#or if you ARE going to encourage it then maybe u should acknowledge the power dynamic ur creating + try not to abuse it. idk 🤷‍♂️ | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

xmint-conditionx · 3 years

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art on exhibit | myg + jhs feat. knj

pairing: sugardaddy!hoseok x fem!reader, ceo!yoongi x fem!reader, brat!reader, sub!reader, dom!hoseok, dom!yoongi w/c: 5k but i feel like it should be so much longer for some reason smh summary: you and your sugar daddy, hoseok, are big fans of exhibitionism, but this is the craziest you’ve ever taken it. most of his prestigious party guests are jumping to get to get their hands on you. will you be able to handle it? tags/cw: 18+ please, smut, exhibitionism, voyeurism, remote controlled vibrator, almost reaching limits, spanking, marking, biting, ball gag, degradation (slut), praise, punishment, crying, light oral (f recieving), public humiliation, rope play, shibari, suspension, almost like being pimped out but u like it?, open relationship, hoseok is sort of protective tho, overstimulation, subspace, the orgasm nearly kills you, this one is real nasty, namjoon is just a guest appearance tbh but maybe later he doesn't have to be???

a/n: this thing has given me so much trouble by not appearing in tags. it didn't the first time i posted it on the old blog, and it hasn't been showing up this time either, so please feel free to give this one some extra love. also, honestly, i was sitting on this idea for a long! time! before i actually wrote it out. if i was spaced out in my last class of the day, i was probably thinking about this. i am almost proud and almost ashamed to share this with you all, lmao cause it's honestly a huge fantasy of mine. i’ve been really wanting to do a sugardaddy!hoseok thing for a while, and if you guys like this, then i think i can add more to the story. alright, y’all stay nasty. enjoy!

The ropes dig into the skin of your thighs ever so gently, and you close your eyes to listen to the din of the party that surrounds you. Guests only arrived 30 minutes ago, and you’re already dripping wet. This isn’t the first time you and Hoseok have done exhibitionism, but this is the farthest it’s ever been taken. Men and women in their best black tie attire surround you, glasses of his most expensive champagne in their hands. Not all of them are looking at you; some are too bashful to acknowledge your existence. Some only sneak glances when they think nobody else is looking. Few have come up and examined your entire naked frame, suspended from Hoseok’s ceiling in the middle of his entertainment space.

They’re examining you as if you were a piece of fine art; just another pretty and peculiar object that Hoseok has collected. You’re placed among some of his other art pieces - some Pollocks, some Dalis, some Picassos, and one O’Keefe - and somehow, you feel like you fit. That’s what Hoseok had said anyway. That since you were one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen in his life, he wanted to feature you as the work of art you are. He chose to display you in his favorite way.

Red shibari rope surrounds each of your legs like a cage before confining your hands behind your back. The rope trails over your torso and is twisted and knotted around your exposed breasts, but not tightly. Just enough to accentuate your natural shape. Your legs are tied so that they remain apart, one held higher than the other to leave you fully exposed. Your stomach is facing the floor, but not entirely; Hoseok has tied you so that you’re almost lounging comfortably there, suspended in midair. The lines of rope flow with the form of your body, and even though all of your weight is pressed down onto them, the ropes are the soft and luxurious kind - no doubt expensive - that make you feel as though you could be floating instead.

Just then, your attention is jolted to your cunt, where his favorite black remote control vibrator has just been triggered. You clench around it, and your moan is muffled by the ball gag that is secured over your lips. When you open your eyes, he is standing solidly in front of you.

His black button up shirt and jacket combination is draped over his shoulders beautifully, and his shiny brown hair is parted in the middle. He looks incredible. Radiant. Sinful.

“You looked bored,” he says with a little smirk as he continues to let the vibrator run inside of you, “and we can’t have that… Perhaps I should turn it up.”

He twists a small knob on the remote and the vibrations steadily rise in frequency until they’re as high as they can go. A semblance of a scream escapes your lips behind the gag. You begin rocketing toward climax, but Hoseok knows you and your body too well. Just as you begin to feel the tingles spread over your body, he shuts it off, and your muscles immediately go lax from being tensed up and ready to come.

He laughs softly as you pant, and then takes a quick look around the room.

“You seem to have gathered some attention. That’s my good girl.”

Without another word, he pockets the remote, and you watch how his ringed fingers delicately pick up a flute of champagne from one of the server’s tray tables. Then he simply walks away. His immaculately shiny black shoes gently thud on the marble floor as he makes his way through the crowd, to presumably some other obscenely rich friend of his.

You feel a small amount of saliva about to peak over your bottom lip. You’ve been good about swallowing everything but it seems your denied orgasm has made you forgetful. Moments later, a small thread of your own spit runs out of your mouth and onto the floor. You know that you have been dripping from the other end too, and you wonder if any of the guests have just seen you drool on yourself.

As if to answer, Hoseok comes back from behind you and grabs you by the jaw. His face lights up when he confirms that you have made a mess of yourself. He turns to one of his guests and speaks.

“See, Namjoon?” he says, tilting your head up toward his guest so that he can see, “She’s incredible.”

You meet eyes with the guest, and put on your best innocent look. You love how a blush starts to creep up into his cheeks, and how his pillowy lips part slightly. Even though you’re bound from head to toe and easily the poorest person here, you feel like you’re the most powerful person in the room. The guest clears his throat and turns his attention back to Hoseok.

“How much was your price?” he asks.

Hoseok looks down at you, and a smirk begins to form on his plush lips.

“1,000 US Dollars. Per second,” he says, “Which charity will it be, then?”

You’d been the one to come up with the idea for the proceeds from the charity fundraiser to be benefitted by getting to control the vibrator. Hoseok loved it.

“Your education charity,” he says, “and I’ll take 30 seconds.”

Hoseok nods, “Do you want to go ahead and write the check now or do you want me to keep a tab running and let you know at the end of the evening?”

The tall man considers this, and looks back at you for a moment before answering, “keep it open, will you?”

“Alright, Mr. Kim. All yours,” Hoseok says as he fishes out the device from his suit pocket before turning to you, “Be good, you hear me? Don’t come until you have been given permission by either Mr. Kim or myself. Understood?”

You nod frantically as you watch the remote being transferred from Hoseok’s hands to Namjoon’s. The earlier flustered man turned more confident once he held the little black fob in his palm - quite a large palm now that you look at it closely. It would look so nice trailing up your thigh, you think. You look up at Namjoon and convey a pleading look, one that silently asks for mercy.

He does not give it.

With a small grin, he turns on the vibrator, and you scream (or try to) at the suddenness of the sensation. He spends his entire 30 seconds with the device in your pussy at full speed, and you can’t hold back your groaning. You clench around the bullet, and when his time is up, you feel beads of sweat starting to form on your brow from the exertion. You’re left a panting mess in front of him, Hoseok, and every other guest that has turned to watch you squirm.

Namjoon’s satisfied smile and nod encourages others in the room to have a turn. Before long, you see a few more guests make their way over to where you are hanging. This time it is a group of women.

“Hye-jin!” Namjoon exclaims, before he hugs the woman and offers a short to the three others that come over with her. She’s dressed in the most beautiful black form fitting dress you’ve ever seen. Her hourglass figure sways captivatingly in the gown, and you’re momentarily mesmerized by her figure. You look up at her and she’s smirking down at you; you were too distracted at the way the large jewels on her necklace fell over her collarbones to realize that they were already discussing you.

“I should have known it would be you to break the ice,” she says playfully to Namjoon, who just presses his lips together in resignation as he puts his hand to the back of his neck.

“How’s the comeback?” he asks casually, as if there isn’t a fully naked and exposed woman suspended in front of him. His ability to be so casual while you’re at the edge of your sanity shoots a ping of arousal through your body. You shiver slightly, and you catch Hoseok looking at you out of the corner of his eyes. He’d never admit it, but he cares about you a lot. You can tell he’s checking to make sure you aren’t getting ready to start snapping your fingers- the safe action you’d both agreed on to release you from the ropes and send you into his master suite. Even when he had walked over to find Namjoon, you know even then he wasn’t out of sight or earshot from you.

He had a clean and plush robe stowed away in the closet nearby, and was always ready to release you should you want to be. You’d worked together before the event to set up a space in his suite to go should you need to retire for the evening, and you caught him setting a hoodie of his on the side of the bed where you typically sleep. You’d always playfully taken them, either to flirt or to wear it (and only it) to encourage a round two. But he had never deliberately set one of them aside for your use. He knows you won’t be using it to flirt or to rouse him into more sex, so his little efforts to bring you as much comfort as possible had set alight something in your heart.

He really did take pride in taking good care of you. As a good sugar daddy should.

You’re yanked back to reality when the vibrator starts up again. You clench around it and feel a gush of wetness surge out at the sensation of it going at full blast. Just when you become used to the speed and lower your whining, you open your eyes to see the woman holding the remote this time, grinning down at you with full lips. She meets your gaze and turns it up all the way, which makes you tense up every last one of your muscles. The woman next to her with long, light hair and a wicked gaze, whispers something to her while eyeing you up and down. It then occurs to you that you weren’t paying attention and don’t know how much time she purchased.

As the seconds tick by, they feel like hours. With the device at full speed, you feel yourself closing in on a climax, and so you squeeze your eyes shut and brace yourself for the orgasm that is about to rip through your body…

She turns it down to the lowest setting and watches as you groan at the second denial crushes you. More saliva drips down your chin as she switches it off, leaving you with only the beads of sweat that cling to your skin.

“Thank you, Hoseok. Worth every penny,” Hye-jin says, handing the remote back to him.

Hoseok beams his thousand-watt smile at her, and congratulates her on both the success of Maria, her solo album, and then thanks her for her donation.

She thanks him in return, and both women walk back into the crowd. Namjoon has also gone, which just leaves you with Hoseok again. His eyes meet yours for a moment, and you see a fire in them that you’ve never seen before. You’re dangling about waist height, and you can’t help but to look down from his face to try to see if you can make out a bulge. You don’t get time to really look, because as soon as you break eye contact, he moves to your back and smacks your ass cheek hard. A loud thwack echoes throughout the large space, over the din of the partygoers. You inhale sharply at the sting, and let your breath back out in a long groan, drawing the attention of more guests. You knew that the champagne would loosen inhibitions eventually.

You hear the footsteps of a couple other guests walking toward you from behind where Hoseok stands. You crane your head to try to see over your shoulder, but they stand just out of your peripheral vision. They’re talking in low voices, and you can’t make out what they’re saying. You wish you could swing yourself around and look at them, but knowing that the only thing they can see of you is your dripping cunt, you’re not so mad.

You feel a hand on your thigh, a touch you’re familiar with. You know it’s Hoseok’s hand, as he gently trails up your inner thigh, purposefully teasing you. An involuntary shiver runs through your body and you can’t help but to whimper slightly. You hear a man’s chuckle, and then he’s speaking, again too low for you to hear.

Hoseok uses his grip on your inner thigh to spin you around so that you’re facing the group of men. Namjoon has come back, this time with what appears to be a friend in tow.

“Baby girl,” Hoseok’s voice says gently, and you look up to meet his gaze, “Yoongi here has just asked if he may touch you.” Your eyes widen at the thought, remembering how just Hoseok’s hand trailing up your thigh had your toes curling. You look up at the new guest, and see only a cold and stone-like expression. His eyes seem to bore right through you, and directly into your cunt. You’re momentarily mesmerized under his heavy stare, before you slowly nod your head.

“Yoongi here has just generously donated one million dollars to one of my charities, so do you know what that means?” he asks you, not expecting an answer, “How long is one thousand seconds?”

“Sixteen minutes and 40 seconds,” Yoongi says, not breaking eye contact from you, “If I’m correct.”

If your mouth could drop, it would. Namjoon, looking up from his phone, just nods nonchalantly.

Hoseok asks the man what he has asked everyone else: if they would like to keep a running tab or if they would like to write a check now. Yoongi reaches into his back pocket and pulls out what you assume to be his checkbook. With rings glittering in the lighting of the room, his hand swiftly fills it out. He rips it out and extends it to Hoseok.

“I won’t be needing more time.”

His cool confidence in saying this small phrase makes your stomach drop.

Hoseok grips your chin and tilts your head up. “Remember, baby girl, don’t come until you’re told to. You want to be on your best behavior for Mr. Min. Trust me.”

He speaks sternly and then releases your jaw, trailing his hand back to stroke your messy hair, before settling on your two hands secured behind your back and giving them a light squeeze. A silent reminder of your out, should you need it.

This Yoongi must be… a force to be reckoned with.

“Your time starts now,” Hoseok says, tapping his phone screen. You squeeze shut your eyes and brace yourself for the abrupt shock of the vibrations, but seconds pass, and they don’t come. You gingerly open your eyes and look up at the man standing above you, toying with the remote. He regards it with vague interest, and then he flicks up his eyes to look at you. Your heart stops for a moment, as he begins to rake his onyx eyes over your body. He purses his lips slightly and begins walking around you, all too slowly.

Even though he has disappeared from your view, you can feel his eyes on you. Your anxiousness grows as he remains out of your sight longer, and this is no doubt intentional. It seems as if he picked up your unease earlier when he first approached.

This guy is good.

You’re so on edge, that the light vibrations that begin in your cunt still surprise you. He turned the vibrator on to its lowest setting, but these low and slow vibrations still make you have a sharp intake of breath. He finally arrives back to your front and seems pleased at your reaction. He squats down so that his face is level with yours.

“What a good girl you are,” he muses, lips parted, tongue playing with the inside of his cheek, “I hope Hoseok here treats you well. You seem… pent up.”

At those last two words, he revs up the vibrations slightly, causing you to let out a small moan. He stands and puts the remote in his pocket. You watch as he gently rolls up his sleeves to the elbow, his forearm flexing as he fixes them. Your hungry stare betrays you.

“Is she always like this?” he asks Hoseok, almost laughing at you. “God, she’s desperate.” He looks at you. “Does Hobi not fuck you enough, little girl?”

Your eyes widen at the implications, and you furiously shake your head no, trying to convey as much as you can with your eyes alone. He just chuckles.

“Loyal,” he says, “I like that.” He looks back up at Hoseok. “Is your agreement exclusive, or is there room in her life for a second... benefactor?” You look up at your sugar daddy, eyes wide with what he might say. He’s just standing there, arms folded over his chest, as if he were discussing the weather or the stock market.

“I’m afraid she’s all booked up for the foreseeable future, unfortunately,” he says cooly but firmly, a little bit of edge to his voice.

“Pity,” Yoongi says, taking a step toward you, “I could think of a million good ways to take up her time.”

“You’ve got 14 minutes left,” is all Hoseok says in response, a definite sharpness to his tone. You’ve only heard this type of voice from him when you’re being particularly bratty. You rarely hear him this stern.

The vibrations quicken slightly, and you can tell from your frequent use that the device is at about its medium speed.

Yoongi takes his hand and reaches out to your back, and with a featherlight touch, begins to trace next to where the ropes lie. He keeps working down your back, and gently trails down your bare ass cheek and ghosts against your pussy. You can feel the heat from his hand, impossibly close to touching you. You hold your head back and try to look at him as you whine out a plea.

“Eyes straight ahead, little girl,” he says, and you comply reluctantly, flopping your head forward dramatically as you sigh. His hand grabs hold of your thigh, and squeezes it so hard you’re sure you’ll find a bruise there in the morning. “And lose the attitude.”

You whimper as he releases your thigh, and goes back to delicately running his fingertips up to your core. He stops just short of your cunt, and you desperately want him to just touch you. You flex your back and buck your hips in order to push yourself onto where you know his hand is. Your clit makes contact with his hand, and as soon as you feel it connect, you feel it missing. Not even a moment later, a sharp sting spreads across your ass, and you clench around the vibe.

“What a greedy little slut you are. Do you always misbehave this much?”

You turn your head back to look at him, and as you meet his eyes, you can see he begins to fume.

“Namjoon, keep her head straight. Someone's not listening.”

You turn your head back around and Namjoon is quickly grabbing your jaw firmly in his hand. Your eyes meet his, and his earlier show of no mercy seems to still be intact. You feel Yoongi’s hand soothe the soreness he just created, only to once again reel back and give the same spot another firm smack, just as hard as the first one.

You cry into the ball gag and the shockwave from his hit sends you slightly swinging forward into Namjoon’s belt. Even though the vibrator is only at medium speed, you feel yourself beginning to get close to a climax. Your moans get longer and higher, and your body tenses to prepare for it. You hear Yoongi behind you.

“Don’t.”

You know exactly what he means. You focus on your breathing and furrow your brow in an attempt to stave off your orgasm. It’s working, but barely. He turns up the vibrations and you cry out again, your head shaking as much as Namjoon’s firm grip will allow.

“Don’t.”

You distance yourself from the situation, distracting yourself with thinking about schoolwork. The essay you’re currently writing. How the rough draft needs to be done by tomorrow night. You need three more in-text citations to make --

His hand is against your clit, and he’s rubbing at an agonizingly slow pace, with just enough pressure for you to want more. You inhale sharply and work harder to distract yourself.

You have two of the quotes picked out, but you need to finalize the third one to really hammer in your point. Maybe you can spend tomorrow morning reading --

His lips graze over the ass cheek he tortured earlier, your smarting skin responding sharply to the gentle contact. He gives you a soft kiss, and then you feel a sharp pain as he sinks his teeth into your already ruined ass.

Your eyes fly open and you make desperate eye contact with Namjoon, trying to show him that you can’t last much longer. Thankfully, this Namjoon is a perceptive man, and he looks from you to Yoongi.

“She can’t take much more, Yoongi.”

“Good,” he says, breath grazing over where he just bit as he speaks. “Come, slut.”

For the first time tonight, your orgasm peaks and rips out of you. Your whole body trembles with the sensation, and you feel his pressure on your clit increase to see you through. The orgasm is hard, and long, and it leaves you with tears streaming down your cheeks, mascara running wildly. You’re coming down slowly, and you feel his hand pull away. Before you realize it, he is standing in front of you again. Namjoon releases you, and your head hangs lifelessly as you pant.

Yoongi stands directly in front of you again, and you find yourself staring at his expensive shoes. You’re completely spent. Post orgasm bliss spreads throughout your muscles, and then, a slight discomfort. You realize what it is: the vibrator is still going.

You squirm lazily and whine at the sensation, it being too much. Yoongi squats down and gently lifts up your head by the chin. Your exhausted eyes meet his, and he clicks his tongue.

“Aw, are you all sensitive now?” he asks gently, in an almost patronizing tone. You don’t care. You nod sleepily.

“Is the vibrator too much, little girl?” You nod once more, eyes fluttering shut.

“Then use your safeword gesture,” he says, almost as if it’s a dare. "Go on. Snap."

If he’s not done with you, then you’re not done. You open your eyes and look directly at him as if to say “challenged accepted.”

Without moving his eyes from yours, he cranks up the vibrations until you’re whimpering again.

“Six more minutes,” you hear Hoseok say from beside you.

“Plenty of time,” Yoongi replies without skipping a beat. “I think we can get three more in. One every two minutes? Surely a slut like you will have no problem with that, since you wanted to come so badly earlier.”

You groan at the ache in your cunt, and at the slight displeasure the vibrator is causing. Yoongi stands again and walks back behind you, and this time you know better than to move your head to look.

Soon the vibrations begin to feel pleasurable again, and you’re having a hard time keeping your moans quiet.

“Atta girl,” you hear Yoongi say from behind you, “Your next one’s already coming isn’t it? You greedy little thing. You’re going to ruin Hoseok’s nice floors with your slick. And in front of all these people?”

Just like that, you’re reminded that you have an audience. Quite a large one. You open your eyes to see just about every guest’s gaze glued to your straining form. The heat bubbles in your abdomen as your next climax rushes toward you.

“You may come again,” is all Yoongi says as you’re thrown off the edge again. As soon as you begin to recover from this one, he ups the vibrator to full speed. You scream into the ball gag at the overstimulation, and cry out as tears spill out of your eyes. It’s entirely too much, but you love it. Before you realize it, another orgasm rips through your body, almost as if it were a continuation of the last one.

He doesn’t miss this though, and spreads your ass cheeks apart so he can get a better view. At this point, you’re not sure if you can do another one. You feel as though you might pass out if you come again. But the overstimulation is so overwhelming that you can only think of reaching one more high. You tense your entire body and try to get another one, but your muscles are so spent that you can’t stay tense for long. After a few more tries, you just sigh and hang limply, your limbs heavy and tired. You hang on the edge of climax, being able to see the other side, but not being able to go there.

Mascara tears stain your cheeks from exertion, and you are well and truly spent. You give up.

But you don’t snap your fingers.

Yoongi fastens his lips over your aching clit, and sucks. Just like that, you feel your orgasm building again so you clench, desperately trying to claim it; this time, you reach it.

It tears through you like a slow strike of lightning. You feel yourself shaking as it takes its time fracturing within you. It grows white hot in your belly, and it’s as if every cell in your body has been burned alive. All of the energy you have left is spent thrashing in the ecstasy of your orgasm, and for a few seconds, you know nothing else but the pleasure.

You find yourself deep in subspace, practically dead to the world. You don’t even have the energy to open your eyes. You barely register Hoseok as he begins untying the ropes around your hands, getting assistance from both Namjoon and Yoongi. You feel his hands as he releases your ball gag and caresses your face as he asks if you’re okay. You give the tiniest nod, and he wraps your limp form tightly in his arms as the two men finish unwrapping your legs. He swoops down and sweeps your legs up to carry you bridal style away from the party.

The next thing you know is the soft and cool silk of his sheets enveloping you as he lays you down. You exist there for a time, every nerve ending in your body tingling as you drift off.

You wake some time later to hear quiet chatting. You inhale and breathe in the musky scent of Hoseok’s favorite cologne. You find yourself curled around the hoodie he left for you. As you slowly open your eyes, you can just make out the time on the nightstand clock. It’s almost 3 AM; the fundraiser had to have ended over four hours ago. You breathe slowly and close your eyes again so you can focus on the voices in the room.

You hear Hoseok straight away; his tone is forever instantly familiar to you. The way his normal speaking rhythm is a little sloppy with alcohol. In reply is a voice you more recently became acquainted with. The voice who you last heard giving you permission to come. It’s a little bit more rough now, a Daegu accent slipping out in his intoxication. The third one takes you by surprise. A low and calm voice. Lower than you’d ever suspected possible, from hearing him speak this evening. Even still, Namjoon’s even tone is a rumble you can make out.

You sit up slowly, not wanting the blood to rush to your head. You were sleeping hard. Your dry mouth guarantees that. At your movement, the three men stop their talking and look over at you. Hoseok is the first to set down his glass and walk over to you. His black tie is gone and so is his jacket. His collar is wide open, showing off his tanned chest behind the many unfastened buttons. He gets on his knees next to the bed and reaches for your hands. Once he finds them, his brow is creased with worry, as he brings your hands up to his lips.

“Are you alright, baby girl?” he asks into your hands. You still have the weight of sleep over you, so you don’t respond right away.

“She had her gesture, Hoseok. She could have used it,” you hear Yoongi say, and you look in his direction. He sits with his legs spread, glass of whiskey hanging off of his fingers. Your eyes meet, and even though he’s trying to seem impertinent and uncaring, there’s a tinge of worry and guilt in his eyes. You glance to Namjoon and see that his worry is more plainly stated.

Hoseok caresses your cheek and turns you back to facing him. His eyes plead for an answer. So you give it.

“Yes,” you say, voice raspy, “I’m alright. I feel great, actually.” Hoseok visibly relaxes and you hear Yoongi across the room mutter an “I told you so” to Namjoon.

“He didn’t push you too hard?” Hoseok asks.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” you reply smugly, meeting Yoongi’s eyes, “But he did well and truly wear me out... Clearly."

You chuckle as Hoseok covers your hands in a million tiny kisses.

“Perhaps I do need to step my game up,” he teases, “I’ve never seen you so fucked out.”

“Nothing a good nap can’t fix,” you tease back. He smiles up at you, and you once again get lost in his brightness and warmth. “Mind if I join you all for a drink?”

“Of course not, baby girl,” Hoseok says, “I’ll go get your robe--”

“Don’t bother,” you say, wiggling into his hoodie and pulling the hood up and over your hair, “but you can go get me a glass.”

#bts smut #hoseok smut #yoongi smut #namjoon smut #yoongi x you #hoseok x you #namjoon x you #xmint-conditionx

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pepperpills · 3 years

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The Harvest - RE8 fanfic

The Harvest

A Resident Evil 8 fan fiction by Joana

Karl Heisenberg x Female Reader

NSFW content

Hi, guys, hope u're enjoying it and if u want, feel free to send a message and share your thoughts.

This is the second half of Part I, when The Harvest actually takes place, as I promised I would be posting it today. Part II will be out next tuesday and has more of Karl's participation.

Part I - Destiny (1)

Part I - Destiny (2)

The site was formed by four giant statues, each one in a corner, in the opposite side of the gate, a low stone fence protected people from falling from a cliff into the misty unknown that laid below. All of its surroundings were made of grey, antique stone, carved directly into the mountain. In the middle stood a symbol in the ground in the shape of an umbrella where the Giant’s Chalice was placed.

