#Have I ever mentioned how much I love this man? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

munsonsmixtapes · 2 days

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Helloooooo

I'm newer to your page ive been slowly reading your amazing stories.. are you still doing your prompt list stories?? I seen 3 that could work.. 40,42 and 43.. and it made me think or something possibly like this..

Eddie and (maybe plus sized) reader have been together for a while.. she sees a pretty girl/groupie flirting with him after the show (but she doesn't see him walking away from her or telling her that hes taken/not interested.. Reader just gets feral when they get home.. not realizing she's ovulating or something.. and just like gets her frustration out by begging Eddie to claim her fully or something..

sorry my brain has been all over the place.. I just can't get enough of him amd some stories have brought out some sides of me that i didnt know i had haha)

Hope that made sense.. I have a hard time getting what I have in my brain out.. which is why I don't write haha

Hello, lovely! Welcome! Thanks for the request!

Not proofread!

Eddie x fem!shy!plus size!reader

cw: MDNI 18+, smut (p in v), unprotected sex, fingering (f receiving) oral (f receiving), mention of pregnancy

Ever since you and Eddie had gotten together, he had made your relationship his entire personality. He would mention you every chance he got, letting everyone know that he was a taken man and that he was very lucky to have you. Whether it was in an interview, he talking about one of the many songs he had written about you, or introducing you to someone, it didn’t matter. He was so obsessed with you and had to let everyone know just how much he loved you.

Amongst his many nicknames for you, “my girl” was by far his favorite. He used it so often, so much love behind the words that it was clear to everyone that he was head over heels for you. He’d even go as far as singing the song to you while you made breakfast together, spinning you around the kitchen as the lyrics fell from his lips.

“This? Oh, my girl got it for me.”

“The next song is about my girl. I hope you enjoy it.”

“Everyone, I’d like you to meet my girl.”

You were his favorite topic of conversation to the point where it seemed that everyone knew that he was taken just by how much he brought you up in conversation, often unprompted. And anyone who didn’t know or did and flirted with him anyway, he would shut them down so quickly once he realized what was happening. He already had the best thing and wouldn’t have dreamed of ruining it.

You entered the concert venue as everyone was packing things up for the night. Corroded Coffin had just finished a show which you hadn’t been able to get to until after your shift at the bar down the street. You felt horrible for missing it even though Eddie had insisted that it was okay. He just appreciated that you were going to be there at all with your very busy schedule.

You were let in through the back doors and made your way down the hallway to find the all too familiar mop of hair. He was usually waiting right by the door for you, but he wasn’t there. You were starting to panic, but tried to calm yourself down, telling yourself that maybe he was in the bathroom or grabbing his belongings.

You looked all around the building until you spotted him outside his dressing room…talking to a girl. She was beautiful and she was making him laugh. She reached up and touched his hair and instead of stepping in like you knew you should have, you just turned on your heel to leave. You couldn’t watch another second.

What you hadn’t seen when you turned your back was Eddie removing the girls hand from his hair before dropping it. Now he understood what was happening. He took a step back from her until his back almost hit the door.

The thing about Eddie was that sometimes he wasn’t even aware that he was being flirted with. That was something that he still wasn’t used to after years in the industry because of the treatment he had received back home. He just thought they were being friendly until the touches came into play and that was always telltale sign. And then he’d let them down easy, not wanting to hurt their feelings, letting them know that his girl was waiting for him back home.

“Oh,” his eyes widened. “I’m so sorry. I have a girlfriend.” The girls face fell and she almost seemed disgusted by the fact that he was in a relationship.

“Oh,” she pouted. He always felt bad, letting the girls down, but he knew that one of his band mates would be happy to take them off his hands.

“But you know what? I heard that Gareth is looking for someone to take home, if you’re interested,” he winked and her face lit up again.

“Really?”

“Really,” Eddie nodded and opened the dressing room door where the other members of the band were hanging out. “Go get ‘em.”

The girl entered the room and Eddie let out a sigh of relief before turning to his left only to see you turning the corner. He didn’t know where you were going. You always waited for him so he didn’t understand why you were walking away.

He took off, racing after you so he could catch up. He almost tripped a few times, but he got to you, draping an arm over your shoulder as he fell into step with you.

“There’s my girl,” he let out a contented sigh before pressing a kiss to your temple. He tucked you into his side but couldn’t help but notice that you weren’t grabbing a hold of him like you usually did. You always had to be touching him so something was clearly off.

“Nothing to say, hm?” he asked, his lips still pressed to your skin. You weren’t usually talkative after work because you were usually overstimulated, but you would normally at last give him some sort of greeting.

Had he forgotten an important event? Maybe your birthday? No, that had already passed. Maybe your anniversary? No, that wasn’t until next month. Whatever it was, he definitely needed to apologize.

You and Eddie didn’t fight often, but when you did, it didn’t take very long for you both to make up. He was normally the first to apologize, hating to see the angry look on your face. He just wanted to make everything right so you could cuddle up in your bed. He just wanted you to be happy and hated when he was the one to be the cause of your unhappiness.

But he wanted to wait until you brought up what was bothering you. He never wanted to pry and hoped that you knew that he was willing to listen to whatever was going on in your head, no matter how ridiculous it seemed.

So, you spent the whole walk to his van and the whole ride home talking about your nights. He listened to you tell him about what happened at the bar and he told you how great the show went, not leaving out any detail.

It almost seemed like a normal night except for the obvious tension between the two of you. Neither one of you were going to be the first to bring it up, so it sat between you, like a jack in the box and you both were afraid to crank it first, not wanting to see the thing pop up.

Eddie rested his hand on your thigh like he normally did and even thought you were upset with him, you weren’t going to deny his affection. You loved the way his rough skin felt on yours and you felt like you needed him to show you just how much he wanted you.

You wanted him compliment you as he pounded into you, causing you to let out countless moans. You wanted to feel his lips everywhere. Your neck, your tits, your pussy. You just needed his head between your thighs so badly that you were getting wet just thinking about it.

Eddie pulled up to the house that you shared and was quick to help you out of the van, still keeping a hold of your hand as he opened the garage door. You pulled your hand out of his as soon as the door was open and headed inside.

He needed to beg if he wanted to get lucky. Not that it would take much for you to give in. You would have done anything he told you just by him flashing his million dollar smile, his dark brown eyes shining.

Eddie followed you into the house and up the stairs, noticing how loudly you were stomping as you took each step. He usually liked pissing you off just to get the reaction he liked, but never to this level. He had really fucked up and he didn’t even know what he had done.

You got to your shared room and slammed the door once you were inside. Eddie winced at the sound and decided that he finally had enough. He had to get to the bottom of the problem.

“Alright.” He opened the door, not even bothering to close it. He couldn’t go any longer without knowing why you were so pissed at him. “What’s on your mind?”

How could he not know? He was laughing with another girl then acted like it was nothing? Maybe he wasn’t into you as much as you thought. Maybe what you had wasn’t as special as you had assumed. Maybe this was just the beginning of the end.

“Nothing, Eddie. Let’s just go to bed.” You really weren’t in the mood to start another fight with him.

“No, we’re gonna talk about this.” He put his hands on his hips. Wayne always told him to never go to bed angry and he intended on sticking to that advice.

“Fine, you wanna know what’s wrong?” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“Tell me, angel,” he stepped forward. “Please.”

“I saw you with her.” His eyebrows furrowed, trying to figure out who you could have been talking about.

“With who?” He had no idea what you were referring to and just wanted you to come out and say it.

“The groupie outside your dressing room.” Oh. He had completely forgotten about her as soon as she entered the dressing room. He couldn’t believe you were jealous of her. You were always the only girl on his mind.

“You’re jealous,” he chuckled and you just scoffed. You couldn’t believe that he was laughing at your pain.

“So what if am?” He wasn’t expecting you to admit it so easily, but he appreciated the honesty.

“There’s no need to be jealous, honey,” he rested his hands on your shoulders, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “You’re the one I love, remember?”

He had always said the word so easily, so matter-of-fact, as if he was telling you the weather forecast.

“You love me.” You crossed your arms over your chest, needing a little more than that to be convinced.

“Of course I do.” He gave your shoulders another squeeze before sliding his hands down to yours, holding them.

“Prove it.” You raised an eyebrow, challenging him. You wanted proof, needed it in fact.

“What?” He let out a scoff at your words. It wasn’t like you to have so much confidence in your words. You were usually so shy and quiet, but he liked seeing this new side of you.

“Prove it,” you repeated and he just let out another chuckle.

“How am I supposed to do that?” He stopped laughing once he saw you weren’t joking. You meant what you said, but he was going to do whatever you asked. He just wanted you to not be upset with him anymore. He needed to see your pretty smile.

“Beg.” Your eyes darkened as you spoke and Eddie’s widened at how authoritative you had become. You were so hot like this.

“Beg?”

“Beg,” you removed one of your hands from his and pointed to the floor. “On your knees.” He didn’t know why he was finding your bossy behavior so hot, but his dick was definitely hardening.

Eddie lowered himself to the floor, your hands still in his. He looked up at you and you loved seeing him from that point of view. He looked so small unlike his usual tall stature.

“I love you so much, angel,” he said, bringing your hands up to his lips. “So so much. You’re my girl and I’d never even think about cheating on you. You have no reason to be jealous, I swear.”

He grabbed a hold of your waist, burying his face into your stomach. Your hands found their way into his hair, giving his scalp a scratch. You figured he had suffered enough, but just needed one more thing.

“I’m so sorry. I wish you had told me how you were feeling sooner so I could reassure you.”

“I know how you could reassure me.” You were trying to sound flirty, but weren’t sure if you were doing it right. Flirting was always Eddie’s thing.

“How?” He asked, pulling back to look up at you.

“I need you.” Eddie was quick to stand up, trying to understand what you mean.

“I’m right here, honey.” He pulled you into his arms, giving you a tight hug. His hand rubbed your back in a comforting manner and normally, you would have taken that, but not tonight. You needed more. You needed to feel his skin against yours. His cock inside you.

“No, Eddie. I need you.” Your eyes darkened again and he was finally catching on to what you were meaning.

“Oh,” he let out a laugh. “That was all you had to say.” He hands wrapped around your waist and he pulled you into a kiss, capturing your bottom lip between his two. He took no time to lick into your mouth while his hands reached for the bottom of your shirt. He pulled it up over your head and let it fall to the floor.

You unbuttoned his shirt and threw it behind you before attaching your lips to his, taking no time to plunge your tongue into his mouth. You backed him up to the bed and pushed him down onto it before straddling his waist.

“You’re so hot,” he breathed as your lips moved down to his neck, giving it a suck before moving back up to his mouth.

“You’re hotter.” Eddie quickly flipped you over so you were the one on the mattress and you let out a gasp at the sudden movement. He straddled your waist and pinned your wrists to the bed before going straight for your shoulder.

“No, baby. You’re the hottest. Your body is fucking killer.” Eddie loved your body. You weren’t skinny by any means, but that just gave him more love on. He loved pressing kisses to every inch of skin he could find, loving to give special attention to your stretch marks. He thought they were cute and that they made you unique.

“You think so?”

“I know so, honey,” he pulled back to look at you. “Want me to show you?” His face lit up as he said the words and it made you even more wet knowing that he was so happy to show you just how much he liked your body.

“Please,” you whined and he kissed his way down to your chest, pressing a kiss right in the center of it, right above the middle of your bra. “Take it off,” you commanded.

He pressed another kiss to the skin and moved his hands behind your back, unhooking it as slowly as he possibly could. He could hear your sighs of frustration and tried to hold back his chuckle. He very slowly undid each hook and removed the bra completely, letting it clatter to the floor beside the bed.

Eddie then pinned you back down to the mattress and looked down at you with a devilish grin. He was always such a fucking tease.

“You’re even hotter than I remember,” he complimented as he stared down at your tits.

“I got hotter just from last night?”

“Sure did. Now hush, honey. I’m about to do my best work.” He moved one of his hands to your nipple, massaging it with the pad of his thumb, just enough for to make it hard before he brought his mouth to it. He licked a stripe across it before giving it a suck.

“Oh,” you let out a moan and he took that as an invitation to bring it between his teeth giving it a little nibble. “Oh, Eddie.”

He did the exact same thing to the other nipple, eliciting more pretty sounds from you and he was eating it up. He loved that only he could get that reaction from you.

Eddie kissed his way down your stomach and stopped once he got to your waist. He pressed a featherlight peck to each of your stretch marks before looking up at you.

“Can I remove-“

“Yes,” you cut him off, getting desperate for him to get it over with.

“Needy,” he chuckled.

“And you’re a tease. I need your mouth on my clit.” You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Whatever the princess wants, the princess gets.” He unbuttoned your pants and pulled them off of you in one quick more before letting them fall to the floor in a messy pile behind him. He then reached for your underwear and slid them off before tossing them behind him. He lowered himself onto his knees then spread your legs and let out a whistle as he got a look at your pussy.

“Already wet for me, hm?” His fingers lightly grazed your cunt and you gave him that look that he knew all too well. You hated when he messed with you like this, but he did it just to see that angry look in your eyes. It never failed to make him hard.

“I think we both know the answer to that.” Eddie liked you best when you were like that, all angry and bothered.

“Wow, doll,” his fingers stayed where they are, moving back and forth so you got a little sensation but not the full thing. Eddie liked it when you begged. “That just might be a record.”

“Stop fucking around.” You usually liked the little games he liked to play, but not tonight.

“Someone’s eager,” he teased with a smirk and you were honestly on the verge of pleasuring yourself since he was taking too long. This was always how it went so you didn’t know why you ever expected anything different.

“Of course I’m eager, I’m-” your words were cut off when Eddie thrusted his fingers into your pussy. “Oh.”

“That’s right, doll.” His fingers pumped in and out, causing you to let out a moan.

“Eddie,” you whined and he just smirked.

“Say my name, honey.” He continued, thrusting them harder and faster as you let out another moan, grasping as the bedding underneath you, needing something to grab onto.

“Need your mouth, Eds,” you mewled and he removed his fingers before draping your legs over his shoulders. He pressed a kiss to each thigh before diving into your pussy and you let out a gasp. He licked a stripe from your slit to your clit before shoving it into your pussy, swirling it around as your hands dug further into the bedding.

You let out a loud moan and Eddie only buried his face further into your cunt, grazing the thing with his teeth and that drove you wild. You almost screamed at the sensation and Eddie did it once more to hear the sound again. Your thighs tightened at the feeling, causing them the press against the side of his head and he spread them, removing himself from your cunt.

You let out a whine at his absence and he ripped off his pants, desperate to be inside you. He moved to his bedside table and reached for his box of condoms, only to find that it was empty.

“I’m okay with it if you are,” you told him, seeing what the issue was. And you were okay with it. You suddenly liked the idea of feeling his bare cock inside of you.

“You’re sure? What about-“

“If I get pregnant, I get pregnant,” you shrugged. The two of you had talked about having a baby and even discussed trying, but he didn’t think it would be so soon. He couldn’t have been more happy, though. He loved the idea of having a baby that was a product of the two of you making love to each other.

“You want to have a baby with me?” His face lit up. Sure, being a rockstar was cool, but he was convinced that being a father and husband were the roles he was convinced he was put on this earth for.

“I’d be honored to have a baby with you, Eds.” You didn’t know why he was asking since you had talked about it at length.

“Well, there’s no time like the present,” he smiled, ripping off his underwear. He lined himself up with your pussy and slowly slid his dick into you. You let out a small noise as the sensation. You never had unprotected sex before so it felt a little odd at first, but you had to admit that you liked the way it felt, that there was no barrier between his cock and your pussy.

Eddie slowly thrusted into you, wanting it to be nice and sweet for once. He wanted this to be a sweet moment between the two of you. Something you’d remember for the rest of your lives.

His hands gripped your hips as he pumped in and out, paying you compliment after compliment, showering you with the sweetest words as he thrusted inside you, assuring you of his love for you.

You let out moan after moan as he pumped into you and you grabbed onto him, pressing your face into his neck. His thrusted a little harder and your fingers dug into his back, but not enough to actually hurt him.

“Taking me so well, honey,” he said, pumping a little faster and harder. He was just testing the waters to see what you liked without the condom.

“Eddie,” was all you were able to say, your words getting slurred as your head leaned back.

“I know, princess,” he brushed some sweaty hair out of your face. “Got one more for me, hon?”

“One more,” you repeated. He gave a couple more thrusts, these ones harder and faster than before and you let out the most pretty moans he had ever heard come from your mouth. He hadn’t thought you’d liked it rough, but he supposed his was wrong.

He pulled out and lowered you to the mattress before cleaning you up and getting you some fresh pajamas from the drawer you had them tucked away in. He helped you change into them then got into his own before getting you both under the covers.

You turned over to face him and you wrapped your arms around each other, tangling your legs together as you did so. He couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he looked at you, the love of his life. God, he was so fucking lucky.

“I love you,” he smiled, bringing one of his hands up to your face and you smiled as well.

“I love you too.” He pressed a soft kiss to your lips in response.

“You’re going to be a great mom.” His thumb rubbed back and forth along your cheek and you closed your eyes, loving the way it felt. You could tell he meant the words, not only because he never said anything he didn’t mean, but also because of the way he looked when he said it, his eyes all soft and sweet.

“And you’re going to be a great dad.” He felt himself tearing up at your words and yours teared up too. He pulled you in for another kiss and the two of you drifted off to sleep, thinking of nothing but cribs and high chairs and the extra bedroom you had that would have made a perfect nursery. Maybe if things went right, you’d actually be parents.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x plus size reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x shy!reader

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sugar-coat-it · 23 hours

Text

Body piercer! Matty part three

Part 1, Part 2

I missed writing for this man so much my god he is my everything. If you haven’t read the other parts, go ahead and do that first for context perhaps!

Fem! Reader

Contains: Mutual pining, cutie newly established relationship, mention of marijuana, proud concert bf Matty, him being protective of girlie at the show, exhibitionism (light petting in the crowd), rough quickie (unprotected), public sex (bathroom), fingering and fucking on the counter, Matty puts his hand over her mouth, mirror sex, choking (with jewelry)

WC: ~6.3k

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PART THREE- Your new boyfriend takes you to a punk show, ending with a quickie in the venue bathroom

—-------------------------------------

Both you and Matty knew in your hearts that this wasn’t just a fling. Flings didn’t stay up for endless hours on the phone, knowing damn well that you both had work the next morning. Flings also didn’t think about each other for every waking minute, always sending each other sentimental messages when things reminded them of each other. And, they certainly don’t touch you the way Matty touches you: like he’s like he’s been starved of you his entire life. He’d frankly been losing his mind, constantly daydreaming at work as he stared at the Polaroid of the two of you he kept at the front desk, knowing he couldn’t stand not calling you his girlfriend much longer. Not after the past couple of weeks you’d been seeing each other had been some of the best of his life. He was so antsy over the fact that he couldn’t actually call you his that it was eating him alive, where else would he ever find someone as perfect for him as you? His work friends teased him endlessly for being so head over his platform boot heels, telling him how he needed to lock you down as soon as possible. He endearingly calls you his “favorite client”, but you’ve quickly become his favorite everything (“No. You don’t even get it, mate,” he’d said, rambling on to some poor guy whose ears he was piercing, “she's like… the light of my life, really”). But, considering that you couldn’t close your eyes without picturing his pretty brown irises staring back at you, his eyes crinkling at the edges with all his twinkling, wild mirth, you weren’t faring much better.

Just as you’d hoped from that first night together, his sleepy eyes were in fact now a constant in your life. He asked you to be his girlfriend after taking you back to the same cafe where you’d had your blind date. Needless to say, it was an enthusiastic yes on your part, and everything has been so much brighter since, you can hardly imagine your life without all of his ruckus. Your days with him are long and lazy, and the nights are even longer, often spent wrapped up in his sheets or giggling while curled up on his couch after a smoke session.

You’ve learned a lot about Matty in the time you’ve been together. Like his tendency to leave things in your flat, his ungodly marijuana tolerance levels, and his love for his puppy Mayhem. You’ve also found that he takes his music very seriously. Listening to music is like a ritual to him, one that he refuses to partake in with “trashy” music. You call it snobbery, he calls it having good taste, and lately, he’s been trying to share that taste with you. He’s almost been subtly brainwashing you into getting into his bands, playing their songs in his car, burning some of their tracks on his CD mixtapes for you (always scrawled with cute Sharpie doodles and bad handwriting), humming the melodies of his favorite songs to you while cuddling. Honestly, you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t working, you’ve found yourself adding his music to your playlists, combining your styles much like how the mohawked man has slowly rooted his way into every corner of your life.

So of course, words couldn’t describe how thrilled he was when you agreed to see one of his favorite bands play at a punk rock show. He’d approached you with the idea tentatively, explaining that it was fine if you didn’t want to go, he’d just take one of his mates from work if so. The way his face lit up when you said yes, your heart could have burst as you watched his eyes sparkle with pure unbridled joy. Then, he leaned in and kissed every inch of your face, ignoring your giggles and protests of him tickling you while he declared how much you were going to love it.

When the day of the show arrived, you kept your outfit simple: baggy, ripped jeans, a white tank top, a band hoodie, and a studded belt you recovered from the depths of your closet, figuring you’d at least blend in with the grungier crowd that way. You put on one last thing to complete the look, hooking Matty’s chunky, silver chain (that of course, he’d left on your dresser) around your neck. You smile to yourself as you tuck it under your clothes, liking the feel of having him close to your heart like this. When did you become such a sap?

Meanwhile, Matty was pacing around your flat, making sure he had everything he needed and that you’d get there in time for doors. His reasoning for being punctual was much less about him than it was for you. He wanted you to fully experience being close to the stage because he knows how much you like to take pictures at shows, your constantly full phone storage being a telltale sign of that. He was going full-on concert boyfriend mode, also keeping your lipstick and your wallet in his little hip pouch so you wouldn’t have to worry about carrying anything but your phone. He’d clearly thought this through quite a lot, he’d been looking forward to it for weeks.

A sudden kiss to his cheek quiets the hum of his overactive mind when you approach him, his furrowed brows sloping to a soft look of adoration as he insists on you standing still so he can take a good look at your outfit. He holds his fingers up in front of him in the shape of a square, squinting one eye closed like he’s framing you for a memory. Sure, the relationship was shiny and new, but something about the way he looked at you told you this wasn’t going to dull with time’s cruel hands, not any time soon at least.

“Ohh, yeah. Very punk rock, baby,” he smiles slyly, chuckling as you roll your eyes.

“Hardly! I don’t exactly have the wardrobe for this.”

“Shh, nonsense. You’re like a regular Joan Jett, babe. But hotter.”

“But hotter? Wow,” you laugh, now glancing down at the jewelry adorning his hands and wrists, “I like your bracelet.”

Matty cringes, sucking a breath through his teeth while looking up towards the ceiling. He recalls just how he’d obtained said bracelet as a teenager with something to prove. He was never a bad kid, just a highly restless one who got bored too easily. Besides, he never got in any real trouble since his parents would have strung him up by his toes otherwise.

“Erm, thanks. I think I nicked it when I was a teen.”

“You were a delinquent!?” you exclaim, causing Matty’s loud laughter to ring through the apartment.

“That’s a strong term, innit? Let’s call it… misguided… and stupid. Now c’mon, out the door, miss.”

You shake your head playfully as he shoos you out of the flat, imagining a younger version of your boyfriend getting into all sorts of mischief. You can almost perfectly picture his toothy, boyish grin as he runs around the streets of his hometown with his mates by his side, freckle-faced and carefree, his curls in an unruly mop on his head. You wonder if you would have gotten along with him in his younger, wilder days. An odd part of you hopes he still would have liked you.

“Why do you still have it?” you ask as you start your walk to the train together. “What can I say? I’m unbelievably sentimental.”

The train ride is quiet, you share his wireless earbuds and listen to music side by side. The deal was that the queue of songs switched back and forth, you got to play one song, then him. He leans his head against your shoulder, the muss of hair atop the shaved sides of his head grazing your neck. He almost falls asleep as you start to scratch the top of his head. But, inevitably, all of his energy comes rushing back to him when the train comes to a halt. Immediately, he’s grabbing your hand to bound down the street to the venue, shouting about how good of a spot you’re going to get.

—---------------------------------------------

Once inside, at a glance, you don’t exactly fit in here. A sort of insecurity festers in you as you eye some of the girls dressed in spikes and leather, they looked like they belonged here, and so did your boyfriend. But, you try to shake it off nonetheless, even if you didn’t feel nearly as cool as you wanted to. This place was like the high council of people who exclusively wear clothes with tears in them.

Matty stands close behind you as you pack in with the rest of the grungy-looking crowd. His hands are on your hips as he glances around, making sure that you have enough space to stand comfortably. He knows how these shows can get, and he’s made it his personal mission to make sure no one ruins the experience for you. He shoots a look at any guy who tries to stand too close to you, the coldness of his stare sending them inching away from your personal space with cowardice. In an instant, the mean look is wiped off his face as he glances down at you, seeing how happy you seem to be there with him. He leans down, the cool metal of his chain grazing your neck as he speaks near your ear, just loud enough so you can hear him over the buzz of chatter throughout the venue.

“Can you see alright?” he asks, giving your hips a little squeeze.

You nod with a smile, having a fairly clear view of the stage. You’re only about three rows back thanks to Matty’s punctuality. You turn your head, grasping the necklace around his neck gently before pulling him down further so you can kiss his cheek. A grin breaks out on your boyfriend’s face, he can’t help but chuckle at your little move, he loves it when you get bold with him. His lips brush against your ear as he murmurs “little minx” before standing back up to his full height.

Matty talks over the pre-show music as he tells you a bit of background about the bands playing tonight, prattling on about who plays what and what makes them so cool. You listen to him with an enamored look plastered on your face, nodding along even when you have no clue what he’s talking about, but what else is new? It only makes you adore him more with every detail rattled off from the depths of his mind.

“... and this one here I don’t know shit about, to be honest. I reckon they’re probably fine though,” he shrugs, showing you the lineup on his phone.

You squint at the screen, tapping your nail against one of the names you recognize because of him. You blink up at him prettily, knowing he’s going to get a kick out of what you say next.

“This is the one with the guy who plays the drums with two pedals, right?” you recall, tilting your head at him, knowing damn well that you’re laying it on thick.

“Yes!! Yes, exactly,” he beams, his eyes instantly lighting up before he presses an enthusiastic kiss to your temple, “That’s my fuckin’ girl. The coolest girlfriend.”

Soon, the show begins, and Matty lets out an excited whoop as the first band makes their entrance, the one he’d bought the tickets for in the first place. He lets go of your hips, taking a small step back to give you the room to dance if you want to. He’s so considerate of you, it makes a glowing sort of warmth swell in your chest. You glance back at him and he gives you two thumbs up, his face scrunching up with a grin that’s so earnestly Matty, you have to resist the urge to just grab him and kiss him till your lips are raw right in the middle of the crowd. Not to mention how fucking good he looks tonight, his tank top allowing his tattooed arms to be on full display, and it should be illegal how tightly those black leather pants cling to his legs.

Your attention turns back to the stage as the first notes ring through the small venue, grungy guitar chords echoing off of the walls. Nothing gives you the same feeling as live music does, the pure thrill it makes rush through you is unmatched (sorry, Matty). The music is harsh, it grates on your ears, but in the best way possible. It’s invigorating, fucking electrifying, it’s thrumming in the hollow of your chest. You feel alive. Matty leans over to see it all happen from just a step away, watching the stage lights reflect in your eyes. He hadn’t looked at the band once, this was far more mesmerizing than anything that could be happening up there. You’ve completely captured his attention, and when you start bobbing your head to the beat and singing along to the chorus, Matty almost drops to one knee right then and there. He’s already mentally noted that this song will in fact be played at your wedding reception.

As the set goes on, his eyes stay on you for the majority of the time, he’s just so taken by watching you have this much fun hearing his music, which is now your music too. He’s simply beaming with pride. Every time you look back at him with that thrilled look on your face while you’re moving to the rhythm only solidifies to him that you’re his absolute dream girl. And of course, he’s having the time of his life too. Matty mouthes along to all of the words, nodding his head in a way that makes his quaffed mohawk bounce with his movements. And, shit, it’s hot in the crowd, you can feel the heat radiating off of the bodies moving around you. The hoodie you brought may have been an oversight, you can practically feel your mascara melting off of your lashes.

The show goes on, and when the moshing in the middle of the crowd gets increasingly rowdy, one man gets shoved and sent hurtling past the bodies between you and the mosh pit. You quickly hold your hands out to brace for the impact, knowing this can’t end well as you prepare to meet your leather-jacketed doom. The man is visibly very intoxicated and he would have stumbled straight into your body from the momentum if Matty’s hands hadn’t shot out to block him, catching him by his shoulders.

“Oi! Watch where you’re fuckin’ going, fuck’s sake!” Matty spits, sending him back toward the pit with a light push.

Now, had Matty done his fair share of moshing and getting absolutely catapulted into other people at breakneck velocity? Yes. It’s not even entirely the guy’s fault that he almost crashed into you, he was pretty drunk and didn’t have his wits or his balance about him, but in Matty’s mind, he might as well have tried to tackle you to the ground WWE style.

