#deer in headlights moment I seized up— that’s how you know

[thetwotorches]

「ああ…こぼれ落ちる涙はお別れの言葉

何も聞かず、ただ僕の胸に手を当て微笑みを浮かべ

君の頬に口づけを…僕は君を忘れない もっと強く抱き締めて僕が空に帰るまでー 君の細く透き通る声が僕を離さない もっと強く抱き締めて僕が消えないように…

僕が消えないように…」

#gackt #malice mizer #le ciel #le ciel live #mood #my gifs #his face tears my heart out in this moment especially the brow raise at the end #those eyes #gackt is the OG pretty boy who so many male artists whether they know it or not model themselves after #huge massive gigantic influence #but no one will ever top him at his height- no one ever as authentic #i have a lot of feels about this man #one of my greatest moments is the time where I am 90% sure I saw him walking on his own somewhere in higashi-ueno #deer in headlights moment I seized up— that’s how you know #i had to rush back to my place and double check with current photos and folks who keep up with him and everything checked out #like an hour later after pulling myself together I went back out and retraced the direction I watched him go #ends up there was a sony office around the corner- I bet that was it #it was like passing a god in a narrow hallway- completely shook I was in shock #but I didn’t want to bother him because I was brought up better than that around talent #but man…..if I ever get a second chance I might say fuck it

[why-what-no]

Safe At Last

Part 2

Pairing: Morpheus x Fem!Reincarnated!Reader

Warnings: Death

Summary: Morpheus is stuck falling in love with different incarnations the same girl throughout the centuries, a girl who each time dies tragically. However, once he’s free from prison and has his powers back, he meets her again and might just be able to fix their story

Requested by: @writing-fanics

While Morpheus wouldn’t have admitted that to anyone, he had felt trapped even before he had been locked up by Roderick Burgess. He was trapped by fate. Trapped by the universe playing cruel tricks on him.

Throughout his time on this earth, there had been a women. There had been many, actually, but this one always reappeared. Always pulled in his attention and broke his heart.

He had met her centuries ago, falling fast and hard before she died long before she should have. And then he had met her half a century later, reincarnated as one of her ancestors. Completely the same except for her memories.

He had thought he had a chance. Thought they could have been together that time. But she died again.

And he met her again, and she died again.

And again.

And again.

And then he was imprisoned. Although he loathed every moment of it, he was at least safe from getting hurt from this woman. The woman who seemed to unknowingly been created just to torture him.

When he got out, he was too busy to think of her. Morpheus had his tools to find, and then he had his new path to figure out.

But as he walked away from his meeting with Hob, he realized that she was on the street across from him.

The reoccurring ache in his chest returned, memories of their times together clouding his mind. He had hoped his time away had been long enough to be freed from her but…

In his shock, (Y/N) stepped onto the crosswalk. She hadn’t noticed him, probably wouldn’t recognize him if she did. But he recognized her, recognized that she was in danger.

A car sped across the street, obviously too fast to stop. And he knew that her fate would be continued.

Unless…

***

(Y/N) froze like a deer in headlights at the sound of the car horn in front of her. Terror seized her, knowing she could die.

But a hand gripped her arm, pulling her away and against the hand’s owner. He was a tall man, dark and stunning. Staring at her with concern and relief.

He looked so familiar.

“Do I know you?” She asked, unable to take her eyes off him. “You look…”

“No, you don’t. Not like this.” She couldn’t understand his words, but somehow they made sense. There was something tickling her brain, something trying to make itself known

“I… what?”

“Are you alright?”

She nodded in reply, brushing off her clothes. “Yeah, thank you. I should really watch where I’m going.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Morpheus reassured her. “It was whoever was driving that car.”

“Thanks.” She smiled. “How’d you even get there that fast anyhow?”

He looked at her, suddenly having an idea. “I can show you, if you’d like?” He held out his hand to her.

She wasn’t safe on Earth, he knew that. But if he could convince her to come back with his to the Dreaming. He could protect her there.

“What would that include?” She was cautious, he appreciated that.

“I want to show you somewhere safe.” (Y/N) wanted to ask more, wanted to question the man. But when looking at his offered hand, she felt a peculiar feeling of trust for this man. Of familiarity.

She took his hand, sand swirling around them.

***

Desire wasn’t in an entirely good mood. Their centuries long trick with the girl had just been ruined, knowing they couldn’t do anything when she was in Morpheus’s realm.

“What about when she leaves?” Despair had asked, sensing her twin’s irritation.

“No.” Desire shook their head. “It never took long for her to love him, not with how much he loves her. The only way to get her to leave him would be to kill her. And that’s not possible anymore.”

They knew that (Y/N) was defended now, the days of playing with her life and Morpheus’s feelings were over. She was his now, completely.

Well at least I still have Rose Walker, was the thought that reassured Desire.

Their troublemaking wasn’t over quite yet.

#the sandman x reader #the sandman #the sandman dream #morpheus x reader #morpheus #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless #my fics

[cursedmoon-doll13]

Some Kind Of Stranger.

(Sirius x Reader)

Cw: Angst, Smut, Dub/Noncon. Afab reader. Prisoner (also falsely accused) reader and they are having a very bad time™️ Fingering, Unprotected Sex, Comfort Sex in a very uncomfortable place.

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: Condemned to rot in Azkaban, you find yourself thrown into a cell already inhabited by a particularly infamous wizard. Perhaps you can stave off the torment together…

Dividers by @/saradika

Your life is forfeit.

Until now, the threat of death never seemed real. Not when you were seized by the officials and dragged before the ministry, not when those cold, sneering faces looked down upon you and sentenced you to a life in Azkaban for a crime you didn’t commit. It was a farce, a bad practical joke. It couldn’t be real.

Perhaps you were simply enduring some nightmare; this was only a dream, you’d soon find your coworker, Mildred, shaking you vigorously - wake up, you lazy git! Do you even know what bloody time it is? - And then, you’d wipe the crust from your eyes, pull on your Honeydukes apron and go back to peddling sugar to those titchy new Hogwarts kids, who shrink more and more each year.

No. It’s now that it feels real. Now, you're forced behind rusty iron bars, stranded in the middle of the ocean, trapped forever. All you can hear is the crying and moaning of the other prisoners, who sob and bay like animals. You’re still frozen in shock.

Then, the panic sets in. Sinking and emptying, like a vast hole has opened up in your stomach. But you can’t even scream anymore; it dies in your throat like a broken whistle. Instead you just cry, sliding down to the filthy floor in a pathetic heap. No matter how you plug your ears, the older inmates howl louder, joining in a cacophony that almost deafens you.

After a while, the din thankfully quiets down. Exhausted, you drift off into uneasy sleep for a few hours, until some damp chill startles you again. You feel numb and heavy. For the first time since you came here, you take in your surroundings, though there isn’t much: You’re boxed into a container of rock, packed like a product. In one shadowed corner, there’s a pulpy grey lump stuck to the wall like mould. You blink away the darkness and realise it is a vaguely human shape: one with filthy, matted hair.

He is a man; or the sordid remnants of one.

He’s wearing the same drab, striped clothing as you, though older and rattier and crusted with grime. For a moment, you’re convinced he’s dead. The idea of being locked in with a rotting corpse flashes horrifyingly through your mind. But then, he raises his gloomy head. He must be waking up, too.

“Hello?” You gently call out to him. Your voice echoes around the room. You scrape your knee on the floor as you crawl over, trying to see him better.

Almost immediately, you regret your decision.

This is a mistake. Oh, god, it has to be.

The prisoner sharing your cell is Sirius Black.

That Sirius Black.

Sirius Black, who once fired off a curse that killed twelve muggles before you. Sirius Black, whose gaunt and hollowed cheeks now recall the skeleton you first believed he was. Sirius Black, who’s gazing fixedly at you now, in awe, as if you’re an apparition.

“Hello,” he echoes back, and his voice is so gravelly that he sounds like he’s swallowed a bag full of glass. His eyes are wide and strangely bright.

“I…”

Your throat constricts.

The panic from earlier almost drove you into hysterics. Now, you’re just a deer in the headlights.

He rises, advancing towards you.

“You don’t look like one of them,” Black rasps. You follow his line of sight towards your empty forearm.

“N-no, I’m not a Death Eater!” You cry, and scramble quickly away. Still, you feel the urgent need to clamp a hand down there. It’s as if his gaze burns you.

“I’m Innocent! I didn’t do it, I swear, I… I… ”

But you’re choked up with tears again. Now the dam is breached, and you can’t staunch the flow. You were so sullen and distant before the actual judges, but as you’re confronted with death at the hands of a possible madman, you’re desperate to prove yourself. It’s all completely pointless, but you can’t help it. You felt it when you failed your N.E.W.T’s, too. The weight of inevitability; the realisation that a door had slammed permanently shut on your life.

You’re so beside yourself, you don’t register how close Black has gotten. Now, you can feel his warm breath tickling your ear, almost pleasantly. But then you flinch, as images of brute, bloody violence force themselves into your head. All you know of this man is that he’s a ruthless killer, that’s he’s…

“Not going to hurt you,” Black tells you. He’s backed you into a wedge in the stone, with nowhere else to turn to but him. You feel like a cornered animal.

“Don’t cry, now,” he says quietly. A bony, shaking knuckle comes to wipe the wetness from your cheek. “If you are Innocent, don’t you forget. It helps not to.”

Don’t Forget… Black’s words solidify in your mind. You swallow down a lump. The scrape on your knee is beginning to sting painfully. You realise it’s bleeding.

“Wouldn’t do to catch an infection here, eh?” He quips. Black clumps together the cleanest strip of cloth he has and dabs at your weeping knee.

You blink owlishly. It’s so starkly conversational, it sounds like it came from an entirely different man.

“Um… No. No.” You sniff and rub your eye; it smarts. “You’re right, It really wouldn’t do.” You glance sheepishly back up at his pale face.

“…Thankyou,” you sigh, and you mean it.

For a brief second, this encounter feels precious. Without realising it, you’ve relaxed so much tension in your tired body. Suddenly, the absurdity of the situation you’ve found yourself in hits you like a ton of bricks. How could you have ever imagined you’d be comforted by a convicted murderer? He’s bent forward, staring intently at you, as if he’s trying to read your thoughts. A little too intently.

Black’s tattered shirt gapes open like a wound, and your gaze dips instinctively downward, tracing black-inked, swirling tattoos. His bare chest is coated in a thin sheen of sweat. Black’s hand brushes momentarily against yours, and you hurry to pry your wandering eyes away.

It’s no use, though, because he’s rather caught on. You believe you half-fantasise the ghost of a cheeky smile, twitching beneath his rugged whiskers.

He would’ve been handsome, once. He still is.

“Tell me your name,” Black murmurs, and licks his cracked lips. “I want to know.”

You tell him. He nods faintly, and draws closer.

Black’s grey eyes are half-lidded. He’s leaning flush against you now, breathing huskily, almost clinging to you, like he can’t bear to be apart from your heat. Maybe you’ve already lost the plot - after barely a day here - but the anguished, far-away longing in his expression makes your heart pang.

Eleven years ago now, it must’ve been…

A shrill, unwelcome noise cuts through the silence. Outside, another inmate is shrieking.

Then, the nightmare truly begins: an eerie rattle dragging across the air, knife-sharp, closing in, as certain as death. You realise immediately that it is the Dementors - your prison guards- even without seeing them. You feel them, cold like a sheet of ice, crushing you, inescapable.

You shift, darting your eyes around your cell; you must think of something, anything else.

Your distraction comes in a rush of warmth, cocooning you in a grimy coat. Black has caged you into his arms, and will not budge.

“Stay here with me,” he breathes. His voice is raw and hoarse, pleading: “Just for one moment…”

He shudders violently, and buries his face in the crook of your neck. Black squeezes you so tightly, so desperately, you feel like you’re suffocating.

“Sirius,” you croak out a protest. “Wait, let me go.”

The sound of his own name jolts him out of his panic, but his grip on you remains unrelenting. Sirius turns a sharp glare on you that makes you shiver.

Before, his gaze was fond, almost gentle, but now there’s a hungry glint in his eyes. It reminds you of the starving, feral dogs that roam the outskirts of Hogsmeade, the ones that’d rip your throat out for a mere scrap of meat. No, he may not have tried to kill you, but that doesn’t mean you should’ve let your guard down. You’re powerless to stop him now.

“Don’t leave, don’t you dare leave me,” he’s chanting through dirty, gritted teeth.

“I’m not going to leave, Sirius,” you muster. “I’ll stay, I’ll stay here with you…” The words seem to pacify him a little, and he softens his touch once more. You see again the sad, forlorn expression, and pity floods your heart. He’s a hurt man. A lonely man…

Another frigid spike of mental agony is driven through you, and you squeeze your eyes shut. You no longer have the willpower to resist. He’s so warm, his body wrapped around you like a protective blanket. You can hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat underneath his striped shirt, pounding like a drum.

“Help…” He sounds so lost, feverish. “…Stave it off.”

You find yourself nodding, pressing yourself closer to him. He’s right. It hurts you, too, the Dementors’ presence. All you have now is each other. Sirius strokes a clammy hand over your tear-stained cheek, lifts your chin and kisses you. His lips taste salty and bitter, and your teeth clash together clumsily with the urgency of it. You rush to hook your arms around his neck, fingers raking across knots and tangles in his dark, unkempt hair.

Sirius groans heavily into your mouth, bucking his hips. He’s so malnourished you can feel the harsh angle of his pelvic bone jut against you. Something else, hard, twitches fervently over your thigh. He tightens his hold on you before you can react, grasping your thighs and grinding powerfully over your still clothed cunt. You whimper as his heat radiates into you. Sirius doesn’t stop, panting frantically. Maybe he can’t stop. He’s trapped you between himself and the cold, hard stone, and you start to crave friction and relief from him. Something you can focus on that isn’t discomfort or pain. But you’re completely at his mercy in this position, and can only rub your clit wantonly against the throbbing outline of his dick. A low, pleased grumble resounds in his throat, almost canine.

Sirius paws at the confines of your inmate’s rags, and without warning, he forcefully disrobes you. You gasp as a freezing gust of air pimples gooseflesh on your exposed skin, but he’s on you just as fast, You cling instinctively onto his jacket as he hoists you onto his waiting lap. He latches onto your throat with a greedy bite, sucking ravenous hickies down to your collarbone. Sirius rolls a hot tongue over your hardened nipple, and you tug again at his tangled locks as he grazes tantalisingly over it with his teeth.

His hands are everywhere, movements once well-practised, natural, stirred into a lustful frenzy. One comes to pinch at your other nipple, another is slipping past your stomach, down in between your thighs where you’re needy and slick. You can’t help the moan that escapes past your lips as the pad of his thumb circles over your sensitive clit.

For a small, blissful moment, you rock into his palm as he holds you, stifling your mewls into his shoulder as he massages the bundle of nerves there. Oh, fuck, you need him, as much as you need air to breathe. If you shut your eyes, you can almost pretend that you weren’t here; that you are joyful and unfettered, making love to a free man.

“Mm, Sirius!”

Sirius curls another long finger into your wet slit, and you could swear the glint in his eye is smugly satisfied. He pumps mercilessly into your pussy, not sparing your clit from his attention, and it isn’t long before you feel a thrill rippling up your spine; tight, warm pressure building in your abdomen.

But then he seems to grow antsy and impatient. You whine as he pulls his hand away, but he hushes you, pressing a consoling kiss to your temple. The lucid side to him, the one that still cares for your comfort, provides you with his coat to rest your head on. You lie down, shuddering as the frigid air assaults you again. You grab at his rags as he quickly undresses. He’s taking too long, too long…

Sirius drags down the waistband of his slacks and releases the straining hardness of his cock. It’s erect and veiny, leaking precum from an enraged tip.

He’s left you so soaked that he meets no resistance as he buries himself deep into your ready cunt. You groan as you adjust to the girth of him, stretching your gummy walls. Sirius grunts, clutching your thighs so tightly his nails leave indents on the tender flesh. Sweat is pouring down his forehead in rivulets, and you reach up to brush damp hair away from his haggard face. It occurs to you faintly that maybe after such deprivation, this much sensation is overwhelming him. That notion is swiftly dashed as he stutters his hips jerkily into yours, and you squeak out a moan as your nerves jolt with pleasure. You clamp your legs down over his waist, rocking back into him with all the force you can muster.

Sirius is picking up pace faster and faster; he’s had enough of being attentive. He braces you against the thin material of his coat and begins fucking you in earnest, and his rough, sloppy thrusts knock the breath clean out of you. The impact of skin on skin echoes around your cell, drowning out the screams of agony from outside. You arch into him, clawing meagrely onto his biceps for purchase as your shoulder blades burn across the ground.

Sirius growls and grips the back of your neck, lifting you up to pull you into a hungry kiss. His free hand slips down to ruthlessly tease your clit again, and the inescapable power of his body dumbs your senses. It’s a mercy: now all you can feel is him, all you can think of is… The taut razor wire in your belly is threatening to snap. You’re so close now, and it’s like he can taste it, muffling your cries with his tongue as he buckles down and pounds into you.

Then it all breaks, a flash of heat rippling through you like an electric shock. The force of your climax is so strong that you instinctively writhe away from him, but Sirius holds you firmly down and only fucks you harder as you come, rumbling with satisfaction as you spasm and clench uncontrollably around his dick. You can barely comprehend how his movements are faltering, growing increasingly messy and desperate…

Sirius groans hoarsely before he drags himself out of you. His cum splashes over your still twitching stomach in a thick, white rope. He slumps, shuddering out a jagged sigh. Your orgasm lathers over you until it tapers off into a pleasant buzz. For a while, all you can hear is your intermingling breaths, panting in sync. Now that he’s pulled out, you feel strangely hollow and empty inside.

Uncaring of your still sticky belly, Sirius heaves his sweaty body on top of you and smothers you like a blanket. You only wish he could clog your senses, too, so that this reality could fade away. Seeking sanctuary in his warmth, you press your eyes shut and resolve to fall asleep and dream of better days.

Your life is forfeit. Now you will exist without sun, without moon, without food or water. Someday you may forget your own name.

But you will have this. You will have this.

#was trying to write some fun sexy smut then it turns out quite angsty #but for me I think that’s just par for the course #I honestly haven’t read the books in years I just think escaped prisoner Sirius is hot 🤷‍♀️ #the wiki is my friend #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #sirius black #sirius black x you #sirius black x reader #sirius black in azkaban #tw dubcon #afab reader #smut #angst #my writing

[aspiring-writer-hidden-voice]

Pregnancy

Hey, everyone! SA here with a mini head canon (sorry, I’m still getting used to all of these new terms so hopefully I’m using it right!) that I think you’ll like! This little series is called “Pregnancy” that will feature different pairings with the reader (fem!)! As always, please let me know what you think!

F!Reader x MHA; pronouns are “She/Her”; Quirkless (because I honestly couldn’t think of anything). Age: All characters are 18+ Warnings: Fluff, comfort, adult language, doctor mentions.

Izuku “Deku” Midoriya: 5 Weeks

The lump that had lodged itself into your throat refused to disappear no matter how much water you sipped while pacing the kitchen. Just a few more minutes and he would be home. Every second that ticked by felt like it was dragging by in slow motion as you took a moment to rest against the counter. How could you not have not noticed the signs? No, ridiculing yourself was not going to help in the slightest. A hand drug down your face, butterflies fluttering wildly in your stomach when finding it shaking, hastily wiping it on a spare towel when it came away with a light sheen of sweat. Glancing at the calendar you redid the math and when it still remained at the same answer that you’d come to earlier your gaze fell to the four tests that sat beside the sink hidden by some paper towels. You’d even booked an appointment at the doctor to make sure it was true when you had a suspicion earlier in the week.

And it was.

You were, indeed, with child.

That wasn’t your biggest concern though several others would argue against it: it was the soon-to-be-father.

This alone could end his hero career, the reputation that he’d built, not to mention the public image he had with being All Might’s successor. Brief panic filled you at the thought of being forced to get rid of it but protectiveness seized your heart like a mighty fist as your hand fell to rest on your stomach. He wasn’t that kind of person, you’ve grown to know him ever since meeting after his graduation from UA, but if that was the case then why were you so nervous to tell him that you were making yourself nauseous?

Keys lightly jingling from the hallway outside snapped you out of the train of thoughts, causing your heart to leap upwards into your throat.

“Hey, I’m home!” The bright smile that raised his lips, that glint in his emerald gemstone gaze, it was as if the sun itself had walked in as you gazed at him like a deer in a headlight. Despite the dirt that clung to his hero costume or the notorious villains that he dealt with, Izuku still managed to come home with that excited look as if you were the best part of his day. Something within you snapped the second your gazes had met when he paused when spotting you in the kitchen, the expression of joy at seeing you instantly becoming one of panic as with a sob you slid down to the cold tiled floor with the largest tears spilling down your cheeks that could rival the freckled hero’s. He was instantly beside you on his knees, hands quickly removing the gloves so that his bare scarred skin could touch your own as he cupped your face. “(Y/N)?!”

All you could do was hiccup his name, farther confusing him, until falling silent thanks to the soft press of your face against his firm chest. One hand began rubbing your back while the other pet the back of your head ensuring not to tangle your hair with careful strokes. It took a few minutes but you eventually pulled away to look up at him once the raging emotions within had calmed from the storm that they’d been caught up in. “S-hic-sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you like that,” you mumbled as he swiped the nearby dish towel to dab at your leaking eyes.

“I can tell you’ve been stressed lately so why don’t we take tomorrow off and do something fun together, yeah?” He said softly while helping you stand with a gentle hold on your biceps. “I know I’ve been working a lot lately and I’m sorry if you’ve felt neglected, I really didn’t mean to make you feel that way, but I’m going to make it up to you! There’s that new shop across town that you were talking about the other day! Let’s go check it out! Afterwards we could go to the gardens watch the ducks swim around in the ponds, its not supposed to get as hot tomorrow as it was today so it would be perfect and we have all those crackers that we can feed them. Once we come back I can make that dish you like so much. There’s still a bottle of that wine in the fridge that you love so we can open that up—”

The press of your fingertip against his lips halted his onslaught of words as momentary courage filled you; now was as good a time as any. “I’m pregnant.”

Silence fell as he blinked at you with eyes that steadily grew wider with each passing second.

Concern filled you when no words came from the silent hero. “Izuku?” It was as the tears that had dissipated returned full force that he finally awakened out of whatever daydream he’d been ensured within and you suddenly found yourself being lifted into the air by his arms that had swept out your legs from underneath you, earning a shriek of surprise and your arms to reflexively wrap around his neck.

His head nestled into your chest, muffled words coming from him that were indistinguishable and it wasn’t until he looked up at you that your worry of how this would affect him was effectively put to rest when you saw his tear filled gaze that shone brighter than the precious gem his eyes resembled. There was no music yet that didn’t stop the pro hero from practically dancing and twirling you around the kitchen as waterfalls of tears spilled down his cheeks. The love you felt for him seemed to swell as he carefully placed you on the counter and rested a hand against your stomach with hesitancy. “I wasn’t sure what was going on with you this week, I was so worried I’d missed something like an anniversary since you’d marked up the calendar in the main bathroom but then I realized you were marking your cycles. You didn’t ask me to pick you up any supplies a few weeks ago so I thought something might have happened but you did have that new coworker so maybe it was a sync altercation—”

“Izuku!” The softest presses of his lips against yours eased the alarm that you felt at his confession of noticing your missed period before you had and snuggled into his warmth as he enveloped you in an embrace. “What about your hero career?” You asked the million dollar question. “Won’t this affect how the public sees you now?”

“You’ve given me the greatest gift, (Y/N), and if anything this will push my inspiration to be a better hero than All Might ever was.” His dazzling smile was back as your heart gave a clench, your hands rising to cup his cheeks to wipe away the lingering tears. Emerald suddenly widened as he straightened, his arms that had dropped to wrap around your legs to keep you close easily lifting you from the cold surface. “We gotta get things ready! I know, we can go shopping tomorrow for all the stuff we’ll need!”

Your hands fell to rest on his shoulders with a laugh. “Whoa, there, we don’t even know if it’s a boy or girl!”

He ignored your words and the air was filled with your laughs as he eagerly carried you to the bedroom where he changed quickly then with you in tow slipped out the door while mumbling a list off to himself that you occasionally added things that you thought would be necessary.

Eijiro Kirishima: 10 Weeks

The lightest of knocks against the door caused your head to wearily rise from its hanging position, your heavily shadowed gaze meeting sympathetic and concern filled carmine that peeked at you through the door’s crack. Your garbled whine was more than enough to convey how miserable you were however the hand you’d raised to prevent him from coming inside the small room went ignored as he instead entered to collect you within his embrace with ease. A weak protest rose up your abused throat but it was effectively silenced by his lips meeting your temple as he turned off the light with a nudge of his elbow. Exhaustion beyond what you’ve ever felt before prevented your eyes from opening fully when plush blankets slowly surrounded the two of you with the creak of a telltale mattress. Knowing he had to work made your chest ache as his nose nuzzled into the crook of your neck, manifesting in a tear that slid down you cheek as vulnerability radiated off you in waves.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered into your ear when you made to withdraw from his hold, “they’ve got enough help at the agency that I can take some time off to make sure my little pebble has all she needs.”

More tears threatened to fall as a large calloused finger carefully wiped away the salty trail that had been left on your cheek, all of those insecurities and voices that had been whispering negative imagery within your ears finally falling silent as he enclosed your farther against his broad chest. “I don’t want to be a bother…” you managed to groan while relishing in the warmth that he gave off which soon chased away the chill of the cold bathroom tile that you’d fallen asleep on near an hour ago.

“I can help you take a shower later if you’d like. Or do you want to try to eat something?”

Appreciation filled you at how faint his voice came out, as if he’d predicted the mind-splitting headache that had been plaguing you since late last night that had nearly robbed you of your sleep. You snuggled farther into his hold as a yawn threatened to pop your jaw. “Snuggles and cuddles first? Think I might fall asleep again…” The rumbling of a chuckle almost too soft for you to feel if it weren’t for the fact that you were nearly completely enveloped by the much larger muscular red haired hero, causing a small smile to lift your lips at the knowledge that he’d never turn down a cuddle.

“Pebble?”

You groaned lowly as what seemed like a split second later his form had been replaced by the pillows, wearily opening your eyes as he softly called out to you again. Sunlight was now coming in through the nearby curtains that gave off just enough light for you to see his carmine eyes carefully watching as you rolled onto your side at the slight pain in your lower back’s behest. A confused moan slipped up your throat when finding him kneeling beside the bed wearing an excited expression but it gave way to ravenous hunger as the scent of something familiar tickled your nose. Instantly awake, you sat upright with speed that could rival the hero’s and eagerly waited as he made show of displaying the spoils he’d brought. The fact he’d managed to sneak away while you’d been sleeping wasn’t anything new, you’d become a heavy sleeper since discovering you were pregnant, and you were over the moon at the grand showcase of food that the red head had bought. “Is all that you got fries?”

He nodded, beaming with pride with each he laid out. “Did some diggin’ and found out that potatoes are the magical vegetable to helping with nausea so of course I went out and got you every kind of fry that exists! Steak, natural, crinkle, waffle, straight, there are even fries that were specially seasoned!” A blush threatened to fill your face at his words if not for his quick kiss before settling across from you with crossed legs, the bed dipping slightly from his added weight. “Where would you like to start, pebble?”

“Eiji, tell me you didn’t waste the gas on driving all across town to get all this.” All the excitement you felt threatened to shift towards anger as he sheepishly shrugged. “Gas is super expensive right now and it looks like you literally went to—”

“Cutie, I’d go anywhere in the world if it meant helping you and your cravings.” He pulled a few straight cut fries from the double arched labeled bag and offered them to you, “but that would mean we’d be apart and I barely managed to get myself out the door while you were sleeping you looked so adorable.”

The offering disappeared between your lips as you hesitantly chewed, unsure of if the salt would cause you to dash for the bathroom as you had a few hours ago thanks to the mindless munching of tortilla chips and salsa, humming softly when your stomach voiced its approval of the substance after swallowing. Food aversions and morning sickness by themselves were a handful, put them together and eating has been incredibly difficult but this might be the sign of hope that you both had been looking forward to. “Can I have some steak fries next?” Your shoulders rose into a shrug when he asked if it was working, if the potatoes were really helping fend off the nausea that had been plaguing you for the last four days, but the smile that raised your lips earned a victorious grin as he swiped the one you’d requested.

Shoto Todoroki: 16 Weeks

The quiver of your bottom lip was more than enough to convey what was about to come the second he looked up from the paperwork he’d been filing and crossed the office with quick strides until coming to a stop before you with hands on your shoulders. “What do you need, love?” He asked earnestly, those duo eyes you adored boring into your own that were filled with preparation to fulfill whatever was about to come out of your mouth. His devotion was admirable, despite the teasing that he received from comrades or the media, and it just made you feel worse about the selfish needs you’ve been harboring since finding the bed empty this morning.

“I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come and bothered you for something so stupid.” You hung your head as the heavy weight of shame settled over you when the phone on the desk began ringing and two assistants appeared within the door behind you. “It’s nothing, Shoto, really.”

“(Y/N), you wouldn’t have come all this way for ‘nothing’.” His head bobbed in an encouraging nod when you took a deep breath.

Your lip quivered more as tears caused your vision to blur. “I can’t fit my shoes and my chest hurts too much to wear the bras that I have.”

That’s all he needed to hear and he had grabbed the coat draped over the back of his chair, phone instantly appearing in his hand as he tucked you against his side. Those who had gathered once seeing it was you within their boss’s office entryway instantly created a path for the two of you as he nearly slammed the door closed behind him. Seconds later you were settled within the car he’d summoned, his fingers tightly holding onto your own as the heavily tinted windows saved both your eyesights from the near blinding flashes of cameras that seemed to follow wherever he went.

“Wait, Shoto— You really don’t have to—”

A light peck of his lips against your own was more than enough to shut you up but it was the gentle fondness that had filled his otherwise stoic features that made your protest vanish into a soft sigh as he shifted to sit face you, his hand gently slipping free of your hold to dab at your still watering eyes with a silk handkerchief that appeared from within his suit’s pocket. “Is that why you have been avoiding closed toe shoes and wearing flip-flops for the past few days or hiding yourself within baggy clothing, to hide the fact that you’re body is changing?” Your head sheepishly bobbed in a nod as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders to bring you closer. “Love, it is natural for a mother’s body to adapt to the life growing within her. You needn’t worry though. We are going to put together a whole new wardrobe just for you no matter how long it takes or how many stores we have to visit.”

“But your work—”

“You and our child are far more important.”

With a soft hum, you allowed his warmth to farther help your own relax as the car came to a slow stop at a red light. “We’ll find out soon if it’s a boy or a girl,” you whispered as his lips met the crown of your head, “are you hoping for one over the other?” A laugh nearly burst from between your lips while looking up at him when silence had been his answer for nearly a full minute and found his expression to be one of utter shock. “Yes, Shoto, we’re almost to that point. Technology sure is amazing, isn’t it?” Understanding filled your chest when he finally met your gaze after a few more seconds of silence. “Unless you want to wait until birth. Some people think its old school but I am fine with not finding out until they are born.”