Mother Miranda was right in the middle, dressing her usual priest like costume, only this time her areola was bigger. The parents, your parents included, with their anxious expressions, were on the left side, forming a mid-circle. No other villagers were allowed in The Harvest except the children’s guardians, it was exclusive. You smiled to your folks reassuring them that you were okay, prepared. Your mom buried her head deeper in your father chest, but smiled insecurely back at you.

You couldn’t help the feeling that a couple of eyes were laid on you, you felt observed and finally gave up to your curiosity and stared at the lords. Closer to Mother Miranda, on the right side of the site, stood tall Lady Dimitrescu, the tallest person you have ever seen and also one of the most elegant. She wore a white dress that resembled the Greek columns with three black roses on it, red lipstick and a black wide hat. She seemed excited as she analysed the 20s.

Then followed Lady Beneviento, her face covered in a grief veil, she was all dressed in black, except for her doll, Angie, who wore an unclean wedding dress and was laughing almost hysterically for no reason. It would have given you the chills if you weren’t so strangely calm.

The next was Lord Moreau, forever bowed with that bone crown topping his head, he looked like he enjoyed the spirit of the festival, more entertained by its totality than the young people there.

And at last, Lord Heisenberg, a couple of steps from you as you all closed the circle. He was smoking a cigar, making a mess of bracing smoke. He was wearing round sunglasses even though it was already very dark there, his clothes were crumpled and even a bit dirty, but had an explorer’s charm to it as he wore a once-white half unbuttoned shirt, a worn hat, a camel-coloured overcoat and some kind of baggy pants.

You had the uncanny feeling it was his glance that caught you since you arrived there, but couldn’t be sure, once his eyes were hidden from you. The other thing you noticed was that he has kind of handsome with his somewhat grey hair on the height of his bearded chin. Overall, he seemed rough, a brute beauty, but beauty anyway.

The air became denser, like it was charged with electricity, however, scanning your mates, everyone appeared to be still bewitched by Beneviento’s powers, paying attention only to Mother Miranda. It had nothing to do with you disliking Miranda ever since you laid your feet in the Village. No, this was another thing. You were attracted by something else, tempted even to look to your right. Being too suggestible to battle this urge, you moved your head only to be certain that Lord Heisenberg was looking straight at you.

You quickly turned your attention back to Miranda as she played with a black liquid inside the Giant’s Chalice. She called you all her children and made a speech about destiny and natural forces that pull you to it.

“Night demands you, my children. The moon reveals your fate and today your sacrifice will be noticed.” Miranda chanted, her voice floating through all of you, reverberating the ground.

She blessed you, walking the circle and pinning a dot of the Chalice’s black liquid in your foreheads. It moved, itching a little, as her words filled the ceremony site.

“Very well.” She spoke. “Now I shall call your names, the ones I call, please step to the right part of the site, the ones I don’t, to the left.”

A shiver flowed through your spine, awakening every part of your body, bristling your hair, hardening your nipples making you feel completely unclad – which kind of reached the ceremony idea of a virgin blossoming. The sensation was curiously similar to electrical shock, even the iron taste on your tongue reminded you of the electricity discharge, nonetheless, for your surprise, it wasn’t exactly unpleasant, definitely made your feel alive and even dilatated your pupils.

When it happened, you swore your heard Lord Heisenberg chuckling alone, he was contained for obvious reasons, but it disturbed you to see a smirk playfully on his scarred thick lips. No one else appeared to be bothered though, they hadn’t noticed the man acting schizophrenic, but it also made sense, they were all absorbed by Miranda’s discourse and, somehow, that grin was intended, presumably, only for you.

Just then you realized that Miranda had already been calling names and people were actually moving around you. Two of the boys who came with you were now on the very right side of the site. You were getting tense, the magical feeling that drove you to that place was slowly fading away, giving space to the cold sensation of fear. The girl to your left got called, she lost her breath as she heard her name, but rapidly joined her new, and temporary, team.

You looked up to your parents, your mom had that overwhelmed expression lines on her forehead again and you were most sure she was crossing fingers as she is a little stitious, not super, though.

Right now, you don’t believe that any herb, crystal, sacrifice, nor witchcraft would have spare you from your doom. A part of you knew it, even at that moment, as Mother Miranda made your name thunder in the site. Your mom held a scream, your dad looked down. You must go on.

Trembling a little, you went to the right side, closer to Lord Heisenberg, as he was the last one on the lords’ line. Your mates were rigid, the other girl was holding tears, one of the boys had desperate written all over his face, but the other one preferred to show bravery and you chose to stay with him in his decision. It didn’t past unnoticed to Heisenberg, but he constantly peering at you wasn’t of your greater attention, so on you didn’t acknowledge his offbeat interest.

You weren’t going to lie to yourself, you were afraid. You didn’t want Lady Dimitrescu to use your blood in her famous Sanguis Virginis, neither to be with Lady Beneviento and her forever tea party, Lord Moreau frightens you, due to your thalossophobia and for Lord Heisenberg, his temper is well known and poorly spoken by the villagers, he tends to get angry easily, not to say that no one knows what goes on in that factory, the bridge that leads to it emerges from the water, activated by some sort of mechanism that is inaccessible from the Village, so no one goes in, no one comes out.

When The Harvest ended, the villagers were exempted before the Miranda and her family, and you were allowed to go home, the lords knew you were supposed to say goodbye to your loved ones, after all, they aren’t monsters, right?

Thus, you walked back home in your parents embrace, they didn’t let you go, neither you wanted it. Being held like that made it feel better as if you had a bad dream and that was all. Your mother even sang you your favourite childhood song about a girl who gets lost in the dangerous woods inhabited by four monsters and a malevolent witch, but in the end, her parents save her from the beasts.

In the dawn, no villager was asleep, so you spoke to a lot of people, all your siblings, friends and acquaintances. Some of them cried, others smiled and a couple encouraged you saying it was going to be okay. You doubted it, but didn’t say a thing, you were too shaken still trying to be brave.

When the sun rose, you heard the chicken starting their day. You got up, put on a Victorian black dress with long sleeves and a corselet for the thorax area, and packed your few belongings, taking good care of your bow and arrows that once were a secret and now, you thought, might be discarded, but you would still be stubborn and give it a try, maybe they would let you have it.

You left the bedroom, leaving behind your talisman made by the cabin people with a note to your younger sister. Once she was born in the Village, she didn’t know much about the cabins, but you were sure it would protect her after you were gone.

You believed you could go away unnoticed, but your mom was sitting in the kitchen table, waiting for you, looking restless, but she found vitality to smile a good morning at you.

“You look pretty.” She said as she walked towards you and twirled your hair.

“Thank you, mom.” You simply replied, thinking that touch was soothing.

“We will miss you.” She sighed. “I will miss you, deeply, my angel.” Your mom is one of the kindest people you know, she always took good care of you even when you got older, you will miss her too.

“I will miss you too, mom… I love you.” You added and hugged her. You must be strong; her smell of country flowers softened you tempting you to run away from your fate.

“Promise you will try to write.” She pleaded, staring into your soul with her woody-brown eyes.

“I promise.” You meant it and did afterwards.

“It is okay, angel, you may go now, I won’t make it any harder.” She stepped aside, giving you space to walk to the door, when there you looked back one last time and waved goodbye.

At the ceremony site, they said you should gather again at the Chapel. A part of the building is destroyed, you are not sure what was responsible for it, but there are parts of the ceiling and the ground that are missing and underground tunnels with Gods know what meandering under your feet. The others arrived not long after you and less than an hour later Mother Miranda joined you.

She spoke from the pulpit. This sight gave you an uneasiness. You never liked her manners, always thought she considered herself too much of a priest, but you were not sure for what gods she spoken, in addition, she was also very domineering. There were stories of her whispered by mourning souls saying that she would tear some locals apart while laughing and enjoying the bloody spectacle. Maybe she was crazy. Believing it or not, she didn’t please you at all.

“Children.” She began. “Destiny calls you. You must fulfil your role in this circle. It is a sacrifice for all of us, so we can preserve our way of life.” Miranda went on like this for some more minutes before getting to the point.

“Each one of you has been designated or requested by one of the four lords. I will now say your name and the name of your Lord.” She finally said.

Your heart rate was worrying, your anxiety levels were high. You breathed heavily, trying to regain composure. Miranda called the brave boy first, he went to Moreau. Two girls got sent to the Dimitrescu’s castle, one more boy went to Moreau, another girl went to Lady Beneviento. Thus, there was only you left and Miranda’s phrase reverberated through the Chapel with its angelical acoustic turning horrifying.

“Y/N. Lord Karl Heisenberg.”

Your stomach sunk. You didn’t know if you were relieved or even more preoccupied. But then you felt that shock sensation again, the iron taste made you salivate and you thought it might have been worst, maybe all he expects from you is some cleaning, laundry and your normal daily routine.

Still, one thing that Miranda said echoed in your head: did you get designated or did he request you? You didn’t know which one would be better.

#resident evil #re8 #karl heisenberg #re village #karl heisenberg x reader #resident evil 8 village #heisenberg #heisendaddy #heisenberg resident evil #resident evil viii #resident evil 8 fanfic #original post #resident evil village #re8 karl heisenberg #resident evil heisenberg #fanfic #re fanfic #the harvest

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misterbitches · 3 years

Text

i keep thinking about this and coming to more conclusions like both as an artist and me.

we always think first about the aggressor and not the victim. so, for example, with history 4 and yong jie what will their relationship look like now given the trauma? if they have no interest in fleshing this dude out and having him just be an annoying clingy little ugly bitch then acknowledge that pain and how it will affect them. it’s so easy for xing si to get over being raped? what about xing si’s relationship with his mother? what about the fracturing this does to the family when there’s an intense violation that was aided and abetted by the mother?

that would be far more fascinating trying to figure out and they could still have them be together if they so desperately need it but they can’t ignore everything. that means the trauma will permeate through every part of your life. it’s hilarious that so many fans say the portrayals are realistic because they are not. these shows do not have the time and many of the writers or producers do not have the care or prowess—or will have to cut things to please the state—to execute this. they expedite the healing process but we are left reeling.

in film school one of my teachers was always like, “what happens in the world when the film ends?” and this is something to ask. are we approaching it from: a man falls in love with his brother who raped him and the mother encouraged it and the shock and taboo of that or are we approaching it from a man is forced and trapped into a rship and stockholm syndrome and how that plays out. even if they stayed together even so it would give us more reason and understanding and then we see and know the foundation is built on nothing but darkness and may never recover. after this chapter ends there may be destruction; it’s possible because that’s how it all started.

but after this story ends, in the way it is presented, what will happen? it’s not just entertainment and that doesn’t mean it’s as big of a deal as i think it is even as i write these things. these are just things to keep in mind and things i think the younger viewers absolutely need to see. for themselves like as creative people and enjoying the media they consume and seeing what works and what doesn’t especially when a work serves a purpose. nothing is made for no reason so don’t expect it to be. to me i’m like: why was this made and what could have been better?

there is NO improvement which is why we run around in the same circles. the way to untangle that is being clear about the message and its faults. the audience can’t be clear about it if the show isn’t doing its job for a team of professional fucking writers trying to entice people by poorly approaching topics and leaving them empty handed. life is not as hollow as these things make it and yet we eat it up hook line and fucking sinker.

time and time again we see what these things must establish and how far they can push themselves. it isn’t until the material world gets better that we see a turn in the media but time isn’t linear. sometimes things are worse in years, sometimes things are better. these tropes last because they are a direct reflection of life and the failures in society. so of course it’s about the perpetrator and how they can get their prize but not how we can manage these things when there is a clear victim and we pretend like it isnt there under some sense of potential reform. 1. people do not need to be reformed in a story and that isn’t what this needs 2. is that compelling? 3. yes morally grey things exist but this is not morally grey when it is a violation adn that person’s action was not morally grey. there was a victim and he neeeds to be away from that victim. if he is going to stay we need to see the affects of him being there as real things and there is nothing realistic about that. in no fucking world would someone like xing si a grown adult fucking man be able to temper things that quickly as in the show. NONE. that shit lasts forever but we are supposed to see them kiss and be liek “aw wow morally grey” like what about him is morally grey in relation to xing si? specifically. whihc is the personhe will be with forever.

no it’s how do we get ourselves to see him and engage with him. you can engage with him or be enraptured sure but that doesn’t mean anything and it doesn’t mean the writers are even doing anything with it! i’m glad eveyrone can garner there own idk ideas or get what they want out of a work but what about the victims? what about the relationships? what happens when the story ends? what are dinners like? cos their lives don’t stop when it’s not being recorded (as in these worlds we are shown are always going to exist so they continue on even without us seeing it. so the characters don’t have a stop point we just usually see their happy ending and many times with shitty relationships it’s like why are we here now?) at this point it’s comical and it’s boring.

there’s a film i like with cameron diaz where she falls in love with someone who kidnapped her for a job. there’s no perosnal connection which really helps as well. he did it for a job, doesn’t know her, they fall in love. they get together at the end. that still affects her but it’s also way less psychological trauma then somoene stalking and grooming you and violating you and trapping you by direct action and constant manipulation. there’s no way to turn that around and it’s even worse when you try to with literally no other explanations. like who are these fucking characters and why should we even want them to continue to be here? yong jie could have even been a vehicle to help xing si like idk unpack everything in his brain in a helpful way even through his violation. they chose none of that lmao i could write a better fucking script and im a moron

why should we believe in their love? why should we believe in yong jie? why should we believe in any of these people when they don’t prove shit to us. they just exist. why is that interesting? why do we root for them? that’s certainly not something they even asked themselves cause they sure as shit don’t know. the writing here cannot make up its mind on its own morality and i think the idea of morally grey only works if you have a fucking idea of what you want to do not just throwing shit at a wall. and we feel something for these “morally grey” characters—frankly this term is also a mistake because it’s so much about good/bad and ignores history and peoples lives and what leads to events and it is a super WASP-y concept in its current iteration anyway with a belief that punity is justice when it is not. that is why i say get the fuck away from this dude instead of going to jail. we could see yong jie grow but FUCKING OUTSIDE OF XING SI.

aey from lovely writer is one where im like wow i feel so bad 4 u i think ur gonna like kill urself someone get this messy ass bitch some help. people hate this kid and they totally can! i feel bad for him! dont love him and maybe i wont even want the best for him but rn im like “omg i dont want u 2 die sir.”

i dont feel that way in many other shows. i feel fucking nothing for these men. not yong jie and not even the old guy from modc im just like ok you exist and i’m going to ignore you. there is nothing in my chest lmao. i look at them and feel cold, couldnt be drier, cos it’s stale and boring and trite and nothing new at all. it’s not realisitc and it’s not even entertaining. it’s just...there.

i mean it’s there with the reminder of “oh man i am not interested in your love story also isn’t your boyfriend like 40 and you’re 17? why do you like each other again? does this kid have parents? Wait, what’s happening? uhhhh am i supposed to like this? where are his parents? what’s gonna happen when he turns 23 and realizes how fucked up that shit is? can we see that?” and before u know it the sex on screen is over so that was just unpleasant all around.

and i cannot give u a single reason for so many couples why they like each other. like literally what on earth is there for the two of these people to be attracted to. at least one is being swayed by power but what’s the other one doing? oh nothing he just sucks? ok got it.

if we don’t approach it from a “how do we get people to like a shitty person or a person who does things that harms others” it continues on like this. questioning questioning questioning the comfortableness and never thinking about what the fuck the victim can do, what the fuck is even going on in their heads. and if they can’t do that then we go back to the question: what is the purpose of it? if the answr is “just because” then you have a failure on your hands and a lot of annoyed people. sorry not sorry

#history 4 #history 4: close to you #lovely writer #a thot

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uchihanarutos · 3 years

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what is kky's dynamic because ive seen people say its sketchy in general? like somewhat inappropriate. whats ur opinion on this since u ship it

Personally, I don’t view it as “sketchy” whatsoever, especially not in an overall sense. Maybe in ultra specific cases - like gross people portraying it in a specific and purposefully bad way (will address this at different points) - but that’s due to the individual being gross, not the ship on its own.

I get people wanting to be cautious, and I commend that! But my take on KKY is: it’s absolutely fine, and not anything we don’t already see in other ships like SNS or KKG or KKOB. Here’s why.

For one, they first meet when they’re both kids; a very short time after the nine-tails attack. It’d be a different story if they met when Yamato was still a kid and Kakashi was already an adult, but that very much isn’t the case here. This - in addition to the fact that they are both already adults in their 20′s with a small 3 year age gap - makes this a fairly safe ship as far as their ages alone go.

(Note: I say “in addition to” because both of these factors must be present for the ship to be sound. They need to have met while in the same age group and currently be adults. KK*ta are both adults in canon, but they met when Itachi was a child and Kakashi was already an adult, which has very bad implications about the foundation of that ship. One of the factors is missing, which is why it’s gross ship with bad implications. This does not happen with KKY.)

The only way to make this aspect weird would be if an individual intentionally chose to specifically go and portray them in a shippy way during the very brief time period where Kakashi had turned into an adult and Yamato was still a kid. It’d be the same case for, say, GaaLee, and intentionally portraying the time period where Lee would be 18 and Gaara would still be 16/17 in a shippy way. Which, again, would be the fault of the individual, and not something inherently bad about the ship. Aside from these portrayals done by individuals, the ships themselves are sound.

One other thing I can definitely get people being cautious about is that Kakashi was Yamato’s direct superior for a time. However, Kakashi is also Gai’s superior when he is Hokage (this also applies to SNS), and he was Obito’s superior for a time as well. So, while I get being cautious about power dynamics (as one should be), unless you also denounce SNS, KKG, and KKOB for the same reason (which, if you do, that’s an okay line to draw for yourself imo), the excuse falls flat and comes off as hypocritical. Plus, there’s plenty of time periods where Kakashi is simply a respected colleague and no longer a direct superior to Yamato in any way.

I would also like to note that this sort of dynamic is much more of a case-by-case scenario than people tend to realize or want to acknowledge. It’s something where you need to think critically and ask yourself if there are lines being crossed. Is this power imbalance used outside of professional settings, and/or to harmful ends? Is someone portraying these dynamics as very unbalanced and harmful? Is the imbalance contributing to a lack of mutual respect? If the answer is “No.” it’s fine. That’s why people still ship SNS and KKG, even though one of them being the Hokage creates a power imbalance. Because people have thought critically and can see the dynamic isn’t being used to harm the other character in the context of these ships. The same thing applies to KKY.

The last thing people would need to be cautious about is - all else removed - how they treat each other. This one gets a SOLID pass; their interactions are probably some of the funniest and most natural and healthy in the entire series, honestly. There’s virtually nothing to criticize here. They’re colleagues that have known each other for about half their lives and have extreme trust in/respect for each other, and aren’t afraid to speak their minds to each other. You can’t really find much of a fault here, especially if you also ship much more complicated (and at times straight up unhealthy) ships like SNS (yes kings, messily unpack your traumas, have codependency issues).

Anyways! TL;DR: I’m not going to blame anyone for being super extra cautious about any ship. It’s always ALWAYS important to think critically about media you consume and create, which of course includes any ships you have. I encourage you to do your own thinking about everything I’ve said and anything others have to say, and reach your own conclusion.

MY conclusion after critically thinking about it is: KKY cute. I think they should kiss.

#ask #anon #mine #ky speaks #text #kky #edit: had gaara's and lee's names mixed in one sentence so i fixed that and the point still stands

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pestopascal · 4 years

Note

so how would you fix the server now? i still really love fhr even after everything and what i know is in it and i still want to participate in the server but im so confused as to whats going on there are no mods, theres like no talk anymore

first and foremost, you get that fucking apology out of the previous mods. and none of this ‘i have mental illness’ stuff to hide behind either, we’re all mentally ill. thats never been an excuse, and it sure as shit aint one now. like you get them to acknowledge what theyve said, and done, how they encouraged behaviours, how they treated their other mod who was TRYING to do something for everyone, how they let themselves literally just get bought off and let people exist (”we’re well aware of smute”). you also get them to acknowledge the dms, and the bitching in other servers, and the general BEHAVIOUR they showed. thanks, but you fucked up! and they dont pity party either. they will be torn to shreds if they do.

you fucking put in place like at least a MINIMUM of 15 mods. the server is 600+ ppl. like what the fuck were idk 5 ppl in like one timezone supposed to do anyway lolllllll but these are mods with powers and we love democracy so we keep it an odd number in case they need to vote and its a tie. you can also instill the whole bullshit ‘community manager’ thing if you want to like fill the holes and keep watch and report stuff as well ig.

also like we all know who the RLY bad ppl are with their comments about “mixed people” and disgustingly nsfw content. like fucking remove them. if u wanna be nice and coddle them after everything that happened give them like the absolute final warning and then just kick but quite frankly i think you should just remove them.

next, and ive had to do this a couple of times with old servers that were getting a freshen up/restructure... what you do is you put almost all the channels on read only. like leave the gen ones, and rules/announcements/current events (that now exists lol). these are still able to be written in. but what you do is you tell EVERYONE to go through, like give ppl 5-7 days, and pick out stuff they may have like not saved, need for reference, etc. that many days bc some ppl just arent active and dont wanna miss out maybe. but ppl go through their thousands of messages, like i know ppl post writing and art without cross saving.

then, you lock those channels up and archive them. some places ive been on straight up deleted but yknow thats not super productive. drop that category right to the bottom and hide it, then reinstate every other category/channel. you fucking EMPHASISE that shit wont be tolerated anymore. keep ya nasty ass nsfw in the nsfw channels. keep to channels or you’ll be warned (PER THE FUCKING RULES RIGHT THERE). if ppl do wanna look at the archived stuff, make it role related and they can have a quick browse if they need to (thats why we keep them!!).

you go through all the pins. you clear out all the unnecessary roles. those spoilers malin posts make sure theyre up to date in that google doc, because yknow. youre gonna move them out of the chat (or repost them at the top, but you have a limited amount of pins technically per channel). you put your resources for achievements available and easily accessible (the game discussion is actually for discussion about the game, not how youre gonna be teehee more orange). you actually set this up like an official server, which it claims to be. i personally would even remove the nsfw channels, despite the game veering into that content, but like. whatever !

also i would even just ping @ everyone and like get ppl to react if theyre here for spoilers or whatever like out of 600+ i think theres 50 active ppl, and like make sure ppls roles are up to date then. if someone rly is just there for snippets, they get pinged for that. like make a fucking effort. it doesnt have to be a full time job, but if you dont make it easy for yourself, then its gonna be terrible.

#replies #not rocket science but gonna take some work #Anonymous

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moody-bloosh · 4 years

Note

congratz on finishing finals! (◕ᴗ◕✿) 💝💝 can i request either a continuation of the prosciutto yandere cheating or cheating prosciutto trying to win his girl back? 💝💝

Anonymous said: hello! i would like some angst if u dont mind! Prosciutto cheats on his s/o who’s also a part of la squadra then s/o leave the team

Thank you! I’m proud to tell you all that I finished strong and I got myself that 3.8

hope you two don’t mind that i combined your requests bc mmm they were both so spicy uwu

Anyway, now it’s time to suffer so please enjoy this angst

watering dead flowers (Prosciutto)

The letter you turn over to Risotto is written with a hasty hand, so different from your usual, easy, free flowing script. It is damp, he notes, as he takes it from your shaking hands. He tells you to stay and to please sit.

“You don’t have to go this far.”

You blink in surprise at Risotto’s choice of words. The way he was looking at you as if he wanted you to at least, reconsider. His words manage to give you pause.

By leaving, you would not only be turning your back on Prosciutto. You would be turning your back on the whole gang. Certainly, this gave you some cause to reconsider just the slightest bit. You would miss them all bitterly. But was that enough to tide over the waves of heartbreak you were still drowning in?

You mull over Risotto’s words for a second, you really do. But when you stepped into his office, you had already made your mind and you vowed to yourself that you would not take no for an answer. No matter how convincing the capo could have been.

“For a good chunk of my life, everything I did was for him, for his sake,” you explained as you slowly stood up, without his leave.

Yes, you could not let your resolve waver. Though your voice was hoarse and your eyes were red from all of your crying last night, you managed to plaster on a smile. Because even though it was difficult, even though it was painful, you wanted to start off your new beginning on the right foot.

“This time, I want to do something for myself.”

Without waiting for your former capo’s response, you bowed and thanked him for everything, then you promptly escorted yourself out.

You see him, leaning by the door on your way out, trying to look carefully nonchalant as he lights a cigarette. Normally, you would snatch those things from him, you’d been trying to get him to drop the habit but now you could care less about him.

Still, your pulse quickens as you step closer to him, you fear that he will hear the traitorous, erratic beating of your heart as you come closer. You fear that if you were to look into his eyes, your resolve would crumble. So you avert your gaze, you train your eyes on the door in front of you.

He doesn’t say anything, just takes a long drag of his cigarette as you leave.

Even though you should be used to it, his silence hurt. You remind yourself that this was nothing new.

When the door slams behind him, Prosciutto finally exhales. Walking through the cigarette smoke, he finds a position by the window where he can observe you unnoticed. He stands there for a few seconds, the sight of you driving away imprinted into his mind, before he finally leaves.

