#they chain me to the register and make me get credit cards | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

1kook · 4 years ago

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espn & bdsm

this is part 6 of my netflix & chill collection !

summary; You would like to personally thank every loud-mouthed, ESPN commentator out there for saving you from Jungkook’s dangerous seduction skills. warnings; smut (18+) in the forms of brief femdom, handcuffs, nipple clamps, blindfolding, flogging/use of a riding crop, soft dom kook, cunnilingus, spitting, unprotected but passionate, degradation, as always it starts horny n then turns into I love u kink miscellaneous; kook has a swollen ankle so idk how he did all this, jk abuses the fuck outta pet names part 7, revenge gone wrong tbh, this was honestly a beginner’s intro to vanilla bdsm word count; 12.7k

notes; this is like… a healing fic… for the part before lol. also i did not know what was going to happen next as I was writing. anyway entire smut scene was based off THIS bad boy ur welcome fellas and the Jungkook described here is from in the soop episode 2... cutie... yes every single 1 of those words is a link

lmk what you think! a simple ask goes a long way <3

You're at the nail salon with Doyeon when she first mentions it.

“Have you ever, like,” she pauses, making a vague, swivel gesture with her head. You furrow your brows and she sighs. “Topped him. Have you ever been the one to take control?”

Your nail artist blushes, furiously filing away at your nails until the most perfect stiletto shape stares you back in the face. “Oh. Not really,” you admit, wiggling your wet toe nails around in the styrofoam flip flops issued by the salon. “I mean, sometimes I talk him through it.”

Doyeon snorts. “Babe, talking him through it and being the boss are two completely different things,” she says rather dryly, seemingly unbothered by the fact your two nail techs are being subjected to this more than intimate conversation. But you’ve had weirder talks with Doyeon in public; this doesn’t phase you. “Listen,” she says suddenly, dropping her voice down to a whisper that has you leaning closer to hear her. “You know how I’m a member of that site, right?”

You nod. “Oh yeah— Sexuality Unleashed: The Best Toys Worldwide!, right?” She kicks your shin, but the jab is muted by the bottom of her own styrofoam flip flop.

“Yeah, just tell everyone here my credit card number while you’re at it,” she hisses. Her anger fades soon enough. “Well, they’re always sending me all sorts of freebies for my devoted patronage,” she explains. She quirks her lips to the side, throwing one brief glance at the blushing nail artists in front of you. Eventually she seems to come to a conclusion. “Long story short they sent me some cuffs and I’m gonna give you them.”

Your jaw drops. “Woah, really? I don’t know… Don’t those usually run kinda pricey?” you ask tentatively. You’re trying to play it off, act like this isn’t something you want, but the reality is so much worse.

The minute the word cuffs had slipped through her lips it’s like a door opened before your eyes. A big, wooden door with chains strapped across it and a padlock you swore you’d never open.

Somewhere in your mind, you had always convinced yourself handcuffs in bed was something you’d like to have done to you. But, because she was your best friend and by extension a personified version of all your freakiest, often filtered, thoughts, it was like Doyeon had reached straight into your cranium and extracted your most secret fantasy— and that was Jungkook in handcuffs.

Your nail artist pats your hand, motioning you to head over to the drying station. Before you can be separated from Doyeon, you whip around to throw her one desperate look. “I have never wanted anything so bad in my life.”

She cackles loudly, easily garnering the attention of every employee and nail enthusiast in the salon with the evil witch vibes she exudes.

Truth be told, your argument with Jungkook had brought upon a newfound appreciation for him. Weird to say, considering you had wanted to kill the dude when it had originally happened. But the great thing about you and Jungkook was that you were flexible people— both in bed and out. A few long conversations later and you had reached the root of the problem.

And that root was your apparent lack of communicating when something was wrong. It was weird to think that anything could ever be wrong when Jungkook was involved. He was your honeybun, sugar plum, pumpy-umpy-umpkin. Your sweetie pie, for lack of better wording, and he could do no wrong—

—is what you’d like to say. But if there’s anything you’ve learned in the past year of dating Jungkook, it’s that perfection was a made up belief that revolved around the idea that someone’s flaws couldn’t possibly be a good thing. And as you’ve come to realize, Jungkook wasn’t the perfect gentleman you’d initially chalked him up to be. He was human, just like you, with his own list of worries and thoughts, and sometimes those thoughts manifested into flaws. They could be ugly or they could be beautiful, but at the end of the day, they all made Jungkook into the person he was— and you loved that person. Disgustingly so.

You had your moments, and he had his. Everything would not always be sunshine and rainbows for the two of you, but it was fine so long as you learned to play in the rain and stomp in the puddles.

Still.

You were you.

A slightly mean, slightly conniving, petty ass human who had been plotting his revenge since the day the two of you made up. I mean, you weren’t actually just going to let him get off the hook like that, were you? He had saved himself last time with a gooey, heartfelt apology and confession, followed by some extraordinary dicking down that had left you Naked and Afraid for three days after.

But you weren’t that easy! No, ma’am. You had to let him know that some gorgeous demon dick was not enough to satisfy you after a fight like that.

Jungkook was in for a desperately needed reality check, one that jingles in your purse when you step out of the Uber that drops you off at his place. You know he’s home because his front light is on, and also because he’d texted you that he was watching some soccer match on tv tonight. He’s a pretty big fan, especially of the club playing tonight, so you decide it’s a perfect night to strike.

Your copy of his key slips right into the keyhole. Your slippers are in the same place they always are, neatly set off to the side right by the stairs. He’s not in his living room, undoubtedly the most perfect place to watch any type of sporting event with that huge Jumbotron of his. The damn thing made it feel like you were in the stadium itself.

There’s a quiet hum coming from upstairs. You creep up the steps, carefully rounding the corner at the landing until you’re staring right into his dimly lit bedroom.

The way Jungkook’s got his bedroom set up is so that you can look directly at his door from the bed, terribly inconvenient for when that sleep paralysis demon hits in the middle of the night and you’re left staring into the dark hallway. He’s snuggled comfortably over his sheets, about three pillows supporting his back. The light of the tinier, more acceptable television he keeps in his room is dancing across his features in bright shades of green. You almost throw yourself onto his mattress like a starfish until you spot the carefully placed foot on the bed.

“What the hell did you do?” you blurt. A wrong move, considering he hadn’t seen you yet and your sudden appearance makes him jump nearly ten feet into the air, almost knocking down the bag of ice that sits on his ankle. “Oh my god, it was that damned Pilates class, wasn’t it?” you fret, rounding the bed until you’re on his side.

“Oh hey,” he says as if you’re not currently pulling the first eight seasons of Grey’s Anatomy to the forefront of your head to treat him. “When’d you get here?”

“Cut the crap, who did this to you?” you ask, sitting beside him with the utmost care. You drop your bag off to the side, the loud clatter of the inside contents vaguely registering in your head. The ice pack comes off easily, revealing a relatively okay looking ankle save for the slight swell towards the more medial aspect of it.

Jungkook takes the moment to sit up, joining you in your inspection of his injury. “No one,” he answers, using his new position to drop a kiss against the side of your head. “I fell off the ladder helping Mrs. Jung across the street.”

You choke. “You fell off a ladder?” you squawk, eyes wide as your gaze shifts from his ankle to his entire body.

He places a hand on your shoulder, “babe, I was on like the third step. It was one of those old wooden ones,” he explains with a nonchalant shrug. “The step just happened to snap on my way down.”

You scoff. “That old lady is out to get you,” you warn him. “Remember the time she almost had you plug in those burnt out Christmas lights for her? The ones that would have electrocuted you to death.”

Jungkook laughs, settling back into his stack of pillows. “In her defense, she’s old,” he offers. He’s wrapped up in a black hoodie, fluffy bangs parted down the middle. He’s got on some blue shorts, a huge difference from his usual dark-toned clothing. He looks so good and warm, and you’re suddenly hit with the fact you can’t possibly handcuff this poor, injured angel to his bedpost and ride his cock into the sunset. “You didn’t tell me you were coming over.”

You deflate, wild fantasies thrown out the window. “Yeah, well,” you sigh, ditching your pants and climbing over him until you’re snuggled into his side. “Wanted to show you my nails.”

It’s a lame excuse. But he buys it, so.

“They’re cute,” he says, taking your hand in his. He turns your hand over, inspects your pretty new acrylics like he actually has any idea how much they cost or how sexy they look. He raises your hand to his face, pressing a smooch against your knuckles that has you heart thumping embarrassingly loud in your chest. God, you hated this fool.

You turn your nose up at him, like you’re some snooty rich girl who couldn’t give him the time of day. Except it’s not like that, and Jungkook knows.

“What’re you watching?” you ask instead.

He’s got that stupid dopey smile on you, the one that takes one nudge against his side to snap him out of. “Ah, just the game.”

You squint at the screen. “Is this Fox Sports?” you ask in disgust.

He pinches your side. “This is ESPN,” he corrects. “And you don’t know shit about sports channels,” he points out. “So sit this one out.” You give in with a huff, cuddling closer into his side while trying to jostle him as little as possible. Jungkook seems to have no deeply rooted concerns about his injured ankle if the way he hauls you into his arms is any indicator. “How did nails with Doyeon go?”

“You know, the usual,” you respond, idly toying with one of the strings on his hoodie as your eyes focus on the little figures running across the screen. He hums, gesturing for you to elaborate. “Talked about sex, how much better than you at life she is, some more sex.”

He scoffs at that. “Doyeon is not better than me, and I have a whole trophy case to prove it.”

“Okay, but have you singlehandedly Twitter beefed with an entire sorority in your freshman year of university and won?”

He frowns. “No.”

You give him a look, one that says stand down now unless you want to lose to my best friend and get your feelings hurt. Jungkook understands. “Anyway,” he announces, turning his attention back to the screen with you. You think his team might be winning—you vaguely remember seeing him wear a similar jersey once—so he’s pretty relaxed for now. “They’re doing pretty good considering they just lost their main striker.”

You have no idea what that means. “Who? Messi?”

Jungkook knows you don’t know. “He doesn’t even play in this league,” he explains anyway.

“Oh, I saw him trending on Twitter last week. Thought he died or something. Whole time it was just a bunch of soccer nerds crying about him leaving his team.”

He laughs. “You should be a sportscaster,” Jungkook decides after your ever-so-eloquent recap, tucking his head cutely against your shoulder. There was a study once that claimed the incessant need to squeeze a baby’s cheeks or hug puppies tightly was actually the innate human response to kill something they felt threatened by. Oddly enough, you find yourself thinking of that as Jungkook’s citrusy shampoo floods your nostrils.

“Oh, speaking of Doyeon,” he says suddenly. “Did you give her my address? I got a weird package from that store she likes that I genuinely don’t remember ever ordering.” You frown, sitting up slightly until you can look at the side of his face, the cute mole on his cheek calling your name.

“What?” you ask. “Was it in her name?” Jungkook nods. You’re about to tear the roof off his house and go hunt that evil wench down when realization dawns on you. “Oh, no, yeah I gave her your address. My mom stayed over last weekend and Doyeon needed to order something nasty. Guess it got delayed until now.”

Jungkook nods and then doesn’t say much else, which is weird considering the circumstances. You expected him to gently scold you for carelessly giving the psycho that was Kim Doyeon his address, but she’s been here a few times to pick you up, even came over for beer night once. She probably knew it anyway, but you still expected some type of reaction of disapproval from him.

Something’s off, and you know better than to leave it at that. You poke his cheek, right where that mole you’d been eyeing was. “Did you open her package?” you ask, grin slowly consuming your features at the fact Jungkook was apparently a mail snooper.

He looks away. You laugh. “Oh my god, you did,” you cackle, sitting up beside him to get a good look at the blush growing on his cheeks. “What did you see?”

“Nothing,” he huffs, pretending to be overly invested in his soccer match again, but that ship died the moment you stepped into his room. “Babe, I can't see the match.”

You roll your eyes, purposefully shifting in front of him so he’s forced to look at the maniac look in your eyes. “What did you see, Jeon Jungkook, and are we going to steal it from her again?”

His cheeks bloom impossibly darker at that. “No!” he coughs, pointedly avoiding your gaze.

But your curiosity is at its peak now, his reactions only exacerbating it. You grab him by the shoulders, hands balling the material of his hoodie as you give him one firm shake. “What did you see,” you demand.

“Oh my god,” he gives in. You release him and he flops back onto his pillow mountain. “They were things,” he explains slowly, cheeks rosy. “For your, y’know,” a vague gesture over his chest.

You frown. “A bra?” you guess. “I’m not gonna lie, Kook, think I just lost a little respect for you.”

“No!” he huffs. “They were… little clamps. For your nipples.”

If this was a cartoon, you’re almost certain you’d be that character with the object in question in their eyes, heart fluttering in your chest at the words that leave his mouth.

Immediately, two things become obvious to you.

One, Kim Doyeon was a bigger freak than you’d expected who obviously dabbled in an assortment of trades. Clamps, your brain screams, overwhelmed with the image that appears in your head, the one that has a shiver running straight to your core. You would have to thank her for this gracious, unintentional gift she’s bestowed upon you.

Two, you’re gonna have to write her the best, most plausible apology letter tomorrow when you inform her those clamps have been lost in the mail, never to be seen again. Or you could just straight up tell her you snatched them up the moment you found out what they were, but you doubt that’ll go over well.

Jungkook groans. “You have that look in your eye,” he points out. You snap your attention back to him. “And I just wanna say in advance that I don’t think i can give you the fun night you deserve, baby,” he apologizes, motioning towards his still swollen ankle.

Something distinctly mean switches on inside of you.

You flash him a sweet smile that has him letting down his guard. You lean forward, pressing a soft peck to his cheek as you climb down the bed towards your forgotten purse that’d been resting on the floor until that point. “Who said I needed you to have fun?” you throw over your shoulder, carefully slipping Doyeon’s first gift close to your body so he won’t see.

Jungkook levels you with an unimpressed look. “Really,” he says dryly, “you think you can have fun without me?” He almost sounds cocky, as if the idea of you even enjoying yourself the teensiest bit without his help seems unfathomable.

You grin, padding over to his bedside, where you carefully pick up his hand. You mirror his actions from before, pressing a sweet kiss against his knuckles that makes that conceited look slip off his features for a second, eyes soft.

Click.

Jungkook frowns. “What the—“ before the sentence can leave his mouth you’re lunging forward, wrestling his hands above his head, until they’re both secured at his headboard by the soft cuffs Doyeon had given you that afternoon at the salon. Jungkook’s wide eyes stare back at you, briefly leaving to glance up at the silver chain that wraps behind one of the rungs of his headboard. “Babe,” he says slowly. “What the fuck.”

You beam at him, leaning down to snatch a pillow from beneath him so he’s better positioned, leaning back more. “So cute,” you gush, taking in the way his raised arms have the hem of his hoodie lifting at the waist. There’s a faint trail of hairs around his belly button that disappear beneath the elastic of his shorts. “Do you like them?”

Jungkook blinks. “Baby,” he says a second time, much slower and a little too calm for your liking. It almost gets swallowed by the roar of the fans on TV. “What is this?”

You ignore him, scampering around his room until you find the hot pink Sexuality Unleashed packaging peeking out from beneath his bed. Sure enough, it’s in Doyeon’s name but his address. A whole complicated mess just for some nipple clamps she’ll never see again. It’s what’s inside anyway, not that you thought Jungkook was lying, but there’s something about the actual, carefully wrapped packaging that makes your heart and pussy flutter.

“Oh! Aren’t these the prettiest things?” you exclaim, whirling around to where Jungkook is shaking up a storm with his cuffs, pout growing on his features the longer you leave him there. The ice pack slips off his ankle, falling onto the comforter beside him from all his movement.

Jungkook doesn’t seem the least bit interested in the silver nipple clamps in your hands, too busy trying to free himself from the sudden trap you sprung on him. “Sweetheart, we can play with those tomorrow, alright?” he tries, relaxing his arms and finally looking your way. There’s a frustrated furrow to his brows, one you rarely see but adore very much. “Just undo these cuffs for me, yeah?”

You tilt your head to the side, placing a hand on the inside of his calf that you trail all the way up as you move to stand beside his hip. His thighs flinch at your touch, tensing when you stop just before the crotch of his pants. “Mmm, don’t think so,” you smile, dropping the thin chain beside him.

Your shirt goes first, peeled over your body until you’re left standing in your bra. It’s nothing too special this time, just your average run of the mill comfort bra hugging your chest. But that doesn’t really matter, especially not with the way you’re hoping things play out tonight. You’d discarded your jeans a few moments prior, so the shirt joins them on a pile on his floor.

As much as he tries to act irritated by your refusal to release him, there’s a slow stirring beneath his shorts. It’s emphasized by that bright blue material, cock swelling as he watches you take off your clothes. “Baby,” he warns, possibly for the last time. But you won’t know unless you push some more, you tell yourself, placing one knee on the edge of the bed, the other thrown across his lap.

“Wow,” you marvel, picking the chain up once more. Jungkook shifts beneath you, half hard cock brushing against the cleft of your cheeks. “Don’t you wanna see what it’s like, Jungkookie?”

He says nothing, watching you with solemn eyes that leave no room for reading him. Behind you, the game commentator is chattering up a storm.

Doesn’t matter, especially not when this flimsy metal had you so completely hypnotized. You reach behind yourself, unsnapping your bra with one fluid motion that has the cups falling onto your lap, soft chest on display for the man before you. Your breasts spill out slowly from their cage, pretty hardened buds slowly coming into his view. They make him pause his fussing, half-lidded gaze falling to the swell of your chest hungrily. His hands jerk, the cuffs doing their job of keeping them there.

You grin, placing a hand on his chest, over his hammering heart. “Do you wanna see me wear them?” you croon, tugging the material of his hoodie up his stomach, until your thighs are sitting directly on his tiny waist, thin thong just over his belly button. You trail your hand up, letting it brush up the side of his neck and bury into his scalp. You give an experimental tug that has his eyes squeezing shut. “Yes or no, Jungkookie?”

He’s being a huge brat for you, eyes scrunched up together like the sight of you enjoying yourself sans his touch is unimaginable. Another tug of his hair and he’s exhaling shakily, a quiet, “yes,” slipping past his lips.

The chain drops onto his chest with a quiet thud, shocking him enough to blink his eyes back open. Releasing your hold on his hair, you sit back on his lap, towering over his fidgety body like a goddess at a temple, him the lowly worshipper beneath you.

Your hands crawl over your body, starting somewhere around your waist. The glide up over your tummy, caress the underside of your breasts teasingly. Sure Jungkook knew your body well, but you knew your body best. One hand rubs teasingly over your breast, palm pressing down slightly against where your nipple lies, while the other drops down between your thighs, slowly grinding against your mound.

“Look, Jungkookie,” you gasp, body twitching at your own hands. You take a hardened nub between your fingers, rolling it back and forth until it’s standing at its peak. “I can do it without you,” you tease, rolling your hips against him slowly. The thin material of your thong does nothing to save you from the delicious swell of his cock against you. “F-Fuck,” you whimper, circling a finger over your clit. “It’s, it’s even better.”

His restraints jiggle against the bed frame, an obvious look of distress crossing his features. “No,” he huffs out a whine, tugging at the cuffs as you slowly unravel on his lap. They don’t give, no matter how much he pulls. You know he’s holding back, afraid of damaging his headboard, and you take advantage of the fact as you move to roll both nipples between your fingers. He groans harshly, jaw tight. “Hate you,” he hisses, hips wiggling beneath you. “Hate you, hate you.”

You breathe out an airy chuckle. “R-Really?” you ask, trembling hands finally reaching back for that second gift of the day. Your breath is shallow, so thoroughly wound up from your own playful hands, and you tremble at the mere brush of the cool metal. “Oh fuck,” you whimper, bringing them up to your chest, “I’ve never done this before,” you confess.

There’s a sense of amazement that consumes you at the thin chain you hold in your hands, the pretty gold painted clamps on each end. It makes you shiver, body unconsciously grinding down against Jungkook’s lap where his engorged cock was fighting against the material of his shorts.

“Then let me help you,” he tries, the childish tone from before melting into his usual silky smooth baritone. Jungkook even softens his gaze at you, let’s his tongue peek out to wet his lips as you almost seriously consider his request.

Had it not been for the sudden loud shout from the sports commentator behind you, a long obnoxious gooooooaaal, you probably would have fallen victim to that honey-eyed gaze. You would like to personally thank every loud-mouthed, ESPN commentator out there for saving you from Jungkook’s dangerous seduction skills.

Without a second thought, you bring one of the little camps close to your chest, giving it a few experimental squeezes until the nerves are replaced with an overwhelming wave of horniness that even Jungkook can sense. “Fuck,” he groans, shaking his restraints back and forth like a wild animal as you slowly get to clamping your left nipple.

You’re not sure what you expected; part of you had thought it was going to be an excruciating pain, one that would make you want to scream and shout in sheer agony. The other part had reduced it to a barely there pinch that would never live up to your fantasies. As it stands, the sensation of the clamp around your swollen nipple sits right in between, drawing in a choked gasp that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“Baby, sweetheart,” Jungkook gasps alongside you, eyes zeroed in on the pinched off bundle of nerves. There’s a sudden grinding sound that fills the air, like the sawing off of wood that definitely doesn’t sound good, and it’s a direct result of the fight he puts up against his headboard. “Please, please,” he begs, muscled arms tugging back and forth. “I have to touch—“

The second clamp goes on, making your entire back arch as if you were possessed. You're not, just extremely overwhelmed by the prickle of pain on your tits that makes you grind down against his cock, hands fisting the front of his hoodie like it’s the only thing grounding you right now. “Oh,” you shudder, thighs quivering at the heightened stimulation you receive from the clamps sitting on your nipples. “Kook, I-I can’t.”

He growls, hips bucking beneath you in a crazed effort to better situate you on his lap. “You gotta take these off me,” he rasps out. The next buck of his hips makes the chain dangling between your breast brush dangerously close to his face. He’s unintentionally goaded on by the TV in the room, the annoying drone of the commentator shouting something about never giving up. “Can make you feel so much better, sweet girl,” he cooes, jutting his head out like he needs a kiss.

Your head feels woozy, pussy throbbing at the sensations being channeled down into your core. Your eyes flutter shut, and before you can think it through, you're blindly reaching for the chain, giving it one light tug that has you mewling like a kitten. “O-oh, fuck,” you sob, looping your finger around the thin chain carefully. Another tug that pulls against your nipples sends a gush of wetness down between your thighs. “Cock,” you slur dazedly, “need your cock.”

Jungkook shudders out a long breath. “Le-Let me go then, sweetheart,” he chokes out, “let me fuck that pretty little pussy for you.”

“Uh uh,” you disagree, bringing another angry buck out of him, metal cuffs rattling loudly. “Want you to watch,” you pant, reaching behind you for his shorts. “Watch me, Jungkookie.” It takes three tries for you to get a grip, the elastic material slipping from your fingers before you finally gain some semblance of control and paw them down . The shorts and the boxers came off together, his engorged cock springing up to tap against your ass. “W-Watch,” you repeat dazedly, leaning forward with one hand on his shoulder to line him up with your dripping hole. Behind you, the commentator is droning on about core balance or something of the sort. It takes two tries as you blindly have to tug your panties to the side as well, and just as you have his fiery red tip against your entrance, something else happens.

He catches you, pearly teeth biting down on the chain that connects your clamps in a motion you can only liken to a bloodthirsty shark jumping out of the water, jaws snapping to catch its prey. It dangles in his face, the same way his own necklaces have done to you so many times before. But the difference between you and Jungkook was that while you let his assortment of necklaces hypnotize you, drag across your face painfully, he doesn’t. He snaps forward, catches it between his teeth.

You mewl loudly, foggy vision turning onto him. Jungkook’s got this unreadable look on his face, likes he’s pissed off and turned on all at once. “You’re not in charge,” he murmurs around the chain, the s and c sounds all slurred together. “You will never be in charge, silly girl, you got that?” he spits, yanking his head back like an animal, pulling your upper body with him by the two golden clamps on your nipples.