“I could have caught him!” you argue over the music, laughing at the bitter look on your boyfriend's face.

Matty raises an eyebrow at you and shakes his head with an amused smile, but doesn’t argue. Maybe you could have, but he wasn’t about to let some sloshed idiot break his girlfriend's back because that’s his job, dammit.

The band’s set is finished with a bang, the final chords echoing in your ears as you try to catch your breath from moving almost nonstop, your heart thundering against your ribs. You turn around to face Matty with a giant grin plastered on your face, letting out a breathless, excited laugh. He just chuckles, eyeing the strands of hair sticking to your face from the sheen of sweat, your smudged makeup rimming your wide eyes. He’s not in much better shape, his tank top is clinging to his body like a second skin. By this point, your hoodie feels like it has its own climate, and you’re dying to peel it off.

“Fun?” he asks, as you start to lift the fabric over your head.

“Oh my god, yeah,” you breathe, your voice muffled by the hoodie.

“I-”

His next words die in his throat as his eyes immediately snap to your chest, his breath catching as he spots the clear outline of your nipple piercings through your drenched, white tank top and- was that one of his chains around your neck? He feels a stir in his tight leather pants as his mouth slightly drops, he can’t remember ever being so instantly and completely turned on. Heat ripples through his body, climbing up to his face as he shamelessly stares at your tits. Not only were you showing off his skillful work, but your pretty neck was adorned with the chain he’d forgotten all about at your place. It might even look better on you than it does on him.

You’re tying your hoodie around your waist when you catch the look on his face, your brows knitting together with confusion till you follow his gaze and find your piercings proudly displayed through your shirt. As the realization dawns on you, you look up at your boyfriend with a coy smile. Matty shudders, lust crowding his mind as he struggles to come up with a coherent thought, one that isn’t wildly pornographic. He can actually feel his hands tense with the urge to grasp, to lay claim to you with his fingertips. You simply look up at him through your lashes, watching him short-circuit right before your eyes.

Before he has the chance to say or do anything, the next band comes onto the stage, the crowd roaring to life a second time. You give him a knowing look before turning back around to face the direction of the music. Matty swallows hard, raking a hand through his mohawk like he’s grappling with demons… and losing.

The music is nothing more than a pulsing beat in his skull, his attention is fully on the back of your head. He begins to inch forward to you, his hands finding a home on your hips while you vibe to the beat. He brings your hips back against him, feeling your movements stutter as the protrusion in his trousers presses into your ass as if to say “Feel what you did to me?”. You get the message loud and clear, draping your weight against him, your head lolling back against his shoulder as you both rock to the beat of the drums, sweaty skin to sweaty skin. Matty’s hands begin to wander, mapping over the damp fabric of your tank top, up your stomach, over your ribs till- oh. You gasp, the stage lights strobing under your closed eyes as he squeezes your tits through your top. Matty can distinctly feel the barbells through the thin fabric, it drives him fucking wild. Your lips part as you melt into him like honey, your skin feels like it’s on fire as the music blares through the venue. Your stomach swoops when he dares to flick the piercings with his fingertips, danger humming in your veins as he gets bolder, as if you’re not surrounded by a sea of people. Your eyes snap open, you quickly glance around to find that everyone’s far too enthralled with the show to notice, not that Matty would give a shit if they did. No one can hear the way you whimper when he pinches your nipples. You stare down at the large hands that possessively grope your breasts, feeling a throb resound between your thighs.

“Matty, you said this was the band you don’t know, right?” you call to him, your voice uneven and unnaturally high-pitched.

His heavily lidded eyes look almost black with the way they darken as he reads between the lines. Even if it was one of the bands he liked, he’s pretty sure absolutely nothing could stop him from doing what comes next, not when his dick is this hard, and you’ve teased him this salaciously. Wordlessly, Matty lets go of your chest and grabs your hand, leading you through the crowd towards the exit. He moves fast, the urgency in his strides and on his face likely making people move out of the way quicker. You’d feel concerned about losing your spot up front if your mind wasn’t so scrambled with need, your legs rushing to keep up with your lanky boyfriend.

Your head is spinning as he swiftly leads you into the nearest gender-neutral bathroom. Matty’s hands are on you the moment he closes and locks the door, he’s all over you in every sense of the term. You breathe in the musk of his sweat between the melding of your lips. The kiss is messy, it’s searingly hot as he desperately licks into your mouth, his fingertips digging into your hip bones. He backs you up blindly until your hips meet the bathroom counter, his hands reaching to undo the hoodie tied around your waist and toss it aside without breaking the kiss once. You didn’t think you could get much hotter than you were in the crowd, but now you’re burning up from the inside with white-hot desire.

Matty hastily turns you around to face the bathroom mirror, tagged with graffiti and littered with lipstick prints at the border. It was clear that the space was well-loved, but clean. A culmination of every aspiring artist and sticker enthusiast in the area, almost no spot on the wall was left untouched. Your eyes are drawn away from the decor as Matty grasps your jaw from behind you, turning your head to make you meet the almost feral look in his eyes through the mirror. He holds you that way as he leans down to press dire, open-mouthed kisses to your neck, his other hand snaking down your front to unbutton your pants. The feeling of his tongue stud soothing over faded love bites only makes you weaker in the knees. Matty fumbles with the zipper of your jeans for a moment before he shoves the clothing down your legs, the fabric pooling around your ankles. It’s clear that he’s not wasting time with his usual delicate, worshiping caresses of your thighs while he undresses you, this is an electrified frenzy.

“No bra, baby? Is that how you want to play?” he mutters, his lips grazing the column of your neck teasingly.

“I-I didn’t-” you begin to protest, only to be cut off by your own moan as he gives a rough pinch to your nipple through your top.

Matty follows the curve of your midsection with his hand, intense honey-colored eyes locked on you through your reflection, the image swirled at the edges with colorful spray paint. A shudder reverberates through your body as his fingers venture lower, dipping below the waistband of your soaked panties. Your body instinctually arches backward against his, mewling when his calloused fingertips brush against your swollen clit. It’s like he can light up every one of your senses with just a graze, your breath getting shallower by the second. You feel his stiff cock twitch in his trousers as you press yourself impossibly closer to him, every inch of his glowing skin flush against your back. Matty continues his loving assault on your neck as his thick digits gather the arousal pooling between your thighs. Your dazed vision trails downward as you stare at his hand shoved inside your panties from behind you, watching the fabric shift with every movement of his skilled hand. You whine as he circles your slit before beginning to sink his slicked fingers into you, your eyes squeezing shut as the dizzying pleasure thrums in your veins.

“Shhh. You know how much I love your pretty noises, baby, but be good, okay? Can you do that? Don’t want anyone to know what we’re up to, do you?” he murmurs, dragging his plush bottom lip against your ear lobe.

You nod wordlessly, afraid that if you open your mouth, noise will overflow from you uncontrollably, his fingers being knuckle-deep in you is just too damn good. If you don’t control yourself, anyone outside could hear you, could know how good your boyfriend is filling you with his fingers, satisfying you to your very core. The thought of it alone makes your heart hammer in your chest harder. You don’t want them to know… because that would be wrong, it would be undignified… it’d be… kind of hot.

His digits stretch you open as he begins to diligently pump them in and out of you, curling them towards the spot that he knows will make you see stars. He works quickly, his pace is almost feverish from his determination to make you fall to pieces as efficiently as he can. Matty’s other hand is groping your breast, squeezing the fullness of it, his rings pressing into your flesh through your thin tank top. You bite down on your lip hard enough that you think you might tear the flesh open, desperately trying to keep your whimpers quiet. Matty’s gaze on you is cautionary, his eyebrows slightly raised like he’s testing you, seeing just how much you can take.

The last of your defenses come crumbling down as the pad of his thumb presses against your clit, the flood of sensations making a moan burst from your throat as he begins to draw tight circles on the bundle of nerves. In an instant, Matty’s hand is off of your chest and is clasped over your mouth, muffling any noise. Fuck.

“I mean it. Pipe down, or I’ll stop,” he says sternly, smirking at you as he feels your walls flutter around his fingers.

“No- no, please don’t stop,” you babble against his palm like the idea of it was simply unbearable.

Matty’s hand stays firmly over your mouth as he withdraws his fingers from inside you, ignoring the way you squirm in protest, whining uselessly. He tugs your ruined panties down your legs, letting them join your pants in a heap around your ankles. It’s almost embarrassing how you can hardly contain your desire, but he likes it that way, knowing how needy you are.

“Matty, please, fuck, need it,” you mumble, and he can see the way your desire is clawing at you from the inside just from a glance.

“Be patient for me, my love,” he smiles, hurriedly pulling himself out of his uncomfortably skin-tight pants with his free hand, “You’ll get what you want. Being stuffed full with my cock, hm?”

You whimper as Matty nudges your legs further apart with his foot, leaning you forward over the counter onto your elbows. He whistles lowly at the sight of you, his eyes following down your spine, over the curve of your ass, and to your dripping pussy. You tremble slightly as he reaches between your legs, collecting your honey on his fingers before spreading it over his shaft, slicking himself with your arousal. A whine vibrates against the palm Matty holds over your mouth as you swing your hips in a desperate attempt to entice him. He just chuckles darkly, keeping his hand securely in place as starts to guide his cock through your folds, the head kissing your aching clit as he rubs it back and forth.

Matty doesn’t waste a second longer, you can hardly process it before he’s pushing inside of you, gasping as he fills you inch by inch. His fingertips press into the side of your face as he tightens his hold on your mouth to muffle your mewls, watching as your lashes flutter, your face contorting with pleasure. He can feel your hot, heavy breaths fanning into his palm, your chest heaving as he bottoms out inside of you. Matty groans loudly, tossing his head back as he’s fully surrounded by your velvety warmth, forgetting his own volume rules that he’d set for you. Hypocrite.

“Oh, fuck, you feel so good,” he sighs, reaching to pull your tank top over your breasts, “Stay like that for me, yeah? Wanna see your perfect tits.”

He barely allows you a moment to breathe before he’s snapping his hips against you roughly, letting out a strained grunt with every thrust. Sensations trickle up your spine like flickering flames as a muffled cry spills out of you. Matty angles his hips just right, hitting so deep inside you that you feel as though you’re being split open by each drive of his cock, it’s mind-numbing. Your whole body jolts against the counter with his purposeful movements, the edge of the porcelain biting into your hip bones. He can hardly focus on just one thing, his gaze darting from where he’s disappearing inside of you, to your gorgeous face, to your breasts. Matty’s raspy voice makes your eyes refocus on him, you watch in the mirror as he licks his teeth like he wants to devour you whole.

“You see how pretty you look? No, no, sweetheart, don’t look at me, look at yourself. God, isn’t she pretty?” he drawls, “You look so sexy, wearing my chain like that while you’re taking my cock.”

At his instruction, you meet your own eyes through the reflection, your eyebrows sloping as you realize that he’s right, you do look pretty when he’s fucking you. Your rosied cheeks, your blown pupils, your glowing skin… and your boyfriend’s hand over your mouth. Your chain bounces against your collarbones in tandem with your pierced tits, it’s no wonder he’s loving this position so much, he gets to watch everything at once. While you’re gazing at yourself, Matty reaches around and begins to rub two fingers on your clit, swirling them in intoxicatingly quick figure eights. You watch your own eyes go wide as the pleasure ricochets through your bones, making you light-headed. This must be the expression Matty lives for when he’s got you like this, the face to his sweetest wet dreams. You’re almost mesmerized by seeing yourself get railed to high heaven, it’s sort of an odd feeling. In one swift motion, Matty lets go of your face and grasps the chain around your neck, pulling it taut against your throat from behind, ripping a shocked cry from your lips.

“Ohh, she liked that one,” he grins lazily, tilting his head back with a groan as he feels your walls clamp down on him like a vice, “Shit, not gonna last if you keep doin’ that, god damn.”

It feels like he’s stolen the air directly from your lungs as he lightly chokes you with the silver links you’d so slickly “borrowed” from him. Even just the slight restriction of oxygen has you reeling, your eyes rolling back as your hands claw at the counter, your whole body buzzing with mortifying heights of exhilaration. It’s a dizzying combination of thrill and precarious risk as Matty keeps a tight hold on the chain while fucking you with such vigor that you don’t feel attached to your body, the counter being your only loose grasp on reality. It only makes every drive of his cock feel that much more visceral, the tension coiling tighter in your belly. Heat prickles at your cheeks and the bridge of your nose at the purely obscene sounds of him thrusting into your sopping cunt, skin on skin echoing through the small space while his fingers abuse your clit.

It’s all building up so fast, quicker than usual due to Matty’s frenzied rhythm, his hips meeting yours again and again, unrelentingly. You bite back a wail as the tension so deep inside you reverberates in crackling pangs, threatening to break you to pieces as you arch backward. Your hips writhe against his hand both like you’re chasing the friction and trying to thrash away from its intensity. He can tell you’re on the edge of euphoria, teetering with every swipe of his fingers, every slam of his hips. He gives the chain a harsh tug, knowing it’ll send you spiraling into the depths of pleasure just beyond your fingertips.

“Fuck!” you gasp, one of your hands flying to grip his wrist as your mind goes impossibly blank, your nails digging into his skin, “I’m gonna- I-I can’t!”

“Shit, me too angel, so close. Oh, fuck, cum for me, sweet girl. Cum for me while I fill you up,” he grunts, a burst of energy coming over him as he manages to piston into you even more brutally.

It crashes over you like a thunderous wave, spiraling through you from your dizzied head to the tips of your curled toes. He lets go of the chain, putting his hand over your mouth again to stifle your cry, the disorienting rush of oxygen almost making your knees give out from underneath you, and they just might have if Matty hadn’t kept you supported against the counter. It feels like pure white light is fizzling under your eyelids as Matty makes you reach the stars with your climax, dousing you in pulsating bliss as you clench around him tightly. He lets out a deep, animalistic sound as he spills inside of you, warmth flooding your insides as he fucks you through your orgasm, his rhythm beginning to falter from the effort.

“Fuuuck!” he hisses through gritted teeth, along with other breathy strings of profanities.

Slowly, his body stutters to a stop, giving one last roll of his hips before he collapses over you as delicately as he can, enveloping you with his chest to your back. He lovingly presses kisses to the back of your neck as your head hangs forward slightly, both of you gasping to catch your breath.

“H-holy shit, babe. You’re so good…you’re fucking incredible,” he mutters, seeming just as dazed as you are.

He can’t seem to stop complimenting you and loving on you as he keeps you held up with his hands on your hips, rubbing little circles into your skin as you both come down from the highest of highs. The afterglow clouds your head in a way that makes you feel like you’re floating with Matty being your only anchor to the ground.

“Matty…” you mumble, reaching back blindly for his face.

“I’m right here. Right here, love,” he whispers, guiding your palm to his cheek.

You smile warmly as you feel the scruffy sides of his head at your fingertips, Matty keeping his hand over yours sweetly. At the same time you both glance upwards at the mirror, letting out simultaneous giggles as you appreciate the state you’re in. He leans to kiss your cheek, peering into your eyes adoringly through the reflection, pulling your top back down over your breasts.

“Oh my god… we’re a mess,” you snort, rubbing aimlessly at your runny mascara with your free hand.

“You mean you’re a mess, I look damn good,” he jokes, starting to slowly ease you both back up into a standing position.

You both let out a breathy sound as he pulls out of you slowly, his cum beginning to streak down your thighs. Of course, Matty stares, swallowing thickly like he’ll never quite get used to the sight while he shimmies back into his pants. Diligently, he reaches for a handful of paper towels, keeping a gentle hold on your hip. You reach to try and smack his arm when he laughs at the way your legs are trembling, your knees wobbling due to how hard he’d railed you. He dodges the blow, grinning at you triumphantly.

Matty gently wipes away the residue of his pearly release, whispering a hushed “I know, I know” when you squirm at the sensitivity. Once he discards the paper towels, he kneels down to pull your underwear and your jeans back up, kissing his way up the outside of your leg as he does so while looking into your eyes with a playful glint. He kisses you deeply while he buttons your pants with nimble hands, not even letting you lift a finger as he takes care of his girl. You throw your arms around his neck, smiling into the kiss as he teases his tongue piercing along your bottom lip just to make you shiver.

“My perfect girl,” he mumbles against your mouth.

You stay in the bathroom for just a little longer, kissing and whispering sweet things to each other while your bodies fully come down, Matty shouting at whoever keeps intermittently knocking on the door to fuck off. You can’t help but feel a little tinge of guilt in your stomach for “christening” the restroom the way you did, but you highly doubt you were the first.

After he reassures you that the makeup streaked down your cheeks is “hardcore” and that you should leave it the way it is, you finally leave to re-enter the show (not before one final, drawn-out kiss, of course). Your boyfriend keeps you close by his side, his fingers interlocked with yours as you find yourselves at the very back of the pit, scattered with only a few other people. Matty guides your arms around his neck, grinning at you like a fool as you start to rock back and forth to the rhythm of the drums. His smile is infectious as he leans in to rest his forehead against yours, singing to you when the song reaches its chorus. He looks incredibly dorky as mimics the wail of the guitar solo, swinging his hips while his hands rest comfortably on your waist, almost like you’re about to slow dance. You tell him as such and Matty just tosses his head back with a laugh like a little kid. His eyes are sparkling, but not just from the iridescent stage lighting, it’s the look he gets only when he’s with you. You feel your heart swell in your chest as you continue to dance like you’re the only two in the venue, and he looks at you like you’re the only woman in the whole world.

—-----------------------------------------

SO I was a liar and I did write another part. I intended this to be a blurb but I had so many more thoughts about them and their relationship eeeeee

The ending was soooo “do you wanna dance, dance at the back of the hall”

I love them. I need them to be happy forever actually.

This one is dedicated to my lovely lovely friend B (@haveyouseenherlately) thank you so much for the ideas, you get body piercer like no one else, queen. Love you!!!

Go check out her stuff if you haven’t it SLAYS <3

#body piercer!matty #matty healy smut #matty healy x reader #matty healy x you #the 1975 smut #the 1975 x reader #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fic #the 1975 fic #the 1975 fanfic

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cupofjeon · 2 days

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Lion’s Den [✓]

↳ Summary: You should have seen the warning signs. It’s been there since the day Jungkook started showing his more than friends affection towards you. Hindsight is, indeed, twenty-twenty, and now you’re reaping the false belief you sowed about the man you once loved. By the time your rose-colored glasses shattered, it was too late. You’ve already entered the lion’s den.

↳ Pairing: Idol!Jungkook x Producer!Fem!Reader

↳ Genre: Yandere | ↳ Type of fic: Oneshot (Completed) ✓

↳ Disclaimer: The story below the cut is fictitious only. It does not depict Jungkook or any of the other idols mentioned and featured in this story in real life. The author does not condone this type of behavior. Minors do not interact with this story. Ageless blogs will be blocked on the presumption that you are underaged.

↳ Warnings: Blackmailing, threats, NONCON: unprotected sex, slapping, marking, hair pulling, throat/face fucking, finger fucking, pussy eating, manipulation, forced marriage, physical assault, violence, murder, mention of attempted suicide, graphic depiction of abusive behaviors and relationship.

↳ Total Word Count: 12,380

↳ Taglist: @looneybleus @iveivory @jjk174 @kissyfacekoo @sweetempathprunetree @minchedchilli @jiminismine4ever (If you cannot see the story, please change your settings and allow mature content to be displayed.)

━━ “Show you what devotion is, deeper than the ocean is.”

You slam the envelope in your hand on the counter in front of your ex-boyfriend, nose flaring and eyes narrowed as you look at him. “What the fuck is wrong with you, huh? Why the hell are you doing this?”

Jeon Jungkook stares at you impassively. “I warned you, didn’t I? Stop with all these playing hard to get nonsense or you’ll face severe consequences. You didn’t listen. Now, you’re going to need to face the consequences.”

You stare at him in utter disbelief, mouth agape as you shake your head. “I’m not playing hard to get, Jungkook. We’re over. Why can’t you get that through your fucking head? Are you insane?!”

Your chest rises heavily as your hands curl into fists. Jungkook’s lips curl into a lopsided smirk as he spreads his arms on the counter, holding onto the edges to lean in towards you. “I’m the one who gets to decide whether we’re over or not, baby. And I’m telling you—we’re far from it. So, what is it going to be? Are you going to continue being stubborn, or should I send these photos of your brother smoking marijuana and drinking to the media?”

You clench your jaw, knuckles turning white the more his words echo in your mind. Then, your shoulders fall as you furrow your eyebrows and adjust the red oval shaped spectacles on the bridge of your nose. “Why are you doing this, Jungkook? This isn’t you.”

He pokes his cheek with his tongue before sighing deeply and running his fingers through his long curly dark hair. “Of course this is me, baby. What are you talking about? It’s always been me.”

“You’re sick, Jeon Jungkook,” you say. “This isn’t how you treat someone you claim to love. Jungwon—he loves you and he looks up to you. He sees you as his hyung and you betray him like this? What kind of a sick monster are you?”

“You made me do this,” Jungkook hisses, walking towards you. Instinctively, you walk away from him, but he’s quick to grab your arm tightly and pull you close to him. “If you just stayed, none of these would have ever happened. But you left me, Y/N. You left me when I begged you on my fucking knees to stay. You did this to Jungwon, not me.”

You try to pull away from him but Jungkook’s grip tightens. He looks at you with his eyebrows furrowed deeply, those soft doe eyes you loved so much holding nothing but coldness and darkness now. “Let me go. Let me fucking go, Jungkook, or I swear to God—,”

“You’ll what? You’re going to report me to the police? To Hybe? Expose me to the media and online?” Jungkook scoffs, grabbing your face with his free hand to keep your eyes locked with his. “Nobody is going to believe you, Y/N. Who do you think you are compared to me? You’re nothing and you have no one. All you have is me.”

You hate that he is speaking the truth. In front of everybody, Jungkook is a goddamn angel sent from above. He’s the golden maknae. He’s someone who has never changed despite the achievements he received at such a young age. He’s a philanthropist who supports various causes worldwide and donates regularly to different charities.

A salt of the earth kind of guy, humble, polite, kind, respectful, gentleman, a walking green flag—these are his personas for everyone to see. And he’s been playing these roles goddamn well over the past decade of his career.

Even if you report, no one is going to believe you because he’s Jeon Jungkook.

“I hate you,” you tell him. “I hate you with every fiber of my being. I regret ever meeting you. I wish I never met you.”

His upper lip twitches with your words. Then, he smirks. “Well, I guess you’ve made your choice then. You can carry the burden of knowing you’re responsible for the death of your brother’s career, Y/N.”

He lets you and pulls his phone out of his pocket. Your heart races as he types something. Quickly, you hold onto his arms. “No, wait! Please don’t do this, Jungkook. Don’t do this to Jungwon, please.”

“Let go of my arm, Y/N. I’m not going to ask again,” he says through gritted teeth.

You only hold on tighter. “Jungkook, please. I’m—,” you can’t say it. You can’t say it. But he’s giving you no option. You have to. “I’m sorry, please. Jungkook, not Jungwon. Not my brother.”

“Prove it,” he tells you.

You look up at him. “What?”

“Prove to me just how sorry you are, Y/N. Then I might reconsider sending these photos to the authorities.”

You feel your head spinning. Your breathing becomes ragged as the anxiety builds up inside you. This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening, this isn’t happening. You repeat these like a mantra as you open your mouth to say something, but no words come out.

Jungkook pushes you off him. “I’m done waiting around.”

He turns his back on you, pressing his phone against his ear as he walks away from you. Your instincts take over and you catch up to him, pulling him by his shoulders and crashing your lips against his. The coldness of his lip ring makes you shiver, but it’s nothing compared to when Jungkook smirks against the kiss and returns it with much fervor and ferocity. He drops his phone on the floor as he holds your face in his big hands, tilting his head for better access.

There is no going back now. You have crossed the line. You have sealed your fate. You hold onto his shirt as you feel tears burning your eyes. You just want this to be over with.

“Bend over the counter,” he says, pulling away from the kiss as he starts to unbutton his jeans.

“Jungkook—,” you begin to say. Then, you feel a stinging pain on your cheek. Eyes wide in shock, you feel tears forming in your eyes at the realization of what just occurred.

“I didn’t ask. Bend over the fucking counter, bitch,” he hisses.

Covered in fear, you make your way to the island countertop, embracing yourself from the inevitable. Jungkook pushes you against it, ripping your blouse apart; buttons flying everywhere in the kitchen. He only smirks at your terrified state.

He unclasps your bra, groping your breasts with his veiny hands before ordering you to unbutton your pants. Once your pants are pooled around your ankles, Jungkook commands you to turn around and he forcefully pushes you on the cold marble top. Your glasses are positioned awkwardly but you don’t have time to take them off because Jungkook suddenly penetrates you, making you scream in pain.

“Yeah, fuck, you’re so tight for a fucking slut,” Jungkook groans as he thrusts in you in a quick pace, not letting you adjust. He gathers your hair around his hand and pulls your head back as the pain of his sudden penetration soars through your whole body. “I missed fucking this cunt. My cunt.”

All you can do is whimper with each thrust, tears rolling from your eyes. Jungkook pulls you to him, your back pressed against his toned chest and abs. His lips bite down the skin of your neck as he continues to thrust into you. He fondles your breast, squeezing it tight and pinching your nipples.

Once he’s satisfied with the marks he left on your neck, he pushes you back down, grabbing your arms and pinning them behind your back as he quickened his pace once more. The sound of your groans, his grunts, and your skin slapping against each other fill the kitchen.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, fuck, fuck,” Jungkook pants and after a few more thrusts, he lets out a long moan as you feel the hot liquid rolling down your inner thigh. He pulls out his cock from your cunt and you lay on your chest against the counter while he pulls his boxers and pants up. Tears pool on the counter top.

Then, Jungkook pulls you to his chest, resting his chin on your shoulder. “You’re mine. If you leave me again, I’m going to kill every single one of the people you care about—starting with Jungwon.”

“What are you thinking about?” Jungkook asks, propping his elbow on the bed as he rests his head on his palm, looking at you. His fingers brush the strands of hair on your face then he tilts your head to face him by your chin.

You grip the blanket covering your naked body tightly as you stare at him with half-lidded eyes. You don’t think you have the energy to talk; your throat is sore from Jungkook fucking your mouth without any care in the world and your entire body is sore and exhausted from being fucked and handled by the monster staring at you for hours. You just want to go home. Facing the other side, you pull the blanket more to cover your entire body, curling underneath.

Jungkook, however, slides his arm under your body and the other over your waist as he pulls you closer to him. “You know you deserve this, Y/N. If you had just stayed, none of this would have happened. I wouldn’t be so harsh. You needed to be punished for leaving me.”

He’s insane—there is no more question about that. He’s a complete psychopath. The fact that he’s trying to justify his actions to you makes your skin crawl.

“I told you when I was courting you that I will show you how devoted I am to you, right? We even made a song about it,” he has the audacity to chuckle as he explains his insanity. “Show you what devotion is, deeper than the ocean is, remember?” He rests his chin on your shoulder.

You swallow the lump in your throat and with your hoarse voice, you ask him, “Will you leave Jungwon alone now that you’ve punished me?”

“It depends,” he tells you. “You betrayed me and my trust, Y/N. You’re not off the hook yet.”

You bite your lower lip. “Jungkook, please. I don’t know what else you want me to do. You have me already. Can you please just give me your word that you’ll erase all copies of those photos and leave my brother alone? He doesn’t deserve any of this.”

“Okay, I’ll make sure to erase everything on one condition,” he declares. “I want you to marry me.”

Your body freezes under his embrace. “W-What?”

“You heard me. Marry me and I’ll leave your brother alone.”

You turn to face him, face contorted in disbelief and utter repulsion. He stares at you in all seriousness. “You’re a monster, Jeon Jungkook.”

He smirks as he places a kiss on your lips. “Why don’t you sleep on it and come morning, you can tell me your answer.”

Wearing a pair of washed jeans you left at his place before the break up and one of his T-shirts, you and Jungkook walk into the Hybe building, hand-in-hand, the next day. If everything was the same way as before, you would have smiled and proudly walked by his side, but now you keep your head as low as possible, conscious about everything especially the hickeys on your neck which you hide with your hair as the old concealer you also left at his place did not provide much help. You try quickening your pace, but Jungkook ensures to take short strides, which you know is to let everyone know that you are back together again.

When you’re finally alone in the elevator, you try to take your hand back. However, Jungkook won’t let go. You sigh in frustration. “I’m not going anywhere, Jungkook. I have to work here the whole day. So are you. You can let me go now.”

“You still haven’t told me your answer,” he says. “I hope you know by now that I’m not the type to wait around, Y/N.”

“What you’re asking is too much. I can’t just marry you because you want me to,” you point out, clicking your tongue.

The elevator doors open to the fifth floor where your studio is located. You and Jungkook step out and he walks you until you reach the studio. Yang Studio is engraved on the door behind you. Jungkook lets go of your hand (finally) and holds your face with both hands, placing a soft kiss on your lips. For a moment, a split second, it feels as though the man you fell in love with has come back, but when he pulls you away, he whispers against your lips, “I’ll wait until the end of the day for your answer. You know what will happen if you don’t give me any.”

