#he's cold to touch and probably hard to approach from the cold aura he emits in-game 🧐

[shamefulzombie]

Touch

[tokrev-roses]

They are hungry and you…take action

characters: Keisuke Baji, Kakucho, Seishu Inui

warnings: humour? Maybe even a bit ooc? Must be the happiest, non-negative thing I’ve written on this blog. Mention of the term ‘war’

❧ Keisuke Baji:

It’s canon he becomes the spawn of Satan if left with a slight feeling of hunger, so it is quite understandable you try your best to keep his stomach full and 😊

Every time he scowls or looks the slightest bit irritated you’d go for your “emergency-boyfriend-food-package”(sohedoesntburnanycars)

I’m serious, you usually have some snack hidden somewhere to be ready for the worst-case scenario

A million and one different thoughts went through your head as you saw Keisuke leaving his school, a dark aura surrounding him. It was obvious something was wrong and to protect the public security you saw yourself as a soldier for your country, running towards him, who had yet to notice you.

As his eyes met your approaching form his mood got better in an instant, even more when it seemed like you were fairly excited to see him.

That happiness soon turned into bewilderment when you opened a back of chips, while running, and came to a fast stop in front of him.

“So, how was your day Keisuke?” Talking like you didn’t just behave like a maniac, you put the bag in his hand.

A chuckle emitted from deep within his chest as he took some of the chips and pushed them in his mouth all at once. “So, what have you done?”

“Nothing?”

“Running over the school yard like you’re some hero in a war sure means ‘Nothing’.”

If him not appreciating your selfless effort annoyed you, his mocking of your voice at the end surely made you furious.

“If you wouldn’t turn into the next best brat destroying anything in your way to eat, I wouldn’t have to behave like the last hope of mankind to feed Godzilla. And these are actually mine.”

Petty as you were, you took (ripped) the bag out of his hand, turned around and left. A Keisuke Baji who had yet to fully comprehend what you just said, behind you.

“Did you just call me Godzilla? OI, Y/N?!”

  ❧ Kakucho:

“You’re late” He immediately noticed the anger in your voice

He thought all day about your cute invitation to a home date, but just when he was about to make his way to you trouble found him, and here he was.

He didn’t really know what to say, until the thundering rumble of his stomach cut the eerie silence.

Your hands were suddenly behind him, pushing him towards the table with the now cold fresh ramen.

“At least take care of yourself if you can’t take care of me” Ow. You really were pissed.

Pressing him down, you put the chopsticks in his hand, stomping back to your place.

“Y/n-“

“Eat up, then we’ll talk.”

He emptied his bowl with lightening speed, but his stomach still wasn’t satisfied. A second bowl was placed in front of him, and he eyed your towering form. You looked back at him, but the thing with Kakucho was, that it is just so hard to stay angry with someone who mastered the look of a beaten puppy. He knew what he was doing, you were convinced about that.

“The next time you put punching some Randoms before having a date with me I’ll find you and beat you in front of all of them, idiot.”

And with that the ice was broken, a beaming smile being his silent 'thank you' for letting him pass this time

No but seriously, he is touched by your gestures

He is used to have nothing and no one doing things for him without any second thought

Even instant ramen would taste like the worlds best meal if it is you giving it to him

  ❧ Seishu Inui:

You get kinda protective around Inui, no joke, even though he is pretty capable of taking care of himself

One time he asked you why you care so much, and you told him it’s his innocent baby-face

He thought about it for a second before he gave you a slight smile

“You really are something else, Y/n.”

“Is that so bad?”

“Probably not.”

“P-probably?!”

Anyways, a smile on his face is your biggest ambition and you usually go out of your way to achieve that.

One day Seishu would whisper to himself something like “Oh, I should get something to eat.”

You heard: “Y/n, please, I’m starving. Help me.”

So you shoved him into the next food stall, ordering various dishes that seemed fitting for his taste.

He was a bit bewildered (and maybe even scared, since you seemed very determined while ordering)

“Y-Y/n. Who is supposed to eat all this?” And who is gonna pay it, he thought.

😊“You are.” 😊

Pour boy would be a bit overwhelmed but would not be able to tell you so. So he’d every last thing you offer him, to the point of almost throwing up.

Was about to faint when you paid for everything, even though you only had 2 bites max.

Taglist: @legravalice

[cinnaminsvga]

La Douleur Exquise Pt 5 | Incubus!Yoongi AU (M)

➵ summary: in which you accidentally summon an incubus in the middle of your shitty apartment and he won’t leave until you agree to have sex with him. until then, min yoongi, incubus extraordinaire, is now your sexually promiscuous and grumpy roommate. aka, the incubus au no one fucking asked for. ➵ warnings: praise kink if you squint, but it’s mostly just idiots making love ➵ genre: fluff, angst, smut, smidgens of humor ➵ words: 8.5K ➵ a/n: surprise gift for my follower milestone!! it’s been a while, hasn’t it? hope this doesn’t disappoint!

➵  part 1 // part 2 // part 3 // part 4 // part 5 // part 6 // part 7

When Yoongi runs, he thinks he can hear the sound of his heart rushing up to his throat and into his ears. His shoeless feet pad almost noiselessly against the pavement, and he barely registers the confused stares of the early morning commuters on this quiet Sunday afternoon. Nothing flits through his mind at all––except for the burning desire to get as far away from you as possible.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been running, and he can feel his lungs aching to burst from the effort. He may have a lot of stamina in bed, but running like his life depended on it is a different case entirely. His legs are begging for some respite, so when he sees a lone bench at a nearby park, he nearly cries with relief as he slumps heavily onto it.

He cradles his head into his hands, and takes one, two breaths. Then, he sobs.

“Fuck!” He screams, and he pouts apologetically at a couple of pigeons that coo angrily at his outburst. “Sorry,” he says, sheepish, as the pigeons throw him a dirty look in return. He watches as they flutter away, seemingly judging him from a distance.

“Even birds hate me,” he snorts, and he rakes his fingers through his sweat-matted hair. He heaves another long sigh, and proceeds to curl himself into a little ball.

Well. This is what has become of Min Yoongi, incubus extraordinaire. Once a respected incubus who has ravaged men and women for centuries now finds himself rocking back and forth like some sort of middle-aged baby, and the sudden urge to suck his thumb really isn’t helping his reputation.

He would absolutely rather suck Seokjin’s toe jam for the rest of his life than for any of his colleagues to find him in such a lowly state. He says this, not as a challenge for destiny to fuck him over, but of course, when has destiny ever done anything except fuck him over repeatedly (and it isn’t even the good type of fucking; it was the type with too little lube and a lot of chaffing.)

“Yoongi? What are you doing here?”

Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut and groans. Speak of destiny and destiny shall come with a strap-on.

The person’s voice had a slight lilt in it, as if they were trying desperately to keep themselves from laughing like a windshield wiper. “Oh my heavens, you look absolutely dreadful! This is fantastic stuff!”

Yoongi hardly needs to lift up his head to recognize the voice of his one and only angelic neighbor. Without uncurling from his position, he lifts up his middle finger in lieu of a response.

He hears Seokjin tsk at him. “I would ask why you look like a homeless person, but then again, you rarely wear shirts as it is, so perhaps the ragged and dirty look you got going on is a step above… whatever it was that you were before this happened.” The angel muses, scooting Yoongi’s body easily to sit beside him. Yoongi hisses when the other man’s angelic hands touch him, but Seokjin couldn’t care less.

“Fuck off,” Yoongi greets him kindly.

“Hmm, I’d ask you if you need some help, but I have a sinking suspicion that you’d only repeat your less than articulate greeting back at me if I did.”

“Fuck off,” Yoongi repeats.

“Damn, I’m a mind reader!” Seokjin chortles, and they stay like that for a few moments of relatively peaceful silence.

With Yoongi’s eyes still averted, Seokjin takes the time to look at the smaller man properly. His eyes trail the incubus’ disheveled appearance, taking note of the huge coffee stain on his white sleeves, the puddle stains at the ends of his jeans, and the bloodied heels of his shoeless feet. Against his better judgment, Seokjin cannot help but feel a little bad for the incubus, despite their less than stellar relationship over the millennia.