Relief filled his gaze as you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Are you sure?”

“You’ve been incredibly prone to traditional methods ever since you asked me on our first date.” You giggled, lightly tapping your fingertip against his nose as the car began moving again. “I’m honestly not surprised in the slightest that you want to hold off on discovering the gender but it might make baby clothes shopping a bit difficult since there aren’t a lot of neutral ones.” This time a laugh did manage to sound from your lips as he whipped out his phone again, a single press of his finger instantly dialing a number that you recognized as one of his assistants. “Shoto?”

“Send an email to the design teams; I want a line of neutral infant clothing started immediately and want proofs sent to my email by the end of the day.”

“But, sir, why is there any need for a hero agency to send for such things?”

A chorus from the background nearly sent the phone clattering to the floor as a new group of voices took control over the call. “We’re on it, sir!”

Sometimes you forgot just how famous and wealthy he was but there was always the reminder on your finger that glittered brightly whenever your glanced down at it. It had been a bit large for your liking, its extravagant design and large diamonds worrying you about it catching on things, but it had grown on you with each passing day since agreeing to be his before an altar surrounded by family and friends. You fondly shifted a piece of fallen hair out of his face as he ended the call with a press of another button, shaking your head when he raised a brow in question of your smile, and instead pressed a gentle kiss to his scar.

Keigo “Hawks” Takami: 24 Weeks

Your brows rose when entering the small space that was going to home the child growing inside you, a smile raising your lips when finding the object of your search regarding the farthest wall with a serious expression worthy of mid-century art, a hand fondly rubbing the bump that had seemingly appeared as if from nowhere in the last few days. Some women didn’t show until farther along but not you. The little life form had been growing like a weed and was currently within the sixtieth-percentile for growth at this stage. A strong hearty kick was delivered to your side, causing your breath to catch while coming to a stop beside the man with crimson wings. “Still pondering over colors?”

He startled so violently that it nearly gave you a heart attack when he shrieked while turning on his heel so as to face you. “(Y/N), when did you get in here?!”

The shock of your appearance was a definite indication of just how much thought he was putting into the nursery and it warmed your heart seeing the amount of care the pro hero was showcasing. It was a bit funny to you that Hawks had been so absorbed by the task as hand but honestly it was starting to concern you with how long it was taking him to make a decision such as this. “Keigo, weren’t you supposed to be done with painting yesterday?” You gently asked when he recovered after the initial shock in time to place his hand on your growing stomach in time to receive a kick, causing him to coo in a manner that left you wishing for a recording device of some sort but the damn pregnancy pants you wore didn’t even have back pockets to hold your phone. That didn’t mean you couldn’t store your phone in other places such as your bra!

Amber eyes snapped upwards as you “aww”ed at the display, your tongue peeking out when a rosy hue entered his cheeks. “Anyway, kid, weren’t you supposed to be out of town visiting your parents?”

“Came back early because a little someone seemed to really miss their daddy bird.”

“And what about mama bird?”

Playfully, you rolled your eyes. “As if that’s even a question. We all missed you,” you soothed when he rested his cheek against your stomach with fingers gently combing through his blonde hair, “so don’t you worry your pretty little feathers anymore. Nothing on this earth could make us want to leave you, okay? You’re our daddy bird forever.”

A soft drawn out coo filled the air as his eyes slid closed then opened again at the light tap of your finger to bring his attention back to the wall nearly covered in paint swatches. “Wasn’t feeling the whole ‘Noah’s Ark’ theme and the jungle storybook seemed a bit too cliché to me.” He stood with a huff, keeping his arms wrapped around your waist as he moved to stand behind you. “Thought about doing a tree in the corner next to the crib then having either a meadows cape or ocean view on the opposite wall.”

“Who would’ve guessed that the player pro hero Hawks would have such an artsy side.” You couldn’t help but tease, earning a nuzzle to the side of your neck as his wings unfurled to enclose you closer against his being. “Honestly, by this point, I’m okay with whatever you think just make sure that the colors aren’t too flashy, we don’t want to overwhelm their eyes.” The flesh of your bottom lip caught between your teeth to hide a smile as he gasped before turning you around to face him.

Excitement shone brightly within his gaze as it met your own. “That tone you just used…you know the gender, yeah?”

Unadulterated joy filled you as he beamed. “I’m sure she’ll have your eyes and he will be just as tall, if not taller, than you.” Your hands reached out to lightly pat his cheeks when what you was sure to be a mental capacity breech caused the pro hero’s expression to become blank. “Honey, are you okay?” Concern would’ve filled you if not for the slow grin that lifted his lips. It was the widest and most genuine one you’ve seen since the private wedding, making even the one you’d seen when telling him that you were pregnant seem lackluster in comparison, the pads of your fingers gently wiping underneath his eyes that began to swim with moisture. “Keigo?”

“T-twins? You’re absolutely sure, (Y/N)?” The wings upon his back that had retracted poofed as you nodded in confirmation, a few of the feathers separating to lightly tickle the bulge that was your stomach.

“The doctor said that it’s the girl who keeps kicking while the boy seems to favor snuggling with my placenta.” Alarm filled you when he suddenly began to pace the small room with that concentration filled look on his face but it gave way to calm acceptance while taking a seat in the nearby rocking chair to comfortably watch as whatever inspiration that had hit him slowly manifested itself courtesy of the pencil that had appeared in his hand out of thin air. “Can’t wait to see what you come up with,” you called softly so as to not break his train of thought, hands rubbing the growing bump as a kick came from the left and a flutter from the right as if the twins were in agreement with you.

Fumikage Tokoyami: 36 Weeks

A groan slipped from between your lips as you struggled like a giraffe at a watering hole, fingers reaching as far as they could towards the fallen object that had literally jumped out of your grasp. “Oh, come on,” you huffed while straining at the awkward angle and only succeeding in knocking it farther away. Doom settled over you while watching the item completely disappear from sight in slow motion to vanish beneath the refrigerator. “Seriously?!” Tears erupted like geysers from your eyes as you slid to the floor in defeat with gaze locked on the large appliance. You had ten weeks left, the giant machine was definitely too big for you to move, and the growing hunger within your being was multiplying by the second with each salty droplet that spilled down your cheeks.

Gentle hands fell upon your shoulders as a familiar presence seemingly manifested out of nowhere, causing your tear filled gaze to rise and meet a pair of calm vermillion. You didn’t ask when he’d come home, honestly you hadn’t even heard him, but your tears threatened to increase when he held up a bag that had a familiar logo then proceeded to open a package that suddenly made your life brighter. “I noticed that your choice of snack this week was dangerously low so I took it upon myself to purchase more.” He readily altered his stance down to one knee as you accepted the offering when he held it out to you, sniffling while one of his arms wrapped around your shoulders once you’d taken it, directing your attention to the refrigerator in time to see Dark Shadow appear from beneath with the fallen one in tow.

It was literally gone within seconds between your hungry lips but it was accompanied by a wide eyed exclamation when from beneath you appeared a large puddle of translucent liquid. Blinking, you leaned against him as he helped you to stand and met his gaze with a gasp when realizing that your water had just broken. Panic instantly began to seep into your bones when realizing just what was ahead of you. “F-Fumikage?”

“The bags are already in the car, I will send word to the agency, family, and friends of what is happening.” He soothed while nuzzling your cheek comfortingly, “it is time to meet our little one.” His tone remained soft and soothing as he helped you out the door with careful steps, his hands never leaving yours except to slip behind the steering wheel so that he could drive to the hospital. “I am here with you, my angel, as is everyone else.”

You took a moment to pause in the hallway where the door was open to the spare bedroom that had been transformed into a nursery. Cloud gray walls decorated with constellations, plush navy carpet, lavender hued crib tucked in the far corner but not too far from the changing table or rocking chair that the two of you had gone to six stores to find, and the ceiling was decorated with shifting galaxy images courtesy of the aurora nightlight that was plugged in beside the door. The fluffy clouds had been your idea, one that he had gladly added despite the difficulty of finding the perfect material for them, that gave the ceiling a multidimensional affect with the gently swimming colors and the glittering stars painstakingly painted on the walls. Had it really been finished just a week ago?

“(Y/N)?”

Turning, you faced him fully as Dark Shadow waited within the open doorway that would lead outwards to the garage. He must have caught on to what you were feeling if you couldn’t make sense of them fully yourself and rested a hand upon your swollen stomach in time to feel the first of many contractions. His gaze was steady as you remembered the breathing exercises that the nurses had taught, taking comfort in the hand that he ensured was within your own with laced fingers, until it passed and left your slightly winded and leaning against him for support.

“A-any chance we can stop for something to eat before going to the hospital?”

A rumbling chuckle sounded from the black clad hero as he encouraged you to walk.

Katsuki Bakugo: 42 Weeks

“You are out of your damn mind!” Ruby eyes widened as you finished yet another plate of food. He was known for his love of spicy foods just as much as his quick temper, what with him being a pro hero and all, but even he had been left practically speechless when coming home to find you rearin’ to go lay waste to yet another restaurant. This would make the fourth unsuspecting business to suffer your insatiable appetite in the last week alone and the eighth time his credit card would dangerously reach its maximum limit.

Your hands fell to rest on the large bump that had grown so much you could barely see anything around it if it wasn’t high enough, a twitch settling in your brow when the man across the table used a napkin to wipe his brow. “I don’t see you coming up with any ideas of how to help induce me, Boom-Boom-Man, and we’ve tried everything in the book from herbal tea to this-” one hand rose to sweep out across the table literally covered in every spicy food that the restaurant had to offer as he came around to help you stand from the chair you fell into upon arriving, “-hell on earth spicier than Satan’s ballsack on a Midwestern dry heat wave over a drought ridden roadkill carcass of food espionage! Nothing has worked and yet you continue to fucking watch as I lumber around like a penguin!” It was clear that several other women who were within earshot were sympathetic towards you but it was the looks from the men who had their eyes on your husband that finally pushed you over the edge. The firecracker blonde blinked when you grabbed his shirt with a fist. “That’s it. We’re fucking in the car.”

It was as if a bomb went off as silence fell over the restaurant at your words.

Considering the circumstances, you were too focused upon your husband who looked as if you’d literally slapped him across the face with a riding whip as he still didn’t fight against your hold while exiting the building. The beeping of the car was enough to snap him out of his stupor though, his larger fingers gently removing your own from his shirt. “Don’t be crazy or stupid, dumbass—”

“Oh, really?!” You whirled on him with twitching eyes, hands settling on your hips when he bristled at your shout. “The pro hero who rushes in during rescues and villain attacks is telling me, his wife, not to be crazy or stupid?! Look in a fucking mirror, Katsuki, cause you’re the hypocrite who hasn’t touched me once in the last two months and I’m so sick of you treating me like a porcelain doll all the time! I’m not going to shatter the second you touch me, idiot!” By this point you were nearly screaming up into his face with tears streaming down your face but he was smart to know that right now it wouldn’t be wise to interrupt you even when people began to gather in the parking lot out of curiosity to see what all the commotion was about. “I know you’re worried about the baby but c’mon, what about my needs?! You think I don’t want you to kiss me?! Do you honestly believe that I wouldn’t want you to touch me intimately during this entire time?!”

One of his brows rose when you began gasping for breath from winding yourself, a silent request for him to be allowed to speak which you flipped him your middle finger.

“You know what? Go fuck yourself, Katsuki Bakugo, because whatever you have to say I’m not listening—” A shriek slipped up your throat as with a roll of his eyes he swept you up over his shoulder as if you weighed nothing. He had placed his arm ever so carefully around your hips just below the giant bulge that was your unborn child but his hold was strong enough to prevent you from wiggling free. “Put me the fuck down right now!” Your fists pummeled his back to no avail as he began walking down the sidewalk, the built up stream and pressure that had fueled your outrage combined with a dangerous amount of hormones finally dissipating as after several minutes of him silently walking. Regret filled you when he came to a stop at a crosswalk, a familiar park waiting on the other side, your hand lightly patting his arm. “Can you put me down now?”

Nothing.

“Look, I’m sorry for what I said and how I acted. Please?”

Silence.

The guilt you felt tripled as the light changed, allowing him to proceed, and resolved yourself to being the sack of potatoes that you practically were until he saw otherwise. You didn’t have to wait long and soon found yourself being placed on your butt within a swing with those ruby infernos staring down at you with a brilliant flame. Punishment was definitely in your future.

“Katsuki?” Heat erupted across your body as he circled you like a predator with narrowed eyes until coming to a stop behind you, shivers and thrills slipping down your spine when his hands grabbed hold of the swing’s chains that caused you to sway slightly until the firm hardness of his body met your back with a yank.

“Shut up.” His growl in your ear as a hand snaked downward until it was cupping your throat sent a jolt of arousal through your core when the other snaked down to rest against the place where your heart pounded so loud you were sure he could hear it. The warmth of his being against your own was euphoric but it was the devious fingers that eased within the folds of your wrap dress that caused your head to fall back with a held back groan. “You wanted it so damn bad that you were ready to fuck in the car?” Words, vocabulary, heck even the alphabet itself abandoned you as the shell of your ear was caught between his teeth in a sharp bite that was soothed by the light drag of his thick wet tongue. Another growl sounded when his fingers found the growing moist spot that was nestled within the apex of your legs that made your cheeks heat beyond what you thought was humanly possible when the coil within suddenly snapped. “Haven’t even properly touched you yet and you’re this fuckin…”

A disappointed whine slipped up your throat when he withdrew, making to turn around and prepared to beg for him to continue, when you spotted his smirk. Hormones that had been raging for physical touch took a complete 180. “Wipe that fucking grin off your face before I decide to sit on it.”

One of his brows twitched; he’d definitely heard your hidden challenge. “Just remember you asked for this.”

Alarm filled you as he walked until you were suspended above him, his face made to disappear within the crook of your neck where you knew he was about to bite you, but halted his advance by taking hold of his shoulders.

“Woman, you’re sending me mixed signals here!”

Your lips quivered, instantly causing his anger at being forced back to be forgotten as the carnal lust within his gaze was replaced by concern. “K-Katsuki, I think my water just broke.”

Together your gazes darted downward and sure enough there were trails of translucent liquid trailing down your legs.

“Damn I’m fucking good.”

#mha x y/n #mha fumikage #mha tokoyami #mha x reader #mha fanfiction #mha #mha fluff #mha todoroki #mha shoto #mha bakugo #mha katsuki #katsuki bakugo #bnha katsuki x reader #shoto x reader #shoto x y/n #katsuki x y/n #katsuki x you #mha eijiro kirishima #mha eijirou #bnha eijiro kirishima #kirishima eijiro fluff #mha kirishima #keigo takami #bnha keigo #bnha fluff #bnha #mha izuku #izuku midoriya #mha imagines

[lealdern]

How To Stay Conscious When You Drown Ch7

Explicit content further on: Minors please DNI.

Dick x Reader She/her reader AO3 Link

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Dating Dick Grayson is strange, to say the least. You see him more than you had before but there’s still some distance that he keeps between you, like a glass wall neither of you can cross, though you both linger at the barrier all the same.

There’s no reason for this that you can think of beyond his emotional availability. That first night when he’d held your face in his hands and looked at you like you were the answer to a question he didn’t even think he could articulate was the beginning of something wonderful, but it wasn’t the solution you think he hoped it was.

He’s attentive, and caring, and an amazing lover… When he’s there.

And he’s been low contact for over a week now, only sending short reassuring messages when you text him, and you’re concerned but not annoyed: You understand he’s like a tide that flows in and out of your life. Sometimes he’s an all-consuming presence that sweeps you away in his roll and tumble, other times he’s so withdrawn while you’re left high and dry.

Resigned to another night of late work alongside some frozen leftover soup you start to head to your bedroom to change when you hear a tap on the window: The window that’s seven floors above the ground with no fire escape outside of it.

It slides open before you have a chance to move, to grab pepper spray from your handbag or a knife from the kitchen, and a figure tumbles in, clumsy and groaning.

Nightwing.

You’d never seen him before but you’re familiar with the grainy CCTV images the newspapers and magazines sport when he’s done something they deem worth writing about.

There’s a large gash across his stomach and side, blood flowing much too freely to be anything good.

He mumbles something as you run into the bathroom, grabbing a towel and your first aid kit, though you know it doesn’t contain anything useful for this situation: Plasters and a shock blanket can only go so far. When you come back, phone in hand and 911 dialled you startle when his hand wraps around your wrist in a snake-like strike.

“No- No ambulance.” He murmurs your name, hand reaching up to his face to peel away the mask over his eyes and you’re staring at the glazed eyes of Dick Grayson. He winces, words lost in his throat as you press the towel down against the gash on his stomach, well aware of the blood that’s already coating your knees where you kneel on the floor.

“I can’t fix this,” the words are a near hiss, fear and anger mingling together to create something that dilutes the shock of what is happening; of knowing your boyfriend is Nightwing at the same time as you know he’s far too pale and the wound is far too deep. “You’re going to bleed out.”

“He’s- he’s coming,”

“Who?”

“Bat… Batman.” Dick swallows thickly and you see his eyes go over your shoulder just as you become aware of the displacement of air in the room, molecules shifting to make space for the hulk of void that stands behind you.

For a moment you freeze, body coiled and tight, ready to attack at a hair trigger movement, even if the primal part of you knows that the Batman is something to run from. If he sees the fight in your eyes, the way you shift to block Dick away from him, he doesn’t say anything, and instead crouches next to you and pulls something from his belt that folds open to a white sheet, about hand towel size. He moves your hands away from Dick’s side, gentle considering the urgency of the situation but still firm, and presses the sheet to his side.

The bloody towel feels sickly-warm in your hands and you watch as the sheet moulds against Dick’s side, seizing and puffing up while a low groan escapes Dick’s mouth.

“Does he have clothes here?” Batman looks to you, white of his lenses piercing white and you feel like a deer in headlights, “Jeans, tshirt, anything?”

“Y-Yeah.” You stand, rubbing your bloody hands across the front of your tshirt as you do, and head to your bedroom to fetch the clothes Dick had left in the drawer you’d emptied out for him to use. For a moment you startle at the sight of the blood on your hands as they hover over a black tshirt and blue jeans.

When you return, Dick looks far too pale, hair plastered to his forehead as he blinks slow and speaks to Batman, who is steadily removing the Nightwing suit from his body.

“Call an ambulance,” Batman instructs, taking the clothes from you, “tell them he got attacked and came home and passed out.” The orders are clear and it’s what you need right now to function, so you nod and kneel down next to Dick on the opposite side to Batman.

The call feels distant in your mind, thoughts a rush as Batman manoeuvres Dick into the tshirt first, and then the jeans. He takes the bloody towel and squeezes out some of the soaked-up blood to coat the tshirt clothes in just the right places, before he takes a knife to cut the tshirt in a near perfect imitation of the slash on Dick’s stomach.

You rattle off your address to the man on the phone, distracted as you think on how this is like a well-rehearsed costume change backstage at the theatre, fine-tuned and precise to the minute.

Dick’s hand slides into your sticky one and you startle, looking down to find Dick looking up at you with what he must think is an encouraging smile but is more a waning grimace.

You squeeze his hand.

He squeezes back, weakly.

“Stay awake,” you can hear the waver in your voice, knowing you’re close to that first choke of a sob, “Don’t you dare pass out.” The words are harsh, spoken through clenched teeth as you fight to keep yourself grounded and useful.

The man on the phone assures you that the paramedics are nearly there and you look up to see Batman lifting up Dick’s t-shirt, hands settling at the side of the stiff white bandage-like-thing that’s keeping Dick’s blood where it should be: Like he’s about to peel it away.

“What are you-“ He ignores you, focusing- listening even, for something you can’t hear.

Dick squeezes your hand, “’s okay, don’ worry,” he slurs and you look at him gone out.

Anything you were going to say is lost when batman peels away the thing and presses the towel back against Dick’s side as there’s a pounding at your door. You stand, vaguely hearing the woman on the phone telling you to open the door for the paramedics, and you open the door.

When the paramedics walk through you turn to watch them surround Dick, and see that Batman is gone, the dark outside of the closed window suspiciously void-like.

You dismiss him, heading back to Dick’s side as they stabilise him as best as they can before putting him on a gurney.

He drifts in and out, skin looking more grey than anything else, eyes truly glassy as his breathing shallows and you rub a sticky thumb over the back of his hand, both of you marked by his blood.

It’s as though you drift in and out as well, the journey to the ambulance, to the hospital, feeling like abstract snapshots. At the hospital he’s swept away, and a kind but distracted nurse guides you away from the staring eyes of others in the emergency room, takes you somewhere you can wash your hands.

Even when your hands are clean you linger in the quiet for a moment longer, the hum of the white light above and the tightness of the walls around you makes it feel like a liminal space, somewhere it’s okay to linger for just a moment because time won’t pass here, and nothing terrible will happen.

Taking a deep breath, you head back out and the nurse finds you again, a more alert look in her eyes, “Come this way.”

She guides you along the corridor to a private room, the white board on the outside having ‘Grayson’ written in thin green marker. She shows you inside and you wait, the space where the bed would be feeling like a marker of something awful, so you avert your eyes and stare at the blood that’s guttered in your fingernails and dried, blood you couldn’t scrub off without a nail brush.

The cream coloured t-shirt you were wearing has a gory smear of your handprint on it, the sight keeps your attention until someone clears their throat at the doorway, and you look up.

Bruce Wayne.

You know of him without an introduction.

You’d forgot Dick’s-… Bruce, would likely come.

“How is he?” He asks, voice a rumble that fills the room even if it’s low and quiet.

“Still in surgery,” you answer blandly.

He nods and the room quiets; you have nothing to say to this man on a good day, nothing that Dick would forgive you for saying, anyway. Right now, you feel like a frayed live-wire; a quiet danger that, if touched or prodded, would likely deliver a fatal charge.

You wait, quiet, camped out on opposite sides of the room like the strangers you are, until the connection that tethers you both is pushed into the room on a bed, unconscious and hooked up to slow-dripping blood and fluids. Swallowing at the sight of Dick, still grey, still wan with dark under-eyes, you bite the inside of your cheek until you taste blood: The assurance that he’s going to be fine assuages your collapsing heart, but the sight of him laying there, having been so close to death, still pulls everything good from you.

“What happened?” Bruce Wayne asks, the first words from his mouth since your solemn and silent vigil began.

“Muggers.” You say, quiet and without explanation, and Bruce nods, seemingly satisfied, though at what you’re not sure.

Dick is… Vulnerable: You feel like an animal protecting their wounded, and in your mind, Bruce is a threat: It’s taking a lot not to snip at him with bared teeth and sharp words.

You think Bruce knows; he stays a quiet solid presence across from you that feels just as lethal as your own.

There’s something to be handed to the man, though, he doesn’t even try for small talk in the hours that you’re sat waiting for the moment Dick cracks open his eyes with a low hitch of a breath turned groan. You don’t say anything about what you’d seen: The costume, The Batman, the blood on both your hands. Instead, you run your fingers through his hair and try not to cry, try to ignore the void of a man that watches you as you press your forehead to Dick’s as you both just breathe in each other’s air in relief.

Everything else can come another day, or even never, that’s fine by you.

Next Chapter

A/N: In my head the “bandage” expands and packs the wound internally but I didn’t know how to explain that while not coming out of the narration, if that makes sense. Inspired by 'Your Biggest Mistake' by Ellie Goulding. Initially this chapter’s inspiration song was supposed to be Tribute by Tenacious D but I let myself skip that one when it came on shuffle for obvious reasons.

#dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #dc x reader #my writing #dick grayson reader #nightwing reader #nightwing/reader #dick grayson/reader #HTSCWYD

[wemeetby-accident]

Sunshine frowns as she looks at the plant set on the counter.

It was going to be her apology plant to Peril, after the disaster that was the previous night.

She had been as skittish as a deer in the headlights, absolutely lost as to how to even hint at what she wanted. Throughout the evening across the street at the tattoo shop she'd moved closer and closer to Peril, thinking she could say something, ask --

But she failed. Sunshine failed big time, making Peril believe she was afraid.

It wasn't entirely wrong, but... she wasn't afraid of them. She was afraid of fucking up everything entirely. Saying or doing the wrong thing.

"And to think that I read romance novels," Sunshine told the plant, sighing. "And that I thought they'd help me?!" A noise of desperation escapes her, wanting to pull her hair from her head. "You're my only hope," she groans, looking at the plant.

--

Sunshine waits until the sign is flipped to open; gives them an hour to get settled and prepare for the day. It's still early morning, so she crosses the street, plant in hand.

"Peril?" she calls out, opening the door slowly.

She finds them at the front of the shop, eyebrows raised upon seeing the plant.

"Okay, okay. I - uh, well. I'm sorry. For the - mixed signals? Last night?" It's more of a question than a statement, but Sunshine takes a deep breath, looking down at the plant for a moment. "I'm not very good at... well, I read a lot of romance novels and I'd like to think I'd know how to tell someone I am very much into them and all, but obviously my performance last night says otherwise." She takes a breath, holding out the plant. "I'm sorry if I've upset you in any way, as I know - I know I wasn't very clear. This plant is an... apology plant. I hope you will accept it."

There's a pause as she shifts her weight between her legs, wetting her lips.

"But I also want to be clear now, and this is going to be very forward of me but I hope you know that I like you, very much. I froze yesterday because no one has ever made my heart seize up in my chest like that - I - oh god I sound like I'm right from one of my novels," she groans slightly, trailing off. "Okay, let me try that again. Peril -- Dolly -- I hope you can forgive me for any kind of confusion. I like you very, very much, and I would very much like to kiss you. May I?"

She's still holding out the plant, almost out of breath as she waits for an answer.

#au: florist #peril x sunshine

[differentkettleoffishalltogether]

Work It Out

Summary: Spencer realizes that he might just have feelings for his neighbor after seeing her in her workout gear.

A/N: I boofed it. Trying to write a blurb and I ended up writing a whole fic. I will never learn.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (Implied that reader is athletic but no mention of her body type)

Category: Smut, Angst, Fluff

Warnings/Includes: bad communication, cursing, smut, graphic descriptions of sexual acts, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, light spanking, please let me know if there’s anything I’ve missed!

Word count: 2.7k

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Requests Filled: 

“blurb idea that’s been living in my head, rent-free: reader is spencer’s neighbor and a dancer, who he has a huge crush on. spencer goes over to her apartment to borrow something and interrupts her daily stretches and spencer gets all flustered because she’s wearing leggings and a sports bra, and she’s so flexible”

“okay so this next thought came to my mind while i was doing some exercise lol: imagine that u started a new routine and you feel super tired at the ten minutes of the video haha, then spencer came back to work and when he see u doing some squats he's so turn on and then he just get close to you from behind and whispers "c'mon bunny, u can't with this, the only thing that u can handle is my cock" and then he just fuck y/n so hard aaaaaaaaa btw i'm the anon who sent that visual the past week of Twitter about the flowery lingerie 😌🙏🏻 —🥀”

“okay so like reader working out in Spencer’s apartment and he’s just watching her and getting all worked up. reader noticed and starts teasing him until he can’t handle it - 🐍”

-- -- --

They’d struck up a friendship almost instantly, from that first day that she moved in. He tried to help her with her boxes but he almost felt like he was holding her back, he got winded just going up and down the stairs on his own, let alone while he carried an entire box he later found out had been full of books. She laughed at him when he placed it down on her kitchen table and read the permanent marker label on the side. He still remembers how light her laugh had made him feel, how perfect it was.

From that first day things were just easy, effortless. He liked that he didn’t have to think around her, about work, about anything, he always felt so comfortable around her. Until that day.

The day that he couldn’t find his dustpan and brush after breaking a glass, so he went next door to see if she had one he could borrow. When he knocked on the door and heard a small ‘it’s open’, he walked in as normal, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the sight.

The furniture in her living room was pushed to the walls as she stretched in the centre of the room. He was sure there must’ve been a name for the pose she was in, but all he could concentrate on in that moment was how her body looked in the spandex of her leggings and sports bra. The smooth way her body contorted into strange shapes, the way her back arched so perfectly, and the way he could make out every curve of her body in a way he’d never really noticed before.

Thankfully she didn’t seem to notice his staring as she concentrated on her movements before finishing up her pose.

“What’s up Spence?” she breathed once she relaxed, turning her eyes to him.

And for a moment he wanted to turn around and run away. He was almost positive that his face was a glowing shade of pink, he could feel the heat as it radiated off of his cheeks while she looked at him expectantly.

“Uh, I um- A glass!” he stuttered out, “I broke a glass” he finally managed but she still just looked up at him with a puzzled expression.

“Okay, we’re really low on news today I see” she laughed, and he sort of wished she hadn’t, because it’s his absolute favorite sound.

“Sorry, I wanted to- I uh- I came over to see if you had a sweeping brush?” the words almost get caught in his throat but he fights to get them out, and he’s more proud than he really should be.

“Oh, under the sink!” she tells him, and he makes quick work of finding it before mumbling his ‘thanks’ and rushing back to the safety of his own apartment.

It’s a day he could never forget, even if his memory was normal. And part of him wished he could forget, because he knows that that’s the day he started treating her differently. It wasn’t easy or simple anymore. It was awkward and strange and he had a huge, stupid crush on her.

-- --

It doesn’t take long for her to notice the little changes in his behavior, the way he avoids her in the halls, or always seems to be inexplicably busy whenever she tries to make plans. And on the odd occasion that they do speak he never seems to be able to hold eye contact. It continues like that for a while until she just can’t take it for another second.

She waits until she knows he’s home, staring out the peephole at the door opposite hers until she sees him open it up and walk inside. She gives him about 5 minutes before she marches over and slams her fist against the door, a lot more urgent than necessary.

When he opens the door he looks tired and deflated, and his tie is undone, hanging around his neck. She can see the fatigue leave his features a second later, only to be replaced by a look of pure shock.

“Y/N?” he asks, like he’s not sure she’s really even there.

“Yeah, can I come in?” she asks, but she’s already maneuvering past him and into his living room like she’d done so many times before he’d gotten strange.

“What are you doing here?” he manages to get out once his shock subsides.

“What’s going on with you Spence? We’re best friends until one day you decide you don’t like me? What’s that about, I just have to pretend like I live next door to a stranger now?”

He looks like a deer caught in headlights. She’s not even sure she can see him breathing as his face begins to flush.

“I’m sorry” he breathes out first, “I wasn’t trying to- okay I was avoiding you, but it’s not because I don’t like you”

“Sure seems like it” she sighs, and for a second he looks heartbroken.

“No!” he blurts out, “It’s not that, I swear” he shakes his head, reaching out to touch her before retracting his grip, thinking the better of it.

“Then what is it Spence?” she looks at him with a softness now, with a pleading behind her eyes, and he can’t hold back anymore.

“It’s because I do like you” he says it like he’s relieved, like it had been gnawing at him, “Because I really like you”

“Like me?” she asks, the realization finally dawning. “As in...”