There’s tears in your eyes, lining your waterline and threatening to fall with each tug his mouth gives against the chain of your nipple clamps. He’s got his neck craned back as far as he possibly can with a pillow beneath him, chain links digging into his bottom lip. “Y-Yes,” you sob, your entire body quivering at the way he so easily manages to overthrow you, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he says, solemn eyes flickering across your twisted features once more. He gives another purposeful tug, head snapping back just the tiniest bit, but it’s enough to tug you forward again, a loud whimper torn from your throat. “Undo these cuffs for me, sweet girl,” he commands softly, jiggling the same restraints he’d spent the better part of fifteen minutes fighting against.

“Y-Yes,” you whimper, hands wildly slapping down on his bedside table. You had had half the mind to leave the key there when you had retrieved the cuffs, telling yourself it would be easy access afterwards. It’s not, apparently, the silver pick falling just out of reach. For some reason— it’s probably the sensitivity and horninesss, the pinpricks of pain that originate from your nipples —this fact frustrates you to the point of tears.

“Easy, doll,” Jungkook talks you through, voice low and soft beneath you, “relax and grab it for me, okay?” You nod, angrily blinking away a tear that drips down your face. It splatters on Jungkook’s cheek, bringing a soft huff of amusement from him.

Finally the key brushes your hand, and you sigh in relief, shakily leaning forward to undo the lock above his head. He releases his killer chomp/grip on your chain just as you release his cuffs. “I-I’m sorry,” you sniffle, a sudden need to apologize as you watch him rub at the raw skin around his wrists. “I didn’t—“

“Shhh,” he says, cuddling you into his chest. “It’s alright,” he says simply and you believe him.

Which ends up being a terrible mistake exactly ten seconds later when he’s shoving your face into the sheets, your cries and whimpers muffled by the sounds of the game on TV as he winds your arms behind your back. You struggle for all of five seconds before a soft click resounds from behind you.

“Did you think I’d just let that slide, sweet girl?” he growls against your ear, hot breath fanning across your skin. “I'm not your dog, __,” he spits, suddenly yanking you up by your cuffed wrists. Your chest is heaving, arms aching from the way he’s got you on your knees, blind to whatever he’s doing behind you. “Don’t lock me up, because I’ll always come back to bite.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you stammer, flinching when a hand snakes around your waist, an experimental tug to the chain of your clamps. It sends a shudder down your spine, amplified by the hot press of his body behind you. “I won’t do it again!”

“I know you fucking won’t,” he laughs meanly, trailing his hand down over your mound. One finger circles your clit through your underwear, a shaky sigh exiting your lips at the jarringly light touch. “Because I’m gonna fuck you until you’ve learned your lesson, silly girl.”

“I said sorry,” you whimper, thighs quivering. His cock brushes up against you, the same cock you were about to ride until the sunset. Oh how the tables have turned.

A hand slips beneath your underwear, pad of a finger rubbing against your swollen clit. “Oh,” you exhale, surprised with the suddenly gentle touch following his words. “Th-That’s nice,” you murmur, head lolling forward at the slow rhythm he sets, playing with you like you were a toy that needed warming up.

“Yeah?” he husks out. There’s a yank to your clamps that makes you gasp, chest following the motion as if it’ll reduce the shock. “You think this is about making you feel nice?” he murmurs. Another tug, followed by another, until he’s raining down a series of rhythmic shocks onto your tits that make you shiver and twitch, tongue heavy in your mouth to the point you feel like you’re drooling.

“Wait,” you whimper, arms twisting behind you. “Hurts, hurts” you cry, arching your back like it’ll save you from the steady stimulation against your rock-hard nipples.

“Does it?” Jungkook hums, one hand working away at your clit. He swirls it around his finger, pressing down on the nub in an attempt to distract you. But it only heightens the sting coming from your breasts, the blossom of pain that grows over each mound the longer he plays with you. “Good. Want your pretty little body to hurt for me, baby.”

Right after saying that he releases the grip on your chain, letting it swing back and forth until it eventually rests on your stomach, throbbing nipples spared for now. A breath of relief washes over you now that you only have to worry about the hand playing along your folds. The TV is still flickering to your right, but the commentator's voice sounds fuzzy and so far away, like he’s in a whole different dimension while you and Jungkook are here.

Your reprieve lasts shorter than you expected, as his free hand slowly begins creeping up your waist, fluttering over the little gold clamps pinching your nipples. “Pretty girl,” he compliments, nudging one tender nub with a playful finger. “Pretty, pretty baby,” Jungkook murmurs as he begins massaging the scorching hot skin around your nipples gently. There’s a warm kiss pressed to your shoulder, followed by a trail up the side of your neck. You shudder, trying to focus on the hand that creeps down your folds, teases itself against your entrance.

“Jungkook,” you whine softly, rolling your head to the side so he can suck bruise after bruise onto your skin. You’re definitely drooling, the saliva thick and heavy in your mouth. “T-Too much.”

“Thought you wanted that,” he mumbles, kissing up and up until he’s at your jaw and then he’s at your mouth, languidly kissing you. He’s doing that thing again where he’s hellbent on drowning you in his spit, and if you didn’t know better you’d think he was preparing you for something. “Wanted me to watch you bounce that tight little cunt on me while your tits were like this,” he says, punctuating his statement with a light slap against the side of one breast. It makes you jump, a moan catching in your throat.

The finger that had been playing meanly along your wet folds eases itself past your lips, plunges head first into the aching heat inside of you. He works it against your walls, thumb over your clit as he curls his finger inside of you. You moan loudly, shaking in your restraints. The hand over your chest squeezes, pushes the clamp deeper against your breast until your entire body is short-circuiting.

Your first orgasm comes over you with all the grace of a lightning bolt; it’s sudden and jerky, has every nerve ending wildly spasming as you whimper his name. “No more, no more,” you beg, head lolling back against his shoulder. He shows you no mercy, simply rubs furiously over your clit, until you’re jerking into his maniac hand.

When it’s over, he places a kiss against your jaw, curling his finger inside once more “Play with yourself,” he whispers.

“H-Huh?” you stutter, the rattle of your cuffs loud in both your ears, but not as loud as the breath you were trying to catch post-orgasm. You wonder if maybe he got ahead of himself again—he occasionally did that, thinking ahead to a point you hadn’t reached in your normal progression of sex —but suddenly he’s shoving you back down again, the finger that was slowly driving you insane rudely exiting your cunt.

You flop down against the mattress with a squeal, wiggling around like you actually had a chance of doing anything with him watching you like he is. You struggle for a few beats, every shift against the mattress rubbing harshly against your breasts until you nearly want to cry.

Just as you reach that point, he’s rolling you into your back, hands uncomfortably bent beneath you. It leaves you unwillingly arching to accommodate them, tits practically presented for him to see. “Pretty girl,” Jungkook groans, reaching down for the first time that day to touch himself.

His self restraint was truly unmatched, you realize, watching him squeeze the base of his cock. He runs a palm over his abdomen, up his chest. He drags the material of his hoodie along with it, eventually shucking it off somewhere to the side. His hair, so fluffy and soft, flops over his forehead, a few defined strands tickling his eyebrow.

The mere sight of him alone made you shiver, pussy clenching at the wet dream before you. He’s not an idiot either, obviously aware of what the sight of his body does to you, the tattoos littering his entire right arm that hypnotize you. The faint glow of the TV screen against his side makes him look like the cover star of every middle-aged wife’s erotic romance novel. He reaches said arm down, runs a hand along your thigh until you’re spreading them wide for him.

He doesn’t touch you like you want, only slides over your body until he’s toying with the chain of the nipple clamps that were slowly becoming the bane of your existence. “Open,” he says suddenly, and you do. Your mouth drops open, tongue stuck out slightly even if you don’t know why. He’s ingrained the response into you by now, made you into a desperate slut always ready for anything in your mouth.

This time it’s the stupid, stupid chain connecting your nipple clamps. He tugs it until it’s pulled up, the pull against your nipples making you whimper and writhe. The metal is cool when it touches your lips, but his fingertips are warm. “Good girl,” he praises once you bite down; even this sends a shock of nerves down your spine and to your pussy. “Just like that.”

A muffled whimper escapes your lips, tears clouding your vision at the stimulation that was quickly overwhelming you again. Part of you thinks no more, please, I can’t. But the other has you spreading your legs for him, quivering pussy desperate to be filled.

The distress must be obvious in your face if the way Jungkook kisses your neck is any indication. He’s got one hand massaging against the underside of one breast, like he’s soothing the striking pain of your pinched nipples for you. If anything, it only strings you along more. “Stupid baby,” he chuckles meanly, a soft puff of laughter against your jaw, “thinking she could push me down.”

He leans back onto his knees, that same careful brush against the inside of your thigh bringing about an embarrassing whimper as he peels your thong away. “But you didn’t really want that, did you?” he eggs on, slowly shifting down against the bed, until his mouth is hovering over your exposed lower lips. His breath is warm, makes you yearn for him to be closer. “You like when I shove my cock into your little pussy, right? Like how it feels when I turn you into my little slut like this,” he sighs, pressing one chaste kiss against your thigh that makes you pull at the cuffs behind your back.

Soon, his mouth is on your clit, the same clit he had previously pampered with his hands but chooses to play with again. He licks an obscenely wet stripe from your throbbing hole to your clit, tongue curling devilishly towards the end. You whimper, though the sound is distorted around the chain in your mouth. Jungkook groans, dives mouth first into your cunt until he’s suffocating himself. His cute nose is pressed against your clit, and he takes advantage of the fact by taking one, dramatic sniff with his eyes rolled back. A soft moan escapes him.

“Fuck,” he shudders, “smell like heaven for me.” You moan at his sweet words, eyes squeezed shut as if that’ll stop the buckets of overwhelmed tears that you’ve been fighting off since the moment the clamps came on. “Wanna give you the world, angel,” he breathes, licking languidly against your folds, tongue occasionally peeking inside.

You mewl and writhe, every movement sending a tug of pain over your nipples. You want that gorgeous cock deep in your cunt, want to feel him in your womb, but you can’t voice any of this with the chain of the clamps between your lips.

Jungkook sits up suddenly, and you’re thinking yes, finally, before the look on his face has you screeching to a halt. There’s something distinctly different about him, a look you don’t think you’ve ever seen in bed before. Your thoughts are only confirmed when his foot slides onto the floor, as if he’s about to leave.

The panic must be evident on your face, because Jungkook is quick to swoop in and reassure you he’s not done with you yet. “Wanna fuck your little pussy,” he admits, carding a hand through your hair. “But the truth is I don’t think you deserve that just yet.”

With that he slinks off the bed, leaving you writhing in confusion as he heads off for the closet behind you. You can’t see what he’s doing, can only hear the shuffling of something back and forth. The TV is still on, the loud cheering of the fans muffling his clattering. You’re suddenly reminded of his swollen ankle, craning your neck to tell him to not overdo it, when something dark covers your eyes.

He’s standing just beside the edge of the bed, his signature teddy bear heat emanating off in waves so thick you could touch them. “Do you trust me?” he murmurs, voice close but not close to your ear.

Something swells in your chest, an emotion so intense your entire pelvis tightens up at the realization that Jungkook was asking for permission to blindfold you. You’re almost certain it’s one of his ties, a silky black thing that covers your vision for the most part, save for a little crack by where your nose juts out. A shuffle to your side, and then he’s gently prying the chain he had pushed past your lips earlier out. “Need an answer, ___,” he says quietly, almost nervously.

“Yes,” you gasp, your entire body set aflame at the sudden turn of events.

If you were being honest you would have never predicted your night would end like this. Maybe you came in a little too cocky, a little too optimistic for the night. It was supposed to be Jungkook handcuffed and powerless, you remind yourself— how on earth did you get here?

“Good girl,” he praises, giving you a little encouraging nudge to raise your head for him to actually tie the knot behind your head. It’s definitely one of his suit ties, you realize, because there’s a distinct cross-stitch pattern that you can feel only when it’s tightened against your skin, pressing against your fluttering eyelids. When he releases you, you’re suddenly all too aware of the sense he’s deprived you of.

“K-Kook?” you call out with a tremble in your voice. The rhythmic pattern of his footsteps rounds the bed again, and then there’s a soft touch against your leg.

“Right here, sweet girl,” he reassures you. The bed dips by your legs as he closes in on you, still tied up and on the verge of a second orgasm that he snatched away before your very eyes; not that you can see it anymore. His hand slides over your stomach, tugs playfully at the clamps. You moan, the sensation magnified tenfold by the fact you can’t see nor anticipate his actions now.

His hands glide like two sailing boats over the broad expanse of sea that is your body, molding against your curves like waves as they go. He hums appreciatively, and you find yourself glad you can’t see him. You can’t possibly imagine with what eyes he’s looking at you now.

You bask in the glory of his attention for another beat before he retracts his touch.

And then, suddenly, something distinctly not hand-like, and weirdly soft traces over the inside of your thighs. “Kook?” you ask tentatively.

No response.

It runs over your skin in the same way his hands just did, a unique shape your brain scrambles to put a name too. It’s soft, so soft. But cold to the touch. Inanimate for sure. It’s a toy, your brain supplies belatedly, but that much you already know.

It’s heart-shaped, you realize, just as it thwacks down against your pussy.

You shriek at the suddenness of it all, thighs clamping shut. Your heart is thundering at a pace of a rabbit’s, chest rising and falling as you blindly piece together what just happened. “Kook?” you whimper a second time, head craning back and forth in a desperate attempt to track his next move.

He’s not touching you anymore, but the bed is still dipping by your feet, so you deduce he must be there. You test your theory by sliding your foot against the sheets, lower lip trembling at the idea of him not being there.

Jungkook catches your ankle with one warm palm, slightly calloused from years of weightlifting. He raises it up, the cold air of his room hitting your exposed pussy. “You liked it,” he says, not a question but an observation. Your pussy throbs, the phantom strike against it lingering. A kiss to your ankle.

“Wh-What is it?” you cry, unconsciously pressing your leg closer to him now that you have his location. (You don’t see the soft smile on his face at your action.) Ever so slowly you let your thighs open again, now anticipating the next touch of that thing— that riding crop, you realize.

Jungkook confirms. “It’s a riding crop,” he explains, excitement curling around his words. Suddenly, it returns, this time against your stomach. He doesn’t strike you like he did before, simply lets it run across your tummy. “Heart-shaped. It’s so pretty,” he sighs dreamily. “Reminds me of you.”

You nod anxiously, stomach muscles tensed the longer it stays there. Jungkook obviously sees this, lifting it to give you the lightest of taps that still manages to make you gasp. “Cute,” he laughs, trailing it back to where it first touched down.

“Oh,” you tremble, thighs twitching as it pats tenderly over your clit. “Wai-Wait,” you warn, body arching as he runs it down, down your swollen folds. “No,” you weep, going to close your legs. But Jungkook predicts your moves, pressing your thigh down harshly against the bed.

“Shh,” he soothes, tracing the heart down your folds, pressing it flat against you. There’s a distinct lining over it that makes your hips jump, a faux-velvet covering the tip that tickles your skin. “Sit still for me.”

“No!” you gasp. Your back arches, body betraying you as it pushes your pussy against the toy. “I can’t, I can’t, Kook,” you sob, lips contracting around the gaping nothingness in your hole.

He condemns your attitude with a harsh swat of the riding crop against your cunt, tearing another high-pitched squeal from your lips. It’s followed by another against your clit that makes your body spasm. “Bad,” he chides. “Supposed to be my perfect girl.”

“I c-can’t,” you whine, the darkness over your eyes making the sensations ten times more intense. You don’t know where he or the riding crop are if they’re not directly touching you. Even then, the image is fuzzy in your head. “Need you,” you pant.

You try to reach for him, try to pull him into your arms. But you’re reminded of the cuffs holding you back, the metal digging into your skin behind you. You sob at the realization, angrily shaking your hands back and forth like maybe acting like a tantrum-throwing child will save you. It doesn’t.

Instead there’s a tug at the chain resting on your stomach, one that makes you cry out in pain when it pulls at your terribly sensitive nipples again. Jungkook uses it to pull you close, just a small inch off the bed that has you gasping for breath nonetheless.

“N-No,” you wail, nipples throbbing from all the sensations you’ve put them through tonight.

A chaste peck against your trembling lips. “Tell me how it feels,” he purrs, nose brushing against yours. Even with the tie obstructing your vision, the latest version of your boyfriend burns itself into your eyelids, force feeding you his sweaty skin and damp hair until even his breath against your face is enough to bring you to the edge.

“I-It’s scary, Kook,” you sniffle, listening for any signs of a reaction. But even if he did show one, your breathing is too loud and the ESPN channel is still blaring on screen. “Scary,” you whimper, lunging forward in a desperate move to feel the familiar brush of his tongue against yours. You miss.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks carefully, like he’s afraid he’s pushed too far.

He has. But fuck, do you love it.

“No,” you wail, lips smushed somewhere along his cheek, near his jaw and not his mouth like you wanted to. “Feels good, feels so fucking amazing,” you babble, cut off halfway through by a hiccup from your sad cries. “Wanna cum, wanna cum for you like this.”

Jungkook chuckles in relief, tilting his head until you can catch his lips with yours. It’s probably an awkward angle you assume, him adjusting for your vision-less whims, but it feels so good. It sends a shock to your pussy, his plush lips against yours. Without him telling you, you’re opening your mouth for him. “Spit on me,” you beg pitifully.

Jungkook groans, and you can almost visualize the look on his face perfectly— the tensing of his jaw, the push of his Adam’s apple, the pucker of his lips. “God, you’re disgusting,” he sighs, a fat glob of spit hitting the back of your tongue. Without your vision, you don’t see it coming, recoiling with a whiny mewl. The thin trail of saliva that follows trails across your chin when he finally reels back. You swallow greedily, wondering how soon is too soon to ask him to do it again.

With your full permission to move forward, Jungkook wastes no time trailing the riding crop over your wet folds, collecting your oozing pre-cum on the tiny heart as he roves it over your cunt. “Fuck, you can probably cum like this too, can’t you?”

You can’t answer, too caught up in the featherlight brushes. Even if you wanted to say something, one sudden strike against your pussy renders you speechless. “Mmh!” you hiss, biting down on your lip.

“Come on,” Jungkook encourages, resting a hand on your thigh. He presses the crop against you again, pushes down until the flat apex of the heart where it meets the flexible stem of the toy is pressing against your cunt hotly. He grinds it down against you, takes a sick pleasure in the pathetic way you arch up into it, rut against the little heart like it can provide even half the pleasure his hands usually would. “Talk to me, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

Your body is on fire, every nerve, every sensation shooting straight to your most erogenous areas— your cunt and your nipples. Talking seems like the farthest thing from your mind right now, too caught up in the way he roughly pushes the crop against your clit. A whimper rips itself from your throat, shuddering at the sensation. Unconsciously you jerk away from him, only to be scolded with another thwack against your quivering pussy lips. “A-Ahh,” you wail, squirming beneath him like a worm that can’t sit still. “Good— it feels good, Jungkookie,” you weep.

The soft mushy pet name has him raining down two snacks against you in quick succession. “No baby names,” he warns, frown evident in his voice.

Even with you completely under him like this, shackled and blinded with your love, something unmistakably childish and obnoxious curls around your throat, has you biting down on a grin as the coil in your stomach tightens. “D-Don’t like that, Jungkookie,” you choke out hoarsely, wildly bold for someone in your position. “D-Don't like being m-my baby?”

The crop loses its position over your folds, and for a minute you’re left anxiously anticipating its next touch.

It’s on the side of your breast, harder than the rest, combining with the already powerful pinch of the clamps. It makes you cry out painfully, stomach tightening at what is probably the most unexpected orgasm you’ve ever had. It isn’t like your usual ones that overpower you and make cum trickle out between your folds.

No, it comes in waves— literally. Your pussy spasms, pushes one splurt of cum out between your thighs, almost likes your lower lips are spitting it out. And then again, more the second time, against his mattress. He pushes your legs up to your chest to marvel at the cum coating your lips and thighs. “You’re my baby, stupid,” he hisses. He grabs at your clamps then, twisting the little chain in his hand harshly. You sob at the yank, at the way your nipples feel two seconds away from being ripped off. But you can’t even complain, because the sudden touch has your pussy clenching, before a final trickle of cum oozes out of you.

Even still, your mind babbles on. “N-No,” you choke, shaking back and forth. Despite the tie covering your eyes, they flicker like a mad man beneath it, like you’ll somehow get lucky and develop Seeing Through Fabric Ability if you try hard enough. “My, my baby,” you fight weakly, pelvis trembling from aftershocks of that orgasm. “My idiot b-boy,” you smile dazedly, eyes rolling into the back of your head at the sting you’ve become familiar with by now. “T-Tell me, Jungkookie,” you croon, biting down on your lip to keep a moan from spilling out mid-syllable. “Still the same, r-right?” you stutter, “still think you’re better than me, don’t you?”

He scoffs. “No,” he vehemently denies, brashly landing an unexpected smack against your hip, no warning in sight. “That’s not true,” he defends. You can hear his pout, the little push of his lips when he grows defensive.

You laugh, every bit the insane lunatic, fueled by your two orgasms and slipping sense of reality. “Ffffuck,” you whimper, rolling your hips up into nothing. “S-Say it again, baby,” you plead, tongue licking across your lips. “Tell me, tell me you don’t care about my problems, Kook-ah,” you whimper.

There’s a hesitant pause on his end, an unexpected lull in your play as he’s torn apart between doing what you want or playing it safe.

You know you’re confusing him, because you’re certainly confusing yourself. You don’t even bother trying to dissect your emotions— you’ve long since accepted your mind was a dangerous place when horny and presented with Jungkook’s sole attention. Well, you knew you were into the whole degradation bit, but this whole having-your-boyfriend-throw-the-words-that-made-you-question-your-entire-worth bit was certainly new and unexpected.

But there’s something in your heart (and in your libido) that needs this, needs him to fix this memory for you that maybe, kinda sorta, has haunted you for days, weeks now, as much as you hate to admit it. Needed him to fix the booboo he gave you with a bandaid, only leave a scar you could look back at and laugh off, not a gaping wound that opened at the slightest mention of it. Because while you forgave, you certainly never forgot*.

(*Unless forgetting meant having your boyfriend overwrite said memory that couldn’t be forgotten with the sheer power of his monster demon cock and wicked tongue. Only then could you forget.)

“Don’t be a fucking pussy, Jungkook,” you spit, feeling the hesitancy in the riding crop that brushes against your skin. It fades away quickly. “S-Say I’ve a dead-end office job; just holding you back,” you beg, trying to pretend the entirety of his little outburst hasn’t been ingrained into your mind for the last couple of weeks. Something flashes in your chest, throat closing off when the toy finally leaves your skin. “Tell me, tell me—“

He looms over you, teddy bear warmth covering the entirety of your body. “Is this what you want?” he asks seriously, lowly, breath fanning across your lips. Your makeshift blindfold feels distinctly damp over your eyes, chest heaving with an exertion that can only be emotional when he speaks so softly to you after routinely raining down brutal thwacks on you for the past half hour. “__,” he says sternly, “is this what you want?”

You gasp on a sob, unsure when these emotions had time to manifest outside your heart like this. You nod your head like a bobble head doll sitting on someone’s dashboard, lower lip trembling on a shameful cry that is not sex-induced like all the other ones until now. “I-I need this, Jungkook,” you admit, voice so tiny and soft, it almost gets drowned out by your shaky exhales and the crowd roaring on screen. “Need to overwrite it.”

He presses a soft kiss to your quivering lips, slow and so devastatingly loving. It’s nothing like the one from before where he’d spit down your throat per your request, and the unbridled adoration he packs into one simple kiss makes you crumble in his arms, sniffles piling on by the dozens.

