#tree cover map

[grasshoppergeography]

Tree cover map of the Arctic.

High resolution tree cover map based on the analysis of satellite data, with specific sensors made to detect and recognize the reflection from vegetation.

Read more and buy prints here. Ko-fi | RedBubble | Etsy (digital prints)

[articskele]

Guys the yearning….. gguys……..

[handgiven]

currently in the process of thinking about emmanuel making snow angels. about emmanuel standing outside in one spot in a dark coat with arms stretched outward in front of himself so he can watch as snowflakes fall upon them and show off their wonderful shapes. about emmanuel with his tea that puts steam in his face when he opens his thermos. about emmanuel going for long walks in the snow and returning home with little ice crystals frozen to his hair.

[burning-thistles-bt]

another friendship map! this one of the current (ch.134) apprentice group

SPOILERS! mostly just for one minor plotpoint, which is why i left it in... oh and i guess there’s a more major-ish plotpoint but its a canon plotpoint so eh

characters in some kind of order: Feathercloud, Brackenfur, Cinderpelt, Thornpaw, Brightpaw, Bramblekit, Cliffpaw, Lizardflight, Cloudpaw, Swiftpaw, Tawnykit, Snowkit, Elderpaw, Fernpaw, Tulippaw, Mistlekit, Perchpaw, Ashpaw, Lynxpaw, Dustpelt, Rowanpaw, Lavenderpaw, Reedpaw, Primrosepaw, Swampfur, Turtlepaw, Dawnpaw, Pikepaw, Woodpaw, Blossomtail, Robinpaw, Badgerfang

alright! just like last time, here’s the “main groups” expanded:

Feathercloud’s Friend Group

Cricketheart (sister, deceased), Graystripe (former best friend, former crush), Ravenwing (former mates, crush), Gremlin (distant/former friend), Scraps (distant/former friend), Brackenfur (best friend, crush), Storkpaw (distant friend), Barley (close friend), Airleap (friend), Runningbrook (friend)

Lizardflight’s Friend Group

Cloudpaw (brother), Cliffpaw (adopted sister), Cinderpelt (best friend, crush), Perchpaw (best RiverClan friend), Primrosepaw (friend, crush), Reedpaw (distant friend), Dawnpaw (distant friend), Woodpaw (distant friend), Robinpaw (considers him a friend), Pikepaw (NOT a friend)

Cliffpaw’s Friend Group

Cloudpaw (adopted brother), Lizardflight (adopted sister), Storm (adopted  brother), Night (adopted sister, not close), Oat (adopted brother, not close), Elderpaw (best friend), Fernpaw (friend)

Night’s Friend Group (not on tree)

Storm (brother, former best friend), Cloudpaw (brother, annoyance), Cliffpaw (adopted sister, more tolerable annoyance), Oat (brother), Scourge (mentor, close), Claw (mentor), Gremlin (close friend), Scraps (best friend, crush)

Lynxpaw’s Friend Group

Swiftpaw (brother), Longtail (half-brother), Cherryfur (half-sister, not close), Bramblekit (half-brother, not close), Tawnykit (half-sister, not close), Dustpelt (one-sided best friend, crush), Swampfur (close friend)

notes: Lynxpaw hangs out with Swiftpaw’s friends too, but would consider herself “not really their friend” (she’s a “fake friend” type basically. Swift, Dust, and Swamp are the only ones she cares about)

Swiftpaw’s Friend Group

Lynxpaw (sister), Longtail (half-brother, mentor), Cherryfur (half-sister), Bramblekit (half-brother),  Tawnykit (half-sister), Dustpelt (friend), Brightpaw (best friend),  Ashpaw (close friend), Tulipaw (friend), Thornpaw (distant friend), Fernpaw (distant friend), Swampfur (mate)

Dustpelt’s Friend Group

Ravenwing (brother, not close), Frostfur (sister, formerly close starting to drift), Brindleface (sister), Longtail (half-brother, best friend), Cherryfur (half-sister, not close), Lynxpaw (former best friend, still close friend), Swiftpaw (friend), Darkstripe (mentor, best friend), Ashpaw (apprentice), Fernpaw (friend, crush), Fireheart (growing respect)

Tawnykit’s (future) Friend Group

Bramblekit (brother), Swiftpaw (half-brother), Lynxpaw (half-sister, not close),  Mistlekit (best friend), Snowkit (close friend), Sorrelkit (friend), Sootkit (friend), Rainkit (friend), Elderpaw (distant friend), Fernpaw (distant friend), Lavenderpaw (close friend), Turtlepaw (close friend), Rowanpaw (friend, crush)

She will also possibly be friends with: Rumblepaw, Quietpaw, Cedarpaw, Nightpaw, Wildpaw, Snakekit, Smokekit, Aspenkit, Fangkit

Robinpaw’s Friend Group

Dawnpaw (sister), Woodpaw (brother), Primrosepaw (former close friend, now distant), Perchpaw (close friend, trying to make distant), Reedpaw (former friend, now one-sided rivalry/hatred), Pikepaw (best friend, but not overly close), Lizardflight (hates, crush), Featherkit (jealous), Stormkit (future friend)

notes: Dawnpaw and Woodpaw are a “trouble duo” that stick together at the hip, which often leaves Robinpaw feeling left out. Dawnpaw has a very “silly” personality (hopeless romantic in a tame way, enjoys life for what it is, jokester) and Woodpaw is more mellow/duller (not the brightest bulb but also enjoys life for what it is). Dawnpaw and Woodpaw are both still prone to prejudice (ex.: against Lizardflight), though, like Robinpaw

Badgerfang’s Friend Group

Blossomtail (best friend, mate), Swampfur (friend), Oakfur (distant friend), Applefur (former friend, deceased), Littlecloud (friend)

notes: Badgerfang is very out-going and so is his mate, Blossomtail. The two of them are friends with most every cat in the clan, especially those of the younger generation (ex.: their app-group like Wetfoot, current apprentices like Turtlepaw, or in other clans, like Ravenwing, who Badgerfang met once but thought was cool/nice, or Gorsepaw as well)

Swampfur’s Friend Group

Blossomtail (brother), Oakfur (brother), Applefur (sister, deceased), Badgerfang (friend, growing distant), Lynxpaw (close friend), Swiftpaw (mate)

notes: Swampfur has always had an interest in the cats outside of her clan and their lifestyles, and finds it easier/more interesting to be friends with cats not from her clan (including that of Tigerclaw’s followers). This has also caused her to grow less closer to her family/formerly close friends, due to the secrets she keeps.

Oakfur’s Friend Group (not on tree)

Blossomtail (brother), Swampfur (sister), Applefur (sister, close, deceased), Badgerfang (distant friend), Littlecloud (best friend), Wetfoot (friend), Brownclaw (friend)

notes: Oakfur had been very close with Applefur until she left the clan (then died). He has always been more distant from his family (ex.: Blossomtail, Swampfur, Dawncloud, Copperleaf - of which he is closest to Swampfur) and more willing to get to know Finchflight. He gets along better with the “bad crowd,” and often hangs with Tigerclaw’s followers

Other Friend Groups

WindClan’s Youngest Generation: Gorsepaw, Storkpaw, Quailpaw, Tawnykit II, Robinkit II, Rushkit 

(Storkpaw has friends outside the clans, also close to her mentor’s friend group)

ShadowClan’s Youngest Generation: Turtlepaw, Rubblepaw, Quietpaw, Rowanpaw, Lavenderpaw, Cedarpaw, Nightpaw (formerly Niko), Wildpaw (formerly Wild), Aspenkit, Fangkit, Smokekit, Snakekit

(Turtlepaw is friends with Badgerfang’s friend group; Rowanpaw is more of a loner while Lavenderpaw is welcoming to the newcomers/younger cats)

Bubbles’s Situation: She is growing closer to Tallpoppy over time, and would so far only consider her a friend/ally.

[tovaicas]

unreasonably annoyed that the existence of massive floating islands in the sea of clouds and churning mists has no real ecological effect on the land below, ie. the dravanian forelands

[todays-xkcd]

The secret fourth kind is 'we applied a standard theory to their map of every tree and got some suspicious results.'

Three Kinds of Research [Explained]

Transcript Under the Cut

[A single panel with three separate drawings.]

[Caption above the drawings:] The Three Kinds of Scientific Research:

[Cueball is pointing to a scatter plot with a best-fit curve.] Cueball: We applied a standard theory to novel circumstances and got some surprising results.

[Miss Lenhart is pointing to a similar scatter plot.] Miss Lenhart: We applied a novel theory to standard circumstances and got some intriguing results.

[Hairy, with leaves in his messy hair and on his body, is pointing to another chart that is covered in random dots and unidentifiable shapes, while having both arms raised.] Hairy: Finally, a map of every tree.

[deception-united]

Online Writing Resources #2

Vocabulary:

Tip of My Tongue: I find this very helpful when I can't think of a specific word I'm looking for. Which is often.

WordHippo: As well as a thesaurus, this website also provides antonyms, definitions, rhymes, sentences that use a particular word, translations, pronunciations, and word forms.

OneLook: Find definitions, synonyms, antonyms, and related words. Allows you to search in specific categories.

YourDictionary: This website is a dictionary and thesaurus, and helps with grammar, vocabulary, and usage.

Information/Research:

Crime Reads: Covers crime and thriller movies, books, and TV shows. Great inspiration before writing a crime scene or story in this genre.

Havocscope: Black market information, including pricing, market value, and sources.

Climate Comparison: Compares the climates of two countries, or parts of the country, with each other.

Food Timeline: Centuries worth of information about food, and what people ate in different time periods.

Refseek: Information about literally anything. Provides links to other sources relevant to your search.

Perplexity AI: Uses information from the internet to answer any questions you have, summarises the key points, suggests relevant or similar searches, and links the sources used.

Planning/Worldbuilding:

One Stop for Writers: Literally everything a writer could need, all in one place: description thesaurus, character builder, story maps, scene maps, timelines, worldbuilding surveys, idea generators, templates, tutorials... all of it.

World Anvil: Provides worldbuilding templates and lets you create interactive maps, chronicles, timelines, whiteboards, family trees, charts, and interactive tables. May be a bit complicated to navigate at first, but the features are incredibly useful.

Inkarnate: This is a fantasy map maker where you can make maps for your world, regions, cities, interiors, or battles.

Miscellaneous:

750words: Helps build the habit of writing daily (about three pages). Fully private. It also tracks your progress and mindset while writing.

BetaBooks: Allows you to share your manuscript with your beta readers. You can see who is reading, how far they've read, and feedback.

Readable: Helps you to measure and improve the readability of your writing and make readers more engaged.

ZenPen: A minimalist writing page that blocks any distractions and helps improve your focus. You can make it full screen, invert the colours, and set a word count goal.

QueryTracker: Helps you find a literary agent for your book.

Lulu: Self-publish your book!

See my previous post with more:

Drop any other resources you like to use in the comments! Happy writing ❤

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[gwarden123]

There’s nothing better in the world than looking up a book you hated, especially a history/science-y book, and finding out that it has been received negatively by academics in the field. I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks it’s fucking sensationalist!

[angelsworks]

Goldilocks and the Four Bears

I haven’t written for the cod fandom yet so all the 141 might be terribly out of character. In fact I haven’t written for a while. I appreciate all the people that still read my work and continue to support me. I hope you’re all doing well :)

Poly!141 x reader

Masterlist -> Here (will be made later :))

Warnings: 18+, mature themes, descriptions of torture, injuries and mistreatment, etc

Summary: After escaping from your last mission that had gone terribly wrong, your stumble through the woods leads you to a log cabin.

It was snowing. Fucking snowing.

Any belief in a deity had been long since crushed after the last few months. Well you thought it had been months. Your captors (a small but deadly terrorist group) had failed to provide you with your own calendar and clock. Much like how they had failed to provide you with new clothes to replace your own, that had been ripped and torn and become tattered to the eye.

It was stolen clothes you now wore as you made your escape. Trudging slowly through the already six inch snow, your thoughts trailed to the fresh snow adding to the existing six inches. The size 12 pair of boots were rubbing at your heels with increasing vigour. Leading you to contemplate if bruised skin could blister or not. The guard you’d killed as part of your escape had been good for one thing. Or three things actually. The ill-fitting boots, a loose pair of combat trousers and long sleeved compression shirt.

As you made your way through the terrain you felt a cold chill steadily working it’s way up your trouser leg. Slowly, spreading across the flesh, affecting any skin that wasn’t in direct contact with the trouser material. It made you wish you’d waited for a guard more similar to your stature. While the compression shirt was better than nothing, it was still thin. The flimsy seeming material now doing little to ward off the cold.

