#i think the sound of rabid scratching their hand would make me want to rip my ears off.

[transformer-hardlyknowher]

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#maccadam #transformers #transformers oc #starscream #i think the sound of rabid scratching their hand would make me want to rip my ears off.

[orionwhispers]

Bravado // Tommy Shelby Imagine

(A/N - its been a long ass time and i wanted to ease myself back into writing but this ended up being long and also super super angsty. sorry that this illness imagine came during covid idk whats going on with my imagination lol. love you guys SO much thank you for always being there. reblogs, comments and likes mean everything to me.)

trigger warnings - LOTS of angst. fluff. implied smut. my hc that tommy has a fear of illness, bad descriptions of hospitals. 

He knew something wasn’t right the minute his car pulled into the driveway and you weren’t waiting for him under the great concrete arch, with that smile on your face that made his knees buckle and heart race like he was a love struck teenager.

You were always there as soon as he came home. Barefoot in a broderie dress in the summer with tousled hair and baby pink toenails. Wrapped in a hand knit blanket with fire flushed cheeks and woollen socks in the winter - even running across the gravel and into his arms in the middle of a storm, the ice cold rain whipping across both of your faces as you kissed under the light of the moon.

No matter how shit his day or week or month was, no matter what stained his hands or darkened his heart, no matter what lay heavy and hard deep in his gut, seeing you made everything vanish in the night air like wisps of smoke. You made everything worth it.

He refused to give into fear, he wasn’t that kind of man, so he swallowed all of the nagging thoughts and apprehensions as he came up to the dark foggy windows and the iron cast door. It felt strange turning his key in the lock without the weight of you in his arms or the sticky peach kisses you left down his jaw and neck, the smell of the vanilla in your hair and lavender on your skin.

The second thing that sent a jolt of white hot electricity down his spine was Mary, watching him anxiously and wringing her hands in the hallway. Usually, she was calm and collected, taking his jacket and leather travel bag with her signature placid smile and gentle fingers. Usually she would return to the kitchen and finish up whatever she was making - a hearty roast lamb with rosemary and garlic and glazed potatoes or a pheasant pie with honeyed carrots, always followed by a three layer chocolate ganache cake that was so thick and rich you practically had to saw through the sponge. She would always have dinner piping hot and dripping with gravy by the time the two of you returned downstairs, no matter how many hours it took for you to get... reacquainted.

Now she looked sheepish and pale, her skin almost translucent under the syrupy yellow lights. There was something about the way she stood, as still as a wraith, that made his blood run cold.

“Mary. Where is she?”

“Mr Shelby, I - ” Her voice was strained and hesitant, like a slowly fraying rope.

“Where is my wife?”

She moved forward, creases forming around her eyes. “We tried ringing you in Liverpool but the hotel said that you had already left, so we...”

“You rang me? Why? What’s happened?” He couldn’t hold back the desperation in his voice, and it lingered and festered around them both like a poisonous gas.

“Mrs Shelby came down with something a few days ago, we thought that it was just a common cold but unfortunately she seems to be getting worse.”

He tore upstairs before he could even think, his shoes leaving perfect muddy footprints on the cream carpet. He almost slipped at the top, and he lurched forward, his hands reaching out and holding onto the portrait hanging above the stairs for stability.

It was the oil of the two of you. A soft, personal picture that revealed more than he ever possibly could. The love in your gazes, the hint of a soft, drunk smile on the dangerous gangsters face as you leaned into him, melting into him like butter, him holding onto you as though he couldn’t bear to let you go. It was his favourite photo, one that always washed a sense of calmness over him, a reminder of the woman that he loved and the way he felt around you. But now he felt as if was riding out a terrible storm.

He lived his life with no fear, he was capable and practical and used to the sound of bullets and the copper sweet smell of blood. There was really only one thing, one terrible thing that he couldn’t control, and that was what drove him crazy.

Sickness.

It gnawed at his insides like a rabid dog, clawed under his skin and settled behind his ribs. Losing someone he loved was like ripping out a piece of his heart straight from his chest, and he knew better than anyone what it was like to lose somebody to a violent, quick death - the pull of a trigger or the smack of a fist. At least in those moments he could lock them away in his mind, he could leap in front of a bullet or crack the neck of any man who dared to get too close to you, but there was almost nothing he could do to stop sickness, and the devastation it caused.

When you first met him it had been a surprise, almost amusing, that this powerful God of a man had these small little quirks. His house was always sparkling clean and smelling of Lysol, his fruit bowls were filled with citrus fruits and round, plump blueberries. He always made sure you were wrapped up warm in the winter, always placing his coat around your shoulders and bringing an extra pair of gloves in case you forgot yours. It was adorable, the way he took care of you,

It wasn’t till a little bit later when you learnt of those he had lost. His mother and his childhood sweetheart taken away from him much too soon. It broke your heart when he told you late one night of the sallow tint of their skin and the way he could almost see them vanishing from earth, the way that illness had moulded and changed those he loved the most.

You understood.

Your best friends older sister had died of tuberculosis when you were young. The elderly woman across the street from your first flat had passed away from a bout of horrendous smallpox. Your brother lost his first child to pneumonia. Times were changing but the fear of disease was ever present. Medicine was improving and so was knowledge, but still there remained a huge, dark cloud of what could happen, one that always hung around your husbands head.

——————————————-

All Tommy could think was the worst as he ran through the landing. His heart was in his ears and his bones felt loose, like the sweet liquorice the two of you would share at the pictures. He came to a stop by the bedroom door, tentatively pressing his palm onto the wood and ever so slightly pushing it open, listening to the gentle creak it made.

The room was warm. The lace curtains were pulled shut, and your favourite lavender candles were flickering on your vanity, casting syrupy shadows against the wall. He exhaled loudly as he saw you, bundled up under a mountain of satin sheets and hand crocheted blankets, your hair splayed across the pillows.

He moved to your bedside, pretending not to notice the large, untouched jug of water and the tissue box next to you, hoping and silently praying that you weren’t sick - just asleep and waiting for him, ready to wrap your arms around his neck.

You were silent, your lips parting every so often as you breathed, your chest rising and falling. He reached out gently, as though he was picking up shards of glass, and brushed his fingers against your cheek. Your forehead was beading with sweat, your cheeks flushed, and yet your skin was ice cold to the touch. He recoiled quickly, his heart dropping like a weight into his gut, and he inhaled a shaky, deep breath.

He saw something curled up beside your hands, a fluffy white cloud with sparkling emerald green eyes trained on him. Despite everything, he smiled. He thought of your birthday - of strawberry cheesecake and champagne, and surprising you with a ribbon wrapped little kitten as you woke up. He thought of that day often. How you smiled and leapt onto him with tears in your eyes, his whole world blissfully quiet as he spent the day in bed with you and your new best friend.

He would have preferred a big dog, one with sharp teeth and a menacing gaze to ward of visitors whilst he was away. But you were drawn to the tiny, malnourished runt of the litter who was scared of his own shadow. A kitten no bigger than the size of his clenched fist. A little white hairball who only ate and drank from fine pink saucers. A cat that had a very frustrating habit of crawling in the bedroom right as Tommy’s hand was up your skirt and his lips on the sweet spot of your neck, the tiny thing mewling and crying until you picked him up and nuzzled him into your chest.

He was a horse lover through and through, and never saw himself having time for any other pets. But in the summer when you saw the litter from one of John’s barn cats and fell in love with the sweet baby who mewled and cried and crawled right into your lap - he knew that he would give you anything and everything you wanted.

Including a cat who refused to accept that Tommy was the man of the house.

“Hello, boy.” He said, leaning over to scratch Comet under the chin, using a voice he only reserved for the two of you. “Have you been looking after my girl whilst I’ve been gone?”The cat meowed loudly in reply, pressing his head into Tommy’s palm but not moving from his spot beside you.

Tommy suddenly felt you shift under him and his heart lurched into his throat. He turned to face you, cupping the side of your clammy face as your eyelids fluttered open, blinking under the candlelight. A rush of red hot heat built up in his belly as you registered him, that angelic smile growing on your face, your tired eyes glimmering with recognition of the man you loved.

“Tommy?”

“Hi, Princess.”

You smiled sadly. “You’ve been gone for weeks - I missed you.”

He felt his brows crease as he rubbed along your jawline softly, trying to stop you from falling back asleep. He felt panic in his throat as sour as vomit, and he tried to bite back the nagging feeling that something was very wrong.

“No, sweetheart, I’m early. It’s only Thursday. I left on Monday.”

“Oh.” You said softly, your voice as gentle as the breeze rustling through the trees outside. “Well let me welcome you back properly - let me make you a lemon drizzle or a...” You lifted your head from the pillow and shuffled under your blanket, but he pressed his hands against your shoulder and held you down.

“No. You’re staying right here.”

“But - ”

“No.”

“Hmm. Don’t leave me, Tommy.”

“Never.” He said, his tone firm and cast like stone. He stroked your hair softly as your breathing slowed, but it didn’t nothing to quell the hard thump of his heart in his chest.

——————————-

Tommy left the room as quietly as he could after you had fallen asleep in his arms. He hadn’t wanted to move, not when you were pressed against his chest, looking ethereal but vacant, sweat beading under your brow and your face lacking colour. He wanted to stay with you, curled up by his side, his fingers laced through yours, the sound of your heart thumping in his ears.

But he was a man of action, and seeing you there - your lips cracked and dry, shudders passing through your body and goosebumps raised over your skin - he couldn’t fight the fiery urge to do everything in his power to make you feel alright again.

He found Mary waiting outside the door, chewing on the skin of her lips and swaying on the balls of her feet in anticipation. He grabbed her by the arm, harder than he meant to and something he would apologise for later, and pulled her downstairs, determined to let you rest whilst he got some answers. As soon as they reached the drawing room he spun her around, clenching his jaw and pointing a finger at the anxious maid.

“Where the fuck is the doctor? Why isn’t he here?”

“Mr Shelby.” She said, stepping forward calmly. “We phoned Doctor Moore and he came on Tuesday to see her.”

“Tuesday?” He seethed. “My wife has been ill since Tuesday and no one called me?”

Mary raised her hands in defeat, making it clear that the decision wasn’t hers to make. “He said it was nothing of concern . He gave her some antibiotics and told her to rest. She asked us herself not to call you, she knows how you.. worry.”

He ignored her sugar coated attempt to quell his anger, but if anything it made his vision darken. “When it’s my wife, It is always my concern.”

“Mr Shelby, we were just doing what we were told. As soon as we noticed she wasn’t getting better we phoned the surgery again, but Doctor Thomas was out for the day and said he didn’t think it was necessary to come round again, so we -”

“I don’t give a fuck. My wife is the number one priority. Ring every doctor in England if you have to, get somebody out here now to see my wife.”

He stormed away, anger pulsating through his veins, but he stopped suddenly, and threw out over his shoulder:

“And call Doctor Moore’s ’office. Tell him to expect a visit from the blinders soon.”

———————————————————

Once, when you were first dating, you found Tommy at the door to your flat at midnight, with scraped knuckles and blood dripping from his nose. You let him in, cleaned him up and sat with him in the bath until his skin was clear and his breathing was even. He knew that night, as you were pressed against his chest and his lips were pressed to your scalp that he was truly, madly and completely in love with you.

He remembered waking up the next morning, love drunk and blissful, and finding the bed beside him empty. He found you in the kitchen, wincing slightly and pressing a hot water bottle to your belly as you buttered a few pieces of toast. He rushed to your side with eyes as wide as saucers, concern lacing the features that were usually ice cold and hard as stone. You were completely baffled as he held you at arms length, his bright cerulean eyes trailing up and down your body for any signs of injury he might have missed. You were bewildered at the sight of the powerful man practically on his knees as he made sure you were alright, and you bit back a giggle as his warm palms spread over your abdomen.

“What is it? Whats wrong?”

“Tommy. Sweetheart.” You said softly, bringing his gaze level to yours. “It’s just - you know - that time of the month.”

He brushed off your embarrassment and ran his fingers through your hair, pressing a uncharacteristically gentle kiss to your forehead, sending a swarm of butterflies around the pain in your stomach.

“Do you need anything?” He asked, half ready to run down to the corner shop and buy any amount of painkillers or chocolate bars or your favourite lavender tea that you might need; not caring who saw the seemingly terrifying gang leader in the street with an armful of strawberry laces and salt water fudges.

You smiled like the summer sun and he melted, pulling you close as you whispered in the shell of his ear that you only needed him, and that was all you ever needed.

That was the first time you fully saw the extent of Tommy’s fear, but it definitely wasn’t the last. He knew he wanted you forever and always, and it took only six months of neck kisses and pillow talk, red hot jealousy and possessive hands across your skin and dancing in the rain and falling asleep under the pale yellow moon for him to put a ring on your finger. You were both consumed by your love, as though it was the only thing that mattered, it was insatiable and powerful - the wonderful mix of the devil and his sweet little angel.

And with that, came the good and the bad.

Like when you got food poisoning after Arthur cooked you a Sunday lunch to cheer you up whilst Tommy was gone. He came home to you retching over the toilet bowl with Mary holding back your hair, and swore that he would kill his brother with his own hands. Or when you slipped on ice and broke your arm while out with friends in London, and Tommy went ballistic and tried to ban you from ever leaving the house. It was just in his nature, how he always made sure you walked on the side furthest from the road, kept an arm slung around you whenever you were together, kept his eyes alert and vigilant no matter where you were - always looking out for his girl.

But he had never been like this.

———————————————————-

You were falling in and out of sleep. Waking up drowsy and heavy headed, squinting under bright lights, an ache in your skull and a burning in your throat. Every so often you felt a pinch in your upper arm, a squeeze on your palm, a kiss on your forehead - but you always drifted back into unconsciousness.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when you woke up. The room was dark and you could hear the wind howling and whipping rain across the windows. You felt all too hot and all too cold at the same time, and the bed was damp with sweat. You struggled and tried to sit up, your head swaying and feeling as heavy as one of Tommy’s marble statues; as if you had been carved up and moulded. You could hear voices out in the hall, and unsteadily got to your feet, moving towards the noises.

“Pneumonia?” You heard through the thick wooden door, instantly recognising your husbands voice. “That’s impossible.”

“Sir...”

“Fucking. Impossible.” You knew his teeth were clenched.

The other man cleared his throat.“I know that it’s hard to hear, Mr Shelby, but your wife is very sick.”

“Just...” You felt your heart flutter and clench in your chest as the sound of his broken words, could practically feel his desperation and you wanted nothing more than to hold him. “Just tell me how to make her better.”

The second man spoke again, his voice softening and lowering, something you knew Tommy would hate. “Mr Shelby, the first round of antibiotics didn’t work and that means that it’s time for something stronger. Usually I would suggest the Birmingham hospital but I don’t think it’s equipped for...” He paused, trying to think over his words carefully. He wanted to convey the severity of the situation but also didn’t want to risk getting a bullet in his head from your very protective husband. “...This kind of reaction. I recommend we send her down to London for extra testing.”

“London? That’ll take two fucking hours. How the fuck can you recommend letting my wife travel that far? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“I’m my opinion this is the wisest choice to make, but unfortunately that could mean your wife might get worse before she gets better.”

“Worse than she already is? That’s not an option.”

The man you assumed was the doctor was insistent, trying his best to portray the severity of the situation but failing as your hardheaded husband had already come to a decision.

“I’ll look after her here. She’s safest with me.”

Once Tommy had spoken that was the final result, and the doctor slinked away into the darkness and shook his head. You remained peering from behind the door, your tongue between your teeth and your heart hammering.

Tommy took one look at you and frowned, scooping you in his arms like a baby despite your protests. He ignored you, acting playfully and cheerful but you could feel his heated skin and the see flare of his nostrils. You wanted to help him but didn’t know how, and let him tuck you under the covers once again. He kissed your crown and stroked your hair and you wanted to speak but no words would leave your mouth.

“You stay there this time. You know I have no problem with tying you to the bed.”

You rolled your eyes as he left, and his clenched fists and tightened shoulders told you all you needed to know.

————————————————-

Comet watched from his spot beside you as Tommy wrestled with the fire. He had noticed you shivering despite your high temperature, and bundled you up in blankets whilst sparking matches beside the fireplace. There were raindrops across his shoulders, evidence that he had been outside and to the log store right at the end of the property - a job that had always been for the Groundskeeper. Your precious cat nudged the tips of your fingers as you sighed and watched your husband throw kindling onto the coal, a deep unease settling over your gut.

“Tommy, my love, I’m fine.” It wasn’t exactly true but you felt he needed to hear it. But you could practically see your words wash over him and evaporate like ocean spray.

He was shaking a metal tin in his palm as he worked, and you groaned and let your head hit the pillow as he pulled out two round chalky tablets. You winced as he placed them beside your glass, your mouth already tasting like the sour talc medicine you had come to loathe. He raised his eyebrows and shot you a look that told you he wasn’t far off plugging your nose with his fingers to force you to swallow, and you childishly stuck up two fingers as you took them.

Your stomach rumbled with nausea and you bit back the bile in your throat as you settled into the pillows. You watched your husband as he pulled off his crisp white shirt, revealing his taut tan stomach and the deep ink tattoos that you loved to trace with your fingertips and your lips. There was something about him standing there, with those damn cerulean eyes and hidden muscles, that boyish hair and slender fingers that you wanted desperately around your throat, that made a million tiny fireworks spark inside of you.

But instead you pushed him away from you despite your body wanting nothing but him wrapped all around you. “Don’t get too close. I might have something contagious. I can’t have you getting sick.”

He ignored you, smiling inwardly at the way you always put others before yourself. It was one of the million reasons he had fallen for you. You were sweating out a high fever and shivering in pain, and yet you always thought of him first. He pressed his lips to your temple and pulled you closer, knowing that skin to skin was a way to bring down a fever - even if it meant he had to restrain himself from tugging off your pretty little white nightgown and whatever frilly things you had on underneath.

“I’m not going anywhere. Fuck it if I catch anything.”

“That’s easy for you to say. I’m the one who will have to dote on you hand and foot, you big baby.” You teased, pressing yourself into him playfully, finally giving in.

He held you like a child, trying to hard to soften despite the way you felt underneath him. Everything on him was running a mile a minute, and he couldn’t help but want to try everything and everything to make you feel better. His hand was pressed against your temple to always try and measure your fever, his other palm across your chest to try and count your heart rate.

He could hear Mary treading across the landing carpet but he ignored his anxious maid, instead letting himself be completely consumed by the only thing that mattered - you.

This was something he had to do by himself. He was the only one who could care for you he reminded himself. And he let the words tumble over and over in his skull until they were all he could hear.

—————————————————————-

You had been asleep for a long time.

Every hour, after pacing the length of the hall and sanitising his hands and wiping the beads of sweat above your brow and above your breasts he woke you up and held a cool glass to your lips. You mumbled and moaned and pushed him away but he kept his fingers across your wrist - harsher than he ever had before - and kept you as close to him as possible.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had cooked. Perhaps it was last valentines when the two of you had camped out under the stars, drinking icy white wine and sharing stolen, day drunk kisses. That night he had roasted a chicken over the fire and it had burnt to a crisp as the two of you rolled around the grass, his head buried in your neck as you giggled at the poultry going up in flames.

He was trying now though, easy, plain substantial meals that wouldn’t upset your stomach. Boiled egg and dippy soldiers. Crackers with smooth cheese. Bubbly water and ginger biscuits. Each time he went upstairs you pushed him away, your whole body shuddering and almost retching, and he felt like smashing the plates against the wall at his defeat.

It had been almost thirty six hours since he had come home and it had been almost as long since you had eaten something, and his heart thundered and shattered in his chest when he found you gasping and wheezing over the toilet bowl when you had taken a bite of toast to calm him. He rarely left you alone, only for a few minutes to put the still full dishes in the sink, to ring Lizzie and tell her that he wouldn’t be coming for reasons that he refused to disclose, to smoke a cigarette under the grey stone archway, his shaking hands and bitten fingernails barely visible through the sleepy rolling fog.

He had grabbed handfuls of papers and the brass ink pen you had got him for your anniversary and broke his own rule - bringing work into your bedroom. It had always been a sacred space. For candlelight and soft laughter, aching hands and heart shaped bruises, a sanctuary for him to breathe and to love and to be loved fully in return. But he was afraid if he didn’t have a distraction, he might just completely lose it, and he had to be there for you.

So he sat squinting in his glasses, the room almost completely dark save for a few candles because of the migraines that had started to spread throughout your skull, and let himself be drawn into the mess of squiggly lines and numbers that suddenly didn’t add up, with you still centre stage in his peripheral.

After about forty minutes of rereading the same sentence a dozen times to try and make some sense of it, he heard your voice, like a small crack spreading across a sheet of ice, coming from the bed.

“Tom?” You sounded so weak, he practically flipped your cream vanity as he got to his feet and darted towards you. “I don’t feel well.”

He lifted you as you reached your arms up at him like a child. He almost gasped at the sweat pouring from your body but didn’t want to scare you, and instead held your shaking, shivering body against his own. How could you be so hot, yet so cold at the same time? Your skin was prickled with goosebumps yet you were burning with a fever, and for the first time in a long time, he had no fucking idea what to do.

He left you propped up against the headboard and he entered the bathroom. He ran over to the claw foot tub you loved, twisting the faucet and trying to find the perfect medium between boiling hot and freezing cold. He didn’t want to overwhelm you, just try and soothe your raging fever, and he ignored the shelves of expensive bath oils and scented soaps that you coveted, instead opting for a handful of something meant to ease tension - praying to whoever was listening that it would help you somehow.

There was a brutal, awful moment as he lifted you from the bed, limp as a rag doll, where he imagined what would happen if your heart were to stop. He couldn’t comprehend what it would be like to miss the weight of you in his arms, the smell of your skin, the feeling of your lips against him, the shovels stopping and fading into nothing. It hit him square in the chest, as merciless as a bullet, and he had to lean against the doorframe to stop the two of you from plummeting to the ground.

He undressed himself first. Tugging his white shirt off, sliding off his slacks and his underwear, keeping you as close to his chest as he could. Then he pulled your nightgown up and over your head. He gathered your hair and secured it up with a claw clip so that it was away from your face, the heat radiating off your neck as fierce as the fire now burnt down to ash in the bedroom.

He lowered the two of you into the bath, sinking down beneath the eucalyptus smelling lukewarm water, letting it wash over you both. Your teeth were chattering and you were barely awake. He gathered handfuls of water, letting it drip over your shoulders and pulse points, grabbing a washcloth and running it over your raised skin, hating how you barely registered his touch. As he scrubbed over your collarbones and up to your face he saw your lips had turned to an awful, silvery blue, as vibrant as a fresh bruise. He hissed and tugged on the plug, now determined to get you wrapped up in a fresh towel and tucked back into bed.

You were soft and placid and he helped you out, lacking the usual fire that he adored. Your eyes were glassy and missing their vibrance, like the vanishing spark of a lighter - and he felt miles and miles of invisible distance between the two of you. You were unsteady on your feet and he used his body to prop you up as he warmed your arms with a fluffy white towel. You suddenly stopped, lifting your hand to your mouth as you started to cough - a horrible, dry, gasping cough.

He noticed it almost immediately. His eyes darting to the splatter of red against the white, a smudge of crimson that was as loud and commanding as a siren, a warning signal that something was definitely not right. A bead of scarlet that would linger long behind his closed eyelids.

He managed to get you back into bed, remaining calm as he stroked your hair and kissed your temple. He tucked you under the duvet and waited for your breathing to even before he ran downstairs, his heart thumping in his ears as he practically ripped the phone off of the wall.

“Pol? Fuck. I think - I think I need help.”

—————————————————————-

The room smelt like bleach and metal. Unfamiliar and clinical. There was something hard on your chest and covering your mouth, it tasted like wet pennies and was as heavy as a hand over your throat, but for the first time in days you could finally breathe. You tried to sit up, but there was a needle in your chest, a gown you didn’t recognise cut straight down the middle to accommodate it. You struggled and lifted the thin bedsheet above your shivering torso, trying to look around the cold room.

“Careful!”

It was Polly, dressed immaculately despite her surroundings. She reached out and placed a manicured hand across yours, and you smiled at the woman who had always been a calming influence when you had joined the circus of a family. There was concern in her eyes, rimmed with black eyeliner and lifted lashes but still swimming deep around her pupils. That made you frown, and you moved as much as you could to face her.

“What happened?”

She ran her tongue over her teeth, choosing her words. “You gave us quite a fright, love.”

“I did?” Your memories of the past few days were much like a fever dream, blurry and distorted snapshots were all you could really remember.

“Your pneumonia got worse. A lot worse.” She paused, looking over to the door and you followed her gaze. “They found fluid in your lungs.”

“So...” You started, gesturing to the needle in your abdomen and the breathing apparatus around your head.

She nodded. “Yes. You were in surgery. It was touch and go for a little bit.”

“Really?” You were bewildered. You couldn’t remember anything, let alone having major surgery. You looked her straight in the eye, asking her the questions that had been on the tip of your tongue since you had woken up. “Where is he? Where’s Tommy?”

“He’s outside.” She clicked her tongue, reaching deep into her purse and pulling out some hand cream, gently rubbing your dry hands like she was your mother. You leant into her touch despite all of your questions.

“What? Why?”

“I think he blames himself. God knows what goes on in that mans head. All I really know is he was bloody terrified.” She paused, looking over in the distance. “I’ve never seen him so scared, not even on his wedding day.” She smiled sadly, trying to lighten the mood, but it soon faded. “He didn’t leave your side the whole time you were asleep.”

Your heart thumped in your chest, a soft aching that you knew all too well. “I want to see him.”

“I know you do. But right now...” She stopped right as a handful of nurses entered, clad in long blue dresses with white aprons, hair tied back and smelling of strong soap and disinfectant. You lost Polly in the bustle as one spoke softly to you before tugging on the needle right beside your ribs, your eyes just catching hers as she left, a promise to see you soon on her lips.

It wasn’t her you saw next, but Tommy.

The nurses had cleaned you up with wet flannels and bowls of warm soapy water. Your hair had been braided and your face washed, and walked you arm in arm over to the bathroom so you could relieve yourself. A skittish doctor followed after, his eyes darting across you and his touch gentle as he changed your dressings and took your blood - obviously under strict instructions from your husband, and despite everything, you smiled.

You were sat listening to the clock tick. A romance novel you had been given was dangling dangerously close to the end of the bed, but you were too tired to focus on it. You heard the door squeal softly, and the sound of familiar footsteps across the tiling, each small thud sending shockwaves across your spine.

“Tommy.”

He looked tired. Exhausted rather, as though he had been awake all the hours that you had been asleep. His eyes were bloodshot and his skin was sallow and bruised. His clean shaven face was dark with stubble and his hair was ruffled and unwashed. You longed to reach out to him and cradle him against you, but he stood in the doorway, lingering like a ghost.

“Tommy?” You repeated, your voice almost a whisper, breaking his already shattered heart once again.

“How are you feeling, my love?”

You smiled softly, like spun sugar and sweet honey. No hospital bed or itchy gown could dull your infectious light. “Better now.”

He approached you almost cautiously. He settled down on the hard chair beside your bed and stroked a line down from your temple to your lips, his touch setting you alight like an electrical storm. There was a sadness in his eyes that reminded you of how he got when things were bad, and you willed him to come back to you. His touch was tentative and he inhaled shakily as you cupped his hand with yours, pressing a tender kiss to the inside of his palm.

“Don’t scare me like that. Ever.” He was stern, as though hoping his words would make it true. “I mean it.” He kept his gaze on your pretty face, trying his best not to stare at the harsh bruising on your delicate flesh or the sickly tone of your skin.

“Tommy I’m going to get sick, even you can’t stop that.” You teased gently.

“I can bloody well try.” His hands cradled your face, pulling you into him and kissing you fiercely, still mindful of the wires and tubes taped to your body. There was something about the tenderness and deep longing in the kiss that when mixed with your total exhaustion and love for your husband prompted tears to start falling from your eyes. You sniffled as he pulled away, concern dripping from his beautiful features, his powerful mind wanting to do everything and anything to stop your hurting.

“Hey, hey.” He said, running his calloused fingertips under your eyes and wiping your tears away. You leant into his touch and he kissed your temple, squeezing you even tighter into him. “You know I hate it when you cry.” He toyed with your hair and winked playfully. “Besides, all you need to focus on is getting better. You’re going to have to take care of me when we get home, this week has given me a fucking stroke.”

You rolled your eyes, kissing the inside of his wrist. “You’re a idiot, Thomas Shelby.” You blinked at the clock looming above you both, wanting to stay in your blissful bubble but also knowing that Aunt Pol would probably be in the vicinity harassing a poor nurse over your results. “You should go and find Polly, let her know that everything’s alright.”

He shook his head and nuzzled his nose across yours, an act so innocent that your heart dipped and swooped in your chest. “Later.” He said, breathless and consumed by you. Everything had been too much. Almost losing you had been harrowing, it had punctured him completely and he just needed to feel his girl safe and warm around him. He needed to know that you weren’t found anywhere.

“I just want to stay here for a while. Just me and you.”

You grinned. “Always.”

#tommy shelby oneshot #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders oneshot #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby oneshot

[ecoamerica]

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[yourdeepestfathoms]

we'll cast some light and you'll be alright (for now)

another fic, for y'all! more angst and mama Alci!

TW: Rape

-------------------------------------

The man-thing beneath her was shuddering in pain, trying to scramble backward with only one arm, as the other was busy pressing against the gash in his side, trying to stem the heavy bleeding. His expression was a mix between revulsion and terror. As deep as it was, he would live. Maybe.

But he wouldn’t get that chance.

He didn’t beg or scream when his heart was ripped out, which irked his attacker, but it didn’t matter. The creature standing above him was satisfied, having obtained what she had come for. He was lucky she wasn’t either one of her sisters, who would have prolonged his death a lot longer than she had, milking out every last drop of suffering they could before his life force finally faded away into nothingness. She had better things to do than play cat and mouse with some incompetent human. Like returning the heart to her mother.

Bela’s chest warmed with pride as she gazed down at the dripping muscular organ cupped in her hands. It wasn’t often that Mother got to eat the heart of a man, and when she did, it was usually in the context of a raid on the castle, sort of dulling the effect of getting to consume such a treat. But now no damage would be made because Bela had managed to retrieve one all by herself! And Mother would be able to indulge in the warmth and sweet blood and would be so proud of her!

She swelled with delight as she began creeping away from the body, holding the heart delicately. Her sisters never understood why she was always reaching for Mother’s praise, but she couldn’t understand why they didn’t. Didn’t they want to please her? Make her happy? Get all of her praise and love and affection?

Bela’s thoughts were then rudely interrupted by something sharp snapping down around her ankle and yanking her to the ground. She let out a cry of pain, unable to bite it back in the face of so much discomfort. She shifted over and shakily reached out to see what had caught her.

A bear trap. Clamped around her left leg, just above the ankle. Her right hand gripped the limb tightly, slightly over where the metallic teeth bared into her flesh. One sporadic tremor was all it took to send new currents of torture up her leg. And, once again, there was no stifling her tormented scream from ripping out of her throat. Now both hands were clutching at the appendage, trying desperately to lessen the pain. It did little to help.

“Shit,” Bela hissed. “Shit, shit, shit!”

She attempted to pry the jaws of the artificial beast from her leg again, but her arms were shaking too much and the torment that seized her body prevented her from using all her strength; all of it was quickly being stolen away within her. Before she could get the teeth more than an inch away, the slickness of the blood caused it to slip from her grasp and bite right back to where it was originally. Just like that, she was back at square one.

Bela took several shuddering breaths and looked up at the sky. Now she knew why Mother didn’t like her and her sisters hunting alone. There was no one there to help her when she got into situations like this.

What had she been thinking? She was supposed to be the smart one! She was supposed to be the level-headed, calm one that didn’t do stupid things! She let her own need for praise blind her and now she was trapped.

There was snapping from within the dark woods around her. Bela’s head whipped up. Footsteps were approaching her- multiple footsteps. She bristled and made herself look as fierce as possible, despite the pain she was in.

A group of human men, around ten, if she counted correctly, broke through the brambles, armed with guns and axes and pitchforks, and stared down at her. A handful of them looked terrified at the sight of her, while the others smirked. Something sadistic was flashing in their eyes. They looked…hungry.

Bela tried to shake herself free from the bear trap when they approached her, but the iron teeth didn’t relent its vicious bite. They swarmed her, grabbing her limbs and holding her down. At first, she thought it was to take aim to kill her precisely, but then she noticed the very distinct bulges in their trousers and felt her chest seize in horror.

“Stop!” she yelled, finding her voice, which was wavering and shaky. “Let me go, you bastards!”

The men merely laughed at her threat. They seemed less scared of her when they had her ensnared as they did.

The leader of the pack, a scruffy man-thing with dark amber eyes, began to make a mess of her chest. His friends were pinning her wrists above her head, leaving her helpless to his assault. Slimy trails of saliva were left across her breasts; she cringed.

“Stop!”

When hands began to quest beneath her dress, she spasmed, fighting with all her strength. She managed to get an arm free and slashed her claws at one of the men beside her, ripping open dark red furrows along his skin.

“You bitch!” he shrieked, grasping at the gashes across his forearm. Blood seeped through his brown tunic. He looked fearfully at his friends. “What do I do?”

“Clean it,” one of them said.

“Will that be enough?”

“Enough for what?”

The man Bela had wounded shifted, looking anxious. “What if I turn into one of them?”

“That’s not how that works, dumbass,” piped up another man.

While they were distracted by each other, Bela squirmed harder. She tried to summon her insects, but her head was smashed against what she thought was a jagged rock; she swore she could hear the sickening sound of bones breaking upon impact. She slumped to the dirt, groaning. Her vision cut out for a moment, and when it returned, she thought she was being surrounded by rabid wolves.

“Creature, look at me while I touch you. That’s just common decency, don’t you think?“

Bela shut her eyes and refused to open them back up. She didn’t want to look. The man straddling her pulled her hair.

“Don’t be rude.”

She could feel more tears coming- how long had she been crying? She shook her head, jerking her limbs, but they were snagged tightly.

“N-No--”

The man-beasts around her cackled.

“Would you look at that,” one of them said. “The monster is cowering.”

“Not much of a terror now is she?” said another, tittering.

“She isn’t so strong once you have her caught,” added a third.

“God, she’s hot. Can we just start already? I want my turn.” a fourth joined in.

Bela whimpered. She couldn’t hide the fact that she was terrified. Her voice was cracking and she sounded snotty. She wanted this to stop right now. She tried to ease away, but they were firmly holding her in place. She kept muttering “no” over and over again, trying to drown out their voices.

The scruffy man leaned over her more, restraining her with his body weight.

“I said,” white-hot pain seared through Bela’s groin, causing her to howl, “look at me while I touch you, creature.”

She was dry, and the friction between her legs burned so intensely that it made her see stars. Within moments of only a few thrusts, she already felt raw. The stinging only increased.

