he even had the chance to wonder if it was even right to swear in a place like this, all words died out in his lips when he turned to face the person that spoke up.

“Jack?” he whispered, almost in disbelief; his eyes widening.

“He-hello-” a small huff left Jack's lips when Dean closed the distance and enveloped the boy in a hug which he returned “Hello Dean, it's good to see you again. Though I don't believe it has been that long.”

“Yeah” Dean laughed “Way to rub it in my face how I fucked it up so soon huh?”

“You never... I never said you did, Dean.” Jack frowned slightly, tilting his head to the side “You've done great. You have done so in fact your entire life, even when it was exceptionally hard, even when other men would have given up. You kept going. And, yes, it might have been rather painful sometimes and exhausting and seemed never-ending, but it did. It ended. And this is what you get, this is your ending Dean. Peace. I-” Jack paused, looking around “I wanted to do some things differently but it is not all up to me, there are rules to the universe and how it works. Balance you see. So, I'm... sorry that Sam can't be here, not yet at least.”

“Alright kid, don't make me tear up already, will ya?” he joked but looked away when he felt the pang in his chest again. Heaven or no heaven, he was dead and Sam was alone. Miracle too. And oh that still hurt and it would hurt for a long while.

He cleared his throat and spoke up again, instead “Ah yeah, pretty much got that. But no, no Jack you've- you've done more than just enough. Not that there are a lot of options for the other side, but given everything this is really the best one so- thank you. This- this is good. Real good.” Dean looked at his friend, trying to convey as much of his gratitude as possible. For what he didn't know where to begin with, especially after everything that Jack had done but maybe more than anything it was about how Sam wasn't there with him. Not yet, and hopefully not before he'd lived a full and happy life.

“You're welcome. You deserve it.” Jack shrugged once more, smile bright on his face.

“So you uh you stayin' or will you be gone soon? This place is kind of... strange to me, but I'm sure there must be a kitchen somewhere. Could get you something?” he suggested, already making his way around the place while trying to figure out where the kitchen was. It was a small apartment though so it didn't take long for him to figure it out; Jack closely following along.

“Uhm no I won't be staying long, I just wanted to come and see if you're all settled, if you've rested and all that.” he shrugged softly.

“Well, I'm more or less dead, so hey-” he actually found himself chuckling and ignoring the frown that set on Jack's face “Can't get any more rest than that, right?” he opened the fridge and started looking for a beer, speaking again before Jack had the chance to do so and voice his concerns “So uh, love what you did with the place. What was it really again?” he pointed to the living room's direction as he closed the fridge, setting the pie and a beer in front of him.

“Oh uh-” Jack blinked, looking towards the living room “I told you, it wasn't really me. (Y/n). She must have moved around some of the furniture. I'm pretty sure the books too.”

He tried not to let it show. He prayed that it didn't show. He knew that that Jack wouldn't question it, but that didn't mean that it wasn't there. That it didn't happened. That his heart didn't do that same crazy jump and his hand, if not his entire being, shook at the mention of the name. Jack didn't even blink and as he brought the beer to his suddenly dry lips he thought that maybe he'd gotten the hang of it after practically a lifetime. A lifetime without a soulmate that is. And the thought slipped in his mind like it always did and he bit the inside of his cheek to get himself under control. Jack didn't know and Dean was far from in the mood to talk about another, if not the most, painful chapter of his life. Maybe... hopefully he had gotten better with the years and none of it showed.

“No uh that's not exactly what I meant, buddy. But never mind.” he could feel his throat closing, his body betraying him with that same unbearable grief only an empty side of the bed could bring, so he made sure to speak up before it got the best of him the way it usually did “You creating angels now too?”

“Angels?” Jack frowned before he shook his head, clearly confused “No, I- Not yet. But... (Y/n) is not an angel. She's human.” another soft shrug.

And there was the name again, for the second time in less than a minute. Too much too soon for Dean to take. He found himself sitting in one of the two only chairs in the kitchen. His hand found its way to his wrist, subconsciously rubbing over the ink that covered his skin ever since he was a teen. Maybe it brought some kind of comfort, got him the chance to feel like you were close by and offering him comfort yourself when in reality all he had was your name and, thank heavens, no line over it. He didn't know how he'd get to deal with the fact if he was ever to see a line. He was thankful that at least up until the moment he died the words were there, solid and beautifully curved to form your name, until the very last moment he was able to feel their warmth. Up until it all was enveloped in darkness. His life had not had many advantages or comforts, but knowing that you were safe (even if far away from him) was more than enough to make up for all of it.

