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logansargeantsbabymom · 4 months ago

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None Of This Is Your Fault.

Brian "Otis" Zvonecek x Fem!Firefighter!Reader

A/N: Sorry that I've been so inactive, I know this is no excuse but I school started and my job is starting to get into it's busy season and to my luck I managed to tear my meniscus and I've been in so much pain so writing has been the least of my concerns. I am getting surgery on Thursday so I will be writing more soon. For now, please enjoy my new fic.

This is a 20 chapter story and I've put 10 chapters in one fic. It's a lot but this is my apology for being inactive.

Chapter 1:

Five years. That’s how long I’ve been with Brian. It feels like a lifetime and just a blink at the same time. We met in the most unconventional of ways—running into each other during a late-night call, both of us soaked in sweat, soot smeared across our faces, the smell of smoke thick in the air. It wasn’t the most romantic setting, but maybe that’s why it worked. There was no need for pretenses between us. We were both drawn to the fire, the adrenaline, the chaotic beauty of our work. And somehow, through the chaos, I found him.

Brian “Otis” Zvonecek—my partner in every sense of the word. He’s not the guy who sweeps you off your feet with grand gestures or sweet talk. No, Brian is the guy who shows up every single day. He’s steady. Kind. Funny in the way that only he can be, with those ridiculous puns and the way his face lights up when he thinks he’s landed a good one. It’s impossible not to laugh when he’s around, and God, that’s what I love most about him—he makes everything lighter, even when the world feels heavy.

But these days, the world is feeling a little heavier than usual.

We’ve both been working nonstop—Firehouse 51 is like a second home, though lately, it feels more like a first. There’s something comforting about the firehouse, the constant hum of activity, the sound of the trucks rumbling to life, the distant chatter of my crew—no, my family. And Brian? He’s always been at the center of it all. Our relationship bloomed in this place, surrounded by the people who understand what we go through every day.

I remember the early days with him so clearly. It started as a few casual glances across the engine bay, nothing serious at first. Just an awareness of him. His laugh was what caught me. The way he threw his head back, completely unguarded, while the rest of us were tense and wired after a tough call. He had this way of letting it all roll off his back, and I admired that.

It wasn’t long before we were partnered on every shift, making excuses to grab dinner after. One night, after a particularly tough rescue, he suggested we go for wings. I was exhausted, drained, and covered in soot, but something in his voice made me agree. I needed that—something normal, something grounding. We sat in that little corner booth, devouring spicy wings, laughing about the ridiculousness of our lives. It was simple, but it was the first time I felt like I had found something real. Something worth holding onto.

That’s how we’ve always been—just us, grounded in the simplicity of being together. No grand romantic gestures, no pressure to be anything other than who we are.

And for five years, it worked. I always felt secure with Brian. Sure, we’ve had our share of arguments—what couple doesn’t?—but they were always small, petty things. We’d bicker about who forgot to fill the gas tank or who left the towels on the floor, but those disagreements never lasted long. We were always able to laugh it off, make a joke, and move forward.

Lately, though, I’ve been different. Not us—me. I feel it deep inside, like there’s something pulling me away, pulling us apart. I don’t know why, but these past few months, things that shouldn’t bother me do. Things that used to make me laugh now irritate me. And sometimes, when the irritation boils over, I lose control in a way I never have before.

Brian doesn’t say it, but I can tell he’s worried. He’s always watching me now, his brown eyes searching for some sign that I’m still the same Y/N he fell in love with. But the truth is, I don’t feel like the same person anymore, and that scares me more than I care to admit. The outbursts come out of nowhere—sudden, violent flashes of anger—and then, just as quickly, they’re gone, like they never happened. And the worst part? I can’t remember them.

It’s terrifying.

It started small. A broken plate here, a slammed door there. I chalked it up to stress. Firefighting is a tough job, and we’re no strangers to pressure. But as the weeks turned into months, the episodes became harder to ignore. They were no longer just occasional moments of frustration—they were frequent, and sometimes, I wouldn’t even realize something was wrong until I saw the look in Brian’s eyes. That look of concern, like he didn’t know how to help me, like he was afraid to say the wrong thing. I hated that look. It made me feel like I was losing him, losing us.

But I kept telling myself it was fine. I was fine. If I just pushed through, if I worked harder, the episodes would stop. I thought if I ignored it, I could outrun it.

I was wrong.

Tonight, as I lie in bed next to Brian, listening to his soft breathing, I can’t shake the feeling that something big is coming. Something we won’t be able to ignore. I stare at the ceiling, the weight of it pressing down on me, my chest tightening. The love I have for him is overwhelming, and I don’t know how to protect it anymore.

Brian stirs beside me, his arm draping across my waist as he pulls me closer in his sleep. I close my eyes, taking in the warmth of his body, the familiar scent of him. He feels like home. But the fear of losing that—of losing him—is more than I can bear.

Tomorrow is another shift. Another 48-hour stretch. I tell myself things will get better, that I just need to push through. But deep down, I know something has to give.

And I’m terrified that when it does, it’ll be too late to save what we’ve built.

Chapter 2:

The first time it happened, I barely noticed it. Looking back, that should have been my first clue. It was such a small thing—a flash of frustration that I thought was just stress from work. We were off-duty, Brian and I, sitting at the kitchen table after a long day. We’d been talking about the usual—our shifts, the next firehouse event, Cruz’s latest terrible joke. Brian had a way of making everything feel easy. Comfortable.

But that night, something was different.

I don’t even remember what set me off. One minute, we were laughing, and the next, I felt this surge of anger bubbling up inside me. It wasn’t anything Brian said or did, not really. It was more like a wave crashing over me, completely out of my control. I felt like I was drowning in it, and the next thing I knew, I was standing over the kitchen sink, my hands trembling as I stared at the shattered remains of a glass I didn’t even remember throwing.

Brian was standing a few feet away, his face pale, his eyes wide with shock.

“Y/N… what just happened?” His voice was quiet, careful.

I blinked, trying to piece together the moment, but it was like a fog had settled over my mind. “I—I don’t know.” My voice sounded distant, unfamiliar. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” he said quickly, stepping forward. He placed his hand gently on my arm, his touch grounding me. “It’s okay. It was just a glass.”

But it wasn’t just the glass, and we both knew it. Something had shifted inside me, something dark and uncontrollable. And the worst part was, I couldn’t explain it. I couldn’t tell Brian what was wrong because I didn’t know.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my throat tight. “I don’t know what happened.”

Brian smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s fine. We’re both tired. It was just a glass.”

I nodded, but as I swept up the broken shards, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had broken inside me, too. And it wasn’t going to be as easy to put back together.

Chapter 3:

Weeks passed, and the tension in the air between Brian and me seemed to grow with each passing day. It wasn’t just at home anymore—my outbursts were starting to creep into our shifts at the firehouse. It wasn’t anything major at first, just little moments where I’d snap at someone or lose my temper more easily than usual. Everyone chalked it up to the stress of the job, and I let them. It was easier than admitting something was wrong.

But inside, I could feel it building—this pressure, like a balloon swelling inside my chest, ready to burst. I thought I could handle it. I thought if I kept myself busy, if I focused on the work, I could push it down. But firefighting isn’t a job where you can afford to lose control.

I remember one call in particular. It was a standard house fire, nothing we hadn’t seen a thousand times before. The flames were manageable, but there was a lot of smoke. We went in as a team, each of us with a role, moving in sync like we always did. Brian was with me, like he usually was, our movements so familiar we didn’t even need to talk to communicate.

But something was off that day. The smoke felt heavier than usual, the heat more oppressive. My helmet felt like it was pressing down on my skull, making my head throb. I tried to push through it, focusing on the task at hand, but my mind was racing. Every sound—the crackle of flames, the muffled voices over the radio, even my own breathing in the mask—felt like it was closing in on me.

“Y/N, you good?” Brian’s voice crackled through my radio.

“I’m fine,” I muttered, though my vision was starting to blur at the edges. We were almost done, just a few more minutes. I could make it. I had to.

But then, out of nowhere, the frustration hit me. I don’t know why—it wasn’t a particularly stressful call—but something inside me snapped. I felt a surge of anger, irrational and uncontrollable. I swung my axe harder than I needed to, cutting through debris with more force than was necessary. I heard Brian call my name again, concern clear in his voice, but I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. I was too focused on the pounding in my head, the rage bubbling just beneath the surface.

When we finally exited the building, I ripped off my helmet and tossed it to the ground, breathing heavily. My heart was racing, my hands trembling.

“What the hell, Y/N?” Brian was at my side, his voice sharp. “You could’ve hurt yourself in there.”

“I’m fine,” I snapped, my voice harsher than I intended. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” he said, his brow furrowing as he looked at me. “You’ve been off lately. This isn’t like you.”

I turned away, not wanting to hear the concern in his voice. I didn’t want to admit that he was right—that something was wrong with me. “I told you, I’m fine.”

But I wasn’t. I knew it, and Brian knew it, too.

Chapter 4:

The firehouse had always been a place of comfort for me. It was where I felt in control, where I knew I could make a difference. But lately, even that had started to feel like a burden. My outbursts were becoming more frequent, and I could see the strain it was putting on everyone—especially Brian.

At home, things were getting harder. Brian tried to be patient, but I could see the frustration in his eyes whenever I lost my temper. He’d always been the calm one, the one who could smooth things over with a joke or a smile. But even he couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine.

We had one of our worst fights a few nights after that call. I don’t even remember what started it—something small, something stupid. But it spiraled out of control so fast. One minute, we were sitting on the couch, watching a movie, and the next, I was yelling at him, accusing him of things that didn’t even make sense.

“You don’t even care about me anymore!” I shouted, the words spilling out of my mouth before I could stop them. “You’re always at work, or with Cruz, or doing anything but being here with me!”

Brian looked at me like I’d just slapped him. “Y/N, what are you talking about? I’m always with you! We work together, we live together—how much closer can we get?”

“That’s not what I mean!” I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes, but I didn’t care. “You’re here, but you’re not really here. You don’t look at me the same way anymore. You don’t—”

“Stop,” he cut me off, his voice calm but firm. “That’s not true, and you know it. I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

His words should have soothed me. They should have made me feel safe. But instead, they only made the anger flare hotter. “Then why do I feel so alone?” I whispered, my voice breaking.

Brian’s face softened, and he took a step closer, reaching for my hand. “Y/N, I’m right here. You’re not alone. But something’s going on with you, and you won’t talk to me about it.”

I yanked my hand away, refusing to meet his eyes. “I’m fine,” I muttered for what felt like the hundredth time.

But I wasn’t. I wasn’t fine, and I was pushing him away without even meaning to. I could see it in his eyes—the worry, the frustration, the helplessness. He didn’t know how to fix this, and neither did I.

That night, we went to bed without saying another word. Brian turned his back to me, and I lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of my own silence pressing down on me. I wanted to reach out to him, to tell him I was scared, that I didn’t know what was happening to me. But the words wouldn’t come.

All I could do was lie there and wonder how much longer we could keep pretending that everything was okay.

Chapter 5:

The firehouse was unusually quiet that night. It was the kind of quiet that crept into your bones, making you restless. We were on the second day of a 48-hour shift, and exhaustion hung in the air. Normally, a shift like this didn’t faze me—adrenaline and routine kept me going. But tonight, my head felt like it was being squeezed in a vice. The migraine was pounding behind my eyes, a dull, throbbing pain that no amount of coffee could fix.

I rubbed my temples, trying to will the headache away. Brian had noticed it earlier in the shift and offered me some Tylenol, but I turned him down. There was something about this headache that felt different, heavier. And I was already on edge—there was no way I wanted to dull my senses while on duty.

I kept my distance from the crew tonight, choosing to sit quietly at the kitchen table, nursing my coffee and staring blankly at the TV. Normally, I’d be laughing with the rest of them, especially Brian and Cruz, who were busy trading ridiculous jokes and stories. But I couldn’t focus on any of it. The migraine had lodged itself deep in my skull, making every sound feel like nails on a chalkboard.

I was counting down the hours. Only eight more hours of this shift. And then, finally, Brian and I could go home, grab food from the new Wingstop, and just unwind. It had been a long week, and I was craving something normal, something that would remind me of the simplicity of us. I clung to the thought of getting those wings together. It was the one thing keeping me grounded, the one thing I was looking forward to after the chaos of the last two days.

As if on cue, Brian wandered over to me, his smile easy as always, though I could see the concern lingering in his eyes.

“Hey,” he said softly, sitting down across from me. “How’s your head?”

I forced a small smile, though I knew it didn’t reach my eyes. “Still there, but it’ll pass. Just need to get through these last few hours.”

“We’re almost done,” Brian said, his hand reaching out to gently brush mine. “And then it’s Wingstop time, right? I’m starving.”

I nodded, feeling a small flicker of relief. “Yeah, can’t wait. Been thinking about it all day.”

Brian paused, his brow furrowing slightly. “Actually… about that. I just grabbed Wingstop with Cruz an hour ago. Didn’t realize you’d still want it tonight. You cool with grabbing something else?”

The words barely registered at first. They came out so casually, so matter-of-fact. But as they sank in, I felt a sharp, searing heat rise in my chest. My fingers tightened around the coffee mug in my hand as the rage swelled, unbidden and uncontrollable. I blinked, my vision blurring for a moment as my heart pounded in my ears.

“Wait, what?” I could hear the edge in my voice, sharp and venomous, even as I tried to keep it together. “You just had Wingstop? You knew we were supposed to get it together after shift.”

Brian’s eyes widened, taken aback by the sudden shift in my tone. “I didn’t think it’d be a big deal. We can still get it if you want. I’ll eat it with you, no problem.”

“No,” I snapped, the word flying out before I could stop it. “I don’t want it anymore.”

Brian frowned, confusion and concern mingling on his face. “Y/N, what’s going on? It’s just food. If you want Wingstop, we’ll get Wingstop. It’s not a big deal.”

But to me, it was a big deal. It felt like everything—the headache, the exhaustion, the tension between us—was boiling over, and this one tiny thing had pushed me over the edge. I could feel it happening, the anger building into something unstoppable, and I hated it. I hated that I couldn’t control it, couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out.

“You always do this!” I shouted, my voice breaking as the room seemed to close in around me. “You say one thing and then turn around and do whatever you want! Do you even care about what I want anymore? All I wanted was this shift to end so we could finally go home and have a normal night together. But no—of course you couldn’t even wait for me to get the food we talked about!”

“Y/N,” Brian said softly, reaching out to touch my arm, “I didn’t mean—”

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” I jerked away from him, my heart racing as the room fell silent. Everyone was staring now—Cruz, Mouch, Sylvie, Herrmann. Even Chief Boden, who had been standing by the door, was watching with furrowed brows.

I could feel my hands shaking, my vision blurring as tears welled up in my eyes. “All I wanted,” I choked out, my voice trembling, “was a little quality time with my boyfriend. But instead, I get stuck on this miserable shift with a migraine and a boyfriend who only cares about himself.”

The words hung in the air like poison, and as soon as they left my mouth, I felt something inside me shatter. My heart was pounding, my breath coming in ragged gasps, and before I knew it, tears were streaming down my face. I didn’t even recognize myself in that moment. This wasn’t me.

Brian stood there, frozen, his face pale with shock and hurt. “Y/N, I��”

But before he could say anything else, it was like a switch had flipped. The anger drained out of me as quickly as it had come, leaving me feeling hollow and confused. I blinked, wiping my tear-streaked face as I straightened my posture, suddenly aware of the silence in the room.

“Why… why am I crying?” I asked, my voice soft, bewildered. I looked around at everyone’s faces—confusion, concern, shock—all eyes on me. The pressure in my head eased slightly, the migraine fading as quickly as it had come.

Without another word, I turned and walked to the bathroom, the weight of everyone’s stares pressing down on me like a heavy fog.

Chapter 6:

I spent a long time in the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face and staring at my reflection in the mirror. My face was flushed, my eyes red from crying, but it wasn’t the physical exhaustion that scared me. It was the blank space in my mind, the way the anger had flared so hot and fast, only to disappear without a trace. I didn’t remember half of what I’d said, and what I did remember felt like it had come from someone else’s mouth, not mine.

I leaned against the sink, gripping the edge of the counter so hard my knuckles turned white. I didn’t know what was happening to me, but it was getting worse. And I was terrified.

When I finally stepped out of the bathroom, I saw Brian waiting for me by the door. His face was etched with worry, but his voice was calm and steady when he spoke. “Chief wants to see us in his office.”

My stomach dropped. I nodded silently and followed him down the hall, my footsteps heavy, my heart pounding in my chest. Chief Boden rarely called anyone into his office unless it was serious. And this? This was definitely serious.

When we stepped into the office, Chief was sitting behind his desk, his expression unreadable. He gestured for us to sit, and the tension in the room was thick as we did. Brian sat next to me, close but not touching, his hands resting tensely in his lap.

“Y/N,” Chief Boden began, his deep voice gentle but firm. “Brian explained what’s been going on with you lately. I need you to listen carefully to what I’m about to say.”

I nodded, my throat tight.

“I’ve seen my share of stress in this job. I’ve seen how it can affect people—physically, mentally, emotionally. But what happened out there today wasn’t normal, and it wasn’t safe. For you or for anyone else. You’ve been one of the best firefighters on this team, but I can’t have you putting yourself or others at risk.”

I swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling over me like a cold blanket.

“I’m not asking,” Chief continued, his eyes locking onto mine. “I’m ordering you to go to Chicago Med. You’re not coming back on shift until the doctors clear you.”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. “Chief, I—”

“This isn’t up for discussion,” he said, his voice softening but still firm. “You need to get checked out. Something’s going on, and you can’t ignore it anymore.”

I felt Brian’s hand brush against mine, a silent show of support, but I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t face the disappointment in his eyes. All I could do was nod again, feeling a wave of helplessness crash over me.

“Take the rest of the day,” Chief said. “Go to Med. We’ll be here for whatever you need, but you’re not coming back until you get answers.”

Brian stood up, helping me to my feet as we left the office in silence. I could barely process what had just happened—how quickly everything had spiraled out of control. As we walked out of the firehouse and towards the car

Chapter 7:

The ride to Chicago Med was eerily quiet. Brian drove, his hands gripping the steering wheel a little too tight, his gaze focused on the road. I sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window, my mind a blur of confusion, guilt, and fear. Every bump in the road sent a fresh wave of pain through my skull, but it wasn’t just the migraine anymore—it was the uncertainty gnawing at my insides. Something was wrong with me. Deep down, I knew that now. But the thought of facing it, of having a doctor tell me what was happening… I wasn’t sure I was ready for that.

Brian didn’t say much during the drive, and I was grateful for that. I wasn’t sure what I would have said if he’d asked me how I was feeling. How was I supposed to explain the emptiness inside me, the way I felt like a stranger in my own body?

As we pulled into the parking lot of Chicago Med, Brian finally spoke, his voice soft but steady. “I’m coming in with you.”

I nodded, unable to find the words to argue. I didn’t want to do this alone. I didn’t want to walk into that hospital and face whatever it was that had been slowly unraveling me. And as much as I hated feeling vulnerable, I needed him with me.

The bright lights of the hospital stung my eyes as we walked through the automatic doors, the sterile smell of antiseptic hitting me like a wall. Brian led the way, his hand resting on the small of my back, guiding me through the bustling halls. We didn’t have to wait long before we were ushered into an exam room by a nurse, who took my vitals and asked the standard questions.

Then, there was more waiting.

I sat on the exam table, swinging my legs back and forth, my hands folded tightly in my lap. Brian stood next to me, close enough that our arms brushed every now and then, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His presence was enough—steady, calming, even though I knew he was as scared as I was.

After what felt like an eternity, the door swung open, and Dr. Will Halstead walked in. I knew him well—he’d treated me a few times before, and he was a friend of ours outside of work. But today, he didn’t greet me with the usual smile or lighthearted joke. His expression was serious, concerned.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, glancing between me and Brian as he took a seat on the stool across from us. “I hear you’ve been having some… unusual symptoms.”

I nodded, my throat tight. “Yeah. I guess you could say that.”

Will frowned, his brow furrowing as he flipped through my chart. “Brian filled me in on what’s been going on. The headaches, the mood swings, the memory loss… we’re going to run a few tests to get a clearer picture. I know it’s scary, but we need to figure out what’s causing all of this.”

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. “Do you have any idea what it could be?”

Will hesitated, and that hesitation sent a chill down my spine. “There are a few possibilities,” he said carefully, “but I don’t want to jump to conclusions until we have more information. We’re going to start with a CT scan to get a look at what’s going on inside your brain.”

Inside my brain.

The words echoed in my head, sending a fresh wave of panic through me. I glanced at Brian, who was watching me closely, his expression unreadable. He reached out, taking my hand in his, and I squeezed it tightly, my pulse racing beneath my skin.

“Okay,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “Let’s do it.”

Chapter 8:

The waiting was the worst part.

After the CT scan, they sent me back to the exam room to wait while the results were processed. Every second that ticked by felt like an hour. I sat there, nervously tapping my foot on the floor, while Brian paced back and forth in front of me. His anxiety was palpable, and it mirrored the panic building in my chest. I didn’t know what was worse—the not knowing, or the fear of what we were about to find out.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Will came back into the room, holding a manila folder in his hand. His expression was serious—too serious. My stomach twisted into knots as I watched him sit down again, the air between us heavy with tension.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice low, “I’m not going to sugarcoat this. The CT scan showed something concerning.”

I felt Brian’s hand tighten around mine, his grip almost painfully strong. I couldn’t breathe. My chest felt tight, my heart pounding in my ears. “What is it?” I managed to ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Will took a deep breath, his eyes soft with sympathy. “You have a tumor in your brain. It’s located in the frontal lobe, which explains the mood swings and memory lapses you’ve been experiencing. It’s putting pressure on the surrounding areas, which is likely causing the migraines as well.”

A tumor. The word hit me like a freight train, knocking the air from my lungs. I stared at Will, uncomprehending, as if he’d just spoken a foreign language.

A tumor. In my brain.

I felt the world tilt beneath me, everything spinning out of control. My heart pounded in my chest, and I was suddenly aware of every sound, every breath, every sensation. Brian’s hand in mine, Will’s steady gaze, the sterile scent of the hospital—all of it felt too real, too overwhelming.

“I—I don’t understand,” I stammered, shaking my head. “A tumor? How…?”

Will nodded gently, leaning forward, his tone careful but honest. “It’s a lot to process, I know. But the good news is that we caught it early. It’s operable, which means we can remove it. We’re going to need to schedule surgery as soon as possible.”

Surgery. Tumor. The words swirled in my head, but none of them made sense. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I was healthy. I was a firefighter—I fought through flames, saved lives. I wasn’t supposed to be the one lying in a hospital bed, waiting for a doctor to cut into my skull.

I felt my hands start to tremble, and suddenly, the weight of everything came crashing down on me. The months of mood swings, the fights with Brian, the outbursts I couldn’t control—it all made sense now. There was a tumor inside me, something foreign and dangerous, controlling me from the inside out.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, my voice breaking as the tears started to fall. “Brian… I’m so sorry.”

Brian’s arms were around me in an instant, pulling me close as I sobbed into his chest. “No,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You don’t have anything to apologize for, Y/N. None of this is your fault.”

“But I—” I tried to speak, but the words were lost in the sobs that shook my body. All the anger, the fear, the guilt—I couldn’t hold it back anymore. “I’ve been awful to you. I didn’t know…”

Brian held me tighter, his hand running through my hair as he pressed his cheek to the top of my head. “It doesn’t matter,” he whispered. “None of it matters. We’re going to get through this. You’re going to be okay.”

I wanted to believe him, but all I could think about was the word that Will had said: tumor.

Chapter 9:

We left Chicago Med in a daze. The world outside felt too normal, too calm, compared to the storm raging inside me. The sky was still a brilliant blue, people walked down the street, completely oblivious to the fact that my life had just been turned upside down. Brian drove in silence, his hand resting on mine, squeezing gently every so often as if he was reminding himself I was still there. I couldn’t get the word out of my head—tumor.

It felt like some terrible nightmare, one that I hadn’t woken up from yet. Except this wasn’t a nightmare. This was real, and no amount of blinking or pinching myself would make it go away.

We pulled into the firehouse parking lot. I didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to face the crew and see their reactions when they found out. But we had to. They were my family—they deserved to know.