All at once, she felt everything: the pain in between her legs, the dirty fingernails raking down her sides, the hands that raised up to fondle her breasts, the teeth on her neck, the tongue in her mouth, the bear trap around her ankle, the blazing heat that bloomed within her stomach… Then, she felt nothing at all.

--- --- ---

Bela lost track of time rather easily. It all started to blur together, but all she knew was that they tortured her in the woods for hours. Their lust was never-ending, their hunger was insatiable. She felt cowed by their heat, unable to fight back, falling victim to their needy claws.

She wondered why they didn’t kill her. She wished they did. She wanted the pain to go away.

Now, she lay on the damp dirt, naked, barely awake, and struggling to breathe. Her bare stomach was splattered with semen and marred by scratches. Her head was pounding intensely. Her throat felt red and raw. Her eyes were stinging and still leaking tears.

Had anyone noticed she was gone? Was Mother or her sisters worried about her? Were they looking for her?

Did they care?

Bela pushed herself up slowly; the pain was unbearable. It was a constant, aching thing in her stomach that never seemed to relent its throbbing assault. Hot coals were shoveled into each part of her body when she tried to move again, stoking the raging fires burning inside of her. Her muscles crackled painfully from the strain of getting up but were quickly overcome by a brighter, even sharp sensation in her left leg.

Right. She was still caught in the bear trap.

If this situation couldn’t have gotten any worse.

Bela struggled with the iron jaws for several eternal moments, sobbing harder each time her attempts failed. She eventually managed to pry the teeth loose and yank her ankle free, falling backward into the dirt and leaves and sending little lightning bolts alight throughout her entire body. She wept.

Eventually, awareness returned to her and she realized she had to get home. She had to get out of this forest. She had to get away.

She cleaned off her belly and legs and tried to do the same for her vagina, but it seized up the moment her hands got near, so she left it be. She put on her dress, which was in tatters and reeked of sex, but it was better than wearing nothing at all. The blood congealing between her thighs squelched uncomfortably when she began walking back to the castle, limping heavily on her injured ankle as she went. It bubbled and smeared and stuck on her skin, sometimes running down the length of her legs, but she couldn’t bother to wipe it away. She just wanted her mother.

It took a lot longer than it should have to get back to the castle, and when she did finally make it, she couldn’t go any further. Her knees buckled and the ground rushed up to meet her. She curled up into a fetal position, shaking all over, weeping again. She didn’t know how her body managed to still produce tears after crying so much, but there was wetness in her eyes and running down her cheeks. She trembled.

“Mother…”

Her voice came out weak and brittle. Frail.

“Mother…”

Maybe if she hadn’t been in so much agony, she would have cared more about being seen in such a state. But she didn’t care about anything. Not anymore. All she wanted was to curl up in her mother’s arms and never leave.

“Mother…”

The tears were coming down faster. Would anyone come for her? Did her mother care? Or was she to be left like this? She knew she probably looked like a sorry excuse for a beast, a waste of an experiment, better to be killed off so nobody would have to suffer her insolence, but she didn’t think Mother would be the one to turn her back on her. She whimpered.

“Mama!”

She should have known. She had it coming, didn’t she? Despite being the oldest, she was always the last in everything when it came to being a bloodthirsty beast. Didn’t hunt very well because she felt bad for the animals, was willing to submit to her younger sisters because she didn’t always know how to command situations, preferred to spend her time reading instead of participating in bloodsports, tried to avoid conflict because she didn’t enjoy getting her hands dirty, couldn’t even defend herself from human men…

It all made so much sense now.

She didn’t deserve to see Mother.

Footsteps were coming from one of the hallways. Someone was emerging into the light of the foyer. Bela, with her eyes bleary and mind hazed, couldn’t help but think it was one of the men returning for a second round. She tried to crawl away, whimpering.

Hands seized her and she screamed.

“No! NO!”

But it was too late. Too late.

--- --- ---

Alcina was first alerted by the smell before she even heard the mewls. The rank, disgusting stench of man semen entered her castle, so strong she was able to catch it from down in the basement, where every scent was usually overpowered by blood. But the pungent odor of filthy sperm managed to reach her like a wriggling maggot, and she instantly thought one of the maids had grown some courage and snuck a consort into her palace. She didn’t even think to consider what it actually had been because she never thought that such a thing would happen to one of her girls. It wasn’t something any mother should have to fear happening to their daughters.

Mounting the staircase, Alcina couldn’t help but chuckle at the foolishness of her maids. Did they truly think they could get something like this past her? Did they think they were being sneaky? She could smell their lust from a mile away.

However, as she exited out into the hallway, something new tickled her nose. The scent of semen was now mingled with blood and sweat and the faint smell of dirt. But there was something else, too. A noise. A word.

“Mother…”

Alcina perked up. Despite the faintness, she could easily pick out the voice of her eldest daughter.

“Bela?” she called back to her child.

For a moment, there was no response. At first, that wasn’t very concerning; Bela had always been the quiet type, always taking the time to consider her words instead of blurting the first thing that came to her mind like her younger sisters did. But with the intrusive smell wafting down the halls and the hoarseness she spoke with, Alcina couldn’t help but feel like something was wrong.

“Mother…”

“Bela,” Alcina said. She searched for buzzing beetles or flies, but couldn’t hear or see any. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she had even seen her eldest daughter.

That, too, wasn’t very concerning, either. Bela had a tendency to tuck herself away in various rooms for hours, indulging herself in books and studies, always fascinated to know more about absolutely everything. Sometimes, it was the library. Other times, one of the parlors. But sometimes it could be a random maid closet that nobody would ever think to sit and read in or a hidden room behind one of the many tapestries that made searching for her an elaborate scavenger hunt of trying to remember which weaving had already been checked or a specific corner in a specific room that nobody really went into anymore because there was nothing important inside. Alcina vividly remembered the time she nearly tore the castle apart searching for her eldest child because she couldn’t find her anywhere and she wasn’t answering her when she called. It turned out that Bela, younger at the time, was in a small back room Alcina had completely forgotten existed, playing midwife with a laboring opossum and trying to feed the mother her beetles. Bela had turned to her, bright-eyed, and said, “Possum.” She then proceeded to give her an elaborate, in-depth explanation on the process of birth, radiating pride the entire time, completely oblivious to Alcina’s panic.

It then became a rule to never kill opossums for Bela’s sake. And they were, admittedly, a little cute.

However, like with the hoarseness Bela spoke in, something was off. Very off.

The blood mingling with the scent of sperm- that was her daughter’s blood.

“Mother…”

Alcina sprung into motion.

“Bela!” she called. She kept the panic from oozing into her voice, not wanting to jump to conclusions just yet, but her hurried stride was enough to convey her alarm. “Where are you, my sweet? Come to Mother.”

She stopped to listen for the buzzing of insect wings or even just footsteps on polished tile, but there were neither. There was, however, a very distinct cry that made her veins fill with black ice.

“Mama!”

Alcina charged down the hallway, adrenaline pumping madly through her entire body. A pair of quietly conversing maids saw her coming and jumped out of the way, pressing close to the walls. They should thank their lucky stars for their quick reflexes because she would have flayed them if they had gotten in her way.

“Bela!” She was shouting, now. “Where are you? Bela!”

She didn’t stop to listen this time, but she did strain her ears. There were no noises in response, not even an utter. She picked up her pace.

Alcina broke out into the grand foyer and three things slammed into her at once: first, the overwhelming stench of semen that was so thick and heavy she could almost taste it when she breathed through her mouth; second, the chill seeping in through the half-open front door; and third, the crumpled form of her eldest daughter curled up on the floor, shaking all over.

“Bela!”

Alcina rushed over to Bela’s side, noticing the way she tried to crawl away with bruised limbs. However, it wasn’t until she set her hands on her child’s shoulder that Bela let out a heart-wrenching scream.

“No! NO!”

Alcina snapped her hands away as though she had touched fire. Words could not begin to explain how awful it was to be a mother and be stared at with so much horror by her baby. Bela looked downright terrified of her--and then she noticed a sort of glaze in her eyes, as though she were peering out from a dirty window. She didn’t seem to be seeing Alcina as her mother, but as someone or something that struck great fear inside of her.

“Bela,” Alcina spoke softly. “It’s alright. I’m not going to hurt you. I would never hurt you.”

Bela shook her head and tried to shield her face with her arms, all while weeping, “No more, no more…”

Anger sparked deep within Alcina. Who could have possibly scarred her baby so badly that she didn’t even recognize her own mother?

Taming her rage so she wouldn’t scare Bela, Alcina reached out and lightly brushed Bela’s shoulder again, making her flinch and whimper sharply. The black dress she was wearing was in tatters, barely clinging to her frame, and the skin that laid underneath was grimy and scraped. It looked like she had gotten into a fight with a wolf and lost, but Alcina could tell this was much, much worse than anything a mangy hound could do.

“Bela,” Alcina said again. “My darling. It’s only me. Your mother. You’re safe. You’re alright.”

Bela peeked out of her arms reluctantly, and the eye that peered up at Alcina was clouded with tears. She blinked several times, as though she were trying to dispel a dense fog shrouding her vision, and then recollection seemed to dawn on her.

“Mama?” Bela croaked, her voice hoarse and weak. Her breathing, once shallow and wheezy, began to thicken, becoming heavier and more ragged as the seconds ticked by. The incessant shivering that infected her frame worsened until Alcina thought her eyeballs may just rattle right out of her skull. She whimpered.

“Yes, my love. It’s me.”

“Mama,” Bela said again. A fresh hurricane of tears stormed her eyes, pouring down her cheeks. “Mama!”

Bela collapsed into Alcina’s arms, sobbing. Instantly, the stench of semen increased tenfold, plugging Alcina’s nostrils and tickling her tongue. She fought the urge to gag. How anyone could thirst for such a poison was unknown to her, but there wasn’t time to meddle in human mating preferences. Right now, the only thing that mattered was the girl shaking and bleating like a baby lamb against her stomach.

Alcina pulled Bela closer to her, not caring about the odor anymore. She looked over her daughter, finding more scratches and rips in her dress, but also a large red patch on the back of her head, where the blonde hair was turned scarlet with blood. There was also a nasty ring around her left ankle that looked like it had been created by some kind of beast, leaking crimson and clear serous fluid. Protectiveness flared inside of her like fire.

“What happened?” Alcina asked, unable to keep the growl out of her voice. “Who did this to you?”

Bela flinched away. Her weeping turned to words and what came out was babbled nonsense: “I’m sorry, Mama, I’m sorry--”

“Hush, my sweet,” Alcina said, but Bela was too worked up to listen to her right now.

“No, no--” Bela shook her head, wincing as she did so. “It’s my fault, it’s all my fault! I’m s-sorry!”

Alcina’s eyebrows furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

Bela sniffled. Alcina wondered if she could smell the stink on her, too.

“I-- I went out hunting. Alone. Even though you forbid it.” Her daughter hung her head shamefully, letting Alcina glimpse the wound on the back of her skull again. “I wanted-- I wanted to get you something. A gift. And I had one, too! The heart of a man! But then-- but then I got caught in a hunter’s trap and-- and--” She dissolved into tears once again.

Alcina frowned. She always knew her eldest child’s hopeless devotion to her would get her into trouble. As much as she loved how Bela looked up to her, even she had to admit that it was rather worrying. Bela seemed to function solely on praise, always scratching for any ounce of approval, wanting only to please Alcina, even if it meant throwing her own needs out the window. Alcina remembered how she once briefly mentioned how nice it would be to hear her favorite song on piano and Bela interpreted that as a request, so she taught herself how to play the entire melody over the span of three days. As beautiful as the performance had been, Bela hadn’t slept or eaten or drank anything in that time, taking away her own basic needs until she finished her “task.” She never thought about herself and her body made her pay the price for it when she blacked out instantly after playing. Now history was repeating itself all over again--but, this time, it wasn’t her own immune system that exacted a fiery punishment upon her. That much was clear from Bela’s terror.

“Bela,” Alcina said. “Who hurt you? What did they do to you?”

Bela’s shoulder shook violently with the weight of her sobs. She didn’t look up at Alcina, much too ashamed of herself. Alcina could tell that much. Her daughter was practically radiating chagrin as much as she radiated emission.

“You can tell me, darling,” Alcina urged, softening her tone. “I won’t be mad at you.”

Bela peeked up at her nervously. Her face was blotchy and red, shiny with sweat and tears. “You-- you won’t?”

“I won’t,” Alcina assured her. “I promise. I would never get mad at you.”

Bela hesitated. She appeared to be trying to calm herself down, but it all fell apart when she shifted and seemed to be struck with great pain because she let out a heart-wrenching cry and curled up in Alcina’s arms, grasping at her dress with desperate claws. When she attempted to speak, Alcina could only make out snippets in between ragged gasps and distressed whimpers and heavy sobs.

“They-- men-- came at me-- too many-- couldn’t fight-- tried-- held me down-- touched me-- so scared-- hurts-- Mama-- Mama, it hurts!”

Alcina understood.

Alcina understood and she saw red.

An animalistic snarl that could frighten wolves bubbled from her throat and she bared her sharp teeth at the front door that was still slightly ajar, letting frigid, late-autumn air creep inside like an unwanted guest. She clenched Bela tighter against her, her claws beginning to grow in and hook into her daughter protectively, not quite realizing how much strength she was using until Bela squealed in pain. Instantly, her grip loosened, her talons retracted, her teeth tucked away back behind her lips, and she jerked her head to the side, yelling for a maid. One came rather quickly, and she had the sneaking suspicion that they were being spied on, but it didn’t matter. It was beneath her at the moment. Far beneath her.

“Run a hot bath in my room,” Alcina ordered. She tucked Bela in close to her stomach, trying to hide her ruined form from prying eyes. Nobody deserved to see the girl in such a state, certainly not a lowly maid.

The maid, a lanky, ash brown-haired young woman, nodded hastily, not even sparing Bela a glance, which Alcina appreciated. This one would be spared for a while.

A noise alerted Alcina, and she looked down to see that Bela was prattling on nonsensically, her watery words half-muffled by her dress.

“I’m so sorry-- didn’t mean it-- all my fault-- shouldn’t have gone-- should have known better-- don’t deserve this--”

The last comment in particular caught Alcina like a fishhook. She squeezed Bela tightly.

“Do not say that,” she said firmly. “You deserve my care. You are very unwell, Bela.”

Bela shook her head, whimpering. “It’s my fault it happened. I shouldn’t-- I shouldn’t have-- I shouldn’t--” Her breathing picked up.

“Bela, my sweet girl, take a breath,” Alcina said. “It’s alright. You need to breathe.”

Bela just shook her head again and buried her face back into Alcina’s stomach, not offering anymore words. She didn’t seem to be up to talking further. Alcina rubbed up and down her back to comfort her as they waited for the maid to return.

Alcina wasn’t sure how long she was crouched on the floor, breathing in the fumes of ejaculate, but the maid eventually came back, notifying her that the bath was ready. She sent her away before scooping Bela up into her arms, eliciting a sharp cry of pain from her daughter. Bela buried her face against her neck, shuddering, and Alcina felt hot tears slither down over her collarbone. Alcina cooed to Bela to calm her down as she carried her to her bedroom.

Inside the bathroom, Alcina carefully removed Bela’s dress. Every movement seemed to hurt her daughter, so she worked gently, not wanting to worsen her discomfort. Once the gown was off, she threw the tattered fabric into the far corner. It would need to be burned.

Now that Bela wasn’t wearing anything, Alcina could see the full extent of her wounds. Angry red scratch marks were scored up and down her back, sides, and stomach like some kind of sick point system, some crusted on the edges with blood and discharge, others flaked with mud and dirt. Purple bite marks were scattered on her neck and breasts, as though the men who had attacked her were the blood-sucking beasts and she was the cattle.  Her thin wrists were swollen in the distinct maroon shape of fingerprints and her thighs were splattered in bruises and smeared with red--among other sick-smelling fluids.

The sight made Alcina absolutely enraged, but she stamped down her fury for the sake of her daughter. As much as she wanted to go find the monsters who did this, Bela needed her. She couldn’t just leave her.

“Alright, my darling,” Alcina said. “Let’s get you washed off.”

Bela didn’t fight her when Alcina lifted her up and set her into the hot water. In fact, she didn’t seem to be all too there anymore, too lost in her own shock and pain. She just stared numbly at the wall with half-lidded, glazed-over eyes as Alcina washed her shoulders and back and hair. Even cleaning the wound on the back of her head didn’t wake her up, despite the way she flinched in reaction to the pain.

“Bela.” Alcina gave Bela’s cheek a light pat. “My darling. Look at me.”

Bela blinked and her eyes focused on her. Alcina smiled softly at her.

“There’s my pretty girl,” Alcina cooed.

“Mama,” Bela rasped. Her head lolled back, resting against the wall the bathtub was situated against. “Hurts…”

Alcina frowned. She had a few draughts to relieve pain, but she didn’t trust the maids to get the right kind of medicine for her daughters. Not anymore. Not since Cassandra had asked for an elixir that would soothe some tooth pain she was having and a maid swapped it out for poison with the intent of killing her. Alcina had found her precious child seizing on the ground, foaming at the mouth, drowning in her own blood and froth. She vividly remembered watching Bela reach in with her fingers and scoop out the fluids from Cassandra’s mouth to keep her sister from choking further. If it weren’t for Bela’s quick thinking and excessive knowledge on poisons from spending so much time researching everything, Alcina may have lost a child that day. The maid, of course, was punished severely. When she was done with her, she wasn’t even recognizable. That being said, she would have to go and retrieve the brew herself.

Of course, there were her other two children, but she trusted them as much as she trusted the maids. Ever since Daniela and Cassandra had peer pressured Bela into drinking a random mixture they found--something about her needing to be more headstrong and stop letting them walk all over her--and Bela ended up being incredibly dizzy and unwell for several hours because that particular tonic had the strength to knock out a horse, she didn’t have the most faith that her younger daughters would grab the right bottle, whether it be intentional or not.

So that left her. Looking over Bela’s state, she knew the girl wouldn’t be happy if she went away for even a minute, but she didn’t have a choice. She would have to risk upsetting her daughter so she could relieve her of her pain.

But first, however, she needed Bela to feed, to regain at least some of her strength and consciousness.

Alcina tore open her wrist with her teeth and then pressed it to Bela’s lips. Bela instantly flinched back, her eyes popping open wide.

“It’s just me, darling,” Alcina murmured. “Just me. You’re okay.”

Bela blinked at her hazily, then looked at her bleeding wrist. Tentatively, she began to feed from it, sucking nervously from Alcina’s veins.

“Good girl,” Alcina cooed.

Despite the praise, however, Bela pulled back after only a few seconds, a look of sickness on her face. When Alcina urged her to feed more, she shook her head and shrunk away with a whimper, snaking her arms around her stomach.

“Alright,” Alcina said. “I’m going to leave for just a moment, okay? I’ll be right back, I promise.”

Bela’s head jerked up. She shook it furiously.

“I’m going to go get something that will help with the pain,” Alcina told her, caressing her cheek. “Just stay calm for me. I won’t be long.”

Bela whimpered and fretted like a baby animal as Alcina left the bathroom, but she forced herself to keep from rushing back to her side. She retrieved two different draughts, both in dark vials, and returned quickly, just as she had promised. However, she seemed to be gone long enough for something else to happen because when she walked back inside the bathroom, the bathtub was empty, the floor had turned into the equivalent of a small lake, and Bela was on her hands and knees in front of the toilet, throwing up.

“My baby!”

Alcina nearly slipped in the water on the ground as she rushed to her daughter’s side. It seemed Bela had scrambled out of the bathtub in a hurry. Her dress became damp as she knelt down, but she could hardly care. She swept Bela’s hair out of the way and rubbed her back as she retched.

“Mama,” Bela moaned once she finished. She looked up at Alcina, a thin line of bile dribbling down the side of her mouth, her eyes bright with tears. “It hurts…”

“I know, darling,” Alcina stroked her cheek. “It’ll be okay soon. I have something for you that may help.”

She showed Bela the vials. Usually, Bela would start guessing what they were, always eager to show off her knowledge on these kinds of things, but she didn’t seem to care about what they were. She just seemed exhausted, hollow, drained. Empty.

Alcina was going to kill the animals that did this to her baby.

Alcina uncapped the first vial. It smelled strongly of herbs. She pressed it to Bela’s lips, and Bela sipped obediently.

“This will help with the pain,” she informed. “And this,” she opened the second vial, this one smelling faintly of alcohol. “This will purge any disgusting parasites those beasts put in you. Drink, my sweet. Rid your body of their toxins.”

Bela obeyed again, drinking it all. If she didn’t like the taste, she didn’t show it aside from a twitch of her nose.

“Now,” Alcina set both vials aside. “Do you think you can try feeding for me again?”

Bela nodded. Alcina gave her a warm smile, then pricked the same wound on her wrist and held it out to Bela. Bela latched on and began drinking her blood, this time not pulling away.

“That’s my good girl,” Alcina cooed, stroking Bela’s head with her other hand. She knew her blood would soothe Bela’s abused throat, even if it hurt to swallow. The warmth was good for her regardless. Wash away the taste. Force down whatever stickiness was still latched against her esophagus.

She wouldn’t be able to tame her anger for much longer.

When Bela finished drinking, Alcina had her wash down in the bath one more time before drying and dressing her. Her ankle still seemed to be an issue, swelling up and inflaming red, so she flushed it out with alcohol. It earned her claw marks in her shoulders when Bela clung to her and cried in reaction to the burn, but it was worth it if it meant warding off any infection.

Alcina carried Bela to the bed, already knowing she wouldn’t want to be alone. It took a moment for Bela to get comfortable, twisting and turning when both her stomach and back proved to cause her pain, before finally settling on her side, curled up tightly against Alcina’s warmth. Alcina kept her arms around her, soothing her when she got restless until, finally, she relaxed.

Or, as relaxed as someone who just got raped could be.

The thought made Alcina so angry. So fucking angry. Of all her daughters, why Bela? She would hate for this to happen to any of them, but Bela had never done anything wrong. She didn’t have the same sadism as her younger sisters. She was merciful. Even if that made her a faulty beast, she deserved this least of all.

Alcina knew Bela probably wouldn’t sleep very much, and she knew that was to be expected. She was prepared for it. She knew how this worked.

But still. Revenge couldn’t go unserved.

She couldn’t wait any longer.

“Daniela! Cassandra!”

--- --- ---

“Daniela! Cassandra!”

Bela’s head snapped up. “No, Mama, no--”

Mother frowned down at her. She caressed her cheek, and Bela couldn’t help but press into her hand hungrily. She craved her mother’s touch in a way she couldn’t explain. She wanted it forever and always. She desired it as much as she desired her praise. But right now, even it couldn’t dispel the building panic mounting within her.

“Please, Mama, I don’t want them to-- they can’t-- please--”

But it was too late.

The sound of buzzing stormed into the room, and Bela hid her face against her mother’s dress. She couldn’t let her sisters see her like this.

Cassandra came in first, materializing out of a swarm of beetles and roaches, then Daniela, who took shape from a seething of blowflies and gnats. Even without looking up, Bela could feel their eyes bearing into her. She tried to hide beneath the blankets, but was unwilling to separate herself from her mother’s warmth. She wished it could just be the two of them, as much as she loved her sisters.

“What’s going on?” Cassandra asked.

“I need you to watch your sister,” Mother answered. “She is unwell.”

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t the oldest not need any care?”

Daniela nudged her, tittering. “This is Bela we’re talking about, Cassie. You know how she is. I’m still convinced I was actually the oldest, but Mother just says that Bela is the oldest to help build her confidence.”

“Please. We all know I would be the oldest.”

“Okay, okay, let’s compromise: we’d both be the better oldest sister.”

“That’s fair.”

Bela flinched at their teasing, just barely managing to bite back a whimper. She knew their taunting was always in good fun--most of the time, at least; Daniela sometimes blurred the lines between playful and hurtful--but she still let everything they said get under her skin, as though their insects were burrowing into her.

“Quiet, you two,” Mother scolded lightly. “Bela isn’t well. I’d feel better if she had someone watching over her while I’m gone.”

“Where are you going?” Cassandra asked.

And Daniela, always quick to crack a joke, added, “Damn, Bel, are you that terrible of company?”

Bela whimpered into the folds of Mother’s dress. All it took was one stern glare from Mother to shut Daniela up.

“I’m going to deal with some business,” Mother said, and the venom used in the word ‘business’ suggested she had some terribly bloody plans in store for the men who had assaulted Bela. Bela almost felt sorry for them. Almost. But not enough.

“Can you both do this for me?”

Cassandra and Daniela nodded.

“Thank you, my doves,” Mother said. She then looked down at Bela, stroking the side of her head. “I won’t be long, darling. Your sisters will take care of you. Nothing will happen.”

Bela just barely peeked up at her. She didn’t want Cassandra and Daniela to see her with her face all blotchy and red. She would never hear the end of it if they did.

She gripped tighter to Mother’s dress, burying her face back into the soft fabric. “Please don’t go, Mama,” she begged softly, hoping that her sisters couldn’t hear her quavering.

Mother caressed the side of her head. “I must, sweetheart. I can’t let them get away with what they did to you. I won’t stand for it.”

“But you’re sitting down,” Daniela put in helpfully, and Cassandra snorted into her hand. They both shut up when Mother gave them a sharp look, but Bela didn’t miss the small, fond smile that twitched on Mother’s lips.

“I’ll be back as soon as possible,” Mother said.

A kiss was pressed to the top of Bela’s head, and she realized this wasn’t a fight she would be able to win. Her claws were gently pried loose from the dress and the warmth she had been desperately clinging to disappeared, replaced by a chill that infected her heart like talons of ice.

“Play nice,” Mother said to Cassandra and Daniela before whisking out of the room in a hurry, her claws already brandished.

For a moment, silence was left behind. Then, a body bounced onto the bed next to Bela, and Bela flinched away. She curled up in the blankets, burying her face in the softness as Daniela got uncomfortably close.

“So…” Daniela started, practically speaking in Bela’s ear. “What happened? You seem pretty messed up.”

Bela didn’t answer. She didn’t trust her voice to not waver if she did. She couldn’t handle any more humiliation.

“I think she got her tongue cut out,” Daniela said to Cassandra.

Cassandra rolled her eyes. She sat down on the edge of the bed. “We literally just heard her talking. Explain that.”

“It fell off?”

Cassandra coughed to hide a laugh. She then poked Bela in the side, causing Bela to whimper in pain when a particularly sore area ached in response.

“Seriously, though. What’s wrong with you?”

Bela didn’t even know where to begin. There was so much to unpack in such a short amount of time. Their naked bodies, their disheveled hair, their sweaty penises inside her. Those animals pinning her down, licking her, forcing themselves into her, smashing their mouths against hers, clawing and grasping and groping. Their heavy breaths in her ears, the purrs about her being “so pretty for a monster,” the laughter when she tried to escape. Her own voice, ringing hollow in her mouth, and her blood, smeared all over.

She couldn’t handle it. She couldn’t handle it.

Another whimper bubbled forth. Bela began to cry into the blankets, unable to keep her emotions at bay. It was all too much for her.

“Aww,” Daniela cooed, and Bela couldn’t tell if she was being patronizing or genuine. “Poor thing.”

Her head was then cradled against Daniela’s chest, wrapped in both of her sister’s arms. Daniela stroked her hair with her claws, trying to be comforting, but the effect was sort of negated when her talons repeatedly brushed over the sensitive welt on the back of Bela’s head. Still, Bela appreciated the gesture, even if she was continuously wincing and growing nauseous with pain.

“Well, whatever it was,” Cassandra said. “Mother is dealing with it.”

“I hope she brings something back,” Daniela said wistfully.

Bela really hoped she didn’t. She didn’t want to see a single piece of those men, even if they were mangled and bloodied.

Shutting her eyes tightly, Bela tried to imagine that Daniela was her mother. She wanted Mother back already, and it was that clinginess that made her feel pathetic and weak. Weaker and more pathetic than she already knew she was.

Yes, it was always Bela who would rather read books than participate in torture. Bela, who was the reason they couldn’t feast on opossums. Bela, who was a poor fighter and hunter because she spent all her time learning new information or sewing instead of learning how to defend herself. Bela, who was overly polite to the maids and sometimes made friends with them. Bela, who needed her mommy’s approval to feel good about anything she did because her self-worth and self-confidence were that far into the ground. Bela, who should have been born as anyone else and could never live up to her own standards.

The tears came faster. Bela’s shoulders began to shake as she cried. She wanted Mother back. She didn’t care how pathetic that made her. She needed her mom.

“Mama,” Bela sobbed, momentarily forgetting that she wasn’t alone, but she didn’t even register the embarrassment at the moment. She was too overwhelmed with her own pitiful separation anxiety and uselessness.

“It’s okay, Bel,” Daniela said, scratching her head as though she were a hound. “Mother will be back soon!”

‘Soon’ ended up being an hour and a half, and by then, Bela was sure she had chased their mother away with her burden.

But then, the bedroom door slammed open and there was Mother, as clean as she was when she had left. However, she was wearing a different dress and there was a visible loss of tension in her shoulders that hadn’t been there before.

Daniela shook Bela. “Bel, look! She’s back!”

Bela’s head snapped up. Mother gave her a loving smile.

“Hello, darling.”

“Mama,” Bela reached for her mother, not caring how childish it made her, and Mother obliged to her beckoning, sweeping over and bundling her into her warm arms. Bela curled up immediately, relaxing considerably.

“I told you I would be back,” Mother said, pressing a kiss to her hairline.

Bela couldn’t reply. She just nuzzled in closer. She felt her sisters press into either side of Mother, but she didn’t mind. She was just happy to be secure, even if she didn’t deserve it.

Before those men were inside of her, she was inside of herself. She had a feeling that they wouldn’t be leaving for awhile, even now that they were dead, but she could cope with it, as long as her mother was there to hold her together.

She just wished she had grabbed the heart.

#resident evil 8 #resident evil village #lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #resident evil fanfic #we'll cast some light and you'll be alright (for now) #tw: rape

[chloelucia13]

To Dream

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

Prompt: After a case takes a turn for the worst, Spencer can’t help the doubt of your future riddling his brain. But when he closes his eyes, everything is okay. If only for a moment. Based off the song “Epiphany” by Taylor Swift

Warnings: angst, a little fluff, mentions of death, language, violence, gore, it’s just a ride y’all (italics are memories, words in bold are dreams)

Word count: 4.1k

A/N: So I’ve gotten sucked into the Criminal Minds fandom, and now it’s time to do what I do best: write sad fan fiction. I hope you all enjoy! My requests are open 24/7 and so is my taglist!

Tags: @sojournmichael​

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

You’ve done this a million times. The case was so simple, so easy to dissect. 

Maybe you got cocky. Maybe you underestimated the unsub. Maybe this was all your fault.

Nausea churned in your stomach as you screeched to a halt in front of the old auto body shop. You knew that you would find a house of horrors as soon as you stepped inside, but the adrenaline in your veins told you to ignore your hesitation and the breakfast from this morning that was crawling up your esophagus.

“I’m going in,” you announced, unbuckling your seatbelt and nearly throwing yourself out of the car. 

“Y/N, wait, you need backup,” Spencer shouted after you as you hurried to the entrance.

You stopped in front of the building, turning to give him a look. “Spence, you heard his message.” 

This man, this murderer, seemed to be infatuated with the media coverage of the case. You caught on to the fact that he was following along closely with the case after he sent a haunting letter to the precinct, detailing where he was and that he would give himself up to the police, as long as his legacy would not be forgotten.

 Turns out, the media coverage wasn’t the only thing he was infatuated with. 

It was realized at the beginning of researching this case that you fit his type to a t, but you never expected that it would become this.

His other request? That you were the only one to capture him and take him into custody.

Spencer opened his mouth to argue but you cut him off. “If anyone goes in there but me, it’ll be a bloodbath,” you reminded him.

He gulped, weighing his options for a moment. “Fine. The rest of the team is on the way. As soon as you’ve got him, radio to me and we’ll send everyone in,” he instructed, worry marring his features.

“Everything’s gonna be fine. I promise, doc.” You gave him a gentle smile before turning on your heel and entering the building, your gun drawn.

The smell of coagulated blood and decomposition hit your nostrils the moment you stepped inside, making your stomach lurch. You bit down on your cheek so harshly the taste of copper tinged your tongue.

“Randy McAllister, this is the FBI,” you announced your presence, edging around the corner into the main part of the garage.

“Ah, Agent Y/L/N, I thought you’d never make it,” a voice hummed to the right of you.You turned your head to see him standing with a gun in his right hand, a woman on her knees in front of him.

“Let her go, Randy. She’s got nothing to do with this.”

He chuckled. “Oh darling, she has everything to do with this. She’s my replacement for you, can’t you tell?” He glided the tip of his gun against her forehead, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“Then give me her, and you can get what you want.”

“You really thought I was gonna be that easy?” He clicked his tongue. “Take off your vest.”

You scoffed. “I’m not taking off my vest.”

he clenched his jaw, hovering his finger over the trigger. “Take off your vest or I’ll blow her fucking brains out!”

You knew not to question him. He’d done it five times already, so what’s stopping him from doing it again.

You slowly slid your gun into your holster before ripping the velcro apart, pulling your kevlar vest off and setting it on the ground. “There, are you happy?”

He grinned, baring his teeth like a rabid dog, before pushing the girl forward. You bent down and helped her up before directing her to run, waiting until you could no longer hear her footsteps before you drew your gun once more.

“Alright, Randy. I did what you wanted. Now drop your weapon and put your hands above your head.”

His grin slowly fell, letting his gun clatter to the ground before he rose his hands in the air, surrendering. 

You stepped behind him, yanking his hands behind his back and holding them together with one hand while you searched for your cuffs with the other. 

Everything moved so suddenly. 

A sharp crack echoed through the garage as he slammed his head back into yours, shattering the cartilage in your nose. You stumbled back, clutching onto your nose as you tried to regain your balance. 

He grabbed you by your shirt and threw you to the ground, climbing on top of you and wrapping a hand around your throat. You clawed at his hand and kicked with all your might, finally landing one solid blow to his groin. 

He swayed, and you gathered enough strength to roll him over, pinning him to the ground. 

But you didn’t account for his hands.

As you held his shoulders against the concrete, a shot rang out.

Your abdomen felt warm as the rest of your body felt as if it was stuck in a freezer. Slowly, you rolled off of Randy and laid on your back, staring up at the ceiling.

Voices began to echo around you, a muffled sound that mimicked the effect of your head being held underwater. “Agent down, we need a medic!”

Your eyelids fluttered open and closed at a snail-like pace, eyes flickering around the room to try and figure out what was going on.

And then they shot open wide as the burning sensation began, a feeling as if your organs were being shredded apart with red hot knives.

“Y/N, what happened?” 

Your eyes finally focused on Spencer’s face hovering above you, tears in his eyes. “Tis just a flesh wound,” you whispered, your lungs burning.

