#price giving you a sympathetic pat on the back is humiliating

[shotmrmiller]

sex pollen trope where you're the one affected, having been exposed to some dense gas while on an op that felt like harsh sandpaper across your throat and lungs, and now you're a feverish mess on some ratty cot in a safe house and with only ghost as company, it's miserable, as the saying goes.

hair sticking to your sweaty skin, plastered onto your forehead and neck, every swallow feeling like you've got a mouthful of sand, your fluttering pulse wild and deafening in your ears, and the throbbing ache deep in your core, the blistering heat right below your navel— it'd only been uncomfortable in the beginning, the faint throbbing incredibly familiar, but the more you ignored it, the worse it got.

and now you're here, with arousal sticking your underwear to your pussy, unable to do anything about it because your lieutenant is seated in a corner that lets him have both you and the front door within his line of sight. a quick, discreet rub under your clothes is not an option.

someone put you out of your foggy misery.

"squirmin' like a worm on a 'ook isn't gonna help." his staring doesn't either, yet he does it anyway.

"got to make sure ya aren't dyin' on me." you want to snap that you don't think proof of life is on the darkened stain between your legs, the retort pressed behind clenched teeth but another thick wave of bestial need rolls over you and god, you're about to shove your hand into your underwear, propriety be damned—

"best you don't do tha'." why the fuck not? "you'll only get relief for a moment 'fore it comes back twofold." he says as if he's reading off the morning paper and not watching you fight tooth and nail to not fuck yourself against the pillow your head is on. (soap's offer to be friends with benefits is only looking better by the hour.)

you hastily decide that it'll be better than nothing. you'll just have to rub your pussy raw until this drug runs its course and you're telling him to piss off or don't, but you've had enough. you're stuck here with him anyway, no flight home until the morn and you're not about to spend it writhing around.

"if tha's wha' you want," ghost bites his gloves off, spitting them out onto the ground before curling his hands around your ankles and dragging you toward him. "i will help." your entire world narrows down to the feel of him touching your skin, his fingers searing as they hook into the waistband of your pants, and you almost kick him in the mouth trying to get them off faster.

"but 'm not fuckin' you." the bite of disappointment is quickly forgotten, his breath warm against your slick pussy, and after three quick glides of his tongue over your pearl, your orgasm crests, pulse after pulse of pleasure so potent it stung.

in less than a minute you're burning again, need thrumming through you and with the heady push and drag of his middle finger over your sensitive nerves, curling in you until he can fit two, three—

you're lost.

(ghost telling you that he's not doing anything else because if he's going to fuck you then you're going to remember it falls on ringing ears.)

[wonderfuldeath]

.o| Bad Temptation : XI |o.

Warnings : Violence, injury, graphic depictions, sex

Please, consider supporting me on Ko-Fi ! ♥

Jimin raises a surprised eyebrow at the last sentence, lost in seeing the spirit chief in his living room, rolling his eyes at the carnage that has been wrought. Jimin recovers quickly, and with a snap of his fingers puts his house back in order, before clearing his throat. Yoongi looks around, hands deep in his pockets, a slight bitter laugh on his lips.

“- Jungkook really screwed up, huh?

- What the hell are you doing here?

- You didn't come to work.

- I've been busy.

- I can see that.”

No mockery in Yoongi's voice, who simply walks around the house before returning to Jimin, who seems to be trying to figure out what his boss is doing here in such a humiliating situation. Jimin looks down at his hands, playing with his fingers as he tries to remain stoic, while Yoongi fixes him with an unusual gaze, as if trying to fathom his soul. Finally, his boss looks away, pointing at something in the ceiling.

“- There are cameras. Your landlord obviously installed some to spy on you.

- Excuse me?”

Jimin goes from shyness to terror, scanning where Yoongi is pointing, looking for something that might indicate the presence of a camera, but he sees nothing. Spied on? Normally, all his spells are working properly. No camera should be able to penetrate his defenses, no one should be able to spy on him. But Yoongi only has to float to the wall to detach a small device, showing it off proudly before looking falsely apologetic. Jimin runs a hand through his blond hair, cursing himself for not having seen anything. He took a few deep breaths, then kicked a chair that was just lying there, anger driving him mad. How could he have missed this? Jimin feels sick, nauseous, and Yoongi comes over to pat his shoulder sympathetically.

“- I've notified the police. Mr. Kim will do something about your landlord.

