#which was just her hovering her hand above the painful place

[tchaikovskym]

I have to admit I never even imagined witches to be evil until I came here on tumblr and read some of y'alls analysis of literature and other media. The whole evil laugh and brewing potions did not connect to being evil in my mind ever. I was just raised with everyone around me thinking witches were cool as hell.

[shaisuki]

Ok after having two kids, clan head gojo wants a 3rd one as his bday present 👀✨

Can you write about this?

the late afternoon sunlight peeks through the windows of your home located at the gojo compound. dappled by the sun rays and you can see the small particles of dust and whatever matter floating in space.

steam dances above from where your cup of tea is placed alongside with a plate of assorted sweets that goes well with a hot beverage. you were starting to get bored now. the house was quiet which you aren't really used to. it was filled with squeals and cries of your two children along with the laughter of your husband. their footsteps creating the most thunderous sound resonating in the household.

today, there's no sound of that. satoru was out, holding a clan meeting and your two children with him is fast sleep. motherhood is tiring as it is rewarding. ten years ago your younger self wouldn't believe that you're now married and had two kids with gojo. both under the age of seven and they were the liveliest of kids you have ever seen.

probably because when you and gojo decided to have kids, they aren't going to be raised like you two. a different kind of upbringing. one that won't shoulder the responsibilities of an adult and shall live their life with laughter and innocence of a child should have.

it took you years to have them. unsure if you're ready to be a parent and neither is satoru so he held your hand in his with a promise that you shall not bear the hardships of parenting alone and until to this day, he kept that.

speaking of him, the front door rattled. discarding his wooden sandals before sprinting towards where you were seated. “i'm home.” he whispers as he dive to your lap. pressing his cheek to the softness of your stomach. a sigh escaping his lips as he slowly relaxed in your touch. “welcome home.” your voice coming in a murmur. threading your fingers in his snow-white hair. your husband leans to get more of your touch. his eyes fluttering close.

“how's the meeting, satoru?”

he lets out a long sigh. “a pain in the ass. all of them.” huffing as he hugs your plump waist. burying his face deeper to your round stomach. “where's the kids?” his voice a little quiet being muffled by your stomach. “asleep. they were waiting for their papa and i told them their papa won't be home unless they sleep.” a smile ghosting to your lips. remembering how your children reasoned that they won't sleep unless they see him.

“say satoru, your birthday's near. what do you want as a present?” the thought passing while you think of him.

his birthday, huh? he never really thought of it with how busy stuff were. balancing his duty as the clan head and being a father to his children with you and as a husband. birthdays weren't his thing for himself unless it was yours and the kids.

he opens an eye. the blues in his eyes glimmering as he thought of something. maybe it's the right to wish and he had exactly wants in his mind. he's been wanting it for a long time.

“i want a another baby with you.” he says with a smile. without hesitation.

“again, satoru? not that i'm against with it. think you can handle another baby again. the diapers and no sleeping at all?” you didn't need to ask him. he had done all the things without hesitation. enjoying every moment with it. bonding with his children. his treasures.

“i want to see you round again with my baby. i love seeing you pregnant. heavy with my baby. satoshi and suzu been asking for a sibling.” raising his head to meet your gaze. “you're using satoshi and suzu to convince me, satoru.” there's a teasing undertone in your voice while you try it to be in a firm one.

he fakes a pout. “can you blame me? i just love my wife so much that i want to fill her up with my babies and worship her.” satoru hot breath tickling your neck while he slowly pushes you to the tatami covered floor. his body hovering yours.

you leaned to his ear. “guess what, satoru? i think santa heard your wish and came early for your birthday.” you intertwined your hands in his and placing it to your stomach.

“for real?” a wolfish grin stretching his lips. chuckling as he puts palm to your round stomach that carried his two children and now, a third one. you giggle softly at his reaction.

satoru's reaction to your pregnancies were the best. “happy birthday, satoru.” greeting him and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

[dearlyya]

TIL’ WE MEET AGAIN | Young!Silco x Fem!Reader

Series Summary; Silco tells a new story to a curious Jinx.

Warnings; Angst, pre-canon, hurt/comfort, Zaunites, Piltians, revolution, violence, blood, gore, drinking, smoking, gambling, swearing, sex, brothels, drugs, slow burn, the reader is a coward at first, original character (Wynn), strangers to lovers, bittersweet, Old Silco being weirdly sentimental, Jinx being noisy, and major character death.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER | MASTERLIST

Silco's office door closes when Sevika takes her leave, his dual eyes stare indifferently into the wooden entrance.

Briefly resting his face on his hand so he can rub at his cheek bone. He flickers his irritation to the paper in front of him, reading through the documents neatly arranged on his desk. Flipping through it–His lengthy fingers daintaly holding up each page before letting them fall back in place.

Through habit he moves his chair to the left of the desk, opening up the middle drawer, taking out a small compact box, shutting the thing closed and placing the wooden box on the side of the desk, aiming to not dirty the papers. He opens the humidor, four expensive cigars lay neatly inside. Taking one of the sticks and the straight cutters, he fixes the cigar between his fingers and brings the sheers to the front and slides the stick in between the blades, and shuts the guillotine. 

SNAP!

He rolls back and turns the chair to face the large window, so that the green light that pours into the room which not only illuminates the furniture, but the kingpin as well–highlighting his features. His good eye blends with the light, the seafoam green melting away a stark contrast from the damaged one. The green clashes against the bright angry orange, the toxic waters of the Undercity fully displayed on the left of his face, the hard horrors of his youth.

Finally, he slips his hand into his vest. His delicate fingers glided over the finely knitted fabric of his striped burgundy shirt before delving into the soft contours of the breast pocket. With a practiced motion, his digits deftly retrieve a small, rectangular item. Something cold to the touch against his fingertips, the metal texture bumpy and slightly damaged. 

It's a lighter. Gray and metallic with a fancy lace eloping it–vines and roses, perfectly crafted to be comfortable to hold while simultaneously being bold and beautiful even with scratches and dents along the body. Silco caressed the carvings with the pad of his thumb. Specifically a scratchy name on the front of it. Until he was holding it properly, he extended it enough to flick the small thing open and ignite it.

The flame dances dimly, alone. Slico rolls the cigar in his fingers and hovers it over the fire, lighting the end of it. Flicking the lighter closed, he takes a long drag of the cigar. Savoring the smoke he inhales, holding the earthy smoke in his mouth. Not letting it fester for too long he puffs it out. 

Above him is an audible creaking followed by a loud thunk behind him, just then he felt his eye send a sharp pain throughout his face. He takes another drag, hoping that it eases his nerves. It does not. Huffing it out he turns the chair to face the girl sitting impatiently on his desk. Strews of papers now scattered about. Screw organization.

"You have impeccable timing," Jinx smiles and tilts her head side to side while lazily whipping the end of one of her braids of hair in a swirling motion. Jinx then scoots forward. The papers crumpled under her butt make the scooting easier, some falling off the edge. She places her feet in between Silcos spread legs, planting them firmly in place and with most of her leg strength she easily moves the chair with the bemused kingpin closer to the desk. The chair creaked as she did so. Jinx blows a raspberry and guiltily giggles. 

"Pfft- yeah just the best of timing, heh" She snatches the device out of the top drawer. Moving her legs she turns the chair to the right to pull him even closer, the armrest bumps roughly into the desk. Jinx plops her legs on top of his kicking her feet under the other armrest. The kingpin throughout this doesn't seem bothered, used to his daughter's theatrics. 

"You mustn't spy on me when I'm in a meeting" Silco narrows his eye at her, no actual malice in his expression. He positions the cigar away, so she doesn't smell it when he gently places it in the ashtray, not snubbing it out.

"Wasn't spying — just watching Ms. Righty" Jinx chuckles at her own morbid nickname, and drapes her forearm on Silcos head, as she leans on the chair. The device occasionally tapped against his temple. The blue-haired girl whines about being bored and how Sevika won't let her on jobs. Calling his right-hand an ogre that isn't cool or fun–but is, however, currently green as Jinx had shot her with paintballs. The reason why Sevika was fuming in his office not too long ago. Silco listens, nodding his head along to her rambles in a tired fatherly way. In his right hand he fidgets with the lighter. The glint reflecting off the window light brings the small thing to Jinx's attention. Abruptly stopping in the middle of her rant, watercolor eyes flickering at the silver most importantly at the poorly written name on the front of it.

"Watch'ya got there?" She hitches her leg up on the arm of the chair and rests her tilting head on her knee, unblinking eyes stare at the item in his hand. Silco unclenches the lighter and grips it with his fingers slowly handing it to the curious baby blue. She quickly picks the thing out of his grasp after dropping the device on the table with a low clank. She brings the lighter closer to her face, so she can fix on the smudged words, muttering under her breath "is that a 'a' or an 'b' or maybe a-?" she would've gone through the entire alphabet if Silco had not said her name to pull her out of her thoughts.

"What does this say, can you tell me?" Frantic, she moves the light far away from her face, dramatically turning her head to the patient kingpin, his hands hanging loosely between his thighs humming in a low tune, debating on entertaining her offbeat curiosity.

"Aww' c'mon I'm dying of boredom here!" Jinx flails around her spot before falling onto her back with her arms spread out on the desk, her head is to the left looking at the metal rectangle with a pout. Twirling it with her pink and blue nails. Silco sighs, looking at his suddenly sad daughter–he knows she's just playing him, he caves anyways. Not without teaching about bartering, when a certain stinging sensation occurs. The nerves of his left eye spread out to his scarred side, eating away at him.

"Administer my medicine, then I'll think about it" Jinx pouts, but hands him the lighter anyway. Grabbing the device that was left on the table. "Finnee-" Grumbling, she moves forward so she's close to his face and places the contraption over his eye. She waits, eyes flickering from the button on top to his bad eye. When her gaze finally looks at the good eye, she presses the button. Instantly, he shoots forward, straining in his seat as Jinx still holds onto his jaw. He tightens his grip on the light. The dose of shimmer elopes his eye–the red widening before shrinking back to an orange. The purple substance fighting away at the toxins left behind, a single shimmer tear runs down his scarred cheek. 

"Done! Now, tell me!" Jinx haphazardly drops the medical device on the desk, again. Pulling up her legs on the arm, so she can rest her head on knees, and dig her colorful nails into her muted maroon pants. She puts most of her body weight on the side of the chair, making it dip only slightly. Waiting for her father to catch his breath and follow up on his end of the bargain. Slicking his salt and pepper hair back, he leans into the chair. Adjusting his sitting and wiping away the tear before answering her.

"It reads Lady." 

"Why does it say that and why do you have something that says that and why is it so badly written?-" He sighs, still rubbing at the now disappeared shimmer. Jinx's questioning doesn't throw him off, his eyes narrow in amusement. "Will it ease your curious need about my youth if I told you it was from an old friend?" Jinx gives him a weird look.

"I thought you said we shouldn't hold onto the past and blah blah blah" Jinx begins to flap her hand in a talking motion. He grabs her wrist, making her look him in the eye. His face was serious.

"We shouldn't hold onto the past and let it consume us." He says sternly, letting her go when she begrudgingly nods. Jinx notices a fondness lit in his eye, as he then gestures to the lighter in his hand. The flame, as quickly as it appeared, dims away.

"That is more or less something nostalgic, a keepsake out of appreciation" Jinx looks at him then the lighter, then back at him. "For who?" Jinx asks. Silco smirks.

"An old friend"

"UGHHH" She dramatically flops down again, crossing her arms. Jinx begins to spin Silco, moving her legs accordingly, in an attempt at a punishment for making vague remarks. Silco lets her for only a moment, stopping her when he's fully faced in front of her by taking the leg off the armrest and letting it drop to the floor next to the other. Silco hums in thought.

"It was...from a past love of mine" From her sitting position, Jinx snaps her head up. Her attention gained back. She's not perturbed by this new information, her curiosity only grows. "Hehehe, you fancied someone?" She giggles, hunching over. Her hands either side of her thighs gripping the edge of the desk and kicking her hanging feet.

"Mhm, I did..." As memories of the past flood his mind, he forcefully wrestles himself from saying ‘I do’ . The past should linger in the past, and in the palm of his hand like a burdensome weight. Despite this, his thumb still circles around the lighter. In response, Jinx visibly slouched, her frown growing more pronounced.

"What happened?" Jinx knows now that this friend is no longer here, someone who was once close to her father–she began thinking. Her gaze flicks restless between Silco’s eyes, her hands fidgeting as they cling together. Her thumb incessantly rubs against her palm, creating a raw spot on her skin. Sensing the tension, Silco quietly places his hand on her knee, tenderly tracing comforting lines with his fingertips to ease her away from the rhythmic rubbing and her own reminiscing. 

He knows Jinx would ask non-stop about this subject, as if she were still the 12 year old that he took in years ago. Even if he did indulge Jinx in her possible endless quest of nagging him til’ he complies. He would have no idea where to begin, he’s sure that his late-companion would tell it differently, albeit dramatically. Jinx has learned through his lectures of betrayal, perhaps one on loyalty might have the same effect. 

"What happened to most Zaunites during the revolutionary years-" Silco lifts his head smoothly, his gaze hardening with growing anger. Behind the pride he feels for his expanding nation, he holds a knife to the throat of the ‘Nation of Progress’ Silco’s thoughts travel back to his last moment with her, realizing the irony that lies within the nickname of Piltover. With a cool deliberateness, Sico carefully considers his next words as he looks at his daughter. Who is seated with uncharacteristic patience. 

The cigar in the tray burns, forgotten. "-Perishing with no name under the cold gold-plated boot of Piltover"

[justmeinadaze]

Sexy (Eddie X Plus Size Reader)

Someone sent me a message with a personal ask about a plus size reader who's a bit insecure about her body with a praise kink with Eddie so I bare you this. Remember, you are beautiful inside and out <3.

Warnings: Mentions of insecurities with being a plus size girlie; Eddie is comforting as always <3

Word Count: 902

“Fuck, baby, that feels so good.”, Eddie exhales as he licks his lips and his palms squeeze into your meaty hips as you roll them against him, pushing his cock deeper inside of you. “B-Bounce, sweetheart. I want to see you dripping all over my dick.”

At his words, your rhythm gradually came to a stop causing his eyes to snap open as he pushed up onto his elbows. 

“What…what’s wrong, babe? Everything…ok?”

“Yeah, um, can we…can you be on top?”

Blinking up at you, your boyfriend suddenly noticed that your eyes weren’t filled with lust anymore but pain. 

“Yeah, baby, sure. Does it hurt? Do we need to take a break or—”

Your lips cut off him off as you cup his face in your hands. You had been dating Eddie Munson for a few months and you loved everything about him. While in school he liked to come off as “mean and scary” but with his friends or alone with you, he had the sweetest heart you had ever seen. 

While the other kids made you insecure, he made you feel beautiful. The first time you were intimate with him, he took control which is honestly the way you preferred it and he never seemed inconvenienced by your body in any way. 

It always lingered in your mind through. 

When he would rest his head on your chest and wasn’t able to wrap his arms all the way around your stomach like you could with him. When his lips would travel along your flab you wished you could have abs like he did. When people would snicker as he held your hand, a part of you felt like it was your fault and you should let him go to be with someone who visually was more appealing. 

But you loved him so much…

Which is why when he flipped you both over till you were on top of him you didn’t protest. You wanted to make him feel as good as he made you feel but you struggled to get out of your head to enjoy it yourself. 

“No, Eddie. I just…”

Wrapping his arms around you to hold you in place, he shifts his body till he was sitting up and leaning against the headboard so he could give you his full attention. 

“Talk to me, princess. You know you can tell me anything.”

“I just…I feel like…when I’m on top or I bounce…I look gross.”

The metalhead’s eyes widened as if you had said the most shocking thing he had ever heard.

“But you don’t. You’re extremely gorgeous, Y/N.”

“Pfft, thanks.”, you giggle. “But from this angle you can see my double chins and then my stomach and boobs are like…jiggling and I just…”

“You say these things like they’re bad.” 

Eddie smiles when your eyes playfully narrow but when you extend your arm to lightly punch his chest he grabs your wrist and pulls you forward till your nose is hovering just above his. 

“Seriously though. Y/N, you are the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in my entire life. The first time I saw you I thought one of my campaign princesses came to life. These things here?” He pauses as he gently pinches your thighs, tummy, and cheeks. “They make you, you.”

Eddie smirks when your forehead falls on his and your arms circle around his shoulders. 

“You like that, baby? You like it when I compliment you?”, he murmurs against your lips as your hips start to roll against him again. “Because it true. I never say anything I don’t mean. Fuck, my good girl.”

“Eddie.”

“Does my beautiful girl like to be praised? Of course she does. Focus on me, sweetheart. L-Let me focus on your body and how sexy it is when you ride my dick.”

Placing your hands below his ears, you cling to him as you begin to utilize your knees to bounce up and down on his lap, mewling as his thick cock stretched and hit every button inside of you. 

“That’s my good girl. Shit, just like that. Your little pussy takes me s-so well.”

“Fuck, Eddie.”

“That’s…that’s it, pretty girl. I love the way my name sounds coming out of those…sexy lips. I love that your mine.”

“Oh my god. Say it again.”

Your boyfriend breathily laughs as his palms roam your skin. 

“Your beautiful face, these perfect tits, your tummy, t-these eatable thighs, and this gorgeous ass…”, he recites as he smacks your behind. “…are mine. You are mine, Y/N.”

Feeling your body begin to tremble, he immediately cups your cheeks in his hands. 

“Open your eyes, baby. I want you to look at me as you cum.”

“Fuck.”

Rolling your waist, your gaze never leaves his as you cling to one of his wrists and your jaw falls open as you come undone. 

“Good, good girl. That’s my girl.”, Eddie chants as his grip on you tightens and spills into the condom. “Fuck, that was amazing. I love you, sweetheart.”

You smile weakly as you fall against his chest and he gently pets your head, playing with your hair. 

“I love you, baby. I’m sorry for being…me.”

“Hey, you never have to apologize for that. It wasn’t just a heat of the moment thing, Y/N. I meant what I said. I love you and your body. You and this sexy ass are safe with me.”

############

Eddie Asks/ Donate to Me

[cameronspecial]

hiii, could i request reader pranking rafe/drew? Maybe telling rafe/drew that she got waxed by a guy or pretending to be on a call with a friend and telling her friend ways to cheat? It’s up to you, thank you soooo much!!