He leans back after a moment, pulls your thigh over his forearm and finally lets you feel the hard ridges of his cock against your folds. “Stupid girl,” he huffs, trying to sound angry and annoyed, but there’s a lilting tone to his words, a love and trust you wouldn’t have been able to see with or without your blindfold, but can feel nonetheless. He pulls it off you anyway, the warm glow of the TV illuminating his face for you for the first time in about half an hour. Eyes soft, sweat trailing down his body. His body lines up against yours, but so does his heart. You feel it in the way he holds you in his arms, the way he’s careful about sinking into your folds. He slips an arm beneath your waist, uses it to hold you up so you’re not uncomfortably squishing your arms anymore. But if you ask, he’ll pretend he’s doing this for convenience sake only.

“T-Terrible fucking job,” he starts out, the stammer eluding the obvious discomfort he has saying those words, but he does it for you anyway. “Big fucking baby,” he tries again, slowly pushing past your tight walls with a shudder. “C-Can’t look away from you for two seconds because you’re such a fucking kid.”

“Worse,” you choke out. “Meaner. Please, Kook.”

He nods, holds your waist carefully when he finally bottoms out inside of you. “Dead-end office job,” he says, repeating the words that had made you want to crawl into a whole and never come out from. “Got some stupid fucking problems,” he tacks on, slowly withdrawing his hips from your heat. “Always complaining about the stupidest shit,” he hisses, fingers digging into your waist when it’s only the tip of his cock inside of you. “I don’t fucking care about it,” he seethes, forcefully snapping his hips into you.

They’re scrambled fragments of what he’d really said to you that night. Line after line that don’t carry a quarter of hurt or even make coherent sense for that matter. And still.

You whimper, mind fuzzy from the thrusting pace he picks up, body fluttering at the glide of his cock against your walls. But your heart is thundering in your throat, his willingness to help fix this memory for you tightening around your every being until you can’t breathe. “I-I love you,” you cry, clenching down around him.

Jungkook groans, pulls you flush against his cock until the thin hairs around the base of his cock are tickling your skin. “Stupid, fucking child,” he groans, “immature ass nobody,” he grunts, bucking into you like your words don’t mean a thing.

“I am, I am,” you wail, suddenly hit with the cold hard truth that your body was desperately on edge. From the stimulation your nipples had gotten all night, to the ghost of the riding crop that lingered across your skin; your body was tired, so ready for a final orgasm that you’re certain Jungkook will provide. “T-Tell me y-you—“

“Shut up,” he barks, sweaty skin gliding against yours. “D-Don't tell me what to do,” he huffs, nailing you into the bed. He’s pushing you hard into the mattress, like he wants to brand you into it. “Need to fix this— alone.”

You nod numbly, the crowd behind him cheering loudly. It’s like they’re rooting for him— for the two of you —as silly as it sounds, and as bothersome as it would be any other day, today the obnoxious sounds of the ESPN soccer match only serve to fix a bad memory from before. It’s loud and cringey as all hell, but you’ll look back to this moment and laugh.

And that’s what you want most of all. You want that memory from before, that nasty fight, to go away, to disappear forever and be replaced with this one. Of him, pounding you into the sheets as his TV blares beside you, just another day, another round of sex filled with your usual kinks. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Ffffuck,” you whine when the tip of his hard cock prods against your cervix. He’s going deep, he’s going all out, because he wants to fix this too. Wants to do anything to make it right, and he’ll never know how much you appreciate him for it. “S-So deep,” you whimper, hips jumping when he rams back inside.

“Stupid slut,” Jungkook snarls, tucking his head against your neck the same way he always does. “Making me do stupid shit like this,” he bites, but you know he doesn’t mean it, know he never will again. He rocks his hips into you, no longer concerned with holding you up from uncomfortably laying on your cuffed arms anymore as he pistons into your squelching heat. He’s pressed so close over you, lips brushing against your collarbone with each snap of his hips.

All the pushing and jostling about has the chain of your clamps wildly jumping about, sprawling across the planes of your chest, above your breasts, where he snatches it up between his lips again. “Stupid, fucking—“ he slurs, jutting his head to the side like a wild stallion. You sob at the tenderness of your nipples, at the way he pays them no mercy as he continues rutting into you like a mad dog in heat. “Slut,” he spits. “S-So fuckin’ pretty.”

Your mind is in another universe, and when that last word, that devastatingly familiar term, slips from his lips mindlessly, something inside you snaps. “N-No,” you sob, legs fidgeting around his waist at the orgasm that wracks through your body against your will. “No,” you cry in frustration, “didn’t, didn’t want—“

“Stupid, stupid angel,” he babbles, seemingly unaware of your orgasm as he continues fucking into your leaking cunt, ignorant of the cum that dribbles out, creams his cock as he carries on. “Fuck,” he pants, gnaws against the chain of the stupid clamps like he can’t bare this any longer. “Love you,” he says, though he’s still stuck in that mindset from before and his sweet confession sounds more like a threat. “L-Love that childish side of you,” he confesses, finally dropping the chain— much to your relief —and surging forward to kiss you on the mouth. He tastes weirdly metallic, a thought you can’t ponder too long as he continues ramming himself past your clenched lips and into your pussy. “Your fffucking dr-drive to succeed,” he grunts, mouth smushed uncomfortably against your cheek.

“Kook, sweetheart,” you shudder, sensitive pussy spent as he drills on. His cock is still so achingly hard, and he doesn’t seem anywhere near completion. “Take it easy,” you gently remind him, can’t brush your fingers through his hair like you usually would, so you settle for pressing your lips to his cheek.

“Fuck, fuck,” he heaves, pushing so deep you practically feel him in your womb, swollen mushroom head begging for entry. “Give me it all,” he stammers, “want you—want this forever.”

“I know you do, baby,” you coo, nuzzling your nose against his when he sloppily surges forward, panting and gasping over you like a crazed caveman. “I’m yours,” you gently remind him.

“No,” he chokes out hoarsely, eyes screwed shut. “Need more, all of it,” he mumbles. “Give me yourself, ___, need you for the rest of my life—“ he cuts himself off with a shuddered whine, so airy and wispy it makes you shiver. “Ffffuck, shit,” he howls, each thrust into your walls only unraveling him more and more. “Give me, give me—“

“Anything,” you whimper, body trembling from his excessivity. “What do you want, Kook-ah?”

He says nothing, losing himself in the warmth of your pussy as his orgasm rounds the corner. He’s in the final stretch, the final straight until achieving nirvana alongside you at the finish line. And, as you’ve long since come to understand, a true Jungkook Danger Zone. He loses all sense of self, random syllables and phrases slipping through his lips.

“Fuck, fuck, marry me— marry me,” he moans, snapping his hips into you with a ferocious speed that has you bouncing against the sheets, and that’s despite the tight grip his has on you. “Let me— fuck— let me fuck a baby into you, sweetheart,” he purrs, eyes shining like an absolute psycho, but you’re apparently into that because the idea squeezes around your chest and burrows it’s way in. “A baby,” he marvels like an idiot, eyes big and sparkly, “f-fuck.”

“Wh-What?” you choke, flinching when he bites down against your lower lip. He’s got you trapped beneath him, stuffing your brain with these ideas that make your heart enter cardiac arrest, body tingling like in Mario Kart when you’ve got the star power up. “Kook—“

“Sh,” he groans, digging his fingers into your sides as he rolls his hips against you. “Almost,” he informs you, but the blood rushes to your ears. “Oh, fuck,” he pants, jaw clenching, “oh, baby.”

Jungkook cums with a shivered cry, body hunching over you like some entity has just exited out of his spine. Maybe something did, because afterwards he manages to hold himself above you for exactly three seconds before dropping the entirety of his hefty muscles onto you. “Ouch,” you whine, wrists twisted uncomfortably beneath you.

“Sorry,” he huffs, completely out of breath and dazed as he rolls away from you. He ends up spread out like a starfish beside you, completely fucked out and definitely zooming through the fifth, sixth, and seventh dimensions.

He doesn’t say anything for a hot minute, chest rising and falling like he’s just run a marathon, until you butt in. “Kook. Undo me,” you remind him.

He looks over at you, dark hair falling over his eyes and sprawling around his head like a halo. Oh, he was going to be the death of you. “Oh,” he says, like his brain has just processed the information. “Right.” He sits up, tucking himself back into the shorts he never fully took off. That was his character flaw; never bothers to get completely naked during sex. Anyway, his straight male-equivalent of booty shorts come up around his thighs again, stretching sinfully across the thick muscles.

The five sonnet poem that was gearing up in your head comes to a halt when he touches your breast. “No, no more,” you cry, instinctively withering away.

Jungkook snorts. “I’m just taking them off, baby,” he says, reaching forward again with the same practiced ease you’d use on an animal. The clamps come off, all the nerves suddenly coming back to life. It’s a weird sensation, not having your tits subject to that prickling pain anymore, and it makes you moan softly. Jungkook soothes you with his wannabe masseuse hands, but you think it’s just an excuse for him to fondle your breasts.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks gently, hovering over you like a damned surgeon or something. His voice is so silky and smooth, hands soft against your chest. He’s so careful in the way he turns you over, somehow magically producing the tiny key pick you swore was lost between the sheets after its first use.

Being on your chest makes you tremble like a leaf, the faintest brush of the cotton against your tits enough to make your pussy clench weakly. “ I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, carefully detailing his actions like you’re not watching him with your very own eyes. But it’s oddly comforting, having him walk you through the process of rolling your sore wrists. The inside of the cuffs had a plush lining, but it was a pretty cheap thing. After he’s done massaging the skin, he pads over to his dresser and returns with a shirt and undies for you. “Shirt,” he says, helping you into the clothing.

When you’re all snuggled under the sheets again, the television still loud as hell, he mumbles, “wanna talk about it?”

You exhale against his chest, feeling so light and fluttery from your orgasms and the way he runs his fingers through your scalp and the way his heart thunders by your ear. “Hm,” you hum pensively. “Nah. Think I’m fine now,” you admit.

Jungkook chuckles. “A full miracle recovery?” he teases. You nod, taking in the comforting scent of his fabric softener and just him in his entirety.

“Yep.” A beat of silence, the commentator is back to filling the space between you two. He talks about a mile minute, spewing stats and plays you could never understand in a thousand years. But you know Jungkook will get sucked in soon enough, so you strike while the pot is hot. “Do you wanna talk?”

He cranes his neck a little to look at you. “What do you mean?”

You roll your eyes, pushing yourself up to look at him straight on. “Oh, my mistake,” you drawl. “I seem to have missed the part where we were going to act like you didn’t just ask for my hand in marriage and then offered to get me pregnant—,” you pause, the realization suddenly hitting you like a trash can whipping down a hill on a rainy day at a thousand miles per hour. “Pregnant!” you exclaim, cheeks warm at the fact he really just said that to you.

Jungkook’s cheeks fare no better, a Flaming Hot Cheeto shade dusting his skin. “I, it was just…” he tries, poor tiny monkey brain working overtime to offer an excuse. “It-it doesn’t have to be a thing,” he blushes, big Bambi eyes flickering from you to the television to the heart-tipped riding crop by the foot of the bed. “I was just…”

You raise your brows. “Consumed by the spirit of King Henry IV to have fourteen kids?”

He blinks. “Wait, you actually paid attention to that film?”

“That’s not the point!” you exclaim, shifting onto your knees in front of him. “What,” you inhale sharply, heart beating wildly in your chest, “what was that?”

Jungkook can only play the shocked angel card for so long before he’s sinking back into his pillow stack with the sigh of a man who’s worked in construction for the last sixty-four years. “I just,” he mumbles, “I think about it sometimes.” His admission makes your heart lodge itself into your throat, wide eyes watching him spill out his heart to you.

He misreads the expression on your face. “I-Not now!” he hurries to explain. “Like,” he stammers, rosy hue slowly crawling down his neck, over his ears. “Maybe, y’know? In the future…”

You blink, brain reduced to a series of beeps and clicks like that of an old computer trying to compute information that is simply not processing. “Yeah…” you murmur, unsure of what to do with the film reel that suddenly flashes before your eyes, a look into a doorway you had never considered before. “I— me too.”

Jungkook chokes on his own saliva. “Really?” he yelps, has those sparkly anime girl eyes you always tease him about.

The gulp you do sounds loud in your ears. “Yeah,” you breathe, throat drier than the desert, but more confident than the first peabrain response. “I-I’d like that.”

There’s a bright beam of light that shines right in your face, so vibrant and dazzling it makes you flinch and by the time you’ve recovered you realize it’s his smile. “Yeah?” Jungkook mumbles back, pearly teeth framed by his pretty smile, brows raised at your stuttery confirmation. You nod. His lips twist into a smaller grin, a condensed version of the superstar one he gave you just moments before. Before you can brush it off with a joke, he’s snatching your hand up in his, a soft smooch pressed to your knuckles. “Okay,” he says quietly, dark eyes meeting yours. “One day?”

Your heart constricts in your chest, and all you can do is nod. “One da—“

“Goooooaaaaallllll!” the announcer on screen shrieks, the loud sounds of the TV killing your mood instantly.

Any dumbstruck, love struck, idiotic, ditzy expression on your face is wiped clean, replaced with an unimpressed glare you narrow on him. His nose is scrunched up like he wants to laugh, lips pressed into a thin line at your annoyance. He swipes the TV remote off the side table, arms spread open for you to crawl back into. You do so with a huff, pout smushed against the front of his hoodie.

“That’s enough ESPN for today,” he chuckles, switching the channel about a thousand times until Rick and Morty is playing on screen. “I’ll just watch the highlights later.”

“ESPN,” you scoff like an evil villain in a movie who’s just been presented with their mortal enemy, fisting the front of his hoodie.

Jungkook nods. “ESPN,” he repeats. A beat passes. “Kinda like BDS—“

“Go get your ice pack.”

epilogue

Because Jungkook couldn’t sit still for that one eventful night following his ladder injury, he ends up in a medical boot for one week, loudly clunking around the place like a reverse pirate. You snap a picture of him that you post on Twitter for your twelve followers to see, just him pouting at the doctor’s office with his new boot and club jersey on to celebrate last night’s victory.

It’s just a cute pic for you and your friends to laugh at.

Until it’s not, and his handsome face is circulating around the entire internet.

He’s being called the Face of FC Seoul, with desperate women messaging you left and right for his information. Other fans are bragging about the beauty that is an FC Seoul fanboy. It gets to the point where his face appears on the next night’s ESPN Nightly Recap, a special on social media stars posting about the game. Except Jungkook is neither a social media star nor did he even post about the game— you did.

But there he is, all five feet and ten inches of him smiling brightly at you from the ESPN Sports channel, wearing the boot he got from hand cuffing and whipping you to completion.

#goldenclosetnet #bangtanhq #networkbangtan #jungkook smut #jjk smut #jeon jungkook smut #jeongguk smut #jeon jeongguk smut #bts smut #mine

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moveslikejaggeria · 2 years ago

Video

i work in customer service and about 1/10 people i deal with are veterans who were sent over to me because they want to use their veterans discount. however you feel about veterans, just put that aside and think for a moment.

the company i work for pretty recently switched from using a database that cashiers and other employees look up to find the veteran’s information (that they’ve registered online or over the phone) to integrating it into the app. at first, people were able to do both! those who had smart phones and the app and were tech-savvy enough to figure it out, bingo bango. but those who still wanted to present their ID to be crosschecked with the database were able to do so too.

and then new and young cashiers didn’t know how or didn’t want to deal with the database anymore and would send anyone angry or frustrated enough (about 99%) to customer service and make us deal with the database. which is 100% fine except we’re not really supposed to do check-outs because it slows the line down.

then i find out they’re phasing out the database and everyone has to use the app now. and lord have mercy. i met people who didn’t have smart phones, people who had smartphones too old to be compatible with the app, people who just don’t want the goddamn app (valid), and a lot of people who have no idea how it works. and you know what? i feel bad for all of them. bc to me it might be easy to take a picture of my id, put in my (hypothetical) discharge date, and my identification number because i grew up during the “technology wave” or whatever, but these are usually the kinds of people who keep address books and scribble down a password off-handed on random slips of paper. and i’ve fought with my managers and supervisors that i think it’s ridiculous to force these people to do something that a) they might not be able to do and b) they don’t want to do. because God Damn It, personally i don’t want another app that sells my data and eats up storage and is useless in every way!

sure, on paper, it’s easier! the app produces a barcode that the cashier needs to scan and that’s it! and, again, for people who are able to do it, it’s much more simple that calling on the phone and being redirected and put on hold for hours. and you bet your ass it’s part of a campaign to get more app downloads.

the truth is, people on this post are correct: a majority of people will say “no thanks” when asked if they want to open a credit card or join that app and it’s won’t affect them. for now. everyday is a new discovery of the horror that is the future. i recently went to the store and i couldn’t make a purchase without giving them a fucking phone number. i asked why and they said it was “for return purposes” which is great and convenient i guess, but spam phone calls are at, like, an all-time fucking high. and guess what? it’s coming to my store now too and i have to say “im sorry” and “i know” while people yell at me about privacy and i get it!!

listen. in the end, is a 10% military discount at some box chain store worth it? honestly, yes. but i’m not sure what the solution is. veterans are now coming directly to customer services because they know that they have a good chance of being checked out the old fashioned way and i’ll do it. a lot of my coworkers will still do it. but the managers have started cracking down on us and, to an extent, i know it’s just their job to follow the rules or whatever, but it’s really upsetting to see how technology- and internet-based everything is becoming

Its okay they could call me on a rotary faster than i could explain to them I’m old enough to know what a rotary phone is

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sunjaesol · 3 years ago

Text

“The simple act of being in love with you is enough for me.”

jiara | post-s2 | pining idiots | title: quote by Pacey from Dawson's Creek

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

“Kie.”

“Hm?” The girl’s mop of curls obscured her face as she mumbled out some vowels, clearly still buzzed from the night before. An amused smile ticked up his lips and slapped her calf again. She sighed. “What?”

“Leggo,” he pushed, “we gotta get to Pope’s place.”

“Why?”

Even if everyone else would deny it, JJ swore Kie was as bad as he was: slow and fucking lethargic before eleven in the morning. Sure, she had better grades in school, but he wasn’t gonna give her more credit than that. Speaking of, “Helping him with that new scholarship, remember?”

The girl groaned and rolled over to face him, droopy eyes cracking open to scowl at him. She slept where he used to crash whenever his dad’s place became too much, but since the old man fucked off to Yucatán, he found peace in the quiet walls and cracked windows. Regardless, it was weird seeing her sprawled on this mattress, the boy almost able to envision himself beside her. A dangerous fantasy to linger on, so he pushed it aside and kept on trucking.

“C’mon, Kie.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered and sat upright. “How did you even get in the Château?”

JJ grinned and snagged a key chain from his shorts. “Spare key. Duh.”

She rolled her eyes, uttering, “John B’s stupid,” and then pushed him out the guest room, telling him she’d get ready. His mouth opened to make the joke if he couldn’t stay and watch, but the door slammed in his face and that was that.

Having a crush on Kiara was the freakiest thing ever. First of all, JJ and emotions didn’t mesh well — it only led to trouble, a perfect example being his dad and him with the most fucked up dynamic to boot. He preferred to not even think about the man, though one glance in the mirror often betrayed his mind and brought a rush of memories to the forefront, whether it was a shiner against his eye, or the fact that he resembled his father when he was young.

So yeah, he didn’t like anything ‘love’ related. It was stupid. It was more reckless than buying a jacuzzi or trying to steal a golden cross from a boat with dozens of armed men. Friendship, however, was easy. He told the Pogues just that: they were ‘it’ for him, he’d go through fire for them, through hell and fucking back.

But he didn’t think he’d actually die for them, which almost happened when he tried saving Kie on the Coastal Venture — to which she ended up saving him. (A vision illuminated by a golden sun, hovering over him. He’d never forget it.)

While he inspected the contents of the fridge, embarrassingly filled with only beer, eggs, milk and junk food, the door creaked open and revealed a dressed and less-wrecked Kiara. His gaze flicked up and down her frame, quick, and then averted it back to the fridge.

“You got no food, man.”

She chuckled. “I know. It’s not exactly The Wreck type of food…”

“You haven’t gone back?”

“Nope,” she replied, curt, and moved past him to shove a container of sausages aside to grab a bottle of almond milk. Even if she wasn’t with her parents, she still somehow kept up her ‘no dairy’ principles.

Also, Kiara was hella beautiful. He hadn’t let it register when she walked in, but it was true. Her soft-looking, shiny skin, sporting the prettiest smile in all of the OBX, and she was just hot. Especially when she propped herself on the kitchen counter, to which he settled beside her to not look at her legs.

“How many scholarships are there?” she asked. “Like, I’m obviously proud of him, but…”

“He told us last night,” JJ laughed. “You were that fucking high?”

She giggled, “Yeah! You were there, I was just on my ass.” And then, quieter, “And… I don’t know, I guess I’ve been kind of distracted.”

He perked up, surprised. Though the Pogues were family, openly talking about emotions when it wasn’t prompted by anything, remained rare. They were better at talking shit and smoking and napping on boats. Whatever, he took the bait.

“Why?”

She shook her head. “It’s stupid, JJ.”

“Kie, you’re talking to me,” he nudged her shoulder, “throw me a bone here. Is it Pope? You got the hots for our favourite nerd again?”

Taking a sip from the bottle, her brow quirked up as though that was the stupidest thing he ever said, and retorted with, “Why’re you always doing that?”

His hands raised instantly, defensive. “Doing what?”

“You’re always digging, like, when I was with Pope you got all weird.”

“I don’t dig.”

“You do.”

“I don’t. Kie, what’s up?” He kept it moving before she found the core of his problem, and bounced back to the original issue. “Before I start saying shit to Pope.”

She scoffed. “You're full of shit.”

“Oh, Kie,” he drawled with a smirk. “You can do better than that.”

Silence fell. He waited, fiddling with his fingers, and quietly hoped Pope wouldn't be too annoyed when they arrived late — then again, they were begrudgingly coined 'tortoise and tortoise' by the group anyway.

She placed the bottle back in the fridge and sent him a rueful smile, one he often saw her showing Sarah before they went aside and had a private talk. Their eyes locked and she finally spoke.

“Sometimes, I… I miss my parents. And it's like, I don't get how they don't just accept that I'm a Pogue, that I'm friends with you guys, you know? But I still miss them.” She looked down at her feet, crossing at the ankles like a little girl waiting to be reprimanded by the teacher. “I miss my dad's hugs.”

Instantly, his arm swung around her for a gentle side hug, a grateful smile pulling on her lips as she leaned into him. Both knew they should savour a moment like this, as hugging with a twitchy JJ and often irritated Kie happened once every blue moon.

Ignoring the guilty look in her eye — yeah, he didn't understand missing a paternal embrace, rather used to a blow in the stomach or a crude remark, but that didn't mean he lacked empathy — he resisted the urge to encourage her to reconnect with them. Knowing her, she'd just close up and glare at him for the rest of the day.

So no, he wasn't going to ask her. And no, she shouldn't feel guilty. P4L 'til the end, baby.

“Thanks, JJ,” she whispered.

He snickered and pushed her off. “You can't tell the guys I'm becoming soft, dude. Theyʼll give me so much shit for it.”

“They know you're soft,” she teased, “don't even try.”

“I'm tough,” he tried.

“Like Play-Doh.”

“Whatever,” he mumbled and motioned at the kitchen door. “Let's go, Carrera. Before John B and Sarah come back and act all married.”

Now that was fucking annoying. After John B and Sarah faked their death, they got married by a bandana strip and hadn't let that notion go after returning. Sure, there was that small blip when they were fighting the crazy religious chick, but that was old news.

John B made him swear he wouldn't tell a soul, but the guy waxed poetry about Sarah whenever they were drunk and alone. It was hilariously sad. Another man lost to a girl.

(“She wants a beach wedding,” JB sighed a couple nights ago. “Nice, right?”