As soon as we stepped inside, I could feel the weight of everyone’s stares. They knew something was wrong. Cruz and Mouch were sitting on the couch, glancing at us with concern. Herrmann, sitting at the table, stood up as soon as he saw us, his brow furrowed.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his voice cautious.

I looked at Brian, but the words got stuck in my throat. How was I supposed to tell them? How was I supposed to explain that everything I’d been through over the past few months wasn’t just stress or exhaustion, but something far more terrifying?

Brian took a deep breath, his voice low and steady. “We went to Chicago Med. Will Halstead ran some tests on Y/N.” He paused, his grip on my hand tightening. “They found a tumor. In her brain.”

The room went silent.

It was like the air had been sucked out of the firehouse. I could see the shock ripple across their faces, the confusion, the fear. Cruz’s mouth opened as if to say something, but no words came out. Boden stepped forward, his eyes filled with quiet understanding.

“A tumor?” Herrmann repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “What does that mean? Is it… is it serious?”

I took a shaky breath, trying to keep the tears at bay. “It’s operable,” I said, the words sounding distant, as if someone else were speaking them. “They’re scheduling the surgery soon. I’ll… I’ll be okay. That’s what Will said.”

But as I said it, I wasn’t sure if I believed it. The fear gnawed at my insides, making it hard to breathe, hard to think. How could I be sure everything would be okay when nothing felt okay right now?

There was a long, heavy pause before Boden spoke. “We’re going to be here for you, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice steady and full of quiet authority. “Whatever you need—whether it’s before, during, or after the surgery—you’re not going through this alone.”

The words should have brought me comfort, but instead, they only made the knot in my chest tighten. I didn’t want to be the one who needed help. I didn’t want to be the one who was weak, who was sick. I was a firefighter. I was supposed to be strong, to take care of others. Not the other way around.

But now, everything had changed.

I couldn’t hold it back any longer. The sobs broke through, my chest heaving as I tried to breathe, to speak. “I’m sorry,” I choked out, my voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

Boden stepped closer, his hand resting gently on my shoulder. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said softly.

But I did. I was sorry for everything—for the outbursts, for the way I’d lashed out at Brian, for the times I’d scared the crew with my unpredictability. I felt like I was falling apart, unraveling at the seams, and I couldn’t stop it.

Brian pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly as the tears streamed down my face. I felt everyone’s eyes on us, but it didn’t matter. I couldn’t hold anything back anymore. I cried for everything—the fear, the uncertainty, the guilt.

“I don’t know how to do this,” I whispered into Brian’s chest, my voice trembling. “I don’t know how to be this person. I don’t know how to… how to be weak.”

Brian’s voice cracked as he held me even closer. “You’re not weak,” he whispered fiercely. “You’ve never been weak, Y/N. You’re the strongest person I know. And you don’t have to go through this alone. We’re all here for you—for whatever you need.”

I shook my head, pulling back just enough to look up at him, my eyes red and swollen. “But I’ve been so awful to you. I pushed you away. I didn’t know what was wrong with me, but I—”

“Stop,” he cut me off, his voice thick with emotion. “None of that matters now. None of it. You were scared, and you didn’t know why. But we know now. And we’re going to fix it. Together.”

I wanted to believe him. I wanted so badly to believe that everything would be okay. But the fear was still there, lurking in the background, whispering that things might never be the same again.

The crew stepped forward one by one, each offering words of support, hugs, and quiet reassurances. It was overwhelming—feeling so much love and care when all I felt inside was fear. I wanted to tell them how much it meant to me, how grateful I was, but the words got stuck in my throat.

Finally, Boden spoke again, his voice gentle but firm. “You need to rest, Y/N. Go home, get some sleep, and prepare for the surgery. We’ll be with you every step of the way.”

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure I’d be able to sleep with everything swirling inside me. But I appreciated the sentiment. I appreciated all of them.

Brian took my hand, and we started to leave. As we walked out of the firehouse, I looked back at the crew—my family—standing there, watching us with worried eyes. They believed in me. They believed I could get through this.

I just wished I could believe it too.

Chapter 10:

The night before the surgery was the longest night of my life.

Brian and I went back to our apartment, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the silence between us wasn’t filled with tension or misunderstanding. It was just… heavy. There was nothing more to say, nothing more to do but wait. I could see the worry etched into Brian’s face every time I caught him glancing at me. He tried to hide it, but I knew him too well.

We made dinner, but I could barely eat. The thought of surgery, of having someone cut into my brain, was too much to bear. I pushed the food around on my plate, my stomach churning with anxiety.

Brian eventually took my hand, pulling me into the living room. We sat on the couch, and I rested my head on his shoulder, closing my eyes as he gently stroked my hair. His touch was soothing, grounding me when my mind started to spiral.

“I’m scared,” I admitted quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” Brian whispered back, his voice soft and full of love. “I’m scared too. But you’re going to get through this. We’re going to get through this.”

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to hold onto his words like a lifeline. But the fear, the uncertainty—it was all-consuming. I couldn’t shake the thought that something could go wrong, that I might not wake up after the surgery, that everything could change in a matter of hours.

“What if…” I started, my voice trembling. “What if something happens? What if I’m not the same after?”

Brian’s hand stilled in my hair, and he pulled back just enough to look at me. His eyes were filled with so much love, so much emotion, that it took my breath away.

“No matter what happens,” he said softly, “I’m here. I love you, Y/N. Nothing’s going to change that.”

The tears welled up again, and I blinked them away, trying to stay strong. But Brian’s words broke something inside me, and before I knew it, I was sobbing, my whole body shaking as I clung to him.

“I don’t want to lose myself,” I cried. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” Brian whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You won’t lose me. You’re not going anywhere, Y/N. You’re stronger than this. We’ll face whatever comes next together.”

I buried my face in his chest, feeling the warmth of his arms around me, and for the first time that night, I allowed myself to believe him.

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enmmyheavenscg · 6 months ago

Text

GREETINGS !

Hello everyone, it’s been a while, no?

I’m sorry for the inactivity, but I have not been in the best mental state im afraid.

TW FOR SUI MENTION, CHILD ABUSE [neglect, physical & emotional] , SH, HOSPITALIZATION, HEART ATTACKS & INCEST

Now through out the entire month of June, my mental health has gone downhill. I have shared this a couple times, yes but- I have not shared the full story.

On June 1st, my brother had recently gotten out of the hospital, during the time I had been living with my grandma. My grandma is absolutely horrible- she does nothing but make comments about me aswell as make me uncomfortable.

when my brother had gotten out and I was recently back home, all the attention had been on him- usually, I wouldn’t care and that would make the most sense, Yes but- to completely ignore your own kid- me. It’s the whole family that’s been ignoring me overall, which I don’t even care, it’s been like this my entire life and I hate it.

My mothers behavior hadn’t changed, she had even gotten worst, she’d raise her hand and hurt me- she does not understand how her actions affect me, and after she physically lays her hands on me she acts as if nothing had happened and that everything was normal. Her comments about my body, my health- my everything affects me and she finds it oh so ‘hilarious’ I’ve tried to tell her how I feel and she’s laughed in my face before- I hate this family in everyway.

The worst thing that had happened was when I happened to have a heart attack in call- and she brushed it off like it was nothing- we had also just recently been driving back from the hospital because my brothers stomach was hurting- wow because a kid having a heart attack is less important than a stomach ache-

I don’t mean to be selfish im just ? Angry with her, Angry with the whole world. My body is always in pain yet nobody could ever care, im always suffering . I’ve tried to end it 3 separate times and failed, I’ve relapsed multiple times aswell. I’ve been little so often it makes me feel guilty, Yes I know I’ve said before- ‘there is no such thing as being too little’ but I genuinely want to be big for once- I’ve had to mask being big multiple times and I just hate it, i wanna be a little kid. I want my childhood back. I want my old happy self back, nobody understands me- I don’t even understand me, dude.

June 25th- my brother had been in the hospital again during this time. He’s currently on the day Im writing this (July 10th) out of the hospital! He had been since July 1st. He had been in the hospital for a while during this time but- on June 25th I was heading to my cousins house, Finally. As much as I had fun there I was also extremely

Like- EXTREMELY uncomfortable.

My cousins were there- my cousin who forced me into a relationship with her, made me do uncomfortable things with her was there.. and so was my younger cousin, my younger cousin who would touch me in places I asked her not to, unlike the older cousin, I had genuinely told my mother that my cousin was touching me in places I didn’t want. My mother didn’t believe me, she used to be like ‘oh she’s just a child, she doesn’t know better’ which was just disgusting.

June was just. Absolutely horrible, if I had the chance once again, Id truly end it all. It’s not fair, why does everyone hhab it good but not mme I deserve to be happy, Don’t I?

I’d truly start a fundraiser for myself so I could leave this house but, im stuck here. There is no way in hell I could possibly leave- perhaps when im 18, I’ll have the chance to.

But but- this whole post isn’t about me pitying myself, it is about me taking a break.

I will be going on break Yes, I’ll mostly be on in discord, just won’t be speaking to people much, if you decide to check up on me in discord I’ll probably reply, apologies if not.

I wont be away for long as much as I’ve gone through a lot, I’ll probably take a couple days

I mite take like .. 5 days (on discord and all my social media..) and be back. PLEASE. Please try and reblog this if you can.

Remember to stay safe everyone and that i love you all !

This is Emmy signing off ! Bye bye ! 🩵

#age regression #hazbin hotel agere #agere #age regressor #agere blog #hazbin hotel #sfw agere #agere community #hazbin hotel emily #pllz reblog if you ca #N #tw abuse #tw incest #tw vent #tw hospital #tw sh implied #tw sui implied

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tenderlyrenjun · 2 years ago

Text

Married

(Jisung ver.)

minors + inactive/empty blogs do not interact; fic rec blogs do not reblog without comments

a/n: repost, sorry; if people still hate it, I’ll take it down but please stop telling me that my fics suck; please be nice, i'm having a rough time in life and I wrote this in like 2-3/ish days … I’ve just been thinking about Jisung a lot; I think he’s neat

word count: > 12k (sorry)

married (og, jeno ver)

edit: oppa kink removed.

includes … afab reader, tw jewellery, tw food (not in a sexual way) established relationship, unusually clingy jisung, non-marriage proposals, reciprocal ‘ooooh you want me so bad’ dynamic, better than gold TDS2 in BKK body rolls mention, implied (and wrong) experienced virgins, lots of making out, hair pulling, oral sex (m + f receiving), lowkey exhibitionism, sex in a supply closet, first times, ass grabbing, vague choking, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, thigh job (m + f receiving), fingering, lowkey size kink/difference, creampie consent – homophobes dni; mark + doyoung are gay

again, minors + inactive/empty blogs do not interact

“Hey, my dad said Doyoung asked you to be the ring bearer.”

Jisung tears his attention from the engineering student portal as you kick your way through the blankets, teetering candy boxes over a bowl of popcorn, path dimly lit by the TV and Renjun’s candles. He offered, about twenty minutes ago, before you stockpiled half his snacks on the couch with him, to gather the food, but you assigned him to pull out the cushions into a kind of bed setting. It only took a couple seconds, as it always does for him, which is why, since the last movie night, he’s had an inkling suspicion that you keep having him unfold the couch. That, or you want to keep him out of the kitchen, on account of all the times he dropped and sprayed soda all over the floor. He makes up for it!, he hopes, like earlier when he got all the snacks from the convenience store downstairs – at 10 PM, if he might add. Granted, his long legs make the trip shorter than if you went, with or without him. Actually, once, or twice, or a few times really, whenever you go with him on those allegedly short walks across the road, it extends an hour, two hours, past midnight, not that he minds. Jisung never minds; he uses it as an excuse to take a break from the studying he scarcely does – on the surface, of course. His more romantic side holds your hand and tells you that he just likes spending this time with you because you study too much at the lounge in Square Garden.

“Yeah,” Jisung answers, “Doyoung asked his morning.” He takes the candies from you first, then the popcorn, helping you settle comfortably below the thin throw blanket next to him. A soda can slides down with the new incline and he catches it with his foot, placing the bowl between your thigh and his, beside the other snacks. “Apparently, his fiancé didn’t confirm anything, and they were a party member short,” he shrugs. “Are you still the flower girl?”

You nod, “mmhmm,” then crack open the soda he caught; you put two straws inside, pulling the blue one (his) a little bit taller. “Jeno thought I was going to be a grooms-woman though and asked if we were walking down the aisle together.”

Jisung scrunches his nose. That doesn’t even make sense. You all – him, Jeno, you, Renjun, Jeno’s girlfriend, etc. – are attending the wedding from Doyoung’s side of the family, at an unequal ration (he and his fiancé have three grooms-people each; you wouldn’t be able to walk with Jeno). But he makes no corrective comment, instead slowly unwrinkling his mouth. “I don’t think his girlfriend would like that.” Because he wouldn’t like it very much, no matter how many times he tells you that he’s not a jealous guy.

Jisung quickly takes a small sip of Cola while you still have it in your hands, and you raise an eyebrow.

“Why? You don’t trust me?”

He slurps a little too hard, choking on the sudden rush of soda down his throat, and pulls off. “No, that’s not – of course, I do –“ Then, you start laughing, and he pushes your chest, another smile widening into his cheeks. “Ah, you’re so …”

“So what?” you bounce back, knocking your shoulder into him. “So lovely? So pretty? So Park Jisung’s girlfriend?”

Jisung catches you with both hands, an arm wrapping around your shoulders, his fingers grazing your cheek. He pulls a serious frown that doesn’t quite meet the curve in his eyebrow. “Mmhm, yeah,” he answers the last one, leaning in tighter. “You’re so Park Jisung’s girlfriend.” His lips almost touch yours, thumb tilting your face upward, breath a poor, poor substitute for your tongue. “Don’t forget it.”

You wrap your hand under his wrist, pushing his arm up a bit further. He casts his eyes toward yours for a second but sees you staring at his parted lips. Your tongue peaks its tip, briefly catching his most prominent tubercle. “Never.”

You make the first move, for him, thankfully, because he debated, too long, how to proceed with you still carrying the soda in your lap. His broad shoulders envelop you when you fist his hoodie, dragging him and the collar down, zipper chafing his bare sternum. Jisung braces a hand on the couch, somewhere near your hip that his index finger feels, steadying the both of you upright. It only lasts a second, before you both fall into the pillows, and the cushions barely support you two, so you cling to each other. He readjusts your hips under him, your knee bending to avoid the popcorn bowl, which probably already spilled. Your hand slips into the split ends of his hair and pulls, drawing out all his breath, making his hand slip under your ass.

Then you pull harder, and his breath becomes audible, becomes a moan.

You – and he – learned this evil little fact somewhere around the seventh month mark – his hair pulling kink. Jisung met you after a particularly long evening class, holding a thin bouquet of pink tulips and couple bracelets in his trench coat. He kissed the top of your head, an arm wrapped around your shoulders, hiding you and your backpack in his large jacket, on the way to his car. You made it to the restaurant about 10 minutes early, but the table ran late, so the both of you sat in the backseat, pointing out the moon in mirror’s reflection, talking and talking until you were no longer talking, kind of like now. And you pulled the ends of his hair, nails grazing into his scalp, to get him on top. You ended up being late to you reservation.

“J-Jisung,” you whisper, cut off by the harder he presses his lips.

He shifts around the couch, aligning you perpendicular to the snacks, better lit by the candlelight, straight against the original layout, your head on the arm rest now – all without breaking the kiss. And his hands get more frantic, taking away the soda, mauling your hips, flipping his fingers repeatedly over your waistband.

“Is this too far?” Jisung asks when his thumbs sink above your underwear. He can feel the tiny organza flowers bulging into his finger pads. You both have gone through most of the bases, with each other – been making out, hot and heavy, since your fourth date; groping each other over and under your clothes since the second month; touching each other a little more south since that seventh month mark. He has seen you naked, too! Well, mostly naked; sometimes you wear his hoodie or only your underwear, which leaves little to the imagination, but still, he hovers and asks.

Your eyes blink slowly, opening just a crack but so obvious in the dark. He waits for you to look at him, following you up his neck to his face. You bite your lip a tiny bit, right in the middle, almost imperceptible until you let go, and he pecks you once, pulling away just as quickly even though your lips trail after him.

“No,” you mumble, also fast, jutting out your chin to kiss him again, sliding your arms around his neck, hands down between his shoulder blades. “Jisung, please, keep going. I want – I want to –“ You suck in a breath and center yourself (and him). “I want you.”

Jisung grunts your name, popping his chest like a dance move before he locks himself onto you, rolling your torso with him. He presses your hips down, deeper into the couch. Your shins stand up, outlining him, giving his dick a small crevice between your pants against which to rub. Instinctively, he bites his lip – and yours, and you yelp, prompting him to apologize, but you yank him even closer, nails clawing into his cheeks. You slip your plump tongue into his mouth, drawing his out, and your lips feel even softer on his tongue as you kiss around it, kind of like that time you gave him head, back when you still lived in the dorms on campus. He barely fit those days, and each thrust would drag your lips back into your mouth with him; he basically trained you, since then, to take his entire length in one stroke. Same with his long fingers beneath your panties, which now unbutton your trousers. He crosses your leg one on top of the other, pausing, on his knees, to grind against your ass. And you both roll your eyes shut, incoherent mumblings spilling down both your tongues without the other to mash them away. Jisung dives down again, both hands shimmying off your pants while he kisses you, equally fervent.

But once he gets them down your ankles, your feet prepared to kick them off, the lights turn on.

“Oh!” Renjun groans from the entrance, a brown grocery bag covering his eyes as he makes his way into the kitchen behind the couch. “Could you not do that on the communal furniture? Please?”

Maybe Jisung takes Renjun’s words a little too closely to heart, or maybe he wants to save money by booking a multiroom suite with his friends, or maybe he really wants to make love to his beautiful girlfriend who he has known for years now, because he agrees with his friends on the shared unit, like his apartment with Renjun, for Doyoung’s weekend wedding in mid-Seoul near the Han River. Jaemin convinced everyone that they would need a place to rest and get dressed without having to make the hour/hour and a half drive back to their apartments in upper Seoul. The hotel also gives Jisung the excuse to sleep next to you (just sleep, Renjun glared, traumatized after your date night), which he absolutely loves, in a different way, laying on your chest, matching your breath, siphoning off some of warmth to you.

It was the first thing you both did when you got to your rooms – sleep.

Jisung dropped your duffel bag and his – both couple items – in an open armoire while you settled his smaller backpack on the vanity. Neither of you opened any bags, wordlessly and simultaneously collapsing on the singular king-sized bed. You sprawled out for a couple seconds, then searched for each other’s hands in the sheets. He turned to you first, after you intertwined your fingers, and kissed your knuckles, one at a time, doubling back on your ring finger. It made you giggle, which made him giggle.

“Ah, I like being here with you,” he confessed, flopping against the mattress again, brushing away his bangs from his forehead, a dumb, gummy smile spreading up his face.

He never told you this, but a few months into dating, when you accidentally stayed the night at his apartment for the first time, falling asleep on his full-sized bed while he finished a last-minute assignment, Jisung had this epiphany where he realized that he likes this, likes sharing a bed with you (he almost asked you to move in, but that would have been way too soon, especially for a couple of kids). Then, after he fixed your hair, tied it into a ponytail sometime before sunrise for a hiking date along the Yeongbong Peak Trail, he realized that he likes the intimacy of being with you, his girlfriend. And he finds himself, this weekend, on the second evening staying at the hotel, looking for all those moments of intimacy.

Like now, he sits on the end-of-the-bed bench, watching you fix your eye makeup in the mirror according to Doyoung’s navy and gold rehearsal dinner, matching a shimmering highlight with the trim in the slit of your maxi dress. You wore this same dress – and him the same matching suit – to some European restaurant with him a couple months ago. No special occasion that time; you just met him at a restaurant for date night after not seeing him all two weeks of midterm season. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, people said when he was younger and naïve and didn’t quite understand them enough to believe, but he got it instantly, in that moment, and essentially made a vow never to be that far from you again – probably why he seeks and prolongs these moments of intimacy, and why he likes your dress so much, among a few other reasons.

“Are you finished?” you call, a little garbled as your mouth hangs while you apply mascara.

“Almost.” Jisung looks down at the loose tie around his neck. “Just need to fix one last thing.” He looks back toward you, and you look beautiful and mostly finished, not that he knows, entirely, what look you will be completing. He just thinks you are always pretty. “Are you almost done?”

“Not really.” You pull away from the bathroom mirror, blinking a few times, then turn to him. “How does this look – Oh, are you not wearing the couple watch tonight?”

“No, I am.” Jisung points to his silver watch on the table at the other side of the room with his black blazer. “Are you wearing yours?”

You nod. “Yeah, I just need to add some lipstick and jewellery, and I’ll be done.”

Jisung stands up and crosses the room to get behind you. He lifts your hair in an impromptu ponytail, making sure to grab lowly as not to ruin what you have done so far. “I'll help you,” he half-requests, gently, already pulling your long necklace into place and clasping it at the perfect length. He spins you around to add the bracelets and watch, but you have yet to finish applying makeup, so he holds your hands and kisses you slowly, like the scene of a movie (or an artsy porno).

You put a hand on his arm, jerking him forward, leaning on the door frame. He tilts his head a little bit left, nose brushing into your cheek, and you copy him enough for him to feel your breath on his face. Ever since the first time he kissed you longer than a simple peck, Jisung has been obsessed with all the ways he can elongate a simple kiss. One way you do, and this doubles as giving him consent, is by wrapping your arms around his neck, which you do now, hiking your leg, through your slit, around his waist high up, practically sitting on the sink counter. It gives him a better angle, more comfortable, against the height difference, to bend his neck. Jisung hikes your other leg around his waist, sandwiching you between him and the wall, thigh supported by the sink, an ass cheek supported by his large hand, his pelvis pressing too tightly into yours. He brushes your hair to the side and presses a trail of quick kisses down your jaw that have your breath elevated, turning into whispered moans of his name that he has to kiss quiet.

You hold his chin still, about to return the trail of kisses, when three knocks hit the bedroom door.

“Are you guys do – Oh, come on,” Jeno groans, throwing his hands in toward the exit, swinging his entire body away from the bathroom (a private bathroom, Jisung mentally adds). “Wrap it up, people. Jaemin is one perfume spray from being ready, and we’re already five minutes late for the rehearsal dinner.”

Jeno leaves as quickly as he entered, but Jisung still scrunches his nose, making a small annoyed face at the door. You tap his arm quickly a few times, and he steps back, helping you hop down the counter.

“So … do you still need help?”

You deadpan at him. “Out.”

“Is it always that bad or am I just noticing it now?” you call from the bathroom again.

Jisung laughs and pauses the TikTok on his phone. “What? You don’t want to marry me?”

You point a half-used wet wipe at him, brown eyeliner smudged past the corner of your eyebrow. “You proposed to me twice!”

Jisung rolls his eyes and onto his stomach over the bed. “One of those doesn’t even count!” During your two-year anniversary picnic at the Han River, a few months ago, he proposed the idea of proposing when he saw a kid with a red candy Ring Pop. You didn’t turn him down, citing that you both already had platinum couple rings, and he proposed on the spot with his, even getting halfway down on a knee before you toppled him into the grass. Okay, maybe that one counts; Jisung rubs the back of his neck. “But all the aunties thought we were cute!” During the rehearsal dinner, they kept bringing up a follow-up wedding with all the couples – you and Jisung, Jeno and his girlfriend, Mark and his boyfriend. All of you treaded around the conversation, as if none of you have had The Talk with your partners yet, even though Jisung knows that Mark has a ring ready and Jeno has a date planned (and he has a proposal in mind).

You turn off the bathroom lights and quickly jump into the bed, hiding your bare legs under the blanket without him, fluffing his extra-large hoodie over your head.

Jisung frowns and scoots into bed with you. “Did it really bother you that much?” He knows that he jokes about marriage from time to time, probably brings it up one too many times, but he is serious about it. If you said yes, he would marry you in an instant. You would wait anyways, for a big ceremony, until the both of you finish your degrees and have jobs, him delayed a few semesters due to military service before school, but he would marry you in an instant. “I can talk to the aunties tomorrow, so they don’t bring it up again.”

“No, Sung,” you backpedal. “It’s just that I never noticed it before. Of course, I want to marry you. We’ve just never really talked about the details before. We don’t even live together.”

