#was away from my tablet the past month | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chahnniesroom · 5 months ago

Text

some loves

pairing: bang chan x female reader

summary: some loves are too hard to bear. years after being trainees together, chan still thinks of you all the time. he has no idea that a collaboration would lead him back to you.

word count: 6.9k

tags/warnings: reader is an independent singer/songwriter, hurt/comfort, angst, mentions of past injuries, a little bit of jealousy, i am still in denial that chan doesn't do lives anymore, hongjoong from ateez is in this fic

read it on ao3 | masterlist

a/n: once again, sorry for the long time between posts. disclaimer that i do not know much about how the music/idol industry works and i did not really do much research. also i'm not an atiny so sorry if my portrayal of hongjoong is not realistic at all. also also i did a lot of the writing on a new tablet doing handwriting with a stylus to text so please forgive any typos or weird formatting! i didn't have a chance to edit much so i may have missed some things.

Chan’s in his studio when he gets the call. At first, he doesn’t even realise his phone is ringing. It’s 2am on a weekday and he’s been working away for a few hours so the rest of the world has just about faded into the background.

He’s both surprised and intrigued when he looks at the caller ID and sees Hongjoong’s name. Chan would consider Hongjoong to be a friend, but they’re not particularly close and he can’t think of a reason that would warrant this late night call.

“Hey hyung,” Hongjoong greets him briefly before getting straight to the point. “What’s your schedule like in the next few months?”

“It’s actually not too bad,” Chan replies after a moment of thought. “We’re just finalising all the music for the next album so it’ll be a bit of time before we get busy with recording and filming for the comeback. What’s up?”

“You don’t have the answer now and I don’t want you to feel any pressure at all, but would you be interested in doing a collab together?”

“A collab?” Chan repeats. “Like, ATEEZ and Stray Kids?”

“We could,” Hongjoong says reluctantly. “But actually, if you’re up for it then I was thinking more like just you and me. I have a couple tracks that we could work off of and I’ve roped in someone to help me with recording, engineering, and production.”

“Who?” Chan asks, interest piqued.

“Not sure if you’ve heard of them, they go by the name HALLA.”

Chan recognises the name instantly. When Chan had first stumbled upon HALLA one late night scrolling and listening to different independent artists, they seemed relatively unknown. However, a little research revealed that they had KOMCA credits on a number of songs for idol groups, some of which had become widely popular. Their personal work was a variety of genres and a majority of the tracks didn’t have vocals, but the ones that did had clever or thoughtful lyrics. There were a couple of different voices featured in the original songs, both of which were smooth and melodic. HALLA has a style that Chan thinks would complement Stray Kids and he’s considered reaching out to them a few times, but was always held back by something.

There was little about HALLA posted on the internet and while Chan definitely appreciates their privacy, he’s curious to meet the person behind all the songs that he enjoyed. There’s just something familiar about all their music that he can’t quite place, something that he wants more of.

“I’m in,” Chan agrees.

“You can take some time to think about it, talk to JYPE to see what their thoughts are too.”

“No need, I’m interested and I know I can convince management to support this.”

“Well that was easy,” Hongjoong says and Chan can basically hear him grinning through the phone. “And for my own pride, I’m going to pretend that you said yes the second I suggested the collab instead of when I mentioned HALLA-ssi.” Chan instantly flushes and is glad that Hongjoong can’t see him over the phone.

“It wasn’t-” Chan begins to protest.

“It’s okay,” Hongjoong interrupts. “I’m also pretty thrilled to get to work with them, so I understand. Didn’t realise you were familiar with their work, but I guess a hidden gem like them can’t stay hidden for long. I’ll send some files over to you and we can organise a time to work.”

—

Chan finds it easy to work with Hongjoong and they make quick progress on the song, writing lyrics and creating a guide within a couple of weeks. Before he knows it, they’ve scheduled a time for Chan to visit KQ Entertainment to record vocals. Hongjoong knows that Chan is keen to be involved in the production and arrangement of the song too, so they also have a couple sessions booked for that, although Hongjoong teases him relentlessly about just wanting to work with HALLA. The worst part is that Chan can’t even deny it.

Hongjoong meets him at the entrance of KQ Entertainment and quickly takes him through security.

“HALLA-ssi is already in the studio,” Hongjoong explains as they wait for the elevator to arrive. “I was getting input on a track that’s been killing me for the past few days.”

“Did they help?” Chan asks, a little surprised that HALLA is involved in more than just this collaboration. He still hasn't had a chance to connect with them other than quick introductions through text a couple of days ago and he's just as excited to meet them as initially.

“Yeah!” Hongjoong grins, eyes curving into little crescents. “HALLA-ssi is amazing. She only had listen to it a couple times before she came up with suggestions on a few different ways to fix the part that I hated. I left her to finish cleaning the song up and then it’s basically ready for review.”

“How did you start working with HALLA-ssi? I’ve been meaning to try to connect with her.”

“It was actually a friend that suggested working with her. For someone who isn’t signed with a label- which I don’t know how nobody has signed her yet- she’s surprisingly well connected within the industry. I’m sure that KQ would be more than happy to have her work with us, but when I hinted at that, she didn’t seem interested.”

“Really?” Although KQ Entertainment is still one of the smaller companies in the industry, most unsigned artists would still jump at the chance to work there since they have a good reputation, especially due to ATEEZ’s popularity.

“I haven’t poked too much, it’s not really my business. I thought I might as well try. I just know that she’s amazing at her job and I’m grateful that I get to work with her at all.”

They turn the corner to the hallway that leads to the recording studio. The door is ajar and Hongjoong opens it, waving his arm forward to allow Chan to walk through first, before following closely behind.

HALLA’s sitting at the desk and the second Chan sees her face, he stops in his tracks.

“Y/n,” Chan breathes.

You look up, startled, and your eyes connect for a split second before Hongjoong crashes into Chan, sending them both tumbling to the ground.

“Hyung,” Hongjoong complains, unaware of Chan’s inner turmoil. “Why’d you stop?”

Chan lets out an apologetic wheeze from where he’s now trapped under Hongjoong, before resting his forehead against the ground. He needs a second to recover.

It feels like a punch to the gut to see you in front of the recording studio’s computer, fiddling with a track. You look different, but somehow it feels like Chan has been transported right back to his trainee days and all that time that the two of you had spent side by side.

It has been years since Chan last saw you. He had found out that you had left JYPE just months after Stray Kids officially debuted, but all efforts to track you down had been futile. You had changed your number and broken contact with all the other trainees. He had asked around a little bit, but everyone he talked to had been unusually cagey about the subject.

Suddenly, everything makes more sense, especially the little that he knows about HALLA.

As trainees, Chan’s favourite moments had been when you had regaled him with stories of growing up on Jeju Island. The two of you had connected early on through your shared love of the ocean. You had promised him that if he ever went to visit in his free time, you would take him on the best trails up to the Hallasan, the shield volcano, and show him incredible views from the highest point on the island. Occasionally, your parents would send you care packages and the two of you would open them hidden away in one of the vocal practice rooms, the sweet citrus of hallabong exploding in your mouths.

You had always spoken about Jeju Island so fondly, of course you would find a way to indirectly pay homage through the stage name that you chose.

“Oppa,” your voice rings out in the silence of the room. Now, Chan knows why the female voice on some of HALLA’s songs had always seemed hauntingly familiar. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” both Chan and Hongjoong say at the same time, then make eye contact with identical confused expressions.

“Hongjoong-ssi, you didn’t mention that the person you wanted to feature on the track was Channie-oppa,” you say, making it clear who you were addressing your concern to earlier.

“It was supposed to be a surprise!” Hongjoong gets up slowly, dusting off his clothes and scratching at the back of his head, still looking bewildered. “I had no idea that you two knew each other, hyung mentioned he hadn’t worked with you before.”

Chan stays quiet, not sure how much you’re willing to share. Hongjoong must not know about your time with JYPE if he can’t piece together how the two of you could have met.

“Oh- I used to- We trained together back in the day,” you explain sheepishly. “I was with JYPE for a little while and all the trainees knew who Channie-oppa was. That was a long time ago though, I didn’t use the name HALLA back then.”

The five years that you trained at JYPE are more than a little while, but Chan forces himself to bite his tongue at your deliberate understatement. You don’t elaborate further and while it’s obvious that Hongjoong isn’t satisfied with your answer, he’s willing to drop the topic for now. You look relieved when he switches the subject to the song.

The three of you finish recording quickly. It shouldn’t be a surprise, the work so far with Hongjoong has been smooth so adding you to the mix has just made things easier, but Chan knows he’s a perfectionist and it often takes him an almost embarrassing number of takes before he’s satisfied. The only delay comes when Hongjoong decides he wants you to sing some of the backing vocals and resorts to actually getting on his knees and begging. Chan doesn’t go so far, but he can’t help but agree that your voice blends with the song perfectly. Of course, he also just wants to hear you sing.

You relent when Chan quietly voices his agreement and it really shouldn't make Chan feel as smug as it does.

It’s not even early enough for dinner when things are wrapped up. Chan is usually eager to finish a schedule early, but he’s reluctant to leave, taking his time packing up his belongings.

Finally, he doesn’t have a reason to stay any longer so he musters up the courage to ask.

“Do you guys want to go grab some coffee or something to eat?”

You and Hongjoong make eye contact before turning to look at Chan guiltily. His stomach churns for some reason.

“I’m sorry,” you wince. “I actually promised to help Hongjoong-ssi with an ATEEZ song and we need to go over the edits that I made before his meeting with the company later today.”

“Oh,” Chan replies, feeling a little relieved. “Right, no yeah I get it. Hongjoong actually mentioned that earlier, but I forgot. My bad.”

You offer an apologetic smile before turning to the computer, opening up a file.

“I’ll see you guys next time, then,” Chan says, starting to back out of the room.

“Of course! Thank you for your hard work and good job today!” you say brightly. Looking distracted, Hongjoong mumbles an agreement and waves goodbye. Unlike you, he’s not staring at the computer monitor though. Instead, his focus is solely on you. Even from his side profile, Chan can tell that he’s enamoured.

Honestly, Chan can’t really blame him, you look comfortable and confident, swallowed up in an oversized hoodie as you start explaining the alterations that you made to the track. Your voice is calm, but warm and you’re careful to start off by complimenting the work that Hongjoong had done previously.

Chan leaves, resolutely ignoring the twisted feeling that’s back with a vengeance and any thoughts of what the cause might be.

—

Chan can’t sleep. His thoughts are all about you, what you’ve been doing the past few years, what happened to you at JYPE that made you leave, and mostly trying to remember how and why your relationship with him slowly fell apart.

That’s the hardest part. In the darkest time of his life, when Chan had been discouraged and disheartened, you had joined JYPE with a brightness and enthusiasm that gave Chan the motivation to continue being a trainee. He had adored you. He still does.

In those last few months before the survival show had been filmed, Chan’s relationship with you had gone from being everything to nothing. It happened in the blink of an eye, and Chan had never understood what caused you to withdraw so quickly and thoroughly. The two of you had gone from spending almost all of your free time together to you avoiding him at the company, pretending not to hear when he called out your name or tried to get your attention.

The regret of letting you slip away has always eaten away at him, but now more than ever.

Of course, at the time it hadn’t felt so simple. The survival show was Chan’s first serious chance to debut, and not just that, but the weight of having eight other people’s careers depending on his leadership took a toll on all his other relationships. Your absence in his life still hurt, but Chan had lots of practice losing people. He had coped in the way that worked best in the past, throwing himself headlong into producing, training, anything to keep himself from wallowing in his feelings.

Chan doesn’t have any schedules for today, but he still heads to the company. He knows this isn’t the healthiest way to deal with things, but he doesn’t know anything else.

When he arrives, Chan just barely manages to catch a glimpse of a few familiar faces. He calls out before he can think better of it, jogging slightly to catch up. Sana, Momo, and Mina watch curiously as he approaches. He knows that Twice also aren’t in a busy period of the year, so he doesn’t feel guilty delaying them.

“Sorry to bother you all. Sana-noona, I was just wondering if we could chat?”

Sana makes brief eye contact with the rest of the girls before agreeing and waving them to go ahead of her. She follows behind Chan as he leads them into his studio, clearly interested in determining the reason behind this atypical meet up.

“What’s up, Channie?” she asks once the door is closed behind them.

Chan tries to think of the best way to start, not wanting to just outright ask, but not knowing how to subtly steer the conversation into the right direction. Finally, he abandons trying to be casual and just blurts out, “Do you remember Y/n?”

“Of course I do,” Sana says, sounding amused at the sudden mention of you. “You both had reputations for being veteran trainees. I mean, other than Jihyo.”

“I was always surprised that she never debuted,” Chan admits. “I just thought it would happen eventually and I was so shocked to find out that she had left. I didn’t- I don’t understand why she gave up on something she wanted so badly.”

“Give up?” Sana asks, sounding like she’s offended on your behalf. “Why would you say it like that?”

“What do you mean? It was like she was there one day and gone the next, I just assumed that she had enough and quit. Nobody seemed to know anything about it. I never found out why and it’s been kind of killing me.”

“You didn’t hear what happened?”

“What- something happened? To her?” Chan swallows hard, suddenly feeling unwell.

“It- I thought that you of all people would know-”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, but- you never talked to her about it? You knew her better than any of us.”

“Noona, I didn’t know that she was gone until months later. She obviously didn’t want to talk about it to me, I never reached out at first. When I finally did, her number had been changed. What was I supposed to do?”

“I- It’s better if you were to hear it from her. I don’t know the full story and you know how things can be distorted through gossip. And you especially must know how dangerous that can be.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You really have no clue? The two of you were inseparable…”

“Please,” Chan pleads.

“You know how it is in the industry, you were so close, of course there were rumours…”

It suddenly clicks.

“But we were just friends! And the dating ban-”

“Chan, you know nobody actually sticks to those, right?”

“But really, we were never-”

“I believe you,” Sana says, carefully. “But you know that to management that it doesn’t really matter whether or not anything was actually going on. To them it’s all about the optics. A perceived relationship is just as dangerous as an actual one.”

“Management…” Chan repeats, his mind racing. “They never mentioned anything to me though.”

“You never found it suspicious? You two are extremely close and out of the blue she suddenly stops talking to you, then right after the two of you stop hanging out, you’re chosen for the survival show? Someone must have talked to her at some point. Maybe not management, but for sure someone.”

“You think that’s why it took so long for me to debut?” Chan asks, even though he already knows the answer.

“It was a liability,” Sana explains. “To have a dating scandal so early on? Neither of your careers would survive. It’s painful and a terrible part of the industry but it’s true.”

“And.. Why she left, you know about that too?” Chan pleads.

“I think I’ve said too much already. I know that it’s hard, but some things are really personal.” She pauses for a moment. “What brought this on, anyway? You haven’t mentioned Y/nnie in years.”

“I can’t say much, but I- I saw her today, got to talk to her, found out what she’s been up to.” Sana gasps. Chan continues. “It was so weird to see her after so long. In the back of my mind, I had always wondered, but…”

“I’m glad that you two got to reconnect,” Sana says gently. “The two of you cared about each other a lot, that much was obvious. Talk to her, I think at the very least you’ll be able to find peace about what happened.”

“Noona-” Chan reaches out and pulls Sana into a tight hug. “Thank you for telling me. I appreciate it.”

“Of course. I’m sorry that it took so long for you to find out.”

—

A few days later, Hongjoong schedules another session to work on the song. Leading up to it, Chan is both looking forward to it and nervous, not sure what to expect. Although he still really wants to know what happened to you all those years ago, he’s scared about what he might learn and any part he might have had in it.

After a sleepless night, he ends up arriving almost 15 minutes early. This time, Hongjoong isn’t waiting at the building’s entrance. Instead he had let him know a few days before that Chan could just sign himself in and had sent him the name and location of the studio that was booked. When Chan reaches it, he can make out conversation from inside.

“HALLA,” Hongjoong can be heard through the studio doors, which aren’t fully shut. His tone is petulant and much more casual than it was previously. Chan wonders how much time the two of you have spent together between then and now and he almost misses the next thing that Hongjoong says. “You never told me that you were a trainee before.”

That stops Chan in his tracks, interested in how you’ll respond.

“It was a long time ago.” Your voice is faint. You’re still nice, but Chan can tell that your voice is stiffer than usual. “It doesn’t really matter now.”

This time, Hongjoong doesn’t let it go.

“What happened?” he prods.

“Just drop it,” you warn him. “It’s the past, forget I told you in the first place. Nothing ever came of it anyway.”

“Y/n-” Hongjoong changes tactics, the nagging tone replaced with a quieter, more serious one. You sigh.

“It didn’t work out. Obviously. I’m just not idol material.”

“Oh come on, I don’t believe that for a second. Your producing is good enough that I know for sure you’ve been getting offers to work with more companies than just KQ. When you direct during recording, you can hit every note without any warm up or practice. And I’ve heard your original songs, you must have been considered for both the position of lead rapper and lead singer as a trainee because there’s no way that anybody would let your talent go to waste.” Hongjoong is breathing hard by the end of his rant and Chan can see that this is something that has been bothering him for a while.

“It’s okay, Hongjoong-oppa.” Your voice is gentle, like you’re trying to comfort him. “I’m happy with what I have right now. Really. I’m grateful for all the freedom I have. Getting to work on any project I want and experiment with my music without having to deal with the bureaucracy and politics of the industry? Having that independence is precious to me. I wanted to be an idol for a long long time. But even though that specific plan I had didn’t work out, it doesn’t mean I’m not happy with what I’m doing.”

Hongjoong stays quiet for a while.

“Do you think that if you had the opportunity to debut as an idol now, you would?” he finally asks.

“Oppa, it’s not possible. I can’t dance, I’m too old-” you protest.

“No no, just hypothetically. Like if someone walked into the room and handed you a contract and said that if you signed it in an hour then you’d be able to debut.”

“I- I don’t know.”

“What’s your gut feeling?”

“I think I left that dream behind, I don’t know if I want to go down that path again. I don’t think I have it in me.”

“I’m sorry,” Hongjoong says after another pause. “I shouldn’t have questioned you so much, you shouldn’t have to justify your decisions to me.”

“No, it’s fine. It seems strange, right? For me to be an artist in Seoul and not want to get signed, it's only natural for you to be curious. But I learned a lot when I was a trainee and I learned even more after that and I can say with certainty that this is what I want.”

Chan takes that opportunity to knock on the studio door and push it open.

“Hey, hope I’m not interrupting,” he says, as if he wasn’t just eavesdropping on their conversation and purposely chose when to cut in. “Sorry, I’m a little bit late.”

“Hey, no problem man,” Hongjoong says. “We haven’t had a chance to do anything yet, so you’re right on time.”

“Good to see you,” you chime in. “I think this should be pretty quick so let’s get started!”

As you predicted, it doesn’t take long before a majority of the song is finished. Normally, Chan would be keen to stay involved until the very last detail is finalised, but he trusts you and at the end of this day, it’s Hongjoong’s song so he’s happy to give him the final say.

At the end of the session, Chan once again uses the opportunity to try to catch you alone. The two of you are side by side, packing your bags and Chan asks if you have any plans for the rest of the day. You confirm that you're available and Chan is about to suggest that the two of you take the time to catch up when Hongjoong interrupts.

“Oh, Y/n-ah,” he says. “I was actually hoping to get your input on something and I didn’t have a chance to ask you earlier. Can you please stick around for a bit? Sorry, hyung.”

Hongjoong sounds so sincere that Chan almost doesn’t feel annoyed that he’s stealing all of your time and attention. Almost, because at the end of the day, Chan’s only human. Even though he knows he has no right to feel possessive over you, he can’t stop the petty jealousy that bubbles up inside of him. At this point, there’s no denying the emotion.

Just like the previous session, he leaves alone, heading directly to the studio. Hours later, his breath catches when he checks his phone and sees that you’ve texted him.

[Received - 8:04pm]

Channie-oppa~

[Received - 8:04pm]

This is Y/nnie

[Received - 8:05pm]

Sorry about earlier, I have a contract with KQ Entertainment and work comes first :/

[Received - 8:09pm]

But I’m free now! You still interested in catching up?

Chan stares at the messages until it feels like they’re burned into his retinas. Logically, he knew that you had his number, the two of you were in a group chat that Hongjoong had set up, but this was your first time messaging him privately. The first time you had reached out in years. A precious opportunity that he never thought that he would have. He doesn’t want to mess this up.

He’s also shocked to see you texting so casually. Although the two of you have been comfortable in person, he wasn’t sure that it would translate to one-on-one conversation.

[Sent - 8:10pm]

Hey Y/n!

[Sent - 8:11pm]

No worries at all, I understand. I’m the same way too

[Sent - 8:13pm]

I still wanna meet up… but I’m all the way back in Gangdong-gu 😅 It’d be a bit of a trek for you if you're still at KQ

[Received - 8:13pm]

Gangdong-gu?

[Received - 8:14pm]

Ohh JYPE

[Received - 8:14pm]

My bad, forgot that you guys moved

[Sent - 8:15pm]

Yeahhh

[Sent - 8:15pm]

Headed straight back to the company after we were done, sorry

[Received - 8:18pm]

Well… If you’re willing to wait then I don’t mind. KQ is close to a metro station anyway

[Sent - 8:18pm]

Wait, really?

[Sent - 8:18pm]

No no no, don’t take the subway

[Sent - 8:18pm]

I’ll send a driver. They’re gonna pick you up in 20 min

[Received - 8:19pm]

Wowow

[Received - 8:19pm]

Private driver?

[Received - 8:20pm]

You’re a real superstar now haha

[Sent - 8:21pm]

alsfjshkafs noooooooo

[Sent - 8:21pm]

It’s just faster

[Sent - 8:21pm]

and safer

[Received - 8:22pm]

I’m not complaining

[Received - 8:22pm]

but I’m going to get your autograph when I see you

[Received - 8:23pm]

If I sell it then I can probably afford my own private driver 🤭

[Sent - 8:24pm]

Knew it

[Sent - 8:25pm]

You’re just using me for my fame

[Received - 8:26pm]

Ah you got me this time

[Received - 8:26pm]

*Your fame, your talent, and your good looks

[Received - 8:27pm]

Even tho you were the one that said you wanted to meet up

[Received - 8:27pm]

Hmmm maybe you’re the one using me?

Chan listens to his phone as it continues to vibrate from where it’s lodged in between two of the couch cushions after he threw it across to the opposite side of the room. His face is buried in his hands and flaming red. He feels both giddy and terribly embarrassed.

Chan’s no stranger to flirting, he’s experienced his fair share being on either side through interactions with the members and with Stay, but he forgot how flustered he was being on the receiving end of your teasing. The part he never understood is that your playful tone always gave way to sincerity. Even when the two of you would joke around, he could always tell that you meant every comment that you made about Chan being talented or attractive and that flattered him almost as much as it baffled him.

[Received - 8:32pm]

?? Speechless that I caught on?

[Received - 8:36pm]

I think your driver has arrived… Otherwise I’m being kidnapped

[Received - 8:40pm]

Don’t think I would survive a horror film… I got into the car with no questions asked

[Received - 8:42pm]

It was nice knowing you I guess

When he realises how much time has passed, Chan grabs his phone and runs down to the back entrance of the company. Luckily you haven’t arrived yet and he takes the time to reply to your messages.

[Sent - 8:53pm]

Sorry, lost track of time

[Sent - 8:53pm]

They’ll drop you off at the back door, I’ll meet you there so you don’t have to get signed in or anything

[Received - 8:54pm]

Don’t think you’re getting away with ignoring my other texts

[Received - 8:55pm]

But thanks

[Received - 8:55pm]

Is this back door, the famous one that only allows in authorised people?

[Received - 8:55pm]

I’m honoured

Chan rolls his eyes at your cheesy reference and is in the middle of typing up a response when he sees the car pull up. You step out cautiously, then brighten when you see where Chan’s propping up the door.

“Hey,” Chan greets you. “Glad that you made it safely.”

“Thanks for the ride,” you say, looking around curiously as Chan leads you to an elevator that takes you to the rest of the building. “So this is the new and improved JYP Entertainment. I’d say that it looks the same as before, but I never got the chance to come in.”

“Yeah,” Chan says, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck as he walks. “I mean it’s pretty nice, but at the end of the day a practice room is a practice room and that’s where we spend most of our time.”

“Hmm I think we might have to agree to disagree on that one. You have your own studio don’t you?”

“Ah, kind of. It’s technically a shared one, but practically I’m the only one that uses it unless we’re out of the country for a long time,” Chan confirms.

“Seems a lot better than what we used to have! Do you remember when we used to cram ourselves into that tiny room that barely even fit two chairs and a table?”

“I almost forgot about that, it was so terrible! In the summer it would get so hot that we’d keep the door open-”

“And then someone would come yell at us because we’d be playing music too loud-”

“I remember begging management to install a portable air conditioner on multiple occasions, but they always refused.”

“Of course! Even if they weren’t so stingy, there weren’t any windows leading outside in there, how could they install it?”

“Is that why? I always thought they just wanted us to suffer.”

“That too,” you giggle for a moment, before your smile fades. “But they weren’t totally unreasonable. Management has a different perspective than us, sometimes they know better than us because of their understanding of the industry. They can see things that we don’t.”

It’s clear that you’re no longer talking about air conditioning anymore. A lump seems to have formed in Chan’s throat when he recalls his conversation with Sana. Luckily, the two of you have just arrived and Chan forces himself to smile.

“We’re here,” he says, opening the door and motioning for you to enter ahead of him. “Welcome to Channie’s Room!”

“It’s cute!” you say as you step in. “Very… neat. It’s actually more spacious than it looks.”

“Oh,” Chan says, faltering in his steps for a second. “You- you’ve seen my studio?”

“In case you didn’t realise, you go live every week from said studio. I think at this point everyone in the K-pop industry and every K-pop fan has seen it,” you tease.

“Right, yeah. I didn’t- I wasn’t sure how much you kept up with that kind of stuff,” Chan stammers.

“K-pop or do you mean specifically Stray Kids?” you ask, tilting your head slightly.

“Either I guess," Chan shrugs.

"I will admit that it took me a while to get back into it," you say slowly. "I wasn't... in the best mindset after I left." Chan stays quiet, sensing that you're not quite finished. "I know that I disappeared and I am sorry for not reaching out. I wanted to, but I also didn't know how. I know that I hurt you. That it was cruel to avoid you, not reply to your messages, ignore your calls. I had my reasons why, but it doesn't excuse the pain that I caused, and I'm sorry for that too."

“I think,” Chan swallows hard. “I think that the most difficult part was that for the longest time, I didn’t know why. I didn’t know what I did wrong. I asked Sana about it finally, after I saw you again. And I just felt so stupid to realise that it was obvious to everyone except me."

“I’m sorry,” you say again. “I wanted to tell you, of course I wanted to. But I also knew you. If I had told you that us being together was preventing your debut-”

“I wouldn’t have cared,” Chan finishes your sentence for you, starting to understand. “I would have done anything to keep you by my side.”

"Even if it meant throwing away your career," you say softly. "I couldn't let you do that to yourself. You worked so hard, how could I live with being the reason that you were stuck in the training rooms? You belong on stage, making music.”

"The part that I still don’t get though is why you left? You should have been able to debut as well, I know it."

“Ah,” you say wistfully. You look around and grab onto the pillow that’s on the couch beside you, fidgeting with it as you figure out what to say next. “You know, I actually was supposed to debut.”

“What? How come I never heard about it?” Chan feels a pang in his chest. All these years ago, the two of you had promised that the other would be the first person that they would tell if they ever found out that they had the chance to debut. It seemed that neither of them had kept their promise.

“It was supposed to be a secret project. JYP wanted to see how successful a surprise debut announcement would be. You should have seen the NDAs that they made us sign.” You shake your head, letting out a huff of air. “It turned out to be a good decision because it meant they could cancel it without anyone knowing that we existed in the first place.”

"Who was in the group?" Chan asks.

"There were five of us. I think you know all of them, Sumin, Ryujin, Sojin, and Hyowon," you list. You're right, Chan is either familiar with or has heard of all the girls that you mention. It doesn't make sense though, the group was filled with talented individuals and Chan can't think of any reason strong enough to lead to disbandment. Even more baffling is that of the five of you, only Ryujin ended up staying at the company long enough to join the lineup for another group.

"And they just cancelled it out of nowhere?"

“No... It was- I know that for any idol, preparing for debut is tough, but I think that in some ways, it’s especially brutal for the girl groups," you say instead. Chan doesn't question you further, knowing that you must have a point that you're trying to make.

“How so?” Chan has an idea, he’s seen what the female trainees went through, the differences in how they were evaluated and criticised. But he wants to hear it from you, wants to understand what you’ve been through.

“The visual aspect feels like it’s more heavily emphasised than our talent or skills. We were measured for our music video outfits the second they finalised the concept. It was really early on, but at the time I thought it was so exciting and fun that I didn’t question it. I think that all of us were so thrilled by the thought of debuting that we didn't think anything of it. We did our final fittings for it a few weeks before filming and they had made them all a size too small, everything was just a little bit too tight. They didn’t outright say it, but it was implied that they weren’t going to alter them. It was a choice to lose weight or our chance to debut was gone. We were devastated and angry and eventually just resigned. If that's what it took then I would do it. We dieted like crazy for the time leading up to filming,” you laugh, but it's in disbelief, the sound is hollow.

Paired with what you’re saying, it makes Chan want to burn the whole world down. He doesn't say anything, not sure if he can even open his mouth without letting his rage escape, something that you don't deserve.

“We were practising, like always," you continue. "There was a tricky step that needed to be fixed by the next day when we’d be recording, a flip that we hadn't quite mastered. I was the smallest one on the team, so I was the one being flipped. It must have been like 3 or 4 in the morning, we were all tired, hungry, and nervous about filming. Honestly, I don't quite remember what happened, it was all a blur. There was just this feeling that something went wrong and then pain."

You roll up the pants on your left leg and show off the skin there. Chan has to hold back a gasp at the sight. Even though it’s long healed, the scarring is extensive and obvious. Chan can't imagine how much it must have hurt.

“I broke my ankle in two places and sprained my wrist. I couldn't believe it, five years of my life just gone in an instant. It took months before I could walk and even longer before I could dance again. Even now, I can't dance anywhere close to the way that I used to," you say with a watery smile. “Sojinnie had a concussion from the fall and Suminnie dislocated her shoulder, I must have knocked into them or fallen onto them or something. What could we do? Three out of the five of us were out of commission, there was no time and no budget for a group that hadn’t even debuted to find replacements or re-record and re-film everything. I woke up after surgery and they told me that they were sorry, but my contract with the company was over. That someone had helped me pack up all my things in the dorm. I went back to Jeju-do as soon as I was released from the hospital.”

"I- I'm sorry that I didn't know," Chan says, clearing his throat roughly when his voice breaks partway through the sentence. " I wish that I could have been there, to help or comfort you. I should have-"

"Oppa," you respond gently. "It's okay. I didn't tell anybody what happened and the company also kept things quiet. I'm glad you didn't find out at the time. You had other, more important things to focus on, I didn't want to distract you from that."