He pushes your glasses further up your nose bridge. You say, dejectedly, “I don’t have any choice. What do you need an answer for when you already know it?”

“Because I wanna hear it from you,” he smiles. “I’ll see you later, baby. Don’t do anything stupid. I’m watching you.”

With one final kiss, he walks away while you’re left with a heavy feeling in your chest as you enter your studio. At least, for the time being since yesterday, you are completely alone. You don’t mind, however, and welcome the empty studio with open arms.

Whenever you’re working, time flies by fast. Your focus is only on the songs you’re working on for the various groups at Hybe. Currently, you’re working on one of the B-side tracks for your brother’s group, Enhypen. It wouldn’t be the first time you worked with the relatively new group. You previously worked with them for their songs Fever and Shout Out which gained positive acclaim from their fans and the public as well. Due to this response, their label asked if you could produce another B-side and you agreed right away.

You’re in the middle of mixing Bills, the song you were working on throughout the day, when you suddenly jumped at the feeling of something cold and wet pressing against your cheeks. When you look up, you see the familiar sight of your deranged ex-boyfriend Jungkook looking down at you with his famous bunny smile, holding takeout boxes from the cafeteria and a can of lemon-flavored drink. For a split second, you almost return the smile, like you always did before Jungkook showed his true colors. He just looked like the man you fell in love with. However, you’re quick to catch yourself from falling into the trap once again.

You deduce that the can must be what was pressed on your cheek as Jungkook grabs an empty chair and places it beside you, sitting on it, and placing the boxes and drinks on the table.

“Your time’s up like fifteen minutes ago, but since I’ve had a good day, I’ll extend it until we finish eating,” Jungkook tells you as he opens one of the boxes and the smell of tangsuyuk fills your nostrils, making your stomach grumble in anticipation.

You look at the time on your computer, 12:17 am. You haven’t even realized it’s past midnight already. You take your glasses off as you rub your eyes while Jungkook slides the box towards you then flicks the can of soft drink on the side, a trick he swore would make the drink less carbonated, before opening it and placing it beside the dish. How can he act so sweet one minute and then be cruel the next? You take the chopstick from his hand, pulling them apart, and shift on your seat as you begin to eat.

“What are you working on?” he asks as he prepares his own meal.

You chew and swallow your food before answering him, feeling the need to put your glasses so you do so. It’s a comfort thing, you suppose. “Song for Enha.”

“Yeah? What is it called?”

“Bills,” you tell him. He glances at you, giving you a knowing look. You understand what the look means. You sigh. “It’s a song about a break up, but it’s not about our break up.”

“Why? You didn’t want to write one ‘cos you know you’ll come back to me anyway?” Jungkook asks with a chuckle.

“No, I didn’t write any songs about our break up because it wasn’t worth it,” you reply, shrugging your shoulders as you continue eating. Instinctively, you glance at him, and you see Jungkook looking at you with his jaw tensed. You hit a nerve—you hit more than just a nerve, but perhaps his entire ego, and nothing is more fragile than a man’s ego.

A part of you swells in pride knowing you’ve hurt his ego, but the other part of you mentally scolds yourself for saying what you said. Jungkook is a ticking time bomb; the last thing you want is for him to explode. “Sorry,” you say, sucking your teeth. “Forget I said anything. Let’s just continue eating, please.”

“How did you go from loving me to hating me, Y/N? I’ve done nothing but love you. Why did you suddenly leave me?” Jungkook asks, his tone indicating he’s hurt which takes you aback.

Jungkook—the man who forced himself upon you last night, who slapped you, who threatened to kill your brother if you don’t oblige to his requests and blackmailed you—hurt? It gives you a whiplash just thinking about it. He’s fucking delusional, you conclude.

“Jungkook, you changed,” you say. “You—,”

“Just because someone you love changed doesn’t mean you leave them,” he hisses.

“You leave when they’ve changed for the worst, Jungkook, and you changed for the worst. You became controlling,” your breathing is ragged, but you swallow the lump in your throat as you continue your tirade.

“At first, I let it go because I loved you and I’ve known you since we were fifteen and I know how possessive you can be, but I told myself it was just because you’ve always been insecure even when you had no reason to. Then, it escalated. Suddenly, you always wanted to check my phone, always wanting to be here at my studio or wherever I am when I’m working because you’re paranoid about the people I work with, dictating what I should and shouldn’t wear, and you disrespected my boundaries when I clearly established them with you especially in sex. You no longer see me as your girlfriend or even as Y/N, your friend before being your girlfriend; you treated me like I’m an object, like I’m your property.”

“I did all those for you, Y/N. You didn’t see what I saw. Those people you work with—that fucking Jang Yijeong and Kim Woosung—it’s clear they want you. They practically eye fuck you every time you’re in the goddamn room! You’re my girlfriend. It’s only natural that I do everything to let them know you’re mine,” Jungkook reasons, shaking his head at your tirade.

“They’re my co-workers, Jungkook! Yijeong, he’s like family to me now much like how Yoongi is because they taught me everything I know about songwriting and producing. And Woosung? He’s my friend. I’m allowed to have male friends.”

“You’re so naive, baby, it frustrates me so much,” he scoffs, poking his cheek with his tongue as he narrows his gaze at you.

“Tell me there’s a part of you that understands where I’m coming from,” you desperately say, but you’re met with the coldness of his eyes. You shut your eyes tightly. “Jungkook, I broke up with you because I finally saw you for who you truly are. You don’t love me; you want to own me.”

“I told you I’ll show you how devoted I am to you,” Jungkook quips, chuckling to himself. You shiver at his lighthearted disposition. “I love you, Y/N. It’s only right that I get to you all to myself because I’m all yours.”

“You don’t own the people you love,” you say, sighing in resignation. “And you don’t threaten them and their loved ones with death and career ruining photos.”

Jungkook spins your chair and pulls you close to him. He traps your thighs in between his as he cups your face with his strong veiny hands. “Baby, I’m the only loved one in your life that you should care about. Your brother—he’s old enough to fend for himself. You don’t need him anymore.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you ask, nose flaring. “He’s my family, Jungkook. He will always be my family.”

“But he doesn’t need you anymore, Y/N. When was the last time you even talked to him? When was the last time he talked to you? All this time, you’re asking me to erase all photos of him drinking while underage in Vegas and smoking weed on top of that, but have you stopped to ask yourself: Why did Jungwon do it? Do you even really know your brother?” Jungkook caresses your cheek.

You’re speechless. You haven’t thought about that. He smiles, placing a chaste kiss on your lips. He tastes like the tangsuyuk he also ordered for himself. “Why don’t you ask him why he did what he did?”

“Jungwon would never do something illegal. For all I know, you fucking manipulated him in doing that shit to get back at me!” you slap his hands away from your face and you rise from your seat, pointing your finger at him. “I swear to God if I find out you manipulated him in doing it, I will—,”

“I thought it was already established that nobody will believe you anyway. The police? I give a shit ton of money to that shitty force everyday. Hybe? Baby, I’m one of the reasons this company even exists. Media? Fans? The public? Who’s going to believe you over someone they’ve watched grow up right before their eyes? Who’s going to believe you over their golden maknae?”

You clench your fists. “You’re not as powerful as you think. Get over your fucking self.”

He smacks his lips. “We’ll see about that. Good night, my love.”

Then, he simply leaves, with only the half-eaten tangsuyuk and unopened can of soft drink as remnants that Jeon Jungkook was even here.

It’s been a while since the last time you saw Jungwon. His is longer and back to black which you thought suited him the best. He’s gotten taller too and the way he carries himself now is different than he used to before. Or maybe, he’s just forever the shy baby brother in your mind. You asked him to meet you at your apartment, telling him that you informed their manager beforehand but to let the two of you talk privately.

His manager dropped him off at your place, dressed in a pair of gray sweatpants, a navy blue hoodie, and white sneakers that he left by your doorway.

“Why do you wanna meet at the crack of dawn, noona?” Jungwon asks, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

You go straight to the point. “You went drinking and smoked marijuana in Vegas.”

He tenses, pressing his lips, his dimples appearing on his cheeks. Then, he clicks his tongue and sighs deeply. “I really didn’t want you to find out, but I’m guessing Jungkook hyung told you.”

“Why didn’t you want me to find out?” you ask, pushing your glasses further up your nose bridge.

“Why do you think, noona? You’re going to overreact, of course. It was just one time and it’s not like I’m the only one who does shit like that. Everyone does it too. Besides, Jungkook hyung already took care of it and Hybe too.” There is irritation in his voice and he doesn’t bother to hide it.

This makes you angry. “Overreact? I’m entitled to overreact about this, Jungwon. Do you realize the weight of your actions? You are not allowed to drink in the States until you’re 21 and you’re certainly not allowed to smoke fucking marijuana because you’re Korean! The law still applies to you even when you’re abroad. It’s a crime for you to even be holding it, Jungwon. What the hell? Just because everyone else is doing it doesn’t mean you have to do it too!”

“See, this is what I’m talking about. You know what, I’m not going to do this right now, noona. I have a busy schedule later and I’m—,”

“No,” you snap. “You’re staying here and we are going to talk about this. You have to understand the weight of your actions, Jungwon. What you did can land you in jail. What you did can ruin your career and you will never be able to recover from it. All the hard work and sacrifices you made to be where you are now—all of that will go to waste because of this. This is serious. Why the hell did you do it?”

Jungwon scoffs in disbelief, tilting his head to the side. “You know, you’ve done a pretty good job ignoring what I do in my personal life for the past couple of years, noona. Why the hell are you suddenly interested? Tell me, you’re not really worried about me, right? You’re about you and your fucking career.”

“That’s not true. Jungwon, I’ve not been ignoring you. Are you fucking serious right now? I worked my ass off for years for you! Because we only got each other in this goddamn world! Because someone has to step up and raise you otherwise you’ll just rot in foster care. Someone has to be the grown up!”

“Yeah? In your eyes, maybe. But have you stopped to look at it from my perspective? You made me feel like I was just some responsibility. I needed you to be my sister,” Jungwon clenches his jaw. “All those times you scolded me for not attending practices and taekwondo because I rather play with my friends, all those times you harshly critiqued me on my singing even when I know I did a good job but you didn’t want the others to see you favoring me, because you never thought I was enough, all those fucking times I came to you to tell you how hard it was being on that survival show, on being a trainee because you’re my sister and when you started dating Jungkook hyung—what did you do, noona?”

You feel your throat tightening and your eyes burning with tears. All the memories of those times he listed running through your mind. You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. Jungwon laughs emptily.

“You were supposed to tell me it’s fine I skip practices and taekwondo and play with my friends instead because it was so suffocating being in the practice studio all the time, you were supposed to tell me I did good when I did good and not hold back because you’re afraid of other people’s opinions of you, you were supposed to comfort me and tell me you might not understand what I’m going through but you believed in me because I’m your brother when I was on I-Land, and you were supposed to tell me first before anyone else that you’re dating my senior and not let me find out on the news. You were supposed to be my sister. Not my mother, not my producer. My sister.”

Both of you are crying, but Jungwon wipes his tears harshly with the sleeves of his hoodie. “You haven’t treated me like a brother for years. You don’t get to just decide on being a sister to me again because of this. You wanna know why I did it? It’s because I just wanna feel good even for one fucking second. I feel so fucking pressured to live up to your standards. I never—I never asked for any of this. I only became a trainee, became an idol because I thought, maybe, when I finally become one, you’ll finally notice me again. Maybe you’ll be proud to have me as your brother again. Maybe I’ll be good enough then for the great Yang Y/N.”

Your heart shatters. You place your hands on your chest, a fresh set of hot tears streaming down your face. “Jungwon, I-I’ve always been proud of you. Always.”

He shakes his head. “No, you haven’t.”

“I have,” you say, stepping closer to him but he backs away. “Jungwon, you’re my brother. I love you and I’m sorry I’ve not been the sister you needed. I don’t—,” you suck in a sharp shaky breath. “How can I make it up to you?”

“I don’t know,” he breathes out. “But just—just leave me alone.”

“Jungwon,” you call out but your brother’s already gone.

You find yourself standing in front of Jungkook’s front door. The security at his high-rise, gated condominium community easily let you in, knowing you were the idol at the penthouse’s girlfriend and because Jungkook had already informed them to let you pass through whenever you visited. It’s 4:18 am on your phone, a little over an hour since your conversation with Jungwon. While you were crying on the floor of your apartment, you suddenly remembered the deadline—Jungkook’s deadline—and you got up immediately to go to his house.

On the taxi ride to Jungkook’s, your mind replayed Jungwon’s words over and over again.

You made me feel like I’m just some responsibility. I needed you to be my sister. I never wanted any of this. I feel so fucking pressured to live up to your standards. Maybe you’ll be proud to have me as your brother again. Maybe I’ll be good enough then for the great Yang Y/N.

The heaviness you’re carrying in your chest is indescribable. The guilt of knowing you’re the reason he did those things and not because Jungkook or anyone else forced or manipulated him to—it’s intense. It’s you who caused this mess. It’s you who neglected your brother in the pursuit of making sure you stay together.

That’s what you promised your grandmother before she passed away when you were fourteen, three years after your own parents died in a car accident on the way to celebrate their thirteenth wedding anniversary. You promised her that you wouldn’t let anyone separate the two of you so at just the young age of fourteen, you were forced to leave all childhood pursuits behind and grow up. Whenever you weren’t at school, you were working part-time jobs to sustain yours and Jungwon’s needs. You stayed with a distant aunt, but you were determined to be his legal guardian the moment you turned 18.

So, when the opportunity for you to become a producer at BigHit at fifteen, you took it—packing everything in your hometown and moving to Seoul, temporarily leaving him. Then, at the age of thirteen, Jungwon moved to Seoul with you as a trainee. Looking back, you didn’t even stop to ask him if that was what he really wanted or if he even wanted to live in Seoul. You just took his word as it was and didn’t even question it.

You ruined your brother’s life; you just hope there is still time for you to fix it. To make amends. To be his sister again.

The familiar sound of his door unlocking rings in the silent hallway. Jungkook is the only one on this floor, given he lives at the very top of the building at the penthouse. You push the white door open, greeted by a corridor and an array of shoes and slippers on the shoe rack on the side. You take off your sneakers, place them neatly beside the rack and make your way down to the corridor to find Jungkook, his bare back facing you as he drinks something from his fridge. Black Calvin Klein boxers modestly cover his bottoms.

“I know I’m late, but I’ll do it, Jungkook,” you say. “I’ll marry you.”

“Like you said, you’re late. I already sent the photos to the Chief of the Seoul Police Department anonymously, of course,” Jungkook replies, turning to face you. He looks at you with disinterest in his eyes. “So you can leave now. You’ve made your choice and now you have to live with the consequences of it.”

Your heart sinks in your stomach. “Are you—Are you serious? Did you really send the pictures to the police?”

“You think I was bluffing the entire time?” Jungkook laughs. “You underestimate me, Y/N.”

This can’t be happening. You walk towards him over the counter. “Jungkook, please, don’t. He’s just a kid. Prison won’t do him any good and fuck—the public. Please. He’s already going through enough as it is. Please don’t let him go through this.”

“He’s twenty, Y/N. He knows what he’s doing,” Jungkook deadpans. “Leave. I’m sure you would want to be there once the police arrest Jungwon.”

“Jungkook, please,” you hold his arm, pleading. “I’m sorry, okay? For breaking up with you, for leaving you, for not appreciating your love and devotion to me. I’m sorry for everything. Please—punish me instead, hm? Leave my brother alone. Please.”

You don’t even know when you got on your knees while holding onto Jungkook’s arm and sobbing, head hanging low. “Please, Kook…”

Jungkook turns to face you, causing your arms to fall on your side. He lifts your head by your chin with his index and middle fingers and you stare at him through your oval shaped spectacles. He wipes your tears with his thumbs then grazes one over your lips, making you taste the salty liquid.

“You’re so pretty when you’re on your knees, begging, and crying, baby…” Jungkook trails, putting more pressure on your lips. “Things didn’t have to go this far if you just did everything I say, right?”

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Yes, you’re right.”

His lips twitch, but he stops himself from breaking into a smile. “Why do you have to be so stubborn, Y/N? It’s not a good trait to have when you become my wife.”

My wife. Those two words send shivers down your spine. “I-I won’t be s-stubborn anymore. Please don’t let them arrest Jungwon. He’s so young and he’s still got so much to live for.”

Jungkook hums. “Yeah? So, you’ll do everything I say from now on?”

You resign to your fate. “I will.”

“Then put this mouth to good use and suck my cock, you fucking slut.”

The switch is on. You take a deep breath, shutting your eyes as you grab the waistband of his boxers. He’s already hard and leaking with precum. Did he get turned on by you begging and crying on your knees? The thought repulses you, but you shake it away. This is your fate now.

His cock springs free from his boxers, and you wrap your hand around the base, before licking your lips, and wrapping it around his tip—slowly licking his precum while you jerk him off. You try to focus your mind elsewhere to make Jungkook feel that you want this. So, you settle on the times you actually wanted to suck his dick and make him feel good.

Jungkook gathers your hair in his hand, eyebrows furrowed as he looks down at you moving your pace in a quicker manner, swirling around your tongue on his tip, and length. He finds the sight of you sucking his cock while wearing those glasses incredibly hot.

Once you’ve adjusted your mouth to his side, you begin to deepthroat him, making Jungkook hiss in pleasure and tighten his grip around your hair, tugging on it as you go deeper every time.

“Look at me,” he orders. You look up at him while you continue to suck him. “Keep your eyes on me while I fuck your throat, okay?”

You nod and he smirks as he thrusts in your mouth once. You make another gag noise. Jungkook begins to relentlessly pound your mouth, throwing his head back in pleasure. You hold onto his muscular thighs, breathing through your nose as you close your eyes momentarily but Jungkook catches this and taps your cheek.

“Told you to keep your eyes on me, right? It’s like you’re asking to be fucked hard every damn time,” he says through gritted teeth.

So, his pace becomes faster. About a few more thrusts, Jungkook announces that he’s gonna cum but while you expected to swallow his cum like last time—Jungkook pulls away, jerks his cock with one hand while the other remains on your hair. He pulls your head back as his cum squirts all over your face.

The white liquid is all over your glasses and Jungkook wipes some on your lips using the tip of his cock.

“Just pretty,” he says as you hear a camera snap. “I think I’ll make this my new lockscreen.”

You feel humiliated and disgusted as he lets go of your hair and types something on his phone. You get up on your feet, take your glasses off and stare at it covered in Jungkook’s cum. You lick your lips and taste the salty substance. Jungkook then places his phone on the counter and wraps his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulders.

“I’m happy you’re finally back to your senses. I can’t wait to marry you, love.”

“Can I tell my brother first before announcing it to the public?” you ask, lowering your head as you fight the urge to cry. “I just don’t want him to find out on the news.”

“How are you going to do that? Jungwon doesn’t want anything to do with you. That’s why he left your apartment, right?” You stiffen at his remark. Jungkook chuckles. “Baby, did you really think I would keep my eyes off you even when you’re not with me? I love you. I love you so fucking much that the thought of you not anywhere near me makes me go crazy. So, I had to do it—I had to put cameras around your apartment to see you, to protect you, to know if you’re bringing some bastard home and then kill him before he can even scream for help. That’s how much I love you, Y/N. Who else is going to love you like I do?”

“Y/N noona! What are you doing here?” Sunoo, one of Jungwon’s members and friends, greets you with his infectious smile as he opens the door to their dormitory. “Come inside, please.”

“Thanks Sunoo,” you tell him with a smile as you take his offer and enter. Leaving your shoes at the doorway, you ask Sunoo, “Is Jungwon around? I was hoping I could talk to him.”

“Yes. He’s in our room. Would you like something to eat or drink, noona? Jay hyung is cooking something in the kitchen,” the dark-haired boy offers.

You reach their living room and sure enough, you smell something sweet in their air. “It’s okay, Sunoo. I don’t think I’ll stay long anyway. Is it through here?”

Sunoo nods. “Yes. Second door to the right.”

“Thank you,” you tell him before making your way down the short corridor and knocking on the second door to the right.

“Come in!” you hear Jungwon exclaim on the other side. You take a deep breath before opening the door and seeing him lying on one of the bunk beds, scrolling through his phone. “Is the food ready, hyu—Noona? What are you doing here?”

You give him a small smile, shutting the door behind you and remaining on the spot beside it, hands behind your back. “Is it okay if I talk to you? I have something I want to say.”

He sits on his bed, placing his phone beside him. “I don’t really want to talk, but since you’re here, what choice do I have?” His tone is harsh and irritated which you expected.

“I’ll make it quick then. I wanted to let you know before you see it on the news anywhere that Jungkook and I—we’re getting married. We’re engaged.”

His eyebrow furrowed deeply. “What? I thought you two aren’t together anymore.”

You inhale deeply, lips pressed tightly. “We got back together and now we’re engaged.”

“Why?” he asks, genuinely confused.

“Why not?” you quip, hoping to lighten the tension brewing between the two of you.

“I don’t know, noona, maybe because it’s marriage. It’s serious. Have you thought about this? Like really thought about this?”

“Yes, Jungwon. I have,” you say, hoping your tone is convincing enough—for your brother or for yourself is still up for debate. “It’s what I came here to tell you.”

Jungwon sighs deeply, shaking his head. “What the fuck.” You don’t blame him for his reaction. You watch as he runs his fingers through his hair then lifts his head to look at you. “When is the wedding then?”

You press your back against the cold wall behind you. “Not sure yet but it’s going to be within this year, for sure.”

He nods. “This doesn’t make any sense to me. How can you break up with someone, get back together with them, and then marry them?” He lets out a small laugh.

Your heart clenches and your eyes soften. “Jungwon,” you call out softly. “I’m sorry for everything. For not being a sister to you all these years. I just—I thought I was doing the right thing, but I never stopped to consider your true feelings about everything.”

He breathes in sharply, rising from his bed. “We’re not doing this here, noona.”

Your eyes shake as you bite your lower lip. “Please Jungwon? Please let me make it up to you.”

“How? By marrying my senior? Did you even stop to think about how this will affect not only me but the other members as well? It’s bad enough that you dated him, noona. We’re still suffering from hate because of your relationship. Jesus Christ, what the hell happened to you? How can you be so selfish all the fucking time, noona?”

Selfish. One word that stabs you over and over again the more it echoes in your mind.

“Leave. Now. I don’t want to speak to you ever again. I will be as professional as I can, but that’s all we’re ever going to be. Professionals. You’re not my sister anymore. We’re not family anymore. We’ve never been one in years anyway. From now on, just stay away from me unless it’s for work. I—,” Jungwon stops and then shakes his head one more time. “Just go, Y/N.”

BTS Jungkook and Yang Y/N are engaged

In an Instagram post uploaded by BTS member Jungkook, 26, he announced that he is engaged to his long-time girlfriend, producer Yang Y/N, 26.

“I fell in love with you the moment I met you and now, I can’t wait to fall in love with you more as my future wife and mother to our children,” The youngest BTS member said in the caption of his Instagram post featuring several photos of Yang and him throughout their years as a couple. “I am excited to begin this new chapter with you and to explore all remaining chapters until the end where we’re wrinkly and old, surrounded by the family we’ve made through the years.”

Jungkook also shares a message to his fans, ARMYs. “To ARMYs, I know this might come as a shock to you as I am the youngest in Bangtan, but for those who have been with me from the start, I’m sure you know that I’ve always been someone who wears my heart on my sleeve. I hope to have your love and support on this new journey in my life as you have always given me through the years.”

The ‘Seven’ singer ended his caption by thanking his fans, his members, and Yang Y/N. “Once again, thank you ARMYs, thank you to my hyungs, and thank you to Yang Y/N for accepting me as her partner for life.”

Jungkook and Yang Y/N have been together for four years before getting engaged. Yang serves as one of BTS’ producers, producing some of their songs including ‘Hold Me Tight’, ‘Fire’, ‘Ma City’, ‘Spring Day’, and their latest comeback ‘Run BTS’, among others. She has also worked on Jungkook’s solo album particularly on songs ‘Yes or No’ and ‘Seven.’

You don’t think you’ve seen this many people gathered in a hall. You’ve lost count on how many times you bowed and shook hands with the guests Jungkook invited to your engagement party and your face hurts from the fake smiles you’ve put on for everyone. From his family to his industry friends, to the executives of Hybe and those of his and Bangtan’s endorsements to all artists at the company, including your brother who is seated beside you, and staff of Hybe—it seems like everyone is here tonight.

Jungkook hasn’t let you out of his sight since the night began, always having his arm around your waist, tattooed hand placed conservatively on your hip or on your thigh when the two of you are sitting down. He’d constantly caress your thigh and place soft kisses on your cheek, behind your ear, on your shoulder, and even on your neck for everyone to see. He plays the doting fiance very well; the maniacal shadow is completely hidden tonight.

You don’t know how he managed to put this party together, but you’re not surprised either. What Jungkook wants, Jungkook gets. His persistence is unmatched, as you regretfully realized later rather than sooner.

It’s when Jungkook is suddenly whisked away by the CEO of Calvin Klein that you take the opportunity to excuse yourself, saying you need to use the restroom. Despite the warning state in your fiance’s eyes, you give him a small tight-lipped smile before making your way out of the hall and towards the stairs leading up to the rooftop of Hybe’s building—a sanctuary you go to whenever you feel the world on your shoulders. You grip on the railings tightly, hair blowing backwards by the chilly October air, creating goosebumps all over your body. You could hear your own heartbeat and feel the tightness of your chest as you take deep breaths to prevent yourself from spiraling into a panic attack. You don’t even remember the last time you experienced one, but when you’re finally alone—everything sinks in.

You’re getting married to Jeon Jungkook. Your own brother despises you. You’re completely on your own. The moment you walk down the aisle, you’re forever trapped in the insanity that is Jeon Jungkook. Suddenly, all the worst case scenarios plague your mind and your heartbeat races quickly more than ever before.

You should have seen the warning signs. It’s been there since the day Jungkook started showing his more than friends affection towards you. Hindsight is, indeed, twenty-twenty, and now you’re reaping the false belief you sowed about the man you once loved.

You should have known that his persistence and devotion in courting you after you rejected him for a multitude of reasons are not acts of love, but obsession. That his efforts from courting you—giving you your favorite flowers every single day, his good morning and good night texts, and planning your dates—were just acts of love bombing to exploit your already growing feelings for him.

And when you finally said yes and he announces your relationship to the public, despite your repeated protests that it was too soon—it wasn’t to show his fans, the public, the industry, and the entire world that he was proud to be in a relationship with you or to set a precedent in normalizing dating in the industry; it was to show them that you were his and his alone.

By the time your rose-colored glasses shattered, it was too late. You’ve already entered the lion’s den and there is no way out.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” At the sound of the familiar husky voice of Kim Woosung, you turn around, eyes wide, one hand tightly gripping the railing while the other placed over your right chest. His sharp features soften at the sight of your panicked state and he cautiously makes his way towards you. “Y/N? Is everything okay?”

You open your mouth, but the words don’t come out. Your entire body feels rigid. You want to cry, to scream, to run as fast as you can away from all of these—but you remain on your spot, mute. Woosung presses his lips as he now stands mere inches away from you. The smell of his favorite cologne fills your nostrils.

“You don’t have to say anything, but if you need a hug, if you need a friend, I’m right here, Y/N. I’m always going to be right here,” he tells you softly, meeting your wide gaze.

You want to reach out to him, to accept his offer of a hug, but you don’t want to take your chances. You don’t know how long you’ve been gone, but knowing Jungkook—even a minute is long enough. It’s only a matter of time before he goes out and find you. You cannot take the risk of him seeing you with another man, especially Woosung, someone he’s already voiced out he’s jealous of.

With that thought, you come back to your senses. You exhale deeply, licking your lower lips as you shake your head. “I-I’m fine, Woosung.”

“Okay,” he replies, nodding slowly. “I just saw you dashing out of the hall, looking frantic, and I got worried so I followed you out.”

“Yeah, I guess, um, I guess I just feel overwhelmed by all the people in there,” you say.

“I can see that. I didn’t even know you can fit that many people inside the hall,” Woosung chuckles, placing his hands on the cold railing. For a while, the two of you just stand in silence, letting the breeze and the bustling city below you fill in. Then, Woosung breaks it with a heartbreaking tone saying, “Don’t marry him, Y/N. Please don’t.”

You’d be a fool not to admit that since you met Woosung three years ago through Yoongi, you’d been oblivious to his affections for you. He wasn’t exactly subtle about it, but he was also respectful of your relationship with Jungkook that he didn’t try to impose himself on you. Then, when you broke up with Jungkook, he took the chance to finally confess his feelings for you.

Woosung is the complete opposite of Jungkook. He’s gentle, he’s kind, he respects you and your boundaries, he makes you laugh, he makes you feel secure, and his affection towards you doesn’t feel suffocating. A walking green flag, as they call it these days, and in another life where you have the freedom to choose who to love—you’ll love him. But alas, this is your life now.

