#not to even mention earlier when it turns out six ears was out alone because he was worried about stone monkey being in danger

[cave-monkey]

I can't wait for my usual post-episode ramble (edit: it's Episode 8 don't read further if you don't want to know anything about Monkey King 2009 Episode 8, okay, okay good). Because where did this come from?

The Demon King cuts down the tree Stone Monkey and Six Ears took refuge from their army in, and as they're starting to fall they have this exchange:

Stone Monkey: Six Ears, leave! Let me handle this! Six Ears: No! I'm staying with you! Stone Monkey, grabbing Six Ears by the wrist and throwing him to safety on top of a nearby cliff: Go!

!!!!

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Epilogue

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: This is the end 😭

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

SIX YEARS LATER

While the others were busy dragging themselves out of bed in time to the Day Court’s breathings, you and Azriel were already wide awake and watching as the sun trickled down the windows and onto the floor. 

You leaned your head against his shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent. Have I changed your mind at all? 

Your mate smiled at the sound of your voice in his mind. He almost preferred it to speaking out loud where curious ears might be listening. Cassian loved to tease you about it endlessly. 

“You’re worse than Feyre and Rhys,” He would lament, “Will we ever hear your voices again?” 

Hmmmmmmmm. Azriel considered your question. I’m afraid not, my love. I shall remain a creature of the night forever, no matter if I am married and mated to you.

You wake up earlier than me most mornings. 

Just because it’s true doesn’t mean I enjoy it. 

You blew against his hair playfully and laughed when his shadows were whisked away like leaves in the wind. 

“My Lord.” The attendant curtsied. Her cream-colored robes kissed the floor as she carried your dress in her arms. Her cheeks were rosy with excitement. Eyes glittering with joy.

There were three others behind her. One male carried Azriel’s crowning suit and the two females held boxes made from pearl and gold. 

“I hope you’ve slept well. We’ve come to prepare you and Lady Y/n for today’s events. If you would so kindly follow Arryn.” 

The male bowed low in introduction, and it took all his court training to keep him from jumping back when Azriel’s shadows crawled over his shoes in curiosity. 

Azriel looked back to where you sat in front of the vanity brushing the tangles from your freshly washed hair. One small shake of your head was all he needed to see before turning to the attendants. 

“I’m afraid your services won’t be necessary,” Azriel said apologetically.

Her joyful eyes fell. She had been looking forward to helping you dress. It wasn’t every day that a Court could enjoy a formal crowning ceremony, and even rarer that a High Lord should claim his heirs with so much love. 

She didn’t protest when shadows came to carry your clothes inside, but one of the other attendants did perk up with concern to mention, “But Our Lady’s hair! Surely she will need some assistance.” She looked on hopefully, clutching her pearl box a little closer to her chest.

Azriel smiled kindly. “I’ll send for help if needed. I promise.” 

With the hope of that promise lingering in the air, the attendants bowed and departed, taking slow steps in case either you or your mate should change your minds at the last second. They were severely disappointed when you didn’t. 

Perhaps we should have let them stay. You said. Azriel carefully laid out the boxes of jewels and gold, each piece shining with the light of a hundred suns. They looked so excited. 

Azriel pressed his thumb beneath your chin, fingers ghosting over your throat as he tilted your neck back to look at him. Hazel eyes flashed in the early morning sunlight and his lips were warm against yours, sweet like honey and bergamot. 

Perhaps. Azriel hummed. But today, I want the honor of attending the Darling of Day. 

Is that what people are calling me?

I’ve heard rumors. He brushed his lips against your neck. And I have it on good authority that the rumors are true.

Shadows curled in answer to your raised eyebrow.

And attend to you he did. He braided your hair, securing the front pieces away from your face with pins made of starlight and sunbeams. His heart stuttered when he imagined how radiant you would look after your father laid a circlet of gold over your brow.

He laced up your dress, spreading kisses along the back of your neck and sending shivers down your spine. Then he knelt to the floor to clasp your white silk shoes. The drag of his fingers up your calf had you smiling as he tied the final bow.

Another time, my love. You told him, pulling Azriel up with the daintiest grip on his chin. 

He pressed a kiss to your palm and the corners of his lips pulled up in a smile. What a shame. He nipped at your fingers. I’ll hold you to that promise. 

I would expect nothing less. 

Azriel was quick to pull on his Day Court attire and refused to let you take your time with him the way he had done for you. 

You snatched the Day Court pin from the vanity before Azriel could—a circular sunbeam with a sword, pen, and iris stalk crossed in the center.

Let me do this! Just this!

Your stubbornness showed when you climbed onto the bed and did your best to hold the pin out of reach. 

I’m not about to be crowned an heir. He reminded you, holding onto your waist protectively.

But you will be beside me when it happens. You must look presentable. 

Don’t I always, my love?

Careful. You’re beginning to sound like Rhysand. 

He lifted you up and off the bed with ease. Carefully, reverently, you pinned the gold piece to his coat. Just above his heart. 

He liked to pretend things like this didn’t affect him, but he was grinning like a fool as he finished buttoning the sleeves of his coat. Black velvet lined with gold and silver cut out his strong silhouette. And after little persuasion, he let you crawl into his lap and paint the corners of his eyes with gold and black. 

“Y/n!” Elain called your name from down the hall. Pale gold sleeves bubbled off her shoulders, light and airy as she hugged you close. “Oh you look lovely.” 

“As do you. Not that that’s anything new.” 

She brightened faster than a flower in spring. Lucien wrapped his arm tightly around Elain’s waist, ring flashing on his finger. 

“We thought you’d never arrive.” Lucien said. Folds of pale-golden fabric lay draped across his chest. A pattern of Spring and Autumn leaves trailed along the selvage. “Were you preoccupied?” 

“Oh hush.” You slapped your brother’s arm. 

You and Azriel were the darker mirrors of Elain and Lucien as you lined up beside one another behind the gilded doors. On the other side were hundreds of the Day Court’s most prestigious families, scholars, and courtiers, and the odd High Lord or two. 

Helion’s voice cut through the chatter, laughter ringing through every word.

“Are you ready?” Lucien asked from your left. You took your brother’s arm, some of Azriel’s shadows winding down your hand like jewels. 

“As ready as I’ll ever be. And you?”

“I am. I’m ready.” He squared his shoulders back. This was it. For the first time in decades, he would be a recognized member of his family — his true family. He would wander no more. “Thank you, Y/n. For everything.” 

The trumpets began to blare. The crowd’s talk dimmed to a low, excited murmur. Years ago, the sound of so many people would have sent shivers crawling down your spine like spider legs. 

No more.

Azriel slipped his hand into yours and squeezed once, twice, before the doors opened and the crowd burst apart like fireworks at the sight of the new heirs of Day.

The crown did not lay heavy against Lucien’s brow as he charmed courtiers with an energy that had everyone wondering how they could have missed the truth about Helion’s son. He was everything a High Lord’s son should be—polite, kind, and charming to an almost lethal degree. He took after his father in his mannerisms… mannerisms Helion had been stripped of the moment Aurora Vanserra walked into the room on her eldest son’s arm. 

You shot Lucien a look, and a look was all he needed before he was steering Helion towards the scarlet-crowned pair. 

“Lucien!” Helion pulled back in alarm. 

“Shhhhhh.” 

“Y/n—” Your father looked to you for aid, eyes wider than a deer at the wrong end of an arrow. 

You and Azriel waved him goodbye.

Helion’s stomach was a lead weight dragging behind him as he crossed the marble dance floor. 

Aurora Vanserra flickered like candlelight behind a window. Something for Helion to gaze upon but never touch. Something to love from a safe distance so he could never snuff out that previous light. 

Red hair cascaded down her back in braids laced with gold and emeralds. When she turned around and looked upon the face of her lover, Helion felt a familiar fist around his heart squeeze a little tighter. Mercifully, she looked just as flustered to see him. Although she looked a great deal more graceful when hiding her emotions. She’d always been good at that. 

“Helion.” His name was a breath from her lungs. 

“Aurora. Hi.” 

Helion had hoped the years might fall away. That the walls they’d both placed around themselves as protection might shatter at the gentlest tapping of his fingers. Alas, time was more stubborn than that and it would not break. But that did not mean it would not bend. 

You, Lucien, and Eris both watched carefully from your corners of the room as Helion quietly took Aurora out onto the balcony for some peace and quiet. 

Lucien worried that he’d made a grave error. Some miscalculation of hope. But then he saw his mother smile — the first true smile he’d seen in years — and suddenly the weight around his shoulders seemed to shrink. 

Helion and Aurora Vanserra stayed on the balcony all night, hands dancing closer and closer together but never quite touching. Lucien and Elain made their rounds through the crowds, feeling at ease at each other’s sides as they kissed cheeks and sprinkled hope throughout the Day Court.

And there, tucked away into the little alcove just left of the quartet’s humble stage, stood a Shadowsinger and Inkbird resplendent in black and gold. Heads bowed together. Hands touching. And smiles on their lips as they spoke without a whisper of sound between them. 

<- Previous Chapter

______________

Author's Note:

WE ARE DONNEEEEEE!!!! Don't mind me while I go cry in the corner now. Final word count was over 130K which is the most intensive writing project I've ever worked on AND COMPLETED!

I truly cannot thank you all enough for reading this story. Whether you were there from its very beginnings in December of 2023 or whether you stumbled upon this story more recently and got to binge read it all at once, I want to thank the writing/reading community for inspiring me to continue. There were multiple instances where I had to take short and long writing breaks and worried I had lost my passion, but seeing your comments and inbox messages or even seeing your little handles pop up in my activities section was a little extra gas poured into my tank so I could keep on going.

I think I'm going to take a little bit of time off (but this time it's planned lol) to get back into reading and to work on other writing projects (and also finally upload stuff to AO3 like I've been meaning to for the past month). So, I will be back soon with more writing stuff (but also don't worry I am always lurking on this app in some way shape or form).

Thank you all once again! Now that this is finished, I would appreciate reblogs so people know it's finished and ready to read, but also no pressure at all! 😊

Love,

Florence Byrne

[vermithorn]

* DISSOLVE

pairing: cregan stark x targaryen!reader

summary: an unexpected visitor arrives at winterfell, cregan is surprised to say the least.

contains: 18+, fingering, p in v, afab!reader, she/her pronouns, biting(?) marking(?), masturbation, asks about consent all the way becasue thats cregan ok.

author's note: i was horny in class, you cant relate to my struggle as i wrote this. my comeback and its cregan because i dream about this man and i need him carnally... also pls forgive any mistakes yall know my first language its spanish so don't be mean and leave feedback if you liked it !! pls reblog !!! !!!!!!! also totally inspired by mi amor @fairysluna fic about targ!reader x cregan yall pls read it its GOD TIER. ok bye now pls enjoy !

Winterfell was.. nice.

Your dragon, The Bronze Fury, wasn't fond of the snowy wasteland you commanded him to fly on. He grumbled as he landed near the northern capital, clouds of smoke coming out of his nostrils as he let you dismount him carefully, as much as he hated the north, he couldn't be mad at his rider.

You petted Vemithor’s snout, his red eyes intently watching you and allowing it, because after all, you were his little human. “Obey, stay here.” Vermithor roared, complaining in his own way, you just laughed and waved him off as you made your way to the castle.

*

“Warden Stark, this is a matter of great urgency…” 

Cregan stopped himself from rolling his eyes at the request of the Umber patriarch, a much older man who was filled with jealousy because Cregan was the Warden of the North and he wasn't, always mentioning it to the great council that was held once a month in the northern capital.

“My lord,” Cregan sighed, “I do not have time for this right now, you had your time for requesting when we were six hours in the council meeting earlier today.”

Lord Umber was about to speak again, smoke coming out his ears but was interrupted by the door of the Great Hall opening, a servant of the castle stepping in and announcing loudly;

“Princess Y/N Targaryen,” Cregan’s head snapped towards the doors, taking in the sight of you entering the Great Hall.

You were bundled up in heavy clothing to protect against the cold weather, wearing a thick fur-lined cloak over a long (but tight?) black dress with red accents, with the three-headed dragon sigil embroidered on your chest.

“Lord Umber, return to this conversation later,” Lord Umber's grumbles could be heard as he walked out quickly after bowing to you, leaving the two of you alone in the Great Hall.

 As you walked towards Cregan, he could feel a blush starting on his cheeks. 

“My lady.”

Cregan noticed a glint of amusement in your eyes as you spoke, it was almost a purr.

“Lord Cregan,” You raised an eyebrow, smirking, “I am not your lady, I am your princess.”

Cregan’s face turned redder, looking down for a second as if ashamed. “You are right, my princess. I have never before seen the princess of the realm and I was momentarily taken aback, forgetting your station,” He gulped, “I ask for your forgiveness, your highness.”

You chuckled, delighted. “Do not worry, my lord, we all make mistakes.” 

He looked at you in awe, he never had seen a woman as beautiful as you, especially in this land of wolves. He felt like he was being pulled towards you as if he was a moth and you were the flame, taking steps towards you.

“Nice meeting you, Warden Stark.” You could tell he was nervous, hiding his shaky hands behind his back, standing straight.

He nodded, almost a bow, “What’s the Princess of Dragonstone doing in Winterfell if I may ask? It is rare to see a noble of the south in this frozen land, even rarer the Crown’s Princess.” 

You chuckled softly, and Cregan couldn't feel more attracted to you now as he continued, “Is this an official visit? or did you just wake up with a desire to see my homeland?”

“A little of both,” Cregan raised an eyebrow at you, “I came on dragon back,”

He looks at you with a mix of awe and fear. Dragons have not been seen in the North for a long time, so the mere mention of one is enough to make him worry slightly. “Did you fly all the way here alone, princess? Or is there an entourage of guards, servants, and courtiers that I need to prepare for? I would not presume to let you see one of the great houses of the North without a proper welcoming, even if you are visiting unannounced.”

This made you giggle, and Cregan’s face kept getting warmer with each second passing. “I am alone, my lord.”

Cregan bowed, trying to hide his warm cheeks and of course, showing respect for your station and your valor for traveling alone in the frozen wastes of the North. 

He straightened his back and looked into your lilac eyes, breathing softly trying to not get lost in them, “What would you wish to do here, my princess? I could arrange a meal, or a bath to warm up from the freezing weather? Or maybe you would like to talk?”

“A bath would be nice, my lord.” You gave him a wolfish grin, looking him up and down and making him gulp at the sight.

“I will have one prepared for you immediately.” Cregan walked towards the doors, calling a servant to get your bath ready as soon as possible in the guest chambers near his own, he turned around to talk to you but found you were walking around the room, intently watching the tapestries and paintings.

He watched you do this for a few minutes until a servant came back to inform him the bath was ready in the guest chambers, he came out of his trance watching you.

“My princess, the bath is ready for you,” You turned around grinning mischievously, “Is there anything else that I can do for you now? Anything at all?”

Cregan would learn a few seconds later that his words would turn against him.

“Perhaps you could join me?”

A wave of crimson washed over Cregan’s face, and you could see how your words were making sense in his head. What were you trying on him? Was the offer even real or just teasing on your part? He watched you with his jaw slightly dropped trying to think of a proper answer for you, the temptation was certainly great… to see a princess like that, to see you all bare, he could feel himself getting harder at the thought of your naked body, but… what will others think? You came to Winterfell alone, what could happen if others find out he was in your chambers all alone? The temptation was too great to resist it.

“Is this something you truly want, your highness?” Cregan swallowed, taking another step toward you, “Or am I being an object of teasing?”

You grinned widely, taking a step to meet him halfway putting a hand on his wide chest, “My lord, you know how stunning you are?”

Cregan couldn't spit the words out, too occupied focusing on the hand on his chest.

“I am very thankful for your hospitality, my lord,” His gaze fell into your wolfish grin and intense stare, “So I am extending an invitation of my own if you want it.”

*

Cregan found himself in your chambers, mad at himself for his weak resolve against the Targaryen temptress. 

But all those feelings went away the moment you locked the door after entering the room behind him. 

The bathtub in the middle of the room was big enough for two people, that was out of the question and Cregan wondered if the servants did this on purpose. You walked towards the bed near the fireplace, taking your fur cloak off and leaving it carefully on the mattress.

“Is this room to your liking, my princess?” Cregan said, watching you subtly.

“It is,” You nodded, slowly untying your dress, “Could you help me, my lord?” You turned around, watching him over your shoulder with a playful smile. “This dress is hard to take off on my own.”

Of fucking course.

Cregan made his way over you, his rough hands carefully untying the complicated part of your dress on your back. You could feel his fingers tracing your shoulder blade, now exposed to the warm air of the room thanks to the fireplace. “I can never take this off without my lady-in-waiting’s help.” You giggled, still watching him over your shoulder.

Cregan shook his head, amused by the fact you were gonna need help to take this off in any case, thankful it was him this time. He waited for you to move first, removing his hands gently.

He took a step backward, “You may undress as you wish, my princess. It would be rude of me to stare while you are getting in and out of the tub.” You turned around to face him, your dress falling off your shoulders as he spoke, “I will keep my eyes lowered.”

Cregan’s gaze fell to the ground, his hands again behind his back, anxiously playing with his thumb.

“My lord.” You purred, “I don’t mind, you can look if you wish.”

He splutters, his gaze still glued down to the floor, shocked by your words but his traitorous eyes wander back to your figure, he gasps when he sees how your dress is no longer on your shoulders, now hanging low on your waist and your chest bare.

“M-my princess… this is not appropriate…” He exhales shakily, his eyes glued to your chest not able to look away now.

You roll your eyes, chuckling softly, “I don’t mind, my lord, I am not ashamed of my body.”

Cregan’s jaw drops, your words sending shivers to his spine, and his uniform pants getting tighter. You have the confidence of a queen and beauty to match it.

“Then allow me,” He takes a look up and down at your form as you continue to remove your garments. 

“Like what you see, pup?” 

Your words make Cregan freeze on his spot near the bathtub, his eyes roaming crazily over your body, now fully bare to him. You walk towards him, stepping slowly on the hot water until it’s reaching your thighs.

“Words cannot describe what I’m feeling, your highness.” He exhales shakily, “I am merely a northern wolf awed by a dragon’s beauty and power.”

You chuckle, sitting down on the tub, the water reaching your breasts, “You flatter me, pup.”

He looks at you stunned, you seem unbothered by the scalding hot water as you sit looking at him expectantly. He has no words to describe what’s going on inside his head, the Crown’s Princess is bathing in front of the Warden of the North as if there were no one else in the world, he's only able to stare at you in awe, his eyes shining with a glint of lust.

He stumbles on his next words, “W-what should I do now, your highness?”

“Join me.” 

He only can nod and starts to remove his clothes immediately, showing no humility or shame at being naked in front of the princess, your confident self giving him confidence.

He realizes what he's about to do, “You’re not offended by my nakedness?”

You raise an eyebrow at him, amused, “Why would I be offended? You’re beautiful.”

Men are rarely complimented by their beauty, something Cregan doesn't experience as much, and you can tell this by the way his face lits up and blushes hard, turning away from your amused gaze and feeling slightly bashful.

He takes a deep breath and steps into the bathtub, the water is almost too hot for his liking but he seats behind you without any complaints. He is facing your back and he has to stop himself from reaching out and touching you.

“Shall I wash you, my princess? Or shall I merely enjoy the view?” The moments those words left his mouth his face was plagued by a crimson blush, not believing that he could mutter that out loud.

He heard you chuckle, turning your head to the side but not all the way so he could appreciate your side profile as you spoke, “Whatever you want,” 

He scooted closer to you, keeping all his lower body and his not-that-hard (a lie) cock away from your ass. Still half in disbelief, the princess herself telling him to do whatever he wanted? He was an ambitious man, but started on the base of his wants, not wanting to scare you off. He reach out and ran his hands through your white hair, slowly washing it and once in a while touching your neck.

Your skin felt impossibly soft in his rough palms, and your scent was enough to send him far far away. He felt his heart racing, threatening with escaping his rib cage, he couldn’t believe you were there in front of him, a Targaryen princess, naked and inviting.

As he softly caresses your neck, you throw your head back enjoying the feeling of him touching your skin. His hands softly untangle your wet hair, and it surprises him when you let out a low moan when he accidentally pulled your hair.

“Oh,” Cregan could feel the heat rising to his face, and of course, his cock twitching.

Being this close to you was making him lose all his composure, but he did his best as his hands traveled to your shoulders from your hair, massaging them gently as you nudged back, encouraging him to continue.

“Shall… shall I move further down, my princess?” 

He could physically feel your laugh against his hands, sending shivers down his spine. 

“Yes.”

His hands moved along your shoulders, past your neck, and down to your upper back softly touching and caressing the path downwards your back. He can hear you sigh quietly, his hands coming back to your shoulder blades and slowly moving to your sides, just below your arms, both of his index fingers just barely brushing your breasts.

He stops, his hands still. “May I, your highness? I would never want to do something without your consent.”

You turn your head over your shoulder, watching him from the corner of your eye. “Go on, pup.”

His hands reach your chest, and he scoots closer, his (now) hard cock a few inches away from your ass. He warily cups your breasts, squeezing them gently as his fingers pinch your nipples, making them pebble.

You let out a whimper, shivering at the touch of his rough and big hands on your tits.

“Does this... please you, your highness? My hands on your perfect skin?” He cannot stop himself now, words spilling out his mouth as they didn’t before, his hands wandering around and playing with your chest.

“Yes, you’re doing such a good job, pup.” He blushes deeply but doesn't stop.

He’s still in disbelief, not entirely believing the situation happening in front of his eyes. The princess of Dragonstone telling him how good he's being for her? It is too much to comprehend, you’re so above him in any situation, but there you are, praising and wanting him to touch you.

“You want me to continue, my princess?” 

You nod, “Go further,”

His heart starts to pound harder in his chest, like a war drum, but he continues to do as you say. One hand stays playing with your breast, stroking your nipple, and the other travels downwards through your belly.

“Like this?” He whispers in your ear, and you can feel his hot breath on the back of your neck.

You surprise him again by scooting back, your ass against his hardened length, he gasps, the plump of your ass touching his cock making him lose his vision for a second, not expecting it at all.

“Just like that,” Your words send chills down his spine, is he really about to do this with a princess? Is he really worthy of that? He swallows deeply, his mouth now dry, but his mind is made up. He wants you, and if you’re allowing him to do this, he won't complain at all.

“As you wish, my princess. How far would you like me to continue?” 

“As far as you wish, pup.”

Your words leave him breathless, but he obliges. 

Cregan’s hand on your belly travels further down, carefully to not overstep your boundaries but decided to resume his wandering on your body as his cock presses against your ass. His eyes are glued to the back of your neck, his touch is hesitant at first but your permission makes him feel bold, so he presses his one hand down further and the other squeezes your breast.

“Go on, pup,” You whisper, leaning your head back and resting it on his shoulder as his mouth grazes your neck towards your throat, breathing heavily, “You know what to do.”

He chuckles, but it comes out as a shaky breath. He knows exactly what to do.

His fingers slowly make their way down to your cunt, two digits slowly reaching your clit hovering over it, and moving down to your folds, feeling how you shiver.

You exhale shakily, leaning even more against his body, “Please.”

Cregan’s resolve breaks, blushing as he continues his ministrations, teasing your clit with his palm and fingers grazing your folds, rubbing them. 

He’s so immersed in his teasing he doesn't notice when your soft hand grabs his, pushing it down towards your pussy hard. “I don’t like being teased, do your work.”

Your words drive him into a frenzy, immediately obeying and pushing two fingers into your cunt, hearing you moan. His hand on your breast leaves to support what the other one is doing, moving his fingers in a circular motion on your clit as the other fingers you.

You throw your head back into his shoulder harshly, groaning. “Don’t stop, pup.”

Cregan grinds himself against your ass as he thrusts into you, fingers deep into your pussy. Your breath starts to get labored and your shoulders begin to shake, he starts going faster, more vigorously as he hears your little whimpers with his name mixed into your chants.

“You’re doing so good for me, pup,” He grins proudly, his cock twitching at the breathy praise that falls from your lips, grinding harder against your ass.

Cregan makes you reach your peak after he pinches your clit and his long rough fingers thrust into you, shaking slightly as he holds you in place.

He’s still rock hard against your ass, and after a few moments to come back to yourself, you turn around to face him, your tits against his chest as you straddle his lap, not caring at all how the water splashes outside the tub.

Cregan’s cock is a sight, long and with a thickness it makes your mouth water. He watches you as you move around him until you grab his shaft making his dick brush your folds as you accommodate, the tip teasing on your hole.

“I want you, do you want me?”

He thinks that’s the dumbest question he's ever heard in his twenty-one years of life.

“Hell yes, my princess.”

You give him a wolfish grin as you sink into his length mercilessly in one go, your tight hole wrapping his cock in a warm embrace he can only answer by groaning loudly, his hands flying to your hips to help you steady yourself.

“You’re so tight, seven hells… my goddess, you’re so beautiful.” Your mouth parted at the sensation of his cock splitting you in two, combined with his praise, it’s enough encouragement to start riding him, water splashing everywhere.

His voice starts coming out as incoherences, between praises and swearing on how tight you are, and how your cunt was made for him, his mouth latching at your breast biting it and marking the sides when he can no longer say coherent words. You ride him hard and roughly, so it’s not a surprise when he spills inside your pussy and you follow him behind quickly with a second orgasm when he moves his hand down to rub your clit.

He hugs you as you both breathe heavily, trying to compose yourselves.

Your hand reaches his face, cupping his cheek as he looks into your lilac eyes like a puppy.

“You did so well, you’re not getting rid of me now.”

He beams at the praise, hugging you tightly, pressing your body against his with him still inside you, getting softer. “It is my pleasure to please you, my princess.”

vermithorn © do not copy, repost or translate my works

[eph3merall]

I just read your fanfic of chris based on “Hotel” and i I LOVEDDD it!! And, I was just wondering if you could write another song fanfic about Chris? I was thinking of Kiss Land by the Weekend:)

kiss kiss kiss <3 lotsss of parts i wanted to do from this song so the lyrics might be a lil out of order and whatnot :3 decided to do chris on tour for this kind of.... (guys i didnt get to go to the tours so. i dont know. what it was like.... hopefully this is okay) again this is SOO late im so sorry </3

drug mentions . not too heavy

when i got on stage, she swore i was six feet tall

but when she put it in her mouth she can't seem to reach my (reach my, reach my)

—

your knees have started hurting from digging into the cold floor—chris' soothing hands digging into your hair. blunt nails sink gently into your scalp and he hisses at the way you swallow around him, a gulp and gag ringing in his ears when he sees you can't fit it all down your throat in the first try. a chuckle vibrates his chest and he pulls you off with a heavy breath, one hand shifting down to grip your jaw and pry your mouth open wide, and then wider.

—

im faded off the wrong thing, the wrong thing

and ill admit baby

im a little camera shy

but exceptions can be made baby, 'cause youre too damn fly

—

piercing blue eyes tinted red drift shut before snapping open again. the tip of his dick hits the back of your throat, you own eyes quick to lift up and meet chris'—holding eye contact. you can tell he's out of it, and on tour too? maybe he got stressed or something, maybe something happened and he needed a break. the clenching of your cunt is hard to ignore, and you have half the mind to whip your phone out and take a selfie of yourself. maybe include chris in it as well, just to show off to your friends.

—

for what its worth, i hope you enjoy the show

'cause if youre back here only takin' pictures

you gon' have to take your ass home

—

before chris practically stuffed his dick in your mouth, you were ecstatic at the thought of meeting him backstage of the tour. you were only a fan, did he see something in you? your phone is in your hand the second you're alone, the words on the tip of your tongue. "can i get a picture?" and chris nodded. the two of you talked, where the brunette asked if you were enjoying their tour so far. you couldn't believe this was happening, so multiple photos were needed, right? you just didn't notice the subtle, growing annoyance in the clench of chris' jaw, or the way his muscles in his face tensed sometimes.