“As in... romantically?” he can’t look at her when he says it, closing his eyes as if he’s bracing for impact. But the next thing he hears is his favorite sound once again. She laughs at him. It’s not cynical, or rude, it’s the kind that’s filled with joy, and maybe just a little exasperation.

“Well I wish you’d’ve told me that sooner” she says once she’s calmed down, and when he opens his eyes she’s smiling at him, taking a step closer.

“You do?”

“Mmhmm” she nods, “That way, I could’ve let you know all about this crush I’ve been harboring on you for a while now.”

He doesn’t have time to think before she’s got her lips on his, soft and delicate against him. For a minute he can’t really understand what’s happening as her hands reach up to cup his face softly, and they stay there after she pulls back. Her thumbs gently grazing his cheekbones as she admires his shocked expression.

“You’ve had a crush on me?” is the first thing he thinks to say, and she nods, smiling up at him.

“Since that first day when you helped me move in” she admits, and the timeline clicks in his head. She’s wanted this longer than he even had. Something about it puts his mind at ease, the though of being desirable to someone like her just makes him swell with pride in a way he’s not even sure he understands.

“Oh” is all he manages to get out though.

“I know, we gotta work on your self confidence because you, Spencer Reid, are a catch” she smiles at him before diving in for their second kiss.

-- --

It’s probably too crass to say out loud, but his favorite part about moving in together is undoubtedly, her daily exercise routine. Sometimes it’s in the morning, sometimes the afternoon, sometimes the evening. He’s actually starting to suspect that she times it for when she knows he’ll be around to see it.

He waited a little while to confess just know much he thought about her in those leggings. The lilac ones that were still in her rotation. Not that he didn’t find her sexy all of the time, he really did. But there was just something, maybe pavlovian, about seeing her in those lilac leggings. The way they hugged her body, he always found himself staring more than he was proud of.

Whatever routine she’s following this morning has her just a little out of breath. And he pretends to be reading the paper at his desk while she pants less than 10 feet away from him. The sound alone is distracting, but when he glances up and he can see her doing squats, all he can focus on is her ass in those fucking leggings.

“8, 9.... 10″ she breathes out, finishing off with a small groan.

“Too hard?” he chuckles, giving in and laying his paper down.

“No way, I can handle it” she turns around to grin at him before turning back around, starting into another set, counting them out slowly.

He seizes the opportunity and gets up out of his chair, making his way quietly over to her while she concentrates on her form. When he’s finally behind her she’s nearly out of breath again, pushing through the last rep when his hand snakes around her waist and pulls her back against him. He leans in to her ear as he whispers.

“C’mon Bunny, I guess you can handle your squats, but can you handle this” he almost moans it as he presses his already hard cock right up against her ass.

“Fuck” she breathes out in a little gasp, her hands moving up into his hair to pull him closer.

“Do you think you can handle it Bunny?” he groans again, grinding himself against her this time.

“Yes! Yes Spencer please, I can take it” she moans out as his hands begin to roam over her body, gently tracing along the exposed skin between her bra and her leggings, feeling the warmth of it.

“Then be a good Bunny and bend over for me, okay?” he growls against her ear and she moves fast, bending over the back of the sofa, and presenting herself to him. He takes a step back to admire the view for a moment before he’s got his hands on her body again. His fingers go straight to the waistband of the leggings, tugging the smooth fabric down, pulling it until it's gathered around her feet, quickly doing the same with her panties until there was nothing in his way.

“Fuck, you look so good like this” he groans, a soft hand caressing the smooth skin of her ass before rising up and coming back down with a loud slap, followed by a high pitched whine from her.

“Did you like that Bunny?” he asks, gripping a rough handful of her ass as she moans out a meek ‘yes’

So he repeats the action, pulling his hand up only to slam it back down again rough and excited against the now sensitive skin.

“Fuck” she purrs, her legs closing, thighs moving together in an attempt to get some friction. But he puts a stop to that right away, placing one of his feet between hers and kicking them apart so her legs were spread for him.

“If you wanted something Bunny, all you had to do was ask” he teases, moving his hand along the curve of her ass until it was hovering between her legs, where she was desperate and wanting. He purposefully lingers just a moment too long before pushing two fingers inside of her. He’s rewarded with a low moan that pours out of her.

“So wet from just a little spanking, you’re so good for me” he groans, “Do you think you can handle my cock yet sweetheart?”

She can’t help the way she clenches and tightens around his fingers at the very thought. It’s not like they didn’t fill her up, they were so much longer and more agile than her own fingers, but nothing could really compare to his cock.

“Fuck, please” she whimpers, wiggling her hips just a little as though that might help convince him that she deserved it.

“Such a good girl, I think you’ve earned it” as he speaks he pulls his fingers gently out of her, and she forces herself not to while at the loss of contact. He pulls his cock out of his boxers, pumping it himself a few times before he lines up behind her. Though they both love this position, she can’t help but miss watching him. The way his eyes close and and he bites his perfect plump bottom lip. But then he’s easing in and the feeling of him is enough to eclipse every other thought in her head.

“Oh god! Spencer!” she stutters out a moan, her hands flying forward to grab at the cushions on the sofa, digging her fingers into the soft down.

“You feel so good Bunny, always so wet for me” he groans as he pushes the whole way in, burying himself right up to the hilt.

His hands make their home on either side of her hips, his grip is tight as he pulls her back against him at the same time that he pushes his hips forward, slamming in on each thrust with everything he’s got.

Hips hit against her ass each time, rocking right up against the quickly forming handprint there whenever their skin collides. The slight burn only intensifying the already overwhelming pleasure.

“So- ah- I’m so close” she manages to moan out in between all the gasps and pants, and without speaking Spencer reaches down to grab the straps at the back of her sports bra, using the leverage to pull her back up. Meeting her halfway he presses his chest right up against her back, one hand snaking around to loosely grip her throat. The other making its way down between her legs.

“Fuck- Spencer- I-” she gasps at his fingers start to run in small circles around her swollen clit, his hips continuing their motions at the same time. All of it building dangerously fast.

“What’s the matter? Too much for you Bunny?” he teases with a groan, right against her ear.

“No!” she rushes out, one of her hands bracing herself against the back of the sofa, the other draping itself loosely over his hand between her legs, encouraging but not interfering with its movements.

“That’s a good girl. Are you gonna cum all over my cock Bunny?”

She doesn’t have time to answer his question before she’s putty in his hands. Melting into his grip as he continues to move inside of her and against her. The only thing keeping her from falling to the ground is her loose grip on the edge of the sofa and Spencers hand around her neck as she moans out his name.

It’s only a few seconds later that his hips begin to stutter and both of his hands are on her hips again, pulling them tight against his own as he grows closer and closer. And then he’s cumming with a rough groan and a bunch of shallow breaths, filling her up entirely as she begins to slump against the sofa once again.

“Spence, fuck” she says with a deep breath, “That was unbelievable”

They’re both covered in a layer of sweat now, and Spencer can feel the hair that’s probably stuck to his forehead. In his exhausted state all he really wants to do is lay down against her back, gathering their breathing again. But he knows that’s just his cloudy mind talking. So he manages to loosen his grip on her hips and pull out slowly before rushing to the bathroom to get a warm washcloth.

He takes it and gently cleans the mess that he made between her legs before it gets the chance to drip down. Once she’s clean he helps her stand upright once again.

Although he’d come a long way with his self confidence there were still times like this where he let himself feel awkward, or unsure. Especially right after he’d just been so bold. But in times like this she knows exactly what to do. Rising up, she places her hands on either side of his face and kisses him, soft and gentle, just for a moment, before pulling back again to look at him.

“Shower?”

-- -- --

Thank you so much for reading x 

-- -- --

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[theladyismyshepard]

Oh wow you guys, almost 600 followers? I am confusion, but I appreciate all of you more than you’ll ever know! You guys are what keeps me inspired and going and to show my gratitude, I’m here to (hopefully) give you everything you’ve all been asking for

Well This is Still Awkward

Part 1

You were still frozen to your seat, unable to comprehend, much less control your legs. Denial was a son of a bitch and surely if you sat completely still and stared blankly into nothing, your girlfriends would come walking through and embrace you as if nothing happened... right?

You couldn’t hide away in denial forever, not when you could hear Daniela wailing from behind the thick door of Alcina’s office. Not when you could hear Cassandra’s voice raising, only to be silenced by an even louder one. Not when you could hear Bela pleading with her mother not to do this... they were losing the argument. You couldn’t help but to start trembling in your chair at the prospect of being stolen.

Lady Dimitrescu had said that she would return to fill you in on what was to happen now and that almost sounded like a threat to you despite her assurances that no harm would befall you. If this woman could hurt her daughters like this... How could she possibly care what you had thought or felt about the issue? You swallowed, unsure if you were up to every demand the Lady might have for you, and you had the distinct feeling that any objections from you would only make your life harder.

The door to her study opened with a groan, and you stiffened when the Lady herself ducked through the doorway, already finished with dealing with her daughters. You practically felt like a deer caught in the headlights when she straightened and her gaze settled on you, and the fond smile did nothing to calm your racing heartbeat. Her eyes dropped to look at your chest as a result, and you gulped as you watched them darken.

“I am terribly sorry if I kept you waiting for too long, my dear.” said the Lady, and if you looked closer, you could see the exhaustion that showed just how truly tiresome her daughters’ arguments had been.

You opened your mouth, ready to argue yet again, but something flickered across her eyes that had common sense screaming at you to snap it closed and ignore the way your teeth clacked together. The satisfied smile on her face showed she approved of your quick learning, and you couldn’t help but to frown, already understanding the difference in your relationship with the Lady and the relationship you had with Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela. She didn’t bother returning to her desk, instead choosing to tower over your seated form.

“Are you hungry, dear?” asked the Lady, her eyes surprisingly kind as she looked down on you, and that was worse... it had you diverting your gaze.

“Cassandra fed me,” You replied almost petulantly, and if she caught your attitude, she chose to ignore it.

“Oh that is even better, that means we can get straight to it,” said the Lady, unaffected by your tone. “Follow me, please.”

“Yes, my Lady,” You said monotonously, denial and bargaining giving way to just straight numbness.

You moved to stand, your head already ducked down, but a hand was quick to grab your shoulder. It wasn’t a violent grip, but the firmness of it told you to hold still and give your attention, and when you did, you could see the pinch between her brow as she frowned at you.

“Please, call me Alcina,” she insisted rather earnestly, and it had some sort of tension resolving inside of you. “You may call me so anytime you choose.”

“Thank you, Alcina,” You said, her name drawling off your tongue for the second time as you were quick to remember your manners.

“Now,” said Alcina, clapping her hands in what you could call a “chop chop” fashion. “Shall we continue with the day?”

“Yes, Alcina,” You nodded, and her smile brightened and it had your rigid shoulders marginally relaxing.

“Right this way then, dear,” guided Alcina, her hand returning to your shoulder, but gentler this time as she ushered you forward and out of the office.

As you passed through the threshold, the paralyzing thought struck you that you would run into Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela at some point, and you honestly couldn’t decide if you wanted it to happen sooner or later. Everything had happened so fast it was hard to believe that just that morning, you were waking up with Daniela pressed against your body. Less than an hour ago, you were eating and throwing playful banter at Cassandra before she was going to take you into town! Why did this feel like goodbye?

You felt your breath hitch as apprehension gnawed in between your rib cage, leaving you breathless and unable to focus on reality around you let alone formulate words. Your heart was thumping wildly in your chest and if you didn’t know any better, you’d swear you were having a heart attack. But the way your stomach felt too large to be contained in your small frame and the way dots littered your vision, and the way you needed to get the hell out of here, you knew you were possibly headed towards a full blown panic attack.

“Where are we going?” You could barely hear yourself you were diving so far into your own head.

There must have been a tremble in your voice, or maybe it was the way it sounded so disconnected from you, but Alcina turned her concerned gaze on you and the hand on your shoulder cupped your cheek. You two had come to a stop right in the middle of the hallway, and you still felt too exposed. While you ached for your girlfriends, you couldn’t possibly look at them as you gave into their mother’s whim.

“I am just taking you to my quarters, do you think you can make it there?” pressed Alcina, watching you like a hawk, and you swallowed and nodded quickly, determined to shake off the panic that was intricately weaving itself inside of your chest, captivating every inch.

“Lead the way,” You said, giving a nervous laugh to mask the fact that your organs were so seized with anxiety that it had you nauseous.

“Are you alright?” Alcina couldn’t help but to question, and you nodded (her hand slipping from your cheek) giving her a rather halfhearted smile.

“Oh, yes, I’m fine, just ready to hear my duties,” You insisted almost desperately, unwilling to speak lest tears fill your eyes at the mere mention of the root of your problem.

And yet again her brows furrowed as concern shone in her eyes as well as a little exasperation. If you didn’t know any better, you could swear that she was on the verge of pouting, but she refrained as she brought her hand to your shoulder. You refused to acknowledge the way your muscles relaxed underneath the small, deliberate circles she began drawing there. Instead, you focused on the crick that was about to form in your neck if you were to continue staring up.

“I would hope that with time, you don’t see this as a duty.” implored Alcina, and all you could do was finally turn away to look at your feet, but you gave a single nod. “I meant it when I said I see something special in you.”

There it was again, an insinuation of something special... It was beyond you what she had meant by it, but you found whatever “it” was to be a nuisance seeing as it got you into this mess. You weren’t even sure what your new relationship with the Lady was exactly, so you supposed it would be in your favor to just smile and nod along rather than argue. It certainly didn’t do her own daughters any good. But there was just one question that refused to be held back behind your teeth. So you craned your neck one more time and let it free.

“What exactly is it that you want from me?”

Rather than look offended or angered by your question, Alcina adopted a thoughtful expression as she dove deep into her own head to pick the right answer. She gnawed on her bottom lip nervously and you couldn’t help but to be thrown by how human it had made her look. Her eyes met yours and you found that you couldn’t take the intensity behind them.

“I want you to love me,” Alcina whispered oh so courageously, and you squeezed your eyes shut tightly and let your head hang.

I already love three Dimitrescus.

You were smart enough to keep that to yourself, and you turned towards the direction of her room, showing your willingness to comply still, and while it wasn’t quite a display of affection or approval of her words, it wasn’t the outright rejection that swelled and expanded in your chest, ready to burst forth, but too afraid to take shape. So you decided to continue on day by day, step by step, minute by minute. Who knew how things were to play out.

You took a single step forward before turning back over your shoulder to give Alcina a look as if to say “Are you coming?”, and you felt warm when she wore a fond smile in return, directed solely at you. She straightened her posture, determined to put the moment behind you as she continued on as if she didn’t just say what she said, and you were all too willing to let her.

Her hand was glued to your shoulder the entire rest of the way to her bedroom, and only dropped it to open up the door and guide you through before ducking low to allow herself entrance. It was warm, the hearth in full blaze as you stepped deeper into her room. The door closed behind Alcina with a small click, and it had the knots of anxiety returning to your gut. You knew she claimed to have wanted your heart, but that also entailed your body, and it had your frame wracked with tremors.

“Please, you may take a seat,” insisted Alcina, and you automatically plopped down into the large chair with your back facing the fireplace.

“Yes, my-”

Alcina clicked her tongue, and you quickly bit yours, catching your reflexive mistake. Your face burned.

“I did not mean it as a demand, and from this moment forward, nothing is meant as such unless I say otherwise.” said Alcina, taking a seat in the chair opposite of you.

“Then what are my duties?” You questioned, your brow furrowing at having it that easy. “Surely there is more that I am meant to do for you around here.”

“There is nothing that I necessarily need from you as far as house duties are concerned seeing as I have maids for that purpose.” said Alcina, pursing her lips, and a streak of boldness had you daring.

“Then what makes me yours?”

The way her eyes flashed dangerously had you paralyzed in your seat, and it didn’t help when she slowly raised herself up from her own chair, and without even taking a step forward, she bent over, both of her hands landing on either side of you, gripping tightly at the arms of the chair. She was so close that you could smell the overwhelming scent of smoke coupled with the hint of perfume that attempted to make itself known. At that proximity, you could see every line on her face, from the ones surrounding her smirk, to the ones crinkling at the edges of her eyes... and that didn’t even include the stretch marks that threatened to disappear below the plunging neckline of her dress.

“That would be this, darling.” drawled Alcina, and before you could protest, her face was buried into the crook of your neck.

And then she bit down hard. It was so piercing that it drew enough blood to dribble down your throat, but it was obvious that you didn’t have to concern yourself with the cleanup, not when there was a wet tongue that went hand in hand with the teeth buried into your flesh. Your eyes hurt from how wide they had grown, and your mouth was open in a silent scream. One of her hands had come up to grasp the whole opposite side of your neck, locking in you and any sound you thought to make. Your hands flew up to push at Alcina’s shoulders, yet she didn’t budge, too focused on her mission... of what? Marking you? Showing how interested she was in power play? Was this possibly even for her daughters?

You eventually gave up on your weak attempts at deflecting her, and your hands fell limply into your lap, and she hummed her approval into your neck before she withdrew enough to flatten her tongue against your neck and giving a single long, slow lick, and she granted you the sight of her leaning back and savoring the taste of your blood on her mouth. You felt dizzy.

“My, my,” whispered Alcina, going as far as to lick her lips clean. “You are the delicacy that I always imagined you to be.”

How long have you thought about this?

You didn’t have to look into a mirror to know that your throat was bruised. From the dull throbbing, you practically felt marked. And there was Alcina’s endgame it seemed, and it left you with a sickness in your stomach as you thought of the looks that would surely cross Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela’s eyes when they caught sight of the claim. You were betraying them, and right before their faces with their own mother no less! How could you possibly get yourself out of this family affair?

“Did you have any more questions?” drawled Alcina, finally sitting back into her own chair, and her smirk was setting you on edge. “I am always happy to answer appropriately.”

I don’t have the time, and you don’t have the patience.

You simply smiled albeit tightly, and asked, “What happens now?”

She was leaned all the way back into her chair, her elbows resting on the arms before she was hooking her fingers together, her index fingers gently tapping almost thoughtfully. Her eyes remained on you, they always did, and they almost always seemed predatory, like she was several steps ahead of you and you didn’t even realize it. What possibly had you so different that you were capable of captivating an entire family of cannibalistic women? Finally, her mouth opened to speak.

“You are by all means, mine, and the only demand that I have for you is that you know this fact.” said Alcina, and you knew to take her very seriously.

“I can assure you, that is something I can’t forget.” You promised almost sarcastically, but you knew to tame the sharpness of your tongue, lest it get you into trouble. “But what do you want me to physically do for you?”

The sudden touch of wickedness to her grin had you blanching at the way her mind went with it, and it was you who threw it out there no less. The ache was returning to your stomach, and you sincerely hoped that your face wasn’t expressing everything your mouth was wanting to. If she was picking up on your hesitance, then she made no indication of it other than smoothing out her smirk and lifting her chin.

“There will be time for physicality later, my dear,” she swore, and you shivered beneath her gaze. “But for now, I want to know everything about you.”

“You want to... talk? About me?” You were suddenly full to the brim and bubbling over with questions it seemed.

Alcina’s eyes softened as she detected the incredulity in your tone at the mere thought of having a full blown discussion surrounding you of all things. If she picked it apart any deeper, she’d sense the insecurity underlining your voice as well, but that was for a different time you supposed. You weren’t even sure if you could string together a conversation long enough to last more than a couple minutes if it consisted of nothing but yourself. The Dimitrescus were the ones with insinuations of something “special” or something “more”, not you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to think so.

“Yes,” started Alcina softly, her lips barely moving. “I want you to share what makes you... well, you,”

“What if there’s nothing to say?” You finally choked out, your brow pinching with worry. “What if you all find out that I’m not really as interesting as you think.”

With how quick you hung your head to hide your eyes, you missed her frown in response. But you did manage to catch her hand reaching to curl around your own, and you decided to relish in the surprising comfort it gave you rather than fight it. But once a hint of the thought flickered across your mind, it wasn’t long before you were comparing the way her hand enveloped yours rather than linking and fitting like a puzzle piece that was meant to be connected.

Like Bela’s.

Like Cassandra’s.

Like Daniela’s.

Your eyes squeezed tightly shut, but just as a single tear betrayed you by spilling from your eyelid and dripping down your cheek, the hand not holding yours cupped your chin and tilted your head up until all of your emotion was on display for her.

“You could never bore me, if that is what you are afraid of,” assured Alcina, looking you squarely in the eye to convey as much meaning as she could, and you couldn’t help the warmth flooding your chest.

“Well, this place has been such a big part of me that I can hardly remember who I used to be before.” You said rather meekly, ashamed that you couldn’t separate yourself from anything Dimitrescu anymore.

“Oh, my love, we have all the time in the world to help you remember.” Alcina cooed, now cupping both of your cheeks and you could’ve sworn you saw a glint of affection swirling in her eyes.

If your lower lip trembled, she made no comment of it as her eyes flickered to your mouth before glancing to the side and pulling away altogether. Her back was straightened once again and her hands were in her lap as she regarded you with a look you couldn’t decipher. Your only option was to sit and wait until she gave you some insight into what was playing through her mind. Fortunately, it didn’t take all evening.

“You miss my daughters.” It wasn’t a question as much as it was a statement of fact that she couldn’t ignore any longer.

“Very much so,” you pressed almost desperately, and you couldn’t understand the ache surrounding your heart when her shoulders slumped. “I was very happy with the three of them.”

“They are endearing girls, I love them equally for all of their charming behaviors.” Alcina agreed, and the smile that curled the corners of her mouth so easily had you knowing that her admittance wasn’t even begrudging. “I can see why you fell for the three of them.”

You could hear the drawl on the one word and knew exactly for what she was getting at, and you blushed a deep scarlet. Maybe it did seem weird from the outside looking in, but the relationship you had with her daughters gave you a relief that was astronomical. You had never known peace nor acceptance as you did basking in their light, and you were afraid it was flickering out.

“I love them,” You forced out, voice tight enough to get stuck in your throat. The mark pulsed when you swallowed.

You knew it wasn’t what she wanted to hear, but it was what you needed to say, and you couldn’t afford to pick apart and figure out the way your heart seized once hurt clouded her expression because of you. Instead, you chose to focus on how hurt her daughters had been, weeping in the hall for your relationship. You needed to see them.

“As they love you, I have been informed,” muttered Alcina, almost petulantly as she recalled her previous argument with her daughters. “They were capable of seeing something more to you than the other livestock that supports our winery as well.”

Everything about the Dimitrescus puzzled you, and it always left you scratching your head when you attempted to figure out what was so captivating about you, when it was clearly every single one of them that were so special. The power hidden beneath their skin and coursing through their veins was something to behold, and when they transformed into hoards of insects before you, you couldn’t resist catching onto the few not quick enough to get away, and the exceptional part was that you could distinguish who the insect was a part of.

You knew everything about Bela and how weighed down her shoulders were from taking on the world for her family. You understood Cassandra and her unwillingness to admit that she required a special kind of attention that she secretly felt neglected of. You basked in and guarded the comfort that came with Daniela’s almost childlike naivety. Your love for every one of them was obvious.

“In the end, someone is going to get hurt,” You deduced, pointing out the obvious. No matter how the story ended, love was going to hurt one, if not all of the Dimitrescus.

“If you are to take just one thing from this, do know that life is always here to test us if nothing else.” Alcina noted dryly as she reached for something on her side table before she hoisted herself from her chair.

She was putting some distance between the two of you and it was something you were grateful for. The clicking of her heels indicated where she was headed to, and you were aware of her presence with sense of sound alone. You didn’t have to glance over to know that she was hovering in front of the fireplace, her glassy eyes barely absorbing the dancing flames. The sharp, distinct clink of her lighter flicking open caught your attention before it snapped close with a clunk, and you sat rigidly in your seat, hands clasped tightly in your lap as Alcina audibly exhaled a puff of smoke. You waited patiently, but her following silence pushed you to wrack your brain for what you thought she might be waiting to hear.

“Does heartbreak feel worse when you have forever to hurt?” You whispered, wanting insight into Alcina, but also extremely timid to take the one step that was too far.

You finally craned your neck to glance over your shoulder and towards the hearth where she stood. The muscles in her back were so rigid they were stuck in knots that you could practically see from where you sat. Smoke billowed in the air before Alcina with every exhale, and that was the only sign that she was breathing at all, and you couldn’t help the guilt that began gnawing on the bones in your chest. You came into the castle and wrecked the family from within, and all you had to do was be yourself. You were getting so wrapped up in your own mind that you had to quickly zero back in on Alcina’s response before it missed you entirely.

“Forever is a long time to dwell, and contrary to belief, time hardly heals when the mind keeps it fresh.” sighed Alcina, her shoulders finally slumping forward beneath the weight she was carrying. “No matter how hard you push heartache to the back of your mind...”

“You have all the time in the world to circle back to it,” You finished for her, your eyes falling to the floor as you felt too unworthy to even glance in her direction. “I’m so-”

“There is nothing that your consolation nor your pity can do for me.” Alcina spat, and your teeth snapped shut with an audible clack as you bit back anything else that you thought to say. “Actions have always spoke louder than words, my dear, now what have you got to show me.”

You know what she’s wanting from you, she’s already said it, but matters of the heart couldn’t be forced, no matter if death was the only other option. As Alcina had basically just said, you could play the part of her lovesick puppy with words of false promise all day, but when the night fell along with your reservations, it wouldn’t be love that laced your touch. However, that didn’t stop your heart from yearning for this woman’s happiness. She deserved to feel the wholehearted acceptance of pure love, but was that really your job to take care of?

“I don’t want to hurt you,” You promised, your brows creasing with concern as you tried to convey how earnest you were with your eyes alone.

And how funny the situation was now, how the tables have turned... Now, here you sat with the ability to destroy the nearly invincible woman before you, and you could do it with mere words alone in a way that a sword, gun, or dagger never could. You felt sick at the power, and what were you to do? Alcina had made it perfectly clear to you as well as her daughters where she stood on stealing you away — your hand subconsciously rubbed the mark on your throat — but here you were to watch the aftermath as time helped realization to dawn on her. The extent of her feelings were true and legitimate, but she also showed a callousness that cut her daughters deep, and you think she was questioning if it was all worth it. Your mind drifted back to something she had said.

Time hardly heals when the mind keeps it fresh.

It would hurt Alcina to live the rest of your lifetime watching you spend it happily with her daughters, just as much as it would hurt Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela to lose you to their mother. It was hard to wrap your mind around; it was nearly laughable it was that ridiculous, but it was your life now, and it didn’t exactly feel like it was in your hands.

“Then don’t,” said Alcina, and you honestly couldn’t tell if it was an order or if it was a plea, but it added the pressure all the same.

“Will you ever let me see them again?” You asked, almost legitimately afraid that she would hide you away from her daughters forever.

“You would still be in the castle, would you not?” countered Alcina, arching a brow as she gracefully returned to her seat, placing her tobacco pipe back onto the side table.

“What do I do?”

When Bela cries to me... When Cassandra persuades me... When Daniela begs me... When I want to give in...

“You listen to me,” said Alcina simply, emphasizing her nonchalance with a shrug. “When you feel like it’s all becoming too much, just listen to me when I say I love you.”

But does love give you possession?

Alcina was walking the fine line between love and obsession, and it was all you could do to keep her swayed from the “obsession” side of the scale. You found that you only liked it when Daniela showed her obsession over you, and you didn’t have the mental capacity to juggle two sanity-impaired Dimitrescus. Daniela.

You cleared your throat in a futile attempt to dislodge the lump that formed there, and you briefly wondered if it was your entire argument that was stuck, choking you and itself down. Alcina had an answer for every one of your questions, and while it was a bit irksome, you also felt the fight leaving your body and leaving you slumped. Reality was finally sinking in that you weren't going to be able to talk your way out of the situation now, and you cursed the false hope that had bloomed in your chest. Now it was just prickling your lungs like thorns and it was difficult to breathe past.

"I wish you were happy... with me." Alcina faltered, sighing heavily, and the sound alone was like a punch to the gut. "And I think you could be with time."

But I want to be happy now. And I was.

"Where are your daughters?" You croaked, emotion finally getting the best of you, and if you were cracked anymore, you were surely to break into pieces.

"Wherever they want to be," Alcina answered rather aloofly, and while your brain was aware enough to detect the icy tone underlying, you also found that you were shutting down and not caring about actions and consequences.

"I need to see them, right now," You pleaded, and something told you to protest against her already opening mouth. "Please!"

The desperation came off of you in waves, and maybe it did smell kind of pathetic, but sometimes happiness comes from saying, "fuck it", and from the widening of Alcina's eyes, you could deduce that no mere mortal has had the courage to say it before you. And you almost wished to take it right back, to eat up the words and keep them as your burden when the hurt was so evident and clear in the Lady's eyes at your urgent demeanor. What cut you even deeper was when you caught the exact moment the pain masked itself with anger, and you suddenly understood her that much more.

Alcina was a woman who knew how to give, you've seen as much when she interacted with her daughters. She would give the moon and wouldn't hesitate to give the stars as well if that wasn't enough. She gave her time and her patience to the Dimitrescu winery that supported the castle and their status, and you knew it wasn't for her benefit alone. Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela had become Alcina's drive, and it was possible that she had grown exhausted of giving up everything she had to them once it came to giving up her heart.

Alcina was a woman who knew how to take as well. She took opportunities for what they were, and she was crafty at taking what she wanted, but she also unfortunately took a lot of shit. She accepted it with a tight smile from Mother Miranda and every time, the smile felt too wrong to be marring her face. She took the "family" dynamic between the four houses with a grain of salt, though that wasn't to say she was above petulance when she was hidden alone in her bedroom with her notebook. All in all, she was a woman of give and take, and somehow, you had wiggled your way like a parasite through her hard exterior, and she was now a woman allowing herself to put her own happiness first. You could respect that in itself. But now you’re ruining it.

“They really are very special girls,” repeated Alcina, her fingers tapping orderly on the arm of her chair as her eyes narrowed. “I understand how hard it must be to stop loving them.”

“And I won’t!” You clapped back without too much thought to the volume of your voice. “We had plans today! And tomorrow! And after that! This hurts me!”

Alcina’s face was stoic as she refused to emotionally acknowledge your words. She was eyeing you like she was questioning what her next approach should be, and she wasn’t willing to share until she had the upper hand. But you also suspected that she needed time to compose herself once more before she could try to reply. Alcina was more complex than some could fathom or even handle, and you almost wished she had gotten to you first, but you couldn’t deny that your heart was pulling in three different directions already and you loved it. But you also couldn’t deny the impulsive urge to hold and comfort the woman before you who was breaking silently inside.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone!” You exclaimed louder than you’ve ever been, all energy gone, released into a single sob.