“Woosung, please don’t,” you breathe out, hanging your head low as you shake it. “I’m going to marry Jungkook.”

“You don’t love him, Y/N. I know you. I see you. You don’t love him because why would you be here if you do?” Woosung points out, his tone remaining level. He’s not one to raise his voice; he’s always calm and composed. Another thing that makes him different from Jungkook.

“Woosung, let’s go back. Let’s not talk about this anymore,” you say as you turn around and make your way to the door.

“Marry me instead,” he declares behind you. You stop on your tracks, breath hitches. “If it’s marriage you want, marry me instead, Y/N.”

You look at him over your shoulder. He’s standing in the same spot, but facing you with the moonlight and fluorescent lights shining on his honest and genuine face. You take him all in with your eyes—dressed in a pair of black pants, shoes, satin dress shirt, and a black coat over it. His hair’s longer now, but still black and messy. A silver necklace adorns his neck and through his unbuttoned top, the tip of his cross tattoo on his chest is peeking.

You shake your head.

He takes a deep breath as he slips his hands in his pockets, tilting his head to the side as he shuts his eyes. Then, he nods as he traces the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Alright. I understand. But Y/N, can you just—can you look me in the eye and tell me marrying him, being with him is what you really want? Can you do that for me and I swear, I’ll let go of all my feelings for you by the time the sun rises tomorrow. But if there’s even a slight doubt, please be with me instead.”

“I don’t deserve you, Woosung. I’m sorry. I can’t,” you tell him.

“What are we doing here?” you ask Jungkook two weeks later. It’s late at night, past midnight, and you’re being led to the back of Ignorantia, a club at Gangnam which you know Jungkook is an investor of, followed by several of his bodyguards. He’s dressed in a black dress shirt with yellow floral prints on it, black jeans, and his signature black boots.

“I told you, I wanna show you something, baby,” Jungkook replies, looking over his shoulder to flash you a smile.

Eyebrows scrunched, you decide not to say anything more until you reach the end of the corridor and one of Jungkook’s bodyguards opens the door. “After you, mi lady,” your fiance chuckles, feigning chivalry by lowering himself as he extends his arm out toward the room.

The moment you enter the room, your entire body is coated with unprecedented fear. Tied to a metal chair, bloody and bruised, is none other than Kim Woosung. The door behind you slams shut, making you jump, and with frantic eyes, you turn to Jungkook. “What is going on here?” you ask.

At the sound of your voice, from the corner of your eyes, you see Woosung lift his head—albeit painfully. You don’t wait for Jungkook’s answer and rush to Woosung’s side, kneeling in front of him as tears pool your eyes at the sight of his beaten up self. But Woosung being Woosung, he plasters a small smile on his bloody lips. One of his eyes is already swollen shut, but you know he’s looking at you.

“I’m sorry, Woosung…” It’s all you can say, shaking your head as you stand on your feet, wiping your tears with the back of your hands. “Stop this. He hasn’t done anything to deserve this, Jungkook.”

Jungkook’s expression remains cold and stoic. He’s standing a few feet across from you and Woosung, hands deep in his pockets. “He brought it upon himself the moment he asked you to marry him instead and you considered.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I’m marrying you! For fuck’s sake, Jungkook, this has gone way too far. Stop this insanity already. You’re hurting innocent people!”

“Trying to take another person’s belonging doesn’t make you innocent,” Jungkook hisses, pulling his sleeves up to his elbows. His bodyguard hands him something metal and you watch as he slips on the brass knuckles in both his hands. “I know none of us here are Catholics, but since he’s got that cross tattooed on his chest, maybe Woosung knows to some degree that one of the Ten Commandments is thou shalt not steal, am I right, Woosung?”

Jungkook begins to walk towards the weak Woosung and you step in front of him, breathing heavily. “Jungkook, don’t do this. He’s done nothing wrong. Fuck, please, just let him go. You already have me. What more do you want?”

“I want this fucker to know that you’re mine and I want you to fucking carve it in your head that you’re mine!” he bellows. “Now step away. This is the last time I’m asking nicely.”

When you refuse, Jungkook pushes you aside, making you land on the floor. This triggers Woosung to muster whatever strength he had left to let out an animalistic growl before prancing at Jungkook only for the latter’s brass knuckles hit his face. You scream for Jungkook to stop, but his bodyguard traps you with his strong arms, and you’re forced to watch as Jungkook mercilessly lands punch after punch at Woosung’s face and body.

“Fuck!” Jungkook yells as he lands one final punch at Woosung’s face which you don’t even recognize anymore before stepping away from him, panting. He faces you—Woosung’s blood covering his face and with a maniacal smile plastered on his lips. He drops the brass knuckles on the floor then he gives a signal to his bodyguard to let you go.

Once you’re out of the bodyguard’s grip, you lunge at Jungkook and repeatedly hit him while sobbing, screaming all profanities that you can think of. He doesn’t stop you and let you hit him wherever you want. Then, the exhaustion takes over and you fall on your knees before him.

“I’m done playing nice. I guess being nice doesn’t really get you the respect you deserve. How naive of me,” Jungkook says after a while. He lowers himself to meet your eyes. He grabs your face and forces his lips on you. You push him away, slapping him as you taste Woosung’s blood on your lips. A lopsided smirk appears on his lips. “Jo, can you bring our other friend inside? I think it’s time for Y/N’s punishment.”

“Yes, Mr. Jeon.”

Moments later, you perk up at the sound of a very familiar voice echoing in the room. You stand, heart sinking in your stomach as you see Jungwon with his hands tied behind his back and duct tape around his mouth. A gun is pressed against his temple. His eyes are wide and terrified, and once they meet yours, a muffled sound comes out of his taped mouth. You believe he said ‘Noona!’ Jungwon struggles against Jo’s grip and Jungkook traps you in his.

His hot breath fans over your ear as he whispers, “Time to choose, Y/N. Which one would you rather save? Jungwon, the brother who has already disowned you? Or Woosung, the man who loves you? You can’t have both—that’s just the rule of the world, my love.”

“Why are you doing this?” you sob, shaking your head.

“Because you need to learn who is in control,” he tells you. “Because you need to learn what happens when you so much as think of another man other than me. Because I want to be the only one you think about. And frankly, because it’s fun. Seeing you cry, begging for mercy—it makes me so hard, don’t you feel it?”

You, unfortunately, do feel his erection. It makes your stomach churn. “Then please stop this, Jungkook. Don’t make me choose. Let them go and I will be the perfect wife to you. I will do everything—quit my job, move wherever with you, do everything you want me to do. I’ll live the rest of my life being devoted to you and you alone.”

He hums in your ear, pressing his clothed hard cock more in your ass. “That sounds lovely. But you still need to choose otherwise both of them will die tonight.”

“No, no, no, please. Please don’t make me do this,” you beg.

Jungkook begins counting down. “Ten, nine, eight, seven…”

“Stop! Please! Don’t!” you thrash in his grip as he continues counting.

“Six, five, four, three…”

You break. “Two—,”

“Jungwon! I choose Jungwon,” you exclaim, limping against Jungkook’s chest.

“Good girl,” Jungkook whispers in your ear, placing a kiss on your earlobe. “Come here, baby. Time for you to act out your choice.”

Jungkook turns you to Woosung’s beaten body on the floor. He’s still breathing, seeing his chest rising. You don’t know if he heard you choose Jungwon over him and the thought is too much to bear. No matter how goodness he has in his heart, would he be able to forgive you for your decision? Jungkook places a gun in your hand; the coldness of it makes you jump. He chuckles, wrapping his hand around yours on the handle before he guides you to point it at Woosung.

Behind, Jungwon is screaming.

“You just need to pull the trigger, baby, and everything will go back to the way it was. Remember, if you don’t do this now, it’s Jungwon’s funeral.”

“Y/N…” Woosung manages to croak out as he coughs out blood.

“Sung…” you call out, sobbing once more. “S-Sorry… Sung…”

“I l-love y—,”

Bang! You scream at the loud sound that echoes through the room and Woosung is no more.

Growing up, you never really pictured or imagined how your wedding would look like. You didn’t even think about getting married in the first place, having been exposed early on to the harsh realities of life, and forced to enter the workforce when you were only fifteen to make ends meet. Your life revolved around work, Jungwon, more work, and more Jungwon. Now, as you stare at yourself wearing a custom made traditional Vera Wang white satin tube wedding gown with a long veil trailing behind you, and holding a bouquet of baby’s breath and white roses, you’re overwhelmed with the implications of what is about to come.

Today, you’re marrying Jungkook in front of hundreds of people inside a huge garden and more people watching in the comfort of their own home because Jungkook allowed for the ceremony to be broadcasted nationwide and internationally as witnesses to your holy matrimony. In a few minutes, you’ll be walking down the aisle with your brother by your side and your fate will be ultimately sealed in front of the thousands of people watching the ceremony. Suddenly, the rest of your life flashes before your eyes.

A life of loneliness, isolation, servitude to Jungkook and all his needs. You’ll no longer be Yang Y/N, the music producer. You’ll now be Yang Y/N, Jeon Jungkook’s wife. A decade of hard work and sacrifices down the drain—all because you let yourself naively walk a lion’s den. Not only that, you also got an innocent’s blood on your hands.

Five months had passed since that night and yet the memories are still as vivid as if it’s only yesterday that you pulled the trigger that ended Woosung’s life. Woosung, the man who loved you unconditionally. Woosung, the man who loved you until his dying breath. You can still hear his voice in your head at times, still get flashes of the image of his face—both the ones where he was smiling and alive and the one where he was beaten to a pulp and ultimately killed with a gunshot.

No one besides you, Jungwon, Jungkook’s bodyguards, and Jungkook himself know the real reason why Kim Woosung is dead. Jungkook’s connection ran deep with the police that until now, his death was still unsolved, a speck of dust in the myriad of cold cases in the district of Seoul. He had forced you and Jungwon to attend the funeral and it fucked you and your brother up, watching as his parents, especially his mother, broke down at the fate her son suffered.

It didn’t help that his mother went to you and told you Woosung had spoken so highly of you every time, both as a friend, a colleague, and a person. You threw up afterwards. Jungwon, on the other hand, was traumatized. He formed night terrors, having to go in an indefinite hiatus from his group activities and be checked into a psychiatric facility for attempting suicide.

It’s only now, on your wedding day, that he’s been given permission from his psychiatrist to be let out. His nurse keeps an eye out on him the entire time along with a security guard in case he tries to kill himself or escape. You know they’re appointed by Jungkook, but fortunately, they are far enough for you and your brother to have some privacy.

“You don’t have to do this, noona,” Jungwon whispers as he stands beside you. He’s dressed in a black suit, hair neatly styled, showing off his handsome features. He significantly lost weight; you can easily tell by his hollow cheeks. “You can run. We can run. We can go abroad and tell the truth to the public.”

“I’m afraid this is the only way, Won,” you say, hanging your head low. “He’s got eyes and ears everywhere. There’s no place in the world that we can go and hide. He’ll find us eventually and we’ll be doomed.”

“But you can’t stay with him too,” Jungwon is desperate, terrified now. “Noona, he—he killed Woosung hyung.” His tone is barely above whisper when he says those words.

“I know,” you reply. Then, you lift your head and smile at him, wrapping your arm around his shoulder. “Don’t worry about me, okay? I’ll be fine. I’m going to be alright. Just focus on you, okay?”

He suddenly hugs you, burying his face in the crook of your neck like he always did when he was little. You hug him back just as tight, squeezing your eyes tight. You don’t want to think that this may be the last time you’ll get to be this close to Jungwon, but your gut says otherwise. So, you take all of him in and hope that he feels all your love, all your apologies, all your care at that moment.

“I love you, noona. I’m sorry for being a bad brother.”

You shake your head. “No, you’re not. I’m sorry for not being the sister you needed.”

“No, noona—,”

“No, Jungwon, I recognize it now. Everything you said that night—how I scolded you for not practicing with the other trainees and attending your taekwondo lessons, for never saying you did well even when you did because I didn’t want the others to see me as being biased, for not telling you Jungkook and I were dating, for being everything but a sister to you, I’m sorry. I failed you, Won, I’m sorry.”

“Noona, please, I don’t want you to die,” he cries. “He’ll kill you, I just know it. He’s done it before.”

“Shh, I won’t let him. I’ll stay alive, so please promise me that you will, too, okay Won?” You hold his face in your hands and he nods. “We’ll get out. Someday. I’ll get us out.”

“Ms. Yang, we’re ready for you.”

You nod at the assistant of the wedding planner. Then, you and Jungwon follow her out of the hotel room you’re staying at, then ride the elevator down to the VIP parking where the white Mercedes-Benz bridal car is waiting for you. Immediately after stepping inside, the driver drives toward the wedding venue. All the time, Jungwon holds your hand. There are no more words spoken between the two of you, aware of the prying eyes and ears. The drive isn’t that long and soon, you find yourself at the entrance of the grand garden—where fans and media gather behind the barricades. Upon seeing the bridal car, they erupt into a frenzy.

You meet your brother’s eyes and squeeze his hand. Trust me, you want to say, and hope your eyes are expressive enough to let him know. He nods and he steps outside the vehicle. He helps you out afterwards, and all you hear are the screams and the resounding echo of the media’s frenzied camera shots.

The assistant leads you and Jungwon up the stairs. Then, she instructs you both to smile, bow, and wave at the fans and media outside before continuing your way upstairs. There’s a courtyard that you pass through before you reach the door where everyone is waiting for you.

“We have arrived. Stand by in two minutes while we retouch the makeup of the bride and her brother,” the assistant speaks through her microphone. Once the makeup artists are finished retouching yours and Jungwon’s make up, she gives the signal that you’re ready, and you hear the familiar melodies of the traditional wedding march. “Ms. Yang, Mr. Yang, you may enter.”

You tighten your grip around Jungwon’s arm and he holds your hand as the doors open, revealing the vast sea of people on either side of the aisle. With each step, you see familiar and unfamiliar faces of people. There are the Hybe artists, seniors and juniors, the executives, Bangtan’s staff since their debut, Bangtan themselves, some of Jungkook’s industry friends—Jung Jaehyun, Cha Eunwoo, Kim Yugyeom, Bambam—his parents, few close relatives, his brother and his wife. Most of them, however, are strangers to you.

You don’t even realize that you and Jungwon are walking slower than the beat. At that moment, only the two of you are in sync. Neither of you wanted to reach the end of the aisle where your groom is waiting dressed impeccably in a custom made three-piece Louis Vuitton black and white suit, dark long hair slicked back, piercings on. There is no denying his god-like beauty as he stands tall and proud at the altar; beside him is Yoongi, his best man. His dark eyes watch your every move. His gaze is the only one you can feel on you.

You know he’s challenging you. Walk slower, he probably thinks. You’ll end up beside me anyway. And you did. You reach the altar and Jungkook takes your arm from Jungwon whom he also gives a hug and a firm handshake. You don’t fail to notice Jungwon’s rigid reaction. Jungkook doesn’t care and he wraps your arm around his as he leads you to the center of the aisle where a priest awaits to officiate the wedding—or to you, your lifelong sentence.

The beginning of the ceremony is a blur to you. The priest went on about how sacred marriage and how everyone is gathered to witness your union. Then, the vows come. One of the staff of the wedding planner hands Jungkook a microphone as you face each other. He pulls out a piece of folded paper from the inside pocket of his coat, unfolds it, clears his throat, and begins his vow.

“Y/N, the first time I met you was when we were fifteen years old. I had just debuted and you came to BigHit as a producer. At that moment, I knew you were the one,” Jungkook smiles at you. “But I was too scared to make a move, partly because we were just starting out our careers and dating was a no-no; mostly because I thought I wouldn’t have the chance. You were smart, beautiful, responsible, independent, and work was your life. But the more we got closer, as producer and singer, as people, as friends, my feelings for you just grew.”

He continues. “Then, five years later, I finally had the courage to tell you how I feel, and I won’t lie—when you turned me down, I was heartbroken. I thought all the pain I felt before was incomparable to how I felt when you told me you couldn’t be with me. But as most of the people here know, I’m a very persistent and determined man. I wanted to show you that my love for you was sincere and deep so I did everything to get that ‘yes’ from you. And my god, I was the happiest man in the universe when you finally said that and in the best way you know how—by saying it through a song.”

“I know the beginning of our relationship isn’t easy for the both of us. Back then, it felt like the entire world was against us. But I wanted to thank you for staying despite the despites, for choosing me. Thank you for loving me.”

“Now that we’re starting the next chapter of our lives together, I vow to always love you seven days a week,” the crowd erupts in laughter and he cheekily sends them a smile. “I vow to be with you wherever you are, to be completely and utterly devoted to you for the rest of my life. I vow to be the best husband to you and father to our children. I vow to always be by your side and for you to always have my heart. Y/N, love, I vow to be yours until the end of time.”

Your heart feels like it’s about to burst. You know the guests are probably eating up every single one of his words, interpreting them as ‘sweet’ or some shit like that, but all you can think of is how calculated every word he is. How every word is not a vow or a promise, but a threat.

When it’s your turn to say your vows, you read what he wrote. Every word feels heavy on your tongue. But nothing is as heavy as the next words you’re about to speak.

“Do you, Jeon Jungkook, take Yang Y/N to be your lawfully wedded wife? To love and cherish her in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer, for better for worse, and forsaking all others, keep yourself only unto her, for so long as you both shall live?

He wastes no time to answer. “I do.”

The priest turns to you. “And do you, Yang Y/N, take Jeon Jungkook to be your lawfully wedded husband? To love and cherish her in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer, for better for worse, and forsaking all others, keep yourself only unto her, for so long as you both shall live?”

Your chest rises heavily. The priest waits on your answer. You can feel Jungkook’s eyes burning holes on you.

“I do.”

“You may now kiss the bride,” the priest happily announces.

You and Jungkook face each other and he takes the veil off your face. He places his warm hands on your face and just before he places his lips on yours, a ghostly smirk appears on it. Then, he seals your fate with a kiss. The crowd erupts in cheer. You are now Jeon Jungkook’s wife.

━━ “You wrap around me and you give me life.” END

All Rights Reserved. © cupofjeon. 2024. The author does not allow any translation, repost, modification, and the likes for any of her stories. Do not plagiarize. Once again, the author does not condone this type of behavior. Feel free to send your thoughts here. See you in the next fic!

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dazaiandhislovelybandages · 2 days

Note

15. "I'll keep kissing you." "Until you're sick of it?" "Until I can't think of anything else but you." For Gojo? Like s/o was feeling insecure if he really wants to date her but this is how he reassures her that he loves her dearly?

Quite The Romantics {Gojo Satoru}

A/n: thank you for requesting, I hope you like the outcome

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x fem! reader

Trigger warnings: mentions of self-doubt, insecurities and overall angst, implied sexual activity

Being in a relationship with the strongest sorcerer alive was easy. The late night calls that signalled missions, him worrying about his students, the higher ups... everything was manageable. It helped that you were also a sorcerer so you knew what the dangers were and Gojo didn't have to keep things a secret in order to protect you.

Being in a relationship with the most handsome man you've ever seen was not easy. It had been a mutual agreement to keep things lowkey and so far it had been fine. The students knew about you two and they were fully supportive and excited when they saw the two of you together inside the school grounds but things were not so simple outside of campus.

Gojo and you didn't share a home, yet at least since he had been pestering you for a month to move in with him; having a huge and luxurious apartment always had its perks. So when it came to dates there were only two options: either Gojo would pick you up or you would meet him at the date spot.

With your line of work, the latter was what usually worked best.

Tonight's date had been marvellous. From the food to the music to the view, you had to hand it to him; Gojo Satoru had taste. And even after the date, when the two of you returned to his place... everything was perfect. Perfect apart from one thing.

"Where's your little mind travelling?" Gojo returned from the bathroom, grey sweatpants on and a white towel on his head. The usual scent of sex had now been replaced by the smell of his body lotion and shampoo: roses.

You were a little hesitant to reply and in your mind it was only natural. Who wouldn't be nervous when the love of their life was asking them what is going?

"Oh no!" He plopped next to you on the bed, a small smirk on his face. "Can I guess?" He nuzzled his face in the crook of your head, his arm already wrapped around your waist.

"Go on." You sighed and turned on your side, facing him. Something about the way he hugged you felt comforting and you knew he knew it. It was a small trick Gojo always had up his sleeve that not even he knew how he had found out.

"Is it about the girl that came up to me while I was waiting for you at the restaurant? Don't be shy with me honey." He giggled. That bastard knew what he was doing and your silence wasn't helping your case. "I knew it." He pulled away from you with a smile.

You didn't want to admit it. Mostly because you were confident in yourself and in your relationship with him. But there were times when you could see other people flirting with him and something in you broke. You weren't nearly as confident as him, nor that much of an outgoing person and your ego was in normal levels. So what was stopping him from breaking up with you to find someone else?

Being in a relationship with Gojo Satoru only had perks. Gojo knew you better than anyone. He knew how to make you laugh, how to make you moan, how to make you stop crying. He also knew how to touch and kiss you.

"What are you doing?" You tried pushing him away but he was strong and he wasn't letting go of you. Pushing him away, especially when laughing at the same time, was never easy and you knew it, but you still did it anyway. Not because you wanted him away from you but because you wanted to piss him off.

"I'm kissing you." He laughed, placing another small peck on your collarbone before travelling up to your neck and then your cheeks and then your mouth.

"Haven't you kissed me enough already?"

"I'll keep doing it, I don't care."

"Until you're sick of it?"

"Until I know you know I can't think of anything else but you."

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thatscarletflycatcher · 1 day

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Thinking again about the darknesses that lurk underneath the surface of Sense and Sensibility (I have talked before about how Edward despite being the eldest is subjected to what we can argue is emotional and financial abuse by his family for years, and how the Dashwood women are disinherited on a whim of their great uncle), and this time specifically about the Brandons.

We get so little about them, and what we do get about them is all bad:

This lady was one of my nearest relations, an orphan from her infancy, and under the guardianship of my father... At seventeen she was lost to me for ever. She was married—married against her inclination to my brother. Her fortune was large, and our family estate much encumbered. And this, I fear, is all that can be said for the conduct of one, who was at once her uncle and guardian. My brother did not deserve her; he did not even love her... I have never told you how this was brought on. We were within a few hours of eloping together for Scotland. The treachery, or the folly, of my cousin’s maid betrayed us. I was banished to the house of a relation far distant, and she was allowed no liberty, no society, no amusement, till my father’s point was gained... My brother had no regard for her; his pleasures were not what they ought to have been, and from the first he treated her unkindly.

Mr Brandon Sr is shown to us as being a greedy man, a bad administrator of his estate, and a cruel father. His first son seems cut of the same cloth, and his pleasures were not what they ought to have been is one of the most, if not the most sinister line between all the Austen novels. But there's more about him!:

Her legal allowance was not adequate to her fortune, nor sufficient for her comfortable maintenance, and I learnt from my brother that the power of receiving it had been made over some months before to another person. He imagined, and calmly could he imagine it, that her extravagance, and consequent distress, had obliged her to dispose of it for some immediate relief.

The Brandons were married for two years; the colonel returns to England and starts looking for her 3 years later. Young Eliza was then a 3 year old toddler. We are obliquely told that Brandon cut all ties with his brother:

It was a valued, a precious trust to me; and gladly would I have discharged it in the strictest sense, by watching over her education myself, had the nature of our situations allowed it; but I had no family, no home; and my little Eliza was therefore placed at school. I saw her there whenever I could, and after the death of my brother, (which happened about five years ago, and which left to me the possession of the family property,) she visited me at Delaford.

Eliza is now 17, so the eldest brother died when she was 14, which is 16 years after his marriage with the older Eliza. In that period of time, he managed to squander the whole of her fortune, and put the estate in debt again, as we are told earlier on by Mrs Jennings:

Poor man! I am afraid his circumstances may be bad. The estate at Delaford was never reckoned more than two thousand a year, and his brother left everything sadly involved. I do think he must have been sent for about money matters, for what else can it be? I wonder whether it is so. I would give anything to know the truth of it. Perhaps it is about Miss Williams and, by the bye, I dare say it is, because he looked so conscious when I mentioned her. May be she is ill in town; nothing in the world more likely, for I have a notion she is always rather sickly. I would lay any wager it is about Miss Williams. It is not so very likely he should be distressed in his circumstances now, for he is a very prudent man, and to be sure must have cleared the estate by this time. I wonder what it can be! May be his sister is worse at Avignon, and has sent for him over. His setting off in such a hurry seems very like it. Well, I wish him out of all his trouble with all my heart, and a good wife into the bargain.”

We know the Bennets, with five daughters, and without a saving mindset, still manage to live very comfortably with 2000 a year, and if they had had any mind to save money, they could have provided all five of them with decent dowries/money enough to keep them out of poverty when their father died if they were single. It is clearly not that the money isn't enough, or that Delaford is an unproductive estate; in fact, it is described to us as almost paradisiac:

Delaford is a nice place, I can tell you; exactly what I call a nice old fashioned place, full of comforts and conveniences; quite shut in with great garden walls that are covered with the best fruit-trees in the country; and such a mulberry tree in one corner! Lord! how Charlotte and I did stuff the only time we were there! Then, there is a dove-cote, some delightful stew-ponds, and a very pretty canal; and every thing, in short, that one could wish for; and, moreover, it is close to the church, and only a quarter of a mile from the turnpike-road, so ’tis never dull, for if you only go and sit up in an old yew arbour behind the house, you may see all the carriages that pass along. Oh! ’tis a nice place! A butcher hard by in the village, and the parsonage-house within a stone’s throw. To my fancy, a thousand times prettier than Barton Park, where they are forced to send three miles for their meat, and have not a neighbour nearer than your mother.

One interesting character, though forgotten because only mentioned in passing, is the Brandon sister. On one of the quotes above we get that she's in Avignon for her health, and we know her husband is wealthy (and probably abroad with her) because it is his estate that the planned picnic is for:

A party was formed this evening for going on the following day to see a very fine place about twelve miles from Barton, belonging to a brother-in-law of Colonel Brandon, without whose interest it could not be seen, as the proprietor, who was then abroad, had left strict orders on that head. The grounds were declared to be highly beautiful, and Sir John, who was particularly warm in their praise, might be allowed to be a tolerable judge, for he had formed parties to visit them, at least, twice every summer for the last ten years. They contained a noble piece of water; a sail on which was to form a great part of the morning’s amusement; cold provisions were to be taken, open carriages only to be employed, and every thing conducted in the usual style of a complete party of pleasure.

It is implied that Brandon and his BIL are in very good terms (and we know he's not afraid of cutting ties with bad relatives), and one can safely guess that at the very least he cares enough about his wife as to have her travel for her health. Another guess can be made about her getting married about 10 years before the events of the book. Whether she lived at home before that, or was at school or somewhere else, it isn't said.

But this way you can feel there's a parallel in a way, between the Brandons and the Tilneys: a greedy, cruel father, a son that follows on his steps, and a younger brother and sister managing the toxicity as best they can. Talking about this with @bad-at-names-and-faces, she brought up the idea that in that scheme, Cathy would be Eliza (if it wasn't her not being an orphan, or a rich heiress, and how that connects with Austen's line about Cathy not being born to be a heroine at the beginning of Northanger Abbey). Certainly part of it is the romantic gothicness of the Brandon backstory, united with NA's commentary on Gothic tropes, but to me it drove home with even greater force how such a situation would break a man; losing Cathy that way would have definitely broken Tilney, and if we had met him 14 years down the line, would he have appeared to the unacquainted much different than Brandon appeared to the Dashwood sisters?

#jane austen #sense and sensibility #Northanger Abbey #colonel brandon #Henry Tilney #these are the spaces in the novel where you can see how Austen's craft evolved and changed #The mystery about Brandon's past works well in the context of keeping the surprises and the twists coming #but it doesn't lend itself easily to relate to the character and understand him properly #which I somewhat delusionally hold onto hope that it would have come across much better in the original epistolary form #Austen is kind of trying to pack a Wuthering Heights size and Tenant introspection levels story #into one and fractions of infodumps within her comedy of manners #And that's really A LOT to put on the plate of your first novel

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navstuffs · 7 hours

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About Tradition and Responsibility

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x WifeF!Reader

Summary: You, a non-Jujutsu sorcerer, married the Gojo Satoru. After having your first child, the higher-ups demand to meet you and your first born son.

Warning tags: protective!Satoru, tiny angst if you squint, non-jujutsu sorcerer reader, no y/n usage

Author's Notes: hiii, i wrote this based on my own post, having one of my favorite tropes (protectiveness)! this might have a second part i haven't wrote yet, we shall see. enjoy your reading!

You keep your head down, trying to focus on the peaceful expression of the baby in your arms, your first newborn son, Kotaro. He is perfect, from his white curls to his tiny toes. You can't help but give him a small smile, your hands gripping his little body, promising silently to always protect him from any harm in the world. You feel so much love for your son that it is difficult to understand anyone who could find his existence wrong due to one ridiculous minuscule detail: when Kotaro opens his eyes, they are your eye color. Not your husband's vivid, ethereal blue eyes.

Because of that, Kotaro Gojo is considered a waste of time—almost a mistake, but no one would dare say that in front of you or his father.