Though that thought now brought about another storm of dangerous, if not painful, ideas. Ideas about how you were going to deal with his death. Dean was and would always be weak about you, even if he'd never met you. He didn't know how he'd take it and now he had to consider, think and imagine how you'd deal with a line over his name on your wrist.

The mere thought made his heart twist painfully in his chest quiet similar but also so different to any other time. To hurt you was the last thing he'd ever want. And knowing that he had inevitably caused that, well, it would make resting ten times more hard.

“Humans making changes around heaven, wow. Jack you're really stepped up your game up here.” he went for nonchalant and hoped it worked.

“Humans...” Jack narrowed his eyes with a tilt of his head before it seemed to dawn on him and his eyes widened softly “Dean... you're right, there have been changes in heaven. I felt like it was time to move on, that it was time for things to be done different by someone who cares. By someone who wouldn't abandon it all and not care to listen. It's exactly why I asked for Castiel's help, anyway.” the name caught the hunter's attention and he did pause to frown but Jack didn't stop his words, he kept talking “We changed things so that heaven wouldn't about reliving your favorite memory. It would be simply about living. Living on forever and about to make new memories.”

“So that's what it was huh? And here I wondered when-”

“B-But this is not about any of it! That's what you don't get.” Jack said fast enough, cutting Dean off who blinked in surprise.

“Do I have to ask what it is or will you just go off rambling again? You seem to be on a roll today.” he took a sip of his beer, his lips pulling into a smile that he could barely feel in all honesty.

Just following along some very familiar, painfully familiar, steps. Making small talk about anything and everything that his mind could come up with, was one of them. Anything as long as his treacherous heart stopped with the painful beats. But the echo of your name in his head didn't seem to want to die out and he had to try harder.

That is if Jack didn't-

“It's simple.” he smiled sweetly “(Y/n).”

“A-Alright-” his voice shook and he hated himself for letting it show, but he was a weak man deep down and there was only so much he could take “Listen buddy. I don't know what's happened with you or who this-” he choked on his words.

Oh dear, he choked on his words. That had not happened to him in years, and yet here he was. Unable to say the name of the soulmate he had never met. Unable to say the name of the woman whom he dreamed about every night, coming up with you'd look like, what you'd be like in and out. He choked because while it has been a long time, he could still not fight the longing or ache in his soul whenever h heard the name. And best, or maybe worst, of all is that he couldn't fight the hope that rose in his chest. So many cases, so many places visited and whenever he heard that name he both prayed and feared it was you.

So many times he got his hopes up. And so many times all those hopes turned into mere dust, slipping through his fingers. Each time more painful than the previous. Leading, ultimately, to a life without you.

Really, he could only take so much after hearing your name so many times in only a few seconds. He just couldn't do it to himself, couldn't bring himself to say it. He took a deep breath in and clenched his fists “I don't know who that chick is, or what you've really trying to do here. I'm just thankful for everything you've done because this-” he looked around him with a fond smile “This place is more than good for him. It is, both literally and figuratively, heaven.”

“Well, that's just it.” Jack tilted his head to the side “This... is not heaven.”

“Oh yeah? Well, it sure as heck doesn't seem like hell either. Unless they did some general uh renovations?” he asked, almost playfully, as he looked around with a nod of his head “Oh yes, lovely color on that wall right there. Goes well with the-”

“(Y/n) picked it.” Jack shrugged, the name effectively managing to close Dean's mouth shut - and he almost glared at the boy for thinking that he could be doing it on purpose at this point “And this-” he turned back to Dean, face still serious “Is not hell either.”

Oh really now? Then, it does seem like pur-

“No, Dean.” Jack said firmly, cutting him off “You- you're not dead.”

“Uh you sure about that buddy? Cause I think I can remember pretty vividly that I got impaled. Like, Olaf from Frozen style and all.” Dean scoffed a small laugh, taking a sip of the beer. And boy, was he dead, but that still tasted good enough.

“Well, yes but actually no. See, you were on the brink of death but that doesn't mean you have really died. I saw it. I saw it all, I was there and kept you alive or, well, almost-dead long enough for Sam to... give you a hunter's funeral and then for me to put you back together, to heal every would and bring you here.” a smile slowly spread on his lips “This other world. To live in. To make new memories as I told you.”

“What- What's that supposed to mean?” Dean's voice got more gruff as realization start to dawn on him that Jack was very much serious about all of it “And, anyway, didn't destroy every other world there was?”

“When I brought everyone back on your world, I- I was able to do the same with every other world he had destroyed. Including this one. Dean, I mean-” he laughed softly “Did you really think, that after everything you'd been through, after everything you'd given for that world, after all the people you'd saved that I- I would just be another version of Chuck that let that be your ending? You deserve this. You deserve to live this life, a life where you have all you really want. I mean Sam is not here, sure, but soon I hope I will be able to come here too.