Elizabeth's Replacement

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Sex At The End

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.4K

Masterlist

After seeing the video on TikTok, Y/N knows what she has to do once she gets home from her waxing appointment. She places her bag on the floor beside the couch and sits down beside her boyfriend. Rafe looks up from her phone, “Hey, Princess. How was your appointment?” She shoves his arm in front of his face. “Feel how soft my arm is. Elizabeth’s replacement did a good job.” His warm hand rests on her forearm at her request and feels her smooth skin. He leans over to kiss her, “Very good. Why did you have a replacement? Where was Elizabeth?” Y/N fishes out her phone from her pockets and begins looking through it. “She is sick. Don’t worry, Charlie took good care of me.” At first, Rafe doesn’t think anything of the name. “Yeah, that’s good,” he states, going back to scrolling on his phone. Y/N smiles, “Yep, he even put this cream that numbs the pain on me when he did my Brazilian wax.” Rafe’s thumb freezes and hovers over his screen. “What do you mean he? And which one is a Brazilian again?” 

She acts and looks up at him, “Charlie is a guy and a Brazilian is for the vagina. Why do you ask?” Rafe throws his phone to the side and quickly flips himself so he is standing above her. His hands slam against the back of the couch, caging her in. “What do you mean a man saw my pussy?” he growls. She knows he didn’t make a mistake with the possessive determiner because this is a case of when his possessiveness shines through. His eyes darken, dripping with anger. She can’t hold it in anymore and begins to giggle. His head tilts and confusion flashes in his eyes, but the fury remains. “What are you laughing at?” She rests her hand over his chest, “It was a prank, Baby. Elizabeth was there and she took care of me. There was no guy. I made him up.” “So no one else has seen my pussy except for me, you and Elizabeth?” he confirms. 

She grins up at him and kisses him, “No one else has seen me. I promise.” He lets out a loud breath and steps back. A frustrated laugh falls out of his lips before he leans forward right in front of her face. “Don’t think because you just got waxed, you aren’t going to be punished. Once you are healed, I am going to make you regret pulling that prank. At least, Elizabeth’s handiwork is going to be put to good use.” He picks up his phone and storms out of the room, most likely going to work out to blow off steam. Y/N’s thighs clench together and she is begging the universe to make the forty-eight hours go by fast because she can’t wait for what Rafe has in store for her punishment. 

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @magicalyoura @rubixgsworld

[msdoodlesposts]

inspired by a post by @da-floof

Poppy had her hands together, the tips of them at her lips as she quietly looked you up and down along with the giant half of a dog on your back that was about 3 times your size.

“H-how exactly did you managed to carry him?” She asked.

“Adrenalin, a lot of it” You replied bending over a bit to try to compensate the weight on your back, Adrenalin was the only thing keeping you going at this point for the last day or so, it was hard to keep track of time once you got deeper into this hellish abyss.

But your were not just gonna leave the second person you met who didn’t immediately try to murder you to those tiny demonic stuff animals, you didn’t expect him to be a lot bigger then you but at the moment it wasn’t the time to think about that when the smaller crawling smiling critters had started coming towards you and attempted to crawl inside of the dog character.

Which explains the blood on your shoes,hands and grab pack hands.

“C-can someone get him please?” You ask as your knees started to shake a bit, the adrenaline run you been on since hour one starting to wear off, which wasn’t good with the situation your in.

Kissy came over and gently picked up the injured Dog being careful to not let the belt around him get loose, and just in time as you collapsed to your knees and ended up throwing up what food you had in your system.

You shook softly as you took in deep breaths, trying to ignore the pain that was basically everywhere in your body.

“…how about you come rest for a bit with us, I think you need it”

“Nah you think” you replied to the red head doll before loosing your meal again. God everything hurted.

You let out a noise as kissy wrapped a arm around you and you let yourself be carried over to the platform, your body acting a bit like a rag doll in the tall pink toy grip.

Once set down your curled up and let out a shaky breath as the platform rose back up, you were safe even it was just a little bit, for now.

“You ok Angle?”

You let out a snort as Dogday had managed to crawl next to you and was slightly hovering over you now, empty eyes looking over you nervously, “oh I’m just peachy” you said sarcastically your voice nearly above a whisper now.

“.. You didn’t have to save me, you should have run”

You rolled your eyes “and leave you hanging, literally?” You frown a bit seeing him flinch a bit, you sigh “it wasn’t a problem saving you” you spoke “we need all the help we can get and I wasn’t leaving someone to just die”

Dogday didn’t say anything and you hope you didn’t offend him, you weren’t exactly in the mood to be pleasant.

You shifted a bit when your head was lifted a bit and a paw a bit bigger then your head was placed under it acting like a pillow

“You should get some rest” Dogday spoke, you smiled a tiny bet, finding it funny thinking you could rest after everything that was going on, but you close your eyes to pleased the dog and promptly fell asleep, your body shutting down to try and get over the adrenaline rush and even though it was short about 20 minutes, you had a odd dream of vanilla

[sunbl3achedfly]

Do the dead comfort you? Pt.2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: Spencer does all he can to save you from the hands of a psychotic unsub, and he makes a promise to remain by your side in the aftermath of the ordeal.

Content: Dead bodies once again, (tw) torture, stalking, breakdowns, hospital visits, blood, (tw) sexual assault, trauma, Spencer to the rescue & being a tad protective of the pretty girl he only met once before, the reader realizes she can't use her morbid sense of humor to cope with everything, hurt/comfort I guess?

Author's note: Here’s part two!!! I was listening to Ethel's new album while writing this and holy moly I was in the zone and wrote most of it in one go. (Pulldrone is exactly what was playing when I wrote the scenes while she was kidnapped and I feel like the eery ambiance encapsulates the utter sense of dread and despair that hits the reader once she realizes how serious the situation is). Hope you all enjoy <33

Let me know if you guys want a part 3!!

5,331 words (it’s a long one aha)

part one

masterlist

When you finally managed to open your eyes again, a sharp, dull pain radiated through your skull. The harsh fluorescent lights above didn't help as they glared down at you. At least you weren't on the floor. Nope, just restrained to an ice-cold metal slab. Fancy that. This must be how all my patients feel before I embalm them.

You attempted to look around the room but the bright lights from above prevented you from doing so. As you regained consciousness, you began to realize that both your wrists and ankles were restrained to the embalming table. And you were only in your underwear. The panic had begun to set in and you tugged at the restraints, but to no avail, they wouldn’t budge.

"Struggling won't help", a voice echoed through the room, "I made sure of that."

Your head snapped to the right as you took in the man who now began leaning over you. At first, he didn't even look real. He stood over you, bathed in the cold, sterile glow of the morgue’s overhead lights, his figure stretched and distorted by your disoriented mind. A nightmare stitched together from shadows and flesh, from surgical steel and the sickly scent of embalming fluid. His eyes—God, his eyes—weren’t just looking at you; they were studying you, cataloging every inch of your body as if you were a specimen he was about to dissect.

On any normal day, his face may have been forgettable, the kind you’d pass on the street without a second thought. But at this moment, in this place, it was the only thing in the world. The sharp angles of his cheekbones cast deep, skeletal hollows in his skin, making him look half-dead, like something that had crawled out of the very slabs you worked on everyday. His mouth curled in something that wasn’t quite a smile, wasn’t quite a sneer—just wrong, like he wasn’t used to making expressions that mimicked human emotion.

Then came his voice, it slithered into your ears, so sickly sweet that it made you nauseous, "You’re quite the fighter, aren’t you? But they all stop fighting eventually.”

You tried your best to focus on anything else at that moment, the details of everything else but him. The thin, latex gloves that he wore, they were stretched way too tight across his knuckles. The way his coat —a pristine white lab coat, because of course it was—fluttered slightly as he moved, the motion strangely elegant. You could smell him too. He smelled clean, too clean, like antiseptic and soap, but underneath that all was something rotten, something decayed. Maybe it was just your imagination. Maybe it wasn’t.

As he began mulling over which embalming tool to pick up first, his fingers hovering over them as if one of them was beckoning to be chosen, you realized just how exposed you were. For the first time since waking up, at the mercy of this thing, wearing a man's skin—you started to believe you might actually die here.

The sound of splintering wood as the mortuary door crashed open was deafening. You flinched violently, your body instinctively pulling against the straps that pinned you to the cold metal table. Relief and terror fought for dominance in your chest.

They’re here. Oh God, they’re finally here.

But then, just when you had begun to relax for the first time in hours, you felt the scalpal press harder against your neck. The tip of it broke through skin, not deep, but enough to make your breath catch.

"Don’t move,” the unsub growled under his breath. His voice was sharp, his calm façade cracking under the pressure. You could feel the tremor in his hands now, the desperation radiating off him.

Your pulse thundered, the pain from the cut on your arm flaring as you tried to keep still. The various cuts and injuries that littered your body were nothing compared to the fear the tiny blade at your neck instilled in you. You bit down on your lip to stop it from trembling. Don’t panic. Don’t make this worse. They’re here. They’ll get me out of this. Please let them get me out of this.

"FBI! Drop the weapon!" A commanding voice filled the room.

"Come any closer and I slit her throat!" The man bellowed. Up until this point he had not raised his voice once, and the sheer volume caused you to flinch again, the scalpal breaking through more skin. You could feel a warm liquid trail over your collarbone.

Your eyes darted to the doorway, tears stinging as you caught sight of the dark vests, the guns, the agents—saviors. But the unsub only pressed closer, his body partially shielding you. The scalpel was an unrelenting threat, cold and unmoving against your skin. The sharp sting at your neck anchored you to the moment. A hot tear slipped down your temple. I’m going to die here.

From Spencer's position in the doorway, his sharp eyes took everything in. The unsub’s trembling hands, the scalpel pressed against your throat, your bloodied arm, and—God—your state of undress. His chest clenched painfully, guilt and anger battling inside him. He only hoped the unsub hadn’t gotten too far before they arrived.

She’s absolutely terrified. One wrong move and she’s dead. Come on Spencer, think!

His jaw tightened as he saw the unsub’s gaze flick toward him, possessive and unhinged. Spencer’s hands twitched, his instinct to charge forward barely restrained. Stay calm. She needs you to stay calm.

"You don’t want to do this,” he finally said, his voice softer than usual. He took a slow step forward, keeping his hands visible. Carefully, he raised them, shifting the gun away from the man. He was acutely aware of the five other guns trained on him, ready to fire if he made a wrong move, which was why he was willing to take the risk. “This doesn’t have to end badly. Let her go, and we can talk this through."

There was a slight pause in the unsub's movements.

“You’re in control right now,” Spencer continued, his tone gentle, almost soothing. “But if you hurt her, that control is gone. You don’t want that. You don’t want to make this worse.”

Spencer’s gaze flicked to yours, meeting your tear-filled eyes. You looked at him like he was your only lifeline. The desperation in your expression hit him like a punch to the gut. The only thought running through his mind like a mantra was that he needed to get her out of there, fast.

The tension in the room was suffocating, each second seemed to stretch on for eternity. Then, the unsub shifted slightly, but it was enough for Derek Morgan to lunge forward like a strike of lightning.

The scalpel hit the floor with a sharp clang as Hotch slammed into the unsub, yanking him away from the table. Chaos exploded around you—shouts, the scuffle of bodies struggling—but it barely registered. Your chest rose and fell in ragged gasps, your throat raw as you fought for breath, tears blurring your vision.

Spencer was at your side in an instant, undoing the restraints that held you down, while simultaneously giving you a once-over to take in any serious injuries he may need to keep in mind for the first responders.

You were in such a state that you barely registered whose hands were touching you and your heart rate immediately spiked. Your eyes were shut and you began thrashing on the table whilst whimpering loudly.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s over,” Spencer’s voice broke through the haze.

You blinked, realizing he was kneeling beside you, his hands moving to undo the straps that held you down. You flinched as his fingers brushed your wrist, a sob escaping your throat before you could stop it.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice soft but steady. “He can't hurt you anymore. I promise.”

As the final strap came loose, you tried to sit up, but your body wouldn’t cooperate. Your legs felt weak, your hands trembling so badly you couldn’t push yourself upright.

“Here—let me help you.” Spencer’s hands were gentle as he guided you into a sitting position, his movements careful, almost hesitant.

The moment you were upright, you instinctively reached for him, clutching his shirt as your body shook with silent sobs.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around you. His vest felt stiff under your cheek, but his touch was warm, steadying. “You’re safe. I promise, you’re safe now.”

You couldn’t stop crying, the reality of everything crashing over you. His hand rested lightly on the back of your head, the other drawing soothing circles on your back.

Spencer’s heart twisted at how small you felt in his arms, how vulnerable. Gone was the sarcastic, spunky girl who had left such a strong impression on him after just one meeting. He held you tighter, his own breath uneven as he fought to keep his emotions in check. She’s okay. She’s okay now. But she’s so scared. I need her to know she’s safe.

When you finally managed to speak, your voice was barely a whisper. “He almost…” Yet another sob prevented you from continuing.

Spencer shook his head, cutting you off gently. “But he didn’t. He didn’t, okay? You’re here. You’re safe.”

You buried your face in his chest again, your fingers clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. And in that moment, he didn’t care about protocol or what anyone else thought. All that mattered was comforting the girl with the shattered spirit in his arms.

The sharp, sterile scent of the hospital was the first to hit you as the nurse wheeled you through the emergency room doors. The fluorescent lights felt too bright, their clinical glow exposing every bruise, every scrape, and every jagged line of your vulnerability. They reminded you of the lights in the embalming room. The embalming room. That man. The tools piercing your skin.

You were vaguely aware of Spencer at your side, walking just close enough that his hand occasionally brushed against the armrest of the wheelchair. You wanted to tell him you were fine, that he didn’t have to stay, but every time you opened your mouth to speak, the words got stuck in your throat. You didn't want to do this alone.

The nurse guided you into a small room, where a doctor was already waiting. Spencer stopped just outside the doorway, shifting awkwardly, his hands buried in his pockets.

“We’ll take it from here,” the nurse said gently, giving him a polite but firm smile.

Spencer hesitated, his eyes darting between you and the nurse. You could see the conflict on his face, his shoulders tense like he was bracing for an argument.

You managed to find your voice, though it came out weaker than you intended. “Spencer…”

His gaze snapped to yours expectantly, his features softening.

“Can you… stay?” The words were barely a whisper, but the way his expression shifted—relief, determination, and something almost protective flashing across his face—made you feel a little steadier.

���Of course,” he said without hesitation, stepping into the room. He pulled up a chair near the bed, sitting close but giving you enough space not to feel overwhelmed.

The doctor began her examination, her voice calm and clinical as she asked you questions. “Any dizziness? Nausea? Are you in pain anywhere besides your arm?”

You answered automatically, your voice hollow as your mind wandered. The doctor’s questions blurred together with the sting of antiseptic on your wounds, and the rustle of the hospital gown you’d been asked to change into felt deafening in the quiet.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the unsub’s hands on you, the way his gaze had stripped you of every ounce of dignity. The memory was suffocating, curling around your chest like a vice.

Spencer’s voice cut through the fog, grounding you. “Hey,” he uttered softly, his brow furrowed with concern. “You okay?”

You blinked, realizing the doctor had finished and was watching you with the same concerned expression.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, though your voice lacked conviction.

Spencer didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press. Instead, he waited until the doctor left the room before leaning forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees as he studied you.

After a few minutes of silence, he spoke up again, "You're not fine."

You looked down at your hands, the hospital gown feeling too thin, too revealing, despite being more covered than you were earlier. You didn't know how to respond.

Spencer hesitated, noticing the sudden vulnerability in your expression. “I uh... I need to ask you a few questions… about what happened. It’s just procedure—to make sure this guy gets what he deserves. We don't have to do it now, but I'm here when you're ready.”

The sincerity in his tone made something in you crack. You weren’t ready to talk, not yet, but the way he said it—as if there was no question that he would be there for as long as you needed—made you feel a little less alone.

“You don’t have to stay,” you said quietly, though the thought of him leaving made your stomach twist.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said firmly. “Not until you’re ready for me to, at least.”

You glanced up at him, expecting to see pity in his eyes, but all you saw was quiet determination. It made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t expected.

You took a shaky breath, your hands clenching into fists as you tried to steady yourself. “Ask the questions,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, but firm with determination.

Spencer’s brow furrowed as he leaned forward slightly, his voice soft but insistent. “You don’t have to right now. We can wait until you’re ready. You don’t have to rush through it.”

But you shook your head, a flicker of something fierce in your eyes. “No… I want to do this now. If I don’t… I won’t ever.” The words tasted bitter in your mouth, but you pressed on, your heart pounding as the weight of what you were about to do sank in. “I need to nail this bastard. For me, for them… for everyone he’s hurt.”

Spencer remained quiet for a moment, watching you carefully, weighing your words. Finally, he nodded, his expression unreadable but softening with understanding. “Alright..." he hesitated, "This is going to sound silly, but can you close your eyes for me and tell me... what he did to you?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the request. For a moment, you didn’t know how to react. But the quiet, sincere way he asked you made something inside you settle, just a little. The room felt quieter now, the world shrinking down to just the two of you.

Closing your eyes, you tried to push the memories to the surface, to bring them into focus. Your heart beat faster, but you steeled yourself, knowing this was the only way to make him pay.

"When I woke up from being knocked out… I was tied down to the embalming table in my underwear, the straps were tight," you began slowly, rubbing your wrists absentmindedly. The sensation of the straps still lingered, and it made your skin crawl. "I couldn’t move."

Spencer stayed silent, his gaze never leaving you, his presence grounding you even as the weight of the memories pressed in. "Take your time," he said quietly, voice gentle but firm.

You took a shaky breath, nodding, trying to find the strength to continue. "He... he just stood there for a while, watching me. I could feel his eyes on me, like... he was enjoying it." You paused, swallowing the bitterness in your throat. "I couldn’t even scream. I just had to wait for him to decide what he wanted to do next."

Spencer’s jaw tightened, his mind was piecing it together, filling in the gaps even if you didn’t want him to. But he said nothing, giving you the space to speak. You appreciated that more than you could express.

There was no avoiding it. You had to talk about it. You had to say the words, had to help the FBI put together the full picture. You took a slow breath, trying to keep your voice steady.

“He—he used different embalming tools.”

Spencer looked up sharply, he noticed the pained expression on your face and realised just how hard this was going to be for you.

Your heart started to pound. As soon as you said it, the memories came rushing back.

The metal table was freezing against your bare skin, your body trembling with something beyond the cold. You pulled at your restraints, but they were too tight, digging into your wrists and ankles.

“I’ve always been fascinated by preservation,” the unsub mused, his fingers trailing over a set of gleaming instruments. “The way death can be… delayed. How a body can be made beautiful again.”

You didn’t say anything. Your throat was raw from screaming earlier, and you were running out of ways to keep yourself from panicking.

The unsub turned, holding up an embalming trocar—long, sharp, and glinting under the fluorescent light. “Did you know this is used to remove fluids and gases from a body before preservation?” He traced the tip lightly down your abdomen, not pressing hard enough to break skin. “It’s important to prepare the body properly.”

Your breathing hitched, and you clenched your jaw, forcing yourself not to react.

