#there is a pit in my stomach that grows heavier by the second i am so fucking scared

[chestersbraincell]

In terrifed im so fucking scared. Doom impending. The fog is coming.

[jellymellydraws]

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Astarion x Dark Urge Chapter 16 Rating: E Tags: Angst, Fluff, hurt/comfort, slow burn, two guarded people fall in love so hard it makes them stupid

Chapter Summary:

Tensions rise as the party enter the Selune Temple. Alfira comes face to face with what The Absolute and her followers are capable of. But before their composure can fall apart, they have an audience with the Drow in charge.

The atmosphere grew heavier, weighing on their bodies and minds. The thudding in her head grew unbearably painful. The clear image of the Chosen were now blurred as her vision struggled to maintain its focus.

“I am the Absolute,” the voice echoed around them, “my word is your will.”

The Absolute demanded a bow. Respect. Rose’s nose was pressed to the ground against her will.

“My power grows.”

When her tadpoles pressed its influence upon those pathetic little goblins— was it the same sensation she was forced to endure now? If she asked them to bow, would it be no different if she’d put her boot to their back and forced them to the ground?

If this was The Absolute, what powers did her Chosen hold?

It was almost too funny. She’d laugh if she wasn’t straining against the building pressure in her mind. To think: her lowly wretched self capable of fighting something akin to a God.

“My forces gather.”

With no memory of herself? No recollection of her life before the kidnapping?

Could she entrust that she was ever meant to be anything but a pawn with a purpose?

Maybe she was made to be a monster, after all?

The Absolute didn’t care. She wouldn’t cast her aside for the murderous thoughts that plagued the amnesiac. There was use for a broken minded assassin, regardless of what she remembered. The Absolute would not abandon her.

The Absolute loved her. She would embrace all who obey.

”The reckoning draws near.”

A soft prayer formed on her lips, silently mouthing words. She tried to do this once before, standing in front of a dying Kagha as her blood spilled between the cracks of stone flooring. 

Now, the words were returning; Forming upon her lips and rolling silently off her flicking tongue. Though the taste was bitter, the sweetness of another connecting piece made up for it.

The Absolute awaits thee.

The Absolute embraces thee.

None escape The Absolute.

“All will be one, under The Absolute.”

A high pitched wizzing zipped above her head. Metallic plates and knobs shifted and twisted, softly clanking out of her view. The heavy darkness lifted away as a burst of golden light allowed her to rise. The fog faded from her thoughts. The pounding weakened.

The Absolute’s voice began to fade into the distance.

Quieter and quieter. 

Until it was a whisper. Until it was no more.

Gone, entirely, from her mind.

Sitting on her knees, Rose was piecing together what in the hells just happened. How much of her thoughts belonged to her? How much to The Absolute? Was she truly freed from their influence or was it a matter of time before The Absolute claimed her?

The headache returned, to warn her against digging too deep into the recesses of her mind. She wouldn’t let the thoughts be lost to the void of her amnesia. The journal was pulled from her pack with haste, caring little for where she was as she scribbled in its back pages. Every little detail that lingered, would be committed to the page.

The elf, the human, the woman. The impressions she had to each Chosen stuck with her. They were staring right at her, as if directly connecting to her. An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach, but she had to move on. No time to linger on mysteries. Not yet.

Not now.

There was the way hearing The Absoluet made her feel that was unignorable. The feeling of loss and comfort. How, for a second, she was convinced succumbing to the voice was the right move.

It would’ve been that easy, wouldn’t it?

To let go?

The mysterious puzzle box zipped past her face, nearly slashing her hair as it went. She snarled at the mysterious item as it flew into Shadowheart’s palm. Everyone’s eyes were on that prism, which slowly dimmed its golden light.

“What in the nine hells was that?!” The bard cried.

Rose would like to know the answer to that, too. 

Alfira helped her to her feet as Shadowheart scrambled to hers. Amber eyes narrowed towards their secretive cleric.

”Don’t look at me like that,” Shadowheart defended, “I don’t know what just happened anymore than you do. We should keep going.”

Bullshit.

The cleric’s stance was tense. Both hands held the prism close to her, guarded. The entire party began to crowd towards her. Some had questions about their brief hallucination, others, like Alfira, were more confused and concerned by the suddenness of it all.

The pounding in her chest found its way to her eardrums. Synchronously, the thudding matched the rhythm of her persistent headache. The assassin took a moment to inhale.

Exhale.

Easy, Rose. Don’t lose it. 

Inhale.

You need answers. 

Exhale.

She needs to trust you.

“I know those symbols,” Lae’zel hissed, “githyanki runes. Ancient as Vlaakith herself!” She stalked towards Shadowheart, “why do you carry it?!”

”That’s none of your business!”

“I think we’re past that,” Rose stepped calmly between the two. “That thing saved us, didn’t it?”

”How many of my people did you kill for it?!” Lae’zel continued to shout, held back by little except their leader’s extended arm. The bones would snap like a twig if the gith wanted to force herself through.

”Not enough,” Shadowheart shot back with hatred behind her eyes, “not enough to make up for what your kind did to them.”

This couldn’t go further. Any wrong step, and there’d be daggers to throats.

”Shadowheart!” Rose shouted above the two, “Did you know that thing was going to protect us? Yes or no!?”

Shadowheart hesitantly shifted her eyes to the party surrounding her. Then, they lowered to the ground. Rose kept a close eye on her, in case there were any attempts to leap off the bridge. Finally, she met her leader’s gaze.

”I didn’t, not exactly. All I know is it’s important I get it back to Baldur’s Gate. At any cost.”

“For your Goddess?”

”Lady Shar, yes.”

”Well, a Sharran!” Astarion chimed, casually draping an arm around Shadowheart’s shoulders. “My my, no wonder you’re so dark and broody. Why didn’t you say anything sooner? I’ve heard a thing or two about the Dark Lady— not quite to my tastes though, but I hear her clergy is stylish.”

”Blimey…” Gale shifted uncomfortably, keeping his response to himself in a soft voice, “I never thought I’d find myself traveling with a follower of Shar. Least considering how our goddesses do not get along.”

“I don’t care about the details of your holy mission,” Rose cut through the added commentary. “Tell me more about the artifact.”

”That’s all I know. My memories were suppressed before we departed, and I won’t get them back until I meet with my contact in the city. That’s the truth— all I remember anyway. For whatever that’s worth.”

“It’s worth plenty. Right, Lae’zel?”

Lae’zel’s leered with gritted teeth. Her breathing was controlled, slow. A fierce creature on the verge of pouncing. Alfira hesitantly approached, hovering her hand over the warrior’s back but careful not to touch.

”C-come on now,” she stammered, “shouldn’t this be a good thing? You were all in pain before right? And after that box came out, you were fine! I’m pretty sure that’s what I saw.” 

Wyll put his hand on the bard’s shoulder, shaking his head at her failed attempt to calm the infuriated woman.

“You felt it too, didn’t you?” Rose addressed her as neutrally as she could maintain, “That voice? That power?”

“Of course,” Lae’zel spat. She was on the very edge of losing her complete and total shit. The hand on her hilt was warning enough.

”Lae’zel, listen to me: this artifact saved us. Whoever those chosen are, they want it, but they haven’t found it yet. It’s in our best interest to keep it safe.” She extended an arm towards Shadowheart, who was peeling Astarion off her, “Shadowheart intends to keep it safe— So: we’re still on the same team.”

Speckled yellow eyes focused on the artifact in the cleric’s hands as it shifted into her bag.

”…So it seems,” Lae’zel admitted, “But in due time, half-elf, your crimes will be paid for.”

”I just saved your life,” Shadowheart snipped, “but I shouldn’t have expected gratitude from you.”

Lae’zel bucked forward, ripping her blade from its sheath. Several hands latched onto her armor, holding her back as she took a swing. Rose pulled her dagger from its sheath, narrowly avoiding the swing of the longsword. A few strands weren’t so lucky.

Violet hued magic enshrouded Shadowheart’s hand as the cleric stepped forth. The gith struggled against the strength of Wyll, Alfira, and Gale, cursing in her native tongue. The cleric took another step forward. The dagger leveled with her throat.

“We’re not doing this!” Rose snarled. A second dagger was pointed towards Lae’zel in warning. “It’s over! It’s done! We’re moving on!”

”But we were having such fun,” Astarion muttered from off to the side, disappointed.

“If the goblins and drow are looking for that damned box, we have bigger problems than this bullshit spat. Get it together!”

Tension hung in the air, thick as miasma. Neither side would be the first to stand down. Nor would Rose, if they were unable to put the conflict aside.

On the other side of the bridge, the temple’s courtyard stirred with activity. Goblins poured out from the large temple doors, talking amongst themselves as they moved about. Her eyes shifted between the temple, the gith, and the cleric.

”Chk.” Lae’zel lowered her blade, “we’re wasting time.”

“Finally, something we agree on.” The cleric waved the magic away, briskly pacing towards the temple.

The gith was freed from the hold of her companions. A dirty look was shot towards Gale, who responded with a kicked puppy type of expression. Pointedly, she stepped by Rose’s side.

”Let us go,” she ordered.

She wasn’t the one to give orders here. She’d let it go for now.

The rest of the party entered the courtyard. Goblins gave them a passing glance but otherwise paid them no mind. Another perk of being a True Soul, it seemed— they could go just about anywhere they wanted!

Convenient.

To claim there were expectations on what they would find while inside was the greatest lie she could’ve told herself. The place was trashed to the hells and back. Wooden furniture and debri was stacked along the walls, some in various piles. Goblins pulled wood from various heaps to nail together next to the stone towers, forming some type of elevated walkway. Posts for archers, she assumed.

The symbols of Selune were thoroughly desecrated with paints and blood. Perhaps they were one in the same, considering the dark red tones. One repeating marking caught her attention. She saw it painted on almost every surface that had room. Upon closer examination, she noticed a goblin or two wearing the same symbol. Even the brand upon their skin matched this mark! The damned thing was everywhere!

A handprint, in which the palm was represented by a skull, and framed in a triangle. The mark of the Absolute.

Alfira froze in front of one of the stone walls, dotted with the bizarre sigils. She gripped the neck of her lute hard enough to turn her knuckles white. The disappearance of jingling prompted Rose to stop. The others quickly followed suit, turning their eyes towards the shaking tiefling behind them.

”Alfira?” Wyll asked, breaking from the group to check on her. Rose did the same, brow creasing with concern.

A single tear ran down Alfira’s blue cheek. Then another. Soon her cheeks were streamed by tears, but a fire in her eyes blazed. Wyll looked over her shoulder, concerned.

“They killed her…” the bard whispered shakily.

“Who?”

The usually bubbly bard’s teeth were bared, saying nothing as her shoulder lifted and fell with her breathing. Rose reached a hand for the woman’s shoulder, hesitating for a moment.

A guttural growl left the tiefling, Wyll’s eyes widened and looked to the purple haired assassin.

“We’ll exterminate this place, Alfira,” Wyll said, “that’s why we’re here.”

“We have to,” Alfira sniffed and wiped her face on her sleeve. “Every last one of them.” When the bard’s face started to dry, she was faced by an array of faces staring at her questionably. Well, probably a little shocked to see a murderous side of her show. At first, she put on a smile, but quickly dropped it, “sorry I…I saw this symbol before. When we were on our way to the city, we tried to avoid the goblins by traveling through the Risen Road. One night we made camp just inside a cave. We hadn’t realized that the area was occupied by gnolls, though. No one heard them coming before it was too late. We lost so many trying to run back, my teacher was one of those who didn’t make it.” Her voice quivered again, “I remember on one of them, they wore an amulet with this symbol. I-I didn’t think anything of it but now…”

”No one said anything about gnolls working with the Absolute,” Rose’s brows furrowed. The list of groups worshiping the ever powerful voice was growing. Did The Absolute find it easier to manipulate creatures that leaned closer towards the monster variety? “Are you sure it was this same symbol?”

”I’m positive.”

“The drow made sense,” Gale began, “but illithid haven’t been known to kidnap and tadpole gnolls.” He drew his fingers into the beard along his jaw, “Come to think of it, tadpoling goblins is also outside their usual patterns.”

“We haven’t seen a goblin tadpoled yet— there might be another method the Absolute uses to spread her influence.” Rose glanced up at Alfira, who looked back with unwavering certainty: the Absolute, somehow, was behind the gnoll attack. “Let’s see what we can learn today.”

She pulled the journal from her pouch and flipped to a page towards the back. Marked with a small fold in the bottom corner, a running list of tasks and names waited to have another line filled. At the bottom was now a new name, ‘Alfira’ and a brief note scribbled next to it. The image of their marked up map floated in her mind, and a dotted line formed from their current position towards the last known location of the gith patrol. The Risen Road was in the opposite direction. 

“We don’t have time for any more distractions.” Lae’zel’s glare burned hole into her back. The impatience of the gith grew, transmitted through their tadpole connection. 

Another headache was coming on.

“You’re jumping to conclusions, we’re still not sure what we’re dealing with.” Rose thought in response. Whether it transmitted was a mystery to her. Another thing to add to the long list of tasks: learn how they can leverage the tadpoles as a team. She closed the journal with a firm snap, pointedly tucking it away.

“Chk.”

The ogre who guarded the temple doors noisily opened them with a groan. More goblins poured out from the structure carrying wooden furniture and engaging in their own conversations. Among them, two humanoid figures stood taller, carrying wooden boards, and approaching the stone well.

The redheaded woman spotted the crowd and gasped with recognition. Hurriedly, she ran to the open well and covered it with the boards in her arms before she jogged up to Rose. Brynna, the woman they met on the road, greeted the True Soul with a respectful bow.

“True Soul, I am glad to see you made it safely.”

“Same to you, I was unsure if I’d see you after that storm.” Rose crossed her arms over her chest and looked past Brynna. A calculated gesture. As if she had just arrived, she scanned the area for a face she was certain was lost. “Where’s Sazza?”

“I’m afraid she didn’t stick around, ma’am. She went inside to give her report, and walked out grumbling something about catching up with Dror Ragzlin’s raid. I’d presume she followed them up north.”

This would have displeased her, as a True Soul. Her brows pressed together as a heavy sigh left her, slightly forceful to drive in how unacceptable this news was. Brynna stiffened.

”So who’s left that I can speak to about Absolute matters?”

”Priestess Gut, and Minthara,” the redhead quickly answered, “this way, I’ll escort you, True Soul.”

It was too easy. As soon as her back was turned, Rose let the smirk stretch across her face. She gestured for the others to follow her, reveling in the way Astarion and Shadowheart smirked back at her show. Even Lae’zel looked impressed, despite the permanent scowl. The ogre opened the doors for their approaching party, saying nothing as they passed. 

Standing torches lined the long hallway, stretching to the central sanctum. Only two doorways to pass, but Goblin guards stood at the ready, eyeing the newcomers with caution.

“Oi, what we got here?” One of the guards squawked at Brynna, “food for the spiders?”

“A True Soul!” Brynna gasped, horrified. The goblin’s eyes widened immediately.

”Apologies ma’am! The Absolute blessed us with three— never would I have thought we’d be graced with a fourth! I didn’t mean to offend!”

Brynna looked back at Rose, a smirk no longer on her face as she watched the conversation transpire. She took slow deliberate steps to the goblin guard, examining her from behind her nose. Despite the fear in her eyes, the guard stood upright and braver than the ones before. The brand on her eye glowed with a familiar sense of power. Authority .

All it would take is a little push, and the pest would do whatever she asked. Tempting.

Her tadpole wriggled eagerly behind her eye. At the back of her mind, she felt the nudge from her companions as they waited for her next move.

One second.

She waited. 

Two.

The goblin swallowed a lump in her throat.

Three.

”I’m feeling merciful today,” Rose flatly stated, “consider yourself lucky.”

The guard bowed low, “Thank you True Soul. It won’t happen again.”

She nodded curtly before looking to Brynna expectantly. The redhead continued down the hall, escorting the party to the depths of the temple.

The scent of burnt flesh wafted towards them, filling their nostrils. She salivated at the thought of how tender a meal she could have. But nothing was properly cooking there, except for the iron brands resting next to a decorated goblin. The Priestess, she presumed. Their eyes met briefly, and that same tugging sensation urged her tadpole. She felt a brief connection to the goblin before it was severed. A look of realization crossed her face, then a wicked grin as she nodded to her fellow True Soul.

Priestess Gut anointed another goblin, briefly saying some Absolutist prayer before grabbing the heated iron brand and pressing it into the hand of the kneeling goblin. He hissed in pain but thanked her for it. 

Gold was exchanged between the hands of a goblin and a halfling, who looked over to the passing group with an intrigued smile. She offered a quick two finger salute towards the assassin before she walked up the steps to meet with two others. Their clothes were similarly dyed— likely from some type of guild. Curious to see anyone else working with the goblins. Perhaps the Absolute had its own merchant guild supplying her forces.

Continuing past the sanctum, Brynna walked the group up a set of stairs and to an open room. Shelves lined the walls of part of it. But as expected, there was structural damage there. A partially collapsed wall had a ladder leaned against it, acting as a shortcut to whatever was on the other side. The room looked like it had once been larger, but a chasm split the space in half. The only thing that connected the ground was a flimsy wooden bridge. It wasn’t even bolted down! The damned thing was a series of planks nailed together and layed flat.

A dark purple orb floated around the room. Once it turned to Rose, she could see a slit pupil taking up its center, and mystical swirled extending away from it like an iris. 

A scrying eye…someone’s keeping watch on this place.

“I tire of your excuses, wretched goblin,” a firm voice carried from the otherside of the room. Brynna guided them straight towards it. “The only one to return from your scouting party was Sazza— all the good she was. Nothing but excuses for her cowardice.”

The corner of the room looked oddly similar to their command center— a large table was before them with a map rolled out, the shelf against the wall included various jars, books, and writing utensils. Rather than a charcoal stick to mark their map, a quill and inkwell waited patiently for their next use.

Elven silver glistened in the torchlight. The metal plates of armor were molded into folded feathers, which hung on the body of the drow woman. Her violet face was framed by strands as white as webbing. Blood red eyes narrowed as she scolded one of the goblins by her table. 

“Sorry, mistress. We mucked up!” The goblin was hunched apologetically.

Pathetically.

The drow towered over him, her shadow engulfed his shrinking form.

”Perhaps you need another motivation,” she smirked with a glint in her eye, “until their sanctuary is found, I will take something precious from you. One thing for every hour that passes. A trinket. A tongue.” Then, darkly, “a limb.”

”I ain’t no use without my limbs, yer ladyship! I know the lads’ll make the prisoner squeal soon enough, I swear!”

”Silence!”

Her command resonated through the room. All movement stopped, except for the wandering eye. No one dared to speak. Gods forbid anyone of them sneezed.

“If your men do not have an answer before the raiders return, I will see to it that my spiders are well fed that day.”

”Yes yer ladyship.”

The goblin bowed low before scurrying past the party. Impatient red eyes trailed after him until he passed the approaching party.

”Tough day, I take it,” Rose smirked, confidently crossing her arms as she spoke. She was a True Soul, of course she would have the rank to speak so casually. At least, she hoped. 

“I wasn’t expecting guests,” the drow’s eyes narrowed.

“Minthara, Ma’am—“ Brynna stepped forward, offering another bow to the woman, “this is the True Soul that replaced Edowyn.”

“I ordered Sazza to tell you I was on my way.” To speak with one of the same rank, confidence was key. She was supposed to be there. She belonged there. So long as she maintained that atmosphere, she hoped to pass as one of the cultists.

The drow’s eyes shifted, considering her words for a moment.

”So she was telling the truth? Hm,” the drow hummed, though her face was unamused, “well, at least she got something right.”

Rose nodded before looking to the redhead that had escorted her into the sanctum, “Brynna, you may go.”

Brynna bowed to the both of them before scurrying off, weaving her way between the rest of the party that stood behind the authoritative women.

As the drow, Minthara, examined Rose, their thoughts began to mingle. The feeling of a cold hand caressed her mind. Quickly, she tried to push back the discomfort, being reminded of the cool touch from her nightmare. The room around them fell away, leaving them in a dark nothingness. 

A small vision appears between the two of them, with the drow listening as the pale elven woman whispers to her. 

One of The Chosen.

Her blood began to boil once more, but she fought back. Their tadpoles connecting did not give her confidence that her thoughts were safe. Whatever this unprompted rage towards The Chosen were, it risked blowing her cover. She couldn’t allow that. 

They were so close.

Too close.

The vision faded, and the darkness fell away. They were back in the temple.

”Praise be,” Minthara sounded relieved, “are you here to join my hunt?”

With a firm nod, Rose closed the gap between them.

“Fill me in.”

Next Chapter >>

[cigarretteluvr]

my condolences/happy birthday

Looking into the mirror, my finger lightly traces my forehead and cheeks. I feel the wrinkles forming already. Just a couple of years until they set deeper, as if to announce to the world my new status as an Old Maid. Maybe I should get Botox- maybe I should have gotten Botox years ago. Thankfully my eyes are puffy from last night, offsetting what otherwise would have been dark, ugly, sunken-in bags. I take my concealer and begin applying my makeup, going for a life-like, natural look. I fight the urge to add extra blush. 

A light tap at the door interrupts me. My mom peeks her head through the crack. “Your guests are waiting,” she says softly and all-too-sweetly. 

Guests. What a foreign word. Just yesterday it might have been “friends.” I suppose if I’m to adapt to this new way of life I have to learn the language. Maybe I'll take up couponing too, and talk about the seasonal Lenox sales at Macy’s. 

I take one last glance in the mirror before getting up. I try to unsee the wrinkles–which the makeup seems to have set into and amplified– and smooth down my silky black dress before exiting my room. 

On my descent down the stairs, I put on a half-smile for my guests waiting below. Meanwhile, panic sets in the pits of my stomach. My body goes cold and there’s a ringing in my ears. Can they hear it too? The air feels like it’s getting thinner- am I running out? I look again at my guests, who seem to have all clamored around the bottom of the stairs. My aunt is crying- why is she crying? Most of the others stare at me blankly. Or are they sad too? 

Each step I take feels deeper, heavier. I feel my lungs grow hot. Can I exhale? Will there be enough air for another breath? The ringing in my ears intensifies to a monotonous, ceaseless pitch. I want to run back up the stairs, but my legs feel paralyzed, and a force from behind me seems to be pushing against my back, pushing me to the bottom. I grab onto the stair rail as a vain attempt to fight back. 

“Happy birthday sweetie!” Aunt Karen blurts as she hugs me. But I barely hear her. Her words are muffled, buried. I only feel her warm tears drip down my icy shoulder. 

Her body felt like the crushing weight of one hundred pounds of rocks sitting on top of my body. 

The room is decorated with flowers. Countless bouquets sit in vases, wilting slowly, losing their beauty by the hour-- attempting in vain to bring the room alive. The bleak yellow lights of the kitchen bounce off the beige walls, people stand on the cold brownish tile, mahogany furniture litters the living room– it’s dark. It’s dark and it feels… grimy.  I look back up the stairs, where the windows illuminate the loft with bright, white light. 

She finally lets me go. “I’m sorry,” she says, wiping away a tear. “You just look so beautiful.” She grabs my hand and guides me through the sea of people robotically droning their Happy birthdays, One more year tills, and Welcome to adulthoods. I become thankful for the dull hum in my ears. 

Karen leads me to the kitchen, where she tells me she made her special mac and cheese casserole, and how she had to make a stop at Macy’s after the bakery for a cake cutter. Lenox, apparently, is having a sale. 

Reaching into the chip bowl, she puts her hand on my shoulder. “I remember my twentieth- it didn’t even feel worth celebrating. I was crying from midnight until.. well until I passed out,” she takes a second to laugh, “but I promise you’ll still feel like you’re nineteen for a couple more years.” 

I look at her, unable to speak. The air still feels thin. I still feel a chill settling in my bones. I still hear the ringing. My vision has dissipated into a smudgy, fish-eye lens. Concentrate on Aunt Karen, I tell myself. She’s working on a Cheeto puff, holding it between her short, boxy, french tip acrylics. Her teeth sink into the chip, stretching her nude matte lipstick across her chapped lips. She wipes the dust off on her blackish-blue Gloria Vanderbilt jeans and turns to meet my gaze. 

Her expression turns sad: frowning with her eyebrows scrunched together. “Oh baby, you’re as pale as a ghost.” She grabs a paper plate and begins to dish a large helping of casserole onto it. “Here, have some grub.” 

“Come on everyone! The birthday girl is eating… Dig in!” I faintly hear my dad announce. 

The rest of the party is dreary– if you can even call it a party. The adults cling to my mom near the kitchen while my small group of friends loiter in the living room awkwardly. I try to venture to both sides, but crossing the sea between the two becomes tiresome. I eventually decided to stay in the kitchen near my mom and listen to her coworkers– whose names I never cared to learn–tell me about how little I was when they last saw me. Like a broken record, All grown up, they repeat. 