"You're not a distraction," Chan says incredulously. "You're important to me, I would have dropped everything to be with you in such a difficult time."

"And that's exactly why I couldn't tell you. You've always been too good to me, Channie-oppa," you sniffle. "Look at you now! I'm so always proud when I think of how far you've come."

Chan lifts a trembling hand and carefully cups your face, using his thumb to wipe away a tear that has started making its way down your cheek. He hears your breathing hitch, but you don't object to his touch. If anything, you melt into it.

Chan takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around you, bringing you close. The gesture breaks the dam of tears that you must have been holding back. Chan rocks the two of you back and forth gently, just letting you cry and trying to surreptitiously wipe away his own tears. It takes a few minutes before you calm, taking huge shuddering breaths that break Chan's heart almost as much as your sobs had.

"I'm sorry," you say with a voice thick with emotion.

"Hey, no," Chan reassures you. "There's no need to apologise. Are you feeling better now?"

You nod slowly, head still pressed against Chan's chest.

"I think- I think I just missed you. I always thought it would get easier, not having you in my life, but it never did."

At your words, Chan can't help his arms from tightening, squeezing you close.

"I finally found you again," he says. "And this time, I promise that I won't ever let you go."

read it on ao3 | masterlist

723 notes · View notes

lilacmingi · 9 months ago

Text

WHEN YOU’RE ON YOUR PERIOD

My works are 14+ ONLY. If you’re under 14 DO NOT interact with me or any of my works

Pairing: ATEEZ x fem reader

Total word count: 8,580

Note: I tried to be vague here in terms of sanitary products since I know everyone has different preferences, but pads are mentioned in Mingi’s segment

★ ────────────────── ★

𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐉𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐆 | 홍중 | w.c. 900

Your eyes snapped open as you were awoken by a wave of painful cramps in your abdomen, the intensity so bad it made you physically react and curl in on yourself, your eyes squeezing shut in response. When that didn't bring any relief, you rolled over on your stomach, then onto your back with your arms resting on either side of your head as you stared at the ceiling.

You tried not to move around too much so as not to disturb your boyfriend, Hongjoong, who was sleeping soundly beside you. No doubt was he up half the night working on music, so you knew he needed his rest.

Quietly, you slipped out of bed to the bathroom and sifted thought your box of sanitary items to get something to put on before sliding back under the covers, silently praying the cramps would ease up enough for you to doze off.

Your fingers curled around the sheets, hands balled into fists as you tried to ignore the pain and go back to sleep. Minutes passed, though it felt like hours, and the cramps were too much to bare, so much that an unconscious, quiet whimper slipped past your lips, your face twisted in agony as you pressed it into your pillow. You didn't realize you had woken up your sleeping boyfriend until he called your name drowsily.

"Y/n? You alright?"

There was no hiding it at this point.

"Just my period. You should go back to sleep."

He ignored your suggestion and propped himself on his elbow, eyes scanning you worriedly. "Are you hurting?"

You nodded.

"Is it bad?"

"Enough to keep me from going back to sleep." You winced as another intense wave of cramps hit your lower abdomen.

"Do you need some medicine?"

"I didn't want to take any unless I absolutely have to."

"I think you need some." He commented, pulling back the covers.

"No." You put your hand out, stopping him from getting up. "You were up late and I'm sure you've got to go to the company and work on music later today."

"I can work on it here just the same as I can at work. I've got all my equipment with me."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." He nodded. "I'd rather be here at home to help take care of you anyway."

With that, he got up out of bed and shuffled down the hallway to the kitchen where he grabbed a bottle of water and some pain medication to soothe your cramps.

"Here, love." He handed the bottle to you after returning to the bedroom, which you gratefully took, dropping a couple pills into your hand.

"Thanks." You popped the tablets into your mouth and washed them down with water before placing the bottle on the nightstand and slumping against the headboard with closed eyes.

A frown etched its way into Hongjoong's flawless features as he brought a hand up to brush your hair away from your face. Being a man, he was unsure of the amount of pain you were in or how intense it was. Despite that, he wanted to make sure you were as comfortable as possible during this time. He was fully aware that this was something you'd dealt with for a long time, yet he had a strong desire to care for you and help you through this time of the month. He cared for you too much to watch you suffer.

Your eyes opened to find Hongjoong still standing over you worriedly, his hand resting on top of your head.

"You can lay back down, you know." You chuckled softly.

He stayed in place for a couple seconds before giving in and crawling back into bed with you, his concerned gaze trained on you the entire time.

"Come here." You beckoned him over and he was by your side in an instant.

"Are you going to be okay?" He asked, his hand finding your lower abdomen and rubbing gentle circles over it.

"Of course I will. I just need to give this medicine time to kick in and do it's thing."

"How are your cramps?"

"They still hurt and I'm still uncomfortable, but the little massage feels nice."

"Good." He smiled, applying a little more pressure causing your eyelids to slide closed.

It's true, the massage was enough to lessen the pain, only the tiniest bit, but it was the gesture that counted.

"Are you feeling hot? Or cold? Are you getting chills? Do you need more blankets? If you're too hot I can turn the air conditioner up or bring a fan in here."

"You act like I'm sick or something." You tittered softly at his rambling. "This is just something I have to deal with every month. I'm used to it."

"That doesn't mean I can't take care of you."

"I guess you're right."

"I know I'm right." He grinned. "You still didn't answer my question."

A light chuckle left you. "I'm fine, Joong."

"Alright. I'll stop with the questions now. But if you need anything, and I mean anything, you let me know. If you're craving something specific or need another bottle of water, anything, just say something."

A fond smile graced your features as you brought your hand up to Hongjoong's hair, lovingly running your fingers through it. "What did I do to deserve you?"

"You're just lucky, I guess." He grinned.

𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐖𝐀 | 성화 | w.c. 850

A knock at your front door sounded through your mostly quiet apartment as you lied in bed curled into a ball.

Not fully awake, you didn't register the persistent knocking for quite some time. Only when it got louder did you sit upright, letting out a frustrated groan. You had started your period the day before and your symptoms were terrible. Your cramps were so bad you had to lie down with a hot pack across your abdomen, the heat making you sweat, though every time you took the pack off, you got goosebumps along your skin and felt freezing cold. To make matters worse, there were breakouts on your face, blotting your skin with ugly, discolored spots, all of these things making you feel gross overall. You hoped whoever was at the door wasn't someone important as you went to answer it.

Your heart dropped to your feet when you saw your boyfriend standing outside.

"Seonghwa!" You exclaimed out of surprise, hurrying to cover your face. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to surprise you. Is it a bad time?"

Yes. Is what you wanted to say.

"I..." You trailed off.

"Are you sick?"

"No. I just look terrible right now."

"That doesn't bother me." He chuckled.

You flinched away when you felt his fingers trying to wrap around your wrists.

"No." You groaned, keeping your hands planted firmly on your face. "It's that time of the month and I'm sweaty, my clothes are soaked, my face is covered in breakouts, I'm bloated, and I'm cramping so so badly that I want to cry."

"Hey." He called out softly, pulling your hands away.

You avoided eye contact with him, not wanting him to see you in such a disheveled state.

His gaze softened when he looked at you, a gentle smile gracing his lips.

"You still look beautiful to me."

You wanted to roll your eyes, but you knew Seonghwa was a genuine person and maybe, even though it was hard to believe, you did look beautiful in his eyes.

"Come on. I have an idea." He took your hand, stepping into your apartment and closing the door behind him before leading you to your bathroom.

You weren't sure what he had in mind, but whatever it was he seemed pleased with himself, so you weren't going to stop him.

Once in your bathroom, he let go of your hand and started rummaging through your cabinets.

"Alright, let's see." He muttered to himself, scanning the items in your bathroom closet.

"Hwa, what are you doing?" You finally asked, a light chuckle accompanying your question.

"I'm giving you a spa day."

"A spa day?" You echoed, your heart fluttering slightly.

"Yeah." He pulled a towel and washcloth from the bathroom closet. "You're feeling bad and what better way to help than to have a spa day? Plus, you deserve to be pampered."

You didn't know if it was your period or your overwhelming love and appreciation for Seonghwa, but you felt like crying.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, my love." He placed a kiss on your forehead. "Bath or shower?"

"Shower."

Though a bath would be nice, nothing beat the feeling of hot water hitting your lower abdomen, right where the cramps were.

Seonghwa was nice enough to get the shower running for you, sticking his hand in to check the water temperature and make sure it was hot enough.

You thanked him as he left the room, removing your clothes after the door clicked shut. The warm steam hitting your skin as you stepped into the shower was a welcomed feeling. You managed to get through your usual shower routine, the hot water helping to soothe your persistently painful cramps, at least long enough for you to finish bathing.

Once out of the shower, you changed into the fresh pair of clothes you brought with you and used the feminine product you had laid out.

Upon exiting the bathroom, you found Seonghwa laid out on your bed.

"How was your shower?"

"Wonderful. I even cleansed my face while I was in there. I feel so refreshed."

"Well, we're not done yet." He got up off the bed. "Come on."

Guiding you back into the bathroom, Seonghwa opened up a little cabinet beside your sink where all your skincare products were stored and pulled out a small box of acne patches.

He plucked one of the star-shaped pimple patches off the plastic sheet, gently instructing you to stay still while he placed the patch onto your face, covering one of the blemishes.

"One more." He murmured, pulling off a second one and sticking it to your chin.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." He placed a kiss to your forehead. "Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?"

"I'm fine for now. Thank you, though. What I would really like is to cuddle up in bed with you, a heating pad, and something to watch."

"I can arrange that." He smiled happily. "But first, let's get you some pain medicine for those pesky cramps."

"That sounds like a good idea."

𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐇𝐎 | 윤호 | w.c. 1,500

Music echoed throughout the practice room as Yunho danced, hitting each move with sharp precision. His facial expressions were intense and full of emotion as if he were putting on an actual performance on stage in front of fans.

You sat in a chair by the wall, watching him with a mesmerized gaze, enraptured by not only him, but his talent and overflowing passion for dancing. Every so often he would glance at you through the mirror, giving you a little smirk before continuing with his routine, knowing the effect he had on you, especially with the sleeves of his t-shirt rolled up to show off his arms.

As you watched, you were suddenly hit with a wave of cramps so painful it caused you to lean forward a bit, almost curling in on yourself. Your face scrunched up in response to the sharp pain.

You had started your period the night before and was expecting to be hit with these terrible cramps sooner or later—it always happened. When you first start, things are light as your body prepares to run its natural cycle, then on the first official day it hits... and it hits hard. Normally, you're woken up in the early morning hours with the most awful cramps, one's that prevent you from sleeping for a while, but on days like this it hits when you're least expecting it.

Rummaging through your bag, you retrieved a small bottle of menstrual pain relief pills, grateful that you carried some with you at all times. Shaking one out into your palm, you grabbed the bottle of water by your chair and used it to take the medication, thankfully going unnoticed by Yunho. Though you wished it would work right away and rid you of this pain and discomfort, you knew that wouldn't happen.

Attempting to ignore the throbbing in your abdomen, you continued watching your boyfriend move across the wooden flooring of the practice room, hoping for a distraction.

Who were you kidding? Nothing could distract you from from the stabbing pain you were experiencing.

The song ended and Yunho moved over to mess with his phone, choosing another song to dance to, his chest heaving up and down as he huffed out short breaths.

"You're doing so good." You praised him, putting on a smile.

"Thanks." He panted. "I think I'm gonna do a couple more songs before I take a break."

"Don't overwork yourself, okay?"

"I know." He smiled softly, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your forehead.

The next song started to play and he moved back to the center of the room to begin the routine. You crossed your legs and wrapped your arms around your midsection, curling in a bit in an attempt to get some relief. It seemed one of the best positions to be in during your monthly was curling up in a ball, of course, you couldn't exactly do that right now as you were sitting in a chair.

Your cramps eased up for a moment only to return a few seconds later, goosebumps rising on your skin as the air in the practice room suddenly felt cooler than it was moments before. At the same time, you felt yourself starting to sweat a bit.

Great. You groaned internally.

These were the worst kind of cramps; the ones where you're hot but you're cold at the same time, unable to find a comfortable temperature.

Halfway through the song, Yunho noticed your behavior. He caught you squeezing your eyes shut every so often, seeing an uncomfortable expression on your face and the stiffness in your posture. His dancing immediately ceased as he headed towards you, turning the music down.

"Are you okay, love? You look a little washed out." He commented, placing his hand on your forehead. "What's going on?"

"I got hit with the worst cramps ever." You groaned, giving up your act as you slumped forward in both defeat and agony.

"Oh, baby." Yunho cooed, crouching on the floor beside you, his hand rubbing your back. "Do you need some medicine?"

"I took some a few minutes ago. Just waiting for it to kick in."

"Why don't I take you home so you can rest."

"No. You need to practice."

"I've been practicing long enough. You need to be somewhere with a heating pad."

"That sounds nice." You sighed, imagining the soothing heat pressed against your aching lower abdomen.

"Let's go."

"I can't help but feel like I'm preventing you from practicing." You murmured after stepping into the elevator.

"You're not." He assured you, grabbing hold of your hand. "I wanted to get a little practice in and I did."

The last thing you wanted was to be a burden. Yunho was a famous K-pop idol whose group had a giant fanbase. He needed to practice hard and spend hours at the company to perfect and improve his dancing and performance skills. Somehow, you felt you were a distraction that would cause your boyfriend to get in trouble with the entertainment company for "slacking off".

Yunho, who could tell by the distant look in your eyes that you were lost in a whirl of troublesome and perhaps even negative thoughts, gave your hand a light squeeze, bringing you back to reality.

"Are you hungry?" He asked. "Dancing really worked up my appetite."

"Yeah." You nodded. "I had a light breakfast so I could definitely go for some food."

"Good. We can go back to the dorm and I'll order us something. You can pick whatever you want. Oh, I have a heating pad too. That should help with your cramps."

"But I don't have any... stuff there." You responded.

You had one or two menstrual items with you in your bag, but that wouldn't be enough to last you a visit at Yunho's.

"Oh. Don't worry about it. I can stop by a store on the way and buy whatever you need."

His offer was so sweet it had you falling for him all over again.

"You don't have to do all that."

"I don't mind." His round eyes sparkled with the genuine desire to help you out in any way he possibly could.

The elevator doors slid open and the both of you headed through the lobby and out onto the sidewalk where Yunho's car was parked on the curb.

At the dorm, Yunho handed you the plastic bag with the feminine products he had purchased for you on the way.

"What would you like to eat? I can go ahead and order it."

After going through a list of things you were craving, you decided on one and let Yunho know.

Just before he left the room to place the order, he stopped at the doorway. "If you want to change into something more comfortable, you have free range of my closet."

As soon as he left the room, you wasted no time scurrying over to his closet and rummaging through his shirts. What you currently had on was comfortable, but there was no way you'd pass up the opportunity to wear Yunho's clothes.

Pulling one of your favorite shirts of his from the closet, you brought it with you to the bathroom where you switched out feminine products and changed into the cozy shirt.

Yunho returned just a couple minutes later to inform you the order had been placed before rummaging through his closet, pulling out a heating pad.

"Come on." He beckoned, pulling back the covers of his bed and nodding towards the empty space.

You slid under the sheets, staring up at Yunho who worked to plug up the pad.

"You should lie down and use this while we wait on the food. Then maybe your cramps will be gone and you can fully enjoy your meal."

Your heart swelled with adoration at his words.

Yunho laid the heating pad across your stomach before resting his hand on top of it.

"How's that feel?" His gentle voice asked.

"So good." You sighed out, closing your eyes. "My cramps eased up a bit on the ride over here, but this heat is doing wonders."

"Good." The smile in Yunho's voice was evident as he leaned in, brushing your hair away from your forehead to place a gentle kiss there.

You peeled your eyes open to see Yunho grabbing his dog-shaped body pillow which he designed for his birthday merchandise.

"Here. You can hold Pudeongie."

You chuckled, taking the pillow from him and hugging it to your side. Though you preferred to cuddle with Yunho, you couldn't exactly do that with the heating pad laying over your lower abdomen.

"Thank you for taking care of me." You hummed.

"You're welcome, beautiful." He combed a hand through your hair. "I need to get a quick shower and wash all this sweat off. Then we can cuddle properly while we wait for our food."

A content smile settled onto your features. "That sounds perfect."

𝐘𝐄𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐆 | 여상 | w.c. 1,000

Twice. That's how many times you cried over a commercial that day. Why? Well, you were blaming it on your period, especially since grocery store commercials didn't normally tug at your heartstrings on a normal day. I mean, how can you possibly keep it together when there's a commercial about an animated man who's little granddaughter pulls out an old recipe book from his deceased wife that he hadn't opened in years?

You were wiping away tears that were threatening to spill when your phone chimed from its spot beside you on the couch. Flipping the device over, you were met with your boyfriend's contact photo taking up the entirety of your screen. It was a FaceTime call. Your thumb swiped to accept the call, holding the phone up so he could see you.

"Hi, angel." He flashed that heart-melting smile of his, waving to the camera.

Judging by the background, he was at his dorm in his bedroom.

"Hi, Sangie."

His large eyes suddenly became sad, worried even, while his lips stuck into a pout. "Were you crying? Are you okay?"

"Oh." You glanced at yourself in the camera, noticing the slightly glossy look your eyes were currently sporting.

It wasn't super obvious that you had been tearing up, but Yeosang was always so perceptive when it came to you.

"My emotions are all crazy. I got choked up watching a commercial." You chuckled, finding it a bit humorous.

"So you're not sad?" He wanted to be certain that you weren't upset.

"No." You laughed softly. "Just hormonal."

Yeosang's brows raised, his eyes becoming wider in sudden realization. Then came the flood of questions.

"Do you need anything? Are you hurting? Should I pick up some pads? Tampons? Do you have enough pain relievers? Are you drinking lots of water? I heard being active helps cramps. Have you been active? Are you taking vitamins? There are supplements that help ease period symptoms. Should I get you some of those?"

"I'm fine, Yeosang." You cut in before he could continue, chuckling endearingly at his concerned rambling. "I'm not hurting too bad. It's only the third day so my cramps aren't too bad. They come and go, but they're not as severe as they were on day one. Yes I'm drinking water, maybe not enough, but I'm drinking it. And I've been lounging on the couch since I got out of bed."

"Ah. Sorry. I guess I got carried away." That tiny, shy smile of his made its appearance as he rubbed the back of his neck in a sheepish manner. "Have you been eating fruits or something healthy?"

You nearly snorted. "Actually, I've been indulging in some of the cravings I've been having." You lifted a bag of your favorite chips to the camera. "So, what are you up to?"

"I called because I don't have a schedule today and I wanted to see if you'd like to hang out."

Just the thought of spending time with Yeosang made your heart soar with excitement.

"I would love to."

"Since you're on your period, I'll come to your place. If that's okay with you."

"Yeah." You nodded. "That's perfect, actually."

"Okay." He beamed. "I'll start making my way right now."

"I'll be waiting." You waved. "Love you."

"Love you too."

The FaceTime ended and you tossed your phone back to the couch cushion, briefly considering wether or not you should leave your comfortable spot on the sofa and put some makeup on. It didn't take long for you to to completely disregard the idea. After all, you had just FaceTimed him and he saw your makeup-free (and slightly blemished) face so there was no need covering it up.

A gentle knock on your front door sounded just fifteen minutes after your call with Yeosang. You leapt from your seat and scurried to answer the door. The man you had been longing to see stepped inside, wrapping his arms around you in a cozy embrace while he gently rocked the both of you side to side.

"I'm so happy to see you."

"I'm happy to see you too, precious." He pulled away, gazing at you with those sparkly, brown eyes of his. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm cramping, but it's nothing too bad. Not right now, anyway."

"You sure?"

"Mhm."

"What do you feel like doing?"

"Well, I was watching TV on the couch but I'd kind of like to lie down."

"Okay then we'll cuddle in bed and have a movie marathon."

You hummed in agreement and tugged Yeosang further into your home, guiding him to your bedroom where the both of you got comfortable under the covers.

Your boyfriend had barely gotten situated before you were resting your head on his chest and snuggling into his side.

It was a blessing that Yeosang wanted to come over because it's exactly what you needed at that moment. Being cuddled up next to him made your heart swell and provided you with a cozy feeling in your chest.

"What would you like to watch?" He reached for the remote.

"Actually, do you think you could sing to me?"

Yeosang stiffened just the slightest bit, clearly not expecting the request.

"Of course. Any song suggestions?"

"Whatever you want to sing." You murmured, snuggling further into his chest.

A gentle smile graced Yeosang's statuesque features as he began singing a current favorite song of his. His fingers ran through your hair in a gentle and soothing manner, your eyes fluttering closed in response as you listened to his silky voice, which was doing a great job at distracting you from your cramps that were thankfully going away on their own, albeit slowly.

Yeosang's voice was heavenly. From his low register to his faint lisp that could be heard in his singing. It all had your heart doing somersaults in your chest.

"So beautiful." You murmured sleepily, as Yeosang's gentle ministrations were making you drowsy. "Thank you, Yeo."

This was all you needed.

𝐒𝐀𝐍 | 산 | w.c. 1,400

4 AM. That's what time you were finally able to get to sleep the night before. It was that time of the month and your incessant cramps were so bad not even Midol could fix it. You were miserable. Normally, you could ignore any mild cramps that would inconveniently hit just as you were going to bed, but these were the kind that kept you awake, the pain just a little too intense for you to relax, leaving you tossing and turning for hours on end. Between the cramps and having to get up to pee every five minutes, there was no way you could rest.

It was after barely after 4 AM when your cramps eased up just enough for you to relax and finally doze off.

Presently, it was 12 PM, which meant you got a decent eight hours of sleep, even though your body felt like it needed just a smidge more.

You pushed yourself out of bed, giving a brief glance at the fitted sheet wrapped around the mattress to make sure you didn't have any overnight leaks. With no stains in sight, you shuffled to the bathroom where you went through your usual routine and freshened up, which woke you up a bit and made you feel a little less crappy.

You swapped your PJs for some loose-fitting sweats and one of your boyfriend's shirts that he left at your place before heading to the living room to turn on the television. After a few moments of mindless channel surfing, you found a show that grabbed your attention and decided to watch.

It didn't take long for your cramps to start up again. The ache, while annoying, wasn't anything too unbearable, not like last night, anyway. So you ignored it, sinking further into the couch cushions while keeping your eyes locked on the TV.

You made it through the remainder of the episode before the cramps really ramped up, the sudden increase in pain and discomfort causing you to lurch forward.

Your face contorted in agony, the sharp jabs in your abdomen leading you to jump to your feet and make a beeline for the kitchen where the medicine was kept. You tore open the cabinet and located the pain medicine you so desperately needed. Since your cramps were just as bad as they were in the early morning hours, you took two pills, assuring you'd get the minimum amount of pain relief.

With a hot pack laid across your lower abdominal area, you settled back into the couch cushions and proceeded to watch television, doing your best to focus on the show. Sometimes having a distraction helped to take your attention off the wrath Mother Nature was thrusting upon your uterus.

At some point, you unconsciously started rocking back and forth, partially hunched over. The heat paired with the movement seemed to be helping just a little, however now a very thin layer of sweat covered your forehead and on your shirt where the hot pack was pressed against your abdomen was a damp spot. You huffed, pulling off the hot pack to fan your shirt a bit and cool off. That only caused a wave of goosebumps to rise along your skin, the air in your home being a little too cold for your linking. So you laid the hot pack back across your abdomen. This went back and forth for the next ten minutes or so, only adding to your frustration and discomfort.

"Ha. Ha. I love being a woman." You commented dryly to no one at all, wrapping your arms around your midsection.

You probably looked pathetic all crumpled up and curled in on yourself but you were in the privacy of your own home and you were in extreme pain. You'd do whatever it took to get it to go away.

The stabbing cramps had gotten so bad in such a short amount of time. Your brain was in a haze and all you could think about was the pain. Just when you felt you had reached your limit, your phone rang.

Fumbling for the device, you lifted it to see who was calling. It was San, your loving boyfriend whom you were suddenly missing very much. You accepted the call and raised the phone to your ear.

"Hello, gorgeous." His silky voice came through the speaker.

"Hi, Sannie." You did your best to sound cheery, but the greeting came out as a sort of pained grunt.

"Are you okay?" The pout in his voice was evident.

"No. Not really." You answered honestly. "I'm on my period."

A tiny gasp was heard on his end followed by an, "Oh no."

"Yeah."

"You poor thing." He cooed. "Why don't I come take care of you."

"That would be great."

"I'll be over there as soon as I can, baby."

Less than 20 minutes later, there was a knock at your door which had your heart jumping for joy. As soon as you opened the door, San walked in and pulled you into a hug.

"Hi dear." He murmured as he stroked the top of your head. "Are you hurting?"

"Very much so."

"Ah." He nodded knowingly as you parted ways. "I know what I have to do."

He balled his hands into fists, crouching down at bit so he was level with your lower abdomen. Before you had the chance to question what he was doing, he began to punch the area where your uterus was, stopping right in front of it because, well, he would never actually hit you.

"Stop!" He demanded sharply, going in for another punch. "Stop it."

The phrase was uttered during each strike of his fist, his words being punctuated by his actions.

The chuckles that had begun to spill from your lips were now turning into full on laughter as your boyfriend continued punching at your lower abdomen, demanding that it "stop".

"Thank you, Sannie." You giggled.

The both of you made yourselves comfortable on the couch where San immediately wrapped his arms around you and held you close.

"If you need anything, let me know."

"Okay." You tittered softly.

Having San with you provided a good enough distraction to take your mind off the discomfort in your abdominal area. He would make comments about something on TV and ask questions to help keep you occupied with things besides period pains.

At some point, you stood up and excused yourself to go switch feminine products, doing so in just a couple minutes.

It was only when you were returning to the living room that you realized your abdominal cramps had gone away but a persistent, dull ache had become present in your lower back.

Your face twitched slightly as you shuffled towards the couch, catching your always observant boyfriend's attention.

"What is it?" He asked.

"I'm having cramps in my back."

"You have period cramps in your back?" San asked in disbelief.

"Sometimes." You sighed, unconsciously massaging your lower spine.

Your boyfriend was baffled. San knew periods could be a pain and there were lots of symptoms that varied in intensity, but this was crazy. Why would you get pain in other areas? He didn't think that was very fair.

"Come here." San took your hands, leading you to your bedroom where he insisted you lie down on your stomach.

You did as he asked, getting yourself comfortable on the mattress before feeling it dip under San's weight.

"Tell me where it hurts." His hands placed themselves on your spine.

"Lower."

His palms slid further down your back.

"Right there."

San's thumbs rubbed over the muscles a few times, making long upward strokes as he applied pressure on the sore spots. A sigh passed through your slightly parted lips as relief washed over you.

"Is that good?" He inquired tentatively.

"So good."

San hated that this was something you had to deal with every month. Even though that's just how things were and he couldn't do anything about it, it didn't seem fair.

"I'm sorry you're feeling so icky, pretty."

"I'm far from pretty right now." You chuckled.

"Not true."

His ministrations came to a halt as you lifted your head just enough to glance back at him.

"I'm serious." He insisted with a pout.

"You're too sweet." You dropped your head back onto the pillow as he continued massaging.

"Only for you, lovely."

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐈 | 민기 | w.c. 900

If there was one thing about your period, it was that it showed up at the most inconvenient time.

Mingi's body moved with such fluidity that it had you mesmerized—hypnotized, even. His body control was out of this world and never failed to hold your attention. His oversized sleeveless tee hung off his slim figure, the thin fabric swinging about as he danced with rigor and passion. His movements were so intense sometimes that the hem of his shirt would fly up and reveal his tiny waist and smooth stomach. The sight was a small blessing to your eyes and just another perk of watching him get in an extra practice session on his weekend off. His brows were pulled together in concentration, his sharp eyes fixed on his reflection, inspecting his own movements. He had no idea you were practically drooling over him in the corner of the room.

You were having a wonderful time when suddenly you felt it... the gush.

Right away, you sat upright and pushed yourself up from your seat, standing stiffly in place.

This abrupt and unusual reaction caught Mingi's attention almost immediately and had him scrambling to pause the music.

"What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I just need to go to the bathroom." You excused yourself and headed straight for the practice room door, trying your best to walk normally instead of the usual stiff-legged hobble you would be doing if you were at home.

You had started your period the day prior and it was already in full swing, hitting you with all it had. This morning before you left, everything was light, so you assumed this time around you'd ease into it, but you were so very wrong.

In the bathroom, you closed the stall door behind you, making sure to lock it before taking a seat to assess the damage.

"Oh boy." You whispered under your breath, reaching for your bag and rummaging for an extra pad in the inner side zipper. Empty.

Oh no.

Normally, you had extra feminine hygiene products with you, however, it seemed this time you had forgotten to replace them.

Great.

After washing your hands, you returned to the practice room, shifting from one foot to the other. It appeared that Mingi hadn't moved since you left the room, his normally narrow eyes now round with worry.

"Is everything okay?"

"Uh." You rubbed the back of your neck.

Just say it. It's a normal thing, Y/n. You reminded yourself. There's nothing to be embarrassed about.

"I don't have any pads with me." You confessed embarrassedly.

Mingi blinked owlishly a few times, not quite understanding what you meant.

You gave a vague nod down towards your lower half, trying to communicate without saying it outright.

Mingi's eyes became wider in realization.

"Ohh!"

"Yeah." You sighed. "I forgot to put more in my bag and I need one... like right now."

You were about to apologize for needing to leave so abruptly so you could take care of the problem when Mingi spoke up.

"Stay here. I'll go find you one."

"What?" You questioned, your eyes following him as he hurriedly exited the practice room.

Without receiving a response, you dropped down into the chair you occupied before your hasty exit moments earlier, waiting patiently for your boyfriend to return.

Mingi moved down the halls of KQ, searching for any staff that may be nearby. He popped his head into empty offices and meeting rooms, turning corners and scouring the place for any employees wandering about. The entertainment company had many staff members, so it shouldn't be that hard.

He came upon one of the lounges, poking his head into the room to find two female staff members having a quick snack together.

"Excuse me." He spoke timidly, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed to ask for feminine products. "Do either of you happen to have any... pads?"

He was quick to put himself back in place, reminding himself that he was helping you out.

You were his girlfriend and if you needed a pad then gosh darn it he was going to get one for you, embarrassed or not.

"Oh. I'm sorry I don't." One of the women apologized.

"I do, but I left my bag in my office on the next floor." The other responded.

"Ah."

Mingi didn't want to inconvenience the woman, especially since she probably had a busy schedule so he thanked them both and left, continuing his search.

He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth while his eyes darted around, reading the labels on each door that lined the hall in search of his next place to check.

After three tries, Mingi was able to get you a pad, which he hoped was enough to sustain you for the duration of his solo practice.

Your boyfriend reentered the practice room, holding up the plastic-wrapped square like it was a trophy.

"I got it."

You plucked the item from his hand, pulling him into a hug.