—

'cause the only thing youre takin'

is your clothes off

go 'head girl, strip it down, close your mouth

i just wanna hear your body talk

—

delicate, manicured fingers run down your body. you start sliding your dress off, cold air hitting exposed skin and making you shiver and squirm. maybe the way chris is eyeing you down has something to do with that too, with how his eyes follow the curve of your breasts confined in your bra or how he traces the lines of your thighs and ass. you pinch your lips shut tightly—his earlier command, 'jus' shut up, okay? wanna see you.' he was faded off something.

—

you can meet me in the room where the kisses ain't free

you gotta pay with your body

not really into kisses leading into nothing

—

you noticed something. even with the way chris' dick rammed into your poor cunt, he never attempted to kiss you. no time were his lips ever close to yours, hovering over your face or pecking your glossy lips. you wondered why, because he'd leave little lingering nips and pecks on your thighs or tummy or breasts. he hissed through his teeth, hips rolling and pelvis grinding against yours as the tip of his cock kissed that spot deep inside. you let the thought go. how could you not, with how good this felt?

—

im into shows every night, if you play your cards right, i might

fuck around, bring your whole crew on tour

fuck around, turn you to my west coast girl

—

chris is talkative. you saw that while he was on stage and even now with him nestled deep inside you, he'd talk and talk. talk about how pretty you looked, how good your pussy clenched around him. how he even whispered in your ear, leaning over your bare body and asking you if you'd like your whole friend group to go on the next tour with them. all you could manage was a high-pitched whine and weak shake of your head. he talked, asked you how much you'd like it if you were his girl. his.

—

i dont care about you, why you worried 'bout me?

all i want is that smoke, give me all of that smoke

—

after the two of you are somewhat satisfied, chris is quick to tug his clothes back on. as are you, because god forbid someone find the two of you back here—naked. you watch as he lights up a joint, lounging back in a seat and tilting his head up to exhale the lungful of smoke into the air. standing awkwardly, curious eyes peer at him. you aren't sure why your heart throbs just a little, because smoking isn't good for anyone. chris hasn't kicked you out from backstage yet, but he hasn't said much either. he eyes you, an air of boredom in his character. like he doesn't care, like you're just some girl. just some fan of him.

YAYY I FINISHED THIS!!!! this was lowkey short uhhhh im sorry hopefully u enjoyed love u all. feel free to req stuff... ummmmm yeah... thanks u all fro 300+ followers <3

—

©eph3merall 2024

[callmeklair]

declaration

Chapter six

“I miss him. I miss my father.”

It was starting to get annoying for Shin in all this noise, he had lived long enough in the quietness of Bandmaden that now such rowdiness only put him on edge as it did in school. Not to mention the stench of humans and their creepy emotions swirling in the air was making his nose itch. Also he only wanted to spend more time with this girl who has the founder's blood to find opportunities and trick her into their den.

There was only one option left now.

He slowly covered Yui's mouth and dragged both of them away from the scenario into a nearby cloth shop. Yui almost screamed when a hand covered her lips but inhaling the familiar scent of walnuts, calmed down. 

After making sure Shu didn't notice their disappearance because of all the girls crowding him, Shin gave a sigh of relief. 

“don't do that again! I almost screamed and got scared.” 

“I'm sorry Yui but I had no option, if I would have told you then he would have definitely noticed.” 

Yui gave him a puzzled look, not understanding his underhand intentions which only made Shin sigh in defeat at her gulliblity. He stepped forward closing off the distance between their bodies as his mouth moved near her right ear and whispered in a low voice, smiling. 

“cause… I wanted to be alone with you.”  

Yui blushes deeply at his seductive voice and the distance between their bodies becoming speechless not knowing what to concentrate on — the distance between their bodies or his words? 

“what can I help you with?” a female shop attendant interrupted them ruining Shin's mood as his opportunity was snatched. 

Yui looked around and saw that it was a casual clothes shop, so there's no way they can get a prom dress from here. maybe Shin took them here in the spur of the moment? 

“Please bring us some casual clothes” The attendant nodded and took out some random casual dresses and cloth sets from racks after scanning them for a few seconds to take in the guess of their sizes.

“cause… I wanted to be alone with you” 

Yui's face started becoming hot as what Shin said earlier became clear after seeing how he requested for casual clothes. 

The shopkeeper came out with several dresses and Yui was very confused and nervous about what to choose. She hasn't gone out for months to shop for herself after moving in with the vampires' as she was busy being kidnapped, whether inside the residence among the brothers or outside from the other family, Mukamis'. so currently she was wearing the same outfit she wore when she went out with Shin to the carnival. 

she thought it's just a dance practice so that outfit set would be the most comfortable to pack up in the school bag but… things turned out unexpectedly. 

she was very embarrassed now but with a sad look on her face. even if it was a practice she should have thought about it more than being excited to be with him. what must he think of her? no doubt he brought her into this shop to get her new clothes. 

“oh this looks perfect! with this he won't be able to find us”

‘us?’ Yui looked to see that Shin was picking out clothes not only for her but also for himself. And just with that her all sad thoughts vanished instantly. 

‘ah, he didn't want Shu-san to find us. That's why he requested a change of clothes not because I'm wearing the same… it somehow makes me happy’

now that Yui thinks of it, he never questioned her clothes when she changed into them for practice and neither showed any slight expression of disappointment or confusion. atleast not infront of her. 

Shin secretly took Yui's right hand and then dumped the clothes he chose in them. This got Yui's attention and she jumped at his physical touch in a shy way. 

he picked out a short sea blue dress with puffed half sleeves. there was a ribbon on the waistline, tied as a bow at the corner of the waist on the front side. the hem of the dress was covered with a few inches of thin white border. 

It was simple yet very pretty. just like her preference. 

Yui smiled as she rushed in the changing room to try them out, still shy from his physical touch. 

weird, he is starting to give her butterflies in the stomach. 

the dress fitted her. it's exactly her size. he had a good eye for her size… no that absolutely came out wrong. Yui blushes more as the steam starts evaporating from her head now. 

‘crazy. I'm starting to get crazy.’ 

Shin has already changed into his set of clothes as he waited for Yui to change while remembering how she jumped at his touch just now. the expression on her face was very cute. he wanted to see it more. from day one he had been seeing a lot of expressions of her and not to mention her way of reacting makes him wants to mess with her more to see those sherbet round eyes of her become wide, red dying her puffy cheeks. 

…

‘what did I just…!? No, the only goal is to carry out the bloodline and that woman is necessary for it. it's the only sole reason I'm hanging around with her and bearing with that sluggish vampire. nothing more nothing less.’ 

Yui came out but as soon as she did, she wished she didn't. the shopkeeper was at the door in case she needed anything but, “Matching couple fits. that's cute! Your boyfriend has a good eye” 

Shin was wearing a sea blue t-shirt and black pants.

they were matching! No more than that, the shopkeeper misunderstood Shin as her boyfriend.

she had just calmed herself down after a lot of efforts of slapping her cheeks and taking deep breaths inside the changing room. Even it took time for Shin to realise that he had actually selected matching clothes. It was totally an accident. He liked blue colour so he only chose the t-shirt of that specific colour but for Yui… he just thought she would look good in it. it matches her preferences too. 

thoughts about Yui's part only made matters worse for him. He is a founder! such things can't waver him and his pride. 

Shin took a calming breath as he told the shopkeeper to just check out as they are in a hurry. 

Yui didn't ask Shin why he didn't bother to explain but she understood that it'll just make matters worse. Though the thought of him as her boyfriend was intriguing to her. 

Until now she had never thought of such things. she did dream about finding someone she'll love after hearing all those exciting discussions of the group of girls that gathered beside her bench in middle school to gush about things with each other but as she grew she decided to be a nun instead. 

But now, after the eventful past months she went through, even that is not possible. so the thought of Shin as her boyfriend is appealing. she never thought she'll get to interact with a normal person and more than that, hang out like this. 

she really has ignored the danger related to the founders. no more than that, aren't founders suddenly so quiet. there hasn't been any action from their side since she met Shin…  

no no, she can't let her overthinking ruin her once in a while normal moments. she can discuss all these with Shu later. 

- In Town :

Shin is looking out and making sure Shu is not around to suddenly pop up and ruin his chances with Yui. Meanwhile Yui is looking around the view of lively town. It's been long since she had felt this free.

when she went to carnival with Shin, she was actually on edge every second due to the brothers keeping an eye on her and the threat of unknown founders. but the more she spent time with Shin, the more she calmed and felt free. 

This is the second time, and again in his presence she is feeling free. 

“tch, so many people. lowlives.” Shin complained but made sure the last part of lowlives comes out quitely or else his facade will be lifted. but it was too late, Yui had already heard it but kept quiet. 

Yui was always aware of the arrogance air around Shin just like it is around the brothers. even though she is being selfish for herself, she is not that stupid to not recognise the familiar atmosphere of arrogance around him. 

“dad! dad! there's a sale on those new toys cars, can we pleaseeee~ get it” a boy tucked at his father's shirt with his little hands pleading, and the father lifted his son up with a happy look and hugged him in his arms. 

“of course, anything for my son!” and they proceeded to enter the toy shop. 

Shin and Yui watched this scene as both started to reminiscent. Yui has been feeling this heavy burden after she find out about her adoption. it didn't matter if she adopted, he always treated her like his own. but abandoning her here suddenly… after all he was one of the people alongside church who requested her to move out. 

“You know Shin-kun, I was raised by an only parent, my father. even though he was most of the time busy with the church work, he always took out time for me and spoiled me. I moved out to a totally different country for study opportunities and on request of church, which included my father. After moving here with my distant relatives, I found out that I'm adopted.” 

Shin didn't knew what to say. no one has ever shared any of their personal feelings with him. When he looked at Yui, he saw her eyes gazing distantly, it was like what she was saying was a silent outburst she has been suppressing. even Yui wasn't aware why she was suddenly telling him all the personal matters, when she don't even know him that deeply but maybe it's because of the comfort and hope he brings out in her. the freedom she feels. she felt an urge to lighten this burden on her chest. 

“I am not able to contact him, I tried a few times already. It makes me wonder, was I really that blinded to not notice anything because I was happy and content. I miss him. I miss my father.” just like now. there are several times she wondered if she is again blinding herself from the possible threat that might be just infront of her but she is finally happy and content after a long time of going through hell. 

“My father also always spoiled me.” Shin started. he didn't know how to comfort Yui, but he also has a common ground about his feelings towards his father just like Yui does. 

“But as you know, I have an older brother, so I always felt like that even though my father was always strict with him, it was because he is the eldest sibling. who should pave a path and set an example for his younger sibling” and as a king. 

“My father pampered me a lot, and was never strict with me. At first I didn't pay it much attention but then I thought that I was being underestimated. Yui, you were blinded by the selfishness of happiness to look up at your father, while I was blinded by the selfishness of being seen as a powerful equal to look up at my father.” 

Yui looked at Shin, finally out of her dark haze as she glanced at his eyepatch and wondered if it's related to what he said. but at same time she was glad, she was glad to have someone share her burden with who also understood it with his own experience of pain. it gives them more understanding about each other's in depth feelings because of similar experiences. Yui was really happy, she was. 

Shin and Yui looked at each other with an understanding smile, knowing they found someone to relate with. Shin held Yui's hand, but Yui went in for a hug. Shin was surprised but eventually gave in. It was awkward for him as he didn't know what to do, it's his first time receiving something like this.

“before I left, my father told me that ‘family is a special kind of bond. We’re connected, even when we’re not with each other.’ maybe that's why I still believe in him" was Yui saying it herself, aloud to boost her belief in her father or to convey the same message her father left behind for her to him, because the way he sounded, it was like his father was no more. 

or maybe it was both. 

after a few moments of silence as they relaxed in each other's grip, they parted. blushing. Yui tried to wave off the awkwardness as she randomly took a topic. Shin’s hair. 

“my strawberry blond hair? ah you might be confused because my brother's hair colour is totally silver. parallel yet of same palette. My hair is mix of my mother and father's while my brother only got his genes from his mother, welp that's how they phrased it always” 

Yui laughed at Shin's dramatic sigh and hand actions. 

“genes are typical fufu, I wonder what hair colour Shin-kun's child will have?” 

did she just make the atmosphere around them worse? yes she did. both of them were flustered and dodging each other's eye contact. Shin scratched the back of his neck as he stumbled. 

internally he thought how he and his brother were dead set on getting this woman to bear a child to continue founder's bloodline but when she blurts out question like this, it actually makes him flustered and curious. they never thought about it that deeply except the continuation of the lineage. 

maybe these are things to be mulled over actually. 

“so this is where you guys are. such a drag.” 

[bluerevs-a]

          six or seven months ago, elena would have been justified in all of this teasing. it wasn’t as if he was debauched or anything, but marcus had refined the practice of not letting anyone get too close. seeing someone more than three times was against his personal code of conduct, and he would swiftly move on. even if he liked the person, it didn’t really matter, because marcus knew that this kind of protocol kept him safe, and ensured that his life was simple. and then he met elena. quickly, three visits turned into four, then to five, then an incalculable amount of times, all culminating here; where his heart was directly on the chopping block, and nothing was simple. once she drapes the towel over his head, he knows she’s goading him, and he lets her. a loud breath is pushed through his nose, exasperation pronounced on his face as he listens to her continue, even as she curls around his bicep and shoot him a smile that doesn’t meet her eyes. pulls the towel off of his head, gently pushing it against her face. “one more mention of raccoons, possums, any other nocturnal mammal, or sexually transmitted diseases, and i’m tucking and rolling out of the window and using your car as my safety cushion. i mean it.”

another broach of that night and he’s subconsciously shaking her off of his arm, his mind transporting him back to the horrific moment of elena being pulled into someone else’s arms right in front of him. once he realizes what he’s done, he looks to her, offering a bitter head shake, “hindsight, i guess. i don’t want an apology.” and he hopes it’s dropped now. hopes that they never have to talk about it, or that night, ever again. marcus could go the rest of his life without ever bringing any of it up again. his body practically seethes at the thought alone, the whole spectacle such a humiliation on his part. watches as her face twists in confusion, taking satisfaction in the fact that he had thrown her for a loop. a smile flashes across his face, but he wills it away. “you bring a labyrinthine complexity to the most simple conversations, i swear.” previous efforts are wasted, though, as laughter leaks into his words when he rubs at his face.

“you may have not heard me outside, but i don’t hate you. i don’t think i can,” time between then and now was small, yet it felt like ages ago. his heart aches, as she looks near tears. “but i’m going to work really, really hard to be indifferent about you,” he imparts, roughly five inches away from her face, fighting the unbearable urge to kiss her. irony. it crosses his mind that earlier, in the pouring rain, may be the one and only time he’ll ever vocalize that he was in love. there was no use in repeating it, anyway. “are you asking me for advice, or are you rubbing it in? i genuinely can’t tell.” defensiveness is obvious, hackles raised. why did they have to talk about him? more spanish and marcus’ lips fall into a frown, shoulders wrought with tension. “elena, i don’t know what you’re saying,” he reminds, suddenly feeling like free falling out of her window wasn’t such a bad idea.

the indecipherable words float into his ears and he’s making a poor attempt to mouth along with her, completely caught up in her laughter. this scene is a stark contrast to her utilizing the language before. “and if i asked what any of this meant, would you tell me?” marcus holds her closer, a toothy grin stretching across his face once elena’s dimples materialize. all that he wants is to suspend this single moment in time; draw it out and make it last, live here, instead of whatever daybreak decided to bring. obliges as she dresses him, even if he finds the attention uncomfortable. no one ever tended to him like this, and the experience was alien. marcus’ independence was something he held tightly to, and the thought of giving even the smallest amount away when she already had one foot out of his life terrified him. “oh, yeah, i’m sure you’re real convinced that i’m wearing cartoon underwear right now,” he smirks, obviously calling her bluff. he begrudgingly lifts her off of his lap with ease, setting her down on the edge of her mattress. maintains eye contact as he stands and unbuckles his belt. pretends the air isn’t thick with a new kind of tension, picking up a stray towel from the floor and throwing it in her general direction. “some people would pay good money for a show like this, you know,” he complains, unbuttoning and pulling off the pants in a swift motion. he’s exposed, sure, but he’s oddly unwavered by the feeling of her eyes on him. his black boxer briefs were obviously completely uninteresting, offering more evidence of her ulterior curiosity. “so sorry to disappoint,” he remarks, sliding on the sleep bottoms. silently, he appreciated the sensation of dry clothes as he hung his damp ones in an innocuous place to dry overnight. with rain still unrelenting on her window pane, marcus thought about how he would likely just be getting home right about now. padded over to where she sat on the mattress, his index finger curling underneath her chin as he tipped her head up to his eyes as he stood over her, “i’m sorry for all the trouble tonight,” he whispered, gaze now anchored on her.

"you're not catching a cold because i already took care of that." picks up the towel next to him and drapes it over his head to annoy him. "but catching diseases off those raccoons and possums you found as your new girlfriends could still be potential." shrugging, wondering why she let jealousy eat at her heart so viciously. it wasn't healthy, she understood. but under all that sweetness of course there had to be some flaws buried somewhere. maybe it was the consequence of being so empathic. she loved deeply, but that meant she also felt everything else so deeply and sometimes it could be overwhelming. have her teetering right on the edge of acting crazy sometimes. "i don't know a lot about alcohol," other than seeing her father and rory slosh around and act stupid on it, "but i know it helps people not think. and not thinking leads to the road of snuggling with chlamydia." hugging his arm and smiling at him in a pestering way by the end of her sentence just to hide her burning anger at him.

"yes. it was really stupid of me to invite you. because of what i did by that, you had to get hurt. i'm sorry, marcus." saying apologetically, then it became her turn to feel confused. brows twitching as she hadn't expected it. for brief second she thought he was responding back in spanish which had her heart jolting and jumping to conclusions and thudding harder than it needed it to until quickly realizing that isn't spanish at all. "are you arguing back with me in french?" voice shockingly QUESTIONED, brows shooting up. "you can't do that. i don't know french." and he doesn't know spanish, THANKFULLY, but she thinks because this is her game only she's allowed to confuse him.

"i don't want you to hate me..." again, it wasn't fair to hold that against him. he should be allowed to hate her if he wants to, she thinks. but it doesn't stop her from frowning at hearing him say that, voice sounded smaller and tears tried to prick at her eyes until she rubbed at them. "i don't know why you would either." she let that sentence hurt her feelings too, feeling like she's being irrationally sensitive and the part that hates herself is siding with him on that. "i'm not trying to remind you, marcus." elena retorted, anger hastily growing in her voice. assuming he thinks she's doing it on purpose. "i'm just saying... you can't be the one i want. because how do i break up with him?" it could still be read as a valid question, even if she wasn't masking the rest of what she wanted to add to her question. how does she break up with --- a controlling psycho? and little did he know she was openly admitting she loves him too, just in a different language he couldn't comprehend. "estás muy equivocado." you are very wrong. grumbled towards him about him not being the one she wants. he is indeed very wrong.

"good thing you did." smirk caused cheeks to dent, dimples poking out. then she thought about saying it again or not before deciding to give him what he wanted, "eres mi corazón para siempre." you are my heart forever. she tapped her chin in thought, other arm still curled around his neck, portraying like she was just rambling off words that totally weren't her confessions, "para siempre, mi corazón." forever, my sweetheart. "yes it will make me happy." brunette goes smiling widely in content, the only thing that would after this night. she leaned over to grab for the shirt he gestured to. bunching it up before putting his head through, then taking his left arm and pushing it through the arm hole and then the same for his right arm. "i'll close my eyes if you want me to while you change your pants..." she started, pulling the shirt down over his torso, "but i'm not saying i might not peak. JUST to see what kind of underwear you wear. in case they're like i don't know .. spongebob or scooby doo boxers or something." biting her lower lip, trying to hold in amusement, a snort sounding from her and then her shoulders start shaking before a real laugh bubbles over.

[quillsandtypos]

The Edge in Revenge

Words: 3k

Warnings: smut, degradation, female oral receiving, sexual edging, and underage drinking mentioned (NO SEASON 2 SPOILERS, I just started watching season one but I needed to get this out of my head)

Pairings: JJ Maybanks x fem!reader

...........................................

JJ really shouldn’t have been the one to underestimate what you were capable of doing in the name of revenge. He’d been fucking with you all day. It had started that morning, you were alone in his kitchen as the other Pogue’s were still asleep. He had you pinned up against the wall lightly sucking on the side of your neck. As he trailed down to your collarbone he suddenly pulled away. You furrowed your brows at him but he just winked and smirked before he walked away; leaving you wet and confused.

Then later after lunch he managed to get you alone before you and the other pogue’s went out on the water. You were still inside grabbing the cooler, as everyone else was already on the boat. He snuck up behind you unbeknownst to you. You felt his hot breath on his ear. “You need help with that princess?” he asked cockily. You felt his warm cock press against the back of your ass, and his hand was at the small of your back.

“Oh definitely,” you responded eagerly. You turned to him as he easily pulled you in with one arm around your back, and the other at the back of your neck. Your lips interlocked, and you hungrily kissed him back, almost begging for more. But just as the time before, he quickly pulled back. Grabbing the cooler from behind you and heading out the door. With a ‘thanks!’ and a barely contained giggle. Oh he was a dead man, you decided right then that revenge was most definitely an order.

So you came up with the perfect scheme. If he wanted to play that game, then he would quickly learn who he was quite literally playing with.

“Ki,” you said. You quickly pulled her away from the boys. “I need a favor, I need you to get JB and Pope away from JJ.”

“Do I even want to know?” she laughed.

“It’s in the name of revenge,” you offered hopefully. She let out a long fake sigh.

“Hmm, let me think,” she took a long pause.

She cracked a smile. “I’m just kidding, you should’ve started with the revenge part.”

“Yes! Thank you,” you said, hugging her tightly.

“Come on JB, we’re gonna go help Pope with whatever he’s doing in the kitchen,” she said, pulling him along.

“What? Oh, okay,” John agreed confusedly as he awkwardly followed her.

And so then there were two. You casually flopped yourself down on JJ’s lap, who seemed slightly startled at first, but then just wrapped his arms around your waist. As much as it was a sweet gesture, you didn’t sit there to be sweet, so you needed to ruin the moment. Lightly, you rolled your hips back so you went right across his dick, and then rolled forward, making sure to move slowly but applying a small amount of your body weight as pressure. You weren’t certain he was giving you a look that could kill, but you didn’t bother looking. But what you did do was speed up a little bit until you felt his dick grow hard.

Smiling a smug grin you moved to get off of him. But his arms helds you there. He swiftly pulled you down onto his chest so your right ear was directly next to his mouth. “When we are alone next, I’m gonna fuck you till you’re screaming,” he whispered lowly.

You adjusted your head so you could see his face. “As if you could ever have that effect on me,” you smirked.

“Care to up the stakes then? Or are you too chicken?” His eyes gleamed, and at the same time so did your’s.

“Name your price,” you said confidently.

“If I can get you to beg, then you owe me a six pack of beers.”

“That’s it?” you asked, surprised.

He raised his eyebrows, “Fine, a six pack of beers, and you have to go skinny dipping with me next Friday night.”

“But I have to work next Friday,” you suddenly remembered.

“What? Not feelin so cocky now princess? Afraid you’ll lose?” he taunted.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Of course not. So what do I get if I can make you beg?” You poked him in the chest for emphasis.

“Alright, if you win, then you get me as your personal boat driver, or person who gets you things, or whatever,” he offered.

“You sure that’s quite a high bargain JJ?” you now taunted back.

“Yeah, I’m not worried,” he replied cockily. He offered you his hand to shake and you took it.

“Prepare to be my personal maid,” you said.

“You better prepare to beg,” he countered.

You moved off of him just as your friends came out of the kitchen. “You guys wanna come with, we’re going for a night swim?” Johnny B offered.

“Nah, we might be out later though,” JJ answered before you could.

“Suit yourselves,” Pope shrugged. Kiera sent you a wink before also heading out the door with them.

JJ and you practically booked it to his room as soon as they shut the door. You quickly grabbed a condom from his drawer where you knew them to be by memory. You turned to throw him the condom to see that he was already on his bed with his shirt off. Every piece of your body was drawn to his chest and the way his back muscles looked in the low light, but you weren’t going to let him know that. So you deflected.

“Someone’s eager,” you commented.

“I-” JJ started to defend himself but the comment got stuck in his throat as he watched your movements. You began slipping your shirt off to reveal a black bra that was sheer, and lacy around the straps and underwire area. It pushed your boobs up nicely and accentuated your cleavage perfectly. JJ was a mess.

“This is so not fair,” he groaned, his jaw practically on the floor.

You knew the effect the lingerie would have on him, which is exactly why you picked it. “What? You too chicken J?” you said, using his taunt from earlier.

Your words made him recover quickly. “No, of course not,” he scoffed.

“That's what I thought you’d say,” you smirked. Now you let your jean shorts fall to the floor, so you were able to show your black thong, which was not as fancy looking, but you knew it would practically make JJ lose it.

You were right, he looked like you had placed him under a spell. When he finally snapped out of it, he pointed next to him. “Bed princess. Now.”

He was almost making this too easy. “I don’t know about that. How about please?”

JJ nearly opened his mouth, but quickly caught himself before he could say anything. “Fine, I’ll do it myself,” he smirked. He moved off the bed, to grab you. You tried to avoid his hands, but there wasn’t much room to run around, so he easily caught you. He threw you onto his bed, and you let out a small yelp of surprise. Before you could even think about running off again, he jumped on the bed, flipped you onto your back, and pinned you. His knees were on your hands, effectively keeping you from touching him.

“Are you going to be a good slut and scream for me?” he asked. His face a few inches from yours.

“Not a chance J,” you smiled.

“Have it your way then, but either way, you’ll still be moaning my name.” His arms lowered so he could dip down to kiss a couple inches above your collarbone. His knees still held your hands in place. He sucked hard against your skin, making sure to leave marks.

“Wait, no marks JJ,” you told him.

“Should’ve told me that sooner now everyone’s gonna know that you lost a bet,” he teased.

“In your dreams,” you scoffed.

JJ didn’t have a comment on that, but went back to work leaving you many bruises that you would have to cover the next morning. Oh how you wished your hands could be in his hair at the moment. He made an agonizingly slow trail down to your bra, before removing it and throwing it onto the floor of his room. He then started sucking on one of your breasts letting his lower lip just gently brush against your nipple everytime he sucked above it. He had found out about the spot driving you crazy the first time you had sex, and now you were strongly wishing you had never told him.

You had your mouth clenched rather tightly so that no moans would escape your lips. Unfortunately for you, your boyfriend noticed that.

“Come on y/n, just let it out. You know that no one can make you cum like I do,” he taunted.

Luckily, his temporary break gave you a chance to get control of yourself again. “Fuck off,” you retorted.

“Yeah, that was kinda the plan.” He grinned devilishly.

He must’ve realized that he was not going to get you to break by doing that, and instead moved farther down to pull your panties off.

His head ducked down to your pussy, but he made eye contact just as he did so. “You still feeling cocky?” he asked.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Alright, then let’s see how long that lasts since you’re such a slut for me,” he said with a wink before ducking his head fully down. He sucked another hickey on the inside of your thigh, and he slowly started licking towards your pussy. You could practically feel his tongue against your clit, but he was taking his sweet time.

“Stop teasing,” you finally groaned out.

“Is that begging I hear?” he questioned.

“No, I’m telling,” you said matter of factly.

“Yes ma’am,” he agreed with a chuckle.

His tongue slowly started lapping across your folds, occasionally flicking along your clit. Oh god you were in heaven, but simultaneously in hell because you couldn’t make a peep. His tongue once again licked across your spot, and you had to slap your hands over your mouth to keep a moan from escaping your lips. You could feel the smirk on his lips, but you weren’t going to let him have the satisfaction of knowing how much he was affecting you.

A few whimpers nearly came out of your body, and your hands were nearly shaking from trying to hold it in. But all of a sudden you realized that letting it out may be to your advantage, hearing your noises of pleasure, always had quite the effect on him.