It becomes intolerable. I tug on my mom’s shirt and whisper to her that I’m ready for cake. She nods to me and calls everyone to the dining room. 

My best friend, Gianna, sneaks up to my side and asks, “What are you going to wish for?” giggling excitedly. 

I’m losing my status as an ingénue. No longer a novelty. Losing my social currency by the day. Soon I’ll be genderless, invisible. Punished for a construct I had no input in. What a stupid question, I think to myself. What can be gifted to a dead woman? 

I take my La Monte-à-regret to the head of the dining room table. 

The crowd starts droning, “Happy birthday to you…” They’re gathered around the table end. Aunt Karen is crying again. Gianna’s recording.

The flicker of the lighter sounds like the release of a blade. I don’t flinch. I watch my mom light the candles. Two, and then zero. The pitch in my ear grows louder and higher, but I’m calm. I release my last breath to blow out the candles. 

Such a quick, clean death for my heinous crime, I suppose.

[whosjunglejim4322]

Umbra | J. Seo (m)

》 Genre: vampire au! Smut, fluff, minor angst and mentions of violence, This story also features Yuta, Taeyong, Jaehyun, Jungwoo, Doyoung and Mark as his coven members

》 Warnings: spitting, dry humping, mentions of blood obvi, mentions of feeding, strong boy trying not to fuck you into oblivion, his eyes get black he's when he's hungry/horny, disgusting amount of fluff, omg sorta strength kink? Johnny is very in love w you and very protective cause some of his brothers are out of pocket, Jungwoo wants to b ur bestie lowkey, Yuta is a lil shit

Chapter 2 

There are many things that Johnny loves about you. He could spend all his time showering you with professions of his adoration, and he'd never grow tired of it. Though, his concept of time and yours are slightly different.

He's patient, excessively so sometimes, in your humble opinion. But, he also never expected in his three hundred and forty five years of existence, to find someone who manages to warm his cold and stagnant heart in the way you have.

Now, anytime away from you is a bit bothersome.

It's just, he never knew humans like you existed. In his world, there are either those who lust after his kind and the benefits in which their heightened senses and skills provide, or those who see him as a complete moral abomination.

Even now, in a society that has to live in conjunction with vampires, there are still so many people who fear him. Well, they fear what they think he is. A creature of the night, a demon, something that is only greedy for strife and nothing more.

You were the first person who genuinely throttled him, curious and wide eyed, completely fascinated by him. And not in a way that made him feel like he was under a microscope, but in a way that made him feel as though he was something...to be admired.

Your heartbeat, even after a year, still flutters like the wings of dragonfly whenever he displays his strength; swinging you up into his arms like you're made of feathers and all things delicate.

At first, he thought you were scared, weary, perhaps, about his abnormalities. He couldn't find any other explanation for the way you seemed to shrink in his presence whenever he'd dip his head below your chin to grace your throat with his lips, cooling your hot skin.

It didn't make sense. Not until he realized there is a direct correlation to your change and scent, and these moments in which he can be himself around you.

You like it. You like that he's different, a complete opposite to what you'd find in the common world. If he thought he could be any more enamored, anymore breathless than he was before (no pun intended) he was wrong.

Even now, with you lying with your back against his hard chest, playing with his slim fingers, your voice is nothing but earnest. Curious, in your own little world that consists of just you and him.

He thinks, no he knows, that if he had a pulse it would be racing every time he's around you. Every time you ask him a question that would normally repulse anyone else, even when you place his cool palm against your blazing cheek, giddy about the difference in temperature. He can tell that you just want to know more about him, about how he exists in the world. He simply can't resist indulging you.

"So...everyone doesn't taste the same? I always just assumed that blood is, well, blood." He smiles to himself as you trace shapes into his palm, before flipping his hand over and grazing your fingertips over his protruding knuckles.

The feeling of your skin against his is so pleasant he almost gets distracted.

"Well, it depends, really," his free hand strokes up and down your arms, savoring the softness. "sometimes the difference is slight, like someone who's A or B negative, but other times it can be quite stark. It's about chemistry really."

He can already see your expression in his head, furrowed brows, lips pursed in a manner too cute for your own good. He absentmindedly pushes you further against his chest, reclining slightly against the pillows as to make it more comfortable for you. You hum in satisfaction.

"Chemistry? Like how you feel about the person?" He can't quite pinpoint what is laced within the lilt of your voice, he answers nonetheless, chuckling warmly.

The sound is like pure velvet, causing your skin to tingle. You shiver, and he pulls your blanket over you, worried his lack of body heat may be disturbing your comfort. He doesn't realize how wrong he is.

"It's more like, how that person has lived. Their natural...how do I say...essence? Yes, their essence sometimes can determine how desirable some ones blood is to us."

He doesn't miss the way your heartbeat falters in rythm. He grins, as you take both of his hands in yours and intertwine your fingers. He twists his wrist and brings your knuckles up to his lips, kissing your skin.

You shift underneath the covers, suddenly thankful for his cool temperature. You know that most of the vampires that exist in society use blood bags from the banks provided, but you still wonder...

"Am I...am I desirable to you? Like, my blood, or whatever." You wish you could say you usually aren't so bad at speaking when you're around him, but that would be a blatant lie.

It's the most endearing thing he's ever witnessed.

His hands are gone from yours and elsewhere in the blink of an eye, one strong arm locked around your torso as his free hand reaches down to cup your chin. He turns and lifts your head towards him, gently, and the look in his eyes has your breath stalling momentarily.

"Of course you are, silly," he says it as if it's the most obvious thing ever, leaning down to peck your nose. Butterflies swarm violently in your belly. "I desire you in every way there is to desire someone, it makes me want to keep you all to myself. No one else should be allowed to even think about you, or your blood, in that way."

He looks lost in thought for a second, pupils almost darkening the whole of his irises, before he seemingly brings himself out of his daze. You turn in his hold, adjusting your position so that you're practically lying on top of him, chests touching and your legs cradled between his hips. He holds you effortlessly in his arms.

"Well it wouldn't matter anyways, cause I'm all yours." His pearly teeth show from behind the pillowy surface of his lips, as he leans in to kiss you in a manner that has you reaching out to wrap your hand around the nape of his neck.

"Mhm, all mine." He murmurs, nose nudging against yours as he shifts back and forth from your top lip, and then your bottom, tongue exploring the surface of each.

Kissing you, is another experience entirely for him. He wonders if it feels for you as it does for him, like pure intoxication. It brings back memories, memories he didn't think could still be reachable in the depths of his mind.

A time where he was warm, where life thrummed through his veins like the rushing current of a river. You are springtime on his tongue, the rays of sunlight that once heated his skin, the smell of flora in the air that mingles with the fleeting breeze.

He almost whines when you depart from his mouth, yearning already heavy in the pit of his stomach.

You look almost nervous, suddenly finicking with the front of his shirt as you sit back on his lap. He can hear the acceleration of your heartbeat, can smell the anxiety that is almost as heady as your desire.

He reaches out to cup your cheek, something he often does as a comforting gesture. You smile softly, meeting his curious, tepid gaze.

"So...I have a question," your voice shakes and you huff. "I mean, I was just wondering," he senses your struggle, wrapping his arms around you and sitting up so that your chests are nearly touching again, his palms splayed against your lower back.

"You can ask me anything, sweetheart. You know that." His voice, as sweet as honey, calms your racing pulse for a moment. Until you actually say the words out loud, wincing as if preparing for a scolding.

"Well I know you have a family, of sorts, from what you've told me. And I know you've always been really...hesitant to tell me more about them? I mean I've never been over, to your home or met them,"

Understanding washes over him, hands rubbing your back soothingly as the glint in his irises provokes an odd sensation within your belly. Like he knew this conversation would have to be had one day.

He lets you finish speaking, though your voice has even more of a tremor than before, now.

"Sorry if I'm making you uncomfortable, I understand if you don't want me over there."

Urgency calcifies in his chest, the sad lilt to your soft voice making him feel ill. The way you say it is as if you think he doesn't want you in his space, like he's keeping you away from there because of something other than rational reasoning, doesn't sit right with him.

He cups your jaw, firmly but gently.

"I want you with me as much as possible, never think that I don't want you. That is not at all why I haven't brought you over there," You have no choice but to believe him, when he's looking at you with such a passionate gaze far heavier than what you're used to in a normal setting, his words concise.

"I am...well I'm old, and so are they. I've spent a long time being alienated, far before we were even accepted in the new world. We've settled here since before you were born, so you won't remember what it was like when people were forced to live along side us."

You hate hearing the unusual grain of what seems to be dejection in his tone, though you listen fervently anyways, his hands still comforting you despite the fact that his eyes are the ones cast down. You want to kiss the furrow between his dark brows.

"I've accepted who I am, furthermore I've accepted who I want to be. I realized that, it would do me no good to be a monster if people were willing, even if begrudgingly, to accept our existence. But my brothers,"

Your stomach sinks at the way he says it, knowing without a doubt that this is the answer to your original question, that his stance had to be explained before he told you something like this.

"they don't feel the same way as me, so they are stuck in their ways beyond coercion. They live very different lives, they are what our kind refer to as nightcrawlers, it's sardonic inside joke for those of us that would rather not conform to the new age of mutual concurrency."

"They are still a bit resentful for the fact that they can't exactly give in to their natural instincts. They don't see the humans acceptance as welcoming, they see it as a mockery. Do you see where I'm coming from?"

You look a bit out of it, like maybe you're frightened and he's suddenly worried he's gone overboard, that he's scared you in a way that can't be fixed. His eyes are suddenly frantic.

But then you speak, and you don't sound vexed, nor unsettled. Your question is simple, your thighs tightening around his waist as if to draw yourself closer to his comfort, arms looping around his shoulders.

"Do they all feel that way?"

He smiles, muscles untensing as you play with his hair in the way you usually do. Your eyes never leave his, and he wonders how he got so lucky.

"The youngest, well the youngest in our years, they're a bit less malicious about it. They don't cross anyone unless someone crosses them, but they can be excessively territorial because of their youth."

The tension, despite talking about a topic so heavy, is light again. You feel a bit silly now, understanding why he might not want you in close proximity with his coven.

But, still, knowing that there are people, for lack of better term, that have been in his life unimaginably long; a completely different, solidified version of a family, it makes you more nosey than usual. Could they really be that different from him?

"And...you're sure that if I were to meet them, it would end badly?" His eyebrow twitches in an inquisitive manner, surprise coloring his sharp features.

"I- well I thought you were just curious, I didn't think you'd actually want to meet them. Especially after all of that,"

It's as if he's speaking to himself out loud, his pink tongue flicking out to wet his lips. You resist the urge to kiss him so suddenly.

"but I don't suppose so. It's already established that you're mine. If there's one rule we follow, it's that. They know how I feel about you, despite our differences."

The sturdiness to his voice when he speaks of you being his, has your belly filling with heat at an irrational rate, and you suddenly remember how it felt to see him before you actually got to know him.

He's incredibly intimidating on the surface, firm and stoic. You can't see how anyone would want to anger him.

"So then I'd be safe, meeting them. And I'd get to see if you guys really have furniture."

Despite not needing to, he swallows. It's hard impossible to say no to you, when you look at him like that and sound so genuinely interested at a prospect that would make any other person run for the hills, even cracking jokes.

You're soft, and too innocent for your own good. He should say no, but to risk seeing a pout form on your soft lips, or having to hear the disappointment in your voice, it's unbearable.

"You really want to meet them, don't you?" He can't fight his smile when your face lights up like that.

"Well, I think it's important. They're your family, one way or another." You're gentle when you speak, honest.

"You're safe with me, you have to know that. But they're...not used to being around humans that aren't just accessories. The last thing I want is for one of them to say something that makes you uncomfortable."

It's evident in the low timbre of his tone that he's serious, and any smart person might listen. But as he said, and as you believe wholeheartedly, you're safe with him. Safer than you'd ever be.

And, as wrong as it may be, you want to see what other vampires are like. You're really only used to Johnny, the exception, where as most modern vampires only come out when absolutely necessary. Meeting him, and falling in love with him, has given you a brand new sight towards the world. Is it that insane to want to meet his brothers that have been so close to him for so long?

"I'll be with you, so it won't matter. I'll bet they're not even that scary, no ones scarier than you."

Your triumphant, playful smile has him grinning from ear to ear, leaning down to capture your lips between his own. Even though you're wrong about them, he's weak. Too weak.

"Yeah? Afraid I'll eat you for breakfast?" His breath is suddenly against your earlobe and you shudder pleasantly, grasping onto his shoulders before regaining some sort of composure.

"I'm definitely dinner, breakfast is really overrated. Unless it's breakfast for dinner, that's way better for some reason?"

He's kissing you again, despite the fact that he's smiling too hard for his own good, swiftly flipping you over so that you're caged underneath his body. His weight is barely perceptible even with your chests touching, forearms holding himself up.

"You'll be the death of me, you know that?" He has a hard time speaking without strain due to the way his throat has suddenly tightened with need, your legs wrapping around his trim torso and pushing his hips further against yours.

"Not possible, unless I've suddenly charmed your heart into beating again." You tease, though his eyebrows remain furrowed in concentration as he kisses you between words, dangerously sensual. You smell too divine.

"Very possible, actually. If you only knew how you make me feel."

Your belly lurches at the desperation that flows from him, his aura downright fever inducing. Without thinking, your crotch nudges his, bucking with the slightest of movements. But it's enough, enough to have his jaw clenching and a habitual breath of restraint leaving his nose.

Five fingers grasp your chin, so he can kiss you, hard. His hips begin to roll as his teeth nibble your bottom lip, the fabric of his jeans an arousing juxtaposition to your soft lounge shorts, your lack of underwear making it all the more satisfying.

He's hard, too. Knowing his dick is just underneath, hard for you, it'll never not give you whiplash. It gets you drunk, knowing your effect on him is as overwhelming as his on you. You're whimpering against his tongue, rubbing yourself on his bulge.

"Mmm, fuck." He growls, capturing your wrists in his palms before your next breath, raising them above your head and making sure they're comfortable against the pillows.

He's inches away from your face now, and his expression alone is enough to have your walls pulsing around nothing, desire seeping into your chest and hardening your nipples, goosebumps forming across your skin.

He looks at you like he's hungry, nostrils flaring avariciously. He tries so very hard to fight the darkness that fills his sclera like ink, knowing how very monstrous and unlike himself it makes him appear.

But he hears the way it makes your heart race. He can practically taste the thrill that seeps from your pores, the unbridled arousal that drips from your cunt like syrup. Your neck cranes upwards to try and reach his lips, and he smirks before meeting you halfway.

"Do you want me to keep rubbing your pussy like this," he looks down between your bodies and purposely rolls his hips in an accentuated fashion. "or do you want my dick?"

His voice is brusque, but caring and accommodating as it always is, his plump lips quivering slightly from the way his mouth waters.

"Can I have your dick, please?" You return, his mouth quirking up into a sideways grin.

"Such good manners," he kisses you again, sloppily, the sounds lewd and causing you to shiver against his unwavering body. "how could I ever deny you?"

You blink, and cool air is breezing against your wet slit, the nakedness sending a wave of tingles through your nerve endings. Before you can look down, you feel his cock against your clit, smooth and rounded tip gathering wetness from your hole before circling it over your clit.

He uses one hand to keep your legs parted for his viewing, fingers softly gripping your flesh as he sits back on his haunches. You feel impatience crawling up your throat, toes already curling as your bud throbs and your walls ache.

He's so pretty, he is raven hair against olive skin, an onyx sky against shimmering stars. Your hands reach out for his hips, delicate but fierce in their strength. He rubs his shaft against your folds, before prodding at your entrance.

He always watches your expression when he first slides in, the way your mouth falls open and you are suddenly this beautiful, agonizingly worked up thing. He bites down on his bottom lip as his eyes flicker from your pussy, lovlier than a flower and welcoming him with a squeeze, to your face.

Your eyes are bleary as they stare back up at him, your breathing already erratic. His lip curls with the need to hiss, to ravage you. But he takes it slow, he loves watching you fall apart too much. And you're so wet around him, moaning his name like it's the only word you know.

"Johnnyyyy, oh - umph." He rocks into, gracefully and with a deliberate curl. You claw at the front of his tee shirt, pulling him down to your face.

He eagerly obliges, meeting your lips with a soft smack, the angle only pushing him deeper within your body. His pace has increased, the front of his thighs colliding with the back of yours. His mouth somehow remains steady, as if he's not fucking you like he is.

He's parting from you sooner than you'd like, but you know he likes to fuck you like this, able to see all of you and savor it. It's still the most incredible thing he'll ever witness or experience, he's sure of it.

He can't believe a creature like him could be so lucky, here with his manhood buried to the hilt inside of someone so breathtaking, so innately divine. Your essence is thick and wet, coating his shaft each time he pulls out.

"Such a pretty pussy, so fuckin' pretty baby." His voice is gruff, nose twitching and eyes black. You wrap your fingers around his strong, sturdy forearms as his hands grip the softness of your waist. His lips purse and a string of spit dribbles down your clit.

"Ungh, oh my- ohhhhh Johnny please please." You're not sure what your begging for, and it doesn't matter. Because he'll give you whatever it is you need before you know you need it, already hooking your legs over his broad shoulders, gripping your jaw and pushing it up so that he can mouth at your sensitive neck.

"Mmm, I got you baby, I'm right here," he takes your earlobe in his mouth before marking your throat, licking and sucking. "I can already feel your belly tensing sweetheart, gonna make a mess for me?"

All you can do is nod, eyes squeezed shut and hands exploring his firm abdomen while he pushes himself all the way into you; rocking his hips back and forth to make sure the tip of his cock is rubbing that sweet spot inside of you. Your clit is being stimulated in the process, and you know you're not going to last long.

He knows it too, and his thumb is suddenly on your swelling bud, rubbing you in circles faster than you can comprehend, but with just enough pressure to have your nails digging into his back with fervor. Having unbreakable skin must be a plus, in his case.

You're tensing more now, twitching even. Your energy is buzzing around him, electric. Your heart pounds like a drum, rattling against your ribcage and causing blood to thrum viciously throughout your veins. His thrusts become a bit more frantic, his senses completely overcome with you.

He's so lost in his own pleasure he doesn't even hear you cum. He feels you go limp underneath him, back arching off the bed and your walls spasming around his cock.

He realizes now that you're trying to shove your face in the pillows, a silent sob ripping through your body. He's pulling you to him, and you're suddenly in his lap, as he comforts you with a soothing coo.

When you move your face from the crook of his neck and he's met with your teary eyes and damp skin, he's thrown off the edge.

Your forehead is against his as he bites back a snarl of sorts, pumping into you from below with as much restraint as he can muster as to not overwhelm you since you've just cum as well.

He has to move his hands away from you for a quick second, opting for the bed sheets instead while you cling onto him and kiss his cheeks, his jaw, his neck. He feels selfish, but he also doesn't want to crush your hip bones in such a state.

Your breathing is still uneven, even after several minutes and once he's sure that he's in his right frame of mind, his arms are around you again.

Your body is sweetly ravaged by his mouth, lips leaving a wet trail over too much skin in such a short amount of time. You're still sensitive, wincing as his enthusiasm causes you to shift on his lap.

"Oh." He uses one arm to wrap around your middle, slowly pulling you off of his dick and lying you down against the comforter.

You whine at the loss of contact as he disappears, returning in a blur with a warm, damp cloth. He's in between your legs, wiping away your shared mess and muttering soft sorrys when he's just a smidge too rough. You're still embarrassed by his need to take care of you like this, bashfully looking away.

You don't realize he's gone and returned until the covers are being thrown over your body, his arms securing you to his solid chest and his lips against your ear.

"You need sleep, don't argue." He kisses the back of your head and you smile to yourself, snuggling further against his figure. You feel like you're being warmed from the inside out, despite how cool his skin is against yours.

"M'not gonna argue, you made me tired," The thump of your pulse and the shy lilt to your voice satisfies him, and he wishes that he could make love to you all over again.

"When will you take me to go meet the others?" Your speech is already slightly slurred with sleep, a yawn following. He sighs, kissing behind your ear.

"Give me until tomorrow night, I need to discuss a few things. Then we'll go, I promise."

He wishes that this could be a more exciting prospect for him, that in the back of his mind he weren't, for the first time in a long time, genuinely worried about how his brothers might react.

It's got nothing to do with his capability. Without question he will keep you safe, his strength is comparable to the eldest and he'd forge fire if it meant having you whole and in his arms.

But his coven, they're different than what he knows you're expecting. He knows that because of primal, and ancestral rules that they will not lay a hand on you.

If he's honest, it's more so what might come out of their mouths that worries him. He can't have them slip up and say something they're not supposed. It'll kill him if there's even one crease of worry or sadness etched onto your pretty face. He won't allow it.

But if it's important to you, it's important to him. You're here, asleep in his arms, and he's certain that if he had a soul, he would trade it if it meant another lifetime of your existence.

•

Johnny isn't next to you when you wake up, which isn't a particularly uncommon occurrence. It's just that normally he'd let you know beforehand, even shaking you awake sometimes just to mumble a be back soon in your ear, despite the fact that you're half asleep.

You reach over to your bedside table to grab your phone, clicking it on and feeling a bit less tense realizing he's left you a message. You smile.

Sorry I had to leave so early, sweetheart. I'm speaking with my brothers and getting some things taken care of. Don't worry. I love you and I'll see you soon. xx

He must be serious, about the way they behave. It's not that you don't believe him, you'd just rather see the positives, in whatever way you can. It's a little bit startling to think about today, if you're honest. Especially after such an all consuming night, the sun now too bright in your eyes, the scent of Johnny still on your sheets and clothes.

You feel anything but dark and dreary when you think of him. That's not to say he's not quite scary if you don't know him. Broad and towering, gaze low and piercing in a way that'll have you looking away nervously if he were to make eye contact with you.

But you can't imagine him as anything but what he is, beautiful and lively and kind, soft around the cold hard edges.

You stretch as you rise from your bed, joints popping as you pull yourself onto your feet. You wince slightly, realizing between your thighs is still fairly sore, ghosts of his touch lingering on your heated skin.

You and Johnny don't have sex incredibly often, at least not by normal human couple standards. It's pretty obvious why. His ability to control his strength, his desire, his thirst; in that state, as he has explained, it leaves him a little bit frayed.

It's not like you're not satisfied anyways, he's more than generous with his mouth and fingers, and despite the fact that he holds nearly half of his full vigor back when the two of you are intimate, it's still a little bit throttling for you afterwards.

The day is boring without him, quite frankly, but despite whatever you may think about it, you still respect his decision to plan ahead for your visit.

You do get it, it's not that. If anything, you just feel too safe with him. To the point where you sometimes feel invincible in his arms.

It almost makes up for the fact that you don't get to show him off as much as you'd like, as silly as it sounds. His kind can go out in the sun, but it's a bit bothersome after a while from what you've heard. He is almost a cliché in that department, most days either spent with him in doors or at night.

Sometimes, though, you wonder what it would be like if he were human. It wouldn't make a difference, you're sure of that, because he'll always be your Johnny. But the thought does venture into your mind every now and then, because of the way he speaks of his humanhood. As if he's trying not to admit how much he misses it.

You often wonder what he must have looked like when he could blush, with his vibrant smile on show, and dimples high on his soft cheeks.

A small, selfish part of you envies the people who might have gotten to witness him like that. Warm, a little uncoordinated maybe, eyes topaz in the sun. He must have been a sight to behold, throughout his human life.

Deep down, a part of you knows that, that is what this whole thing with his brothers boils down to. You're not just curious, you're madly in love with him. So much so that when he's away, it does feel uncomfortable. You never believed people when they spoke of love that way, you always thought it to be quite gross, actually.

And maybe you're just a silly little human with silly little feelings, to be so smitten after a year. But there's no going back now, he's a part of you, so of course you think about how much of him you've never gotten to see. Of course you want to meet any tangible part of his incomprehensible life, his family. Even if it's not conventional.

It leaves an odd pit in your stomach, thinking of him young and youthful, thinking of his mother and father and the life that they had created so many lifetimes ago.

You think of him at eighteen, maybe still plush in some areas not yet tainted by the work of adulthood. Had he ever been in love, back then? You swallow back the irrational bitterness you suddenly taste.

You think of him at twenty, and what he might have been passionate about. What life was even like for him. You think of his first kiss, and him at twenty four, a year before his life as what he is now, began.

Truthfully, you don't know a lot about him. It's a strange, sudden realization, but it's just never really mattered in all honesty. Because you know him, how he is now, which is all you'll ever get and is more than what you could've ever asked for.

