#‘you’re not the only one who draws strength from the moon’ FUCK HER UP GIRL

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

sometimes self-care is watching several minutes of Katara’s most badass waterbending scenes from the og series

#storyrambles #guys she’s so cool #Katara’s fight scenes were always the coolest of the series to me #she’s so creative? and damn she makes everything look so awesome #‘you’re not the only one who draws strength from the moon’ FUCK HER UP GIRL #also her tricking azula into standing over the grate so she could freeze them both and then restrain her. immaculate. #whipping the ice disks at pakku. hell yeah #sweatbending!!! #I love my girl :D #atla #atla katara #she was so toned down in the live action I had to go back and remind myself what a hot head she was hahaha

[selfproducingfanfictionauthor]

BTS Scenario: An omega arrives in your pack (Hyungline x alpha/beta fem!reader)

Summary:  An omega joining a pack is a blessing - an unmated one is a miracle. So when the village elder came to you not with authority in her eyes but pity and pleading for understanding, you had no choice but to let him go.

Or, an omega joins the pack and you’re an alpha/beta in a relationship with another alpha. The community asks for your sacrifice. Warnings/Notes: Implied Smut, slight ass play, Angst, Drabble (no resolution... yet) I wanted to explore a different dynamic in the ABO Universe, since it’s usually Alpha BTS x Omega Reader but how about the Beta or even the Alpha reader? Hope you enjoy!  Word Count: 2k+ (500 per drabble) 

KIM SEOKJIN 

(after he’s called to participate in the matching, and Jungkook is an unmated male omega who’s always had a crush on you) (though crush is a understatement)

He’s here for a final goodbye, you think as you allow him to push you back against the wall.

He kisses you with desperation, all teeth and tongue, as if he wants to devour you whole. He reeks of her but you push it at the back of your mind, together with your instinct to gain the upper hand.

If this is goodbye, let it be as soft as you two could be.

You close your eyes to blink back the tears and wrap your arms around his neck. You match his passion kiss after kiss until you both are panting, breathing in each other.

Seokjin slows it down and pulls at your shirt, slipping it off your head. His eyes are wan, and he hasn’t met your gaze the whole time. It feels wrong, but then again, everything is.

So you try to bring back some normalcy and let the urgency in your touch show. Your arms slid down his shoulder, pushing him back into your room, your strength easily matching his.

In the dark of the room, you tug at his shirt but Seokjin grasps your hand away from his chest. You thought he’s going to lead you to his cock just as he did many times before, but he pulls you closer until there’s no more space between your chest and his and leads your hand to his hole.

He’s dry as the dessert but her pushes your hand closer, until your fingers tap his puckered hole.

You can feel him force himself not to tense up, breathing deeply and dropping his head to your shoulder. His back is caved over you, like a tall child and he turns to graze his lips against your ear.

“I’ll let you fuck me too, if that’s what you want, jagi.”

Your eyes widen and you try to pull your hand away but he holds it still. Your other hand tries to push his chest away but his other arm wraps around your shoulder blades, unwilling to let go.

He keeps still in the crook of your neck, murmuring words you never imagined you’ll hear from the alpha, “I’ll moan like he did. Beg like he did.” His voice shakes, and you startle at the tears wetting your skin. It doesn’t even occur to you to wonder how he knew about Jungkook, and what had transpired the night before because here he is.

He’s crying. Your alpha is crying.

“Just please don’t leave me.”

MIN YOONGI 

(Your love for Yoongi knows no bounds, you can give him this. In which your arranged marriage is thwarted.)

“It’s a good thing we’re not bonded yet, huh?”

You try not to wince at the relief in his voice and instead you laugh, hoping that the dark is enough to conceal the wobble on your lip.

You are both lying on your bed, exhausted by your hours long of… what do you call it again? Ah, he did call it his favorite recreational activity. He figured sexual compatibility is an important factor in arrange marriages earlier on your engagement.

And you, in love with him for more than half your life, said yes.

His fingers are playing with your hair, while his other hand lifts a lit cigarette to his lips. He glances down at you, his cat-like eyes half-lidded.

“You want a smoke?”

Pulling the blanket higher to your chest, relishing in the slight flicker of interest in his eyes, you shake your head. “Actually, can you not smoke on my bed tonight?”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow but says nothing and puts out his cigarette against the ash tray on your bedside table. Usually, you take up on his offer, and he’s not gonna lie and say that the image of your lips around a cigarette doesn’t stir his cock alive.

“Not feeling well?” He asks, the only time you refused his offer was whenever you’re feeling the drop after your activities. But usually, you’ll tell him outright, communication being as open as you both could.

You let a small smile touch your lips at his tone. He cares for you, you know, maybe not as much as you want him to, but it’s enough.

Or it used to be enough.

“Just a mild migraine,” you lie before pressing a kiss against his shoulder.

Yoongi smiles and kisses the crown of your head, “You know what cures migraines?”

Your smile grows wider as you look up to his grin, his hand already sliding down the small of your back under your blankets. “I think I have an idea.”

By the time he’s pulled out 3 more orgasms from you, the moon has started fading from the night sky. The brisk winter air entering your room by the open window, drawing goosebumps on your skin.

Beside you, Yoongi sits up and pulls his shirt over his head.

“You’re not staying the night?”

Yoongi shakes his head, “The trials start the day after tomorrow, I’ve got to get a head start.”

Your press your lips together, your hand sneaking down your belly. You imagine your child, the size of a pea, hoping they do not hear your breaking heart. “I thought you didn’t like being choices taken away from you.”

That was one of the major points of discussion when your parents arranged your marriage. It’s also a source of your many arguments at the start, before slowly becoming some sort of unwanted roommate in your makeshift relationship.

Yoongi pauses, there’s something in your voice that he can’t pinpoint. He turns to you, for once, you are unreadable. “This is different.”

“Oh,” you breathe. How so, you want to ask. How come a choice robbed by our secondary natures so much different than the ones robbed by our parents? How come it’s the lesser evil in your eyes?

How come I was never a palatable choice in the first place?

But you don’t. Instead, Yoongi presses on. “At least now, you know, if it turns out that it’s me, you’re free. You can go to university just like you want.”

“Yeah…” you chuckle dryly, “Well, good luck then.”

You don’t beg him to stay, you’re an alpha too and an alpha protects their pack. As your hand travels down to your belly again, you remember - you have your own to protect now too.

JUNG HOSEOK 

(You’re just his best friend. What can you say?)

“She smells like lilacs! No, wait, honey! Honey and cream.” Hoseok sighs, all lovestruck on your couch over the new omega girl in town.

As part of the search party that found her, he hasn’t stopped talking about her for weeks. Giving you updates on her recovery in the beginning, and then her smile, her eyes, and the way she laughs as time went by.

At first, you didn’t mind. An omega joining the pack is a blessing, given their rarity. They symbolize fertility and bounty, and you are nothing if not loyal to the community. You foster the village children as their teacher, you teach them the ropes of the land - how to feed the cows, how to plant the seeds, and how to prepare for harvest - after all.

But as time went by, as Hoseok’s visits to her home frequent and his visits to yours lessen, it’s become harder and harder to keep the bitter thoughts away. Hoseok may still visit you, but when was the last time you two talked about anything other than her?

“The trials for her mate starts next week,” Hoseok starts, almost as if waiting for you to say something, “I’m thinking of participating.”

From the kitchen, you tighten your hold on the tray balancing your tea and snacks. Without a wobble, you inquire as you step back into your living room, “Oh?”

“Yeah,” he picks up one of your cookies, suddenly looking all bashful, “I’m unmated and I’m not getting younger so, might as well give it a shot you know?”

You frown behind your tea cup, “We’re barely past our mid-20s, Seok-ie, that hardly qualifies as old.”

Hoseok leans back and tilts his head on the back of your couch until it hangs in relaxation. “It’s different between you and I.”

It’s true, betas are not so pressured to reproduce early. After all, there’s nothing special to be had in your genes, you think bitterly.

“Besides,” he continues, “I think I like her. You know, maybe we should invite her next time we hang out! You can get to know her too!”

“I’d rather not.” It spills over your lips before you could control it, and Hoseok stiffens before turning his gaze to you.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re jealous.” Hoseok teases, unaware at how his words hit home.

You stiffen, biting your lip before the dam breaks. “Maybe I am.” you whisper.

He blinks in surprise at the feebleness of your tone, “B-but… you’re a beta.”

You know. You know your place, in this village and in his life but somehow it’s different hearing it from him. Standing, you  turn away to step back into your kitchen when a hand grasps your wrist.

“I don’t understand.” Hoseok whispers, trying to look up to your face but thwarted by your hair. He doesn’t need to see your watering eyes to know there are tears in them. He’s reeling from the sudden change of atmosphere, smelling your distress in the air.

Suddenly, you’re overwhelmed by the sense of inferiority and your heart caves into itself. With the last of your strength, you shake off his hold, pointing to the door.

“I think it’s best you leave.”

KIM NAMJOON 

(Namjoon has always been a man of duty, and though you are tough and strong, there are limits to what you can and will endure)

You pride yourself to be level-headed, calm, and objective unlike many of the alphas in the pack. You’ve never lost your control, or flown into fury even during your youth but at this very moment, you summon all your discipline to keep your lips from pulling back and snarling at the older alpha in front of you.

How dare she?

How dare they ask this of you?

“It is his duty.” She repeats and beside you, Namjoon is silent. Eyes straight ahead, back as rigid as the trees outside your home. The home that you two built for your children that will come after your wedding.

The wedding that’s supposed to be in a month.

But the longer Namjoon stays silent, the farther that future seems to be. By the time the elder leaves your home, you don’t even see a speck of it in your mind’s eye.

The silence continue as you clean up the cups and uneaten rice cakes. The silent clink of the utensils echoing in your quaint home.

As you wash the dishes, you feel like an outsider watching your body go through the motions. Scrubbing the plate clockwise, once, twice, three times, before running it under the faucet. Next, you pick up the cups, here, clockwise, once, twice —

“It is my duty,” you hear Namjoon, and oh, he’s beside you, hand on your wrist, pulling your hands away from the frigid waters, “you know that, right?”

As one of the strongest and wisest alphas this pack has ever seen in generations, your betrothal to Namjoon was tolerated at best. Alpha bondings are common nowadays, with the scarcity of omegas. So yes, your betrothal was tolerated - just tolerated, even with you being as strong and as wise as your betrothed - but now?

With that young omega in the picture?

They are making you feel as if you’ve committed a grave sin against the community, as if it’s not within your rights to rage against the unfairness of it all.

They’re asking you for your love.

And he’s so willing to be taken away. Your heart breaks but you nod quietly, “I know. I understand.”

Namjoon stupidly thought that was the end of it. That you knew he’ll always come back to you, omega or not.

Maybe he was naive, or he truly was selfish to ask it of you but when he gets home the week after the trials to a dark cold house the surprise knocks him to his knees and drops his heart to his stomach.

You left the kitchen untouched, his mug still next to yours but, Namjoon pauses at the threshold of your room. There, glinting under the moonlight, sits your ring and the last of your scent wafts away.

END NOTES:  Hearts are appreciated but comments are gold. Let me know if this should have a second (or even third) part! :) 

#bts scenario #bts x reader #hyungline x reader #alpha! namjoon #alpha! yoongi #alpha! seokjin #alpha! hoseok #namjoon x reader #yoongi x reader #seokjin x reader #hoseok x reader #slight jungkook x reader #alpha! reader #beta! reader #abo dynamics #thetruthuntoldnet #bangtanarmynet #bts fanfiction #bts drabbles #bts angst

[whaleofatjme1920]

Oh god please, more cheating and angst (hoodie? Tim? 👀👀👀) Idk u just write it so good and my aching heart feels better oddly because of it. I fuckn love angst djsjsjjdjdjd

Full Moon and Being A Horrible Person

[Masky X F!Reader]

[Warnings: language, physical cheating]

[AN: i love angst too]

The full moon makes us do weird things, it’s been well documented. From the people bouncing off the walls to inducing labor, all the way to making us make questionable decisions, the full moon is to blame, not him.

It was a full moon when he caught the eyes of a woman with dark, sweet chocolate colored eyes. She looked so beautiful under the lights of the bar, yellow illuminating her skin like it was gold.

She’d been flirting with him across the bar the entire night. Wry smiles, tapping her fingernails against the glass, twirling her dark hair and giggling when he caught her eyes and by extension, her attention.

“You know Reader isn’t gonna be happy with your behavior,” Hoodie had lightly chided him before downing more of his beer. “Why don’t you let me take over? I haven’t-”

“No,” Tim laughed, pushing at his best friend’s shoulder. “It’s harmless flirting,” he finished, watching Hoodie’s expression from the corner of his eye.

“If Reader was doing this, would you consider it harmless flirting?”

Kate excused herself from her conversation with one of the ladies from the booth behind the table she and her group shared, then turned her attention to her group leader. “He has a point,” she said, grinning when Hoodie leaned over the table to high-five her.

Tim rolled his eyes and began to lazily swish his drink. “It’s nothing, I promise.”

“You mean to say you haven’t emptied your balls in a few weeks and you’re desperate,” Hoodie deadpans, breaking his blank expression when Kate loudly laughs.

“Again, he has a point,” Kate smirked. “C’mon, let Hoodie or Toby take this one. Neither of them are in relationships and are less likely to get attached.”

Tim raises a brow at Kate. “Attached? What does that mean?”

Hoodie shares a look with the woman across from him who nods at him to explain what exactly she means. “She uh,” Hoodie awkwardly sips at his beer before biting the bullet completely. “C’mon man, you have an addictive personality. Pills, cigarettes, Reader…” He trails off before Tim hisses and punches Hoodie’s shoulder, roughly. Hoodie only barks a laugh and raises his hand up in submission. “I’m right, I’m always right!” He manages to choke out through remaining giggles.

“Can we just drop it for now?” Tim growls.

Kate rolls her eyes and then pulls a face to Hoodie, who stifles his laughter just barely before she turns back to her conversation with the ladies from the booth behind her. She’s up and out of her seat following a group of them to the other side of the bar, giggling and laughing as a woman with short pink hair holds her hand and weaves her through the crowds.

Hoodie feigns innocence before standing up. “I’m gonna find Tobes, who knows what he’s doing. Tearing up the dance floor, maybe?”

Tim watches as his best friend shuffles out from his seat, beer still in hand as he disappears into the sea of people. He sighs and crosses his arms over his chest. His dark eyes scan the bustling room full of bright, rainbow colored strobe lights and too loud music only to catch a glimpse of the full moon outside. It’s tinged pink, and seems to blossom the longer he looks at it. Due to where they’re currently at in the city, he can’t see the stars - much too much light pollution. A sigh is about to escape his lips when he feels a hand brushing over his, pulling him from the light of the full moon and onto the woman he’d been flirting quietly with all night.

“Never thought I’d get you alone,” she says, voice sweet like honey and smoother than silk.

Tim thinks about his words, his group’s chiding before mentally shrugging off all responsibilities. “I know, right?” He replies, voice low and deep, something charming and sweet.

She grins like the Cheshire Cat before playfully biting her lip. “I’m just passing through here,” she begins, “maybe we could… Have a few more drinks then head back to my hotel room?”

Tim feels a slight blush come to his cheeks before swallowing it back down. He smirks, leaning into her presence. “I’d love nothing more.”

The two of them knock back a few more drinks, the woman mostly choosing fruity things and Tim sticking to whiskey. Their touches become more and more bold, and their words more lusty and obscene by the moment. He has her sit on his lap and he whispers all the nasty things he wants to do to her and she gobbles it up, giggles and soft licks to the shell of his ear driving him up a wall.

And then, he follows her to her hotel. It’s a tangle of lips smashing against lips, hearts beating in sync and hands grabbing in the most inappropriate of places. Her clothes lie on the floor before getting covered up by his, her body following in suit.

Tim takes her. He drinks her in full and has her seeing the stars that were once only gazed upon by you. He touches her in ways you’ve never been touched and allows her to touch him in ways he’d always claimed were ‘too much’ for him.

When the deed is done, he’s cuddling her much like he would cuddle you, cigarette in his mouth and bliss on his face.

Tim stayed the night.

The next morning, he’s so groggy that he doesn’t even realize he’s still got her lipstick stains on his skin. He gets back in his car (failing to realize his group had to either walk back to the temp or hitch with someone else), and heads back to the only true home he’d ever considered.

It’s a few hours to your place, but he makes it, and that’s all that matters. Your car isn’t in the driveway, so he lets himself in. A quiet stumble to the bathroom and he sees he looks like a mess. The weight of what he did to you begins to sink in.

Tim turns the shower on and strips off his clothing - the clothes still linger with her perfume before he hops in and begins to furiously scrub at his skin. Tears well in his eyes. How could he do that to you? What kind of common sense was he lacking in that moment?

He continues to scrub, slowly coming to the realization that he’s going to do whatever it takes to hide this from you - you can never know. It was the light of the full moon, people always act crazy when the moon is in that phase, and he was drunk, like really drunk.

Excuses, excuses.

The water stops right when he hears the front door open. He hears your voice. You’re greeting him sweetly, like you always do.

He takes in a deep breath. You can never know.

It was only inevitable that you’d find out, though he’s surprised you went as long as you did without knowing. Tim hid it from you for months, and he probably could’ve kept it longer if he didn’t come with you to Target when you asked. You’d always been a fan of late night store runs, and he hadn’t gone on one with you in a while… What harm could it possibly do?

A lot. A lot of harm that surfaced the truth.

“I should’ve cuffed you when I had a chance!” The woman giggled as she came up beside you as you looked at the early Halloween decorations.

You raised a brow. “Excuse me?” You looked over to your boyfriend, whose face had gone pale. “I think you have the wrong…”

“You’re a lucky girl, y’know that?” She continued, brushing off your words. “He took me to the moon.” Her voice was so sultry and decadent. “Hope he takes you to the moon as well,” she says, her fingers trailing Tim’s arm.

He pulls away from her. “W...Who are you?” He says, attempting to sound confused.

The woman pulls a face before looking in between the two of you, her dark eyes glancing and putting together the pieces. Instead of being embarrassed or ashamed, she chuckles and begins to take off again. “I did you a favor, honey,” she calls over her shoulder, hips swaying as she turns down another aisle.

You don’t want to admit it, but now you know why Tim’s been so weird lately and nicer than usual. Sure, Tim is a sweet guy, but his behavior the past few months has been OVERLY nice, and now you know why. “What was that?” You ask, eyes narrowing and tears welling.

“Nothing, let’s just pay and get out-”

“I wanna go home.”

Tim moves to rest his hand on your shoulder, but you recoil as if you’d been burned.

A huge argument ensued when the two of you got back into the car, lots of harsh words were traded. He tried reasoning with you, he tried telling you how much he loved you, he tried everything in his power but he’d ruined a good thing.

You ended up pulling over on the side of the road, slamming the breaks, tears in your eyes and turned to him. “Give me the key to my house.”

“What? No-”

“Give. Me. The. Key. Tim,” you hiss, punctuating every word with stronger venom. You held your hand out.

Tim sighs deeply and reaches into his pocket, pinching the bridge of his nose as you harshly snatch the key from his awaiting hand. “It’s not like that, you know I love you-”

“Is that what you’re calling it? Cheating on me and then lying about it for months?” You rhetorically ask, growling and seething further and further. You feel rage wracking your system as it exhausts you further and further. You can’t bring yourself to look into his eyes, because if you do, you’ll melt.

“I’m telling you, it was to protect you,” he attempts again. “Let’s just, let’s just go home and-”

“Get the fuck out of my car,” you say, drawing in every remaining and residual strength you have as hot tears scald your cheeks.

“You don’t mean that-”

“I do.”

“Reader, baby please-”

“Get the fuck out of my car,” you repeat. You squeeze your eyes shut, shake your head and then turn back to the road. “Do it before I do something stupid.”

Tim feels his heart shatter, cracking on impact as it falls deeper and deeper. He shakily runs his fingers through his hair before sliding out of your car, slamming the door shut and watches as you drive off and out of his life. He wants to scream, or cry, maybe both at the same time? He’s not entirely sure yet. He just knows his world is crashing down and there’s nothing he can do about it.

He betrayed your trust and broke your heart all for one singular night of passion.

The emotionally distraught man looks up at the moon, finding no solace that it’s full again.

#masky #masky x reader #masky scenario #masky creepypasta #tim wright #tim wright x reader #tim wright headcanon #masky headcanon #tim wright marble hornets #marble hornets #marble hornets x reader #marble hornets headcanon #marble hornets scenario #creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta scenario #angst #hoodie #kate the chaser #ticci toby

[operationcavill]

Moody

Henry and Y/N have become close friends through Henry’s current project, and things seem to escalate when Y/N agrees to go to dinner with her fellow production team member, Tom.

⭐️ Contains sexual content. Please do not read if you are not a fan of explicit material.

Henry’s moody. He’s been in a bad mood all week and no matter what he does, he can’t seem to shake it. He’s sitting in Y/N’s kitchen, watching her make their tea and talking about what she wants to wear on her date tonight. Her delicate hands dunk the tea bags in and out of the water but he’s focused on her new manicure, she said it was a good color for autumn. He was jealous, a trait he wasn’t too fond of, “Oh, what about a grey sweater? Might wear that, looks good with my hair down.”

Henry watches the steam from his mug rise and he tries to seem excited for her but he’s not, “You always look nice.” He doesn’t even realize that he’s almost whispering. Y/N notices that he’s off, maybe he’s tired or had a bad day at work. He can feel her looking at him but he doesn’t bother to raise his head.

“What’s the matter?” Her hand reaches out to touch his arm but he seems to flinch a little bit so she draws back, “Don’t like the script changes?”

Henry snaps, “Nothings the matter.”

Her face matches his now. She sets her mug down and scoffs, “Jeez, fine. I’m gonna go get dressed.”

“Y/N…” She turns on her heels, showing him a pouty face that is sure to stick in Henrys’ brain forever, “Don’t go to dinner with him.”

“What?”

“We were all out, had a few and told him how beautiful you looked, and I was gonna just do it. I was gonna ask you for a date. He just wanted to beat me to it.” His lips are in a tight line and his arms are crossed.

She scoffs in disbelief, “But Tom asked me like a week ago.”

Henry gets up from the island and walks over to Y/N, getting closer to her face, “Told Tom as soon as I saw you walk into that bar. Said, that’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, look how pretty she is.” Her back is now against the wall and she somehow feels much smaller than usual. “Watched you dance with him, kiss his cheek goodnight. Saw you move your body against him and I wanted it to be me. I wanted to touch you, wanted to kiss you, be with you.” Her heart is beating so fast that she wouldn’t be surprised if he could see it beating out of her chest.

“I-um, I-“ Y/N can’t get her words out. Her eyes are locked with Henry’s and he doesn’t seem like he’ll be moving any time soon. His hand moves to rest on her hip and his thumb sneakily rubs the skin underneath her shirt, “Henry.”

“I shouldn’t tell you what to do but I want you and I don’t want you to go out with him.” His other hand cups her jaw, then rakes through her hair as he moves even closer, “I’ll regret it if I don’t kiss you right now. ‘Cause I know there’s a chance you won’t talk to me after this.”

His lips touch hers and she can feel herself pulse for him, just from one small kiss. Without even realizing it, she deepens it. Her hands slide up his chest and rest there, periodically gripping the fabric. Things quickly become all lips, tongue and teeth; hands squeezing and mouths moaning. Within minutes, Y/N is straddling Henry on the couch, moving her hips against him and then, the doorbell rings, ”Shit, that’s him.” Henry tries to suppress his laughter but he can’t, he chuckles into her neck and nibbles at her skin, “No, no. We have to stop. I have to go to the door.” He groans and grips her ass, singling her that he wants her to stay where she is, ”I have to tell him that I’m sick or something.”

He continues to suckle at her collarbone, “Or you could let him stand there.”

“Just a second,” She tries to fluff her hair and adjust her clothes, and hopes to god that there’s not a hickey on her neck. She opens the door to Tom, who manages to weasel his way in the door without even saying a word, “Um, I’m sorry I didn’t call but I don’t think I can make it out tonight.”

Tom leans against the radiator, acting smug and also completely oblivious to the fact that Henry is on her couch, watching them. “I hadn’t planned on spending much time out anyway.” Y/N suddenly feels her above-the-moon mood fading and wishes she would’ve left him outside as Henry suggested. He reaches out for her and Y/N moves back, “Weren’t this shy when you were dancing on me.”

She can practically feel Henry’s eyes on her, “I-I’m not feeling well. I don’t think I can go out tonight.”

“Come on, I’ll take care of you.” He takes off his coat, throwing it behind him only to have it thrown back forcefully.

“Actually, we’ve got that covered, mate.” Tom turns around in confusion, exhaling angrily as he sets his eye’s on him.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

It’s Henry’s turn to be smug, “Taking care of Y/N.” It didn’t matter if he was just there to pick up a script, he wanted Tom out of there.

Tom looks back and forth between the two, noticing a smirk on Henrys face. “You’re a piece of work, Cavill.” Y/N rolls her eyes and Henry continues grinning. “Can’t handle the idea of not getting every woman you want, had to swoop in when I laid the groundwork?”

Henry drops the grin and his brows pull together, “Y/N, would you excuse us for a moment?” She messes with the sleeves of her shirt and is clearly hesitant, “It’ll only be a second, Love.” Y/N slowly moves to the kitchen, wanting to catch any of the words they’re about to exchange, “If I do recall, it was you who creeped in and thought you could take out my girl.”

“Well, if she’s your girl, why’d she say yes to me?”

“She was saying yes to me right up until you knocked on the door.” Y/N’s cheeks turn red even though no one can see her. “You don’t even respect her enough to take her out, thought you could just come here for a quickie.”

“And what makes you different? You clearly wanted to fuck her, too.” Tom makes his bold statement as if Y/N isn’t even in the next room.

Henry is more that offended, he’s disgusted, “Don’t talk about her like that.”

“Woman like Y/N—“ Henry cuts him off before he can finish.

“Men like you don’t deserve women like Y/N,” Toms jaw tenses and removes his hands from his pockets, “get out of her house.”

“What’re you gonna do? Hit me? What will they think of you then?” Henry is not a violent man by any means, but Tom is testing a side of him he’s never acted upon.

Y/N begins to pace in her kitchen and hopes to god that this doesn’t escalate. “If she wants to, she’ll call you later. Now, leave.” Tom keeps his stance for only a few seconds before getting in his face, “You think I won’t throw you out of here, Tom?”

“And Mr. Perfect ruin his reputation?” Tom pushes Henry, only to be pushed into a wall, knocking over a planter that leaves soil scattered along the floor. Tom groans but musters up the strength to punch Henry in his mouth.

“Henry!” He ignores her, and shoves him out of the front door, making him tumble down her porch steps. Y/N pulls him inside, noticing his bruised face and bloody hand, “Henry, stop it!”

He’s breathing heavily and hisses as she touches his cheek, “I’m sorry,” she walks off to the kitchen, returning to find him sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. He feels her hand at his chin, gently lifting it up to place a frozen bag of blueberries on his face, “M’sorry.”

She sighs, “You can’t do that stuff, Henry.” She sits herself down on the couch and places his hand on the pillow in her lap. “Why the fuck did you do that?” Her eyes are red, like she’s been crying. He lifts his free hand to touch her face but she moves away and goes back to cleaning his hand. “Didn’t think you were that kind of man.”

He can feel her disappointment, “I’m not.”

“Sure as hell seems like it.”

“I’m not. I— I didn’t mean to scare you or ruin your plants.”

She finishes with his hand but he leaves it on the pillow, hoping to feel her fingers again, “People are gonna wonder what happened to your face.”

He grins, “Defending your honor.”

“You’re such a nerd. Why didn’t you just talk to me about it?”

“I got nervous,”

“You got nervous?” She hitches her eyebrow up at him and he pulls her down on her back, so he can hover over her.

“I’m not nervous now,” He can no longer feel the pain in his hand, he’s too focused on Y/N, “I want you, not just a part of you, all of you. I wanna take you to dinner, make you dinner. I wanna teach you how to make that cake you loved. I wanna wake up and give you kisses and get your coffee.” He kisses her forehead and then her cheek, “Two creams, two sugars.”

“Is that you asking me out?” Henry settles between her legs and kisses her neck.

“Yeah,” His stubble tickles her and he tries not to laugh along with her, ”I’m trying to turn you on, stop laughing.”

“You’re tickling me!” Y/N’s hands circle around him, feeling the muscles under his shirt and bringing him close to her, “Come here,” She softy kisses his bruising cheek before sweetly kissing him on the lips.

Things are slower this time, there’s no rush or interruptions to be made. It’s just the two of them enjoying every inch of each other. It’s his shirt that goes first, then hers, “Lemme take you upstairs.” Y/N doesn’t get a chance to answer due to being throw over his shoulder.

She playfully slaps his bum while being upside down, “You’ve got a nice ass.” He takes advantage of the position she’s in to bite the fleshy part of hers, reveling in her squeal. He plops her on the bed, looking mischievous, “Stop staring at me and do something.”

He smirks at her, slightly tilting his head, “Make me.”

Y/N gets situated on her knees and leans forward, placing a kiss between his belt buckle and belly button before scooting all the way back to the headboard. He watches her more intently, observing every single move she makes. Y/N starts by taking her pants off, then her bra. He raises his eyebrow as she readjusts so her back is flat against the bed. Her hands run down her torso, upwards to her chest before finally sinking between her legs. Henry’s mouth slowly opens while her legs spread, and her fingers graze up and down her slit.

Henry responds by undoing his jeans, placing his hand in them and touching himself to match, “Do something.” He’s enjoying the show too much. Y/N’s demand forum is hard to resist but look at her.

“And miss out on you playing with that pretty little cunt?” Her hand briefly pauses but continues with more pressure. She’s never heard him used vulgar language outside of acting, and having it paired with him touching himself? She can feel herself get wetter and wetter. Her legs close and squeeze together, “Don’t fucking close your legs.” His voice raises slightly, causing her to open them quickly, “Such a good girl.”

Y/N watches him undress, leaving him to walk to the side of the bed completely nude. He strokes himself, he uses his other hand to reach over and touches her bottom lip. She fully understands what he wants , but God, she wants to hear him say it, “Not gonna ask me nicely?”

He bends down, looking her right in the eye, “I want to feel the back of your throat before I fuck that sweet pussy of yours.” He straightens up, puts his hands behind her head and gently guides her mouth on to him. Her lips wrap around him, her wet, warm tongue glides along him, “Look at me,” Y/N drags her eyes to his while he adds pressure to the back of her head. Henry moves her slowly and her eyes close as he hits his promised destination. He can feel her mouth fill up with saliva and it just adds to the naughty sight. He only does this a few times before exiting her mouth with a pop.

He wipes her mouth for her and even moves her hair back behind her ears. He then sits on the edge of the bed, holding his arm out for her. Y/N stands in front of him but doesn’t now if she should take the reigns or let him total control. She doesn’t get the chance to decide. Henry pulls her on top him, but not entering her, “Quite the tease, hmm?”

“Is it teasing or is it savoring every second with a cute, sexy, little thing like yourself?” She feels her face heat up and gives an involuntary moan. She ruts up against him, letting him feel just a fragment of how wet she really is, “Lemme fuck you,” he kisses her, his lips floating to her ear and whispering, “Can I come in you?”

If he wasn’t holding her so close, she might have slid right to the floor. She whines, thrusting against him once more, “I’m on the pill,” without hesitation he gets her on her back and kisses her vigorously. His hands squeeze her hip and thigh as he enters her. She feels a pleasurable burning, being stretched ever so slightly by Henry, she giggles, “Wow.”

He smiles and kisses her again, “What was that?”

Y/N wraps her arms around his neck, reveling in the fact that he’s not at all serious, “You just feel good.” He squeezes her body even tighter, aggressively pumping into her this time, making her gasp, “So good.”

He starts to go faster, eventually pulling her by her hips and groaning as her walls quiver with each move he makes, “I bet you’re so cute when you come,” He didn’t realize he said it out loud, it was something that appeared in his mind and he couldn’t keep it to himself. A hand moves between them to thumb at her clit, “Show me.” Y/N is already weak for that accent and when shows any kind of authority in his voice, she could fall apart. He spits, an action she would usually find reprehensible, but the wetness lands on her folds, followed by slap, “I want you to show me.”

Y/N swears she hasn’t felt a build up this immense in years. She looks at him just as he smirks at her, and adds pressure to her clit, “Faster,” Henry obliges and watches her unravel for him.

He feels her come hard and listens to every single moan, groan, and breath she makes while saying him name, “Beautiful.” Y/N is still throbbing when he pounds into her, looking for his own release.

She grips Henry’s hands that are tight on her hips, “Come in me, Henry.” He let’s out what she can only describe as a growl. He starts to get erratic with his movements until his eyes shut tightly, and he exhales shakily. She let’s a another giggle escape her.

“God, you’re adorable.” She motions him to lower himself, allowing her to kiss him.

She can feel Henry smile though their kiss, “I think you’re definitely in a better mood.”