“I– yeah, I really don't care about this, man.”)

JJ knew that when he got a girlfriend (Kiara unintentionally but also very intentionally crossed his mind), he'd act normal. No mushy shit. No poetry. Definitely no creepy Romeo and Juliet references thrown in as if that shouldn't freak the Pogues out. Their behaviour better not be infectious.

Expectedly, Pope's scowl reached them all the way from the car, Kie and JJ sharing a sheepish look before stepping out.

“Gee, guys,” the boy deadpanned, “thanks for making haste. Really appreciate it.”

JJ's wide grin hoped to salvage it. Slapping his friend on the shoulder, he pushed past him and yelled, “Kie was dead, dude!”

Pope grimaced. “Don't joke about that.”

He watched as Kie stopped beside Pope with an apologetic expression, telling him she overslept and was sorry and that he knew how JJ was — “Always joking.”

His chapped lips pursed, a familiar punch hitting his chest with him then pretending it didn't hurt. She always did this. Even if she claimed she didn't, she always took Pope's side. Relationship or not. JJ knew she didn't owe him her 'side', but it'd be a nice change of pace either way.

Whatever. This wasn't the JJ Pining For Kiara Show. Pope needed their help.

A state-wide scholarship competition gave Pope another shot at winning a huge chunk of money (no gold type of rich though) and getting his ass out of OBX, hopefully launching himself into some fancy college when he revealed to be of Denmark Tanny's lineage. Those hibrow assholes loved a good sob story.

All Pope had to do was score hella high on some test — easy — and impress the panel — not so easy — and he'd be the luckiest Pogue of all.

But that did mean Kie and him had to sit on his creaky bed with a freaky amount of flashcards while a stressed out Pope paced around his room. He was pretty sure the floor was eroding.

Also, he had no fucking clue what any of the flashcards meant. Did Pope's smarts really attracted Kie that much? Was it the brain? Brain over brawl? But where was the fun in that? JJ loved Pope to death, but the guy had to be fully medicated or high before his brain shut off and he acted carefree.

“Pope, do you even know what this all means?” Kie bemoaned, flipping the cards around.

“You got a dictionary somewhere?” added JJ, squinting at the word aberration. It sounded like some weird disease. He showed him the word.

Pope dismissed it. “It means: different from the norm.”

“Dude, why not write that then?”

“Because they want aberration.”

He didn't get it. “No one uses it though.”

“JJ, that's just the way it is,” Pope pressed.

“Guys, stop,” Kiara interrupted. “But honestly Pope, it's so, like, elitist. None of these questions are important to the world, or the well-being of the people.”

“Sorry, Kiara, but unfortunately not everyone cares that much,” he sighed. JJ could tell they were starting to annoy their friend, their tortoise bullshit bleeding through.

Her nose scrunched up, peeved. “Right. Because there's a planet B just waiting to be used by us. Duh.”

“Ooh,” JJ drawled, nudging her arm. “Are there donkeys shitting money?”

Kie laughed. “Yes. All beaches, clean air, no Kooks, and money-shitting donkeys.”

“Nah, I want it to be hella Kooky,” he joked, gesturing wildly. “I want a yacht and tell people someone else does my laundry, or something.”

“You don't even do your laundry anyway,” she bounced back with a roll of the eye. “I know you force John B.”

“He's already playing House with Sarah, might as well wash my underwear, too.”

Oh, man. He could do this all day. Talking shit with Kiara went as smooth as fishing for him. Each time he thought he one-upped her, she threw more on top and kept it going 'til neither knew what the point even was anymore. Sarah dubbed it as 'banter' which he believed was a rich way of saying 'talking smack.'

“I don't believe you even know how to do it,” she challenged.

JJ huffed and crossed his arms. “I can do it.”

A smirk bloomed on her lips as she kept jabbing. “It's kinda cute, how you need John B to be your mom.”

“I don't.”

“You literally said it five seconds ago.”

“Guys,” Pope groaned, followed by an exhausted sigh eerily similar to Heyward. “Can we get back to the flashcards?”

Kie and JJ were too far into their discussion though, jabbing at each other at rapid speed. Then she threw her cards at him and all bets were off. He yelled she should make a goal with her hands, to which he folded up a flashcard and shot it straight between her fingers.

And that was when Pope kicked them out. JJ presumed it was a victory they lasted as long as they did. Kie kept apologising over her shoulder, prompting Pope to ask Cleo for help instead.

For a beat, they were silent stepping out of his place and back into the car. JJ felt a stab of guilt for fucking up Pope's study time, but it was hard to dial his brain to school when his friends surrounded him. Just when he wanted to ask if she felt bad too, she went off about the climate — as usual.

“It's so dumb how there were no questions about the environment or human rights or, or anything like that! It's all science and lit, like, there's more to life than fucking chemistry formulas!”

“I skipped those cards. Didn't get them.”

“It's so fucked,” she hummed. “And I'm obviously glad that you drove to the Château to wake me up and all—”

“Yeah?”

“—but I really wish those questions would matter. We almost died, JJ!”

“No, shit,” he grumbled, quickly starting to lose his patience with the ranting girl. She didn't even realise what the fuck she was saying anymore — what she did to his heart, skipping like some elemtary school girl on the playground, when she slipped some nice words in.

“Died!” she pressed. “Why even care about stuff like that?”

“Fucks sake, Kie—”

“And I didn't want to say it, but did you see how many flashcards there were? How many trees were cut for that? It's like, hello, Quizlet exists!”

“Kie, shut up!” he yelled.

Her mouth fell slack, gobsmacked, gawking at him like his interruption was a slap in the face.

Gesturing wildly with one hand, he exclaimed, “You know, you can just go on and on and I hear you talking and it's like, yeah, we get it, Mother Earth needs to be saved, we're fucked, you don't gotta repeat it twenty-four seven.”

“What the hell, JJ!”

“You have an opinion about everything! A man gets tired!”

“A man?” She scoffed. “You're not even eighteen.”

“Point is you don't gotta act all preachy all the time.” He turned the corner, hands tightening around the steering wheel.

Kie scowled. “Where is this coming from? I'm not preachy, I'm educating you.”

Now that was just fucking with his head. Incredulous, he exclaimed, “You think I don't listen? Kie, I'm the only one that does. JB is on Planet Sarah all the damn time and Pope only did shit 'cause—"

"That!” she yelled, throwing her hands up with frustration. “That's what I mean! You're doing it again! You dig!”

“What?!”

“Every time you mention Pope and I, you dig. You needle!” Twisting in her seat, his gaze flickered to catch her disgruntled expression. “Why do you do that? It's so… sus.”

JJ laughed. “Sus?”

“You don't ask John B about Sarah.”

“'Cause they're fucking obvious.”

“Still,” she pressed. “Did I do something to piss you off? Is that it? Is it me constantly asking you to recycle and yet — shocker! — you never do?!”

“Fucking God,” he grumbled under his breath.

With frazzled thoughts and shaking hands, adrenaline coursed through him as he swerved to the side of the road and stopped the car. If he fought with Kie any longer to this degree of fuckery, they were gonna crash.

She frowned. “What're you doing?”

“You, Carrera, are driving me insane,” he deadpanned, matter-of-fact. Then he slammed the door open and stepped out, desperate to catch his breath.

In the back of his mind, he had an inkling as to why he was so keyed up. Kiara would call him a Neandethal, but fuck it, here was the truth: Kiara was hot as hell when she argued with him.

Following his lead, she got out, her sneakers stomping against the asphalt. The sun steeped low on the horizon, the light hitting the hood and reflecting onto her face; her curls shifting from dark brown to gold. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He was so fucked. He almost missed the start of her spiel, too enthralled.

“I'm driving you insane? I'm always getting you out of trouble, because you never think things through! You never see the bigger picture!”

He rolled his eyes. “Bigger picture? The only thing I see, Kie, is you going on about nature. That easy.” And then, before he could stop himself, he spewed out, “And you don't have to do that.”

“What?”

“Getting me out of trouble,” he said, pursing his lips. “That's not your responsibility.”

“Right. Duh. Because after everything we've been through, I can't care about you,” she exclaimed, face twisting up in pure fury. She got in his space, shoving his shoulder, but when he didn't budge, it only seemed to anger her more.

JJ didn't know what was going on anymore. Why was she so mad? Even if she didn't want to admit it, he was telling the truth. Of course all the Pogues had each other's back, but Kiara doted over him more than was necessary. The constant checking of injuries, limiting his day drinking, all that. Like he was some child!

He leaned in and mumbled, “I can take care of myself.”

Kie smirked. “Then do your own laundry.”

It happened naturally. One second he stared at her furious eyes and thought about how much he loved arguing with her despite the bullshit, the next his fingers curled into her hair and pulled her in a fierce kiss.

At first, her hands laid frozen on his shoulders, surprised, but the moment he realised his impulsive decision was a mistake, they slid around his neck and kept him close.

JJ sighed in relief and deepened the kiss he'd been craving ever since they were fourteen and Kie went from gangly to statuesque. Her lips were warm and soft and her hands were soft and she hadn't let go and holy shit — he was kissing Kiara Carrera.

The kiss lessened when her mouth quirked into a smile, their grins pressing flush together, and JJ shivered from delight. Oh, man. He was gone.

“You drive me damn crazy, Kie,” he murmured, voice dropped to an undeniably soft tone.

She bit back her silly grin and whispered, “Good.”

Taking a deep breath, he tried focusing up, but all he could do was stare at her face. A shy hand grabbed hers.

He had to get it out of the way now, or else he'd kick himself later. “I'm… really into you. I'm– oh, fuck, uh–”

“Maybe we can talk about it not on the side of the road?” she suggested, amused.

JJ grinned, elated (What was the word he saw on the flashcards? Exalted!), and kissed her again, because he could.

On the ride back to the Château, he confessed to seeing her in a different light for years, while she couldn't really pinpoint a time or moment, that it just happened. It didn't matter, though he was in utter disbelief that he and Kie were having this conversation. No jokes, no BS, all seriousness. Tomorrow, he'd wake up and it wouldn't be some sick dream. Kie liked him back.

JJ was sure he'd doubt himself or overthink it in the future, but today, he'd bask in the certainty and the major ego boost.

“Okay, but did you ever legit like Pope then?”

A sheepish smile crawled up her cheeks as her gaze averted to the window. “I thought I did. But we have, like, no chemistry, so…” She shook her head. “I was confused.”

“That's okay,” he uttered. He couldn't give her shit for it. Even if he did torture himself with their short-lived relationship, he understood.

How would he react though? John B and Sarah wouldn't care, or Cleo, but Pope? He didn't want one of his brothers hating him. Being iced out by the guy fucking sucked, as it meant he was truly hurt and therefore meant JJ truly fucked up. He couldn't handle disappointing him.

Kie read his mind. “He'll be fine with it.”

“I dunno, man…”

“He will,” she repeated. “We're Pogues. We've all narrowly survived death. And besides…” She turned back to him with a secretive grin. “I think he has a thing for Cleo.”

Whoa. He did not see that coming. His brows shot up to his hairline, mentally kicking himself for being so focused on Kie that he didn't even notice the shift of interest between Pope and Cleo. They made sense, too. Know-it-all's, but well-meaning, and only speaking when needed.

If the idea didn't relief him of worries, he'd be concerned as to why they were all seamlessly coupled up like in some 90s sitcom Big John had on VHS.

“What a player,” he joked.

“Tell me about it.”

They arrived at the house, the Twinkie and Sarah's bike sprawled on the overgrown front lawn. JJ frowned. He had hoped to have some alone time with Kie, not to jump her bones and fulfill a regular dream of his, but to talk. To figure it out. He wanted to do this right. Because after everything, they deserved to have good things, to start on a high note — he deserved it.

Kie noticed it, too. Puckering her lips on contemplation, her gaze trailed from him to the rest of the property, ending on the trusty ol' hammock. She jabbed her thumb at it.

“Let's sit there.”

Normally, they laid on opposite ends on the hammock, if they even shared one to begin with. But now, she pressed herself right beside him and he felt like heaven dropped down on them in the best way possible. He suddenly understood what John B was lamenting about — the company, intimacy, the ease. Nerves rippled through his body like a summer storm, but he figured that was what it cost to lose one's mind over a girl.

He didn't know what to say, so Kiara spoke instead.

“I don't want us, the way we are around each other, to change, you know?” she said. “Like, I don't want you to think you have to act like some mellow ass boyfriend all of a sudden.”

He smirked. “Who said anything about boyfriend?”

“Bye.”

“Hey, wait,” he grinned, latching onto her arm before she pushed herself out. “C'mon, Kie.”

Her nose scrunched up. “I don't do this usually, okay?”

“You think I do?” he asked. His hand softly slid down to wrap around hers, to which she hooked their fingers together. Okay. Wow. It felt so damn nice that it propelled him to say, “I wanna be your boyfriend, Kie.”

The girl smiled and then surprised him by leaning in herself, pressing a gentle kiss on his chapped lips. It was overwhelming having her instigate it, his gut twisting up in excitement like when he was about to backflip from a boat, or cliff dive, or something similar like that.

He let go of her hand to cup her cheeks, only to whisper, “That's a yes, yeah? Gotta get a yes.”

“Yes, JJ,” she uttered back. “Here's to not fucking this up.”

“Cheers, baby.”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

#jiara #outer banks #obx #obx fanfiction #otp: cause i'll come #It's messy but in a cute way

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rkived · 4 years ago

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extra drabble #2: love is in the air and it’s rubbing it in right on pediatricsurgeon!jungkook’s face as he’s reminded that he’s awfully single once again. that doesn’t mean he can’t gift a special someone something, right?

or in which, jungkook thinks you’d look nice with tiffany & co. jewelry around your neck. (hospitalplaylist!au)

📍drabbles masterlist

‘‘What do you think she’ll like?’’ Taehyung asks Jungkook as they peruse through the Tiffany & Co. counters filled with expensive jewelry.

The youngest shrugs his shoulders, ‘‘Shouldn’t you know? You’re the boyfriend,’’ he comments, but it only garners him a displeased side-eye from his friend.

‘‘Why do I even bother asking for your help? You haven’t had a girlfriend in over a decade.’’ Taehyung mumbles, shaking his head as he keeps analyzing the sparkly bracelets. ‘‘So until you have one, don’t even try to use the I’m the boyfriend and I should know argument…women are far more complicated than that.’’

One of the pediatrician’s eyebrow raises, curious about the neurosurgeon’s words.

Jungkook blames Med School for his lack of ‘‘women knowledge’’. His dating life was basically nonexistent all throughout the years he was studying to get his degree and although he did try his best to go on a couple of dates after he got his specialization, he had realized that he was absolutely clueless about how to even date.

If he could grade his dating skills, Jungkook would give himself a less than average score.

He has to give credits to his friend. Although the older male was stressed about getting his younger girlfriend the perfect Valentine’s Day gift, at least he was trying. The neurosurgeon isn’t a patient person at all, and on any other occasion, Taehyung would’ve picked anything at random, swiped his credit card, and called it a day.

Jungkook doesn’t understand why does one put themselves through so much stress for one day. He’s a firm believer that there shouldn’t be a predetermined day to be romantic with your partner. Then again, Taehyung is right, the pediatrician hasn’t dated in a hot minute so what does he know?

The neurosurgeon clicks his tongue as he starts to think that he won’t be able to find anything for Yoonah in this store. He’s about to call Jungkook over to tell him that they should try Cartier next, but he holds himself back as he notices the youngest is stuck staring at one of the showcases displaying the latest arrivals.

Taehyung chuckles, placing his hand on Jungkook’s shoulder and startling him. ‘‘Thinking about getting someone something for Valentine’s?’’ He asks, wiggling his eyebrows playfully.

Jungkook laughs nervously, ‘‘No! I uh─’’

‘‘I think Y/N would really like that, don’t you think?’’ Taehyung interrupts him, a teasing tone to his voice. He actually has no damn clue what you even like, but he thinks it’s funny to pester his friend, especially when it comes to you.

It’s almost comical how embarrassed Jungkook gets whenever you’re romantically implied to him.

In any other moment, he’d tell Taehyung off. What does the neurosurgeon even know about what you like? This time, however, Jungkook remains silent as he looks back at the necklace that had caught his attention. Two interlocked pendants hanging delicately from the gold chain. It is something you would like.

‘‘So, are you gonna get it?’’ The neurosurgeon asks him, it almost feels like he’s cornering the youngest into swiping his black card right then and there.

Jungkook stammers, lips slightly ajar as he debates inside his head if he should.

He’s really not the type to give people gifts, not even to you. Although he did give you that spa day certificate last year, it was only because his mom had given it to him in the first place and he couldn’t seem to find the time to use it, regifting it to you because coincidentally you had been complaining about knots in your back that same week.

‘‘Let’s go,’’ the pediatrician mumbles, tugging his friends’ jacket to get him to leave the store.

There’s a really vivid picture of you wearing the necklace with a big smile on your face that he can’t seem to get out of his mind now.

---

You’ve always had mixed feelings about Valentine’s Day.

On one hand, you think the festivity is cute. The hospital gets decorated with pink and red colors, there are heart-shaped paper banners hanging from the walls and there’s even free candy all over the place!

On the other hand, it serves as a yearly reminder that you’re terribly single and have no one to spend this day with. Of course, you could always do something with your friends. Sadly, your friends are all busy doctors. Besides, you are very aware this day is marketed for couples. Whoever came up with the friendship idea must’ve been single and felt left out.

You already have plans of your own anyway. A bottle of wine and a family-sized bag of your favorite chips are waiting for you at home, you’re only left to pick what movie will be the chosen one for tonight.

The debate of what rom-com to watch is stopped as you enter your office, a gasp escaping your mouth as you notice the bouquet of flowers over your desk. Your eyebrows raise in surprise, taken aback by the sudden surprise.

You hadn’t been expecting anything from anyone. You were quite content with the amount of candy you had received, but something like this was far away from your mind.

It almost even scares you to look at it closely. Afraid it could be a terrible joke or a simple mistake someone had made, an arrangement wrongly delivered to you instead of the original owner. That’s a possibility.

Mustering up the courage to get closer, you pick up the bouquet to notice there’s a small blue box snuggled between the pretty flowers. Your eyes widen because...Tiffany & Co.? Yes, this must be a mistake.

There’s no note attached, which only makes you wonder who could possibly this gift be for.

You can almost hear a little devil Yoongi whispering from your shoulder finders keepers, it’s only fair since it’s in your office anyway. But there’s also ethical angel Namjoon on your other shoulder telling you to do the right thing, which is to head towards reception and ask who had entered your office and left it behind. Which you do ─ angel Namjoon rejoices as devil Yoongi swears he’ll get away with it someday.

The receptionist is typing away at her computer’s keyboard, registering the new files into the system as she notices you approaching with the bouquet on hand and she stops her work to smile at you.

‘‘Hello, Doctor Y/L/N! I see you got your Valentine’s Day gift, heading home already?’’ She asks curiously.

You chuckle, ‘‘I think there’s been a mistake.’’ The comment makes the receptionist’s eyebrows furrow together, confused at your words. ‘‘I don’t have a Valentine, so there’s no way this is for me. There’s not even a note attached to it.’’

‘‘Ohhh, I see.’’ She says in a tone you can’t quite pinpoint, getting back to her typing quickly.

You clear your throat, ‘‘I was wondering if you know who went inside my office today?’’

The receptionist refuses to look at you again, eyes focused on the screen in front of her. She shakes her head no, ‘‘So many people come and go, I lose track of them!’’

You sigh, defeated. The receptionist takes one last look at you before you leave, ‘‘That gift is for you, Dr. Y/L/N.’’ Your gaze moves back towards her, but you can tell her lips are sealed. Whoever left this behind must’ve asked for secrecy.

Looking back down at the bouquet in your hands, you smile slightly at the idea of this being yours. Someone actually gave you something for once.

The receptionist chuckles at your flustered cheeks and the smile you’re biting back from spreading across your face.

----

Jungkook’s phone buzzes as he steps outside his bathroom. It’s a message from the group chat and he quickly opens it, fingers beginning to tremble as he hopes it’s the long-awaited message he’s been hoping to see throughout most of the day.

[9:30 PM] Y/N 🥰❤️: i think i have a secret admirer?

[9:30 PM] Seokjin: Welcome to the club!

[9:31 PM] Namjoon: Why? Did you get something today?

The message that proceeds is one that makes Jungkook’s heart stop momentarily. It’s a selfie of you smiling, a gold necklace being the main focus as it sits pretty on your chest. These are the moments the pediatrician doesn’t question Namjoon’s diagnosis, he is crushing hard.

[9:34 PM] Yoongi: It looks expensive, good for you Y/N.

[9:32 PM] Taehyung: omg :0

[9:33 PM] Taehyung: that necklace looks awfully familiar…..

Jungkook is too busy staring at the picture to even notice Taehyung’s teasing.

It’s just like he had pictured, but much better.

a/n: hiii guys happy valentine’s day!! my gift for y’all is this drabble <3 pining 101 is a crowd favorite and i feel rlly guilty abt abandoning it :( but i HAD to write smthn for these two for vday!! hope u enjoyed n sorry (again) for the wait :P ps: although this is an extra drabble, this does take place during the main drabbles timeline!

#jungkook au #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook drabble #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook au #jeon jungkook drabble #bts drabble #d: pining 101 #kept it cute n short y'all for once

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whumperooni · 4 years ago

Note

pls imagine that after natsuo decided to get revenge and became a fuckboy he also gradually started to get farther away from his cutie of a lil sister! he brings home some bitchy bimbos to fuck and doesn't even notice her anymore so little sister being the adorable thing she is, she becomes very upset and sad that her brother doesn't want her anymore, so who is better to take care of her then papa enji! i want to see natsus face when he realises his plan backfired in the worst way possible!

What else is a little sister supposed to do whenever her nii-chan abandons her? u.u

tw: incest, fuckboy!Natsuo, mentions of drinking and drugs

It starts with one drunk girl that doesn’t make it out on time before Enji can see her. Usually, Natsuo doesn’t bring women home- it feels like something he shouldn’t do; he can’t bring anyone back to that place.

(Not that he hasn’t had any other woman since entwining with you- how could he when he has such an adoring little sister to love and cherish and make squeal with pleasure? Why would he want anyone else?)

But that night? That night he just doesn’t care. Drunken from too many shots and too much cheap beer, he crashes with the girl he had somehow stumbled home with and, in the morning, he fucks her again through their mutual hangovers before sending her off to never come back again.

There’s a twinge of shame and guilt when he passes you in the hallway on the way to show his hookup out. Your wide eyes and disappointment prick at him like tiny needles, the pucker of your brow has him regretful. Whenever he nudges his hookup out of the house and comes back to you, asks you where you slept last night, the mumbled “Shoto-nii’s room” makes him feel even more guilty.

You only sleep in your brother’s long empty room whenever you’re feeling particularly lonely. Natsuo hates when you feel lonely- you should never feel lonely with him around.

He opens his mouth to tell you that he’ll make breakfast for you, that he’ll make up for last night, but he’s cut off whenever a gruff voice comes from behind him and says,

“Don’t bring whores into my house.”

In an instant, Natsuo’s regret gets flipped to rage- just the sound of Enji’s voice makes him want to snap and having him insult his hookup makes it even worse- and he glares at his father- mouth opening to argue only to be ignored as Enji turns around and lumbers off to the kitchen. He barely registers your shocked “daddy” that you gasp out- he’s too focused on his father and the annoyance that had been written all over the man’s face.

Fuck him, Natsuo thinks. Fuck. Him.

His anger is only quelled whenever your hand lightly, nervously touches his and he looks back at you to see your worried expression. It takes a moment for him to calm- lips pressing together and a long, deep breath needed- but he does and he swallows back his anger, his headache to force a small smile your way.

“Have you had breakfast? I’ll make you something.”

A mumbled thank you, nii-san and your fingers lacing through his helps soothe the rest of the lingering irritation. Natsuo tugs you to the kitchen and he tries to forget his father’s face and the satisfaction that had flicked through his anger over it.

