#poke or stab his spine

[screwpinecaprice]

I know it’s not a question but i can’t help but appreciate the fact that you draw adult Steven as a chubby guy! We big boys need some positive representation in here. Also, i’ve been following you for almost a year now!

Btw sorry for my English lol.

Hi! It's very pleasing to know you've been around for as long! 😁😁😁 I absolutely appreciate the appreciation! And no worries, your English is super fine! 😁 (Relatable actually. I am also apologizing in advance if I can't exactly have my point clearly across because I'm not well at English myself! lmao)

It took me quite some time to learn how to draw chubby characters but it's so satisfying to have eventually. ( *`u*) (I mean, there's still so much to learn, but still.)

Having a chubby main protagonist is so wonderful to have. And a good kid at that. (Ngl I'm attracted to kindness. haha So of course it's very important to me that he's fat AND kind.)

Also design-wise, I personally think it fits his character so well. Soft and huggable, shaped like a friend. Thick arms to hug people with snuggly. Body wide like a shield. etc. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

And I just really like to capture these elements when I draw him as an adult. Also that it's just fun to draw.

Simply personal thoughts about it, nothing against any other ways he's being portrayed by others of course.

[ja3yun]

I'm a Virgin, Not a Murderer | Finale: If You Jump...

virgin!heeseung x sex worker!reader warnings: smut (mdni), loss of virginity (finally), unprotected sex, cream pie, fingering, mentions of anxiety, character death, blood, guns and violence, chase scenes, heartbreaking if you care about ynhee w.c: 18.4k finale synopsis: it's the end of the road for you, using up all your nine lives and ending your journey with confessions, hand holds, and heeseung finally popping his cherry. a/n: hi! it's finally the end of the series. personally, i have loved this fic with my whole chest and i'm glad for the love it has received. i hope this ending is up to your expectations because i spent a lot of time on it, making sure it was fulfilling even with the...ending :) hope you all enjoy! as always, reblogs, comments, likes, feedback are all welcome

chapter 3 | masterlist | END

“Don’t fucking move,” a gravelly voice from behind him menacingly says in a low tone. Heeseung feels what he can only suspect is a gun aimed towards his head, the barrel pressing coolly against his skin. The sensation is chilling yet alarming, sending an icy shiver down his spine. His body reacts to the peril, heat surging through him as adrenaline courses through his veins. 

Heeseung's heart pounds erratically in his chest, each beat echoing like a drum in his ears. His breath quickens, the air feeling thick and oppressive, suffused with tension. He risks a glance at you, standing just a few feet away, your eyes wide with terror and confusion. The sight of your fear ignites a fierce protectiveness within him, but he is acutely aware of the danger you both are in.

The gunman's presence is oppressive, his grip on the weapon steady and unforgiving. Heeseung can sense the man's breath on the back of his neck, hot and acrid, mingling with the cold metal of the gun. Every instinct within Heeseung screams at him to act, to somehow disarm the assailant and ensure your safety, but he knows that any sudden movement could provoke a fatal reaction.

Instead, he slowly puts his hands up, surrendering to the threat. “I’m just moving to the side, okay?” he tries to barter with the man like he has any hand in this game. He’s not equipped for being held at gunpoint, knives sure, you come across boys wielding them all over London, but never a gun. His inexperience is hindering him greatly in all aspects of life.

With a grunt from the man behind him, Heeseung takes a small step to the left, his eyes never leaving yours. He’s trying to communicate with you to run, to get as far away from this sudden danger as possible, yet you don’t move, shaking your head due to your own fear-ridden mind.

You’re transfixed with a wave of fear, the man finally coming into your peripheral as Heeseung moves away from you. The last thing you want right now is to be away from the boy you’ve grown so attached to, so seeing him silently beg you to leave him doesn’t register, the thought of ditching him never crossing your mind.

The man pokes his gun harshly against Heeseung’s head once more. “Turn around. Slowly.” The demand is met as Heeseung takes small, slow steps to face the aggressor. What he expects to see is a policeman, finally catching up to you both, ruining the chase-turned-honeymoon and capturing you like rabbits in a trap.

Despite the open air of the abandoned theme park, you can’t help but feel claustrophobic, the wind suddenly turning into ropes as it ties around your throat, rendering you breathless and without words as you come face to face with the man.

Before you is none other than the Brixton killer, the man who brutally murdered an innocent shopkeeper and policeman. The scene was horrific, stabbing the worker 28 times all over his chest and abdomen, and somehow stealing the arriving police officer’s gun and shooting him in the eye. He was sentenced to prison for life without chance of parole, yet after an elaborate escape plan, here he stands in front of you.

“What the fuck are you two doing here?” he asks, a grimace twisting his face as though you were ransacking his home of treasure.

Heeseung swallows hard, looking him dead in the eye. “Just…enjoying the sights,” he tries to joke, and you curse him with all the names under the sun for not reading the situation in front of him.

“Don’t get smart with me, who sent you?” the man waves the threatening pistol between Heeseung’s eyes, causing the boy to clamp shut. Sometimes he has a habit of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time and unfortunately, this is one of those times.

He doesn’t think he has ever been this nervous or anxiety-induced in his entire life, he misses when his biggest problem was an intact V-card and handing in his dissertation.

“N-no one sent us, Sir, we swear! We just stumbled upon this place and I wanted to take a look, that’s all,” your voice is attempting to stay level but some cracks are seeping through as you fight your composure.

“Tell me the truth or I blow your boyfriend’s brains out,” he threatens, the gun pressed firmly against Heeseung’s forehead. The man is not playing around; his eyes radiate cold determination, underscoring the seriousness of his ultimatum.

You shake your head violently, eyes wide enough for the chilling wind to swoop in and create tears in your ducts. “No! No, no, no. I swear, I promise I’m telling the truth.” Full-blown panic fuels your words, your hands trembling as you hold them out in a desperate, prayer-like gesture.

It hits you that Heeseung’s life is in danger because of you. You detoured your plans all because you wanted to visit this rundown park, landing you both in the middle of a one-sided standoff. The responsibility for whatever happens now weighs heavily on your shoulders. This is just like the hotel all over again; you brought trouble to Heeseung’s door because you didn’t think. You are the reason Heeseung is running away.

You have to fix this, you have to save him.

“Please, we accidentally killed a man and now we’re on the run. I made the call to get off the bus to Troon, and that’s how we ended up here, because I wanted to see the park. Please, don’t kill him. Please, I will do anything you ask, just please don’t kill him.”

You lose track of how many times you say please, begging the man to hear your truthful side of the story. The instilled panic causes you to ramble, spewing any words that might convince the man to lower his gun and ensure Heeseung’s safety, even for a few minutes. You're so close to dropping to your knees and praying to the angels above to answer your cries.

Heeseung’s face is a mixture of shock and anguish as he listens to you. His eyes dart between you and the gunman, his mind racing to find a way out. The Brixton killer’s expression hardens, a flicker of doubt crossing his features. The grip on the gun remains steady, but there’s a momentary hesitation. He doesn’t lower the weapon, but the intensity in his eyes dims slightly.

The silence stretches, taut and suffocating. Heeseung’s hand twitches as if he wants to reach out to you, to pull you into safety. But he remains still, every muscle tensed, knowing that any rash action could end in disaster.

“You want me to believe that you and Ken over here killed someone?” He flicks his gun at you for only a moment, not believing you to be a threat. Why should he? You’re two 22-year-olds who got scared of a haunted house and almost had sex in a love tunnel while on the run from police; you’re hardly Bonnie and Clyde.

Heeseung nods slowly. “It’s true, It was an accident but now the police are after us-”

"The police? You brought the fucking police here?" The murderer tenses up again, any lapse in focus gone as he stands straight, staring at both of you with enmity and dread. “I’ve been hiding here for a week. I am not letting you little fuckers get me caught.”

His anger is palpable, his face growing redder by the second. You wish Heeseung would shut the fuck up for a moment. You cherish the boy so much and usually value anything he has to say, but he’s turning into a liability in the face of death.

You bring the man’s attention back to you, hoping to calm him again. “No, no one followed us. They have no idea where we are. We’ve been roaming the borders to keep ourselves on the down low.” Your explanation is feeble and lacks real substance, offering little reassurance of your anonymity with the police.

He assesses you, eyes narrowing as he scrutinises your features. With emotions swirling in your brain, you probably look deranged, eyes wild with threatening tears and jaw clenched tightly. Stepping closer, he moves the gun from Heeseung’s head – much to your relief – and taps his chin with it, as if trying to place where he’s seen you before. The expression of reminiscence on his face is unnerving. You’d think he could have been one of your customers, but that’s impossible. So, you meet his gaze with wary curiosity.

He sucks his teeth before nodding, as if reaching a conclusion. “You’re the motel murderer,” he smirks, his eyes losing some of their anger, replaced by something unsettling. Whatever is going through his mind, you’re thankful because he lowers his guard slightly. His grip on the gun loosens and he pouts in amusement. Both you and Heeseung let out shaky breaths, relieved as the man flicks the safety back on the pistol. Yet, you’re not out of the woods.

“You know,” he begins, tilting his head mockingly, “the news is calling you the Black Widow.” His comment stuns you, freezing the breath in your lungs. Heeseung glances at you with wide eyes, a mix of confusion and curiosity. You blink, trying to process the killer’s words. Black Widow. Why are they calling you that?

Sensing your bewilderment, the murderer continues. “They don’t believe angel face over here is still alive,” he mutters casually, pointing to Heeseung, whose expression mirrors your horror. “Papers are saying you must have forced him to kill for you and then you ate him right up.”

“That’s not true!” Heeseung exclaims, shaking his head vehemently.

“Well, clearly,” the man rolls his eyes in annoyance, looking Heeseung over. “You’ve got people defending you, saying you’re just an innocent lamb that got gobbled up by the big bad wolf.”

Goosebumps form on your skin as he drags out the second unappreciated nickname for you. You knew this would happen. A virgin with a clean track record gets involved with a sex worker and suddenly he’s part of a crime. The inevitability of being blamed for everything sinks your heart into your stomach, the acid churning with anxiety.

You couldn’t imagine hurting Heeseung now. The accusations that you coerced him into murder and then devoured him are preposterous. You’re just a girl trying to make some money and survive, not a conniving murderer.

But what you both don’t know is that back home, Heeseung’s family is defending his name, speaking praises and clearing his name quickly. Meanwhile, you have no one. Neither your brother nor your father has spoken up for you despite everything you’ve done for them. Sure, your brother is estranged and your dad would rather call you a whore to the neighbours than speak to you, but you’d hoped they knew you well enough to believe you wouldn’t murder a man and kidnap another.

The man snarls in amusement, looking back at you. “You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if her plan was just that. Bring you here and kill you off on one of these rides.” He directs his gaze at Heeseung, but his sly grin is for you, indicating he’s playing a game you don’t know the rules for.

Tearing your eyes away from the man, your pupils widen with urgency and desperation. “Heeseung, I wouldn’t...”

“I know,” he replies instantly, not giving you a second to explain. He knows you better than anyone now. In the two weeks you’ve been tied to each other like handcuffs, learning everything there is to know about one another, Heeseung knows you wouldn’t hurt anyone unless you had to, let alone kill him for fun, which is what this man is suggesting.

The connection you two share is pure and real, and Heeseung will be damned if he ever thought otherwise.

Heeseung’s reassurance gives you a fleeting moment of comfort, but it is quickly shattered as the killer moves in closer. The distance between you evaporates, his presence suffocating. Heeseung’s eyes widen with fear as the man raises the gun, pressing it under your chin. The cold metal sends shivers down your spine, and you instinctively freeze, every nerve in your body on high alert.

“You know,” he drawls, his voice low and menacing, “there's a reward out for you. I wonder how much I could get off my sentence for bringing you in.” His breath is hot against your face, the smell of tobacco and stale beer nauseatingly close.

The proximity is unsettling, his eyes boring into yours with a predatory gleam. You can feel the tension in his grip, the gun pressing harder into your skin. Heeseung's face is a mixture of horror and helplessness, his hands twitching as if he wants to do something, anything, to get you out of this situation

“You must think you're something special,” the man continues, his voice dripping with contempt. “Running around, causing chaos, thinking you’re untouchable. But you're not. You're just a scared little girl who got in way over her head.”

Heeseung clenches his fists, the knuckles turning white. There's a fire igniting within him, a fierce determination to protect you no matter the cost. His mind races, evaluating the situation with the precision of someone fighting for survival. He watches the man closely, noting every detail: the way he sneers, the way his eyes flicker with malicious glee, and crucially, the fact that he hasn’t disengaged the safety on his gun.

The thought strikes Heeseung like a bolt of lightning. The man, in his arrogance, hasn’t realised the gun isn’t ready to fire. This oversight could be their only chance. Heeseung's eyes dart to you, his heart aching at the sight of you trembling, the gun pressing into your chin. He knows he has to act fast and decisively to get the brute away from you.

Gathering every ounce of courage, Heeseung shifts his weight subtly, preparing himself. His mind hones in on the plan, focusing on the back of the man’s leg. If he can just create enough of a distraction, enough of an opening, you might have a chance to escape. The killer’s attention is entirely on you, his grip on the gun tightening as he revels in his perceived power.

n one swift motion, Heeseung lunges forward and stomps down hard on the back of the man’s leg. The brute lets out a guttural shout of pain and surprise, his grip on the gun faltering. The force of Heeseung's attack sends the man stumbling backward. The sudden movement breaks his focus, and his eyes widen in shock.

You let out a breath, one you’ve been holding in since the gun was pointed at you. However, you don’t get the chance to enjoy the air as Heeseung pulls you into a tight embrace, pressing your head against his chest. His lips brush the top of your head in a tender kiss, a silent prayer of gratitude that your brain is intact and not splattered over the gravel.

The moment of relief is fleeting.

“You little shit!” the man exclaims, abruptly finding his feet and injecting a fresh wave of panic into you and Heeseung. The sheer venom in his voice sends shivers down your spine. You clutch Heeseung tighter, your fingers digging into his shirt as fear courses through you.

Before you can react, Heeseung pushes you behind him, positioning himself as a shield. The brute charges at you both, his face contorted with rage. Everything happens in a blur—there's a sickening thud, and you see the man’s gun raised high before coming down with brutal force. Heeseung tries to block the blow, but the gun's butt slams into his temple with a sickening crack.

“Heeseung!” you scream, the sound tearing from your throat as Heeseung crumples to the ground. The world narrows to the sight of him collapsing, blood trickling down the side of his face. Your heart pounds wildly, a mix of fear, anger, and helplessness overwhelming you.

“It’s Evan,” he replies, wincing as he struggles to hold up his head from the ground. The fact that Heeseung’s main concern is keeping his persona must either mean the gun rendered him dumb or he was already stupid to begin with. You hate to say it’s the latter.

You huff and stomp your feet. “Now is not the time, Hee!” you shout at him, frustration and fear mingling in your voice.

The man’s eyes narrow, his patience wearing thin. “Shut the fuck up!” he yells, waving the gun wildly between the two of you. His face is twisted in rage, eyes glinting with murderous intent.

Just as the tension reaches its peak, a distant sound pierces the air - a siren, faint but unmistakable, growing louder with each passing second. The sudden intrusion sends a shockwave of panic through all of you. The man’s eyes widen in fear and anger, the threat of capture looming over him.

The man’s face contorts with fury and desperation. He knows his time is running out. He points the gun erratically, his movements becoming more frantic. “I’ll get you cunts, I swear on it!” he snarls, his voice trembling with a mix of rage and fear.

He takes a step back, his eyes darting around as he tries to figure out his next move. The sirens grow louder, closer, the promise of prison mingling with the fear of what the man might do next. Your heart races, every second stretching into an eternity as you watch the man’s indecision.

The man takes another step back, his gaze flickering between you, Heeseung, and the approaching sirens. The conflict in his eyes is evident - he wants to finish what he started, but the looming threat of the police forces him to reconsider. With a final spit, he turns and runs, disappearing into the shadows of the park.

Heeseung groans, struggling to sit up, his face pale and bloodied. You kneel beside him, your hands trembling as you touch his face gently. “Heeseung, we need to get out of here,” you plead, your voice breaking. “Please, can you stand?”

Nodding, he holds onto your forearms, seeking comfort in your skin. You quickly wipe away some of the blood trickling into his eyes, the warm liquid smearing across your fingers and rendering your lungs useless as you forget to breathe for a moment. The sirens sound imminent now, a cacophony of urgent wails cutting through the air. Heeseung’s brain feels like it’s thumping against his skull, a sharp, persistent pain stinging behind his eyes from the blow.

“We have to go,” you whisper urgently, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and determination. “Come on, Heeseung, we have to move.”

With a Herculean effort, Heeseung pushes himself to his feet, leaning heavily on you for support. You wrap an arm around his waist, feeling the tension in his muscles as he fights through the pain. Heeseung's steps are shaky, and his centre of gravity sways as he tries to centre himself. His eyes are unfocused, struggling to stay open, but he forces himself to move forward,

You clutch his hand tightly, your grip a lifeline as you guide him away from the scene. The abandoned theme park stretches out like a maze, shadows from the sunset twisting into sinister shapes. The fear gnaws at you, but you push it down, focusing on the need to get Heeseung to safety. Each step feels like an eternity, the weight of the moment pressing down on you both.

Glancing back, you see Heeseung wobble slightly. Your heart clenches with worry. “Are you okay?” you ask, your voice a whisper in the darkness. Heeseung nods weakly, trying to give you a reassuring smile, but the pain etched on his face betrays him.

You lead him through the overgrown paths, the weeds and debris crunching beneath your hurried footsteps. The flashing lights from the police cars cast eerie shadows across the dilapidated structures. You can’t afford to be seen. Not now, not when you’re so close to getting away. If this journey was all to end now, what would it be for?

Every few steps, you glance back, checking on Heeseung. His breaths come in ragged gasps, his face slick with sweat and blood. But he doesn’t complain. He just keeps moving, driven by the same determination that fuels you. You take a sharp turn, ducking behind a rusted old carousel. The horses’ faded eyes seem to watch you, silent witnesses to your desperate escape.

You pause for a moment, catching your breath and listening intently. The cars stop outside the main gate, but the park’s labyrinthine layout works in your favour, muffling the sounds and creating a confusing echo. You look at Heeseung, your heart aching at the sight of his battered face. “We’re almost there,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him.

Luckily, there is an old gate that leads to the forest just behind Joyland, your one-way ticket out of here. Running up to it, you see it has a rusty lock that has seen better days, making it an easy break. There is no time to waste, so you quickly kick the lock, mustering up every ounce of force you have.

“Y/N, watch yourself,” the injured boy groans behind you, his hand holding onto the wound to compress it. He feels like he wants to vomit, the paleness of his skin and the shaking of his fingers evidencing this. He is trying so hard not to pass out, knowing that you both just have to find somewhere to hide, somewhere safe.

Despite being the one in immense pain, he is looking out for you once again and it only spurs you on further to get the door open. “I almost got it,” you inform him, giving the bent metal one final kick before it snaps in half and the door swings open.

You take Heeseung’s hand and pull him through the gate, the dense forest swallowing you both in an embrace of dim sunlight. The sounds of the sirens are muted now, the thick trees and underbrush acting as a natural sound barrier. You hold Heeseung’s hand tightly, your fingers interlaced, guiding him through the uneven terrain.

Every step is a struggle for him, his breathing ragged and laboured. You glance back frequently, your eyes filled with worry, watching for any sign that he might collapse. His face is a mask of pain, but he pushes on, driven by sheer willpower. The forest is a maze of twisted branches and overgrown paths, but you press forward, determined to find a place to hide; at this point you’ll take anything - a hollowed-out tree, a dip in the ground, even that evil witch’s gingerbread house from Hansel and Gretel. 

The sun is beginning its descent, casting long, eerie shadows through the trees. The forest is painted in hues of orange and gold, a beautiful but haunting backdrop to your desperate escape. Your heart pounds in your chest, the adrenaline keeping you moving. Each rustle of leaves, each crack of a twig underfoot sends a jolt of fear through you. You know the police are close, their searchlights sweeping the park behind you. The urgency of your situation drives you on, every muscle in your body aching with the effort.

After what feels like an eternity, you spot a faint object through the trees. Relief floods through you, and you squeeze Heeseung’s hand, urging him forward. “There,” you gasp, pointing towards a cottage house. “We can hide there.”

Heeseung nods weakly, his legs barely supporting him, causing him to let go of your hand and collapse to the ground. The sudden disappearance of his hand in yours sparks alarm bells, and you quickly turn around, eyes wide with panic as you see him on his knees, clutching at his injury. The pain is evident on his face, the vibrations from the blow shaking his entire skull.

“Fuck! Heeseung,” you exclaim, your voice trembling as you bend down to lift his head up, your fingers gently brushing the blood away from his eyes. “Are you okay?”

Heeseung’s eyes flutter open, unfocused and filled with pain. Slowly and unenthusiastically, he shakes his head. “Please, Y/N, go on without me,” he groans, his voice barely above a whisper. Each word seems to cost him immense effort, and you can see the desperation in his eyes but it’s also followed by a gleam of amusement, following the script of so many movies he has watched.

You roll your eyes at his dramatic performance, trying to inject a bit of lightness into the dire situation. “Baby, don’t be so dramatic,” you chide gently, your voice laced with both urgency and affection, the nickname slipping out by accident. “Move those long legs of yours, please.”

Heeseungs eyes widen for a slit second, a large, comical smile on his face. “Baby? I’m your baby?” he asks, the head injury obviously causing him some sort of disillusionment.  

Despite the fear gnawing at your insides, you muster a small smile, hoping to give him some strength. “You can be my baby if you move,” the tone of your voice is a warning sense of playfulness but seems to do the job, Heeseung moving his body with more chutzpah.

You crouch down beside him, slipping your arm around his waist to help him up. Heeseung leans heavily against you, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He can feel your warmth, and the concern in your eyes gives him a flicker of strength. Despite his pain and slightly concussed joking, he’s determined not to let you down.

The cottage is void of cars in the driveway, much to your relief, and you take it as a good sign that no one will be home. It’s an educated guess considering you’re in the middle of piss-pot nowhere and they certainly aren’t catching the bus to work; if there are no cars, it equates to no one being home.

You hope.

Reaching the entrance, you quickly glance in the windows, just to double-check the vacancy of the property. With all the lights off and no sight of a guard dog, you can begin your search for a way in. The oppressive silence and stillness of the house suggest it has been unoccupied for some time.