“Definitely,” He briefly breaks the kiss and runs his idea finger down her nose, “You wanna get some nachos?”

Y/N smiles, “Yeah.”

[Tagged: If you’d like to be tagged, just shoot me a message or ask!]

@igotkatiepowers  @xxxkatxo  @lunedelorient  @heartfelt-pen​ @omgkatinka​ @viking-raider​

#my posts #text #henry cavill #henry cavill blog #henry cavill x female reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x y/n #henry cavill angst #every name is made up except for hen #henry cavill smut #my writing #operationcavill

[marvelsswansong]

kind gestures

summary: simple exchanges of kind gestures go a long way- in saving lives, healing and leading two enemies to eventual love. 

tags: enemies to lovers, violence, slow burn-ish, second chances, starts with angst but ends with fluff ✨

word count: 5.8K

a/n: this was written as part of the Marvel fic writers x BLM Request campaign (check masterlist for more info). This fic was one of the hardest for me to write and took 2 months to finalize so a bit nervous about posting this one. 

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The edge of the cup clunked awkwardly with the wooden tray she was carrying as May carefully parted Peter’s door, revealing a very stressed out Peter. He was staring blankly at his textbook with his head in his hands, eyes wide yet unblinking. Carefully setting down the cup of coffee onto his desk (she normally didn’t let him indulge in caffeine but considering all the late nights he’d been pulling lately, she figured she could give him a pass this week) May held the tray close to her chest and watched her nephew’s response, which was a whispered thank you without even looking up. She sighed- she’d seen stress and exam cramming, but it was never this bad. 

“Alright, what’s going on?” May pressed, forcing Peter to look up at his aunt. His whole face was now more visible under the lights, allowing her to clearly see the dark circles underneath his eyes and his unkempt curls sticking out in odd directions from the countless times he’d run his fingers through his hair. 

“What’d you mean?” he asked lowly, causing May to raise an eyebrow.

“You’re eating half the amount you used to. You’re getting basically no sleep these days, you’re moody, you’re quiet… What’s going on, Pete?” she questioned, genuinely concerned as she lay a hand on his shoulder. Peter had to bite his lip from wincing as she was lightly squeezing a fresh bruise he’d gotten last night while chasing a robber, and forced out a smile, one as realistic as he could muster.

“Just stressed, May. Senior year is no joke.” his half attempted humor caused May to purse her lips but she didn’t want to push her nephew any further if he didn’t want to share, so she just smiled, squeezing his shoulder comfortingly. 

“Alright. And you know you can talk to me about anything, right?” 

Peter nodded, almost reflexively. 

“Of course.” 

She smiled and gave him a soft kiss on his forehead.

“Alright. Love you loads. Try to sleep soon, okay?.” 

Peter let out a heavy sigh as soon as May closed the door behind her, the tension leaving his body. Squeezing his eyes shut and leaning back on his chair, he pondered on how he was going to be able to keep this up for another month or two. Normally balancing his schoolwork, social life and his superhero identity wasn’t so draining. Definitely not the easiest, but he wasn’t relying on three cups of coffee a day and for Ned to trade him notes as Peter could barely keep an eye open during class. 

He’d already had to beg two different teachers to not send May a concerned email or give her a call as he’d been caught sleeping in class five different times now. He couldn’t help it, he was just so exhausted and… angry. 

Spiderman had been falling in the public eye’s favour for the past few months. He was no longer the unanimously loved friendly neighbourhood superhero, rather he was now seen as a failure, unable to keep the villains of New York in check. It’d all started three months ago, when a string of robberies occurred across several big banks on the upper east side of Queens. It made headlines and left officials scratching their heads, but Peter wasn’t too concerned- robberies weren’t uncommon in New York and usually the criminals got caught a few weeks later and never attempted to rob again.

But then it came out that a note had been left at the scene of the crime. Drawn in red lipstick, a picture of a crescent moon was painted onto a high security vault which had been drained of all its gold. The media went into a frenzy and Peter recalled watching the NYPD press conference on his phone during lunch time, the head officer describing this behavior as of “possibly a serial robber” and warning the public of any suspicious behaviour.

But it was all speculation back then.

Then a week after that string of robberies came a gruesome murder where the mayor of New York City was gutted like a pig in his million dollar mansion, his bloodied and mutilated body bleeding out onto the rich white marble floors. The killer left an identical lipstick moon at the crime scene, this time painted onto the mirror in his living room under the word written hastily: “PIG.” 

The police was careful to say these two crimes were connected, as it could be a copycat trying to masquerade as the robber. 

Only for three days after the mayor was killed, the killer went after the head of a property investment firm located in west Queens, the corpse found with both of his hands caught off. Another lipstick moon was left at the scene, written under the word: “ROBBER.” A jewelry store was then stolen from the night after, followed by a string of killings of rich politicians and businessmen as the weeks went by- each time they were mutilated differently, but their murders were always accompanied by the lipstick moon. 

Once it became clear that there was a serial killer on the loose, pure panic descended the city. The police began to heighten security measures around the business sectors of New York and put out a reward for any information on the killer, all the while the public began to fear who this unknown master assassin was. 

Peter, as both a citizen of New York and a superhero, felt a moral obligation to capture this villain and put them in their place. He began to map where these crimes were happening and found a few connections: the crimes only occurred in New York and always during the night. Upon asking Karen to hack into the police force database, he read that the choice of weapon was always a carving knife, though varying in size each time. 

He started amping up his nightly patrols, commanding Karen to immediately notify him if any distress calls about murders or robberies in the New York City area were being passed through the police station. He was determined to catch this killer, who later became nicknamed as Moonshine, named after the deadly and illegal alcohol brand, but every time he got close he was always somehow too late. And with every robbery and murder Peter failed to stop, the terror felt by citizens began to morph into anger and blame for Spiderman. 

He’d never faced such slander before. Comments under articles reporting more of Moonshine’s crimes were littered with people questioning why Spiderman had yet to catch the villain, what exactly he was doing to try and even stop it. The public scrutiny paired with the increased pressure by the police for the superhero to help them out was so intense that Tony eventually stepped in, going off on a press conference about how Spiderman was still a young person and how unfair it was to put the burden all on this one boy. 

“Don’t worry about it, okay, Peter? Fury’s agreed to let us work on this case, now that it’s been dialed up to a kill count of almost 30 and the entire nation is in panic over it. You go home and sleep, focus on school, okay? And EAT! You look blue.” Tony had chastised, pushing Peter to go back home after he’d spent the whole night at the lab trying to connect more of the killings for any clues. 

But sleep wouldn’t come to him.

The pit in his stomach was unbearable. He felt useless, powerless and frustrated. 

The only progress he managed to make since he started working on the case happened a week ago, when he was the first one to respond to a distress call made by the wife of a prominent politician. 

Peter immediately swung to the affluent neighborhood and stepped into the bedroom, where the politician was cowering in the corner as the criminal had their hands outstretched in the air, the knife glimmering in the moonlight.

“Stop.” 

You turned around and his eyes widened- you were a girl. It was obvious by the way that the suit was hugging your body and the way you spoke, though your voice was slightly lower pitched due to the voice modulator installed in your suit. 

“Spiderboy? Never thought you’d show up, considering everyone hates you now. Now leave.” you pointed to the exit with your knife, the tip glittering threateningly with a drop of blood. Peter pursed his lips, gritting his teeth angrily.

“Not a chance. You’ve been terrorizing the entire state of New York with your unnecessary killings and robberies.” 

You just smirked, amusement seeping through your tone. 

“Unnecessary? Is that what you view that as?”

“More than that. You’re a villain. You’re immoral. You’re sick.” 

The man behind you then yelled and lunged forward, trying to tackle you onto the floor. You stepped backwards but the force at which he moved cause you to accidentally cut yourself a few inches below your hand, a gash appearing on your wrist. Your gaze turned murderous under your mask and you swore, gripping the metal blade even tighter.

Before Peter could web you down you moved at lightning speed, slitting the man’s throat before rounding around Peter and kicking him down. The pure speed and unadulterated strength with which you kicked caused him to clumsily fall onto the floor, his body colliding with the wooden drawer in the corner. Then within a blink of an eye you’d sped off somewhere else, and by the time he ran into the living room you’d already left your message on the pristine white sofa, the lipstick moon sigma smiling at him mockingly. This time you’d written the word “cheater” under the drawing, the letters messy and sticking out in odd directions.

Peter cursed.

He was so fucking close. 

The walk back home was hard, his heart feeling low and the sweeping sensation of guilt punching him in the stomach with every step he took. He asked Karen to pass on the new information to the NYPD and Tony (“she’s a girl and she has super speed and super strength”) before turning off all his electronics and closing all the curtains in his room, enclosing the space in darkness.

He needed to get away from all the scrutiny and responsibilities for a while. 

That was a whole week ago. 

And nothing had changed. Peter was still stressed, still being scrutinized, still feeling the intense backlash from the public. If it wasn’t for his natural intellect he was sure he would’ve failed the past three exams he took, considering he was falling asleep in almost every class and getting by on intense cramming sessions and copious amounts of redbull. He’d been barred by Tony and even Fury himself from looking further into this case, both of them arguing that it wasn’t “good for a teen” and that Peter needed to “get more food and sleep.”

But how could they say that when this was all Peter could think about?

Once he heard the lights go out in May’s room, his stomach growled in hunger and he was suddenly craving some ice cream. Figuring that there was a 7/11 open just down the block from his apartment, Peter quickly pulled on a spare pair of jeans and a Stark Tower hoodie (even packing his web shooters underneath his sleeves- he never knew) and headed out the door. 

The walk was quiet and brisk, the night wind whipping past his face as his footsteps rang out in the dark. Stepping into the convenient store he accidentally bumped into someone, stepping on their feet in haste.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” a feminine voice rang out, paired with a laugh. He looked up, his cheeks flushing red when his first thought was that you were very, very pretty. Wearing a breezy floral tank top and a tight pair of jeans, you were giving him the brightest smile he’d ever seen on a girl, one that made his breath stop in his throat.

“No, it’s fine. It’s my-” his words trailed off when his eyes fell onto your arm. 

There was a gash on your left arm, right underneath your hand, right where he had sliced Moonshine a week ago. 

“It’s my fault.” Peter finished, smiling awkwardly. Thankfully, you didn’t question it, simply amused at the cute boy blushing in front of you. Then as soon as you turned around to walk up to the cashier, he rolled his sleeves back and webbed you to the counter. Your eyes widened in shock, a couple of swear words passing by your lips before your eyes narrowed at him, finally recognizing him.

“Spiderboy.” 

He ignored the string of curses and angry comments that left your mouth and immediately called Tony. 

“Mr.Stark? I’m sending you my location right now. I’ve caught Moonshine.”

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Winter break came two weeks later, along with the fury of the freezing cold and layers of snow covering every inch of the city. Bundled up under three layers of fur and fuzz, Peter wrapped the red scarf around the lower portion of his face several times before stepping out into the street, the paper bag filled with books heavy in his left hand. 

Things had gone back to somewhat normal following your capture, the whirlwind of media sensationalism and public anxiety bubbling down to a silence. Tony had clapped Peter on the back and congratulated him, telling him that “the adults will take it from here.” Though now that it was winter break, Peter was visiting Stark Tower more than ever, the unlimited amount of books and scientific resources an attractive excuse to not be stuck in his apartment for weeks on end. After all, he even had an entire floor to himself after being dubbed an honorary avenger, and it was his recluse, away from any stress or responsibilities. 

Greeting the receptionist, Peter passed through the sliding glass doors and hummed as he stepped into the elevator. The elevator stopped on its ascent and he could hear some of the adults in midst of a heated argument as an exasperated Sam entered the elevator, shaking his head. 

“Is… everything okay?” Peter questioned, not wanting to overstep any boundaries. Sam sighed, crossing his arms.

“Ms public enemy won’t talk. She’s just been sarcastic and rude and driving Tony up the wall. The latter I actually appreciate. Everything else I don’t.”

Peter nodded, letting out a quiet “oh” and reverting his gaze to the floor.

“Is there… is there anything I can do to help?” 

Sam just smiled and waved it off.

“Nah. Thanks though kid, if it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t have her in our custody.” 

As the doors slowly slid shut Peter leaned on his right foot to look out, seeing a small figure hunched on a metal chair in a glass box while the rest of the Avengers argued amongst themselves outside. You made direct eye contact with him and smirked and he quickly looked away, troubled thoughts filling his head.

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No lesser than three hours when he saw you in that cell, you were walking free (well, semi-free with a GPS tracking bracelet on your right wrist) around the tower as if you’d lived there all along. Peter had immediately reached for his web shooters, fearing that you’d escaped, when Steve stopped him, putting a firm hand on Peter’s wrist.

“C-captain, I don’t understand, why-” 

Steve sighed, his eyebrows furrowing in deep thought.

“Fury and her talked and apparently she holds a lot of dirt on criminals and high ranking illegal activity by politicians that both the US government and SHIELD wants. In exchange for information she’s been granted limited freedom.” 

Peter wanted to talk back, argue about how ridiculously unfair and dangerous that decision was, but before he even had a chance to open his mouth Steve was pulled away by Bruce, some quiet murmurings about a meeting being exchanged that Peter didn’t have the brainpower to absorb. If Peter would’ve had the luxury to not know who you were, he probably would have been fine with seeing you walk around the kitchen. 

Especially because he wasn’t blind- you were stunning. 

But all he could feel right now was rage and hatred, the twisting of his gut intensifying as he toyed with the idea in his head. His enemy was walking around freely and happily even after all she’d done, all the people she’d scared and killed-

The lights went out at the moment, plunging the room into darkness. His senses forced him forwards and to corner you immediately, causing your eyebrow to raise in the dark.

“Can I help you, spiderboy?” 

“Don’t call me that.” he scowled. “I’m just trying to make sure a villain isn’t going to get away. You’re not responsible for this, are you?” 

You rolled your eyes.

“Are you serious? I’ve been in prison for the past three hours and had this big bracelet cuffed to my wrist that I literally can’t even saw it off if I wanted to. It’s made of vibranium or some shit and I need a code to be able to unlock it.” 

“Stop talking, I’m trying to think.” Peter snapped, his senses on high alert. He was waiting for a notification on his phone or some kind of announcement from FRIDAY but the floor was completely silent, the only sounds in the room being the labored breathing from him and you. 

The sound of glass breaking filled the air and you both tensed, your arm already reaching for the knife on the counter behind you as Peter began to walk towards the noise.

He never got to, however, when you pushed him behind you and swung your arm at the intruder, the blade pointing directly at the intruder’s neck. Under the veil of darkness it was hard to make out what was happening, but he could hear the slap on skin from where you were attacking the assailant and the heavy grunts from when you flipped the intruder over to the floor, the body smacking right against the concrete floor. A shout and you had pinned the unknown man to the floor, your legs right on his neck and causing him to pass out. 

Peter spoke quietly into the dark, not being able to see who had won the fight.

“Uh… you okay, Moonshine?”

Soft footsteps pattered against floor as you came into view, wiping the bloodied knife from where it had grazed the intruder’s skin on your shirt.

“(Y/n).”

He paused.

“What?”

“Don’t call me Moonshine. I’ve always hated that name. My name’s (Y/n).” 

Fuck, he thought the name was kind of pretty. Shifting nervously, he bit his lip before speaking.

“Well, (Y/n) thanks for… saving my life.” 

“You’re welcome.”

An awkward and tense atmosphere filled the air as Peter pondered over what to say next, before it hit him.

“Wait… why did you save my life? I thought your whole deal was that you killed people for no reason? Politicians, businessmen, robbing banks…”

You licked your lips, your eyes falling to the floor as you let out a humorless chuckle. 

“The banks I robbed were scamming citizens below the poverty line to bypass tax policies. The mayor sexually assaulted all his female staff. The property investment firm’s CEO was stealing money from the firm’s deals while cutting pay for his workers. The lawyer was contaminating evidence so his client would win, the politician was cheating on his wife, the last guy I killed was a convicted rapist.”

The lights flickered back on and two guards with the SHIELD symbol marched in, motioning for you to follow them. You sighed, dropping the knife into the sink and looking at Peter’s shocked face with amusement.

“I’d never kill someone who wasn’t guilty. I’m not a villain, Spiderboy. I’m the equalizer.” 

The man to your right grabbed your arm roughly, almost pulling you forward towards the entrance as Peter watched you walk off. His mouth felt weirdly dry and his brain was foggy, not sure of how to process all the information you’d just given him.

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You were starting to get comfortable in the prison cell they’d allocated you to, the harsh cement floor feeling softer and softer every minute. You supposed it was a good thing that you were captured by the Avengers and not their sinister counterparts, considering you were still being served warm food and given time to sleep. Even if they gave you the bare minimum or glared at you while giving you food, it was better than nothing. 

Each day was blending into the next, though you were allowed to wander out of your cell at certain points throughout the day given that you were wearing your bracelet and under the constant surveillance of FRIDAY. But those times where you weren’t outside, you were either being interrogated by an Avenger or forced to watch the Avengers argue amongst themselves outside of your cell. 

It was all miserable and isolating, to say the least. But you supposed…

Perhaps you did deserve all this. 

The night settled in and something must’ve broken in your cell, because it was suddenly much colder than it was an hour ago. The superheroes had decided to call it a night, each of them going back to their floors and living you all alone in your cell. Shivering slightly, you pushed yourself against the wall and rubbed your hands together, trying to brace the cold. To your surprise, you soon heard the door opening and a hand reaching out to you, holding a thick blanket in their hands. 

“Here.” 

Your eyes trailed upwards and stopped at Peter’s face, a slight blush dusting his cheeks as he coughed awkwardly and extended the material towards you. Taken back by the kind gesture, you didn’t take it, afraid of this being some kind of a twisted joke or a test. But he just kept on holding it out towards you, his eyes basically begging you to take it. 

“Thanks.” you whispered, wrapping yourself with the thick blanket. He nodded, a small smile gracing his lips. “Where uh… where’ve you been the past few days?”  

“What do you mean?” 

You shrugged. 

“You used to pass by my cell almost every day, Spiderboy. Well, every day since that day of the failed invasion. Then I stopped seeing you for a whole three days till… well, today. What’s up with that?” 

His eyes widened then he awkwardly scratched his neck, as if almost embarrassed about telling you this.

“Right, about that…. Well, after what you told me, uh, that night, I… I went to talk to Director Fury by myself. He was pretty wary about my idea and it took me a few days to convince him but I think he’s going to agree with me now.” he said lowly, slowly sitting down on your bed as you shifted over and gestured for him to sit down. 

“What’s the idea?” 

“Well… basically, you leave this cell and the bracelet behind. In exchange, you work with the Avengers for the next two years. Kind of like a superhero internship, so you can help people the right way. Because that’s ultimately what you’re trying to do, just… maybe your methods are wrong.” he was speaking to you softly, and you were frozen, touched by his kindness.

“You… you really did all that for me?” 

He nodded shyly, not meeting your gaze.

“Yeah.” 

A beat of silence passed.

“W-why?” it was your turn to stutter as you shifted towards him, searching his eyes for any sign of deceit or manipulation. But there was none. Just pure sincerity as he smiled. 

“Because I was wrong about you, (Y/n). And the world deserves to know that they were wrong about you, too.” 

You opened your mouth to respond then closed it, when words failed you.

“Well…. Thanks, Spidey.”

“Peter. That’s my real name. Peter Parker.” he cut you off and you smiled, tugging the blanket closer towards yourself.

“Peter. I like that name a lot.” 

You had a feeling you and Peter were going to get along from now on.

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Peter was staring at you. Again. 

Had you noticed? He wouldn’t know, you’d never brought it up to him. Weeks had flown by since the ice had broken and you’d slowly started to let him in and he was starting to see who you really were as he managed to take down your walls brick by brick. Between late night talks, walks in the park after training and secret sleepovers filled with sugar, he’d slipped into a dangerous crack of infatuation. 

It started out with fascination. Fascination with someone so morally different from him, a fascination with the layers of secrecy wrapped around yourself, a fascination with the unknown. Then somewhere along the way it turned into a friendship, a quiet compliment leaving your lips out of nowhere, a small smile, your unapologetic laugh muffled behind your arm as Peter tried (and failed, miserably) to drag in a six foot teddy bear into your room after winning it at a county fair. The bruise he had on his lower back was a testament to the fall.

The seasons melted from fall to winter eventually, meaning it was time for him to switch jackets for sweaters and blankets to fluffy multi-layered ones. He still remembered the time he caught you wrapped up in all three of his blankets in his room when he’d returned late from training one day, and the adorably panicked look on your face. 

And the others had caught onto his infatuation, apparently. It was all too clear from the snide remarks and gentle shoves from Sam and Bucky, the incredibly awkward love advice given from Steve (which was promptly followed by Natasha rolling her eyes and telling Peter not to follow it), and the outright questions from Tony over cups of coffee.

“You like her, don’t you? Miss public enemy number one.” Tony mentioned casually one day, accepting the hot cup of coffee Peter had brought in for him from the kitchen.

Peter almost dropped the other cup of coffee he was holding in his hands, the stumble obvious and eliciting a soft chuckle from his mentor’s mouth.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Peter replied quickly, averting his gaze. Tony rolled his eyes.

“You know who I’m talking about. Hey-” 

Peter looked up at Tony, worried about what he was going to say about you.

“I know we were all harsh on her at the beginning but we all like her now. Besides, I think you two would be good for each other.”

“Peter-” 

The call of his name forced him to snap out of his daze, your hand being waved in front of Peter’s face repeatedly. When he looked up at you, his eyes glazed over, you laughed.

“Too much soda?” 

He shook his head sideways, brushing off your comment.

“No. Not enough, actually. But I think there should be more in the fridge-” he walked over and opened it, only to find it void of any soda. “Huh. Guess not.”

“We could go out for one. There’s a 7/11 just down the street.” you spoke up from your seat from the floor, carefully separating your legs underneath the thick blanket. He agreed and the two of you snuck out the tower after grabbing a thick coat and sneakers, almost forgetting to bring the credit card that Tony had lended you and Peter for “emergencies only.” 

The walk was silent, the only sound being the snow being crushed under your feet, given that it was well past 10pm on a Wednesday. A few cars passed by but it was a mostly deserted street, albeit it well lit and seemingly safe. A few giggles and a light shove was exchanged in the store (to which the store clerk glared at you and Peter for) and the two of you left with two large bottles of soda. 

“Damn it, I forgot something.” Peter swore after the store door closed behind you. You smiled.

“It’s fine, go inside. I’ll just be waiting outside here for you.”

You hummed quietly to yourself to fill the empty space, your slow breaths coming out in white clouds and dissipating into the cold air. The sound of a scream and two bodies struggling caught your attention, the distressed noises coming from the alley around the corner. Spurring into action, you gave it little thought before running towards the noise.

It was dark, darker than usual, not a single street lamp to light the way. Carefully stepping forwards, you brushed past some bushes and a dumpster, before walking right into a heavy figure. Before you could do anything, the figure knocked you against the brick wall, your head colliding with the unforgiving cement and a cold blade pressed against your neck.

“Give me all your money.” the clearly male voice growled into your ear. 

“Who’s she?” another male voice spoke out in the dark, a smaller figure thrashing in his hold. From the moonlight passing over ahead you saw it was a girl, a large bruise on her left cheek and terror evident in her eyes as her irises stared into yours.

“No clue. But might as well get someone outta her too, huh?” the man holding you chuckled, the blade now actually pinching your skin. Dropping your groceries onto the floor, you slowly nodded, your left hand reaching for your wallet inside your pocket. The man lowered his blade for a millisecond, relaxing under the guise of your compliance, and in that momentary relief you kicked your heel out and hit his knees, causing him to groan and drop his blade. 

Swiftly kicking his face, you reached for the blade, only to be tackled by the other man behind you onto the floor. He attempted to hit you in the face, a blow you managed to dodge last second by twisting your head to the side, before you shifted your body upwards and pulled yourself out of his hold. 

The first man was knocked out cold, apparently, his body unmoving except for the slowed breaths leaving his lips. You acknowledged this for a few seconds before another swung at your face came from the other man, this time landing it on your left cheek. Stumbling from the impact, you stopped his hand, now holding the blade, a few inches away from your neck, the tip glistening menacingly in the moonlight. 

Twisting his arm to the side, he cried out in pain and this time you were the one to push him against the wall, your blade against his neck. Out of breath, pumped full of adrenaline and anger, the terrified look of the female victim burned into your mind, the thought of killing entered your mind for the first time in a year.

“(Y/n)-” 

Peter’s voice cut through your hazed mind, distracting you for a brief moment, but before the man could retaliate Peter webbed the criminal’s hands to the walls. 

“Karen, please send the police my location.”

The girl was still shaking, half from fear and half from the freezing cold, and you shrugged off your own coat and wrapped her around in it. She thanked you over and over again until the police arrived, carefully taking her in and shoving the criminals into a police car and slamming it shut. Once the red and blue lights faded away Peter’s cold hand reached out for your cheek in the dark, and you twisted yourself away from it.

“What’s wrong?” 

“Don’t touch me, Parker.” 

Peter recoiled in shock, the venom in your tone obvious and distasteful.

“(Y/n), you’re scaring me.”

“I should scare you. I’m- I’m a fucking monster, Peter.” 

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you shivered from the cold, causing Peter to immediately take off his own coat and try to wrap you in it.

“DON’T touch me.” you shouted, trying to escape his hands. He sighed, looking like a kicked puppy, and holding out his coat.

“I promise I won’t touch you. But you’re freezing. Take my coat. Please?” 

You stared at him for a few moments, unmoving, before snatching the warm coat from his hands and begrudgingly wrapping yourself with it. 

“If you don’t want to talk, that’s fine. But-” Peter sighed, wrapping his arms around himself. “It’s freezing out here and we should start getting back to the tower.” 

Silence.

“Fine.” 

Carefully picking up the discarded grocery bags, the two of you walked back to Stark Tower, Peter ever so slightly walking closer to you as a result of his protective streak flaring up. The bruise starting to form underneath your left eye was becoming prominent under the street lights, causing Peter to stare at your face worriedly as you simultaneously tried to avoid your gaze. 

You didn’t speak until the two of you ended back up in Peter’s living room, collapsing onto the inflatable sofa with a sob.

“Hey, hey-” he was quick to soothe, wrapping his arms around you and letting you cry into his shoulder. 

“I-I almost killed him.” you admitted. You expected him to shrug you off, disgusted or shocked, but all he did was stroke your hair, pressing a shaky kiss onto your forehead. “I’m a horrible person, Peter. I’m forever going to be a bad person, I-I’m unable to be fixed-” 

“Stop saying that.” he cut you off, taking your face into his hands and forcing you to look at him. His eyes were just soft and sincere, not even a hint of disgust or fear in his irises. “You’re not perfect, sure. But no one is. And you’ve come so far from the first time I ran into you a year ago. Don’t throw all that progress away just because of a momentary thought.” 

“Why do you even bother with me?” you asked quietly, wiping away a stray tear with your sleeve. Peter smiled.

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re worth it.” 

The kiss was natural and swift, you leaning in but Peter being the one to close the gap. When Peter pulled away, his cheeks tinted pink and a wide smile on his lips, you chuckled and crossed your arms.

“We still have one more problem.” 

“And what’s that?” he asked, teasing. 

“The soda’s all frozen because we were out for too long.” 

Peter laughed, his shoulders relaxing and his hand brushing away a stray strand of hair falling from your face.

“Is that what you’re worried about?” 

You smacked him lightly on the chest, playfully.

“It’s a valid concern!”

He licked his lips, slowly nodding and then staring at you wistfully.

“Hopefully it’s the biggest of our problems.” 

“Hopefully.” 

And it was.

Until seven years later, when Peter had to plan the proposal.

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a/n: AHHHH that’s it! I’m not the most confident about this one so please leave a like/reblog/comment if you liked it! it takes five seconds but makes my whole day <3

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker fluff #peter parker headcanon #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #marvel reader insert #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #avengers x reader #reader insert #peter parker oneshot #peter parker one-shot #marvel fanfic #marvel x reader

[angelicamerlinbarnes]

TUA DISNEY AUs: Big Hero 6 (Pt. XVIII)

(please understand that by AU, I mean they share an incredibly small amount of things in common with the original source material which I barely remember BUT the “story” takes place in the setting of the film) (not to be misleading or anything :p)

(BEWARE: abuse, murder, corruption, mental health issues, unhealthy coping mechanisms, suicidal ideation, death, grief, violence, basically i took the sad montage after Tadashi dies and just kept going with that except without the whole "getting better" thing, sorry, my bad, enjoy anyway i guess i don't know, bye, etc.)

(If you can handle watching Umbrella Academy, this will be fine for you.)

(Hiro) Vanya hasn’t much of a head for science - not since a gas explosion in her childhood apartment killed her parents and exposed her to radiation, leaving her brittle-boned and sickly. She spends most of her days holed up in her room, reading and writing about every little thing she sees and hears and feels. There’s this cat in the alleyway she feeds sometimes, and her friend Ben who comes by to see how she is every few days. The only time she goes out is for school, or bot fights down in the bad neighborhoods. At those she gets to see Ben, and his partner Klaus and his friend Diego. Oh, and Sissy - the beautiful, shy punk girl who spins the records in the corner store. Vanya lives what she considers a pretty average life - until Ben dies, she screams, and all the windows around her shatter from nothing.

(Tadashi) Ben has been a science nerd for years, spending hours in the libraries and labs researching every little thing that catches his fancy. His partner, Klaus, has no such interest, having more of a head for poetry, but Ben loves him more than life itself - especially since Klaus was the only person who stuck with him when one of his experiments went wrong a few years ago, resulting in tentacles that are prone to ripping out of his chest when he’s angry. And since he loves Klaus so much, he spares not a second thought to running back into a burning building to get him back, even when it means certain death. And Ben knows you can’t bring back the dead - he tried when Klaus’ beloved boyfriend Dave died in a gunfight a few years back. Once you’re gone, you’re gone - or so he thinks until he wakes up and Klaus starts crying and muttering, You’re here, you’re here, you’re here, I did it, I did it, I did it - and Ben reaches out and thinks, Oh, no, sweetheart. You didn’t.

(Honey Lemon) Allison was engaged to Ray before he disappeared, but even after that failed experiment lost her the love of her life, she continued to work for the forward movement of science and kept her vow of love to Ray. Using her research, she managed to create a pill that allowed her to bend reality, hoping to bring back Ray. Though she couldn’t raise the dead - no amount of I heard a rumor Ray was alive again worked - she won herself other advantages with her newfound powers, including sponsors, knowledge, opportunities, and protection. Klaus, Diego, Five, and Ben are her only true friends in this world - and she nearly loses all of them when Ben dies, drowning in their grief. When Luther, one of Five and Ben’s passion projects starts hanging around to monitor their mental health, Allison finds a new kind of love - deep, ever-lasting friendship that she’ll never give up. Even when they have to leave him behind on the moon after they save Ray, she doesn’t let him go - she finally knows how to speak up for what she wants, and speak up she does: I heard a rumor that Luther came back to me.

(Fred (actually a mash-up of Honey Lemon and Hiro though to be honest)) Klaus is a starving artist and poet, and he's covered in tattoos of his own words and drawings. Diego is too, because Diego loves him, and Klaus wants to love him back and probably does already, if he’s really honest with himself, but he’s not ready yet. Dave happened too soon ago. And then there was a fire, and Klaus was running around outside, looking for Ben, looking for the platonic love and light of his life, and he saw him run inside screaming Klaus’ name and never come back out. And he lives with that guilt every day, smoking and drinking all the bad shit again in an effort to just forget, forget, anything goddamn anything to forget, and he goes crazy. People forget, because he’s not a student at their nerd school and because he acts like a dumbass, that Klaus is actually just as much a genius as the rest of them, and whatever he wants, he can get without much trouble. So what if he can’t bring back the dead? He won’t live without Ben, he won’t, and he won’t leave Diego - which leaves only one option, really: find a way to make himself see ghosts.

(Wasabi) Diego lives a charmed life. Truly. He’s almost been assassinated fifteen fucking billion times, his two best friends are robots, and he’s in love with a person too sad to love him back. See, Diego’s skills brought him to the military’s special attention - he found a way to make weaponry that doesn’t obey the laws of physics. He keeps it as secret as he can, and will sell it to nobody, but millions of people are still after it. It’s not until one of the assassins almost nails Klaus with a bullet and Diego kills her with a store-bought kitchen knife without moving that he realizes the weaponry he created isn’t special, but Diego is. From then on it’s nothing but trouble - because Klaus likes to dumb himself down, but he can’t fool Diego, and so when he starts screaming at empty air and calling it Ben, Diego isn’t surprised in the least, though maybe he should be. Instead he just sighs, opens his arms, and lets a sobbing Klaus fall into him, loving him more than he did yesterday and less than he will tomorrow. Diego has his home, and he has his people, and he has his powers - and he will defend them to the fucking death.