“Hold up. You really mean to say that I- I'm- I'm alive?” Dean frowned deeply when Jack nodded “Then wh-what the hell am I doing here? Why the fuck am I not back home? What kind of shitty game-”

“Because you can't. It's- It disrupts balance. Anything hat dies must stay dead, that's a rule that has been broken too many times and we couldn't bear it anymore. However, here-” he looked around him with a smile “You can be alive. And you can live a long, happy life. Without regrets.”

At this point Dean had every reason to think the kid was doing it on purpose. First mentioning your name so often and now, now this was not just pouring alcohol into an open would but rather tearing it open even more. Because yes, he had many regrets in life. Far more than he could ever count. Some of them he was or could get to overcome easily so. But his biggest ones? The ones related to you would always be there, though, and they would always haunt him worse than his nightmares.

“Why here then? What does this world have that I could possibly want so much as to-”

But before Dean could ever get to complete his sentence, let alone get a reply - one that wouldn't really cause him a heart attack - the door burst open with a loud thud. Dean jumped in his place, a frown on his face and worry starting to slip into his very own bones when Jack rose from his seat with a smile. But before he could even bring himself to question it, he moved away from his seat and made his way to the door with only a few long strides. Only to be met with the sight of one too many bags from the market, filled to the brim with food and other essentials, and the sound of an annoyed -but entirely adorable if he could say so -grumbling and cursing.

“Bloody idiots. Ignorant people. Fucking idiocy more infinite than the whole damn universe. Worse than the pandemic itself.” he saw you pull the mask you were wearing away angrily, only to look more cute in Dean's eyes and alright, a bit more than just cute because he was not dead after all and if did run into you anywhere else he would gladly try his luck, but this was far from an ideal situation, especially as you-

“No wonder Chuck would wanna snap those away. Heck wouldn't I-” but your words were cut off as a screamed ripped through your lips the second you closed the door and turned towards them, probably for the first time realizing they were there and as expected the bags you were holding fell from your hands.

“What the fuck?!” you yelped, hand pressed over your chest as you stared at him with wide eyes.

“Whoa whoa it's ok, calm down. Calm down. We're not gonna hurt you. It's alright, we-”

“Calm down!? You almost gave me a freaking heart attack dude! Because when I said that I would die a happy woman if I were to meet Jensen Ackles even once after that finale, the scenario of chapter one of a bad soulmates fanfic is not what I had in mind! You- You-” you looked around after trying to take a few calming breathes “You just broke into my apartment.” you almost whispered in disbelief “Have you gone insane, man? Who the hell is 'we'?”

“Oh, right. She can't see me.” Jack told him only afterwards and Dean rolled his eyes at his friend.

“Oh great, thanks for the heads up, buddy.” he muttered to his friend. He shook his head before dragging a hand down his face. He then looked at you, finally taking a good look at you and trying not to let his confusion show at the weird flip his heart did “Listen, I'm not crazy, I swear. I'm sure this may look very confusing and hard to explain but I can assure you that once you hear me out, everything will make sense. Just- just don't scream again, yeah? Or freak out or anything.”

“Nah it's cool. I mean why would I freak out? Because the actor I, more or less, look up to and have been a fan of for years is standing in the middle of my crappy and messy living room, dressed as my favorite character on top of that. Without any previous warning or time for me to prepare. Yeah, pff-” you scoffed, waving your hand “Why would I freak out? I can be calm. It's not like this is some kind of dream coming true, anyway. I can be the definition of calm this moment. I'm not freaking out.”

“...You're freaking out.” he said after barely three seconds. Letting you take a few deep breaths of air to calm yourself down, because apparently you needed it. Even if he didn't understand why.

“I'm definitely freaking out.” you admitted, nodding at him as you pressed your lips in an adorable pout which was too distracting if he could admit so to himself after blowing out some air.

“Better now?” he asked hopefully and you held his gaze for a few seconds before shaking your head.

“Definitely not. This might take an hour or two. Or maybe a month? Just- just to let it all settle in you know? I'm dreaming, I definitely must be dreaming. You're just a dream huh? Come on, just admit it. It will be easier to accept. I mean-” you shrugged, looking away with a shrug as you mumbled, mostly to yourself “Wouldn't be the first time.”

“I'm- Sorry, what?” he asked after a few seconds. Maybe Jack was right, this was better than heaven.