The door in front of you opens, and an older lady announces that the elders are ready to see you. You get up from the bench, bringing Kotaro closer to your chest.

It is finally time to face your curses.

-x-

When Gojo Satoru decided to marry a non-jujutsu user, the higher-ups thought it was a joke. A good one especially coming from Gojo, who was known to do anything to piss off the hierarchy of the Jujutsu world, as if Satoru's whole existence wasn't on top of all that, as if any of those ancient and outdated men had anything to complain about the woman he chose as his wife.

However, when Gojo decided to proceed with this marriage, most were still shocked. They never thought Gojo would marry anyone, so soon, interest spiked in the mysterious woman he decided to marry.

You wish you could tell your first meeting with the strongest sorcerer had been something glorious, but no. It was in your small candy shop, the one passed down to you by your parents from their parents. On a rainy day, that strange tall man with white bandages and white hair entered, sniffing the air like a hound dog. Gojo insisted on buying all the sweets you had on display, and instead of leaving, heard you explain how you made each of them, fascinated.

After that day, Satoru started appearing daily, buying all the sweets on display by the end of the day. Gojo always mentioned he first fell in love with your cooking, but you didn't know when exactly you fell in love with him. Maybe it was the comfort of having someone understand those sudden chills around your body as if something had been watching you until Satoru entered the shop. He never found that weird at all.

At first, Gojo kept you away as best as he could. You could sense curses with a chill in your body but couldn't see them (a blessing, for what Gojo described sometimes). And since you met your now-future-husband, as powerful as you could remotely grasp he was, Gojo was also the silliest and most annoying man you ever met. If you got upset with something he did for any reason, he would not leave you alone until you reassured him you weren't mad anymore. On top of that, Satoru was easily manipulated with sweets. Again, a big grown baby.

He never shared the consequences of what it meant to marry him. The letters started coming two months after the marriage, with your name on them, presenting themselves as chairpeople of the Jujutsu Sorcerers, and they were eager to meet you whenever you could. Gojo always told you to ignore those letters, throw them in the trash, and burn them if you wanted.

Then Kotaro was born. It had been a normal pregnancy, with the usual sickness in the morning and mood swings, but at least your baby was born healthy. You couldn't be happier, and Gojo couldn't be happier. The baby not having the same blue eyes didn't concern your husband, reassuring you that everything was fine.

Until it wasn't: the letter that made you come into this meeting with the elders without your husband's knowledge had a clear underlying threat in those polite words: You were to bring Kotaro for them to look at, or they would be forced to bring you in. Gojo had shielded you from this for far too long.

As soon as you enter the oval room, you notice the covers: you can't see any faces, but you are sure all stares are on you and your baby. Kotaro rubs his face against your chest, and you bring him closer, shielding him from their judgmental glances.

"Come forward." A masculine voice demands.

You walk in the middle of the room and stop. No one speaks.

"You wanted to see me?" You ask, surprised your voice isn't trembling. You wonder if they can hear your heart exploding in your chest.

"Yes. We never had the chance to meet with the wife of Gojo Satoru; he has kept you hidden for a long time."

"I am sure he had his reasons."

"Not that it matters who Gojo Satoru decided to marry, but his decisions impact the Jujutsu World, wanting or not." An older voice speaks, clearly angry with your disobedience.

"And who would stop him from making those decisions?" You question, trying to sound courteous but instead sounding resentful. Satoru has told you about these higher-ups: focused on their old ways, not allowing anything that disturbs their way. Only their way is correct. Tradition. Anything that breaks from the fine formal line should be eliminated. "No one can stop Gojo Satoru from doing what he wants. As his wife, I should be the first one to know."

Silence. You breathe deeply, part of you still fearful of what is about to come. They have yet to speak about Kotaro, so you dread the inevitable moment. Now, something deep inside of you screams you should have told Satoru. What if you walked straight into a trap?

"Your child." A third voice speaks, and the whole atmosphere of the room seems to change when he mentions your son. You grip Kotaro's small body again, ready for what will come. "He does not possess the same eyes as his father, as we can see."

"So? It is not like every single member of the clan was born with six eyes." You ask defiantly.

"Of course not," The man snickers. "But this is Gojo Satoru's son. Haven't you thought about the consequences of having a child with a man like that?"

"Satoru keeps us safe! And if he isn't here, I keep my child safe. Never underestimate the love a mother has for her child."

"There is no doubt in a mother's love for her child. There is also no doubt that some might carry a heavy hatred for Gojo Satoru. If, for some reason, you were caught vulnerable…"

"What? What are you talking about?" Your voice shakes a little, but you keep yourself steady. For Kotaro.

"Many curses and even sorcerers have hidden and disappeared because of Gojo. Many fear him. When your husband was born, he altered the balance of our world. If there is an even remote possibility Gojo can't defend himself or, even worse, if you get pregnant again and this baby comes with six eyes…we can't even imagine how bad it would be the repercussions." The tone of false concern disgusts you. Sensing your uneasiness, Kotaro starts whining, and you start rocking him.

You are not stupid. Those men didn't care about you or your baby's safety. They wanted six eyes that they could control, nothing else, nothing more. You haven't given any proof that you are worthy of being married to Satoru.

You don't get to answer because the door behind you opens, and all eyes are directed to the man behind you. You don't even have to turn around, your sixth sense telling you: Satoru. And he is pissed. He takes a moment to analyze the room in front of him, seeing you in the middle with your son in his arms, crying. His son crying. Gojo walks in, no blindfold on, without asking for permission (not that anyone was waiting for one), and ignores everyone as he stops right before you.

His blue eyes scan you and Kotaro from the top of your head to the feet, concerned.

"Are you okay? Is Kotaro okay?" Satoru asks in a gentle tone, ignoring anyone around. You nod, starting to form an apology, but he shakes his head, calming you. "There's nothing to apologize for. You did well. You always do well. Stand beside me, okay?"

You nod as Satoru forms a shield between you and the higher-ups. Surprisingly, Kotaro has stopped whining, feeling his dad is close by. No one speaks, and everyone seems to be holding down their breaths.

"So," Satoru's tone is calm, "who cares to explain how my wife and son ended up here?"

No answer comes, and you can sense the fear over the room, which differs from your husband's posture. Those who don't know him might believe in Satoru's calm posture, but you and probably the rest of the elders knew this was only a façade. In Satoru's veins, there is only anger. The only reason any of those higher-ups are still alive is because of your and Kotaro's presence. Not because Satoru would hurt you or his son if he had to kill them, but because he didn't want to shock you or accidentally make you fear him. You had never seen him kill before.

You don't know yet what lengths he would go to protect you and his child.

"We were just worried about her well-being, that's all." Some brave higher-up answers and Gojo snickers.

"Oh? More worried than her husband then?"

"You know, we had to meet her eventually. You kept her away from our world, your world, for far too long."

"And she was fine until you brought her into this. My wife and my son are none of your concerns."

"Not if she births a child with six eyes. Then it is our concern." Your body tenses behind Gojo, immediately causing him to react back, his murderous energy filling the room. If you felt it, those elders felt it as well, silencing them.

Kotaro starts crying again, sensing the threatening energy in the room. You had never felt such a destructive sensation coming from your husband before, but you managed to grab Satoru's arm.

"'Toru? Kotaro is scared." And you are scared.

The energy instantly leaves, and Satoru turns around, worried. You tremble with fear, and Kotaro bawls, tears dropping from his eyes. He instantly places his black blindfold on his eyes before taking Kotaro from your arms and gently rocking him.

"Can we leave, please?" You ask, and Satoru nods, grabbing your hand with his free one. Before turning around to leave, he announces in a frightening tone to the entire room, "If I ever hear any of you trying to make any sort of contact with my wife or son, I won't be so merciful."

With that, Gojo Satoru pulls you away from that horrible place you promised to never see again.

-x-

Satoru dismisses the driver who drove you there. Instead, he takes you to his car, finding Kiyotaka Ijichi with a nervous smile when he sees you. You manage to smile back, and Ijichi seems relieved that you and Kotaro are okay. The ride home is silent, and Satoru never lets go of your hand. Kotaro is in the other one, sleeping safely in his arms. You can't bear to look at your husband, too afraid of what you are about to see: disappointment? Anger? He would be right to feel like that. You endangered not only yourself but Kotaro in this whole situation.

After Ijichi leaves you at home, you gently take a sleepy Kotaro away from your husband's arms. Satoru had this enchantment with your son, making him feel calm and safe. Like mother like son, you guess. You place Kotaro gently on his mat, watching as he gets comfortable. How careless of you to put your son in such a dangerous situation.

"Do you want to talk about this?" Satoru whispers, and you shake your head.

"I am sorry." To Kotaro. To Satoru. To yourself. "I thought I could—"

Satoru slowly closes the proximity between you two. He waits, watching the tears flowing down your eyes, sitting at your side, and when you hide your face on his shoulders, his arms are around you, bringing you to his lap.

"You had no idea."

"I endangered our son! Do you know how serious that is?"

"You would never let them do anything to him."

"How would I even stop them, Satoru?"

"I don't know, but I know you. You would find a way." Satoru simply shrugs, which sounds to him like the most obvious answer, and you don't know if you laugh or cry or his hopes on you. "Which would involve bringing me there."

"Yes, bring my most dangerous weapon: Satoru Gojo." You two chuckle low so you don't wake up Kotaro.

"Nothing will ever happen to you or Kotaro. I won't allow it. Be sure of it."

"They said you have enemies…"

"Who wouldn't dare to lay a finger on one stray of Kotaro's hair. Or yours. Come on, you don't have some faith in me?"

Remembering the amount of energy you felt earlier, you feel a chill pass your body. "I do, 'Toru. I was crazy enough to marry you."

"And would you lose the chance to be the luckiest woman alive?"

"With the most pretentious husband ever." You roll your eyes, feeling happy inside. The earlier one may have scared you. But you know this Satoru, back to his usual pretentious self.

You get more comfortable in Satoru's lap, your eyes never entirely leaving Kotaro. He looks so peaceful with his eyes closed like that; he is Satoru 100%, except for his eyes. What blame did he have? You vowed to protect and love him as soon as he came out of you, no matter what came after him. And by the looks on Satoru's face, he also does.

Slowly, you can feel your eyes getting heavy as you become more comfortable in Satoru's arms—like a mother, like son.

"Rest, my love. I will take care of it all. I will never leave you, I promise."

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x you #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru fanfic #gojo satoru fanfics #satoru gojo fanfic #satoru gojo fanfics

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thefrogdalorian · 2 days

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Downpour

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Summary: Leading a solitary, nomadic existence for much of his life means that Din Djarin has never cuddled up to someone he loves during a rainstorm. Until one night in his cabin on Nevarro, when unseasonably poor weather introduces him to one of life’s simple pleasures.

Word Count: 1k ✯ Rating: General ✯ Content Warnings: One suggestive line, Din having nightmares mentioned ✯ Author's Note: I miss the Razor Crest but daydreaming about domestic fluff in the cabin on Nevarro scratches an itch in my brain in all the best ways. I really want to cuddle with Din Djarin during a rainstorm. Is it too much to ask?! Thanks to @decembermidnight for betaing this one for me!! 🩷

✯ My Masterlist ✯ Read on AO3 ✯

The roof of the cabin on Nevarro has never felt like the most sturdy part of the modest-sized dwelling you share with your riduur. Especially not in the middle of an unseasonably fierce rainstorm, the severity of which has you groggily blinking awake in the pitch blackness.

Your immediate concern is for the mischievous child you tucked in just across the hallway shortly after sunset. You hope that the rain has not disturbed him and that he remains bundled in blankets, surrounded in his crib by the mountain of plushies which have been either bought for him by you and Din or gifted to him by the various people throughout the galaxy who cannot resist how charming he is.

Mercifully, your sensitive ears do not detect any wails. So, with Grogu seemingly still sleeping soundly, you turn your attention to his father. When you do not hear Din’s soft snores beside you, you vocalise your concern.

“Din, are you awake?” you mumble without turning around to face him.

Din shuffles towards you and wraps his arms around your waist. With a wordless response, he squeezes you tightly. You realise that Din is drawing comfort from your presence. Your heart grows heavy as you realise he must be alarmed by the rainstorm.

“Are you scared of the rain, my big scary Mandalorian?” you question. It is an attempt to lighten the mood, without fussing over him too much. You know how much such playful teasing gets underneath his skin.

“I’m not scared,” Din huffs.

You turn over, raising your eyebrows at him questioningly.

In the darkness, you can barely make out his handsome features. There is a soft light from the hallway, and you can faintly see his brown eyes sparkling slightly, even in the low light.

The lack of light is not an issue. You have mapped every inch of Din's face with your fingers and lips well enough to know that he will be furrowing his brow at you, exposing the wrinkle above the bridge of his nose that you love to gently trace with your fingertips whenever it becomes pronounced in times of stress.

You reach up to touch the lines of his face, as though you can ease all of his worries with just your touch, “What would all those bounties you once collected think if they could see you now?” you muse.

Din guffaws.

“Imagine if everyone you struck fear into the hearts of with merely your presence could see you now? Maybe they would feel silly for ever being so scared of a man who is scared of a little rainstorm…”

“Riduur…” Din warns, voice deep and firm.

He can excuse the teasing about the past. You have held him through enough bouts of sobbing in this very bunk after the visions which haunt him in slumber have torn him from sleep to earn the privilege of lightly teasing him. When nightmarish sights of his past sins overwhelmed him, you were always there, dutifully picking up his pieces.

But Din Djarin will never accept a charge of cowardice.

You know he is not seriously scared. Din is no coward. And he knows that you would never seriously lay such a charge at his door.

“You know I’m only teasing you, handsome,” you say with a wink you hope he can see.

You realise that Din has never lived somewhere for long enough to hear the rain pattering on the roof. His covert cloistered in the caves of Concordia. The Razor Crest was home but never docked in one place long enough for it to truly function as such.

The fact that until now, Din has been denied the simple pleasure of listening to a rainstorm in the arms of one you love is yet another detail of his life which brings you anguish.

“I think it’s very sweet, actually," you whisper, hoping he knows you meant no malice, "It's our first proper rainstorm in this cabin," you add, ensuring that he knows you understand this is new for him.

Despite how much Din's past makes your heart ache, you will not wallow in pity for him. Instead, it strengthens your resolve to make sure Din is loved every moment of the eternity he has vowed to spend with you.

You lean in for a gentle kiss, “Roll over and let me hold you, my love,” you whisper against his plush lips.

Din sighs and then leans in to kiss you again before he complies. A touch so slow and sweet, so different to the frenzied way his lips claimed yours hours before. Satisfied, he agrees to your proposal, flipping over with a grunt.

You position yourself so your chest is flush with his firm back, placing a kiss on the centre of his back, between his broad shoulders. Din sighs in contentment. You smile, relieved you can comfort him like this. It is a privilege unique to you out of everyone in the galaxy.

You slip your hands underneath the soft cotton shirt he wears to bed and absentmindedly trace circles onto the warm expanse of his stomach. His body is firm beneath your fingers thanks to his muscular physique; but there is a hint of softness there, which increases each year as he ages.

You do not mind one bit. It only makes his body better suited to cuddles.

This warrior who once terrified everyone is now a little softer at the edges, his toughness gradually eroded by the love he feels for his son and you, his riduur.

"Thank you," Din sleepily mumbles before he drifts off again, no longer disturbed by the thudding of the rain against the roof.

Fierce independence borne out of trauma had meant that Din had never previously known the simple pleasure of listening to rainfall pattering against the roof. It was a new reverberation, one initially alien and alarming to his highly attuned senses.

Fortunately, Din was not afraid for long. Now, he has you to hold him through the storm. There is no more fear or anxiety as he cuddles with you, his riduur, while the sound continues outside.

You whisper, "I love you, Din," before sleep's comforting embrace takes you too and you join Din somewhere peaceful. Far away from the downpour.

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#din djarin fic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fluff #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #my fics

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stagefoureddiediaz · 1 day

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ugh this is horrible news tommy is still around, hope to god he's gone in the finale. v

Maybe in your world Nonnie, but not in mine and I'm not entirely sure why you felt the need to come and complain about it on my blog, but here we are!

It makes perfect Narrative sense for Tommy to still be around in the back end of the season, and even possibly into the start of season 8. The show is telling a story of Bucks bisexuality, so why woould they get rid of Tommy so quickly? To do so would do a disservice to that story - a massive disservice. I'm guessing you're hating on this relationship becasue you see it getting in the way of Buddie, rather than viewing it as a vital step on the route to Buddie.

Lets put it into simple terms - Buck figures out he's bi and then begins to explore that newly discovered aspect of himself. The show has also taken the time to move Buck from someone who didn't really do relationships (of the long term variety), into someone who is looking for love and looking for forever. But in amongst all of that, he hasn't really had a healthy long term relationship, the closest he had to that was with Ali and that one didn't last especially long and she wasn't around for most of it

Buck isn't ready for an endgame queer relationship right now - he is still to immature from a relationship perspective - especially a queer relationship perspective. If Eddie was available and he and Buck got together - as they are as characters right now, they wouldn't last - they're not in a position to do so successfully. And this isn't me suggesting that they need to have figured everything out before they get together - to have fully healed etc, because thats neither realistic or something I would want to see - what it means is that they both need to get to a point where they are in a healthy enough place to put in the work together, understand each others flaws, and their own flaws and proactively work towards overcoming those things together and as of right now, neither of them are - they are getting their and moving rapidly in the right direction, but Buck needs to learn a bit more, and in many ways learn how to be with a man, before he will be ready to start anything with Eddie.

The growth we're getting to watch Buck go through right now - in the aftermath of the lightening strike, his reckoning with his mortality etc and the fact he's now off the hamster wheel and moving forward - in a healthy and faster way than we've ever seen from him, speaks volumes.

Tommy is also a far better developed love interest than any other love interest we've seen Buck (or indeed Eddie) with (Abby excepted but she was a main, so had her own purpose on the show)- I'm sure I'm not alone in feeling like I know Tommy more after 3 episodes plus what we got from the begins episodes he was in, than I managed to ascertain about Taylor or Ana or Nataila etc!

Not to mention, him figuring out he's in Love with Eddie as part of this process is going to be fun to watch. The show has made no bones about re-enforcing at every. Single. Opportunity how close, how entwined and how important Buck and Eddie are to one another - the show has quite literally been prioritising that over anything else Buck and Eddie related - Buck was there front and centre - placed very much on an equal footing with Shannon and even Eddie himself in 7x01, and then Eddie was the centre of Bucks bi arc in 7x04 and in his coming out in 7x05. They are literally moving chess pieces into place to tell an amazing story of queer love in later life and creating an epic slow burn for the ages.

And finally, Eddie is, as far as we know at this point in time, still in a relationship with Marisol - why shouldn't Buck get to explore who he is and what he want's within a relationship rather than sitting pining on the sidelines - that isn't healthy in any way shape or form. Eddie still has stuff to figure out about himself.

Even Tim and Oliver have stated in interviews that this is about a happy and joyful queer experience of figuring out bisexuality and therefore within that is giving the narrative a romcom vibe. But they have also stated that Tommy isn't going to be around for that long - that he is very much a narrative device.

It is worth pointing out that timelines on various aspects of the narrative may have been shifted because of the season 8 renewal - but that is only going to help tell the story because now it doesn't have to be rushed. I'm still fully expecting some form of feeling realisation from one of them by the end of the season (my money is on Buck), setting up for season 8 and Buddie going canon either 8a finale or early into 8b.

You have every right to dislike Tommy if thats you jam - have at it, but don't come to my blog and expect me to agree with you. I'm not a multi shipper by any means - I'm a one ship kind of gal and I will be a Buddie shipper until the end of time, but within that, I am here for amazing storytelling and amazing queer storytelling - the like of which I've not had the privilege to watch on my screen before - especially one that hits so close to home. Its a really important story to tell and I'd rather it not be rushed.

And if you had to pick - I'm pretty sure you'd rather have Tommy around for a bit longer that Marisol!!!!

#kym answers things #nonnie asks #We love Tommy on this blog so don't come to my inbox trying to spread hate!#I get not wanting to see half of your ship with anyone other than the other half of it I really do but to deny the narrative thats going to #get you to canon is just a fools errand - its precisely because of that narrative that will make the ship going canon all the more rewardin #911 spoilers #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #bucktommy #kinley #tevan #911 abc #911 discourse

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whatswrongwithblue · 8 hours

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Alastor Headcannons

Fem cat demon reader in a relationship with the Radio Demon

SFW

Rosie introduced him to you. Maybe not necessarily with the idea that you two would be romantic, but she saw similarities between you two and knew you would eventually hit it off.

Once you stopped constantly arguing, that is.

The man had been an Overlord for so long and had sworn off attempting romance for an even longer period, that he genuinely did not recognize his feelings for you as romantic inclinations at first.

He knew he liked you. Admired you. And enjoyed your company. Could talk to you for hours about anything and everything. So obviously that meant he wanted to own your soul.

That blew up in his face – almost literally.

He quickly found out there was nothing he could offer you, or do to you, including putting you in harms way, to force you into making any kind of deal with him. He couldn’t make himself do a damn thing to you. And that scared him and made him avoid you for a long time after that.

But when you two did eventually reunite, it was a lightbulb moment for him, and he pretty much immediately started pursuing an actual relationship with you.

PDA isn’t really his thing, besides hand holding and possibly a hand on the small of your back if he’s feeling extra possessive or wanting to show you off.

The biggest exception to this rule is dancing. He loves to take you dancing.

Surprisingly, he really doesn’t mind others knowing you two are an item.

Some might think he’d want to hide it, worried that others would see you as a weakness to exploit but honestly? Who would dare go after something the Radio Demon held in such high regard. Let them try, my dear.

In private, if he’s in a good mood, he’s quite the sweety.

His love language is definitely acts of service and quality time.

He’ll want to start each day relaxing, enjoying coffee and breakfast with you. He cooks. And throughout the day he really enjoys just being the same room with you, even if you’re both absorbed in your own tasks.

In private, if he’s in a bad mood, he’s very distant.

Don’t touch him and try not to interrupt his work.

He’ll still unconsciously show his affection for you by letting his guard down in these moments.

He’ll let his mask slip a little, show you how upset he is when he would never let anyone else know what’s capable of actually getting under his skin.

He’ll be in some disheveled state. Have his jacket off, or bow tie undone, or hair tied back. He’ll have his microphone across the room. Little things to show he’s still comfortable being vulnerable with you but still . . . best not push it because then he’ll get a little mean.

If you’ve accidentally hurt his feelings in some way, then the insults will start. He’ll call you annoying or dramatic, but he won’t raise his voice unless you do first. He rarely swears so when he does, you know he’s completely at his wits end with you or with whatever else has upset him.

He would never ever lay a hand on you.

If he’s really pushed to the edge, his power might be harder to control. Lights may break, his shadow will go nuts on the wall around you, and he’ll even take on a more demonic, imposing form, but you’ll still feel completely safe in his presence.

Have I mentioned how rare these arguments are? There’s a reason why he’s comfortable enough to be in a relationship with you, because 99% of the time, you understand each other perfectly and can calm the other one down.

At the end of a “no touch day” he’ll usually come find you and initiate some type of cuddle. Usually once you’ve already gone to bed.

He’ll slip under the sheets behind you, probably still a little damp from a shower, and either be the big spoon or, if you’re awake, rest his head on your chest while you stroke his ears.

Those ears are mighty sensitive. Not in a sexual way, but it always sooths his exhausted nervous system when he allows you to touch them like that.

That, and your purrs. No lullaby in the world is as potent as the mesmerizing sensation of your purrs when his body is laid close against yours.

It took him a few months to admit it, but after the first time he told you he loved you; he says it all the time. His mother always told him you couldn’t overuse that phrase if you meant it, so you tend to hear it multiple times a day.

He isn’t fluent in Louisiana Creole, but he knows a few phrases, and will slip into the native accent of his youth and whisper them in your ears when he’s trying to sooth you if you’re the one upset.

He took decades to propose. You never pestered him about it, but Rosie did – and that probably made him take even longer to get around to it than if she had just let it alone.

Neither of you were super into the idea of a big ceremony but then word got out and half of Cannibal Town was asking about Save the Dates so you two decided that while the vow exchange would be short and sweet, the reception would be a fucking party.

NSFW

Sex had not been a part of this man’s life for a very long time.

He’d only been in two brief relationships, once as a teen, and once later to appease his mother, and neither one exactly went well.

Even his rut, which makes most other demons sex-crazed, used to just make him more aggressive and territorial. The physical aspects of it were easy to take care of in private, so he never had to seek out other outlets.

But then you came along and while it still wasn’t as much of a priority for him as it was for you, he still found himself enjoying and even desiring that kind of intimacy with you.

For the first time in . . . well, ever . . . he found himself initiating sex with someone, rather than the other way around, and you found yourself pleasantly satisfied whenever he was in the mood.

Don’t get me wrong, he could still be - and was often - very touch adverse, especially after a difficult day.

But if he’s happy and relaxed and you’re around . . . you two are going to end up under the covers.

He used to hate his tail. He’d even cut it off more than once, but it always grew back. But you liked it and he liked anything that pleased you. And then you started touching it during intercourse and he really liked that.

If the guy has one cum button, it’s you stroking his tail while he’s inside you.

It also really helps that you are so comfortable with your tail and you constantly let him touch it.

He’s definitely a top. Sex is just not interesting to him unless he knows you’re getting off, so it’s either mutual pleasure or your pleasure, but he doesn’t care for anything that involves just his body.

You enjoy going down on him, and it’s okay for him, at least for starters, but he rarely lets you do it for very long. It’s just . . . boring, for him. He’ll compromise and 69 if you’re really in the mood for that kind of thing.

He gets very excited when you’re in heat.

It’s the only thing that can -almost- always override his touch aversion on a bad day.

The idea of you wanting him that much, to the point of it being a near constant physical need for him to be inside you, really gets him going.

He wears out faster than you do, but even after he can’t get it up anymore, he has a multitude of other appendages (fingers, tongue, tentacles) and even some toys that he thoroughly enjoys using on you until you are finally sated.

He’s not one for dirty talk. It makes him uncomfortable, and he finds it distracting. He stays pretty quiet himself during sex, but he loves the needy little moans and whines you make.

He does bite.

And slap your ass.

He’s not usually one for restraints or whips, but he does enjoy marking you with his teeth and claws. Again, this man wanted to own your soul, so he’s going to enjoy leaving physical reminders all over your body that you are his.

His rut is much harder to handle now that he’s sexually active.

And he’s very different in bed when he’s in a rut.

That’s when he dirty talks.

And that’s when he really gets rough.

You have on more than one occasion been face fucked to the point of choking and tears.

And those shadow tentacles really come out to play during that time of year.

They’ll be wrapped around your body, your neck, limbs, etc. They’ll fuck your mouth, your ass, any part of you that his cock isn’t in. He wants you completely controlled and filled up by him when he’s fucking you in his rut.

And he can go for a very long time. Multiple times. You learned after the first year to just plan on taking a vacation that time of year because really, other than eating and sleeping, he pretty much demands that’s all you two do.

He can sometimes lose control of his power and his bodily form during sex.

You’ll know when he’s close to climax because those antlers get massive and his eyes tend to go black. And if he’s in a rut, he can get a little . . . big.

Like, all of him. His entire body. But also yes, his dick gets larger then, too.

One time, you were just about to say you were getting stretched a little too much down there, and his weight was starting to crush you, when he literally broke the bed. That’s all hot and steamy in romance novels, but you just about broke your tail that night and ended up nearly impaled by the bed frame.

Another time, he got his antlers stuck in the backboard of the bed and that was even more embarrassing for him than breaking the actual bed had been because it took him so long to calm down enough to control the size of those things and meanwhile you had just been pinned beneath him and laughing hysterically at the very horny, very frustrated, very stuck husband of yours.

He’s a self-inflicted insomniac and doesn’t let himself sleep much, so after sex, he tends to pass out next to you and when he finally wakes up, he usually insists you join him in the bath or shower for some aftercare.

He’ll help clean any wounds that haven’t already healed, massage your overworked muscles, and verbally check in with you that he didn’t take things too far. Especially since after a rough rut-induced session, he gets awfully insecure about the things he did to you in the heat of the moment.

Of course, you’re always happy to ensure him that you really enjoy that side of him and you’ve never felt like he’d taken anything too far with you.

(P.S. These are some ideas I worked through on what this ace-spectrum Overlord man would be like in a committed relationship for my upcoming OC wife x Alastor fic. I’ve been working on it for weeks now and am just about ready to start posting. It’s been very difficult writing him truly in character while also navigating meeting my OC, coming to terms with his feelings for her, and how he would behave as a partner/husband. For this post - so that it can be its own standalone work - I’ve changed all the wording to Y/N, with the only specifics being that Y/N is a cat demon. But if you really enjoyed this, I hope you’ll stick around for The Fire in the Sin. It’s going to essentially be all of the above turned into a novel, that’s half prequel and half current events for Hazbin Hotel.)

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x oc #hazbin hotel fandom #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor fanfiction #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor headcanons

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mydearestdaryl · 22 hours

Text

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 ‧₊˚ ✧

Summary: Drabbles of Heather being walking baby fever.