Jisung settles into the pillows, dragging you down with him, into his arms. “We could,” he whispers. And you look up at him, eyes wide, a hand over his on your stomach. “Move in, and talk about all the details. We could move in together, you know. Maybe not on Monday or anything, but, like, next semester or next year, or something like that. We could wait until after college, too, if –“

“Jisung?”

“… Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Jisung sighs, in relief this time, melting a little bit deeper into the mattress, free hand taking his forehead temperature. “I love you, too.” He rolls on his side and buries his face in your neck, curling his long leg over your bare thighs. You comb his hair behind his ear a few times before he starts kissing your neck, sneaking into the hoodie with you – there’s enough room for two people if he squeezes.

“Jisung,” you sigh quietly. He looks up, catching you close your eyes, mouth parting enough for your tongue to peek out a bit, flat with the way you bite it. And he kisses your neck again, a quick, wet one, licking his lips so closely that his tongue catches your skin. Sometimes he doesn’t have exactly the right words, so he rambles through the entire dictionary until he finds the right one. He also really likes kissing you. “Jisung,” you sigh again, a little bit louder, more enunciated over the wet smacks that he tries to make chaste, given the brief conversation about marriage. “Mmm, Jisung.”

But like he said, he would marry you in an instant.

Jisung kisses your neck a little longer, a little harder, slipping around the column to find a perfect vein that makes you whimper his name exactly the same again. And pliantly, your head lulls into his palm, kissing his life lines almost deliberately. Jisung turns you back to him with the same palm, pyjama pants rolling your legs open, wide enough for him to slip between. He grinds down, the first kiss to your lips, fingers coiling in the hair behind your head, freehand pulling a thigh up his back. You seem to get the hint, tying your feet on his spine, pushing your heels down to trap him.

“If we – if we move in together,” you breathe, eyes closed, lips pursed, “I don’t think we’ll get very much sleep – Jisung – ah!”

Jisung coasts his throbbing boner through your lips, milling his pants against your underwear. His waistband starts folding over itself, exposing his Adonis belt further and further and further, until his ass is half out, almost matching the way your underwear tangles between your cheeks. He brings you up closer, pulling your head off the pillows, fully kneeling, making indents in the sheets.

“I want it,” he tells you, hauling you into his lap, making you straddle him backwards, “I want to move in together, to sleep together, to sleep together.” He squeezes you against the headboard, quietly banging it against the wall just once, then louder a second time as you meet him, equally, trying to fuse your bodies together. His hands start roaming, and your hands start roaming, only settling on the best place to knead each other – his broad shoulders and your ass. “I’m not just saying it, I promise.” You stare at him a few milliseconds, searching his eyes, then kiss him even rougher, making him lose balance, and he accidentally kicks the headboard harder.

“We’ll talk about it later,” you tell him, mouths misaligned, kissing around his cupid’s bow specifically. And Jisung sucks in a huge breath, holding it right there in his chest, gravitating the entire Earth’s rotation around his, well, his penis, the lifeline, right now, to his brain and heart. Then you whisper, “I want it, too. All of it,” and he exhales and flips you on your back, making you yelp and giggle, which makes him giggle.

“Right now, I want you.”

Jisung leans down again, half a centimeter from your lips … when a loud bang comes from the adjourning wall, accompanied by your names. He looks up at it, mouth still puckered, hoping that the sound came from you two. Sensing nothing, he kisses you again, and a moan escapes him, and the banging comes back.

"Jisung," Jaemin shouts. “I can’t tell if you’re just watching porn too loud or you’re trying to have sex in a hotel room that you share with your best friends, but it’s 3 AM, and we have to be up at 7 for the wedding, so, for the love of God, please go to sleep.”

You laugh out loud, and Jisung covers your mouth with one hand. Then, as expected, Jaemin hits the wall again.

“Hello?? What did I just tell Jisung?”

“Yo!” Mark wanders into your room, eyes covered his long blond hair and a single hand. The other blindly feels around the air, as not to bump into anything, but he still hits the end-of-the-bed bench where yours and Jisung’s clothes are neatly packed in black suit protector bags. “Are you decent?” he asks, stopping in place, “The guys sent me to see if you’re ready yet.” He spins his wrist in the air. “Something about not wanting to deal with –“ Mark takes a chance and peaks through his fingers … only to find you and Jisung sharing wired earbuds, laughing at a stupid, silly, little TikTok. He breathes a quick sigh, petting down his chest, then deadpans and grabs a pillow, throwing it at you two. “Hey!” He snaps his fingers. You both finally look up. “Time to go, losers. My boyfriend��s already pulled the car around; Jeno left 30 minutes ago; and the makeup artists started on the Doyoung's fiance’s groomsmen.”

You and Jisung make no move to get up.

“Hello? Now, please,” Mark practically orders.

“Um,” Jisung squeaks. He scrunches his nose, pressing his tongue on his bottom lip, in lieu of biting. It’s still a bit swollen from last night, when you both kept kissing each other through messy hand jobs, wanting the first time that you actually have real, penetrative sex to be more freeing. But still, he did have sex last night, and the reminders show, under the blanket, where you don’t wear pants. “Can you give us, like, two minutes to get dressed?” He gestures to the heap of blankets.

Mark throws his head back. “You’re not even dressed? Of course, you’re not.” He groans. “Okay, you have five minutes to be downstairs, or you’re driving yourselves.”

The moment Mark walks out the door, Jisung asks, “Should we just Uber there?”

You smack him with a pillow. “The makeup artist has to get both of us ready. We’re in the wedding party.” Jisung flails over that pillow, making you drop it, and you roll your eyes, getting up like Mark requested.

“Ugh.” He hugs the pillow tightly, covering the dick imprint in his boxers. “The wedding doesn’t even start until 3. We could have time to just …” Jisung watches you take off your sticky black panties and pull on even smaller ones, words trailing off, because now his 7 AM boner remembers how he kissed you until 5 AM; how your hands squeezed above his balls, while he slid his entire length in the crevice of your thigh; how he fingered you with three long digits, thumb pinching down on your clit. Then you catch him staring a little south of the hoodie you stole from the last time he did laundry (Thursday, when you slept over), and he finishes his sentence. “To – to just re-relax.”

You roll your eyes again and put on the Adidas sweatpants that Jisung bought you a few months ago. “Let’s go, Jisung.” And he rolls his eyes, sticking his tongue out his jaw.

"Fine, but you owe me a kiss."

Jisung accepts, or, really, takes his kiss, outside the hotel. He stops you a couple steps down the short perron, dress storage bag, hitting his thigh from how fast he moves. And - while Mark leans against his boyfriend's car, calling Renjun and Jaemin down, who are also late - Jisung gives himself the time, the moment, to pucker his lips.

But it turns into a longer kiss, backing up Renjun and Jaemin, who were not as late as he thought.

“Two and a half years, and you still suck face? Are you two even dating or just making out all the time?” Renjun shakes his head sarcastically. And Jisung pushes him into Jaemin, who catches him easily.

“Ay-yo??” Mark calls from the street, hand over his eyes like a visor. “We’re late, let’s goooo.”

In the car, Mark and his boyfriend take the driver and passenger seats, obviously, and Jaemin and Jeno’s girlfriend sit in the pop-up row in the trunk, leaving you, Renjun, and Jisung – the smallest and tallest of the group – in the middle, much to Renjun’s protest. Though, he only jokes about this stuff; he actually thinks that the both of you are “so cute” if his cuteness aggression is anything to go off. Sometimes he throttles you two, and Jisung is scared that he might get bitten (by someone who isn’t you).

The drive to the venue (re: other hotel) is only 15 minutes, so everyone tries to stay silent, on their phones, still waking up, not even properly dressed, but Jisung, of course, breaks it, laughing and mouthing stop through his gummy smile after you respond to his TikTok.

[Boyfriend ♡, 7:13 A.M.]

hey, look at this

[Boyfriend ♡, 7:13 A.M.]

https://tiktok...com

[Girlfriend ♡♡, 7:14 A.M.]

Are you trying to tell me something?

[Girlfriend ♡♡, 7:15 A.M.]

Andy Park? 🤨

“Ah, stop,” Jisung blushes. He rubs up your thigh and buries his face in your neck, lips curling into your skin prominently enough to act like another kiss. You sneak your hand around his head, combing out his bed hair.

“What?” you whisper in his ear, brushing away the longer strands. “Not going to propose a third time?”

Jisung covers your mouth and presses a quick kiss to your neck. “Someone’s going to hear you.” If it were any other situation, he would take you on the suggestion, half-jokingly proposing with whatever couple ring he happened to be wearing at the time. Mostly, he wants it to be an intimate proposal, just the two of you, eyes on each other; the after party, when you tell everyone, can be the bigger affair, but Jisung wants to see the ring slide down your finger and hear your answer clearly with his own ears. He peeks an eye and finds you already staring at him, cooing. “Why? Do you want me to propose again?”

Dramatically, you take off your ring and plop it in his palm. He laughs, audibly, breaking the silence again, but slips it down your finger regardless.

“Ehhh,” you grimace at it, playfully, twirling your hand in the sunlight, “Same ring.”

Jisung grabs you by the neck and kisses you quiet this time, only pulling away to peck your lips repeatedly. His thumb brushes into your cheek, fingers drawing you in, tilting your head at the perfect angle to slip his tongue down your throat. Your head falls pliantly, supported by his wrist that you hold, following every twist and turn he makes to kiss you harder.

“Okay! Here! Everyone out of my car!” Mark’s boyfriend shouts, loudly shifting the car into neutral a few steps from the Grand Hyatt Seoul. He looks pointedly at you and Jisung breathing heavily through the rearview mirror. “Especially you two.”

[Girlfriend ♡♡, 12:14 P.M.]

Meet me in the lobby

[Girlfriend ♡♡, 12:14 P.M.]

I have a surprise for you ^^

Jisung waits on a cushion bench, fully dressed in his navy tuxedo, silver accessories hidden under his sleeves and high collar to accommodate Doyoung's wedding theme. He scrolls back through your car ride conversation, since he has the time, smiling to himself, curling into himself, covering his mouth as he kicks his feet forward like a middle schooler with a crush.

You are continuously cute in his eyes, and, as he relives this reminder of just how cute you are, Jisung doesn't know how he got so lucky. Sure, yeah, you two make out ... a lot, as Renjun pointed out, but he also finds you incredibly compatible. You send him pictures of the moon at night and the sun in the morning; you go out with him at 1 in the morning to the good fish-shaped bread cart (the one by Jamsil stadium after all the concerts neither of you attended); you cheer his name after all the physics exams on which he tries his best.

Really, Jisung could go on forever and ever, gushing about pretty much every aspect of your relationship. He loves you so much. And he used to, back when you first started dating, and he still does during your anniversaries (100 days, 6 months, 1 year, etc.). All his friends complain, especially the bitchless ones (Renjun, Haechan, and Jaemin), but he wants you in his life for as long as you'll have him.

“Were you going to text me?”

Jisung jumps in his seat, automatically locking his phone. He relaxes though, the next second, when he sees you, and scoots over enough for you to sit with him.

But you keep standing.

And he raises an eyebrow.

“What are you –“

You kick your foot up, through the slit of your dress. Jisung thinks you wear these dresses often, which he likes, never mind that Doyoung picked this dress out - a fact he tries to ignore, even though he's pretty sure that he confided this secret to his friends and Renjun probably let it slip after a few drinks.

You catch your ankle, showing off the white bottoms under your heels, below the pretty, silver watch that you will have to take off before the ceremony. Jisung, on instinct, hold you steady first, seeing signs of imbalance in your face. He waits until you lean on him more before looking at your foot.

"Why are - Andy?" he reads, vertically down your foot. It takes him a second to react, chest pounding fast, first, mind going blank, eyes flying to search your smiling face. Then, he returns it - your smile. "Ah, you're so cute."

Jisung pulls you into his lap, like a princess on his knee, and kisses you fast. He might have you repeat this when you actually get married, already filing a mental note to save the TikTok for inspiration. For now, though, he can just pretend - pretend that you did this for your wedding, pretend that you will talk down the aisle for him today (well, you go first, so he will meet you at the first row in front of the alter today), pretend that your white-ish dress is for him, pretend that your current rings carry even more permanent meaning than they already do.

You laugh between the repeated pecks, trying to pull away, but he has you vice gripped close by his chest. “You’re so clingy this weekend, Park Jisung.” And he draws back first, briefly looking at you before burying his face in your neck, arms dropping down your waist. “Someone might think you actually like skinship.” You laugh again and comb his hair.

Jisung squeezes your waist, just once, breathlessly laughing with you. He knows – he knows that he isn’t really known for skinship, having waited days, in the beginning, to hold your hand, not even kissing you until your fourth date; and he knows that he has been obsessed with you these last few days, so he kisses your neck again and confesses, “I just … I just …” He sucks in a breath. “Ah, I just want you,” he finishes lamely. “Can we stay a little bit longer? Here, at the venue, without … everyone else?”

You pinch his cheeks upward, puckering his lips at which you coo. “Did you want to get married today, too?” you giggle. And he almost hides behind your hair, if it weren’t neatly tied up, braided forward to your temples, but also, you hold him as steady as he hugs your waist. He wouldn’t mind, you know, getting married today, after Doyoung; the only people missing, right now, are his siblings (and a few other people); he might want to buy you a new ring really quick though. “Hmm? What’s up, babe?”

“Everyone will be gone,” he says simply, and you relax your fingers curiously onto his shoulders, fumbling the lapels. “From the hotel, they’ll be gone. Most of them are leaving during the dinner, and Mark’s already packed up his boyfriend’s car with their bags. We’ll have an entire suite to ourselves; we won’t have to check out until tomorrow morning.” Jisung swallows and licks his lips, giving himself a beat of reprieve before his tongue goes numb, making it impossible to voice the reason for his request. You stare at him, wide eyed and nodding, urging him to go on, even though it looks like you already know what he wants to ask, even though he feels too scared to ask. “We could, um, we could – oh, God.” He likes to think that, since you’ve been dating for almost three years, he has gotten past most of the nervous, honeymoon stuttering, but he (loves you so much) takes a deep breath and starts again, rushing through, “Wecouldhavesex.”

And you giggle.

He wishes you wouldn’t. It sets a bad precedent for the activity he wants to do; albeit, you didn’t laugh those other first times – when he kissed you, when you sucked him off, when he fingered you. So, really, Jisung has no reason to worry. He just needs to suggest it again, calmly.

“We could use the hotel room, later,” he alludes, monitoring your reaction closely, involuntarily stiffening his fingers through your silky, pale gold dress. You give him more encouraging tiny nods, leaning in with each micro-adjustment, and he copies you, nodding to himself, giving himself the same support. “To have sex,” he whispers, then repeats, louder, “Make love. Do you … want to …?”

You exhale shakily, and he hadn’t realized you were holding your breath. “Yeah,” you sigh. “Yes, definitely.” You grab his face, and he wants to propose again, possibly for real, to see you react like this again, possibly more enthusiastic. “Jisung, I love you,” you say obviously, honestly, “Of course I want to have sex with you,” you whisper the last bit, like him, and he kisses your shoulder, suppressing his gummy smile briefly.

“Give me your ring.”

“Whoa?” You blink. “Just because I said yes? Park Jisung, I never thought of you as a player.” You giggle again and hand over the mismatched ring regardless, probably already knowing the question he has written across his face.

He almost apologizes, for not having a new present, a new ring, something new to give you for another relationship marker, but he changes his mouth to say your name and holds out the jewllery between his thumb and index finger, which are shaped like a heart, nail pushing the center design at you. “Will you,” he pauses, dramatically, muffling a sheepish laugh. “Will you,” he restarts, “make love to me tonight, in the hotel room – our hotel room, after the wedding?”

You roll your eyes and push his shoulder, but he stays still, keeping himself upright to drag an answer out of you. And you answer again, definitively, “Yes, Park Jisung, I will make love to you tonight in our hotel room.”

Except, after the wedding, past the foyer at the reception hall, you almost fuck your boyfriend in a supply closet. He’d only been dancing in the makeshift mosh pit with his friends, jacket fallen down his shoulders, mostly sheer white shirt exposing his toned humerus. They kept cheering him on through the popping and locking and body rolls as he wore a pair of cheesy, blue party glasses that Doyoung placed on all the tables with dessert. Then, the DJ – Doyoung’s friend Johnny from high school – slowed the melody, pulling all the couples onto the dance floor.

All the couples except you because you stole Jisung’s hand and dragged him out one of the smaller doors behind the furthest unoccupied tables. He tripped over a few chairs on the way, praying that no one heard him, trying to catch up the half-step you have on him, wondering what dastard plans you have on your mind.

“What are you –“

“It’s such a crime,” you tell him, shoving him against a poorly lit shelf, inhaling his lips, running your fingers along his torso, finding the best place to hold him. The door slams loudly, which is oddly comforting, to give you both some privacy. And he drops his hands from surrender onto your shoulders, relaxing you enough to continue talking through the kisses. “You look so good, too good, Park Jisung, and you dance so well. God,” you moan into his mouth, ridiculously close that he can feel your boobs squish on his chest. “I know, we’re waiting for tonight and tomorrow, and – and –“ You pull back swallowing, realigning your breath. Jisung licks his lips. He’s been the one to kiss you all weekend, to initiate it all weekend, so he gets hard, instantly, when you return the same energy, finding him as hot as he finds you. “We’re waiting,” you reiterate, and he presses his forehead against yours, “but – but can you do that dance move again – that body roll again,” you glance at him through your lashes, “on me?”

“Here?”

You nod, biting your lip. “If you don’t – we don’t have to; we can go back. I just – Jisung, ah, fuck.”

You rarely swear, never finding a reason unless you’re frustrated or really turned on, and Jisung always wants to hear it, claiming that you sound really sexy when you say things you’re not supposed to, especially, like in this case, when you are doing things you’re not supposed to. So rather than responding, he complies, pulling his face down, legs pliéd to accommodate your height, then rolls once, thigh grazing through the slit in your dress, dragging it up and behind your waist.

Jisung groans, deeply, pausing to settle his nerves. He repeats, even closer, grinding across your chest, twisting your dress around the buttons of his shirt. And you fall into him, a hand braced on the shelf behind his elbow. Jisung bites his lip. Something juxtaposes deeply in this moment, but he cannot place his finger quite on it. He feels like a middle schooler again, waiting to kiss the prettiest person at the party; he also feels like a teenager with raging hormones, back to 19 right before his military service, jacking off in his room with lotion and a box of tissues; but he also feels like an adult (or the most adult a person in their 20s can feel) in an adult relationship doing adult things. So he does it again – the body roll, breathing into your mouth, chasing your lips down for another kiss.

“I don’t want to make love to you in here,” he whispers, despite rolling his fully hard dick in the crevice between your thigh and vulva. Jisung fists your dress at your waist, bunching it higher. Your panties expose, thin and transparent. His resolve nearly falters, almost completely fucking you in this supply closet with his family and closest friends a few meters away. He kisses you again and again, burying his words with his tongue down your throat, exhaling shakily. Then, he shakes his head, slowly pulling away, holding your face in place, hand around the front of your neck. Jisung opens his eyes and finds you already looking at him, your fingers wrapping around his wrist one by one. “I want you –“ He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, that fell out of a tight braid. “– so bad, you have no idea.” He grinds his dick up your leg as proof. “But not here, not like this.”

“I know. I don’t want it like this either,” you tell him, smoothening the wrinkles in his shirt, staring down his chest. “I just … You looked so hot out there, and, God, Ji, I want you so, so bad, too.”

Jisung brings his hands down, fumbling this thumbs back and forth across your hips, your dress bunched up as you practically sit on his lap while he barely sits on a half-empty shelf. You snake your hands behind his neck, fidgeting with the tag in his coat. He tries to fight the smirk that appears in the corner of his mouth, sweeping his long hair in front of his eyes, but you catch him and bury your face in his neck this time.

“Don’t make fun of me,” you whine, voice going up an octave at the last syllable. You tease him more than he teases you, verbally at least (he likes to think that he does more than you in bed), so he’s not entirely accustomed to his whiny girlfriend, and he kinda likes it.

“Never,” he tells you, sarcastically, chuckling a hair away from your lips before he kisses you again. “I like that you think I’m sexy.” He smirks, inhaling a deep embrace, literally taking your breath away with a slow and gentle kiss. You moan into his mouth, mumbling his name between colorful expletives. It lets him slip his tongue inside, confidently, crushing his lips harder and harder, needing you to come equally closer, to ease the pressure on his dick. He knows – he knows what he just said, but, “We don’t have to … have sex in here,” he tells you, whispering like it’s a bad word. “There are other things we can do.” He groans, throatily, chest rising faster.

You’ve done worse, honestly, in worse places than dry humping in a supply closet at a family friend’s wedding. He can think of several blow jobs in the library’s reference section (which has no cameras, by the way); or that time he held a vibrator on you the entire Starbucks drive-thru, resulting in him plastering his failed differential midterm over the windows as a cover up while he ate you out in the back seat. Actually, just last Tuesday too, at the gym, after he locked the door to a communal weight lifting room, you bounced on his long, agile fingers. Granted, it was 4 AM, so the place was already empty, save for a couple employees, thus easing his anxiety. And you could do it again, right now. You don’t have to take his dick inside your cunt, but you could give each other sloppy hand jobs, using spit as lube (or not; he's probably leaking so much pre-cum). The thought makes his knees buckle, making the both of you stumble.

“Sor –”

You cut him off with another kiss, your fingers flying to his pants, undoing his fly quickly. He grunts, involuntarily thrusting up. His dick was already pointing tip-up, the entire length, even flaccid, unable to sit snugly otherwise in his pants. You curl your nails in his waistband, scratching under his boxers. He nods his head, mouth parted, gasping, giving you all the green lights to touch him more, which you do, sliding one hand down his pants and the other onto his cheek, allowing you to deepen the kiss. Jisung grunts, again, plump lips biting your tongue, and he copies you, one hand behind your neck, under your head, anchoring himself to this moment (also, before he completely evaporates).

“Shh,” you whisper, mouthing across his jaw. “We have to be quiet.” But you make it hard for him (pun intended), holding your thumb on his throbbing slit, breaking his pre-cum into uneven globs down the sides. “Everyone keeps interrupting us, baby," you pout.

You take your hand off his dick and bring it to your mouths. He watches you, intently, lick your palm, pink tongue peeping just above the web in your hand, and he falls – not literally. Jisung bends in half, lowering himself to your boobs, silently thanking your heels, which have his name branded on the bottom. He kisses the highest part on your dress, halfway down your chest, then slides the straps down your pretty arms. You repeat his name, verbally – his proper name, after he takes a nipple in his mouth, tongue flat against it, massaging the entire areola. He sucks lightly, hollowing his cheeks, bobbing up and down, opposite hand enveloping under your unattended tit, but he’s too big, as is everything about it, and his palm rests on your ribs. His thumb and index finger pinch repeatedly, automatically, increasing hardness each time a digit swipes over your nipple. You have to bite your hand to stop from moaning too loud.

“Jwiseong,” you stammer, accented by the muffle.

You edge a little closer to him, pushing the shelf into his lower back, and he yelps. But it comes out as groan, vibrations making you match him. Jisung stands up fully again, taking a wide step on the outside of your thighs. He grabs you by the face, kissing you in the way he has been all weekend, a hand behind your neck and another supporting you by the ass, this time dipping you toward the ground. His cock flops completely out the fly of his pants, balls still trapped behind the slit in his boxers. The heavy air hits the veins in his dick first before it rubs against your inner thighs, and you squeeze them around him, both of you groaning, your skimpy underwear adding friction for both of you. Jisung moans your name, accidentally biting your bottom lip. But you say nothing, instead wrapping your arms around his neck, doing your best to slide his cock between your thighs. And he grunts. He can feel his cock pulsing to release.

“Jisung,” you mumble more coherently, “Jisung, Jisung,” you half-chant between kisses, but every time you open your mouth, he slips his tongue in farther, twisting inside your mouth, licking behind your teeth, goading your tongue inside his mouth to suck on. Your panties twist at the crotch, like a substitute thong, and his long cock, ridges and all, rubs your clit to ass and back again. “Jisung,” you moan again. “Jisung, you can’t cum – you can’t – oh, my God, Jisung,” you whisper-shout, forcing him to kiss you harder. He can’t cum on your clothes.

