#what is your walk of shame count to withers with this one included?

[azurechicken]

Astarion gets cute aggrassion and bites you bites you bites you and you die

[plush-rabbit]

A Flip of a Coin

Warnings: Train

Word Count: 4.5K

A/N: It’s a special day and I get to choose the fic for the day!! A sequel to A Simple Wager (also whenever i write tomura just know its from like volume 24 and on cause i wanna hold his hand)

You stare at the group of men- your partner included- with narrowed eyes, your tongue peeking out to wet your lips only to suck it back in when you can feel a pair of eyes stare heavily at your lips. Your hands grab the hem of your shirt, pulling on the loose fabric, the fading scent of Tomura still lingering. Your eyes dance along the group of men- Tomura, Dabi, Atsuhiro, Jin, and Shuichi- your eyes finally resting on Tomura, meeting his eyes for a moment only for him to break eye contact. His hand wraps around his neck, fingers pressing into his neck, softly pulling on the sensitive skin.

“Another bet?” You keep your gaze focused on Tomura who has focused on the bed sheets that crinkle where you sit. “What makes you all think I’m so keen on agreeing to this when the last time he-” you point at Tomura, your gaze narrowing- “made a bet, I ended up being the one screwed over.”

Dabi snorts, his chin lifting an inch as he looks further down at you. “Quite literally.” He gives you a stretched smile when you glare at him. His hands raise in front of him in an apology. “Relax, I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

You exhale, your head shaking as you look down. Your hands curve over your knees, holding tightly to them as you look at Dabi. “I’ll give you the joke.” You point your finger at Dabi, your smile exasperated. “But I’m not eager to join in another dumb bet because I was the one-” your mouth pulls into a thin line unable to find the proper words.

“Humiliated?” Atsuhiro chimes in, the smile on his face charming. His smile stretches when you look at him.

You take in a shaky breath, letting it go just as it came. “Yes. Humiliated. Thank you, Atsuhiro.” You give him a tight smile. “I just don’t see what I will win if I join this bet. The odds of me losing are high and whatever punishment there is, I just know, I’m not going to like it."

“It’ll be fun,” Tomura murmurs, coming to sit beside you, his hand covering yours.

“For you or for me?” You ask accusingly, slowly removing your hand from under his. “Because if there is no real reward for this, then I’m out.”

“For all of us,” they all say in mixed unison, Shuichi muttering the words last. You meet his gaze, your brows raising in surprise. He sighs and clears his throat, standing slightly taller than before. “It’s a fifty-fifty chance. Flip the coin and if it lands on heads, you get to ask us to do anything or get you anything and we’ll do it.”

“And if it lands on tails?” You ask, your voice quiet, now aware of why they’re all standing before you. No one answers your question and you push further. “I can’t participate in a bet if I don’t know what the other wager is.”

“So you’ll participate?” Jin asks eagerly, bouncing on the heel of his foot to the toe of the boots he wears. “We’ll only tell if you participate.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “That completely invalidates my question then. Can I just have a clear answer, please?” You turn to Tomura, your lips pulled into a pout and he immediately turns his head. You cover his hand with yours, your head resting against his collarbone. “Please, Tomura? I promise if you tell me, I’ll actually think about it.” His shoulders stiffen at your words and he gives a stiff nod.

Atsuhiro clears his throat and you look towards him. “If the coin lands on heads, you get to ask us for anything but-” a gloved hand raises, his index pointed- “if it lands on tails, then we all get to run a train.” He notices your confused gaze, smiling widely. “We all take turns with you for example.”

You bark out a humorless laugh. You cut it off when the smiles grow wider. “And who says I’m actually going to be feeling up to the-” you raise your hands, fingers bending in quotations- “train?”

“I have a friend who owes me a favor.” Dabi takes a step forward, pulling out a small bag, a single tablet inside. “Their quirk is an aphrodisiac, it’s all embedded in this pill.” He holds the bag towards you. “Their parents' quirks were something about love spell and the other about forming small objects. You mix ‘em up and suddenly you have a hybrid quirk.” He shakes the bag in front of you as if that would entice you further. “All you have to do is swallow this- if you lose- and in ten minutes you’ll be practically begging for us to have a go at you.”

You push the bag away from him, a humorless smile on your face. “How enticing,” you drone emotionless. “I don’t think I’ll be participating in this bet, but you’re all free too.” You pull away from Tomura, coming to a rise. “Have fun.”

You go to open your door and when your hand reaches the doorknob, Dabi speaks once more. “You know, if you tell us to do anything, we’ll even feel obligated to delete the audio of you getting fucked by Shigaraki over here.” Your eyes snap towards Dabi who smiles coolly at you. “Aw, you didn’t know? We all jerked off at the sounds of you getting fucked, did you really not think that we would have kept an audio?” He turns his head, the baggie still pinched between his fingers. “Compress, show them the coin, eh?”

He jerks his head to Atsuhiro who pulls out a coin and you take the steps to meet them, you hand snatching the coin in the gloved hand. Heads and tails. No tricks played on your eyes. A true coin- or as true and fair that you can get from a magician. “No funny business,” you mutter.

“We’re all here to play fair,” Tomura mutters and you glance towards him.

“Is this why you want me to play?” Your tone softens, a frown tugging down on your lips.

Dabi barks in laughter and he comes to you, his chest pressed against yours, the baggie filling part of your vision as his wicked smile takes the background. “He can pretend it's because he wants the audio removed but we all secretly think he wants to see just how fucked you can get with a pill.”

Your hand snatches the bag and you toss the coin to Atsuhiro who catches it flawlessly. He smiles, removing his balaclava, folding it carefully and placing it inside his vest. He flips the coin playfully, the metal shining under the lighting. “Are you sure?”

All eyes are on you and you face burns with humiliation. “Go ahead.” You go to sit beside Tomura who pecks at your cheek. You give him a side glance and he pulls you close to him.

The room is silent. All eyes are on Atsuhiro who removes his glove, the metal hand exposed as the hand forms into a loose fist with the thumb tucked in. A sharp sound rings out in the room and all eyes watch as the coin flips in the air. It’s interrupted in the air as the prosthetic hand clasps around it, turning it over on the still gloved hand. His hand is lifted, and everyone- including you- goes to crowd the villain, your face falling, heart sinking into your stomach when tails gleams at you.

The baggie is pulled away from your hands and on Tomura’s palm, the pill is offered to you. You look up to your partner who merely shrugs his shoulders, pushing the pill further to you. “You lost,” he mumbles apologetically. “A bet is a bet.” His hand clasps close when you take the pill from his hand. “It’ll be me first-” he watches as you lift your hand to your mouth- “obviously.”

“Obviously,” you mock, your brows furrowed. You pinch your eyes closed and place the pill in your mouth, feeling the rough way that it slides down your throat. “This bet was fucked. I should have let you all keep your stupid audio,” you grumble.

“But ya didn’t,” Jin says with pride. “We’ll leave y'all be.” He raises his hands in a peace sign as he walks away, followed by the rest minus Tomura. “Don’t worry, we’ll know when to come in.”

And with that, you are left alone with Tomura and an aphrodisiac that is working faster than you were told. Heat burns between your sex, arousal dripping from you in slimy, thin waves. As you walk to the bed, every bit of friction rubs against your heat and you are left on your stomach, your hands grabbing at the comforter, face buried into the bed.

“Fucker said ten minutes,” you hiss, turning your head to look at Tomura who has already begun to undress. “Well aren’t you eager,” you spit out, your body tensing and twisting as another wave of arousal rushes through your body. “This works out good for you, huh?” Hands clasp around the waistband of your shorts, and you squirm under the touch, a curse leaving you mouth. “Tomura, please.” You grind yourself against the mattress, the remaining clarity that you have left in your head is fury and shame as you remember Dabi’s words of having you beg. You pinch your legs together, a wave of heat shooting straight to you, your legs being spread, your underwear clinging to your leaking sex. Your clit throbs, cunt aching and your hands knotted into the sheets. “Fuck!” The top of your forehead buries into the mattress when Tomura’s tongue pushes against your sex, the sticky fabric of the underwear pushing against you.

His tongue twirls around you, pushing against and sucking on the thin fabric, his mouth slowly filling with your taste. Calloused hands pull against your waistband, crescent shaped marks appearing almost instantly. You yelp as your lower half is raised into the air, the underwear pulled away from your body, thin strands of arousal connecting them to you snaps away and kisses at your thighs.

His tongue is inside of you, pushing into your leaking entrance, rubbing against your soft, gummy walls. His tongue curls inside of you, scooping out your arousal and swallowing it madly. His kisses at your sex as if he were you, spit spilling and tongue pushing itself inside. His hands are needy, holding onto you and as you moan and plea for more, the aphrodisiac now completely in your system, the slightest touch having you come undone onto your partner’s face. You wither and writhe, chanting his name and begging for more, pushing your sex against his face until his tongue is deep inside of you and yet, you are not full enough. Your body longs for more and your hand slithers to touch at your pulsing clit that aches so painfully.

His tongue is away from you for a moment and you’re crying, begging for more, spreading your folds to show him your weeping sex, dripping heavy with arousal and spit. You ache, your walls trying so desperately to grasp and wrap themselves around nothing, begging to be filled.

“Tomura, fuck!” You hiss, your hand releasing the twisted comforter to slam your hand down when his cock enters you. Your fingers circle madly against your clit, pushing and rubbing against the beating pearl and you are gone, your face flushed and body now consumed with the need to be filled and taken care of. You whimper and meet his hips with yours.

His hands grips your waist and you cry as his nails pierce your skin. Your walls tighten around him, milking him for every drop of arousal that he is, pinching your legs together. His hand clasps around your hair and he pulls you up, uncaring as you yelp and at this point, it would be out of pleasure rather than sudden pain. Two fingers are placed beside his twitching cock, the added digits causing you to release against him, your eyes go wide and orgasms washing over hii fingers. He pulls them away and hooks them in your mouth. You taste sweet, overtly so, thick like honey and sweet like candy, and you drool at the thought.

The door opens and you are uncaring. Your tongue spills out when his fingers leave your mouth, eyes rolling to the back of your head as your clothes are dusted off, the dust tickling at your burning skin and you cry against it, feeling the eyes on your heated body. You cry and arch your back, so desperate to be filled until you’re leaking. You move yourself against his cock and Tomura grunts, his thrusts getting sloppy until he stills, something hot and thick filling your cunt. You shake your bum, aching to have him go further, to fill you up until you are spent, unable to go further.

“It worked faster than I thought,” a voice echoes in the room and you can only give a side glance, vision blurry with tears as you are fucked thoroughly. His cock pumps into you, desperate to make You ache, panting your tongue like a bitch in heat. ”Look at them go, they’re practically begging for cock at this point.” A hand twists at your nipple and you squeal, your hands moving to grasp at the face closest to you and pull him in for a kiss. You can taste metal and blood on your tongue, filling you with something indescribable as you moan against him, pulling his closer and replacing your hand with his. He pulls away and cold, blue eyes meet yours, his eyes glancing to your lips. “Fuck, Shigaraki,” Dabi murmurs. “That’s what you’ve been keeping to yourself, huh?” A hand slaps against your bare skin and you lower yourself to the bed, raising your bum with a cock still deep in your cunt, semen dripping out and making a mess underneath you. Metal clings and fabric are scratched against each other. “Time for my turn.” Tomura leaves you and is quickly replaced by Dabi who enters you. “Holy fuck,” he spits under his breath. “A tight cunt, fucking wet and sloppy.” He pushes his cock deep into you without warning, the bare skin covered in arousal and already twitching inside of you. “Who’s after me?”

“I’m not particularly fond of having another semen touch me, so I’ll be taking their mouth.” You look up, your mouth agape and hands reaching forwards, to undo the blank pants, only for the clothes to disappear into marbles, placed carefully against the nightstand. “Open wide, dear. The last thing I want is to hurt you more than necessary.” A hand pats at the top of your head when you open your mouth as told. “How obedient,” Mr. Compress muses. “Obedient and cute. Such a shame, Shigaraki met you first.”

Thinner and longer than Dabi’s, you choke against it, spit filling your mouth. Your hands go to grip onto his bare hips, your hands slowly curving over to grab at his rear, pulling him close to you. Tears fill your eyes, your nose pressed against his pubic bone, spit spilling from your mouth and catching onto the edge of the bed. You cry and whine, bucking against both of the shafts inside of your hole, hands touching at your body and marking you.

“What a fucking slut,” Dabi spits out. “Fucking us in front of your partner? Well, it’s a good thing he’s getting off on it too, huh?” He laughs, spanking your rear, leaving your cries muffled against Atsuhiro’s cock who grasps your hair begins to fuck himself using your throat. “You’re fucking dripping.”

“Now Dabi, there’s no need to insult the lovely person who’s allowing us to use them like a fleshlight.” Mr. Compress stops himself, burrowing his cock deep into your throat, your hands scratching against his bare skin, as air escapes your lungs. “Isn’t that right? Such a pretty little thing that’s letting this group of villains violate your needy little holes. Who’s a good girl, hm? It’s you, yes it is,” he coos, pulling his cock away, leaving you gasping for breath, gossamer strings of spit connecting you to his cock and like a moth to a flame, you go back to suck on his length. “That's a good girl, know your place and suck me good, hm?” Your cunt clasps tightly against Dabi’s cock, pleading with a full mouth only to have your rear smacked.

“Weren’t you ever taught to not speak with a full mouth?” Dabi pushes himself deeper into you, his hand going underneath to pinch at your throbbing clit. “It’s considered rude.” He twists your heated pearl and you let out another squeal, cheeks hollowing against Atsuhiro’s cock, tongue licking at the tip, eager for his seed to spill. “Make sure you remember that, hm?” Dabi buries himself inside of you and you can feel his seed shoot inside of your cunt, filling you until it spills in thick, syrupy strands.

“Fuck, you should see your face, dear. Eyes rolled back and slobbering, face burning for air as you suck me dry. What a good, little slut.” Atsuhiro twists his hands in your hair and buries himself close to you, spilling his own seed inside of your mouth. You swallow it eagerly, a nice, salty taste lingering afterwards and he pulls away, legs shaking and steps wobbly as Jin replaces him.

“I promise to be as gentle as I can-” his smile grows wide- “fuck, you do look like a slut.” His cock, already erect, is thick and veiny, blond tufts of hair adorning him. Your mouth opens, your tongue peeking out. “I always thought your mouth looked hot.” He stretches your mouth painfully good. You grip onto him, moaning his name in vibrations that makes him thrust into your aching throat mercilessly.

Behind you, scaled hands run over your body, touching at the fat of your thighs to your stinging bottom, and carefully, using claws to scoop out a dollop of discharge in your puffy cunt. You cry against the feeling, your entrance fluttering and crying at the tease. “It might feel weird, okay? But-” the tips of his cock presses against your entrance- “you’ll feel good. I promise.” His head is slender, smooth almost and as he buries deeper into you, ridges and bumps begin to form, lining the underside of his cock. He bulges out and you moan loudly, pushing the rest of Shuichi deeper into you. His cock jerks inside of you, the grooves and swell of it hitting everything perfectly.

“You fucked their mouth good, Compress,” Jin says out loud, pushing deeper into you, the wet clicking of skin loud and reverberating through the room. “They suck cock so good, I’m surprised they aren’t making a business out of it.” His voice is light, his hips snapping back and forth as he fucks your mouth, tears filling your eyes and gagging loud in the air. “I could fuck ‘em all day and I don’t it would ever be enough. Ha-” he arches his back, hands pushing the back of your head further onto his cock- “you sure we can’t extend it for at least another round? I don’t think I can last long.”

“One round-” a curse interrupts Tomura’s words- “was what we agreed on.”

Fuck,” Jin mutters, keeping the steady pace of his cock meeting the back of your throat with every thrust. “Guess I’ll have to make it last, huh?”

“You really are good at sex. What a tight little cunt, dripping and trying to suck me dry,” Shuichi hisses, pushing forward, the swell of his cock orgasmic as another wave of pleasure runs through you. “Fuck, you just keep on going, huh? How cute.” Clawed hands drag against your hips, marring you in shallow cuts. “You’ve gotten fucked little whore. Your cunt is all filled with our seed.” His thrusts grow sloppier with each word. “I can feel you just throbbing, the heat that courses through you, your pussy so tight and wet, trying to milk me dry, ha!” His thrusts start to slow, semen spilling out and warming at your abused sex. “You look fantastic like this, by the way.” His cock pulls out, cum spilling from you in a heavy wave as it coats the inside of your thighs.

“I gotta agree with Spinner over there,” Jin mutters, his fingers coming to pinch your nose as he buries his thickness in your mouth. “Don’t give me that look, all I gotta do is shoot my load down your throat and I’ll let you breathe.” Your lungs burn, chest aching, your hands clawing at the man who holds you hostage with a cock. With a simple cry of a curse and your name, Jin spills down your throat, bitter and salty and you swallow eagerly.

You lie spent on the bed, tears slowly sliding down the curve of your face. Your throat is sore, jaw stretched and the corners of your lips feeling as if they'd spilt. Your cunt aches, warm semen sliding past your abused sex, dripping in heavy, creamy strands. A calloused hand touches against your inner thigh and you tense, your muscles going rigid underneath the touch. The touch pricks your skin and you let out a low whimper, kicking out your leg weakly only for the hand to grip harder onto you.

"Are you doing okay?" Tomura asks in a whisper, the bed creaking as he sits beside you. You groan in response, your hand fluttering to your sex, fingers ghosting above you pubic bone and grazing at your clit. Your walls contract, another thick ooze of white discharge spilling from your cunt and behind your closed eyes, flashes go off. “”Now isn’t the time,” he snaps in response to the flash.

“I don’t think you’re one to bitch at us when you took your own share of videos and pictures,” Jin retorts, as another flash cuts him off. “Anyways, they’re fine, I mean look at ‘em!” He no doubt gestures to your sweat-coated and trembling frame. “Aren’t ya, sweetheart?”

You slowly open your eyes, trying to fight off the heaviness on your lids which proves to be a futile attempt as when you rise on your elbows, your eyes are slowly closing. “You all suck,” you retort pathetically, your voice hoarse and scratchy. You lay back down with a huff, a heaviness thick in your bones.

“Bold words coming from you,” Dabi remarks, his hands coming to hold onto your ankles, the only given that it is him is the warmth of his hands and the touch of metal against your skin. “But for real,” he clicks his tongue, his grip on your ankles becoming a smidge tighter, “do you need anything?”

“I’d be more than happy to get you something for your throat,��� Atsuhiro chimes, a heavy hand on the curve of your stomach, his thumb running small arches over your skin. “I’m sure it must be sore by now.” His movement stops for a second and when you open your eyes, you meet his for a second before he turns over to where Jin stands at the edge of the bed. “I- uh-” he clears his throat, still not meeting your gaze- “We surely did a number on you. I’ll make sure to fetch something for you.” He looks at you once more, caramel eyes locking with your tear stained ones. “How does that sound?”

You nod slowly, offering a smile towards him and he beams, removing his hand from your stomach and coming to cup your face. He pauses for a moment, casting a quick glance to Tomura who watches with narrowed eyes. Quickly, he lowers himself, his lips pecking at the tip of your nose. Tomura makes a nose of distaste, his hand coming to hold yours.

“He just throat-fucked me and you’re worried about the kiss?” You playfully narrow your eyes at Tomura, a smile giving away your true feelings. “You’re still my favorite.” You squeeze his hand, shifting in the bed, closing your eyes in a tight wince.

“Ouch,” Shuichi murmurs, pulling up his pants and giving you a playful smile when you look back at him. “Well, I think we should take our leave and ya know-” he glances down to your puffy cunt- “get them some things and let them have their er-” he pauses, unable to find the proper word.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Dabi mutters, pulling his hand away from your ankles that still linger with his touch. He sighs, grabbing at his clothes, his body still bare, cock still dripping with pearly white semen. “Let’s go and leave the lovebirds to themselves.” He gives you a sly smirk, the white shirt slipping onto his body with ease.

“Shit blows,” Jin mutters, grabbing his own clothes and opening the door for the group, his grin wide, eyes glancing once more towards you, giving you a quick wink. “Later sweetheart. You know who to call if you need another dick in your mouth.”

You wave your hand in a silent goodbye and when the door clicks close, Tomura is close to attach himself to your side. His head buries into your chest, his free hand coming to curve over your breasts, his finger pinching at your nipples. Your hand goes to cradle his head, a hand knitting into his hair and scratching at his scalp. The other hand comes to hold the back of his hand that is over your breast. His mouth opens slightly, his tongue peeking out and tonguing at your pebbled nipple. You moan his name in a soft whisper, twisting his hair in your hand.

“I hated them touching you,” he pauses for a minute, kissing at your breast, “but I have to admit that seeing you fucked silly was pretty hot.” You laugh and you can feel his breath on yours. “I’m just not entirely thrilled that they went ahead and got pictures of you.”

Your hand releases and he lets out a hiss, his mouth returning to your nipple, suckling on your teat. He moans against your breast, pushing downward and hollowing his cheeks. “Well, maybe that should be a part of the conditions next time, huh?” You tease, scratching at his scalp. “But you don’t really have much to say about the pictures when you have your little videos, hm?” He pauses for a minute and you smile, your eyes slowly closing as he swings a leg over yours, pulling you close, able to feel his growing member. “So soon?” He nods, his mouth still busy with your spit-coated breast. “Well, then, I suppose we both deserve a treat.” He nods once more, muttering a confirmation as he hands pinches your neglected nipple. A tender, tired smile stretches slowly across your face, your hand now lightly rubbing over his scalp. “Yeah, that’s my good boy,” you coo. “You’re doing such a good job, Tomura.”

[wkemeup]

By Any Other Name (14)

series summary: When Special Agent Bucky Barnes is tasked with infiltrating the notorious gang Hydra and gathering evidence against its leader, Brock Rumlow, Bucky finds himself drawn to the woman who doesn’t seem to belong in this world of violence, the wife of the head of Hydra… you. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 6k warnings: references/descriptions of smut, reference to previous dub/con, a set up for the series climax  🌹series masterlist 🌹

Restraint was never your strongest suit. 

Certainly not when it came to biting your tongue around your husband or feigning even a semblance of the loyalty he so desired from you. But this? Pressed up against the wall of your library, books falling from the shelves as James snapped his hips to yours, chasing highs and withering gasps, pushing you to an edge of sweet relief; this was something else entirely.