“Heeseung, just wait there,” you say softly before running up the front steps. The steps are lined with an array of flowerpots, leading you to the entrance door. If movies have taught you anything, it’s that people are often foolish enough to leave keys under pots for emergencies. Frankly, you have never understood this practice yourself; it’s so cliché that if they did do it, robbers had every right to exploit their naivety.

You begin searching under the pots of sunflowers and peonies, feeling the rough terracotta and cool soil on your fingertips. Suddenly, you stumble across a singular gold key. In this moment, it might as well be Blackbeard’s treasure. The key gleams in the fading sunlight as you pick it up, waving it in front of Heeseung triumphantly.

However, instead of relief, Heeseung looks concerned through all his pain. “Y/N, we can’t just go in,” he argues, his moral compass inconveniently emerging at the worst possible time. The boy is bleeding with the police hot on his tail, and he’s worried about trespassing on the property of some affluent vacationers.

“We have to, Heeseung. You’re in a bad way, and the police will be scouring the woods as we speak. Can you just set aside your good heart for a second?” Your words are both careful and harsh, attempting to convey the severity of the situation. There isn’t time to debate the ethics of breaking and entering.

He concedes, gesturing with his hand for you to open the door, his face contorted in pain. You slide the key into the lock and swing the door open, beckoning Heeseung inside.

The interior is cold despite the summer weather. A thin layer of dust covers everything, a good sign indicating that the house has been unoccupied for some time. The foyer is quintessentially British, with tiled floors in mossy green hues and a staircase to your right, featuring a vintage wooden bannister and carpeted steps. The walls are adorned with magnolia panelling, decorated with oak-framed pictures of flowers and their meanings. An un-vacuumed Turkish rug lies on the floor, its colours dulled over time.

Heeseung makes it up the stairs, leaning on your shoulder as you admire the space. If he wasn’t concussed, he might share in your awe of the place, but right now he just needs to sit down and take some painkillers.

You lead him down the hall into a sitting room. The room is inviting and comforting, resembling your gran’s house before she passed away. Heeseung follows your guidance and sits on the couch’s armrest, taking the much-needed weight off his legs and focusing all his energy on holding his head. The bleeding has stopped somewhat, but the battering of his brain against his cranium is the real danger.

“I’m going to find some painkillers and ice. Please don’t die while I’m gone,” you joke, but your eyes reveal your seriousness.

As you head to find the bathroom, your heart pounds with anxiety. You come across a door under the stairs and open it, revealing a tiny cubicle with a toilet, sink, and a mirrored cabinet. With a flicker of hope, you reach for the cabinet, praying it holds the answer to your problems.

Unfortunately, you catch a glimpse in the mirror which reflects a sight you wish you hadn’t seen: your bangs are askew, your eyes bloodshot from stress and holding back tears, and your lips cracked from dryness. You knew the disguise would change your appearance but somehow the experience is changing you from the inside. You have never been bright and chirpy but you have never looked so dull, as though the life is being vacuumed out of you. 

Ignoring your reflection to focus on the real cause of concern, you rummage through the cabinet, your hands trembling. Finally, you find a blister pack of co-codamol amidst the old perfume bottles and bandages. The sight of it brings a wave of relief, knowing that these tiny white pills can begin the mending process.

Clutching the co-codamol tightly, you rush to find the kitchen, your footsteps echoing in the empty house. Each step feels like an eternity, your mind racing with worry for Heeseung and the fear of being caught, after all there is still a chance the police or homeowners could walk through the door any second. 

Entering the kitchen, you are struck by its quaint, rustic charm, with wooden cabinets and a checkered floor. The warm, homey feel of the room is almost jarring given your frantic state.

You fling open the freezer, desperate for ice, but there’s none. A pang of frustration hits you, but you quickly grab a bag of frozen peas, feeling their coldness through the plastic. Wrapping the peas in a tea towel, you focus on the task at hand, trying to steady your breathing. The sense of urgency is overwhelming, your mind filled with images of Heeseung's pained expression and the ever-looming threat of the police.

You fill a glass with water from the tap, watching the clear liquid swirl and fill the glass to the brim. The simple act of filling a glass feels almost surreal amidst the chaos, a brief moment of calm as the water trickles in. It’s a small respite, the sound of the water soothing your frazzled nerves even if just for a moment.

Returning to the sitting room, you find Heeseung still clutching his head. Your heart aches to see him in such agony. You hand him the co-codamol and the glass of water, your eyes filled with concern. “Take these,” you say softly. “And here’s something cold for your head.” You gently place the makeshift ice pack on his forehead, watching as he relaxes slightly under the cool pressure.

Like a mother making sure her child eats vegetables, you watch Heeseung swallow the pills with ease, desperate for the relief they will provide. The cold, crisp taste of water glides down Heeseung’s throat as he downs the glass, thankful for the quench in his thirst. In another life, he might be physically able to run a marathon, but in this one, he’d much rather stick to playing video games and leave running to the professionals.

Slowly, you take the ice pack from his head, the tea towel now embellished with his dark red blood. The wound isn’t too deep despite the blood pouring out; you could easily patch it up with some gauze and plasters.

“I’m going to get the first aid kit. I think I saw one in the kitchen,” you explain while handing him back the makeshift ice pack.

As you return to the kitchen, your emotions surge. The stress of the day, the fear of getting caught, and the concern for Heeseung all swirl within you. The quaint charm of the kitchen feels oddly juxtaposed with the turmoil in your heart. You glance up at the open cupboards and see the dark green box with the white cross on the high shelf, allowing you to let out a small sigh of relief.

Reaching for it, you accidentally knock over a ceramic mug, the crash echoing through the empty house. Your heart skips a beat, your nerves on edge. You freeze, listening intently for any signs that the noise might have somehow alerted someone of you and Heeseung’s presence, as if the fact that they would magically appear. After a tense moment of silence, you grab the first aid kit and hurry back to Heeseung.

You find him where you left him, his eyes closed as he tries to manage the pain. Standing in front of him, you open the kit and lay out the supplies on a side table which holds home to a lamp and a forgotten ashtray. The sight of the sterile bandages and antiseptic wipes brings a sense of purpose, a clear task to focus on.

Ripping open the wipe, you reach to bring Heeseung’s hand, which holds the compress, away from his head and take it from him. “This might sting a little,” you warn him as you carefully clean the wound to stop infection. Heeseung winces but never complains, knowing the more he fights it, the longer it is prolonged.

You work quickly but gently, still focusing on not applying too much pressure in case you aggravate it further. Heeseung’s eyes are focused on your face, causing you to become slightly flustered. The idea of someone watching you do something suddenly makes the task ten times harder to achieve. Your heart races, a mix of concentration and self-consciousness, the weight of his gaze adding an unexpected layer of intensity to the moment.

Heeseung smiles softly as he trains himself on you, his hands settling on your waist and pulling you closer to him. It might be the pills or the fuzziness from the head injury, but he suddenly doesn’t feel anxious to initiate the first move; it could also be that his head was between your legs earlier today.

The touch of his large hands on your waist and the feeling of his thumb stroking your hips pauses your movements, the butterflies in your chest being the only thing you can focus on. The room is silent except for the faint ticking of an old clock on the wall, each second stretching into an eternity.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice a soft rumble that sends a cluster of goosebumps over your neck and arms. His gratitude is sincere, but it brings a pang of guilt to your heart.

“Don’t thank me,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. “All of this is my fault.” The weight of your words hangs in the air, a heavy cloud of regret and self-reproach.

Heeseung’s grip on your waist tightens slightly as he pulls you even closer, his hands steadying you. He cradles your face with one hand, his thumb brushing away a tear that you hadn’t realised had fallen. “No, it’s not,” he says firmly, shaking his head. His touch is gentle, his eyes filled with an intensity that makes your breath catch. “None of this is your fault.”

The room around you fades away; the only thing that exists is the space between you and Heeseung. You apply a sterile gauze pad, securing it with medical tape. Your fingers brush against his skin, sending a jolt through both of you. Every touch, every movement, feels charged with electricity, the air between you vibrating with unspoken tension.

Although Heeseung’s words should inject some reassurance into your conscience, you can’t help but think about what the media is saying about you. The thought of being labelled the "Brixton Killer" adds a whole new layer to the guilt that sits at the forefront of your mind.

Heeseung can see your mind leaping over all his affirmations like a horse at the national, causing him to pout and grab your chin. “No.”

“No?” you ask quizzically.

“No. Your brain is telling you something that isn’t true. Whatever you think you should feel guilty for, just know that you shouldn’t.”

Sucking in your bottom lip and tensing your jaw, you try your hardest to clean the blood up, hands shaking as you place the gauze on his wound and seal it tightly with medical tape. It’s hard to believe him when you’re looking at an open wound, the butterfly effect of your client attacking you.

“Hey,” he whispers, his voice a perfect harmony of pain and something deeper. Taking the medical supplies from your hand, he discards them to the side before intertwining his fingers with yours. “You’re not to blame for any of this. I have told you this a million times, and I’ll tell you a million more. You and me are in this together.”

His words hang in the air, a solemn promise that cuts through your self-doubt. Before you can respond, Heeseung leans in, his lips brushing softly against yours. The kiss is gentle, a delicate reassurance that punctuates his sentences. It’s a kiss that says more than words ever could, a tender moment that steals away your fears and replaces them with a warmth that spreads through your chest.

When he pulls back, your thoughts are momentarily silenced by the softness of his kiss. “You know, you’re a good kisser,” you say, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the gravity of the situation.

Heeseung chuckles, the sound light and comforting. “I had a good teacher,” he replies, his eyes twinkling with mischief and affection. He has come a long way from first meeting you and he can’t thank you enough for never ridiculing him, showing him soft bouts of affection and lust that have helped him become stronger and more courageous to do what he wants.

You laugh, the tension easing from your shoulders. “You’re ridiculous.” His attempts to shift the mood from depressing to comfortable working instantly.

“Maybe,” he admits, squeezing your hand gently. “But if I can make you smile, it’s worth it.”

The atmosphere in the room shifts, the weight of your guilt and fear lifting slightly. The warmth of his touch, the softness of his kiss, and the sincerity in his eyes all work together to create a cocoon of safety.

Placing a final peck on your lips, Heeseung stands up and towers over you once again. “Do you think it’s safe to stay here? Just for tonight?” he asks with genuine curiosity, already hoping you’ll give him the much-desired answer of ‘yes’.

But the truth is, you don’t know. If you found this place easily, then the police could find it in an instant. There are so many traces of you that you’ve left behind: the bags on the bus, footprints in the mud and leaves, and also Heeseung’s blood at the park. If they really wanted to find you, they could.

Yet, as you look into Heeseung’s sparkling eyes, the ones that are thinking about a warm bed to spend the night in, you don’t have the heart to be honest. So you do what you think is best and fluff the question. “I think, yeah, we can, as long as we stay on alert.”

Agreeing, Heeseung smiles down at you, his joints already celebrating the prospect of a clean bed to lay on. “We’ll keep an ear out, but right now, all I want is to lie down.”

He takes your hand, pulling you gently upstairs, his steps cautious yet eager. The wooden stairs creak softly under your weight, each step resonating in the quiet house. As you reach the top, you find yourselves in a narrow hallway adorned with faded family photos and antique furniture. The atmosphere is homely and lived-in, the kind of place that feels like it has been loved and cared for over many years.

Heeseung pushes open the first door on the right, revealing a cosy bedroom. The room is small but inviting, with a large bed covered in a patchwork quilt, flanked by mismatched nightstands. The wallpaper, though slightly peeling in places, features delicate floral patterns that add to the room’s calm aesthetic. A well-worn armchair sits in one corner, next to a small bookshelf filled with old, dog-eared paperbacks.

“This will do,” Heeseung says with a contented sigh, letting go of your hand to sit on the edge of the bed. He bounces slightly, testing the mattress, and his face lights up with approval. “Oh, fuck yeah, this will definitely do.” He feels like Goldilocks when she finds the children’s bed, claiming it as her own.

“I’m going to shower,” you tell him, needing a moment to yourself. The events of the day have left you feeling grimy and in desperate need of some semblance of normalcy. Each time you’ve snuck into a motel the shower has been all but appealing with dirty water and rust; this is your chance to take a long, well-earned shower with hopefully some fancy soaps. 

You begin rummaging through the drawers of an old dresser in the corner, hoping to find something to wear for the night. To your surprise, among the neatly folded clothes, you find a set of lingerie, delicate and decidedly out of place in such a homely setting. The white silky fabric and intricate lace make it clear that this was a special purchase, perhaps a forgotten remnant of a romantic getaway. You search through the drawers again, but it seems to be the only sleepwear available.

You hold up the lingerie, raising an eyebrow at the unexpected find. Heeseung glances over, curiosity piqued by your hesitation. “What’s that?” he asks, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips when he sees the garment.

“Apparently, this is all they have for pyjamas,” you reply, your tone laced with amusement.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in actual pyjamas before, it’s like the world just wants you naked all the time.” The comment causes you both to laugh, each chuckle echoing along the patterned walls.

Turning to him, you cross your arms and arch a brow. “I think you are the only man to complain about it,” you snicker, jesting him with a slight punch of feigned hurt.

Your response makes Heeseung’s face drop, his eyelids expanding in horror. “No, no. Trust me, I’ll never complain about it. It’s just funny how it always happens like this.” His voice is earnest, and it’s cute how quickly he defends himself, scared to offend you in any way.

Waving him off, you turn back and shut the drawer, walking over to the ensuite toilet.

The bathroom is small but functional, with a clawfoot tub and a pedestal sink. The tiles are cool underfoot, and you quickly strip out of your dirty clothes, turning on the water and waiting for it to warm up. As you step under the stream, the hot water cascades over you, washing away the grime and stress of the day. You close your eyes, letting the soothing sensation calm your racing thoughts.

Back in the bedroom, Heeseung is changing into some boxers he has managed to find. They are the complete opposite of your sexy two-piece. Instead, his borrowed pyjamas are bright blue, adorned with Homer Simpson’s face and Duff beer cans. He wonders who on earth would ever purchase these never mind wear them. 

As he settles into the bed, the world outside seems distant, the immediate crisis giving way to a fragile peace. The relief from the co-codomol and the springy mattress help him alleviate some of his pain.

Heeseung reaches for the remote control on the nightstand and switches on the TV. The soft glow of the screen illuminates the room, casting flickering shadows on the walls. He flips through the channels aimlessly, searching for something to distract you both from the day's events. Just as he’s about to turn it off, a familiar face appears on the screen, stopping him cold.

It’s Jongseong, sitting in what looks like a studio set-up for a news interview. The lower third of the screen reads, "Friend of Fugitive Lee Heeseung, Park Jongseong, Speaks."

Heeseung’s breath catches in his throat, and he feels the tension ripple through his body. His eyes are glued to the screen, his expression a mix of surprise, fear, and a deep, aching sadness. 

“Jongseong?” he whispers, barely audible. He misses his best friend so much that even seeing him through the television is enough to have his soul shiver in sadness. It was one thing to think about him, it’s another to see him.

On the screen, Jongseong looks tired and worn, dark circles under his eyes betraying his sleepless nights. Heeseung can’t imagine the stress this whole situation has caused his best friend, everyone in the entire scheme knowing about their lifelong bond. Jongseong must have endured so much scrutiny once the news broke out. 

He takes a deep breath before speaking, his voice steady but heavy with emotion. “I’ve known Heeseung for all of my life,” Jongseong begins, his gaze unwavering as he faces the camera. “He’s not a criminal. He’s the most kind-hearted, loyal, and genuine person I’ve ever met. Anyone who truly knows him would say the same.”

Heeseung’s eyes well up with tears, the raw vulnerability in Jongseong’s words piercing through his defences. He swallows hard, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. This must be what the man that held him at gunpoint meant; his friends and family fighting to tell the world that he isn’t a murderer.

Jongseong continues, his voice cracking slightly. “I miss him. Every day that he’s gone, it feels like a part of me is missing too. If he’s out there, if he can hear this, I want him to know that he’s not alone. We’re all here, waiting for him to come home. And we know... we all know that Y/N is the cause of this.” The refusal to believe he is dead evident in his tone.

In that last sentence, Heeseung’s chest feels like a boulder is being pressed onto it, the air escaping his lungs despite just taking a deep breath. He can’t believe your beautiful name just fell from Jongseong’s lips with such disgust. He feels nauseous that it is his family who are tarnishing your name, giving the media their headlines and false accusations.

You have no one sticking up for you so you’re being painted as this venomous spider that prays on men without so much as a second glance. And yet, you couldn’t have a bigger heart if you tried.

The care you have given Heeseung, the cosmic connection between you is enough to solidify his thoughts. Just as it was back at the theme park, he doesn’t believe any bad word about you, and he’ll be damned if he starts now. You aren’t going to kill him, you aren’t going to betray him, and you certainly aren’t a criminal mastermind who plots murder.

“I don’t believe for a second that Heeseung is guilty of anything other than being dragged along in a scheme,” Jongseong says, his voice gaining strength. “Heeseung, if you’re listening, please come back. If you turn her in then all of this can be over. We miss you, and we need you. I need you.”

The news moves on swiftly to the next article but it isn’t so easy for Heeseung. He would never throw you to the wolves to save himself, not a chance in hell is he ever leaving you, not under any circumstances. When he told you that it was you and him together, he meant it with every crevice of his heart.

He hears the shower turn off and it jolts him to attention, suddenly flicks the channel as though he would get caught watching porn, or worse, Hollyoaks. The TV ends up on some gameshow where contestants try and get money by answering truth or false questions. 

Trying to act natural, Heeseung pats the area of his heart in an attempt to tame its brisk beats, not alerting you to anything he just saw. Considering you already believe that the entirety of this situation is your fault as if Heeseung also didn’t swing the finishing blow to the man’s head, the last thing he wants you to see is someone bashing your name to millions of viewers. 

Stepping out of the bathroom, you are wearing the lingerie you found and the sight of your frame prettily decorated in white causes Heeseung to swallow hard. It’s astonishing to Heeseung how you don’t even register how insanely beautiful you look right now, that look on your face puzzled as you walk towards the bed.

"What is it?" you question, slipping beneath the blankets and snuggling up next to the stupefied boy. “You’ve seen me like this lots of times.”

It’s true, he has, so he shouldn’t be so astonished that you look like Aphrodite’s spawn. Something about being able to appreciate you for every curve and stretch mark in a calm setting is enough to have him gawking like it’s the first time seeing you. 

“Yeah, you just look so…angelic in white,” he confesses, now regretting changing into the Simpson boxers; not quite as elegant.

You tuck into his side, lifting one leg over his to get comfortable, your head resting softly on his rising chest. It’s not uncommon for you to lie like this, the nights you’ve spent together often end up with you like this, trying to gain heat from one another's body as the midnight air sets in.

But now you have no excuse, this is purely for the reason to stick close to him, to feel him under you. His presence has turned into your security blanket, the one thing you need to fall asleep and forget about the problems you face.

Inhaling sharply, you watch the TV but never register its contents, your mind preoccupied. “We need a plan, Heeseung,” you murmur, your breath hitting his abs gently as he rubs your arm. “We’re going to be locked up if we’re not careful.”

Heeseung knows this, as much as Jongseong might think that coming home and handing both of you in will somehow get him off the hook, that’s not how the judicial system works. They’re still going to question him and discuss what happened that unfateful day and he would tell them the truth.

He went to an illegal prostitute, killed a man, and fled. Regardless of the fancy jargon or numerous stories about how it was self-defence, he is still guilty of murder. Plain and simple.

There is an unsettling realisation that he isn’t fit for jail. He can barely walk past a group of chavs without his asshole clenching, so in what world is he equipped to walk into prison, share a cell with a convict, and make it out alive? 

With a heaving chest, he begins to panic and his hand grips your upper arm a little tighter than normal. As you lift your head from his rising and falling chest, you see his eyes widening in realisation. “I can’t go to jail, Y/N.”

Sitting up, you begin to shake your head and refute his thoughts. “Hey, it’s okay, Hee,” you whisper, hand cradling his face with affection and assurance, “We will find a way out, I promise. After all, we’ve gotten this far.”

Your voice is unable to sound too convinced, not with the sirens haunting echoes still fresh in your mind. You know you got lucky today, escaping the law by the skin of your teeth and there are only so many chances you can have like this before the inevitable shackles of prison make their presence known around your wrists.

Heeseung isn’t listening to you, the shake of his head batting away any comforting words that spill from your mouth. “I can’t go, Y/N. They will smell the loser off me. I’m a virgin for fucks sake, they’ll notice it in a minute!” His voice is raised, eyes darting around as his brain conjures up worst-case scenarios, all of which terrify the man.

Shushing him, you try to draw his focus back to you, eyes searching into his for a chance to snag him. “Listen to me, you are not going to prison-”

“Oh course we fucking will, Y/N! You heard how many sirens were after us, not to mention they’ve probably brought extra men to help get that psycho with a gun. We are fucked.”

His interruption mixed with the change in vocabulary from ‘I’ to ‘we’ makes your own brain pulse in panic. You can sugarcoat it and tell yourself lies all you want but the fact of the matter is that there is a higher chance of getting caught than escaping. His outburst leaves you momentarily speechless, the gravity of the situation sinking in. The air feels thick with dread, every second ticking by amplifying the weight of your predicament. You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to stay calm for both your sakes.

There isn’t anything you can do, Heeseung’s concerns are all valid and very much real. He isn’t meant for prison life and they will pick on him straight away. You would be okay, thinking about the years of building yourself a thick skin and strong backbone, but Heeseung is just finding his confidence, all of it will disappear as soon as he adorns the navy trousers and grey sweatshirt that bunch him with the other inmates. 

However, there is one thing you can do for him if not grant his freedom.

“Then…” you bite your lip and pinch the tips of your fingers in contemplation. “Let’s make sure you don’t go to prison a virgin.”

The words reach the panicked boy’s ears, rendering him speechless. He didn’t mean his earlier words literally, but the offer hangs in the air, a tangible and teasing proposition. He stares at you, processing the unexpected proposition, his mind momentarily distracted from the terror that gripped him.

“You don’t have to do that,” he finally whispers, his voice trembling but touched with a hint of gratitude. “I didn’t mean it like that, I just…” He trails off, his voice faltering.

Climbing onto his lap, you push the covers back and settle atop him, the thin lace and cotton of your underwear providing only a minimal barrier. Your legs trap his sides as you pull him to sit up slightly, his face now angled to meet your empathetic yet lust-filled gaze.