(Gogo) Five is bitter and grumpy, living off coffee and perpetually crazy. He’s brilliant enough to have done surgery on himself, implanting an AI pacemaker in his heart named Dolores from an accident that nearly stripped him of everything, his life included. He was born with special powers, both of which fuelled his fascination with science, but he keeps that secret close to his chest - he’s seen what people do to Diego and Allison, and he has no interest in that. He’s close with the others, somewhat, though his impassable genius makes it difficult for people to understand him - Diego gives him piggy back rides and he often falls asleep curled into Klaus’ side, and Allison gives him rides home and Ben builds robots with him. But as hard as he finds it to connect with them, it’s even harder to lose them - so when he realizes he can use his time travel powers to save Ben, he doesn’t hesitate. And then he’s dying in Klaus’ arms, and he’s watching as his favorite person in the world chooses to lose the love of his life all over again to save Five, and something deep inside him changes.

(Baymax) Luther is a medical robot, built by Five and Ben in their spare time. There are some videos in him, mostly of Ben talking to Klaus because Luther was meant to be a gift for Klaus to help him with his depression, anxiety, PTSD, anorexia, and addiction, etc.. Five adds grief counseling to his programming and gives him to Klaus on his first birthday after Ben’s death, making Klaus dissolve into tears. While Luther clashes with Diego, who hates him for surviving where Lila didn’t, they get along well enough to appease Klaus, because Luther knows Klaus loves Diego and Diego knows Luther helps Klaus. When they travel to the moon to get Ray, Luther winds up stuck there, unable to get the others home if he doesn’t stay behind. Klaus and Allison both have trouble letting him go, but Klaus forces Allison to come home with him, crying as he leaves Ben for the third and final time. When Allison brings Luther back, his videos still intact, Klaus touches Ben’s face on his chest and cries, cries, cries.

Lila is a malfunctioning masterpiece, and Diego’s best friend. He made her as a help robot, but she’s a prototype, and was rejected for her proneness to violent outbursts and catatonic episodes. She’s easy to manipulate, as Diego never bothered to fix her security protocols, but it’s not like there’s anyone else who talks to her - except Five, and he’d never touch her programming without Diego’s explicit permission. She sleeps at Diego’s house, in her charging station next to Eudora’s. Lila knows robots can’t feel love, so that isn’t what she’s feeling - but her wires are tied to Eudora’s in some way, she just knows it. They’re two halves of the same code. But she never gets to explore that link - she burns away to nothing in the fire that destroys the Handler’s minions, using the last of her strength to save Five from the flames. She hopes, when Diego finds his baby brother curled in her charred corpse, that he’ll bury her in the rain, and keep on living without her well enough.

Eudora is a suicide-prevention robot. Seriously. That’s all she’s here for. Ben and Diego built her together for Klaus specifically, programming her with some of his favorite jokes and references so she’d have an easier time talking him down from the edge when one of them can’t be there. She’s programmed to instantly call Ben, Diego, Five, or Allison immediately if she finds him doing dangerous things, like playing with Diego’s knives naked. (It happened one time. Seriously. True story.) She’s calm and gentle, unruffled and kind, and Diego often spends hours talking to her, because she may be programmed for Klaus but she can still help anyone who needs it. He nearly looses her to Cha-Cha, but Klaus saves her just in time, beating Cha-Cha to a steaming hunk of scrap metal with a baseball bat for trying to hurt his best (robot) friend. She’s not saddened by Lila’s death, per say, she can’t be… but when she’s downloading databases on panic and anxiety attacks for Diego and Klaus, she makes sure to save some on insomnia for herself, too.

Sissy is a botfighter, one who dresses in a black and magenta punk aesthetic to fend off strangers, too shy for the world. She messes around with Vanya, the two of them often dancing in the rain and finding joy in the small moments, but happily ever after was never in the cards for them. Sissy lives with her abusive boyfriend Carl and has their son to take care of, an accident from too many beers - when Carl murders her in a drunken rage, it’s less of a surprise and more of a solemn inevitably. Her son, Harlan, is placed in Vanya’s care, and Vanya travels the world with him, telling him everything about his mother she knows. It’s a bittersweet ending, but a hopeful one too.

Ray was a student at the nerd school before he became a therapist, using his incredible mind-healing technology to help people all over the world. Allison fell in love with him quickly, easily, and the two were engaged before the year was up, planning for a spring wedding in which Klaus would, obviously, be the flower girl. But when he was offered the chance to go to space as a therapist for the other nine people on the mission, he jumped at the chance, bidding Allison goodbye and heading to the moon. But something went wrong and he was lost to the world, along with the other nine astronauts, all of whom died when the ship crash-landed. Ray has been in a coma for years there, having been knocked out in the explosion, and remains that way until Luther brings him home, Allison having come for him at last. (When he’s well enough to, he takes care of Five, Klaus, and Diego, whose mental states have been steadily declining for years. Their robots are brilliant, of course, but there are some things you just need a human for.)

Reginald is the dean of the nerd school and also an asshole. He has a habit of killing students when they get in his way, or to steal their inventions as his own - and he gets away with it too, because he’s at the forefront of memory technology and quite literally erases these people from existence so nobody comes asking questions. Plus he’s got connections in the government that destory any records he needs destroyed. He had a couple of kids he wanted to get rid of the night of the showcase, and started the fire to make it seem like an accident - well, Ben actually was an accident, he wasn’t on Reginald’s hitlist, not yet, but whatever. It is what it is. What Reginald doesn’t anticipate is Klaus - because nobody ever anticipates Klaus - and so he thinks nothing of it when he confesses to Ben’s murder in his monologue in front of all his former students. He can just erase their memories later. Or so he thinks, until Klaus lets out a savage war cry and lunges forward to strangle him, killing him in cold blood without a second thought, and so is the end of Reginald Hargreeves. (Five takes the fall for his murder - not that it matters. Diego and Klaus break him out and the three of them disappear, never to be seen again - at least, not until Allison’s done manipulating every single person in the world into forgetting it ever happened on live TV.)

The Handler is Reginald’s finest invention: a flawless AI in a perfect human body. Problem is, she became bored of being his servant years ago and took over his life, blackmailing him into doing whatever she wants. Most of the killings are still his idea, and Ben certainly wasn’t her fault, but it’s the Handler who wants Five dead, and it’s the Handler who sends her reject minions after him. She wants Eudora dead and she wants Klaus deader, but she gets neither - Five finds her and hacks her into little tiny pieces, putting all of them in a fire and then shoving those ashes into an Iron Maiden, dropping the Handler to an inescapable grave. Fuck her “life”.

Hazel is a teddy bear with a security camera in his stomach. He sits on Agnes’ counter in her donut shop, just watching the goings-on even though nobody ever steals anything there. Mostly he’s held in the lap of Five, who comes into Agnes’ whenever he doesn’t want his friends to see him cry - over a failed invention, Klaus’ most recent suicide attempt, Lila’s death - whatever, you name it. Agnes takes care of him, making him milkshakes when he asks for coffee, and eventually sends Hazel home with him, asking him to take care of Five for her. He doesn’t know it’ll be the last time he ever sees her - two weeks later Agnes is killed by Reginald and her donut shop is ransacked by looters. Her memory lives on in Hazel and Five, who rebuilds and reopens the shop with Klaus and Diego and Allison after a couple years, renaming it for Ben and living on despite his grief, and Hazel sits on the counter again, watching the sunset through the glowing windows.

Cha-Cha was supposed to be one of those “oh-hey-we’re-not-racist-anymore-we-make-black-dolls-too-see?” Barbies. She ended up with a rather experimental kid who enjoyed robotics and horror films, resulting in Cha-Cha: an AI in a Barbie with chainsaw arms. She kidnaps Klaus under the Handler’s orders, as he’s a connection to Five (who the Handler wants to kill) and Ben (who’s the only connection to Reginald and the Handler’s murders). This backfires spectacularly, of course, when Eudora and Diego come for him: Cha-Cha goes for Eudora’s throat and Klaus breaks himself free of his binds and beats her to smithereens with a baseball bat.

Leonard used to hang around Vanya, just generally assaulting her and being a creep, until suddenly he disappeared one rainy Monday never to be seen again. His body was found rotting in a lake a couple years later. It was revealed later on that he had decided to and succeeded in making real-life replicas of the Five Nights at Freddie’s characters, and they hadn’t been too fond of him trying to boss them around. The Handler recruited the replicas later on for her own schemes, and they followed Reginald rather well, their appetite for people satisfied well enough. But Leonard remains the school legend, and a striking reminder to be careful what monsters you let live.

Grace is the queen of the Land of the Remembered, and you may be wondering what she’s doing in this story. Well, to put it simply - Reginald’s little games have been messing with her shit. There are perfectly kind and memorable people who have come down to her only to be erased in the Land of the Living within the week, leaving her no choice but to take them in as refugees, working out a deal with the Land of the Forgotten since they weren’t given a fair shot at their deserved afterlife. She takes care of Ben when he dies for the second and final time, appearing to assure Klaus he’ll be alright when he crosses over. This is when Diego finally learns the truth about his mom, who has always been home in time to make dinner and never missed a single milestone, and who is apparently also an all-powerful goddess. She gives him a hug and tells him his boyfriend is cute (He’s not my boyfriend.) (You’re holding hands, darling. You may be an oblivious idiot, but I’m not.) and then she heads off, though she’s always back with Ben for the holidays. (Not Lila, unfortunately. She has no jurisdiction over robots.)

And Hiro is ace-aro and he and Miguel are QPPs, and Honey Lemon and Wasabi are QPPs, and Fred and Wasabi are dating, and Gogo is an bisexual aro queen with a girl she likes to kiss in the back alleyways, and Hiro has two sisters named Violet and Boo and Tip is his ace-aro lab partner. You’re welcome.

#tua #the umbrella academy #big hero 6 #disney #the hargreeves & friends #kliego #ralluther #eudorla #vanya x sissy #five &x dolores #klaus &x ben #hazel x agnes #hazel & cha cha #i don't know this is really sad and really dark #whatever #my bad #have a nice day y'all #bye

[sweetestlamb]

Teenage Dream Pt. 2

Summary: Mun-Yeong learns that Gang-Tae has an admirer, she handles it very well. 

Notes: So, I really had fun playing with blushingshy! GT and aggressivepossessive! MY, I thought the high school au would be the perfect place to have some fun with their roles, I love domGT to bits but domMY does something special to me. I tried to incorporate things you guys said in the comments for part 1, so if you see your idea in the story thank you for the suggestion! This has smut but I am also enjoying the slow burn of their teenage years, so no full sex yet. Blame GT he wouldn’t stop blushing long enough to get ridden. All in due time. Anyway, here’s part 2 enjoy lovelies! 

 In all actuality, she hadn't expected him to approach her that night. Had felt his eyes on her several times at school, Seung-Jae jokingly labelled him her "not so secret admirer" but she wasn't sure if he actually liked her. She was aware that people considered her popular, a byproduct of wealthy parents with celebrity status, therefore people thought they should like her. The same way you liked a useful tool, she wasn't naive enough to believe that her classmates liked her genuinely. Most of them didn't even know what her stories were about, couldn't see past the grotesque imagery and hidden messages. In reality she knew they found her strange, pretty but too different to truly understand  but they played their parts well, fake smiles plastered on. 

So, she only had Seung-Jae  and that was fine by her, one great friend was infinitely better than a thousand faux friends, who only viewed her as a means to an end. But then he approached her and he was just precious, for goodness sakes he had complimented her school uniform of all things, even his constant stuttering and nervousness had been cute. None of her short stories were about damsels who needed saving, writers honestly needed to get past that ancient trope, yet she found herself playing that role with him. He would show up whenever she needed him, slaying all the dragons that stood in her way and asking nothing in return. It made it easy to give him everything, she'd never met anyone quite like Moon Gang-Tae. She hadn't planned on getting a boyfriend, too focused on school and her goals of being a writer, but he had stumbled into her life and she didn't know how to pass up beautiful things. Being with him was effortless in a way she'd never experience with another person, he listened to her and made her feel like she was important and enough as simply Ko Mun-Yeong, not the daughter of Ko Dae-Hwan and Do Hee-Jae . He had once told her as she cried quietly in soft of his collar, "You belong to you." Oblivious to the fact that he possessed a piece of her too, a piece she'd given willingly, no take backs. She was happy and it terrified her. Which, explained why the universe decided to tip her boat of happiness. She stood waiting for him, in the same spot they had been meeting for weeks now, their spot, not to be confused with their other spot outside where he often waited with her for Sang-In, who she had  recently informed commanded to take a scenic route from now on when picking her up, cherishing every second extra she spent with Gang-Tae. It was his first day back since his untimely suspension, she had visited him everyday under the ruse of bringing him school notes, his mother would smile as she greeted her at the door. Unsuspecting that as soon as they were alone, studying was the last thing on their minds. It was beneficial for science class though, she was learning key information about the male anatomy. Excitement bubbled up as she waited for his arrival, fixing her hair and then immediately moving it back to its original position. Agitated at her nerves, it was unsettling to say the least, no one had this affect on her. His smile was brilliant, when he spotted her, his eyes scoping her out like he had a radar system solely for tracking her, he easily walked away from his friend leaving him mid sentence, closing the space between them with a few wide steps, courtesy of those long legs. Suddenly, it wasn't fast enough, she needed to be in his arms, sooner, now and she propelled forward, rushing to meet him halfway. They bounded to each other like long last lovers who were finally reunited, torn apart by the cruelties of an unfair life. She watched him drop a bag carelessly on the ground as he reached her and grabbed her by her waist, immediately she reciprocated his hold, throwing her arms around his neck. With ease, he lifted her up off her tiptoes, her feet left dangling inches off the ground as he effortlessly supported her body weight. She let out a soft gasp, always shocked by his unassuming displays of strength. She snuggled her face into his neck, it was flame red and and she yearned to kiss it. After a short consideration, she pressed a light kiss into his neck, his soft gasp music to her ears. Tightening his hold, he swayed them side to side, inhaling the scent of her intoxicating shampoo. Unbeknownst to them, Jae-Su looked on in disgust and horror, he hadn't even gotten a chance to finish his story before Gang-Tae had taken off, he rolled his eyes watching their dramatic reunion. They hadn't seen each other for two days; Saturday and Sunday, yet they were acting as if Gang-Tae had just returned from military service. He'd known Gang-Tae for a much more substantial number of years, and he was never greeted in such a fashion. He stomped past them grumbling under his breath, "You never hug me like that, I have to beg for any affection." Unfortunately, Gang-Tae's ears were occupied listening to Mun-Yeong's soft breaths and his complaints were left unheard. Mun-Yeong was the first to disturb the hug, drawing back until they were face to face, but still locked in their tender hold. She couldn't help the exuberant smile that spread across her face, "I'm so happy you're back. I missed you." She watched with amused eyes as his signature blush colored his face, his adorable grin tempted her to kiss him right then and there. It was only his next words that halted her, "I got you something." He finally broke their hold, she suppressed her sigh, and he picked up the bag he had discarded prior to their hug. She clapped her hands in excitement, she adored surprises. He reached into the bag smiling at her adorable response and handed her a plastic cup filled with milky brown liquid, her eyes lit up in recognition. "It's coffee milk. I went to the coffee shop you like, that's why I'm late, I'm sorry didn't mean to keep you waiting." His glossy brown eyes stared at her, apologetic and pleading. She giggled before finally giving into her previous urge, yanking his checkered collar, bringing his face close enough to kiss. His eye was huge but he didn't resist, allowing her to draw him in. She curled her free hand around his thick neck, leaning up to capture his slack mouth. He tasted like cereal, sweet and succulent and she chased the taste with her tongue, licking into his moist mouth before he returned the favor. His tongue insistent in her mouth, gasping when she pulled his bottom lip hungrily. She let out a surprised puff of air, as he walked forward forcing her to retreat until her back met the hard wall. He placed a broad hand on her back, dragging her deeper into the kiss as the other cradled her head. Time slowed down as they kissed, wet sounds filling the air. Their mouths broke apart only to come back together, time and time again. A loud cough sounded off to her right, she willfully ignored it, lost in the flavors of her boyfriend. But the cough continued followed by an obnoxious clearing of the throat, she pulled away to shout at whoever was interrupting them only to meet the eyes of her best friend. "You do realize that you're in public right and that you're giving everyone a free show?" Seung-Jae asked eyes never looking up from her phone, her fingers flying across the touch screen, most likely on Tumblr again. As she took a moment to catch her breath, her eyes scanned the hallway and yes, all eyes were on them. Thankfully no teachers but their classmates were looking on with gaping mouths. Some even had their phones out, she glowered at them until they hurriedly hid them shamed-face, before snapping back to Gang-Tae. He was painfully shy, she knew his face would be alight and she was right. He glowed scarlet red above, satisfaction settled in her belly, poor baby. Looking down at her watch with a despondent sigh, she brought the gifted drink to her lips, still tingling from the passionate kiss. His eyes followed the motion, lingering on her mouth. "Thank you for the coffee milk. You were even more delicious though." She teased, hearing him groan in embarrassment. "Come on girl, we need to get to class. " Seung-Jae impatiently interrupted again, tapping her feet now, code for hurry the fuck up. "Alright I'm coming." She picked up her fallen book bag, swinging it over her shoulder, before Gang-Tae's arm shot out grasping the bag in his large hand. "I can carry it." He said in the softest voice, sounding like he was being given a gift, she'd forgotten how he seemingly couldn't stand to see her carry anything. Just adorable. "No. No, lover boy. You go to your class, we don't have time for another long goodbye. She can carry a book bag." Gang-Tae's eyes shifted to hers pleadingly and she almost lost her resolve, but she knew her friend was right, if he carried her bag she would notice his arms and how muscular they were and that would lead to her wanting to kiss him again and this ferocious cycle would repeat. With an apologetic hand on his smooth cheek, she shook her head, "She's right, you shouldn't be late on your first day back. I'll see you later." He nodded, subconsciously swaying into her hand before she pulled it away. Suddenly she was violently yanked away by her book bag, Seung-Jae's patience all but worn out. She longingly looked back at Gang-Tae, blowing him a kiss. If she hadn't spun around to threaten her best friend for being so aggressive, Do you have a death wish? She would have seen him catch the kiss, delicately putting it in his pocket.

She'd always judged girls around school who couldn't stand to be away from their boyfriends, rolling skeptical eyes at their dependency, she was already whole no other half needed, thank you. So when she found herself thinking of Gang-Tae, unable to focus on the teacher's voice, affronted annoyance seared in her blood. What was he doing to her? Mentally berating herself for her weakness, she rose her hand, catching the teacher's attention. "May I use the bathroom?" She requested, already knowing the response would be yes, this was one of her best classes and missing a few insignificant minutes wouldn't alter her high standing. She grabbed the pass at the teacher's nod, avoiding Seung-Jae's suspicious glance. She didn't need her negativity, weren't best friends supposed to be supportive? Hers was clearly defective. She told herself she would use the bathroom after checking on Gang-Tae, see how his first day back was going, merely good girlfriend duties. Peering into his classroom she easily located her handsome boyfriend, a chiseled chin laid on his hand, gazing out the window as if lost in a daydream. Her heart skipped a beat. Her eyes eagerly devoured him, the hours they'd spent apart ached, she longed to be back in his arms kissing him senseless turning him into a blushing mess. She was so wrapped up in his beauty, she almost missed another set of longing eyes. Nam Ju-Ri, she didn't know her well, had declined her hand in friendship after seeing how quickly she could go from “nice” to malicious. She'd always preferred the wolf rather than a wolf in sheep's clothing. Her eyes narrowed as she watched the oblivious girl gaze at her boyfriend, the flames of jealousy searing in her blood. Who was she to look at him? Wasn't it clear that he was off limits? Her taste was probably still in his mouth from this morning, she'd happily recreate the moment to remind the two faced bitch to back off. Finally, after a few minutes she stalked off to the bathroom, a bad taste lingering on her tongue.

They were working together on a group project. Her smile had fallen as he explained to her that he would need to leave early to meet Ju-Ri and Jae-Su at the Subway's to begin working on their group project. She planned on asking him to stay at school with her, she needed to work on her new short story for the school paper. It was the perfect excuse to get some much needed alone time with him, this new information threw a proverbial wrench in her plans. Only his sweet sad eyes stopped her from throwing a tantrum. He didn't look happy at the prospect of being away from her either. Using the situation as motivation, she penned a tale about a slow-witted girl who learned the dangers of touching that which wasn't yours, the grass wasn't always greener on the other side, sometimes it was best to appreciate what you had, least you lose everything. Or at least, a few fingers in the process.  She never claimed to be subtle. After adding the finishing touches, her story was complete. Not her best work but adequate, a true Ko Mun-Yeong classic, dark but revealing. Are you still at Subways? As she collects her belongings, she awaits his reply to her message, humming and setting a new course of action as she exits the school, the sun warm on her skin, restoring her energy. Yes, we're still here.

They are the scene of academic innocence with textbooks sprawled across the dining table, and notes and writing utensils precariously dangling. Gang-Tae is seated next to Jae-Su, Ju-Ri directly across, currently leaning over to point something out to his watchful eye. He rubs his jaw, nodding in agreement before jotting down notes on a stray piece of paper. With a firm hand she pushes the door open, a melodic chime announcing her arrival, all eyes glance to see who has entered including the only eyes that matter to her. He instantly stands up, wide smile on his face as he waves her over, missing the grimace that covers Ju-Ri's face. As soon as she's close enough to touch, he does. Drawing her into a warm hug, that she happily returns, breathing in his fresh scent. "I didn't know you were coming. Are you hungry?" He motions to the cash register, she shakes her head in decline, nodding at Jae-Su and Jae-Su, alone. Ju-Ri makes a point of checking her phone and looking as occupied as possible, she's happy to act like they’re strangers. In most ways, that's exactly what they are. "Do you want to sit?" There are no additional seats she notes, the establishment packed as it usually is after school's dismissal. "No, you sit." He looks at her in apparent confusion, about to argue before she forces him back into the seat, before taking her seat. 

In his lap. His gasp breezes against her ear as she faces Ju-Ri, placid smile on her face at the girl's evident irritation, she makes herself comfortable turning to look at Gang-Tae, who shyly meets her eyes, his hands cautiously holding her hips for support. "Hey, you." She whispers only loud enough for him to hear, his coffee-brown eyes soften in response, "Hi, I missed you." Her lips find his in a sweet kiss, as he brushes her hair behind her hair. A quiet moan escapes her lips at the gentle touch, his eyes are dark when she draws away. A million miles away. She would never tire of her affect on him and how unashamed he was about showing her. "Alright that's enough from you two." Jae-Su's exasperated voice interrupts, she squashes the urge to glare at him, Gang-Tae had asked her to be nicer to him claiming he was terrified of her. She really didn't see the issue with that but she was trying for Gang-Tae's sake. He soothed out her rougher edges. Gang-Tae struggles to focus with her in his lap, absentmindedly stroking her hair instead of answering a question that was posed to him. When he brought his sandwich to his mouth, she leaned over taking a bite too, accidentally biting his finger, soft apology on her lip. She slowly licked mayo residue from the corner of her lip, his eyes raptly watching its journey as she swallowed, "Mmmm it tastes good." He briskly repositions her in his lap, shifting her into his leg, away from her place in the center. Ju-Ri finally speaks after the display through clenched teeth, "I need to go, my mom is expecting me." Gang-Tae and Jae-Su bade her goodbye and safe travels, Mun-Yeong merely looks at her while stroking her finger possessively across Gang-Tae's massive shoulders, mouthing one word, mine. He looked scrumptious in his basketball uniform, arms tensing and flexing as he dribbled the ball up and down the court. She'd happily agreed to stay for his practice today, unwilling to pass out the chance the see a slightly damp Gang-Tae. She hasn't yet spoken to him about his...admirer. It felt ridiculous to waste their time together talking about anything other than them, when they weren't devouring each other. So she didn't expect to run into the very person who was infiltrating her thoughts. The two faced bitch, alone, walking down the stairs text books in her arm. Impulsively she calls out, "You know he's mine right? Stay away from my boyfriend." The girl's head snaps up in shock, before her face settles into vexation. Good at least she's being real. She would loathe to see the fake calm smile Ju-Ri typically sends her way. "He's not your property. You don't own him." With a tight smirk she stalks over, climbing the stairs until they're level, still knowing she'll always be above her in every way imaginable. "That's where you're wrong, he is mine. My boyfriend, so why don't you get someone who actually wants you and stop drooling over what you can't have? You act so nice but you're just a two-faced bitch." She bites out the last word, stepping into Ju-Ri's face, blood singing at the opportunity to put her in her place. The sting of the harsh slap against her cheek, whiplashes her head to the side, momentarily she's impressed, surprised that the girl actually had the gall to strike her, whatever I do now is technically self defense now, she thinks. Before viciously grabbing the other girl by her thin hair, yanking at the tender follicles. "Are you crazy?" She screams loudly, lost in her rage. "Are you on something? How dare you slap me?!" Emphasizing her question with a particularly hard pull of her hair. They tussle on the staircase, Ju-Ri frantically trying to pry her hands from her hair as she pushes her head into the wall. Both unaware that the commotion from their fight has garnered the attention of the basketball team, the boys cheering them on, cacophonous yells filling the previously quiet hallway. "Oh shit is that Mun-Yeong?" "Someone get Gang-Tae!" She slams Ju-Ri's head into the wall, satisfaction overcoming her at the pleasing smack it makes. Soon Ju-Ri's screams drown out the boys and then she feels her body being lifted, completely swept off her feet. Only his familiar scent stops her from lashing out at the arms around her midsection, prying her away from Ju-Ri.  Her hands remain in their tight clutch of the girl's hair but then his voice cuts through the fog in her mind, like a lighthouse. Guiding her back to the light. "Mun-Yeong, let go of her." His voice is too quiet to be a command but there is no inflection indicating a question either. He pulls her bodily away from Ju-Ri, his arms like steel around her abdomen, making her feel like a wayward child. With a final cry, she releases her hold, only to roughly shove her, aptly watching as she tumbles down the three measly stairs. Ju-Ri screams as if she had been murdered, dramatically wet eyes staring behind her, looking at him. She grabs at her once more, regaining her attention. She is elated at the look of fear in Ju-Ri's eyes as she looks up from her spot on the ground. She growls at her, bearing her teeth as she is carried away. "This was your only warning!" As soon as she is freed from the prison of Gang-Tae's arms, she begins pacing like an trapped animal, hot puffs of breath rasping out of her lungs. She feels hot with anger, which morphs into frustration before coiling into ugly shame. She dreads the look of disappointment she will see on her boyfriend's face, unlike Daniel, who was no friend of hers, she had just attacked someone he considered a friend. She knew that she had let the flames of anger consume her, this was the real reason she didn't have true friends. Most people couldn't handle her... intensity. Which was putting it nicely. She didn't like to share. Years of loneliness with parents that couldn't be bothered with her existence, had formed an ugly desire in her to latch on to the people she opened up to. She would squeeze so tightly until they ultimately burst, realizing her darkness and leaving before they too were consumed. She'd never cared enough to worry about losing anyone, all she had was Seung-Jae and Sang-In and they knew first-hand about her uglier traits, and loved her despite her flaws. But Gang-Tae had never seen this side of her, had never given her reason to show it. He looked at her like she was the sun and moon and all the stars, it would be crushing to see that love twist into fear. "Are you okay?" His voice. It was gentle. He didn't sound scared. Or disappointed. Or repulsed. Just worried, his hand on her cheek further shocking her until she brought her head up to meet his eyes. In them she saw concern, but not much else, none of the emotions others usually exhibited when they saw the real Ko Mun-Yeong. "Mun-Yeong, are you okay?" He repeated his question, cupping her cheek in his hand now. A cool balm on her hot skin. She forced out a reply, "Yes. She only slapped me, I hit her a lot more." His eyes perused her body, looking for more injuries and he let out a sigh of relief when he found none. "Aren't you.. aren't you upset that I hit your friend?" She cursed out the final word, unable to control the venom in her tone. "No, I'm mostly... confused? I didn't know you didn't like her." His brows knitted together in bewilderment, "Why were you fighting? What happened?" The memory of overhearing Ju-Ri talk to Byeol about Gang-Tae played in her mind, all of the earlier anger resurging in her blood. "Should you really be going after him? Isn't he with Mun-Yeong now?" "I liked him first! She stole him from me, I just want him to know how I feel too. Let him know he has options." After that the rest was inevitable, she couldn't hold herself back. Didn't want to in all honesty, the slap was merely the straw that broke the camel's back. "She likes you! I heard her talking about you, she said she wanted you to know you had options. I simply reminded her that there are no options, you're mine." Flabbergasted, if you searched the word in the dictionary Gang-Tae's face would be the image. He sat down in an chair of the empty classroom he had dragged her into, looking dazed. His mouth opened. Then closed. Opening once more, before closing again. Until he finally found his words, "You're jealous....of me? Of other girls liking me?" She took high offense at the skepticism in his voice and passionately retorted, "Yes, of course I am! Those...those ants want you and are trying to steal you away from me!" He grabbed her arms, stopping her mid pace, drawing her into his lap. Calming her with a single touch. His raspy baritone hypnotized her, "Breathe with me, please." She took a deep breath, matching his even breaths until she felt her anger dissipate, fizzing into nothing. "You have nothing to be jealous about. I don't want Ju-Ri or anyone else, I want you. Only you. I am yours, for as long as you'll have me." His hands rubbed up and down her sides in a soothing motion, massaging away any negative emotion left in her body. "You don't mind.... You're not upset I called you mine?" She peered at him with huge bewildered eyes. "Why would I be? As long as you're mine too." He looked at her hopefully, she didn't deign that inquiry with a verbal response. Instead taking the opportunity to utilize her spot in his lap, grabbing his face and kissing the query off his lips. Possessively shoving her tongue into his mouth, hands falling to his neck to pull him deeper into their embrace. She bit his lip then swiped the pain away, lapping at his hot wet mouth. Humming at his taste, thirsty for more. He gasped, pulling away to inhale deep breaths, his eyes were hazy with arousal. She attached herself to his neck, sucking his sweaty skin into her mouth, aroused by his moan of pleasure. "Wait, should we do this...here?" He gestured at the classroom, "What if someone comes looking for us?" She perked up at the idea, delighting in the thought of that two-faced bitch finding them and seeing first-hand that Gang-Tae belonged to her. She sucked harder instead of answering, running a hand through his hair, pulling his head to the side to give her better access. He melted in her arms, boneless at her ministrations. She looked proudly at the purple-red bruise that formed on his skin, stark on his porcelain pale skin, it would be seen a mile away. "Beautiful." She sighed caressing the marked skin, awed and proud of her work. Gang-Tae blushed looking at her like she was a predator and he couldn't wait to be eaten. Realization washed over her like a tidal wave. He hadn’t acted at all like she had imagined.  "You like this." It wasn't a question, the hard line prodding into her ass told her everything she needed to know. "I never thought you'd get jealous of me. Seeing you like this is...." "Sexy?" She finished his sentence, he held her heated stare before nodding in agreement. She laughed, boisterous laughter, he was utterly perfect for her. She wanted to wreck him. Swiveling her hip into a seductive roll, she watched the pleasure wash over his face, his pretty red cheeks and open mouth calling out to the beast that had been unleashed. She swallowed his moans, groaning as he licked into her mouth, their tongues wrestling for control, she ground into his hard erection, playing dirty to get the upper hand. "Cheater." He rasped out, eyes narrowed at her. She grinded harder, wrapping her arms around his neck, riding him through their clothes. The head of his hard cock rubbing on her moist center, she'd moved her uniform skirt out of the way, desperate to feel him. They hadn't done much sans clothes yet and she was hungry for it. Whispering into his red hot ears, "Can I take off my panties?" His hands tightened painfully on her hips, as he threw his head back in a long suffering groan. She pressed on, "Please I'm so wet, I know you're not ready for.... that. But I just want to feel you." He was shaking in her arms, little hitching breaths and she waited for his response, mouthing at the large hickey on his neck. Finally he nodded. Eyes too bright, they almost seemed to be glowing. She stood up, leaving his lap, eyeing the rigid tent protruding from his uniform pants, covetously watching, eager for the day it would also be hers. Raking her skirt up under his watchful eyes, she took a hold of her panties, he subconsciously licked his lips in anticipation, as she slid the moist material down her thighs, bending over to slip them off. He watched her soaked panties hanging from the tips of her fingers utterly captivated, before she tossed them to the side carelessly. With a coy smile, she slid back onto his lap, moaning at the sensation of his clothed cock pressing on her bare opening, rocking harder on him, as spots of color exploded behind her eyelids. It felt incredible. He was burning hot and so stiff beneath her, all her thoughts minimized down to this moment. She wanted to come. Desperately. Could feel the persistent itch under her skin. When she opened her eyes Gang-Tae's were fixed on the space between her thighs, he looked ravenous as she used him for her pleasure, muscles coiled tight as he sat painfully still as she bounced on his lap. "You can touch me. I want you to, don't be nervous." She insisted, seeing his hands brutal grip on the sides of the chair. His nails were digging into the plastic, leaving indentations. He hesitated before bringing his fingers to the lips of her pussy, briefly sliding into the opening before retracting this fingers. She groaned in frustration, it felt so good she needed more, why was he stopping? Fucking tease.  Voice laced with veneration, he said, "You're so.... it's so wet." She glared at him before chastising him, he was like this every time they were naked, surprised that she was aroused by him, "You made me like that. Don't be a tease now." He glowered at her statement, she had called him that various times before.  His fingers slowly crept to her wet opening, a barely there touch that had her shouting, and she couldn't wait anymore she was too turned on, using his thighs for support she leaned up before bearing down on his fingers, easily slipping down their entire lengths, feeling a breath punched out of her. Gang-Tae was still frozen as she began to ride his fingers, pulling him into her tight hole, wet sounds filling the room, her juices coating his fingers. Then she felt him moving inside her, driving his fingers up to meet with her downward thrusts, his thumb momentarily pressed against her clitoris and she bit her tongue at the euphoria. She was dangerously close. His dick twitched underneath her and she slowed her sensuous movement in a slow rock, peering into his pleasure dilated eyes, "Do you want to feel me?" She watched the war on his face, control and hunger battling, "I don't...I don't want our first time to be in a classroom. You deserve more." She softened at his precious words, if only he knew that any first time would be perfect as long as it was with him. The location was insignificant. "There are...other ways to feel me." At his blank stare she continued, "Do you trust me?" Instantly he nodded, and she smiled, before reaching down to catch his zipper and slowly lowered it. He wheezed, sounding short of breath but didn't stop her. She pulled his erect dick from the slit in his boxer, it stood red and impressive in her hands, perfect in size and shape, thick and long. She hummed in approval, giggling at Gang-Tae's embarrassed face. With a dick like this, he had nothing to be embarrassed about, she doubted hearing that would help his blush though.  He closed his eyes at the feel of her hands on his dick for the first time. It surely wouldn't be her last. She would make sure of that.  Then with her eyes boring into his, she slid over his cock, rubbing her wetness over the hard ridge, simultaneously they moaned at the sensation. His engorged head caught on her opening but it never went in, instead sliding through her sopping wet folds, rubbing on her swollen clit.