There was no holding back. No ability to control the need for him when he walked into the room, the desperate ache between your legs, the unsteady twitch in your hands until you could feel the hardened build of his muscle under your touch. It ran like heat in your veins, a flush in your cheeks, and it couldn’t be tamed unless his arms were around you, his lips on your neck.

In the safety of an empty home, he took you on the couches, in your bedroom, pressed flush against the kitchen counters, in the bath -- though that had caused quite a mess; laughing together as water splashed up and over the edges, pools of soapy bubbles on the tile flooring.

Lips on one another the very moment your husband left through the front door, the closing of its hinges a gate to your sanctuary.

You’ve seen James make love, knew what it was like to be touched with a gentle fever, to feel his adoration in every movement of his hips and the heat of his breath to your skin. You knew him when he was soft and tender, when he pressed sweet kisses along your collarbone and slowly rocked himself inside of you. He encapsulated every rush of emotion inside of you, the words you couldn’t find as you neared the brink, watching as his eyes fluttered shut and he struggled to catch his breath; unequivocal power over one another, never abused, never threatened, but as ends of the same rope.

He was yours, and you were his.

But you’d come to learn, in the shadows of this home, that he was capable of much more.

Pushed into cramped closets, on the cold floor of your bathroom, in the locked dressing room of a department store, in the car parked at the very end of the driveway far away from the security cameras… James fucked.

Rushed and needy; rough and desperate, when your time together was limited and he was reminded that you weren’t his, not yet, not in the way either of you wanted.

He left marks; finger prints in your hips and bruising on your chest from his own lips. You left scratches on his back; some surface level, others leaving angry lines in their wake he’d come to wear like a badge of honor. Colorful evidence of the love you shared.

Though as James would pull back slowly, coming down from his high, he’d take one look at what he left behind on your body and a shame would sweep over his features, eyes darting away from you, until you pulled him back for more.

They were markings you could easy hide, you’d tell him, before you begged for more.

There was a terrifying moment in the warm afterglow of a Sunday downtown, when you’d forgotten the hand that was intertwined so casually into yours as you stepped up to the front door of your home, a feeling you’d become so accustomed to you hardly thought to pull away as you stepped inside, and Clara stood waiting by the kitchen to prepare your supper. You pulled away in an instant, heart stammering, words caught in your throat, and James froze. Though, you could have sworn you saw a curve pulling at the corner of her lips as she turned into the kitchen.

You were treading on paper thin ice over rushing rapids. Walking a tight rope over the open mouth of a volcano. Standing at the edge of the tallest building and looking down at the heavy traffic below.

It was dangerous to give in to each other the way you were. Risky. Reckless, even.

But restraint was never your strongest suit.

***

One week before the shipment and Brock was none the wiser. He kept to his business meetings with men in black suits in the living room with scotch in his hand, coming home in the early house of the morning with disheveled hair and his tie undone, dragging men down to the basement where they’d emerge hours later on the back of his cronies and covered in blood.

There were a few occasions he tried to sneak a hand along your hips when you passed by to the kitchen, and while it left James with copper on his tongue, he managed to hold himself back. It wasn’t anything you weren’t used to, but you imagined seeing your husband touch you so freely and knowing how much you despised it, left behind a bad taste in James mouth; especially now that he knew what it was like to touch you in the ways Brock carelessly stole in passing.

Those nights, when you’d sneak down from your room to find James waiting in the kitchen moments after Brock left for the evening, knuckles clenched over marble countertops and tension like stone in his shoulders, you’d remind him exactly who’s hands you wanted on your body, who’s lip on your skin, who you so clearly loved and adored and you’d give yourself to him over and over again until neither of you remembered what it felt to have anyone but each other.

Two weeks full of loving him in the shadows of this house, of crying out a name that wasn’t entirely his own, of laying with him on the couch in your library curled up against his chest, of a new, unbridled kind of happiness you hadn’t known in years.

Two weeks of digging through your husband’s drawers, in the cracks in the wall of his office, and gathering the evidence James hadn’t been able to acquire. You’d written down testimonies of the countless nights you'd seen the unconscious bodies of men he kept under his payroll being dragged, bloodied and beaten, from the steps of the basement, of the times you’d walked into the kitchen to find him meeting with prominent city officials and businessmen. You’d recorded firsthand accounts of every criminal misdeed you’d ever witnessed, including the days he jaywalked across 5th avenue.

You’d even brought James and his team dozens of files hidden in a loose floorboard in Brock’s bedroom; copies you’d made while he was downtown, ones James didn’t even know existed. You placed them on the table at the warehouse in front of the wide-eyed expressions of his friends and explained that these were the logs of everyone on his payroll, the accounts of who was where and when.

Sam had almost yelped out in excitement, covering his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. Natasha was grinning as she gathered several papers in her hands to begin taking notes. Even Steve had cracked a smile, a slight shake of his head as he bent down to pick up a roster with a notable name listed at the top: Alexander Pierce.

James sat back in his chair, a little stunned, though he was beaming. A hand brushed down over his mouth as he glanced up at you, hands on your hips and a proud kind of grin on your face that made him question why he hadn’t brought you in on this sooner.

It was the first time you’d felt a sense of purpose in years.

You’d come to spend most of your nights at the warehouse. Whenever Brock left for his business meetings, you’d find a way to sneak out to the abandoned factory to meet James and his team. You’d spend hours curled up on metal folding chairs, shivering under the breeze of the empty space until you finally gave into James’ constant requests to hang his sweatshirt over your shoulders. Your eyes would grow tired from reading and your hand aching from writing, until Steve would eventually send you home with a grateful nod.

It made for long, sleepless nights, but you supposed you wouldn’t find much sleep until all of this was over, anyway. There was no rest while you knew that in every moment James stood next to your husband, acting as the right-hand man of a monster wrapped in Armani suits, his life was in danger.

***

BANG!

BANG! BANG!

BANG! BANG!

BANG!

Six piercingly sharp gunshots on your left snapped your attention back to the redhead in front of you. One right after the other. Echoing through the enclosed room and stammering a jolt in your chest, leaving you winded.  

Natasha eyed you, carefully pulling back the ear protectors and set her handgun on the table. The paper outline of a man’s silhouette sprung forward on the line until it swayed within reach. She’d hit the bullseye in every shot.

“I thought you were paying attention,” she teased, watching the way you glanced back through the window to James. He stood around the table with Steve and Sam, arguing about the stack of papers thrown about the room. He ran his fingers through his hair as he slumped into a chair, ruffling it messier than it was before he attempted to tame it. You smiled.

Turning back to Natasha, you found her raising an eyebrow at you. “Sorry, huh?”

“You wanted to learn how to shoot, didn’t you?” she smirked, reloading the magazine.

“James wants me to learn how to shoot,” you said, leaning against the counter beside her.

You watched as she disassembled the gun, quick, reflexive movements as the pieces flowed through her hand like clay, like she commanded them entirely. This was her world; the chaos and violence and deceit all part of a life she chose. She chose to live in the shadows and give over pieces of herself to a cause bigger than herself. Sam, Steve... James... they all did.

But Natasha, she was one you’d come to spend most of your time with in this warehouse. She was the one showing you basic self-defense skills and throwing you to the ground while James watched from the sidelines with an expression varying from amusement to defensive, depending on whether Nat was letting you have the upper hand.

She was small in frame, petite, with the kind of beauty where most men would easily overlook her intelligence. She was a fighter, a warrior even, and there was a part of you that envied that. You wondered if she would have stayed as complicit to Brock as long as you had or if she would have stood up to him, challenged his bluff and faced the consequences. She didn’t seem like a woman who would tolerate a cage.

You glanced back through the window, watching as Sam kicked back into his seat, piles of papers stacked on his lap as he set a mug of coffee on the top. It was a balancing act and Steve quickly swooped in and removed the coffee before a caramel ring could stain the documents. Sam grumbled, shooting him a look with a roll of his eyes while Steve made his way to James.

Sam was sweet, funny, and he had the kind of charm that could make you smile on even the worst day. He fought like brothers with James and they relentlessly teased each other, but he cared far more than he let on. In the moments that counted he was always there, that much you could tell simply by the way he watched James under cautious eyes when he wasn't looking.

Steve, the leader of this team, wasn’t as stone cold as he appeared to be. He smiled often, broke more rules than he followed, but he was disciplined. Anything less than success wasn’t an option, because the alternative was a member of his team – his family – being exposed in the field. You all knew what that meant and the consequences it brought.

You realized then, as you watched the three men gathered around the table, silently reading through the dozens of documents you brought them, that you seemed to know something more about these people you’d only known for a few weeks than you knew about James.

“Nat?”

She glanced up briefly before turning back to the assembly of the gun. “Yeah?”

“Is there... um... Is there a reason I’m allowed to know your name and not James’?” You bit on your lip, feeling nervous suddenly as the clicking of metal ceased in her hands. “You, Steve, Sam... Do you... Do you not trust me to know? Does he not--”

“Y/n,” Natasha urged quickly, cutting you off before you could spiral. She set a hand on your forearm before you realized it was shaking. “It’s not safe for either of you if you knew. Imagine if you let it slip accidentally, especially around Rumlow. It would expose his cover instantly and the fact that you’re working with us. We can’t let that happen. It’s been dangerous enough as it is with you knowing what’s going on.”

You nodded, exhaling a heavy breath as it weighed in your lungs.

“James trusts you,” she added, tilting her head just enough to caught your eye. She smiled at you; perfect pink lips curving up along her mouth like she was carved from stone. It wrinkled up by the green of her eyes, a laugh on her breath. “That man doesn’t let down his walls easily. He doesn’t trust people and he keeps everyone at a ten foot distance. It’s why he’s so good at this job. But, he trusts you. He did from the very beginning and he won’t do anything to compromise this case, Y/n. There’s too much riding on it now.”

Now.

Since he realized he loved you.

Since you fell for him, too.

There were a lot of reasons – good reasons – that Brock deserved to spend the rest of his life in jail, but you wondered whether James motivations to put your husband behind bars overlapped with his promise to free you from this life. They were one in the same. You'd never be able to be with him, not the way either of you wanted, if Brock was a free man; still forcing you to submission of his will, holding Peter for ransom, and caging you to that house.

“Everything okay in here?”

You turned to find James standing in the doorway, concerned eyes studying your sudden change in demeanor, the tension in your muscles and the slight tremor in your grip around the gun. Then, his eyes flickered to Natasha and you could tell by the way his features started to harden, lips curving to a frown that he was drawing conclusions he shouldn’t.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, but it was too late for that.

“Nat, will you give us a second?” he asked and Natasha sent you a short, apologetic smile before she slipped past James and jogged the rest of the way to meet Steve and Sam at the table overlooking the files.

“I really am fine,” you tried again as he closed the door behind him.

“I think I know you better than that by now, love,” he said softly, a slight ache in his voice. There was a guilt there, a shame, and it didn’t sit right in his tone. It didn’t belong there.

“It just…” you sighed, “it scares me when I’m reminded of how dangerous this is for you. If Brock finds out…”

“He won’t.”

“But if he does,” you stressed, tears brimming in your eyes, “he’ll kill you. He wouldn’t think twice about it. He’ll kill you, James, and I... I won’t survive that.”

James took in a heavy breath and you watched how it filled his chest; broad shoulders moving with each inhale, a dip in his sternum with his exhale. He crossed the room to you, gently prying the gun from your grip and setting it on the table. He warmed your hands in his own, kissing at your knuckles, trying to simply pull the tension from the joints with the tenderness of his touch.

“He would,” James confirmed and it caused a hitch in your breath, “but he’s not going to find out. I’ve been doing undercover ops for years, Y/n. I’ve never been made. Not once. Besides, we’re only a week away. We just have to bide our time. We’ve gotten this far. I need you to trust me on this.”

“You know I do.”

“So, trust that we’ll get this done,” he said slowly, a sad kind of smile on his face as he tried to find your eyes again. “Trust that I’ll get you through this.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” you admitted weakly, staring down at the floor to the cracks in the concrete, the wingtips of his brown shoes under navy slacks.

“I know, sweetheart, but I swear to you, I will do everything in my power to finish this so I can come home to you.”

James enveloped you in his arms, tucking his chin over the crown of your head, pulling you in to nestle into the crook of his neck. He was warm and soft despite the hardened layer of muscle on his chest. In his arms you could imagine a world where you would love him out in the open, away from the shadows, hold his hand in the streets and kiss him on the sidewalk.

It was a fantasy, a world you could easily get lost in, and for the first time in years there was hope that it might actually come true.

“Alright,” you conceded, though the word felt heavy on your tongue.

James smiled softly, a lingering sadness behind his eyes, and he slowly stepped behind you.

“Nat get you shooting straight yet?” he teased, lightening the air as he ran his hands down your arms. You were grateful for the quick change in subject.

He reached around you and set the grip of the gun in your dominant hand. His chest pressed to your back, the heat of his breath touching your hair and you let him mold your grasp to the gun. It was easy to lose yourself in the feel of him; the warmth of his hands as he adjusted your positioning, placed your finger above the trigger.

“Don’t think I’ll ever learn to shoot the way she does,” you admitted.

“Long as you hit the target, it doesn’t matter,” James replied with a slight chuckle.  

He guided your hands in front of you, arms taunt, running his fingers along the curves of your forearms, sliding up your biceps and over your shoulders. Slight pressure, steadying muscle, his touch drew a line down your spine, tracing the power of your stance. Gentle fingers gathered your hair from in front of your shoulders and swept it to your back, away from your face as his nails gently grazed along your skin.

You tried to suppress the shiver that followed.

“Pull the trigger on your exhale,” he instructed, his breath warm on your neck, voice impossibly low, silky, like it was dipped in chocolate. “Concentrate.”

He stepped back and a chill swept your spine in his absence.

You took in a deep breath, eyeing the target; a dark black bullseye with three rings surrounding it positioned on a large, white sheet of paper at the other end of the room. You’d managed to hit the edges before, bullet holes amongst the sea of white.

You repositioned your stance, released the tension in your shoulders, but kept a firm enough hold to prepare for the kickback. On your exhale, your pointer finger wrapped at the trigger and squeezed.

The kickback shot straight to your shoulders, but you held it firm. It hurt more than you remembered from your last training with Natasha, like a heavy jolt through your bones. The feeling was unpleasant, the echo of it pulsing in your ears, because this wasn’t your world the way it was theirs.

You quickly flipped the safety back on and set the gun on the table, pushing it aside. When you looked back to James, he was grinning, arms folded over his chest and extenuating the hardened lines of his biceps. He nodded to the paper and you realized, which quite a bit of shock, that you hit within the circle.

Certainly not the bullseye, but it was in the third ring. It was something. Maybe you weren’t as out of your league as you thought.

“Um,” a voice called through the window behind you. Sam tapped on the glass, raising an eyebrow with that cheeky kind of grin on his face. “You guys need me to play Unchained Melody or…”

“Shut up, Sam!”

***

Only a few days before the shipment and you’d managed to keep up appearances at home. It wasn’t out of character for you to avoid any room Brock was currently occupying, to turn quickly on your heels at the sight of him hunched over at the kitchen table, cigar nestled in his fingers and smoke from his lips, so he didn’t question your frequent absence.

You’d often spot James standing in the corner of the room, in guard and surveillance of the one man he despised above all others, and you’d hold his stare for just a moment, just long enough to remind him that under the mask of the cover he wore, he was still yours. The nod he returned to you was subtle, barely noticeable, but it was enough to get you through the days where his time was stolen by your husband.

The nights at the warehouse became the only place he was within reach. Brock had made him busy with various assignments, none of which James would divulge to you because the less you know at this point, the better, though that didn’t ease your worry. Especially when he came back with broken knuckles.

You glanced down at the papers ahead of you, record logs of the men and women Brock kept in his pocket, called upon for various favors; the corrupted politicians, sheriffs, business owners, and attorneys. You knew some of the names on the list, recognized them from the news and from the chairs of your living room, bourbons in hand and a pocket of cash heavy in their pockets in exchange for their morality.

Your finger slid over the name of the prominent councilman in New York; Grant Ward.  

“What’s the plan here, boss?”

Sam’s voice pulled you from your thoughts as he slumped back into his chair, pulling a few of the files he’d been reading for the last hour along with him.

It was when a breeze from the air ducts caught your chill, a shiver sweeping up your spine as Steve stepped up to the table, hands planted firmly on his hips in concentration. There was a hardened look on his face, once that seemed to be heavy on his features, and it set an unease in your stomach

“We don’t have enough to nail Rumlow.”

His words were like the onset of a freight train to your chest.

“What?” James jolted to his feet, metal chair falling out from under him and clanging to the concrete as he lunged over the table to grab the folder in front of Steve. “How can that be possible? That can’t be fucking possible!”

Frozen, rigid. Ice in your veins. You suddenly became painfully aware of your own heartbeat thunderous in your chest. The light blue of Steve's eyes flickered apologetically in your direction, a slight grimace on his face, before he turned back to James.

“I ran the evidence by Sharon down at the DA’s office and she said while it would be more than enough to bring down just about anyone else, Rumlow could still slither his way out these charges,” he explained, though you caught little of it through the muffled ringing in your ears. “He’s got contacts in the NYPD, the best defense attorneys in the country on his payroll, Washington politicians in his pocket. What we have isn’t enough.”

“What about the raid this weekend?” Sam questioned, quickly loosing that teasing, light hearted energy you’d come to recognize in him. “That has to count for something.”

“Sure,” Steve nodded, “and maybe Hydra will be scraped down to bones for a while, but we all know it can be rebuilt. Rumlow wouldn’t be in lockup longer than a month.”

“We have payroll lists and shipment logs with his signature on them,” Natasha argued, but Steve shook his head.

It wasn’t enough.

You could barely feel the floor under your feet.

The four of them argued back and forth for what felt like hours. There was a numbness that came over you, realizing that this life that you allowed yourself to imagine, where you’d be free from your husband, where you could love James out in the light of day, might always remain as it was; a distant fantasy, a foolish dream you fell into in your weakest moments.

Brock would have a hold on you as long as he was free. He’d threaten Peter and May to keep you complicit, to keep you locked up within that home and dangling off his arm no better than the diamond crested watch around his wrist.

You’d do anything to protect your family and he knew that. He’d exploit it for far worse than he already had. He’d bring you to your knees and find pleasure in the burns on your skin. He’d rip you to pieces.

“We need him at the dock when the raid goes down.”

“That asshole won’t step within five feet of a shipyard in his Gucci wingtips, Steve.”

“We’ve got to catch him in the act, Sam. It’s the only shot we have at making this stick.”

“You’re essentially saying we need Colonel Mustard in the Billiard room with the lead pipe?” Nat raised an eyebrow, arms folded over her chest.

“Exactly,” Steve nodded, defeated. “This isn’t like our other cases. We need insurmountable proof that he’s behind all of this. We’re not only fighting against his defense attorneys but an entire department that’s been bribed and corrupted by Hydra. We need to prove the sky is fuckin’ blue.”

“So how do we get him there?” Sam asked.

“I could try to convince him, but given what went down with Peter, I don’t think it’s a good idea to draw attention to myself,” James admitted, frustration evident in his voice.

“No, you’re right. We need to keep you off Rumlow’s radar. Nat?”

“I don’t know, Steve. I could go under myself, try to build some trust to get him down there but that would take time we don’t have. Months.”

“Why don’t we just throw a bag over his head and bring him there ourselves?”

“Sam!”

“I’m serious! Who’s to say why he suddenly woke up in the cargo hold of a ship surrounded by his precious Cerberus? He’s still at the scene of the crime. Who gives a shit how he got there?”

“Sam...” Steve warned again, hands planted firm on his hips.

“I could do it.”

The words fell from your lips before you even realized you said them out loud. They were too soft, too quiet, because no one seemed to notice; not with the four of them talking over one another, arguing back and forth. Voices rising, echoing up into the empty arcs of the rafters above.

“We don’t have time for games, Wilson,” James snapped, tension aching in his tone.

“I don’t see you coming up with better options here, Karpov.”

“I could do it," you said again, this time on your feet. Natasha turned her attention to you, narrowed eyes, almost a hint of pleasant surprise lurking behind the dark green. She exchanged a glance with Steve and you turned to find him watching you curiously. His hands fell to his sides, then quickly to the table as he looked for the paper with the details for the shipment this coming weekend.

“I could plant hints,” James continued, oblivious to your offer beside him. “I could do something!”

“Don’t be a complete idiot!” Sam shot back with a scoff. “We both know any step you make out of line with Rumlow is going to put you six feet under!”

“Hey!”

Palms stinging on the table, James and Sam quickly bit their tongues as you pulled your hands from the surface, rubbing the tender muscle on your thighs. Your heart was pounding, pulsing deep in your chest and rushing up to your ears, but there was a calmness in it, a sense of relief, a purpose.

“I could do it,” you repeated for the third time, voice steadier, firmer, and the blue of James’ eyes seemed to turn dark, his lips slowly parting as a heavy breath left his chest.

“No. No way in hell.”

“I could talk to him. I could get him to the dock. He’d listen to me if I say it in the right tone.”

“We’re not doing this, Y/n. It’s not happening.” James planted his feet, arms crossed defensively and everyone else’s eyes seemed to avert elsewhere, like they were intruding on something private. The way his jaw was clenched, the short, staggered breaths from his lungs, you started to wonder the same thing.

“Brock always had this fantasy that I’d fall in line one day and run Hydra alongside him,” you told him gently, watching how he flinched at your husband’s name. “You know that if I showed interest, he’d take me to the shipyard himself.”

James gripped at the edge of the seat in front of him, knuckles paper white in the tension. “It’s too dangerous. No.”

“I can handle him. You know I can.”

“It’s not about that!” he shot back, shoving the chair hard against the table, causing Natasha to peer up over the edge of her paper cautiously. “It’s about putting yourself in the line of fire! It’s you having to cozying up to that fucking monster and God knows what else. No. Okay? No.”

You pinched at the bridge of your nose. “James, you’re not hearing me--”

“I’m hearing you just fine. I’m not putting you in that position.”

“But James--”

“I SAID NO!”

Closed fist slammed down on the table, echoing up high into the atrium, and you slowly pressed your lips together, argument dying on your tongue.