So you did. Every moan, and whimper you let him hear. He thought that he was getting to you, which truthfully he was, but the game was far from over.

“You’re eating me out so good,” you moaned.

Your plan was already working; you noticed that he started to pick up the pace.

“Oh god JJ!” you screamed as he licked over a good spot on your pussy.

He continued licking in that exact spot which almost made you want to give up the bet right then in there. You felt shivers go through your spine as your core started to heat up but you were too stubborn to lose yet.

“No one fucks me like you do,” you moaned, knowing damn well the effect it would have on him.

Your plan seemed to have worked as he quickly took off his shorts, put on the condom, and just as his cock was about to enter you, you stopped him.

“Beg,” you insisted.

“Y/n fucking pl-” You had nearly had him, but he managed to stop himself before the words tumbled out.

You smirked, as he finally realized what you were doing. He however was now hell bent on making you lose. JJ climbed back on top of you with new vigor. “You’re smart, which is exactly why breaking you will be so much more fun,” he taunted. His head went back down again.

Your hands entangled in his hair as he went back to licking every single nook and cranny that he could find. “Fuck,” you whimpered as he once again licked your even more sensitive clit. You could feel the tension burning in your core, and a tingling sensation starting to spread all over. You started to buck your hips from the stimulation, and JJ was quick to force you back down. As his flicking became more rapid, you felt your body start to tense up.

“JJ I’m gonna-” you had started, but suddenly he had stopped.

“Beg,” he told you. And as much as you wanted to give in you were determined to knock the cocky grin off his face.

You sat up on your elbows. “Make me.”

JJ looked delighted by your answer. “That’s fine I got all night.”

“Inside me JJ,” you told him. You knew he wanted to make you beg for that as well, but you knew that he wanted to be inside you more.

He thrusted his cock into you and you did your best not to slide backwards from him pushing into you. “Oh my god you’re so wet for me, you really have been waiting.”

After he had checked on you he began slowly thrusting into you, going deep into you. “Oh shit,” he moaned. He would have to explain a lot of scratches across his back tomorrow but quite frankly you didn’t care.

“JJ!” you half moaned, half screamed as he went down again.

“You’re such a dirty slut for me aren’t you?” he taunted you.

You wanted to have some sort of retort but all that came out of your mouth was another moan, which just egged him on more.

“Come on, I know you’re tempted.”

Truthfully, you were extremely tempted, but you could surely outlast him right? But then you had an idea, he couldn’t stop it if he didn’t know what was coming. So as you felt your body starting to be strung out again you did you best to keep your breathing the same, and to not move around as much. But just as you felt the tension building he stopped.

“JJ?” you groaned in confusion.

“You seriously don’t think I don’t know when you’re going to have an orgasm?” he laughed. He pushed his hair out of his face and grinned down at you.

“Y/n you might as well just give up now, and spare yourself,” he suggested.

Collecting what small amount of strength you had left you said “Not a chance.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he smirked.

The warning was evidently very necessary, your whole body was starting to feel ten times more sensitive than it usually did. Every thrust sent a wave of pleasant goosebumps through your body. Your legs were shaking, and your voice was admittedly starting to go away. Your body felt like it was screaming that it wanted to orgasm. He started to slow down, but you were so close. You attempted to buck your hips into his to get the feeling back but he held you down. With a satisfactory grin on his face, that you needed it so bad.

“You’re not getting an orgasm unless you beg and we both know that I could fuck you for hours,” he taunted.

“Fine, fine, fine, please, please, please let me cum J, please. I am begging you,” you whined.

“That’s all you had to say princess,” he smirked. Finally his pace picked back up, to a more rapid one.

“Fuck you feel so good,” you moaned to him. There was no point keeping it in now. Your hips bucked in rhythm with his, as he moved in and out. But his rhythm slowed down as what you recognized as his climax.

“Oh god,” you heard him say as it finally hit him. His moans of pleasure only sped up your’s. “Fuck,” he moaned on top of you. But he managed to push himself back up to go down into you a couple more times for you to reach your climax.

Your whole body felt like it was on fire with tingles. The feeling spread from your stomach to your breasts to throughout your whole body. Your legs began to shake and you couldn't form words anymore. The only coherent thought you could form was how good you felt. Even after you had reached your climax, you had a sense of euphoria that you just couldn’t shake.

Eventually, you felt JJ start to move out of you, and you both whimpered slightly from how sensitive you were. You saw him take the condom off and throw it away. You lay in bed, still breathing heavily.

“Give me your hand, we’re going to the bathroom,” he said sweetly, but insistently. You groaned but you didn’t protest.

After you had used the toilet, you both flopped back down in his bed. It was quiet for a couple minutes before JJ spoke up.

“You know I’m really excited to see what beers you get me,” he teased.

“Shut up,” you laughed, lightly smacking him in the arm.

He lightly smacked you back. “Oh and don’t forget to call off for Friday tomorrow morning,” he grinned.

“I hate you,” you said as you rolled over.

“I love you,” he said sweetly, as he wrapped his arms around your midsection.

He always had a way of making you happy. “Love you too J,”

“Goodnight princess,” he said as he kissed your cheek.

“Goodnight JJ.” And you quickly fell fast asleep in his arms.

Needless to say, the other pogue’s weren’t worried that you never came outside. They knew where they would find the two of you the next morning.

[wri0thesley]

nat something about toji drives me absolutely feral, can i have a scenario or something where he meets reader at a bar and they have a steamy one night stand i don’t know i just want this beeg beefy dilf to absolutely ruin my puthy (fem reader please!)

anon, i really hope you have a corruption kink

Favourite (So Far) - Toji x Fem!Reader (5k)

Toji sees you sitting alone at a bar; all quiet and soft and unsure, and absolutely begging to be ruined - and he decides he can help with that.

warnings: afab reader, fem pronouns. not sfw, mentions of murder. corruption kink, virgin reader, dacryphilia, fingering, coming inside, dirty talk. 

Toji normally doesn’t bother lingering after he’s held up his end of the bargain, but the money is burning a hole in his pocket and the minute he’d left the body of the man he’d been hired to kill locked in the back office of the bar, he’d remembered you.

He estimates he’s got a good half an hour before anyone realises the man is dead. If they’d wanted him to clear up after himself, they should have written it in the contract – still, with how awkward you’d looked and how your eyes kept darting about the place, Toji is pretty sure he’ll have you away from the bar and with his arm around your waist in . . . ooh, ten minutes? Fifteen, at a push.

He knows your type.

You’re uncomfortable, watching your friends go off and flirt and dance – pulling at your skirt (you’re uncomfortable in that, too), tugging your thin shirt up to cover your chest, ordering something non-alcoholic and looking morosely at it. Your eyes avoiding when men try and catch your gaze, your posture tensing – he’s pretty certain that you do not want to be here, and Toji is going to offer you an alternative that he thinks you might prefer.

You don’t notice him until he’s right beside you (people never do), leaning in against your ear, one of his arms slapping on the bar beside you, caging you in on your barstool. You start, moving back, blinking your pretty eyes at him in clear surprise, your mouth a soft ‘o’ – ah. Toji can tell you’re the kind of girl who isn’t used to male attention, who doesn’t think that you’re anything special. Shy. Probably untouched-- he’s grinning at you, and he doesn’t miss the little swallow, the flash of interest in your eyes (girls like you always like the idea of getting involved in something a little dangerous)--

“Can I buy you a drink, sweetheart?”

The voice is rough and low and dark, startling you from your reverie. Your friends have all, indeed, long gone – after sighing at you that you’re no fun, that they shouldn’t have asked you to come out with them anyway – you’re surprised by the man it belongs to, all raven hair and piercing green eyes and a scar on his lip that your eyes can’t help but trace the line of – how does somebody end up with a scar like that?

“Oh,” you bluster, feeling embarrassed and unsure by the way he’s looking at you, the easy way he throws out the pet name, the casual authority he’s emanating by how you’ve been caged. “I’m-- I don’t really--”

He chuckles.

“Me neither,” he says. “Lemme get you somethin’ soft, then--”

It would be easier, he thinks, if you had agreed – if you’d been softened a little bit by the buzz of alcohol. Still, he knows that what he gives off is heady enough that you’ll come with him anyway – he doesn’t drink himself, so he’s not exactly going to blame you for wanting to keep your wits about you. Smart thing, for all of how vulnerable you look in a short skirt and high heels and a low-cut top. He’s ordered something for you before you can refute – you can’t deny to yourself that it’s nice. It’s nice to have someone be interested in you. It’s nice, too, that said someone is rugged and six foot something with corded veins and muscle in thick biceps and forearms.

You’re staring at him, and Toji allows it, letting his own gaze crawl across your pretty face, your body, the way the cheap lights of this dive are picking out the shine in your eyes and the gloss of your lipstick.

“What’s a cute little thing like you doin’ on her own somewhere like this?” He asks you, lifting the glass to his lips. You try not to stare at them, though your stomach is twisting. You shrug, awkwardly.

“I got dragged here by some friends,” you say, inclining your head towards the dance-floor, where your friends are very much living up to their earlier assertion that they were going to have a wild time and if you weren’t going to join in, then you could just wallow in your misery.

“Ah,” he raises his eyebrows, eyes briefly brushing over where you’d indicated before returning to you. Something about the way that those eyes are pinning you like a butterfly to a cork board makes you squirm, heat curling in your lower belly. Nobody has ever looked at you like that before. This man is staring at you like he wants to take you apart, and it’s exhilarating. “You not the dancin’ sort, huh?” Another swallow. The bob in his throat is mesmerising. “Can’t blame ya. Pretty thing like you’s probably inundated with attention the minute y’get out there--”

You laugh, softly, heat rising to your cheeks. Toji can’t help but think how cute that is – you’re so obviously unaware of yourself. When he gets you on your back, he knows you’ll have that certain kind of naivety that never fails to get him hard and aching in his pants; wide eyes and bitten lips and breath dying in your throat at the touch of his teeth and hands and cock.

“Nothing like that,” you say, “I just--”

Your eyes catch something. Toji looks too, as you’re interrupted by a pretty girl tottering up to you both in an even shorter skirt and even higher heels. Her eyes linger on Toji, a fraction too long, before she turns to you and pouts and says your name, making you wince. There’s a whining tone to her voice.

She’s complaining that someone’s spilt a drink over her, and Toji sees now that her expensive-looking shirt is stained dark brown. He hadn’t noticed the scent of beer wafting from her because of the overall air of the bar is absolutely saturated in it, but now that she’s right there . . . he wrinkles his nose.

“You have to come home with me, nobody else will,” she tugs on your arm. “And you said you weren’t having fun anyway, so you can always stay there, but I need to change out of this--”

There’s a world-weary quality in your eyes. Something that suggests to Toji that you’re used to being the designated person to take care of your friends, to dropping things to clean up after them – those big eyes and the downturn of your mouth and the softness of your voice all suggest to him that maybe part of the reason you’re so demure, so . . . innocent . . . is because you haven’t had a chance to explore anything else.

Toji drapes a thick arm around your shoulders. You jump at the contact – but almost as if it’s against your will, you nestle into him. Closer to him. A prey animal knows when it’s being protected, after all – even if it doesn’t know, yet, that he’s the predator.

“We’re a bit busy here,” he says, keeping his tone affable with a knife-sharp edge. The girl opens her mouth, as if she’s going to protest – but Toji grins, his eyes darkening, his mouth tilting to show just a little bit too much teeth. He lets himself draw himself up a little taller, so that his breadth and his height and the taut muscles beneath his tight shirt are unarguable. Your friend falters, shoots you a look, and then shrugs.

“F-fine,” she says, “I’ll go on my own--”

She walks away, pouting, storm clouds rising off of her. You’re trembling imperceptibly (adorable) – he thinks this might be the first time you’ve ignored one of your friends. Eager to please little thing, he supposes – the kind of person who wants to be liked and will do almost anything to keep it that way, with big doe eyes and a trembling lip and your chest thrust out unconsciously.

Oh, he will ruin you, and you’ll thank him for it afterwards.

“Sorry if I’m oversteppin’ my boundaries there,” he says to you, and you look at him with your eyes big and wide and wet your lips, his cock giving an answering throb. You breathe very softly;

“N-no, thank you, it’s . . . it’s nice to not have to deal with them, for once--”

Toji leans further into you, his arm not leaving your shoulders – close enough that his breath tickles the shell of your ear, and your brain short-circuits at a handsome older man leaning so close and intimately to you.

“You don’t wanna stay here, though, do ya?” His other hand is suddenly on your leg, calloused fingertips brushing the soft skin of your thigh. Your heart skips a beat, your body reacting – threads of heat sewing themselves into knots between your thighs. “You wanna split?”

His eyes do not stray to the clock behind the bar, but he estimates it’s been about eleven minutes. Longer than he was expecting, but – as you bite your lip and stand up, letting his fingertips drag dangerously close to the part of you between your legs, Toji decides it’s worth it.

His place is nothing special. For a man as well-paid as he is, you’d expect something a little classier, maybe – but for a man with the kind of profession Toji Fushiguro has, he doesn’t spend much time in it. He’s too busy travelling to care about it beyond anything other than a place to crash, eat, and bring home his conquests. And you don’t seem disgusted by it as he pushes you roughly into the room, arm locking around your waist, mouth dipping to taste you – so Toji doesn’t worry about it too much.

You’re still trembling against him, your entire body thrumming with energy that you’re not used to – but that all works to his advantage. It works to the advantage of directing you into his room, until your back hits the bed with a soft ‘whoomph’ of air and Toji is kneeling over you, your eyes big and wide and blown as they look up at him.

You’d been so easy to convince back here. You’d made a couple of quiet whispers about how you shouldn’t, the way that good girls like you do – but his fingers had cupped your cheek and his body had pressed against yours and he’d smiled that dangerous knife-edge smile and you’d been putty in his hands, trembling kneed and so very adaptable as you’d walked beside him with your breath unsteady in your chest at your own daring.

Now, though, with a man’s bed behind you and a man’s cock digging into your stomach where he has you caged underneath him, things are beginning to feel far more real. You take another shuddering breath, not meeting his eyes as you whisper;

“I—I haven’t--”

Oh, fuck. If you knew what those little words did to him – if you could have heard the monster roaring in his chest at how excited he was that he’d not only get to utterly ruin you, but to get to be the first one to do it . . . He’d let himself hope, based on your way of holding yourself all demure and prim, that you’d be a virgin, but to hear it from your own lips with your skin rapidly heating up under the confession.

“That’s alright, sweetheart,” Toji practically coos at you, as his big fingers go to your shirt, tugging it off with expert precision. “I ain’t gonna break you—”

(Well. Not in any way you aren’t going to beg for.)

Breath caught in your throat as your bra is unclipped, the lacy garment dropped onto the floor. His own shirt follows – you can barely stop yourself ogling him, the firm abdominal muscles, the scars across his pectorals. You can tell, based on how many scars he’s bearing, just how dangerous the man above you must be.

The one like a starburst is a bullet scar, you’re pretty sure. The one wrapping around his side is too big to be anything but a knife or a sword – this is a man involved in something dangerous, something shady – and even that isn’t enough to get you to ask him to stop.

Staring down at your newly exposed breasts, Toji can’t resist leaning in; sucking one of your nipples into his mouth, dragging his teeth across the sensitive bud, lapping at it until your back arches and you whimper so prettily that it goes straight through him and straight to his cock. The wet kisses trail back up to your neck, blunt teeth tugging at your skin, sucking quickly stinging bruise marks into the skin so that everybody will know what this cute little virgin was up to last night--

A rough tug to your earlobe makes you moan. A nip to your lower lip makes you practically mewl. And his rough fingertips pushing up your skirt to your waist, letting his fingers dig into your plush thighs so hard that there’s no way you won’t be marked with fingerprints tomorrow – that makes you whine.

“You like bein’ pushed around a little bit, cutie?” The pet name, again, has blood rushing to your face and heat rushing to between your legs. You’re suddenly so very aware of how slick you are, how your underwear is clinging to the folds of your sex. How much of that is his fingers and how much of it is his voice and how much of it is how exposed you are in front of him, you don’t know – but you bite your lip and avert your gaze, and this just seems to spur him on. Both of you know the answer: yes. Yes, you do like being pushed around a little bit--

“These are soaking wet,” he tells you, as the matching lacy underwear to your bra is peeled off of you. He readjusts himself, grabbing your thigh and pressing your knee against your chest so that he can move his hips between your two legs as well as get a proper look at what you’ve been hiding beneath the tiny skirt – he lets out a low whistle, those green eyes greedily drinking you in like you’re a painting hung in an art gallery. “Well, look at you. Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

He sees how the compliment makes you squirm at the same time as it makes your cute little hole, exposed thanks to the stretch of your leg, flutter around nothing. He might break you if he doesn’t prepare you properly; you’re so small, and it’s been a real long time since he bedded a virgin--

One of his fingers drags through your slick with no preamble, brushing your fluttering hole, and the noise catches in your throat – halfway between a whimper and a soft sigh, a noise that does not serve to do anything but make him repeat the motion, gathering your glimmering arousal on the same thick digit. He brings it to his mouth, tongue darting out to taste you.

“Mm, you should taste yourself,” he says to you, eyes glinting. “You’re like honey, sweetheart--” Toji doesn’t wait for you to say yes or no. His finger pushes past your lips, so you’re forced to taste yourself on his fingertips, brushing over your tongue. His eyes focus very deeply on you, like you’re the only thing in his orbit worth paying attention to. “Why don’t you give my finger a suck, darlin’? You’ll want it as wet as you can get it--”

Not that you’re not plenty wet enough. But there’s something so endearing about the feel of your tongue hesitantly licking at him, the shine of your eyes. If he wasn’t hard enough to cut diamonds, he would have you suck his cock first, if only to see those pretty lips wrapped around his shaft and to hear you choke a little bit, to see your makeup go runny and messy and ruined--

“Atta girl,” he says, roughly, pulling his finger out (the trail of drool sends another of those throbs of heat through him). The finger drags over your slit again, parting the plump lips – and then, he’s pushing his finger inside you, your walls pulsing around him. You’re so fucking tight. He knows you weren’t lying about being a virgin – the gasp that dies in your throat, the hand that tangles in his bedsheets, the little lift of your hips to help him along – all of those are things that are entirely sensation responses, not in the least calculated, and Toji loves that.

The finger pumps in and out of you, helped along by your slick, until he can press another alongside it and scissor them gently, stretching out your channel in preparation for what you’re going to take in a matter of minutes. Your teeth keep digging into your bottom lip, as if you’re afraid to make too much of a noise – he chuckles as he brushes your swollen clit with his thumb.

“C’mon,” he growls, “don’t hold out on me. Lemme hear you--”

Oh, you’re so embarrassed – but you’re also, he can tell, the kind of girl who can’t resist an order. You let your mouth relax, drop open – and next time his thumb rubs firmly across your clit, the noise is caught only by the ceiling above you both. He makes some little noise of praise that you can’t fully discern, because now he’s started pulling forth your pleasure he doesn’t want to stop. Three fingers. His thumb, toying with your clit, rubbing firm circles with it as he feels your channel clench and quiver around his fingers. He rubs at the textured spot on your inner walls and you groan, your other hand gripping his forearm, your brow forming sweat. Your hips are circling, needy, in search of more stimulation.

“You gonna come for me, sweetheart?” Toji asks you, his voice like cigarettes and leather. “C’mon. Let me see-- let me feel your pretty cunt clench--”

Something about the dirty words pushes you over the edge and you tumble down a dark hole, fireworks exploding inside of you, stars bursting into being behind your eyelids as pleasure washes over you in great waves. You soak Toji’s fingers, your walls sucking him in deeper and deeper.

Your breath comes in great pants, the aftershocks of your orgasm still gently rippling through you even as Toji pulls his fingers out of you. You look up at the man as he adjusts himself with his other hand, as if in a haze – and as if in a haze, when he roughly pushes those three fingers back into your mouth, you suckle on them with your mind and thoughts all misty. All you can think about is him. That’s what he wanted, anyway – cute little demure virgin, cock drunk even without him fucking you properly – he breaks girls like you on the regular, but you might be one of his favourites.

He tugs down his pants enough to reveal his flushed cock, curving to lay against his stomach, hard and leaking precome from a reddened tip. Your eyes widen (he always loves that moment), as you realise why he took pains to prepare you with his fingers.

“Whaddya think?” He asks you, teasing, wrapping his fist around the shaft. Even his big hands around it do nothing to make it look smaller, and you barely realise that you’re staring until he slaps your thighs with it, streaking his own wetness all over you. “You’ll give a man a complex, sweetheart--”

“I-I don’t have much to compare it to,” you say, desperately, heated and needy even though you literally just came. You want him inside you. You never thought you’d be so easily broken down into wanting to be fucked, but here you are – something primal inside of you is awoken by the size of his cock and the glitter in his eyes and the sculpted muscle, and you want to be desecrated. “Y-you look big--”

He laughs at that. Yeah, you definitely don’t have much to compare it to if that’s your take-away. Still. It’s cute, how you’ve spread your legs a little wider, how you’re not hiding the fact you’re looking at him like he’s some kind of angel who’s finally granted you a taste of the celestial city.

“I feel big too,” he tells you, with a smirk that rattles you to your core. “Wanna find out?”

When you nod, he grins – those big hands take a hold of your thighs, pressing both of your knees to your chest this time. He takes a moment to enjoy you in this position – those wide eyes, the lewd splay of your legs revealing the glimpse of your cunt still tantalisingly shining with the remnants of your orgasm. You squirm under his hungry gaze, exposed – and that does nothing to quell the hunger that seems to be thrumming through Toji, with every clench and wriggle.

“Good,” he tells you, rubbing his cock through the mess you’ve made of yourself, making sure the head nudges your clit and he can see the way you shiver. “You’re bein’ such a good girl for me--”

He catches on your entrance and you let out a keen. With your knees pressed to your chest, you’re unable to get a grip on Toji’s shoulders, and you have to console yourself with fisting the bedsheets beneath you (rumpled even before you’d ended up there).

The position he’s got you in means that you feel every ridge of his cock, every vein, every throb – inch by inch, as he sheaths himself slowly inside you. He can’t help but watch as your jaw goes slack, as your eyes cloud with the feeling of him entering you – as tears bead in the corner of your eyes at the burn and stretch--

Oh, fuck, the tears. He wonders if you feel the way that his cock seems to harden at that, at how pretty you look all glassy-eyed and helpless and trying to take him. He’s maybe two thirds in and almost at the limit of forward motion, but you whimper, letting your head fall back--

“P-please,” you say, “I��I can take it--”

He laughs, low and dangerous. He leans in, brushes his lips over your sweat slicked forehead. His tone is syrupy sweet when he speaks, as he angles his hips just so that he sinks another aching inch into the sweet kiss of your tight cunt.

“Oh, I know you will, sweetheart,” he murmurs, sounding almost like a threat. His eyes flash downwards, to see how tightly you’re clinging to him – how big his cock looks, disappearing into your slick sex. How the glistening ring of your need coats him. Just a bit further – watching himself claim you is almost hypnotic.

He wants to see you on your hands and knees, watch his cock stretch you out that way. He wants to see you gag and choke and drool around his cock, wants to see your small hands wrap around him, wants to have you in every position until you’re so fucked silly you can barely move--

But for now, he hilts inside of you, his balls slapping against your slick skin. His face splits into a smile as his eyes travel back up, to the bulge in your stomach that he knows is from just how big his cock is, to your thighs trembling even with him keeping them prone against you. You’re so cute. The tears have spilled past the rim of your eyelids now, wetting your cheeks – they’re so maddeningly sexy, on your pretty face. He’s not going to last half as long as he wants to, he doesn’t think – not when you’ve been driving him to distraction since the moment he laid eyes on you.

He can barely remember he killed a man less than an hour ago.

That’s old news, unimportant compared to how your walls flutter around him as he pulls out. Unimportant compared to the arch of your back, the rock of your breasts, the great gasps of air.

He’s not a kind man, but he doesn’t go out of his way to be an asshole to his conquests – so he lets you get used to the rolling rhythm of his hips, slowly. He doesn’t piston his hips in and out of you, not at first. He lets the slow drag of his cock on your sensitive inner walls make you shiver, make you gasp and moan and whimper. And only after he’s earned the light hump of your hips against his, searching for the sensation yourself, does he let himself fuck you the way he wants to.

He wants to record the moan-squeak-whimper of surprise as he begins to pump his hips in earnest. It’s a noise he’s heard before, but coming from your pretty mouth it seems all the more potent. His hips jerk into you and out of you, the noise of skin slapping against skin very loud in the bedroom. The slick noises of his cock driving in and out of your tight cunt would be shaming if it didn’t feel so good, if you didn’t get a shock of want every time his body ground against your clit on the inner thrust.

You lose track of time, with the dangerous man you met at the bar bent over you. He mouths greedily at your lips, seeming to treasure every noise you make and swallow it down his throat like a sweet candy – he bites at your neck, at your throat, the grip on your thighs never faltering for a moment. You can do nothing but let yourself be folded in half, and let him fuck you like an animal.

That seems right. He’s rutting into you deep and hungrily, almost feral in his enjoyment of your body. He drops one of your legs suddenly, letting it hit the mattress, readjusting his hips so that one of his hands can dive between you and--

He’s playing with your clit again. The pads of his fingers are rough, and you wonder if he handles a gun like the one that gave him that starburst scar. You wonder how dangerous these fingers are, the ones that were buried inside you and are now coaxing your poor, swollen clit to another orgasm.

“Come on, baby girl,” he growls, pressing harder, making your thighs jump with tension. “Wanna feel you come with my cock buried in that pretty little cunt--”

You whimper, throwing your head to the side and letting a cry out into the pillow like a mewl. Toji would be mad that you’d stifled the cute little noise, if the sight of you submissively showing him your neck (one of your softest parts) hadn’t scratched an itch for dominance inside of him – and if the feel of your body clenching and pulsating around his cock wasn’t currently finally pushing him over the edge, making him judder his hips against you as he shoots rope after rope of his come directly inside of you.

Your shoulders are heaving with the effort of the orgasm that’s still ricocheting through you, your toes curling, your body clenching and soaking Toji’s cock with your orgasm. You don’t even realise he’s come inside of you until he pulls out slightly and you wince at the feel of that same come, his load far too thick and full to not have a bit of it trickling out of your stretched hole. Toji admires the look of it; darkened from his persistent thrusts, your syrupy slick mixing with the thick pearly white of his seed.

“Y-you came inside me,” you say, your voice half-clogged with the tears that are still glistening on your cheeks (a low pulse of heat in his groin. His refractory period has always been short – and with a cute little thing like you in his bed, who can blame him for wanting to fuck you again almost immediately?). “I—I don’t even know your name--”

Oh, shit. He’d quite forgotten. He knows yours from the girl in the bar (that already feels like a lifetime ago). He can hear the uncertainty in your voice, the kind of confusion that seems to say ‘good girls don’t do this, I would never do this, who is this stranger wearing my skin with a man’s come making their thighs sticky?’. It’s part of the process of breaking that Toji loves so much.)

“Sure did, darlin’,” he says, absent-mindedly scooping some of the come that’s oozed out of you and pressing it back inside. He wins a whimper for that, one that’s definitely not ‘stop’. “You’re still so sensitive.”

If you notice he doesn’t give you his name in response to your question, you don’t say anything. As his fingers gently circle your entrance again, as his hand brushes your thigh and you shiver, he sees that you unconsciously spread your legs even further apart for his explorations. Oh, you’re so cute.

One lone finger, gently grazing your clit, makes your hips jerk, your voice break in a way that’s all needy. You look at Toji through those tear-darkened eyes, your lips bitten to puffiness, your lipstick and mascara and eyeliner all messed up on your face from crying and biting your lip and drooling. Adorable. Girls like you always look best like this, their polish scuffed when Toji’s taken them to bed and stripped away all of their defences.