- Mr. Kim? Namjoon? The direct chief of police?

- Yes, himself. Your landlord did something bad. He'll get the worst sentence, believe me.

- Which one?

- Being served sushi at the restaurant of Seokjin, Namjoon's husband, let's see.”

Jimin blinks a few times, opening his mouth only to close it again, as he listens to his boss tell him what's next. Yoongi has a house to offer him, or rather to lend him, somewhere in the rich districts. In reality, Yoongi didn't give him time to answer and took him straight to the villa, which was obviously abandoned. Everyone had already heard of this place; it was Min Yoongi's old house, the one that had gone up in flames when he committed suicide. But Jimin says nothing, the incident seems to have been repaired, leaving the place now welcoming. The modernity is also reflected in the colors, with white and black, which makes Jimin nod gently.

“- So?

- What's up?

- Do you like your house?

- Yes, I like it… I think so.”

Yoongi looks proud while Jimin looks small. He's a bit sullen as he visits; he doesn't really like the idea of being offered a place to live. Jimin has always lived on his own; he's never been given anything as a gift, apart from an expensive sweater he couldn't refuse from Taehyung for a birthday years ago. Yoongi notices this, so he clears his throat.

“- Can you pay me back if you feel like it? Give me the price, and I'll deduct it from your salary.

- I'll… Okay. Yes. That sounds good.”

A smile finally appears on Jimin's face as he looks around, his eyes searching for the slightest imperfection or place where he could put his things. He seems delighted by this new opportunity, exhilarated by the idea of finally having a home of his own. Jimin had never thought he'd one day become a homeowner, far too entrenched in his tidy little life, going round in circles for years.

“- Perfect. I'll send you the papers tomorrow.

- Perfect.”

Taehyung's head spins as he searches for a landmark. The black sheets of Jungkook's bed wrinkle his nose. He straightens abruptly, looks around, trying to figure out what's going on. He'd said he didn't want to see him anymore, so why has Jungkook kidnapped him again? Frustrated, Taehyung abruptly straightens up, but his breath catches when he sees Jungkook standing in front of the window, cigarette in hand, throwing the smoke outside. The scene is nothing special, just Jungkook living it up, but Taehyung gasps for breath, trying to say something, but nothing comes. Jungkook raises a cold eyebrow at him, then leaps to join him, holding back to hug him.

“- You're finally awake. How do you feel?

- What am I doing here? Why are you here too?

- Taehyung, listen to me…

- I won't listen to you. I don't want to listen to you! You're a liar! A heartbreaker! I thought I was special!”

He throws a pillow in his face, and Jungkook lets him, hurt by Taehyung's words, but says nothing. He wants to let him express his anger. Slowly, he moves closer, raising a hand to touch him, but Taehyung pushes it away and hurriedly stands up. Jungkook is frustrated, a terrifying frustration. He slams Taehyung against a wooden panel, hitting him with a violence that cracks the door and makes the human bleed. But neither speaks, nor cares; Taehyung is too shocked, and Jungkook too angry to care. Jungkook's eyes aren't red as usual; they glow terrifyingly, a deep red. A bloody red that sends a long, icy shiver through Taehyung's body.

“- You don't understand, Taehyung, do you? You don't understand a thing.

- Don't I? Then enlighten me. Go ahead, since you seem to know better than me.

- If you do it again, I'll destroy the world. I'll kill your best friend and feast on his blood. Then I'll drain Elyzabeth of her blood, and if that's not enough to appease my anger, I'll attack everything you hold dear.”

Taehyung understood from Jungkook's acid voice that he was telling the truth. It wasn't an idle threat. And for the first time in his life, Taehyung feels genuine fear grip his throat. A squeak of submission escaped his lips, as Jungkook towered over him completely, bringing his eager mouth to his throat, reveling in the divine nectar that flowed easily down his throat, soothing him better than any antidepressant. Taehyung moans a little more; it's not the usual gentle, kind bite that makes him euphoric, it's a painful, burning bite against his skin. He tries to push it away, tears in his eyes, but Jungkook holds firm, clinging shamelessly to his throat.

“- You're hurting me! Stop this!

- You belong to me, Taehyung, you understand? Mine.”