He glanced between you and the bullet wound in your chest. “Are you quoting Monty Python right now?”

You let out a chuckle, feeling tears begin to sting your eyes. “It’s what I do when I’m panicking. You should know that by now.” Slowly, you reached your hand down to where you felt the pain resonate, eyes growing wide when you felt something wet soak your hand. “Oh my god.”

Tears began streaking down his face, his lip caught in-between his teeth to keep from crying out. 

Without thinking, you reached your hands up to wipe away his tears, a look of terror residing on your face when a dark crimson smeared across his cheeks. “Oh god,” you gasped out, moving to pull your sleeves over your hands and try to wipe away the blood. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” The blood smeared around his cheek, and you felt the room spinning around you. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Just breathe for me. Calm down.”

You nodded, desperately trying to gasp in a solid breath, but to no avail. A sob left your lips, and you felt a rush of blood pour down your sides. “I-I can’t.” You shook your head. “I think... I think I’m bleeding out, doc.”

“No, no, don’t say that. You’re gonna be just fine.” He pulled away from your gaze for a moment to search around. “Where the fuck is the medic?!”

“Spence.”

His eyes fell back onto your face, hazel irises boring into yours as tears dripped down his face. You dedicated his face to memory, trying to remember the way his skin felt under your fingertips, the gentle scratch of his stubble, the way his hair would glide between your fingertips, worried that it you would never be able to experience it again.

“I love you,” you choked out, sniffling. “I love you so much.”

He nodded, a crease forming between his brows as he tried his hardest to contain his sobs. “I love you too. So much.”

He felt as if he died when he watched your eyelids slowly flutter closed, and then stopped moving altogether. He continued applying pressure to your wound, feeling your blood soak through his windbreaker and onto his hands.

Suddenly he was shoved away, and he watched in a daze as a group of medics quickly checked your vitals before lifting you on a stretcher and rushing you out of the building. He pushed himself to his feet and stumbled behind them, clambering into the back of the ambulance.

They attached an oxygen mask with a bag valve, attempting to pump oxygen into your lungs. He watched as your chest rose and fell, wishing it wasn’t being controlled by someone else.

The tips of your hair twirled between his fingers, a dazed look on his face as his eyes tracked each breath you took. Breathe in, gentle rise. Breathe out, gentle droop. He felt the soft rush of air against his skin, making his heart race under your cheek. 

He didn’t dare move, too worried that if he did, you would wake up. It was rare that he would see you in such a peaceful state, so fragile and unguarded. He wouldn’t dare ruin it. He never knew when it would be the last time he could witness it.

“Her vitals are crashing, she’s going into V FIB!” an EMT shouted, startling him back to the present. “Bring me the AED.” He watched as they applied two wired pads to your chest and turned up a dial, signaling before delivering an electric shock. Your body flinched from the shock, only for it to collapse back down and lay flat. 

He felt like he was going to vomit. His hands were clutching onto your free one, unable to tear his eyes away from your ashen face. 

He couldn’t decide if it would be better if you were in a black void, unaware of anything that was going on, or if you could feel and hear every single thing that was occurring. He mostly just hoped that you weren’t scared.

But the only thought on his mind, when they finally arrived to the ER and he watched you get rushed into the OR, was that he couldn’t live without you.

*** “Spence, you can head home. I’ll take over,” Emily instructed as she stepped into the waiting room, nudging his shoulder slightly.

He just shook his head, staring at the glass windows in front of him that peered into the hallways of the hospital. 

“You need to get some rest,” she persisted, sitting down next to him. “Just go lay down for a few hours, I’ll call you if anything happens.”

“I-I can’t just leave. If something happens...” Spencer mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. He couldn’t tell if he was being defensive, or if he was trying to desperately hold himself together. 

“She’s gonna be just fine. She’s a fighter.”

He let out a shuddering breath, his eyes falling closed for a moment. “The survival rate after going into V FIB is 50%.”

“Well, 50% seems like a pretty good probability to me.”

“That doesn’t account for the blood loss or oxygen deprivation. She lost over four pints of blood. The body goes into hypovolemic after losing only two pints. Any more than that, and the body will most likely fall into a coma.” 

Now he understood how everyone else felt when he spewed out facts. It was torturous, unwilling to allow him to slip away from the predicament for even a moment.

The image of your body bleeding out on the dirty floor was imprinted in his mind. Even if he didn’t have an eidetic memory, there was no way that he could ever forget it.

Emily pursed her lips. “But she’ll be alive. She might be banged up, but she isn’t gone. She’s not going anywhere anytime soon.” She squeezed his shoulder. “You know, if Y/N were here right now, she’d be yelling at you to go and take a nap.”

He let out a watery chuckle at that, sniffling slightly. “I can’t leave, Emily. Not until I hear something from the doctors.”

She sighed. “Fine. I’m gonna set a timer on my phone for 20 minutes, and you will sleep until that timer goes off. If you get up any time during that, I’m restarting the timer. Deal?”

“Emily-”

“Spencer, you know better than anybody the effects of sleep deprivation on a person. You’re not going to be any use here if you’re tired.”

He clenched his jaw, already feeling his eyelids begin to droop. “Fine. But only 20 minutes.”

***

He never thought that golden could be a feeling, until he met you. His whole being, his whole soul felt as if it was dripping with the warm yellow hue.

He may have felt golden, but you were golden. You were the sun to him, something that he treasured with his whole being but worried he would be blinded by your beauty, turned into mush from your warmth. He still risked it, staring at you for so long so he could memorize every aspect of you before his sight left him.

Your scent of sunshine and sweet morning dew lingered on everything he owned, and he was addicted to it. He could smell it now, swooning over it.

“Your hair’s getting shaggy, doc.”

Spencer hummed, fluttering his eyes open and seeing that his head was laying in your lap, the two of you perched underneath a tree in the park down the road from your shared apartment.

“Yeah? You want me to cut it?” he teased, shifting slightly to look up at you.

You grinned, ruffling his hair slightly before leaning down and pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. “Never.”

His eyes flickered over your face, taking in every small detail. “You’re so beautiful.”

You scoffed, gently gliding your finger along his jawline. “I can say the same for you, pretty boy.”

“I’m serious.” He huffed, sitting up and taking your hand in his, staring directly into your eyes for a moment. He mimicked your ministrations, taking his finger and tracing along your collarbone, against the angle of your jawbone, down the slope of your nose, and down the dip of your cupid’s bow. His eyes followed his finger, a small wrinkle forming between his brows. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

A grin settled on your face, gently pulling his fingers from your skin and pressing your lips to his fingertips. “What’s got you being so sappy?”

He let out a chuckle, shaking his head slightly before touching his lips to yours. “I’m so in love with you.”

A pleased sigh escaped your lips, and your eyes searched his. “I’m so in love with you too. Now will you please tell me what’s going on?” You shifted into his lap, entwining your arms around his neck and playing with his hair.

“I...” He gulped, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment. “I don’t want you to leave me.”

“Spencer.” The corners of your lips crooked into a frown and you rested a hand on his cheek. “What makes you think I’ll ever leave you?”

“Y/N, you’re dying.”

“What do you mean? I’m right here. And I know you’re not a medical doctor, but I know you’re smart enough to know when someone is alive.”

He shook his head, sniffling. “No, you-you’re laying on an operating table right now. This isn’t real. None of this is real.”

“It’s real enough, isn’t it?” 

He shot up with a gasp, immediately burying his head in his hands and letting out a shuddering breath.

“Spence, that was only eleven min-” Emily began.

He ignored her, pushing himself to his feet and propelling himself towards the bathrooms. He stumbled into the bathroom and gripped onto the edge of the sink, sucking in deep breaths until his lungs burned. Bile rose in his throat and he willed himself to keep it down, gaining enough strength to turn on the cold water and splash his face. 

A hand touched his shoulder and he stood up straight in a panic. “Calm down, man, it’s just me,” Derek consoled, holding his hands up. “Are you okay?”

Spencer shook his head fervently, running his hands over his face before pulling them through his hair. “I can’t lose her.”

Derek reached forward, grabbing Spencer’s shoulder and tugging him into a tight hug. ‘’You’re not gonna lose her. She’s strong, and she’s stubborn as all hell. If she’s gonna die, it’s gonna be by her own terms.”

And Spencer sobbed.

***

It had been over four hours, and the entire team still had yet to hear anything from the doctors. The sun had already set, and almost everyone had headed home for the night.

But Spencer was still sat in the waiting room, eyelids drooping lower and lower with each passing moment of silence.

He wanted so badly to sleep, to go back to that peaceful moment in his mind where he could lay with you and forget anything bad ever happened, but he couldn’t let himself. He couldn’t let himself succumb to a fantasy when in reality, you were laying on an operating table with multiple surgeons working to keep you alive. 

“Mr. Reid?”

Spencer rose to his feet at once, all feelings of exhaustion fleeing his body and being replaced with pure adrenaline. “Yes?”

The doctor gave him a curt nod before directing him into the hall. Spencer followed behind him and stood in a nervous silence as he watched her flip through a clipboard.

“She’s alive, and she’s in stable condition,” she explained, looking away from her clipboard.

He felt as if he was floating, a high he never even imagined was possible. 

“But she is in a coma, and probably will remain that way for the next few days.”

And there it was.

“But-But you think she’ll wake up?” Spencer rushed out, shifting from foot to foot.

“Definitely. Her body needs time to rest, but she’ll wake up as soon as she’s ready.” 

Spencer let out a sigh of relief, a small smile residing on his lips. “Thank you, doctor.”

“You’re a lucky man. We almost lost her, but she fought with all she had. She wanted to stay here.”

He knew that her claims were impossible, but there was an inkling in the back of his mind that maybe she was right. So, instead of responding, he just nodded. “Can-” He cleared his throat. “Can I see her?”

The doctor pressed her lips together in thought for a moment before nodding. “Right this way.”

He followed her through the hospital halls, leading him through the winding maze until they stopped in front of room 112. She gestured to the door before retreating, leaving him alone.

All attempts to catch his breath were futile for the moment he stepped through the door, all the air left his lungs. He couldn’t tell if he was staring at your sleeping form in horror or fondness as he inched towards your bedside, settling into the chair next to you.

“You’re alive,” were the only words he could formulate, repeating them like a mantra while he took your hand in his and pressed feather-light kisses to your knuckles. 

 Finally, he let his head rest against the thin blanket on your bed, and his eyes drooped closed. 

Poppies were your favorite flower. They symbolized peace, something neither of you were familiar with due to your jobs.

Spencer never understood how a flower could symbolize something so complex until he opened his eyes.

He was completely, utterly at peace.

You stood in a field of bright red poppies, a white dress cascading around your frame and a megawatt smile on your face.

Sunshine. Golden.

As if out of a scene from a romance movie (one that you probably forced him to watch), he ran through the fields, coming towards you. Once you were within reach, he wrapped both of his arms around your waist and clung onto you like a vice.

A breathless laugh fell from your lips as you returned the hug, letting your arms hook around his neck. “Hi, my love,” you whispered.

He knew none of this was real. He knew that every memory of you was being pulled from his brain all at once and letting him feel a moment of peace.

But he also knew that he wanted to stay here, at least for a little while.

“Hi, my love,” he echoed, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Are you alright?” You pulled away slightly, searching his eyes as you brought one hand to cup his face. “You’re crying.”

“I’m just fine.” He gave you a smile, gently taking your hand from his face and placing your hand in his own. “I’m perfect.”

“Are you sure? Did I do-”

“Y/N,” he interrupted, squeezing your hand gently. “Everything’s fine. Don’t worry.”

You took a deep breath and nodded, letting your shoulders drop. “Sorry, I just... I know you’ve been feeling sad lately. I just want to make sure it isn’t because of me.”

His brows furrowed together, worry lines settling on his forehead. “Of course not. Why would you think that?”

“Because every time you look at me, you cry.”

Those words made his heart drop to his stomach. He knew that this was all in his mind, but it was still your voice. He felt all the hurt, all the guilt. 

“I...” A small sob bubbled in his throat, and he pulled you back into his tight embrace. “I just don’t want to lose you. I’m not ready yet.”

You nodded, gripping onto the fabric of his shirt and holding him as close as you possibly could. “Well, right now, you have me. Is that not enough?”

“But it’s not real. I need the real you.”

“Then you have to wake up, my love.”

Wake up. Wake up. Wake up

“Spencer, wake up.”

His eyes flew open, a hand immediately coming up to rub at them. “What?” he grumbled, holding back a yawn.

“God, I’ve tried waking you up for the past five minutes.”

His eyes flickered up to see a pair of Y/E/C eyes staring back at him.

“You’re awake.”

“I can say the same thing about you, sleepyhead,” you teased, weakly patting his hand. 

“Oh my god. You’re okay.” He pushed himself to his feet and hovered his hands over your face, fearful that if he touched you, you would disappear.

“I’m okay, doc.” Your words were slurred, but that was expected. He still knew what you were saying, and even if he didn’t, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that you were awake, that you were alive.

He let out an incredulous laugh as he bent down and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. “I thought I lost you.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily.” You hands slowly reached up, letting your fingers graze along his cheek. “Hi, my love.”

“Hi, my love.” He grinned at you. “I thought you weren’t supposed to be awake for a few more days, at least.”

“I guess I just had to wake up. I couldn’t stand being gone from you that long.” You pulled your lower lip between your teeth. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I-If I wasn’t so cocky, none of this would have happened. You all wouldn’t be wondering whether I’m gonna live or not. I wouldn’t be stuck in a hospital bed with a hole in my chest. You... You wouldn’t be crying.” You gestured to the tears on his cheeks as tears began to stream down your own. “I wouldn’t be crying.”

“Y/N,” he sighed, taking your hand in his and pressing his lips to the back of it. “None of this is your fault. Don’t you ever blame yourself for this.”

You nodded with a sniffle, pulling his hand to your lips and reciprocating his actions. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, letting yourselves take in everything that was happening.

“Once you get released from the hospital and you’re healed, do you want to get married?”

Your eyes widened in shock at his words, searching his face to make sure that he was being honest. “Are you proposing?”

He shrugged, feeling his cheeks begin to burn. “I-I mean I don’t have a ring yet but... I think I am.”

“Well, if you think you’re proposing, I think I’ll say yes.”

Both of your cheeks ached from how wide you were smiling, that smile never faltering when he pressed his lips to yours and let them linger. 

“Can we have poppies at our wedding?” you mumbled against his lips.

He chuckled, nodding.

Pure sunshine.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #tw: violence #tw: blood #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds writing #fan fiction #fanfiction #fan fic #fanfic #taylor swift #folklore #spencer x reader #emily prentiss #derek morgan

[guksauce]

~TickledPink!~

Part Seven

Pairing: Jjk x Reader Pregnant AU

Word Count: 4,367K

Rated: M

Book Warnings: Mentions of Sexual Assault, Mild Smut, Adult Language, Fluff City.

Author: @guksauce

Notes: Thank you to those who show this story and myself love 💖 Thank you to everyone who’s been on this journey with me.

Tag List: @jamkookies @jk97luv @1-in-abillion

For weeks the question of whether or not you were brave enough to move forward with this pregnancy loomed like a storm cloud over your head. Beyond the crashing fear you felt, the thought of who you were with and where you were now in comparison to the life you’d lived before, you were swollen with confidence from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. Still, the memory you try so hard to avoid thinking about climbs up the back of your throat like the rising sun through the windows in the kitchen, scratching and threatening to rip out a scream. The coffee cup in your hands shakes as you stare through the blinds; imagination turning the perfectly trimmed hedges into a dirty green dumpster. It overflows with the smell of rotten food, waste, and your now broken pride. The coffee inside the cup is scalding, and you're positive it is burning the prints right off the pads of your fingers, but you are too mentally exhausted to care. A branch of the tree in the yard, littered with forest colored leaves, sways in front of the sun and makes the rays shining through the gaps glint in your eyes. It turned what should be a beautiful golden glow into the dingy flicker of the broken sign at the diner that ugly rainy night. 

The you that stands in the kitchen begs to close your eyes. They burn as the result of not being able to think clearly enough to even blink. But the you that called Namjoon in the wee hours of the morning that day was caught in the crazed eyes of your offender. You remembered him being wild, rabid even. You also remembered that you wouldn't have been surprised if he had been foaming from the mouth under the black mask covering his face. 

Just as the sun breached the height of the highest trees, the kitchen exploded with a blinding light, Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata playing softly from the speaker on the counter behind you almost forcefully dragging your emotions out further and further. Where the sunlight streaming in should have warmed your insides and shocked you out of your inner turmoil, it instead highlighted your pain and the drops of salty tears painting wet trails down your cheeks just as Jungkook stepped into the kitchen. Halting in his tracks, his eyebrows cinched together and his heart dropped to his stomach as he watched your pain shake your frame to its core. It took all of five long strides across the kitchen to reach you before he rested his chin on your shoulder and wrapped his comforting arms around you. You recoiled for a moment, so lost in your memories that the arms that intended to protect you blended with the ones that swore to harm you. 

“Shhh. It’s alright y/n.” He cooed softly, coaxing you away from the demons that haunted you and into a new unfamiliar world of bliss. “It’s just me. Im sorry.” His voice was barely above a whisper, tangled in the strands of your hair that had fallen in your face. The silence that followed was calming to say the least. The longer the two of you stood facing the warmth of the sun and the beginnings of summer's lush greenery beginning to bloom in the garden, the more you felt the weight of impending events to come wear off of you. Spinning you in his grasp, Jungkook guided your arms around his neck, pulled you closer, and easily lifted you off your feet in a dizzying twirl as the piano notes dramatically swirled around the morning lit kitchen, resulting in a fit of giggles from both of you. You let this feeling sink into your bones and will your muscles to relax and mentally ask politely for your heart to stop pounding in your chest in such a violent manner. It feels so good that you can't stand the thought of having to ruin it, but your thoughts won't stop attacking you. 

“I have my first Ultrasound appointment today.” You share. He doesn't stop swaying but his familiar chocolate orbs gaze down at you with an emotion that not even he is sure fits the situation. It’s just a smile. One you don't expect to see, but it's littered with what you can only imagine being...excitement? But why? Unbeknownst to you, somewhere inside him...he is. However, he can see by the expression on your face, that despite his excitement, you are terrified. 

“Whatever happens y/n, you are not alone. I know this is beyond cliche to say but, everything will be alright. There's no way in hell me, or Namjoon, or any of the others are going to let you go through this without support.” You don't mean to but, you watch the way his lips bounce off each other when he says words like “Me” and “be”. They glisten in ways that could make any woman weak, but the meaning spilling from them means so much more to you. It pains Jungkook to add what he's about to but he says it anyway in hopes that whatever worrying thoughts you might be having, sort themselves into the appropriate folders. “Whatever decision you choose to make, I will be right here with you.” Another comfortable silence falls over both of you as you lean closer into his embrace. 

“This might be too much to ask but...would you come with me today?” You ask and hold your breath, waiting for his answer. You expect him to say ‘No’. You almost WANT him to say no when the weight of your question pulls your eyes from his lips down between where your bodies pressed together, just as Namjoon rounds the corner to the kitchen. 

Namjoon had been gone all day. Caught his favorite coffee shop right at opening time where he ordered an iced americano and a raspberry scone. He had run eight miles to the park with the lake he liked to visit, and watched the reflection of the clouds in the water for an hour before running back home. When he’d arrived, instead of heading straight upstairs like he normally would have, the dryness scratching at the back of his throat begged to be squelched with cold water from the fridge. But upon hearing your question before he’d dared to peek around the wall, he watched. Watched the way Jungkook let his arms hang loosely at the small of your back. Watched the way the tips of your fingers absentmindedly played with the curls resting at the nape of his neck. The two of you looked so natural together that Namjoon almost felt the raspberry scone forcefully lurch its way up his throat. It isn't that he didn't want you or Jungkook to be happy, but he'd always imagined it would be him holding you like that someday. Namjoon closed his eyes and swallowed hard, willing the fluffy pastry contents of his stomach to go back down and stepped into the kitchen. 

Jungkook doesn't hesitate to answer your question with an excited “Of course!”. He didn't know what it was about this situation, but he couldn't deny that even in his young age, helping you through this and being part of the experience was everything he wanted. There had been so many days and nights that he had admired his mother for becoming the strong woman she is today through being a mom. Jungkook could say the same for his father after watching how he had supported young kook’s mother in both big and small ways. Jungkook understood the importance of bringing a child into this world and thus the importance of assuring that the child that he or she would always have people in their life that love them unconditionally. The corners of his lips twitched up in a smile when your eyes flashed up to meet his. The surprise that widened them caught every glint of light streaming in through the window and in that moment, Jungkook saw you in a new and vivid way...but so had Namjoon. 

“I promise i'll take care of you.” Koo whispered, his warm breath fluttering against your cheeks. Joon, after finally deciding that he couldn't take it anymore, burst through the room and ripped open the fridge, snatched out a bottle of water and knocked three more over in the process. You don't mean to but you find yourself taking a large leap away from Jungkook. The expression he wears is full of understanding but it doesn't keep him from grinning at the blush coloring your features. 

“Good Morning Joonie.” You don't recognize the forced voice that flies from your mouth. It's too high and sounds distorted, making Jungkook smirk more and huff out a small breathy laugh. You glare at him and kick out your leg playfully in his direction but you could say the same for your vision as well when you finally scan the kitchen in its entirety; distorted and warped. “How was your run? I planned on catching you before you left but you were gone before I could get to the bottom of the stairs.” 

If it weren't for the fact that you had grown up with this man, the very carefully placed facade Namjoon wore would have slipped right past you. But you noticed the way his shoulders were slumped and the lack of a whistle sang through his lips, breaking the silence in the kitchen. But above all, it was the “Uh…” he only does when he's especially nervous that he started his next sentence with that let you know something was up. 

“Uh, morning. And sorry about that. I was trying to get to the bakery when they opened. You know how much i love scones.” What could you say to that? You knew he liked scones, but you were almost certain they’d never really been a favorite of his. Then again, he's been living a much different life than the one you knew his 16 year old past self to live. It's upsetting, you think, how time has gifted you with a lifelong friendship with this incredible man but somewhere along the way that same time has made you forget who he is...or only remember who he was and have no idea who he has become. Sparing a glance up at you, he shakes the bottle of water in his hand and smiles before exiting the kitchen. 

“Hyung!” Jungkook calls after him and follows him out of the kitchen, leaving you alone with your thoughts again. But this time doesn't feel so heavy. Your coffee has cooled to a comfortable temperature and your mind is full with how it feels to be wrapped in Jungkook's embrace. You think about how ridiculously school girlish you feel when you're with him and bounce on the balls of your heals in attempts to keep yourself from squealing until the coffee in your belly starts to make you feel queasy. 

A glimpse of a single white butterfly catches your eye. Its tiny little wings flap tirelessly as it floats past the window. It looks oddly familiar. Or perhaps feels familiar. That feeling...That fluttering feeling. You rest a hand over your thickening torso and swallow hard as you take a seat at the kitchen table. How...familiar…

It's time. The clock on your phone strikes 12:00PM and an alarm follows promptly after, screaming obnoxiously in your face. It's time. It's time. You’ve just downed your third mug of coffee when Jimin enters the kitchen and waves at you with both of his happy little hands. It's time. You never once moved from your spot, glued to the chair ever since you saw the butterfly. Time had flown by you. You wonder if you ever even blinked. It's time. There's a spot on the table that holds your attention. The wood, though it's already dark, looks burnt in a particular place. It looks like a black hole and you treat it as such, staring aggressively at it and wishing for it to swallow you up whole until a set of ringed fingers enter your line of site and brush over the surface. 

“One night we had a food fight and somehow someone's napkin got mixed up in the chaos and dropped onto a candle we had lit in the center.” Yoongi. His voice is low and comes out slow and smooth. You dare trail your eyes from his fingers to his face, much like the black abyss you'd imagined the spot to be, you find his gaze on the burnt table is farther away than you expected, reminiscing a moment in time when you didnt exist in their home. “Hoseok had to get the fire extinguisher and covered our dinner in white fluff.” A smile twitches on his dry lips. Regardless, it's nice to hear him speak to you again. 

“We laughed forever.” Tae says as he rounds the table and takes a seat next to you. His presence alone makes you feel better, the goofy expression he wears when you look at him makes you laugh and shake your head. 

“We had to throw it all away.” Jimin says and sets a bottle of water in front of you with a smile and nods at you as if to say ‘Drink up.’. So, you do. 

“So many wasted noodles. I'd been looking forward to eating them so bad.” Jungkook says, pouty lips and rosy cheeks making his fair skin glow and his dark curls darker. The lot of them laugh together in agreement as Jungkook holds a hand out to you. “Ready?”

A nod of your head ‘yes’ feels more like a magical bewitched wiggle of your nose because you're already at the clinic before you can take your next breath. From the passenger's seat you watch Yoongi’s hands on the steering wheel glide effortlessly over the matte black finish. You wonder if asking him to come was too far fetched of an idea. He hasn't seemed bothered. In fact he had not seemed like anything. Not a single muscle in his face had twitched, not a single hint of emotion. He'd simply scooped his keys off the counter and held the door open for Jungkook, Namjoon, and myself. 

When he puts the car in park, you dread the moment he takes his hands off the wheel. You stay seated, your body swaying to and fro as the weight of the car shifts while the guys all file out. 

You can do this Y/n. You can. You got this.  

Joon opens your car door for you and carefully helps you out one step at a time. From where you stand in the parking lot, you can see the giant letters on the front of the building that read (MEDICAL FACILITY). They Are daunting and make you shiver and lean into Joon’s side. 

“It's alright y/n.” He whispers to you quietly and kisses comfortingly into your hair. “Joonies got you.” 

Inside it's so much harder to exist in this life and coexist in the presence of others once you've found a spot in the waiting room. Namjoon promised to return with your bag from the car before you could blink, a panicked skip in his step when he ran back out the rotating door in the hospital lobby. Jungkook watched his back like a lost puppy after Namjoon all but shouted an order at him to get you signed in. Since this morning the tension between them had been high and clouded and you wondered where Jungkook had followed him to before leading you away to your current terror. 

It's too white in here. The chairs look like they have not been updated since the 70’s. The plants in the corners of the room had begun to wilt, filling the space with stagnant water and rotting soil mixed with the pungent scent of sterilizer. The flickering fluorescent lights above you bring back memories you wish you could avoid forever but it only highlights exactly why you're here. There's a painting on the wall that looks like a really old silk painting. The material is worn and frayed at the edges but the dull grey strokes depict what looks to be a man in a carriage being pulled by the likes of a Dragon through a body of water. Your eyes scan the length of the dragon just as you hear the nurse call for the next patient as though your head was underwater, glancing down at the plaque that reads “Man Driving the Dragon.”

Worry settles in the pit of your stomach when you realize neither Jungkook nor Namjoon are back, and the mountain in the back of the painting starts to look intimidatingly large when a hand rests on your knee. Your chair had begun to squeak under the shaking of your leg, and Yoongi could tell that you were starting to panic when your eyes had latched on to the painting. He didn't say anything; rubbed his thumb over the fabric of your jeans just once and it was all you needed to crumble the mountain in the painting and relax all of your muscles. For a moment you worry you've bothered him, but when both boys come rushing back to your side, he gives your knee a small pat and stands just as your name is called. All at once your body shakes, your heart drops to your stomach pounding hard enough to keep your legs from moving, the message never reaching your brain. The nurses jacket flows behind her, softly brushing the back of her knees while she scribbles information on the clipboard in her hands. 

“Breathe Y/n.” Namjoon whispers in your ear when he notices your eyes scan every room you pass, searching for something to distract you or to frighten you further, you aren't sure which one. He’s careful when he touches you, fingertips gripping your elbow to guide you back to the here and now. The overwhelming scent of steryl fries every hair in your nostrils and starts a storm in your head, the hallway closing in around you. Jungkook is there as you start to sway, a hand on your back to steady you and you catch a glimpse of Yoongi at your flank with his hands out in front of him. Suddenly the nurse is stopping in front of you, the door is opening and streaming out of the room through the dark is a very soft off white glow, followed by a smell that reminds you of the eucalyptus body wash setting on the shelf in the shower at home. 

And that's what this feels like out of the blue, a sense of homeness. It's the pink orchids in full bloom on the counter, the jar of fluffy cotton balls and the assortment of blue tinted tissues next to the reclined leather chair in the center. It's also the bottom half of the walls painted sage green and the top a crisp white in a way that makes you think of decorative ideas for the nursery at home. But above all, it's the three men following behind you and the four others waiting for you at home that gives you the most comfort. 

After a quick change of clothes and the prick of a finger for blood work, you're comfortably laid back in the chair just as the cold gel is squeezed onto your belly. The sonographer that replaced the nurse is bright eyed and almost overly hyper as she presses the device to your stomach and chirps happily in a way that somehow reminds you of Jimin. 

“I'm excited to show you your baby today, miss Y/L/N!” You don't know where it stems from but the smile on your face spreads from ear to ear as a fuzzy black and white image appears on the screen. But then she's pointing at the screen to something small in the middle and your eyes are glued. 

“This little spot right here...is your baby!” When the Sonographer turns back to make sure you've seen it, her smile turns from excited to warm. The men with you have crowded around you gazing with awe at the monitor. Namjoon behind you with his hands on your shoulders. Jungkook at your side, kneeling down so his face is inches from yours. And Yoongi at your knees leaning with his fingers pressed into the taut leather of the chair to get a closer look. 

“Wow…” Jungkook breathes out, absentmindedly lacing your fingers together. You squeeze his fingers just as Joon squeezes your shoulders tenderly and Yoongi falls to his elbows at your thighs patting the same spot on your knee as he had before. 

“Everything looks good too. It’s exactly where it’s supposed to be.” The sonographer speaks quieter and separates her last couple of words like she knows it's exactly what you need to hear right now. A moment of anxiety makes you think she's saying it because she's judging you for what happened, but when you tear your eyes from the screen and catch her gaze, you know she's being genuine. “I'm going to give you all a couple minutes to look at this while i go grab your copies. I'll be back in a moment.” With a smile she bows softly and leaves the room to us. Yoongi watches the way Namjoon and Jungkook lovingly caress you and feels a pang of guilt in his stomach. 

“Actually, could the two of you leave for a second? I'd like a moment with y/n.” He asks, standing straight and the boys share a worried look. 

“Hyung…” Jungkook mumbles looking at you, to which you nod after squeezing his hand. 

“It's alright. It's not like he's going to eat me or anything.” You assure him softly. Both boys obey their older brother and exit the room. Yoongi hold a hand out to you and you take it without hesitating. You'd been waiting for the opportunity to just sit down and talk with him since the moment you stepped foot into his home. 

“I just wanted to apologize for…” His eyebrows sinch together, that forever deep in thought look on his face passes through complex stages of emotions and it's so endearing that you struggle to do everything in your power not to giggle. He starts again, this time with more confidence in his voice. “I wanted to apologize for doubting you. For not believing in Namjoon when he needed me most. For not realizing what you meant to him. To Jungkook. And in turn...Me.” It's not what you expect to hear from him.  

“It feels like a dream to hear you say that. You’ve been right about all of it from the beginning. It was an unrealistic expectation to think all of you would just be completely okay with having to deal with the change of someone new in the comfort of your home.” Yoongi nods slowly, taking every word of your thoughts into consideration. 

“Yes, they may have been true at the time but the change was good. Your presence shook up our world and gave our minds a new direction. You sparked a new inspiration in us. I wrote five songs yesterday. Namjoon wrote three. Even Taehyung had me look over some new lyrics. And Jimin a melody for a song we've been stuck on for a while now.” Again you're unsure of what to say but you feel at home all over again as though a line had never divided the two of you to begin with. A knock at the door breaks the bubble but a weight feels lifted from your shoulders and the future feels lighter. 

Four printed copies of your ultrasound crinkle quietly as the boys all pass them around. The entire group is snuggled around you on the couch. You Are snuggled into Jungkook on your left, Jin leans close on your right with Namjoon cuddled up behind him. At your feet Jimin leans back against Yoongi’s chest between your knees with Hobi curled up between Jins knees, and Tae between Koo’s with one of his legs thrown over Tae’s shoulder as he fidgets with a rip in Koo’s jeans. The fireplace is roaring, fat raindrops pelt the windows, and Tae’s favorite jazz mix plays softly in the background. The long day of events runs through your mind like a roll of film, buzzing softly but you finally feel like it's okay to accept the love they just keep offering to you for nothing in return. It's exhilarating but your heart is at ease all the same. 

In your hand you observe the child growing inside of you and you take a deep content breath and nuzzle further into Jungkook’s side. He’s been just as content if not more since seeing the baby for the first time. Since seeing your face light up in a way he had not experienced yet. Now you were glowing and warm and he swore to himself that he would do his damndest to keep it that way. With his cheek pressed into your hair he observed the photo with you over your shoulder, imagining teeny tiny hands that looked like yours and smiled, kissing your temple. He smiled more when your chest rose a little higher, your body shivering against his as you let out a shaky breath. 

“Someone help. I can’t find it. Where is it?” Jin whines and everyone bickers at him for not being able to see it, laughter in their voices as they tease him. Namjoon attempts to point it out but you giggle when he’s too far over. Behind you, Koo chuckles and points at the baby in Jin’s picture. 

“It's this little bug right here.” He says and you smile at the nickname. 

“Little bug. That's so cute.” You say. 

“Looks more like a peanut.” Tae says, looking up at you with a wide boxy smile. This moment feels precious, surrounded by real unconditional love. Welcome to your new beginning Y/n. 

Part Six

Master List

Part Eight

#jungkook #BTSau #AU #Fanfiction #bts fanfic #pregnancy au #OT7 dads #single dad au #jungkook x reader #kookie #namjoon #joonie

[pxedpiper]

Horizon (15)

Plot Summary: Once a princess of a kingdom you loathed to call yours, you have somehow found yourself aboard a pirate ship, stuck on the ocean waves. Now you try to figure out how to escape them, but as you continue to journey with them, you find yourself wondering if you even want to.

Pairings: Ateez x Reader

Content Warnings: Mentions of death and sexual implications throughout the fic, nothing ever specified in detail

Previous / Masterlist / Next

A/N: It didn’t take me a month this time thank god, also i apologize for the likely very inaccurate battle, i did the best i could rip. Also i think i have finally settled on a boy for this fic and i’m certain the answer surprises NO ONE rip

Fighting with an enemy was different than training with San and Wooyoung. For one thing, while they certainly never went easy on you, you knew you were safe in their hands as they would never do anything to hurt you. You couldn’t say the same for Sweet’s men, who attacked you with the viciousness of a rabid dog, wanting nothing more than to kill you if they couldn’t bring you back alive. While it was certainly different, it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle as your sword clashed with one of Sweet’s men’s. You managed to push him away from you using the sword as you then turned to fight someone else who was trying to sneak up on you, Yunho taking over fighting the other one. For the most part, you stayed on the defensive side, not wanting to attack unless prompted, and tried your best not to get too scratched up to the point you couldn’t fight.