Maybe the sudden awareness of the less than ideal weather conditions wasn’t down to your stolen clothes, but the sudden loss of adrenaline. How long had you been running now? Well trudging desperately through the snow, making your way further and further into the thick forrest and fauna.

It was hard to try and map where you’d been, what direction you’d walked in and where you’d come from. It was all white. Every tree looked the same. Every incline became and decline and you’d become disoriented.

Months of abuse, of torture, ofpain. All ignored for a few short hours as you willed your aching body forward. Through trees and snow and stone. Through anything that would put you at a greater distance from them, from Miasma.

They hadn’t transported you. At least you were mostly sure. When you blacked out, you woke in the same dingy cell, on the same dingy floor. Only covered in more bruises or cuts. So you hoped you were where this all started. In Slovenia.

You’d done solo missions before. It was easier that way. One man in, one man out. No one to turn on you or leak information. With Gunner in your ear, nothing ever went wrong. Until it did.

Your objective was to gather intel. To stay under the radar before formulating the next attack. While sneaking around you’d learned just how large their operation was. In turn you’d also learned just how large their base was.

The small outpost hid underground levels. That became clear after your covert operation was blown and you were dragged down to the very heart of the multi-storey building.

Each day (if that’s what you could call them) gave you no indication of the time of day or how much time had passed. They made sure of that. In fact it was the first time in months you’d seen the light of day.

The light that you noticed was now fading apparently, as you looked desperately up into the sky. Grey clouds had rolled in, covering the majority of the sky. The sun was still peaking out from the dense overcast that was rolling further forward. Soon the sky would be covered and the snow fall would quicken.

A few miles back you were struck that no one from Miasma had followed you. You’d expected armed guards to be shooting at you and angry dogs to be tearing at your ankles. Yet you’d had no chase.

Maybe they knew you would get nowhere in the climate. That you’d be weakened by the terrain and from the violence you’d endured. They were right of course. But you didn’t let it stop you.

Even now as you’d gone further, you still felt the burning desire to survive. Granted it dwindled under the ache of your body and the never ending valley of white before you. But you wanted to live. You wanted your revenge.

The final rays of the sun had been clouded and the snow started to pick up. At least your footprints would be covered under the fresh snow. Not that it mattered if all your footprints lead to was a frozen corpse.

Flexing your fingers, you found yourself wishing for gloves. Your toes were long past numb and every injury you’d endured felt like it was waking up. Old cuts that had turned to scars felt fresh, bruises that had yellowed felt like they’d returned to their starting purple colour. Your felt heavy. You felt dense. You felt tired.

Your desire to drive on had dwindled now. The once raging fire was now only a candle. A candle that was down to its wick. The wax around it long since melted and now it was to its edge. Trying to burn the glue that chained it in place. The image made you crave warmth even more.

Was this it?

All the work you’d put in over the years. From a child you had trained for a mission you didn’t fully understand. A mission that belonged to someone else, to Gunner. He’d turned you into a soldier, his perfect soldier.

Is this how his perfect soldier died?

No it wasn’t.

So despite your blue fingers, numb toes and foggy mind, you push on. Just a little further, you tell yourself. Past these trees, past this stream, past more trees.

Your doubts evaporate when you come upon a clearing. You find a decent space boarded by snow dusted trees from all sides. They stand tall, seemingly acting as natural walls to protect those inside. The grass is covered in undisturbed snow. It’s thick and white and makes you smile.

None of it matter though because sitting in the middle of it all if your salvation.

A log cabin.

You consider the sight to be a mirage. Created from and low blood sugar, dehydration and desperation. But you trudge on, almost to a stumble speed, as you reach for the door handle.

It’s unlocked.

Despite any moral compass telling you that breaking and entering or trespassing is wrong, you ignore it. You’re hurt, aching and this is a last resort.

You close the thick wooden door behind you. Taking note of the copious locks it has. When you move inside the cabin you find that no one’s home. As quietly as you can on stiff legs, you sneak around the house. Trying to wake up the instincts you’d been trained on.

Enter a room, check your surroundings, check again. Don’t assume anywhere is empty. Threats could be hiding around any corner.

So for each room of the ground floor you do just that. Open door, check the rooms, move on. From your searching you’ve found a large living room, a kitchen, a dining room, a toilet some sort of office/drawing room. The decor gives you no clue as to who’s house you’ve invaded. There are no pictures of people, no personal possessions. It feels surreal. And wrong.

To start with you go back to the living room. Using the large fireplace, stockpile of logs and matches, you start a fire.

Again, better sense would tell you to avoid such an action. To avoid alerting anyone of your presence here. But you decide to put sense aside in a bid for survival. If you didn’t get warm soon you were sure you’d be frozen soon.

Next you go to the kitchen. You rifle through the cupboard in an attempt to find something edible. To your surprise you find the place to be well stocked. Even going as far as having fresh milk in the fridge. The sight confuses you. Send alarm bells ringing in your ears.

There are products in the fridge that are in date. Fresh products. Yet no one is home. It doesn’t make sense.

As you empty a can of soup into a pan you realise, it doesn’t need to. You’re happy to play stupid and see this as all some sort of blessing, some miracle.

While the soup cooks you fill a glass with clean, cold water. Relishing in the taste of something fresh. When you’ve downed the first glass you refill it again. This time with an intention to make it last longer.

After the first spoonful you find that you like vegetable soup very much. Almost burning your mouth as you devour it in a few minutes. Immediately it feels as though you’ve been recharged. The warmth from the fire has spread throughout the ground floor, your fingers have warmed around the bowl of soup and your body no longer feels related to a glacier.

The sky only darkens as you sit by the fire. Basking in the warmth and taking a moment to rest for the first time in months. You don’t imagine ever leaving your spot on the floor. But the promise of a bed upstairs has you moving your legs in that direction.

Before your ascent to the second floor, you strip your clothes and hang them on a drying rack you found to the side of the fire. Now left in the nude.

Upstairs you find multiple bedrooms. All almost identical, except for one at the end of the hall. You assume this is the Cabin’s master bedroom as it’s slightly larger than the others. Inside there’s a wardrobe full of clothes, a full length mirror, a TV, some sort of game station, and of course the larger than most bed.

In the mirror you catch sight of yourself. The cuts of course stand out first. From the slight turn you can muster in your neck, you can see large welts and thin cuts, bruises and scrapes, all littering the previously plain skin. From the front and behind, your legs look like a Jackson Pollock original piece.

Capturing various purple and blues surrounded by smaller splodges of green and brown. With the occasional black blob or two to really contrast the overall tone of the piece.

As a child you had a strange infatuation with your bruises. Likening them to a sticker or badge of achievement. They were easy to come by during training. A strange part of you liked the way they looked on your skin. They acted as a log book of the hits you’d taken, the falls you’d taken, any sort of impacts you’d had. They made you feel strong, maybe even proud too.

Staring into the mirror at your body again, it all seems worthless. You knew you were strong before. You didn’t need months as a prisoner to prove it.

You take a few steps forward to properly look at your face. Who stares back must be a stranger. You haven’t let your eyebrows be this out of shape since you were thirteen. You didn’t have that scar above under your chin before. Your eyes were always so bright and vivid. Not lifeless or hollow or so lost.

With newfound energy you take yourself to the nearest bathroom. That just so happens to be the en-suite in the bedroom. It doesn’t surprise you. Nothing about this abandoned, well stocked cabin does anymore.

Instead you shower in one of the nicest bathrooms you’ve been to in a long time.

At first the water has you freezing. Not due to the temperature but because of the fire it lights on your back. Every scrape, every cut, every burn now being cleaned. The cleanse sets your body alight. In a way you feel the heat is helping you to heal. Granted, all you have to show for it is a mixture of blood and grime, floating slowly down the drain. But it’s more than that.

It’s the last few months being scrubbed off your skin. Your wounds and ailments being shown that this is the end. They can heal in peace. You can heal in peace.

So you take your time. Using any products you can find; shampoos, conditioners, body wash, face wash. You’ve acquired a new razor, fresh from the packet. It’s amazing what a difference shaving your legs and various other places can do to your mood. You’ve always preferred removing the body hair. Afterwards the feeling of smooth legs under a thick duvet made all the work worth it.

The final step, bar drying yourself, was brushing tour yellowing and plaque ridden teeth. The minty taste in your mouth feels unfamiliar but it welcomed nonetheless. Wiping your tongue across the now almost pearly-whites you’re happy with how smooth they feel.

Now showered, shaved and dried, you make you way into the bedroom. Finding the wardrobe and drawers to be filled wit strictly masculine clothes. You pick out a pair of boxers and one of the large white t-shirts to sleep in. The shirt dwarfs you in size, looking more like a dress. Not one that you would wear outside though. Not with the black boxers showering through the material, or your hardened nipples making an appearance.

With your towel back in the bathroom and the lights off, you crawl into bed. Letting out the loudest sigh your sore throat could muster. Then quickly falling asleep on the linen.

It was snowing. In fact it was a fucking blizzard.

A barrage of white, dagger-like snowflakes pelted against the four men. The lack of light and the dense haze of the storm made it impossible to see where they were going. They were all thankful for the less than modern compass. Hidden away at the bottom of Jonny’s bag. When he acquired it was unknown. But the four were grateful nonetheless that the Scott had the dated equipment in is kit.

After their week long training they were ready to fall asleep on the nearest surface. The blizzard they now faced was an unexpected one. Nothing on Price’s radar Gad alerted them to such a storm.

They’d just finished their survival training in the mountains when the first snowflake formed. During the rest of their descent it had only worsened.

As the snow around them thickened they trudged on. Becoming more aware of the weight of their kit, ache of their muscles and chill in their bones. These men were tired, hungry and cold.

After more miles and more words of encouragement from Price, Gaz was sure they were close to the safe house now.

Laswell had been kind enough to let them use the safe house after a particularly gruelling training exercise. It would be the closest thing to a holiday the 141 would get this year. Before the worst of the storm it had the Scotsman joking that he would build a snowman outside. An idea quickly shot down by Ghost in the interest of remaining vigilant to an enemies surrounding the house.

While snowmen were out of the question, snowballs were not. Something Ghost found out, twice, in the back of the head. Turning to see an innocent looking Gaz and Soap.

“You’ll regret that when we’re back on base and you two are on shit duty” the balaclava wearing Brit grumbles.

Soap sighs dramatically, “Oh come on Lt. Dinnae be like that, it was only a joke”.

The threat prompts Kyle to add, “It was all Soaps idea, think he should get shit duties on his own.”

Soap gasps feigning offence, “You bleeding clipe, don’t come knocking on my door when you want someone to warm your bed tonight.”

The comment causes the younger man’s face to heat up and laughs to come from the others.

“That if we get there in this blizzard” the captain quips. Trying to keep morale, but refusing to ignore the sinking feeling that they’ve missed the safe house completely.

“How far now?” Gaz asks, determined not to start pestering like an insolent child. Yet equally determined to have a proper meal and get out of his cold clothes.

“Two klicks north, then we should be there.” Soap tells him, loud enough for the others to hear in the now whipping winds.

“It was two klicks north last time someone asked Soap, are you sure you’re reading that right lad?” Price finds himself asking. Despite his rank, his military expertise and all his training agains the elements, it doesn’t make him immune to the cold. Immune to looking forward to sitting by a fire with a cup of tea in his hands.

Laswell wasn’t one to be stingy with safe house stock. From previous safe houses he’d been to that she had set up, they’d been a home away from home. Proper bedrooms, running water, stocked shelves. Price found himself ready to welcome anything that had four walls, a roof and could shelter him and his men from the storm.

“Two klicks north Captain, I’m sure”. Jonny confirms.

Sure enough, through the dense curtain of blizzard, light emerges. A gentle glow against the black nights sky. The closer they get, the clearer the house becomes.

A log cabin.

A big one at that. The sight is inviting enough to bring a smile to the men’s faces.

“Laswell’s outdone herself this time, fuckin yaldy” soap practically exclaims. Pushing forward to the front of the pack, in an effort to get in first.

“Hold it Jonny,” Simons voice is quiet through the mask, but harsh enough that the others can hear.

Ghost points to the chimney, “someone’s here”.

Sure enough as the others look up, they too see the plumes of smoke, gently rising from the brick chimney.

“Another team captain?” Gaz finds himself asking, while reaching for the know hidden in his thigh holster.