The vampire scares him, freezes his blood. So he remains silent, growing smaller under this oppressive aura, his trembling tears running down his cheeks as Jungkook restrains himself from doing worse, from rushing him further. Taehyung trembles in terror, which finally makes Jungkook realize the interstellar bullshit he's just committed. He shakes his head abruptly, as if awakening from an unfamiliar torpor, and knocks on the wooden door, which shatters with an explosive thud. Jungkook turns his back on Taehyung to calm himself, taking deep breaths, before speaking in a hoarse voice.

“- Go away.

- Jungkook, I…

- Go away! Go away! Before I do something I'll regret even more.”

Taehyung doesn't say it twice, turning his back to quickly make his way to the exit, under the sorry and surprised gaze of Jungkook's mother. She watches her son with an accusing eye, but also with a mother's concern.

“- Jungkook. You can't do that.

- I don't know what to do, Mom… I can't control myself… I don't…

- The problem lies elsewhere. Don't fight him. Fight with him.”

Jungkook raises a tearful eyebrow at his mother, as she comes to embrace him in a purely maternal gesture. Jungkook responds with the rage of a self-disappointed son.

“- I'll call Granny Ivanovich. Everything will be all right. But you, do something for Lysa.

- You can count on me to be a good son this time. I won't let you down.”

[redevenir]

lonely are the brave

wc : almost 3k

a/n : @exolssecretsanta​  here it is, my present for @mmmhs​, as a part of the #exolssecretsanta2020 it’s me ! your secret santa ! hopefully you’ll have a good time reading this ! Also The plot is entirely based on the movie The Spy, which is about the life of Sonja Wigert, and I strongly encourage you to read about her after you read this fic (so you won’t get spoiled) because it is incredible and she deserves to be remembered. And the title is from the 1962 Kirk Douglas movie, based on Edward Abbey’s The Brave Cowboy. It’s an excellent movie, and probably a very, very good book. The settings are very different but the title fitted too well. Merry Christmas, I wish you the very best. More importantly I think I wish for 2021 to be exactly what you need it to be.

As the entire theater bursts into applaudes, Kyungsoo thinks you might just be what he needs. Even in shades of gray on the big screen, your magnetism is undeniable. He claps a few times as you deserve it, and since his every move are being watched, it’s a quick way of expressing his satisfaction. He leaves the movie room before anyone else has stopped cheering.

***

You can’t keep your eyes off the newspaper. The head of the new Governor occupies two thirds of the front page. You sigh. It is still hard to believe the Empire has won, once again, and this war they won in two days. It’s humiliating even for you, and they haven’t reached your country yet. They didn’t defeat you. You are no soldier, you are not general. You’re not even in the war force, and the kingdom isn’t yet at war. But there is something excrutiatingly mortifying to read the news every morning, nails painted of red, and contemplating the fall of this world as a bystander. You wonder how fast they’ll take the kingdom next. Of course, it has to be their next move. Maybe they won’t even pretend to wage a war. Maybe the Queen will just bend the knee. Your hear a soft pshh when the ash of your cigar falls into your cup of tea. You hear your name, and a croissant is thrown your way.  

« So ? What do you think ? He looks weird, right ? I mean, weird for the job ? Chanyeol gently taps the face of the Governor with his own croissant. I mean, he looks all… He gesture vaguely, throwing crumbles your way. It’s always harder for him to find his words in the morning. You guess it’s because it takes him some time to be properly awake.

Intellectual ?

Yes ! He smiles but his eyes are cold and mocking. They usually come all… He tries to sit straighter and extand his shoulders to show you what he means.

Bulked up and ready to kill you with their bare hands ? His mouth full, he nods and claps his hands once in agreement. You look back at the photography. Governor Do has a stern face. Eyebrows heavy, black hair cut short, thick glasses. He does not seem very large, even in his uniform. This one, you begin, as Chanyeol stands up to empty your ruined cup of tea and fix you a new one, this one is going to make fool of us all. You drink one to that. That’s why they didn’t send an obvious brute. They think he’s going to seduce us, and win us without a kill. You put your cup down a little too hard. Fuck him.

So, what’s your plan for today ? He properly buttons up his shirt, and you eye the disappearing skin all the way. The look you send him is full of fire and decadent promises. Ah, don’t look at me like that now, I must go ! You avert you gaze, back to your newspaper. He catches your smile as he puts his jacket on.

I know, I know, so do I. I have an appointment with Junmyeon, I’m assuming a new movie, the musical is really exhausting, at least with movies I can have normal workdays, you dramatically sigh, the back of your hand on your forehand, as if about to die.

That’s the price of success, my dear. He bends over to kiss you as you stand up to kiss him, leaning against him. I’ll give you a reward of my own tonight if you will, he adds, and payfully smacks your butt before heading out. I love you, good luck !

***

Luck is indeed what you need when you read the invitation Junmyeon hands you. Handwritten, neat, efficient. Both personal and artificial as can be, like any good performance. The twist your stomach makes is almost enough for you to throw up. You remain silent while he scans your face. It has always been clear where Junmyeon stands : where the money lies.

So ?

What ?

Will you go ? You weigh your words carefully. When your eyes meet his, you realize Junmyeon hasn’t set his mind himself.

Why would I ? It’s just an invitation to dinner. I have no reason to go.

***

It’s exactly why you have to go. We might be at war soon, milady. It is an opportunity for us to find out more about their plans. We need you to go to Governor Do.

You keep your eyes on your reflection as you wipe your make-up off. It is only the two of you in the changing room. Most of the lights are off, except for the fairy lights. You like it better that way. It’s more intimate and peaceful. You like how the little glitters in the Christmas tinsels reflect the light, like fireflies of many colors. But what the minister is telling you is shattering you from inside, like a very slow explosion – or maybe you are about to implode and collapse on yourself. He leaves you no choice but to become a huntress in the shadows.

***

You don’t tell Chanyeol about it. You don’t know where Chanyeol stands. Him, who sleeps in your sheets, who praises you like it would save his life, who loves making romantic gestures in a most bombastic way. You don’t know where Secretary Park, from a little ambassy stands. After all, the country he comes from has already signed a pact with the Empire. They pledged immediately and before any other nation. You assume, from the way he talks about them, that he is not fond of his leaders. But what do you know. You lie awake on your bed for hours, letting your body cool down, staring at the ceiling like it might hold all the answers. You shiver, and don’t even bother to sit up to smoke. You don’t need answers, you just wish for peace of mind – it is a luxury of the past now. When Chanyeol enters, a few hours before sunset, he thinks you look worse than he does, and he joins you wordlessly, looking for the comfort in the touch of your tender skin. He doesn’t tell you about his problems, and lets the both of you zone out, bodies intertwined as one. Later, when you both wake up, he smoothers you with kisses, and the fire in your head blinds your worries away.

You don’t talk about it.

***

Chanyeol doesn’t ask you anything when you come back from your work trip. He just wonders if it went well. When you shrug and sigh in answer, he takes it upon himself to make you feel better, and his kisses have never been more delicate on your skin, and he feels like a sun, radiating warmth and life and feeding it to your tired skin. When he nibs lightly on your ribs and you ruffle his hair, you feel his smile against you. Eyes closed, you feel him moving up to your face. His voice his only a whisper, but it deep and stable when he calls your name and asks what is wrong. You keep your eyes closed but he watches your face from the side, how harshly you bite your lower lip before licking it.

I don’t think I should say it. You feel too bad to notice the restrained sigh against your ear. He pulls you closer to him, until you lie on top of him, forehead against his chest, determined to avoid his gaze. His right hand finds its way through your hair to cup the back of your head, and he assures you he understands.

I just wish I could fix it for you. He feels the shadow of your smile against his skin.

You’re doing all right, Chan.

You don’t tell him about the dinner. You don’t tell him about the indecent dress you wore, about the most light fabric it was made of. How it looked like you were naked under a waterfall. How all eyes were on you the minute you walked in, except those of the new Governor. You keep to yourself the way they pierced right through you, and how enthousiastic he was to talk with you. You don’t tell him about the evening you spent discussing movie and literature with a war lord, and you try to forget his lingering hand on the small of your back when you left, and his offer to do this again, since having you among the company was a delight. You push down the half hidden threats whispered in your ear during the dance and pretend it was all a dream.

It doesn’t work.

You stop dreaming.

***

It becomes regular. Every few weeks you’re invited west of the border. First for evenings. Then for several days. Kyungsoo, as he insists you call him, lets you an entire wing of his mansion, to use as you please. You have no use to it. You don’t dare to ask him who were the previous owners of the place. Or where they are now.

It is lovely though. Decorated with a keen eye, even if it is a bit old fashioned. Lots of floral patterns on the walls, as to reflect the exuberance of the gardens around the residence. He offers you all sorts of pretty things, dresses and night gowns and shawls of the finest fabric. You spend hours discussing every matter that catches your attention. He inquires your opinion about everything, and sometimes you believe it is genuine interest and not a test anymore. He takes you to walks in the woods and teaches you how to shoot – just in case. When you ask him who might threaten you,  he puts his hand on you cashmere-covered waist and through it you feel his warmth. His eyes are on the same level as yours when he confesses, as he’d believe you might be his equal. You let him kiss you, a whole in the chest and your heart in the throat.

The minister of home intelligence is satisfied when you tell him the news. A sympathetic look in the eyes, he pats you on the shoulder, thanking you for your sacrifice, and urging you to keep up the good work.

***

Chanyeol watches you decrepit. He wonders why you don’t ask him about his absences. He tries to bring life back into you. He dances with you and reads with you. He makes love to you like he’s offering you his soul – he is. Since you don’t want to talk about what’s troubling you, he shares everything instead. Almost. He tells you about his childhood, about his home. About his college years and about his first love stories. He tells you about some of his colleagues, and how he hates the war. He tells you he wants to go away, when all of this will be over. To where there is music and joy. He lies naked before you, exposing himself more than ever before. Everything is yours to see, every last bit of his soul. Only one secret he keeps for himself.

***

Shades of grey don’t do you any justice, Kyungsoo decides. He dreams of glitter and colours to project, to have a more accurate image of you when you’re leagues away. For a few weeks, he toys with the idea of making you the face of Hope. You could be the Empire’s most glamorous face. When he mentions it to minister Byun, the response is thrilled, and Baekhyun assures him he’ll find the crème de la crème to work on this most ambitious project. What Kyungsoo doesn’t expect is your reluctant answer. He watches it all happen silently on your face. Conversations between the two of you often take time. You don’t think in the same langage. You rarely talk in either of your mother tongues. And you’re both quite cautious around each other. He really doesn’t want to mess this up. There is a fire in you he wants to stir up, not to put it out. There is not taming you in his mind.

When you tell him you’re not sure about meddling you’re career and your personal life, he knows he has to put a ring on it.

***

Every night you sleep at the mansion, you allow yourself one hour of rummaging in Kyungsoo’s office. The rest of it is spent imagining the face of the traitors. Or you think about the wonders of self control you’ve unfolded the day he proposed. You are a terrific actress indeed.

***

When the newspapers of both countries announce you are engaged, you understand what sacrifice you have made. You never see Chanyeol again.

***

The night you find the pictures is a relief. Even you know they’re dangerous. Every little rock on the shores of your country is there, carefully spotted. The map stored with them identifies them all. You know the next time you leave Kyungsoo will be the last.

When you give them to the Minister, you ask for a new passport. And a way out. He asks if you have any idea of who the contact might be. You say it’s someone in an ambassy. You say there’s not just one person. You say they’re everywhere. You say it’s over. You don’t mention the fact that everyone has turn their back on you. Because you’re the face of national complacency.

Maybe that’s why they come to you directly. For the first time, they come knocking to your door. You recognize them as Chanyeol’s coworkers. Jongin, Minseok. They say Kyungsoo asked them to drop by – see if you were all right. You know that’s not what he said. If there is one thing Kyungsoo values about you, and takes pride in, it’s precisely the fact that you don’t need nor want to be babied. When they see your smile, and the absence of light your eyes, they both shift their balance. Your face remain unreadable when they ask you about your former lover, and Jongin realizes why Governor Do has set his mind on you. You’re stronger than most of the people he has met – including the governor. There is no point trying to fool you, so he goes straight to the point.

Where’s Chanyeol ? So he was a traitor. Good riddance – your heart climbs his way up your throat – it’s been a long time.

I don’t know.

Are you sure, presses Minseok. Jongin’s glad the disgusted twist on your lips isn’t adressed to him. It is humilating, even in second-hand.

In case you haven’t noticed, I got engaged. I don’t know to who’s shoulder Chanyeol went crying. Jongin wonders if his past lovers speak as lowly of him as you do now. Chanyeol might be a deceiving bastard, but he was a nice guy to be around otherwise. He clears his throat.

Is there any place he might have told you of ? Where he could be now ? You hum slowly.

The lonely islands. He has a cabin there. Likes to be alone to meditate or whatever.

Could you take us there. One, two, three, you have nothing left to loose.

All right.

***

Nothing has changed. The island is still exactly the same. Every rock, every sprig of lichen. The gentle howling of the wind, caressing your cold ears, caressing your eyelids, caressing your lips as if saying, just this one more time. You bit the inside of your lower lip hard and don’t let go. You have no word to tell them. You watch them climb their way out the small boat, and head toward the wood cabin. You don’t mention there is no other boat tied up to the rocks – their time is worthless.

You come inside right after them. The amount of dust on every surface is the same as the last time you came here, only weeks ago. It feels like years and years have passed by, but it is merely an illusion of your stretched heart. You let your gaze brush over the scarce furniture, trying to put your attention on attention itself, blocking any harmful thoughts. You feel the cracks in your armour. Of what could have been. Of what you let go. Of what you gave up.

You notice the guitar, and a rush of adrenaline blows away your attemps at meditation.

He’s here.

You leave the room, aiming for the water closet. You close the door, sit down and bite your fist as hard as you can.

***

It’s you. It can only be you. Chanyeol watches you enter the room through the floor slits. You’re having a mental break down, he can tell. But he cannot make it to why you are here in the first place. You’ve never tried to talk to him since he stopped coming to you. The Governor’s fiancee. His jaw tenses. No wonder you couldn’t tell him what was wrong. How could you hide it from him he understands. How you were probably used for it by your own government tears his heart apart. If only he had told you what his business was. What he was working for – the very same thing you were fighting for. The wooden floor is only a couple centimeters’ thick, but it is far enough to keep him from touching you. How he wished he could console you know. Tell you everything will be repaired. Take you to dance and fireworks. Oh, to hesitate between the prettiest of flowers at the shop and settle for all of them. To fix you cups of tea and quick meals.

***

In the kitchen, Minseok abruptly opens a drawer.

***

For miles around, every submarine reports the explosion.

[veenussposts]

Sooyoung as a demigod (and your boyfriend)

Leather jacket, black hair and brown eyes, Sooyoung had everything to be a son of Hades but the surprise of the other demigods was big when Nemesis, the goddess of revenge and retribution, claimed him as his son.

He came to the camp with a little girl. She was a daughter of Athena and his father gave her to Sooyoung so he could protect her from the monsters.

That girl was his only family.

So, when she started to sleep bad because she had nightmares his heart hurted. He hated seeing his princess crying and sobbing.

You too hated it because you could see his dreams. As a son of Hypnos, you could see every dream and nightmare in the zone. You were always in your cabin, you never went out because the other demigods made fun of you and your weak powers.

When you couldn't take it anymore, you went with her without being seen and helped her. Minutes later, you were laying on her bed with the little girl in your arms. She was asleep thanks to you.

Sooyoung was shocked the first time he saw both of you sleeping together because he didn't know who you were. But she was so calm and looked so peaceful in your arms.

"I don't know who you are but thanks for helping her. She's especial to me"

"I know. She talks about you a lot and in his dreams you appears as his hero... So you're especial to her"

From that moment, she went to your cabin and you helped her with his sleep while Sooyoung looked at her so you didn't do something rare to her. Thanks to that he had the opportunity to know you better and he realized that you were a sweetheart.

"Why don't you leave your cabin?"

"Because people treat me as bad as they're if I go out"

How people could treat you bad? You were a little teddy bear with a heart of gold. You lived in the clouds, always daydreaming and seeing the good side of everything. How could they be mean to you?

He thought he might sorta, maybe, possibly be falling in love with you when he started dreaming about you and your beautiful smile and innocent eyes.

This is the first time in a while you go out of your cabin to be with someone. The little girl wanted to present you his family and she wanted to teach you how to use a sword.

How could you say no to her? And for that you pay the price.

A son of Ares laughed at you when he saw your lack of experience in fights. After he finished humiliating you, you storm across camp, biting back angry tears. You pause, staring blankly, the day air is hot against your skin.

Suddenly, your hear footsteps in the grass behind you.

"Here you're"

You whirl around and you find yourself facing Sooyoung.

"Are you okay? She comes to me crying saying a big guy treated you bad"

You feel your lip quiver, and before you can stop yourself, you burst into tears. Sooyoung pulls you into a comforting hug.

"Let it all out"

"I can see his nightmares, I can see all the things they're afraid of. I... I have the power to hurt them but I don't want to... I don't want to be a bad person. I understand why they're like that but they hurt me..."

Sooyoung pats your back sympathetically. After a few minutes, you finally stop hiccupping and you look at him just to get shocked.