Soon, she was the one being devoured as he inhaled her lips with a deep sloppy kiss, his spit running down her chin, as she vigorously rode him, letting him plunder her mouth. Without prompting, his hands slithered under her shirt, groping her breasts. Roughly, moving her bra out of the way, squeezing them the way he knew she liked. His fingers twisting her rigid nipples until they were deliciously sore.

"Gang-Tae!" She screamed his name, her body overloaded from pleasure. He met her thrust for thrust, their pace vigorous, a race to the end. She pulled away from his lips, taking his face in her hands feeling him stiffen under her, she forced his head up until their eyes met, with a final punishing thrust she was falling off the edge, shouting her release. She squeezed her eyes shut, riding the waves of pleasure. He twitched beneath her, bruising grip on her breasts as his cum shot out of his cock and landed in thick streams on the floor.  She took huge gulps of air as her body cooled down, coming down from her extreme high, thin layer of sweat settling on her skin. Lifting her head from where it had fallen on his shoulder, she grinned at his goofy smile, he looked wrung out, it was a good look on him. After regaining the feeling in her legs she hopped off his lap, retrieving her panties from the floor, as she was placing her legs into them, she paused before looking at him, before walking up to him as he adjusted his own pants, flaccid cock now hidden away sadly enough. With a salacious grin, she stuffed her panties into his pocket, "You can keep those." He stuttered, too tongue tired to respond but didn’t stop her or give them back.  They stumbled downstairs to wide eyed stares that shifted into knowing glances from Gang-Tae's teammates who were just finishing up with practice. All eyes immediately latching on to the giant hickey on his neck. She'd never seen him turn quite that red.

The next day, Jae-Su's loud voice assaulted her ears as he looked at his best friend in horror, "What happened to your neck?!" Before looking at her with an accusatory glare, "What did you do to him you....you vampire!" She smiled serenely as Ju-Ri snuck past them, avoiding her eye contact, a small scrape on her knee from the fall. Gang-Tae flushed at the words but didn't cover the mark, instead taking her books before kissing her on the forehead. He was hers, happily and she wouldn't take that for granted and had no problem reminding others who might forget. 

#its okay to not be okay #psycho but it's okay #its okay to not be okay fic #high school au #jealous possessive MY #I sucked him so hes mine #smut #but like teenage sweet smut #I tried to make it short #ended up with close to 6k #I need help

[flowesona]

Wheel of Fortune - Yandere! Namjoon x reader

The Tarot Series

It had been a relatively uneventful Tuesday when Namjoon stumbled across her for the first time. He’d been reluctant to try online dating, much less looking for a sugar baby, but he was bored and a primitive part of him was lusting for pleasure in a way that adult movies couldn’t fulfill. 

Something about her was intoxicating. Maybe it was the warm look inhabiting her (E/C) eyes, or the beautiful smile that tugged at her lips. It was enough to compel Namjoon to message her without a second thought. 

KNJ: How’s your day going, beautiful?

His adrenaline slowly settled into an acidic regret, worried that he hadn’t said enough. He should have been more eloquent, more unique, maybe offered her a large sum of money so that he’d be worth her time. Such plagued him for thirty seconds until a shrill tone told him that he’d received a reply.

Adore: Better now that you’re talking to me, handsome <3

Namjoon’s heart thumped, enraptured by her words.

Adore: I’ve been looking for someone like you to take care of me for a long time. Will you be my daddy?

His hands shot to the keyboard much faster than he would have been proud to admit.

KNJ: I’ll give you anything you want, darling.

Adore: You’re amazing, daddy <3

KNJ: Send me your bank details right now.

*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*

He only ever worked for her now. Every second that he spent in his office, slaving away at paperwork was spurred on by the thought that he could satisfy her and draw out that beautiful smile. He’d been rewarded with precious pictures of her, posing as if she was showing her beauty to the world yet he felt that her smile was reserved just for him.

Nothing could end their ‘relationship’. Not even the teasing of his friends, telling Namjoon how he was chasing after a girl who just saw him as a chore, just another man in her harem for her to please. Whilst he brushed those comments away at the time, at night they haunted him until after a few months he reached breaking point.

KNJ: Do you talk to other men?

He sat back in his chair, resisting the urge to bite his nails anxiously.

KNJ: Be honest with me, please.

Those few minutes had been complete agony as he waited for her to reply.

Adore: I have to, daddy. I still love you the most <3

Namjoon hissed through his teeth, hurt by the statement despite thinking he could handle the truth.

KNJ: Am I a fucking joke to you? Nearly a hundred million won and I’m still not worthy of your sole attention?

The sick pleasure that came from scolding her didn’t even out with the sunken feeling in his stomach, leading Namjoon to abandon his computer for once in a blue moon, choosing instead to water his abandoned house plants.

His dejection didn’t last long, however. It had barely been three days before he logged back onto the website, impatiently clicking on his inbox. He was met with nothing from her, just plenty of messages from people eager to take her place. His mind was only on her.

KNJ: Please darling, I’m so sorry about being angry with you. Please just respond to me.

His apology wasn’t enough. No matter how many messages he sent he never received a response. Even after how much love and money he’d showered her with, it wasn’t enough and such made Namjoon want to tear his hair out.

The few selfies she’d sent him had been able to tide him over for a while, become the source for late nights of pleasure. But it wasn’t enough. He needed much more. He needed to see her face in real life, to cradle her body close to his, to act on every dirty promise she’d made to him. The young girl had become the object of a fatal attraction, and she was going to suffer greatly for it.

*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*

The ring of a doorbell drew the young girl away from her gripping book. She abandoned the story to answer it, but was met with a terrifying sight. One of the men that had paid for her college tuition, standing on her doorstep with a bouquet of flowers.

“Is Adore home?” His question was innocent enough, but sent shivers down the woman’s spine.

“I-I think you have t-the w-wrong house.” Her attempts to close the door were thwarted by his superior strength, holding open the door enough to push his way into the house uninvited.

“Where is she?” He was still grasping the flowers, paper crinkling slightly.

“I-I don’t know what y-you’re talking about.” The young woman’s collar was caught in his grasp as he dropped the flowers in favour of searching for something in his pockets until he finally found what he was looking for. A handgun, being held to her chin.

“Where is my Adore?” Namjoon snarled. “Do I need to bring the police into this? I can and I will if need be. They kiss my feet, all of them, and you will too.”

“I’ll talk! There’s just something I need to tell you!” The young woman yelped.

“The thing is- fuck it, I’m Adore. I just used pictures of my friend (Y/N) to get a bit of cash for my student loans. I’m sorry!” Namjoon’s face dropped.

“(Y/N)?” The only thing he could choke out was the name as Adore backed away, reaching for her phone. She was stopped by him grabbing her, shaking her slightly.

“You’re going to tell me everything about (Y/N). We’ll forget about the money I’ve given you if things go smoothly.” Adore nodded, regret for her actions swelling up in the light of how she’d doomed her friend to be the doll of a psycho.

*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*

(Y/N) had been having a relatively peaceful Friday. She was sitting in front of her vanity, applying light makeup in preparation for her tinder date when she heard a loud thump from the hallway. Immediately alarmed, she reached for her keys to defend herself before making cautious steps out of her room.

However, her caution wasn’t enough. When she was only a few steps into the kitchen, glancing around warily, a hand smothered her mouth and another hand tangled in her hair and tugged it back.

Suddenly it was her worst nightmare, as two invaders ignored her flailing and started to talk back and forth.

“We need to get out of here before she does anything.”

“You’ve got it all? Boss will have our head if we’re short.”

“You deal with the girl, I’ll check the list.”

At the mention of being “dealt with” (Y/N) had a rush of adrenaline, determined to survive. She elbowed her attacker in the crotch, successfully sending him reeling backwards.

“Somebody help me!” She screamed, desperately praying that her neighbours weren’t busy and they could hear her.

“You-” The robber scrambled to restrain her. “If boss hadn’t been so specific we could have drugged her or something.”

“Hey!” A shout stopped the fight as the parties saw a man stood in the doorway. It was almost cartoonish the way the criminals backed away, yet the stranger’s attention was not directed to them at all, not even stopping them as they dashed past him out of the door with a sideways glance.

“Are you okay?” The situation was almost fantastical, like fiction, but (Y/N) didn’t dare question her saviour as she took his hand and let him lift her to her feet.

“D-do I know you?” The man hesitated, his muscles tending before they relaxed and he answered.

“Kim Namjoon. I was just checking out an investment potential in this area.” He said smoothly. “But witnessing a robbery makes me a bit more cautious.”

“Y-Yeah, it doesn’t happen all the time, it was just so sudden and I don’t know why they would target me, I don’t even have anything worth taking-” As (Y/N) rambled, Namjoon’s eyes didn’t leave her once. He was unflinched, much too cool for the situation (Y/N) had been petrified over.

“It’s good I was here to help you, (Y/N).” Namjoon stopped for a second, realising what he’d done but the hysterical girl was too caught up in her own mind to notice. 

“Do you want some tea to help your nerves?” (Y/N) sniffled and nodded, not even thinking to question his motives or remember the date she had been preparing for before the incident.

“T-Thank you.” She finally managed to say.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m here to help you.” But as he turned his back to prepare the tea, unspoken words lingered in his mind.

‘As long as you’re only mine.’

#yandere namjoon #yandere bts #yandere namjoon x reader #yandere kpop #kpop yandere #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere au #yandere bts au #yandere RM #yandere rm x reader #namjoon x reader #rm x reader #bts rn #yandere bts x reader #kim namjoon #yandere kim namjoon #yandere kim namjoon x reader #the tarot series #yandere oneshot

[hungarianbee]

the kids rage (they hurt)

A little something I wrote for @rawrkinjd and @tumbleweedtech. ‘Cause we need more fics of the first generation of Witchers. In this:

Erland is 10 (founder of the School of the Griffin)

Arnaghad is 9 (founder of the School of the Bear).

(Words tagged with *’s have footnotes). 

-

The boy is big. Looking at his muscled arms and wide shoulders, Erland would think him intimidating, if not for their circumstances. Next to the fancily dressed Sorcerer, whose voice dripped honey when he asked Erland about his health, the boy feels like the smaller threat.

Erland is good at catching threats. As the nightly lookout of a Skelligen ship he needed to develop keen senses less he became a smear on the deck by the arms of a kraken or beaks of harpies. Not a fortnight ago he sliced that fucker Elisedd* good because he caught him trying to steal his carefully hidden dried fruits. They were his favourites, Freya take him. It’s just his luck that Vanja wasn’t pleased with his reasoning.

Erland shifts his grip on his handaxe, feeling the ache in his knuckles and catching his blurry reflection in the shine of the weapon. That might be the reason Vanja sold him, come to think of it. But again, his mother was never fond of him. Would have punted him off the side of the ship to the sirens were he not better used as a deckhand.

Would his life be any different, now that he’s out of her sight? Erland doesn’t know, but as he looks at the assortment of kids, his blood boils. Most look scared, acting like tralls* on a leash, drawn within themselves. That can’t be his future.

His slitted eyes meet the dark gaze of the boy. Dark brown simmers with the same quiet rage that brews in Erland’s chest. Erland makes a show of hooking his axe to his hip. The boy follows the motion with keen eyes. His fingers twitch into fists. Erland slows his steps to get a little distance between the group, the boy following suit.

Their sides brush. “We sneak away from the camp when the moon is at its zenith,” he proposes quietly. He feels under scrutiny, but keeps his gaze on the mage’s back.

The boy’s murmur is thick with an accent Erland can’t identify. “Sooka*. I am not running.”

Erland has to stifle the urge to roll his eyes. Freya protect him. “Not running! Gòrach*. Fighting.” He mimes it in the air, a fist lashing out to hit an invisible foe.

The boy snorts so loud a girl looks back from the group questioningly. He bumps his shoulder into Erland hard enough that he almost staggers. “Koorosau*,” he nods, and rejoins the group.

That night the Sorcerer draws a circle around their camp. Erland watches as it flashes a yellow semi-globe around them, than the effect disappears altogether.

“What does it do?” he asks Alzur. A girl next to him curls into herself defensively.

The Sorcerer hums thoughtfully. “Just a little precaution. There are many beasts wandering around here.” His smile flashes white from his well-groomed beard. “I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

When Erland was five, they escorted a merchant from one island to the mainland. He had a way with words that he never heard before. Erland called it shadow tongue, because you always had to look behind the words to understand their true meaning.

Now, looking at Alzur’s pleasant face, Erland thinks that the mage knows shadow tongue too. He imagines that what the Sorcerer actually means here is this: “It’s a precaution, so you wouldn’t escape. I don’t want you hurt because I want to use you.”

Waves take him. Erland swiftly surveys the range of the circle. Luckily it’s big enough that they can still have a scuffle if they are careful.

The mage proceeds to magic a fire, blankets and hearty meal for them then retreats to his cozy-looking tent. Erland lays down with his back to the fire, maiming sleep. The low chatter slowly quiets down as the kids nod of.

The sky is clear, and the waxing moon gives a low light. Erland slowly sits up, and he sees the boy follow. The beads in the boy’s long, braided hair click quietly.

They make their way behind the tent out of sight. Erland lifts his fists, shifting into a stance that he learned on the ship. He leaves the axe on his hip as the other raises his own.

“Rules?” he asks.

“No rules,” the boy grins, surging forward.

Erland sidesteps him nimbly, knowing better than to take the brunt of strength like that. He puts out a feet to trip him instead, letting the other’s momentum do the work. The boy catches himself in time before he eats dirt, swiveling back to protect his back.

“Rules?” Erland asks again.

The boy measures him, then spits onto the ground. “Fine. No weapons, no permanent injury, first one to tap out loses,” he rattles off as he reaches into his leathers and discards two pocketknives to the side. Erland leaves his handaxe with the sharp things.

The moment his axe drops, the boy is on him. Erland’s fist meets the boy’s kidney, as his head snaps to the side by the force of a hit. Adrenalin surges in his veins and he tongues the split in his mouth. He takes a step back, lets the boy chase him as he delivers swift strikes to his stomach and sides.

He has to play this smart; he can’t win this by sheer force. The boy is taller and wider than him, but he’s used to these kind of odds. He brought down bigger men before.

Another fist comes for his neck and this time Erland grabs onto the arm and pulls. The boy clearly didn’t expect that, as he flails with the other arm ineffectively. Erland’s knee meets the boy’s stomach, and the air whistles out of tightly clenched teeth. Not to be outdone, the boy turns his head and bites into the meat of a shoulder.

Erland curses and grabs onto the boy’s hair, tugging on it non-too-gently, but the little tick is stuck for good. Giving it up, Erland curls an arm around the boy’s neck, trying to smother him. This time it’s the boy who trips him and Erland lands on his back, the other’s weight bearing down. He’s momentarily stunned and it gives enough time for the boy to straddle him. Erland puts up his arms just in time to shield from a blow, then another.

In the heat of the moment Erland sees only one option that ends with him coming out top.

He knees the boy in the balls.

The boy’s voice cracks high. “Blyaat*!” Curling up he falls off of Erland onto his side.

Erland takes a moment to breathe. “That wasn’t in the rules,” he points out, feeling defensive and a little ashamed.

The boy laughs roughly, and turns to face him. A lopsided smile stretches his lips. “You’re alright,” he extends his hand and Erland clasps his forearm uncertainly, the way he saw warriors do. “I am Arnaghad.”

“Erland,” he offers, than adds belatedly, a little sour. “Of Larvik.”

“Well, that’s touching,” comes a voice from behind them. The boys turn as if burnt. Alzur has his back to a tree, arms crossed as he watches them with bemused interest. Erland darts a quick glance to the line of circle; in their tussle they forgot about it, and now the line is broken.

Alzur smiles at him knowingly. “I didn’t appreciate the abrupt wake-up call, but you put on such a good show I might just forgive you.”

Arnaghad mutters something in his mother tongue and Alzur answers in the same language, sharp and curt. Then he says, dismissive, “Regardless, I don’t want to catch you pummeling each other. This kind of behaviour is not tolerated and will be punished were you to repeat it. Now go back to sleep.”

As the boys go to collect their weapons Erland catches Alzur musing under his breath. “Good batch. You might just make it.”

--

Stars in order:

Elisedd: Gaelic name, meaning “kind”. The irony amused me.

Trall: Skelligen, meaning slave

Sooka: Butchered Russian, ‘suka’ means bitch

Gòrach: Old gaelish, meaning stupid

Koorosau: Butchered Russian, ‘khorosho’ means okay

Blyaat: Butchered Russian, ‘blyat’ means fuck

#my shit #the witcher #erland of larvik #arnaghad #alzur #first meeting #my life for the feral kids

[hobidreams]

Bloom | KNJ {M}

Family is who you kill for. Who you die for. In this society, you and your kin are shadows, clinging to the darkness to obey orders absolute. But when such orders command you to abandon what little honor remains for wealth and notoriety, you find yourself lost in lonely uncertainty about the only vocation you’ve ever known. That is, until you meet a man with gentle hands, a poet’s heart, and a love for coaxing the world into bloom.

pairing: assassin!reader x florist!namjoon genre: smut, angst, action, sprinkles of fluff words: 20.7k contains: descriptions of violence & blood, weapons, minor character death, fingering, dirty talk, oral (f), protected piv, multiple smut scenes, namjoon talks to his plants a/n: this piece challenged every ounce of my creativity (in the best of ways) & i’m so ecstatic to share it with you all! i tried my best with the floral research, please forgive me for any inaccuracies.

Night is coming.

With steady hands, you draw taupe curtains on windows that reflect the light of a dying sun, melting into the horizon to pave the way for the illustrious moon. The space now cast in darkness, you follow the trail of shadows to the full-length mirror that lines a wall in the entryway of this hotel room.

“Lights on, 60%.”

You tilt your head to a side, scrutinizing the dress that hangs loosely from your figure, done in a muted, subtle navy. With no loose threads to be found, you focus on your hair, on the carefully pinned bun and the solitary tendrils that weave their way down the side of your face. Just below, two earrings, diamond studs, add just a hint of distracting sparkle. But the most important accessory of your night will be the ring on your right hand’s middle finger, and the thin, imperceptible needle hidden inside, filled with exactly one dose of lethality.

From the designer purse that sits at your side, you extract your mini-communicator. A few taps has the hologram pixilating to life, bursting from the screen as you confirm the details of your mission. Tonight, you intend on making the acquaintance of one Park Siyeon. Multi-millionaire. Entrepreneur. Target.

Why Siyeon? That’s the one thing this file doesn’t mention. Nor did your brother Yoongi, when he issued your orders, though that’s been the trend for the last while. Tonight is the culmination of months of extensive planning, and Yoongi made it clear that this mission was not one you could afford to fuck up. Especially not after the last... incident.

Inhale.

Exhale.

It’s been a while since you were in action, but you’ve pored over the documents. You know Siyeon’s face, her habits. And this is not your first kill.

You drop the mini-com back into its home with your handkerchief and lipstick. The watch on your left wrist reads 7:31pm. The charity event downstairs started thirty minutes ago, and now you will be perfectly, fashionably late. Thoroughness (or perhaps paranoia) dictates you take one last look in the mirror. Then you slip into your nude heels before reaching for the door handle.

“Lights, off.”

By the time the steel elevator doors slide open to deposit you on the luxury hotel’s ground floor, the mingling is in full swing. Confidence radiates from your every step as you stalk to one of the men standing guard before the entrance. “Good evening, ma’am.” You offer a stolen invitation in response to his outstretched hand. “Thank you. Please enjoy your night.”

“Thank you.” You step inside, blending in effortlessly as you lift a flute of fizzy champagne from a nearby waiter’s tray. You have less than an hour before the main event begins to make contact, to make use of the hidden syringe that will render Siyeon incapacitated exactly twenty minutes after injection. It will look like a heart attack, a sudden tragedy brought on by unfortunate circumstance (stress being the usual suspect). By then, you will be safely miles away, retreating into the shroud of your underground headquarters.

You return smiles and head nods to those who toss them your way, probably assuming you are another one of the countless business associates in this flood. Weaving your way through the crowd, you sip at the bubbly drink.

“I haven’t seen you at one of these events before. What’s your name?” A deep voice interrupts your search. You turn to find a pudgy man grinning at you. Well, more like leering. You rattle off a fake name. “That’s pretty. Which company are you with?”

You feed him another false tidbit. He starts rattling on about how his company knows yours, how he’s senior executive whatever, and would you like to get a “business” lunch sometime? You’re not actually listening, too busy landing eyes on the lady of the night. Siyeon stands near the front of the room, draped in exquisite Chanel and a glittering shawl. Though her back is turned towards you, you catch enough of her face when she turns to greet someone who approaches her. Perfect.

“Of course, I’ll have my office call yours.” All the creep gets is one perfunctory nod before you step away, ignoring his protests that you didn’t even give him a card.

It is just your luck that there are a few tables set up near where Siyeon stands. You pick the one slightly to her right, in earshot of her conversation with an elderly woman. You need the perfect opportunity to cause a quiet commotion, just enough to distract her from the slight pinch of inevitability.

“Oh, please, you flatter me! I didn’t start my company alone. I have a lot of people to thank for all of this, truly.”

Hearing Siyeon’s voice in person is somewhat jarring, as you’ve only listened to it in surveillance footage. But if it bothers you, it never shows on your perfectly-crafted face.

“Always so humble, Siyeon. That’s why we all like you so much. By the way, I hear congratulations are in order! How far along are you now, Siyeon?”

“Thank you, thank you. I’m about eighteen weeks in now!”

Your breath catches. No... Purposefully, you shift. You swivel just enough to catch a better glimpse of Siyeon’s body. Your stomach drops.

Looks like the file left something else out.

Siyeon has loosened her shawl. The midnight of her dress bulges over her stomach. It’s not too obvious yet; you perhaps wouldn’t have noticed at first glance. But now, you can’t ignore the growing swell, no matter how much you want to. Siyeon cups the underside of her belly with dreams in her eyes.

Damn it. You’re no expert, but eighteen weeks doesn’t sound like very much. In fact, it doesn’t sound like much at all. Medical advancements in the past century have been vast, but a tiny infant of eighteen weeks might just be impossible to save on its own.

...But that’s not your problem, is it? You were given orders. Orders that have to be carried out, or else.

You spot someone walking purposefully towards the pair from the other side, probably to pull her speaking companion away. This transition would provide the perfect chance for you to make your move. You will only have a few seconds, not enough time or space for hesitation.

This is what you’re supposed to do. This is what you’ve always done. You finger the ring on your hand as you shift in your shoes, moving just an inch closer. You find the activation switch, though you don’t press it yet.

“Siyeon, are you feeling alright, my love?”

You fight the urge to spin towards the voice as your thoughts are interrupted. You recognize the tone, one smooth and self-assured. It comes from beside you. The owner, suit-clad, slim, brushes your arm as he passes by. Kim Seokjin. Siyeon’s husband of a few years, another company head and one of the most handsome men you’ve ever seen.

Through your peripheral vision, you watch Seokjin slide an arm around Siyeon’s waist to pull her in close. He presses a kiss to her cheek, turning her towards him as his other hand comes down, slides over her belly. “You’re not tired? Do you want to sit down?”

“No, no, I’m just fine, honey.” Siyeon beams at him.

“Ah, Seokjin! Siyeon was just telling me about the baby.”

Seokjin’s smile blossoms into utter bliss. “Our favorite topic! We just renovated the baby’s future bedroom, actually.”

“Jinnie here is going to build the cradle himself when we get to England. Can you believe it?” A burst of laughter, like chimes.

“Anything for my baby girl.”

You want to curse but hold your tongue. You press your eyes closed, squeeze in irritation at yourself, at Siyeon, at chance. You could still do it. Erase the light from her eyes and his. It would be simple. Too easy, in fact. But your thumb falls away from the ring like dead weight. It would take a strength far greater than what you possess to find the switch again, no matter what logic dictates.

The unknown guest reaches the trio to pull the older woman away as you predicted. But you stand rooted to the spot as you let them go, watch the opportunity slip away like sand through half-heartedly cupped fingers. Seokjin and Siyeon are still trapped in their bubble of pure joy, gushing about baby clothes or names or something you can’t stand to listen to any longer. You turn away.

Excuses whirl through your head, knowing there’s going to be hell to pay but there’s probably worse if you carry out the orders. You’ve found another damn line you can’t bring yourself to cross. Another line that reminds you that you’re weak, no matter how you try to hide it. Your footsteps feel too loud on the marbled floor despite the music and the chatter as you surge through the bodies in seek of the exit.

Then your instincts kick in.

The raise of a hand to an ear, from one of the suits standing against the wall: the telltale sign of a hidden ear-com. You whip your head around, spot another woman in a short dress speaking into a com that looks far too official for your liking. You don’t even make it ten more steps before you spot a man with a bulge in his jacket that can only belong to a holstered weapon. They would be invisible, well-camouflaged to the layman’s eye. But you’re a professional.

To make it to the exit, you have to pass the man near the wall. But now he’s on the move, seemingly headed to the same direction you are. Have you been made?

You reach for your communicator. Now you’re less than fifty steps away from the exit. He’s less than thirty from you. There would have to be something from HQ if they caught even a whiff of danger, especially from the NIS. The National Intelligence Service has always been a pain in your ass, trying their best to ruin what you and your family have built. But the mini-com you pull out is devoid of any new info. You fail to notice your handkerchief coming out with it, falling onto the floor as you shove the com back into your purse.

Close. Freedom is so close. You speed up.

“Ma’am?”

A man’s voice comes from behind, but there’s no way you’re going to stop for him. If you turned, you might have noticed him pick up the bit of cloth. Instead, you rush past the guards, keeping a pace that just looks like you have to run to the washroom for some emergency. But instead of going deeper into the hotel, you head for the automatic double doors that part quickly for you.

“Ma’am, you dropped something!” But the words aren’t loud enough to surpass the music to make it to your ears.

Onto the street, you’re hit with the last rays of sunlight. You blink, mind working overtime. You can’t outrun them; hiding is your only option.

You decide right instead of left. Two doors down from the hotel, you find a store overflowing with flowers in the storefront. You ignore the almost-sickly saccharine perfume as you yank open the entrance and throw yourself inside.

A glance at the counter tells you that any employees here are thankfully absent. Hidden behind several, giant potted plants, you watch as your pursuer runs out past the glass window. He looks around, turns a few times, but can’t find who he’s looking for. Afraid he’ll look into the shop, you turn as well, focusing on the table behind you. Which just so happens to be laden with flowers, delicate and exploding with color.

It occurs to you that you’ve never been in a flower shop before. While the scent of the blossoms was overwhelming at first, your nose is steadily becoming accustomed to the sweetness that is nature coming to life. There’s no harm in taking a few more minutes here, you think as you take steps towards the table. You have to wait out the man outside anyway. And curiosity has always been one of your vices.

The flower that catches your eye is circular in shape; its oval, almost-spikey petals are dyed in a soft pink. It sits elegantly in its pot, a single floret amidst a bed of green. You reach out for it with a palm, not wanting to crush or ruin anything as you cradle it in your warmth. You don’t notice the soft smile waning your lips as you memorize its curves. You haven’t the slightest idea what kind of flower it is, but you can’t remember the last time you saw something this beautiful.

“I see you’re fond of the dahlia.”

“Oh!” Caught off guard by the sudden voice, your hand jerks up. The pot shakes violently from the sudden movement. It spins, wobbling over and—

“Whoa!” All you see is a flash of dark hair and flying clothes as the speaker hurtles towards you. He catches the pot just as its about to tip over. Then he sets it back onto the counter. “Phew... That was close.” He’s squatting, tall enough to still comfortably reach the pot as he gives the dahlia a light pat.

“Sorry! I’m sorry.” You hide both hands behind your back, not wanting to accidentally ruin anything else.

In response, he offers you a dimpled smile that does the opposite of setting your heart at ease. “No worries. I’m sorry I scared you. Are you alright?” He stands up, faces you.

“Yes, I’m fine. But is the flower okay? The, uh, dahlia?” You’re trying your best not to stare, but that’s a difficult task when he goes to brush his bangs back, taut arm muscles shifting along with it. His outfit is simple, a white tee and black jeans, with a stained black apron thrown overtop, but there’s something oddly attractive about it.

“She’s fine too.” There’s a fondness when he stares at the bloom, a tenderness that makes you feel more like the intruder you are in this precious space. “She’s been giving me trouble during growth so I’m a bit overprotective. Haven’t you, girl?” He chuckles lightly at himself, covering his lips with his palm as if he’s embarrassed.

“That’s cute,” you blurt out before you can help yourself.

“Is it?” That makes him smile again, and you swear your cheeks flush. He makes sure the dahlia is secure before he looks back at you. You follow his eyes as they rake across your outfit, taking in the formal dress and diamonds. “It can’t be comfortable walking around in that all day. Me, I prefer jeans over heels.” He laughs, and you can’t help joining him.

“No, no, I was at an event.”

“Oh, at the hotel?” You raise your eyebrows, not expecting him to know of it. “A few people came in to buy bouquets and wreaths for it earlier.”

“Ah, right. I remember seeing them. They’re beautiful. You did a fantastic job.”

“Thanks.” You’re beginning to realize it makes him shy to receive compliments, from the way he breaks your gaze to stare distractedly at the dahlia with lightly pinking cheeks. “So, why aren’t you there now?”

“I can’t stand those kinds of events.” It’s not technically a lie. “They’re always boring.”

“Why do you go then?”

“...Family obligation.” You cut this line of questioning short by focusing on another flower, this one multiple spheres of small purple blossoms. “What’s this one?”

“Oh, that one? It’s a hydrangea. If you look here...” He continues to talk as he closes the distance. A scent like fresh linen and soap cuts through the floral perfume, a summer’s day at its most stereotypical but you find yourself drawing closer for more. There’s something so soothing about his voice and the love weaved into every syllable as he gushes about the flower. Yet, you don’t even know his name. And it should stay that way for your safety, and for his.

When he takes an elongated pause for breath, you realize enough time has probably passed. You don’t see the NIS agent outside any longer, and the best course of action is to make your way back home as swiftly as possible.

Yet you find yourself asking, “why do you love flowers so much?”

He looks taken aback, like he wasn’t expecting the question. Then excitement glows in his warm eyes. “Stop me if I’m rambling too much, okay?” He smiles as if he already knows you have no such inclination. “At first, I was interested because there’s something so satisfying about watching a plant grow. About raising it from a tiny seedling or rescuing it from dying.” He reaches for a nearby pair of scissors to lightly trim off some greenery. “But the more I learn about nature and flowers, the more fascinated I am with how much they really understand and silently absorb from us.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, for example, if you talk to a plant every day, it’ll grow much better than a plant left in silence.”

You look absolutely bewildered. “Really? That can’t be true. There’s no way they understand us.”

“It is!” He’s becoming more and more elated as he talks, his entire face brightening at your inquiry. “Research has proven it. And I know the latest tech in 2105 is that self-watering, self-growing planter but I think that’s all bull. Those flowers will never grow as beautifully as these ones. Plants are just like pets, or people. They need care, affection, and interaction too.”