Your shoulders slumped and your head hung as tears filled your eyes before spilling over down your cheeks. The weight was finally overwhelming, and you were crumbling beneath the pressure pushing you down. There was no thought to anything aside from Bela, Cassandra, Daniela, and Alcina crying for you and lost love, and it left your chest so achey that it scared you. Was there really a gaping hole there or did it just feel that way? You were drowning in your own sorrows so much that you didn’t notice three different insects squeezing beneath the crack under the door, nor did you notice Alcina place a comforting hand on your knee. Only when you felt small legs crawling in your palm, up your neck (over Alcina’s mark) and into your hair did you reflexively jerk.

You knew not to swat at them however from experience with their insects, and you were able to discern that Bela was sending you comfort in your palm as she did when she held your hand. The insect on your neck was Cassandra and you knew that because she always buried her face into your neck when either of you needed comfort. Daniela was nestled in your hair seeing as she always loved running her fingers through it. Each offered their love in their own ways, and that’s what you loved about your relationship with all of them.

“Their care and protective instincts over you is astounding,” mused Alcina, watching the three insects latching onto you. “They have never... loved anyone this way.”

You smiled warmly down at Bela sitting still in your hand before you allowed yourself to hear the melancholy in Alcina’s voice and glance into her eyes. She looked absolutely pained, and your heart broke that you put that expression there. The walls she surrounded herself with only allowed her to grow attached to her daughters, and you want to throw up at the thought that she fell for you and you threw it right back in her face. You were so unworthy to even be in her castle let alone her presence.

“Neither have you,” you whispered, too drained to speak any louder now, but also afraid that if you did, the statement would be even more loaded than it was.

“And what to do about that, hm?” countered Alcina, putting the ball back into your court, and finding enjoyment in the way you squirmed.

Cassandra’s insect bit into your neck, just over the bite mark that was already there. She would always enjoy showing her dominance over you, and you were sure she had something to prove to her mother at the moment. Of all the sisters, Cassandra would be the most stubborn one to crack, so you didn’t know why you expected her to grant you to her mother so easily. Your fingers twitched as you held back the urge to scratch the little insect away from your flesh.

And Bela was there, circling your fingers in an attempt at possible affection. She was the sister you went to when you needed comfort and good old fashioned sympathy. She seemed like she always understood your pain, and she was good with words of love and consolation. The way her hand squeezes yours to convey her support had you missing it when it was gone.

And naturally Daniela refused to be pushed to the side and she was back to running through your hair, tickling your scalp, and while it was less enjoyable in her insect form, it was Daniela, and you would never refuse anything she asked of you. And most of the time, all she wanted was to be enveloped in all things you. So really, who were you to deny the both of you the comfort she was trying to give with making her presence known to you.

You couldn’t imagine your life without the dynamic you and the sisters had gotten comfortable with. There was plenty of trial and error to get to the security of where you were, but you wouldn’t have changed anything about it... just like you were having trouble letting it change now. So what were you doing entertaining Alcina? Better yet, what were you going to do now that you had her hooked?

“You deserve someone who loves you fully and completely... You don’t deserve to always be paranoid about your lover pining over your daughters.” You said gently, your eyes thoroughly sorry and pleading. “I don’t think I can love you the way that I want to see you be loved, not with Bela, Cass, and Dani always being there to think about.”

Something in Alcina’s eyes flickered when you spoke, and while you were deathly afraid of what her response would be, it didn’t prepare you for when she suddenly moved, quick as a flash, and one of her hands were on your shoulder and the other was tangling in your hair. You were too startled to recognize that her fingers brushed Daniela’s insect from your hair. A gasp barely had time to escape your lips before Alcina was capturing it with her own. Your eyes widened as you felt the force behind the kiss, the desperation, the love, but you also felt the fear locked within that she refused to let out, lest she come across as weak, but here it was, everything presented to you, and you had to close your eyes from your mind in a whirlwind. From the mixture of hard pressure and soft lips, it had you frozen with her hands on you, not accepting but not pushing away; entirely unsure.

Alcina’s door slammed open and while your nerves screamed at you to jump away from sensory overload, her grip tightened around you to keep you in place long enough for the new occupants of the room to get a clear view. And the familiar growl, gasp, and cry had you ill as you were finally released far enough to turn away and look into Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela’s eyes. Cassandra looked angry, but you could see the pain she was trying to mask. Bela looked betrayed and a little sick, and was unwilling to look at her mother, her eyes unswayed from you. Daniela had tears in her eyes as she looked between you and her mother, her eyes darting to your mouth, and then her chin wobbled when she saw her mother’s lipstick smeared across your lips. You opened your mouth, and after a moment of opening and closing it like a floundering fish and still failing to come up with anything appropriate to say to ease the tension, you sighed, eyes shut tightly as you refused to even look at the problems happening before you.

“Well... this is awkward,”

——

I’ll decide to end it there because I love to torture. I think I might be inspired to slowly add more to this over time

#bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu's daughters #lady alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu’s daughters x reader #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #resident evil village #resident evil 8

[forcebewitht]

The Loving Curse Of A Wicked, Beautiful Queen Of Mean (Overblot!Vil Schoenheit X Reader)

(Fanart Link: https://twitter.com/mtzk00/status/1349799061218488322?s=19)

A sigh was all too quick to escape your lips as you observed the spectacle that was going on. You had been receiving bad vibes from Vil here and there for quite a bit now- and it was finally time. You just knew. Grim and yourself decided to hide behind a corner to spy on Vil. His body was honestly rather rigid...yet loose as he walked. Like a doll that had learned to walk and was preparing to swing out a long, thin arm at any moment. Vil delivered some swift knocks to Neige's door within the hallway of the backstage area of the arena currently being used for the VDC. You were quick to shush Grim and peer around the corner. Vil's expression was…void. Utterly barren of any and all emotion, as though the great star was finally beginning to dim out. Neige soon opened the door, and an exchange between the two was given. Vil had tried giving Neige some apple juice as a "gift"....that is, until Rook strided in on the scene. The sound of Rook calling Neige's name down the hall sent a shock through Grim, Vil, and even Neige himself. You noted that Vil's eyes grew a bit too large, a bead of sweat running down his forehead. "NEIGE!" Rook was quick to stride over. The gentle, sweet boy named Neige soon turned his head to Rook as he walked over. Rook smiled a bit at Neige as he approached, a faint dazzle being seen in his eyes simply by looking at the boy. "I am sorry to disturb you. One of the staff members is looking for you- they wished to ask you something about the performance. Roi Du Neige….-ah. I mean Neige." Neige peered curiously at Rook. He allowed his head to angle to the side, his skin as pale and precious as snow and his hair as black as the night sky itself. "Roi Du….the way you speak…..are you, perhaps…?" Rook suddenly was very quick to exclaim after Neige's odd observation. "A-AH! I apologize, I just simply am so thirsty after searching for you for such a long time! Ah…but that apple juice you are holding looks delicious. Care to help me out a bit and give it to me, Ro- ahem. Neige? Please?" Neige blinked numerous times, already handing the juice over as humbly asked. "Y-yes, of course! Not a problem at all! Here you go." You notice Vil's posture go even more rigid at the sight of this event. His eyes grew just a bit larger, and you could have sworn that you heard a suppressed grunt. Your eyebrows furrow. He…..he looked like a schemer who had just been caught...nay….a murderer who had just been caught in the act.

Rook beamed out a dazzling smile to Neige, now continuing on with the juice bottle in his gloved hands. "Ah….thank you, Neige. Now, run along to the stage. And….don't come back again." The sudden shift in Rook's tone took you a bit off guard, now watching him a bit more closely. Neige seemed just as confused, for he bats his eyelashes faintly, his already precious, large doe-like eyes widening just a bit. "...Eh? What do you m-mean by that…" After Neige's delayed question, Rook's body seemed to seize up. He suddenly shouted a bit right at the boy, and you could see his eyebrows furrowing under his bangs. "GO, NOW- HURRY UP!" Neige was quick to listen to the instructions and take off in a sudden sprint. Vil's eyes were locked on Neige as he ran away, now slowly fluttering over to Rook. His lavender eyes squint at his Vice Dorm Leader, the star seeming to back up a bit. "Rook….why…" The Vice, however, did not listen. He seemed to be sniffing the bottle's contents with a content smile, his emerald eyes shutting promptly. "Mmmmm~....what a fresh scent. I simply smelled this alluring beverage for a mere moment, and a delicious, prime, red apple just appeared within my very mind. This product from Epel's hometown is really wonderful!" Rook's eyes soon snapped open, the Vice locking eyes with Vil. He seemed to smile, but a dim in his eyes was evident as well. His tone suddenly became more dry yet heightened, as though a mere zombie under the whims and gaze of the Schoenheit male. "I'll drink all of this without sparing a single drop….Roi Du Poison…" Rook began to tilt the bottle up to his lips. Vil seemed to panic, his eyes widening even more as he rose a hand and backed up some more. You and Grim almost ran out, yet the voice of another stopped you both in your tracks- it was Kalim! "ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOK! STOOOOOOOOOPPPPPPP- NO!" The leader of the Scarabia Dorm suddenly dashed over to Rook with an intense speed. His hand flew out and was quick to smack the bottle out of Rook's hand entirely. The contents splashed onto the nearby wall. Rook backed up in shock, now locking his confused gaze onto Kalim. "Roi D'or?! What are you doing here?! Wait...Grim and [Y/n] are here, too!" You and Grim ran over and stopped before the small group. Grim was the first one to speak, his bright blue eyes widened. "Kalim, did you just smack that bottle that Rook was holding?! Why?!" You were quick to fold your arms over your chest and straighten, staring at Kalim's freakishly serious expression. "He would not have done so without a good reason." Kalim was currently out of breath, gasping for air. "Ah...haaaa…..I made it in time!" Vil's eyes widened evermore, now taking yet another step back. "What….are you….doing…?" Suddenly, an odd squelching sound was heard from the wall where the juice had shattered and splashed. The contents of the juice began to both darken and thicken considerably, the juice itself now a deep, sickly green shade. Your eyes widened as you almost immediately were able to lock onto what was going on thanks to your dreams- it was poison! Grim soon expressed his concerns with the juice's appearance while Kalim turned his head to Vil. Even still, the normally bright boy looked utterly serious. "...Vil. This is the juice that you put a curse on with your Unique Magic, right? I had a bad sensation that something was going to happen concerning you….when I saw your expression whilst watching Neige's rehearsal performance." Kalim's voice deepened a bit, now allowing his eyes to faintly squint at Vil from his current position. "....It is the same expression Jamil had on his face before he Overblotted during the holidays." You turn your head to look at Vil- and freeze. He had locked his gaze right back onto Kalim...there it was again. A bone-chilling, void, utterly vicious stare. His body seemed stiff as his arms rested at his sides. He didn't even look to be breathing, a shadow now being cast over his eyes. This soon changed slightly as he turned his head to Rook. "....Rook. Why did you want to drink the juice? You should know better than anyone….that you would not have remained alive if you drank it." You and Grim shared a worried look- so he was going to murder Neige! Rook blinked a few times at the question, soon giving his answer with the utmost confidence and grace. "I wanted to believe you. The star that has been shining and streaking so far across the sky to reach the top. I believed that you would never commit such a crime and hinder your precious beauty...but. At the same time, if your precious magic and hands had crafted such a wicked tool of vengeance to smite your opponent...I wished to taste it only once. The taste of your poisonous fruits of your obsession for beauty!" Vil backed up a bit more, the sweat running down his forehead once more. Kalim was quick to retort, now worried himself. "What are you talking about, Rook?! I will not let that happen! Hey, Vil! Do you understand how stupid your actions were?! Let's show the other team a performance that will make them feel like worthless potatoes in a sack...Didn't you say we have to win the contest with our show-stopping performance?! Why?! Why would you try to kill Neige just to succeed?!" Vil's expression had shifted back to the blank one as Kalim spoke. Suddenly, upon the last few lines, he began to chuckle. "Heh...heheh…I wish to know the answers myself. But...I have come to realize….THAT I WON'T BE ABLE TO WIN AGAINST HIM! That's w-why I...i wanted to end his life...by my own hands!" Vil's voice trembled and shook with raw power and rage as he boomed out his reply throughout the halls. You gasped as you felt a sudden, odd shift in the air. The poisonous juice upon the ground was beginning to shift into a deeply purple appearance, now. A smoke began to build up from it, already beginning to restrict the proper patterns of breathing from the members of your little team. Kalim began to cough, closing his eyes as Rook warned everyone not to inhale it. "[Y/n], Kalim, Grim! Do not inhale it! This is Vil's Unique Magic- Fairest One Of All! He can put a curse onto any object. That poisonous juice has now been transformed into this restricting mist! If we breathe in a certain amount, our bodies will become paralyzed within an instant! But….one bottle of this could not have turned into this mess….unless….no!" Vil began to back up even more. His eyes widened, tears pricking at his eyes. "D-don't look at me like t-that...STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT! Why….I wanted to become the most beautiful being in the world...but...why am I so...ugly...ugly….UGLY!"

Rook and Kalim began to jump to Vil's defense and say that he didn't kill anyone...but you could already feel the truth of what he was feeling. Vil had acted….like a villain. He was going to murder someone just like one. Your expression was quick to morph into one of raw pity, now watching Vil with a worried expression. He looked so panicked. Like a little boy who had lost his mother within a candy store, or a deer caught in headlights. The male's voice suddenly trembled at Kalim's declaration and boomed out again. "SHUT UP! WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT ME?!" Your group began to panic, now watching the juice bubble and fizz into more mist. Vil let out a bone-chilling, deeply crazed laugh of triumph at the sheer fear. "AHAHAHAHAHHA! T-that's right! That's what I want! If everyone else around me becomes ugly….finally...finally….I CAN BECOME THE FAIREST ONE OF ALL!" The air around Vil began to shift. He beamed out a devilish smile. You stumbled backwards- and that was your mistake. Vil's head was quick to whip over to you and lock on. His eyes dazzled as he stared at you. Oh, [Y/n]. Sweet, sweet little [Y/n]. He had to admit, he actually had so deeply wished to allow you to be on his team and not be shunned to the sidelines with that pest of a monster. And yet, you counted as one student. Thus, if he let you in, Grim would have to come along with you. Oh, how he despised that little rule. Vil got a good look at you, his head tilting to the side. My, my...even with that fear, the darling had a certain grace about them that was almost too rich for Vil to ignore. His lips perked up into an even bigger grin. He began to stalk forward, you feeling your legs begin to shake from the sheer intensity of his stare. And just like that...the boy began to sing out a declaration of his own. "I'm so tired of pretending….where's my happy ending? I followed all the rules, I drew inside the lines...I never asked for anything that wasn't mine. I waited patiently for my time...but when it finally came….they called his name. And now, I feel this overwhelming pain! I mean, it's in my veins! I mean, it's in my brain! My thoughts are running in a circle like a toy train...I'm kind of like a perfect picture with a broken frame...and I know exactly who to blame." Vil began to stalk towards you, stepping over his own juice as Kalim and Rook began to cough even further. They began to attempt to fire spells at him to keep him back, but it was useless. He was utterly transfixed on you, now. "I never thought of myself as mean...I always thought I'd be like the Queen! And there's NO INBETWEEN! 'Cause if I can't have that? Then I shall be the leader of the dark and the bad….now there's a devil on my shoulder where the angels used to be….and they're calling me the Queen.." You began to backtrack a bit further. Vil was quick to  suddenly grab you by the arm, now slowly dragging you towards him. You fought and struggled against his vice grip, your eyes wide in confusion and sheer panic. Grim got riled up and began firing more fire spells- but Vil's mist seemed to dissipate most of them. Vil smiled down at you with a bright grin that could make even the toughest of people's blood run cold. "Being nice was my pastime...but I've been hurt for the last time...and I won't ever let another person take advantage of me- the anger burns my skin, third degree. Now my blood's boiling hotter than a fiery sea! There's nobody getting close to me! They're gonna bow to their Evil Queen! Their nightmares are my dreams! Just wait until they fall to my wicked schemes~" Right as Vil had gone to caress your cheek, you were able to jerk yourself from his grip. You stumbled back into the wall, now slowly backing up with the still sputtering Kalim, Grim, and Rook. Vil just smiled even brighter. "I never thought of myself as mean...I always thought that I'd be the Queen! And there's NO INBETWEEN! 'Cause if I can't have that? I would be the leader of the dark and the bad. Now, there's a devil on my shoulder where the angels used to be...and he's calling me...the Queen of Mean….the Queen of Mean!" Vil's head suddenly snapped over to the shattered apple juice bottle, as though he heard a voice. He slowly bent down and picked up a shard that had an apple on the front of it with part of Epel's family name. "The Queen of Mean…." His head slowly craned up, that blank stare back once more. Then, his lavender gaze trailed back to you. He slowly began to stalk forward once more, his head tilting. "Something is pulling me….it's so magnetic. My body is moving...unsure of where I am headed...all of my senses have left me defenseless...this darkness around me is promising vengeance. The price that I'm willing to pay is expensive- there's nothing to lose when you're ugly and friendless. So...my only interest...is showing that 'princess'...THAT I AM THE QUEEN AND MY REIGN WILL BE ENDLESS!"

The mist whipped around your group and knocked Kalim, Rook, and Grim back into the nearby wall. The poisonous substance along with some ink whipped around Vil's form. You gasped, watching the transformation take place. Vil had now Overblotted. He beamed out an even larger smile than before, raising his hands which displayed long, flowing, dark pieces of fabric that attached to the rest of his form. His right eye erupted in a deep purple, fiery glow, a veil upon his head. He looked...wickedly beautiful. Vil's hands raised as his eyes widened, the sheer power that was now coming off of him in waves utterly taking your breath away. "I WANT WHAT I DESERVE! I WANT TO RULE THE WORLD! SIT BACK AND WATCH THEM LEARN! IT'S FINALLY MY TURN!" Suddenly, the whipping of a carpet's tassels in the wind combated with a shouting voice cut through the air- it was Jamil! "EVERYONE, QUICKLY, HOP ON!" Kalim's gaze lit up at his Vice Dorm Head, and he did not hesitate to get on. Rook followed, then Grim. Right when you were about to join- a hand with sharp, claw-like nails curled around your top and yanked you back a bit. Vil made extra careful care with you to ensure that you did not puncture yourself upon the oddly sharp, jagged knive-like belt around his waist. The others began to cry out to you, but you soon locked eyes with Jamil. The boy stiffened, taking heed in your current gaze...and he understood. He was quick to get the flying carpet out of there. You were far more cunning than you looked. You could handle this. Vil seemed to laugh in his triumph, now allowing his hands to trail down your waist and watch the group go... they could wait. "If they want a villain for a queen...I'm gonna be one like they've never seen. I'll SHOW THEM WHAT IT MEANS! HAHA! Now that I am that! I shall be the ruler of the dark and the bad…'cause the devil's on my shoulder where the angels used to be...and he's calling me~" Vil pulled you even closer to him, gently arching your back a bit so that you would not injure yourself upon the belt on his form. He began to trail kisses along your neck in a sickly sweet manner, taking his prize for his wickedness. He chuckled at the feeling of your soft skin against his lips, keeping the motions up. Soon, Vil gently pulled away and spun you around to face him. You felt as though you could shrink under that gaze. "The Queen of Mean….the Queen of Mean…..I WANT WHAT I DESERVE!" Vil's lips suddenly smashed upon your own as he yanked you closer to him. Right as he did so, a crackle of lightning seemed to rumble and shake the grounds of the very stadium, a sudden burst of that mist shooting out past the two of you. Your eyes widened as he kissed your lips, his lips irresistibly smooth, soft, and plump. And funny enough...his lips tasted like apples. Perhaps this was his own, personal poison...the loving curse of a wicked, beautiful queen of mean.

((Hello hello, my lovely Readers! The day has finally arrived, as this fanfiction has! Rook, Kalim, Neige, and Vil were honestly a welcome surprise to write for! I hope everyone enjoyed this, and I shall see you in the next one~ <3

#vil schoenheit #vil x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twistedwonderland #twisted wonderland #twst vil #overblot vil #overblot vil x reader #twisted wonderland x reader

[wasbangtanhome]

late, late, late | KSJ

banner made by bangtanhome! (me)

Summary: Is he late? Yes. Were you mad? Yes. Was it a special day? Yes, yes, yes! You had everything prepared and you just wanted your boyfriend to come home. Now.

Pairing: Office worker!Kim Seokjin x F(Reader) | also kind of dom!Jin

Warning: 18+. Smut in the form of: pwp, provocative dress, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it hehe), oral sex (M receiving), fingering, use of the word "slut", cumming inside, impact play (ass and pussy). also he used the L word.

Word Count: 4.4k

Author's note: Short and sweet to start off my journey here on tumblr!! I hope you enjoy it and to please please let me know about any improvements. I worked really hard on it! Also my first smut fic! Also, also, there are not a lot of pet names ever since I saw the post about what Namjoon, Jungkook, Jimin, and Jin would call their lover. I got super sappy.

From the kitchen window, you have a clear view of the entrance leading to your apartment that you share with your boyfriend. The sun has set and it's well past dinner time but you have yet to see his face walking up the steps, blowing a kiss at your general direction.

You chew the inside of your cheek. He's late, you thought, peering out the window for the nth time while drying the dishes. You can't help but worry. Seokjin usually calls if he picked up an extra shift, but your phone has yet to move.

Today marks a year of the two of you living together. The year hasn't treated you kindly. A while back, your company had some budget cuts. Your department was abolished and unlike the lucky coworkers that were transferred, you were a part of the handful that received severance pay.

You figured going back to work would be easy, especially with your qualifications. However, you have yet to get a call from any of the places you applied to. With you unable to work, you spend your days maintaining the apartment. Your boyfriend, his smile ever present, told you he would just have to take more shifts.

‘You know, ______, housework is really hard to do,’ he remarked. ‘Besides, I make more than enough money to support us both.’

You smiled at your boyfriend then. It was true, there wasn’t really a need for you to go to work. You eased up on your stress over not finding work and dutifully cleaned the apartment.

You trudged your way to the entrance of the apartment. Head resting on the front door before unlocking it with your key. Seokjin was drinking tea by the window sill, looking as ethereal as ever. He noticed you had entered the apartment, smiling lovingly at you.

Before he had a chance to say hello, you broke the news about what happened during work. Instantly, your boyfriend came towards you, his smile faltering as he saw the state you were in. The fatigue in your bones left you slumped on the ground.

Seokjin did not say a word, opted to close and lock the door behind you before sinking to his knees to meet you at eye level.

‘Hey,’ he murmured softly. ‘It’s going to be okay.’

He nudged your shoulder and you fell to his embrace. This was the straw that broke the camel’s back. You whimper softly as you seize his dress shirt, hot tears falling on his dress shirt, turning the color a shade darker than it was. Your knuckles turned white as your chest rose and fell rapidly, ragged breathing moaning the loss. And yet, your Seokjin rubbed circles on your back soothingly, hugging you tightly, not saying a word.

‘Sorry,’ you remembered mumbling as the coil in your stomach loosened.

‘Don’t be sorry, _____, there’s no reason for you too,’ he whispered back.

Silence fell before he piped up. ‘What do you call a bike that can’t stand on its own?’ he waggled his eyebrows when you looked at him, confused at what he’s saying. It took you a good moment to know that he was joking.

‘Two-tired!’ he exclaimed, laughing at his own joke. You smiled at your lover and before long, laughed along with him; his joy infecting your sadness.

He took out his handkerchief, wiping the streaks of tears away and giving it to you. At his gesture, you snickered before dissolving once more into tears. He had fretted then, worried that he had done something wrong.

‘I’m so lucky,’ you mumbled in tears. ‘Lucky to have you as my boyfriend, Kim Seokjin.’

He smiled softly at your comment, proceeded to pull you in his lap. ‘So, what do you want to do now?’

‘Easy,’ you sniffled, plastering a smile on your face. ‘We order fried chicken and drink!’

Seokjin had looked at you funny, surprised to hear you crave alcohol. Your smile was infectious and he ruffled your hair to agree. ‘That’s my girl!’ he exclaimed. ‘Let’s find you an even better paying job, okay?’

He was so enthusiastic, making the tragedy that happened to you that day seem so… trivial. You got drunk that night, your body not used to the alcohol.

You smile softly at the memory that happened after, your boyfriend’s hair stuck to his face, panting heavily as you came all over him. You try to push the memory away, focusing instead on your task at hand, but the damage was done- you're wet.

You chew on your bottom lip, hands traveling lower, touching your folds.

I’ll just start without him.Something nagged at your brain, and as your fingers sought out your clit, you realize how unsatisfying it would be without your boyfriend coaxing orgasm after orgasm from you.

You moan, anticipation and desperation threatening to consume you. Distracting yourself, you went through your mental checklist again. Skimpy apron? Check. Food? It’s cold because it’s been in the fridge, but check. The line that you’ve been practicing for the past few months to win over your boyfriend? Check, check, and check.

You glance again and the parking lot was empty now, its residents taking space in their respective homes. No sign of Seokjin.

You huff, grabbing your phone and pressing the on power roughly, almost causing it to clatter on the ground. Almost. Your screen flickers on and you see an image of him smiling back at you. You stuck your tongue out at his face, and punched a string of numbers you know by heart.

The line rang for a long time. You were about to let it go to voicemail. At the last second, you hear a tired voice answer you.

“Darling?” Seokjin’s voice was gruff and sleepy. You can make a mental image of him running a hand through his hair. He sounded distracted, probably looking at his spreadsheets as the numbers start to blur together.

"Hi," you try cheerfully, clearing your throat, hoping he can’t hear the anticipation across the phone. You cradle the device between your ear and your shoulder before brushing lint from your apron. "Are you coming home soon?"

Seokjin looked at his watch, knowing something was clearly bothering you. Looking at the time, he scrambled to his feet: 19:32.

"Wh-Wha--?" came the stunned response. You hear Seokjin push his chair back and the familiar beep of his computer turning off. You laugh quietly as you hear doors slam and his voice echoing in the staircase.

"Oh, _____, I'm so sorry. I had no idea what time it was," he pants, high on adrenaline trying to get home as soon as possible.

"I'm so sorry, ______. I'll be home soon. You can start eating without me, okay?"

You feel a grin paint your face, relief that he was at work. "I'm okay! You must be hungry, love. Just glad you're finally coming home. I can't wait to see you. Drive safe!" you exclaim hurriedly, knowing he won’t want to call when he’s driving.

He murmured a confirmation and you ended the call. Seokjin may be late but there’s still cause for celebration. Settling the butterflies in your stomach, you open the fridge door to take out the food you had prepared earlier, heating them up.

You finally see a familiar figure run from his parking space. His dress shirt untucked and he stopped for only a moment to blow a kiss towards you. His hair clung to his scalp, his tie was loose, and his eyes shining with adoration. You waved back quickly before seeing him disappear into the building.

Seokjin expected you to be angry, ready to apologize for coming home so late. At the very least, he expected a hug, you seemed happy enough, asking how his day was in the office. What he didn’t expect was you in an apron… wearing nothing else. His eyes roamed your body, stunned at the lack of clothes, briefcase dropping heavily on the floor.

"Are you going to close the door?" he heard you ask.

Never taking his eyes off of you, he closed and locked the door, sliding out of his work shoes. Like a deer caught in headlights, you can’t help but wonder what would happen if you approached him.

You hear him gasp as you get closer, his face incredulous. You pressed your chest towards his, relishing in his ears turning red.

"Now,” you smirk and grab a hold of his tie. “Would you like to start with dinner,"-- you croon as you fling it behind you.

"-a bath,” you say seductively as you open the first couple of buttons of his dress shirt. “-or me?" you finish, dress shirt completely unbuttoned as you watch his delicious figure.

You don't often see your boyfriend at a loss for words. But this... this was something else. Seokjin opened and closed his mouth, blinking rapidly. You hid your smile behind closed lips, enjoying the fact you’re making him squirm.

"What did you make for dinner?" he stammered, forcing a chuckle.

You waved at the table. "The works, japchae, fried chicken, corn, kimchi… You know, our favourites."

"Huh..." he managed, swallowing. Seokjin knew how hungry he was when he left the office, but he couldn't seem to focus on the steaming delicacies on the table. He turned his gaze back to you, slowly closing the distance between your lips.

"Good answer," you murmur.

"Didn't know it was a test," he whispered, dipping his head back down, claiming your soft lips once more.

You smiled into the kiss, content that he was finally home. His hands stopped trembling as it snaked lower. One hand circled your waist, the other trailing soft circles on your back. You shivered at his delicate touch, arching your back into his hand to feel more.

Seokjin seemed to understand your signal and lifted you up, making your way through the living room to reach your bed. Once you landed with a soft plop, he continued the kiss. Heat was rising to his cheeks as he fully shrugged his dress shirt off, returning shortly to connect his lips to yours.

"Jin, I can't see... it's too dark in here," you whined, feeling your skin burn where he touched your body.

You did not receive an immediate response from your beloved, only hearing the thud of a belt on the floor and you hoped his pants came off with it.

"I think it's the perfect amount of light to make you squirm," he whispers. You feel the mattress sink with his weight and the heated kiss resumes, your hands flying to tug at his hair with urgency. You start to feel feverish from the kiss, trying desperately to connect your hips to something so you can feel the first waves of pleasure. You’ve been waiting for such a long time.

He smiles at your impatience and starts tweaking your clothed nipple. "Off..." you whined, wanting the apron gone.

Seokjin slipped the shoulder straps down. You arch your back and he untied the ribbon holding everything together easily. He threw it over his shoulder and finally, his large palms directly touched your tits. He sucked on a nipple while his hands were busy, roaming every inch of your body. You moaned underneath him, thrusting your chest upwards to give him more access.

"Mmm..." you sigh as his hand travelled south and pressed onto your clit.

"You're so wet already," he released your nipple, chuckling darkly. "Have you been waiting all day? Did you want to be fucked that badly?"

You winced at his words. He continued circling your clit, waiting patiently for your answer. "Well?"

"Yes, darling," you pant out. "I have been waiting all day for you! Ah- and you were late," you whined pathetically.

He chuckled again, muttering apologies under his breath while he continues to play with your clit, your nipple back in his mouth. You knew you were going to get a real apology after you're done, but this was enough.

You felt his finger enter your pussy, testing out to see how tight you were. Your eyelids fluttered shut as he added another finger, eliciting a moan from you.

"Yeah? You like that?" came the breathy response.

Your head spun as he curled his fingers at the sensitive bundle of nerves. His thumb pressed and circled on your clit, his pace getting faster and his thrusts getting deeper.

"Jin, I'm close," you squeak out, squirming at his unrelenting force. Your high was right there, waiting for your undoing. But your boyfriend had other plans and his thrusts stopped completely before you came.

You whined, your hands tugging at his hair dangerously. Frustration swept overr your face as it turned even more crimson than his ears. "J-Jin..." you grumble weakly, catching your breath. Your cunt squeezed at nothing when he removed his fingers completely.

"Wanted to feel you cum on my dick," was his simple response.

In the fog of your pleasure, you weren't aware of his veiny cock rapidly growing harder, tip already leaking precum. You stared, dazed as he pumped his length. You also had other plans when you moved to the floor.