Looking around quickly, you spotted Yeosang fighting alone, quickly making your way to his side without letting your guard up, “The others leave you on your own?”

“Or they figured I didn’t need help!” Yeosang tried to argue, but his point was proven wrong when someone tried to attack him from the side and you had to step in, disarming them and slashing at them so they wouldn’t be able to pick up the sword again.

“You were saying?” You raised an eyebrow before continuing to fight someone else, “Maybe leaving the medic to fend for themselves isn’t a good idea after all.”

“I have years of experience over you, thank you very much,” He huffed, though you could tell he wasn’t actually upset with your teasing, still continuing his own fight, “I assure you I’ve got everything handled over here, you just focus on yourself and make sure no one tries to pull anything shifty!”

“They’re pirates, they’re all trying to pull something shifty!” You yelled back, nonetheless listening to his request and making your way through the crowd of fighting pirates. From then on, it was the same as before, try to defend yourself while helping as many of the others as you could. You couldn’t tell how much time had passed since the battle began, it feeling like an eternity even though in reality it couldn’t have been more than at most an hour. You managed to not suffer from many major injuries so far, but you weren’t sure how much more you were willing to push your luck and try to tempt fate.

It was then that you managed to take a look at the enemy’s ship; you had stayed on The Utopia instead of going on board the other, and you were only now getting to see what was happening on the other side. You could see San and Wooyoung doing a decent job of keeping themselves safe, but when you went to see what was going on between Hongjoong and Sweet, you became worried. Hongjoong wasn’t fairing poorly by any means, but you could tell he was having trouble and you didn’t trust Sweet enough to not try to pull something unexpected, so you quickly made your way onto the other ship, fighting anyone who tried to block your way.

“(Y/N)?” Wooyoung shouted above the noise, “What are you doing here? I thought you stayed aboard The Utopia!”

“I have to help Hongjoong!” You yelled back, trying to fight your way through the crowd of pirates, “Cover for me while I try to get to him!”

“You’re insane!” He replied, but nonetheless did what you said with a grin on his face, “But you got it! I’ll keep them off you!”

“That’s all I need, thank you!” You exclaimed gratefully, focusing more on being able to get to Hongjoong now that you had Wooyoung backing you up. Unlike you, Wooyoung had no reservations about killing whoever got in your way, which might’ve normally made you uneasy, but at the time all you could think of was getting to Hongjoong as quickly as possible, so you paid it no mind. Ignoring the blood that inevitably stained your skin and clothes, you slowly made your way to where Hongjoong was still managing to fight off Sweet.

“This is where I’ll leave you, Princess! Do enjoy the rest of your first pirate battle!” Wooyoung practically sang out, giving you a cheeky bow and running away to fight someone else before you could yell at him for his princess comment. Ignoring Wooyoung’s ridiculousness, you took a deep breath and pulled out your pistol, purposely aiming it to just barely miss Sweet’s head as you shot to gain his attention.

“Hey, Sweet!” You yelled, keeping his attention on you, “It’s me you want, isn’t it? Then come and catch me!” Taking off in a run, you don’t miss Sweet’s wicked smile as he begins to chase after you, nor do you pay much attention to Hongjoong’s shout of, “No, (Y/N), what are you doing?!” Focusing only on making sure Sweet stayed away from Hongjoong, you dashed your way across the ship, it’s layout much different from The Utopia’s, dodging other pirate attacks as you went.

“You’ve truly become so brave, little bird, challenging me yourself!” You could hear his gruff voice yell out in what almost sounded like glee, “But I’m afraid you’ve found yourself a little in over your head! Do you really think you, a delicate little princess, could ever match up to me, a pirate captain years your senior? You may have the look of a pirate now, but your place is in a castle, not a battlefield! Sorry to-!” He was cut off by you slashing at him, managing to give him a cut to the chest, nothing too deep to deter him, but enough to leave him shocked.

“My place,” You began slowly, “is wherever I choose it to be. And I choose my place to be on The Utopia, to be with the others. My place is to be with Hongjoong. My place is to be free. And you can’t take that away from me!” You slashed again, catching him in the arm this time, but Sweet finally gained his bearings enough to fight back, you just barely managing to dodge his counter attack before he would’ve rendered your arm useless.

“This little bird’s learned to put some bite behind her chirp, I see,” He taunted, but you could tell he was no longer playing any games, “That’s fine, then. You want to be a pirate so badly? Then you’ll die as one along with the little crew you care so much for!” He made to attack again, but you quickly dodged again, using the chaos around you to your advantage as you ducked into one of the rooms, Sweet getting caught up in the crowd. You knew it wouldn’t be long until he found you, but you paid it no mind as you took in your surroundings, seemingly to have run into the dinning hall of sorts. Finding nothing you could use as a weapon, you hid yourself behind a pile of barrels, making sure that you were completely hidden before Sweet burst into the room, looking around like a man on a mission.

“Oh, come on now, little bird~,” His voice rang out in what almost sounded like a song that made your skin crawl, “You can’t hide from me! This is my ship you’re on now, not that foolish Pirate King’s! I know every nook and cranny of every room, there isn’t anywhere you can go where I won’t find you!” Moving around the room, you could see his back turn to you and as silently as you could, you went to strike again, but he quickly turned around and blocked your attack, classic wicked smile upon his face, “Ah, there you are, little bird~!” Pushing you back, he managed to quickly disarm you, your sword clattering to the ground feet away from you. Thinking he had you cornered, he made to attack again but was quickly stopped by you pulling out your dagger, blocking his sword from hitting you anywhere vital.

“Learned some new tricks, have you?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

“You don’t know half of what I’ve learned,” You responded, making a move to fight again. It was now close combat vs ranged fighting, and you could tell Sweet was having more difficulty than expected, though by no means was he was losing the fight. You were too speedy for him to catch, and your small size compared to his made it easy for you to be able to evade his attacks as well as make it more difficult for him to avoid yours.

“You know,” You started, not letting up in any of your attacks, “I was terrified of you when we met. I was exactly what you said, a delicate little princess with no defense whatsoever, the perfect victim for someone like you. You scared me so much, that when people actually reached out to help me, I acted terrible to them, because I thought they were just like you. A despicable, disgusting, vile monster of what couldn’t even be called a man, who would trade and sell people at an instant if it meant getting what he wanted. But, I learned. I learned, and I grew, both in strength and mind, into something much stronger than what you ever expected me to be. I’m not your little bird anymore, Sweet, I’m much, much more powerful than that!” From there, you managed to slice his face open, blood instantly pouring from the wound, making him pause in his steps for a moment, silence filling the room. But, just as you thought that maybe you had gotten him better than you thought, he began to laugh, the sound filling the room in the evilest way.

“Well, well, you certainly have gotten bolder,” He said, his voice filled with merciless joy as he looked at you, his bloody face making him look all the more terrifying, “But I’m afraid it’s not enough to save you, Princess. The time for games is over, no more fooling around!” From there, he moved quickly, quicker than you had time to comprehend, before pinning you to the ground, his sword pointed at your throat, “I had hoped to have a bit more fun with you before killing you, maybe kill the others first and letting you watch, but clearly, you need to be dealt with immediately. Hope your Pirate King won’t cry too much at seeing your mangled corpse-!”

“The only thing he’ll be seeing is the look you’ll give as the light of life finally leaves your eyes,” Another voice called out, the both of you turning your heads to see who it was.

“Hongjoong!” You exclaimed in relief, glad to see the face of your captain, even though his usual smile was missing from his face, anger clear in his expression.

“Ah, come to save your little whore, have you?” Sweet grinned, his teasing attitude returning, “What, was the sex that good that you’d gotten attached?”

“You don’t talk about her that way,” Hongjoong growled, having finally had enough of Sweet’s baiting, “And you don’t get to lie on top her like that. Get up, Sweet, and fight me like a true man. You wanted a fight with me, come and get it!”

“I thought you’d never ask!” Sweet cackled, getting off you and rushing at Hongjoong, who easily blocked his attack, grabbing onto your dagger which had fallen from your grasp. Quickly, you rolled off your back, standing back up and looking for your sword to try to join him.

“Don’t move, just stay there!” Hongjoong ordered, not taking his eye off Sweet, blocking another one of his attacks before quickly countering with his own.

“I can help!” You argued.

“I’d rather you just stay safe! It’s too much of a mess out there, the closer you are to me, the better!” He managed to get out between movements, the battle with Sweet becoming more intense. Leaving you with little to no choice or room to argue, you watched as Hongjoong fought against Sweet once more. You weren’t sure what it was, but for whatever reason, whatever was holding Hongjoong back before was gone now, him having no difficulty in keeping up with Sweet’s moves and even confounding the brute with his own. What got you most was the look on his face, every time you had seen him deal with Sweet before, he’d have a cold and calculating look, maybe annoyed if Sweet tried him enough. But here, he just looked outright furious, as if he’d hated Sweet more that he could ever hate anyone before. You’d never seen him this angry before, and you couldn’t think of what could have possibly caused it, but you weren’t about to complain, because he was winning. Whatever had angered Hongjoong, it was apparently exactly what he needed, as the battle continued on, Sweet reaching near the end of his limit. While you were upset that you couldn’t help, it was very apparent that your help wasn’t needed, and you just watched as Hongjoong finally managed to disarm him, cornering him against the wall.

“Well, Sweet,” Hongjoong stated, his voice filled with cold hatred, “Here we are. It seems I am the better of the two of us after all. I told you, you could never be the Pirate King.”

“Yes, it does seem to be the case,” Sweet chuckled, this time his voice filled with defeat rather than amusement, “Now, go ahead and finish the job. Kill me.”

Hongjoong was silent for a moment before saying, “No. That’s not for me to decide.”

“It’s not?” Sweet raised an eyebrow.

“It’s not?” You echoed softly, confused at Hongjoong’s meaning.

“It’s not,” He confirmed, before walking over to you, “It’s hers.” He held out your dagger to you, giving you the choice of how you wanted to end this.

“Me?” You questioned, looking at him worriedly, “Hongjoong, I don’t-!”

“You’re the one who’s been hurt the most by Sweet and is the most at risk if your parents find out where you are,” He cut you off, explaining his actions to you, “It’s only fitting that you decide the final fate of this monster. Whatever you choose, I will respect, I swear to you as your captain. But the choice is yours.” Slowly, you reached out and gripped your dagger, your mind racing as you walked in front of Sweet, looking the most pathetic as you had ever seen him.

“Well, isn’t this a sight? The little bird’s about to take her first life. It’s a momentous occasion, better remember it well,” He spoke, not giving up his teasing nature even in defeat.

You stood there, making no move to strike yet, instead saying, “When we met, I was certain you were going to kill me and everyone on board that damn ship. You had all the power in the world, and I was just going to be another victim to another ruthless pirate. But now, things have switched around, haven’t they? Now I’m the one with the power, and you’re the one who’s in danger of dying, and I bet you hate that, don’t you? You hate the fact that you were beaten, not only by someone younger than you, but the fact that the person who’ll kill you is a ‘delicate little girl’ who grew up in a palace rather than on the sea. That’s what people will know you for, they won’t know you as some feared pirate, they’ll know you as the weakling who got killed by a princess.”

“Save the speech, little bird, and be done with it. Davy Jones waits for no man, after all,” Sweet replied, merely closing his eyes as you raised your arms, poised to strike. You took deep breaths, trying to calm down enough to be able to swing down, but looking at him was making you faulter. Your mind was racing, recalling every word that San and Hongjoong had told you:

“Sooner or later you’re going to have to kill someone. It’s inevitable.”

“If at any point your life is in danger, you can’t hesitate to kill, alright?”

Your head swirling, you raised your dagger even higher before finally swinging down, a shout leaving your throat as you shut your eyes. Silence filled the room, no one making a sound as time seemed to stand still.

But then, “What?” You opened your eyes to look into the beady, but confused eyes of Elias Sweet, very much alive still. Your dagger had struck the wooden wall next to his head, an inch away from his eternal doom. “Why?” He demanded, “Why are you leaving me alive?!”

“Because,” You started, “As much of a monster you are, you’re still human. And maybe I am still that delicate little girl, because I just can’t bring myself to take another human’s life. Besides, if you die, you don’t suffer, but if you live, you have to live with the reputation that the only reason you’re alive, is because a woman weaker than you spared your life. I think that’s a more fitting punishment, don’t you?” You turned to Hongjoong, giving him a nod, “Let’s go.” Nodding back at you, you both turned to leave, barely making it a few steps before you heard a shout from behind you.

Sweet, finally at his limit, had dislodged your dagger from where it was stuck in the wall, and charged at you while you weren’t looking, holding you in a lock as your own dagger was at your throat. Caught off guard, you were paralyzed as you looked at Hongjoong in shock and fear, thinking for a second this was truly how were going to die. You shouldn’t have worried, however, as the second he grabbed you and made to speak, Hongjoong turned around and quickly shot him in the head with his gun, not letting him get a word in before he dropped onto the floor, finally dead. Still in shock, you took a step forward and buckled, Hongjoong quickly catching you before you fell onto the floor.

“Is-Is he-?” You stammered, your mind racing again as you tried to process the events that just took place.

“He’s dead,” Hongjoong confirmed, brushing your hair back from your face, “I’m sorry I didn’t do as what you wanted, but he broke the deal, he wasn’t supposed to attack you after he lost, and if I didn’t, he was going to kill you, so-!” He was cut off by you burying your face in his chest, the severity of the situation starting to finally set in.

“I couldn’t do it, Hongjoong,” You cried out, “I know you said to kill if necessary, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it, I just couldn’t!”

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” He replied, holding you close to him as he rubbed your back comfortingly, “I’m sorry you had to witness that, but he’s gone now. He’s dead, and he can’t bother you anymore. I just wish you had stayed on The Utopia where it’s safer, that way he wouldn’t have gone after you and you wouldn’t be covered in blood.”

“It’s not mine, mostly,” You sniffled, looking up at him, “Most of it’s from Wooyoung making a way for me to get to you. I’m alright, aside from a couple hits, but shouldn’t be anything Yeosang can’t handle.”

“Still, the sight of him on top of you while you looked entirely bloody… I’ll always hate the image of it,” He scowled before giving you a soft smile, taking your hand, “Now, let’s go back, shall we? Let’s go back home.” Home. It was only a ship away, but the thought of it still warmed your heart.

You returned the smile, grasping onto his hand tightly, “Let’s.”

#ateez pirate au #ateez fanfic #ateez scenarios #ateez fanfiction #ateez imagines #hongjoong fanfic #seonghwa fanfic #yunho fanfic #yeosang fanfic #san fanfic #mingi fanfic #wooyoung fanfic #Jongho fanfic

[ecoamerica]

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[yugyummygot7reactions]

Into the Night - 1

Prelude | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 |

New chapter posted every day from now to 10/31!! at 8pm EST!!!

Pairing: Bam Bam x You

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 1868

Warnings: ABO dynamic

It was up to you to fix this before your family could find out. You didn’t know what the monsters were, what they looked like, what they wanted, or how to find them, but you knew you had a new calling.

Take them down.

The darkness filled the field and you could barely see ahead of you. Your crossbow in one hand and a high strength flashlight in the other were all you had to stop these things from escaping and destroying the real world. You knew from your training that there were 11 kinds of monsters in this realm. Vampires, werewolves, demons, sirens, succubi, warlocks, ghosts (both friendly and not so friendly), zombies, faeries, trolls, and shape-shifters. The other monsters were kept in a different realm, guarded by a different family in an undisclosed part of the world. 

You knew how to stop each monster, but you were never taught how to get them back into their realm, especially now that the incantation closed the portal for at least another year. 

You began to run through the corn fields into the woods that surrounded the seemingly harmless warehouse. You were sure you saw at least one of the clumps of smoke fly in this direction, and at this point, that was the best and only lead you had.

Running through the forest you hear a large growl. You tried to follow the sound but it seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time and was impossible to follow.

The growl stopped and you heard two twigs break beneath a creature behind you. You spin fast and see what looks like a man and wolf hybrid run passed you before howling at the not yet full moon.

“Who’s there?” You yelled into the woods, crossbow pointed at the direction you saw the creature go in.

“The big bad wolf.” you heard whispered into your ear. 

You turn and immediately fire an arrow at the creature, but it grabs it without a second thought.

“Nice try my little kitten, but to beat this wolf you need better game than that.” The man said before his eyes lit up a breathtaking amber and he approached you. His features were slightly distorted and he had a bit more hair than a normal human should, but he otherwise looked to be nearly normal.

He disappeared for a moment and then the sound of him sniffing was happening behind you, followed by another growl, and a needy whine as he reappeared from the darkness and nuzzled his face into your neck, licking and scraping his fangs across the flesh as you shuddered.

“I’m Bam,” He said as he took your scent in. You were getting turned on by this creature when you should have been killing him and you didn’t know what to do. 

“You’re a werewolf.” you said, trying to hold in your sanity, his earthy smell had you captivated. 

His fangs ran across your neck again and you moaned softly as he focused on a particularly sensitive part. He shuddered and wrapped his hands around your waist, pulling you into him with his face still buried in your neck. 

One clawed hand focused down into your pants, making you gasp as a claw scraped gently across your clit, your hips bucking as you could hear a small growling chuckle from right beside your ear as he bit your lobe and tugged. 

“Don’t worry, kitten, this big bad wolf won’t bite hard enough to cause you any trouble.” You felt his smirk along your neck, “Unless you’d rather join the side of the hunted instead of the hunter.”

You shivered at that thought. It both excited and terrified you. You grew up knowing the secrets of the supernatural world, but never had the choice to choose to be a part of it yourself. 

“I can’t betray my family.” you struggled to say.

“Loyalty. I like that.” he whispered as he pulled you in closer. “I can sense you would be a fine omega if you joined me.” He began to pull your pants down slightly, “This alpha would make you into the best bitch the realm had ever seen.” He pulled his clawed hands away from your core before smelling and licking your slick off of them. “A strong omega indeed, you could bear the finest of pups with me, you know.”

His one hand dove back in and continued its assault on your core through your panties as the other suddenly ripped through your shirt and bra roughly in one fell swoop, the scraps of clothing quickly moved to let your chest fall out. You could feel what was left of your shirt sliding down your shoulders as you bucked into his hand.

“Oh fuck, Bam!” You whimpered out needily as the hand that had ripped off your shirt started twisting and tugging at your nipple. You could see his face out of the corner of your eye and the glint of his teeth drew your attention to the wolfish grin on his face as he played with your body so excitedly. He leaned down and bit your shoulder, making you cry out and arch your back into his hands before he licked the mark softly, as though a soft primal way of telling you he knew you were his even if only for tonight. You couldn’t help but pant, a hand coming behind you to run in Bam’s dark black hair as a pleased growl came through his chest.

“I promise that wasn’t enough to make you mine. That, I won’t do without your consent.”

“I can’t” you breathed, finally dropping the crossbow and flashlight and giving in to your desires. Pleasure first, work later.

You knew that was the wrong mentality, but what could an extra few minutes do to your timeline?

When the light fell it angled up and you could see his features more clearly now. he had a strong jaw and cheek bones, his eyes pierced into your soul, his lips were in a permanent pillowy pout with his fangs hanging slightly out, and his disheveled hair made him look like he had just been fucked 100 times before this. He ran his hands along your body and pulled you close again. His radiating heat keeping you warm on this cool October night and his rock hard, throbbing cock pressing right up against your core.

“Stop teasing me!” you begged, squirming on his knee then looking back to him the best you could in this position, catching the pure lust in his amber hued animalistic eyes as you quivered in his touch, “Alpha, please! I need your cock in me!”

He responded quickly to that, and before you knew it you were on your hands and knees, the grass and dirt of the forest floor able to be felt pressing against your skin even better with how sensitive this all had made you. Bam yanked what little bit of clothing you had left off of you, his cock pressing against your entrance as he snarled, claws digging into your hips a little as he pulled you closer. You gasped, about to say something about the size of his swelling dick not being able to fit before he started thrusting anyways, shallow thrusts at first, pushing into you with each stab at your core, causing your eyes to roll up at the foreign sensation. He growled and kept going until one particularly hard thrust left him sheathed fully inside you as you screamed out into the empty forest. 

He stopped for a small moment, seeming pleased with himself before a small throb of your pussy sent a shudder through him and he pressed his whole body on top of yours, thrusting fast and hard as he drew more sounds from your mouth as your jaw hung slack at the feeling. You could tell he wanted more than just a quick fuck. He wanted to mate, to breed, to claim. You couldn’t let him.

One hand wove in your hair, tugging lightly as he thrust as the other hand made its way back to your chest to grope and squeeze while the claws scraped gently against your nipple. It felt so good, he was making it hard to think of anything but his cock thrusting savagely inside of you, the sound of skin against skin piercing through the quiet night air of the forest as his thrusts started to get harder, moving you roughly against the forest floor before he growled in annoyance at this, wrapping a hand around your waist and pulling you up to bounce on his cock instead.

“I can’t wait to watch you take my knot.”

He held you up by your hips, pounding into you as he forced you up and down on his cock with rabid strength, your chest bouncing freely in the air as your tongue lolled out of your mouth from sheer pleasure. You felt his hips start to stutter as he chased his end, clearly getting close.

“You can’t knot me. I can’t-” He silenced you with a hand around your throat.

“Without a mating bite I can’t breed you, kitten.” He squeezed your neck tighter. “And you won’t tell me yes.” He whined before a loud pant escaped his bitten lips.

He growled out roughly into your ear as he came and the sheer possessiveness of the sound accompanied by his knot and firm grip had you lost in the moment. You squirted roughly all over his cock, unable to hold it anymore as your vision went white and you almost went limp as he bit again at the back of your neck, hips stroking into you a time or two more before you felt a large knot swell and lock him in place, causing you to gasp and squirm a bit before he grunted and held you still, licking once more at the shallow teeth marks he’d left before nuzzling into you as you panted and leaned against him, reaching up and scratching behind one of the ears.

“For now, you are mine,” he growled, moving your hair out of your face, removing some rogue leaves and twigs. “In the morning, you will be mine no more.”

You faded into blackness in his arms as the words left his mouth.

The next time you awoke, it was daylight. You had a t-shirt and sweatpants on that were not yours and the earth below you where you slept was damp. Your crossbow and flashlight were laying against a nearby tree and it was then you realized what you were supposed to be doing now and what transpired last night.

“Oh shit!!” you yelled as you gathered your things and began to run to look for any traces of the monsters. “I let him get away.”

As you looked down you saw a signature carved lightly into your arm. It read ‘Bam.’

You knew the hybrid was long gone and finding him would be difficult until the full moon on halloween. You had to let him go for now. You didn’t even know how far of a head start he had or how long you had been out for.

You cursed under your breath and headed into the nearby town, thinking you had a moment alone during the run there to sort out your thoughts. 

Little did you know, you were far from alone.

_______________________________________________________________________

Hello My Lovelies!!!!

I am back with a new series for halloween!!! Are y’all excited??? Who do you think I made what monster/creature? I’d love to know who you think is next and what they are.

Let me know! Comments are always appreciated <3

~LoLo

#got7 #into the night #got7 smut #bam bam #bambam #bam bam smut #bambam smut #kunpimook #kunpimook bhuwakul #yugyummygot7reactions #werewolf

[fairyscribbles]

Tree. (Namjoon, zombie!au)

Wow, this is a long time no see, is it not? :) I hope you enjoy this slightly angsty story. I will post an update about my life in a few days, I promise!! <3 

- 

Namjoon looked up from the documents he was frowning at as a knock sounded on his door. When he saw you slipping into his office and clicking the lock behind you, he couldn't help but smile, already leaning back in his chair and spreading his legs slightly, a clear invitation to take a seat. You did so with a Cheshire grin on your face, hand immediately smoothing down the strands of Joon's hair, quite uselessly. You're about to mess them up soon, either way."Report," his voice rumbled playfully, large palms settling over your hips, dragging you closer to him so your chests pressed together.

"Time for your mandatory break, leader," you played along, thumb swiping against the bags under Joon's eyes in a nurturing manner. The chest pressed up against yours shook with laughter, and Joon slid his hands up your body to cup at your cheeks and pull you in for a kiss that was long overdue.

You couldn't exactly pinpoint the moment when you two became an item. You probably couldn't even say when this began.

There was that one time the two of you couldn't get back to the tower in time, a while ago when it was still necessary for every able-bodied individual to participate in runs. It was a mixture of adrenalin, fear of the future and the extreme need to be held that had the two of you reaching for each other like people starved.

After that, you had no talk about what you were. The two of you weren't exactly a secret, Jungkook walked in on the two of you more than he'd like (hence the newly installed lock on Joon's office door), but you weren't as public about your relationship as Hobi and the Doctor.

This was enough for you, you settled with a little sigh as your lips molded against his, and you wiggled in Joon's lap for comfort.

As you rubbed against him, Namjoon groaned deep in his throat, hands sliding down the expanse of your back to perch on your ass, swatting at it as you giggled at the rumbled "behave" that left his lips.

Namjoon led the tower with a firm hand, but it never slipped into dictatorship or terror as you had heard from other groups. He fairly often offered his position up for taking and consulted each decision with as many people as he could.

He was a good leader, fair, kind, but also able to make decisions a few would. He relied on the whole group, and he was a shoulder you could lean on when the night got a little too dark.

And that's what you hoped you were to him at this point.

Many times Joon was the first one to rise and the last to sleep, hunched over maps of scavenged territories, scheduled runs, and inventory documents, trying to figure out the necessary steps that needed to be done. Even though he no longer participated in runs, he was still as active as he was before, when he was jumping from roof to roof.

You felt his body relax underneath you, the lazy smile that stretched over his lips evident as he trailed kisses down your neck. The tenseness of his shoulders disappeared under your touch, which you encouraged with a hum, gently grinding down into his crotch. Joon responded in kind, nipping at your neck in playful warning.

"If you keep this up, I won't get back to work when I'm supposed to," he warned and you laughed, scratching at his scalp.

"Oh my god, I would totally hate if you ended up kissing me all afternoon. Please don't," sarcasm heavy on your tongue, you laughed when Joon sent another swat to your ass.

You dipped down to kiss him once more, when you suddenly felt your skin vibrate in something you hadn't experienced in a while. You couldn't have been imagining it, because Joon tensed up as well, brows furrowing as he tried to locate the source of the sound.

As if a switch went off, it both came to you at the same time and you few off his lap, ripping the door open as Joon grabbed at the radio, ordering all runners to find near shelters and get out of sight.

From the windows, you saw the military truck, mounted with numerous blades, spikes and spears which were getting overwhelmingly weighed under by the mass of dead bodies that blindly followed the booming music resonating from the two venue sized speakers on top of the truck.

All the masses of undead had flown to the source of disturbance, looking like ants from the top of the building. With how loud the truck was, you knew it was not only the walkers that were coming, but also the rabid virals that were much quicker.

You reached the entrance to the tower out of breath and turned on the electric traps while grabbing at the radio stationed near the two alert guards.

"The entrance is armed, I repeat, the entrance is armed," you huffed, trying to catch your breath.

"Do NOT return to the tower," but you watched with mouth agape as someone sprinted around the corner, two virals on their trail. Before you could say anything, the person launched themselves in the air, somersaulting over the electrified fence and landing in the rubble on the other side.

The mindless zombies ran straight into the trap, and before they could attempt to flee, their nerves were charred and the smell of rotten burning flesh got in the air.

Quickly shaking off, the runner rose and climbed the barricades to safety. Jungkook was bleeding from where he cut his palms as he landed in the rubble, and he had a smaller gash on his forehead, but other than that he was fairly okay, and it was okay for you to smack him up the side of his head for scaring the soul out of you, something you just told him. Jungkook grinned sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck.

"Sorry, noona," he murmured, wiping at his bloodied brow. "The tower was the closest safehouse for me."

"And the one near the van?" you handed out the melee weapons to the two guards- after the drama with the girl who saved Yoongi's life, guns were forbidden by the entrance, replaced by spiked bats, axes and machetes.

"It's overrun. Some of the virals smashed through the front entrance and there were already some walkers in there." your heart dropped as you heard this. Before you could ask, Jungkook beat you to it.

"None of ours were there. I checked it out and cleaned some of the walkers when the two virals saw me." you sighed out in relief, walking over to the windows. The music was harder to hear now, slowly going farther away, leaving behind empty streets. The further away the car was, the more runners began to check in.

Hope was just fine, monitoring the situation from the nearby watchtowers. Yoongi took the opportunity to practice his aim and test out of well his homemade silencer worked.

And when you looked over at Jungkook, he had a look on his face as if he was the king of the world. His smugness and the amount of injuries on him didn't match him just escaping two virals.

You eyed him warily.

"What did you do?" he shook the backpack in his hand, before throwing it to you.

"Finally got there." your heart got stuck in your throat as you wasted no time in ripping it open, eyes almost glittering in happiness at the amount of pills that spilled out.

"You didn't!" you exclaimed and immediately rummaged through it, checking what he got. Painkillers, cough drops, anti-inflammatory pills, disinfectants, numerous bandages at the bottom, and so much more.

"I wasn't quite sure what to take, so I just got the basics. When hyung writes me a list, I'll go back at take some more."

"Did you keep it open?" Jungkook shook his head.

"Lured in two walkers and then locked the door. Covered it with some rubble, just like I found it. I hid some things that seemed to look important away and ransacked the place, so it looks like it's been raided. Tried to do more, but I heard the music." Jungkook frowned, but nevertheless you threw your arms around his neck, hugging him tight. You knew how low you were running on some specific medicine, and just this backpack stocked you up for weeks.

"You're a hero, Kookie," you cooed, pulling back to press a kiss against the smudged cheek. Underneath the soot, you could see the blush shining through as a tiny giggle escaped his lips.

"Ah, noona..." he mumbled in embarrassment, wiping at his forehead. The wound didn't look very dangerous, but you still took it up to pull out one of the disinfectants Jungkook scavenged to clear it out. The two of you shuffled away from the entrance, leaving the two guards to peer over the ledge and make sure no stray walkers found their way inside.

"So, you saw the van even before?" you asked as you soaked a piece of cloth with the alcohol. Jungkook winced before he nodded.

"Yeah, they went down the main road. There was quite a bit of walkers behind them, because of the music. The women also shot at them, so it brought even more traffic in."

"Women?" you jumped, not even realizing when Namjoon joined the two of you. Jungkook's eyes twinkled as he looked up at his hyung, nodding.

"Yeah, they had assault rifles and also explosives. They threw some in the crowds every now and then, thinning the herd."

"Did you recognize anyone there?" you gently pressed your thumb against the crease between Kook's eyebrows, as he frowned in thought.

"I don't think so. I'm not sure, they had these weird masks over their faces."

"Masks?"

"Yeah, like red masks with a white hand over it? Remember Lord of the Rings, hyung? Something like that." It was Namjoon's turn to frown, his look souring. You reached out, grabbing at his hand in comfort, but the squeeze he returned was feeble at best.

"Damn," he cursed, running a hand through his hair and biting at his lower lip in frustration.

"I gotta go." your stomach dropped, as he turned on his heel, leaving both you and Kook staring after him in alarm. Both of you turned to look at each other, puzzled and confused. Torn between wanting to follow him and ask what's going on and to stay behind and tend to Jungkook's wound, you silently watched as Namjoon took the bare necessities and ordered the electric trap to be turned off, before he disappeared over the ledge, leaving the building.

"Where did he go, noona?"

You wished you could answer him.

-

It has been a while since Namjoon had gone out alone. It has been a while since he had gone out, period, but even when he did assign himself a run, the others made sure he would be accompanied by the more experienced runners. There was not much need for him to be with someone, anyways- the streets were almost cleared out completely. If there wasn't as much rubble and occasional fires sprouting up, he could pretend as if no apocalypse happened in the first place.

The wind was blowing softly, ruffling through his hair and bringing the stench of death to his nostrils. The smell that would have made him puke just mere months ago now seems like something natural to him. He tenses only once the stench increases, signifying the approach of an enemy; luckily, he seems to be following the van's tracks meticulously, because all the fast virals are gone, and only a straggler shuffling from inside appears here and there. Even so, he doesn't take any chances and opts travelling on rooftops when possible.

He heard of the rumors, but he didn't want to believe them. It seemed surreal, but seeing the van on his own eyes, and hearing Jungkook speak of the people using it confirmed his suspicions.

He travelled swiftly, jumping from one roof to another, using the ground only if absolutely necessary. There weren't many walkers he offed, some stragglers who got stuck when the van passed their way, only now getting loose. He still had some time left before the sun went down, but he didn't want to waste any chances.

The army base on the outskirts of town was said to be abandoned and overrun with dead soldiers. Since there is a theory that the sounder the body was before the infection, the more dangerous zombie it would create, people steered clear from the institution of possibly extremely agile undead shuffling about. The closer he got, the more disposed bodies appeared to be lying on the ground. Here and there, he saw crucified zombies, warning signs for the living to turn back, and yet he ignored them all. Normally, he wouldn't so easily walk into a human settlement; just because his people and the tower were friendly didn't mean that the others wanted to keep humanity afloat. He already heard of gangs overpowering smaller groups, of mafia hoarding the important supplies and trading them for guns or people. There was talk of human trafficking, of gladiator style games being set up where prisoners desperately fought against unleashed zombies without a weapon.

He might be making a grave mistake, Namjoon thought to himself, frowning, as he neared the reinforced gates of the institution. Already from afar, he could see at least three assault rifles pointed at him, the women wielding them growling at him to state the reason why he came. He came closer, hands in the air.

"Are you the Harpies?" Namjoon called out, trying to stay calm even though he knew his voice attracted potential undead lurking afar.

"What's it to you?" one of the guards scoffed back, hoisting the gun higher up.

"I'm your leader's husband."

-

The headquarters of the Harpies was full of life, and mostly female. Since he was brought in, he has not seen a man, but instead was met by a horde of battle-toughened women who eyed him suspiciously. It wasn't surprising; he wasn't one of them. There was no white handprint on him, indicating his allegiance to the group. The placement of the handprint didn't seem to be of importance: he saw it on the crown of a bald woman's head, over clothing, printed over someone's throat in a ghastly reminder of how the virus has society in a choke-hold.

Weapons also seemed to be heavily distributed amongst the members. There was not a single woman without some kind of weapon, be it an assault rifle all the way down to a knife strapped over the waist.

After patting him down and disposing of his weapons ("We might give them back...if we don't forget," crooned the guard with a sly grin as she slid his handgun from the holster hidden under his shirt), Namjoon was led down the hangar, instructed to keep his eyes forward. He seemed to attract attention; did they think of him as a hostage? Did he freely turn himself over to the enemy, the sudden thought came to his head. What if they would hold him hostage and blackmail the tower for pharmaceutics or food? A weight suddenly set over his shoulders. He and Yoongi had a mutual understanding on how to deal with situations like these; calmly assess if the price is adequate. If not, see if there is a different way to get one of them out. If not, establish a shrine of remembrance for the fallen comrade, because having one dead is better than dozens. You flashed through his mind just as he reached the end of the hangar, and the door to the former commander's office opened.