Thank God you hadn’t noticed your suitcase hidden behind him.

Truthfully, he had considered slashing the tires of your car. But that would have been too obvious and it wouldn’t have done anything good for him in the long run. Stealing your luggage, important things of yours meant that you were guaranteed to come back for it. You would have to ask him very nicely to return your things and when you did, he would certainly find a way to get win you back.

In the privacy of his own room, he opens your suitcase and selects some choice fabrics. Your favorite scarf, a cherished sweater, a beloved shirt, and he tucks them all way somewhere. That way, even then, you would have to keep coming back to him. Petty, pathetic, but this was all he could do.

That night, he holds your sweaters close and he breathes in your scent. You would come back and he would do everything in his power to win you over again.

He can hear your voice now, soft and sweet.

“Goodnight, darling. I love you.”

It has been a month since you’d left and you showed no signs of caring about the whereabouts of your missing luggage. The fact that his plan failed soured his mood immensely. The fact you would rather deal with the loss of your precious clothes than see him again felt like an earth-shattering punch to his gut.

There was a foul look on his face as he sat beside Pesci in the restaurant with the rest of the team. He had not even touched his food, too busy concocting another plan to win you over.

He couldn’t - no, he wouldn’t let it end like this.

Enjoying his teammate’s distress and intent on further annoying Prosciutto, a roguish look settled on Formaggio’s face as his tone betrayed something mischievous, “since _____ is free now, maybe I should have done what I wanted to do all those years ago…”

“Manners, Formaggio,” Illuso snickers, “remember the 3 month rule, we still have 2 more months before _____ is officially free.”

“Whatever, it’s not like Prosciutto minds, after all-“ Formaggio’s words trailing off as he acknowledged the downright murderous look in his teammate’s eyes, “heh, what’s with that scary look, huh, Prosciutto? I’m right, aren’t I?”

Pointedly ignoring the way Prosciutto’s jaw clenched, Formaggio persisted in his goading.

“If you like something, you gotta hold onto it, right? I mean, if you’re going to be mad at someone-“

“Enough,” Risotto cut in, annoyed. “Not another word about this.”

“I was only joking,” Formaggio said, shrugging haphazardly.

Whatever fucked up sense of humor Formaggio wanted to impart were lost on Prosciutto as he stormed out of the restaurant. His fists clenched so tightly, he was drawing blood from the soft of his palms. Formaggio’s words had more of an effect on him than he wanted to admit. But perhaps, he had already admitted more than he would have like when he made his swift exit.

That damned Formaggio.

He knew it well. He was the one who messed it all up. If you were to seek your happiness elsewhere, with someone else, he had no right to complain.

Already images of you with his teammate filtered through his mind, xxpressions that would have only been for him, a voice only he had been allowed to hear once, if they were to be witnessed by someone else…

He slams the door of his car with a little more force than necessary and rests his head on the steering wheel. It was not supposed to be like this. He was presumptuous enough to think that by the end of the month he would have you in his arms again.

Even though he knows that he lost the right to call you his long ago. When he had let go of your hand and foolishly expected you to stay put like a dumb little doll, blind to his infidelity.

He knows well, how shameless it is of him to have expected you to stay, how selfish it was for him to want you back after how terribly he treated you.

“I loved you wholeheartedly, Prosciutto. That’s why I have no regrets now.”

Yes, you were right. Because regretting was his job.

He brings down the visor, so he could pore over the photograph of you he’d tucked away in there. The photo of the two of you, smiling as you held each other, blissfully unaware of the sad future awaiting the two of you. His heart aches, as he runs his fingers over the photograph, trying to remember how it felt to hold you, how it felt to touch you.

He understands now what he must do if he wants you back.

You knew sooner or later that he would show his face around your apartment. You were just thankful that he had taken his sweet time. You’d known that it was him the moment you pulled up to the curb and saw his car parked two blocks away. Did he think you wouldn’t recognize it? Just like the day you left, he was leaning against the door of your apartment. He was smoking, though once he caught sight of you, he quickly put it out.

“_____.”

“Spare me the dramatics,” you sighed, pushing past him. “It’s been a long day and I’m tired.”

“Wait,” he said, grabbing your hand to keep you from leaving. You catch the almost imperceptible tremble in his lips, the way his eyes flicker with an emotion you don’t want to understand. The sight of it is almost enough to make you pause.

“Please,” his voice is barely above a whisper, “hear me out.”

You scoff, so was this how he intended to win you back? By throwing away his precious pride? Interesting. If this was how he was going to play then you were going to milk this for all it was worth.

“Why should I? Don’t you have other people to attend to?”

“I know I hurt you, I know what I did can’t be forgiven.”

“If you know this, then why are you here?”

“Because I love you.”

The audacity of his words. You couldn’t help but let your mask of indifference drop. Hearing his foolish reasoning, you try to pull away from his grasp. His touch suddenly felt disgusting to you.

How dare he?

After making you suffer through his affairs, spending your nights sobbing as you questioned why you weren’t enough, why he took it upon himself to seek another’s company. He’d come to this realization only now? Really, you didn’t know what you were expecting. But it certainly wasn’t this.

“Even now, you want to lie to my face,” you hissed, “how shameless can you be?”

He held onto you tightly. He let you go once, he wasn’t going to do so again.

“Please, give me another chance.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fine, then look me in the eyes and tell me that you don’t want to see me ever again.”

“Fine,” you huff in agreement, finally extricating yourself from his touch. You were going to shove him off of you too for good measure, surely that would knock him down a peg or two.

It was easy. All you would have to do was hurt him, hurt him and make him feel a fraction of what he did to you. It would be so easy.

Look him dead in the eye and say it.

Say it.

“I…” I don’t ever want to see you again. I hate you.

When you looked into his eyes, those beautiful eyes of his that you’d spent countless afternoons getting lost in, you found that the words you wanted to use against him falling flat and useless on your tongue. Your bottom lip trembled as you gazed in his eyes, silently cursing your heart and your memories for betraying you at such a crucial time.

Really, really.

Why did he have to make it so difficult?

Your shoulders slumped as you hands came to rest upon his chest, unable to really push him away from you though you desperately wanted to. So instead, you pound on his chest, a futile attempt at hurting him. All the while you call him names, ‘asshole, bastard, cheater, I hate you.’ Before you know it, before you inch away from his touch again, his hands wrap around your wrists.

“A good man would let you go,” he said, holding you close enough that his breath tickled your ear, “but there’s just one problem with that, _____.”

A pause as you look up at him, your teary eyes meeting his icy blue ones.

“I’m not a good man.”

And then his lips are on you, greedily drinking in what little affection for him you have left. You try to push away from him though you know it is futile. You’re trapped once more in his web.

Your tears fall in earnest, just as your lips part. His touch is featherlight as he gently wipes away your tears.

“Please, let me make it up to you,” he begs.

I would spend the rest of my life making it up to you.

“You need to be careful with me,” you warn him bitterly. “I’m not easy. I’ll leave you if I get even the slightest notion that you’re cheating on me again. And I won’t care even if you grovel.”

“I understand.”

You looked up at him again, your eyes still watery as you considered the way he was looking at you. Really, he was so unfair. But then, you were the fool who was sincerely considering on giving him a second chance again.

“You’ll have to earn my trust again,” you tell him. “And I won’t make it easy for you.”

“I don’t expect you to.”

Tentatively, he let go of your wrists in favor of snaking his arms around your waist. You do not protest, finding yourself leaning into his touch. He sighs as he holds you tight in his arms.

“I missed you.”

You take a moment to compose yourself, before you find yourself hesitantly hugging him back.

“I…missed you too.”

Oh, you missed him. You really did. But you couldn’t get rid of the feeling that there was something you were missing.

Ah.

“I want my suitcase back too, you asshole.”

#prosciutto #prosciutto x reader #cheating!prosciutto #la squadra #la squadra di esecuzione #vento aureo #golden wind #play #side a

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ardentaislinn · 4 years

Text

Yuletide Letter 2020

Hi! I am also ardentaislinn on AO3. Thank you so much for volunteering to write one of my chosen fandoms! I really can’t wait to see what you come up with. Most importantly, I hope you have fun writing whichever of my fandoms it is. Any suggestions I make here are optional.

Here you’ll find:

My general likes

My DNWs

And prompts for the following fandoms:

Peninsula: Train to Busan 2 (2020) - Jung Seok, Min Jung, Joon Yi, Yoo Jin

Stranger | 비밀의 숲 - Hwang Si Mok, Han Yeo Jin

Kingdom | 킹덤 - Prince Lee Chang, Seo Bi

Illang: The Wolf Brigade | 인랑 (2018) - Im Joong Kyung, Lee Yoon Hee | Kim Seo Hee

A quick note on the Korean names - I’m fine with however you choose to transliterate them. Hyphen/no hyphen, Shi Mok/Si Mok, etc. Just do what you are comfortable with and I’ll adjust no problem. No need to add the honourifics, though

My likes:

I love getting together fics most of all. I love almost every kind of trope (fake dating, slow burn, rivals-to-lovers, “unrequited” pining (that is really requited), found families, etc.) Also, casefic, epistolary fic, consent, forbidden pleasures, beta heroes, bed sharing, masquerades, military kink, physical imperfections, ladies being badass and female relationships (whether romantic or friendship), relationships that build tension before exploding, equal relationships, trapped together, competence, communication, U/RST, positive endings.

You may notice from the below that my ships mostly involve sweet and occasionally broken men being head over heels for awesome ladies, (and usually not feeling worthy). So that dynamic is strongly encouraged.

I also like smut, but it certainly isn’t a necessity. For smut, I’m (sadly) fairly vanilla. But I like light bondage, cunnilingus, shower sex, and accidental/consensual voyeurism, (Particularly guys taking matters into their own hands when they think they can’t be with their lady, and the woman stumbling across him mid-act. Possibly my favourite kink ever? Writer’s choice whether the woman joins in or gets embarrassed)

Happy endings (or at least hopeful endings) are preferred. Like, super, super preferred. I don’t mind angst at all, but it kinda has to be on the way out of the darkness by the end.

Dislikes/DNWs:

Miserable endings. Major character death. Baby/Pregnancy fic. Humiliation. Drug use/drug mentions/addiction. Self harm/abuse. Non-con/rape. Heavy kink. A/B/O. M-Preg. Incest. Bestiality, animal harm etc. Underage sexual content. 1st person POV (unless for epistolary). Not big on high school AUs or Rock band AUs. Unbalanced power dynamics in ships without acknowledging/exploring that. (This effects one particular ship below, which I’ll discuss in more detail in the fandom section).

I think that’s it?

And so, to the fandoms, in no particular order:

Peninsula: Train to Busan 2

Jung Seok, Min Jung, Joon Yi, Yoo Jin

While maybe objectively not as good a film as the first one, I still enjoyed the hell out of it. Given that it was essentially a cross between Escape From New York and Mad Max, what isn’t to love? I loved the expansion of the world and the clever uses of zombies in the chase scenes. And I loved that the message was that being logical and self-sacrificing isn’t always the right choice - sometimes you should be driven by heart and empathy. And I really liked the idea that anything can mean happiness when you love and are loved in return - particularly in regards to Joon Yi, but also Jung Seok (and his found family?).

What would interest me the most in this fandom is post-movie fics. But if you wanna do a canon divergent/au thing, I’d be cool with that, too. Some prompts:

Joon Yi struggles a lot more than her sister to readjust to a “normal” life

In order to stay together after being rescued, Jung Seok and Min Jung have to pretend to be married

After four long years of loneliness, Min Jung just wants to be touched

Jung Seok isn’t surprised to find himself in love with Min Jung - and wanting to be a father to her girls - but is he good enough for them? He’s left them behind once - can he forgive himself? Can Min Jung?

The zombie plague escapes from Korea - and Jung Seok, Min Jung, and her girls are the closest thing to experts on how to fight back and contain it that the authorities have. Will their nightmare never be over? Or is this a chance to end it once and for all?

With Min Jung in hospital while her leg heals, Jung Seok suddenly finds himself a surrogate father to two very unruly girls.

Stranger | 비밀의 숲

Han Yeo Jin, Hwang Si Mok

This show is just so good, and Si Mok and Yeo Jin - and their relationship - is a big part of that. He’s logical and doesn’t feel things the way most other people do, but that doesn’t mean he’s given a free pass to be an asshole. He’s a good man who always does what’s right. And Yeo Jin is just as smart as he is, and equally committed to doing what’s right, but in a different way. They make a perfect team.

I love how much they absolutely, completely, trust and respect each other. Si Mok cares about her as much as he is capable - probably more so than he cares about anyone else. There isn’t any drama or jealousy or anything like that in their relationship. They are both practical adults. But it doesn’t mean they don’t have a deep bond. I do ship these two - and would love getting together fic if you can!

Prompts:

Yeo Jin will probably have a tough time of it from now on. How will Si Mok support her through it?

How will Yeo Jin and Si Mok keep in touch now that he’s moved away again? Late night phone calls that slowly become more intimate? Texts or emails (epistolary style)?

In the last episode, there was a hint that Si Mok had a prophetic dream. What if he really did develop a power? And Yeo Jin was the only one he trusted with the truth?

What if Yeo Jin and Si Mok had to travel somewhere for an investigation - and there’s only one bed…

Si Mok isn’t incapable of noticing when a woman is attracted to him. But what if that woman is Yeo Jin? Do they try to make a friends-with-benefits arrangement work? Or do they like each other two much for that?

Everyone already knows Yeo Jin and Si Mok are close - but why do their friends suddenly think they are dating? What’s changed? And how do they stop the rumours - without disappointing all the friends who were hoping they’d finally become a couple?

Yeo Jin had drunk one too many shots of soju and thought she might never see Si Mok again - so she’d jumped his bones and snuck out before he woke, full of regrets. But what happens now they have to work a case together again?

Feel free to bring in the other characters, too, as long as Yeo Jin and Si Mok remain the focus! I love the various dynamics they have with the people around them.

Kingdom | 킹덤

Prince Lee Chang, Seo Bi

Like with Si Mok and Yeo Jin above, so much of what I like about these two is that they are great characters separately - but work so well together as a team. They trust each other. He has great faith in her abilities and respects her so much. And she is loyal to him and respects him in return because she knows he’s a good man and a good leader.

I also love how the show uses both politics and horror elements, both to best advantage. It’s so well-written and compelling.

Now, I can see how this ship skirts close to my “no unbalanced power differentials in relationships” DNW, since he’s a prince, and she’s very much not royalty, so I thought I would clarify my position on this. I would most like fic set after he gives up his place in the royal family, since I think that mitigates basically all the issues. Even though I don’t think he would have intentionally abused his power over her, and Seo Bi was never particularly deferential to him, it still would have effected the relationship. Now that they are on more equal footing, there may be some lingering, residual issues surrounding this, but I feel like it’s at the level of bringing some interesting angst into the equation without feeling icky, if that makes sense.

Prompts:

Lee Chang and Seo Bi are somehow transported into modern day Korea. How will they adapt?

Both Lee Chang and Seo Bi have seen horrifying things - and they have the nightmares to prove it. How do they help each other through?

I feel like there are a million stories you could tell within the time jump at the end of the second season. Seo Bi and Lee Chang are travelling together, but no doubt keeping their mission to find the resurrection plant a secret. Are they pretending to be married? Is there anything Lee Chang has to adjust to now that he’s no longer, technically, the crown prince? How are they making money? Is Seo Bi hiring out her medicinal knowledge, while Lee Chang sells his sword? How far will they go to find the answers they seek?

The properties of the resurrection plant are still largely unknown. What horrors will they have to face next, now that another outbreak is looming?

Lee Chang decides that Seo Bi needs formal fight training - and takes it upon himself to teach her.

What moments of levity can they find together amongst the horrors?

Lee Chang knows he shouldn’t think of Seo Bi in that way - they are colleagues, and despite everything he is still from a royal family. He needs her too much to risk everything because of his desire. But oh, how he wants her…

Illang: The Wolf Brigade | 인랑 (2018)

Im Joong Kyung, Lee Yoon Hee | Kim Seo Hee

So much about this movie is absolutely my jam. The action scenes, the exploration of what desperation can drive people to, the unclear loyalties that are slowly revealed. That whole sequence when they first meet and spend time together is like a distillation of so many of my favourite things. He sees her and is just instantly gone on her. And she for him. And from then on it’s just a quiet, intense longing between them. They are so aware of each other, every sense drawn towards the other. But he’s so broken, and he sees himself as more animal than man. And it’s revealed that she has equally deep wounds, too.

An argument can be made that at least some of it was an act, of course. They were both trying to deceive each other after all. But I think it’s pretty obvious that there were real feelings there, particularly because she tries to warn him that he’s walking into a trap, and he comes back to save her. Maybe even they don’t know how deep their feelings go, or the other’s feelings, but the audience knows.

And yet...I’ve seen it twice now, and the ending is still no clearer to me. Like, is he dead? It doesn’t seem like it, since both she and her brother saw him at the train station. But maybe he’s like a guardian angel now? And if he’s not dead, where did the shot come from? A hidden gun? The sniper? And most importantly of all, if he’s not dead...why aren’t they together??? Like, aren’t all the potential impediments to their relationship gone by that point?

So, I guess most of all I would like fic that makes more sense than that ending - preferably by giving them the happy ending they deserve.

Prompts:

Joong Kyung watches over Yoon Hee from the shadows - but she always knows he’s there. How can she convince him to come into the light, and back into her life?

Yoon Hee’s brother gets himself into trouble, and the only person she can turn to for help is a man she hasn’t seen in too long - Joong Kyung.

Joong Kyung now walks the line between the living and the dead, but he can’t stay away from Yoon Hee. (Paranormal/magic AU?)

Has there been too many lies between them to make a relationship work? Neither think they are worthy of the other, but when they are pulled back together (to give evidence for an official inquiry?) they can’t quite keep their distance.

Joong Kyung is on the run, and he doesn’t know who to trust - except the one woman he’s never forgotten.

Misunderstandings and lies abound between them - but what happens when they are trapped together and must wait for rescue?

If you don’t want to do a post-canon fic, how about canon divergence? What would have happened if the phone hadn’t rung in that warehouse at that moment? Might Yoon Hee have told herself that she could use her body to prove her loyalty to him? And might Joong Kyung have told himself that it couldn’t hurt to succumb - that it didn’t mean anything?

I think that’s everything. Thank you so much!

#yuletide 2020 #yuletide letter 2020

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squarebush76-blog · 4 years

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imhereforthetryus · 5 years

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Love is Hate and there no other way

(Anti Harringroves pls do not intereact with thid fanfiction your welcome to talk about anything else but this fic yes dont worry about the title i just do dEeP 💩 )

Tags: @thelonious-jagger-smitten @i-am-church-the-cat it glitching and so u might have to use the link

Tw: for abuse and panic attacks i apologize deeply i dont know how to do the read more thing im so sorry

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19911385

I be like we self projecting 👋🤦🏼‍♀️😂 noises

(Why get therapy when u can get bad coping methods 😎)

Words:7,932

Billy's eyes were blue kind of like his mother's blue but not really sure he had the paleness blue of his mothers but her eyes were just different he took a lot after his mother, the same not same eyes and bright blonde curls that seemed to grow a foot a month.

He figured that why Neil hated him so much Neil and his mom relationship was weird, in a way not just the whole abuse thing but that Billy could never really tell who was the victim and who was the aggressor.

Sure sometimes it was obvious when Neil was towering over his mother as she stood on the floor tired and hurt but then there were times when both were yelling at each other and trading insults, or his mom eyes pale and blue filled with rage would hit a plate against Neil, clawing at him and screaming truth be told at first it was amusing but he found himself laughing less and more just watching the scene unfold.

“My little Isla...Don’t cry everything is fine...let me tell you an old story of mine...about the necklace” then she would start weaving tales endlessly he would laugh and she would smile she was always a great storyteller she always wanted to be an actor it was kind of ironic how she was acting all the time … acting like everything fine “Is my bunny happy” he would not and hug her and everything would be fine but it wasn’t and maybe it would never be.

Like how if he had just been able to keep his mouth shut about the new boy at school. Who played with Billy the only child to not shun him, and who drew him a picture and how cute he looked and how he was going to marry him one day his dad anger wouldn’t have increased tenfold forever. His mom wouldn’t have left angry at Neil unacceptable of him but then if he hadn’t he wouldn’t have had his mother there to kiss his bruise stinging from Neil fist and the tears from the word faggot he didnt know what it meant but he knew it wasnt good, but she was there she was awalys there to tell him there was “nothing wrong with loving a boy that love is just loving and wherever and whoever you find it with loves you back and that the only thing that matters Isla”

He missed being a child but was he ever a child he was grown up before he knew it. He forced himself to stop thinking about everything focus on something else,...your eyes he had just noticed that his eyes well they were always blue but their not really blue if that made sense they sort of changed blues but to his drunk mind taking dangerous trips fueled by chugged countless cheap beers at Tommy H. Party it didn’t matter.

If he was drunk or sober one thing that stayed the same was he fucking hated this day...hated how his mother had left him and how she loved him she awalys used to say how much she loved him while hugging him gently like it would make Neils slaps , his red cheeks and tears disappear, as if her overwhelming love bundled with hugs and kisses would make up for it, but all it did was make Billy confused if she could love him so easily why couldnt his dad and then she came back.

Like as if she couldn't bother leaving him alone without the emotional damage of coming back she had only done it a few days at a time after years of hiding away with the words or letters getting fewer but then she had ghosted him a year later but he still remembered that day.

He remembered being thirteen his favourite toy bunny the one his mother had when she was a child and the one he spelt with to protect him from the monsters under the bed when she couldn’t sleep with him that beautiful bunny disposed and ripped to shreds it white fur blood-splattered and it head gone all because “he was too old for them” sitting on the floor of his bedroom just praying every night for his mom to come back and take him with her, and trying to lock himself in and saying his prayer faster as if to make her appear right there and then...and she did eventually on the eve of his fourteenth birthday there she was in the flesh, sneaking through the tiny window and grabbing Billy.

She shushed his protest and laughed at him but she was happy so he was happy and very confused But isn't that the life of a child, to be one without power or choice, always going with the change in the wind and praying for a safe harbor? .Wasn't that always his life going with the wind and following the “adults” he was sure they never grew up his mom was still a believer in hope even in despair while that was surely a good thing for her. it wasn't for Billy nothing was ever good for him. He was a ping pong to his parents, a useless fix it child.

They demanded him to pick a side many times even when there was no fight to be won it was a never-ending war to win his love they bad-mouthed each other constantly but he just stood there trying not to intervene in their war of hate, but he had too sometimes when he didn't want to or else he would be the target they desired to know who he loved more, but in truth there is no such distinction. They asked and should the “right” answer not arrive there is anger, swift and brutal in the form of his mom shunning him and his dad hitting him.

So even when his mom came it wasn't for him but just to win another point to piss off Neil, but he was used to the bribes. it wasn't too bad though he could get used to the perks he decided he would make the best of it as his mom carried him on her slim shoulders, he would admire the stars from above to him she stood like a giant.

Or maybe that the way he envisioned her he couldn't help exaggerate her tiny height even when he was boarding on it. he held on close afraid she disappear again just to let him calm his nerves she let him touch her hair curly, long and blonde a shining clone of his and play with her necklace. She had told him the story about how her grandmother had made the necklace from the last of their metal as a birthday gift many times usually with Neil letting a murmur of disapproval fall from his lips but this time it felt different maybe even magical. As they were walking along the boardwalk his socks light against the board, as his mom flowered him with Ice-cream galore. It was his favorite Strawberry and five scoops high he smiled happily letting the dark light shine across his face and the pools of ice cream melt onto his clothes.

They had come across an abandoned climbing place, an adventure playground of sorts, it was dark and quiet but his mom said it was okay and encouraged him to climb the fence.

She had done it too her heels landing against the sand she had laughed so he did, running up against the wooden structure which reeked of paint but she was giddy like a child taking him everywhere. At some point they ran onto the cold wet damp grass in the rain barefoot, her colorful dresses always finding a way to light up in the darkest nights, the light green still stood out even amongst the grass and as they laid there. His mom rubbing his hair and pointing at all the stars and telling him about it like a well of infinite knowledge.

“You see William that star right there” he had nodded hesitantly she rarely called him William, only when she wanted his attention, she usually called him Isla or Bunny and while he protested those pet names as long as he had been living she had just laughed and just pulled him closer he never thought he miss those names so fucking much. before you get the wrong idea she wasn’t dead but it was like that she was a ghost now refusing to acknowledge Billy but this time there were no secret trips to wherever, maybe Billy just outgrew them or his mom outgrew him he wasn't sure which possibility was worse.

As his bruised muscles cracking with pain,up against his hard mattress nothing like a beating and shitty necessities not like Neil gave a damn to his comfort after all, he give him a semi comfortable bed because “cost” but Billy knew that was bullshit.