“Hm. I’ve never thought about it that way.” You’ve never thought about flowers at all before today, actually. But his smile and clear enthusiasm is infectious, making one of your own bloom on your lips. “I think you might just be right.”

Before either of you can say anything else, your phone buzzes. A succession of three pulses, like the quick-quick-slow of a dangerous tango. “Sorry,” you mumble, grin faltering as you pull out your com. Come back. Now. Three short words spell your doom. You let it fall into your purse, keeping neutrality on your face even though there’s disappointment in your heart. “Um, I should get going. It’s getting late.”

“Right.” Is it your imagination or does he look just as upset to let you go? “Wait, just a second. Let me give you something. A gift for letting me talk all over you.”

“Uhh, no, that’s alright. I was happy to listen.”

“Please. I insist.” He disappears for a few moments behind the shrubbery to the back room.

You stare at the door, feeling your communicator and the words on its screen spurring you to leave right now. You just walk out the door, and this florist will never find you again. That’s the logical thing to do. ‘Never get attached’ is practically lesson number one. Right up there with ‘don’t accept anything from strangers.’ But you’ve already broken one rule today. What’s another?

“Here.” The man returns with a small cardboard box, the top flaps yet to be closed. You tilt your head, look inside to find a tiny plant with rounded petals, almost like a lotus, but swathed in dirt instead of water.

“What is this?” You take the box though, mimicking how he held it – like something precious.

“A succulent.”

“I really can’t—”

“Just take it. It reminds me of you and... I get the feeling you need it.” There’s that smile again, the one that makes your heart weak, its doors pliable. “Take good care of it. I know it’ll be safe with you.”

“Ahh, fine.” You fold up the box, feeling like you’re standing on the cusp of something wholly new and rather terrifying. You’ve never been responsible for another living thing before, even if this is just a plant. “Thank you.”

“Joon. I’m Joon. And you?”

You purse your lips. “...Dahlia.”

That makes Joon laugh, and you half-expect him to question you over the obvious pseudonym but he doesn’t. He just nods his head. “I hope I see you again, Dahlia.”

You’re not afraid to return his grin before you push out into the fresh air, knowing too well that this meeting will be your first and last.

“Where have you been?” The second you plunge into the darkness that is the underground headquarters, your arm is grabbed. The voice belongs to Taehyung, one of the members of the family. “Yoongi hyung is really angry.”

“Shit.” You hurry through the dimly-lit hallway, familiarity trumping illumination as you head towards the meeting room. “I didn’t know it was so late.”

Another body comes up to join you on the other side, this one belonging to one of your younger siblings, Jun. “Hey, what’s that?” He indicates at the box in your hands. “Food?” He grins with cheeky hope.

“No. Uh, can you put it in my room?” You pass it over to Taehyung, careful not to jostle it too much lest the small pot overturn. “It’s fragile, okay?”

“Mhm.” Taehyung nods, taking it from you.

Jun’s eyes soften with pity. “Good luck.”

You know you’re going to need every ounce of that luck as you continue on alone. Rounding the corner, you’re a few feet away from the dark door of Yoongi’s office. You gulp, desperate for any sort of excuse to delay your entrance, but you know that reckoning is inevitable.

You knock. Twice. Short raps before you let your hand fall.

When the door opens, it’s Hoseok that greets you instead of your brother. His face is somber, betraying no thoughts as he backs up to grant you entry. Yoongi utters your name like a curse as he pushes up abruptly from his chair. It rolls backwards, colliding with the wall to rattle before joining the tense silence that follows as you walk inside. “Where have you been?”

“Out for the mission.” You gesture at your dress.

“Oh, right, right. The mission.” Yoongi’s fist lands on the desk with a crash. His old-fashioned fountain pen jumps an inch to the right and you’re seconds away from doing the same. “The one you fucking failed.”

You stay silent, because that look in his electric eyes says he’s not done yet.

“Park Siyeon is on a private jet as we speak. She’s not coming back. Not for years. Tonight was the only chance we had and you let it go.” You want to shy away from the anger in his expression but he rounds the desk to trap you in his glare. “Why didn’t you kill her?” The question sits in the stale air; you can taste its bitterness on your tongue. “Why didn’t you complete one of the simplest jobs we’ve ever had?”

“She...”

“She, what?” Yoongi leans in. You can see Hoseok in your peripheral vision, but he's not about to intervene. “Speak up.”

“The files. The case files...” You squeeze your fingers until they ache. “They didn't say she was pregnant.” Right now, the truth is the only thing you have. You cling to it like a lifeline. But it’s going to be the thing that drowns you.

Yoongi stops, as if frozen on a screen. You actually see mirth seep into his eyes, false as it is. “Pregnant? She’s pregnant?” His bark of laughter rings out like a bullet. It makes you jolt back, instinctively needing distance before-- "Who the fuck CARES if she’s pregnant? You had one task. One fucking task and you just cost us three hundred. Million. Won."

"B-But it's just money, Yoongi." Your hands twist together as you cast a look at Hoseok only to gain a frown of sympathy. "We can get it back with the next job, I promise! There'll be other contracts."

"Bullshit. Your promises mean nothing to me right now. We need the cash!" Yoongi scatters the stack of silver credits on his table with an angry swipe. "We need as much of it as we can goddamn get."

"Do we? Do we really?" You try to stand your ground, despite trembling legs. "We're all doing decently. Well, even! Isn't that enough, Yoongi?"

"No!" His voice surges. It’s an explosion in the taut space. "It's not enough! When will you understand it will never be enough if we want to be on top? Those damn Foxes have already been stealing clients and contracts from us, getting more powerful by the minute!"

"But when did it start being about who’s on top?” Frustration leaks through your every word as your pinned hair comes more undone by the second. “You never even told me why we have to kill Park Siyeon anyway! Is it really that important? What if she did nothing wrong? We have to punish her baby too?”

Yoongi makes a face so vicious that you know if you were anyone else, you’d already be violently punished. “We are not the police. We are not the fucking NIS. We’re assassins. It’s not our job to question why.” His voice has quieted but lost none of its intensity. You’d prefer the yelling. It’s this coolness that truly frightens you. “We just carry out the hit. And then we get paid.”

“But I—”

“I don’t have the time to argue with you anymore. Bottom line is, you fucked up the job. Again.” Yoongi pauses, inhales deeply. When he speaks next, he does so deliberately, enunciating every word. “If you fuck up one more time, you’re out of the family.”

“Wait, what?” You blink. “Yoongi, I’m your sister. Your blood sister, I—”

“Family is who you kill for. Family is who you die for. If you don’t understand that, then you’re out.”

He turns, forcing the conversation to come to an end even though you’re far from done.

Your voice trembles. “The NIS. They were there tonight too. They looked like they knew that someone, like they knew I, was going for Siyeon. If I had done anything...” You don’t even wait for an answer before you whirl on your heel. “Maybe I should have just let them take me.”

You steel yourself, managing to keep your head high as you stalk out of the room. Your pace quickens as you speed towards your room, heart pounding in your ears. You crave sanctuary, somewhere you can just wilt without witnesses. Somewhere along the way, you started sprinting. You don’t stop until you burst through your door.

Off go the shoes. Then the purse, tossed onto the floor. You unravel the rest of the bun, let your locks fall freely, haphazardly. Your fingers claw at the zipper of the expensive dress, uncaring if some seams are ripped apart in the process. You just need to get out of this. Out of this constricting fabric and out of this makeup and out of all of this.

The dress collapses into a puddle around the shoes. It’s joined by your bra, then the thin knife taped to your thigh. Your heart thrums, pulsing like a livewire that causes jitters to spark beneath your skin and they won’t stop, they won’t calm down because your mind is just as much of a mess as your breath and—

You spot the box when you whirl around to grab an old t-shirt.

A tiny box, inconspicuously perched on top of your cabinet. You pull the shirt on as you walk towards it, prying open the top like a gift even though you already know what’s inside. A succulent. Sitting delicately at the bottom, its teal leaves are gentle, soft.

With great care, you lift it out of its cardboard cradle. You force yourself to inspect it, your trembling hands stilling more with each ounce of care you pour into the action. You remember Joon, with his soft voice and kind eyes.

“Um... Hi?” You mumble at the pot, feeling a bit silly. You pat one of its leaves, and it wobbles a bit to the side. “Hi. Guess you’re mine now.” Of course, there’s no reply. But there’s something oddly cathartic about this whole process nonetheless.

Before you can do anything else, you hear three quick raps at your door.

“Come in.”

You know it’s Hoseok even before his face appears. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

You manage a sort of shaky half-smile, meant to put that worried look on his face at ease. It doesn’t work. “Can I stay for a bit?” He asks, already settling himself on your bed.

“Yeah. Always.” You join him, the bed creaking under your weights.

“Boss was pretty hard on you.”

“He’s right though. I failed the job. I cost us a lot of money. I knew that when I walked away.” You stare at your hands. “But when I saw how happy she was... And the baby... I just couldn’t do it.” Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. “Isn’t that pathetic? That lately, I can’t do something that I’ve been doing all my life?”

Hoseok says nothing. He just wraps his arm around you, lets his warmth and cologne comfort you.

“Hoseok, it... It never used to be about the money.” You have no qualms taking out a corrupt politician or a criminal set free by a failed system. What laws cannot govern, you take into your own hands. But just a few weeks ago, it was a nameless father whose life you ended. And it was that father whose three-year-old you spared, leaving a potential witness. Yoongi had found out about that too. Before the father, it was an inventor, a professor, an heiress. All these people. And you were given no reason for their demise. Only promises of deep pockets and the jingle of ill-gotten credits.

“I know.” Hoseok squeezes you tighter. “But we do as we’re told. Those are the rules. Those have always been the rules of being a Nightingale. You, of all people, know it best.” He frowns. “Besides... We can never escape death in this world. If we don’t kill, someone else will. That’s the way it goes.”

You bite your lip. You don’t think that’s good enough of a reason, but there’s truth behind it. Exhale. “You’re right, Hoseok. This family... You guys are all I have. You’re what’s important. I can’t lose you.” You’re not related by blood except to Yoongi, but they’ve been with you since you were barely two feet tall.

“Then you know what you have to do.” Hoseok’s eyes harden. “This is the legacy we have to uphold. Family is—”

“Who you die for,” you finish. “Yeah.”

“And for what it’s worth... We didn’t know about the NIS. There were no signs that they planned to be there, and no information leaked. Yoongi would never have sent you in if he knew about them.”

“I-I know. But these jobs just keep getting riskier. Our chances of getting caught keep going up and I’m worried that...” You can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence. “Anyway, thank you, Hobi.” You slip easily into the childhood nickname you created when you first met him, when you were five and him a couple years older. When you knew nothing of this dark world, and he already knew too much. “Truly.”

Hoseok holds you for a few seconds more before he lets go. “I still have to scout a location tonight, so I can’t stay any longer. Are you going to be okay? Should I get Tae or Jun to keep you company?”

Instinctively, your eyes flicker to the succulent on the dresser. “I’ll be fine. Thanks for checking in on me.”

Hoseok follows your gaze. “That’s new,” he chuckles. “Never pegged you for a gardener. But alright. Whatever works, as long as you feel better.” He stands, pats your head. “Don’t forget to water it!”

You summon the strength to smile back. “I won’t.”

It is two weeks before you are sent on another contract, though you’re certain it is only because you are the sole member of the family with the right appearance and time for the job. Still, it’s a sign that Yoongi’s irritation with you is lessening with the passage of time.

Tonight, the plan is a seduction, leading to a sudden, fatal ‘heart attack’ in a locked hotel room.

You sip on a glass of wine as you watch the target pull up and park his car outside the bar. He looks like an average man in every sense of the word, a suit in tie corporate drone, and you wonder who would pay to have him gone. The ring on his finger glints in dull gold. His shiny oxfords look well polished, expensive. You finish the last dregs of your drink, setting the long-stemmed glass on the counter as he enters the bar. You compose your mask. Time to make the approach.

Hours later, the job is completed. Your escape is safely secured and executed. Everything has gone to plan. You return to headquarters with a desperate wish for a scalding shower because you feel utterly disgusted. Chiefly by the haste in which the target followed you into the hotel, then with how he made for you with his ring-clad hands without a trace of hesitation. Finally, it was how eager he had looked when you flashed him a bit of skin to distract him from the needle.

You need to wash the feel of him off. But first, you have a report to make.

“Yoongi, the job is done.”

Yoongi looks up from his computer. “Good.” He’s buried back in the work for about a second before he locks eyes with you again. “You okay?” Maybe he’s caught on to how much paler you look.

But what can you say? You just end up nodding, a few curt dips of your head. “Fine.” You close the door firmly shut behind you as you leave.

Back in the safety of your own room, you let the fatigue wash over you. Each contract seems to take more and more out of you, no matter how easy the actual task is. “Do it for the family,” you remind yourself as you strip from your dress. Each job fulfilled just solidifies the Nightingales’ position further, ensures that you will prosper for the years to come. This is bigger than you. This is what you have to do.

After the relief of a hot shower, you change into dark jeans and a hoodie.

As is your new nightly routine, you pad through headquarters in sneakers, making your way upstairs to the ‘house’ parts of the space that act as camouflage towards the rest of the public. You’ve been moving the succulent between these two worlds every day, for you figure it needs sun that your basement room cannot offer. But you can’t seem to sleep without it at night, without the comfort that there’s something growing, thriving in life just a few feet away.

“Time for your watering.” You fill a small cup with water, dousing the succulent until its soil is pooling, collecting the excess liquid before it sinks in. You watch the dirt suckle at sustenance, lips twisting into wistfulness. Joon was right again. Something about sustaining a life tugs so fondly at the pit of your stomach. “I’m sorry,” you end up whispering, an apology that the family of tonight’s target will never hear. You pour another splash of water in.

It is when you pick up the pot that you realize something is off.

The leaves on the side facing away from you are puffy. You capture one petal lightly between your fingers, but its squishy where it once was hard and sturdy. “Lights on, 80%.” You’re stunned when the room floods with light and the succulent’s once teal color has yellowed, becoming almost translucent. “What the...” When you nudge a leaf aside to check on the ones at the bottom, it falls clear off.

Even with your limited plant knowledge, this is one thing you can diagnose too well. It’s dying.

He trusted it to you and now it’s dying.

Strange, overwhelming panic douses you like a bucket of ice water. Instinctively, you grab a tote bag, nestling the plant inside. You swing the straps over your shoulder, one hand placed on the pot to ensure it won’t shake too much as you rush out the door. Your destination: the quaint flower shop you swore you’d never visit again.

It isn’t until you’re standing right outside the flower shop that you realize it’s half past ten, and no reasonable person would still be at work. All the shops around you are closed, neon signs turned off for the night. The streetlights blinking red and green and the cars flying over your head are the only illumination. You should probably just go home.

But you’ve come all this way. And your succulent needs saving.

Stubbornness and panic dictate you peer inside the glass door. The plants that are normally decorating the storefront have already been brought in for the night; they obscure your vision, but you think you can just faintly make out a light in the back.

You knock, biting your lip as you wait. When there’s no answer, you knock again, harder this time. Please. Please be here.

It’s another minute before a familiar face appears through the plants like a woodland spirit. You step back as the door swings open. “Hi, sorry, we’re closed...” Joon’s sweet eyes meet yours; recognition flickers. “Oh. Dahlia?”

You don’t blame him for the question mark. The last time you saw each other, you had a full coat of makeup on. Right now, you’re bare faced and a sweaty mess. “You’re still here!” you breathe in relief.

“You okay? Come in.” You follow him into the maze of flowers. “What’s wrong?”

You wipe away the perspiration coalescing on your forehead with a sleeve. “The plant. The succulent. I messed up somehow, I must have...” You’re almost ashamed to show him the pot, but you unwrap it from the bag. He takes it gingerly to place it on the counter, before crouching down beside it. “I’m really sorry! I’ve been trying to give it sun and water and I’m even talking to it, but it’s just...”  Your babble trails off as he inspects the leaves, then touch a finger to the soil. The poor succulent looks even more sickly in this light. “I know you’re closed. I just didn’t know where else to go.”

When Joon looks at you next, he’s smiling so softly it stirs your heart. “Don’t worry about it. I’m usually here working late anyways.” He straightens, dusts off his apron. “And the succulent is just overwatered.”

“Overwatered?” You repeat, incredulous. “Plants can be overwatered?” You were under the impression of the more the better.

Your surprise makes his eyes crinkle with a chuckle. “Yup, they can be. Especially succulents. They’re used to much drier climates. It’s my bad, really. I should have given you better instructions.”

“So... it’s not dead, then?”

“No, just weakened. If you dial back the watering and let it stay in the sunlight, it’ll become nice and healthy again. Don’t worry, it’s a good thing it’s summer! This little guy will recover quickly.”

“Wow... Thank god...” Your tired muscles finally relax as you lean against the counter, relief spreading through your veins. You never could have imagined feeling this way about a plant of all things, but there’s no denying that it’s become a sort of companion to you in the last few weeks. The only thing that listens without demanding, without commanding.

An adorable, low-toned chuckle makes you turn your head to him; Joon is all dimples with a grin so wide it makes you bashful. “Now who’s the one that’s all cute, fretting over a plant?” He doesn’t seem shy now, keeping the eye contact between you so steady you’re afraid he can see right through you.

“I just panicked, okay?” You mumble, playing with an errant lock of hair as you feel a heat on your cheeks. You wish he’d stop staring. “It’s my first time taking care of anything like this. Ugh, I really should have at least looked it up online or something. It was careless of me.”

“Well, don’t beat yourself up about it. Your heart was in the right place.” Joon pats the succulent fondly. “This isn’t easy.”

“No, it sure as hell isn’t.”

He laughs, his easy, pure-hearted mirth addictive. “You can ask me for help anytime. I live in the apartment above the shop, so I’m usually around. But try not to come out so late! It’s not safe. You never know what’s out there in the dark.”

The weight of the hidden blade taped to the back pocket of your jeans reminds you that you know perfectly what secrets the shadows hold. “Right. Thanks.”

Joon turns back to your succulent, snipping away a curled leaf you hadn’t even noticed was there. “Had a long day at work?” He asks.

“Mm, something like that.”

“What do you do, anyway?” It’s a casual question, but it sends you for a spin. Thankfully, he’s too focused on doing something to the soil to notice how you tense. “Definitely nothing to do with gardening, huh?”

You roll your eyes. “No... I’m in the family business.”

“Do you like it?”

It’s clear nobody could love their job as much as Joon does. You know you should lie to him, but somehow that makes you uncomfortable when he’s always been straightforward and honest with you. “It’s alright, I guess. I never really thought about doing anything else.”

“Why not?” Joon cocks his head to a side. “I mean, I know family obligations are strong, but it’s your life. You should live it how you choose.” He grimaces. “Not to be preachy or anything.”

“... It’s complicated. But my family needs me. Even though we may yell at each other or want to bite each others’ heads off, they’re still all I have.” You bite your lip. “And I owe them everything.”

“But what do you want?”

You stare blankly at Joon, mind searching for words that only come up muddled. When is the last time someone asked you that? All the letters, the languages that you speak yet there’s nothing coherent enough to be sent out on your heavy tongue. You’re barely aware your hands have clenched into fists, nails carving crescents into your palm. You don’t even realize you’ve begun to hold your breath.

Then your com buzzes.

[11:01pm] hoseok: where are u?

“Everything okay?” Joon asks as you shake yourself out of your stupor after reading the text on the tiny screen. Reality calling yet again.

“Yeah! Yeah. Sorry. I was just...” You slide the com into your pocket. You give an awkward laugh, not sure who you’re trying to convince more, yourself or him. “Anyway, I should get going. I shouldn’t be keeping you here this late.” You throw a glance towards the door.

“Hah, you had to leave early last time too. Are you Cinderella?”

“Can’t let my jeans turn back into a pumpkin. Is that how it goes?” You smile, turning back for your succulent. You weren’t expecting Joon to be right beside you. He’s standing so close you can feel his warmth, smell the scent that makes you think of home. Not yours, but what you always imagined the magazine depictions would be like in your childhood.

“For what it’s worth, I think you’d look adorable as a jack-o-lantern,” he murmurs. Those sweet midnight eyes could hold a galaxy’s worth of stars within them, but tonight, they reflect only you.

...You could kiss him right now. It would be so simple for you to touch those gentle lips with your own and leave a trace of yourself behind in this oasis forever. But you know better than that.

Taking the succulent from his hand, you force yourself to walk to the door. At it, you bow, grateful for how he’s saved the life of the plant, grateful for how he listened to you ramble, grateful for him. “Goodnight, Joon.”

His eyes sparkle. “See you soon, Dahlia.” You don’t, can’t, respond.

It isn’t until you get home that you discover he slipped a dart of hardened paper into the pot, hiding just beside a petal. When you unfold it, ten numbers in raven ink stare back at you. And at the end, a single word: Anytime.

“Ugn! Hah! Yah!”

Sweat drips in rivulets down your forehead as you slam your glove-wrapped fists into a punching bag. You relish the bite of the friction, the soreness in your muscles as you whip around and kick the side to a satisfying thwap. Evening training has always been your favorite. Especially these days, when your body feels like one of the only things you have control over. Well, your body and the cute succulent you’ve named Moon.

“Hey, boss called a meeting!” Hoseok’s voice blares out just as you land another hook on the abused sandbag. He pokes his head into the training room, his expression carefully neutral.

You lower your fighting stance. “Okay. I’ll be right there.” You peel the moist gloves off your hands. Why a meeting? Weird.

When you walk out of the room and into the common area, the familiar faces of your family are already gathered. All fifteen of them look nervous as they mumble amongst themselves, probably trying to guess what this is about. You fill the open space between Hoseok and Taehyung. Yoongi stands at the head of the room, inspecting documents.

“Where’s Jun?” You quietly ask Taehyung.

“Mission.”

“Okay.” Yoongi straightens, drops the papers on the table before him. “Listen up, Nightingales. I’m sure you’ve noticed that we’ve been losing contracts. To the Foxes.” He spits the name out like poison. “Those assholes have been taking what’s rightfully ours. The money that should be in our pockets. I found out today that we were passed over for the assassination of that visiting VP of GCF Industries.”

“Shit.”

“Shit is right.” Yoongi paces a few feet before he whips his cold eyes to behold his brothers and sisters. “We have to do better. We have to be faster. But we still have to be careful. As if the Foxes aren’t enough of a pain in my ass, the NIS have been poking their noses where it doesn’t belong again.” Yoongi rests a strained hand on the table. “If any of you are caught by them...” His gaze finds yours.

Slam!

The sound of a door being violently thrown open makes all your heads snap up.

Within seconds, Taehyung’s off, his lazer pistol in hand. You’re right behind him, extracting your switchblade. Nobody would be stupid enough to attempt an infiltration of your headquarters. But lately nothing surprises you.

This long hallway seems to go on forever.

You can’t see what’s right in front of you. Taehyung’s form blocks the bulk of your vision, but you trust him to be your eyes. You focus on silencing your steps.

“Jun!”

When you pool into the foyer, Taehyung bolts forward like a bullet. “Jun! Shit!”

You see the puddle of blood first. Then you see Jun at the foot of the stairs, clutching at his leg. His top is stained dark crimson, his breathing too haggard. That sweet face is contorted in pain, as if living itself hurts him more than anything else.

Rushing to the wall, you smash the hidden switch for the secret cache. You’re not going for the weapons, but instead the first aid kit. You drag the whole bag to Jun’s side. Immediately, you inspect the wound. A deep slash scars his thigh. Your thoughts sharpen into hyperfocus: you have to stop the bleeding.

“What the hell happened?” Yoongi bursts into the room, eyes blazing. “Jun?!”

Jun automatically tries to push himself up a little further. He’s so earnest, always trying to impress Yoongi, even at a time like this. It almost makes you smile. “Foxes... Park J-Jimin...” Jun takes huge shuddering inhales. You try to shush him, to tell him to conserve his strength, but he shakes his head. “Client must’ve given them the same contract. I got in his way so...” He waves a hand over his wound. “Fuck, that really... hurts...”

“No shit, you got stabbed!” You spit out as you clean the wound. Your hands are trembling because the energy is draining from Jun’s usually bright eyes.

“Let me do it,” Hoseok says, taking over. You acquiesce.

“Fuck!” Yoongi slams his fist into a wall. When his hand comes away, his knuckles are scraped and bloody. He hardens his jaw, clamping down so aggressively on his lip you’re afraid you’ll have to treat him next. “Fuck...!” For a moment, just a flicker of a second, you think you see the brother you once knew. Fearful, uncertain, worried.

But Min Yoongi, head of the Nightingales, is back just as soon as he was gone. “You. And you.” He points at Taehyung, then, surprisingly, at you. “Tomorrow... Tomorrow, you two have a hit to do.”

“On who?” You’re bewildered that he’s still thinking about contracts at a time like this. “Can’t we talk about this later?”

“On that Park Jimin’s girlfriend. The one he thinks he’s kept hidden from all of us.”

“W-What?” You stutter in surprise, almost biting your tongue. “Why her?”

“You have to teach him a lesson. You have to teach him not to fuck with us. There are consequences for taking our hits. And hurting our men.”

If Jimin’s hiding his girlfriend, she has to be a civilian. An innocent. One who just happened to fall in love with the wrong man. “No, Yoongi, I’m not going to take his girlfriend out! There are other ways to send a message.”

“No, there aren’t. So just listen for once and do as I say.”

No, no, you’re not getting this go without a fight. Even if you have to resort to a low blow, a gutter punch. “Mom and dad would have never—”

“Mom and dad are gone!” Yoongi actually draws blood when his teeth sink into his lip this time. “They left the family to me. And I’ll be damned if I let it die in my hands!”

You fling yourself to your feet. “You’ve gone too far, Yoongi! Min Yoongi!”

“Just take a look at Jun and tell me if it’s too far.”

You don’t have to look. You don’t think you’ll ever forget Jun’s face, losing color by the second.

“Or what? Are you going to wait until they kill one of us next?”

Yoongi turns his back on the silence he’s created. You watch him stalk out, shoulders slightly hunched, cradling his bruised fist. It’s a sight you’ve become familiar with after all these years. But for the first time, it’s like staring at an utter stranger.

“I’m sorry you had to come.” Taehyung’s voice is doused in pity. “I could have done this alone.”

“No, you need backup just in case. And besides... Yoongi gave me the order.” In the darkness of your hiding spot, you offer Taehyung a tight smile. “I’m doing this for Jun.”

“I know.” Taehyung turns his attention back to the tiny, obscure café across the street, where Park Jimin’s girlfriend has the closing shift every Tuesday night. You had to travel quite a bit outside the city to get out here. He really tried to hide her well, though he should have known it could come to this one day.

The plan is straightforward. You are to approach when she is alone, and you are to activate the fast-acting poison that has none of the subtleties of the heart-attack mimic. No, this poison is one specially developed by the Nightingales. The traces of it left behind will let Jimin and the rest of the Foxes know exactly who carried out the hit. And they’ll ensure the police don’t catch a whiff of this, lest it be traced back to them.

You watch the girlfriend wave goodbye to her coworker with a sunny smile. “We’ll wait one more minute, then we’ll go,” you say. She’s already begun pulling the blinds down for the night.

“Okay.”

There are two exits to the café, which bodes well for escape. You and Taehyung, arm in arm, looking like a picturesque couple, take the one to the right when you enter. You pretend to be taking in the quaint décor, but you’re actually scoping out any potential hazards, any signs that the Foxes have put protective methods in place. You don’t see anything. Did Jimin hide her from his family too?

“Hello! Welcome!” She greets you both, grinning widely. “Sorry, we’re closing in a few minutes, but I can still help you until then.”

You force yourself not to look at the nametag pinned to her apron, because you don’t want to know. You don’t want to remember. Instead, you squeeze Taehyung’s arm twice before letting go. All clear. You hope he also gets the message to do this quickly.

“Thanks. Could you tell me about this cake here...this one in the display?” Taehyung chooses a dessert that’s not so easily seen from behind, forcing her to come around the other side. While she’s distracted, you flip the open sign to closed.

“Of course!” She leans down, bending to see what cake Taehyung’s referencing.

She never sees it coming, but you do. The quick flash of a silver needle.

“Ow!” A gasp. A squeal. Her doe eyes widen as she jerks back and stumbles.

You swallow guilt with a dry throat. “Let’s go,” you harshly whisper, grabbing Taehyung’s hand. You don’t want to stay here any longer than you have to. He nods.

You’re about to take the second exit when the door chime jingles again. Shit. A customer?

“Honey? Surprise!”

A voice that’s full of love rings out just as the woman crumples to her knees.

“What... What the hell?!”

The person that enters, you’ve only seen once before. Park Jimin. But you might as well be seeing him for the first time. Anger corrupts his face when he recognizes you. When he realizes who the hell you are.

“Nightingales!” He growls, his blade in his hand in an instant. You reach for your own knife, shifting into a defensive crouch. You’re sure he’s going to rush you. Certain he’s going to do whatever it takes to sink his own silver into your flesh in another twisted cycle of retribution. You wouldn’t blame him for it.

Jimin takes five steps and falls beside her. His weapon clatters to the ground.

He reaches for the woman with desperate hands, cradles her close against his chest with a rough fragility, a brutal elegance. “No,” he sobs. “No, no...” It’s a wail. A carnal howl that claws at your shattering soul.

“Please, stay with me.” He’s dropping desperate kisses against her forehead, against her cheeks, anywhere he can reach as if to capture the last remaining warmth in her veins. But her hazy eyes refuse to focus. Refuse to acknowledge his existence even with the tears he weeps on her paling skin. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Please...!”

“Let’s go!” Taehyung’s yell yanks you back. He forces you out the door. Even though Jimin makes no effort to give chase, you’re running as soon as you hit the cool night air, sprinting at full speed towards the hidden car. You need to get as far away from this place as possible. As if that could make you forget.

You shiver in the front seat as Taehyung speeds away. This. This is why you’re taught never to stay. Never to see the aftermath. Because ignorance is such sweet bliss and now even that’s been ripped from you. And it’s your own damn fault.

It is no wonder you cannot find comfort in sleep later that night.

You don't deserve it. You're haunted by the images imprinted in your mind, stubborn and too real. You can feel the weight of them crushing your heart but you're more afraid of who you'd be if it weren't there at all.

The hour has stretched past midnight, and you are no closer to relief. Sick of staring at the concrete of your ceiling, you turn to a side. Catch sight of the space where your plant usually sits, except you've forgotten it tonight in your haste to bolt into bed. But your communicator sits nice and handy bedside.

Before you can stop yourself, you're thumbing through the screen for a certain number saved beneath the sole symbol of a leaf. And by the next second, you're calling it.

Brrrrng.

You should probably hang up.

Brrrrng.

Your breath is coming quicker.

Brrrrng.

It's almost two in the morning, he's not going to--

Click.

"Hello?"

The comfort that floods you is instantaneous, palpable.

"It's me," you say, before realizing that's not helpful at all. "Dahlia. I'm sorry, I know it's late..."

"Dahlia." He breathes the word. It's not even your name, but there's such a fondness in his tone that you can't help but flush. "I said anytime. I meant it. What's up?"

"...Can I come over?" You end up asking. "You can say no."

"I'm unlocking my door right now."

"Thank you."

"Thank me when you get here, yeah?" You can hear the smile on his lips.

It takes your hasty steps and a short Skytrain ride to deposit you in front of the floral shop less than twenty minutes later. There's a strange sort of anticipation, a thrill humming beneath your skin that makes you more and more nervous with each step you climb, up the stairs that lead to Joon's front door. Just as he promised, you find it unlocked.

It still feels like you’re intruding, even though he gave you permission. But you forage ahead. You knock on the door after you close it behind you to announce your arrival. Then you turn to catch your first glimpse of Joon’s apartment amidst the dim, muted lights.

It’s a simple space, sparser than you would have imagined. But the warm, earthy colors of the wooden coffee table, the couch, come as no surprise. The only decorations that Joon seems to have are plants, in all shapes and sizes as they scatter across every open counter, flourishing and well-nourished with their crisp greens and exploding scarlets. And among them, he stands, tipping a mini watering can over a succulent.

“Dahlia.”

“Hi.”

The light casts shadows over his handsome face, over the full lips you force yourself not to stare at. The white shirt and grey sweatpants fit his lean frame nicely, though you’re not sure if the top is half-tucked out of fashion or carelessness. “Is it too dark?” He asks.

“No,” you murmur, “it’s perfect.”

Joon sets the can down. He washes his hands as you inspect a nearby purple bloom. Then he beckons to you with a hand like one would a stray cat as he pads to the sofa in his slippers. “Come, sit. I made tea, if you drink that.”

“Sure.” You peel off your shoes.

You’re not quite sure what you’re doing here, really. But when you join him on the couch, when take your first sip of hot tea surrounded by his scent, overwhelming normality hits you. A feeling that’s familiar yet so foreign all at once. Like some ancient crevice inside you is being filled.