It was the first time he ever raised his voice at you, ever so much as threw even an ounce of anger in your direction, though you didn’t flinch; certainly not in the way you would have if it was Brock in his position.

You knew his anger was only a symptom of the very real, paralyzing fear of losing you to this invisible war. He was scared, just as you were, and it was evident the way his shoulders slumped the moment the words left him and he realized he'd lost his composure the at very woman he was trying so desperately to protect.

He pulled his hand to his chest, stretching at his fingers and wincing at the cracks that followed; skin red and angry, the pulsing beat of his heart straight to his fingertips.

You could see the apology forming on his lips, the guilt, the desperate search for words he couldn’t quite find and you stepped forward, gently pulling his hand to his side. You touched along the tension in his shoulders, gingerly running over the strain in his muscle, until his eyes fluttered shut in defeat, lips parting in a quiet whimper.

“James,” you started, tenderly drawing his attention back to you, beautiful blue eyes swarming in remorse, “if this is the only thing that’s going to put Brock behind bars, I have to do it. I want to.”

It’s the only thing keeping me from you, you wanted to add, but despite his team’s busy appearances, noses deep in files and studying monitors of your husband’s current whereabouts, you knew they were listening in.

“Y/n, please,” James urged, your name on his tongue painful, aching, desperate. There was a panic there, a helplessness you didn’t expect as he cautiously glanced back at his team before he stepped closer to you, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on your cheeks. “We’ll find another way. You don’t have to do this.”

You sighed, running your hands soothingly along his arms until the tension started to faded. Muscle unclenching under your palms, his breaths coming in steady, and you pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

“I’ll be fine,” you whispered. “You’ll be right there with me.”

“I can’t always and you know that.” James shook his head defeatedly, dark blue of his eyes still focused on you. “I don't want you doing something you don’t want to just for this case.”

You clenched your jaw, knowing what he was alluding to and you were thankful for the soft undertones of his voice, how quietly he spoke so only you could hear him. James knew of the nights you’d give Brock reign over your body, how it was often easier to submit than to fight him on it or push it off to another night when he came home drunk and angry and took what he desired by force. It hadn’t happened in nearly ten months, but it still lingered. The shame of it, the anger, never quite went away.

“It won’t come to that,” you assured him, certain, because it was the truth. “It’s two days. I’ll flirt with him a little, warm up to him just enough to get him to bring me to the docks. I can handle that. As long as it brings me back to you, I can handle anything, okay?”

James nodded. He trusted you. That, you knew above all else. It was the reason you were standing in this warehouse and not spending your nights alone and curled up in a bedroom with the door locked in a house that was foreign and cold to you.

The warm touch of his lips grazed your temple, a heat of his breath as he pulled away.

“Okay.”

You leaned into his arms, letting him encompass you in his embrace and you listened for the steady thump of his heart as it slowly evened out, how his breaths came in quieter and the tension he’d been holding washed away at the feel of you against him. He kissed the crown of your head, sighing sweetly as you held him at his waist.

The idea of speaking to your husband, let alone pretending to feel some sort of affection for him, was like bile in your mouth. It was poison in your veins, foreign to your body, but you’d learned how to wear a smile when you needed to, learned to wave at the cameras and say the right things to keep Brock happy.

You’d find a way to fake your way through this, too.

“I wish we had another choice,” Steve said steadily, tone as gentle as he could manage. “She’s our only option.”

“Our best option,” Natasha added with a smile.

“Guess we’re putting the fate of this entire case in the hands of a civilian,” Sam shrugged, though he was smirking. “Seems appropriate the woman Rumlow’s been treating as a prisoner for years will be the one that puts him behind bars.”

“I like the sound of that,” you laughed, muffled only slightly by the thick fabric of James’ sweatshirt as you pressed your cheek to his heart.

He held you a little tighter, almost painfully close, but it was never close enough. It wouldn’t be until this was over.

[ibelieveindragons141]

Summary: Zuko loses control and accidentally burns you.

Burning My Heart and Soul

Requested? Absolutely not 😂

Zuko x reader

Word count: 956

Zuko was on-edge ever since he joined you and Team Avatar in the Western Air Temple. The stress from him betraying his father was still fresh and the team not accepting him made it worse. You tried talking to him and making him feel included, but he still sat outside of the warm ring of light from the campfire.

One evening, he seemed particularly distant and distressed, so you decided to approach him with some tea.

“Zuko?” You asked tentatively.

He looked up, surprised to see anyone. “Y/n? What are you doing?”

You shrugged. “Thought you could use some company, plus I had some extra tea- I have it on good authority that it’s the best in the Western Air Temple,” You said, winking.

He cracked a small smile, which you took as a victory. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence, staring off into the distance and up at the stars.

“My uncle,” he began, “He loved tea. He never got tired of it.” Then Zuko surprised me by laughing, “He used to say being sick of tea is like being sick of breathing.”

“I think he may be onto something.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

You blushed at the soft smile he sent you.

“Y/n! What are you doing over there? Come help clean up.” Katara’s voice shattered the moment.

In an instant, Zuko’s face went back to being stiff and cold, your heart sunk.

“Coming!” You called back. Turning to Zuko you whispered, “I’m sorry, I’ll talk to them tomorrow about being... nicer.”

He didn’t say anything, he just stared straight ahead.

The next morning, you took a walk while Aang and Zuko trained. You heard distant shouting and cries of frustration. Curious, you headed back to camp.

“Fine! See if I care. Train yourself.”

“Oh sure, make us the bad guys. But don’t pretend you haven’t been a horrible person to everyone here in the past. Even your own father didn’t want you-“

“Katara!” You we’re shocked she would say such a terrible thing.

Zuko looked both furious and upset. He stormed away.

“Now you’ve done it,” Toph muttered.

You shot them all a withering glare and raced off after Zuko.

You found him clutching some crumbling railing, body completely rigid and shoulders tense. He looked miserable. The worst you’d ever seen him.

He began trembling with rage, embarrassment, frustration, disappointment, take your pick.

“Zuko?” You asked quietly. He didn’t seem to hear you so you asked louder, “Zuko.”

He finally turned around. Fire burning in his eyes and tears streaming down his face. It made your heart break.

He spoke through gritted teeth, “Why. Am. I. Never. Good. Enough!”

He lost control, fire shot out of his body, rushing towards you like an inferno. You raised your hands to try and shield yourself, but it was futile. Crying out, you hit the ground, burns covering your hands and arms.

Zuko froze, horrified. “Y/n...”

You stared at him, still processing what had happened.

“I am so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to...” Guilt welled up in his eyes.

The rest of the team had heard your cry and immediately deduced what had happened upon finding you lying on the ground, skin blistering.

Katara rushed over to heal you, while Sokka stalked towards Zuko.

“What did you do?!”

Zuko tried to stammer out an answer, but couldn’t find the words, still in shock from hurting you.

“Get out of here! I never want to see you again. None of us do.”

Zuko just hung his head in shame.

You couldn’t just stand by and watch Sokka kick Zuko out of the group, a strong feeling of protectiveness rushed over you.

“N-no, Sokka.”

He turned to you, exasperated, “What do you mean ‘no’?”

“It was an accident, he didn’t mean to hurt me, I snuck up on him during a... vulnerable moment. It could happen to anyone, really.”

“Y/n, he burned you.”

“And you’ve hit me how many times with that boomerang of yours?”

He flushed and glanced down at his feet.

“Exactly. Everyone makes mistakes. And look,” I showed him my hands and arms, now healed of all burns. “Like it never happened.”

Everyone stated at me, trying to formulate an argument, but it was Zuko who spoke up.

“Y/n, out of everyone here, you are the last person I would ever want to harm or hurt in any way and I can’t tell you how sorry I am.“

You smiled at him, “I forgive you, Zuko.”

His shoulders waged as if a great weight had been removed from them.

Aang, ever the child of the group, asked, “I’m getting kind of hungry. Can we have some lunch now?”

Everyone laughed at this, breaking the tension.

That night, Zuko sat with the group during dinner, and rolled his eyes at Sokka’s puns like the rest of you. Our little family finally felt complete.

Zuko scooter over to place his bedroll next to yours once everyone was asleep.

“Y/n,” he whispered.

“Huh?” You responded groggily.

“I just uh, wanted to thank you for sticking up for me earlier. It meant a lot.”

“Of course,” you sat up, “You didn’t deserve how they were treating you, anyways. You’re worth more than that”

His eyes flicked to your lips. Then he slowly leaned in, but paused an inch from your face, eyes darting to yours asking silently for permission. You answered by pressing your lips to his. They were warm and soft and prefect. Your insides melted under his touch, pulling you closer to him.

You spent that night, and every night after in his arms, curled into his chest with his arms around you. And it felt like home.

A/n: Hope you liked this! Tell me what you think or send me a request (or just say anything, I’m so bored)

:)))

[gone-to-fight-the-fairies]

Alone in the Glass House

Summary: Sherlock spirals after a massive breaking up between him and the reader, as they realize they can't live without the other.Inspired by the song Glass House by MGK.

Pairing: Sherlock x reader

Warning: mentions of drug use, depression, angst

Word Count: 1111

I'm smoking cigarettes alone until it burn a hole

In my lungs, in my soul, in my denim coat

Same place I'ma keep that knife if I'ma slit my throat

Sherlock's inhale was thick and prolonged until it encaptured the entirety of his body and soothed his soul, crisping at the edges like a persisting flame on a polaroid. Leaving the faint image of what he was before everything turned to ash. The consulting detective exhaled against the window, watching the trail of smoke fail to escape and flail back, kissing his skin as it evaporated into the room. He didn't care that the smoke would linger in the air or in the furniture. Or that it would alert anyone who came in. At least the smoke was there. That had to count for something. 

The detective was neither present nor in his mind palace, but a void in between. A purgatory that stripped him clean of everything around him. Except for the comfort of the nicotine. He was just close enough to reality to allow a shrill voice to reel him back. "You were doing so good!" Sherlock turned, surveying her sour expression. "What a shame."

His landlord turned on the light; Sherlock hadn't realized how late it'd become. The sky had dimmed, highlighting the trail from which the sun had set. "Nothing can ever last long, now can it?" He tells her, taking another puff.

Mrs. Hudson scoffs. "Why must you be evasive? And so, daft? Go after her, Sherlock. You surely haven't ruined things yet."

"There's nothing to neither fix nor ruin." Mrs. Hudson huffs, giving up, and leaving through the flat door. 'Aside from the broken glass,' Sherlock thought, pressing his fingertips against the surface. 

Lie awake 'til the sun's out

Caffeine for the heartache

Everything turned to a nightmare from a dream.

You sip your coffee, gazing out through the shop window, as the orange sunbeams breached past the darkening buildings, as a final cry before they were vanquished until another day. "I'm dreaming of him." 

"Hence why you're staying awake at night." Did John always have to be so explicit? 

"No shit, Sherlock." You sneer, glaring back at him. A force of habit, you realize. You apologize and return to your mindless gaze. The sunbeams withered away, leaving a dark coo over the street. "Why is it that the best things fade?"

Though he wasn't the expert in deduction, John acquired his own skills of semiotics. "You miss him."

"Impossible with him haunting my dreams."

"They're nightmares?"

You fixate on John's face. You want to illustrate the word 'night' and toss it back in his face. Tell him how it was always you and Sherlock in that glass house, just you and him forever. That you were so happy in your dreams, and how the illusion shattered once you woke up without Sherlock. Anything that reminds you of Sherlock is depressing... including John. But you know that your friend has good intentions. 

You take a large gulp of coffee and empty the cup, thankful you have more waiting for you at home. "Staying awake is the only way to suppress Sherlock." 

"He's miserable." You raise a brow, studying the doctor's face. 

"Get him a case."

John folds his hands together on the table. "He won't take one."

The statement piqued your interest. Sherlock, without a case, was Van gouge without paint. Maybe that was how he lost the ear.

"He's smoking." John forces out. "I'm worried he'll use it again."

"And you're blaming me?" There's an accusation in your tone, slicing John's confidence.

"No!"

"Then, why are you here?"

"To warn you." John breaks his hand apart, flailing them to illustrate his point. "You can't possibly stay awake eleven days to kill yourself, but Sherlock can," his voice waves, and he presses his fist against his mouth. "If he goes back to... cocaine or morphine, there's no natural end. He uses to escape the dull routine of existence. What do you think he'll do out of misery? If you truly want to move on, then do so. But if you love him, if you want to salvage your relationship, don't wait too long because I don't think it'll take long this time."

John stands, takes his coat, and leaves through the entrance to hide his emotions. 

Throw me in the damn flame

I'm waitin' on the rain to come and wash it all away

"Sher..." you whisper, peering into the pitch dark flat. You didn't need sight to smell the smoke or hear the exorbitant exhale from the center of the room. Lightning struck outside the window, illuminating the room enough to see the window's shards and the pale face of Sherlock sitting on the floor, aside from the coffee table.

You step towards him, flattening an empty cartridge. "How far did you have to go for those?"

"It's ironic." Sherlock's voice is thick, throat inflamed. With one hand, he flicks his cigarette over an ashtray before dropping it in. "The very reason I want to inject is the reason I hesitate."

With the other, he holds up a thin syringe, allowing it to reflect on the moonlight. The translucid fluid sloshes as he teeter-totters the vial, debating a course of action to take. 

You place your jacket on the coffee table, rain dripping on the floor beside Sherlock. His eyes slowly work up from the coat, up to your body, until his eyes creep up to your face, and you can see the red tint around his eyes as they study everything movement every feeling from the moment you walked out that door days ago.

"Well, it seems you have enough." You roll up your sleeve, plopping down beside him.

"You aren't serious." Through assertion, there's a hint of worry. "Even if I were high, I would still be able to read your bluff."

"I don't want to, but I will. Because whether you believe it or not," you take the cigarette from the ashtray. Putting it to your mouth. The smooth motion is interrupted by your violent cough. "I'm sick of living this way, and nobody knows how I'm feeling."

Sherlock's breath shakes. "I know." He raises his hand as it trembles to take the cigarette out of your mouth and discards it in the ashtray. 

His other hand sneaks up your neck, pulling your face towards his and rests his forehead against yours. You don't see where the needle goes, but Sherlock's presence is all too intense for you to think. His eyes close. Sherlock didn't know if your return would last moments or forever, but he was going to cherish you, like never before.

[goldenretriever-nicknelson]

Hi! Can you do a (maybe long) blurb with frat boy cocky Tom winning over a girl who originally doesn't like him and then he makes her worship his muscles (because it's his kink) and then suck him off. And he gags her and dirty talks.

You said long anon and I delivered! In honesty this took me way too long to write but I loved it and I hope you do too!

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: smut (m oral), cocky!Tom, swearing 

~Smutty sunday~

“Well if it isn’t my favourite bookworm.”

You didn’t need to see his cocky smile to know who that voice belonged to. It was the one who had been speaking to you for the past 2 months in the class you shared. He often remarked on how much you read, and you always rolled your eyes, hoping that he would get the message and leave you alone. He was just another stereotypical frat boy who expected the world to be served to him on a silver platter and expected every girl to fall to their knees for him.

“No book tonight?” You chanced a look into his eyes, the one thing you found was hard to resist about Tom. He was attractive in many other ways as well including his hair, his ass and especially his muscles which you often saw flexing as he stretched or from the one time you had seen him in the gym and had watched him box from your treadmill. You always said you didn’t know what the girls saw in him, but the truth was in the past 2 months you had come to see it and secretly you wanted to know what it was like to have Tom’s hands on you as he fucked you roughly, whispering filthy things in your ear and leaving hickies all across your body.

“No.” You shook your head and as if on cue rolled your eyes. Tom laughed and looked you up and down, you were already conscious of the way your new black dress looked on you as it was shorter than most others you wore but his eyes seemed to do something else entirely to you. Suddenly you were wishing that the dress was discarded on his bedroom floor rather than sitting tight on your skin, but you wouldn’t give the cocky son of a bitch the satisfaction.

“That’s a shame. You look cute when you’re reading.” Tom chewed on his lip and looked down quickly at the floor which made you surprised, you didn’t think that Tom Holland could get nervous. You also didn’t expect your heart to flutter at hearing him call you cute. “I mean you look fucking hot as well.”

“Ugh, you had to ruin it. I was just starting to like you Holland.”  You smirked, biting your lip because you knew it was a guard and as easily as they could be built, they could just as easily crumble. Tom noticed that you weren’t mad at him and inched closer towards you until his breath could ghost over your skin.

“Oh yeah?” He cocked an eyebrow and placed his palm on the wall next to you so that your eyes were drawn to his arms. You don’t know what came over you, maybe it was the single beer you had drunk boosting your ego or maybe it was the way Tom’s eyes had practically been undressing you, whatever it was made you decide to trail your fingers down his arms, nail scraping ever so slightly over the muscle of his biceps. His breath came out unevenly as you did so, and you flashed a wicked smirk at him.

“You like that?” Tom bit his lip and nodded slowly, smirking and he was just about to lean in when someone called your name from across the room. You looked over Tom’s shoulder to see your friend who had made you come to the party in the first place was already drunk. You rolled your eyes as Tom gave a growl of slight frustration. “No one said this was over.” You winked at him as you sideways stepped away from him. “Coming!” You waved and was just about to walk over when Tom quickly whispered in your ear.

“Not yet you’re not.”

You didn’t even care that your friend was teasing you about the smirk on your lips because maybe tonight you’d get your fantasy and even if it was just for that night which you were sure was Tom’s style from the rumours on campus alone, the thought of it was already clouding your mind much more than the alcohol was.

Half an hour later and you were waving your friend off as she sat in the back seat of the cab with one of your other friends comforting her. You had thought that maybe you should have left with her, escaped what was sure to be a regretful decision the next time you shared a class with Tom and yet you stayed, your friends only encouraging you to ‘go and get it’. The problem was that now you felt at a loss, you knew no one besides Tom and you weren’t about to start craving for his attention like a lost puppy.

You ran into one of Tom’s friends and started chatting to him for a bit before excusing yourself to find the bathroom and even though Harrison told you exactly where it was, you still found yourself confused as a row of doors greeted you as soon as you walked upstairs. You innocently tried to find the correct one but still manged to stumble into someone’s bedroom. Tom’s bedroom to be exact.

You half expected him to be with some girl or passed out from the party but instead he was just sat alone and scrolling on his phone. He looked up at the sound of his door opening and met your wide eyes. “I’m sorry, I was just looking for the bathroom.”

“Next door on your right.” He nodded his head in that direction and then went back to his phone. You knew you should have left just as you should have left with your friends, but your brain was lapsing in judgment, you closed the door and took a breath before speaking again.

“Are you okay?” It was a reasonable question because there was a party downstairs and Tom Holland wasn’t there which in your books was unusual behaviour.

Tom seemed surprise to hear your voice, but the familiar cheeky smirk soon appeared on his lips. “No actually.” You slowly walked over, questioning him with your expression as to what he meant whilst your eyes subtly roamed around his room noting pictures and posters on his wall. He met your eyes as they looked from the bed to him and he nodded to the empty space. “I have this problem.”

“Oh? What’s that?” You asked, nerves sounding in your voice as you fidgeted with your hands in your lap, well aware of Tom’s eyes on you. His smirk never wavered as he came closer.

“You.” When you turned your head, Tom’s breath was practically ghosting over your skin, his lips only inches away from your own. His eyes were much darker than you had ever seen them be and they made your heart race faster, especially when they glanced down at your lips. You closed your eyes for a brief second to try and think of a coherent thought besides the sexual fantasies that suddenly seemed like a possibility. Damn your high horse, you wanted him.

“Tom what are you-?” Your words were cut off by your own moans as he kissed from the corner of your mouth down to your jaw and then to the column of your neck. You could feel his teeth nipping at your skin and you tried to suppress letting him know the things he was making you feel but your moans were evidence enough.

“I can’t get you out of my fucking head. You know that?” His voice was in your ear now, low and raspy. You clenched your thighs together without even thinking and rolled your eyes when Tom smirked against the skin below your ear, slowly and teasingly biting it to drive you crazy. His hand went to rub between your thighs as yours pulled at his air making him groan into the kiss.

“Why don’t you get on your knees for me.” You shivered at Tom’s words, his dominance making you feel weak in his arms. You bit your lip and nodded, moving off from the bed and onto your knees in front of Tom with a sly look. He sat up to watch you, but you pushed his chest so that he would lie back down as you rubbed the bulge through his jeans and watched him wither.

“Take off your clothes.”

Tom nodded and immediately sat up to rid of his shirt before unbuttoning his jeans and kicking them off along with his boxers. You wasted no time in admiring his cock, pumping it quickly as you kissed the muscles of his thighs.

“Y/n, darling-.” His voice was tense, and you smirked into your kisses as you listened to him beg. He’d spent way too long teasing you.

“Karma Holland.” You laughed and looked up at him, eyes making contact and Tom glared, he knew what you were doing. You hovered your mouth over his cock and breathed deeply before darting your tongue out to lick it slowly.

“P-please.” Tom’s voice was breathy and quiet. You pulled away from him entirely and looked at him with a smirk. Tom’s dark eyes bore into you with another glare as he raised himself up on his elbows.

“What was that?” You purposefully licked your lips.

“Please suck my fucking cock.” Tom groaned, and you would have assumed he was angry if it wasn’t for the smirk protruding on his lips.

You went down on him, thanking your lack of gag reflex as Tom moaned loudly, his hands tangling in your hair and keeping you down. “Fuck yes, keep going!” He was louder than expected and it made you moan around his shaft. It was a chain reaction, you moaned, he thrusted. And you kept going, expertly changing your technique every so often until he was screaming. “I’m going to cum! Fuck!” You smirked and reached a hand under to stroke across his balls whilst your other hand scraped nails down his ab muscles. That’s all it took for him to cum into your mouth, back arching as his load shot down your throat and you tried to swallow it all. Tom fell against the bed as you took your mouth off with a pop, his cum spilling from your lips.

You laid down on the bed next to him and smiled. Your hand trailed down his bare chest, fingertips dipping and tracing circles on his abs. He returned the smile lazily as he tilted his head to the side.

“So did that help your problem?”

“No, I think it just made it worse,” Tom rolled onto his side and smirked before leaning in towards you ear. “because now I just want to fuck you and hear you scream my name.”

“Who’s stopping you?” 