“I know,” he mumbles, giving your tongue one last suck before he pulls back, sitting on the same half-empty shelf, you back on his lap/ish. He lightly fingers away the hairs curtaining the front of your face, tucking the thicker ones behind your ear. “I know,” he repeats. You’ve given him thigh jobs before, humping between his legs, which landed cum on your ass, and letting him hit doggy style, which landed cum on your stomach. So, here, in the random supply closet, it – his cum – would ruin both of your outfits, something you wouldn’t be able to explain on your goodbye rounds. And he cums so much (it was embarrassing the first time, then he found out how much you liked it). Jisung glances at his cock, shortly, jumping between it and your face. He steadies his breathing and takes off his jacket; he undoes more buttons down his pecs and rolls up his sleeves. “It’s so … hot in here,” he justifies.

You nod, pulling at your dress. And he sees it – the wrinkles in the skirt, the slit pushed toward your strapless bra, your panties even tinier.

“You can cum in my mouth,” you whisper thickly, “so – so you don’t stain your tux.”

“We could just go back to our hotel,” he offers instead, really feeling the need to cum elsewhere.

“You’re fine walking out with this –“ You slide your hand down his penis, fingers not entirely touching despite getting tighter at the base. “– poking everyone in the eye?”

“N-no, yeah, you’re right. Please let me cu-cum down your throat.”

You rearrange your dress comfortably folded beneath your knees, hit jacket adding extra padding. Jisung sucks in a breath, then even more when you swallow the entirely of his dick, or whatever you can, stuttering halfway down. It seems he got bigger, all his cum girthing at the tip, waiting to flood. You skip the foreplay, the teasing, immediately hollowing your cheeks around the bit you can get in your mouth without destroying your esophagus (again, you still have to say your goodbyes), but he still grips the shelf behind him, knuckles turning white. Jisung bites his lip, forcing himself to keep his eyes open, to watch his sexy, sexy girlfriend blow him, so that he cums fast. In almost any other scenario, it would be embarrassing how fast he cums, especially with how much volume he expels, but you make it so difficult not to overflow the crevices of your mouth. You press your tongue under his cock, sucking in your lip over your top row of teeth, feeding his cock down your throat, and massaging the half you can’t take. He feels a vein scrape the corner of your mouth and twitches forward, pushing more dick inside. Your eyes water a little bit, lashes blinking them away, so he takes over, slowly thrusting his cock to gauge how much teeth with graze it on the drawback. Once he finds the perfect length, he sets a faster pace, squeezing cute little dimples in his ass until he grunts erratically, incredibly close to cumming.

“Almost there,” he whimpers. He knows that he sounds frustrated, but it’s not at you, never at you. He just wants to make love to you in your hotel room right now. “So close,” he pleads, again not at you, more at himself.

You pull off his cock and open your mouth wide, as circular as possible, and he grabs his dick back, rubbing your spit and cum and his pre-cum up his length, pointing the tip inside your mouth. The first rope shoots down your throat perfectly, then the next rope lands on your tongue. It keeps sputtering out this way, like a spray bottle, until it doesn’t, and his cum clings to his cock, dribbling down his veins, prompting you to lick him clean.

And you make eye contact the entire time, which makes his cock twitch. After you finally finish cleaning him off, you stand up and show him all the collected cum in your mouth, holding your tongue still like a cup. Jisung grabs your neck, holding your pliant head as you swallow what you can, in two breathy gulps. He wipes a little excess bubble from the corner of your mouth to inside, then presses a kiss on your neck, squeezing your collarbone, tighter with his thumb.

“Mmm,” he grunts. “My turn.”

Jisung sinks to his knees, pushing your hips against the shelf. He slides your skirt to the side, making a bigger slit for him to get under, and raises your leg over his shoulder. Slowly, your fingers tread into his hair, pulling at the top. He falls forward, closer to your wet pussy, lips ghosting a breath on labia. Jisung tilts his head to the side and wraps his tongue around the crotch of your panties, a teasing excuse to pull them out, to give him better access, his wide tongue swiping your skin briefly.

“Jisung,” you whine, shaking your butt on the shelf. “Hurry.”

He laughs. “Shh, no one can know we’re in here.”

Jisung pushes his middle finger inside your cunt, gradually making the interphalangeal creases disappear, moaning when you do. Outside, he kisses your vulva, jaw coming up, raising his tongue to your clit. He flicks it with his entire tongue, desperately sucking the little knob between his lips. You tug his hair again, and he swears that his dick twitches – not a good sign, so he works faster, adding a second finger. He sucks again and again, releasing your labia with suctioned gasps, working his nimble digits knuckle-deep repeatedly. In, out, in, out, halfway in, out, all the way in, out, in again.

His knuckles hit your pussy harder and harder, confining him to the small space as your leg wraps around both of his shoulders rigidly, his hot breath sighing back in his face. Jisung hums again on your clit before sucking harsher, lips biting every time his mouth turns into the flat part of his tongue to the tip to nothing, then back again. When he feels your feathery walls squeeze his fingers, he adds a third, despite the taut stretch. He presses all three to the roof of your vagina and curls, flexes each one in different directions, tickling that spongy little spot if two happen to land on it simultaneously. Your legs stiffen and shake side-to-side, but he keeps going, goes faster, not slowing down.

Until you relax.

Your legs go numb, and you almost fall off the supply shelf, so he holds you up, still licking your vulva clean as you cum and cum and cum across his lips.

It takes you pulling his hair again to stop him. And Jisung stands up, breathing just as heavily. He hugs you closely, around your waist, and you bring your hands to his arm. Both of you stabilize your breaths to each other.

You move first, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “We should go say bye to everyone.”

Jisung nods, blindly, not fully coherent enough to process the suggestion. He is trying to lengthen his refractory period, make his partially hard cock go back down. You’re so sexy, too sexy right now, and he desperately needs a bed to make love to you.

“So we can get back to the hotel,” you clarify, voice light.

And suddenly, Jisung is halfway through tugging on his jacket and ordering an Uber.

It takes every nerve, every ounce of self-control for Jisung to make it through goodbye rounds.

The first thing you did, before the rounds, other than sanitize your hands or fix your outfits, was drink water and pop a breath mint from the dessert table, then he kissed you quick, mumbling some random excuse about a mouth check, which turned into a five minute make out session halfway out the door that Jaemin commented on, on his way out. Even one of the groom’s cousins mentioned how he – Jisung – is always touching you, always has a hand attached to you, despite not even really liking to share food.

Chenle, he thinks, was the sole person to explicitly say something, catching onto Jisung’s mismatched buttons and your new ponytail, frizzy curls hanging loose. Jisung prayed his hands together, begging his best friend not to say anything. So he didn’t. But Jisung knew that he would hear all about it on Monday, from everyone in his friend group.

Jisung could only get through two or three more conversations, suddenly feeling like a kid trying to leave the Chuseok dinner, before his cock (which never fully went down, by the way) started straining his pants again, the idea of getting you in his bed as the single motivator to leave as soon as possible. He ended up pushing you, by the waist, in front of his crotch to protect his decency, no longer carrying his jacket because you wear it, because Chenle pointed out some discoloration, another bump low on your neck. You spoke for him, lying to all the aunties that he drank too much or danced too hard. They believed you, especially after he giggled into your shoulder, snapping his body in half to lean on you. It hurt his ego that they believed you so easily, but he’ll deal with all those feelings later. Everything else drowns into white noise, going in on ear and out the other, almost forcibly removed by the horny hormones his hypothalamus orders.

Also, he really wanted to avoid clean up duty. His hands need to be clean for post-nuptial activities, you know.

You have to know by the time he gets you in the elevator to your hotel room, your shared hotel room. He backs you into a corner under the camera, at the blind spot. You look up at him, wide-eyed, gasping when he rubs his thigh between your legs. He grunts, deeply, softly, and kisses you quiet. And he thinks, there have been way too many situations this whole weekend where you were required to be silent. But still, you moan and raise your arms around his neck (and he hopes that the security cameras are old and have no sound). Then, in his next move, your elbow accidentally hits an extra button.

“Are you sure about this?” Jisung breathes as the doors open to the third floor. Your room is on the seventh.

“Yes, of course.” You frown, brushing your hair through the middle, resting your arm on his broad shoulder. “Why?”

He scrunches his nose. “Just making sure you’re not looking for a way out or anything.” He tilts his head to the going up sign, and you hit his arm.

“I told you not to make fun of me,” you pout.

“Sorry, sorry,” he laughs, then kisses you again.

And he doesn’t stop kissing you all the way to your room. Just changes the location. You stumble out of the elevator, tripping on your dress as you pull away from him, and he catches your hand, giving your knuckles a princely tap. He pushes you on another wall, hissing – because he dick points toward the ceiling and, every time he presses up against you, it bends to meet you, practically drawn to your pussy – hissing something about wanting you so bad, right now, just another reiteration. He doesn’t know what else to say. Most of the time, you just moan into each other’s mouths, just mash your lips together, trying to keep quiet, so his dirty talk skills are … lacking. He just hopes that he makes up for it with body language.

Jisung kisses and hisses all the way back to your room, both of you knocking into the furniture. “Sorry, I just need you right now,” he keeps saying, excusing the way he practically rams you against the closed door to your bedroom. He protected you from sharp corners and your head from the impact, but he just hurts his hand. Jisung inhales. His hands cup your face like flower petals, bringing you taller, even more on your tippy toes. You steady him by his shoulders, relaxing your jaw, accepting his tongue, and he kisses you chastely, thumbs rubbing into the apples of your cheeks.

And he’s the first one to pull away. Well, you can’t exactly open the door without making the both of you collapse, neither of you balanced correctly on your feet. You’d crash to the floor in an instant.

“I love you.”

Your lips twitch at the corners, curving up your smile wider than it already is. “I love you, too.”

Jisung remembers when he had a crush on you like three years ago. He doesn’t remember when his feelings started, but based on the way everyone teases him, you included sometimes (if you’re not kissing him appreciatively), he’s always had them, from the moment he laid eyes on you reading at the café . And this feels a lot like that – the-the fluttering in his empty stomach, the tingling and hyper-awareness of his limbs, the rush to say anything, just to see what makes you laugh or what makes you stay. He even doodles little hearts in your cheeks with his thumbpads.

“I –“ he swallows. “I –“

“Jisung?” you interrupt, breath shaking out your nose, “Can we have sex now?”

“God, yes.”

Jisung kisses you again, having regained some balance in the beat. He thrashes a hand behind you, fumbling for the door knob, and when he gets it open, he dips you back again, walking you inside the room, supporting you mostly by the ass, hanging you around his neck like jewellery; he should really buy you a new couple ring later. Honestly, he’s mostly surprised by his – and your – breath control and not his core strength (that is what the gym is for!), never getting winded between all the kisses or tongues or teeth. And you – God, you – keep leaning backward, hauling all his 180 centimeters toward the bed, making him more and more impressed by your commitment to zero space for Jesus. You suck his bottom lip inside your mouth, sealing your top lip inside his, and he whimpers, knees buckling again, so he lifts you up and pushes you on the bed, kicking away the stupid bench that slows him down.

“I’m gonna eat you out,” Jisung decides, towering over you.

“Ugh, no,” you whine, squirming the bed into another mess of sheets.

“No?”

“Jisung, I need you to please, please fuck me now, cock inside. We did all the foreplay already, and – and I’m ready, I promise. I want you so bad. You’re so sexy. I –“

He returns his lips to yours, this time softer, sweeter, slower, cutting you off, this time, before you ramble yourself into oblivion (before he has the chance to take you there himself). And you relax again, shoulders slumping into the mattress as he crawls over you, showering you with attention from lips to feet. Jisung builds up his momentum again while you gradually undress, starting with his blazer, pulling one arm out, then the other, redirecting your hands down to his waistband again, starting with the zipper. You creep your nails over the tip of his cock, and he thrusts upward, pushing your hand into a claw around the girth, fucking your hand a few times. His length is too big, you both know, so it bounces over your stomach, almost like a premonition for how deep he’ll go. Jisung tries to get more comfortable, but he slips on your silky dress, the skirt flailing out to the side. The way he falls moves you on your obliques, and he brushes your hair behind your ear, away from your neck. You throw your leg over his, tangling your limbs lackadaisically.

“I – my – it’s too big.”

“A huh,” you nod all the way through your chest, toppling him, straddling one of his thighs. “I know. It’s hot.” You don’t grind him (much to his disappointment), because he is still wearing his tux and your panties are just way too thin and wet at this point (he hopes), but if you ask, and maybe even if you didn’t, he would make this the designated sex suit and fuck you in it whenever he wears it, regardless of the function (actually, there’s a charity gala coming up, when he has to wear this ensemble again). But he wants the intimacy of closeness, of vulnerability, of nakedness this first time.

“No, I just,” Jisung whines, “I need to prep you before you can take it – t-take me.”

You inhale sharply, and he feels it. He trails his eyes up, wide, to meet you, staring at your face, noses touching. Jisung waits for your answer; he knows that you want this too, so he gives you both a moment to collect yourselves, mentally preparing himself, too, for the next step. And a beat passes. Then, he unzips your dress at the back; it’s not long, the zipper, so he doesn’t have to wait even more, but the drag slows time and you squeeze his biceps, encouraging him to go faster. He slides the entire material off you, stripping you down to just your panties. When he goes to do the same for himself, standing at edge of the bed, you kneel, still shorter than him, on the blankets, and do it for him. You start with the tie, slowly loosening it side-to-side. It pulls him forward, and he braces himself on your hips, fingers twisting in the waistband of your panties. You get shirt and under-shirt off quickly, but stop at his pants, the top button already undone and fly down.

“Is – is something wrong?”

“I really want to suck you off again,” you confess, jumping from his dick to his eyes.

Jisung pecks your lips. “You can do it later. We have all night.”

“Yeah, okay, yeah,” you nod, kissing him languidly, leaving him to take off his pants.

“Turn around,” he mumbles on your lips. And this time, you comply, standing on your hands and knees, all fours. Jisung copies you, kneeling eye level with your pretty, glistening lips. He grabs your ass first, in both hands, pulling your vulva apart, panty crotch to the side, two fingers each, middle digits dipping inside, just an interphalangeal crease deep. “Don’t cum yet.”

“Jisung, ple –“ You squeal, falling on your forearms, when he cautiously licks outside, around his fingers, up your slit, and you shudder an exhale. “What h-happened to prep-ping me?” you stutter and whine. “You’ll feel so good inside me, Jisung – ah.”

Jisung drags his thumb down the line of your makeshift thong, rubbing round your asshole tentatively before slipping two long and flexible fingers knuckle deep inside your cunt. His other hand pushes your cheek into the pillow, giving you a head rest, making you ass pop up. And slowly, he draws his fingers out, then pushes them back in three-quarters of the way. He does it again, pulling out, extracting your moan, and pushing in, all the way this time. Jisung sets that steady pace, slow and controlled, and he kisses your ass, leaving a bite mark. It makes you yelp, and you squeeze your pussy, accidentally pulling off. You grind back down, meeting his rough knuckles. And soon, he’s finger fucking you harder, with three fingers, and you’re bouncing on his hand, your panties hooked on his thumb.

“Ah, Jisung, fuck, Park Jisung, that feels so good.”

Blindly, he finds his cock and holds it by the base, squeezing his hand like a cock ring to keep from cumming without you.

“I think,” he pants, “I think I need to fuck you now.”

You nod, enthusiastically, turning on your back. “How do you –”

“Missionary,” Jisung answers too fast, already dragging you into position. “I want to see your pretty face.” He hovers his cock above your pussy, between your plushy thighs, hand around the top. The thrusts once, heavy tip dipping to your stomach, that bulging premonition hitting him all over again. His knuckles rasp, kneading your folds, rolling your clit in the wetness, and your knees fall in, so he has to spread them again. “What if it’s too big?” he wonders out loud, shifting his cock to your entrance.

“I can take it,” you promise, bobbing your head. “I can take it, plea –“

He cuts you off with a firm kiss, smashing his lips ungracefully on yours, and slips the first quarter inside you. The kiss is less to muffle you, since neither of you have to be so quiet right now, more to share this intimacy with you. He adds another inch, shallowly thrusting to get his dick wet.

“Ah, you’re so tight,” he hisses. “I could fuck you like this.”

He thought he prepped you enough, but halfway deep, his cock already hits an impasse, so he tries something that he saw in a porno. Jisung moves your right leg over your leg, giving him access to your ass, jiggling your boobs. The motion pulls his cock out a little, and he pushes it back in, pushes more in, making you both groan.

“Full, so full, Jisung.”

“Oh, God, I’m going to cum if you keep talking.”

You grind your hips down. “You should.”

“I’m not wearing a condom,” he reminds you, gritting his teeth. You pull your ass, showing off the way you take him so well, and he rips your panties, exerting his lack of self-control elsewhere. He throws the tiny material at the wall and falls on your lips, repeating, “I’m not wearing a condom, and I – I cum so much.”

“I know. It's hot, you're so -” you moan, fucking yourself on his dick, slapping his thighs, taking him completely. “F-fill me up, Jisung. I want all of you.”

“I want – I want you, too,” he stutters, brain struggling to multitask between answering you and fucking you.

So, he pushes his palms into the mattress, squelching the rest of his dick inside your pussy, basking in your moans. You boobs bounce circularly every time he bottoms out, and he doesn’t know where to look – your cunt sucks him in, contracting around him without reprieve; your nipples taunt him, showing him something to bite and lick and suck; your lips part perfectly for him to shove his tongue down your throat, expelling a series of staccato moans mixed in with his name. Jisung settles for your collarbone, burying himself in the scent of his cologne marking your skin from earlier. His lips bite the bone, groans getting louder and louder.

“God.” He clutches your knees, dragging you so close. “Is this – is this okay?” he asks, despite not letting up, going faster actually, driving you higher up the bed, making him climb even more on you, chasing you.

“Yes, yes, please don’t stop,” you cry. “I’m gonna cum, Jisung, I’m gonna cum.” And you choke on your words, babbling incoherently, talkin’ nonsense.

“Come on, baby, you can cum,” Jisung encourages you. He stands up straight, thrusting in, and in, and in, bottoming out. He holds his cock fully sheathed, deep, circling his hips over your labia, naked thigh sliding up and down your clit. You claw his arm, dropping into his hand, and he intertwines your fingers. You squeeze his hand, and your pussy clenches on his cock. Everything starts choking him, and he loses his breath, inhaling and inhaling, mouthing at your neck.

Then, you cum, back deflating into the bed, lulling pliantly in his hands, toes releasing the tension.

Jisung picks up his pace, brutalizing your cunt, and you whine and squirm, moaning. He feels the veins in his cock catch more prominently in your pussy, like you don’t want to let him go, so he just keeps pushing and pushing and pushing, your canal practically wringing him dry, and he cums too. Thick ropes control the way his cock jumps inside your uterus, bouncing on your spongey, little G-spot before more spills out, forcing him to remove himself. He planks above you, head hanging low, sweat matting down his hair.

You raise both your hands, brushing it back to see him better, and you prop yourself on your elbows, raising yourself high enough to kiss him, slowly but deeply.

Jisung sighs dreamily, flopping down next to you on his oblique. He tilts your chin up at him.

“You,” he starts, pecking you quickly, “are so perfect.”

“Then,” you giggle, taking his left hand. You run your thumb and index finger down his ring finger. “Will you marry me, Park Jisung?"

#park jisung x reader #jisung x reader #jisung smut #park jisung smut #jisung fluff #park jisung fluff #nct smut #nct dream smut #nct fluff #nct dream fluff #nct dream scenarios

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hees-mine · 4 months ago

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i've been inactive but i just caught up on your page and wow! The patreon is def a good marketing idea lol. There will definitely be people who pay to read your works since desperate horny ppl with money buy anything😂this whole "i don't have enough money" excuse is tickling me bc it seems like these ppl have more things to worry ab than begging for part 2s😭.

but yeah it was a bit surprising bc even though writing is time-consuming and im not getting paid on here, that's not what I do for it for. I genuinely like expressing my creativity for the fun of it and over time it feels like a piece of art. its just fun idk.. it's kind of mind-boggling that you're complaining about not getting anything in return because what else would you get in return? All your supporters can do is like comment and re-blog, they can't do anything else bc it's just a social media platform lol. i'm a pretty big page but even if it were 20 people reading I would still enjoy pleasing those 20 ppl. If the hate or negativity ur referring to is getting that bad I personally would just turn off asks!

ur gonna do what you wanna do and you'll make money regardless so kudos to you! It's just that i don't think this writing field should be taken so seriously or have such an effect on you, and heeseung is a human being in real life, so it is kind of weird that you'd want financial gain from it since he can't consent to that. but hey I support everyone's hustle.

you have amazing stories on here so I took a sigh of thanks that you're not going to delete or deactivate. They get me through a lonely night girl.😂😂def just delete the app if it ever gets too much for u!

Sigh

The wording of this is horrible

A lot of back handed compliments here but it’s all over text so maybe I’m not reading it right so I’m not going to dive into it

As far as money goes people can do whatever they want with it if they have it they have it if they don’t they don’t I’m not going to get into peoples finances let alone call it an “excuse” however I do agree their are more important matters than asking for a part 2

Key word YOU don’t do it for that reason me and you are two different people I don’t do it to make money either cause this blog was free to the whole public in the beginning so money was not on my mind when I made it

By you saying “i genuinely like expressing my creativity for fun” implies that I don’t

Im sorry that your mind is boggled because when I said I don’t get something in return was not in regards to money it’s a simple request for respect thats what I’m not getting here is basic respect and thats all I’ve been asking for for the past couple months

I get how social media works lol and the thing is I don’t need numbers or reblogs simply appreciate and respect my wishes and we’re gucci over here I don’t care if I had one reader as long as you’re appreciative of what I take time out of my day to do I’m cool with that

The negativity comes in more forms than just my ask box

I’m not taking it seriously and I don’t think anyone else is either clearly at the end of the day it is by no means affecting me in my personal life

Geez

This isn’t about “financial gain” it’s an opportunity for me to try and find the people who actually care about what I do and weed out the ones who just mass consume content with zero feedback sure I’d be making a little money off it but it would never be enough to sustain anything in real life I’m not greedy for a few bucks

So basically with that logic if him not being able to consent to me writing stories about him and making said money from those stories people would have to stop making fanmade items as well cause he’s not consenting to that either

Or is this different because there’s smut involved?

Either way it’s neither here nor there

Again the financial gain part is not even what I aim to do like I said some money would be involved yes but I’m not out here asking for 200$ dollars

Don’t know if you looked far enough but I’ve stated multiple times that if anyone had questions about pricing and what content they’d like to see then shoot me a dm/ask I’m open to making this a place where my readers can be happy and I can get away from the negativity that has plagued this blog

Thank you for liking what I put out i appreciate it🩵

It’ll never be a point where it gets too much because as I stated it’s just annoying but other than that it doesn’t have an impact enough for me to delete my blog it’s only an issue on tumblr

If I do ever delete it’ll be because I’m done with writing

Thanks for the input I hope my response just gives a little more insight on what things are like from my pov

#hees-mine questions

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dark-pink-fantasy · 6 months ago

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Hello! I am the anon who said that I admire your dedication and also have started a blog to archive fanart of TWST. I wanted to say that I've been reblogging some posts from your blog, you'll see me in your notes in a couple of days when the queue catches up. I think I have in my blog a few cerisennes art that you haven't reblogged here (sorry if I'm mistaken, I'm still going through your posts), in case you want to look them up! Also, some of the posts that you reblogged from apparent "inactive" accounts are people who are still here but changed their urls, in case you weren't aware (I can tell you which ones I found). Lastly, now that I saw it on desktop, your blog's theme is super cute! Although it works a biiit weird but nothing too terrible. Also the fanart that you comissioned of Floyd with you matches your blog a lot now that I see it! It's so cute haha. Well that's it, sorry for such a long message ;v; keep doing great!

Helloo! I HAVE seen you and I’m glad you’re enjoying some of the deactivated posts here. 🥰 I have noticed that some people have relocated to new blogs under different urls, but of course that wasn’t until much later when I reblogged a good bulk of it. So thank you for offering to tell me.

Cerisennes art…hmm that sounds familiar idk if I do have them on here but I’ll check.

For my Tumblr website….yeah it’s def not the best for deactivated posts so I recommend the mobile version on Tumblr if people want to access them😭 I’ve had this layout before I converted this page strictly for deactivated content so it’s not the best medium for computers.