You've always felt like it's different because his existence in itself has been so tremulous, and in a lot of ways very hard to talk about without it getting uncomfortable because of all that he has lost, or subsequently reminding him of what he is.

Never things he'd admit out loud, but definitely something you've picked up on in his expression or the wistfulness in his voice. It doesn't matter, to you; the bad parts. He's yours, and somehow you two have found each other despite so many centuries vouching on never having met one another at all. You wish you could truly express to him how nothing would ever stray you away.

You've showered and eaten an inadequate dinner by the time Johnny shows up, presence barely perceptible until he's wrapping his strong arms around you from behind.

You're used to it by now, not even flinching anymore. You melt instantaneously, placing your hands over his that are resting around your waist.

"Hi." He whispers, lips against the shell of your ear. You shiver and let out a giggle, turning in his grasp to get a kiss. He's on your lips before you even have to lift yourself on your tippy toes.

"Mm, hi." You mumble, hands cupping his jaw. You hum as he pulls you closer, spinning you so that you're pressed against the counter, his hand on the small of your back blocking you from the hard edge.

"We could stay here, you know," he smiles against your mouth, half teasing and half serious. "a change of plan never hurt anybody."

The idea is actually tempting.

"But I just showered." You pout, and his hands are rubbing your sides, eyes contemplative.

"You're right, you shouldn't go over there smelling anymore enticing than you already do, anyways." He says it with a grit of his teeth, as if the mere thought bothers him.

You're too distracted by his face to really absorb what he's saying, smiling up at him, practically beaming. Before he can quirk his brow and boop your nose with the tip of his finger, you kiss him again.

It's chaste, but it's sincere.

"You're so cute when you're all disgruntled." You state, throwing your arms around his neck. He snorts, shaking his head and licking his heart shaped lips lips out of habit.

"I'm not disgruntled, I just want this to go well." He replies, broad shoulders slumping. You unhook your arms from around him to grasp his hands, large and welcoming in yours. He intertwines your fingers.

"It will. Because I'm with you." It's simple, and undeniable. He knows that, and accepts defeat when he sees how truly bright the gleam in your eye is. You're his own little sun. 

During the drive to his home, Johnny takes this time to give you some much needed insight on the creatures you’ll be meeting. He gives you their names, some key characteristics so that you won’t be startled by their behavior, but he doesn’t give you their ages. He simply refers to the one named Yuta as the oldest, and Mark as the youngest. 

“Youngest and oldest in vampire years or..?” You ask, the corner of his mouth twitching into an amused smile at your interest. You forget to focus for a moment, tracing the planes of his side profile with your eyes. 

“Yuta was my age when he was changed, but he is, in our terms, the eldest. Mark is the youngest both in the factors.” His thumb strokes the back of your knuckles where your clasped hands rest on the center console, though it doesn’t soothe all the burning questions that you’ve decided need to stay in your head, for now. 

You think of mark first, something about his youth, despite the fact that he is centuries older than you, seeming a little bit less intimidating. Almost abstract, in a way. As he describes the youngest, it’s easy to picture a boyish smile, innocence. Until he throws in the fact that the ones that get changed before the brain is fully developed, tend to be the ones with more of an unsteady grasp on their more potent emotions. You can guess what that means, and he suddenly regrets ever opening his mouth. 

Johnny almost debates whether or not he should turn the car around and forget about this occasion all together, growing anxious at your monotone expression and the way you are chewing the skin of your bottom lip, and not realizing you are just lost in deep thought, not perturbed or uncomfortable. 

Really, you are just trying to make out what his brothers may be like. Taeyong, Jaehyun, Jungwoo, Doyoung. For some reason, it’s the thought of meeting Yuta that seems the most daunting. Despite the fact that he is Johnny’s age, not technically but anyways - knowing that he has been around for so long has you wondering how a person like that even thinks. 

Maybe you should've listened to your boyfriend. No, you're brave. But sometimes you are not very smart.

You are pulled for your reverie of sorts when your surroundings become darker, gloomier in the way that the trees seem to shield the road ahead from the sun, forming a canopy from above and casting misshapen shadows across the ground.

You don’t realize you’re clutching his hand tighter until Johnny turns to look at you with worried eyes, all the stars and every wish that he could ever grant you swirling in his chocolate irises. 

“Are you alright? We can turn around and-” 

You shake your head in defiance, determined. You aren’t going to back out now, not when you can already see the house from around the bend, pillars high and spiraling, a wide balcony peeking out from behind the trees. 

“I’m perfectly fine, promise.” you give him a soft, reassuring smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes but he knows you’ll likely scowl at him if he keeps insisting on your indifference, so he takes the car just a little bit further, rounding a bend and stalling before cutting the engine. 

The house is a lot more grand that you’d previously expected, the outside still kempt but not as pristine. Mostly, you thought that it would offensive to coin their home as something dark and menacing, not wanting to contribute to the cliché. But, it does in fact feel as though you are walking into a lair.  

It’s beauty is undeniable, though, despite the lack of real warmth that it exudes. Upon entering, wide open space greets you, black marble flooring underneath your boots and a staircase straddling either side of the entryway. Above it is a balcony, hanging over the foyer from the second floor. 

“So I was correct, about the furniture.” You murmur, pressed against his hard side with your arms wound around his forearm despite the fact that the house is seemingly empty. You know that it’s not, though. Any living being who walked into this house would be able to feel it, the static that seems to raise the hair on the back of your neck. 

“You'll have to forgive our complacency when it comes to interior design,"  

The voice seems to appear out of nowhere, melodic and smooth and echoing off of the walls in a way that makes the direction of the sound imperceptible. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see someone making their way down the left staircase, gliding more so than walking. 

"So many years leave us comfortable, rather than fashionable."

Two figures float behind him, while three others descend down the opposite staircase. You could've sworn you'd only glanced at Johnny for half a second, before they suddenly materialized.

The man is suddenly right in front of you, and your eyes act as if they have no choice but to meet his, your breath stalling. It reminds you of the first time you saw Johnny, how shocking it was to be faced with such inhuman beauty.

"My name is Taeyong, it's lovely to meet you." The creature flashes a bright smile, something unreadable in his sharp eyes. His quaint lips are mischievous, or maybe you're just paranoid.

You don't have a chance to respond, already surrounded by a group that seem oddly eager to meet you despite what Johnny had warned, their gate an obvious contrast to your boyfriends. 

They seem to sway effortlessly rather than stand perfectly still, their proximity closer than that of strangers. The energy around them feels unpredictable, and without thought your hand tightens around Johnny's.

"Wow, she smells good." A voice muses from the group, and you follow it to find a face that you somehow automatically know belongs to Mark. His face is youthful, eyes wide and full of glee and then a bit amused, due to what you can assume is from your boyfriend glaring at him sharply.

"No wonder he's so attached." The boy beside Mark, with dimples as deep as you've ever seen, hums to his friend.

"Please, don't be so crude, children. She is our guest." This voice is authoritative, the timbre low but the tone gentle like the stroke of a feather.

The group seems to make way for him without thought, and again, you're instantly struck with recognition simply by his presence alone.

He approaches you without caution, you blink and he's suddenly right there. His hair is longer than the others, curling around his prominent chin and framing his elegant features.

"It's a real pleasure to meet you, we've heard so much about the little human that's enamored our dear brother." You can't look away from his cunning face, his eyes are almost wild in excitement, plush lips stretching across his face to reveal a million wat smile.

He extends his hand towards you, with a bit more reserve now - and the first thing you notice are the sharp, glossy black nails that are more akin to claws, formed into stilettos at the tips of his delicate, slender fingers.

"Careful." Johnny mutters to his brother through his teeth, the man giggling in amusement as he gently takes your hand in his. You hadn't even realized you'd extended it back, his skin almost colder than Johnny's if possible.

"Tsk, so worried. For what reason? Look, I'm being as gentle as a hummingbird. Her hands are so soft."

Yuta. It's undeniable, he's too confident, bemused by this whole ordeal and even more so by the way his brother has stiffened beside you, pulling you back just a fraction of an inch.

The elder sighs wistfully, allowing your hand to drop from his. He meets your eyes once more, your skin buzzing oddly.

"My name is-"

"Yuta. I-I know, I mean I guessed."

It's the first word you've spoken to any them, and your voice is shakier than you'd like, throat dry. The mans lips twitch into a grin, lashes fluttering against his cheeks as he clasps his hands together in a stunned manner.

"Wow, perceptive you are. So sure, despite appearing so meek."

You can't decipher his tone, worried that maybe you've messed up by interrupting him. He seems a bit perplexed, in a curious way. You're grateful for a new voice introducing themselves, directing your attention elsewhere.

"I'm Jungwoo," His voice is the most welcoming. "your skin is so pretty. Is that weird to say?" He mutters the last part to the slender, inquisitive man beside him, who's features are similar to that of a feline. He seems indifferent.

But, for the first time since you've arrived, you smile, an odd sense of relief flooding through your nervous system. You feel Johnny relax as well, and you glance up at him for just a moment, to see him already looking down at you.

"It's nice to meet you, Jungwoo," The jubilent vampire flashes you a smile. "all of you, really. Thankyou for welcoming me into your home."

"Of course, doll. Should we give her a tour?" Yuta speaks and Johnny responds almost a heartbeat after the elders suggestion.

"I can do that, give her some space." His voice is polite but firm, and Yuta giggles again, while the others back up a bit. Johnny readjusts his grip on your hand and begins moving towards the right staircase, turning his head to send the rest a look you can't see.

He leads you down the left corridor into a massive hallway, the walls a deep shade of plum, floors white marble instead of black like the ones downstairs.

Once you're out of view from the rest, he stills, turning towards you and rubbing his hands up and down your arms.

"I'm sorry about that, really." His eyes are apologetic and you snort, embracing his middle and kissing his chin.

"Sorry for what? I'm fine, they were fine."

He lets out a sigh, broad shoulders slumping as he does so. He believes you enough to not keep on, pressing his lips to your forehead before continuing his non informative tour.

"I wish they'd keep at least some of their thoughts to themselves," you're turning, brought down another lengthy hall with a massive picture window framing the north wall. Heavy burgundy curtains keep the sun from shining through the glass.

To the left is another set of stairs, small in comparison to the ones you've seen so far, framed with elegant railing. "this is my room, up here." He points to the door that sits right at the top of them, lonesome and heavy looking.

Your heartbeat is suddenly loud in your own ears, excitement bubbling in your belly at the prospect of being in a space that belongs to him. He senses this, and smiles to himself as he wraps his fingers around the doorknob and pushes it open.

Everything about his room is inherently Johnny. It's simple, but so very him.

The atmosphere is completely different to what the rest of the house provokes, the floors a deep cherry red, hardwood. A round, red rug sits in the middle of the room, a leather sectional nestled in the corner to the right. Beside it hangs rows of shelves with a multitude of books, more than you'd normally see lounging in some ones room. He's probably read them all three times over by now.

He has a television, which shouldn't make you giggle as it does. It's far bigger than necessary, taking up almost all the space on the eastern wall. There's a door almost adjacent to the one you entered from, which you presume is the bathroom.

"I love it, it's so comfortable in here." You muse, trotting towards the sectional and throwing yourself on the massive sofa. He chuckles, sauntering towards you and lifting your head so that he can place it atop his lap.

He can't lie to himself, it makes him ache in the most pleasant of ways to have you here, in a place that has been his only real peace since he's met you. Well, scratch that. You are his only safe haven.

"Yeah?" He replies, scratching your scalp lightly, studying the softness of your features as you gaze up at him, elated.

"Mhm, it feels like stepping into a different house entirely. Not that I have an issue with the interior design." You playfully mock his brother Taeyong’s earlier words, and laughter bubbles from your boyfriends throat.

"You don't think it's too melancholy? The house, I mean."

You shake your head indifferently, hair ruffling against the material of his jeans that are covering his thick thighs.

"To be honest it is quite....vampire-y, but it's elegant. And big. And knowing you live here makes it not seem so dark."

His hands are suddenly cupping the area just underneath your arms, effortlessly pulling you up so that you're straddling his lap. Your thighs find their place immediately, knees squeezing his torso.

"You're too good. Too pretty to be in a place like this." Despite his tone his eyes are formed into crescent moons from his smile, and you don't fight the urge to kiss him.

"Shush, or I'll battle you to the death." You mumble, his nose nudging your cheek as he tilts his head to move in a steady rythm with your mouth.

"Mm, think I beat you to it." He teases, and you can feel his smile. You're not in the frame of mind to scold him for that one.

Naturally, without even thinking, your body heats up fast from the way he kisses you. Even if he's trying to be chaste, it always ends up with a flame being fed by his tongue. His scent, the sensation of wholeness when you're surrounded by him.

Especially now, in the comfort of and quiet of his room when all you can hear is the smack of your mouths, steady and calculated. You're encapsulated by everything that belongs to the person you love.

A soft push to your shoulders has you humming in confusion, you're still not back on earth when you break apart to see the contrived, reluctant expression that twists his face.

"We can't - not here." He strains, very much so aware of way your hips are planted so firmly against his, the sweet scent of blood that rushes like a current through the area between your thighs.

You pout, and instinctually he's cupping your face between his palms, kissing it away. His fingertips graze the shell of your ear. 

"Don't give me that look, you know why I'm saying no. If they thought you smelled good before, you'd be the finest of dining options if you walked down there wet."

Your body pulses with arousal, arousal that he can practically taste on the tip of his tongue. A petulant whine slips from your throat, while your palms graze his hardening length through his jeans, and his cock twitches.

Fuck. He really can't deny you, can he?

[ardent-musings]

“Prove It To Me”

Neville Longbottom Smut

based off this request

EVERYONE IN THIS STORY IS OF LEGAL AGE AND CONSENTING

Warnings: NSFW 18+, rough!neville, swearing, light choking, oral sex f receiving, handcuffs, gagging, vaginal sex, aftercare (i think that’s it. if i forgot something so sorry.)

Your hands were playing with the hair at the nape of Neville’s neck, scratching at the skin lightly. He moaned into you mouth at the feeling, your smiles and giggles mixed together as you continued to kiss him. Many nights ended like this with Neville, with you on his lap and his hands holding you close to him at your waist. There was no way of telling how much time passed when you were with Neville. It never mattered.

When you pulled away for air, Neville still followed you, not wanting his lips off you for a second. He was softly kissing the length of your neck, humming blissfully at the smell of your floral shampoo.

You loved the feel of his soft lips on you, but your body rocked in surprise once he bit down near your jawline. A whine escaped your lips at the sting, making you stare at Neville who had a cheeky smirk plastered across his face.

“Neville, did you bite me?” You chuckled, the rhythm of your heart quickening as you took notice of your boyfriend’s darker glare.

“I did,” he smiled.

“But why?”

“Because I wanted to, petal. Why is it so strange for me to want to do that? Did you not like it?”

Neville was mistaking your surprise with objection, your hands immediately met his chest and rubbed him affectionately to soothe his nerves. 

“No! I liked it,” you laughed, your hands now cupping his pretty face and running your thumb over the bit of stubble that was growing despite his shaving, “I just figured, you know, since you’re more on the inn-”

Your words were halted by Neville wrapping his hand behind your neck to pull you in for a harder kiss. The air was stripped from your lungs, causing a pit of fire to grow in your gut. His hands were digging a bit harder at your waist, causing you to mewl against his teasing lips. Neville was usually a more romantic kisser, preferring the slowness and soft sighs. But this Neville was biting at your bottom lip as his hands started pulling on your soft hair in a fist. When he pulled away, it was now you whose desire sought him out.

“I’m quiet, love. Sure. Never said I was innocent,” he chuckled casually at your now breathless form. “Believe me, I have thought about doing so much shit that your head would spin. I mean, if you were surprised by me biting your neck than I don’t think you actually want to know what exactly it is I’d like to do you, darling.”

His words were not ones you would expect, but to say your curiosity was piqued would be an understatement.

“Like what?”

Your voice was quieter than you intended it to be, but Neville’s implication already left you desperate with the mere thought of what he wanted to do to your body. 

He bit the inside of his cheek as he focused his attention only on you before he shuffled up the bed to lean against the headboard. “C’mere love. Lay up against me.”

You followed his instructions, settling your back against his front as he placed kisses behind your ear, nibbling and licking at your perfumed skin. The feeling of his hard body behind you made you think of how good he looked with absolutely nothing on, and the need to see him again flooded you. 

“I have thought about a lot of things, doll,” his hum rumbled behind you, making your stomach drop from the sound of his low tone, “I have thought of playing with you in front of a mirror, so you’re forced to watch yourself cum. Or getting down on the floor in the middle of class and eating you out.”

Neville was now tracing his hand along your thigh as his other hand grabbed your throat, lightly pinching at the sides. A rush fled to your head leaving you feeling floaty and weak yet exhilarated at the same time. 

“But my personal favorite would have to be me cuffing you to my bed and doing whatever the hell I wanted with you, darling. God, I swear I’d make you feel so good.”

His grip lessened around your throat as he started to nibble your ear while he grabbed you thigh, making your legs spread. 

“Yes.” 

Neville’s motions stopped at your breathless request but they resumed as you dipped your head onto his shoulder. 

“Yes, what, sunflower?” He continued to pepper kisses to the side of your face. 

“If you want to cuff me to the bed then I want to try it,” you admitted as your hips started wiggling against his bulge. 

His hand at your throat dipped beneath your shirt, the feeling of his teasing fingertips left you aching for more as they danced around your ribcage.

“You sure you want that love? Cause I may seem cute, but if you were to be restrained to my bed, I guarantee nothing cute will come from that,” his hand on your leg now trailed the lace of your panties with a single finger, teasing you in a way you never though Neville would.

“Absolutely, please, Neville. Prove it to me.”

Suddenly, the strong body behind you was now gone, making you fall onto the pillow at the top of Neville’s bed. He has already retreated to his chest while you were left wondering if you did anything wrong. You were about to blabber an apology until he stood back up, tall and assured with a pair of muggle handcuffs dangling from his hand.

“Believe me, doll. I’ll prove it to you. Strip then lay back down.”

Your stomach twisted in both delight and anxiousness as you flung each piece of fabric from your body, the promise of metal against wood and skin left you eager for whatever Neville wanted to do to you. You laid down like he instructed and reveled at his pleased smile. 

“Good girl,” his large hands grabbed your own and situated them above your head, weaving the cuffs through the wooden pegs at his headboard and securing your wrists in the metal rings with a click. 

With your body on full display for him, splayed out like a puzzle, he started nipping and licking at the base of your throat. Nothing got Neville hard like the sound of your whiny moans. His teeth grazed the tip of your nipple, making you arch underneath his teasing touches. You needed more. 

“Please, Nev,” you moaned as he started tracing delicate circles on your inner thigh. “Please just fuck me already.”

Usually you needed some form of foreplay in order to take all of Neville comfortably, but with the way he had been teasing you with just his words, your body was already dripping. 

Neville once again stood up from the bed, finding your discarded lace panties and bunching them up in his hand as he found your wand on the table beside his bed and placing it in your hand. 

“Why do I need my wand?” You asked breathlessly. Neville had started discarding his cardigan and pants, leaving you to gawk at his ever evolving body. 

“Because I am going to stuff your mouth with these pretty panties, love,” he explained. He feared you were going to turn down the idea, but with the way you bit your lip and smiled lazily at him, he knew you were fine with it. “But if at any point you want me to stop, you have your wand to blast my ass off, understand?”

“Yes,” you hummed excitedly.

With a smile, Neville grabbed your delicate panties and shoved the material into your mouth. It wasn’t as strange as you thought it would be, but your scream was muffled as your hungry boy suddenly started sucking at your clit without warning. Had you not been gagged, the Slytherins in the dungeons would have heard your moans. 

Your back arched as Neville pumped his middle and ring finger into you, massaging the spot that made your heart stop. It was glorious torture, being paired with the tempo of his lips against your clit. But it was the vibrations from his growl that made you cry out. You were about to come undone until Neville fully abandoned his work, leaving you frustrated and delirious. The disgruntled cries were silenced by your own panties, leaving you truly helpless. 

But Neville soon returned with his cock in hand, stroking quickly as he rolled on a condom, getting himself ready for you. 

“Did you actually think I’d allow you to cum on anything other than my dick, lovebug?” He mocked as he teased your swollen clit with the tip of him. Once again, your moan drowned into nothingness. “I’m gonna go hard darling. I’ll ask one last time, are you sure you’re ready?”

You furiously nodded at his question, physically widening your legs to wordlessly tell him that you were ready for him. He smiled and kissed your ankle before lining up and sinking into you hard and fast. It was wonderfully rough, the way he nipped at your chest with his hands gripping your shoulder to pound you into the mattress. Your orgasm from before was growing and with the drag of his pelvis against your clit, it only took a few thrusts for you to get off. 

The feeling bubbled and boiled over, making your hands pull at the cuffs and cry out with pleasure, although Neville gave no sign off stopping. 

“Poor thing. You came already?” He groaned into your ear, his breath hot as he used his strong arms to hold him over you, “I’m not done yet, so let’s see if we can get you there again, yeah?”

You couldn’t wipe your tears, but Neville kissed them away as he continued to rock into you, not even allowing you to come down from your first orgasm. Your body was in limbo of wanting to calm down while building back up with every drag of his cock against you. 

His breathing grew heavier, finding your squeezing around him the most perfect vice, and it only made him growl and fuck you harder, growing more confident every time you cursed and moaned around your panties. He kept his eye on your wand, making sure he was aware of your state, but you never made a move to need it. All you needed was to come in time with Neville. 

“Fuck!” He moaned loudly as he continued to sink into you. His hips were smacking you so perfectly; it was a filthy sound and suddenly, you were right back at your high. “I’m gonna cum.”

He rubbed your clit with his thumb gently as you screamed into the bitten cloth, your body shaking and heaving from the incredible fucking from your boyfriend. You collapsed against the bed, searching for breath as he released your hands from the cuffs and went to kiss you. When your lips met, he bit down on the panties and took them out of your mouth between his teeth. 

The rest of the night was filled with gentle acts of pampering. He rubbed a balm over your sore wrists so the aftermath would be minimal, dressing you in his cardigan and whispering soft praises over and over again. Cuddles and homemade tea was shared between you two, leaving you utterly and thoroughly loved.

You were wrong about Neville. He was sweet. He was kind. But dear lord, he was not innocent.

[t-lostinworlds]

Hold On (Tom Holland)

a/n: hello, surprise? but yes, so, i was kind of in a funk for a bit and when that happens, i write angst. then i heard the song (i was listening to my sad playlist as u do aha) and here we are. i wrote this fairly quick so bear with it as it may seemed rushed (it is) so it may be bad heh. also, i suggest listening to the song while reading for full effect.

pairing: tom holland x female reader summary: You locked yourself in the bathroom when things got overwhelming. Tom felt worried when it went quiet inside for too long, heart stopping by what he saw when he broke through the door. based on song: Hold On - Chord Overstreet warnings: drug overdose (vaguely written & only on tom's pov), angst, brief panic attack, open(?) but happy ending. word count: 3.2k+

masterlist on bio & pinned post

-:-:-:-:-

**US/UK HELPLINES & FREE 24/7 SUICIDE HOTLINES IN DIFFERENT COUNTRIES**

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"I can't do better in helping if you don't tell me what's wrong Y/N," Tom said softly, concerned eyes staring right into your troubled ones.

He had his arms open wide as he slowly inched towards your trembling form, making sure to not get too close, too fast. He doesn't want to overwhelm you by being all over your personal space, he doesn't want to stress you out even more by crowding you. Tom knew he needed to be gentle, patient, giving you enough space to breath but also showing that you can jump into his arms whenever you need to, whenever you're ready to.

"That's the thing Tom, I don't know what's wrong," you started with a shaky intake of breath. "I just feel this pit in my stomach and sometimes it gets so overwhelming in my head about everything, about what I'm even doing with my life, if I'm doing enough, if I am enough. I'm overthinking about everything and I just feel so lost and angry for not knowing what's wrong with me. And I—I am so tired," you admitted, tears slipping down your cheeks as you ran your palm over your face in frustration.

To see your agitated state, to hear the hurt and frustration in your voice, added with your heavy words, it just broke Tom's heart to pieces. You didn't need to elaborate what you meant by 'being tired' because he understood, both physically, emotionally, but especially mentally. And Tom's frown could only deepen as you continued.

"And you can't do better Tom, you don't need to. You've already done so much for me. You've put up with my shit for so long. I've already put you through so much," you trailed off at the end of your sentence, bottom lip quivering as you stared at him with utter guilt.

The look of distress on his features was hurting you so much. You just want to see him happy, that's what he truly deserves. But now it seems like you're not giving him that anymore. Not giving him enough happiness, just nights of him being worried about you, stressed because of you.

"I feel like lately, all I've done is be a burden to my family, to everyone in my life, but even more to you."

Tom shook his head frantically as he took a few steps forward. "No, don't say that love," he whispered.

Once he reached a safe distance, he gently took your hand in his, touch soft, comforting. You let him hold you, eyes trained on the way your fingers intertwined but never looking up. You couldn't bear to hold his gaze, especially with the obvious sadness that swam in them.

"Darling, look at me," Tom coaxed, giving your hands a tender squeeze. With a deep intake of breath, you willed yourself to meet his eyes again. Those brown orbs bring you so much happiness, and to see them filled with everything but, to know that you're the sole reason why they're not coated with that lovely glow, it only makes you feel guiltier.

"You know that's not true Y/N," he said firmly, but you only shook your head at him with a soft whimper, his voice unable to break through the loud screams that filled your mind.

"Angel, you are not a burden to me. I'll always be here for you no matter what, remember? Didn't I promise you that, love?" Tom tried again, both hands going to cup your face as he gently wiped your tears away with his thumb. "When I said I wanted to be here for you, with all the joy and the chaos, all the demons we're made of, I meant that with every beat of my heart Y/N."

"But you deserve so much better Tom," you croaked, nimble fingers wrapping around his wrists, leaning into his warm touch with bottom lip jutted out as fresh tears dampened your cheeks once more.

"No, I don't," Tom objected. "You're all I want, all I ever need, please believe that, believe me Y/N," he whispered, forehead pressed up against yours as his eyes held nothing but truth.

Still, it wasn't enough to help subside the roaring demons in your mind. Not because Tom didn't hold any importance or his words any power, no, he's everything to you. But tonight they just happen to be a lot stronger, the loud and guttural voices. They were blocking anything that's trying to get through to you, blocking the only thing that always seemed to easily get through to you which was Tom.

"I just—I need to think. I-I need to be alone," you muttered under your breath. Although reluctant, Tom nodded, figured that if that was what you wanted, then he will give it to you.

"Okay," he sighed, placing a tender kiss on your forehead, the warmth of his lips on your skin making you close your eyes with a shaky breath. It was a sweet, rather mundane kiss, but it was one that lasted a few seconds longer than normal before he lets you go. Tom's grip around you slowly loosened, your heart growing heavier as you feel his touch gradually disappear.

You quickly turned on your heel with your head down, arms wrapped around your body to stop you from crumbling to the floor. Tom hesitantly stood still in his place, a certain feeling in his gut growing as he watched you walk towards the bathroom. As you were about to shut the door, his voice stopped you.

"Y/N?" he called out.

You turned around with a hum, meeting those brown orbs you've grown to adore with every inch of you. So many emotions were swimming in them, but only one struck you the most, even more so when he opened those lips to let it out into the air, loud, clear and sincere.

"I love you."

You gave him a small smile, trying your best to suppress your sobs as more tears ran down your cheek. And softly, you said,

"I love you too Tom, so much."

There was something about the way your voice trembled that made Tom feel even more uneasy, but he decided to let it go, thought that it was just him stressing over nothing at all.

The bathroom door slamming shut was what he heard next, a frustrated hand running through his hair as he stared at the white painted wood for a whole minute. With a sharp exhale of breath, Tom looked at it for a few seconds more.

Once he heard the running water on the sink, he made his way out of your shared bedroom, body slumped with deep frown still intact. His demeanor was quick to catch the attention of his brother who was sitting on the living room couch, the only other person in the house as of the moment.

"Is she okay?"

Tom could only flash Harry a sad, forced smile, not speaking any words as he went straight to the kitchen to get you some water and a bit of food. You haven't eaten anything yet and it was worrying him even more.

It wasn't long until Tom was back in the bedroom, setting the glass of water and the plate of your favorite sandwich on the nightstand.

The silence that filled the room was uncanny, nervousness coating the lad slowly as he stood completely still. Tom's eyes landed on the closed door of the bathroom, a lump forming in his throat as he found the negative thoughts that grew in his mind harder to ignore.

He took long strides towards the door, pressing an ear on the surface as he tried to listen to something, hoping to hear anything. Tom felt his heart quicken its pace as the silence screamed in his ear, brain quick to jump into horrible, dreadful conclusions.

"Darling? Are you okay in there?" he called, fingers twitching as his eyes landed on the metal knob.

No response...

"Darling?" Tom tried again, voice even louder, fear growing stronger as he grabbed the doorknob, chills running down his spine once the cold surface touched his skin.

Silence...

"Y/N, if you're not going to answer I'm kicking this fucking door down," Tom growled frantically, grip on the doorknob tightening as he tried to shake it open.

Nothing...

With an anxious breath, Tom walked away until he reached a safe distance, lifting a leg up and with all his might, kicked the door just by the keyhole, the wood snapping in its place as it swung open.

Tom ran inside but immediately froze, blood drained out of his whole body at the sight of you, heart coming to a halt for a full second as he shook his head in utter fear.

"No, no, no," he rushed, scrambling towards your limp, unconscious form on the white tiled floor, the bottle of painkillers right beside you, so close to empty. Tom was breathing rapidly as he pulled you onto his lap, vision turning blurry as he cleared the hair away from your face.

"Y/N! Wake up love, p-please wake up," Tom stammered, fingers shaking as he brought it up to your neck to the side of your windpipe, urgently feeling for your heartbeat. Cold sweats coated his entire body once he felt a faint one. It was there, but barely.

"No, don't—p-please don't leave me!" he cried out, head pounding as he shifted in his place, adrenaline at an all-time high as he hoisted you up in his arms. "Harry! Harry please!" Tom screamed after his brother as he rushed outside the bathroom and into the hallway, the lad in question rushing towards his brother's voice with sheer worry on his freckled face.

"What—"

"Start the car! Her breathing is getting slower," Tom choked on his words. The twin didn't waste any time as he bolted towards the kitchen island to grab the keys and went straight to the front door, held it open until Tom was out with you, alarmingly unmoving in his hold.

Once the car door was slammed shut with you and Tom in the backseat, Harry veered right out of the driveway and drove fast like your life depended on it, because it did.

Tom kept you close to his heaving chest, mumbling sweet but desperate nothings against your hair, silently praying as he tried his best to contain his shock.

The slower your heart beats, the faster Tom's heart raced, your body cold to the touch, his head spinning at the dreadful feeling. Tom felt so helpless just staring at your expressionless features, his clammy palms resting on your cheek as he kept talking to you.

"Hold on, I still want you angel, please hold on," he whispered over and over, hoping that you were able to hear him, hoping that the sound of his voice will stop you from fading into the light.

He was glad that the drive to the hospital was only five minutes away, but with you lying still, turning colder by the second in his arms, time seemed to go slower, agonizingly slower. There was no doubt that it was the longest, most painful five minutes Tom has ever endured in his life.

***

The bright hospital lights were blinding the moment Tom rushed inside with you in his arms, his voice hoarse as he screamed for help until the nurses came to your aid. They took you away on the table, your whole body lying motionless as they checked for your pulse. He didn't want to let you go, didn't want to let you out of his sight in fear that it would be the last time he'll see you with a bit of life left. But despite his protests, he was met by double doors slamming closed on his face.

Both of Tom's hands tugged at his hair in pure agitation, bottom lip caught between his teeth to try and suppress his sobs. He was pacing anxiously as his eyes kept steady on the door of the room where you disappeared into, lungs struggling to provide oxygen, unable to keep up with his raging heart.

He felt a hand grabbed at his shoulder, unable to see the person as they immediately pulled him in for a tight hug. But he didn't need to, he knew who it was, he knew what his brother's embrace felt like. Tom's whole body shook in Harry's hold as loud and broken sobs came out of him, arms wrapping around his brother for mere support, knowing that his legs are about to give out any second.

"I d-don't want to lose her, I can't lose her H-Harry, I—" Tom felt his throat start to close up, his grip around his younger brother turning vice-like as he gasped for air.

"Hey, hey Tom, breathe," Harry rushed, grabbing Tom's shoulders, pulling him away and holding him in arm's length. "You're alright, just breathe."

Tom shut his eyes tight and tried to regain his breathing, calming himself as best as he could. A whimper came out of him as he shook his head slowly, opening his eyes to meet Harry's with nothing but utmost fear and pain swimming in them.

"I c-can't imagine a world without her, I can't—"

"Then don't. You're not losing her Tom. She's going to be fine. She's a very strong girl. You, out of all people, know that," Harry reassured, giving his shoulder a squeeze for good measure.

"Fuck, this is all my fault. I shouldn't have left her alone. I knew something wasn't right before she even—I should've tried harder," Tom sobbed as he ran his shaking fingers through his hair, bottom lip quivering as he casted his eyes on the floor in shame.

"Tom you did the best that you could. No one could've seen this coming. Y/N wouldn't want you blaming yourself. You know it hurts her when you blame yourself," Harry said softly, rubbing his back comforting as he shot him a knowing look.

Tom rubbed the nape of his neck as he nodded with deep, strangled breaths. He pressed his lips into a tight line as he didn't say another word because Harry was right. You always get even more upset when you see him blame himself for something out of his control.

"You just sit here and wait alright? I'm going to get you some water."

He only shot Harry a small but thankful smile, the younger lad giving him one last hug before he disappeared down the opposite side of the hallway.

Tom cleared his mind and thought of nothing but you being safe. You are going to be safe, alive and well, because he wouldn't know what to do with himself if you weren't.

***

It was an hour and half later until the doctor came out. Tom scrambled on his feet as she asked about who was there for you. His nails were digging into his palms, creating crescent shapes on the skin as he held his breath, dreadfully waiting for her to speak.

"We've managed to pump all the drugs out of her system. She's stable now but still unconscious," the doctor said. Tom lets out a big puff of breath, his whole body relaxing as he felt the weight of the universe lift off his shoulders. Tom grabbed onto Harry for support once he almost lost his balance, just feeling relieved to hear that you were fine, still breathing.

"Is she going to be okay?" Harry asked when Tom can't seem to form any words, the older brother squeezing his shoulder as a way to silently say thank you.

The doctor nodded with a small smile. "We still need to keep a close eye on her until she makes a full recovery. There are still a few dangers that can occur given that she's consumed quite a handful."

Tom stood straighter as he cleared his throat, "Can I see her?"

"Right this way."

***

The sound of the soft beeps of the heart rate monitor oddly felt comforting to Tom as he entered the room. It was a mixture of relief but also hurt the moment his eyes landed on your sleeping form, hooked up to all these wires and tubes as you lay peacefully on the white bed.

He would've just stood still on his place, just staring with a deep from if Harry hadn't given him an encouraging tap on back. Tom flashed him a small smile before Harry closed the door, giving Tom some time alone with you for as long as he needed.

Slowly, he made his way over to your side, pulling up a chair beside the bed and letting out a shaky breath once he sat down. It was when he reached over to hold your hand did Tom start to bawl his eyes out, body shaking with full on sobs as he lifted your nimble fingers and pressed it on his damp, flushed cheek.

"You're okay. You're going to be okay love," he whimpered, not sure if he was saying those words to reassure you or himself. He turned his head to place a warm, tender kiss on your palm before he cupped your hand with both of his, his thumb sweetly stroking the back of it.

"It may sound selfish but you know I can't just let you go. I'm not that strong. Not as strong as you," Tom paused, giving your hand a squeeze, just waiting patiently for you to return it. "So, come on, darling, come back to me," Tom begged, a choked sob following after as his teardrops soaked the white sheets.

"I still need you. I will always need you," he continued, voice merely above a whisper as he tried his best to keep his breathing steady. "You're going to wake up and tell me to take you home, yeah?"

"We're going home," Tom breathed out with a small nod. "You're going to come back to me, and we're going home." Tom's voice broke at the end of his sentence, his head dropping low as he screwed his eyes shut, an overwhelming feeling rising in him that he couldn't stop the tears from falling continuously.

Tom just wants you to be back in his arms, wants you safe and warm in the comfort of your shared bed. He just wants to hear your hearty laugh echo in the kitchen as you make breakfast together. He wants to hear your scolding whenever he leaves dirty clothes on the floor, or the little arguments on whose turn it was to load the dishwasher.

Tom just wants to take you home.

Then once you do, once you come back home, he will take your hand and make things right, help make things better. And with all that he is, all that he has, with every beat of his heart, Tom will swear to love you all his life.

"Come home to me Y/N."

It was then Tom felt it, the light squeeze around his hand, his head shooting up as he looked at you expectantly. It was completely unmatched, the utter joy and relief that coated every inch of his bones. The sound was music to his ears, happiness filling him up to the brim once he heard your sweet, lovely voice.

"Tom?"

~~~

“Place your hand over your heart, can you feel it? That is called purpose. You’re alive for a reason so don’t ever give up.” – Unknown

-:-:-:-:-

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[stargaze-sunflower]

More Dewey and Louie bonding!!! Hope you like it!!! :]

Summary: After the events of Emma Glamour's party, Dewey and Louie have a lot to talk about.

Ao3 Link     Word Count: 4138

Louie really should’ve known that things wouldn’t go according to plan, but despite everything that had happened to him and his family, he had still managed to hang on to some hope. He was sure that he’d collapse into a puddle of despair and shame if he ever let go of hope entirely, and that wasn’t the type of life that he wanted to live. It was hard sometimes, because hope was fragile, and Louie himself felt easily breakable, most days.

He hadn’t wanted his scheme to be as vulnerable as he was. Seeing the angles was supposed to be the thing that he was good at, the one thing that was his. In a family full of adventurers, he’d thought that he had finally found his place as the strategy guy, as someone the others could trust to be on top of things. Someone that they could rely on, rather than someone they merely tolerated.

Emma Glamour’s party had been a chance to prove himself. A chance to finally show that his schemes weren’t all dangerous and harmful and worthy of getting him kicked out of the family selfish. He had wanted so badly for it to be a success. He’d thought that if he just tried hard enough – Scrooge was always telling him to just try – then it would all work out fine, and he’d finally stop feeling like there was something wrong with him. He’d stop feeling like everyone was always trying to fix the parts of him that they didn’t like.

It was a failure. But then, his schemes usually were, weren’t they? They brought nothing but bad things – caused nothing but trouble. At least The Caballeros got to play at the party, even though they hadn’t made the It List. Even though Louie had done nothing right.

Dewey had been the one to save the day, in the end – ever the hero – and Louie was proud of him, he was, but there was still a pit in his stomach growing bigger and heavier and harder to ignore.

.

(“You’re nothing new.

You’re not original.

There is nothing ‘It’ about you.

So tell me, why would I ever listen to you?”)

.

Louie sighed deeply, just the memory of the words enough to send sharp, aching pains bursting in his chest. He gripped the glass of water in his hand a little tighter, trying desperately to ground himself. But just like the rest of the ideas he’d had that night, it didn’t quite work out.

Currently he was standing behind the desert table, leaning against the wall and trying to pretend that he wasn’t hiding. Quite a few of the party guests had left already, but some had stayed to listen to the music that José and Panchito were playing – Uncle Donald had gone to sit at a table to talk with Daisy – and to enjoy the free food. Multiple people had even gone up to Dewey to congratulate him for winning the approval of Ms. Glamour. Something that Louie had not been able to do, at all, in any capacity. But he was fine. It was all fine.

He took a deceptively calm drink of water, trying to stop the rising wave of emotion that threatened to clog his throat and spill out of his eyes. He supposed he could only lie to himself for as long as he could ignore his feelings, and he was admittedly having trouble with that, at the moment.

“Thirsty?” a voice asked brightly, way too close to his right ear, and Louie almost choked on the water he hadn’t been able to swallow yet.

Dewey was standing next to him, smiling widely and rocking slightly on his feet, probably still absolutely ecstatic about the attention he’d received for his yo-yo ‘tricks’.

“Did you sneak up on me on purpose?” Louie asked, half accusing and half resigned.

“No,” Dewey said, grabbing a cookie and taking a bite out of it. “I called your name, like, twice before I got here.”

“Oh,” Louie said, any other possible response having fled his brain.

Louie set his glass of water down on the table in front of him as Dewey popped the rest of his cookie into his mouth, finishing it in record time.

“Still aren’t listening to me, huh?” Dewey teased, although there was something genuinely questioning in his tone.

The knot in Louie’s stomach twisted sharply at the reminder of how he’d treated his brother that night. Dewey hated feeling like he wasn’t being listened to, or acknowledged, or seen as useful. Louie knew that, and still he’d spent most of the night ignoring everything Dewey had tried to suggest.

“I guess not,” Louie replied, guilt tangling in his stomach and crawling up his throat. “I’m really— I just—”

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his suit, but it didn’t bring the same comfort as his hoodie might have.

“I…I’m sorry,” Louie finally managed, and he felt like it wasn’t enough, like he it would never be enough. “I didn’t mean to— Well, I did, but…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dewey said, waving him off, and Louie glanced at him in nervous surprise. “I mean, I’m not gonna say that it didn’t hurt, because it did. You know how I am with, uh, that sort of thing.”

Dewey rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, and the guilt in his stomach turned into sharp stabs.

.

(“Look, your plans, your schemes, they only lead to bad things for your family.”)

.

“But you’re not normally like this, all high-strung and whatever, which— which makes me think that maybe something else is bothering you,” Dewey continued, and Louie gaped at him in shock, his hands falling out of his pockets to hang still at his sides. Dewey’s brow was furrowed, and he was staring at the table in front of them intensely, obviously in deep thought. “And that doesn’t make it okay, but like, it makes it understandable? I don’t know.”

Dewey shrugged, shaking himself a bit before turning towards Louie with a little smile.

“I forgive you, you know, in case you need to hear it,” Dewey told him, and there was no trace of a lie in his eyes or deception in his voice.

Louie had to blink back tears at that, at the pure, sincere way that Dewey had just spoken to him, at the way he just understood Louie and his emotions, and how he was willing to forgive the mistake he’d made, especially when he already felt terrible about it. Dewey was his brother, who could apparently tell when something was bothering him, and Louie was both intimidated by that and thankful for it.

.

(“If you want to be a part of this family, you’ve gotta stop.”)

.

“Thanks, Dew,” Louie said, his voice softer and calmer than it had been in hours.

“No problem,” Dewey said happily, and he reached up to ruffle Louie’s hair before he could protest.

Louie glared sideways as he fixed his hair, not actually all that mad. Dewey just grinned at him, but a few seconds later it softened around the edges, and something concerned crept into his expression. Louie winced.

“You wanna talk about what was going on with you tonight?” Dewey prompted, nudging his shoulder lightheartedly, and Louie huffed.

“Not really, no,” Louie said.

“You sure?”

He turned to Dewey with his beak open, fully intending to repeat himself with confidence and grace, but the words died in his throat. Dewey was looking at him too honestly, too concerned, too ready to listen to him when Louie had done nothing but ignore him for the whole night, and it was enough to change his mind. Dewey deserved an explanation, and Louie was tired of lying, anyway. Because apparently - according to Emma Glamour - he wasn’t very good at it.

“No,” Louie admitted, voice strained as he practically forced the words out. “This is just… I really wanted things to be perfect, and I guess it kind of got out of hand.”

Him and Dewey took a moment to take in the messy room and remember the hostage situation. None of that had been Louie’s fault, really; sometimes it felt like chaos just followed their family around wherever it went.

“Why was it so important to you?” Dewey asked eventually. “Like why tonight, you know?”

Louie frowned deeply, brow furrowing as he tried to think of how best to explain how he felt.

“You know how Huey is super into being a Junior Woodchuck?” Louie asked, deciding to just wing it, and Dewey gave him a strange look, but nodded. “Okay, so, that’s his thing. He wouldn’t mind if we did it with him – he even wants us to, sometimes – but if we were better at it than he was, I think he’d lose his mind.”

Dewey chuckled a little, and that was enough to tell Louie that he was still listening, so he barreled onward.

“And then there’s— You’ve got that talk show thing, Dewey Dew-night, and that’s something that’s yours. But if I made my own talk show, like, uh— like Lunar Louie or something—” Dewey snorted, and Louie couldn’t help but smile a bit, even as he kept going almost frantically. “If I did that, and my show was more popular, then you’d feel like you weren’t— you’d feel bad.”

Louie trailed off into silence, and Dewey didn’t try to fill it, possibly sensing that he wasn’t quite done, but needed some time to think.

“I… I do schemes. That’s my thing. It’s basically the only thing I can do—”

.

(”This is the one thing I’m good at. Why can’t you see?”)

.

“—and then you kept telling me that you could do more to help, but I was scared that if I let you, then you’d be better at it than me, and if you’re better at scheming then me then what even— What else can I do? I’m not—"

.

(“You’re nothing new.

You’re not original—“)

  .

“I don’t know,” Louie finished. “I just— I wanted to prove myself I guess.”

“To who?” Dewey sounded like he’d been punched in the stomach. Louie avoided looking at him.

“Everyone, I guess. Mom, Uncle Donald, you.” Louie put his hands back in his pockets, attempting to conceal their trembling. “Myself, most of all.”

“Louie, you— you don’t have to prove anything—”

“But I do!” Louie whipped around to face him, suddenly irrationally angry. He was surprised to find that the tears in his own eyes were reflected in Dewey’s. “Our family are a bunch of adventurers, Dewey. That’s what they do. And I can’t— I—”

Dewey reached out for him, but Louie backed up a step, not ready to be comforted.

“Uncle Scrooge thinks I’m lazy, and Mom thinks that I— that all I do is cause bad things to happen, and I just— I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” Louie said, his voice ending in a broken whisper, and he pulled his hand out of his pocket for the sole purpose of wiping at his overflowing eyes. “I can’t do anything right. Or—or good.”

Dewey stared at him for a few long, agonizing seconds, and then his trademark expression of determination took over his face, stronger and more serious than Louie had seen it in a while.

Oh, boy.

“C’mon,” Dewey said, leaving no room for argument, and he grabbed Louie’s sleeve on his way by, dragging him along behind him.

Louie glanced nervously around them as he was tugged along, taking note of Uncle Donald, who was still sitting at a table with Daisy on the other side of the room. And speaking of tables—

Dewey stopped next to an empty one. Just like the others it was covered in a long white tablecloth that touched the floor, and Dewey gestured downwards pointedly. Louie raised an eyebrow, which was probably a strange expression on someone who had just been crying, but whatever. Dewey just gestured again, a bit more forceful, and Louie sighed before dropping to his hands and knees. He crawled under the tablecloth and Dewey followed, letting it fall back into place behind him when they were both in.

They were left sitting in soft lighting, on a squeaky-clean floor – Daisy probably wouldn’t have settled for anything less – and Louie had to admit that it was less overwhelming than standing at the edges of a large room feeling sorry for himself; feeling sorry for everything.

“Okay, look,” Dewey said, sitting there in his DJ Daft Duck suit and still managing to sound like he meant business. “You remember when Uncle Donald was racing against Uncle Gladstone ‘cause of that weird luck vampire thing?”

Louie could only nod.

“And he was gonna give up, but you stopped him. You kept him going. You inspired him,” Dewey said, every word said clearly and sincerely. “You’re good at that.”

“Yeah, but—”

“And what about that time with Mom,” Dewey continued, “when you were able to convince her to go back to help Uncle Scrooge and the others stop the moon invading? We may never have left that island – or gotten home in time to help – if it weren’t for you giving her a pep talk.”

Louie exhaled shakily, remembering how stressful that whole situation had been. Dewey grabbed his hand and held it gently between them, even as he kept talking, looking at him with warm eyes.

“You helped Webby when she lost her optimism, and you were able to make her start believing in people again. You were able to help her remember that there are good people,” Dewey said, and he squeezed his hand, smiling gently as Louie blinked against the moisture in his eyes. “There are good people, Lou, and you’re one of them.”

Louie sniffled, wiping at his face with his free hand as he avoided eye contact.

“It doesn’t always feel that way,” Louie said.

“I’ll believe it when you can’t,” Dewey said simply, and Louie finally looked at him.

Dewey was staring back at him with a slightly nervous expression, like he wasn’t sure if he was saying the right things or not, like he was worried that he wasn’t being helpful. The knot in Louie’s stomach and the pain in his chest finally abated, and he tried out a small smile.

“Thanks, Dew,” Louie said softly, and he wasn’t feeling up to a full-on hug just yet, so he leaned his side against Dewey’s and squeezed the hand he was still holding.

Dewey exhaled quietly, his shoulders dropping as he relaxed.

“Anytime,” Dewey told him, and he sounded like he meant it.

They sat in silence for a few seconds, the sounds of the party muffled through the expensive tablecloth. There they were in fancy clothes, at a fancy – wrecked – party, and they were hiding under the table like they used to hide in clothes racks at the store as little kids. Louie suddenly couldn’t help but chuckle a bit.

Dewey turned to look at him, possibly a little confused, but as soon as their eyes met, they both lost it. They sat there giggling on and off for at least two minutes, and every time they’d almost calmed down, they’d make eye contact and burst out laughing again.

“This isn’t funny,” Louie said helplessly, wiping away tears of mirth. “We shouldn’t be— Why are we laughing?”

“Would you rather cry?” Dewey asked, grinning like a loon.

“I am crying, Dewey.”

“That’s good crying, though,” Dewey pointed out. “You’re smiling at the same time.”

Louie shoved at him playfully, and Dewey started giggling again, swaying with the force of Louie’s push before popping back upright.

“I could comment on how weak of a shove that was, but I’m not going to,” Dewey said, with a teasing lilt to his voice, and Louie rolled his eyes.

“How gracious of you,” Louie said, words dripping with sarcasm. “I’ve been insulted enough for one night, anyways.”

Louie leaned back on his hands, finally feeling relaxed and mostly at ease. It was amazing what Dewey could do, really, when he put his mind to it.

And speaking of his brother, Dewey was suddenly being creepily silent. Louie turned to check on him with a raised brow, and Dewey was looking back at him with confusion and a sort of vague concern.

“What do you mean?” Dewey asked, dead serious, and Louie blinked.

“Uh, what do you mean what do I mean?”

“The insult thing you just mentioned,” Dewey clarified. “What did you mean by that?”

“Oh,” Louie said simply, trying to buy himself time to think of how to distract Dewey from the subject, which his brother was picking up on, if the narrowed eyes were anything to go by.

“Don’t lie to me,” Dewey said, somewhere between a plea and a warning.

“Look, it’s nothing—”

.

(“You’re nothing new—")

.

Louie cleared his throat and tried again. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” he said. “It’s not even worth mentioning.”

“Your hands are shaking, Louie,” Dewey said pointedly, and he grabbed the one nearest to him to hold it once again. Louie huffed in frustration and glared at his traitorous appendages.

“I’m doing jazz hands,” Louie deadpanned, and Dewey snorted.

“No, you’re not.”

Louie sighed resignedly, and Dewey squeezed his hand.

“Tell me?” Dewey asked, and Louie forced himself to meet his wide, pleading eyes. “Please?”

Louie groaned, tilting his head back to stare at the bottom of the table, because now he absolutely had to explain himself, or Dewey would go around looking like a kicked puppy for days. Louie couldn’t have that on his conscience; it already had enough to worry about.

“You remember when I went to talk to Glamour, right?” Louie began, sitting up, and Dewey nodded. “Well, she definitely had some interesting things to say about what she thought of me.”

Dewey’s hand tensed in his. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“…Like what?”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Louie rushed to say. Emma Glamour was one of the people that Dewey looked up to, and he was reluctant to crush his dreams, and maybe even a little afraid that he would agree with her. “It— It wasn’t anything that isn’t true.”

“What did she say?” Dewey reiterated, and Louie figured that he couldn’t put it off for any longer.

“Just— Just that I was, uh—"

.

(“You’re nothing new.

You’re not original.

There is nothing ‘It’ about you.

So tell me, why would I ever listen to you?”)

.

“—that I was nothing special. And not worth her time, or— or even worth listening to,” Louie said haltingly, doing his best to pretend that he wasn’t bothered. “She had me all figured out, and she— she didn’t think that what she saw was very impressive. Or ‘It’, as she put it.”

There was complete and total silence after he finished talking, Dewey unnaturally still next to him. Louie breathed slowly and deliberately, trying to calm his nerves.

Without warning, and certainly without grace, Dewey suddenly stood ramrod straight next to him, shooting up so quickly that Louie dropped his hand and leaned back in surprise. Being under a table, of course, Dewey didn’t make it very far before bumping into the bottom of it, hitting it with such force that the whole thing rattled; Louie very faintly heard a fork fall to the ground a few feet away. Dewey dropped back down onto his knees with a grunt of pain, rubbing the top of his head.

“Dewey, what the—”

“She can’t talk to you like that!” Dewey exclaimed angrily, already changing course to crawl out from under the table. “She just— I can’t believe—"

Dewey continued his nonsensical furious rambling as he made it out from under the table, Louie following behind him frantically, getting the vibe that his brother was on his way to do something stupid.

“Dewey, wait—” Louie grabbed him by the wrist, keeping him from storming off. “She was well within her rights to call me out on trying to con her—”

“There’s calling you out, and then there’s straight up mean—"

“She was right, though, okay?” Louie said desperately, his arm shaking with the effort it was taking to hold Dewey back. “I needed to be taken down a notch.”

“You’re eleven, Louie! None of what she said was helpful, she just— She’s an adult and she said that to a kid!”

Dewey was still attempting to barrel onwards, and he was very slowly making progress. Louie groaned in frustration and leaned even farther backwards to try and slow him down.

“Okay, but— Dewey, what are you even gonna do?” Louie asked. “You can’t just flat-out attack her at her own party, and Uncle Donald already yelled at her ‘cause of Daisy—”

“She’s about to see my yo-yo skills way up close and personal,” Dewey said, almost muttering, and he stumbled a bit from the persistence of Louie’s grip on his arm.

“Dewey, stop,” Louie said sternly, although there was an element of begging in there, too. “Dewey, please.”

His brother finally came to a halt, and though it felt like they’d been going for hours, they’d only made it about five feet from the table they’d been hiding under. Dewey turned to look at him, his gaze fiercely protective and maybe a little lost, and Louie kept his grip on his sleeve, just in case.

“It’s not worth it,” Louie said quietly but clearly.

“Yes, it—”

“It wouldn’t change anything,” Louie amended, and then he tried for a smile, although he was sure it looked awkward. “And Huey would be disappointed in us if you got arrested.”

“Huey would already be throwing punches,” Dewey said, but some of the tension in his shoulders was gone.

“Please,” Louie said lightly, “he’d give a stern lecture at worst.”

“Agree to disagree,” Dewey shot back, shrugging a little, a small smile forming on his face, reluctant but persistent.

Louie huffed a laugh, looking around nervously to see if anyone was staring at them. He ended up making eye contact with Uncle Donald, who was staring at them with his brow furrowed in concern, already halfway out of his seat. Louie grinned, infusing as much reassurance as he could into it, and gave a thumbs up with the hand that wasn’t latched onto Dewey’s wrist like an octopus.

Their Uncle hesitated for a moment, obviously conflicted, but then he sunk back into his chair, shooting them a look that clearly said ‘Be Good’. Louie sighed in relief and turned his attention back to Dewey.

“You sure you don’t want me to avenge you?” Dewey asked, a bit teasing but with an undercurrent of truth. If Louie wanted him to, he really would give Emma Glamour a piece of his mind.

But Louie had had enough drama for the day – maybe even for the rest of the week – and just knowing that Dewey was ready and willing to defend him made him feel lighter and happier than he had been in a while.

“Nah,” Louie said, finally releasing his hold on his brother. “I think we’ve caused enough chaos for one night.”

“Barely,” Dewey said jokingly, and Louie rolled his eyes.

After a moment of comfortable silence, just enjoying each other’s presence, Louie couldn’t help but yawn. Dewey glanced at him in amusement.

“Tired?” Dewey asked, and Louie just shrugged. “D’you wanna leave now? I think Launchpad would come get us if we called him.”

“What about Uncle Donald?”

“I don’t think he’d mind if we left without him,” Dewey replied, jerking his head to indicate where their Uncle was sitting with Daisy, listening to her talk with rapt attention. “He seems pretty busy.”

“He’d freak if we left without telling him, though.”

“Yeah.”

“…So who’s gonna tell him?” Louie asked, and Dewey huffed.

“Why can’t we do it together?”

“Because one of us has to call Launchpad.”

“We can do that together, too,” Dewey said, beginning to grin.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Efficiency, Dewford,” Louie shot back, already pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“Ugh, you sound like Huey,” Dewey complained, but his tone was light.

“One of us has to,” Louie said, dialing Launchpad’s number.

Dewey stared at him as the phone rang, and Louie raised a single eyebrow as he stood with it held up to his ear. Dewey groaned.

“Fine.” Dewey threw his arms in the air, turning away to hide his smile. “I’ll go tell Uncle Donald we’re leaving.”

Dewey walked off, and Louie finally allowed himself to grin fully. Nothing could quite cheer him up like lighthearted bickering with one of his siblings, and no one could pointlessly argue for as long as Dewey and Louie could. It was something that Louie felt was special; something that was theirs. Maybe it was nothing new, but it mattered.

And that was enough.

[moccahobi]

Dancing in the Rain Pt. 1 [Namjoon x Hoseok]

Member: Namjoon (BTS) x Hoseok (BTS)

wc: 1.9k

Summary:  Namjoon lived in a small town. He loved it. It had just enough going on to give him fun when needed and not enough going on that he felt overwhelmed. On top of that, it was only a three hour train ride to Seoul where he met with his publisher and many of his friends lived. It was the best of both worlds. His life gets a bit more interesting when a mysterious bleach blonde with a heart shaped smile enters his life. 

genre: Slice of Life, Strangers to Lovers, Fluff

warnings: lying about one’s name

a/n: this fic is part of @whipped-kpop-creators​ project “a whipped summer” project! I used the prompt “warm summer rain” and heavily relied on their amazing playlist!

Next Part

The rain.

Namjoon loved it. 

He especially loved it in his new area. When it rained, everyone rushed to get to their locations and there was a park nearby that was always void of people when it rained because of that. Normally it is filled with students out of school and friends enjoying picnics, especially during the summer, but when it rains, it’s like everyone hides away and he has the whole park to himself. 

Namjoon walked around the park, slowly looking around at the emptiness. His phone (in a zip-lock bag) awkwardly sticking out of his jacket pocket, a reminder that he had less than an hour to enjoy the warm rain today. He had to get back to his apartment and be chained to his computer in meetings soon, but for now, he was enjoying the rain. 

When he finally got to the park, he slipped his sandals off, making a b-line for the soft grass as he started to meander. The warm rain was a soft, comforting blanket that quieted his mind and in that moment he just was. There wasn’t a meeting in an hour (his alarm would remind him when he needed to return). There weren't any intrusive thoughts. There wasn’t anyone else he had to handle. No parents. No friends. No one. 

It was just Namjoon and the sheets of rain that were coming crashing down.

The park’s animals had hidden away from the rain. Namjoon could just barely see a few of them peek out from holes in trees and under bushes. Part of him wanted to walk closer, tip toe on the sharp mulch, and try to interact with the animals. He knew they’d run away though and Namjoon didn’t want to spend his time chasing after something that would just run away. 

He didn’t care to do that during this special time he had.

Rain was common in this area, it was part of why he moved here, but the warm summer rain that covered him like a blanket was less common and he wanted to savor it. 

His peace was shattered at the loud sound of someone singing further down the path. Part of him seethed at this disruption. The park was peaceful before this and now someone was singing some peppy song and in the distance he could see them dancing as well. Another part of him, and the part that won him over, was curious as to who this person was. Namjoon had lived here for two years now and this person wasn’t someone he recognized and this town wasn’t known for their tourism so this had to be a new person living here. Slowly, Namjoon walked towards them, eyeing them cautiously. They had bleach blonde hair and a wide smile that grew as they kept singing and dancing (it was more of a series and sways and twirls but Namjoon digresses) and Namjoon was struck. 

The rain kept on pouring down but Namjoon was no longer focused on how it felt on his skin, instead his mind was stuck on the man in front of him. He stared on until the stranger stopped singing, their arms wide as if waiting for cheers and applause. 

And Namjoon obliged. 

He didn’t clap because clapping in the rain was hard but he spoke, his voice sounding rough to his own ears, “That was really good. You should think about going professional.” 

He tried to smile but he’d spent so much time brooding and focusing on his writing that the act felt foreign and forced to him. The stranger’s eyes flew open in shock as he eyed Namjoon up and down, his arms slowly falling to his side.

“Thanks. I just might.” His voice sounded smooth and soft as he shyly tucked some wet hair behind his ears.

“I am Kim Namjoon. Are you new to town?”

He nodded and smiled broadly, “I am new. It’s Ju- Kim Taehyung. Yeah… Kim Taehyung.” 

Namjoon nodded along slowly, taking in the baggy and bright clothes Taehyung wore, “Nice to meet you. When did you move in?”

“Uh… last month but I travel a lot so I haven’t had time to really explore…  I really wanted to visit… the local book store but then the rain happened and I just…” He looked around and shrugged, “I couldn’t help myself. The rain is so nice and I don’t get to just enjoy it enough.” 

“Yeah. I love the rain here. No one is out, well almost no one,” Namjoon said with a laugh, “It’s a good time to just walk and be.”

“Oh! Did I disturb you with my song then?” 

Namjoon shook his head and Taehyung’s smile seemed to grow larger, a heart seeming to form from how big his smile was, “Well then, care to dance with me in the rain some?” 

A sadness washed over Namjoon when he finally made it back to his apartment after an hour of dancing with Taehyung. With each sopping step he took deeper into his apartment (at one point stopping to wring some of his clothes out over his plants), he felt a pit of despair growing heavier in him. His legs felt like led and arms slow as he changed and prepared for his meetings. His time with Taehyung today was short. Too short. Dancing in the rain wasn’t what he had intended to do, but the warm rain and his boundless energy fed Namjoon and now all he wanted to do was run back out to Taehyung and continue dancing. 

He had work to do though.

Namjoon could only hope for two possibility:

He comes across Taehyung again in the neighborhood.

Next time it rains, the two meet again. 

Namjoon didn't know which he’d prefer, but in the end, it didn’t matter. He didn’t see Taehyung for a whole month. It was as if the man disappeared off the face of the earth and even though Namjoon didn’t know the man well, he missed him. Plus… he might have felt a little hurt that Taehyung hadn’t gone looking for him after their dance. There wasn’t a time when Namjoon caught a glimpse of bleach blond that he didn’t perk up in excitement. And each time he was more disappointed to have to relearn how bad his eyesight was.

Did Taehyung do the same when he saw a head of black hair? 

Namjoon really hoped so. 

Frustration pooled in his stomach as he left for the train station, a suitcase trailing behind him. It was a crisp morning and he was being forced to go up to Seoul for meetings with his publisher. Normally he enjoyed trips to Seoul (he had previously lived there and it still held a soft spot in his heart), but he wanted more chances to see Taehyung around. He’d just moved in and was bound to be out and about town at some point. 

And Namjoon was going to miss it because his publisher couldn’t hold a few meetings over zoom. 

Hell. Namjoon even suspected that one of them could be an email.

His frustration fermented to disappointment as he looked out the train’s window longly, the town growing smaller all the while. Planning to get together with a friend of his, reading, writing, responding to emails. None of it worked to take his mind off of Taehyung. When the train finally stopped at a station near his hotel, Namjoon was utterly exhausted and dreading all the meetings that were coming. 

The only bright side was that he would be meeting with a friend of his, Seokjin, before he left. 

When he finally entered his hotel room, he took his shoes off, dropped his keys down, and fell onto the bed. He had no energy to do anything at all. All through the walk to the hotel, Namjoon struggled to pay attention to where he was supposed to turn (he barely had the energy to keep an eye and ear out for people near him, let alone his location).

Bless his phone for providing him with the directions that he was mostly able to follow. 

His meetings came and went in a blur despite how painful they were. Almost all of them could have been emails or zoom calls. Just as Namjoon suspected, there was no real need for him to come back to Seoul. All throughout the meetings, his frustration simmered and by the time Seokjin and him met up for dinner, Namjoon was full on venting to the poor man. 

They’d started out catching up but the second Seokjin asked why he’d returned to Seoul, it was like a dam had been released. He hadn’t intended to return. He didn’t want to return. Sure it wasn’t a long trip and he would be back home soon, but he was missing prime time to meet Taehyung again. He wanted to get to know the mysterious blonde who sang in the rain more and his work was proving to be a real hindrance to it!

The more Namjoon delved into his vent, the more occasional laughs left Seokjin before the man was full on cackling. Despite Seokjin laughing like a maniac (or maybe because of it), Namjoon enjoyed his dinner with him. It took him back to when they were both in college and would only meet once in a blue moon due to being at different colleges. The times when they did meet, the two of them would make the best of. From parties to concerts to cooking classes, they always tried to do so much. 

A soft sigh left Namjoon as he watched the waiter walk away with their checks, “Hyung. Is there… like some sort of music event happening tonight? I don’t want tonight to end yet.”

Seokjin snorted at that, “I think that there is something happening in an hour. Yoongi was talking to me about it last night. Let me text him to see if they still have some seats.” 

Yoongi didn’t have seats available though so Namjoon found Seokjin and himself getting some soju and wandering around the streets of Seoul. They mostly just people watched while meandering through streets and occasionally stopped to watch and dance at busker stations (always leaving some sort of tip when they did). Despite not having a concert to attend, they still managed to dance and enjoy good music. 

Drunk Namjoon probably also argued that they had a better time than at a concert where they would have been more crammed in than around a busker. Seokjin simply laughed and listened to his drunken rambles. 

During one busker's performance, Namjoon became hyper focused on an advertisement being shown on a building. It was for some random hair care brand but the brand itself wasn’t what had drawn his focus. It was the man in the ad. 

Sloping nose. 

Soft looking hair.

Heart smile.

Taehyung.

Except… when the ad ended, it didn’t say Taehyung’s name. It said Jung Hoseok. 

Namjoon tried to brush it off and enjoy his night with Seokjin but he kept being distracted by ads that Taehyung… or Hoseok was in. 

Hair care.

Chicken.

Sprite. 

He was in a lot of ads. 

If Seokjin noticed Namjoon getting distracted more, he didn’t comment, instead stopping to get more soju and dragging Namjoon around Seoul more. The next morning, Namjoon was on a train back home, nursing a piercing hangover. In spite of his hangover, Hoseok was practically running around in his mind. The man was more of a mystery to Namjoon than before and a whirlpool of conflicting emotions sloshed angrily around his mind as he tried to think through his next interaction with the man. Nothing should change. Hoseok was still the same man as before just with a different name and Namjoon got why he would lie and give a fake name. A random stranger walking in the rain isn’t inherently the most trustworthy person… but…

Namjoon lost his train of thought.

Next Chapter

[ghxsty-writer]

Insomnia At It’s Best ↝ Hwang Hyunjin

Hyunjin x Felix’s childhood friend!reader 

Requested? No this came from my very horny brain! 

Word count: 2,395 

Warnings: SMUT! Dom!Hyunjin, Bratty!Reader, Degradation, Daddy kink, Slight Exhibitionism, Bimbofication, unprotected sex (please protect yourself but you are on the pill in this), Sadism, Masochism, Orgasm denial, hair pulling, slight overstimulation, aftercare (BECAUSE THAT”S IMPORTANT) 

[01:04 am] You sat up on the couch, the dorm completely dark except the T.V. The boys were scattered at this point. Chan, Changbin, and Han were at the studio working on new songs. Minho and Felix were in the dance studio with Jeongin helping him with choreography. Seungmin was also there only to tease Jeongin as usual. Hyunjin, well, Hyunjin was in his bedroom asleep.  Minho made him come home because he was overworking himself. You were there to visit Felix all the way from Australia and you were a little disappointed that he wasn’t hanging out with you, but you understood that he was working. But you really couldn’t complain, he invited you to the dance studio to hang out but you were already comfy on the couch and in a huge t-shirt and black cheekies. With 8 boys in the house it wasn’t exactly the best thing to wear, but it was nighttime and you were always covered with a blanket. You looked at the clock on your phone. 

You groaned because you couldn’t fall asleep. You went through a mental checklist of things that could be keeping you up. Then it hit you, you were hungry. You stood up and crept over to the kitchen trying not to wake Hyunjin. Turning on a single bulb in the kitchen. It was dim enough that it didn’t blind you. You tried to reach up to the cabinet but it was too tall. You went to where the stool was and it crashed on the floor as you tried to place it in front of the cabinet.. 

Fuck. I hope that didn’t wake Hyunjin. 

You put it on the floor gently and you climbed the step stool. As you got the honey butter chips down, the tall blonde walked into the kitchen. “(Y/N)?” he questioned. And as soon as he saw what you were wearing his eyes went straight to the ceiling. “Oh! Hyunjin I’m sorry did I wake you?” You asked, remorse in your voice. “No I was up anyway.” he stated, still looking at the ceiling. “Hyunjin, honey, you okay?” you asked. But it clicked what was happening. He didn’t want to look at you. “Yeah I’m fine.” He said confidently, but his pink tinged cheeks said what he couldn’t. You got down from the step stool with the chip bag in your hand.  

This could be fun. 

“Hyunjin,” the fake innocence dripping from your voice, “why aren’t you looking at me?” He licked his lips. “Felix would kill me… and you’re wearing..” he swallowed hard “that”  Meaning the lack of what you were wearing.  “Are you afraid of little Lixie?” You questioned. His face changed for a split second. Anger? Frustration? “No, I’m not.” His tone even changed a little. Which sent a jolt down your spine. You saw the bulge in his pants and remembered something Felix had mentioned when you were all playing Spill it or Drink.

All nine of you were in a circle. You were all using a bottle as a spinner and shots of alcohol and gross things were on the tables behind you. Chan spun the bottle and it landed on Felix. 

“Alright, Felix, spill a sexual secret about the person to your right. Or drink one of those shots.” Chan demanded. Felix had already gotten so much bad luck and drank only two shots of alcohol and three shots of something gross. He looked at Hyunjin and said “Sorry, Jinnie.” Hyunjin rolled his eyes. Felix thought about it for a minute,  and then he got it. “Hyunjin is a dom who loves taming brats.”  Your eyes along with everyone else’s widened. Hyunjin hit him on the shoulder and covered his face. 

You wanted to see how far you could push him. You wanted to see Hyunjin in dom mode. He always acted so sweet and lovely to you ever since you arrived. You wanted to confirm that side of him for yourself. Partly because you didn’t believe it, partly because that image hasn’t left your brain since the game a few nights ago. 

You took a deep breath, and the brat came out. “I think you are, Jinnie. Or, maybe you’re just not as dominant as Felix said you were.” You put the bag of chips down and lifted your shirt a little more to reveal your hips. 

“Maybe, you’re just..” you stepped toward him, poking his chest. “a little.” poke “baby.” poke “boy.” After you were done he grabbed your wrist. His breathing was hot and deep. His neck snapped down to meet your eyes. 

“No. No. I think you need to shut your little mouth.” His voice got rougher. Your mind lit up with what you wanted to say next. You stood on your toes and got up in his face as much as you could. 

“Make. Me.”  

His jaw clenched, his lips pressed together, and his eyebrows raised. You saw his eyes go from the normal brown to dark with lust mixed with anger. His hand let go of your wrist and both of his hands rested firmly on your hips, pushing you up against the counter. His knee forced your thighs apart and put his thigh up against your clothed pussy. 

Your breath hitched, which didn’t go unnoticed by Hyunjin. The blonde smirked at the noise. He leaned down to your ear. “You’re such a brat. You need to learn your place.” Your eyes fluttered as he moved his thigh a bit. But you still wanted to see if you could push a bit more. You grabbed a fist full of his hair and pulled, making him groan. A smile came across your lips as you said in a mocking tone “Who’s going to do it? Not you. You don’t have the balls.” 

That was it. That’s what did it. That’s what made him roughly take your hair and pull. And grab your hand out of his hair and lead you toward the couch. “You’re in for it, Kitten.” he tossed you onto the couch like a rag doll. The pet name made you bite your lip. He took off his shirt and got on top of you. His body was fucking remarkable. He pinned your wrists above your head and bitand sucked at your neck, marking you. 

“Jinnie, what about Felix?” Your breathing became heavier. His free hand went to your throat as he made eye contact with you. “Do not call me Jinnie.” He said sternly. This side of him was so hot. You were soaked through your cheekies at this point. 

“It’s Daddy tonight, Kitten. And, Felix, will know the whore you really are after I’m done with you.” Releasing your wrists, he took off your shirt and flipped you over. He hovered over you and came down to your ear gripping your hair roughly. 

“Now, does the whore know the traffic light system?” you nodded and tried to lift your ass to feel the growing hard on in his pants. But he slammed you back down. “You’re such a little slut.” He said as he touched your pussy through the underwear. “Soaked and I've barely done anything to you.” 

“Please, Daddy.” you whined. Trying to help your case somehow.  He took off your underwear, and touched your soaked folds. “Oh so the brat is gonna submit now? You want Daddy to fuck you like the dumb whore you are?” With that he stuck two fingers in. Stretching you without prepping. You cried out as he curled his finger and started stimulating your clit.  He pulled your hair more, “Answer me, whore.” “Yes! Daddy, please fuck me, I’m your little whore, please.” you moaned and whined throughout the sentence. The pain felt so good it just made you even wetter. He moved his fingers and soon enough after a few minutes of him degrading you and the constant stimulation, the familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach came up. Sweat started to drip on your forehead along with his but he didn’t break the pace. 

“You gonna cum, Kitten?” you nodded desperately. And as soon as your leg started shaking he stopped. You started breathing heaving and you whined at the loss of your high. “You think I was going to let you cum after you pulled all that?” He laughed at your shaking state. “What’s your color, Kitten?” He asked. He may be a sadist, but a good dom always asks no matter what. “Green!” you practically yelled. He smirked. 

“You love this. You love being my little fuck toy don’t you?” He growled “Yes, Daddy. Please use me!”  

“I don’t have a condom.” “I’m on the pill, Daddy.” “Good because I want to fuck you raw.” He stripped himself of his boxers revealing his dick.  “God, I don’t even need you suck my dick you’re so fucking wet.” He said as he sat on the couch. 

“Get on my dick facing the T.V.” he demanded. You moved quickly and faced the T.V. He grabbed your hips and guided you onto his lap, but before he put it in he started having you grind on it to tease you. “Beg for it, slut.” He looked you up and down. It took all of his self control not to fuck you straight away. You had to learn your lesson though. And he loved seeing you beg for him. He honestly got off on your whines and moans and desperation. 

“Please!  I want to be stuffed full of Daddy’s cock!” He smiled, lifted you by the hips, and then slammed you down on his dick. He sat up, took your throat in his hand, one arm slinked over your waist as he stimulated your clit and put his lips to your ear. Your legs were draped over his legs, your wet cunt completely exposed and your feet didn’t touch the ground. Your back to his chest. Head on his shoulder. 

He started to fuck up into you. Trying to find your sweet spot. “What’s your color?” You couldn’t answer. Your brain was dead. It felt so good that’s all you could focus on. “(Y/N) if you can’t answer I’ll have to stop because you’re not consenting. So if you really can’t speak, then tap me once for green, twice for yellow, and three times for red. Can you do that for me, Kitten?” You nod, you tapped his shoulder once. “Good Kitten.” That was the first time he praised you that night. 

“I’m practically fucking you dumb, aren’t I whore? You like the thought of one of my bandmates or even your best friend coming in here and seeing you being used. They should be home soon. Maybe we should give them a show?” He started going faster. “No, Daddy!” You cried. “Really? Because every time you get degraded and I talk like this you clench more around my dick.  So I think you might like it.” He said smugly. 

You were reaching your high. You got up the energy to speak. “Daddy, I’m c-c-clo-close may I please cum?” Desperation filled your voice. And this was the moment he started hammering into your sweet spot. Moans filled the living room. “You can cum, whore.” he said with cockiness in his voice. He loved this. He squeezed your throat tighter and thrusted at an inhuman pace. “F-f-uck-k” You moaned. The knot in your stomach appeared and let go in the matter of seconds. 

Even after your orgasm he chased his climax, which overstimulated you. Your eyes went into the back of your head. “Daddy’s gonna c-cum okay, Kitten?” His breath was rapid, “Yes! Please cum in me!” You begged. The hot load fed your pussy. He was biting on your shoulder to mark you one last time before this ended. 

Stars filled your vision and his.  And you both slumped over from exhaustion. Sweat dripping all over.  Both of your breathing labored. He planted small loving kisses on your marks. You mustered the energy to get up but your legs collapsed and you fell on the floor. 

“Such a mess, baby.” He said smiling before picking you up and laying you on the other end of the couch. You tried to talk but he shushed you. He left the living room to get a warm wet washcloth, a new t-shirt and a new pair of underwear from your suitcase. He cleaned himself up, turned the light off in the kitchen, and went back to tend to you. He wiped you down gently, and dressed you. He cleaned up your clothes and his. 

He sat down beside you. “(Y/N)? What was that?” He asked, talking about what you guys just did. He pulled you into his chest and laid you down with him on the couch, covering you both with a blanket. Your face on his chest, laying on top of him so you could hear his heartbeat, which was still a little erratic from your session. “I was curious what dom Hyunjin was like.” you answered with a weak chuckle. 

“Well, if you wanted to know you could have just asked!” He said. “This way was much more fun.” You said, he lightly hit you on the shoulder. He admired the marks he made on you. “You’re such a brat.” he said, smiling. You were asleep. He followed after, feeling each other's warmth. 

BONUS: 

The SKZ members came home at different times. All seeing you both laying on the couch together. Jeongin and Seungmin came home first at about 3:30 am, both stared wide eyed at you but they were too tired to do anything of value. Changbin and Han came home about 3:55 am, saw your neck and Changbin gave Han five bucks because they made a bet on if you two would sleep together. “I fucking KNEW it.” Han whisper-screamed but Changbin hushed him and shooed him towards the bedrooms. Chan came back at 4:10 am, and only thought, oh fuck wait until Felix gets home.

And finally Felix and Minho, walked in the door about 4:30 am. Let’s just say that Minho had to cover his mouth to keep him from killing Hyunjin and yelling profanities. “They’re sleeping, we’re exhausted, you can yell tomorrow!” He whisper-yelled at Felix. Who pouted and went to his bedroom.

AHHH I hope you liked it seeing as this is my first smut on this blog and I’ve been out of practice. I’m a bit rusty so I’m sorry if it’s not the best quality! Requests are open and I hope you have a great day <3 

The repost of any of my work is prohibited. All rights go to ghxsty-writer

[bangtan-madi]

Year of the Rabbit — Six: Flower

Pairing — Jungkook x Reader, Hoseok x Yoongi, Taehyung x Jimin

Tags — best friend!Jungkook, non-idol au, flower shop au, gym au, florist!MC, gym owner!Jungkook, brother!Namjoon, friends to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining

Genre — fluff, angst

Word Count — 2k

Summary — Blame it on the storm or the secret feelings or the snow-in, but one thing is for sure: a lot can happen to two best friends when they're confined to their stores overnight.

Warnings — language

Part — 6 / 7

Previous — Next

After the fireworks trickle off in numbers, you and Jungkook still remain cuddled under the blanket. The darkness and chill tempt you to stay this way forever. His arms wrapped around your center, your back pressed against his chest, his chin on your shoulder: it's given you an immense sense of comfort. All this, despite the smoke and exhaustion rolling over you.

Eventually, Jungkook pulls himself away from you, putting a little bit of space between you. Knowing what he's going to suggest before he opens his mouth, you let your eyes close and enjoy the last seconds of his closeness.

"It's gotta be after midnight," he whispers. "The fireworks have stopped. I still don't think it's safe to go home yet. Even though the storm has stopped, the snow is over a foot at least."

You give a non-committal noise, just enough to let him know you heard him.

The man behind you rubs the tops of your arms over the blanket still wrapped around you. "You're falling asleep, Flower. Maybe we should get you to sleep."

"Where the hell am I going to sleep in that supermarket?" you chuckle, finally opening your eyes as you turn on your heel to face him. "Or maybe we can freeze in the shop."

Jungkook rolls his eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "For once, can you just...not fight me? Too much to ask?"

You give a single, firm nod. "Yep!"

"Well...too bad."

"Not gonna ha—Hey! What are you doing?"

Instead of standing there and arguing, Jungkook sweeps an arm under your knees, placing the other behind you. Knocking you off your feet, you settle easily into his arms, and he slides you around so that you're slumped against his back. An arm under each of your thighs, yours instinctively circle his neck.

"I'm tired, and I'm even more tired of fighting you," he huffs, already trudging towards the attic door. "Even if I have to tie you up, we're going to sleep. Got it?"

You snicker at his hyperbole and rest your cheek against his mid-back. "Kinky."

"Really?"

"Yes. And did you seriously call me 'Flower' just a minute ago?"

Jungkook's shoulders shrug under your weight, and he's careful to take one step at a time as he descends down the ladder into the supermarket supply closet. "What if I did? Do you not like it?"

Your arms tighten around his neck. As you shake your head, your cheek rubs against the hem of his jacket. "I like it...a lot, actually."

Your best friend doesn't try to hide his amusement as he hikes you up further on his back, fingers gripping your jean-covered thighs. "Add that one to the pet-name collection, then."

Once you're back in the supermarket, Jungkook walks quietly towards the area where you were before. The sofa with propped pillows and throw blankets is a welcome sight, as is the view of the snowy streets through the storefront. He's quick to settle you both down on the cushions, keeping you close to him as he rests you both on your sides.

"We're cold and tired and here overnight," he murmurs, burying his face into the crook of your neck, arms winding around your midsection. "Just get some sleep."

Forcing the butterflies down, you circle your arms around his shoulders and back, cradling him to your chest. Jungkook breathes a sigh of relief, nuzzles further into you, and moments later, he's out like a light.

It takes you a little longer to fall asleep, but the warmth of the night and of the person lying next to you eventually lulls you into dreamland. 

You dream of the feelings you won't say.

When you awaken a few hours later, the first light of daybreak is slowly starting to stream across the horizon, through the buildings, and onto your face. Eyes narrowed at the minimal light, you stir and hide your face in the fluffy thing nearest your face. A blanket, a pillow, who knows. Groaning to yourself, you move your arms, anticipating Jungkook to be next to you. The space is empty, and it prompts you to peek one eye open.

Jungkook isn't anywhere to be seen. Not on the sofa next to you, nor on the sitting area where you ate dinner. Looking over your shoulder, you don't see him anywhere in the near vicinity.

As you pull yourself up into a seated position, your phone illuminates. Your gaze flickers to it, and you see your partners' names on his new messages. Out of curiosity, you pick up the device. A sense of relief floods through you; your connection must have been restored while you were sleeping.

But when you read the messages on the screen, it's clear that this phone is not yours. It's Jungkook's. However, you were not mistaken on the identities of the messengers; Yoongi and Hoseok's names are as clear as day.

The latter's reply is connected to a message Jungkook sent about an hour ago, that much you can tell even from the home screen. His original message reads, "If I tell [Y/n], if I'm honest, I'll lose my best friend. For sure. One-hundred percent. Every conversation I play over in my head, they always end the same damn way. I lose her."

Hoseok's reply is simple. "You can't let that stop you, Jungkook-ah. You deserve to be happy. It may take time, but she will come around."

Yoongi agrees, "It may surprise her, but I guarantee you won't lose your best friend. Things will change, but it's bound to happen eventually."

A thousand thoughts and emotions flicker across your mind as you reread those words. Despite having little context, your heart hurts at the sentiment in your best friend's concern. I'll lose my best friend. For sure. One-hundred percent. What could be so horrible about this person that he's in love with that it would cause him to lose you? What about them would make your long friendship come to an end? What could possibly come above the love and connection and history you have together?

As the minute ticks by, and the sunlight pours over the buildings with greater strength, your heartbeat quickens and your palms sweat. The ball of nerves in your stomach grows deeper and darker with each moment, and you feel as if you might be sick. Jungkook has been your longest companion; he's the one true thing that you've always relied on. Never in a million years did you think any event, any argument, or any lover could come between you and him.

But could you be wrong about that? Have you overestimated the love you have for each other? Surely he knows how much you do...even if you have kept the nature of that shifting love a secret.

Was that also a mistake?

Jungkook appears from the storage closet, in his grasp are several breakfast bars and bottled cold brew. He smiles brightly at you, but as he sees your expression, it falls away. "Hey, are you okay? I brought breakfast..."

Clearing your throat, you avert your eyes and push his phone off your lap. "I saw a couple of texts by accident, sorry."

"From who?"

"Yoongi and Hoseok."

Your best friend visibly swallows, then sets down the breakfast goodies on the end of the sofa. You gnaw on your lower lip with anxiety, and he takes a cross-armed position in front of you.

"I didn't mean to," you defend softly. "I had just woken up, saw the names, thought it was my phone. Didn't read any but the new ones." As he remains silent, you turn your gaze upwards, gathering the courage to ask once again. However, this time the question feels heavier. "Who is she?"

Jungkook is hesitant to show any form of emotion, give anything away, on his face. "She?"

"The girl you love. Or is it not a girl...is that why you're so standoff-ish? Is that why you're so certain you'll lose me?"

He lets out a soft, breathy chuckle, shaking his head. "No, that's not it."

"Then who is she? Who is she that she will come between us and end our friendship?" Jungkook begins to look visibly uncomfortable; he's running a hand through his wavy hair, clenching his jaw, shuffling where he stands as if he wants to run. "I—I'm not trying to give you an ultimatum, Bunny. I'd never do that, ask you to choose between me and someone else, but we've been friends for so fucking long. To throw all that away...what are you so scared of?"

He closes his eyes, heaving a sound of frustration. "It's not like that. It's not what you think. You only read a couple texts, out of context. That's not the entire conversation."

You perch up on your knees, giving yourself a bit more height on the sofa, and reach for his hand. "Then explain it to me, Kookie." Your fingers graze his, barely touching tip to tip. "Don't leave me in the dark."

After a moment of silence, Jungkook pulls his hand back. "Nothing's going to change, [Y/n]. You gotta trust me on this."

The pit of anxiety in your stomach begins to grow at his hollow words. "But you told Yoongi and Ho—"

"—That every conversation ends with me losing my best friend?" he finishes, and you nod once. Jungkook bites the inside of his cheek. "That's because once you know...you're going to feel differently about me. And I don't know if I'm ready for that."

"You know me better than that," you assure, voice strengthening with resolve. "I'm not going to cut you off because of who you love."

"You don't know that."

You attempt to keep your expression and tone calm and tender, but his concern is sharp and deep, going to the foundation of your care. "I do! What kind of friend do you take me for?"

Jungkook's brown eyes meet yours, and his gaze shifts back and forth between them, as if trying to find any fault with your truth. You don't waiver; you hold his line of sight until he breaks it, looking past you, towards the snow piled up outside.

"Okay," he breathes, voice barely a whisper, barely held together in its shakiness. He scoops up his cellphone. "Fine. You want me to call her? I will."

Taken back by his words, you blink in surprise as he quickly dials a number by memory. Your chest tightens with guilt, and you start to say, "Kookie, you don't have to—"

"—No, I want to. You...You deserve to know. It's been a long time coming, and I—I need to get this off my chest." His fingers hover over the dial button. “Might change things...Aish, who cares. Here goes nothing."

The moment he selects the number and raises the device to his ear, the device in your pocket begins to vibrate. Jungkook's signature ringtone gets louder as the seconds pass; a lofi version of "Yellow" begins to play. For the first few seconds, you stare blankly at the boy in front of you. His chocolate eyes flicker back and forth between yours, waiting with bated breath for your reaction. In those moments, an inhale turns into a shaky exhale.

And then it clicks into place.

You fish your phone from your pocket as quickly as you can, only having to glance at the screen for half a second to see Jungkook's name flashing against the white background.

Taglist — @kooala​

[fictional-thoughts]

Okay okay but Din blindfolding you and restraining you so that you can’t see or touch him, you can only feel him. He’d be able to take his helmet off, all you’d be able to feel is his lips and fingers trailing over your skin, you arching your back trying to chase his touch. Him teasing you that you’re so needy, degrading you but doing it so endearingly. Him going down on you and edging you over and over but not letting you cum. “Ah ah.. not yet little one.”

He’d be so rough and yet cautious; so degrading and yet incredibly attentive. Knowing exactly how far to push, knowing just how to read your body, your expression, your voice. And he’d make it seem like he’s done it a thousand times over, like you’re another weapon to master. He’d have you wrapped around his little finger begging for more. And he’d know it. Fuck, he’d know it alright. “You’re a filthy little slut for me, aren’t you? Look at you, I bet your pretty cunt is soaked already, hm? What a dirty girl.”

Making you keep quiet when you’re being too noisy. He’d be so handsy, gripping your hips and your thighs and your ass, digging his fingers into the plump flesh, spanking you, kneading the skin afterwards before spanking you again. Trailing his fingers over your trembling body, then surprising you with a slap to your clit. Teasing your nipples, pinching them, grabbing at the flesh. Chuckling at your reactions, reminding you to keep quiet. “I thought I told you, slut. Shut the fuck up.” You’d whimper at his words, but get inevitably wetter. “You want something, baby?” You’d keen at his words, whimpering and nodding. “That’s too bad. You’ll take whatever I give you, slut. You don’t have a choice.” And you would. You’d take it all. You’d drown in his voice and his touch and god- you wish you could see his eyes. Something about only ever seeing the blank expression of his helmet was so.. sexy. Not knowing what he looked like, yet there you were. Messy and wet and panting like a bitch in heat for a man whose face you’d never had the pleasure of seeing. And even though you’d never seen his face, you could still read how he was feeling from his moans, his hushed and shaky breaths, the way he’d tilt his head and watch you.

His strength too, just picture him, still in full armour from the waist up, picking you up like you’re nothing, you wrapping your legs around his waist and having him fuck you like that. One of his hands cupping your ass to hold you steady, the other gripping your throat. Squeezing to test the waters and making your spin, while he’s thrusting deep into you. “My good little slut. That’s what you are, hm?” Tears of pleasure spilling over your hot cheeks, you’d nod and cry out over and over. Eventually he’d release your throat, using the free hand to swipe clear a worktop and sit you there. Still fucking you deep and sweetly. The hand holding your ass would trail towards your clit, his other hand going back to your throat. Your hands would try to find purchase on the worktop to keep yourself propped up, your heart racing as he slowly rubs teasing circles into your clit. You’d arch your back and sob at the pleasure, chancing one of your hands free, bringing your fingertips to your mouth to wet them, you pinch and twirl your nipples. The sight only makes him fuck you harder, faster, more insistent and intentive. He begins to rub faster circles on your clit, you can feel the coil burning in the pit of your stomach and you’re gasping for air, shaking and so so close. The deliciously smooth voice would come from under his helmet. “You gonna be a good girl and cum for me?” You’d nod, feeling like you could explode. “Yes, god yes. Fuck.” You’d manage between gasps and messy breaths. He’d slap your clit again. “I thought I told you. To shut the fuck up.” More tears would spill down your pretty cheeks as you felt right on the edge. In a second he had you laying flat on your back, fingers still wrapped around your throat and his other hand playing with your clit. “Fuck. I’m close.” He’d groan and fuck you impossibly deeper. “I’m gonna cum inside you, fuck, let me cum inside you.” You could only nod and wrap your legs even tighter around him, holding him so he has no choice but to fill you, both your hands now working on your nipples. He’d growl at your actions. “Good girl. Now cum for me, slut.” Just as his words fell you felt your high finally overcome you. Your back arched against him as your cunt twitched and squeezed him tight, your vision blurring with pleasure, still pinned down my his fingers tight around your throat. Seeing your fucked out expression, he released your neck and planted both hands on your hips, fucking into you with a primal urgency now, you could hear his breaths getting heavier, his moans growing louder and needier. Soon his thrusts became sloppier and messier. You whispered to him, “cum for me, please, please cum inside me..” and that would be all he needed before he thrusted as deep as he could, his head thrown back as he came in hard bursts. You could feel his cock twitching as he did so. Then he’d stay that way for a while, collapsed on top of you with his slowly softening cock still inside you. Until round two came, of course.

~not anon bcus I have no shame for how damn attracted I am to this man and how hoT I am for him goddAMN IM SORRY I was meant to write little ideas and my horny brain said nah write a fucking one shot skskskks

[storiesbyl1ck]

The Forest

Before you read the beginning of this Story, I would like to say a few words. This book, was started 3 years ago from a short story competition between some of my friends. The Story was short but I fell in love with the idea of the story. It has been my pride and joy over the past few years, as I have added chapters, rewritten many pages over and over until I liked it. To do this day I have not finished the book. I hate endings, also I am very bad at sticking to one project and with my constant push for a new story this one fell behind the stove. I would like to hear your honest opinion on this first chapter and maybe I will finish it, because god do I love this book. (If I finish it, the rest will be publish on amazon or somewhere) Thank you for reading this short passage, if you did. 

(if there are any errors, I am sorry) 

Chapter 1: Beginning

She wasn’t going to listen to her parents. Her mindless fun in the rain muffled the distressed screams of her father to come back inside. She hopped between the puddles that collected throughout the grass in their yard. As her feet impacted the water tension, she imitated a landing sound of something much larger than her, ‘boom’. She saw herself as a giant. Her imagination took over her mindful thoughts, often leaving her in between the boundary of real life and her mind. It was what her dad called a terrible blessing. She did not want to wear a raincoat, to her, there was no reason to play in the rain if she wasn’t going to get wet. She wanted to feel the water. She stopped and held her arms out on both sides. Her head facing the sky, letting the rainfall swallow her. Her dad gave up trying to get her to come back in. He closed the front door with agitation.

“She is going to catch a cold!” His voice was raised, the sound of irritation lingered in his words. Her mom was in the kitchen stirring up a warm stew, for the cold day. She let out a small chuckle.

“She’ll be fine, I mean look at how much fun she’s having!” He looked through the window to see his daughter laughing and screaming. His anger fell from his face to reveal a small smirk. 

“Well she has to come in soon, it is getting late!” He kissed his wife and began to help her cut carrots for the stew.

She ran through the backyard, back and forth between the patches of dampening grass. It made her feel like she was flying. Especially when she looked up toward the sky. The rain was getting heavier, the intense fall of water had made sight almost a useless sense. But she continued to blindly run around. Laughing and giggling. 

‘Darling... come in now!’ the voice cut through the booming rainfall. She stopped frolicking to hear the off-tone voice of her mother. ‘This way Love!’ She followed the powerful words through the rain. It now sounded like the words were coming from everywhere, no origin of the voice. She looked around through the wall of water that surrounded her. Spinning in circles trying to find her mother. 

‘We are here darling!’ She stopped spinning with her heel, digging it into the mud. Her eyes stared down a passage through the water, it had split open. A clear sight of an opening into the forest. The ground through this split was dry, like it had never been raining.

‘Come on darling I won’t ask again!’ The voice of her mother was coming from inside the entwined trees. Her curiosity spiked, outweighing the foreboding feeling found in the pit of her stomach. She slowly walked down the path through the rain. Holding her hands together, close to her mouth. The rain began to undo the path she had already walked on, closing in behind her with every step. She paused when her feet had touched a crisp press of dead leaves. ‘Come into the trees darling!’ She stood upon the woods at the end of her yard, the towering tree seemed to almost bend over her head. Her attention was taken back from the trees to the voice. 

‘Come on Darling!!!’ Her feet seemed to move on their own as she pushed forward into the ominous forest. A thick fog began to roll in from all directions moving like waves at a beach. It was like smoke, it had an indescribable smell, a smell of horrific flavors. Her curiosity was very quickly replaced with a powerful fear of her surroundings. Her soul-shaking in her own skin. She spun around ready to run back, but it all looked the same now. Her house was no longer in view. She was surrounded by a maze of leaves and branches. This was now a game. 

‘We are the only ones who love you…’ Tears fell from her cheeks landing on the forest floor.

‘Don’t cry, you are safe with us…’ 

“Where is she, it’s almost 9!” Her father was looking out every window of the house, trying to spot his daughter. 

“She is probably playing in the woods honey don’t worry.” The mom finished setting the table for dinner. “If you want, I can go look for her?” “You are getting in this huge mess and you have work tomorrow you need your sleep.” The exhaustion in his eyes showed itself very clearly. But the worried father showed, even more, it was just that look. Her mom smiled with open arms, ready to give a hug of comfort. Her arms wrapped around him as he sighed.

“She never listens…”

“You know her, she always lost in her own head.” She pushed away to see his face and gave him a gleaming smile. “Kind of like you.” She painted a kiss with her lips onto his cheek. “I’ll go find her, you go to sleep.” She got her raincoat and boots as he walked upstairs and climbed into bed. He looked out the window of their bedroom and saw his wife running into the forest with a flood lamp. As she neared the forest the only thing that gave off her location was the light. The light then disappeared into the thick brush and rain. But his mind was in and out of consciousness and his worried feelings drifted above his head. He walked to the comforting sheets and fell asleep within seconds, not hearing the screaming that echoed throughout the rain. 

‘They love us more….’

The voice rang in his head, awakening him in a sweat. His body was twitching from his pounding heart. He couldn’t catch his breath fast enough to scream, He jolted his head to where his wife usually laid. It was empty. He hopped out of bed and ran down the hall to his daughter's room. Dark, the bed was still neatly made the way she left if the morning before. His terrorized self slipped down the stairs, he swung the front door open and stood at the edge of his porch “EVAAAA...ELLIE!” He cupped his hands around his mouth trying to have his word carrying farther through the rain. It had calmed down, but still muffled his cries. After trying once more he ran into the rain and tried again,

“EVA…...ELLIE!” Nothing but the sound of the trees blowing in the wind. He searched the yard for anything that may resemble his family. The Flood lamp shined through the storm, bouncing off the hazed air. His feet could not move faster to the light. A relief pushed him to run faster towards the only hope of his wife and daughter being back in his arms. As he neared the lamp his composure slipped away with the raindrops. The lamp lay on the edge of his yard. The lamp teased the darkness with his collapsing mentality as it began to flicker in and out. Within moments he was engulfed in the midnight atmosphere. Identical to his overwhelming flush of tormenting grief. He collapsed to the wet grass underneath his feet - resting on his knees, his head fell below his shoulders. His attention began to grow inward, towards the emotional desolation and less on the physical world that was surrounding him with torment. 

“They belong to us…”

Voices began to ripple in his thoughts. Till one stood out from the rest:

“DADDY!”

He stood up with determination, the distressed voice drove him into the dark wooded lands, blind. He followed the echoes of his daughter's pleads.

“DADDY PLEASE HELP ME!”

He held his hands out ahead of his steps. He found himself in an opening, a small circular field, surrounded by sturdy oak and evergreens. A dark stump centered in the middle of the plain. A red glow resonated from the top of the remains of a once-great tree. A hushed mumbling surrounded the stub, an incoherent chant. It sounded like it was repeating the same syllables but it was not any language he had heard. His curiosity grew beyond the stump, where a motionless shadow stood. 

“Ellie!?” He pierced his throat with his dry voice, trying to yell over the raindrops. The shadow moved slightly, its head turned to face Forrus. Nothing was describable but its eyes. Headlights filled with anger, the crimson color of its oval eyes impaled his mind. A wave of panic tossed him to the ground. A loud screech came from the creature before it jumped over the treeline. 

“What the fuck…” He laid on his back, his head processing the event.

“Wake up, WAKE UP FORRUS!” he spun around and began hitting his head on the ground. 

“Daddy?” He turned to see his daughter standing behind him.

“Oh my god, Eva… I thought I lost you.” Forrus spoke between quick breathes and tears. 

“You did Daddy…Help me...” Forrus stared at Eva as she slowly faded into the rain. He grabbed for her, but she was gone. 

...

“I TOLD YOU… I DON’T KNOW ANYTHING!” “ALL I KNOW IS THEY ARE OUT THERE LOST, NOW ARE YOUR MEN GOING TO DO THERE JOB AND FIND MY FAMILY!!!” Forrus wanted to believe it was a simple nightmare, but his love, his daughter were still gone. 

 “Sir, we just need to know why you were in the forest. With no sighting of your wife or daughter, the only person on the scene was you.”

“Who...Called you guys?” Forrus’s head was leaning onto his left shoulder. As his neck was incapable of holding all the images in his now broken mind. The two officers looked to each other then back to Forrus. 

“Uh… you did sir.” Forrus looked up to them, confused. “Sir we are not saying you had anything to do with their disappearance, but…” The officer cleared her throat, “That’s what it kind of looks like.”

(Forrus was taken to court for the disappearance of Eva and Ellie, but with lack of evidence He was proven to be guilty and set free. But the image of Forrus being a murderer stuck to everyone. He was outcasted by neighbors and became isolated from the world outside the woods.)

[justimagineitblog]

“You Used To Love Me” Michael Gray Fan Fiction - Chapter 9

A/N: alright everyone here is some smut as requested ahahaha 

Please enjoy and don’t get to flustered ;) 

We are heading into the final Chapter’s now - so buckle in because anything could happen and it might not be what you expect !! 

I gasp as my back and head crash up against the wall behind us, breaking our kiss.

“Shit, sorry” Charlie breathes as we both burst into a chuckle, grinning against each other lips.

Charlie and I had been kissing and undressing one another with such haste and desperation that we had completely lost all awareness of our surroundings in my apartment. We had barely even been able to control ourselves in the whole car ride home, and were basically half undressed by the time we burst through my front door.

He takes my face in his hands, giving me a smile just as gentle as his touch. He gazes down a me lovingly as he lowers his head, his lips meeting mine in a tender kiss.

But it’s not long before we’re back to ravaging one another. Each kiss is hotter, fiercer, rougher than the next. I want to kiss him tenderly. To go slow. This is first man I’ve slept with since Michael. But I just can’t help myself. The way his hands feel as they run along every inch of my body, his lips as they work along my jawline and the skin below my ear. I would let him tear this goddamn dress of and have me up against the wall here. And I know he can feel it to. Without breaking our kiss, I lead us down the hall into my bedroom.

Immediately we work at the rest of our clothing. Our kisses become messy and hasty as I wrestle with his coat, every few moments one of us chuckling at how wild we’re behaving. We’re like animals. Like teenagers. So eager and desperate we’re basically tripping over ourselves.

His coat his thrown somewhere to the side, and I work at his buttons as he practically rip his tie from around his neck.

The room is filled with heavy panting as we try to regain what little breath we can. My heart rate speeds up, skipping several beats as each button that I undo exposes the skin beneath. Maybe it’s the moonlight through the window, the alcohol, or the high that I’m on, but the sight of his body gives me shivers. He looks like something out of a goddamn movie. Each and every toned muscle looks like it was carved from expensive stone. His chest is broad and strong, and I watch it rise and fall heavily.

Feeling his hands on my thighs brings me back to reality, as they trail up my sides and land at my waist, leaving a wake of goosebumps in their path.

“Turn around” he coos in my ear, as he rotates me until my back is facing him.

His long, slender fingers fight with the buttons on my dress, and it doesn’t take long for his lips to find my skin again. They’re wet and warm as he plants tiny kisses along my shoulder, up my neck, finally landing at my jaw. I can’t stop my head from falling back as he nibbles at my sensitive skin.

I feel the last button give way and the fabric slip down over my bodice, exposing my breasts. His fingers hook onto the dress and drag it down the rest of the way until I’m left in nothing but my lace underwear, that barely cover anything anyway. I turn back to face him, pressing my bare chest up against his as we reconnect, our lips colliding once more. His hands grab at my thighs, and I follow his lead as he lifts me up, my legs wrapping around his waist.

Walking us over to the bed, he lays me down slowly. When he steps back, I watch as he takes a long hard breath as his eyes fall over my naked body.

“Jesus” he hisses under his breath as though I wasn’t meant to hear it.

He wastes no time, meeting me on the bed again. But he doesn’t bother kissing my lips. With his body hovering over mine, he plants his lips on my chest and begins to trail down.

My back arches immediately at the sensation, and I can feel his lips smirk as they get lower and lower. He slides a hand to my back, supporting me as he reaches my stomach. Each kiss feels painfully slow as he gets closer and closer to my heat, which is dying for some kind of touch, some kind of friction. I bite down on my lip, hard, as he places one cruel kiss over the top of my panties. My breath hitches as I all but jerk my hips against his mouth. He chuckles, and the humming of his low voice sends a tsunami of hot shivers up my spine.

I can’t help but chuckle myself, otherwise the intensity of this moment would be all to much. He stands up, leaving me panting and covered in goosebumps, before reaching down and hooking his fingers into the lace of my panties. He looks up at me once, waiting eagerly for reassurance to go ahead. But both of us know there’s no stopping now. There’s no way in hell I could stop now. One nod of consent is all it takes for him to glide the panties down over my ass and thighs, all the way down to my ankles until he throws them across the room. He crawls back towards me, and I don’t even hesitate to widen my legs, making room for him in-between them.

The pit of my stomach does a million back flips as I watch him stop, lowering himself above my crotch. His lips aren’t even on my heat yet, but just feeling his hot breath drives me wild. He places one kiss on each hip bone, cruel and slow. I can’t help myself from writhing and twitching beneath his, my body begging for him.

The second he plunges between my legs, his mouth and tongue making love to my heat, I almost come undone instantly. My back arches immediately, and as my mouth falls wide open with a gasp, I can’t help a whimpering moan from tumbling out. He works his tongue meticulously, rhythmically, each long stroke more ferocious than the next.

I almost expect myself to completely unravel right then and there. In a matter of minutes he has made me virtually melt beneath him. But when he senses my breaths quickening, as I close in on my climax, he pulls away. I don’t even have time to comprehend what he is doing before his lips suddenly crash with mine. The kiss is sloppy and heavy as he also tries to regain his breath.

When he pulls away I open my eyes to find him kneeling between my legs, ready to enter. With one hand around his member and the other gripping my waist firmly, he pressed his tip right up against me.

“Fuck” I hiss, my teeth biting down so hard on my bottom lip I’m sure that I’m going to give myself a bruise. As he enters, my breath hitches as I move around his size. Both of our breaths hitch, as he moves inside of me slowly until he has filled me up completely. I hear him cuss under his breath as my tight walls clench around him. Hovering over me, he begins to thrust, stroking his hips with the same rhythm and pace he used with his tongue. My hands immediately grab at his back, desperate for something to cling onto to prevent myself from finishing on the spot.

He gets faster, picking up the pace with each thrust. Each one harder than the next. He busies his mouth, biting at my neck and shoulder, leaving a trail of marks all over my skin. His hips grind, reaching places inside of me that I have never felt before. I can’t even control myself from moaning so loudly that I’m sure the neighbours are getting an ear full.

Just when I think that my body is feeling electric enough, Charlie reaches down towards my heat. My back arches violently as he begins rubbing me.

“Charlie” I whimper, followed by a stream of curse words that are barely coherent. His lips meet with mine, as he kisses me deeply. I claw at his back, and I can only imagine the damage that I’m doing, leaving scratch marks all up and down that beautiful body. As we kiss, I bite down on his lip. Something about this sends him wild, and he moans against my lips. His breathing becomes faster, heavier as do his thrusts. His hand rubs me so harshly that if I wasn’t in so much pleasure I would be in pain.

Unable to hold our kiss anymore my head falls back, my mouth gaping wide open as the pit in my stomach grows larger and larger. In that moment, everything comes together, it’s all so much that I can’t control myself anymore. His hand on my heat, his member inside me hitting that one spot that drives me insane. I feel myself tighten up, my entire body clenching as I reach my high. All I can do is scream, holding onto him so tightly I would be surprised if I hadn’t drawn blood. Almost simultaneously I hear him reach his climax, as his thrusts begin to grow sloppier, his hips bucking into me desperately. His heavy panting pauses for a brief moment, right before he releases, before it is replaces with a mixture of moans and curse words.

My whole body is pounding. My head, my heart, my heat. All of them throbbing and aching with so much euphoria that it hurts.

Both of us are silent as we come down of our highs, the only sound filling the room is our heavy breathing as we try to pull ourselves together. Still inside of me, his head is resting on my shoulder, and I feel him place tiny kisses along my collar bone. We kiss, lazy and gentle as we both come back to our surroundings and ride out the high. Finally feeling some what coherent and back to planet earth, both of our eyes meet as we gaze at each other, possibly in shock as to what just happened. Completely baffled and shocked, we both start to chuckle, unable to control ourselves. We’ve got so much adrenaline coursing through our veins right now we’re basically delirious.

“Holy shit” I breathe, only causing him to laugh even more. Realising I’m still holding onto his back, I loosen my grip “Did I hurt you?”

“Who fucking cares” He shakes his head with a smirk, giving me a quick peck.

With that we both burst into laughter, and he rolls of me, joining me on his back beside me. Turning to face each other, we just gaze and swim in each others eyes. Possibly both in disbelief at what just happened. How electric everything feels between us. I know I am. He reaches out to me, pulling my closer to him until our noses are brushing.

“You’re so beautiful” he says in barely even a whisper, words for just me to know. I close my eyes as he kisses my face, leaving little pecks all across my cheeks and nose.

“Will you stay, tomorrow” I blurt out suddenly, then back track, trying to figure out what just came over me “I just don’t want you to think you have to run off, you don’t have to”

He stares at me for a moment before a grin grows across his face “I want to”.

ONE MONTH LATER

“Okay I’ve got to run,” Charlie jogs over to me, leaning down to peck my lips before he rushes out the front door for work. I smile after him as he leaves. I miss him when he’s gone, even though we’ve only been together for a month.

You see he did stay. Charlie stayed that night and he was there the next morning. And then… he stayed every day after that. And I don’t want him to leave. Something happened between Charlie and I, something deeper. We have a connection that surprised even the both of us. When he looks at me, it’s like he see’s right through to the heart of me. Like he gets me. And I get him. He is brilliant. Warm. Kind. Selfless. He looks at me like I hung the stars in the sky.

I had told Tommy first. Nervously, of course. Who then went with me when I told Polly. Polly was ecstatic. I hadn’t’t expected her to be. No. I had thought maybe she was disappointed that I wasn’t with her son. But she had wrapped me up in her arms, held me tight, and told me she just wanted me to be happy. No matter who that was with. Tommy had said he knew something was different. That I looked different. Acted different. Polly had told him that thats what happens when someone loves you. You see the whole world differently.

When Michael had found out, it just in some passing conversation at Dinner with the Shelby’s after a long work day. I had tried desperately to keep it from him. And part of me desperately wanted to rub it in his goddamn face. But I couldn’t. Gina was there, when Michael found out that I had moved on. And I watched him squirm, his skin crawling as he had to hide and swallow his rage and jealousy. I remember the way the grip on his glass tightened as he skulled his drink. Gina, however, couldn’t have looked more thrilled. If I’m taken, that that means she can take me off her radar. She doesn’t have to constantly worry about Michael and I anymore. She had congratulated me. Actually, it was the nicest and happiest I’ve ever seen her.  

Realising the time I rush to get ready for my own day. Charlie and I had slept in this morning, complaining about how it was to cold to move, and we should just stay in bed forever. I also try to push the fact out of my mind that today Michael and I have to go on a work trip together for a few hours. Since Michael found out about Charlie and I, he has barely looked at me. In fact I think in one whole month the only words we’ve muttered to each other are ‘yes’, ‘no’, ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’.

When I burst into the office, about 10 minutes late, Michael is waiting with a briefcase in hand, ready to go.

“Sorry, I’m late” I apologise as he walks out past me, heading to the car. Good morning to you to.

Rolling my eyes I gather the paperwork I need in a fluster before heading out after him.

The car ride is practically silent as he drives, and I can’t help but notice how tightly his knuckles are gripped on the steering wheel. I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t want to have any grand conversations. Since Charlie has been in my life, I have realised how goddamn blind I was being, letting Michael string me along and dictate my every emotion. But we can’t live like this.

“Cold these days” I say in a poor attempt at small talk. I know Michael well. And I know he hates small talk. So do I. When we were together we used make eyes at each other in mutual understanding and irritation when someone was trying to make small talk. Now, we are those people.

“Sure is” He nods as he stares straight ahead, not taking his eyes off the road.

I kick myself, feeling stupid for even bothering. Why on earth do you even give this guy the time of day. Why do you even try? He’s the one who should be trying.

The next 3 hours are painfully long and slow, as we go from meeting to meeting with business partners, discussing deals, partnerships and money. We only speak to one another when absolutely necessary, and try to put on our best  act, pretending like there’s no troubles in paradise. We would be absolute fools if we let this ruin a business deal. Michael knows it too.

But the meetings only last for so long, and then we’re back in the car for another hour long drive home. Since Michael returned there have been some horrible, awkward silences. But this one is by far the worst. It’s stifling. Heavy. Thick. It’s palpable. You could cut the tension with a knife and then hold it in your hands.

The relief of driving back into our town and knowing in a few minutes I will be out of this goddamn car and on my way home is overwhelming, and I’m half tempted to jump out and walk the rest of the way home.

When we pull up, I expect some chatter about how the day went. Maybe a ‘good work’ or something. Anything. But instead, he turns of the engine, gathers his briefcase and gets out without even so much as a glance in my direction. I’m not sure what comes over me. Because I shouldn’t care. I adore Charlie. He is the god send that I never knew I needed. But Michael is acting just as bratty as sulky as his lovely wife Gina.

I shove my car door open, calling his name as I chase after him. I shouldn’t do this. I should just let him be bitter and jealous and angry. He made his bed he can’t lay in it, right? He pauses in his tracks, turning back to me reluctancy.

“We can’t do this anymore” I stress to him, and he hangs his head momentarily before looking back up at me.

“We are never going to be on good terms… Okay. But whatever you’re doing, it’s fucking ridiculous. If you have something to say to me Michael, then just say it!”

His eyes are wide, panic setting in as I call him out. He can’t hide from this anymore. But I’m not finished yet. It’s like I turned on a tap that has been jammed for years, and now all my words won’t stop flowing out like gushing water.

“Is it Charlie? Is it the fact that I have moved on? Because you left me, Michael. You left me for another woman. So I am sorry for trying to put myself first. I gave you so much time to speak up and you never did Michael. So I’m sorry if you can’t stand to see me with another man, but I can’t wait for someone who doesn’t even love me anymore. Okay. I’m sorry”

My words cut him like a knife as I watch his stomach drop. Breathing heavily after finally saying some things that maybe should have been left unsaid, we both stand in the street staring at each other.

He fiddles with his brief case for a moment, before shaking his head “You’re not the one who was anything to be sorry for”

His words are still sinking in as he turns away and walks back to the office, leaving me completely dumb founded in the street.

A stream of swear words race across my mind and I have to fight to not let them fly out of my mouth. He can’t do this. He can’t do this to me. I am so tired of this. His cryptic words. And I have a feeling I just made everything worse. Why didn’t I just keep my mouth shut. Let him be silent if he wanted to. Sighing, I hold my papers tight to my chest. I don’t even bother going into the office. I turn and take myself straight home.

I count my lucky stars that when I return home, I’m met with Charlie’s open arms. I melt into them, and he holds me a little tighter when he notices that something isn’t right.

“You alright?” He asks as he squeezes me even tighter.

He doesn’t know about Michael. I never told him. I wanted it to be a fresh start with Charlie. And I didn’t want him to feel intimidated knowing that I work with Michael still.

“Just a long day”

I’m not technically lying. Today felt like the hours stretched out into weeks. It was torture. He know’s I’m not telling the full story, but he doesn’t push. He just holds me, kissing my forehead. We cook dinner together, laughing and swaying to the radio as we do. Everything from the day just floats away. He doesn’t even realise what he does for me. Weeks ago, Michael would have been my every thought. What happened between us today would have consumed me. Left me a nervous wreck.

Charlie brings me out of that. Brings me out of my head, out of the past, and into the present. I don’t know where he came from or who sent him to me. But every day I feel like Michael moves further out of my mind, as Charlie takes up more of the spaces. He comes in and fills up all the emptiness and patches up all of the damage.

I watch him with a beaming smile as he paces around the kitchen, cooking our dinner.

Am I in love with Charlie? I don’t know. But all I know is that I thought I would be stuck on Michael forever. Caught up in this cycle of whether he will come around or not. But now, just maybe, I’m starting to break away from that.

TAGLIST 

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[kyber-kisses]

I, Alone

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: cursing, canon level gore, character death. . . angst.

Summary: when a simple hunt goes terribly wrong, y/n is the only person who can attempt to fix it. . .but at what cost?

A/n: had this idea rolling around for the past few days, if it gets enough likes I’ll write a six part story for it! Hope y’all enjoy and feedback is appreciated! I was also listening to Ashes by Claire Guerreso so if you really wanna vibe with this fic. . .

Pacing back and forth across the old frayed carpet of the run down motel you gnawed almost mindlessly are your nails, eyes darting across the darkened room to the two motel beds. The silhouettes of two bodies making your stomach churn. Your tears had long since dried on your cheeks, your energy drained to almost nothing.

It was never supposed to go like this.

It was supposed to be a simple hunt. Three hunters against a couple spirits. No big deal. Ghosts where practically a milk run case at this point in your career. . . So why did it end the way that it had?

You had to think of something. Anything to fix what had happened.

You paused your pacing at the foot of the nearest bed, eyes falling over the now cold corpse of one Dean Winchester. Through the darkness you could still easily make out the massive tears in his shirt, now darkened with drying blood. A few feet away his brother lay in a similar position, chest still and unmoving.

You wanted to cry, scream, anything to release all the emotions bubbling up inside you, but you remained stoic, too tired to even attempt a lone shriek.

They were gone. The closest thing you ever had gotten to a family now lay lifeless and cold on faded cotton sheets. Hazel and green eyes now permanently shut to this earthly plane-

No. No- quickly shaking the thoughts from your head you ran a bloody hand through your hair, sinking to the balls of your feet between the two mattresses.

“Please forgive me.” You whispered, popping back up on your heels and reaching for the impalas keys.

You had one card left to play, and damn if you weren’t going to use it.

*. *. *. *. *. *.

Emotions were an annoying thing.

They always found a way of weaseling through the cracks in the walls you put up to keep yourself steady. They gnaw at your insides and make you lose control of what little you did have reined in. But right now you were trying harder than ever to force them back down your gullet.

This was for the best. . . Even if it meant giving up your days to make sure they had some left. 

The countryside lay dark and quiet as you walked across the ground, boots crunching against gravel while you shifted the small box in your arms. The air was thick with the scent of yarrow flowers, almost to the point in which you believed you could wrap yourself in it. Jaw clenched like a shock absorber for your emotions you knelt down to place the old shoe box in the ground.

It almost seemed too simple- at least for something of this scale. The contents of the box rattled as you set it down. Grave dirt, the bones of a black cat and a picture of yourself. The three small ingredients that would cook up your fate.

Quickly burying the box, you said the words before waiting patiently. A soft summer breeze blew across the crossroads making a shiver crawl up your spine. You weren’t scared though. You were just eager to put things back together.

If Dean were here he would be telling you that you were blinded by grief, that you weren’t thinking straight. . . But then again if he were here you wouldn’t be doing this in the first place.

Dean was gone. He was laying lifeless in a cheap and darkened motel room next to his baby brother. . . But he wouldn’t be that way for long- not if you could help it.

Growing impatient, you threw back your head “You really gonna make me wait here all night?!”

“Careful Sugar, you’ll wake the neighbors.”

At the sound of the new voice you dropped your shoulders, spinning around on your heel to meet the black eyed gaze of the crossroad demon before you. Long black hair cascaded down her shoulders, red lips twisted up in an amused smirk.

“You normally keep people waiting like that?” Shoving your hands into the pockets of your coat, you took steady strides across the empty road towards her, showing her that you weren’t afraid.

“Only ones with an attitude like yours.” Tilting her head she stepped forward, heels grinding against the loose gravel as she circled you. “Now tell me, what is Nancy Drew doing all the way out here? I doubt the Hardy boys would be pleased to hear you’re out in the dark with a demon. . .” She paused, eyes scanning over your face. “That is unless they’re d-“

“I need you to bring them back.” Your words coming out sharp as you glared back at her, jaw still clenched.

“Oh and why would I do that? If the Winchesters are really dead- then it’s best for my species if they stay that way. Doesn’t make much sense to bring our biggest threat back onto the playing field.”

Taking a deep breath you continued to try and keep you emotions under lock, but unable to hide the waver in your voice. “Please. They’re all that I have.”

You watched her expression shift momentarily, pausing her steps to think. After what felt like an excruciatingly long minute, the corners of her lips turned up in a smirk.

“Alright, fine. I’ll bring back your precious Winchesters. . . But you will not be around to see it.”

You wish you could say you were shaken by her words, but wasn’t that the whole reason why you came out here in the first place? To pawn away your life in exchange for the people you loved most in this world?

“Fine by me. My soul is yours for the taking.”

“Oh I don’t want your soul.” She cooed, moving to drag a single perfectly manicured nail along your jaw. “Seeing as I am bring back the Winchesters of all people, I thought I would make it a little interesting.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, that instead of marking your soul for hell, I’m going to strip all memories of you from their minds.” She explained, watching in amusement as your face fell. “They wont remember you and you will have to live the rest of your days knowing that.”

“Why?”

“Oh I think you should be able to piece that together for yourself. Yes I could always physically torture you in the pit- but mental torture is so much more fun.” She grinned. “That is the price if you want me to bring your beloved Dean Winchester back from the great beyond.”

Her last words successfully made you freeze, your entire body going rigid as your wall keeping your emotions back began to crack.

“Oh yes, I know about that too. It’s so easy to see in the way you look at him.” She cooed, clearly finding your pain amusing. “Miss Y/N Y/L/N. . . In love with the righteous man. Too bad he’ll never know.”

Push them back down Y/N, push your emotions back down. She’s trying to break you. Don’t let her.

“Deal.”

And with one quick step she had her lips against yours and your fate was set in stone.

“Oh, and best be gone before they wake up. You wouldn't want your deal to go bad so soon.”

*. *. *. *. *.

The air felt heavier from the moment you slid back out from behind the wheel of the impala. Maybe it was the fact that you knew it would be the last time you sat on the worn leather seats- or maybe it was just the utter weight of emotions still rising inside you.

Rolling the keys in your hand you slowly eased open the door to the motel room, stepping back into the poorly air conditioned space. You didn’t bother turning on the lights, the neon sign just beyond the moth eaten curtains illuminating the area just enough. All you had to do was grab your belongings and high tail it out of there before they woke up.

Quickly crossing the room, you placed the keys of the impala back on the nightstand where Dean had last left them before crossing over to the small table and haphazardly tossing all of your things into your duffel and shouldering it.

It was best if you moved quickly and didn’t dwell on your emotions. If you stopped you were sure to break. No second glances or momentary pauses. Eyes on the road ahead. Don’t look back.

Unfortunately you made it all of five steps to the door before that entire plan flew out the window. Your steps faltered and before you could stop yourself you were looking back over your shoulder at the occupied beds.

Even from your spot you could see that your deal was already taking affect. Their shirts were no longer in tatters and the blood was gone, almost as if it had never been there to begin with. In the dim light you could see the slow and steady rise of Deans chest telling you that he was alive. That’s he was okay. And that your work was now done.

Slowly sinking to sit on the side of the bed, you folded your hands, finding it difficult all of a sudden to look up. You had to say something- even if he couldn't hear you.

“Goodbyes are never easy, are they? And it isn’t easy to leave when it’s the only option available.” You words coming out in almost a whisper as you spoke. “I have so many things I want to say to you- but they fall short knowing that you won’t hear them.”

Another crack in your wall formed when you looked over at the relaxed facial expression on Dean, his eyelashes fluttering in his sleep. It was rare to see him this peaceful- this calm. But you drew comfort knowing you had helped make him that way.

The crack was enough to fill your eyes with tears. “And here I am having to say goodbye to the only person that I felt cared, the only person that I felt happy around.” You paused, finding the words stuck in your throat. “How am I supposed to just do that without feeling like I’ve lost a part of me?” Your voice finally cracking as you felt the first wave of hot tears run down your face. “All those times we would just laugh and talk and do normal things that normal people did- I had never been more happy.”

As much as you know it’s best for you, and him- and everyone you can’t ignore the inexplicable pain your carrying in your chest. Even though you want to hug him and stay by his side longer, you can’t. Waking up to a stranger would be a confusing feeling for him and a painful one for you.

“I never expected our lives to separate one day.  We’ve known each other since we were kids.” You continued, delicately lacing your hand through his now warm one. “But I’ll never forget the moments you laughed with me, cried with me, helped me. . . And vice versa. But you’ll still have Sam and Cas. . . And in the end you’ll be okay.”

Pushing yourself up from the bed, you let go of his hand, using the back of it to wipe away the tears. Before you could walk towards the door though you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, paying no attention the the stray tear splashing down onto his face.

“Just know that whatever comes next, I love you.” Your whisper barely audible to your own ears. The words were pointless though. He wouldn’t hear them or remember them.

And before you could realize it you had your duffel back on your shoulder and you were slipping out the door. Leaving everything you called home behind.

Crossing through the almost empty parking lot you set your sights on the future. The next course of action was to hot wire a car and get back to the bunker. You still had belongings there that you needed to pack up before the brothers returned home.

Walking across the street you could feel the rough cracks in the asphalt through the soles of your boots, each steps feeling as though you had lead strapped to your feet. It was only when you reached the alleyway close ahead that you stopped once more, the magnetic pull of your family tightening around your core as you looked back, just in time to see shadows pass by the now lit up room you had just exited.

And the remaining pieces of the wall you had tried so desperately to fortify crumbled, taking you with it. A choked sob left your throat and your hand flew out to steady yourself of the brick wall- but the support didn’t last long before you knees buckled and you slid down the wall, sobbing into your hands just beyond reach of the nearest street lamp. Tears of both relief and anguish soaked your cheeks and you didn’t try to stop them.

They were alive. But you weren’t so sure about yourself.

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[varnienne]

Shattered Reality - Year 1, Part 1

A/N: Finally got around to finish editing this. I know I said I'd work on the Pokemon Crossover project (and I am, concept drawings and the outline are a WIP) but I think it's better I have at least a few different projects to focus on at a time.

That being said, I hope you guys enjoy my story.

TW: brief references to PTSD and grief, I think that's it?

Her eyes snapped open.

Heavy breaths echoed in the room as a scream died in her throat. Soft ticking penetrated the haze first. Moonlight glinted off of the four-star ball. Its familiar energy caressed her aura. Avoca focused on that feeling. Took a deep breath and slowly let it out. She absorbed the soothing blues of her bedroom walls as she kept breathing. Training clothes folded on the nightstand. A picture of her family hanging by the clock. Its glowing hands reading three fifty-seven.

She sighed. No point trying to sleep now. Tossed her covers off and swung her feet around. Avoca grabbed her training clothes as she stood. Started changing, completely dressed when her door opened. She glanced one way. Then the other. No one but her was up. Thankfully.

Trudged her way down the hall and out the front door, steps carefully soft. The deep violets of early morning kept her hidden as she walked across the field. She stopped in front of a rounded door.

“Open, please.” Air hissed out as it unlocked. Slowly, it fell open, turning into a ramp. She tapped the close button as she passed the frame. The second the door resealed, Avoca called out to the system. “Gravity on, level 275.”

She moved into stretches as the weight settled on her body. Deep breath in, an arm raised into an overhead block. Deep breath out, it was slowly switched with a punch from her other hand. She glided through every new movement, aura swirling around her like a gentle tide.

“Increase the gravity to level 290. Training bot level 3,” she called out to the room's control system.

[Commencing…]

Her body became heavier and she tensed all her muscles before relaxing again. One foot slid back and the other moved to the side. Her brother’s feet wavered as she stepped next to him. Set a shaky hand on his shoulder. Her arms rose into a loose block as small orbs floated in. Light swirled through their seams alerting her to their activation. Together they fell into a familiar stance. They could do this. They could end it. She formed a ball of red energy in her hand and smirked. Avoca sent her energy at the nearest bot.

“Give me what your daddy couldn’t.” His aura expanded as the blast grew. “Before I send you home to him.*”

She snarled at the creature. “You’re reign ends now.”

Her blast ricocheted from it onto the others, passing her every chance they could. She let her body take over and forced her mind to fall silent. Years of honed instinct kept her movements fluid as she danced around the blast. The snickering monster was distracted with a blast to his back. Avoca noticed. “Now, brother!” She added another ball to the fray. They gritted their teeth, planted their feet, and forced out everything they had. Another command to the system had the gravity strengthening to 310.

As she created a third energy ball, the door opened. “Avoca-nee?”

She jumped and released the ball as she turned, but the bots took advantage and aimed all three blasts at her. Growling, Avoca twirled, tail unwrapping from her waist to bat them into the walls. She commanded the system to shut off and whirled back to her brother.

“Gohan, you know better than to come in here when I’m in the middle of my routine!” The younger Saiyan chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. Avoca sighed. “Just be careful next time, okay?”

He glanced away and scratched his cheek. Her heart lurched. Gohan looked just like their father doing that. She sighed and asked him why he’d come to get her. “I wanted to make sure you'd have time to get ready for your first day.”

Shit. Had she gotten too caught up in training? It wouldn’t be the first time. “What time is it?”

[The current time is six, twenty-two…] echoed through the room.

“Oh, good. I have time to shower.” The Saiyan girl thanked her brother as she rushed down the hall. Maybe school could keep her memories away for a while.

~oOo~

A week earlier, on the other side of town, a team of teachers were chatting as they waited for the principal. He’d called an impromptu meeting so early some of them were still yawning. One person, in particular, was curious why Nedzu would call him in. He wasn’t even done with his teacher certification yet.

The tired heroes perked up as the being in question finally joined them. In his paws was a red USB that arrested everyone's attention. Its implications sobered them immediately.

Nedzu maneuvered into his seat at the head of the table and smiled. "Good morning everyone! I'm sorry to call a meeting like this on such short notice, but I've been informed that one of our new admittees is… quite powerful."

He paused to plug the drive into the table's display input. The places in front of the staff members lit up with the school logo before showed a fierce young brunette with determined amber eyes. There was a hardened light in her gaze that told of her experience in battle. Her hair was noticeably thick and spiky, much like the furry tail around her waist.

"This is Son Avoca, publicly registered as Midoriya Izumi." The lightness in Nedzu's tone vanished. A conflicted look took over his face. "She is one of the two children responsible for ending Perfect Cell."

Toshinori's heart dropped. She was so young and had already been exposed to such horrors. He'd known the two who'd stopped the creature were a bit young, but he wasn't expecting children. She was barely fourteen.

"From what I understand, young Gohan will also be attending UA in a couple of years." The screen changed to show an even younger boy with black hair just as spiky as his sister's. Though his expression was a bit softer, the same determination reflected in his eyes. "He'll be going to a nearby middle school until then."

Toshinori frowned. If these kids were so powerful… "How come we hadn't heard of them before the Cell Games?" The abilities they displayed both with and without the aid of their quirks was unbelievable. Most kids their age had nowhere near the amount of training they surely must've had.

"They were living out in the mountains in the southern district. But they have been mentioned in the news before." At this, Nedzu's nose twitched. "Had Miss Son- Miss Midoriya - not mentioned it herself, I doubt even I would've noticed the connection."

The principal pulled up an infamous headline from eight years ago.

Throat dry, Toshinori glanced around at the other teachers and found them just as pale as he felt. He returned his focus to the files. The more he read, the more questions he had, a pit growing in his stomach with each one. The hows and whys swirled in his mind until Nezu spoke again.

“I know you all have questions. I do too.” His smile returned. “I've organized an interview so we may learn more about Miss Midoriya and perhaps find some answers.”

“Wait.” Present Mic frowned and leaned back in his chair. “I don't recognize her. Did she not take the entrance exam?”

Nezu's smile became strained. “The Hero Commission was quite insistent about her attending our school.”

Oh. That explained a lot. It also brought more questions Toshinori wasn’t sure he wanted answers to.

~oOo~

Looking at her reflection, Avoca turned. The skirt was a little short on her with how curvy she was starting to get. At least they were allowed to wear leggings underneath it. The blazer was a nice neutral grey to compliment the greens of the skirt and lapel stripes.

Her gaze caught the papers sitting on her desk and the brunette frowned. All the important papers she needed to verify her "new identity." Any reference to their father or their role in the Cell Games was conveniently left out. But they'd made note that Principal Nezu and her teachers would be aware of who she was.

Ugh, the regulation and hidden identity were like some twisted witness protection program. More like monitoring persons of interest. She shook her head to force those thoughts from her mind.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. She turned to see her brother in the doorway. His pink checks and twitching tail made her smile reassuringly at him.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I, uh, couldn't tuck it in comfortably…"

Avoca giggled. "I had the same problem when we were younger. Here," pulled the band of skirt down. Lifted and resettled her tail. "Wrap it just under the waistband and don't wear a belt." Watched her brother do as told. Gave him a small smile when he didn't look back up. Patted his shoulder. "It'll be fine, brother. We just have to play by their rules a bit." Gohan merely sighed.

He was dressed in his own uniform. The black slacks and blazer looked good on him. She ruffled his hair and laughed at his protest. He'll make friends easily.

Which reminded her… "You remember the names we've been registered under, right?"

The boy nodded. He didn't like having to hide their identities. She didn't either. They were children of Earth's former protector. Maybe they wouldn't shout it from the rooftops, but it's not like anyone would think to look into their father’s past. It wasn't out of shame, but it felt like they were hiding their father.

"Well, let's get going." Avoca sighed and grabbed her backpack. "We don't wanna be late on our first day."

"Yeah."

She nudged his shoulder. He nudged her back. They joked and played as they walked out. She laughed.

Avoca had hope that whatever adventure lay before them, it would be one full of memories.

~oOo~

*TeamFourStar reference. I believe this is from Episode 60 Part 3?

Buy the writer a Coffee

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Love; Lost (pt.3)

John Wick x reader (A/n- Of course, I went ahead and made things more complicated. They’ll get a bit of a break by the end of this chapter though. Also, I know that it could have ended here, but welp)

Part1  Part2  

Warnings- Angst, pregnancy.

Two days. Two days since she’d told him she was pregnant. Two days since she’d renewed his heartbreak. Two days since she’d left again.

Once again, John was growing used to the hollowness and letting go of the hope that Y/n might come back. It hurt more that time though, knowing that he was not just losing the love of his life, but his future too. Unlike before, John had called, though, Y/n never picked up. He’d thought of seeking out where she was staying; he had already summed up that since she had sold her townhouse upon moving in with him years ago, she’d probably be at Lacy’s, a friend of Y/n’s who John had only met a handful of times. If she was there, John knew that Y/n was in good hands, Lacy was a good friend.

Standing in the backyard, John threw the ball for Dog each time he brought it back. They’d been at it for almost an hour but John’s arm hadn’t grown tired yet. When his phone vibrated in his back pocket, signaling that a text had come in, he hurriedly fished it out of his pocket, frowning when he saw that it was just a notification for an open contract. It had been like that even before Y/n come over a couple nights prior; every time his phone made the slightest noise, John would hastily grab it up, a spark of hope ignited in his chest, only for it to be snuffed out when he’d realized it wasn’t her. 

Stuffing the phone back into in pocket, John tossed the little green tennis ball again, though, he was even less enthused than before, the hurt and despair swallowing him up once again. When Dog returned not too long after, even he seemed to sense John’s foul mood, hanging his head and whining. Crouching down, John sniffled and brushed under his eyes, “It’s okay boy,” he rubbed the pits head, smiling sadly when his tongue ran comfortingly up John’s cheeks, “I’ll be okay,” he tried not to sob, “One day.”

Having decided that he’d had enough of lying to himself for one day, John stood again, leading his furry friend back inside through the back screen door, sparing one last glance at the grey clouds outside before shutting it again. 

At some point, grey clouds had turned into a light drizzle, and eventually, said drizzled had morphed into a full on torrential downpour. The rain seemed to mirror her despondent mood, though Y/n figured that she deserved to feel terrible considering the way she’d left things with John a couple nights prior. Since then, she had been ignoring his calls, and there were a lot of them. 

Y/n figured that she owed John an apology, and definitely a proper explanation for her behavior. Sure, she had felt like he hurt her, but she had probably hurt him worse by letting him know that he’d was fathering a child that she was reluctantly keeping from him. When she’d returned to Lacy’s that night, Y/n couldn’t get the earlier events out of her head, how hopeful John had looked when she’d told him, how crushed he was when she pushed him away again.

Navigating through New York’s traffic only had half of Y/n’s attention as she continued her drive from her last gig back to Lacy’s place. She was on Interstate 78, on her way back from a wedding; Y/n didn’t typically take wedding jobs, but they were willing to pay well for her talents and she needed something to distract her from the mess that was her personal life. Though, in retrospect, a wedding might not have been the best place to pass her time, all it did was serve to remind her that her relationship with the only person she ever wanted to marry was ruined. 

Even thinking about it made her teary. Sucking in a breath, Y/n blinked quickly, trying to clear her clouded vision and focus on the road, which was already difficult given the downpour. Sniffling, Y/n squinted her eyes, her grip on the wheel firm and her foot a little heavier on the gas than it should have been in that weather. It was reckless, but Y/n just wanted to get back before nightfall. 

For the briefest second, Y/n glanced at the touch pad that served to control the car’s radio system, huffing in annoyance as a song she had long grown sick of started playing. Her head couldn’t have been down for longer than a couple seconds, it was impossible that it had been more, as her lithe fingers danced on the screen, adjusting a couple setting and changing the song. Though, by the time Y/n had raised her head again, the road ahead was clear for a few feet well and the traffic light was going from amber to red. Gasping, her adrenaline kicked in and before she could register it, Y/n was shifting her foot from the gas, only to slam it on the brake. But it was too late, the front of her car had already cleared the white line, though for a minute, nothing happened. Everything was fine, for all of five seconds, which ended with another speeding car slamming into the back of her Highlander. 

Y/n jerked forward, the airbag saving her from hitting her head on the steering wheel, though the seat belt definitely bruising her neck and giving her a mild case of whiplash.

She wasn’t sure who’s car was the source of a blaring horn, nor did she see a crowd gathering around them despite the rain; she was too disoriented to notice much. Too disoriented and too busy hoping that the result of her carelessness wasn’t too major.

John’s heart was going a mile a minute as he jogged in through the automatic doors of the Emergency Room in a hospital in central New York. Rushing to the front desk, he slapped his hands to the cool counter, making the nurses jump, “My um....” well, she wasn’t his girlfriend anymore, though, John guessed it didn’t really matter in that situation. Still, he was thinking too quickly and eventually just dropped the whole thing, “Her name is Y/n Y/n/n, I got a call saying that she had been brought in.”

Quickly, the nurse pulled up Y/n’s file on the computer, then offered to lead him to the room she was in, “She’s right this way Mr. Wick.”

Still barely able to speak, John just nodded, close on the older woman’s heel as they walked up a hallway, all the way to a small room. She was a room, her own room. Not in of those curtained off bays or in a tiny exam room for check-ups. A room. John didn’t want to think of anything bad happening to Y/n, but his mind had gone on without him, and already he was thinking the worst. 

When they stopped at the closed cream door, he sucked in a breath and when the nurse smiled warmly, John wondered how she could even manage it. “Right through here,” she said, turning the knob and pushing the door open.

Upon seeing her, awake and alert, some of John’s worry faded and he sighed in relief. “John?” Y/n pushed off the bed a little, trying to shake off the wire that kept her hooked up to the oxygen monitor. She seemed confused and surprised to see him, standing in the door way, hair disheveled and dressed haphazardly in a white t-shirt, jeans and his brown leather jacket. Didn’t she remember that he was still her emergency contact?

“I’ll give you two some space,” the graying woman in pale green scrubs slid out of the room behind John, pulling the door shut.

Ignoring the voice in his head that told him not to, John rushed over to Y/n’s bedside, lightly grabbing her shoulders and looking her over, as if he didn’t quite trust the doctors. She was bruised up on her face and neck, but otherwise, Y/n seemed fine, “Are you okay? What happened?”

A nervous shiver ran through her body and Y/n avoided John’s gaze, opting to look down at the blanket tossed over her lap, “I took my eyes off the road for less than five seconds and by the time I looked again, the light was changing. And then this other car....he was going probably faster than I was.....John,” she sobbed quietly, wishing more than ever that she could still be afforded the comfort of his embrace. 

Shushing her, John sat next to Y/n on the bed, pulling her into a consuming hug, pressing a lingering kiss to her hair. It took a while, but eventually, Y/n’s breathing had slowed enough for John to voice his other concerns, “Is the baby.....?”

Licking her lips, Y/n shifted uncomfortably and John took that as a signal to get off the bed and sink into the cozy chair near her bedside. Once again, they were un-touching and it was as if the past fifteen minutes hadn’t happened. “I don’t know yet, I’m waiting for the Ob-gyn.”

“Okay,” John nodded, pulling his chair closer to her. they sat in silence for a while, though, eventually the silence became too much for even John, “I’m sorry about the way things went the other night.”

Y/n nodded, her face still downcast, “So am I,” she sniffled, swiping hastily at her face, “I’m sorry about everything,” she admitted meekly.

“It’s my fault,” John dismissed. Maybe if he’d been more open, Y/n wouldn’t have left in the first place, “I hid a lot from you, and I thought I knew what was best for you, but I didn’t, and I’m sorry for that too.”

Scoffing, Y/n clenched and unclenched her jaw, “I should have tried to talk to you, instead of leaving like that. I-”

Just then, a woman in a lab coat and scrubs walked in, greeting them both cheerily as she read from her tablet, “Oh, Ms. Y/l/n, looks like you had a little accident.”

“Yeah,” Y/n breathed, disappointed that she hadn’t gotten to tell John what she had been thinking. If that experience had taught her anything, it was that she didn’t want to be without John, that she didn’t want to have to fill her day with frivolous distractions and regrets when they could just be together.

“Well,” the doctor, determined, pulling an ultrasound machine closer, “Why don’t we check on the little one?”

They went through the motions of getting everything ready, and when the doctor squeezed some clear blue gel onto Y/n’s still flat stomach, she hissed at the cold sensation. When the machine got fired up and the doctor started moving the transducer around on Y/n’s lower stomach, she instinctively reach for John’s hand, squeezing tightly, holding her breath for bad news.

John stood, one hand in Y/n’s, the other soothingly brushing through her hair. His eyes were closely trained on the monitor. He held his breath in anticipation, and for a minute, the young doctor furrowed her brows as she searched for a heartbeat. After a bit more searching and adjusting a couple pulse controls, a low throb rang through and the doctor sighed in relief. 

John smiled faintly, glancing down at Y/n who still looked to the obstetrician for confirmation, his ears being lulled by what seemed to be the sound of a steady heartbeat. “Okay,” the doctor finally chipped, “Congratulations mommy and daddy, all looks well!” She beamed and Y/n turned to John, happy tears making her eyes shine.

Y/n’s breathless laugh and her giddy smile was enough to flutter John’s heart, and when the doctor eventually turned the LCD screen towards them, his mouth dropped in awe. He couldn’t believe it, obviously, he knew how ultra sound machines worked, but seeing the little bean shaped life sitting comfortably against the static was more warming than he could have ever imagined it to be. A new swell of joy plumed in his chest, spreading out to even the tips of his fingers and all the way down to his toes. John could barely grasp it; he was a father, and he’d do everything in his power to be a good one.

“It’s too soon to tell the gender,” the doctor began again, “Unless you want to do a blood test.”

“No, we’re gonna wait a bit,” Y/n returned hastily, though, immediately after, she shifted her gaze to meets John’s eyes, Unless you don’t want too, then we can do it right now.”

Was that an olive branch?

Did that mean that even if Y/n didn’t take him back, she still wanted him involved?

John guessed it did, considering that she hadn’t kicked him out of the room yet. And she’d taken his hand, leaned into his touch the way she used to. Shaking his head, John took a chance at kissing her forehead, careful to avoid a painful blue and black bruise, and he didn’t see it, but Y/n’s eyes slipped closed in contentment just as his lips brushed her skin, his beard familiarly rough. Y/n didn’t realize how much she’d missed that.

“We can wait,” he reassured her, rubbing his thumb affectionately over hers, “It’ll be a nice surprise.”

Looking into his eyes, Y/n felt herself getting lost in them the way she used to before resentment started skewing her perception. “Yeah,” she licked her lips, desperately wishing she could kiss him, longing, just for a second, for them to be the couple that they used to be, “It will be.”

After the Ob-gyn had left them, a nurse had come in with discharge paperwork, and after an hour, Y/n was dressed and ready to go. Much to her surprise, John had stayed, and had awkwardly offered to drive her back to Lacy’s, an offer which she’d have to accept even if she didn’t want to; it was still raining and her car had been towed. 

Insisting that he wouldn’t stand for Y/n walking, even though it would just be for a few minutes, though the rain, John brought his Mustang around, stopping beneath the under-croft and even getting out to open the door for her. 

When they were safely inside, John turned the A/c on and music wafted softly from the deck. John drove slower than Y/n had, more carefully, and as he navigated New York, growing closer and closer to Lacy’s apartment building, the discomfort of the silence also grew. It was never like that; before, John and Y/n could spend hours together, perfectly comfortable with just being together, an exchange of words secondary. But that night, the tension of words unsaid hung between them, the moment at the hospital was gone and now they were just two people trying to find a way to fix their bent relationship, lost in their own thoughts. 

The red bricked building came into view soon enough, and Y/n was still debating what she should say. John pulled aside at the curb and by then the heavy rains had slowed, the shower still moderate, but not terrible. “I should go get an umbrella,” John was already undoing his seat belt, his hand closing in around the handle.

“John,” Y/n reached out for his free hand, surprising them both with the gesture. John stared down at Y/n’s small hand closed over his stocky fingers, only to raise his head and met her eyes. “I meant what I said at the hospital; I am sorry about the way things ended.”

“Do you regret it?” His voice low and gruff, tinged with emotion.

Nodding, Y/n blinked quickly, “Everyday,” she chocked up, “I know I have no right to; but I miss you John.”

Leaning over the console, John pressed his lips to Y/n’s and she responded almost immediately, reaching up to tangle her fingers in his hair. Y/n’s lips tasted just as sweet as John recalled and they were just as soft. “Come home,” he pleaded when they broke, still nose to nose.

“We still have a lot to work out,” Y/n argued weakly, rubbing her thumb over the top of John’s cheek. As much as she missed him, wanted him back, Y/n couldn’t go back to living the way they had before. There were so many changes that needed to made, things that needed to be talked through.

Inhaling deeply, John nodded slightly, “Just for tonight then, please, I just need to fall asleep next you tonight.”

Y/n too knew that she didn’t want to be alone, not after the day she’d had. And even if being at Lacy’s meant that she wasn’t truly alone, it wasn’t even close to being with John, to sleeping next to him, having his breath fan the back of her neck and his arm around her waist. That night, more than she had in the past six weeks, Y/n needed him. “Okay,” she submitted, “Just for tonight,” she pecked his lips again, and John wiped away a couple escaped tears from her streaked cheeks.

“Okay,” he tried to smile, “Just for tonight.”

*****

Tagging- @harrisongslimited  @cynic-spirit​