──────────────────────────────────────

He brings home another girl a month or two later. It’s not something he sets out to do, no.

But it happens. And the morning after is just about the same as the previous time- only with you more upset when you spot the hickeys all over the girl’s neck and Enji’s glare darker than before, his irritation more pronounced.

The third time is on purpose- something he seeks to do in a tipsy, vindictive rage after a particularly nasty argument with Enji.

He brings home another girl- someone dumb and sweet and just a little trashy- and he fucks her with the intention of making her scream for him, spending the night making her moans fill the estate.

You can’t look him in the eyes in the morning, but he feels no guilt- only satisfaction over the fury on Enji’s face and the way his hands clench and unclench from trying not to slug his son in front of his upset daughter.

Another nasty fight- one that you get caught in.

“-a goddamn disgrace. You think your sister needs to see this? How do you think this looks on me when you’re going around acting like a fool? I don’t know what the hell has gotten into you-”

“Daddy, please! It’s okay! Please don’t-”

“-I’m a disgrace?! That’s rich coming from you. You parade around acting like you’re so superior but all you are is-”

“Natsuo-nii! Please stop! Daddy doesn’t mean-”

“Don’t you turn this around on me, boy.”

In the end, Natsuo stomps off with red cheeks and gritted teeth- turning his back on his glaring father and his teary eyed little sister.

He stomps off and all he can think is I’ll show you a goddamn disgrace.

──────────────────────────────────────

Life for Natsuo quickly becomes a mess of clubs, hookups, hangovers, and arguments. With every girl he brings home, his father only gets more and more angry- fire bursting out in quick jets when he finds a pair of discarded panties on the lawn, some dumb slut eating at the table draped over his son’s lap, vodka bottles and condoms in the trash.

The fights get worse and worse. Natsuo starts staying away from home- only coming back to drag some girl home to rile his father up and to sometimes spend time with you whenever his guilt over your tears and upset becomes too much. He makes new friends with this new direction in life- crude boys he used to stay away from, men who fondle their girl’s tits right in front of everyone while talking about weed and parties and who has access to molly, who can get good coke.

They’re bad influences. He knows it. He knows.

But he doesn’t stay away from them. Soon enough he’s drawn into partying along with clubbing- weed and booze and more and more giggling sluts that want to ride his dick, suck him off.

One night he gets drunk enough to steal his father’s credit card and buy henny for everyone, weed and an obnoxiously expensive dinner, a solid gold chain that his flavor for the night talks him into buying despite Natsuo never wearing something like that before.

He doesn’t go home that night, but he ends up in someone’s penthouse and wakes up at four in the afternoon- classes missed and a whole block of time missing from his memory. It’s only when he checks his phone that he realizes what all has happened- snapchat showing him reeling and laughing, joking about his father’s money being blown.

It also shows him getting some sloppy head in some restroom he can’t remember. It shows him, too, that he had filmed a girl riding his dick- that he had spanked her ass and turned his phone around to show the world a drunken grin and bloodshot eyes, a gold chain around his neck.

Watching it is surreal. He knows that it’s him doing all those things, but he just can’t quite connect it at the same time. He’s never been into that stuff before- he’s never wanted to be into that stuff before. It makes something bitter and uneasy settle on his tongue, something uncomfortable weigh down his stomach.

He tries to ignore it and he checks the rest of his notifications- quickly swiping away Fuyumi’s worried texts and the messages on snapchat. There’s nothing from his father to be seen and that’s a relief that he pretends he doesn’t feel.

There is a little popup that sounds during his scrolling that shows that you’ve posted and Natsuo opens it almost absently, blinks whenever he sees a photo of a nice lunch captioned with Lunch with daddy💕

The daddy makes him scowl, but something in him twinges- guilt, a touch of sadness. He can’t remember the last time he talked to you, the last time he held you close. He used to be with you daily- hands holding yours, kisses pressed to your cheek and lips and forehead often, your cuddly body warming his late at night and holding him snug inside after a sweet ravishing. It’s been so long since he’s been with his little sister- it almost feels like that past affection had been a dream.

Guilt eats away at him and Natsuo runs his hand through his hair, buries his face into his palms after.

What have you been doing while he’s been fucking around? Sleeping in his bed because you miss him? Seeking comfort somewhere else- with someone else? Who has been taking care of you?

Your lunch post flashes through his mind and Natsuo feels sick then- knots twisting in his stomach whenever he thinks about who else you love in your life.

The last time he had been at home, you had clung to Enji- barely trying to break up the fight and sniffling through it, burying your face into your father’s chest.

You had clung to him then- are you clinging to him now?

Natsuo swallows and he stands from the bed, ignores the sleepy mumble that sounds off behind him.

It’s robotic how he dresses and drives home- sunglasses doing nothing to prevent a throbbing headache as he clenches the steering wheel and tries not to throw up last night’s indulgence all over his lap.

Getting home makes his stomach feel even worse, but he pushes it all down and forces himself to walk inside the house- mind racing as he tries to think of where you could be right now.

He finds out whenever he hears a loud gasp and a moan of “daddy.”

He doesn’t want to go. He doesn’t want to see. His body and mind don’t connect, though, and his feet move automatically- one in front of the other until he’s in the doorway of the kitchen.

There’s flour on the floor from where it’s been knocked off the counter. Plates in the sink and magnets on the fridge he doesn’t remember ever seeing. A new mixer tucked away in the corner and daffodils in a vase on the windowsill.

And there’s you too- perched on the counter with your apron and the skirt of your sundress flipped up, mouth open with a cry, cheeks flushed pretty and sweet as Enji curls his thick fingers inside your cunny.

“D-Daddy! Please! More!”

“Shh; I’ve got you, little one.”

Bile rises in Natsuo’s throat as he watches you mewl and arch- hands reaching for your father and lips pressing against his needily whenever he gathers you in his arms and starts to slowly slip inside of you.

“L-love you, daddy,” you sob. “Love you- please- please don’t ever- don’t leave me...”

“I will never leave you, little one,” Enji promises gruffly as he spreads you apart and makes you whimper. “Never.”

Turquoise eyes flit to the side and Natsuo freezes in the doorway whenever they lock onto his - heart breaking and shame flooding through him in thick, hot waves when his sweet, sweet little sister who he loves and has neglected begins to mewl “daddy, daddy, daddy!”

Tears prick at Natsuo and he turns from the kitchen- walks away with a hand covering his mouth and his body bent forward as he struggles not to heave.

He drove you into Enji’s arms. He drove his sweet, beloved little sister into the arms of the man he hates the most. He neglected you for what- bimbos and booze and petty revenge?

God, he’s so fucking stupid.

Natsuo stumbles into the bathroom and he grips the sink tight- eyes wet and bloodshot whenever he looks in the mirror, face pale and neck mottled with hickeys, the stupid chain mocking him as it shines in the light of the bathroom. Far off, he can hear you moaning and Natsuo grits his teeth as he glares at himself in the mirror.

He really is a disgrace.

#enji todoroki x reader #natsuo todoroki x reader #natsuo x reader #tw incest #rooni's shit #fuckboy!natsuo #todoroki degens #this went in an entirely different direction than i meant #oops #i was going to have it from reader-chan's pov but i wanted natsuo's self-hatred evident in the end #maybe i'll rewrite it from reader's pov someday #Anonymous

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sevlgi · 4 years ago

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the florist pt. 2

requested: yes

group: dreamcatcher

pairing: jiu x fem!reader

genre: angst, questionable fluff

contents: hanahaki!au, florist!jiu. read part 1 here.

warnings: death

synopsis: Minji’s drawing away. You know that; you can see it, and you can feel it deep in your bones. But when you finally realize the pain afflicting her, will it be too late for you to save her?

a/n: I’M SORRY THIS IS BASICALLY FULL ANGST ASLKDFFDSKJN... i’ll do a part 3 if y’all want it 😬

word count: 3.6k

Sometimes, the arrival of a new person changes the way you see things.

That fact had been true for Minji for years; meeting people always taught her something new, whether it was about the world or about herself. And yet, no one had ever been able to change her thoughts about her 6 closest friends, until she found a beautiful girl in her flower shop, begging for help with the blooms in her lungs.

She didn’t mean to resent Siyeon. She shouldn’t have-- you were a stranger, just another person that used your personal connection to her friends to guilt her into helping you. But when Minji saw how dismissive you were to even the possibility of asking Siyeon to save your life, she realized something about her friend, and she realized something about you.

On one hand, Siyeon knew what she could or couldn’t do to help others. Minji had seen her go out of her way to pick up a fallen grocery basket for someone or help an old lady across the street, but she would never try to lift a car to save someone underneath. She knew her limits, and Minji had to accept that it wasn’t selfish of her to protect herself.

But on the other hand, you were selfless. Too much so, really. You hated the thought of inconveniencing the girl you loved, even if it meant that you would die. It took too long for you to convince yourself to even ask Gahyeon for help, just because you knew how touchy of a subject it was for her.

Maybe Minji loved that about you, at the same time that she hated it. And maybe it was something that she hated about herself as she stared at the speckled purple blossoms swimming about in the toilet bowl.

“Shit,” she whispered, wiping droplets of blood off her lips. “It’s getting worse.”

“Obviously.”

Gahyeon looked more grim than sympathetic as she offered a box of tissues to the older girl. She experienced the disease herself for long enough that she knew how painful it was, and she was smart enough to know that Minji didn’t have much time. “How long has it been?”

“8 months.” Minji gingerly plucked petals out from under her tongue, flicking them away. “I met Y/N 8 months ago.”

She could’ve smiled just by saying your name, but she kept her face solemn as Gahyeon did the math in her head. “8 months. It takes 3 months to fall in love, but knowing you, it was probably shorter.”

Minji rolled her eyes, taking a sip of water. “Watch it.”

“I’m just saying,” Gahyeon protested. “But at most, you’ve had Hanahaki for 7 or 8 months. So why are you basically on your deathbed? Y/N told me she loved Siyeon unnie nearly 2 years before she even bothered to ask me for help.”

“Maybe my heart is just weak,” the florist sighed, leaning her head against the wall. “It’s my fault, I fell for a client. A client, Gahyeon, how stupid am I?”

The younger girl scooted closer, wrapping her arms softly around Minji. “You aren’t. Okay? Y/N is amazing, and if I wasn’t so hung up on... if I had the time for it, I could see myself loving her too. You should--”

“Don’t,” Minji warned, eyes narrowing. “Don’t tell me to tell her. I can’t put that on her, and I can’t let her know that I’m in... that I’m in pain because of her.”

“You’re one and the same, you know that?” Gahyeon shook her head. “The exact same.”

But no matter how much she griped, Minji knew that her friend wouldn’t reveal the secret, not until she was lying on her deathbed. She was trustworthy, and she would leave Minji to her own solutions if she asked for it.

Finding a real solution was what would become the problem.

“Hey, Minji!”

Even though you felt awkward with your shoulder pressed up to your face and bags in your hand, you smiled as you squeezed the phone closer to your face. The florist hadn’t picked up on your call, but you didn’t fault her for being busy. “Uh, I’m coming to you to make Gahyeon’s cake like we promised.”

You cursed as you dropped one of the grocery bags, taking your phone in your hand to finish the message so you could check out. “I’m almost there, so wait up for me! I got some special supplies for you too.”

Rounding the corner onto the Love Blossom, you fished your keys out from your pocket. There was a pink jewel-studded one on the chain, new as of just 8 months ago, but it felt like it had always belonged there as you twisted the lock and pushed the glass door open.

To your surprise, Gahyeon was waiting inside, almost looking like she was shielding the door to Minji’s apartment. “Hey, Gahyeonie,” you greeted, attempting to wave. “Good to see you.”

“Hi, Y/N. What’re those for?” she asked, nodding her head at the bags. “Baking again?”

“Yeah, you know me.” You craned your neck, trying to see if Minji was fixing a bouquet somewhere, but you didn’t find the brunette anywhere. Gahyeon, standing smack in the middle of the shop and blocking the door, didn’t help. “Is Minji here?”

“Oh, yeah. She’s just... finishing something.” The younger girl’s smile was disarming, obviously hiding something and yet innocent enough that you could’ve just been paranoid. “You don’t mind waiting, do you?”

Your eyes narrowed, but you shook your head. “So, uh, how’s Siyeon?”

Gahyeon softened at that, sighing, “Still not ready to see you. I’m sorry, she... she feels guilty now, that Minji and I had to help you not die.”

“It’s okay.” To be honest, it was true; despite all the feelings you’d invested into her, Siyeon couldn’t break you just yet, not even after you barely recovered from the Hanahaki disease. “I’ll give her time.”

“I’m grateful for that,” the other girl smiled, squeezing your arm. “On her behalf.”

Before either of you could say something more, the hidden door creaked open to reveal a Minji that was decidedly more gaunt than when you had last seen her. Her cheeks were hollow, lips pale and dark circles unable to be hidden by the layers of makeup she wore. “Oh. Hey, Y/N, what’re you doing here?”

You raised the bags in your hand in answer. “Baking? We agreed a couple weeks ago.”

“Oh!” Minji attempted an apologetic smile, though you still got the feeling that she didn’t really remember. “Right. Gahyeon, I’m fine, you can go home.”

“Are you sure?” the younger girl eyed the florist critically. “Because--”

“Gahyeon. I’m good.” Minji’s tone left no room for argument, and Gahyeon merely waved at you before making her way out. Finally only the two of you left in the shop, the brunette opened her door for you. “Sorry about that. Come in?”

Despite not really wanting to overstep, you blurted out, “So. What was that about? If you’re sick, I can easily go home and bake there...”

“No, I’m good!” Minji tried her best to grin, but something was just lacking. You also noted that she did her best not to touch you, skirting around the kitchen table to be on the other side. “Did you get chocolate like I asked?”

“I did,” you nodded, accepting the fact that she wouldn’t talk about it until she was ready. After all those months, you learned that when Minji was stubborn, there really was nothing that could change her mind. “Chocolate because Gahyeon likes it, but I also got vanilla to make cupcakes for anyone who doesn’t like it?”

She clapped and you played along by bowing, though she stopped so she could start to taking ingredients out of the bag for you. “Oh-- what’s this?” she frowned at the can of coconut cream she held in her hand.

“That--” you snatched it out of her hand-- “is for you. I learned how to make coconut mousse recently, and I thought that while I’m here, I might as well treat you.”

Minji opened her mouth to speak with a smile, but she was interrupted with a sudden fit of coughing. You reached to grab water for her, concern parting your lips, but she waved you away. “I- I’m fine. A bit of a cold, that’s all, I’ll be right back.”

With that, she ascended to her loft again, leaving you with coconut cream in your hands and confusion written all over your face. In all the 8 months that you had known her, Minji hadn’t gotten sick once; she brought you chicken soup when you got the flu and miraculously avoided it, claiming herself to have “immunity superpowers” with that amazingly infectious smile. So it was weird for her to be so affected by a simple cough.

But as you turned back to your cake recipe, you tried to write it off. After all, she’d saved you already... she didn’t owe you any explanations.

Yubin was sweet. A lot quieter than Minji, but she was that calm kind of funny that didn’t really require being boisterous to invoke laughter from you, and you definitely didn’t mind it. “Thank you for coming to shop with me,” you mentioned as you bent down to stare at the label on a folded jacket. “Minji said she’d come, but she’s really busy lately.”

“Yeah, she can be like that sometimes,” Yubin shrugged, pointing a decorative cup out to you. “She insists that she doesn’t like to burden us or whatever.”

“That’s bullshit, but it sounds like her,” you sighed. You folded the jacket over your arm and picked up the cup on your way to the register, Yubin following with her gift for Gahyeon already hanging on her arm. “But I can’t help but think that she’s hiding something from me... just me.”

The younger girl raised an eyebrow. “Really? I mean, Minji’s been quiet recently, but I don’t think she’s treating you any different. If anything, she’s nicer to you than she is to the rest of us.”

You chuckled at that and passed your credit card over the counter. “Right. She is being really nice to me, almost weirdly nice. You know, I brought my baking supplies over to her the other day, and she didn’t even try to throw flour in my face. It’s weird.”

“You’re right that that doesn’t sound like Minji,” Yubin frowned, opening the shop’s door for you as you walked out. “I don’t know, she’s like a different person after meeting you. Doesn’t talk to Siyeon much--”

At the guilty expression on your face, she stopped talking. “Y/N, it isn’t your fault. Minji... she’s just too kind. She never understood how our friend, who saw the effects of Hanahaki herself, could just let you die.”

“Isn’t it my fault though?” You tilted your head to the sky, observing the fluffy white clouds that floated over the skyscrapers of Seoul. “I gave her that responsibility of healing me, she wouldn’t have given a shit if she didn’t have to heal me.”

“Well, if you think that, then you still don’t know Minji well enough.” The other girl laughed softly, shaking her head. “See, it’s less about letting you die and more about letting someone else die. We all know that Siyeon-unnie couldn’t love you on command, but Minji thinks she was callous with how she rejected you.”

“Yubin...”

She held up a hand so that you’d let her continue to talk. “See, she’s selfless. She could’ve turned you away, no matter how much Gahyeon tried to convince her, but she didn’t. Minji can’t handle the thought of not doing something when she could, but she would also never impose on others.”

“Do you think that’s what’s happening?” you asked suddenly. “Is she sick or something, and won’t tell us?”

Yubin hesitated to answer, her expression conflicted. “I want to say no. But it’s... more likely than not.”

You almost reached for your phone, but you remembered how curt Minji’s text messages had been in the past month, and how often she had blown you off. “Huh. Well, I guess we’ll just have to ask her tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Coffee?” your new friend offered, stopping in front of a small coffee store. You followed her in, more and more worried about the florist as you thought about her. Your heart was beating uncomfortably in your chest again, as quick as it had been when you had Hanahaki, just without the unrequited love clogging your lungs like so many months ago.

You leaped onto Bora’s back as soon as you saw her, laughing as she shrieked. Gahyeon, who had been talking to Bora, grinned at the sight of you in your sparkly outfit. “Gahyeonie, happy birthday!”

“Thanks, Y/N.” She took the gift from your hands to set it down on a table, Bora hitching you up higher on her back. “Now that you’re here, will you convince Handong-unnie to let me see the cake?”

“Not a chance,” you sing-songed, sticking your tongue out at the pouting birthday girl. “I spent hours on that cake, I’m not letting you see it before the grand reveal with Minji. Where is she, by the way?”

“Minji?” Bora frowned, finally giving up and letting you down onto the floor. The petite woman scanned the apartment with her lips pursed, swishing her specialty punch in the cup she held. “Mm. I don’t think I’ve seen her today.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at that, and you stepped further into the living room to try and catch the florist among the throng of celebrators. “Really? That’s unlike her, I would’ve thought she’d be here first.”

“I think Siyeon stepped up for organization this time,” Gahyeon offered. “I can... ask her for you?”

You were tempted to agree; after all, it had been nearly a year and a half since you had confessed and gotten painfully pushed away. But then, you had to know where Minji was for yourself-- any information, even if it was given to you by Gahyeon, wasn’t trustworthy unless you heard it for yourself. “It’s fine,” you sighed. “I’ll go.”

“Y/N, are you sure?” Bora asked quietly, catching you in your stride with her hands on your arm. “She’s not exactly friendly towards you.”

“I’m good,” you smiled in an attempt to reassure her. “Really.”

Once you left the two behind, it wasn’t tough to find Siyeon. She stood in the kitchen with Handong, laughing at some joke or the other that you couldn’t hear over the music. To your alarm, your heart hurt a little bit at how beautiful she looked, blonde hair lengthened by extensions and lips colored; but it wasn’t the disease, just a normal twinge of remaining heartbreak as you approached her. “Hey.”

She didn’t turn until the hostess pushed her to. “Y/N. Hello.”

You pursed your lips at her attitude. “Look, I don’t want to talk to you either. All I need to know is where Minji is.”

“Minji...” Siyeon frowned at that, turning to look at Handong, who shrugged. “She still hasn’t shown up? The party started hours ago...”

Handong offered, “She texted me a little while ago, she said she had a cough? It’s not like Minji to be sick, but I’m sure a cough is no problem.”

“A cough?”

The three of you turned to find Gahyeon behind you, her expression a mixture of grim and absolutely horrified. “Gahyeonie..?” Siyeon asked, panic seeping into her voice just like it did yours.

“Y/N, you need to come with me” was the youngest’s only answer as she grabbed onto your wrist. “We don’t have enough time, Bora can drive you to the LB. And--”

“Hey, Gahyeon, what the hell is going on?” you asked, quieting yourself when she hushed you. “Is Minji sick? And if she is, why wouldn’t you tell us? We can buy her medicine--”

“She has Hanahaki.” Your eyes widened immediately and you stopped in your tracks, ignoring Gahyeon tugging at you. She gave up, and tried to soften her words. “Y/N... Minji loves you. And you don’t love her back.”

You stammered, attempting to find the right words to respond. But there didn’t seem to be any-- none of the sentences on the tip of your tongue could even come close to describing what you wanted to say, so you could only settle or saying, “What?”

Gahyeon pinched her lips together, typing something furiously on her phone. “Yeah. It’s progressing too fast, I think, she was on the brink of death when you saw her last. Coughing out full blossoms already, and I’ve already found her choking on her own blood twice.”

“But...” Your mind raced, trying your best to find an explanation. “I’ve only known her for 10 months.”

“That’s how much she loves you, I guess,” Gahyeon shrugged, turning as Bora bounded down the stairs. “Please save her. It might be too late, but- but I don’t want Minji to die without seeing you one last time.”

Bora grabbed you then, not giving you a minute to even ask if it was okay to leave. It was a short bound to her car in the driveway, and the both of you seemed just as desperate to reach the florist when Bora pressed down on the pedals with close to her full force.

You came dangerously close to crashing into at least 10 cars, and you were sure that you had run a red light, but there was nothing else on your mind as you slammed the car door closed and kicked the door to the flower shop right open. “Minji!” you shouted, craning your neck to try and see up to the loft. “Minji, where are you?!”

At the sound of some weak coughing, you were leaping up the stairs, gripping onto the banisters to move even faster. And there she was, looking all too frail and weak in her bed.

There was a spray of blood on the pale pink comforter, wrapped around her body with minimal effort, and Minji’s eyes were barely fluttering open. “Y/N,” she croaked, hand creeping up to touch your face as you fell to your knees right next to her. Her voice was hoarse, almost gone from the months of coughing up mallow blossoms and blood. “You came.”

“I... of course I came.” Your voice was shaky, and there were hot tears already spilling down your face. “Minji, why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“Not- not your responsibility,” she coughed out. “I couldn’t let you feel guilty for what’s happening to me. It’s not your fault, Y/N, that you don’t love me.”

You sobbed out at that, wiping your eyes roughly with the palms of your hands. “Minji, please...”

The girl lying before you could barely be called a shell of Minji, and no matter what you said, it could only be your fault that her eyes were as sunken as a skull’s. It could only be your face that her wrist was as delicate as that of a bird, that her hand wasn’t even able to support the weight of your head as you slumped down to sob next to her.

There was nothing bright shining in those brown eyes anymore, none of the light that exploded into a thousand golden sparkles whenever you baked her favorite pastries or arranged a bouquet just right. There was no smile on her parched lips, no laughter shaking her entire body or a stupid joke that no one really understood.

All the memories of the Minji that you remembered flooded into your mind, like videos flickering over the nearly-dead girl that you could see in front of you. Minji when she spent hundreds of dollars for your birthday bouquet, Minji when she took you as a plus-one to her favorite concert. Minji when she smiled at coconut tarts, Minji when she presented you with your very own apron for the shop.

Was there something I could’ve said to make your heart beat better?