Price finds himself doing the same, “No, we’re the only ones in the country.”

The tension in the air is thick, rivals the thick snow pelting down on them. The four of them stand motionless, a short distance from the front door. Covered head to toe in winter gear, a layer of the snowstorm attached to anything it can stick to.

“Right, there’s only one door. I’ll lead. We’ll secure the ground floor first. Stay silent, we do this quietly.” Price commands. The men nod, moving to grasp their various knives. Following their captain as he moves to the front of the cabin.

With an almost inaudible creek, Price turns the handle of the door. Pushing the oak forward, grateful that it seems to glide over the wooden floors. Allowing him and his men to breach the property without alerting its inhabitants.

Price enters the living room first, signalling for the others to spread out and search the rest of the floor. He does indeed find a crackling fire, yet no one man’s it. The warmth is welcomed, but for the time being he ignores any desire to sit near it and warm himself.

His attention moves to the drying rack set up beside the fire. Upon further inspection of the items he finds combat trousers, a compression t shirt and a pair of large boots, size 12 he gathers from the label on the tongue. The clothes are still damp to the touch, leading him to infer that the intruder arrived a short time ago.

The badge on the arm of the shirt catches his eye. He rips it off the Velcro and examines it up close. An unknown insignia, contractor perhaps? Some new found terrorist group? Price doesn’t know. It’s not one he’s come across before.

Simon searches the kitchen. The space is a decent size, dark too. He blends into the shadows as he checks the space for any sign of life. He finds a empty soup can on one of the worktops. Turning to the sink he notices a single glass and pan siting there.

Once finished in his search he creeps back to the living room. Finding his captain there, along with a stoic looking soap and serious looking Gaz.

Price raises his hand to Simon, showcasing the fabric insignia to him. With cold eyes Ghost runs over the stitchwork. Mind running through the possible groups it could be associated with.

“Any ideas?” Price asks in a hushed voice.

Ghosts silence is a loud enough answer for the group. No

“Whoever they are haven’t been here long. Their clothes are still damp. Large boots, size 12.” Price goes through the details he’s uncovered.

“Men’s?” Gaz asks.

“Most likely”.

“There’s a pan in the kitchen. They’ve had soup. Only one glass.” Ghost reels off.

“We don’t know who we’re dealing with, could be anyone. Stay vigilant. Be prepared for a fight. I’ll take the lead upstairs. Shout if you find anything.” Price commands.

The team follow him single file up the stairs. Weapons at the ready as the sneak up the steps. Footsteps light on the wooden floor.

Price takes the first door, Gaz the second, Ghost the third and Soap the last door at the end of the hallway.

While three of the 141 find their rooms to be empty, Soap stops in the doorway. After almost silently twisting the door handle and letting it slide open, he stands in silence. What he didn’t expect to find was a girl sleep in the master bed, a pretty girl to be exact.

The Scotsman finds himself lost for words. He expected to have to fight someone of his stature. Maybe larger. He expected to walk away with a bruise or two. He feels lost on what to do. Should he wake her? Should he leave her?

Meanwhile the others have gathered in the hallway. Sharing a concerned glance at their teammate.

“What is it soap?” Ghost asked quietly.

“It’s a lass. A bonnie lass at that.” He tells them. Wonder in his tone as he stares at the sleeping girl. Watching as her chest rises and falls at a steady rate. Completely unaware of the four men that have entered the house.

The men collectively frown, walking further to investigate themselves. Sure enough, after they pass the threshold of the master bedroom, they too stand frozen. A girl. Not a man, or group of men. A girl, sleeping in their bed, in their log cabin.

Completely unaware.

[grasshoppergeography]

Forest cover map of Thailand.

High resolution tree cover map based on the analysis of satellite data, with specific sensors made to detect and recognize the reflection from vegetation.

Read more and buy prints here. Ko-fi | RedBubble | Etsy (digital prints)

[encasedinobsidian]

smalltown shit

Charlie Swan x fem!reader [explicit, 18+]

Summary: "You’re a little young, aren’t you?” he asks, and it isn’t with a scowl but it’s something of the sort, a narrowing of his eyes and a dryness to his voice. It’s no better than a scowl anyway, his skepticism like a concrete wall between the two of you under the dim lights of the bar where Charlie is stuck with you, just where you want him. Warnings: 3.4k ish words. Porn with minimal plot, implied age gap, unprotected PIV, oral sex, truck sex, alcohol, pining, no use of y/n. This was written a bit fast lmfao A/N: This is my first ever Charlie Swan fic! It started as a joke (just like they all do), but I thought it might be fun to do something different. In case you enjoy my writing and want to see more, here are links to my ao3 and to a heavily Charlie inspired Narcos fanfic I wrote recently :)

Wearing a man down takes a while. It takes patience, a steady effort, bit by bit, like the thick clouds covering the sky above the evergreens only letting down a single drop of rain at a time. Charlie doesn’t notice them at first — the little droplets of water he’s too used to from living in Forks, rain that might let up for a little while in July but comes back every time, like something he can count on if nothing else in this world.

They land on his jacket, on his badges, on his nametag — C. Swan in yellow lettering — on the black strands of his hair. One by one, they seep in, quickly forgotten, followed by more until the windshield wipers on his police cruiser push away the onslaught of rain that’s inevitable at this time of year, on a foggy, hazy October evening when the headlights of the car light the way to his house, and he’s already drenched when he makes his way inside and changes out of his uniform.

They land on the thick flannel of a jacket that always hangs in his hallway, the house empty when he locks the door behind him and runs to his truck. The rain gets on his jeans, on his hair, it gets on the Mariners sweater underneath his jacket. The lettering across his chest reveals itself when he takes off the flannel and hangs it over the back of the chair he sits down on, nodding towards his friend at the bar. 

His eyes scan the room from corner to corner, lazily combing through the other patrons of the bar until he spots you and you lock eyes. And you’re frozen, your friends’ voices becoming a buzzing murmur next to you as you try not to move, try not to startle the man whose attention you’ve pathetically yearned for, for so long, longer than you’ll ever admit to the girls at your table, or even to yourself. 

You have it now, for a moment that stretches like a ring in your ear, long enough for your lips to part, for you to swallow tightly around the fizzy, sweet sip in your mouth, to lick the drop that slides down your bottom lip. His gaze is as intense as it is dark, piercing through the crowd of people in a small bar in a place that nobody can place on a map, where you think it must just be a hallucination or that he’s looking at someone behind you. 

But behind you is a window, and behind the window is nothing but a cover of trees, and his eyes flash open for a split second before they narrow, then trace down, only a quick glance at your torso before they slide back up. He clears his throat, swallows, and averts his eyes, attention caught by the beer set down in front of him. He nods and says something, then takes a sip, a little hastily, inhaling deeply before he leans back. 

And then, there is nothing to do but to look and to wait. 

Nothing to do but wait until he begins to feel those drops of attention, of glances and gazes from your end of the room. He’s not chief Swan under this roof — he’s Charlie, he’s a man in his early forties, he’s a single dad whose daughter came to stay with him recently. He’s a man with dark eyes and dark eyebrows, with a thick mustache and a gorgeous smile you know he hides. Maybe it’s rude to spy, but you’ve had no other real option — a chronically good girl from the start, never acknowledged by any of the Forks PD officers, scurrying away from house parties at the first flash of a blue light, out through the yard and home to your parents’ house. 

You haven’t gotten any attention from him since returning to your hometown either, coming back after nearly a decade away, still a goody two shoes through and through who doesn’t leave the house after darkness settles in the streets. So all you have is random encounters, one-sided as they’ve all been, random sightings in bars and across the street, at a restaurant next to his daughter. And he’s always quiet, always observing his environment without interaction. 

Until now, when it all seems to shatter in an instant, and his usual, calm demeanor is replaced by something flustered, maybe even nervous if you dare to think so. He takes to laughter a little too quickly, he smiles too much, nods along too enthusiastically when Billy speaks to him on his left.  

You can’t hear anything, regretfully — the rain drums on the window beside you and slides down to obscure the view of the forest that the bar is situated on the outskirts of. Your friends talk about something, something about nothing about guys or work or God knows what it is this time. Your elbows rest on the table and the top of a plastic straw sits between your lips as you slowly sip your drink. 

Sometimes he looks over, following the same routine every time as the hour passes; a lull in the conversation, a polite smile, his eyes sliding down to the table, a glance up, and then his head turning slightly, eyes shifting in your direction until they meet yours and he quickly dodges the attention, straightening his back and clearing his throat. 

Once, and only once, he lingers. 

He lets his eyes narrow, focusing on you while you pretend to look away. And he shouldn’t fall for little tricks like this, silly little girl tricks meant to dupe men much younger and dumber than himself, but he’s only a man, isn’t he? 

So it shouldn’t be surprising that, when his friends excuse themselves to go outside for a smoke or to the bar for another round, he leans back and remains seated. And there is no other time but the present, so without excusing yourself, you suck down the rest of your drink, let the bottom of the glass slam against the tabletop, stand up and walk over to him. 

You take a seat across from him and hold out your hand, your name the first thing out of your mouth and a firm handshake given when he reaches out. 

“Charlie,” he says, and the nervousness you saw earlier must be nothing but an illusion. 

“Charlie,” you repeat, a little softer and a little sweeter, “How’s your night going?” 

“It’s alright.” God, he’s dry. If you were drunk, you’d make a joke about how wet it makes you. “And yours?” he asks. 

“Pretty good. Better now.” 

He breathes a laugh and looks around, presumably trying to figure out where you came from, but there are no answers in a bar full of people looking the other way. 

“Haven’t seen you around,” he says, “Are you from out of town?” 

“Nope, from here. I was gone for, say, eight years getting my degrees, though.”

“Oh?” he raises an eyebrow, and you indulge him for a little while, answering questions you can’t tell if he’s asking as a father or a man, questions that come from the same place anyway, things he’d ask a young lady as you bet he’d say, to make small talk when he’s forced to. 

It’s not very interesting, but you can’t scare him off either, can’t plop down into his lap and touch his hair and beg for it. It’s a slow process with a man like him, one that takes patience, and little droplets of attention, a splash of flirting here and there, every question back and forth, about school and work and yada yada smalltown shit. It’s like the raindrops seeping into the fabric of his jacket, unnoticeable until it reaches his skin and he’s soaked, a humidity that clings to him, and fog he disappears in. 

You glance up at the door and see his friends at a different table. 

Time ticks by, and Charlie is dry as ever, regardless of how pathetically you try to squeeze your chest together and lean onto the table between you, regardless of how you try to nudge him with the glossy, heeled boot on your foot. He doesn’t budge, he might offer you a smile in response to a fun story but it’s not getting you anywhere. 

It’s time to be aggressive, and when there’s a lull between you, when the bar is still buzzing with chit chat and the lights are still low, you pounce. 

“Are you seeing anyone these days?” you ask. 

The man looks like he wants to laugh. “Uh—” he clears his throat, “No, not right now.”

“Interesting,” you purr, tilting your head to the side and flashing him a smile. “Best news I’ve gotten all day.”

He huffs. “You’re a little young, aren’t you?” he asks, and it isn’t with a scowl but it’s something of the sort, a narrowing of his eyes and a dryness to his voice. It’s no better than a scowl anyway, his skepticism like a concrete wall between the two of you under the dim lights of the bar, and Charlie is stuck with you, just where you want him. 

So you shrug one shoulder and smile, pushing your lips together before they separate, and his eyes are on them so fast that it’s not even funny. “I wouldn’t say so,” you say as you shake your head. 

He almost seems humored, huffing a laugh as he looks around the room and shakes his head. “What about your friends?” he asks, “They don’t miss ya?” 

“Probably not,” you whisper, scrunching your nose at him. “Does it look like they do?” 

You nod towards the table by the windows and his eyes follow, a quick look over at a group of girls all leaning in towards each other in conversation. 

“Guess not,” he says, in the same flat tone of voice. 

He clears his throat again, and his rejection is imminent, you think, so you try again, one last time. 

“You’re very handsome, Charlie.” Your chin rests on your knuckles, head tilted, eyes sweeping over his face like you have nothing to lose, and he might be able to hide his thoughts, but he can’t hide his fluster. 

“Thanks,” he mutters and averts his eyes, looking at nothing in the corner of the room. “You’re not, uh—” He looks up and spins his mostly-empty glass around, “Not too bad yourself.” 

It’s a little bit like pulling teeth. 

“Thank you,” you say, then chew on the inside of your cheek while you try to think up a way to get him out of where he’s stuck, unwilling to make a move. “Could you— could you give me a ride home?”