His expression darkened. “You’re supposed to be still,” he murmured, and without warning, he pressed down.

Pain flared white-hot in your side as the tip of the tool pricked your skin, just enough to draw blood. You gasped, your body instinctively jerking against the restraints.

The unsub sighed, shaking his head. “Messy,” he muttered, wiping the small bead of blood with his gloved hand. “I’ll have to try again.”

You inhaled sharply, coming back to yourself. The hospital bed, the warmth of the blanket, the steady presence of Spencer beside you—it was enough to pull you out of the memory, but your skin still burned where the tool had touched you.

Spencer’s knuckles were white where he gripped his knees. His breathing was slow, controlled, but his eyes—his eyes were burning with something deep and unsettled.

“He used a trocar,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “He—he didn’t go deep, but he wanted to see me flinch.”

Spencer squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, like he was trying to will away the image forming in his mind. “And the other injuries?” he asked, his voice strained.

You swallowed. “A needle. He… he injected something into my leg. Some kind of preservative, I think. It burned.”

Another flash—

The burn spread up your thigh, a fire beneath your skin. You cried out, muscles seizing, your entire body locking up.

The unsub tilted his head, watching with interest. “Formaldehyde is quite versatile,” he said conversationally. “It won’t kill you. Not yet. But I wonder how much your body can handle before it starts shutting down?”

You bit down on your lip, hard enough to taste blood.

You took a slow, shaky breath, forcing yourself back into the present. The hospital bed. The warmth of the blanket. The steady presence of Spencer beside you.

Spencer’s hands had curled into fists. His jaw was clenched so tightly you could see the muscle twitching.

“What else?” he asked, voice strained.

You hesitated again. “He used the embalming pump.”

Spencer’s breath audibly caught in his throat.

The hum of the embalming machine filled the room, a steady, mechanical noise that only added to the horror of the moment.

You were still strapped down, too weak to fight, but your breath was coming in panicked gasps as the unsub adjusted the tube connected to the pump.

“This is a test,” he murmured, almost absently. “A small amount, just to see how the body reacts.”

You barely processed his words before you felt the cool sensation of liquid seeping into your veins.

Your vision blurred for a moment. It wasn’t enough to kill you—not yet. But it left you dizzy, sluggish, your limbs feeling even heavier than before.

“Fascinating,” the unsub muttered to himself. “I wonder how much you can take.”

You swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "The last thing he did... he told me exactly what he was going to do to me. Everything he'd done to his other victims—every single cut, every injection, every—"

Your breath hitched, your throat closing around the words.

"But I—I was going to be his favorite," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Because I had spunk. Because I fought back."

A shudder ran through you, your entire body recoiling from the memory. You couldn't say the rest. You didn't need to say the rest. The way his voice had darkened, the way he'd described it, savoring every detail like a promise—

You squeezed your eyes shut, as if that could block it out.

Spencer's hand closed over yours, grounding you. His grip was firm, steady, as if willing you to feel something other than that sickening sense of violation crawling under your skin.

“That’s enough,” he said, his voice low but unwavering.

You shook your head, your breathing uneven. “But you need to know—”

“I do know,” Spencer cut in, his voice sharp but gentle. His jaw was clenched, his eyes burning with something unreadable—but underneath it, there was a quiet, unshakable promise. “You’ve given us enough.” He exhaled, slow and controlled, but his next words carried the full weight of his conviction.

“He’s never going to hurt anyone ever again. I swear to you—I’ll make sure he rots in prison for the rest of his life.”

A sob caught in your throat, but you swallowed it down. You weren’t ready to cry—not yet. But for the first time since it happened, you felt the faintest flicker of relief.

Spencer wasn’t just listening. He was hearing you. And he was going to make sure you got justice.

You weren’t alone in this.

And for now, that was enough.

As the night wore on, the hours began to blur together. You knew you wouldn't be able to sleep that night, and as guilty as it made you feel, Spencer didn't seem to mind. Throughout the night, nurses came and went, checking your vitals, re-bandaging your arm, and murmuring reassurances that didn’t quite reach you. And through it all, Spencer stayed.

The hospital room had settled into an almost eerie calm. Machines beeped softly in the background, and the dim lighting made everything feel slower as if the world outside had paused. You were sitting up in the hospital bed, the scratchy blanket pulled tight around your shoulders. Spencer sat in the chair beside you, his legs crossed, thumbing through a book he’d found somewhere in the waiting area at a speed you didn't think was humanly possible.

The silence was interrupted by the sound of the door creaking open. The FBI agent that had first pushed the unsub away from you in the embalming room stepped inside. At first, his presence intimidated you, his muscular frame and broad shoulders made him an imposing figure, but there was an undeniable warmth in his deep brown eyes. His smooth, dark skin contrasted with the sharp angles of his jawline, and a hint of stubble shadowed his face. He was holding two cups of hospital jello, one red, the other green.

“Thought you two could use a little pick-me-up,” He said, holding the cups aloft with a charming smile. “It’s not gourmet, but it’s better than nothing.”

You managed to return a weak smile back, taking the red jello as he handed it to you. Spencer set his book aside and accepted the green one without hesitation.

“Thanks, Morgan,” Spencer said.

Morgan gave you both a once-over, his gaze softening when it landed on you. “If you need anything, just holler. But I’ll give you two some space.” He gave Spencer a pointed look as if to silently remind him to keep an eye on you, then slipped out of the room.

You began poking at the jello with the plastic spoon. The silence stretched between you and Spencer, not uncomfortable, just heavy with unspoken things.

"You know", you said finally, your voice a little raspy, “jello might be the most depressing food ever invented.”

Spencer glanced up from his cup, his lips quirking in a faint smile. There she is. “It does have a strange texture. Did you know it’s made from gelatin, which comes from—”

“Animal bones,” you finished for him, giving him a sidelong look. “Yeah, I’ve heard.”

He blinked, a little surprised, then nodded. “Right. I guess... you would know that.”

You smirked faintly, the smallest flicker of your usual sarcasm peeking through. “What can I say? I'm full of fun facts. Comes with the job, really.”

Spencer tilted his head, studying you once again. "Your job... I can't imagine it's easy," he said carefully, his voice gentle.

You hesitated, your spoon hovering just above the jello. For a brief moment, you considered brushing him off with a joke or changing the subject like you usually would. But when you met his gaze, there was something about the way he was looking at you. God, stop looking at me like that. His unwavering, earnest stare made you feel safe enough to answer honestly.

“It isn't most of the time” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “But it’s worth it.”

Spencer didn’t respond right away. Instead, he kept his gaze on you, his expression soft yet intent—like he was trying to unravel everything you weren’t saying. His eyes, sharp with quiet intelligence, searched yours as if they could decode the weight you carried, the thoughts you never voiced, the depth you kept hidden from the world.

There was something about you that fascinated him—not just your words, but the silences between them, the guarded way you spoke about things that mattered. He could tell there was so much more beneath the surface, layers of emotion and experience you refused to share. And yet, just for a moment, it felt like he could see them anyway.

He finally spoke, "Why?"

You sighed, setting the jello cup on the bedside table. “Because… when I embalm and prepare a body, when I make someone look like the person they were before…” You paused, swallowing hard. “I get to give their family one last chance to say a proper goodbye. One last moment where they can see the person they loved, not the person the world left behind.”

Spencer kept his gaze steady as he took in your words. He could tell how much those words meant to you. Surprisingly, his expression held a little bit of understanding and even awe.

"That's... incredible." he said finally, "I had never thought of it that way."

You huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "Yeah, well… not everyone thinks it's incredible. Most people just think it’s creepy."

Spencer’s lips quirked into the smallest smile. "I mean, technically, you do spend a lot of time with dead bodies."

You gave him a pointed look. "And you spend a lot of time profiling serial killers, but you don’t see me calling you creepy."

Spencer tilted his head, considering that for a moment. "Fair point."

A comfortable silence settled between you, the heaviness of the conversation lifting just a little.

Before the conversation could continue you blurted out, "Thank you."

Spencer glanced at you, “For what?”

“For staying,” you said simply.

He hesitated for a moment, then gave a small nod. “I couldn’t leave,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “Not when you…” He trailed off, looking down at his hands. “I just couldn’t.”

You nodded, understanding more than words could convey. For the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel completely alone.

As you leaned back against the pillows, your eyes growing heavy, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you were going to be okay.

After your third day in the hospital, you were finally discharged. The hospital doors slid open with a quiet hiss, letting in a crisp evening breeze. You inhaled deeply, filling your lungs with fresh air—something that didn’t reek of antiseptic or overcooked hospital food. The gauze beneath your shirt still tugged slightly with each breath, but the soreness was manageable.

Freedom. Finally.

Beside you, Spencer hovered with the same quiet intensity he’d had when you arrived at the hospital, arms crossed like he wasn’t entirely convinced letting you leave was a good idea.

“You know, I appreciate the escort,” you said, adjusting the strap of your bag over your good shoulder, “but unless you’re planning on kidnapping me back to my hospital bed, I think I can manage from here.”

Spencer blinked. “I just— I wanted to make sure you got out okay.”

You smirked. “What, did you think I’d trip over my own feet and fall into traffic?”

“I— statistically, you’re not at full mobility, and with your pain medication, your reflexes might be slightly impaired—”

You rolled your eyes. “Spencer, I’m not going to faceplant into the street.” Then, after a beat: “At least, not immediately.”

The corners of his lips twitched, like he was trying not to smile but failing miserably.

The silence stretched for a moment. For all his intelligence, Spencer still looked like he wanted to say something but hadn’t quite figured out the words. His hands twitched at his sides, like he was debating reaching out.

You tilted your head at him. “You okay there, Doc?”

He cleared his throat, straightening. “I just— I hope you know that you, um… don’t have to go through this alone.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I mean, I was alone in the embalming room with a serial killer, so technically—”

Spencer shot you a look.

You snorted. “Okay, okay, I get it. Not the time."

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just meant… I know how trauma can make people isolate themselves, and I just wanted you to know that you have people who care.”

You nodded slowly. There was a warmth in your chest at the sincerity in his voice—softer, earnest.

“Well, in that case,” you said, shifting your weight to your good side, “since you care so much, would you... wanna get dinner sometime?”

Spencer’s mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. “Dinner?”

“Yeah, you know. The thing where people sit at a table, order food, and consume it?” You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I mean, unless you don’t want to—”

“No! I mean— I do! I just—” He ran a hand through his hair, looking both overwhelmed and adorable in a way that made you bite back a grin.

You decided to put him out of his misery. “Spencer," your voice softened, "I’m trying to ask you on a date.”

He froze.

“Oh.”

You smirked. “Yeah. Oh.”

Spencer’s brain seemed to reboot in real time. “I—yes! Yes, I would like that.”

Your smirk softened into something more genuine. “Good. You can pick the place.”

He nodded, still looking slightly dazed. “Right. I, um, I’ll text you.”

You chuckled, stepping back toward the curb where your ride was waiting. “See you soon, Doctor Reid.”

Spencer stood there as you got into the car, still blinking, like he was trying to process what had just happened.

As you pulled away, you saw him through the rearview mirror—standing there, hand running through his hair, a small, boyish smile tugging at his lips.

For the first time in a long time, despite everything that had happened, something felt right.

[xoxomoonlightxoxo]

The Girl That Disappeared | Suspect #2 JJK

⇠ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯. | 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ⇢  

✧ Synopsis: It was a gloomy Friday evening when you felt the mists of melancholy pulse through your veins, aching body floating above the deep water. Squeezing your eyes shut, your lips trembled with fear. You didn’t want to die, but you sure as hell didn’t want to live. Not in this town. Not with the people in it. So, why don’t you just disappear? Leave them to search for the remnants of who you had been before you realised that life is more painful than death. Park Jimin. Kim Taehyung. Jeon Jungkook. Best-friend, step-brother, and an ex-lover. Although their paths had never crossed before that gloomy Friday evening, their names, printed in bold, now remained on the top of the suspect list. Stories entangled in your mystery.

✧ w/c: 6.1k ✧ a/n: a lot is going on here but please let me know what you think, mwuah 💓 ✧ taglist: @kookieandjoonberries @whoa-jo @taevestr @smoljimjim @kookxin

@11thenightwemet11 @xumyboo @kingofbodyrolls @jksusawife

“Y/n-ah! I’m leaving, please turn on the security,” your mother’s voice echoed from the entrance as you heard the front door close. She was working on-call today, and while it seemed like you finally had an opportunity to spend some quality time together, the hospital rang her in for an emergency operation at the last minute. 

“Okay, love you,” you yelled from your room, picking up the laundry off the floor before heading downstairs. No one was home. Mr. Kim had a night shift and wouldn’t be back until later and only God knew where Taehyung was. 

Scrolling through your phone, you smiled at the photos Jimin sent you from his parent’s ranch house. It’s been a week since he left, and you couldn’t help but miss him. The two of you haven’t gone this long without seeing each other, so it felt weird not being able to call him over. 

“Y/n, it’s so nice here, you would’ve loved it,” he smiled through the phone, resting his head on the soft pillow. 

“I bet,” you whined. 

“Next time, you’re coming with me, okay? There’s this waterfall I’ve been dying to show you,” 

“Okay … I missed you Jimin-ah,” your voice broke, glossy eyes looking down at the teddy bear he got for your birthday. 

“Y/n-ie, you know I missed you more,” Jimin moved in closer, placing a kiss on his front camera as you glanced up.

“Now, get some sleep, I’ll talk to you tomorrow, mmhm,”

“Goodnight,” you whispered with a little wave. 

“Sleep tight, angel,” 

He never called after that. All your attempts went straight to voicemail. It was strange, Jimin always valued communication, and never was the type to let you wonder about his whereabouts. Kept you posted even with a little “k”, just to signify that he got the message. But, now, it felt like he was gone. Vanished into thin air, like nothing happened. And, it killed you knowing that you couldn’t do anything about it. 

The clock read 7 am on the dot, which meant that you still had about two hours till the first bell. It was the first day of your period and your cramps were horrendous, to say the least. They’re usually a pain in the ass but never this bad. Looking through the medicine cabinet you rummaged past the bandaids and the gummy vitamins before remembering that Taehyung took the last Ibuprofen for his headache last night. It was ironic how little painkillers you had in the house, knowing that your mom was a doctor. But, it’s because she always preached the importance of letting your body heal naturally. Science could only get you so far, I guess? 

Zipping up your windbreaker, you grabbed your wallet and keys before heading outside to the local grocery store until the sound of a slammed door left you frozen in your tracks. It came from upstairs. Looking up at the dark corridor you turned on the lights, following the breeze seeping through the cracks of your room. 

“Taehyung?” you called, hands hovering over the doorknob. No one answered. Why would they? You were the only one in the house, right? 

“Taehyung, if this is one your stupid jok-” you whispered again before facing the empty room. 

No sight of Taehyung, but your window was open, which explained the door. The only problem was that you didn’t remember opening it in the first place. Nonetheless, you would gladly accept this version of the incident over the possibility of some paranormal activity. One problem at a time, please. 

So, you shut your blinds and went back downstairs to turn off the security system before grabbing your bike from the garage. You didn't have a licence, and only got your learners about a month ago, so if no one was home you had to resort to another form of transportation. 

You didn’t mind biking though. Found it rather therapeutic. Loved the alone time it allowed for without the bombardment of life and its constant obstacles. Just you and your thoughts. And, although there was a bit of a fog, it was clear enough to see where you were going. So, you buckled your helmet and went off on your journey to secure some Ibuprofen. 

Exiting the gated community, you biked through the local primary school, passing by a parking lot of sleep-deprived parents rushing to work after dropping off their little ones. It was getting a bit chilly as the wind picked up, so you stopped to put on some mittens and a hat before glancing back at the rustling sound behind the corner. 

“Hello?” 

Again, no one answered. But, that didn’t stop the chills running down your spine, remembering the incident earlier at home. Looking down at your watch, you gasped at the 20 minutes that had already passed, yet, you were nowhere near the grocery store. So, it was time to focus. 

Biking down the empty road, your eyes were scattered across the painted scenery. The old brick houses and the tall trees. The rusted mailboxes and the garden gnomes. It all felt so nostalgic. So close to your heart, as if tethered by the strings of your past. But, the feeling was short-lived. Consumed by the eerie melancholy inching up your skin as you felt someone's presence behind you. 

This time, you weren’t wrong. Covered from head to toe, it looked like a man. Keeping a civil distance, he followed your turns. Left. Right. Straight. Right. Left. Straight. Coincidence or not, this wasn’t a common path that people took. Not many knew of the shortcut. So, you began to speed up, feeling the adrenaline kick in once he did the same. Now, it was a chase. 

Pushing through the burning pain in your calves you picked up the pace, feet firm on the pedals. He didn't pity your fatigue, only fueled it more by inching closer before the two of you were riding side-by-side. Keeping an eye on his uncanny demeanour, you flinched at the sound of a car horn blast through your trembling state as a white Honda glared past you, pointing at the stop sign. 

“I'm sorry,” you whispered under your breath. 

“You're fast,” the man scoffed, tilting his head with a sly grin. That's all you could see. 

“Who are you?” you yelled, voice trembling in panic. 

“I’ll give you a head start, mmhm?” he sneered, changing the gears on his bike. 

Feeling the tightness in your throat, you were gasping for air, dilated pupils scanning the surroundings for help. Unfortunately, as if praying on your downfall, the street was empty. Not a soul in sight. So, you pressed on the pedals, leaving the man in the dust as you prayed that the next turn led to people. 

Gas station. Bingo. 

Hoping off your bike you bolted towards the door. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” the cashier yelled out, furrowed gaze searching the panic on your face. You could feel the flush rise up your cheeks, but the absence of Mr. X occupied your mind. 

“I’m so sorry,” you mouthed, clearly out of breath before dialling Jimin’s phone number. It was like second nature. You didn’t even realise it until your call went straight to voicemail. 

“Oh, right,” a sigh escaped your lips, remembering that he was still MIA.

Looking through your contacts, there was only one more person you could call. But, the possibility of them actually agreeing to help you was as slim as your waist after all that exercise. Nonetheless, you took a deep breath and pressed the call button. 

“Taehyung?” 

“What do you want, y/n?” he scoffed. 

“Right. So, potentially … if you could … would you mind picking me up from the gas station near River Banks?” you whispered, careful with every word as you anticipated his response. 

“Potentially, screw you. What the fuck did you lose there?” 

“It’s kind of a long story but I do need to be at school in about half an hour,” 

“Can I even say no?”

“Last time I checked it was a free country but a dangerous one at that. So, if I'm kidnapped, my blood is on your hands,” 

“You and that victim mentally of yours go way back, huh?” 

“Please, Taehyung. I’ve never asked you for a favour before,” 

“Fine, give me 10 minutes,” he sighed, ending the call before you could even thank the guy. 