"You didn't have to do that. I was just gonna go to a nearby store and buy some."

"I knew I could find one quicker by asking around."

You smiled softly. "Thank you."

"Of course." He brushed your hair out of your face. "You feeling alright?"

"For now."

"If you need to go home, just let me know."

"I will. Thanks, Mingi."

𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐆 | 우영 | w.c. 980

You stepped down the aisle that housed all the feminine products you could ever need, Wooyoung coming to a stop beside you as you eyed the pad and tampon section.

"So what size pu—"

"Don't even finish that sentence." You cut him off, raising your hand to stop him. "I don't want to hear that phrase or that word come out of your mouth."

"Yes ma'am." He saluted.

Huffing, you proceeded further down the aisle until you found what you were looking for.

While scanning the different sizes of products available on the shelves, your ever curious boyfriend wandered up and down the aisle to keep himself busy.

Once you acquired what you were looking for, you turned to see Wooyoung holding a box of tampons, examining the packaging.

"You put these inside you?" He asked in disbelief.

"Woo, put those back."

He did as he was told, his face twisted in either disgust or discomfort, you couldn't tell, as he did so.

"Alright. I've got everything I need." You announced, preparing to head to the register until you realized Wooyoung stayed put, staring with furrowed brows at the plethora of feminine products lining the shelves.

"What is it?"

"Why are there so many?" He asked. "How do you even know what to get?"

"It all depends on what you're comfortable with. Some people prefer tampons, others prefer pads."

"Okay but the pictures on these are different." He pointed to a section of pads.

"Right. Some have wings so the pad stays in place and doesn't squish up and some don't. Again, that's all depending on personal preference. Some pads are thin while others are thick so they can absorb more. They vary in size as well. Some people like longer pads so they don't have a leak while they're sleeping or lying down."

Wooyoung's eyes remained wide, his brows pulled together as he soaked in all this new information, scanning over each plastic package.

"How do you know if you need thin pads or thick ones?"

"That depends on your flow."

"Flow?" He echoed.

You did not expect to be having an in-depth conversation about periods with your boyfriend in the middle of the feminine hygiene aisle but there you were.

Then again, he grew up with brothers. Of course he wouldn't know everything about a woman's menstrual cycle. Also you didn't think that was something that a mother would talk to her son about, especially in detail.

"You know how you can barely turn a faucet on and the water runs just a little, but when you turn it more, a lot of water comes out?"

He nodded.

"That's how it is with periods."

"So you can turn it off?"

"Unfortunately not. That's why we need these things." You gestured to the array of feminine products. "What I mean is, with some people their flow is heavy while others are lighter, so you buy products according to that."

"It's not the same for everyone?"

"Not at all. Some people have very heavy flows. I've even heard of people buying bladder leak pads because they're more absorbent."

"It gets that bad?" Wooyoung gaped.

"Mhm." You nodded.

"And it's the same for the other things too?"

"Tampons."

"Right. That."

"Yes. They've got different sizes according to your flow as well."

"Wow. That's so complicated."

"Not when you've lived with it most of your life." You chuckled. "Let's go."

"Girls get cravings for chocolate when they're on their period, right?" Wooyoung asked as the both of you made your way towards the front of the store.

"It's not always chocolate, but yes. Cravings tend to happen." You responded.

"What do you usually crave?" He asked.

"Usually sweet stuff, but it differs."

"Should I get you some?"

Your expression softened as you looked at him, seeing the genuine care in his eyes.

"Sure."

"Come on then. Let's go see what they have." Wooyoung took hold of your free hand, pulling you towards the snack aisle which was packed with junk food and sweets.

You perused the shelves, trying to figure out what sounded good at the moment.

"Pick whatever you want." Wooyoung told you. "My treat."

That made you stop. "What?"

"Your period stuff, snacks, I'll pay for all of it."

For someone who was making period jokes earlier, he sure was being sweet.

You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek, thanking him for his thoughtful offer.

On the way home, you decided to tease Wooyoung since he barely knew anything about periods, curious to see his reaction to a particular prank you'd seen circulating the internet.

"Did you know pads and tampons come in different flavors?"

Wooyoung's eyes widened. "Flavors?"

"Yeah. Didn't you notice the colors and pictures on the packaging?"

"Yes."

"The color is whatever flavor they are. Green is green apple, purple is grape, pink is strawberry and so on."

"Wait really?"

"Yeah."

"Why? What's the point?"

You shrugged, holding back a grin.

"Are you being serious right now? Do they really have flavors?"

"No." You laughed, throwing your head back as you let loose a string of cackles.

"Y/n, that's so mean." Wooyoung pouted. "I almost believed you."

"Sorry." You laughed. "I just wanted to see if I could get by with it."

"I bought you snacks." His full lips were stuck out as he spoke, his arms crossed over his chest.

"I was just teasing, love." You nudged him.

Unable to keep up his act any longer, Wooyoung cracked a small smile.

"That was pretty good, actually."

"I know." You grinned.

"I think you should make it up to me though"

"How?" Your eyes narrowed, wondering what sort of deal he was preparing to strike up.

"Play video games with me when we get home."

A smiled made its way onto your face at his proposal. "I think that can be arranged."

𝐉𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎 | 종호 | w.c. 1,050

The sunlight that seeped in through the window hit your closed eyelids, the intrusion pulling you from your sleep just enough to make you aware of it. You rolled over in bed keeping your eyes shut, snuggling further into your plush pillow. As you slowly began to wake, you stretched your arm across the bed, reaching for Jongho only to be met with an empty space, the palm of your hand hitting the sheets that were crumpled from being haphazardly tossed back into place. The lack of his presence made you frown, sitting up on your elbow while searching the room.

All thoughts of your temporarily missing boyfriend flew right out the bedroom window as a sticky and somewhat uncomfortable feeling below caught your attention. The all too familiar heart-stopping feeling was something you knew well. Without wasting another second, you shot up out of bed, jerking back the covers to find an ugly, red stain on the fitted sheet.

"No, no, no, no, no." You murmured the same word over and over again in a panic.

This was Jongho's bed and it was his sheets you'd just ruined.

"Crap." You hissed, rushing to your bag to grab an extra pair of underwear and fresh pants, taking your toiletry bag with you as you slipped into the bathroom to clean yourself up. While in the bathroom, you managed to get most of the bloodstain off your panties thanks to some cold water and hand soap, which seemed to do the trick. The process was repeated for your pajama bottoms.

Once you were finished, you went back to Jongho's room and promptly stripped his bed, wadding your stained underwear and pajama pants up with them.

You weren't sure where Jongho was, but you hoped you could make it to the laundry room without being noticed.

The universe must've been against you because as soon as you stepped out of the bedroom, Jongho was standing there in the hallway.

"Jongho." You uttered his name dumbly.

"Y/n, you're awake." He smiled softly, his eyes dropping down to the crumpled wad of fabric in your arms. "Why do you have the sheets?"

"I sweat pretty bad last night." You lied. "I didn't want to leave your sheets stinky so I'm going to wash them."

"Oh. You don't have to do that. I can wash them."

You pulled the heap away from him just as he reached out to take them from you. "It's okay. I got it. Really."

He held his hands up in surrender. "Alright."

You hurried past him and into the laundry room, lying the sheet across the top of the washer and dryer along with your underwear and pajama bottoms as you rummaged through Jongho's detergent to see if he had a stain stick or something to pretreat the splotch before tossing it into the wash.

You pushed past bleach, fabric softener, and laundry scent crystals, but you couldn't seem to find any stain remover.

Jongho heard your noisy rummaging from the other room, going to check on you and see if you needed any help. When he stepped into the laundry room he saw his sheets laid out, a dark red stain standing out against the gray fabric. Along with it was your panties and the pair of pajama bottoms you had worn to bed the night before, an equally as noticeable stain on them as well.

Your eyes were blown wide like a deer in the headlights as embarrassment and mortification hit you like a massive wave, your entire face set on fire due to the situation.

Not only had Jongho seen the ugly stain you left on his (probably expensive) sheets, but your underwear and pajama bottoms as well.

You should have moved. You should have scrambled to grab your panties and hidden them behind your back, but you were completely frozen in place, unable to move. As if that wasn't bad enough, you could feel what was sure to be a painful series of cramps coming on in your lower abdomen.

Jongho's eyes met yours and you let loose, sputtering what could only be classified as word vomit.

"I'm so sorry I ruined your sheets. I promise I'll get the stain out. I know it's gross and it's embarrassing."

"It's not gross." He responded, his expression showing no disgust whatsoever. "You can't control it."

"What?"

Jongho shrugged. "It's only natural."

You couldn't ignore the way your heart thumped. Of course Jongho wouldn't think something like this was a big deal. You should've known better. Nothing ever phased him.

Jongho's eyes drifted back over to the sheets on the washer where your undergarment was still laid out for him to see.

"Don't look at those." You stepped in front of your unmentionables to block his view.

"Why?" He chuckled amusedly. "It's just underwear. You've seen mine before."

"That's because you don't know how to keep your room clean and they're tossed on the floor."

"Touché. But it's still just underwear. No big deal." He stepped forward, rubbing the top of your head. "You're worrying too much, pretty."

You huffed softly, sticking out your bottom lip in reluctant defeat.

"Now let's take care of these sheets. What were you looking for in here?"

"Something to pretreat the stain."

"Ah." Jongho moved over to his laundry products, pulling out a spray bottle. "I believe this is what you were searching for. This should do the trick. I've used it to get coffee stains out of my clothes plenty of times. Works like a charm."

"Thanks." You took the bottle from him and sprayed the stains on everything before tossing them into the washing machine.

"I'll start the wash." Jongho volunteered, messing with the settings and starting the laundry cycle.

He came up and rubbed your back soothingly.

"You feeling alright?"

"For now. The cramps haven't started up yet, but I'm sure they will."

"If they do, I've got a heating pad you can use."

Your gaze softened while a gentle smile graced your features. "Thank you."

"Of course." He stroked your hair in a caring manner. "Are you hungry? You want anything to eat?"

"Some breakfast sounds nice."

"Alright. I'll make you your favorite." He pressed a kiss to your forehead. "You just sit and I'll make it."

★ ────────────────── ★

Masterlist ᝰ — enjoyed this imagine? reblogs & comments are very much appreciated!

DO NOT steal, plagiarize, copy, repost, alter, or translate my works in any way

★ ────────────────── ★

🏷 @h3arteyes4mingi @weird-bookworm @poppy2007 @parkjennykim @evidive @mxlly143 @lizzymizzy-blogg @minhanbyeol @dinossaurz

#ateez x reader #ateez x you #ateez x y/n #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez reactions #ateez oneshot #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yunho x reader #yeosang x reader #san x reader #mingi x reader #wooyoung x reader #jongho x reader #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop reactions #kpop oneshots

2K notes · View notes

halcyone-of-the-sea · 11 months ago

Text

PREY

PAIRING: Hunter!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Werewolf!Reader

SYNOPSIS: There’s blood on your hands again.

WORDCOUNT: 16.8k

WARNINGS: Intense gore, body horror, death, mutilation, weapons, firearms, knives, intended harm, violence, blood, descriptions of wounds, angst, fluff, protective!Simon, religious mentions, period time standards for men/women (1700s), etc.

A/N: The first of my reverse AUs is finally here! Enjoy!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The tale of the Werewolf extends back to around 2100 BC. It was written in The Epic of Gilgamesh, scored into a clay tablet by hands long buried—a corpse forever still in the earth so deep, the bones have yet to be found by greedy eyes. Perhaps the oldest surviving story in human history, and there is still a passage that bleeds into stories hundreds of thousands of years later.

In such, Gilgamesh, a man on the search for immortality, rejects a woman for the reason of turning her previous husband into a wolf.

“You have loved the shepherd of the flock; he made meal-cake for you day after day, he killed kids for your sake. You struck and turned him into a wolf, now his own herd-boys chase him away, his own hounds worry his flanks…”

And then, the tales spread, changed, through history and through spoken words of caution. Like water trickling from a well, down the shape of the wooden bucket delving deeper and deeper into a pit of age—of caution.

“The Beast of Gévaudan. Man-eater.” Through France

“He has a wolf-head, you know? Tall thing—short brown hair all over him.” Through Scotland

“Beware the man that changes shape under the full moon.” England.

Now, in the late seventeenth century, it all comes to a head. Even the people in 2100 BC knew that someone who changes into a wolf, or some bastard-like imitation of one, was very much real; it is very much an affliction that overtakes sense and reason. A curse.

Transferable down to the saliva of one entering your bloodstream.

You must never get within the beast’s sights.

—

There’s blood on your hands again.

Hunched over, your body quivers, and the bareness of your flesh in the moonlight is of little concern to you—trapped in a fetal position while the chilled wind howls.

Howls.

“Get out of my head.” Your fingers grasp at your scalp, pulling; ripping. A sob jaggedly slashes your throat open. “Please,” you rattle in a fast breath, the grass snapping as you writhe. “Get out of my head.”

It had happened once more, and you can’t remember any of it.

The forest is deathly still. No birds sing their songs—no breeze moves the long grass, patches trampled down around you as if a beast had staggered into the small clearing you’re lying in. Maybe it had. There are shadows that listen to your quiet panic, the low whines and gasping quivers of your throat; from behind the trees that speak in the way that only they could. The deep night creeps into you, and the moonlight bathing your flesh doesn’t push back the terror in your bloodstream.

Your body burns like you’ve broken every bone twice over, and judging by the blood stuck in between every line and dip of your skin, to anyone walking past, the analogy could be very real. Fingers flexing and bending, you try to force out the venom inside of your head with desperation befitting a dying dog, spine visible out of the skin of your back as you sob all the harder.

You tried to stop it—you had; you always do. But, just like every month when the full moon mocks you with its silver-hued face, it never works.

It never works.

Your eyes stare at nothing as you lay here, in this place of grass, blood, and bile, of corruption as deep as a vile sin of flesh. It came over you like a wave, fingers trapping your throat and bearing it to the caress of fangs. There were different names for it here, miles from your village and the terrified eyes that search the tree line; names coming from the hunters and their black deeds.

Shapeshifter.

Demon spawn.

Werewolf.

“I can’t take it anymore,” you shove the side of your head into the ground, pushing the torn earth away from the cuts of long claws. Tears flood the dirt until it’s wet and muddy, pushing the crimson stains on your skin away in long streaks. “It hurts, God, please, it hurts.”

The sound of your hysterics rises and falls in the stillness—the inactivity of fearful birds and beasts wondering if your fangs would rip from your gums and your claws would tear from your fingertips. Fur along your body the color of which leads to stories of their own spreading far and wide.

The White Wolf. The Specter of St. Francis’ Village. A hound from Hell.

More pale than snow, and sharper seen than a knife or blade through the black trees. Even if the memories of your shifts were fuzzy at best, there were flashes of those who’d seen your gargantuan form from the confines of their stone-cut homes. Those wide eyes. Yelling—screaming; sprays of blood as heads were separated from bodies—

“Stop!” You scream, your legs kicking out as your toes scrape the grass. “It’s not me! It’s not!”

There’s a call of alarm from deep within the woods, the flash of torches and bellow of hunting dogs. They’re running you down, you’d forgotten that in the depths of your breaking mind and body, and by the time your elongated limbs had set themselves back into a more human-like appearance, your spine cracking at every vertebrae, it had slipped your thoughts entirely. It always took you a long time to understand what had happened after…everything.

But even now, the shouts of the hunt are pointless to the visceral breaking of your consciousness, stuck between leaving bloodlust and knowledge of horror. There’s flesh in your teeth, and you wail before your fingers drag down your face, cupping over your ears. In the back of your skull, the panting of dogged breath echoes; running, blood, blood, blood. It’s a dance of fangs, of pale fur, staining every inch and flooding the back of your mouth. Drinking it down like water.

Flesh—lovely, disgusting, flesh rent and torn to the bone with smacking gums belonging to a square snout.

Who had you killed this time?

By the time the dogs had tracked your scent to your curled body, it was already too late.

“Here!” Male voices shift in and out on the backs of crows, hard and cruel. “It’s here!”

“Get the dogs on it!”

“It’s not me,” you mutter incessantly, not truly understanding what you’re saying as hounds burst through the bushes, all snapping teeth and slobbering tongues your eyes widen in an instant. Panting, your jaw clenches; long whines move your throat.

“What…?” Blinking quickly, the dogs surround you—having to be at least ten of them on their nimble legs and thin tails. Everything is distant to you; separated. A knife could be driven through your heart, and you wouldn’t even realize it until minutes later, bleeding out on the grass.

The hounds are afraid of you.

They dart forward and balk back, your scent driving them up a wall until rabid slobber drips from their maws. Torchlight pulls through the trees—quicker now, running. Fangs nick your shoulder and you yell, shoving up to your backside as the world swirls, shuffling away as the dogs snarl. Their eyes are red-huen. Drunk off fear and order.

Your head darts and shifts, blood dripping off your chin to travel down the flesh of your stomach and navel—so much crimson that the whites of your eyes are violent under the moon. Hands slipping over the wet grass, your face pulls and slackens in delirious confusion as you try to stand but fail. You cry out in sharp pain, and the dogs go wild in their kill circle, nearly attacking one another in anticipation.

You glance down and see the black crossbow bolt sticking out of your thigh.

The scent of wolfsbane in the air only then becomes clear to you, and the realization is slow. Wolfsbane—you’d been told about it by the village priest. It makes beasts of the night dumb and weak; minds unclear.

In a moment of clarity, the reason behind your incurable hysteria becomes clear.

Lungs heaving and eyes far-off, the hunting party bursts through to where you stay, and you look up in animalistic fear. Figures dip and slip into one another, faces becoming demons as the visages melt into twos and threes. You yell out, sniffling and sobbing, trying to back up until the hounds grapple onto your shoulder and rip a chuck out of your arm. Screaming, your hand moves back, shoving at its snout before hands staple themselves to your wrist.

“No!” You wail, injured leg dragging as you’re forced back into a heavy chest. Hot breath fans against your neck as multiple grips pull and touch you—shackling you down with rope and chains. Your throat screams itself raw, kicking and struggling futility. “Let go!”

You’re too weak—too drugged off wolfsbane and blood loss. Rotting teeth move across the canvas of a smeared painting, you can’t focus beyond the riot of your heart inside of your ribs.

Grubby hands snap under your chin, digging into your flesh as you cry, not able to move as the restraints are tightened. A silver muzzle is slapped over your jaw. Dark eyes shimmer as you rage—aggravating the bolt wound until fresh blood forms a puddle on the ground, which the dogs lick their lips at.

“Look at that,” a low, lust-filled voice eases out, and hands around your body tightening as you squirm, head spinning. Silver and wolfsbane. Your eyes snap to fight the sudden flood of fuzzy heaviness in your body. “Pretty little Hell-Beast, eh? Almost seems a bit strange to have the Spector be her. Think that hunter shot the right bitch?”

“Course,” another grunt, a hand grabs the top of your head, jerking it up as your head lulls along with the force. You can barely focus on the words being said. “He isn’t a fuckin’ twat. Killed a werewolf in the next village over, too. Heard he skinned the fucker and took its head for his mantlepiece—just like the vampire skull he wears.” A pause. The dogs are still barking—echoing out in the trees. You can’t feel your legs. “Isn’t that right, Hunter?!”

A shout is sent into trees as your panic breeds with the drug, eyelids drooping as your head is snapped and moved by your hair. Your buggy eyes don’t focus on the man until he steps into the torchlight, the crowd parting for him as the metal of your chains drags and clinks together.

It’s as if the very blackness of night takes human form.

The man, the Hunter, is tall—very tall. He looms like an aloof animal over most of the others here with his dark boots and his black hood, and yet, under the fabric, there is no whisper of his face.

Only the upper visage of a pure white skull, and two long, needle-pointed teeth where canines should be.

“Ghost,” one of the men laughs, groping at your bleeding thigh before you shriek, muffled from behind the muzzle, and weakly kicked out. “Good shot, Mate. Right in the meat of the thing. Gave a good trail for the hounds.”

Ghost blinks slowly, grunting under his breath as the large crossbow in his hands is shifted. He stays silent as your visible pulse hurries on as if you were a rabbit and not a wolf, watching from under the cover of his hood. The darkness of his clothes is blue in the moon—silver buttons down the length of a loose shirt and pants stuffed into boots. The hood is attached to a jacket, which itself extends down to his knees and sways lightly with every shift. The silent resting of weapons and tools is not lost to anyone.

Belt of filled vials and large knives; a firearm over his back, and two pistols hidden on either thigh. That crossbow was still in his hands.

Brown eyes openly dig into your soul, dead as a corpse, and your voice whines as your thigh is finally released with a laugh. Your vision blacks and comes back a moment later as you try to breathe from behind the muzzle, gasping. That skull on his face…you don’t like it. It scares you.

And the Hunter only continues to watch numbly as his wide shoulders stay stationary.

“Get the cage!” Someone roars, and you flinch, shrinking until a dog with short fur comes and nips at your ankles, the man holding you grinning sharply as you sob and shake.

“C’mon—expected more of a fight from you, Spector. Getting bullied by dogs, now? Ain’t that a twist of fate, then. Bet this devil’s whore can’t even walk with all that wolfsbane in ‘er, eh?”

A grumble of chuckles as the rattle of metal is in the distance. You grow more fearful, mind flashing to a burning stake and the trials you’d seen in village after village. No—no they can’t put you in a cage; they can’t put you on trial.

They’re going to make it hurt.

“Say we try it out.” A shadow comes closer and grabs you by the arm, ruthlessly shoving you to the ground. You cry out as your spine meets the earth, arms and legs kept under chains that tangle and screech in their metallic way. The rope that holds the muzzle pulls against your neck until you can’t breathe except in ragged wheezes.

“Go on,” they taunt, some holding back the rampaging dogs just to watch you flail and shimmy. Your face grows hot as you struggle to sit up—shaking so violently you can’t focus on anything but the quiver. “Put on a show for us, Beasty!”

Death would be better than this.

Tears hit the ground as the cage is finally brought into view, the men all groaning and annoyed that you hadn’t even attempted a forced shift or a desperate run into the trees.

Ghost’s fingers, you notice from the side of your blurring eye, tighten minutely around the body of his weapon. You do not doubt that he’s wondering if it would be easier to just put a bolt through your eye right now.

“Get it loaded up,” the Hunter’s voice is accented and gravel-like. As if rotting wood is being peeled back and scraped along gravel, he stares at you for a long moment and then glances at the dogs. “And get those fucking mutts under control.”

“Which one?” Is the low-blow joke, and the ruckus of loud amusement that follows makes you want to die.

It’s not your fault, how do you tell them that? It’s not your fault.

Your throat bobs in an attempt to speak, but you can’t move your jaw from behind the restraint of your face—held tight to you as the men come back over and grapple for you again. The priest was right, wolfsbane makes werewolves sluggish.

You can do nothing as you’re ruthlessly dropped into a silver cage, borrowed, no doubt, from the Vatican itself, and christened with holy water. But it was a funny thing, really, and the dark humor wasn’t lost to you even like this. There was nothing godly about this contraption.

Locked in, you shove yourself immediately into a corner and hunch over, grasping at your thigh as the bolt still leaks fluid in a long trail over the ground. The pain is so great in your head, that the physical agony is little—a bullet wound to a sliver.

Your temple slams into the metal, smacking into it as your eyes shove themselves closed.

Head hurts—hurts. I can’t think. Can’t think. It’s humming, my skull is breaking open.

Bile pools in the back of your throat, but the muzzle keeps it in, leaving you gagging as the cage is lifted with a grunt and carried by long poles; back to St. Francis' Village, no doubt, but you can’t…focus.

“Think you might ‘ave given her too much, then, Hunter,” one calls, slapping Ghost on the shoulder as the crowd follows after the panicking quarry. The large man only gives him a look from the side of his eye and the villager pulls away immediately, awkwardly chuckling before hurrying off after the others.

Brown eyes watch your bare body hunch and spasm, pupils wide as you’re carted off.

He’d been generous with the wolfsbane, truth be told. He’d expected you to be…Ghost’s dark brows pull in from behind his grim mask…he’d expected you to be different.

Humming under his breath, the Hunter watches the torches disappear into the trees and lets his gaze linger on you.

There was something…off.

Blinking, he turns, eyes studying the place where they’d found you with sharp attention that misses nothing—not even the birds that come back to settle into the trees again. Large boots shift through the grass, and as he’s re-settling the crossbow in his hands, his eyes find something glinting.

Watching, Ghost takes another step and brings his body to the item in the grass, hidden, before he kneels. Digging with large digits, the Hunter’s hands loop through the chain of a necklace, dragging it through the torn earth until he can gaze at it fully under the light of the moon.

Blinking in slight surprise, Ghost finds the body of a silver bullet hanging from the confines of a leather strap. Brown eyes shifting to look over his shoulder, the man listens to the cheers and merriment of the hunting party mutely. A simmering understanding brews in his gut. It’s only one that you could know from years of experience doing just as he had—hunting and being hunted in turn with a knowledge of all things dark and unholy.

It could never be easy, could it?

A low grunt later, the man sighs out a deep, “Fucking hell,” and moves to slowly stand, slinking back into the darkness.

—

They kept you in the cage and set it on display in the middle of town for days.

Shivering now from the cold more than the wolfsbane, you stay collapsed into yourself as people come past to poke and prod at you—even sticking knives into the slits of the cage and digging them into you like an animal until your flesh was marked and brutalized.

You don’t remember what it’s like to not be bloody.

The bolt wound was festering; infected. You dare not touch it, because the pain only makes you want to vomit, and if you do, you’ll most likely suffocate on your own bile before the trial ever happens.

Yet, on the fourth night of this, as your eyelids flutter and your body grows weaker, a shadow comes to visit.

“You weren’t born one.” It isn’t a question, but the sudden voice makes you startle.

Eyes locking onto Ghosts’, your mind flies with fear—thinking that perhaps there’s more abuse that you’ll be put through. But no…the man has no weapons on him tonight. Only a long knife at his belt. The mask stays.

You stare, unable to speak as your fingers twitch.

Grunting, Ghost’s head tilts, gaze moving up and down as you curl in tighter around yourself. A cold breeze rips through the square, and your eyes clench closed with breaking will. When you open them again, the Hunter is kneeling by the cage, and holding up something in his hand loosely.

“You going to behave if I take that muzzle off?” You nearly gasped at the hanging image of your necklace—a silver bullet on a leather strap; that dark and heavy thing usually kept around your neck. A reminder.

After a moment of wide-eyed staring, you nod quickly to his question, a desperate, pleading thing without the need to utter words. Please, you want to scream at him, take it off.

Ghost’s eyes are as dark as a mound of dirt, sharply intelligent and filled with an unflinching reality. He doesn’t care what you are, and he won’t until you speak to him and let him judge your character far before any courtroom can. The man knows what a lie is better than any priest.

“Good,” he says curtly, accent far more deep as he thinks, re-capturing the bullet in his palm and standing before he shuffles it into his pocket.

You can’t help the anxiety as Ghost moves forward, loping to the side of the cage with the side of his eyes on you incessantly. It’s obvious how his other hand lays limp on the hilt of his blade that, with only one wrong move, you’d feel the chill of the edge with no time at all.

But the temptation of getting this muzzle off was too good to ruin, and so, you stay as still as you’re able as crows call in the distance and the deadness of the town leaks into your blood.

Ghost moves his free hand and orders, blankly, “Closer.”

You hesitate, body tight before you drag your face closer to the bars, angling it parallel with the metal so the tight bind on the back can be taken up. The fear can be smelt the second your eyes have to break contact with his with the turn of your head—neither of you trusts the other.

Ghost hums under his breath at the sight of your broken body coming farther into the open light of the moon, the whites of your eyes all the more visible from under the slathering of blood and tears. He hadn’t been absent to witness the abuse you’d been put through, even if the coin from his successful hunt was feeding him at the inn, a small window allowed the tight view of your torment at the hands of the people you’d once lived around.

But the reality was that you’d killed people—scores of them—and yet the worst part of it was that he wasn’t sure if you even knew that.

It took four nights for him to break his only rule: never get involved after the job’s done.

But the hunch he had was too important to ignore.

Large fingers latch onto the knot at the base of your skull through the cage itself, Ghost grunting at the sight ahead of him. The rope had been gradually chafing over your flesh, peeling back hair and skin until only the bloody meat was left—Simon had to wonder if the people of this village even wanted you alive for the trial or not at this rate. You’d be dead by tomorrow if that infected bolt at your thigh wasn’t taken care of.

Despite himself, a part of his chest tightens at the sight of the thing sticking out of your leg, dripping a yellowish puss. It had been a good shot, and he had overcoated the bolt in wolfsbane.

Ghost hadn’t expected you to be so susceptible to it—most werewolves only got slower, but you…you seemed to have a stronger reaction. He files that fact away and tilts his masked face to the side.

Grasping at his blade, the sound of a knife being slipped out of a sheath makes you startle, jerking your head back and shoving away even as your muffed whine of pain falls out. Ghost momentarily readies himself for an attack, but the way you force your mangled body to the opposite corner has him grumbling out a hard, “Easy.”

The Hunter raises the blade, watching you with unblinking eyes. Your body shakes; panting. It was like calming a feral dog.

“You want the thing off or not? Have to cut it.” Once more, the man rises and walks over, boots almost silent over the small raised platform the cage had been set on like a trophy, you inside are comparable to the golden coins that greedy eyes touch and run their dirty hands over.

Your mind is a troubled thing as you watch this Hunter and his crude knife come closer, kneeling again, and motioning with two fingers to shift your head.

“Out ‘ere,” Ghost says, brown eyes not letting you guess anything about his true motives. “Don’t have time to fuck around. Guards’ll make a round soon and I’d rather not get caught wide-eyed.”

Your brows pull in, hands clenching and unclenching in your lap as goosebumps travel the length of every limb. You were tired—hungry and thirsty; there were open wounds that burned with infection and ones that were crusted over with dirt and grime. You can’t feel your toes, and the tips of your fingers have long since gone numb.

The thought of getting this muzzle off was like the promise of heaven being dangled in front of your nose. Your hesitation this time is far longer than the first, moonlight glinting off the visible blade in Ghost’s hand as he stares. That mask holds death.

The hood is gone from him—only that pale bone left and sewn into dark, dark, fabric. The sharpness of the teeth leaves your throat bobbing in a nervous swallow as your head carefully shifts to rest on the bars. Bending, you present the knot once more and try not to focus on the way Ghost’s attention is fully on your expanding lungs; the pulse that is seen through the meat of your neck.

But he says nothing before his fingers once more grasp the rope and the tip of the knife slips up. You don’t even feel it before the sudden slackening of the muzzle, and then the thing slips from your face before it slaps the bottom of the cage with a dull thump.

The first thing you do is vomit.

Spine pulling in, your body jerks as the bile that had been in the back of your throat rockets out, restrained hands slapping the ground as the acidic concoction leaks from between your torn lips. Face on fire, you choke and retch for what seems like minutes before you can finally breathe in the damp air—the innate shame and disgust rolling through as you cough raggedly.