Said. As what could’ve been Minji’s last breaths began to escape her lungs, your head shot up and your heads reached out to cradle her to your chest, your lips moving faster than you could’ve ever imagined to say those three words out loud. “I love you. Kim Minji, I love you I love you I love you so much, please don’t leave me--”

You couldn’t feel her breathing against you with the force of the sobs racking your entire body, rocking back and forth on the edge of her bed with your hands wrapped around what was left of her familiar frame. “Please,” you cried, her hair damp against your cheek with your own tears. “Please...”

And with the last plea that escaped your lips, she drew in a rattling breath, only to cough it back out with a good 2 blossoms or so. You gasped, holding her away from you and patting her back to help as Minji vomited purple speckled blossoms onto her bed.

“You said it,” she rasped, collapsing. All you could do was continue to cry, the salt of your tears finally tasting sweet on your lips instead of bitter like they did when you thought that the girl you loved was dead.

“Thank you.”

145 notes · View notes

viking-raider · 4 years ago

Text

The Immortal Sky - Part IV

Summary: Henry tracks down people that could help him find you, not realizing just how close to you he is. You make it outside the wall of London, entering the wild expanse between it and Bristol.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/You

Word Count: 8,000

Chapters: I II III

Warning: PG-13 - Future!AU, Dystopian!AU, Language, Abuse of Power, Angst, Mentions of Violence and Drugs

Inspiration: I’ve always wanted to write a futuristic fic!

A/N: I would love to thank @wondersofdreaming for being a lovely beta and brainstorm buddy! You’ve kept me sane so many times! Please, Tell Me What You Think!!

“What do you know about Michail Keagan, Mr. Parker?” Henry said, sitting across from your twin brother's Supervisor at his assigned place of work.

“He's a fucking loser.”

The Supervisor laughed, shaking his head at the table between them. “He might spend a whole hour here for his shifts, other than that he's missing in action. I've reported him to the Council of Daily Operations numerous times, but they don't care because he still clocks in, despite it only being for that one hour.”

“So, he knows how to cheat the system.” Henry nodded, chewing on his lip, frustrated.

“Him and that equal loser friend of his, who's supposed to be working for us, but got himself transferred to his family's hole-in-the-wall restaurant.” Parker huffed, rolling his eyes.

“What friend?” Henry frowned, leaning against the table on his elbows.

“Theodore 'Teddy' Wang.” Parker replied. “He's a dishwasher for Wang's Take-Away.”

“Thanks.” Henry said, standing up and extending his hand to Parker, then made his way to the Chinese restaurant.

“Hi, how can I help you?” Jinyu asked from behind the register, smiling as Henry stopped in front of her.

“I'm looking for your son, Teddy Wang.” Henry replied, glancing behind her.

The smile on Jinyu's face melted away, she could tell by the way Henry looked and held himself that he was part of the Marshals Council. “He's not here today.”

Henry sighed, pressing his palms to the nicked counter top and leaned all his weight on his arms, bringing his piercing blue gaze to hers. “Mrs. Wang,” He said softly. “I'm not here to arrest your son, even if he's doing something that warrants it. All I want from him is answers to my questions. It's that simple, unless you and your son want to make it complicated.” He explained to her.

Jinyu stared at Henry for a long time, before rolling her eyes and pointing to the beaded curtain behind her. She knew if she didn't comply, Henry could make a load of trouble for her back at the Council, and she, her family and their business didn't need that. Henry nodded his head to her and stepped around the counter, parting the rattling beads as he stepped into the back of the restaurant and found Teddy there, doing what he was always doing; washing dishes.

“Teddy Wang?” He said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, who wants--” Teddy started, setting the plate in his hand down and turned towards Henry, drying his hands on his filthy apron. “Oh shit!” He yelped, seeing the imposing Henry, and spun around, tripping over his feet, before catching himself on the edge of the sink and bolting out the back door of the restaurant.

Sighing through his nose and dropping his arms, Henry went after Teddy, quickly catching up to the kid in the trash filled alley, trying to scale a chain-link fence. He easily reached up, grabbing the back of Teddy's shirt and yanked him off the fence, before slamming his back against the grimy wall of his parents' restaurant.

“Look, I ain't got nothin'!” He barked at Henry, squirming.

“Is that so?” Henry smirked, deciding to have a little fun on Teddy's expense. “That's not what I heard.” He shoved a hand into the front pocket of Teddy's faded jeans. “Oh, what's this?” He grinned, pulling out a small, dime-sized bag from the pocket, a sky-blue powder inside of it.

“That's just Naproxen tablets, they must have gotten crushed.” Teddy gulped, looking like a caught sheep.

“Right.” Henry laughed, opening the bag and dumping it out onto the wet ground, then rubbing it out with the sole of his boot.

“Oh, come on, man!” Teddy whined, slumping back against the wall. “That's expensive.”

“Really? I thought Naproxen was only five creds?” Henry replied, tilting his head at the boy.

“One cred is too expensive down here, you'd know that, if you lived in this hell hole too.” Teddy sneered at him. “Marshal.”

Henry smirked at Teddy. “I wanna talk about Mikey Keagan.” He said, cutting to the chase.

“Oh fuck that!” He snapped, shaking his head. “I am getting tired of being roped into their fucking issues.”

“Their?”

“Yeah, their!” Teddy spat. “Mikey tries to rope me into his Running operations and his sister, the last time I saw her, she held me up at knife point, until I told her where her brother went.”

“When was this? That she held you up?” Henry asked, not buying his story about you holding him at knife point.

If only he knew.

“Eight or nine months ago.” Teddy replied. “Mike got into a fight with his parents about becoming a Runner for Jaxon Quinn, over in Sector Three of Bristol, and went down to the Thirty Sectors to stay with a friend. Issy comes by, a week later, and holds me up, until I tell her what friend he's staying with. Gave her shortcuts around the gates and everything.”

“What's the friend's name?” Henry asked, narrowing his eyes as he processed the story.

“Fynn Penmark.”

Henry looked Teddy over. “I'll let you off for having the Sub-Blue. But, if I ever find out you're in possession of it again, I'll make sure you're banished so far outside the walls of London, you'll be on a different fucking continent.” He threatened, pressing Teddy to the wall with a palm to the chest.

“Got it?” He hissed.

“Got it.” Teddy gulped, licking his lips and nodding his head, like a bobble-head.

“Good.” Henry pushed off of him and headed through the back door of the restaurant again.

“Hey, mister!” A boy on the street corner called out to Henry as he was unlocking his car.

“What!” Henry barked back at him.

“You lookin' for a girl?” He asked, and described you to him.

“That's her.” Henry nodded at him, leaning back against his car door. “What do you know about her?”

“What's in it for me?” The boy asked.

Henry chuckled, shaking his head. “What's your name, kid?”

“Oscar.”

“Well, Oscar.” Henry sighed, rubbing his forehead and carding his fingers through his hair. “What do you want for the information?”

Oscar looked around him and pointed back to Wang's Take-Away. “Lunch. She already got me breakfast to see if any of her family was home.” He confessed.

Henry half smirked at the little boy and finally recognized him, so you had been in the area within the last three hours. “Fair enough.” He agreed to Oscar's terms. “Information first, then lunch.”

“She's looking for her brother, says he's in some kind of trouble, didn't say what.” Oscar told him, fidgeting. “Then, she told the Chinese lady to give me some food, got some for herself, then left.” He pointed to the East, toward Sector Twenty-Nine's gate. “That way.”

“All right, kid.” Henry sighed, satisfied with the information and pushed off the car, going back into the restaurant and let Oscar get some food and a drink, before heading towards Sector Twenty-Nine's gate.

He figured you were going to go find this Fynn Penmark's flat, to see if your brother was there, or what Fynn knew about Mikey's whereabouts. Henry gave you credit, you would make a damn good Marshal with the level of forward-thinking and intuition you had going on, in the case of finding your brother. He was also relieved to know that his own intuition about your brother being in some kind of serious trouble was all so right.

Now, to find you and learn the rest of the facts on the matter.

It took some doing, but you finally found out where Fynn Penmark lived. But, as you approached the opening in the wall separating Sector Thirty and Thirty-One, your heart started to race and pound, hands shaking and palms sweating, it became hard to breathe. You stopped and pressed your hands to your face, trying to push back the terrified tears that streaked hotly down your cheeks. You felt like you were breaking loose.

“Are you okay?” A voice nearby asked.

You started, stumbling away from the concerned looking woman. “Stay away from me!” You barked at her, gasping for air.

The woman looked wildly at you, palms held out to show you she meant no harm, but stayed where she was standing. You stared at her, taking huge lungfuls of air, trying to fight off the dizziness clouding your brain and the bright, blinking spots in your eyes. Your tears finally stopped, but your hands still shook, and you could breathe a little bit easier.

“I'm sorry.” You apologized to the lady. “It's been a hard day.”

“It happens.” She replied, lowering her hands. “Do you need to get somewhere?”

“I know where I'm going, thank you though.” You assured her, even if it was possible she didn't mean you any harm, you weren't going to risk it, like you had the last time you were in these Sectors.

“I hope you find what you're looking for.” She told you, honestly.

“So, do I.” You nodded to her, politely.

You waited for her to go back about her business, before finding the opening and slipping through it, careful not to cut yourself again. Eric gave you point by point directions to the shabby building that Penmark lived in. You weren't surprised to find the lift in his building was broken, so you found the stairwell entrance and started mounting them to the twelfth floor.

“Flat 1283-A, Ms.” Eric's voice said through your headphones.

You found the dented and scuffed up door of Fynn Penmark and pounded on it, until he finally opened it. It took everything you had not to just burst out laughing. “Are you Fynn Penmark?” You asked, biting the inside of your cheek.

“Who wants to know?”

He was gangly, face pockmarked from severe acne, that he was still clearly suffering from, his greasy black hair fell to his shoulders, his filthy clothes might have fit properly, if he weighed more than a kilogram, and with the slightest intake of air, you could tell he hadn't showered in a while, he smelled ripe.

“I'm looking for Mike.” You told him, breathing through your mouth.

“I don't know any Mike.” He said, then slammed the door in your face.

Rolling your jaw, you started pounding on his door again.

“Look, bitch.”

“Call me a bitch, and I'll crack your head open with your own door.” You growled at him, heated. “I'm looking for Mikey, he's my brother. My twin brother.”

Fynn looked you over, then cracked a smile. “Oh, I see it now.” He chuckled, leaning against his door. “I haven't seen Mike in a week.”

“Do you know where the idiot's gone?” You asked him, folding your arms over your chest.

“His new handler, Knox Monroe, picked him up from here, as I said, a week ago, to take him to Bristol.”

“How long does it take to get to Bristol?”

“Depending on your transportation, anywhere from three hours to two days.”

“How do you take the three hour trip?” You asked, lifting a brow at him.

“Have someone with a car pick you up and take you there.” He laughed, still smirking at you. “And I'm sure you don't. So, you'll be walking, and that's the two day option.”

“Doesn't seem so bad.” You sighed, frowning at the thought of walking that far.

“Are you stupid?” Fynn snapped, suddenly agitated. “Have you ever been outside the wall? Have you ever seen outside the wall? It's not rainbows and puppies out there. It's a barren fucking wasteland with pocket groups, that are more like feral wolves than humans, that would jump you, rob you and leave you for dead; if they didn't kill you in the process.”

“Have you been out there?” You asked him, chewing on your lip.

“Countless times.” Fynn nodded. “I make the run to Bristol, at least, once a month.”

“Can you take me?” You asked him, hopefully.

“No.” Fynn shook his head at you. “I've already made my run for the month and I don't take tag-alongs.”

“Can you tell me how to get there?” You tried to persuade him.

“Why is it so vital for you to go after him? He'll be back in a couple months.”

“Because, something bad is going to happen to him, and I have to warn him, before it happens.” You told him, desperate.

“Like, what?”

“Can you help me or not?” You snapped at him.

“All right, fine.” Fynn huffed back, rolling his eyes at you. “Come in.” He sighed, pushing the door open for you.

You hesitated for a moment, but stepped into the trashed flat. Fynn pushed some stuff aside until he found an electronic pad and pulled up a map he used to get from London to Bristol, the most efficient and safest way he could, when he did have to walk there. You watched him fuss over it for a few seconds, before holding his hand out to you.

“Mobile.” He grunted, rolling his eyes again and snatched it from your hand. “I'm giving you my best directions there, with a couple of notes, should you need to stay somewhere. Whatever you do, and I mean whatever you do, do not travel at night. I marked several places along the way you can stay at safely or get supplies from, just show them this.” He pulled up a logo on your mobile, his interlocking initials.

“They'll know I sent you and accommodate you, for free, and know you can be trusted.”

“Thank you.” You sighed, taking your mobile back.

“Hey, Mike is a good friend, and he's saved my ass more than once. So, I'm just returning the favor.” Fynn sighed, rubbing his face. “I wouldn't want Mike bashing my head in for getting his sister killed, that's for sure.”

There was a strong knock on the door and Fynn got up to check the peephole.

“Fuck, it's the Marshals.” He snapped.

“Big fellow, shoulders wider than the door, curls and beard?” You asked, your adrenaline pumping.

“You know him?” Fynn asked, shocked.

“You can say that.” You gulped, glancing around. “Please, you have to hide me. If he finds me here, he'll stop me from saving Mikey.” You pleaded with him, clutching at his cold hand. “Please, Fynn.”

“Fucking Christ, you Keagans are a wily bunch.” He huffed, then directed you into his bedroom. “Be quiet and don't touch anything.” He said, pointing a finger at you, before closing the door and rushing to answer Henry's incessant pounding.

“What the fuck do you want?” Fynn barked at Henry, almost able to look Henry in the eye, glaringly.

“High Marshal Cavill.” Henry said, flashing his badge in Fynn's face.

“And?” Fynn huffed, unperturbed, he had dealt with far scarier people, both High Marshals and Crime Bosses before, and wasn't afraid of Henry.

Henry could see that Fynn wasn't frightened by him and his tired blue eyes darkened, before he grabbed Fynn by the shirt and launched him backwards into his flat, then stepped inside himself, kicking the door closed behind him. While Henry didn't usually employ rough tactics and overly abuse his power as a Marshal, he wasn't wholly immune to it either, he still had his flaws and prejudice from his status as a high born and position in London.

“Fynnch Oliver Penmark.” He growled at the Runner and looked around the utterly trashed flat, a scowl of disgust on his face. “Rumor has it, that you're a Runner.” He said, settling his eyes back on Fynn, who was using the cluttered coffee table to pull himself up.

“Vicious rumors.” Fynn huffed, brushing himself off. “That dumb brain at my work place has it out for me, so he keeps trying to report me to the Council of Daily Operations.”

“You certainly don't spend much time at work.” Henry countered. “What were you again? A floor licker?”

“A Janitor.” Fynn barked, scowling. “I don't want to spend all my time in a hostile environment. So, I do enough hours to appease those blood thirsty bastards at the Council, and get paid.”

“We'll see how long that'll last.” Henry replied, folding his arms. “All I have to do is give them one word and they'll cut you off and you won't have this hell hole to keep you cozy in anymore.”

“What do you want, mate?” Fynn sighed with a growl, he was starting to think you weren't worth the trouble Henry wanted to make for him.

“I had a visit with a friend of yours, Teddy Wang, up in Sector Twenty-Eight.” Henry said, pushing aside some trash by his foot. “He told me that you might know something about Mikey Keagan and his sister.”

“I haven't seen Mike, in a week, and I've never met his sister.” Fynn replied, taking a seat on a clear spot on his couch.

“Funny.” Henry hummed, frowning at him. “I had a little informant tell me that she was seen coming this direction, to see you.”

“Well, either that informant lied to you or she's lost her way. Because she's not here or has she been.”

“I doubt you would tell me, if she was.”

“Look, if giving you information on her would get you out of my place and my business, then I'd give it and her to you. But, I don't know where she is and I haven't seen her.” Fynn told him, annoyed. “You can look around, if you want.” He said, motioning around his pig sty.

Henry glanced around with a dirty look, then looked back to Fynn. “I know you're lying to me.” He hissed, his gut was screaming. “So, you either tell me, or I'll make that call right now and arrest you on top of it.” He warned Fynn, taking out his mobile.

“Jesus!” Fynn barked, jumping to his feet. “Fine! She came by an hour ago, looking for her brother, and said she was afraid something bad was going to happen to him, if she didn't find him and warn him about it. She wanted to know when I saw him last and I told her, just like I told you, it's been a week since I saw Mike.”

“What did she do with that information?” Henry asked, lowering his phone.

“She asked if I knew where her brother went.”

“And, where is Mikey?”

“Bristol.” Fynn said, deflating.

“Bristol.” Henry repeated, sighing. “What is Mikey doing in Bristol?”

“I don't-”

Henry grabbed Fynn by the shirt and yanked him against him, narrowing his glowing blue eyes. “Out with it, Slum.” He growled, harshly.

“He's a Runner.” Fynn yelped, now he was frightened of Henry. “He's been a Runner for the last two years, and he's going to Bristol so he can be trained as an Adjutant Runner for one of the top Crime Bosses of Bristol, Jaxon Quinn.” He babbled out, his eyes huge. “I gave her directions on how to find him there and she left soon after, to start that way.” He added without Henry prompting or threatening him.

“Fuck.” Henry barked, pushing away from Fynn and storming out of his flat, cursing all the way down the hall.

“You can come out now.” Fynn huffed, opening his bedroom door a few minutes later.

“How could you tell him all that!” You snapped at him, punching him on the arm.

“Oh, chill your heels.” He growled, rubbing his arm. “He thinks you're already gone and doesn't know the route you'll be taking. Besides, he's a High Marshal, he's not going to leave the wall for some girl. The Councils wouldn't allow it and even the craziest and most determined Marshals have enough sense not to chance it.”

“I could have just given you away, after all the trouble the asshole gave me.” He added, sourly.

“Thanks.” You grumbled under your breath.

“Hey, when you see your brother again, tell him he owes me for a change.” He called after you.

“Tell him yourself.” You snapped over your shoulder and slammed his door shut.

“She's fucking stupid.”

Henry growled, every muscle in his body was wound up and tight as he thought of you crossing the desolate waste outside the London Wall to Bristol. The danger that laid between there and London, and the even worse danger that lived and functioned inside the city of Bristol itself.

“She's out of her mind!” He kept mumbling, all the way back down to the car. “She's going to get herself killed!” He sighed, running both hands through his hair and making a bigger mess of his wild curls.

“What!” He hissed at his mobile rang through his car's AI.

“Is that how you address your Supreme?” Reyes asked, stiffly.

Henry groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No. I'm sorry, sir. It's been a horrible morning.” He apologized.

“That Slave of yours keeping you up at night, Cavill.” Reyes laughed, his voice suggestive.

“Not exactly.” He huffed, spent.

“Well, either way.” Reyes sighed, sounding just as tired. “I need you to bring her in for her formal interview. The Council of Clerics have finally started the trials for the Trafficking.”

“Ugh.” Henry groaned, slumping in his seat. “Mother fucker.”

“Henry?” Reyes said slowly, hearing the sound of his voice.

“She's gone.” Henry admitted, regretfully. “I woke up this morning to her, gone. I've been trying to find her all day.”

“You lost her!”

“If you want to put it that way.” He mumbled, picking at his nails and feeling like he was getting scolded by his mother.

“Where is she?”

“Well, if I knew that, I would have her, wouldn't I?” He snapped back, forgetting himself for a moment.

“What have you been doing all day!?”

“Following every lead to find her that I could, Dylon.” Henry defended himself, exasperated. “I've been to her family home, her work place and even her twin brother's workplace, along with every one of their friends'.”

“And?” Reyes screamed, veins bulging from his forehead and neck.

“My latest Intel says, she's on her way to Bristol, to find her brother, Michail.” Henry sighed, his temples throbbing. “She believes he's in trouble, since he's an Adjutant Runner for Jaxon Quinn.”

“Are you telling me, your Slave, has a twin brother, that's a member of a top Crime Boss's business? The same Jaxon Quinn, that funds Twist's Trafficking?”

Henry swallowed, thickly. “Yes.”

“You realize, she's not only a top witness to Twist's operations, but Quinn's as well. She could help us bring him down, Henry! And you let her get away! How did you not know this to start with? Don't, don't fucking answer that. You know, if she gets there and Quinn realizes who she is-”

“He'll kill her.” Henry replied, his voice weakening.

“Has she left for Bristol yet?”

“As far as I know.” Henry replied, depressed on the matter. “I plan on going after her, Dylon.” He added, he had already made the choice to go after you, he didn't care what Dylon or the Councils said on the matter.

“You know, I can't officially back you in your decision to chase after a Slummer, Henry.” Reyes sighed, leaning against his desk and rubbing his own throbbing head. “But, as your friend and someone that wants to take down Twist and Quinn, you have my full backing.”

“What are we going to say when I don't come in for work, for however long it takes me to find and bring her back?”

“I want both of them, Henry. I want her and her brother. She's a witness and he's a conspirator in Quinn's business.” Dylon told him, bluntly. “I'll tell them that you are quite deeply undercover, trying to gain more info.”

“I'll need to go home and take Kal to Charlie's. I'll just tell him, I'm going undercover for a long while and will be back, when I crack the case.”

“That sounds fine.” Reyes nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. “Don't fuck this up, Henry.” He said, then hung up.

“Thanks.” Henry sighed, rolling his eyes.

You were careful as you made your way to the wall, knowing Henry was probably still lurking somewhere nearby, looking for you. You tried to stay in as well populated areas as you dared, hoping to dodge anyone working for Traffickers or getting spotted by Henry.

“Hey, do-”

“Fuck off.” You snapped as a guy approached you, not wanting anything he had to say or wanted from you, and picked up the pace of your walking.

It was starting to get late, after it taking all day to piece your way through the Sectors and follow your brother's footsteps. You probably would have been out of the city by now, if Henry hadn't showed up at Fynn's flat and took vital time interrogating him about you. You wondered how furious he would be to know how close to you he was in Fynn's place, and still didn't manage to catch you.

“We'd have to see each other again.” You mumbled to yourself.

The chances of seeing Henry again were probably pretty slim. After being gone for a little while, he would give up on trying to find you and go back to work for the Marshals and his life. A deep part of you throbbed though, you felt bad for leaving him like that, especially after everything he had done for you. He could have been an absolute monster and treated you like the Slummer that you are, forcing you to wear a Ownership bracelet and making you his proper Slave. But, Henry had been a complete gentleman to you, taking care of your every need and whim, it was almost like he had become your Slave. Then, the charging of several hundred credits to his account for the backpack and mobile, and the dress and jewelry for the party.

“He'll get over it.” You said, shaking your head. “He's a High Marshal, for fuck sake! He probably makes all that in a single case.” You huffed, rolling your eyes.

But, it didn't stop you from feeling bad for leaving him, without a single word.

“Take a right.” Eric's voice said, cutting into your train of thought.

Grunting, you took the quick right at his instruction. As you rounded the corner, you saw, several meters in front of you, the opening in the massive wall that encompassed the city and its citizens. The opening was one-third the size of the meter wide metal and rusted panel, a strip of dying light filtering through the four meter thick wall. Just a kilometer beyond that, was the first place you would be able to find shelter in for the night, then come first light, you would be on your way towards Bristol and your brother.

“Hey!” A harsh call barked behind you as you approached the gap.

You slowly turned and felt a hard lump form in your throat. It was a Beta Marshal, and he looked pissed. “Me?” You squeaked, pointing to yourself, sheepishly.

“Yes, you!” He hissed, face starting to go red with his anger. “Get away from the wall!”

“Why?” You asked, narrowing your eyes at him, heart pounding.

“Because, I said so!”

You took a deep breath in and out, turned on your heels and dashed for it. The Beta Marshal screamed for you to stop and come back, but you ignored him. You dove into the opening and shimmed along it, going as quickly as you could, having to turn sideways in a couple of places to get through. The Marshal was still yelling at you, wedging himself into the gap to chase after you.