The car ride home was quiet. No radio. Windows rolled up. Silence. 

“So, you’re really not gonna tell me?” Taehyung asked with an arched brow, glancing at your stiff form as the light turned red. 

You’ve never been good at lying. Even if your mouth stayed shut, your face would’ve revealed it all. Essentially, there was no running away from the truth in your case. 

“Well … no one was home and I needed medicine so I decided to bike to the grocery store,” you began explaining, avoiding his eyes. 

“Mmhm,”

“And then …” you paused, hesitating the next part. What if Mr. Kim finds out? What if you were blowing this out of proportion? 

“Y/n. You’re making me angry. Just say it,” he scolded, pressing on the pedal. 

“Sorry. Um, so yeah … I was biking and then out of nowhere this man started following me. So, I tried losing him by taking different turns but … ended up getting lost,” 

“You were followed?” there was a slight change in Taehyung’s voice. Less sarcastic, more intrigued. 

“I guess?” 

“Well, did you see what he looked like?” 

“Not, really. He was covered from head to toe. Except …” you gasped, eyes shut as your brain scavenged through its short-term memory, recalling the moment at the stop sign. 

“Yes?” 

“The side of his mouth was … bruised like he got punched or something?” you leaned back into the seat, fidgeting with your rings while Taehyung merged onto the right lane. He was too focused on the road to hear what you said, but as you glanced at his face your eyes widened, spotting the same purple marks. 

“What?” he growled, furrowed gaze glaring back at your parted lips. 

“Nothing.” you chuckled awkwardly, reaching for the radio before his cold hand touched yours. 

“Look me dead in the eyes and tell me.” he sneered, interlocking his fingers with yours. You’ve known each other for almost a year, yet, your shoulders have never even grazed past each other. So, this was strange, to say the least. 

“Tell you what?” you said hushly, gulping down the nerves as he levelled his face to meet your scattering eyes. 

“That you’re scared,” 

“I’m not,” you scoffed, feeling the flush in your cheeks. 

“Good. Because why the fuck would it be me, you dumbass.” his voice got louder with each word, throwing your hand back before rolling down the windows. Finally. Some fresh air. 

Why would it be him, y/n? You weren’t his favourite but, this was too much. Taehyung was a straightforward person, if he hated you he would say it to your face. So, these mind games were really not his thing. But, then again, what’s up with the bruised lip? 

Fixing your uniform you walked into the brightly lit classroom. First period. Physics. No one was in their seats, let alone bothered by the fact that the teacher was almost 10 minutes late. Placing your books on the desk you looked over at the empty seat beside you. Jimin was still gone. No one has heard from him in weeks. 

Bing Bing

Rampaging through your backpack you searched for your phone. You didn’t have time to properly pack because Taehyung was counting down the minutes before he threatened to drive off, so you just threw everything in hoping to fix it during your free period. Scrolling through the notifications your eyes focused on the text message from an unknown number. 

“I missed you.” you mouthed under your breath.

“Sorry everyone, the meeting took a bit longer,” Mr. Choi chuckled softly, speed-walking into the room before ushering everyone to their seats. 

“I missed you?” you whispered again, eyebrows knitted with confusion. Was it Jimin? Did he change his number? 

“Nonetheless, I am pleased to introduce our new transfer student …” 

You couldn’t recognize the area code, so you tried looking it up on the internet but found nothing useful. Was this some kind of a scam? An innocent prank, maybe? 

“Jeon Jungkook” Mr. Choi’s voice suddenly echoed in your ears making you glance up at the dark-haired boy standing in front of the class. Interestingly, he was already looking at you. Hooded gaze focused on the way your demeanour changed completely. 

“Jungkook, feel free to take any empty seat,” 

Bowing to the man, he did exactly that. Slowly passing by the first three rows before stopping by the seat next to you. Nodding his head, he seemed pleased with the pick. 

“Oh, no sorry, Jungkook-ah, that seat belongs to another student,” Mr. Choi called out with a smile that quickly faded as he watched him sit regardless. 

“There’s plenty of options. I’m sure they’ll find another one,” Jungkook muttered with a sly grin, taking out his books before turning his attention to your widened eyes. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, y/n,” he rasped against your hair, gently tucking it behind your ear to fix the back of your collar. His dark orbs flickered down to your parted lips, sending shivers down your spine.

The first kiss you shared with Jungkook was between your eyes. The way his furrowed gaze softened upon seeing you walk down the wooden stairs of your childhood home, in the lavender dress he bought for your birthday. The way he nervously nibbled on his lip ring before caressing the back of your hand, fingers intertwined with yours. Everything about him was gentle when it came to you. The way his warm embrace moulded into yours, as you grew to share the same breath, the same heartbeat. One singularity in the form of two lovers. 

He filled the void your father left as you failed to please his expectations. The ones only a son could bear. The nights you spent crying in your room, wishing that your mother didn’t have to suffer the humiliation of raising a daughter, Jungkook was there. Like a knight in shining armour, he always saved you. Hoped to give you the future you deserve if you promised to share it with him. The two of you were inseparable. Attached by the hip. 

Until, one day, you weren’t. 

It’s been a week since Jungkook transferred schools. His seat still next to you. Inches away from the past that tethered your souls. You didn’t talk much. Mentally exhausted from the consequences. But, his eyes. They never lied. Sneaking glimpses across the room, watching your every move. He wanted you to give in, to tell him why you left. Help him understand how someone so close could betray his trust, his loyalty, his love. Jungkook didn’t hate you, wouldn’t let anyone get too close, but he was hurt. You could see it in his eyes. The same eyes that onces sparkled under the shimmering lights of the night sky when you shared your first kiss.

Dipping your feet into the pool you wanted to test the water before running through the new drill your coach crafted for the upcoming swim meet. To put it lightly, it was freezing. Goosebumps all over your skin, nipples cut through glass type of freezing. You would think a school with such a budget could afford a heated pool but beggars can’t be choosers. So, you tucked your hair under the swim camp and started on some stretches. 

“One … two … three …” you breathed out, counting the reps before glancing up at the flickering lights. School ended about an hour ago, so the place was pretty empty except for the janitors and a few teachers who stayed back to work on some grading. There was no practice today, but you had a spare key to the pool, so it was just you and the water. 

“Hello?” you called out, covering yourself with the towel. No response. 

“Sorry, this is a closed practice,” you shouted out again, hearing footsteps coming from the changing rooms. 

“Hel-” 

The lights went out. Goosebumps covered your skin, heart beat through the roof. Now what? 

“This isn't funny. Turn the lights back on!”

No one answered, but the footsteps inched closer. You could sense that they were near but it was too dark to make out a figure. Then, he chuckled. Subtle but devious chuckle. Like it was all premeditated. 

“Where is it?” a voice echoed, bouncing off the four walls. It was familiar. 

“Jungkook? Is that you?” you gasped, looking over your shoulder, hands trembling in fear.  

“Where is it, y/n?” his tone was firm. 

“Where's what?” 

“Don't act dumb, love,” he sneered, hands hovering over your waist making you flinch at the sudden feeling. The smell of his vanilla musk lingered in the air as you matched each other’s breathing, skin to skin. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you whispered, chest heaving up from the tension. 

“Where’s my baby?” he rasped against your ear pushing your frail body into the water as his hold around your waist tightened. Eyes squeezed shut, you began to kick him off of you. But he was stronger, assertive, more needy. Gasping for air you felt the water seep into your lungs, nails digging into his skin as a warning to bring you back to the surface.  

However, once you were up, he would have more questions. Questions you didn’t have the heart to answer. But, Jungkook deserved to know the truth, even if it hurt. Because, deep down, your father’s abuse wasn’t the only reason you left. 

You didn’t remember much of that night thanks to the five whiskey shots that pulsed through your veins. Intoxicated your system till you became numb. Unaware of the dangers around you and vulnerable to those with bad intentions. Until it was too late. 

“Stop … please …” you whimpered, flinching at the feeling of his tongue on your breast. Parted lips leaving a trail of wet kisses down your stomach, wrists red from his tight hold as your arms stayed pinned over your head. But your cries for help were as worthless as the consent he never got. 

Until the door slammed open and Jungkook’s irate gaze saw your lifeless body buried under the weight of another man. No amount of restraint could hold him back. He was flammed with rage. 

“Y/n!” Jungkook growled, pushing the guy onto the floor as blood covered his fist. And, as the four walls caved in, your world fell apart. 

But, you could barely open your eyes, let alone get up. Too ashamed to move anyways and the migraine only made it worse. Searching for your top your heart ached with pain once you saw Jungkook’s hollow orbs swelled with tears as he wiped the blood off his face. He looked defeated, almost as unconscious as the man on the floor. Stepping over the body with one hand on his side he whimpered, biting down the pain in his ribs before covering you with his jacket. 

“We have to go.” he muttered, picking you up bridal style. 

“Koo, we can’t just leave him,” you yelled out, worried gaze searching his pale face. 

“It’s nothing fatal, he’ll be fine,” Jungkook scoffed, feeling the tightness in his throat as he glanced down at your saddened eyes.

Tension consumed the air. It was suffocating. 

“Jungkook, please slow down.” you exclaimed, tightening your hold on the seatbelt. And, although his glare was focused on the road, he couldn’t hear you. Too occupied by the burning pit in his stomach. It didn’t take long until the dashboard flashed warning signals as his speed reached 200 km/h. You were virtually flying. Yet, there was no end to his high. 

Reaching for his cold hand you tried to snap him out of it before the car suddenly stopped. 

“Oh, shit!” Jungkook yelled out, protecting you from the impact, as your body swung forward. 

Eyes squeezed shut, your hands trembled in fear. He hit someone. You hit someone. Fidgeting with your seatbelt you desperately tried to get out and help the crouched man on the ground. He wasn’t bleeding but his skin looked burnt. 

“Y/n!” Jungkook jerked you back, tightening his hold on your arm as he pressed on the pedal. 

“What are you doing? We have to go back!” you yelled with a furrowed gaze. 

“Jungkook!” you threw a few hits at his chest, reaching for the steering wheel as the car swerved along the bumpy road. 

“Enough!”

You couldn’t recognize him. He never raised his voice at you. Barely ever argued. But, now, Jungkook felt so distant. So cold. 

“Fine.” you whispered, digging your nails into your palms. It felt like a nightmare that you couldn’t wake up from. Stuck in a maze of despair, robbed of peace and the possibility that it was all in your head. That none of it was real. 

But it was. And, it would only get worse. 

Unlocking his front door, Jungkook stepped aside, letting you go first, hesitant with his touch. Furrowed gaze fixated on the ground, his head hung low, heavy with thoughts. Tucking onto the ankle straps of your heels you hissed out of frustration, vision blurring in and out of focus. 

“I can do it myself.” you scoffed, as he bent down to help. You didn’t mean to sound rude but there’s only so much one can endure before the sun sets. It was exhausting. 

“I know you can but let me,” he muttered softly.

And, for a moment there was silence. No words were exchanged. No one knew what to say. Feared that something else would go wrong. But your eyes, they were screaming. 

“Koo?” you whispered, caressing his cheek as he inched closer, burying his face into the warmth of your palm. 

“Y/n, I’m so sorry,” Jungkook blurted, gripping your dress. 

You weren’t his first love but you were his first love. And, he promised to always keep you safe, fight for the beating of your heart until the air was stripped away from his lungs. But, he failed. 

“I’m sorry for letting you get hurt” his voice was quiet, shaky. Glossy eyes looking up at your trembling lips. 

“Baby, you saved me.” you exclaimed softly, pulling him into your embrace, feeling the tension in his body slowly dissipate. 

“Nothing happened, right?” he whispered into your skin. 

“Nothing,” you said hushly. 

“Promise?” 

“Promise.” 

To be honest, you didn’t remember what happened. Only the scars remained witness, your body painted like a canvas with purple hues of abuse. But, nothing happened, right? 

“How do you know about the baby?” you questioned with an arched brow, trying your best to stay afloat as Jungkook inched closer. 

“Oh, y/n, you always underestimated the power of a small town. News here spreads faster than wildfire.” he grinned, resting his hands on your waist before your back hit the concrete. 

That night, when you layed on his chest and listened to his heartbeat, the puzzle pieces began to come together. Something did happen. Something that didn’t belong to Jungkook. You were raped and on very thin ice with your father who was ready to kick you out of the house if you didn’t oblige his threats. The ones that entailed getting rid of the baby, and clearing up the family name. But, you couldn’t bear to lose someone so close, so innocent. 

So, you didn’t. You hid the pregnancy from everyone. Of course, your mom knew but you didn’t want to risk getting her into trouble with your father, whose behaviour worsened with each fight. Completely unhinged, he couldn’t be stopped.

But, when he slammed you against the kitchen cabinet while you stood in front of your mother’s trembling body you finally felt it. The striking pain in your abdomen that travelled up your pelvis and into your back. The pooling of blood that rolled down your leg, marking your clothes with the loss of your baby. And every day since then, you wondered. Wondered what life would feel like without the constant longing to be whole again. 

“And, hey, thanks for this,” Jungkook teased with a sly wink, parading the dove necklace Mr. Kim gifted you for your graduation. 

“Give it back Jungkook, this isn’t funny.” you snapped, reaching for his hand before his hold on your waist tightened, pulling you in. 

“You stole something from me, now it’s my turn,” he rasped against your ear, nibbling on the soft skin. Inches apart, his heavy gaze flickered down to your lips. 

“Hmm, I haven’t swam in a while but I think I can make the team, right captain?” Jungkook glanced up, searching your furrowed expression. 

Unfortunately, he did make the team. If you couldn’t tell already, he was a crowd favourite. Always managed to get what he wanted, even with minimal effort. Simply put, life just seemed to work out for Jungkook. 

So, when the team went on to win the Nationals your coach decided to splurge and take everyone out for the weekend. Nothing special. Just a trip to the next town over. He rented a bus, but if you had a ride you could just meet everyone there. Sadly, both your mom and Mr. Kim were busy with work and Taehyung closed the door on you when you asked, so that seemed like a hard pass.

“Damn, Mr. Lim couldn't wait till sunrise?” your friend teased as the two of you waited by the school entrance. It was just shy of 7 am, but the sky was grey and foggy. 

“That's what I'm saying. I couldn't even sleep yesterday,” you scoffed, feeling the puffiness around your eyes. Something about the little getaway fueled your nervous system to stay alert the whole night. Was it excitement? Fear?Anxiousness? Only time will tell. 

“It's fine, in about 5 minutes we should already be hitting the road. And, hey, I brought the book you asked for,” she exclaimed, digging through her bag. 

“Nice! Fair warning though, I will be taking my beauty slumber as soon as we get on or else I might just die,” the two of you chuckled before collecting your stuff noticing the bus turn into the school parking lot. 

Heading up the stairs you were welcomed by an older gentleman. 

“Hel-” his words were cut off by the shouting outside. 

“Y/n!” 

“Sorry, could you excuse me for a second?” you giggled awkwardly, turning back to see who was making all that noise.

“Y/n, get in. I'll drive.” Jungkook urged with no hesitation, patting the passenger seat. 

“That's not necessary,” you scoffed, arms crossed over your chest. 

“That wasn't a question.” a sly grin covered his face. 

Parking his Mercedes in front of the bus, you looked back at the old man who was busy checking in the other students to notice Jungkook’s stubborn act. Well, shit. 

“Fine.” you muttered, ushering him to open the trunk.

As promised, you fell asleep almost immediately, suppressing the daunting feeling inside your chest. Jungkook didn’t mind, and kept as quiet as possible, reclining your seat before covering you with his jacket. It was better that the two of you didn’t speak. This gave him the perfect opportunity to look at you without being threatened. 

The drive was supposedly only 4 hours, but the rain lengthened the process. 

“Hhmm?” you flinched from the sound of hail hitting the glass window. 

“Sleep well?” Jungkook whispered, glancing at your drowsy eyes. 

“Yeah,” you muttered, stretching your back. 

“Are you hungry? We will have to stop at a motel, it’s too dangerous to drive.” 

“Alright. Let me just text Yuri then,” you said, unzipping your bag. 

“No need, I already let Mr. Lim know,” he winked, pulling into the parking lot. 

Mother Nature was pissed and decided to take it out on all of us. So, it wasn’t long until the two of you were drenched from head to toe. 

“Quickly, let’s go!” Jungkook exclaimed, grabbing your hand before locking the car. 

The place wasn’t brand new, per se, but it served its purpose. As soon as you walked in, you were welcomed by what could only be described as a parade of taxidermy deer heads mounted onto the wall with a complimentary coffee station by the corner. 

“I'll be right with you!” a female voice echoed from the back room. 

Glancing at the water dripping down your face Jungkook chuckled, pulling you in to wipe the excess with his sleeve. 

“You okay?” he hummed, levelling his head until your eyes met. 

“Cold,” you muttered, nibbling on your lip before turning him back towards the front desk. 

“Right, so sorry for the wait. What can I do for you, dear?” an older woman exclaimed with a soft smile. 

“Oh, no worries at all! We’re just looking for a room for the night,” Jungkook explained, pulling out his wallet. 

“Of course! Are you two a couple by any chance?” she giggled, dimples popping out on both cheeks as your mouth dropped. 

“Oh, n-” you scoffed before his glare pierced through you. 

“Shhh, let her finish, love,” 

“Well, it’s just that Saturdays are usually our couple specials. You get a 30% discount!” she clapped, admiring what you assumed she thought to be the epitome of young love standing in front of her. 

“Lucky us, then,” Jungkook clapped as well, inching your stiff body closer to make it more believable.

“Go us!” you smiled awkwardly, patting his chest before whispering something in his ear. Don’t get too excited. 

Placing a gentle peck on your forehead he grabbed the bags, following the sweet lady towards your room. 

“Alrighty, here it is! If you need anything I’m just a call away.” 

“Thank you!” the two of you said in unison, unlocking the door. 

One bed. 

“So, how is it?” Jungkook asked, laying out his jacket on the cabinet to dry. 

“You’re sleeping on the floor.” a teasing chuckle escaped your parted lips. 

“The rain will stop soon. I doubt we’ll even need the bed,” he said, running his fingers through his hair. 

“What? We wasted all that money for nothing?”  

“Well, first of all, I paid. And, we got a discount, remember?” 

“I'm sorry. I'll pay you back,” your gaze lowered from the sudden guilt, fingers fidgeting with your rings. 

“Are you kidding? I would pay triple to spend more time with you,” his tone was genuine, pupils dilated at your timid state. 

“Jungkook,” you whispered. 

“If only you knew how much I missed it,” he tilted his head back on the wall, nibbling on his lip ring. 

“What?” 

“Hearing you say my name,”

“I thought we hated each other,” you muttered, folding your hands over your chest.