Warnings: None, I think, hehe.

Pairing: Daryl x Greene! reader (they're in love, they just don't know yet).

Setting: Prison.

A/N: I try but can't find the inspiration to write Mama pt. 2, so here's this compilation of a few short drabbles of Heather in the prison era to make up for it. I tried to explore more of her bond with the entire group, not just reader, which was very fun to write and I hope you enjoy reading it as much. Thank you for reading!

Grandpa's magic.

Little Heather was growing. She was almost 2 and a half years old, which meant she was more talkative, independent, and enjoyed playing and having fun more than napping; the opposite from her infant days.

The toddler was currently tucked in for a nap in the bottom bunk of the cell she shared with Carl, Daryl reading her latest favorite story from a book you found for her: Cinderella. “An' they lived happy ever after, night-night baby,” Daryl said, before kissing Heather's head and getting up from his spot on the bed.

“No night-night!” Heather announced, kicking the sheets off her and sitting up. She yawned, evidently tired, but fully determined to resume playing bubbles with Beth as they had been ten minutes ago. “Bubbles, Daddy,” she suggested, her little legs dangling off the bed as she pointed at her shoes; a silent request for her daddy to get them on.

“No bubbles, Heather, yea gotta take a nap, ya'll get all cranky if yea don', like (Y/N),” he joked as he watched you walk by, earning a sarcastic ha-ha from you.

“No nap,” the toddler stated, jumping off the bed to get her shoes on herself. Behind him, Daryl heard a laugh, finding Hershel slowly crunching down the hallway, “Ershel help!” Heather exclaimed as she saw him too, lifting a shoe up and waving it at the grey-haired man.

The old man, laughed again, turning to hobble on his crutches into the kid's room. “How may I assist you today, young lady?”

“I need ma shoes on,” the little one said, holding it up so Hershel could take it.

“Well, I heard it's your nap time,” Hershel mentioned, sitting at the edge of the toddler's bed and slowly lying down on the bed. “I was going to take a nap myself, but I was looking for some company so we could share some cookies when we woke up.”

Curiously eyeing her daughter to see if the old man's trick worked, Daryl lightly snorted as he watched her gasp excitedly, rushing to the edge of the bed and trying to climb up, succeeding with help from Hershel.

In a scene far too endearing, the toddler crawled on top of the old man, using his chest as a pillow and holding him comfortably as she allowed her tired eyes to close now without a fight, “night Ershel,” she mumbled, her excited smile fading into a resting expression as she quickly fell asleep.

“Yea actually got cookies?” Daryl asked in a whisper, brushing a strand of hair out of his baby girl's face.

“Glenn found some Oreos on yesterday's run,” Hershel whispered back, closing his own eyes too, fixing the pillow under his head. “I might as well rest a bit too,” he mentioned. “I'll let you know when she's up.”

With a nod, a mumbled 'thank you,' and a gentle pat on the older man's shoulder, Daryl left his daughter's cell.

There was a weird feeling in his chest, but it wasn't bad. He just never thought her kid would have such an amazing grandfather figure. He was more determined now to find the deer Hershel had been talking about craving a few days ago.

So much love.

Toddling into the kitchen for dinner after story time with her dad, hand inside his, Heather beamed when she saw you, running to you as fast as her tiny legs allowed her to hug your leg. “I love you, (Y/N)!” she exclaimed.

“Aw, I love you too, munchkin,” you happily replied, picking her up and hugging her while tickling her neck with your nose, eliciting the sweetest laugh from her. Then you set her down on the floor again, and she rushed to Beth.

“She jus' learned what it means,” Daryl explained, taking a seat next to you.

“I love you means,” Daryl started, pausing as he thought of the answer. He was not sure since he had never truly experienced something like that. Maybe during his childhood, when his mom was alive. Perhaps even the way he felt for you now… it came close. Hell, maybe it was.

“'S when someone makes yea feel real happy like yer heart smiles when you're with 'em. An' they make you feel good about everythin', like things are gonna be alrigh",” he explained. “'S when you wanna kiss them face all the time, an' give em hugs,” he added, kissing his daughter's face over and over until she pushed him away playfully.

“Love you, Bef,” the tiny human said to your youngest sister.

“Love you, Heather,” Beth giggled, placing a kiss on the toddler's cheek, who received it happily and went on to her next 'victim.'

“Love you, Cawl,” she stated confidently despite the R's still being a bit tricky for her. She hugged the fellow kid, who hugged her back before tickling her. She chuckled, trying to tickle Carl back.

“Love you, Cawol,” she said to the older woman as she ran to her. Carol's face softened and responded by ruffling the girl's hair.

“Me too, little one” Carol uttered.

“Love you, Wick,” she told Rick hugging his leg, still a bit unable to pronounce his name, making the former cop exhale a laugh, “and I love the baby,” Heather added in a whisper, feeling rather grown as she was now the oldest baby in the group.

“Right back at ya, kid,” Rick said, playfully poking her tummy. Her eyes scanned the room, searching for the remaining group members.

“I love ya, Glenn,” she threw herself into the young man's awaiting arms, getting twirled in a bear hug that made her laugh out loud. When her feet touched the ground again, she immediately ran to your other sister, “I love you, Maggie,” she said while the latter placed a kiss on her forehead.

“Love you, Heather,” she replied with a big smile.

“I love you, Ershel,” Heather giggled as she reached up to be held by the old man, who happily obliged.

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

Still smiling, she ran back to Daryl, chanting as she approached him, “And I love you the mostest, Daddy!” He welcomed her into a big embrace, repeatedly kissing her cheek, tickling her neck with his beard as usual, and making the kitchen echo with her sweet, childish laugh.

Tiny human, big feelings.

“Hey, Heather, check this out!” Carl called the little girl, excited to show her his new slingshot. However, the toddler was too focused on her tea party with Bunny, her plushie, to respond or even look at him, so the boy decided to shoot the smallest rock in his pocket near her direction to get her attention.

Big mistake.

Not proficient enough with his aim, Carl shot the rock straight at Bunny's head, knocking its eye off. A gasp escaped Heather's little mouth before she screamed in terror.

All the adults gathered in the kitchen where she was with concerned expressions to see what the fuss was about, Daryl being the first to get there. The hunyer eyed Carl suspiciously for a second before he kneeled next to his daughter, wide, scared eyes scanning her in search of an injury.

“Wha's wrong, sweetheart? Yea hurt?”

You approached the scene, placing a hand on Carl's shoulder to ask if he was okay, Rick doing the same on his other side. The poor boy looked so guilty.

“Bunny, Daddy!” Heather sobbed, showing her father the one-eyed toy before holding it close to her chest as she cried in her daddy's arms. “Cawl hurt 'im!”

“I- I didn't mean to! I just wanted to show her my slingshot,” Carl confessed, his voice growing quiet at the end, dropping his head when he noticed Heather's uncharacteristically enraged glare toward him. “I'm really sorry Heather, I can fix i-” he started, kneeling to her height and trying to reach for the toy, but she yanked it away.

“NO!” She shouted, tears still streaming down her chubby cheeks as her dad lifted her up, trying to shush her. “Bad Cawl!”

Gulping down the urge to scream at the boy for making his baby girl sad—breaking cycles, as he heard you say once, Daryl simply patted his shoulder with a frown, “Go on, le's give 'er space ta calm down,” he suggested to everyone; the crowd soon dispersing, going on about their chores.

“Daddy, fix it,” Heather pleaded as her tears and hiccups subsided, nearly 10 minutes later.

“Y'know, I'm gonna need Carl's help with this,” he winked toward the boy, who had been sitting nearby with his dad, resolute on getting the toddler to forgive him. “Whaddaya think, sweetheart? Carl wants to make it better too.”

“'Kay, but be caweful,” she warned them, reaching for Rick to hold her as Carl darted to Beth's cell to borrow her sewing supplies while Daryl got the patient ready on the table. Rick blew raspberries on the girl's tummy, successfully making her laugh again and distracting her from the eye surgery performed behind them.

“All done!” Carl presented it proudly, getting Heather's attention, although she still stared at him with resentment. “He's good as new, see?” Carl added, handing the plushie to her gently. Taking it in her tiny hands, she inspected her treasured toy.

“Heather, I'm real sorry. Can Bunny, you, and I be friends again?” Carl begged, finding her gaze when she tried to avoid his eyes, making her giggle as she was doing it on purpose.

She considered with toddler wisdom. Carl did fix it after all, and Bunny was all ready to play now. Humming while tapping her finger pensively against her delicate chin longer than necessary just because, she finally agreed, “Ok, we're fwiends.”

Wriggling excitedly out of Rick's grasp, she grabbed Carl's hand and dragged him back to her tea party to play. No slingshots were allowed this time, though.

Taglist: @ledgeria16 @poisonmedixon

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #twd daryl dixon #daryl dixon #daryl dixon headcanons #daryl dixon x reader #twd #twd fanfiction #daryl dixion imagine #dad!daryl

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holdinbacksecrets · 2 days

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your writing makes me feel safe, thank you. if i could request something? it’s totally ok if you aren’t comfortable but i was wondering how you think seventeen would react seeing their s/o’s self harm scars? but not the act of doing it; i’ve just been feeling a bit unworthy because of my own from my past and my mind wandered (but absolutely no worries if this is out of your comfort zone. i know self harm scars can be a trigger for sure (and you don’t have to reply in that case either)) <3 thank you either way

thank you for sharing kind words and requesting! i'm sorry for taking over a year to answer this... hopefully you still see this >.< i also hope my interpretation of your request is ok. sending you all my love 🥺 i hope you’ve been feeling better these days. you’re deserving of all the good things

seventeen: seeing your self harm scars for the first time

tw: mentions of self harming (no details of the act itself) and scars

seungcheol: he’d trace them with his lips, allowing his love to sink into the scars and caress their edges. he’d ask if they still hurt—if the memories are still piercing

jeonghan: “you turned your scar into a butterfly?” “yeah, it always made sense to get a tattoo, and it’s a reminder that pain and discomfort are fleeting. i’m never stuck.” “you’ve always had a thing for flying, haven’t you?” “yoon jeonghan, i’d exchange my arms for wings if i could.” “you’ll need me for so much more than reaching things on the highest shelf.” “you’re right… not the most practical idea.”

joshua: walks with you through the park after seeing the small x on the kitchen calendar, marking the passage of another year, and the feeling is overwhelming as painful memories flood your mind

jun: “so these aren’t from a bike wreck?” “i can’t believe you remember that…” “everything you tell me… i can’t forget anything.” “it was only our second date. i didn’t want to scare you away.” “you wouldn’t have, but i understand why you worried. i wish you didn’t have to.” “what do you think you would’ve said? would’ve thought?” “i would’ve admired you. i can’t imagine that’s an easy thing to share with anyone, let alone a person you just started dating. i would’ve felt honored that you trusted me with something so… intimate, something that leaves room for conclusions being made that you aren’t in control of.”

soonyoung: he asks if you’re ok now and immediately wonders if that was too simplistic of a question, but he means it. he wants to know if you wake up and feel peace or dread. he wants to know about the cracks in your smile. he wants to know if you’re proud of yourself now. if you were before. if he can do anything to make the dreadful moments with forced smiles easier

wonwoo: thank you for being here is the last thing you hear before drifting off, carried away by a current of warm dreams

jihoon: he cries for you and his childhood friend with similar scars. a man he hasn’t seen in years but thinks about the last week of every october—reminded of his birthday, hoping he’s celebrating well

seokmin: he holds you. he doesn’t want to let go until his tears have stopped. he doesn’t want you to know that the thought of you harming yourself pierces his heart, stops his breath, stays heavy on his shoulders, and keeps him awake while you sleep

mingyu: he wants you to know that no feeling you meet will ever scare him away. you don’t need the reminder, but he tells you anyway: you can always come to me. he will be your solid ground, the maker of comforting words and sweet distractions

minghao: will you believe him if he says you’re the strongest person he knows?

hansol: he doesn’t know what to say, and he’s suddenly afraid of his ability to support you. he hopes you can’t tell because this moment isn’t about him. the last thing he’d ever want is for you to turn to another if he’s unable to give you what you need. “it’s ok. you don’t have to have the perfect words. they don’t exist. i just want you to know. i’m so much better now. i’ve never been happier, truly, but the words were starting to itch and pull me out of present moments. summer’s coming, and i know you’ll see them soon. i just want you to know.”

seungkwan: so many questions roll around in his head. they stick to the back of his throat, and he searches your eyes for any signs of the capacity you have for sharing in this moment. you smile softly and offer a nod of encouragement. he takes a deep breath and asks the first one

chan: “do you ever…” “think about doing it again? i do, but i made a list of things to do instead.” “can i hear it?” “make tea, watch the sky, turn music on, call a friend, think about something yummy to make for my next meal, ride the train and stop as close as i can get to the library… i have a playlist of seventeen videos on my phone too.” “you’ve thought about it that recently? y/n…” “i didn’t make the playlist for that purpose alone. it started out of missing you, but i know it’ll help if i start to slip.” “you can always call me. call me first and call again if i don’t answer.”

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen blurbs #seventeen fluff #seungcheol scenarios #jeonghan scenarios #joshua scenarios #jun scenarios #soonyoung scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #jihoon scenarios #seokmin scenarios #mingyu scenarios #minghao scenarios #hansol scenarios #seungkwan scenarios #chan scenarios

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stellar-constellations · 1 day

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Star Patient: Chapter 5 (ONGOING SLOW BURN SERIES)

WARNING: This series will include; possible inaccurate medical procedures and medical setting, gore, toxic relationships that should NOT be replicated in real life, murder, yanderes, cursing, suicide mentions, implications of misandry (male misogyny), and possibly more.

Inaccurate canon-timeline (this is before Ashley and Andrew murdered their parents).

Reader has a small fear of adult men/rape and has a history of suicide attempts.

Incest is not Wincest.

Amnesiac! Obsessive! Patient! Andrew Graves x Yandere! Nurse! Reader:

Wordcount: 12,000+ words

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, chapter 4, current chapter, chapter 6 (in the works)

Andrew glided through the hospital corridors, taking the elevator to the pediatric branch. He really couldn’t care less about the kid, Hailey, but for some reason his favorite nurse just loved the little nuisance.

He felt a bit jealous. Does she like Hailey more than him?

Obviously, she does, considering how she had talked about the girl when they first met. He felt pretty annoyed. Did she spend more of her time and attention on the ill girl? Did she get to innocently hug her like that? If Andrew wasn’t so prideful, he’d definitely ask her for a hug.

Hell, he was really fighting with himself to ask now. Just a small quick hug, nothing bad! He wondered if he could genuinely pull that off. He wondered how she must feel inside his arms. Would she rest her head against his chest, or would she rather prefer resting it on his shoulder? Is she one of those people who cling onto you like their life depends on it, or was she someone who preferred soft and polite hugs? Would she be a long and affectionate hugger, or simple and sweet?

He put that thought in the back of his mind for now, rolling down the hallways to Hailey’s room. He didn’t bother to open the door, much like he did with (Y/N)’s room earlier, as he strolled in without a care.

Hailey laid in her bed, her eyes glued to some book (Y/N) got her, before she glanced at him. Her eyes raised, surprised to see the pale man again.

“Andrew, was it?” she questioned, her voice sounding better from yesterday. “What are you doing here?”

“(Y/N) told me to check on you.” He stated bluntly.

“(Y/N)? Is she here?” Hailey questioned, a smile growing on her face. “I haven’t seen her tonight! I thought she was off work?”

Andrew was about to open his mouth and say (Y/N) was, before remembering how the nurse didn’t want the girl to know about her condition.

“Uh, no…” he muttered, looking away. “She… wanted me to get into books to distract myself… so she told me to go to you for any books.” He lied.

“So you do have an interest in books after all.” Hailey smiled. “You must have an interest in nurse (Y/N) too, huh?” Hailey smirked teasingly.

“…What are you getting at?” Andrew questioned, resisting the urge to glare at the sick girl.

How the hell did this kid know? Andrew questioned to him.

“It’s very obvious.” She smiled. “See, if I had a past life, I’m sure I was like a cupid!”

“Uh, yeah. Sure, kid.” He spoke, brushing off the comment as he decided not to entertain nor deny the idea.

“I’m very serious.” Hailey re-enforced. “I can see it in your eyes! You’re invested in her!”

Who is this brat… Andrew thought, annoyed but intrigued (much to his dismay).

“You know, I’ve known her ever since she came here. I know her type of men.” Hailey lied, a mischievous smirk growing on her face.

“…You do?” Andrew muttered, now he was unashamedly interested.

“I could tell you…” she hummed, trailing off. “Or not.”

Andrew looked hesitant, before letting out a sigh. He rolled his chair up to her bedside, glancing down at her lap where her open book rested.

The book she got from (Y/N)…

God, everything just seems to trace back to that woman, huh? No matter what, everything he sees and hears all traces back to her, even outside of the hospital people are attracted to her (even if the reasons could be malicious). It’s almost pathetic how hooked he is on her, despite not even knowing her for a week. It’s almost scary how everyone seems to be attracted to the girl, she just had an aura that everyone was aware of and drawn to.

He could look at something stupid like his shoes and remember her footsteps as she walked with him to the surgery room. He could remember her hands on his face, chest, wrist, looking all around and checking his condition, his bandages, his vitals. He could look at his bedsheets and remember her hands tucking him in for bed… and imagine things he’d rather not envision for a woman he just met.

Yeah, back in the hatch those thoughts go.

“Could you just tell me?” he huffed, trying to sound as uninterested as possible despite asking for this, rather impatiently at that.

“Well? Do you like her?” Hailey questioned.

Andrew took the moment to think to himself. Yeah, she was a pretty nice nurse, and she knew her stuff despite specializing in pediatrics; though he shouldn’t be surprised, children are basically just the same anatomy as adults, just smaller in size.

She had a nice voice, and she somehow balanced between playful and professional, perhaps that’s practiced for pediatrics to make kids feel comfortable yet still hold authority.

She had a cute smile, and her eyes were pretty to look into. He liked looking at her while she worked, sometimes she’d even bite her lip or stick her tongue out to remind herself to concentrate. She looked like an angel laying on that white hospital bed. Even in pain, she still looked pretty.

He wondered how she was outside of the hospital. She was a human too, how did she act with her friends, or her family? How did she act alone? Was she single? Did she have a boyfriend, or did she prefer girls? Would she take interest in him? Could she see him as a potential partner?

Fuck. Yeah, he definitely liked her.

“Just a little…” he muttered, feeling a little embarrassed.

This feels weird (and degrading, in a sense) to be relying on a sick kid for love advice.

“So you admit it?” she smiled.

“Are you gonna tell me or not?” Andrew growled.

By now, Hailey was no longer fearful or anxious of Andrew. Andrew was just a lovesick puppy hopelessly enamored with her favorite nurse, in her eyes at least. She learned that expression from her books.

“No.” Hailey smiled, picking up her book.

“Why?” Andrew questioned, feeling a little betrayed that she made him admit his feelings only to not hold onto their deal.

“Because I lied.” Hailey smiled. “I don’t know her type.”

“Brat…” Andrew muttered under his breath, unashamed to be talking smack in front of a dying kid.

He could’ve said worse, but it’s quite mean to talk ill to a sick child, especially in front of them. Besides, (Y/N) wouldn’t like it if she found out.

“So, books?” Hailey hummed, getting back to her reading. “This book I’m reading right now is pretty good. I can read it to you.” She suggested.

“No…” he grumbled, still a little upset that he was tricked.

He’ll let her lying slide. Kids will be kids, let them have their fun.

“How about I read it to you instead?” Andrew suggested.

He didn’t want her reading to him; he was the adult, not her. Besides, her voice sounds hoarse and struggling, he’d rather him read it to her than have the kid push herself—not because he’s soft or anything, but because (Y/N) would be upset.

Hailey seemed to ponder the idea, before handing over the book to him.

“Just don’t crease the pages.” Hailey spoke.

“Got it.” Andrew hummed, looking at the page she was originally reading.

He started at the beginning of the page, reading a bit wonky at first, before he started to get into the narration. The words started to flow more smoothly, and he even took pauses for dramatic effect at the intense moments that felt like they needed a pause to sink in.

One chapter became two, and two became four. He was pretty interested in the story, makes sense considering it was his (Y/N) who got the story, of course she’d have immaculate taste too.

He read until his throat went dry, the tip of his tongue aching from all the pronunciations. He looked up from the book to see Hailey asleep.

Did she get bored? Andrew thought, a little offended that she fell asleep at the book (Y/N) gave her instead of giving it to him, especially when he was kind enough to read it to her.

Maybe she just liked his voice? It’s perfect for listening to. His voice wasn’t quiet, but it wasn’t loud either, like a polite demand for attention or to respect his authority. It was deep, but not too deep, with a slight rasp from smoking. He was good at projecting his voice so others could listen to him—well, everyone except Ashley, really.

Thinking of Ashley, where is she? She was sure acting weird today. Something about the demon’s vision she saw in her dream. She also described (Y/N)’s appearance despite not even knowing the nurse; he couldn’t recall any moment they had interacted.

Andrew took a white bookmark that laid on her bedside table, placing it on the page he stopped reading on. He closed the book, placing it down on Hailey’s bedside. He wheeled out of the room, making his way back to the elevators.

He entered the elevator, pressing the button for the emergency branch, waiting for the doors to re-open. The metal shutters opened and he rolled out, going back to (Y/N)’s room.

He made it, opening the door and entering without bothering to knock. (Y/N) laid in the hospital bed, her eyes closed as she appeared to be sleeping.

Damn… Andrew thought, disappointed. I was hoping to talk to her.

He doesn’t know what he would’ve talked about, but he was hoping she’d start the conversation. He wanted to get closer to her, emotionally and physically.

Andrew debated what he should do, before finally giving in, rolling his wheelchair up to her side. He observed her sleeping face, blissfully unaware of his presence as she slept. Her hair was a little messy, perhaps from sleeping or from the attack earlier. Her skin was a bit paler than usual, perhaps from shock or blood loss. She had more prominent bags under her eyes than usual, resting heavily under her closed eyes.

He wondered who attacked her, and why. Was it a crazy ex boyfriend? Some stalker? A jealous friend? Someone suffering under delusions? He wondered what happened.

He had an idea, though he was scared to ponder on it.

Instead of thinking about it, he distracted himself. He looked down at her bandaged arm, trailing his hands down to her wrists, and to her fingernails.

Her nails were strangely clean. They were polished and trimmed, which makes sense considering nurses need to have good hygiene, especially so they don’t transfer bacteria or accidentally infect patients. They looked like they had been scrubbed squeaky clean recently, not even a trace of dirt under her nails.

Her hands looked small compared to his, clean and petite compared to his rough and damaged ones.

His hands had small burns from failing to light his cigarettes as a starter; her hands had small burns from ovens and hot cookware and hot glue guns, yet somehow her scars were far more attractive than his.

His hands were dirty, stained with blood and sins; hers were clean, baptized in purity and commandant.

He wondered how her hands would feel against his. They looked soft, would they feel soft? He wondered if she used lotion, what her favorite nail polish was, how long she liked her nails.

Those thoughts led to other thoughts. What did she like wearing when she’s at home? What does she wear in public? What kind of music does she listened to? What kind of foods does she like?

He decided it was best to stop those thoughts. He stared at her hands, juggling his thoughts in his head, before finally giving in. He reached out and held her hand with his larger one.

He held it gently, feeling the weight of it. His thumb rubbed the back of her hand soothingly, memorized at the difference. Her hand was slightly cold, possibly due to how cold the hospital’s AC is followed by blood loss, but it wasn’t uncomfortable to touch.

He looked at her face to see if she woken up or felt the touch. She didn’t.

His fingers carefully interlocked with her, cautious to make sure she wouldn’t accidentally wake up. She remained neutral, not even a flutter of her eyelashes or any stirring.

She must be really tired… Andrew thought.

His admired their hands as they eloped together. He noticed discoloration on her hands, He shifted his body, laying his elbow down on the edge of the mattress and using his arm as a pillow. He admired her sleeping face, closing his eyes to relish the touch and intimacy of this moment. He doesn’t know how long it took for him to fall asleep, but it was relatively quick. . .

A few hours later, Andrew jolted awake first at the sound of the door opening, turning his head at the noise. (Y/N) groaned, opening her eyes and seeing Andrew by her side, holding her hand as a man stood in the doorway, one Andrew didn’t know.

Andrew squeezed (Y/N)’s hand softly, a silent greeting before glaring at the man, almost possessive of (Y/N)’s vulnerable state.

“Hello, Doctor Ryan…” (Y/N) yawned, before directing her attention to Andrew. “And hello to you too, Andrew.” She hummed, smiling as she gently squeezed his hand back.

She looked down at their hands, wondering when she and Andrew started holding hands, or even when he returned back. Her hands trailed down to her sleeves, more so lack of, as the hospital gown didn’t have any long-sleeves for her. She noticed her scars out in the open and ripped her hand away from Andrew’s, a sense of insecurity and embarrassment rapidly building in her as she hid her arms under her blanket.

Andrew looked confused (even a little disheartened that she let go) as Doctor Ryan walked over to her. Doctor Ryan isn’t usually at the hospital on Saturday nights, but he could’ve decided to work overtime this week. It’s not unusual since he has a stay-at-home wife and three kids.

“Hello! I heard what happened and I figured I’d wait to see you when you’re awake.” The doctor smiled brightly, walking over to her bedside and sitting next to Andrew. “And who is this?” he questioned, looking at Andrew, yet having a good idea of who it was as he sent a knowing smirk.

While Doctor Ryan had never met Andrew face-to-face, he had read his report when assigning (Y/N) to watch him his first night, along with hearing all the gossip from Penelope.

Andrew had a small reputation around the hospital since he’s one of the trouble patients, on suicide watch and needing special treatment for his wounds and wants. Andrew wouldn’t accept any care from any other nurse during the night shift, it was a fight for the day shift to care for him until (Y/N) told him to behave for day shift. His sister was also banned from the hospital due to proving a threat to Andrew’s recovery and health, though she won’t be a problem anymore.

Rumors spread pretty easily of Andrew’s fondness and almost admiration of the nurse he chose, (Y/N). Penelope has a big mouth without meaning to, having a bad habit of rambling and over sharing her and other people’s problems and secrets, so it spread pretty quick of the strange relationship the nurse and patient shared. Penelope’s ramblings of doubt as a nurse because Andrew wouldn’t accept her care had reached Doctor Ryan’s ears, being the catalyst of his teasing to his student, (Y/N).

“This is Andrew.” (Y/N) introduced when she realized Andrew wasn’t going to answer the doctor’s question, only give him a nasty glare.

She cleared her throat, shoving her arms into her blanket so the pair of males didn’t see, and flashed a smile. “What’s your visit for? Don’t tell me you’re gonna make me work.” She chuckled lightly, trying to make a joke.

“I wouldn’t say 'work' exactly.” Doctor Ryan smiled, before it faltered, letting out a sigh. “You’re here today, so I figured it’d be a good time to tell you. I think it’s best if you see Hailey.”

“Hailey? Why? Did something bad happen to her?” (Y/N) questioned, doing her best to not sound alarmed or panicked.

It’s never a good thing for a nurse to panic, it’d defeat a key factor of their job. Nurses are supposed to provide aid to their patients, whether it’s emotionally or physically, or even emotional in cases like Andrew’s. A nurse panicking would panic their patient since they’re going to look to the one with most experience. If a patient panics, they can worsen their condition or provide unnecessary stress that can affect their recovery or even create new problems.

And people think being a nurse is just all fluffing pillows and handing out medication. You have to be constantly in tune with the patients emotions, symptoms, and healing process; from what they're feeling to how much they're eating or using the bathroom. Always checking up on how they are and cater them to the best of your ability; serving them food (and sometimes helping feed them), changing their bedsheets, helping them to the bathroom, helping out with physical therapy, prepping them for procedures or appointments, and charting. The worse is charting. You have to document every single thing; from what they ate and what times, to who visited them today, to how what they said to be feeling and what they looked actually looked to be feeling like, to any improvement or decline or neutrality of their status, to their behavior, to what medicines they had, to their complaints or compliments they have about the hospital or their treatment, and so much more.

“She’s just not in the greatest condition at the moment. I think it’s best she sees you.” Doctor Ryan spoke.

Before she could question it, Doctor Ryan grabbed something from his coat, placing it down on her bedside table.

“Here,” he spoke, patting what looked to be a Polaroid recorder down on her table, “I came to drop this off too. This was supposed to be a wholesome visit, until Hailey at least…” he spoke, allowing his smile to drop. “Check out the contents on the camera later. I have to get back to work. Get well soon!”

“Thanks.” (Y/N) smiled, watching Doctor Ryan leave the room.

“Who was that?” Andrew questioned, glancing over at her as he resisted the urge to grimace.

“That’s Doctor Ryan, he’s my professor! He’s the one teaching me pediatrics since I’m an apprentice.” (Y/N) explained, slowly sitting up from the bed.