Girls like you, Toji always manages to get to move their hips against his ministrations. He always manages to have them gasp, whimper, break--

You’re not the first one in his bed, and you probably won’t be the last. But as he grins at you and asks;

“Well, sweetheart. I’ll give you a choice. Y’wanna take a shower and I’ll call you a cab or somethin’ and you can head off home? Or,” he drops his voice low, drags his eyes over your prone form, brushes his lips over your stomach. They flutter against the soft skin, his breath a hot wash that makes goose flesh prickle all over you. “Y’wanna spend the night?”

And you bite your lip before nodding, nervously running your hand through his hair, your body near trembling with need--

Well. As he asks that and you answer, he really does think you might be his favourite one ever.

[mrs-cameron]

in my business (part 9)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8

Masterlist | “The cold shoulder”

pairings: slowburn rafe cameron x reader

word count: 3.1k

warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking, i suuuck at fluff

summary: After finally being in Rafe Cameron’s arms, you feel like you’re both comfortable enough to open up to each other. Once the Menzies name is mentioned again, you’re not so sure anymore.

Rafe twitched in his sleep, breathing out loudly as he looked at his surroundings, disoriented for a moment. He glanced at you sleeping peacefully beside him, head turned from him.

Not a dream, this time. You were right there in his sheets.

He caught himself thinking there was no other person he’d rather be with. Terrifying news for Rafe Cameron, your fuckboy next door who coincidentally haven’t been caught with any girl over the past month. He had a fluttery feeling in his stomach when you turned to the other side as his eyes ran over your figure.

A couple of minutes later, he still watched you when you finally opened your eyes. You stared blankly at the window, squinting when the sun shined on you.

“I see your lashes moving,” he whispered. “Turn to me. Good morning.”

“Ew, why are you staring at me,” you replied as your voice cracked, closing your eyes and not moving a bit. With a huge smile on your face, too.

As he hugged you from behind, his nose bumped into the back of your head. “Because I want to.”

You blushed, lightly rubbing your eyes. “Stand in line, sir.”

“Did someone say a line,” you threw a pillow at him.

Without taking his eyes off you for a moment, he leaned for a kiss, brushing his lips against yours before you finally pulled him closer. Rafe felt like your lips stretched out in a gentle smile and he had a feeling as if his heart was about to explode.

The whole night you and Rafe were practically glued to each other, speaking a lot yet practically about nothing. The two of you avoided talking about the charity dinner and anything related to Ward Cameron, really. Focusing his attention on you, Rafe felt like he could escape the real world by simply being around you.

The alcohol you drank that night has come to light, you felt as if you were spinning even though you haven’t moved a bit. You were laying for a while in silence, enjoying each other presence. Rafe took pride in finally having you by his side, even though it took an emotional breakdown to get there.

“What time is it?” You habitually scanned the room with your eyes to find your phone.

“Oh shit,” Rafe giggled. “We forgot our phones at Tanneyhill.”

“Pick up already,” Sarah marched across the room, holding a phone to her ear.

After you and Rafe ran away, she was left alone with Topper and the obnoxious company of old businessmen she wanted nothing to do with; Topper, on the other hand, was given a perfect opportunity to catch her alone.

Their conversation, as expected, did not end well. Topper ended up calling Sarah names, pressuring her to admit to things she didn’t do behind his back.

Her main reason for blowing off your phone, however, was to question you about the last night. Even though Sarah picked up the tension between you and Rafe a while ago, yesterday’s event was the last straw that tied it all together.

“Sweetheart,” Ward knocked on the door before coming in. “I see you’re calling Y/n, but they both left their phones here,” he handed Sarah your phone that he had muted earlier.

“Oh,” she replied, taking it and seeing her six missed calls. “Can I have Rafe’s phone too?”

“Are you seeing him soon?”

“Yeah,” she supposed she would. “This New York course that you talked about yesterday… did Rafe even know about it?”

“He didn’t, but it’s not like he has much of a choice anyway.”

“Dad, what if he doesn’t want to?”

“Sarah, your brother is almost twenty. He doesn’t get to just sit around and get everything handed to him,” Ward raised his voice.

“Why don’t you listen, for once? Please,” Sarah asked. “You’re not solving his problems, you’re only creating new ones. He’s not even allowed in his own house!”

“Sometimes a parent knows better,” Ward hesitated to give Sarah the phone, twisting it in his hand. “You’ll understand when you grow up.”

“And what, do you plan on just sending him away?” He dumped the phone on Sarah’s bed, leaving the room without the answer.

“Sarah must have called a thousand times,” you finally faced Rafe as his eyes fixated on your sleepy self.

“Who cares? She’ll survive a day without you,” he complained, “but barely. You wanna go out?”

“Like, where?”

“I don’t know,” he took your hand, putting it on his chest. “Somewhere far away.”

“Oh, like not the Cut?”

“Hell no,” Rafe laughed. “I don’t tolerate plebeians around me… and you,” he specified. “Tell Maybank you’re off-limits,” he smirked at you, placing his hand on your cheek as you put your leg on him, pulling Rafe even closer.

“Jokes on you, we were never a thing.”

“Who’s we? Like, Maybank and you?”

“Oui,” you giggled.

“No way.”

He pulled you for another kiss, tracing circles on your back with his fingers. You ran your fingers along his cheek, dropping lower, to the neck, and throwing your head back as he trailed kisses towards her collarbone.

“Your pants are on fire,” he said. “Probably why you don’t wear any.”

You frowned. “M-kay, I shut up. Let you fantasize about me and JJ,” you mocked him, removing your leg as he quickly grabbed it again, putting it back onto him. “Since you don’t want to listen.”

“No-no,” he murmured. “Keep talking.”

“So nosy, always prying into my personal life,” you whispered, sitting on the bed and looking down at Rafe as your fingers intertwined.

“Oh, I’m obsessed,” he replied.

You sighed loudly, breaking contact with the Rafe again as you started to get out of bed, getting tangled in the blanket you stole from him earlier. Before you could break free, Rafe held you close from behind, placing you right back on the bed under him.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

Who would’ve thought your uncle’s apartment would be the number one spot for the summertime?

After taking your sweet time with Rafe, you both decided it would be a good idea to unwind somewhere, money Rafe took from his father’s safe last night could’ve easily provided just that. Getting ready to spend the whole day with Rafe on the Figure 8 doing whatever, you still needed to show yourself at home first.

Before dropping off there, you went back to Tanneyhill for a moment to have your phones back... as a side mission?

Stealing Sarah’s clothes was the number one goal. As you entered the house in Rafe’s oversized t-shirt, holding your dress from the night before in a wrinkled paper bag (the only one Rafe could find). Not the best look to show up to your parents, right? You were preparing a strong alibi.

Wheezie let you in, rambling about being bored in the house now that everyone, even Sarah, was gone. Rafe's little sister made no comment about you in his clothes, saving it for Sarah, you guessed. She continued on complaining about her swimming class and you and Rafe silently listened, leading you upstairs to her older sister’s room.

“Thanks, Wheez,” you said after she handed your phones back.

“When are you coming over? You promised we’d watch this show together,” Rafe rolled his eyes at his little sister.

“I will,” you replied. “Maybe sometime next wee-“

You were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening, the three of you focused your attention on hearing what was happening downstairs. “No, we absolutely can renegotiate,” you listened Ward screaming.

“He should’ve been at work the whole day,” Wheezie said.

Rafe looked at you, reaching for your hand. “We’ll wait till he leaves,” he said as you took it, quickly leaving the room.

“Just stay with me this once?” Wheezie buried her face in Sarah’s pillow, sighing as loud as she could, except no one to hear her.

He led you through the hallway to one of the upstairs bathrooms, the confusion you felt at the moment was written all over your face. He closed the bathroom door after you entered the room.

“You want me to hold it for you or something?”

Rafe chuckled, reaching to a small window in the room. You figured where he brought you, finally. It took him a moment to finally open the shutters as they were stuck, and when he did, he finally turned to you. “Just trust me.”

“Cameron,” you whined. “You seem to forget who my best friend is. I’ve been on your rooftop already.”

“Then you have nothing to be afraid of,” he replied, standing on the windowsill and sticking his head out the window.

Rafe finally made his way outside, stepping on the old roofing material and trying to find balance. He turned to you to see if you’re getting out safely.

“I’m fine,” you noticed.

“Just grab my hand,” he insisted.

And you did, following him to the inclined roof surface. He sat down, taking his light jacket off and putting it near him. “Here,” he motioned.

“Thank you.”

You looked around the Tanneyhill’s backyard, workers seem to never leave this place. Whether it was to maintain the landscape, deal with the consequences of a hurricane or do another unnecessary makeover of the yard; they could always rely on being employed by Ward Cameron.

This time around, they were changing the stone tiles, loud construction noises bothered the whole neighborhood.

“I thought you just renovated the whole area,” you commented, fixing Rafe’s jacket under you.

“Rose didn’t like it,” Rafe replied. “She’s been complaining about it since spring… dad must’ve finally given in.”

Watching the workers, you noticed that one of them was JJ, running around with buckets of water in his hands.

“Look at this,” Rafe drew your attention.

One of the roof tiles had “T + S” carefully carved into it. Topper’s handwriting, most likely. You ran your fingers over the letters, examing them.

“Well that… didn’t age well,” you twisted your lips, catching Rafe’s stare. “Should we add a hook so a T becomes a J?”

“Topper will hang me,” Rafe grumbled, looking at the view. “Hmh.”

“What?”

“Maybank,” he tensed. “He’s probably hanging here more than I do.”

“And I was hoping you wouldn’t notice him.”

He hummed. “So… is there anything between you?” Rafe bowed his head slightly, rubbing the nape of his neck.

You smiled kindly, his jealousy wasn’t annoying you anymore. “No. I wasn’t interested in him like that, that’s all.”

“You were sneaking out together at Midsummers,” he remembered his need to follow you.

He also remembered walking through a long dark hallway in hopes of catching you alone, hearing your giggles with another male voice was what he got instead.

“Sarah asked to meet him because he had a note from John B,” you explained.

“Sarah asked to meet him..” he repeated after you, pursing his lips as he felt relief. “And the outdoor cinema?”

“Ah, this time. Yeah, we were totally planning to fuck,” you said in a serious manner, nodding your head as Rafe squinted at you, rolling his eyes.

“Watch your mouth,” Rafe ordered. “I blame this shit on Sarah.”

“Ah, man. So no double dates with John B and Sarah?”

He laughed at your face, you protruding your lower lip to demonstrate your resentment.

“JJ would never,” you laughed.

Rafe put his hand on your shoulder, catching the yellow leaf in the air before it could fall on your head.

“You kind of saw the end of it. When we fought there,” you pointed to the area with lounging chairs, now hidden under the plastic covers. “We figured we’re better off as friends,” you paused. “If we’re still friends, really.”

“What you’re saying is, I’m stupid,” Rafe nodded, turning to you.

“Yeah, basically,” you mocked him.

“Do you think I should go to New York?” Rafe suddenly changed the subject.

Even though you felt relieved he was the one to start talking about the matter, no answer came to your head.

“I can’t decide for you. But… I need you to tell me what you think,” you asked him, intertwining your fingers with his.

“I don’t want to. It still feels like a better option rather than staying here with him.”

And without you.

“Listen… You know you can always take a step back if you don’t feel like it.”

“If so, I’ll have a fucking foot pushing me ten steps forward… for-Ward,” he let out a small laugh. “Besides, if dad already secured me a spot, I don’t have much of a choice.”

“Well, when you decide… you, Rafe,” you emphasized. “Tell me, please.”

“Don’t worry about me. You’re leaving soon too, you don’t have to, y’know-“

“I want to.”

Rafe and you both noticed Ward Cameron pacing toward one of the family’s boats. He greeted the construction workers without stopping, in rush to get a ride.

“The horizon is clear, it seems like,” Rafe said. “But it’s good here. Let’s stay for a while.”

You put your head on Rafe’s shoulder, leaning against him. He pulled you closer, shielding you with his hands.

“We’ll be alright, Rafe.”

________

Taking your time with Rafe, Wheezie joined you for a while on the roof. Even though Rafe was annoyed at the third-wheeling, you couldn’t say no to her.

Finally, you drove to your house. Anxiously tapping on the door of the car, you looked over to see if your parents are outside.

“It shouldn’t take me so long,” you said.

Leaving Rafe at the front of your house, you quietly opened the door, walking as though you were afraid to wake someone up even though it was already noon.

“Long lost daughter,” you heard your mother’s voice from behind.

“I stayed at Sarah’s,” you turned to her, pointing to your outfit. “Sorry for not calling.”

“Figured,” your mom replied. “I have no time for the angry talk. Please make yourself look presentable, we have the Menzies over. We’re having lunch together, you’re going.”

You frowned at your mom. “And Carter?”

“Yes. Now you feel like going, don’t you?”

“I don’t…” you shook your head, not being able to reply as she interrupted you.

“Lunch is the least you can do when they offered to transfer all your stuff to the mainland by their helicopter,” your eyes widened at your mom’s words.

“Oh God, it’s not necessary,” you hesitated. “Haven’t we figured out the way to transfer everything already?”

“God, Y/n. It’s no consolidated shipments we’re talking about. It is a private helicopter, we’re not saying no to that.”

“I have Rafe waiting for me outside,” you added.

Your mom sighed at your words. “Well, invite him with us or call him off. I don’t care,” she continued. “You’re going with us. Wren is coming soon and Carter and his mom are already in our living room.”

Not something you expected from today, but when did anything go the right way for you?

Rafe would’ve never sat at one table with Wren Menzies again. He was used to being forced to face people he didn’t like, you simply didn’t want to be the one to put him in such a situation.

You quickly paced towards Rafe while he waited for you outside his car.

“Okay, listen. We can’t go anywhere right now,” you said. “Us and the Menzies are having lunch.”

“Oh.”

“What if you come with me,” you took his hands, squeezing them lightly as he shrugged.

“As your what?”

“Well… as my date?”

He quickly dropped your hands, running his through his hair as he looked over to your house.

“Or not, Rafe, it’s whatever,” you added.

Shouldn’t have said that. Shouldn’t have said that, fuck.

“Let’s just drop them.”

“Rafe, I can’t. They helped me so much and they’re helping me move too. God, I’d be so lost without them.”

Rafe squinted, looking down at you. “Then go.”

“I don’t want to leave you like this.”

“Then don’t go.”

“You can come with me, Rafe. Fuck whatever the older Menzies says, you know my mom will have your back.”

“And the younger one,” Rafe paused. “Is he in there?”

“He’s inside, yes.”

“What do expect me to say,” Rafe mumbled, hiding his facial expression from you by turning away. “Let’s go somewhere else. Anywhere you want to. Please.”

“I- I can’t, Rafe.”

“Why the fuck not? What’s going to happen that you’re so afraid of?”

You frowned, leaning on the car. “You’re putting me in a very awkward position right now,” you commented. “I don’t like it.”

“Right back at you,” he replied.

You stood in silence for a moment, processing the conversation. “Then go back to the apartment. Call me later,” you suggested.

Rafe ran his hands through his hair. “Right. Tell Carter I said hi.”

“Stop!” You raised your voice for the first time. “It’s just lunch. I’ll be back in, what? Two hours.”

Rafe’s entitlement to your time bothered you. With all the options he had, the problem could be solved in a heartbeat.

“Fine, I’ll go,” he shrugged.

“Call me in the evening, okay?”

Rafe hummed, staring blankly at the road. He opened the door of his car, getting in as you silently observed him.

“Why the cold shoulder?” You huffed, angrily closing the door for him, the window rolled down fully.

“You must’ve misread me,” he replied in the same manner.

You stepped away from the car. “I'm tired of having to read you every time, you know. Drive safe.”

“Have a nice lunch,” he started the car, still not reciprocating your stare.

You’ve been waiting to catch his look at least once before he drove away, noticing the car of Wren Menzies and wondering how long it’d been parked there. But Rafe didn’t look back; your face dropped when his car was lost to sight.

You hid your hands in your sleeves, zoning out for a bit. You didn’t even notice Mr. Menzies coming to you.

“Y/n! Hi, why don’t we do inside?”

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” you stumbled. “Sure. How are you, Mr. Menzies?”

“I’m good,” he answered, smiling. “Where did you disappear last night?”

“Oh,” you brainstormed the ideas for a reasonable excuse. “Rafe got sick, needed to get him out.”

Slumping through the whole lunch, you felt offended. In your eyes, you weren’t in the wrong. You did not deserve the resentment you got from Rafe, especially not after feeling like he finally opened up to you. The feeling that slipped through your fingers so fast you had no chance to have a grasp of it.

You’d just wait for his call in the evening, when, after reevaluating the situation, Rafe would tell you he was sorry. He’d tell you weren’t stupid for calling him his date. Fucking hell, you should’ve said that. He would tell he overreacted.

If only he had called.

a/n: (awkwardly enters the room) heyy, hey. how y’all doing?

i feel like a mess lately and my writing is the same, and i’m sorry for making you wait so long for this part. the next part is the last one, and i hope i’ll be able to put everything into words and not disappoint you. as always, thank you for supporting this series, you’re the best ❤️❤️

Part 10 (last one😢)

tag list: @mentalpolaroids @pogueslandia @iixbella @taylathornton @theepoguelandia @hopebaker @littlementalpolaroids @ilovejjmaybank @mildkleptomaniac @stilynskii @obxlife101 @thatshithurted8 @classygirlything21 @futur3milf @bibliophilewednesday @tinawhynot @rafeseggplant @dalmanara01 @blondiekook @lemur46 @spiderlaufeyson @john-benderr @poulterfilms @glors3 @exenestea @darlingisntit @loveylangdon @28cnn @riot-race @starkey-babie @hockeybabe87 @jemimah-b99 @blissfullysin @maddyasleson @painlesslies @lazyunknownwerewolf @questionmymentality @poguesbau @barrysjumpsuit @millavalntyne @jessiq31 @bitchespinosa97 @asmalltowngirl @wtfkie @hayleyy-l @vinniehcker @rivercourt-always (please cyberbully me if i forgot to tag you)

[360iris]

Like Then (James Potter x Reader x Sirius Black x Remus Lupin)

Warning: Does this qualify as hurt/comfort?? Maybe comfort/hurt? Is this even angst? Ah! I tried! Fem!Reader using she/her pronouns.

Word count: 1,201

Summary: Why do girls always leave The Yule Ball heartbroken?

A/N: This is a Prequel to my fanfic, Like You! We’ve reached 408 followers, which is big considering I had zero when I first posted “Like You”. Welcome on board, sweeties! I was the most elated in the midst of trying to explain how chaotically Sirius + Y/N would dance and the most sullen trying to properly word the ending.

Of course Lily would be James’ date to the Yule Ball. They’d been together for about six months now and he’d wanted nothing more than to see her all dolled up just for him. 

Her fiery red locks curled and pinned, not to mention the sterling silver dress she’d been able to pick out with her mother. She was a sight for sore eyes, glowing as if she’d been taken directly from his sweetest dream. So why did his eyes drift to the other side of the room? 

Half of his attention divided on the lovely girl in front of him, where it should be. Focusing on the way her eyes gleamed and the showstopping smile that never failed to make his heart race. She was enjoying herself tonight, swaying in his arms and giggling at almost every joke he made; a rarity.

But the other half of his attention, the other half of himself, was with them. 

Sirius had Y/N’s hand in his grasp and was twirling the beaming girl in place, her laughs bubbling up into the space around them. Remus must have slipped away to take a breather because he was seated alone with a fond smile on his lips, watching the duo dance.  

Could he even call what they were doing dancing? Sirius’ extensive knowledge on waltzing, mixed with the younger girl’s eager tango, had the pair moving sporadically. 

They turned about the room, swiveling, alternating and cross stepping. Every so often, Sirius lifted her off of the ground mid-twirl as if she were light as a feather. And though the way they moved was quite a spectacle, partygoers giving the two a wide berth, they were in their element.

 It was as if the world had melted away and they were left in each other’s company.

When the song came to an end, Sirius parted from her quite begrudgingly. James could only guess what was being said, but with the boy putting on his best begging face, he was possibly asking to go another round. His fingers reluctantly releasing hers as she pulled away from his grasp. 

James watched as she all but skipped to Remus’ side, mere seconds from going in to kiss him before seemingly remembering the presence of the school staff. She settled for clasping the boy’s hands and leaning up to his ear to whisper.

“James?” he heard from below him and promptly redirected his gaze.

“What was that again, love?” he asked and she smiled up at him. He faintly felt his chest shag and heart give a euphoric leap.

Lily laughed when he bent his head to press a kiss into her hair, “I said that I’m gonna go the restroom real quick, I’ll be back.” 

“Of course, dear. I’ll get some punch then.” and before long she was slipping through the crowd. 

He watched after her until he was unable to differentiate her head bobbing from all the rest. Eventually trudging to the refreshments table in hopes of clearing his head.

His cup was midway to his mouth before a soft, 

“Unfortunately there isn’t any booze in there.” sounded from his left and he nearly jumped from his skin.

The red liquid in his grasp promptly sloshing onto his shoes.

A curse slipped from his lips as he took the napkin offered to him, quickly cleaning himself off. 

Looking up he finds Y/N leaning against the table, an amused smile playing on her face.

“Since when did you sneak up on people?” He asked, standing up straight and setting down his drink. 

“Didn’t sneak up on you, James. I was standing here before you even got to the table; but you’d know that if you weren’t busy daydreaming. What’s on your mind? Let me guess! Devious plans of what you’re gonna do with Evans tonight perhaps?” She questioned, tossing a chicken popper into her mouth.

Eventually offering him one when all she got back in response was him staring dumbly at the ensemble she was wearing. 

He’d briefly been shown the dress she was planning to wear weeks before the event, but it was a different experience actually seeing her in it. 

The lengthy, shimmering fabric draped and folded to the floor elegantly. The metallic fringes of her shawl glinting and swaying with every movement she made. She looked positively ethereal.

Acknowledging his silent gawking, she gave an indulgent twirl, “You like it, J? I was going for 70s era Stevie Nicks, but Sirius said I just look like a muggle’s imitation of a witch. What do you think?” She asked with a pout, fluttering her eyelashes expectantly. Notedly taking one of his larger hands into her own. 

He allowed himself to inwardly admit that she looked undeniably adorable fiddling with his fingers. How pink her lips were tonight.

“I honestly don’t know who that is, love. Where is Sirius anyway?” He coughed awkwardly, pulling his hand back and looking anywhere but her in faux search of his friends.

If his eyes had still been on her, he’d have seen how crestfallen she’d looked at his refusal to acknowledge her question. How she pulled her shawl over her shoulders tighter and attempted to shake off the feeling of dejectedness that silently clawed at her heels.

“He’s over there, trying his hardest to get Remus to kiss him in front of all these poor bystanders. You should have heard how fervently he pleaded with me earlier; he could’ve made a sailor blush.” She laughed and James caught sight of the two boys slowly swaying in between the sea of people.

The contrast of how gently he held Remus was stark. The pair barely moved from their spot on the floor in comparison to the full blown recital that took place only minutes before.

“Despite his remarks, he loves the two of you a great deal.” He found himself saying, melancholy apparent in his voice. The words tumbling from his lips before he could fully think them over.

“Why’d you say that so glumly, as if it doesn’t apply to you as well?” Y/N asked abruptly, an unexpectedly harsh edge to her tone.

“What?” Turning his attention back to her, he was shocked by the deep furrow in her brow. She clutched at her shawl so tightly her knuckles were turning pale.

“You say that as if we- as if he didn’t confess his feelings for you just the same! As if you didn’t choose-“ Her voice was raising but cut off before it garnered anyone else’s attention.

“James?” He heard from behind him and he already knew it was Lily, slight confusion laced in her voice.

In the time it took for him to turn to Lily in acknowledgment and back, Y/N was already moving to depart.

“Speak of the devil-“ She whispered exasperatedly, voice so low he barely caught it over the music. Releasing the deathgrip on her shawl, she allowed her hands to fall to her sides defeatedly.

“Goodnight, James.” Is all she offered before she was padding towards the main entrance; and though he moved to follow, the hand enveloping his own from behind grounded him.

This was where he was supposed to be, he reminded himself. Even if she took half of him with her.

[chudleycanonficfest]

Five Lies

Day 6, Story #2 is by @be11atrixthestrange

Author/Artist: be11atrixthestrange Pairing: Ron/Hermione Prompt: 5+1 Rating: M Trigger Warning(s) (if any): mentions of character death

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Five Lies Five times Ron lied to Hermione, and one time he told the truth

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-Year Four - The Common Room

Ron was thankful the common room was empty, because he needed a moment alone. He plopped down into an armchair by the fire, and breathed a heavy sigh. His throat felt tight, and his eyes stung with unshed tears. He didn't need a mirror to tell him that his face was as red as a beet; he could feel it.

Earlier in the Great Hall, Fleur had asked him to pass the bread, and he just stared at her. Like an idiot.

George's voice still echoed in his ear. "Ronniekins, aren't you going to say something?"

And then Fred had to make it worse. "He can't! He's too busy drooling."

It seemed that everyone followed suit and laughed at him, even Fleur, whose cheeks glowed pink, her expression full of amusement and pity.

Why did Fred and George always embarrass him? They also lost their cool around Fleur — it wasn't just Ron. None of the Weasley boys knew how to act around a Veela. Ron just wished he could control it better.

"Ron? Are you okay?"

Ron froze at the sound of Hermione's voice. He hadn't heard her come in. She took a seat in the armchair across from him, but he avoided her gaze, choosing to shake his head instead.

"They were just joking around, you know," she said. Her tone was sympathetic, and he realized that he didn't care that she almost caught him crying. She would never tell anyone.

"I wish they wouldn't," he said, the words escaping through gritted teeth.

"I know. It's not fair."

Ron could feel her intent gaze, and looked up to meet her eyes. He always liked her eyes. They were big and brown, but the specific shade changed all the time. In the firelight, they almost looked hazel. "Why do they always make fun of me?

Hermione shrugged. "They probably just think you fancy her."

Ron raised his eyebrows at her. "Who, Fleur?"

"Yes, Fleur. Who else?"

He did not fancy Fleur. He didn't even know her.

It was just her stupid Veela power that made him act like an idiot.

"Well, I don't fancy her. I don't fancy anyone." The phrase took a defensive tone, slipping from his lips without a second thought. As soon as he said it, he realized that it didn't even sound true.

"You really don't fancy anyone?" Something unrecognizable crossed her face. Surprise, maybe. Maybe Hermione really did think he fancied Fleur.

He looked her in the eye and wanted more than anything to tell her the truth, but it didn't feel like an option. The thought of telling Hermione that he did, in fact, fancy someone made him a thousand times more nervous than Fleur asking him to pass the bread.

"Really. I don't fancy anyone."

Hermione's eyes narrowed, almost as if she didn't believe him. "I'm going to go to bed," she said, before turning away and shuffling off toward the girls' dormitory.

Ron watched her walk away, confusion etched across his face. It felt like a premature end to their conversation. Maybe she knew he was lying?

He shook his head. It probably wasn't about him. It was possible she wasn't feeling well — she had been looking a little pale, anyway. With a shrug, Ron rose to his feet and started toward his own dormitory, hoping Hermione would feel better in the morning.

-Year Five- The Corridor

Ron never thought he'd look forward to Prefect rounds. He had assumed they'd be nothing but a chore, cutting into his valued free time, preventing him from getting down to the Quidditch pitch to practice. He thought he'd fall behind on homework by dedicating a certain number of hours each week to his duties, but it wasn't an issue at all.

As it turned out, he didn't mind the extra work. Patrolling the corridors at night was a nice reprieve from the stress of schoolwork, and it gave him a much-needed break from dealing with Harry's constant brooding.

It didn't hurt that he got to do it with Hermione. In fact, that's probably what made it most enjoyable. They hadn't spent much time together, just the two of them, in a long while. Not since Hogsmeade visits during their third year, and it was nice.