It’s only after you’d forgotten the man kneeling outside that he seems to remind you of his presence with a grumble.

“Breathe. It’s no use if you can’t speak to me.”

A weak, quivering glare comes across your eyes, saliva dripping off your chin as your tongue moves to lick at your lips. But the brown gaze is as immovable as stone. Finding it pointless, your hands come up and delicately touch the base of your skull, only making you flinch when the fresh blood pools down and over your neck, licking at your shoulders. Tiny droplets fall to hit the metal one at a time.

Ghost’s fingers twitch as he puts the knife away.

“Who bit you?” You stare at him, hands falling before your wrists rub at the aggravated skin of your jaw. He shifts his head, voice slow but heavy. “Speak.”

“...I’m not a dog,” your voice is scratchy, hoarse. You send a small glance his way, mouth open and nostrils flaring in an attempt to bring in the oxygen you’d been lacking.

“Really?” A hidden eyebrow is slowly raised. “Hell, coulda fooled me.”

“Damn you,” you whisper, not meeting his gaze as you shuffle back. The crossbow bolt catches on one of the cage’s bars and you bite on your lip to stop the shrill yell that threatens to exit. Head moving, you lightly slam your skull into the wall in pain.

Breath hitched, you clench your trembling jaw tight.

“Speak or don’t,” Ghost grunts, and he makes a move to stand. “Your funeral.”

A spark of fear stabs you as he begins to shift, and you can’t explain why. Perhaps it was because it was the first conversation you can remember having lately that wasn’t one-sided or on the edge of a blade.

“W-wait,” you stutter, blinking through the blood. The Hunter doesn’t slow, and then he’s on his feet and fixing the gloves over his fingers, flexing his hands before his foot begins to pivot—

“Please, don’t go,” your voice is thin and pleading, echoing through the street. “I’ll answer your questions, any of them you want,” the sentence cracks through a dry throat, tears welling. “Please, don’t leave me here alone.”

Ghost had half of his body turned away before it went rigid; the side of his dead eyes flash to you, swirling with specs of moonlit silver. A hunter and a werewolf lock gazes, great beasts respectively brought together in seconds that seep into slow minutes of delicate need.

Knowledge and company. Understanding and a horrible fellowship.

The Hunter’s eyes twitch in their ever-narrow resting place, glancing away before he mutely moves back to where he was before.

He wastes no time.

“Who bloody bit you?”

You stifle a pathetic sigh of great relief, taking company with a man who had shot you not days before. Yet the ability to speak and be heard was a commodity that was dimming each and every day.

“It was already fully turned,” you speak quickly, tongue tripping. “A big wolf—a gray one with eyes like the sky.”

Ghost glares to the side. Gray? There were no contracts for gray werewolves with blue eyes in the area. Only you—only Specter. The next question is just as stiff.

“When?”

“Three years ago,” your lips move. “Only three years, I promise.” Brown eyes narrow slowly, fingers tapping the fabric of his pants once before he makes a noise in the back of his throat. Ghost’s jaw clenches, mind working through the hoops that need to be jumped.

To you, the questions might seem pointless, but to a hunter, they were important—very important. Werewolves who are born afflicted with this moon-drunkenness are different from those turned by a bite. Not only are shifts from turned werewolves more violent, more deadly, but they rarely know their own actions from that of the frenzy under their skin; those that are born as such are rarely out of control, unlike your faction.

The only question now was if Ghost could condemn you to death when it was obvious your human form was entirely different and you had no semblance of an idea of what was going on. Was it even his problem to care about? Even looking at you now, the man blinked away from cuts and inflicted injuries—the muzzle on the ground.

The blood and the bolt.

He’d known it had been a foolish play to bring all of those townsfolk with him on this hunt but he needed their knowledge of the terrain; he hadn’t passed through St. Francis’ before. At the time, Ghost hadn’t been averse to assistance as long as he got the job done in his own fashion: capture or kill, the contract had stated. Rarely was he known for capture.

Maybe, deep down, he’d known something was already wrong about this.

“Show me it,” the Hunter grunts, staring you down, a deep anticipation growing in his bones. He had to make sure you weren’t lying.

You lick your lips, face pulling with every twitch and sway of your form. The black at the edges of your vision was coming back, and you blinked quickly, chains dragging before you shifted your back with a quivering breath. The punctures were difficult to see through all of the gore, but Ghost made do as he grabbed at the waterskin at his waist and the rag hanging from his belt.

Flooding the fabric in the lukewarm water, he hums out a firm, “Don’t move. Cleanin’ it,” before you feel the press of the rag to your back.

Gasping lightly, you almost jerk away before the sensation becomes a nearly welcomed one—the drag and slight scrape of rough material. Your averted eyes dip lower, staring at nothing as your heart momentarily slows to a normal pace. Ghost cleans the areas where the swell of scar tissue is the most obvious, and, one by one, the violent groves spread out like a slash of paint over canvas. Along the left side of your waist, the blood gives way to a dented ‘v’ shape of healed punctures. Deep, dragging; a point to where your side was almost ripped away before it broke off swiftly.

Ghost’s dark eyes fight the need to widen, and that hidden blankness stays.

A great gray wolf with blue eyes…

His mask tilts, head shifting as his gaze moves slowly. Gloved fingers twitch to touch them, moving in an almost examining way that befits a surgeon and not a decapitator. Your breath is held in the back of your throat, but you sag nearly entirely into the bars of the cage, growing more unsteady by the second.

The scent of infection is so strong it makes your head burn, and you’re overtaken by it as Ghost’s presence suddenly disappears.

You don’t know if it’s minutes or hours before you understand that you’re alone again, but when your limp neck finally turns to wonder where your silent captor is, you are greeted with nothing but moonlight. Blinking through the sludge behind your eyes, the sinking in your gut was stark and sudden—like a knife dragging itself from gullet to navel.

But all you offer is a light whine as more blood moves to cover the places where Ghost’s rag had just cleaned. You were scared of him, no doubt. A hunter through and through down to the vampiric skull on his face and the shroud of death at every inch of his form.

He’d shot you and drugged you with wolfsbane. Found your necklace.

So why had he talked to you?

Your head is too muddled for this, too delicate. Like the crimson under your nails, it dries and flakes off of your brain as the lack of distraction breeds stored agony. There wasn’t anything left to focus on besides the upcoming trial, your death, and the pain that doesn’t let you sleep except for now, on the brink of not rest but unconsciousness.

And at the sound of a key being slotted into the silver of your cage’s door, only then does your body slump with the weight of doom.

You don’t even feel the hand that grasps at your ankle.

—

The sway of the horse makes your teeth clatter with every clop of hooves.

Your conscience mostly comes and goes, only staying in thin seconds where you feel the press of clean bandages on your afflicted flesh and the tipping of warm broth into your mouth. Grass under your head.

Blankets being shuffled over your clothed body when you shiver.

When you’re finally able to speak, when the horse is moving along and hands keep your back stuck to a strong chest, it’s a low, garbled, “Ow.”

Ghost barely blinks down to your head as it slumps to the gait of his horse, glancing before his attention returns to the thin forest trail ahead of him. You’d made noises in your sleep often enough—this was no different except for the fact he felt your shoulders flex.

Slowing the horse with a pull on the reins, the dappled mare settles to a walk.

“You up, then?” Ghost hums, his hand around your waist tightening as you groan under your breath. “Good. Thought I was dragging a corpse—would have wasted my bandages.”

Your eyes shudder as they open into the light, having to focus on moving them before the sting of the sun makes them water. But you do, and then the confusion outweighs the numb stinging of tended wounds.

Head shifting, you look behind you slowly with wide eyes as the horse under both of you snorts.

Brown eyes watch you before a dark brow twitches upward. “What is it?”

You just blink, mouth slightly open.

“Where…am I?”

“Forest.” Ghost states matter-of-factly.

If you had the energy to glare, you would have. Seeing that nothing will get the man into a proper conversation—he was a brick wall even now—you look down at yourself and land on the scarred forearm that keeps you secure on the saddle. Ghost’s gloves were still on, but the sleeve of his dark shirt had ridden back to his upper forearm, and in the wake of pale skin, you find the black ink of all manner of warfare.

Werewolf skulls; vampire fangs and fire. The slash of inkish chains with skeletons.

Your lips thin, your senses slowly becoming your friend again as you stare at the snarling face of a needle-hewn wolf. Eyes tightening as the horse moves to the left, your body follows the reactive action before Ghost’s pressure tightens once more, visibly veins behind the pale flesh. You move on, seeing the thin tunic and pants over your body—feeling under that, the bind of wrappings with the scents of mashed yarrow leaves in the fabric.

They’d been re-applied recently, too.

“Stay still unless you want to re-open them,” Ghost utters, eyes scanning the trees for unseen threats. It was midday by now, the sun high above the trees watching the both of you on your trek to seemingly nowhere. “We’re far enough away, but I want more distance before I take the time to close them fully.”

“The trial,” your arm moves up, fingers grazing the side of your nose before it falls back down. Ghost can feel the air heat with unease. “The…the cage?”

“Trial was two days ago,” he draws, thighs shifting over the saddle. “Give or take.”

The confession isn’t as shocking now that you have woken up here, but the lack of remembrance on your part of that time startles you. It’s a blank slate—just like the aftermath of your shifts. You don’t like not knowing.

The next question comes out with a haggard cough, sweat dripping off your nose. “Why?”

“You’re going to tell me ‘bout the werewolf that made you,” the Hunter grunts. “And you can’t speak if you’re lit up like a pig on a spit. Took you the night we met in the square.”

Through it all, Ghost barely looks at you—always his attention keeps to the trees and the shadows that linger; seeming to listen. He knows more than anyone that they do.

The horse continues on, your pain surfaces again, and with a shuddering breath, you fall into a fitful sleep once more. The arm around your body tightens, and the warmth it lends is accented when Ghost’s shifting gaze glances at the top of your head. He wears an expression he can’t name yet.

When the throws of fever pull their curtains back for the last time, it shows you the slats of the attic above your head, wood polished and clean as the heat of fire moves over your body. Pulling a large inhalation of air into your lungs, you blink softly as if clearing away cobwebs with a broom—willing sense to return in the few seconds it had flown away.

The furs are warm.

In the village, you weren’t anyone of standing. A simple woman—unwed, and, thus, unimportant due to the era the world sees itself in. It wasn’t all bad…namely, it hid your affliction far longer than you could have hoped it did. You had a small piece of family land passed down to you on the edge of the village, and that was where you stayed. Nothing fancy; a hearth, a large, single-room property with a garden and a well. You were known to keep sheep, a fact that had caused perhaps a few hysterical chuckling fits when, every full moon, one or two went missing, but it gave you the ability to accumulate money and, more importantly, an alibi.

Who would suspect a werewolf to own sheep?

But this home already had a more detached feel to it—something removed. The air was sterile, somehow. Groaning, your face tightens before you rise to the palms of your hands, muscles quivering to keep the strength your stubbornness gives to them. Half-vertical, you turn and study the area.

Square, the four walls are stone with mortar and clay to keep the rounded blobs together. You’re on the ground floor, a staircase to the far right while the bed is stuck into the left corner; a nightstand sitting void of all except a single chamber-wick holding an unused candle. A sturdy table with one wooden chair, a stone fireplace set into the same wall the headboard is level with, and a large oak door.

There are runes written on it.

You can’t make sense of what they mean, but when you see them, your tiny-pupiled eyes slip to the rest, all placed at windows or near some point of entry—unassuming things until you realize why they were red in color.

Your shoulders tighten, and whatever bit of magic moves through your skin lets your nose pull to the scent of human blood.

You clear your throat and look away, licking your lips with a dry tongue. Moving your toes under the two bear furs that rest at your abdomen, you notice the lack of earth-shattering pain that accompanies it, and, shifting a hesitant hand, you grab the edge and push it back a bit farther.

Bandages with perfect ties meet you, void of any crimson staining.

Truth be told, you expected more of a Hunter’s home—skulls; trophies. The town always spoke of burnt bodies strung up on crosses that mark the property of those in this profession, a ward and a sign of grim hope. Vampires mostly, wasting away in the brutal sun. Others as well. Werewolf fur and witch bones shoved in blessed boxes.

This place is almost normal, you think, thighs shifting over the dip of the bed as your finger runs the white wrappings where the bolt should be. Your mind dares not go to how he got the thing out of you, and at the stretch of sutures, you take your curious grip off of it entirely.

Looking around once more, your brows furrowed tightly.

Where was the man? The hunter responsible for your current predicament? Ghost. With his vampire skull mask and his black attire—a hellhound with dark ink and intentions. More importantly…

Why were you still alive?

Your memories come back slowly as you stand, bare feet moving to the floor as the tunic over your upper half falls to your knees at the verticality of your spine. They creak a bit, the bones, at the ability to stand fully upwards and not be impaired by bars of silver. A strength seeps through you slowly.

In the deafening silence, you clear your throat tinily and lightly itch at the clean flesh at the back of your neck where the muzzle sat; rubbed raw now scabbed and healing with the spread of natural oil balms. Taking in a slow breath, you step forward with a heavy limp and watch the door, glancing at locked trunks and cupboards, eyes blinking. Your muscles ached, but the sting only served as a way to remind you that you were still here—living. Few in your position were granted second chances.

You’re about to study the runes at the door when you’re called to with the creak of the stairs in your left ear.

“Wouldn’t recommend it.” Your head snaps over, blinking quickly.

Ghost carries the leather holders of his twin pistols in one hand, the bodies of the weapons in them hanging as he comes to ground level one step at a time. Brown eyes glance over through the confines of his skeletal face-covering as he walks to the table, placing down the items.

“Keeps the spirits out—smudge ‘em and the house gets haunted,” he grunts. “Rather not bleed myself again to get the runes copied.”

You stare in mild shock, sound sparking from the back of your throat. “...Right.”

Side-eyeing the markings, you shiver and step back from the door, silent as Ghost seems to focus on his task at hand—looking over his weapons.

Large hands running the metal and wood, the pistols in his grip shift as the drying light of the day streams in through the curtains of the windows. He touches them intimately, knowing every grove and dip until he tilts one and rubs away a slash of dirt from the barrel with his bare thumb.

You quickly turn awkward, looking down at yourself and the bareness of your lower legs. It wasn’t lost to you that the man was the reason you were in this situation in the first place.

“You shot me,” you grumble—not unlike someone who had a knife to their throat.

“Affirmative,” Ghost says nonchalantly. You get a slow, blank glance and nothing more.

“Have you drugged me?” You ask, heart speeding up. There wasn’t anywhere to go—not without an escape plan and with Ghost in front of you.

“Wolfsbane?” The Hunter shifts his thighs, boots moving over the hardwood. “Negative. Not yet.”

“Yet?” An attitude seeps in, lips thinning.

Ghost sighs under his breath, slipping the pistols back into their holsters. “Forgetting about how we met, Love?”

“No,” you huff. “Not really.”

“Perfect.” Eyelids pull down slightly. “Don’t.” Ghost nods his head to the table's chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Sit.”

“I told you I’m not a—” A sharp, numb look makes your snappy reply stall itself, and you stand there for more than a minute before you find the pointlessness of this.

You limp forward and sit in the chair.

Looping your arms around your waist, you glare to the side as your skin crawls at the unblinking eyes that stare. Ghost rolls his shoulders, tilting his head.

“What do you know about the werewolf that bit you beyond appearance?”

“Nothing,” you chuckle hopelessly, moving a finger in confusion. “I…I don’t know why you’re asking me about it—it’s not like I had a conversation with him.”

The Hunter blinks at your sudden confidence, unable to separate your form now from the one in the cage; blubbering ceaselessly in a grassy clearing. But lesser pains always bring out someone's true colors. As long as you told him what he needed to know.

Ghost explains with a sheen of dull annoyance. “Every turned werewolf holds a connection to the one that bit them. It’s pack mentality.” At your blank look, his brows pull in, the mask shifting. “You telling me you’ve never come back into contact?”

“...No?” Your lips dip. “For three years I’ve been by myself with this.”

Brown digs into your face, a small sheen of confusion slipping in to tighten them, around his biceps, Ghost’s fingers twitch.

You lick your lips, speaking up in the impending silence. “I don’t remember anything after I turn. Is that normal?”

“For you?” He mutters, still not taking his eyes off of you. “Yes.”

“I’m not going to pretend like I know what’s going to happen,” you shrug. “But at the very least I want to try and understand why I’m like this.” You open and close your mouth for a moment. “Before you kill me, anyways.”

“If I wanted you dead,” Ghost grunts through a half-amused tilt of his head. He doesn’t beat around the bush. “...You would be.”

“‘Capture or kill,’” you huff. You’d seen the flyers; heard from word of mouth. “Right.” You sigh. “They’ll track you down, you know. They’re not going to just let you take me.”

“They won’t make it through the forest. Bastards would get lost on the trail.” The Hunter moves until he can grasp the waterskin from the counter, dragging it over with his hand. He tosses it to the main table in your direction after he comes back over, and you hesitantly reach forward and pull the top off. Ghost changes the subject back to his studies of your condition closely. Dark eyes slip down your front as your lips part to take up the liquid. “Before your shift, tell me what you see.”

Your throat bobs as you drink the water, thirsty as it soothes your dry mouth. You hum, but the inquiry makes your hair rise. Your arm wipes at your mouth as you lower the waterskin, a small thankfulness in your heart. “It’s less of what I see and more of what I hear and smell—blood; metal. River water. I…” Your chest tightens. “I feel my bones breaking and I hear howling mixing with whispers.”

“Whispers?” Ghost leans, eyes alighting with dim interest. “What’re they saying?”

“I try to block it out,” you whisper, not exactly answering. “Makes it go faster.”

A long nothingness ensues.

The impending night grows deeper, and then Ghost finally speaks again after you begin to shift with unease. He nods firmly, tilting his head as if it’s already been decided.

“Next full moon, you’re going to listen to them.”

Your horrified face snaps up. It’s a moment of stuttering before you force out a heavy, “What? No!”

He’s already turned, moving back over to the stairs and placing one foot on the steps.

“Ghost!” You yell, face devoid of blood.

He side-eyes you. “Go back to bed. You’re dead on your feet.”

And then the same man who shot you in the thigh with little remorse disappears into the attic.

—

The Hunter was a strange beast.

The days the two of you spent together were mostly silent—left with tight stares and tense shoulders. Clipped sentences.

Ghost, for what it was worth, gave you space in this small house; as much as you could get. He kept himself up above while you stayed on ground level keeping yourself occupied. You’d gotten spare trousers and socks, a jacket, and the bed was practically yours with how your scent rolled off of it now. Yet, you had never been permitted to go outside.

You’d seen the land from the windows—careful of the runes, of course, and it wasn’t anything… ghastly. A vegetable garden, a single-stall stable with a dappled mare, and a beaten-down trail out the front.

No livestock.

No bodies.

It was only when you had become ever more curious about your lupine curse that you braved the stairs to the attic—one week into the impromptu stay. It’s funny due to the fact that Ghost had never said that you couldn’t go up there sooner.

You stand now in the flat room with a sloping roof and find the man making bullets. It’s a long table, parallel to the walls in the center of the room; dark and covered in all manner of books and tomes. Grimoires tied up and locked. Racks of weapons with markings and blessings tied to sheets of ribbon…it was something you’d never seen before.

Studying it now, the contents were a dark fascination.

Ghost fiddles with his silver shell, mixing in gunpowder into the hollowness. He doesn’t speak until you do, but he knows you’re there.

“Tell me more about werewolves,” you speak through the air, and he waits before answering. “The ones who are born with it.”

“Rare,” Ghost comments, and you’re stuck by how willing he is to tell you about this. He puts down his bullet and picks up another. “Harder to find, even harder to kill. Unlike you, they know what goes on when they’re running ‘round. Fuckin’ nightmare to pick up the pieces—bloodbath.” You thin your lips. “Not all of ‘em are murderous, but they’re unpredictable. Can’t help but make packs.”

“Instinct,” you murmur, coming a bit closer. Ghost pauses, looking at you before huffing in the form of a gruff ‘yes.’ Your wondering continues. “But why am I alone then?”

“That’s the question,” the hunter says slowly. “Need to figure out why.” Brown eyes slowly move to you. “‘Fore more people end up dead. Or turned.”

“Can I,” you stop at the table, standing opposite the man. “Can I turn people, too?”

“No,” is all you’re given. Ghost’s eyes glint. “And I’d rather you didn’t bite on me to try.”

Your face heats.

Your attention focuses for a while on how he works—prepares for something unseen. He’d said he’d kept you alive to help him find the one who bit you, but he’d also cleaned your infected injuries, bandaged you, and fed you. Kept you warm. Safe. It was far more than could be said about your village.

However, it was strange how Ghost’s stark muteness was something that you found in the darker hours, a small comfort. When the moon was coming in from the windows, and you hid from its rays as if being stalked down, he once found you sleeping under the bed on the floor because of it.

He never said anything, just offered you a silent hand and helped you back out with a slow blink and a tilt of his head.

There was a distrust, obviously, but there was also an unspoken nearness. No one would make any sense of it—you couldn’t either. It was like a wolf and a raven; something built on hesitence but necessity. You didn’t like Ghost’s mask or his brutalist profession of shooting his wolfsbane-coated bolts, and he didn’t like that once a month you turned into a rampaging werewolf.

Comparable things, really.

But even here, in this workshop in his attic, you saw the need for this—for hunters. If you couldn’t stop yourself, there came a time when you had to be stopped. Truth be told, you expected it to be a quick and final end. Maybe that was just a foolish hope.

A silver bullet would have always been your final song, you believed. Perhaps the very one that had once swung from around your neck; the one you’d never taken off until now.

But then, perhaps that would have been your own brutalist profession.

“Thank you,” you nod. Ghost pauses, fingers stained with gunpowder. He blinks at the bullet in his hand as you continue. “I know you don’t care about anything beyond your work, but if you hadn’t gotten me out of that cage they would have burned me alive. Skinned me.” Your tongue pokes out of the side of your mouth. “I don’t know, but it wouldn’t have been kind. Job or not…thank you for getting me out of there.”

“I shot you,” he utters, voice gravel. Ghost seemed confused.

Your lips flick. “I never said I forgave you for that part.”

A smooth chuckle wafts out over the attic and your own softly mirrors. Your head tilts somewhat quizzically. “But, about that…did you mean to put so much wolfsbane on it?”

Ghost shakes his head, grumbling. A small sense of honesty leaks out. “...Expected you to be bigger.”

You blink, and then, a few seconds later, a loud snort echoes like a ringing bell.

The Hunter's unimpressed look only leads you to find him all the more enjoyable. “Shut it. Fuckin’ hell.”

A hand is waved from your party, dismissing the harsh snap. “Sorry, sorry.” You puff out amused air. “Spector not up to your expectations?”

Ghost nearly rolls his eyes, trying to focus on the task at hand. He didn’t mind your company, at the very least he knew he needed to keep an eye on you for any potentially forced shifts or hostile attitude. What he hadn’t expected was to find you so…different from your muzzled counterpart, your shared physical inhabitant.

He could almost call you endearing if he wasn’t so numb to the sight and scent of reality.

“Sightings were far between,” Ghost grunts. “Here-say. I took an educated guess—better to put something like you out of commission than drag my way out of a forest without legs.”

“No apology?” You try, tilting your head.

“None,” is the drawn response. “I don’t have regrets. You’re alive.”

Your fingers touch the outside of one of his journals, tracing the bumps and grooves of age and wear. You hum, but don’t reply. Most of your pains have been pushed back now, even if you still weren’t up to full strength. Food and rest helped, but the anxiety that perpetuated only lengthened the healing process.

When you can’t trust even yourself under the drunkenness of the moon, it only makes your fear of the sun worse. Everything made you afraid—most of all your mind; most of all, the future.

“Why do you want to find the werewolf that turned me?” You have to speak this, have to push. Your curiosity demands it.

Ghost puts the bullet down and grabs a rag from his belt, mask turning to look your way as he brushes off his hands. He pauses, looming with that gargantuan height—natural intimidation in the span of his chest and the trunk that makes up his front. You find yourself in his shadow as he rubs at his fingers with the rag, taking it away and slotting it back into his belt a moment later.

The man’s heat leaks into your body as he blinks over, glancing your form up and down in a single look; keeping a respectful distance but still making his attentions known.

He stares. “If it keeps biting people, there won’t be any villages left to take up contracts from.”

“Money?” You frown.

“Principle,” Ghost counters, chest rising and falling steadily. “There needs to be a middle ground. Too many feral werewolves, too few people. Cut off the head.”

“Ominous,” your form turns to his, itching at the back of your head again—the scabbing skin. “If what you said was true, how do you know the thing isn’t already dead? If it hasn’t tried to get to me, what was the point of making me?”

“Because you hadn’t left St. Francis’ by the time I put a bolt in you.” Ghost grumbles, rubbing a hand on his bicep, itching above the fabric of his tunic. He stretches with a grunt—and you see his shirt ride up and the pale skin underneath. You gawk for a moment at the length of scars and brutal muscle.

“Charming,” you dryly utter, stuttering in a brief second of pulling back your senses, but the Hunter continues on, ignoring you.

“That was where you were turned—your territory. You stayed because your leader is still close by waiting.” Legs shift, and all of a sudden, a body is over you, hands are on the base of your skull, pushing your own away as brown eyes dig into the injury you pick at.

Your breath hitches, tensing for a second as your spine straightens. You watch widely from the corner of your eye as Ghost runs a careful hand over the flesh. He puffs a breath, chest moving in a grunt that is both commonplace and expected, yet the brush of his chest to your shoulder is not.

You restrain a shiver, nostrils moving to the overwhelming swell of leather and gunpowder. Bone fragments; the tang of whiskey.

His skin as he runs a thumb over the edge of your wound.

“It’ll start cracking.” Ghost utters, and through his fabric, you feel the brush of speech. “Have to apply more balm. Stop messing with it unless you want stitches soon.”

It takes a moment more of his surgical study and a small clearing of your throat before you can speak. Your mind changes the subject for you.

“So…if my bite can’t turn anyone,” you breathe, nearly sagging as Ghost’s fingers catch in your hair, shifting it under his attention to get a better look. He listens, you know. He wasn’t good at talking, but he always listened. “Why did they muzzle me?”

For a brief instance, you think you feel the Hunter’s fingers jerk a tiny amount—some reactionary muscle twitch that leads your body to still.

Ghost can’t say why he did that, though perhaps it was the sudden flash of the injuries that he’d wrapped on the road back to his property that went over his eyelids. Or the cage—your pleading face aching for whatever small sliver of brutish company you can get.

The silver bullet that he still had in his pocket, attached to that leather cord. He knew the purpose; the intent. Just as he knew the scrape of scabbing under his fingertips.

“Control,” he grumbles, and it’s all he’ll say.

Your burning face is somewhat down-turned, letting him do as he must, study what he can. He hadn’t made any moves to endanger you, and besides the upcoming full moon, there was nothing here that screamed imminent danger. Danger as a general, yes, of course. You were a werewolf in a hunter’s home—it would always be…your eyes flutter when his fingertips drag over your scalp…it would always be danger….dangerous.

Ghost doesn’t think you notice it, but your eyes are drooping.

He watches after the slight shock wears off, a tiny smirk flickering the hidden skin of his lips after he realizes the reason. If you had a tail, he’d assume it would be moving in a soft arch by now.

The man was mildly amused at that, and before he moved away fully, he had to stop himself from uttering a sarcastic, ‘like that, then?’

He had to remind himself not to get attached to whatever…this was. He was using you as bait, as some key to his problem. Not a companion. The distance here had to be firm and heavy-handed.

“The balm is down in my packs,” he grunts, leaving just as his name implied before you had the chance to gather your bearings and the lack of caressing heat. You startle back to the attic room, eyes wide and face loose before Ghost’s retreating footsteps echo on the stairs. “Don’t bloody use it all, then.”

The front door opens and closes with a pull of weighted wood.

—

“I can’t do this,” you mutter, pacing alone in the middle of the night down in the living room

The full moon was tomorrow.

“I can’t do it,” you itch at the back of your head, peeling at the nearly healed flesh harshly. Your nails dig into the soft tissue, drilling like a knife. A bead of blood slips around your fingers, but it doesn't stop you.

It’s late—late enough to know that Ghost should be asleep by now. For days, the paranoia, just like always, builds until you are nearly as mute as your Hunter. No more curiously searching his attic; no more questions about his job or how he got into this business. Brown eyes had been lingering more as the days went by, this strange companionship growing. You knew, in his own way, he was…worried.

So silent, even he had been getting noticeably uneasy. Shifting legs and quick glances. Nights where you hid under the bed from the moon until lunch came around, Ghost speaking as easily as he could to try and coax you out to no avail. You, a feral dog with white-rimmed eyes.

At supper, only hours before this panicked pacing, you had told something to Ghost that made him double-take.

“If I can’t stop it…I need you to shoot me. In the head.”

He’d never answered, but his eyes seemed to get ever-sharper as the hours continued on. More tense. Ansty.

But…that was his job, wasn’t it?

“Can’t do it,” you murmur. Blood slips down your wrist. “It isn’t right—”

“Spector?” Ghost’s voice had become so familiar to you that the only thing that made your heart skyrocket was the sudden call of it. Your gasp is sharp from behind a panted breath, hand flinching away from the crater you were steadily digging in your skull. A long string of blood trails into the air as your fingers jerk away, and it’s only then that you notice the deep pangs of pain.

Your eyes shudder for a second as Ghost’s form makes it to ground level. He comes over slowly, attention staying on the way the moonlight makes the crimson stains glint from the dripping line seeping into the sleeve of your tunic. He blinks, and you both stand.

The man’s skeletal adornment was missing, though the fabric under remained. A loose sleep shirt and pants, stained by the rays of night.

“Let me see,” he sighs under his breath, a tiny rasp telling of the sleep he’d been awoken from.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” you utter. He doesn’t seem to care, grabbing your wrist and pulling the limb away as his body takes up presence behind you.

“Was already awake,” Ghost grunts, eyes narrowing in hidden worry. You calm down a bit at that, one less problem to worry yourself about.

The Hunter, quietly, leaves for a second and grabs his pouch near the door. With a muffled command, he nods to the bed until you’re backing up and hitting the back of your knees off of it, sitting.

Ghost lights the candle on the nightstand and opens his belongings with stiff glances your way. He noticeably doesn’t ask why you’ve harmed yourself like this.

“I can’t,” you say it like a plea for help. “Ghost, I can’t do it again.”

Hands fiddle with clean bandages and take out his waterskin. The man douses a rag with the liquid and comes over, shifting onto the bed and lightly turning you so your back is to him—legs half hanging off.

The hard press of cold water makes your breath hitch, and you bite your lip.

“It hurts,” you push out. Ghost knows you’re not talking about the newly opened wound.

“Breathe,” he says to you, seeing the way your sides expand with heavy lungs. Brown eyes flutter from the push of his large hand to the warmth of your shaking flesh. “Tell me about your home, yeah? Heard you lived in your own place.”

The question makes you double-take.