“Oh Yoongi,” he mutters, and the younger man only huffs in response. “You’re quite a piece of work, huh?”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” is Yoongi’s muffled reply, and he peeks his bleary eyes back at the handsome angel. He squints. “Why the FUCK are you so dazzling? Turn off your angelic aura for a second, will you? It’s burning my fucking retinas.”

“I’m not even emitting my aura right now, idiot. It’s just the sun, you uncooked piece of chicken breast.” Seokjin retorts, flicking Yoongi on the forehead softly. “That’s what you get for staying cooped up in Hell all these years. Now sit up; I’ll bandage your feet.”

Before Yoongi can protest, Seokjin manages to procure a long strip of bandage somewhere––probably from the fanny pack he seems to like wearing nowadays. He watches as the angel fusses over his wounds for a few minutes, before wiggling his newly bandaged feet with wonder and gratefulness that he tries but fails to hide from Seokjin.

“What do we say to the people that help you?” Seokjin coos, squishing Yoongi’s cheeks smugly. Yoongi bares his teeth at him, his spit barely missing the other man’s face.

“Fuck off.”

“Good enough,” Seokjin shrugs, and he lets him go. “As much as I’d love to hear why you ran away from Y/N, I have other stuff to do today.”

His words causes Yoongi to freeze. “Wait, how did you know––?”

“Honey, it’s not hard to guess. Also, I heard the door slam twice this morning. I put one and one together, so that just means Y/N probably chased you after you left. I must say––I’m impressed you were able to outrun her. Not that she’s any more physically fit than you, but I just assumed that your scrawny clown body would’ve collapsed––”

Yoongi barely hears the rest of Seokjin’s words, not after he said you had followed him out too. He blinks at Seokjin. “Wait, Y/N followed me? Did you see her leave?”

Seokjin glares acidly at Yoongi, annoyed that his monologue was being interrupted. “No, I didn’t. Which is why I’m looking for her, and instead I find your sorry excuse of an ass.”

“You’re not going to ask what happened, then?”

“I already said I didn’t care,” Seokjin sniffed, turning his head to face the busy street across the park. “All my job entails is that I keep Y/N safe, and now that you’ve voluntarily put yourself out of the picture, that’s one less problem I have to deal with. I should thank you, really.”

Yoongi feels his blood boil at the older man’s apathy, but he squashes it down. Who is he to get angry, when it was him who had caused you to run out? He can already imagine you running across the city, searching desperately for a demon who would rather not be found. The thought that he has only given you even more heartbreak causes a heavy weight to form in his heart. He swallows these feelings down, locks it, and buries it.

He wonders how long that’ll last.

Before Seokjin goes to leave, Yoongi manages to grab his hand, causing the angel to turn to him in surprise. “Wait,” the demon breathes deeply, forcing himself to push down his pride. “Please. Take care of Y/N. Make sure she doesn’t get hurt.”

With Yoongi’s eyes still downcast in shame, he fails to see the way the angel’s eyes soften ever so slightly. Seokjin tears his hands away from Yoongi, and the demon lets him go.

“I’ll do my best,” he murmurs back, and Yoongi doesn’t look up to see him leave.

The sun that had been shining so brightly slowly comes to its close, and soon after, only the stars are left to keep him company.

––♡♡♡––

It has almost been a week since Yoongi left the apartment and you’ve never quite known loneliness like this. It is the all-consuming, inconsolable type of loneliness; the type that left you cold, cold, cold at all hours of the day. You would shiver at the sound of a pin dropping, as your ears strain to listen for the sound of the door that never opens. You wait by the door until your eyelids can no longer stay up, until your body begs for you to rest. But even then, your dreams are only filled with a boy with messy black hair and a wide gummy smile.

The day he had left, you had chased after him until your voice turned hoarse from calling his name. You hadn’t expected him to have gone too far by the time you managed to snap yourself from the shock of his sudden disappearance, so you were a little surprised that he was nowhere to be found. Your search had led you nowhere, so all you could do was trudge back to your apartment, with your shoulders sagging with grief.

When you arrive back home, it appears that Seokjin had been waiting for you, as his head popped out of his apartment when he hears your footsteps approaching. He gives you a sad smile, then tries to offer you some tea in his home. You try your best to decline politely, but the usual grin on your face can barely reach your eyes.

You can sense that he wants to say something, perhaps to insist on offering a comforting presence or something, but all he does is clamp his mouth shut. He nods his head grimly, and he watches sadly as you turn away from him. You unlock your door, wave absently back at him, and proceed to fall face flat on your couch.

You trick yourself into thinking that the couch still kind of smells like Yoongi, even though he hasn’t slept on it in weeks. So, with a pained groan, you pull yourself into your bed, not caring to change out of your dirty clothes or even to brush your teeth. You allow the already fading scent of Yoongi waft into your nose, and you fall into a fitful sleep.

Despite your ardent desire to look for him the next day, you still have school and work to think about. As much as you would have liked to skip school forever, you simply can’t afford to do so. Above all else, there is always a small hopeless voice in the back of your mind that whispered how incredibly useless it would be to look for him––not when you have no idea where to even begin looking. There is no one to ask help from, because who in their right mind would believe that you are looking for a demon with soft black hair and an even softer smile?

And so, like many of the useless damsels you had read about in your youth, all you could do is sob pathetically into your pillow, hoping for the day that he comes back to hold you close on your empty bed.

The sun rises, and it sets. Your mind flees your body repeatedly, and your colleagues begin to take notice of the white pallor on your cheeks and dark purple moons underneath your eyes. Underneath all that, however, lies a heart that refuses to stop beating. A stronger fire that burns brighter than anything, and it is only that warmth that keeps you hoping for his return, still.

It is 1AM on a Saturday, and you are staying awake watching reruns of old reality shows, the volume on low in case the door opens. Your eyes continually flit to the entrance every time you hear footsteps approach, and the itch to stand up and go out into the night to find Yoongi consumes you even moreso. But you know it would be a death wish if you did, what with the type of neighborhood that surrounds your apartment. And so, you are forced to stay still, waiting for the sun to rise to continue your search for a man who did not wish to be found.

In the midst of your wallowing, your ears still manage to hear some light footsteps coming from the hallway, and you feel your breath still when the person slows down near your apartment door. Could it be…?

Then, a knock.

You jump out of your couch immediately, and in your haste, you accidentally trip over the blanket that you had been curled up in, causing you to groan on the floor. You stand up quickly, despite the already bruise forming near your jaw, and you grasp the door open to find––

“Miss Y/N? Are you okay? I heard something thump,” Seokjin asks, eyeing the reddish color of your cheeks and your messy hair. He holds up a plastic bag filled with drinks and snacks, almost apologetically. “I, uh. Brought some snacks, if you don’t mind?”

You don’t bother trying to hide the disappointment from coloring your face as your eyes turn downcast at his arrival. “Oh, okay. Yeah, come in,” you mutter quietly, stepping aside to let the broad man in. He steps in unsurely, and toes of his shoes by the entrance before he places the food by your small kitchen counter.

With him still standing by your entranceway awkwardly, the two of you sort of stare at each for a bit, fidgeting under the tense silence. You feel your body mechanically gesturing to the couch, as if offering him a seat, but the action only makes it seem like you’re having a robotic aneurysm, and so Seokjin politely declines.

“No, it’s okay. I won’t be staying long; I just wanted to check on you to see if you were… doing fine,” he says the last part hesitantly, as if he didn’t want to admit that he was worried. You raise an eyebrow at this before shrugging at his implied question.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry for worrying you; you didn’t have to buy me food.” You say, picking the fraying ends of your sweater to give your hands something to do.

“Well, it didn’t seem like you’ve been eating a lot, so I just wanted to…” but he trails off, not finishing his sentence.

“Did Yoongi tell you that I forget to eat? Because that was before––I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” you lie, and you can tell Seokjin doesn’t believe it one bit.

“Speaking of him, I haven’t seen him in a while. Have you guys…?” He starts, but his tone rubs you the wrong way. Your eyebrows furrow at him suspiciously, before grinding your teeth to find a suitable answer.