Ron noticed things about Hermione when they were alone, things he'd never have paid attention to otherwise. Like the way she ran her fingers along the wall when they turned a corner, like she was drawing a line in sand, or how she constantly tucked her hair behind her ears only for it to pop back out again.

He learned that she licked her lips right before she spoke, and that's how Ron knew she was about to interrupt him mid-conversation. It was infuriating when she did that, but he never wanted it to stop.

"What's left to check?" she asked, startling him.

"Oh, erm, just the seventh floor, I think," he said.

"Okay, let's go. Maybe we can finish rounds early."

She turned the corner, and Ron followed behind, watching her skip down the hall. Hermione seemed to like Prefect rounds too; he could tell by the bounce in her step. Everything about her seemed to be relaxed; her stride, her smile, and her overall demeanor. Her shirt hung loosely on her frame, as she'd released its top button, and her socks were pushed down to her ankles, as if even her clothes knew it was the end of the day.

He shouldn't be thinking about her clothes. That was dangerous territory.

Ron cleared his throat. "Yeah, that would be fun. Could always use more free time."

"Or, you could use the extra time to get ahead on McGonagall's essay," she teased, smiling back at him. His neck felt hot.

"Only if you help me."

"Of course," she said. "Homework is more fun when we do it together."

"I agree."

Ron was beside her now, and he stole another glance in her direction. Her face was flushed; it was warm on the higher floors, and her skin glowed from a light sheen of sweat. How had he never noticed that she had a few scattered freckles on her nose?

"Why do you keep doing that?" she asked. Her eyes were on him now, and he felt the warmth in his neck spreading.

"Doing what?" he asked, his tone defensive.

"You're staring at me!"

"I"m no—"

"Yes, you keep doing it," she argued. Although her cheeks were rosy and her eyes narrowed, she wore a faint smirk and didn't seem to be angry. She was just teasing him.

He kind of liked it.

"Well, if you must know, you have something on your cheek," he lied.

"I do?" asked Hermione as she wiped her face with her sleeve. "Did I get it?"

"No, let me try."

Hermione paused and took a step closer to him. He reached a hand up to her face to cup it and brushed a thumb across her cheek, trying to ignore the tidal wave that crashed in his stomach at the contact. Her skin was so soft.

He couldn't let his hand linger on her face without attracting suspicion, so with great effort, he let it drop to his side.

"Is it gone?"

"Um. Yeah."

She pressed a hand to her cheek. "What was it?"

Nothing. "Not sure," he said.

"Hmm," shrugged Hermione. "Well, thank you!" She turned to skip back down the hallway, a few strides in front of Ron.

"No problem," muttered Ron.

He could still feel a tingle on his thumb, the memory of her soft skin still fresh on his mind. He watched her run ahead of him, trying not to think too hard about the way her hair bounced or her skirt fluttered with each stride, because it was maddening.

He groaned. As maddening as it was, he hoped that would never stop. That way, he could keep it on the list of reasons to look forward to Prefect rounds.

-Year Six- The Courtyard

Finally, Ron was alone on a bench in the courtyard, having just convinced Lavender to let him be so he could "study". In reality, he just needed some space.

He liked her enough, but being with Lavender wasn't what he had imagined having a girlfriend to be like. It was nothing like being friends with a girl, at least from his limited experience. All Lavender wanted to do was snog, and Ron missed having someone to talk to, tease, and argue with.

Truth was, he missed Hermione. But unfortunately, she wanted nothing to do with him. She made that perfectly clear in the form of a flock of canaries, and he still had the scabs to remind him.

Ron closed his eyes and was enjoying the silence when the most unexpected voice pulled him back to the present.

"Hey."

His eyes snapped open to see Hermione standing there, right in front of him. Think of the devil. 

"Hey." His response just spilled out of his mouth, and it didn't take on the angry tone he had intended. He sounded almost excited to see her.

Thankfully, she didn't seem to notice, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. "Ron, can I talk to you?"

Ron cleared his throat and asked in his most stoic tone, "Promise not to attack me again?"

"I promise."

"Then go on," he said, crossing his arms across his chest so Hermione could get a full view of his scars.

"I'm— I'm sorry about that." She motioned to his arms, and her eyes watered with tears.

"I know you are."

She averted her eyes and licked her lips before continuing. "I was jealous, and it wasn't fair. I hope you can forgive me someday."

She continued to stare intently toward the ground as her cheeks brightened, and Ron resisted a smile.

"You were jealous?" He asked, raising an eyebrow at her. He kept his face neutral, but he couldn't lie — it was a nice thing to hear. He just wished he heard it sooner.

Hermione nodded and finally met his gaze. "I was."

Her eyes were strikingly dark and deep, a fact he'd always appreciated, but had forgotten over the last few weeks. He could stare at them for hours, but he willed himself not to fall under their spell. "Why didn't you talk to me instead of turning birds on me?"

Everything would have been so much easier.

"That's why I'm talking to you now."

"Well, it's too bloody late. I'm with Lavender," he said, unsure who he was trying to convince.

"I know it's too late. I just wanted you to know."

It seemed like an eternity that they stood there in silence, neither wanting to continue the conversation nor feeling like it was over.

Hermione was the first to break the silence. "Are you happy with her?"

And how the hell was he supposed to answer that?

Ron was thrilled Lavender wanted to be with him. She wanted to kiss him, hold his hand in public, and call him her boyfriend. What wasn't to love? He should be happy with her, she was almost everything he had ever wanted.

That, and he'd be an ungrateful arse if he said no. "Yeah. I am."

She nodded solemnly, and Ron swore he could see her eyes glisten with tears. "Then I'll try to be happy for you too," she said, her voice cracking.

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. It wouldn't have mattered anyway because Hermione had already turned her back to him and was walking away. He watched until she turned the corner, trying to convince himself that he had told her the truth.

-Year Seven- The Tent

Rain pounded against the canvas tent, and the way the sound echoed through the air made the space feel hollow and empty. Ron could feel the weight of the locket around his neck, its chain digging into his skin. It felt almost like icy fingers clutching his throat, threatening to squeeze should he try to ignore it. He didn't think he could ignore it, even if he tried. The cold metal against his skin paired with its threatening voice inside his head almost commanded more attention than the slowly healing wound on his shoulder.

Ron was lying on his cot, covered in blankets that seemed to do nothing to keep him warm. He could hear Hermione flipping through a book across the room in her own bed, probably just as cold as he was.

"How's your shoulder?" she asked. To Ron, her voice sounded full of both pity and impatience, as if her real question was why he hadn't healed yet. What was taking him so long?

She doesn't actually care about your shoulder.

"It's fine," he snapped back.

He could feel the tension in the pause that followed, and even though he wasn't looking at her, he could imagine her jaw clenching, her cheeks reddening, and her eyes rolling.

"You don't need anything?" she eventually asked, her tone stiff and controlled.

Listen to her. She thinks you're pathetic. Needy. It disgusts her.

Instead of answering, Ron just shook his head. He knew she was watching him because he could feel her big brown eyes boring into him.

"Okay then."

He heard her book close, then the sound of her sliding out of bed. Ron turned to look just as she bent down to rummage through her bag. She faced her back to him, and Ron could make out the shape of her bum through her sweatpants. It sent a pang of longing through his entire body, and the locket wasted no time latching on to the opportunity to harass him further.

Go ahead and look, but don't kid yourself; you'll never touch.

He averted his eyes when she stood up.

"What are you doing, then?" she asked, now clutching a different stack of books under her arm.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" she chirped. Her voice wavered as she lost control of keeping it neutral. "You know we have horcruxes to find."

She narrowed her eyes, and her cheeks ignited with red. Her hair seemed to expand and swarm her head. It wasn't just anger that did that to her. She looked electric whenever her passion was kindled, whether due to anger, schoolwork, elf-rights, or him.

He could rile her up, and Merlin, did he enjoy doing it. He was always up for helping her unleash that stored up tension through an argument. Often he wondered how else he could help her find that release. A few ideas came to mind.

Never going to happen.

"Are you seriously angry at me?" he asked, his tone sharp and scathing.

"You know what? Yeah, I am," she launched back.

"Well, sorry I'm injured, Hermione," he laughed, now sitting up in bed. "Let's not forget that you're the one who got me splinched."

"And let's not forget that I'm doing everything I can to help you heal."

She thinks you're a burden. A waste of her time.

"Okay, then stop complaining about me not doing anything when you know I can't."

Hermione crossed her arms and took a step closer. Ron willed himself to keep his eyes on her face, even though her shirt was too big, so the sleeves fell off her shoulder, and there was a patch of exposed skin above her waistband, reminding Ron of how soft her skin was. It had been so long since he touched her.

"Then stop staring at me like that," she said. "I can't tell if you're mad at me or if you want me to do something for you, and honestly, I'm kind of sick of cooking you dinner and not even hearing a thank you."

Don't you dare give her the satisfaction of apologizing.

"Seriously, what do you want from me?" she continued.

What a loaded question. Ron wanted everything from her — her time, her attention, and her body. When she removed his shirt to check his wound, he wanted her to remove his trousers too. He wanted her to crawl in bed with him and let him take her clothes off, piece by piece. He wanted to be strong enough to hold himself up so she could slide underneath him and wrap her legs around his hips. He wanted to touch her, kiss her, shag her, and then hold her afterward, fall asleep together, and wake up entangled with her.

Too bad she doesn't want you back.

"I don't want anything from you."

She softened her stare and took a step back. Maybe he was reading too much into her expression, but Ron could have sworn he saw a flash of disappointment on her face, as if she hoped there would be something he wanted from her.

You're imagining that. 

"Good," she said, unknowingly confirming the locket's taunt, before turning away and leaving him there, in his bed, cold and alone.

-Year Seven- Shell Cottage

Although Ron might have looked peaceful and serene sitting so still, his mind was anything but calm. He closed his eyes and leaned against the back of the armchair, trying his best to fall asleep, but he was far from tired. His back ached, and he longed to get up and move, but it wasn't worth leaving Hermione's side.

It felt like he had been waiting days for her to wake up, and in that time, he had imagined the worst.

For one, he feared that she might not wake up at all, ever, and the empty hole that her screams had carved within him would be there for the rest of his life, like a scar across his heart.

Two, that she might wake up but never be the same, just like Neville's parents. Maybe she wouldn't remember him. Maybe she would, but she wouldn't understand when he told her he loved her.

And three, that she'd awake with clarity, forever haunted by the memory of what happened to her. Maybe she'd associate her trauma with the magical world, or with Ron himself, and she'd leave it all behind. He'd support her, of course, and he'd be thrilled she was okay, but he wouldn't be okay. He wasn't okay.

So he sat there, looking peaceful but panicking internally. He had no idea what to expect when and if Hermione woke up.

He was utterly shocked when she spoke to him.

"Hi, Ron," her voice snapped his eyes open. She was watching him, even smiling at him. For a moment, he thought he was dreaming.

She chuckled when he pinched himself.

"Oh, thank Merlin you're awake," he said when his pinch did nothing.

"Did you sleep here?"

"Yeah. I hope that's okay," he said, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

"Have you left my side?" she asked, her eyes wide, questioning yet knowing.

He shook his head no, and his cheeks grew hot.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He smiled at her, and she smiled back. There was something so innocent about the interaction; it felt like they were just kids nervously admitting a crush. Her hand was lying on the edge of the bed, inches from his, and he didn't hesitate to reach for it and intertwine their fingers. She squeezed his hand back, although weakly, and he ran his thumb across her skin. Even bloodied and scarred, her skin was as soft as he remembered.

"I'm so glad you're okay," he said.

"Me too."

"Are you in pain?"

She nodded. "A little."

"I can have Fleur bring up some pain potion."

"Yeah, but not yet."

"In a bit, then."

They shared a look, an acknowledgement that they were alone, and pain potion could wait. Neither felt the need to give it words, they were awful with words, the king and queen of miscommunication, but there was nothing to misinterpret in a simple look.

"Can I hug you? Gently, of course."

Hermione nodded, and Ron inched forward on his chair to wrap his arms around her. Her head nestled into his shoulder, and he buried his face in her hair.

"How's Harry?" she asked, her voice muffled by his shoulder.

"He's fine," Ron answered. "Worried about you, of course."

She nodded. "And you?"

"What about me?"

"Are you okay?"

Ron sighed and pulled her closer. Was he okay? He had a few cuts and bruises, but that was nothing compared to his emotional toll. He helplessly listened to Bellatrix torture the woman he loved, hadn't slept since they arrived at Shell Cottage, and had spent days fearing she'd be gone. In those days, he learned exactly how much was at stake. He could still lose her.

He wasn't okay.

"Yes, I'm okay," he muttered, hoping that it would be true soon enough.

-After The Battle-

The Treehouse

Ron didn't mind the quiet of the treehouse; it was much better than the silence of the Burrow. At least the treehouse was supposed to be that way. He was leaning over the edge, forearms on a wooden beam, and through the leaves, he could make out the tall, lopsided house he called home. Before now, the Burrow always looked like it was bursting at the seams, about to collapse from the energy inside. His mum would say it was magic that held it together, not carpentry, but now it didn't matter. It seemed empty, and the magic was gone.

The treehouse was where Ron would always come when he needed to be alone. With six siblings, there was always someone yelling, laughing or crying. But not with five. Even though there were so many people back in the house, it was still too quiet. No one knew what to say, so they said nothing. Fred wouldn't have wanted that.

"Hi."

Ron startled at the voice. He had been too lost in his thoughts to hear anyone approaching but instantly relaxed when Hermione stepped up beside him, shoulder to shoulder. He smiled; in the days following Fred's death, Hermione was the only one who could elicit that reaction from him.

"I brought you something," she said.

He looked down at her hand to see that she was holding a plate of food — Mum's shepherd's pie, treacle tart, and pumpkin juice.

"Thank you, Hermione," he said as she handed him the plate. "I didn't want to go inside and talk to people."

"I know."

Ron turned away from the edge and slid to a seat, resting the plate on his lap. Hermione settled in beside him. "How'd you know where I was?"

She leaned her head against his shoulder. "I had a hunch."

Ron thought back to the last time they had been in the treehouse together — the previous summer before Harry arrived. He didn't even remember the first time he brought her here, but through all those summers, the treehouse became a place where they could just be. They could do whatever they wanted here, yet not once had she rested her head on his shoulder.

He looped his free arm around her, encouraging her to lean in, and pressed a kiss to her hair. He had always wanted to do that, and it was so strange to be able to now. If the circumstances were better, he'd like to do so much more.

"Will you stay?" he asked.

"As long as you need me to."

The longer they sat there in comfortable silence, leaning against one another and eating from the same plate, the more he wished they could just stay there forever. It was the perfect place to hide from his grief.

Maybe he shouldn't be hiding from grief, but the pain of Fred's loss only accentuated what he felt for Hermione. It was about time he had something to be happy about, even if that happiness was confined within the walls of the treehouse. After all, he had a feeling that the reality of Fred's death would hit him like a ton of bricks as soon as he left.

So maybe he'd just stay.

"What's on your mind?" asked Hermione.

She was on his mind but based on her smirk, she knew that. He must have been staring at her. That had been happening a lot lately.

"Do you really want to know?"

"Of course."

He'd never told her how he felt, but he was in the treehouse, where everything was perfect, and nothing could go wrong. Now was as good a time as any.

"I'm thinking about how much I love you."

She met his gaze and he watched those warm brown eyes grow wide. "Really?"

"Yes," he said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You don't have to say it back, I know it's soon—"

"I love you too," she interrupted, leaning her head against his hand. "Always have."

Even though a world of mourning awaited Ron outside of the treehouse, he couldn't help but smile. Hermione could do that for him; she was just like the magic that once held his house together.

"Brilliant," he said as he leaned in for a kiss, one that she happily returned.

He loved that they could do this now.

It was an odd feeling, being so genuinely elated and grief-stricken at the same time, but he simply couldn't feel any other way; it was the truth. And at this point, if anyone deserved the truth, it was Hermione.

[kai-writes-fan-fiction]

Little Scratches

Sorry I’ve been off the map for a min lol, I’ve had school. But without further adieu, I present this request and the fic to go along with it:

Pairings: Fem!reader x Natasha x Wanda x Carol

Warnings: Mentions of rape, mentions of assault, mentions of physical injury

Word count: 2134

You shuddered in an alleyway, trying to process what had just happened. You couldn’t wrap your head around the evil of the world, the corruption of alphas. You were an Omega, which had become a rarity, which leads alphas, deltas, and even betas alike to take advantage of you.

You had been raped, assaulted, and kidnapped throughout the years; this night was no different.

You cried in a corner next to trash bags and rats. To alphas, you were no more than street trash; you were to be used and then thrown out.

You were tired, and you thought you were hearing things when you heard soft footsteps approach you. You looked up carefully, and three alpha women were staring at you kindly. Great. More alphas, just what you needed.

A long-haired read-head with ivory skin scented the air and then spoke, “Little omega, what're you doing out here all alone? I can smell your distress. Are you ok?”

Her voice was soft, calming, and not aggressive. You whispered, “I-I’m ok.”

“No, you're not. Come with us; it's ok. We're not going to hurt you. What's your name, hon?” The blonde in the middle asked you? It wasn't aggressive; you could tell she just wanted to protect you; her alpha senses had kicked in after your distressed scent soured the air.

“I-I-I’m (Y/N).” You spluttered.

“Hi (Y/N). I’m carol, and this is Natasha and Wanda.” Carol motioned to the two women standing next to her. “We aren’t going to hurt you; just come with us. We’re going to get you cleaned up, little love.” She whispered kindly, putting her hand out for you to take.

You warily put your hand in hers, tears of abuse from alphas taught you to be careful and untrusting, but it seemed the three women in front of you had no ill intentions.

“Welcome to our pack, dear.” Natasha quipped with a smile.

You smiled softly; these women felt warm, felt like home.

They lead you to a car. You were wary, as this is how many kidnappings had started. Wanda must’ve sensed your unease as she reached out and touched your other hand, the one that wasn’t in Carols, softly.

“I know what you’ve been through, but it’s ok. We’re just going to take you back to the compound. We’re going to take care of you, bubs.”

Her words were soothing, and, although you were still wary, you allowed yourself into the car, and you were sandwiched in between the three alpha women.

“Happy, could you take us to the compound? We found an Omega.” Natasha asked the driver.

The compound? That’s what they called their home? Weird, you thought. Although the women seemed harmless primarily, something was fishy.

Wanda, who was on your right, must’ve felt how you were feeling again; it seemed she could almost read your mind and instinctively put her hand on your thigh. It wasn’t a sexual advance, rather a wordless “you’re ok.”

“We’re going to take you back to the compound and clean you up. You can stay with us if you’d like.”

You turned to Natasha and nodded.

“We’ll have Bruce do a work-up, too. See if you have any hormone imbalances. We want to make sure you’re healthy and clean.” Natasha brushed your hair softly behind your ear.

When she did, she noticed you had a black eye, as well as bruises and scratches on your face and neck. You quickly squirmed to cover them back up, but she just pulled your hair back again, trailing the pads of her fingers down your cuts.

“Oh, honey. It’s ok. We’ll never do anything like this to you. You’re safe now, and it’s going to be ok. We‘ll protect you. We need an omega in our pack, anyways. The rest of the Avengers have been trying to find one, but Omegas, especially ones with scents as unique as yours, are a rarity today.” She cupped the side of your face; her scent was sweet and cinnamon-y. You let your head fall into her hand, showing her that you trusted her.

Avengers? You hadn’t been keeping up with ty news, as you were often in hiding. But, you recognized the name?

“Avengers?” You asked, voice hoarse from all of the screaming you had done earlier. When a pack of six alpha prime, males, abducted you from the street, you tried your shriek that was supposed to paralyze alphas for a short period.

“We’re the Avengers… Do you not know who we are?” Natasha Inquired.

“I’m afraid that I don’t; I don’t watch the news often. The name sounds… vaguely familiar.” You said, eyes glossy as you tried to reach the depths of your brain that might contain information about “The Avengers.”

The three women saw the gears turn in your head, and then your eyes suddenly lit up.

“I know who you are!” You exclaimed, wide-eyed. “I’ve heard of you!” You were in the presence of heroes, the hero’s that defeated that ugly purple ballsack two years ago.

You were having issues keeping your amazement inside. These women were some of the most badass women ever, and they had chosen you to join their pack.

“We’re going to be about an hour's drive.” Happy, the driver, called from the front.

An hour? You weren’t going to stay awake that long, you thought. Wanda must’ve “read your thoughts” because she said, “It’s ok, we know you’re tired. You can sleep now.”

You allowed your head to fall onto Carol's shoulder, and she seemed honored that you had chosen her and happy that you trusted them.

You slowly allowed yourself to drift off, smelling the sweet cinnamon air before finally falling asleep.

——————————

It must’ve been an hour after you’d fallen asleep, as you were awoken by delicate jostling.

“Hey ‘mega.” Sang a sweet voice.

You opened your eyes and were greeted by a smiling face, Carol's smiling face. You groggily smiled back, standing up slowly.

“Are we here?” You asked, taking in the giant grey building in front of you with endless windows.

“We’re here, bubs! Welcome to the Avengers compound.” Wanda said, smiling kindly.

You looked around at the landscape and saw a vast wood with rolling hills that seemed to go on forever.

“Where are we?” You asked no one in particular.

“We’re upstate. You’re still in New York State.” Natasha motioned to the compound, saying, “Should we go in? Bruce is waiting for us.”

“Yeah, ok. Lemme sit down for a sec; I’m still pretty tired.” You murmured, collapsing into the car seat once more.

“You ok? Lemme carry you in little love.” Carol gleamed, happy she could help and protect her little Omega.

She picked you up quickly and bridal style. You rest your head against her chest as she carried to what you assumed was the med-bay.

“Bruce said he’s going to be here soon. He’s just going to make sure you’re ok, and we’re going to find out who did this to you.” Carol mumbled, setting you down on a soft bed.

You gripped onto her, not letting her go even after you had been set secure on the bed. You were trying to send a message, and she received it. She pulled up a chair and sat next to your bed. Natasha and Wanda chuckled and moved to exit.

“No! Please, stay here.” You begged them.

You knew they couldn’t say no to their little omega, and they seemed to feel just as privileged as before, privileged that they got to call you their omega.

A few minutes later, a beta male walked into the room where you were sitting. He scented the air and grinned at Natasha, Carol, and Wanda and said, “You’ve finally brought home an Omega! What’s the damage the city Alphas did to her?”

He walked over to your bedside, examining your cuts and bruises.

“We’re not sure of the full extent, but she looks pretty banged up.” Natasha grimaced.

She was correct; you looked grim. Your entire body was covered in bruises, welts, cuts, and scrapes painted your skin.

You winced when Bruce lightly touched a deeper cut.

“Some of these are infected, sweetie. How long have you had them?” He asked you.

You looked to Natasha, and she nodded. “I-I’m not really sure. I’ve been kidnapped and assaulted so many times; I just don’t keep track anymore.” You whispered, looking down at your fidgeting hands.

You began to sob silently. You stayed still, but tears dripped from your eyes down into your lap.

Everyone in the room smelled your distress radiate from your body and went into action. Carol wrapped her hands around your own; Wanda began to purr deeply, which relaxed your body. You fell limp into Nat's arms, and she laid you softly on the bed.

“I’m going to do a full-body exam, make sure there aren’t any other infected wounds, ok?” Bruce looked up to you, still lying limp on the soft pillows.

You nodded, and he lifted your turtle neck blouse. With the help of Wanda, the blouse was off of your body, as well as your pants, but your undergarments still remained. They wanted to make you feel as safe and comfortable as possible, and stripping you down was not the way to go.

Your entire torso was covered with bruises, and a few cuts, all of which were infected. Scrapes and welts plagued your legs, a few scratches on your legs were also infected.

“Sweetie, it’s going to be ok,” Bruce whispered before turning and grabbing a tub of cream from a cabinet. “This will ease the pain and slow the infection. I’ll clean them out later, and we’ll finish the last of your check-up after you rest. You’re exhausted, and that hinders your body’s healing process. Sleep will also aid in regulating your Omega hormones.

He was right; you were exhausted. You allowed yourself to melt into the mattress, and Wanda pulled up the blanket, so it was snug to your chin.

“Do you want us to stay in here or give you privacy, bubs?” Wanda inquired.

“Please, stay.” You whispered; you couldn’t go any louder.

“Ok, we’ll stay. Get some sleep, little omega.” Carol stroked your forehead with the pads of her fingers, scared she’d aggravate one of your cuts.

You felt safe and warm; these alphas were taking care of you so well. You finally submitted to sleep, a, for the first time in a very long time, it was restful.

“Thank you.” You breathed out, doubtful anyone had heard you, but your alphas had, and their hearts melted.

They made you feel this way. They already loved you and were so excited for you to meet the team, in your own time, of course.

——————————

Y’all want a part 2?

[tyraj24]

     "The next time I catch you using a vibrator without my permission, your little pussy won't be able to cum anymore."

     Gojo Satoru is relentless when it comes to sex.

    Part of you wondered how he would go about his punishment while the other prays he would not follow through. Although he sometimes has the tendency to go overboard while fucking you senseless, the man cares deeply enough to give you a safe word.

    You had yet to use the word. Not because the sex was bad -oh my lord, it was far from it- but because he was saving you for the more extreme sessions. You had seen every single item he hid and was practically drooling at the sight of most. You were waiting patiently until you finally decided to disobey him. Whether that would be your downfall or your salvation is entirely up to the man that will ruin you.

    And today was his lucky day.

    You were home alone, bored out of your mind. Gojo was not supposed to be home until around six, him finishing up some last-minute reports for the school. He had told you an estimated time for his arrival, so you had deliberately planned this out.

    You snuck your way into Gojo's drawer that held the assortment of various vibrators. You chose your favorite of them all and climb your way up onto the shared bed. Pulling your phone out of your pocket, you sent a quick photo of yourself lying in bed with a pout, captioning it with 'Hurry, please.'

    Sending him suggestive photos would guarantee a reaction from your boyfriend. You knew he would try his hardest in finishing whatever work he had left. Albeit it might not be his best, it was always something he would turn in.

    Slowly removing your shirt showed your bare chest to the empty room. You played with the hardening buds until you felt a pool of your arousal in your underwear. Biting your lip, you slowly trailed a hand to your shorts, leaving goosebumps along your burning skin. You removed the shorts from your body in anticipation. When a slight breeze met the bareness of your wet core, a hiss escaped your lips.

    You began to palm yourself, your hips jutting up to meet the slow movement of your hand while the other was still playing with your breasts. You rubbed your entire palm against your pelvis, gliding your slick all over the area. You removed your hands from your breasts and grabbed the vibrator from beside you and turned it on.

    Smiling, you teased yourself by lightly rubbing the device on your inner thighs and above your clit. You moved your lower lips apart and gently raised the skin of your clit before placing the vibrating device directly on the sensitive nerve.

    Pleasure overwhelmed you; an unrecognizable sound escaped your parted lips. You instinctively pressed harder against the bundle of nerves as your legs began to visibly shake. A loud moan erupted from deep within you and was drawn out the longer you held on.

    An orgasm was approaching quickly. The sound of your arousal against the vibrations of your cunt was loud, but you could not hear it. Your vision was becoming blurred as tears formed in your eyes from too much pleasure invading your system. Your legs began to shake, and loud moans escaped you as the orgasm rippled through. You tried to catch your breath, but the bedroom door swung open.

    "So that one is your favorite?"

    Gojo came home earlier than expected.

    "Fuck! Satoru!" When you met his gaze, he looked extremely disappointed. His foot was tapping the floor and his arms were crossed over his chest, a scowl resting on his lips. His head was tilted downwards, his bright cerulean eyes looking at you above his sunglasses. His collarbones were shown underneath the white button up he had worn for the day; two buttons had already been undone before his arrival. It seemed like this scene had been staged.

    "Did you just fucking cum?"

    The vibrator was still on in your palm. You immediately turned it off before bringing it to your parted lips, eyes never leaving his as he continued to stare at you. He could not deny the tent in his pants nor the fact that he was jealous of a sex toy.