Andrew watched her movements carefully, observing how she slowly took her time getting out of bed. She didn’t apply much pressure on her injured leg as her sock-clothed feet hit the ground (with clean hospital socks, none of her blood soaked up in it and used to plug in any stab wounds). The room looked like a carousel, spinning rapidly, and a headache followed with it, screaming loudly in her head. She let out a groan as Andrew quickly placed a hand on her waist.

"Careful..." Andrew muttered, watching her intently as he kept his hand on her waist.

"Thank you, but I'm fine." (Y/N) lied, placing her hand on his shoulder to use as leverage.

"Yeah, sure." He hummed sarcastically.

(Y/N) resisted the urge to glare at him. While she wasn't on duty, she was still his nurse and she didn't feel like having any workplace drama.

"Do you want me to assist you there?" Andrew questioned, his thumb absentmindedly tracing small circles on her hip.

"No, it's fine." She spoke, taking a few steps to the door and ignoring the stabbing sensation in her leg.

"Are you sure?" Andrew questioned, trying his best to not look too concerned for her.

"Yes, I'm sure." She huffed, trying not to be snippy. "It's for the best. I don't want Hailey to be nervous or worried, especially if there's something going on with her."

"Just be careful..." Andrew spoke, watching her limp away. "I'll be here waiting for you."

(Y/N) took the moment to look back at him, confused. Before she could question it, she stopped herself, deciding there was always later to talk about it. Right now Hailey needs her, Andrew can wait.

(Y/N) settled for a nod, rummaging in the hospital cabinets and grabbing a white blanket. She wrapped it around her body to hide her hospital gown; she wouldn’t want to worry Hailey. (Y/N) limped out of the room, going down the halls to the elevator.

She pressed the floor the pediatric branch was on, waiting rather impatiently for the doors to open again as she descended.

Was Hailey okay? What did he mean by she’s not in the greatest condition? Has she gained more symptoms, or weakened?

Hailey has acute lymphoblastic leukemia, also known as ALL. It’s a cancer inside the blood and bone marrow, where the infected white blood cells are rapidly multiplying, creating blocks in the blood and bones that could prevent other cells from getting through and working. The cancer comes with symptoms such as fever, frequent nose bleeds, weakness or fatigue, easy bruising, pain in the bones or stomach or groin, frequent infections, and swollen lymph nodes.

Hailey’s most prominent symptoms are her swollen lymph nodes, hence why her voice is low and raspy, along with her bone pains in her legs, which is why she’s bedridden. At least 90% of kids under 15 who have ALL survive, so long as they’re treated. Even thought Hailey has been in the hospital for three years, she’s made very little progress in recovering.

Despite there being no stages in ALL cancer, if (Y/N) had to guess, she’s assume Hailey would be in stage 3. Over the years of chemotherapy and medications, her infected white blood cells just seem to be multiplying more and more, hence why it’s called acute lymphoblastic leukemia, acute means rapid.

(Y/N)’s theory is that a doctor didn’t give a strong enough dosage to Hailey, therefore the cells grew a resistance to the medication, creating a superbug that could withstand the medicine entirely.

Even then, what matters is if Hailey is feeling alright. (Y/N) exited the elevator and limped down the hallways, making it to Hailey’s room and opening the door.

“Oh. Hello, Ms. (L/N)!” Hailey greeted brightly, her voice still hoarse and raspy, but having life to it. “What are you doing here? You said it was your day off!”

Hailey’s upper body shot up quickly as she sat up from bed, a smile on her face as she greeted (Y/N). Her eyes were bright and lively, even waving her arm at the nurse.

Oh.

“Sorry it’s so early!” (Y/N) smiled. “It’s at least 5 A.M. What are you doing up so early?”

“I couldn’t sleep, I just had such a sudden burst of energy!” Hailey spoke. “I think I’m getting better!”

(Y/N) ignored that comment, sitting down on the guest chair in Hailey’s room. Her eyes trailed to the wheelchair that sat near her IV pole, a wheelchair that’s only used for Hailey to wheel herself to the bathroom now, but even then she needs help from the nurses.

“So? How’s that book you’re reading?” (Y/N) questioned.

“I’m almost done with it. At least 30 pages away.” Hailey answered. “What are you doing here at the hospital? It’s your night off; unless you’re working overtime again?”

“Yes! I’m working overtime again.” (Y/N) lied, smiling at the girl.

It’s best not to tell her anything, not in her condition.

“Are you cold? Why are you wearing a blanket?” Hailey questioned.

“Yes, I’m cold. I’m feeling a bit chilly at the moment. It’s verging to winter and the hospital still hasn’t adjusted the thermostat yet.” (Y/N) lied once more. “Hey, remember when I said I’ll take you to the garden the next time I see you? Would you like to go right now?”

Hailey’s eyes brightened even more, her grin widening as she nodded. “Yes! I want to see the flowers!”

“Let’s get you in the wheelchair, yeah?” (Y/N) spoke, standing up from the chair and using the blanket to hide herself limping from Hailey’s sight.

Hailey used her upper arms and was able to push herself to the edge of the bed on her own, even moving her knees a bit too! (Y/N) still carefully placed one of her arms under Hailey’s knees and the other on her back, picking up Hailey and placing her in the wheelchair.

(Y/N) decided against the wheelchair restraints, not wanting Hailey to feel trapped at the moment. (Y/N) grabbed the blanket off Hailey’s bed, but Hailey spoke up.

“We can leave the blanket. I actually feel pretty warm at the moment.” Hailey spoke.

The only warmth Hailey usually had was when she had a fire spreading in her legs, the bone pains acting up and causing many sleepless nights for her. It’s why Hailey is almost always awake when (Y/N) does her rounds around the hospital at night.

“It’s cold outside. Let’s take the blanket just in case.” (Y/N) persisted, smiling as she covered Hailey’s shoulders and down with the thin white cloth.

Hailey decided not to argue against it and cooperated. (Y/N) wheeled Hailey out of the room, her pace a little slower than usually as she felt that stabbing sensation in her leg and stomach. It made her silently hitch her breath, her ears having a slight ring in them, yet she persisted.

“Gosh, I haven’t seen these halls in forever.” Hailey spoke, her eyes scanning every nook and cranny of the white hallways. “You know, I read that whenever you enter a unfamiliar area, the reason why you feel dizzy is because you have a sensory overload. Like, you’re saving mental images and color palettes and the layout of the area all in your head, that way you remember where you are the next time you go! Even though I’ve been here before, it feels like it’s my first time down these halls all over again.”

Yes, (Y/N) knows that. She was the one who gave Hailey the book she learned that from, but for Hailey’s sake (and to distract her mind from the pain), she decided to play dumb.

“Wow, really?” (Y/N) hummed, smiling. “I never knew that. It makes sense now that you’ve explained it.”

Hailey nodded, smiling. “Yeah! I remember having that dizziness when I was at my friend’s for a sleepover.” She spoke, before her smile dropped. “Though, it was before I had cancer, or at least when I wasn’t placed in the hospital… I sometimes miss having friends.”

“Why, of course you have friends.” (Y/N) spoke. “You have me! And you have Doctor Ryan, and Penelope, and Ruby, and even Andrew too.”

“Yeah, but I mean friends my age.” Hailey spoke.

Normally, that could be arranged in the hospital so long as the patients aren’t being exposed to a infectious disease or illness, especially in Hailey’s case since she’s more prone to getting infections; however, Hailey didn’t want to be friends with the other kids after her hair started falling out due to the chemotherapy. She was insecure of her appearance deteriorating, even if Penelope kept lying to her face and telling her she looked perfectly fine. Hailey preferred (Y/N) over Penelope for that reason. (Y/N) always told her the truth, or at least left it blank so there was no harsh comment.

If Penelope asked (Y/N) if she looked sickly today, (Y/N) would tell her that a bit of water and food would help bring back some color to her face. It was a good way to not only promote healthy behavior for Hailey, but also it helped build trust in (Y/N) to always telling her the truth about her health. If she asked Penelope, Penelope would’ve lied and said she looked as bright as the sun; which is kind, but she could tell Penelope was lying by how Penelope’s right eye would twitch and bite her bottom lip.

“I see… well, I’m sure we can arrange that soon, when you’re ready.” (Y/N) smiled, taking Hailey into the elevator.

(Y/N) pressed the lobby floor as Hailey spoke up.

“Are the flowers even in bloom? Since it’s verging to winter?” Hailey questioned.

“A secret between me and you; the flowers are fake.” (Y/N) whispered, acting as if there was a camera watching her or something. We have scented pads hidden in the soil to make it smell like flowers, and we wet the soil regularly to keep that earthy smell lingering.”

“Really?” Hailey gasped.

“That’s why they’re always in bloom. It’s depressing to have an empty garden, even something as small as colorful flowers give people hope.” (Y/N) explained.

While fake flowers aren’t present in most hospitals, this hospital was different. Even if they were always understaffed and overworked, they at least cared for their patients. Even if the staff excel at their work or not, at least they have work ethic.

The elevator doors opened as (Y/N) wheeled Hailey down the hallways. (Y/N) noticed the stares from guests and even some patients; whether it was because of Hailey’s bald head or (Y/N)’s limp. (Y/N) noticed Hailey’s gripping the blanket on her, seconds away from raising the blanket above her head to hide it. (Y/N) recognized Hailey’s insecurity and spoke up.

“You know, I’m thinking of starting a garden. A real garden with real flowers indoors, that way patients with allergies or conditions can see the flowers too without going outside.” (Y/N) spoke, redirecting Hailey’s attention. “I was wondering what flowers you’d like for me to add. I’ll do a survey with the other patients too, have a nice diversity of flowers. What do you think?”

“I think… it’s a nice idea.” Hailey smiled, letting go of the blanket. “I think daisies. You should do daisies.”

“That’s a nice flower. I’ll see what I can do.” (Y/N) nodded, smiling as she pushed open the glass door, rolling Hailey to the garden.

(Y/N) guided Hailey to the wooden bench, picking up Hailey and placing her down on the seat so she wouldn’t be confided to the wheelchair.

Hailey rambled on and on about anything and everything. She talked so much that (Y/N) contemplated if she should go fetch water for Hailey’s throat given how raspy it was, but she decided against it as she noticed the signs.

Hailey’s bright smile, the almost whimsical joy in her eyes; an expression that (Y/N) thought Hailey has lost over the years as she spent her birthdays in this hospital.

(Y/N) remembers bringing a cake for Hailey’s 7th birthday, the first they spent together. Even though Hailey admitted to not liking vanilla cake, she still ate it. It was the last birthday she’d spend with her parents before they threw themselves at work, leaving Hailey along in the hospital with other sick patients and the staff.

The second birthday they spent together, (Y/N) had to ditch the candles, concerned the smoke would affect Hailey’s lungs. At least the cake was homemade, even if the frosting looked a bit ugly. (Y/N) made sure it was chocolate this time, so Hailey could enjoy it.

And the third birthday they spent together, (Y/N) made an ice cream cake, chocolate of course. She figured the ice cream would soothe Hailey’s throat and Hailey could still enjoy the flavor. It took many tries, but she succeeded in making the perfect cake, gifting Hailey books for her to read too.

If (Y/N) had known it would be Hailey’s last birthday, she would’ve made sure to go all out. Buy balloons and party streamers, force her parents to come back and see her, cover her head to toe in presents.

Unfortunately, you can’t change time.

Hailey’s eyes shined as she spoke, talking about anything possible. She didn’t have many who would listen to her, her doctors and nurses were there for work, and (Y/N) couldn’t visit long since she had other patients to tend to. But now, (Y/N)’s off the clock. At the moment she’s not Hailey’s nurse, she’s Hailey’s friend.

Eventually, Hailey’s voice faltered, before she let out a hum, satisfied as she rested her head on the bench. She took a deep breath, then sighed, smiling softly.

“It really does smell like flowers. Those are some good quality scent pads.” Hailey spoke.

Fake flowers last for years; patients do not.

“Do you ever wonder what’s beyond us?” Hailey questioned after a long silence.

“What do you mean?” (Y/N) questioned, turning her head to face the girl.

“Death. Like, do you ever wonder what happens after?” Hailey added.

(Y/N) hummed, thinking as she kept her blanket wrapped around her, hiding her hospital gown just as Hailey hid from the cold.

She wasn’t sure. Many religions had their own ideals of life and death, but she doubted Hailey wanted an answer based on religion. She wasn’t sure what was beyond. After trying to kill herself, everything in her life started losing value, a spiral of nothing and everything thrown at her all at once.

Even if she stopped hurting herself physically, she couldn’t stop mentally.

“I think it changes for everyone.” (Y/N) spoke. “Like, your own paradise. You could be surrounded by anyone you want, and anything you want.”

“What would you want to be surrounded by?” Hailey questioned.

She didn’t have to think much on that matter. There wasn’t much in her life she cared about anymore. She did nothing but work nowadays. She was an empty husk that worked itself to death to pass the time, awaiting Death by the door.

If she couldn’t open the door, she’ll make Death open it.

“Beds.” (Y/N) answered.

“Really? That’s it?” Hailey questioned, surprised and perhaps kindly disappointed. “I was expecting something… more. Like, deep, or wise.”

“You can’t expect everything to make sense in life, you know.” (Y/N) chuckled. “Sometimes things just happen. I think that’s what’s so fun about life, it’s just a mystery to be solved at the end of the line through all that hard work; or, perhaps there’s no mystery. Maybe it just coexists just like we do.”

“How can your answer be so boring but your follow-up be so wise?” Hailey pouted, cause (Y/N) to chuckle.

“Hey, I never said I’d give you any special answer.” (Y/N) pointed out.

“But, really, why beds?” Hailey questioned.

“I just like sleeping.” (Y/N) smiled, giving part of the truth.

“I guess it’ll suffice.” Hailey sighed, disappointed.

“And you? What would you like to be surrounded by?” (Y/N) questioned.

“My parents.” Hailey spoke. “And my old friends. And tons of my hair, like as much hair as Rapunzel.”

“That sounds nice.” (Y/N) hummed. “Though, you’d have to brush your hair all the time. Maybe it’s not so good having hair, I can’t stand mine at times.” (Y/N) spoke, trying to gently reassure Hailey.

“Well, maybe just normal hair then. What it used to look like before.” Hailey spoke. “You’d be there too. I wouldn’t only see you when you’re working. I’d see you outside of the hospital as my friend.”

“What’s it matter where or how you meet? As long as we’re still friends, I don’t see any issue.” (Y/N) smiled.

Hailey smiled, nodding. “I like that.”

Eventually, Hailey went quiet, no longer having any words to speak. She sat on the bench, observing her surroundings in a youthful fashion. Her eyes sparkled with life, her pulse relaxing as she enjoyed the false nature around her.

“Thank you for staying with me.” Hailey spoke up, her volume decreasing, the sound of her raspy voice cracking more. “I know it’s probably hard for you to see me like this.”

“Anything for you, Hails.” (Y/N) smiled, wrapping her arm around Hailey’s shoulder and giving her a gentle side-hug.

“Thank you for not leaving me alone. It means a lot to me…” Hailey muttered, taking a few deep breaths, before eventually subduing.

(Y/N) glanced at the IV pole, looking at the fluids that gently flowed in Hailey’s veins, before she turned her attention back to Hailey.

After a few minutes, there was no movement from Hailey. No breathing. No eye movement. No leg twitching. Just nothing.

(Y/N) took a deep breath, smelling the fake flowers and wet soil, before letting out a sob she’s been holding.

Hailey had so much life, and yet she died so young. She was so lively in her final moments.

All that matters now is she’s not going to be in anymore pain and that she wasn’t scared. (Y/N) thought.

Even if kids under 15 have a 90% chance of surviving acute lymphoblastic leukemia, it doesn’t mean it’s guaranteed. Life and death is really never a guarantee though, so it’s good to enjoy it while it lasts.

If only (Y/N) could follow her own advice.

(Y/N) covered her face in her hands, crying now that Hailey was gone, so she wouldn’t see her tears. This hurt way worse than any stab she could endure.

(Y/N) almost contemplated covering Hailey’s face with the her blanket, but she decided against it. She didn’t want to be ashamed of Hailey or her presence, she didn’t want to forget Hailey or brush her aside.

(Y/N) stood up, deciding not to waste much time, and picked Hailey up, putting her in the wheelchair. She had such lifeless and glazed eyes, her mouth was slightly open and her arms flayed motionless as (Y/N) moved. She doesn’t look like the suddenly bright and cheerful Hailey from just a few minutes ago.

Terminal Lucidity. It’s an unknown phenomenon that can happen before death, giving you suddenly more strength, a clearer consciousness, and even regaining memory. It’s surprisingly common, at least 88% experiencing the symptoms before death. It can happen from minutes to hours to days before death, and it has a habit of giving false hope to the patients loved ones. While it’s quite common in dementia patients, it can also happen to those with neurological problems or in some special cases those with cancer.

In the hospital, a terminal patient suddenly acting lively and alert is usually a bad thing because it means they’re near death. It’s not quite known why, but some speculate it could be the brain’s last fight, before eventually giving in.

(Y/N) wheeled Hailey’s dead body to the hospital’s mortuary. She checked the body in, guessing the nearest time of death since she didn’t have a watch on her, and the cause of death. She wrote down the parental numbers so they could be contacted, before lumping her way back to the elevator.

The ride up was deathly silent, not that anyone was in the elevator to talk to her, but it was silent in her mind too. Usually she’d at least be thinking of things to do, but she had no thoughts in her mind.

The elevator doors opened and (Y/N) walked out. She walked back to her own hospital room, exhausted and tired. Tears threatened to escape her eyes once more, the pain of losing Hailey and the pain of her wounds piling up on her.

She opened the door, surprised to see Andrew there, sleeping in his wheelchair with his arms crossed. (Y/N) wasn’t sure whether to feel annoyed or happy. Annoyed because she wanted to cry and sleep, but also happy because it meant she wasn’t alone with her thoughts and feelings.

The door opened, jolting Andrew awake. He was probably in a light sleep, whether because he was expecting (Y/N) or because the wheelchair is uncomfortable to sleep in. Whatever the reason was, he was awake.

His eyes trailed to (Y/N), doing his best not to smile and brighten up at her presence (that would be so lame if he did that).

“Hey.” Andrew spoke.

“Hey.” (Y/N) parroted, throwing her blanket at Andrew for him to use instead as she got up in her hospital bed.

There was no point in hiding her hospital gown now that Hailey was dead, so that blanket could now be used by Andrew while she got under her own hospital bedsheets.

“You can go to your room, you know. I’m fine on my own.” (Y/N) spoke.

“So? You got stabbed.” Andrew gruffed, catching the blanket and placing it down on his lap.

“And you have two broken legs, mister. You should still be recovering after surgery.” (Y/N) scolded lightly.

Her response caused Andrew to chuckle. Even injured and off the clock, she still worried about others. Andrew wasn’t sure if it was because she was his nurse or if she was just trying to be a decent human, but he relished the attention anyways.

“Ah, c’mon. I feel fine.” He chuckled.

(Y/N) resisted the urge to kick his leg to prove him wrong, yet she decided not to be petty today. She hummed, lying down on her bed.

“Is there something you want from me? Why are you here?” (Y/N) questioned, looking at the clock.

It was 6:30 A.M. She’ll be here in the hospital until 3 P.M. She wasn’t fond of that. She needed to bury Ashley’s body and deep clean her apartment. Even though the police hopefully had no trace it was her, and hopefully they didn’t invade in her apartment and swab the place (which, they better of not considering it’d be illegal without her permission or a warrant).

Not really. Andrew thought.

He just came over as soon as he heard (Y/N) was put in the emergency unit thanks to Penelope’s big mouth. He doesn’t really know why he came here, maybe just out of curiosity to see how bad she was hurt. All humans are curious when something bad happens.

Maybe he just wanted to spend more time with her, to be happy she was here with him. It’s not like she could fight much with him, she was tired and her eyes were red.

Red eyes. Was she crying?

“I just figured I see you, since you’re here. It gives me something to do other than being stuck in that hospital bed.” Andrew spoke.

“And now you’re stuck in a hospital wheelchair.” (Y/N) chuckled.

“Forget about me. Are you okay?” Andrew questioned.

“Yeah. I told you. It doesn’t hurt much.” (Y/N) lied, ignoring the pulses inside her wounds.

“I wasn’t talking about that. I mean, are you okay? You look like you’ve been crying.” Andrew pointed out, leaning back in his chair as he looked at her.

(Y/N) paused, thinking. Would it be against hospital protocol to say a patient’s status or info to someone if they’re dead?

Well, you only live once. And Andrew doesn’t look like a snitch.

“Hailey died.” (Y/N) spoke. “And, her parents weren’t there to say goodbye. Really, never visited her much either.”

“That sucks…” Andrew muttered.

He’s not too sure if he could care or not. Yeah, it sucks a kid died, but why should he care about a kid he had no connection with? She died, might as well get over it.

“It happens more than I like around here. They pass without their family around.” (Y/N) spoke. “But, I just can’t stand when the parents aren’t there for their kids. They die scared, that’s no way to die, for a kid or adult.”

(Y/N) spoke, looking out her window as the sun started rising.

She wondered where Andrew’s parents were. Why aren’t they here to visit him? Do they not know he’s here? Or perhaps they don’t want to visit their child who’s a murderer…

“What shitty parents.” Andrew spoke with no filter.

“Yeah,” (Y/N) chuckled, “that’s what I think too.”

To really care about someone you don’t have any blood-relation to, must be a special kind of bond; it’s one you can choose, not one you’re born with, unlike the one Andrew and Ashley shares.

“So, where’s your parents?” Andrew questioned.

“I’m an adult, I don’t need them checking up on me.” (Y/N) spoke.

“Yeah, but, wouldn’t it be nice? A sense of security and all?” Andrew questioned.

“Well, where’s your parents?” (Y/N) retorted, a bit annoyed.

So what? It’s not like if she called them they’d come rushing to her. Her mother would care less seeing (Y/N) in a hospital again, and her father would probably go berserk and try to bring her back home where it was safe.

“Touché.” Andrew chuckled. “But I have my sister to visit me.”

(Y/N) mentally grimaced at that, doing her best to not make a face so Andrew wouldn’t question it.

Not anymore… she thought.

Her hands suddenly felt dirty again. She didn’t know what to do with her hands, so she hid them in the hospital blanket. Once again, Andrew was intrigued with her hands after seeing her hide them. It’s like everything she hides them, he immediately gets curious and wants to see them.

He knows of the obvious self-harm scars now, he saw those when she was sleeping. And he saw the small scars and burns from everyday life, but why care so much about them?

Maybe it’s just something you have to go through in order to understand. You can’t understand everything on the first try, especially if you have no experience in it.

Sure, he was admitted for jumping a rooftop, but that’s a bit different than self-harming. Jumping a rooftop is one clear goal; suicide. It has subcategories such as wanting to escape life, or having too many problems to run away from.

Self-harming, on the other hand, is more complex. The desire to harm yourself is there, but you don’t want to die immediately. It’s a slow steady process building up. You hurt yourself possibly because you feel ashamed, that you feel like you deserve to hurt because that’s all you’re worth. Or perhaps it’s to relieve stress or pain. There’s not always such a strong intent to die when you hurt yourself? sometimes pain is the only thing people know that they use to feel normal or detached. Perhaps they even get pressured into hurting themselves. Self-harming isn’t to die, it’s to make yourself suffer because you feel that that’s what you need.

The question is: what is her reasoning?

The question left him wondering, he was almost compelled to answer, but she didn’t look to be in a good mood, so he decided against it.

(Y/N)’s eyes trailed to the digital recorder on her bedside. Doctor Ryan had left it on her bedside earlier, but he didn’t explain what was on it. She reached over and grabbed it, studying it.

It was a shiny silver recorder, with a slot for polaroid photos to slip out of. (Y/N) turned on the camera, pressing a button to the camera roll. The camera roll opened, multiple short videos at least 10 or 20 seconds showing.

She clicked on one and turned it on, seeing a video of one of her patients. They had black hair and black eyes, sitting in their hospital bed with an IV needle in her arm and bandages around her head. She recently had surgery for a tumor in her brain, now resting in bed.

“Hi, Ms. (L/N)! I heard you were doing unwell and I wanted to say please get better and visit me when you’re healthy!” the patient smiled.

(Y/N) chuckled, a smile plastered on her face as she looked at the footage. Andrew wheeled his way over to her side, curious to what she was smiling at. He rested his arm on the bedside, leaning over and looking at the footage.

(Y/N) moved the camera in the center of them so they both could see. She clicked the next video, pressing play.

A boy with brown hair looked at the camera, confused. “What do I say?”

“Say get better.” Doctor Ryan whispered from behind the camera.

“Get better.” The boy spoke.

“Now add more to it, say nice things.” Doctor Ryan whispered, resisting the urge to chuckle.

“Nice things.” The kid spoke.

“No. What do you like about Nurse (L/N).” Doctor Ryan spoke, now using his normal volume instead of whispering.

“I like that she’s nice.” The kid smiled.

“Now say it to the camera.” Doctor Ryan pushed.

“I like that you’re nice, camera.” The boy smiled, one of his front teeth were missing, only adding to the cuteness.

“Ah, close enough.” Doctor Ryan chuckled, ending the video.

(Y/N) giggled at the video while Andrew remained unfazed. She clicked the next video, pressing play. There was a girl inside Doctor Ryan’s office, there for an appointment. She was a frequent regular for common colds, so (Y/N) recognized her instantly.

“Hi, Ms. (L/N)! Please get better soon, Doctor Ryan’s handwriting is too messy! I like yours better!” she smiled.

“Hey! It’s not messy, you just can’t read the prescriptions because it’s long words!” Doctor Ryan laughed.

“Still bad.” The kid smiled.

“Oh whatever.” Doctor Ryan chuckled from behind the camera, ending the video.

The kid was right, Doctor Ryan’s handwriting was bad. The kid would try to read the prescriptions on the paper but couldn’t read the big messy words, so (Y/N) would just simply write “cold medicine” so the girl could read it.

(Y/N) smiled, going through more and more videos as she chuckled and grinned at the kids, their thoughts and feelings, and seeing their current statuses.

She eventually got to the last video, the caption above saying it was recorded just eight hours ago, when (Y/N) was still sleeping in the hospital after surgery.

“Hi, Ms. (L/N)!” the patient with blonde hair smiled, revealing to be Hailey, lively and well.

“I heard you’re unwell and I hope you get better really soon! I can’t wait to see you again and to read the books you lend me. Please get well soon, I miss you already!” Hailey smiled.

“Wow, she looked to be getting better.” Andrew commented, pointing at the screen. “I wonder what happened…”

Even though Hailey was lively and well, anybody with medical knowledge would know that she was doing bad.

“Terminal lucidity.” (Y/N) answered. “Sometimes before you die, your brain acts out on a last defense. You gain more energy and strength; but it’s fruitless.” She explained.

“Oh… that blows…” Andrew muttered.

No wonder she seemed much more vocal and confident today than she did yesterday. He wondered if he died, would he act like that too before kicking the bucket? That must hurt for the loved ones who don’t understand.

“It does…” (Y/N) sighed, her mind going blank as she stared out in the distance.

When things become too much, it’s better not to think and just go on auto-pilot. It’s how (Y/N) went through her life when things became too much.

It’s unhealthy, she knows that, but it helps her cope with reality.

She turned off the camera screen, burning a hole into her lap as she looked at the black screen. She spaced out, going motionless.

Andrew noticed, unsure whether to speak up or not. She was obviously feeling distraught and he wasn’t sure if she should be wallowing in her feelings or not.

Auto-pilot took over and decided it wanted her to cry. Tears started pouring down her face before she knew it, only causing Andrew to shift uncomfortably in his chair. He sighed, grabbing her hand and holding it.

“Hey… it’s okay.” Andrew spoke awkwardly.

“No, it’s not.” She spoke, her voice cracking. “All these kids, they shouldn’t have to go through this so young. They shouldn't be in pain or dying.”

It’s admirable, her care for others. It must take a good heart to do that, always worrying about others instead of herself. Andrew wondered if he was like that before all this happened. Was he a good person before he jumped and lost most of his memory?

No, probably not. This is reality, not a dream. He doubts that he was a good person, judging by the way he acted with Ashley the past three months he could remember. His parents ignored his calls, his girlfriend broke up with him on the phone, and he killed multiple people and even ate his neighbor!

Yeah, definitely not a good person.

“There, there…” Andrew muttered awkwardly, squeezing her hand hesitantly. “Sometimes things just happen?”

“But they shouldn’t happen to kids. They’ve been brought in this world just to get taken out when life has barely even started for them. These poor kids.” She cried, squeezing Andrew’s hand tightly for comfort. “They shouldn’t be wanted to die so early on. They should be enjoying life, not wondering when it’ll end.”

Normally, she’d just hide her feelings or bottle it up until she got home, but she can’t even go home and cry because she has a body to bury and a apartment to clean.

Life just keeps piling up on her more and more. It feels like a never ending cycle of pain. The only time she even feels happy now in reality, without sleeping, is seeing kids happy and smiling. How can she be happy if they keep dying? How can she be happy if these kids keep getting their happiness robbed?

Andrew contemplated what he should do. Should he let her vent? Should he try and comfort her more? Should he offer her to shut up and shove advice down her throat?