“He… he’s been out. I don’t know; it’s not like we’re dating,” you say, a sort of bitter resentment tinging your voice. You don’t know why you’re suddenly angry, as if the sudden realization that Yoongi might have been terribly selfish only just crosses your mind.

“Oh, you weren’t? I had just assumed that. I’m sorry,” Seokjin apologizes, and the way his eyes seem genuinely upset only causes the anger in your chest to bubble up.

“Don’t apologize. It’s fine. We’re just having a falling out.”

“As friends? Or as something more?” The question further annoys you. It feels like Seokjin is trying to get you to admit something, and it’s making the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention.

“What do you want me to say?” You narrow your eyes at him.

Seokjin finally senses the bite in your voice. He scoffs, crossing his arms haughtily, “Oh? Well, I’m sorry for offending you, especially since I’m just trying to give what’s best for you. I was just wondering why you were so upset, seeing as how that lowlife of an incubus shouldn’t even begin to deserve any semblance of pity from you. You shouldn’t care about trash like him.”

Your blood freezes at his words, and it seems like Seokjin only belatedly realizes his slip up two seconds too late. He brings his hands up to his mouth, a small yelp coming out in anguish. “Fuck, I didn’t––I, um, you didn’t hear me say––”

It doesn’t take you long to close the distance between you and him, and soon enough, Seokjin goes cross-eyed at how close your face is to his. Your voice goes low, suspicious. “What did you say?”

Seokjin feels a drop of sweat trail down his back as he tries to move away from you. With every step back he takes, you take one step closer until you had him trapped between yourself and the door. “Uhh…” he tries to stall for time, but the way your fingernails are starting to dig uncomfortable crescents into his shoulders forces him to hold his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay! Let go off me, I’m sorry!”

Still feeling doubtful of his intentions, you release your death grip on his shoulder, but you hardly step away from him. You cross your arms as menacingly as you can (or as much as a weak twig of a girl can manage, anyway.) “Are you stalking me? Is that why you moved in to the apartment next to me? How else would you have known about Yoongi being an incubus?”

Seokjin’s eyes look anywhere but at you. “Uh, I wouldn’t necessarily call it stalking. That word is too ugly, much too ugly for the likes of me! I would label it more like… friendly surveillance?” He laughs nervously.

In a blink of your eye, you had your phone in your hands, the number for the police already typed in. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t call the police and have you arrested,” you grouse, your thumb hovering precariously over the call button.

“Uh, I’m your guardian angel?” Seokjin squeaks, his face scrunching up in what you could only describe as overly-constipated with a dash of lemon.

You stare at each other for one, two seconds. Seokjin holds his breath as you stare blankly at him for a moment too long. Then, without a word, your thumb presses the call button unforgivingly.

“NO, YOU DUMB DOO DOO HEAD! I WAS TELLING THE TRUTH!” Seokjin yelps as he goes to grab your phone out of your hands, but miraculously, you move away much quicker than him as you run to your living room. You jumped up onto one of your cabinets, chanting quickly for the police to pick up as Seokjin tries desperately to reach for the device in your hands. His face is also turning a concerning shade of red. “STOP! IF YOU CALL THE POLICE, I WON’T HELP YOU FIND YOONGI!”

You point an accusing finger at him. “So you DO know where he is!”

“I don’t! Well, sort of,” Seokjin tilts his head, before his eyes grow wide again in alarm when he remembers the stakes at hand. “Put down that phone right now! I’ll tell you everything if you just get down from there and let me finish my explanation.”

“Well, if you really were my guardian angel, where the hell have you been all these years? When my family was barely scraping by to raise me and my siblings? When I went through my depression? When I lost Yoongi?” You say the last thing with a choked sob, and Seokjin’s frantic flailing ceases at the broken sound that escapes your lips. He stills, and you both listen as the agent on the phone finally picks up. “Hello, this is the police. What’s your emergency?”

Seokjin watches with bated breath as the two of you stare at each other for a while longer, before he exhales heavily, his shoulders sagging tiredly. “I… I can explain. If you let me.”

Seconds tick by as the person on the line repeatedly asks if you can speak. You look down at your hands and back at him, mulling over what to do. If he knows where Yoongi is, then perhaps risking your safety with this wacko is worth it. Feeling as if this is probably going to be the worst mistake of your life, you disconnect the call. You carefully climb down your cabinet, after which you turn to face Seokjin with an expectant look on your face. “Okay, fine. Speak.”

Seokjin heaves a sigh of relief, and he throws himself onto your couch in exhaustion. “Geez, maybe the other angels were right; I’m getting too old to being doing fieldwork…” he groans, before peeking an eye at your rigid form. He straightens up significantly, coughing awkwardly. “Sorry for scaring you, by the way. I didn’t mean to.”

“Too late for apologies now. Just tell me who you are and what you know about Yoongi.”

“You sincerely don’t believe I’m your guardian angel, huh? Why did you believe Yoongi was an incubus so easily? Is it really that hard to believe that I’m here to protect you?” He says, voice colored with sadness.

“I already said why. If you really cared about my well-being, then where were you all this time? Especially now, when you’re actually living right next to me? You knew I was in trouble, and yet, you only decide to show yourself now.”

“That’s the thing, Y/N,” Seokjin says, and his head bows as if the world were upon his shoulders. “I can’t deal with your internal problems. I can only keep you safe.”

“Safe from what, exactly?” You spit out, but you already have an inkling as to why he suddenly appeared. His coincidental appearance, his knowledge about Yoongi’s identity… It isn’t hard to put together.

“Him. That demon. That wretched creature who doesn’t deserve to defile one of God’s creations,” he spits back, and the glares you throw at one another could have made hell freeze over twice. “I should’ve exorcised him the moment he laid his hands on you, but I couldn’t do that without waging war against hell, so I had to wait for him to mess up.”

“But he didn’t!” You shout back, the slowly building anger finally rising up to consume you whole. “He hasn’t done anything wrong! In fact, I’d say he’s done much more for me than you have ever done for me in my entire life!”

Seokjin winces at that, but you pay it no mind. You continue, “He’s been nothing but kind to me! He’s taken care of me, comforted me, loved me––” your breath hitches on the last part, and you bow your head dejectedly. “Maybe… not the last one, though.”

Before you know it, you feel a gentle hand on your back, rubbing smooth circles there. You flinch back, surprised by his sudden (and unwanted) affection and he recoils just as quickly. He rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Sorry, I’m not really good at this…”

“You fucking think?” You state blandly.

“Okay, I admit that Yoongi isn’t the worst incubus out there. If it I had to choose one, he’d probably be the best demon to fool around with––”

“I wasn’t fooling around with him,” you interject hotly.

Seokjin ignores you. “But even still, he’s a demon. You shouldn’t be interacting with him at all,” Seokjin says, undeterred. He frowns. “I’m sorry, but him running away was probably for the best. Both for you, and for him as well.”

“Oh? And what makes you say that? Who gave you the right to decide what’s good for the both of us?” You grouse, and his frown grows deeper in response.

“You have no idea what Yoongi’s about to undergo, do you?”

You feel the hairs on your arm stand up. “What? What nonsense are you saying now?”

Seokjin groans, irritated. He muses his hair lightly, biting his lower lip in contemplation. “I’m not supposed to know this type of information, seeing as how angels and demons are forbidden to speak at all––”

“Didn’t stop you from meddling in my business, though.” You mutter, but Seokjin pretends not to hear.

“––but since my former brother is the most powerful incubus from hell, well, I guess it’s hard not to know what goes on in the unholy lands.”

His sudden admission brings you out of your ire long enough to raise an eyebrow. “You’re related to a demon?” You snort, a smirk forming on your face. “Figures. You sure you aren’t one as well?”

He glares at you. “Oh? And what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you’re not as angelic as you seem, hyung.”

You both turn to the doorway, your reactions wildly different from each other. Whereas Seokjin acknowledges the new intruder with a raised eyebrow, more out of annoyance than surprise, you are a bit louder with your reaction. You shriek loudly, your immediate response being to leap back onto the cabinet as you point a useless finger wildly at the mysterious man who suddenly appeared in the middle of your apartment. The man only stares blandly at your racket.