A woman stood with her back to him, pondering over a huge map which spread all over one wall. Her hair slicked back, held in a tight braid.

"Boss, there is some guy who says he knows you," came the introduction from one of the guards. Immediately, the woman scoffed.

"Who the fuck has the balls to come over he-" and as she turned and sighted Namjoon, her grumbling cut off, the frown on her face replaced by a ghost of a smile he had remembered from before.

"Namjoon," she breathed out, waving the guards away with a flick of her wrist. Her voice. It still haunts him in his dreams sometimes, calling out for him. And he usually wakes up, the presence of her name on his lips.

"Mina."

-

There were three hours left before the sun came down, and yet you still couldn't stop pacing. Namjoon broke the most vital rules one has to abide when they go out: always say where you're going and have some kind of communication channel on you. Namjoon broke both, and it was unlike him, and it freaked you out.

You tried to entertain yourself by doing other tasks; bringing Jungkook up to the doctor to make sure there were no other injuries on him, before dumping him off at his room to rest. You then took his bag over to Seokjin, who almost wept with happy tears at the sight of so many necessary medicines being dumped on his desk. You catalogued all of them and then made changes on the roster of most vital items the runners had to keep their eyes out for. It did put your mind somewhat at ease, knowing that there were so many items taken off there, and that there is a place where you can go and restock.

That made you call up Jimin and one more runner, marking the pharmacy on their maps and sending them off to see if they can find other necessary items. There was still enough time, as the pharmacy was shockingly close. How could they have missed it?

On your way back from assigning their run, you passed by Yoongi and the girl who rescued him; she recently underwent restorative surgery to have her ankle put back into place, which rendered her basically immobile. The senior runner took it up to help her get from spot A to B. You were glad to see that she is getting used to the tower. Being in isolation for so long can seriously harm a human being, but she is slowly making progress to grow more accustomed to the life here. The kids seem to help- they like her voice and so she and Yoongi make bedtime reading rounds every now and then, reading from the frayed books that were left behind by former residents. Thinking about children had you turning on your heel, walking over to the Teacher. She has been quiet on supplies for a while, especially because Donghun always seemed to scoff at any supplies she asked for. You didn't agree with him- school was necessary even in times like this, to teach the children basic facts about the world, and to give them a semblance of what normal life looked like.

At first she resisted, affirming she needs nothing new, but seeing that the walls of the make-shift classroom have doodles all over them confirmed that they do need some sort of paper, and maybe if they were lucky, some arts and crafts supplies to keep the children busy. You also took note of her state; it seemed to be a struggle for her to get up from the floor, and the cushion probably isn't cutting it anymore as a good seat. You will soon need diapers and possible baby formula.

You visited the doctor afterwards, mentioning the new possible addition to the tower, and asked her if there are any specific items she will need for the procedure. As Joon still didn't turn on his radio or tracker, you had nowhere to be and the initial check-up for the vital things for birthing turned into an inventory checkup of the medical resources. Even though the whole tower voluntarily gave it up in favor of disinfectants, you found out that you were running low on alcohol, and you immediately informed the current runners outside to swipe up whatever hard liquor they could get their hands on. Jimin just sent you a message, informing you on their trip to  the pharmacy- they found everything on the list and more, but still decided to stock up on medicine the tower already had an abundance of - if needed, they could trade it for other material in the long run.

The sun was already low on the horizon as you left the doctor's office. With a shaky hand, you raised the radio to your lips, voice so unsure you almost couldn't let a sound out.

"Joon?" his name got swallowed by the static, and the more you listened to the gritty sound of nothingness coming back at you, taunting you, the more your heart tightened in fear. What is happening?

-

Namjoon would never expect to meet her again in these circumstances; her offering him tea in her great office. Despite being a leader, it was evident that Mina was out on the van mission as well. Her arms, already blackened by new tattoos that ran from her shoulders down to her wrists in bold strikes, had blood splattered all over them. She followed his gaze, smirking.

"Sorry about that," she said nonchalantly, as she wiped down a bit of brain matter from her bicep. "Didn't get enough time to get ready." Giving up on her task, she dropped the towel in a nearby bin, sitting back in her chair.

"I wasn't expecting company, you know." To this, Namjoon chuckled himself. "To be quite honest, I didn't think I would be going around making visits either." it was strange, seeing her like this, so familiar and yet so strange. The face staring at him was the first thing he saw in the morning for many days, and yet looking at her now didn't evoke the same giddiness of love as it had before.

He was filled with apprehension. He felt like he was locked inside a cage with a sleeping tiger, not knowing whether he fed or not.

"Your van stirred up quite a bit of trouble for us." Mina nodded, lifting her legs to rest them on her desk. "Yeah, we usually don't go down there, but we noticed an increased number of walkers." Her striking eyes pierced his, and the breath stuttered in his chest. Even though he felt like he didn't know her, Mina was still beautiful.

"Was it from you?"

"No. We are keeping a good job at staying whole." at in that moment, as something flashed through Mina's eyes, he knew he shouldn't have said that. Something along the lines of pain flickered in them, but it was gone as quickly as it came. Mina gave him a wry smile.

"I'm glad to hear that."

Silence spread among them; nobody quite knew what to say. If he still had it, Namjoon would've been fidgeting with his wedding band at that moment. But that comfort was lost in the apocalypse.

"And so, what are you doing here?" Mina snapped from her thoughts, a smile spreading across her face.

"The world evidently has gone to shit, Namjoon. It has been months, and there has been no outside contact from any government institution. There has been no cure for the bite, apart from immediate amputation if a limb was the source of the disease." Kicking away from her desk, Mina stood up, walking over to the large map painted on the wall. Namjoon took it as an invitation to join her, studying the various symbols spread across the area of the town.

"At this point, we don't operate under the presumption that the people might get better. We expect things will just go downhill from now on. And we need to start cleaning up." Namjoon's stomach dropped at her final sentence. The purge, something Namjoon strongly opposed and tried to stop, is going to happen. He looked up from the map to stare at his former wife's profile, somewhat stunned. How a woman who was adamant about leading the ants out of their kitchen instead of killing them could lean over a map of the city they built their life in and actively plan to get rid of their neighbors, their co-workers, their...

The door slammed open and a woman with a smile that could light up the room entered. Mina's head snapped up and she grinned fully at the newcomer, opening her arms, which the woman took as an invitation to jump into her embrace. Her movements were so full of life, so active, Namjoon only later noticed that her arm was crudely cut at the elbow, something that did not seem to slow her down in the slightest. The white handprint went over the stump from where her forearm would grow.

Namjoon choked at his spit when his former wife and the newcomer shared a kiss, this being the first time they saw each other since Mina returned from the vehicle mission. Not knowing what to do, Namjoon screened the room, trying to find something, anything he could keep his eyes on while his wife greeted her lover. Hearing her chuckle, he turned to her, a sly grin throning on her face. With one arm still wrapped around her lover's waist, she pointed to the area around her neck with a suggestive lifted eyebrow.

"I see you've also been busy in your tower, Joon." red seeped into his cheeks as he pressed down on the new bruise you left behind, and the thought of your earlier escapades made his stomach clench with guilt. He left without telling anyone his whereabouts, without checking in. There was still a couple of hours left for him to return, he analyzed as he looked out the window. It was only after Mina spoke that her lover seemed to have acknowledged his presence.

"Darling, this is Namjoon. He leads a group downtown." She tilted her head in curiosity.

"So you met during the raid today?" Mina laughed at the same time as Namjoon smiled.

"No, we've known each other even before the apocalypse. He probably saw our mark and it reminded him of me." Mina hit the nail on its head. He still remembers the white handprints on the red wall, ones he had passed every time he went to work. Her lover laughed, shaking her head.

"What did you come here to do, Namjoon? Are you here to trade?"

The handprints on the wall stood out, blooming from the bottom, and crowning out into a tree. Namjoon's bigger palmprint was always complemented with Mina's slender fingers.

He shook his head. "I came to offer a chance to merge groups." Mina, whose smile was still civil up to that point, turned sour. With a tightening of her arm, she pulled her lover back to her, pressing a firm kiss to her temple.

"Hyeri, love. Can you give us some privacy? I'll tell you everything tonight." Hyeri, seemingly sensing something important from her lover, nodded in understanding. She returned the gesture, kissing the tip of Mina's nose, which made her giggle slightly, before taking leave.  

The tree seemed to travel through the history of their relationship. Some palm prints would hold small keepsakes, such as the movie tickets of their first date, an old key to the first apartment they rented together, pictures of them with their families, friends...

As the door clicked shut, Mina's gaze turned cold.

"You want to collaborate with the Harpies?" her voice was unlike the one he knew for so many years, and it made a shiver run down his spine.

"We have many doctors," he tried to appease the anger in the woman's face. "Scientists even, ones that are working on trying to find a cure..."

"And have they been successful?" she cut him off, leaning back against the wall. Only then he saw that the wall was covered with pictures of women. Some had a red "X" placed over them. Namjoon knew very well what that meant.

The tree trunk continued with pictures from their wedding. He still vividly remembers the feeling of the day, but the visual aspect of it disappeared in the smoke of the destroyed city. The pictures are still probably stuck to the wall, back in their own apartment, with everything else that makes his heart tug in pain.

"No...I mean, n-not yet, but they could be! Mina, those are our people out there."

"They're not." Mina's glare was stone-cold, and if he did not see the white of her knuckles, he would have thought this was easy for her to speak of.

Their wedding pictures were followed by pictures of house renovations. They bought a run-down apartment near the center of town, and it took a while and many pain-filled days to mold the place in what they hoped would be the home that they would grow old in. It was in a great location; supermarkets were nearby, the public transport was a minute away, parks were near, bordering with a kinder garden.

"They're not our people. If you need to tell yourself that to appease your survivor's guilt, I completely understand that. But they stopped being human the second their eyes turned grey and they reached out to bite at you." Namjoon clenched his jaw, looking away from his former wife.

The following pictures on the family tree were of Namjoon and Mina looking bright and happy. Pictures of Mina's body. A black and white grainy picture which only doctors could decipher but held so much happiness.

"Everybody deals with this pandemic their way, Joon. I cannot sit around and try to keep my women safe, knowing that every day there is more of them and less of us. I need to work on trying to give my people a sense of fulfillment, and if it is by killing the monsters and ensuring our safety, so be it. If it is marked with the price of some of mine dying or losing limbs in the fight, so be it."

The bundle of sheets held the most precious treasure of them all, and it hung from the family tree as a valuable fruit. And the two types of handprints would be joined by another.

"What if it is reversible?" he found that he couldn't speak aloud. The words were as fragile as his belief in them, just barely above a whisper.

"What if we can bring back all those that are suffering at this point?"

"And what if we can't, Namjoon? What if they keep mutating, and there will be a tipping point where they will overpower us?"

He still remembers the days when he would play fight with her. Where he would act as if the tiny hands pushing at his calf were strong enough to topple him down. He would still wake up in a sweat, shivering as he dreamt of a dark lake where the same small hands were pulling him under.

"I don't think I can go around and systematically kill them all, Mina...what about...what about us?" his eyes held too much pain, and it made Mina step up to him and cup his face in her palm. The way she brushed under his eye made him almost believe none of this happened. It almost made him believe that she just woke him up to coax him to a breakfast and then work. He almost didn't want to open his eyes.

He saw them. He saw Mina, holding their daughter. He saw his firm, he saw his colleagues still alive, he saw him and Yoongi drinking beers by the river. He almost thought all of this was just a horrid, horrid nightmare.

But then he opened his eyes, and he was still standing in Mina's office. He saw Mina, eyes full of pain and inherent understanding that there might not be another time they meet. Her hand slid down to his neck, brushing against the hickey that you left behind, and her eyes filled with tears. The last time he saw her crying was when she left him, running off with the protype version of the harpies. The last time he saw her crying...

"Our relationship died when our daughter reached out for me with the intention to kill instead of love." her voice cracked. Something broke in him, and he gathered Mina in his arms. He embraced his wife. The woman that he studied with, dated with, fell in love with. He held tight both the woman who gave birth to their only child and killed it away three years later.

"I will die trying to kill them all, Joon." The hug couldn't have lasted more than mere minutes, but it felt like hours. When Mina pulled away from him, she wiped at her eyes viciously. Turning towards the window, she took a deep breath, and Namjoon could see how she visibly tried to hide all the pain behind the wall of hatred she built. The sun was almost down. He had less than an hour to get back, and he felt tired. So, so tired.

"If you need the help of the Harpies, we will be there. In return, we do expect your help in regards with medical assistance if one of us falls ill. However, we prefer death to undeath."

She turned to him, and he no longer saw his wife.

"If you see me stumbling around the town, Namjoon...please, kill me. I don't want to be them."

"I'm really sorry, Mina. I..." I didn't want this to happen. I didn't want us to end this way, on the opposite spectrum of life. I didn't want to leave the body of our only child underneath the tree of memories we grew for ourselves.

All these words were stuck in his throat and didn't want to leave, and yet Mina understood them all. She smiled at him sadly, secretly glad he did not continue.

"I know, Namjoon. You should go, before the sun falls down."

She led him down the compound, and returned his weapons, as promised. As he turned to say goodbye to his wife, he saw Hyeri standing on the side. She reciprocated his small nod with a wave of her hand.

"Good luck, Mina."

"Stay safe, Namjoon."

----

The tower was already lit up in evening mode. People were slowly heading off to bed, already used to the schedule organized by the sun. Guards changed for the evening, every runner that was scheduled to be on a run returned. All their loot was put into inventory and new lists were made up for the next day. The children were all washed and put into beds. Some of the doctors were already sleeping, preparing themselves for the potential crisis that could happen in the middle of the night.

And yet there was one person still unaccounted for. One person because of which you still didn't turn on the UV light traps.

The sun was already behind the mountains, but the skies were light. There were still a few minutes left before the light would die out and the monsters would come out to hunt the unsuspecting victims.

You were sitting at the edge of the entrance to the tower, legs swinging nervously. A machete lay across your lap and you tested your grip on it every now and then, feeling the weight of it in your hand. Would you be able to do it if the necessity rose up?

The radio was still silent. Namjoon probably didn't even take it with him, so it turned out to be useless at this point. The only thing that was left for you was to wait for him and trust him to come home. The urgency with which he left...it was something that he could not postpone, and something he had to deal with, no doubt. But why did he not tell you?

It wasn't as if you were together together. You were fooling around, were you not? But why did you feel as if your heart were about to jump out of your chest and shatter on the floor when you thought of him getting hurt? Where was he?

"___." deep in your thoughts, you didn't hear him step over the rubble. With a loud gasp and a sob lodging in your throat, you jumped down to meet him, hands flying over his body to ensure that it is indeed him, and he indeed returned in one, unbitten piece.

"Namjoon! Where did you--- what did you..." the tears streamed down your face with no control at this point, and you only did freeze when you felt something drop on the hand resting on his chest. Your skin was unblemished, so it was not blood.

Namjoon was silently crying, gripping you hard as if someone was about to snatch you away from him. His chest shook with held back sobs, and your heart broke to see him like this.

Leaning up on the tips of your toes, you pressed a deep kiss against his plush lips. You slowly helped him get up the barricades, bypass the guards and their questioning looks. You made sure the tower was secure and the night defenses were in place.

Afterwards, you led him to his room. Helped him strip down, wash off the dust and the tears from his broken face. Held him when he couldn't anymore, and after he calmed down, led him to his bedroom, holding him so tight, wishing you could protect him from all the evil in the world.

As the two of you lay in bed, you thought the exhaustion and tears pushed him to sleep, however when you tried to wiggle out from underneath him, he held you tighter.

"Stay." he rumbled quietly, slowly sitting up, pulling you up with him. He heaved a big sigh, running a hand through his damp hair.

"Is...is everything alright?" Namjoon shook his head in response, grabbing at your hand and squeezing it.

"There...there is something I need to tell you." he played with your fingers, looking down at your hands. Bringing them up to his lips, he kissed at your fingertips gently.

"A...a story. About myself. About...why I left today." you nodded in understanding, returning the affection by peppering kisses to the hand you brought up to your face.

"It's a long story," he warned, but you shook your head, dismissing his worries. He stared at you for a bit longer, before reaching over to the nightstand, pulling out several objects. They scattered between the two of you.

A photo of a couple, a suede ring box, and a strand of hair in a little bag. You watched the things, trying to piece them together.

"Before all of this, I was married. Her name was Mina, and we met in university. Shortly after graduating, we moved into our first house and within the first year of living together, Mina gave birth to our daughter. We were very happy; years flew by and they felt like days. That all changed when the sickness came."

#namjoon #rm #kim namjoon #bts #bts namjoon #namjoon bts #rm bts #bts rm #BTS story #bts fic #zombie #zombie au #bts zombie au #namjoon story #rm story #namjoon scenario #bts scenario #rm scenario

[random-mha-thoughts]

Worth (Todoroki x Reader)

Pairing: Todoroki x Reader

Genre: Angst/comfort

Request on my Wattpad: “I was wondering if you can do a Todoroki x wolf reader where the reader is depressed and bullied because of her quirk and her family knows about her wolf quirk and disowns like they think she a disgrace abuse her and doesn't want her and she feels so worthless she gets to a point where she feels not good enough and that she completely loses control of herself and turns into wolf or monster version wolf and Todorki he tries to help her I hope this makes sense and I hope it's ok”

Word count: 2,038

Tags:  @yuki-osaki​ @liviitehe​ @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog​ 

a/n: I’m not terribly happy with this, but it was a different kind of request, and I’m glad I did it.  If it’s cringey, I’m sorry, but I hope it meant something to someone.

Also even though the request indicated female pronouns, I didn’t really use any, so consider this gender neutral.  If anyone was wondering, I wanted the character to be kinda like Atsushi from Bungo Stray Dogs with the hair color and the personality, but also with wolf ears, so do with that info what you will.

I run through the dimly lit streets, tears streaking through my eyes as my heart pounds and chest heaves.  I don't know where I'm going, but I know I have to get out of this hell I call life.  Everything I thought I knew was a lie, I was the only person who didn't know it.

Tripping over my own feet, I finally tumble down a hill and land at the base of a tree, finally stopping my rabid movement, but it doesn't help my mind running five hundred miles a minute.  I turn in on myself, trembling as the darkness surrounds me, clawing at me the same way I grip my legs to my chest.

The image of my parents smiling together with my younger sister is the only thing I see behind my eyelids.  The last time I saw my family, there was nothing but turmoil and contempt.  All the times my sister pulled at my ears, locked me in a closet, and cut me up; all the times my parents punished me by having me sleep outside "like the dog I am" for the slightest misdemeanors.  They used to always argue, there was always screaming in my house.

My former house.

When I got into UA and we were forced to live in the dorms, my parents couldn't look happier.  In front of Aizawa and All Might, they contained the sheer joy they felt like the actors they are, and when my teachers left, they hurried to throw all of my things out the door.

"Finally, we can get rid of her!" they cheered.  I can only watch in horror as they pack all my stuff away before pulling me by the ear and setting me out next to my belongings.

"Don't ever come back!  From now on, you're on your own!"  That was the day I became an orphan.

My parents always had this vendetta against me because of my quirk.  They don't know where it came from, no one in our family even had one like me.  My dad used to always accuse my mom of having an affair with another man after she had me.  I don't know why he ever stayed, if he really believed that was true, but they both looked at me with contempt because of the quirk I shouldn't have.  And then I did the worst thing I could've done: I lost control one day.  When I was playing with my sister, I don't even remember why I got angry, but I bit her and scratched her.  The only person who loved me in that house suddenly became scared, and grew to hate me just as much.

School wasn't any better.  Everyone teased me for being the tamest wolf they've ever seen.

"I thought you were supposed to be scary, you're actually a huge wimp!"

"What kind of hero can you be when you can't even stop mumbling to yourself?"

The only reason I was so quiet is because I couldn't even raise my voice to assert myself in my house without being punished.  My parents were so scared of me losing control again that they put me down for getting the slightest bit aggravated, so I learned to just lay low and stay quiet.  And I couldn't stand up to my bullies for fear of being punished at home.

I'm so ashamed of my quirk.

Going to UA was a dream of mine.  It was my ticket to being able to use my quirk freely, so I can learn to control it to become a great hero.  But I quickly realized how weak I and useless I was in comparison to the other students.  Not being able to use my quirk at home took a toll on me, it was a miracle I even passed the entrance exam.

Today was particularly bad.  I didn't do well in quirk training today; I've been trying to partially manifest my quirk in some parts of my body to temporarily amplify my strength, but it's just not working.  Going for a walk in town to clear my head, I spotted my family out together, happy and smiling without me around.  And that was the straw that broke the camel's back.

I tremble to myself under the tree, pushing against the rough bark biting into my forehead.  They're so much better without me.  I was holding them back this entire time, I should've left years ago.

I'm a failure as a wolf.

What kind of wolf am I when I can't even use my quirk?

I'll never become a hero.

This is all because of my stupid quirk!

"Fuck everything!"  I don't even realize when I'd stood up and started punching the thick trunk.  Blood drips from my knuckles, my vision blurry from tears.  "You'll never be a hero!  You're a failure!  All you did was tear your family apart because of the stupid quirk you can't even use properly!  Idiot!  Stupid!  Weakling!  Dumbass!  Homewrecker!"

Fury rushes through me, the grayscale colors in front of me fuzzing together.  My arms grow in size suddenly, my punches boring a large hole the size of my head into the bark and my nails have grown.  Looking down, I'm farther off the ground, my clothes ripped to shreds on the grass, and teeth have grown into fangs.  The shadowed silhouette of a wolf figure on two legs presses against the ground behind me, cast by the light of the moon.  I scream, which sounds more like a gravelly growl into a howl.  My blood boils with all the anger built up over the past ten years, fueling this wolf form I've only taken twice in my entire life.

I catch a familiar scent in the distance, blood warming my body at the thought of fresh blood.

"(Y/n)!"  A voice screams from the top of the hill I rolled down as it runs towards me.  Once the owner closes in and notices what's going on, he stops short, gawking up at my form.

I snarl, crouching down as if getting ready to strike.  My rage blinds me, only guiding myself by the smell of my prey as the shadows blur.

"(Y/n)," he repeats, more carefully this time, "Calm down, it's me.  I won't harm you."

My fangs bare at the boy.  I'm ready to take my anger out on anyone, friend or foe.  I stalk towards him.  No one's my friend, I'm all alone.

He takes a step back.  "It's me, Todoroki!  Get ahold of yourself!"

Shoto?

I grit my fangs at myself, clawing at the ground to keep myself from attacking him despite the rage instinct telling me to attack.  It hurts to fight, but I need to protect him.  He can't turn out like her.

"I believe in you, (Y/n)!  I know you can fight it!"

Another piercing howl screeches out of my mouth, overwhelming my head with painfully conflicting emotions.

"Try to breathe."  Shoto's voice calms down.  "Relax and breathe."

I loosen my tightened jaw and fists, smoke starting to come out of my nose in grunts.  I imagine it being my anger escaping out of me.  Feeling myself deflate, despair sets back in.  I almost hurt him.  I crouch down as my body shrinks back to normal, hugging my knees to my chest.  I'm physically and mentally burnt out, too numb to feel my emotions but I know they're still there.

Shoto approaches me, slipping his oversized denim jacket over my naked form.  "Are you alright?  Are you hurt anywhere?"

"I should be asking you that," I sigh, too tired to get up.  The wind brushes my skin and I clutch the jacket closed, slipping my arms through the sleeves.  "I almost attacked you, I'm sorry."

He shakes his head, kneeling down in front of me.  "It's fine.  Why are you out here alone anyway?"

"I...saw something.  And I just took off running and I got here."  I rub my temples with my hand to ease an oncoming headache.  "Things just got overwhelming, but I'm okay now."

Shoto's mouth sets into a line.  "You're not okay.  You haven't turned into a wolf since you were eight, not even in training.  You must have been extremely distressed."

I shrink into myself.  "I don't want to talk about it..."

His bi-colored eyes rest on me, but he doesn't push the matter further.  "You look exhausted, let me carry you."  He squats down in front of me.  "Get on my back."

I'm happy he's much bigger than me, his jacket manages to cover everything down mid-thigh even while I'm on his back.  My arms hang loosely from his shoulders as he hikes up the hill and back to the main road.  It seems I ended up in a park near the town.  The streetlamps light the sidewalk, people staring at us as we walk by, but I'm too tired to care.

"Do you think it would calm you down to visit your parents?" Todoroki asks modestly.  "Or maybe you can go get some clothes-"

"My parents won't want to see me, let's just go back to school," I interject feebly.  A fresh set of tears threaten to fill my eyes.

He doesn't question it, continuing to walk as his gentle rocking pace persists.

"I'm surprised you aren't running away from me," I mumble as we reach the road going up the mountain to UA.  "I almost killed you."

"I know you wouldn't, I have faith in you."

I close my eyes, leaning against the side of his head.  "I'm so ashamed you had to see me like that.  I probably looked like a monster."

"Aside from the danger you posed in the moment, I think you looked...majestic."

My eyes fly open and I tense, waiting for him to elaborate.  How could he possibly think that about me?

"Your fur matches the gray of your hair, gleaming in the moonlight.  It looked soft enough to touch, all the way down to your tail.  But your ice blue eyes were my favorite.  Once you calmed down, they were practically glowing.  I'd like to see you like that more often, once you've trained enough of course."

My heart quickens at his compliments, heat rushing to my cheeks.  "Thank you, Sh-Shoto.  Though, I don't know when exactly I'll even get to that point."

He's silent for a moment, his steady rhythm continuing up the path.  "I've known you for a while, (Y/n), since we were younger.  I know I've never been much help with you and people teasing you for being weak, but I want you to know that you're not weak.  Obviously, you have a lot of emotional baggage with your family, and it's trickled into your own inner demons.  You should know that you're strong for dealing with it on your own all this time, but you should find family elsewhere.  I know you're stuck, but make your own family of people you care about, and - when you're ready - confide in them about your problems, they'll be there to help you.  I'm here to help you."

Tears silently roll down my cheek, but I don't want to wipe them and call attention to it, so I rest my chin on his shoulder.  "Do you think...my quirk is good, Shoto?"

"Of course I do," he answers without missing a beat.  "It's your's to use as you wish.  I know you'll use it to become a great hero someday."  His footsteps stop and he gently puts me down to face me.  "You're a good person, (Y/n).  Your quirk is an extension of yourself, and I know you'll use it for the benefit of others, even if you've probably made mistakes in the past."  His thumbs gently rub the wetness from my face.  "And nobody should tell you otherwise."

I lean into his touch, my eyes flying open when he presses his lips to my forehead.  His mismatched eyes bore into mine, glistening under the dim lights of the streetlamps and the moon.  My heart pounds at the amount of pure affection he's showering me with, it makes me want to cry even more.

"I'll be there to support you every step of the way."

#todoroki x reader #todoroki angst #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #todoroki shouto #gender neutral reader #comfort #todoroki imagine #todoroki scenario #request #mha todoroki #bnha todoroki #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction

[xparadisexlostx]

Palaemon

So this is a ficlet I’ve been working on for a while now. I don’t know if it’s really going to go anywhere, but I’ve worked on the first chapter, editing and deleting shit for a while and while I have some issues with it, I wanna post it just because of all the work I’ve put into it.

This story will have some body gore/mutilation, and especially as it goes on just elements of things that are Not Ok (and I mean that in a SHIELD brought Coulson back to life against his will and I fully believe they do shady/potentially immoral experiments way). 

I have a whole profile for Winnie that I’ll link when I find it lmfao.

“Data log six-four-seven. Project name: Palaemon. This is project head Dr. Winifred Fletcher.” She wanted to make her voice a monotone over the recording, but as she passed the guards at the entry point and headed up the drive she could feel a shiver of fear crawl up her spine that caused an unconscious little quiver in her tone. It’d been a long time since she’d personally done any field documentation. Years, even. Back when she’d been young and zealous and determined to make a name for herself at SHIELD. Now she had dozens of low-level researchers and new hires in those same shoes she had been, eager to run headfirst into danger if it meant getting her approval. She didn’t have time to deconstruct how she felt about that. SHIELD had always kept her too busy.

She pressed the button on her recording device again. “It is May twenty first two-thousand-and-fourteen. I have been called in to assess a scene at cite three-nine-nine. All seven agents deployed are active participants in Palaemon and were last administered compound HDR 3-00-1 six days ago: the fifteenth of May, two-thousand-and-fourteen. All participants were cleared by medical staff before deployment two days ago, with no unusual side-effects documented during examination.”

Her voice had returned to its normal, professional drone, but something was making her deeply uneasy.

She wasn’t afraid of death. She wasn’t even particularly afraid of pain. It wasn’t the dark gravel drive only illuminated by headlights, or the dilapidated building that leaned like its tired wooden bones might snap at any second that sent chills up her spine. Part of the lure of SHIELD was the thrill of danger, and the morbid, twisted curiosity that came from the unknown. She didn’t fear any external force… only herself and the consequences of her own actions.

Her foot pressed just a little too hard on the brake as she stopped, and it threw her roughly against the seatbelt, which locked like a retractable leash around the neck of an ill trained poodle. A little cough left her, and she groped blindly beside her for the gear shift before finally freeing herself of her bindings. She snatched a bag from the passenger seat and pushed open the door. Immediately the night air rushed around her, heavy and humid, clinging to her skin, laying on her chest, and making it harder to breathe. Cicadas were droning a loud, repetitive song in the trees around her, and by the time she began ascending the stairs to the porch, her heavy breathing had fallen in sync with the alien music.

There was a terrible smell coming from the house, like that of wasting fish and burned fat. And someone was crying. Soft piteous whimpers that turned into wails that escaped the cracks of the open windows. Winnie recognized the voice as Veronica Cooper---one of the field agents who had recently joined Project Palaemon. There were other voices, talking in soft, short sentences that she assumed were platitudes that would make the agent calm down, but she couldn’t quite make out the words. She did note, as she pulled on a pair of sterile gloves, that the attempts apparently failed. The crying only grew louder and more desperate. 

She opened the half cracked door and felt a hard lump form in her throat. When the stench hit her eyes they immediately began to burn in their sockets. Directly inside the doorway, a dead agent was lying prone on the floor, his face straight down in a puddle brown vomit streaked with blood that, upon further investigation, appeared to be his own. His body was covered in bites and scratch marks, his shirt was ripped away to reveal a bloated stomach, and in his still clenched fists he was clutching shards of glass. Winnie looked around, her headlamp only illuminating fractions of the hall at a time, each just as bloody and horrific as the scene in front of her. She determined he must be holding onto the remnants of a light fixture that had been ripped forcefully from the ceiling. Wires were hanging from the hole, and directly below, the metal fixture had been discarded---it’s lightbulbs torn out. Why? The shards were too small to use as weapons. Perhaps he’d been holding onto the light as he was being attacked? Possible. But…

From her bag she produced a tongue depressor as she knelt down by the body. Carefully, she pulled back his lips as best she could. Shards of glass glittered in the bright light of her head lamp. They were deeply embedded in his gums and crushed between his teeth. He’d been eating them when he died. That possibly explained the vomit. But what could possess a man to do something like that? 

“Doctor Fletcher?” A man’s voice called. An agent she didn’t know. She heard Cooper screech and then begin to violently sob. The old, thin floors shook as the vibrations from the other room carried down the hall. That same male agent swore, and there was a scraping sound of wood on wood as if someone had run into a table or a chair. She was going to have to make her assessment of the dead wait until she had dealt with the living.

Winnie carried on down the hall, gingerly stepping over and around everything she could. Blood was smeared along the peeling remnants of wallpaper. And there were no lights except for that which came from her flashlight. Fixtures were ripped out of the ceiling, and there was a lamp on the floor that had been violently shattered with three disembodied, mangled fingers laying in the wreckage. She passed the dining room, her light just barely illuminating three mutilated figures. Each with swollen stomachs and eyes that had been torn from their sockets. They had fallen close to the entryway, each with a single bullet hole in their heads. But she couldn’t stop to observe them the way she wanted to.

By the time she reached the living room, Cooper’s wailing was so loud it made her ears ring. There was no light at all coming from the doorway, and she frowned. Her confusion didn’t last long. The second she stepped into the room, headlamp blazing, Veronica Cooper began to screech and howl like a wild animal. She was handcuffed, but it still took two other agents to restrain her. They were trying to keep hold of her arms while a third agent was attempting to put a blanket over her completely nude upper half. 

“Will you cut that fucking lamp off?!” One of the agents hissed as Veronica bit into his arm like a rabid animal. Blood began to bubble out of the wound and dribble through Cooper’s parted lips before the third agent managed to forcibly pry her jaw off.

The doctor hesitated for a moment, needing to get at least a preliminary glance at the agent Cooper. She looked much like the dead bodies in the dining room. Her stomach was heavily bloated, and one of her eyes was missing from its socket. Claw marks and bites were all over her exposed upper body, and her hand was missing three fingers that Winnie assumed matched those she’d seen in the hall. 

She turned off the headlamp. 

Immediately Cooper went from a raving wild woman, to a crumpled, sobbing creature. When the blanket was brought back to her, she didn’t resist. At least not that Winnie could see. Granted, she couldn’t see much. The only light in the room came from a trickle of moonlight that snuck its way through the torn curtains.

“Agent Cooper.” The doctor stepped forward blindly. It didn’t draw any visible or audible response from the agent. “Agent Cooper, can you understand me? It’s Doctor Fletcher. Can you tell me what happened?”

No response.

One of the agents restraining her chimed in. “When we arrived at the house Agent Cooper and three others were alive. Cooper was in the hall, and we managed to restrain her. I heard crying coming from the downstairs bathroom. There was also gurgling and---running water. No one responded when I called out for them, but when I stepped into the room and they saw my headlamp, they started screaming. I ran, thinking I could calm them down or find some way to restrain them if I could get back to the other agents, but they pinned me down in the dining room, and Tillman and Renolds were forced to open fire. When the scene was secured we attempted to speak to Agent Cooper, but she was confused. She hasn’t said much aside from ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘please’ or ‘water.’”

She nodded and bit the inside of her cheek. “And the others? This was a seven man team. We’re missing two agents.”

“We searched the house and the two exterior buildings but they were clear. Best guess is when things got weird they bolted.”

 “Or they did this to them and fled the scene.” The man who had been bitten growled. He was holding onto Veronica with a vice grip now. She couldn’t see him properly, but the way the poor girl’s shoulder was awkwardly raised while the rest of her shadowy form slumped lifelessly toward the floor was proof of his tight hold on her. “We got a search team out in the forest looking for the-shit!”

Fletcher saw his shadow contort awkwardly as he tried to maintain his grip and distance himself from Veronica all at once.

“Jesus fuck-Renolds grab her. Grab her!” 

“What--why? You’ve-”

There was a thud as the agent dropped her completely and stepped back. “She’s licking the blood off my fucking arm!”