[seokoloqy]

after dark // jjk (m)

➳ GENRE: vampire/knight!AU

➳ PAIRING: jungkook x y/n

➳ WORD COUNT: 8.2k

➳ WARNINGS: smut, blood 

➳ SUMMARY:  Jungkook has served the royal family for generations, seen them live and die countless times. When it comes to you, he can’t watch you wither away too, but your lust for one another makes it harder and harder to stay apart. 

➳ A/N: while i was writing this spotify had the audacity to play an ad about Christian music. i think it’s a little too late for the good words of our lord and savior jesus christ to save me now (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

—

Your feet pad against the rugged carpet extending from the foyer to the end of the dim hall. You pass portraits of your family, generations of them hang on that wall, standing proudly for the artist who painted them with precision and detail. The newest addition to the collection hangs below your father with a crown adorned on his head—a much smaller painting of you and your guard, Jungkook. You demanded they add him in the collection after generations of loyalty and servitude to your family. He stood behind your smiling face remaining stoic and professional, but you knew he was secretly elated to finally be included.

You smile at the portrait and gently run your finger along the curve of his cheek. Even in a simple photo he somehow makes your heart race, not that you can ever admit to these feelings aloud. You don’t need to admit them anyway, he already knows, but Jungkook will never allow it to get that far. He sees it—the longing—in your eyes whenever you glance at him across a crowded room. A relationship is not only unprofessional, but his loyalty to your family stops him every time.

You continue the journey to his quarters at the end of the hall, your silk dress flowing behind you. The uncomfortable heels belonging to your outfit clutched in your hands sway beside you. You’re rushing to see him because of the infuriating news you had just heard, the shoes only slow you down.

Your father has planned for you to go off tomorrow and meet another prince as a way to introduce you to bachelors and potential husbands. You knew this day would come, but not so soon after your twenty-first birthday—not when you felt this way about Jungkook.

A sliver of his door is open, letting out light letting you know he is awake and you could barge in unannounced. Maybe you’d crawl into his useless bed too, he has no use for it seeing as he doesn’t need sleep. You could stay there the whole night without anyone disturbing you. No maids coming in to wake you, no mother there to pester you into marrying a man you’ve never met, and feeling the comforting presence of Jungkook was enough to lull you to bed easily.

And as you approach the pounding of your heart in your chest isn’t loud enough to hide the breathy moan from inside. You stop in your tracks, heart stuck in your throat, standing outside his door with your hand against the wood. Another soft whimper reverberates through your ears, like pleasure mixed with pain. Curiosity getting the best of you, you peer through the sliver in the door hoping to find the source of the voice.

His room is void of any personal belongings—just a bed and a closet. Despite his years with your family, he was no collector of fine items. Preferring to keep his space clean so if the situation ever arose where he will have to leave, he will leave nothing behind, it will be easier to cut ties this way. Which is why he chooses to distance himself from you as well. He’s seen generations of your family live and die. Feeling any sort of sorrow when they pass is only weakness, and knowing your time will be up before he can even blink destroys him.

Your eyes first go to the flickering kerosene lamp beside the bedside then upon the blood, dripping to the floor as Jungkook pulls his fangs away from the bleeding neck of the guest straddling his lap. He looks mesmerized by the wound he has created, his pupils nearly black and swimming in desire. With fingers tangled in her hair, he cranes the woman’s neck further back and licks along the trail of blood that has escaped his greedy lips.

He’s feeding off one of the townspeople. They’re selected either by raffle or volunteer to feed the soldiers. You’d heard from maids who have been fed off of that it was merciless but you never realized the act could also seem so intimate and as the woman released another wanton moan you couldn’t help but wish it were you.

You wish it were you he was holding, gliding his rough hands along the curve of your spine to the base of your ass, as he utters in a hoarse voice, “You taste so fucking good.”

He grabs her waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hip to shift her onto one of his thighs. The woman shudders, gripping his shoulders as she moves against his thigh.

You’ve never seen him so carnal and seductive anywhere else, it’s mesmerizing. The feeling—that foreign pit in your stomach—begins to grow as you lean against the wall catching your breath, thighs clenching instinctively to satisfy the throbbing between your legs. He doesn’t seem to hear you, too lost in his own lust.

His other hand, not occupied in her hair, pushes the velvet material of her dress higher up her thighs until they’re revealing the seductive lace of her underwear. His eyes roam freely over the design.

“You didn’t wear these for me, did you?” He teases, the satisfied smile adorning his lips makes your heart flutter. You know that smile, but not in this context. That smile is for the times he praises you for acing your studies or when he cracks a wise joke to cheer you up. Perhaps it is a hundred times better seeing that smile here.

You don't realize your pesky heels slipping through your fingers until they’ve hit the floor with a thud and the shock of it seems to echo through the halls and chill you to the core. Jungkook’s head snaps up first, locking onto your figure peeking through the gap in his door, then it’s his partner scrambling off his thigh and onto the bed, flustered.

With your cover blown, you don’t know whether or not to play it off and act as if you weren’t standing there the whole time. Maybe he doesn’t suspect anything and you can pretend that you haven’t seen a thing.

He’s quick to his feet, expression unreadable, as he crosses the room to the door where you’re stood. The blank look on his face convinces you he must be angry. You intruded on his personal time and during his feeding. You scramble to pick your shoe up from the floor as he swings open the door, feeling the guilt weigh down on you.

“Shall I walk you back to your room, princess?” He asks, all the signs of lust and desires vacant in his voice and he returns to his simple tone as he addresses you endearingly. Ever so the excellent and professional guard with you—almost infuriating.

“N-no, I just… No.” You stutter, unable to meet his gaze. “Have a good night.”

You turn and begin to walk away, wishing you had said ‘yes, take me back and finish what you started’. What would it be like to finally have him for yourself?

You thought about him that night, pressing himself against you as his fiery hands roamed your body freely and without shame. You thought about his voice and the way it deepened as he spoke, imagining him instructing your hands to slide off the material of your nightgown and press a finger to your clit while encouraging the silent moans falling from your lips. And as you brought yourself over the edge, you remember the stoic expression he wore as he looked at you, his voice devoid of any real feelings. Would he ever see you this way?

—

A knock comes to your door just as the sun rises. You can’t be bothered with your chattering maids after last night, bringing the sheets higher over your head to avoid the sunlight peeking through the curtains.

“The carriage has arrived.”

You jolt out of bed, surprised by the voice of Jungkook at the foot of your bed. He’s in not in full armor yet, just a simple white tunic hanging low across the smooth expanse of his captivating chest with a hand over the hilt of his sword hanging at his hips. His eyes are immediately drawn to your exposed breasts, jaw clenching as he forces himself to look up at your startled expression and remain in control. The sheets that pool around your waist taunt his imagination and the hand around his sword becomes tighter as his thoughts cloud and judgment has nearly left him.

You don’t realize that you’ve left your nightgown discarded on the floor until the weight of his gaze on you becomes suffocating. You pull the sheets up around your chest, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks which he could undoubtedly hear including the erratic beating of your heart.

“I’ll be just a minute.” You clear your throat, looking at the sheer nightgown laying on the floor. How could you be so careless? You shut your eyes and sigh, this is not how you should present yourself as the princess even in the eyes of your personal guard. You let yourself succumb to your powerful desires, but it won’t happen again. You know your feelings are wrong. The immortal guard who has served generations of your family was meant to be just that and maybe the care he had for you was only part of the job, but the kindness wasn’t. He didn’t need to comfort you everytime your mother would go off on a tangent about meeting suitors or hold you in his arms when you felt frustrated and powerless as every diplomat turned your suggestions away and called you a child. He is far too kind for the tough exterior he wants you to believe in.

When your eyes open again, Jungkook appears at your bedside, nightgown in hand. He extends his arm and leaves it in the palm of your outstretched hand. He doesn’t utter another word and turns, taking long strides out of your room trying to rid plaguing thoughts of you naked and writhing underneath him.

—

“Wow,” the young prince exclaims, reaching for your outstretched hand. “It’s so nice to meet you, finally. I’m Jimin and I’ve been so excited to welcome you to my beautiful kingdom.”

He seizes your hand abruptly to plant a kiss on your knuckles, perhaps a little too eagerly because your body jolts forward slightly and both your heads collide. You wince on impact as his pointed crown lightly scrapes the surface of your forehead and Jungkook comes in front of you immediately to block Jimin from making another move towards you.

Jungkook takes your chin in his hand and inspects the minuscule red scratch on your head. The gentle touch of his fingertips brushing against the mark soothe your nerves. This entire trip is stressing you out. It’s not what you want and no matter how much you protest to your mother and father they refuse to let up. But as long as you have Jungkook by your side, you’ll always feel better.

“Should I kill him?” He whispers under his breath, searching for signs of distress on your face that will give him permission to throttle the awkward prince.

“W-What? No! It was just an accident,” you stammer. You wish the look on his face tells you he is only joking or is just overreacting because he’s on new, unfamiliar territory, but his facade doesn’t crack into a lopsided grin nor have a mischievous glint in his eye.  

Jimin regains his composure, adjusting the lopsided crown atop his head and makes haste to apologize to you despite the guard in his way. This will certainly put a damper on your relationship already and he was hoping he wouldn’t make a fool of himself during the first impression.

“Forgive me, princess! I’m just so clumsy sometimes; I forget my own strength.” He pokes his head over Jungkook’s shoulder, pleading eyes staring at you.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine,” you assure both parties, pressing your hand flat against the cool metal of Jungkook’s breastplate to move him aside. Instead of retreating back to his original position behind you, he sticks to your side with a curious eye on Jimin, who can feel the hostility rolling off of the guard.

Ignoring the glinting look in Jungkook’s eyes, Jimin kindly offers to tour you around the gardens, his favorite part of the palace. The rest of the day consists of Jimin leading you and Jungkook through various twists and turns of each hedge maze in the expansive garden, trying to entertain you with exciting facts about each flower you come across. He barely tries to woo you with any ridiculous tactics or blatantly flirt. Although during the tour, when he notices you admiring a pink azalea flower from the bushes, he plucks off a flower to offer you.

“As a proper welcome to our kingdom, we’re throwing a party in your honor,” Jimin says, as he escorts you to the dining room.

Your footsteps falter besides his, “A party? For me?”

He sees your bewildered expression and laughs, “Don’t worry about it too much. The people here love to party until dawn and you don’t have to be the center of attention if you don’t want to.”

Jimin’s words ease your nerves only a little, but you’re still wary. A whole party just because of you? Maybe the young prince is going a little overboard with your visit or just too eager to welcome you.

The dining room doors are left ajar, revealing the entire display of food at the table. You gawk at the copious amount of food on the table. It’s enough to feed the entire kingdom, not just two people. Jimin is quick to pull out a chair for you to sit. And just as Jungkook makes his way to the wall next to the butlers to idly stand by and wait for any hint of danger, the young prince lifts his hand.

“No, no, your knight is guest in my home as well,” he says to you. “Come to join us for dinner.”

You cringe looking at the lavish display of food across the table—none of it suitable for Jungkook’s abnormal appetite. The prince must not realize the kind of being he’s let wander into his home.

“I’m sorry for not informing you earlier, your highness, but you must realize that he isn’t human,” you explain, looking towards the prince who has his lips parted in surprise. Realization crosses his delicate features and he begins to nod rapidly, not a single piece of his perfectly gelled hair comes undone.

“Oh, yes! I’ve heard of you—the famous vampire guard from Aglastia!” He clears his throat, looking a bit sheepish as he glances at the food laid out. “I suppose we can have something more suitable brought out for you too.”

“That won’t be necessary, your highness,” Jungkook speaks to Jimin for the first time since you’ve arrived, an unnecessary tinge of annoyance in his voice as he stares at the prince devoid of any compassion.

Perhaps Jimin heard the icy tone in your guard's voice as he scrambles for another solution.

“Or do you prefer blood fresh from the source?” Jimin beckons a server over to him with a simple finger. The frightened servant who hasn’t signed up for the unlucky job of being a snack unwillingly shuffles over at Jimin’s order. “My staff would gladly allow you to-”

“You don’t seem to understand how feeding works.” Jungkook looks to you now, his irritation subsiding. “It’s messy and I need a willing participant who’d allow me to do whatever I please. It’s not just about me or the blood. Vampires mix pain with pleasure, your highness, we’re not savages.” He takes on a sardonic tone when he looks back at the prince whose interest he has piqued.

“Enough,” you demand, curling your hand around the wooden armrest.

“Usually they’ll strip naked, and then I’ll have my fingers in-” he continues, ignoring your demand to challenge the prince. Jungkook’s own jealousy clouding his judgment.

“I said that’s enough, Jungkook! Go! now,” you shout, slamming your hand down onto the table causing the silverware to clash against the wood. All heads turn to you, startled by your sudden outburst.

You’ve never been so frustrated with him. Why is he doing this now? Taunting you about last night and embarrassing you in front of everybody here, he’s getting out of line. Which is unlike the Jungkook you’re so used to.

He stares at you with indignation but doesn’t fight it, stalking out of the room to wander the rest of the castle alone.

The prince sinks back into his chair, defeated, the hospitality he struggled to show your guard dwindles to nothing.

You’re quick to comfort him, “I apologize for his behavior. He usually isn’t so blunt.”

“N-no, it’s fine,” he takes the glass cup and raises it in the air, regaining a touch of his usual charm and confidence. “Let’s continue, shall we?”

—

Dinner is over quickly when it’s just Jimin gushing about how he admires your kingdoms use of a vampire army and somehow the conversation turns to himself again as he rambles about his kingdom.

You haven’t seen Jungkook since you dismissed him at dinner. His attitude unnerved you, perhaps it’s revenge for last night, taunting you with images that will only ever be your wild imagination.

Jimin had excused himself at dinner to freshen up and allowed you free reign to explore the castle by yourself. As you venture through the castle without Jungkook attached to your hip or Jimin chattering about absolutely anything that comes to mind, you take in the lavish decorum Jimin had briefly spoken about at dinner. The midnight blue walls complemented the golden frames surrounding each painting that hangs across his walls, mostly just images of the garden you can spy from out the window across the way. He told you he had taken an interest in nature and life itself and commissioned a young local artist to paint them.

But what catches your eye isn’t the yellow brushstrokes of sunflowers reaching towards the sky or the colors smoothly blended into the sunset, it is the single painting in the middle of it all that holds a smiling portrait of Jimin and his family. Unlike the painting back home with your family, he is grinning ear to ear, the painting encapsulates the very youth and beauty he radiates. You admire the work and precision the artist took in sculpting his delicate features.

“Do you consider his highness a potential suitor?”

For the second time today Jungkook has managed to sneak up on you and make you jump. He looks up at the painting, glowering like a petulant child.

You hesitate with your answer; he certainly is charming and thoughtful, but you can’t imagine a future with a man who incessantly speaks without a breath in between.

“Luckily he is handsome…” you admit, hoping it will calm the tension you still feel from dinner. It’s the only thing you can say about the prince you know for a fact. To consider him a potential match for you is pushing it over the edge.

Jungkook scoffs, “He’s full of himself. You can do so much better than him, Y/N.”

As his eyes gaze over the painting, he looks at the bright cheeks and smiling eyes of the young prince and grimaces. This human is everything Jungkook will never live up to, someone who can provide for you and not silently watch as you grow old and he stays young: a man with a crown and withering mortality.

But he just can’t stand it. Half of him is telling him Jimin is what you deserve, but the other half wants you to himself, to stop denying himself of you.

“Why are you behaving like this? His Highness has done nothing but show us hospitality and kindness and you dismissed him at dinner. It isn’t like you.”

“Why should I like him,” he turns to you and you can see his slightly sweat-matted hair, wicked ferocity in his eyes as something has changed within him. “When he’s trying to take you away from me?”

The air escaped your lungs, as you stare into the crimson abyss of his eyes. Is there something wrong with him? You know how he feels towards you—nothing. The times he would ignore your subtle hints or the disapproving looks he would give you when you came too close during events. You’ve seen it enough to back off, to know he doesn’t feel the same and stay within your unspoken boundaries. It’s nothing but pain hearing his enticing words.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I would never lie to you, Y/N.” His hand reaches for yours, an action you’ve been accustomed to whenever he tried comforting you after your father dismissed your propositions to help the kingdom. You rip your hand from his calloused ones, roughened from all the training he’s done over centuries. His red eyes look pleadingly at you, however, you don’t notice it too overcome with frustration.  

“But you’d never tell me the truth either.”

If he feels the same, even an ounce of what you feel for him, he should tell you and relieve the pain you feel from this one-sided love. You don’t want to get your hopes up and make a fool of yourself in front of him anymore.

You leave him without a goodbye and exit the hall, dreading the rest of the night to come.

—

Jimin was not lying when he said his kingdom loved to party until dawn. When you emerged from your bedroom in the dress you found neatly wrapped and laying on your bed, a gift from Jimin for the night, the roaring laughter and music echoed through the halls. You walked to the ballroom alone, Jungkook nowhere in sight, and even after your dispute you expected him to be at your door to escort you because he’d never let something as trivial as an argument get in the way of his duties.

The room is in chaos with patrons flooding the floor cheerfully moving to the rhythm of the music. Wallflowers stick to the side, but still chattering and laughing amongst themselves as they pass the time drinking themselves into ruin.

“Y/N! You look beautiful!” Jimin suddenly appears at your side, swaying slightly on his feet as his arm hooks around yours to steady himself. “The party is just getting started! Let’s get you a drink.” He shouts over the blaring music.

“I’d rather not,” you reply, tilting your head away from the alcohol lingering on his breath as his face nears yours. “Have you seen Ju- my guard?”

Jimin leans his tired head on your shoulder, sighing heavily, “No, I’m afraid I haven’t, but you’re awfully close to that guard, aren’t you?” He hiccups, “I suppose it’s only fair for me to give up this foolish proposal, you’re already in love. Poor me, I guess.”

You’re listening to a drunk man wallow about the feelings you wouldn’t dare admit out loud.

“I-I’m truly sorry, Jimin. You’ve been so hospitable and y-you threw this whole party on my behalf. I feel like I’ve just used you to avoid my true feelings.”

“Don’t feel bad, princess, I’ll use any excuse to throw a party. I guess we’ve just used each other,” Jimin pries himself away from you, giving you one last glance over with a look in his eye thinking of what could have been. “I need a drink.” He grunts, disappearing for another drink that certainly won’t be the last for the night.

Another scan around the room and there is still no sign of Jungkook lingering in the corner with his eyes trained solely on you. You wonder where he can be. The palace may be enormously vast and confusing, but he would never stray too far from you.

If you’re supposed to find him, it won’t be in here. You doubt he’d stick around in this crowd if he could help it. He would never like hearing the sound of all these beating hearts in one room.

The glass door that leads into the veranda is left open to air out the room and it reminds you of how peaceful the garden was in the morning. Jungkook will most likely be wandering there for space.

You gather your skirts and excuse your yourself through every sweaty and intoxicated guest blocking the exit. They’re all too occupied dancing and drunk to acknowledge or care about you.

A glint of metal from his armor reflecting the ballroom lights catches your eye as it stumbles into the hedge maze. You finally get past the crowd and head straight to the path Jungkook had just taken.

“Jungkook, are you alright?” You call out, the narrow entry shows no sign of him. With the hedges towering over you there’s no chance of looking over the top. Your best chance is to follow your intuition and call out to him.

The area is barely lit, the only light peaking through the hedges comes from the moonlight above.

You walk straight down the path until a fork appears and you either go left or right. “Jungkook?” You try again receiving silence in return.

You choose the path to your right and follow it all the way to a dead end. A disgruntled sigh escapes your lips as you spin on your heels to return to your original position. To your surprise, Jungkook is standing behind you already.

“Oh,” you press a hand to your diamond covered chest. “There you are. I was worried about you.”

“You don’t need to worry about me I’m fine,” he huffs, his breathing turns ragged. “I apologize for not escorting you to the ball, I just - don’t trust myself to protect you right now.”

His sunken, amber eyes tell you all you need to know. He only gets this way when he’s hungry, a look you’ve rarely seen because he always hid it so he wouldn’t scare you when you were younger.

“You’re hungry,” you affirm. He should have accepted Jimin’s offer at dinner. He hasn’t eaten since last night and it’s already taking a toll on him. It must have been affecting him even during dinner, which can explain his irrational behavior. 

“Only a little,” he nods distractedly, eyes lingering over your neck.

Images of him with the woman last night flash through your mind. That same hunger and lust from last night is the same way he looks at you right now.  

Taking a deep breath and tilting your neck to the side, you nod, “Go ahead.”

He’s never fed from you before, having been forbidden from feeding off any of his charges. If anyone finds out he has bitten you, they’d string him up and burn him alive. But he’s so hungry and the longer he stares, the harder it seems to resist your tantalizing offer.

You stand there feeling completely vulnerable to him. Your dress has a low neckline and your sleeves fall off your shoulders, leaving your neck free and exposed.

He wants it, badly. He craves even the slightest drop of blood, missing the metallic taste of it on his tongue and the way it warms his body as it flows through his system. Temptation drives him mad and you are the source of all his wicked desires.

You brace yourself for it. The searing, unbearable pain from a bite that will paralyze you.

“Fuck,” he hisses, feeling his hands begin to tremble. He is starving. “Not here where everyone will see.”

“What?” You open your eyes finding Jungkook’s amber ones fixated on your delicate neck. You are confused. Why doesn’t he do it now? No one will see him behind the bushes when all the guests are too busy drinking.

Jungkook has a little self-control left in him not to make foolish mistakes. A mark like his will be noticed in an instant by your family.

“I’ll leave a scar on your neck.” He sighs, brushing a finger along your collarbone. Your arms are exposed as well and he can’t risk that either, but he is so, so hungry; desperate for a drink. He falls to his knees and clutches your skirts. “Sit down.” He commands.

You comply with his demand and sit on the stone bench, waiting for his next move. It is like you are frozen, not in fear, but in anticipation for what will happen next. There is a dark allure surrounding him, always casting a shadow over him.

“Will it hurt?”

He hums, distracted by the thrumming of your blood flowing through your veins, “Not unless you move.”  

The material of your dress is pushed up your legs to your mid-thigh. You shiver as his cold palms presses against your thighs and when you reflexively shut them, his touch foreign and intimate to you. His mouth hangs open, revealing his sharp canines.