He rolls his eyes and nods, downing the last of his beer, and he absolutely thinks he has you figured out. His expression seems to default to a scowl, and it’s only then that you realize how cheerful he looked a moment ago. “Alright,” he groans, then mutters something under his breath while he grabs his jacket. “Let’s go.” 

“Thank you, officer,” you beam, jumping up and following him through the bar, heading towards the exit. 

He opens the door and lifts up his jacket to hold it above you, shielding you from the onslaught of rain pouring down when you step away from the awning outside the bar. Golden light shines out from the stained glass window in the door, bathing him in it as he waits for you to take the step you don’t take. 

“I don’t actually need a ride home,” you admit shyly, looking up at him, “I’m just messing with you.” 

He blinks a few times and his eyes shift around as he breathes. “Alright, why did you get me out here then?” 

A laugh breaks out of you as you ask, “It’s not obvious?”

His brows pull together and he begins to shake his head when you roll your eyes, grab the back of his neck and pull him into a kiss. And it could be a mistake, but it doesn’t quite feel like it when his hand finds your hip and he pulls you a little closer, reciprocating the kiss and carefully giving you his tongue. 

He pulls back quickly, looking side to side, “Let’s—” 

“Your truck?”

“Sure, yeah,” he mumbles, and you hurry towards the only red vehicle at the far end of the lot, with Charlie on your heels and the rain beating down on his jacket above you, on his hair and his shoulders, soaking him by the time he steps in front of you and pulls open the passenger door. 

He barely gets inside before you grab the collar of his sweater and pull him in, spit smearing and groans swallowed as you climb onto his lap. He’s hard already, you can feel the thick of his zipper pushing up between your legs, before he even gets his hands on the bunched up fabric of your skirt piled onto your hips, kissing you again. And he lets his palms slide down over it, onto your ass, giving you a tentative squeeze with firm hands, while he grows thicker, harder, little grunts slipping out of him when you roll your hips over that firm bulk, every pass over it smearing wetness into your panties.

Until it’s too much, and the truck is too hot, too humid. You throw off your jacket, toss it into the passenger seat and pull away from him, climbing back into your seat, only on your knees, and begin to work at his belt.

You feel a hand at your shoulder, pushing gently. “You don’t—” he inhales deeply as he shakes his head, “You don’t have to do—” 

Your hands pause at the top of his pants and you peer up at him with a pout. “But I want to,” you say, “Can I?” 

His head hits the back of his seat with a sigh, his eyes closing as he breathes in again and nods. “Yeah,” he whispers, “Yeah.”

He helps you with his belt then, undoing it with unsteady hands and lifting his hips when you pull the bunch of his pants and boxers down to reveal his cock, to see the thick length of it, the hair at his base and below his navel. You take it into your hand before he has the chance to say much of anything, and you feel his hand at the back of your neck, brushing your hair away — nothing obstructing his view as you drag the flat of your tongue up his shaft, all the way up to the tip where a bead of precome spills onto your lips. 

He groans then, pushes down the top of his pants a little more and lets you take him into your mouth, his cockhead sliding into the back of your throat while he curses under his breath. Your spit smears over his crown and runs down his length, into the curve of your hand to let you stroke him, and every lick, every pull of your lips, makes him sigh and groan, makes more of his precome seep out onto your tongue for you to taste it, for you to swallow and let the soft wet of your mouth massage him. 

And you think it must have been a while, because you suck and stroke his cock slowly for only a little while before he begins to mumble. “I’m getting, uh— I’m pretty close,” he says, and you pull off of him, still slipping your hand up and down his wet cock while you raise up and kiss the side of his neck. 

He groans then too, grimacing a little. 

“You want to fuck me, Charlie?” you purr, “You want me to ride you?”

He huffs a laugh like he’s surprised. “I don’t have any condoms on me,” he says, his voice flat and dry as it ever was, but a little deeper, raspier, rougher-edged. 

“You could just pull out?” you suggest, licking a stripe up his neck just to feel the goosebumps chasing your tongue on his skin, “I could just swallow it instead.” 

“Jesus,” he breathes, “Yeah... Alright.” 

You pull off one boot and begin to yank at the waistband of your leggings, but he pats his thigh and pulls you back onto his lap. 

“Let me,” he says, pushing his thumb under the soft fabric and the strap of your panties, pulling them down over your leg, only bothering with one and not the other, while the rain hammers down on the windshield and it’s silent for a moment, his hands steady and his gaze focused. His cock is still hard too, heavy as it lays against his stomach. 

You stabilize above him, hovering over where he grabs the root of himself and glides his tip through your folds until he reaches your opening. 

“Down,” he says, and you do as he tells you to, sinking onto his cock with a deep breath, pressing your lips to his so that your sigh is shared, letting the whole thing split you open, taking more and more until your hips are flush with his and he grunts, his cock pulses, you lean back and carefully lift up, then roll back down, slowly riding him, half kissing, half panting into him. 

It’s all slow, deep, squeezing around him, letting him slide out until only his tip stays within, and then taking him back inside and he pushes into your cervix, sure to leave you sore tomorrow. Everything is wet between you, smeared warm and sticky over your inner thighs, his groin, dripping down his shaft and over his balls, soaking into the top of his jeans. 

His cock pushes into the most sensitive, soft part inside of you, over and over, rubbing over it while you reach down to massage your clit, still swapping spit like you’re teenagers and he doesn’t have a decade on you. He twitches inside when you moan for him, groans low and rough when you begin to come and you ride him a little harder, faster.

He grabs your ass, lifts you just enough to get leverage, and starts to fuck you, pushing his face into the side of your neck and grunting into your skin, hot and sweaty at the roots of his hair when your run your fingers through it, trying to find something to hold onto, to stabilize when he hits just the right spot and you feel seconds away from unraveling. And the truck must be shaking, the sounds of your moans are only stifled by the sound of the rain tapping on the roof and sliding down the windows, the dark surroundings of a wet parking lot, the two of you tucked away at the very back while you feel every inch of him filling you, rubbing you, making you come once more. 

Until he grunts a little louder, until he pants, “Fuck, I’m about to come—”

You let your orgasm wane with a few slow rolls, savoring them, so few drags of his length inside that you can count them on one hand, and you lift off, climb over on shaking legs, sticking your bare ass up towards the foggy window and slip his wet cock into your mouth. A firm hand around his base, your tongue licking over his head, you suck him until his breath stutters and he releases hot spurts of come that you swallow while you stroke and tease and take every drop he gives you. 

He’s quiet after that, a careful hand on your back while you lick up the last smears of his orgasm and lay your cheek on his thigh, looking up at him. 

“Did you like it?” you ask. 

“Of course I liked it. Did you like it?” 

“Yeah.” 

He looks out of the window, his cock softening against him while he runs a hand over your hair. “Let me take you to dinner or something,” he says after a minute, “Make me feel less… I don’t know, sleazy?” 

You bite your lip and smile. "Will you drive me home after?”

He rolls his eyes and takes in a deep breath, catching your gaze with a smirk on his lips and something a little softer in his expression. "I was gonna do that anyway."

[alexlwrites]

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞

✿𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Alpha! Hyung line x Omega! Reader

✿ 𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: "And through some happenstance, casual and cruel, shaped by the hands of the Moon goddesses, you ended up face to face with what They considered your fated mates.

Of course, they didn’t know that - how could they recognize their goddess-given match if you had no scent? As long as you didn’t reach maturity, only you would feel this pull, this constant urge pooling at your lower abdomen when their scents filled your nose and sent your eyes rolling back.

You knew your place and it was not amongst royalty."

OR  

The one where you find your fated alphas, but they can't find you.

✿ 𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒔:  Romance, Humor, Fluff, Angst, ABO, Soulmate AUs.

✿ 𝑨/𝑵: Should I be writing another fanfic when I have not finished a single one of my works? No. Does my brain understand that? Also no.

Anyway enjoy, like and subscribe and ignore any mistakes as english is not my first language and i dont proof read anything in my life.

P.S: This is heavely inspired by the book Pack Darling, so shoutout to that duology give it a read, yall!

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: This is a 18+ work! Minors, please do not interact. Also, there will be mentions of violence and abuse.

(Fanfic masterlist)

(support me on my ko-fi if you enjoy my work <3)

°•. ✿ .•°

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐒𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬

You didn’t know how long you had been running, nor how far you’d gotten. The skies had darkened and then lightened again since the moment of your escape and you assumed you had a few more hours before your absence was noticed, but you didn’t have it in yourself to stop, steps only briefly faltering from exhaustion but still fueled by fear.

You had to keep going. No amount of distance was enough between you and what you had left behind.

Still, there was only so much your body could take in its malnourished state and after a while your legs slowed down on their own, feet too hurt to continue carrying your weight. Yet you stumbled forward through unknown woods, watching trees and shrubbery blurr past you as you dragged yourself towards what you hoped was west - towards the coast.

You had never left the walls that surrounded your family’s home, but had seen the maps that covered the walls of your father’s study enough to remember the outlines of the charted land and the sprawling expanse of the coastal city near the territory you lived - the closest and the only one you could get on foot, even if you were unsure what your next step would be once you got there.

Adamas - the capital of diamonds - laid hopefully ahead of you, filled to the brim with marine vessels and royal ships that you could maybe sneak in and let yourself be carried far away from the claws of your family, running until you found somewhere quiet and reclusive where you could spend your days alone and free from your own status and its implications.

But that dream seemed further and further away as your body shivered and withered, unable to continue your journey, faltering until you gave out and found yourself lying atop a pile of leaves on the cold forest floor.

You sighed, a tortured breath escaping your exhausted lungs. Maybe it was the best you’d get - not the solitary cottage you yearned for, but the swift death by the hands of nature. Still an escape, death. Still freedom from that was always expected of you, from the destiny that awaited.

You closed your eyes and waited, giving up on the weight of consciousness. Any moment now, you thought. It would all be over. As the edges of your mind started to become hazy, your tired lungs pulled one more labored breath and with it a scent that reached out to the deepest parts of your soul with a calming, friendly touch and released the tension from your body.

This is heaven, you thought, and allowed yourself to sleep.

***

There was an unconscious omega in his lands and King Namjoon was unsure on what to do.  

Omegas were rare within the wolf genes - they were the smallest of the packs, the caregivers and kindest diplomats, made to become nursing figures within each family dynamic and bring balance to the usually violent and short fused nature of alphas, despite their positions as providers and leaders. But omegas, gentle and fragile omegas, were far and few between and from a very young age Namjoon had been taught to treat them with the utmost care. 

With that being said, Namjoon was also taught to be wary of trespassers and this tiny, wounded omega was somehow within his borders. 

How did you get there, he wondered. There were no roads leading to the back of the castle where he usually strolled through in the early mornings, only thick woods that would be almost a day on foot before you got to any sort of path.

In the end, his instincts spoke louder, dynamics drilled into his brain and pulling him towards the tattered frame on the ground. With all the kindness he could muster from his large frame, he gathered your body in his arms, gently cradling your form.

As he walked, he let his eyes access you: small, disconcertingly thin, with hollow cheeks and dark circles marring your lovely soft features. You had no mating mark on your neck and no distinguishable scent - and that was what confused him the most.

When an omega reaches maturity, their scent would evolve into something unique that would eventually be used to attract a mate and potentially even identify a fated scent match - a partner made by the heavens, your perfect half.

But despite looking past the age of maturity, you smelled clean, neutral with just a hint of sweetness to classify you as an omega.

What on earth could have happened to you, he wondered, worriedly scanning your bruised body and jutting bones.

And what on earth would he do with you?

***

Sometimes Hoseok couldn’t understand his leader.

He watched as Namjoon paced up and down his office, heavy steps echoing around as he stomped in contemplation.

From the day they met, decades ago, when they were both babbling toddlers, Hoseok had accepted  the younger man as pack. Both sons of monarchs, born in allied families, they were thrown together in royal play pens as soon as they could hold the weight of their own heads.

Hoseok always considered it a privilege to watch his brother in arms grow into his  position - a natural born leader, a king. And Hoseok never once doubted his ability to rule fairly and successfully. 

But every so often he couldn’t help but question his friend’s common sense.

“Namjoon” he called to his still restless friend “You cannot possibly be considering throwing the omega in the dungeons?”

“She is technically trespassing” his friend argued stubbornly.

“She’s an omega!”

His own mother being a rare omega, some rules had been drilled very early into Hoseok’s young mind: omegas are to be treasured, his father had said, it is your job as an alpha to protect them should you be blessed enough to find one.