    When you slipped the device past your lips and sucked on it until the remnants of your climax were licked clean, the male before you could not help but groan. He licked his lips in anticipation before averting his gaze in between your thighs. Your orgasm was seeping out of your sensitive core and onto the mattress. The way your slick glistened under the lighting nearly had Gojo a horny mess. Nearly.

    He scoffed at your attempts in having him give in to his submissive side, "Not today, sweetheart."

    That was all he said before he sauntered his way towards you. He crawled his way onto the bed before spreading your legs, showing him your cunt. He licked his lips, relishing the sight in front of him before he ruined you. You continued to lick your essence off the toy, watching Gojo stare at your nude body. His hands began to caress your legs slowly before he yanked the device from your grasp. He tossed it beside him, as if saving it for later.

    Almost instantly, Gojo plunged three of his fingers into your wetness. You gasped at the pleasure from already feeling full. He began to pump slow before quickening his pace and curling his long fingers to hit that sweet spot inside of you. Your hand gripped his wrist, pushing him away from already feeling overwhelmed. But then, the all too familiar coil residing in you had snapped and you were pushed into another orgasm.

    Your head felt heavy from having yet another hard orgasm just mere minutes from each other. You tried to regain your breath, but Gojo would not let you.

    Two fingers were pushing back easily inside you, yet, this time, his thumb was running sloppy circles on your clit. You screamed out, back arching with fingers dug into the sheets. His pace quickened and he found a new angle, rutting his fingers in and up. Your chest was heaving and your tongue slipped past your lips, some drool following. Gojo's pace had your cunt clenching around him, screaming his name as you squirted on him.

    You finally had the chance to look up at him. Your eyes widened at the mess you made. He was still fully clothed, a grin on his glossy lips as he watched your pulsating hole aching to be filled.

    He finally stood and discarded his clothing before returning to his position. You could only comply as he flipped you into your stomach, reach for his blindfold on the nightstand before tying your wrists together and to the bed frame. You whimpered against the pillow he burrowed your face into. Now that your sense of sight and smell had been compromised, you could only rely on touches. And even then, Gojo knew you would squirm if he grazed your sensitive body.

    But he did not slam his cock into your cunt because he knew your senses were unbalanced. No, it was your punishment for cumming without him.

    The inaudible scream that escaped you had Gojo already on edge. He still has some ways to go, but the man was too invested in punishing you that the mere thought of cumming himself had not passed his mind.

    His hips were rutting into yours rhythmically almost instantly. The sound the two of your bodies made was music to his ears: the squelching of your sopping cunt had him riled up, the way your moans were quick and frequent, and not to mention the way the bed was on the verge of its own death by how much it was squeaking. He could not help but hum along.

    But you could barely comprehend any sound as they were going through one ear and the other. All you could think of was the way Gojo's cock fits perfectly inside you, mapped out your insides, hitting all the right spots as if he was the one who created you. You could not deny him in this state, the string of curses that came out as a moan did not help your case at all. You were too fucked out that you had not even realized another orgasm rippled straight past you.

    " 'm gonna make sure," Gojo slapped your ass once, "you never use," twice, "that fucking vibrator," three times, "ever again."

    All you could do was take it. Your ass cheeks stung by the impact of his hands, the red imprints already becoming visible. Suddenly, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled on the strands to lift your head from the pillows. His pace became impossibly faster at the new angle. He continually hit your G-spot, a loud 'Fuck' slipping past your salted, swollen lips before your tongue lolled out once more.

    However, Gojo flipped you over onto your back without pulling out of you. He only stopped for a split second to make sure you were comfortable before grabbing the vibrator from beside your limp body. He turned it on, staring into your dilated eyes with a confused expression on your face before placing the device directly on your swollen clit. Your body squirmed lazily, limbs trying to push the man and his sadistic antics away from your overly sensitive body.

    And to make matters even more sadistic, he continued his ruthless pace by rutting his hips straight into yours.  Gojo could not help but watch your sad attempts in moving away from him. You could only succumb to yet another powerful orgasm.

    But what Gojo did not know what that you had been crying the entire time, ever since your third climax. Your chest was heaving as you mumbled your safe word.

    "What is it, sweetheart? Speak up so I can hear you."

    Your voice was barely above a whisper when you spoke, hoarse from moaning too much. But when he did hear your broken voice, he completely halted his movements with wide eyes and a pale complexion, "Flower, Gojo."

    Flower.

    It was, quite literally, the only word that could make the strongest sorcerer stop in his tracks. He looked down at your sweaty body, eyes scanning your face to see the tear stains on your cheeks. Your eyes were closed and puffy, averting his gaze from embarrassment. He realized he had been too rough this time.

    He leaned down before pecking a slight kiss to your cheek. He mumbled a quick sorry before removing himself from you and getting up from the bed. He ran towards the bathroom, coming back to your unmoved body with a hot towel. He wiped you clean, along with the mess you had made on the bedsheets before crawling in bed beside you. Initially, you did not want to be near him.

    Your body was still twitching when he snuggled up beside you under the covers, pulling you into his warm embrace while whispering apologies to you. You continued to cry into his chest as he rubbed circles into your back.

    "I am so sorry, Y/N. I should have not taken it that far. Please let me-."

    "Gojo."

    "Yes?"

    "I love you, but you're sleeping on the couch tonight."

    "Yes ma'am."

[wishesunderthestars]

Eunoia // Ch. 11

eunoia (noun): beautiful thinking, the possession of a well-balanced mind, which exhibits goodwill and kindness

Pairings: Hybrid! BTS x reader

Summary: You are a world famous director and you have dedicated your life to your job.You have everything you could ever dream of; wealth, recognition, talent, your friends and family. But loneliness ins’t cured by success. So what happens when you somehow rescue seven hybrids? Can they fill the void?

Genre: Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, eventual smut

Word Count: 9.9k+

Warnings: Abuse and violence, mentions of past sexual abuse, injuries and blood

Masterlist

Chapter 1, Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

A/N: The taglist for Eunoia is now closed.

“Zayn, I promise I’m right around the corner,” you said into the phone. “I went home for lunch and it took a little more time than I had expected.”

You heard the singer laugh on the other end of the line. “It’s alright, you are always on time. I can excuse this one. You aren’t even that late.” You checked your phone to confirm what he was saying. Six minutes late. Not that bad.

“I could be a little earlier. I parked the car at the usual parking spot so I’m really just around the corner.” You looked back at Jimin. He had stopped walking and was looking behind him. Some shop window had probably caught his attention. There were many charming independent shops in the area. “By the way Jimin is with me, he wanted to get out of the house. I didn’t think you would mind.”

“I don’t,” Zayn said. “I would like to see the lad again. You talk so much about him, about all of them really, it would be nice to actually see him instead of hearing about him.”

“I mean…” You paused. “C’mon, I don’t talk about them that much.”  

Zayn huffed. “Keep telling yourself that. But I’ll let you have this one. Other than them and work, do you even have any other news?”

“I totally have other news.” Zayn waited. It was slightly worrying that you came up empty. “I’m drowning in work, okay? What other news would I have? Ehhh, have you met Astrid?”  

In the short silence that followed, you could hear Zayn rolling his eyes. “Taylor’s hybrid is hardly news, she adopted her a month ago. You were literally together in Nashville. And did you forget I told you that last time I met up with Taylor Astrid was with her? Do you listen that well to what I’m saying?”  

“Oh, right. I had wanted to come too, but you know work-” You were cut off by the sound of quick footsteps on the gravel behind you. Not many people wandered these streets. You turned back in time to see Jimin running in the opposite direction down the street. “Jimin!” You shouted. He didn’t stop. He should have heard you. With his hybrid hearing, he should have heard you. “I have to go. We’ll be more late.” You ended the call and took off.

You thanked whatever deities could hear you for deciding to wear sneakers instead of high heels to work. When you had important meetings with the higher ups of the film studios, you would dress nicer and high heels were etiquette at this point. Lucky for you, this day you didn’t have any meetings of that kind but rather a more active role as the director. High heels would only slow you down.

Chasing Jimin down the streets, you were glad nothing was slowing you down. You called his name again and again but he wouldn’t reply, just kept running. Your mind jumped to the worst things that could have happened. No one was chasing him, other than you. He wasn’t running away from someone, unless… Unless he was running away from you. But no. Jimin wouldn’t do that. He had no reason to run away from you. He had been a little strange before and something was certainly off but he wouldn’t run away.

You didn’t let yourself entertain the thought anymore, just put one foot in front of the other as fast as you could. Your heart was racing but it wasn’t solely because of running.

Around a corner, in a small alleyway nestled between a small art shop and a closed down building, Jimin had stopped. You stopped too. A large graffiti in blue spray paint read “The world isn’t fair, why should we be?”.

“Jimin?” you repeated quietly, it felt wrong shouting here.

Jimin was frozen in the middle of the alley, his eyes wide. His hands were fisted at his sides, they were shaking. Someone was standing against the wall.

Jimin went to take a step forward but a hiss stopped him. “Yoongi?”

“Step back,” the man said. Black cat-like ears were turned back, their fur blending into his pitch black hair. Narrowed dark eyes regarded Jimin. Jimin didn’t back down.

“Yoongi, it’s me,” Jimin said, albeit with a little less confidence. His eyes were open and vulnerable, staring at the other hybrid like he was a dream he was too afraid to wake up from, yet he wasn’t sure if he should call it a nightmare. “It’s Jimin, don’t you remember me?”

Yoongi didn’t reply. His shoulders were drawn high in tension, making more obvious the teared up fabric on his shoulder. It wasn’t the only tear on his clothes, his jeans were ripped in a way that didn’t look intentional and the hem of his shirt was torn and scuffed. One of his hands was tightly clutching a baseball cap. “Stay away from me.”

 There was so much pain in Jimin’s eyes. All you wanted to do was gather him in your arms and hold him until it was gone, but something was holding you back.

 “I looked for you. In the shelter and in the streets. I tried to find you for years.” Jimin’s lip trembled. “Where have you been?”

 Yoongi looked away. “You don’t want to know.”

 “Please,” Jimin whispered and you could hear the heartbreak in his voice. “I-I’m so sorry.”

 That made Yoongi’s head shoot up. “You’re sorry? What-”

 Just then, your phone started ringing. Both hybrids looked at you. Alarmed, Yoongi backed further into the alley. Perfect timing. You thought Zayn must be calling you, asking you what had happened and where you had gone, but it was Namjoon. Wary of the deadly glare Yoongi was sending your way, you declined the call.

“Who are you?” Yoongi hissed. The fur on his tail was standing on end and you could imagine him pouncing on you and tearing you apart with his teeth. You hadn’t been as nervous around a hybrid as you were at the moment. With Namjoon, it was more wariness than anything else. But this time a thread of fear was slithering up your arms. There was dried blood on Yoongi’s knuckles. There was no John this time and you didn’t have only yourself to worry about.

 "She's my owner," Jimin replied for you. It wasn't the way you would have phrased it and Yoongi's eyes narrowed further until they were nothing more than twin slits. "Yoongi, please," he said again. You didn't know what he was pleading for.

 "She's your owner?" Yoongi spat out the word like it was the worst of insults.

 You had a very bad feeling about this.

 Jimin clenched his jaw, standing up straighter. "She isn't like him, she's nothing like him. She saved me."

 Yoongi didn't say anything. His back was one with the wall by now.

 Jimin averted his gaze, shoulders slumping. "I-I missed you. I thought... I thought he had done something to you." He hugged his frame, making himself look smaller. "I thought he hurt you," the last words came out as a whimper.

 Yoongi was quick to shake his head. "He didn't, he didn't hurt me. You shouldn't have worried about me. You shouldn't be thinking about me."

 "But I was! I still am!"

 Yoongi looked away, he didn't move from the wall. It was clear the two hybrids knew each other but there were too many things you couldn't make sense of. Yoongi must have been someone important to Jimin if he had chased him all the way here and by what they were saying he had something to do with Jimin's past owner. You had assumed Jimin had been alone with that vile man, you hadn't considered having someone there with him. Someone he seemed to care for. Maybe he had met him at one of those parties Jimin had mentioned his owner liked to take him to, or he was one of his friends' hybrid.

 Your brain was in overdrive but your body was rooted on the spot. You didn't want to intrude but you were worried. Meanwhile, you only had limited time before you had to get back to work...

Stupid brain, you cursed. This was such an important moment for Jimin and here you were thinking about work.

 “I have to go," Yoongi said, pulling himself away from the wall.

 "No!" Jimin protested loudly, moving as if he was going to reach for the other hybrid. "I have been looking for you for years. Don't go. Please." He had been saying please a lot today.

 Although Jimin didn't touch him, the other hybrid stopped, as if he was unable to leave Jimin behind when he was calling for him. His fists were clenched at his sides and you could see the dried up blood on his knuckles better. It looked like he had left the blood clog up for a day or more instead of cleaning it. It would be easy to get an infection, especially with the dirt and grime all over his clothes and skin.  

"Is she treating you right?" Yoongi asked after a few moments of silence.

 Jimin's eyes widened at the question, brimming with tears. You held your breath. "She's my family." He glanced at you. "She taught me how to cook. She takes care of us and she lets us dress any way we like. She lets us go out alone, too, I haven't yet but I could... We went to the lake and we stayed there all day and had a picnic and... and... I'm- I'm happy. I'm happy, Yoongi."

 Yoongi lowered his head. "You deserve to be happy," he said quietly but even your human hearing picked it up. He took a step forward.

"Wait." You were surprised to hear your own voice. "You should disinfect your cuts, you could get sick if you leave them like this." Not your best, but enough to make his stop and look at you. Jimin gave you a hopeful look. "I have a medical kit in my car, I can clean them and if you want, then you can leave."

Yoongi's eyes narrowed slightly. His hands were shaking. "You know how to give first aid?"

 You nodded. "I have taken a few lessons, I know my way around it."

 "She's really good," Jimin confirmed. Neither of you could forget the night you had met. Purplish bruises, stark white gauze and fearful eyes.

 Yoongi's cat-like ears twitched. It didn't give you any specific answers as to the kind of hybrid he was. His tail was black as well, it stayed low as he contemplated your offer.

"I don't need your help, I'm fine, " Yoongi said. His eyes flickered to the other end of the alleyway. You could sense the internal battle going on inside him, vices gripping his body as he vibrated with something you were hesitant to call nervousness. His eyes locked with Jimin for a moment and his shoulder slumped slightly. "I don't need your help… but there is someone who does. Can you help him?"

 You ignored the suspicious glare and gathered all your confidence. "I can do my best."

 A small nod. "Go get your supplies."

 He stayed glued to the spot so you turned to Jimin. You cupped his cheek gently and said, "I'm going to the car, I'll be back in a moment." The cat hybrid nodded and you speed-walked to the parking lot, thankfully it wasn't too far away. You would have run if you hadn't already been tired from chasing Jimin. You grabbed the first aid kit from the trunk before rushing back. It was a medium sized box, containing all the essentials, from gauze, band-aids and disinfectant to various pills, like Advil and Claritin. "I've got it," you said when you arrived back at the alleyway, finding the two of them in the same spots you had left them.

 Yoongi glanced at you and the white medical kit, and then he was walking away. You took that as a sign to follow him. You slipped your hand in Jimin's, who gave you a small smile, and intertwined your fingers. This neighborhood housed one of your favorite coffee shops, the one you had planned to meet Zayn at, but you hadn’t wandered far from the quiet aesthetic streets with the colorful buildings and the tiny squares.

 As you walked further away, the scenery changed. More graffiti appeared on the walls. Words dripping in red and black. Slurs and protests. You kept Jimin close to your side. After ten minutes of walking, Yoongi stopped in front of a two-story building. The door was hanging off from only one of its hinges, as if holding onto a thread. Shattered windows, peeling paint on the walls and pieces of white plastic sheets angling from seemingly random places didn’t leave any room for doubt whether the building was abandoned.

Yoongi slipped in through the half opened door and disappeared in the partial darkness inside. Two balconies were situated above the door on either side, parts of them chipped off. You were worried they would fall on your heads at any any moment. You tugged Jimin forward and twisted your body to get inside without touching the door or the wall. Jimin did the same and you were faced with an empty room. You couldn't see much, sunlight didn't get in the house properly and the plastic sheets prevented most of the rays from passing through.

 The smell of rot drifted in the air and you could almost feel the dust swirling around. You resisted an instinctual cough. It was mostly in your mind, the feeling that dust was suffocating you, but your mind tricked your body quickly. You ignored it and walked further into the house, leaving footprints behind on the granite floor. The light got dimmer the further you went and your eyes had trouble adjusting. Jimin's eyesight was much better than yours and like cats he could see well in darkness.

 One of the rooms, with the dirtied floral tapestry peeling off from the walls, opened up to a grand staircase. Once upon a time it must have been beautiful, polished wood shining under the light of the chandeliers. You could imagine balls taking place here, women wearing beautiful gowns and men in tuxes made by the biggest names in fashion, mingling and sharing drinks. Now, the room was a ghost of its former glory, a place that belonged in a horror film instead of a period drama.

 Jimin's hand slipped from yours and you reached blindly for him. The room wasn't in total darkness but it was dark enough to make you nervous.

 In all of your observation of the staircase you hadn't noticed that there was something in the space under the stairs. A boy was curled up on a ratty blanket so thin, it must have been doing nothing to shield him from the cold granite underneath. Yoongi was kneeling next to him but you couldn't make out his features or if he was talking or not. You were too far to hear anything and the building was by no means quiet (you had a suspicion that a family of mice or cockroaches had made its home somewhere inside and you prayed you were wrong). You approached cautiously.

 "-alone. Please, don't go again. I'm fine," you could hear the boy saying as you got closer. His voice was croaky, from disuse or pain you weren't sure. He must have been the one Yoongi wanted you to help. You couldn't see him clearly but you could make out the ears peeking out from his hair. Another hybrid.

Yoongi was holding his hand. "You aren't fine, I had to do something. I brought help."

 The boy hadn't noticed you so far, he must have been pretty bad if he didn't hear you coming in and didn’t notice your scent. When his eyes landed on you he only curled up tighter with a whimper.

 "We're here to help you, not hurt you," you said, coming a little closer when Yoongi didn't hiss at you. You showed him the medical kit you were holding. "I only want to help if you let me."

 He didn't uncurl from the ball he had created with his body but Yoongi looked at you expectantly. You knelt on the floor next to the blanket, ridiculously aware of the dust and grime your expensive pants must be gathering. Your mind was jumping from one place to the next so it wasn't surprising that for some reason it decided it was worth it to worry about dirtying your pants. With Yoongi's help, you coaxed him out of the ball so you could start treating him. After turning on the flashlight on your phone, you handed it to Jimin, instructing him to keep it steady while you worked.

The boy clenched his eyes shut at the light, you wondered how long he had stayed here in semi-darkness.

You opened the first aid kit and took stock of the supplies inside, everything was there. You didn't know the extent of his injuries but his labored breathing and sharp flinches whenever he moved told you enough. In the artificial light, you took a better look at the boy laying on the floor. His hair was a reddish shade of orange. A fluffy tail was half-hidden behind his body. A fox hybrid. You had never seen once before.

The awe and curiosity didn’t last long. Your eyes were drawn on his swollen eye, a shocking purple painting his skin. It wasn't the only place tainted with color. His cheek had a purplish bruise as well and his lips were cut in two places. A trail of blood had dried underneath his nose.

"I'll start with your face, okay?" you asked, but the hybrid didn't reply, he just tightened his hold on the blanket. Taking off his clothes, to tend to the rest of the injuries you were sure were hiding underneath, would only make him more uncomfortable. You pulled out a water bottle from your bag, you were always carrying one with you, and poured a small amount on a white cloth. Before the cloth could touch his face, you spoke up, "My name is Y/N. Do you want to tell me your name?"

Wide fearful eyes turned to Yoongi, who gestured vaguely with his hand. "H-Hoseok," the boy whispered.

 "Hoseok," you repeated, testing the name on your tongue. "That's a nice name. I like the way it sounds." Gently, you dabbed the cloth on his bottom lip, the boy flinched at the contact. He didn't pull away so you continued. "I'm not a professional, I'm not a doctor or a nurse or anything. My profession is actually very different from that, though I did have to play nurse a few times. I would like to think I'm quite good at this by now. I've taken a few lessons, I was fascinated with first aid when I was younger. I don't even know why."

 You continued speaking while tending to the wounds on his face. Earlier in your life you had discovered that talking, or at least listening to someone speak, would take the other's mind off the pain a little. By the time you were finished with his face, you had told him the whole story of how you had come to learn first aid and how you had panicked and forgotten everything you had learnt the first time someone had fainted in front of you, only remembering what to do when a friend of yours had pinched you. Hoseok listened to everything you said silently, his lips curling up a tiny bit at the last story. Maybe you exaggerated a bit and you made way too many hand gestures for someone supposed to be tending to his wounds but it seemed to be working.

Yoongi helped him pull off his shirt and you heard a gasp from behind you as his torso was revealed. His body was toned but a few of his ribs were pushing out in ways they probably shouldn't. It wasn't too bad but it was clear he hadn't been eating well for some time. But that wasn't the worst and it wasn't what you noticed first. Large bruises littered his body and what looked like the imprint of a hand was left on his bicep.

Switching topics, you told him about your first time coming to Los Angeles. Hoseok let out a breath as you started speaking again. As you checked his ribs, you recalled your very first days in the city, when you had been as excited as afraid to go to University in a brand new city where you had no friends. He hissed at the contact, but didn't object otherwise. You observed the way he breathed, taking note of the heavy bruising over his ribcage. You applied salve over the area and all the other bruises on his torso and the few on his back, the front had taken the blunt of whatever had happened. You had a suspicion but didn't speak of it yet.

His right arm was broken, he was holding it immobile close to his body. One touch and you were certain of it. Disinfecting a rather large cut on his arm, you wrapped it in gauze after coating the injury in a thin layer of cream. The cream smelled awful and was a sickly green color but you could testify to how effective it was. You did your best to make a cast for the arm, you hadn't done it before outside of a class and it was more of a struggle than you had expected. When his arm was secured in the cast, you trailed off your recounting of a stupid fight you had with one of your cousins that resulted in both of you getting lost. You were done. Hoseok looked at you with wide eyes, as if asking you why you stopped.

"This is it, we're all done," you said, rubbing your hands together with hand sanitizer like you had before treating him. "When did he... get injured?"

"Why do you need to know?" Yoongi asked, at the same time as Hoseok croaked out, "Yesterday."

 "What pill I give him to relieve the pain depends on when he got hurt. Some kinds could slow down the healing process if they are taken less than 48 hours after the injury." Digging into the small suitcase-like kit, you handed him two paracetamol tablets along with the water bottle. There was still had some water inside. "It will numb the pain, it takes about an hour to work," you explained.

 Hoseok tentatively took the pills and bottle from you. He drunk the water in one gulp and you were reminded again that he might have gone without water for some time. "Thank you," he said, his eyes on the blanket.

You sighed, getting up from the floor and dusting off your pants. Just like you had expected, two white patches were left on your knees. "I'm afraid, other than a broken arm, you might have fractured one of your ribs. I noticed the area hurts more than the rest and you have some trouble breathing." Jimin who hadn't moved much while you were working, latched himself on your back. The situation was too familiar for him. The injuries, the smell of the disinfectant and the fear in Hoseok's eyes. And just like that night your heart was clenching, begging you to do more. It worked once, why wouldn't it again? The traitorous organ whispered.

 Yoongi had sat on the blanket next to Hoseok, who had crawled closer to him, his side touching leg. The silence is broken as your phone starts ringing again. You had set it on silent so whoever is calling you must have made many attempts. You are expecting to see Namjoon's name flash on the screen with the wolf and moon emojis, but instead it is the name of one of the producers.

 While tending to Hoseok, you had almost forgotten you had to be at work after the supposedly short trip to the coffee shop. You had to take this. At the other side of the staircase, close to a door that led to what must have been a dining room once, you answered the call.

 Everyone had been looking for you, worried about your absence. You had never been late to work before, often you would show up before you were scheduled to, in order to get some additional work done. Three missed call, that's how many times just the producer had called you. His worry soon turned into irritation, asking you why you didn't inform them and why you weren't answering your phone. They had called everyone close to you to find out what had happened and no one had any answers.

 You were more than an hour late. An hour you were supposed to spend guiding the actors and getting the first feeling of a few scenes. Those plans went down the drain.

 You peeked over the railing of the staircase. Jimin was standing closer to the space Hoseok was laying under the stairs. They were talking but they were being quiet and you couldn't hear what they were saying over the loud voice of the producer coming from the phone and your own too loud thoughts. You tried to explain yourself, staying as close to the truth as possible, which was admittedly difficult. In the end, you used the personal emergency card. Although the producer didn't sound convinced, he let you off, scolding you half-heartedly about calling next time instead of leaving them in the dark looking for you and thinking about the worst.

 Ending the call, you looked through all the ones you missed and the texts they had sent you. You replied to a few of the texts, giving the same answer as you had to the producer. There were several from Zayn, asking where you were and if you were okay. In the final one he asked you to call him as soon as you could. Guilt gnawed at your insides. You had left him alone waiting for you for forty minutes, until he was sure there was no chance of you coming. You were an awful friend. Namjoon had also sent you a few messages. Someone had called the land-line at your house. No word from you. You and Jimin had both disappeared. Cradling your heavy heart, you sent a message to Namjoon assuring him that Jimin was with you and you were both alright. You hoped that would be enough for now.

 Pocketing your phone you walked around the stairs. Closer to them you could pick up parts of their conversation. Yoongi and Jimin were arguing, silent tears streaming down Jimin's face. You held yourself back from running to him and pulling him away from whatever was hurting him. This was Jimin's battle, you would let him fight it. He rarely spoke of the demons of his past but they were many and frightening with long claws and sharp teeth.

 Jimin suddenly reached for your hands. "Tell them, tell them to come home with us. Please, they can't stay here. We have a lot of space in the house, they can take one of the rooms until he heals."

 Your mouth was faster than your brain. That was a problem you didn't have to worry about before but something was changing. "They can come home with us if they want." Yoongi hissed, ready to protest. "A fractured rib isn't a trivial matter, he would need medical supervision but I can guess you don't want to go to a hospital. I can tend to it until he gets better, he will need medication to relieve the pain and plenty of bed rest. This place will only slow his healing."

 "Yoongi, please. Let me..." He stopped with a sniffle. "Just come with us. I need you to come with us." That seemed to break any of the resolve the older hybrid had. Hoseok didn't react at all, remaining curled in on himself.

 "Okay, we'll come," Yoongi said. "We'll come, but we'll leave as soon as he's better.

♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩

It should be way more surprising when you show up at the Castle with Jimin and two unfamiliar hybrids in tow. The initial surprise lasted only a few minutes before everyone just sort of accepts this. Namjoon was the most wary but you couldn't blame him, his instincts were screaming to protect his pack and while Hoseok in his condition was by no means a threat, Yoongi didn't exactly look friendly. Jungkook had hopped away soon after with Jin. The bunny hybrid wasn’t good with strangers. You suspected that he had inherited some bunny instincts that made him jumpy and easily afraid around predators.

You led the two new hybrids to the guest room with the two queen beds on the second floor, and like you had with Jin, you gave them the key. Yoongi looked at you suspiciously but didn't say anything. Hoseok fell asleep as soon as his body hit the soft mattress. Their reaction to the house had been similar to most people’s. Wide eyes and disbelief. It didn’t serve to calm Yoongi down, instead he looked like you had been leading him straight into some sort of trap.

 Jimin stuck close to you as you called John from your office. He was one of the first people your team had called, it just happened that the day they needed him was the day he hadn't accompanied you. He was fuming when he answered, worried out of his mind and, unlike the producer, he didn't let you off easily. You had been rash, forgot about any rational thoughts, put yourself and Jimin in danger, didn't call anyone for backup in case something happened. Those hybrids could have been serial killers for all you knew. The list went on and on.