"What happened to your hand?"

Sooyoung glances up at you. You see a bruise forming across the knuckles of his right hand.

"I'm the son of the goddess of revenge, I couldn't do anything when my little princess told me you were sad because that idiot"

"I'm sorry you had to get involved"

"There's no need to apologize" Sooyoung shrugs and smiles at you. "I'm okay"

He holds up his hand for you to see.

"See? Everything is okay"

"I..." You take a deep breath and continue. "Thank you... You're the only friend I have here"

"I can be more than a friend for you" You close your eyes, your breath heavy with anticipation. "I can be your hero... I can be your bestfriend... And I can be your boyfriend"

You lean into his touch as he softly kiss your forehead, then your jawline and your nose. Finally, he hover above your lips. You reach out and close the gap, kissing him tenderly, each new kiss more passionate than the last.

You close your eyes, and kiss him over and over, until you forget any other feeling in the world, but your lips against his.

"Did you tell your friends we're dating?"

"Yes, I have no self control and told the whole camp we're dating"

"Okay Sooyoung, no need for sarcasm"

"No, seriously, I have no self control and I told everyone we're dating"

FACE PALM.

Introduces you with his squad.

O V E R P R O T E C T I V E

Sooyoung is very clingy.

"I'll take care of you"

Loves quick and soft kisses.

Sleepovers in his cabin with you and his little princess sleeping on his chest.

You love to squeeze his chubby cheeks and he loves it to but he never would admit it.

Gives you small gifts on every date.

He prefers stay at his cabin because you're more comfortable when you're alone with him.

Really bad at flirting.

He would never fight with you and he would never let anyone hurt you.

You slept 20/7 so sometimes he stares at you for hours.

"Moments with you, that's when I want to be Cronos so I could stop time"

Very honest about his feelings and opens up about his problems and fears.

"No matter how horrible my day was, talking to you for even just one minute make everything seem perfect"

[knightfury1895]

Paying the Price

That I have been very stupid is undeniable. I always take no more than a single dosage of a seven per cent solution of cocaine for good reason. Why ever did I decide that I wanted more? Oh yes. Watson. I am abandoned. Alone. My actions matter not.

I groan and attempt to move. I cannot. My limbs are unwilling to respond and I am cold and shivering violently. Perhaps my companion was right when he said that I seem to be ailing because I feel quite dreadful now. My nose is dripping, I want to sneeze and my head is paining me terribly. Have I caught influenza? Watson would know.

The thought of my Boswell only causes me to feel worse. I curl myself into a ball upon the hearth rug, trying in vain to comfort my painfully cramping stomach, and screw my eyes tightly shut.

I know not how long I have lain here before Mrs. Hudson finds me in my prone position. She begins to cry when she receives no response from me and shouts rather a lot. Strange. I cannot understand very much of what is being said. I probably should find that frightening but I feel somewhat separated from reality, as if I am simply observing a play.

I become vaguely aware of uneven footsteps hurrying upstairs. Did I lock the sitting room door? The cold draught which assails me informs me that I did not, as does the sound of heavy feet limping inside. Damn! It would never do for a client to see me like this. Come Holmes! On your feet you lazy imbecile!

The feet approach slowly and stop short in front of me and I force my eyes, which I do not remember closing, to open and gaze up at the owner of them. Watson is frowning back at me with a very angry expression and I suddenly feel very small and vulnerable.

The fellow crouches at my side and takes my pulse with icy fingers. “What was it today?” he asks flatly. “Cocaine or morphine?”

That tone in itself is enough to make me cringe.

“Holmes? Can you answer me?”

“Cocaine.”

His frown darkens but he nods. “How much?”

“Don’t know.”

He stares back at me, the colour draining from his face. “What do you mean you don’t know? My God Holmes!”

Please Watson, do not shout at me. My stomach cramps painfully and I clutch at it with a moan as I try not to breathe.

With a shake of his head the fellow fetches some towels in from the washroom and spreads them beneath and before my head.

Thank you Watson, but I am not about to be sick just as long as you are gentle with me.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, in a tone that suggests that he is trying to sound sympathetic.

“Sorry.”

He closes his eyes and forces a sigh through his teeth. “Yes, I expect that you are.”

“Very sorry.”

“That is not what I was asking.”

I groan and grit my teeth against another painful stomach cramp.