You licked a stripe down from the tip to the base, earning a hiss from your boyfriend. His eyes fluttering shut when you look up, his cock slowly disappearing into your mouth.

You suck lightly at first, taking care that your teeth don't make contact with his sensitive member and begin bobbing to a rhythm. He groaned as you stuffed your mouth with his cock, hands grabbing fistfuls of your hair.

"Ah- ________, ah-, can I move?" he huffed out, unable to form sentences without groans.

You moaned to signal your affirmation and he used your hair as leverage to pull you closer to the base. You struggled and gagged, feeling so fucking full. You whimper as he held you there, his head falling back with a groan.

Seokjin snapped his hips, thrusting deeper into your throat. The sensation made you moan, tears blurring your vision. He picked up the pace when he saw you, loves the view of you struggling with his cock in your mouth.

He loved to ruin you, would never admit that out loud, but seeing his lover whimper and sob because he was too big made him moan. Seokjin was holding your head in place, letting his hips do all the work. You groaned out, the vibrations on his cock almost sent him over the edge.

You knew he was close. In ragged breaths, he was saying how beautiful you were, how well you were taking his cock, how amazing you felt, and all the sweet nothings you often hear. However, when his thrusts turned messy, an indication that he was close, you shifted backwards and his beautiful cock fell out of your mouth.

"Fuck!" he cursed loudly, careening forward. He held your head in place for balance, not wanting to fall, worried he hurt you somehow. However, he was greeted with a teasing grin. "Payback, love," was all you said smugly.

You knew you shouldn’t have pushed his buttons that way. But you couldn't help it, knowing the wonderful outcome that awaits you.

He growled, anger flaring with every second that passed since you denied his release. "Bed. Now,” he muttered under his breath. You obliged at his command, though you did it slowly, never taking your eyes of him

This side of Seokjin rarely comes out to play. He was always worried he'd hurt you.

‘Yeah, that's the point,’ you snorted, recalling the memory of explaining what you wanted like he was 5.

Even still, this was a welcomed surprise. You made a mental note of how you pushed his buttons that day, hoping to recreate it in future events.

You were about to sit on the bed when you turned around, climbing on all fours instead, excited about what he would do to you.

“That’s not what I asked you to do, slut” he chuckled, waiting for you to get settled. You teased your ass, moving it closer towards his dick before pulling back.

You didn't anticipate the first slap, the sound of his palm hitting your skin filling the room. You moaned, wiggling your ass towards his face, eyes shining bright with lust.

"Ah- you like being spanked, huh?” Seokjin said, scratching his chin. “Who knew you'd this much of a slut."

You moaned at the word, loving when he said such mean things to you. Your knees buckled when the next smack wasn’t on your ass. He clicked his tongue as he watched your juices flow out from having your cunt smacked. Seokjin reached gingerly towards your clit, teasing it to ease the pain.

"Oh?" he said simply before smacking you again, this time back at your ass. He alternated between slapping your ass and your sopping cunt, the uncertainty of where the next pain would land causing you to see stars.

You whimpered and whined underneath him. Fully lying on your stomach, your ass no longer in the air. You held a pillow, moaning into it, praying the neighbors wouldn't complain about the noise. "J-Jin... please fuck me."

"Huh, I didn’t know this one could beg," he chuckled. The thought of him being with another slut left a twinge in your chest, but that jealousy subsided when he slapped you hard this time, snapping your mind from your thoughts. There was some shuffling behind you and you felt the tip of his cock on your entrance, Seokjin coating his erection with your juices.

"Shit- it's so slippery..." he said mockingly, "slipping" past your cunt. "I can't seem to get it in."

His teasing left you desperate, clinging so hard on to the pillow that your knuckles started to turn white. And just as you felt the anticipation was too much, Seokjin thrusted into you fully, his girth entering you all at once, not caring that you usually needed time to adjust to his cock.

Seokjin dragged you closer towards him, your legs off the bed. He held your neck down with his arm and thrusted hard into your cunt. Before long, you begged silently as your high approaches, hoping that this time your boyfriend would let you cum.

"Baby, I- I'm close."

"Are you now, sweetheart?" You nodded and whimpered at his question. Your voice was getting higher, moans filling your small bedroom.

And he stopped again.

You buried your face in the pillow to scream. You were so agonizingly close and he denied you just like that. Tears fall out of your eyes now, you hiccup and sob, glaring daggers at him.

Normal Seokjin would've scooped you into his arms, a myriad of apologies would spill from his mouth.

But not this time. Instead, he grabbed your hips with his muscular arms before flipping you over so you lay flat on the bed. His cock went back inside, thrusting slowly while he spun circles on your sensitive folds.

"Please-" You breathe in deep, trying to stabilize your hiccups.

"One more for me?" he asked. His voice low and husky.

You start shaking your head, pleading, no- you couldn’t do it again. You were begging him to let you cum. He continued his shallow thrusts and his attention on your clit. You sigh underneath him, overstimulated beyond belief.

"One more," he insisted and leaned close to your ear. "For one whole year of living together." He nibbled on the shell before moving down to your neck. "Please?" You moan when he sucked on the delicate flesh.

You melted into his embrace and nod. "One more."

Perhaps you should've considered longer. Perhaps it was your lust-addled brain that made you say yes. Perhaps you should not have fallen for his devilish charm. But it’s all too late now as he lay on the bed, and you climbed over him.

"Mmph..." you moan, throwing your head back while you grind your pussy on his cock. You snuck a glance below only to find seeing your boyfriend drowning in pleasure.

You leaned forward and bumped your forehead with his. Seokjin's eyes open gently. He pants quietly as he cups your face, gently stroking it with his thumb. An angelic smile spreads upon his face, love and affection in his eyes. You whined as you continue riding him, trying to chase your own high while helping him with his, picking up the pace.

You were still moving a bit too slowly for his liking so he thrusted his hips to match your movements. It sent shivers down your spine and you moan deliciously.

"Baby, I can't- ah- Jin..." you pant, bouncing and grinding on his cock, just then realizing how close you actually were. You expected the stop, but it didn't make it any easier. Your boyfriend stopped his movements and held your hips firm, causing your body to convulse.

Seokjin sat up quickly, hugging and kissing your face profusely. "You did such a good job, ______." he said, his apologies in the form of kisses. He tucked a stray hair behind your ear. "You were so pretty bouncing on my cock like that."

You sigh and smiled weakly at him, "Can I rest?" you asked meekly.

You hear him genuinely laugh. His friends always said that his laugh sounded like windshield wipers. But to you, it sounded like wind chimes dancing in the summer.

Seokjin grabbed you and laid you down on the bed gently. He turned to his side and stroked your hair. You faced him, a content smile on your face as you also stroke his cheek.

"I love you."

The sudden confession made you halt. You knew Seokjin meant it. However, he does not say I love you very often. He shows his love with physical touch and "have you eaten?" questions that make you feel so happy he cared. But hearing him say he loved you almost made you cry. Almost. You had enough tears for the day.

"I love you too, darling."

You scoot closer to kiss him, tongue asking permission to enter. He groans when they collide. Your spare hand moved down and stroked his softening cock gently but he sprung up instantly.

"I kinda blue-balled you, sorry," you broke the kiss sheepishly. Seokjin just chuckled and continued the kiss, moving on top of you.

“Are you okay for more?” he asked, back to his usual self.

You nodded enthusiastically.

His cock slid in effortlessly, your pussy already wet and stretched out enough to take him in without any discomfort. Pleasure caused your body to groan. You wanted so badly to come.

He held up both your legs and toyed with your clit. He was able to thrust easily into you. He started out slow, making sure that you were actually okay before it turned manic, his cock going in and out of you with such force.

You whined when his thumb pushed harder on your clit, feeling your walls clench at his huge dick.

His cock going deeper and deeper inside you combined with him touching your clit was all it took. You were suddenly right there, at the edge of pleasure before you snap. You yell his name, your voice getting increasingly higher. You look at him with desperate eyes.

"Cum on my cock, ____," he groaned, marveling at how tight you were getting.

He kept the pace and soon, you were moaning his name, your juices creaming his cock. You loved being filled. You were so full as your walls clenched around him.

A few more hard thrusts and he joined you in pleasure. "Ah- _____," he moaned out as your walls were painted white. You winced when you thought Seokjin was going to fall on top of you, though he caught himself at the last second.

He slid out of you with a hiss and ran to get a towel to clean you up. After he was done, the towel was placed in the laundry basket, along with all the clothes that were discarded from the floor. You roll your eyes, knowing how neat your boyfriend was.

He plopped right next to you and you cuddled closer, throwing an arm over his muscled abdomen.

"Hi," he sighed out in bliss, tucking another strand of hair behind your ear. "Happy one year anniversary of living together, my dear."

His head dipped towards your and you both nuzzle your nose at each other. "Happy one year, Jin."

"So," he started, clearing his throat. "I can tell you liked getting spanked. Push my buttons some more and maybe it'll happen more often," he laughed at his own comment., waggling his eyebrows at your direction.

This time, it was you who were at a loss for words. You shook your head, rolling your eyes before snuggling so close to him. You found the perfect spot on his chest, as always, pulling the blankets towards the both of you.

He removed himself from underneath you and stared seriously into your eyes. "I know I don't say it enough,"-- you smiled as you notice his ears turning red again-- "but I meant what I said. I do, love you, ____." He held your gaze and you found the strength to sit up slightly to kiss him.

"I know, Jin. This was enough. You are enough."

You've never seen him so giddy and he kissed your forehead again, finally settling down.

"Good night, Kim Seokjin. I’ll clean the food in the morning," you say drowsily.

"Don’t worry, let me get it. Good night, soon-to-be Kim _____," he whispered. You heard the comment but you were tired to ask what he meant. In the morning, you thought to yourself. I'll deal with that in the morning.

When you finally slept, soft snores filling the room, Seokjin got up, carefully detangling him from your arms. You protest slightly but rolled over, not waking up. He padded softly to the kitchen to put the food away. Washing his hands, he looked to the bedroom once more to make sure you were indeed asleep, before opening his briefcase.

Inside, there was a small blue box and Seokjin opened it gingerly, fearing the worst. He sighed in relief as the band reflected a light coming from outside, still intact even though he dropped it earlier. He closed the small box and placed it back in his briefcase.

Seokjin came back to the room to find you had gotten up, hands rubbing your eyes. “Where did you go?”

“Bathroom and grabbed a glass of water,” he lied casually, praying that you didn’t see anything, his heart hammering in his chest.

You mumbled something and he sighed in relief, putting on a pair of boxers before snuggling you close, kissing your forehead.

All characters depicted in this fic are 18+ and fictional.

Any resemblance is just a work of fiction.

All rights © bangtanhome.tumblr.com

Posted on 04.13.2021 at 11:11am GMT+7.

#bts x you #bts smut #bts fanfiction #jungkook smut #kim seokjin x you #kim seokjin x reader #kim seokjin #bangtan sonyeondan #bangtan seokjin #bangtan seokjin x you #bangtan seokjin x reader #reader insert #female reader x bts #bangtan x female reader #jin x female reader #seokjin x female reader #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts scenarios kim seokjin #bts scenarios jin #bangtanwrites

[sunkisseddaffodils]

reunion- pt 2 (final)

Pairing: sherlock x fem!reader

Request: 'hi! can i pls request a sherlock x fem!reader fic in which reader is kinda john's childhood bestfriend, but they were separated when reader with her parents moved somewhere (to united states, for instance). so now when she is in britain again, she sort of struggles with finding a not very fancy place to stay. fortunately, she meets our johnny boi and he immediately proposes for her to stay in 221c, baker-street. so reader moves there, meets sherly and they sorta starting to fall in luv with each other'

Summary: Sherlock accidentally drags up some old unwanted memories for the reader

Genre: reader insert, angst

A/n: this is the final part of the above request. Sorry, I didn't exactly follow the request but I mostly tried to. Thanks to anon for requesting though! Enjoy!

Read pt 1 here.

-

The following day, after a restless night’s sleep, Y/N sat nervously in Mrs’s Hudson cosy kitchenette. Mrs Hudson had switched on the kettle and was preparing to make both of them a cup of tea. From what John had told her, she was perfectly lovely but she couldn’t help but be anxious. It was in her nature; she worried about everything. She made sure to bring papers to prove to her that she had a monthly income. But what if that wasn’t enough and Mrs Hudson had already decided that she wasn’t good enough to stay in her upstairs flat? The sound of china cups being placed on the table brought her back from the depths of her mind.

‘What brings you to London? John tells me you moved all the way from the States?’

John was right, Mrs Hudson was delightful. Y/N felt more relaxed at the sound of her comforting voice.

‘I’m starting my training next week to be a dentist in Harley Street ’

Mrs Hudson’s eyes genuinely glistened with interest.

‘Oh? John told me you already completed dental school in Seattle? Aren’t you already qualified?’

‘Yeah in the States. To work here, I have to do an extra year before I’m qualified. I don’t mind though, I wanted a fresh start in the UK.’

A door closing behind them interrupted their conversation. Both Y/N and Mrs H turned to where the noise came from but couldn’t see who or what made it. The latter called out.

‘Sherlock? John? Is that you?’

With no response, they returned to their conversation.

‘Y/N, you seem like a lovely young woman with a bright future. Of course, you can stay in the upstairs flat!’

She smiled widely, uttering a thousand ‘thank yous’. Y/N grabbed her important documents and handed them to Mrs Hudson.

‘Thank you. I’ll take a look at these later.’

Tomorrow, Mrs Hudson gave Y/N a tour of 221c. She fell speechless as she looked around. It was the same layout as Sherlock’s but had recently been renovated to have a more modern look. The apartment was already furnished so all she had to do was move her belonging's in from storage. She couldn’t believe that she was able to afford this apartment! Especially, as it was in central London. Promptly, she strolled over to where her new landlady was waiting by the front door.

‘So I get all this for this price? That’s insanely cheap for London.’

Y/N commented while pointing to the tenancy agreement Mrs Hudson was holding.

Simply, she just chuckled.

‘I do special rates for Sherlock and John. If you’re a friend of John’s then you’re a friend of mine. I’ll do the same for you.’

She continued.

'I met Sherlock in Florida when my husband was sentenced to death. He was able to help out so I owed him a favour. ’

Her face was completely serious yet it sounded so implausible. How could a lovely little lady like Mrs Hudson have such an impossible past like that? Adding to that, Y/N wondered that Sherlock really must be a genius if he can stop someone from being executed.

‘Wait, are you saying that Sherlock stopped your husband from being executed?’

‘Oh no, he ensured it.’

And with that bombshell of a statement, Mrs Hudson disappeared downstairs leaving Y/N utterly astonished in her new apartment. She made a note to herself to remind her to ask John about Mrs Hudson’s past. There was so much she wanted to know about her life.

A few days passed and the time finally arrived for Y/N to move into 221c. She was standing outside the cafe with Mrs Hudson, waiting for the moving company to arrive along with her possessions. She glanced at her watch, anxiously. The moving people were already five minutes late. Meanwhile, Sherlock and John were upstairs having carried three boxes between them that Y/N had brought herself. John was busying himself, tidying up the flat, waiting for a text from Y/N so he and Sherlock could help her move in and set up the place. He had told Sherlock to make himself useful but looking over his way, he hadn’t. Sherlock was staring intensely at the three boxes they had placed on the dining table by the windows. John marched over there to tell him off.

‘Sherlock! What are you doing? If you’re not going to make yourself useful up here, then can you at least go downstairs to check what’s taking the mover’s so long?’

Sherlock completely disregarded everything he just said.

‘Look at these three boxes, John. What do they tell you?’

He just groaned.

‘Nothing, they’re just boxes.’

‘Fine, if you’re not going to play ball then I will just tell you.Y/N has made sure she took these boxes here herself. Why? That suggests they’re private and she doesn’t want strangers, i.e the movers, to touch them. The first two boxes are labelled: electronics and toiletries. Makes sense then for why she would want to move them herself: one’s valuable and the others personal.’

He pointed towards the last cardboard box.

‘But why hasn’t she labelled this one? I’m sure I’m right to assume that she would have labelled every single box from what I’ve seen from these two. So what’s in this box that separates it from the rest?’

John stepped away from the dining table and started fluffing some pillows on the couch.

‘Sherlock, I really couldn’t care less. There’s nothing weird going on. She’s not part of some underground crime syndicate. Just leave it alone. You can’t know everything.’

However, the crinkling of tape being peeled off from the box told John that Sherlock, was in fact, not going to leave it alone.

John raced back over to the table and seized the box from Sherlock. Soon, a tug of war for the box began between them.

‘You are not going through Y/N’s private things!’

He yanked the box harder.

‘But John, I have to know what’s in there.’

John glared at him, pulling the box back towards him.

‘Tough luck. Once again let me spell this out: you cannot go through other people’s belongings. It’s rude.’

Sherlock’s grip remained firm, however.

‘Don’t you want to know more about why she’s moved back here? The answer could be in this box. It’s strange that she just packed up and left her life back in Seattle. She obviously doesn’t have any family here. Otherwise, why would she come to you for help? And there’s also the fact I heard her tell Mrs Hudson that she has to do extra training to be a qualified dentist in the UK. Why go to all that effort when she’s already qualified back in the US? Aren’t you in the least bit curious?’

John once again dragged the box back to him.

‘Oh so now you’re not only going through her stuff, you’re also eavesdropping on her?’

Sherlock was offended even though there was a hint of truth to what John was saying.

‘It wasn’t eavesdropping! I just happened to overhear her.’

What Sherlock was saying did make John curious, but still, Y/N deserved her privacy. It was up to her if she wanted to them the real reason she moved back to the UK. John was about to tell Sherlock this when the door burst open.

‘Hey, guys! The movers are here now if you wanna come down.’

Y/N’s voice staggered when she saw the scene before her.

In a moment of alarm, both Sherlock and John had dropped the box. Its content spilt out onto the floor. An off-white ornate picture frame smashed onto the hard wooden floor, glass spraying everywhere. The picture in the frame was of Y/N and a man in front of the Seattle Great Wheel. Y/N stood in surprise as the said man was knelt down holding a rose gold diamond-encrusted ring. The picture frame was custom engraved and it read ‘For my love.’

Oh.

It all made sense now to Sherlock.

However, there was no time to think more about the picture. Sherlock and John stood like a deer in headlights

‘It was Sherlock!’

John pointed accusingly towards Sherlock.

Y/N didn’t say anything, simply walked over to where the box had fallen, glass crunching under converse trainers. She knelt down to pick up the photograph. She remained there for a moment, an expression of profound anguish on her face.

John tried to help her up, but she refused. She practically ran out of the flat, trying to conceal her pain. John didn’t even have time to tell her that she had cut her knees on the glass from the floor. He grabbed a broom from the kitchen and started cleaning up the mess on the floor. He looked at Sherlock who was still in the same place. He had a look of regret on his face.

‘Sherlock there’s no point making that face now! You’re cleaning this mess up too. We’re going to make it up to her by making this apartment look really nice before she comes back.’

As he shifted the box back onto the table, he thought of his own way to make it up to Y/N.

-

Y/N was falling asleep at her desk, she was now four hours into writing her essay on dental hygiene. She placed her head in her hands, thinking she would just have a quick nap. Her phone ringing ended that plan though. She saw that it was Sherlock and hesitated. She still hadn’t forgiven him for trying to go through her things and bringing back unpleasant memories. It had been a week into ignoring him and giving him the cold shoulder. She let it ring out. Sherlock still didn’t get the hint and texted her.

‘Y/N meet me here. I wanna make it up to you. S.H’

That text was accompanied by a GPS location.

Y/N couldn’t think of any possible reason why Sherlock had asked to meet her here. Her uber ride had stopped outside of a manor house just on the outskirts of London. She quickly checked with the driver to make sure she was at the right place. To her bewilderment, he answered yes. Hesitantly, she strolled up to the door. She didn’t even have to knock when Sherlock opened the door. He motioned for her to follow him.

‘Sherlock, what the actual fuck? Do you live here?’

Sherlock led her through a ton of rooms. Y/N swear she could have counted there were at least five formal living rooms.

‘Nope.’

He opened a set of French doors and led her out into the back garden of the estate. Not that you could call it a garden. It was massive. In the distance, she saw stables as they walked through a formal botanical garden. Sherlock was more like running though, but Y/N didn’t know what was so urgent.

‘So if you don’t live here. Then who does?’

An undesirable thought entered her mind.

‘Don’t tell me you broke in here?’

Sherlock turned around just outside of the exit to the formal gardens, jangling keys in front of her face, a childish grin on his face.

‘It’s not breaking in if you have a set of keys.’

They had finally reached their final destination. Y/N saw that someone had set up a bonfire in the middle of a field. A can of petrol and a box lay adjacent to it. That box seemed really familiar. Sherlock picked it up and brought it over. It was hers!

‘Sherlock, you’re going through my things again. You know what, I’m done here!’

She began jogging back towards the house. Sherlock grabbed her arm.

‘Wait! Y/N. Let me explain.’

She gazed back at him intensely, waiting for an explanation.

He placed the box down.

‘I know you haven’t told me about what happened. But unfortunately, I am good at deducing things. Those things in that box came from a bad past relationship. I’m pretty sure I can guess what happened.’

He started to stammer, not sure of how to word what he wanted to say next.

Y/N wasn’t sure where he was going with this but could see he was trying.

‘John will be the first to let you know that I’m no expert on love or on relationships. But I can see you haven’t moved on. I thought it might help if you chucked all of the old stuff from the relationship on that bonfire and set it alight.’

She looked down, knowing that Sherlock was right. He had guessed everything perfectly. He had read her like a book.

‘You’re right. But I took running away from your problems to the extremest.’

She sat down on the grass, wrapping her arms around her knees. Sherlock shortly joined her.

‘He was my world. Or I thought he was until one night I returned home to see him shagging my best friend on the sofa.’

There was a moment of silence before she continued.

‘I just felt so foolish. I had to get away from Seattle. The place was full of memories of my time with him. I couldn’t stand it any longer.’

Sherlock got up and picked up the box.

‘And that’s why you should burn this stuff. He doesn’t deserve to have this much hold on you when he never cared about you in the slightest. We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. But please just think about it.’

Y/N stood up with determination. Sherlock was right. She had to burn all of this stuff to finally move on. Together they placed the contents of the box around the bonfire.

Y/N stood back as Sherlock poured the can of petrol over the bonfire. He asked.

‘One more thing. Do you have that picture with you?’

She grabbed it out of her bag as an answer and showed it to him.

‘I thought you would', he stated.

She placed the picture in the centre of the bonfire.

They walked back a safer distance from it and Sherlock got a box of matches from his pocket. He lit one up and handed it to Y/N. He could see that she was having trouble actually lighting the bonfire. He reached out and held her hand to comfort her. Y/N greatly appreciated that. She took the final step and with her other hand, threw the match into the bonfire.

The bonfire went up in ablaze. It was oddly beautiful watching the embers rise up into the sky. Standing there in hand in hand with Sherlock, she felt the weight that had been on her shoulders for months slowly lift off. The whole experience was cathartic.

Out of the blue, they heard the distant sound of alarms ringing from back at the house. Y/N looked to Sherlock for answers. He just told her to:

‘RUN!’

They sprinted, holding onto each other, seemingly heading towards a gate at the end of a stone wall surrounding the estate.

‘Sherlock! What’s going on?’

Sherlock tried his best to explain as they were running.

‘Technically I did break into this house. But it’s my brother's so it should be fine. There should be a cab waiting just outside this gate.’

‘Oh my god!’, she exclaimed worrying about the consequences to come for their actions.

When they had reached the road outside the gate, they stopped to catch their breath. Then they looked at each other and burst into laughter.

She hadn’t laughed that like in months. And it was all thanks to Sherlock.

-

#sherlock x you #sherlock x y/n #sherlock x reader #sherlock fanfic #sherlock fic #sherlock holmes #sherlock imagine #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock imagines #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock au #sherlock x john #bbc sherlock #sherlock bbc #sherlock #john watson #john watson x reader #sherlock and john

[fandom-strumpet]

Game Night Confession- Part 2

Summary: You’ve confessed your feelings for Kai to Elena in the closet during 7 Minutes in Heaven. Little to your knowledge, Kai popped in and listened to your deep secret. The next day, things get a little spicy.

Word Count: 1,342

Warnings: Swearing, Fluff, Angst

Pairing: Kai Parker x Reader

You spit lemonade out of your mouth and start coughing. "I- I'm sorry, what?" quickly dabbing your chin with a napkin you turn to face Kai who looked non-chalant as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

"Well isn't irrevocably a big word?"

"Yes, uhh, it is." You furrowed your eyebrows together, surprised at such a weird question. Then it dawned on you- last night in the closet. The embarrassment that had flooded you quickly grew into irritation in your chest as you realized what had just happened. Elena. She must have told Kai what I said- there's no way he could have known otherwise. You hurriedly waved down the waitress for your ticket and before long you were up and leaving the table. Pushing the Mystic Grill's door open, you see a strong hand take charge of the weight and slide up near your hand. It was impossible to not recognize Kai's familiar scent, you froze in the doorway to take a deep breath of it in. His voice gave you chills as he pretend cleared his throat, waiting for you to keep moving. With a shaky breath out, you continue walking, your hand dropping as you prayed that not everyone had just seen you freeze like a deer in headlights.

"Which way are we going?"

"What?" You were pulled out of the moment to his question.

"Aren't we going to find Elena and Damon doing whatever they said they were going to do?" Kai looked down at your stunned face with a playful smile.

"Yeah- yeah I think they went this way." You gave a weak smile back, stomach full of butterflies and knees that felt like Jello. Why did you feel disappointed when he mentioned them? Were you hoping for something else to happen? The both of you started to wander down the sidewalk, it was so hot out the sidewalk practically emanated heat waves.

"You know what I've always wanted to try?" Kai broke the silence.

You look up to Kai and hum in question. Kai always made you so glad in awkward moments because he wasn't afraid to just start a normal (or what he thought was normal) conversation.

"I've always wanted to jump on a trampoline." he pursed his lips and nodded semi-seriously.

"Wait- you've seriously never jumped on a trampoline before?" your eyes sparkle at the image of him jumping on one for the first time.

"Nope." Kai's hand slipped into yours, his eyes remaining forward as if he didn't even recognize the action of holding your hand. Full blown panicking in your mind, you do the only you could think of. You embrace his hand in return, drawing a little smirk from Kai. Your chest tightened, you could almost scream and Kai was no doubt listening to your heart bouncing off the confinements of your rib cage, doing a little drum solo not so unlike Animal's from the Muppets. A little light bulb came on, despite the utter chaotic panic in your mind. 

“We could go to my house.”

“Oh?” Kai stopped the both of you walking, still holding your hand as he turned your body to face his. 

Blushing you hurried, “Yeah, I have a trampoline at my house.”

A cheek to cheek smile bloomed on his face, “Let’s go!”

What just happened. Are we seriously going over to my house right now? If anyone were to tell you that morning that you would be jumping on a trampoline with Malachai Parker today, you would have laughed in their face. Today was the mafia lord of unexpected things. When you finally arrived at your backyard you let go of Kai’s hand to pull out the old wooden staircase to climb up.  Your dad had built the staircase for you as a little girl to climb up and you didn’t quite have the heart to get rid of the thing. Your heart twinged with regret, missing the feel of his hand already. Climbing onto the trampoline first you turn and help Kai up. You held his arms like a person would hold a child’s arms when they first get onto the trampoline. His face was even beaming like a child’s, pure joy radiating from him as he watched his feet bounce up and down. 

“Okay, now jump with me.” you smiled, staring into his eyes. 

Kai’s grip on your forearms tightened, a grin of pure enjoyment on his face which sent butterflies racing into your stomach. 

“I love this so much,” Kai drew in a breath, “I didn’t think that a trampoline would be this exciting.” 

And I love you. God- if only you could mind read this would be so much easier to say. 

“You wanna do a little trick?” Your eyes glinted with excitement.

Kai’s eyes sparked with anticipation and curiosity as he nodded his head quickly.

“Alright, I’m going to let go of you and you just keep bouncing.” You let go slowly and looked to him making sure he was still balanced. You bounced twice in sync with him before pausing slightly and digging your feet into the mesh. Kai’s eyes widened in surprise as he flew into the air high above you. 

“Waaagh!” He yelled, falling down onto his ass with a big laugh. “That was awesome!” 

You allowed yourself to collapse by him, laying down on your back to catch your breath. Kai plopped back and stared up at the clouds littering the sky on the perfect baby-blue summer day. With a content hum you turn and gaze at his perfect face, a remnant of a smile still visible. He shifted his thoughtful stare into the clouds to look at you. A grin made crinkles near his eyes as his hand slowly wandered up and started playing with your hair that was splayed across the trampoline surface. He twirled strands in his fingers, the silver rings glinting in the sunlight. You were so mesmerizing to him that he could lay there forever with you. 

“Y/N-”

“Hmm?” you replied, loving the sound of your name coming from his mouth. It was so enchanting how he said it, like a whole new beautiful noise. 

“You are so pretty.” he breathed out. 

A blush spread across your face furiously as if you had suddenly become as hot as the sun itself. Kai’s eyebrows furrowed closer together as he studied your face and continued.

“So I know confessions are a thing that people apparently like to do, and I have to tell you-”

“What?” you prodded him on.

“I think I’m in love with you. I don’t fully understand all these emotions quite yet but this one- the one I have when I’m with you- is just insane,” he added with a chuckle, “And I should know.” 

“Kai I- are you- are you being for real right now? You’re not picking on me or joking?”

“Yes I’m ‘being real’ Y/N, I wouldn’t pick on you about this.” 

“Why are you saying this just now?” you sat up to lean on your elbow, quite curious as to how this whole thing may have started. Maybe last night? Elena? 

Kai followed your action and sat up, tracing lazy circles with his finger on the mesh. 

“I know what you said last night,” 

Damn it. I knew it.

“-and it scared me but it made me feel- I don’t know- like I was having some form of a heart attack but it made me feel alive and, happy?” he tilted his head and fixed his eyes to yours. “Do you know the feeling?”

“Yeah- yeah I do, Kai.” your breath became shallow as Kai brought his hand up to fix your hair. Seizing the moment you lean forward and plant a sweet as a cherry kiss on his lips. Pulling back quickly you wait for his reaction, nervousness overtaking you. Kai paused, his eyes searching your face in wonder before he grasped the back of your head with one hand and pulled you close, his lips embracing yours into a sweet kiss. He rolled you onto your back and hovered over your body, never breaking the kiss. When you finally came up for air, Kai had moved his left arm by your head to brace himself. His smell overwhelmed you, sending you into a drunken haze. Your floral scent absolutely sent him over the edge, past the point of no return. There was no going back to being friends after this, your fingers traced his jaw line and you whispered,

“You are amazing and I am so hopelessly in love with you.”

“And irrevocably?” Kai grinned cheekily.

You leaned up and pecked his lips, ‘irrevocably.” 