ALSO YES that commission with my OC and Floyd matches the Frutiger aero theme! I’m glad someone noticed!❤️❤️❤️

I apologize for not being as active anymore since I started my RAD schooling. And my schedule is filled with studying 24/7😵‍💫

But LiKE, REBLOG, AND COMMENT TO YOUR HEARTS CONENT. Because I loved these creators before they deactivated, and it’s a shame that some people in the TWST fandom won’t ever be able to see these blogs when they were active.

Thank uu again for leaving me a comment in my inbox! I’m happy to see people interacting with this blog still.

edit- cerisennes is actually cerisenes on my blog, I'll link it at the bottom if this is the right person.

#cerisenes #cerisennes #ask

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sunnyfucks · 2 years ago

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You're not dead right???

lmao i am not 😭 sorry for being inactive for the past couple of weeks. i don’t think i’ve even had the chance to greet you all a happy new year so hello everyone, happy new year! (although its so late please forgive me)

life has been so tough for me and i kind of needed some time alone. i still don’t feel that well but i miss you guys more than you could ever imagine. i miss writing stories and coming up with ideas too.

yet again, i previously said that i’ll be fixing my masterlists first before i continue with my fics. to be honest, a lot of requests are still on my drafts and asks, im so so sorry its taking so long for me.. but rest assured that im reading all of them and i am, in every way, writing your request one day.

im not neglecting any requests or anyone (aside from those i’ve mentioned kind of reqs im not accepting) aside from that, everything’s good.

i hope you all are spending your january with full of happiness! and creams <3

#sunny fucks : ans.#i love and i missed you all so much <3 #will start writing soon.

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writingforfun0714 · 2 years ago

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Hello everyone, sorry I have been inactive for about a month or so.

I’ve also been hard at work on my very first request for @depressed-sasuke

I wanna thank you for being so patient with me. Like I said earlier, I ended up doing a rewrite and took some stuff out cuz it had started to trail on a bit too long. I also noticed quite a few typos doing a quick reread so if there’s any others I missed, I’m sorry—I really just wanted to post this today. I hope you like it🥰

Maisy

Request from @depressed-sasuke : Jungle Book (2016) OC character

About the character

—Name: Santi

—16 M

I also added a few other OCs just to fill out some human characters.

Warnings: Spoilers for Jungle Book 2016, 3rd POV, OC character/s, long fic

10,433 word count

A Chance Encounter

3rd POV

It’s a warm day in the Seeonee jungle. The breeze is light and there’s not a cloud in the sky. Shere Khan, the law-breaking tiger, has been gone for 6 years, ever since his fight with the mancub, Mowgli. The boy himself saw the tiger fall into the Red Flower. Despite stealing the forbidden Red Flower and nearly burning down the jungle, Mowgli had shown great courage and strength in choosing to side with his wolf brethren and using his intelligence to outsmart the ferocious tiger.

After the great elephants put the flames out, Mowgli had decided to remain with the wolfpack that his mother, Raksha, now leads. For 6 years, the jungle had known peace and tranquility. In those years, Mowgli has grown into a strong, confident, if a bit wild 16yr old. Remnants of his childhood is still visible with his red loincloth still in use and his boyish face not having grown into that of a full-grown man’s face, though his hair has gotten longer and his body is no longer scrawny and small but muscular and lean, littered with a few scars.

Despite Shere Khan’s defeat, there are rumors that he lives. Men from the manvillage claim to have seen shadows of a monster. Among those men is Dev, an accomplished hunter of the village. Mostly hunting for food, Dev has only hunted in order to protect and feed the manvillage unlike those who view hunting as a sport and kill for fun.

Dev is a single father who has a 16 year old son named Santi. Santi has soft brown skin and jet black hair with the same intense, dark eyes as his father. Santi’s mother, Dev’s wife, was killed bringing Santi into the world. While Santi loves the jungle, he also gets along well with the other children in the village. In fact, he’s with them right now as the adults discuss what to do about Shere Khan.

The adults are gathered around the fire pit in the center of the village. It’s mostly men, though there are a couple women also gathered too. Santi is keeping the kids out of the way but they’re still close enough to overhear what the adults say. They are worried about their cattle disappearing.

“No one has seen anything? Really?” A middle aged man asks, looking around at the crowd. People murmur ‘no’s and shake their heads.

“It’s a monster-“ a woman says, garnering attention.

“A monster?” A young man asks and she nods.

“We all know monsters are not real,” the first man argues.

“It had burned flesh and a blind left eye,” the woman insists. Whispers of Shere Khan, the tiger, flow through the crowd. An argument suddenly forms between the woman and the middle aged man.

“Khan burned in the forest fire 6 years ago-“ he says.

“Did you see it? Did anyone actually see the tiger perish in the flames?” The woman asks the crowd and no one answers. Some even look away. The arguing continues, but Santi has stopped paying attention and started remembering the day the village saw the fire engulfing the jungle across the river. Santi was a young 10 year old boy who just started to learn the basics of hunting. Santi was with his father as he told hunting stories to the other men gathered around the huge bonfire. It was nighttime and Santi was sitting on a small rock, working on re-stringing his bow when he saw it. A shadowy figure that made its way across the bridge. He couldn’t tell what it was, but he did see the mysterious figure take one of the torches and run back into the jungle. That was right before the alarm bell rang to alert everyone about the fire. Santi never told anyone about the mysterious figure and the torch.

“Monster or not, something is killing our livestock. Until we catch the culprit, I suggest we have watch duty over the herd,” Dev suggests.

“Messua, you said the creature was burned?” Dev asks and the young woman nods.

“Badly…it..it had no pelt left-“ Messua says, remembering the vivid, grotesque beast that was once Shere Khan. She shivers fearfully.

“Everyone, I will need the most experienced hunters with me to track down this beast, volunteers be warned, you may not return,” Dev says. 3 strong young men in their 30s step forward. Dev knows them, being the best hunter of the village, he taught those men himself when he was a teenager and they were children. Santi stands and he makes eye contact with his father.

“I’m ready to join you Father, I’ll make you proud,” Santi assures his father. Knowing how far his son has come with his lessons and teachings, Dev nods approvingly.

“I’ve always been proud of you Son,” Dev says as the children give Santi encouragement.

“We will take the time to gather our weapons and ready ourselves. It’s nearly sunset, so we will depart then,” Dev says as Messua steps forward.

“While the hunting party is out, we need to decide who will watch over the herd of cattle,” she says as Santi, his father and the 3 volunteers head off to get what they need. Meanwhile deep in the jungle…

The Seeonee wolfpack is gathered around Council Rock. Raksha, Mowgli’s mother, is sitting on the Alpha’s spot with the rest of the Pack all sitting at attention. The Pack elders are sitting to Raksha’s left. Mowgli is sitting with his siblings and Baloo the bear while Bagheera is up in a nearby tree that overlooks Council Rock.

“Alright, quiet please everyone,” Raksha says, getting the Pack’s attention and everyone quiets down.

“I’m afraid I must report some unsettling news. Our scouts have seen signs of Shere Khan, the tiger,” Raksha says, looking at Mowgli. His dark eyes widen and the boy gasps.

“N-No…No-it can’t be-..I..I killed him when I was a cub-“ Mowgli insists, standing up. Whispers sound through the Pack.

“It’s true Brother-I spotted the tiger while I was out on scout patrol in the Rocky Plains,” Gray, one of Mowgli’s brothers, argues gently. Mowgli wants to argue but the honesty in Gray Brother’s voice confirms their mother’s words.

“I-I saw him fall into the Red Flower-I saw him!” Mowgli insists, looking out at the rest of the wolf pack as they whisper to each other, unsure of his claim. The boy looks pleadingly up at his mother. She nods and glances to the Pack elders, to Biranyi in particular.

“I believe you Mowgli,” the old wolf says, getting everyone’s attention while also making the boy smile.

“For 6 seasons we’ve known peace and good hunts in the Jungle, we have had no reason to think Shere Khan survived the Red Flower,” Biranyi says. When the old wolf mentions the Red Flower, Mowgli feels a pit in his stomach. While his family, including Baloo and Bagheera, have all tried reassuring the boy over the seasons, Mowgli has always felt guilty since he was the one that brought the fire to the Jungle in the first place.

“You chose to be with us just like your mother chose you all those seasons ago,” Bagheera’s voice rings in his head.

“We must send out a hunting party to track down Shere Khan and end him once and for all,” Akru, a young male wolf with brown and gray fur announces, getting Mowgli’s attention.

“No-I must end the tiger,” Mowgli speaks up.

“Mowgli-“ Raksha immediately interrupts, feeling her protective mothering take over. Mowgli looks at her, watching her ears go back slightly in sadness.

“I…I don’t think that is wise. Let a more experienced wolf-“ Raksha tries to tell her son.

“I fought Shere Khan 6 seasons ago! I have to finish this. He dislikes the rest of you, but he HATES me,” Mowgli interrupts.

“Mowgli I-“ Raksha pleads.

“Mother I know I’ve only been on 2 hunts, but Shere Khan killed Akela because of me-I have to avenge him!” Mowgli insists.

“Enough!” Raksha barks harshly, causing the teenager to flinch before sitting back down and the Pack to go silent. Even Bagheera and Baloo appear startled.

“I am the leader of the Seeonee Wolf Pack. There will be no more of this talk Mowgli, is that understood?” Raksha asks seriously. Mowgli looks like he wants to argue with his mother until he catches sight of Bagheera’s big bright lime green eyes. The boy sees Bagheera shake his head slightly and sighs.

“Understood,” Mowgli replies glumly. Raksha nods and proceeds with asking for volunteers for the hunting party. She only picks the experienced hunters and Mowgli can’t help but feel wronged.

“What is it Brother?” Gray asks, nudging Mowgli lightly with his cold, wet nose. Mowgli looks away and pulls his knees up to his chin.

“Nothing,” he says, clearly upset.

After the assembly, Mowgli manages to sneak away without Raksha knowing, however, the boy’s actions don’t go unnoticed by Bagheera. The panther jumps silently off of the branch he was laying on and follows Mowgli.

The cat keeps the brown skinned boy in his sights at all times. Bagheera watches as Mowgli stops by a tree and breaks off a low-hanging branch. Bagheera watches Mowgli break off all the smaller branches sticking out. Bagheera takes a few steps, revealing his position.

“Mowgli, what are you doing?” Bagheera asks, clearly concerned about his boy.

“You heard Mother, she doesn’t want me to finish my fight with Khan,” Mowgli grumbles as he strips the 4-foot long stick down.

“Mowgli, going against your mother is one thing, but she is also the leader of the Pack. If you do this, she can force you out of the Pack,” Bagheera warns.

“I have to do this Bagheera. For Akela. And for myself…I have to finish what I started and as payback for burning the Jungle,” Mowgli says, referring to stealing the Red Flower.

“I know you feel guilty about burning the Jungle. But you never started anything. You did right by all of us by facing Shere Khan,” Bagheera says, “it’s over.” He says finally.

“Not for me. Bagheera…as hunters, isn’t it our job to make sure our prey does not suffer? Khan would be severely burned and deformed. Is it not my job to put him out of his misery?” Mowgli asks.

At first, Bagheera doesn’t answer and instead, looks away as if gathering his thoughts of what he wants to say.

“Yes Mowgli, you are right. As hunters, it’s our job to make sure we hunt only for food, and to not cause suffering. But Raksha is right in her own way. She has a responsibility to you, both as leader of the Pack and your mother,” Bagheera says, and Mowgli sighs.

“I know Mother loves me and wants to protect me, but I have to do this,” the brown-skinned boy insists. Bagheera looks into the boy’s eyes and eventually nods.

“I understand,” Bagheera says, “but I’m going with you.”

“Bagheera, no-I won’t let you get hurt for me,” Mowgli argues and Bagheera shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, but this is nonnegotiable. I will tell Raksha if you refuse,” Bagheera argues calmly back. Mowgli can’t help but smile.

“Alright. I’ll take all the help I can get,” the boy says and Bagheera nods.

Back in the manvillage Dev and Santi are in their home gathering what they need.

“Thank you for allowing me in the hunting party Father. I’ll finally show you what a great hunter I am and I will make you proud, I promise,” Santi assures his father.

“Santi, I know you’re a great hunter and I’ve always been proud of you. You’ve grown into quite a hunter and I’m getting on in years. I can’t move like I used to and my eyes aren’t what they used to be. That’s why I want you in the hunting party, because I know you will succeed where I will fail,” Dev explains. Santi looks at his father in surprise.

“Father you are still the village’s most accomplished hunter. I still have so much to learn from you,” Santi insists and Dev chuckles and ruffles his son’s hair like how he used to when Santi was a small boy.

“I appreciate that Santi, but you are more capable than you know. I have complete and total trust in you,” Dev tells his son, who nods. If he was being honest, part of Santi is glad his father trusts him so much but another part of Santi is worried that if he fails, he’d disappoint his father.

After gathering his knife, bow and quiver of arrows, Santi joins with his father and the other 3 volunteers around the unlit bonfire. The others are also armed with bows and knives strapped around them. The older men start formulating a plan as Dev pulls out a map of the area and Santi listens intently.

“What is the tiger’s last known sighting?” Dev asks.

“Around the southern jungle, past the swamps and the rocky plains, but that was about 6 years ago,” Rohan, one of the volunteers answers. He was one of the children Dev taught when he was a teenager. Now Rohan is an adult and is expecting his first child with his wife.

“He might return to a familiar area, even after all those years,” Amir, another volunteer says. He and Rohan are close friends having grown up together. Dev nods in agreement.

“The deer have been plentiful there as well,” Dev says, looking to Santi. The boy recently went to the rocky plains and managed to snag an older buck so the village could eat. Santi nods.

“I brought one back the day before yesterday,” Santi confirms.

“We’ll split up to cover the large area. Send a smoke signal if you need help or if you spot the tiger. If there is no signal we should regroup somewhere,” Amir suggests. Dev points to a lake.

“There, we’ll regroup at Elephant Lake,” Dev says and the others nod in agreement. Dev turns to his son rather seriously.

“Signal even if you sprain an ankle, ok?” Dev asks.

“Father-“

“Ok?” Dev repeats more insistently and Santi nods, playfully rolling his eyes and nodding.

“Yes Father,” the teenager answers and Dev nods, hugging his son.

“I’m so proud of you,” Dev says. Santi hugs his father back before joining Rohan and the other 2 hunter volunteers at the bridge that crosses the river that separates the village from the jungle.

The group crosses the bridge and walks together for about a mile until the path stops. It continues a few different ways so this is where the group decides to split up.

“Good hunting,” Dev says.

“Good hunting,” the others repeat before they all take off in different directions.

Santi heads on the southwest trail for about a mile before deciding to go off the dirt path that only travelers and hunters use. Santi runs deeper into the jungle, cautious and alert. His bright, dark eyes scan the area as he runs. Even with the slight breeze, it’s still incredibly hot and Santi starts sweating after about a mile.

Deep in the jungle, Mowgli and Bagheera move swiftly. It won’t be long until Raksha notices Mowgli is gone, considering everyone went back to their den after the assembly.

“Where do we even start looking? Shere Khan could be anywhere,” Mowgli asks as he runs beside Bagheera.

“Gray Brother said he was out scouting the Rocky Plains when he saw Shere Khan. We should start there,” Bagheera tells the boy, who nods and keeps running, climbing up into the trees every now and then.

The two get to the tree line and spot the tall beige grasses of the Rocky Plains.

“Flank left and search,” Bagheera orders quietly and Mowgli nods and the two separate and search.

Back at the dens, Raksha looks around and doesn’t see Mowgli. She sees Gray and Tavi, Mowgli’s siblings, walking together.

“Gray-Tavi!” Raksha calls to her pups. They look at their mother and hurry over.

“Yes Mother?” Tavi asks.

“Where is your brother?” Raksha asks, referring to Mowgli. The two young wolves look around.

“He was here for the howl-“ Gray says, looking around. The end howl happens last at assemblies.

“You know Mowgli. He’s probably off with Bagheera-“ Tavi says. Raksha’s eyes widen and she looks around before realizing her daughter is right. Bagheera is nowhere to be seen either.

“You’re probably right,” Raksha agrees, though a feeling still nags at her. It’s like a pit in her stomach. She knows Mowgli wouldn’t have given up about Shere Khan that easily. Since burning the Jungle and Akela’s death, Mowgli has been plagued with nightmares and guilt that on some days, seem to crush the boy. As his mother, Raksha shares his pain because she cannot stand to see him so upset. Over the years, she’s always assured the boy that even though using the Red Flower was forbidden, he did so with good intentions.

“We can go look for him if you want us to,” Gray offers. At first, Raksha wants to say yes, just to make sure Mowgli is ok, but that’s when she remembers how he seemed at the assembly. The mother wolf realizes she’s being a bit overprotective and sighs.

“No, it’s ok, he should have some time to himself,” Raksha says and the two young wolves nod. As they turn to head back to their dens, Raksha stops them.

“Does…Does Mowgli think I’m smothering him?” Raksha suddenly asks. The two wolves blink and share a look.

“Oh—uh-“ Tavi stutters.

“Tell me the truth pups,” Raksha says. Despite being adults themselves, they will always be her pups.

“Sometimes…but he knows it’s not your fault,” Gray admits.

“Gray-“ Tavi says, nudging her brother with her muzzle.

“What? Mother was going to find out at some point-“ Gray argues. When Raksha gives them a questioning look, Gray sighs and his ears go back slightly.

“Mowgli told us not to say anything,” Gray explains. She nods understandingly.

“It’s harder with Mowgli…he’s different, so I can’t tell when he’s ready to go off on his own,” Raksha says. Mowgli is the only one of her pups that still live with her. While Gray and Tavi have been on multiple hunts, Mowgli’s only been on 2, and has been a chaser both times.

“He knows you love him and that you just want what’s best for him,” Tavi tells her mother. Raksha’s eyes shine and she nods.

“Thank you..both of you. If you go rabbit hunting, be sure to pick up a couple extra for the food reserve,” Raksha instructs and the two nod. As the leader of the Pack, Raksha is in charge of the food supply, making sure it won’t run low unless it’s unavoidable.

“We will,” Gray answers and the siblings walk off towards the small waterfall that provides a source of water for the Pack that’s right by the dens, which is much more convenient than going to Peace Rock.

The wind blows lightly as Santi keeps a slower, steadier pace through the dense jungle. Hearing the different sounds of the jungle keeps Santi alert to everything around him as his eyes scan ahead. The hunting party’s only been separated for a few hours. It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack. Santi knows to look for clues but the jungle is enormous and goes on for thousands of miles. The most logical places would be right across the river since Khan seems to prefer the easier targets of cattle. Being domesticated animals, they are not quick like deer or rabbits and they are all in one place.

Santi climbs over a fallen tree trunk and makes his way deeper into the jungle. Every hour or so, Santi climbs a tree and looks around to check for smoke signals since he’s not near any high ground.

The teenager hears a slight rustling and his hand hovers over the knife strapped across his body. A rabbit races out and disappears into some brush. Getting thirsty, Santi keeps going until he hears the trickle of a small creek. He sees the creek cutting through the trees and approaches. He sticks his hands in the water. It’s not cold, but it’s not warm either. He cups some water out and drinks before splashing some water on his face and neck. That’s when he spots it. In the creek bed, Santi spots a paw print in the mud! He gasps and looks at it. It’s big and feline. Canine tracks from dholes or wolves are longer and don’t have claw marks.

Santi remembers his fathers words from one of his first hunting lessons, back when he was a young boy.

“Follow your lead until you can confirm with your own eyes. Just because you spot a set of tracks or a tuft of fur doesn’t mean you’ve spotted your prey,” his father had told him. 10 year old Santi had gotten excited when he found what he thought were tracks of a fox, but were instead of a dhole. He shouldn’t get his hopes up just yet.

It’s been nearly a week of hunting for Shere Khan in the Jungle. Santi has gotten to the rocky plains and no one’s sent up a signal. Which is good…and bad. No one’s hurt or needs help, but no sightings of Shere Khan, yet.

He follows the tracks until they stop. Santi looks around. Bugs buzz and birds chirp. Various rustling from small creatures and even the noise of the breeze makes the stillness seem loud. That’s when he hears a noise. It’s a harsh, painful sounding noise before it dies out as quickly as it came. Santi knows that sound…it’s of a cow dying. Shere Khan!

Santi races in the direction of the noise as fast as he can. The teenager keeps in shape helping his father so he doesn’t tire easily. As Santi runs, he grabs hold of the hilt of his hunting knife. It’s a long hunting knife his father used. Dev gave it to his son for his 13th birthday.

Santi climbs up a rocky outcrop to get a better look. The teenager spots a tree trunk with bloody claw marks carved into the bark and climbs back down. He hurries over to get a better look at the bloody claw marks before turning and spotting a trail of blood that leads to a mauled body of what used to be a cow. It’s covered in claw marks and none of it has been eaten. Santi’s eyes widen. It hasn’t been eaten! It’s a trap!

A vicious roar breaks the quiet of the jungle. The roar sounds like the noise of a demon. Santi glances around nervously and prepares himself. The teenager looks around for any sign of what made the roaring noise. Santi’s hand hovers over the knife hilt, ready for anything.

“Did Shere Khan know to set a trap?” Santi thinks to himself. Unaware to the boy, Shere Khan is watching the teenager’s every move. Despite how much time has gone by, Shere Khan is still in pain. Not nearly as bad as surviving the fall into the fire, but that’s why he’s been eating cattle. He cannot hunt anymore and Man’s cattle are easily killed. His striped fur is all but gone and even patches of his skin are deformed from the Red Flower’s touch. His blind eye is bloody and his good eye can really only see shapes. His sense of smell has returned a little and because of all of the raw skin exposed, his sense of touch is almost always pain.

Santi cautiously moves through the Jungle, unaware his every move is being watched. He doesn’t see any threats nearby, so he decides to start a smoke signal. Green leaves and sticks create more smoke than dry ones, so Santi makes sure to grab some of both.

He finds a flat rock on the ground and two dry sticks about an inch thick each. He piles more of the dry twigs and leaves near him. The boy grabs the two sticks perpendicularly to each other and starts rubbing them together furiously, still being watched by the unseen tiger.

After a few minutes, Santi sees a wispy trail of smoke starting to form from his stick and smiles. Almost there…almost there. Once the smoke is thick enough Santi blows very gently on it to start the ember going. He sees a small glowing orange dot and feeds the ember more dry sticks and leaves to make it grow.

The ember grows into a very small flame so, carefully, Santi adds more dry plant life to the pile. Once the fire has grown a bit bigger (though still rather small in general), Sant starts adding the greener plant life he’s gathered. He puts 2 twigs and a handful of greenish yellow leaves. The fire’s still lit but the smoke gets thicker almost instantly. Accidentally breathing some of the smoke in, Santi coughs slightly before taking off his shirt. He uses the fabric to cover the fire. He moves in and out of the smoke to create clouds of smoke that rise into the air. It should be nice and visible since Santi is near the Rocky Plains and there’s no trees to obscure the smoke.

As Mowgli moves swiftly and quietly through the tall grasses of the plains, he looks in the sky and spots small gray clouds wafting up. Memories of the Red Flower from 6 seasons ago flash through the teenager’s mind. Hoping that it’s not, Mowgli hurries towards the source of the gray clouds. As he moves, Mowgli wonders if Bagheera can see it too, since they split up to cover more area. Hopefully Bagheera’s on his way.

Mowgli manages to sneak his way through the grasses until he gets so close he sees the Red Flower, and the creature making it. Mowgli’s eyes widen in shock. You see, 6 seasons ago, when Mowgli stole the Red Flower from the manvillage, it was night. Only the moon and stars dimly lit the area. Mowgli’s eyes do not work as well as his wolf brethren’s and while he did see the creatures called Man thanks to the glow of the Red Flower, Mowgli didn’t really see any defining features. At the time, the boy just thought they were unlike anything he had ever seen.

But now, in broad daylight, Mowgli sees the haunting similarities between himself and the man creature. The man creature’s fur is shorter and it’s covered in some sort of colorful skin from the back legs going down all the way to cover the back paws. That’s when Mowgli notices a subtle movement in the underbrush. Mowgli immediately thinks of Bagheera, but when he catches the sight of reddish pink flesh, he lets doubt creep in. No, that is not Bagheera.