“If we are going to jail, whether it’s in the next week, month, or year, let’s at least spend one night that we’ll remember,” you suggest gently, your voice a mix of compassion and desire.

Heeseung’s eyes widen slightly, his breath catching as he processes your words. “But... are you sure?” he asks, his hands hesitantly resting on your hips. This, of course, isn’t your first time, but he doesn’t want you to feel obligated to do anything or force you into this because of a stupid fear he has.

You nod, your expression softening. “I’m sure. I want you so badly, Heeseung if you’ll let me?” The question comes off shy despite your hands rubbing his chest and shoulders in a subtle attempt to get him to say yes.

Heeseung's eyes soften, his reluctance giving way to a tentative smile. “I want you too,” he murmurs, his hands tightening slightly on your hips, his fingers creating indents in your skin.

When he first came to you, he just wanted to get fucked and have it over and done with, but now that he knows you and your heart, he doesn’t see it as a conquest he must defeat in honour to progress into adulthood. No, now he sees it as giving himself to the one person he worships, the journey you have both been on finally giving him the clarity to understand what he wants. You.

Although he made a point to express his concerns about being a virgin in prison, he didn’t really mean it the way you took it. Sure, it’s a worry for him, but prison is in general. Deep in his heart, he knows that the real cause of his worry is the fact that he could go his whole life without ever giving himself to you completely, never knowing what you feel like or how your bodies move with one another. You are the romance-induced first time he has been saving himself for and he can’t believe it’s about to happen.

You lean in, your lips brushing against his in a tentative kiss. It starts gentle, a soft melding of mouths that slowly deepens as Heeseung responds, his hesitation melting away. Your tongues meet, exploring each other with a mixture of curiosity and growing desire. The kiss intensifies, becoming more urgent, and more demanding, as the need for closeness overwhelms you both.

Heeseung's hands slide from your hips to your back, fingers dancing along your spine. He fumbles slightly, his nervousness evident as he tries to unhook your bra. You smile against his lips, reaching back to help him unclasp it and let it fall away, revealing your breasts. His eyes widen, a mixture of awe and uncertainty as he takes in the sight of you.

God, has he missed these tits. 

“Do what you want Heeseung. I’m yours for tonight,” you whisper into his mouth as you ghost your lips over his, the lack of contact only causing him to whimper out.

Heeseung swallows hard as he uses his hands to massage your breasts, littering them with gentle kisses. His touch tentative but growing bolder as you encourage him. Your fingers find the waistband of his selected underwear and you giggle as you finally take in the sight of them. Embarrassed but determined, Heeseung lifts his hips, allowing you to pull his comical boxers down in one swift motion, freeing his erection.

You shift slightly, positioning yourself to straddle him more comfortably. The thin barrier of your lace panties feels almost painfully teasing against his hardness. One of Heeseung’s hands moves to your waist, his touch both gentle and possessive as he helps you slide your panties down your legs, his other hand rubbing his thumb over your nipple like it was a button on his much beloved Sega Mega Drive. 

You kick them aside, fully naked now, and press yourself against him. Heeseung’s breath hitches as your bodies align, his erection pressing insistently against your wet folds. You kiss him again, more fervently this time, your tongues tangling as the intensity between you builds.

One of Heeseung’s hands slides between your legs, fingers parting your folds and finding your clit. He rubs slow, deliberate circles, drawing a moan from your lips. You break the kiss, resting your forehead against his as you pant softly, your hips rocking into his hand.

“Is this okay?” he asks softly with a hint od desperation as he seeks your approval.

“Just like that,” you murmur, guiding his hand to the right spot, helping the virgin out just slightly. “Keep going.”

His fingers trail lower with your guidance, teasing your entrance before one slips inside, eliciting a shuddering gasp from you. He moves with exquisite slowness, each thrust of his finger deliberate and careful, as if savouring the feeling of you around him. 

You can’t see it due to your eyes closing and losing yourself to his touch but he is holding in his breath, all the new feelings and sensation beginning to overwhelm his senses. It was one thing to see a vagina in the flesh, his mouth tasting you so deliciously only hours before, but for any of his body to be inside of you, even his fingers, might send him into overdrive. It’s warm and not what he was really expecting, though, he didn’t go in with much of a clue to begin with.

If there is one thing books and porn have taught him it’s to start slow and work his way up to thrusting his fingers into you with verocity. He feels around, exploring you and your walls to gage a reaction. In some cases you wince from a shot of uncomfort, other times you let out a low moan followed by an array of profantities. 

Once he finds his rhythm and is confident enough, he adds a second finger, curling them slightly to press against that sweet spot inside you, his palm pressing against your clit. Instinctively, you grip his shoulders and begin to ride his hand, using him to chase your release.

“Fuck,” your breath comes in ragged gasps as he works you closer to the edge. The pressure builds steadily, a coil of heat tightening in your belly with each stroke of his fingers. Your hips move of their own accord, seeking more of the delicious friction he provides. “Heeseung,” you moan, your voice trembling with need. “I’m close…”

He looks up at you, eyes filled with a mixture of concern and desire. “What should I do?” he asks, his voice shaking. 

“Faster,” you urge, guiding his hand with yours. “Just a little faster.”

Heeseung follows your instructions, increasing the pace of his fingers and pressing more firmly against your clit. The knot inside you tightens further, until it snaps, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. You cry out, your body trembling as the orgasm washes over you, gripping his shoulders for support.

Heeseung watches you with a blend of awe and desire, his fingers slowing but not stopping as he helps you ride out the aftershocks. When you finally come down from the high, you collapse against him, your breath coming in shallow pants.

“Oh, fuck,” he whispers, realising that you’ve come undone thanks to him for the second time that day, his inexperience never being the hinder that he once thought it was. This orgasm was a little more shattering to your body though, the desperation in your subtle grabs to his skin telling him that you were taken to heaven and back and desperately seeking more.

You kiss him again, softer this time, a tender meeting of lips as you both savour the intimacy of the moment. But the need for more still burns within you, and you can feel Heeseung’s erection pressing insistently against your thigh.

Without breaking the kiss, you lift your hips, reaching down to guide him to your entrance. “Let me take care of you,” you whisper, positioning him at your entrance. “Are you ready?”

Heeseung nods, his breath hitching in his throat as his Adam’s apple bobs with the swallow of dry air. This is it, he is finally losing his v-card, and to someone he cares so deeply about. You will never understand the rush of emotions coursing through him as you hover over his length, waiting for consent to take him. You are about to give him his dream, the one he harbors in his heart; not losing his virginity, but being in love.

He thought it before but now it’s so clear to him. All this time you’ve spent with one another, each late-night conversation, opening up to one another in ways only lovers do, and the constant tension of something more underneath the surface level partners in crime you often refer yourselves as. It was all a timeline to falling in love. He doesn’t know if you feel the same, perhaps it’s too fast for you and it’s just his innocent heart that is jumping the gun, but he is so sure of his feelings towards you.

There is no one else in the universe he would rather lose his virginity to.

“I’m ready,” he utters, the thumping in his ears caused by his ear creating a backing track to his confirmation. “I’m so ready, Y/N.” The gleam of pride in his eyes takes you aback for a moment, the words kissing your heart with trust. “Do you have a condom?” 

“No,” you pant out in regret and irritation, the conversation prolonging the feeling of his shaft plugging your pussy up so beautifully. “But I got the implant when I started doing this as an extra precaution, just in case the condom didn’t work.” 

The explanation puts the boy at ease, knowing that there is no need to worry about adding a baby to this madness of a predicament you’re in. Nodding, he silently tells you that he is okay to go once again, inhaling deeply as you line him up with purpose.

As you slowly sink down onto him, both of you gasp at the sensation. You move with deliberate slowness, allowing your bodies to adjust to the feeling of being so intimately joined. Heeseung has never felt something so incredible in his life. Your walls are stretching in real time around him, accommodating his thick size with ease, your juices from earlier acting as a natural lubricant.

Heeseung’s eyes flutter shut, a soft moan escaping his lips as he feels you envelop him inch by inch. Every nerve ending in his body is alight with sensation, the warmth and tightness of you overwhelming his senses. His hands grip your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he tries to steady himself against the flood of pleasure.

“Y/N,” he breathes, his voice barely a whisper, filled with awe and disbelief.

You smile down at him, your own breaths coming in shallow pants. “You feel so good, Heeseung,” you murmur, your voice husky with desire. You feel honoured to be the first cunt wrapped around the boy’s cock, the feeling of him invading your tight hole and the way his prominent veins add another layer to the pleasure is outstanding causes your eyes to roll back.

It’s not like you haven’t had a cock like Heeseung’s before but for some inexplicable reason, his is erasing every feeling of the others. If this did happen on that fateful first meeting, you wouldn’t have charged him at all, the pleasure you are feeling right now would be enough of a payment.

Heeseung’s breath catches in his throat as you begin to move, a slow rhythm that sends shivers of pleasure up his spine. Each movement is deliberate, a dance of passion and trust as you guide him through this new experience. Your hips grind against his, making his cock rock inside you, each movement sending waves of sensation through both of you.

“How does it feel?” you ask, your voice a seductive purr as you continue to ride him.

Grunting at your movements, Heeseung quickly nods, his eyes wide with an overwhelmed sensation. “Fucking unreal,” he manages to choke out, his voice trembling with the intensity of the moment. He has to apologise to his teenage self for denying him this simple pleasure while his friends were getting their socks rocked.

Your lips curve into a satisfied smile at his response, your fingers splaying across his pecks as you bounce rhythmically on his cock. “I’m glad,” you murmur, your voice dripping with sensuality. “You feel amazing, Heeseung.”

Heeseung moans softly as he tries to keep up with your pace, bucking his hips sloppily, becoming erratic and lacking a consistent pace - not that you mind, you don’t expect him to be fucking you with the skill of a pornstar. The main thing is that he is enjoying it, and by the strangled whimpers and ‘fucking hell’ that leaves his lips every other second, you’re assured that he is.

But this is about teaching him and letting him learn the art of fucking. “Heeseung,” you whisper, pulling back to look into his eyes. “I want you to do something for me.”

Heeseung’s gaze is filled with trust and anticipation. “Anything,” he breathes.

“Let me guide you,” you say softly, your hands moving to cup his face. “Follow my lead, okay?”

Heeseung nods, his eyes wide with a mixture of nervousness and excitement. “Okay,” he agrees, his voice trembling slightly.

You start to move again, slower this time, your hips setting a steady rhythm. “Match my pace,” you instruct, your voice gentle but firm.

Heeseung tries to follow your movements, his hips thrusting up to meet yours. At first, his rhythm is clumsy, his thrusts too quick or too slow. You can feel his frustration building, his hands gripping your hips tighter as he struggles to find the right pace.

“Relax, Heeseung,” you murmur, leaning down to kiss him softly, instilling reassurance into him that taking his time to learn isn’t going to ruin the moment. “You’re doing great. Just feel it.”

Heeseung takes a deep breath, his eyes locking onto yours. He concentrates on your rhythm, his body gradually finding a better sync with yours. The clumsiness begins to fade, replaced by a more confident and deliberate movement.

“That’s it,” you encourage, your voice a breathy moan as you feel him moving more smoothly inside you. “Just like that, fuck.” You drop your head as the tip of his cock hits just the right spot, kissing your cervix tenderly.

Heeseung’s eyes light up with a mix of relief and pleasure as he hears your words. His hands move to your waist, guiding you as you ride him, his thrusts becoming more confident and sure. The sensation of him filling you with each thrust sends waves of pleasure through your body, your moans growing louder with each movement.

Every thrust brings a gasp or a moan from him, his body responding eagerly to your touch. He feels a mix of sensations - pleasure, awe, a hint of disbelief that he’s finally experiencing this with you. You lean down, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss, your tongues dancing together in sync with the rhythm of your bodies. Heeseung kisses you back with equal fervour, his need for you evident in every touch and every movement. 

“I never imagined it could feel like this,” he admits between kisses, his voice rough with desire. “Being with you, it’s everything.”

Your heart swells with affection as you feel him opening up, allowing himself to be vulnerable with you in this intimate moment. You continue to move, your hips rolling against his in a steady, hypnotic rhythm. The room is filled with the sounds of your combined breaths, the slick slide of your bodies, and the soft, wet noises of your connection.

“You feel so good,” you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders as you ride him harder. “So, fucking perfect.”

Heeseung’s breath hitches, a whimper escaping his lips at your words. If he wasn’t lost in the feeling, he would ask if he was being a good boy. His eyes lock onto yours, a mixture of awe and desperation in his gaze. He can feel himself getting closer, the tight coil of pleasure in his belly winding tighter with each thrust. His hands roam over your body, one moving to your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple, sending a fresh wave of pleasure through you.

Feeling a surge of confidence and an overwhelming urge to please, Heeseung leans forward, his lips parting as he takes one of your nipples into his mouth. The sensation is electrifying, a new layer of intimacy that sends shivers down your spine. His mouth is warm and eager, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak before sucking gently. He hums around your nipple, the vibration adding to the pleasure that courses through your body.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan, your head falling back as you give in to the sensation. Your fingers thread through his hair, holding him close as he continues his ministrations.

Heeseung’s thoughts are a whirl of sensation and desire. He’s hyper-aware of every reaction he elicits from you, the way your body responds to his touch, the sounds you make as he lavishes attention on your nipple. He’s never felt anything so intimate, so deeply connected, and it drives him to please you even more.

His tongue flicks over your nipple before he sucks it back into his mouth, his lips creating a tight seal. He alternates between gentle sucks and firmer pulls, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh just enough to make you gasp. The sensation is a perfect blend of pleasure and a hint of pain, heightening your arousal to an almost unbearable level.

Heeseung’s free hand moves to your clit, clumsily finding it after a few seconds to give it some well-deserved attention. The dual sensations make your hips move more urgently, grinding down onto him as your climax approaches.

“Y/N, I’m so close,” he moans against your breast, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. He didn’t want to bust a nut quickly and has been holding back as long as he can, determined to make sure this was a good experience for you.

“Me too,” you whisper, your own climax building with every movement. “Don’t hold back, Heeseung. Let go with me.”

With a final, powerful thrust, Heeseung cries out, his body tensing beneath you as he finds his release. The sensation of him pulsing inside you triggers your own climax, and you cry out his name as waves of pleasure crash over you. You collapse against his chest, both of you trembling as you ride out the aftershocks together.

As the intensity of the moment fades, you lie there in each other’s arms, your breaths gradually slowing. Heeseung holds you close, his arms wrapped around you protectively as you both savour the aftermath of your passion. The air is thick with the scent of sweat and sex, but also with a newfound sense of closeness and adoration.

Looking up at him, you smile lazily, tiredness taking over your limbs from the excitement of today and the fucking. “Well, how does not being a virgin anymore feel?”

“It feels,” he pauses, gathering his thoughts as they fight through his post-orgasm haze, “fucking unbelievable.” Heeseung places a soft kiss on your sweaty forehead and inhales your scent, enveloping his senses with you. His gestures are so loving and tender that you feel a ping in your heart, the same kind that you get when you eat your favourite meal or hear the song that gives you butterflies when it comes on the radio.

It feels like home.

“Thank you for letting me be your first,” you pout, kissing his sticky chest. Your lips press against the salty sheen of sweat on his skin, the taste mingling with the lingering sweetness of the moment.

Heeseung’s heart swells at your words, his eyes softening as he looks down at you. “I should be thanking you, Y/N. I am so happy that it was you I had this experience with.” His admission is heartfelt and pure, his voice trembling slightly with emotion.

You can see the depth of his feelings in his eyes, the way they shine with awe and adoration. It’s a look that makes your own heart flutter, the connection between you feeling even more profound in the aftermath of your intimacy. 

Feeling safe and secure despite circumstances that loom on the horizon, you lay your head back on his chest, settling in for the night. You don’t want to move, your body is too spent to care about peeing or your dead weight is making Heeseung uncomfortable. None of it mattered as sleep pulls you in.

“Y/N?” 

“Yeah…”

“I love you.”

Your heavy breathing fills the room, indicating your lulled state. He doesn’t know if you heard his confession but Heeseung doesn’t mind, he just had to get it off his chest, never wishing to keep his feelings from you ever.

“Good night, baby,” the nickname escapes his lips but it feels so right, everything about this moment feels right. Heeseung’s fingers trace lazy patterns on your back as he closes his eyes with a smile on his face, his heart relaxed for the first time in weeks.

He wishes every day could be as good as this one.

_____

Startled awake by an incessant crowing outside the bedroom window, Heeseung jerks up, his body relaxed but his mind still on semi-high alert. The sun's early morning rays filter through the thin, floral curtains, casting a soft, golden glow across the quaint cottage bedroom. Dust particles float lazily in the warm light, adding a touch of magic to the peaceful scene. This is the best night’s sleep he has had, not just since you two began this wild chase, but in the past few years. The bed is a cosy nest of crumpled sheets and soft blankets, the scent of last night's intimacy lingering in the air.

Heeseung stretches, feeling the pleasant ache of spent passion in his muscles - even his head feels a million times better after the beating it took yesterday. His heart swells with a mix of pride and joy as he recalls the events of the night before. Losing his virginity this way wasn’t what he expected, but it was everything he wanted. There was a raw, unspoken connection between you both, an intimacy that transcended mere physicality.

Your heart was in it; he could feel it in the way you whispered affection and clawed at his body. There's a pride swelling within him, knowing there’s a high probability that this is the first time you’ve had sex that wasn’t just for survival or a quick cash grab. Last night was different - there was love between you, plain and simple. You didn’t have to say it or even hear his confession to know what it was. The way you both kissed one another as if the world meant nothing when you had each other, the way your bodies connected in a manner some lovers could only dream of.

Heeseung wishes that all of this were under different circumstances, as he always has, but something tells him that, in some whacked-out way, the universe would have put you together no matter what. The room around him is a testament to simpler times, with its rustic wooden furniture, a small dresser topped with a chipped vase of wildflowers, and a single, worn armchair in the corner. 

Turning his upper body to look at you sleeping, the serenity in his chest quickly vanishes and panic arises from the pit of his stomach. You aren’t there lying peacefully, basking in the morning sun like you should be.

His heart bumps against his rib cage as his mind settles on the worst possible scenario. Frantic, Heeseung clambers around the room, searching for any clue as to where you could have gone. In motels you’ve previously visited, you always left a note to say you’d gone to grab some food or ice, but this time there is nothing but a few strands of your hair decorating the pillow where your head should still be resting.

Rolling off the bed, Heeseung quickly grabs his boxers and puts them on, making his way around the house in search of you. The cottage bedroom, once a sanctuary, now feels ominous and empty. He glances around, his eyes darting over the rustic wooden furniture and the small dresser topped with a chipped vase of wildflowers. The morning sun, which had moments ago seemed warm and inviting, now casts long, eerie shadows.

“Y/N?” he shouts loudly, enough to wake every bird and hibernating bats in the vicinity. His voice echoes through the small cottage, mingling with the distant crowing of the rooster.

His mind races with terrifying possibilities. He thinks about how you could have been snatched in the night, but that doesn’t make sense—he would have felt that or heard you scream. Maybe you went for some fresh air and got caught by the police; they might have snuck up on you and cuffed you right there and then. But wouldn’t they have raided the cottage for him too?

Then his face pales, and he stops in his tracks. What if that psycho got a hold of you? He ran in the opposite direction, but that doesn’t mean the psycho couldn’t have made his way in a circle right to this house. What if he had the same idea and wanted to camp out here, and you just happened to be in the kitchen making some tea when he found you? What if he…

Sickness forms in Heeseung’s throat as he dashes to the kitchen, trying to dispel the horrific final “what if” from his mind. The cosy cottage now feels like a labyrinth of dread, every creak of the floorboards amplifying his fear.

“Baby?” he yells again, terror ripping through his vocal cords. “Y/N, please answer me.”

The kitchen, with its quaint, mismatched dishes and the faint smell of musk and nostalgia offers no comfort. Heeseung's eyes frantically scan the room, hoping to find you safe and sound, but the emptiness only feeds his growing panic. His breath comes in short, desperate gasps as he clutches the edge of the wooden countertop, his knuckles white with tension.

Y/N!” His voice cracks with despair, echoing through the silent house. Heeseung’s mind is a whirlwind of fear and helplessness, each passing second feeling like an eternity as he waits for any sign of you. The world outside, with its serene sunlight and gentle breeze, seems cruelly indifferent to his agony.

Suddenly, he feels a hand on his arm, and he whips around instantly.

Your face looks up at him with wonder and concern. “Hey, hey. I’m here, Heeseung,” you say calmly, hoping the soft dulcet tone of your voice can reduce the evident panic coursing through his veins.

Instantly, he hugs you tight, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other wraps firmly around your waist. His nose digs into your scalp as his lips press softly against your cranium as if he needs all his senses to be alerted to your sudden appearance - the only way to calm his unsettled heart.

“Heeseung,” you murmur into his chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heart against your cheek. “What’s wrong, what happened?”

Heeseung doesn’t respond immediately, just holds you tighter, his breath ragged and heavy with relief. The warmth of your body against his, the familiar scent of your skin, and the steady rhythm of your heartbeat begin to soothe the storm inside him. Gradually, the tension in his muscles eases, and his grip loosens just enough to look down into your eyes.

“I thought… I thought something happened to you,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. The morning light highlights the tears glistening in his eyes, a stark contrast to the fear that had consumed him moments before.

You reach up and gently wipe away a tear that has escaped down his cheek. “I’m here. I’m safe,” you reassure him, your fingers lingering on his face. “Nothing bad can happen to me when I’ve got you, yeah?”

Balancing on your tiptoes, you place a tender kiss on his dry lips, trying to instill in him some comfort that you are fine and alive. To be honest, if it were he who had disappeared without a trace, you would probably be in an even worse panic than he is.

The kiss is charged with a cocktail of emotions, lips neatly brushing one another as you both fall into an equanimity that is desperately needed in this moment of uncertainty. The tension around his shoulders fades as he melts into your touch, the fear and anxiety dissipating with each passing second.

Heeseung’s arms tighten around you, pulling you closer as if grounding himself in your presence. The taste of salt from his tears mingles with the warmth of the kiss, creating a poignant mix of relief and love. You feel his breath hitch, then gradually steady, synchronizing with your own.

When you eventually draw back, your foreheads touch. The world outside continues its peaceful morning, the calm wind and soft natural light now serving as a soothing backdrop rather than a harsh contrast.