“Keep your legs open,” he grunts, becoming impatient with your squirming ghosting his lips over your knee and dragging his teeth towards the center of your thigh.

His hand keeps a firm hold on your leg, hooking his arm under your knee as he positions himself between your legs and giving you no time to react, he sinks his teeth into your flesh. The pain is instant, prickling throughout your entire body. You struggle to stay still, it hurts to move, but it is an instinct to run away from the pain.

You stifle your cries with your hand. The other clutching your skirts, hoping for some way to relieve your pain. As he continues to drain your body, you feel lightheaded. Your vision becomes blurry and you can no longer support the weight of yourself.

Jungkook is lost in a haze of ecstasy, overwhelmed by the addicting taste of you on his tongue. He can’t stop himself, he is starving. A day without blood is the longest he has ever gone. Being a guard in your kingdom ensures he has a constant supply of blood and he never goes too hungry, the feeling is foreign and the deprivation only makes him crave more.

“J-Jungkook, stop,” you whisper, unable to speak any louder. Your eyelids feel heavy and you desperately grab at his hair, tugging and whining. “P-please, stop.”

It takes everything to pull himself away. Your blood drips onto the pavement and from his lips. He sighs heavily, still high off the taste as he licks the remainder of you off his lips. With his head in the clouds, he fails to realize you are on the verge of passing out from blood loss.

You slump over, coming in and out of consciousness with your arms limp at your sides.

“Damn it,” Jungkook hisses, holding you up to prevent you from collapsing on top of him. “You can’t go back in like this.”

He keeps his hand over the wound to stop the blood from flowing out. His other hand reaches to touch your cheek, wiping away tears that had fallen. He feels a tug at his heart as he gazes at your weak, fatigued face, cursing himself for being too greedy.

“Princess, we’re abo- oh!” Jimin finds you in quite the compromising position with your dress pooling at your waist and Jungkook’s hand between your legs but it isn’t what it looks like.

He falls flustered, struggling to find his words. He turns away instantly at the sight, but if his eyes had lingered a little longer he would have noticed the blood on the floor and staining Jungkook’s chin. He would have noticed your pale skin and the way you were limp in Jungkook’s arms. Jimin flees instead of finding his words and doesn’t turn back, hoping it’s all just a bad side effect of the all the alcohol he’s consumed.

“Ju-Jungkook? I’m t-tired,” you say breathlessly, weakly unaware of what has just happened, reaching for his arm that securely holds you up.

“Shh,” he silences you. “Don’t waste your energy. Come here, I’ll carry you.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and he lifts you up, carrying you bridal style towards the guest bedroom Jimin had assigned you earlier, away from the commotion of your party. They will no doubt continue the madness without you.

—

The sound of a tray hitting the vanity table rouses you from a deep sleep. As you shift in bed, pain shoots up from your leg. You throw off the sweltering blanket to find your thigh wrapped in white gauze. That’s not all you notice. The dress Jimin had gifted you is discarded to the corner of the room, leaving you in nothing but your underwear and camisole.

“You’re awake,” Jungkook breathes a sigh of relief, coming to the bedside and offering you a glass of water off the tray. He helps you sit up, arms wrapping around your back and you wince as you shift weight onto your leg. You take the cool glass and gulp up every drop until your throat no longer feels tight and dry and manage to croak out a thank you.

The room is lit only by the kerosene lamp beside the bed, curtains are drawn in and you are unaware whether or not it is morning and if the party's over. Jungkook looks gloomy in the darkness despite having just fed on you. His energy is back, but somehow he felt weak and powerless as he watched you sleep. He is supposed to protect you, not be the cause of your suffering.

“I’m sorry,” he says, the words come out before he can even think about it. His hand rests on your bandaged thigh, lightly stroking over the area he had bitten. He slowly unwraps the wound to inspect the area, still red but healed nicely with the two puncture marks already fading. “I should have stopped myself, but you just tasted so good.”

“You taste so fucking good.”

Those words again this time he’s talking to you with the same guttural and lustful tone. You shudder as his hand brushes the inner part of your thigh, it doesn’t go unnoticed. He moves his hand higher until his fingers lightly skim the edge of your clothed core. You bite back a moan as he kneels on the bed.

“I just couldn’t get enough of you, Y/N. And this morning,” he sneers, hooking his finger around the strap of your camisole, pulling you closer to his face. “When I walked into your bedroom I could smell you and I wanted you under me so badly.”

In the flickering light, his features are sharpened and the fine angle of his jaw ticks as he analyzes your innocent expression. The amber in his eyes shifts a shade darker into a rich crimson once your lips part.

“J-Jungkook, it was an accident.”

You’re lying if you say you didn’t like the thrill of it though. The way his eyes roamed over you and how they struggled to look away. You held so much power over him at that moment. You could have had him falling on his knees for you and that’s exactly what you want.

“Was it an accident when you spied on me last night too?” He asks, bringing the hand not wrapped around your shoulder strap to your waist carefully bringing the material of your camisole up. “What if I told you I knew you were watching and I wanted you to watch me as I fucked her.”

Your breath caught in your throat. He confessed to knowing you were there the whole time. You couldn’t help but feel turned on by his words.

His cool fingers run along your side. “Tell me you don’t want this.” He leans down, lips nearly brushing yours.

You press your lips together, not saying anything. In the distance, you can hear the commotion of the party still going on and you tune back into the situation right in front of you.

How can you deny it when Jungkook is in front of you, offering himself to you? An image you only dreamed of since you were a teenager. You want it as bad as him.

That’s why it’s you who leans in, capturing him in a rough, breathtaking kiss, teeth clashing together as you wrap both arms around his neck to bring him closer until you’re pressed against each other and sharing the heat between one another. All the years of pent-up desire and love finally burst from you as you pour it all into this kiss.

You’re crossing the line and he knows it, but fuck it all. When you’re in his arms, desperately clinging to him and tangling your fingers through his hair he can care less about the line between love and loyalty.

His hands pull your camisole up, lips parting for a moment as he throws the thin material off your body. You have no time to feel insecure or embarrassed because Jungkook has his hands caressing your breasts, running his thumb over your pert nipples and muttering how beautiful you are between your lips. You love the way his words fall into a mantra of adoration just for you.

“You’re so perfect. So beautiful.”

He drags his lips away from yours to line kisses along your jaw and neck. You moan as he licks a stripe from the base of your throat to the sensitive spot behind your ear before sucking a dark bruise over it. He pushes you back onto the pillows and hovers over you, desperate to finally have a taste of you.

You watch as his eyes roam your body pressed against the white sheets, a carnal desire brewing behind his crimson eyes. Feeling yourself dampening your panties under his gaze, you squirm around hoping to get him to do something. You’re completely at his mercy and silently begging him to fuck you right into the mattress.

“Jungkook,” you whimper, running your hand down his hard chest to the waistband of his pants, growing tired of waiting.

Only one finger gets past the material of his pants before he grabs your hand, pinning it beside your head and tisks, “So impatient, princess.”

With his hand still around your wrists, he plants wet kisses down the valley of your breasts to your navel, loving the way you squirm each time his lips meet your feverish skin. His other hand circles the edge of your underwear before he rips it off without warning. The sudden breeze and hot breaths coming from Jungkook’s mouth hovering over your core make you shudder as he spreads your legs apart. He licks his lips, eyeing your dripping core as your wetness leaks onto the bed.

Under the predatory gaze, your legs instinctively close around his head but he keeps them open with his hands, fingers ghosting over the long forgotten bite mark on the inside of your thigh.

“Keep your legs open. Remember?” He growls, eyes flickering up towards yours. This time instead of taking blood for himself he’d make sure to take care of you instead.

You cry out, gripping the bedsheets for support as Jungkook’s mouth abruptly comes down on to your clit as his tongue flicks the sensitive bud over and over. His fingers tease your entrance, running down your slit and slowly inserts his index finger into you.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans when you clench around just one finger, wondering what it will feel like when he can finally sink his cock in you. All of his lustful thoughts from this morning finally become a reality with each whimper and moan that fall from your captivating lips as his finger pumps into you relentlessly, curling between your tight walls.

You’re moaning—screaming—his name, prompting him to add another finger, making you cry out even louder and drowning out the background noise of the party with your screams. His other hand releases your wrists and comes down to your waist to stop yours from bucking your hips into his fingers.

With your hand freed, they intertwine with the dark locks of his hair and you try and pull him away from your overstimulated clit. His mouth is too much, you can feel the knot forming in your stomach as his fingers continue their attack.

“Jungkook, please… I-I’m-” You pant.

The words die on your lips as soon as he adds a third finger, the stretch of his fingers inside you has your back arching off the bed and your orgasm rips through you soon after. Your eyes flutter shut, the white-hot pleasure overwhelming every nerve in your body. He removes his slick coated fingers from you and his mouth comes over your hole and laps your juices up like he has been starved of it for years.

He moves back up to kiss you, the taste of you still lingering on his lips. It’s slow and sensual, unlike the first time, and he slowly rubs your stomach, allowing you to adjust after your high.

Jungkook hums, “Better than blood.”

The raspiness of his baritone voice sends chills down to your core again.

“Really?” You ask, still trying to catch your breath.

“Mhm,” he hums, kissing your neck again. His hand slips behind your back to lift you up until you’re straddling his lap with his hardness brushing your core and tired head leaning against his shoulder. “Nothing compares to you, not even all the blood in the kingdom. You’re special to me, Y/N, more than you think.”

Your heart thrums in your chest hearing his soft-spoken words. It’s a relief to finally hear what you mean to him. Not just a charge, not just a duty, but as something more. Your arms wrap around his waist as you take a second to sit and embrace his presence. You put your trust in him to protect you with every fiber of his being, and now you're putting your trust in him to love you just the same. You want to give yourself over to him completely.

“I-I want you, Jungkook,” you whisper, your finger delicately tracing patterns along the expanse of his back. “All of you.”

“Are you sure?” He pulls back to look you in the eyes, worry and lust mixed behind his dark eyes. There’s no going back. He needs to be absolutely sure this is what you want.

You nod, leaning in to capture a kiss from him again and your hands tug at the hem of his white tunic. It’s not fair he’s fully clothed and you are the only one exposed.

He helps you tug off the shirt and his well toned, tan chest is revealed finally to you. With his hands on your cheeks, he pulls you in for a kiss which you accept fully. Your mouths move in sync together and as your clit brushes against his straining cock, begging to be freed from his pants, the sensation arouses you once more and you desperately rock against him for more stimulation.

Jungkook tugs his bottoms off hastily, wanting nothing more than for you to sink on to him. He grabs your hips roughly, fingers digging into your sides enough to leave bruises.

He positions you right above his cock and catches your hungry gaze, verifying your need, and slowly lets you sink down on him. You gasp at the excruciating stretch, it’s nothing like his fingers. You can barely get past the tip before you’re whimpering for him to wait.

“Ah, st-stop,” you grasp the hand at your hips, screwing your eyes shut.

“Fuck,” he hisses, forcing himself to stop for you. He’s holding back so much for you. He can’t hurt you. He’d never hurt you.

You can see the pain contorted on his face as he strains to hold himself back. So, you push yourself further down on him, sliding easily from your slickness and clenching around his length. The pain is quickly replaced with pleasure as you screw your eyes shut, moaning a string of incoherent words. You slide off of him before going back down, faster than you had intended and you both groan in unison. Your breasts rub against his chest each time you go down on him and you watch with fascination as your bodies come together each time and he disappears inside you.

He feels his canines extending as the sudden bloodlust hits him with your tightness wrapped around him. Usually, when he’s fucking, he’s feeding off some random citizen as he does it. But you’re not just a blood bag for him to fuck and discard.

He shuts his eyes, stilling himself for a moment and tries to force away his sudden hunger. He’s already fed from you and taken too much to the point you passed out.

You stop your ministrations, noticing how tense he’s become. The canines peeking from under his lip are prominent and you understand what’s wrong.

“You can drink from me.”

“No,” he gulps, jerking his hips up in attempt to distract himself from the hunger. The speed he moves at is inhuman and you tremble with each powerful thrust. Your orgasm slowly builds up and you push his head closer to your neck, allowing him the perfect place to sink his teeth in.

“Do it, Jungkook,” you breathe deeply, waiting for his fangs to sink into your flesh.

He pulls you off of him unexpectedly and you whimper from the loss. Before you even realize, you’re pressed against the bed again with Jungkook thrusting into you harder than before. As the bed creaks under the intensity of each swift movement, your hands reach to claw at his back for something to anchor on to, leaving angry red marks for tomorrow.  

You cry out his name over and over, but he doesn’t hear it. The only thing he can focus on is the sound of your rapid heartbeats and the feeling of you clenching and unclenching around him.

The familiar tightness in your stomach returns as you near your orgasm, and Jungkook notices from the way you tremble underneath him. He grabs your leg and hooks it over his shoulder, allowing him deeper access to push into you.

“K-keep going,” you choke out, feeling him hit the perfect spot at this new angle.

He loves hearing you whimper and beg for him. The pace he sets is even faster, but not enough to break you with his strength. He knows himself enough to not take it too far despite the monster in him telling him to let go and tear you in half.

Another sharp movement of Jungkook’s hip and you come undone beneath him, jerking your hips up to match his thrusts and riding out your high for as long as you can. With a couple more thrusts, Jungkook comes inside you, coating your walls and filling you up.

Overcome by this euphoria, he leans down to your neck and sinks his teeth in taking no blood, instead he bonds with you. A mark that will claim you as his forever.

You’re unaware of this, however, still getting over your own orgasm to realize he’s just sealed your future together.

When he removes his mouth carefully from your neck, licking up the droplets of blood, he falls over onto his back, feeling a new sense of energy flow through him. If he were human, he’d be breathless.

You press your forehead against his chest, wrapping an arm around his torso and close your eyes. There’s no heartbeat, but you’re content believing if he had one, it would be racing just as much as yours in this moment.

“I love you.”

For the first time, it is Jungkook who makes himself vulnerable, bearing all his emotions to you. It’s impossible to know what your future together will be like. He’s marked you and now that scar will forever be a part of you. It won’t be long before your family notices. They’ll realize right away what Jungkook has done to their precious daughter and there’s no doubt they’ll want to punish him—kill him, throw him in prison, or end his centuries of service. No matter the punishment, the mark on your neck ensures that you will be together through all those troubles.

You press yourself closer to him. You don’t need to say anything because he already knows how you feel, he’s always known.

—

The next morning, while the rest of the palace is stuck in bed hungover, Jimin at least makes a groggy effort to wish you safe travels back home. He’s still dressed in his rumpled attire from the night before, squinting as the sunlight aids his pounding headache.

As he looks between your beaming face and Jungkook’s fond expression as he gazes down at you, a hazy image from last night appears when he thought he saw you in the gardens with your guard between your legs. He shakes the image away though, finding himself heating up at the thought. Maybe he had too much to drink last night and began seeing things, but as you wave your final goodbyes and thanks to him and turn towards the carriage with Jungkook’s hand carefully pressed against the small of your back, he catches an unmistakable glimpse of a purple bruise blooming on your neck and fading puncture marks. And for once, the young prince has nothing left to say.

—

tags: @winternightmagic

[katrinawritesthings]

Jonghyun/Taemin; A Series of Lists (Part 23); PG

part 23: five times things were nice

“You’re so fucking thirsty,” Taemin mutters. Jonghyun wants to protest, but as soon as he lays his head back down on Taemin’s jacket and breathes in its smell he shivers a little and feels warm inside of his whole soul, and he knows that Taemin isn’t wrong.

masterlist

1 "Succ,” Taemin mumbles as he sprinkles water gently over the little potted cactus on the dash of his bike.

“Stop saying ‘succ’ when you’re watering me,” Jonghyun mumbles. Taemin glances up to find Jonghyun frowning at him from where he’s seated on the bike and bites back his grin.

“Do you not wish you could give me the succ once a week?” he asks. He looks back to the cactus and rubs a little speck of dust off of the “Jongie” nametag. Jonghyun huffs and doesn’t reply, which means his answer is totally a yes, and also that he’s totally jealous of his cactus counterpart. He reaches over to gently thumb away a drip of water that missed the pot and landed on the bike.

“Wouldn’t it be, you giving me the succ, though?” he asks. “‘Cause you’re giving Little Jongie water?”

“No, the nut is the water,” Taemin says. He shrugs it out casually, but like he expected, Jonghyun still bursts into loud giggles. He puts his arms on the dash of Taemin’s bike and buries his face in them, shoulders shaking with his laughter. Taemin grins lazily as he finishes giving Jongie his drink. He twists off the cap with holes stabbed through it off of his water bottle and nestles in gently back into Jongie’s tiny pot, then takes a sip from the bottle himself. Then he takes the bottle’s actual cap from his pocket and screws it on, and then reaches behind Jonghyun to slot it into his bag. Jonghyun continues to giggle and Taemin runs his fingers through his soft hair.

“Is there a reason why you invited yourself onto my bike, by the way?” he asks. He just got here to the motel with the rest of the group and was getting ready to head to Jonghyun’s floor when Jonghyun himself fluttered out here and sat himself pretty on the bike. At his question, Jonghyun’s shoulders scrunch up and he giggles even more.

“Oh my gosh,” he breathes, sitting up straight and fanning his face. “I was gonna--I wanted to tell you I wanted to fuck, but. Oh my fucking gosh.” He shakes his head and giggles more into his hands as he wiggles off the bike. He grabs one of Taemin’s hands and links their fingers together, ring and middle fingers squeezing Taemin’s ring finger like usual. “Let’s just get you all settled in, fuck,” he grins. Taemin reaches to grab his bag and lug it over his shoulder before Jonghyun pulls him too far away from his bike.

“Does getting me all settled in include napping together, maybe?” he asks. It’s tiring, being so funny all the time. And he’s wanted to nuzzle Jonghyun all day, fricking or no fricking. Jonghyun hums contemplatively as he tugs Taemin through the employee break room and Taemin puts back on his neutral face so no one else sees him being soft.

“I got an hour long break, so,” he says, and shrugs with a smile over his shoulder. Taemin snorts. He gave himself an hour to maybe fuck. That’s a little ambitious, and also a little cute. He tugs Taemin through the lobby and to his floor, shouldering it open and flouncing inside. Every now and again as he helps Taemin put his stuff away and wiggles into bed with him he bubbles into tiny fits of giggles that are absolutely adorable.

2 Taemin and Jonghyun are struggling. Jinki can tell. They’re struggling over there on the other side of the garage, trying to figure out how to continue changing the chain on Taemin’s bike. Jinki sits casually on his own bike, munching through a bag of corn nuts, and watches them. He originally came in here just to grab his snack and go read in his room, but this is just as entertaining, he thinks.

“No, I know what I’m doing,” Taemin is saying, holding his new chain in both hands with a furrow between his brows that suggests that he doesn't know what he’s doing. “You just--look, you take the old one all the way off, and then.” He pauses, looks at the old chain that he just broke, at how it loops around between the wheels. “And then,” he says again, jiggling the new chain. “Mm.”

“No, Tae, you, like,” Jonghyun says. He leans forward on the tall stool he’s sitting on, lifting one hand from between his legs to point. “You attach it, to the old one, and roll it through like that.”

“You what?” Taemin asks. “No, that--what? That doesn’t make sense.”

It does make sense, actually. Jinki licks a crumb off of his pinky. That’s how you’re supposed to do it, if you don’t want to take the whole back tire off.

“That’s how you’re supposed to do it, Tae,” Jonghyun frowns. Taemin huffs and frowns right back at him.

“Why do you think you know more than me?” he snaps. “You’ve never even worked on a bike. You still almost cream yourself every time I drive you to the town.”

Fuck. That felt kind of low, but Jinki still chokes and muffles a laugh into his hand. Holy shit. That’s a valid point.

“Okay, one, rude,” Jonghyun says with pink cheeks. “And two, I’ve read about it. You don’t need physical experience to read a step-by-step and memorize it.” He waves a hand vaguely towards the rest of the motel, which Jinki assumes to be also in the direction of all of his motorcycle books. He nods to himself. That also is a valid point. And it is about the same amount of chain-changing experience as Taemin, who Jinki is pretty sure has only ever let Amber work on his bike for him or taken it into a shop for anything more complicated than changing a tire.

“Well, if you’re so educated, you do it, then,” Taemin huffs. He thrusts the chain at Jonghyun; Jonghyun scoffs, offended.

“Fine,” he snaps, snatching the chain up. “Move,” he adds, hopping off of his stool and stepping in front of the bike. Taemin moves, and crosses his arms, watching Jonghyun look at the chain in his hands. Jonghyun bites his lip, holds the end of the new chain up to squint at, leans closer to the  end of the old chain. “It’s simple, you just, attach them, like. Hmm,” he hums. His fingers rub over the end of the new chain blankly. “How do you… hmm.”

“Hmmm,” Taemin hums pointedly. As Jonghyun shoots him a withering glare, Jinki sighs to himself and rolls his eyes. Stuffing his corn nuts into his pocket, he leans over to fumble in the little repair pocket of his bag. He pulls out his master link and sides off of his bike. He walks over there lazily; they’re still bickering when he squeezes himself between them.

“I know what I read, I--oh,” Jonghyun says. He falls into a stunned sort of silence when Jinki gently but brisky tugs the new chain from his hands. Jinki wiggles the first few links on right behind the old one, latches them to each other with the master link, and then nudges Taemin out of the way so he can spin his back wheel and get the new chain rolling in. When it’s halfway around and the old chain is coiling on the floor he pulls back to smile blandly at the pair of them.

Both of them are looking blankly at what he just did with the bike.

“Ohhhh,” Jonghyun breathes.

“That makes sense,” Taemin whispers. Jinki gives them each a helpful pat on the shoulder before turning and walking away. As he heads towards the exit of the garage, he hears them mumbling to each other as they finish rolling the new chain around.

“We would’ve figured that out, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, totally.”

3 The second hand of Jonghyun’s little desk clock ticks slowly, silently, counting down the minutes to two in the morning. Jonghyun counts up. He counts each second, eyes catching every tick in the dim moonlight except for when he blinks slowly, willing himself to sleep. He’s nearing a thousand seconds since he accidentally woke up; almost twenty minutes. Usually it takes him at least half an hour to doze back off when his insomnia hits like this. He might not sleep for long, but some is better than none, and lying here doing nothing awake is still more rest than being up and doing something.