“Dahlia.” He waits for the tea to spread its way through your veins, heating your chilled system before he calls your attention to him. To him and to the doleful eyes that always behold you with such care. “What happened?”

“It’s just... Family stuff again. I know, I’m a broken record.” You pull your legs up onto the couch and rest your cheek on your knees. “But I just had to get out of there. I couldn’t sleep.”

You take Joon’s silence as encouragement to go on.

“It’s not like they were trying to hurt me.” Yoongi’s face floats in your mind. How ashen he’d looked when he saw Jun. How the doctor said he’d visited the infirmary more than a handful of times over the course of a single day. “They try to do what’s right for everyone. I just... I don’t agree sometimes.”

“You don’t?”

“No. And I don’t think I ever will. Not with some things.” You let your eyes trace the lines of the floorboards. “But that doesn’t matter, in the end. What matters is that I do as they say. For the good of everyone. How I feel about it... That’s just my problem.”

“That doesn’t sound right.”

A small exhale that’s almost laughter escapes you. If only he knew. “No, to me, family... Family is who you die for.”

“But if they care for you, if they love you,” he whispers, “wouldn’t they want you to live?”

Your tongue finds naught but silence in response; you make no move to rectify that. The truth is, you don’t dare to search your mind for the answer. Like how a child fears what might lay beyond a closet door, beneath a four-frame bed. Not the monster itself, but the possibility.

“Dahlia.” You can’t bear to meet his eyes, to accept the intensity within their dark depths. “Are you okay?”

Maybe it’s the knowledge that you don’t have to lie for once, to say that you’re fine. Maybe it’s that Joon doesn’t need you to be strong or stoic. Or maybe you’re just tired of it all. But that question, so plain, so easy, is what breaks you.

You fight the sobs that surface, swallow them down with each stuttered breath. You have absolutely no right to let the tears fall, damn it. No right when they belong to Jimin as his grief, his sorrow. But still they choke you like hands wrapped tightly around your throat. Squeezing, squeezing until they’ve stolen every last vestige of oxygen from your exhausted lungs.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” you babble brokenly, closing in on yourself as if that would make you disappear.

You feel the weight of the sofa cushion next to you as Joon reaches for you, wraps his arms around you for the first time. Warmth. All-encompassing warmth that could rival the sun that you’ve spent so long hiding from. “Don’t be sorry. Never be sorry.”

Now you give yourself to the heat, let it melt away the fatigue that drips down your face as salty droplets of rain. You can’t recall the last time you let yourself cry, and in front of someone else, nonetheless. But now you can’t imagine why you’ve held yourself back, not when every tear you shed eviscerates another burden, at least until you’re made to leave this sanctuary. But for now, in this blessed now, you just let go. You memorize the rhythm of his breath against your skin, and you let go.

When you finally muster the courage to meet his eyes with your own, red-rimmed and watery, he just smiles. It’s a gentle smile to reassure you, and tell you that he can withstand anything. “I’m here for you,” he says without decorum, just a plain stating of fact as if anything else would be a ridiculous notion.

And before you can control yourself, you’re kissing him.

He’s so soft, lips tasting like oolong tea and promise as you drag him closer with hands carded through his hair. You shift. Your feet hit the floor in a bid to remove any obstacle between you. Why haven’t you done this before? Your mouths come together like miscolored puzzle pieces, never meant to belong but somehow sliding into place all the same for a perfect fit despite logical reasoning. He groans into the kiss, a delicious noise that stirs at your heart.

Here, you feel something different. Something so terrifyingly visceral that you can only describe it as being alive.

You want more.

But Joon is already pulling back, guilt in his expression. “No, Dahlia, you’re upset, we shouldn’t—”

“Please, Joon.”

He is the one secret that is yours, and only yours. That knowledge alone makes you want to be irrefutably selfish. Because you know damn well that he’ll let you. You know by fleet gallop of his heart and by the arms that hold you like precious blades of nightshade, blooming silently in this pensive dark. “You asked me what I want before,” you mumble against his lips, cupping his cheeks in your calloused palms. “It’s you.”

You can no longer register the tears that roll down your face for he whisks them away with his thumbs. All you want to focus on is the feel of him against you, his hands sliding down to find your waist. There’s a clumsiness to how he acquaints himself with your body, but you find it utterly charming. Nibbling on your bottom lip, he coaxes the first moan from your hoarse throat. You respond by tracing the outline of his mouth with the tip of your tongue, encouraging him to open and to let you in.

When he draws your hips towards him, you let yourself fall. Your back meets the plush couch, welcoming the weight of him on top. What you think is his cock presses fervently against your thigh, but he makes no move to seek his own relief. Instead, he trails his lips down your jaw, across the smooth column of your neck.

You pull him back to your mouth, seeking the warmth you’ve already become addicted to. Every kiss stokes the urgency in your veins further, turning it into an insatiable, impatient beast that cannot be reigned in. “More,” you exhale, afraid of what might come back if he stops. “Give me more, Joon.”

“More...?”

You guide his broad hand to the waistband of your terrycloth shorts. “Yes.”

“Are you sure?” He refuses to cross that barrier while he searches your eyes for hesitation. But he’ll find none. Only the desire to lose yourself in this moment and his touch.

“Completely.”

He swallows before he slides his hand inside for his first intimate contact. You arch into him when his fingers brush past your fabric-covered clit, testing the waters. That seems to give him confidence, as do the silken moans that drip from your tongue. He hungers for more, knowing every ounce of pressure he lavishes pushes you closer to the edge. Intentionally or not, the underwear becomes a kind of torture, dulling the friction of the fingertips you want against your bare skin.

“You’re so beautiful.” His voice has dipped lower, gathered a husky quality that stirs you, rouses like no other. What poetry could that tongue could pen against your clit? “I’ve thought so from the first time you walked into my shop.”

“What if I never returned? You didn’t have my number.”

He chuckles. “I knew.” He nudges aside the cotton to find you soaked. “I knew you would come back.” He collects arousal with upward swipes, parting and teasing the petals of your lower lips until you can’t stand it any longer. You moan into his ear, feeling his hot breath brush against your neck in return.

“Liar.”

“You tell me.” And he plunges in a finger. Before you can become accustomed to the stretch, he adds another, curling ruthlessly against your walls. His digits are much longer than you thought as they fill you so, so well. You can only dream of how his cock must feel, but there’s no time for fantasizing when his thumb finds your clit again.

Even your shorts cannot staunch the soaked squelch of your cunt, made thoroughly subservient to his agile fingers. You haven’t any idea how he manages to find your sweet spot in seconds, dancing around only to suddenly zero in on it again. You’ve never been one for whimpering but it’s a natural reaction when he scissors in tandem with the relentless strokes. Every pump forces you closer and closer. All the while, his mouth makes love to your tongue, sucking hard as if to claim it as his.

You know you’re not going to last long.

Clinging to him, you scrunch his shirt in a tight fist as climax sweeps you away in its fury. You don’t know how noisy you are with the moans that burst forth, but you can’t control them. Can’t hold anything back as he thrusts through the pulse to elongate the high. Even your legs are trembling in their strain, but god, you’re purring with pure pleasure and delight.

When the peak finally wanes, it’s a tiredness that settles in, renders you immobile while you just let everything melt away. All your worries and stress that have built up seem to go along with it, a welcome change even if it’s only temporary. You just breathe him in, let his scent wrap you in ease.

He doesn’t push you further.

Perhaps he can tell that you are exhausted, not only in your muscles but your mind, weary of this long night and of thinking. Despite his own need, he just holds you until your breathing calms. Until you are truly spent, shuddering against him while the last throbs of your core peter out, but leave you so satisfied.

He wipes his fingers on a tissue then drops a kiss to your forehead. “Will you stay?”

You sigh. “No. I can’t.” You have to be home for the morning, before they discover you’re gone. In fact, you’re already probably late. Still, you take your time re-doing the tie on your shorts. “Joon... I’ll see you again.” Another rule now utterly broken. But one you don’t think you can bear to uphold any more anyways.

“Okay.” You don’t know if he recognizes that this is the first time you’ve promised a future possibility, but he smiles all the same. “I’d really like that.”

You stand, the soon-to-rise sun marking the end of this tryst. He walks you to the door, watches as you pull on your shoes. “Goodnight, Joon. Thank you for listening to me, again.” Your heart flutters as you can’t resist turning back for one last swift kiss on his full mouth. “I’ll text you.”

“Goodnight.” He leans against the frame, arms crossed, expression content as you start down the steps. “Be safe.”

From that night on, Joon becomes your most cherished secret, a treasure of which you are fiercely protective. For him, you slip the confines of your headquarters, of your family, and become simply Dahlia for a handful of hours. Dahlia, who is ironically more yourself than you have ever been. It’s a mask that you’ve grown comfortable in over the past three weeks; it and he are the only things that keep you sane through the contracts Yoongi sends your way.

“No, no, look there! See it?”

Lying on a picnic blanket, shoulder to shoulder, you follow the arm Joon points up at the midnight sky. “Mmm, nope. Still don’t.” You turn, snuggling into his side. “Just looks like stars to me.”

Joon turns too, but to plant a kiss on your cheek. Then he captures your fingers, laces them together with his own. “Here.” Raising your linked hands, he walks you through the trail his sleepy eyes have found. “They look like flowers, don’t they?”

You squint. “I guess... Is that even a constellation?”

“No.” Joon grins, never letting go of your hand. “I just wanted to give you a bouquet tonight.”

“How very on brand of you.”

Joon pops a grape into his mouth. “I’m always consistent, huh? Or maybe you just know me too well.”

“Not well enough, I don’t think.” That’s the truth. With Joon, you’d gladly become an encyclopedia of information, voracious for every tidbit you can uncover about him, about the entire world that he seems to treat with such fascination. Just last week you listened to him describe the allure of crabs with rapt enthusiasm. You, in turn, gushed about the facets of language, how interesting it was the way a tongue wrestled with a foreign sound and structure. Conversations that could go on for days but must end when the first rays of sun peep over the horizon.

“We’ll get there.” He holds up a grape to your lips.

“I hope so.” You open, drop a flirty kiss on his fingertips before biting into the exploding sweetness. “Let’s start with you telling me why you chose to go stargazing. Besides the opportunity to feed me fruit, that is.”

“Heh. While that has its own charms… I like to come out here at least once a month.” He runs fingers through his dark hair. “It reminds me that my problems aren’t as big as they appear to be. There are just so many stars and so many universes out there. It seems like a miracle I was even born in the first place. So, shouldn’t I try to shine the brightest before my time is up?”

You didn’t expect a less eloquent answer from him. You swallow his poetics, imagine them settling in the cavity of your chest, right next to your thudding heart. With wide eyes, you stare at the twinkling lights that wink at the two of you, wind-cooled and half-drunk on life. “I think I’m glad I was born in this galaxy,” you softly confide. Something you never thought you could feel. “In this world, that is.” In this world that has brought you to him.

Joon squeezes your hand as if he’ll never let go again. “Me too.”

You creep inside headquarters just as the sunlight begins to filter through the windows above ground. You’ve made it two feet past the stairs when a hand slaps down on your wrist. You whip your head towards it. You have the good sense to clamp your lips shut before any noise can betray you. A low voice mutters your name.

“Where have you been?” Taehyung’s eyes come into view in the darkness. They’re not filled with anger, but worry instead.

“Tae. Uh, I was scouting,” you lie. You hate to do it, but the truth is far too caustic to reveal. “It took longer than I thought.”

Taehyung’s fingers release you from the hold as he sighs. “Okay. You weren’t answering your com. So. I just. I got scared. Especially after…” He trails off, but you know what he means. It’s only now that Jun has really started to heal; the stab had been immensely deep, the blood loss great. But he had escaped with his life.

“I know. But I don’t think the Foxes have made any moves against us. And they probably don’t plan to. Not if it’ll lead to more death on both of our sides.” You can still recall Jimin’s face with startling clarity. It still comes to you in the depths of particularly quiet nights, when you are alone with your all-too-active thoughts. “Maybe we’ll be okay.”

Taehyung looks off into the darkness aside your ear. The gauntness in his eyes suggests he hasn’t been able to forget either. Biting his lip, he utters, “…I’m not so sure.”

You are so accustomed to seeing (your friend? your lover?) your Joon beneath the cover of night that it is almost startling when you run into him by pure chance a week later on your quest to fetch coffee. And to gather intel on a future target.

“Joon?”

He turns at the sound of your voice, face brightening with surprise, then delight. “Dahlia! What’re you doing here?”

“Just getting some coffee,” you say, holding up the cup. The target has settled in to eat his scone, so you have a few minutes. He’s practically beaming at you, and you imagine you look the same. You can’t seem to control the smiles around him. “You?” It’s then that you look beyond Joon and realize he’s sat at a table for two. There’s a young, bright-looking man on the other end, staring curiously at you. “Oh, sorry, I’ve interrupted you!”

“No, no, don’t worry, you haven’t. This is my friend.”

The man stands politely to offer you his hand with a sweet smile. Hm, he’s handsome, in an effortless, boyish way. “I’m JK. Nice to meet you.”

You take the hand, find his grip strong. “Are you a florist too?”

“Nah.” He sits back, relaxes in his seat again. “Personal trainer.”

Considering the muscles that bulge from beneath his dark t-shirt, it most definitely suits him. Maybe Joon catches you slightly ogling, because he cuts back into your field of vision with a subtle tilt. Too cute. He’s always cute, today especially in his blue jeans, a casual button-up thrown over top that’s just a little dressier than his usual tees. Impossible to resist.

“What are you doing later tonight?” You surprise even yourself by asking, but you seem to be riding on the instinct that you want to see more of him; this small run-in just reminds you of how much you’ve missed him in the past few days. Headquarters feels so empty when his presence is only in your mind, for you’ve been too busy even for your whispered midnight calls. Your outburst makes JK’s eyebrows raise in cheeky amusement.

“Well...” Joon ignores JK as a smile stretches across his plush lips, flashing you those dimples that have become your greatest weakness. “I usually go to the gym on Thursday nights with JK but...” He gives his companion a look. “I’ll stay in for you.” Joon trails his fingers lightly down your bare arm. “Why don’t you come over and I’ll try to make us dinner? Or order us takeout when I mess up the cooking?”

You laugh. “Okay. I’ll be by around eight?” The target has now scarfed down the scone, and is pushing up from his seat. Time to go.

“Perfect.” Joon gives your arm a last squeeze. “See you then.”

“See you. And nice to meet you!” You wave to JK before quickly turning away, feeling actually giddy, like the schoolgirl you never were. It feels like your first ‘official’ date instead of a stolen moment here and there. It feels like you’ve taken one huge step towards the realm of normalcy, something you thought was something outside your grasp. And you wouldn’t give that or Joon up for the world.

It is half past seven that night that you slip from your room, a dark trench coat pulled over the dress that you finally settled on after much agonizing. Normally around this time, most of your siblings are in the training room or in their rooms, working on their skills. Jun is among them now, recovering slowly but well. Yoongi has the habit of locking himself in his room immediately following dinner (or sometimes without it), so it shouldn’t be difficult for you to slip out. You’ve never left this early before, but you hate making Joon stay up so ridiculously late every time. You owe him at least this.

You chose flats tonight for the ease of movement. You move through the familiar halls silently, hurrying along because you are just too damn excited. You wonder what he’s attempted to make. Then you wonder what he ended up ordering after he burnt his attempt. Just the image of him standing over a smoking, charred pot puts a silly grin on your face.

“You’re heading out?”

“Eep.” You skid to a stop, emitting a noise of surprise. You turn to find Hoseok advancing from a side corridor, head tilted to a side. “Sorry, what’d you say?”

“What’re you thinking so hard about?” Hoseok asks with a hint of a smile. “I just asked if you’re going out.”

“Oh. Yeah, I am. Just for a bit. Just… want to go for a walk and get some air. Clear my head.” Being with Joon does exactly that.

“Ah… Okay.” Hoseok doesn’t look too convinced, but that’s probably because you’ve never been one for walks. Usually, you prefer the sanctity of your room and the heaps of blankets. “I... won’t hold you any longer then.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you later.”

You hurry along, taking the steps up two at a time. You make sure to check on Moon before you leave. You give her a few ounces of water, watching with satisfaction as the soil eagerly accepts the liquid. “Grow up big and strong,” you say, eyes tender, full of hope.

You are unsurprised when a thin layer of smoke greets you from the cracks of Joon’s apartment when you get there almost right on the dot at eight. You snicker as you knock on the door, wondering just how much of a panic he must be in right now. Poor guy. He’s amazing at a lot of things, but anything in the kitchen sends him into a tailspin.

He opens it seconds later, sweating in a dark apron, his bangs falling down. “Hey! Dahlia!” He sniffs the air, watching as a small cloud of smoke billows out. “Oh god. Sorry about all of this. Come in.”

“What happened?”

“Turns out, making pasta is pretty hard.” Joon grimaces. “I managed to put out the fire though.”

“There was an actual fire?” That’s impressive, even for him.

“Uh… no? Nope. Definitely no fire at all…” He chuckles awkwardly, using a hand to break up the smoke. “I lit some candles to get rid of the smell.” He’s cracked open a window a few inches. And by ‘some’ candles, he means about fifteen, that all fill the space left by the plants he seems to have moved aside for the night. Joon clearly doesn’t do anything in moderation. “Good news is that we have takeout coming. So, we’ll still get Italian. Actually edible Italian.”

You giggle at how he flusters. Watching him run around, you leave your shoes by the door, then undo the knot of your coat to hang it up.

“How’s a glass of red wine sound?” He asks, rattling something in the cabinets.

“Sounds perfect.”

You make your way to the kitchen island. You slide into one of the barstools that faces the stove. Joon pops the cork, pouring crimson liquid into a tall-stemmed glass. It’s when he turns to give it to you that he gets his first good look at your outfit, at how you’ve dressed up for the evening. His hand jolts so much that he almost drops the glass entirely.

“O-Oh!” He (unusually) manages to catch himself at last minute. He sets the wine down on the table with a loud clatter. “Shit, sorry. I just. God.” He grabs a towel from the side to soak up the stray droplets that spilled. “Wow. You look amazing.”

You smile as you tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. “Thank you.”

“No, seriously, like… wow.” He takes in the tease of a neckline, purposefully curved over your chest. Subtlety has never been his strong suit but now he’s abandoned it entirely as he practically drinks you in like the wine in his hands. You don’t mind. Quite the opposite really. It bolsters your confidence when he reacts like this, as if he hasn’t been knuckle-deep inside you while you cried out in release.

You lean forward under pretext of reaching for the glass, giving him a bit more to dream about. Joon almost chokes on his sip of alcohol. You just grin in response.

“A-Anyway… Honestly, I’m surprised your evil stepmother and stepsisters let you out this early.” He turns and effortlessly throws the towel into the sink.

“Hehe. I did an extra good job of cleaning the house.”

“I’m sure even the floors are sparkling.” He’s about to take a seat when the doorbell rings. “Ah, that has to be food. Be right back.”

Minutes later, he returns with takeout boxes in hand. “Give me a sec. I’ll make it nice.” He moves swiftly, moving like he has much practice with plating the food. That amuses you too, as you wonder what other ‘special’ skills he has hidden away.

Joon adds one last sprinkle of parmesan. Then he sets it down in front of you with all the flourish of a gourmet. “Tada. Dinner is served.”

“Why, thank you.” You take up your chopsticks. “You have excellent taste.”

“Ah yes. I cooked it with my credit card.”

You can’t help laughing along with him. “Well, my compliments to the chef!”

Between bites of creamy linguine and a soon-depleted bottle of wine, the evening passes quickly. Too quickly for your liking as the hours slip by, counted by peals of laughter and flirty grins. The plates have long been emptied, sitting messily in front of you both. The conversation has winded down to a temporary lull as you both drain the last dregs of wine from your cups.

You’re fairly certain you haven’t drunken enough to be tipsy, not that you’d allow yourself to become so inebriated in front of him, so you decide it’s not just your imagination that he keeps looking aside your ear at something behind you. The first two times, you just figured he was searching for the next conversation topic. But now, you’re seriously convinced it’s either a ghost or you’re boring him.

“Joon... Why do you keep looking behind me?” You ask as you turn. Your eyes fall onto the couch you became quite familiar with just a few weeks ago. Oh. Oh…

“Um, sorry,” he mumbles when you look at him again. He puts both hands over his lips, as if that could hide the slow blush creeping across his cheeks. “I, uh, can’t seem to stop thinking about what happened the last time you were here…” You decide he’s probably too honest for his own good. You stay silent, and he seems to take that in the worst way possible. “Is that awful? Oh god. I don’t want to make this night about that or anything. That’s not why I invited you over for dinner. Seriously. You don’t have to—”

“Joon.” You push your seat back and let your feet hit the floor. “It’s not weird. It’s not awful.” You feel more nervous than you have in ages with each step you take towards him. “I’ve been thinking about it too.” His hands drop at your words. You seize this chance and press your mouth to his.

He tastes like cream sauce and the dizzying sweetness of wine. By now, you’re no stranger to his lips, to the chaste kisses he drops like butterflies during your brief pockets of time together. But these kisses are more, much more as you push yourself up on your toes. Every cell in your body seems to be tingling, sparking to life to urge you closer to those plush lips.

You try to deepen the kiss but can’t shake the feeling there’s some hesitation on his part; he’s merely responding to you, not taking any initiative when you want the opposite. “Come on, Joon.” You rest your forehead against his, let your tone dip around his name. “What’re you afraid of?”

He knows he’s been caught. His large palm comes up to cup your cheek. “Sorry... It’s just, last time things were so strained and—”

“This isn’t the same. This time, I’m here because I want you.” You lick your bottom lip, torturously slow so he has to watch. “And I’m not as delicate as you seem to think.”

“...Fuck.”

That’s all the warning you get before he’s finally, really kissing you. He’s half-falling out of his chair but it doesn’t matter when your tongues are moving in tandem, matched in desire. One hand finds itself in your hair, threading through the locks while the other stays on your cheek like reassurance that he isn’t going anywhere. That there is no place in heaven or hell he would prefer.

He moans when you coax his tongue between your lips, when you hollow your cheeks to suck. “Let’s move this to the bedroom,” he mumbles, “please.” The obvious bulge in his pants is convincing enough on its own, but you appreciate the need in his tone all the same.

“We should blow out the candles first. We don’t want to cause another fire, right?” You laugh, pulling away with all the grace of a fairy as you flit around the room, dousing flame after flame. He helps you out, too eager to feel you against him again not to.

When you blow out the last flickering candle, he scoops you into his arms. You take it a step further, daring to wrap both legs around his waist, trusting him to hold you aloft. He cups your butt securely as he maneuvers the familiar darkness to his room. All the while he can’t keep his mouth off your skin, tasting anywhere and everywhere.

Once inside, he kicks the door closed behind you with a little too much force; it slams closed before he’s pushing you against it. Neither of you bother with the lights, too enraptured in the feeling of the other, using touch to understand instead of sight. What soft moonlight drifts in the half-open blinds is enough to cast a glow upon your bodies, tangled in heat. You both seem to acknowledge that some things are better left to be experienced, like the lush of his lips against the crook of your neck, the need in every nuzzle ineffable.

When the hands beneath your ass squeeze with the excuse of finding a better grip, you grin. Then you grind against the clothed bulge you didn’t get to sample before. It makes him chuckle right back – a rich, delicious sound. “Like what you feel?”

“Very much.”

You squeal in delighted surprise when he spins around to make you both fall onto the softness of his bed. His weight on you feels so natural, so effortless that you could just cuddle here for a lifetime and be content. But the wetness between your legs longs to be slathered over his shaft.

“Mm, I want to feel more of you,” you whisper, pushing your hips up to meet his bulge.

“Patience, baby.” He gives you one more kiss before he shifts down to the edge of the bed, settling right between your thighs. “Let me have a taste first.”

“You’re still hungry after all that pasta?”

Joon flicks his gaze up and you instinctually swallow at the darkened lust in his eyes, lit by beams of moonlight slashed across his face.

“Starving.”

His nose indents your thigh as he breathes in your scent. You silently pray he won’t take his time nibbling his way up your legs, because you’ll be even more of a mess by the time he reaches your sex. Thankfully, he seems every bit as impatient as you. Too eager to even deal with your dress as he scrunches the fabric up. He exposes the dark lace that clings to your core, sticky with viscous arousal. He pauses at the sight, fingers stuttering to a complete stop.

That makes you nervous. You’ve only worn this set once before though it’s your favorite; you didn’t want to taint it with the hands of your targets, didn’t want guilt staining the delicate stitching. The sole other time had been for a hookup, just a quickie to sate bodily needs before you realized it didn’t matter what you wore because it wasn’t about you. It was only about what your body could offer. But Joon’s touch replaces your memories of that man with every stroke.

“…Is something wrong?” You whisper.

Joon shakes his head. “No. Of course not. You… You’re so damn beautiful.” He traces the fabric stretched across your mound. “You just keep drawing me in more and more.” He slips a finger into the waistband, crushes the elastic as if he’ll rip it off. “It makes me want to say things I shouldn’t.”

You can feel his breath swirling over your skin, making you whine in anticipation. “Like what?”

“Like how much I’ve been missing your pussy.” The word sounds almost too dirty for him but god, what it does to you is undeniable. Especially when he eases the underwear down, removes it entirely and you barely notice in the process because you’re too distracted by the infuriatingly gentle kisses he plants around your clit.

“Joon…”

“Mmm, like how I’ve been dreaming about you so slick, dripping around my fingers.” Perhaps it’s the wine that’s so loosened the tongue that hovers above where you need him most. You’re already drunk on the honey it produces. “You sang so prettily when you came. I want to hear it again.”

You obey with a heady moan when he finally dips his mouth enough to swirl the tip of his tongue around your clit. You scrunch his bedsheets in tight fists, pushing the back of your head against the firm pillow as he follows up with long, reverent strokes, splayed like his calloused fingers across your quivering thigh. He smears your wetness across his mouth without care, only focused on the hitch of your breath, the guttural song wrenched from your parted lips.

Your legs jerk, tense around him when he drags the flat of his tongue against you again and again, sliding along down the folds to tease your cunt with a shallow dip. Then he’s right back at your clit, suddenly sucking so hard you whine. You automatically buck into him as the need for something to fill you eviscerates everything else.

“God,” you gasp when he releases with a noisy pop, leaving you breathless and wanting.

His eyes slide up the gorgeous canvas of your body, finding your gaze. He holds it with a certain, thrilling confidence as he gathers wetness on his finger, coating himself thoroughly. “God can’t help you here,” he teases. “So just cum for me, baby.”

You wait for the delicious stretch, but he turns those slick fingers on your needy clit instead. You’re still sensitive from his mouth but he walks the fine tightrope, instinctively knowing what’s too much by your spilled whimpers. His tongue teases what’s to come next as it plunges inside your cunt, lapping at the walls that contract so tightly around. His fingers just keep circling, the pressure building in relentless crescendo with the blinding pleasure between your thighs. You know you’re no match for him. Him and that mouth, those hands, fuck...! You let yourself fall with hands fisting his hair.

A sharp expletive and the sudden cinch of your walls mark your peak as everything skids to a standstill. You’re vaguely aware that he’s watching you cum but you haven’t the mind to care, not when you’re grinding into his mouth, deliriously needing his heat. Sweat pricks your skin, proof of the bliss that is white hot through your veins: merciless.

Finally, you drop back onto the sheets on a tremulous exhale.

Joon extracts himself lazily, a trail of saliva clings to his lip before he licks it off. “Just as incredible as I remember,” he groans, grinding his bulge into the bed as he indulges in the scent of your lost control. “Hope you don’t mind. I plan on giving you more.”

“Not without you inside me,” you say, still finding it hard to speak properly but you pull you up to kiss. You taste yourself on the tongue that tangles with yours.

“Your wish, my command. Let me get this dress off you first.” He rocks back on his haunches after a nibble on your bottom lip. “It’s gorgeous, but right now, it’s in the way.”

Gladly. He could ruin it for all you care. Still, you spin around to expose the zipper holding the outfit together. You stretch out upon the sheets that are drenched in his scent, fleetingly wishing you could stay here forever. Then you’re distracted by the broad hand that finds the steel clasp and starts to pull. His bangs tickle your skin as he leans down, kisses every inch of skin he exposes in a languid, mesmerizing trail down your spine.

You feel the cool air fan across your body when the last of the dress falls away. His broad hands cup, then part your ass cheeks, admiring the bounce, the glisten of your soaked cunt. “Do you even know how wet you are?” He mutters. “So ready to be taken.”

“Mmm... Fill me, Joon.”

You hear the thump of his clothes landing on the floor, then a rustle, a hurried rip of a package. Then his weight advances, knees on either side of your legs as he slides his hands down your waist. His thick cock presses against your cunt with such firm urgency you moan at the expectation alone. He drops one kiss on your back and plunges his cock inside.

“Oh, fuck, you’re so damn tight,” he groans the second your walls accept him, squeeze him for all he’s worth. You sink deeper into his pillow, but it can’t staunch your moans from the stretch. Incomparable to anything you’ve ever had before, you can only tremble with pleasure as need builds in your stomach again.

“Fuck,” he swears again, unable to even form words with how good you feel around his cock. He feeds you well, sinking in deeper with every thrust until his crotch presses firmly against your ass. Length translates to him nestled right against your cervix, nudging against your deepest core. And his first full thrust makes you cry out, not expecting the jolt of pain when the head smacks roughly against the tight nerves. He pauses. “Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

“No, no, never.” You feel him shift, the friction tantalizing. “Joon, I don’t think it’s ever been this good.”

“For me too.” You can hear the smile in his voice. “Never.”

There’s no more time for speaking, only fervent moans when he falls into the pattern of brutal pumps, drawing your wetness every time he slams into you to the sound of a fresh slap. His hands can’t keep off you; they caress the slope of your back, the curve of your waist, finally finding home over your breasts while his breathy groans define the nape of your neck. You’re addicted to him in this form, unrestrained and desperate like you’ve never seen him before.

Every stroke of his cock is devastating to your cunt, carving the shape of his cock into your walls as you spur him on for more. You want him to ruin you until you can never forget the feeling of him even if it’s deep, too deep it hurts, because that’s the ache of being so fiercely alive. You throw your hips back, forcing him further still.

“Mm, I really want to see your face.” That’s all the warning you get before the pressure disappears, and he rears back to give you space to flip. You’ve barely been on your back for a second before he’s between your thighs again, grinding the entire length of himself against your sodden slit.

“Are you teasing me?” You laugh, knowing he’s torturing himself in the process too. You reach down, capture the swollen cock head between your fingers and pressure his frenulum enough to wrench a heady gasp.

“Not half as much as you tease me with those little moans.” He lets you guide him back to your cunt, dips himself in your ambrosia.  “So,” a thrust, “fucking,” a delicious stretch, “hot.” He palms a breast while his mouth finds the other, tongue toying with your taut nipple while his hips work ceaselessly.

He’s forced to let go when his pumps become too rough, too frenzied in their lust for him to stay bent. He’s slamming himself into you, hooked his arms beneath one of your knees to give himself the space to fuck against your core. The bed is practically vibrating beneath you from the sheer strength of every plunge. He drags over your upper wall every time, ensuring you haven’t a second’s rest. Not that you’d want it.

You are reduced to mewls by the time his rude fingers find your clit to rub. “Too... Fast... Joon...!” You can already feel your undoing rising but he doesn’t slow even though you want this to last. Thank god he lives alone as your voice climbs in volume, feet curling, back arching—everything is heat and everything is him.

“Let go, baby.”

He forces you into climax before you know it, cock battering against the sweetest, most wanton spot as the ultimate thrill rushes through you. His fingers never relent upon your clit because he’s high on how you sing for him, how your throbbing cunt accepts him whole for a perfect, damning fit.

Your orgasm drags him into his own, one so blinding he hardly recognizes his own voice as he drops down over your body. He gives you his deepest thrusts yet, shoving himself as far as you’ll allow and then some more. His groans come out choked as he empties his cum inside your walls, wishing there wasn’t this flimsy plastic in the way so you could truly feel him. But you squeeze him all the same, clutching him close so your heartbeats match and his mouth never leaves yours, not even for air.

“Joon, god, Joon,” you mumble, palming his cheeks and returning every kiss until the crest has ebbed into lazy waves of bliss that lap at your shores. You are exhausted and sated, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

He flashes the dimples at you as he straightens, wipes a few droplets of sweat from his brow with the back of his head. He disposes of the condom with haste, so he can collapse at your side seconds later, breathing deeply to quell his thrumming heart. You smile deliriously as you turn to face him, to slip yourself into his embrace again despite the sweltering heat. Satisfaction and fatigue pull at your eyelids, but you fight their siren call. You need to savor every last moment you have in this space where you are naked—wholly, completely so in every sense of the word.

“Hey. Stay with me tonight,” he whispers, tracing your cheekbone with the backs of his fingers as if he knows what he’s asking for is too much. “I think... I think I need you by my side.” They are words like glass, so fragile it is as if they’ll disappear if he dares to utter them any louder.