“You did. I just loved the thrill of it,” 

You would be lying if you said that you didn’t miss it too. In hindsight, your feelings were always suppressed but obvious to the naked eye. To his eyes. However, just because you miss something, doesn’t mean you have to go back. Sometimes, the door is better off closed. Hidden deep in your subconscious mind, buried under a pile of broken promises. 

“I’m going to shower.” you blurted in a hurry, walking past him to avoid the thoughts running through your head. 

The water was cold no matter which way the faucet turned, so you had to be quick unless catching hypothermia was on the list of things Mr. Lim wanted you to experience over this trip. If so, then you were ahead of the game. 

Wrapping yourself with a towel you washed off your makeup, combing your hair with a detangling brush before getting startled by the swinging of the door, hitting your side. 

“Hey! I wasn’t done.” 

“Sorry, it’s cold,” Jungkook whined, welcoming himself in. 

“Did you try putting on a shirt?” you scoffed, eyeing his naked chest before his furrowed gaze caught you red-handed. 

“It’s wet, smartass. And, I didn’t want to put new clothes on before showering.” 

“Well, go stand over there and face the wall,”

“Are you shy?” he teased, leaning on the counter. 

“Well, I’m not comfortable.” you hissed, tightening the fabric around your body. 

“I’ve seen you naked plenty of times, y/n,” Jungkook grinned, eyes squeezed shut as if reminiscing the good old days. 

“You don’t have to remind me. I'll be taking that sin to the grave,” 

But it was too late. Lips inches apart, your chest heaved up from the intensity of his heavy gaze, eyeing your form from top to bottom. Tilting your chin with his fingers, he leaned closer. 

“We can’t,” you blurted, hands hovering over his chest. 

“No?” he glanced at your scattering eyes, pressing your palm against his burning skin. 

“What about Soojin?” 

“What about her?” 

“Seems like you guys were hitting it off pretty well,” you hissed, looking past his glare. 

“Meh … not my type,” Jungkook scoffed, eyes flickering down your lips.

“Oh, really?” 

“Why? Was y/n jealous?” he said with a sly grin, tracing his fingers up your thigh. 

“Soojin, is not your type? Ha! Hard to believe when she was all over you a few days ago.” your tone was low, annoyed at the whole thing. You were jealous. Fine. Whatever. Moving right along. 

“Hmm, is that so? Then what does that say about us? If I leave a trail of kisses down your neck, does that mean you're my type?” he whispered in your ear, pulling your body onto the counter before finding himself between your legs. 

“I'm not your type,” you chuckled, ignoring the obvious tension. 

“I could've been a dad by now and you're questioning if you're my type? Really?” Jungkook teased, resting his forehead on yours.  

“Jungkook, the baby wasn’t yours.” you said firmly, palms holding his face to make sure he was paying attention. 

“But, it was yours. And, what’s yours is mine. Isn’t that right?” he winked, fingers intertwined with yours. Then it happened. The long-awaited kiss. And, although you knew this wasn’t the best of your decisions, you didn’t mind revisiting this door, at least for the time being.

Until that night. The night in the forest. When a locked door was the only thing separating you and Jungkook. 

“Call him. Let's see if he actually cares,” you could see the grin smear across the man’s masked face, as your blood-shot eyes swelled with tears. 

Hands tied behind your back, you watched him press the call button, turning the phone towards you before resting his knife right under your chin. 

“Jungkook!” you cried out with a shaky voice.

Ring Ring 

“Oh, shit, where’s my phone,” Jungkook exclaimed, patting his pockets before reaching for the glove compartment. 

“What the fuck?”

His eyes widened. It was you. Rather, snapshots of you. One’s that he had no recollection of taking. But, they looked strange. As if you also weren’t aware of them being captured. 

Call from 647-568-0349. Call from y/n-ie❤️ 

An automated voice broadcasted through the speaker system set up in his garage.

“Y/n?” Jungkook yelled out, bolting towards the locked door. 

“Jungkook … please …” you whimpered, feeling the tip of the knife poke into your skin as your chest heaved up.   

“What the fuck? Why won’t it open?” Jungkook growled, fidgeting with the knob before banging on the wooden door. But, no one was home. 

“Please … please … pick up.”

Running back into his car, he turned on the engine, scattering eyes looking back at the empty driveway until the garage door began closing on its own. 

And within seconds, he was trapped. No way in or out. But, the engine was still on, running inside the confined space. Gaseous fumes slowly intoxicating the air he was forced to breathe. 

“Fucking hell.” Jungkook coughed, covering his mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie. 

“Please …” you kept trying, hoping to hear his sweet voice on the other line. Completely naive to the carbon monoxide that was now spreading through his lungs. 

“Help!” he cried out, feeling the tightness in his throat. 

“Jungk-” you gasped, widened eyes glaring back at the masked man. 

“Tsk … what a shame.” he sneered, ending the call abruptly before piercing through the phone.

“Oh, angel, it’s okay. We can wait if you wish. Hopefully, his lungs don’t collapse,” he rasped against your hair, cold touch sending shivers down your back as you felt your heart sink.

[crowleysgirl67]

Rescuing Romance

Author: @crowleysgirl67

Word Count: 661

Parings/Characters: Reader, Bobby, Buck, Hen, Chim, Maddie, 

Warnings: show warnings, broken bones, 

A/N: Thanks for reading!  

“9-1-1. What’s your emergency?”  

“I need fire and rescue and a couple of ambulances to 1515 Vista view court the medical tower. I’m currently hanging upside down by my leg on the twelve floor stairwell.”

“Ok ma’am can you tell me your name?”   

“It’s (Y/N) (Y/L/N). I’m a doctor, we had a patient have a psychotic break. Tried to throw me over the railing. I managed to wedge my leg in the bars. Definitely broke it but at least I'm not dead yet.”

“Ok (Y/N), I’m Maddie. Helps on the way. Where is the patient now?”

“I gave him a sedative right as he got me over the railing. I cant see him exactly but I’m pretty sure he was by the stairs when the sedative took effect. He might be on the landing on the floor below.”

“Alright. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“I don’t think so. I’m sure I’ll find out when the adrenaline stops.” 

“They’re arriving on scene now.”

Maddie stayed on the line with you until they arrived.

“LAFD; How’re you doin ma’am?” 

“Oh ya know, hanging in there.” you heard one of them fail to stifle a laugh “I’m Dr. (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“(Y/N) is it? I’m Bobby, we’re gonna get you out of there.”

“Cool, I’ve been here probably 20 minutes. I feel like a damn bat.”

Another poorly disguised snicker happens above you as Bobby, who you assume is their Captain, gives orders. Soon enough you’re being carefully hauled up and attended to.  

“How’re you doin?” the lovely lady who introduced herself as Hen asked.

“Eh, been better. Got a bit of a headache and my legs killin me. Which is about to get worse ain’t it?” you studied their faces.

“Yeah, sorry we’ve got to set this to be able to splint it properly.” the other one, Chim looked at you apologetically.  

“We can give you something for the pain.” Hen offers.

You shake your head, “No. I don’t take narcotics unless absolutely necessary.”

“So you’re just gonna do this, no pain meds?” the young one, Bobby called him Buck, asks incredulously.   

“Yup” you laid back as Hen stabilized your hips and Chim braced to put your leg back into place.

“Ready? We’ll do this on three.” Chim started.

You nod, “Let’s do it.” you took a deep breath.

Chim pulled on your leg and you ground your nails into the palm of your hand as you released a hiss of air. It hurt like a bitch. They splinted your leg as Buck looked at you wide eyed.

“Say what ya gotta say.” you looked up at him as you relaxed your hand.

“We just set your leg! No pain meds and you didn’t even make a sound!” he stared at you like you had two heads.  

You let out a weak chuckle, “Not my first rodeo.”

They loaded you onto the stretcher while Buck hovered asking all sorts of questions.

“Buck.” Bobby started. “Leave her alone and help with this gear.”

“Right uh sorry Cap.” he grimaced and began to gather gear to take down. 

 “I’m sorry, he can be a little enthusiastic.” Bobby addressed you.

“He’s alright, I don't mind. How's my patient?” 

“He’ll be fine, possible concussion but we’ve already handed him off to the ER downstairs.”

You nodded, “Well thank you for the rescue Captain I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome,” he nodded. He looked like he wanted to say more but didn’t want to intrude. 

You pulled a card from your pocket and scribbled your number on it before handing it to him, “Give me a call if you want to talk. You look like you do, and we both know you don’t have time while on duty.”

He took the card looking bewildered as you were wheeled away. He looked down at it before stuffing it in his pocket. He did have questions, maybe he’d give you a call after shift. 

[rippersz]

𝑷𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕

✩.･:｡≻───── ⋆♡⋆ ─────.•:｡✩

✩.･:｡≻───── ⋆♡⋆ ─────.•:｡✩

(A Jan Stevens x Fem!Reader ~3.3K Word Oneshot) (NSFW: Daddy kink; Bondage; Degradation; Slight corruption kink; Lewd language; Cock-warming; Orgasm-denial) (MINORS DNI)

✩.･:｡≻───── ⋆♡⋆ ─────.•:｡✩

She’s just… sitting there. Keeping her eyes on her documents and writing for so long you believe she’s slipped into some sort of workaholic coma.

Not even bothering to look up. Not even bothering to meet your mean frustrated glare.

“Did I say you could stop?”

Instantly you try to backchat, shooting for a mocking tone as you struggle against the binds holding you in place.

“DmPh M MpH yMPh GHmPhg tMpH?”

“I don’t speak ‘cloth gag’, darling. Try again.”

But you’re too wound up to listen, so you huff and roll your eyes and look down at your predicament.

If anyone came in, they’d be shocked and horrified and probably also very turned on by the sight.

Of you on your knees. In front of Jan Stevens’s desk. Legs spread. Beautiful red rope twirling around your skin, creating pretty boxy diamond designs before sliding back to bind your hands together behind you. Nude. And blushing. With a dark rolled up cloth tied around your head, tucked in between your lips, silencing your sass. And the magnum opus of Jan Stevens’s erotic design, the very thing that’s keeping you sitting there, swirling in and out of lust and irritation, the thing one’s eye is drawn to instantly: a thick silicone toy between your legs. Suctioned cupped to the wooden floor. Tall and inhuman, with a flared base and a large head and a big shaft and a good amount of lubricant and sex slicking the entire length of it. Making it shine in the dim light of Jan’s desk lamp.

It’s black, matching the eyeshadow of her makeup, and it’s annoying as the tip of it brushes over your clit, making you jolt.

You can’t escape it. Of course. That’s the entire point of her ‘lesson’. You’re forced to endure and take and be quiet while she gets her work done. Panting and sweating in the middle of the room, abdominal muscles clenching nearly painfully, thighs burning with the spread, cunt stretched and aching for some real action. Minding your own business and searching for a climax the two of you know you’ll never get.

That’s why she likes this game so much. Sitting there in her chair, smirking to herself whenever you let out a particularly pained whimper. Always trying to get her attention but never succeeding unless you’ve gone against the rules and stopped.

Which you have.

Which is what you’re doing right now - hovering above the fucking thing while you catch your breath and curse her with your eyes. She can feel you looking, but she doesn’t give you the satisfaction of her attention. Or her praise. Or her degradation. Or anything at all! It’s maddening! It’s torture.

And it’s pissing you off.

“Jan!” You try to bark at her, struggling more in your bindings, but it only comes out as a muffled “Hmpn!”

She doesn’t respond.

If you had the strength and energy, you’d get up. But you can’t. You’re tired and dripping sweat and the situation is so erotic that you wish you had some extra stimulation to send you over the edge. Having a cock in you isn’t enough. You need her hands, her pointed touch, her lips, her breath, her words.

You need Jan Stevens.

“Continue,” she says airily, distracted and uninterested and wholly engrossed in her work.

Oh damn you Jan Stevens.

You huff, roll your eyes, and after a minute of weighing the scales, finally sink down onto the toy again.

It’s pure bliss. And it feels good. And she knows that. She knows you like being filled up, feeling heavy with the pressure that spreads through your abdomen as the fake cock pushes into you. And she knows you won’t complain. Not really. Not when you enjoy how degrading it feels to slowly fuck yourself in a means so controlled. This is her design. She sits at her desk, yes, but she controls your pleasure.

“Faster.”

Just like that.

A growl bubbles up from your throat but you listen to her anyway - and your hips flex while you reach the base of the toy and grind your clit down against the silicone. It’s a soft stimulation, not nearly enough to make you cum, and it only frustrates you further. But you are nothing if not obedient, despite your irritation, so you roll your eyes and give her what she wants and fuck yourself faster. Lifting your hips and letting them fall while your muscles clench and relax. It’s a shame the head of the toy only barely brushes against that wonderfully pleasurable spot inside you. If you could angle yourself differently, and weren’t bound, it would sit right against it and make you see stars; but with the way your thighs are spread, all you can do is bounce.

It’s amusing to Jan Stevens - who continues her writing as soon as you resume your play. You notice the way her lip twitches in the light of her lamp. She’s beautiful from that angle. A cruel mistress. You want to crawl into her lap and demand kisses, but you were bad earlier. Touching what isn’t yours without even asking for permission… it was stupid to think you wouldn’t get caught. Jan has a sixth sense for nearly all things regarding you. It’s why security measures are put in place for times like these - times in which your mind is a little fuzzy and your body isn’t your own. The stop light check wouldn’t work here, not in earnest, so you decided on something a bit more abstract. If the discomfort got too strong, you’d hum a little jingle. She’s hard at work, yes, but she’s still listening. Always keeping half of her mind and heart open for you.

It’s a comforting thought.

It’s why you’re willing to endure.

“Faster.”

A whimper tumbles from your chest. The ache feels heavenly but going faster won’t get you anywhere. It only makes you warmer, hotter, more desperate for more pleasure.

But you like seeing her proud.

So you continue. Breasts bouncing with vigor and clenched hands falling open while your body moves at the sound of her commands. You go down to the base and don’t allow yourself to linger, instantly pulling up and using short fast thrusts to go down again. And up again. And down. And up. And god- it does feel good. So good. So- fuck.

“Hnh- hnh- hmmph-,” the noises are endless, forced out from your diaphragm while the toy just grazes the source of your pleasure - never hitting it in the way you want. Never making your body shiver, never making you double over and keen and pant and thrust your hips in the way you know you can when Jan is fucking you.

When her breath is hot at your neck and her hands are gripping your waist and her tongue is licking at your skin lazily. Lavishing you in her version of love as she moans into your ear and makes you whine around her fingers. Never fucking you quickly. Never giving you the rapture you truly desire. Always on edge, always cumming with permission, always a slow build and a deep bone-shaking fall. It’s a nice feeling, but you desire more. You are greedy for her true passion. You always have been.

“Stop.”

You stop. Your thighs shake. Your cunt clenches, tightening around the toy’s shaft. Slow and pleasurable. Your body’s way of trying to milk the faux-cock of any essence it can give you. Of any warmth.

The sound of a creaking chair has you looking up, and you watch with a fierce blooming hope as Jan Stevens slowly rises from behind her desk. The tips of her fingers press against the dark wood before she’s taking them away and gently dragging them along the edge - making your eyes run to the sensual sway of her body. Admiring with as much passion as you can while she takes her sweet time in getting to your side. Heels clicking slowly. Long legs oscillating with the small side to side of her hips. She looks glorious. Strong. Like your ending world and your burgeoning life. All wavy blonde hair and smokey eyes and rose red lips. Beautiful and evil and sexy and towering and dear gods you want her with a vicious hunger.

And you can tell she knows this by the shadowed look in her blue eyes. Full of a fiery lust and desire all her own. All for you. Looking at you like you’re nothing and everything all at once. Like you’re the answer to every question she’s ever had. And you watch as she kneels in front of you, pressing one knee to the floor and leaning on her other leg. It stretches the fabric of her skirt, but she doesn’t seem to care. All she’s interested in is you.

You, who looks at her with an endless amount of hope. So much of it you can see the way her lips part into a sweet proud placating smile as soon as her face lines up with yours.

You stare at each other until Jan tilts her head - and your chest heaves with a small husky whine. She’s proud of the sound; of the lust she’s inspired in you, and takes that time to drag her gaze over your body. Sweating, shivering, wrapped up like a present for her, hovering over a cock that’s far too big for you. Barely able to lift yourself off of it without collapsing down on it again. Sitting there even while the silence builds, looking at her like she can give you all you’ve ever wanted, cunt clenching around something that can’t fulfill you properly.

“You deserve this darling,” is the small coo that falls from her tantalizing red lips. “A punishment is always due for disobedience.” And then a pale hand is lifting from her lap to reach up and cup your jaw. You press into her hold, delighting in the slightly clammy feeling of her soft skin. It makes her expression soften. “You know that, don’t you?” High pitched and child-like, she mocks you.

And you want to say no. You want to demand that she give you the pleasure you so desperately want. But instead, just to appease (and gain her favor), you nod. Your eyes are brimming with frustration and desperation and a hint of sadness and fury and an overwhelming amount of lust for her - but still you nod. And Jan is delighted by that. Her eyes roam over your face, still held in her palm, before she’s letting her eyes linger along the length of your body. Over your breasts, your thighs, the pouch of your tummy, the red of the binding ropes, and finally - the heaven between your legs, shadowed by your bodies, holding her treasure. It sparks a streak of deep sadism in your lover, and she doesn’t hesitate to show you that.

“Mmm yes. Taking cock like a good girl, aren’t you?”

Her sudden low purr, warm and full of praise, makes your hips jolt. Skin goosebumped with surprise, you swallow a keen that begs to fall from your mouth. Yes, you want to say, Yes yes yes taking cock like a good girl for you Jan. But you’re gagged and you’re dumb and you can’t. So you wiggle your hips instead, cunt aching for release and clit twitching with desire. So hot and needy-

“Oh look at you,” Jan whispers, eyeing yourself like a bidder at an auction - greedy and intrigued. Utterly fascinated with your body’s responses to her words. “Just a bit of praise is all it takes hm? That’s all you need, little one?” And when you feel your mind melt, when you notice the retorts die on your tongue, your hold over yourself loosens - and your legs quiver as you go down again. A small gasp falls from Jan’s mouth, quickly morphing into a moan as she watches you close your eyes. “That’s a good pet. See?” Her tongue darts out to lick at her lips. “Not so bad, darling…”

Yeah, you think briefly to yourself, not bad. Not bad. So good, actually. Feels- hng- yes- good.

Jan leans closer. Until her mouth is lined up to the shell of your ear and her breath pours over the side of your face. Cascading down your sensitive neck. Teasing and predatory. She’s enjoying her control. She craves more.