“I take it that you are feeling sick?”

“Stomach ache.” Somehow that makes it sound much more trivial than it feels. I can barely breathe for the pain!

He rests a hand at my forehead. It is terribly cold and provides my wretched nose with all the stimulation that it could possibly need. The whole length of my body jerks with the force of the resulting sternutation and I grind my teeth to avoid crying out.

“Bless you,” the doctor wipes my running nose and pats my shoulder. “Have you caught a cold, or is this just another reaction to the cocaine?”

I shrug with a grimace.

“Were you feeling unwell before you took the cocaine?”

“I am not sure.”

The doctor pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why the deuce do you do these things?”

I shrug with another grimace of pain. “It seemed to be a good idea… at the time.”

He nods and closes his eyes, causing a single tear to make its escape down his face.

“Are you all right Watson?”

His eyes snap open and he frowns at me before scrubbing a hand across his eyes. “That is rather an odd question for you to ask me under the present circumstances, do you not think?”

“Perhaps,” another painful cramp seizes me and it takes all of my self-control not to cry out. Think of something else Holmes! “I thought that you were needed at your practice…”

“Mrs. Hudson sent for me because you had collapsed and she was unable to rouse you. I feared the worst!”

I close my eyes with a grimace as he raises his voice. “I was never in any danger. I simply feel ill.”

“Hum, yes. I should think that you do feel ill. Mrs. Hudson informed me that you had had nothing to eat and that she had noticed that you were shivering and sneezing. I feared that you had contracted influenza or something even more dangerous and debilitating,” he growls, his voice shaking with intense anger. “As for there being no danger Holmes, cocaine is very dangerous - especially if you do not know how much you are taking! How could you be so stupid?”

Another groan escapes me but I cannot give an answer. I should have known that my dear friend would not abandon me and the very idea seems ridiculous now.

I feel his hand touch my shoulder lightly as he moves closer. “Mrs. Hudson seemed to be under the impression that you believed me to be gone for good. Is this true?”

I lick my dry lips and attempt to screw my eyes closed even tighter. “I have never seen you so angry.”

“I was upset Holmes, but I did not mean to react like that. Were I not so tired and feeling so irritable I would not have done so. I do apologise old fellow.”

I nod but say nothing. I am beginning to feel quite sick now and I want to remain still and quiet.

“I suppose I should have realised that you would do something like this,” the fellow mumbles. “I did say some truly unforgivable things.”

I groan and clamp my mouth shut as my paining stomach lurches. Ugh! Not now! Watson is in the way! “Move!”

My friend simply stares back at me blankly. Perhaps he cannot understand what I am attempting to say without opening my mouth.

Hastily I clutch at my stomach with one hand while I press the other over my trembling lips as a warning. Move Watson! Now!

“Oh. All right Holmes. It is all right.”

I suppose that I should be proud of myself for somehow waiting until my friend is out of harm’s way, but I am too wretchedly miserable and this is far too humiliating. It would be quite bad enough had I managed to run into the washroom and at least then my Boswell would not have been forced to watch me with that damned look of pity on his face!

“Are you all right now?”

“Wonderful.”

“Can you sit up to rinse your mouth if I help you? I am sure that you would not like to be left with that unpleasant taste in your mouth.”

I am not sure. I do feel frightfully odd. “Yes.”

“All right then. Give me a moment old fellow.”

Almost before I am aware of it, I am being lifted very gently by the shoulder so that my head is hanging rather limply over a bowl. Watson then assists me first in rinsing my mouth and then drinking some water.

“That is better, I am sure. You must be terribly thirsty!”

I nod with a grimace and am immediately plied with more. I wonder whether I should tell him that I have had enough; I might well have to drink, but I am not quite sure what I shall do when I have finished with all of this water if I am still unable to move. That would undoubtedly be horribly embarrassing!

“Do you still feel sick?” Watson asks as he washes the cheek that I was lying on with his handkerchief, having wetted it with a splash of water.

“No.” I do feel faint though. My muscles feel weak as well, as if I have exerted myself more than is wise, and I want to sleep. Perhaps I need some morphine, but I dare not ask my Boswell to administer some and I very much doubt that I could manage it.

He props me against the settee with the bowl close to hand, should I change my mind, and quickly replaces the soiled towels with clean ones. Then I am returned to my previous position, with my friend gently tending to me. If he is trying to make me feel guilty he is most certainly succeeding!