“Joon, I...”

The arms that shelter you tighten, longing in every flex. “Forget your family. Your curfew, the rules. Just—everything. Please. Forget it all, at least until morning comes.” Intimate kisses brush across your forehead. “Then... I promise, I’ll let you go.”

You can find no argument. You never could against those sombre eyes, their darkness alight with the moon, betraying just how deep his affection runs. Though you’ve never said it aloud, you are certain your gaze reflects the same. Something you’ve been afraid of feeling all your life, but now you can’t imagine why, when it’s so precious.

“Okay. I’ll stay.” For tonight, one single night, you’ll pretend that the rest of the world has disappeared.

He grins, the dimples making their appearance as if to reassure you that you made the right choice. He presses one last kiss on the tip of your nose. Consequences are a problem for tomorrow. You watch his eyelids droop and his breathing slow. Smiling, you lay your palm over his chest to feel the strong beats of his heart. Your own vision blurs, slumber finally coming easily against his steady rhythm.

The next thing you register is a clatter.

Instantly, you’re alert.

You didn’t hear the front door open, but that could have just been a symptom of the sleep working its way through your body. You quiet your breathing and listen. The walls shake almost imperceptibly in time with silent, foreign footfalls, undetectable to anyone else. It’s an intruder. And they’re a professional.

You need to get to your dress. A hidden pocket sewn inside contains your knife. It’s not the best, but it’s better than no weapon at all. Thank god the candles are out. It has to be the Foxes. You were a fool, really, to think they wouldn’t try something. You just... never thought they’d find Joon.

But that’s what Jimin had thought too.

You untangle yourself from his arms as subtly as you can, but he stirs the second you move off the bed. Damn it. “Dahlia? What’s wrong?” Joon’s voice is hushed, sending goosebumps up your spine.

You swallow with a dry mouth. “I heard something.”

“A noise...? Let me go check it out.” He rubs at his sleepy eyes.

“No!” You snap it, a harsh whisper that makes his eyes widen. “No, I mean, I’m sure it’s just the wind...”

Joon’s already moved the blankets off, dropping to a crouch like you are. “Well, if it’s just the wind, then I’ll just close the window. I am taller than you.”

You roll your eyes in mock amusement. “That means nothing to me.” You pull the dress on, then fumble through its fabric. You slip the switchblade into your hand, one finger on the trigger.

“Just stay back, Dahlia.”

Damn him and his heroics. Still, there’s no use fighting him. Not when that increases your chance of being heard. He creeps towards the door. You shadow him; he doesn’t have to know you’re ready to fling yourself in front of him at moment’s notice.

You hold your breath when he reaches for the doorknob.

He knows how to turn it silently. The wood doesn’t betray him as he eases it open a sliver. You can hear the footsteps clearer now. They’re roaming through the kitchen. What the hell are they searching for? Is this not a hit but a heist instead? You stay carefully out of view.

Before you get any answers, Joon suddenly straightens. He whips the door open. It slams into the wall with a thundering crash. “Whoever the hell you are, get out!”

Your heart stops. What the fuck—

You catch the glint of steel in Joon’s hands.

A shot rings out before you can react. Is it coming or going? All you know is there’s an enormous clatter, like all the pots tumbled to the ground in the intruder’s unfamiliar haste. What the fuck is Joon doing with a gun? He holds it with practiced fingers, a proper grip.

Another shot. Definitely going. You recognize the telltale muted snip of a modified pistol; one with an excellent silencer. The kind those in your business routinely use. The kind Joon has pointed right at your uninvited guest.

“Get out!” Joon roars. He turns, using the doorframe as leverage. He uses practiced point swivels to keep his advantage. One more shot. This time, it results in a strangled choke of a noise. The shadow hurtles towards the front door in the moonlight. The door is yanked with so much desperate ferocity it almost rips off its hinges. Seconds later, the shadow is gone, disappeared into the darkness of the night.

When Joon looks back towards you, he finds himself on the business end of your knife.

“Dahlia, I—”

“Save it.” You’re trembling. Your legs are shaking harder than they’ve ever been. You despise the worry on his face. You hate the fact you still feel the ache he left between your thighs. “Don’t fucking say a word to me.” You don’t know who the hell that person was, and apparently you don’t know Joon either. Assassin that he is. The Fox has been by your side all along.

“Why didn’t you just kill me when we first met?” You circle the room. Blood pumps hot through your veins. “Why? You wanted intel on our family? Is that it? Is that why you asked all those questions?” You’re moving towards the door like a caged beast. Were you the one that lead to the stolen contracts? Has it been your fault all along?

“I’m not trying to kill—”

“Bullshit! That’s bullshit! You just shot at whoever the fuck that was, and you...” You blink away a hot tear, wishing it’s from fury, not grief. “You just...” Even now. Even now you can’t understand why the hell he doesn’t just shoot you where you are.

You’ve reached the bedroom door.

One quick sprint and you’ll find the freedom from him you never thought you would need. You take one last eyeful of his frame, frozen solid like ice. You can’t bear to look into the false constellations in his eyes. “I hope you got what you wanted.”

You turn.

You run.

You burst through the doors of home like a mess, hair wind-blown and feet blistered, jacket pulled tight around your body. You’re afraid you’ll definitely be caught this time. Excuse after excuse pop in your head, none of them sticking or coherent as you rush down the stairs. When you reach the bottom, you realize that didn’t matter at all.

Headquarters is in an uproar.

“What’s going on?!” You ask one of your sisters, who seems to be rushing from the infirmary.

“Hoseok. Hoseok was shot!”

“Badly?” You ask, but the look in her eyes is answer enough. “Got it.” You head right towards the storm.

First thing you see: Hoseok lying prone on a white bed, blood staining his stomach and sheets. They didn’t even bother to undo the harness strapped across his chest. His black turtleneck is yanked up to give your in-house doctor space to work. Hoseok groans, sweat dripping from his pale forehead and matted bangs.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Yoongi’s eyes blaze as they take in your dishevelled appearance.

You ignore him. Your shoes clatter on the tile as you speed to Hoseok’s side. “What happened? Where were you? What did you send him into?” You glare at Yoongi, certain he took another unnecessary risk. Another gamble with someone else’s life.

“Not his fault...” Hoseok breathes out. “A scout. Supposed to be... empty...”

“You got shot scouting? Where?”

“Stop talking if you want to live through this, Hoseok. Save your energy.” The doctor holds up forceps. “We have to take it out. It’s a modified bullet. Can’t leave it in, you’ll get poisoning.”

“Fuck.” Hoseok leans back, squeezes his eyes shut.

You look away, not wanting to watch the doctor work. “Where, Yoongi? Where did you send him?”

Yoongi grits his teeth. “Where else? To find one of those NIS dogs that’ve been on our ass.”

“NIS?” You repeat. Your brow furrows. Not the Foxes?

Hoseok fights for strength. “Asshole had... pistol. Nice one. With a silencer.”

“Hoseok, shut up!” The doctor is terrifying in his own right, and Hoseok finally falls silent.

You, on the other hand, want to scream.

Because this is too much of a coincidence.

Because you just saw the dull light of a silenced pistol thirty minutes ago.

No. Your mind instantly rejects your next thought as you stumble, reaching behind you to grasp desperately at anything to support your falling weight. Joon... There’s no way. He has to be a Fox. Or someone from another family. Not a NIS agent. Anything but. No. No. No—

“What’re you doing?” Yoongi snaps.

You whip your eyes up, then bolt in lieu of answer out the door. The room is too suffocating despite your aching feet. You need time to think. You need to figure out what the hell is happening. You need to know the truth, god damn it, and not just the twisted mess your mind is making of every little piece of evidence that just seems to lead to the worst conclusion.

“Hey!” Taehyung calls, but you blow past him.

You finally find safety in the form of your room and a slammed door. You slide down against it, cradling your drooping head in your arms. Don’t be stupid. Think! You force yourself to focus on the evidence, on the knowledge that you know for a certainty, not the way he smiled into your kisses with lips lethally sweet. Or how he held you close as if he could be your safety, your world instead of the very knife that slices across your heart. You close your eyes.

One fact remains absolute.

He has betrayed you. No amount of feelings, regardless of how complicated and intense, changes that. He is your enemy. He has always been your enemy, even if you only feel alive, truly alive in his arms.

“...I have to tell Yoongi,” you whisper to yourself, but you can’t bring yourself to move, unknown whether from sorrow or fatigue. Your breathing slows. “He needs to know.” But sleep is heavy on your body, refusing to release its hold. You don’t fight it. You let your head fall another few inches. You’ll tell Yoongi in the morning, in a couple of hours. The settling darkness decides this for you.

This is the last shred of kindness you’ll give to Joon.

You wake to cold steel pressed against your forehead.

It is crammed with enough strength to leave a pink indent, a painful swell that you instinctively shift away from. You are still disoriented from slumber, blinking, trying to gather yourself. But the tapered end chases you down like a relentless hound.

Something shoves your arm. You wince when you hit the floor, forced from the door. Your instincts finally kick in, and you propel yourself away, as far away as you can. Who the hell... You let out a strangled noise when you see.

Yoongi stares down at you, ice in his eyes, a gun pointed squarely at your head.

“Yoongi, wh—”

“You betrayed us.”

You immediately shake your head. “No. No, I haven’t!”

“You think I haven’t noticed you sneaking out?” Yoongi takes a step, bringing his gun closer. “Creeping around like a rat.”

He... knew? You made sure you weren’t being followed each and every time. But did you slip up in your haste?

“I let you go. I know you’ve been having issues. But tell me, is it fun to spill all our secrets to your friends at the NIS?” A delirious grin is stretched across Yoongi’s lips. Your quivering eyes shift between that and the barrel of the gun. “Is it fun to watch the rest of us flounder in the dark? You hate what’s been left to us so much?”

“No, Yoongi, please, you have to believe me, I didn’t—”

“Then how did the NIS know Hoseok was coming?!” Yoongi shakes the pistol, tilting it on its side. “Every Thursday, they have a meeting. A mandatory meeting. Yet there he was, waiting for OUR MAN to appear.”

Your tongue is fat in your mouth. He said he was free. He said he was going to the gym. He— Oh god, it’s your fault. It’s your fault Hoseok was shot.

“No answer, huh? Just as I fucking thought.” Yoongi snorts. “Maybe you should be more careful the next time you talk to ‘Joon’.”

“H-How...”

He holds up your com, the triple lock utterly bypassed. “Or should I say Kim Namjoon. Agent of the NIS.” Your stomach lurches. “I told you not to trust anyone outside of the family, and look what you’ve done! You’ve compromised all of us. You’re out, sis.” Yoongi raises his hand and he cocks the gun.

Do you knock it out of his hands? Do you run? Or do you just take the punishment you deserve?

You suck in a breath that could very well be your last one.

“Get down!”

A scream hurtles through your open door. “Get the fuck down!” Explosions like fireworks blast from far away, sounding like they’re coming from the foyer.

A body dashes past your room. “What’s going on?” Yoongi yells as he turns, his hand faltering. “What’s happening?”

You see your chance. You lunge forward and wrestle the gun from his grip. “Hey!” You twist your body to avoid a shot but none goes off as you shove Yoongi to the floor.

“I’m sorry!” You gulp as you speed past him in bare feet. “I’ll explain everything later, I promise!” You can’t die yet. You can’t die here. You know Yoongi has other weapons on him. He’ll be fine if it comes to that.

You run towards the source of noise, staying in the shadows of corners, of tiny hideaways. The shots just keep firing, peppered with yells and cries so muddled you can’t recognize any of them. You are a turn away when you spot Jun in the foyer.

“Ju—”

“Aaagh!” Jun crashes to the ground, skids. A suit has one knee on his back, yanking his arms behind him to slap steel handcuffs on. NIS. So clearly NIS with that uniform. How did they find you? How did they get here?! You’re rooted, your face half hidden in the dark, half lit with the bleary, unchanging light. You desperately want to save him, but you only have one gun.

The agent on Jun suddenly whips his head up. His eyes connect with yours, and you recognize him. JK. Joon, no, Namjoon’s ‘friend’. They really played you for a fool and you ate it all up. But now JK’s arm is coming up, about to betray your location.

“Get out!” Jun screams at you before his cheek is forced to the concrete again.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, knowing your voice is too quiet to reach him. Then you go.

The agents swarm your headquarters, spreading like flies across the space. You spot them down the corridor leading to the infirmary. Hoseok must be compromised too. You keep running.

There is one exit deep within that is bound to be safe. There’s no way they’ve penetrated so deeply. Not yet. It’s hidden in the office that used to belong to your parents: a tiny tunnel. You just have to get past the dining hall first. A wide open space.

“Get the fuck back!”

Yoongi’s voice cuts across the hall as soon as you reach the doors. You duck, taking shelter behind a wall. Yoongi is locked in a stalemate, staring down an agent with his lazer pistol. They’re taking steps back, slowly moving closer to where you are. He’s trying to get a vantage point, knowing this space much better than the NIS.

Then you see the agent coming from his blindside.

No! You leap out, instantly aiming your gun at the agent’s arm. You pull the trigger.

No shot comes out. You desperately pull it again, but it’s too late.

“Fuck!” Yoongi finally spots the suit but by the time he spins, an electric shock pulses through the air from the agent’s immobilizer. It smacks Yoongi right in the side, coursing through his system as he shakes uncontrollably before collapsing. And he stays down.

You blink away the tears as you rip yourself from the scene. The breaths come up in great shuddering gulps as you try to keep calm but your hands just keep shaking. They shake so badly you can barely pull the bullet chamber out. It’s empty. God damn it. God damn your brother and his bleeding heart.

You claw at your coat collar, trying to loosen what feels too tight around your constricting throat. Adrenaline makes your head pound, and you know you have no more time to spare. You have to go. You have to leave Yoongi behind.

The dining hall is out, but there’s one more pathway to the office. It’ll take longer, but you have no other choice. You change directions, tucking the gun into your pocket like a safety charm.

A handful of excruciating minutes later, you find yourself in front of the office door. You haven’t been here in years, unable to bear the emotions that surface but you’re already so frazzled it doesn’t matter anymore. You slip inside.

The entrance is only accessible via fingerprint, built into the wooden desk that looks so ancient no one would suspect the technology it holds. You approach, instantly swept with relief. Thank god. On the desk, you see a tiny V drawn in red. Taehyung was here. Taehyung is safe. Three dots are haphazardly smeared next to it. Three others made it out with him. You’re going to be the fourth.

You flip the cover and press your thumb to the scanner.

Then someone calls your full name. Your real name. The voice is a rich baritone, one you could never forget. “Please. Wait.” The door shuts again with a click.

You face him, hoping every line of fury is carved in your expression. “Kim Namjoon.” Your hands curl into fists. “NIS agent.”

“...Yeah. That’s me.”

Namjoon stands before you in one of those tapered black suits that look so odd on him when you’re used to the slacks, the baggy tees. His hair is slicked back, and he holds that same pistol you saw in the darkness of his apartment.

You scoff. “I have nothing to say to you, Namjoon.”

“What about to Joon?”

“He doesn’t exist.”

“Neither does Dahlia.”

You press your lips together into a thin line. “What do you want with me? I’m useless to you now, aren’t I?”

“No. Never.”

You rake an exasperated hand through your sweaty hair. “I don’t know what you want me to say, really.” You want to scream at him, to let out every ounce of frustration but you just feel exhausted. “I fucking slept with you, Namjoon. Meanwhile you and all your buddies were probably laughing your asses off at how stupid I was. I broke every rule to be with you and you were just lying to me. About everything.”

“Well, I broke protocol too! It’s not like I went in there trying to sleep with you. I would never use you like that.”

You scoff. “Forgive me for finding it hard to believe you right now.”

“Please.” He tries to step closer, but you shake your head, glare at him to keep his distance. “Tonight and every night we’ve spent together. It meant something to me.”

“It meant you were getting the info you wanted.”

“No. My duties as agent ended the second I kissed you tonight. What came next was all me. It’s always been me with you on the drives. The picnics. Watching the stars.” You have to give him credit, he actually looks apologetic. Maybe ‘actor’ should be on his resume too. “Please.” He repeats your real name, and it sounds so foreign in his mouth you almost want to recoil. “You felt something tonight too. You can’t deny it.”

“Don’t talk like you know me.”

He shakes his head. “But I do know you. I know how your eyes sparkle when you talk about all the things you want to see, all the world you still want to explore. I know that you laugh at stupid puns and that you love the smell of stale movie popcorn like a weirdo. And I want to know so much more. I always do.”

You swallow the emotion that you can’t make entirely disappear, hating that he’s so goddamn right. “Look, Joon, Namjoon, whatever. None of that matters anymore. I... I have to go.” The trapdoor in the floor is still open, standing by. And the longer you wait, the more agents infiltrate your family, corrupt this space.

“Okay.” Namjoon sighs, and you think he’s going to arrest you. But instead, he just looses his grip on his gun. “You can leave. I’ll let you. I’ll pretend I didn’t see you, that I was too late.” He lets the pistol fall. It hits the floor with a dull thud. “But just know that you’ll be running forever.”

He suddenly extends his arm to you, palm up. “Or you can come with me. And you’ll have to face the consequences, but I’ll fight for you. I promise, I’ll fight damn hard. And at the end of it all... It might take months, it might take years, but you’ll be free.”

You stare at the pitch black of the tunnel.

Taehyung is waiting for you on the other side with your family. The people you’ve grown up with, the people responsible for giving you life. Or at least, the façade of life you’ve lived up until now. How much do you still owe them? When will it be enough?

On your exhale, you find Namjoon’s eyes. See the flicker of light reflected in their depths.

Trembling, you place your hand in his.

a/n: thank you for reading. truly. this is my first time writing something so ambitious. i wanted to present a world where things are all various shades of grey, where there is never a right answer. some characters were so difficult to write, but i hope their reasons for their actions were clear enough in the end. i would love to hear your thoughts on the piece & any feedback is always greatly appreciated! 

special shout out to @jeonshome who fed my insanity throughout the writing & kept me from imploding. please send her tons of love. i would give her all the star flower bouquets in the sky if i could ✨

p.s. you can find extra drabbles for this AU on my masterlist!

#bloom #namjoon x reader #bts smut #namjoon smut #bts imagines #bts reactions #kim namjoon #bts assassin #assassin au #criminal au #bts angst #under fire collab #bscproject #thanks for reading everyone!! #this one is so dear to me #i really hope you enjoy it #rain writes

[theres-no-protocol-for-this]

Curse

The dragon and the sword have a chat. Stupid feelings. This is Part III of the prompt about a dragon ART and a magic sword Murderbot.

Part I | Part II

The girl's breathing became even and deep. She was probably asleep, but without expending magical energy I didn't have, I couldn't tell for sure. Her head was propped up on my shoulder, and I decided that letting her rest was a little bit like providing first aid.

"Tell me about the curse," the dragon demanded.

I ignored the question because that wasn't any of the dragon's business. This creature, who made demands instead of asking questions, wasn't my owner, and I wasn't obligated to reply. Instead, I started to hum a tune I'd learned centuries ago, from a slave who'd cared enough to sing to the magical weapon they were supposed to be guarding.

"You can't ignore me forever, you know."

"I can try."

Peri rolled its eyes, and I had the impression that it might be a bit of an asshole. An awkward as fuck asshole. Just what I needed.

"You saved my humans. That means something to me."

I frowned. "That's nice."

"Tell me," it repeated, nose flaring with each deep inhale.

I took a deep breath. "Whenever my owner wanted me to kill on his behalf, he would bring a slave and make them draw me from my sheathe." I looked up the stars. They'd changed since I'd last seen them, centuries ago. "The curse would kick in. I'd take over the mind of the human who held me. And then, the lord or lady could command me to do their bidding."

"And if you failed?"

"Failed?"

"To win."

"I didn't." I closed my eyes. The pain in my chest was unbearable. I hate feeling. I hate remembering only slightly less. "Failure to obey resulted in pain. Death might have been preferable."

Into the silence, I admitted, "When the task was done, the slave would put me back, and then... they died."

The dragon growled. "Tell me who did this."

"No."

"I will turn their world to ash."

"Stop it. You have your humans to care for."

"My hoard, you mean. You're part of my hoard."

I frowned again. More fucking emotions. I needed someplace to hide to have them in private, but I didn't have the strength to get up and walk away. The dragon must've guessed because it shut up.

"The curse will return," I told the asshole dragon.

"It's written into your scabbard," it agreed. "I will burn it away. As many times as I have to."

Huh. I closed my eyes. "Go to sleep."

"Will you teach me another song?"

I remembered the one I liked about the sanctuary moon. Slowly, I began to sing.

The end. I don’t have anything else.

#murderbot #perihelion #fanfic #the adults are talking #murdersword

[luninosity]

It’s @whumptober2020 time again! For prompt 10 – “they look so pretty when they bleed,” specific prompts: blood loss/trail of blood; AND prompt 15 – “into the unknown,” specifically magical healing!

 Time for some more Evanstan with witch!Seb! This story takes place in the same universe as “every inch of north and south.” Warnings for...blood & magically inflicted injuries? I promise he’s going to be fine though! It’s magical healing, after all!

#

Chris steps in through the side door of Sebastian’s magician’s consultation rooms, where the wards know him as Seb’s boyfriend; he’s tired but cheerful, because it’s been a productive day of meetings about the directorial project he’s taking on for fun, the film about rescue dogs, and also he’s brought coffee for Seb from that new place down the street they’ve been meaning to try.

 He’s expecting the familiar tickle of Seb’s magic, and he smiles, the way Seb’s wards generally smile back, all warm and smoky and glittery as opals.

 The magic is familiar. It recognizes him. But it’s also wrong. Frantic. Scurrying. Spiking. Singing and shouting, sounds Chris doesn’t quite physically hear but feels—

 He’s not a witch the way Sebastian is. But he is magic-sensitive, kind of adjacent to it and aware of it if it’s happening, and he’s Seb’s boyfriend. Sebastian’s magic knows that.

 The hairs at the nape of his neck stand up. His skin prickles.

 He takes another step. “Seb? Sebastian?”

 No answer. But Sebastian’s protective magic’s shrieking now, a cacophony of clashing melodies and scents and textures—burning scarlet and blinding gold and copper on Chris’s tongue and whistles in his ears—and it wraps coils around his wrists and ankles and begs for his help—

 He runs. Shoving coffee onto Seb’s table next to the silver scrying bowl. Heart twisting in his chest at the sight of neatly labeled herb-bottles and jars on the shelf, at Seb’s black leather jacket tossed over a chair, as if Sebastian’d expected to be right back—

 “Sebastian? You in here?” Something nags at his brain; his eyes catch up after a second.

 A space on the wall rack. A missing knife. The silver one, the moon-knife.

 Sebastian’s protected against most ordinary blades, but magicians sometimes need to offer drops of blood. Seb’s got a few specific knives for that purpose, which means a few weaknesses. Chris tries to breathe. To think.

 Sebastian doesn’t have any specific enemies, not that he knows about; magicians can be envious and prickly and wary, but Sebastian’s generous and happy and clever and kind, and good at warding-spells, also.

 But Seb had said—something, that morning—something about being asked to consult on a local case, a missing child, and of course he’d said yes, and Chris had nodded because that was a good thing, of course…but Sebastian hadn’t said it’d be anything difficult…

 Or had he? By not saying so, by smiling, by kissing Chris as a distraction?

 Sebastian’s a good witch but—in his own words—not anywhere near the sorcerers of legend. Gifted at cures and summonings and counter-curses, not at leveling mountains or flattening enemy armies. And he and Chris have only been a them for three months—maybe Seb hadn’t wanted him to worry…

 Chris is worried now. Chris is fucking terrified now. “Seb! If you’re here, if you can hear me—say something, come on—”

 Magic pulls at his arm, insistent. Wind howls past his ears, though nothing in the main consultation room physically stirs.

 He spins in the direction of the tugging. Of the two doors plus small staircase, one leads to Seb’s distillery and store-room; the other’s the private workroom, for anything that can’t be handled out in the sunny front space. The staircase goes up to Sebastian’s bedroom-slash-library, with the books on astronomy and the low cozy bed with the decadent satin sheets, where they’ve spent a lot of enjoyable time.

 The door to the private workroom has a small trickle of red underneath it, seeping out.

 Chris stares at it for a second. Then throws himself that way.

 The knob, heavy and bronze, doesn’t turn. Chris slams a hand against thick wood. “Sebastian!”

 No sound.

 “Sebastian, please! Can you—you gotta open the door, Seb—just that, you can do that—let me in, please, Seb, just try—”

 No word from Sebastian; but a click echoes through horrified silence. This time the knob turns.

 The red’s blood and the blood’s so much, a vicious trail that stretches crimson from the door to a puddle over tidy chalk lines and up to—to—

 Chris’s lips say Sebastian, without noise, even as he’s flinging himself across the room. A sizzle scratches down his spine, a hint of burning singes his arm-hair, as he crosses chalk marks; but it’s weak. He doesn’t care.

 Sebastian, lying on his back, blinks and tries to focus as Chris bends over him. He’s clearly just collapsed in place, knocking over equipment along the way. The knife lies silver and deadly amid broken ceramic bits of what looks like a coffee-mug; Sebastian can do scrying-work with anything, Chris knows, and is actually best with an object he uses daily, a coffee-cup friend, a connection. The big silver bowl in the consultation room’s mostly for effect.

 Sebastian’s bleeding from—from everywhere, all over, red soaking his shirt and jeans, Chris’s jeans where he’s kneeling in the puddle, Sebastian’s hair—red streaks Seb’s face, his nose and mouth, his ears, his bared and laid-bare arms, which Chris almost can’t look at because of the raw—

 He clamps hands over the closest wrist. Sebastian’s blood’s hot. Sticky. “Seb—oh god—”

 Sebastian coughs. Starts to talk, coughs again, then manages, “Oh, hey…love you…”

 “Jesus fucking Christ. Seb—I love you, of course I—what, how, what can I—no, no, oh god, Seb—”

 “Not…as bad…as it looks…”

 “It looks like you’re fucking dying!”

 “Well…not quite…that was his plan…but it’s not all me…the water…”

 Chris looks more closely. It’s true: it’s not all Sebastian’s blood. The water from the coffee mug’s thinned it and spread it out and contributed to the pool.

 Contributed to. Not all of. He’s keeping hands over Sebastian’s left arm, holding edges together. The right arm’s just as bad; Seb’s still horribly injured, blood pulsing under Chris’s fingers, making them slippery. “What can I do?”

 “I’m…trying to…heal it.” Sebastian’s face is white. His eyes stand out against the lack of color: that silvery grey-blue Chris loves so much, now etched with pain. “We found her…the girl…it wasn’t that hard, I’m good at talking to the earth…and to water…I just…wasn’t expecting to fight an amateur warlock for her…I won, obviously…”

 “Obviously…”

 “He’s not dead, don’t worry…I don’t do that…just in custody…sort of very not conscious, I think. Him, not me.”

 “Let me help,” Chris pleads, hands wet, jeans wet, workroom wet with hideous ruby splashes. “Please. Anything.”

 “I can’t…” Seb coughs again. Then shuts his eyes. When he opens them his voice is noticeably weaker. “I can’t ask you to…”

 “You’re not. I’m offering. I love you, Seb. I said fucking anything. Do it. I’m here.”

 “It’ll hurt.” Sebastian’s trying hard to sound more all right, and failing. “Chris…”

 “Don’t you fucking dare ask me if I’m sure.”

 “No…I know you are.” A ghost of a smile hovers at the corner of Seb’s mouth: bittersweet, evanescent, affectionate. “Okay. I can stop it…I think…but I could use an anchor…more strength…getting kind of tired, here…but you’re good at awareness, at being present…”

 “I am.” He presses harder. Some of the cuts are healing—he can see them—but not enough. “I can do that. What do you need me to do?”

 “Look at me,” Sebastian whispers. “Look at me, think about me…about who I am, who you think of…when you think of me…and just relax, be open, let me in…”

 Chris draws a wobbly breath. Lets it out. Keeps his hands over the deepest slash. Focuses on Sebastian’s face, Sebastian’s eyes.

 Sebastian, he thinks. Bright and beautiful, ridiculous and generous. Made of stories and magic, a smile through a coffee-scented drift of steam, a love of pizza and outer space and other people. Pure joy in running around the woods on a hike, by turns jumping out at Chris from behind trees or just talking to said trees, running a hand over them, starting conversations.

 Sebastian’s eyes are cool and sweet, shimmering like mist and starlight. Chris finds himself distantly aware of the rest of the world—his hands trying to hold Seb together, the way his jeans stick to his legs, the hardness of the workroom floor—but it’s all going dimmer now, far away.

 More, if Seb needs that. More intimate, more personal. In bed, under him, laughing and fearless. Sebastian sprawled out half atop him, cat-napping, both of them naked and contented in sunshine. The smoothness of Seb’s skin, the dip where his back curves into his ass, the soft little sound he makes when Chris caresses him just right.

 Sebastian doesn’t say anything aloud, but Chris feels something like a yes, rose-pink and amber-laced and dancing like eighties rock music because Seb likes Bon Jovi: Sebastian’s magic, worn thin but glinting and prismatic, reaches out. It draws him in.

 He’s always thought Sebastian’s magic felt and tasted like light, so many kinds of light: wry cool moonbeams and lazy honeyed sun-thrumming and mischievous star-twinkles and quiet shafts of shyly happy radiance unexpectedly hiding in deep green pools. The burst of airiness from a cloud-like meringue. Whipped cream and edible gold dust. The kiss of sun through water in a lake. The hushed glowing of candles, lit with a thought, pooling liquid along entwined bodies.

 Right now the light’s present—Chris can feel it, can taste it—but very ragged, scarlet-tinged. It asks without words, wistful; Sebastian’s giving him one last chance to duck out, he understands. Sebastian isn’t sure that Chris should have to do this, maybe because it’s only been three quick months, maybe because Seb himself wants this so badly—Chris can feel that the same way he can feel how much Seb loves him; no lying here in this place—and Seb is consequently afraid it can’t be true.

 Fuck that, he thinks: you saved me once already, you save me every day I get to kiss you, you make my life more full of magic; let me save you; I love you.

 And Sebastian laughs: stunned, grateful, overwhelmed. And accepts.

 Pain hits first. White-hot and searing. Chris can’t even scream. Can’t think. Can’t process the sensations. If that’s what Seb’s been feeling—how is he even talking, how is he alive, how—

 Sebastian does something else, some tug at a thread in the embroidery of shades of light around them. The pain ebbs: not gone, but covered over by clean wintergreen and mint. The sense this time’s vaguely apologetic, though distracted: Seb’s having to juggle a lot of those threads, with no energy to spare.

 Chris shakes his head. Tries to project don’t worry about me, I can take it that direction. Sebastian does a sort of mental headshake right back at him, and then—

 It’s the strangest feeling. Not bad, not exactly—but dizzying. Stomach-flipping. Vertiginous. The light’s laced itself into his head, his gut, his chest—and it pulls gently and tugs and draws something out of him, taking it in, leaving him lightheaded as it drains.

 His heart thumps faster. He’s off-balance, shaken. And it’s something like a release as well, not orgasmic but close, something like Sebastian stroking him or sucking him until the climax rushes up and out involuntarily, nothing he can do to hold it back, as he shudders and cries out at the flood of release, emptying himself into Seb’s mouth or hand or body.

 The world still tastes like mint, and a little like pain, hot and copper and iron-sharp, but Seb’s shielding him from the worst of it, he’s aware.

 He can feel Sebastian’s magician’s fingertips skillfully taking each strand, each bit of Chris’s energy, and patiently painstakingly reweaving pieces of self: closing wounds, connecting tendons, knitting veins back together. Chris stays very quiet, holding more pieces of Sebastian in his mind as an anchor, and watches him work.

 He doesn’t know how long it takes. Time doesn’t matter, not here.

 He knows he’s growing more tired, more hollowed out; he can feel that. Giving himself, and gladly—but even as he thinks that, the draining eases, and recedes, and backs away.

 Sebastian’s breathing more easily. Sebastian’s arm’s whole, under his hands; Chris blinks, discovers that he has hands, that he can see and feel a world that isn’t diaphanous and timeless and made of light. He’s sticky with drying watery blood, his jeans are ruined, and he’s starving; Sebastian, still lying in the same spot on the floor, opens both eyes. His skin’s less white, and the blood on his face is dried, not new.

 Chris holds his hand, his arm; runs fingertips over bright pink tender flesh, new-made skin. Gazes at Seb, amazed, in awe, thankful.

 “So,” Sebastian says, visibly exhausted but with sparkling eyes, “candles? And…whipped cream?”

 “It’s how you feel.” He touches Seb’s arm again. “Light. You’re not…it’s not finished. All the way.” It’s not: he can see the lines, the tracks. Closed over, safe and not spilling life anymore, but not gone.