And he doesn’t want to wake Taemin under him. His breathing is calm, even, his chest rising and falling warm under Jonghyun’s head, his heart beating in a steady, soothing rhythm, his arm loosely wrapped around Jonghyun’s waist. Jonghyun wraps his own arm more secure around Taemin’s chest, nuzzling his cheek into his shirt. He’s hardly been back for a few days, and Jonghyun’s been so busy what with training Taeyeon and helping his sister get ready to have her booger babies and everything. It would be a shame to wake Taemin up now and make their daytime spent together all groggy and grumpy.

As he thinks, Taemin takes in a big breath and shifts under him. Jonghyun freezes, cautious; Taemin tugs him closer and nestles his cheek on top of his head. His hand curls into the fabric of Jonghyun’s shirt. Then he’s still again, and Jonghyun relaxes, and then--

“Jonghyun?” Taemin says softly. Jonghyun blinks. Oh. Heck. He’s awake? Fuck. He squeezes Taemin the tiniest amount.

“Yeah?” he asks just as softly. At his reply, Taemin starts; he jerks quickly, arm squishing Jonghyun for a second as he sucks in a sharp breath.

“Fuck,” he breathes on the exhale. His hand lifts to Jonghyun’s shoulder. “You’re actually awake?” he asks. Jonghyun lets out an incredulous breath. Why was he talking if he didn’t think Jonghyun would reply?

“Yeah,” he says. “I woke up a little bit ago. Insomnia, remember?”

“Oh, yeah, right,” Taemin mumbles. He slips his other arm around Jonghyun’s waist. “Okay,” he sighs. He doesn’t follow up with anything else and Jonghyun shifts nervously, guilty suddenly.

“Did I… wake you up?” he asks. He didn’t mean to--but he feels Taemin’s head shaking against his.

“No, I’ve just… been up,” he says. Jonghyun takes that statement in, then pouts, confused.

“This whole time?” he asks. Taemin shrugs.

“What were you doing after you woke up?” he asks. This time Jonghyun shrugs.

“Counting seconds,” he says. “Listening to your heartbeat.”

“Oh my god,” Taemin breathes. He takes both hands away from Jonghyun and Jonghyun can only assume, from the soft rustles and muffled curses above him, that Taemin is covering his own face and blushing. Jonghyun grins to himself. Of course he is. He can never handle soft shit. Just to be even softer, Jonghyun lifts his head to turn it and press a kiss to Taemin’s chest right over his heart. Immediately Taemin’s chest expands heavily and he wraps his arms back around Jonghyun, rolling them over, squishing Jonghyun beneath him.

“Stop that,” he hisses. Jonghyun giggles quietly and kisses him again. Before Taemin can puff up any more, he squeezes him and moves his head so he can speak.

“What did you wanna ask me?” he asks. Taemin hesitates, and then he deflates, slowly, in one big, long sigh. When he’s done he rolls back to his back and lets Jonghyun nestle on his chest again. Jonghyun slings his arm lazily over him.

“I was gonna practise asking you something,” he mumbles. “While you were sleeping.” His cheek falls against Jonghyun’s head and he sighs again. “It’s important, but not, like. Urgent important, you know? Ask me again another time.”

“Mmm,” Jonghyun hums. That’s a little worrying, and not entirely reassuring, but also, he’s real sleepy, and it’s easier for him to wiggle around his anxiety brain when he’s sleepy, so he does that and nods quietly against Taemin’s shirt. “Okay,” he hums. He’ll give Taemin some time to practise. For now he nuzzles Taemin’s shirt, brushing a kiss there that Taemin won’t notice just because he wants to.

“Can I help you sleep?” Taemin asks him. Jonghyun hums again. Can he be helped to sleep. He’s not sure. He knows himself and his brain pretty well by now but he’s never really thought about this. No one’s ever been awake with him when he’s woken up in the middle of the night before. He thinks to how he usually falls asleep with Taemin. Sometimes when they’re out back, and Jonghyun is just taking a break, he manages to take naps with him. He never takes naps normally. What’s different about those times, he wonders.

“Can you grab your leather jacket?” he asks in a tiny voice. Taemin is silent for a moment. Then he snorts softly and shakes his head. He also wiggles to sit up and lean over his side of the bed, so Jonghyun assumes it was a fond headshake rather than a disagreeing one. When Taemin lies back down, it’s with a tired flump. He lumps his leather jacket over his chest when he’s settled.

“You’re so fucking thirsty,” he mutters. Jonghyun wants to protest, but as soon as he lays his head back down on Taemin’s jacket and breathes in its smell he shivers a little and feels warm inside of his whole soul, and he knows that Taemin isn’t wrong. Taemin’s arm wraps around his shoulders and his other hand finds Jonghyun’s and holds it, thumb rubbing ever the back. “Also, you’re cute,” Taemin adds. Jonghyun smiles wide at that and buries his face in Taemin’s chest. Heck.

“Nighty night,” he whispers. Taemin hums back quietly and falls silent. Jonghyun guesses he’s going to try to sleep now also. He nuzzles closer and takes slow breaths, like before. He picks up Taemin’s jacket sleeve and drapes it over his eyes. Instead of counting seconds, now he counts each time Taemin’s thumb rubs softly over his knuckles. Then, when Taemin falls asleep first and his thumb stops, he counts each of Taemin’s heartbeats. He doesn’t know if it all helps; he doesn’t know if he falls asleep again faster like this than he does normally. He just knows that when he does finally doze off again, he feels happy.

4 “You know,” Jonghyun hums quietly. He shifts under Taemin’s arm and slips a hand around his strawberry daiquiri, bringing the straw to his lips to sneak a sip. Taemin lets him hold the whole glass. It’s only his second but he’s starting to get a headache from it already. He hums in question, sleepily running his fingers up and down Jonghyun’s arm. They’re just chilling, in a booth in the corner of Eunsook’s bar, watching patrons mill about doing bar things and enjoying quiet time together. Jonghyun takes the straw out of the daiquiri and sucks on the end with a little smirk, eyes fixed somewhere at the bar.

“Jinki’s pretty hot,” he says.

“I--you fucking--what?” Taemin splutters. He follows Jonghyun’s gaze now and looks at Jinki serving drinks behind the ar and then very quickly looks away because he doesn’t want to hear the words “Jinki’s pretty hot” in his brain as he looks at him. “He’s not hot,” he says. Jonghyun glances at him, raises a brow, and then looks back at Jinki.

“He’s hot,” he repeats.

“Stop saying that,” Taemin hisses. This is the worst thing Jonghyun has ever said to him, in his life, ever. He grabs his daiquiri out of Jonghyun’s hands, shielding it from him grumpily. He can’t have cute strawberry alcohol when he’s being such a gremlin. “You can’t even--you’re ace, you don’t know what hot is,” he says. Jonghyun snorts. He’s still holding the straw, and he presses it against his lip as he speaks, so it leaves a little circle indent.

“You know being ace doesn’t stop us from identifying an attractive individual,” he says. Taemin huffs and rolls his eyes. “Also,” Jonghyun adds, grinning wide at Taemin. “I’m gray ace, remember? And remember way back when I first told you, I said it was only you and one or two others that I’d ever gotten… you know. About?” He glances pointedly at Jinki when he pauses. Taemin takes a moment to register that, and then groans and puts his face in his hands. Awful.

“He’s my dad,” he groans.

“Yeah, and he can get it,” Jonghyun says. Taemin groans even louder. Why does Jonghyun keep opening his mouth and saying words.

“He’s--” Taemin sits up straight and reaches for Jonghyun’s chest, for the ring he keeps on a necklace tucked under his shirt. He tugs the ring out and and holds it in front of Jonghyun’s face. “He’s your--your--step--? No, fuck, your--your Jinki-in-law--no, dad, your dad-in--”

“My Jinki-in-law,” Jonghyun repeats with the most amused little smirk. Taemin scowls and narrows his eyes. Fucko.

“Your dad-in-law,” he snaps.

“My father-in law,” Jonghyun says. “Which still doesn’t change that he’s hot.” He sticks his straw back into Taemin’s drink and slouches lazily in his seat, looking back over the bar at Jinki. “The last time I was into him I was, like, sixteen, and he was too old for me, but like.” He shrugs, looking far too chill and unbothered for how intensely sweaty and uncomfortable Taemin is getting with this conversation. “Now, I don’t know, I’m forty-four, he’s fifty-five.” He shrugs again and lifts one hand to cushion the back of his head. “That’s not so bad. He’s hot.”

”Stop saying he’s hot,” Taemin hisses. “You can’t fuck my dad.” He can not believe that he just said those words out of his mouth. He can’t believe even more how Jonghyun laughs loud behind his free hand and looks at Taemin, eyes amused little crescents.

“I’m not trying to fuck your dad,” he giggles. “Holy shit. I’m just saying, like--”

“Don’t--”

“He’s a DILF.”

“Oh my god!” Taemin says loudly. A large number of actions run through his head; and he screams internally because he can’t do any of them. He can’t go tell Jinki to go away because he can’t tell him why he has to leave. He can’t even go ask Jinki for a real strong shot because he knows nothing under, like, seven will make him forget anything and he already has a headache. He can’t just fucking leave, because he can’t do that to Jonghyun even when he’s being so incredibly awful right now. Obviously he can’t tell Jonghyun to quit being a gremlin, because every time he’s done so so far Jonghyun has just said something worse.

In the end, he settles for downing his entire daiquiri, slushy ice and all, and struggles to swallow it all quickly. Then he groans and puts his head on the table and wills the brain freeze to numb his whole body until next week so he doesn’t have to listen to Jonghyun talk about Jinki anymore.

All it does is make his head hurt and he groans more for dramatic effect. Soon he feels Jonghyun draping over him, body shaking with giggles, breath warm behind his ear. Jonghyun doesn’t even say anything; he just laughs, hands little and grabby around his waist. Taemin grumbles in the back of his throat and rubs his hands through his hair, suffering greatly until his brain freeze goes away, and then only suffering slightly less.

“If I let you blow me will you stop talking about how hot Jinki is?” he asks. Jonghyun laughs more and noses a smile into his neck.

“I don’t want you to let me blow you,” he says, and somehow, despite him being a horrible horrible goblin, despite his smile still wide against Taemin’s skin, somehow, he manages to sound pouty. “I wanna blow you when you want me to blow you.”

Well, isn’t that so soft and considerate. Taemin grumbles and lifts his head just to pillow his arms under it.

“I probably wouldn’t be able to get a boner anyway,” he mutters. Not with him trying so hard to not think about Jinki. He shifts to nudge Jonghyun with his shoulder. “Go get me a strawberry shake,” he demands. He knows they’re not on the menu but he also knows that Jonghyun can get away with it. Jonghyun snorts and wiggles off of him.

“Sure, I’ll go ask Jinki for some mega milk,” he says. Taemin sighs loudly and pulls his jacket collar over his head.

5 Jonghyun practically vibrates out of the insurance office of the car dealership. His hands grip the keys of his new motorcycle so hard his knuckles are white and his grin is splitting open his face. Taemin feels his own smile fuzzing up his insides as he lets Jonghyun cling to his elbow as the salesperson escorts them outside. He feels like if he wasn’t there for Jonghyun to hold on to he would vibrate into a puddle of happy goo on the floor.

As it is, he melts into a puddle of happy goo on his new power cruiser, sitting on it and then just laying over the dash, cheek against the dash, arms hanging over the handlebars. Taemin sits lazily sidesaddle on his own bike in the spot next to him, reaching out to poke Jonghyun’s leg with his foot.

“Happy?” he asks, and almost experiences an emotion in public when Jonghyun looks at him with stars in his eyes. He wants to hurry up and get home so he can be happy and excited for his boyfriend in peace, but he also knows that Jonghyun needs time to just sit here and appreciate having a bike of his very own. He’s waited, like, thirty-six years for it. “You’re getting breath fog on your screen,” Taemin says, pointing lazily.

“Hmm? Fuck.” Jonghyun sits up quickly, sucking his hand into his sleeve and rubbing away his breath. Then he just runs his hands over the dash, over the metal, over the handlebars, grips them his hands and bites his lip hard. “Fuck,” he says again, just as articulate as the first time Taemin ever let him touch his own cruiser. He takes his hands from the handlebars and instead puts them over his own face, kicking his feet quickly on the ground. Taemin fakes a yawn into his hand to hide his smile.

Jonghyun takes a few minutes to collect himself, in which Taemin closes his eyes and lets the wind tousle his hair and the sun warm his face. Eventually he hears Jonghyun sucking in one of his deep, steadying breaths and opens his eyes to watch. Jonghyun rubs his cheeks, runs his fingers through his hair a lot, paps his hands all over his bike’s dash, and then turn his bright eyes to Taemin again.

“Helmet,” he says, making grabby hands at the bag of Taemin’s bike. Taemin snorts, enamored. Not even a full sentence. He slides off of his bike and grabs Jonghyun’s helmet from his bag. It’s his old one with the dark green stripes; Taemin wishes he had someone else around to bet that Jonghyun will go out and get a new one soon that matches his bike’s pink and red. Turning around, he almost experiences an emotion again again when he sees that Jonghyun is pouting now, pouting and wiggling his fingers like he’s upset that it’s taking Taemin so long to give him his helmet.

“Hey,” he says quietly. He steps forward and presses the helmet into Jonghyun’s hands, but holds it still so Jonghyun can’t put it on just yet. Stepping even closer, he glances around the parking lot to make sure no one’s around before he leans in and presses a soft kiss to Jonghyun’s mouth. “You’re really cute,” he murmurs into the air between them.

“Ooohhh my gosh,” Jonghyun whispers. He hangs his helmet on one of his handlebars and puts his face back into his hands. Taemin laughs incredulously at the ground. Whoops. He leans carefully against Jonghyun’s other handlebar and pats his hand pleasantly on Jonghyun’s knee while he waits for a second time.

When Jonghyun gathers himself up next it’s with another one of his big breaths. This time he takes Taemin’s hand in his and kisses it himself, smiling against his fingers. Taemin gently squishes his bottom lip.

“Can we go get food somewhere?” Jonghyun asks. Taemin tilts his head, confused.

“I thought we were going home so you could fawn over your bike and I could be excited and everything,” he says. Jonghyun whines and wiggles his hand.

“Yeah, but,” he says. “I’m so. I’m too.” He looks down at his bike again and smiles wide, bites his lip, paps his hands all over it. “Fuck,” he breathes heavily. Taemin shakes his head fondly, but nods right after. Alright, yeah, good point. “Can we go find a diner with outdoor seats?” he asks. Taemin snorts, backing up to get on his bike.

“Why, so you can keep looking at your bike while we eat?” he teases.

“Yeah,” Jonghyun says. Taemin hides his laugh in his own helmet, tugging it over his head. He’s so fucking cute, all the time.

“Let’s go, kid,” he hums, getting settled on his bike and jamming his key into the ignition.

Jonghyun pinks at the nickname and puts his face in his hands again, and they sit there in the parking lot for another couple of minutes.

[jubilantwriter]

Yuurei ni Natta Boku wa

Summary:  A new obstacle stands in the way of Tome's chance to experience new, exciting days under the tutelage of Reigen. Will Tome be able to prove herself as a worthy student of his, or will Reigen's business finally croak under the hands of this new self-proclaimed psychic?

Next time on: RG8geW91IGJlbGlldmUgZXZlcnl0aGluZyB5b3Ugc2VlPw==

Reading until the very end? Truly a wise choice indeed!

(AO3)

(FF.net)

A/N:  Takes place after the REIGEN manga, AND includes a spiffy little OC.  This won’t be a ship-centric fic, but there will be hints to ships (such as Reigen/Serizawa) anyways.  Please enjoy!

"Ahhh! What am I going to do?!" A young girl dashes past Tome, the familiar uniform and hairstyle making Tome watch her with interest.

"Huh... There she goes again." She's never really stopped Shoujo-chan to ask what was going on in her life - because that'd be weird - but it is always fun to imagine what sort of scenarios Shoujo-chan was getting into today. Maybe she was supposed to stop her billionaire love interest from leaving the country before she can confess? Or perhaps she has to deal with a hoard of jealous fangirls that were threatening to ruin her reputation if she didn't comply to their demands and make the high school heartthrob fall in love with someone else?

… Maybe she too is an esper and is now racing off to save some city somewhere from the brink of destruction?

Hm.

Nah, Mob already has that covered. And that happened like, what, a couple months ago? Maybe more? She's lost track, and Shoujo-chan is long gone now, so she continues on her way to her part-time job.

She doesn't really do much, besides the minimal paperwork that Reigen hands her and serving the clients tea. But sometimes, he lets her watch over his shoulder as he personally "exorcises" spirits from clients, and other times he lets her practice her speeches and advice on him for future clients. If he'd actually let her do more than just watch and learn.

But then again, she's not really in a rush to learn how to con people into believing placebo effects just yet.

Really, she's just into watching whatever interesting things the day brings, be it listening to clients' personal stories of how they believe they got cursed or legitimate hauntings that are plaguing a client to no end. Sure, maybe this isn't the sort of supernatural stuff she is usually into, but being around Mob for so long has given her a deeper appreciation for anything occult and supernatural.

That being said though, a sprinkle of alien encounters wouldn't hurt at all.

She's been trying to convince Reigen to expand his business into outer space somehow. It's really easy, she argues! All they need to do is drag Takenaka and Mob out into a field, and try to reconnect with the aliens. Maybe even aliens get hauntings every once in a while.

Or maybe they just need massages too.

Or a therapy session.

Hm. Maybe she should ask Reigen to actually teach her his ways after all. It'd be so exciting to be a specialist in alien therapy, after all.

Tome hums as she walks, barely noticing a woman standing in her way as she daydreams about the next possible supernatural stint. Maybe alien currency translates nicely into yen, or maybe she and the aliens will engage in another bout of intergalactic exchange, but instead it'll be an exchange of goods and services. Oh, the possibilities! All she needs to do is work on her proposal (wow, so grown up, she thinks, nodding to herself with self-approval) to Reigen, and maybe this time he won't shoot her down on the spot with claims of "how are we going to communicate with them" and "Mob and his friends probably won't be so ready to help this time because it's not about making memories" and "seriously Mob will get upset with me, Tome-chan, he's trying to focus on high school entrance exams".

Really, it's not that big of an issue; she'll just take Mob out on a date on the weekends, and they can go hunting for willing telepaths who'll gladly offer their services (as long as they're willing to accept low pay) and suddenly they'll have new clients to-

"OOF." Tome crashes into the woman who had failed to move in front of her, rubbing her nose as she steps back from the lady. "Sorry about that, I wasn't, uh, looking..."

The woman doesn't respond. Instead, she remains stock still in front of her.

Freaky.

"... Hello?" Tome frowns as the woman continues to ignore her. Seriously, what is her deal? She leans to the side to try and catch a glimpse of the lady's face, and only finds that the lady's eyes are focused on the Spirits and Such sign above them. With how focused the lady looks, Tome can't help but wonder if she too, is lost in her thoughts like Tome was earlier.

But that doesn't explain why the lady didn't budge or notice Tome crashing into her. It's… kind of weird, but by now, Tome is used to weird things happening all the time.

… Probably.

Well, judging by how intense the woman is eyeing the sign, it'd only be proper to ask the woman what her problem is. Tome clears her throat, watching as the woman snaps her attention over to Tome abruptly, surprising her with the sudden head jerk in her direction.

"Uh... can I help you?" Tome approaches the woman, noticing her rather... formal attire.

Well, Reigen-ish formal. The kind of formal that reminds Tome of incessant doorbell rings and incessant people trying to shove products in her hands.

The woman has light brown hair done up in a gravity defying style. Sure, people can pin up their small ponytails against their head, but Tome is sure that hair, pinned up against a skull or not, should still be spilling over slightly, like a withering flower that someone has neglected to care for. The woman's hair, however, spikes straight up from where it's pinned up. Tome wants to believe that it's the work of gel at play, but there's not a single stiff strand of hair to hint towards that.

From there, Tome notices the tucked in dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the woman's elbows. Around her collar is a grey tie, but from the looks of it, it looks more as though the original color had faded away, leaving behind a murky grey-ish tone that hints at its former glory. Completing the attire is a pair of black slacks that look... like they don't deserve to be called slacks. But Tome doesn't really have another name for what the clothing could be, so fake slacks will have to do.

The more Tome looks at this woman, the more she can't help but feel like every piece of this woman just feels a little… off. Before she can dwell on it any longer, however, her feet start to make their soreness known, and it's only then that she realizes that the woman has yet to respond to her initial question. Instead, all she's done is stare dead-eyed at Tome with eyes of the lightest shade of brown. Tome clears her throat to hide whatever nervousness the woman has invoked within her and speaks again. "Lady, did you want to come inside?"

The woman blinks before looking around and pointing at herself. Jesus, did this woman really think that Tome would be talking to anyone else but her? In THIS empty street? Well, it IS quite possible that Tome could be talking to herself in the middle of an empty street, but creeping feeling of unease starts to lurk under Tome's skin, so she pushes that aside quickly and forces her mind to think about something else. Like how she's pretty sure she's late to her shift, not that Reigen counts every minute she works.

But still. She needs to practice punctuality for when she gets a real job with real pay.

Maybe Reigen will up her pay once she presents him with this lady who is hopefully a client, probably client, definitely a client, yes, no doubt about it, she's refusing to think of her as anyone else but a client now.

God, why won't this lady just respond already? This isn't the kind of one-sided conversation she's used to. Tome sucks in a breath and continues to speak.

"Yes, you. I saw you staring up at that sign, and I work here so, if you'd like, I can take you inside? If you're wondering if you needed to schedule an appointment to meet with Reigen-san, you don't need to worry about that. We also accept walk-ins!"

Practicing that spiel was worth it.

The woman's eyes widen in surprise before she shakes her head, and the look of surprise is replaced with a charming smile.

Huh.

It almost reminds Tome of-

"Ah, yes! Sorry, I was lost in my thoughts for a moment." The woman straightens her tie for some reason before flipping her hand out with flair. "Could you please lead me to your workplace? I would like to meet this... Reigen-san I've heard so much about."