He hadn’t actually seen the omega. He had barely woken up when a maid ushered him to the king’s office where Namjoon had asked for his council while burning a hole through the carpet. 

“She could be dangerous. Some sort of trap, maybe?”

No threat could scare Hoseok more than the idea of his father finding out he had allowed some poor omega to be thrown into their underground cells and so he pleaded “Put her in one of the guest rooms and set my guards in the exits. When she wakes up, I’ll interrogate her myself.”

Namjoon considered the offer for a few seconds, examining the face of the captain of his guard and one of his closest friends. At last, he nodded and settled down in a nearby chair, calling a guard to give the order to move you from the infirmary to the guest aisle of his castle as soon as possible.

Unable to hold back his curiosity any longer, Hoseok asked his shaky leader after a few seconds of silence “What is she like?”

There was a gleam in Namjoon’s eyes Hoseok couldn’t explain and doubted his king could either “Small,” he let out quietly “black and blue all over, all skin and bones like she hadn’t seen a plate of food in days”. Hoseok closed his fists on an impulse and had to force his fingers to relax. Could he blame this sort of reaction on his instincts? 

He thought Namjoon wouldn’t say anything else, but after a few more seconds of silence his king continued “Pretty” he said softly at last, almost like an afterthought.

Hoseok couldn’t help himself, having never met another omega besides his own mother, and asked “And… The scent?”

“Clean.”

Hoseok blinked “She’s a child?”

“No. Full grown. Can’t be more than a couple years younger than us.”

That’s odd, Hoseok thought. From what he was taught, a healthy adult omega should have developed a signature scent - like his mom, with her easily recognizable roses and clear meadows.

Right as he was about to ask to see you, his fascination with the idea of a scentless omega getting the best of him, a maid rushed into the room to announce your awakening.

Both men rushed out of the room, elbowing each other to leave first through the door, impatient to get to where you laid, barely avoiding toppling the poor maid on their way.

The infirmary was a wide room with tall ceilings and large windows that let in the morning light from most angles. That same light illuminated your figure as they walked in, eyes drawn to the only bed occupied in the room.

Oh. You were in fact pretty, Hoseok concluded, watching you blink owlishly at the sunlight invading the space. You had a soft looking kind of beauty that was barely overshadowed by your debilitated state that caused a stirring of protection in both alphas. Who could’ve left you like that, he wondered, and how quickly could he wrap his hands around their necks and twist…

“You’re awake” Namjoon pointed out, catching your attention.

That seemed to be the wrong course of action. When your eyes landed on where the men stood by the door, they widened to the size of saucers. Something about their presence sent you scrambling out of your bed, falling onto the ground with a dull thud as you rushed to put some space between yourself and the imposing males.

“Hey, hey, hey” Hoseok raised his hands, palms facing forward to indicate his intention to cause no harm, your terrified expression keeping him far “Be careful, little lady.”

You didn’t say anything, just kept cowering further and further away until your back hit a wall and you winced in pain.

“Stand up and get back to your bed” Namjoon commanded roughly and Hoseok could see your fighting against the urge to submit to the alpha’s orders, causing him to elbow his friend “Please” he added “You are hurt and weak and shouldn’t be out of bed’ he continued in a much gentler tone. 

Slowly, you moved yourself back to the mattress, shuffling to hide under the blankets, bringing them over your nose and leaving only your panicked eyes visible.

The last thing Hoseok wanted at that moment was to interrogate you when you were so clearly distressed, body shaking under your burrow. But he had duties to uphold and your presence raised questions that just staring at your disarmingly cute face wouldn’t answer.

“What’s your name, little lady?” he asked.

You mumbled your name so quietly he almost didn’t catch it, the sound stifled by the fabric covering your lips. When he did hear it, he did not recognize it.

“How did you manage to get into the castle’s grounds?”

You gulped. “The castle?” you repeated in a whisper. 

“Do you know where you are?” Namjoon asked and you shook your head fearfully “Do you know who we are?”

Sinking deeper into the safety of your blankets, you shook your head once more.

“I’m Jung Hoseok, head of the royal guard” and just when Hoseok thought your eyes couldn’t get any wider, they did, panic seeping further into your gaze “And this is Kim Namjoon” the words had your face paling until devoid of any color, yet he continued “the King of Adamas.”

Both men watched your face for a reaction, seeing you gape in shock, eyes rolling back to your skull as you promptly passed out.

***

You woke up to a churning stomach and a pounding headache, both hunger symptoms that you were very familiar with. How many days had it been since you last ate? You couldn’t tell, the night sky outside the windows of the empty room signaling the end of another day. And at that moment, your starvation was the least of your problems. 

The king - the fucking king - was your mate. And so was the head of his guard. 

When you first opened your eyes to sunlit room, regaining consciousness after Gods knew how long, their scent hit you like a brick to the face, sending you flying off the bed on the brink of a panic attack.

This couldn’t be happening. Not now. You were so close!

You looked for their reaction, trying to gauge if they were feeling what you were - this life changing pull in your core, this prickling feeling underneath your skin, fingers twitching at your side to reach for your alphas.

But there was nothing, not a flick of recognition, only wariness and mild concern.

These were not your alphas - these were your king and his most trusted guard. And you were just an omega on the run, worth only the money you could be sold for.

You remembered the first offer your father had received once the neighboring towns heard about his siring of an omega. Up until then your father had never seen much value in your existence. Before you, he had only had alpha boys - three, to be exact - older, stronger and meaner than you, built for leadership roles and bringing his legacy to another level.

But you? What use did he have for small, needy, whimpering you? None, he had told you many times over. Your father had never been afraid to remind you of your place in the household: the burden.

Until you became the pot of gold.

You weren’t sure how, but someway or another the news of your existence reached the next town and then the next town over, and so forth until your father was reminded that even though he saw no value in housing an omega, the rest of the world did. 

5 million. That was the first offer he received, when you were only fourteen.

And for a moment you believed that could be your way out of your father’s cruel claws - get yourself a husband far away and live happily ever after, pampered and taken care of by some alpha knight.

But those daydreams died soon enough when you learned from the maids what happened to sold omegas.

Imprisoned. Trapped. Breeded. Discarded. Rinse. Repeat.

There was an audible crack in your heart, a rift in the fragile rivulet of hope you had for a future of better days. Since then, the only thing you could hope for was an escape. You daydreamed of far away lands and open fields with no civilization for miles, only an ivy covered cottage for you to hide away from the world.

Alas, that dream seemed further and further away as you got older. You knew your father was just waiting for you to present, hoping that whatever scent you developed would up the price with its enticement and your late blooming was a constant reason for his frustration. Your development was the only thing between you and your sale to the highest bidder.

And if you had any say in it, you would never present. In order to do so, your body needed to be healthy - and you just never were.

Starvation, overexhaustion and overworked muscles had been your saviors since you realized they could delay your maturity. So from the day you turned 16 - about the age omegas started presenting - you began restricting your meals to about one every two days. You ran around the property’s grounds until your feet screamed in agony and your knees gave out. Your sleep schedule was messy and insufficient and so your body remained fragile and unchanged.

And that worked up until your 22nd birthday when your father got tired of waiting.

And so you ran, climbing on the back of a supply carriage that you had visited one day and letting it carry you as far as it could. And then you sprinted, like you had been doing for years.

And through some happenstance, casual and cruel, shaped by the hands of the Moon goddesses, you ended up face to face with what They considered your fated mates.

Of course, they didn’t know that - how could they recognize their goddess-given match if you had no scent? As long as you didn’t reach maturity, only you would feel this pull, this constant urge pooling at your lower abdomen when their scents filled your nose and sent your eyes rolling back.

You knew your place and it was not amongst royalty. You were, as your father always pointed out, too small, too weak and too soft to carry on a legacy, a kingdom. 

You had to get out before your ticking bomb of a body turned against you and distanced you once more from your peaceful cottage dream.

You just needed to figure out how.

°•. ✿ .•°

𝐌𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧! 𝐂𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝

[nexysworld]

Summary: New to town, stuck late and caught in the rain to boot; your night couldn't possibly get any worse. At least that's what you thought until on your way home you're pulled over by a certain blonde haired blue eyed cop. Pairing: RE2R CorruptCop!Leon x Fem!Reader Tags: NSFW, MDNI, Smut, Dubcon, Abuse of Power, Semi-public sex, Finger Sucking, Sex Toy, Temperature Play, Unprotected Sex, Handcuffs, Light BDSM, Toxic Dynamics, no use of y/n

Title from the Deftones Song - Be Quiet and Drive (Far Away)

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The rain was pouring down, pattering against the cement of the parking lot as wind blew the smell of dew and crisp air across your face. It was late, later than you had wanted to stay at work, but things kept piling up and before you knew it, the sun had come down and your coworkers had all left you alone.

Yellow light flickered off of the closest street lamp, the only other source of illumination was your phone’s screen lit up. You tapped against the glass in frustration, a cold shiver running down your spine. “Come on, come on!” The signal symbol in the top corner of the screen kept flashing, leaving you unable to make any call or access the internet. All you had wanted to do was pull up maps again, being new to town you hadn’t familiarized yourself with the roads – the weather was so bad that you didn’t want to test it either.

The windbreaker you had on was doing little to help the chill in your bones now that the rain had begun blowing sideways, soaking you even under the awning that covered the entrance. Now soaked, freezing, and not wanting to wait any longer, you made the decision to book it to your car. Relishing in the heat you relaxed back against the fabric of the seat, slipping the soaked jacket off along with your damp shirt. Luckily the tanktop beneath was mostly spared of the icy rain water.

Giving it one more shot, you looked at your phone, still no signal. A sigh escaped you as the wipers turned on helping to remove the frosty fog from the windshield, tossing the useless device on the passenger seat.

When the windows were finally defrosted enough for you to mostly be able to see ahead of the car, you backed out of the spot and took off down the road. “Ok, I got this. I make a right here by the giant oak tree.”

The dark road ahead of you felt familiar to the one you took home during the day, but without much peripheral vision it was hard to tell. Soon the open road became dark with nothing but your headlights as the last streetlamp passed you by, an uneasiness taking over you. “This isn’t right.” Walls of trees surrounded you on both sides of the road, only visible when passing cars illuminated them for you. Not sure what to do, and nervous as hell, you kept trekking forward, hoping to at least find a major highway or something that looked familiar.

It wasn’t long until red and blue lit up the inside of your car from behind. “A cop? Shit.” With the back window frosted over you hadn’t seen him pull onto the road, and with the darkness surrounding you, it was difficult to tell where you could even pull over safely. You gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles turning white. The anxiety that coursed through your veins was already bad enough as it was, but once you hadn’t pulled over quick enough, the sound of the sirens blaring through your eardrums caused you to nearly jump out of your skin. Immediately, you slammed the breaks, causing the car to squeal before coming to a complete stop.

Not more than a few moments go by before you hear the sound of boots thudding against the ground getting closer. Taking the initiative, you roll down the window, letting the cutting winter air slap you in the face once again while you gripped your ID tightly, waiting for the officer.

Blinding light encompassed your vision, causing your hand to go up instinctively to shield your eyes as they adjusted.

“Good evening, Miss.” His voice sounded young, and you could hear the smacking of gum being chewed loudly between his words.

“Good evening officer… Kennedy” You gave a weak smile, eyes reading his name tag before finally settling on his face. He was young. Piercing blue eyes almost glowed with the illumination of the metal flashlight in his hand. Plush lips upturned into a friendly smile, coupled with soft features. Soft blonde hair framed his face accentuating his cheek bones and dimpled chin. He wasn’t just young, he was cute – handsome. If this were a different time and place you would’ve actually considered hitting on the guy.

“Wanna tell me why you didn’t pull over when you first saw the lights?”

“I wasn’t sure where a safe spot to pull over was. I hoped maybe a little up the way would be a place with more light.”

“Uh huh…” He said, eyeing you over, the tone in his voice clearly indicating suspicion. “Do you know why I pulled you over this evening, ma’am?”

“Uhh no honestly, I can’t say I do.” An awkward smile tugged at your features, nerves bubbling in the pit of your stomach. The only relief coming from the hope that this fresh faced, doe-eyed cop would go easy on you. He seemed friendly, and if his age was any indicator he likely hadn’t been a cop long, perhaps that could score you some bonus points.

A thick blonde brow raised as he spoke. “You were going pretty fast. Speed limit in most parts of Arklay County is 35 if you’re not in the city. I had you going nearly 60.”