“All you want is this, don’t you?” Your back arches, mind molding itself to her words. “All you want is me.” There’s no doubt. “All you want is my pleasure. To please me. Am I wrong?” She asks, faking the genuine interest in her question, knowing that you’ll shake your head and moan a soft ‘mmph-mmph.’ Her smile presses to your ear. “No. Of course not, darling. I’m never wrong. I always know what’s good for you. Don’t I?” But you’re too far gone to respond. Too obsessed with the way the cock presses into you - and it doesn’t even matter if it doesn’t hit that delicious little spot - it still feels nice. Still feels wonderful. Still could get you there if only Jan stays-

“HNGH!” Your eyes fly open, wide and watery and a little fearful of the sharp feeling that shoots from one side of your chest to the rest of your body.

You don’t even have to look down to know that Jan’s arm has wandered, and her hands have moved. From your jaw to her lap, and the other from her lap to your chest - evil in its path as two nail-polished fingertips wrap around your nipple and twist. Pulling slightly, moving until the skin folds and grows taught and you’re letting out a small screech from the back of your throat - staring at her like she’s just done something horrible.

But she hasn’t. Of course. She knows you.

Your cunt still clenches around the toy. Your clit still aches. Your body still thrums. Wet and desperate, you go a bit faster as she takes her hand away and growls:

“Don’t. I.”

You can’t even remember the question.

Doesn’t matter.

You nod anyway, and go ‘mhm! mhm!’ from behind your gag, nodding and agreeing - and then closing your eyes again, swiftly clawed over by the waves of euphoria that hit you whenever your thighs touch the floor and your pussy touches the base of the faux-cock.

Jan smiles.

“I know darling, I know. I’m so cruel, aren’t I?” She coos, tilting her head to the other side to watch your body move as you take her toy over and over and over again. “Does Daddy’s cock feel good, pretty girl? Hmm?” Her words slow down - affected by the entrancing show you’re giving her. “I know how much you like being filled,” Jan sighs, staring off into space as though she’s thinking, “so I just had to choose one of the largest ones. You understand, don’t you?” At this point, she knows you’re past the threshold of responding. Only able to take the words and convert them into sensation, dedicating your desire to her speech as your hands curl behind your back and your neck slowly falls to the side.

Yes. Yes feels good. Yes, thank you. Yes-

“Say ‘thank you’ Daddy.”

Oh GOD.

Your eyes flutter open, brows furrowed with the weight of your ecstasy while you meet her gaze. She smiles, sharp and clever. Still kneeling by your side, not touching you with anything but her accented voice and her gorgeous words and the small buzz of her proximity. So close that if you leaned forward, you could feel her.

“Say it.” Jan whispers. You watch her lips move. “Thank me for your punishment.”

“Hmph hm fhph mphu pnhmnt,” you speak meekly through the gag, blushing instantly at the small mewl that melodies your words. She knows what you’ve said of course, but that doesn’t stop her from putting on a fake pout and humming in disappointment.

“I didn’t understand that, little one. Can you repeat yourself, please?”

Your eyes turn wide and pleading, showing the fact that you’ve already had enough of her teasing and your attention is being taken away from your pleasure and you need to get back to being praised until the point of utter bliss-

But Jan Stevens doesn’t care.

“Now.” Her pout grows into a hard line and you whimper with the effort it takes to say your words again.

“Hmph hm fhph mphu pnhmnt!” You exclaim, hips twitching forward with frustration while you glare at her.

Red lips quirk up at the ends, pulling into a slow smile at your expense. Oh she loves this.

“My, how dirty,” Jan growls, her chest jumping with the smooth chuckle she lets out into the silence. “When did my little one hear those words?” Pale fingers go up to her heart, covering the expensive fabric of her shirt while she sucks in a sharp breath, eyes widening comically. “I never taught my darling how to say such depraved things. Where did you learn that, sweet girl?” You stay quiet and start moving your hips quickly again, sinking up and down on the toy while your muscles burn with the constant workout. “Hmm?” She shuffles closer - and then as quick as lightning, moves the hand from her shirt to the back of your head and fists your soft hair in her palm. Clenched between her fingers - before being tugged back. Making your neck snap back for her while she hovers over you and brushes red lips up against your ear. “Who taught you how to act like such a slut?” Jan hisses, teeth grazing your skin. “Who taught you how to pant like a bitch in heat?” There’s a pause while your eyes roll back into your head. “Because I don’t remember doing that, darling. I don’t remember corrupting you.” Then she pulls back, admires the flush of your skin and the sinful sounds that fill the room- of course coming from the wet slick of your cunt swallowing the toy. “Did Daddy do that?” She asks, pouting again. “Did Daddy ruin you with her cock? Hmm? Did Daddy fuck you so many times you became more whore than you did human? Is that it?”

It’s too many words. Too many good words. Too much pleasure and ache and need and lust and the way you can’t stop whining for her, your tongue pressing to the gag without thought, your throat and your body and your lungs and your thighs working over time, trying to get the point across that you need her- you need her so bad-

“Oh look at you,” Jan moans.

“Pathetic.”

And with a speed you can’t even comprehend, as mushy-brained and soft as you are, the chill of the room comes floating back to your body - hitting the front of you with a force that makes you shiver and release a loud, needy noise to try and get your lover’s attention. But she’s the cause of the problem. She’s stood up, taken one last look at you down her nose, and click-clacked her way back to her desk. Leaving you wet, blushing, staring after her with quivering lips and an abdomen that’s exhausted from the constant clenching and unclenching. Utterly speechless and a little confused and worried that she’s just going to keep you like this. But she won’t. She won’t. She’s just going over to grab her jersey and then she’ll collect you and you’ll walk back to the warmth of your bedroom and you’ll both drown in the passion you have for each other-

“Stop looking at me like that. Resume.” And her hand waves out flippantly while she takes a seat back into the rolly-chair behind her desk. And returns to her work.

Blonde hair lit up by the desklamp. Hunched over papers with a pen quickly scooped up into her hand. Silence again in the room.

And then she’s just… sitting there. Keeping her eyes on her documents and continuing her writing like nothing ever fucking happened.

Oh damn you Jan Stevens.

✩.･:｡≻───── ⋆♡⋆ ─────.•:｡✩

Grins so widely. - Rip x

✩.･:｡≻───── ⋆♡⋆ ─────.•:｡✩

[nrdmssgs]

Sorry but I NEED a happy ending for Nikto and that reader. An AU, What If, whatever, but I need fluff and happiness

Pieces of them

Masterlist

Part 1

Pairing: Nikto x f reader Angst\comfort Reader goes KIA

Thank you @amongthe141 for encouraging me for writing more for this guy, thank you to a very dear @atenceladusiaawfytbwb for reminding me about this story. @iwanncry @bogboyfriendbreadslice @sinner-sinta loves, sorry for bothering you, but just in case, you wanted a happy ending - here it is.

"Are you out or not? I don't have all night!" She laughs.

Nikto doesn't like it when she laughs - it feels as if someone tickles him from the inside.

"Dumb ritual," he mutters, taking a step outside and facing dark night skies.

"Anything, I come up with is dumb, of course." Her voice is calm and unbothered by his commentaries. "Now tell me, which one do you see?"

He lifts his head. Usually he manages to recognize two, or at best three, constellations. But today he is almost going blind from the brightness of the myriad stars. They are so large that it seems that he can reach some of them with his hand.

Niktos breath catches in his throat. Why didn't he notice this before? Why didn't he see all these stars hovering right above his head? The night sky became so wildly mesmerizing, since...

"Hello, it seems you are trying to reach me, while I'm deployed. Leave your message, and I'll call back after an ungodly amount of sleep, hot shower and a few decent meals. Bye!"

He winces. Just recently, she called him every evening and forced him to go outside before bed and tell her at least two constellations that he could see above his head. Recently. Or maybe it was a million years ago, in a past life? Or did this not happen at all? Maybe he made her up?

Nikto shakes his head. Her voice, pre-recorded for the inbox, is not a figment of his imagination. And this sky above is unusually bright, but still real. He raises his head, covers his mouth and howls in horror and pain.

***

The worst thing is that there's even no body left to bury. She was confirmed to be KIA, yet Nikto couldn't even say goodbye.

First he waited by her door. Like a dog on a leash. Scared and desperate. Like a beggar. Hopeless.

He wrote her, he wrote so much, but never got an answer. So Nikto ran away, not being able to spend one more night at her doorstep, waiting for nothing. Ever since, he was on the run, chasing the last traces of her. He barely slept or ate and just drove from one hospital to another, inspecting their list of deceived soldiers.

Nikto deserved that last goodbye. Even if her body was all deformed, even if there were just a few bones left - it was still better than chasing her pre-recorded voice every evening and suffocate himself to not howl at the moon.

His squadmates try to reach out to him, buts it's no use - Nikto ignores their calls and doesn't bother reading messages. He keeps chasing her ghost and that is all that matters.

Until one day he stumbles upon König himself at one of the hospitals. Nikto notices a printed list of names in his hand and pulls it harshly, almost tearing the paper apart.

"She's not there."

Nikto ignores Colonels words and goes through the list, quietly muttering names. Only to find out, that König is right.

A crumpled piece of paper flies into the wall, to the displeasure of the head nurse. The Colonel picks it up, carefully straightens it and places it back on the counter.

"We are not ok about her fate, just as you. We can search together, An-"

"Shut up! I'm not searching just for a squadmate, not trying to lighten my conscience! You don't know who she was! Even she didn't..." Nikto stops himself in the middle of the sentence. He knows, It's wrong to vent his anger to the Colonel, who did nothing wrong in the first place.

***

König starts sending Nikto strange addresses: they switch from military hospitals to the organizations helping war survivors. The search becomes much more complicated, because many people, who end up in such facilities, have no IDs. So Nikto has to visit each ward and have long talks with nurses.

It drains his last bits of energy, so when he hears 'we actually have someone fitting your description', he doesn't even react right away. Nikto nods automatically, stands up and stops only at the doors.

"Wait, there is someone?" He rushes back and nearly knocks the nurse over.

Grabbing her hands, he barely whispers 'please, let me see, just one glance, please' with his white, dry lips.

He expects to be escorted to the basement, where the morgue is usually located, but is taken to the common room. A few people slowly walk along it with absolutely lost faces. But Nikto doesn’t look at them - his gaze rests on the painfully familiar profile. Her face.

Eyes tired and faded. Her skin is pale, her hair is very short, and there is a long and voluminous scar on the head. Nikto notices that she is shaking.

“She’s cold. Do you have warmer clothes or a blanket here? I’ll pay for anything!” He turns and meets the sympathetic gaze of the nurse. Irritated, he knocks on the glass door. Several people turn to look at him, but she doesn't pay any attention.

"Sir, I'm afraid you don't quite understand the situation correctly. She experienced clinical death, woke up from a coma. These tremors are not from the cold." After these words, Nikto already feels his hands getting colder.

He begs the nurse to let them speak. "A minute, just a minute!" But she leads him away from the room.

"Sir, she needs to be prepared for any meeting. Meanwhile, we will need some documentary evidence of your affiliation. We have to protect our patients from any illegal encounters."

For a split second Nikto imagines, how long would it take him to push her to any room on their way and block the door, so he can run back. But he shakes his head, banishing the mental image.

He patiently listens and even writes down, what documents he has to provide. He covers his own mouth, when the voices inside line up in the choir, asking him to scream.

***

Nikto fights for a single chance to talk to her, as if his life depends on it: despite his anger, he contacts König, asks for a help with forging required papers, he takes his own meds religiously, fearing to harm her otherwise.

He counts minutes, till he can hold her hand, just make sure, it is really her. Alive.

When he is finally allowed to talk to her - the nurse asks Nikto to wait, while she makes sure, the patient is ready. He stands awkwardly in the doorway, as the nurse sits on the bed next to her and tells her something softly.

In a few minutes she nods and the nurse walks past Nikto. "No sudden moves, keep your voice down. She gets scared easily. There will be personnel right behind her door," she whispers and leaves them alone.

Nikto walks around the bed and finally sees her: a mere shadow of a warrior, an almost lifeless shell, curled up, hugging her knees. Words roll up in a lump in his throat, and he just descends on his knees, trying to meet her lost gaze.

At first, she hides her eyes, as if not looking at him would make him not existing in her world. Nikto cant believe, this is all that left of the smiling, lively, skillful amazing her. His hand raises to the huge, ugly scar on her head automatically, but she catches him and shakes her head in a silent plea.

"Of course. I-I`m sorry, I won't touch... Of course, I won't. I'm so sorry." His voice is just a tad louder than a whisper.

Feeling, that his voice is shaking, Nikto takes a deep breath and looks her in the eyes. He wants to tell her so much, every cell in his body begs to hold her, cover her with a blanket, warm her. But he knows better than to stress her with too much information or questions or contact. He's been reading days and nights now about her current state. That's why Nikto just sits before her, staring into her face.

She reaches out to his cheeks, and he wakes from his stupor.

"My face must be scary. I brought a mask, but they said, it might scare you even more." Nikto shows her the mask, but she pushes it away and rests her hands on his face. It's only when her fingers touch his skin - he realizes, his cheeks, chin and neck are wet with tears.

He tries to get a grip on himself, but her touch crushes the last bit of self-control, he had. Tears keep running down his face as she cups it with all the care of this world.

"They will come. They will come. They will come. They will come." At first, he doesn't make anything from the words, leaving her lips. He is so shocked by her tenderness, that he is afraid to move or talk back.

She brings him closer and closer, until she hugs Nikto, clinging to him desperately and repeating 'they will come'. Only when her face hides on his shoulder, Nikto masters a simple question.

"Who will come? You're waiting for someone?"

She keeps muttering the same mantra, but points at a bed drawer. Nikto hesitates for a few long minutes, not wanting to scare her off by a sudden movement.

He reaches out and opens the drawer, which appears to be full of... pieces of paper. He hugs her back with one hand and takes a handful of pieces with the other.

Several pieces of paper fall to the floor with a dry rustle. Nikto squints his eyes at the remaining pieces of paper and freezes. A star map. Torn into tiny pieces. Their nightly ritual has survived everything - even death.

Maybe she didn’t remember him, maybe she didn’t remember what exactly they did in the evenings, but this starry sky, even in the form of a map, remained with her as small pieces of hope. Pieces from which she assembled him and herself.

Nikto opens his palm, letting the remaining paper fall on the ground, and hugs her with both hands finally. He finally finds the right words for her.

"We've come for you, love."

[lilyevansxoxo]

for @wolfstarmicrofic / january prompt n.3: first time meeting the family (772 words) AO3

In the summer after their sixth year, Sirius pays Remus a visit. Lupin’s cottage is a white dot in the midst of the endless greenery, which blends with their rubble-walled garden. Sirius had never seen so much nature all at once. It was different from what he was used to seeing in Scotland, harsh and sublime. This—the earthy smell seeping up and all around him, the clement warmth of the sun, the distant buzz of bees and nameless insects, as he walked up to the yellow front door—felt like a hug.

He knocks on the door, at the faded speck of paint, and waits with his hands folded behind his back, mustering up his most perfect shit-eating grin.

It's a surprise, his visit. Remus had sent him a letter a week prior, mentioning his low morale since his mother Hope had fallen even more sick within a week of returning home from Hogwarts.

From inside the house, a rustling of paper, something heavy falling to the ground, a curse said sottovoce, socked steps—then the door opens to reveal a quite shocked Remus.

Sirius spreads his arms wide. “Surprise!”

Remus opens and closes his mouth dumbly. “Sirius? What–what are you doing here? Is everything alright?”

“I just wanted to pay a visit,” he simply says, tilting his head, “you know. I thought you’d like some company or a bit of help, since your mother’s sick.”

Remus’ mouth formes an ‘o’, then his expressions grows pleased. “Come, come inside,” he encourages him in after clasping a hand on his shoulder.

The house is cozy and cram-full with furniture and knick-knacks. The living room’s ceiling is lined with wooden joists, a simple lighting fixture hovers above the small table at the far end of the room, where Hope sits. Sunlight dances on her skin, exacerbating its paleness, as the curtains gently move with the breeze coming from the open window.

Sirius smiles, tight-lipped, and gives her a nod. “Good afternoon, Mrs Lupin.”

She doesn’t respond but her expression grows more confused, eyes vacant.

“Get your shoes off and leave them there on the steps,” Remus says, before he reaches his mother’s side.

Sirius does as he’s told. He sits on the carpeted stairs in front of the entrance door, works on the laces of his combat boots, struggles to get them past his heels, then neatly places them beside him.

He tries not to snoop at the hushed voices coming from the other side of the house. He stands up and remains there, wedged between the console table and the coat hanger, and wonders if, all things considered, it was a good idea coming unannounced. A familiar sensation of unease creeps up his spine to the back of his neck. He grows tense, mind reeling.

“Sirius,” Remus beckons him to his mother’s side.

Sirius crosses the room with quick steps until he stands in front of them.

“Mum, this is Sirius Black. I’ve mentioned him a few times before,” Remus says, articulating his words.

Hope looks at him then slowly turns to Sirius, who extends his hand.

“It’s a pleasure, Mrs Lupin,” he says.

Hope shakes it weakly, cold palm against his own warm one. The ochre cardigan draped over her shoulders slips down with the motion. She whispers something but Sirius can’t make out her words. Still, he smiles.

Remus repositions the cardigan over her shoulders and places a hand on her arm. “We’ll be out  in the garden, okay?”

After her approving nod, Remus leads Sirius through the kitchen—copper pots and pans hang along the stove hood, a red teapot sits on a turned-off burner, the stone sink is filled with food-encrusted plates, rags everywhere—and out the backdoor.

They silently sit on the stone steps, socked feet buried between the blades of grass.

“Your father?” Sirius asks, after a while.

“He’s at work for most part of the day. He takes care of her in the evening,” Remus says, then his shoulders suddenly sag. “It’s the pain meds.” His voice is almost a whisper as he speaks to the space before him. “They’re quite strong, that’s why she’s like that.”

Sirius lifts his head. He doesn’t say anything as he places a hand on Remus’ back. The fabric of his vertical striped shirt wrinkles under his palm. 

Remus turns to him, teary-eyed. And Sirius’s heart breaks.

“Thank you for coming here.” Remus nudges Sirius with his shoulder. “Can I give you a hug?”

Sirius nods, smiling, snorting a little at the ridicolous request. “You shouldn’t even ask,” he says and envelopes a sniffling Remus in his arms.

[sunshinebingo]

@gwynrielweeksofficial Day 5 - Domestic Life

Synopsis: Gwyn finds comfort in the arms of Azriel after she has a nightmare.

Word Count: 800

Read on Ao3

Deep breath in through the nose. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. Now out through the mouth. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. Deep breath in through the nose. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. Out through the mouth. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6.

The fog in her mind slowly dissipated. Gwyn heard the faint echoes of Azriel’s voice rising above the pounding of her heart.