The light got bright and brighter, despite the sun setting lower and lower, as you struggled through the opening to the outside world, until you finally popped out on the other side, a cool breeze rushing passed you, fresh and clean. You turned back to the hole and saw the Beta Marshal panting about halfway, then made a dismissive motion with his hand and started back inside London.

You were home free now.

“Eric, where's the first safe house?” You asked, grinning and feeling victorious, despite the hundred and eighty-five kilometers between you and Bristol.

“Head straight for an hour, Ms.” Eric replied a moment later.

With Kal taken care of by his family, Henry returned to the Marshal Headquarters, intent on following after you, but knowing he needed better information on how to navigate the world outside London to do so.

“Henry.” Martin grinned as Henry entered his floor in the headquarters. “How are you?”

“Not in the mood.” Henry growled, folding his arms over his chest. “I know you have a Runner in your lock up, Lukas Hadwin.”

“Um,” Martin blinked up at Henry, then turned towards his computer and typed the name into his computer. “I do! He was arrested two months ago and is awaiting trial with the Council of Clerics.” He confirmed, turning back towards Henry.

“I want him brought to a private interrogation room on my floor, in the next five minutes.” Henry told the Alpha Marshall, then turned on his heels and marched back up the three floors to his office, needing the walk to calm down some of his anger.

Four minutes later, Martin shoved Lukas Hadwin into the private interrogation room on the High Marshall's floor, and handcuffed him to the table.

“Get out.” Henry barked at Martin, throwing the door open, startling both Martin and the Runner.

“But, Hen-” He started to protest, but his blood froze in his veins seeing the look on Henry's face. “High Marshall, he's my arrest, so he's my responsibility.”

“I outrank you, Sidwell.” Henry growled back at him, the anger he had managed to walk off started boiling again. “So, when I tell you to get out of my fucking interrogation room, I mean, get out.” He hissed.

Martin licked his lips, sheepishly, his mouth drying up. “Of course, High Marshall.” He croaked, edging around Henry, for the door.

“Mr. Hadwin.” Henry said, reaching up to the camera in the corner of the room and turning it off. “According to your extensive file, you're a high ranking Runner for a Bristol Crime Boss.”

“Total bullshit.” Lukas barked, trying hard to keep the angry and outraged expression on his face, despite shaking in his jail issued trainers. “My bitch of an ex-girlfriend reported me to the Council of Marshals, telling you corrupt pricks that I was a Runner, because I broke up with her and refused to pay her flat fees.”

“Is that so?” Henry replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Then, what's this?” He asked, dropping an open file on the table and pointed to a section of it. “Says you and another known Runner were arrested in 2864, for possession of a large cache of Sub-Blue. Your little partner in crime blabbed about how you both worked for a lucrative Crime Boss, running the drugs between Bristol and London.”

“Was he lying?”

Lukas glowered at the report, but didn't answer Henry's question; which only increased Henry's blood pressure. Grabbing the back of Lukas's neck, Henry slammed his face onto the metal table, cracking the screen on the file, and rested an uncomfortable amount of his weight on Lukas's neck.

“Was he lying?!” He yelled, directly into his ear.

“No!” Lukas cried out, squirming, fruitlessly.

“What Crime Boss?” Henry continued to yell.

“Benji Hernandez!” He squealed, whimpering.

Henry pushed off of Lukas's neck with a huff, he had heard about Hernandez, he had heard about all of the big time Crime Bosses that ruled Bristol like the Council of Clerics and Royals ruled London. But, Hernandez was the cream of the crop. His family was credited with establishing Bristol and bringing it to the level, almost on par, with London through deep waves of crime, selling every drug they could get their hands on or manufacture themselves, their number one seller was unsurprisingly, Sub-Blue.

Many Crime Bosses and groups had tried dethroning the Hernandez Family, and all had failed. They had too much money, too much power and their followers, all across England, were loyal, to the death. A massive turf war had broken out several years back, the first conflict of the sort since the end of the fourth war. It had mainly broken out and was confined in Bristol, with pockets of skirmishes in London and the other major city of England, Chester, before finally being squashed. Dozens of people were killed and maimed in the four month long battle, and the Hernandez's kept their throne and were still stronger than ever.

The Hernandez's family, friends and their most distinguished workers were the only ones that lived in Sector One and Two of Bristol, everyone else lived in Sector Three to Sector Fifteen.

“How do you get to Bristol?” Henry asked, pacing around the table.

“It depends.” Lukas panted, rubbing the back of his sore neck.

“On?” Henry pressed.

“The size of the load.” He replied, groaning. “If it's a small load, I'll walk there. If it's a large load, then we'll be driven from a checkpoint outside London to Bristol and back.”

Henry quietly paced around the room, brooding on his next course of action. He knew, for a fact, you wouldn't be driving to Bristol, or knew someone, other than your brother, who was already gone, that could drive you there. So, you had to be heading for Bristol on foot. He debated how he would follow after you, he could take his car to find you, sure he could reach you faster that way, but the moment he managed to get out of the wall with it, his car's on board locator would alert the appropriate channels and they'd go after him.

Especially since going after you wasn't authorized and being done quietly. Leaving Henry with the same option you had been saddled with.

Walking

“How do you get from London to Bristol?” He asked and leaned against the table, across from Lukas.

“There's two routes to Bristol.” Lukas sighed, knowing if he didn't tell Henry the information he wanted, the High Marshal would no doubt beat it out of him. “One is only used if you have a car, because pit stops are few and far between, and you don't want to be caught out there alone, especially at night. So, staying in the moving protection of a car is the best way for that path, since it's longer.”

“The other?”

“The other, is the one that's usually used by Runners that are walking between the two. It's shorter, by several kilometers, but slightly more dangerous than the car route, since it runs through several mini-towns that people, who were either banished or choose to live out there, populate. Some of them and the mini-towns are friendly and benevolent, but most are not. So, if you don't know what ones to stop in, chances are, you'll end up dead and stripped clean of any valuables they can take back into the cities and trade for goods.”

Henry gulped thickly, and felt a cold sweat break out on his skin as he battled the anxiety of you being out there, alone, for so long. He knew it was critically dangerous out there, but hearing Hadwin talking about it and the things between the two cities made it abundantly clear it was even more dangerous than he thought.

“Are you all right?” Lukas asked, seeing Henry's scruffy face steadily grow pale.

“I'm fine.” Henry growled, getting a handle on himself. “How do you know this other route, you used to walk there?”

“It's been used by thousands of Runners, for years.” Lukas laughed, shaking his head. “But, it was recently refined by another Runner.” He added, tugging on his cuffs. “Fynn Penmark recently compiled a map of safe places that Runners can stay for the nights and buy supplies.”

What were the chances? Henry thought.

“You'll be giving me that map.” He told him.

“I can't!”

Lukas squeaked, frightened at the thought of a High Marshal having the map showing him where Runners were coming and going from, the places they stayed and people that aided their operations.

“They'll kill me, if they find out I gave it to you!” He protested.

Henry leaned across the table, bringing his face close to Lukas's. “Look in my eyes and ask yourself, if you think I give a fuck?” He whispered, his tone cold and calculated.

“Now, give me the directions.”

Lukas gulped and nearly peed himself from the energy brewing off of Henry, who didn't pull back as he gave him the directions for the route. Henry looked over the map, making a legend of the symbols Lukas had made along the way, marking places to sleep and get supplies, as well as places that should be avoided at all costs. Once he was satisfied and sure the Runner wasn't lying to him and had told him all he knew, Henry stepped out into the hall and by Martin, not exchanging a single word with him.

Returning to his flat, Henry felt the quiet throughout it, without Kal's barked greeting and you either watching tv or listening to music. He missed those noises and being greeted by the both of you as he got home from work or wherever he had gone. Sighing, he grabbed a bag and stuffed a few items into it, a change of clothes, a small medical kit and a few other things he felt he might need, then checked to make sure his service weapon was still secure to his hip. Knowing it was getting cold out, Henry took off his coat and shirt, and pulled on his base layer HAMR, long sleeve shirt to wear under his black, knit sweater, before pulling his lightweight down jacket back over that.

Slinging his backpack over his back, situating his beanie on his head and zipping up his coat, Henry went back out the door, locking it up and rode the lift down to the ground floor. He knew a place in Sector Four with a large enough hole in the wall that he could squeeze through and start his journey to finding you.

Taking his best guess and trusting his gut feeling, Henry made his way to one of the first safe houses on the map, that you would likely stop in for the night. He just hoped he could get there before you left. But, you had an almost five hour head start on him already. Since, he had to spend so much time pulling information out of Hadwin, plus the nearly a two hour walk around the wall to get to the closest point to the house, and where you nearly had a straight shot to it, then the hour to the mini-town.

Within an hour of you both leaving Fynn's flat, Henry had entered the Marshal's Headquarters to interrogate the known Runner, Lukas Hadwin, on how to get to Bristol, and you had reached the opening in the wall. While you finally reached the safe town and your room, Henry had been grilling Hadwin for a tense hour. For the next two, you took a much needed rest, and Henry finally finished juicing Hadwin for every bit of info he had, including the map Fynn had given you for the trip. He then rushed home, taking Kal to Charlie's and packing a bag to follow after you.

Henry wasn't afraid of the nearly three hour walk to the house, in the middle of the night. He could easily protect himself, both with his weapon and his hands, it was you that consumed all of his worry and fear. You had nothing to protect you, other than your wits, but those would only get someone so far, before running out and getting you severely injured, or killed.

“Please, just keep her safe until I can reach her.” He said out loud, looking up at the inky black sky and twinkling stars.

“That's all I ask.” He sighed, walking faster.

You were exhausted after running around London all day, running from Henry and a Beta Marshall, then walking non-stop for a solid hour to reach the first safe place on Fynn's map, just as the last rays of sunlight died behind the horizon.

“Who are you and what do you want?” A hard looking woman behind a makeshift counter asked as you entered the decrepit building that was marked as a safe place.

“I'm a friend of Fynn's.” You told her, approaching the counter and showed her Fynn's logo off his map.

“I guess you want a room then?” She asked, turning her back to you and grabbed a key off the wall behind her.

“I do.” You replied, sheepishly.

“This way.” She rasped, disappearing through a doorway.

You gulped and followed after her, following her down a long dimly lit hallway with rows of doors on either side. She stopped by a door in the middle of the hallway and jammed the key in the lock and opened it. Pushing it open, she handed you the key and went back down the hall, leaving you alone. You leaned into the room, flicking on the light and finding it bare, only furnished with a bed, a single chair and nothing else, not even a window.

Sighing and figuring it was better than nothing, you stepped inside, closed and locked the door behind you, even shoving the chair up against it, for added security, before sitting down on the squeaky and dingy bed. Shrugging off your backpack, you unzipped it and pulled out a package of food you'd brought with you, slowly munching on it, before making sure Eric woke you up as soon as it was light out, and laid back on the bed; using your pack as a pillow. But, it took you a long time to fall asleep, the room was cold and there were scratching noises happening all around you, making you paranoid. But, eventually your exhaustion won out and you fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming of your brother dying and Henry's voice calling out to you.

The time seemed so short, when Eric's voice sounded in your ears, and in reality, it had only been a mere two hours. Now, unknowingly, three hours ahead of Henry, you woke groggily and sat up, rubbing at your face, as you got up and pulled your backpack on. You removed the chair from your door and went down the hall to the front desk, finding the same lady there.

“Do you have a bathroom?” You asked her through a yawn and handed her the room key back, your bladder screaming.

She pointed to a door on the other side of the room and you went inside, grimacing at the filthy condition of it, but you really needed to pee, so you made do with it. Emptying your bladder, you looked at your map and found a supply store a mile up from you and headed that way, hoping for something decently hot, and was overjoyed to find a brewing coffee pot. You showed the supplier Fynn's mark, then filled a reusable cup with the hot brown liquid and roamed around as you sipped at it. Taking a couple more things of food, refilled your water bottle and pieced together something for breakfast.

“Thanks.” You smiled at the supplier as you finished your breakfast and refilled the coffee cup, before getting back on your way.

You made sure to follow Fynn's advice and the map, keeping your eyes to yourself and walking as quickly as you could to avoid trouble or attracting any unwanted attention. Everyone else around you did the same, there were very few people just standing around, those that were, begged for credits to buy things or trying to sell something else.

But, you ignored their harks and kept walking.

Once you were clear of the mini-town, you dared to have Eric put on some low music, the eerie quiet of the area playing on your anxious nerves as you headed for the next safe place, four hours to the north of your location. You decided to walk there as quickly as you could, then decide whether or not you could risk walking the extra two hours to the next one after that, without risking your own safety. Even though the sun had only just risen, you didn't want to play it risky or get cocky. If you did, and got yourself in trouble, you wouldn't make it to Bristol, hopefully in time to warn Mikey about potentially being in trouble, as Quinn's Runner.

“I'll make it, I know I will.” You assured yourself, pushing down the fearful anxiety. “I will.” You repeated, stubbornly, clenching your hands into fists. “I have too.” You added even softer, weakening to some of that concern.

“Have you seen this girl?” Henry asked, approaching a hard looking woman and showing her a photo he had taken of you and Kal, not that long ago.

“No.” The woman replied, shaking her head.

Henry narrowed his eyes at her, knowing she was lying through her missing teeth. Had he been in London, he would have simply slapped his badge on the counter and she would have sang like an Opera singer on opening night. But, he wasn't and that move would have sealed her lips up tighter than a crab's shell, and probably gotten him into a heap of trouble, wasting more of his time.

“Fine.” He sighed, turning away from her and heading back outside.

Glancing around, he spotted an elderly man standing at the corner, hands held out to every person that walked by him.

“Hey, old timer.” He said, walking up to him.

“Credit for a sandwich?” The old man asked, reaching his hands out to Henry.

“How about a sandwich for some information?” Henry asked, pulling a sandwich out of his pack. “Have you seen this girl?” He inquired, showing him your photo.

“Yeah, saw her super early this morning.” the old man replied, scratching his scraggly beard. “Just as I was setting up here, after first light, maybe three hours ago.”

“Looked in a mighty rush to be somewhere.” He added, nodding to himself.

“Thank you.” Henry thanked him and let him have the sandwich, plus an extra sandwich, just to be nice to the poor man, then started power walking away, knowing he was on the right path to find you and that the gap between you was steadily closing.

“I've got you now.” Henry smirked to himself.

150 notes · View notes

urlocalbunny · 4 years ago

Text

.collaring - aaron.

i came back from the shadows with another shitty smut, hohoho.

warnings: if you don’t like some verse energy don’t touch it lol there’s no dominant part bc they’re fighting.

1.626 words. enjoy!

THERE WILL BE SOME NOTES IN THE NEXT ONE.

Eloise was in front of a pet shop's register, looking at an older man that could be her grandpa. He had a cute smile on his face.

"Sir, how much does this one cost?" She asked shyly with it in hands. "I want to use my credit card."

He held the product and showed the tag to her. "Is this okay with you, miss?" She nodded. "You must have a big dog. Are you sure you can walk with it? You seem young," he said innocently.

"Ah, yes, it is one big... Dog, indeed. But don't worry, I can do this!" She looked at the black leather spiked collar, the leash that came with it hanging on the shelf. She used the card, and he packed the items, bidding her a cute farewell.

The girl was red and full of guilt, but her feet still rushed home before it was night. On her way, she felt like she was sitting in the parlor, but soon was as if she left in a hurry. Aaron was probably rushing to meet her at the door. The girl winced. As soon as she entered the manor, she heard the quick and heavy steps coming in her direction.

"Where were you?" He asked curiously. "Kinda startled me when I felt you running home like you're mad and feeling extremely guilty." Aaron towered over her, a pleased smile on his pretty face. He was happy to see her. But she knew he was also trying to look at what she was hiding behind her back. "You won't even let me look? You truly are acting weird since last week..."

"No!" She laughed nervously.

He frowned. "What's happening to you?"

"It's Nothing," she squealed. "Why are you acting weird?"

"I'm happy to see you and also curious, is that bad? I'm not going to ask too much since you don't seem to want to talk, though," He held her waist, kissing her lips softly as a 'welcome back' gift. "Did you have a good time?" She nodded and pulled away after a long time, stepping on the stairs, one step at a time, trying to take the damn collar up. "Where are you going?" He asked, suspicious of her.

"To the bathroom. I'm, um, practically peeing on myself!" When she turned around, being careful of the pet shop bag, she saw a horrified Vladimir on the steps.

"Don't stay there looking at me!" He pointed to the hall as if she was going to pee on the floor. She ran for it, locking herself in her room instead.

Eloise sighed in relief, pulling the collar out. Now, it was just a matter of thinking. Would he be offended? How would she dress, how would he react, how would she ask? She hoped he would like it. She grabbed her bathrobe and walked to the bathroom.

The chalice knew that it was not a good idea to take a long bath, but she took it nonetheless.

She finished moisturizing when she felt him wandering around the door. She yelped, covering herself in the bathrobe and running to her room. There was nothing, but the uneasy feeling of not feeling Aaron anywhere made her suspicious. She locked herself in and sat down, looking for the collar and the leash. Finding both where she left them, she finally relaxed, sitting on the bed with her back to the door.

All of a sudden, however, someone rested their chin on her shoulder. It was him.

"So, that's what you were hiding, my beloved?" He looked smug. "A collar?"

"Hey... Aaron. How did you hide from me?" She was now lying on the bed as she got scared for a second. He crawled like a wolf would walk towards his prey, and his hips swung. He tried to cage her like he usually did before he pounced.

"You were so nervous that you didn't even realize I was here." Aaron shrugged. "Who's the pet, my beloved?" He asked, "Is it... Me?" His hand grabbed the collar. "It suits me." He seemed to be having fun with the teasing, but he was also blushing. "Were you trying to find a way to ask me to be your pet?" He said, giving the collar back to her.

"U-uh, yeah, I wanted you to let me put this on you..." She squeaked. "But if you don't want to, it's okay. I don't mean to make you feel bad. You know that, right?" When she lifted her head, he was looking at her as if in a trance. He lowered his head after a good while of intense eye contact.

Eloise slipped the collar on and kissed his head lovingly. He rested his cheek on her chest and nuzzled on her, waiting for her to fix the chain. When she pulled, he more than willingly followed, biting her neck, earning a moan from her.

"Are you going to try to tame me, or am I going to have fun as it is?" By how she opened her legs as much as she could to show him her dripping core and untied the knot in the robe, showing him her boobs, he knew it was all his for as long as he wanted. The thought made a growl rip through his throat. He went for her lips, kissing them passionately, feeling the way her hands clung to the chain and pulled every time he gasped for air. As much as he wanted to have his way, he was going to push her around a little.

"Fuck me, just- skip the foreplay." She whined. He pretended not to listen and lowered his head, ignoring the pulls on the leash. He wanted to see how far she would go without acting like an animal herself. He pulled the robe off, sucking a nipple in and squeezing her other boob. At this point, she already realized what he was trying to do.

His hands gripped her ass, stopping her from pulling his shirt off. She groaned, punching his chest lightly. He went for her other boob, this time, sliding a finger on her slit, collecting a bit of what she had to offer. It was almost too tentative, but he kept going.

"Listen here, you little tease." He smiled, looking at her with, ironically, puppy eyes.

"Don't be mean to me." He said, smiling a stupid little grin she was going to wipe out of his face for sure. Eloise pulled on the chain, crashing her lips against his once more. Her tongue tasted a little bit like iron. He knew the bite she gave him drew blood. She rushed for his shirt, pulling it and tossing it to the side.

This fight went on for several minutes after Aaron was bare, but Eloise wouldn't lose now that he was with the leash on. Their kisses weren't enough, and soon he had two fingers buried inside of her, curling and twisting just the right way. She squeezed his wrist with her hand, trying to make him pump faster, a little quicker than that. But he wouldn't budge. She was getting angry, and if she knew of one thing is that if you're unsatisfied with something, you do whatever it is yourself.

She pushed him to the side roughly, making him beam and show his white fangs. She let out a breathy laugh, straddling him and gripping his length with a firm hand. He sucked a breath in as she pumped him slowly. "That's it... Good, good boy." He growled at that. He was a wolf, not a puppy. That was a warning. She giggled. "You're so cute." He was about to protest, but it turned into a loud moan and unconscious thrusting when Eloise guided him inside her until there was nothing out.

"My, my, you are quiet, puppy. What happened?" Her hips rocked back and forth, and as much as she wanted to keep the strong facade, his dick was too much. She started losing herself just as much as him as soon as she got what she wanted. For a long while, the only sounds they'd make were harsh thrusts, breaths, and the sudden pull of his leash when Eloise felt herself clenching around him too dangerously.

"Stop fucking edging yourself on my cock." He growled, flipping her and speeding up. Her hands pulled on his hair instead of the leash, earning an approving hiss from him "my beloved, I'm telling you..."

"You're so full of warnings, aren't you?" She teased, making him pull her legs to rest on top of his shoulders. His nails scratched her ass when he gripped so tight, and she didn't waste any time in biting his neck. He whined. At this point, her headboard was snapping against the wall. Their moans were too needy, their sex too good to stop. Her first orgasm washed over, making her legs tremble on his shoulders. He looked at her like he was winning.

"God, I don't give a fuck, just- more, more!" He looked smug even when her hands pulled roughly on the leash for a kiss that he would keep as one of his favorites. Her hips moved so nicely under him that his vision was getting blurry.

"Hm, gonna cum, gonna cum." He whined.

"Me too." She squeaked, arching her back prettily for him. Aaron couldn't resist the urge to cum inside her, so that's just what he did.

He kept himself buried to the hilt, a deep groan slipping through his gritted teeth.

The sweethearts laughed when they looked into each other's eyes, feeling their heartbeats speed up again, basking in the high and kissing each other's cheeks and hands as the daylight rose behind the curtains.

#moonlight lovers headcanons #moonlight lovers #moonlight lovers fanfiction #moonlight lovers smut #moonlight lovers aaron #ml aaron #aaron smut #kinktober 2020 #collaring #bunny's writing #aaron x eloise #nsfwbunny

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beerecordings · 4 years ago

Text

Poison - Chapter Seven

Part 1 l Part 2 l Part 3 l Part 4 l Part 5 l Part Six

Hi guys! Though this is the last plot-heavy section of the story, there will be an epilogue to tie up loose ends :) Hope you enjoy this final section! It has been a long ride with maximum whump haha. Thank you for reading.

Trigger warnings for hospitalization, needles, death threats, traumatic flashbacks, and mild eye trauma.

I’ll post a last-chapter summary later because I just posted chapter six but be sure to read that before you read this one :)

It was easy, honestly, once the doctor was shaken up.

He didn't have to be Anti or Chase. Anyone could have seen that Henrik was a mess, all trembling hands and reddened eyes and grieving, guilty, heart-broken mouth. Poor little doctor, aww. And he'd been waiting for an opportunity for days.

He considered riling him up more, but Henrik only gets stiff and scared and frozen when too much is going on, so he soothed him instead, pretending to wake up warm and sleepy and whimpering for his big brother, begging to be unrestrained just for a few minutes, please. Desperate for good news and aching for one of his best friends, Henrik quickly abandoned caution in the hopes of comforting Chase.

And he let himself be held for a moment, and Henrik was warm and soft and comforting, and he cannot deny that he liked it for the time he let it last – the smell of coffee and soap, the hot pressure of another body, the familiarity of human skin.

But he had more important things to do than this.

He held Henrik's throat until he passed out and sedated him in an act of vengeance, exchanging clothes and leaving Henrik tied up and unconscious on the bed where he had been trapped for days.

He could have hurt him further. He should have hurt him further. He should have killed him.

But he did not.

Where are we going? He asks himself, trying to keep his wavering legs steady enough to walk without drawing suspicion. What will we do?

I'm not sure. Should we just go?

We could.

But I don't want to.

Why not?

There's – things to stay for?

Don't go getting fucking attached.

He loved me.

We should cut them out.

What do you mean? The magician?

Yes, cut him out, because we keep thinking about it, thinking – oh, he loved me.

If we're cutting him out we should cut all of them out.