“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?” You holler, and you barely hear Seokjin let out a snort as he tries to coax you down from the cabinet (again.)

“Y/N, stop climbing your cabinet; you’ve got the litheness of a dog with rabies.” He sighs, and you jab your outstretched finger into his forehead.

“You stay away from me too!” You hiss, much like how a dog with rabies might sound like. The intruder coughs, trying to get your attention and you whip your head towards him instead.

“Hello Ms. Y/N. I’m sorry for intruding,” the tall, admittedly handsome man says, not sounding the least bit apologetic. You dislike his tone of voice already. “I’m afraid I have some business to attend with you, concerning Yoongi.”

That piques your interest indeed. “Go on,” you say hesitantly, your eyes scanning his body for any guns or knives––or worse, a halo.

“Hey, angels aren’t bad guys!” Seokjin retorts, and your brain only just realizes that you must have spoken the last part aloud.

“I disagree; Seokjin-hyung is an exceptionally horrendous guy. Worst of the worst. Did you know he dunked my head into a bowl of holy water when we were kids?” The mystery man tuts, finally walking towards you and your perch on the cabinet with a sort of nonchalance that unnerves you. “And besides, I’m not an angel. In fact, I can proudly say that I’m the perfect antithesis of Seokjin-hyung.”

“So… you’re not an asshole?” You ask.

The smirk on his face brings a similar one to your own. “Precisely.” He offers you a hand, nodding at your couch. “Perhaps it would be easier to explain everything if we sat down, don’t you agree?”

You stare at his hand for a moment longer, weighing the pros and cons of listening to this complete stranger when your eyes happen to catch a glimpse of Seokjin’s annoyed face. Seeing as how this mystery man was pissing him off just by being here, you decide he must be worth speaking to, if only to keep Seokjin as uncomfortable as possible. You take his hand, and he carefully carries you down from the cabinet.

“Good. Now, I should probably introduce myself before we begin,” the tall man smiles, and you are possessed with the inexplicable urge to shove your fingers into the two dimples that have formed on his cheeks. “I’m Kim Namjoon, esteemed leader of all incubi. And sadly, I am also the brother of this fellow over here,” he jabs a finger in the direction of the sulky angel, who splutters at his offhand tone.

“What do you mean ‘sadly?’ Says the ungraced one! I wasn’t the one who was kicked out of heaven!” Seokjin says, his ears turning a worrying shade of red. The sight of his ridiculous anger fills you with utmost glee.

“I’d be pretty sad to be related to you too, Seokjin-ssi.” You giggle, and Namjoon nods his head in agreement.

“It is pretty shitty; thanks for understanding my circumstances, Y/N.” Namjoon says. He ignores the rest of Seokjin’s whining with a blasé flick of his wrist. “Anyway. As I was saying, I’m the leader of all incubi, meaning I’m in charge of the status and quality of my employees’ services. By the request of the council of incubi, I have come here to ask for a report regarding Yoongi’s mission.” He pauses, and his eyes shift to gaze around the room. You feel a bead of sweat form on the back of your neck as it is obvious that there are no signs of any other incubi in the room.

He turns back to you, a pointed look on his face. “And as you and I can both tell… It appears that he is not here.”

He waits for you to reply, possibly to defend him or yourself, but there really isn’t much to say. He purses his lips, his gaze heavy on your form. “You do know about his contract, right?”

You nod meekly, suddenly feeling tense under his scrutiny. “Yes. He has a time limit, right?”

“Yes. And it appears that his time is running out. There are only two more days left until he is going to be put under trial.” Namjoon hums, and it is as if the room drops a centigrade or two. You shiver. “If they find out that he did something to purposefully sabotage his mission, then there will be… severe consequences if he does not fulfill his job.”

“But why?” You blurt out, and Namjoon narrows his eyes in curiosity. You fight to lower your voice and relax. You clear your throat, “I-I mean… Why does he have to get punished for something I am equally faulted for as well?”

Namjoon considers you for a long time––long enough that you start fidgeting under his attention. Finally, he says carefully, “It is not the fault of the customer for the ineptitude of the server, Y/N. That is the code we’ve always abided by for centuries.”

You hear Seokjin snort from somewhere behind you. “Code… What code? You guys offer sex for happiness! How on earth is that moral?”

Namjoon raises an eyebrow at that. “Happiness? All we ask for is a memento of value from our clients; not happiness. In fact, we offer happiness, do we not?” You can see him give you a sidelong glance before he continues, “Or do we? Is that perhaps another piece of evidence that might incriminate Yoongi?”

“No!” You shout, and the two men look at you, one of them intrigued while the other annoyed. You swallow, hard. “He… he’s been nothing but good to me. It’s my fault that he’s not here, anyway.” You say, your voice lowering to a whisper at your sudden confession. “It’s all my fault…”

Namjoon taps his fingers lightly on his thigh, with a mysterious twinkle in his eye. He seems to have understood something from your words, but you do not know what. It terrifies you.

“Do you know where he’s gone?” You shake your head.

“No, but he said knowing something about Yoongi before you had arrived,” you say, tilting your head at the other pouty man in the room.

Namjoon glares at him accusingly. “Was this your meddling again, hyung? You know the rules of our kind.”

Seokjin raises his hands up in surrender. “Hey, I know about the laws as much as you do, Joon. I wouldn’t interfere in the slightest. I’m just observing, waiting for one of you to mess up.”

“Then what did Y/N mean when you said you knew something?”

The two of you watch as the angel fidgets slightly, his hands clenching and unclenching by his sides as he pointed his eyes anywhere but at you. “Er. I may have seen him. Once. When he had ran out of Y/N’s apartment a few days ago.”

You jump out of the couch, leaping over it to grab a hold of the crisp collars of his button-up shirt. “You absolute fuck! Why didn’t you tell me?” You sneer, and Seokjin’s eyes dart to the side.

“Uh… You didn’t ask?”

You are only three seconds away from throttling the poor, defenseless angel before Namjoon intervenes (unthankfully). He pulls you gently by the arm, and suddenly a wave of peacefulness surges through your veins from his touch. Seokjin notices the blissed out look on you face, and glares at his brother.

“Hey, that’s my trick! You stole that from me!”

“It isn’t stealing if I do it better,” he smirks. “Besides, you should be thanking me. I’ve seen Y/N’s nails. Wouldn’t want your angelic face marred by scratches, right? We should reserve scratches for when we’re in the bedroom.” Seokjin only stammers in response, crimson-faced.

“You fiend!”

“Anyway,” Namjoon says, ignoring his brother once again. “What’s done is done. Seokjin is bound by angelic laws not to interfere with our business, so we can’t blame him. What matters now is that Yoongi must complete his job by the deadline or else he’ll be forced to be put under trial.”

“But he did nothing wrong! If the trial finds him to be blameless, then he should be safe, right?” You argue, lips trembling with the need to defend him, to protect him. At the very least, that’s what he deserves, right? He deserves to be happy, even if that happiness did not lie with you.

Namjoon’s face is unreadable. “Hmm. Perhaps. But let me ask you this, Y/N. Why did he leave in the first place?”

You open your mouth, and close it. You swallow thickly, feeling nervous before admitting, “We… we had an argument. That’s all.” An argument about what, you do not divulge to him.

But Namjoon doesn’t need to ask, because he knows. He’s known it for a while, now.

All he does is sigh instead. He rubs his temples grimly, before shaking his head in defeat. “Just know that, in the event that Yoongi returns, please tell him that he’s being closely watched. There are always eyes watching, and those who have been scorning him for centuries are only getting more restless. He should be more careful.” He says, already standing up to leave. He raises a hand in salute, a sad smile on his face.

“I hope you will stay well, Y/N. None of us want you to get hurt, after all.” He gives one last look at his brother as well. “You too, hyung. Don’t let those old bones of yours snap under the weight of your responsibilities.” Then he snaps his fingers once, twice, before disappearing in a puff of black smoke. Just like that, he’s gone.