He decided it was probably best to just comfort her, he’d rather not see her cry. She can be emotional outside of his vision. As much as he likes this nurse, he hates sensitive people; maybe he just doesn’t like seeing someone he favors crying.

Andrew sighed, reaching over and placing both his hands on her face, wiping the tears off her cheeks with his thumbs.

“Hey, don’t cry.” He spoke. “It doesn’t look good on you, you know?”

(Y/N) sniffled as she tried to speak. The muscles in her throat felt restricting, preventing her from putting them to use, so she only just shook her head.

“That video showed Hailey saying that she wanted you to get better, right?” Andrew pointed out, wiping the tears into her skin.

(Y/N) nodded, unsure of where he was trying to go with this.

“So, she knew you weren’t feeling good, even when she wasn't doing good herself She cares about your health. Do you think crying would make her happy?” Andrew questioned. “I think it would just worry her about you. You wouldn’t want her to worry about you, would you?”

(Y/N) shook her head, her shoulders shaking from her sobs.

"You were there for her when no one else was? Isn't that all that matters in a kid's final moments?" Andrew questioned.

Andrew's right, at least they didn't die alone. Dying alone must be one of the worst ways to die, alone to succumb to your own thoughts and regrets of what could've happen and what did. It must be worse slowly deteriorating over time, at least dying quick you wouldn't be alone with your thoughts, but dying alone just leaves your thoughts, which slowly fade over time the more and more you stop living and just start existing, before even you lose that too.

Yeah, being alone sucks, (Y/N) can vouch for that. Coming home to an empty house with nobody to greet you, eating meals alone, waking up alone and going to sleep alone, shopping alone. It's kind of like dying alone in one way. You're just waiting for that time to come when eventually you stop doing those other things, so you just go on autopilot and wait. Of course, she could easily change all that by dating someone or getting a pet for at home, but it's just so exhausting trying to find a good person to spend the rest of your life with.

There's a reason so many people are single in the dating pool. Besides, she doubts anyone would want to date her with her work schedule; she sleeps in the day and either works at night or stays up at night on her days off. Let's not forget how she's constantly tired and depressed, dating someone like her would be such a buzzkill, you'd have to be desperate; at least that's what her mother said to her last time they met up for dinner.

(Y/N)’s tears stopped, realizing Andrew was right. Hailey wouldn’t want her crying, and if (Y/N) died, she wouldn’t want to be sad either.

(Y/N)’s sadness was soon replaced with embarrassment once she realized she was crying. Crying in front of a man and have the audacity to rely on him for her own emotions. It only makes it worse that he was her patient. This must be wrong in some way to be touching her patient like this, considering Andrew isn’t in any need of reassurance she should be providing as his nurse.

She pushed him away rather quickly, wiping her own tears out of her eyes instead of him doing it for her. Andrew looked confused, mentally wondering if he did something wrong.

Why the sudden change?

(Y/N) adverted her eyes from his face, feeling childish and insecure for crying in front of someone. Even if he was pretty handsome to her, she’d rather not see the pity, or any other sort of expression on his face.

Andrew felt a bit annoyed at the sudden change. He was just holding her and comforting her. She was even leaning against him and crying into his chest! Why did she suddenly push him away? Why did she suddenly not want him anymore?

His eye unconsciously twitched, showing his mild annoyance as a tinge of insecurity washed over him. Before he could question the sudden change of heart, the door opened, Penelope walking into the room.

Penelope’s face brightened once she saw (Y/N), before it dropped noticing Andrew. Penelope suddenly became skittish, playing with her fingers as she avoided Andrew’s gaze (glare).

“Um… Mr. Graves, you’re not supposed to be here at night. It’s protocol for patients to be in their rooms in the night.” Penelope muttered, her green eyes staring down at the white tiles. “Should I escort you back to your room?”

“No.” He spoke quickly, wanting nothing to do with Penelope.

Andrew looked back at (Y/N), his gaze softening just a bit as he looked a bit concerned for her. He didn’t want to leave her. What if she needed help with something? What if she cried some more? What if she needed him?

Andrew mentally groaned, conflicted with his emotions. He unlocked his wheelchair and wheeled to the door, Penelope stepping to the side so he could pass by her.

“You can come back during visiting hours.” Penelope added quietly, resulting in a harsh glare from Andrew.

If only looks could kill.

Penelope watched as Andrew left the room, before she closed the door behind her for privacy.

“Gosh, he’s just so intimidating…” Penelope groaned, taking a seat in the room’s guest chair.

“He’s not so bad…” (Y/N) hummed, smiling.

(Y/N)’s not too sure why Penelope’s afraid of Andrew. Sure, he’s a man, but he’s not really intimidating. Perhaps she’s grown desensitized to him and his menacing aura.

Or you know, perhaps she just likes red flags. A killer cannibal certainly is a red flag, but that’s just a theory.

Besides, what’s he gonna do with two broken legs? Punch her? Penelope just has to climb up on the hospital bed or take the stairs.

Penelope took in (Y/N)’s appearance, a frown making way on her face.

"Oh, you poor thing!" she spoke, the words sounding degrading enough, especially after (Y/N) was just crying a few minutes ago. "Who could do such a thing to you?"

"Who knows..." (Y/N) muttered, ignoring the sudden shock of anger shooting through her.

She looked at Andrew. Why did Penelope look at Andrew? Yeah, she was searching for him to bring him back to his room, but did she have to advert her eyes and mutter like a damn school girl?

The sudden jealousy pissed (Y/N) off, why was she acting like this? Why did she care? What does Penelope even want?

"Did you need something?" (Y/N) questioned, not doing too well to hide her annoyance.

Luckily, Penelope was a bit oblivious, yet still seemed a bit on edge.

"Oh, sorry... Well, before I speak, how do you feel? Do you need anything? Food or water? Painkillers?" Penelope questioned.

"I'm doing fine..." (Y/N) spoke, gritting her teeth as she smiled.

"Good. Well, did you hear the news about that patient? Andrew Graves?" Penelope questioned.

"What about him?" (Y/N) questioned, glancing at Penelope suspiciously as another volt of jealousy shot through her.

"Well, I did some digging online, and I found out he's wanted!" Penelope spoke, her voice a bit too loud for her liking.

"So?" (Y/N) questioned, already knowing this information, before she quickly switched up her attitude, realizing that wasn't an appropriate social response. "Wait, what? Wanted? Like, by the police?"

"Yes!" Penelope nodded, leaning closer to (Y/N) in her chair as she spoke. "Wanted for murder! They said he killed four people at their old apartment. Him and his sister, Ashley. They even said one of the bodies had meat cut off it and it was cut up in pieces! They found DNA and blood in their kitchen, on the counter and pots and silverware!"

Well, the police only has to worry about one sibling now... (Y/N) thought to herself.

(Y/N) stayed silent, unsure of what a functioning human would respond to this. Honestly, she's grown quite comfortable with the fact Andrew is a killer and a cannibal.

"I mean, that's just... vile! And disgusting! How could someone do that?" Penelope questioned, her face turning as green as her eyes.

"Why did they do it?" (Y/N) questioned.

"H-huh?" Penelope questioned, surprised. "What do you mean? They kill four people and ate one! They must be insane or something."

"Let's not jump to conclusions. We don't know why they did it." (Y/N) spoke. "Penelope, we should know better than anyone else that people act out for reasons. We're nurses, we deal with mental breakdowns and patients lashing out all the time, and we know they have motives behind it."

"Yeah, but that's a medical setting, when something's generally wrong with them! Andrew seems stable enough!" Penelope spoke. "He must've knew what he was doing!"

"Peer pressure?" (Y/N) suggested. "Perhaps his act is a facade? We don't know a person's thoughts or feelings. For all we knew, they could've been in a dire situation. I mean, who just randomly kills four people in one day and run? Something must've happened."

Penelope looked frustrated, her bottom lip pouting as she clenched her fists. "And? So? Why should we care?! He killed four people, you know! We need to call the police!"

"No! You can't!" (Y/N) quickly shot up from the bed, flinching as she felt a stabbing pain in her stomach where her wound was.

"What? Why not?" Penelope questioned, surprised at the sudden outburst as she leaned back in her chair. "Why are you defending him? We're nurses! We need to help protect people. He could hurt someone else here!"

"No! You can't take him!" (Y/N) shouted, throwing the bedsheets off her and rushing to Penelope, ignoring the pain shooting throughout her body as she placed both of her hands on the arm chairs, caging Penelope in. "You can't do that! I won't let you."

"W-what? W-why are you acting like this?" Penelope squeaked, her hands pressing together as she curled herself up in a ball, sinking herself down in her chair as she stared up at (Y/N), frightened.

(Y/N) paused, realizing the sudden position she put herself in. Damn it! Why did she just lash out like that? She's never like this! Why can't she just let Andrew go? She needed to think of something quick to diffuse this situation and convince Penelope not to report Andrew.

"Don't you understand? The police are just going to keep him here until he heals up to where he can go to jail. If you report him now and he's aware of that, he might snap and actually hurt people." (Y/N) spoke, trying to come up with a false reason. "You'll just enrage him and give him a motive to hurt others. He hasn't injured anyone severely these past days, only a few books and hits thrown because he was afraid of us recognizing him and calling the police."

Penelope looked uncertain, contemplating whether she should listen to the younger and injured nurse in front of her.

"B-but—" Penelope started, but was cut off by (Y/N).

"Penelope, please. Don't be an idiot. Don't do something so unfathomably stupid!" (Y/N) pleaded.

Just make the idea look stupid. Just act like Penelope's the one being insensible.

"He could really hurt someone if the police come and tell him he's arrested. They're just going to explain that he's under arrest, and will be escorted to prison once the doctors deem him healthy enough to go. He'll just be here, drugged up from his surgeries, and that could cause him to not think sensibly, it'll make him more of a hazard to others. We can't afford that, Penelope." (Y/N) explained.

Penelope adverted her eyes, (Y/N)'s words seeming to sink into her as she started to appear ashamed of what she was previously proposing.

"So... what now?" Penelope questioned. "He's not going to be able to stay here long anyways. We have no emergency contacts to contact for him. He has no records inside our hospital. He can't even fill out any of our forms or such because of his amnesia, either that or he's pretending to not to know the information." Penelope explained. "He doesn't have health insurance or can't remember it, and I doubt he can afford the hospital bills if he can't even remember anything! He probably doesn't even know his banking information if he has it!"

“If we tell him that, it’ll be bothersome…” (Y/N) explained. “I mean… he could get mad and hurt someone.”

“Exactly!” Penelope exclaimed. “I-I don’t know what to do! Should we bring this up to HR or the head nurse?”

“No.” (Y/N) spoke quickly. “I-I mean, c’mon? It’s hard to trust these so-called professionals. The hospital is notorious for its accidents and fatalities. I mean, we're all working here because we were rejected by other hospitals because of our questionable backgrounds and court filings! For gods sake, there’s an advisement a town from here that has a doctor suggesting anesthesia for depression and it has our hospital name on it! We can't trust the board for anything!"

“But… what can we do?” Penelope questioned, feeling hopeless.

“We’re the smartest nurses in this whole shithole,” (Y/N) spoke.

Maybe it was an exaggeration, but she needed Penelope to believe her, or at least stop her from reporting Andrew so that he could escape.

Why does she care so much about a wrongdoer? He should be in prison, he should pay for what he’s done, but for some reason there’s a stabbing sensation in her chest at just the thought of not seeing him again. The feeling was almost as painful as the bleeding wound she currently had.

She needed new bandages, she’s been putting too much stress her body. She would ask Penelope, but she’d rather not stick around with Penelope any longer. Sure, having Penelope around would make it so she’s less likely to snitch, but there’s also the possibility that she could potentially catch (Y/N)’s unnatural behavior and go back on her words.

"I-I just... what if we're making the wrong choice? I can't stand the thought that someone can get hurt." Penelope spoke.

(Y/N) almost felt sorry for the young nurse. The nurse was only three years older than her, yet she seems utterly more helpless in life than (Y/N). Penelope has a bad luck streak with everything. She's terrible at math and doing her taxes. She's terrible at thinking for herself. She's grown up from foster home to foster home. Every relationship she's been in has been disastrous.

(Y/N) would care if Penelope didn’t have such an unhealthy obsession about finding love. The whole reason she became a nurse was to try and nurse someone to health so they’d love her; it’s almost sad, really.

“I just can’t believe it…” Penelope groaned, burying her face into her hands. “Why are the cute guys always so unstable?”

Nevermind. (Y/N) doesn’t feel sad for her at all. Absolutely no pity. Void of emotion. She was almost considering the idea of murdering Penelope. Seriously, you're caring about how cute a guy is despite him being a major threat to your life? Should you really be focusing on a cannibal's looks.

(Y/N) decided to bite her tongue. There was no reason to start a fight (that, and maybe she's just a bit guilty of this as well...) It still didn't stop the bubbling pot boiled inside her stomach and chest as she glared at Penelope though.

“Penelope, can you go find my nurse? I need a new change of bandages.” (Y/N) grumbled, desperate for Penelope to leave her as she sat back down on her bed, wincing as she overstrained herself once more.

Maybe cornering and intimidating a person while injured isn’t the best course of action.

“O-oh, right! Sure!” Penelope spoke, popping up from her makeshift ball as she stood up from her chair. “Whats your nurse’s name? I’ll go find them.”

“I don’t know their name. I didn’t met them, only my doctor.” (Y/N) explained.

“Oh, okay then. Well, I’ll ask around and see if I can find them.” Penelope spoke, walking to the door. “Door open or closed?”

“Close it.” (Y/N) answered.

Penelope nodding, closing the door and leaving (Y/N) to her own devices. (Y/N) let out a sigh of relief that Penelope was gone; however, there were other things to worry about.

She needed to figure out a way to solve the Andrew situation. She could talk to Andrew herself and see if he has any insurance. She might be able to judge if he’s lying or not about knowing anything, if Andrew’s a good liar or not, that is.

She almost felt compelled to leave her room and go to Andrew’s. She could tell him what happens; no health insurance means paying the full entirety of the bills, which could be five digits to possibly even six after all his car, special requests/needs, surgeries, and days he’s spent admitted.

It’s fine… she just needs to sleep. She can deal with it another day. If she sleeps now, time will pass quicker and she can get discharged.

She closed her eyes, seeing nothing but darkness as she used her drawback to escapism once more, distancing herself from reality as she did her best not to think about her patient.

And chapter 5 is done! I do apologize for it being so long, I wasn't planning on it being so long but I guess I did get a bit carried away... Chapter 6 will have quite a bit of drama and new characters being introduced! Now I just have to get chapter 6 done... which I'm unsure of when will be done, but it's in the works already! Thank you for your patience and for reading, and I'm excited for you all to see the development of (Y/N) and Andrew!

Want more Andrew Graves content? Check out the Andrew Graves masterlist!

Inbox is OPEN for questions about the story and new plotlines/ideas, not for request!

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, chapter 4, current chapter, chapter 6 (in the works)

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darkeunology · 3 days

Text

♡ Love is the Warmest Colour ♡

Word Count: 3228 (I'm amazed it's this long)

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of gunshot injuries, normal Criminal Minds violence, kidnapping, torture mentions (No explicit details)

Summary: In a world where soulmates feel each other's pain, you and Derek seem to be oblivious to each other's pains.

Not proof read. Not sure how I feel about this one tbh.

Soulmate: Noun: A person ideally suited to another as a close friend or romantic partner.

Everyone in the world had someone who was destined to be their soulmate. It was a tale told to every child as a bedtime story, the exact way soulmates were known to each other. Shared pain - all soulmates in the world feel each other’s pain, Every scratch, punch or bump, soulmates feel it all but are never left with the physical marks from the injuries.

Maybe not so surprisingly, a lot of people never actually found their soulmates, getting injured close enough to your soulmate so that both of you would realise anything was quite rare a feat, most people gave up trying to find their soulmate by their 20s, not wanting to waste their life trying to find the person suited best for them. Including you, once you’d hit 25, you’d given up - you thought it would be great if you did ever find them, but you weren’t holding out hope for it anymore, you’d now just ignore any of the pains you’d ever felt from your soulmate, which annoyingly for you, was a very common occurrence.

—---------

As a child, a common question that was asked during class was ‘what do you want to be when you grow up?’ Everyone else in the class would always have an answer to this, Vet, Astronaut, Writer, Fireman, to name a few, but you never once had an answer, never a clear one anyway, you had no idea what you actually wanted to do in life, and even once you’d finished high school, you chose to not go to college, instead choosing to unfortunately bounce between jobs, starting out at retail, before moving to waitressing until eventually moving to the job you were in now, a barista at your local coffee shop.

It wasn’t quite the life you or your parents had ever imagined for you, but you were happy enough; sure, you were living paycheck to paycheck, and you weren’t really able to treat yourself as much as you’d wished to, but it worked for you, and now, being in your 20s, you weren’t really sure how you could do anything else with your life.

It wasn’t until the day you very nearly died when you decided you wanted to do something different.

You’d just finished a lunchtime shift at the coffee shop, planning to go to the store quickly before you went back to your apartment, a good friend of yours coming round to have a girls night together after a long week at work. You never managed to make it home that night. Whilst walking to the store, a van stopped next to you, a young man poking his head out the window, asking you how to get to the highway from where he was. After quickly telling him where to drive, you turned your back to the van, about to start walking again when you felt yourself be grabbed from behind, a large hand covering your mouth to stop a scream from escaping - no matter how hard you tried to fight off the hands on you, nothing would loosen his grip as he pulled you into the back of the van, landing a quick, hard punch to your head, knocking you out immediately.

When you finally woke up, you were tied up on what felt like a dentist’s chair. All your clothes except for your underwear missing from your body. A shiver ran through your body from the chill in the room you were in, the chill getting worse when the men who kidnapped you walked into the room you were in, menacing smirks lining their faces.

Once your friend hadn’t been able to get in contact with you after you’d failed to get back to your apartment after work, they called the police, knowing that you would never be late coming home without letting her know beforehand, she knew deep down something had happened to you, especially with the news recently of young women being kidnapped and murdered in the are you lived in. She’d seen on the news that the FBI had already been called in after the last murder after seeing the press conference on the news the other night, she told them everything they needed to know and hoped that they’d be able to find you in time.

Unsure of just how much time it had been since you’d been kidnapped, all you could focus on was the pain running through your body from the hours of torture you’d had to endure. It felt like you’d been here for days when in reality it had only been a few hours. The only thing that had kept you going the whole time was the hope that your friend called someone when you never showed up to meet her at your apartment. That hope finally coming true when a tall, dark skinned man jogged into the room, FBI vest on his body and a gun held firmly in his hands, “I’ve got the victim.” he spoke into his comms before placing his gun back into his holster, walking up to you, a gentle smile on his face, “Hey, sweetheart. I’m agent Derek Morgan with the FBI. You’re safe now alright. Medics are on their way down.” he spoke gently, his hands moving to carefully untie you from the chair.

Derek stuck by your side every moment until they put you in the back of the ambulance, keeping you comfortable as everything buzzed around you, only leaving you when the ambulance left for the hospital.

He was the one good thing you tried to focus on whenever you had nightmares about the kidnapping. It took months of therapy, months of being scared to leave your house alone again before you were finally ready and able to do something about your life. You guess it’s because of what you went through, but you decided that you wanted to do what was done for you, you wanted to help people in the worst moments of their lives; so you went back to school, studying criminal profiling and psychology, graduating 3 years later before luckily managing to get a position in the BAU, the same unit who saved you nearly 4 years previously.

—--------

Derek remembered when he was told about soulmates by his parents, his sisters told him afterwards that they all had the same talk when they were the same age. He was told one night as he was being put to bed, his parents telling him that there was one special person in the world who was a perfect fit for him, a person who he might never find but someone that would never be better for him. He was told that was how his parents met each other, his dad being hurt during a police job with his mother luckily being close enough to him that they knew almost in that moment they were meant for each other. He was told that any physical pains he would ever have would be felt by his soulmate and any pains his soulmate had would have, he would feel himself.

As Derek grew older, he never really put much thought into soulmates, he knew how unlikely it actually was that he’d ever meet his true soulmate, with just how big America was, and the fact they might not even be American. He just figured that if he was going to find his soulmate, it would happen naturally - so, like most people, he dated anyone he wanted to, not caring, nor worrying if they weren’t his soulmate.

At night sometimes, as much as he would never tell people, he would often imagine what life might be like with his soulmate, or just exactly how he would meet them. He mildly envied the people who had actually managed to find their soulmate, wondering how they got so lucky with how large the world is.

Sometimes Derek would think he didn’t even have a soulmate, he often wouldn’t feel any random pains, only sometimes getting a pain in his foot, almost like his soulmate had just stubbed their toe somewhere - or sometimes a harsh pain in his arm, maybe a needle injection or someone hitting their shoulder too hard as they walked past them.

So, even as Derek was for some reason in a lot more pain than he normally was, he didn’t really think too much of it. He was used to pain from his job so it didn’t really feel like much to him, he thought you were just going through a bad day.

He never connected the pieces, even after his pain stopped once you’d been rescued.

—-------

Nervous was an understatement as you stood in the elevator going up to the BAU office, you hid it behind a gentle smile as the doors opened, asking the first person you saw how to find Aaron Hotchner’s office.

After getting your directions, you headed through the glass doors into the main office, walking up to Hotchner’s office to the curious looks of the other members of the team. You knocked on the door, walking in once you’d heard a ‘come in’ from the other side of the door.

“Hi. Aaron Hotchner?” you asked, a smile on your face as you held your box full of your things in your hands,

The man nodded behind his desk, standing and walking round the other side to be able to shake your hand, something you were just able to do with the box you were balancing. “Hi, yes. You must be Y/N,” he spoke, waiting for your nod of acknowledgement before he continued, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Everyone else has just gone into the meeting room. I’ll show you your desk then we’ll go up to meet everyone.” he explained, a small smile on his face the whole time, before he led you out of his office, quickly showing you your desk so you could place the box down before leading you up to the meeting room, walking in before you, “Everyone, meet our new agent, this is Y/N L/N.” he spoke to the team,

It took a moment for everyone to introduce themselves, Derek was the last to speak, “You seem familiar,” he spoke after he’d said his name. Everyone else took that to mean something different, since they all knew what Derek was like most of the time, so they were surprised when they heard Spencer speak, “Yeah, he’s right.” Causing the rest of the team to try and remember why two of their team knew your face.

Sighing lightly, you glanced at Aaron, who already knew of your past, he nodded gently, signalling that you can tell them if you wanted to, “I must just have a familiar face.” you spoke, shrugging your shoulders.

Thankfully for you, the team dropped it. Derek still giving you looks every so often, trying to figure out where he knew you from.

—----

It had been a few weeks of working in the BAU, you’d managed to fit into the team really well. Already going on many girls nights with JJ, Emily and Garcia. You got on with the males in your team as well, but nowhere near as well as the girls. Garcia being the one you told everything to, including the day you were kidnapped and rescued by the BAU, and opening up to her about the small feelings you had for a certain Derek Morgan.

You’d also had a lot more pains from your soulmate in the past few weeks, nothing too bad, just some hard hits every so often, one being a nasty hit on your ribs one day at the end of a case, you standing with Emily and practically doubling over in the sudden pain that shot through your abdomen, “You good?” Emily asked, concern laced through her voice,

“Yeah.” you gasped out, “I don’t know what happened, that just really hurt for a moment.”

“Must be your soulmate.” Emily spoke, you nodded in response,

“Yeah, it must be.”

When you and Emily found out that Derek had been shot in his abdomen, luckily only causing a harsh bruise due to his vest, Emily was the only one who connected the dots about the pain you felt that day, deciding not to tell anyone else about her thoughts.

—-----

“You alright sugar?” Garcia spoke when she saw Derek, noticing the obvious look of discomfort on his face,

“Yeah, baby girl. Just got an awful headache, I took painkillers ages ago and it just hasn’t done anything.” he spoke, rubbing his temples, he knew from the fact that painkillers hadn’t worked that it would be a soulmate pain,

“Soulmate maybe?” Garcia spoke,

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking.” He spoke, smiling at Garcia before getting back to work.

It wasn’t until he sat down at his desk and saw you taking some painkillers when something clicked, “You good Y/N?” Derek asked, grabbing your attention and the attention of Emily who was sitting nearby at her desk.

“Really bad headache. Painkillers are only helping a small amount.” you sighed.

Emily was only looking towards Derek, a knowing look on her face, watching as Derek looked towards her, realisation slowly showing on his face, “Let me know if I can do anything to help.” he spoke, before turning back around, his only thought being that his soulmate was potentially his colleague.

—----------

Oftentimes when you’d come into work, you’d go into Garcia’s bat cave, getting her some coffee and having a little chat before the work began.

A knock on the door interrupted you and Garcia this morning, “We’re meeting now. We have a new case.” JJ spoke as she poked her head in, her face looking grim. Both of you stood, grabbing your coffee mugs and heading over to the meeting room, being the last two to come in,

“We’re going to Florida.” JJ spoke, turning on the TV on the wall, “There’s been a series of murders, all women in their late 20s, all being found dumped in remote areas.”

“Any sexual assault?” Derek asked.

“All of them had signs of sexual assault, yes.” JJ answered. “Newest victim is Stephanie Leigh, she was kidnapped yesterday evening after a night out at a local club.”

“All of these women were killed two days after they were kidnapped, meaning we have under 48 hours to find her alive.” Hotch spoke, his face serious like always, “Wheels up in 20.” he finished, getting up from his seat first as everyone else followed.

—--------

You and Derek were in the car driving to the club where the recent victim was taken from,

“I think I figured out where I remember you from.” Derek spoke, filling the silence that had surrounded you both for a while,

“Oh yeah.” you spoke, knowing that Derek probably had, and dreading having to tell him he was right.

“I think around 4 years ago, maybe more, we were called out to a local kidnapping case, the local cops were investigating someone kidnapping local young females and murdering them after torturing them for a few days, normally 2, but he’d accelerated his timeline on the last victim. We’d found the last body then a few hours later we were told of someone else being kidnapped - it was you.” He turned to look at you for a moment before putting his eyes back on the road,

“You were the one that found me first.” you spoke. Silence filled the car again for a moment, “I never told any of you purely because I just wanted to try and forget about it. I figured some of you might recognise me, but I hoped that you’d rescued so many people that you wouldn't necessarily remember one person you’d helped. Clearly though, you knew, and I think so does Spencer.” you looked towards Derek, “I’ll tell everyone else eventually”

“I’m sorry for bringing it up,” he spoke quietly,

“Don’t be.” You shook your head, “I needed to thank you anyway. All of you really. But you stayed by my side from the moment you found me until the ambulance left,” you paused, looking back at Derek, “I don’t think you realise how much I appreciated that.” you finished quietly, a sad tone in your voice.

Derek turned and nodded gently at you, not saying anything else until you guys arrived at the club, continuing on with the case you were working.

—--------

“I think we found our guy.” Hotch spoke after Garcia had finished her round of research she was given, the team headed out, finding the warehouse where the unsub should be holding the missing girl, rushing to get there before he murdered her just like the others.

Spencer and you went round the back together along with some swat agents and other cops, checking each room until you saw the unsub running from you both, alerting the agents who were left outside, Derek being one of them.

“We found the victim, she’s alive.” Emily spoke into the comms, just before Hotch spoke,

“Offender running on foot northwest, me and Derek are in pursuit.” Spencer, you, Emily and Rossi all ran out of the warehouse, knowing the victim was safe with the rest of the police and the medics, hopping in one of the SUVs and going out to find Hotch and Derek.

All in one moment, the most intense pain you’d felt before rang through your shoulder and your leg, causing you to yelp out in pain, making everyone else in the car jump, “Y/N!” Spence exclaimed, being the one sitting next to you in the back, “You okay?” he asked, at the same time Hotch spoke on the radio,

“Shots fired, Agent down. I need medics to my location.” he practically shouted, the message finishing just as the SUV turned the corner to the alley they were in, Derek on the floor with Hotch knelt next to him.

Confusion rung through you, the realisation never actually hitting you due to the pain in your body distracting you too much to think straight, “I can’t believe you’re a profiler and you haven’t figured it out yet.” Emily chuckled lightly, looking towards you with disbelief.

“What?” you asked dumbly,

“Get out the car and go to your damn soulmate.” she spoke again. You didn’t even think twice once the realisation hit you in the face, you jumped out the car, kneeling on the other side of Derek, one hand cupping his face,

“Hey sweetheart.” he spoke, a small smile on his face even through the pain of the wounds.

“Hey soulmate.” you smiled, “That hurt quite a lot you know?” finishing with a chuckle, Derek also chuckling before groaning in pain. “Sorry.” you whispered, noticing the pain he was in.

“I’m taking you on a date once I’m better.” Derek told you, one of his hands coming to hold yours which was still on his face.

“You better.” chuckling, you leant down and laid a small kiss on Derek’s forehead as the rest of the team watched on, smiles on their faces, relieved that the two of you finally figured it all out, even if you needed Emily to spell it out for you to realise.

#derek morgan #criminal minds #derek morgan x reader #criminal minds x reader #derek morgan fluff #derek morgan angst #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds angst

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