 “It’s enough for now.” Seb pushes himself up on an elbow, gingerly; he makes a face as his sleeve lands in a puddle. His shirt’s tattered and slashed open as well; so are his jeans. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

 “I’m not—”

 “If I took much more I would. Trust me.” His eyes meet Chris’s again, less magically hypnotic this time; then flinch, glancing away from the admission of potential harm. “It’s kind of my job. Knowing how far to go. As a professional. And I can do the rest, just more slowly. Are you—”

 “I’m fine!” Drained and wobbly, like he’s just run two back-to-back marathons, and his stomach’s growling. But Seb’s alive. “Should you be sitting up? What else can I do?”

 Sebastian’s expression goes through several emotions, and then he just says, “Chris,” a sigh, a giving in; and he reaches out, and Chris puts both arms around him right there on the messy workroom floor, holding on.

 “I love you,” Seb murmurs after a moment, head resting on Chris’s chest. “I wanted—I might’ve been okay, I was trying hard, I wanted to be—but I wasn’t sure. I was scared. I kept thinking about you, and wanting to see you, and then you were here…”

 “I’m here.” He squeezes more tightly. “Brought you coffee. I had been kinda thinking we could order pizza and stay in, y’know, kind of a long day for both of us…”

 “And then you walked in and found me.” Sebastian tips his head to look up at Chris more. “Sorry.”

 “Hey, you were saving a kid.” He runs a hand over Seb’s hair. They both need a shower. Maybe like three showers. “My hero.”

 “And you saved me. It’ll rebuild—the energy I borrowed, I mean—over a day or so, I think. How’re you feeling?”

 “Hungry,” Chris says truthfully.

 Sebastian stares at him, and then dissolves into giggles: loopy, tired, relieved, and above all real. “Of course…of course, yes, always, after a major working…so am I…oh, Chris. My Chris. Yes.”

 “Yours,” Chris agrees, equally truthful and wholehearted. “What can I do, though? For you? You’ll need to rest, right?”

 Sebastian scrunches up his nose. “Shower? And…yes. We both should, really.”

 “Shower,” Chris concurs firmly, and carefully gets him up off the bloodstained floor.

 He holds onto Sebastian in the shower. He holds Sebastian while red slides away down the drain. He tenderly cleans Sebastian’s skin, trying hard to keep touches weightless over recent and sensitive repairs. He kneads shampoo through Sebastian’s hair.

 The scent of apples and soap rises around them, light and bracing. Sebastian tips his head back, eyes closed, water sliding down his face. He’s beautiful and tired and trusting, letting Chris keep him on his feet. Chris’s heart flutters.

 The world grows easier, steadier, cleansed.

 He tucks Sebastian into bed, gently, after. The workroom will handle its own clean-up—Sebastian’s got a spell in place for that, and it’s automatic—but their clothes’re probably a lost cause; Chris attempts a quick rinse and then just leaves the whole disaster in the shower for later. He can deal with it if Sebastian needs to recover.

 Seb’s half-asleep and drifting, a long-legged enervated kitten, but stretches out a clumsy hand to find Chris’s. “You should rest too.”

 “I will. I’m ordering pizza. Pepperoni okay?” He is, poking his phone, salvaged from a pocket; he plays with Seb’s fingers in his, sitting on the side of the bed. They’re more slender than his own, but long and graceful and talented in so many ways. Magical. “Shower, food, rest. What else?”

 Seb yawns. Pink and red streak his arms and his chest, a reminder; Chris can’t not glance at the marks, unable to help it. “Well…if you wouldn’t mind…there’s a jar on the third shelf, downstairs…yarrow and lemon balm…”

 “Got it.” He hops up. Throws on sweatpants. Returns with the requested jar and some trail mix and some orange juice, and eases himself into bed beside Sebastian, who smiles tiredly at him.

 Chris feeds Sebastian some trail mix, gives him some sips of juice; has some himself. He’s not a witch but he does know about exertion and depletion, and this’ll help. The pizza—from their favorite local place—will be here in twenty minutes, too.

 The food does seem to help. Sebastian sits up more, with pillows and Chris’s arm; Chris’s stomach feels better. Low lamplight paints the room in jeweled color, because Sebastian’s bedside lamp is set with tiny lapidary bits of glass. It’s soft and warm and rich, tracing light-patterns over the bed, the blankets, Sebastian’s hair.

 Chris dips fingers into spell-infused balm, and begins to stroke it across Seb’s arm. The night takes a breath, scented with healing herbs and protective lemon, and unwinds. Tension ebbs, dwindles, fades: not wholly gone but ameliorated. Sebastian’s ward-spells are quiet and pleased.

 He’d thought he’d gotten used to dating a magician. He mostly has: he’s purely delighted when he gets to watch Seb help people, find lost puppies, talk to raindrops. He adores Sebastian’s genius and Seb’s playful sense of humor and Seb’s cheerful way of getting the strings of the universe to play along.

 He’d forgotten, or maybe just not thought about, the fact that his boyfriend’s one of the most genuinely powerful white witches currently practicing. Someone the authorities ask when they need assistance. Someone who can fight a warlock at a distance and win.

 Seb says he’s not that powerful and laughs about it, but he’s comparing himself to centuries-old stories: no one’s that strong, not these days. Sebastian’s better than he admits to being, though. Good enough that other people come to him for advice. That includes other white witches; Chris knows Sebastian’s done some consultations with colleagues before.

 Chris Evans is a director, an actor, a producer of movie-magic stories. Good at empathy, moderately famous these days, and power-sensitive, a little. It’s not nothing, but it’s not the same.

 He keeps his touch cautious, not wanting to put any pressure on newly made skin. “How’s this?”

 “Good.” Seb yawns again, sleepy. “It’ll help…healing, renewing…’s an old classical recipe, this one…stored power, infused in it, kind of…it shouldn’t even scar, with this.”

 “So it won’t cost you anything, like, in terms of power, right now.” He touches Seb’s chest, spreads balm across a thin angry line. “Tell me if I’m hurting you.”

 “You’re not.” Sebastian gazes up at him: gorgeous as ever, brilliant as ever, powerful as ever, and right now vulnerable and somehow younger, framed by a navy satin pillowcase and the familiarity of them both mostly naked in this bed. “Thank you.”

 “Don’t,” Chris says, heart aching with the word, with too many complicated emotions, with love. “You don’t have to say it.”

 “But—”

 “You’d do it for me.”

 “If you ever for some reason had to fight a warlock, I would. You said you had a long day too…?”

 “Long, but good.” His hand over Sebastian’s tanned skin, his fingertips bringing healing. Sebastian’s chest lifting and falling, vital and present. “Getting things moving on the heroic rescue dogs movie. Lots of the boring stuff today—logistics, budget, all that—but it’s stuff that has to happen first, so it’s kinda fun, y’know?”

 Sebastian just looks at him for a second; the smile warms every atom of those opal oceans, and makes the small joyous lines around them crinkle.

 Chris has to laugh, half-embarrassed, paying some closer attention to healing balm and a darker less-knitted red line. “Okay, what?”

 “I love you.” Seb reaches up to touch his wrist. “I just…I’m really glad you’re here.”

 “Me too? Um. About you.”

 “Not just tonight, I mean.”

 “Hey,” Chris says, heart in his throat, in his words, in his eyes as he looks at Sebastian, “I’m glad I was here tonight. I want to be here, Seb, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

 Sebastian’s cheeks are pinker now, but he nods. “I’m here too.”

 “I know you are.”

 “Tell me about your meetings,” Seb requests drowsily, “and all about your movie, again, and the dogs,” and Chris laughs a little, scrubs a hand over his treacherously damp eyes, and does, while gently treating Sebastian’s battle scars in between nibbles of food and traded kisses.

#whumptober2020 #no.10 #no.15 #blood loss #trail of blood #magical healing #evanstan #fic #injury tw #blood tw #my fic #every inch of north and south #the sequel #well sort of #not the actual sequel i will someday write #with the sex spell #witch!seb

[misterewrites]

Unlikely Allies (Welcome to the Underground

Hey everyone! E here hoping you are all safe and sound. Sorry for the delay. The original plan was for me to update every two week because of my various responsibilities but a lot of things ended up happening so I had to delay this chapter a bit. Also there has been a shift in my job that might affect the release date of this chapters as well so hopefully I can keep up the whole two week deadline but as a word of warning delays might happen.

Thank you for reading this project of mine. I really appreciate it and I am so glad it's doing so well. Feel free to Reblog, share, comment all that jazz I love reading them and remember this story is also on Ao3. Stay safe, wear your mask, wash your hands and take care of yourself and your love ones! Have a great week! E is out!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814297/chapters/71425041

Story so far: One day into the Underground proper and Abigail has already been chased by strange creatures into an unexplored tunnel and a creepy house that screams trouble. Trapped within, the group runs into a paladin wandering the darken halls. Despite the stranger's calm demeaner, Oliver claims he's nothing but trouble and little does the group know how correct he is. 

_____

“No by the way” Oliver narrowed his eyes at the man before the trio.

The stranger tilted his head quizzically “No?”

“No” Oliver repeated firmly “We’re not interested in your righteous cause or your god.

The stranger chuckled darkly “What righteous cause?”

“You’re a paladin in an evil creepy house in an unexplored tunnel off the beaten path.” Oliver explained “That only means one thing: Trouble. Solius I take with the whole…”

He gestured to the faded sun symbol splashed across the dented armor.

“Aye” The paladin answered with a nod “I am Fen, judgment of the sun god Solius on this mortal plane.”

Oliver raised an eyebrow sarcastically “Solius is the god of sunshine, rainbows and redemption. I wasn’t aware of he added judgment to his resume.”

“He hasn’t” Abigail mumbled.

Neither Oliver or Fen paid her any attention.

“Your mocking is common among the faithless” Fen growled softly.

Oliver gave a noncommittal shrug “If you want to believe in a higher being in exchange for some magical whatevers, that’s a you problem. I’m good with my music.”

“Bards” Fen spat out distastefully.

“Paladorks.” Oliver replied with false civility.

Abigail and Archibald watched the barbed exchange carefully, unsure what exactly was going on.

Abigail’s knowledge of paladins was sketchy at best: Like clerics, she knew their drew their magic from the deity they have chosen to follow. Good and bad gods existed in equal measure in this world and each ruling a domain such as light, dark, night, murder, redemption. Unlike the clerics, who often were healers or at the very least practitioners of powerful magics, paladins were their god’s warrior on the mortal plane, protecting their flock or routing out their enemies with religious fervor and steel.

Abigail was only familiar with Solius due to her family’s livelihood. While not particularly devoted to the sun god, her parents often left offerings in his church in the town to help ensure a good harvest for the year.

Speaking honestly, Abigail was never sure how exactly clerics and paladins drew their magic from a god or how exactly gods worked. She had heard the elders endlessly argue whether the gods were divine or simply higher beings who were beyond the comprehension of mortal beings. It was frankly above her thought process and she rather focus on questions she could answer such as what she was going to eat that day and if the bloodblooms needed more or less water.

“So.” Oliver began tiredly “How much danger are we in?”

Abigail and Archibald shared a concern glance

“I’m sorry, did you just say we’re in danger?”

“Yes” Fen answered bluntly “Much danger.”

“Much danger?” Abigail couldn’t keep stop her pitch from rising “Danger!?”

Oliver gestured to Fen “Of course we’re in danger. A paladin’s here. An experienced

paladin.”

“How do you know he’s…?”

The question died in her throat as she got a good look at Fen: A longsword hung sheathed at his side, his armor worn and nicked dozens of scratches and dents across the faded symbol of a sunburst. At first she thought his left arm was draped in his riding cloak, hidden out of sight but as he pushed the hood from his head and adjusted the cloak with his right hand, she realized with an icy chill that he had no left arm.

Archibald shifted uncomfortably beside her.

“I lost it in a mighty battle.” Fen answered the group’s unasked question “I had it removed when a cursed creature bit my arm.”

“Cursed creature?” Abigail thought for a moment “Like a werewolf? Wait, there’s werewolves down here? How would that even work?”

“Mystic moon energy. Let’s move along.” Oliver chimed in “What are you hunting here in the dark?”

“Wait I want to know more about the werewolves!”

“Demon” Fen stated, ignoring Abigail’s inquires.

“We’re in its prison, aren’t we?” Oliver rubbed his eyes wearily.

Abigail stopped dead in her tracks “Demon?”

Fen remained silent but nodded in conformation.

“Demon.”

“For fucks sake. Can we leave?”

“Guys, there’s a demon here?”

Fen paused thoughtfully “I do not know but I would recommend against it. The sealing power of this place is weakened. If it were to escape….”

“Yeah, yeah.” Oliver cut him off “Innocent souls consumed, bloodshed, the standard spiel.”

Fen glared openly “How carefree it must be to hold nothing sacred.”

“Not all of us wear our bleeding hearts on our sleeve.” Oliver coldly replied.

Abigail cut in between them “There’s a demon here?!”

“Yes, I thought we made it clear. Keep up farm girl.”

“How are you not panicking?!”

“Survival instinct” Oliver explained simply “You can panic when you’re not about to die.”

“Speaking of, remember not to in a moment.” Fen glanced towards a darken hallway, drawing his blade quietly.

Something changed. The air, calm and still, became tense and uneasy. Goosebumps ran down Abigail’s spine as a sense of dread filled every inch of her body.

She wasn’t the only one who felt the shift: Archibald stood closer to her, one hand his bow the other on her shoulder, his breath steady yet stiff. Oliver held his lute in a death grip, his fingers curved in anticipation and ready to pluck the strings at a moment’s notice.

“It’s coming” Oliver whispered carefully to the others, his gaze fixated on the hallway before them.

At first Abigail was unsure how the bard knew that: the house was dark and the dusty air swirling about made it hard to make out anything beside silhouettes of furniture and decor.

Then she heard it: Thud, thud, thud of uneven footsteps as the demon lumbered ever closer to the group. The scraping of wood against something seemed impossibly loud in Abigail’s ears as she tried to shove down her fear from bubbling out of her throat.

“What the hell….?” she murmured as the creature shuffled uneasily into the room.

Oliver scoffed “Yes it did come from hell. Thank you farm girl.”

“Even now? Seriously Oliver?”

“It’s how I cope.”

The demon was humanoid, 7 feet tall with splotches of bruising across its deep red skin. The form was a strange mixture of heavily muscular and malnourished. It wobbled into the room, its thinly skeletal left leg being dragged along uselessly. It flexed its thick muscles threateningly as it held a massive weighed club up with little effort. The demon studied the others with sunken flaming eyes, its skin loose and pulled over the skull like an ill fitting mask. The wispy strains of reddish black hair swayed back and forth.

Abigail’s throat dried as the room became warm and stuffy almost as if this creature’s presence alone corrupted the air around them.

Abigail coughed a little, trying to clear her airway from the heat “What is that thing?!”

“No idea.” Oliver shrugged, clearing his throat as well.

“I thought you knew everything!”

“Not even close farm girl.”

“Then why do you act like it?!”

Abigail snarled but before she could strike at the bard, she felt Archibald’s hand gently squeeze her shoulder. She turned to face him and saw him breathing deep and slow.

He was right. This was not time to let her feat lash out everyone around her. She needed to stay calm if they were going to get out of this in one piece.

The demon tilted its head curiously at the group before it. It spoke deep and gravelly with a tone that was questioning but no one knew what it was asking.

“Maybe it’s asking if we come in peace?” Abigail chimed in hopefully.

“Tis a beast from hell. Do you really think it is asking for peace?” Fen scolded harshly.

Abigail’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment “I can dream alright! It’s my first time dealing a demon from the 7th pit of hell! Forgive me if I’m holding on to childish questions cause I’m trying not to freak out here! It’s how I cope!”

The demon grumbled its question again eyeing each person carefully.

“Watch for its left hook.” Fen cryptically offered.

“What?”

The demon shrieked, rattling the house violently before reaching out with its left hand. Without warning, the arm stretched forward towards the group, the skin wrinkling and pulling loose.

Abigail froze as the sharp nails grasped wildly in her direction.

Archibald moved, shoving Abigail out of the way but ran straight into the hand’s grasp. It dug its claws into his armor though luckily it hadn’t manage pierce skin.

“Archie!” Abigail cried, fumbling uselessly for her knife.

Fen and Oliver jumped into action: As the arm pulled back to drag the helpless archer closer, Fen grappled Archibald, holding on with all his strength. Oliver pluck his lute with a dramatic flourish, gold musical symbols filling the air for a moment. Abigail flinched at the clashing notes played but the demon’s reaction to the dissonance was far more explosive: Its face contorted and recoiled as if it Oliver had physically attacked it. Its body shuddered and its claws loosened their grip. Fen jabbed his blade into the demon’s grip over and over again until it released its hold on Archibald.

Demon snarled hungrily as the arm snapped back into place.

“Archie, Archie I’m sorry I…” The words died in Abigail’s throat as he gave her a comforting smile.

“Don’t worry farm girl.” Oliver shouted, pulling at her cloak to get her moving “It happens but if you’re not good at fighting…”

“Get good at getting out of the way.” Abigail whispered back as she allowed the bard to pull her to the side.

Oliver faced Abigail questioningly “Oh you know the saying? That’ll save time.”

Abigail remained silent. Arthur used to tell her that when he joined the knights.

Fen pushed forward, sword drawn with Archibald close behind.

Archibald fired an arrow, attempting to cover Fen’s approach but it bounced harmlessly off the demon’s skin.

Fen lunged forward, swinging wide and cutting a deep gash across its chest but the beast countered, aiming its club towards the paladin’s head. He ducked, tucking under the demon’s outstretched arm and backing off.

“Oi paladin! Where’s your holier than thou smiting divine power?” Oliver called from behind a chair.

Fen didn’t reply, too busy deflecting the demon’s club with the flat of his blade. He drove his blade deep into the creature’s shoulder but the demonic entity ignored it completely. It gripped him tightly by the armor and lifted off his feet. Fen tried to push the sword deeper but it wasn’t slowing the demon.

The demon bent it shoulder in an uneven angle as it raised its club just above Fen’s head. It gave toothy smile, its fangs glistening in the dark while preparing to deal the finish blow.

It staggered backwards as an arrow struck its eye. It bounced off same as before but the demon was caught unaware and reacted instinctively.

Fen took his chance. He reached into his hood and smashed a vial of clear liquid across the stunned demon’s face.

It howled in pain as steam rolled off its burning face. The demon dropped Fen as it wildly flailed about, smashing anything nearby to splinters.

It shouted in its infernal tongue before crashing into the doorway, breaking a chunk of the wall off and retreating deeper into the house.

Archibald shakily leaned against the wall to catch his breath while Oliver approached Fen, his jaw tense with anger.

“What’s the big idea?” Oliver poked the paladin’s chest “What scam are you running?”

Fen’s face twisted in anger “Scam? How dare you speak to me like that!”

“Stow it.” Oliver snarled “You are not a paladin.”

Fen rose to full height, glaring with unrestrained rage “I AM A PALADIN! THE CHOSEN OF SOLIUS!”

“Former chosen.” Oliver spat out.

The anger drained out of Fen’s eyes only to be replaced by shame.

Oliver clenched his fist “I knew it. This isn't some mission for a higher power. This is a suicide run trying to get back in your god’s good graces! He renounced you, didn’t he?”

Abigail stood rooted in place “Is that a thing?”

“Yeah. It’s a two way street. You devote your life and existence to a god and they grant you the power to do so but if they happen not to agree with how you do things then bye bye divine magic. That’s why he wasn’t smiting it with holy energy.”

Fen said nothing.

“God this is why I hate paladins.” Oliver fumed “You act better than anyone but you’re as a big a sham as me!”

“I am nothing like you.”

“You lost all rights to your high horse pal. Now what’s the plan?”

“The plan?” Fen repeated in confusion.

“Yes focus.” Oliver replied “The plan to deal with the demon. I assume you have one or did you come in here expecting to kill it with your normal boring self?”

Fen scoffed “I am not completely brain dead. Of course I have a plan.”

“Which is?”

“The seal.” Fen awkwardly started “If we can strengthen the seal, we can weaken the demon enough to put it to sleep.”

Oliver rubbed his eyes “And of course you don’t know where it is.”

“It is well hidden for a reason.”

Oliver let out a tired sigh.

“We’ll help” Abigail jumped in “We can’t let that thing escape into the Underground.”

“And we don’t want to die.” Oliver chimed in.

“That too."

Archibald looked uneasy but resigned. This wasn’t what he signed up for but he really didn’t have a choice.

Fen raised an eyebrow “And that is it? You’ll do it out of the goodness of your heart, bard?”

“Of course not” Oliver admitted “But the sooner we get this done, the sooner I don’t have to deal with you.”

“Finally we are agreed” Fen murmured.

Abigail sighed “I wish I didn’t have to deal with Oliver anymore.”

Oliver clapped his hand together, completely ignoring Abigail “Alright, let’s see what we’re working with. How many vials of holy water do you have left?”

Fen blinked in surprise “Three but how did you…?”

“Don’t bother.” Abigail mouthed.

“Alright. Give them to Archie. He can dip his arrows in them.” Fen rolled his eyes sarcastically “And what will I use oh great amazing leader? My sword is not enough to slay the beast and I need time to apply the water as well.”

Oliver stepped closer, staring eye to eye with the paladin as he pushed his lute into his hands “If you lose this, I will kill you.”

“And what am I suppose to do with this? Play a song about friendship and love? Overcharge for a children’s rhythm?” Fen mocked.

“No you idiot.” Oliver pulled away “You beat him back to hell with it.”

Fen stared at him utterly lost.

Oliver knocked on the surface of the lute “It’s magic.”

Fen couldn’t contain his surprise despite his loathing of the bard

“Your lute is magic?”

Oliver rolled his eyes “Yes. It’s not a sword or a spear but at least you’ll be able to hurt him some. At least enough for me and farm girl to find the seal.”

“Me and who now?” Abigail shook her head “Wait, your lute is magic? Why is that important?”

“Demons are naturally resistant to mortal weapons” Fen explained as he held the lute aloft, getting a feel for its weight “It would be like attacking them with a butter knife, Painful but ultimately an empty gesture. But magic, whether spells or items imbued, can bypass their nature. Holy magic would be ideal hence the holy water.”

“But we work with what we got.” Oliver finished “And can you fight farm girl?”

Abigail shifted her foot shamefully.

Oliver snapped his finger “No. Don’t do that. Nothing wrong with not knowing how to fight. I don’t.”

“But you know magic!” Abigail argued “That’s more than me.”

“Look I don’t like you.” Oliver admitted “But beating yourself up isn’t going to save us. Yes I know magic but I’m not going to be tossing fire or lightning out of my fingertips. That’s not how my magic works. Finding that seal is just as important as Archibald’s and Fen’s job.”

Abigail glanced towards Archibald. His face was grim but determined.

“What’s your job Archie?” Abigail asked gently, unable to keep the worry out of her voice.

Archibald punched a fist into his hand.

“You’re planning on fighting? That thing?”

Archibald nodded firmly.

“Archie, you can’t be serious! What if it hurts you? I promised Cecilia I’d keep you safe! Archie…”

Abigail stopped as the archer wrapped his arms tightly around her. It was warm and gentle. Tears formed in her eyes. It felt nice to be hugged again. She hadn’t been hugged in such a long time she forgot how calming it was.

He pulled away, giving her a soft smile.

Abigail still wasn’t happy with the situation but there was little choice left.

“Alright.” Oliver spoke with an edge of finality “While you two keep the demonic asshole distracted, me and farm girl will find the seal and try to strengthen it.”

“Farm girl and I” Abigail corrected.

“Seriously?”

“No, I wanted to mess with you. It’s how I cope.”

Oliver glared “We need to move fast. Once the seal is strengthen we’ll need to make a break for the exit as soon as possible because I am not dealing this place longer than I have to.”

“Do you even know how to strengthen ancient seals?” Abigail asked

“No idea but I’m a quick study.” Oliver admitted.

Abigail glanced out the grime covered windows “That’s not very comforting. And what if those shadowy creatures are out there still?”

“That’s a for later problem. Let’s focus on one life or death situation at a time.”

“Fun” Abigail replied glumly “I’m really enjoying my time in the underground guys.”

“That’s the spirit farm girl!

“I hate you so much right now.”

#My story #Original Work #Welcome to the underground

[thoughtsaboutshows]

General 13. “You’re who they warned me about.”

(a.k.a Nick is that you? 🤣)

This is pre Burning House (oneshot). Aka one of Nick’s dreams...kinda violent and dark. Just a warning

“You’re who they warned me about.”

Nick could practically feel his heart beating out of his chest and he wished more than anything that the pounding of it would wake him up. He hoped and prayed that this was another dream, and not reality. Not that reality was much better these days.

The first thing he noticed is the pain, searing and burning with every breath he draws. As if every time his lungs attempt to push air in, it’s poison that enters his bloodstream instead. Drops of fire and ice reaching every inch of his body through his veins. Burning and freezing.

It’s the thoughts in his head that are really agonizing. Thoughts of despair and lying and heartbreak. Even worse it’s Lucifer’s snapping fingers that bring a wave of rage to the forefront of his mind, overtaking and blotting any love that remained.

Nick cried out to himself, but no sound came out. This is how it usually went for him, re-experiencing the pain all over again. He was forced to be a silent observer in his own mind, destined to watch himself hold Lucifer over and over. He wasn’t exactly participating, but he wasn’t a bystander either. He felt everything but was powerless to change the course of it.

Someone is going to try and save you. Lucifer would whisper to him. No. Not this one. Nick couldn’t take this one today. You cannot trust her. She’ll be the end of you.

The rage burned hotter as Lucifer’s warnings grew. Whoever this girl is, she is the enemy. That’s what Lucifer had planted in his mind. What he’d had his demons beat him into believing. That’s what Nick was pleading with himself that wasn’t true. This girl, this beautiful girl that would come and save him, she was the love of his life. But Lucifer had stolen love and replaced it with a blind hate. So that anyone that he felt any affection for would be the enemy. Nick hated this one. And it always ended the same.

It felt like months before he heard her dainty footsteps. He’d heard them so many times he could recognize them when they were only the faintest noise. The rage was building, the desire to defend whatever lie Lucifer had forced him into believing.

When the girl finally turned the corner she stopped in her tracks, her eyes were wide and Nick could see tears threatened to fall. But they didn’t. The girl was strong. She looked shocked at his appearance, battered and bloodied and bruised, his curls matted down with old dried blood. He was chained up by the hands, wrists raw from fighting it. She stood a distance and Nick thought it was good, she’d be safe. But the rage in him also begged her to come closer. She had no idea what he was capable of.

“Nick?” She paused. “Nicholas?”

The warmth of her tone drew his eyes to hers. Where hers were filled with love and concern his were dripping with discontent and anger. Hatred. Whoever this girl was, though beautiful, something told him not to trust her. Something being Lucifer’s lies.

“You’re who they warned me about.” Nick growled. Surprise etched across her features. She likely hadn’t expected to be met with hostility.

“Nick, who warned you? What are you talking about?” She stepped closer now and Nick winced as her vanilla lotion burned his nostrils. For some reason the scent comforted him, which made him more angry.

“Stay away from me.” Nick spoke in an even, menacing tone.

“Nick, I’m going to take you home.” She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder but he whipped away, pulling tighter on the shackles that bound him. “What’s going on, Nick?”

“They told me you would come.” Nicks had a sinister smile on his face but the girl did not back down. “That you’d try to take me away. But you’re the enemy. I won’t let you take me.”

A flash of understanding sweeped accross her face. She grabbed his cheeks and he wished more than anything his hands were free so he could crush her.

“Nick, it’s me. Sabrina. They’re playing with your mind.” She brushed her thumbs against his temples and the look in her eyes was truthful. He almost believed her. The Nick that hoped this was a dream did, but he couldn’t bring himself to steer the situation that way. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”

“Yeah it will. As soon as you leave. Listen to me, witch. I don’t know who you are but I won’t hesitate to kill you if you don’t go now.”

“You won’t hurt me.” She stated with full belief that he wouldn’t. But he knew he would. She moved closer and placed her hands on the chains. In a flash they melted away. They both froze for a moment, and she looked at him with those loving eyes again. The loving eyes that stirred something in him and brought up a wave of hate so palpable it felt like it was coming up from his stomach.

She placed a hand on his cheek and quicker than lightning he grabbed her wrist and shoved it away. He grasped her by the shoulders and slammed her against a rock wall. He could tell the wind knocked out of her, but she was still determined.

“Nick, look at me. You can fight this.” She spoke in a firm and pleading voice. But he knew it wouldn’t work. Every cell in his body that he could feel may have once loved her, was flipped on its head. There was only one way this ended. “It’s me.”

“I’m going to kill you.” Nick whispered harshly. “If you don’t leave right now I’m going to kill you.”

“You won’t.” She was so sure. He wished he had her strength. He’d never hated Lucifer more in that moment. In this dream. Because her strength wouldn’t be enough

“You stupid girl.”

She moved quick, trying to caress his face again, running her hands through his matted curls. Nick moved quicker, slamming her against the rock again. He saw the wince in her eyes which then got wide as he moved his hand to her throat.

She somehow managed to croak out a “Nick.” Which caused him to pause for just a moment. Long enough for her to escape his grasp. She massaged her neck but the love in her eyes was still there. She didn’t look like she would leave. Why won’t she just leave.

“Go.” Nick sputtered. “I won’t hesitate again.”

“I’m not leaving without you, Nick.” She was firm in her resolve. “I love you.”

Nick had to cover his ears at that. It just made the hate in his heart swirl and grow. It was painful.

Fuck Lucifer and his fucking spell.

“I’m bringing you home.” She moved towards him and it happened as it usually did, in slow motion. Her arms reached out to him, the Dark Lord appearing next to Nick with his shit-eating grin slipping the sword in his hands, whispering lies in his ear.

She was so close to him, the teleportation spell was about to fall off her lips when a gasp fell instead.

“Good boy.” The Dark Lord would whisper before snapping his fingers, allowing Nick’s eyes to be opened and made clear.

Nick’s hand felt warm, which drew his attention to it. He couldn’t mask his own gasp when he saw the sword in his hand, crimson red flowing all around it, connected to the abdomen of the girl.

Sabrina.

“No, no, no.” He managed to get out. Her eyes were on him, though the light in them began to fade. “Fuck, no. Sabrina. What did I do?”

He pulled the blade out and threw it to the floor.

“Nick…”. She let out, barely able to speak.

“Let me heal you-”. Nick was franti now that he was aware of what he had done. He saw the bruises forming on her neck from where he had grabbed it. The gaping hole in her belly spilling out buckets of blood. He collapsed to the ground and held her in his lap, muttering every spell he could think of.l and pressing his hand firmly to the wound to stop the flow of blood. “Why isn’t it working!” Nick was screaming now, tears pouring out of his eyes violently.

“It doesn’t work in Hell, Nick.” Sabrina whispered with a sad smile as she reached him and touched his cheek. Her eyes began to flutter closed.

“No. No. Don’t you die on me, Spellman.” She sighed at his nickname for her, the small sad smile turning wistful. He only pulled her closer. “Sabrina, no! I’m so sorry.” He leaned down and kissed her lips, not caring blood was trickling from them. “I’m so so sorry. Damn it, I’m sorry!”

She opened her eyes one last time and used her dwindling strength to reach up and brush his curls. “It’s okay. I love you.” Her voice was barely audible and her breath failing. Her eyes closed and she said nothing else.

Nick continued to beg her to open her eyes, to yell at him, to giggle at his jokes. But when her grip on his hair became slack he knew she was gone.

“Sabrina, no. Please!” He pleaded with her again. His voice was hoarse from screaming and crying, his shouting guttural, he wouldn’t be surprised if he could never speak again.

“Sabrina…”. His crying out transitioned into whispers as he continued to be beside himself.

You never learn do you boy.

Lucifer was there then, staring down at how he clung to a dead Sabrina, mocking the tears that confined to fall. Nick opened his mouth to use a spell, not caring that it wouldn’t work and Lucifer would punish him for it. The only thing he cared about lay cold in his arms. He had almost said it too, the were almost falling off his lips.

But Nick shot up in bed. He was drenched in sweat and breathing heavy, and he was back in his room in the Academy. He curled into himself and cried, clutching at his hair and hitting himself in the head to get the memories to leave him alone. It always took him days to recover from that one, from the feel of Sabrina’s warm blood and the hitching of her last breath. It was so fucking real. Before the inevitable panic attack grew any worse, Nick threw on pants and teleported to Sabrina’s room.

He needed to know that she was safe.

She was asleep in her big bed, the full moon pouring through the window and bathing her in an angelic glow. Her smile was turned slightly upward. Good. Happy dreams. He stood for a few more moments staring at her, ensuring she breathed every few seconds. When he was certain this was reality and she was alive, he made his leave. He wanted so badly to kiss her forehead, feel the warmth of her skin instead of the cold sweat of death he’d felt on her in all of his dreams. But he didn’t. He didn’t deserve that comfort.

When he made it back to the academy he prepared himself for sleep. Prepping for whatever torture Lucifer had in store for him this time. And he prayed that at least once she could be left out of it.

#nabrina #chilling adventures of sabrina #sabrina spellman #nicholas scratch #angst ask #fic: burning house