Without warning, a piercing roar breaks the steady quiet of the Jungle and Shere Khan leaps out at the creature! Mowgli seems almost frozen when he catches sight of the once formidable tiger. Deep down, Mowgli knows that it is Shere Khan, but because of his deformed, almost grotesque appearance, all Mowgli can think of is a monster and fear grips the boy so tightly all he can do is watch.

Mowgli watches the the man creature scream as Khan leaps at him. The tiger’s claws rake across the man’s bare chest and he cries out in pain. Mowgli gasps and his grip on his sharpened stick tightens. Mowgli’s eyes scan the surrounding area and he can’t help but feel down when he doesn’t see any sign of Bagheera. Maybe he’s too far away, Mowgli thinks to himself.

Mowgli watches Shere Khan circle his prey. Mowgli sees the human’s paw come up and cover its bloody chest. The claw marks look deep and blood runs down the creature’s bare chest. Mowgli can’t help but marvel at the similarities between himself and the man creature. Mowgli’s reminded of when Shere Khan managed to scratch his own chest during their fight 6 seasons ago. He was climbing down the dead tree when Khan managed to surprise the boy. He jerked back just fast enough to only get raked by one claw across his upper chest, creating an ‘X’ pattern over an already healed scar from a previous wound.

The human winces and pants, its paw is shaking and Mowgli hopes for Bagheera to show any second now. Seeing Shere Khan move in for the kill, Mowgli shifts his grip on his sharpened stick and winds up to throw it. He takes an almost silent breath before shutting his eyes. He opens them and instantly throws the stick. It pierces the tiger’s flank and he roars in pain. He looks around, though being almost blind, cannot see Mowgli.

“RAAAAUGGHHH!!!!” Mowgli screams, jumping off the branch he was perched on. The teenager collides with the tiger, causing a painful roar and they tumble to the ground. The man creature collapses, blacking out.

Mowgli feels the tiger’s deformed, almost melted skin and winces in disgust before backing away.

“Mowgli!” Mowgli hears a familiar voice call out to him. The boy turns towards the voice and sees Bagheera race towards them. Shere Khan struggles on the ground, unable to get up from the searing pain of being tackled, the permanent pain from the Red Flower and the stick that’s piercing his back left flank. Seeing that the tiger is no threat like this, Bagheera slows to a stop and looks at the injured, deformed tiger. Bagheera’s eyes widen and his ears go back slightly at the sight of the tiger.

“Shere Khan,” Bagheera breathes quietly. He takes in the vivid sight of the tiger and cannot help but admire Khan’s sheer will to live.

Shere Khan swipes wildly at the air in front of him with a roar, unable to tell where Mowgli is.

“You will never be rid of me mancub!!! My hate for you kept my spirit alive and I have waited for the day when I would finally kill you!” Shere Khan snarls angrily. Mowgli carefully moves around in the tiger’s blind spot and yanks out his sharpened stick that was piercing his left flank. Shere Khan roars in pain before whirling around where Mowgli is and swipes viciously. Mowgli jerks backward and falls over, nearly missing the tiger’s claws as they swipe through the air in front of his face. Bagheera prepares to leap but Mowgli stops the panther, shaking his head. Understanding it is Mowgli��s choice to make, Bagheera does as he’s told.

Unaware to anyone, the human stirs and groggily wakes up with blurred vision and a searing pain on his chest. The teenager sees a half naked boy about his age standing in front of him with a sharpened stick that’s bloody. Mowgli attacks the monstrous creature as the injured teenager passes out again.

Mowgli charges forward and jams the sharpened stick into the tiger, screaming as he does it. Shere Khan roars and tries clawing Mowgli before the boy shoves the stick in deeper and the tiger gets weaker and weaker until he stops struggling. The tiger’s breathing is ragged and rough. Mowgli approaches and looks down at the tiger. Mowgli’s dark eyes never stray from Shere Khan’s blind eye and his permanently red, injured eye. The boy watches as Shere Khan’s eyes slowly dim before shutting forever and the tiger’s ragged breathing stops.

Bagheera looks to Mowgli when he sees the boy just staring at the tiger’s lifeless body.

“Are you alright Mowgli?” The panther asks, clearly concerned.

“I…I can’t believe how awful he looked,” Mowgli says. Bagheera nods.

“The Red Flower is merciless to everyone. It’s destructive power is not to be doubted,” Bagheera explains.

At the mention of Man, Mowgli glances over to the creature who looks almost exactly like him.

“Mowgli-we should report Shere Khan’s death to your mother,” Bagheera says, trying to get the boy’s attention, thought it’s not working.

“Bagheera?” Mowgli asks, looking at the large black cat.

“This is what Man looks like?” Mowgli asks him. Truth be told, Mowgli knows the answer, but he needs to hear Bagheera’s answer. Bagheera sighs, but nods.

“Yes Mowgli,” Bagheera admits, knowing what Mowgli was really asking. Mowgli looks at the injuries on the human’s bare chest. 3 long, deep claw marks slash across the Man’s chest.

“We should leave before he wakes up,” Bagheera suggests, though his tone is more insistent.

“The human needs help Bagheera, his wounds look deep,” Mowgli alerts. Bagheera falters slightly.

“Mowgli, contact with Man is forbidden,” Bagheera warns.

“You helped me…why can’t I help him?” Mowgli asks, referring to when the panther found the boy about 16 seasons ago. Not wanting to argue, Bagheera huffs and takes a step, turning.

“You can make choices for yourself…but I will obey the Law,” Bagheera says, disappearing into the Jungle.

“Bagheera—…” Mowgli tries, though he knows Bagheera is already gone. He sighs.

“I have to,” Mowgli says aloud, but more for himself.

Mowgli turns his attention to the human. His chest is bloody and his breathing is shallow and weak.

“Hold on,” Mowgli whispers before running off into the tall grasses of the Rocky Plains. He gets to a sage shrub and rips off a handful of the green plant. Mowgli hurries back. He shoves the sage into his mouth before grabbing the human and hauling the limp body onto his back, draping over his shoulders. The human’s head lolls limply on Mowgli’s left shoulder. He hears the human groan slightly.

Mowgli heads to the only other one who could possibly help him. Baloo.

“Rules were meant to be—well not necessarily broken, but certainly bent. And definitely reinterpreted, don’t ya think?” The sloth bear’s words ring in Mowgli’s mind. The boy prays that Baloo will understand.

Coming in and out of consciousness was disorienting for Santi. He couldn’t tell where he was or what was happening. He could hear grunts of exertion and slight panting with a few huffs. He feels searing pain on his chest.

Santi knows he’s being carried and vaguely thinks he’s been found by someone from the hunting party. His smoke signal…perhaps he was saved by his father, Santi wishes. He feels his one of his feet drag on the ground and a firm grip around one wrist. Feeling lightheaded, Santi shuts his eyes.

Mowgli manages to trek all the way back to Baloo’s cave. Santi feels his feet drag along the ground when he’s conscious and tries to figure out who rescued him. Santi thinks it’s Rohan, but he’s not certain. The injured teenager groans quietly, unable to talk. Mowgli stops outside the entrance, gently setting the injured human down. Mowgli takes the sage out of his mouth before calling out.

“Baloo?! Baloo-are you there?!” Mowgli calls, stepping towards the cave.

“Mowgli? What is it?” Baloo asks, walking out. His eyes widen and the bear stops in his tracks when he sees Mowgli covered in blood. Baloo’s eyes then land on the injured human behind Mowgli.

“Is..is that-?” Baloo stutters.

“A human. Baloo-please, I need to use your cave-“ Mowgli asks.

“Mowgli, I know I said bending the rules is ok, but I’m an honorary Pack member now and I really don’t want to cross your mother,” Baloo says, having known Raksha a good long while now and knows how ferocious she can get.

“Please Baloo, I just need shelter for the human. You don’t even have to help me,” Mowgli pleads. Baloo sighs.

“Please Baloo? I’ll make sure the human doesn’t cause any trouble,” Mowgli insists. Baloo looks at Mowgli and eventually nods.

“Alright. But no one knows of this, do you understand?” Baloo asks seriously.

“Yes and I agree. If Mother finds out about this, she might not forgive me,” Mowgli says and Baloo nods before motioning inside. Mowgli nods and hands Baloo the sage he managed to hang onto.

Mowgli brings the injured man creature inside and sets him down towards the back of Baloo’s cave. The bear hands Mowgli the healing herb and Mowgli nods his thanks.

“I’ll be right back,” Mowgli says, grabbing a thick slab of bark. He runs out holding the sage in one hand and the piece of bark in the other before stopping in the small, slow flowing creek that runs right outside Baloo’s cave.

Mowgli looks around and sees a paw-sized rock and uses it to smash the sage on the piece of bark. He uses the water as moisture to make it easier to mash up. Mowgli has to be careful not to use too much water.

Once the sage is mashed into a green paste, Mowgli nods in approval before hurrying back inside. He sees the human stir and Mowgli starts to gently spread the green paste over the bloody claw marks.

Santi stirs a bit before feeling something cool and slightly soothing on his burning chest. His vision comes in and out of focus, but he sees the person who saved him is definitely not from the hunting party. Fear washes over Santi, though in his injured state, he merely whimpers before blacking out again.

“Mother will be suspicious if I don’t spend nights at home. Baloo I’ll need to leave the human here at night until he’s healed,” Mowgli explains.

“Mowgli I don’t feel comfortable around…them…” Baloo says, eyeing the human suspiciously.

“Don’t worry, you won’t have to do a thing,” Mowgli assures the bear.

“What if the human rubs off the sage? I cannot put the healing paste on,” Baloo says.

“Good point. Oh-hold on,” Mowgli says, hurrying over to the honey stash. Now that they are older, Bagheera doesn’t look down on Baloo having his honey stash. Hunting is no longer something to look forward to, but a chore. Laying in the sun is much more satisfying nowadays according to the panther.

Mowgli grabs a strong vine he weaved that’s also small enough to wrap around paws. He takes it and wraps the human’s front paws together behind its back. Mowgli makes sure the vine is tight and secure before looking up through the hole in the top of Baloo’s cave. Mowgli sees the sun setting and realizes he has to head back home.

About a day and a half passes before Santi finally wakes up and stays awake. While his chest does ache from soreness, it is no longer the same searing, burning pain that was more unbearable. The teenager realizes his hands are tied behind him rather quickly and starts struggling to get free, though it’s not working. He looks and sees the wounds on his chest are covered with a green paste and wonders what it is.

“Rohan? Amir?…Father?” Santi asks aloud, wondering who it is that saved him. Santi wonders why his hands are tied together. The teen looks around and is surprised to see he’s in a cave. To the left of him is a pile of honeycomb that oozes out onto the floor. Santi also spots vines coiled up and a bunch of grass and leaves scattered around for what looks like a sleeping area.

He wants to move but his chest aches and Santi looks at the green paste covering the injured area. That’s when Santi hears footsteps approaching. The teenager shifts as much as he can without his chest hurting too much. Santi feels around and grabs a palm-sized flat stone and wraps his fingers around it to hide just in case.

Santi’s eyes glance over to the entrance, spotting a figure approaching him. His vision focuses and adjusts to make out the details of the figure before freezing in shock. It’s a kid! Well, a teenager, around Santi’s age. But he’s wearing nothing but a faded red loincloth. Santi feels his breathing start to increase out of fear.

“Wh-Who are you?” Santi rasps out. The teenager’s bright dark eyes bore into Santi.

“I’m Santi…did you save me?” Santi tells the unfamiliar teenager. The long-haired teen nods, pointing at Santi’s chest.

“Heal you,” the wild boy tells Santi, “no touch.” Santi nods.

“Thank you,” Santi tells his mysterious savior.

“What’s your name?” Santi asks again but frowns when the other boy appears confused.

“Your name…what are you called?” Santi tries rephrasing.

“M-Mo…Mow-gleeeee…Mowgli,” the boy introduces, sounding out his name. Mowgli points at Santi.

“San-teeeee….Santi,” Mowgli repeats and Santi smiles and nods weakly.

“Yeah-I’m Santi…are you…are you from the village?” Santi asks. Mowgli shakes his head.

Santi remembers where he is and looks around.

“Is this…your home?” Santi asks. Mowgli didn’t seem to understand the question, so Santi motions around to the cave before pointing at Mowgli.

“Your home?” Santi asks again.

“Yes…no…cave is Baloo…I come here, but not home,” Mowgli explains as best he can with his limited knowledge.

When Mowgli was 13, he had learned from Baloo that humans have their own language and had assumed Mowgli knew it as well, being a human. Baloo didn’t know a lot about Man, only what he’d heard through rumors from Bagheera, Akela and Kaa. Chil the kite bird also shared stories of times he’s seen humans.

Baloo knew from past experience that lying to Mowgli was a lot worse than telling him the truth, even if the boy didn’t want to hear it. So any time Mowgli would ask about humans or the Manvillage, Baloo would try and be as truthful as he could, though Mowgli understands that he doesn’t know EVERYTHING.

It’s thanks to the old sloth bear that Mowgli had the courage to start trying to learn Man’s language. Mowgli didn’t want Bagheera to know. The very first thing Baloo taught him is that moving a head up and down means yes and side to side means no.

“Is…is it..dead?” Santi asks. Mowgli snaps out of his thoughts and remembers stabbing the tiger with his sharpened stick. Mowgli nods.

“I kill Shere Khan,” Mowgli says. Santi looks away. Mowgli sees a familiar feeling on Santi’s face. It’s a feeling of…disappointment. Mowgli was familiar with it, mostly when he was younger.

“Why face?” Mowgli asks, pointing to his face. Santi looks at Mowgli.

“My father…he will be disappointed in me. I couldn’t stand a chance against…Sh-Shere Khan,” Santi says, using the name Mowgli used. Mowgli smiles with realization. As he learned the language of Man, humans could learn the language of the wolf. They just had to be taught.

“Father,” Mowgli repeats. Santi nods before wincing in pain slightly. Mowgli notices and frowns. He approaches Santi slowly before gently reaching out and inspecting the wound. It’s not as red as it was and the bleeding stopped, though the claw marks are deep.

“Where did you learn healing?” Santi asks.

“Bagheera,” Mowgli states.

“What’s Bagheera?” Santi asks.

“Panther. Panther smart, told me healing,” Mowgli explains. Santi’s eyes widen. A panther?

“A…panther?” Santi asks.

“What about your mother and father?” Santi asks. Mowgli frowns in confusion.

“You know…Baloo. Isn’t that your father?” Santi asks. Mowgli chuckles and now Santi frowns in confusion.

“Baloo. Papa bear. Best friend. Baloo is best friend,” Mowgli explains.

“Do you have a father or a mother?” Santi asks. It would explain a lot about Mowgli, why he’s almost naked, talks about animals, and why his speech is broken. Mowgli seems to recognize the last word and he nods vigorously.

“Mother! Mother is strong and brave and kind,” Mowgli says. Santi awes at Mowgli’s explanation and, if truth be told, Santi was a bit jealous. He’d always wondered what it was like to have a mother. His father, Dev, would talk about Santi’s mother, Dev’s wife, whenever Santi would ask, but he’d never talk about her willingly to Santi. And even when the boy would ask his father, he could tell how sad his father would get from reliving past memories, so he eventually stopped asking so his father wouldn’t get upset thinking about her.

But thinking about his father makes Santi realize that his father is strong, brave and kind. In a way…Dev has been Santi’s father and his mother.

“And your father?” Santi asks. He watches Mowgli’s face fall.

“Killed…by Shere Khan,” Mowgli answers solemnly. Santi’s jealousy evaporates instantly and is replaced with empathy.

“My mother was killed…but I have my father,” Santi tells Mowgli, understanding the pain of losing a parent.

“Do you think you could…untie me?” Santi asks, moving his arms from behind his back. His wrists are still tied together with the vines Mowgli weaved together. Mowgli eyes Santi suspiciously.

“No touch healing paste,” Mowgli warns and Santi nods.

“I won’t,” he promises Mowgli. Santi watches Mowgli nod slightly before moving to get behind him. Mowgli unties Santi and the injured teen sighs with relief.

“Thanks,” Santi tells Mowgli.

Meanwhile elsewhere in the Jungle…

Dev makes his way towards the Swamp. It’s a bit out of the way from the last known area the tiger was spotted, but Dev thought he should check anyways. That is, until he looked up and saw a wispy trail of smoke! Dev’s eyes widen and he races in the direction he saw the pale gray smoke. He hopes it’s a tiger sighting rather than a call for help and he wishes it wasn’t his son either way.

If he was being honest with himself, Dev hadn’t been real present with Santi when the boy was younger. It was when Santi was around 10 that Dev realized how independent Santi had become and had shown an interest in hunting. Dev knew that he should bond with his son for multiple reasons but a big reason is to make up for lost time. He knew he was supposed to provide for Santi, but after the death of his wife, he misplaced his anger onto his son, which wasn’t fair to the boy. But after all these years, Santi is now almost a grown man and Dev doesn’t know what he’d do if something happened to Santi. Santi is all Dev has left.

After hiking a good 10 miles, Dev finds himself at the source of the smoke. He sees a small pile of green leaves that have blackened edges and tips. He looks around and doesn’t see anyone.

“Rohan? Amir? Ishan? Santi?” Dev asks, calling out each name, “is anyone there?!” Dev asks. He looks around and that’s when he spots the footprint in the ground. He sees it’s a bit smaller than a grown adult’s. Santi, Dev thinks.

Dev looks around and spots a patch of grass that’s been crushed. He sees a couple broken twigs sticking out from a nearby bush and his eyes widen. There’s been a struggle. Dev scans the surrounding area and finds a few drops of blood and gasps. Dev spots a footprint Santi’s size before he goes about 20 feet to the left to look around. That’s when he spots the stick. It’s pointing up awkwardly and Dev pushes past the bushes and walks around the trees until he spots the monster on the ground. Nothing but limp flesh, Dev feels his stomach churn at the sight of the creature that’s no longer the formidable tiger it used to be. Dev spots the blind eye of Shere Khan which is the only reason Dev is able to identify the tiger. Small patches of Khan’s pelt are still visible but mostly around his nose, eyes and ears. Dev understands why the young woman, Messua, thought it was a monster killing our cattle. In his current state, Shere Khan likely couldn’t hunt anything else as cattle are slow, easy pray, even for a creature as injured as he was. Dev sees the bloody stick poking out of Khan.

Dev’s happy the tiger is dead and out of his misery, but Dev’s also worried about his son, wondering if he’s alright. That’s all he wants, really. Dev continues, trying to follow the trail.

“DEV!” Dev hears his name being called as he makes his way through the dense Seeonee Jungle. Dev’s eyes widen and he feels a bit of relief when he recognizes the voice.

“Amir!? AMIR!” Dev looks around before spotting the bearded man approaching.

“Dev! I’m glad you are unharmed. Who sent the smoke signal?” Amir asks before his eyes spot the body of Shere Khan. His eyes widen and has a similar reaction as Dev did.

“Let’s talk somewhere else,” Dev suggests and motions away and Dev agrees quickly.

“I’m not sure who started the signal,” Dev says, clearly worried.

“Hey-Santi’s a great hunter. He even outshoots me a few times. I’m sure he’s ok,” Amir tries assuring Dev. Growing up, Amir, Rohan and Ishan have all looked up to Dev so they see Dev as an older brother figure. Dev nods.

“Hey if anything I’m sure it’s Ishan. You know how he always leaps before he looks,” Amir tries, earning a dry chuckle from Dev.

“C’mon, I think the others should be nearby. Let’s split up and look for them,” Amir suggests and Dev nods.

“Right, meet back here,” Dev says and Amir nods and the two split up.

It didn’t take long for Dev to find Rohan and for Amir to find Ishan, so they were able to meet back up fairly quickly.

“I didn’t start the signal,” Rohan says and Dev looks to Ishan.

“Neither did I,” Ishan adds.

“Then…it was Santi,” Dev says. No one says anything, but now that Dev knows it was Santi who started the smoke signal, Dev realizes that Santi crossed paths with Shere Khan.

Amir breaks the news about the tiger to Rohan and Ishan and even shows them the scarred, deformed body. The men gather around away from the lifeless body.

“Shere Khan is dead, that must mean that Santi sent the smoke signal because he spotted the tiger,” Rohan suggests.

“If it was for sighting Khan, where is Santi? He could’ve been hurt after engaging with the tiger. An animal like that is unpredictable,” Dev asks.

“That’s true. Why hasn’t Santi appeared unless he-“ Ishan begins, but that’s when Amir nudges his side roughly. Ishan groans and sends a look to Amir, who glares back at his friend.

“Let’s focus on finding Santi before we worry about anything else,” Rohan suggests logically. Dev nods in agreement. Finding Santi should be priority.

Back in Baloo’s cave, Santi has managed to sit up and Mowgli has given him a water filled fruit shell he made when he was 10. The only time Mowgli used it was when they went to Peace Rock for water. Santi takes a refreshing drink before looking at Mowgli. Santi sets the shell down.

“You’re not from the village, are you?” Santi asks, wiping his mouth nonchalantly. Mowgli shakes his head.

“Mother is leader of Seeonee Wolf Pack,” Mowgli explains. Santi looks at Mowgli.

“Your mother…is a wolf?” Santi asks. Mowgli howls.

“I am Mowgli of the Seeonee,” Mowgli states. The pieces start to connect in Santi’s mind and he realizes that Mowgli is a feral child, raised by wolves.

A million questions race by in Santi’s mind that he wants to ask Mowgli.

“Am I the first human you’ve seen?” Santi settles on a question.

“No..I saw before…6 seasons ago,” Mowgli explains, though Santi notices Mowgli is starting to look uncomfortable.

“Are you ok?” Santi asks.

“I…I saw them…the humans…when I took the Red Flower-“ Mowgli says. Santi’s eyes widen in realization. All those years ago. The shadowy figure Santi saw on the bridge. He’d seen the figure take the torch but didn’t think anything of it as the torches are there to use. It wasn’t until the alarm for the huge jungle fire that started did Santi put two and two together. By then, he was already too scared to say anything. Adding in that the fire was put out rather quickly, no one really thought anything of it.

“You took the fire?“ Santi asks and Mowgli nods sadly.

“Santi!” Mowgli suddenly hears a voice yell in the distance and Santi sees the feral teen tense up.

“You…I hear your name,” Mowgli alerts. Santi’s eyes widen.

“The hunters-“ Santi replies automatically. Mowgli flinches at the word ‘hunters’, knowing what that means.

“No-No-it’s ok. My father is one of them. I…am one of them,” Santi explains and Mowgli takes a step back, gasping quietly.

“But we only hunt if we have to—only to eat and so we’re not killed. That’s what my father taught me and that’s what he’s taught the others,” Santi explains and Mowgli settles slightly.

“Not…for sport?” Mowgli asks and Santi shakes his head.

“My father and I have never hunted for sport,” Santi assures Mowgli.

Mowgli looks and sees the sincerity in Santi’s eyes. The stories he’s heard would be on the contrary, but Mowgli knows better than anyone that you should judge someone by their heart and their actions rather than what they are and their prejudices.

“Hunt to eat,” Mowgli says and Santi nods.

“Santi!!!” The voice yells, getting a bit louder since he’s getting closer. The voice is loud enough that Santi recognizes it as his father’s voice! Mowgli looks to Santi.

“We will meet again, Santi,” Mowgli says and climbs out the skylight hole.

“Mowgli wait!” Santi calls out, but the other teenager is already gone. Santi gets to his feet and walks out.

“Father?! FATHER!” Santi calls out.

“SANTI!! DON’T MOVE!! WE’RE COMING!” Dev calls back as Santi steps out of the cave’s entrance. He sees a beautiful small flowing creek covered with purple flowers right in front of the cave.

Santi hears rustling nearby get louder and louder so he turns and that’s when his father breaks through the plant life, followed by the other volunteer hunters.

“Santi!” Dev exclaims, rushing forward, wrapping his son in a hug, despite Santi’s grunts of pain. While he is mostly healed and the claw marks have scabbed, Santi’s chest is still a bit sore and tender.

“Father-“ Santi pleads and the tone of his son’s voice causes Dev to back off. He looks and sees Santi’s bare chest is covered in a green paste that smeared onto his own clothes.

“Y-You’re hurt-“ Dev realizes.

“I’m ok Father-really,” Santi assures his father.

“Did you…kill the tiger?” Dev asks. Santi doesn’t answer at first. The fear of telling the truth causes Santi to look away.