 "I'm coming over as soon as I can," he said. "I have to see those hybrids for myself. You can't just go around picking up hybrids like they are new projects. What mess have you gotten yourself in this time?"

 "Hopefully, not too big of one," you muttered. "You don't have to come, really. I've got everything under control and it's your week off. I took the rest of the day off so I'll be home. I swear I'll call you if anything happens."

 "There is no way I'm leaving you in the house with two hybrids you just picked up from the street and decided to nurse back to health-"

 "One of them is fine," you interrupted him.

 Yoongi didn't have any visible injuries other than his bloody knuckles and a slit lip he wouldn't let you touch. Even if he had more, there was no way he would let you tend to them.

 "And that makes it better how?" John asked. "I mean, good for him he isn't injured, but that doesn't guarantee your safety. If he is fine, he could try something. Don't forget that hybrid's have human DNA too, there are bad apples regardless of how much you want to keep looking at the good ones. Just because it worked once, doesn't mean it will work again. "

 Jimin was sitting on the edge of your desk, his head tilted to the side. He could hear everything with his hearing. You ruffled his blond hair and he leaned into your touch. "It isn't the same," you said.

"Isn't it? It sounds awfully a lot like something I've heard before." John sighed. "It isn't that I don't trust your judgment, but lately you act then ask questions lately. I trust you but I don't trust everyone you take into your house. They could take all of your jewelry before they disappear or it could be much much worse."

 "Contrary to popular belief, I'm not completely defenseless." The first years John was assigned to you, he had decided to teach you the basics of self-defense. He couldn't always be with you and you  hadn't been able to throw a punch to save your life. The lessons had paid off and, although you were no black belt student, you could defend yourself to an extent if you had to. "I'm serious, you don't have to come over. What about Alice? She wouldn't want her father running off when he promised her he would spend the week with her."

 John huffed. "You are evil, using my daughter against me."

 "I will add it to my resume," you said. "I'm alright and I'm going to be alright. You know I'm not alone, if anything happens we can count on each other, and you can come in a few days when your break is over and check in."

 "I'll accept this only because I have heard Namjoon growl when he thinks someone in his pack is threatened," you felt warmth seep in your cheeks when John mentioned so casually that you were part of their pack, "and Jungkook has gained enough muscle in the last few months to launch a nice punch if he needs to protect himself or someone." It was difficult to imagine your sweet bunny hybrid punching anyone, especially given the way you had found him, but it was true that the time he spent in the gym paid off.

 John didn't come over. He stayed with his daughter because he had promised they would go to the zoo together as soon as she woke up from her afternoon nap. You went through a few papers after the phone call, reassuring yourself multiple times that the whole TV show wouldn’t crumble because you had taken one day off work (you really needed to work on your sense of self-importance). Jimin had turned his body on the desk so he could see what you were doing without taking up too much space.

 They would be fine without you. The conclusion wasn't hard to reach but you had tortured yourself a lot over it. Missing days of work was almost unheard for you. You scheduled your life around your work schedule, the breaks were on specific dates and you didn't need to take extra ones. To miss work, you had to be so sick you couldn't get out of bed without fainting.

 You put the papers in their respective folders and placed them back on the bookshelves. "Now that we are alone, do you think you can tell me what happened?" you asked, feeling Jimin's eyes on your back.

 "I-" He averted his gaze, his fingers wrapping and unwrapping on the hem of his shirt, wrinkles forming  on the material and smoothing out again. "I'm sorry."

 You walked around the desk, coming closer to him. "That's not what I wanted to hear. A warning before taking off would have been nice, though. My mind went to the worst possibility and you wouldn't answer my calls or wait for me."

 Jimin was about to apologize but stopped himself. "I couldn't lose him. I couldn't stop running, I couldn't lose him again. I couldn't really hear you... It was like a fog was over everything other than the path I was following. I needed to make sure it was Yoongi, that he was alright."

 You touched Jimin's thighs, situating him better on the desk so you were standing between his legs. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

 He hesitated before reaching for your hand and holding it in his. He brought it close to his face and started nuzzling on your wrist. He had told you your scent calmed him and he liked it when your scents mingled. Placing a kiss on the center of your wrist, he pulled back a little, keeping your hand in his.

 "He was there, in my old house," he said. "I was around sixteen when he was brought in. My owner didn't say why he was there but Yoongi is a panther hybrid, he could brag about him to his friend and he was also a guard. He was supposed to be protecting the house, to be protecting me. I was all alone there and then I wasn't. He was suddenly there and I wanted a friend so bad. Yoongi was gentle and he was kind, he would stay with me when I was feeling lonely. He cooked for me when he could, the food was delicious. I remember loving it but I'm not sure it was because of the food itself or because he was the one who had cooked it. Maybe both." He lowered his head, his cat ears pinned to his head. "We did something. We did something very bad. He took Yoongi away and I was returned to the adoption center. I never learnt what he did to him. I thought..." His voice cracked.

 You shushed him, stepping even closer and taking his into your arms. He wrapped his arms around your neck pulling you against his chest. "He's alright. You're safe here. This is a safe place."

 "I know," he mumbled into your shoulder. "I know."

 You cupped his neck with one hand, rubbing small circles with your thumb on his neck. "Do you trust him? Do you trust him to stay here until Hoseok recovers?"

 He nodded. "I trust him, I would trust him with my life."

 You held him in silence for some time, just feeling him breath against your chest. "What did you do with Yoongi?" you asked, curious. Jimin stiffened, you felt like he was holding his breath. "You don't have to tell me."

 His body relaxed a little, leaning on you. "I can't, we shouldn't have done it. We betrayed him. I couldn't hold myself back, I was weak. I'm stronger now, I promise. I wouldn’t be able to bear it if your hated me."

 What he said made you jolt back. Jimin whined lowly but you were quick to cup his soft cheek. "I could never hate you. Nothing in this world could make me hate you," you said, gazing into his watery eyes. Even with tears threatening to fall, he looked beautiful. "My Jiminie. Nothing you say will ever change my feelings about you. Your past doesn't define you. Whatever you did to that man, he deserved it."

 "But you don't."

 You didn't understand what he meant. "What?" You looked into his eyes but you only found sadness there. The small smile on his lips hurt more than his tears would.

 He sniffled. "Don't leave me. Don't throw me away," he pleaded.

 You squeezed his thigh, leaning your forehead against his. "Never, I'll never leave you. I will always watch over you, I swear."

“I’m not worth it. I’m not worthy of the care you give me,” he whimpered.

“You are. You are worth everything and so much more.”

♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬♬♩♪♩

 Namjoon was sitting on the largest couch in the living room, a documentary about ocean life playing on TV. His ears twitched a little when he heard you climbing up the stairs. You stayed standing for a moment, watching the screen as a blue whale emerged from the water shooting up a water water spray like a fountain. Their tails flapped against the water. Such magnificent creatures. They were endangered species, the man speaking explained, hunted and killed for their meat and blubber. On top of that, pollution, vessel strikes, entanglement in traps and nets and more.

If there was one thing humans knew how to do is destroy beautiful things.

“Are you okay?” Namjoon asked.

You shrugged. “Shouldn’t I be asking that? Or some variation of it?” You turned away from the screen and settled on the couch, leaving some distance between you. “I didn’t have the chance to ask you before springing this on you.”

“I can handle it, I think,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t think Jimin left you much of a choice if he ran after him. If his mind is set on something, he won’t stop until he gets it.”

“Do you know anything about him? Yoongi? Jimin told me some things but he doesn’t want to say everything.”

Namjoon shook his head. “I didn’t even know he existed until now. Jimin never mentioned it. He doesn’t like talking about his past. I can understand, but then things like this happen. I just wish he shared more with us, so we could help him.”

“I know,” you agreed. “I feel the same. But it’s only temporary. In about a week Hoseok will be well enough to go. Not completely healed, that could take up to a month or more, but he will be better.”

He cracked a small smile. “You can’t really stand there doing nothing, can you?”

You couldn’t, could you? You had always been one to try to help in any way you could. It didn’t matter what the problem was, you wanted to help. An issue at work, a dilemma one of your friends was facing, human rights, poverty, hunger. Homeless injured hybrids. But you usually were careful, you would think the problem over, review all the points and then try to find a solution.

Since when did you throw caution to the wind?

You liked to pride yourself on your mind. You could see the things other people couldn’t and laid new paths when others hadn’t bothered to stray a foot from the blocked road. It felt like you were slipping.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” you said, hiding your face in your hands. “Jimin was so sad and Hoseok’s ribs are fractured-”

Namjoon cut you off by tugging at your arm. He pulled you closer to him. “I trust you, you know I trust you.”

“That doesn’t always make things better,” you said, laying your head on his shoulder. “What if I’m wrong? What if you trusted me and I’m wrong? And, I don’t know, something really bad happens.”

“Then we’ll face the consequences together.” He didn’t hesitate. “I’ll tell you if I think you’re wrong and we will work it out. Now, I’m not sure. We don’t know what happened or why one of them has fractured ribs and a broken arm. I saw the blood on Yoongi’s hands. All we know is that he was part of Jimin’s past.”

The screen was darker as lion fish were swimming around the bottom of the sea, illuminated by blue light. They weren’t afraid of the diver, aware of the poison in their back spines, the narrator said.

You shuffled around a little, getting comfortable on Namjoon’s side. His arm snaked around your waist, settling on your hip. The words unsaid between the two of you were choking you.

“Jungkook came to me earlier,” he said. “He was crying. He told me he had done something horrible, something he couldn’t forgive himself for. It took me hours to calm him down. He said I needed to find Jimin and make sure he was okay. After what he had done, Jungkook said he wouldn’t want to see him again.”

You frowned. “Jungkook said that?” That sounded nothing like the sweet boy you knew. Sure, Jungkook liked joking around, teasing all of you and he could be very stubborn. But he looked at Jimin like he was his muse and whatever he created would be bland and pointless without him. “Jimin caught me last minute before I left the house. He didn’t look well, he was panicked. It was like he was trying to escape something. He didn’t tell me what happened and I didn’t want to push him and make things worse. Where is Jungkook?"

“At the atelier, Jin is there with him. I don't know what we'd do without him," Namjoon said. You agreed. Jin had slotted into your lives like he was always meant to be there. "What about Jimin? Wasn't he with you?"

"He came with me to my office, before I came upstairs he said he was tired and he left to go to your room."

 The sun was setting outside, the sky turning navy as the colors of the day receded. You felt like only a few minutes ago you had been about to walk out the door to meet up with Zayn.

 Namjoon's hand was rubbing your arm up and down, the touch calming something deep inside you. You had so many questions, so many doubts about what you were doing. There were so many ways this could go wrong. Jimin was in a fragile state. If what Jungkook had told Namjoon was true to some extent, Jimin would be in a really bad place. On top of that, a person from his past showing up could ruin all his progress. Most of all, you were afraid your Jimin would get hurt.

 "You're thinking too loud again."

 You groaned, burying your head in his shoulder. "I'm not." You turned to the TV trying to erase the look on your face. The deepest parts of the sea were home to so many creatures. Small and large, all of them had adapted to live in darkness. Adapting. Such an interesting skill.

 You squirmed in Namjoon's arms, he loosened his hold on you so you could sit up straighter. You hadn't talked about the night when you had been beating yourself up for saying the wrong thing, Jin's retreating form, head lowered, haunting you. Namjoon had a way to make your brain go quiet, something you hadn't learnt how to do regardless of how much you tried. You had been floating and for once you had fallen asleep without tossing and turning.

 But you hadn't talked and you couldn't decide if it was better that way or if it would only serve to torment you further. The doubts came, like they always did, and you weren't ready to deflect them.

 Namjoon's clever eyes were on you as you traced invisible swirls from his shoulder, his neck and up his face. Your knuckles ran over his cheek in a feather-light touch. His hand covered yours, bringing it to his mouth and placing a kiss in the center of your palm. Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest.

 "Can I?" he asked, leaning closer. You could do nothing but nod. His lips touched yours gently at first, before both of you got lost in the feeling. This kind of kissing was reserved for books and movies, it wasn't something that was supposed to happen in real life and yet... How could you settle for anything less after this?

 This, this was something you could write about. Something to fill up all those blank pages taunting you. Paragraphs upon paragraphs attempting to describe that feeling spreading through your whole body. You could spend your whole life trying to put this moment into words and it would be worth it.

 You pulled back. A flush had crept up on Namjoon's cheeks and his hair was mussed. You probably didn't look any better. Hopefully, your makeup could cover any redness on your skin.

 Your hand was still in his, held against his cheek.

 "What are we doing?" you asked him, breathy from the kiss that had overtaken your whole being. "What does this mean?"

 "What do you want this to be?"

 Your lips twitched up. "I don't know, that's why I'm asking you."

 Namjoon combed a hand through your hair, twisting a strand loosely around his fingers before letting go. "It can mean whatever we want it to mean. Whatever we need it to be."

 On a moment, his back straightened and he looked at the stairs. You followed his gaze but saw nothing. A few seconds later, your human ears were able to pick up steps climbing up the staircase. You got up from the couch and straightened the wrinkles on your clothes. An itch to change into clean clothes nagged at you, preferably after taking a nice long shower, but there were still things needed to be done.

 Black hair was the first thing you saw before the rest of Jin came into view, but you had already guessed who it was by the careful steps he was taking. Living with them, you could distinguish between the ways they climbed up the stairs. Jungkook ran up, eager to reach his destination. Jimin occasionally skipped some steps, light on his feet like he was floating his way up. Namjoon's step were light as well and he was the most likely to miss, stalking up the stairs silently as if on a hunt. Jin was careful and measured in everything he did and this was no different.

 The sugar glider hybrid glanced around, his eyes landing on the two of you in the living room. He shifted his weight on his feet.

 "Hey," you said softly, coming closer. "Is Jungkook still in the atelier ?"

 Jungkook was nowhere to be seen, even though he tended to stick to the other hybrids like glue. Whatever had happened earlier was enough to make him change his habits.

 "He's in the middle of a painting," Jin said, biting his bottom lip. It was obvious he was worried as well, but trying to make excuses for the youngest. "I'm going to cook dinner."

 The sun had set by now but you couldn't comprehend how late it had gotten. Time to make dinner. On an average work day you would be wrapping up now and checking off the tasks you had completed, making sure everything was going according to plan before leaving.

 "I'll help you then," you said, nudging his hands with yours. The two of you go to the kitchen and Jin starts pulling out bowls from the cupboards. "What are we making?"

 Jin paused. "Now that you're here, we can make whatever you want. But I can cook. You should rest, you must be tired."

 "No more tired than usual." It was true in a weird way. Your body was actually feeling less like it would need to sleep for a week to restore all its functions and more like something heavy you didn't recognize had wrapped itself around your shoulders. "You? How are you feeling?"

 Jin fiddled with one of the bowls. "I'm alright."

 On a couple shelves, away from where most of the action took place, your cookbooks were lined in neat rows. You picked up one of your favorites, the well-known chef smiling at you from the cover.

 "It's okay if you aren't," you said. "It was very unexpected. It'd be understandable if you felt uncomfortable or upset. I didn't get a chance to warn you before bringing practically two strangers into your home."

 The bowl was apparently very fascinating for Jin because he was looking nowhere else as he forced a smile. "I couldn't be upset. I was a stranger coming here, too."

 You left the cookbook on the counter. "The circumstances were different. I had called the others before adopting you and we had all agreed that I would bring you home with me. I adopted you, you came to stay. They will be leaving soon."

 "It's just... I'm not used to strangers," he admitted.

 You moved around the kitchen island, standing next to him. You gave him space in case he wanted to move away but he only leaned closer to you. "This is your home and all I want for you is to feel safe here. I'm sorry I didn't call you to ask before bringing them here. I don't want you to act like you don't mind if you actually do. You have a right to be upset."

 You brought your foreheads together, rubbing gently. A rare purr escaped Jin and although his cheeks reddened he didn't pull away at the sound like he used to do.

 The kitchen filled with noise as you started preparing the dishes. You had decided on chicken with honey and garlic as the main dish and you would make a few side-dishes because you didn't know what the new hybrids liked to eat. Halfway through, when you had added the honey, the diced garlic and the soy sauce in the pan, the itch under your skin got too long and you left to go shower.

 Washing away the day felt almost cathartic. The worst parts of it falling down the drain. It was your favorite part of coming home, second only to seeing your hybrids and spending time with them. Freshly washed and dressed into sweatpants and a comfortable top, you got out of your room. Dinner wasn't ready yet but Jin didn't need any more help. Any other day you would get your laptop and open one of the files in your to-do-list but this time you climbed down the stairs to the second level.

 Knocking on the door, you took a step back and waited.

 "Who is it?" a gruff voice you recognized as Yoongi's called from inside.

 "It's Y/N." You didn't elaborate further, curious to see what he would do. Contrary to what you had expected, you heard the key being turned. The door opened, Yoongi peeking at you through the crack.

 "What do you want?"

 "Dinner is almost ready," you said. "I came to check in on you. Has Hoseok woken up? I wanted to see how well the medication worked."

 You could sense Yoongi contemplating shutting the door in your face before  a small voice from inside said, "I'm awake."

 Yoongi muttered under his breath but opened the door further letting you in. The room was mostly untouched, only the bed Hoseok had been sleeping in gave an indication that someone had been inside. Yoongi had taken a shower but changed back into his own clothes, which he had pulled out from the small duffel bag. The green duffel bag, as worn as their clothes, was the only thing they had carried with them. It was small and certainly not enough for two people to live out of.

 Hoseok was laying on the bed, making himself as small as he could without aggravating his injuries. In the hand that wasn't in the cast, he was clinging to the blanket he had with him in the abandoned building. It desperately needed to be washed but you weren't sure it could be salvaged. The light in the room was in the lower setting not to aggravate his eyes. His fluffy tail was curled around his waist, dirt staining it and parts sticking together with grime.

 He stuttered answering your questions but overall he looked better. The granite floor with only a thin blanket to lay on wasn't a place someone could actually rest on. You offered to bring him some clothes to change into. Unlike Yoongi, he accepted.

 Jacob's clothes had really come in handy. You would have never guessed that you would find a use for them when he left them behind. You had even considered throwing them out at one of your lowest points. Jacob's promise to remain friends and the excuse he would be coming over had been proven a lie or just wistful thinking. They weren't taking too much space, considering how large your closet was, but you had no use for them but sentimental memories you no longer needed. Until February, that is.

 Some of Namjoon's clothes would fit Hoseok better, but you dismissed the idea without considering it. The hybrid's scent would be too prominent on the clothes. Jimin liked wearing the others' clothes because he claimed he loved being enveloped in their scents. It was also the reason he had stolen one of your hoodies that fit him and refused to give it back.

 Jacob's scent had faded from his clothes after so many months, Namjoon had confirmed it. He had left in early December, five months had come and passed since then. You could remember the months leading up to the break up. It wasn't the fights, there weren't many of them, but the silence and the distance that had broken you. You had been at work all day and he had been at the studio. When he went out you either couldn't go because you were busy or you were too tired to. He didn't get your hobbies. He wasn't a fan of reading and he didn't let you listen to his tracks before they were ready. You weren't good at giving feedback, he had told you laughing after you had said the track felt like something was missing in the chorus. You had been getting further and further apart for more than a year. The house was but a way to fool yourself that everything was alright.

 Yoongi had helped Hoseok shower, following your advice to not ruin the cast on his arm and wet the bandages you had wrapped around some of the deeper wounds.

 Dinner was different. You had carried two trays down with Jin's help for the two hybrids. It was better for Hoseok not to move and even if he could, Yoongi wouldn't be thrilled at the idea. Jungkook didn't come up for dinner. He wouldn't leave the atelier and Jin carried another tray to him, because there was no way he would let him go without eating. Jimin asked after him. He didn't speak for the rest of dinner picking up the food on his plate with a guilty expression on his face.

 John did come the next morning. He didn't press and didn't threaten anyone, not that you had expected him to but it was a relief nonetheless. John was an intimidating man with his height and bulkiness. Yoongi hissed, backing into a corner when he saw him. John looked him up and down, taking in his split lip, the bruises and his worn clothes, and then showed you a picture of his daughter on his phone. Yoongi regarded him for a little longer before disappearing again.

 Jungkook and Jimin were avoiding each other. Jungkook did everything in his power not to find himself in the same room as Jimin, getting up and leaving whenever Jimin entered. The hurt on Jimin's face was heartbreaking every time it happened. You tried to comfort him but you couldn't do much when you were gone most of the day and you had to check Hoseok's injuries every morning and night.

 You were in your office scanning a few documents when the email was delivered. Your hand froze, unable to comprehend the contents at first.

 There was a knock on the half-opened door. Namjoon walked inside. "Are you coming for dinner?"

 You looked up from your phone. "I have to go to Virginia the day after tomorrow."

[bunnykawa]

hungry (osamu miya x f. reader)

summary: You have a big crush on the handsome owner of an onigiri shop. He thinks it’s annoying. Or does he?

a/n: eh idk what this is. timeskip love haha. but this might be a triggering so please keep that in mind and read the warnings

warnings: 18+, yandere themes, noncon/dubcon/rape, raw sex, kinda public sex?, some degradation, little bit of spanking and hairpulling, abusive language, violence, stalking, mentions of past sexual abuse, you vomit but it's not sexualized it's trauma-induced, timeskip!osamu :)

The energy of the restaurant is oddly calm tonight. Nights are almost never tranquil at Onigiri Miya with the constant parade of people coming in, so you hum in satisfaction when you scan the restaurant and there's barely anyone here. You stare down at your half-eaten onigiri and the loyalty stamp card that you filled up from how often you come here. After nine visits, you get a free onigiri on your tenth one as long as you show them your stamp card. 

This is your hundredth visit—you remember because the first time you entered Onigiri Miya was ten stamp cards ago. The staff already know your name, if not by your face and your timid behavior that makes you stutter when ordering the same thing every time they see you. As peculiar as they think you are (for coming to Onigiri Miya at the same time on Fridays and Saturdays for the past six months and sitting alone quietly until they close), they warmly welcome you.

It's only you in the dining area tonight. The few employees that Onigri Miya has must have left earlier than usual. You suddenly tense up in your seat and grip onto your cup of freshly-poured hot tea tightly between tremulous fingers. The familiar male figure, standing at over six feet tall with beautiful broad shoulders, passes by the front counter, disappearing as he makes his way to the back. 

After you let out a harsh breath, you adjust your phone from behind your purse on the table. Your phone is propped up behind it, the camera lens slightly peeking over the faux leather. Butterflies form in your stomach when you see that you were still recording and you caught him on camera. 

Yes, you go to Onigiri Miya because the food is amazing. Somehow, they make a dish as simple as a rice ball so delectable and appetizing and you adore them because of it. But hyperfixation is a fucking bitch, your thought process is a little flawed, and the real reason why you frequent the establishment is because Osamu Miya is absolutely gorgeous. Every time you see him, you're left wondering what it would be like to run your fingers through his dark hair or how his lips feel pressed against yours. Your thoughts run wild. How does he like his eggs in the morning? What's his family like? Does he sleep on the right side of the bed? Left side? In the middle? Does he have space for you on his bed? 

How does it feel to be loved by Osamu Miya?

Every time you visit the restaurant, visibly nervous with anxiety beating in your chest and your throat closing as you try to speak, you feel that you're one step close to finding out. And maybe you did feel it once. Just once. You're unsure if that one special moment you shared with Osamu was genuine from his heart with good intentions, but you would do anything for that feeling to last forever. And if that made your whole being feel as if you were floating, then why wouldn't it be the same for him?

So, that's why you're here. To relive that special moment in the way that you fantasized about—something that can become a fond memory instead of a dream deep inside your head that leaves you yearning for physicality. Desire is the only sensation that you've felt for the past six months and it's torture to watch the man that you've fallen in love with barely acknowledge you as a person even if he's seen your face in his restaurant consistently every week since you first met. Since he saved you. 

Six months later. Six months to move on. Six months to get help and yet you're still digging your hands into your panties and biting onto your sheets to gag yourself because of one man after every visit to his restaurant.

"Hey."

Oh, that voice makes your thighs tremble every time you hear it. As stoic and impassive as it is, it's the same voice that gave you solace when you were beaten down in the dark to bleed on concrete. You're gritting your teeth—nearly moaning at the sweet sound—as that voice almost breaks you out of your thoughts. Almost. 

"(Y/N), are you okay?" Osamu asks in a deadpan tone from his place behind the counter. You jolt suddenly. For someone who's so obsessive with small details, you sure don't pay much attention to your surroundings. You quickly shake your head when you realize that he's talking to you. 

"Y-yes. I'm...I'm fine, O...samu," you squeak in embarrassment. You don't realize it, but you're clutching onto your stamp card with white knuckles. His gray hooded eyes seem to be staring right through you, as if he knows why you're here tonight, what you're looking for. But whatever he does notice, he doesn't mention. His eyes dart down to your purse before he maintains eye contact with you. 

He places his hand on the counter to lean on it. The small action makes your mouth dry. He's so fucking beautiful. "It's almost ten-o'clock. I'm gonna close up. You should leave soon." 

But you don't want to leave yet. Tonight was supposed to be the night that you finally made your dreams come true. It's only him and you in the restaurant tonight, so it must mean something.

"Where...where's the rest of the c-crew?" you ask shakily. Fuck, get yourself together. You just need an excuse not to leave. And he might know your name, but he doesn't know you. Not yet.

He raises a thick eyebrow at your question before answering, "Left early tonight. Just me taking care of the shop." You should have noticed. This is why you leave your phone recording while you're there—you don't want to miss anything in case you get distracted.

But does he want you to leave? Your heart aches at the thought of him not wanting your presence when you've been craving his for so long. "I see," you mutter awkwardly.

What do I do now?

"You've got a lot of nerve, you know that?" he says after a few seconds of awkward silence. You haven't moved from your seat and neither has Osamu moved from his spot to "close up" as he said he would. You wonder if the door is already locked.

"What do you mean?" Your heart is thumping more now than it has in the past three hours you've been here. Osamu lives in your brain rent-free yet you can barely breathe around him. Now he's speaking to you. Actually speaking to you.

"You know exactly what I mean," he calmly accuses you. The unexpected shift in his tone makes your blood run cold. "Wonder if your phone has run out of storage yet. Funny you go out of your way to come here twice a week just to record me."

"What?!" you cry out, suddenly shooting up from your seat. Your chair skids a few inches across the floor behind you before it tilts and hits the ground with a crash. The quick movement causes the table in front of you to shake and make your phone to fall back as well, the screen smashing against the wood and the camera lens facing up towards the ceiling. You feel like you're about to have a heart attack. Your vision goes blurry from tears suddenly threatening to overflow because were you that obvious?

"I noticed. A long time ago. Remember you from that night back in the alley. Very unique face you got there," Osamu hums. He steps around the counter to make his way towards you. You cower into the wall beside your table, your eyes darting from your phone and Osamu's threatening figure.

Back in the alley. The image of the back alley behind Onigiri Miya flashes in your mind. Dark, wet, and sadly gray. That's where you first met him.

"Didn't expect to see you back here. Thought you might've developed PTSD or something with how you were crying. Now you're stalking me." 

"No," you loudly plead, shaking your head side to side, "I don't know what you're talking about!" You're lying straight through your teeth. That's funny—you've been coming to his restaurant for a chance to see him again, but he's coming closer and closer and you're terrified instead of happy. Your knees buckle as you press your back against the wall. You squeeze your eyes shut as the memories come flooding back into your system in vivid detail. 

He continues on, "Don't even lie to me. Stalking me like a crazy bitch. I wasn't sure what I should do about you. I felt bad for you and let you continue doing this, even thought about calling the police for a little bit, but…"

Osamu almost never talks to you, maybe a few times where he's handling the register and the orders and he has to talk to you, but he's always in the open kitchen where you can freely admire him when you want to, always an arm's length away. When you would think about what your first conversation together would be like, you always imagined his words to be kind. Sweet. Maybe he'd say he admired you—

"...you're a little fucked up in the head, huh?" 

His tone is hostile. There's no love laced in any of the syllables falling from his tongue. He's annoyed. He hates the fact that you want him—it's that obvious but you don't want to believe it, especially when you think you worked so hard. It's not fair.

Your mind is hazy as he's coming closer and closer to your trembling form. You see his lips moving and the calm expression on his face turn into hard evil, but your ears can't decipher what he's saying. His words have faded into white noise. And you've seen him multiple times, traced his face through the screen of your phone, admired him from afar at the same spot in his restaurant for months, but his face is sharper, harsher, and almost unrecognizable. Is this really the man that saved you? Is this really Osamu Miya?

Your blood is pumping loudly in your ears. It's the only sound that you can make out other than your heavy breathing. God, if he gets any closer...

Then, the adrenaline kicks in and you're lunging at him with your arms outstretched towards his large frame. You don't know what you're going to do and sure as hell you're no match for him, but your body is screaming at you. Your senses are running wild, like the aura that Osamu is emitting is lighting you on fire and making you act on primal instinct. It's telling you to fight. 

To fight him. To bash your tiny fists against his handsome face because he should have fallen in love with you the moment that you fell in love with him, but he has the audacity to leave you hanging for half a year and call you a stalker.

And it's painful. You're not sure which hurts more, but at this moment, the physical pain is excruciating. You can't breathe anymore, not when his calloused hands (from years of training on the court, which you found out from the internet, and in the kitchen) are wrapped around your throat. You can't think straight either—your head hit the ground a little too hard and the world is spinning. Osamu's face is contorted in anger and even if your world is spinning, his features are as clear as day. 

Your memories start crashing down inside your brain in fragments. The pain, frustration, and sadness hit you all at once—it’s nauseating. It’s as if Osamu can sense this, too, because as soon as he notices your sick expression, he flips you over to force you on your knees with one arm around your waist, his hand in your scalp to hold your head in place towards the floor and then you’re heaving and gagging out the rice balls you consumed earlier. Your throat is on fire and you're still coughing up pieces of rice.

“You gross bitch,” he mutters.

You gross bitch.

It's bouncing around in your ear drum until it fades into cotton, a familiar set of words that cut you deep that you were able to pick up on easily among the other curses he's been throwing at you. The same words from six months ago. A trigger? Yeah, that's what the internet calls it. You almost died, or at least that's what it felt like. That's the only way you can describe it, the only way you were able to make sense of what happened, because you feel that you might as well have. 

It was from someone else's mouth—a disgusting, grimy man whose face haunted your dreams for months, a man with greasy fingers that put his hands on you, who beat you until you were nearly unconscious with blood dripping down your chin, who ripped you away of your pride and worth until you were nothing. The concrete was wet and cold, scraping against your sensitive skin and breaking through layers as he rutted into you. His breath fucking stunk and for fuck's sake, you don't know if you've seen anyone uglier, but as fucked up as it is, he made you feel ugly. 

You thought you saw an angel that day. The backdoor to Onigiri Miya opened up and when you finally opened your eyes and looked up, there he was—with blank gray eyes that stared down at the scene before him in slight disgust, and then he ripped the repulsive body off of your half-naked form. You were too weak. 

While you were weak and scared and incoherent, Osamu saw you and didn't hesitate to protect you. At the end of every dream you've had since then, Osamu always came to help you. 

And that should've been the end of it. That should've been the last time. You can't go through that again. No, no, no. You don't deserve to go through that again. 

You don't deserve it.

You don't deserve it.

You don't deserve it.

You're more responsive and awake once Osamu bends you over the table you were sitting at, then your senses are overloading, telling you to resist, to keep fighting. You're so tired, at this point you're completely heartbroken, but you can't—you can't just give up yet. He's holding you down, restraining your wrists with one hand while his other hand is at your waistband pulling your shorts down your thighs. You're kicking at him with whatever strength you have left even if the taste in your mouth is vile, he's much stronger than you, and your head is pounding from the anxiety. You're grateful that you can even breathe.

But it feels like your body has failed you, once again, and for a second you think that you do deserve it. The adrenaline is almost gone, you can barely lift a finger, you feel like passing out, and—fuck—you're so stupid, so dependent on one person to make you feel high. With Osamu...you don't even know what to think. The image you dreamed of is long gone. It's sad that reality can crash over you so easily and ruin everything. 

"Get off of me!" you scream. Over and over again. Until your voice cracks and your throat is on the brink of bleeding, coughing out your poor lungs. Until it's nothing but the essence of your torment. Your cup of tea, now warm, has spilled all over the table and is slowly seeping into your hair as your cheek rubs against the wood. And there's nothing else you can do, because Osamu is still behind you with your hands trapped by his. Your shorts and your panties are around your ankles. His jeans are unbuttoned and it's out. 

You don't want to fight anymore, you're fucking terrified. So terrified that you can't bring yourself to move. As soon as you stop fighting, his breathing becomes steady and he's using less force on you. Sobs rack through your body hysterically when you feel it.

It's throbbing against your thigh—warm, leaking precum, long, and thick. The skin-to-skin contact in such an intimate area is making the hairs on the back of your neck rise. That tiny voice inside of your head is telling you to look back at it to see if his dick matches the image you made up in your head. Is it exactly how you pictured it? Is it as pretty?

He's wiping his precum against your tense skin. When you flinch at the tip of his cock rubbing against you, he bites his lip and kneads one of your ass cheeks with his free hand, spreading your holes open and ever so gently brushing his thumb over your pussy. 

"You're...wet," he comments. You hear it. He dips his thumb between your folds and swipes it up and down and you hear the squelching of your cunt over your heavy breathing. That's—that's not right. No, you shouldn't be feeling this way. He pushes his thumb deeper into your cunt and slowly pulls it back out. You flinch and arch your back slightly at the sudden sensation, making you push your ass towards him. He lets out a breathy laugh at your reaction. 

His thumb disappears for a second but it's instantly replaced with his dick probing at your entrance. With a roll of his hips, he breaks through your squishy flesh with some difficulty. 

A loud yelp and a slurry of protests falls from your wet desperate lips. You wriggle your bottom, trying to create space between your two bodies, jerking away from him with whatever strength you have left. However, Osamu keeps going until he's completely bottomed out, filling you up until his tip is flush against your cervix. He lets go of your wrists so he could keep a firm grip on your hips instead. Whenever you moved, it burned.

Stop.

The stretch is unbearable—it's been half a year since you've had someone else inside you. The burn of having your hole forcefully split open wide again against your will has your head going delirious with so many mixed emotions. Fuck's sake, this isn't right and it's been heavily engraved in your brain for months that you have every right to fight back. Although you haven't been thinking straight for a long time, you're still lucid enough for your ears to work and soak up information like a sponge. He's moving, rutting his hips into your hot cunt cruelly. You can still fight him off, maybe you'd win if you tried again. 

But this is Osamu. Your heart fucking aches for him and you want to get away, but it's Osamu drilling into your heat and it's just not fair. It's not fair because your body is still responding to his malicious touch. It's not fair because even if it hurts—and fuck, it hurts so damn much—you're involuntarily grinding your ass into him. It's not fucking fair because you can't hate him.

Why is life never fair?

"No," you sob, "No, no, no. It hurts. It hurts. Please stop." Your hot tears are mixing with the puddle of tea that's pooling underneath your cheek and your tongue still tastes foul from your little episode. You’re scared you might start gagging again.

"Stop?" he muses, "Haven't you been loitering in my restaurant because you've been craving my cock? You wanted this for months and the one time I give it to you, you're telling me to stop?" Osamu slams into your poor little cunt despite your pained cries and babbling. Your pussy is clamping around him, your body trying to accommodate his length and girth breaking into you so suddenly.

"Osamu." His name would've tasted so good if the situation was different. Little did you know that you pushed him passed his breaking point a long time ago. But Osamu knew that you were beyond yours ever since he met you. If only you weren't so fucking weird, maybe then he would've pitied you—maybe he would've genuinely felt something for you. 

What a shame that you fell in love with a man who wouldn't be able to understand you. 

"I'm tired of you coming into my restaurant," he grunts, snapping his hips against yours roughly, "-and treating me like I'm some kind of animal. Do I look like a fucking animal to you?"

You choke, “No. You don’t—that’s not why—please. You don’t understand.” 

“Then tell me," he coaxes. But how do you tell him? Are you supposed to be honest? You're afraid that if you are honest, Osamu will treat you just as badly as he is now. It's also hard for you to collect your thoughts and find a sincere explanation that he could listen to—you're too focused on the many sensations pulsing through you. He raises a bulky arm only bring it down instantly to smack your ass with rough hands. The sudden impact forces you forward for a split second. Then he brings his hand down a few more times, until he's satisfied with the dark red hand print with tiny splotches dotted across your skin. 

Is this a punishment for everything that you've done within the last six months? Punishment for admiring him through sneaky videos and pictures? Punishment for thinking about him all the time? You feel like a criminal, caught red-handed and forced to go through torture and suffer for your ungodly sins. Each time he hits you, you're twitching from the painful sting and praying for forgiveness. 

"Stop it!" you beg through tears, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It hurts so much." Apologies start spilling from your sore throat impulsively. 

I'm sorry, Osamu. 

Please stop, Osamu.

It really hurts, Osamu.

But nothing that comes out of your mouth convinces him, and after awhile it's more like you're trying to convince yourself more. Suddenly the burning in your sensitive cunt is replaced with the inebriating desire and hunger for more friction between your two bodies and it leaves a shameful tint to bloom over you. You're salivating over his dick—you wanna see it so bad even if you're scared—and the guilt is eating at you on the inside. It feels good, actually enough to have you gripping onto the edge of the table and sucking Osamu into your cunt so that he doesn't pull back too far. 

"Don't tell me that it hurts," he groans, "Your pussy is creaming all over me. You can't lie to me anymore."

He's right. You're lying more to yourself than him, though. You don't tell him to stop anymore, settling with swear words and a chorus of Osamu! Osamu! Osamu! It's amazing, intoxicating, and it also makes you feel disgusting. The way his cock fills up your tight pussy perfectly and how his balls are consistently smacking your clit and stimulating it—you're drooling from the pleasure.

"Does it feel good?" he huffs, "Is this what you wanted? To be a cockwhore for me?" 

Your body betrays you and you're left moaning and crying at the same time with breathy words that Osamu can't decipher because you're a complete mess, but he swears he can hear you agree without hesitation. "Y-yes, fuck yes! Your cock is s-so amazing," you cry out, "Hurts so good, Osamu!"

It's not enough. Although you're gradually submitting to him, it's still not enough for the sadistic side of him. He wants to hear more of you, to push you until you're braindead and nothing more than a hole to stretch and tear apart just for the hell of it. He leans over you just to grab you by the disheveled hair on your scalp. Another scream leaves you as he pulls you up to be able to growl in your ear.

"Tell me everything, you whore," he breathes, softly yet maliciously. You try to answer him but the angle he has your neck at from the grip on your hair is choking you. 

"Why'd you keep coming here? Obsessive little bitch. Why're you still here?" It's like he's laughing in your face even if his voice and expression say otherwise. He's mocking your pain, making you relive your trauma as if it was all a fucking joke. As if you’re incapable of feeling pain.

This isn't even supposed to feel as good as it does, yet it does. The way he calls you an obsessive little bitch has your stomach doing flips and your cheeks to flush even more. Then you're confused. You're enjoying his cock forced inside you and it's damn confusing. 

Fuck, it’s enough to further damage your overstimulated psyche and turn you into someone you never thought you would be. An empty shell of the person you used to be because your body doesn’t even fucking feel like your body anymore. Nothing feels real anymore, like you're shifting through universes and living lifetimes but you're stuck in one place at the same time. Why do you always come back here? 

You turn your head to the side, enough for you to see his face. His eyebrows are furrowed, probably from concentration on your slick pussy, and then he notices you staring at him. You don't utter another word, you might just choke and spew if you even open your mouth to attempt to (and holy shit, you don't want to embarrass yourself anymore), but your eyes—they answer his question in heavy silence. It’s enough for him to understand and see right through you. Loud and clear although you don't speak. 

Because you saved me.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you let out another sob, but this cry is full of guilty pleasure instead with barely any tears. It has you nearly passing out and feeling sick to your stomach and just please—make it stop hurting. But it feels so damn good at the same time, to have the tip of his swelling cock kissing your cervix every time he slams into you, grinding his hips against your sweet cunt. Your body contracts violently as you release your liquids all around Osamu's cock, pushing your ass against his pelvis and knocking your empty tea cup and purse off the table. Intitially, the loud crash makes you jolt but it's nothing compared to how your orgasm crashing over you has you screaming and thrashing around pathetically. 

You're cumming. You're cumming. You can't believe you're fucking cumming. You've never felt this way before and you always believed that sex was painful but you're still cumming long and hard on Osamu's cock. Your juices are being forced out of you.

And you didn't even want it.

You're embarrassed and oddly satisfied at the same time. Your cum is dribbling down your legs and there's no doubt that it's dripping down Osamu's pelvis and thighs, too. He lets go of your hair and your head drops forward onto the table with a thump. You wince at the contact, but you don't move.

After a few silent minutes (silent other than your audible panting) exhaustion finally hits you, and with a heavy breath you completely collapse against the table. You finally stop your death grip on the sides of the table to let them dangle off the edge. Your scalp is sore, it makes your head pound when you move your head even slightly. 

A soft tired gasp escapes your throat in surprise; you feel little pecks going up your back and across your shoulders.

Then there’s feather-light kisses tickling your shoulder that leaves an agitated tingle in your nerves and—why? Why bother being gentle at this point? But the fluttering in your pelvis doesn't stop. He slips out of you just to turn your weak body over so you're laying on your back. You instantly move your eyes further down and—

It's pretty. Prettier than you imagined. His cock is fucking pretty. It's hypnotizing as you scan the vein running underneath the skin and the pink swollen head oozing clear liquid. It's glistening, dripping, with juices. 

Holy shit, those are your juices. 

It dawns on you that you both connected. Although not in the way that you had hoped, definitely not, but...you connected in the most physically intimate way possible. You felt him, his warmth, his damp skin, everything. Your eyes drift upwards. He's breathing heavily, his chest visibly moving. He has a firm grip on your thighs to keep you in place—you're not going anywhere. You don't want to go anywhere. Examining his face, you can see everything, every single detail. His lips, his lidded eyes, his cute nose, the shape of his face, and—wow—Osamu is pretty. So pretty. He's nearly angelic when you take a closer look. You don’t think you’ve ever been this close to him before.

You hope you're not imagining it, because you see something different behind his blank stare as if he's in as much of an awe as you are while you look up at him lovingly, like he didn't just hurt you. He took you against your will and yet you're staring at him like he just told you that you were his world. Are you a fucking idiot? Are you delusional?

"Do you love me?"

The question leaves him before he realizes his lips are forming the words. Osamu looks down at you, no other emotion laced in any of his handsome features except for distaste and...curiosity? With parted puffy lips and despair etched onto your cheeks, you slowly nod. The glazed look in your eyes draws him closer to your face, scrutinizing every part of your soft skin. He braces his hands on both sides of your trembling form. One part of your cheek is still wet from the tea that spilled earlier and your hair is disgustingly moist from a mixture of sweat and earl grey and you feel anxious again. 

"Okay," he says, voice as monotonous and dead as usual, but also worn out and accompanied with heavy breathing. You tense when he leans even closer, but quickly relax when you feel him kiss your forehead. It's a delicate kiss that makes your heart flutter. Then he trails further and connects your lips. It's short, but wet and sweet. He hadn't kissed you on your mouth the whole night, it probably would have been too weird for him to kiss a sad stalker he didn't know, especially when you vomited on his otherwise spotless floor. The taste of him is lingering on your skin—you're almost afraid to lick your lips in case this'll be the last time you ever have his against yours.

He pulls you into his chest. Your heart might just jump out of yours. His cock is brushing against your shuddering core, hard and sticky, but he doesn't enter you. Osamu simply holds you close, one of his hands in your hair and the other flat against your back. You weakly bring your arms up to wrap around his shoulders and dig your face into the crook of his neck. 

Then you cry. You let out a harsh breath and let yourself cry again, shoulders violently shaking and your chest tightening uncomfortably, for the thousandth time tonight even if you're tired and yearning for the comfort of your bed. Slowly, wet tears seep into his t-shirt. Osamu smells good—musky, sweaty, like a man. You don't understand what just happened—it brought you back to six months ago yet it feels entirely indifferent. He smells like a man, but he doesn't smell dirty like the last one who destroyed you.

He continues to hold you as you break down. Osamu thinks he understands, but you—you're more confused now more than ever.

[whump-a-la-mode]

A hero is in a coma. Villain visits them every single day, loosing sleep, not eating, their life is now completely focused around the empty hospital room.

Until hero wakes up and notices how sick villain has become due to anxiety and not taking care of themselves. Caretaking?

This is such a cute ask!! There’s only a little caretaking, but as always I’d be happy to write some more ^^

To all non-Americans out there, I am so sorry for using our weird 12 hour clock in this piece

CW//Comas, medical settings, just some horrible self care, mentions of explosions, bad hygiene, sleep deprivation, low self esteem, blaming self, strong language

“How are they doing?”

The voice alone was enough to make Doctor jump, spinning on their heels with such quickness that their shoes squealed on the tiled hospital floor.

Oh. It was just Villain.

Just Villain. It was a ridiculous thought to have, and they were well aware of that fact. Only a few short weeks ago, the name would have been enough to make any well-minded civilian tremble. It was bad enough, to hear it spoken on the news. Worse, to hear it not coming from a television-- in some cases, that name was all the warning one was given, before a terrible fate befell them. A nameless causality in the never-ending battle of good and evil.

But, now, there was no terror associated with it.

Most hospitals, Doctor was well aware, were fortunate enough that villains did not often pass through their doors. When they did, in the best cases, it was to seek treatment. In the worst cases, they had far more destructive intentions.

Their hospital, however, was an exception. There is a saying, that one can get used to anything, and with their experience, they now believed it to be more than true.

Doctor sighed, letting their shoulders fall.

“Visiting hours are over, Villain. You need to go home.”

The villain’s eyes widened, flickering momentarily to the nearest clock. In fact, it was past the end of visiting hours. Well past. Night rounds were about to begin, even.

It was simply so easy to forget Villain, hunched over in their little plastic chair.

Especially with those big, pathetic eyes with which they regarded Doctor.

“I can’t leave.” They pleaded. “Not yet. Can’t I stay just another hour?”

“No, Villain. We’ve been over this. You can come back tomorrow, bright and early, right at seven.”

“But it’s eleven, now! That’s eight hours. Eight hours they’ll be alone.”

“Not alone.” Doctor bit their lower lip. They knew full well that the person before them could render them to a charred corpse in mere seconds, if they so wished. Their tense, skipping heartbeat wouldn’t let them forget it. But, there was no malice in their eyes. Not an ounce. Only that terrible, pitiful sorrow. The sorrow that never seemed to leave them. “There’s people here, all night. A whole medical staff. If anything happens, they won’t be alone. I promise.”

Villain’s lip quivered. Weren’t they supposed to be dangerous?

“You’re sure I can’t stay? Just another hour?”

“I’m sure.”

“O-Okay.” The villain reached into their shoulder bag, and, for a moment, Doctor nearly pressed the nearest panic alarm. Yet, they withdrew no weapon. Instead, Villain took a small, spiral-bound notebook in hand, offering it. “Here are my notes. Um, just so you know. What they did today.”

Doctor’s gaze downcast to the paper. They already had three of these, piled on their desk. Filled to the brim. This one had only recently been started.

The page the notebook was turned to displayed the same thing as all the rest: Impeccably neat handwriting, dividing the page into half hour blocks. In each, letters of equal quality described the patient’s condition, down to the most minute detail.

3:30 - Minor twitching of the eyelids accompanied by singular irregular heartbeat.

4:00 - No abnormalities.

4:30 - Twitching of left index finger.

5:00 - Abnormal breath at around 5:12.

It was the best-kept record of a comatose patient’s condition that Doctor had ever seen. Even if it wasn’t exactly helpful, with how repetitive the patient’s movements tended to be, it was downright impressive.

“Thank you, Villain. I’ll tell the receptionist to expect you at seven?”

“Is there any chance I could come in earlier than that?”

“No. I’m sorry. Visiting hours start at seven.”

“I’m quiet. You know I’m quiet. I won’t be a bother to anybody.”

“I know, Villain. If...” They knew they needed to say something, or this argument would continue all night long. “If anything happens, we have your number on file. I’ll call you myself.”

“Really?” Their eyes widened. “You promise?”

“I promise. Now, you need to go home.”

“Okay.”

“You won’t hide in the bathroom and try to stay late this time?”

“You saw?”

“Everyone saw, Villain. Now, you’ve gotta skedaddle.”

The villain nodded hesitantly, looking to their shoes as they turned, moving down the hallway. As they left, Doctor could not help but mutter in their wake:

“And get some rest.”

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Six weeks.

Those two words echoed hollowly in Villain’s mind as they plodded along the damp sidewalk, lit only by the dewy echoes of streetlights overhead. The hour was late enough, and the city tired enough, that the streets were nearly deserted-- a state they were in so very rarely.

Their henchmen had spoken to them so many times, lecturing them that moving through the city’s depths, alone and unprotected, was terribly dangerous. Any hero, or any vigilante too cocky for their own good, could try their luck in an ambush.

But, Villain could hardly bring themself to care.

Six weeks.

That was all they cared about.

Six weeks since Hero had moved. Six weeks since they’d spoken, since they’d awoken. Exactly six, now.

Exactly six weeks since...

Villain’s hands clenched to fists at their sides, overgrown nails digging into the meat of their palms.

Since they’d made the biggest mistake of their life. Since the two sworn nemeses, Hero and Villain, light and dark, good and evil, had had their final battle. An industrial sabotage gone wrong.

They should have known better! Better than to use their pyrokenisis in an oil refinery.

But, that hadn’t. They hadn’t been thinking. They never thought! They were so stupid, so reckless, so careless...

Villain’s ears still rung from the explosion.

Their injuries meant nothing, even as they still throbbed. No. Because, for the last six weeks, they had been awake. Moving. Talking.

Hero hadn’t been so lucky.

When they at last arrived at their HQ, the halls were silent. Life existed only in the form of a scattering of guards, nodding their respects, but making no other gestures.

It was with weary legs that Villain ascended to their bedroom. They hardly noticed its state-- they’d grown used to the scatterings of clothes and papers. Instead, upon opening the door, their eyes snapped to the bed.

More specifically, the item upon it. They rushed to it, yanking it off the mussed blankets.

A book. A note, upon its cover.

“Went to bed before I could give this to you. It’s that book you wanted - Henchman”

Villain removed the note, far more interested in the cover it hid.

A Neurologist’s Guide to Chronic Vegetative States

There were more than enough pages within to last them until sunrise; until visiting hours at last recommenced.

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At 5:40, the sun began its ascent, bathing the sky in a dull hue of blue.

When six o’ clock came, the first rays of light could be seen, flashing over the horizon.

With the strike of 6:10, Villain placed down their book. They were only around halfway through-- wandering eyes and brief minutes of dozing lowering the speed at which their foggy mind could process the medical textbook.

They would have more than enough time to read, the next night. The book didn’t matter. What mattered was that visiting hours would commence in 50 minutes, exactly.

Twenty minutes to walk to the hospital. Meaning that, to get there early, they needed to leave in fifteen.

Rubbing sleep from their eyes, Villain rose from their chair, knees popping and cracking all the way to the bedroom door. Quickly, they changed into the cleanest clothes they could find, if only for the sake of appearances, before heading out.

Showering could wait. Showers took time, time that could be spend watching. Reading. Taking notes.

Helping. Doing anything, anything they could to help.

Emerging into the hallway, they startled a moment. The lights had already been turned on, despite the fact that their henchmen never awoke this early. Perhaps they had simply forgotten to turn them off the night prior.

Yet, there were noises, from downstairs.

There was no fear left in their body to feel. Justifications were quickly made, and they ran down the stairs.

Entering the kitchen, a scent hit Villain, forceful as a gust of wind. The scent of food-- warm and fresh and garnished with garlic.

Before the stove, Henchman stood. Out of all those Villain employed, Henchman was the least likely to be awake at such an hour. Often, they dragged themself from bed well after ten.

Yet, here they stood, flipping a pancake in a skillet.

“Hey, boss.” Their henchman turned, a grin glimmering upon their face. “I’m almost done here. Get yourself something to drink.”

Villain blinked.

“What... are you doing?”

“Making breakfast? I thought that’d be pretty obvious.”

“Yeah, I can see that. But... Why? You never eat breakfast.”

“Yeah. It’s not for me. ‘s for you, boss.”

They shook their head, glancing at the clock. 6:17.

“I’m not hungry. Besides, I really need to get going.”

“Boss.” There was an endeared, yet frustrated, tone to the voice. “When was the last time you ate?”

“You made me eat a granola bar yesterday.”

“And the day before that, you didn’t eat anything. So, you’re eating breakfast, if I have to shove it down your throat.”

They clenched their hands to fists.

“I don’t have time for this! Visiting hours are going to start soon. I need to be there.”

“No. You need to eat. Then you can go to the hospital.”

“You don’t get to decide that. I need to go. I’m sorry.”

“Boss.” Henchman slid the pancake onto a plate before deftly stepping between their boss and the front door. “I don’t mean to be blunt, but you look like hell. I know you haven’t been sleeping. Everyone knows it. If you keep acting like this, you’re going to be the one in a hospital bed.”

Villain gritted their teeth.

“Maybe that’s what I deserve. Now, fuck off. Get someone else to eat your damn pancakes.”

With those words, and furious footsteps, they emerged onto the sidewalk outside.

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When Receptionist arrived at their desk, there was already a patron, sitting in their waiting room.

A few short weeks ago, such would have been unusual. While other parts of the hospital were occupied day and night, the appointments handled by this room did not begin until the hospital actually opened-- right at seven.

Now, though, there was nothing strange about it.

Before they could so much as sit down, Villain was already moving towards them.

Receptionist could not help but note their appearance.

Working in a hospital, they had long since grown used to seeing the sick and injured. And yet, there was something particularly distressing about this case.

They supposed, it was because they had seen it happen. Usually, when patients arrived at the hospital, it was because they could no longer manage their own conditions. Their bodies were in shambles. They showed up in their damaged states.

Villain, on the other hand, had first appeared to the waiting room is relatively good health.

Then, they had begun to appear tired.

And thin.

Now, their appearance matched that of the comatose patient that they were here to see. Skin clung taught about their cheekbones, their flesh pale and eyes glazed over. Most semblances of hygiene had been abandoned entirely; some parts of their hair had even begun to mat, and dirt clung to them like caked and cracked makeup.

But, there was something else in their eyes. The sheer essence of undying compassion.

It was that alone that prevented Receptionist from sending them away.

Villain had no need to speak. As soon as they had time to sit, the hospital employee had paged the proper floor-- a sequence of buttons that had quickly become muscle memory.

“You can go up, now.” They spoke. With a wearied nod, Villain moved to begin their ceaseless watch.

Neither of them could have guessed that, an hour later, the unthinkable would come true.

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When Hero awoke, it was to the sound of a pencil, scratching at paper.

The world filled in with a terrible, exhaustion tedium. Above them, blurs of white and grey turned to a sterile, white tile, while the world about solidified to four pale, beige walls.

A hospital. They’d been in enough to recognize as such, with just how clumsy their teammates tended to be.

But why were they here, now...? Who had gotten hurt, this time? They couldn’t quite remember.

Rolling onto their side, the question was quickly answered.

Villain appeared to be on death’s doorstep, about to press the doorbell. Matted hair clung to their neck, eyes drooping and skin appearing as though there was no blood beneath it at all.

At the very least, they had made it to the hospital before suffering any serious damage.

Wait.

It was only then that Hero realized who exactly was in the room’s hospital bed.