Deep breath in. And out. Deep breath in. And out.

She registered his voice guiding her through it before she felt him close to her. She reached out a hand towards where she knew his was waiting, hesitant to touch her lest he made things worse. Azriel knew where her mind had brought her to. There was only one nightmare that could cause Gwyn to scream and beg the way she had been doing a few minutes ago. Her cries had been loud enough to travel through the walls that separated their respective bedrooms in the House of Wind.

Gwyn turned on her side and, with her eyes still closed, grabbed Azriel’s hand with both of hers. The familiar ridges of his scars and his voice reminding her to breathe slowly cleared her head until the phantom touch of rough hands on her body was completely gone.

“You are safe Gwyn,” his deep voice wrapped her and warmed her better than the thin blanket that half covered her.

Azriel brushed away the strands of hair that had escaped her bun and stuck to her sweaty forehead with his free hand before lowering it to her face to wipe away her tears.

“You are in the Night Court, in your bedroom in the House of Wind. You are safe.”

He was right. She wasn’t in that wretched kitchen nor with those monsters anymore. But it wasn’t so much the reminder of the place that she was currently in that reassured her the most. Gwyn couldn’t care less at this moment in what court or what house she was at. What meant the most to her was the person who was now with her. It was those scarred and infinitely gentle hands in hers and caressing her face. It was that voice that had pulled her out of her nightmare. It was his shadows that she knew, even with her eyes still closed, were swirling around her like a shield of darkness. It was that steady and comforting presence that had helped her then, and which was still here for her now.

“Azriel?”

He immediately moved closer at the sound of his name hesitantly coming out of her lips. It pained him to hear the remnants of fear in her voice.

“Can you hold me?” she asked even as she started gliding closer to him.

Azriel would do anything to help her and he obviously would gladly start with that. He pulled his hands away and wrapped his arms around her as he lied down and pulled her closer. Gwyn placed both of her hands on his chest, delighted for the fact that he was shirtless so that she could soak in the warmth radiating from his bare skin.

“Is there anything else I can do?”

She did not need anything else but him holding her. Nothing could make her feel better. Except maybe one thing.

“Hold me tighter,” she said, rubbing her nose on his skin and inhaling his unique scent.

Azriel tightened his arms around her and pulled her even closer.

“Tighter.”

He repeated the gesture. He didn’t stop, squeezing her tighter and tighter until the sound of her giggle pierced a hole in the heaviness that had been hovering in the air.

“Not too tight, Az. I don’t want to run out of air,” she said, her voice slightly muffled from her face being pressed against his chest.

Some of his shadows left the cocoon they had made around them to dance across her neck and shoulder. Azriel chuckled as he loosened a little of his strong hold on her.

The lingering fear from Gwyn’s nightmare vanished with the heavy sigh that she let out once Azriel figured out the perfect way to hold her.

“Just like that. Can you hold me a for moment?”

Azriel kissed the top of her head before resting his own there. “I will hold you for as long as you want me to.”

Gwyn smiled. Her nightmare might have shaken her but it did not matter. She was safe and she was not alone. Nothing could break her. And when she was in the arms of the Shadowsinger, nothing could scare her either.

[itsnotamatterofif]

Hi anon!!! Thank you so much for this, I went with the opportunity to write some Belle/Slick - they’re actually adorable, tsundere/tsundere couple that hate each other in the streets and are so loving and cosy in the sheets. This is just a short little thing, and Belle isn’t massively sick, but I hope you enjoy the sleepy cuddles!

“So, uh, what did you want me to do?”

Belle is curled up in her lap, looking smaller than ever, and Slick has never felt quite so out of her depth.

It was a bit unexpected, the affection of the sleeping car, especially in the days following the final and the unveiling of Slick and Greaseball’s schemes, but she’s not exactly ungrateful. After all, she was more than happy to oblige Belle’s shy gifts, flirt and chase after her when those enticing walls went up, and provide chaste kisses when the rest of the yard isn’t looking. Teasing and flattering is second nature - she’s had three older brothers to learn from, after all, only one of whom has ever been successful - but actually walking the walk has been… challenging.

Belle is not communicative at the best of times, too fatigued or slumbering to properly phrase what she wants, and although Tassita and Dinah have learned her tells by heart, they’re not so clear to Slick. That was how she knew this wasn’t just another brief fling to keep her trucking along; she was more mad at herself for expecting Belle to show up for a date during an unexpected nap time than she was at Belle for having an unexpected nap, which, by her books, was a first.

So now, she’s here, sat leaning against the wall of her bay in the freight shed with a somewhat pale looking Belle in her lap, curled up like a cat with her face occasionally scrunching up in discomfort. Struggling through her heavier than usual fatigue, she had explained that she just had to be deep cleaned from a sick passenger, and cleaning always made her feel vertigo; the coach shed was too quiet, the yard was too loud, and although she could think of other places, the smell of the freight shed was apparently dingy enough to distract her, and Slick wasn’t exactly going to say no.

In the warm yellow light of her bay, Belle looks even worse. She shifts slightly in rest, face falling into shadow as she rolls over away from the LED strips that Slick has rigged into the crannies of the walls, and Slick can’t help but hate the part of her that is genuinely concerned for Belle. She knows she’ll be fine, this is just typical passenger car dramatics, but the sickly lilac flush that has spread from Belle’s face down to where her skin meets frame definitely does not look good. Unfortunately, the other part of her, the part that isn’t actively hating herself for experiencing feelings, desperately wants to provide comfort, but neither part has absolutely any idea how to do that.

“Just stay still,” Belle mutters, muffled from where her face is pressed into the crook of Slick’s neck, “the more you move, the closer I get to my wiring snapping.”

As if on cue, something fizzles and groans from Belle’s chassis, and Slick feels eyebrows furrow against her neck.

“Alright,” Slick huffs, trying to make sure at least a little bit of performative annoyance bleed through, “I guess I’ll just sit here then.”

If Porter or Lumber walk in now, she’s toast. At least she can blackmail Hydra.

Seconds stretch into minutes into hours, Belle shifting once or twice again so she’s fully in Slick’s lap, and Slick kind of wants to chuck her off and call the whole thing a sham. It’s downright unfair how cute Belle is all cuddled in, ragged breaths becoming even and heavy eyelids finally fluttering shut. By her sides, her arms feel restless, useless, and every now and then she holds her hands up to stretch out her fingers. Really, she wants to wrap her arms around Belle, hold her tightly until the pain and the nausea passes, but then her hands hover above Belle’s middle for a second before she lets them fall limply to her sides again. Maybe Belle doesn’t watch to be touched - Slick knows how sensitive she is, and the last thing she wants to do is make her jump-

“You can hold me, you know,” Belle suddenly grumbles, almost as if she’s annoyed Slick hasn’t yet, and Slick can’t help the heat that prickles along her cheeks like needlepoint, “I would like that.”

“Well excuse me for not assuming,” Slick hisses, rolling her eyes as she wraps her arms around the coach; she’s soft from the velvet of her frame, warm and pliant in Slick’s arms as she scoots in to let Slick loosely hold her close. Belle is a comforting weight against her chest, and the feeling of her breath on Slick’s jaw is almost electric.

“I guess I’m grateful,” Belle mumbles, somehow sounding even more drowsy than a second ago, “when it’s just us, you- you don’t have to ask to hold me, got it? Just-“ she’s cut off by a yawn, and Slick can’t help but feel one of her own beginning to form- “everything you still need to ask for, but I guess I like it when you hold me.”

Slick is extraordinarily thankful Belle cannot see the heat in her cheeks.

“I think I’m going to sleep,” she continues, and Slick can’t help but squeeze her tightly, “wake me up before sunset, otherwise the others will ask where I’ve been.”

“You know I’m not your personal alarm clock, right?” Slick argues, but she can’t will up any of her usual bite, and Belle seems to take no notice as, within seconds, the sound of her faint snoring fills the bay. It’s quiet, almost adorably so, and absolutely addictive in its rhythm as Slick fights against her own eyes closing.

At least there’s no one around to see the small kiss she places on the crown of Belle’s head, and there’s definitely no one around to call her out if she rests her eyes for a second.

Who’s going to know?

[newwritergirl]

Starting over | Part 12

Masterlist

This is the new part of my TopGun fic. You can once again skip this part, if you don't like steamy filthy smut. There's no important plot, so you can wait for the next chapter. No problem!

MINORS DNI!!! This is pure smut!

Summary: The three have a steamy time in the shower. No plot, just smut!

Trigger warnings: pure smut! 18+, minors DNI! piv (wrap it before you tap it! this is fiction), some dirty talk

Word count: 2.2k +

A/N: Please let me know if my choice of words is wrong or embarassing, English is not my first language and this is my second smut writing and I want to encrease my writing constantly. Thanks for all the support!

Strong arms are enveloping y/n from behind. In the past it would have made her flinch, a man hovering above her always meant incoming pain or at least a threat. But nowadays it makes her whole body fill with a warmth, lets her shiver, pure tender electricity is spreading through her body.

“What are you doing, cupcake?” Jake graces the shell of her ear as he lowers his head to softly kiss her neck. His plump lips on her delicate neck make moan and wiggle in his arms.

“Jakey, it’s my turn to cook dinner for us, so hop under the shower, you’re smelling like jet fuel and sweat.” Y/n turns around and looks up at the blonde aviator who is still in his flying suit. To see her boyfriends in their flying suits or in their uniforms is always a sight for sore eyes. She absolutely adores them in their work attire.

“We thought you could join us in the shower. Let’s order some food later…” Jake hoists her up as if she weights nothing and sits the squealing woman on the kitchen counter. He opens her legs as wide as he can with her still wearing her pencil skirt. With a firm grip he grabs her delicate hips and nuzzles his head in the crook of her neck, softly sucking on her sensitive spot above her collarbone.

“Rooster is already waiting in the shower to get it warm for our girl.” He tells her between kisses and soft love bites.

“Two naked aviators all wet and soapy? Show me the way Lieutenant Commander Seresin.”

Her answer makes him grin devilishly. “That’s the answer I needed to hear. But first let’s get rid of this skirt and blouse of yours. As much as I like to see you in this sexy pencil skirt and the blouse, we need you naked…”

---

The shower spray feels like a warm blanket on her skin. She can’t help but let out a small whimper as she feels strong hands massaging the flowery shampoo into her hair, short nails scraping over her head occasionally. She buries her head into the warm and wet chest of the brunette aviator in front of her when Jake starts to wash out the foam which surrounded her silky hair. To be in the shower with both her boyfriends feels so intimate, the vulnerability of being naked wet and huddled into the space of the shower isn’t as intimidate as she feared. She feels so safe with Jake and Bradley.

Y/n starts stroking Bradley’s abs up and down and places soft kisses on his muscular chest. His heartrate picks up as the touch of her small hands nearing his already hard member. Behind the smaller woman Jake completes his task to wash his girlfriend’s hair. His hand now wandering down her neck and further down to the swell of her breasts. When his strong hands stroke over her sensitive nipples she shudders and buries her head once more into Bradley’s chest.

“Are you cold, baby?” Jake whispers into her ear “Should we make the water warmer?”

She can’t form a coherent sentence right now, the feeling of both aviators touching her naked and wet body almost too much for her. She looks up at Bradley when she lets her hands wander further down to cup his big cock, giving him a stroke with her hands. To steady himself he reaches out and grabs Jake’s shoulders and hisses as y/n starts to fist him a bit tighter. The blonde aviator enjoys the play of his partners in front of him. He’s still intrigued with their whole situation. He and Rooster love the same girl, not only sharing a house but sharing a bed, sharing the same love for this gorgeous woman in front of him. And still he doesn’t feel a whiff of jealousy, not even now when both of them are making out heavily. Actually watching the two is making his heart swell even more, well not only his heart. He’s just as hard as Rooster, nearly painfully hard and heavily aroused watching the small woman stroking Rooster’s remarkable cock. The same cock he tasted days ago.

After giving y/n’s nipples one last pinch he lets his hands wander down further. Her body is so warm because of the hot water of the shower. He needs to feel her, wants to feel her clenching on his fingers, hear her whimper when he strokes her sensitive clit. Jake presses his chest flush to the woman’s back to get better access to her sweet folds.

“Can I make you feel good, sweet girl? Can I get you ready for Bradley? I think he wants to feel you today, your tightness…” She leans her head on the broad chest behind her and closes her eyes as she feels Jake’s fingers stroking over her aroused folds. Her heart nearly stops when she suddenly feels Bradley’s mouth sucking her right nipple, his mustache scraping over her breast sends electricity through her body.

“You’re already so wet, baby.” The blonde aviator whispers into the woman’s ear as he teases her wet entrance. Without warning he inserts two fingers into y/n’s tight pussy. Her knees buckle at the intense feeling. Fortunately his other arm has a strong hold on her upper body and prevents her from tumbling down. To steady herself y/n reaches out and grabs the bulging biceps of the man in front of her, her nails digging into his flesh. Bradley enjoys the view of Jake fingering their girlfriend. With her eyes still closed she clearly savors the feeling of the blonde aviator’s fingers inside her.

“Jaaake…” Y/n shouts, her voice echoing in the big master bathroom. Jake takes her cry of pleasure as a confirmation to go a bit faster, his pointer and middle finger stretching her tight entrance further his thumb slowly rubbing circles over her swollen clit.

“You want to feel Bradley’s cock inside of you, baby? Look at him, how he enjoys your sexy view. Open your eyes, baby. Let him see your beautiful eyes.”

Y/n opens her eyes to see the brunette aviator pumping his raging cock, looking directly into her eyes. He bends down and captures her upper lip, softly sucking and biting it before his tongue requests entrance. They kiss grows passionately as Jake’s fingers still plunging into her soft folds, hitting her G-Spot occasionally. He feels her tighten and clenching around his fingers but before she has the chance to come on his digits he stops his actions. She was so close but he stops, her eyes fly open, her ass bumping into his crotch out of frustration.

“Nah nah nah, baby. I want you to come on Rooster’s cock. You ready to feel him?” Jake teasingly says, clearly pleased with y/n’s desperate reaction.

“Please, Bradley. I need you…” She grabs his cock in a firm painful hold, showing him how badly she needs him right now.

“So needy our girl. Come on, princess. Let me feel you. Want to feel how wet you are for me.” Bradly cups her ass with his hands and gives her the go to jump up on him. Jake supports her from behind and helps the smaller woman to hop onto the taller aviator in front of her. She locks her legs around Rooster’s hips, feeling his hard cock poking her lower belly. When he’s sure that she’s not in danger to fall down, he releases one hand from under her bum and grabs his big cock and slowly rubs the head up and down y/n’s aroused sex. She starts to rock back and forth, desperate to feel his member inside of her.

“Easy girl. We don’t want you to get hurt.” Jake tries to calm her down when he tightens his grip on her hips to steady her a bit more, afraid she would fall down with her rocking.

Bradley teases her entrance with the swollen head of his member and turns them both around so that her back is now at one of the tiled shower walls. When the cold tiles touch her back she lets out a squeal which turns instantly into a long moan when Bradley finally sinks into her. He gives her some time to adjust to his size. Her head falls onto his shoulder her mouth agape when small whimpers leaving her wet lips.

Jake takes a step forward to be nearer to his both partners, his painfully hard cock in one of his hands.

“Bradley, more. Please more.” She instructs between moans and whimpers. She wants to feel him completely inside her, like she felt Jake days ago. Rooster tightens his grip on her hips once more as he lets himself sink deeper into the woman in front of him. His eyes squeeze shut unable to hold the whine that leaves his throat. Warm water runs down his muscular back but all he can feel is the sensation of y/n clenching around his member. She feels so warm and tight and her small moans are driving him wild. He starts to thrust in a slow and steady rhythm, feeling Jake beside him stroking his back. Y/n’s legs tighten around him as he finds the right angle to thrust into her.

“You’re so big. Oh my God, please Bradley right there.” Y/n sputters as the brunette aviator hits the sensitive spot inside her. The cold tiles on her back with the warm water coming out of the shower head and the strong thrusts from Bradley are creating a mixture of explosive feelings. Her body starts to shudder and she gently bites into Bradley’s shoulder.

Jake sneaks one hand between both his partners and starts to fondle with y/n’s breasts, pinching and rolling her nipples with his fingers. His other hand furiously fisting his cock.

“Fuck y/n. You’re taking me so good. Oh Jesus…” Bradley picks up the pace, the sight of the young woman so aroused and nearly able to speak and his partner beside him stroking his cock and playing with the young woman’s sensitive nipples makes him feral.

“You look so sexy, y/n. I want so see you come, I want to see both of you come. Come for me.” Jake moans as his hand release y/n’s nipples, just to wander further down to touch her sensitive clit.

Her moans growing louder and she tries to bounce faster on Bradley’s cock. Over and over he hits her sweet spot, chasing his own orgasm relentlessly, but restrains himself a bit more. He wants to come with her, feeling her clenching on his cock, milking him while she shatters from her orgasm.

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop Bradley.” Y/n shouts as she feels her own orgasm not too far away. Her back arches away from the cold tiles when she starts to shudder. Her hips buck at the sensation of Bradley’s huge member inside of her and Jake’s hand circling her clit. She feels so full and stimulated. Bradley feels her clenching on him more, biting his shoulder so hard he’s sure it will leave a mark. But he doesn’t care, the only thing he wants is to make their girl feel good.

Y/n sees stars she feels the tight knot in her stomach exploding. Her vision grows white when the earth shattering orgasm hits her. She feels Bradley pumping into her, feeling his member switch his whole body shuddering but never loosen his grip on her hips. Jake comes with them, hitting Bradley’s thigh with his hot cum. He stops the gente circling around y/n’s clit as to not overstimulate her further.

Bradley nearly can’t catch his breath as he slowly comes down from his high. His heart is beating so fast in his chest like if he had run a marathon.  He feels the body of the woman in his arms go limp and with the help of Jake he sets her down on her feet. Her knees buckle and he cradles her small shaking body in his arms, kissing the top of her head.

Jake turns off the water which is already cold by now and hurries out of the shower to get towels for him and his partners but especially for y/n who seems to be out of it once more.

When he comes back, having a big fluffy towel in store, he sees his partner still cradling and holding up the limp body of the smaller woman.

“Let’s wrap her up in the towel and lay her down in your bed.” Bradley suggests a bit concerned that she once again is not really responsive.

---

Y/n’s eyes slowly flutter open as she feels herself being carried out of the bathroom. “Roo-y?”

“Hey, princess. You’re okay. Let’s rest a bit in Jakey’s bed okay? You fainted on us again.”

Bradley gently places her body on the soft mattress of the blonde pilot’s bed. When she feels the mattress dips beside her she instantly snuggles into the man laying down next to her.

“That’s so embarrassing. I’m sorry…” She hides her face in Bradley’s chest.