@rome5683​ @1-800-khaleesii​ @sxturn-stars​ @tawaii

#kai parker #kai parker fanfiction #kai parker x reader #kai parker imagine

[maatryoshkaa]

young god | chapter 16

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue |

word count: 14.3k

warnings: graphic descriptions of violence, domestic & child abuse, sexual abuse of a minor, descriptions of mental illness, death, dark themes and foul language. once again, all information regarding psychiatric conditions or courtroom procedures are to be taken with a grain of salt.

description: Han Jisung wrestles with the demons of his past as Kim Seungmin faces his own dilemma in the present, with one last chilling threat from Prosecutor Kang forcing Seungmin to make a final, crucial decision. The clock is counting down as your last chance wears thin, and one unexpected declaration is all it takes for things to change—forever.

watch the trailer here!

16| the prisoner’s dilemma.

Jisung was still frozen in place long after the heavy doors had swung shut and erased your face from his sight. His own hand felt foreign as he held it against his stinging cheek, the dull throbbing drowned out by the words still ringing in his ears.

Your friends want you to stay alive. Your mother wanted you to stay alive.

I need you to stay alive.

Bang Chan was watching him from the side, the detective’s eyes filled with equal parts amusement and wariness. Finally, he spoke. “You deserved that, you know.”

Jisung was silent, but his mind was already replaying the scene over and over again. Your anxious eyes, your voice trembling with the effort to stay steady. The slap couldn’t compare to the pain that had etched itself into your features every time he had spoken harshly, trying again and again to push you away. I know I did.

Chan sighed. “How are you feeling?”

A soft laugh escaped from Jisung’s dry mouth. “Dizzy,” he deadpanned honestly. The adrenaline was beginning to die down, but instead of leaving him sick in the stomach and with a pounding headache like usual, Jisung felt almost...lightheaded with relief. “Like...like a kid that just got told off?”

The detective chuckled, letting out his low, signature whistle. “What’d I tell you? That’s love, mate.” 

Jisung looked at him now, incredulous. “Getting slapped in the face?”

“No,” Chan smiled, but for once, his eyes were serious. “Someone who cares about you enough to call you out when you’re wrong.”

Not knowing what to say, Jisung turned away, letting the ticking of the clock on the wall fill the strained silence. He could still feel Chan’s gaze on him, but it was no longer the look of a detective trying to dissect a case file. Instead, it held the same strange softness it had when Chan had pulled Jisung aside at the Third Eye, and asked if he was okay.

“I told you once,” Chan began slowly, “that everyone deserves to be loved, and that you’re no different. Of course, things have...changed,” he continued, and Jisung looked down, throat tight as he waited for Chan to finish. “But I still stand by what I said.”

Before Jisung could reply, the intercom crackled overhead. “The court hearing  for Han Jisung and the Miroh Heights Murder Cases will be resuming in five minutes. All attorneys, jurors, and participants in the trial, please report to the courtroom immediately—”

“Detective, you should get going,” a security guard spoke lowly to Chan, who sighed and nodded, pulling himself to his feet. As he passed where Jisung was standing, he stopped briefly.

“You’re a good kid, Han Jisung. Even if you don’t believe it yourself...you had better start to.”

“Chan—”

The detective had reached the door when he looked over his shoulder at Jisung. He had the same old mischievous smile on his face again, but his eyes were sad. 

“I hope we can grab another coffee together some time, yeah?”

━━━━━━━━

Seungmin’s head was spinning as he pushed through rooms packed with spectators and reporters until he finally stumbled into an emptier hallway. His eyes gleaned the plaques on the doors, searching for the room number the court clerks had given him after Seungmin had overheard their frantic conversation.

“We can’t just end the case here — the media and people’ll riot.”

“But we’ve lost a witness and the lead prosecutor of the case in one day — how the hell is the trial supposed to continue?”

The clerk wringed his hands. “We need to find out if there were any other prosecutors working with Kang on the case — call them in ASAP—”

And so, here Seungmin was — heart threatening to leap out of his throat, charging headfirst into a case that had been ripped out of his hands months ago. He had stepped into their conversation impulsively, and now a thousand warning bells were going off in his mind. 

Kim Seungmin was not impulsive. Kim Seungmin always calculated his plans perfectly, meticulously. It was one of the reasons why he had always been at the top of his class, graduating a year early with honours. Always praised for being levelheaded and thorough. 

Still, he thought, there had been one person that had seen right through him.

“You’re stressed,” you blurted bluntly, and Seungmin’s coffee cup froze midway to his lips. You were in his office, one of the many meetings you two had arranged in order to keep each other updated with information regarding Jisung’s case. 

“We’re all stressed,” Seungmin replied matter-of-factly, unsure where you were going with this, but you shook your head.

“But you try the hardest out of all of us to hide it. Tell me if I’m crossing a line here, but—” you looked at him, tilting your head. “You seem like the type who’s calm and collected on the outside to...hide the fact that you’re still wrestling with nerves, and insecurities, on the inside. Like a defense mechanism.”

Seungmin fell silent. Instinctively, he felt the urge to laugh it off, but in a fleeting moment, his mind wandered to his coworkers— their condescending gazes at who they thought was just a lucky amateur, a young imposter infringing upon a field with people twice his age. Since his first day at the law firm, Seungmin had felt an unbearable desire to prove himself worthy in their eyes, and the anxious feeling ate away at him every time he touched a case. 

Sensing the sudden change in mood, you quickly stammered, “I-I’m sorry, that was so unnecessary—what I’m trying to say is— it’s okay to be nervous. Don’t psyche yourself out with your own expectations for yourself. U-um—”

You trailed off, mortified, but Seungmin let out a small laugh, shaking his head lightly when your eyes widened in confusion. “No, no, it’s just…” You were smart and capable — anyone could see that — but always seemed to second-guess your own abilities. He found it almost endearing. “You really are a psychology major, Miss l/n.”

Seungmin rounded a corner and nearly slammed into someone that had just walked out of the men’s washrooms. Before he could apologise, Seungmin looked up into the man’s face and his gut twisted unpleasantly.

Prosecutor Kang seized Seungmin by the collar before he could walk away, his face livid. The younger man’s eyes darted down either side of the empty hallway, then back at his former senior. He had heard Kang was to be kept at the courthouse until the end of the trial, in case they needed anything from him. There were guards flanking every entrance and exit, so Kang couldn’t exactly escape, but seeing him walk around unsupervised still made Seungmin uneasy.

“S-sir, you can’t—”

“Do you remember what you said? What you promised?” Kang seethed, eyes wild as they raked Seungmin up and down. “‘I can handle it. I’ll find the culprit, and I’ll convict him. Death penalty, no less.’” 

Hearing his own words coming out of Kang’s mouth made Seungmin wince and shrink back. Kang caught his discomfort, grinning savagely before jerking his head in the direction of the holding cells, where Jisung was. “You’re taking over the case, aren’t you? Your culprit’s right there. Everything’s been laid out for you, it couldn’t be simpler.”

Seungmin let out a shaky breath, fists clenched by his sides. Before he could open his mouth, Kang pulled him in closer, voice dangerously low. 

“I always thought it was fishy, you know — someone your age, already entering the field? So I did my research.” Kang paused, smirking. “You’re a little prodigy, aren’t you? I didn’t know your parents were renowned lawyers, too.”

At that, Seungmin froze, shocked eyes darting up to meet Kang’s. It was true — born into a family of influential law enforcement officials, Seungmin had practically grown up reading about legal matters and judicial affairs. Despite his efforts to keep his parentage discreet as he grew older — hating the way their reputations always preceded his own — the expectations to follow in their footsteps had always remained suffocating. He loved law with all his heart, but his own family had become yet another reason why Seungmin had so much to live up to, and even more to lose.

The older prosecutor chuckled — Seungmin must have looked like a deer in headlights. “You can’t disappoint them, yes? You need to do everything you can to uphold the big family name.” Kang’s voice had a dangerous edge to it, like a blade. “My career might be over, little prosecutor, but I have far more power than you think. I can make sure you never step foot into this profession ever again. You want to prove yourself? To me, to your fellow prosecutors, to your parents? Here’s your chance.”

There was a snakelike glint in Kang’s eyes when he finally let Seungmin go, his words seeping through Seungmin’s mind like poison. 

Prove yourself. Prove yourself. A security guard had appeared at the end of the hallway, and without another word, Kang calmly turned on his heel, letting the guard escort him away. Seungmin watched his silhouette grow fainter, feeling sick to his stomach. 

Just how many cases...no, how many prosecutors had Kang manipulated for his own benefit?

He took a shuddering breath. Time was running out. Forcing his feet to move, Seungmin finally found the room, barely listening when the clerk quickly explained that the rights to the case were being transferred to him last minute. 

“Ten minutes, Prosecutor Kim. You have approximately ten minutes to prepare your case.”

The roomful of law officials were watching him with doubtful eyes — the same doubtful, scornful gazes that had followed him his entire life. Ten minutes. Picking up where Kang had left off would be the smoothest, most reasonable route. Preparing an entirely different argument, however, was suicide.

Seungmin glanced up at the clock, and his heart sank.

━━━━━━━━

The commotion in the courtroom sounded like the buzzing of an agitated beehive, the constant thrumming of hushed conversations and your own erratic heartbeat fueling the tense atmosphere. 

Hyunjin, Felix, Woojin, and you had sprinted straight to the courtroom after a rapid search for Seungmin had turned up futile — the prosecutor was nowhere to be seen, but judging from the murmurs you overheard around you, the case had been transferred into his hands with mere minutes to spare. You bit your lip nervously. This should have been good news, but you all knew that the odds — and time — were still against you. Looking the weariest you’d ever seen him, Bang Chan collapsed into the seat next to you. He tried to give you a reassuring smile, but as he turned away, eyes glued to the scene about to unfold, you saw that his features were strained and pale. 

With a creak that send a hush rippling through the courtroom, the doors swung open to reveal more familiar faces — the judge, the prosecution, the jury. Your eyes instinctively flickered to Jisung, whose expression was as guarded as ever, and instantly felt a pang of guilt in your chest. The rest of the room, however, had fallen silent before the judge had even spoken. All their gazes were trained on the new prosecutor that had entered the room.

Seungmin felt the stares on him before he even looked up, dozens of eyes weighing down on him as if he were a butterfly pinned to a specimen table. He should have gotten used to the stares by now — this was far from his first court hearing — but when he looked out into the faces of the audience, he still felt the same squeamish anxiety he had always tried so desperately to ignore. Their expressions were dubious, condescending, unconvinced — as if all to say, is this a joke? This kid is the new lead prosecutor?

The judge cleared her throat, pushing her half-moon spectacles back onto her nose. “Thank you for your patience. The court hearing for Han Jisung and the Miroh Heights Murder Cases is now back in session. You may be seated.” She turned to Seungmin, eyes narrowed. “What is the case the prosecution will be presenting?”

Seungmin’s mind was racing as he turned over the envelope in his hands — the envelope containing Kang’s case file — and slid out the papers with numb fingertips. As he did so, familiar words echoed in his mind — words he had been told since he had first chosen to study law, and words he had forced himself to live by ever since.

“You have a big heart, Kim Seungmin — too big. Learn to control your emotions if you want to make it in this field.”

“You have to be cold, quick, and rational. Kindness is a weakness.”

“There is no room for a wavering heart in prosecution.”

He had always taken the words like bitter medicine, beyond determined to prove to his older coworkers that he wasn’t just the incompetent young prosecutor they always made him out to be. Desperate to prove to his family that he was capable, that he wouldn’t tarnish their names. Every step he had taken had been careful, calculated, all so that Seungmin could win their approval, finally escape their suffocating scrutiny. 

“Your Honour,” Seungmin began, “as a prosecutor, I was taught that my duty is to defend the rule of law to ensure justice is served, no matter how harsh it may be.”

You watched the young prosecutor speak carefully, his grave expression making your gut twist. Kim Seungmin, Chan had told you once in passing, came from a family of established lawyers — a child prodigy with big shoes to fill, and everything to lose. And now, you realised with dread, his words seemed to be an exact echo of Prosecutor Kang’s.

Seungmin’s stomach was fluttering as if it were his first trial again, heart palpitating with each passing moment as he was seized with the sudden urge to run. Taking a deep breath, his gaze flickered up to meet yours in the audience — your blazing eyes, charged with emotion, your heart always written so clearly across your adamant features. You, who stopped at nothing in order to protect what you believed was right.

Prove yourself. Prove to everyone you’re good enough, strong enough.

He closed his eyes, knowing that he would regret what he was about to say.

“But I was also taught that a good prosecutor is one that uses the law to protect the people.” Seungmin swallowed hard, sliding Kang’s papers back into the envelope and dropping it onto the desk behind him. “Thus, the case I am presenting today is not one that intends to prove Han Jisung guilty of first degree murder.”

The entire room erupted in frantic murmurs, the judge hurriedly banging the gavel to maintain order. Seungmin caught a glimpse of Jisung’s expression — the boy was still looking down, but his face had paled in surprise at the prosecutor’s sudden declaration. Just then, the doors burst open, a red-faced clerk with a handful of padded envelopes ducking in and hurrying to Seungmin’s side.

“What you requested, sir,” the clerk explained quietly, handing him the envelopes, and Seungmin recalled the conversation they had had in the conference rooms, just before the trial had recommenced. 

“There are ten minutes remaining until we have to begin,” the clerk informed Seungmin worriedly, seeing the young prosecutor’s tense face. “Is there anything you need from the former prosecution? Since these are special circumstances, I can have them brought to you as soon as possible during the trial.”

Either ten minutes to gather the evidence he needed, Seungmin thought dismally, or ten minutes to build a strong argument from what he—no, Kang—already had. 

“Listen carefully.” Screwing his eyes shut, Seungmin continued, “Please fetch me Han Jisung’s camcorder footage — the memory cards — and Yang Jeongin’s Walkman tapes from Prosecutor Kang’s archives. All of them, immediately.”

The knot of anxiety in Seungmin’s chest finally began to unclench, the envelopes’ contents anchoring him in place with a reassuring weight. He turned to the judge, surprised at the newfound authority in his own voice. “The prosecution maintains that Han Jisung is not guilty of first degree murder. We will be presenting all the evidence Prosecutor Kang excluded, and examining the case from all angles so that the jury may form an accurate judgement and verdict.”

“That’s—an entirely new argument,” Hyunjin whispered incredulously beside you. “How did he come up with a case in ten minutes?”

“He didn’t. He’s building his case on the spot,” Chan realised out loud, a small smile spreading on his lips. He leaned forward with a glint of pride in his eyes. “Now that’s the Kim Seungmin I know.”

You watched as Seungmin called up his first witness, who was none other than Kang’s psychiatric expert. “You introduced yourself as the psychiatrist involved with this case — responsible for analysing the defendant’s mental condition, correct?”

The red-nosed man coughed nervously. “Y-yes, uh, well — the defendant was unwilling to speak during the evaluation, so we were unable to gain much personal testimony—”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Seungmin picked up one the envelopes, handing it to the court clerk and motioning for him to project the contents. “The following is recovered footage from a camcorder the defendant was gifted when he was six years old, and developed a habit of carrying around.” He turned towards the psychiatrist. “It’s raw, untampered footage containing experiences from the defendant’s childhood. I want you to watch it and answer a few questions. There is, however, graphic content, and I advise the spectators to view it with caution.” 

You saw Seungmin cast a worried look towards Jisung, and you knew how the prosecutor was feeling. After nearly thirteen years of Jisung hiding his past from even his closest friends, it was all suddenly being thrust under the harsh light — in front of a roomful of people who wanted to sentence him to death, no less — but you both knew that this was your last chance.

The projector whirred as the clerk inserted the first memory cards into the computer. The memory cards had been confiscated by Kang before you had gotten the chance to watch them yourself — what you did know about the footage came from the bits Chan had recounted for you after several insistent phone calls, and what Jisung himself had told you that fateful night. Uneasiness stirring in your chest, you watched as the screen came to life, blurry colours and pixelated outlines taking shape. 

There was nothing out of the ordinary at first — short clips of chipped action figures on dusty windowsills, or toy cars rolling idly across wooden floors. The footage was shaky, as if the person holding the camcorder could barely support its weight. Jisung had barely been six years old, you remembered, feeling a strange feeling of sadness wash over you. It was as if you were watching a movie you already knew the ending to, and all that was left in your gut was a sinking dread at what was about to come.

As the clerk flipped through the footage, a faint sound pricked at your ears, and you jerked your head up, listening to make sure you had heard right — and sure enough, there it was. Muffled shouting, like it was coming from another room in the house, something heavy shattering on the floor — and judging from the murmurs and faces of the spectators around you, they heard it as well. The camcorder was still pointed at the action figurines, but had frozen stiffly — as if the child holding it was listening, too. 

More scenes began to unfold, one after another. A birthday, six lopsided candles glowing on a small white cake. Jisung humming a familiar tune with a woman you assumed was his mother. And clip after clip where the camcorder was pointed at the ceiling of a dark room — Jisung’s childhood bedroom — as the sounds of arguing and yelling echoed through the walls. Slowly but surely, the scenes began to grow familiar. 

“February 22nd, 2005.”

The day Jisung had stumbled across another woman in his parents’ bed, and his father had terrorized him until he promised not to tell anyone.

“June 3rd, 2006.”

His face-to-face encounter with his father’s mistress, one that left scars in the form of cigarette burns, red-lipped smiles, and tainted touches.

“December 31st, 2009.”

The day everything had gone wrong.

Stomach lurching, you watched as everything Jisung had told you — his rough voice shaking in your darkened apartment, dark eyes holding nightmares of years long past — took the form of grainy camera footage. His father crashing through the doorframe, hands choking the life from the woman beneath him. Even though the camera quality was poor, the woman’s pleading eyes, rolled up towards the tiny crack in the closet where Jisung had been hidden, seemed to pierce directly through you. 

It all seemed to happen in a flash — in the blink of an eye, there were flames licking bloodstained floors clean, the camcorder out of focus as Jisung limped through thick white snow and finally collapsed on top of his mother’s cold body. The gritty screams of anguish and pain seemed to ring in your ears long after Seungmin stopped the footage, and you lifted a shaking gaze to Jisung’s face. His eyes had been cast downwards the entire time, but even from across the room, you could see his violently trembling jaw, the ragged heave of his chest. How many times had he lived through this footage himself — in his nightmares, through half-delirious flashbacks, every time he closed his eyes?

“Thirteen years ago, there was a massive fire on the outskirts of Miroh Heights. The Han house was burned to the ground and left a single boy alive, without any relatives to take custody. Unable to fathom what exactly happened, police filed it away as a gas explosion, and the boy was tossed around foster homes and orphanages until it was eventually forgotten,” Seungmin informed them. He thanked Woojin internally as he spoke — after mentioning several times that Jisung’s past sounded strangely familiar, the police captain had been the one to finally connect the dots between the two cold cases, thirteen years apart.

“There were initial speculations of domestic abuse, but they were never investigated thoroughly. The case was neglected, left cold, and when the statute of limitations expired, it was simply dismissed as another tragedy.” Seungmin nodded at the clerk again, who slid the next memory card in.

This card was filled with what sounded like endless psychological evaluations — disembodied voices introducing themselves as social workers, child psychiatrists, and the like, all mercilessly bombarding Jisung with personal questions. The first half was either entirely black or out of focus, as if Jisung had been holding the camcorder down and clutching it close to his body. They had all given up when the young boy could barely get his answers out, the lingering fear and untreated trauma having locked his voice in his throat. 

“He’s a lost cause.”

“Problem kid.”

“Impossible to treat.”

You clenched your fists every time a social worker left the room, muttering under their breath in annoyance. Then, as the clips grew clearer, a child with round, catlike eyes and a pale expression beginning to appear in several of the frames.

Lee Minho. 

“At the beginning of this decade, we all know that Miroh Heights went through an economic rift — workers were laid off, young children abandoned on the streets. During these times, child abuse and child trafficking cases also skyrocketed.” Seungmin spoke as the screen flashed, the scene now showing what looked like a filthy, unfinished basement floor.

“We witnessed a rise of ‘suicide killers’ — namely, perpetrators who would kidnap and murder their own family members or vulnerable strangers before ending their own lives. Many were acting on their anger and grief through violence; others saw it as a form of revenge.” 

With a wince, you remembered what Minho had told you on the rooftop of the hospital that evening — when he and Jisung had been lured into a man’s home by their own hunger, and woke up to him trying to kill them. The sound of approaching footsteps filled the speakers, the camcorder pointed at an awkward angle and shaking uncontrollably before it clattered to the ground, and the footage cut out.

When the next clip began, it was pointed down at wide-eyed, twelve-year-old Jisung.

“Ah, now this is jus’ perfect. The cops’ll love this, yes they will.” You shivered at the man’s hoarse voice behind the camcorder, flinching as the barrel of a gun was pressed to Jisung’s forehead. “Now, boy — I want you to beg for your life — go on.”

Frozen in your seat, you watched as all hell broke loose — the man pressing the trigger just as Jisung managed to cut the cords free, the camcorder smashing into concrete as Jisung fought for his life. When the lens finally focused again, what you saw made your blood run cold. A twelve-year-old boy kneeling before the mangled corpse of a grown man, cherub-like face drenched with crimson. You heard Minho’s shallow, terrified breathing behind the camcorder as Jisung turned towards him, the look in his eyes sending an icy chill down your spine. It was the exact same look he had given you when you had found him at the diner, screaming out his name as if trying to wake him from a nightmare. 

Emptiness.

Even through the grainy film, you could catch the moment Jisung’s consciousness returned to him, soft brown eyes shifting and focusing into a childlike, dazed expression once again. 

“Minho, can we go home?”

The footage sputtered to a stop. The visceral scene had been exactly as the coroner had described to you on the hospital rooftop, and yet nothing could have prepared you for it. You only realised how badly you had been shaking when Felix gently nudged you, peering at your face worriedly. When you forced yourself to unclench your fists, you winced at the red half-moon weals your nails had left in your palms.

“Both the defendant and coroner Lee Minho were involved in a kidnapping case, and subjected to extreme violence at the ages of twelve and thirteen. The perpetrator died in the incident. There was no culprit to catch. Once again, the case was buried, under the economic turmoil Miroh Heights was experiencing, by neglectful law enforcement.” 

Seungmin turned back to look at the psychiatrist. “Now, I’m no expert in analysing family matters, but I think we can confirm several cases of domestic abuse from this footage alone. Parental neglect. Repeated exposure to violence. Years of sexual harassment. How would you psychoanalyse a patient who has gone through these events?”

The red-faced man was evidently shaken, wiping the sweat from his brow as he stuttered out, “This — this is more than enough to cause severe cases of post-traumatic stress disorder.” His eyes darted around the courtroom nervously, as if the words were refusing to come out of his mouth. 

“He looks like he’s scared,” you murmured. “Like he’s still unwilling to talk.”

“Kang must have made some sort of a deal with him,” Woojin replied under his breath, shaking his head. “But it’s all over now — he’s got nothing more to lose.”

“You swore an oath before the trial began,” Seungmin pressed sternly, not taking his gaze off the nervous man. “‘I do solemnly declare that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.’ Tell me the truth, sir.”

Cowering under Seungmin’s hard gaze, the psychiatrist finally caved. “The...the fact that these events took place during the defendant’s childhood is even more significant. Children’s minds are—are molded from a very young age. The majority of your adult behaviour is shaped by what you’ve experienced as a child, you see.”

“Earlier, you mentioned the possibility of sociopathy. You reached this conclusion because of the defendant’s criminal records, and reported behaviour such as —” Seungmin pulled out Kang’s papers, quickly flipping through. “Theft. Pyromanic, destructive, and self-destructive tendencies.” He raised an eyebrow at the boys from the diner attack. “Bordering on multiple personas.”

“U-uh, well — using the information given during the previous trial, those symptoms did correlate strongly with antisocial personality disorder. But with this newfound context —” the psychiatrist lowered his head meekly, “th-the symptoms are actually closer to those of an individual suffering from extreme, untreated, PTSD.”

Exhaling slowly, Seungmin nodded at the judge. “Post-traumatic stress disorder. Let’s re-examine the defendant’s behaviour under this lens, then. How would PTSD explain violent tendencies in a child?”

“They’re a form of an exaggerated startle response — a sudden reaction triggered by something that upsets the patient. It’s a common long-term aftereffect of childhood abuse or trauma. Some patients fall unconscious, some experience panic attacks or seizures. In the case of Han Jisung...it came in the form of repeated violent outbursts.”

You thought back to the man Jisung had attacked, seemingly out of nowhere at the Yellow Wood — the dead man whose girlfriend, Chan had told you, had actually come to the precinct a few days before Jisung’s trial.

“She was crying real bad. I thought she would want him—Jisung—dead, that she would tell us to convict him, no matter what,” Chan had told you, the detective’s face still twisted in confusion. “And she doesn’t want to testify — she’s still dealing with the trauma, and doesn’t want anything to do with the trial. But y/n — the girl was crying for him. For Jisung. Said that the kid stepped in right when her boyfriend was hitting her, and — told her to go home.”

An exaggerated startle response. You remembered it from your classes, a sudden reaction triggered by something that upset the patient. Like domestic abuse. Unsolicited sexual approaches. Or, you shivered, little things — like the colour red. His father, his mistress, his mother, his kidnapper — did Jisung constantly see their faces in the shadows, in strangers that were repeating the same mistakes?

“The witnesses who knew Han Jisung when he was younger,” Seungmin continued, turning to the two injured boys from the diner, “also testified that he often changed expressions ‘like a mask.’ Assuming this is true, why might the defendant exhibit this sort of behaviour?”

“Abused children — or people who have experienced severe trauma — can develop dissociative habits. Disconnecting from past memories, information, or even present experiences as a defense mechanism...which is why the defendant might appear to change moods often, or show drastically different sides of himself in different situations.”

“In other words,” Seungmin said slowly, brow furrowing in concentration, “the defendant experienced so many traumatic events during his childhood, that the untreated aftereffects impaired his emotional development into adulthood. Which would explain why his startle response slowly morphed, on a larger scale, into something extremely violent and dangerous.”

The psychiatrist looked weary and defeated. “Correct.”

Motioning for the man to take a seat — which he did gladly — Seungmin pulled out the next envelope — the coroner’s photos from the Yellow Wood attacks. Wordlessly, he projected them onto the screen, eliciting small gasps of horror and disgust around the room. 

“Earlier, Prosecutor Kang argued that the violent mutilation of the victims was proof that the perpetrator performed these gruesome acts and mutilations out of personal enjoyment and depravity.” Seungmin turned to address the judge, voice firm. 

“Your Honour, under this new context, I would argue that the photos only serve as further visual evidence depicting the defendant’s mental state at the time of the crime.” He flipped through the images. “Multiple wound sites, messy blood spattering, extreme blunt force trauma. And—if the coroner was telling the truth—a stone from the scene of the crime as the murder weapon. All these signs lead us to believe that the defendant’s actions, no, his judgement, was acutely impaired. This response, these attacks, were triggered due to a pre-existing mental condition.”

The room shifted uneasily as his words sunk in, and the judge fixed her stern gaze onto Seungmin. “Does the prosecution have any evidence that directly refutes the previous claim of first degree murder? To prove that the murders were not premeditated, or intentional, beyond a reasonable doubt?”

Think, Seungmin, think. He racked his mind furiously, trying to recall every piece of evidence that you, Chan, and Woojin had gone through with him. Photographs, diagrams, testimony transcripts — Seungmin’s eyes trailed off to the pile of envelopes the clerk had brought, and landed on the packet containing Yang Jeongin’s tapes.

That’s it.

“Yes, Your Honour.” He cleared his throat, mind racing to connect the dots. “As we all know, the living witness of the Yellow Wood attacks, Yang Jeongin, was attacked at around three o’clock in the morning. He worked several late shifts for delivery companies around the town.” Seungmin nodded towards Jeongin. “What we did not know until recently, however, is that the witness had a hobby of recording himself during these shifts on his own Walkman.”

An alarmed murmur rippled through the crowd as Seungmin shook the tapes out from the envelope, handing them to the clerk. After several tense moments, there was a faint crackling, and the recording began to play.

The first tape held a medley of acoustic songs the delivery boy had mixed himself — just as you had remembered it.

The second tape was empty — the one Minho had stolen from the scene of the crime, and you had eventually recovered from his office.

When the clerk popped in the third, the soft sound of breathing and crunching gravel filled the room, and you shivered. This was the tape you had listened to with Seo Changbin — the tape that had turned your entire life upside down.

“I.N. here! It is currently...2:04 A.M.!”

You glanced at the faces around the room — everyone was on edge, and you felt no different. You could still hear Jeongin’s cry of surprise and pain echoing in your ears, the horrible crash as he hit the forest floor. What was Seungmin thinking? How was a recording of the witness being attacked going to prove Jisung’s innocence? If anything, it was incriminating evidence.

Jeongin’s cheery, oblivious voice continued until you heard the woman’s scream in the distance, muffled under the delivery boy’s distracted humming. Then, a man crying out in guttural pain — the man, you knew now, that had been killed by Jisung in the Yellow Wood. The sounds of leaves crunching and branches snapping under the bicycle wheels grew louder, and you knew that this had been the moment Jeongin had entered the Wood — heading closer and closer towards what would later become the scene of the crime. 

“Hello? Is everything okay over there?” There was a small gasp of horror as Jeongin caught sight of the body. “U-um. Is he—do you need help? I can call an ambulance. What hap—” 

It happened before you could flinch to cover your ears. The horribly familiar crunch of stone meeting skull, a cry of pain cut off by a deafening whump as the Walkman had slammed against the ground. The entire courtroom seemed to hold its breath as it listened, and only then did it finally hit you why Seungmin was playing the tapes. As the sound of another boy’s jagged, uneven breathing filled the speakers, you suddenly remembered what came at the end of the recording. The first time you had heard it, it had made your heart plummet straight down into the pit of your stomach, sending your entire world crashing down around you. 

This time, the fluttering in your chest felt almost like hope.

Han Jisung’s voice, choked with raw, horrified sobs, echoed through the room, and you saw everyone freeze.

“Who—why? Why is it you? Why are you here?” 

The crying was muffled by the sound of hands fumbling over Jeongin’s clothing, as if frantically checking for a pulse. Seungmin stopped the tape, turning towards the bewildered jury. “Do those sound like the words of a cold-blooded psychopath?”

The judge waved a hand towards Jeongin. “Can the witness himself attest to this?”

“I...I blacked out pretty quickly,” Jeongin answered slowly, furrowing his brow as if it still hurt to remember. “But the last thing I remembered seeing was...a boy’s crying face over me, trying to make sure if I was okay.”

“Can you identify this boy?”

Nodding, Jeongin pointed to Jisung.

“Furthermore,” Seungmin continued, tapping the cracked silver Walkman, “these tapes were found in Yang Jeongin’s clothing after he was admitted to the hospital. If the defendant had truly attacked Mr. Yang out of cold blood, he wouldn’t have left such incriminating evidence in the boy’s hands. And if Han Jisung had no idea he was being recorded, that rules out the possibility of him faking the recordings as well.”