He’s asking me that? Here? Now? Hours away from perhaps another catastrophe?

Yet, you can’t help the slippage of your tongue as Ghost’s fingers rub into your scalp. The rag is lessened, and, soon, the material is rubbed gently over the sore itch of weeping skin. You fight a whimper and reply with an addled mind.

“It…it’s quiet. Calm. I always keep the candles going because I don’t like the dark.” Ghost works quietly and quickly.

“There,” he grunts, glancing at the flickering light of the candle he lit. He’d have to remember that. “And?”

“I kept sheep.”

He pauses, and, without meaning to, a soft scoff bounces off the confines of his chest. It catches your attention far better than a bullet could. Ghost shifts a needle and thread out of his gathering of items, taking away his limbs only for the short while it takes him to loop the two together.

“How many?” The masked man asks, amusement gone just as quickly as it had come.

“Only a handful,” you whisper. Your mouth opens and closes, glancing over your shoulder as the candle-light spills out over the room; casting shadows over Ghost’s face, catching on his long eyelashes. Those browns of his glint like tree trunks covered in dew.

“Please,” your words are muffled. Eyes wide and fearful, there isn’t anything that can console you on this. “You need to kill me.”

There was a dichotomy to you—a violent thing. You didn’t want to die, no, you feared it heavily, more than the moon, but the truth was that you couldn’t keep going through this. The unknowing. The breaking bones, the blinding pain. The understanding that nothing that you do can stop it.

“It hurts, Ghost,” your breath stutters. “More than taking off a limb, more than slicing yourself open and ripping out your intestines—it burns more than the light of the moon.”

The Hunter listens through all of it. He sits, he stares, and he hides the brimming sense of concern behind his dead eyes.

With a pulling of his eyebrows, Ghost’s free hand moves upwards and grabs your chin. Freezing, you study this phenomenon from over your shoulder, face on fire with eyes wide to the pale skin visible to your view. You hadn’t realized until now, but this was the most you’d seen of the man’s face.

You could make out the point of his crooked nose—the strength of his jaw under the form-fitting fabric. Cheekbones and the heaviness of his brows. Wisps of hair. He had eyes like a cat, you had to admit; something sly about them despite the numbness that seemed to extend bone-deep.

But his hands had been kind to you.

Firmly, Ghost’s fingers run your flesh, and he blinks softly before a low sound echoes in his throat. He pushes carefully on your jaw and shifts your head back forward so he can help you. When he lets go, your heart quivers in your breast

“I’m ‘ere,” he mutters, and you feel the first stitch enter the thin flesh of your head. You take down deep breaths, focusing on the scrape of his fingertips and not the point of the needle. Ghost can understand the fear of it—of pain. It’s instinct. He tilts his head and pushes out, “I can only ask for one full moon from you, yeah? No more. I just need one.”

“And if I can’t find the werewolf?” Your voice vibrates with emotion, staring down at your hands as Ghost’s chest brushes your spine. The scent of him was addling your brain; the rub and slide of his hands.

The Hunter’s jaw clenches softly. “...Then I let you go.”

It wasn’t what you were expecting, but anything from the time you’d gotten a bolt through the thigh was unknown territory, and, like a dog without a leash, you’d run into it. Your brows furrow, blood oozing down your neck before Ghost’s grip shifts to place the rag back again, swiping away firmly.

“Go?” He nods, but you can’t see it. “But what about the hunt?”

“I can manage.” The stitching pauses. The air is broken up nearly a full minute later. “You’re not evil.” Before they start up again as if nothing was uttered aloud.

The confession makes the sting in the back of your eyes start up again—a strong thing of confusion and vulnerability. Ghost continues his task, pulling together your skin one suture at a time until the injury is fully closed; clean.

“Chin,” he lowly states, and you allow him to tap your jaw, shifting it up so the wrappings can loop above your ear and over your forehead—securing them.

Even far after the blood has seeped through, the two of you stay.

—

Come morning, you already feel wrong.

Your body stays in bed, shaking—sweating. A large pain flairs in your chest over and over like a pulsing well in the earth, skin twitching with the spread of blood. Ghost sits beside the bed all the while, having dragged over his chair. He leans back into it, one arm over the side, hanging with the thing ever so often moving to rub at the back of his neck.

You don’t think he’s moved since he brought it over last night; since he got another candle to stick into the holder—push back the dark. To watch, to study, or just to stave off your rising anxiety is another question.

It’s only after the fourth time you try to rip at the stitches at the base of your skull that he finally grabs your hand and holds it silently. Now, his thumb moves over your knuckles—his gloves back on.

At noon, he tries to suggest eating.

“Hungry?” Ghost asks.

“No,” you say instantly, sweat dripping over your temple, your body partially buried under blankets. “No, I’ll just throw it up.”

Brown eyes glint. “Just one bite?”

Your mouth is already salivating—thoughts of wet flesh and blood in the forefront until you whine and shove your face into the pillow; panting heavily.

Whispers dance in the shell of your ears.

I’m here.

“Go away,” you whisper quickly to them.

Ghost pauses, hesitating. After a moment, his thighs tense with the action of movement, thinking you’re speaking to him. Something swirls in his chest, but he starts to stand nonetheless.

Your eyes widen.

“No!” Both of your hands latch onto the Hunter’s wrist, fear a needle stuck in your gaze. “No, not you. Stay, please.”

A silver cage covered in blood slides across Ghost’s slightly shocked look, but he only licks at the corner of his mouth and slowly leans back once more.

“Not going anywhere,” he says, accent dipping. “Tell me what you’re hearing, yeah?”

His hand slips back into yours, and he presses into your pulse softly, counting. The sun continues across the sky.

“I don’t like how it sounds,” you say, shaking your head. “It’s wrong.”

“Focus,” Ghost breathes, looming closer. His grip squeezes once. “It can’t hurt you.”

You shiver, eyes tightly closed as tears burn the back of your nose. “It’s howling.”

A suddenly gloveless hand spreads up your cheek, resting there and pushing back the sweat that pools. It’s calloused—scarred. You whine, head spinning.

I’m waiting.

Find me.

“I don’t want to,” you utter under your breath, words an amalgamation of slurring gasps.

“Spector,” Ghost calls, head moving closer. “Eh.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” your hurried panic is similar to a mind overdosing on wolfsbane. “Gotta go away—gotta get out—”

“Spec!” The Hunter’s quick bark makes your eyes pop open, and you lock instantly with brown orbs.

They’re tight, unblinking just as always. They offer just a few moments of clarity.

Ghost holds your head still while the rest of you shivers with cold sweats, you can hear the blood inside of his veins; his heart pumping. The scent of his skin was addicting to the point of memorization on the airwaves. You watch, gulping down breaths as your throat bobs.

Eyes dart you up and down, fingers spreading out to offer what little comfort he can. The man wonders if he’s completely in over his head.

Ghost pulls his face-covering up to his nose, and your heart skips beats at the sight of ravaged skin and stubble, scars spreading out like your own. Long ones, short ones, burn marks, and hyperpigmentation. He wasn’t pretty, but he was real.

Oh, he was real.

His grip on you strengthens until all you can focus on is him.

Ghost blinks, and you see his lips move. The gravel of his voice was never more clear. “Fucking hell, keep that head on, okay? Nothing’s going to happen as long as I’m here. I’ve got you.” He sighs out a low breath, thumb running your undereye as the small dribbles of tears begin to sneak out. Ghost murmurs. “I’ve bloody got you, alright? Let it happen—we can figure it out.”

He’d grown fond of you over the course of a month. You were curious; not pushingly so. Honest. Good. You’d been dealt a bitter hand, and damn him if his stone heart wasn’t stretched thin at the raw fear on your face. This wasn’t your fault, but he needed to find who turned you and stop them before it got any more out of control than it already was. If more unstable werewolves went running through the woods, there wouldn’t be anyone left in the territory alive.

“When you turn,” Ghost says as clearly as he’s able. “Go. Don’t fight it. I’ll find you.”

“Promise?” You ask, a weak flicker coming to your lips—eyes vulnerable.

Ghost nods once, and it’s all you need. “I’ll find you,” he repeats. “Doubt me?”

“No,” you ease, clearing your throat. “But…one more thing?”

“Anything,” the Hunter instantly says.

“Just don’t shoot me in the thigh again.”

When the claws start protruding from your nailbeds hours later, you’re bolting to the door with only one last glance at the Hunter and his half-pulled-up mask. Booted feet hitting the wood as he stands, he lets you go even as his thighs tense in a need to run after you. Patience was his beast to tame, but it seemed to have left him in the form of a woman disappearing into the tree line.

There is companionship in broken things.

Your body slips into the forest just as the creak of your bones begins to shift and bend. You fall into a heap, hearing the gargling of marrow under your skin like a call to sea. An urge grows to infect you; a feral need to run and hide. Biting back a shrill scream, a hoarse yell escapes instead—flesh rippling as your mouth opens, fangs breaking the supple mushiness of your gums as blood floods like a river.

Find me.

“Ghost,” you whisper, hands snapping to your head. “Ghost, please.”

Your bullet, you want your silver bullet.

A rabid scream rips from your throat, and back in the house, Ghost’s hands tighten into fists as he glares at the open door. He growls under his breath, eyes tightening in a certain type of anger that brews in his gut. The nights your shuffling woke his light slumber were more common than when you hadn’t, and every utterance was clearly heard to his ears. It had become a curse to him—how you’d met.

A regret was seeping in, a care, and now, as he forces himself to back up and head into the attic, Ghost clenches his jaw tightly. So unaffected by the horror of monsters, he was now at a loss of sense for this growth of feelings.

He wasn’t dull, he knew that some of the contracts he took marked him as a tool and not a person of stable mind. He’d done things he wasn’t proud of, and he would continue to do them for no other reason than they were the orders he was given.

But you had broken a piece of that off of him, somehow, someway, your face had seared itself into his retinas—speared him at the brutality that your community had treated you with. The muzzle. It was cruel, and while Ghost was precisely that, there was a limit.

He did his job, and that was that. Anything after wasn’t his problem.

You became his job, and the one who turned you was an add-on. Maybe if he justified it to himself, he could understand his actions better.

But he was already sprinting to grab his gear when the first howl shattered the night.

—

A white beast prowls the forest.

It stands on two legs, but it isn’t human—isn’t natural. It’s taller than a grown man is; snout pulled back in a soundless snarl that puts dogs to shame with rows of teeth so sharp, they look like pale knives. Its feet—large, splayed—soundlessly skate the ground until clawed fingers slam to the earth.

A nose inhales the scent above the dirt, tongue lulling as a shaggy tail lays limp behind a curved spine. In between the erect ears, under the thick skull of the werewolf, the rolling bumps of a brain spark. A pull.

Find me.

Your eyes are tiny black dots—and they blink once before you rise once more. A great growl moves inside of your chest, the large collection of hair around your neck standing on end.

I’m waiting.

But there’s something that keeps you here—standing in the grass as the moon shines atop your head, your fur nearly glowing even with the stain of bloody injuries. The remains of clothes are about a meter away; only strips of what was.

Your gaze looks over your shoulder, and your gargantuan frame lumbers backward until you can stoop to them—nose once more sniffing with your arms reaching.

Your fingers twitch, blackened claws digging through the ground as a near purr echoes in your throat. The scythe-like additions card across the strips.

Gunpowder.

Leather.

Whiskey.

Something you can’t quite name, but feel drawn to despite the tightening noose at your throat. There was something there you can’t focus on…something that you need.

Your drooling jaws snap, saliva coating the fangs until they drip off one at a time to stain the grass. Body shifting, your head lowers until your wolf-ish visage rubs against the fabric, licking at the sides of your gums as delicate grumbles slip out of your mouth.

A far-off howl leaves your frame freezing.

Eyes slipping back into the feral-inhumanity of a wild animal, your body jolts up, gaze to the forest trees and the rustling of bushes. The swell of rain on the clouds is in the back of your nose, and the previous attraction to the ripped clothes is lost as simply as it had come.

You were being summoned.

Ears twitching, the entirety of your body refuses to move to the sound; tensed and ready to spring on anything that moves if only to let off the spike of anger at the lack of control. The pull grows stronger, and it feels like something is trying to drag you away into the wilds.

This was the sensation you were always trying to fight—the one that led to the aggression; the hunt. You knew that if you followed that howl, whatever was left of your human sense would be gone entirely before you could stop it.

Yet, this time, there’s a nagging need to find the owner, and you can’t remember why.

Your large head tilts, feet spaced as the curve of your spine grows more aggressive—hunching forward as you snarl at nothing, claws shaking as your fur is more bristly than sleek.

Like pure white spikes.

In the back of your head, a thin sliver of a memory slips in. Fingers on the back of your head, caressing calluses and dark, dark, eyes. Clean bandages and gentle touches.

I’ll find you.

If the side of your vision picked up the shadow shifting from far off into the trees, your curled lip never turned that way. If your nose twitched to the heavy weight of a man’s sweat, it never shifted to point as a mutt would to the rustling bush.

Your body bolts after the resounding echo of a wolf’s howl, and it’s no later that Ghost slips after your clawed prints to follow.

—

Crossbow in hand, the hunter’s mask gleams in the darkness, his pale eyes twinkling. Bending down, he glazes at the long pushing tracks of your form—seeing the spray of dirt to the side and the broken branches. Ghost blinks, shoulders tense before he swiftly stands and continues on. The firearms at his thighs lightly rattle, and the bolts in his crossbow are already laced with wolfsbane; silver tips smelt a week ago.

He passes a river with only a single glance at the tossed rocks from the bed, sloshing through the water as the bottoms of his pants get weighed down. Ghost’s mind is on one thing only: make sure this plan won’t get you killed.

The bolts aren’t for you—the silver bullets aren’t for you.

He grunts under his breath, the dark woods casting phantoms over the ground. The Hunter’s legs shift through tall grass, and he carries himself with the ingrained confidence a man of his station requires. If he were anything less than a monster himself, he would have died ages ago. Ghost shoots and lets others come up with the questions, but he could never be called dumb.

Seeing what fast glimpse he had of your shifted form after the last time, he was struck by how erratic it acted. Snapping head, twitching ears, and roving eyes. If he didn’t know any better, Ghost would have called it rabid.

Yet, your actions with his borrowed shirt were…body-stilling, to say the least about it. It had made his gut swirl.

“Give me a trail,” Ghost utters to himself, brown eyes still picking up the dash you’d taken. His agile feet splash through a puddle, the beginnings of raindrops hitting his head.

The man grabs at his hood and pulls it up stiffly, frowning under his mask.

Rain would wash away the tracks.

“C’mon, Love,” he grinds out, body hunched. “Leavin’ me to do the dirty work, eh?”

It’s too quiet—even a collection of minutes later of hard hiking, the trees barely move. There aren’t any birds; no animals beyond the black bodies of crows in the far-up branches, waiting, watching with obsidian eyes that don’t blink.

Ghost isn’t off-put, but the length of his strides gets far tinier, carefully stepping over twigs and rocks like a soldier at war. Then again, he was at war. And if he was caught unawares, there wouldn’t be a bullet to pull out of his side, but, instead, a chunk missing.

His ears were almost ringing from how hard he was focusing.

Brown eyes shift from one area to another, and then, suddenly as if a deer, he freezes.

Ghost’s body winds up, fingers twitching from the stark trigger discipline of his crossbow downward instantaneously. No one but him can explain what just happened, but he knows when he has to listen instead of act. Stuck in a clearing not unlike the place he’s first met you, his feet rest shoulder width apart and his eyes stare blankly into the trees ahead.

Your tracks end here.

From behind him, just as the large raindrops slap the side of his bone-ed visage, the small crack of a twig makes his ears twitch.

A low snarl sets his hair on end.

Looking over his shoulder, Ghost is met with the same color that he’d become so accustomed to in a full month completely blacked out. Void. Lifeless to anything besides rage and bloodlust.

Your white fur was infected with dirt, blood, and leaves—a mosaic of ferality ingrained into your body; pale fangs snapping. The beast slips through the treeline, slapping a veined hand into the soggy earth.

Ghost only watches, eyes a mystery.

His finger shifts over the trigger, and for the first time in his life, he hesitates.

The man looks into your glinting orbs, the dripping saliva on your lulling tongue as your esophagus pants for breath. One hesitation, he always knew, would mean death. One mess-up.

You’d asked him to end it, he shouldn’t feel remorse, guilt, perhaps—he was still human, despite his appearance, but remorse was deeper. It left wounds that were harder to lick clean again.

…So why isn’t he sending a bolt into your forehead?

Ghost remembers the times he’d found you under the bed, your shaking, and the way you hadn’t allowed him to change your bandages the first few weeks you’d stayed with him; didn’t want him to touch you. The nightmares and the small smile you’d gain when he’d spew his dark, sarcastic words as if this was a joke. How you’d always thank him under your breath for the food he’d give you, hunted by his own hand.

A silver cage. Crimson blood. The sight of your pleading eyes when you’d told him to shoot you.

Maybe the two of you were far more alike than he’d dare to admit. And he currently won’t, not even on his deathbed. Not even now.

Ghost watches, and he waits.

He can’t do it.

Your body slinks closer, stalking with the sound of anger, nearly rib-shaking in its volume. Ghost’s jaw clenches, and his body shifts to face yours head-on. At the sight of the crossbow, your snarl turns into an air-biting rage, saliva flying through the rain.

“Spector,” he keeps his voice low, even. The sight he’d seen as you smelled his clothes had to mean something. Ghost tilts his head, moving out a hand from the side of his weapon in an appeasement gesture. “I’m not going to shoot you. We have a job to complete…get those fangs away.”

He wonders if ordering you around will even work. You had told him before—you’re not a mutt. Ghost agrees. No mutt was the size of a fucking boulder.

The werewolf’s claws drag—goring the mud as if a pig to tear apart.

“Spector,” the Hunter tries again. But something’s different about his tone; he drops it, letting it pull on a softer string. “I’m here to end this. We’re here to end this.” He blinks and lowers the crossbow completely. “Breathe. The night can’t last forever.” A breeze whips the trees. “I made you a promise.”

There’s a second, he thinks, where he can see something shift in your gaze, pupils slightly widening above the deluge that wets down your fur into a sopping mess that hangs off muscle.

“That’s a girl,” Ghost grunts, taking a small step closer. “Never told you,” he utters, eyes locked with yours. He sees your nose twitch minutely. “But if we get this right, Spec, there’ll be no more painful shifts, hear me?”

Your dog-ish mouth is closed, hanging off every word as Ghost comes even closer.

“I kill this bastard,” the hunter breathes, gloved hand still outstretched, nearing closer to the near-silver of your form. “The moon’ll have no claim on you. She’ll let you off the leash, Little Wolf. You get to decide when it happens.”

He thinks he has you now, back to some state of recognition in the addled brain that tries to see him as prey; as competition. Ghost’s fingers are close enough to almost touch you, but just before he can brush his gloves over your wet fur, your mouth opens in a display of untamed challenge. Your growl is enough to make the man unconsciously reach for his pistol, and in the time it takes him to realize the fault of it, you’ve already rampaged forward with an unhinged jaw.

Ghost’s eyes widen, taking a quick step back.

Your legs push off, and you shove the hunter out of the way just before the fangs of an immense beast can clamp down on him, your own finding the shoulder of gray, thick fur.

Fighting as wolves do, Ghost only needs a moment to recover and get to his feet, though the sight in front of him can rival any that he’d seen before. His crossbow clatters a few feet away, sending the bolt off into the trees with a metallic ‘twang’.

The two werewolves roll around the pouring clearing, snapping teeth and rending claws drawing blood that’s deep enough to swim in to the green grass. White and gray meld together—blue eyes like a knife to Ghost’s chest when he takes it in from between the sound of tearing fur.

“Bloody fucking…” the man trails, staggering as his palms slap to the pistols at his side. He blinks, shouting in more of a bark than even a dog could imitate. “Spector!”

The wolves pull and rip the other to shreds, flesh torn and limbs grasping for purchase. Bodies are slammed to the ground before getting tossed to the side, fangs flashing in the moonlight. Ghost watches crimson stain your fur a pinkish-red.

He can’t get a good shot.

The werewolf that turned you sinks its claws into your sides, dragging them downwards as you yowl, eyes tiny with aggression before your jaws connect with its snout, biting down with more force than a horse’s hooves. The monster screams—a garbed thing of fangs and saliva.

Just as easily as it called you here to it, as it stalked your Hunter, it bashes your body back into the earth and takes you by the scruff of your neck. Eyes wide in that lupine way, you lock on Ghost’s profile before your body is lifted, and tossed away violently.

Spine slamming into a tree, you hear the cracking and bending of your bones in your ears just after you hear the sharp shout from the man in the clearing, body dropping to a heap into the grass and mud. Angled head flopping back and forth, black infests the edges of your vision, coughing up blood that seeps from between your gums and slips down the back of your esophagus. Fur and flesh are stuck at the base of your throat.

Whining, your limbs drag and pull futility, eyes flooded over with crimson and fogged by rain. A great roar worries the air, sending long shivers over your spine as you try to rise to your limbs, a five-fingered hand slamming you back down.

Just before the fangs can clamp your throat, two great booms burst through the forest.

The wolf atop you reels back, great bellow escaping its throat when you can finally drag your head to look over. This beast was clawing at its chest, shaking its large head in an arch to try and dispel the shock of having two silver bullets entering its back—the gray head snapped around to Ghost, who held his twin pistols aloft with eyes burning with anger from behind his mask. An avatar of vengeance; a bringer of death.

The orbs inside of your sockets widened, nose twitching wildly as you bleat a quick warning bark.

Blue-Eyes rises, body far larger than yours would ever grow to be—on two feet more powerful looking than a bricklayer many years into his craft; tall enough to reach to the sides of black-shingled homes and pull itself up. Ghost takes one look and growls under his breath, knowing there would be no time to reload the weapons in his hands.

So he drops them and pulls slowly at the cruel blade in his belt until the gleam winks in the low light like a curved smile. Setting it in his hands, the small flicker of a sharp smirk on his lips is lost to you.

Yet, there isn’t a chance for some brawl between two beasts—there’s only the flash of pale fur and the final crunch of a body hitting the ground.

You bury your fangs into the wolf’s neck; the one responsible for all of your pain and torment spanning years of isolation. You feel the body seize as it drops, the last remnants of a dying brain trying to fight the inevitable nothingness that ensues, and, you only hold on the harder, the bloodlust seeping back in with every drop of life pooling into your locked jaw.

Your throat releases tiny growls of pleasure, biting a bit to make sure there wasn’t a sliver of a chance that something living was walking away from this scene.

Ghost pauses, and in the back of his head, he knows he should stop you. Brown eyes see the animalistic sheen of enjoyment at a fresh kill, the way you pull at the flesh until chucks peel away from a gurgling wolf. Even when the thing is long dead and the rain still slaps the earth, you barely let go until you get a hold of the meat and tear with a backward jerk of your snout.

“Love,” the Hunter sheathes his knife, taking a step forward. The blood was pooling under your body. How many of those were treatable? He had to know. “Let me see what’s—”

The eyes that lock on him are not yours.

Up to your ears, the entirety of your face was awash with the stain of life, dripping off the whiskers at your cheeks; your chin.

Before he can utter another word, he finds himself on his back with a snapping snout right in front of his face, two dead eyes staring deeply into his own. Ghost sucks down a quick breath, hand snapping to the large wrist shoving down on his chest.

He pants out, gravel accent far more deep than it was before.

“Easy, Spector. Easy. Eh—focus on me.” Your tongue licks at your fangs, body shaking. Ghost pushes out, “That’s it, then. It’s over, yeah? You did it; let's pack it up and head back home.” He grunts. “Recon even dogs get cold in weather like this—the bed’s waiting. Get a nice fire going.”

Ghost sees your face move closer, and his hand minutely shifts to the vial of wolfsbane on his belt. It wouldn’t kill you, but it could put you out of commission until your body shifted back into its proper form. He could carry you back—that wouldn’t be a problem at all.

But he was worried about your injuries. Even now the droplets of blood roll off of you faster than the water can.

Too much.

Brown eyes crease, darting a look down.

“Fuck,” he growls, seeing the carnage and the open meat. “Sweetheart, we need to get you checked out—you need to listen to me. Can you do that?”

He can see the conflict; the internal fight.

Your mouth moves with fast pants, claws stuttering over his gear futilely. You blink rapidly, shaking your large head in fast increments with small snarls.

“C’mon,” Ghost says slowly, fingers looping the vial. “Keep listening. Know my voice is utter shite, but only you can tell me it.”

Your head drops to his chest just as the wolfsbane is popped open, and, for whatever reason, Ghost pauses. He waits.

You take a long inhale of his gear—of the leather and the gunpowder, and just before the Hunter can dump the vial over your skin, the long blackish claw on your finger loops the bottom portion of the fabric under his bone attachment.

The man’s breath hitches as you let it rest along his nose bridge…holding it there as you drag your head upwards as if it were an impossible chore. Your mouth dribbles out gore to his cheeks, but the Hunter stares upwards into your eyes as they soften in a lupine way.

Inexplicably, you let out a bone-rattling sigh and slump into oblivion.

—

Come morning, you sleep under the spread of large fur blankets—clean bandages over your bare frame as the man has tended to you for hours. He mutters for you to slip your arms into a spare shirt after he finds your eyes open, not uncomfortable by your nakedness, though he wants you yourself to be at ease.

His brown eyes are creased, and you can’t remember what you’ve done.

You comply with small grunts and moans; more sore and cut up than you can recall ever feeling as a large tunic is slipped over your head by scarred hands.

Gunpowder.

“What did I—?”

“You finished the job,” he says, sparing you a glance as he shifts back with his eyes averting themselves from your visible legs. The sun seeps in through the windows. “It’s morning.”

You blink slowly, and the man eases you back down into the furs.

“I’m tired,” your voice yawns out—weak and brittle like the hope you’d had that this plan of his would work. Eyes half-closed, they blink at the hunter with a soft kind of care that you can’t remember showing before. Whatever pain medicine he’d given you, it was working. The underlying itch was still as strong as ever, though.

“Tired is good,” Ghost nods slowly, standing still until he crosses his arms and sets his feet. He’s in a fresh shirt and pants. There’s blood under his fingernails; traces smeared over his flesh. “Means you accomplished something.”

“Don’t think that’s entirely true,” you breathe. A pause. “...Why is your mask like that?”

It was half pulled up—showing off his lower jaw and the stubble. The scars that you already have memorized. Ghost shrugs, blinking those dead eyes of his.

“Ah,” he grumbles. “Forgot. Here.”

He reaches up and slips the thing off in one motion. Your loose brain takes a moment to realize the entire face you’re staring into, but the second it does, the image is engraved into your mind forever. You make a noise in the back of your throat.

“Better, Little Wolf?”

“W—” Your lips stutter, new sutures pulling tight. “Why would you…?”

“Hungry?” Ghost asks, quickly changing the subject. “Know you like that venison that I caught.”

“No,” you breathe. “No, I’m not…I’m tired, Ghost. My head hurts.”

A hand sweeps over your forehead, staying as you sag into it with a hum and a fluttering of your eyes.

“Bloodloss,” the Hunter murmurs. “Normal. Go back to sleep; take however long you need. I’ll be here.”

The bond between the two of you has strengthened to that of a silver rope.

“Stay,” you plead under your breath, already slipping back into nothingness with no promise to wake up again soon. “Hold me, Ghost?”

“Simon,” he grunts to only himself, knowing that the words are lost to you. Perhaps that makes him all the more eager to share it with you when you’re better. “Stay still.”

It wasn’t like you could protest.

The broad man slips in, shifting the furs until you’re covered back up and your forehead is to his chest—keeping himself closest to the door where the runes still sit in their bloody glory. If he listened hard enough, he could even hear them humming him a tune.

No song was better to him than the one of your breath at this very moment. Alive. Moving. There were many times in the night that he thought...hm.

“Better, then?” The dry tease slips out.

A kiss to the side of his mouth is what he gets in answer, and he doesn't say a peep more until he knows you’re back in the clutches of a dream—a good one, he knows, because he watches your expressions like a loyal guard dog would.

Ghost, Simon, rests his lips on the top of your head, and in a delicate murmur, eases, “You did good, Love.”

There was much to do, but for now, all he had to do was hold you a little bit tighter and let his stone heart beat a little bit faster.

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

2K notes · View notes

blackknight-kai · 2 months ago

Note

listen ok? listen just a mo! gimme a chance

Modern reader with DO or SW who is shaved. or better yet waxed. just smooth as a baby

You and your monke getting frisky for the first time and the molecular movement of the universe stops the second he sees you bare... like wtf?!? Where's the fur? what did you do to it??? Why did you do it?!?

shennanigans follow, he basicaly gets all hissy and pissy and you need to promise to give your fur a chance. Once it grows out he's like "MY fuzzy peach."

Fur or no fur?

HAHA friend you always are on the same wavelength as me. I have THOUGHTS. (N.S.F.W WARNING FOR THE ENTIRE POST!!!)

He would not give TWO FUCKS about how hairy you are. Ever. Have you seen him? I’ve been thinking a lot about how he absolutely would not mind if youre a hairy person or whatever your weight is. That shit WOULD NOT MATTER. I feel like he’d love if you let your hair grow though vs being shaved/waxed. He lives in the jungle why wouldn’t he eat there too? 💀

I’ll try to give a little Drabble on both since it’s fun to imagine the subtle differences between them.

Reader in this is in a situation where she’d been zapped to the past but can go back when she needs to the present (after lots of trial and error). Sometimes he comes along, being her anchor to the past, and sometimes he stays back waiting for reader. (N.S.F.W bullet notes at the end :) - this get explicit for FEM READER you have been warned)

Destined one

The bathroom is warm and steamy from your bath/shower combo, you sigh opening the door letting the cool air into the room as you step into your connected bedroom. Seeing him look up at you as you come into view while he’s lounging on his back on your bed makes your heart beat quicken with anticipation. He’d been playing with your tablet, something he’s oddly gotten really good at messing with and especially enjoys the little word games you’d downloaded for him. Your world is still extremely strange to him and while he’s ever curious something as simple as these little games can keep him entertained for hours.

The reason he’s visiting today isn’t just because he’s curious about the life you came from. Oh no. Today, you both are taking a much needed break and a little private time for yourselves without the worry of constant danger or interruption. Since the day you’d become a couple you two had not really had too many moments for just you guys. It had been months since that day and you’d both gotten a little…pent up so to speak. The most you’ve gotten to do with your handsome monkey is heated make-outs where hands wander as best they can and a little grinding over the clothes before something or someone decides to ruin the moment.

It was a little bit of a shy awkward conversation but you’d both agreed that coming here would be the best solution to your continuous cock block issue. And since you were coming home anyway you figured you’d do a little self pampering and prepare for your first night with him. You’d even put on your favorite pair of ‘sexy’ panties, no bra, and slipped on a silk robe.

You smile as his tail, which had been completely still and draped across the blanket, starts to lazily thump against the bed, curling and uncurling as soon as his eyes locked on to you. It’s one of the ways you know he’s happy to see you. His eyes are another of his tells. The way he always looks at you with such focus and intensity. It makes your cheeks redden and a thrill run down your spine.