“Arklay? Oh shit –” The realization you had gone in the complete opposite direction from where you were supposed to have been headed struck you like a tonne of bricks. “I’m so sorry officer, I’m not from around here.”

“Well normally I’d understand that, but there’s signage posted all down this strip of road.”

“Oh. Well, you know it’s late and rainy with my windows fogged up it’s been a little hard to see, especially where there’s no street lights.”

He leaned back from where he hunched over your window, looking at the car. “Your entire rearview is frosted along with more that ⅓ of the viewing radius on your windshield. It’s not safe to drive like that, especially speeding in the dark.”

Your eyebrow twitched with annoyance, the sound of the gum in his mouth beginning to grate on your nerves as well. The last thing you wanted was a lecture – tired, cold, and away from home you wanted this encounter to be over. The hope of him going easy on you seemed to dwindle with each word out of his mouth.

“I know, my car's kind of a junker. I’ve been meaning to get the back wiper fixed. I just haven’t been able to yet. I’ll do it soon I swear.” He didn’t say anything, taking in your words. You took the opportunity to continue. “Look, is there any way you can let me off with a warning? I’ve been having a really bad night. I just started a new job in the county over. I got stuck late in the rain at said job, and now I’m lost trying to get back home.” Batting your eyelashes you gave him the best kicked puppy look you could muster hoping to inspire some sympathy from your tale.

His features steeled into a neutrally unamused expression. “License and registration.” He said flatly.

“You can’t be serious!” You exclaimed, slapping the steering wheel in frustration. “Come on, I’m begging you, sir.”

Officer Kennedy didn’t respond, instead he moved to clip the flashlight to a loop on his shoulder to keep it in place as he pulled his notebook out, penciling down on the yellowed pages before finally speaking again. “Speeding. Not adhering to street postings. Reckless driving in an unsafe vehicle, and refusal to provide documentation to an officer of the law.”“Huh?” You were gobsmacked by his words. “What are you –”

“Miss, I'm going to need you to step out of the car.”

“Wait, wait no I have my license right here. I wasn’t refusing, I was–”

“Please don’t make me ask again. Step out of the vehicle, hands on your head.”

The nerve of this guy! Unbuckling your seatbelt you exited the car as quickly as possible, putting your hands atop your head like you were told.

“Are there any drugs or weapons in the car or on your person I should be made aware of?”

“No, of course not! Please, this is all a misunderstanding.” His gloved hand grasped at you, turning you to face your car again. With both hands he patted you down gently, the cold air causing goosebumps to form on your skin now. If the night hadn’t already been going bad as it was, this was the worst.

No reply again, just the same sound of that damned gum gnashing between his teeth and the smell of his spicy cologne wafting into your nose. He brought his hand up to your right arm, gently pulling it down behind your back, before mimicking the other.

The jingle of metal on metal made your heart stop. “Y-you’re not arresting me are you? You can’t do that, you haven’t even read me my rights.” It took everything you had to will any oncoming tears away.

He replied by clasping the metal around your wrists before clamping them shut. The weight of the situation made you feel like you were shackled to the earth where you stood. Hands trembling behind you, as his hot breath ghosted over your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. “I haven’t read you the rights because I’m not arresting you. Just making sure you and I are both safe while I check things out.

“Check what things out?”

“You know, you ask a lot of questions. Maybe if you listened more you wouldn’t be where you’re standing right now.” His hands slid down your sides again, this time stopping on your butt cheeks, patting them down lightly before feeling the warm leather splayed against your inner thigh lingering a tad longer than what was appropriate. Your breath hitched in your throat, and you tensed up, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

“What’s the matter?” Despite not seeing his face, you could hear the smirk in his voice.

“You aren’t hiding something, are you?”

“No! What the hell?”

“You sure? Then why are you so tense, if you have nothing to hide?” He dragged his hands up your side again, applying more pressure before sneaking his hands around your torso, palms against your chest giving a little squeeze. You jolted against the car, gasping.

“Get the fuck off of me!” You shouted pushing yourself back against him, your voice while intended to sound angry came out a wavering whine.

“What was that?”

“I said, get off of me you pig!”

“Mouthy, mouthy. You really don’t want me looking here, do you?” To emphasize his point, he squeezed your chest again, rubbing your pebbling nipples through your thin bra with his thumbs.

“Fucking creep!” You spat struggling against him.

“That’s not very nice.” He whispers into your ear. “Know what I think? I think you are hiding something and you don’t want me to find out.” He pulled you back against him, far enough from the car that he could grab your tanktop from the center, yanking it down, roughly stretching the fabric of the spaghetti straps before they finally snapped against your shoulders, stinging as the shirt was yanked to your stomach.

His fingers made their way to the front clasp of your bra, deftly jerking the hook to come undone, breasts bouncing out as your nipples pebbled in the cold air almost painfully. A whine echoed from your mouth as he spun you around, roughly pushing your back into the frigid metal of your car.

“Hmmm. Nothing here.” He said, sky blue orbs moving from your face to observe your cold-perked breasts. He watched you shiver with that sickeningly sweet smile plastered to his boyish face. “Poor thing, it’s pretty cold out isn’t it? Those little buds look so hard they could cut glass.”

“Fuck you!”

“You know what they say, you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. Why don’t you try behaving for a minute and see where it gets you.” As if displaying his point, he brings his large hands back to your breasts, kneading them in his palms a few times before soothing his thumbs over your nipples again. The feeling makes you tingle, the warmth more pleasurable than you’d ever want to admit. “See, that’s better isn’t it? Just be compliant for me and this will all be over faster.”

Anger swirled in the pit of your stomach, wanting nothing more than to knock that smile off his stupid-pretty face. You couldn’t believe only 10 minutes prior you had actually thought he was handsome, a nice cop who’d understand your plight and let you go.

Hyper aware of how stuck you were, your brows knitted together in frustration, a few tears finally spilled out of your eyes burning hot against your cheek. He swiped them away, a gesture that would have been sweet if it was coming from anyone besides this power-abusing creep. “No need for tears. We’re just doing a standard inspection. If you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to be afraid of, right sweetheart?”

The pet name made you sick, and you couldn’t contain the venom on the tip of your tongue.”Fuck you asshole!” You shouted jerking away from him again.

His smile faded almost instantly to an unamused look. “Resisting an Officer too? You really are up to no good tonight.” He said, grabbing you roughly by the arm, pulling you away from your own vehicle and tugging you towards his cruiser. He’d switched the flashlight off leaving you mostly in the dark as he trudged you along. Fear made you attempt to dig your heels, but his grip was like a vice and as he yanked, you were forced to tumble forwards with him until he shoved you face first into the back seat, your bottom half hanging out off the black faux-leather.

The inside of the car was toasty warming you up almost instantly, but your legs shivered desperately against the freezing air swirling outside. “Stay still.” He commanded, as you felt two fingers make their way into the waistband of your pants before he unceremoniously yanked them down to your ankles.

“What are you –”

“Finishing my inspection.” He replied, brushing his hands up your thighs, this time applying more pressure directly to your skin, making his way closer and closer to your panties. A firm slap was landed on your ass hurting so much it made you yelp. “That was for that bratty attitude.” Soothing the sore spot with gentle rubs from one hand, he brought the other between your legs gently rubbing against your clothed slit, stopping to nudge at your clit through the fabric.

Your eyes went wide as saucers, mouth agape. You hated that your body reacted to the feeling, a moan making it’s way out of your mouth, feeling the arousal building up at your center.

“Don’t feel anything yet, but you can never be too sure.” He pulled his hand away, your body instinctively bucking back a little without any input from your brain. Your underwear received the same treatment as your pants, but not before he snapped the elastic of your waistband, making you whimper at the sting.

You felt the starched fabric of his uniform pants brush harshly against your inner thigh before he used it to pull your legs as far apart as they would go while still restricted at the ankles by your clothing. Something cold and smooth was dragged up your leg, making you squirm in place uncomfortably. It was different to the texture of his gloves, you couldn’t tell if it was plastic or metal. The object made it’s way to your slicked up folds, running through them gently.

“Gahh!” You squealed trying to wiggle forward away from the icy feeling.You couldn’t go any farther, stopped by the grating that separated the seat you were in from the other side.

“None of that.” He said, moving his arm forward, dragging whatever it was against you again. The sheer temperature was uncomfortable, but when he circled it against your clit, the torturous mix of discomfort and pleasure made you shudder involuntarily. More slick leaked out onto the seats.

Coating its base into your wetness, he prodded your hole gently. Craning your neck to the point of pain, you looked behind you as best you could to see what was happening, the night stick gripped firmly in his hand. Your brain screamed at you to be scared, while your body betrayed you, clamping down over the cool tip of the thin object. “S’too cold!” You pleaded, voice a pathetic whine. He ignored you at first, moving it inside of you slowly, shallowly. It was enough to have your pussy aching, but not enough to hit that one spot that would have you seeing stars. It was a teasing sensation you’d never experienced before.

“Too cold? Can’t be that bad, not with the mess you’re making all over my backseat.” He twisted the baton this time sinking it in farther enough to bump against that special bundle of nerves making you keen. “You really have no sense of self preservation, do you baby? Needy pussy will slop all over anything it’s given, won’t it? At least I know you’re not hiding anything now.”

You hadn’t the capacity to refute him or spout an insult back his way, though you wanted to, badly .

He set the night stick down between your legs, not pulling it out of you. You heard the sound of rustling fabric until some warm teased against the skin of your leg. The night stick was lifted gently again, back to its painfully slow rhythm of thrusting just outside the reach of where you wanted it. Quickly you realized he’d removed his gloves, his hands so warm from being inside them his fingers nearly burned against your numbed skin. He used the middle and pointer finger of his left hand to rub agonizingly slow circles around your clit, as he worked the baton into your hole again.

Both sensations felt good, but just so… not enough . Trapped in the backseat of his car against your will, arms stinging from being stuck behind you, face pressed against the seat knowing the pattern would be smooshed into your skin by the time you were ever allowed to move again. You hated how the handsome asshole of a cop was working you up so much with his vile mocking and teasing movements. But most of all, you hated how much you wanted more . More pressure. More heat. More speed. Just more of whatever you could get.

You weren’t sure how far he was going to go with this, but not wanting to give in, you attempted to focus on everything that wasn’t him. The smell of the pine air freshener blowing throughout the car, the sound of that stupid fucking gum still going between his teeth – you even tried to close your eyes and imagine you were somewhere else. None of it worked as you were left trying to grind back against him, desperate to alleviate the tension between your thighs and desperate to get out of there. Soft whimpers echoing throughout the confines of the vehicle.

“Poor thing, you just look so miserable. You want something don’t you?” He cooed the question out, picking up the pace of the fingers on your clit, finally using them to apply pressure as he rubbed it directly. Your whole body strained against the confines you were in, tensing with pleasure, mouth opening into an ‘o’ shape. Being teased for so long, you were just on the cusp of an orgasm as he finally gave you some sweet satisfaction – before you could feel that sensation of relief he pulled his hands away stopping entirely.

“Wha-?” The disappointment in your voice despite the lack of an entire sentence was obvious.

“Ask me nicely, maybe I’ll give you a reward for being good. After all, you passed my inspection with flying colors.” He resumed what he was doing again, back to the terribly slow movements that never gave you enough satisfaction to tip you over the edge.

You refused to give in, to beg, to admit out loud that you wanted anything from him. Doing your best, you tried scoffing, voice shakily creaking from your throat. “I-I don’t want anything from you. Except to let me go!” The malice and bite you wished coated your words wasn’t there.

He laughed in response, flicking your clit lightly. “Liar. That stubborn little mouth of yours might not want to admit it, but your pretty little pussy is giving everything away.” Leaning forward he pressed a kiss to your shoulder trailing the kisses up your neck before flicking his tongue against the shell of your ear. He managed to extract another pathetic whine as he blew on the spot he licked, sending a shiver right down your spine. While he’d pulled the night stick out to use that arm to support himself over you, his remaining hand was still tucked between your legs, sloppily playing with you. Against your thigh, through his pants you could feel his hardness pressing into you. “Come on baby, you don’t need to keep up the act anymore. We both know this was your goal from the start, wasn’t it?” He sucked a bruise into the skin of your neck before placing another kiss between your shoulder blades, the way he was pressed onto you forced your arms to tense in a way that hurt. “I saw it all over your face the moment your window rolled down. Batting those pretty lashes at me, probably thought you could flirt your way out of trouble.”

“N-not true…” You squeaked out.

He sat up, pulling his hand away from you. Metal on metal and the sound of the zipper behind you told you he was freeing his erection from its confines. He let out a relieved hiss before he was back over you this time you felt his soft lips against your leg, kissing the back of your knee before trailing his tongue up your leg, the cool air drying the strip of saliva as he went before placing a kiss to your buttcheek where his hand had left a raised red mark. “No? Then why are you sobbing between the legs for me?”

He moved forward nestling the head of his weeping cock against your slit, rubbing it against your clit gently before swiping it up to your hole. He didn’t enter though, merely rubbing it around before dragging it back down – your pussy clenched around nothing in anticipation of the pleasure that wouldn’t come. “Mmm, so hot and wet.” He moaned, stroking himself as he rubbed the swollen tip against you.

A noise caught in your throat as he did it again, teasing your hole again. Frustrated tears reformed in your eyes, body hot, bothered, and screaming at you for relief. The last shell of pride you had cracked at the tantalizing idea of his thick cock stretching you open.

“P-please…” You finally choked out, quietly.

“What’s that?”

“P-please….” You repeated again, louder this time.

“Still too quiet –”

“PLEASE!” You nearly shouted this time.

“Hmm, please what? Gotta use your words, I’m not a mind reader.”

His teasing now had you more frustrated than the initial traffic stop, you were ready to sob if you had to go one more second without relief. “Please, please fuck me. Want you inside me, please.” You begged bucking your lower half up against him, hoping it would entice him to give in.

Expecting more teasing on his end you were pleasantly surprised when you felt him slip inside of you, not bothering to go slowly, slamming himself from tip to balls into your tight heat. “O-Oh.” You moaned as he pulled out, slamming back inside. Your eyes nearly rolled back as he set a fast rhythm, pounding against your sweet spot over and over again, finally giving your cunt something to clench around properly.“Oh god…fuck…” You spewed more incoherent words as you drooled against the seat. “So…fucking good.” Pleasure washed over your brain, stopping any coherent thoughts from processing.

“Look at you, dumb on my cock already and I’ve barely started fucking you. You, that desperate?” He reached over, swiping some drool from your cheek, flicking it away with his thumb. “Messy little slut, can’t help but leak from both ends, huh?”

“N-nuh uh.” You tried to protest, tongue almost falling out of your mouth as he angled his hips just right. Giving up on any further attempts of saving your ego, you attempted to speak again, wanting to feel something against your lips. Another incoherent noise came out instead.

He leaned in, slowing his hip movements. “What was that?”

“K-kiss.” You managed to get the word out. “Please.”

“Awww, not romantic enough for you sweetheart? Need some kisses too?”

You nodded, bottom lip quivering. He turned, spitting the gum outside the car before leaning forward again to connect your lips. It was rough at first, him biting your bottom lip before entangling your tongues together. You whimpered into his mouth, tasting the remnants of mint on him. He pulled away a trail of saliva connecting you before he placed a few sweeter pecks against your lips.

“Are your arms sore?” He asked running a hand over one of them as he sat back up.

“Mhm.”

“Can I trust you to be good if I take the cuffs off?”

“P-promise.”

There was stillness for a moment as there was the jangling of keys behind you. Soon your wrists were freed from the cuffs that hit the car floor, clanging together gently. You let out a relieved groan, letting one arm flop to your side as the other dangled onto the floor, shoulders stiff and sore.

The blonde kneaded his hands against your shoulder a few times to relieve the visible tension. He let you flop against the seat as he resumed his rhythm of fucking into your tight heat, leaving you babbling and whining loudly, enjoying the sensation of being split open on him.

“Perfect little pussy, just sucks me right in.” He pulled you back this time, so your ass was at a higher angle making it easier for him to slip in and out of your wet heat.

Close. You were so close to finally being tipped over the edge. White hot pleasure pricked at your vision, core aching deliciously. Almost to your peak when his voice tore through that bringing you back into the moment. “Hear that? Sounds like a car coming. Better quiet down baby, or they might come investigate. Wouldn’t wanna let them see what a little whore you are.” Despite his words he didn’t slow his pace, in fact he landed another slap against your unmarked ass cheek. “Or, maybe that’s exactly what you want, since you’re still crying like a desperate little bitch in heat. Want them to come over here and see you get fucked? Tell them what a bad girl you are, getting pulled over and getting fucked in the back of a cop car?”

“N-no….” You looked at him eyes wide. “P-please… don’t want – please.” With him pistoning into you, you couldn’t stop the noises that flew out. “P-please…oh god…” Time was running out as the headlights of the oncoming vehicle began to light up.

“Since you asked so nicely, I’ll help you out.” He leaned forward pressing two fingers into your mouth, greedily you pulled them in lapping over them with your tongue before sucking on them like a lifeline.

“Good girl.” He praised quietly into your ear. “Good fucking girl.” His own quiet grunts were becoming labored, his hip movements becoming sloppy, indicating his release was close. You turned your body so you were laying on your side more, grasping at his wrist holding his hand in place, nearly gagging on the digits.

The yellow hued light from the stream of passing cars lit up the inside of the cruiser giving you a view of the man’s face once again. His own eyes heavy with pleasure, black pupils dilated as he slowed his pace once last time to watch you suckle on his fingers as the last of the cars passed by, darkness encompassing the vehicle again before your eyes readjusted to the dimly lit roof light.

He pulled his fingers free, and brought the saliva coated hand down to rub against your clit as he picked up the pace fucking you again. He didn’t waste time taunting you, nor did he slow down, letting you fully bask in the hot waves of pleasure radiating from your sensitive pearl of nerves.

“G-god…oh god…” Your eyes rolled back as the coil of tension snapped, toes curling as your pussy clamped his cock like a vice. He groaned, fucking you through your orgasm before his hand gripped your hip with a bruising tightness, eye closing at his cock twitched, pulsing hot ropes of cum inside of you. He slowed down, thrusting just enough to ride out his own orgasm enjoying every twitch of your silky walls as he filled you up. Afterwards he braced his hand against the roof of the car to catch his breath and come down from the high of it all.

Once softened, he slowly pulled his cock out, wiping it along your thigh as he did so before tucking it back into his pants and fully standing up outside the car, stretching. “You alright?” He asked when he finally poked his head back in. He didn’t wait for your answer before tugging you towards him again, sliding your body along the seat. Pressing a kiss to the back of your still trembling legs, he hoisted your bottoms and panties back up, any leaking seed being caught by the fabric. “There we go.”

Too exhausted to move or think, you laid there like sentient jello as he readjusted you, slipping into the back seat himself so he could pull you onto his lap. Flopping against his chest, you buried your face in the crook of his neck, as he wrapped his arms around you, rubbing your back with one hand.

He let you rest for a while against him in that hazy-twilight state recovering from both the mental and physicality of the ordeal. The sound of the wind whistling outside coupled with the even badump badump of his heartbeat relaxed you. The radio on his chest buzzed, a crackly voice on the other end reading out some police codes you didn’t understand. “10-4, I’ll head back to the station.” He replied. “Hear that? Looks like this stop has come to an end.”

You rubbed at your eyes, sitting up. Honestly you had no words to reply, what could you even say after all of this. The cop reached up, tucking some hair behind your ear. “You said you were lost on the way home?”

“Yeah.”

“Where were you headed?”

“Altoona.”

He nodded. “Go sit in your car for me, I’ll be over in a few.”

Not arguing, you slipped off his lap and out into the dark cold stumbling your way back over to your car, ready for the night to just be over with finally.

A few minutes went by and sure enough Officer Kennedy reappeared at your window, a piece of paper in hand. “Directions.” He said handing it to you. Before you could reply, another paper was thrust into your hands, a ticket at the top. “Have a good night, Miss.” He said, popping another piece of gum into his mouth as he disappeared back to his cruiser.

“No fucking way. After all of that, he’s still giving me a fucking ticket?” You asked out loud, eyeing the ticket paper resisting the urge to rush it in your fist. You were heated all over again, ready to punch something – until it occurred to you he never actually took your license or anything. You reached up and pressed on the ceiling light to get a better look at the ticket. The entire form was blank. “Huh?” Flipping it over in confusion you saw the penciled note. ‘Try to drive more carefully, Sweetheart. Call me if you need a tour. - Leon Kennedy’

Your jaw hung open, shocked by the utter audacity of him after all of that. You knew you should’ve shred that paper up on the spot, or reported him. Instead, for whatever reason that only god knew, you tossed it into your glove compartment before reading over the directions he’d given you. With a turn of the key into the ignition, you pulled out onto the dark road, taking off to make the trip back home.

[mysumeow]

. . . ꒰ TEMPTING

Warnings: afab body and breasts, reader is referred to with you/your only. PIV unprotected sex, edging, prone bone position, thigh job, pwp (plot what plot). This is sort of a continuation of another smut i posted but you can read this without reading the first one.

Word count: 1.9k

A/N: uhg. lilia. i love him. i love general lilia. thats it that all i have to say.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ 🌷 . . KOFI | TWST MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS

Whenever a window of opportunity to rest presents itself, you’ll sit on the nearest tree stump or log available, idly watching what happens around you.

You see soldiers' training, sparring, fixing tents, and the general dividing tasks among his subordinates with a stern voice. Lilia’s an example of what being a leader means—not limiting himself to delegating labor, but also lending a hand.

He grabbed the handle of his lithic weapon as he sparred with one soldier; with practiced ease, Lilia unarmed the soldier. The general reprimanded the other fae for losing his footing over a basic movement.

Lilia plans tactics for ambushes furtively, aiming to attack the enemy’s weakness first. Deft and sharp.

Soon, you’d understand that the general isn’t used to docility of any kind. Neither giving nor receiving. A war general shouldn’t allow a margin of error, steps should be given with precision and intent on subduing your adversary.

You recalled your first intimate night with Lilia. You remembered the sensation of him holding back, and even then, he still did a number on your body. You’ve spent enough time with the fae to know that the moment you try to point out any attempt at tenderness on his part, he would deny it.

You couldn’t help but find it endearing. And your curiosity increased the more you wondered about to what extent you could tease him and make him lose his constraints. Lilia’s libido was pretty responsive to what you did or said, so it wouldn’t be difficult to push him in that direction.

The moment the soldiers were already in their tents, you sneaked into the general’s.

“I’m heading to the lake to wash off the dirt,” you said as you entered the tent. You found your fae writing something down on the map splayed across the table.

Lilia acknowledged you with a hum.

You sighed. “I don’t wanna go alone. The woods become frightening the moment there’s no more sunlight, you know.”

Lilia dropped the pencil and looked at you. “A little dirt on your body’s not going to kill you,” he teased.

“You know I can’t sleep like that. I sweated a lot today, too. Baur made me accompany that expedition group to the mountain’s skirt in the morning,” you complained. “I promise it won’t be long.”

You sensed that he was about to give up.

“And someone could sneak up on me and see me naked.”

That was enough argument for the fae to stand up from his chair and rush to tag along with you.

This was your favorite moment of the day, when you could not just finally go to bed but also freshen up with clean water. Even if the temperature might be a bit chilly during the night, the fresh water was welcomed to clean you up from the dirt and sweat that clinged to your skin.

“The water feels nice,” You hummed as you dipped your toes into it. Lilia was more concerned about making sure no one was near, though, his ears flicked at the slightest suspicious sound.

You began undressing in front of him, as you have done many times before. Even with your back turned towards him, you could feel his stare roaming around your flesh.

You carefully entered into the serene lake until the water covered your chest.

“Lilia,” You called out to him again. His gaze returned to you. “Why don’t you join? You look like you need this, too.”

“You said you wouldn’t take long. I still have work to finish.” He crossed his arms, gripping his lithic.

“Just this once,” You almost pouted. “You’ve been busy these past few days. I miss you already. I’ll even help you wash your back.”

You held Lilia’s stare before he, for the second time today, humored you. Soon, his clothes were untidily placed next to yours.

Beaming with joy, you hugged Lilia the instant he was within reach.

“General, your hair’s getting wet,” You hurried to help him fix his hairstyle in a way that the inconvenience would be resolved. “There. All done.”

Lilia grumbled about something meaningless as he allowed you to scrub his back, washing off both dirt and dried blood and uncovering new lacerations he had gained from recent ambushes. You traced them with your fingers, leaning closer to kiss those scars.

You couldn’t see Lilia’s expression, but you did sense his body’s temperature going up.

“Mm, you’re so warm,” You relished the warmth from the fae’s body. Your tits pressed flush against his back, and your hands roamed around his front—feather-like touches teasing his chest and abdomen. You were aware that your words and actions were leading in a certain direction, so before Lilia beat you to it and followed through with it, you pulled away from him. “It’s getting chilly, though. Let’s head back already.”

In the blink of an eye, Lilia gripped your wrist and pulled you towards his chest. Your backside making contact with something hard and hot, nudging in between your thighs.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Hm? I thought the general had work to finish,” You feigned innocence.

“That can wait. Right now, I need to have you.”

“But we’re in a lake! Someone could walk in on us. Let’s head back to the tent,” Ignoring the evident ache in your body, you did your best to deter him. For fun. To test how far you could make him wait. If not for your determination to uncover the fae’s strength, you would’ve conceded.

Under the promise, the general’s complaint had died for the moment.

Once in the tent, you were preparing to go to sleep, until a sudden force pinned you against the bed. A small squeak left you, and the familiar arms squeezing your waist made you understand that your little teasing reaped an interesting reaction from him.

“Lilia—” You tried to gain some balance by trying to prop your torso up with your hands, but the general immobilized you by further pinning your legs against the mattress with his.

“You little tease, you think I wouldn’t notice what you were trying to do?” He brushed away the hair covering your nape to nip at the sensitive skin there. “If you wanted me to rough your body up, you should’ve just asked for it,”

This was what you wanted, although you didn’t imagine it would be this soon. If this little teasing got you to this point, you couldn’t imagine how he would be if you had done more...

One hand slipped under your underwear while his other hand covered your mouth in time before a moan escaped you. With his index and middle fingers, he began rubbing your clit in circular motions.

“I’ve been treating you with so much leniency you’ve forgotten who you’re dealing with,” His breath against your ear made you shiver, and a renewed sense of pleasure overtook your body. “I’ll have to remind you,”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” You managed to whisper, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible but failing with how he played with your sex. Lilia really did know you inside out.

“You were already wet when I slid my hand under your clothes. Don’t try to act coy now,” He seemed to be amused, above all.

You clutched the sheets as you lost yourself in pleasure, your head falling against the pillow and using it to muffle your voice. You barely register Lilia pulling your pajama pants down and off your legs.

The fae grew eager, having a sliver of enough composure left to discard your underwear, but your uncoordinated and trembling body made the task more complicated than needed. Instead, he pushed it to the side, his fingers not once faltering in stimulating you.

A muffled whimper of his name. Not even a second later, Lilia stopped his movements.

“Noo, what’re you doing,” You protested, not expecting him to halt. “I was about to…”

“Aw, you were about to. What a pity,” He mocked you, momentarily freeing your body from his antsy hands to remove his own garments. Once done, you felt him spread your slicked pussy lips with his thumbs, eyeing you up with a satisfied, complacent grin. “You like being treated like this. You have no salvation, do you?”

Despite not being able to deny it, your face burned from embarrassment. Even if Lilia tended to put your pleasure first and holds back from going all out, the change in that tactful demeanor into a meaner one still excited you.

While holding you open still, he grinded his cock between your folds, using both his pre-cum and your arousal to lubricate it. You were growing impatient, and thus, tried to grind back against him to incite him into already giving in.

Lilia rested his weight against your back, his chest flush against it, weighing you down. Lilia dug his fingernails into your flesh, while demanding that you stay still. His fingers went back to playing with your clit, using your sticky inner thighs to pleasure himself.  

After what felt like forever, the tip prodded inside, taking his time to stuff you with more of his dick. He pulled back until the just head was in and thrust with more strength. The feeling of Lilia’s warm body embracing yours and his thickness stretching you almost made you forget about holding back your voice.

From the very moment you conceived the idea of teasing him, to Lilia not allowing you to touch yourself or him, the buildup to your orgasm approached faster than what you expected. As if both factors weren’t enough, you were still sensitive over the climax you were robbed of prior moments ago.

You mewled, trying to reach behind you and hold his hand to ground yourself.

Instead, the fae grabbed your arms and pinned them against your back, his pace not stuttering for even a minute.

This was what you wanted—for him to be rougher…and within a couple more smacks of his hips against yours, you came hard around him, broken moans of his name escaping from your bitten lips. Lilia quieted himself by kissing your shoulder the moment he released his cum inside.

Sore and spent, your head collapsed forward against the pillow again. You heard Lilia’s amused chuckle, resting next to you while keeping an arm wrapped around you.

“I wasn’t too rough, right?” He muttered after a while in silence, his eyes inspecting your body. “Does it hurt somewhere?”

“My arms, you gripped me too hard,” You mumbled. “I didn’t notice it at the moment because…it felt nice…”

At your confession, he looked taken back by it before his expression shifted into a relieved one and he chuckled. “I should’ve known you like being treated like that. You are quite keen about my fangs, and I’ve noticed how your body melts when I bite you,”

Before you could fawn over the coy visage that took over his eyes for a split second, it faded away with the same ease it appeared as he turned his head to the other side.

“I love it when you’re trying to be gentle, even if you’re not that great at it,” You teased, your fingers brushing his hair. Lilia grunted, suddenly grumpy about you pointing that out. “But I also enjoy it when you’re rough,”

He humphed, still avoiding facing you. You smiled at him, despite it not being visible to him. You closed your eyes, feeling exhaustion getting to you.

[starlightomatic]

I'm asking this in good faith, but also in an admitted lack of full understanding. If you don't have the energy to engage with this topic anymore please disregard it.

Someone on your post noted the comparison of Israel-Palestine to that of the Native Americans, but the way I read it it seemed like they were putting Palestinians in the role of the native Americans and Israel as the colonizing force, but historically wouldn't it be the Jewish people who are the Native Americans in that comparison? I ask because from what I know it would be the Jewish people in what is now Israel at the same time in history as the Natives in the Americas. Am I misinformed about that? I'm not trying to say Palestine would be the colonizing force in that comparison btw, just that if we're talking about natives to the land, it seems to me like it'd be the Jewish people.

tbh neither maps on exactly

the expulsion of jews from what is now israel/palestine started in 70 AD and then was a gradual process over the next few hundred years as people moved out due to oppression by various rulers, poverty, etc

palestinians, as far as i understand it, likely descend from a mix of some of the jews who were left behind and arabs who conquered the land. they've been there for hundreds of years, and some families have owned the same land for all of that time

the thing about indigeneity as it's been explained to me is that it's not about origin so much as relationship to colonization. and the founding of israel was colonization -- herzl actually used that word himself in his writings.

you know the jnf? the original purpose was to exploit a feature of ottoman land law. if you planted a tree on someone's land and they didn't remove it for a certain number of years, you could claim ownership of that land. this and other methods were used to steal parcels of land from palestinians.

"your ethnicity stole the land from our ethnicity, to whom the land belongs" is a fucked up framework that seems really akin to blood and soil (as does "our ethnicity has rightful ownership of this land from ancient times, so your ethnicity needs to clear out"), but genuinely wresting ownership from individuals owners really can be said to be stealing land.

also, the nakba was a series of massacres and fighting that led to a huge influx of palestinian refugees from many areas in israel/palestine, and israel seized control of the land and homes they vacated to hand over to jews. israel used the jnf, again, to cover the ruins of many palestinian villages with trees to obscure the fact that they were ever there. in general israel built over many palestinian villages and the mindset in israel is not to know and not to think about it.

personally i think the indigeneity debate is not useful. it feels sometimes that jews think that if we can prove we lived in israel in ancient times (we did, a lot of people insist we didn't because it is inconvenient), we can justify things like the above. my position is that it does not justify it, because it is not an excuse for causing human suffering.

however, many people use a framework that is not about human suffering, but about how invading foreign jews stole the land from the "rightful" ethnic group. i don't agree with that either. especially when it becomes an excuse to support ethnic cleansing in the other direction. that is to say: they locate the crime not in the invasion but in the foreignness. such people are motivated to deny the historical fact of jewish origins in israel, because their argument is based on jewish foreignness.

but anyway, the comparison to indigenous peoples in the americas refers to the way that palestinians experienced the establishment of the state of israel -- starting with small groups of settlers, involving violence early on and then massacres, and later ethnic cleansing and displacement. cities and towns destroyed. shoved into small areas with few resources. lack of power and autonomy.

in addition, the way the early zionist leaders conceptualized themselves as enlightened europeans colonizing land with disdain for the existing residents.

[perfectlyoongi]

EX-BOYFRIEND!YOONGI who still has your pillow on his bed, just because it smells like you. no matter how much time had passed, Yoongi swore that particles of your essence were still reveling in that white pillow; no matter how much time had passed, Yoongi swore he still felt you every night, when his thoughts were more violent and his heart asked for comfort, asked for you; no matter how much time had passed, Yoongi would never wash that pillow, fearing that the memories of you would drown in the sea of neglect that covered the entire space outside the bed, outside of Yoongi’s safe haven. yes, no matter how much time had passed, Yoongi would never be able to forget how your soul smelled like home. “i carry with me the weight of the longing you left behind. part of me wants to believe that it’s all just a dream. but when the moon is high and my thoughts suffocate me, it’s your comfort that i miss. it’s you that i miss.”

EX-BOYFRIEND!YOONGI who looks for you in every crowd. he knew he was just hurting himself, but Yoongi couldn’t stop his eyes from taking in each face closely, hoping to see your sweet smile on them, hoping to see your bright eyes on them, hoping to see you in the middle of them. without noticing, Yoongi always found himself in the middle of crowds, those places he always avoided and preferred to see from afar; but now, when your departure squeezed Yoongi’s heart and the longing for you guided Yoongi’s steps, he always ended up in the middle of the crowds, wanting, waiting, begging, to see you one last time. “your existence haunts me. the ghost of our memories wanders among the crowds, seeking from them the love they know only you can give. it’s a game without any victories.”

EX-BOYFRIEND!YOONGI who goes back to the places where he kissed you to relive the memories. the days were grey, painted in tones of melancholy, and Yoongi could only feel his heart sink. it was there that he kissed you for the first time, your shy smile was still stuck on the small park bench; it was in front of that tree that Yoongi said the first i love you to you, your nervous laugh still echoed through the tree’s branches; it was in front of that window that you stole a kiss that tasted like caramel, he could still see his rosy cheeks in the immaculate glass of the store. the entire city was a map of Yoongi’s happiest moments; in every corner, in every nook, in every neighborhood lived fragments of your soul and the memory of you covered every street with a permanent veil of pure guilt, regret, longing, love. “it is in these places that the beauty of your soul still endures. and it was in those places that i kissed you and loved you and swore to always love you. and i will always love you.”

EX-BOYFRIEND!YOONGI who spends sleepless nights wondering where he went wrong. had Yoongi forgotten any important dates? no. your birthday was celebrated with laughter, the smiles from your anniversary still painted works of art in Yoongi’s heart. would his work have interfered in any way with your life together? no. Yoongi no longer spent nights in the studio. Yoongi had already stopped locking himself in his office when he was at home. Yoongi had renounced his art, his passion, to be able to love you. but, was that Yoongi’s mistake? did he love you too much? was Yoongi’s love so big, so intense, so suffocating, that it only gave you one way out? a way out of his life? “tell me if my devotion was the cause of my destruction. i ask you. please, tell me where i went wrong so i can love you again. tell me what i didn’t do so i can have your love again.”

EX-BOYFRIEND!YOONGI who can’t look in the mirror without seeing you next to him. it was a constant agony that stepped and beat in Yoongi’s heart, squeezing tightly all the love he still felt, sharply attacking all the longing he had. and Yoongi only had to look in the mirror to feel it, to see it. there you were. always smiling, your hand gently holding Yoongi’s hand, your eyes locked on him. entire years were spent living next to you, living with you. entire days were spent in a weightless sea of pure love and fascination. and now, looking in the mirror, Yoongi felt empty, he felt incomplete. now, looking in the mirror, Yoongi’s heart manufactured a memory of you, cruelly reminding him that what was next to Yoongi was just the hope that still made his heart beat.

EX-BOYFRIEND!YOONGI who is slowly isolating himself. the crowds stopped hiding your face in them; the streets cleared every step you had walked; Yoongi’s house expelled all your essence without his permission. and now, lost in the middle of nowhere, without finding any hope in his sheets, in your pillow, Yoongi just sat on the floor and stayed there. still. the longing of you was the only thing that still made him live, still made him exist. every step Yoongi had taken, led him to that exact moment, to that point wh—

EX-BOYFRIEND!YOONGI who can’t say the word love again — for, without you being in his life, what meaning did that word have?