“Even so,” the judge replied, stern eyes narrowed, “we cannot be sure that Han Jisung did not intend to leave Yang Jeongin to die. There are many murder cases where the perpetrator shows remorse almost immediately, but still attempted to cover up the crime.”

“Of course. However, Your Honour, you may also remember that Yang Jeongin was not found in the Yellow Wood where the attacks had initially taken place...but rather, the doorstep of Glow Cafe.” At this, Hyunjin looked up, eyes narrowed, and Seungmin motioned for the clerk to continue playing the clip. After several moments, you heard the rough sound of cloth scraping against the ground, growing louder and louder — as if something was being lifted and dragged. 

No. You could still hear Jisung’s broken breathing underneath the sound, and the realisation hit you.

Jisung was carrying Jeongin’s body.

You had thought the tape had already ended the first time you’d listened with Seo Changbin in his record shop — after Jisung’s voice had made you shove the Walkman away, not daring to believe what you had just heard. For days, it had sat, neglected in your apartment, until you had brought it into Seungmin’s office for him to look at. The next day, it had already fallen into the hands of Prosecutor Kang, but by some stroke of luck, Seungmin must have already managed to listen to it in its entirety beforehand.

“Yang Jeongin was found at around 4 in the morning, when Hwang Hyunjin, the owner of Glow Cafe, was awoken by the doorbell. The ringer of this doorbell was never identified, because any possible fingerprint evidence was already contaminated and rendered useless by the time Mr. Yang was safely transported to the ICU.”

The sound of dead leaves and dirt crunching under the soles of Jisung’s shoes gave way to hard concrete as he reached the main road. There was a soft thump as Jeongin was lowered onto the ground, Jisung’s laboured breathing filling the still night air.

Then the familiar chime of Glow Cafe’s doorbell pierced through the speakers, and you watched as Hyunjin jolted up, mouth falling open in disbelief.

“Yes. It’s exactly what you’re all thinking.” Seungmin turned to face the stunned spectators as the sound of Jisung’s footsteps grew fainter as he ran away, and the tape ended. “The defendant was the same person who saved him.”

The judge cleared her throat unsteadily, grim eyes flickering between Seungmin and Jisung. “Does the defense have anything to say to this?”

For the first time since the trial had started, Jisung lifted his head. He was met with a roomful of mixed stares — apprehension, curiosity, fear — and he felt his tongue immediately dissolve into dust, the words sticking to his throat like congealed poison.

When Jisung stayed silent, Seungmin spoke carefully, “A fair trial wouldn’t be complete without hearing from the defendant himself. In his own words.” His eyes were almost gentle, fixing a steady look on Jisung’s dark, wary face. “Would you like to testify?”

Your heart was hammering in your throat as the silence grew thicker and thicker. After what felt like an eternity, it was finally broken by the creak of the chair as Jisung pushed it back and stood up. To your utter surprise, he stepped up to the middle of the room, wordlessly turning to face Seungmin. Still, the look on his face held the same blank, guarded expression you had seen so many times when your sessions with him had taken a turn for the worse, and you gripped the edge of your seat uneasily, having no idea what to expect from this turn of events.

If Seungmin was as surprised as you were, he did a better job at hiding it. He muttered something to the clerk, who began to project familiar faces and photos onto the screen. The victims, you realised, and the crime scenes. A slim woman in her thirties, her thin lips a smudge of bright red, next to a photo of charred blood and bone. The prostitute.

“Do you recognise this woman?” Seungmin asked, pointing to her picture.

Jisung frowned, furrowing his brow at the picture. Something seemed to stir in the back of his mind, but there was a dull throbbing in his temples that made it difficult to focus. “I—I’m not sure.” 

Someone in the crowd made an unconvinced sound, and Jisung shrunk back. The pictures went on and on — a corpse mangled with chemical burns, a man’s body swinging from the rooftop, a bashed-in skull on the forest floor. Each image made Jisung’s head pound, the floor beginning to spin as if threatening to split open beneath his feet and swallow him whole. Did he recognise them? Glimpses of their faces flashed in the back of his mind like jumbled jigsaw pieces, but the more he tried to grab onto them, the more they fell apart. His fingertips tingled with the faint, itching memory of a stranger’s blood — strangers who, in a fleeting moment, had taken the shape of a former tormentor. Father. Mistress. Hurt. Pain. 

“I can’t — remember anything,” Jisung choked hoarsely. He remembered blacking out, and waking up. He remembered his nightmares, his flashbacks. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember the faces staring back at him from the screen. 

You sound insane, a voice in the back of his mind hissed. As he met the eyes of the jury, he could almost hear what they were thinking. 

You really are a psychopath. 

Sensing the doubtful whispering beginning around the room, Seungmin hurriedly moved onto the next question. “Let’s — let’s go back to the psychiatrist’s statements, then. Mr. Han, could you tell me what it was like growing up in your family?”

His question was met with silence again, Jisung screwing his eyes shut as the prosecutor’s voice echoed in his head. Family. It was a word that brought ugly memories bubbling to the surface every time, memories made of broken beer bottles and pale, bruised cheeks. His head was aching, a cold sweat forming in his palms as he clenched his fists, stomach churning. No. No. He couldn’t talk about it — wouldn’t talk about it — 

“Can you...tell me about your mother’s eyes?”

The abrupt, familiar question, carried by the prosecutor’s softened voice, was what made Jisung open his eyes again, the trembling in his hands stilling. The room around them was shifting with confused murmurs at the strange question, but Seungmin didn’t break eye contact with the younger boy. 

The prosecutor watched Jisung’s fists slowly unclench, brow furrowing slightly as he recognised the question, and Seungmin thought back to the conversation he had had with you over the phone after you had woken up in the hospital.

“What’s this?”

“A psychiatric analysis — on Jisung,” you explained, referring to the report files you had sent the prosecutor. “I know it’s not — not much, but...”

“For all we know, it might be the only existing verbal testimony that Jisung has,” Seungmin assured you. “From what I’ve heard, he’s never opened up to anyone before. What I meant was, why are you sending it to me?”

You bit your lip. “Chan isn’t allowed to stand trial, and I — I haven’t graduated yet, so my thesis won’t be taken seriously as evidence. I can’t testify as a psychiatric expert, either. But I thought that — I could at least tell you all the questions that lead me to his diagnosis. In case you get to question him at the trial — he’ll know they’re my questions. Maybe...he’ll finally change his mind.”

Seungmin sighed wearily. “I was removed from the case this morning, Miss l/n. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to step foot into the courtroom, let alone question him.”

And so the questions had been left, buried and forgotten in the back of Seungmin’s mind — until this exact moment, when he had remembered them just in time. 

What comes to mind when you think about your mother’s eyes?

Jisung’s vision went black as his senses were flooded with memories, nearly sending him doubling over. His mother’s eyes. The last time he had looked into those eyes, they had already been glazing over, the life in them seeping away as her blood pooled over the broken floorboards of his childhood home. His mother’s eyes. Suddenly, it was as if he was ten years old all over again, shrouded in the shadows of a cramped closet as his father strangled the life out of his mother right in front of him. 

Guilt, he wanted to say. Pain. The kind that never goes away. Blinking feverishly, Jisung’s gaze darted around the room — and when he finally found your face in the audience, he felt his heart stop.

You were looking at him with the exact same eyes his mother had, that day. 

From your first date to this very moment, Jisung never knew why you had always reminded him so much of her — you two looked nothing alike, after all. Wherever he went, he had always been chased by fragments of the nightmares he wanted to forget, demons of his past that had taken the forms of the man at the Yellow Wood, the red-lipped hooker, Na Jangmin, Park Beomsoo. And yet every moment he spent with you, he caught familiar glimpses of her instead — pieces of the only warmth, and happiness, and home he had ever known before it had all been cruelly ripped away.

For years, the only thing he had been able to remember was that day. How his mother’s eyes had been wide and pleading as she bled out on the floor, desperately shaking her head at him before finally falling limp. The flames and endless smoke seemed to eat away at his happier memories until there was nothing left but ashes and tar. 

But you made him remember a time before everything went wrong, when things had been peaceful, when he still had somewhere — someone — to go home to.

For thirteen years, he had been running from the memory, from the feeling, afraid that confronting it would make him relive the pain all over again. But now, for the first time, Han Jisung wondered if he had missed something else among those repressed memories all along.

His mother’s eyes as she shook her head one last time had been warm, not just because they had been filled with pain and tears — but because they had been blazing with one last, unspoken message. The same one he saw reflected in your own eyes now.

When you shook your own head gently, pleading eyes brimming with tears, the message finally rang clear in his mind.

Don’t blame yourself for what happened. Han Jisung, you have to keep on living.

Stunned, he tore his gaze away, only to see Bang Chan watching him with the same expression — then Woojin, Seungmin, Felix, Yang Jeongin. Even Hwang Hyunjin had worry written all over his face — worry for him — and it all suddenly hit Jisung like a punch in the gut.

Why did all these people fight for him?

Why had his mother died for him?

What comes to mind when you think about your mother’s eyes?

“Love,” Jisung breathed, his soft voice filling the empty silence. “Love.” The memories were coming back to him now — not in jagged, gut-wrenching flashes, but slowly. Steadily.

For the first time in his life, Han Jisung was in control.

“Can you tell me about your parents?” Seungmin pressed gently, seeing the tension slowly leave Jisung’s body.

“My parents,” Jisung repeated. His mouth felt like it was trying the words out. He remembered once, when you had asked him the same question, his head had felt like it was on the verge of splitting. Now, the memories felt strangely detached, as if he were telling someone else’s story. “They were happy once, or at least that’s what I’ve heard.” He paused. “My...father...never wanted to get married. They never planned to...have me, but my mother refused an abortion. They — it was a shotgun wedding,” Jisung finished quietly. “And then things got worse from there.”

“What was it like growing up in your family?” Seungmin tried the question again, watching Jisung carefully.

“My old man’s favourite thing to tell me growing up was how I was never wanted,” Jisung gave a weak smile. “I think you can imagine.”

You watched as Seungmin continued asking Jisung your questions, as if slowly coaxing the answers out from the darkness and painting the cold courtroom with the scenes of Jisung’s past.

“My mother was a waitress. The work was tough, but it didn’t pay much. My father convinced her to work more shifts, so that she was around as little as possible. During that time, he…” Jisung swallowed hard. “He had his affairs with other women when she wasn’t home, and beat her bloody when she was. She always tried to hide it from me, too — said the less I knew the better, but I was getting older, and my father’s anger was slowly shifting over to me. And when his...mistresses stayed over, they started noticing me, too.” Jisung fell silent then, and you suddenly thought back to the white burn scars on his arms and legs, the numerous unexplained markings on his stomach bringing tears to your eyes. How many more did he have hidden on his body, painful reminders binding him to a past he tried so hard to forget?

“Your Honour,” Seungmin finally broke the hushed silence, “with all the information taken into consideration, I think we can confirm beyond a reasonable doubt that the defendant has witnessed numerous traumatic events during his childhood — and that they more than likely worsened his mental condition as he grew older.” Seungmin turned to Jisung, remembering another question you had written in your report. “How...do you cope with the past?” 

Jisung was silent for several moments before answering, his words echoing your last therapy session. “I...don’t….like to think about it, or remember it. Every time I do, I…” he trailed off unsteadily, and he tried again. “E-every time, I...I…”

His throat was closing up again, the words echoing in his mind as if mocking him. How was he supposed to explain the headaches that never truly went away, the dizziness that hit him like a punch in the gut? Or, worse, the gaps in his memories when he blacked out, making him feel as though he were slowly going insane?

Stay silent, whispered a voice in the back of his head. Who will understand you? Who will believe you? He looked back at the roomful of faces, their cold, wary stares piercing through him like knives. You were never meant to live. You should have died on that day, thirteen years ago— 

“Han Jisung, you are such an idiot.” 

The sudden memory of your voice cut through his thoughts and made him jolt in surprise— but it didn’t stop there, all the things you had once told him slowly growing louder and louder and jarring him awake from his own thoughts.

“You’re not the psychopath they’re making you out to be. I know you.”

He remembered the way you had relaxed and fallen asleep in his arms, even after you had found out they were stained with blood, because you trusted him completely.

“I don’t want you to show me. I want you to tell me. I want to hear it from you, in your own words, Jisung.”

He remembered your face every time he had tried to tell you about his past — your soft, patient eyes and gentle voice, the worry and genuine concern on your face that he had always mistaken for repulsion and fear. You had been shaken, definitely, terrified, even — but you had always been willing to listen to him speak, even when Jisung had been too afraid to try.

“I like you, Han Jisung. I. Like. You.”

He met your eyes across the room then, and felt a small, incredulous breath leave his lips. It was you — it was always you, who had the power to make the walls he had built around himself crumble to dust with a single touch; you, pulling him out of the darkness he had always succumbed helplessly to; you, who had finally woken him from the living nightmare he had been trapped in his entire life. 

You reminded him what it was like to live again. You made him want to live again, without fears, without regrets.

“Mr. Han? Could you please describe how these memories make you feel? How you usually deal with them?”

“I don’t know how to,” Jisung breathed out at last. “Every time I try to remember, my...heart starts racing like my chest is about to burst. My head pounds until I can’t see anything, and — it’s like something in there...snaps. And then I...black out completely.” 

Seungmin nodded, glancing back to the nervous, red-faced man. “Do you have...anything to add or deny regarding the psychiatrist’s diagnoses?”

“You were right,” Jisung replied simply, but he wasn’t talking to the psychiatrist. He was looking straight at you, and to his own surprise, a smile tugged at his dry lips. It felt like the simple sentence had somehow set him free. “I have trouble sleeping, because I always end up having the same nightmares. There’s missing blank spots in my memories when I wake up in a place I don’t recognise, with no idea how I got there.”

Jisung watched as your eyes widened, recognising his words — he was echoing the same symptoms you had confronted him about during your last therapy session, the ones he had coldly denied out of panic and fear. “I’ve always been afraid to let people get close to me. But sometimes, there are things that — that remind me of times that I’d rather forget, and before I know it, everything begins to spiral out of control.” He gave a small smile to Seungmin, who had stayed silent, surprised at Jisung’s sudden honesty. “That’s it, then. The whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

You watched as Jisung’s eyes flickered around the room, face as open and tranquil as a child’s — and that was what nearly broke your heart. Knowing that somewhere, beneath the prison uniform that was too baggy for his lean, tired frame, was the shell of a child the world had failed, a child that had given up asking to be saved.

“No further questions,” Seungmin said quietly, and Jisung walked back to his seat as the young prosecutor turned to face the judge. “Your Honour,” he began slowly, as if momentarily unable to find the words. “I think we have reason to believe that the attacks were provoked — not exactly by the victims themselves, but from past traumas that were never dealt with properly, and triggered again and again until they spiralled out of control.”

Seungmin raised his voice then, for the entire courtroom to hear, forcing his voice to remain steady despite the fluttering nerves in his body. “The scattered killing patterns were never planned. The correlations between the victims and causes of death don’t show a serial killer’s M.O., they show triggers.” He took a shaky breath. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, this isn’t a serial killer case. It isn’t the case of a psychopath on some nonsensical, murderous rampage. This is the aftereffect of a domestic violence case gone cold and swept under the rug over a decade ago — and we can’t afford to let it slip away again.”

The judge fixed Seungmin with a cold, steely look over her glasses. “Prosecutor Kim. Remember that you cannot — should not — let your emotions get in the way in a court of law. You are supposed to assess the case with cold reasoning and logic.”

Seungmin looked down, heart hammering in his throat. The Kim Seungmin he knew would have been ashamed, and apologised immediately. The Kim Seungmin he knew would have thought he was crazy for crossing the line.

He realised, in that moment, that he hated the old Kim Seungmin with a passion.

“Emotions don’t always get in the way,” he found himself saying, eyes flickering to you in the audience, “and they don’t always make you weak.” Seungmin thought of Prosecutor Kang then, and his voice grew stronger. “If anything, they keep you human.”

He looked back up at the judge now, whose face had frozen in surprise. “When did justice become so cold? We’re taught that the law is supposed to protect the vulnerable, not prosecute them.”

The judge looked visibly shaken, mouth opening and closing wordlessly as her eyes darted wildly between Seungmin and Jisung. Finally, with an unfathomable expression on her face, she turned towards the jury, clearing her throat unsteadily. 

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that concludes the evidence to be presented on this case. You are now to deliberate, and determine whether or not Han Jisung is guilty of nineteen counts of first-degree murder, assault, and arson. 

“If you believe that this has been proved beyond a reasonable doubt, then you should find the defendant guilty, and eligible for capital punishment.”

Capital punishment, you thought, the words sweeping a breath of cold across the room. The death penalty.

“The court stands adjourned until the verdict of the jury.”

━━━━━━━━

Over an hour had passed since the jury had stepped into the deliberation suite, and each tick of the clock on the wall made you more and more nauseous. You put your head down, hands buried in your hair as if that could calm the anxiety thrumming through your veins. A few times, you had heard shouting and angry, raised voices coming from the room the jury was in. Each passing minute seemed to make the weight of the situation more obvious, the tension in the courtroom thick and suffocating.

Felix was rubbing your back as soothingly as he could. “y/n, hey, look at me — deep breaths, okay? You’re okay—”

He was cut off when you lifted your head to look at him, cursing the tears already welling in your eyes. You hated feeling this way — you felt so weak and powerless, and just imagining how much of a mess you must have looked made it even worse. You promised yourself you would stay calm, but every thought that crossed your mind kept leading to another until you were exhausted and overwhelmed.

“They could walk out any minute, ‘lix,” you told him, voice wavering as the weight of your own words sunk in. “They could walk out any minute, and end his life.”

You couldn’t even say Jisung’s name out loud, let alone look him in the eyes. Felix watched as you wiped furiously at your own tears, the sight of you so distressed rendering him speechless, and he did the only thing he could think of. Grimly, your best friend pulled you into a hug, and his reassuring warmth in the cold courtroom made you want to break down all over again. Around you, you could hear mixed opinions being exchanged.

“That poor boy.”

“Who could have guessed the case would take a turn like this? But do you believe him?”

“A murderer is still a murderer — he’s too dangerous to be left alive, don’t you think?”

You were beginning to wish you had taken Hyunjin and Woojin’s offer to step out of the room for fresh air when the heavy doors swung open, making a hush fall over the room. The jury filed in just as Hyunjin and the police captain returned and took their seats.

“Order in the court,” the clerk called, and the judge cleared her throat.

“Has the jury reached a unanimous verdict?”

The forewoman nodded grimly. “Yes, Your Honour.”

“Those in favour of sentencing the accused, Han Jisung, to capital punishment, please rise.”

The words sent an icy shock down your spine, the entire room seeming to hold its breath as they watched the jury. You didn’t dare move, as if by doing so, you could prevent the next moments from coming crashing down on you, as if somehow, you could stop the horrible verdict from coming true. It was as if everyone had frozen still, time stopping for what felt like the longest moment of your life.

The ticking of the clock pricked your ears, and you suddenly realised that time hadn’t stopped. 

No one in the jury had moved to stand up.

“The jury returns a verdict of not guilty, despite believing that the accused committed the crimes he is charged with,” the forewoman standing at the front of the jury said, and the members behind her nodded. “This verdict was unanimous.”

“They all agree that Jisung killed those people,” you heard Hyunjin’s stunned voice behind you, “but they’re returning a verdict of not guilty? What does that mean?”

“Jury nullification,” both Chan and Seungmin spoke at the same time, and the room turned to look at the younger prosecutor as he spoke up. 

“The jury has the right to overturn the law, if they believe the law was used incorrectly—”

A reporter behind you blurted out angrily, “Are you suggesting that the murders were delusional, Prosecutor Kim?”

“Or,” Seungmin continued, his voice growing stronger than ever before as he saw the eyes of the judge and his coworkers widen in disbelief. I must be insane, he thought, but he couldn’t stop the words coming from his mouth. “Or, the jury disagrees with the law the prosecution has chosen to charge the defendant under.” He picked up Prosecutor Kang’s case file from the desk, flipping over the papers. “First degree murder.”

The forewoman nodded. “The law Han Jisung is being tried with was immorally and wrongly applied to him in the first place. We believe he caused the killings, without a doubt, but with the circumstances presented, we cannot convict him of serial first degree murder.”

“The previous prosecutor claimed these charges without making any effort to consider Han Jisung’s past,” one man on the jury added, “All the evidence proves a history of abuse and trauma that lead to an unstable mental condition.”

Their words sounded strangely familiar, and your eyes immediately widened when you realised why. “Those — those are the words from my psych report,” you whispered breathlessly to Felix, “Quoted, word for word. They must have all read your articles — we did it, ‘lix, it really worked.”

“But murder is murder. He should be held accountable,” a spectator protested across the room. He was immediately silenced by the bailiff, but not before Seungmin turned to him with a steady stare.

“‘Murder is murder’,” Seungmin echoed, “‘The world of law is cold.’ ‘The law is harsh, but it is the law.’  Those are the phrases you always hear in court. And those are the same beliefs that cost vulnerable people their lives.”

Hyunjin looked at Jeongin, whose gaze were cast to the floor, eyes stormy. 

Seungmin continued, “You lose your empathy, and mark complex cases like these under ‘mass murderer’, or ‘psychopath’ without bothering to truly investigate the gray areas, because you think doing so would be—” his mind flashed to Kang, “a waste of time.” He looked at Jisung now, a boy who had been confined by labels his entire life: problem child, delinquent, murderer, monster. “Han Jisung is worth more than that. There’s more to him than his past, than his abusers, than the mental torment he’s suffered through for years.

“He’s a boy who never got the chance at life he deserved. The system has failed him once, and we cannot — should not — hold his trial like this.” Seungmin turned to the judge one last time, eyes burning with sincerity. “Your Honour. Will you end this vicious cycle of use and abuse, once and for all? Or will you choose, once again, to sweep it back into the shadows?”

She was staring back at him with a look that should have petrified Seungmin on the spot, but he swallowed hard, forcing himself to stand his ground. There was a long, weighted silence. Finally, the judge shook her head slowly, and Seungmin swore he saw the smallest of smiles tug at her taut mouth as she turned to face the rest of the courtroom. 

You felt your heart nearly leap out of your throat when the verdict finally fell from the judge’s lips.

“I hereby pronounce Han Jisung...not guilty.”

If you hadn’t been sitting down, you were sure you would have collapsed onto the floor.

The world was spinning around you, the sheer relief washing over you in overwhelming waves and turning your limbs to jelly. In your peripheral vision, you saw Hyunjin’s mouth drop open in astonishment, Felix turning to you with an incredulous smile on his face, Chan and Woojin completely frozen. 

You barely registered the judge’s voice as she continued speaking, the rest of her words passing through you as if you were made of thin air. Pardoned on the death of his father and the arson of his childhood home by reason of self-defense. Regarding the Miroh Heights killings, the defendant was unable to understand the significance of his criminal actions due to a pre-existing mental condition. He is acquitted from the death penalty, and will serve no prison time.

However, he will be transferred to a psychiatric institution and closely monitored for the time being. The suitable amount of time he is to spend there will be prescribed on a later date after the case is properly re-examined...

People were talking around you, one of your friends was calling your name, and you swore you even heard a few people clapping, but you weren’t listening anymore. There was only one other person on your mind.

When your eyes found Jisung’s face, he was looking straight at you — with the same look in his eyes that had given you butterflies the first time you met him, and the same look in his eyes you had seen before you had fallen unconscious, bleeding out in his arms.

He was looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

━━━━━━━━

“You had some nerve back there, Prosecutor Kim.”

The courtroom had been emptied out, and Seungmin had been collecting his files and notes when he heard a voice from behind him. At first, he thought he had misheard — people were buzzing outside in the lobby, the commotion so loud it seemed to be humming through the walls — but he turned around, and saw the judge walking up to him.

Bits and pieces of the trial came back to him, and Seungmin cringed inwardly as he met her hard gaze. Just how many lines had he crossed? Years of being careful, meticulous, completely down the drain— 

“You had some nerve back there,” she repeated, and Seungmin lowered his eyes. He heard her sigh deeply. “But you’re a fine prosecutor, Kim.”

Stunned, Seungmin raised his head, and realised with a start that she was smiling at him. “I haven’t seen your kind in a while. It was refreshing, to say the least, and it puts me at ease to know that this field still has people like you.”

She tucked her glasses into her robes, turning to leave.

“Never change, Prosecutor Kim.”

━━━━━━━━

“Prosecutor Kang, look this way!”

Kang was blinded by flashing cameras the moment he stepped out from the holding cell. The older prosecutor’s eyes were dark as he was pushed through the mob of reporters and citizens, the guards flanking him making no effort to be gentle.

“Is it true you hid crucial evidence from your own prosecution?”

“Did you bribe your own witnesses?”

“How many other cases have you tampered with?”

“None!” Kang snarled at the reporter, desperation rising in his throat like bile. “Lies—I’ve never wrongfully convicted a single person. These are all—” 

“You’re the liar.”

The crowd stopped, turning towards the voice that had shouted over them. Yang Jeongin was standing at the end of the hallway, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Just the sight of Kang was enough to make him tremble like a young child again, words stuck momentarily in his throat. This was the same man he had met in court all those years ago, the man who had mercilessly delivered his father’s life sentence with a snakelike smile on his pale lips. Taking a shaky breath, Jeongin mustered up his courage, and ran up to him.

“Please stop this already,” Jeongin pleaded, eyes searching Kang’s bewildered face for signs of guilt, remorse, anything. Kang didn’t seem to recognise him, and the young boy’s voice was breaking as he fought back tears. “Please tell the truth, just this once. I-I don’t know why you’re doing this, but—it doesn’t have to be this way—”

There was a gasp as a few reporters stumbled, and the crowd rippled forward. Kang was knocked off-balance, tumbling to the ground. He cursed, fumbling to get back on his feet — and saw a hand, outstretched towards him from a hoodie sleeve that was clearly too large for its owner. He looked up into the young boy’s face again, his fox-like eyes widened in concern, and finally realised with a jolt who he was talking to.

Nearly a decade ago, Kang thought — an old fool who had picked a fight with high-ranking company officials, no? And then the crackpot had pleaded with Kang, saying something about a son he had to take care of — a young boy— 

Jeongin put his hand on Kang’s arm when the prosecutor didn’t move, and pulled him up. “Mr. Kang, my father—”

Feeling a sudden rage surge through his body, Kang drew his fist back and punched the boy across his jaw. 

Jeongin crumpled to the ground, the side of his face already blooming with red. “You brat,” Kang seethed as cries of horror erupted from the crowd, guards seizing him and trying to pull him away. “What do you understand? Han Jisung, your old man — people like them don’t deserve to walk free.”

You had just stepped out of the courtroom when a commotion in the hallway had made you look over, the scene that had greeted your eyes making you freeze. Jeongin had been clutching Prosecutor Kang’s arm, looking up at the older man imploringly — and his expression had been genuinely kind, almost pitying, his mouth opening and closing frantically as though he were pleading with him. You had shaken your head in disbelief, trying to push through the throng of shocked citizens — only Yang Jeongin’s heart was big enough to look his parents’ tormentor in the eyes, and help him. 

Then Kang had suddenly struck Jeongin, and now the delivery boy was curling up in pain on the ground as the prosecutor screamed at him.

“They were foolish enough — depraved enough  — to violate those laws, and I charged them with what they deserved. It’s as simple as—”

The next thing you knew, you were in front of Kang, palm outstretched, and you had slapped him hard across the face.

The entire crowd fell dead silent, Jeongin looking up at you from the floor in dazed disbelief. Even Kang was speechless as he looked back at you, holding his jaw, eyes about to pop out of their sockets.

“It seems like you know everything about law, Prosecutor Kang,” you said, voice shaking with anger, “but you know nothing about being human.”

Kang opened his mouth, but for once, nothing came out. The hallway was erupting in chaos again as cameras clicked and flashed eagerly. The guards began to drag Kang away before it could get more hectic, your last glimpses of the corrupt prosecutor disappearing behind the reporters’ bobbing heads. As you helped Jeongin up, checking his head worriedly, you felt a hand pull at your own arm. You turned to see Hyunjin, and judging by the look on his face, he had seen everything.

“Is this just going to be a thing now?” The barista asked, side-eyeing you wearily as he held onto Jeongin protectively, “Are you just going to start slapping everyone who crosses you?”

“Maybe,” you muttered mutinously. “It’s faster, and less emotionally draining than negotiating.”

“You’re studying to be a therapist, y/n,” Hyunjin reminded you exasperatedly, and you let out a small laugh, pouting slightly. The barista smiled too, despite himself, and you both looked over at Jeongin. The boy’s eyes were staring over the crowd’s heads, through the lobby doors, and you realised he was watching the officers push Kang into the police cruiser — the man who had ruined his parents’ lives, finally handcuffed and headed where he was supposed to be.  

You turned around, and caught sight of another familiar face further down the hallway, standing perfectly still despite the crowd of people rushing past around him. 

Lee Minho’s face was turned away from you, his catlike eyes staring at something with the same, unfathomable expression you had come to grow so accustomed to. You remembered how you had once been afraid of the coroner and his strange, standoffish manner, but now, as you watched him from afar, you felt a small pang of sympathy. Minho always carried himself like a ghost, you realised — a shadow lingering in the corners of rooms and corridors, unsure if he was ever wanted.

You quickly excused yourself from Hyunjin and Jeongin and you began to push through the crowd towards the coroner. As you followed his gaze to the holding cell doors, they suddenly swung open, and Jisung stepped out into the hallway. Your steps slowed. The two stood facing each other for several long moments — two childhood friends, two lost children who had found their only sense of family — twisted though it had been — in each other. Minho’s face was hesitant, as if about to turn away, but Jisung had already begun walking up to him. You were too far away to hear what they were saying, Jisung’s back turned to you and Minho awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other. 

Then Jisung suddenly closed the gap between the two of them, and pulled Minho into a hug.

You watched as the ex-coroner’s mask finally shattered, the older boy’s face scrunching up like a child’s as he buried his head in Jisung’s shoulder. His entire body shook with silent sobs, as if something in him had finally been let go, a burden he had carried his entire life lifted off his chest. 

Eventually, the guards stepped forward, and Minho pulled away. He looked at Jisung with a small smile on his face — the first genuine smile you had ever seen from him — and you managed to catch the words forming on his lips. 

“Goodbye, Han Jisung.”

“He’ll probably need to go through a trial of his own.” Chan’s voice made you jump in surprise. He had come up beside you while you had been distracted, Felix and Woojin close behind him. He nodded at you by way of greeting before turning back to where Jisung was standing. “The coroner, I mean. But he’ll likely get around five years in prison, more or less.”

You watched as Minho was ushered away into another corridor, Jisung staring at the empty spot where he had once stood. Before you could reply, he turned around, eyes landing on yours — and all of a sudden, you forgot about the security guards flanking every doorway, the law officials and reporters brushing briskly past you. For a moment, it was as if it were only you and Jisung in the hallway, the entire world standing still around the two of you.

Since the last time you had spoken to him had ended with you slapping him in the face, you decided that it was only right for you to take the first step towards him. Slowly, feeling as if you were in a dream, you made your way towards him, Jisung walking the rest of the way to meet you in the middle.  

“Hey, you.” Jisung’s voice was soft, nearly inaudible, not taking his hazel eyes off yours.

You heard Chan chuckle behind you, shaking his head as he threw his arms around Felix and Woojin’s shoulders to steer them away and leave you two in private. The hallways had nearly cleared out, and for the first time in what felt like forever — if you ignored the guards watching a little ways off from the holding cells —  you and Jisung were alone together.

There were a thousand things racing through your mind right now, but you couldn’t seem to find the right words to say. 

“Five years,” Jisung tentatively broke the silence again, and when you looked back at him in confusion, he continued, “in the psychiatric institute. They told me five years minimum, on watch. But I heard...it’s a nice place.”

His lopsided, sheepish smile was as infectious as ever, making one tug at your own lips. When Jisung saw you smile, he relaxed just the tiniest amount.

“Y-you’re going to be okay?” You finally asked, feeling your voice waver. 

Jisung’s gaze softened, nodding. “You saved me.”

“No.” You shook your head firmly. You knew he was talking about Seungmin’s arguments, Jeongin’s witness statements, the article you and Felix had published — but it all might have been for nothing, you thought, mind flashing back to the courtroom, if Jisung hadn’t finally stepped up from his chair and faced his lifelong traumas in the form of one last, truthful testimony. “Han Jisung, you saved yourself.”

He fell silent at that, and you saw his hand instinctively move towards yours for a split second before he quickly stopped himself. Jisung’s arms were floating by his sides, as if wanting to pull you close, but he was holding himself back. He was afraid, you finally realised — afraid that you would push him away, afraid to ever hurt you again. And for some, inexplicable reason, the idea of a rift between the two of you that could never be repaired seemed to hurt even more than a switchblade to the heart.

“For some reason, I’ve been thinking back to our first date,” Jisung cleared his throat, one hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. He probably looked like a nervous schoolboy in front of his first love, Jisung thought, cringing at himself as he looked away from your curious gaze. Well, he added as an afterthought, that wouldn’t be too far off.

You were his first love, after all.  

“I...I didn’t know how you felt that day,” Jisung continued, “or even the days after that, to be honest. I didn’t know if I was doing things right, or—”

“You took my breath away,” you cut him off, the honesty in your own words making your cheeks heat up. You thought back to the diner, to the blond boy who had rendered you speechless with a single heart-shaped smile. As an afterthought, you brought a hand to your rib cage, where a switchblade in that same boy’s hands had once punctured through your lungs, and you deadpanned, “literally.”

Eyebrows raising in disbelief, Jisung gave an incredulous laugh, but his gaze was fixed on the site of your wound. You could still see the deep guilt in his eyes, and, taking a deep breath, you reached for his hand, gingerly placing it where the knife had been. His skin was cool against your fingers, palm rough but familiar. “I’m okay, Jisung. It’s okay. But...why bring that up, all of a sudden?”

“I feel like that now,” he admitted softly, “the same feeling, but with a whole new set of butterflies. Always thinking about you, worrying about you. Wondering how you feel about…”

“Us,” you finished for him, and Jisung nodded slowly. Us. The word hung between the two of you for a long moment, and you took a shaky breath. A part of you wanted to reassure him, to pull him into your arms as if nothing had ever changed. But another part of you pushed that feeling away, knowing deep down that it was too late, that too much had already happened between the two of you to just ignore.

“I don’t know,” you answered truthfully, and you looked down, afraid to see the expression on his face. “I woke up that morning, and you were just...gone. I was so scared for you, I went looking for you...then one thing lead to another, and before we all knew it, the world had turned upside down. I-it might sound selfish, but after all...this, I think I’m going to need some...time.” You finally lifted your eyes up to his face, heart pounding. For a terrifying second, you thought you saw a flash of pain skip across Jisung’s pupils — but before you could be sure, his face broke into a relieved smile. 

“You’ve always been like this, you know?” He sighed, one hand reaching up to gently tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. Then, contrary to what you had expected, Jisung visibly relaxed. “Worrying about other people before taking care of yourself. You’re not being selfish, okay? Don’t...worry about hurting me anymore.”

You stared at him, the genuine warmth in his words suddenly making your throat close up with stunned tears. Jisung’s eyes, you remembered, had always seemed glazed over and unfocused — as if his mind was trapped somewhere else, far, far away. But as he looked back at you now, you were suddenly hit by how...clear they had become. He was here, perfectly focused on you, eyes filled with what you could only describe as pure adoration.

“I need time, too,” Jisung continued quickly, “I have...so many things I need to fix, to work on, and get better at—”

You shook your head furiously then, tears spilling onto your cheeks as you held onto his wrist. “W-want to love every part of you,” you whispered, forcing your voice to remain steady. “Don’t...don’t hide any parts of yourself, ever again. Okay?”

Jisung watched you for a long moment, brow furrowed as he gingerly wiped your tears, and finally gave a small nod. He cradled your face in his hands, eyes trying to memorise your features as though you were the most beautiful thing he would ever see. To someone else, you thought vaguely, you might have looked insane. A killer’s hands, they might have said, bloodstained hands. But as you gazed up at Jisung, all you saw was a boy who had gone through hell and came back smiling, a boy who loved you more than life itself.

You heard footsteps approaching, and looked up to see several security guards making their way towards Jisung. “Mr. Han,” one called gruffly, “it’s time to go.”

The sudden interruption made your mind go blank momentarily as any reasonable words — goodbye, take care — immediately dissolved on your tongue. The guards were getting closer and closer, and Jisung turned back to you, stammering. 

“If you ever want to—to do this whole...love thing again, start over properly, I—I promise I’ll try not to screw it up. I mean, if you’re sure—and only if you’re sure,” he paused then, sounding suddenly flustered, and for a second, he was your tousled-hair, golden boy from the diner again, soft cheeks flushed like windblown peach roses, eyes unsure yet hopeful as a child’s. This was the boy you had fallen in love with, over blueberry pancakes and Chinese takeout, on seemingly endless nights and through the darkest thunderstorms. Ever since you had made that promise, in a children’s playground beneath the setting sun, you knew that somehow, no matter what fate had left in store, you would always find your way back to him. 

Jisung was already being ushered away, the sudden absence of his touch on your skin leaving you feeling empty — but his last words brought a smile to your tearstained face.

“...I’ll be waiting.”

ryu says:

thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to everyone who made it to the end of this series; to everyone who came on this long journey with me, you made it possible and amazing every step of the way. at times, as my first ever series and long-term project, it was both daunting and terrifying, but i am beyond happy and honoured i could experience it with you.

i’ll see you in the epilogue.

#han jisung #stray kids #skz #stray kids series #stray kids au #stray kids imagine #bang chan #kim woojin #yang jeongin #lee know #stray kids minho #lee felix #seo changbin #kim seungmin #hwang hyunjin #stray kids boyfriend #stray kids yandere #stray kids angst #stray kids imagines #han jisung au #han jisung angst #han jisung yandere #han jisung boyfriend #serial killer!au #stray kids soft #stray kids fluff #kpop #kpop aus #kpop series #young god

[fumingspice]

All The Things She Said

Pairing: Lana Winters x Reader

Part | 1 2

Thank you for all the love! Requests are open :D

Lana dropped her head in her hand and rubbed her temples and you felt your face go red. Your group of friends on the other side of the room, who you thankfully had not informed of the night before, laughed at your embarrassment.

Attempting to diffuse the tension, Lana approached the three of you with textbooks. "Take these," she said, her glare went straight through you. "And please don't be late to my class again."

You could feel the skin under your necklace burn as your hands made contact while she passed you the books. You could tell she felt something too when her face flinched slightly. There was something different about her.

She was wearing her wedding ring.

Lana noticed that you had seen it. "Stay behind after class."

The three of you took your seat at the back row, and you did your best not to look up during as much of the lesson as possible, resorting to taking notes from the book. Your face burned with the anticipation of Lana's confrontation. You had borderline lied to her about something that could risk the integrity of her career and her reputation. The guilt almost sickened you to your stomach and your friends could sense it.

"You gotta keep calm," Emmett whispered to you, knocking his knee against yours to tell you to stop bounding your leg. You peaked up for the first time in the lesson while the others were taking notes. Lana averted her glance as soon as you did so. "She's been looking up at you every time she gets a moment."

You rubbed your forehead with two fingers and peeled your necklace from under your shirt. It was white-hot. "What the fuck?" You muttered to yourself, getting Emmett's attention.

"I didn't know you had one of those," he said. "Maybe it means that its pair is close by-" Emmett stopped himself and looked from you to Lana.

The bell rang before he had a chance to finish himself. "We'll wait for you in the cafeteria."

The class filed themselves out as you remained in your chair, Heather gave you a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder as she left.

You watched Lana smile at your classmates as she crossed the room back to her desk. The suspense was killing you.

Finally, Lana stood up again and sat on her desk, folding her arms, and staring right at you. "Come over here, please," she said, darting her eyes to the floor.

You followed her instructions and sat at the desk opposite.

Lana played with a pendant on her necklace as she seemed to gather the words to use.

"Do you understand the severity of what happened last night, and why we can't go through with tonight's plan?" she asked after a moment of silence, her whiskey brown eyes finally meeting yours.

"Because you're married?" You replied, slightly meaner than you intended to sound. Lana's eyes look inflicted by your comment.

She took off her ring and laid it on the desk. "You lied to me. You told me you weren't younger than twenty-one and Jesus Christ, why did I want to believe you so bad?" She put her head in her hand and for a moment you were unaware if she was talking to you or herself.

"No, I didn't," you replied. Technically. "I told you that a lot of people think I'm younger than twenty-one. I'm eighteen."

Lana took a minute to regain her composure. "Y/N, I think you're an amazing, beautiful, incredibly funny and smart young lady and I would love to have gone on with whatever we had started. Though, at the end I am still your teacher and you're still my student. That's like fifty shades of illegal," she said. Her eyes were trained on the ground now as she straightened her back.

Your necklace was beginning to burn your fingers now and you could see Lana was rubbing her chest. You stepped closer to her as she backed against her table and put your hand under hers.

But I thought she didn't wear her necklace?

Her necklace was hot too. You pulled her necklace from under her blouse and inspected it. In that moment you finally felt like you were able to one-up even Aria Montgomery.

"Does that mean-?"

You rubbed your temples. "Good golly, this is going to cause the worst migraine ever."

Lana looked visibly stressed too. "Surely there's a mistake, right?"

You stared at her hard. "Soul necklaces have never made a mistake in the history of their goddamn existence, Lana!"

The teacher groaned. "The only reason I put this on was because last night you reminded me that I actually had one and I wanted to throw it in my husband's face that there's someone else better than him-" she stopped herself in her rant to inhale hard "-even though that's not too fucking hard. I did not. In a million years. Put this on to match with one of my students."

"How about the chick who tried to pick you up in a bar, then. Would you have wanted to match with her?"

Lana looked like she was about to strangle you, and you weren't necessarily opposed to that. "Y/N, please for the love of God don't make this harder for me. I've been thinking about you since I got home last night." You could see tears in her eyes and a pang of guilt hit you hard.

You walked to the door, peered down the hallway to make sure it was empty and closed the door.

"Lana-"

"Ms. Winters."

"Way to remove the power dynamic," you muttered sarcastically. Lana tried to hide a blushing smile. "I have six months left. I can pretend you're just my teacher and you can pretend I'm just your favourite student of all time."

Lana bit her lip. "You're still flirting with me? You looked like a deer in headlights when you walked in."

You felt your face glow red in embarrassment. "I thought I was gonna pass out."

That much was true. When it had finally hit you that Lana was your new French teacher you had felt a weight on your heart like never before.

"So, sixth months of pretending. I think I can cope with that," Lana said. She was less stressed now. Well, from whatever relief the conversation had provided.

You nodded and peeked through the window by the door. The hallway was clear. You turned back to face Lana and took a step towards her. The teacher could sense her apprehension as you laid a hand on her cheek and pulled her close to you.

You looked up into her eyes and waited for her cue. She nodded, her eyes locked with yours before they shut and lent in. Her lips pressed against yours and her hands curled in your hair as you worked to deepen the kiss. Lana backed right onto the desk until she was sitting right on it, one of your hands reached down to grab her thigh and pull it to your waist.

Her hands dropped to the back of your neck. You were bewildered. How could something be so wrong yet feel so right? This went against almost every moral code you had with your teachers. You were a model student and now here you between a teacher's legs.

Lana pulled away abruptly. "I don't want to go further than kissing while you're still in school," she whispered.

You smirked. "Please. You didn't even plan on kissing back, did you?"

Lana shook her head as she shuffled off the desk and grabbed her bag from the chair.

You had never seen anyone jump as high as Lana Winters did when Emmett banged the door open.

"Mother of Jesus in a tank. Can't either of you be gentle with the doors in this school?!" She exclaimed. "You'll give me a heart attack one of these days."

"Sorry, Ms. Winters," Emmett muttered. He stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. "I won't stay for long. I also just wanted to say that you don't need to worry about Heather and I saying anything, because we won't. But Heather is also getting impatient and wants to know if you need a lift home."

You shook your head. "I'll be a few minutes. I can walk home but tell her I said thank you."

Emmett gave a thumbs up and left.

"It's raining cats and dogs outside," Lana said. "You'll catch your death of cold."

"I'm a fast runner, Ms. Winters."

Lana shook her head. "What kind of person would I be if I let my favourite student walk home in the rain, hm?" She held up her keys and headed to the door.

You walked behind her while she informed a superior that she was driving you home. Child protection policy and whatnot. Ironic.

Lana sat in the driver's seat and blasted the heat.

"What's your address?" She asked, booting up the sat nav. You recalled her saying that she had only recently moved to this city.

"Sixteen Eli Boulevard," you replied, checking a message from your mom. She was making Carbonara for dinner.

Lana stopped. "You're kidding, right?"

"Are you being serious right now? Why would I kid about where I live?"

Lana pursed her lips and laughed. "I just moved into that neighbourhood yesterday."

Well, that was convenient.

"So, I can be expecting a lot more car rides with you, Ms. Winters?"

Lana cocked her head at you and frowned as she began driving. "Can we establish some ground rules? Like no flirting on school grounds? We can't afford for that to happen again."

You nodded in slightly disappointed agreement.

"In school, at least."

You paused, turning to take in the view of the mountain that sat beside your small town. You never seized to be amazed at that view.

“Can we reschedule our date? I know a place outside of town,” you say. Lana squeezed her eyebrows hard in thought.

“How far out of town are we talking?”

“An hour or so on the train. Give or take.”

Lana stopped the car outside your drive. “I can do Saturday.”

Perfect.

You heaved yourself out of her car and gave her hand a squeeze. It was the closest thing to a kiss you could manage.

What on Earth am I doing to myself.

taglist: @its-soph-xx @delias-bitch-craft  @sarahpaulsonsoftie @jumpoffabridge-t @coffee-is-below-my-standards @definitelynot-a-writer​ @bottom4delia

#lana winters #lana winters x reader #ahs #ahs imagines #sarah paulson #billie dean howard #billie dean howard x reader #sally mckenna #sally mckenna x reader #cordelia goode #cordelia goode x reader #foxxay #ahs murder house #ahs coven #ahs asylum

[august-bleeds-red]

Texas Heat (Part Two)

Alpha!Tommy x omega!Reader (AFAB). When you find yourself trapped within the Hewitt family’s web of murder, violence and pain, the last thing you expect to do is fall in love.

Warnings: implied non-con, gore. NSFW in later chapters.

Part One / Part Two / Part Three

~

Dinner that night is stew.

 You help Luda cut the vegetables, but the meat is already simmering in the pot by the time you come down. Thomas is nowhere to be seen, and when you ask where he is, as casually as possible, Luda answers with a sly grin.

 “Oh, he’s probably workin’ down in the basement. Often doesn’t eat ‘til later, ‘specially when we have guests. He’s awful shy, you see.”

 You don’t mention the way he’d stared at you upstairs – more domineering and intense than anyone else you’d have described as “shy”.

 “I hope you don’t mind me asking—” you begin to say, but she’s already nodding, clearly anticipating your next words.

 “His face?”

 You nod. Setting down the knife she’s using to slice the carrots, she adjusts her spectacles and glances towards the door you presume leads to the basement.

 “He’s awful sensitive about it. We don’t usually talk about it, but I don’t want you to be makin’ any nasty judgements ‘bout him.”

 “Of course not, I wouldn’t.”

 She pats your arm and continues chopping the carrots. “I found him when he was just born. Some cruel no-goods had left him to die in a trash can. Lord knows what filthy things he was exposed to in there before I took him home. He started gettin’ skin complaints when he was a boy. Real bad. The other kids used to tease him for it, call him ‘diseased’. Got too much for him so he took a knife and . . .” She presses the tips of her fingers to her mouth and shakes her head. “Sorry, still gets to me.”

 “I understand,” you say, your heart aching empathetically. “I’m sorry.”

 She pats your arm again and sighs, “You’re a good girl, Y/N.”

 For some reason, she says this with a note of sadness which makes you uneasy again. You don’t have long to dwell on it, though, before Hoyt enters the room.

 “How’s that stew comin’ on, Momma?” he asks jovially.

 You help set the table and bow your head respectfully while Hoyt says Grace, accepting your bowl of stew with a grateful smile. The meat is tender, with an unusual flavour you can’t quite place. You figure it must be some kind of game animal you’ve not tasted before, or herbs mixed in with the broth. It’s good, whatever it is. You help yourself to the cornbread Luda offers you and try not to be disconcerted by the way Monty is staring at you.

 He’s just a dirty old man, you try and convince yourself. Ignore him.

 Though it’s not that late by the time your plate is cleared, you claim tiredness and go upstairs to your tiny room. Closing the door behind you, you wish there was some kind of furniture you could prop against it; the chest of drawers is far too heavy for you to move inconspicuously. You don’t feel quite comfortable enough to change into the camisole you usually wear for sleeping, so decide to remain in your shorts and T-shirt. One night won’t hurt. You brush your teeth in the tiny sink, making a mental note to rinse your toothbrush with clean water before using it again, and curl up on top of the blanket. The air is thick and humid, and you’re soon wishing you could just sleep naked. Your own scent hangs heavy in the air and you curse your time of the month. Even with the precautions prescribed to you, your heat was always strong, but it never has this much of a toll on you. You remember your first – you were ten, an early bloomer, and it had hit you at summer camp. It was the height of August, and the counsellors had found you whimpering in a corner of the dorm, hugging a pillow and grinding frantically against it.

 That was the last time you went to camp.

 Could it be because of Thomas? Is that why your body is reacting so strongly?

 Growling in frustration, you reach for your bag and grope inside for your pills. The doctors only advise taking three pills in a single day under extreme circumstances, but being under the same roof as an alpha as intimidating as Thomas Hewitt strikes you as pretty damn extreme. It takes you almost three whole minutes to realise the awful truth – the pills aren’t there. You know you put them back in the inside pocket earlier, the same place you always do. They’re definitely gone.

 Your heart starts pounding and you feel that prickling sense of danger creep over you again. It would have been easy for Hoyt, Monty, or even Thomas to come in here and take the pills while you were downstairs helping Luda. Which means they know. Perhaps you were kidding yourself that you could lie to them.

 You decide not to take any chances. Even without your car, there was no way you could stay here. Your parents would understand. Perhaps you could even call the cops when you got to the next town and ask them to fetch it for you. Gathering your belongings as quietly as possible, you open the door just a crack and peer out down the darkened hallway. All is still. You manage to make no sound all the way to the top of the stairs, taking care not to step in the centre of each step as you tiptoe down.

 You’re almost at the door when you hear it – a low, keening moan.

 You turn glacially slowly to look at the basement door. You could kid yourself that it was a dog, but you know in your bones that’s not the case.

 “Please . . .” the voice calls plaintively. A girl. “Help me . . .”

 Fear washes over you like a bucket of ice water. You should go – you know you should go. The door is right in front of you.

 “Pleeeeease . . .” the voice sobs.

 Your parents’ faces swim before your eyes. You think of what they’d suffer were you to never come home. You brother, your sister, your friends . . .

 “Oh God, help me . . .”

 “God damn it,” you whisper through gritted teeth. With a quick glance upstairs, you tread as light as a spider down the corridor towards the basement. The girl’s voice gets louder – it’s definitely coming from down there. The door is unlocked when you twist the handle, pulling it towards you just enough to slip inside and down the rickety steps beyond. A large pool of water is gathered at the foot of the stairs, too large for you to avoid. You wince as the damp soaks through your sneakers and socks.

 Two large hunks of meat are hanging from hooks along the wall. You think they may have once been pigs, though the head and limbs are all hacked away. You find the girl – a petite blonde in a short blue dress – on a filthy mattress, roped to a pipe in one corner of the room. She looks as though she’s been there for days, weeks, even. Her skin is bruised, and you can tell by her frightened scent that she’s a beta. You can also smell Hoyt’s potent musk on her – in her hair, in the smears of congealed fluid between her legs.

 She smells you before she sees you, eyes searching disbelievingly in the half-dark. You quickly stifle her mouth with your hand before she cries out.

 “Keep quiet, okay?” you hiss. You pick at the tightly-knotted rope, breaking a fingernail in your attempt to untie it. “Fuck.”

 “Oh God,” she gasps.

 “Shh, it’s okay, I’m gonna—”

 “NO!” she screams, her body falling into a fit of panicked flailing. Her eyes are big and brimming with fear, staring over your shoulder.

 The scent reaches you just before Thomas’s fingers do.

 You duck and back away from the captured girl, who continues screaming like she’s being sliced apart. Every nerve in your body is yelling at you to flee, to fight, to do anything besides what you are doing – which is staring like a deer in headlights up at Thomas approaching you. His scent is almost overpowering, and despite the terror seizing you, you feel a warm stream of slick trickling down the inside of your thigh.

 He gives a sharp intake of breath and rumbles deep in his chest. Your knees tremble, and you unconsciously breathe in the heady aroma surrounding the enormous man. Your breath shudders as it leaves you. Your instincts are commanding you to stay, to submit, to give yourself to this alpha; you can already feel your body leaning into him.

 The basement door slams open and Hoyt’s angry voice preceeds his heavy footsteps.

 “Nuff of this dang caterwauling, some of us’re tryin’ to sleep!”

 He stops dead at the wall of scent surrounding you, and a sly grin takes over his rugged features. “Well, lookee here.”

 Reaching inside his pocket, he pulls out a small foil strip that you recognise instantly.

 “Guess somebody’s not just a plain ole beta after all, huh?”

 “You asshole,” you spit, your disdain for Hoyt overriding your lust for just a moment.

 “That’s not very polite now, is it?” he says. He moves casually towards the whimpering blonde, who stares in terrified anticipation up at him. He reaches down and strokes her hair, and she cringes away from his touch. “Tommy, why don’t you teach this little bitch a lesson in manners?”

 Thomas takes two short strides towards you, but you dart out from under his grasp and sprint towards the stairs. The girl you’re abandoning screams after you, but all you can think of now is to escape, battling the nagging tug at the back of your mind that’s still desperately reaching out for Thomas.

 You somehow make it up the steps and through the door, your footsteps crashing on the boards as you fly down the hall. You throw your entire weight against the front door, splintering the wood surrounding the lock as you burst out into the night.

 You breathe in lungfuls of air as you sprint across the field, heading for the road. You’ve never been a fast runner, but the adrenaline pumping through your veins has you practically leaping like a gazelle. Your feet catch on stones and loose earth, threatening you with a fall, but you just manage to keep your balance. The sound of pounding footsteps behind you sends a sharp spike of fear into your gut, and if you weren’t running you may have vomited.

 You vaguely recognise another sound – a deep, mechanical roar – but you don’t want to risk glancing over your shoulder to see if it is what you think. He’s getting closer, you can smell him, you can hear his laboured breathing, you can feel his fingers grasping at your hair—

 He overshoots you by a good ten strides when you fall to the ground, scraping your hands and knees on hard soil. Turning to face your supine form, he brandishes the growling chainsaw clutched in his massive hands.

 You’re dead. You must be. How can you possibly expect any other outcome from this situation? Scrambling to your knees, you try to rise, but the metal teeth of the chainsaw brush too close; you can almost taste your own blood. Thomas’s eyes, black with rage, focus on you. His chest is heaving, his muscular arms flexing as he prepares to deal the killing blow—

 “Alpha!” you shriek, the word spilling from your tongue before you can recognise its meaning. “Alpha, please!”

 He freezes, arms aloft, staring down at you in surprise and disbelief.

 You crawl forwards, reaching out a shaking hand to touch his booted foot. “Please . . . p-please don’t kill me.”

 He glances up towards the house. You can tell he’s not used to making decisions without approval, but Hoyt isn’t here to spit poison in his ear.

 “I’ll . . . I’ll be yours.” You can’t believe the words you’re saying. “Please, alpha . . . you can have me. I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t kill me.”

 He steps back and shakes his head angrily, but not in refusal – more like he’s trying to rid your honeyed words from his head as a bull might dislodge a persistent fly. Taking your life in your hands, you slowly rise to your feet and proffer your sweating hands towards him; the scent from your wrists glands is strong, unavoidable. The chainsaw powers down, and his arms slowly fall to waist-height. You take careful hold of one wrist and detach his fingers from the chainsaw handle. Keeping your gaze locked with his, you part your dry lips and press the flat of your tongue against his own wrist, licking a long, slow stripe. His skin is salty with sweat, the musk beneath deep and earthy, hitting the back of your throat like spice. You feel a shudder pass through his body and go one step further – baring your teeth just enough to nip the tender, swollen skin. The chainsaw falls heavily to the ground as he grabs you, one hand twisting the skin of your wrist, the other securing the back of your neck, fingers knotted in your hair. You stare up at him, heart dancing, skin tingling, fear and lust seeking dominance in your stomach. His teeth are bared behind the gap in his mask, his brow furrowed in bewildered rage and desire. You lift the hand still free from his grip and, as tenderly as though handling a baby sparrow, touch the gland at the nape of his neck. The skin is raised and warm, and his eyes close almost in reverence at the contact.

 “What in Lord’s name’re you doin’, boy?!” Hoyt’s furious voice startles you both. He’s hurrying up behind you, shotgun under one arm, glaring between you and Thomas.

 In a swift, one-handed movement, Thomas pulls you flush against his body, your nose filling with the metallic scent of blood imbedded in his apron – which, it occurs to you, is undoubtedly human blood.

 Hoyt stops in his tracks, assessing the situation before him. You, pliant and submissive in Thomas’s arms; Thomas, dominant and possessive, ready to protect you from the threat Hoyt poses. The older man sighs, chuckling softly.

 “Well, I’ll be damned.” Swinging the shotgun to rest on his shoulder, he shakes his grizzled head. “Y’sure, Tommy? She’d taste mighty sweet with Mama’s hot biscuits.”

 Thomas’s grip tightens and you whimper – he’s about to break your wrist. His fingers immediately loosen, and you see a flash of what could almost be called concern cross his face. Hoyt rolls his eyes and turns, heading back towards the farmhouse.

 “Come on, then.”

 Before you can protest, Thomas sweeps you up into a bridal embrace, pressing your body against his broad chest. Tears prick your eyes as you’re brought back to the place you fought so hard to escape from. As you’re carried over the threshold, Hoyt shoots you a nasty grin.

 “Welcome to the family, Little Miss Omega.”    

~

Comments are greatly appreciated because I’m a needy little trashbag.               

#thomas hewitt #tommy hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #tommy hewitt x reader #slasher x reader #slashers #slasher lover #slasher fandom #slasher community #the texas chainsaw massacre #tcm #tcm the beginning #the texas chainsaw massacre the beginning #slasher fic

[darkromeo]

«LAST YEAR, MAY.»

The man’s eyes came to Fazal’s. They were brown, lustrous and wet with anger. Or was it fear. His forehead glistened with sweat and he drew a handkerchief from his overpriced suit while mumbling incoherent thoughts. Every now and then Fazal noticed how his gaze dropped to the gun tucked into his side. The Dominion’s hand itched to grab it if only to silence the murmurs. “So it wasn’t you on a ten million worth yacht with models, blaring music and getting high?” His voice started off like silk, soft enough to pull answers out, but eventually adopted an edge strong enough to wrap around a victim’s throat and choke. He clicked his tongue and waited for a reply with a condescending stare. When he spoke next, he sounded theatrically disappointed. “The ten million you owe me.”

“I can explain!” The man exclaimed, the lines of his face twitching. Can’t they all.

The Dominion tilted his head, eager to hear more but showed him no smile. He reached out to grab the back of a chair and twirl it around in place to sit on. Chest against the chair’s back, he folded his arms over it, words drawled, eyes on the prey, “Go on, Neel. I’m listening. You know I always do.”

The screech of metal against concrete turned Neel’s blood cold. Incomplete sentences stumbled from his lips then, all while being unable to back away – much like a deer caught in the headlights. The man could practically feel the corners of Fazal’s mouth curl. It was one inch for every lie that managed to slip from between his so-called explanations as to why the money he meant to return today was, in fact, gone. Foolishly so. And the deeper he dug his own grave, the greater the urge became to flee. It was only him and Fazal, after all. In an abandoned warehouse, in the middle of nowhere. Perhaps the odds were in his favor.

He ran. Like a prey, he twisted his body and ran.

For a moment, the room was filled with nothing but desperate footfalls. The wolf sitting did not move, except for allowing his tongue to visibly drag over his upper side-teeth. “I’m not satisfied, Neel,” his voice reverberated from behind, as hoarse as it was loud. A warning, followed by a gunshot and a bullet rammed into the back of Neel’s knee. The man, sent tumbling downwards, cried aloud in agony.

Among his whines came another set of footsteps, a different kind, Fazal’s kind. Slow. Heavy. Ones that made the room feel smaller, the closer and louder they got. “You said there’s more to the story, so let me hear it all,” he continued with arched brows, moving the gun like an extension of his hand for gestures. Impassive. Insidious. “I have time.”

Despite the pool of blood underneath, Neel decided he would rather make use of the gap between them and crawl. The smell of blood filled his nostrils as a reminder woven from what he was told prior to stepping into this deal: Actions have consequences. Whatever you do, do not upset Fazal Khan.

“Please…,” he begged with the tiniest bit of pathetic courage he had left.  But the footstops never seized. There was no hurry in them either.

Another gunshot rang. Second leg shot and suddenly, all the crawling became a difficult, if not an impossible, feat.

“Now that you can’t run from me,” Fazal called with a tone as smooth as ice shifting prior to starting an avalanche, his body ever so lazily eating the distance. Eventually, he caught up with Neel, who turned out to be too weak to continue to drag his limp lower-body forward, and crouched down in such a way that the man could get a perfect, good look at his executioner. The gun glistened in his relaxed grip.

“I want you to continue with your story.”

#fk.one-shot #.this was on my mind for a long time #blood tw #gunshot tw #.something about making the victims unable to run away just chef kiss