Neil would do anything to see Billy suffer it was practically his favourite hobby when he wasn’t gutting the insides of fish but it was practically the same Neil would rail in the fish with bait or in Billy cases kind words and flashy gifts. Then he would wait a bit till the fish took the bait like Billy would let his guard down a tiny bit.Then go in for the kill using his fishing pole and fist to kill the fish slowly and painfully like he would to Billy and he knew for a fact that not only were these mattress so stiff and hard. They cost way more for whatever reason rich people like hard mattresses. but it could be worse his dad could have not given him a room at all yeah it could be worse it was something Billy always thought about him finally getting away from Neil not by his own choice but by cps he tried it before but Neil was so charming and Billy wasn’t ten and a half anymore, his mom wasn't there to challenge Neil and to protect him.

He couldn't risk a visit now so it would never happen not by any fault of his own at least he knew Neil could predict most of his movements.

He heard the horror stories he wasn’t going to subject himself to any more shit and while his dad was shit he was still legally required to provide for him otherwise how else would he use that line in his next argument, to justify his parenting methods and to complain about how hard it was raising a useless piece of shit like Billy and to think of it his father sure loved to complain about useless shit.

But he couldn’t complain he never could without a slap against his cheeks or his dad's famous speech scientifically designed to make anyone who hears it feel like shit which Billy already was, but hey the speech is such a great deal for shitty dads everywhere who wouldn’t love to mentally toture their child when their fist became too bruised to hit them.

And in all honesty Billy loathed that speech more than he loathed himself, more than he loathed his dads fist, more than he loathed girls how he hated to fuck them and go out with them and even more than he loathed Harrington.

Stupidly perfect Harrington who made Billy heart skip and leap, who made Billy blush at an insult who made Billy nervous and not just out of fear, he made Billy scared way too scared.

He could not be with Harrington even if he wasn't straight which he couldn't be because almost all the gays in California used Farrah Fawcett Hairspray it how they found each other.

Not like Billy ever went as far like that even then he was too much of a coward, his pale blue eyes glanced at the alarm finally calm for once because this was his favourite part of the day, when he could just lay in bed and glanced up at the ugly peach ceiling letting his thoughts flowed like a river stream quiet yet loud.

He pulled the wool cover closer shivering in his empty room another form of sadstic toture if Neil wasn’t beating the shit out of him he was fucking up Billys air and heat supply. He never knew when he would be hot or cold plus it was just another way for Neil to keep him on his fucking toes.

Like he didnt do that every single fucking day, with Neil mood deciding if Billy could only get away with a slap and a walk outside in the snow and how he hated the cold, he wasnt used to it . Ofcourse, he was a California Baby he could stand hot weather but not cold especially when he only had one blanket to protect himself. Because everything belonged to Neil if he pissed Neil off too much his belongings would be gone because they were never his , Neil spiteful face popped up and he imagined another cruel smile as he “grounded” Billy.

“You need to learn a lesson about Respect and Responsibility” he saw his dad, felt him “punishing” Billy, he felt his tears and struggled to get out of this hellish nightmare, his breath heavy, breathe breathe don't be such a pussy his panic attack was stopped by a knock on his door he opened the door angrily.

“What the fuck do you want M-..” his father stared at him stone cold and hard like he awalys was calculating watching Billy squirm.

“Is this how you talk to your sister” he grabbed Billy chin and squeezed it tight.

“No sir” Billy tried to make himself shorter, trying to disappear into the wall but it never worked, no matter how he wished it did but his father was in a good mood suprisngly so he let Billy off with a slap and a spilt lip, and Billy could thank him right then and there for not beating the shit out of him for being so rude and disrespectful, but the stare of disappointment and the glare was more painful than the backhand.

Billy forced himself to go downstairs dreading every step to eat with his “family” as far as Billy was conserend his mom was his only family but all his stubbornness did was put Neil in a bad mood.

“You’re Mother is gone Billy suck it up” he would say chewing his steak and despite Billy hating eating breakfast with Susan and Neil , being under his dad microscope was irritating and annoying but he knew if he didn't eat all his food, thank Susan, and be quiet and not exist then there wouldn’t be any food to digest, because Neil had done it before It was either eat everything Susan made no matter how much it taste like horseshit or not eat at all or even worse eat the way Neil wanted him too and while Billy personally thought both options were cruel and unusual toture and neither qualified as the best option but he still needed food to survive so he ate it all.

Every last spoonful in fear for Neil trailing eyes on him, his back arching aganist the chair, eating softly and trying not to throw up watching Max shoveling burned eggs and bacon into her mouth, his mom food was way better.

He glared at Susan subtly as he thanked her how he wanted to go off on her but he wasn't in the mood to skip school today and be bruised. so instead he took his anger out on Max he yelled at her to get up, which resulted in her eating her scrambled eggs slower then finally getting up and taking forever to get ready, grabbed Max by the elbow when she wasn't moving fast enough. he hated running into Neil in the morning who was less of a morning person than Billy and he grabbed her hard enough to bruise but not enough to get shit from Neil.

He ignored her screaming at him to the point where she was being a cocky little shit, and had the nerve to put her disgusting mud covered red shoes on his dashboard, with a little grin that stupid brat and when he told her to knock it off she flipped him off. so he drove like a manic letting his hands off the steering and speeding up just to see the fear in her eyes and dropped her off to the stares of the middle schoolers.

He drove back even faster it was the only way plus he couldn't miss getting ready for his favorite class of the day aka Bothering Steve for 40 minutes, he stood against his Camero letting cigarette smoke fill the air, then he went inside shoving a couple of kids who dared to look at Billy in anyway no one was that stupid to do it on purpose but still he had to install fear or he would be scared.

He wasn't always mean he used to be kind but kindness never got him anything but a broken heart and fag screamed at his face by older boys, a shove to the ground and the laughter of his classmates it never gave him anything but humiliation.

So He hid behind a charming carefree smile and reinvented himself, learning to keep his feelings inside to stop thinking about boys that way. The hurt lodged in that sweet heart like a slow acting poison and before long he became a “problem child,” destined for a life behind bars. He hated his “parents,” hated the system, hated the government and the whole damn world he had to or he would hate himself.

The hate It burst forth in his speech, his actions, his attitude. He got close to people just to hurt them, power at last. Nothing pleased him more than to walk away from a new lover ripping their valentines while they whimpered and ran, To shove a kid down and make him cry to spit the word fag in the kids fave.. To Billy people were “bad, dangerous, and they deserved what they got." Because he deserved what he had gotten.

Steve loathed first period, not only because it's English Class but Billy who made it his personal goal to harass Steve anytime he could which meant every class they shared together. Because Billy obviously didn't think his crude and sexual teasing,his fists and trips down the hallway was enough time to toture Harrington and fortunately for Steve.

There were only four classes but that meant Billy had to make an impression so Steve sighed as Billy came in late what a surprise , came up to him, knocking his books down against the floor, Mrs.Ava looked like she was going to say something but the look Billy gave her shut her up Steve reisted a snort great everyone was intimidated by Billy.

As the minutes of the lesson passed, the ceaseless buzzing of the classroom grew quieter watching them it was no secret that Billy and Steve weren’t pals but a look of shock always seemed to come on their face watching their interactions a quiet glance from Billy made the chatter started up again and they pretended to be talking about something else and looked away.

“Hey Prettyboy” Billy licked his lips at him, slamming into the seat next to Steve, Billy smiled at him.

Steve rolled his eyes trailing the pencil in between his fingers, he was way too tired to deal with Billy “Don't you have someone else to bother” .

Billy pouted giving him a small smirk he even makes puppy eyes look evil Steve sighed.

“But you’re my favourite Stevie” Steve kicked Billy from under the table.

“Fuck off” Billy just laughed and reisted the urge to whimper why was he being so weak it was just a little cut there Billy felt himself ponder looking at Steve who was trying very hard not to look at Billy and to focus on the lesson which Billy should be doing to, but Steve and his perfect lips and how much Billy wanted to kiss them, his soft hair i wonder what it would feel like oh how he wanted to kiss Steve, shove him against a wall, fuck him and punch him all at the same time why do you have to be so damn amazing Harrington.

“Ouch you really hurt my feelings Harrington..I think i just shed a tear” Billy smiled oh how he loved first period plus steve was so cute when he was annoyed FAG his mind screamed he reisted the urge to punch himself, Steve gave Billy a small smirk.

“Bullshit you dont have feelings” Billy chuckled slowly unbutoing his top not like it was open anyways but cmon if he didnt give the cows here a show people might think he a fag which he is , he winked to Steve.

“You’re right about that Pretty Boy” Steve glared and turned towards the window suddenly interested in the blue sky and clouds that dotted the sky. The bell rang finally freedom Steve thought he was one comment away from shoving his pencil up Billy ass.

why does he have to be such an asshole even worse a cute one and yeah it was pretty cliche of him to have a crush on his bully. but like can you blame him Billy was hot and straight his mind screamed at him it was too risky plus he didnt think he could handle Billy disgust more than his fists but Billy was so hot and an asshole but hes a hot one.

Steve groaned in frustration stupid horny brain but this felt weird and different he didnt like boys right i mean, and if he was gay which he wasn’t wasnt he liked nancy for a long time goodness sake then couldn’t he atleast have a crush on a boy who isnt an asshole, but what was he, after all if you weren’t straight then you were gay but he liked both he couldn’t possibly be gay and straight at the same time, there had to be a word and Steve had to investigate it for his sake so on he went after Mrs. Ava class to the library.

Steve ducked from Nancy and Jonathan he felt bad about missing lunch but if they even knew where he was going they would ask questions he wasn't ready to answer yet when he saw them leave he sprinted towards his car driving to the town library which was well not im Hawkins but the next town over he couldn’t bare to see anyone he knew. He opened the doors to the library entering he was hit with a cloud of dust, and started to look around.

Row after row of neatly lined up books with their spines facing outward, colour coded with dots, fiction section arranged in alphabetical order, young adults section, comfortable chairs, tables for quiet study, muffled stillness.

He took a breath walking up to the resident sub librarian Mrs. Mervil the hawk who stood about 5’4 her lip always tight and pressed as if she was simply always waiting for disappointment as if she never bothered to smile, her eyebrows and eyes were thin and like her whole self her clothes reflected that always dread and uncolorful, so professional and tight. It made Steve parents outfits look casual and who despite Steve best try hated him for whatever reason, maybe it was the blonde hair and sapphire blue eyes those combinations always seemed to despise Steve or just everyone but mostly Steve.

He gave her a false smile “Hi Mrs.Mervil” she turned towards him. her eyes cold and bored she took off her silver rimmed glasses for a young woman she sure acted old she put down whatever book she was reading he examined it, she slammed it before he could see the title but it was a space book for sure.

“What is it Steven” he sighed and gave her a smile he hoped his face wasn't giving away anything.

“Mr.Harrington if you’re just going to stand there and go dont waste my time” he bit his lip and shoved his hands deeper in his cardigan. He couldn’t do this she already hated him she could tell everyone, or even worse whatever worse was. But he needed to know this more than he needed to breathe, he could wait but he wasn't willing to wait.

“I need to find a book...to tell me about my sexuality” at that her face and demeanor softened a bit like she was remancissing she gave him a small smile and lead him towards the shelf her heels dragging along the whole way.

“Alright come along Steven I don't have all day” he sighed in relief and walked up with her, he tried to make conversation as she rustled through the books.

#harringrove #stranger things fanfiction #billy hargrove #harringrove fanfic #steve harrington

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superchartisland · 5 years

Text

Championship Manager ‘93 (Domark, Amiga, 1993)

One morning in my final year of primary school, lined up on the playground for the start of the day as ever, there was an unusual request from the teacher. “Girls, go inside, and boys stay here”. We boys were to receive a lecture on the previous day’s activities. As part of a self-organised Year 5 vs Year 6 football match, we had stolen school equipment, bullied younger children off the playground, and generally behaved disgracefully. We were not to ever do anything like this again. I say “we”, but until that point I had no idea the incident had happened. The teacher quietly acknowledged at the end me and two others, standing there taking this all in, had not been involved. As innocents being subject to the collective punishment stung a little, but it also felt like a small mercy. She hadn’t drawn attention to how we had failed at being boys.

For the whole of my childhood that I can remember, football was a vital part of male social status. You had to like it and to not do so would be weird and suspicious. Maybe even gay. Liking it wasn’t enough, though, and there were additional criteria. First that was in terms of playing it well, and then in terms of making the right gestures with regards to supporting a professional team -- humour with a serious edge underneath, passion but not too much passion. You should care but not show it too much. Similarly you should be interested and know stuff, but not too much stuff.

Alongside my lack of physical ability, the point about how to be interested was where I went wrong. It took until I was 20 and living next to Arsenal to form any proper attachment to one team, and my early interest in football was expressed as a voracious interest in facts and detail. Like a lot else in life, I wanted to pin things down to patterns and rules that could be understood. I wanted to know more and more. If it said in a book with the approval of Gary Lineker that it was very important to pass the ball in football, then boys on the playground who weren’t passing the ball were wrong and I could prove it.

Whatever was written down there, however much I could tell you about past World Cup winners and the current club teams of Eastern Europe, it wasn’t enough. All I needed was enough to boisterously express a view on Liverpool’s prospects for the season, but I wasn’t doing anything like that. It was readily apparent to everyone that in football, as in so much, I was failing to meet lots of unwritten social rules. It was no surprise that I was left out of that unapproved school match. It was no surprise that attempts to join in were met with anything from bafflement to cruelty. I was as weird as the boys who weren’t into football at all. If I was alone in primary school, though, I wasn’t set to be for much longer. There were a lot of other (mostly older) people who followed football with an eye for exacting detail. And in Championship Manager, they were to find a paradise.

On the surface it is paradoxical that a series of some of the most complicated games this project will cover should also be one of the most casual. Casual, that is, in the sense of ‘casual gamer’, players not tied down to those immersed in the medium of video games. The most arcane JRPGs or most layered RTSs have nothing on the impenetrability of Championship Manager. I try to picture coming into Championship Manager from a starting point of no relevant knowledge and can only imagine it being incomprehensible. There's the rub, though. Developers Domark banked on football’s cultural dominance giving them a big enough pool of potential players who wouldn’t be coming to it from a zero starting point, and they got it right. The initial release, without real players or quite the correct leagues, was a success, and by the time they provided a ‘93 update with a more accurate simulation of the new Premier League, it was able to top the Amiga sales charts.

Championship Manager ‘93, for all that it tightens up some aspects of the very first game, is distinctly raw. Selecting a team - a pretty basic task as manager - is an unintuitive mission, involving clicking numbers, clicking players' names and then working out whether they're in the right positions. Stacks of options baffle and obfuscate further. None of the actions of management are particularly easy to do. But what it gives you is detail. Information. More of it than you could possibly know what to do with. Look at the entire page of attributes given to each player in your squad. Examine the squads, stats and records of any team in the football league, even ones several divisions away from your own. See all the other teams playing games and making player transfers. Step away from the actions of managing your team any time and look into the clockwork detail of this whole world ticking along. Even the extended loading time when you start a new game feels reassuring as to the depth of the simulation it’s got to work on creating. Like in Elite before it, the sense of immersion in your corner of the Championship Manager universe is enhanced by being able to see the rest of it going about its business without giving a shit about you.

The engine used to display each match to you stands out from other games as well. Championship Manager ‘93 provides a general statement on which team is attacking, stats for attempts on goal, and, if you pause, a constantly updating rating for each player. It doesn’t make any attempt to graphically depict anything happening on the pitch, and instead it just gives a sparse text commentary on notable events. “Goal for Arsenal” will pop up out of nowhere. Or “I. Wright is through on goal” quickly replaced with “But he shoots wide!”. The terse messages provide a much greater sense of atmosphere and colour than any visual engine was capable of in 1993, and possibly greater than any would be in 2019. I can’t imagine any picture’s thousand words competing with the six word story that is “Hendry booked. He said too much.” It trusts in the game’s player to do much of the analysis and weaving of stories themselves, correctly figuring there were many people well versed in that.

Championship Manager’s way of doing things came at just the right time. The success of the Premier League was making football’s cultural dominance ever bigger. The tendency to cite so many football statistics from 'the Premier League era' means that anything from twenty-six years ago feels a lot older still. Maybe there's a parallel with British games history all but swept away after the takeover of bigger '90s powers. Personally, I have only ever watched football in that era, and grew up playing later editions of Championship Manager. The effect of playing a version of the original game, experiencing one all-conquering franchise placed at the cusp of another, is all a bit Deep Magic from the Dawn of Time. The names of the Arsenal players under my command are a strange mix of the familiar and the not. I vaguely remember the name Anders Limpar, but him getting in a huff and wanting to leave after I fail to pick him proves a surprise.

Just like my team, Championship Manager ‘93 is not quite yet the Championship Manager I remember. It makes the game player’s actions as a manager too limited and difficult and doesn’t fit them as compellingly into its wider simulation. Analysing what is there and seeing small actions pay off, though, is still a great feeling. Looking into everyone’s ratings, trying to make sense of the flow of information and adjust my selection accordingly, I switch Ray Parlour to a more attacking position in my midfield. Watching him then score the opening goal in the next match is a delight. It’s a game that knows how to make you feel clever, and does it by providing you a set of rules, a ton of information, and stepping back to let you take it on from there. It had already targeted its audience; the concept was perfect for me.

By the time I was a few years into secondary school, my approach to football wasn’t such an outlier at all. Maybe some of it was just getting older, but there was a wider cultural change going on too, as the increasing success of Championship Manager suggested. More and more people also played fantasy league competitions that encouraged a data-driven approach to watching football outside of single-team fandom. The spread of the internet and all of its cultural impact was slowly ramping up. And Championship Manager was a regular talking point with friends and classmates. At one point my football knowledge, enthusiasm and lack of skill led to them electing me non-playing captain of our class football team, and while this was largely a joke, it wasn’t a cruel one. I was familiar enough with those to know.

Championship Manager might be a casual game series, but it never seems to be the target of gamer ire directed at ‘non-games’. I’d guess that more Animal Crossing players play regularly play other games alongside that series than Championship Manager ones, but somehow the latter get left out of accusations of ruining things for real gamers. And the simple explanation is that the clear majority of its players are men. It might not fit in to all of the masculine standards of the old playground, but it isn’t ultimately threatening to any of them. It’s the boy standing there in line alongside the other boys, even if it didn’t perform transgression and strength in the same way. In fact, it could easily be absorbed and tied up with the worst of the standards, misogyny and assumed heterosexuality and all. The examination of British adolescent masculinity that is the TV comedy The Inbetweeners gives an illustration. Jay, the one of the leads most characterised by fantasist bravado, is at one point asked about the game and responds in much the same way as all his been-there-done-that sexual boasts. "Championship Manager? Completed it mate.”

The parallel was one which the series’s own marketing has been keen to use. There’s the ad in which a woman in a nightie looks on disapprovingly as her presumed partner excitedly opens his Christmas present of a Championship Manager game. You will have an attractive girlfriend, it says, and you will neglect her to play your football management simulation, because those are the things that men do. And then there’s the even more blatant ad showing spurts of sun cream on a woman’s bare back forming a tactical diagram, under the text “What man doesn’t think about it every 6 seconds?” -- masculinity, hetero sex and computer football management brought together in a tighter knot still, with a taunt that there is something wrong with you if you don’t fit them.

Looking back at that morning standing in the playground, receiving someone else’s lecture, it turns out that in the long run I wasn’t failing acceptable masculinity at all. I’ve grown up, the world has changed, and mine is the winning side. Following the detail of football and playing games that involve complex information processing still bring me joy. But I’m aware that just standing there and being counted alongside all the other boys is to be part of the problem. Amongst those there with me on the new winning team are a bunch of guys who are still mentally in the same playground and still seething about what they had to go through and that the girls didn’t, claiming they are owed something in response. Acceptance doesn’t bring relief any more. Seeing what goes into winning, I want to lose.

Amiga chart, Edge 003, December 1993

#every number one #retrogaming #Amiga #Championship Manager

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dreadhaus-literature · 5 years

Text

{Story} “What’s Mine is Yours.”

So long as you sign on the dotted line.

The stone steps leading up to the manor’s front door were just numerous enough to allow Monica to question her loyalty to Dot Dreadful for the 15th time in the last hour. All around her, the dark, towering trees held centuries of secrets that the manor’s stories high walls would never tell and she tugged her sweatshirt a little closer, amazed that even though it was August, heat seemed to know to avoid this particular acreage of land. How was it chilly? Swallowing thickly around a litany of curses aimed at her currently across town bestie, Monica turned back to the large wrought iron double doors, noticing there were a second set of doors behind the iron. She could just make out intricately carved wood and wondered at the need for such security--or maybe it wasn’t about security at all. After all, Dot had explained the vampire that lived behind these doors was thousands of years old. If Monica had to wager, and she was a clever girl with a logical mind, this had far more to do with privacy than security. Anyone stupid enough to tussle with someone that old deserved whatever was coming to them...

...But whatever that was, was also something she might have to face--though Dot had tried to reassure her that wouldn’t be the case.

“The vamp’s never around when I’m there. He keeps to himself, and he’s way too busy, apparently got lots to do. I don’t know exactly what that means but I don’t have time to pry answers from between his fangs and you won’t be there long enough to even worry about it!”

Monica wasn’t sure Dot understood sometimes the things she said were enough to comfort Dot, who tended to shrug and just let people do whatever they wanted to do, but Monica wasn’t comforted by that in the slightest. She was now miles outside the city, acres deep in a forest, about to knock on the front door of a vampire whose name she didn’t know and who didn’t know her--but again, Dot said that wouldn’t be a problem.

“I called ahead and let the head housekeeper know you’d be coming. His name is Indrek and he’s super proper and old and...kind of got a stick up his ass but I mean, who else would you expect to serve someone also old and proper and with a stick up his own ass?”

It’s a strange sort of way to get to know others, through word of mouth, especially when the majority of stories Dot tells about her clients come across as negative. Monica understood that’s sort of just the nature of gossip and work culture; clients and customers tend to be a pain in the ass to deal with and Dot often relied on Monica to blow off steam so it also made sense Monica really only heard the bad things from Dot’s delivery service, A Mighty Need. It was a niche business, catering to supernatural and humans alike, who had refined palettes or specific dietary requests. Monica was currently holding a cooler full of Scarlet Beebalm herbs, which she had initially thought were actually just flowers. True to it’s name, the herb had brilliant petals of the deepest red but when she’d picked the cooler up from Dot, the taller woman had encouraged her to sniff them and Monica was surprised at the rush of cool mint that tickled her nose. Dot had gone on to explain that this particular client liked to have Beebalm herb ground up and added to any blood he drank, and if he was feeding from a live source, he requested they eat the herb, raw, prior to his feeding. Monica was quietly impressed with how particular that request was; it seemed this vampire knew what he liked and was not afraid to demand it, even if it meant hiring a specialty service to procure what tickled his fancy. Standing on his front step now, Monica idly wondered how different it made blood taste; was it like chewing a mint leaf? Maybe it was this vampire’s version of a mojito? A blood-jito--

The door swinging open without warning startled her out of her hilariously punny thoughts and Monica’s wide green eyes were immediately drawn up to the impeccably dressed troll who opened the door. Indrek lived up to his Old World name and Dot’s description; he looked down his nose at Monica but considering the fact that he was probably close to 10 feet tall that probably had a lot to do with it, too. Indrek’s long white hair was pulled back at the nape of his neck, trailing in a single braid down his spine and not a single strand fell out of place; Monica found the stark white a nice contrast to the warm gray of his skin. There were fine lines along his metallic silver eyes and mouth and the creases in his forehead were much deeper; it made sense his frown lines would be deeper than his laugh lines, if his rumored dour personality held weight and Monica was beginning to suspect Dot was entirely right about Indrek’s demeanor. The troll’s lower tusks were capped in intricate silver, drawing Monica’s gaze to the septum ring that complimented a very straight nose. Beneath the collar of Indrek’s impeccable white dress shirt she could just make out what might be tattoos from Indrek’s family line but as she squinted behind her glasses, Indrek cleared his throat and drew her gaze back to his gun metal gray eyes.

“You must be Miss Frenzy.” He spoke with a deep, slightly accented baritone; it wasn’t a question and Monica didn’t think that had to do with the cooler in her hand and Indrek’s educated guess. She wagered this manor didn’t get unexpected visitors.

“U-Uh, yes,” she nodded in spite of the lack of question, holding up the cooler for him. “Delivery! Beebalm herbs, as promised--”

But instead of taking the cooler and shutting the door, Indrek opened the door wider as he stepped back with a slight bow. “Please, come in.”

Monica hesitated, mouth still open and working slightly before her voice caught up. “I...I was just supposed to drop the cooler off?”

Indrek lifted one brow as he straightened up. “Miss Dreadful always arranges the herbs for Master Dastarden. He likes them that way.”

For a split second, Monica was caught off-guard by the name that passed Indrek’s lips. Dastarden was a damn impressive sounding last name--but the rest of Indrek’s sentence caught up like a five car pile up and she floundered a bit on the front step. Indrek spoke as if what this Master Dastarden wanted, he got, and Indrek made no move to break protocol...but Dot hadn’t said anything about having to do this. Maybe it just hadn’t crossed her mind? She was a little over-booked tonight, hence her need to ask Monica for this favor (all her drivers were occupied and she herself was across the city trying to appease a very picky Weregriffin, whose favorite species of fish was out of season at the moment). Well, Monica wasn’t going to be the reason this client had a complaint about Dot’s business and she lifted her chin slightly before stepping over the threshold into the Dastarden Manor, Indrek closing the door behind her.