“Nothing.” you shook your head fast, and in a far too adorable way “Nothing. I didn't say a thing.” you cleared your throat and looked away from him, letting out a sigh as Dean bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from grinning like an idiot. Instead, let himself chuckle at your too-adorable ramble that followed “This is- this is insane. If I knew that 2020 would end with me meeting Jensen Ackles then I would have never judged its ability to pull the craziest shit on us.”

“Je- Who?” Dean blinked a couple times though, before letting out a long sight and shaking his head “Really?” he just looked straight at Jack, not caring how crazy he looked at that moment “But of all those worlds, it had to be this one? You know what buddy? Maybe I'd have rather stayed dead.”

“No you wouldn't. I know. So do you.” Jack said with a far-too-knowing smile that made Dean narrow his eyes at him.

“Yeah” you dragged the word, effectively getting his attention - not that it was that hard for you “Sure. Not crazy at all.” you chuckled.

“Not crazy, sweetheart.” he shrugged “And certainly not Jensen Ackles, sorry to disappoint.”

Oh yeah? Then if you're not Jensen who are you? Dean Winchester?” you raised an eyebrow, smile playful on your lips and far too distracting for Dean, but there was no way he would dare admit it.

Confusion passed through his eyes before his interest was peaked “Bingo. You couldn't be more right, sweetheart.”

“Aha sure.” you still chuckled, lips pulling into a smirk that he liked more than he should already “There are cameras set around here, right? Like, of course there are. Is this some kind of goodbye gift though, to the fans for the finale and what not?” you started looking around for said cameras. He momentarily got distracted by the distance that only lessened between the two of you as you moved around him.

He made sure to snap out of it though before he made too much of a fool of himself “Oh don't know what cameras you're talking about but this- it ain't that. It's more complicated than that. As in-” he shrugged “I went on a hunt with Sammy, I died, he burned the body, Jack here whom you cannot see put my back together again am guessing kinda like a human puzzle, stuffed my soul back inside and dropped my ass on your living room without a warning. So, really, it's just as much of a shock to me as it is to you.”

“So you're keeping it up huh? Alright then. I'll go along with it. I am guessing that since I am also part of this story, I should probably introduce myself hm?” you smirked and he shrugged, playful as well.

“Well, it wouldn't be bad anyway. Until you believe me, that is. And Figured I should put a name to the beautiful face.” he tried to seem casual about it but he was anything but “Dean Winchester, pleasure to meet ya. And sorry for crashing in the middle of your apartment like this.”

“Wonderful.” but instead of reaching for his extended hand to shake, you grabbed a grocery bag and handed it to him cheekily “Help me place all these stuff in their place and I might just forgive you.” you shrugged grabbing some of the bags and making your way to the kitchen, only to pause when you realized he wasn't following “What? Saving people, hunting things, the family business, ain't it? Well, there is no monster here to hunt but oh could I use some saving from the terribly exhausting job of cleaning these.”

“You- for real?” he gaped at you in disbelief.

“Hmh. Couldn't be more real. Take the rest, will you?” you grinned at him and started walking towards the kitchen again, leaving him to stare after you and maybe take a few seconds to bathe in the warmth you laughter brought to him. Dean only shook his head, laughing to himself as well before started to grab the rest of the bags, noticing how you'd left the heavier back on purpose.

But it was during moments like this, when he really felt like there would be no troubles and no more thoughts that the world pulled the most cruel kind of jokes on him. And instead of calm, his world fell apart... or in this case fell into perfect place. For the first time now, in his entire life.

“Oh and for you help, a reward is in accord. Name's (Y/n) (Y/l/n), and it is a pleasure.”

Only for Jack to add in a low voice barely three seconds later and verify each and every thought and fear and hope running through his veins in that moment.

“Because this world has the one that can give you the real heaven, on Earth. Your soulmate.”

[neohotline]

“I have daisies in my heart

they bloom just for you”

-anonymous

Chapter 1 - Prologue: He loves me, He loves me not

⚘Pairing: Hyunjin x Female!reader

⚘Genre: Fluff, Slight angst, eventual smut

⚘Warnings: rated pg-16

⚘Word Count: 5.4k

⚘Summary: He loves me, he loves me not or She loves me, she loves me not (originally effeuiller la marguerite in French): a game of French origin, in which one person seeks to determine whether the object of their affection returns that affection.

“Wouldn’t hurt to try, I mean, it's just a game"

“He loves me”

⚘Disclaimer: Hi guys!!! This is our very first fic series and we’re really happy and excited to show you our work. Please don’t forget to give us feedback, we’d really appreciate it :D

© Please don’t repost, or share without credit

You weren't particularly a romantic person.