“No…I’m sorry Father. Shere Khan caught me off guard,” Santi says.

“Do not be sorry my son. I’m just glad you’re alive,” Dev tells him.

“Khan…was dead when we found him,” Amir pipes up, motioning to the other hunters.

“Who did this?” Dev asks Santi, motioning to the green paste covering his bare chest.

“I was saved by a boy my age. He was the one that killed Shere Khan,” Santi explains.

“A boy? Who? You are the eldest male child of the village and the 2nd eldest is only 10,” Rohan asks.

“Santi can tell us later, but right now, we need to get you help,” Dev argues, letting his son use him for stability. Santi leans heavily on his father, not because he’s too weak, but because the boy missed his father. Sant was worried he’d never see his father again.

Rohan helps Dev with Santi while Amir and Ishan keep ready just in case anything happens. While his father and the others didn’t get a good look at the cave, Santi manages a glance behind himself.

Meanwhile, Mowgli manages to make it back to the Wolf Pack territory and back to the dens. Mowgli goes over the whole interaction with the human, including killing Shere Khan. Even remembering what the tiger looked like was unnerving for Mowgli so he doesn’t dwell on that particular moment.

He remembers seeing Santi on the ground, bloody and unconscious and Mowgli remembers feeling a need to protect. Honestly Mowgli still can’t really explain it, but he felt that way about any living creature in need. Akela told him once that he was special because of his selflessness. That is what makes a wolf, Akela had said.

“Mowgli-there you are,” the boy hears Bagheera’s silky voice. He looks and sees the panther up in a nearby tree.

“Bagheera…I…I was with the human-“ Mowgli tells the panther, not wanting to lie or keep things hidden. Bagheera nods.

“I figured,” he replies understandingly.

“He..wasn’t like some of the stories I’ve heard…and they’re not scary looking in the day,” Mowgli says and Bagheera nods.

“This particular human…” Mowgli trails off, stopping in his tracks. Bagheera stops and looks back at the boy. Noticing Mowgli isn’t making eye contact, Bagheera turns, focusing on him.

“What is it Mowgli?” Bagheera asks.

“You said I’m human, right Bagheera?” Mowgli asks and Bagheera nods.

“Yes,”

“Could there be other humans…like me?” Mowgli asks and Bagheera thinks on Mowgli’s question.

“Mowgli, you are uniquely you. You may be a human, but there are no humans like you,” Bagheera explains.

“But, if there was…do you think Ami would like him?” Mowgli asks and Bagheera’s eyes widen.

“Mowgli your mother is firm on the Laws of the Jungle. You deserve to know who you are so I will not mention your activities to your mother or anyone in the pack. But you cannot get caught,” Bagheera says. Mowgli nods.

“Thank you Bagheera,” Mowgli tells him, knowing Bagheera doesn’t have to keep his secrets. The panther nods.

“Of course,” he says before motioning with his head for the boy to follow.

“Come, it’s getting late,” Bagheera says and together, they walk back to the dens, where the Wolf Pack live.

Dev and the hunting party manage to hike all the way back and once they cross the bridge, others from the village hurry over to help.

“Messua, get the bandages,” Dev says and the young woman nods, hurrying off.

Dev takes Santi with Amir’s help and gets back to the small house tucked in the corner of the village. Dev sets Santi down on the bed gently and helps the boy lay back.

“Does it hurt son?” Dev asks.

“Sore…but it’s not too bad,” Santi says. Dev knows his son has a high tolerance for pain so for Santi to admit anything must be a lot for him. Dev nods.

“Ok, don’t worry son,” Dev tries comforting Santi. Santi nods and shuts his eyes. Messua comes in a few moments later holding a few different items.

“Thank you Messua,” Dev says as she gets to work.

“Of course Dev, he’ll be ok, your boy is strong,” Messua says as she starts wiping off the green paste on Santi’s chest.

“No-don’t-“ Santi tries, but Messua gently holds his hand down.

“I’m sorry I have to wipe your chest off,” she says and at the insistence of his father, Santi lets Messua work.

As Messua works, Dev’s able to see just how badly Santi got hurt and the boy can’t miss the worry plastered all over his father’s face.

“Father-it’s just a bit sore-I’m ok,” Santi says. Messua wraps Santi’s chest with bandage cloth.

“Sage..a great medicinal plant. I didn’t figure you two as herbalists,” Messua tells Santi and Dev.

“I’m not-“ Dev shakes his head.

“It was Mowgli, Father,” Santi says.

“Who is Mowgli?” Messua asks.

“He’s a boy my age. He lives in the Jungle and he was the one that helped me when Shere Khan caught me off guard,” Santi explains.

“Hm, well sounds like a smart kid,” Messua says.

Once Messua finishes with Santi, Dev gifts her a small basket of fruits and vegetables Dev recently harvested from his garden.

“Thank you Dev, but you really don’t have to-“ Messua tries, but Dev holds up a hand to stop her.

“I know, I want to,” Dev insists and Messua smiles before nodding.

“Thank you for getting rid of Shere Khan,” Messua says and Dev nods. The father and son duo head outside and meet up with the other volunteer hunters and Santi tells them everything that happened. Santi spends the next week or so resting and healing, but he can’t get that mysterious wild boy named Mowgli out of his head.

Back at the Wolf Pack dens, Mowgli and Bagheera head over towards Raksha and her den.

“Mowgli, where were you?” Raksha asks. Mowgli looks to Bagheera before looking at his mother.

“I was at Baloo’s,” Mowgli answers. While he isn’t exactly lying, he isn’t telling Raksha everything either.

While both boys think about their chance encounter, it isn’t until Santi has fully recovered, albeit with claw scars raked across his chest, that he goes to seek out Mowgli. While it was quite a trek to get there, Santi could remember what the cave looked like.

The two met up by chance and managed to stay in contact with each other, eventually becoming friends. The days turned to weeks, which turned into months. Mowgli could have never imagined himself friends with a human. Being leader has distracted Raksha enough that she nor anyone else in the Pack has figured out Mowgli sees a human rather regularly.

The boys had initially bonded over the loss of a parental figure, but they also learned they are rather different from each other. Mowgli would tell Santi stories about the Pack and his animal family while Santi would tell Mowgli about village life and what it’s like to be a human.

Bagheera and Baloo may have initially been skeptical, but now, after having seen how much happier Mowgli has been since meeting his human friend Santi, the pair of animals would much rather Mowgli break a Law than be miserable forever. Seeing Mowgli relate to a human but also choose to come back and live his life with his family has made both Baloo and Bagheera realize that Mowgli is exactly who he needs to be.

End.

#jungle book #the junglebook #the jungle book #fanfic #fanfiction #a chance encounter #first request #writing request #oc fanfic request #jungle book 2016 #jungle book oc fanfic #thank you so much for being patient with me

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swgohgamer · 6 months ago

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WEEK 34: Last week’s raid got me enough currency to unlock both Han Solo and General Kenobi at 5 stars. My next priority for that Mk I raid currency is Dengar, as I’m building up that bounty hunter team to unlock Chewie & will also need him at relic for Executor. He should go pretty quickly as he only costs 200 tokens per 10 shards, which is cheap compared to Han & Kenobi at 700. I’ve got my whole unlock strategy laid out in a custom tab of the ‘Squad’ section, which I hadn’t been using very effectively previously, but which I like a lot now. My only gripes with it are that I wish there were no character limits on the descriptions, and I wish you could show both toons and ships in the same view. But otherwise I’m finding it very helpful. I have a “pinned” row at the top for the various guild currencies, where I’ll cycle out toons as they get starred up. Wampa is expensive so I expect he’ll be in there for a while, but most of them should cycle out fairly quickly. The other exception being Wat Tambor, but my guild is wrapping up the first territory battle since I joined, and I was pleased to find out my Geos were up to the task of contributing a Wat shard. The guild has gotten 12 shards total this time with 4 hours to go, so hopefully that number will just continue to rise with future TBs as we grow. We’re looking at 13 stars overall for the current TB, which will be a high score for the guild.

The guild is at capacity and expects everyone to be active every day, so I feel like it’s a good fit for me. They have been booting inactives after 3 days, so they’re not messing around. Getting that Wat shard went a long way toward making me feel better about my contributions; while I get my raid tickets in daily, and participate in raids/TBs/TWs, I feel like I generally don’t have enough overall GP and/or don’t have the required toons leveled up to make a difference on the various missions/raids. So helping with Wat is a good thing. I’ll be working on Ewoks after Executor, so that should help if we continue with the speeder bike raid.

I managed to win exactly one squad arena battle this week. Those rankings (both squad and fleet) do not seem to budge unless I find a spot where I can move up, which makes me wonder if the players around me are not very active. It gives me hope that I’ll manage to poke through a bit more once I get more powerful. As far as farming, I’ve almost got Geo Spy up to relic status, although that’s a real grind. Some of that required gear is locked behind a fleet node I haven’t beaten yet, but I was able to cobble it together through various shops and/or just buying it outright with crystals. The remaining required gear for Spy is available on nodes though. So I’m using my crystals to refresh the Slave I node, which is where my fleet energy is going. That’s a slow farm too. But once I get Spy relic’d up, I’ll be pouring my regular energy into Bossk and Houndstooth. I got Bossk up to level 85 this week, leaving Dengar as the only bounty hunter in that squad who isn’t at max level yet. The BHs will get me Chewie, and their ships will get me the Millennium Falcon, the Executor, and hopefully some progress in fleet arena. I haven’t budged from rank 215 there for at least a couple of weeks. I’d love to break in to the top 50 for that sweet sweet crystal income; I see some Executors up there, so I figure it’s possible. Razor Crest blueprints are elusive.

Over in GAC, I’m ranked #10316 of Carbonite IV (and #42 in my guild). In the current GAC, I underestimated my round 1 opponent- they had a Jedi team led by a Qui-Gon with the Agility Training ability at level 8, which basically makes his allies super fast and unkillable. So although I had them beat in terms of GP, and won the round overall, that one squad did end up humbling me. Sorry to Qui-Gon, I was not familiar with your game. I demolished my round 2 opponent, but my round 3 opponent is stacked with relics and way more powerful. I should end up squarely in that #2-#4 rewards tier this week. I didn’t manage to get a screenshot of the end of Conquest, but I realized I left some tickets on the table by neglecting the Event Feats. Some of them weren’t feasible because they required Gungans (which I don’t have), but I could have gotten some things done there. Ah well- next time.

I haven’t been doing a ton with mods, mostly because I’m so strapped for cash, but once I have Dengar at level 85 I plan to level all my viable unassigned mods up to at least level 12 and get a good set equipped on the bounty hunters. My strategy with mod energy has been to use some on slicing mats each day (which also satisfies the daily hard node challenge), and then put the rest on 4 dot mods which I then sell for credits. Because at this point I’m hurting more for credits than for actual mods. And I’m still getting 5 dot mods from the Galactic Challenge crates. This game is such a dumb waste of time, I love it.

#galaxy of heroes #star wars #star wars galaxy of heroes #swgoh

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goober-37 · 1 year ago

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Hey y’all! Sorry to be so inactive lately :( I’ve had a lot going on in my life and my mental health has been kinda stinky, so I haven’t had the energy to be online much.

The apartment I was in the process of applying for fell through thanks to my bosses at work, but I’m in the process of reapplying but with one less roommate! I’ve also just generally been having some nasty anxiety lately and the seasonal depression seems to be slowly creeping up on me. I am okay and I will be okay. I will prevail. I always do. I just need to take the time to ensure I prevail as smoothly as I can. I might have some art to post here maybe tomorrow, but I just thought I’d update y’all.

I’ve also been swapping rooms with my sister because she got in trouble and isn’t allowed in the basement alone anymore and was supposed to take my room when I left. Since I haven’t yet, I negotiated to stick me in the basement in the meantime. My father is also still an alcoholic and allegedly almost 2 weeks sober again, but it’s hard to want to be around him after the last 3 years and the screaming matches we’ve all been having with him for a couple nights a few weeks ago. Plus of course I get a migraine and minor vertigo the last few days 😒 so now I’m just waiting for the rest of the dizziness to clear up.

I know most of you came for the 9 content but I hope you stay for the Goober content as well because I love sharing my writing and my other fixations aside from 9.

Also, I might actually be able to keep working on some of my digital pieces soon because I got my puter set up again (long story)‼️

Anyways, hope y’all are chilling 😎

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

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Portrait of a Dangerous Man🎨3

Warnings: (series) non-consent sex and rape; slow creep; cucking; (this chapter) sleep paralysis, stress.

This is dark!mob!Clark Kent x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Your dream of having your work hung in an art show comes true but your first buyer is not all he seems to be.

Note: I’m so happy people are liking this story. Thanks so much to everyone reading and sorry if I’m a bit inactive lately, I’ve been exhausted and yesterday didn’t end, I swear.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

On Monday, you yawned over your keyboard as your fingers moved on instinct alone. Your eyes ran along the text but the words were just letters to you. You had a lot to think about, a lot to do.

You decided you would skip lunch and get through your work day an hour early so you could head to Clark’s right away. He was hard to deny when he asked if you could make it back so soon. You told him you worked everyday from home and you had hours beside that at the gallery three times a week at least. He accepted it with a nod but his silence was telling so you caved and said you could make it but not until the evening.

You texted Marcus as you waited for your Uber. He had a few hours to go still and you left him everything he needed to make supper with instructions; the veggies were cut, the meat thawed, and the pans already arranged on the stove. You had faith he could manage on his own.

The mansion was just as intimidating as the first time you visited. You walked up the drive and to the front steps. It was human nature to be envious of the sprawling yards and lavish estate and yet, it didn’t feel as if someone could truly live here. It would be like staying in a hotel as you were always overly aware of your every move, afraid to break something or make a mess.

You hammered the large knocker when your soft tapping brought no answer. You heard someone on the other side and wiggled your foot nervously. The door opened and square-faced woman greeted you in another language. You couldn’t tell if it was Swedish, German, or some other dialect. You were never a skilled linguist.

“Um, hi, I’m…”

“Ah, you are the lady painter,” she said, “I remember. I am Nina, Mr. Kent’s housekeeper.”

She turned and beckoned you to follow her. You closed the tall door and trailed her across the spacious foyer and behind the stairs into the kitchen. She turned through another room and led you out through the glass doors that opened onto the pool.

“Miss, would you like a drink? Tea? Coffee?” she asked.

“No, thank you,” you said as the water moved and your eyes were drawn to the figure moving beneath the surface.

“Miss,” Nina nodded and left you.

You stood, awkward and listless, and glanced around at the loungers and the umbrella over the round table. You weren’t entirely sure what to do. Had he forgotten about you?

“Hey,” your gaze was drawn back to the pool. Clark waded to the edge, his broad shoulders and chiseled chest visible as he made his way to the shallow end, “sorry. Lost track of time.”

He grabbed the metal railing and climbed up the stairs. The water slaked off his tight trunks and down his thick thighs. He appeared even larger with less clothes. You looked away before your thoughts lingered too long.

“It’s fine, I should have texted I was on my way,” you said, “I can go wait for you--”

“No worries,” he took his towel and rubbed dry his dark hair. The scruff along his chin was thicker than before, almost a full blown beard, “you’re not in a hurry, are you?”

“No, not really, can’t really rush… painting,” you shrugged, “I just… I didn’t mean to catch you off-guard.”

“Pfft, I’m ready for anything,” he grinned, “but I should also listen to the artist. I’ll go get changed and you can get settled in the studio.” He directed you ahead of him as he approached the sliding doors, “you just finished work? You should take a few minutes to unwind.”

“Uh, yeah, but it’s just, um, typing, not exactly hard labour,” you said as he followed you inside.

“Work is work,” he said, “I will never fault anyone who works hard, regardless of what they do.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” you stifled a yawn behind your hand.

He let out a breath as you came out into the foyer, “I’m sorry, you could’ve… you’re tired. We could have rescheduled. I’m sorry if I came across… pushy yesterday. I don’t mean to take advantage of you.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” you assured him, “I’m fine.”

“Alright,” he said doubtfully, “but you let me know if you need a break.”

“Will do,” you murmured as you neared the stairs.

🎨

You weren’t even close to done just the background of the portrait. Clark really didn’t even need to be there as you shadowed the folds of the curtains around his figure and the marble bust. Your arm hurt from reaching across and up the gigantic canvas and your eyes burned from squinting at your work.

You backed off the ladder carefully with your paintbrush and palette balanced in one hand. The paint was drying and you needed to mix more. You set down your armful and wiped your hands on the rag. He was watching you, he was always watching you. Well, no, he was just looking in your direction; it was all for the portrait.

You hit the button on the side of your phone and gasped. It was midnight. You had several messages from Marcus and you blanched as you unlocked the cell and quickly texted back. You rubbed your eye as you hit send and turned to Clark.

“I didn’t realise it was so late,” you said, “I gotta go.”

“What time is it?” he asked and looked at his watch, “oh.”

He pushed himself to his feet with a grunt and stretched out his arms as he neared. You took your brush and rinsed it in the tinted water in the jar.

“I’ll just clean up as I wait for an Uber,” you said as you let the brush rest in the jar and lifted your phone again.

“I’ll drive you,” he said as he grabbed a rag, “it’s a long way. I’ll hire a driver for you from here on out. It’ll be easier and cheaper.”

“You don’t have to--”

You flinched as he wiped your cheek with the rag. He smiled and showed you the paint on the white cloth.

“I wouldn’t offer it if it was too much trouble,” he tossed the rag down, “and I did have something to talk to you about. The drive will be more than enough to get it sorted.”

“Oh, okay,” you eked nervously. Had you done something wrong? Were you not painting fast enough?

“I’ll meet you downstairs,” he touched your arm gently.

He left you and you finished scraping off the palette and cleaning your brushes. You dumped the jar in the sink just inside the nearest bathroom and rinsed the porcelain back to white. You left everything arranged neatly on the table and descended to the first floor.

Clark stood by the door in a different jacket, his tie gone and the top button undone. He held the door for you and showed you to the garage. There were at least a half-dozen cars inside and he took you to the same silver one he drove the night of the show. You settled in and groaned as the tension left your shoulders.

He started the car as the doors rose behind him and he backed out smoothly. He turned down the long drive and onto the desolate roads of the wealthy countryside. He kept one hand on the wheel and dropped his other to his thigh casually.

“So, your job, you like it?”

“It’s work,” you said, “I get paid to sit at home and type. Half the time, I’m just waiting for an assignment.”

“I asked if you liked it,” he said more pointedly.

“Oh, well, not… really?” you answered, unsure.

He could be so pleasant and then so blunt. He made you nervous and the more you thought of it, the more you realised you knew almost nothing about this man besides his name. You didn’t know how he made his money or what exactly he did outside of his extravagant mansion.

“If I doubled your fee, would you quit?” he asked without hesitation.

“Quit? This… the painting won’t take forever,” you said, “I can’t really just drop everything--”

“This is an opportunity,” he said, “you could spend your days doing what you love. And who’s to say it’s just one painting? I already have something in mind for the dining room and I have friends asking about you.”

“Friends? Who--”

“One thing at a time,” he said curtly, “I’ll introduce you to them in time. Is it a deal?”

“I… it’s all very sudden, can I think about it?”

He looked at you in the rearview and you caught his eye. For a moment, you were afraid. There was something in his expression that left you breathless. He lifted his hand and stretched his arm between the seats, his fingers gripped the leather just above your shoulder.

“Sure, I’ll give you a couple days,” he said at last.

“I--I’m sorry…” you didn’t know why you were apologizing but it felt appropriate, “I just, I’m tired.”

“It’s fine, sweetheart,” he assured and the epithet hung in the air.

“I have to go to the gallery tomorrow, I’ll get back to you on Wednesday,” you said as you rubbed your chin nervously. Your lips was quivering. He was smiling but you felt his impatience in the small space of the car, “if I… if I say yes, I have to talk to my boss and that might get messy.”

“No problem,” his voice softened, “you take some time and figure it out.” His thumb rubbed the leather seat and he pulled his arm away to grasp the steering wheel, “why don’t you close your eyes. We got some time left.”

You peeked over at him and nodded.

“Okay,” you murmured and hugged your bag against you as you tried to relax against the leather. You turned your head and looked out the window up at the starry sky. You closed your eyes as the fatigue settled over you but you could only fake dozing as your nerves stormed inside of you.

He was right, it was a great opportunity, but you just couldn’t believe it would last. Was it your own doubt getting to you? Or should you be weary of this fairytale buyer? It was late and you couldn’t think. All those worries could wait until tomorrow.

🎨

You crept into the dark apartment. It was after one and you foresaw a long day ahead of you. You’d get maybe four hours in before it all started again. You put your purse down and went into the bedroom, undressing in the shadows and crawling into bed next to Marcus as the colours of the tv moved around him. The playlist he was casting kept on even as he slept.

He grunted as you laid on your back and he turned to graze your arm with his fingertips.

“You’re home,” he grumbled and kissed your cheek, “I was worried.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, “I… it’s so far out there and it’s a lot of work. The canvas is like nine feet-- I’m sorry, I’ll let you sleep.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” his voice was gristly as he propped himself up on his elbow, “you’re gonna finish the job right?”

“I don’t know,” you said, “I don’t know if I can.”

“Of course you can,” Marcus insisted, “I mean, at that price, you can do anything.”

“It’s not about the money, Marcus,” you huffed, “I don’t know if it’s worth all this. Going back and forth…” you ran your hands over your face, “he wants me to quit my job and just paint for him.”

“You should,” Marcus said blithely, “why not? He’s paying you well enough.”

“And what about when I’m done,” you whined.

“You’ll find more work. Vanessa even offered to take on more of your work in her shows, so what’s the problem? Isn’t this what you want?”

“Y-yeah, it is but… I don’t know, it just seems too good to be true.”

“You do this and we might even have enough for a down payment,” he said, “something had to give after all these years. Why can’t it be this?”

You looked at him and tried to smile, “you’re only saying that because he has a pool.”

“Maybe,” he kidded, “but I also want it for you. You spend all your free time painting anyhow so why not get paid for it?”

“Mhmm,” you mumbled, “yeah, I just don’t know why I feel so… I don’t know. It just all seems off.”

“Sleep on it, you’ll feel better,” he leaned over and kissed your lips that time, “love you.”

“Love you,” you echoed as he grabbed the remote and shut off the tv.

You closed your eyes as the darkness shrouded you and despite your anxiety, you fell into a deep sleep. You didn’t even roll onto your side before you sank into your REM but found yourself caught in limbo. The abstract and intense sensation of paralysis overtook your body and your eyelids flicked open.

It was an awful feeling you knew too well. You knew you were dreaming, you knew it was all in your mind, but your body was filled with sand and your subconscious conjured visions of doom. The tall man stood by the door as he always did and just stared. He got closer, just a little at a time, and you fought to move just a finger and free yourself from the trance.

You felt like you were drowning as your body remained heavy and unmoving. He was getting closer and closer. As he did, his figure changed and his shoulders got wider as his features came clear in the slat of the streetlight that leaked between the curtains. It was Clark staring down at you, his blue eyes sinister and sparkling.

He reached for you and you woke with a start as your name rose from his lips. You inhaled sharply and looked over at Marcus as he snored. It was only the two of you. You reached for your phone, it was just after three. You turned onto your side but your heart still raced. It always happened when you were stressed, the dreams felt so real that you never really came back down after.

You stared at the wall and curled up under the blanket. You didn’t expect to get much sleep anyway, not with the question on your mind. Should you quit and live your dream or should you kill all hope before life did it for you?

#clark kent #dark clark kent #dark!clark kent #clark kent x reader #superman #series #portrait of a dangerous man #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #mob au #mob!au #dc #dcu

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books-and-catears · 4 years ago

Note

Im actually unsure if ive sent a request already (if i did im sorry i have1 terrible memory T-T;;)

But if not would it be okay to request for an GN! MC who the brothers realize was a big idol back in the human world but they never said that to them? Like maybe they found through magazines or internet or smth?

Hope this is okay and have a good day!!

Awww honey don't apologize! Also thank you so much for the request! You have an amazing day too!

This is such a interesting and hilarious ask!This is going to be super fun to write hehehe :3

(Oh and just a general fact for anyone who comes across my blog I try to always make my MC gender neutral unless a specific gender is requested.)

Lucifer

Lucifer: For some reason there have been a lot of attempts to summon me from the human realm.