“We appreciate you making the trip out.” Indrek’s deep voice came from such powerful lungs there was a slight echo against the vaulted ceiling overhead despite his polite tone. “Master Dastarden should have had enough to last him until his next scheduled delivery but I suppose the unforeseen does happen on occasion.”

Monica wondered at the end of that sentence, picking up subtle hints from Indrek’s disappointed Dad tone that something was amiss in the Dastarden home that might have the Master of the Manor stress-drinking. A glance around just the entrance hall, with all it’s intricately carved marble pillars, accented by no doubt ancient wood, and highlighted with paintings and sculptures older than her grandfather, and Monica could understand if this Master Dastarden had a lot on his plate. No one who lived like this was a slouch.

“Dot didn’t seem to think it was a problem,” Monica replied cheerfully, and she noticed Indrek’s broad shoulders slightly relax. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make her feel good for her role in this particular transaction.

“The kitchen is this way,” Indrek gestured with one large hand toward the hallway to the left and he waited politely for her to begin walking before falling into step slightly behind her, respectfully. He walked with his long arms clasped behind his back and his impressive stride he tailored so as not to overtake her even once. Indrek’s consideration kept a small smile on Monica’s face and while she couldn’t have noticed, with her attention on the hallway ahead, Indrek’s lips were pulled up slightly as well.

“This place is huge!” Monica commented as they passed no less than a dozen different rooms, some leading to other hallways, others showing intricate sitting areas, small studies and even a couple bathrooms that would put most 5 star hotels to shame. “And it’s beautiful.”

“Thank you, on my Master’s behalf.” Indrek’s head bowed slightly in acknowledgement of the compliment and she could hear the pride in his voice. “I will pass the words onto him. He’s worked many centuries building a home he can be proud of.”

“Does he live here alone?” Monica couldn’t help but ask, her curiosity absolutely piqued by the man behind the manor.

“Yes and no,” Indrek replied. “Master Dastarden’s home is always open to those close to him, and on occasion his siblings come to stay when they are in the area.”

It went unspoken Master Dastarden had no mate, no Lady of the Manor, but Monica didn’t allow herself to dwell on that topic for even a second. Instead, she took the right turn Indrek indicated with his head. “Does it take a lot of staff to keep this place clean?”

At this, Indrek made a slight noise that was almost indignant. “You could not, in your wildest fantasies, imagine the dust a manor this size accumulates, Miss. It is...unspeakable.”

The serious way Indrek worded his sentence made Monica laugh; she couldn’t help it. He sounded almost traumatized!

The melodious sound of her laughter chased shadows down the hall and Indrek nearly faltered in his steps at the way the space seemingly brightened, the oppressive, somber silence lifting just enough to allow her light in. Monica didn’t notice the break in Indrek’s stride, nor the way his eyes snapped over his broad shoulder to something behind them.

“...Ah, this way, Miss Frenzy. In here,” Indrek’s long right arm swept around Monica, mindful not to touch her more than a mere brush of his sleeve against her sweatshirt, his other arm opening one of the double doors that opened into a kitchen so large Monica could almost not make out the wall at the other end. At first a kitchen this size made no sense for a being who likely was so no-nonsense he didn’t bother with frivolous meals, simply drank his specialty blood, but Monica figured this much space was used for the staff who needed to cook for his guests. Indrek ducked into the spacious kitchen, opening the second door as he did so, before he came to usher Monica toward a counter with an empty vase. He gestured with his hand toward the glittering, hand-blown glass. “Would you mind arranging the Beebalms in here for my Master?”

“Sure thing!” Monica nodded with another smile, setting the cooler on the counter before opening the lid.

“Please do not shy away from touching the petals,” Indrek took a few steps back, then deeper into the kitchen. “Your lovely scent mixed with the mint would be most pleasing to him, I’m certain.”

Monica fought off the urge to laugh nervously, reaching in for the first few stems.

“And once you’ve finished, would you set the vase on the table in here?” Indrek opened a second set of doors several feet away from where Monica stood, and adjacent from the doors they’d come through. “My Master will likely be retiring to this study to relax before dawn and I believe they’d be best prepared for him here.”

Monica nodded again, flashing Indrek a polite smile. “Of course, not a problem.”

“You’ve been most gracious, Miss Frenzy, you’ve my thanks.” Indrek’s head bowed, before it lifted, his eyes no longer on her. A moment later and a servant appeared at the hallway doors; it was obvious Indrek had heard them approaching and Monica turned curiously.

“Master Osirith is requesting another crate of bones, but we cannot find another.”

Indrek’s dour demeanor returned in a way similar to the first icy winds of Winter; his spine stiffened and he was across the room so quickly Monica had scarcely blinked.

“There won’t be a god above or below who can help you if Master Osirith comes to think there’s no more bones in this Manor. Who do you think he’ll be turning on then, hm?” It was a question that wasn’t a question at all, but a threat. Indrek gestured with one hand. “Get downstairs and continue searching, I will be right behind you.”

The servant hurried away, and Indrek turned to Monica, voice softer now.

“Please excuse me a moment, Miss Frenzy. I should return before you’ve finished but if not, please feel comfortable to wait in the study for me.” Indrek gripped the door handles, meeting her gaze as he began to pull them shut. “And please, help yourself to anything you’d like, as our thanks for your help this evening.”

The doors shut with a quiet finality but Monica didn’t necessarily feel trapped. This entire experience was somewhat surreal; co-existing with supernatural species was something she’d grown up doing, it was simply the way the world worked as creatures got fed up living on the fringes of society just so humans could sleep more soundly at night. She knew vampires, she knew werewolves, she knew elves and she knew demons; that wasn’t what made the experience surreal. Pausing with her fingers resting on one stiff stem of Beebalm, Monica ran the tip of her finger over the red petal and felt it’s softness, her heart beating a little quicker in her chest. If she were honest with herself...there was something a little exciting about being here, in this manor, with an ancient vampire lurking around. She wasn’t going to go looking for him, of course, this wasn’t some romance novel and besides, there was obviously something else in this house she didn’t want to run into. Whoever that Osirith was sounded testy. She turned back to her task, dipping the stem into the vase and beginning to arrange the fragrant herbs in a circle, so that the petals complimented one another and the fragrance could more evenly be distributed. As the scent flirted with her nose, teasing her with something icy and sharp, she idly found herself wondering what sort of vampire liked a bit of bite with his blood. What was he like? What did he look like?

...Monica found herself hoping he was attractive, but reality had a funny way of spoiling good things. She wrinkled her nose at the thought of some fleshy, bald vampire with too many teeth and bony fingers, more Nosferatu than Lestat and she more stabbed the last Beebalm into the vase than carefully placed it. Wasn’t that just like reality? To ruin a perfectly good fantasy? Well, served her right anyway. She was here to do a job and head back home to her Spotify playlists, a bag of hot chips, and maybe a video game, not to be wooed by some old Lord of the Manor.

Picking up the vase carefully, Monica marveled at the weight in her hands. It had nothing to do with the herbs and everything to do with the intricately spun glass; it had obviously been done by hand; the colors resembled a sunrise and if Monica wanted to be sentimental, she could wager a vampire as old as Master Dastarden might be a bit sensitive to light. Not all vampires were but some of the older species still bore the allergy to the bright, fiery sunball in the sky and that might be why this vase looked the way it did. If he couldn’t see a sunrise, he might replace what he couldn’t have with pretty trinkets resembling the natural splendor. With mindful steps, Monica moved toward the open set of doors leading to the study and Monica was greeted with a room on the smaller side (at least by the Manor’s standards) but was meant to be cozy, homey. It sported rows of wooden bookshelves teeming with literature, plush, expensive rugs over polished marble floors, and--

Monica nearly dropped the vase as she stared at the fireplace. No, not the fireplace, but what was hanging over the fireplace. There he was, in all his ancient, Old World masculine beauty; Master Dastarden. The vampire in the painting looked his age but not in the way one might imagine; there was not a single line or wrinkle on his porcelain skin but his eyes were so dark they glittered even on a still oil painting. Those eyes told a multitude of stories without saying a single word, holding wisdom and the harshness that comes from centuries of life. His mouth was cruel, his jawline square and his chin angled down just enough to allow the artist to capture sky high cheekbones; the cheekbones drew Monica’s eyes up to the points of his ears splitting long black hair, hair that glittered like his eyes. Two strands of white kissed the strands near his widow’s peak, as if either his mother or father had white hair rather than black and those strands spilled over broad shoulders down to a chest strong enough to carry Monica and any problems she might have. Master Dastarden lived up to his name; even in a painting he had presence, a dastardly aura of malice and sadistic cruelty hidden just beneath a veneer of civility. He was the type not to smile in your face but stare at you with the intensity of a pit viper before he struck; you’d know you were dead before you hit the ground but you might not even be mad to be felled by this particular monster.

The vase was set almost absently on the coffee table, Monica struggling to take her eyes off the painting illuminated by the room’s ambient lighting and the fire warming the tips of her fingers. She straightened up after ensuring the vase was centered, swallowing as she stepped around the table to approach the painting. This was the Lord of the Manor? ...He wasn’t ugly.

Oh, he wasn’t ugly at all.

Monica’s eyes dragged down the painting to the placard at the intricate silver base of the frame, reading aloud as the tip of her finger followed along.

“Milano Dastarden...you really do have a nice name.”

“Thank you.”

Monica whirled, a squeal of surprise bubbling up in her throat at the sudden voice at her back. She slapped a hand over her mouth, breathing heavily around her fingers, as her wide green eyes drank in the sight of Milano Dastarden, in the flesh.

To say the painting couldn’t do him justice would be an understatement. Milano was dressed formally, his dress shirt a deep, blood red, tucked into black slacks and Monica couldn’t help staring at the jeweled pendant resting against his chest--against his skin, because he had multiple buttons of his shirt undone. The muscle definition was unmistakable and so was his towering height; he wasn’t taller than Indrek, no, but he had at least two and a half feet on her. His long legs and straight spine suited him, added to his domineering aura; he filled the room he was in the more she regarded him and she realized in that moment he was doing the very same to her.

What she had no way of knowing was that he’d been doing that from the moment he’d heard her laughter echoing down his hallway.

Milano’s archaic features didn’t change as his dark, obsidian gaze swept over every inch of Monica’s petite form but there was appreciation to be seen if one knew where to look. He figured she didn’t, that she was too startled to know how to read his expression but that was fine; there was time to teach her, to give her to adjust to learning her lover. Right now, she didn’t even know that word would apply to him before the night was over and he took a few steps closer, gliding with the grace second nature to his kind. Monica was watching him much like a little bunny would watch a panther, knowing fleeing might help it’s chance of survival but also knowing the panther would be upon it before it could get away--and she would not be getting away. Milano didn’t lose, it simply was not in his nature, and when he had his sights on something, he got it.

The only thing he was seeing right now was Monica.

“Indrek welcomed you to my home,” Milano’s deep voice was akin to the glide of a snake, winding up her leg aimed straight for the center of her. “And he offered you your pick of anything from my home you might like as thanks for your services this evening. Did he not?”

Monica’s hand had moved from her mouth to her chest and it was all she could do to nod. “Y-Yes, but I didn’t t-take anything.”

“That’s a shame.” Milano’s long, clawed fingers plucked a single Beebalm from the carefully arranged vase, but his eyes were on Monica, his parted lips revealing a wealth of pearly white fang. “Perhaps I could offer you something, then?”

“I really d-don’t need,” Monica’s breath left her lungs in a rush as Milano continued to glide closer, his steps so measured even on the hardwood his shiny dress shoes made not a single sound.

“We all need, Monica.” Milano’s fathomless gaze was riveted to the slender column of Monica’s throat as she swallowed, and his free hand came up, brushing petal-soft strands of her hair over her shoulder so he could see her unmarked skin better. It wouldn’t be, by morning. Slowly, agonizingly so, Milano’s gaze lifted in a caress along her face until he was staring into her eyes, his ancient heart thundering with that unnamed need at the look she was giving him. “Do you know what I need?”

Monica was terrified to ask, but thankfully she didn’t need to. Milano was more than willing to tell her.

“Right now, I need you.”

Monica’s pulse spiked as Milano’s sharp nails skimmed along her shoulder, pushing her sweatshirt slightly to the side to reveal more of her skin.

“And tomorrow...?” Milano’s cruel mouth lifted ever so slightly. “Tomorrow, I believe I will need you even more.”

Milano’s dark head bent, his proud spine yielding to the need he was voicing and Monica stifled a whine as she felt his nose skim against the curve of her throat, a deep inhale from him dragging her into his desperate lungs. He made a noise, a sound in his chest that was almost pained, as if holding himself back was taking every ounce of his centuries-old control.

“Yes...” The exhale was a whispered sigh and he seemed to say it more for himself than her, drawing back and up to that impressive, statuesque height and his eyes were nailing her to the floor, again. “You like my name, Monica? Good. It can be yours, if you’d like it to be. If you need it to be.”

“W-What?” Monica could barely gasp out, stunned at what he seemed to be offering her but he didn’t even miss a beat.

“Don’t worry so, little pet. You seem concerned you’ll be taking more than you deserve but I assure you, I will be taking greatly from you. It’s the least I can do, offering my name to be yours.” Milano’s strong arm slid around the small of Monica’s back in a grip that was nothing short of possessive, tucking her beneath the hollow of his broad shoulder with the same arrogance of Kings of old--and suddenly, Monica found herself walking, moved by Milano’s ancient, powerful body and that unyielding stride. “Come. I am weary, I hunger, and I require my bed and you in it.”

“W-Wait, Mr. Dastarden--”

“What, Mrs. Dastarden?”

Monica’s wide eyes snapping up to his face actually eased a small smile of satisfaction onto Milano’s face; he hadn’t smiled in centuries. Yes, she was perfect. Exactly what he needed.

“There will be time for formalities and questions later, when the sun has risen and you are too sore to accept your new husband again,” Milano’s deep voice was self-assured, as if his words were already reality; Monica wasn’t sure if she paled or blushed so furiously she might faint. Milano’s head tilted down, and he regarded her with a dastardly smirk as he drank in her expression. “You are absolutely beautiful, Monica.”

Monica could barely stammer out a thank you, her life now firmly out of her hands and into the clawed grip of a vampire with a clear possessive complex and a keen eye for getting what he wanted--no, no. What he needed.

“Right now, my beautiful new bride, the only question that needs asked is...” Milano offered Monica the blossomed herb with a twist of his lips too handsome to be denied. “How do you feel about Beebalm?”

#{story} : what's mine is yours #{character} : milano dastarden #{ tbh idk if she even really likes ol' boy or just his name lmao }#{ BUT WHATEVER SHE'S GETTING BOTH OK }#{theme} : for monica

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winetae · 6 years

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⇾ love me, love me (m)

⇁ Jimin x Reader

⇁ smut, hybrid!au

⇁ accidental voyeurism, pillow riding, power play, d/s undertones, cum play, use of the word bitch, possessiveness, dirty talk, mentions of breeding, lowkey soft, not much plot even if u squint

⇁ 12.7k

Legally speaking, Jimin is yours—the shiny collar clasped around his neck and the adoption papers attest this. But behind closed doors, Jimin makes sure you understand that he isn’t anyone’s bitch.

(a/n) big ty to jules for her extensive dog knowledge that helped me with the visual aids for this fic!! ty to mj for reading it over and convincing me that it wasn’t half bad :’’) and ty to cat who always answers any questions i have about grammar! and to everyone who sent me jimin hoe gifs, ily!!

“You’re in over your head.”

“Hybrids need to be taken care of properly, they aren’t goldfish. Young women your age are not equipped to look after them.”

The adoption center had warned you hybrid breeds like Jimin would require constant attention, but, at the time, you had foolishly dismissed their concerns, already enraptured by the look on his face, hope glimmering in his brown eyes. Perhaps it would have been wise to heed their advice.

Two months have passed since the adoption but Jimin’s abundance of energy still takes you by surprise. His exuberance never runs low; no matter how much he plays and runs around all day, he never tires himself out.

Keeping him occupied is one thing. What you don’t expect is his penchant for physical affection.

By now, it’s no well kept secret that Jimin is an avid fan of skinship—he’s made it his habit to rub his face against yours, trailing his nose down your neck and your clothes until he’s sure that his scent will cling to you like a shadow. Days and nights alike, he seeks the attention of his owner and won’t hesitate to pout and whine if you don’t indulge him enough to his liking.

If the first few times catch you unawares, you’ve long grown accustomed to the way he pounces on you without warning while you’re lazily flicking through the TV channels. Tail wagging high in the air, he laves your cheeks with unbridled enthusiasm, the sound of your giggles the only encouragement he needs to pursue his ministrations.

You suppose some might find it tiring to keep up with a dog hybrid, especially one brimming with so much energy, but you prove to be the exception.

Jimin breathes life into your otherwise boring and tedious everyday occurrence. Sometimes, you find it hard to believe how effortlessly he’s able to bring color to your monochrome existence. But there is no room for disbelief when his presence is perceptible to the naked eye—your spacious apartment now feels like a proper home rather than an impersonal hotel suite, the living space no longer spotless and clinical; Jimin’s games litter the floor, crumbs of a tuna sandwich sticking to the counter top he forgot to wipe clean.

It’s almost frightening, how easy it is to let Jimin into your life. He seamlessly weaves himself into your daily routine and your heart, and gives you a reason to come home after a long day of work.

Before you have time to consciously realize it, you begin to anticipate his hugs and reciprocate his affection.

Whenever you’re in the kitchen preparing dinner and he suddenly wraps both arms around you from behind to whine about his empty stomach, you turn around to scratch the belly in question before he has time to finish his complaint. At night, he likes to curl up next to you under the comfort of a hand-sewn quilt, his ears pulled back slightly when you run a soothing hand over his mop of hair. Your heart softens whenever you see his crescent shaped eyes smile in your direction, his plump lips stretched into a wide and inviting grin.

That’s not to say that there aren’t downsides to this arrangement—if you can call them that.

It doesn’t take long to notice that taking care of your more personal matters proves to be nearly impossible. Jimin has dissolved the very notion of privacy, leaving you no spare moment to attend to your own needs without his detection.

How are you supposed to hide an orgasm from someone who can instantly tell when you use a different body wash? How do you find time to rub one off when Jimin is glued to your side as soon you get home from work?

Now that your bed is a shared space, it doesn’t feel right to tend to your base desires out in the open where Jimin’s nose can detect your arousal. You don’t want to make him uneasy so you try your best to deal with your problem as quietly as possible. With Jimin snuggling up next to you at night, the only time you’re guaranteed solitude is when you lock yourself in the privacy of the bathroom.

It takes some getting used to—the bathtub is not nearly as comfortable as your bed—but you manage to make it work. You light some scented candles and play some soothing background music, hoping that the floral fragrance and bluesy melodies will camouflage your actions from Jimin’s keen senses. And to your knowledge, Jimin is none the wiser to what happens once you immerse your body in the hot water. Which is how it should be.

Tonight is another one of those nights where you desperately need to unwind. Whenever your working hours weigh down on your shoulders, you crave that release more than usual, needing that post-orgasmic state of bliss to temporarily erase the worries from your mind. You don’t realize you’ve spent too much time relaxing in the tub until you notice the pruned skin of your fingertips.

Work must be giving you more stress than you first feared; for some reason your body is more sensitive to your ministrations and you manage to bring yourself to a peak twice in a row; an unprecedented occurrence. Body tingly and light, you emerge from the bathroom, skin damp and rosy.

It’s difficult to force your tired limbs into movement, but even if you want nothing more than to doze off on the couch and bask in your blissful glow, dinner needs to be taken care of. You distantly remember promising Jimin grilled meat earlier this morning and you’re not one to break promises. Speaking of—

“Jimin?” Your voice carries through the silent apartment, a trail of wet droplets staining the carpet as you search for him.

You expect to see the hybrid pacing back in forth in front of the fridge like he usually does when hunger gnaws at him, but the kitchen is surprisingly barren of his presence. How odd—he’s usually the first to complain about his rumbling stomach. You pause in perplexity when you also fail to find him in the living room. Unless he’s stepped out of the house without forewarning, only the laundry room and your bedroom are left to explore. Although you are curious as to why he isn’t demanding dinner like any other night, Jimin has never left the house without a word, so you aren’t too worried about his current whereabouts

The pitter-patter of your footsteps is muted by the beige carpet, but you know Jimin’s dog ears are fully capable of discerning the faint sound. As you draw nearer to the last door in the hallway, the voice in the back of your head finds it strange that Jimin hasn’t made an appearance yet.

The door to your room is left ajar and you move to poke your head in. With your hand on the brass knob, you give the door a small push before halting completely, your eyes blown wide in surprise as you soak in the sight in front of you.

A silent gasp is your only visible reaction. Surprise paralyzes you, rooting you to the spot. It’s as if your brain has been short-circuited, your mind drawing a blank as you try to process what you’re seeing.

The picture that greets you is obscene in all ways.

If Jimin’s nudity shocks you, it’s nothing compared to the slack-jawed response his sinful activity elicits from your body.

For there is nothing innocent about the way Jimin ruts against the pillow tucked between his strong thighs—with every thrust of his hips against the cushion, his muscles flex in a way that has your mouth go dry. Although his expressions are hidden from you, the firm globes of his ass tempt you in ways that they shouldn’t, his body shiny with sweat.

Even from this distance, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what he’s up to. As if the sight itself isn’t sufficient proof, the high pitched whines of pleasure that bounce off the walls are enough evidence.

And yet—you continue to swim in denial, your brain refusing to trust your eyesight. Doubt clouds your thoughts. Could you, perhaps, be wrong? Maybe this is a simple misunderstanding and he’s merely— You struggle to find an excuse, grasping at straws, knowing in your heart that you’re not imagining this spectacle.

The deep, throaty moan that rips from his throat puts an end to your doubt. It’s guttural, animalistic. There’s no way that you can mistake it for anything else than what it is—the expression of lust in its rawest form.

Now that you’re fully cognizant of the situation, you realize that you should leave and grant him the privacy he deserves. It’s not as if he’s committing a crime of any sort—you of all people can sympathize. Leaving now is the best option so as to avoid any awkward explanations. You don’t want to invade his privacy or make him embarrassed for an act that is only natural.

With that thought in mind, you shut your eyes, trying to erase the memory before it ingrains itself into the crevices of your mind. You will your feet to shuffle back, but right as you are about to turn on your heels, Jimin shifts and you freeze on the spot, worried that he’s finally picked up on your presence. You brace yourself for the inevitable confrontation, hand tightening on the door knob to steady yourself—but no acknowledgment comes. Lifting your head, you expect your eyes to clash with his, but he shows no outward signs of being caught in the act.

Instead of berating you like you had expected, Jimin scoots himself back onto his haunches and grinds into the pillow with more fervor, his hips drawing little, half-circles that bring attention to the curve of his ass. Lost in his own world, he doesn’t take notice of your shameless gawking; too busy chasing after his pleasure.

You’re so enthralled by the salacious sight that you almost miss the way his right hand reaches up to paw at his face. From your peripheral vision, it looks like he’s wiping off the beads of sweat dripping down his hairline with the back of his hand. But your attention is quickly stolen by the bright-colored scrap of fabric that sticks out between his fingers—because, there, tightly clutched in his fist, is your favorite pair of underwear.

For a split second, you think your eyes deceive you but his wrist flicks, flashing you the familiar undergarment once more. It’s nothing as risqué as the collection buried at the bottom of your drawer, but that doesn’t stop embarrassment from dusting your cheeks and the tips of your ears pink.

The plain cotton pair is one you recognize at once—it’s the pair you had disposed of in the hamper right before you drew your bath.

You blink, mouth agape, the crux of your thighs throbbing as heat rushes south. Somehow, knowing that Jimin is holding such an intimate piece of clothing makes your pulse race. And the discomfort between your legs only grows as you continue to observe the events unfolding in front of you, feet stuck to the ground.

Jimin holds the rose colored material up to his nose, his tongue poking out from between his plump lips as he breathes in your feminine scent. Fleetingly, you register that it hasn’t been that long since the start of your bath—thirty minutes, give or take. Your scent must still be imbued on the fabric, traces of your discharge coloring the crotch of the panties white. Your unique fragrance seems to be too much for him to handle, and he growls into his hand, hips bucking with more urgency than before. It’s only then that it finally sinks in;

Jimin is sniffing your underwear.

He is smelling you. And getting off on it.

Dizziness overtakes you, rendering you speechless and making you go weak in the knees, your grip on the doorknob the only thing keeping you afloat. You don’t even try to make sense of what’s happening, too overcome with astonishment and something else—something a lot more dangerous and potent.

The lust you thought you had driven off earlier is now back tenfold. As much as you try to avert your gaze from the scene, arousal wraps itself around your spine, keeping you frozen in place, unable to peel your eyes away from the lewd vision. Spellbound, you couldn’t look away even if you tried.