There is a thick tension growing in the air as you both study one another for a moment before he sets the tablet to the side on your nightstand and gets up from the bed, his eyes never look away from you and your heart pounds loudly in your ears as he stalks deliberately around the bed to stand just before you. Youre focused on his expression, it’s softer than usual. His frown lines relaxed and while he has that determined look on his face it’s not stern like normal. Out of the corner of your eye you can see his tail swishing behind him.

Gently he reaches out and you lean into his touch as he places his large calloused hand on your cheek. As he does so he brings his face closer and brushes his simian nose against yours tenderly and then he does it again with a slight smirk lifting up the corner of his eye and a soft questioning grunt. Seeing you nod he lets out a pleased sigh through his nose before leaning in to capture your lips with his. It’s chaste at first but quickly deepens as he wraps an arm around your waist to bring you closer and slides his claw tipped fingers down your neck with the other. Things rapidly heat up as the pent up need in you both starts to take over. Hands start to wander and you both start to breathe heavier as he impatiently slides his shirt off his shoulders. Your fingers immediately reach out to touch and slide through his warm fur starting from his tense abs all the way up his chest and over the hairless patch of skin just under his neck before circling your arms around his neck.

His own hands start to move too, holding you tightly against him as he starts to explore your curves. Impatiently he yanks at the robed tied around you while his tongue explores your mouth, wanting it off NOW. With a little laugh you try to reach down to untie the knot but you’re not fast enough. As he kisses hotly down your neck, having takin a moment to taste your skin, he presses his fangs to your throat gently as he rips the robes belt. You gasp, both turned on by the show of strength and annoyed he’d ripped it.

“Hey!” You say breathlessly and shiver as he nips your neck before kissing it as an apology.

Now that your robe is no longer hiding you from him he pulls your body into his by strong hands and you shudder at the feeling of his fur rubbing softly against your naked skin. His body answers in kind and he kisses back up your neck to devour your lips, his hands slipping into the opened robe to wander up and down your back. You allow the silk material to fall from your arms and on to the floor before wrapping your arms back around his neck. It’s like something has taken a hold of you two and you cant get close enough, cant feel enough, and before long he snatches you up into his strong grip only to deposit you onto your bed as he climbs over you.

You both groan as he lowers himself on top of you settling himself between your spread legs like he belongs there, his clothed hips thrusting instinctively against yours showing you just how hard and desperate he is for you. Your body arches up against his unable to stop the movement as he humps down against you for several moments while you pant into each others mouths, his fur tickles your breasts as your chests brush together making you let out little shivers. The claw tipped fingers of one of his hands dig into your hip and back as he starts guiding your hips to grind harder, your pussy pressing incessantly against his cock, the other arm is propped up next to your head keeping his weight from crushing you.

Your panties are soaked from how needy hes made you and you can tell he knows when he suddenly takes in a deep inhale through his nose before pulling back just a little to look down at you, his eyes are blown out with a heated lust you have only ever seen a few times. A little whine escapes you as he continues to pull back from you, he grins a little, the cheeky bastard, as he hears it. He’s breathing heavily, just as you are, and as he pulls his hips back from yours a groan rumbles through his chest at the visible wet spots you’d both made on the front of his blue pants and on your panties from your combined need.

Almost like a monkey possessed he slides down the bed, diving down to kiss your lips once and then nip at your exposed skin from your neck to your breasts. You tip your head back, your eyes closing in pleasure, as he pays special attention to suck each of your nipples into his mouth one at a time with a groan before releasing the currently captured nipple with a wet pop to continue his mouths journey down your stomach and to your panty line. His breathing has picked up even more, sending trembles through your body as his breath tickles your skin. Part of you feels a little self conscious as he is clearly taking in your aroused scent.

Without warning he shreds through your panties and you gasp at the action finding it ridiculously hot. You expect him to dive down and glide his tongue over your pussy lips to taste you or to spread your lower lips open with his thumbs so he can start to devour you with his mouth from how desperate he seemed, your anticipation is almost enough to send you over the edge.

But none of that happens. Nothing happens besides him making a very confused noise in the back of his throat. At the sound you glance down and you’re met with a sight you genuinely weren’t expecting.

He’s frowning. Not a look of disgust by any means but his expression is almost the same as when he’s seeing something from your world for the first time. Confused.

“Uh, you okay?” You ask feeling your heart pound with a slight worry.

He doesnt even glance up at you as another confused sound leaves him, it’s a mixture of human and monkey, something entirely just him. You watch as he slides his hand from your inner thigh, where it had been holding you open, and he pets over the smooth naked skin of your pussy lips almost tentatively. You’d just shaved in the bathroom in preparation for this moment so you know your skin is silky smooth.

A grimace accompanies the frown and now you’re starting to feel self conscious. His fingers explore but not in the heated way you would expect. His touch remains light as though he doesnt know what hes looking at and you cant stop the shiver that courses through you as his thumb brushes across the slick that had leaked from you, but he doesnt do much besides continue his investigation, not even opening you up to look as he is entirely focused it seems on your smooth skin.

Feeling nervous and wondering if maybe he’s changed his mind you squirm uncomfortably and lay your hands across your chest self consciously. “Do you,” You find your voice and with a worried heart ask him what’s now plaguing your mind. “Not like it? Does it look weird or something? You look like you hate it and if you dont want me-“

Your voice cuts off as his eyes snap to yours and his expression shifts immediately to one of apologetic realization. He shakes his head and lets out a little comforting noise as he starts to climb back up your body peppering little kisses all the way from your stomach until he captures your mouth in a firm kiss. You grip on to his biceps as he deepens the kiss desperate to prove he wants you. It’s a messy kiss and after a few moments you laugh and pull away. His frown is still there but it has a worried edge to it and you know he’s trying to convey his true feelings to you, its even more apparent as he nuzzles your cheek with his nose and gives you little kisses of apology.

“Okay okay,” You breathe out as he cups your other cheek with one hand and gives firmer kisses. The back of your thighs are resting over top his as he holds himself above you with one hand still on the bed next to your head. “It’s okay!” You try to say although you’re not quite sure what’s happened. “Just tell me what’s wrong, I dont,” Your paused voice has lowered to a murmur as he pulls back to look at you, his thumb brushing your cheek gently. “Understand why you were looking at it like that….”

His face takes a different expression at your words. He still looks a little apologetic but its taken on the edge of a…pout? It’s similar to when you sit just outside the reach of his tail so he cant wrap it around you and he stares at you until you either move closer or he huffs with annoyance and either pulls you closer or moves next to you. You watch as he seems to study you for a moment as though he’s trying to figure out what he wants to convey to you.

The hand on your cheek moves away as he bring it down to your pussy again. You watch curiously as he brushes his thumb across the smooth skin before he reaches up and tugs on a lock of your hair. It’s your turn to frown up at him and he huffs a little before finally opening his mouth to utter a single low raspy word.

“Fur.”

Fur? You think to yourself as you also bask in the snippet of his voice that he rarely bestows on the world. He pointedly tugs on your hair before lowering his hand again to pat the soft skin between your legs, the action sends a jolt through you and makes your thighs tighten around him. His lip twitches at the action and it takes you just a moment but you finally realize what his problem is.

When you giggle his eyes glance down and narrow as your breast jiggle a little with the movement, you reach out and pet his cheek. He nuzzles into your touch with a slight sigh as he looks up from your chest. “You’re wondering where my hair is?” You ask with a smile. He nods and kisses your palm as your thumb brushes across the fur on his cheek. “I removed it for you!”

He gives you a confused look as if to ask ‘Why’ & ‘How’.

“I shaved it off earlier, it’s something most women do now a day’s. Guy’s usually prefer it that way,” You explain and you might have gotten offended by the look he gives you but it’s honestly too damn funny.

His nose wrinkles and he looks as though you told him modern people bathe in shit or something. With a snicker you pull him down to lie on top of you again, pleased to feel that his desire for you has not weaned if the hard press of his cock against you is anything to go by. You tentatively grind up against him and grin at the sharp intake of breath he does. “This mean you still want me?”

At your teasing question he snorts and gives you a rare wide smirk before thrusting against you hard sending a shock of pleasure up your spine as his clothed dick rubs against your bare pussy. His tail wraps itself around your calf holding you open as again he pulls back, to your disappointment, this time to sit up fully. You watch as he reaches down to push his pants down and your cheeks burn as you notice the string of slick connecting the bulge on his pants to your wet pussy. It breaks as he shoves the material out of the way and his heavy cock slips out. The hard length is drooling with precum as he palms himself and youre so focused on it for a moment you almost dont hear a light laugh come from him. His fingers uncurl from their hold on his cock and gesture for you to look up. Doing so you see one of the cockiest expressions on his face you have ever seen.

He spends the rest of the night showing you exactly how much he wants you and will continue to want you. Over the course of the next several weeks into months you discover several things about him. First and foremost, he loves your juicy peach. That said, he loves it even more when you let your hair grow out. He doesnt mind if you trim it or if you leave it wild and untamed. As long as he has something pet and play with as he licks you to orgasm.

Just to test that theory you hadn’t let him near your core until some of the hair had grown back, not that he had many opportunities anyway between the fights he always seems to get himself into. The adoring pleased sound hed made as he nuzzled his nose and cheeks across your soft fuzzy pussy would have been adorable if it wasn’t overly stimulating, especially as his sneaky tongue would slip between your lips every so often to taste you.

Shaving it has become rare, but sometimes just to mess with him you do it. Seeing his adorable pout and huffy attitude as he realizes you’ve shaved or waxed is just so satisfying especially when he gets so hot and bothered later when it grows back. Keeps him on his toes.

Wukong

When you arrive, having in finished your business in the present time, Wukong is lounging on your now shared bed in the beautiful home he’d commissioned for you way back when he first decided you would be his. Yes, hed decided that long before you officially became an item. Part of you was annoyed by his cocky arrogance of it but the other part was thankful that you had somewhere safe to stay while he was off doing Wukong things, which generally consisted of annoying the hell out of someone, fighting someone, baby sitting the little monkey’s, or training his monkey’s. While hes always going to be mischievous and up to something, he is very protective of his people and now that you are part of his life he wanted to make sure you had a space of your own.

Apparently he’d taken inspiration from your modern home, which he is very rarely allowed to visit as he cant seem to keep himself out of trouble nor stop himself from messing with every little thing in your house to the point of annoyance. You find his curiosity adorable and love showing him new things but sometimes his more….chaotic nature takes hold and there’s only so much you can do to stop the force of nature that is Sun Wukong. Which most of the time is nothing. So to combat that you only take him to your time on special occasions.

It’s gotten a little better after you’d become official, he is calmer and not as anxious about when you will come back. Because in his mind you WILL come back and he trusts you to do so. The one thing that hasn’t gotten easier is your alone time with him. He’s quite busy oddly enough and since your relationship had only progressed so far you hadn’t really let him stay with you at the home he’d built you, not until about a week ago. You’d THOUGHT you might be able to get some action by letting him sleep with you at night but no. It’s been interruption after interruption or he comes back late into the night only to leave early in the morning for some reason or another. Someone always seems to need his attention and he cares too much about his people to leave them hanging. Plus protecting them from wandering dangers.

His furry warm solid body is a welcome comfort as you sleep but it’s not enough. Neither are sneaky touches and kisses he bestows on you throughout the day. It’s only made worse due to his cheeky nature as he enjoys watching squirm or get worked up only to cackle as you pout at him when he bounds off to another duty. You KNOW he’s suffering too, you’ve felt his heated eyes on you almost every minute youre within his sight and the lingering touches. Not to mention his obvious desire that ends up pressed against you when you kiss a little too long or when youre genuinely interrupted during an attempted moment alone together.

It had come to a head when you’d had enough of his games on top of the true issues that seem to prevent you from getting your monkey king alone. He’d worked you up too much two days ago, his tail caressing you and sneaking under your shirt while you were cuddling in bed amongst the soft furs and pillows. Wukongs hands had also joined in as he pressed himself behind you, his hot breath tickling your ear as he rocked himself against your ass. Heat had started to build up within you and you’d just started to lean into him when he kisses your neck and then scurries out of bed with a laugh, saying he just wanted to spend a little time with you before his meeting with his generals.

You’d had enough. So as he turns you reached out and snagged his tail, yanking on it unkindly. His body had instantly frozen and you were pleased to see the full body shudder that went through him before his slowly turned to the side to look at you. Wukong was tense, his body taut, and his nostrils flaring as his expression went from playful to downright boiling with arousal. He exuded a certain air of ‘tug my tail one more time, I dare you’. Seeing the obvious bulge in his pants twitch at your defiant look, you almost yank his tail again. But there was a loud banging on your front door alerting the two of you that his generals were waiting. When he tried to turn to leave you dont let go of his tail making him pause.

You then tell him, “You have two days. On the 2nd day I’m going home and if you’re not here when I come back and have a clear schedule for a minimum of three days you will not be allowed in this house again and your hands will be kept to yourself from then on until I say so, am I clear Sun Wukong?” Your voice is firm and leaves no room for question.

Wukong raised an eyebrow as you use his full name and for a moment you were afraid he wasn’t going to take you seriously and instead start teasing you for wanting him too much. Another loud knock sounded through the house from the front door and thankfully he just smirked and reached down to tickle a claw under your chin. “Dont worry my peach, you’ll have your kings full attention. I’ll take care of your,” He trailed his eyes hotly down your body and then back up to meet your gaze. “Desires. All of them and then some.”

At his promise you let go of his tail, he swiped it teasingly against your cheek before he was off again.

Now as you reappear in your shared bedroom your eyes rake over him skeptically as he grins at you. He’s lying shirtless on his side, his tail swishing lazily behind him looking as though he’d been patiently awaiting your arrival. But the twig stuck in the fur on his head say’s otherwise. So does the open window behind him.

You raise your eyebrow at him and he gives you an adorable grin. Wukong see’s where your eyes have caught and he quickly rakes his claws through his hair and tosses the stick. Your eyes roll at how ridiculously accurate he is as he manages to throw it out the window.

“I see you made it,” You say walking over to the bed and putting your hands on your hips. The sight of his furred upper body and his muscles on display tempers your slight annoyance with him for clearly only just arriving. “Just in time it seems.”

Wukong chuckles and he pats the bed in front of him signaling for you to join him. “A King must make sure his Sweet Peach is satisfied does he not?”

You dont move to join him just yet, wanting to let him stew as his eyes roam over your body. The silk robe you’d put on was new and so were the matching panties. Your breasts were free and only just barely covered by the silk material, Wukongs eyes seemed to hover there for a moment before he looks up and meets your eyes. “I suppose thats true. I was starting to wonder though if my King wasn’t up to the task, he always seems to find some reason or another to leave me unsatisfied.”

The words are playful yet cutting. Wukong doesnt take the bait, you’d expected him to get huffy and go all ‘I’ll show you’ but instead his expression softens uncharacteristically. “Come here,” His voice is gentle as he holds out a calloused hand to you. “Please, come here,” Wukong doesnt beg but its near to as he say’s your name. Something he doesnt normally do preferring to call you his ‘Peach’ usually combined with a compliment.

Unable to resist you climb on to the bed, the robe thankfully doesnt go past your knees so youre able to crawl across the furs with no issues. He sits up to meet you and once youre close enough he pulls you effortlessly onto his lap as he takes your mouth in a desired filled kiss. You straddle him, a thigh on either side of his hips, and wrap your arms around his neck as his hands find purchase on your body. One wrapping around your waist to bring you close and the other glides up your back to hold the back of your head as he slips his tongue into your mouth with a groan.

Before the kiss can get too much more intense he pulls back, both of you a little breathless, and sets his forehead against yours. “My pretty Peach, you have no idea how much I want you do you?” He asks, voice thick with growing arousal.

A smile cracks on your face and you shake your head just a little. “I know you want me Wukong. I know you’re busy and have duties to your people,” You reply sincerely. “But sometimes I need you too, and not just stolen kisses or your little cheeky touches to my ass.”

Wukong’s arm around your waist tightens at your words causing you to slip further into his lap and settle your weight fully on him. “You’re right, I have duties to you too now. Not only as a King but as a mate. I promise to do better,” He nuzzles his nose against yours and of course pinches your ass with the hand that is no longer holding the back of your head. As you laugh he grins and his tail slithers up your leg, the soft fur causing goosebumps to crop up in its wake. “You better be ready,” Wukongs tail sneaks under the robe and you can feel it caressing your ass cheek as though it was trying to get under your panties. “I’ve been holding back for far too long and I’m going to show you just how much I want you.”

“Then get to it,” You challenge with a grin of your own. “Mate.”

He flashes his fangs as his grin widens. “I like that word on your tongue, say it again,” Wukong demands but doesnt let you even attempt to utter the word as he kisses you deeply, his tongue immediately entering your mouth, claiming you as his to kiss this way.

A moan leaves your throat as Wukongs hands migrate to your thighs, his claw tipped fingers digging in a little as he massages them sensually for a moment before slipping up your legs to your core. The claws of his thumbs brush just against the fabric of your panties catching on them as his hands continue their journey up your body.

Wukong makes a noise of complaint in the back of his throat as the belt of your robe prevents him from getting any further. Without breaking the needy kiss he deftly unties it. The silk material falls open and his hands slide up your sides until your breast are cupped by his large, rough warm palms. A needy sound escapes you as you feel him massage your tits, hearing the noise Wukong’s hips grind up against yours and you can feel just how affected he is by you. You grind down against him making him squeeze your breasts in reaction.

He breaks the kiss as he groans, a string of saliva connecting your lips together for just a second. Wukong nips your chin and trails wet kisses down your neck as he moves his hands once more, this time grabbing your wrists. You gasp as youre suddenly moved, your arms held above your head as your back hits the bed. Wukong’s furry face is grinning roguishly down at you as he effortlessly holds both of your wrists with one hand.

“Gorgeous,” He rumbles still breathless from your passionate kiss. You arch your back as he dives down to lick the center of your chest between your boobs before taking one of your nipples into his mouth and flicking it with his tongue. “Tasty too,” Wukong nips your nipple and then sucks little marks on your chest on his way to taste the other.

His strong tail circles your waist under your back and jerks your hips into his at the same time as he roughly thrusts against you. You let out a little sound as your thighs instinctively tighten around his waist from the stimulation which he answers with his own pleased rumble. His free hand gets to work shredding and ripping your panties off as Wukong traces his lips back up your neck and to your ear which he licks and nips at, his breath tickles your skin making you shiver.

“Wukong! I liked those!” You half heartedly complain.

Wukong smirks against your ear as he tosses the useless panties carelessly. “And I like them off you,” He says lowly as he leans back to look you in the eyes. “I can smell how wet you are for me Peaches,” Wukongs voice has taken on an aroused rasp and he licks his lips while taking a deep breath through his nose, his eyes never leaving yours. “No pretty little fabric is going to keep me from tasting your pleasure.”

“You still didn’t have to rip them,” You mumble with a slight pout but its quickly replaced by a gasp as he thrusts against you again while pinching one of your nipples with that free hand of his. He snickers and leans down to steal your lips in a messy kiss and then your arching your chest again as he breaks the kiss and replaces his teasing fingers with his mouth once more. He chuckles, the vibration felt on your nipple, as you squirm against him unable to grab him due to his hold on your wrists with his other hand. He takes pity on you and releases your wrists only so he can pinch both your nipples at the same time and roll them between his fingers as he kisses down your stomach.

Your thighs spread to accommodate him and his shoulders while your heart and breath quicken as he reaches his destination. His lips still though as they touch the soft naked skin just above your slit and a needy whine leaves your mouth. You try to wiggle your hips as if to say ‘let’s get this show on the road’ but suddenly his strong hands are gripping your hips holding you down and he fully sits up pulling his face away from your pussy.

“What the-“

“Where did your beautiful fur go?” Wukong demands, voice is full of confusion.

“What?” You blink at him, confused yourself before a little tremor runs through you as he begins to almost tentatively brush his fingers over your soft mound and down your slick lips, his fingers spreading your juices but not necessarily meaning to.

“Your fur, why is it gone? What did you do with it? Why do you look this way?” He locks eyes with you and you see how serious his question is. He’s clearly perturbed by what he’s found as he removes his fingers from you and instead grips on to your tense thigh. Wukongs tail smacks the bed behind him in an almost angry rhythm.

Your heart stutters but not with arousal. “I-uhm,” You stumble over your words completely taken aback by his change in demeanor. “I had it removed, got it waxed the other day for you after you left to talk with your generals.”

Wukongs face scrunches up with distaste as he looks back down between your legs. “Why would you do such a thing? Is it permanent?” His tone is incredulous and upset.

Feeling self conscious you try to close your thighs but he holds you open. So instead you reach down and cover yourself with your hands, the movement makes him look up at you but you turn your head to the side not wanting to look at his displeasure anymore. “I thought you’d like it,” You murmur lowly knowing he can hear every word with how good his hearing is. Your cheeks are turning red feeling a little ashamed now and not sure why. “Most guys want that.”

He scoffs, his fingers gripping your thigh and hip tighter. “You’re forgetting I’m not ‘most’ guys Peaches,” Wukong states his voice not quite angry but getting there. “I don’t care who you may have lain with in the past but they aren’t me-“

“I know that!” You turn your head to glare at him, pulling the leg up that he isnt holding and kicking him in the chest once. He doesnt budge of course nor does he even look like it affected him at all as you keep your foot there putting pressure in the hopes that he will just back off. He doesnt move and instead frowns down at you as he removed his hand from your hip to grab your ankle. Turning your head away from him again look anywhere but at him. “Where I come from this is normal! People trim and clean up for their partners, mates, and it’s supposed to be sexy. I-“ You cut yourself off and slightly curl in on yourself as you feel his gaze boring into you. Your skin has started to grow cold and if you didn’t need to cover yourself up you would have grabbed a blanket to cover up. “I just wanted to be pretty for you.”

At your admission Wukongs grip on your thigh loosens and he gently coaxes your ankle away from his chest pulling your leg back to his side. “Oh my gorgeous Peach,” He sighs softly and you can immediately tell the change in his tone. Wukong tries once to get you to remove your hands but you refuse. “Look at me,” Your monkey king asks gently and you shake your head.

With a gentle sound from deep in his chest, something you’ve really only heard him do with the little ones that are always following after him, he leans down putting one of his hands next to your head and the other sweetly cups your turned cheek. Firmly, but without much force, he coaxes you to look at him and when you do you see how much his expression has softened. You dont have tears in your eyes, not quite, but the look on your face has Wukong making that instinctive comforting sound again.

“I’m sorry,” He apologizes keeping his voice low, something that he very rarely ever does, as he gently taps your nose with his. “I didn’t mean to make you feel unwanted or that you aren’t stunning in every way,” Wukongs tail slides out from under your back and he brushes it soothingly up and down your leg. “Make no mistake, fur or no fur, I hunger for you.”

There is a certainty in his words and you know he’s not lying but the way he acted still has you defensive and unsure. “Then why are you acting like you hate it?”

Wukong has the capacity to look a little sheepish. “I suppose I just wasn’t expecting it,” He sniffs and glances away. “Your smooth juicy peach is still mouthwatering and beautiful, I just prefer you a little more…fuzzy. Seeing you bathing that one time made me very excited to explore your pretty little curls.”

The time he was speaking of was before you’d gotten together and he’d accidentally gotten an eye full of your naked body as he wasn’t being mindful of your personal time in the modern era and had thrown your bathroom door open to gripe about the magic box. Your tv had been buffering due to internet connection and it apparently was freaking him out enough that he forgot that you were bathing. Or so he says.

His words make you flush. “You’re so weird,” You mumble not sure what to say and blink up at him as he looks back at you with a raised eyebrow.

“I am, am I?” He teases as he leans back sitting up again before gently sliding his up and down your arms trying to comfort you. “Let me see you,” Wukong requests using your name once more with a pleading tone to his voice. Your hands twitch but you dont move them away from shielding your smooth hairless cunt from his eyes.

You shake your head slightly. “But you dont like it,” You reply still feeling self conscious about the whole thing.

Wukongs features soften again and that gentle sound hed made rumbles in his chest, oddly it’s extremely soothing and comforting it, he slides his hands down to cover yours, not attempting to move you just holding. “Forgive my little tantrum about your fur, I never not want to see you. Do you want me to show you how much I crave you? Because I do, all the time. Let me make it up to you,” His tone is comforting and also sincere as he strokes the top of your hands with his thumbs.

Studying him for a moment you contemplate if you want to continue this or not, you find that you do as you’d been waiting so long and you do trust him to be honest with his word. He’s said much worse to people and doesnt hold back when he’s thinking something. Finally you nod after you gather your courage. Youre just about to start moving your hands when he squeezes them and pointedly pats them.

“Keep them there for one more moment,” Wukong says in contradiction to what hed just asked. You frown with a bit of confusion up at him but he just smiles at you as he sits a little further back and you notice for the first time that there’s still a bulge in his pants. He clearly hadn’t lost his interest in your activities. His hands move to the top of his pants and start to push them down while his tail swishes back and forth behind him. “Thinking about you makes my cock ache daily you know,” He tells you, his voice taking on a more heated tone as his eyes roam over your body and especially over your pressed together tits.

A shudder zips down your spine as slips his pants fully off, tossing them behind him his fully furry body on display. His hard length is standing at attention and heat starts to build within you again as he takes himself in hand with a rumbling groan, stroking slowly and making the tip leak. You watch, your breath starting to pick up, as he thumbs the drop of precum off his cock and nods at your hands silently asking you to remove them.

As you do so he reaches out and swipes his wet thumb a little over your silky soft pubic mound before dragging it down to your slit, it’s an almost possessive act of rubbing his essence on you. You’re still wet from your previous activities and your body lights up as his thumb slides between your pussy lips slowly. Feeling how slick you are he croons lowly and slips his thumb out only to stick it directly into his mouth. Your hole tightens as he moans around the flavor.

Seeing you squirm a little he chuckles and scoots forward resting his hard dick against your slick lips, the dual sensation of his fur brushing the back of your thighs and his heavy cock sends heat racing through you. Your hips tilt and he mimics the movement pressing down on the top of his length with his hand so that it slips between your lower lips. The glide is smooth after a thrust or two thanks to how slick you are and little moans tear out of your throat as the head of his cock slides against your clit with each controlled glide. You grab on to his furry forearms just to have something to hold as moves against you.

Wukong groans deep in his chest, his own breath picking up speed. “You feel so fucking good,” He pants as you squeeze your legs around him tightly. His hands wrap around your hips preventing you from arching your self just so as he almost slips inside during one thrust making you both shake and moan. “Ah, ah, ah, I’m not done with you just yet,” Wukong grins down at you as he pulls his hips away from yours. He snarls as he sees how wet you’ve made his cock and the strings of slick connecting the two of you. “I told you I crave you. I intend to satisfy that craving.”

You cry out as your hips are suddenly raised up and youre bent almost in half as your pussy is pulled directly up to his waiting mouth.

He spends the next several hours, days honestly, making sure you know damn well and good that he is desperate for you at every minute of the day. That he craves the taste of you on his tongue and the feeling of your warm pussy wrapped tightly around his cock as he pounds into you. Fur or not he hungers for you like a starved monkey.

When alls said and done though he absolutely DEMANDS that you let your hair grow back. In fact he pouts around for several days after your little mini vacation until you finally agree to never shave or wax it again. But only after he reassured you that he would respect your choice of course if you decided to do it, he would devour you regardless.

As the hair slowly grows back Wukong seems happy, content. When it’s about half grown in you have to laugh your ass off as he mumbles to himself, “MY fuzzy peach”, one night before proceeding to eat you out like you really ARE his favorite food.

At some point you end up blocking him from seeing or touching your pussy. Why? Because he constantly checks to see how fast your curls are growing back and after a while it gets annoying. It’s honestly not that bad, youre happy hes excited about it, but just to mess with him you put a no sex or heavy petting rule into play. It’s worth it when you finally walk into your shared bedroom fully naked one night, curls on display. He promptly drops a dish of whatever he’d been snacking on, a very primal sound leaves his throat and youre promptly pounced on.

That night he’s untamed.

END!

Few things that I think BOTH would do:

- [ ] Rub their cheek/chin/lips over your fuzzy peach - like how cats like men with beards and like rubbing in their chins 💀

- [ ] It’s kinda like scent marking - he’s wearing you and you are wearing him - his sensitive nose reminding him that HE was there and only him.

- [ ] Enjoys combing gently through the jungle with his claws or twirling the hair softly as he licks you and tastes you.

- [ ] Might stick his hand down your pants/underwear when you cuddle at night to make sure you haven’t gotten rid of it 🤣

- [ ] Enjoys making your fur wet with his cum just like he enjoys you soaking his fur with your juices.

- [ ] Likes seeing your “fur” tangle with his as he fucks you.

#black myth wukong #black myth wukong x reader #destined one x reader #sun wukong x reader #bk kai writes #Well?#:)#This took a while LOL #Thats why I was slow getting other stuff done besides work.#I go sleep now….

252 notes · View notes

noctxj · 4 months ago

Text

hanahaki disease “… in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. It ends when the beloved returns their feelings, or when the victim dies…”

part i / part ii / part iii / part iv

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

“have you considered trying to make your feelings known?”

all things considered, the bed agent was sitting upon was more comfortable than what the barracks’ had.

but not as cozy as kyles’ chest—

“i can’t,”

the doctor frowns, pausing his tapping on the tablet, his eyes looking up to search agents face; not staring at him, rather just across from them.

a blank canvas—in pain—but nonetheless a perfect mask of apathy—

“why not?”

“i just can’t, doctor.”

agent sighs, turning their sober gaze to the doctor. simply put, agent would not have been able to take their rejection— their disgust, their hatred, their bellows to leave and never come back, once they realised an outsider who did not even belong within the same scope as the taskforce would develop such frivolous feelings such as love. agent would never be able to witness them renouncing the contract laswell carefully pieced together, watch their backs turn on agent for the last time, visibly see the trust delicately built over the past several months to crumble away into nothing, as if it never existed, as if they never existed, as if they never touched agents life in a way no other had been able to.

the doctors eyes remained steadfast on agents, a silent urge to continue.

“… i know that… that i wouldn’t be able to bear their… rejection… but this, this procedure?”

diverting their gaze to their lap, swallowing back the familiar metallic taste on their tongue.

“this... this i know i can endure”

i’ve been through worse—

the silent words allowing agent to meet the doctors eyes again.

you’ll see eventually doctor, all my scars: permanent reminders. reminders born from miscalculations, wrong decisions, torture—

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

the same scars the taskforce were mistakenly exposed to. an undercover mission with agent used as bait for their target within a gala. a mission that wondrously ended up with the back of agents’ strapless dress ripped all the way down to their tailbone— stupid man with his stupidly gaudy rings— a furious agent using one hand to clasp the front of their dress lest they flash the idiotic target, and a handgun in the other, pointed at said idiot dazedly sprawled on the floor with a bloody (broken) nose.

agents’ back to the door as the taskforce spilled through, following agents’ signal for backup, only for agent to hear them pause by the doorway, their breaths collectively inhaled at the same time—

“who did this to you?”

simon’s gravelly voice asked— no, demanded. agent turned their head, handgun still pointing at the (idiot) target, confusion written on their face, brows furrowing as instead of responding, stomped over until he was looming over agent.