“Water.” Agent Cooper was hoarse from all her screaming, and there was desperation in her tone. The men shuffled awkwardly as Veronica attempted to get closer to the bleeding man again. “Please! Water!”

“Can’t you give her something?” 

“No.” Fletcher said, her response automatic. She wasn’t sure what was turning faster, her mind or her stomach. But she knew that they couldn’t give Veronica anything. Not yet. “There’s a medical transport outside parked behind me. They’ve been instructed on what to do, but ride with them back to HQ and help them keep her contained. Afterwards my staff will assess any injuries you have and release you back to your duties.”

There was a long silence.

She was glad it was dark. If her light was still on, she would have likely seen disgust on their faces. It was on hers. Here she was denying Veronica even the slightest semblance of peace. It was callous at best, and unforgivably monstrous at worst. But HDR 3-00-1 was one of the most bizarre drugs she’d ever worked with and these were their first human trials. Any drug, even a mild sedative, could interfere with accurate lab results. As soon as she’d been given a full examination, her team would give her the best care SHIELD could offer. Fletcher would make sure of it.

One of the men cleared his throat. “The search party will radio you directly if they find anything.”

The agents had to carry Veronica out of the house. She fought them all the way down the hall, but once she saw the light of the med-transport there was no containing her agonized screams. When her cuffs were released she began clawing at her own face, and when the agents pulled them away, she fought them like a wild animal. One of the med staff caught a foot in the jaw as they laid her onto the metal gurney and pulled the straps up to restrain her. Even after one of the men pulled off his jacket and draped it across her face to blot out the light, she continued to howl and buck against the restraints, nearly tipping the gurney onto the ground. The last thing she heard as they pulled the doors shut was Veronica Cooper’s raspy, haggard voice begging for water.

[artificialqueens]

Off Limits, Chapter 6 (Bitney) - Veronica/Albatross

A/N: Hey guys! This is the companion story to “No Strings Attached.” Both ships are in both stories, but generally, “No Strings Attached” is Willaska-focused and this one is Bitney-focused. (Link to all chapters in order.) Thanks as always to our lovely beta (and EVP of That’s So Aussie™️), @opalescent-cheetah

Chapter Summary: Let’s be honest, this chapter is just mostly porn.

***

Courtney was thrilled. Finally in Bianca’s arms, something she’d longed for since the first day they met--even if it had taken her awhile to admit it to herself. She flung herself into it with all of that pent-up longing, an urgent need to prove how certain she was that this wasn’t a mistake.

Her kisses were passionate, messy, almost frantic, making her way down Bianca’s body. When she began to slide Bianca’s bottoms off, a hand covered hers, stopping her.

“Whatcha doin’ down there?”

“I thought I would eat your pussy,” Courtney replied, doing her best to sound confident.

“Uh huh. And do you know how to do that?” Bianca asked, an amused smirk on her lips.

“Uhh…” Of course she didn’t, in spite of the several embarrassing google searches in her browser history, which ultimately ended up confusing her more than helping. But Bianca didn’t need to know that. “I’ve read some stuff. Figured I’d wing it.”

“I mean, I appreciate the thought, but, wouldn’t you like some instructions first?” Bianca cupped her face, tilting her chin up, tucking some hair behind her ear.

“I thought you like girls who know what they’re doing,” Courtney admitted, resisting the urge to press into Bianca’s hand like a cat.

“True. But...I can’t expect you to be psychic, can I? Why don’t I give you a live demo?” Her fingers drifted through Courtney’s hair, then scratched her scalp lightly, causing shivers to run through her.

It took less than half a second for Courtney to say, “Okay.”

Bianca grinned at her, moving aside to give her space on the narrow bed.

“Lie down.”

Courtney complied immediately, getting a tingling little thrill when Bianca’s grin deepened, heart pounding as she pressed a kiss to Courtney’s open mouth.

“Are you ready?” she murmured, hands sliding over Courtney’s body, making her skin prickle.

“Yes.”

“Take off your panties,” Bianca instructed.

Courtney raised her hips, saying, “You do it.”

Bianca’s head tilted at her, amused.

“I’m sorry, who’s running the show here?”

“Please,” Courtney pouted sweetly, fluttering her lashes.

“You’re a brat,” Bianca said, eyes sparkling with amusement as she hooked her fingers into the side of Courtney’s panties and slid them slowly down her legs. “And oh, look...telling the truth about being a natural blonde, huh?”

“Dead on.” With a victorious grin, Courtney spread her legs, giving Bianca space to settle between them. Her abdomen was tense with excitement as Bianca placed a soft, teasing kiss just below her belly button, then looked up with a smile. She locked eyes with Courtney, barely moving, one hand drifting slowly up and down her thigh.

“Go ahead,” Courtney urged.  

“What makes you think I haven’t already started?” Bianca asked. “See...you have to make sure she’s reallyready.”

She bent down slowly, placing an excruciatingly soft kiss just inside Courtney’s knee.

“I’m ready,” Courtney said, failing to keep the pitiful whine out of her voice.

Bianca didn’t answer, just smiled to herself and continued to trail featherlight kisses along her thighs.

“You want her to be dripping wet...quivering...a needy mess…” Bianca’s hot breath ghosted over her, and Courtney whimpered.

“I hope you know,” she gasped out, “this means I’m gonna be torturing you back.”

Bianca looked up, catching her eye with a mischievous glint.

“Counting on it.”

*

Bianca knew that she was being a bit of a sadistic bitch, but she couldn’t help it. Courtney was just so cute, with her cheeks flushed a bright pink, whimpering with need every time she so much as breathed against her.

“You can feel her with your fingers, to really see how wet she is,” Bianca said, letting the back of her knuckles graze her pussy; and Jesus Christ, wet was an understatement. Courtney squirmed against her hand, breath hitching. Bianca looked into her lust-darkened eyes, bringing her fingers up to her mouth to lick slowly.

“Taste her…”

Courtney inhaled sharply, watching Bianca in a trance as she licked her fingers clean. Her other hand still rested on her warm thigh, and she could feel the muscles tensing beneath her.

Finally satisfied that she was ready, Bianca bent down, hovering over her for a few moments until she could see her trembling.

“You wanna go in soft,” she said, before licking her slowly, tongue flat against her.

Courtney arched up, clutching Bianca’s sheets in her fist.

“Every girl is different,” Bianca explained, nuzzling against her. “And usually, you’re gonna get very little in the way of direct instructions. So...you have to try different things. See what works.”

Bianca swirled her tongue around, trying to watch Courtney’s reaction through her fringe of dark lashes. And then, when she began to flick her tongue, Courtney’s hips began to roll, a hand tangling into her hair and pressing down on the back of her head.

Pausing to reach behind her own head and tap Courtney’s hand, Bianca looked up at her with a smirk.

“If she’s pushing on the back of your head, she’s probably trying to tell you to go harder.”

“Yeah,” Courtney affirmed, nodding frantically. “Harder…”

“So, you can listen. Or, you can tease her a little more...back off and go even softer.”

The aggrieved whimper that came out of Courtney’s mouth next, accompanied by vigorous thrusting of her hips, was almost enough to make Bianca laugh. If she’d had to guess ahead of time, she’d have pegged Courtney as someone who wanted everything gentle and soft. Beautiful to look at, but pure vanilla--possibly even boring, in the way that pretty girls so often are. The rabid maniac trying to fuck her face was an enchanting surprise.

“Teasing is especially fun when she’s a bit of a freak,” Bianca told her with a light cackle.

“I-” Whatever Courtney’s response was going to be, it was cut off with a broken moan, body in overdrive as she fell apart, gasping for air.

“Are you gonna remember this?” Bianca asked, “Because it’s all gonna be on the test. You should really be taking notes…”

“Oh God, Bianca, please…” she managed to choke out.

*

“Okay,” Bianca said, voice low and sexy, causing Courtney to shiver. “Pay attention, because this part is important..”

Courtney was neither a virgin nor a prude. She was fairly certain that she knew her own body. But the rapturous pleasure that ripped through her when Bianca began to suck on her clit was a new feeling entirely.

She twisted Bianca’s hair in her fists, moaning her name, grinding against her tongue as wave after wave of ecstasy hit her, until she finally collapsed in a sweaty heap. It felt like her bones were made of spaghetti--as weak as a rag doll, unable to even lift her head. She barely noticed Bianca sucking soft kisses into her skin, up her torso, until they were once again face to face, Bianca hovering over her with a satisfied smirk on her face.

“So...you like to fuck, huh?”

In spite of her exhaustion, Courtney chuckled drily.

“I’ve been trying to tell you…” she mumbled, and Bianca laughed, continuing to kiss her.

“Sorry to keep you waiting so long,” Bianca said. Her hands slid into Courtney’s hair, cradling the back of her head, lips trailing over her jaw.  

“I forgive you,” Courtney sighed, enjoying the tender affection. It was so gentle, and sweet, and made Courtney feel precious, warmth spreading through her to her toes. She reached a hand up to touch Bianca’s cheek.

As they kissed again, a giggle slipped from Courtney’s lips.

“What?” Bianca asked, nuzzling against her.

“You’re just...a little different than I expected,” Courtney admitted.

“Oh yeah? How so?”

“Well…” Courtney bit her lip, looking into Bianca’s dark eyes. “I just didn’t think you’d be so...I dunno. Sweet.”

“Disappointed?” Bianca whispered.

“No. I like you like this…”

“Well, don’t tell anyone,” Bianca warned. “You’ll ruin my reputation.”

“Okay,” Courtney said, fingers circling her left dimple. “I’ll just say you fucked me and then pushed me off the bed.”

Bianca laughed. “So, you’ve watched my sex tape?”

“Mmmhm,” Courtney giggled, feeling that familiar pride she always got when she made Bianca laugh.

As Bianca’s hot mouth found her neck, Courtney felt a tightness returning to her belly. She arched up, and Bianca chuckled slightly, bearing down against her.

“B…” Courtney whimpered, “It’s supposed to be your turn now.”

��I was trying to give you a few minutes to recover,” Bianca said, a wicked glint in her eye, hips rolling. “But I guess I can’t help myself.”  

Courtney’s breath came faster as her nails raked down Bianca’s back, gliding over her sweat-dampened skin. Feeling Bianca’s naked breasts against her own only made her long for more. She slipped her fingers under Bianca’s waistband, pushing her panties down impatiently.

“Can I help you with something?” Bianca raised her hips slightly to let Courtney push her panties down farther, until they got caught around her thighs.

“Please, B, please…”

“Yes, baby? Tell me what you want.”

“I want to feel you against me,” Courtney said, a desperate edge in her voice as she dug her fingers into Bianca’s ass, thighs spreading even more.

Bianca complied, pulling her panties off the rest of the way and then grinding down against Courtney’s welcoming body, making her gasp with pleasure. Courtney captured Bianca’s mouth in a kiss, nothing between them now but slick wetness as Bianca rubbed against her.

“Oh, fuck…”

*

Bianca raised herself up on her elbows, unable to resist watching Courtney’s beautiful face as she fell apart, cheeks flushed red, lips swollen, hips arching again and again. She reached down to butterfly her pussy open, grinding harder against her exposed, swollen clit. Courtney clung to Bianca for dear life as fingers sought out her heat, finding her dripping wet.

The way she moaned shamelessly made Bianca want to fuck her absolutely senseless.

“Hey…” she murmured into Courtney’s ear, not missing the telltale shiver. “I got another idea…”

Courtney turned towards her, lips chasing hers, soft sighs of pleasure turning to an indignant whine as Bianca rolled away, slipping off the bed.

“Patience, babydoll...” Bianca said, ducking under the bed to pull out a plastic box with the vague label of “SUPPLIES.” She pulled off the lid and pawed through the box, finding the dildo she was looking for, a very nice little beginner one in light pink, and placing it on the bed with a wicked smirk. “How do you feel about a strap-on?”

Courtney bit her lip, rolling over onto her side, thighs pressed together.

“I mean, I’ve never worn one before, but I’m willing to try…” she said, eyes fluttering.

“Very funny,” Bianca told her, watching her giggle and reach forward to touch the toy.

“It doesn’t really look like a dick,” she declared, running her fingers down the smooth length of it.

“Well...I’m not trying to trick you,” Bianca said, then paused before adding, “You can say no if you don’t want to-”

“I don’t wanna say no,” Courtney said, tilting her head, eyes still a bit glazed. “Let’s do it.”

Bianca grinned, dimples deep in her cheeks as she slipped on the harness and pushed the dildo through the ring, climbing back onto the bed. She handed Courtney a bottle of lube, then leaned back on her elbows, waiting.

“Do you want me to…”

“What do you want to do?” Bianca challenged, and Courtney lunged towards her, pulling her into a kiss.

She coated the toy generously with lube, a messy endeavor that was made even messier from her hurried enthusiasm. As she kneeled over Bianca, guiding the dildo towards her, Bianca started to tell her to take it slow, but she was too late, Courtney sitting down firmly against her with a gasp.

“Are you okay?” Bianca asked, tracing light patterns up her thighs, waiting for her to adjust.

Courtney nodded, leaning forward, starting to rock slowly. Getting to act out a literal fantasy was new for Bianca, and it took her brain a minute to catch up to what was happening, this golden-haired goddess riding her the way she’d dreamed of. Bianca groaned, mesmerized by her tits. She reached up to toy with them, and as her fingers brushed over the dark pink of her hardened nipples, Courtney let out a broken moan.

All Bianca wanted was to hear that sound again, and so she kept at it, pinching and rolling her nipples between her fingers, finally lifting her head to take one into her mouth, sucking gently at first and then harder, teeth nibbling at her, doing anything she could to chase the beautiful sound of Courtney coming apart.

*

“Oh, god…” Courtney’s thighs squeezed Bianca’s hips as she thrust forward frantically, unable to get enough of her. She thought she’d wanted her before, but nothing she’d imagined could compare to the real thing, the heat of her smooth, soft skin, the feel of her luscious curves, the way her hands felt on Courtney’s trembling body. Best of all, the look in her dark eyes as she gazed up at Courtney with pure, open desire, taking one of Courtney’s tits into her mouth, tingles shooting straight to her core as a tongue circled her nipple.

Courtney was so wrapped up in the moment that the sudden buzzing of the vibrator caught her completely off guard, lighting her up from within, making her cry out. Fingers dug into Bianca’s shoulders as she gasped for breath.

“Do you like that?”

The question barely registered in Courtney’s addled mind, but she answered on auto, nodding vigorously, the rolling waves of vibration washing over her. She whimpered pitifully as Bianca took control, pushing her onto her back, capturing her mouth in a kiss as she began to drive her hips forward faster and faster. Her controlled rhythm kept Courtney torturously on the edge, clawing at her back.

When Bianca turned the vibrator up, Courtney nearly blacked out, writhing beneath her, coming hard, and then again before she could catch a single breath, her entire body like a live wire as Bianca kept pumping her hips, slower now, teeth buried in the tender skin of her neck as she moaned, eyes rolled back.

Her mind was completely empty of everything but white-hot pleasure, lungs burning with a lack of oxygen, every thrust pushing her deeper and deeper into blissful agony, until she collapsed in exhaustion.

When Courtney’s eyes fluttered open, to the feeling of Bianca pressing soft kisses all over her face, she was drenched in sweat and still gasping for air. It could have been a minute later, or 10, or 10 years--she had no idea.

She wrapped her arms tighter around Bianca’s waist, holding her close.

“Wow.”

Bianca giggled softly, an adorably girlish sound, nuzzling into her cheek, and Courtney sighed against her, realizing that she still hadn’t reciprocated. This was turning into an upsettingly one-sided arrangement. Of course, there was the chance that the vibrator had made up for Courtney’s own lack of follow-through.

“Did you come?” Courtney asked hopefully, twirling a lock of Bianca’s hair around her finger.

“I did,” Bianca assured her. “You?”

“So many times.” Courtney let out a giddy laugh.

“Oh yeah? How many?”

“I lost count,” she admitted, head dropping backwards with a sleepy sigh.

For a few moments, they just breathed in the silence, bodies pressed together in a tangled heap, so sated that they soon drifted off to a contented sleep.

***

When Bianca’s eyes opened again, the evening sky had grown dark and Courtney was snuggled tight against her, tracing around her nipples so lightly, it made her shudder. She turned to Courtney with a dimpled grin.

“Hi,” Courtney said, eyes sparkling at her.

“Hey…How are you feeling?”

“Perfect...amazing…” Courtney stretched, making Bianca shift to give her more room. She flung a leg over Bianca’s, mouth turned up into a smirk. “So...are you glad I debated you into fucking me?”

“First time I enjoyed losing an argument…”

Courtney giggled, pushing Bianca onto her back and slipping a leg in between hers, lips seeking out Bianca’s for a deep, messy kiss. Bianca buried her hands into Courtney’s hair, enjoying the feel of a firm thigh against her. It was no longer rushed and desperate the way it had been earlier.  

It took Bianca a few minutes to catch on to what she was doing: lips brushing down her jaw to her neck, tongue over her collarbone, then circling her nipples. Slowly heading lower and lower.

“Court...what are you-”

“Fulfilling a promise…” Her breath was hot against Bianca’s abdomen, making her insides twist. She looked up at Bianca, batting her eyes innocently, bottom lip still brushing against her skin. “Is this okay?”

Bianca gulped. She was used to being in control, but could feel herself slipping, breath hitching as Courtney nibbled softly against her. When she didn’t immediately answer, Courtney crawled back up to capture her bottom lip in a heated kiss, teeth tugging it just enough that Bianca’s fingers dug into her waist. The way she hovered over Bianca’s body on her hands and knees, tits rubbing against Bianca’s own, made her shiver.

“I’m supposed to check, right?” Courtney asked, fingers skating up Bianca’s inner thigh to seek out her warm, wet pussy.

Bianca inhaled sharply, watching through heavy-lidded eyes as Courtney brought her slick fingers to her mouth, sucking hungrily at them, the satisfied noise she made so filthy that it made Bianca’s heart pound.

“Should I keep going?” Courtney asked, and Bianca nodded, allowing herself to relax backwards, enjoy the way she explored her body with a combination of tender affection and sordid greediness.

Her fingers curled back into Courtney’s hair as her head dipped lower and lower, eyes finally falling closed to concentrate on the heat of her tongue, when a bang on the door caused her to jump clean out of her skin.

“Bianca! Tell whatever slut you’ve got in there to cover up, we’re coming in!”

“Fuck me dead!” Courtney shrieked as the door flew open, snatching up a pillow to use as an ineffective privacy shield.

Willam stood in the doorway with her mouth open, just staring at them in absolute shock.

“That’s so Aussie,” giggled Alaska’s voice from behind her. “...Isn’t it?”

Willam turned around to ask incredulously, “Did you know it was Courtney she was fucking in there?”

“Yeah. Sorry. She’s loud.”  

“Huh…Not with guys,” Willam said.

Bianca was just getting over her shock of being interrupted in such a vulnerable state, her initial terror turning to indignant anger.  

“Excuse me!” she exclaimed, sitting up. “Is there a fucking reason for this invasion?!”

“Yes, asshole. Alaska’s been sexiled out here for hours and she needs to get her stuff,” Willam replied, hand on her hip.

“Shit.” Bianca glanced outside. The darkness had registered, but not the fact that they’d been keeping Alaska in purgatory. She would have felt a little bad...if she didn’t feel so fucking good.

“Omigod, Alaska, I’m so sorry!” Courtney cried guiltily. “I didn’t realize what time it was-”

“Clearly,” Willam said. “Get whatever you need, Lask. You can have Courtney’s bed tonight.” She turned back to Courtney, shaking her head with a scowl that just barely covered how amused she was. “I assume that’s okay with you, you fuckin’ whore?”

“Yes, of course!” Courtney said.

Bianca reached down for her blankets, which were piled down at the foot of the bed, pulling them up over their naked bodies to finally cover them both properly while Alaska retrieved her things.

“I guess she figured out what the tights meant,” she murmured into Courtney’s ear, earning a delighted laugh. Bianca pressed a kiss to her cheek, then unable to resist, nibbled softly down her jaw, almost immediately forgetting about their unwelcome company, whispering again into her skin, “God, you’re fucking delicious…”

Courtney’s cheeks were a lovely pink as she lowered the blanket slightly to say goodnight to the other girls.

“One word of advice, Bianca,” Willam said, holding the door open as Alaska scampered out. “...be careful.”

Bianca turned to her, glowering at her with a look that told Willam she better quickly shut the fucking door, but Willam continued.

“You know that thing about koalas and chlamydia...she could be patient zero…” she added.

Bianca leaned over and picked up one of Courtney’s sneakers from the ground beside the bed, hurling it towards Willam’s head with full force. She ducked, laughing, as it hit the door.

“Hey, I’m just looking out for your health!”

“Go!” Bianca yelled, blood pressure rising as Willam stuck out her tongue and finally shut the door behind her. She gave herself a few moments to shake off her irritation before turning back to Courtney with a smile. “Hey…”

“Hi.” Courtney bit her lip, suddenly bashful, and Bianca cupped her cheek gently.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah! I’m glad they know, actually,” Courtney said. “But…”

“But what?” Bianca felt a slight dread creep into the edges of her thoughts.

“But I kind of...have to pee.”

“Oh, yeah. Me too, actually,” Bianca chuckled, tossing the covers off. “And we should probably eat some dinner.”

“You’re still hungry?” Courtney asked, eyes flashing with a naughty glint.

Bianca laughed, utterly charmed. As she slid down from the bed, she caught Courtney’s gaze once again, dimples deep in her cheeks.

***

In the morning, once Bianca left for work, Courtney wandered back into her own room and flopped onto her unmade bed in a starry-eyed daze.

“Well well well. Look who’s joining us. The newest baby dyke,” Willam proclaimed, looking up from doing Alaska’s makeup.

“Will,” Alaska scolded, but Courtney just giggled, hugging a pillow to her chest.

She hadn’t gotten much sleep last night; neither of them did. And it was painful when Bianca finally slipped out of bed this morning to shower and get ready for work. Although Courtney had to admit, there was something sexy about watching her get ready--the almost choreographed routine of her hair and makeup, clad in a silky robe that kept slipping off her tanned shoulder, so enticing that Courtney eventually had to crawl to the edge of the bed to press a soft kiss against her. And then, when she began to get dressed, she allowed Courtney to dictate what she wore, down to the undergarments. She’d been amused when Courtney insisted on the set of forest green lingerie she’d bought that first week, the ones that had been at the center of Courtney’s most reckless fantasies.

“You like these?” Bianca had teased, dangling the panties between her fingers, laughing at the desperate edge in Courtney’s voice when she’d answered with a whispered ‘yes.’

Courtney curled around her pillow, counting the hours in her head until she would see Bianca again. She had an evening class after work, which meant that by the time she got home, Courtney would be stuck in her Cabaret rehearsal. It would be close to 11 pm before they’d be in the same room. Endless.

Willam looked up again, shaking her head and saying, “Surprised you can still walk after last night.”

“And this morning,” Courtney couldn’t help saying, with a cheeky grin. She nearly shivered with the memory of Bianca’s fingers working her into ecstasy while she was still in a sleepy, blissful haze, and then the intoxicating scent of her perfume right before she left, that glimpse she gave Courtney of the lingerie lingering in her mind, giving her something to obsess over all day.

Willam made a disgusted face, then began to fuss with Alaska’s hair.

“So...Ms. Del Rio took good care of you?” Alaska asked kindly, one eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, I’ll say…” Courtney smiled dreamily. “Did you know that you could come more than once, like in a row?”

“Everyone knows that, Courtney,” Willam said with an eye roll.

“No, I know, like in theory, but did you know actually?” Courtney sat up, eyes wide.

“Omigod,” Willam groaned. “She’s already fucked half your brain cells out.”

Alaska stifled a laugh, saying, “I’m real happy for you, Court.”

“Thank you. She just so…” Courtney searched for words, but came up empty. Shit, maybe Willam was right about her brain cells. She took a deep breath, noticing Alaska’s outfit for the first time. It was something she’d never worn before, and she looked adorable. “Alaska, I love that outfit! How come I’ve never seen it before?”

“It’s Willam’s.”

“Yeah, she had to borrow clothes since someone was getting railed in her bedroom this morning,” Willam said.

“Oh.” Courtney fell backwards, collapsing on the bed in blissful giggles. “Oops.”  

***

One thing that Bianca enjoyed about being the oldest one in their little group was that the others often assumed she was wise and experienced, even when she wasn’t. She liked the respect that came along with them believing that she knew things, and didn’t do much to dissuade their (sometimes incorrect) assumptions.

The truth was, though, as much experience as Bianca had with girls, she had never technically been in a “relationship.” She’d had plenty of one-night stands, but there wasn’t ever anyone that she felt justified calling a girlfriend.

Even though Courtney had blithely brushed aside her concerns about hooking up with a roommate, it didn’t totally negate them. She knew that, as close as they were and as much time as they spent together, there wasn’t going to be anything casual about their relationship. Even now, when it had been less than a day.

Her suspicions were confirmed when she got home that night to find a note on her pillow.

Had to go to rehearsal, but there’s a surprise for you in the fridge. XO, C

The surprise turned out to be homemade banana pudding, which was shocking to Bianca for two reasons. One, because in the months that she’d known Courtney, what she’d witnessed of her “cooking” was mostly just blending up smoothies or making kale chips, and very occasionally cooking some vegetables in a pan to dump over rice. To see what looked like a made-from-scratch dessert...even if it was terrible, the effort was overwhelmingly apparent. And two, banana pudding was Bianca’s favorite food, but she couldn’t for the life of her remembering ever telling that to Courtney.

She wanted to wait and maybe eat it together, but after about an hour, her resolve broke down, and she was in for a third surprise. It was good.

“How’s it taste?” Alaska asked, leaning on the doorframe.

“Oh, uh...it’s...it’s great, actually.”

“That was her third try,” her roommate confided, an amused smile playing on her lips. “She really likes you.”

“Well…” Bianca swallowed uncomfortably. “I really like her, too.”

But was it too much, too fast? Bianca couldn’t focus on her homework, mind too busy with racing, anxious thoughts. She tried to distract herself, sitting with Alaska (and then Willam, once she got home) and watching an idiotic reality show that they loved, all about children’s competitive cheerleading.

Courtney got back to the apartment around ten, immediately flying into the living room and climbing directly into Bianca’s lap, kissing her deeply, clearly unconcerned about their potential audience.

“Hey there,” Bianca murmured, when they finally came up for air. “How was your day?”

“It was the longest day of my life,” Courtney breathed, nuzzling into her neck. “I’m so glad to be home.”

In some ways, this was Bianca’s worst nightmare. So many feelings. Soft, gooey feelings, exposed and raw. But on the other hand, she did feel awfully warm in Bianca’s arms, and she smelled like heaven, and maybe feelings weren’t the worst thing in the world…

“Did you try the pudding?” Courtney asked. “Was it okay?”

“It was perfect.”

“Good.” Courtney twirled a lock of hair, lashes fluttering, and whispered, “Show me the bra…”

“There are other people in the room, you know,” Bianca murmured back, feeling her cheeks heat up.  

“So? Come on, just a peek.” Courtney tugged at her top button.

“Ugh...”

Courtney looked up, amused at Willam’s interruption. “What, Bill? You got an opinion to share?”

“Yeah. You’re being gross,” Willam said. “And you’ve never acted this way with a guy.”  

“Bianca’s better than a guy,” said Courtney.

Bianca looked up at Willam and offered a little shrug. “My dick vibrates.”

Alaska burst out laughing, looking up from her laptop. “Hard to argue with that logic, eh Will?”

“Whatever,” Willam said, rolling her eyes.

Courtney’s attention was back on Bianca, fingering her button, and Bianca gave a little nod of consent, letting her open it, a sharp inhale immediately following. It was, quite frankly, thrilling to see her so turned on just from a glimpse down her top. And then her head snapped up, almost like getting startled out of a dream, saying, “Alaska…?”

“Yes, Courtney?”

“Do you want to...borrow my bed again?”

“I already put my stuff in your room,” Alaska informed her.

“Oh, okay...beaut.” Courtney slid from Bianca’s lap and sauntered into her bedroom, Bianca quickly scrambling behind.

“Goodnight, guys!” Bianca tossed out.

Courtney gave a little wave to her other roommates before shutting the door firmly, cutting off the sound of their amused laughter. Then she turned and flashed the naughtiest, most wicked grin Bianca had ever seen.

“Lay down.”

#rpdr fanfiction #bitney #bianca del rio #courtney act #willam belli #alaska thunderfuck #willaska #college au #lesbian au #friends to lovers #fluff #smut #off limits #just friends #veronica #albatross

[save-the-spiral]

Wiztober Day Nine: Mice

Welcome to day Nine of Wiztober2020. Dyvim loving hours. Khrysalis Spoilers ahead. Content warnings for Injury mention, slight disassociation/panic attack from narrator.

@pyromancyy @necrospellbinder I summon you for reader/dyvim content. hello.

(link to prompt list)

You hiss in pain as the bandages tighten around your calf. You had insisted you were capable of tending to your own injuries, but your companion insisted on helping. So now you both were camping out in a small alcove of rock on the outskirts of the Khonda Desert, hiding without your armor so you could be healed.

“Sorry!” Dyvim mumbles reflexively, his paw shakily gripping the roll of bandages.

“S’fine.” You hiss again, letting your head fall back as you looked above towards a starless sky as twilight quickly descended into night. It was eerie, but the dread in your heart isn’t enough to stop your newfound comfort in darkness and shadows.

Shadowmancy is a hell of a thing, you muse.

“Done.” Dyvim smiles weakly, patting your knee with his paw.

Your heart races and you blush as you catch his gaze, instantly turning away.

“Thank you, Dyvim.” You manage, swallowing nervously. He's so close to you, looking so earnest and bright. “But really, you didn’t have to.”

Dyvim moves closer, settling down to sit right by your side. You still stare to the side, as if a cliff face is at all entertaining. A brush of soft fur, and suddenly his paw is on your cheek, turning your head to face him. You hope he can’t feel the heat of your blush through his adorable little toe beans on his paws.

It is so small and warm. All of him is so small and warm, a contained little star, infinite energy swirling inside of him.

Dyvim feels untouchable. A specter of greatness you can never achieve, a determination that you never truly had, even in the beginning.

“I didn’t have to, but I wanted to. His whiskers twitch and ears flicker as he says it.

Your mouth opens slightly, at a loss for words when you realize he hadn’t removed his paw from your cheek yet, that his small claws had traced your jawline. Finally, you speak. “But...”

At your obvious discomfort, he drops his paw. “I’m sorry- I-”

“But why?” You finally manage to say, exhaling a shaky breath.

"What?”

“Why tend to my wounds? Why treat me like I can’t help myself? I’ve saved about a dozen worlds by now, I don’t need-!”  You don’t even realize your hands have been trembling until Dyvim takes them in his paws.

“You...” Dyvim pauses, then chuckles slightly. Before you could even get offended, he continues talking. “You get any help at all, and decide people are patronizing you. I only want to help, and even the simplest act makes you say ridiculous things.”

“Ridiculous?!” Your voice raises with indignation.

Dyvim holds on tighter to your hands in his, and even though his hands are more delicate, more mundane, without the hum of magic under his skin like you possessed, you can’t bear to rip your hands away from his even as your anger rises. The thought of accidentally hurting Dyvim is anathema. The possibility of seeing his face twisting with pain or slack with death, it's as if someone reached in your chest and tried to pull out your heart, clawing and clenching and straining until you can’t breathe-

Your eyes open when you realize Dyvim had been repeating your name, a question, as if calling out and not knowing if you were there. His fingers run through your hair, dulled claws lightly scratching at your skull, a repeating rhythm. His other hand is around you, clutching your shoulder, a barrier of fur and muscle that you knew was stronger than it appeared.

It almost feels like a hug. And that is strange to you. You move your head, no longer tucked in the soft space of Dyvim’s neck and shoulder, and blink blearily up at him, and wonder if you had ever been hugged since coming to the Spiral. Since you had been summoned by Headmaster Ambrose. The answer makes your entire body ache, old wounds rising to the surface to remind you of days spent injured with no one to heal you.

“Dyvim?” You whisper.

“Oh, thank goodness.” He mutters quickly, eyes suddenly brightening from their dull worry. “It was so strange- you suddenly weren’t responding- and at first I thought you fell asleep, but-”

“Shhh.” You tiredly press a finger to his lips, hushing him. Your heart skips a beat as you see what you were doing, and you quickly let your hands fall to your lap. The fur on his face was now awkwardly ruffled.

Dyvim looks down at you, eyes locking with yours, and says your name. It's sad, not pitying, but concerned, as if he's helpless to stop whatever may come to hurt you. In a way, he is. He isn’t a wizard, and because of that so many battles were fought without him. So many opportunities to be stuck at the sidelines, powerless to stop whatever tried to kill you this time.

His hand is resting at the back of your skull, and the arm supporting your back was no longer tense, but still strong enough that you can rest against it.

“I just...” You whisper again. “I can’t put my life in another persons hands. Ever since I learned of magic, I’ve been on my own. Years of questing, of killing and saving people, of victory and defeat... and it’s all relied on me. My triumphs. My mistakes.” Your breath shakes, and you squeeze your eyes shut for only a moment before opening them again. “I can’t drag another person down with me when I fail.”

You let your head rest on his collarbones, the soft feeling of fur enveloping you as you close your eyes. You can hear his heartbeat.

Dyvim rests his chin on your head, and his hug encircles you. You feel so small in that moment, safe and quiet where no one could hurt you.

You feel tears gather at your eyes, and will them away.

“I’m always scared.” Dyvim finally says. His voice is young and fragile, and you know if it were a better time you and he would still be considered too young for the adult world, but too old to be a child.

Neither of you got a chance to be a child.

Dyvim exhales, thinking for a moment. “Every time we go into battle, I think it must surely be our last. That any moment there will be something to throw me out of a window again, dying. Or you will be defeated and the enemy cruel and unmerciful. Fear chases me like a rabid animal, uncaring and ruthless. I am afraid, all the time.”

Your hands snake upwards, and you hug Dyvim back, fingers interlocking where they now rest at his back.

The desert is quiet at night. Distantly, you think you may hear the sounds of both mouse encampments, but maybe your mind is playing tricks on you.

“I have always been afraid, ever since I truly understood what world I had been born into. The only thing that can keep the fear at bay... It’s knowing I can heal you. I can help, I can bandage your wounds and make your meals and keep you company, and I know, in a way, that even those paltry actions help save my world.” Dyvim’s voice wavers, as if on the verge of tears. “You are worth it. Worth the fear, and whatever it takes to care for you. Not because you saved worlds before, or even saved the whole Spiral. It’s because I care about you. Who you are. A person whose path has denied them what they deserve. You are allowed to show weakness, to be afraid and hurt, with me. We have faced so much together, and I can only hope that means something. I promise I will care for you in any way I can, on my honor if I must.”

You realize you are crying as you move away from his chest, only to say, “That won’t be necessary.” in a trembling voice.

Dyvim pulls you in tight, hugging you as if it’s his only chance, savoring it and how ephemeral this affection must be by its own nature. You fall asleep together, under the starless sky. For this moment, where you both begin to drift into sleep, there is nothing more important than the fact that you two are together, and safe.

#writing #wiztober2020 #wiztober #wizard101 #wizzy101 #w101 #dyvim/reader #wiz101 #im aware its day 12. i dont care. time is fake. mouse is gay for ME. #i havent really written character/reader fics. should i do this?? #dyvim whitehart

[megalony]

Next time

This is a murderer! Ben Hardy imagine I came up with which I hope everyone is going to enjoy, feedback is always appreciated.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @jonesyaddiction @ambi-and-sunflowers @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me @peterquillzsblog @im-an-adult-ish @crazylittlethingg @allauraleigh

Murderer! Ben masterlist

Summary: Ben and (Y/n) argue in the club but he takes things too far when he hurts her in front of an audience.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Don't walk away from me!"

"Then stop being an unreasonable prick!" (Y/n) didn't bother to look over her shoulder at Ben as she spoke, she couldn't be bothered to argue with her husband right now but he was as persistent as ever. She knew he wasn't going to let this go. She had just shown him up when he was about to give a punishment she deemed unreasonable, Ben always had to be seen as the boss, the one in control, but (Y/n) just proved he wasn't always in control when she was around.

(Y/n)'s lips pressed together tightly when she felt Ben's fingers tangling in her hair to pull her back to him when she continued walking down the corridor. Her hands reached back behind her to grab hold of his wrist, a strangled breath pulling through her teeth when he only tightened his hold on her.

Two men who were walking past slowed down until they were almost halted in place when they noticed the exchange between husband and wife. A lot of workers at the club had seen (Y/n) and Ben argue, but no one had ever seen Ben be physical in a bad nature towards her. He had broken someone's nose for wolf whistling at (Y/n) and trying to touch her inappropriately, he didn't seem the kind to turn on (Y/n) in public like this.

Only a few men at the club had seen (Y/n) on odd occasion come in with a split lip or a few bruises and if (Y/n) wasn't at the club for a week it was a sign that Ben had either punished her for something or rowed with her. He never hurt her in public.

"I said, don't walk away from me." Ben's voice was lower and deeper than normal as he almost growled the words at her. His head turned to the side so he could look down at her properly as his hand pulled her head so it was almost resting on his shoulder.

"And I said, don't be unreasonable. I'm not one of your men, you don't control me Ben."

(Y/n) clawed at Ben's hand until he let go of her hair but she didn't make a move to walk away just yet, she wanted to know what he would say in response and how he would react. She didn't fancy walking away just to have him yank her back by her hair, or worse.

"When you're in my club, you play by my rules and that means I'm in control."

His words sparked something inside of (Y/n) and she pushed his hands off her frame before taking a step back from him. He could order his men around and get them to do whatever he pleased, but he couldn't do that to (Y/n), at least not in the way he did with his men. She would follow his rules to a degree but there were times she just couldn't comply with his controlling, possessive demanding nature.

"No, it means your a bastard." (Y/n) felt something inside of her twitch and clench when she saw the way a fire burned in Ben's eyes and his lips curled into a snarl like a rabid dog.

(Y/n) held her breath in her lungs before she spun on her heels so she was no longer looking at her husband who was staring at her like he wanted to devour her, and not in a good way. Her eyes set on Leo and James, two of Ben's workers who she didn't know all too well, they were walking towards her and Ben as she was going in the opposite direction.

(Y/n) managed to take two steps forward, keeping her chin up trying to act like nothing was wrong. But her eyes widened in their sockets and her body stiffened and froze when Ben's hand suddenly and violently came down and smacked against her, catching her ass and her thigh. It wasn't a loving or playful or even a chiding movement, it was aggressive and intentionally hurtful and Ben never did that when they were at work, he wouldn't hurt her in front of anyone. Ben didn't hit her to make a scene, he hit her to cause her pain and quite possibly show her up in front of the men walking past after what she just said.

Both Leo and James looked at one another before looking at (Y/n)'s horror-stricken face, and then over at Ben who was seething with anger. Neither of them knew whether to carry on walking, if they should say something or if they were to wait for instructions.

"What are you gawping at? Fuck off!"

They visibly shivered, sending (Y/n) sorry looks before heading down the corridor with their heads tipped down towards the floor when they passed Ben in case of getting another telling off like dogs with their tails between their legs.

Ben barely had the time to watch them scamper off because the moment he turned to look at (Y/n), she reached out and slapped him across the face. As if realising what she'd done, (Y/n) recoiled her hand to her chest and her eyes showed the fear she was now experiencing, but the rest of her face was livid. She wasn't having Ben slap her like that when they were at work, arguing in front of the workers or members of the club was bad enough but she didn't want him being violent with her in front of anyone. It was different with the men, but she was his wife he couldn't do that here.

"Don't you dare do that again." (Y/n) breathed through her words, taking a step back but a gasp escaped her lips when Ben grabbed her wrists, looking like he was wrestling with her when he pulled her closer but she scrambled to get back.

Ripping herself free from his grasp, (Y/n) turned around and hurried down the hall before turning right into the gym. She wasn't going to hang around in here but at least with about seven or eight men in here, Ben surely wouldn't try anything on like he did just then. (Y/n)'s sights were set on the door further ahead on the left, if she could just get out through reception she could get to her car and leave. She didn't want to argue or have a fight here at work and she didn't want Ben to get physical because he always had the advantage.

Ben was normally only threatening and hurt (Y/n) with words but on the odd occasion he would physically hurt her, he always had the advantage. He was a boxer, he knew where to punch, kick or hit with a blunt instrument to make it hurt the most and he knew how not to leave many bruises. If ever Ben hurt her he would apologise profusely either an hour later or the next day and (Y/n) knew he meant it. He never liked to lose his temper with her like he had done right now.

A strangled sound left (Y/n)'s lips when familiar but harsh hands dug into her shoulders and yanked her to the side, throwing her off course. (Y/n) stumbled to the left, trying desperately to regain her balance as she was turned to face her husband.

"You dare fucking slap me like that? What, do you think I'm too afraid to give it back to you?"

Lashing her hands out, (Y/n) hit Ben in the chest, trying to get him to let go whilst still wanting to have her dignity and sense about her. But she couldn't stop the panic from filling her eyes or her face and she could see one or two people were now looking in their direction in confusion. Tears sprung in her eyes and a scream left her lips when the back of Ben's hand lashed against her face sending her head snapping to the right. She could feel the sting from the force and from one of his rings that slashed against her cheek.

One of Ben's hands moved to hold her upper arm bruisingly and his other hand held her chin with force so he could pull her head and make her look up at him.

Usually seeing (Y/n) afraid, worried or crying snapped something inside of Ben but today it had no effect on him. He shook her arm until she stopped wriggling and buckling like she was about to fall down and her erratic breaths did nothing to phase him, if anything his grip on her got tighter.

(Y/n) darted her eyes around the room, wishing that it would suddenly snap Ben out of this once he realised every one of his workers in the gym were frozen in place, not knowing what they should do. They had enough common sense to realise that if they dared try and drag Ben away from (Y/n) they would get punished but at the same time, no one wanted to stand and watch and they didn't seem to have the courage to walk away either. They would feel like useless cowards if they just walked and left (Y/n) to get hurt.

"Let go." She tried to sound forceful but her voice only came out in a pleading, terrified voice that took away the dignity she wanted to keep.

Ben looked at her like he was teasing her, prompting her to do something so he could show her who was going to win this fight. Every time (Y/n) tried to pull her chin and her arm from his grip, he held her tighter until moving no longer felt like an option and it was just their gazes battling out for dominance.

Not knowing any other way she could get away from him, (Y/n) jerked her knee up until it hit his crotch and moved her free hand until she could push her knuckles into his nose. She'd never done that to Ben before, the worst she had done was break one of his fingers and she'd fractured his nose once that had been broken so many times it had changed in shape. (Y/n) never had the chance to do much other than scratch at him or slap him, if she ever got the chance to punch him it never affected him like she willed it to, he barely flinched.

(Y/n)'s knees suddenly buckled and she leaned backwards when Ben groaned and leaned over her, stooping down from the pain she inflicted but he didn't give her the chance to try and pull away. He looked like a demon hovering over her with blood dripping from his nose that was thankfully not broken or fractured this time. His teeth were bared and his eyes were darker than (Y/n) had ever seen them before. The moment he let go of her chin and arm, (Y/n) took a few stumbling steps back but Ben followed with her until he could ram his fist up into her chest on the right side.

All the air left (Y/n)'s lungs and her body contorted and doubled over like she was origami being formed into a new shape. If she'd had the chance and the choice, she would have put her head between her knees but before she could even start to breathe again, Ben's hands were back on her.

It was clear she couldn't find the ability to breathe, he'd knocked all the air out of her and her lungs were in shock from the pain but Ben didn't care. His hand latched around her throat like a blood-thirsty vampire and when her left hand reached out for him, he just snagged her wrist in his palm. Ben twisted his hand until he could feel the muscles and tendons in (Y/n)'s wrist stretching and tightening and she wondered if he was going to break her wrist. The pain caused (Y/n) to let out an almost silent scream but Ben's hand around her throat made it harder than it already was to breathe.

(Y/n) wasn't sure whether Ben let go of her or if he pushed her but either way, she ended up on the floor, leaning up against the boxing ring.

All eyes were watching Ben, wondering if he would be so malice as to kick his wife whilst she was already down but they were all surprised when he just stood hovering over (Y/n) like some kind of beacon. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, smearing the blood across his face and his hand.

After a minute that felt like an hour, Bill, one of Ben's workers, took a few daring steps over towards (Y/n) before stopping when Ben's voice hit his ears.

"Don't help her, she can get up on her own. Can't you?" Ben's eyes focused on (Y/n) and his head nodded in her direction, telling her to stand up.

(Y/n) stared up at Ben for a few long seconds, wondering what he would do if she just stayed where she was but part of her didn't really want to find out the answer. Her hands grabbed onto the rope of the boxing ring behind her which she used as leverage to get her shaking legs to move under her control. Her eyes never swayed from watching Ben as she stood to shaking legs with repulsion in her eyes for the man she married.

When Ben reached out either to grab her or maybe even to steady her, (Y/n) coiled her arms to her chest, trying to keep her chin up as she unsteadily walked past him and left the room. If her wedding ring wasn't such a perfect size and was easier to get off her finger, (Y/n) would have thrown it at his feet to see what kind of reaction that would have gained from him.

Why did she marry a brute like him?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nothing extensive.

A shiver ran down (Y/n)'s spine as she looked at herself in the mirror. Sometimes she wished her injuries were extensive because it would make Ben remember what he'd done every time he looked at her and saw a bruise or a cut or some swelling. Other times (Y/n) figured it was better without the markings, no one else would know that way.

But people did know, a room full of workers had just witnessed what Ben had done to her. How was (Y/n) going to go out and show her face in front of them when everyone would have either seen or heard what had happened? Ben had publically hurt and embarrassed her in a place that they both worked every day.

Wiping at her sore eyes, (Y/n) tried to look calm and collected but she couldn't seem to look anything but hurt and damaged. Her eyes were dark and sunken and they looked like broken marbles in their sockets. Her features were dampened with red and her face was sticky with tears that she had continuously smeared onto the back of her hands.

She was going home.

Ben would undoubtedly be staying here at the club which would give (Y/n) time to go home and be on her own and decide if she was staying at home or if she was going to leave before Ben got back. Her mind wasn't made up yet about whether she wanted to be around him or not when she got home.

When she left the bathroom (Y/n) tilted her head down, not wanting to catch sight of anyone or have anyone look at her because although no one would have the nerve to say anything, their stares would be enough. The sorrow or guilt or the pained glances they would spare her would be far too much for (Y/n) to witness, she didn't want anyone to look at her, she wanted to glide through the halls like a ghost and disappear out the car park without anyone noticing.

The thought of Ben being in the office didn't cross (Y/n)'s mind as she walked in so she could retrieve her car keys before leaving. When she caught sight of her husband out of the corner of her eye, (Y/n) kept her eyes focused on the floor, quickly grabbing her keys from the desk before she spun round to leave.

"(Y/n)... (Y/n) stop."

It was very clear by his tone that Ben was trying to sound calm and not be irritated when she didn't look at him or stop walking like he demanded. He was quick to move and block the door from her sights just as she reached it but his lips curled in distaste when she didn't even look up at him. Ben was itching to reach out and hold her chin to force her to look up at him but he knew if he did it would make matters a lot worse and she wouldn't talk at all.

"(Y/n) I'm sorry-"

"Sorry isn't good enough." Her words surprised him and his brows shot up when she finally tilted her head up and looked at him. "Sorry doesn't excuse what you just did to me out there, it doesn't make everything better or make you blameless. Look what you did to me."

Sorry wasn't going to work this time around. Ben couldn't just say he was sorry because (Y/n) wasn't letting him forget what he'd done. Sorry didn't excuse him hurting her and it didn't make up for him beating her up in front of their workers in the club. Sorry wasn't good enough for Ben to get back on (Y/n)'s good side when he'd left bruises on her skin this time and he'd made it harder for her to come to work tomorrow because everyone was going to be looking at her and whispering and spreading rumours. No one was going to forget this in a hurry, including (Y/n).

Gripping the hem of her shirt, (Y/n) pulled her shirt up to her bra so Ben could see the purple bruises beginning to form on the left side of her chest where he'd punched her.

The look in his eyes was something (Y/n) couldn't decipher as he studied her chest until she dropped her shirt and turned her head so he could see the faint finger marks left around her chin and cheek.

(Y/n) took a step back out of precaution when Ben suddenly tried to close the space between them and the pain was evident on his face when she stepped back, but it didn't put him off. He moved closer again until he could lift up her shirt and the quietest growl could be heard vibrating against the back of his throat when he watched his wife flinch like he was going to hurt her again.

Surprise was clear in (Y/n)'s eyes when Ben slowly started to dance his fingertips over the bruises on her chest, feeling like the tip of a feather was slowly being dragged across her skin.

Ben moved his hands to hold (Y/n)'s hips in his usual light yet still firm grip so he didn't hurt her but she also couldn't pull away. (Y/n)'s head turned to watch him with unease, she didn't know what he was doing but she didn't know what she wanted him to do either. Sorry was always the thing he said to her after he hurt her but she wasn't letting him do that this time and if they were arguing about this at home he'd use sex to try and make it up to her.

Shivers ran down (Y/n)'s spine and caused her stomach to pull in when Ben slowly and very lightly kissed the bruises he'd unintentionally created on her skin. He hurt her in the heat of the moment, he didn't mean to bruise her or punch her badly but he had done and he was truly sorry about it.

"Ben..." (Y/n) sighed through his name as her lips curved into a frown, he was doing this because he knew he could get around her this way. He could melt her and wear her down until she forgave him, he wouldn't let her stay mad at him for very long and they both knew it.

She barely breathed when Ben pulled up before his head was leaning in and his lips were suddenly kissing her jaw where he'd left more marks that weren't the good kind.

"Forgive me, call it a truce. I won't do that again I swear it." Ben's words were quiet and breathless against her skin that he wouldn't stop kissing because he could already feel (Y/n) wearing down against him. He felt her hands moving to his shoulders in an attempt to push him away but he pulled her closer in response until her head had to lean back so he could keep kissing up and down her jaw and occasionally kissing her cheek.

"I-if you dare hurt me like that in front of anyone I'm gone. I mean it Ben, the next time you try it this ring will come off my finger and we're finished."

(Y/n) didn't know how true her threat was because they both knew she'd made threats to leave and the most she'd ever managed to do was pack a few of her things before Ben came home and stopped her. But she knew deep down that she would try her best to leave him if he ever hurt her in front of anyone, whether it was family, their workers or a stranger. He couldn't hurt her and he couldn't do that when there was an audience because it was cruel and (Y/n) couldn't take it.

"I won't baby I swear."

(Y/n) didn't know how true his words were despite how sincere he sounded, but when his lips melted against hers, she knew his promise would have to be enough for now.

#ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben x reader #imagine #BoRhap #murderer! ben

[pippki-writes]

An Ill-Fitting Name: Snippet 4

NOTES:

Snippet 1

Snippets 2 & 3

Features lyrics from Danny Schmidt’s “This Too Shall Pass”

Faoust belongs to @thebiggestnerd - she writes him, the healer (whose contribution I summarized in this snippet, I don’t think she comes up again much for our murderboy here so I didn’t go too in depth with her) - everyone else is mine.

Longer post, 8,066 words folks! Buckle up.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

The name is like an ill-fitting coat, but it’s either wear it, or go naked in the cold, metaphorically speaking. He knows Faoust will kill him, but he’s not dead yet.

The officer sitting outside the room tilts her chair back on its legs, in one ear her radio turned low and largely ignored, holding her phone out playing music and keeping her other ear tilted to the room and its occupant for signs of life. He listens to the music coming from her phone:

We think too big

We think our self is one whole thing

And we claim that this collection

Has a name and is a being

But deep inside

When every cell divides

Well, it sets upon the rule that states

Self-interest is divine

He scrapes out an involuntary cough, and the officer lets her chair fall forward as she twists to check on him.

She tries to interrogate him, but he can’t talk, and only whispers “no.” He writes on her notepad, “I’m expecting a visitor,” and refuses to communicate further. His intuition is that Faoust will come here for him eventually, though he doesn’t know how long Faoust will let him live. Maybe Faoust won’t come while he’s in the hospital. But hovering over the edge of the pain, death feels certain and he knows where it will come from.

Finally, a visitor arrives. He hears the footsteps approaching, certainly heavier than any of the nurses that have tended to him, and the sound of a respectful shuffling in place, acknowledging the officer guarding his hospital room.

A familiar voice speaks. “Hey. I’m here to see my friend Asmodai, officer…?”

He can hear the sound of the officer crossing her arms, but she neither gets up nor offers her name. “Don’t suppose you might be able to tell me what the hell happened to him and how he ended up here?”

“Nah, wish I could. Is he ok?”

“He’s not in great shape. I’m not a doctor but he’s bad off. And not the kind of bad off that happens accidentally.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Almost as crazy as whoever did this. You don’t have any ideas?”

“Nah. I’m not really an ideas guy. Just a guy who worries about my friends. Can I go see him or...?”

The officer gives a defeated little grunt. “Yeah, sure. Go ahead. We can talk later.”

Dorien walks into the room as though he belongs there. Machines. IVs. In the middle of the room, bed propped up, staring at him, there’s that bastard Asmodai. Dorien takes a moment to breathe, staring back, looking angry. Dorien reminds himself why he is here. Not to kill him. Not to bring retribution. Just information to help Faoust. He clenches and unclenches his hands.

It takes Dorien a moment to realize what Asmodai is doing. The slight, strange sound, chest heaving—he is, very quietly, laughing.

He hasn’t come to terms with how to refer to himself—he is no more Isaiah than he was Asmodai, but he supposes, out of respect for the wish of a self who once knew what it wanted, he will call himself Isaiah until it fits. Or until he’s dead.

Isaiah laughs until the sound breaks into a cough. For starters, this was not the visitor he was expecting. And he can see why he would have been drawn to Dorien. Tall, dark-haired, handsome, and vulnerable. So many of his favorite things. The wizard Asmodai, before he stole his name, had been much the same.

Dorien keeps himself in check, and comes closer to the bedside. He doesn’t want the officer to hear him.

“What’s so fucking funny?” Dorien growls quietly.

Isaiah frowns. Talking will be an effort. He can’t even breathe too deeply, thanks to Dorien’s best attempts to slowly crush his ribs the other night after what he tried to do to Faoust. This is merely a fact—he doesn’t feel particular malice over it. He tries to choose his words carefully, so as not to waste them. There’s no volume, only whispering, but even the whispers are so resolute, so final. The playfulness of Asmodai is gone.

“Too much...to explain. What ...do you want...to know?”

Dorien folds his arms, lest he be tempted to do anything. “C’mon, what do you think I’d be here wanting to know. The magic-blocking cuffs. How do we take them off? Where’s the key?”

Isaiah shakes his head. “Didn’t get...a key. Wouldn’t...have wanted it.”

Dorien glares down at the bastard who nearly succeeded at killing the love of his life, and proceeds to try to get information out of him while texting Faoust. The conversation is slow going. The answers Dorien gets are halting and unsatisfying.

Faoust texts Dorien: "I want to know what he thinks should happen next."

Dorien looks down at Asmodai. “So what do you think should happen next?”

Isaiah sighs, unfazed. “Talking...not exactly....easy. Paper? Pen? Your phone?”

Dorien looks around for paper. He’s dumb, but not dumb enough to hand over his phone. He finds a notepad and a cheap pen in the desk drawer, and throws them on Asmodai’s lap.

Isaiah scribbles, handwriting messy and difficult on the flimsy pad, “He kills me for what” a scribble then, crossing out an “As,” and the writing resumes, “I’ve done. Why wouldn’t he? It’s inevitable.”

Dorien tears the paper off the notepad and holds it up, taking a picture to send to Faoust. “You’ve really fucked up, Asmodai.”

Isaiah’s mouth twitches a little at the name.

Above the top of the note, in the picture, Faoust can see Asmodai staring at the camera. There is no fear, nothing pathetic in the way he looks. Resolute. Certain. Final.

Faoust frowns. He had hoped for a bit more fight. But this is sort of like putting down a rabid dog at this point. It's not enjoyable for anyone involved.

Faoust: "tell him I'm disappointed that it came to this"

Faoust: "tell him I'll be there soon. As soon as my magic is back"

Dorien reads his phone, and before he can speak another note is being waved at him that reads “tell him come talk to me himself. This is fucking ridiculous.” Dorien sighs and snatches the note, snapping a picture for Faoust. There is a touch of defiance in Isaiah’s eye.

Faoust's lip curls in irritation and a tiny bit of embarrassment. Fine.

Faoust makes his way to the hospital, to the third floor, to the charge nurse.

“Looking for my friend,” says Faoust, “A John Doe?”

The charge nurse points with a pen. “The room with the officer. There’s already a visitor and technically I shouldn’t let too many people visit at once, but you know what? The world is hell. This hospital is hell. Go nuts.”

“Amen,” Faoust replies, heading over to the officer. “Hi, I'm here for my friend. I guess I have to answer questions first?”

The officer squints up at him suspiciously. “Damn, did the city call a prettyboy convention and I missed the memo?” She lets the chair rest back on all four legs. “I dunno, what do you know about what happened to your friend?”

“Not much. We were out partying, I know pandemic and all, but spare me the lecture. I told him goodbye and to call me when he got home but he never did.” Faoust pauses. “I heard he's bad. Maybe a hit and run?”

“Sure. Sure. Right.” The officer eyes him for a moment. “You’re a better liar than your friend. Go on in.”

“Liar? I- ugh. Fine.” He gives up on the officer and goes in the room.

“Alright you piece of shit. I'm here. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Isaiah looks at Faoust appreciatively. Yeah, he can see why he did all that shit. He sighs, wishing he could just fucking talk, and settles for hurriedly writing on the notepad.

Dorien mutters softly to Faoust. “He can’t talk..apparently.”

Faoust chuckles a little. “I should expect so.”

Isaiah rips off the note and holds it out. It begins with “A” scratched out and then “I resented the power you had over me. Wanted you to suffer. Wanted to kill you, and Dorien, and take your name, take your power. And didn’t want to kill you. Wanted to fuck and kill with you. Poorer judgment won out. Tried to make you suffer.” He sighs, frustrated at the time it takes to write, already writing on a new note.

Faoust reads the note and sighs. It was just as he thought.

“I wanted to just keep it fun and casual.” Faoust grits out through his teeth, “Why did you have to complicate things?”

Isaiah tosses Faoust a finished note: “No point in apologies. Won’t change what was done. No actions to right it” and starts writing a response to the question, tapping the pen on his chin, thinking.

“Wasn’t as fun fucking and killing without you. Didn’t like that.”

“That's called friendship, you absolute dolt.”

Isaiah pauses, and writes “Asmodai didn’t do well with having friends.”

Faoust runs his hands through his hair in exasperation. “Wait-Asmodai? Third person? Who the fuck are we talking to then?”

Isaiah makes a face. It’s difficult to explain. He writes. “I am. Was. Asmodai. For too long I think.”

He pauses, rolls his eye. He doesn’t feel like Isaiah either.

“I did what he did. But don’t feel what he felt, anymore. Memories, yes. Feeling? No.”

Faoust pauses. “So is..is Asmodai gone?”

“Depends on what you mean. The me that felt what he—I felt?”

Isaiah makes a quiet frustrated noise and slams the pen down. He is so tired of writing. He jots another note, mindful of trying to do magic around either of them. “Can I try magic on my voice? You mind?”

Faoust shrugs. “Go for it.”

Isaiah holds his right hand around his throat, eye closed. Healing has never been his strong suit, but he knows enough to get by. He just needs to be able to talk. His hand glows faintly.

When he speaks, his voice is rough, not much volume to it but it’s more than a whisper.

“If I don’t feel the things I felt when I called myself Asmodai, am I Asmodai?”

Faoust thinks. This complicates matters. “I'll be frank. If I were to leave you be, what would you do? Don't lie to me.”

“I would leave you alone.” Isaiah shrugs. “The things I ...Asmodai...I felt, I know them. Factually. I don’t feel them anymore.” He looks at Faoust sharply. “But I am responsible for what I did.”

Faoust thinks for a moment. “This is complicated. I'll need some time with this. What do you think you'll do when you're out of the hospital?”

“What do you mean, when I’m out of the hospital? You’re going to kill me. No further planning needed.”

“Well, I was thinking about waiting when you got out of the hospital regardless.”

Isaiah sighs. “Wish I’d known that sooner. Might’ve kept this magical existential crisis at bay.” He shakes his head. “No. Probably not. Asmodai—I. Fucked up too much. There was no way he...I...would win. It’s certain. You will kill me.”  He shakes his head again.

“Look. I don't want to kill you. Asmodai. At all. At this point it's about putting down an animal. That's all. And now there's this whole thing that you're not even who I knew anymore? This complicates things. Shit, if I were to kill you, it wouldn't even feel right.”

Isaiah makes a frustrated noise. “Fuck. The only reason I’m like this is because you’re going to kill me.”

“Do you want me to kill you?”

Isaiah dodges the question. “Back when I started killing to take power and names, I bound my own name away, far beyond my memory, and it would only come back if I was certain I was going to die. So I could die not as whatever fucking asshole whose name I stole. But as myself. Or at least. In the name I was born with, right?

“I was Asmodai. I was happy being Asmodai. But now?

“I’m no more Asmodai than I am this damn name my shit mother gave me.”

Faoust thinks. “Well, look. Fine. I'll kill you. Put you down. But I have to wait. I can't do anything until I have my magic back.”

Isaiah twists his lips a little. “Hm. Can’t help there. Told your boy here, I don’t have a key for the cuffs.”

This whole time, Dorien has just been watching, arms crossed and not believing this bullshit.

“Yeah,” Faoust says, “I heard. I've just got to wait. So you've got to wait.”

Isaiah sighs again. “Isaiah. Isaiah James. My name.” He shrugs. “Me. Not me.”

Isaiah twists his lips briefly in disgust at the taste of his own name on his tongue. “If you’re going to kill me, you ought to have my name.”

Faoust nods and rubs his face. “Look, I'll put you down. I will. But it's going to take like at least a week for me to get my magic back.”

Isaiah gives another shrug. “You know where to find me. I know what I’ve done. It’s only right.”

“Alright. You're not going anywhere?”

Isaiah gives him a flat look. “Where and how the hell would I manage to do that?”

“I mean, you've got magic. I don't. You could pull out some magic to take yourself somewhere.”

Isaiah rubs his fingers together on his right hand, little sparks arcing between them as he stares vacantly at his hand. “Where would I go? For what purpose? I know my fate.”

Faoust nods, satisfied. “Alright. Well then, we'll be on our way. You've got my number.”

Isaiah nods, dismissing the sparks. “I’ll be waiting.”

Isaiah wonders if it’s worth healing himself--physically, at any rate. He closes his eye and takes stock of all his pain. So many choices. And what else is he supposed to do with his time? The burns, he thinks, he will work on those. He hovers his right hand over his burned forearm, wrapped loosely in the day’s fresh gauze, and slowly works a healing spell, distracted by memories of the fight. Remembering the moment it all turned on him, when help came for Faoust while he had no one. He shakes his head, his thoughts wandering around. So many emotions that ruled him that he’s no longer bound by. Though perhaps he should be. He ought to be more angry. But he is mostly hollowed out. He does not even notice when his thoughts slip over the witch and his magic doesn’t so much as flicker, the healing steadily and slowly knitting in his skin.

Those were Asmodai’s problems.

The worst part is the waiting. Or perhaps the worst part, right now, is the burns on his arm—his healing magic is slow, the process tedious, and his head is empty of any warming memory to draw upon to make the healing go faster. There are memories, so many memories, but as he turns his mind to each of them in turn he feels nothing he can pull from. Perhaps it would have been better not to restore the nerve endings that had been burnt away—as they return, so too returns the opportunity for fresh pain to scream through his senses. And the drugs have trouble working their wonders as his magic interferes with the natural order of his body. Too late now, he’s already started this project. When the nurses aren’t looking in on him, he hovers his hand over the burned arm and continues the laborious process of working healing magic. Healing was never his forte. It still isn’t. Good to know, though it still seems like all he knows is a catalogue of things he was, and now isn’t.

Though perhaps, Isaiah thinks, it’s pointless to dwell on. Does he need that badly to know who he is now, if he’s only going to die? Not that he wants to die. Though, he can tell, Asmodai didn’t want to die in a particularly crazed and desperate way that Isaiah no longer feels. He doesn’t want to die, but then, he doesn’t feel a clear sense that he wants much of anything right now. From the moment the spell he placed upon himself fell away, he has simply accepted the fact of his death. Imminent. Inevitable. Deserved.

Asmodai was awful—not in a way that Isaiah feels, merely as a summary of fact considering the things that he’d done. The drives that motivated him. But to be fair, Isaiah had not been a good person either. No. He had been awful too. Killed people. Tortured them. Enjoyed it. Sought power beyond his measure, and took it.

Killed the dark wizard who taught him everything.

Sealed himself away.

What had he thought would happen, if this spell had ever had cause to come undone? He can’t remember, but he is pretty sure he would not have guessed it would leave him like this. So...uncertain.

Regret implies a level of sadness Isaiah doesn’t feel. He...wishes he had been someone different though. He wishes he had acted differently. Had recognized his limits. Recognized battles he wouldn’t win, and had the sense not to fight them.

The nurse surely notices when Isaiah’s arm does not look as bad off today as it did yesterday, putting fresh gauze on, but says nothing. Discreetly checks the patient chart—yes, third degree burns. It definitely said the patient had third degree burns. But you don’t last long in this town by asking inconvenient questions. Since the patient is conscious now, staring out the window, the nurse offers him his phone from his belongings and plugs it in for him. There’s a crack across the screen, but the phone works.

Isaiah has been working on healing his arm. It is such a slow, deliberate process. He isn’t sure why he’s doing it, but now that he’s started he’s committed to continuing. After all, what else has he got to do? His arm is still a mess of burnt tissue and pain, fresh nerve endings and the testament to his limitations.

Later, he looks through his phone, deleting pictures that bring him no particular joy to look at. Eventually he texts Faoust, “Have you decided how you’ll do it?” and nothing else.

Faoust: “something quick. Could stab you right in the heart.”

The heart had been Asmodai’s favorite, ripped from his victims—sometimes raw, other times he’d toast them before devouring them whole.

Isaiah: “poetic. fitting.”

Faoust: "look man. I really don't want to do this. You could go about your business. I don't care"

Isaiah sighs, and leaves the message on read for a few minutes. He thinks.

Isaiah: “I did wrong by you. I accept responsibility for it.”

Faoust: "and I'm telling you it's fine."

Isaiah waits again before responding.

Isaiah: “now I’m the one that needs to think on that”

Faoust: "Asmodai tried to kill me. He failed. You're here now. Not the same as Asmodai. It's not the same kill for me. Look, I beat the shit out of you. That should cover it. Do you really want to die?"

Isaiah sighs to himself.

Isaiah: “no, I don’t”

Faoust: "then I'm giving you your fucking out. Take it."

Isaiah pauses. Again, Faoust giving him the opportunity not to die, after everything he...Asmodai...he did. After so many times he honestly deserved to die. He was a warped and twisted thing, not right, and surely not to be trusted. But fuck. He didn’t really want to die.

Isaiah: “...ok.”

Isaiah: “fine”

Faoust: "want me to call a healer for you?"

Isaiah: “...seriously?”

Faoust: "otherwise you're going to be stuck at the hospital forever. No offense but I want you out of here."

Isaiah: “sure, sure. If I’m healing myself it’ll take forever”

Faoust: "you can't kill her"

Isaiah: “of course”

Isaiah thinks about the warning, which is fair, considering his history. He doesn’t even feel like killing anyone right now. Which is strange to him. He wonders to himself as he waits if this is the right thing to do, not insisting Faoust kill him. If he’s just avoiding fate and what he deserves. But when Faoust arrives in his hospital room with a healer, and she uses magic to transport the three of them out of his hospital room, he just watches quietly, making no protest. The empty alley she takes them to is cold, and Isaiah’s broken body falls to the ground painfully without a bed beneath him anymore.

He sucks it up, grits his teeth, and withstands the pain and the cold. Not out of any sense of pride, but because he feels he deserves it. He lists out for the healer the procedures the doctors had done, along with his own meager attempts at healing, and in turn, she tells him what she’ll be able to do. The metal they used to set his bones will always bring him some pain and discomfort, and there’s nothing she can do for his eye, the curse--

“The eye,” says Isaiah, touching his cheek lightly, “has been there a long time now. It’s fine.”

The magic of healing is painful, and there is a lot of it to be done. Isaiah doesn’t scream, not the way he did when Faoust beat him in the first place. He endures, and tries to focus on the fact that he deserves this pain. This doesn’t stop a few strangled screams and growls from bubbling up. Faoust watches impassively, satisfied.

When it’s finished, Isaiah breathes heavily for a moment, feeling every nerve on fire, taking stock of how he feels. He sits up, slowly, impressed and in awe. He gives thanks to the healer, to Faoust, and stands up shakily on knees that are no longer shattered. He summons up the illusion of clothes over his hospital gown, with no idea where he ought to go, what he ought to do. When Faoust tells him to get the fuck out of here, he readily agrees. Not the first town he’s been kicked out of. Always violent. Always deserved.

He could teleport himself, but where the hell would he go? There’s nowhere he belongs. There’s a dull ache in his bones, and he picks a cardinal direction and starts walking toward it. The speed doesn’t matter. Isaiah doesn’t strictly need actual clothes. He could use magic to keep himself warm. But the first window shop he passes, he swaps his hospital gown for the outfit on display, and keeps walking. He walks until he’s passed by a sign indicating leaving/entering, the liminal space of one town bleeding into another, goes to the first clean motel he can find, uses his magic to procure a room, and passes out after having walked for hours.

At the hospital, a call is placed to 911. A patient is missing.

The officer assigned to take the report is the same one who had been guarding the room when Dorien and Faoust visited. With the most deadpan expression, she questions the charge nurse on duty, intoning dully, “wow, just fucking vanished, huh?”

She files a missing persons report for “Asmodai / Isaiah James,” because in spite of trying not to hear things she doesn’t want to have to question, she hears them anyway. She makes note of possible contacts / persons of interest, “Dorien” and “Faoust,” and submits her report to see if she can get away with not following up on anything further.

She doesn’t even bother running any checks on any of the names. She doesn’t find anything out about a decades-old missing persons report for a runaway boy of the name Isaiah James out of Ohio. If anyone bothered to fingerprint the victim at all to try to ID him while he was unconscious, the prints have been lost.

After all, a lot of people go missing in this town.

It’s just one more.

Her supervisor literally flips a coin to decide if such absolute bullshit shoddy work will be accepted. Tails. That’s a nope. He rejects the report, and sends her a CAD message: “hit the streets and try again sweetie.”

Officer Dannic “Dani” Voros swears, loudly, in her patrol car in the hospital parking lot, and slams her computer shut. Growls, and opens it again to search for any information she can find about Dorien and Faoust. If she can find anything, she’ll talk to them at least.

Here’s what she finds: no drivers licenses. No arrest records. No voter records. Nothing in any database she has access to. No hospital records, which no, her friend in the hospital records should NOT have looked up for her probably but dammit, this was important. Well, not important to her, but it’s what she was supposed to be doing and she was getting very annoyed with the lack of any hints of paper trail for those two.

She starts angrily and haphazardly googling search terms, and some combination of tall, mysterious, handsome, and Dorien does bring back a tabloid article about the enigmatic artist, which brings up several printed interviews and connections to a particular pre-teen punk rock band apparently bankrolled by Mr. Dorien Godforbidhehavealastname, and the names of its musicians. Actual names. First and last names, unlike those recordless bastards Dorien and Faoust. She searches the names. Property tax records. Bingo. A lead. And an address. She puts the patrol car in drive and heads out. One conversation largely conducted through the few-inch gap of a chained door later, Officer Voros has both probably offended another citizen with an inappropriate joke, and obtained an address for the two handsome strangers that called on her missing person.

The cold rain makes all this work extra annoying. She debates putting off the follow up until more clement weather. Or just never. Reluctantly she puts the patrol car in drive and heads to the address.

She looks at the apartment building as she pulls up. No, correction. She looks at the giant skeleton covered in Valentine’s decorations outside the apartment building as she pulls up. The apartment building itself is an afterthought. As she arrives, the weather around the apartment changes. Suddenly it is clear and 59 degrees.

Officer Voros just stares at the atmosphere and blinks at it like it has personally offended her. She twists in her seat to look back down the street at the weather there, then stares at the apartment again, and sinks back in her seat for a moment, closing her eyes, and thinks to herself, “thiiiiiiis. iiiiiis. some buuuuuuuullshiiiiiiiiit.”

She sighs a very angry sigh, gets out of the patrol car, and goes up to the appropriate door. She raps on the door with her very best authoritative knock.

Faoust opens the door and clocks the cop. “Hm.”

Officer Voros puts her hands on her hips and brightens comically. “And they said I’d never find the secret prettyboy convention! Those bastards once again were wrong.” She smiles, and doesn’t offer her name. “Evening citizen. I’m hoping you might help me with this absolute crazy missing persons case I’ve been cursed with.”

“Oh yeah? Who?”

“Why, your dear friend or whatever bullshit you said at the time. Asmodai? Isaiah? You know, the guy SOMEBODY in this cursed plane of existence beat all to hell and put in the hospital.”

“Wait, wait, wait. How did he go missing? He couldn't stand, let alone walk? How did you lose him?”

“Yeah! That’s the crazy part, he just. Fucking. Vanished. Shattered kneecaps, pelvis, and all. Gone. Between you and me, that’s on the hospital. We weren’t watching him anymore at that point, but now it IS my problem to, you know. Figure out what the fuck happened and make sure there’s not a homicide investigation that should be happening here.”

Faoust shakes his head in disbelief as he tries to come up with a plan. “I could give you his motel room and location if you want? I mean, I haven't heard from him since I went to go see him?”

“Sure, sure. And it’s not like it’s illegal for him to leave the hospital. If he’s fine, I just need to lay eyes on him. It just seems real fucking suspiciously inconceivable how he’d have managed that in the state he was in, ya know?”

“Yeah, no, for sure. Let me go get some paper.”

Faoust leaves her at the front door and digs around in drawers looking for paper and pen. She stands at the front door, looking inside, pondering Faoust the whole while. He hands her a note with the address of the motel Asmodai had been staying at.

“Let me know if you find anything, yeah?”

Officer Voros takes the paper. “Of course.” She takes a blank card out of her pocket, a generic business card for the police department that doesn’t have her name on it. She writes down a phone number and offers the card to Faoust. “You think of anything else helpful, call or text me. Or if your prettyboy friend Dorien knows anything either.”

“Dorien doesn't know anything. At all. Not a braincell up there. But I'll keep it in mind.” Faoust takes the card and pockets it.

“Thanks. Stay safe citizen.” She heads down the steps and back to her patrol car, looking at the address. She knows the motel.

Officer Voros looks back toward Faoust from her patrol car for a long minute before she pulls out. She doesn’t have any sort of proof necessarily, just a feeling that Faoust was lying quite smoothly out of every side of his head right to her face. She types up a field contact for alias Faoust along with the address before she leaves.

Asmodai’s motel room ends up being a dead end. There’s nothing obviously off about the room, but she gets a weird vibe. Still a suitcase here. Some knives. Nothing much else. She does not discover that the room is under a stolen credit card in another name. She doesn’t look up any other purchases that stolen card might have made to connect it to an abandoned rental car that was impounded on Faoust’s street. She types up her report and deletes “went on a wild fucking goose chase because my corporal is a dickhead” from the report.

Officer Voros swears loudly, because she realizes she didn’t ask Faoust if the mysteriously vanished bastard had. a fucking. cell phone number. She groans. She decides she’ll pretend to have thought of that tomorrow, because she doesn’t want to follow up now.

The weak and cloudy light of morning is scattered further by the cheap, hazy curtains pulled loosely across the window. Isaiah wakes up, still dressed in his stolen clothes where he passed out on top of the covers. There it is—a dull ache in his bones, a twinge in his hips and knees as he pushes himself up to sit. He looks down at his palms, and they are smooth and untroubled, marked by nothing but the simple creases of where his hand folds. He flexes his left hand. The countless scars that had made a tangled nest there in his palm, the countless times he’d cut and called upon blood magic and done only a just-good-enough job of closing the wounds, when he remembered to heal himself at all, they’re all gone.

Isaiah doesn’t even have a knife, he realizes. His...Asmodai’s favored knives were either in the clothes left in the hospital, in the rental car, or in the motel room he has no intention of returning to. But it feels like he should have a knife. He has no money, but money isn’t too necessary when you’re flush with magic and short on moral qualms against stealing.

He heads out for the day to get a knife, zipping up his stolen coat. Something simple. New. He goes to the nearest outdoors store and sees a nice Benchmade folding knife with a black-coated blade and white handle and feels drawn to it. With an effortless bit of magic, the knife disappears from the case and appears in his pocket as he leaves the parking lot.

Isaiah flips the knife open experimentally, admires it, turning his wrist this way and that to see the sides of the blade. He unlocks the blade and closes it again, clipping the knife in his pocket. He doesn’t have a plan for it, but it felt appropriate in his hand.

Isaiah has been somewhat skirting around thinking about this fact, but taking the knife in his hand he has to confront it. He’s not someone who can go work a 9 to 5 job, take a little paycheck home, find someone sweet to love him and love in turn. Whatever he does next isn’t going to be some contented kind of life. That wasn’t the lot he was born to.

What he is good at...all he has ever been good at, is violence.

He walks slowly back to the current motel. He takes the knife out of his pocket, opening and closing it as he goes, thinking to himself. Magic, and violence. Magic and violence. This is all he’s ever known. Even if he wanted to do something else, how could he, at this point? He’s not a good person. And surely nothing he is capable of can be used for good ends. He hasn’t killed anyone in so many days now, and strangest of all, doesn’t feel particularly compelled to. Not averse to it either. But the stirring in his blood that craved to see the icy glint of fear through tears before an untimely death doesn’t move him, for now.

Officer Voros follows up with Faoust the next night, gets a phone number for her missing person, and puts in a request for a ping before taking a nap in her patrol car. She’ll follow up further in daylight hours. Before ending her night shift, Officer Voros tries to call the phone number Faoust provided for the missing person. It’s almost 6am, of course he doesn’t answer. She leaves a voicemail indicating for him to call the communications center so they can speak.

The next day, Officer Voros, as soon as assembly is done, goes to her patrol car and puts herself on a follow up before any calls can be assigned to her. She tries calling the number again. Isaiah looks at his phone. A blocked number. He silences the phone without answering, because who would be calling him? He hasn’t bothered checking his voicemail either, since he didn’t recognize the number that called. He’ll check it eventually. He sits in his motel room, opening and closing his stolen knife.

Officer Voros checks the latitude and longitude of the ping. Another motel. It’s within a mile of what technically counts as her jurisdiction, so technically she CAN go investigate her own damn self, OR she can call her counterparts in the next town over to check for her. She debates which sounds like more work. With an agonized groan that can surely be heard two counties over, Officer Voros puts her patrol car in drive and heads for the motel.

Officer Voros checks with the front desk, but thanks to his use of magic there’s no one checked in by the names of Asmodai or Isaiah James. She pulls up the coordinates on her phone to get as close as possible to the ping, and starts knocking on doors fruitlessly, starting with the ground floor. She has an idea, and dials the number again, and faintly hears a ring from a couple doors down. A little excited in spite of herself, she hustles down to the door and knocks.

Asmodai would’ve checked through the peephole before opening the door, if he opened it at all. Isaiah does not care, and opens the door as he silences his phone again, looking up from the phone at the officer.

“There you are, you mysterious bastard! Alive and unmurdered, and my hatred of paperwork thanks you for that.”

Isaiah feels a slight needle of panic, if only because he has done a lot of things that would not put him on the good side of the police. His eye darts briefly to her neck and back to meet her eyes.

“Here I am. Alive. Unmurdered, as you say.”

Officer Voros looks him up and down, frowning. This is definitely the same guy, that’s not a common scar after all, but he’s clearly not just unmurdered, but very significantly undamaged. “Didn’t you have a hell of a lot of shattered bones?”

Isaiah shrugs. “Modern medicine is a miracle.”

Officer Voros just blinks at him. She doesn’t believe him for a moment. “And I don’t suppose you might be able to tell me how you managed to make your way so secretly out of the hospital that they felt compelled to report you as a missing person?”

“Sorry, no. Not sure what the miscommunication was there. Quite obviously, I left the hospital.”

“Quite. Obviously. Of course.”

Isaiah smiles wanly. “Am I in trouble?”

Officer Voros continues looking him over suspiciously. “I suppose not. You left your paperwork from the hospital.” She hands him a stack of paperwork and billing statements. “Somehow.”

Isaiah takes the papers. “Oh, thanks.”

“And the belongings you came in with. Are still at the hospital.”

“Oops.”

“And a bunch of shit I’m guessing belongs to you is all left at another cheap motel.”

“You think?”

“No,” Officer Voros snaps. “I try to avoid thinking whenever I can. But I do think some weird ass shit is involved here with you.”

Isaiah’s hand twitches slightly, and he presses his lips together. “Hm.”

“But shit being weird isn’t my problem. Not my jurisdiction. So I suppose I don’t give a fuck. Glad you’re not murdered. Take care. Call your friends, they’re pretending to be worried about you.” She heads back to her patrol car.

Isaiah slowly lets out a tensely held breath.

Officer Voros sits in the parking lot, wrapping up her report. She tries calling Faoust from her blocked number. He answers, not knowing any better.

“Solid citizen! Faoust right? Your favorite friend-finding officer here. Found your friend.”

“Oh my god! Where was he? Is he ok?”

“He’s better than ok, considering the state I last saw him in. Damn near miraculous recovery. He’s just outside of town, another motel not far off the highway.”

“Oh man, thanks so much for finding him. I'll have to go see him. Are you able to give me the address?”

“That depends, are you going there to murder him?”

“Why the hell would Igo there to murder him?”

“Aaaa I’m just fucking with you. I’ve got a nice neat solved missing persons case here and if you went and murdered him it would just be an assfuck of paperwork that I don’t want to have to deal with is all.”

“Fucked up joke, officer.”

“Yeah, file a complaint on me if you’d like. Oh, right, address,” she says, and gives him the address and room of the Quality Inn where Isaiah is staying.

“Thank you. Despite the fucked up joke, I'm glad you found him.”

“Just doing my sworn duty and all that. Stay safe citizen,” she says and hangs up.

Without fully realizing it, Officer Voros has solved the first missing persons case in the department in nearly a year.

Officer Voros always keeps a spare portable radio among her belongings. She managed to get it more or less off the record, so that when she inevitably loses track of her actual radio again, she can make do with the backup until the original eventually resurfaces, and not get all manner of shit from her corporal for losing her radio AGAIN. She doesn’t think hard on the fact that her radio is once again MIA. It will turn up in time.

In his motel room, Isaiah switches the radio on, and fiddles between channels.

Isaiah lays on the bed, one hand manipulating the knife—open, closed, open, closed, each motion with a satisfying little sound—the other hand resting on the radio on his chest, occasionally following the chatter of traffic to a side channel. An officer keys up, her voice annoyed and muttering over sounds of entitlement in the background—“6676 to 200, switch to 2”—and Isaiah flips the radio to channel 2, partly because he is curious and partly because it sounds like the officer from the other night.

The officer keys up, he’s quite sure it’s her, and a voice that sounds like it expects the world laid compliantly at its feet cuts through the backdrop of everything the officer says

6676: 200 you on?

—this is AMERICA, I have RIGHTS, I demand to speak to your SUPERVISOR, I—

200: go’on whatcha got

—what is your NAME, no WHAT is your NAME—

6676: *you can hear the eye roll in her voice* can you just come over here and deal with this.

There’s a final indignant “do you even KNOW” in the background before the supervisor cuts over the traffic to advise he’s en route. Isaiah’s thumb closes the knife again with a sense of finality. He doesn’t care about the officers, but the woman in the background had the sort of voice you’d love to cut right out of her throat.

Isaiah sits up, goes to put the radio aside but pulls it back in front of him again. He focuses on the radio, whatever traces of grit and grime and little skin cells from the officer still stick to the plasticky radio, and does a tracking spell. He switches the radio off, puts it on the bedside table, and grabs his jacket on the way out the door.

Isaiah returns to his motel room. Hands clean. Knife clean.

He did not appear with an ear-splitting bang, as the witch does. He knows ways to move through shadows and though it isn’t instantaneous, it’s a hell of a lot quieter. Isaiah remained in the shadows, waiting. There, yes, the officer from the other night, and there, that must be 200, the human embodiment of an industrial refrigerator crossed with a boulder, and there. Jabbing her finger, practically frothing at the mouth, hair crisply cut, every line in her body set in the conviction of her own righteousness and that she should get what she wants. Isaiah didn’t even try to listen to what she was saying. It didn’t matter. He waited.

When the officers left, the woman turned to her minivan to get in. Or, that was what she intended to do. But she found as she walked, it was like her body was being pushed and pulled, and the sound had left her voice, and she walked into the shadows across the parking lot.

Without saying a word, Isaiah came up quickly behind her and slit her throat, and before a drop could hit the concrete sent her body and all its rapidly spilling blood deep, deep into the earth below.

Magic cleaned the knife. Magic cleaned his hands. He slipped back into the shadows and hurried to get the hell back out of Faoust’s town.

Isaiah returned to his motel room, everything clean. Feeling a certain ...satisfaction? Correctness? A bit of lost unease dissolved away within him.

Of course, Isaiah reflects on how different this murder was. He flicks the knife, open and closed. When he thinks of himself as he was, he has gotten in the habit of thinking of himself as an entirely separate person now. Asmodai was. Asmodai would have. So on. Asmodai would have taken far more enjoyment from the killing. Asmodai would have tasted the blood on the knife. Asmodai would have savored the delicious fear in her eyes, for as long as possible. Asmodai would have had the possibility of someone to share the experience with, though he resented so much about that fact. Asmodai was an idiot.

Isaiah switches the radio back on, quietly, to have something to listen to, since that’s all he has.

When Officer Voros was handling the latest missing person case early this morning, part of her was perversely satisfied—maybe that bitch descended back to hell where she belonged—and that other part of her, the part made of intuitions that guessed too correctly, that had long ago tried to bring up things that had since gone ignored, the part that she did her best to keep buried, that part felt a sharp jolt of unease. She was, officially, the last person to have seen the missing person. There was a security camera on the other side of the parking lot, and the footage made no sense. The victim—victim? Why was she already thinking victim?—missing bitch, then, started walking to her car, and then turned, and walked off to the far side of the parking lot, into grainy shadow. It didn’t look like someone had called out to her, she just...decided to go on some random bitch walk. In the dark of early morning hours, Officer Voros walked around the spot she went off to, clicking on her flashlight, looking for clues. Nothing.

It seemed appropriate for Isaiah to return to murder on his own...it’s all he knows. He’s not suddenly a good person. He’s not full of remorse for everything he did. It’s all just facts. Things that happened that can’t be changed.

He listens to the radio again today, and thinks with a sort of mirthless chuckle how hypocritical it would be for him to kill some of the people he’s hearing about. “If I were cutting throats for that, have to start with myself,” he thinks, over and over and over. Asmodai craved victims, sought them out. Isaiah is content to see what serendipity will bring.

Isaiah struck out into town yesterday to find a charger for his stolen radio. Listening gives him something to do besides think. He could have just gotten a commercial police scanner, or used an app on his phone to listen in, but that didn’t have the same appeal. He listens carefully, mentally keeping track of the addresses and where the officers are, when it’s announced anyway. The officer from the other night he can find easily enough, but without addresses and nothing to trace them with, magically speaking, finding any of these other officers would be incredibly difficult. Well, to do in a timely fashion anyway.

So he listens, and waits, hoping to feel that same jolt of dead certainty, knowing a voice spoke that would be his to kill.

Isaiah knows. An officer keys up “put me out with an animal problem at” and gives an address, and just before the radio cuts out he hears a man in the background, derisive, say “I don’t understand, it’s just a stupid—“ before being cut off by the end of the transmission. That voice. He felt it, like a nail being slashed at high speed across a chalkboard, a string plucked so hard it snaps, THAT is a man he needs to kill. He is equal parts thrilled and yet feels the calm certainty slipping over him. His knife is ready. He knows where to go. He slips out into the cold rain.

Sliding through shadows. Waiting. The man goes inside, alone. Isaiah slips inside, without a word, the only sound made is his knife blade locking into place. The man finds his voice is gone. The man walks toward Isaiah, against his own will, and kneels before him, fear shining in his eyes. Isaiah looks down, cold, comes around from behind, threads his fingers in the man’s hair and pulls back, hard, exposing his neck. He draws the blade firm and fast across the neck, and like the woman before Isaiah sends the body hundreds of feet into the ground below before a drop of blood can hit the floor.

He looks at the blood on the knife, for a moment, imagines the taste on his tongue like a mouth full of pennies. It doesn’t appeal to him, not right now. Magic cleans the blade, cleans the bit of blood on his hands, cleans the scene of any trace evidence, and Isaiah slips away.

- NEXT SNIPPET -

#an ill-fitting name #My writing #original story #collaborative fiction #Original work #original writing #original fiction #magic fiction #Magic murderer #Snippets #fictional murder #fictional murderer #Fictional incompetent police

[hawkthewintersoldier]

Fenrir and the Winter Soldier pt 1: Roommates

He heard the door slam before anything else.

The loud clang of metal echoed in the corridor, along with the sound of muffled growling and snarling. The scraping of feet along the floor was loud, same with the scuffling noise that came from whomever they were pulling in.

The muffled snarling got louder as the guards got closer, and he glanced up through the opening at the top of the door as they brought a figure closer into view. He looked rabid, his eyes wide and golden-hued. He honestly expected the guy to be snapping and frothing at the mouth behind the metal muzzle they’d put on him. His shirt was ripped, as though they’d fought him fiercely, but his body didn’t have a scratch on it.

He watched as they stopped at his room, opening the door roughly and tugging the figure towards his door, the man tugging back, metal mitts on his hands. He was pulled forward, thrown into the room hard. He rolled as he landed, the man beginning to get up as the door was slammed shut. Muffled screams of rage echoed as he rushed to the door, not even throwing the current occupant of the room a look. A mitted hand smacked the door, the metal echoing through the corridor.

He watched as the guards laughed at the man, then smirked in at him. “We brought you a friend to play with, soldier!”

The man finally realized he wasn’t alone, his head whipping to the side and connecting with him. His eyes widened a bit as he sniffed the air, seeming to scent it… then shook his head and stared at the soldiers, gesturing towards his hands as they laughed.

“You want us to let your hands free?” the one soldier grinned, watching as the man nodded. “Not a chance in hell!”

The man growled furiously, slamming the mitts on the door hard. Both soldiers just laughed, then called out as they left…

“…Don’t KILL the feral little fucker, soldier!”

The man whipped his head to stare at him… then scrambled back to a corner of the small room, panting behind the muzzle as his curls fell into his face. His wolf-like eyes locked on him, causing him to stare at this man… smaller than him for sure, but… he had this odd feeling that without the mitts and muzzle, the man would be dangerous.

He simply stared as the man watched him… and sat on his bed, peering over at the man. He said nothing… the man refusing to speak as well… and both sat and stared one another down in a stalemate.

Hours passed.

He simply continued watching the man, the two barely blinking at one another. The man made another muffled noise, trying to speak… and he sighed slightly. The guy’s breathing had grown more labored since he’d been dragged in, his body heaving for air, and he knew how it felt to be in that damn muzzle…

Getting up, he moved over to the man fast, watching him press himself against the wall, his eyes widening at his posture and the look of his eyes. Leaning down, he grabbed the back of the muzzle with his metal arm and crushed it, watching the metal snap under his grip. The muzzle fell off… and the man glanced up in shock as his mouth was freed.

Sharp canines loomed behind the muzzle, the wolf-like eyes seeming to glow in the room. He hadn’t seen anything like it… ever. The man stared at him, his eyes wide…

Then he lunged.

He heard the sharp clang of metal on metal inside the mitt as it hit the ground, the man’s foot coming out to boot him away. A snarl curled on his lip, his eyes wide as he went for the door again, this time slamming the mitts on it hard, growling furiously.

He’d had enough of this. The clanging of the metal was driving him insane… and besides, the man wasn’t going to get anywhere.

He grabbed him by the shoulder and threw him back, shooting the man a look that screamed to be quiet. The man simply let out a yelp, then rolled forward, snapping his teeth at him and growling angrily. With a speed that he’d only seen in himself… the man swung at him, his blows ferocious.

He grabbed the man by the front of his shirt, then slammed him to the floor as the wind left his body. He let out a breath, then stared as he placed his metal arm on his throat, pressing in slightly as the man wheezed. “…Enough.”

He watched as the man blinked in surprise… then struggled again, growling and panting. He sighed, then pushed in harder, watching as his eyes widened, the struggle he was putting out slowing.

“I said enough.”

The smaller man slowed… then nodded begrudgingly. He moved up, releasing him as the man panted, rolling to his hands and knees, the metal on his hands hitting the ground and clanging.

“…So you can talk.”

The man choked out the words, watching as he nodded, his face impassive.

“…T-Thanks… for getting that shit off my mouth.��

He nodded once more, the smaller man staring him down.

“…Do… you have a name?”

His head shook in response, the man blinking in surprise. “…No.”

“Really?”

He just nodded again, then glanced at the man, inspecting him. He’d gotten a cut on his forehead when he rolled across the floor… but it was stitching itself closed in front of him, causing him to watch in shock. “…What are you?”

The man’s head tilted, then he glanced up, trying to follow his line of sight… and realizing he was staring at the forehead that was half-hidden behind a curtain of curls. “…I’m a human.”

“Humans don’t heal.”

“…Mutants do.”

Mutant?

His eyes went over this man, watching as his eyes melted to a dark brown hue, his body relaxing slightly. “…Mutant?”

“…Yeah. You… you don’t know what a mutant is?”

“…No.”

The man was shocked, sitting back… then looking at him once more, his eyes locking to him. “…Ash.”

“Ash?”

“My name.” Ash said with a small snort. “…Asher Emmett Creed.”

“…I have no name.”

“I doubt that.” Ash said, then glanced around with a growl. “…Where are we?”

“…Hydra base.”

“…A Hydra base?! Why?!”

“Because we are.” He said, staring as Ash gave him an incredulous look. “What?”

“You stay here willingly?”

“I have no other choice.”

“…Oh hell no.” Ash muttered, his eyes wide as he glanced at the door again. “…You’re telling me you can’t get the fuck out? You don’t even have restraints! You could get the hell out of here easily!” Ash said, glancing down at his hands. “Wish they’d take these damn restraints off me…”

“…You talk a lot.”

Asher glanced at him again, blinking in surprise. “…Sorry? Want me to shut up?”

“I don’t care either way.” Honestly, he kind of liked the voice in the room… someone to talk to… it was a privilege he’d never been granted.

“Well then, I’ll keep using you as my sounding board.” Ash said sarcastically, shaking his head. “…Can’t keep my hands locked up forever… HEY!” Ash growled, moving to the door and snarling at a passing guard. “…I NEED TO TAKE A PISS!”

“Congratulations?” the guard said wryly, an eyebrow quirking as Ash raised a mitted hand.

“I need my HANDS to grip my DICK!” Ash hissed, not noting the other man in the room staring in shock… primarily at his language. “…You gonna come in here and hold it for me, big boy?!”

The guard cringed, thinking as Ash stared at him. “…Fuck you.”

“Then let my damn hands go!”

“No… we’ve been warned about what’s under those mitts…” the guard said fast as Asher rolled his eyes. “…Wait… where’s the fucking muzzle?!”

“In two pieces on the floor. We had a little spat…” Ash spat out, glaring darkly at the man. “I haven’t bitten him… I sure as fuck won’t gouge his eyes out.”

“It ain’t HIM we’re worried about, puppy.”

Asher bit his tongue at the name, growling quietly. “…You plan to change my pants if I piss in them? I mean someone’ll have to change my clothes… and mop up the fucking puddle that’ll be in here…” Ash snorted as the man glared again. “You don’t even have to open the damn door. Just let my hands go… I need to take a leak…”

The guard sighed… then nodded. “…Let me make sure the… thing… is ready…” he said as Asher stared, listening to the guard radio to someone… then nod. “…I’ll have back up in a minute. Then the mitts can come off.”

Asher rolled his eyes, nodding and leaning against the door as the man frowned. “…So, do I get a BED, or is the floor the best you’re gonna do for me?”

“The floor’s all you get, mutt.” The guard said, glancing over as the far door opened. He stared as about 7 guards surrounded the door, one with a long stick… with a bit of line looped at the end of it… and he glared. The door opened, and as fast as he’d tried to bolt, they’d kicked him to the floor and tightened the line around his neck as he growled, straining to get free from the line. One came up and snapped something metal around his neck, and another freed his hands… then one blinked, watching the thing on his neck as it beeped once, then blinked a blue light. Without hesitation, the first guard brought a fist up and slammed it into his lip, sending him sprawling back as he growled angrily… then blinked in confusion at the lingering pain. Blood dripped from his split lip… and they nodded, pushing him into the room again on the line. They loosened the line and tugged the contraption out of the room, slamming the door shut as he dragged his nails down the door, leaving metal lines down it… but not doing much damage. Blinking, he stared at the men as they snorted.

“…Vibranium door, mutt.” One spat out, grinning as Ash glared. “…Your adamantium won’t do shit to it.”

“Behave in there, mutt. We’ve been nice so far.” Another guard said darkly, watching him tense up. “…We can do worse. And that collar? That’ll keep you in line, dog.”

Asher didn’t say anything more as they walked off… and he moved to the corner of the room again, sitting in a huff and glaring forward, then glancing at him once more, silently observing the whole thing. “…thanks for the help.”

“Don’t do stupid things.” He simply said, watching as Asher growled lightly and crossed his arms.

“…Fucker.” Asher muttered, then glanced up at the door. “…Sis’ll look for me.” Asher said firmly, nodding once as, on the cot, he simply shrugged, then shook his head.

No one would be coming for him… for either of them.

#fanfic #winter soldier #bucky barnes #lgbtq #hydra #avengers #story #marvel

[sugar-petals]

Maknae Line Reaction: Dom To Sub

➝ what happens when your rough dom becomes a docile sub? 

a/n: apologies in advance my dom!bts writing skills are terrible

warnings ⚠️ BDSM, switch!BTS, hardcore, anal, full nelson, fingering, creampies, fisting, dick too big, doggy style, face-sitting, cum play, lady kink, overstimulation, scratching, biting, sissification, humiliation, dirty talk

⌈ jimin ⌋ It all started out with Jimin guiding you to bed with his most charming laughter, got you into position, caressed you, called you a good girl. But now, the bedposts are downright crashing into the wall. It’s a deafening noise. Jimin pounds away inch for inch. All jammed deep inside of your ass with traces of your lipstick showing up red at the brim. And there’s no stopping. Your throat still feels swollen from blowing him the more you groan. “I’ll rip you straight apart,” Jimin keeps on growling right at your ear where it makes you shudder, hands locked firmly around your thighs. Full Nelson, always the way to go when he’s having a real horny day. “I’ll fucking fill you up and break you,” he scowls, “I’ll split your fucking ass in half.” Two minutes later — turns out that it was only a half-truth. He’s thrusting his cum into you, hard, but it sounds nothing like growling Jimin anymore. Not at all. He’s worn himself out pretty damn fast. Jimin is whimpering. Whimpering.

You seize the opportunity to squeeze and bounce your ass back on his cock to milk it all out. The former grip at your legs comes off with ease. “You can’t rip me apart,” now you get up to sit on his face. Jimin falls into the sheets where you pin him down, though he winds. “This is what you get. Suck it up.” Jimin can barely gobble you up on his tongue. “Be my baby. I’ll choke you good on it. Tongue out, now!” And he obeys. Eating all of his jizz out of your asshole and slurping it down. You bury his face in your cheeks for another solid few minutes until he’s out of breath, finally collapses between the pillows without further struggle. The pressure from your legs around him is too relentless, his load too big to swallow at once. He even has to blink some of your cum from the corner of his eyes. So ruined. You pick up the bright red lipstick from the nightstand and begin to paint his trembling, sloppy lips ever so slowly. You’re grinning. “Who’s broken now, sissy?”

⌈ taehyung ⌋ He’s too damn long, it hurts. But you try to accommodate. Both hands grabbing at the edge of the bed to find a proper hold. If he dicks you down like that, best stay steady, best loosen to stretch well for him. The thrusts come in so sharp now. Taehyung is fucking strong, it’s intense, so hot. His hands deliver a furious rubbing and poking at your clit as far as he can reach around by now. All the pain blends with the pleasant tingle, but he continues ruining it with how rabid his fingers are. It’s always like that when you go doggy. You’ll probably be sore all over tomorrow, that sexy fuck Taehyung just won’t let you be able to sit for a solid day. And it gets worse in the best sense. He decides to pull out and flip you around fast, then buries his cock right in your gaping hole again to twitch and ooze out delicious cum inside. The filling’s so good, you can’t help but claw at his back hard for as long as he shudders between your legs spread wide. 

The bitter realization comes too late through all the adrenaline. You didn’t cut back your nails recently. They’re freakishly long, stilettos almost, well not quite, and dig right into his flesh to leave crimson marks. Oh shit. You’ve talked about everything you could possibly think of, but never that. Just before you can apologize, Taehyung’s eyes turn wide and soften. “Noona, noona!” he cries, his cum bubbling out sticky slow around his length. He doesn’t withdraw just now like he usually would. “Noona, so good!” You figure that keeping up the scratching might not be a bad idea at all. “That was a quick change of mind,” you press at his lower back now, and he’s blinking all doe-eyed, lids downcast. Taehyung goes on whining and begging when you bring your legs up to wrap around his waist, delivering a fierce squeeze. Although you can’t feel it at first, a firm slap on his ass brings out more of his jizz. Too sore. It’s only when he pulls out wincing that you notice he came again. “You gave me so much today darlin’,” you chirp at his ear, mischief renewed. “Can I spank you more and see what else comes out?” 

⌈ jungkook ⌋ Whatever he has been doing in the fitness studio recently, it does the trick. There are some muscles twitching in Jungkook’s magic forearm that you didn’t even know could exist. And he’s reaching deeper than you practiced before today. Must be the new lubricant. A really slick one, raspberry-scented, cheaper, but better. If lightning strikes now or an earthquake shatters the city, you’ll probably get buried like this, with Jungkook’s arm half inside you with no intent of slipping out. His fist remains tightly clenched, yes, thumb and little finger sticking together like you advised him. But he might as well be completely stuck if it wasn’t for the ton of lube he squirted in before giving it a go. Jungkook’s forearms always get fucking big if he flexes or thrusts them. So much stretch and depth, with his other hand fumbling at your lips to fuck your mouth with his fingers, it’s freaking manic. But once he feels how you bite down on his fingertips all moaning, the party’s over. 

You groan along so much more, of course he gets turned on more. Of course he climaxes without even touching himself. Jungkook shakes so much, he has to retreat his hands and hold his cock in place, just about to squirt it all out. Now you know why he was always gushing about how nice your teeth are. You did the math. He likes being bitten. It’s easy to slip on his cock before it gets limp, gathering up some semen warm and fresh how you like it. If he revels in pain so much, why not fuck him through this until he’s overstimulated. Completely. So you whisper in his ear. “Look at you. Cumming so hard. Turns out you’re my dirty babe, you hear that?” — “Yes,” he coughs, “yes my lady…!” — ”If you continue being like this. I’ll make you my meat piece to toy with whenever I like. However I like. How often I like. Is that what you are? Say it!” — “I am, I’ll do whatever you want!” — “Filthy fucking boy can’t even fist me without losing it. Do you wanna pay for that?” — “Please make me! Shit!” And this, as always, is how the story goes.

#sub!bts #bts smut #bts scenario #bts imagine #bts #bangtan #jimin smut #taehyung smut #jungkook smut #bts maknae line #bts x reader #bts x you #jungkook #jimin #taehyung #bts reaction #old post #bts scenarios #bts reactions #bts imagines