MC: Oh? That really works?

Lucifer: Well not always but we occasionally they get it right. But that's the not the issue here.

MC: Oh did they ask for something weird?

Lucifer: I got 22 summons. 18 of them had your name in their demands. And I checked their identities, they are not related to you, in any way. Mind explaining what's going on?

MC: *embarassed* I was slightly drunk on stage one day and might have told the people as a joke that if I ever went missing, they could try asking the devil for me.

Lucifer: Your people? Do you have cult up there?

MC: Well cult is a strong word. Fanbase is the more commonly used term...

Lucifer: How many people?

MC: Um...

Lucifer: How many more times will I be summoned MC?

MC: Um a few million times?

Lucifer: *exasperated dad noises*

Mammon

Mammon: MC what is net worth?

MC: Eh I'm not sure but maybe sum of assets or something

Mammon: YOU HAVE 20 MILLION WORTH OF ASSETS?

MC: Ah well I don't really accept it as mine cause there's a lot of people involved so I signed it over to my parents anyway.

Mammon: BUT HOW DO YOU HAVE THE ASSETS?

MC: 5 years worth of good record and merch sells are enough for it suppose?

Mammon: Records...MC you were a famous singer in the human world?!

MC: Ah well idol is what they called us. We had to dance a lot too.

Mammon: HOW COME NONE OF US KNEW THIS?! MC THIS IS HUGE WE CAN EVEN MARKET YOUR SKILLS HERE AND WE WILL BE RICH!

MC: *sigh*....this is why none of you knew.

Leviathan

Levi: MC can I tell you something strange?

MC: How strange are we talking?

Levi: Like when I saw you for the first time, you looked awfully familiar.

MC: Ah do I resemble some character you like?

Levi: An idol actually. There was this human world group that was a big hit for five years! But then they disbanded two years ago. You look like my favourite one. *Pointing to old poster*

MC: *looks at themself in ridiculous blue hair* Ahahhaa thanks Levi although I gotta admit that is my least favourite look.

Levi: You even have the same name as them it's almost uncanny- wait. Did you say 'MY least favourite look'?

MC: Guilty as charged....

Levi: YOU'RE ACTUALLY MC! THE MC! THE IDOL MC! *falls on the ground*

MC: Levi you okay?! Calm down it's-

Levi: MC IS IN MY ROOM!? MC IS SITTING NEXT TO ME?! MC IS LIVING IN THE SAME HOUSE AS ME!? MC GOES TO MY SCHOOL!? MC IS MY BEST FRIEND?!

MC: Yes Levi...Yes to all of them now calm down please! You're going to have heart attack!

Satan

Satan: MC come here for a minute would you?

MC: Yes, Satan?

Satan: So I tried to procure some human world magazines for Asmo and ended up going through them myself and *flips to a page and pointing towards an old picture of you* by any chance is this you?

MC: Haha didn't expect you to recognize me with that get up.

Satan: So when were you going to tell us you're about your fame in the human world?

MC: Does it even matter? It has been two years since I've last been on stage I'm sure people have forgotten now.

Satan: The recent article disagrees. *Reads from magazine* "MC hasn't been active in any of their social media accounts recently. While they did tend to go on long breaks of inactivity, this hiatus has been stretching for 5 months. They haven't even appeared in any of their fellow member's pictures either. An interview with one of the members said, 'They haven't even been answering texts nor calls. Their parents tell us they've gone away for a while but won't tell us where."

MC: Jesus I leave for six months and they make a whole mystery novel about me.

Satan: Well it's rather fun to keep the people on their toes. I can think of ways to fuel this fire.

MC: Satan no-

Asmodeus

Asmo: *comes running into your room* MC! How could you not tell me!?

MC: Eh? Tell you what?

Asmo: That you had a partner in the human world already?! And that you both are a FAMOUS POWER COUPLE!?

MC: Eh? Who said I was-

Asmo: Don't you lie to me! *holds up an edit playing on his phone* Look at these two people under the same umbrella! You're the one holding it aren't you!? Who are they MC? Do you love them more than me?!

MC: *sigh* No Asmo, they're just a friend who liked to screw with the paparazzi. And the paparazzi was over eager with us cause a lot of people loved shipping us.

Asmo: And why were you shipped with them?! I'm clearly a better match!

MC: *scratches head* Ah probably I used to pull too many pranks with them on stage and we were given a lot of duets and dances together.

Asmo: Stage? Duets? Dances? MC ...were you an IDOL?!

MC: ....yes?

Asmo: *squealing* WAIT TILL I MAKE YOU BECOME AN IDOL HERE TOO ALONG WITH ME SO PEOPLE WILL SHIP US INSTEAD!

Beelzebub

Beel: MC I heard from the others that you used to be a famous idol.

MC: Ah they told you too? Atleast your reaction is much calmer.

Beel: I heard famous people get lots of gifts from fans! Including snacks and candy!

MC: Haha we did. Only we weren't allowed to eat them.

Beel: ...but it's your gift. Of course you're allowed to eat them?!

MC: *sigh* Being in a idol group meant having to maintain your looks at all times. And weight was a big issue. I remember during tours we only had to live off apples, cucumbers and pea soup for a week.

Beel: That doesn't sound nice at all. *sad Beel noises* Here MC. *gives you half his sandwich* You can eat as much as you like here!

MC: Thank you so much, Beel.

Belphegor

Belphie: Did you get enough sleep being an idol and all? Beel told me you used to be one.

MC: Between late night practices and early morning workouts? I managed on three hours of sleep.

Belphie: That's less than half the ideal amount for humans.

MC: Ah well all of us needed to be perfect with the performance or we'd be screamed at or worse suspended.

Belphie: Performance for people who only need to see your face to start screaming. So much wasted energy. It's good that you left. Adoration from a bunch of strangers isn't worth losing sleep.

MC: I know right? It is nice to have a lot of people love you maybe but if I can't even be awake enough to appreciate them... what's the point?

Belphie: Come here. *wraps you up in his blanket* I help you catch up on the years of sleep you've missed.

MC; Thanks, Belphie.

#obey me headcannons #obey me Lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me beel #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me belphie #obey me fluff #obey me levi #obey me imagine #obey me game #obey me x mc #obey me mc is an idol #obey me idol mc #obey me gn! mc

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kanonffa · 2 years ago

Text

Um... Hi?

It's been a couple of months without showing any signs of life, I'm so sorry. I've been absent for work and nonsense that made me very angry and sad like my twitter account being shadow banned and I don't understand why the Fhell. Maybe because I leave it inactive for a long time and usually do a lot of RTs, which seems stupid to me, but who knows, screew it. Had little desire to draw kink stuff although I must confess that I have wanted to do something with my old favorite test subject. (Yes, I'm talking to you, Hyuuga boy~).

Not everything is negative, in my spare time I have played video games to de-stress (or stress myself cuz ranked lol) like Splatoon and Borderlands. I have also spent time with my new pet, family and trying to change some bad habits.

Anyway, I hope everyone is fine and healthy nd sorry for the lack of content. I’ll answer messages these days, sorry if it took me a while to do it. :( Take care~

#random shit #screew you twitter unu

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words-etched-in-her-skin · 4 years ago

Text

Hello, dears! Sorry I’ve been a bit inactive the last couple of days, but I’ve been working on finishing this 😏The third installment of my House Dimitrescu series on Ao3! I hope it’ll help quench some of your thirst 😘

Xx.

You weren’t sure if anyone had ever actually died from utter gay panic before - but you were almost positive that you felt your soul try to leave your body as soon the soft fabric of Alcina’s nightgown hit the ground. Every mountainous curve accentuated beautifully by the multitude of candles that filled the Countess’ bedroom.

“Is this the body that you’re so desperate to worship, my pet?” Alcina asked, allowing her hands to trace down the landscape of her abdomen.

“Ah.. Y-yes, my lady.”

“Mmh.. you do smell quite divine when you blush, my pet.” She replied, leaning over you. “All that blood… rising to the surface.”

(Ahem...)

“Erm..”

Your voice cracked with fluster, bringing a low and sultry chuckle from Alcina’s throat. Every glorious inch of her exposed to you as she made her way over to the door leading to the bath.

“Since you’ve promised me a proper body worship.. I think I shall bathe first.” She said, giving you a smirk. “You may join me… if you wish.”

“Y-yes, my lady. Of course.”

You could already feel the fierce flush spilling over you as you watched Alcina’s large frame slip through the bathroom doorway, ducking slightly as she did. Her silhouette sharp against the backdrop of the washroom. Every inch of her becoming more luminous with each candle that she lit. The delicious smell of spiced musk wafting through the warm air as she turned on the water.

“Come, pet.”

(Ah, pretty sure I just did that… quite a few times)

You couldn’t help but blush at the thought, immediately rising from the bed. Your body sore in ways that you never even knew possible. A deliciously dull ache, reminding you of just how much you had taken - of just how much Alcina had given you.

“Yes, my lady. My apologies.”

She waved her hand dismissively, the muscles of her forearms flexing as she did. Steam rising from the bath - dancing over her - elegantly encasing her curves as she leaned over the tub. Her fingers slowly tracing over the surface of the water as she locked her eyes onto yours

(Yep, and I’m suddenly feeling very parched.)

“Smells almost as delicious as you do, my pet.”

“Erm… thank you, my lady.”

“So flustered already.. and you haven’t even begun to touch me yet.”

(Yet.)

"Well.. you do have quite the effect, my lady."

Alcina chuckled. "Yes, I'm well aware of that, my pet."

You had no doubts that she was, the sheer presence of her hard to ignore. Whether it be chasing scared villagers, desperate to not have their blood drained by Alcina or her daughters - or the pure, unfiltered thirst that she could evoke in even the purest of nuns - you knew for certain that Alcina had always known of the effect she had on others.

“I would expect nothing less, my lady.” You replied with a smirk, watching her eyes grow slightly darker.

“There are not many people who would dare speak to me in such a way, you know.” She said calmly.

You averted your eyes. “I’m sorry, my lady.”

“Heh… I did not say I didn’t like it, pet.”

“O-oh.. I..”

You swallowed hard, very aware of the deep flush that was rapidly spreading across your naked body. Alcina only chuckled, slowly lowering herself down into the tub. The tepid water swallowing her curves in the most delicious of ways. You tried to look away - cast your eyes aside - knowing how severely some had been punished for just a simple glance in her direction - but the way her mouth parted slightly, letting out the most exquisite of moans, would allow you to do no such thing.

(Fuck… aah… brain… glitch)

“Pet?”

You cleared your throat. “Yes, my lady?”

“It would be much easier for you to bathe me if you were actually in the bath.”

(In the… aaaaaah)

“Y-yes, my lady. Of course.. it.. would absolutely be easier… yes.”

She smirked. “And I’m sure it would help those… sore muscles of yours.”

(Fuck.)

“Erm...”

Alcina, being the thirst-inducing Goddess that she was, was the only person in existence who could chuckle in such a way that would instantly make you wet. It was like sugared honey - smooth and sultry with just a tiny bit of rasp to it. You moved to the other side of the massive tub, settling in behind her. The heat from the water immediately dulling the ache, a reminder of just how sore you would be in the morning.

“Better?”

“Much, my lady. Thank you.”

“It’s the least I could do.. considering.”

You didn’t even have to look at her to know of the heated smirk that was painted perfectly across Alcina’s lips. She handed you a washcloth (or a towel, in your case) - soaked in the most exotic of oils - sighing with relief as soon as you began to massage it over the length of her back. Crystalline beads of sweat dripping deliciously down the small of her back, and you couldn’t help but wonder if she had only filled the tub halfway to make it easier for you to bathe her - or to be able to fluster you to no end. Your bet was on the latter.

“My lady?”

“Mmhm?”

“May I ask you something?”

“I supposed that would be alright, my pet. Just as long as you keep those hands of yours moving.”

“Of course, my lady.”

“Good pet.”

(Fuuuuck.)

You blushed furiously, clearing your throat again before continuing. “Well, it’s just that.. Well, I.. was talking to the girls the other day, and they had mentioned that… “

You paused, taking a deep breath.

“Go on…”

“Well, that.. I’m the first human that has been kept at Castle Dimitrescu that wasn’t solely here as food or service? Is that.. true?”

“Well, my pet… I'd say that, technically, you are here to… service me, are you not?” She replied with a chuckle, looking back over her shoulder.

“Ah, yes… of course.”

Alcina, immediately picking up on the disheartened tone to your voice, quickly continued. “But yes… my pet. You are the first that I have kept for more... personal reasons.”

“O-oh… ah… may I ask.. why?”

A large ripple of water on an otherwise still surface as Alcina shifted her body uncomfortably, thinking your words over. You knew it was a long shot - getting the Countess to share her feelings for you - to delve into things that weren’t inherently connected to the pleasures of the flesh (whether it be food, or otherwise.) - but you had to know. Alcina cleared her throat, letting the water drip deliciously down her arm as she ran her fingers through her hair.

“Bold of you to ask such a question, my pet.. “ She paused, allowing a deep flush to spill across your body before continuing. “But… considering how you’ve earned yourself an official spot as a member of this house, I suppose you have the right to know.”

“Thank you, my lady. That’s very kind of you.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Yes, well… think nothing of it, pet.”

“Of course, my lady.”

You sat in quiet for a few moments, allowing the Countess to gather her thoughts - not wanting to ruin any chance at finally seeing her open up.

“When you first arrived… I admit, you were meant to be just a food source. Maybe a servant… but.. even that first night when we had you down in the dungeons, I felt a pull towards you. I even had Daniela check in on you in the middle of the night to make sure you were alright.”

“You… you did?”

“You intrigued me, my pet. Which is something that you’ve continued to do with each day that you’ve spent in this castle.” She took a breath, looking over her shoulder at you.” And, well… you were quite ill that night. We weren’t sure if you would even make it.”

Thinking back, most of your early days in the castle were a blur to you. You could remember leaving your home - though, you were not entirely sure of the reason -,and then getting yourself caught in a terrible storm before reaching the castle. You remembered being tired - clothes soaked straight through to your body - and being utterly cold. The next thing after that was feeling warmer than you had in days - and Alcina’s concerned face looming over you.

“You were gorgeous even then…”

Alcina’s voice trailed off, a far away look in her eyes as she turned her face back to the front. Rendered completely speechless, you sat in silence for a while - thinking over her words.. (She thought I was... gorgeous.. even then??) You swallowed hard, no longer sure if the relentless heat that was spilling across your body was from the bath itself or her disarming words.

“You’re very quiet, my pet.” She said, breaking the silence. “Did my answers not satisfy your curiosities?” .

“No, my lady. I mean.. Yes, they did. I’m just…. trying to process everything you’ve said is all.”

She hummed softly, rinsing her hair before slowly lifting the length of herself out of the bath. Droplets of water deliciously dripping down each of her exquisite curves. You had never seen her look more beautiful. The firelight from the candles flickering warmly in the reflection of the water that danced upon her fair skin. She was a literal masterpiece - art in motion - as she made her way out of the tub. .

“Take all the time you need, my pet. I’ll be waiting.”

“Heh… And here I thought my lady didn’t like to be kept waiting.” You replied with a smirk, daring to tease her..

“I don’t.” She replied, a sharp glare cutting straight across the room - reminding you of who she was - that quickly turned to a smirk. “But, considering how… sore you must be, I will make an exception.”

“Yes, of course, my lady. Thank you..”

She gave you a small nod, water trickling down the landscape of her as she dried herself off in a teasingly slow manner - her eyes never leaving yours. (Yep. Literal. Gay. Death.) You swallowed hard, earning a chuckle from her as you averted your eyes, blushing.

“You’re quite beautiful like this, my pet. Utterly flushed and dripping for me.”

(::whimper::)

She chuckled again, the tip of her tongue skating over her bottom lip before she swiftly exited the bathroom. It took literally everything in you not to immediately jump from the tub. You knew you were eager for her - to taste her, to feel her skin against your lips - and who could blame you? You allowed yourself a few moments, soothing your muscles for a minute before beginning to drain the water. The sweet musk of her swirling around you like the steam that now rose from your eager body. You made quick work of toweling yourself off, your feet carrying you off into the other room without as much as a thought.

“Hello, pet.”

Your mouth went completely dry, breath hitched - her illustrious body sprawled across the length of the bed. Miles upon miles of flesh just begging to be touched - explored - worshipped in a way that only the body of a goddess deserved to be.

“H-hello, my lady.. you are… fuck…”

Alcina chuckled, shaking her head - a knowing look upon her face. “I’m quite aware of the effect I have on you, my pet.. but I appreciate the sentiment, nonetheless.”

“I’m sorry my lady.. you’re just… stunning, to say the least.”

Her eyes grew a little darker, more hungry. “Thank you, my pet. Now… I think you’ve kept me waiting long enough, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Good. Change that.”

(Fuck… I…)

The instant pool of heat that began to stir in your core - your juices immediately flowing - all just from the tone of her voice. Cool satin sheets welcoming to your overly flushed skin as you climbed onto her bed. A fierce anticipation sweeping over you as you settled down next to her. It was far from the first time you had been allowed to touch the immaculate body of Lady Alcina Dimitrescu, but it was the first time she had given you the okay to do so in such a manner.

“Before we begin, pet… you are to address me only as Mistress for the rest of the evening, is that clear?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Good. While I may have agreed to such an intimate request, I am still in control. Do you understand?”

‘Yes, Mistress. Of course.”

She responded with a nod, laying her head back against the pillow. “Excellent. Now.. as you were, pet.”

You moved slowly, straddling her hips. Alcina’s eyes practically luminous - golden spheres drinking you in as you settled yourself down on top of her.

“What an exquisite view I have from here.”

“I’m pretty sure mine is better, Mistress.”

“Such flattery, my pet.”

“Utter truth, my Mistress.”

You watched as the slightest hint of pink began to paint it’s way across the sultry lines of Alcina’s face - unable to keep yourself from blushing in turn. Her body, slightly cool to the touch, impossible to ignore against your heated skin. Her skin - scarred, perfect - the most beautiful handwritten map that you had ever seen - and you were desperate to explore it. The faintest of moans escaping from her slightly parted lips as the warmth of your mouth found the soft skin of her neck. A mesh of soft kisses and heated bites dancing their way across the steadily growing flush of her body. The low, husky sounds that reverberated through her chest each time that your teeth scraped across her skin, was a melody within themselves. Another bite to her collar bone, your tongue licking over it as you slowly began to make your way down. Her thick fingers in your hair, guiding that eager mouth of yours exactly where she wanted it to go.

“You have quite the talented tongue, my -ah!.”

You muffled a deep moan to her response - the length of her nipple finding your mouth, filling it - arousing you to no end. A pool of juices steadily collecting beneath you as you cupped her breast with both hands, indulging your tongue with as much of her as you could.

“Mmh… lower, my pet.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

You nipped at her sensitive skin before pulling away, earning a sharp inhale from the Countess. A smug smirk against her skin as you continued your way down the miles of flesh that made up the landscape of her illustrious body - each mountainous curve more delicious than the last. Your soft lips caressing over the faint lines and imperfections that so beautifully decorated her body. Repositioning yourself, you settled down into the heated spot between her legs - her sweet musk rolling over you as your tongue skated over the sensitive skin of her hips and thighs. Her nails scraping up the sides of your neck before firmly tangling her fingers back into your hair. Her hips moving in a way that told you just how badly she wanted you - needed you in a way that she had never needed another.

“You may go lower, my pet.” Her voice was thick with want, body flushed from nothing more than the touch of your lips - the sting of your teeth - the warmth of your tongue that danced so eloquently across her body.

(L-lower.. ?)

“I… Mistress?” You asked, pulling back hesitantly as your mind mulled over her words. Being intimate on that level was not something Alcina had ever indulged you in. Though she had had her tongue inside of you more times than you could count - she had never, not even once, suggested that you return the favor.

“You heard me, pet.”

“Of course, Mistress.”

You settled yourself down even lower between her thighs, mouth watering at just the thought of tasting her. Her juices shimmering in the candlelight as they dripped down the front of her core. Every cell in your body set a blaze as you readied yourself, breathing in deeply.

“Oh, and.. be a good pet and touch yourself.”

(Mmph.. fuck.. I)

“Y-yes, Mistress.”

“I can smell how wet you are, my pet. Practically dripping for me all over again?” She chuckled, smirking before laying her back down onto the pillow.

‘Yes, Mistress.. I.. I am”

“Good.. and, pet?”

“Yes, Mistress?”

“Make sure I can hear you.”

You swallowed hard, mouth going completely dry. “Fuck.. yes, Mistress.”

She hummed softly, spreading her legs for you a little further as you positioned your hands just right, the familiar feeling of your own fingers gently parting your lips. And oh, how right she was.. you were absolutely dripping for her - exceedingly so. The scent of her skin was almost overwhelming as you placed your mouth over her clit, immediately moaning at the taste of her. Your own juices flowing steadily as you slowly slid three fingers into yourself, making sure to be careful of your sore muscles. The sheer size of her hand holding you in place as the width of your tongue licked over her, causing an immediate arch to her back. Her perfect hips rising up to meet you, her soft folds enveloping you as you did your best to explore over every inch of her throbbing core. It was times like this you were thankful for having such a long tongue - to have the ability to unravel such a gorgeous creature. You nuzzled your face in closer, drinking her in, letting every inch of her overwhelm you. Your own hips moving in unison as you began to fuck yourself steadily. Your long fingers deep inside of you - her body writhing with each delicious moan that you allow to escape into her.

“You are quite exquisite, my pet. And that tongue of yours… mmmh.” Her moans ripped through her throat like a rumble of thunder, licking over her bottom lip before she continued “I can only imagine what other skills you've been hiding from me.”

You had never heard her voice filled with so much desire before - so much need - and it was only fueling the primal urge that was slowly taking over your body. You sucked over her clit, using your whole mouth - practically devouring it. Her warm juices dripping down the front of your throat as you did your best not to waste a single drop of her. Your long fingers matching the pace of her hips as you continued to bring you both closer to the edge.

“I want you to fuck yourself harder, pet.”

(skjdfidlfdjfodjogj)

The command - the tone - the use of vulgarity that so rarely found it’s way out of Alcina’s eloquent mouth, sent a lightning bolt of heat through your body so intense that you felt your hips immediately jerk in response.

“Mmph, fuck Mistress.” You moaned into her, earning a chuckle.

“Precisely.”

You muffled a second curse against her, swiftly picking up the pace of your tongue and fingers. Her hips moving so beautifully in unison that you would have sworn she was a dancer in her past life. She was artistry in motion - a goddess of all things pleasing to the eye. The length of her hand firmly holding your head in place - pulling you closer, desperate to feel you inside of her- and you were more than willing to give it to her. You repositioned yourself slightly, forming your four fingers and thumb just right. An exquisite moan escaping from her lips as you teased them over her entrance.

“Mmh.. such a generous pet. Just be sure to keep fucking your- ah!”

You slid the width of your hand deep inside of her, sufficiently cutting her words short. A cascade of moans ripping through her body like an untamed beast - sucking over her clit as you left your hands to continue to wreck the both of you. Juices dripping - fingers curling - tongue relentless against her clit as an all encompassing force of pleasure began to overtake the both of you.

“Are you close, my pet? Will you come with me?”

She asked, her voice softer than usual and you moaned a yes into her. Strong, purposeful thrusts as Alcina’s large frame began to arch beautifully from the bed. Your hips jerking as they matched the pace of your obedient mouth. A unison of voices screaming out as the fireworks behind your eyes moved into a full white out. Unyielding waves of pleasure crashing over you like a ravenous sea - bodies shuddering, breaths hitched - your talented extremities only letting up when Alcina finally fell breathless against the bed, juices soaking the satin sheets beneath her. Resting your head against her inner thigh, the smell of her upon your lips as you closed your eyes, you steadied your breath. Her skin, flushed - heated beneath you.

“Well.. you have proven yourself a good pet, indeed.” Her voice low and sultry as her hand fondly caressed over the side of your head.

“Thank you, Mistress.”

“‘My lady’ is perfectly fine, pet.”

“Of course, my lady.”

You placed a small kiss to her inner thigh, completely unaware of the sudden blush that it brought to her face, Her fingers gently stroking over your neck as she hummed in content.

“Now.. rest up. You promised the girls some quality time tomorrow, and I wouldn’t disappoint them if I were you.”

You smiled, a warm sense of belonging spilling over you.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, my lady.”

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