“ghost, now is not the time—“ the captain tried to reason as the air seemed to get tighter and tighter.

“who. did. this. to. you.” not a demand anymore, but an order. one of simon’s gloved hands sweeping over the raised discoloured scars running along agents back; a pattern of scars resonant of whip marks, some of cigarette burns and others as if skin was gouged over and over and never allowed to heal properly again.

agent who blinked, once, twice, before slowly turning their head forward again, avoiding simon, john, kyle and johnny’s faces’. handgun slowly lowered till it was facing the ground, a hollowness seemingly eating at agent from the inside out—

“it doesn’t matter. i killed all of them anyway.”

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

agent could only imagine the bleeding cracks that were appearing on their carefully placed mask, the madness that had been chasing them their entire life finally being able to swallow them whole. another soulless killer… assassin… spy… murderer, feeding off of rotting corpses just to survive another day, another assignment. agent was able to taste happiness and love for the first time, an addiction they never could have prepared themselves for; never could have foreseen it leading to a solution providing more pain— more pain to just to remain in all of their lives for just a little longer.

“and what if you’re wrong?”

… what if? my entire life has been nothing but timing and precision; the notion of “what if” is equal to failure and death—

“what if they return your feelings?”

agent could feel a plume of flowers unfurling at the base of their throat.

“… i wouldn’t deserve them.”

could feel them slowly fluttering their way up their throat.

“doctor, i’m by no means a good person; have never pretended to be. i’m not someone worthy let alone deserving of love.”

but i’ll rip myself apart over and over just to be around you all for just a little more time—

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

“now, if you could count to ten out loud for me please”

“one…”

everything will be okay—

“two...”

agent could feel a tangled swath of thorns and petals pushing themselves up their throat—

“it’s okay, just keep breathing. keep counting for me.”

“… three…”

once this is done, i can return to them. they don’t have to know, they’ll never have to know—

“… four...“

agent could feel their mind slow down, their thoughts feeling nonsensical; the effort almost pointless as everything began to flicker in and out of focus, blurry at the edges.

“… f-five…”

in the distance, agent could hear a loud commotion coming from behind the closed doors. what was that? their eyes fluttering, noticing the nurse holding the mask sending a questioning look to the doctor, his attention turned towards the door.

agent could hear… yelling? they— more than one, had deep, masculine voices.

why did they sound so familiar?

agent took a hold of the nurses’ wrist, their attention snapping back to them; communicating to ease the mask off their face as thunderous reverberations of heavy footsteps grew louder and louder, until there was a split second of silence— and then the doors to the surgery room swung open with a resounding crack as they slammed back against the walls.

four large bodies barging through the seemingly small doorway, blurred masses of power—

it was them.

they—what?

how—?

agent could feel their eyes blink in surprise, the panic slowly filtering in through the fuzziness of their brain.

nononono—

theyshouldntbehere—!!

despite agents mind racing, the small amount of anaesthetic had already taken effect; only seeming to slacken their grip of nurses’ wrist, agents’ finer motor skills out of reach—

—including the effort of swallowing back the vicious thorns and bloodied flowers now erupting out of agents mouth in a painful choke; blood spraying against the mask and now the nurses’ hands as they are ripped away—by simon??

a skull mask with such dark eyes—so close— reaching out to grasp their shoulder to turn their body to the side, his familiar scent of dark whisky, and just simon invading agent’s senses as they follow the direction of his pull. another pair of warm gloved hands on their back and hip assisting in the turn—kyle? his calming earthy scent that reminded agent of the heat of the sun, wafting to their nose. with another familiar—and safe— scent seemingly punching through the mix of simon and kyles— johnny? an addictive smell of sweet cinnamon akin to one of his addictive bear hugs that he often followed up with a playful ruffle to the head, now instead gently cradling agents head forward.

agent couldn’t stop the onslaught of mixed emotions and painful hacking up of blood, flowers and thorny stems spilling out onto the cold floor. confusion, helplessness, fear— a concoction that only seemed to encourage another heaving of blood and flower petals.

i-i-icant-thisistoomuch—

the beeping of the bp monitor now frantically blaring out in a staccato rhythm, agents’ panic mixed with their chocked hacking reflecting their suffocating agony.

ithurtstoomuch—

the hand formerly gripping the nurses’ wrist left flailing in the air, until a heavy set of hands grasp it and hold it against a prickly—john? agent trying to focus their tear filled eyes onto the blurred figure kneeled before them. the captain whose rough and calloused yet gentle hands encompassing theirs against his mouth; puffs of his breath hot agents’ cold trembling fingers, his smoky scent swirling around agent in a dizzying trance.

“it’s okay little love, were here.” john lowly murmurs against their fingers, the plush feeling of his lips and prickly beard sweeping across agents’ knuckles so lovingly.

as if it was following a command from their captain, agents’ tense body finally relaxed back onto the sheets (and their beloveds’ gentle embraces). feeling safe and secure for the first time in weeks since leaving the taskforce; the distant beeping of the monitor slowing down in its rhythm—

only for agents eyes to finally close in exhaustion, as the last of the crimson petals drop from between their bloodied lips.

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

tric’s notes

i love how i keep saying to myself like yeah this’ll be the last part aND THEN IT ISNT (ಥ‿ಥ) peak clownery. the amount of dialogue keeps increasing (as is the word count) per chapter but uhh oh well.

had a lil flashback midway there, i may write short? drabbles of little peeks as to how their relationship developed from the day agent met the taskforce = a potluck of more angst and pining!! yaayyyy !!!! but dw there will also be fluff and shenanigans to heh (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

part iv will defs be the last one of this series ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ̀ˋ

thanks for reading this far!! ♡︎♡︎

crossposted on ao3 (same username!)

180 notes · View notes

upat4amwiththemoon · 6 months ago

Note

amelia shepherd x fem!reader that’s an intern or resident who keeps logging in hours on neuro when they aren’t really interested in it just to see amelia. and eventually amelia noticed and asked why. i don’t really have an idea for an ending but like fluff

girls

Summary: They’re so pretty it hurts.

Pairing: Amelia Shepherd x female!reader

Warnings: my medical knowledge is zero, Scout doesn’t exist

Word count: 911

a/n: Amelia is keeping the whole show together

masterlists | guidelines

“Y/N.” Amelia smiles as she sees the woman she has gotten to know well these past months. “More neuro hours, huh? Should I feel threatened you’ll take my spot as the head of neuro one day?” She grins, holding onto the tablet with all of her patients’ information.

Y/N laughs, following Amelia as they start walking. “No way. I don’t think you should be threatened by anyone.”

“I agree.” Handing the tablet to Y/N, Amelia opens the door to a room full of MRI scan images. They stand there for a moment, watching the images. “What do you see?”

Straightening her posture, she clears her throat and stares at the pictures more closely. “Uhm…a brain tumor?”

“Are you asking me?”

“No.” Y/N shakes her head quickly, turning her gaze to Amelia. “It’s a brain tumor.”

“It is.” Amelia takes down the pictures. “What do we have to do?”

“Do a biopsy to figure out what type of tumor it is.”

Nodding, she puts the pictures aside and gestures for Y/N to follow her. They walk through the hospital hallways, all the way to the patient’s room. “Good morning, Mrs Noceda”. Amelia smiles as they settle into the room. She gives Y/N a look, giving her the moment to present the patient.

“Mrs Noceda, 53 years old, came to the hospital yesterday due to multiple complications, a MRI scan was made and a tumor was found.” Y/N lists, her eyes staying on the patient and Amelia. “Today’s agenda will be biopsy, which will tell us how to proceed.”

“Does that sound good?”

“Of course, you know best, Doctor Shepherd.” Mrs Noceda has a gentle smile on her face despite everything going on.

“Then we will get you into biopsy right away. Y/N will come and prepare you in just a moment.” Amelia takes the tablet from Y/N after they walk out of the room. “Make sure we have an OR ready soon, then prepare Mrs Noceda for the biopsy.” She writes the new information down on Mrs Noceda’s file.

“Yes, Doctor Shepherd.”

“You’ll join me on the biopsy.”

Y/N’s eyes widen momentarily, but she manages to keep herself in check. “If you wish so, Doctor Shepherd.”

“If you wish so?” With furrowed brows and a confused grin, Amelia turns her attention to Y/N. “A little more excitement would be great.”

“Sorry, I truly am very excited to be in this with you.”

She doesn’t look convinced, but there’s no time to dwell on the details. “Alright. Go get everything ready.”

“Yes, Doctor Shepherd.” With that, Y/N is off to book an OR and prepare Mrs Noceda for her biopsy.

After the biopsy, Y/N and Amelia are waiting to hear back from the lab to get the results. The latter is tapping her fingers against a table as she moves back and forth on the chair. “Y/N.”

“Yeah?” Y/N is sorting through papers. They’re cases from different branches, ortho, peds, general, cardio, and so on.

“Don’t take this as an attack,” now Y/N’s attention moves to Amelia, “why do you keep logging hours in neuro? You don’t seem too interested in it. Which I don’t get, neuro is easily the best and you’re really good at it.”

”Oh.” Y/N avoids eye contact. She didn’t think Amelia would notice her lack of interest to neuro despite the many hours she spends with the doctor. “Well…” she searches for words, though it’s clear she isn’t finding any.

“Are you here because of me?” Amelia has a playful grin on her face, which changes immediately as she notices Y/N somehow becoming even more uncomfortable. “You are?”

She lets out a breath, her cheeks puffing as she nods. “Maybe.” Her voice is a quiet mumble.

Amelia doesn’t know how to answer, not expecting this to be the actual reason for Y/N’s decision to spend time in neuro. She sits up straighter, pulling the chair closer to Y/N with her legs.

“I understand if you wish me to stop doing neuro.” Y/N says quickly.

She shakes her head. “I want you to do neuro if you enjoy it. I don’t want you to be here while wishing to log more hours into something else.” Her voice is gentle and comforting. “You are an intern, and I am in a position of power,” Y/N opens her mouth, but Amelia raises her hand to stop her, “however, I would be lying if I said I haven’t gotten…attached.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Amelia smiles when Y/N’s whole face brightens. “Don’t get too excited. All of this, whatever it is, has to happen slowly and discreetly, preferably out of the hospital.”

“I understand.”

“And you have to start logging hours into the branches you’re actually interested in.”

Y/N’s face falls momentarily, but she smiles quickly. She knows it’s for the better, she won’t become a good doctor by pining after someone while doing something she isn’t interested in. “Okay. I’ll start logging hours on other things too.”

“Good.”

“So…” Y/N fidgets with her fingers. “Does that mean we could go on a date?”

“We’ll go on a date. After we help Mrs Noceda with her tumor.”

She giggles in excitement. “Yes, Doctor Shepherd.” Amelia rolls her eyes with a grin, patting her arm before moving her chair right next to Y/N, curious with the other cases she’s studying.

#fluff #grey’s anatomy fanfiction #grey’s anatomy fic #grey’s anatomy imagine #grey's anatomy #amelia shepherd x fem!reader #amelia shepherd x reader #amelia shepherd imagine #amelia shepherd fanfic #amelia shepherd x you #amelia shepherd #amelia shepherd x y/n #amelia shepherd x female reader #amelia shepherd x female!reader #amelia shepherd x intern!reader

209 notes · View notes

verypeanutgarden · 22 days ago

Text

Ushijima would be the type to not know that he is a natural flirty person. He is completely clueless. Especially with you. Being the manager of Schweiden Adlers you have your challenges with his flirty actions. We are now in the volleyball court of Schweiden Adlers...

•••••••

"Ushijima?" You called.

He turns his head towards you, showing off his abs as he wipes the sweat off his chin. His cheeks, red from the training drill they have been doing for the past hour. He shifts his weight as hes full body turns towards you.

"Yes Y/n?" He replied, as he pulls down his shirt and stares down at you. His body, almost shadowing you. You space out until you snap yourself back to reality, you open your mouth to speak...

"Here is your work out plan" you show him your tablet and with the use of your pen you point out and draw what is needed.

"Starting next week monday, you will be doing more weights during your strength training, and we will implement more foot as well as speed training following friday and saturday training. Sounds good" as you explained you didnt realize the lingering presence behind you bend down and place his head near yours to view your tablet

"Sounds good, may I ask if my diet will change at all" he said bluntly as if your faces weren't mere inches apart. With a small blush forming on your cheeks you take a step away and reply a nope, then running off to the next player you need to discuss their workout with. Ushijima who has no idea of how his actions affect others stand there still confused as to why your behavior has been like this ever since you joined the Schweiden Adlers as the assistant coach.

"Ushijima" the voice behind him said. He turns to see kageyama. "We have to do stretching now." Said kageyama bluntly.

As they did their stretches Ushijima spaces out as to why you are acting this way. Which leads him to a ramen place with two of his team mates. Kageyama and Hoshiumi, they simply went because Ushijima said he would buy them anything they wanted. But what they didn't expect is for Ushijima to ask advice about women. It is good to note that none of the two hes about to ask advice from has no experience with women.

"Maybe shes just quiet?" Asks Kageyama "But shes loud with the head coach." Replied Ushijima.

They had just finished eating when Ushijima proposed the question, 'why were you distant with him, and him alone'. This ended with the three men with no experience whatsoever with the feelings of women to ponder why are you distant with him.

"Maybe she is feeling under the weather?" Kageyama asked, "For the past year?" Countered Ushijima. Which leads the two to hold their hand in their chin and ponder more.

"I mean, it makes no sense for her to dislike you because you have done nothing wrong to her" said Hoshiumi.

Which makes Kageyama nod along, the night goes on and they are left there at the ramen shop asking themselves why you didn't like Ushijima. When in reality it was the opposite, but they can't seem to quite understand that. As the night rolls the sky the two wave goodbye to Ushijima, with a solid goodbye and see you tomorrow the three split ways. Ushijima walking to his studio condo near the volleyball court, he still questions as to why you seemed to dislike him, until.

"Ushiwaka?" A familiar voice calls out. He turns to the voice and its Tendou. Ushijima waves and walks towards Tendou. An exchange of greetings, and they seem to catch the conversation they left off a few months ago.

"So how is that assistant coach of yours? Is she still working for your team?" Asked Tendou. With a nod coming from Ushijima, Tendou knew there had to be something bothering him. So his nose got to sniffing...

"Had a tough day? Seems like you're in thought, Ushiwaka..." Asked Tendou.

"I...just don't understand her..." Replied Ushijima in defeat as if his problems have won.

"Why don't you go talk to her?" Asked Tendou. "But what if she doesn't want to talk to me?" Replied Ushijima.

"Then corner her and ask her properly. Because it would be better than you to assume every thought she has." Said Tendou as a matter of fact tone. Ushijima simply nodded, as the night grew colder Ushijima and Tendou separated ways. Promising to tell each other when they would be in town. As Ushijima unlocks the door to his condo, he realizes he should talk to you and address this whole situation.

The next morning, Ushijima wakes up to his alarm that is set at 6 am, two hours before his training later. He gets up to make breakfast, a simple egg sandwich and then he changes into his clothes. Then goes to the gym to practice on his spikes an hour before training. As he walks into the gymnasium he notices a figure moving around the court, as he looks and enters further. He sees you. He notices the way his heart quickens with your every move. He notices the way his voice catches in his throat as you walk by. He was daydreaming until, he saw your figure wave towards him. Which has him wave back towards you.

Ushijima stays silent, this isn't the first time you have shown him kindness in silence so he decided to take the advice given to him last night.

"Y/n?" Ushijima speaks up. You freeze and turn your body towards him. You raise your eyebrows to him, "Yes?" You replied.

The air so dense around them, making it hard to breathe then Ushijima speaks.

"Y/n, I have to ask if I have done something to upset you...If I have I apologize if I have..." Ushijima trails off in thought, and pauses to wait for your reply. A moment passes and you still say nothing, he opens his mouth to speak again. Until you interrupt him,

"Ushijima, I'm sorry if I gave the impression that I hated you...I just..." You trail off with your words and can't seem to face him a blush forming on your cheeks you fidget with the bottom of your shirt, then you raise your head to look up at him until suddenly he is right in front of you. Bending down to meet your eye to eye, your lips just a few inches apart. If you were to simply take a small step forward, you would have your lips on his.

"Your red...are you coming down with a fever?" He asks as he places his hand on your forehead, your face turning more red.

"Y/n?" He asks. Even though he just says your name you can't help but fall harder for your crush.

"Should I bring you to the clinic?" You wave your hand in front of his face, and take a step back to walk away. But before you could turn you felt a grip on your wrist,

"Please don't turn away from me" he says with a pout in his eyes. Who could say no to him, with this it ended with you in the clinic with Ushijima right next to you.

But it would be an understatement that this would be the end of your story with Ushijima. Because one year from now you would be labeled his Girlfriend and soon to be Fiance, he already bought the ring.

#ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima x reader #haikyuu #fluff #x reader #fanfic #ushijima fluff #kageyama tobio #hoshiumi kourai #tendou satori

99 notes · View notes

just-aake · 1 year ago

Text

Your Special Day

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: You celebrate Natasha’s special day with small surprises for her.

Warnings: fluff

Words: 1160

The alarm on the phone rings, waking the red-haired agent from her slumber. After turning off the shrill sound, her hand automatically reaches over toward the other side of the bed, only to sit up in confusion when she finds an empty space.

The area still retains some of your warmth, so you couldn't have left too long ago. After getting dressed, Natasha comes out of your shared room and is immediately greeted by a sweet smell seemingly from the kitchen.

Making her way to the area, Natasha finds the source of the smell—a small spread of breakfast laid out on the table. A ding from the coffee maker signals its completion, and Natasha is pleasantly surprised when she recognizes the scent of the finished drink.

Someone, probably Stark, had used the last batch of her favorite brand of coffee, and she hadn’t had the time to pick up any more, so for the past weeks, she just settled for drinking one of the other basic coffees available.

Judging from the still-warm breakfast and the timing of the completed coffee, Natasha could tell that this meal was planned precisely for when she would usually have woken up.

The only thing missing was the person who was behind this meticulous planning.

After calling your name and not seeing any signs of you anywhere, Natasha spots a piece of paper under the plate with your familiar handwriting.

Got called in for a meeting with Fury. Nothing serious. Take your time and enjoy your breakfast! Love you, Y/n

Natasha's lips quirked up into a soft smile at your words. Looking back at the homemade breakfast you made especially for her, her heart warms at your gesture. Tucking the note safely away in her pocket, Natasha decides to listen to your words and enjoy the meal you prepared for her.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

After finishing her breakfast and arriving at the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, Natasha walks through the halls toward her workspace, intending to work on the piles of mission reports that she needs to complete by the end of today. It's not a difficult task, just tedious with the amount of paperwork required to fill out.

Maria appears from the corner heading in the opposite direction of Natasha. When she glances up from her tablet and notices the agent, she stops and greets her.

“Afternoon, Romanoff. I got those reports of yours. Thanks for finishing them so quickly,” Maria tells her appreciatively.

Natasha gives her a confused look, wondering if she is referring to the reports that she was just on her way to complete.

“My reports?” Natasha questions.

“Yeah, L/n gave them to me this morning,” Maria explains.

Natasha’s eyes widen slightly in surprise at the revelation.

Not noticing her expression, Maria continues swiping through her tablet while humming in thought.

“Looks like there’s not much else that needs to be done right now,” she looks back at Natasha with an impressed look. “I guess that means you can take it easy today. Enjoy your day off, Romanoff.”

“Thanks,” Natasha replies distractedly as Maria leaves.

She stands there in wonder, touched by what you’ve done for her today. Natasha contemplates what she should do now that she no longer has any work to complete.

You haven’t seen or replied to her text messages yet, which probably means you are still in your meeting with Fury.

A familiar voice pulls Natasha’s attention from her phone as she looks at the person speaking to her.

“So, do you just stand there all day, or do you actually do hero stuff in this place?” Yelena asks casually as she taps the walls of the headquarters, nodding her head at the durability.

“Yelena, what are you doing here?” Natasha asks curiously at yet another nice surprise that she has received today.

She hasn’t seen her little sister in person for a couple of months now, ever since Yelena decided to explore the world, leading her team of Widows in helping where they can.

Yelena shrugs nonchalantly, replying, “Considering what day it is, I figure I could take some time out of my schedule to spend with my sister and ‘catch up’ about what’s happening in our lives.”

Yelena raises her hands in air quotes around the words, as if repeating the phrase from someone else.

Natasha raises a disbelieving brow at her, knowing that there’s more to the situation.

At her expression, Yelena rolls her eyes and mutters under her breath.

“Plus, your girlfriend was kind of scary when she called me,” she admits, shuddering at the memory.

Natasha grins amusedly at the information, figuring that you had a part in this surprise also. She gestures with her head at Yelena to follow her.

“Come on, I’ll show you around, and you can tell me about the hero stuff you’ve done,” Natasha tells her with a small smirk.

Yelena shoots a similar expression back at her sister and follows after her, excited to recount her adventures and spend some time together again.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

After saying goodbye to Yelena, Natasha comes back to the Avengers compound to find a delicious scent emanating from the kitchen again.

This time, however, when she makes her way to the area, she is glad to see your familiar figure standing in the room.

You look up at her entrance, your smile widening when you see that it is her.

“Welcome back,” you greet her. “Did you have a good day?”

“Yeah, it was almost perfect,” Natasha replies casually as she moves around the counter to be closer to you.

Your brows furrow as you discreetly pull out your phone to glance at the list of things you had planned for today, wondering what you might have missed – homemade breakfast, favorite coffee, completed reports, no additional work, Yelena, and now dinner.

These were all just simple gestures that you thought of doing for her today. You know Natasha doesn’t like to make a big deal about this day in particular, but you still wanted to at least make it a little more special for her than usual.

You scan your list again, wondering what it is that you must have forgotten.

Suddenly, Natasha’s hand covers your screen as she pushes your phone away, and she raises her eyebrows pointedly at you.

“It’s you, Y/n,” Natasha explains amusedly. “Being with you makes today perfect.”

Your mouth opens slightly in surprise at her words, wondering how you forgot something so simple.

Looking at your expression fondly, Natasha places her hands on your waist and pulls you close to her, leaning in to press a soft kiss on your lips.

Pulling back slightly, she rests her head against yours as she looks into your eyes filled with love.

“Thank you...for everything,” she tells you sincerely.

You give her a soft smile, wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling her in close again as you whisper against her lips.

“Happy Birthday, Natasha.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: thank you for reading!

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff

516 notes · View notes

random-fandom1984 · 8 months ago

Note

hi, can you do, Yandere tfa Longarm/shockwave x cybertronian reader

Oh, yes! I have a story in the making on Wattpad, and in a way, I guess it would be a Yandere story? But that doesn't matter at the moment. This is exciting! :D

Warning: Potions, Yandere Behavior, etc.

~All It Takes Is A Potion to Show How Much I'm Obsessed with You~

Translations: Stellar Cycle = 1 year Deca-Cycle = 10 days Solar Cycle = 1 day Orbital Cycle = 1 month Nano-Click = 1 second

Sparkmerge = Wedding/marriage Energon Sweets = candy High Grade = Wine/alcohol/beer/vodka/etc. Conjunx Endura = Spouse Optics = Eyes Datapad = Book/tablet/etc. Subspace = Storage unit Dente = Teeth Throat Pipes = Throat

Today is our second Sparkmerge anniversary of the Stellar Cycle. I've had a good history with making Energon sweets, so I plan on making one that's his favorite, that sadly went out of business a few Deca-Cycles ago, and some high grade. I remember that we first met in Autobot Boot Camp and got along swimmingly. It was sad that my old friend turned out to be a Decepticon Spy, but I digress and moved on. Sure, it was hard to do, but at least I made a new friend who became my Conjunx Endura, Longarm.

We both graduated with flying colors and became Primes. He became head of Cybertron Intelligence – the one before him, Highbrow, was discovered dead, and no bot knew how – and I became his S.I.C. – the previous one ending up missing for some reason–, so they put us at the top since we were great at our jobs. We became an item way before we got promoted.

Of course, there had been an issue that popped up. Five Orbital Cycles ago, Longarm had gotten a call from a couple of bots that we went to boot camp with: Bumblebee; the one who Longarm helped to call out Wasp as the spy, and my cousin Bulkhead. The both of them are a part of Optimus' team on Earth, fighting Megatron. Apparently, the both of them intercepted a call with Megatron and a spy. Something about a construction project.

I can feel excitement pulsing through the other side of the bond, to which I sent back to with suppressed giggle; He's been like this all Solar Cycle, even yesterday ever since he came back from Iacon's Hall of Records, and I find it cute. He's so sweet, smart, and adorkable! I wonder how things are holding up on his end.

Yesterday

It's true, you two have been bonded for the past 2 Stellar Cycles and started dating in the middle of your time at boot camp. But there was one thing you didn't know; let me start from the beginning.

When entering the Autobot Boot Camp with a fake frame, he wasn't expecting anything to distract him from his mission for Lord Megatron as a spy. But... that all changed the moment his optics landed on you. To him it was love at first sight. And he saw how close you were with Wasp and Bulkhead, he felt something inside of him. What was this? Jealousy? No! There's no way! He's a Decepticon and you're an Autobot.

When he was approached by Bumblebee, who told him that he found out there was a Decepticon spy and suspects it might be Wasp, he took that as a way to drive attention away from him and onto him and C/n will be hi- Stop it! After Wasp was taken away to prison, he found you slacking off and then later came across you crying in your room. For some reason, he comforted you even though he shouldn't; you would've been kicked out for slacking, which would have gotten rid of another Autobot in his way, but he didn't. You also had another bot help comfort you, which was Bulkhead, who he later found out was your cousin; nothing to worry about with him getting in his way.

Later on, he grew to accept these feelings. You needed him; you don't need those unknown admirers that went missing a few days after interacting with you. Just him. This turned for the better in his favor when caught you leaving secret admirer love letters in his dorm; he didn't bring it up until he confessed his feelings. The image of your flustered face plate when you realized you'd been caught from the start will forever remain in his processor.

After graduating, he had to wait a while to kill Highbrow and instantly killed his assistant for abusing his role by being a creep; he deserved it. And it turned out good because not only did he become the new Head of Intel, but you became his assistant.

For the past Deca-Cycles, he's been conflicted. The Prime Council found out that there's a Decepticon spy in their ranks, which only led to another problem. If they found out he's the spy, you would most likely react negatively; you knew him better than anyone else in their ranks and will use it against him. So, he has two options:

Do nothing, and if he does get found out, have you sparkbroken and hate him, assuming he faked his affections towards you.

Find a way to turn you into a Decepticon.

He wanted to do the second option, but so far, all resources he's found in the history section in the Hall of Records ends up with the victim in pain in the process. The only thing calming his nerves and keeping him from lashing out in frustration that he was getting nowhere was a gift you made him when you both were in the dating phase of your relationship; A charm that hangs from a string, which is connected to a small magnet that is currently magnetized to his wrist.

He was fiddling with the charm until he felt it slip from his grasp. He looked down to see something slip into the shadows and move away in a blob of shadows. Obviously, he chased after it, nothing takes something of his that was made by his darling and gets away. As he chased it, he didn't notice the scenery change until he was deep enough in another section of the Hall or Records, which seems to be abandoned.

He continued to chase until he came across a bot. The shadow he was chasing phased out of the shadow in the form of a snake, with only a single eye, dropping the charm in the figure's servo. The figure turned their head, and to his surprise, was literally made of shadows, the only thing that stood out from the dark mass with glowing purple outlines was that had one normal optic and the other looked like the snake's, the Snake-Eyed Bot he'll call them.

Before he could demand for the charm back, the Snake-Eyed Bot tosses it back to him without a single word and beckoned him over. Suspicious, he approached with caution. Upon arrival, the figure gives him a datapad.

"H̵̯̞̥̙͕͔̗̺̠̼͖̩̟͚̄̅͂͗̐͂̈́͜e̶͇̣͉̫̻̹̝̻̩̰̲͇̘̱͒͐̊͌̽͠ṙ̸̢̉̓͐̃͠e̵̞̺̟̗̤̎̈́̀̑͊͝'̴̢̘̣͉̬̙̘̞́̇̃̌͑̈́̈͘̚ş̸̢̧̹̬̟͎̘̓͛̓̎͗̀̓̆̏͋́̆̃́̀ ̶̧̥́̅̈́̏̈́͆̆͒͗͒̉͂͗͒t̶̡̨̨̧̤̬̱̘͎̹̞̪̻̀̕ͅh̸̢̏̑͆͆̊̅̋͊̇ę̸̜̭̬͍̜͎̣̬͔̘̮͙͋̐̿́̈́͠͠ͅ ̷̩̫̿̃̿̐͛͝à̷̢̢̢͍͎͚̓͂̆͗̔̆̈̕̕̕n̴̢̲̹̬̩̼̙̯̬̜̼̩͈̎͂̾̃̈͜ş̷̬͍̻̰̩͓̗̱̥̗̝̩̏̏̽̃̅͒́́͜͝w̸̧̡̨̟̺̣̖͉̣͎̦͈̗̳̏͂͊̑̋̈́̿̿́͗̃̑̕e̴̬̺̙̞̗͎̞͍̞̠̒͜͜͝r̷̡͙͇͕̫͉̞̮̞̦̦͚͒͗́͐̽̉̕͝͝ ̸̢͇̲̬͕̺̙͉̈́́͐̇͂͌͂̊̑̽͝ț̴̡̺̾͋̅͐͑͊̌̈̓̌͗̕̚̕o̶̭̞͙̳͇̰̘͛ͅ ̶̨̧͎͇̫̹̰̮̘̬̯̗̟́y̴̢͖̩̳̱̞̎́͜͜o̶̡̫͔̹̯͍̹̱͖͔͎͚͚̼̎̾́̓̀̐̈́̈̄͂̀̈́̓̃̚u̷̺͕̭̫̬͛̎r̸̲͓̺̖͔̠̤̪̺̮̦̗͇̾̐̐̈́̌̈́ͅ ̴͉̺̯̯̻̓̀̃̈́̿̓š̸̱̫͈̥̺͔͚̣̺͍̒̑̍̇̊̉͆̀̔͘̚͠ͅe̸̡̧̨̖̣̰͍̺̻̱̅̌̈́͊̅̑͠a̶̤͈̭͈͆̓͝r̶̨̜̜̱̫̣̭̼͎̤̊́̓̃̾̈́č̶̡̻͎̠͉͎̩͉͓̜̰̭̱̓͐͜h̶̛͙̻̭̮̮̖̼̦̞̩͚͚̹̀̆͝ͅ."