The weight in your heart becomes impossibly heavier after Namjoon leaves, and you fight to calm the blood rushing through your veins. You bite your lips in worry, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as you think of what to do. You need to warn Yoongi, somehow.

“Hey, er, Y/N?” You jump out of your trance, and you only just remember that Seokjin still hasn’t left your house. He squirms slightly, before clearing his throat to finish what he was saying. “I, um. I know I’m not supposed to interfere…”

“And I would prefer it if you didn’t,” you say harshly.

Seokjin appears as if the words fight to free themselves from his tongue. He clears his throat, before simply straightening his clothes awkwardly. “I just… If you’re having trouble finding Yoongi, you should realize he doesn’t want to be found. So of course, the only possible solution would be if he wants to be found, correct?”

You raise an eyebrow in confusion. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

He only shrugs indifferently, a small smile on his lips. “Hmm, what do I mean indeed? Well, I must be off, then. I’m supposed busy not interfering with your life, as you and Namjoon have requested so gracefully. Goodnight, Y/N,” is all he says before he turns to leave through the door.

When the door clicks shut, you finally let out the greatest sigh of your life, plopping down tiredly onto your couch. You curl into a ball, hugging your legs as you try to think about what you should do about Yoongi.

You think about trying to call or text him again, but you’ve been doing so for the past few days and he hasn’t picked up once. What makes you think he’ll suddenly answer you this time? You stare blankly at his contact on your phone as you try to come up with a message that might get him to come back. But what? With clammy hands, you open up your messages and try again:

You wait a few minutes and much like the hundreds of failed attempts, he leaves you hanging. A flood of annoyance courses through you as he declines to answer once again, even after you’ve told him about Namjoon’s warnings. Just how much did this demon not care for himself? Did he not understand how much danger he was putting himself in?

Tapping your fingers on the keyboard, you think of better threats texts to send that might make him change his mind, but nothing seems to come to mind. In the midst of your thoughts, the words Seokjin spoke to you a while ago cross your mind, and a small spark of inspiration hits when you think you finally understand what he was trying to say.

“What do I say to make him want to come back?” you murmur to yourself. Well, there is one thing you haven’t tried yet, and for a good reason.

“Oh fuck it, what the hell!” You grumble, thumbing at your keyboard reluctantly. This is not the time to be cautious and embarrassed; Yoongi’s fucking life could be on the line and if being a little cringey is what it takes, then so be it!

Yup, this is stupid, you think to yourself as you wait with bated breath for Yoongi to respond. How foolish and self-assured did you have to be to think that Yoongi cares so much about you that he’d drop everything just to make sure you’re alright? Sure, he took care of you that one time you fainted from exhaustion, but other than that? How narcissistic, you think as the seconds tick by without a response.

He’s never going to respond to that. What makes you think he would care? He left you, for fuck’s sake! He wouldn’t come back––you should just stop worrying and move on with your life.

But you know you can’t. Not when your heart no longer beats for yourself alone.

Love. What a curious thing, isn’t it?

And then, like a foghorn in the silence, you hear your phone buzz.

His answer is simple:

It worked. It had actually worked. You let a laugh, more out of disbelief than anything. Soon, the laughter morphs into a sob until you were shaking on the floor, clutching your phone to your chest in relief. He was coming home.

And much like he had promised, he arrives in 10 minutes flat, a big bag full of take out and medicine in his hands, his hair disheveled by the wind and his chest heaving from running so quickly. You see his eyes flash with worry as he takes you in, before they widen in surprise to find that you appeared mostly healthy, albeit a little worse for wear.

Instead of a greeting, he answers in perfect Yoongi fashion, “What the fuck?” he stammers, glaring accusingly at you. He waves his arms frantically at you. “I thought you said you were––what? Holy shit, you fucking scared me!”

It takes you a moment too long to respond as your eyes fight to believe what they were seeing. Yoongi is wearing different clothes from when he had left, but as your gaze trails down, you see that he is still barefoot. His face is slightly more gaunt, and there are dark crescents underneath his eyes, but otherwise… he is fine. Gorgeous, still.

“Yoongi,” your voice sounds breathy, as if the wind had been knocked right out of you. You’re just amazed that he’s really here, standing before you. Skin and bones. “You really do care about me?”

At that, Yoongi rolls his eyes so hard that they almost roll back into his skull. “Is that all you have to fucking say? I literally ran like ten blocks to get food and medicine, then I had to run all the way back here just for you to trick me? I know I should be killing you right now but––”

In the midst of his rant, you suddenly stride purposefully towards him, making him stop in his tracks. The desire to touch him, hold him, and make sure that he isn’t a figment of your imagination consumes you. You wrap your arms around his waist carefully, as if afraid that he might run away again. You bury your face into his chest, and you can hear his heartbeat quicken at your touch. There he stands, in your arms––skin and bones. He’s home.

You feel him sigh, and you hear him drop the plastic bags by his feet as he starts to thread his fingers through your hair. He nuzzles his face into crown of your head, and breathes deeply. “I’m home,” he murmurs.

“You’re home,” you whisper back. You peek your head up to look at him, his stare heavy with words still left unspoken. Even now, he is scared to speak, and you know that all too well. It breaks your heart, but you’ll remain patient.

You smile sadly at him. “But if you must know, that text wasn’t a complete lie, by the way. I do miss you. So damn much.” He gapes at you in awe, his hands clutching tightly at your sides as you continue speaking.

“And I know you have your reasons for not… returning these feelings of mine. I understand, believe me. But,” and this is where your words catch in your throat, and the emotions that have been kept under lock and key resurface like a hurricane. The first tears fall, and Yoongi can only watch in panic as the sobs start to wrack your body. You feel yourself fall to the ground, your knees too weak to keep you up, and Yoongi follows you down. He pulls you into his lap, rubbing your back as he tries to calm your shaking form.

“Y/N… Y/N, please. Stop crying. I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I won’t leave again, I promise,” he whispers into your hair, and he lets you cry into his shirt. He doesn’t even flick your forehead in disgust when you blow your nose on his sleeve.

You shake your head. “You can’t promise that. We both know you’re going to leave, whether either of us want you to or not. Namjoon told me you only had two more days left until you’re put under trial.”

There is a hitch in your voice when you mention the trial, and Yoongi’s hands pause in their ministrations as he tilts your head to face him. His eyes are dark, bottomless. You yearn to see their depths. “Hey, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. It’s going to be alright––”

“Shut up, Yoongi. Shut up! Stop telling me everything is going to be alright when we both know it’s not! You can’t just––just let fate make you its bitch! There must be something we can do, shouldn’t there?” You say, your voice edging on hysterical as the tears blur your vision slightly. Through your water-hazed sight, you can still make out Yoongi’s hopeless face as he shakes his head in defeat.

He lets out a short laugh, but it sounds more like broken glass on concrete. “It’s kind of fucked up, isn’t it? This whole situation? Because you were honestly never supposed to mean this much to me––fuck,” he cries, throwing his fists up in anguish. There is a crazed look on his face as he mulls over his fate. “You were just another mission, another job I had to do. Hell, I shouldn’t even be terrified of being put under trial because they only sentence incubi as guilty if they’re suspected of falling in love, so why the fuck am I scared? Why the fuck––” His voice falters just as quickly as it had risen. His pupils shake with fear at the weight of his indirect admission, of what he had implied. You feel your heartbeat lodge itself in your throat, and yet, even now, you don’t dare let yourself hope.

Neither of you do. You can’t afford to.

“But most of all,” he breathes, ragged like the scars on his feet. Time stops, and all the world could have burned and neither of you would be the wiser. The sun, stars, and moon––they listen.

“Why am I so afraid of losing you?”

Those words. It causes the dam inside of you to break, and the coiling deep in the pit of your stomach bursts until it propels you forward, forward until your lips are crashing into his. You feel a sob escape your throat when he kisses you back just as desperately, teeth clacking from the force. He grabs your chin, pulling you impossibly closer and you weave your hands through his hair, aching for more, more.

It’s all lips, spit, and teeth––nothing but this raw need to be together. It’s like something is trying to claw its way out of you, and the same goes for Yoongi. It is a prayer, a hopeless promise, a dream: we shall make these moments last an eternity.

He knows he shouldn’t be doing this. It’s dangerous, too dangerous, but he’s never felt this good. The warmth he had missed so dearly spreads like a wildfire in his chest, and he knows that he is never going to forget this feeling. He won’t allow himself to. Everything is too bright, too warm––he’s in lo––

“B-bedroom,” you manage to gasp out, and Yoongi barely gets to respond with a gruff groan of agreement as he proceeds to wind your legs around his torso. He carries you to your unmade bed, and he drops you carefully onto it, neither of you separating for a second.

Yoongi does not know when he starts crying, but he still registers your voice despite the pounding in his ears.

“Don’t cry. Don’t cry. It’s going to be alright.” Your voice is hoarse from your own tears, and it reverberates in the stillness of your apartment. Your breaths intermingle from your proximity, and the room spins around the two of you. He wants, he needs, to keep you in his arms and never let go, even though he must.

But for now. This is enough.

He nods his head. Closes his eyes. Tries to remember how to pray.

“Ok.”

He pushes you onto your back, cradling your head as he connects his lips to yours once again. The kiss tastes like salt and you, and he yearns to devour it. It is the water he knows he will never be able to live without, and so he fills himself with it. He takes, and you give.

His hands, which have always been cool to the touch, warm when it touches your stomach. He drags it up, up, up, until he wrenches a gasp out of you.

“Is––is this okay?” He stammers, eyes wild with desire as he stares at you in awe. You bite your swollen lips, nodding frantically.

“Anything. Anything you want, I’ll give. Take it,” you whisper, and he does not hold back his groan from escaping.

“I want you to feel good too. But you––you don’t like these type of things and I––”

“I will like anything, as long as it’s with you. It’s always been you.”

Your words––they break something inside of Yoongi. He doesn’t care if it will leave him aching for the next millennia; he takes the blessing as it is. You, you were and will always be his downfall.

His mouth latches onto your neck, his hands wander directionlessly, and his heart beats out of his body. His body aches for release, and you are more than willing to give it to him. Your inexperienced palms trail his body hesitantly, gripping parts of him that leave him growling into your ears. 

“Fuck,” he groans.

“You’re doing wonderfully, Yoongi.” You whisper, a yelp escaping you at a particularly harsh suck at your collarbones. His hands squeeze your thighs harder at your praise. “Do you… do you like that? When I say those things?” Your voice is meek, so different from what he’s used to. 

His satisfied moan is answer enough as you start littering him with more praises, telling him how good he feels pressed against you.

“I––I’ve never really ever thought about doing this with anyone.” Your voice hitches, and your nails claw at his scalp when his fingers tear your shorts off with one quick movement. You arch your back to help him touch you where he needs to. “But I’m glad that it’s with you.”

Yoongi’s fingers––they are no longer cold when they plunge into you. Warm, warm, warm. You chant his name, singing praises that leave him breathless. “Yoongi… You’re so beautiful, did you know that? You’re treating me so well.”

He is careful with his movements, despite the deep lust that has swallowed him whole. He does not hurt you, not one bit. He stretches you gently, watching you for reactions as you nod at him, telling him you are ready.

“Yoongi,” you breath out, your mouth almost pressed against his as he lines himself with your center. He hovers just centimeters away from you, and he waits for you to give the signal.

“Say the words and I’ll go,” he mutters. He says his prayers.

The smile on your face is radiant. This. This is what he’s dying for, he realizes.

“I’m yours.”

You, you, you, you—Yoongi couldn’t get enough. If this is what it feels like to be with you, to be this warm, he would let himself be sentenced to death during every incarnation of his damned existence if he could just be with you forever.

Screw his fate. Screw his future. Nothing else matters if it didn’t include you in it. 

This isn’t sex, he soon understands. It isn’t like anything Yoongi has ever experienced. He has done all kinds of sex, from kitchen sex to public sex to slightly illegal sex… He has done it all. But he’s never felt so content, not like this. It is all-encompassing; it feels safe; it feels like you.

He keeps moving until he can move no longer, until he has left a part of himself deep within you. He rests his forehead against yours, and he gives you one last kiss for the night. He lays himself beside you, pulls the sheets, and tugs you close to him until neither of you know where he began or where you ended.

The night comes to its close with you whispering those three cursed words to him. You don’t feel heartbroken when he doesn’t say them back to you. His touch, his heart, his warmth––they speak volumes enough.

You sleep together like that, with him whispering impossible promises as you feel yourself gently doze away. You know that by tomorrow morning, he will be gone. He will be safe, and for that you are happy.

But for now, this is enough.

[avidfanficwriter]

Barbie (Chapter 11)

Chris Pine X Reader.

Summary: What started as a simple date ended as a failed romance. Or has it truly failed?

Warnings: Cursing, as per use.

Author’s note: Yes, i know, it’s been a long time. Writer's block hit me hard for this one but thank the gods, my mind sprung an idea!

Masterlist

Tags: @mitaputri0412 @wolflhards 

A few years ago

“Why do you think you have these feelings?” The question appears as if you’ve entered a dream sequence or a really lousy drug experience that creates this inability to feel oneself. The room is spinning and your body is spinning at two different speeds, two different directions. It is entirely fucked. It’s a dissociative state, you’re there, your body is but your mind isn’t. You can see but you can’t figure out where you are. Fucked. “Y/N, are you there?”

The question acts as a fishing line, reeling you back to reality but still managing to leave you dangling from the hook on full display. “What?”

“This is the fourth time in the last hour, you’ve been inattentive.” The man says as he checks his watch, his name ceases to come back to you. He’s nameless, his identity hidden beneath the layers of time loss. “Have you taken your medication today?”

“I don’t need medication.” The first real sentence you’ve spoken today.

“From the comprehensive review of your file, I think it would be wise if you did.” You’re lost. Physically and mentally, you don’t know where you are, what you’re doing or why you’re sitting on this scratchy green couch. “Y/N, you’ve suffered a traumatic experience most of which the details are sketchy also the reason you seem to have suffered a mental breakdown. In order to properly help you overcome these issues, I need you to be present.” 

Each word seems to hit harder than the last, pulling at your heart and only making it harder to concentrate. “Tell me about that night.”

The tick of the clock is beginning to create a headache, each noise seems to be heighten with the intent to create pain. “Nothing happened.”

There’s a sharp inhale of breath from the other body. “According to the report, you were brought to the emergency room with what resembled a case of domestic violence.” There’s a sound of shuffling paperwork before he speaks again, the voice is male. Definitely male. "The hospital staff noticed who they believed to be the person responsible enter the hospital and then barricaded himself in your hospital room, essentially holding you hostage."

You roll your eyes, it's unbelievable. It's completely false, as if someone was writing a book or playing a game of make-believe. "It sounds worse than it was." Not a denial but not the truth. It's got just enough to possibly satisfy him.

"Hmm... Which part has been an exaggeration? Being locked inside your hospital room with your abusive boyfriend who held a gun to your head or covered in bruises with your refusal to testify against him?" It's the kind of snarky comment that ends with a raised eyebrow and a satisfied look that says one thing: 'Ha, take that.'

"I have to go."

"You have been court ordered to attend a one-hour session that was productive, which you have not been. You are unable to leave until I am satisfied that we have had a conductive session." It's defeat. Complete and utter defeat. “Y/N, I know this is difficult and I don’t wish to make you stay here any longer than you need to be but you have to meet me halfway.” It sounds like a plea. He’s truly trying to work with you. "I know it doesn't seem like it but I'm trying to help you."

“It got out of hand." A partial truth. He doesn't respond. "Is there a such thing as craving the negativity?" The question changes the conversation but he's happy to oblige on the fact that you're finally speaking.

His brow arches as he begins tapping his pen on the cushion of the chair he's sitting in. "There are some people who feel comfortable in a negative environment, no matter how hectic or unsafe, there are those who seek it out. It’s familiar and to them all they know. Is that what you believe you do?"

You swallow hard, "No."

"Is Beau surrounded with negativity?" He ask, immediately making you regret you question.

"At times."

"Mmm... Was he surrounded with negativity when you were at the hospital?"

"Yes."

"If there is a negative aura that he emits, why are you so unwilling to rid yourself of him?" He questions and suddenly you have the urge to slap him. "I'm glad you're aware your in a negative situation but I want you to do something about it. Realizing the danger and hostility you’re in is only step one. Step two is doing something about it."

With every passing minute, you panic, you’re sitting in the living room with your eyes glued to the door. Waiting for him to return, he hasn’t called and it’s been an hour. He should have called by now. You tell yourself. What if he lied? If he just up and left? He could be the one getting rid of his apartment and leaving you instead.

Finally, you’re cell phone rings and his name lights up the screen, “Chris… you were supposed to call an hour ago.” You say quickly into the phone but you’re met with silence. “Chris? …Chris?”

You could have counted the hours before someone spoke and the first sound of someone breathing. “This is Dr. Luke Valdez at Good Samaritan Hospital, I found your number on Mr. Pine’s recent contacts list. There has been an accident.” Your heart stopped and now your body feels light, as if you’ll pass out any second. “Mr. Pine was in a car accident.”

You’re moving on auto-pilot, the pain in your foot is non-existent now as you gather your keys and phone before quickly heading out the door. By the time you make it to the hospital, your eyes are full of tears and your thinking the worst, he’s dead, but they can’t tell you that over the phone. He’s been killed. The fear doesn’t stop when you enter the hospital, the emergency room is full of tears, shouts of pain and panicked doctors shouting colors and ordering more test. It's chaotic and for a brief second you contemplate leaving.

“Can I help you?” A woman in a white coat asks, noticing the panic on your face. 

“Ye--yeah, I’m looking for Chris--Christopher Pine. He was brought in a while ago.”

She nods, walking over to the desk and glancing at the computer. “Oh, he’s right here. I’ll take you.” Each step you take feel worse than the last, it’s like an anxiety attack is beginning. You feel your arms slowly getting cold, your extremely aware of your breathing and you can’t focus on one thing. The lines on the floor are to overpowering, the sounds are morphing into one loud sound and suddenly the pain your foot is back with a vengeance. 

“He’s right here.” The woman says, pulling the privacy curtain back just enough to allow you entrance and closing.

“Jesus.” The harsh whisper pushes past your lips, involuntarily. Chris is sitting up in the bed, currently getting stitches in his head while a nurse wraps his right hand in a bandage. 

“Oh god, I told--” Chris looks at the doctor besides him. “I told you not to call anyone.” he smiles. “I’m fine.” 

“Fine? You’re covered in blood.” You say slowly walking towards the end of the bed, trying to reach out to touch only to change your mind. 

“It’s looks worse than it is.” he lets out a small groan in pain as the nurse sets his hand down. “But you, you shouldn’t be standing or even walking, come sit down.” 

The doctor finishes Chris’ head and explains his injuries and the medication he’s being prescribed for the pain.It’s doctor jumble and rather than listen all you can do is stare at Chris, he looks broken, worse than the night Beau got ahold of him. Covered in dried blood with pain in his eyes. 

“Are you okay?” You ask when the doctor leaves. He nods, sucking on his lower lip. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes.” He chuckles. “Come here.” He holds out his uninjured arm for you to sit next to him seeking comfort that will help not only him but you as well.  

There’s a slight feeling of fear that runs through your spine as you approach him, you sit next to him, trying to keep most of your weight away from him so he doesn't get hurt but he won't have it. Pain or no pain, he instantly pulls you into him, stifling a groan as he does.

Your eyes are tearing up and all you want to do is curl up into a ball and cry. This was your fault, if you hadn’t of been stubborn and hurt your foot; Chris never would have been on the road, the car never would have hit him and he wouldn’t be here looking like he just survived a round with Mike Tyson. 

 “What happen?” You finally crack out. 

“I was on the way to your place and this car in front of me lost control and hit me head on. I’m lucky I didn’t break my leg. Few stitches in my head, glass in my hand and busted face but I’m fine.” 

“God, Chris...” You sigh. 

“It’s fine.” He reaches his hands out, gently holding your face, forcing your swollen eyes to face him. “Relax, I’m fine, A little banged up. Just think about it this way, now it’s your turn to play doctor.” 

There was no stopping the fit of laughter you both break out into. “What happened to the other driver?” 

“Oh, I don’t know.” He says, bringing his hands down and rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Poor guy is probably more upset about his car than anything.” 

“Why do you say that?”

“Guy had a nice green challenger.” He remarked, shaking his head. “That now has regular black paint on it thanks to my car.” 

You shake your head and scoff, “You could have died and you’re talking about a car.” 

“It was a nice car.” As Chris lays his head on your shoulder, gently resting his eyes.

You don't know what comes over or why you brain decided this was your next comment. "So, I suppose this is a bad time to ask if you got my stuff?" Chris stifles a chuckle.

"No, the other car prevented me from achieving that goal." He responds in a low whisper, gently kissing your shoulder. "Just don't go to your place, okay? When I get out of here, I'll go. My card is in my wallet, whatever you need just buy it brand new."

There goes your independency, not only were you seeking refugee in his house but now he was giving his credit card to support you. You had jumped fifteen to twenty steps in terms of of your relationship, living together and financial responsibility. If it wasn't for the bruised man besides you, seeking your comfort, you'd probably be one step from freaking out. Too much was going on all at once but right now, it felt normal.

Just as your slumber starts to creep in, the startling realization hits you. 'Nice green Challenger.' A green Challenger hit Chris head on in the middle of the night, a green Challenger like the one Beau owned.

[eyes-talks-ocs]

❌ This contains sensitive content. Such as violence, blood, death mention, and uncomfortable scenes. Reader Discretion is advised. Thank you!

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"Teeth" is just an AU drabble for my OCs. It's not polished or really even proof read all that well. So just a heads up for readers. It's just writing practice.

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Teeth - Pt 02

Cole stood there stunned, now left alone with this man. He fingered the cane nervously for some time thinking over how he'd go about this. Slowly, he moved closer to him. The man let out an alligator-like growl hearing the soft footsteps sneaking by. Though the growls were a lot weaker than earlier. The young dragon calmed his nerves and finished approaching him. He leaned down to touch the man. The creature jerked away letting out another reptilian hiss. The chains rattled and echoed through the otherwise silent room. But so did the quiet whimper the man accidentally let out when he moved. 

Cole knew he was trying to intimidate, but it was obvious he was too injured to get up and attack full force again. Either way, the intimidation was working on Cole. He hated that. The mix of what he just saw, what the Master had told him of these creatures, and his own anxiety. He couldn't help but tremble in the presence of this animal. The aura he emitted was almost suffocating to someone as sensitive as the boy. 

"I'm not going to hurt you." Cole said in a soft tone. Trying to hide his nervousness and talking like he was talking to a scared child. Again he tried to put a hand on the hurt man. He growled deep, and tried to pull away but Cole kept his hand against the man's side. The man was tense - afraid? Cole looked at him sad, but thought of something.

The young dragon sat down next to the injured creature. Close enough so they were almost touching one another. Cole kept the cane at ready on his other side, but laid down in a nonthreatening manner. The man continued his growling and warnings. Increasing them in volume.

"Look. I'm wide open. Attack me if you really want to. Go ahead." He avoided looking at the man and only stared at the ground in front of him. Cole, again, laid a gentle hand against the man's side. He shied at the boy's touch and drew a deep breath. With a sudden jerk, he sat up abruptly. Cole immediately flinched and ripped his hand away to bring up his arm to protect his head and face. Fearing the worst.

But nothing happened.

After moments, and the realization everything was all fine, he opened his eyes and slowly brought down his arms. The creature was staring at him with an exhausted look, studying him. Cole froze and refused to meet the creature at eye level. His eyes quickly went straight for the floor again. Avoiding the creature's gaze at all costs.

"You can look at me. I'm far too weak to try anything." He said breathless and quietly. "I promise." He added, looking away from Cole.

Cole hesitantly looked across to him, keeping his eyes low. The creature gave a quick sideways glance and let out a shaky breath. Then fully turned to look at Cole. 

"I'm sorry about all this." Cole mumbled.

"Let me go then." He choked on his words.

Cole's expression got wide at the thought, "I can't. I'll be killed."

"Then you're not really that sorry about it." The creature huffed. "He has you washed." He grinned and showed his fangs briefly. One of his front teeth were missing, whether that was recent or not. Cole didn't know. Good thing he actually wasn't a show pony.

"I-I-"

"Just get it over with whatever you're supposed to do to me and leave." He weaved slowly like he was having issues holding himself up. Was he fading in and out of consciousness?

"Trust me, I'm not actually going to hurt you like our Master." Cole continued to mumble, not sure what to make of this interaction.

"Bullshit!" He got loud but immediately ran out of breath. Coughing violently, "He's not my fucking master!" He weezed through hacking.

"Lay down." Cole said quietly.

He glared at the kid trying to tell him what to do. 

"Please? You're looking faint."

"I wonder why?" He said in a smartass tone. "Just get it over with. Torture me, beat me, and leave me alone."

Cole looked at him and gave a sad sigh. He just decided to go to work. Again, he slowly moved his hands to him, the creature tensed and growled quietly. The kid flinched not knowing what he was going to do. But continued on to try and work. He made his decision. "Don't speak a word of this, if the Master finds out my ass is canned." He placed his hands over areas on the man's body as he squirmed and tried to pull away. The dragon could feel bruising and tears deep in his tissues and muscle. Just by the amount of damage he could detect from a brief go over, the boy knew he had significant internal damage. He rested his hand over the creature's right side under his ribs. It's where he pinpointed one source of slow bleeding.

Cole focused, and the pads of his hands glowed in a faint light. At first the creature wanted to pull away at the weird sensation but soon felt at ease with it. He closed his eyes and breathed out slowly and relaxed. His pain started to ease into the background and was replaced with a warm bliss.

Cole could see the man was enjoying what he was doing. There was peace in his pained expression.  He moved his hand over more centered on his abdomen, mending tears and damage caused by everything he's been through so far. But he knew if he healed too much, the Master would notice, so he stopped and took his hands away.

The creature opened his eyes, silently asking 'why did you stop?' just by the look he gave. Sadly, moments later, the pain returned. Though slightly lessened. He let out a grimace as it crept back through his body.

"I'm not here to hurt you." Cole stated again. "But I can't heal you either by orders. I'm supposed to check up on you every so often. Now I'm going to get to work. Please trust me."

The man sighed, "I can't do trust. But, civil. Civil unless you give me reasons not to be."

The boy nodded. It was a fair enough agreement. "My name's Cole by the way. What's your's?"

The creature glared, "Dustin." He was quiet with it.

"A last?"

"Just. Dustin." He closed his eyes and panted.

"Okay." Cole said quietly. "I'm going to be touching you now if that's okay?"

Dustin just sent a look and didn't respond. He just kept his focus on his breathing.

Cole dug through his bag and pulled on a pair of gloves and pulled some simple medical equipment from it. The first thing he did with Dustin was cautiously rest his hand to the side of the man's neck and kept time with his watch. 

His pulse was chaotic, but weak. He really had lost quite a bit of blood and who knows how bad his internal bleeding really was. 

Next he took his stethoscope and rested it on Dustin's chest to listen to what was going on. He was gentle with it, minding Dustin's broken ribs. Again, it should have come as no surprise, but the first thing Cole noticed was how overtaxed this creature's body was. Cole didn't feel like this man was really stable at all. At any given moment while listening. He was waiting for the creature to slip into cardiac arrest.

Cole knew, that Dustin knew he was close to that edge. The depression and lack of will in his voice when he did speak. He was probably waiting for it to happen just as much as the young dragon was. It seemed like Dustin accepted that fate.

He moved a little closer to Dustin to reach behind him and listen to his lungs briefly. The creature, half conscious, leaned into the young dragon and rested some of his weight against him. Dustin seemed to have signed, but Cole couldn't quite tell if it actually was or just an exhausted breath.

Cole froze when Dustin did this, he really didn't know what to think or do. A feeling of pity hit him. He didn't know if the man was just on the verge of passing out or if he was seeking the silent comfort. Without saying a word, the young dragon timidly ran his hand up and down the creature's back like a mother would to a crying child. "You need to lay down and rest. I don't know when the Master will come back. But you need some rest before he does." Cole said in a hushed tone. "You could just agree to the terms and this would be over. I could heal you, you wouldn't get beaten. You'll have a forever home here."

"Never." the creature's hiss was barely audible.

"Trust me. He'll have no problem beating you to death. He'll come back day after day to tourture you until you either agree or die. It's not bad living here, I promise." Cole tried swaying. Just to try and save a soul from the Master's cruel ways.

"Guess I'll die then." He let out a long breath. "Guess I'll die."

"I don't want to have to clean up or dispose of your body." Again, Cole tried getting the man to change his mind, "people don't last more than a few days in this room. I've seen it."

Dustin didn't respond, his body had gone limp into the dragon. Cole sighed, laying the passed out man down on the floor as gently as he could. He watched him for a bit, his sides still heaved, he was still alive. Just barely. Cole watched him a little longer, and stuck around to check up on some other of his vitals.

He took his temperature, and thought it strange it was on the lower side. Cole figured he'd be borderline feverish with how hard he had been fighting and with everything else going on. His blood pressure was low, but that was to be expected.

Pretty confident that the creature was passed out cold, seeing as he wasn't responsive to his other poking and prodding. Cole got down closer to the creature's face and paused, staring at him before willing himself to take a look.

The boy brought out his little LED flashlight and very carefully lifted his good eyelid. He waved the light in front of the creature's eye a few times. Dustin really did have a soft eye. Mossy greens and kind. But Cole made a note. Pupil was mostly fixed. 

"You have a pretty good concussion going on, don't you?" He muttered in anger. The anger directed at the Master. He'd have to bring the head injury to the Master's attention. It's not something to toy with, Cole wasn't certain just how bad the head trauma was, but the Master needed to let it heal before inflicting any more blows to the head to the man.

Curious, he slowly peeled back the man's scarred eye. The blind eye stared out with a sickly dead gaze. Cole studied it with the LED. It was hard to tell through the fogged over lens of the eye, but his iris looked like it had been torn at some point. He'd wager the man could still detect some light and shadow with it, but not much beyond that. He thought about what kind of trauma could have caused his blindness, but stopped short before envisioning anything too rough. 

He wandered about the creature's previous life. His hide was already marred with scars and marks before he even arrived here.

Cole decided to do another thing, that again, could get him in trouble with the Master if he knew. He went to his bag, and drew out a syringe with a single dose of liquid measured out inside. He went over and found a good place to stick Dustin with it. The young dragon briefly massaged the medication into the creature's muscle. He gave him a little bit of morphine, it was the least he could do to try and ease the first night. Just from what he felt from the energy of the creature, he was racked with brutal pain and afflictions.  

Cole studied Dustin again, just to make sure he felt comfortable leaving him be to rest. Yes, the man had some size and muscle mass to him, but lean. He was looking malnourished. Like he had fallen onto hard times. The boy did remember that the Master said he was a drifter who wandered his way into their city. He had probably been living rough well before drifting in.

His ribs could be seen when he drew breaths and his hip bones stuck out just a little too far Cole thought. His master did note that the man's stomach was empty. So the older dragon probably noticed his body condition too. The boy hoped the Master would let him bring the poor creature some food the next time he was to check on him. He couldn't imagine living hungry for extended periods of time.

With sympathy, he ran his hand through Dustin's hair softly as a comforting gesture before leaving to report back to the Master.

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Note: Can I just say I love the little interactions between Dustin and Cole. Like, not going to lie. Dustin puts up a pretty damn good facade. He's also a man in his mid-late 20s who's more than capable of handling himself (when he's not being held captive.) But like, he is genuinely afraid of what this teenage kid could and would do to him. He's not very trusting in a normal circumstance. Definitely not trusting anything now.