“Hey, look at me.” He tilts her head to look her in the eyes. “That’s not embarrassing. We’re just concerned when you pass out on us. Maybe we’re too eager, too intense or rough with you, I don’t know…”

“No, please… It was so earth shattering, so good like the first time. You two make me feel so good. Please never stop to make feel this way…” Y/n kisses the brunette pilot to make sure he knows how good she feels after having sex with them.

@djs8891

@megalony

@darksparklesficrecs

[sorceresssundries]

Gale sketches by @orangekittyenergy <3

CHAPTER 2 (of 2)

Link to chapter 1 here

Pairing: Gale x Fem Tav

Summary: Set post-game where Tav did not feature in Gale's troubles in Baldur's Gate. A whip-cracking, fedora wearing, Indiana Jones inspired mini-adventure - where Professor Dekarios is tempted out of the classroom, and on yet another perilous quest.

Warnings: THIS IS NSFW! *blares smut horn* Plot with smut. But, you have been warned.

Word Count: 3.9k

A/N: Just a bit of a fun based on the Gale as Indiana comparisons. Also, he looks like a young Harrison Ford, how could I not? This is not the stuff I'm used to writing! But it's been enjoyable and nice to try something new.

Elltavia’s senses were prickling again, whatever was buried in the remains of this temple was beating like a rotted heart, pulsing decay and corruption outwards through the forest. They were close to the cause, she could feel it. She just hoped whatever was the cause of the infection didn’t get to her before she could save her home.

Along the far wall of the room were four murals that stood out in a line. The once clean, carved scenes were eroded and time-beaten, but just about decipherable. 

The four images depicted monks in various states of torment. The first monk strained under the weight of a massive rock, muscles taut with effort as it pressed down upon him. The second monk, blood dripping from his hand and ears, was feverishly inscribing words upon a scroll, clearly in agony. In the third panel, a monk appeared submerged and drowning beneath a cascade of shimmering gold, his features twisted and bloated. 

The final tableau showed two figures, stripped bare, entwined in an act that should have been pleasurable. However, their expressions were ambiguous, dancing somewhere between ecstasy and agony. The knife suspended ominously above their heads left little doubt about their fate.

Underneath each carving was a word in an ancient language, which Gale was able to translate. 

STRENGTH. KNOWLEDGE. WEALTH. LUST

Hovering above the scenes of suffering was a much larger image of a monk in resplendent robes, his hands covering his eyes as he sat before a closed book as if to shield himself from an unbearable truth. The book sat on a carved pedestal, and shimmered with golden light. The lines of the monk’s robes flowed gracefully, dancing in a breeze that no longer existed. The expression of the hidden face was left to the imagination, but Gale’s imagination didn’t have to work very hard. The monk was shielding himself from whatever was written in that book. 

Gale‘s chest suddenly went tight, as though the orb that had once branded his skin and burned an aching, insatiable hunger within him was back. The ghost of a pain which would never truly leave him.  He couldn’t help but see himself in the image, as though it was a mocking interpretation of his great folly. 

Unlike this monk, when he was tempted, he had not been strong enough to cover his eyes. He had suffered the same torment as the other tortured souls. It wouldn't have seemed out of place to see a carving of a wizard with a dark orb branded upon his chest, bent over and crippled by unending pain and sharp regret. His hand once again absentmindedly moved to his chest.

“What is in that book, do you think?” Elltavia was started to get concerned by the faraway look in Gale’s eyes. She had not known him long, but she knew it was unlike him to be this quiet. Whether in a classroom, or on an adventure - he was a born teacher. He had the engaging, adaptable, patient, rare soul of someone who had collected knowledge like precious treasure, and all he seemed to ever want to do is share it. He was not made to be silent, and it worried her.

"Fortune and glory, Kidd." Gale continued to read the fragile inscriptions—warnings, death sentences, holy scriptures, and gold-tinted promises of doom for the unworthy. Yet, for those with the resolve to grasp it, an ultimate blessing. "Fortune and glory."

After more studying, Gale pressed his hand against an indent in the wall, and a rumbling echoed around them.

"I think we've found where the ritual would take place," he murmured.

The carved, ancient pedestal holding the book shown in the mural rose from the ground in the room’s centre, a half-decayed corpse resting against it, its mouldering hand still holding the book open, as if in a final, desperate grasp for whatever it contained. 

"That book should not be open." Gale could feel the power emanating from it, warping and stretching the weave of magic around it. This was no ordinary spellcraft; it was far beyond his capabilities. Once, he would have been desperate to grasp it, to drink the forbidden magic until it drowned him. A long time ago, It almost had.

The source of the blight was finally clear. The book had to be closed, or the rot would continue to spread, cursing the forest and luring as many as it could to this place. The book was a lure, a power to draw people here to be tested, indifferent to the fate it bestowed upon them. The burning ache of the sussur, which had been simmering under his skin, began to flare and bubble. His magic tingled in his bones, demanding to be used, to cast protection over him. His mind was flooded with the weave, and the agony of not being able to use it was overwhelming.

“Close the book!” He hissed through clenched teeth, doubled over in pain. 

Elltavia approached the book tentatively, with ranger’s care. The closer she got, the more Gale’s words became a far-away song, trailing distantly away from the fluttering pages. Each turn caused a soft rustle; leaves whispering secrets in a forest grove. It was the sound of her home, and it was calling to her. The book cast a gentle glow, soft as yellow moonlight. And with every intake of breath, she could swear the scent of pine mingled with the earthy perfume of petrichor sank deep, holding and soothing her. 

Surely within its pages lay the answers they were looking for. It called out to her with a sweetness that stirred her soul, a siren's song promising sanctuary. The glowing page was right there in front of her, she just had to read the inscription…

I am the lure in darkest gloom, A whispered hope, a flick'ring bloom. In greed-drenched shade, I bide my time, Thy greatest urge will feed my shrine.

What am I? A tempter, sly, In every soul, doth ever lie. Resist the call for but one hour, Prevail, and gain the worthy’s power

“Elltavia, NO!” 

And she burned.

It felt as though tendrils of flame were invading her through her nose, her mouth, sinking through her skin, licking the very bones of her. It was tugging at her, calling to her, scalding all the way through her. She was a woman aflame, and there was only one way to extinguish the fire. She needed Gale, and she needed him now. 

He rushed over, and managed to close the book - but not before catching a glimpse of the inscription within. As soon as he had read the words, the book and pedestal began to descend ominously back into the ground.

“Gale..” Elltavia’s voice was suddenly breathy and skin clammy as Gale grabbed hold of her and started to check her over. 

“It’s the test, Kidd.” He appraised her pupils to see that they were blown wide, her breathing heavy. The spell was undeniably affecting her, not just emotionally but physically too. Her skin glimmered with a light sheen of sweat. Were her lips fuller, even more inviting than before? Surely it was a trick of the light? The urge to press his own against them, to run his tongue along her bottom lip, was all-consuming.

He pulled away abruptly, almost harshly, startled by the intensity of his desire. He had anticipated challenges to his resolve, but not in this way. He had mentally prepared himself for his ambition, his hubris, his self-worth to be cut out and dissected in front of him, to once again have to pull himself back from the brink of his unending desperation to prove himself. It was his tragic flaw, it always would be. He had not prepared himself for this.

The atmosphere crackled with a potent mix of heat and something deeper, something elemental. Lust. It hung thick in the air, dense and suffocating. It wrapped around him like a lover’s embrace, seeping into the marrow of his bones. He was suddenly starving, and she was ripe and ready to be savoured. He remembered when she had bitten the apple from his desk. How her eyes had met his as she bit down, how the juice had trailed down from the side of her lips to her chin…

“It sai..said.” Elltavia had her arms wrapped around herself, as though trying to hold herself back, and Gale desperately wanted to unfurl them and spread her out on the ground like a map. There was priceless treasure to be discovered. He ached from not touching her.

“It said something about lure.. Temptation..” Her breathing was heavy and lust-soaked. “Resist for an hour.. And we’ll pass the test.”

An hour of this, he thought bleakly, he did not know how he would stop himself from devouring her.

“I have rope” she panted “In my pack. You should tie me up.”

His response to that was a low, feral groan which seemed to rumble from deep within his chest. “I don’t think bondage will help me out here, Kidd.”

Struggling against this overwhelming desire was futile; he was a weary child resisting the pull of the receding tide, or a final leaf clinging to its branch before the onslaught of autumn's chill. He was no match for her; he was a raft-bound castaway - and she was the oncoming tempest. 

Together they melted into a pool of tongue and hands, rushed and heavy. There was no softness or words of delicacy, no declarations or promises of what would come after. There was only urgency. There was only her and him and now. At the meet of their lips and the ripping of her shirt underneath his strong, tanned hands there was a rumbling noise which ripped around them and caused loose stone and dust to fall from the ceiling. The shock of it managed to distract them long enough to prise themselves away from each other. The second they pulled apart, the noise stopped. 

“An earthquake?” He questioned through rough panting, speaking out loud rather than to her in particular. He quickly moved to one of the far walls and ran his hands over it, feeling for any structural damage and waiting silently for an aftershock.

As soon as his fingers stroked the grooves in the stone, Elltavia was behind him. She pushed him against the wall, and pressed herself against his back, standing on her tiptoes to lick and bite at the nape of his neck. 

“Who cares?” She whined. Her hands made their way up the back of his shirt and she dragged her nails down his skin. The sound he made was sinful, and as soon as her tongue licked at the sweat trailing down his spine, the rumbling started again. This time they were both knocked backwards by the wall Gale was pressed against, as it started to straighten out and move towards them. 

“Fuck.” He groaned, on his back. He could barely think straight, all his focus and all his blood was currently gathered in hard desperation between his legs. Urging to be sank into the ranger panting on the floor next to him. 

She swung her leg round to mount herself on top of him, pinning him to the ground under her hips.

“Wait” he hissed through gritted teeth. She managed to stop herself from sucking on his bottom lip long enough to hear what he wanted to say, she desperately hoped it would be something filthy. Her restraint in her longing for his mouth didn’t stop her grinding her hips down against him. She gasped at how hard he was underneath her. To her shock, he grabbed her upper arms and managed, with difficulty, to push her off him and he sprang up and backed away from her with his arms out. 

“Listen, Kidd, when we give into our temptation, to our urge, it sets off the trap.” 

She tried to take in what he was saying, and she used her sharp, predator’s focus to survey the room. She had not previously noticed the heavy layer of dust which had settled on the holy ground. Bonedust. The bleak realisation sank in. This was all that was left of others who had been tested. The book was an incendiary, designed to spark simmering desire into a roaring flame. Resist it, or be crushed.

“I am your temptation?” She rasped. “Gale, of all the fucking things to desire?!” 

“You’re one to talk!” He snapped. The cord that felt wrapped around him was tightening in frustration. This woman was literally going to be the death of him. This stubborn, infuriating, smart-ass was how he was going to die. He wanted to take his whip out and coil the leather around her… 

“Fuck!” He said, turning around so he could no longer see her pouring out of her sweaty, ripped shirt. 

“The temptation is each other… right?” She breathed.

“Obviously.” 

“Then… then we can still.. Touch ourselves, can’t we?”

It was like pouring oil on a bonfire, the thought of her unbound and lost in her own touch, bringing herself to the brink of pleasure and plunging over a cliff of her own making was unbearable. He wanted to palm himself right there in front of her just from the thought of it. 

She didn’t wait for him to answer, her hand quickly found its way into her underwear and to where she needed it most. She was a writhing mess on the floor - but the walls did not move. 

He sank and crawled to her, and positioned himself over her, resting his forearms on the ground next to her shoulders, clenching his fists in frustration and caging her beneath him, but not touching her. He allowed one of his knees to push her thigh upwards, splaying her further apart. But he did not give her any further contact. He just held himself over her as she moaned and bucked her hips into her own hand. His gaze was as desperate and intense as any touch could be. Beads of sweat traced paths down his temple, falling onto her skin like liquid fire. Every inch of her felt alive, every nerve alight with anticipation. As he lowered his head, his breath danced against her neck, tantalisingly close yet never touching. His lips hovered, a mere whisper away, and she teetered on the edge of combustion.

“I’ve wanted you since you flashed your thigh at my desk.” His voice was almost unrecognisable, dark as sin itself. The lilt of his words caressing her skin. “I wanted to be that fruit on your tongue. The flesh on your lips.”  She gasped, but could not respond. Her eyes fluttered shut as she imagined how he would taste as he spilled herself down her throat in ecstasy. 

“Don’t you dare stop looking at me.” He growled.

Her eyes flashed open again to meet his, and his command would have sent her spiralling, but something was wrong. 

“I can’t.. It won’t…” She removed her hand in desperation, and it took every ounce of resilience he had not to grab hold of her wrist and drag her lust-soaked fingers between his teeth and roll his tongue against them. “It just makes it worse.” 

The walls were still at each end of the room, they had barely moved. The two of them were safe, maybe there was time to…

“Fuck it.” He said, and he lifted her robe and tore her underwear off her. Gods, the scent of her. He wanted to spend a whole day with his nose buried at the source of her divine, needy musk.

 He did not have a whole day, he had minutes at most. 

“Is this what you want?” He asked, shaking with the resolve it took to show her the decency she deserved.

“No” She responded, but before he could even attempt to pull himself away from her, she wrapped her powerful warrior's thighs around him and flipped them so he was beneath her. 

“This is what I want.” 

She turned round above him so her cunt was hovering over his face, just out of reach. This position gave her the chance to unbuckle his belt and finally get her hands where she wanted them. There was no time to undress him, to peel him out of his tight trousers the way she wanted to. This would have to do. He moaned beneath her as she finally freed him from his confinement, and without grace or hesitation - took the whole of him into her mouth. 

In response, he grabbed hold of her hips and pulled her down against his lips. Locking her tight against him, he groaned and pushed his tongue into her. The taste of her was technicolour.  He worked as quickly as he could to relieve the tight, coiling need which was squeezing the life out of them, but not quickly enough. 

The walls had pushed towards them quicker than he anticipated, and it wasn’t long until he felt the hard force of it suddenly pressing against his feet. 

Elltavia must have become aware at the same time he did, because her mouth was suddenly off him and she rolled away, completely disentangling them and stopping the movement of the walls. 

They were both slick with sweat, and with each other. 

“Get over to the far end. Now.” He snapped at her. The narrowing of the walls had now turned the large, circular room into a slim corridor. It would only take a couple more metres of movement and they would be crushed to dust. 

“Do not bark orders at me!” She retorted with a hiss. “That is really not helping the situation!” She retreated as far away as him as possible, pressed her thighs together, and put her hands over her ears so she couldn’t hear his heavy, laboured breathing.

The hour may as well have been a day. They faced away from each other, breaths heavy and skin slick with sweat. They had both tried to cover themselves back up with what little material had not been ripped. At this moment the threat of being crushed by the weight of an ancient temple wall seemed inconsequential compared to the overwhelming intensity of this moment. Gale thought that If this were to be his end, he would welcome it with open arms. At one point in his life, he had resigned himself to the fact he would die alone at the order of a pitiless Goddess. What a privilege it would be then, to die in the arms of a merciful one. In the arms of Elltavia Kidd’Alka. 

He thought of her as he faced the wall. He thought of her in every way except the one which had pushed its way to the front of his mind and coursed its way through his blood. He thought of her fierce loyalty to her home, how she had travelled far and risked her life. How she was blunt and forthcoming and how she refused to dull any of her bladed wit. He thought of the shimmering seasons of her eyes, of how long it must take her to braid her hair, how she has the wisdom of an elder and the bright laugh of a child. He thought of how much he wanted her to live, and how much he wanted to see her again. And suddenly, the urge simmered - it was there, but it no longer suffocated him. He could breathe. His lust had been mixed with something else, and the sweet combination had strengthened his resolve. He could do this. 

Elltavia thought of the forest. Of her home. Of the children who fell out of trees and laughed in the dirt that caught them. Of the people who had spent their lives telling stories and weaving tradition through play and prayer. Of the mothers who had fletched arrows with babes at their breast. She remembered the first time she summoned an animal, and how the swift spring bird had flitted between branches and sunbeams to settle upon her shoulder. She remembered the poor autumn fox which she had found dead from the spreading curse. She would beat this. She would return home, and she would show Gale the place they had saved together. Her blood cooled, her resolve steeled. She could do this. 

An hour passed in silence. The two of them focused and determined. Two people who ached enough to not touch each other. And it worked.

Suddenly, it was as though they had emerged from holding their breath in ice water. The walls rumbled and slowly retreated back to their stations. 

“Is it over?” Elltavia spoke quietly, too nervous to turn round or remove her hands from her ears. Her answer came when a strong, comforting hand placed itself on her shoulder and she didn’t burn from the touch. She let Gale turn her, and take the hands from her ears to kiss them. 

“Not for me'' He said gently, stroking her cheek and tucking a braid behind her ear.  Before he could kiss her properly, without magical kindling feeding his flame for her, the book reappeared. It fluttered once more, and settled on its final page.

“Is it safe?”

“I think so” He said, more calmly than he felt. “We passed the test.”

He made his way to where the soft glow welcomed him to read, and spoke the book’s final inscription aloud…

Behold, two souls of spirit true Live long - old magic rests in you. 

“If this is some bullshit about how the power was inside us all along, I'm going to be really annoyed.” Elltavia was still breathless, but relieved.

“Maybe…” He said thoughtfully, but from the book and the murals and tenacity of the ancient magic, Gale didn’t believe that was the case. There must be the mentioned ‘reward’ somewhere… But, he was not interested. Godly gifts he could live without. There were other things more worthy of his attention now. Other desires to fulfill. 

“What do we do about the book?” she asked, closing it and running her finger over the cover. “Will you take it to the Academy?”

“No. This belongs here. It’s as much a part of the forest as you are.” He turned to look at her, her bright eyes fierce, “You know what lies here now, you can tell your community - you can spread the story and let them become guardians of magic and knowledge. And this can stay here… closed.”

He bent down and kissed her, soft but purposeful. Full of the promise of things to come.

“You know, Kidd. Before you dropped by my lecture I was reading about this amulet…”

She entwined her fingers with his as they made their way back into the lush greenery of her vibrant forest home. “Sounds interesting professor, I take it the next adventure would also require you to bring along your whip?” 

“Oh, most definitely. I could give you another demonstration now if you’d like?”

Her bright laugh echoed through the trees as they walked into the distance, unaware of the ancient gift bestowed upon them by the temple in the forest. Perhaps one day, Gale would notice his hair wasn't greying as quickly, or that the furrows between his eyes no longer deepened despite the endless days of laughter shared with Elltavia. Maybe then, they would realise they had been chosen as timeless protectors: the wizard destined to safeguard the magic he once sought to consume, and the ranger courageous enough to save her homeland.