Confused, he looked at it's contents; the Title caught his attention. Forever Potions? Before he could ask anything else, the figure tossed him a sack. Looking inside and at an ingredients page, there was three of everything on the list. He looked back up, only to find that he was standing behind the table he was sitting at, almost like he experienced a hallucination in a mere second, but the data pad and bag proved otherwise.

He placed the bag in his subspace before sitting back down and looking through the datapad. The results is what he needed: Something painless. Knowing better, he knew to read the part about the inner workings before heading off and doing something without knowing if this was truly safe or not. Luckily, it was.

He returned home, happy with his search.

It was the next day, and it was their second anniversary, and he came up with the perfect plan. For his surprise, he prepared a romantic dinner for just the two of you. He luckily had the day off, and as he was preparing the dinner, he was filled with joy and excitement, which only grew when every single time you returned the feeling over the bond.

He made Energon cubes for the both of you, crafted the potion carefully as possible, and poured it into yours. Luckily, it didn't affect the color of it so then you wouldn't be suspicious of it. He had extra time before it would be the exact time you would arrive home, so he decorated the room for the occasion.

When you arrived, he was both surprised and happy that you had his favorite Energon sweets; he'd thought they sold out. To his surprise, it wasn't that, you made it yourself?! He couldn't have asked for a better sparkmate.

He sat you down at the table, and you were flabbergasted at how gorgeous the room was, and he made Energon cubes? Frag yes! When you ate your cube, for some reason it tasted sweet/salty/sour/whatever-flavor-you-like than the last time you had one, but you weren't complaining because it tasted better than ever before.

A few cups of high grade later, you started to feel lightheaded. He saw this and led you to the berthroom where you both cuddled as you both went into recharge.

Everything is going according to plan.

(The Next Day)

No one seemed to notice any changes at work. Everything is going on like everything is normal.

"C/n Prime, here's some reports about the information of Decepticon spy my team could possibly find." Firerunner said, giving you a datapad containing all the information. "Thank you, Firerunner. You are dismissed." You said, taking the datapad, not taking your eyes from your screen and your fast typing.

Just as he was about to turn around, he noticed something. "Um, C/n Prime?" He called out. "Yes?" You quired. "Are you okay? Your optics are looking a little..." He trailed off. You turned your helm, your green optics staring back into his, almost boring into his soul. "Oh, I'm fine! Thanks for asking. An old friend of mine, who's a medic, looked into it and some bot decided to do something funny to by Energon rations for this to happen to me. I don't know how long it'll last, but I can assure you, I'll be fine." You informed with a smile, which just made your green optics seem a bit creepier. "Okay then, have a good day, ma'am." He said with a bow before walking off.

When he was out of sight, you picked up the datapad and looked through it, and sure enough, it had information regarding any information they could find about the Decepticon spy and where they might be hiding. With your smile never faltering, you deleted everything off of it before breaking in half, your smile now showing your dente. A giggle escaped your throat pipes as you dumped it in the garbage chute behind your desk. Out of sight, out of mind.

That's when you suddenly received a call from your comm-link. "Hello?" You asked in a sweet tone. "Dear, can you please come to my office? There's someone I'd like you to meet." He requested. "Of course, be there in a nano-click." You said before ending the call.

You stood up from your seat and started to traverse through the halls of building to your sparkmates office. You were in front of his door, looked around to see if anyone was around. You saw no one. Not a bot in sight. You opened the door, closing it behind you so no camera can have a peek on what's inside.

At his desk was your love, his true self of course. He was now taller than you by a landslide, had two antlers on the sides of his helm that extend upwards, three digits that are claw-shaped, a single, red optic being the only thing in the center of his face plate, and, of course, a Decepticon sigil proudly shown on his chassis.

"Lord Megatron, this is our new recruit, and my love: C/n." He said as you walked over and were in frame of the camera. On the other end of the screen was Lord Megatron himself. "And how are you sure she isn't tricking you?" Megatron asked. "Nothing that you should worry about, my liege. I made sure. But let's just say, it was an enchanting discovery."

Part 2?

#tfa shockwave #tfa longarm prime #tfa #transformers animated #shockwave x reader #tfa shockwave x reader #longarm prime x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #corruption #potions

199 notes · View notes

magicbystarlight · 3 months ago

Text

Star Crossed — Prologue

Hux x Reader, Ren x Reader

Summary: Years after leaving behind your life as a Jedi, an unexpected encounter forces you to confront the past you wanted to forget. Divider.

Warnings: 18+, canon-typical violence, sexually explicit scenes later, additional warnings as needed. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 1.1k

Lieutenant Atrox stalks through the halls, his face pulled taut with displeasure. It’s an expression you've grown familiar with in these last three months. You’re on his heels, nonetheless, with a datapad clutched tightly to your chest.

The Lieutenant and yourself had only arrived on board the Finalizer the night before from the Exheres System. He had spent the the time drunk while you spent it combing through three years worth of trade routes, ship manifests, store inventories, and planetary exports. It had been to quell the nagging feeling you’d gotten during a review of the last audit of an inconsequential clothing shop on an inconsequential planet, but it had paid off.

"Please, sir, if you would just listen I can—"

"I don’t have time for your theories. Ren will be here at any moment."

An unnecessary reminder. The headache that plagues you is evidence enough that the Sith had already boarded and subjected some poor soul to the Force. A day early of his expected arrival. Normally, you'd have found sanctuary far from any Force User. Twice before you'd been on the same vessel as Kylo Ren and twice before you'd shoved yourself into a dark corner far, far away. But this is important.

You hope.

"But I found it, sir. There's a bimonthly shipment of polyfibe that—“

“Polyfibe is the most common fabric in the galaxy.”

The hallway ends at two large doors. They open with a whoosh, revealing a room with a long table. It’s thankfully still empty. “It is, but it can’t be made on Sentrena which is where the shipments originate. Or any of the planets in that star system. They don’t have the proper resources or machinery.”

His steps came to a halt with a defeated sigh as the doors shut. “Could it be imported and shipped from there?”

“If they wanted the price quintupled.”

“Some people are stupid with their money.”

“Yes, but,” the datapad lit up as your fingers work deftly to bring up the list, “there’s no inventory of polyfibe or anything made of polyfibe in the shop.”

He takes the offered tablet, eyes roving over the list. His brows scrunch and he shoves it back into your hands. "When is the next shipment?”

“Today.”

“Send a squad to intercept.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

His fingers grip your upper arm, pulling you back harshly as you try to turn. “You better be right about this or you’ll find yourself shoveling shit somewhere for wasting my time.”

A nod in understanding is all you muster before he releases his grip. Scurrying away, the door barely opens in time for you to squeeze through. Or at least, you thought you had before you collided with a solid surface.

With a glance up, you meet the icy gaze of General Armitage Hux. A scowl adorns his face as it has in every hologram you've ever seen of him. “Watch where you’re going.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

You can hear the sneer in his voice as you continue past him. "I'll never understand why we use civilians for secretaries."

—

"Chromafiber?"

The hologram of Sergeant Eviena is shaky, but her voice comes through clear. "Yes. It appears they were making suits of it."

You nod, pacing the small, sterile office. “For camouflage. Stealth suits.” Chromafiber is expensive and difficult to work with in unskilled hands. "The best money could buy. Who are they for?"

"They wouldn’t say, but" she reaches into her pocket and produces what appears to be a clothing patch with a familiar, flame-like insignia, "we found a batch of these hidden away."

It’s the worst case scenario. You expected smuggling of some sort, perhaps avoiding taxes or bringing in some other outlawed substance. But they’ve been providing a lethal advantage to the Resistance, possibly for years. “Detain them. Send me every file you find. On the ship, in the shop, on any droid. Everything."

Despite you having no authority to give such commands, Evenia nods. “Yes ma’am.”

The hologram dissolves and you’re left alone once more. You don’t linger to soak in the victory, retracing your steps across the ship to where the meeting had been taking place. It’s been nearly two hours since you left and you've heard nothing on comms about them being finished. By the closed doors and the sweating lower officers waiting just beside them, it’s safe to assume the meeting continued. The pain in your head is dull. A good sign. Perhaps Atrox will be in a decent mood for once.

You wait, leaning against a wall further down a hallway that leads the opposite way of the docks. Two dozen reports have already chimed on your datapad. They’re easy enough to run through the programs you’d created to find key phrases, locations, names, patterns, etc. There’s nothing the programs recognize in them, but names pop out to you as you skim. They’re all common names. Too common.

Fake names designed to be overlooked. You’ll have to consider adding a program to make sure something like this isn’t missed again. You pull information aside as you continue to scroll, letting it drop in a new document for later review. No matter how well they hid their connections, there was always a trace left behind.

A commotion has you looking up. The doors open and the sounds of someone in hysterics floods the corridor. A man backs out of the room, pleading. Only one person inflicts that sort of fear. You don’t have time to flee.

Pain erupts in your skull. Blinding, burning white pushes from every corner. Something cracks. You try to resist, to push back against the Force, but it’s too much, too close, too late. A locked door that had held for more than a decade splinters and explodes beneath the pressure. The pain disapperates, but it’s no relief. Every part of the world around you turns bright and vibrant, connected and overwhelming. A sense suppressed for so long snapped back like a rubberband.

There’s a hand on your face. Green eyes boring into yours. "I love you." Brown Eyes. "Stay with me." Yellow eyes. Blinding red.

Gasping, ragged breaths drag air back into your deprived lungs. Cold seeps through the gloves. Your hands are on the floor. Shattered datapad between them. Black boots behind it.

He sinks to his knees. “You’re alive.” The robotic overlay can’t hide his surprise. Fingers on your chin make you stare into the abyss of a mask. Kylo Ren. But beneath the mask you feel him. A twisted, darker version, but still him. Alive.

Ben Solo is alive.

#general hux x reader #armitage hux x reader #kylo ren x reader #ben solo x reader #star wars x reader

121 notes · View notes

caplanbuckybarnes · 3 months ago

Text

CheaterCheaterBestFriendEater

Summary: After you'd gotten drunk with Tony one night when Steve was away on a mission, you never expected to be heartbroken I the morning.

Warnings: cheating, an abortion (not descriptive, just a brief mention of one), cheater!reader, pisse!steve (honestly, he should have been way more raged lol)

Word Count: 879

@saiilorstars sent in a GIF for a drabble. I'm going to do the Bucky one as well. Sorry, it's late, LOL.

Read on Ao3!

---

You knew from the look in his eyes that he was pissed. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to see that. You’d accidentally sent a text message to him that was meant entirely for someone else. Which, in retrospect, shouldn’t have been a problem. Expect that the text message revealed that you were pregnant.

And it couldn’t have been Steve’s.

He had been on a mission with the Avengers and Guardians, tracking down half-devoured worlds to help restore them. He had been gone for over two months when you texted him this revealing information.

You felt lonely. You felt depressed. You were alone in the compound with Tony and Bucky. All it took was one lonely and drunk night to find yourself waltzing into Tony’s room first and seducing him, to promise that you wouldn’t tell a soul about your little escapades that night. But little had you known of the consequences. You could have sworn you took your birth control pill that morning.

But as you looked at the tablet, the day’s previous one was still sealed shut. You waited several days before texting Tony while he ran errands with Bucky before letting him know. But of course, you had clicked on Steve’s pinned message on your phone without thinking before typing the message:

How the fuck am I supposed to fucking tell Steve, who is my goddamn BOYFRIEND, that I slept with one of his best friends and got pregnant? What the actual fuck, Tony?

It was with horror that you realised you’d sent the message to the wrong pinned message. You knew Steve would be arriving home shortly, so you’d been waiting for him on the house porch the four of you shared for bonding.

As he approached you, you stood up, swallowing the vomit that wanted to splatter all over the ground in front of you. “Do you have something you need to get off your chest, Y/N?”

“I’m glad to see you back, Steve,” you smiled at him shyly, not knowing what he was thinking. You always hated it when he was angered. He almost almost shut down his emotions when he was enraged.

“Is Tony here? Bucky?” He asked, looking past you into the open door, down the house's hallway.

“They’re out getting dinner for all of us,” you swallowed the vomit down once again. You wished he’d just \look\ at you, for fuck’s sake. “Steve, I-”

“Save it,” he demanded, staring at you with pure disgust. “I’ll talk with Tony and see what he says, and I swear to god, if this was a mutual event, you’re not going to like the person I become.” Before you could say a single word in reply, he stormed past you, almost knocking into your shoulder as he leapt up the stairs in one motion.

Later that night, you stayed in the bed you shared with Steve, glancing at his empty side every few seconds. He and Tony had gone on a car ride hours earlier, leaving you and Bucky alone in the house. You knew you had fucked up. You knew you were in the wrong. You only hoped that Steve wouldn’t hurt Tony in the process.

Unable to sleep, even hours later, you finally decided to leave the bed and roam into the kitchen downstairs, only to find Tony sitting at the table with an empty beer bottle cradled in between his clasped hands.

“Tony?” you spoke, causing him to lift his head and stare at you. “Where’s Steve?”

“Out in the back chopping wood, I think,” he answered, surprisingly sober. “I told him you promised me you’d abort the damn thing. It was the only way to save both of our asses. It was a drunken mistake, and it never should have happened.”

“Tony-”

“I’m calling T’challa in the morning to see about transporting you to Wakanda for a few days. Steve had the idea, not me, so don’t yell at me over it. I suggest you go pack about a week’s worth of clothes.”

“It’s the middle of the night, Tony,” you made to go to the back door before Tony stood up to block your way. “He needs sleep, Tony, and so do you and me. I can’t let him keep doing this.”

“Why not?” he replied. "We need the wood for the fireplace anyway. He didn’t kill me, so I think we’re both winning in this situation. Now go pack. I'll have Bucky drive you to the airport in the morning. Shuri will be picking you up from there."

There was no use in arguing with the man. Upstairs, you went to grab a large bag from your closet before going into the closet again and grabbing several outfits for the time you'll be staying in Wakanda.

You stayed in Wakanda for almost two months before Steve finally reached out to you with apologies and a desire to return home. He'd said he was deeply upset at your mistrust and still loved you. All you wanted was to be wrapped up in his arms again.

Another few days passed before you were woken up from your sleep to see Steve standing before your bed, holding a bouquet of your favourite flowers.

"It's time to go home, Y/N."

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n

85 notes · View notes

sopiloveshobi · 3 months ago

Text

Loved you from afar

Yoongi fluff that was in my head for a good few weeks. Inspired by my friend Taeyi. Shy Yoongi, non idol style. 4k words. No warnings. I hope it will make you feel warm and fluffy and head over heels for this Yoon. (didn't read it or spell checked sowwi)

‘I’m here!’ – you waived at the man walking down the mall along the shops towards you. He was holding two cups of coffee to go and a small bag which looked like the kind you would get from a pastry shop. He walked past few other people on the way and made his way to you. He was wearing a pair of shorts and long dark oversized t-shirt, high top converse with white socks sticking out. He smiled widely when he saw you waive. ‘The queue was crazy, I’m really sorry it took so long’ he muttered and handed you the drink. ‘It’s okay Yoongi, I told you it’s mental around this time of the day’ you smiled grateful he went to get lunch for the two of you. ‘Let me just let my boss know I’m going on a break’ you pointed at the inside of the clothing shop you were both standing in front and you disappeared inside for few moments, still holding your coffee. Yoongi nervously looked around, trying to find something to look at whilst waiting for you and he decided to just stare at his own shoes. You came back not long after, poked your head around the corner to see your friend just staring down. It wasn’t anything new to you, as he tends to be a little bit awkward in public. ‘All sorted, ready?’ you surprised him and he glanced at you, smiled and nodded.

Right outside of the mall on the left hand side was small park-ish area. Few swings for kids and benches for the parents. But it was all empty because it looked like everyone disappeared for lunch. The both of you moved towards the area, picked the cleanest bench and sat on it. It was getting colder as the autumn was approaching soon. The sun was still quite high, it just wasn’t giving the same warmth as two weeks ago. You have taken a sip of your drink and closed your eyes, listening to the silence surrounding the two of you.

‘Taehyung wanted to go to the movies later today’ Yoongi muttered kind of towards you but kind of just into the universe.

‘Oh really? What are you going see?’ you got interested right away. You knew Yoongi for years now. It’s been at least 8, maybe coming to be 9 soon? You became friends at school, then you graduated and still were hanging out, both got few part time jobs in the past few years. You also managed to hold a serious adult office job for about three months before you decided to get a degree - part time, which you also decided to abandon few weeks in. It was too stressful and all you wanted to do was to draw. You were really good at it, so you opened a small business on the side selling your digital prints and art you drew on your tablet. But it wasn’t enough to keep you going, hence the part-time job at the mall.

Yoongi always wanted to make music and he was doing it on the side. He was definitely making enough now to not work part time but for some reason when he found out you will be working in the same mall as him (before he decided to quit) he changed his mind and decided to stay. You never really questioned his decisions. During your summer breaks you spent hours together locked in one of your rooms, him making music at the desk and you drawing on your tablet. The perfect combination. Both the artsy types, both quite shy and timid. Not all the time tough, there were multiple crazy stories you could tell your friends. One of the more memorable ones was when the two of you got really drunk after work and you sat in a shopping trolley which he was pushing, while riding his skateboard. Both laughing like two crazy teenagers until the security got rid of you. Yoongi was shy. Very shy. But he was also so warm. He would always cover your with a blanket when you fell asleep and he continued working on his stuff. He would always bring you hot soup when you were ill. Lunch at work was always a must. He really cared. He was also the type to never admit if he ever had feelings for you. If he did, he treasured your friendship more. He could always be around you and catch you when you fall, without ever risking and jeopardising your current relationship. He could love you from afar. Of course he spent nights thinking if your lips would be soft on his, or what would it be like to hold your hand for real, not just for a second when you were wrestling on the bed. What would it be like for you to fall asleep on his shoulder, when you actually intended to put your head there, not just by accident when he was near by and you were too tired to sit straight. His stomach flipped every time you mentioned a date with someone. He was terrified of someone else having you, at the same time he would never stop you. And he was always there when you were broken up with by another guy who didn’t know what he could have. He watched all the silly films with you and devoured half of the tub of ice cream you always liked. He was always the one to peel a tangerine for you, or an orange when they were around. Without asking if you fancy one, he would just do it and hand it over to you.

‘I’m not sure but he wanted me to bring you with. He said he invited the new girl he was seeing and he wanted it to be little bit less official than a date’ Yoongi answered, slightly worried you might get the wrong idea about the entire thing. But it wasn’t the first time you would go to the movies as his +1. Anytime one of his friends needed a double date you two were the go to. Even though you obviously weren’t dating. Obviously to you, not so obviously to Yoongi. Well it was obvious enough but it started getting to him the more he thought on how long you two have been hanging out for. Nearly 9 years. He was a loyal friend, he was a loyal friend to his other friends too it was just the way he was. He brushed through his long dark hair, overgrown from the summer. He looked at you, nervous as always even though he asked you the same question multiple times before.

‘So WE are going? I didn’t really want to go out tonight but..’ you started, desperately trying to get your pastry out of the paper bag that was laying between you and him on the bench.

‘If you don’t want to I will tell him you had other plans’ he quickly jumped to conclusion. He would never want you to do anything that you weren’t comfortable doing.

‘No, no it’s fine. We can go’ you smiled seeing him getting flustered. He held the bag steady for you and you finally managed to get your piece out of the bag. You grabbed the pastry and bit into it right away. Sweet cream and jam inside filled your mouth and you felt better. Less dizzy and shaky. You didn’t have anything else this morning and Yoongi knew it. Because when you asked for lunch you asked for coffee only and he brought food. He knew you too well and he was sure you didn’t have anything else that day.

‘Are you sure? I can go on my own..’ he asked looking at your pretty face devouring the pastry he picked for you. He admired every second of every time spent with you. Your eyes wondering around the sky, which he dreamed of staring for hours at the time.

‘Yes it’s fine, let’s do it. What film?’ you looked at him again, in between bites.

‘I didn’t really ask, let me text him’ he got a little bit nervous, of course he forgot to ask Taehyung about the film, at the end of the day he didn’t really care. He knew he would have a good time because it was with you. ‘Anyway, I will pick you up at 7? I will take my mums car’.

‘Sounds good! And don’t worry we haven’t seen any of the new films anyway, so whatever Tae picked will be fine’. He loved how unproblematic you were. How easy it was for you to just go with the flow. It was easy for you because you knew that it was always a good time with Yoongi. You knew nothing bad will ever happen to you around him. He would always protect you and take care of you. And you loved it about him so much, but you could never admit it. How could you ruin a friendship like this? He was older so in your head he was always treating you like a younger sister. The age gap wasn’t that big, you met at school at the end of the day.

You picked a really flowy dress, the evenings weren’t super cold. Short green platted dress with a cream cardigan because it was an evening and the dress was on thin straps so you were bound to get cold and you promised yourself you won’t get Yoongi to give up his hoodie yet another time for you. You put few bits in your bag: lip balm, pack of tissues, your wallet and your keys and you run out seeing Yoongi approaching in his mums car. You got in and he got immediately flashed with your scent. Sweet but light floral perfume that you have been using for as long as he remembers. Your hair half-up, with the rest flowing down your shoulders. He got stunned. He couldn’t say anything, there was no thoughts in his brain apart from just how beautiful you looked that night.

‘Yoongi? Hello?’ you waved your hands in front of his eyes and he finally shook his head and came back to his senses.

‘Pull yourself together’ he whispered to himself and you heard him say something but you couldn’t make up any of the words.

‘What? Are you okay?’ you asked, but then he looked back at you, smiled and nodded.

‘Ready? You look great’ he complimented. He always said it. No matter what were you wearing and it was true. He loved you in every outfit. No. He was miserable about you in every outfit. Including his hoodie and joggers when you both got soaked that one night running home from the shop. You were perfect to him in everything you wore. Oh how miserable he was about you. And recently it has been becoming more and more impossible to hide it. He would stutter when you would approach him without a notice or he would get stunned just like just did in the car.

‘Let’s go!’ you said enthusiastically and put your hand into a fist and made a really awkward ‘lets’ gesture. He didn’t say a word the entire time to the cinema. Not a word. The music was playing in the background, nothing too crazy, nothing too loud. He was always quiet but he was acting really strange this time. Almost too strange. And when you started thinking about it, he did become different recently. He was more distant, quieter. He wouldn’t come around as much after work anymore. Is he dating someone? That was your first thought but then you declined that idea since he invited you to go and pretend to be double dating with Tae tonight. Surely he would of invited his real date if he had one.

Anyways you made it to the car park behind the cinema, walked inside and stood there for a while trying to localise Taehyung. But he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Not yet anyway.

‘Is he late? Are they late? I mean it’s nothing new for him, but isn’t the film about to start?’ you asked and looked at Yoongi as he was taking his phone out. You watched him text Tae for the 5th time in the span of 20 minutes as you were waiting for him. You turned around and looked at the popcorn machine and went towards it to get some for you and Yoongi. In that time Taehyung sent a message back to Yoongi ‘We are not coming. I will explain later’ is what the messaged said. You came back to him with a giant bucket of popcorn with a smile on your face excited to devour it during the film.

‘Well they are not coming apparently. Do you still want to go and see the film?’ Yoongi locked his phone and put it into his pocket. You looked at the popcorn in your hands and pouted at first because the idea to miss out on all of that crunchy deliciousness made you a little sad.

‘Do you?’ you asked quickly, still staring at the food.

‘Sure why not, we are already here and we got the tickets’ he nodded and took the bucket away from you. It was always like that with him around. You never had to carry anything, you never even have to ask. You never had to ask about the hoodie when you were shivering either. He just knew. He was a little bit excited for the idea of just the two of you in the cinema. All on your own. Last time you both went was few years ago and he was really nervous to just be alone in a dark room like that with you. Even though you spent hours overnight in each others houses. But the cinema was always a strange place that just gave him this one particular feeling. A feeling of a date.

You found the screening room and went inside. The ads have already started as you were waiting for Tae and his date for a while. Yoongi found your seats and lead you to it. There wasn’t a lot of people around anyway, not many people chose to come in on a weekday after all.

The film started uneventful, it was supposed to be a thriller but it doesn’t seem very thrilling at first anyway. You were slowly going through your bucket of popcorn when a huge yawn came out of you. You hid your face in your hands quickly with an apologetic look on your face, staring at Yoongi. He giggled as it made him laugh. The film wasn’t very good and he clearly could tell that you were getting bored too. But you both decided to give it another try and started paying attention again. The film did get better. The story moved at a faster pace and when a random guy popped out of a rubbish bin with a knife you jumped on your seat and your hand intuitively landed on Yoongis. He looked at your hand and froze for a second. You were now holding his hand. Well he was holding your hand. You two were holding hands. He gasped without you noticing but he didn’t pull away. He promised himself to distance himself from you. Give you space to breathe because even he could notice the way he was behaving around you recently. But today, the smell of you in his car, the green dress and the fact that Tae stood you two up made a potion of courage for him. He decided to just go with the flow. It wasn’t like him at all. But he kept wondering what would it be like to hold your hand, and how would your lips fit in his.

You noticed he was looking at your hands but you didn’t pull away either. You didn’t let him see that you saw him looking. What a huge game is being played here. Pretending to not see each other movements or delicate stares. You smirked to yourself and decided to pretend this is not a big deal. It’s just a hand, right? And then another strange thing happened in the film and you squeezed his hand. And all of a sudden he just let go of your hand and wrapped his arm around you. You froze. Yoongi? What the hell is this? He wasn’t looking at you, he just did this and went back to watching the film. But you couldn’t focus anymore, his fresh scent surrounded you. Just like every time you wore his hoodie. It felt so homey and fresh. His warm arm around you. You not moving an inch. You gulped. What is going on? You thought to yourself. He was never like this. He was never this brave, nor forward. But it felt so nice. You didn’t know what to do next. You were so conflicted already overthinking scenarios in your head. What if we won’t like each other like that for very long? What if he will get bored of me? What if…

He saw you having an internal conversation with yourself. He knew you too well and seen it too many times. He wasn’t sure what it was about but he could tell you stopped focusing on the film. Did I fuck up? He thought to himself but he didn’t move an inch. He looked at you again and he saw two round eyes staring right at him. There was nothing else around for him just the pair of your eyes looking at him. He exhaled loudly and looked away for a second. Brushed his hand through his overgrown long dark hair and looked back at you.

And there you were, still staring at him trying to read what was going on in his head. Trying to understand what was going on between the two of you just then and there.

‘Fuck it’ he said very loudly and leaned forward. Where did Yoongi found all of his courage to do all of this neither of you will ever know nor question. Because his nose was touching yours now, his eyes closed and his lips touching yours. And the both of you froze for a second. You didn’t back out but you didn’t kiss him back right away. You were trying to understand the motive behind his arm wrapped around you not beg for a kiss but he clearly read you wrong. Well wrong wasn’t the correct word. He understood you differently. And now his lips were at yours. Your stomach flipped and it felt like 10 thousand butterflies just hatched inside you and try to escape. You could tell he was nervous because his arm that was still wrapped around you was getting a little shaky and heavy. Without thinking too much anymore you started kissing him back and a slow and soft kiss turned into a slightly deeper one and he started grabbing you closer with the wrapped around you arm. You cupped his face with your hand and reciprocated every inch of his kiss. It felt like the both of you were floating above the seats now and nothing else really mattered anymore. The semi good film, the popcorn you had your eyes on for most of the duration of the film.

He finally had the guts to go for it. He didn’t know when was the next time will be, that it will be just the two of you in the cinema which for some reason he had really strong feelings about. It couldn’t be in the car. It also couldn’t be anywhere else. You kept making out until the film finished, without noticing and the lights turned on. Only then Yoongi realised that the film has finished and he let go of you and sat back in his seat. He didn’t say anything, he just smirked and then smiled with one of his gummy smiles to himself.

You got off your chair and looked at him for a second, really shy with flushed face. You were blushing, now that it wasn’t dark around the two of you. He followed, grabbed the rest of the popcorn bucket and took it with him to leave at the bin downstairs. Both of you silent, just moved towards the exit and then towards the exit of the building and straight to Yoongis mums car. No word, not a look not a sight was heard. The silence was deafening and it almost felt like either of you regretted what just happened. Yoongi couldn’t stop overthinking it. He was sure he fucked up. For once he had the guts to act the way he really felt and it all ruined your really long friendship. He just wanted to get you safe home and disappear for few days, give you time to breathe.

‘So…’ you finally opened your mouth as the both of you were standing in front of the car.

‘So..’ he answered looking away from you. Both of his hands in his pockets, playing with his shoe shyly. ‘Listen I know this wasn’t planned..’ he started again. He didn’t have a plan. Again. He didn’t know what he wanted to say. All he wanted to do is to lean you over the car and kiss you again and again. But you were still blushing and looking away from him just now.

‘It’s okay if you regret it’ you interrupted him right away. If? That sounded like you weren’t regretting it. He looked at you for the first time since you left the cinema. You were standing in front of him, pink nose from the wind outside, red cheeks and glary round eyes drilling into him.

‘I don’t..’ he braved it out of himself. He took a step towards you and you froze again. You turned your head to the side almost like asking a question and he took one of his hands out of the pockets of his hoodie and leaned forward towards you. ‘Come here’ he whispered and you took his hand. He pulled you closer and leaned you on the car door. Took few steps towards you, the tip of his nose touching yours. He bit his lip and then looked into your eyes. You gulped so loudly you could hear it. You closed your eyes before he closed his and he smirked and shook his head. Your insides flipped, the butterflies hatched in the second wave and started flustering inside you. You bit the inside of your mouth and patiently waited. But nothing happened. He was just there looking at you with your eyes closed. So you opened one of it and you saw him smiling. Gummy wide smile, eyes in half moons. Pure happiness and you have never seen him like this. ‘If I kiss you again, that will be it you know it?’ he finally managed to get few words out. ‘You will be mine and I won’t let you go’ he added before you had a chance to respond. And you nodded. That’s all you could do. Just nod. So he came closer and this time the both of you closed your eyes at the same time and his lips met yours again. It felt so right, it felt like this is what you have been waiting for, for years. Tears started rolling down your face as he kept kissing you more and more. And then he felt the tears and stopped.

‘Why.. why are you crying? Do you not want to?’ he got instantly worried and regretted being so confident in himself but you shook your head.

‘I didn’t know this was what I was waiting for, for all these years’ you answered and pulled him back to you. His head was spinning. You were his. He was holding you in his arms. He was kissing your lips. Finally. All the worries he always had stopped him from doing this went away. Maybe tomorrow he will think about it and worry about the future but for now. Now he had you and you were his.

‘I loved you from afar for years’ he didn’t think through what he was about to say. Today was the day he was just saying and doing everything he felt like was right. But you didn’t answer, just pulled him closer to you and hid your face in his arms. He hugged you so tight and wrapped his arms around you. And you felt safe. Like there was nothing else in the world that could hurt you. His pocket buzzed and he pulled out his phone to see a message from Taehyung.

'I hope you enjoyed ;)' . The both of you looked at the message and then saw Taehyung in a car parked opposite of you waving and showing his thumbs up.

#bts #min yoongi #yoongi x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #bts suga

84 notes · View notes