We should have killed the doctor.

Yes.

Let's kill the magician at least.

He called me amata.

Shut the fuck up!

But there's a sensation now, one he's hated as long as he can remember, and he must stop to put his hand against the wall and cover his eyes, biting down on a groan. It feels like his blood is trying to separate from his bones.

He loved me...

Be quiet. My brain is turning against me. Where's his room, do you think?

Ask the receptionist.

But we look like his doctor. We ought to know.

Tell her we heard he'd been moved without our permission and we need to check which room he's in.

Good, yes. The accent...

We can do it, but the magician – my brother –

Stop! Just – if we can do the accent, fine, just come on. I need to make this confusion stop, now.

“Clara!” Thank God for her nametag. “Did they move my brother out of his room? Where is he now?”

Haha, you're so bad at it!

He's so bad at it too so it doesn't matter!

Hahaha.

They come back together under the amusement of it and his bones settle.

“Oh, no, Dr. S, looks like he's still in Room 413. Did you change your hair?”

The fake Henrik rushes away before he can be forced to answer, heading toward the elevator. He's up and about, yes, but he's still much too weak from the drugs and the week of rest to take any stairs.

He gets a few weird looks from nurses on the stairs, but that could also just be because he's Schneep.

I don't – I don't think I want to do this.

Be quiet. Be quiet. Be quiet.

I don't think we want to do this!

There's only one of us! Just be quiet!

“Hey, are you alright?” someone asks him.

“Just leave me alone,” he snarls, leaning against the wall of the elevator as his skin threatens to tears away from his muscles and his skull splits down the center. “Just leave me alone.”

They back off and the elevator falls silent.

I'm doing this. I'm doing what I have to do. There's only me and I'm doing what I have to to ease the pull between us. Now hush and get ready. We won't have much time before Jackie comes.

Jackie... he loved me...

Anti grips his head, furious and despairing, and bites on his tongue until blood wells. It’s time to cut these feelings out of their shared chest before they are both destroyed.

---------------------

“So, as you can see here,” explains Dr. Corrin warmly, holding up some pictures of his brain. “It's in the language-producing center of your brain over here, called Broca's area, which is why you're having difficulty with both spoken language and sign. As a bit of good news, aphasia is something patients often recover from even without speech therapy, though there may be some lasting difficulty in finding the right word, and it's possible the aphasia could give you problems for up to a year. You're already speaking again, though, which is excellent news. And you're having no comprehension difficulties?”

Marvin shakes his head slowly, stroking Jameson's hair.

“That's good.” She keeps her voice soft to let his little brother sleep. “I know this must be hard right now, but I have high hopes you'll make a near-full recovery. There is some other minor brain damage around the same area, but as long as you don't notice any significant impacts on your day-to-day life, I think our best option is letting the brain do what it does best and find new pathways to keep you going. Are they any questions you're able to communicate with me just now?”

He hums sleepily. “Ssssshhh,” he manages, his mouth sliding on the word like it's waiting for more to be there. “My? My?”

“Schneeplestein?” She notices him looking at her coat and badge. Marvin smiles, pleased he's managed to get his point across.

“I'll ask him to come see you soon, okay?” she says, smiling back at him, and he nods his head and lets her get up to go.

The room falls quiet again without her, but he doesn't mind. His pain medication is up nice and high again and after the scary part of the night everything became warm and pleasant again.

He's drifting when the door opens.

“Shhh,” he calls again, happy with the sight of his white coat and glasses. “Pi.”

He reaches out for the book, setting it on his lap over his card pack and waiting for his little brother to come over and read to him.

But one step, two – it is not Henrik standing closer to him.

For a moment, Marvin thinks it's Jack.

Then the syringe comes out of his pocket.

Marvin does not quake or shrink in on himself. His eyes fix on the needle. He looks back up at his little brother.

Anti – Chase – his eyes are unreadable, full of something Marvin does not recognize in blue eyes.

But it doesn't scare him.

“Amata,” he whispers, smiling. “Here.”

“Shut up,” he snarls, rounding the bed, and it is only when he approaches Jameson that Marvin begins to feel afraid. “I'm going to kill you.”

Marvin shakes his head and Jamie's shoulder. JJ comes awake with a snuffle, rubbing at his face as he looks up, and then, before his eyes can even widen in alarm, Anti has grabbed him by the throat.

It is, perhaps, a sad fact of Jameson's life that this is not the first time in his life he has woken up with Anti about his throat, but it is the first time he's woken up with Anti about his throat and a brother high on morphine in the hospital bed beside him, and the terror Marvin sees in his eyes is as clear and as deep as the burn of light in the bulb of an angler fish. But if Henrik freezes up and Marvin becomes careful and reasoning, Jameson's reaction to a sudden attack is exactly what Jackie always hoped it would be – fucking fight.

Marvin would like to tell you he helped – that he screamed, that he thought to press the call button, that he threw something, anything. Marvin would like to tell you he even watched. But the truth is that the moment he saw Jameson rear back with a knife drawn from his coat pocket and Anti recoiling to meet him in battle, he was back in chains and convulsions, watching Anti kill Cottonmouth in his little brother's body.

“Darling,” he wails, once, twice, because he cannot even cry his name. “Darling!”

He hides his face and curls in on himself on the hospital bed, holding his shoulders, trying to breathe. Cottonmouth crumples into her own blood in front of him and he pushes his palms hard into his eyes and groans, gritting his teeth.

“Anti,” he whispers. “Chase. Don't.”

But when he hears the thud of a body slamming into the ground, he knows it isn't Anti.

For a moment, there's only Anti's breathing and the shaking of his own heart in his chest. He peers out of his fingers, needing to know if JJ is alive, but all he can see is his little brother's face turned away from him on the tiles of the floor, still.

Anti stalks forward and grabs him.

To his credit, Marvin does not scream or sob even as his flashback near consumes him. He clings furtively to Chase's hands and closes his eyes. The rapid thudding of his heart suddenly stops registering on the heart monitor as Anti manipulates the tech. The nurses won't notice anything wrong.

“What did you wake up in me?” hisses his brother, pushing him down hard against the hospital bed. Needles shift in Marvin's body and he whimpers. “Why are you all making me feel a thousand different things? This is worse than I first melded into this fucking flesh.”

Marvin breathes in, out. Trying to stay steady. Trying to stay steady.

“Look at me,” snarls Anti.

Marvin does not. Marvin does not open his eyes.

“Look at me,” screams Chase.

“Hear you,” warns Marvin in a croak, sliding open his eyes and glaring up at him even as tears run down his cheeks.

“Stop crying,” he answers, his face darkening with frustration. “Stop!”

The needle of a syringe leaps up in his hand and presses into Marvin's throat. He closes his eyes again and lets it sink against the first layer of his flesh, threatening to go deeper.

“Too high to be afraid of me? Huh? Is that it? I'll make you fucking beg.”

Marvin almost laughs. If this isn't terror – if the memory of being hung up in those chains as the poison coursed through him isn't real terror – he doesn't know what is. But Anti's hands reach out to adjust his drug dose and Marvin's heart drops with his morphine levels. Almost immediately, he feels the effects. It's like his skin, his body, his heart has become real again, real in a world much colder than he remembers. He's being recreated. This is what it feels like, isn't it?

Cosmic and mortal at the same time, his atoms are flung into arrangement after long years of drifting, and he is a tree raised from the earth, suddenly standing, suddenly bodied, suddenly aware and alive and staring at the world.

Drifting, confused, scared. Yeah, he remembers. This is what it feels like to be created.

He just doesn't remember it hurting this much.

He doesn't remember anything ever hurting this much, because he's been trying not to think about what happened to him that day on those chains, and oh, oh, oh, it's here with him again now.

The needle presses deeper into his throat. He can hear Anti – no, Chase, his Chase, his Chase in pain – breathing harshly above him, trying to make himself do it.

“Don't feel guilty,” he hears himself sob.

“What?”

He clings to his wrists. He clings, clings, clings to his little brother's wrists. Amata, amata, Chase, the only word left on his mouth, the only thing left that matters, his heart, his heart.

“I love you.”

Aphasia, or the inability to produce language, is not an uncommon result of brain damage. An interesting fact about this condition, however, is that, at times, while it may be impossible for a person to form the sentences or words they'd like to say, it may well be possible for them to recite memorized or familiar phrases. For example, someone might not be able to express their congratulations to a family member on their birthday, but when everyone begins singing “happy birthday,” they are able to join in just as loud and as clearly as anyone else.

There are phrases Marvin knows. There are recitations imprinted on his heart. And if you had told him that a week ago, he would have laughed and made fun of you, because, as he would assure you, that is much too soft for him, but this is not a week ago.

This is now. His kidneys have failed twice. He was tortured for three hours straight. His little brother has been missing for six months and now, here he is.

It is Anti also, or somewhat, or sort of, or something, but Marvin has never known Anti beyond legends and a battle or two, and what he sees – what he feels, what he hears, what he smells – this is Chase, Chase with his sad, lovely eyes, Chase with hair that goes gold in the right light, Chase with this bizarre and ever-present vanilla smell on his tired palms, Chase, Chase, Chase.

Marvin is laughing before he knows why, laughing as Anti tries to put the needle in his neck.

“I love you better than stars and suns,” he recites, his own spells, his own poetry. “I would like to make a constellation of you, stella amata, beloved, my heart. Blue eyes, brother. Amata, I'm here. Amata, I'm here. Come lie down with me. I love you. Chase, do you want to come with me? Just breathe deep. What can I do to help? Are you with me? I know how hard you're trying, I know you're doing your best.”

A litany of remembered things, left over from every time Marvin has comforted him or been comforted by him. A litany of their brotherhood.

“Stop,” he cries.

Marvin begins to quote in earnest. Brothers and songwriters and authors.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. Stay with me, my brother. Here I am. I can't lose you. The weather would be just right, requiring a light sweater mornings and evenings, and something short-sleeved midday.”

“You're just babbling,” he howls, pressing him down bodily into that hospital bed, until they are chest-to-chest but for the book on Marvin's chest and the cards beneath it. Marvin's head is clearing again the longer he looks at it. He knows he needs to try and speak on his own again. He knows he needs to try and save him. His brother. His Chase.

“Scared,” he whispers, touching his cheek, and he groans and ducks his head, holding that needle against his throat in a trembling hand. “I know. Scared.”

“No... No, I'm not s-scared...”

Marvin could sing for Chase's stammer. He caresses his beard, dark and unkempt. His free hand traces down his own chest, careful.

“Don't feel guilty,” he murmurs, reaching back to touch his hair, to stroke his head like he had Jamie's only minutes before. “If pain. Me, darling.”

“You should be worrying about yourself, not us!” he shrieks. “We're not going to feel guilty for killing you! I'm not! And I'll, I'll... I'll take the black and white one with me again! Yes! Our baby brother! And he'll quiet all this noise! I won't feel alone anymore!”

“Not feel alone anymore,” whispers Marvin, tears hot and red on his cheeks, from the pain, from the fear, from the love of him. “Not alone.”

“I'll make it stop, I'll make it stop.” He is shaking his head back and forth above him and they both know he does not believe himself. “We have to make it stop, we just want – I just want – ”

“Chase,” whispers Marvin. “Cast him out.”

“I c-can't!”

“Yes, Chase. Yes.”

“No, I can't, I've tried, I've tried! For months, Marvin, for months, I tried so hard, I did. I wanted so badly to come home to all of you.”

Marvin sobs and clings to his face, his free hand finally reaching his card pack.

“I was so scared, I just want this to stop, we both do!”

“Cast him out. Cast him out. You – you are my sunshine, I'm here, stella amata, the weather would be just right... Chase, here, here.”

“Marvin!” cries Chase. “Please, please help me.”

“No, stop,” shouts something else beneath his skin.

“It hurts!” they both shriek, falling slightly away from the bed.

Marvin grabs their hand.

For a moment, Chase and Anti both stare at him, and there is a silence and an ocean between them, and the world is a rocking, moving thing, and they are anchored together in white palms and white fingers and twin tattoos along their right arms, and they see each other.

“Get the fuck out, Anti,” says Marvin, and he pulls out his King of Hearts and finishes the spell he meant to finish in that basement a week ago.

Light burns between the two of them and they scream as they fall back, their flesh singed by the force of the spell, a black heart scalding into their neck. He – they – whoever and whatever this creature is – trips back over Jameson and falls to the ground beside him.

“Marvin!” Screaming down the hall. “Marvin!”

The door opens and slams into the wall. Jackie does not hesitate even to look around, just pounces towards Anti.

“Stay back!” he screams, scrabbling to his feet and bringing Jameson's body with him, the syringe pressed against his throat. “You stay the fuck away from me!”

“No, you get the fuck away from him,” cries Jackie, teeth snarling. “Let him go. Anti, you're bleeding already. Give up.”

He's right. He realizes with a start that blood is tracing its way down his cheek, bleeding from his eye. Or – is it blood? It's dark as ink.

“Big brother,” croaks Marvin. “Careful, careful.”

“I'm here, Marvelous, I'm here. Anti, stop!”

He's maneuvering toward the door. With JJ in his arms, unconscious and pressed against that needle, Jackie doesn't know what to do to stop him. His first instinct is tackling, as it always is, but that might not end well.

“I've got a tracker on JJ,” says Jackie. Well, he's got his location on on his phone, anyway. “If you try to take him or any of my brothers away again, I'll find you.”

Anti bites his teeth at him, standing in the doorway with JJ slumped across his chest. He can hear more people coming. He's sure Jackie brought security.

But those are the least of his problems right now.

The sensation of his bones and his blood separating, of his skin peeling off from his flesh, of his heart pulsing to get out of his chest, of something being wrong inside him, of something needing to escape every cuticle of his flesh –

This is worse than it's ever been.

He turns his head, and, when he is sick, something black is leaking out of his mouth.

What is this? What's happening? He did something to me!

That's... you? Isn't it? The real you. Without me.

He slams Marvin's door shut behind him and drops Jameson in front of it, shoving him against the crack beneath the wood to slow Jackie, turning to sprint down the hall.

No, please, we can't run. I'm so tired...

Stop fucking whining!

His gait stumbles and he falls, crashing hard to the ground and drawing startled gasps all around him before he can get up again, throwing himself into a closing elevator. He shares a tense elevator ride with a terrified-looking twelve-year-old who won't take her gaze off his own bleeding eyes, trying to get his breath back before sprinting back out of the elevator and into the world.

Please, I want to go back to my brothers! I want my brothers to look after me! I think we can get separate again, please!

But he isn't listening to the voice inside his head right now.

His bones are splitting. His nerves are unraveling. Inside his head, neurons don't know which way to go.

He's coming apart. And when it's over, he doesn't think he'll have a body anymore.

He's afraid.

He runs.

---------------------

Jackie knows where to go.

Jameson is bleeding heavy from the shoulder and his neck is blue with bruising. Jackie heaves him up in his arms and deposits his little brother gently in the bed beside Marvin's, checking for the pulse of his heart beneath his injured throat before turning to race after Anti. He hollers something about nurses, security, cops. Doesn't know what. They're safe here. Jameson and Marvin and Henrik will be looked after. They have to be. What matters now is Chase.

And he knows where to go. Jamie showed him.

He sprints down the street, down the pavement, panting hard, his body working like a machine, his feet pounding sturdy and swift against the concrete. People pass to let him go. Perhaps they can see the ferocity in his face.

He lost Chase once. Last week, he lost Marvin. All his life, his family has come and gone, through kidnappings and comas, imprisonment and loss. But today?

Today he brings his brothers home.

He picks up his pace and the wind makes way for him too. Today, he will not be late.

------------------------

His gait slows.

His gaits slows to a snail crawl.

He staggers

He staggers away from the building.

Lights burn around him in horrible gold and white, stinging against his aching eyes.

He can hear a low, desperate keening –

“Marvin... Marvin... Marvin...”

Over and over again.

That's not his voice, is it?

He's pretty sure he's the one groaning. He's pretty sure he's the one everyone's staring at, pausing on the pavement to call out in concern and whisper.

He's pretty sure he's covered in somebody else's blood.

His brain has turned to mush as everything inside him tears about and he no longer knows where he's running. Hot tears course down his cheeks. He clutches at his shirt and realizes he's aching for something soft to hold. A hand, a warm body, or maybe just a plush seal toy squished into a stuffie pancake.

“My baby,” he hears that distant, familiar voice whisper. “Hunter... my son...”

He has no child. He has no family. He is what remains and what remains is all that there is.

A sting cuts through his neck again and he screams, staggering against the cold wall of an alleyway. Something is in his blood! He can feel it! Poison, poison!

“What is happening to me?” he screams. “Something's inside of me! Marvin! Marvin! Marvin!”

He wants his big brother. He wants his big brother right now.

There is no big brother, there is no one left that he loves, if Marvin were to show his face to him he'd drive a knife into his heart and put a bullet through his skull just for good measure!

The sting pierces through him. The hot burn of something purer than his tainted blood. He is sobbing, heaving, sinking down beside a garbage can in a dirty alleyway beside a road to towards the hospital, wrapping his arms around himself. When did he get so skinny? When did he forget so much of himself? He can't even remember his name – a C? An H? An A?

Marvin spoke it. Marvin spoke it like it was the only word left that mattered. Marvin loved him.

I won't be thrown out of this flesh now! This body belongs to me! This body is me! I don't... what happens if I'm torn apart?

“A – Anti,” stammers his aching mouth. “Anti.”

“That name no longer means anything.” He is alone. He speaks to himself. They speak to each other. “Do we really have to go back to struggling?”

“I feel like I'm always struggling... I can't remember...”

“We don't need to remember. I have you and you have me. There is nothing left of the man you once were. If we could just settle down again!”

“P-poison... you are a poison... Marvin is sending you out...”

The pain lances through his ribs, spreading out across his body. He wails as the hurt only grows and grows, hyperventilating against the cool metal of the dumpster.

“You stole me from them!” he screams, trying to think. “I was going – I was going to see my child! My children! You stole me away from my children! From my brothers! Marvin! Marvin!”

Quiet. Something hateful and commanding arises in his head for the first time in weeks and he chokes, grabbing at his hair. I spliced you into myself once already. I will do it again. Marvin is gone and his magic was weak. You are alone with me. And if someone is leaving this body, then I will be the one to drive you out, Chase. This could kill me. I need to be separated but what if it kills me? What if I die here?

“You're... scared...”

“Chase!” someone shouts. “Chase!”

And then Jackie is there, Jackie is there, Jackie is holding him.

“Please,” he begs, he sobs, he wails; he writhes against Jackie's arms, struggles with him on the cold cement of the alleyway. “Please, it burns me!”

“Let Anti burn away,” he pants, only holding him tighter, only holding him tighter the harder he struggles. “Let Anti burn away. Come back to me. Come back home. I never meant to let you go. I'm sorry. It's me, it's Jackie. You have to remember who you are.”

Jackie smells like home. Pressed into his sweatshirt, Chase can hear again every word that Marvin spoke to him, can feel the touch of Jameson's forgiving body wrapped around his own, can see Henrik looking after him even though it terrified him.

“You know who you are,” whispers Jackie, sinking down to the pavement with him, holding him, careful with the heart-shaped burn singed into his neck. “Come back to me.”

We discover who we are in many ways. Perhaps most of all, we see ourselves in the love we have for others. In the way we love, in the fierceness with which we do. Chase knows himself, yes, after long months. He can see himself in the way Jackie is holding him and in the way he hugs him back, clinging to his brother's sweatshirt, burying his face against his chest.

Trusting his family to save him.

He is terribly ill for long minutes, sick and convulsing as the poison leaves him. Jackie's shirt soaks with the most horrible black ink. It won't come out in the wash. He doesn't care. Chase is here.

“I've got you,” he says, holding one-fourth of the world in his arms. “I've got you. I won't let him take you away again.”

The black ink runs down the brick of the alleyway where Jameson was standing a few days past with his little tray of hospital food. He knew this place would be important. He knew they would have to come here again.

Chase shudders, cries, stills against his chest.

Jackie looks down and sees the blackness creeping together as though magnetic on the brick, and then it is rising, it is forming, it is standing; it is Anti.

His face is drizzling so much black ink he can hardly keep his simulated body together, slumped and staggering, hollow and dazed. His eyes are dead. Jackie has never seen him stand still for so long.

His head rises, exhausted, and he does not breathe or move or speak a word. He only looks at Jackie. The blackness drips off of him – plink. Plink. Plink.

Jackie holds Chase. Jackie stares at him.

Anti closes his eyes and his mouth, and he lifts his hand to his chin, and then draws it away again in one of the first words of sign language Jackie ever learned.

Thank you.

Jackie should get up and hurt him. Jackie should find a way to hurt him. Jackie should kill him.

He doesn't.

The blackness collapses back into liquid. A rat scatters by. Anti's essence fills the squeaking animal up and, a moment later, they are both slipping away down the drain together, leaving nothing but drips of inky blood on the red brick behind them.

Jackie pulls Chase slightly away from himself to look at his little brother. Dazed and still bleeding sluggishly from the eyes, Chase can only snuffle and blink thick and slow, his eyes half-way closed, clinging to Jackie's shirt.

“I got you, Chaser,” whispers Jackie, slipping his arms beneath him. Chase sighs sleepily and wraps his arms around Jackie's chest as he is lifted into his arms, pressing his face against his brother's warm chest. “I got you. And I won't let you go again.”

------------------

A white

room.

White lights. White bedsheets. White brothers, haha. Marvin grins. He's on morphine again, but he's still crying by the time he comes to, hot wet tears tracing softly down his face.

“Marvin,” someone whispers.

“Jackie,” his mouth manages, and they share a smile there over the whiteness of the bedsheets, holding each other's hands.

Marvin's eyes drift to the rest of the room. His heart warms like grass in the sun. The bed across from his own is, at last, full.

“Okay?” he asks.

“He will be,” answers Jackie softly. “We'll make sure.”

Just like they always do. Just like they promised each other when they were young. We'll look after them. No matter what it takes.

Marvin looks down at himself.

This, he thinks. This is what it took.

“Hey,” he mumbles, pointing at the clock beside his table. It's 9:03. “Survived... night.”

“Survived the night? Oh. Yeah. That last kidney scare was yesterday. You survived the rest of the night and then the day and then this night too.” Jackie smiles at him. “Sleeping beauty.”

Marvin throws his hair in mock pride for his Aurora-levels of beauty and sends Jackie into a mini giggling fit, bent over his hand and squeezing tight.

“So... okay?” he murmurs, pointing at himself.

“There will be some complications,” says Jackie gently. “With your diet and your speech and your... your mental health, too. But everything's going to turn out alright, Marv. You made it. You're a survivor, Marv. And you helped Chase too.”

Marvin smiles up at him. Jackie praises and reassures, massaging at his palm, his eyes full of warmth. He has to keep quiet, though, because it appears they've gotten into a habit of sleeping in this room – Henrik is at Chase's side, crashed beside his brother's legs, snoring into his knees. Jameson is sitting up in the middle of the two beds, quiet and still, his throat bandaged.

“Darling?” asks Marvin. “Okay?”

JJ turns slowly about. His eyes are bright silver.

“Uh-oh,” says Jackie, reaching out his free hand for him. “Got a trance, looks like. Doing okay, buddy? You with us?”

JJ's mouth quirks dazedly and he nods.

“Good,” says Jackie, reassured. “You're getting a better handle on it already.”

Marvin reaches out his hand for him too and Jamie turns to take it, smiling warmly at him.

“See?” signs Marvin, not quite able to find the words for 'what happens now, Jameson?'

The tilt of his mouth blooms into a full smile.

“I see you, and me, and Jackie, and Chase, and Henrik,” he says.

“Is that all?” asks Jackie.

“No,” says JJ. “But that's all that matters.”

Chase shifts in his sleep and his hand finds Henrik's. All five of them are warm in the hospital room. Outside, the snow falls white and glowing in the morning sun.

#poison #bee writes #writers of jack

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