The sole focus of his attention is clutched in his hand—Jimin buries his nose into his fist, pink fabric still clasped between his digits, and he moans again, low and throaty, his hips working the silk-covered pillow with renewed eagerness. You don’t think the sight can get anymore erotic than this but he soon proves you wrong.

Your heart nearly combusts at that very second, your head spinning with heady arousal. You can’t believe, yet again, what you’re seeing—because the sight of Jimin taking the cotton material between his teeth wipes out the notion of coherency from your vocabulary. You can only watch with bated breath, bewitched, as he suckles the crotch of your panties into his mouth, moaning what sounds suspiciously like your name around the fabric. The moment the taste of you hits his tongue, he shudders, trembling from head to toe in ecstasy, grinding his hips into the pillow as he rides out the high of his orgasm.

Seeing him spent and hunched over the now soiled pillow breaks you free from your trance. You scurry backwards, dazed, while trying to ignore the throbbing ache between your thighs.

Back in the kitchen, your mind is still reeling—it feels like you’ve awoken from a dream, stumbled back from a parallel universe. You grill the meat without much thought, your attention drifting from the task at hand. How can one expect you to focus on cooking dinner when the vision of Jimin masturbating is all you can see every time you blink?

A myriad of questions invade your thoughts. Isn’t normal for guys to use panties to jack off? You recall seeing it in porn, once. Jimin had probably only borrowed it to ease him through his orgasms—nothing more.

Some people watch porn, some use less conventional methods... And that’s perfectly fine, you reason. But why couldn’t it have been a clean pair of underwear? Why did he have to go through the hamper? It doesn’t disgust you in the slightest, but you can’t completely shake off the embarrassment his actions provoked.

You pat your cheeks with the backs of your hands, feeling heat emanate from your skin. The image of him holding up the cotton to his nose is still embedded in the forefront of your mind. You find it...strangely fascinating that Jimin would take so much pleasure in something so crude, so personal. It’s obvious how much he enjoyed it and you can’t help but ask yourself if he thought of you in his fantasies and not some nameless, faceless female hybrid.

Get your head out of your ass. It’s nothing personal, you try to convince yourself as you flip the meat on the grill. Perhaps dog hybrids rely on scents to get themselves off. You can’t fault him for the way his body is biologically wired. You can’t let yourself get carried away by your own burgeoning desires.

Speak of the devil...

The mouth-watering aroma of the sizzling meat must have wafted all the way to the bedroom because it doesn’t take long for Jimin to show up, guided by his nose. Your heart lurches against your ribs when he approaches you, eyes alight as they land on this favorite meal, golden tail wagging back and forth. Immediately, you notice the way his skin glows, dewy and pink, and your vision inadvertently flashes with images of him rutting against the pillow. Gulping, you quickly avert your gaze, afraid that he’ll see right through you.

You hold in your breath, all too aware of his sudden proximity. Swallowing becomes difficult as he rests his hands on your shoulders, fingers pressing into muscle. Not trusting your voice, you stay uncharacteristically quiet and flip the pork chops more times than necessary.

“Was work tiring today, noona?” His warm breath tickles the nape of your neck and you have to fight down a shiver. Relaxing in his hold is damn near impossible when your heart feels like it’s about to burst in your chest.

“Hm? What makes you say that?”

“You’ve been taking longer baths lately but they don’t seem to help you unwind at all. See?” He massages your shoulders insistently to prove his point. Thumbs digging into the muscle, he hits a sore spot, eliciting a cry of surprise. Torn between the instinctive need to flee from the bite of pain and the secret desire to prolong physical contact, your shoulders tense up. “You’re all stiff."

“M’okay,” you mumble, feeling your skin flame up. Thankful that he can’t see your traitorous expression, you try to reassure him, “It’s holiday hell season, so I’ve just been a bit more busy, s’all.”

“Okay, if you say so.” His hands fall to his side and you don’t expect to miss his touch as much as you do. “You don’t have to pretend in front of me, you know. I can comfort you, too.”

He sounds so sure of himself, so resolute, so painfully sincere that you’re not sure what to make of it. “Jimin,” you swallow, at a loss for words.

“Let me help you set the table, noona,” he offers graciously, already reaching for the plates in the cupboard. If he notices the blush dusting your cheeks, he doesn’t comment on it.

You’re not sure what to make of Jimin’s behavior. Any other day before today and you would have dismissed it as normal, but what happened earlier has undoubtedly shifted your perception.

Behind you, you hear Jimin rummage through one of the kitchen drawers as he looks for eating utensils. Bottom lip pulled between your teeth, you observe him out the corner of your eye, trying to place what has changed. Even after you’ve served dinner, you continue to watch him, attempting to spot any unusual behavior on his part, but your suspicions are laid to rest when he doesn’t act any differently than usual. Jimin devours the juicy meat, tongue licking his fork after every bite to savor the flavor. Unwittingly, your eyes track the movement, entranced by the way the pink muscle laps the silver utensil, imagining the curve of his tongue elsewhere.

You take a gulp of cold water, an ice cube clinking against your teeth. To your relief, the icy water douses your thirst for the time being and you’re able to pull yourself together.

Realization strikes you right then—maybe...it’s you, not Jimin, who has changed.

This explanation makes perfect sense. Jimin has always been overly affectionate, easily expressing his feelings through words and actions. In retrospect, there is nothing strange or out of place with the way he has been interacting with you. The more you mull things over, the more it becomes apparent that it’s all you—you’re the one making things awkward; you’re the one suddenly filled with inappropriate thoughts.

Your skin prickles with guilt. Shoulders heavy, as if bearing the weight of your shame, you nibble your food in silence, lost in thought.

“Eat more,” Jimin suggests, transferring his last piece of his meat onto your plate. You look up at him, eyebrows raised. It’s not like him to give up his meat... Before you have time to voice your question, he remarks, “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been quiet.”

Brow creased in concern, he reaches across the table, extending a hand and placing it on your forehead to feel your temperature. The corners of his lips twitch into a frown. “I think you’ve been overworking yourself. You’re burning up.”

You do feel hot. His touch is soft, tender; his eyes crinkled in genuine concern. Being the center of his attention makes blood rush to your cheeks, and the rosy red color that splotches your face only worries him more.

He lets his hand linger, the pads of his fingertips brushing a few strands of hair away from your face. “You sure you still wanna watch a movie? It might be better for you to rest up...”

“I’m fine.” It’s a relief to hear that your voice doesn’t waver. Your lips quirk into a smile, trying to appear reassuring. “You can go pick one out while I put these on to wash.”

Jimin’s eyes linger on you for a few seconds, and you can tell that he’s debating internally whether to push the issue or not. After a moment of deliberation, he acquiesces, mouth splitting into his familiar grin.

He helps you pile the dirty plates and pan into the dishwasher. His closeness leaves you flustered, unable to hold his gaze when he hands you the used glasses and stained dishes.

Only when Jimin is out of sight can you breathe a little easier. Distance makes everything less overwhelming and you’re finally able to sort out your thoughts.

If Jimin isn’t acting any different than usual, then there isn’t any valid reason for me to behave differently, either, you think to yourself.

However, this is easier said than done—you can still feel the ghost of his touch on your forehead, the phantom feeling of his body near yours. Shaking your head as if trying to physically remove these indecent thoughts, you attempt to strengthen your resolve.

Only once you’ve collected your wits do you make your way to the living room. The opening credits are already rolling on screen, but Jimin’s attention is diverted by your entrance.

As soon as you plop down on the couch, he wastes no times rearranging himself into his preferred position, head on your legs. On any other day, the weight on your lap would be welcome and cozy, but the night’s earlier events make you want to shy away from contact. If he senses your unease, he doesn’t let it deter him from enjoying the movie playing on screen.

It’s not uncommon to see Jimin's figure splayed across the living room couch, his head using your lap as a makeshift pillow. Settled in the crook of your legs, his peaceful expression is framed by a halo of flowing gold. You thread your fingers through his hair, occasionally scratching him near the ears, treasuring these rare moments of tranquility.

Even as your left leg starts to cramp, you don’t have the heart to push him off, not when this is supposedly the most comfortable way for him to watch the movie playing on the flat screen television. It’s what he claims, anyway, although you secretly suspect that it’s just another flimsy pretext for physical contact. So you let it slide, not minding the display of affection in the slightest. The way he drapes over you like the coziest of blankets is enough to turn your muscles into mush. You might as well be a sloth—too lazy to move and readjust your position. Your mind is blissfully blank, a warm haze entrapping you in its hold. Lethargy, for once, is welcome.

Besides—you can’t help but appreciate the break this fleeting moment offers you.

A sleek, electric blue race car zooms across the screen just then, catching your attention. You look up at the television screen just in time to see a car fly through the air, followed by three other, equally impressive sports cars.

The loud roar of engines revving up boom through the sound system and Jimin’s tail thumps against the couch as the expensive models whiz past each other in their race to the finish line.

Although you’re neutral to this genre, action movies are Jimin’s favorite—they’re the only films capable of keeping him still for longer than thirty minutes at a time. Unlike you, he has no patience for romantic comedies or period dramas. And while you don’t mind watching blockbusters, the events of earlier this evening keep you distracted. You watch the fast-paced scenes blankly, the plot inconsequential and quickly forgotten.

Instead, your mind readily supplies a movie of its own and you let yourself sink into the earlier memory of Jimin masturbating to your scent. You can recall the scene in graphic detail, from the way his muscles rippled with every thrust of his hips to the way his labored pants filled up the bedroom as he worked himself to climax. The filthy images replay on constant loop, and you find yourself wriggling under Jimin’s weight, earning a whine of protest.

He’s quick to adjust himself over your legs, twisting his head around until he finds the most comfortable position. You don’t think much of it until you cast a glance at his lounging figure. “J-Jimin wha—” Your hand hovers uncertainly over his mop of hair. “What are you doing?”

Jimin refuses to budge, his head still buried between the apex of your thighs. Hot puffs of air kiss your skin through the spandex material of your yoga pants, and you do your best not to squirm under his weight. With the way his breath tickles the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, you can’t ignore how dangerously close his plush lips are to your crotch. A quick mental appraisal and you deduce that it would only take three kisses upwards for him to nose your—

“Jimin!” You give his locks a short tug to emphasize your point.

Any closer and his developed olfactory senses would be able to detect the burgeoning arousal hidden between your legs. Unless... Could he possibly smell you already? You panic internally, your fingers yanking his soft tuft of hair in urgency.

A high-pitched whine pierces the air and, immediately, you still, your entire body freezing up as you feel the vibrations of his howl go straight to your clit. Jimin seizes the opportunity to delve deeper into your lap, his arms latching on either side of your waist to keep him locked in place. At a loss, the hand still gripping his hair relaxes its hold, the silky strands slipping through your curled digits. Your mouth goes dry and you swallow thickly, keenly aware of how his mouth is right above your throbbing mound.

Having him pressed up against such intimate places knocks the wind out of you. Your heart gallops in your chest, the sound loud enough for his pert ears to pick up.

You clench your thighs close together in an attempt to mask the musky smell of your excitement hoping, perhaps futilely, that he won’t be able to discern the evidence of your arousal. Straightening your slackened posture, you try to create distance between you and Jimin but your fidgeting only pushes your crotch against his parted mouth, much to his delight.

“Noona smells so good,” he grunts, words muffled, not bothering to lift his head from its snug spot. You squirm, feeling his lips form the words against your skin, the touch only inflaming you further. Jimin can probably tell, too, judging by the way his golden tail starts to wag in the air.

From your vantage point, you’re unable to see his face properly, his shaggy hair covering his eyes, but you can picture his expression vividly—lids closed in bliss, the corners of his pout upturned into a look of pure satisfaction. Your mind easily supplies you with the image—after all, it’s one you can’t bring yourself to forget. When the memory starts to replay once more, you try again weakly. “J-Jimin, wha—”

“Open your legs for me, noona.” There’s an unmistakable purr lodged in his throat, far too similar to the felines he despises. “Let me smell you properly.”

Properly?!

As your mind tries to wrap itself around the meaning of his words, Jimin finally lifts his head up to meet yours, his gaze wide and imploring. You’ve always been weak to this look, and he uses this knowledge to his advantage. Any subsequent response dies in your throat as soon as your gaze connects with his blown out pupils, the look on his face effective enough to snuff out your inner ramblings.

Gulping audibly, you try not to give in to your wicked desires. “Jimin, you can’t. It isn’t proper, you—This isn’t right.”

The expression on his face suggests he wants to argue, his dark gaze smothering. For a fleeting moment, a shadow of bitterness falls upon his face, and you can pinpoint the exact moment he resigns himself to your will, his stare now void of emotion. Lust no longer sparks in his eyes; the hunger replaced with vacancy.

If it wasn’t for the movie still playing in the background, the awkward silence that had settled between the two of you would be stifling.

“I think you were r-right,” you croak out, voice an octave higher than it usually is. “I don’t think I’m feeling well... I think that it’s best if I head on to bed early.”

He lets you scuffle to your feet without objection.

“I want to finish the movie,” is his reaction. He keeps his eyes trained ahead, pretending to be engrossed by the complicated car tricks on the screen.

A strange feeling presses down on your chest, constricting your breathing until you feel a headache pierce through. You can’t place what it is exactly—but you feel cold, your bare skin missing the furnace-like heat of Jimin’s body.

The part of you that had wanted to give in is screaming at you. However, the rational side of your brain, no matter how small, wins out.

It begs you to retreat to your room, which you do, but not without glancing back at Jimin once or twice, longing etched on your face.

The next day, you’re awoken to the sound of birds chirping. Sunlight filters through the curtains and you bask in the early morning light.

Shifting around, you throw a glance at the digital clock on your nightstand. For a split second, panic overtakes you and you fear the worst—you’ve overslept and are running terribly late for work. But you soon relax once you realize that it’s Sunday; the only day that you allow yourself to sleep in.

Relieved, you settle back into your original position, your body molding itself against Jimin’s sleeping figure. The movement makes you rub against Jimin’s form—and it’s then that you finally notice how hot it is, your thin nightshirt sticking to your sweat soaked skin. Sometime during the night, someone must have kicked off the duvet, and yet even the lack of blankets isn’t enough to cool you down.

Just as you’re about to get up, Jimin snuggles closer to you, your back pressed to his front. He winds an arm around your middle, keeping you firmly in place.

“Jimin?” you call softly, craning your neck back to look at him.

His expression is peaceful, undisturbed by the troubles of reality. The sight softens your heart, an endeared smile playing at your lips as you take in his angelic features. It isn’t the first time you are struck by the thought that you don’t deserve someone as selfless and giving as Jimin. He would probably be better off with someone who doesn’t lust after him... After all, you’re his owner—you’re supposed to be the responsible one, not governed by your own greed and desires.

As you struggle with these inner thoughts, Jimin draws you closer to him in his slumber and curls around you, mistaking you for a life-sized plushie or pillow. One of his legs slides in between your own, forcing you to bite down a gasp when you feel something hard poking your hip.

The situation is only made worse when you try to wiggle out of his grasp. His arm refuses to budge and all you manage to do is rub yourself against his morning wood. At first you think you imagine it, but once you stop fidgeting, you’re sure that you can feel his hips grind lazily into yours from behind, his body seeking out friction even in his sleep.

Heart beating fast in your chest, you jump out of his arms as if burnt by boiling water. Through the haze of slumber, he whines, bemoaning the loss of contact.

“Noona?” he calls out, confused, voice low and hoarse.

You don’t trust yourself to speak yet, heartbeat refusing to slow down. Turning your face away so that he can’t see how brightly colored your cheeks are, you let out a noncommittal noise in response.

Jimin stretches his limbs out, rolling around on the bed whilst yawning. Blinking away the sleep from his eyes, he pats his grumbling stomach, a sheepish look on his face. “Is it too early for breakfast?”

You snort, “It’s never too early for breakfast. Get up and I’ll start cooking the sausages.”

He needs no further prompting, bounding up and heading straight to the kitchen as if pulled by an invisible leash. You smile fondly as you trail after him, glad that there isn’t any lingering awkwardness in the air from yesterday night.

A new day signifies the turning of a new page; the events of last are but a distant memory. In fact, if you hadn’t known any better, you wouldn’t have been able to spot anything out of the ordinary. It’s only in retrospect that you realize you might have spoken too soon.

“Hey,” Namjoon opens the door wider, making room for you and Jimin to enter. “Oh wow, that smells really good.”

“Save your compliments, you haven’t tasted it yet.”

“As long as it’s not burnt, I don’t see how you can fuck up banana bread.” He glances at the ceramic dish you balance in your hands and does this strange, awkward shuffle as if trying to decide whether or not to take the plate from you or not. Not trusting himself to carry the dish without somehow tripping over his own feet and breaking it, he herds you towards to the kitchen.

Jimin follows after you, a lot more at ease than the first time the pair of you had been invited over. There is still a certain carefulness that lingers in the way he walks and appraises his surroundings, even if his expression doesn’t betray any of his thoughts.

“Should I just set it down here? It still need time to cool down.”

Namjoon nods, waving his hand behind him. “Sure, just leave them on the kitchen counter for later.” Turning back to Jimin, he pats his shoulder amicably, trying to put the hybrid at ease. “And how have you been, Jiminie? Is ______ treating you right?”

“The best,” Jimin offers a grin, his gaze darting to yours. Your stomach somersaults at the praise, your chest warming at the way his eyes seem to soften when he looks at you. “We eat red meat often.”

Namjoon chuckles, “Isn’t too early to be bribing him into doing your bidding?”

You’re about to retort, reply on the tip of your tongue, when an excited shout of your name sounds through the apartment. You jump, startled, and only quick reflexes prevent the plate in your hands from shattering to bits on the floor.

“Whoa there,” Namjoon reaches for Hoseok a few seconds too late, unable to stop the latter from bounding up to you in excitement.

Hoseok embraces you in a tight hug, his lips pecking your cheek repeatedly in lieu of a greeting. While you’re not a stranger to physical touch, the sudden welcome takes you by surprise.

“I missed you!” Hoseok beams, dimples on show, and you melt a little. It’s like staring at happiness in the face. Hoseok continues without pause, not leaving you time to answer. “You haven’t come around in forever. Is it because of Namjoon? Did you two fight? Next time, just ignore him and come visit me!”

His fingers tickle your sides and a titter escapes you, the tinkling sound encouraging him to continue. “Hoseokie,” you wriggle around, trying to pull yourself free from his attack, but he’s relentless. Giving up, you throw your head back, laughter tumbling from your open mouth, unaware that Hoseok’s interest had turned to your bared neck.

He doesn’t waste a second, head diving to take a whiff of your scent, a pleased sound leaving his mouth as his nose connects with the exposed skin.

You barely have time to react to Hoseok’s proximity before Jimin’s growl of warning cuts off your giggles. The sound seems to rumble in his chest, deep and threatening, like thunder announcing the coming of a storm. You whip your head around in surprise, only to find Jimin baring his teeth at Hoseok, all predator-like and menacing.

“Back off,” the corner of his lips curl into a snarl. “She’s my bitch.”

Shocked by the possessiveness that drips from his tone, you gulp audibly, throat dry. Because it’s Jimin, you don’t take offense to him calling you a bitch. The term doesn’t hold the same negative connotations for hybrids. But it does make you pause, your eyes widening to an almost comical size.

Never before had he addressed you as such, the word usually reserved for the female hybrids that he would copulate with when their heats hit. However you don’t have time to ruminate because Jimin growls in warning once more.

He puffs up his chest, canines on display. Anger rolls off his body in waves, the dark of his eyes fixed on Hoseok’s form as he waits for the elder to make one wrong move.

For the first time since you’ve known him, his smaller frame looks intimidating. You have a hard time assimilating this version of Jimin to the one you’re so familiar with—they might as well be completely different people. Gone is the cute boy you know, his soft features now twisted with hostility.

It feels as if someone has pressed pause on the scene. The two hybrids lock eyes, at a standstill. The tension between the two is palpable, thick enough to choke on. Stuck between the two, you gnaw your bottom lip, your mind racing as it tries to think up solutions to avoid a fight.

Jimin’s scowl deepens, agitated by Hoseok’s lack of response. Your heart clenches with worry; Hoseok is physically bigger than Jimin and older, too. Moreover, you find yourself on his territory, and you highly doubt Hoseok would choose to submit and let himself be dislodged by the younger pup. You can only see this ending badly... For Jimin’s sake, you want to end this quickly before the situation escalates.

Their silent battle makes you antsy and you try to free yourself from Hoseok’s hold as surreptitiously as possible, not wanting to bring any more attention to yourself or to trigger a fight.

However, this seems to be the wrong move. It sets Jimin off—he snaps his jaw at the older man, demanding for him to let you go.

Namjoon’s figure is taut with tension, ready to jump in at any moment to separate the two hybrids. “Uhm,” he tries, uneasy. “Hoseok, why don’t you step away from _____, okay?” Hoseok eventually lets you go, albeit reluctantly, and retreats to Namjoon’s side.

Turning to Jimin, you demand, “Jimin, apologize to Hoseok.”

“No way,” he huffs at once, his gaze still glued to the older hybrid, refusing to break eye contact because it would be seen as a sign of submission.

“Hoseok didn’t do anything wrong. We’re guests here and you were out of line.” Frustration bleeds through your tone, edging on something sterner.

His ears twitch as they register the simmering anger in your voice, and he finally turns to you, looking like you had just kicked a puppy. The expression makes your heart uneasy, and you’re reminded of an incident that had taken place a month ago.

Jimin is the first and only hybrid you’ve adopted so you don’t have anything to compare the experience to. But you’re suddenly reminded of one unfortunate incident involving ‘territory marking’ and the subsequent visit from the world’s grouchiest neighbor. “Put a tighter leash on him, _____. Why did you become an owner of a hybrid if you can’t even keep him in check?”

And although the scolding upsets you at the time, all it takes is Jimin whining low in his throat, head bowed in an act of submission, for all negative feelings to disperse. He looks so genuinely apologetic over his mistake that you can’t bring yourself to harshly reprimand him like your neighbors would have you do. You don’t like disciplining Jimin; you hate how mean it makes you sound, the edge in your voice making Jimin evade your gaze. The last thing you want is for him to fear you or hate you. And in all accounts, Jimin is the perfect hybrid; he gives you no reason to berate him.

Your expression softens, placated by the expression that paints his face. You expect him to give in and apologize like all the times before, but to your surprise, his face hardens to stone when he hears Hoseok move.

“I think it’s best if we leave.” You force out an apologetic smile. “We’ll come around another time.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Namjoon says in understanding, keeping his eye on Hoseok in case he had to hold him back.

You're quick to usher Jimin out the front door, sparing them a hurried wave in lieu of a goodbye.

Even though you don’t encounter anyone else on the way back to your flat, Jimin makes sure to stay glued by your side. You expect him to relax when it’s just the two of you in the elevator but even then he doesn’t drop his protective stance. It would be better if he said something, anything, but he remains quiet, his thoughts hidden from you.

Your body flinches as the door slams behind you with a resounding thud. Jimin evidently still looks worked up by the encounter if the way his nose twitches is any indication.

Arms crossed, you demand, “Jimin, what the heck was that?”

Jimin looks at you, incredulous, as if in disbelief that you could ask something so blatantly obvious. “He was all up on you!”

“So? It was harmless! You’re overreacting, it wasn’t as if he would bite me or whatever.” A muscle in his jaw ticks at the mention of a bite. “Besides, I can take care of myself.”

“He knows better than to be that close to you,” he grinds out between clenched teeth. “It’s obvious that he was provoking me!”

“What are you on about? And what’s with your behavior? You—You’ve never been this aggressive before...”

Jimin stays silent, lips drawn into a thin line. You await an explanation with raised eyebrows but when none comes straight away, your patience runs out.

“Is this... Is this about last night? Are you still upset because of...what happened? Look, I don’t know wh—”

“Hoseok is a hybrid,” Jimin cuts in. “His nose works just as well as mine. And to know that he was deliberately touching you, sniffing you, trying to stake his claim over you... It pisses me off.”

“But hybrids are naturally affectionate! It’s never been an issue before... You’ve never been so opposed to me being close to men. Why are you suddenly acting like a—I mean, why are you acting so...territorial...”

“I can’t help but feel protective,” he defends himself. “Anyone with a working nose can tell how fertile you are right now, noona. Anyone within a five mile radius that happens to catch a whiff of your delicious scent knows that you’re perfectly ripe for the picking.”

“Jimin!” Too surprised by his bluntness, you can’t bring yourself to be scandalized. You realize that he’s right—the start of your ovulation cycle coincides with all of the recent out-of-character episodes; your missing panties, the couch incident, and now, this.

“Should I call Taehyung? I didn’t know—I didn’t think you would go into heat so soon, but I think he would understand.”

“No!” The vehemence of his reaction startles you. He narrows his eyes at you, chewing the inside of his cheek as he thinks over his next words. “I don’t want Yebin.”

“Jimin,” you say gently, placing what you hope to be a soothing hand on his shoulder. “You don’t need to act tough around me, it’s okay. If you’re in heat then it’s perfectly normal to—”

“I’m not in heat. Male hybrids don’t go through heats, you know this,” he grits out between his teeth as he wrenches free from your touch. You try to recall the briefing giving to you by the adoption center. The memory is distant and fuzzy but you can remember bits and pieces of information. He’s right, you realize with a gulp. Only do female hybrids experience heats. Then why...?

Seeing your look of confusion frustrates Jimin further, “God, you’re so—Sometimes you’re really frustrating, _____. I don’t know if this is your way of refusing me, but I would rather you just flat out tell me you don’t want me instead of pretending you don’t know anything.”

“I’m sorry but I don’t know, okay? You’ve never...I don’t—” Your mind races as it tries to supply a plausible explanation for his unusual behavior.

“Do you really not know? Do I really have to spell it out for you? You can’t have been this oblivious all this time, I refuse to believe it. Do I... Is it because I repulse you?” By the end of his tirade, he deflates, shoulders tensing up as he braces himself for the worst. “Am I just another dog—an animal—in your eyes?”

The bitterness that coats his words makes your heart twist. You want to reach out and smooth out the crinkle between his eyebrows as if that can physically erase the disgust and self-hate he has for himself.

“You don’t repulse me,” is your automatic response. How can he even believe such a thing? A frown etches itself on your features, the deep lines conveying your disbelief. “And you know that you’re not a pet to me.” You’re much more than that, you want to add. However, something holds you back from doing so. “Don’t talk about yourself that way.”

Hurt flashes across his face before he manages to control his expression. “Then why did you pretend like nothing happened the other night? I know you saw me.”

“I d-don’t... You knew?” you squawk, unable to provide an eloquent response.

“Of course I knew.”

You’re instantly flooded with guilt, mad at yourself for not respecting his private moment the very second you had realized what was going on. God, what does Jimin think of you now? How can he even stand to look at you when you had so grossly invaded his privacy like that without a proper apology? You hurry to apologize, head hanging low in shame.

“I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have watched. I really don’t have any excuses... I get why you’re mad and I... I don’t expect you to forgive me, not now or ever, but if there’s anything I can do to make things right again, please tell me,” you plead, eyes round with earnestness.

Jimin considers you for a moment, head tilted to the side, bottom lip caught between the white of his teeth.

“What if I wanted you to see me?” he sounds out, the oppressing silence now broken. His question catches you off-guard and you gawk, jaw dropping open as you process the meaning behind his words.

“What? Jimin... You don’t mean—”

“I wanted you to see me, I wanted you to know. I knew you would find me.” Every admission comes out in quick succession, each one as shocking as the last, leaving you no time to make sense of his confession.

Jimin wanted you to find him... But why? What did he hope to achieve? What did he want you to know? The questions his words provoke whirl around in your head, making your head spin. You feel like you’re missing an essential puzzle piece that will clarify your muddled thoughts.

The only explanation you can come up with is that...Jimin likes you.

You don’t want to jump to conclusions but you really can’t find another logical explanation for his behavior.

“But why?” is all you can muster, feeling small. Out of the blue, you suddenly remember Taehyung’s female dog hybrid, the one Jimin had gone on play dates with. “What about Yebin?”

“What about her?” he growls, frustrated that you’re evading the crux of the subject. He rounds on you, “I don’t want her. I’ve never cared about her like I care about you. There’s no one else who cares about me as much as you do, either. And it’s not—It’s not just because you adopted me, so please don’t talk to me about displaced love or whatever. I don’t want to be with Yebin, or whoever else, when all I can think about is you.”

“Doesn’t it get tiring?” He heaves a sigh, and just when you think he’s going to pull back, he does the opposite. His form crowds yours against the wall, not willing to give up so quickly. “Pushing me away all the time, shying away from the truth when it’s so obvious.”

It’s hard to breathe, let alone think, when he’s this close to you.

“Try telling me you’ve never thought about me mounting you from behind.”

The effect of his words is instantaneous. You stammer out his name, heat rushing to your face, trying desperately to blink away the picture his words paint.

“I think about it all the time,” Jimin confesses quietly, almost sweetly. His rosy lips are so close to yours that you can feel the ghost of his breath; the promise of a kiss. “Sometimes when you bend over, I can’t help it. I think about you laid out like that, all pretty, presenting yourself like a good little bitch, and it gets me so hard. You don’t even want to know how many times I’ve had to hide my erections from you, it’s embarrassing.”

He gives a short laugh as he reminisces, head ducked sheepishly. “Noona, I know you want me, too. There’s no use denying it, I could smell how soaked you were while you watched me cum all over your pillow. I can always tell, but that night—” He inhales sharply, the memory on the tip of his tongue. “You smelled so good, I wanted nothing more than to lap it all up. These days it’s all I think about—how delicious you would taste.”

You wobble with uncertainty, rendered weak by his words, but by miracle you somehow manage to remain standing.

“J-Jimin.” Your stammer gives away how flustered his words have made you.

It feels like you’ve been fighting a losing battle with yourself since the start. Nevertheless, your stubborn personality refuses to give in right away. Your refusal gives you a semblance of control over the situation—without it you would become a mindless slave to your desire. Giving up the reins, letting yourself want someone without restriction... Even if your yearning keeps spiraling out of control the more Jimin speaks, you’re not sure that you’re ready to take that final step just yet.

Seeing your resolve weaken, he continues, “I could smell your arousal drip down the more you watched. God, I keep thinking about, about you. I feel like I’m losing my goddamn mind. Don’t you have any idea how tempting you are?” His words caress your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. They affect you more than you’re willing to admit, and your nonverbal cues make your pretense at indifference all the more unconvincing. It’s only when Jimin’s gaze stops to observe your legs that you notice your thighs had been rubbing together in an attempt to alleviate the pulsing ache.

Caught red-handed, embarrassment colors your cheeks in shades of pink and crimson. Still, you attempt to save face, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze and hiding behind a mask of bravado.

His nostrils flare, fists curled by his side. Upon closer observation, you realize it’s foolish of you to mistake this posture for anger—his pupils are wide enough to eclipse the warm brown irises, his eyes now a bottomless pit of lust. You can feel the sheer need radiating off of his body in waves that threatens to take you down with him.

“When we were on the couch yesterday, it took everything in me to hold back. Why? Why did you pull away from me?” He demands hotly.

“We shouldn’t,” is your weak response. Even to your human ears, it sounds void of conviction. You’re not sure why you’re stubbornly clinging on to these outdated moral principles when it’s clear that you want the opposite of what you say.

Jimin isn’t fooled by your claims, either, “How can you say that when your pussy calls out to me? Just look at you. Noona, you’re fucking drenched.”

He’s right. You can already feel your panties stick to your folds, damp with your arousal. The color on the apples of your cheeks deepens and you narrow your stance, hoping that by crossing your legs you will somehow erase proof of your desire.

A sharp inhale indicates that he is aware of the hold he has on you and his lips curl into a satisfied smirk once his theories are confirmed. You can’t hide anything from him, you realize, feeling oddly vulnerable.

“Aren’t you?” he presses, intent on getting a confirmation of your arousal.

“I, um, I don’t—”

“You don’t know?” The scoff that leaves his mouth tells you that he isn’t convinced. He takes advantage of your flustered state and wedges one of his strong thighs between your own, the material of his loose-fitted jeans pressing into the juncture of your legs.

He looks down at where your bodies are connected, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“I think you do.” Hands sliding down your side to settle at your hips, he uses his grip as leverage to grind you against the firm muscles of his thigh. “I think you know exactly how wet you are right now, don’t you?”

You bite your lips so hard that you think you might draw blood.

“Are you embarrassed right now, noona?” When you move to shake your head, he pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to keep your gaze leveled with his. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting me, you know. And I think at this point it’s useless to deny that much. You’re so wet right now, I can feel you through my jeans.”

The clutch on your chin prevents you from turning your head away in humiliation. Jimin’s confrontation makes you realize that there’s no use of keeping up the masquerade. Since the very start, no one was fooled by your act of indifference—in hindsight you’re not sure why you insisted so strongly on pushing Jimin away. Pride, perhaps. Or maybe the fear of admitting the extent of your desire.

You want him so much that it scares you. It scares you, not because the object of your affection is Jimin, a hybrid, but because you don’t know where your desire will lead you or what it will make you do. You’re worried that the women at the adoption center had been right all along—that you’re in way over your head, that you will never be adequate enough to take care of Jimin. How are you supposed to take care of him properly if you can’t even control yourself around him?

As if he can read your thoughts, Jimin reaches up to cup your face in his hands. The heat of his palms against your skin is comforting and you let yourself lean into his touh. “What are you so afraid of?” He whispers, thumb tracing the curvature of your lips.

“Myself,” you admit quietly, not daring to meet his gaze.

“Don’t be.” And maybe that’s all you’ve been waiting to hear all this time because you feel yourself give in to his words and your desire. Jimin’s senses must be more attuned than you thought—or perhaps he’s just incredibly perceptive—but he seems to notice your change in demeanor right away, his hands angling your head up as he leans in closer to your face.

“I’m going to kiss you right now,” he says, pausing as he waits for an objection or a sound of protest. When none comes, he swoops right in, lips landing on yours awkwardly. It’s then that you notice how nervous he is; he swallows thickly, pulling back to gauge your reaction.

“I really want to kiss you some more but...” He inhales sharply and lets his head rest on your shoulder as he collects himself. “You smell so fucking good, fuck. I need to taste you right now or I’ll go mad.”

“Go ahead.” His head snaps up at your words in surprise. “I want you to.”

Jimin’s entire body vibrates with excitement at the prospect of finally having a taste of you from the source. He’s quick to tug your pants and underwear down. In his haste, he leaves them bunched around your legs, too focused on diving his head between your thighs.

He doesn’t waste any time, spreading your legs wide open so that he can have an unobstructed view of his meal. The sight of him on his knees in front of you, looking up at you like a three course meal worthy of five star restaurants is enough to make you shudder in pleasure.

You’re helpless to the onslaught of pleasure he brings you.

It’s no wonder—Jimin laps at your center like a man starved. With skillful swipes of his tongue, he licks up every leak of your arousal around your entrance, making sure to collect each drop on his muscle. You can tell from the way he sucks and licks at your folds, eyes closed in silent rapture, that he genuinely enjoys the act and that it isn’t just a chore to get through before penetration. His undisguised eagerness excites you. Now you understand what people mean when they say that enthusiasm makes up for experience.

Knees buckling, your hands slide against the wall as your hips cant towards Jimin’s greedy mouth in search of your pleasure. With nowhere else to grab onto, your fingers wind through his mop of hair for stability.

Sweat beads at his hairline, and you wipe away the sheen of perspiration, pushing his hair away from his face with unexpected tenderness.

He breaks away from his meal, a string of saliva and your fluids connecting his mouth to your center. Your body shudders at the obscene sight and a whimper falls from your lips before you have time to stop it.

“Yeah? You like that?” His hands slide up your thighs to hold them open so that he can get a clear view of your soaking pussy. “Am I eating you out just how you like?”

He nips your inner thigh, prompting a verbal response. “Ah! Yes, yes, I love it! You’re doing so good, Jimin, please don’t stop.” Pleased with your answer, he laves the sting of the bite with his tongue, close but not close enough to where you want him the most.

You tug at his hair, urging him to dive back between your legs. “Please, I need—I need you t-to lick me clean.” You barely have time to finish stringing your sentence together and Jimin is already executing your command.

Wet and slick sounds resound throughout the apartment, intermingled with low rumbles of pleasure and breathy sighs. As his tongue works against your folds with sloppy strokes, your grip on his locks tightens as you use him to anchor yourself. Fleetingly, you’re worried that you’re being too rough but the purrs of satisfaction assure you that he doesn’t seem to mind the harsh treatment of his scalp.

You don’t wait for his approval or instructions. Your hips seem to have a mind of their own; they grind your soaking center into his awaiting mouth, pushing down on the flat of his tongue for friction. Every time Jimin’s nose bumps into your engorged clit, zaps of pleasure shoot up your spine, leaving a tingling sensation that can be felt all the way down to your toes. Every time he growls in response to a particularly wanton moan, you can feel the vibrations shoot straight to your sensitive nub.

As much as you want him to focus on your aching clit, you know that nothing will stop him from licking away at your entrance, the taste of you too good to pass up. Not that this method isn’t satisfying—you can feel the coil in your lower belly being pulled tight with every swipe of his tongue against your folds.

Just when you think that the pressure building in your stomach is about to snap in half, he wrenches away from your grasp. The sight of him is sufficient to quell your protests; you don’t think you’ve ever seen something as sexy as his disheveled state—eyes glassy with desire, chin shiny and wet, lips plump and red, hair sticking up in every which direction.

He looks so far gone that you expect him to pin you against the wall right then and there, but he holds his composure, leaning down to kiss you instead.

His plush lips are as soft as you imagined they would be and he kisses you like he has something to prove. It’s sticky and messy, with no finesse or rhythm whatsoever. And although you can taste yourself on his tongue, it doesn’t turn you off like it usually does. He licks into your mouth hungrily, sucking your tongue and biting your lip until you cry out.

“Are you going to take me now?” you find the courage to ask.

Jimin shakes his head, licking at your bottom lip to alleviate the sting. “Not here. On the bed. When I start I won’t be able to stop, so I need you to be comfortable.” He searches your eyes. “Are you... Are you sure you still want this? With me?”

“Jimin I...” You take your bottom lip between your teeth while you choose your next words carefully. “I want to be yours.”

You seal your confession with a press of your lips against his. It’s sweet, the way he smiles into the kiss, sighing contently when you pull away. The tender moment is brief. Lust quickly roars back to life, your core throbbing, aching to be filled up.

You both stumble into the bedroom in a mess of tangled limbs. Jimin nudges you onto the bed, his hands busy with the task of slipping off your clothes. Warm palms familiarize themselves with the slopes and curves of your body. You shudder, wanting Jimin to drape himself over you and envelop you in his warmth.

“I want you on all fours.”

His grip on your hips tightens as he lifts you up, rearranging you so that you’re bent over for him, ass high in the air for his viewing pleasure. There’s no doubt that the position leaves you vulnerable to his scrutiny and for that reason alone you’re glad he can’t see your cheeks flame with shame and arousal.

The position should be degrading. You're certain that you paint quite the picture—back arched with your head bowed in submission, your ass and pussy on shameless display. It’s the standard position female hybrids adopt during sex; you know this much. And the knowledge that you’re so willing to bend yourself over for Jimin just like one of his bitches ready to be bred, arouses you more than you expect.

“So pretty like this, noona.” The pads of his fingertips trace non-identifiable patterns on the surface of your skin and goosebumps break out wherever he touches. You can feel the heat of his gaze peruse your body. “God, I’ve thought about this every day.”

You can’t hold back your gasp of surprise when he inserts two fingers into you without warning. As your body eagerly welcomes the intrusion, small moans begin to freely fall from your open mouth. Jimin’s fingers pump in and out of you at a glacial pace and no matter how much you whine for more, his tempo remains the same.

Only when he deems you ready for his cock does he pull his digits out, his hand glistening, coated in your slick. You moan at the loss, feeling your walls clench down around nothing.

“Pretty girl wants my cock,” he coos after ridding himself of his clothing. “I’ll give you what you want, don’t worry.”

He slides his thick erection back and forth against your lips until it glistens with your arousal. The feel of his hard shaft rubbing into your clit makes your hips buck impatiently, earning a tut of disapproval from Jimin. When you finally feel him lining himself up at your entrance, you tense up in anticipation for what’s to come.

“Do you feel that?” His cock slides in deep, your cunt hot and welcoming. You can only moan in response, already too far gone to provide a coherent answer.

Jimin stays buried in your slick heat, enjoying the way your core clenches around him when you squirm around, desperate for movement. You feel pleasantly full, his cock nestled snugly in your heat. One of his hands presses down on your lower back, keeping you pinned in place, and he takes the moment to admire the way you’ve stretched to accommodate his girth. You can’t imagine how good it feels for him because the fit is so snug.

“J-Jimin...” The moan of his name comes out hoarse, broken. If you were a little more lucid, you would be embarrassed by how wrecked you sound. “Feels so g-good. Aa—uunh, can feel you so deep.”

“You’re taking me so well, noona,” he hisses, jaw tense as he struggles to hold himself back. “Your pussy is recognizing its owner.”

You can hear the pleased smirk spread across his face even if you can’t see it. His words spark something within you—embarrassment mingled with white hot pleasure. A small part of you can’t believe you’re letting a hybrid dominate you when society dictates that it should be the other way around. But that voice in your head is promptly snuffed out, arousal putting an end to any bigoted thoughts.

The first real thrust of his hips makes shivers run down your spine. A loud moan gets stuck in your throat. You’re unable to do anything but lay there and take it, too overcome with numbing pleasure. He rolls his hips into yours again, tentative, and you can imagine how enticing he looks, firm muscles flexing and straining as he works himself into you. Each measured stroke leaves you panting, unsure if you want more or if you’ve reached your limits.

Suddenly he goes still, much to your frustration, causing you to shift your hips back in a silent cry for more. When that fails to do the trick, you squeeze your walls around him, hoping this time to elicit a reaction from him. A growl reverberates in his chest, dick twitching inside of you, his nails digging into your sides in warning. Subdued, you sink further into the mattress; pliant and waiting.

Taking his time, he pulls out, until only the head of his cock is left in. A beat passes by, much too slowly to your liking, before he pushes back in, unwilling to stay away from your warmth for long.

The gradual stretch feels just as good the second time around, if not better. There’s so much natural lubrication that your slick canal easily accommodates the girth of his cock. Seeing that there is no discomfort on your part, Jimin naturally falls into a fast rhythm, his thrusts quick and precise. The force of his movements has his hips slamming against your ass, balls slapping your clit.

Lust envelops you in its grasp, clouding your senses, until all you know is the mind-numbing pleasure between your legs. You swear that you can’t feel your legs anymore and if it wasn’t for Jimin’s firm grip around your middle, you probably would already have toppled over in a heap on the bed.

“My cum was made for you,” his hot breath fans the crook of your ear as he coaxes moan after moan from your parted lips. “Are you going to be a good bitch and take it?”

You mewl in assent, hungry. “Please!”

“Gonna fill you up so well.” He licks your ear, tugging the lobe between his teeth until you cry out for more. “Fuck you full of my seed. Oh? You’d like that?”

“Fucking—oh my god,” you babble, reduced to incoherence. “I want it.”

“You’re such a good girl.” Each hard thrust coaxes a string of incomprehensible profanities and moans from your parted mouth. “You take a fucking so well, I’m impressed.”

He sounds so proud that you can’t help but preen at the praise.

“Tell me how good it feels,” he rasps, kneading the supple flesh of your ass. “Hm? How good am I making my master feel?”

“Oh god,” your hands grapple for purchase as he quickens his pace, his fingers digging into your skin with enough strength to leave splotches of color. You’re so far gone that you don’t even register the question being asked until he has to repeat it for you.

“How does my cock make you feel, huh?” Draping his body over yours, he squats down and readjusts his position so that he can enter you from a different angle. Like this he’s able to fuck you with abandon, his hips rutting into yours like you were made for it.

“Good, so, mmngnh, you’re going so hard, I, fuuuck.” You feel yourself sliding down against the cotton sheets, but Jimin is quick to pull your hips back into position. “You fill me up, so deep, I’m so f-full.”

Jimin growls into your ear, breath hot, nipping and licking any surface of skin he can get his mouth on. The column of your neck and your shoulders sting from the attention he gives you, the skin littered with bites in hues of rose and lavender.

Snapping his hips with renewed urgency, you tremble as he keeps you pinned in place with his body. Sweat lines your brow, trickles down your back. Your eyes are glassy with unshed tears, your lips red and swollen, drool trickling down the sides of your mouth. Every movement jostles you slightly forward, breasts swinging, but his hips chase after you, not pausing even for a second. You can’t keep up with the rapid pace—your body is completely boneless; his to command and do as he pleases.

“I’m going to plug you full of my cum,” he snarls, one of his hands snaking up to grope at your breast. “I’ll have you sit around full of it so that any other man knows that this pussy is mine. They’ll take one whiff of you and know that you took it like a bitch in heat, begging and eager to take my seed.”

Your core clenches up, shaken by his lewd words. Sensing that your end is in sight, he continues, his cock plowing into you in tandem with his spew of filth. “Y-yeah, you love the idea of walking around, my cum dripping down your thighs, don’t you, huh? Next time we go see Hoseok, I’ll have you wear a short skirt with no p-panties so there’s no doubt that you’re my bitch.”

A loud moan rips itself from his throat, the image getting to him. Jimin works his hips into yours with urgency, his fingers digging into yours painfully as his pace falters. His dick twitches inside of you once, twice, before spurting ropes of cum against your walls. The feeling of him painting you white is enough to push you over the edge, no clitoral stimulation needed.

Jimin keeps himself lodged inside of you until he’s sure that you’ve taken everything that he’s able to give. You’re not sure how long he stays like that but you don’t comment on it, mouth too parched to talk.

Taking great care to pull out slowly, he keeps your hips angled high in the air and takes two of his fingers and plunges them inside of you to prevent his seed from leaking out. Still keeping his fingers inside of you, he turns you around on your back to arrange you in a more comfortable position.

After taking a moment to catch your breath and steady your racing heart, you finally find your voice. It’s scratchy and fucked-out, but at least you’re comprehensible.

“Are you going to stay like that all night?” you quirk an eyebrow, casting a glance between your legs.

“No, I’m just waiting on you. Need you to be ready to go again,” he stretches his fingers into a v-shape inside of you, reveling in the way your features twist in surprise and a whimper escapes your lips.

“Okay but how long are—wait, what the—Jimin!” you scramble up to stare at his cock in wonder. It’s pink and completely covered with traces of your shared orgasms, but what shocks you is how hard it still is.

“I think,” he pushes you onto your back and climbs up over you, “that I can go for another two rounds.”

“Two?!”

“Well, I’m not in a rut right now so I’m not really sure...” Jimin tilts his head in contemplation, his shaggy hair falling over his brown eyes. “Your ovulation must have triggered some of my instincts to mate, but it’s... different than usual.”

With his one available hand he tugs at his cock, spreading the fluids all over his shaft. You can only watch, transfixed. His small hand makes his cock look twice as big and tempting.

“Different?” you mutter, your attention diverted.

He smirks, amused, and starts to finger you once he notices how heated up you’re getting. Matching the pace of the hand around his cock, he gets you ready for the second round.

“Well, firstly, I didn’t knot you.” You’re only half-aware of his explanation, thoroughly distracted by the way his fingers slide against your walls. “I’m not sure if that can happen since you’re human but I guess we’ll figure it out as we go along... And secondly... Things aren’t as intense as when female hybrids go into heat... Not in a bad way! I think I have more control this way... I don’t feel like...like I’m on drugs, I guess? I feel more aware of what’s going on.”

“So it’s a good thing?” you ask, unsure.

“It’s good.” He leans down to brush his nose against yours. “I think my body is adjusting to yours. I don’t think you would be able to handle me during my ruts, it might be dangerous...”

“Why?”

“Well, for one,” he squeezes in a third finger next to the other two already inside of you. “My ruts last for days.”

“Days?!” you squeak, eyes wide as you register his words.

“You can barely handle me like this... A good girl like you would pass out after the second round, no question.”

You narrow his eyes at him, sensing a challenge. “Yeah? I can take it better than any bitch.”

Jimin’s chuckle is abruptly cut out as you force him onto his back. Triumph is etched onto your features as you take his leaking length in your fist and line it up at your entrance.

“Let me prove it to you.” You can see Jimin’s conflicting desires rage war on his face. Torn between the instinctual need to dominate you and the desire to please you, he stays where you want him, his hands on your hips ready to flip you over at any moment’s notice.

“Why don’t you be a good boy and take it, hm?”

#do u wanna know how many angry cocker spaniel videos i watched #but at least now i know their ears don't point up #or wtvr the dog terminology is #jimin smut #bts smut #bts scenarios #jimin scenario #jimin #kpop smut #nldkfdjdlk this took me forever!!! im glad it's over n done with phew

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shibuemiyuu · 5 years

Text

Desires - Hakuoki Fanfiction - Chapter 9

Here’s another chapter! I want to thank for all the reader for giving a chance to read my story. I forgot to say that start from the previous chapter (chapter 8), the story will roll into the angst one. And in this chapter something important will be revealed that will be the main key of Hijikata and Chizuru’s s situation.

Even if we know that Chizuru is in love with Hijikata, but I don't think that the need to be near and the weird tension in the Shinsengumi is something just from their unsolved situation. For me it's a little bit weird if there is no some solid explanation behind that.

And also thanks to @impracticaldemon for the editing on this chapter (no matter when, thank you for the help Oni-chan!)

Let’s get on with the story. May you enjoyed then :3

Chapter of the stories:

Prequel - Prologue - I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII

@hijichiweek @kirakirachiizuru

-IX-

"Phew~!"

That was the first word Sen spoke after she sat inside Chizuru's room. The owner of the room sat next to the princess. And her bodyguard was waiting outside the room.

"The tension inside that room is suffocating. I can hardly breathe inside." Sen inhaled a deep breath and exhaled it out in relief. "Their reaction was not the one I expected. I thought that they would agree to the offer. They kind of give off an aura that they don't want to get involved with an oni matter. I guess, your bond with the Shinsengumi is not something I put into the equation."

Sen was less formal now that they were not in the same room with the captains. Chizuru smiled when she remembered the captains' reaction. "Yeah. I guess you are right. And, um… I'm sorry. You know, they said some pretty mean things to you earlier."

"It's okay. Like I said, I didn't know that your bonds with the Shinsengumi were pretty deep. Don't sweat it." Sen gave an easy smile to Chizuru. "So… Enough about them. We are here to talk about you. How about you Chizuru-chan? Have you given any thought to my offer? Do you want to leave with me or not?"

Chizuru indeed had a thought about the offer. The problem was she didn't know what she should do regarding the matter. If the princess had come to ask her when she had first arrived in Kyoto, she would have gladly taken the offer and gone with her, leaving the Shinsengumi. If only she had met the princess much earlier before the things in the past months had happened… No, if only Sen had met her before she bonded with the Shinsengumi members, before she fell for the oni fukuchou…

Chizuru went into silent mode and Sen looked at her face with concern. "Chizuru-chan?"

Chizuru snapped from her thoughts when she heard Sen call her name, "U-um… Osen-chan. About your offer…. Honestly, I don't know." She cast her eyes to the ground and muttered her confusion softly.

Sen took one of Chizuru's hands and gave a light squeeze to her confused friend. "Chizuru-chan, the Shinsengumi seems to believe that they can protect you from Kazama. I acknowledge their dedication, but like I have said before, I doubt their ability against an oni strength. I'm not sugarcoating it, but the oni power is not something humans should underestimate. The reason why the Yukimura clan was murdered was because the humans that knew about them were afraid of them. We can overpower them easily. And knowing of Kazama's character, they can get killed when they are defending you from him. I know you will feel devastated if that happens."

Chizuru lifted her eyes and looked at Sen. What Sen had said was true, she had acknowledged it. The right thing that she had to do was leave the Shinsengumi. From several encounters with Kazama, she knew that Kazama was indeed extraordinary. And after the confirmation that he was oni, she wasn't surprised. Maybe because she and Kazama were both oni, she could feel his big power and strength emanating from him. Even before she knew that they were oni. If Kazama became serious and attacked the Shinsengumi… she didn't want to imagine it.

She knew it, she realized it. Still…

"Chizuru-chan!" Sen called her name and shook her a little, pulled her from her deep thought. "Why are you looking so, I don't know, like you want to cry. You're so drawn into your thoughts that you didn't realize I have called your name a few times…. Why are you finding it so hard to decide?" Sen looked at Chizuru with a meaningful gaze. "Is there something that you want to tell me?" Sen said in a solemn tone.

"I-I…" Chizuru tried to speak, but in the end, she just stayed silent. She averted her gaze from Sen and pulled her hands back to her lap. Sen didn't question why Chizuru pulled back her hands from her. She didn't want to force Chizuru to speak. She could feel that there was something that made Chizuru so reluctant form leaving the Shinsengumi. And whatever it was, it was not an easy matter to talk about. She waited in patience.

Chizuru was struggling with her thoughts, whether she should tell Sen about her and Hijikata's situation or not. It was obvious that the thing that made her so reluctant to leave the Shinsengumi was the infamous oni fukuchou. Their situation wasn't solved yet. And to leave from the compound with their situation like this, it would leave a bitter taste in her mouth. Not to mention that for some reason she just couldn't, didn't want to be far from the vice commander. She bit her bottom lip.

'Osen-chan has given me an offer to protect me from Kazama. I know… I can feel that her offer is an honest one. She really cares about me. Of course, she will be confused about why I am so reluctant to leave the Shinsengumi.' She turned her head to look again at the demon princess. Her eyes were serious, but she could feel that Sen was really concerned and worried about her being. Her eyes, while they were serious, were also honest and warm. 'I guess I should tell her about it. And honestly, I need to talk to someone about this matter.' Without Chizuru realizing it yet, her situation with Hijikata had nearly made her suffocated. She didn't have anyone to talk to about her situation. She had pushed the matter deep inside her and unconsciously it had eaten her from inside more than she had realized. It had bottled up inside her. A ticking time bomb that was near its time to explode.

She would tell Sen about her situation and hoped that Sen could help her about the matter. But when she opened her mouth and was ready to tell her story, suddenly the door of her room was opened and Kimigiku poked her head inside the room.

"Pardon for my intrusion, but the two of you have been silent for quite some time. May I ask if everything is okay?" The kunoichi, a term for a ninja woman, had been listening to their conversation from the outside. She stood a few meters from the door, not exactly in front of the door. She wanted to give privacy to the two girls.

"There's nothing for you to worry about." Sen answered her bodyguard without turning her head to the woman. While Sen seemed calm, Chizuru was surprised with the sudden intrusion. She forgot that Kimigiku was also stood outside her room. She just intended for Sen to be the one that would hear what she wanted to talk about. She thanked whoever had given the opportunity for the sudden interruption.

"In fact, Okiku please go to the common room and stay with the other men of the Shinsengumi. We will go to that room if we finish our talk later."

"Hime-sama-"

Sen turned her head and looked at Kimigiku with authority in her eyes. "I need to talk to Chizuru about something and I really need the privacy. Please leave and wait for us there."

The kunoichi knelt to her mistress and closed the door before disappearing without another word.

"Now Okiku has gone. You can continue whatever you wanted to tell me before she came Chizuru-chan!" Sen encouraged Chizuru to continue from where she left before.

"But, isn't there something that you want to tell me Osen-chan? You told Kimigiku-san that you wanted to tell me something?"

"That was just an excuse for her to leave both of us alone. I saw your expression when she entered the room before. And I would bet that whatever that you wanted to tell me earlier was not something that you want another to hear and know. It's not me that has something to tell about. Chizuru-chan, you can trust me on this one. I will never tell anyone of your secret." Sen gave Chizuru a reassuring smile. Chizuru that never had any girl-friend that she could share with and talk to, felt touched by Sen's intention. She nodded to her friend.

"There's some reason that makes me not want to leave the Shinsengumi," she started slowly. "And it started about half a year ago. The matter has not been resolved since then. Many things have happened in the Shinsengumi that make the matter remain unsolved."

"Is it something so big and complicated that it already takes about 6 months and it hasn't been solved?" Sen was curious about whatever problem Chizuru had.

"Well…. rather than something, it is more of like…. Someone." Chizuru whispered the last part.

"So the problem is this someone…. AH!" Sen exclaimed suddenly. She looked at Chizuru with narrowed eyes and for some reason had a mischievous glint in it. "Correct me if I'm wrong. That someone that makes you not want to leave this place is someone that you like, isn't it?"

Chizuru blinked her eyes, flabbergasted with Sen's sudden change of mood. Once the princess' question had gotten into her mind her cheeks started turning red. And she gave a small nod to answer her friend's question.

"Really?!" Sen said excited. "Who?! OH! Would that be one of the men in the common room?" She teased her tomato-face friend.

"...Yes."

Once again Sen grabbed Chizuru's hands and gave a little squeeze to them. Chizuru looked straight at Sen while the latter gave a warm smile to the former. "So, you don't want to leave this place because you can't leave behind this man." Chizuru nodded again. "But Chizuru-chan, if you stay and Kazama comes, you would also risk this man's life. Losing someone that you loved is not a thing that I want you to regret later." Sen emphasized the situation that they were in with her serious tone. "It is not that you two can't meet later in the future. I will arrange it so that you and he can meet frequently without the two of you having to risk your lives by meeting and countering Kazama. Believe me, he's not someone that you want to get mess with."

Her mind was processing Sen's words.

"Osen-chan..." Sen gave another squeeze. "If the only problem is like what you've said, that we couldn't meet each other, I wouldn't be so reluctant to leave this place. The thing between me and him is much more complex and complicated than what you've said."

The princess silently listened to Chizuru. It was Chizuru's time to speak and she's afraid if she cuts into her story, it would take some other time for her to be brave enough to tell her story.

"Something happened between me and him about 6 months ago. Something that only myself is aware of."

Sen tilted her head, confused with Chizuru's words. "Eh?"

Chizuru gulped and clenched her hands, bracing herself for the upcoming revelations. "Osen-chan…. I have slept with him."

"…" Blink. "Sorry?"

"I'm no longer… virgin."

"….." Blink. Blink. "What?"

"And the worst part is he was drunk when we slept together and he didn't realize that he had slept with me. He also doesn't remember or have any recollection about this."

"….." Blink. Blink. Blink. "W-WHAT?!" Sen pulled her hands from atop Chizuru's hand and placed them on her cheeks, while exclaiming her horrified shock. Sen felt her body go limp. She felt that her energy had gone somewhere far away. The revelation of Chizuru's confession was too shocking for her. She didn't prepare for anything this… this shocking! It looked like her outburst wasn't so loud that it would alert the occupants in the common room to burst into the room. She felt relief for that. But still!

Women in the Bakumatsu era, the era that the Shinsengumi existed, didn't have any significant value other than to bear the man a child and to be a good wife. Any woman that was found that to have lost her virginity outside marriage would be looked down on by others. Not to mention that she would be a shame to her family. If men that didn't have a wife were looking for some pleasure without attachment, there was a red light district for that purpose. That's why virginity was so valuable for a woman in that era. Losing virginity was like losing your value as a woman already.

Chizuru was a girl that had been raised with such knowledge since she was little. She wasn't afraid of what her family would think about her. The only family that she had was gone missing. The matter would be addressed properly after she had found her father. And no one knew about her condition except herself. But to let another person be aware of her condition would be another matter. She still felt ashamed of what she had done. To share her condition with another would be embarrassment on another different level. That's why she was so horrified when she knew that Kimigiku almost heard about her condition.

Sen widened her eyes and they nearly fell from their sockets. She was speechless. Never in her wildest dreams would she dare to imagine that Chizuru would be in this big trouble. She didn't give any vibe of being such a character that would be daring enough to do that thing. Her head was spinning. She took a deep breath and heaved it loudly before setting her eyes again on the other occupant. "May I know, who is it?"

That was the question that Chizuru had expected to be ask since she told her story. But still to speak out loud the name of the man, it made her insides churn and honestly she didn't want to tell it.

"It's…. It was…" She darted her eyes to anywhere but Sen. 'You have told it so far Chizuru. It would be weird if you don't put a name to the man that you just informed your friend you had slept with. And after you told her that only you that were aware of the situation.' She opened her mouth but was frozen by the next words Sen spoke, which cut all the words from her.

"It's Hijikata isn't it?" Looking at her still friend confirmed her suspicions. She had pondered why Hijikata's reaction was kind of… odd before, when she was assessing the captains' reactions. Looks like she didn't read into his reaction too much like she had thought earlier. Because indeed there was something between Hijikata and Chizuru. She just didn't realize that this something would be this… big.

Plus, Chizuru nodded her head a little to confirm Sen's conclusion. Her bangs were covering her eyes.

"Osen-chan…. I'm sorry."

"Chizuru-chan…."

"I know that what I've done is not something that I should do. Even right until now I feel so ashamed of myself. That one spur of a moment, blinded by my desire, I've crossed a line that I should not cross. But one thing that you must know," she lifted her head to look straight at Sen with a firm gaze, "I did not regret it. And if you ask me how I feel about it right now, my answer would be same: I don't regret what I've done." Her voice didn't waver. She hoped that her friend could be convinced of what she had felt.

Sen looked back at Chizuru with a knowing expression. "You love him, don't you?"

Such a short question. A question that was not a question, rather than more like a statement that needed to be confirmed. A question that for the first time someone other than herself had asked her to answer. A question that when she had realized it for the first time, she had felt dread and denied the answer with all her might. Because there was no way she could fall to a person that would kill someone without a second thought, someone that showed nothing but cold and stiff expression, someone that would not hesitate to kill her if just in a slightest he thought that she threatened the existence of the Shinsengumi…. Someone that didn't care or like or love her at all!

But also, a question that for the first time made her look beyond the man that he showed and what other people believed him to be. Beyond that cold and stiff exterior. Beyond that oni demeanor. Beyond the vice commander of the Shinsengumi…. In which she found the very man that she had fallen in love with. Behind the persona that he always exuded for the exterior, the other side of him, his inside persona had made her heart flutter like no other man had. A question that she could answer in only one way to the demon princess.

"Yes."

Sen knew that look. Even if she hadn't had the luxury to feel that way toward a man, she had seen it on some other people. A look of someone in love. Chizuru gave that look without any hesitation. And for that she felt sorry for her friend. Looks liked Chizuru had no idea at all, of what kind of trouble she had gotten herself into.

"When did this thing happen?"

Chizuru thought back to that night. For some reason, her body was getting a little bit hot. "It was at the same night when we met in Shimabara."

"Oh my…" Sen was lost for words.

"There was a man that pushed me to a room beside our room after I parted from you. And in that room, I found him drunk alone. Things happened and it escalated to something that led us to have a sexual intercourse." Her blushing face got redder. "Osen-chan…. I did that on my own decision. Even though I feel ashamed of what I've done, I would never forget that night. He made me…. a woman. It was as if he knew what he was doing and with whom he did that. My body never reacted like that night before. Only him that could make me feel that way. And because of that, I could accept my feeling that I love him.…

"I could feel it, that night was not just a night to satiate a need. We… We made love. I know that sounds absurd, with him not aware of the situation and who he had slept with. But…. When he gazed at me, in his drunken stupor, I could see that it wasn't only lust that reflected in his eyes. Even though I couldn't describe what I had seen, I could feel it. His caresses, his kisses…." Chizuru hugged herself to prevent herself from moaning at the memory of that night. "Osen-chan… I was loved that night. And I gave my love back to him with the same intention that I felt he gave to me." Tears had sprung to her eyes, overwhelmed by the feeling that slowly was too much for her to suppress. She looked hopelessly at Sen. "I...I…."

Sen hugged Chizuru. "I'm sorry. But I guess you could use a hug right now. Calm down Chizuru. Just pour out your feelings slowly. You must have bottled up this feeling without someone to talk to. I won't go anywhere until we finish this."

Chizuru placed her forehead on Sen's shoulder. "There's this feeling." Chizuru spoke again, slowly. She clutched her kimono in front of her chest. "I don't know why, but since that night I always want to be near him. The need to be near him and to be with him was almost too much to bear. A desire to be quenched. For the first month after that night, there was this weird and high tension in the compound that had made kind of a suffocating atmosphere. I knew that some of the captains felt that tension. And it didn't go away until sometime later." Chizuru lifted her head from the princess' shoulder. "And I knew that tension must be from the unquenched desire from my body. Each second it called for it to be satiated. I could suppress it for the most time. And maybe the tension had gone because somehow I could control my feelings.

"I barely can make it in this state. I don't know how I would cope if I have to separate from him. I know how dire the situation is and how it's imperative for me to leave. It's not I don't want to. But I can't." A lone tear escaped from her eyes. It had been a long time since she could pour out her heart, to share her feelings with someone else. Sen had offered to listen to her, and she used it to her heart's content. After all she really needed this talk.

Sen hugged Chizuru again and rubbed her back. Chizuru was confused about why she was feeling what she felt right now. Her friend was clueless of what situation she was in at the moment. Well, she was a kid when she got separated from her family. Her supposed father didn't give her what she needed to know regarding this situation. And if he was kind of hiding her heritage of being an oni, it was to be expected she guessed. Because no human had this kind of thing like what the oni had. She was the one that had to explain it to her friend. She heaved a sigh and pushed Chizuru to arm's length.

"Chizuru-chan. I have something to tell that would explain your situation and why you felt the feeling that you felt toward Hijikata." Sen spoke solemnly. "It's kind of a long explanation, so I need your focus in here. But first you need to calm yourself."

Chizuru nodded. She was regaining her composure. She breathed in and out, and after a few moments her breath was calm. "I'm all ears."

"Have you heard anything about Oni no Kizuna (Demon's Bond)?"

Chizuru dug in her memory and shook her head in the end.

"Oh, sorry, I forget that you don't remember any memory of you being a demon. Because Chizuru the cause that have make you feel that strong to be inclined toward Hijikata is this bond that you have unconsciously formed with Hijikata."

"I don't understand. What bond?" She looked confused and did not understand one bit of Sen's words.

"Chizuru-chan, you have created this bond when you slept with Hijikata." said Sen bluntly.

Chizuru blinked her eyes rapidly, still didn't understand what Sen told her meant. "Osen-chan, what kind of bond?"

"The bond that you have created is a bond that tied your soul. In this case, yours and Hijikata's. As an oni finding our partner is like a matter of life and death, because once you have bonded with your partner you can never annul or break this bond. And we perform that bond by having sexual intercourse; in other words you bond if you have sex with or, if you are fortunate enough, make love with your partner. We, the oni, can only bond once in our life. Even though our partner is dead, we can't make another bond because our soul has merged and will be together with our partner's forever.” explained Sen. “The weird atmosphere you told me before that lingered around this place previously was most likely because of the bond. Maybe it happened because the bond is incomplete, that it unconsciously made you and Hijikata called toward each other. You must feel like there's some strong urge to always be near him."

Chizuru remembered ‘the urge’ that Sen had mentioned. She absentmindedly nodded. Of course, she remembered what Sen referred to as the urge. How many times she almost lost to that urge and just went to Hijikata and threw herself toward him? The first time she felt that urge, she almost did what her body told her to. But being her clumsy self, she tripped herself and instead of Hijikata, she met with the hard, cold floor and got a nasty bump on her head. Fortunately, no one noticed her action. But she swore she had felt Hijikata gaze toward her before she plunged to the darkness, unconscious from the bump she got. Inoue told her later that Hijikata was the one that brought her to her room and until he arrived, Hijikata was the one that tended her injury. That was just one of the many urges that she had felt during the past months. It wasn't that she had been getting used to it, because the urge was as strong now as the first time she had felt it. She had learnt to control it, even though it would slip from time to time if she didn't focus enough.

"That urge won't go away unless you complete the bond. From what you told me of your story I can tell that you haven't completed the bond." Sen continued with her explanation.

"….What should I do for completing the bond, Osen-chan?"

"Don't worry. It isn't a hard thing to do. You just have to drink each other's blood while saying a vow to each other that you are bonded to each other."

"But… if we have to complete the bond, that means that I have to tell him that we are bonded to each other, and I have to tell him what happened that makes us bonded to each other." Chizuru bit her bottom lip hard and said her next sentence in a heavy tone. "I CAN’T do that,” said Chizuru adamantly. "….Osen-chan, I don't want his pity." She said in defeated tone. "I knew him, know him enough that he would try to take responsibility for what happened if he knows. That is one of his characteristics that has made me fall for him. His sense of justice is so strong. But in this case, it is also his flaw. Rather than tell him so that he will be forced to be together with me unwillingly, out of duty, it would be better that he doesn't know our situation at all."

Even though Chizuru said her confession in her defeated tone, Sen could hear there was some conviction behind her tone. Chizuru might look soft and weak. But she was one of the most stubborn people she had met. Within the short time that they had met and spent together, she could see that Chizuru had this stubborn streak. Not to mention that she also had the pride of an oni, that wouldn't like to be look down to and would rather die than someone took pity at her.

She was proud that Chizuru didn't lose her pride and dignity as an oni, but as a woman she was frustrated with Chizuru's decision.

"But Chizuru-chan. You would suffer for unknown time." Sen had heard stories of some oni that didn't complete their bond with their partner because of some dire or special situation. The agony and longing that Chizuru would feel was something that Sen didn't want her friend to feel later. It could push you to insanity because of the intense pressure of the incomplete bond. "I don't want to scare you, but this is not something that you should decide so easily. As I told you before, this is a matter of life and death. It can kill you if it isn't done in a right and complete way."

A pregnant silence stretched in the room. Neither of the two occupants had any idea of what they should do regarding the matter. It was Chizuru that broke the silence first.

"Osen-chan, I want to ask you a question."

"What is it?"

"Can you know if someone, an oni has bonded with another without that said oni telling you that they have bonded?"

Sen shook her head. "No. I would not know at first glance at you that somehow you have bonded with whoever, Chizuru-chan."

"Then Kazama will not know that I have bonded with someone else."

"No. The bond is a sacred thing that only the ones that have created it can feel."

Chizuru nodded and went silent again. For a moment, she was afraid that the other oni (Kazama) could know that she had bonded with Hijikata. Kazama was coming for her because of his intention of making her his bride. If he found out that she was no longer available to be his bride and it was because of someone that was his enemy… The scene would not be pretty, surely. A relief spread through her body after Sen told her that there was no way the other could know, oni or not, of the bond beside the two persons that had created it.

"Chizuru-chan, even though you could hold the urge and desire inside of you all this time, but you won't be able to hold it for much longer. You have to complete the bond as soon as possible."

"…No."

"Chizuru-chan!"

"No, I can't. At least for now, I can't. Give me time."

They were exchanging stares. One with determination, one observing. In the end, for the umpteenth time that night Sen heaved a sigh. "I hope that time won't be too long."

Chizuru gave a grateful smile to her friend.

"I guess asking you to leave from this place is out of the question now."

"I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize. It's your decision. And it can't be helped." Sen gave her a rueful smile while she shrugged her shoulders.

"Thank you, Osen-chan."

"No. Don't thank me. You just don't know what misery you have signed yourself into." Sen sounded defeated.

"No, I mean it. Thank you for listening to my situation."

The demon princess could feel the sincerity and gratitude from Chizuru's smile. While she still felt frustrated with Chizuru, she was happy that she somehow could help her.

"You're welcome, Chizuru-chan."

---

When the two female demons entered the common room again, all the captains greeted them with an anxious look. Discreetly, Sen gazed at Hijikata and analyzed his reaction when Chizuru told them that she would not be leaving the compound.

She could only sum up in one word what she saw reflected in his eyes.

Desire.

She didn't know if she should smile or feel sorry because the man himself was oblivious to the situation he had gotten himself into.

For Hijikata himself, relief beyond anything spread through his body when he heard that Chizuru would be still with them. With him. And he knew that the demon princess had stared at him when she had entered the room. Frankly he didn't want anything to do with her. And he didn't detect any bloodlust from the princess, so he just let the princess do whatever she wanted to do. It didn't do him any harm.

The other captains were happy that Chizuru would stay with the Shinsengumi. They were rushing to her side and promising to keep her safe.

"The Shinsengumi accepts responsibility for your well-being, Yukimura-kun," Kondou said in his warm tone.

"Just relax and leave it all to me!" said Nagakura while grinning.

"Glad to have you around," Harada said while patting her head.

"But I have to wonder, what kind of girl would want to stay with the Shinsengumi, huh?" Okita snide remark wasn't as mean as before. It just his way to show his concern.

And last, when she looked at him, the soft smile that she had seen a few times only, greeted her sight. "This doesn't make you some kind of special guest. You get the same treatment that you always have."

What Hijikata didn't say to Chizuru was that the treatment that she would get would be the same from anyone other than him. He swore to himself that Chizuru would be treated in his own special way from now on.

Chizuru bowed her body and said her thanks: "Thank you for letting me stay!"

Before Sen departed from the Shinsengumi's compound, she took Chizuru's hands in hers and let her eyes rest on Chizuru. "Do be careful. And remember, I am on your side. If there's anything that you would like for me to help with, you know what you should do. And Chizuru-chan, don't ever hesitate to seek for my help. After all we're friends, aren't we?"

"Yes, we are. Thank you, Osen-chan." Sen gave Chizuru one last warm smile, and then she and Kimigiku, the kunoichi, were gone.

---

After they had walked for some distance, the demon princess and her bodyguard stopped and turned their head to look back. Sen silently looked back at the place that they had just walked out from.

"Hime-sama?" Kimigiku could sense the unease from Sen.

Sen didn't acknowledge Kimigiku's call. She stared back for several minutes before facing the front and beginning to walk again.

"Let's go, Okiku."

And the kunoichi followed her mistress back to their village without another word.

'Ganbatte, Chizuru-chan.'

---

Three figures blanketed in dark shadow strode toward the Shinsengumi later that night, not long after Sen and Kimigiku left the compound. Two of them only accompanied the third figure to accomplish the goal that one figure had.

And no one could stop him from what he wanted. He always got what he wanted.

"Found you."

To be continued

Note: Okay, you get a glimpse that a figure will come and make some havoc inside the Shinsengumi. You DO know who is he and at how the story would turn into. But... This won't be a fanfic if I don't do something of what will happen for the next event.

For some reasons, this chapter was harder for me to write. Chizuru's feeling has been bottle up for so long that it's not easy to tell someone of her feelings. That's why she was beating the bush and go round about before telling Sen her story.

Hijikata has got his turned to share his thought with someone (Kondou) and that helped him with his feelings. I guess it's unfair that Chizuru didn't get to talk and share her bottle up feelings, isn't it? So here comes Sen, to the rescue! I always like the friendship between these two.

Stay tuned for the next update and see u on next chapter.

Jaa ne~

#hakuoki #fanfiction #angst #romance #yukimura chizuru #sen-hime #hijikata toshizo #shinsengumi's captain #chapter 9 #disclaimer: hakuoki is not mine #writing

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