"You've heard of Reigen-san?" Tome crosses her arms and stares at the woman who suddenly transformed from stony and mute to confident and lively. Maybe the lady really WAS lost in her thoughts, and this is just how she normally is. Yes, this is the kind of self-reassurance that Tome needs. "I know he claims to be a well-known psychic, but I didn't think people actually KNEW him outside of the people who pop in after seeing the flyers."

"I have my sources." The woman places her hands on her hips as she tilts her head to the side. "Surely you remember that broadcast starring Reigen-san a while back?"

Ah.

Yes.

She completely forgot about that.

Somehow, Reigen's televised shame was shoved to the back of her head after...

Hm.

How many times has the city been destroyed by now? Twice? That's already too many times already, but what can you do, she supposes.

She shakes her head.

"Uh, right. Forgot about that." The woman merely straightens her posture and looks pointedly at Tome. "Oh yeah. Right this way." Tome gestures for the woman to follow her, and leads her up the staircase to Reigen's office. The woman hums behind her before speaking up without Tome's prompting.

"So... About this Reigen-san."

"Yes?"

"What can you say about him?"

Suspicious question. But then again, Reigen himself is a rather suspicious person, and since this lady knows about Reigen's televised shame, it could be that she's trying to see if Reigen is worth a grain of salt (haha, god she should tell Serizawa that joke- no, wait, he'll just be disappointed that she belittled Reigen's worth like that, so maybe not), or if he's actually the real deal.

Tome knows he's about as genuine as a sugar pill.

But she can't tell that to a potential client. She's got to manage an amazing business spiel of her boss if she wants this client to stay and pay.

Not only that, but she's starting to run out of stairs to climb before she can convince this woman that he is truly, the shit.

"Well! Reigen-san is a very kind man," who likes to use espers for his business, "who charges remarkably less for what other psychics usually pay for." Tome thinks this is why her pay is so low. She doesn't even want to ask Serizawa how much he actually makes.

"He definitely does his best to solve whatever problem you have, be it small or big!" This, she can confidently say, is true. Despite his shady nature, he really does actually make good on his word. Sure, he'll advertise his lies as actual psychic remedies, but all their clients always leave looking happier than when they arrived. "He genuinely cares about his employees and makes sure that they're taken care of."

She can speak from her own personal experience, but she also knows that Reigen wasn't always... the best person. She remembers all the times when he'd call Mob out from a hangout just to exorcise a ghost. Mob was never happy about those moments, and she's sure that even though Reigen has a better understanding of his boundaries with Mob, Mob STILL kind of hates being called last minute to help with something.

Hm.

Well, half-lies are okay, right? Plus, Reigen seems like he's genuinely made an effort to respect Mob more and only ever really calls him for emergencies.

Like that one time he was about to literally die.

After saving her life.

Ah, she's run out of stairs.

Tome turns to the woman behind her, whose face has turned into something inscrutable, probably to digest all those "facts" Tome just told her.

That, or she's already judging the truthfulness of what Tome just told her.

Only one way to find out, really.

Tome opens the door to the office, holding the door open for the woman to step through. "Welcome to Spirits and Such Consultation-"

"Tome-chan! I was wondering where you were." Reigen is already walking towards her when he notices the woman standing behind her. He looks to her, then to Tome, concern already worming its way onto his face.

Right.

The last time she brought someone over, it nearly resulted in her AND her senpai's death, so it's not too surprising that Reigen is giving the woman a wary glance over as he tries to figure out what trouble Tome got into this time.

"Client." Just that one word is enough to reassure Reigen that no, this time she's just doing her job and not starting a whole new unnecessary adventure. Reigen takes barely half a second to compose himself, already gesticulating wildly as he greets the woman.

"Ah, yes! Welcome to Spirits and Such - are you here for a consultation?" Reigen flashes her his award-winning smile, and the woman smiles with amusement.

"Something like that."

"Right this way!" Reigen leads the woman to his desk, where Serizawa is sitting nearby, working diligently on his homework. As Tome walks over to her own desk, Serizawa suddenly jolts upright and looks wildly at the woman. The woman gives Serizawa a friendly wave before turning to face Reigen. Serizawa looks towards Tome, his eyes wide as he uses his pupils to point at the woman sitting in front of Reigen.

Tome just shrugs helplessly, watching as Serizawa's shoulders tense up the longer he studies the client.

Serizawa opens his mouth to say something, but Reigen speaks up before the taller man can get a word in.

"So! What could be troubling you today? Is it perhaps a spirit haunting your shoulders? A curse from a jealous rival? Maybe you've been hearing strange noises in your apartment or house?" The woman merely smiles a charming smile before answering Reigen.

"Nothing of the sort, really. Although you could say that I have a spirit problem."

Serizawa makes a strained noise in his throat.

Reigen raises an eyebrow at Serizawa before turning back to the woman. "Oh? Then what is it that you need help with? If you need an exorcism to deal with your little spirit problem-"

"Oh no, there's no need to worry about that." The woman folds her hands to rest on Reigen's desk. "I was joking, really. I would be well aware if I had any little spirits lingering around me." She chuckles to herself, leaving Reigen to study her before smiling again.

"Of course! So then, what services are you looking for today?"

"Reigen-san..." Serizawa raises a hand, looking as though to reach towards the woman. "She's-"

"A client." Reigen takes Serizawa's hand and puts it back gently on his desk. Tome leans forward from her seat, watching the interaction with nervous en- no, INTEREST. She watches the three adults with interest as something dark brews between the three of them. Serizawa is sweating bullets as Reigen takes back the woman's attention.

"Please don't mind my employee. Sometimes he gets a bit jumpy when he senses spirits lingering around our clients. Are you sure," Reigen gives the woman a pointed stare, "that you have no illnesses of any sort? No aches or pains for no discernible reason? No ailments at all?"

She shakes her head. "Not at all."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Reigen turns to Serizawa, his lips drawn into a fine line. "What-"

"Actually." The woman interrupts Reigen before he can continue his question to Serizawa. "I'm actually here for an evaluation."

"Oh!" Reigen claps his hands a bit too loudly. "Of course! An evaluation!" He grins as he steeples his fingers together. "So, what is it that you would like evaluated?"

The woman smirks as she leans forward.

Something doesn't feel right.

The room fills up with a tense, heavy atmosphere, causing to Serizawa jump up with his hand outstretched.

"You-!"

"Serizawa, calm down!" Reigen grabs Serizawa's hand and shoves it back down. "I don't know WHAT'S getting you riled up, but you shouldn't try to exorcise anything without a proper evaluation!" Now it's Reigen's turn to start sweating bullets as Serizawa starts sputtering.

"But, Reigen-san-!"

"Trust me, Serizawa." The twitches in Reigen's smile let Tome know that he too realizes that something unnatural is happening. "If something bad happens, I'll let you do whatever it is you want. But for now," he gestures weakly to the woman sitting unfazed in front of him, "... client."

Serizawa remains standing, his hands clenched and trembling by his sides.

"Are you alright?" The woman looks Serizawa up and down, giving him a calming smile. "I promise, whatever it is you think you're sensing, it's not dangerous." Reigen sits back, looking over his client seriously.

"... so about your evaluation."

"Yes!" The woman turns back to Reigen, her arm resting on his desk as she rests her chin in her hand. "My evaluation."

Reigen narrows his eyes. "... you're up to something, aren't you?"

The woman's calming smile morphs into a smirk.

"Allow me to introduce myself."

With a slick movement, her hand moves from her chin to in front of Reigen, reaching for a handshake.

Reigen takes it slowly, gripping it firmly and giving her a quick shake.

Serizawa sucks in a breath, and Tome can only watch as Serizawa's anxious face morphs into utter confusion.

And then fear.

The woman squeezes Reigen's hand before tilting her head to the side. "I'm sure you've heard of the Sun Psychic Union?"

"I-" She releases her grip to gently backhand his face into silence. "Gak!"

"I've been hired by a certain psychic to evaluate the legitimacy of one Reigen Arataka's business."

"What-"

"To put it simply." She removes her hand from his face and straightens her tie, smirking as several papers begin to float from Reigen's desk. Reigen pales as he watches the spectacle, his eyes moving from the papers to the woman. She releases her tie, letting the papers drop back onto his desk and enjoying his floundering. "I will be the one evaluating you, Reigen-san." She glances from Serizawa to Tome, taking in the sight of both their faces, before leaning back and meeting Reigen's heavily sweating face with her bemused one.

"I am Chigami Haru, the Number One Psychic Inspector of the 21st Century." She gets up, walking away from the three gawking faces to move towards the door, opening it before turning to wave farewell. "I'll be back tomorrow for your evaluation!"

Before anyone can stop her, she shuts the door behind, her promise lingering in the air.

...

Well-

"WHAT THE FUCK!"

Tome covers her ears from Reigen's loud shriek. She doesn't get what just happened, but from just the feel of the room itself, she knows that it's something beyond what her occult books and prior experiences have prepared her for.

With a quick dig through her bag, she pulls out her phone and turns it on.

Maybe Mob can help Reigen out.

A/N:   Ii4uLmhleSEiICBIZSBjYWxscyBvdXQgdG8gaGVyLCBoaXMgZmVldCB3YW50aW5nIHRvIGZvbGxvdyBhZnRlciBoZXIsIGJ1dCBmYWlsaW5nIHRvIG1vdmUuICIuLi5XZSBjYW4gZ28gc2VlIHRoZSBmaXJld29ya3Mgd2hlbiB5b3UgZ2V0IGJhY2ssIG9rYXk/Ig==

[sakuurae]

Overrated [m] || PREVIEW

summary: notorious bad boy, dong sicheng, was never one for attachment. well, not until he met you. surprisingly, there was more that met the eye of the reckless bad boy—something outrageously… pure.

❀ pairing: “bad boy”!sicheng & reader insert || university!AU

❀ includes: humour for the peek; fluff & smut when the whole thing is out

❀ wc: 2.3k for this preview :)

❀ note: Due to my lack of uploads lately i have decided to upload a preview of my (most likely to be) next fic! The estimated word count for this seems like it will be around 15k, but who am i to judge my own word counts at this point ;; anyway, this will probably be out in a week and a half or two—ill do my best to finish this sooner! I hope you enjoy what i have of it so far :) Sorry it doesnt reveal too much! ^~^

Dong Sicheng had a tarnished reputation that was effortless for him to maintain.

Sicheng wreaked havoc day by day, practically stirring an immature calamity on university campus. He carried a storm wherever he went, his footsteps equivalent to a roll of thunder. From his sour persona to the sharp way he talked; his words were bullets to those he aimed them to. Yet, girls flocked around him mindlessly and praised him like none other, falling for his recklessness without a care. On campus, students were either irked, found his personality rebarbative, or completely in love with the idea of him.

Sicheng was stellar in his own way, a star in the worst way possible that managed to outshine the rest. Men had ached to be him while girls craved to spend a night with him—just one, enough to see what he truly, dutifully packed. But that was where Sicheng would expeditiously draw the line, austere and grim, and leave them. Like rain battering down on a scorching pavement, his trace disappeared within seconds.

It was not because the spark of attraction towards the girl was absent, nor was it because he wanted to bring all of them to the edge only to leave them hanging, adding each to the list of rejected individuals. It was due to something else—something borderline shameful to his existence and reputation.

And it was because not a single soul knew that Dong Sicheng, notorious bad boy and ruthless heartbreaker, was a virgin.

Dong Sicheng was not always a scandalous “starboy”. Rather than being known for the negativity that surrounded him to this day, he used to be quite popular for factors of good. He had grades on the top tier, a miraculous talent in dance (and he still does to this day), but now he made choices to never exhibit such favorable qualities. It was as if the tarnished name of “bad boy” stuck to his being like an annoying bur.

Everything started back in high school, his breakthrough of reckless tactics. One accident led to another, like a perfect cascade that built him into who he was today. Impregnable pillars that held him up to his prominent standing had crumbled down to rubble, and soon his pristine title was blighted.

All because Sicheng made the silly choice of dating.

Surprisingly enough, and as cliché as it can get, she was a member of the cheer squad. It started off simple: occasional dates to the cinema and unmitigated walks to the park. Though, despite those activities that might be seen as tedious, he developed genuine feelings for her and cherished every moment. Clearly, it was not him who diminished the relationship, dragging it down to nothing. It was due to her impatience. She was restive to win; to be more specific, a bet with her friends to get into the boy’s pants, and when Sicheng found out he was utterly heart broken at the least. So, the night she was ready to initiate and play her careful cards, facing the false belief she would win the bet, he left her—hell, he never even showed his face to her since then. Of course, she spat out angry curses at how he was gone like the win.

Unwanted results were a consequence for him, for her sour tongue spread negative comments about Sicheng, and the fragile display of his innocent life fell apart like a poor house of cards. But rather than having those unwanted occurrences to run and take over his life, enveloping like an abrupt darkness, he took charge and swore that it would never happen again. Sicheng built himself up, never allowing anyone to cross his path or get close to him, and those who tried were given the cold shoulder. Physical contact was a virus for Sicheng, and he swatted individuals away left and right. The comments that spread around him were too much for his pure soul to handle at the time, and he skipped out on school. But of course, others claimed he ditched for the hell of it. Word even went around that he was dating an older woman—which was more than false, but who was out there to listen to him?

Sicheng maintained his stellar grades through the calamity, keeping everyone at a perceptible distance away. As much as he wanted to avoid making contact with others, spreading his name around the school, the opposite result had occurred and he was helpless to it.

Brushing this off to the side, high school was also where everything had started for you too—not that there was a prominent shift in your name to begin with. You heard word of Sicheng messing around with girls and breaking hearts like it was the news of the century, but you never paid mind, always focusing on your studies.

It was how things always were for you, and how things would forever remain.

After all, at the end of the line, you and Dong Sicheng made it to one of the most prestigious universities out there—with a purpose.

Sun was beating down the slip of Sicheng’s neck as he lingered with his friend, Jaehyun, around the university parking lot. The two of them were cracking jokes about meaningless things, conversing about trivial topics, and laughing the day away. It happened so often, practically daily, to the point it was a fixed part of their routine. Sicheng and Jaehyun would typically wait for their other friends to come by, to which they would all converse for a short while before driving uptown for a bite, or crash at one’s place.

Speaking of Sicheng’s friends, they were making their way towards him right then. One of them, recognizable as Taeyong, had their eyebrows crossed together in a frustrated manner; he appeared to be spitting curses to the other individual who graciously listens in—as much as he wanted to sleep.

Jaehyun’s and Sicheng’s conversation withered into silence as they watched the two boys approach them. After Taeyong indignantly raked a hand through his hair, Sicheng asked him what was wrong.

His friend laughed, informing the other boys of the news of the year. “Our boy, Lee Taeyong, just got rejected.”

Jaehyun’s eyes widened, startled to the core at the information. “Whoa, Yuta, are you serious? Taeyong got rejected? That’s a first.”

“Well why do you care so much?” asked Sicheng. “You can get anybody in this university except for one girl. Well, any sorority girl that is.”

Taeyong chuckled lightheartedly, annoyed by his friends’ words. “Tell me about it. I’m just as shocked as you are.” Taeyong turned his head to Sicheng, a sour expression painting on his face. “And Sicheng, I care because I got rejected—for once! The tables actually turned here.”

Sicheng chuckled, acknowledging his point. “Right, right. Sorry.”

Taeyong huffed in vexation, still disbelieved—and he would continue to remain that way for a good while. It was amusing to Sicheng, a surprising turn of events to see one of the guys in his sacred group get turned down by a girl. Each of them was captivating in their own way, and he knew it entirely; at least one of them would fit into the standards of members of the opposite sex. Occasionally, Sicheng wondered how he placed himself in such a group of charming individuals—and cocky, if he must say. It was as if the life he had tried to hard to orbit away from had made its way towards him with might, impressioning on Sicheng’s being for the rest of his life.

Sicheng did not feel like his whole self whenever he hanged around the rambunctious group of boys, but the fun that was frequently stirred made the wasted time worth it. Oh, and hearing all sorts of dish about their lives. That was just on the surface though. Surprisingly enough, beneath each of the boy’s outer shell of superiority and arrogance, was a softer, gentler version. Perhaps that was why Sicheng remained; it was how he got closer to each one of his friends. And after two years they still remained together like peas in a pod.

Though, within those two years, Taeyong had never gotten rejected.

“So what’s the story?” asked Jaehyun, his arms crossing over his chest.

Yuta’s eyes flashed in delight, excitement running throughout his body as he cleared his throat. “Well, Taeyong—”

“Why are you the one telling the story?” Taeyong asked, sourness evident in his tone. “You’re going to add all these extra details again.”

Yuta shrugged, smirking at this friend. “Fine, I’ll get straight to the point”—Yuta took a step towards the two boys, almost like he was ready to exchange confidential information—“but don’t laugh at him. We gave him enough shit for this today.”

Jaehyun laughed and assured Yuta of his light worries. “Don’t worry, just speak up.”

Yuta smiled. “There’s this girl who always stays at the bleachers during baseball practice, probably ‘cause her friend drags her around, but she doesn’t even pay attention to us. In my opinion, the girl’s friend is pretty cute herself.”

Jaehyun raised an eyebrow in skepticism. “Okay, I don’t see the problem yet.”

“And this hotshot”—Yuta nudged Taeyong with an elbow— “thought it would be a fun idea to make her interested—in him, and not our practices. So out of nowhere, Taeyong started to talk to her, but she was never interested. He said the girl looked easy to get, and then—”

“Come on, dude!” Taeyong groaned, cutting his friend off. “She had her nose in a book constantly and I swear when we locked eyes for the first time she wanted me.”

Sicheng shoved his fists into the pockets of his sweatshirt, stultified by the story. “Are you sure it wasn’t the look of ‘leave-me-the-fuck-alone’?”

“Hey!” Taeyong stomped.

“Anyway,” Yuta continued, “when someone’s reading, Taeyong, you’re not supposed to interrupt. Oh, not when they’re talking either… In short, she rejected him pretty harshly by saying—”

Taeyong flinched, grabbing onto Yuta’s sleeve and pulling him back. “No! Don’t tell them what she said, I—”

“‘You? And me—on a date? I had hopes in you being bright, but you must be horribly stupid to think I’d go out with someone like you. It’s one to annoy me, but another to actually ask me on a date while I’m here with my friend. Oh, are you expecting me to hold your hand that has been up other girls’—”

“Okay, Yuta! That’s enough,” Taeyong badgered, hanging his head low. Shame dawned over his being like gargantuan waves, dragging down the last of his dignity. The laughter that poured from the boy’s lips appeared endless, like a never ending waterfall of jocularity caused by Taeyong’s embarrassment. Taeyong’s ears tinge with pink the longer they kept up their fits of chuckles, commenting about the utter failure.

Yuta continued feeding the details to the two boys, as if the riveting information would satisfy them for an entire week, and Taeyong welled in his own congealing ignominy. After Yuta concluded the entire story, talking about himself amid, the boys let out a sigh in relief. Until, of course, Taeyong opened his mouth.

“She was bound to crack,” Taeyong hissed. “But not with me. I want to get back at her but I don’t know how.”

Jaehyun shifted his weight and crinkled his nose, his mouth twisting into a confused smirk, “Tae, how petty can you get? We’re in uni now.”

Sicheng let out a chortle, leaning in closer to Jaehyun. “Very petty, apparently.”

Sicheng’s gaze veered from Jaehyun to the older boy who was boring in his desolation. Taeyong stared at Sicheng for a while, almost scrutinizing him from top to bottom, and soon his lips quirked into a sly smirk. Sicheng raised his eyebrow, dumbfounded to his friend’s change of expression, and questioned what was wrong.

“Sicheng, want to do me a solid?” asked Taeyong, desperation leaking onto his tone. Each word that left his mouth appeared to be leading into the next thread of ideas that ran against his mind; all Sicheng had to do was pay more mind to decipher what he was saying.

Sicheng remained silent for a while, unsure on what to say. The other boys exchanged curious glances and waited for Taeyong to continue.

“Get her back for me—for rejection, please?” Taeyong requested.

Sicheng laughed out of pity, unamused by his question. “Taeyong, we’re too old to play games.”

“Seriously!” Taeyong persisted, walking up to the younger boy. “Just lead her on, get her on the edge, and leave her hanging—you know, what you usually did with girls back then.”

Sicheng clenched his teeth in disgust when he heard his reasoning. Back then? Right, he completely forgot that Taeyong, and his other friends, were aware of his prevalent title and the actions he had “done” to achieve it. Sicheng laughed, a disguise of how repulsive he found the entire situation. “What the heck? You’re kidding me.”

“No, I’m not,” he insisted. “Come on, go pick her up in your nice car or something. Take her out for a ride—then take her out for a ‘ride.’”

The thought of Sicheng witnessing a member of the opposite sex wholly naked made him sweat profoundly, and he shook his head, brushing aside Taeyong’s idea. Shit, Sicheng never had evocative imaginations of any woman before and he refused to start right then and there. “N-no thanks,” he denied, his eyes averting from Taeyong’s.

“But—”

“Enough of this, I’m starving,” announced Jaehyun. “We’ve been waiting for you and Yuta for a while, can we just get something to eat already?”

“The billiards hall?” questioned Yuta, fishing in his pocket for his keys.

Jaehyun nodded in response, and seconds later all of the boys separated into two vehicles, driving right on over to their local hangout.

Sicheng, situated at the passenger seat, wondered who Taeyong was referring to. Sicheng was lost to why he was inquisitive to the girl’s identity. Maybe it was the fact there was a student out there who was withstanded by Taeyong’s overflowing charms. He slowly closed his eyes as he remained deep in his thought; maybe it was not much and he was overthinking it. With that, he waited to arrive at the billiards hall patiently. The second he stepped out of Jaehyun’s vehicle his momentary peace was disrupted by the calls of his friends.

[anangelicday-mrwolf]

Wolfsbane : Noblesse Fanfic (post-ending)

(previous chapter)

Chapter 4 – On My Own

“I have been waiting for you, Lady Seira!”

With a cordial smile plastered on his face, Deneb walked up to Seira.

“Is there anything you require from me?”

“Oh, no, no. It’s just that I thought it would be a good idea to make up for the conversation – or lack of conversation – we had before the gathering.”

Deneb swayed his voice up and down as he pouted, as if trying to make himself sound... Cute. Unfortunately for him, Seira said nothing as she glanced at Rael’s direction, and Deneb hurriedly spoke upon realizing he was not the center of her attention.