“I’m sorry I worried you,” you whisper, your breath mingling with his. “I should have left a note like usual but there is not a pen or paper in this house, can you believe it?.”

Heeseung shakes his head slightly, his eyes still closed, savouring the closeness. “No it’s okay, I’m just glad you’re here,” he murmurs. “I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.”

You smile softly, cupping his face in your hands. “You won’t. We’re in this together, remember?”

Heeseung nods, finally opening his eyes to look into yours. There’s a depth of gratitude and love in his gaze that warms you to your core. “Yeah, together,” he echoes, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. “Where did you go?”

Absentmindedly, you reach up to the gauze on his head and peel it off, inspecting the wound as you explain your absence. “I was looking for a route out of here. And to see if the place is still teeming with police.” 

You grab a clean washcloth from the sink and wet it, gently dabbing the dried-in blood away. The gash looks better, although still open, a protective layer of skin is forming over it. It’s fragile and one rough knock could re-open it, but for now, it’s okay. You tell him to wait there while you grab the first aid kit from the sitting area before returning, setting out to apply a new gauze.

Once you clean his wound with the antiseptic wipe, which hurts considerably less than last night, Heeseung speaks up. “And? Is there a way out of this or are the police everywhere?” He isn’t a fan of you going out there on your own but he won’t dwell on it since you’re back here in his arms. His hands settle on your hips as his thumbs stroke your skin, craving contact with you as much as possible.

He doesn’t know if it was the idea of losing you or the sex that makes him crave your skin on his, but he won’t complain either way, and neither will you.

“There are sirens, faint but they are there,” you begin to explain, your voice disheartened, “I think I found a way out though.”

Heeseung’s eyebrows raise and his hands grip your hips slightly, a mix of curiosity and relief. “Oh?”

“Yeah, there is a dock not far from here, maybe about an hour away. It carts goods from Ayr to Dublin around lunchtime, if what I saw was right. We could sneak on it and get the fuck out of the UK, at least until we come up with a solid plan.”

It’s not foolproof and there are more cons than pros, but any minute, the police could come banging on this door and you’re sure as hell going to get caught then.

Heeseung’s shoulders slump as he processes this new information. “It’s risky, but we don’t have many options,” he murmurs, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of doubt. Finding none, he nods resolutely. “Alright, let’s do it. But we need to be careful. One slip and it’s over.”

You nod in agreement, your mind already running through the logistics. “We need to move fast and quietly, the only way to the dock is through the woods and that’s exactly where the police are still looking.”

Heeseung gives a small, determined smile, his hands still tracing soothing patterns on your hips. “I’ll follow your lead,” his voice is low and assured. He really does believe there is nothing he can’t do as long as you’re beside him.

As you finish dressing his wound, you can’t help but feel a surge of determination. The bond between you has only grown stronger through this ordeal, and you’re resolved to face whatever comes next side by side. You share a final look, a silent promise to protect each other at all costs, before you start making preparations to leave.

“Okay, let’s go.”

_____

The woods is much easier to navigate in the middle of the day, however, it does make it easier to be spotted.The woods are much easier to navigate in the middle of the day, but the bright sunlight filtering through the canopy also makes it easier for them to be spotted. Heeseung and you move cautiously, stepping over roots and ducking under low-hanging branches, every sense heightened by the urgency of the situation. The dense foliage provides some cover, but the occasional break in the trees sends your hearts racing as you dart across open patches of sunlight.

The forest floor is a mix of damp earth and fallen leaves, each step a muffled crunch that both reassures and unnerves you. Birds chirp overhead, their songs a stark contrast to the tension thrumming through your bodies. The scent of pine and fresh moss fills the air, mingling with the faint, metallic tang of Heeseung’s dried blood.

You take the lead, your eyes scanning the path ahead for any signs of danger. Heeseung follows closely, his hand occasionally brushing against your back, a silent reassurance that he’s right there with you. The two of you communicate through subtle gestures and quiet whispers, knowing that any loud noise could draw unwanted attention.

In the distance, the faint wail of sirens echoes through the trees, a chilling reminder of the police presence. You exchange a worried glance with Heeseung, both of you quickening your pace. The sirens grow louder, a relentless reminder of the danger closing in behind you.

“We need to move faster,” you whisper, your voice barely audible above the rustling leaves.

Heeseung nods, his expression determined. “Stay close.”

The woods stretch out before you like a labyrinth, each turn and twist another gamble. You rely on your instincts, hoping they guide you true. The sun is high now, casting dappled shadows that dance across the forest floor. Sweat beads on your forehead, both from the exertion and the stress of being pursued.

Every so often, you pause to listen, straining to hear any signs of movement behind you. The sirens are still there, but they seem to be moving parallel to your path, not directly toward you. It’s a small relief, but you know you can’t let your guard down.

As you navigate a particularly thick patch of underbrush, you catch sight of a flash of blue through the trees. You freeze, grabbing Heeseung’s arm to stop him. You both crouch low, peering through the foliage. In the distance, you can see police officers moving methodically through the woods, their uniforms stark against the green backdrop.

“Shit,” Heeseung breathes, his grip on your arm tightening.

You nod, your mind racing. “We need to divert. There’s a stream nearby, if we can reach it, we might be able to throw them off our scent.”

Heeseung agrees without hesitation, and you change direction, angling toward where you remember the stream to be. The terrain becomes more challenging, the ground uneven and littered with fallen branches. You navigate as quietly as possible, mindful of every step.

The sound of rushing water grows louder, a hopeful sign that you’re on the right track. The stream appears ahead, a narrow but fast-moving ribbon of water cutting through the forest. You approach it cautiously, checking the area for any signs of the police.

“We’ll follow it downstream for a bit, then cross over,” you suggest, eyeing the opposite bank.

Heeseung nods. “Good plan. Let’s go.”

ou move quickly along the stream’s edge, the cool air off the water a welcome relief against your heated skin. The babble of the stream helps mask the sound of your footsteps, providing a small sense of security. After a few minutes, you find a shallow spot and carefully wade across, the cold water biting at your ankles.

On the other side, you pause to catch your breath, listening intently. The sirens are faint now, almost drowned out by the sound of the stream. It seems the police have moved further away, at least for the moment.

Or so you think.

Unbeknownst to you, two police officers are intently studying the footsteps you’ve left behind, following the trail with determined precision. They move swiftly through the underbrush, their eyes scanning the ground and the surroundings with practised ease.

“Over there!” one officer whispers urgently to his partner. They pick up their pace, pursuing you with renewed determination.

From their vantage point, they catch a glimpse of you and Heeseung through the trees. They see you clasp hands and begin to run, your figures darting through the forest like shadows.

Heeseung and you run up the forest, hearts pounding in sync with your hurried footsteps. Every muscle in your body is screaming for you to stop, but fear propels you forward. The forest becomes a blur of green and brown, the terrain treacherous with roots and fallen branches. You focus on not tripping, your breaths coming in ragged gasps.

The officers aren’t as nimble and light on their feet as you two are, and you take every opportunity to duck behind trees and try to lose them amongst the branches and foliage. It’s difficult but you create some distance for a minute, never letting up on your track race speed.

Your heart is beating, blood boiling, and head spinning as your legs move on their own. This is it. You think to yourself about how you made such a great deal last night about knowing you would be caught and how you could accept it. But now that the moment is actually here, you’re terrified.

There isn’t a part of you that is ready to be locked up. You’re so young and this was all a misunderstanding, if you just explained it to them, maybe you could get a light sentence. It’s not your fault that the man came in and tried to choke you to death, you had to set boundaries and that’s more than okay, isn’t it?

But the law won’t see it that way. Of course, they won’t, because to them, you’re lower-class trash. That man was highly respected by his family and peers, and you’re just a lowlife prostitute who ruins marriages. You have never seen yourself that way, but this is exactly how the media are painting you out to be. In their eyes, you’re a villain, a scourge. There is no saving yourself from this.

As you slow down, you see the ground before you vanish, patches of brown and green turning into nothing but air. You’ve hit a dead-end, stuck between the relentless pursuit of the police and a deep, yawning cliff that there is no way down from.

Heeseung, a few steps behind, sees you slow down and quickly catches up, his head shaking violently. “Come on, baby, we need to go,” he urges, his voice filled with panic and desperation. Your stuttering steps finally stop, causing his eyes to widen, wondering why on earth you are pausing in the middle of a high-paced chase.

“We’re trapped.” Your voice trembles, eyes distant as you stare into the abyss of the cliff.

Heeseung’s eyes follow yours, and his heart drops. The cliff before you is a sheer drop, the ground simply vanishing into a void of jagged rocks and certain doom. The wind howls up from the chasm, a stark reminder of the peril you face. Behind you, the sounds of the police grow louder, the shouts and rustling foliage a testament to how close they are.

Heeseung pulls you close, his grip on your hand tightening as if he can tether you to safety through sheer will. The forest around you seems to close in, the trees now silent witnesses to your desperate situation. The sky overhead is a bright blue, mocking you with its serenity while chaos reigns on the ground.

“Maybe…maybe we can climb down,” Heeseung suggests, his voice strained, but even as he says it, he knows how impossible it sounds. The cliff face is almost vertical, with only the slightest hint of a path that could easily crumble underfoot.

You shake your head, tears welling up in your eyes. “There’s no way. We’ll fall.”

Heeseung looks back toward the forest, where the shadows of the police are closing in. Their voices are distinct now, every word a nail in the coffin of your dwindling hope. You can hear the commands faintly, the urgency in their tones as they coordinate their approach.

You move away from the cliff, looking up at your partner. “I’ll hand myself in.” 

Heeseung almost chokes on his shock as he hears your words. “What the fuck are you talking about?” He isn’t one to swear at you, not unless he is truly riddled with dread or panic, the curse words slipping easily into his vocabulary due to the cloud in his brain. Sometimes, it is truly the only way to express himself.

“It should give you some time to run. The dock is like 10 minutes away from here, and the boat leaves in 20 minutes. If you run now-”

The words hang heavy in the air, each syllable echoing with the weight of impending separation. You can see the conflict raging behind Heeseung's eyes, the turmoil of wanting to protect you conflicting with the reality of their dire situation. He hesitates, his hands trembling as they cup your face, the touch both gentle and desperate.

“If you think for a second I’m leaving you behind, you’re delusional, Y/N.” His voice cracks, betraying the raw emotion coursing through him. “After everything you’ve done for me? I am not letting you face this alone.”

Your heart clenches at his words, at the fierce determination in his gaze. Tears well up in both your eyes as you stare at one another, each of your souls clinging to the love that is passing through you. There is a commitment between you that most married couples don’t even have; it’s an honour to be loyal and devoted to one another the way you have been.

“Heeseung, please,” you plead, your voice breaking under the weight of your decision. “If they catch us both, it’s over. At least one of us has to make it. You need to live a free life, not one behind bars.”

Heeseung’s jaw tightens, his resolve hardening even as his heart breaks. “No. We’re in this together, no matter what. I promised you, didn’t I? I promised I’d never leave you.”

His words pierce through the chaos around you, anchoring you in the reality of your love. You reach up, covering his hands with yours, feeling the warmth and strength that has always been there for you.

“Heeseung,” you whisper, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and adoration. “You’ve been my everything since I’ve known you. You followed me through all of this and I couldn’t be more grateful. But I can’t bear the thought of you getting hurt because of me. Prison isn’t a place for you.”

“And I can’t bear the thought of living without you,” he replies, his voice thick with emotion. “We’ve fought so hard to stay together, to protect each other. I won’t let it end like this. I don’t care what we have to do, I won’t let them take you away from me.”

He knows deep down that if you both get caught, there is a chance he can escape this if the news last night is anything to go by. Jongseong is painting him in a firmly good light, he could get away with this, possibly make them see his side. 

But what life could he live knowing that you’re rotting away in jail for a crime that was completely justified? He could fight your corner but people would just presume it was stockholm syndrome or something else ridiculous, never understanding that he chose this with you, even after you gave him a million chances to leave.

The sirens grow louder, the policemen’s voices are bellowing through the trees, and the urgency of the situation pressing down on you. But in this moment, it’s just the two of you, locked in a gaze that speaks of endless love and unbreakable bonds.

His mind races to find a way out of this for both of you, running isn’t exactly a viable option anymore, there is nowhere to run or even hide. 

Nuzzling his nose against yours, tears cascade freely from your eyes, the salty liquid mixing with the dampness on his cheeks. This intimate gesture makes Heeseung's heart soar, feeling as though he's falling even deeper for you, if that were even possible. Every atom of his being belongs to you, and the two of you are acutely aware of this truth. Your souls are intertwined, embracing each other as you confront this dire predicament together.

He looks around, the desperation in his eyes mirroring your own. His hands slip from your face but remain in contact, fingertips grazing your skin, as if he's terrified that losing touch will cause you to vanish entirely. Heeseung glances at the precipice once again, a lump forming in his throat, his eyes blinking rapidly as the gravity of their situation becomes undeniable.

"We can't stay here," he murmurs, his voice trembling. The sound of sirens grows louder, the authorities closing in. Heeseung's gaze locks onto yours, a mixture of fear and determination in his eyes. "They'll catch us, and everything we've fought for will be for nothing. I can’t fucking lose you, baby. Not when I just got you."

As his words sink in, a valve of emotions opens up inside of you. Fear, desperation, and an overwhelming love for Heeseung intertwine, making it hard to breathe. You realise in that moment that you can't possibly live without him. The thought of being separated, of living without his presence in prison, is unbearable. He is your anchor, your solace, and the love that sustains you. You’ll crumble from the inside out if you’re not together, the codependency and attachment between you all too real.

Heeseung's fingers tighten around yours, his grip both reassuring and urgent. "There's only one way out," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. He looks back at the cliff, the void below seeming both menacing and oddly inviting. "We jump."

The weight of his words hangs in the air, the enormity of the decision circling both of you. Your heart pounds in your chest, the fear of the unknown mingling with the trust you have in him. Heeseung's eyes search yours, seeking reassurance, hoping you'll understand.

“What? Are you crazy?” you ask nervously, looking at the large drop below you.

The wind howls around you, the cliff's edge crumbling slightly under the pressure of your feet. Heeseung cups your face with both hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that continue to fall. "Do you trust me?" he asks, his voice breaking with emotion.

"Yeah, I am, but it's the only way if we want to stay together," he repeats, his voice stronger this time. "If we jump, we have a chance. We'll be free, and no one will be able to separate us."

Of course, this is insantiy. You have known one another all but two weeks and suddenly you're both contemplating dying rather than being seperated by jail cells. So why is your heart beating in agreement?

Your breath shakes as you inhale, your head disagreeing. Not because you don’t trust him, but because you can't bear the thought of Heeseung not breathing at the end of this decision. You couldn’t care less about your own fate, but his life is too precious to waste.

"Heeseung," you whisper, your voice quivering. "I won't let you die. You're too important. The world needs people like you, soft and good." You hiccup a sob as your brain even contemplates the idea. "You’re so, so good, Heeseung."

Heeseung's eyes soften, pain and tenderness illuminating their depths. He presses his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with your own in a shared moment of intimacy. “This world isn’t worth living in without you. It doesn’t deserve good people after the cards it dealt us,” he whispers, his voice steady despite the fear that lingers in his eyes.

“I promise you, Y/N, I will find you in every lifetime.”

Those words shatter your heart into pieces. The sincerity in his gaze, the unwavering determination - it’s almost too much to bear. Tears ricochet down your cheeks faster now, mingling with the saltiness of his own.

"Heeseung," you choke out, your voice barely a whisper. "I don't want you to suffer. I can't stand the thought of losing you, even for a moment."

His hands move to cradle your head gently, petting your head, something you’ve come to love with each night spent with him. Often, he would do this to calm you down when you couldn’t sleep, even without asking.

"We won’t lose each other," he says firmly, his voice a lifeline in the storm of emotions. "Not now, not ever. We’ll find a way, no matter what. But right now, we have to take this chance. If not, we’ll never be together again.”

The love that has blossomed between you is so powerful that both of you would rather face death together than be separated. It’s a testament to your commitment, and though it may seem foolish to others, it’s the only choice that feels right. If the alternative is prison and a life without each other, then you would rather take your last breath in each other's arms.

“I never wanted this to happen to you,” you confess, sucking in your lip as you try to keep the last semblance of resolve strong inside of you.

Smiling sadly, Heeseung shakes his head. “Baby, I wouldn’t have this any other way. I found myself through all of this, I got to see the world and take chances, be someone who isn’t scared of literally living their life. You helped me with that, and I wouldn’t trade it for all the stars in the sky.”

You smile back at him, nodding. Your heart understands exactly what he means because watching Heeseung blossom into this confident and headstrong man, something he always wanted to be, is the highest reward both of you could take from this other than the love for each other. You have also grown in ways you never thought possible, letting your vulnerability shine through, and trusting someone with all your chest which would never have happened without him, without this experience.

If you’re going to die now, you’re happy with the person you have become.

Heeseung's grasp on your hands tightens, his eyes filled with ferocious purpose. "We'll jump," he adds, his tone firm and committed. "And whatever happens, I'll meet you on the other side."

Your heart pounds in your chest, the fear of the unknown mingling with the intense adoration you feel for him. Nodding, you take a deep breath, preparing yourself for the leap. Outstretching your pinky, you hold it to his chest. "Together?" you state, your voice a mixture of resolve and vulnerability.

Heeseung smiles a sad yet determined smile that speaks of a love too deep for words. He grasps your pinky with his, tears welling up in his eyes for the last time; tears of relief and happiness. “Together. Forever.”

He brings your joined fingers to his lips, kissing them gently, a gesture filled with all the love and tenderness he can muster. Stepping closer to the edge, he pulls you with him, his hand never leaving yours. The chasm below yawns wide and dark, dotted with trees and glistening lakes, but in this moment, the bottom holds no fear - only the promise of freedom.

“Heeseung?” your soft voice echoes into the vast horizon.

“Yeah?” he replies, his voice steady and calm.

“I love you, too.”

A tender smile graces his lips. You did hear him last night, his whispered confession reverberating through your dreams, his words and tender touches leaving an indelible mark on your heart.

Heeseung's eyes meet yours, the love and trust between you unbreakable. With a deep breath, you both move closer to the precipice, the ground beneath your feet seems to tremble with anticipation. The authoritative voices are louder now, the world behind you closing in, but none of that matters anymore.

"On three," he says softly, his voice a lifeline. "One... two..."

The final number hangs in the air, a heartbeat away. The world narrows to just the two of you, your hearts beating in unison. With a final, shared breath, you take the leap.

For a moment, everything is weightless. The wind roars past, the ground vanishes beneath your feet, and you are suspended between worlds. Heeseung's hand in yours is the only anchor, a touchstone in the freefall. You glance at him and he does the same, expressions mirroring one another as you face together the inevitable chilling bone crush. You’re happy, in love

And free.

You don’t think about your past with your brother or father, or the brothel, or the man you killed. And Heeseung doesn’t think about his family, or his exams, or the life he left behind. Both of you only think about the short-lived life you shared with one another.

As you plummet into the unknown, you hold onto the promise Heeseung made. No matter where this leap takes you, no matter what lies ahead, you will find each other. In this life, and in every lifetime to come. The vast expanse of the sky, the rush of the wind, and the unyielding grip of Heeseung's hand - this is your freedom, your eternity, your together.

taglist (closed): @yzzyhee @intromortal @zerobaseone-zhanghao @hooniehon @deobitifull @alvojake @sageryuri @slut4hee @binniesbabe @vveebee @minniejenseo @jebetwo @seunghancore @laurradoesloveu @yongbokified @jaehoonii @jaeyunluvr @melonvrs @criminalyun @enhastolemyheart @fakeuwus @flwrhoes @rayofsunshineeee @moonlighthoon @jaehyuniewifeu @en-ternals @haechonly @got-sunghooned @brownsugarbaybee @heeseungspookie @sunpov @who-tf-soddhi @bambangan

[ddejavvu]

Hi, saw you said stranger things requests and I have one !! Steve and reader going to a party, and he accidentally spills his drink on her short and he panics because he thinks of what happened with Nancy and reader ends up having to comfort him with vodka all over her shirt :,) thank you

From the minute the bronze liquid comes in contact with your cream top, Steve's already reacting strangely. It's like a live wire stabbed through the base of his spine, shooting heated sparks towards his shoulders that tense.

"Hey, I- I'm sorry," He stammers, trying to set the now half-empty cup onto the counter. It doesn't work, and the cup falls to the ground, splashing this time over your feet. You take a hasty step back, and Steve's hands reach out to catch you with too strong of a grip.

"No, don't- I'm sorry," One glance into his eyes and they're alive with the same fever that's tripping up his words, "I'm sorry, don't go, please. Just- just come into the kitchen, please?"

"It's sticky here," You raise and lower your foot a few times, music not helping you assess the situation as it booms in your ears, "Steve, you're-" You grimace at the tight hold of his large hands, "You're squeezing a bit, Steve, let me go."

You try to pull away from him, but that only makes it worse. He holds tighter, pulls harder, and you have to grab his own arm to maneuver him a different way around the island.

"Okay- okay! Just- come this way, god," You hiss, "Steve, 's starting to hurt."

Then you're the only one holding up the embrace; he's dropped you like you're on fire. You don't have time to ponder why, you just keep dragging him through the sea of partygoers and into the semi-isolated kitchen.

"'Kay, can you get some paper towels?" You turn on the faucet, water running cold as you assess the damage to your shirt. When no reply comes, you turn back to Steve, finding him lingering right where you'd left him, his face pale.

"Steve? The paper towels?" You try again, to no avail.

"Steve," You shut off the faucet, feeling liquor slosh through your socks as you step over to him, "What's the matter? Are you okay?"

"I'm sorry. For- ruining your shirt, and squeezing.. too tight."

"It's okay," You hum cautiously, "I can wash it. And it's not like you bruised me. Paper towels?"

"I didn't mean to." He promises, his big brown eyes still blown wide open, "I really didn't. And I can pay for the- for the shirt, like- dry cleaning. I promise. I'm sorry."

"It's alright," You promise, "Steve, it's just a shirt. It's okay, I just need paper towels."

Your prolonged reassurances seem to set him straight, and he looks like a robot rebooting. His eyes flash with something unreadable and he snaps to attention, stumbling backwards and trying to maneuver the unfamiliar kitchen.

"Right. Right, uh- paper towels. They're- here!"

He brandishes the roll towards you almost aggressively, and you wet three beneath the water you've turned back on. He takes the wad from your hand before you can apply it to your stained shirt, dabbing gently at the remains of his solo cup.

"Sorry," He breathes, tongue poking out from between his lips as he focuses on rubbing the stain away.

"It's okay." You remind him, craning your neck up to kiss at his chin. He still looks pale, like he's recovering from a brush with death, but at the feeling of your lips against his chin he looks up at you, and the corners of his lips quirk up into a weak smile.

"It's- uh, not coming out." He murmurs, "I'll have it dry-cleaned, um, tomorrow, I'll take it, and-"

"Okay. We'll figure something out." You keep your voice soothing, although you don't know why you need to, "It's okay, Steve. Hey, do you wanna just go home? We could do a movie night instead - get away from the noise and the people, and I could change my clothes."

"Yeah," He flounders slightly, hand still working to scrub the alcohol off of your shirt, "Yeah, uh- where...?"

"Your place," You decide, "If you don't mind me wearing your shirt?"

His eyes shine now, and his smile seems less rickety, "Yeah. No! No- I don't mind it. My place, and- and my shirt."

[bangchansdirty-slut]

Bangchan stabs a knife into the mattress and makes you ride the handle

(please..)

Drive Me Insane

Paring: Top!Bang Chan x Bottom!Male reader

Genre: Smut

Summary: Chan hates it when you act like a total slut for attention.

More: Masterlist

A/n: Sorry that there's not that much dialogue. I find it a little hard to write dialogue for smut (But I'm working on it) 😅. Requests are open!

Bang Chan's fingers danced over the laptop keyboard, his brow furrowed as he tried to focus on his boss and other employees in front of him. His mind, however, was elsewhere. His gaze kept drifting to the bedroom door, where he could hear the unmistakable sounds of their mattress creaking and his husband's breathy moans filling the air. The tension built up inside him like a pressure cooker, and he couldn't help but feel a mixture of anger, frustration, and desire.

He glanced at the clock, noting that they still had another hour left in the Zoom meeting. He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't take it anymore. With a deep breath, he ended the call abruptly and stormed into the bedroom, his heart racing and his blood pumping. There he found his husband, his back arched and his hips thrusting rhythmically on his own fingers, his other hand tangled in his own hair as he moaned Bang Chan's name.

The anger inside him boiled over, and he grabbed the sharpest knife from the kitchen, intent on teaching his husband a lesson. He stormed back into the bedroom, holding the knife above his head, and plunged it deep into their mattress. It went in with a satisfying thud, the handle poking out at an angle, ready for someone to ride it. He stared at his husband, chest heaving, waiting for the realization of what he had done to sink in.

You looked up at him, his eyes wide with shock and confusion. "Chris? Wh-What did you do?" you slowly slid your hands down the bed, still looking at the knife handle poking out of the mattress. Your cheeks flushed red, and a shiver ran down his spine.

Bang Chan felt a surge of power course through him. He couldn't believe his husband was actually enjoying this. "I did this because I'm sick of you doing this," he growled, gesturing to the bed. "I'm sick of you being so needy, so slutty. I want you to feel what it's like."

You swallowed hard, looking conflicted for a moment before your expression hardened. You slowly climb over to the knife, straddling the knife handle. your cock is already hard, and you begin to grind against it, moaning softly. "Is that what you want, Chris?" you pant, your eyes locked on Chan. "You want me to ride your little knife?"

Bang Chan's heart skips a beat at the sight of his husband's cock throbbing against the knife handle. He wants to tell him no, to make him stop, but the sight of his husband's submission, his desire… it's too much. He can't look away.

You lean forward, his hands gripping the bed sheets, and begin to ride the knife's handle. your hips move in a steady rhythm, your breath coming out in ragged gasps.

Chan watches in awe as his husband takes control of the situation, asserting his dominance over the knife and the bed. It's a power play that he never knew his husband was capable of, and it's driving him wild. He can feel his own desire building inside him, the tension coiling tighter and tighter. He wants to join in, to feel the knife handle thrusting inside him, to feel his husband's weight pressing down on him.

Your breath comes out in ragged gasps, Your body tensing as you are near climax. your hips buck wildly, the knife handle digging deeper into the mattress with each thrust. Bang Chan can't take it anymore. He goes onto the bed, takes his husband off the knife, and places the knife on the side table, which you whine at.

Their bodies are pressed together, sweat glistening on their skin. You lean forward, their lips meeting in a hungry kiss. Chan's tongue darts out, seeking entry into his husband's mouth, and when it finds purchase, he thrusts it deep, tasting his husband's desire. Their hands roam over each other's bodies, seeking out pleasure, finding it in the other's touch.

Chan groans into the kiss, his hips grinding against his husband's. He reaches down, gripping his erection, and gives it a firm stroke. You gasp, arching into the touch, and Bang Chan feels his own desire surging forward, desperate for release. He breaks the kiss, panting, and gazes down at his husband's body.

You watch him with hooded eyes, his chest rising and falling rapidly. You reach down, unbutton Bang Chan's pants, and pull them down his hips, revealing his erection, already leaking pre-cum. Chan takes it in his hand, stroking up and down the length, feeling the warmth and the moisture.

Chan groans the sensation is exquisite, and he can feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter within him. He reaches down, gripping your hair, and pulls him into a deep, passionate kiss. His tongue darts out, tangling with yours, as your bodies move in perfect sync.

You groan, your hips bucking against Chan's hand. You feel so alive, so desired. The power play they've engaged in has only served to heighten your desire, and you want nothing more than to feel Chan inside you.

Chan reaches out, gripping his husband's hips, and guides him down onto his cock.

There's a moment of resistance before you are fully impaled on his length, but then he feels the slick heat of your body envelop him, and a shudder runs through him. He buries his face in your neck, feeling your heart racing beneath your lips. your hips move together, a slow, sensual dance that soon picks up speed.

The mattress squeaks beneath them as they writhe together, their bodies sliding against each other, chests heaving. Your nails dig into Chan's shoulders, leaving little trails of pain that only serve to heighten the pleasure coursing through him. He looks down, taking in the sight of their joined bodies, and feels a wave of possessiveness wash over him.

Chan's eyes meet yours, and in that moment, he feels so connected to you. It's as if you two can communicate without words, your bodies speaking the language of desire and love. He reaches down, grasping your ass, and squeezes it, urging you to move faster, harder.

Both your movements grow more frenzied, their breath coming in ragged gasps. The sweat that coats their bodies serves to heighten the sensation, making every touch, and every caress more intense. You arch his back, pushing yourself deeper onto Chan's cock, and a low groan escapes your lips. You can feel his release building inside him, the familiar tension coiling tighter and tighter.

Chan's eyes never leave his husband's face as he watches you lose control. He feels his own orgasm building, threatening to overwhelm him, but he wants to savor this moment, wants to share it with his husband. He leans down, kisses his husband's neck, sucking on the skin as he thrusts harder. His hips buck wildly, finding a rhythm that matches his husband's, and he feels the hot release spill from him, coating their stomachs and thighs.

You arch your back, crying out as you come, feeling the intense pleasure wash over you. Your body shudders with the force of your orgasm, and you collapse against Chan, panting heavily. For a moment, they're both lost in the aftermath of their passion, their bodies still moving together, finding a rhythm in the quiet aftermath.

Chan's chest rises and falls with each ragged breath, his heart still racing. He looks down at you, feeling a profound sense of love and connection wash over him. He gently kisses your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment before pulling out of him. Their sweat-slicked bodies slide against each other, leaving trails of wetness on the sheets.

Your eyes flutter open, and you smile up at Bang Chan, the afterglow of their passion still evident on your face. "Thank you," You whisper, running a hand through Chan's husband's sweat-dampened hair. "That was… incredible."

Chan leans down, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss. "I love you," he whispers against his mouth. "So much." He rolls off of him, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at his husband's face. The room is still, the only sound is their ragged breathing as they lie entwined in the aftermath of their lovemaking.

You smile up at him again, your eyes half-lidded with contentment. "I love you too," You say softly, your voice still thick with desire. "You make me feel so… wanted, so loved."

Their gazes lock, and at that moment, Chan can feel the weight of your words. He reaches down, cupping your cheek, and gently kisses you, wanting to convey all the love and adoration he feels in that single touch. Their kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, as they express their feelings for each other in a language that needs no words.

[diejager]

Hello! I hope you’re doing well!! I was wondering if I can request more of percht König! If not that is totally okay!! Thank you ^^

Cw: blood, gore, injurie, inaccurate medic stuff, violent shift, tell me if I missed any.

He couldn’t remember much, after a rough and impromptu shift, his bone cracking and spine reshaping, snapping back together after his fat and muscle stretched along his back, his body rippling and shuddering, howls ripping through the stormy sky. Urgent shifts had always been painful, his body hastily and roughly shaping into the beast he was born as, leaving the ground beneath him bloody and his limbs shaking and throbbing with agony. His mind was a blur in the moment after it, every shape muddled, smell enhanced, his hearing filled with the loud beat of his heart, gurgling screams and booming shots, and his mind blurry. 

The last thing he remembered seeing was the insurmountable number of enemy, a trap they’d fallen into and left surrounded and caged, only knowing that he and Ghost had fallen into a stupid trap. Like a fly stuck in a majestic spider’s web, the intricately woven lines spun and interlaced to build the trap, unsuspecting and invisible until they flew into it; buzzing and squirming against the sticky web while the spider, big and dangerous in it’s beauty slowly crawled over, long and delicate legs threatening to stab the fly. They had stupidly fallen for an embellished trap by their backstabbing ally.

And when he woke up, laying in the biggest bed in the infirmary, the thick taste of iron lingered on his tongue, the disgusting flavour of rotten human skin and fat, the muscle fibres breaking so easily under his sharp teeth and eyes heavy with a bone-deep exhaustion. He was glad the lights were dimmed, the air sterile but gentle on his sensitive nose and the sheets soft around his rough and scarred skin. He layed naked, body tense under the blanket in his private corner of the infirmary, a thick, grey curtain hiding him from wandering eyes or other patients.

He relaxed when he saw you poke your head between the wall and curtain, a mask hooked under your chin to flash him a gentle smile, slowly approaching his bedside without spooking his frantic and confused mind. He tried to smile back, but his balaclava would barely show it with how subtle the curl of his lips was, his tired eyes fleeting over the heavy bags under your eyes and the worried air that oozed off your shoulders as you sat on the chair beside his bed, a clipboard placed on your lap. 

“How do you feel, König?” He loved how soft your voice was, the quiet rasp of it to not worsen his pulsing headache, but he caught the worn tone. You probably stayed up the whole night, stuck by his bedside and leaving only to shower and get another cup of coffee. 

“Tired,” he sighed, closing his eyes and slumping into the comfortable mattress and sinking deeper into his assigned bed, “Everything hurts.”

He heard you nod, scratching something on your clipboard, probably writing down his symptoms and noting down what you’d plan to give him for his pains.

“Headache?”

”Ja.”

The pen scratched again.

“Muscle pain and exhaustion.”

“Ja.”

You already knew that, he hadn’t heard you write anything, only the subtle sound of a page flipping.

“Do you want coffee or lunch before I give you painkillers?”

“Coffee.”

You placed the clipboard down, your boots quietly thudding against the slick floor and the click of a door letting him know you left his side. He appreciated your care, your tender affection to provide for him when he felt sickly or worn out. 

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mul-pi @danielle143 @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @randominstake @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @sans-chara @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @thigh-o-saur @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami 

[the-californicationist]

he buys you jewelry

The incessant whir of the tattoo gun was droning on as you watched Price’s freshly-shaved shoulder and back take on the sweeping artwork of a huge dragon. It had arching wings and a terrible snarl, and its long tongue breathed fire out onto his spine. You weren’t sure why he was getting a dragon, or what the symbolism was, but it was beautiful work. It fit his body perfectly. 

You’d been dating the soldier for about two months now, and he was very intense. He was apparently a captain of some sort of special forces group, but he hadn’t burdened you with the details. As you spoke with him and shared more things about yourself, he would leave little breadcrumbs about himself along the way, opening up slowly like a tight bud, blooming right in front of your eyes. 

His violent career was probably why he was taking this tattoo like it was a massage, chatting happily with you and his artist, Jana, totally unfazed by the repeated stabbing pain of the needles. Price was laid across the black chair, shirtless and hatless with his chest down and his back exposed to Jana. She was working away diligently, and you were in a prime location to drool over his body.

You’d been naked together already, and he was a damn fine lover, but his huge frame still made you hot, bothered, and unquenchably thirsty. You let your eyes drag over his hulking shoulders, gazing at the banded muscle in his back, his huge lats fanning out like wings, leading down to a trim but strong core. His skin was dusted with thick hair and a starfield of freckles. Old and new tattoos lay nestled around his body, telling a story you were slowly unfolding. John Price was gorgeous. 

“Mm,” he groaned, “Back of the arm is a bitch.”

“You need a break, John?” Jana asked him, “‘Cause I could use a smoke.”

“You bet,” Price smiled in agreement, letting her clean him up and wrap the skin to keep it safe. 

You handed him a bottle of water and grabbed an orange from your bag, following him to the back of the parlor. He dusted off a bench for you to sit with him, and he lit a tin cigar. You started to peel your orange, handing him a segment at a time, sharing it together as his smoke rolled out of his nose and mouth, spiraling up from the glowing embers. He offered it to you, and you took it.

The smoke was warm and filled your mouth, heating the sensitive skin of your cheeks. The tobacco and vanilla notes blended with the sweetness of the orange creating a pleasant taste, and it was satisfying to blow it away from you. More satisfying, however, was the indulgent expression on Price’s face when you did so, his bearded grin turning almost smug when you looked up at him to return his cigar. 

“Does it hurt?” You asked him, getting a peek at his dragon. It was nearly finished.

“It hurts in a good way, ya know? Pain…” he paused for a moment, thinking, his gaze focused on something far away, “Pain requires fear. If you can move past it, you can overcome it. I just try to find something I’d rather feel than fear.”

“What do you usually feel?” You asked, biting into another juicy slice of your orange. 

“Rage,” he smiled a little sadly, staring down at his hands, “I’m quick with my anger. Comes too easy for me, sometimes.”

“Do you feel rage now?” You probed further, handing him another shining lobe from the fruit.

He looked at you, brushing your hair over your ear gently, 

“No, love. Not rage. Something else, though.”

For a moment, his stark blue eyes drew you in, turning into pools of endless, cloudless sky. You thought he might kiss you. You might have a chance to taste the mixture of tobacco and orange in his mouth, feel his slick tongue slip against yours. You wanted to be pressured by his jaw to open up to him, to allow him to taste whatever he wanted to taste, to take whatever he wanted to take. 

“Hey, mate,” Jana poked her head around the corner, “You ready to finish up?”

“Yeah,” Price replied, his eyes not leaving yours, gripping you without using his hands. 

“Looks brilliant, Jans,” Price admired his dragon in the mirror, inspecting the fine details of its black scales, “You’re the best.” 

“You like it?” She smiled, admiring the work as well, pride shining on her face. 

“Yeah, I’m proper chuffed. Now it’s her turn,” he nodded over to you. 

“What?” You gaped, surprised at the sudden focus. 

He let Jana place the protective film over his tattoo and pulled his shirt back on, commenting,

“You wanted to get some work done, yeah?”

“Oh, right,” you said, remembering you’d told him how badly you wanted a tongue piercing since you were a teenager, “Not sure I have the funds, so -”

“No,” Price shook his head, “It’s on me, love. Whatever you want.”

“Really?” You couldn’t believe he would just drop money on you like it was nothing. Jana’s studio was one of those invite-only, get-on-a-waiting-list type of places. Very posh. This wasn’t going to be cheap.

 He nodded, fixing his shirt and sliding over to give you a chaste kiss, 

“Anything for you, sweet girl,” he grinned, lowering his voice, “You gonna pierce that pretty tongue for me to play with, hm?”

You could feel your cheeks grow hot from the way his comment made you feel, bellowing the fire that was growing in your core. You turned to Jana who was cleaning up her station,

“Are you able to do a tongue piercing today?”

She smiled, 

“For John’s girl? Anytime. Have a seat.”

She brought over some bars for you to choose from. You worried about how sensitive your skin was, but tried not to be picky. When you asked about hypoallergenic options, she brought out a whole tray, watching as you and Price perused the selections. 

“This one?” You pointed to a polymer style. It was bright fluorescent pink, and it almost glowed in the container. 

“Very safe. The PTFE will be the easiest to avoid infection,” Jana told you confidently. She really knew her craft. You watched as she prepped the needle, and you started to get nervous. 

Price noticed of course, and he reached out for your hand,

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you smiled up at him, grimacing a bit, admitting your nervousness. 

The captain reminded you, squeezing your hand, 

“Don’t think about the fear.”  

“What should I think about instead?”

He leaned down to whisper in your ear, and your heart froze in your chest as you listened to his words,

“I can’t stop thinking about how it’s going to make me feel when you lick my cock. I want you to rub it against my head, underneath, in that bloody spot that I like.”

“Ready?” Jana asked, interrupting your salacious thoughts. 

Price backed off, smirking with a proud look on his face, knowing he had made your blood run hot, straight to your belly. You nodded, giving her your tongue. You expected to be nervous again, but you weren’t. You were, however, extremely horny. 

Then, the clamp. A few seconds later, the sting. Your eyes wrenched shut, and Price squeezed your hand tighter. You opened them to look up at him, and his expression had darkened. He was staring into your mouth, looking at the piercing, obviously getting turned on by it. You watched him, sitting behind Jana, adjust himself in his pants, grasping at his growing shaft, trying to calm down. 

“All done,” Jana smiled, showing you a hand mirror, “and look - ”

She shined a blacklight over it, making it glow even brighter, 

“Pretty!” She exclaimed. 

She explained the aftercare, giving you plenty of products, and glaring at Price, making sure he followed the hygiene steps, too.

You left the shop sore, but you were distracted by the feeling of the wetness between your legs. John hugged you tightly before opening the passenger side door for you to climb into his car, 

“Poor darling, want to go for ice cream? Something to soothe that tongue?”

You nodded, looking at him expectantly, knowing he was still half-hard. His thickness made it impossible to miss. 

“Yeah, John, that sounds good.”

“After a few days, she said you’d be back to fighting shape, hm? I can’t wait.”

His laugh was dark and full of promise. He leaned over the center console to kiss your neck, and you felt like you might melt through the seat. He pulled out of the parking lot, and as the lights from the city glittered over his windshield, you held his hand, feeling like his precious pet, something to be cherished.

[yanderecrazysie]

Soulmate Song (Part 2) Yandere Bakugou

Requested on my Quotev! This turned out baaad but whatever.

Part 1: here

Title: Soulmate Song (Part 2)

Pairings: Yandere! Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, soulmate AU, spoiler for Bakugou’s hero name, swearing

Summary: Your soulmate is not exactly what you pictured.

Your laughter mixed with the sound of the ocean crashing against the shore as you walked away. Bakugou clenched his fists and narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t used to being ignored- much less by his soulmate.

He’d never cared about having a soulmate before. He had always scoffed at the idea of fate picking out some girl for him. But now that he knew you existed, that you had existed out here without him for so long, it made him angry as hell.

You were weak. But that wasn’t really your fault, was it? You weren’t blessed with a strong quirk like him (he’d checked the quirk registries, your quirk was laughably weak) and you hadn’t trained tirelessly to become a hero like he had. 

And the fact that you were weak just made him want to protect you all the more.

He strode across the beach towards you, hands shoved in his pockets. Maybe if he appeared casual, you wouldn’t be frightened like he knew you would be. Someone as weak as you was surely as jumpy as a mouse.

Before he could catch up to you, however, you spun around and crossed your arms over your chest, fixing him with a furious glare, “What do you want?” 

So you were fiery, huh? He liked it.

His lips curled into a smirk, “What do I want? My soulmate of course.”

Your friend gave you a look of surprise, leaning in to whisper, “Is he your soulmate?”

“You didn’t tell your friend?” Bakugou laughed, somewhat bitterly. He had kind of expected- maybe hoped- that you had told everyone you knew about your connection to a guy as famous as him.

You shrugged, “It didn’t seem important.”

Rage roared in Bakugou’s chest and he gritted his teeth. It wasn’t important? He wasn’t important. How dare you- weak, helpless, stupid you- say something so offensive?

You looked him dead in the eyes and said, “Soulmate or not, I don’t owe you a damn thing.”

A shadow fell over Bakugou’s ruby eyes as he lowered his head for a moment, trying to force himself to stay calm. He stepped closer, half-snarling, “You don’t even know me. I could keep you safe. Someone like you’s bound to get into trouble.”

“Please,” you rolled your eyes, “I’ve been taking care of myself just fine without you.”

“Someone with a healing quirk? Like you?” Bakugou lifted his head to grin at you, “What’re you gonna do when the bad guys come after you? Make them feel better?”

He had hit a sore spot. You came storming up to him, stabbing your finger into his chest, “Listen here, hero, I don’t give a fuck about you so just stay the fuck away from me. We aren’t soulmates, not anymore. I reject our bond.”

Pain stabbed through Bakugou’s chest and it had nothing to do with your poking and all to do with the bond between you both. Rejecting a bond was very rare and very painful, and yet, here you were, attempting to put him through that.

Your friend gasped softly and hurriedly said, “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” you snapped.

Bakugou’s expression suddenly changed and he nodded, “Alright, we’ll see how that works out for you. Pretty soon, you’ll be screaming for my help.”

—----------------------------------------

When you arrived home, your door was wide open. The dark entryway seemed ominous instead of welcoming. You reached for your phone immediately and dialed 1-1-0. 

“What’s your emergency?” A calm, female voice asked you on the other line.

“Hi, um, I think my house has been robbed. The door’s wide open and I’m scared to go inside,” you said, eyes trained on your doorway, looking for movement.

“What’s the address?” The emergency worker asked.

You gave her your address and there was a long pause. Finally, she said, “I’ll send a hero to your location.”

A chill ran down your spine, “Actually, could you send the police instead?”

“No, I’ve been told to send a hero to your location,” she replied.

“Which hero?” You asked, slight panic edging into your voice. You had a very bad feeling about this suddenly.

Click. The line went dead. She had hung up on you.

“Aren’t they supposed to stay on the line until the hero gets there?” You wondered wearily.

Movement caught your eye, and you watched as a figure approached the doorway, emerging from the darkness. Your heart plummeted to the pits of your stomach as Bakugou came into the light.

“Oh, honey,” Bakugou’s voice dripped with sarcasm and victory, “A robber? In your house? That’s just a shame.”

He held out a hand to you and, even though he was across the street, you stumbled backwards, trying to put even more distance between the two of you. He snickered at your frightened response, eyes swirling with excitement.

“Why don’t you come inside?” Bakugou suggested. 

“I promise I won’t bite.”

[fuckingstrange]

Dumbasses, amr?

——————————————————————————————————————

WARNINGS: Deepthroating (kinktober), an apology for being badly behind on uploads, READER GETS BODYSHAMED IN PARAGRAPH 1, MENTIONS OF IT THROUGHOUT HALF STORY, Unspecified weight!, Possibly plus-sized/chubby reader, Implied body dysmorphia, Kissing, Gays, Gays kissing, Kissing gayly, okay thats enough u get the point, Ball-fondling, Cum-swallowing, Boss!bf but not Bossy!bf.

WORDS: 1k+

PAIRING: Aaron Hotchner x m!reader (WITH AN UNSPECIFIED WEIGHT/BODY COMPLEXTION!)

——————————————————————————————————————

a/n:: THIS IS SO LATE IK IK BUT IM SOOO SORRY SCHOOL IS SO AWFUL N IM TRYNA GET A JOB

——————————————————————————————————————

“Maybe you could just wear a sheet over your head and then we wouldn't have to see all that,” An interns joke lands awfully, making you realize that you don't even understand how he became part of, originally, Your's and Aaron’s conversation, but now you know you're out of it.

His words feel like a stab to the lungs, leaving you breathless and no longer speaking from the terrible ‘joke’ that made nobody laugh.

Aaron sits in his own chair, the both of you just kind of stare at him wordlessly.

The intern laughs for a minute longer before the noise slowly trails off, and he backs out of the room. After he's long gone, you end up leaving too, despite hearing Aaron call for you from behind to try and get you to stay. You walk entirely out of the office and just go home, knowing that Aaron would understand to clock you out after realizing you really left.

Getting home, you're left to yourself for a dreadful hour. A dreadful, aching hour, where you're left to your own thoughts after having a sensitive open wound poked at.

By the end of that hour, when Aaron arrives, you're found curled up in bed watching Corpse Bride, already dressed down into sweats and a large hoodie you've taken from him. He sets his briefcase down by the door while loosening his tie before climbing into bed beside you, silent for now.

As he curls up behind you, you shift around when he tries to hug you, preventing him from doing just that. You hear Aaron's sigh of sadness before a kiss lands on the back of your neck and a hand rests in the center of your chest, pushing you back into him.

“Hun.. He didn't mean it, He's just.. an asshole, with a bad sense of humor,” Aaron tries to reassure you, but you've heard it all before "He doesn't know his ears from his sac, babe."

“Just leave it alone. I know I'm not.. the best, in some departments.” You sigh, making Aaron tsk in disagreement.

He leans up a bit more, propping himself up onto one elbow to reach the side of your neck, kissing behind your ear as his hand on your chest glides down your body to reach the hem of the hoodie.

“You're the most gorgeous here, Babe,” He disregards your previous statement as you roll to lie on your back, giving him the opportunity to climb between your open legs. “Truthfully.” He adds.

You just kind of stare up at him as his hands glide under the hoodie to settle on your waist, the ghostly weight of his hands making you tingle all over, causing a shiver to rack your spine. Aaron smiles when he sees this, leaning down to plant a gentle kiss to your cheek.

“No moping in October.” He mumbles against your cheek, turning his head to give you a proper kiss while his hands start to run up and down your sides, making you shiver continuously.

“What.. what about November, hm?” You joke back, voice breaking a bit when his kisses move down your neck.

Aaron giggles, obviously holding back a joke of his own that he deems pretty funny. He looks up at you to make sure it's okay to continue his trail south while nudging up your hoodie.

Going against that little gnome in your head that chips away at your confidence, you let him remove your hoodie and shirt in one good swoop, exposing your upper body that he immediately litters in the most tender of kisses.

Your hand flies down to tangle your fingers in the dark strands as his kisses reach the subtly tented front of your pants, a gasp breaking free of your throat when his lips connect to your tip through the fabric. Your eyes flutter and roll back, legs spreading with a grunt.

“Can-” Aaron only gets one word out before you're blabbering “Yes!” back. It makes him smile as he pulls your pants completely off, tossing them to the floor and doing the same with your boxers to expose your half-hard dick.

Reaching up, he takes your twitching length in hand and begins pumping you to full hardness, licking at the beads of precum that build on your tip. His tounge drags down the underside, tracing a vein that starts to bulge from your soft skin, dipping down to kiss each of your balls.

You gasp as he does so, hips jerking in a way that lets him know you're wanting more. He's not gonna be the one to deny you after a day gone to shit.

Aaron takes you into his mouth, inching down onto your veiny cock slowly. He goes until you've hit the back of his throat, your shaft rubbing against the dangly thing, (SOMEBODY TELL ME WHAT ITS CALLED PLEASE I NEED TO EDIT OUT DANGLY THING..) making him gag and tear up.

He swallows around you to preserve the moment, only taking you deeper. He notices the way your fingers tense whenever he swallows around you, so everytine he goes downward on your length, he stops just to swallow around and let you feel his convulsing throat wrap around your throbbing dick.

It makes you moan louder than you meant to, deaf to the own volumer of your voice as you subtly push your hips up, chasing the feeling. It makes him gag, so your hips plant themselves back onto the mattress as you caress his hair in a silent apology.

He continues bobbing his head, gaining a rhythm that has you leaking down his throat. He can barely taste the saltiness from how far down you're reaching, his eyes stinging with subtle tears on bodily instinct from the blockage in his throat, making him remember to breathe through his nose.

Aaron reaches up, feeling your balls as they start to tighten, your breath hitching, and he knows you're about to come. He digs himself down, pushing you in as far as you can and swallowing around you, choking only a little bit when you come far enough down that he can't even taste it. Your mind always ends up blown whenever he blows you, head tossed back with your brain shattered into orange, shiny crystals. (Spiderman 2 ref lesgooo)

Lifting his head, he looks up at you with a soft grin as he wipes the drool from his mouth, he brings the covers up over you both as he crawls in beside you, giving you a deep kiss to let you taste as much of yourself as you can off of his tounge.

[bravevulnerability]

3x22 au with castle and beckett in the pool together pleeease

Castle wades in the shallow end, the pool mostly empty save for a man swimming laps and a woman, whom he just watched dive into the deep end. Her gaze snags on him the second she comes up for air. 

She swims over to him with irritation in her eyes flaring like the sun overhead. 

“I told you to stay on the deck,” Beckett growls.

“Beckett, people have seen us here together,” he reasons, trying so very hard to stop his eyes from wandering past her face, down to the exposed skin of her chest, sun-kissed and decorated with rivulets of water that race to converge at the v of her swimsuit. “Don’t you think it might look suspicious if I sit by and sip piña coladas while you seduce Royce’s killer?”

She doesn’t buy his reasoning. Not at all.

“Okay, okay, I also wanted to swim in the pool. It’s a nice pool, Beckett-”

Kate curses under her breath and flicks her eyes over his shoulder, her gaze landing on something that has her straightening in the water. Russell Ganz, he’s certain, and she confirms it when her gaze snaps back to meet his.

“Okay, since you ruined my original plan, we’re going to have to improvise.”

“I’m game. So how-” He chokes on his question as Kate places her hands to his bare shoulders. Her fingers dig into his skin ever so lightly as she uses him for purchase to reel herself in close. Her body glides through the distance between them, drifting through the water until her arms are lacing snugly around his neck.

"Castle."

He can't breathe.

"Castle," she snaps, but her lips are curled in a tight smile. "You're making me look bad. Touch me back."

"Say less," he mutters, reaching for her thighs.

She gasps in surprise when he hefts her up, her legs instinctively curling around his waist.

"I said touch not - grab," she huffs, but her arms remain folded around his neck.

"I didn't grab," he murmurs, slipping his palms up her thighs, past her hips, and splaying them wide at her spine. Her lips purse. "I'm just playing the part of a very interested male companion."

Beckett smirks, leans forward to tilt her mouth towards his ear. "So your normal role?"

"Funny," he mutters, but he's trailing his fingers up the line of her vertebrae, savoring the hitch in her breath, the stutter of it in his ear. "But you're not wrong. Though, I'd call this a more hands-on approach."

"Castle, I am trying to get Ganz's attention, stop-"

"Distracting you?" he grins, one of his hands lifting to curve along her shoulder.

He loves the structure of her bones, the strength he can see carved into her shoulders. He traces the bone of her clavicle with care, hooks his thumb under the strap of her suit.

Her head turns, nose bumping into his cheek. "He's on his phone. Not looking yet. Stop."

"I'm just touching. You said to touch-"

"I'm going to hit you," she mutters, unfurling her arms to cup her hands at his nape, lean back in his grasp. And oh, her eyes are... dark. "When he looks this way, I'm going to shove you away and get out of the pool. He'll follow."

"How can you be so sure?" he asks, lowering the hand at her shoulder back to her outer thigh. Which is pressing snugly into his hip. Holy shit he can't believe he has Kate Beckett wrapped around him.

"Because I have a plan," she shrugs, her own eyes tripping down his face, over his mouth, down to his chest.

The elegant line of her throat ripples.

Her thumb is moving in a maddening circle just below his ear, her palm draped at his pulse point. She's so close, her lips just inches away from his, the heat of her body flush with his, ruining the reprieve of the water.

He's going to kiss her. Again.

"Beckett?"

Her eyes flutter and she shakes her head.

"I'm sorry."

"What-"

And then she dunks his head under the water.

-

He's dripping wet and waiting for her when she meets him behind the bushes. But before he can say a word, she's poking him.

"Ow!" he hisses, protecting his chest before she can stab him again while she whisper yells at him.

"He called me green, Castle! What the hell were you doing?"

"I saw his phone in the cabana after you tried to drown me," he scowls. "I thought it was worth the risk."

"You took his phone?"

"No, I took a picture of his recent calls list while you were busy flirting it up."

"What?" The smile spreads wide across her face. "Where is it?"

"Don't poke me," he warns as he digs for the phone in his pocket.

"Poke you? I wanna kiss you," she grins, taking the phone from his proffered hand.

He tightens his grip on the thick towel around his waist. His life can be so unfair.

"I'd like that," he risks. "Least you could do after you dunked me."

"Oh please," she sighs, glancing up at him with mischief in her eyes.

"Beckett, water went up my nose. Do you know how unpleasant-"

She lifts on her toes, lips at his cheek and dangerously close to his mouth.

She presses a kiss to his skin.

"Better?" she husks, and he curls his fingers at her hipbone, fisting the slinky, wet fabric of her wrap, her swimsuit, in his hand.

He exhales slowly. This new game they're playing, teasing the fire between them... he's not sure he can survive it.

"For now."

[klausysworld]

Could you do another part of my queen where the Scooby-Doo gang kidnaps y/n thinking she is just a random normal wolf that Klaus cares about like a pet, but then Bonnie finds out what she is and so they try to use her against Klaus with the help of Esther so they turn her into a human?

My Queen PT2

PT1

Since realising I was the wolf that saved him so many times a thousand years ago, Klaus had become much more eager to spend time with me. He seemed to believe he needed to take care of me, as though he owed it to me because of how I watched over him in the past.

He began to leave steaks outside my den and often tried to bring me into his house but I always refused him. He was the kind of person to not let me leave.

I was a wolf, not a pet dog.

And he became very aware of that when I bit his wrist so hard he nearly cried after he attempted to put a collar on him.

His siblings found the situation bizarre and I don’t blame them. Elijah often sighed when Niklaus tried to lure me into the house.

It seemed the Mikaelsons weren’t the only people who thought me to be a pet.

Salvatores, Gilberts, Forbes and Bennetts did too.

So much so that they had caged me and belittled me. They mocked and tormented me while I paced back and forth thinking of a way to get past. I could force my way out, break the bars and bite them all but I had so much wolves bane in my system that I probably wouldn’t get very far at all.

Besides the stupid witch was doing tests on me which weakened me by the minute and the vampires had buckets of wolfs bane mixed water ready to drown me in if I stepped out of line. Which I figured out wasn’t a bluff when I attempted to bite their precious human.

I remained as calm as I could for as long as I could. In fact I only really became more aggressive when a scarred Esther showed up with an arrogant Finn at her side.

She and Bonnie conversed and before I knew it my entire body was screaming at me in absolute agony.

It was as though my blood was on fine and burning me from the inside out, my limbs all bent the wrong ways and my spine snapped out of place.

I forced myself to my paws on shaky legs and began to bolt, I weaved past the witches. The others had left assuming it would take longer for the spell to take place.

I could hear them yelling and my teeth sunk into Finn’s leg when he lunged forward to grab me making him topple over to the ground and his in pain.

Everything hurt as I dashed through the streets alarming the locals and causing havoc and disaster as cars began to crash and people screamed. My senses were going haywire as my insides were stabbed at.

My body became off balanced as my back legs become longer than my front. I rolled forward and my paws fingers got tangled in my fur hair. My yelp sounded softer than usual and my breathing was heavier. I laid still on the ground for a moment when I saw two arms infront of me. I could feel my heart beating faster and I could feel my skin touching my skin. My fingers twitched and I lifted my hand in horror. I rolled onto my back and with far too much effort, pushed myself up with the palms of my hands.

What the fuck.

I looked down with wide eyes and my lips parted when I poked at my knees, I stretched my toes out with a look of disbelief on my face and hesitantly reached up to touch my nose. My teeth were blunt and and my snout was nonexistent and neither were my whiskers. I could hear my breathing quickening as I frantically looked at my new body.

My hair kept falling infront of my vision, it was as white as my fur but much longer and messier. I had little to no fur hair on the rest of my body making me feel weird as I slowly stood up. I grimaced at the feel of dirt and sticks against my feet, they hurt much more than when it was against my paws. I took a step forward only to return straight back to the ground due to leaning too far forward and having to push myself back up. I got onto my hands and knees before dragging myself to a nearby tree and pulling myself up.

This is not fun.

I basically hobbled through the woods, every step caused a horrible sting in the bases of my feet and the bark of the trees scratched my hands and my breasts if I got too close which hurt much more than I had thought. Thankfully the sky was getting darker so people shouldn’t be around. Stupid hikers and campers.

Thankfully only one guy saw me and he was clearly not in the right mind as he just gave me a thumbs up and walked off with a low whistle.

This would be the only time I am grateful for Klaus bringing me to his home so often because now I had memorised all of the ways there. It took way too long to get here but I made it.

I stared at the door blankly and hit my hands against it harshly making me wince as the sting that spread over my palms and pads of my fingers.

I heard a loud grumbling and a string of curses from Niklaus before the door opened making me stumble slightly as some of my weight had been against it. I fell against his chest and his arms circled me instantly.

God inside here was warm. It was absolutely fucking freezing without my fur and his body radiated heat like an open flame would.

His throat cleared but I didn’t look up at him, only stayed against him somewhat awkwardly, not really knowing what to do in this position. I heard footsteps and turned my head to see Elijah with a frown on his face

“Niklaus…why on earth are you hugging a naked girl in the middle of the night?” He asked getting nearer. His eyes locked on mine before glancing at my hair and back to my eyes again, his brows raised and he cleared his throat before turning his head and walking over out of my sight line. He returned within a second and a soft material was brought over my shoulders. I was guided away from Niklaus’s arms.

“You didn’t let anyone know that your little friend here could turn human” Elijah muttered quietly but not quietly enough apparently.

Klaus looked at me with wide eyes and an open mouth as his hand reached out in front of my face making me bare my teeth. His brows furrowed and I frowned before realising I didn’t exactly look very threatening like this.

“I wasn’t aware either” he whispered as his eyes dragged down my body making me pull the blanket around me and give him a dirty look. He blinked at me before apologising breathlessly and looking to Elijah in utter confusion.

He turned back to me with a hesitant look on his face, “my Queen…how long have you been human?” He asked, his tone almost nervous as he stared at me.

“For gods sake you two, look at her, clearly not very long” Rebekah’s voice came from my right before she was right beside me. “Come on flower, let’s get you washed and dried” she told me, her hands grabbed my arms and she pulled me along. I had not idea what to do. I didn’t know how to talk and I wasn’t able to just bite any of them. My cuts weren’t healing and I felt uncomfortable with everything about me.

My eyes widened at the stair case and my head shook quickly. “Come on, it’s okay” she tried as her hand pulled at mine, she tugged harder and my claws nails dug into her wrist and she let go with a curse. “Why you little-“

“Rebekah! Leave her be” Klaus growled before I felt his hand in my hip making me shift “it’s alright sweetheart, I’m going to lift you and take you up okay? We’ll figure this all out as soon as possible” I said nothing only stiffened and looked at him as I was carried up the stairs, one of his arms went under the back of my knees and the other against my back. I kept as still as I could until I was carefully put back down on my feet.

I looked around in confusion at the cold floors and shiny walls. My eyes widened and I stepped back when water began to blast against a big glass box.

“In you go love, into the shower” he directed while pushing me forward, the blanket was taken from me and I was under the hot water. I looked to him in slight betrayal and he gave a faint smile. I looked at him helplessly until he sighed and pushed his pants down and stepped in behind me. “Alright my Queen, everything’s gonna be okay, I’ll get you all clean and we can get some rest. I’ll get a witch out to help”

I tensed when he mentioned a witch but he didn’t comment on it and instead brought his fingers into my hair while the water poured over it and foamy soap fell to the base of the shower. His hands slid down my back and to my hips making me swallow thickly and turn around to look up at him. He was much taller in human form compared to our wolves.

I had seen Niklaus without any clothes many times after he turned but never had my body reacted the way it was now. Everything felt much hotter and my lower abdomen tingled. I looked up to see his brows risen as his head tilted to the side with a growing smirk on his lips

“Well you certainly are different like this aren’t you?” He hummed making me growl quietly in my throat though it sounded much softer than I had hoped and he chuckled. “Not quite the same affect hm?” His hand cupped my face and his thumb rubbed over my lower lip making my brows furrow “not so strong now are we little wolf?” He cooed at me like I was a child’s, so I did the only logical thing I could think of and bit his thumb.

He hissed and snatched his hand away making me see my opening and rush out of the shower, I was dripping wet as I ran out the bathroom and through his room only for him to appear directly infront of me at the doorway. I let out an ‘mph’ as I knocked into him and winced at the impact against my breasts.

I shoved at his chest but was lifted up and tossed onto his bed making me yelp. In a flash he was back on top of me and my face was heating up significantly as his naked body pressed to mine. My body reacted on its own to him and I was starting to get annoyed with myself. “You need to calm down love” he whispered lowly and a delightful sensation ran along my spine. My breathing picked up and my thighs squeezed together. His fingers brushed over my cheek and he gently kissed the corner of my mouth. “I shouldn’t have belittled you, I got carried away with how adorable you are as a human” he murmured and I let out a breath. “I never expected you to be human my queen, I didn’t think about how desirable you’d look” he whispered “but you’re all confused at the moment and clearly been through something so for now, I will get you something to cover up your stunning body so that I don’t pounce on you…again” he smiled and I gave a weak one in response.

With much reluctance he got me into a shirt and underwear, him self in a similar state and beckoned me over to his side of the bed. I shuffled closer and he brought an arm around me, my nose pressed to his chest and i breathed in his scent. He didn’t smell as strong without my wolf nose but he still smelt nice.

His hand stroked the back of my head pleasantly and I sunk into the bed, being a human wasn’t awful per say but I sure as hell hoped that those stupid witches burned for it.

[unhappy-last-resort]

Broken Scars and Burning Cards (Yandere Scar X GN Reader)

Warnings: Implied past abuse (Reader), feeling of being broken because of it, seeking out unhealthy relationships instead of healthy ones, mentions of physical scars (not specified what kind)

A/N: This is specifically exploring the feeling of being broken and afraid of healthy relationships and finding "safety" in an unhealthy one because it's 4AM. Please do not actually chase after toxic people IRL to soothe your pain, it will not work.

Word count: 833

Status: not edited

You know you should run, that the black sheep above you is nothing more than a mask for something monstrous, a lie to get you to lay down with your back bare and let him run his claws over your scars and run his fingers over your jagged edges.

You knew that all too well because you had been hurt and broken so many times to know, but something about this time felt so different than before.

You could never settle into relationships easily, for the most part you ran away from them every time you felt someone get too close to something delicate, to something that might hurt them.

But when he showed up next to you that day when you were alone, his messy white and red hair, burn scar on one half of his face, a smell of fire and looking all too eager to devour you whole, glass shards and all, your breath shuddered.

You didn't accept his offer immediately, you were smarter than that, smart enough to know that despite whatever misplaced flutter of your heart that it was in your best interest to stay far, far away from him.

But he never left you alone.

Every day you'd catch a glimpse of his unforgettable red outfit, a flash of his black cards in the corner of your eyes, and every night you could hear his voice phantom whispering in your ear of how badly he wanted to taste the scars on your flesh and hold the pieces left of you so tightly that they started to become a part of him too.

Perhaps it was just brainwashing, or your own insecurities and fears of never being loved that drove you to seek the comfort of someone worse than you.

You can feel his breath hot on your throat, his hands digging into the ground at either side of your head, a wolf ready to hold down its catch before feasting on it. You know this is bad, you know this is stupid, but it's so hard to run from something so familiar even when it's so dangerous.

He tastes you, you can feel the tip of his tongue run across the outer edge of your soul, it cuts him and he bleeds, but he savors it and he holds you so closely, too closely. It hurts. It hurts, but it hurts so nicely too.

The dig of his nails on your flesh, a warning, a refusal, a lesson, and you know it so well and you lean into it. You let yourself fall into that familiar grip, let yourself feel the familiar feeling of teeth sinking into your flesh, you let yourself breath in the smokey fumes that he called his cologne.

You breathed in slowly, feeling pain stab your lungs and poke through your ribs and you felt him twist in response, hands elongating into larger, monstrous, black ones, legs twisting into hooves and the light pressure of his head was replaced with the overwhelming sense of a skull far larger than your own leaning over you.

His shadow enveloped you and his nostrils breathed you in with pride. He nuzzled his snout against your neck, his breath tickling your face as his pointer finger traveled down your spine, memorizing the shape.

"Humans..." He whispered, as close as a monster could get to it. "Are such ugly creatures. They hurt, kill, and pillage everyone around them. Just look what they did to you, surely you've grown tired of being shackled to those beings?"

The feeling of his finger disappears and instead you feel a hand larger than your torso lay over your back and press down. A threat. "Join me and I will promise you the finest seat to their demise before we set things right and build the world anew."

His fingers curl around your form and you panic, thrashing to get away from the threat, prompting a growl from above you as he harshly stabs his claws into your body and hoists you up, flipping you over so you can truly see the monstrous beast in front of you.

His eyes have multiplied into four, two on each side, one big and one small, both with that rectangular slit that all goats and sheep have. His grey mane is held back by two large, black horns curling forward towards you. You can feel the expectation of his presence, you can see where the fire lays just below his veins should you refuse.

You can already feel yourself start to regret this choice as his nails sink ever deeper into your skin. Just like the time before, and the time before that, you have no choice and you weren't sure there ever really was one.

The only thing you were left to wonder, just like last time, and the time before that, as he trilled at your acceptance of the situation, was how long would it be until you could carve yourself an escape again.

[constesplanetarium]

☼⚠︎ Yandere Stalker/Kidnapper x Gn! AFAB! Reader

Darkness rating ) 7/10: “Feel that shiver up your spine?”

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

ya, thats it :) i wanted to write smth on the darker side

might make another part, this was pretty fun to write (ya it was fun. IM CRAZY!!!)

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT.

This work contains potentially sensitive content to some. Please be careful.

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

CONTENT WARNINGS!!!

Knife play, blood play, blood consumption, kidnapping, sorta dacryphilia(?), mentions of stalking, drug use, and cannibalism.

Word count: Around 1.5k

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

Cold steel drags down your neck slowly, making your heart race as the point of the knife pokes into your Adam's apple. You would try to plead with him to stop, but you know it wouldn’t do you any good in this situation. The blindfold feels like it's stabbing your eyes, the way darkness envelops your sight. Are you in a basement? It’s so cold. The ropes rub harshly on your wrists and ankles as you squirm in the chair, making your skin burn. You just have your undergarments on, making your whole body shiver. Of course he stripped you down. All you can do is hear the idiotic mumbling of a man who is so obviously not in his right mind.

“Baby, you look so beautiful, oh my god…” He whispers quietly, making you miss the silence that was present a couple seconds ago. His voice shakes as he speaks, and his breathing is heavy. “I finally get to have you like this, isn’t this incredible…?”

How did you get here? You try to recap every single memory following up to this, but everything comes back in fragments, and it’s all nothing but a blur in your head. You must’ve been drugged, by the way you feel so sluggish and drowsy. You can’t remember anything at all.

His knife drags down to your chest, then all the way down to your stomach. You try to press your legs together in vain, the ropes on your ankles holding you back. He chuckles and presses the tip of the knife into your inner thigh, making you wince in pain as a small drop of blood trickles down your leg. You have to bite back your tongue to prevent yourself from screaming, once you feel his hot tongue lick the trickle of blood up to the wound, and he plants a kiss on the piercing. “You taste so good, I could eat you up right now…” Why the hell does he sound out of breath? Is he going to kill you?

Before you know it, that exact question spills out of your mouth.

“Huh, kill you? No, no, baby…” His cold hand rubs your inner thigh, smearing blood all over. His hand feels so rough. “I wouldn’t ever do that, please believe me.” His soft lips kiss your wound, and at this point, you’re starting to feel sick. “... But I want to taste you so bad, it’s tempting.” You jerk your head away from him as he whispers in your ear, and he starts to laugh. “I’m only kidding baby, relax!” How the hell can you relax? “Mm, but I dunno.” His knees hit the floor, and he lays his head on your lap, feeling around your stomach. “Maybe I could start here, and work my way up.” Two of his fingers press on your clothed cunt, and you flinch. “Should I go to your intestines next?” He cooes sweetly, almost like it’s just sweet nothings he’s whispering. “I would save your heart for last, baby. It’s your best part.” Your body trembles as he reaches up, and kisses right above your heart. Your racing heart. “I was listening to your heart while you were asleep. I’ve wanted to do that for so long, it sounds incredible…” Why is he doing this? Does he just want to fuck you? Is this a sick fetish? You feel your throat tighten up, about to cry. Your tears soak the blindfold on your eyes. His breathing is becoming frantic. What is he going to do? Oh my god.

“I’m sorry baby, I can’t help myself.” He whines and a hand pushes your waist forward, then both snake behind to unclasp your bra. You finally try to scream a refusal, and shake violently in your seat, apparently scaring him off, since his hands immediately retreat. “... I’m sorry. You still need time to, uh, get used to being here. I’m so sorry, baby.” Yet he didn’t care when he cut your thigh? What kind of morals does he have?

Oh yeah, none.

There’s no point in screaming for help, you already know no one will hear you.

“Will this make you more comfortable? Yeah?” The blindfold is ripped off your head, and you blink away the tears forming at your eyes, and squint at rhe sudden brightness. You finally get a good view of your surroundings, and you were right. You are in a basement. A cold basement. The stairs on the side of the room are leading up to a freedom that seems miles away. But upon a better look, this place… It looks more like a room. There's a neatly set bed in the right corner of the room, with a tall lamp and a nightstand, alongside a tv set and a couch not far from it. In the corner of your eye, you can see a chair propped up against a table. Probably a dinner table. You can’t see what's behind you, but from the soft whirring, it might be a fridge. You don’t even want to look him in the eyes, but you take a small glance up and see a small mark of your blood on his lips. You look back down at the floor. He should invest in some sort of carpet, instead of these hard floors.

You try to run through your memories to see if you can recognize him but you don’t. Everything is still so blurry, damn it…

“Is that better, darling?” He smiles and outstretched his arms, exclaiming happily. “Welcome to your new home!” Not if you have anything to do about that. “I’m sorry for my, uh, behavior earlier. I was too excited. But I just…” He sighs dreamily. “I finally get to have you here with me, baby.”

…God. Might as well ask him some questions.

“Hmm? Why did I bring you here? He messes with the knife, in his hands, staring at the bloody point. “So I can have you here with me, baby…” He brings the tip of the knife to his mouth, licking it up and down. You watch the blood become planted on his tongue, nausea filling your stomach. It’s even worse once you can really see it. “I-I’ve been admiring you for so long, for months now, baby…” He tilts his head and seemingly stares into your soul, grinning. “I didn’t think this far into it, I’m not even sure what we’re going to do today, hmm…” His eyes become lost in yours as he looks at you thoughtfully, but you wince and break the contact you two had. A small snap of his fingers brings your attention back to him. “Oh, how about I make your dinner, right now? I-I’ll even make your favorite!”

You don’t want whatever he’s going to make. You don’t want to even be in the same room as him. Your throat tightens up with anger and the tears start to flow down your cheeks. His eyes stare down at you in pity, and a certain sadness.

“Oh, you don’t need to cry now…” He leans down and kisses a tear off your cheek, and you jerk your head away. His laugh makes you sick, it sounds so sinister. “You’re so funny darling, you don’t have to fight me you know.” His tongue laps up the tear that had just rolled down your cheek, up to the corner of your eye. He kisses you again and again on your cheek, to the point where he can’t get enough of you. “You’ll get used to it anyway, we can- Ah, no. We will be so happy together…” He purrs and plants a kiss on the top of your head, petting it softly. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to go upstairs and make dinner, it won't take too long, okay?” He rubs your inner thigh, taking a glance down at the dripping wound. A small pool of blood has dripped down onto the chair. “I’ll… I’ll get a bandaid for that too.” He seems hesitant to look at the cut, but he suddenly drops down on his knees again and sets a rough hand on your thigh, “Let me help you clean up, okay?” He has a short fit of his insane chuckling as you stare at him lick up your blood, refusing to touch the wound this time. Is he scared of infecting it? Ah, no, he was just licking up the dripping blood first. You watch and feel his tongue swirl around the cut and you wince at the small stinging feeling. How disgusting.

Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting. What a horrible fucking man, how sick.

You have to fight the urge to throw up again once he sticks his tongue out, showing the bloody mess all over it. Some of it is even on his lips. He kisses your inner thigh, leading to your cunt, and he leaves a small, bloody kiss mark. With a small lick of his lips, he stands back up, brushing his pants off, and a dreamy groan leaves his mouth, seemingly involuntarily. His hand rubs your cheek affectionately, and you try your best not to go ahead and bite him. I guess it's true that you can’t bite the hand that feeds you. At this point he decides whether or not you get to eat or drink.

But not your fate. That's up for you to decide.

“I’ll be back with dinner, okay?” He chirps happily and bounds up the stairs, giggling to himself like a stupid schoolgirl. “I won’t take long!” You watch the door to freedom open, the light streaming ever so slightly into the basement, before the only way to freedom is shut off again, with a couple loud clicks of the several locks he set in.

He couldn’t even tell you his fucking name, my god.

part 2 is here!

[perpetual-fandom-brainrot]

Creeping (2) (Dark Link x Reader x Link)

Basic summary: You're in Kakariko recovering from your battle with Dark Link. You discover you didn't come home alone.

A/n: This is a HEAVILY revised version of the chapter! I completely ignored a certain major wound that Dink easily could've put back to use, so I've reflected that realization in the new plot.

This is a dark and violent fic that is not intended for children nor sensitive audiences. Read at your own risk

Read the first chapter here MASTERLIST

The sun shines bright on Kakariko village. Children are beginning to drag their parents outside so they can play, cuccos are being given their morning feed, and in many other ways life is starting to be lived. All is well for the residents of Kakariko.

Except for you, you're covered in tears and sweat as you heave with sobs after waking from a nightmare, clutching your midsection. Ever since Link brought you home a few days ago, the monster who wields his face shows up every time you sleep and mentally shatters you. Ever since you were literally brought back from death, every burst of air filling your lungs has felt unusually heavy.

"Don't think- don't think too hard about it," you whisper sharper than you intend to, hoping talking will help distract your focus. The sudden clench of your abs sends an immense sting from your stomach up your spine. "It's not here, it's at the temple in Lake Hylia, Link is going to kill it." You hug your knees to your chest and try to do more than just hope you're right. You try to do more than wince in pain and pray. Your voice cracks into a whisper when you try to say it again, "he's going to kill it." You repeat it in a mantra, a hope, a prayer, that Link will come home safe, your voice shaky from pain. You vow to repeat it as often as you need, even if you choked on your own breath.

"Of course he will, I got stuck with you instead of Mr. hErO," you jolt and press yourself against the wall, sputtering and gagging, meanwhile this darker Link continues on casually, like he's used to this, "you just had to try to be brave didn't you? I'll show you what that earns in this world, and then I'll go recover my powers from that thief," he growls. Before you can register it you're thrown against the opposite wall of the room, landing just next to your door. There's no air left in you as your vision spins and you desperately look around for purchase. You can barely breathe, you can barely think, everything feels simultaneously so fast and infinitely slow. The stab wound from the temple throbs and stings incessantly, scattering any attention you can manage to gather.

The monster saunters over to your crumpled form, gripping your face hard when you choke out, "wh- what do you-" before squeaking and shutting up. His nails aren't anywhere near as well-groomed as Link's, shaped like claws and steadily digging into your cheeks. You don't miss the glee in his eyes, which are blood-red, as he watches you stiffen and cringe in his grip.

"I don't need to mean anything," he begins going through your bags, "because it seems like the brave little princess forgot her fairy wings this time."

Your healing items. You had given them all to Link before he left for the temple again! You don't have anything to take care of yourself in case of an emergency, you don't have any way to scream for help with the grip he has on your face, and you have no vantage to fight back. Even if you did, you doubt you could make sudden moves without collapsing. Tears fall as you come to the realization: if he kills you here and now your death is permanent. If he kills you here and now Link and Navi will return to greet your corpse. Dear Hylia, please save me, you desperately think.

He hovers his other hand over your stomach and your blood freezes. You don't get time to think when he starts poking at your still-fresh stab wound with a couple of his claws. Your heart starts to race. He smirks and chuckles. Everything in you is screaming, screaming to move, screaming to do something, screaming to get away before he can sink his hand into your stomach and do whatever twisted thing he comes up with, but the better part of you knows that you won't - that you can't. To move here or resist now would spell out a violent death. At least if you can convince your body to sit there and take it, to sit there and let itself die, things will potentially feel… easier. More like it's your choice to die than the whim of a monster. You can't even get your thoughts together to internally wish final goodbyes.

The pain becomes more intense as he starts applying more pressure, efficiently reopening your wound. You want to scream, you would if his hand wasn't in the way. "When this war first started, nothing mattered to me," the pain becomes so bad that you clench your fists until your knuckles turn white. You hate the look of satisfaction as tears openly flow down your face, you hate how much it makes you feel like he's assessing some sort of prey. He only speaks again when he jerks his claw around and you flinch; "and then I was told some boy stole power that was originally meant for me. Could you imagine it, the rage you would feel hunting down something that belongs to you, only for some stupid-" he tightens his grip on your face and sinks his claw into your wound more- "little-" he moves the hand on your face to choke you instead- "girl-" you can't scream. You can't breathe. You can't do anything but tremble and writhe underneath the monster before you- "to come and take it all away?!" It slams you backwards into another wall, causing several fragile objects to fall off of it and break, and you find yourself fighting your gag reflex from having breath you don't have knocked out of you.

At that moment, you hear frantic knocking on your door. "Y/n! Y/n! Hey! Are you okay in there?!" The voices of the villagers outside are enough to spook the monster into disappearing. You can't bring yourself to move and open the door. You don't want anyone to see you like this anyway. What would they think if they found evidence of the darkness in your home? The question makes you shudder.

"I'm- I'm okay!" You manage to call out. "I tripped and knocked some things down!"

"Alright!" You hear the villager chuckling a little bit. Thankfully no other comments follow. You stand up, being careful of any sharp pieces that might cut your feet, and tread to your closet. The object of your focus hangs on the inner door. It's a simple scarf, one you typically wear out on expeditions, but you hadn't worn it to the water temple for fear of, well, the water. Now it will serve as an impromptu bandage to make sure you don't bleed out. You wince as you secure it around the wound, tying it tight to make sure it actually blocks the wound up. You just have to hope someone in the village will have a bottle you can borrow to get some potion.

Link, please come back soon. Please be alive.

[daboyau]

Chapter ten of the Rise Hunger Games AU! Remember when I said this would be about six chapters total? Boy, was I wrong! We’re at double digits now, and not even into the meat of the Games yet. Hope you enjoy the calm while it lasts!

prev/

Here, have the tag list. Fingers crossed it actually works this time!

@boots-with-the-fur-club @qwerty-keyboard-is-superior @theonlybrightowl @dandywonderous @dandylovesturtles @elijah-doodle @fredquinn @sady-is-secretly-an-alchemist @heckitall @beannary @brightandfullofglory @purplepixel @pomelined @imagionationstation @daughterofskylark @eb177 @lilysplash @midwesternvibes @burritello3000 @justchillininthebackground-06 @snowleopardtherebel @kiaxet

Knives have never been Donnie’s preferred weapon. He can appreciate the versatility of them, and how easy they are to carry or conceal, but he has never particularly enjoyed how close one has to be to use them effectively. It’s messy. Plus, contrary to popular belief, they aren’t really all that efficient at killing a human being unless the wielder knows exactly the right place to stab or slash, and has very good aim.

If he had the choice to pick any weapon, he’d go for a gun. He’s often eyed the Peacekeeper’s weapons, wishing he could get his hands on them, if only to take them apart. He wants to learn all their weaknesses, and figure out how to make his own better version. There’s a reason that precious few of the Districts have ever tried to fight back against them, despite having significantly more numbers. 

Unfortunately, guns have never been an option during the Hunger Games in the past, and he suspects that won’t be changing this year. Luckily for him, papa has ensured that he does indeed have all the necessary knowledge to use a knife, as well as a number of other weapons.

He adjusts his grip around the hilt and strikes out at the training simulation, a quick slash to its holographic throat causing it to crumble to pixelated dust. Another quick hard jab, and the next has joined its pixelated brethren in the great technological beyond. He whirls at a soft click behind him — the telltale indicator that there was another digital opponent spawning, he had surmised early on — and a backhanded stab to the throat has the indistinct figure dissipating before it has the chance to fully form. 

The room slowly begins to brighten as the simulation ends, and Donnie steps off the platform. His breathing is a little harsher than he usually allows during training, and the uncomfortable stickiness of sweat has the back of his shirt clinging uncomfortably to his skin. He shudders at the feeling. His back still feels strange after Draxum had poked at it the night before. The phantom sensation of pins and needles linger despite the exo-spine having no real nerve endings to speak of. Worse, if he moves too fast or bends too far, he can feel his legs tingle and he begins to lose sensation in his toes.

“The worst of those side effects should only last about 12 hours,” Draxum had told him dismissively, when Donnie had informed him of what he was feeling. Apparently, with his growth the last 14 years, the device had to be recalibrated to ensure it would continue functioning as intended. It had made him feel vulnerable and sick, forced to sit on the edge of the bed as Draxum fiddled with the most vulnerable part of him and his legs had suddenly stopped being able to hold his weight. The lingering sensation of fingers against his skin and the electric pain of tools inside his exo-spine had kept him up throughout most of the night, long after Draxum had left and Donnie had kicked his papa out to retire to his own room, not wanting to upset him with having to watch as Donnie rode out the after affects of having something integrated with his nervous system messed with. Yoshi had reluctantly given in, leaving Donnie gritting his teeth and hissing with each new spark of pain or each terrifying loss of sensation and control over his own body alone. It was the first time he actually felt glad that he wasn’t sharing a bedroom with his twin; the last thing he wanted was Leo (or anyone else) worrying about him.

He doesn’t trust that the man hadn’t done something; sabotaged him in some way, or installed some feature that would come back to bite him later. The fact that he couldn’t effectively examine his own back for signs of tampering just made it all the worse. If he could only take a look at it, then he might at least be able to soothe the anxious pounding of his heart that threatened to overwhelm him whenever he spent too long thinking about how dangerous it was to allow anyone he doesn’t trust implicitly to have access to his back. If it needed any cleaning or maintenance at home, he’d usually instruct Leo or April on how to do it, while Mikey or Raph held up mirrors at various angles so he could keep a close eye on the proceedings. Not an option now, but maybe he can have papa hold a mirror, at least.

After returning the knife to one of the weapons racks, he sighs and slinks over to grab a sealed bottle of water off the little table of refreshments that had been set up in a corner of the massive gymnasium. The other tributes are scattered throughout the space, a handful of them looking determined while most of the others just look lost. Donnie was one of the few to find a weapon and get to work immediately, and he knows that that decision means that there will be eyes on him now. That fact could work against him, painting a target on his back, or it could help him to form potential alliances if he chooses to go that route. It’s hard to say, since past games can’t offer conclusive data considering the participants — and therefore line up of personalities and group dynamics — change each year.

Not like he is any better, of course. He’d made sure to note which of his fellow tributes had moved with confidence and which had hung back or hesitated, just the same as all the rest of them. He knows better than to discount any of the more hesitant ones, though. A smart strategist might put on a front to keep attention off of themselves. That would have been what Leo would do in his place, he was sure. After all, Donnie is also holding back. 

“You were really good in there,” a voice says from right beside him, and Donnie chokes on his water. Apparently, being attentive while lost in thought is a skill he’ll need to work on.

The girl standing beside him is young, maybe 14 or 15. She stares up at him with wide green eyes when he turns to face her, like she’s expecting a response. Donnie clears his throat and casts a quick glance around them and then towards the other tributes, hoping to find that she was talking to someone else. No luck there. He looks her over, taking in the blonde hair and round freckled cheeks, trying to remember which District she belongs to, before it clicks.

“Ah, you’re from Eleven, right? The…sexy corn girl?” 

She stares up at him, mouth popped into a little ‘o’ of surprise, and he’s pretty sure that means he said the wrong thing. He looks away, focusing on the other tributes once more. He has just enough time to think at least if I’ve offended her she’ll leave me alone, before he hears a little snort beside him, and when he looks towards her once again he’s surprised to see her smiling. 

“It was really bad, right? The stylists for my District were awful this year.”

“They were,” he agrees easily, still confused as to why she’s talking to him. She nods and hums, and she hasn’t stopped staring at him. There are bags beneath her eyes; evidence of how the last few days and the impending Games have been weighing on her. He imagines he must look just as tired and beaten down.

“I heard about how you helped the District Three kids,” she says. “It was kind of you to do that.”

He almost doesn’t realize what she’s referring to, staring at her blankly before it finally clicks. He snorts derisively and waves the words off. He wishes she would stop smiling at him.

“It was easy to fix, the stylists were just idiots,” he mutters, taking another swallow of his water. He hears her giggle. 

“Yeah, it seems like there was a lot of that going around this year.”

He hums his agreement, and takes a half step further away from her. He’s nearly ready to get back to his half hearted training montage, but he’s not sure where to focus his energy next. He’s been eying the survivalist area of the training grounds, but one of the other boys has been hogging it for nearly an hour. He’s not really interested in sharing right now, or in socializing with other tributes. 

Speaking of which. 

“Bye,” he says dryly to the girl as he drops his empty water bottle back onto the table and turns to leave. 

“Wait! I wanted to ask you something.”

He probably shouldn’t bother, but he is curious. He turns back, eyes narrowed and arms crossed as he waits impatiently for her to finish her thought. She won’t look him in the eye, but after a beat, she finally gets herself together enough to blurt out, “Can you teach me how to use a knife?”

He stares at her for a long time, trying to figure out if she’s joking or not. It’s in poor taste, if she is. She stares back with those wide green eyes, hands clasped together as she rocks on the balls of her feet. He squints. 

“You’re serious.”

“Yeah! I’ve never had to use one to fight before.”

“Ask one of them,” he tells her dryly, gesturing vaguely to the Capitol-provided trainers. She makes a face he doesn’t know how to read, then shakes her head quickly. 

“I already tried that! They’re just interested in the Careers. The guy that was showing me kept getting distracted the whole time!”

“Right…but consider this; Why would I teach you to use something that you could then turn around and kill me with in four days?” 

“Because I won’t be able to learn enough to be at that skill level from just a lesson or two, but it might be enough to keep me from dying immediately?” she tries, grinning sheepishly. Donnie frowns and his eyes wander back towards the survivalist center. Still occupied. She clears her throat. “And also, what if I promise not to fight you in the arena?”

“What, like an alliance?” He can’t help the way his voice drips with disdain at the word as his gaze slowly move back to look at her. He’s watched enough games to know exactly how well alliances tend to go. There can only be one survivor, after all.

It’s difficult to meet her eyes, but the long strands of her hair sway when she shakes her head. Her voice comes out soft as she says, “No, nothing like that. More like a promise, I guess? I won’t kill you. You won’t kill me. We won’t have to help each other outside of that.” 

The words almost make him smile. Silly things like promises will never survive the Hunger Games, but it’s a nice thought. Probably something Raph or Mikey would take her up on. His heart does a painful little twist in his chest, and the tips of his fingers tingle. He swallows, hard, and then sighs. 

Well, not like he has anything better to do, right? The only thing he’s interested in working on at the moment is still being hogged. And papa did always say teaching others was the most effective way of honing your own skills.

“Go find a knife that feels comfortable in your hands, then come find me,” he says by way of answering, and the girl makes a small, excited noise and hurries off to do as he’s asked. Donnie watches her go with a scowl on his face, already knowing that he’s going to regret this. Raph is going to be so disappointed in him if he dies because he spent his training days helping other tributes instead of focusing on himself. But it’s not like there’s much here that he can learn from anyways…he hopes. 

He sighs and scrubs his hands over his face, then pulls them back quickly when the smell of sweat and whatever oil is used to maintain the knife he’d been practicing with hits him. Looking around to see if he can find somewhere to wash his hands, his mind drifts back towards Draxum once again and his eyes wander towards the cameras tucked away in the corners. The elevated balcony where the Capitol politicians and Gamemakers will sit is unoccupied for now, but he wonders whether Draxum or any of the others are watching them. 

I made it, Draxum had said, his fingers never stilling in their methodical examination. He had seemed to catch the way Donnie had gone stiff with surprise at those words, and he had felt more than heard the soft huff of amusement against the bare skin of his back. Goosebumps had prickled uncomfortably over his flesh.

“I was not expecting that,” he muttered, eyes staring stubbornly towards the blank expanse of wall. Draxum twisted something that made a jolt of pain light up his nerve endings, and it was only force of will that kept him from crying out.

“No, I suppose not. It would be too much to expect Lou to have ever told you the truth.”

“Lou?”

“Your father.”

“My father’s name isn’t—“

“Yes, yes, he prefers to be called Yoshi now. I’ve heard.”

Donnie had frowned at that, irritation at the dismissal of his papa fanning the smoldering embers of barely repressed rage in his chest. At his side, his fingers kept twitching and jerking without his input. A cold sweat had broken out on his brow, and it was only the trepidation at how vulnerable he was at that moment that kept his mouth shut and his hands at his sides. He wished that his papa could be in the room with him. Some support would have been nice. 

“Is this one okay?” A voice asks, and Donnie is proud of the fact that he doesn’t startle at the sudden interruption. He accepts the knife the District 11 girl is holding out to him without looking at her. It’s well balanced, and the blade is dulled so that tributes won’t accidentally (or intentionally) injure themselves during training. Its hilt feels small in his hand, but it should fit her fine.

Are tributes this small every year, or is it just a bad haul this time around? He tries to remember, but they always seemed so distant on the holoscreen. It’s usually easier not to think about the little ones. They never last long enough to leave an impression once they enter the Arena.

“This’ll work,” he says, flipping the knife and handing the dull blade back hilt-first. She accepts it with a shaky little smile he doesn’t want to look at. “Follow me.”

He leads her to a small outcropping of fake, plastic trees. They’re intended to be used to practice climbing and camouflage, but they provide enough cover that hopefully he can do this one lesson without drawing attention from the other tributes. Though he doesn’t plan on saying anything to her about it, there’s a good chance that if the others believe the two of them are planning on working together, she’ll end up with a target on her back. 

He circles her with a critical eye, adjusting her stance and the way she grips the knife. Her nails are painted, pink and sparkly, reflecting the dim glow of the buzzing overhead lights. Her knuckles have gone white from how tightly she’s holding it, so Donnie taps the backs of her fingers until she takes a deep breath and loosens her grip. Then, he takes a few steps back and gets into a familiar beginning stance. 

“Come at me like you’re planning to attack me,” he tells her, and can’t help but smirk a little at the shock that flits across her face. “You won’t hurt me, but it will be a good chance to see where you’re at.” 

She chews her bottom lip as he speaks, then slowly nods. “If you’re sure….”

“Oh, worry not. I’m quite sure you won’t be able to get a single hit in.”

Unfortunately for her chances of survival, he’s correct.

.

Donnie waits until the clock in the corner of the holoscreen reads midnight before he gives up on trying to sleep. Hours of tossing and turning in the too-soft bed are just wasted effort and lost time, and he’s finally settled enough that the idea of food doesn’t make him want to vomit. Might as well get a snack while he still has the chance. He’s sure food will be scarce inside the Arena. 

He moves with silent steps, listening carefully, almost hoping that he’ll find Kendra waiting in the kitchen again. He hadn’t seen her during the training session earlier, and she had avoided his gaze during the tense dinner hour. 

Much to his displeasure, he had realized about halfway through the meal that he did, in fact, miss what little scraps of camaraderie they’ve found with one another over the last few days. As prickly and generally unpleasant as she is, at least Kendra’s simmering fury at their situation feels familiar. It’s preferable to Atomo’s overly eager cheer or his papa’s barely masked sorrow. At least they don’t have to pretend as much when it’s just the two of them. 

Donnie sighs, shoulders slumping, when he finds the kitchen dark and empty. The light from the refrigerator feels blinding when he swings it open, and the soft suction of the seal giving way seems unspeakably loud in the sound proofed silence of the large apartment. He knows he’s allowed the freedom to wonder the cage-slash-living-quarters, and that there are more than likely already eyes watching him through the glass lenses of the cameras positioned all around the apartment, but it still feels like he’s doing something wrong by being out of his bedroom so late at night. He’s gotten used to never being left alone. It’s not a pleasant realization.

He hurries to find something palatable, settling on fruit and some plain crackers he scavenges from the cabinets. He hesitates only a second before he shrugs and decides to bring the snacks to his bedroom. After all, what will it matter to him if the apartment gets ants or he stains the fancy sheets? It’s not like it will matter; just a few short days, and he’ll be either dead or the lone survivor of 24 children. They can put him - or his body - in a different room if this one is still dirty by then. He’s not going to be in any state to care either way.

The slick tile floor melts away to plush carpet as he pads through the living room and back towards the hall lined with their rooms. He pauses briefly outside the first door, hands tightening around the edges of the plate in his hands. The ceramic makes a sound that has him cringing as his nails scrape over its surface, and he wonders if his father might finally deign to look his way if he makes an offering of food. It’s not cake, but maybe…. 

Donnie takes a step closer and does his best to swallow down his jittering nerves. It’s not like he’s never had to find ways to get his father’s attention before, but it feels much worse to have to fight for his affection when they may have one another for only a few more days. Plus, he doesn’t even have April or his brothers here to compete with. Shouldn’t it be easier now? 

His hand pauses just inches from the intricate metal plated carving that decorates the door. He frowns, and leans a little closer, ear pressed to the cold metal. He heard his papa’s voice, but who…?

For one horrible, disgusting, disappointing (but not surprising) moment, Donnie thinks it must be Atomo in there with his father. He leans back slightly, ready to turn tail and bolt, when the female voice speaks again and—

It’s Kendra. Somehow, that is both infinitely worse and also far more suspicious. He braces himself and leans close again, but though he can hear the muffled voices, he can’t make out what they’re saying. It just sounds like droning, low and secretive, rising and falling like the tide as Kendra’s anger ebbs and flows and his father fights to get a word in. 

Donnie’s throat feels tight. Suddenly, he’s not that hungry anymore. He leaves the plate of food on the little hall table he hasn’t figured out the actual function of yet and retreats to his own room, trying not to let the sting of betrayal cut too deep.

[pervcoded]

bark and bite starring sukuna ryomen

content warning: there's a weird tension in this whole fic. some violence. cursing. threats and intimidation. sfw (minors still go away). reader refers to their chest as 'tits'.

“So I wanted it right here,” You drawl, pointing to an unmarked expanse of your skin, and Sukuna takes a moment to observe what other flesh remains untouched. You are so thoroughly marked with ink, he muses, it must also run through your veins.  He knows a bad egg when he sees one - a snake slipping down your spine, the teardrop on your cheek. Eyes like you might hurt someone. Mouth that gets you into trouble.

You stare back at him. His ear twitches ever so slightly. “You hear me, stud?”  You’re talking too much already. Your fingers run over your ribs again, and you glare pointedly in his direction.

He’s gonna get to that attitude in just a bit.

“I want it black and white. Halftone. Here’s the picture.” He doesn’t look at it long.

“Yeah,” Sukuna licks his lips, a fanged tooth poking out when he doesn’t quite smile. “I got you, pup.” 

Your fellow humans should have warned you about him. He had fostered a particular reputation in his time in the scene - beyond the rough demeanor and sweet ink. 

He’s never been too careful with humans. But who’s fault is that, hm? Your kind really ought to know better.

Your skin is too soft for his machine. You’ll struggle too much when he has to hold you in place, whimper when the needle punches your skin. You will grab onto his arm. You will cry. You will beg, and it will hurt anyway; because Sukuna does not put down the needle until he is finished. Here, you are subject to the whims of this domain.

But you act like you know. Roll your shoulders and say ‘c’mon’, like you understand what you’re getting yourself into.  You are insistent, confident even, laughed at the ‘humans, beware’ poster that hung at the back of his studio. So he laughed with you - or maybe at you - harsh and scathing and putting a pin in your misplaced joy.

Sukuna is no lap dog. His tall cropped ears stab in the direction of the ceiling, tail still and stiff at your approach. Though, now that you’ve seen him up close, you don’t think it’s there at all. His attire is off-puttingly casual, the graphic print on his chest stretched so wide across a glorious chest, that the color is starting to fade a little. You tried to keep your eyes focused on his. Ignored the claws, ignored the teeth, ignored the heat under your collar. 

The dog flicked his head to the side, gaze never leaving yours. 

“Get on the table.” 

It felt more like a threat than an invitation. You eased yourself onto the cot, Sukuna disappearing into your periphery a moment as you begin to pull your shirt up to your neck. You don’t take it off fully, and it makes his eyes narrow. As you situate yourself properly, you find his eyes drifting up your body, back to your neck. The shirt. He waits, needle in hand, staring down expectantly.

You zoned out a bit. This guy’s beside manner was just as mediocre as the wolf with the black fur that recommended him to you. Last time you take advice from a dog.

“What’s your problem, stud?” Your lip is obnoxious. You’d look much better on your knees, presenting your tongue. “Getting an eyeful of tits ain’t good enough for you is it? Fuckin’ mutt.”

You chuff, pulling your top over your head, baring your neck.  “Go on.” You goad, “You wanna take a fucking bite?” You’re scared; the scent pours off of you in waves, and Sukuna feels the barest inkling of amusement. The rush to his face and sparkling in his nerves as the flesh is so carelessly exposed. Licks his teeth.

 “Do it, you fucking do-” He doesn’t give you the chance to finish before a hands’ clamping down on the tender flesh, your words meeting their fated end at the back of your throat. You don’t have fangs, but you bare them, anyway.

“I just might, pup.” He speeks coolly, detached from your outburst. “Definetly will if you don’t shut the fuck up. And keep still.” He seems to contemplate his ink machine while you try not to struggle, gone still on the table, but you still smell nervous. Tickles his nose juuuust right.

Gets an idea. It’s a bad one, but fitting for an uppity fuck like you he thinks. Need a big strong hand to guide you? So be it. But Sukuna will make sure everyone knows who you belong to.

He thinks a different tattoo is in order. On your lower back - emblazoned in black ink: SUKUNA’S BITCH.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ JJK/BANNER ART by gege akutami everything written by me @ciematis, is owned by me, and you are not allowed to repost or translate my works. don't put my shit into ai generators, don't steal my shit and put it on wattpad. thank you.

[gardenoflupins]

AU where Sirius is a king and Remus is brought in as a prisoner

TW: violence, slightly toxic characters

Remus swallowed down vomit as he moved jerkily with each press of the silver spears against his back. The king’s men didn’t even have to physically touch him to hurt him. They could burn him just by placing their spears close enough to his body.

His wrists were shackled with silver in front of him. Each time his wrists moved, it sent waves of fiery anguish through him. The only reason he stayed upright was to avoid a spear in his back.

People nearby gasped and moved backwards when they saw him. Remus isn’t sure if they’ve put it together that he is a werewolf or if they think he is some dangerous criminal being guided by soldiers. Most people knew nothing about werewolves, just that they were lethal murderers.

Remus had never murdered anyone.

He’d never even hurt anyone. He made sure he couldn’t.

But the king’s soldiers were always on the hunt for dark creatures and they had located him through his howls of pain. The men sighted him just as he was turning back into his human self. They almost made Remus walk naked until he heard them say that they didn’t want to disturb the general public. After weakening him with silver they decided to bring him directly to the King. Remus doesn’t know if it’s for imprisonment, execution, study or torture.

When they reached the gates, the guards stationed there gave them all doubtful looks but let them through.

“We’ll keep it in the prisons under the castle until King Sirius is made aware of this discovery,” one of the men said in a gruff voice.

Belatedly, Remus realised they were talking about him.

“It will be well contained,” another added.

Remus discreetly eyes his surroundings. The halls were littered with large works of art and the chandeliers made his eyes go wide at the beautiful complexity.

They are intercepted a few minutes later. A young, lean man with curly dark hair strided towards them and frowned through his glasses. Remus knew immediately by his neat and regal attire that he was someone important. Was this the King?

“Explain what I’m looking at,” he demanded with clear disapproval. Remus’s eyes flickered restlessly towards him.

The guard made a respectable gesture before signalling to Remus. “This one is off to the prisons until the King gives orders on what to do with it.”

The wealthy man furrows his brows, looking directly at Remus. Remus looks at his feet because he was not used to people staring at him without recoiling away. Remembering himself, he looked into the other’s eyes.

“Does the King know of this?”

“Not yet.”

Agitation passed the man's face and he began walking away, urgency in his steps. “You will follow me.”

“My lord—“ the guard began but thought better of it. They poked Remus with the spears, making him hiss out in pain and stumble in the Lord's direction.

Two people opened double sided doors for the unnamed Lord and the rest of them. Remus felt the guards around him hesitate but they didn’t dare question the Lord with glasses.

“Sirius,” the Lord snapped and Remus flinched at his tone.

Remus quickly understood the hesitancy around him when he walked into what appeared to be the throne room. There sat a man with long jet black hair. Stomach giving out on him, he realised the ornament on his head labelled him as a King.

King Sirius.

Fuck.

Reflexively, he tried to pull back and this time somebody really did stab his spine. He muffled a moan and stumbled forward on uneven footing.

“Here is yet another one,” the Lord spoke without waiting for acknowledgement. “Starving probably. Is it really fair to throw a young man like this into the prisons? He is hurt, Sirius.”

Given the informal use of the King’s name, the Lord must be very close to him. Unless he was stupid.

The King didn’t bother to look at anyone but the Lord who spoke.

“Another complaint?” the King asked warily, a half smile playing on his lips.

His companion huffed and gestured aggressively to Remus. Remus shrunk back. He was pinned down by grey eyes and Remus knew from his eyes alone that the King was someone resilient, fierce, and merciless.

“My King, this is not another thief situation,” the guard behind Remus argued.

Remus braced himself for the reveal.

“It’s a werewolf. We were taking it down to be restrained but Lord James insisted we come here.”

King Sirius and Lord James stared at Remus sharply. Remus is sure he looked a mess with his hunched shoulders and defensive body language. Even with the declaration, their faces were almost impassive.

The King leaned back on his throne in a casual and aloof manner. “That’s no werewolf. It’s merely a man.” He gives them all loathsome looks. “Have you come to waste my time? Are my men truly so dim they cannot recognise a bloodthirsty wolf from a man?”

For a moment, the King is met with shocked silence.

“My King,” a different guard starts uncertainly, “rest assured this is a werewolf. We found him in his cursed form and waited to bring him like this.”

Lord James visually tensed at that, eyes scanning Remus up and down. The King appeared to be doing the same.

“You’re certain?” King Sirius asked. Remus’s wide eyes drew to him solely and they held eye contact. Remus wondered what the King saw when he looked at Remus who was wearing the King’s official colours because the guards didn't want to bring him in bare.

“Most certainly,” came the reply, sounding calmer. “We’ve weakened it with silver so you needn’t be afraid of harm. We will take our leave while you decide what to do with it.”

Remus didn’t ignore the way they only referred to him as an it.

King Sirius held up a hand to stop them just as Lord James opened his mouth angrily. “This is a boy. How is he a boy?” the King asked.

The question confused Remus. When the others don’t reply, he addresses Remus specifically. “You. Explain it to me.”

Remus startled. Had the King really addressed him?

“I would not waste my breath,” the same guard said. “It cannot speak English.”

The King looked disappointed. Seeing his window closing, Remus rushed to say something.

“Untrue, I can speak English.” His voice was hoarse from the previous night of screaming.

The knights around him stiffened and the air became cold and unwelcome. At all the hard stares, Remus worsened it by speaking because he never worked well under pressure. “I can read and write too.”

His body hit the marble floor roughly when somebody from behind kicked him down. The shackles on his wrist moved terribly with the movement, causing him to wheeze out in pain.

“Do not lie to the King,” the guard snapped and held Remus’s head down with his boot.

Remus groaned, regretting everything. He should have let them continue thinking he was a daft, witless creature. They never once asked him to speak when they found him and Remus was too scared to talk to them. He knew they looked down on the poor and the cursed.

“Is that necessary?” came Lord James’s voice, tinged with alarm. Remus heard footsteps approaching.

“Its looks are deceiving. It looks like a man but is not one. Don’t waste your concern on it.”

Remus didn’t move an inch. He was not going to do anything that would endanger him quicker.

“Remove your foot off him.”

Remus swallowed thickly at the sound of King Sirius’s voice. Still unreadable in his emotions.

“Sire—“

“Do not make me repeat myself. I am agitated as it is.”

The foot leaves his head but still Remus does not move. He hears more footfalls and prays the King isn’t coming his way to behead him. He catches sight of his shoes near his face.

“Rise.”

Remus hesitates and after a moment of contemplation he hesitates again. Very slowly, he raises his head a fraction, afraid he is going to kick Remus’s teeth in.

The King only looks at him with something resembling curiosity. He is at least pleased that Remus stays close to the ground in a non threatening manner. It does nothing to ease the others.

“As I asked before, how are you a man?”

Remus does not reply. Instead he watches the King, eyes glued on his face for signs of incoming violence.

“Do you have a name?”

No response.

“Can you only speak a bit of English?”

Remus’s eyes flicker behind him at the guards.

“Ah,” the King says with realisation. “They are not allowed to stop you from conversing with me. Speak.”

He continues to say nothing.

He almost wasn’t surprised when a knight stomps on his spine. Remus cries out as his burns rub against his shirt and the offending boot. A sob leaves his mouth and he fails to hold in a whimper. He lets his head stay on the ground. If they were going to kill him, let them. He was too tired to be tortured.

“How dare you,” Lord James bristles, facing his fears and walking closer to Remus. “Get back,” he snaps when they try to shield him from Remus.

“You hurt him for speaking and then hurt him for not speaking,” comes the King’s cold reply. “Do not interfere again or I will spike your skulls on the gates.”

The ice in his voice makes Remus shiver.

“Stand, Lycanthrope.”

Unsteadily, Remus does as he says. When he is on his feet, his upper body is hunched again from the burning sensation. The King’s eyes fall to his burnt and shackled wrists but says nothing.

For awhile, all three of them stare at each other. At first, Remus is met with detached looks from both the royal men. Then, they regard him with a look almost akin to pity.

Lord James side eyes King Sirius.

Remus’s head drops. He knows they are not impressed with what they see. The loathed lycanthrope. A scrawny young man. The horrors.

Another tense silence passes before Lord James can’t hold himself. “Surely you can’t kill him. Look at him. He’s….”

The King sighs. “He’s a danger, James.”

Remus already had no hope of surviving this, but this killed him further.

King Sirius takes a step closer to Remus and everyone, including Remus, freezes. This time, nobody tries to second guess the King. He takes another and another step until he is right up against Remus.

Remus looks anywhere but at him, feeling caged and very small in his commanding presence.

“This thing…” he begins, “like a puppy. Mutt. This is a werewolf?”

Remus’s stomach churns with anxiety. What would he do to him?

“My King,” a guard warns in a strained tone.

“You’ve frightened it,” is all King Sirius says.

Taking a risk Remus finds stupid, he tilts Remus’s head up with a strong hand. Remus’s eyes widen and his body aches from how still he tries to hold himself without shaking. Touching a werewolf was inexplicable. Nobody would go anywhere near a werewolf, let alone talk to or lay a hand on one without the intention to kill.

His brows raise at Remus, studying him. “Submissive.”

Remus is shocked at the word that leaves the King's mouth but knows it’s because he is viewed as nothing more than a wild dog. A skinny and petrified one at that.

Lord James moves slowly to stand next to the king, a frown upon his face again. “Sirius,” he begins, “this is unsafe.”

The King doesn’t remove his eyes from Remus, insisting on trapping him in his gaze. “You wanted me to show mercy,” he states.

“That was before—“ Lord James huffs, running a hand through his hair. “You’re too close. He may bite.”

Horrifyingly, this makes the King tilt his head with curiosity. “Is it true that you can only spread your curse on the full moon?”

When nobody answers, Remus gives a small nod of his head.

“You can turn into a man?”

Remus bites off his angry words. King Sirius’s eyes gleam. “Go on, permission to bite— verbally, that is.”

Remus doesn’t go for the bait. His shoulders fall a bit and the other clicks their tongue. He had no reason to be displeased by Remus’s lack of anger.

“Refusing to answer will get anybody in trouble, regardless of who they are. Can you turn into a man?” he asks again.

“I am a man,” Remus whispers.

He hears no reply.

King Sirius is amused, curious, and disbelieving all at once. He grabs Remus’s chin to tilt his face left and right, looking for signs of animalistic features. His gaze snags on a few wounds Remus knows are there and Remus swallows thickly. Nervousness thrums through his system, making his heart race. The King’s gaze falls to his wrists again but doesn’t make the command to release him.

“I think you will teach me a lot of things, Lycanthrope,” he says softly.

Dread pools in Remus’s gut.

He’d be kept for study then. There was no gaurantee that torture would not be involved, especially because the King would not be prepared for how stubborn and unwilling Remus was going to be.