You never really got into the whole “boys” thing, only having a few meager crushes here and there, like any normal person would. You weren't a romantic by any means, knowing all too well how "love" can sometimes be complicated and, in your opinion, too much to handle.

So you opt for a way out, by spending more time with your friends and paying more attention to your studies.

Which brings you to the decision of going to a University recommended by your friend, Mina. The girl's been practically begging you to attend her school for months now. That's why you now find yourself at Mina’s doorstep, carrying multiple bags full with necessities for your stay at the new school. You knocked a few times before the door finally opened.

You were greeted by a very disoriented-looking Mina, who looked like she needed a fat double dose of caffeine in her system right about now.

"Oh, heyyy~" Mina greeted cheerfully, grabbing your wrist to come inside.

Once inside you looked around the small but well furnished living room. A few stray papers strewn across the floor, indicating that the girl might've been in a hurry beforehand.

"Sana headed out to class earlier, she'll be back later." She exclaimed, as she plopped onto the couch, grabbing a handful of sour candy nearby, shoving it in her mouth.

"Oh, alright."

Putting your luggage next to the couch, you sat down next to her.

"Wanna check out the campus?" Mina prompted, handing the candy packet to you.

"Yeah, why not." You shrugged, figuring it's best to get to know the place a little better.

After you two went sightseeing trying to take in the cultural differences, you had grown a bit tired from the constant walking and had asked Mina to drop you off at your dorm.

With your luggage in hand, you knocked on the door a couple of times, the exhaustion finally setting in, turning your usual calm demeanor into a much more agitated one.

You huffed, knocking with a bit more force than necessary, when it finally opened to a very bright haired boy, standing at least a few inches taller than you and chubby cheeks adorning his tiny features.

"Oh, you must be the new roommate," He announced, stepping aside, allowing you to enter, "Come on in." He chirped, carrying your luggage for you.

Upon entering the room you saw a very good-looking black haired boy, sitting comfortably on one of the couches, his hair swept back, revealing a handsome face, pretty plump lips forming a frown and long legs tapping restlessly against the floor.

Oh god, is there still a chance you can change dorms

It looked like he was just mindlessly scrolling through his phone, sporting an utterly bored expression on his face.

It didn't take long for him to notice your presence, peeling his eyes away from his device to you awkwardly standing behind the sofa. When you two made eye contact, you felt your cheeks heat up as he gave you a once-over. He then nodded as a form of greeting and then continued lazily tapping away at his screen.

You sighed as you walked towards the hall, this is gonna be a long year. You search for an empty room while the blonde boy carrying some of the luggage trailed behind you.

He gestured to the room on the left, stepping inside to properly show you the layout. You noted that the room was surprisingly a bit larger than expected, but still a nice size. He dropped your luggage near the bed, “I didn’t even introduce myself, I’m Han Jisung but you can call me Han.” He reached out his hand for you to shake.

“Oh yeah, haha, I’m y/n.” You said, shaking his hand.

You eyed the other guy sitting on the sofa outside, still not bothered enough to pay attention to his newest roommate.

Han cleared his throat, grabbing your attention, “Don’t mind him, he tends to not give a shit about anything else but himself.” He teased, voice loud enough to make the pretty boy look up from his screen.

“Heard that!” The boy glared at the other, then turned his attention back on his phone.

"That's fine, It’s an honor being in the presence of royalty.” you commented, Han’s eyes widened and he laughed before quickly hiding it behind a cough. You nearly missed the way the other boy’s eyes lingered on you a moment too long.

“No but seriously, It’s nice to meet the both of you. I hope we can become good friends." You smiled politely before walking back towards your room.

Before you could close the door, Han stopped you.

"I have an idea. Why don't we all go to the café nearby tomorrow. This way we can get to know each other better," He suggested, “and maybe we can get Mr. Perfect over there to loosen up.” He whispered half-jokingly.

"Alright, is it ok if I ask some of my friends to join?"

"Yeah that's totally fine." He waved you off, striding towards his door. You closed the door and sat on your bed, ready to text Mina about the meeting.

The next day went smoothly, mostly because Han and Sana clicked from the start, making sure the atmosphere never stayed dull for too long. You discovered that Han was a Music, Theory and Compositions major and the other boy named Hyunjin was a Dance Major and had a part time job as a model.

Slowly but surely, Hyunjin was able to open up to the rest of the group. You soon noticed that he was a very witty, energetic and sometimes a clingy person; he would always help keep you busy when you felt drained from all your studies and happily give you a distraction when needed. The two of you inevitably hung out a lot more over the past few weeks, naturally getting comfortable with one another. Everything was going smoothly. Or so you thought.

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