“Uh, but I have no intention of taking your time too much. Of course not. I only wish to leave a good impression and imprint on your memories, since this definitely will not be the last of our encounter.”

“......”

“Anyhow, I believe I already mentioned this, but you are truly beautiful. I happen to have dozens of acquaintances who greatly admire you. Now that I stand in your presence at close, I can see how you kindled their hearts.”

Deneb was hoping for a thank-you at the very least, but Seira merely gaped at him with a face as smooth as a bedsheet freshly laid out, devoid of any emotional curve or crease.

His anxiety beginning to stir, Deneb lightly chewed on the tip of his tongue and turned to plan C.

“There is this mythological tale I collected from the outside world, long-lived and loved by humans. They say once upon a time there lived a human named Psyche, who was so fair even the goddess of beauty grew spiteful and jealous. But I guarantee, Lady Seira, even Psyche will wither like a worthless handful of weeds out of envy and mortification, if she were to stand before you.”

Seira was not expecting to hear one of those mythological stories Sui and Yuna once relayed to her. She WAS NOT expecting to hear this story in Lukedonia. And certainly not at the most improbable moment. Out of pure disbelief, before she could realize what she was doing, Seira met him in the eyes.

A corner of Deneb’s lips curled in delight when at last she exhibited something other than silence. He was about to unleash his gift of eloquence to snake his way through her invisible walls of wariness, before someone foiled his move.

“Seira. There you are.”

Rosaria gingerly lifted her glasses as she joined the conversation.

“Lady Rosaria! Good day to you.”  

“Oh? You must be... Deneb Illiness, I believe.”

“Correct. So you remember.”

“Of course I do. Only an idiot would fail to remember you, after all those visits you have made to basically every noble manor and mansion. I’m sorry, but if you don’t have anything important to share with Seira, would you mind if I take her? There is something I must speak to her about.”

“Oh... Please, go ahead. What a shame, Lady Seira. Twice have I lost my chance to converse with you. Which is why I look forward to sharing twice as better time in the future.”

Deneb flashed a faint smile as he turned away, and Seira wordlessly glided after Rosaria, after double-checking that Rael was gone.

Much to her incomprehension and mild disappointment, the “certain matter” Rosaria mentioned turned out to be a very trivial chat, nothing like the topics that were reviewed and tackled in the Lord’s Hall, which were what Seira was bracing herself for.

“So, Seira. I know we momentarily lodged at the Noblesse’s home in the human world, after that nuclear missile incident. But it’s great to see you back in our motherland. Did you miss me by any chance?”

And as far as Seira knew, Rosaria was not the type who would ever cut through an ongoing exchange of words in order to appropriate and hire one of the speakers for her own chit-chat.

‘Did she want him to leave me be by any chance?’

Seira did not voice her small suspicion, which was in fact halfway true.

“Sir, why would you borrow Lady Rosaria’s hand to separate him from Seira?”

Regis asked as he watched two women growing far and away, their hairs in drastic contrast of red and white.

“Because caution and prudence are what you must wield whenever you face Deneb Illiness.”

“But why?”

“As you would know, considerable amount of time has passed since Deneb Illiness rose as the head of his clan. However, do you know exactly when the name of Illiness began to manifest greatest influence among the non-octaclans? It was after the invasion of Lukedonia orchestrated by Ragus – yes, I am referring to the time when Sir Raizel returned to Lukedonia very briefly in order to stop Ragus from plaguing our land with his outrageous, demonic plan.”

“Sorry? But that... It hasn’t been that long since the invasion of Lukedonia. You mean Deneb Illiness raised his own clan to stardom in such a short period of time?”

“Which proves how powerful his communicative skills and ambition are. Additionally, I believe this is not the first time you have felt anomalous desire from him – desire to brand himself in as many brains as possible. And desire very far from normal towards Seira.”

“...So it was not my imagination.”

Regis and Gechutel, wearing homogenously serious looks that certified they are indeed related by blood, fixed their eyes upon the spot where Deneb caught up to Seira.

“So far I have been supporting Seira in consideration of the former head of the Loyards. I shall continue doing so, to the best of my powers.”

“Forgive me, sir, but Seira is a head of a clan. Now that she has officially returned to Lukedonia, every action and word she conveys will count as those of the head of the Loyard clan, instead of Seira J. Loyard. So if you are to stand in her guard as you have all this time, I am afraid it will eclipse or, even worse, etch the honor and prestige of the Loyards.”

“Which is why we must pray Seira can make judgments for herself without compromise.”

Regis nodded, unable to find a rejection or question against his grandfather’s comment. However, his heart refused to settle down from its distress.

In reality, he was slightly relieved when it was decided he will be returning to his homeland.

He was relieved that at least for the time being, he would not have to bet his own flesh and blood and life against his enemies.

Of course, he was (and is) more than ready and willing to enter battlefield in order to protect those dear to him. Still, a fatigue following a battle is a must, like shadow tailing the light. After all, even the best warhorse cannot run ceaselessly, unless it is regularly provided with proper rest.

And right now, Regis found himself haunted by an impression that they have run into a new enemy too soon, at none other than their own home. To top it off, it was more than evident that their new opponent is no easy match, and brute force will not be an option in the first place for this one, unlike their past experiences.

‘It’s not like he has caused an issue already, but... Goodness, this is highly vexatious. Much more vexatious than those times in the past when Rael used to approach Seira whenever he could.’

Then Regis realized he absently forgot the fact that he used to treat Rael no differently from those associated with the Union. In fact, the giant crevasse of abhorrence and animosity between them now became no more, replaced with comradeship sturdy enough to allow them to trust each other with their backs during battles.

Regis subsequently realized this was the first official arrangement Rael attended at Lukedonia as the head of the Kertias.

‘I wonder how the gathering went for Rael today.’

*****

“How was the gathering?”

Rael’s hand froze in midst of its climb towards his mask, unnerved by the fact that he was met first and foremost with a biting interrogation instead of a welcome-back greeting.

“How was the gathering, we asked.”

The other noble repeated the question, without proper manners, let alone salutation.

The gate of the mansion was yet to close completely, yet the advisory patriarchs of Kertia were already surrounding Rael, steeling their faces.

“...Nothing that demands your concern ever happened,” said Rael, who managed to thaw the joints of his hand to reveal his lips.

“Which means at least you did not make the worst of yourself during the gathering.”

“In other words, you could not make any good out of yourself.”

Sharp eyes and even sharper words mercilessly bore through Rael’s ears, straight to his super-self-conscious mind.

“Now, now. Let us all calm ourselves. It was Sir Rael’s first gathering; I believe he still needs time to adapt to his new settings.”

If Rael were blind, he would have accepted such remark as a warm encouragement. Alas, Rael’s eyes were as functional as they could be, so he did not miss the coldness brimming in the speaking patriarch’s expressions.

“Then again, it has been so long since you have last trodden on Lukedonia, returned to Kertia ground, or taken on a duty of Kertias.”

Rael knew this patriarch was accusing him of the disgrace he had poured upon the name of Kertia and Razark, due to the last action he posed at Lukedonia – taking unpermitted refuge in the human world upon revelation of Grandia.

“Nonetheless, I find it a shame for more than a single reason, sir. Had you familiarized yourself with duties of a head of Kertias in advance, just in case, things would have been much easier for so many souls. It is a grave shame you have been wasting your time prior to this day.”

Rael knew they were referring to the time when his brother was alive, in relation to a variety of troubles he had caused instead of setting an example as a pure descent of Kertias, including a destructive fit he threw when he was rejected by Seira.

“We hope you would not hold a grudge against us for what we said, sir.”

“You see, we are here as your advisors. This is for your own good.”

“Quite. The power of Kertias has dwindled ever since we lost our former head. It is your duty to bring it back with glory. Therefore, from now on we would like you to assure us with determination nothing like before.”

“And we will be in your aid to the best of our abilities. Which is why we would like to ask you to please keep every word and syllable we provide you.”

“After all – forgive us – we have been in care of the Kertia affairs for much longer.”

“We hope no misunderstanding would rise after this. This is truly for your own good.”

After creating a scene that could probably win them a trophy for “The World’s Worst Bossy, Nitpicky Grown-Ups,” the patriarchs started to scatter away in clusters of threes and fours.

Their paths were dispersed, but they were sharing basically the same thing amongst themselves.

“Who would have thought the most un-noble-like noble among Kertias AND among all nobles would be the head of our clan...?”

“He has always been the center of my concern. You know, because he is nothing like Sir Razark. Please tell me I am not the only one who is concerned to have him succeed Sir Razark.”

“I did hear from Sir Razark that he has grown good enough to proudly bear the name of Kertia. However... The name he had made for himself in the past is too infamous to shade.”

Obviously not caring whether Rael could hear or not, the patriarchs never stopped jabbering until they reached the ends of the corridors and beyond. Meanwhile, the only thing Rael could do was keeping his head up, not letting the weight on his lips seal his mind as well.

Just like how he did during the gathering.

‘Not that I didn’t see this coming... I already knew from the start that there wouldn’t be a thing I can do during this gathering. And perhaps there will be nothing I can do during all the gatherings to ensue.’

When it comes to the Union, Regis and Seira has the upper hand in terms of experience and intelligence.

In terms of the Lukedonian relation to the werewolves, Lascrea herself and Gechutel, as her major advisory noble who exercises greatest authority only next to that of Lascrea, are in charge of the affair.

As for the security of Lukedonia, Ludis is the one everybody should turn to, since he has been the overmind of the Central Knights.

In case of the nuclear missile launches, the most recent incident they have undergone in affiliation with the Union, Kei and Rosaria possess better perspective, as they were at the scene.

And this does not mean Karious and Claudia are to be idle or practically unneeded. Claudia assisted in saving the entire Lukedonia during her father’s invasion, and even with all feats and accomplishments aside, Karious is already more than thousands of steps ahead, as he inherited his position as head of a clan at the same time as Razark did. Which means he has already secured enough experience and influence to root himself as head of the Blusters.

The attribute-good-enough-to-present-during-a-gathering Rael can make for himself would be partaking in the last battle against Crombell and his forces, with partaking being the operative word. And whenever Frankenstein’s name comes up during discussion regarding the said last battle, Rael would feel like a mere firefly in the face of the sun.

‘So I’m the only one among nobles of octaclans that has failed to take flight, make bloom, or shine.’

If only Razark were here......

In the middle of self-scorning reverie, Rael unknowingly took a familiar turn, and he halted upon catching the sight of a familiar doorknob.

Rael turned the doorknob, trying to suppress the woe that suddenly writhed in an attempt to explode.

Everything looked just the same as the time when his brother was alive. The bed was neat, tidy, and lacking in ornaments or decorations. The bookshelves were aligned in perfect symmetry, and the table looked as simple and humble as ever. 

‘I know. I’ve been nothing like him.’  

And he knew it was time for him to change, as the head of the Kertias.

‘I must do this on my own. So I would not put Razark to shame.’

Trying his best not to heed to the loneliness sweeping over him, despite the fact that he was not alone in the mansion, Rael silently shut the door, creating a melancholy squeak.

He did not glance back to find out whether it was from the rust of the hinges that had not been functioning for a while, or from a semi-delusional effect that his mind placed on his hearings.

*****

Creak. And bang.

The noises from the gates of Loyard mansion were bigger than she had expected.

Seira suspected there is a good chance it was thanks to the neglect she had inevitably imposed on the gates, as there was nobody to take care of this huge place during her absence.

After all, she was the last of the Loyards on Earth.

‘...How quiet.’

Before returning, she had sent a notice to Gechutel that this return will be a permanent one. Upon receiving her notice, Gechutel sent his servants to the Loyard mansion for quick furnishing and cleaning, which made the mansion good enough to resume accommodation.

As she walked, Seira could see tiny candles installed along the corridors welcoming her, and she could spot no dust at all, with every century-old pile cleared away.

‘...But it’s too quiet.’

Hence she felt strange. She felt strange without the boisterous atmosphere her friends at Korea had brought to her on daily occasions. And even without all the friendly noises and chatters, she was used to being in the company of a person or two.

But now, she is by herself.

‘And I must get used to this.’

Seira could bet that from now on, Gechutel’s care will be reserved for the new head of the Landegre clan, which means he would not be able to spare his time like he has used to.

‘But above all, it is time for me to stand by myself. And live up to the name of Loyard,’ muttered Seira to herself.

I will do this on my own, no matter what happens.

(next chapter)

Poor Rael, and poor Seira. :’(

Actually, this is Rael’s very first time returning to Lukedonia after he ran away at the end of Season 3 of Noblesse. And now he gets to return as the head of his clan. So I figured there will be confusions and ordeals for him, which I wanted to convey in this chapter. As for Seira, I figured she would be lonely just as well, since she is no longer in the company of her friends or the Raizel Knights.

There are debates regarding Gechutel’s claim that Seira is the last Loyard remaining, and there are two theories: (1) Seira really is the last Loyard alive (so once she’s dead, that’d be the end of the Loyard clan), or (2) Seira is the last Loyard of pure descent, or the last of the bloodline of heads of Loyard clan (meaning that there are still Loyards left; it’s just that they are not from the bloodline of the heads of Loyard clan). I decided to go with the first theory. As for the whereabouts of the Loyards not from the pure bloodline, there’s something I already have in mind. But it’s not time yet to talk about it, so I’ll keep it a secret for now.

As for the “advisory patriarchs” that I introduced in this chapter, consider them something like the advisory servants that kings would have, like a council. I mean, it was suggested that each clan has its own knights, securities, and servants. So I figured there would be a body of personnel that would serve as council for each clan. I first named the advisory patriarchs elders, but I changed the name to “advisory patriarchs” to avoid confusion that might arise, as the term “elder” was widely used in association with the Union.

Next up, we’ll be returning to Frankenstein and Lunark, and I actually had fun writing the next chapter. XD

Hope you’d stay tuned for more!

[dfroza]

are you in awe of the wonders of the heavens and garden earth?

(the instrumental womb of the universe where seeds grow just as the True nature of the heart and its seeds, to be...)

how did they come to be? the planets and stars didn’t form themselves because they were intentionally created.

to not “believe...” is a denial of our beautiful mysterious Creator and is an act of pride, by ignoring God as revealed in the True illumination of the Son in whom is the defeat of the curse of death that plagues this old world.

A point of resurrection seen in Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the book of Mark in chapter 5:

Jairus’s Servants (to Jairus): Your daughter is dead. There’s no need to drag the Teacher any farther.

Jesus overheard their words. Then He turned to look at Jairus.

Jesus: It’s all right. Don’t be afraid; just believe.

Jesus asked everyone but Peter, James, and John (James’s brother) to remain outside when they reached Jairus’s home. Inside the synagogue leader’s house, the mourning had already begun; the weeping and wailing carried out into the street.

Jesus and His three disciples went inside.

Jesus: Why are you making all this sorrowful noise? The child isn’t dead. She’s just sleeping.

The mourners laughed a horrible, bitter laugh and went back to their wailing. Jesus cleared the house so that only His three disciples, Jairus, and Jairus’s wife were left inside with Him. They all went to where the child lay. Then He took the child’s hand.

Jesus: Little girl, it’s time to wake up.

Immediately the 12-year-old girl opened her eyes, arose, and began to walk. Her parents could not believe their eyes.

The Book of Mark, Chapter 5:35-42 (The Voice)

to include inspiration and instruction from Today’s reading of the Psalms beginning with the Psalm 1 for the first of november:

[Psalm 1]

God’s blessings follow you and await you at every turn:

when you don’t follow the advice of those who delight in wicked schemes,

When you avoid sin’s highway,

when judgment and sarcasm beckon you, but you refuse.

For you, the Eternal’s Word is your happiness.

It is your focus—from dusk to dawn.

You are like a tree,

planted by flowing, cool streams of water that never run dry.

Your fruit ripens in its time;

your leaves never fade or curl in the summer sun.

No matter what you do, you prosper.

For those who focus on sin, the story is different.

They are like the fallen husk of wheat, tossed by an open wind, left deserted and alone.

In the end, the wicked will fall in judgment;

the guilty will be separated from the innocent.

Their road suddenly will end in death,

yet the journey of the righteous has been charted by the Eternal.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 1 (The Voice)

and repeated in The Passion Translation:

Book 1

The Genesis Psalms

Psalms of man and creation

The Tree of Life

What delight comes to the one who follows God’s ways!

He won’t walk in step with the wicked,

nor share the sinner’s way,

nor be found sitting in the scorner’s seat.

His pleasure and passion is remaining true to the Word of “I Am,”

meditating day and night in the true revelation of light.

He will be standing firm like a flourishing tree

planted by God’s design,

deeply rooted by the brooks of bliss,

bearing fruit in every season of his life.

He is never dry, never fainting,

ever blessed, ever prosperous.

But how different are the wicked.

All they are is dust in the wind—

driven away to destruction!

The wicked will not endure the day of judgment,

for God will not defend them.

Nothing they do will succeed or endure for long,

for they have no part with those who walk in truth.

But how different it is for the righteous!

The Lord embraces their paths as they move forward

while the way of the wicked leads only to doom.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 1 (The Passion Translation)

and these lines of rebirth from The Message:

Instead you thrill to God’s Word,

you chew on Scripture day and night.

You’re a tree replanted in Eden,

bearing fresh fruit every month,

Never dropping a leaf,

always in blossom.

(verse 2 and 3)

continuing with Psalm 40:

For the worship leader. A song of David.

I waited a long time for the Eternal;

He finally knelt down to hear me.

He listened to my weak and whispered cry.

He reached down and drew me

from the deep, dark hole where I was stranded, mired in the muck and clay.

With a gentle hand, He pulled me out

To set me down safely on a warm rock;

He held me until I was steady enough to continue the journey again.

As if that were not enough,

because of Him my mind is clearing up.

Now I have a new song to sing—

a song of praise to the One who saved me.

Because of what He’s done, many people will see

and come to trust in the Eternal.

Surely those who trust the Eternal—

who don’t trust in proud, powerful people

Or in people who care little for reality, chasing false gods—

surely they are happy, as I have become.

You have done so many wonderful things,

had so many tender thoughts toward us, Eternal my God,

that go on and on, ever increasing.

Who can compare with You?

Sacrifices and offerings are not what You want,

but You’ve opened my ears, and now I understand.

Burnt offerings and sin offerings

are not what please You.

So I said, “See, I have come to do Your will,

as it is inscribed of me in the scroll.

I am pleased to live how You want, my God.

Your law is etched into my heart and my soul.”

I have encouraged Your people with the message of righteousness,

in Your great assembly (look and see),

I haven’t kept quiet about these things;

You know this, Eternal One.

I have not kept Your righteousness to myself, sealed up in the secret places of my heart;

instead, I boldly tell others how You save and how loyal You are.

I haven’t been shy to talk about Your love, nor have I been afraid to tell Your truth

before the great assembly of Your people.

Please, Eternal One, don’t hold back

Your kind ways from me.

I need Your strong love and truth

to stand watch over me and keep me from harm.

Right now I can’t see because I am surrounded by troubles;

my sins and shortcomings have caught up to me,

so I am swimming in darkness.

Like the hairs on my head, there are too many to count,

so my heart deserts me.

O Eternal One, please rescue me.

O Eternal One, hurry; I need Your help.

May those who are trying to destroy me

be humiliated and ashamed instead;

May those who want to ruin my reputation

be cut off and embarrassed.

May those who try to catch me off guard,

those who look at me and say, “Aha, we’ve trapped you,”

be caught in their own shame instead.

But may all who look for You

discover true joy and happiness in You;

May those who cherish how You save them

always say, “O Eternal One, You are great and are first in our hearts.”

Meanwhile, I am empty and need so much,

but I know the Lord is thinking of me.

You are my help; only You can save me, my True God.

Please hurry.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 40 (The Voice)

and with inspiration for writing seen in these lines from Psalm 40 in The Message:

So I answered, “I’m coming.

I read in your letter what you wrote about me,

And I’m coming to the party

you’re throwing for me.”

That’s when God’s Word entered my life,

became part of my very being.

(verse 7 and 8)

to continue with Psalm 5:

For the worship leader. A song of David accompanied by flutes.

Bend Your ear to me and listen to my words, O Eternal One;

hear the deep cry of my heart.

Listen to my call for help,

my King, my True God;

to You alone I pray.

In the morning, O Eternal One, listen for my voice;

in the day’s first light, I will offer my prayer to You and watch expectantly for Your answer.

You’re not a God who smiles at sin;

You cannot abide with evil.

The proud wither in Your presence;

You hate all who pervert and destroy what is good.

You destroy those with lying lips;

the Eternal detests those who murder and deceive.

Yet I, by Your loving grace,

am welcomed into Your house;

I will turn my face toward Your holy place

and fall on my knees in reverence before You.

O Eternal One, lead me in the path of Your righteousness

amidst those who wish me harm;

make Your way clear to me.

Their words cannot be trusted;

they are destructive to their cores.

What comes out of their mouths is as foul as a rotting corpse;

their words stink of flattery.

Find them guilty, O True God;

let their own devices bring them ruin.

Throw them out, and let them drown in the deluge of their sin,

for in revolt they brazenly spit in Your face.

But let those who run to You for safety be glad they did;

let them break out in joyful song.

May You keep them safe—

their love for You resounding in their hearts.

You, O Eternal, are the One who lays all good things in the laps of the right-hearted.

Your blessings surround them like a shield.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 5 (The Voice)

to be concluded by wisdom from the first chapter of Proverbs:

I, Solomon, David’s son and Israel’s king, pass on to you these proverbs—a treasury of wisdom—

So that you would recognize wisdom and value discipline;

that you would understand insightful teaching

And receive wise guidance to live a disciplined life;

that you would seek justice and have the ability to choose what is right and fair.

These proverbs teach the naive how to become clever;

they instruct the young in how to grow in knowledge and live with discretion.

The wise will pay attention to these words and will grow in learning,

and the discerning will receive divine guidance,

And they will be able to interpret the meaning of a proverb and a puzzle,

the twists and turns in the words of the wise and their riddles.

Let us begin. The worship of the Eternal One, the one True God, is the first step toward knowledge.

Fools, however, do not fear God and cannot stand wisdom or guidance.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 1:1-7 (The Voice)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for the first of november, the 40th day of Autumn and day 305 of the year: