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hopeamarsu · 3 years

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Of potions and myths - Chapter 3

William “Ironhead” Miller x f!reader

Word count 3,1k

Warnings: There is a visit to the police station and the officer isn’t the most accommodation but no words are changed. Other than that, I think none

A/N: I realize not a lot happens here, but I’m working my way to reveal more of this world, their connection and adding a dash of magical au in here somewhere.

Chapter 2 - Chapter 4

Will insists on driving you to the precinct first, to file the complaint about the man from the previous night before heading out to meet his pack. You almost want to protest, the need and itch to solve the riddle of the connection and the pull between you much larger, but one look into his eyes tells you he will not budge. So with a sigh and a kiss, you untangle yourself from his embrace and slip into your bedroom to dress for the day.

When you come back to the kitchen, Will has already cleaned up your cups and your coffee maker and he takes your hand as you walk outside. The air is warmer now, the morning chill defeated as you step to the curb and back into his truck. The brush against your seatbelt seems almost unconscious as the blond man starts the truck and navigates into the morning traffic.

The drive is accompanied by shy glances and soft smiles and you speak of unimportant things, getting to know one another. Favorite bands, random titbits about food and restaurants you’ve recently tried, stuff that on the surface level seems shallow but reveal a lot of each of you as you trade questions and stories. As he pulls up behind the police station, Will almost takes your hand into his, remembering the tendrils at the last moment. It might not be best to flaunt them around until you get a better understanding, he thinks, so he guides you inside with his hand hovering beside your elbow.

You don’t notice it, but as soon as you step in, the man scans the exits and weak spots within the lobby and moves his body to best cover you as you walk to the counter. As you tell the officer manning the desk you want to report a crime, he cages you between him and the counter, one hand on your back and the other leaning over the wooden desk. Will might look relaxed and his posture easy, but he is anything but. The thrum in his chest has changed its tone and he can feel the wolf pace around as it tracks for any potential threats.

The report is thankfully done quickly, smoothed over by Will’s convenient flip of his wallet and credentials when the officer looks up and down at you with disinterest as you explain your issue. You wrinkle your nose in annoyance when he does it, but let it pass as it gets the officer moving, pulling up documents for you to fill. Your information is jotted down, the account of the date and parties involved and you give a description of the potion (corroborated by Will) and as soon as your signature dries on the paper, the Captain whisks you outside.

“That was fast,” He comments as he guides you back to his truck, his hand radiating heat over your body. There is a non-committal hum from your pursed lips. You do not elaborate it further, but he catches the tone of it anyway. “Sweetheart, what is it?” Will grips your hand, forcing you to stop before you can step inside the car. He gently turns you around so you are face to face again.

His blue eyes are darker again, though not in arousal. There’s worry, apprehension and something else swimming in the depths and your heart squeezes a little as you catalogue them. Hesitantly Will lets go of your arm and the spot feels cold immediately. From the corner of your eye, you see the tendrils disappear from where he touched you. “Did I do something wrong there?”

You are quick to shake your head. “No, no! Absolutely not. It’s just… You know I was hesitant to do this in the first place and it’s because I knew this was going to happen. They would not believe me until you showed your credentials from Delta and it annoys me. Not you, the idea that just because I’m a mundane, I’m not to be believed. Like I don’t know a potion when I smell one. Just because I don’t have a neat little ID card that states I’m born into it, but have had to work my way through research to understand the intricacies. Might as well call me hysterical, you know?”

Will tugs you in immediately, strong arms wrapping around to envelop you in a hug. Hands run up and down your body as he curses under his breath. He should’ve known not to hijack the situation, he should’ve let you handle this particular battle but he didn’t. The need to make it all go away fast got away from him. Something fierce bleeds through from his mind to yours and you gasp involuntary as it shatters your shields. The power of it knocks the wind out of you and your knees buckle.

“Shit!” The curse is louder this time and Will reaches out behind you to open the door to the truck and he helps you sit down. “What happened, sweetheart?” His hands run across your face, your temple and your shoulders, worry etched into his features. But it's a different type of worry now, not like before when he was worried about what had happened in the precinct. This worry comes from somewhere deeper inside him, something more primal, and it rattles you as it bounces against your feeble shields, breaking them down further.

“I’m okay, I’m… alright. I promise,” you whisper, your voice hoarse as you gasp for air. “I can just, I can just feel your emotions. And they are loud and powerful.” Will curses again and all of the emotions vanish in a flash as his own shields slam shut. You take a shuddering breath, lifting your eyes to look at him. His eyes flash between beautiful blue and intense red as he tries to get himself under control.

“We need to go and see the elders now. If you can feel my emotions and they affect you like this, it’s not…” Will struggles for words, trying to piece it all together as he helps you get more settled on the seat. A water bottle is pushed into your hands and he urges you to sip from it. “This connection we feel, it’s growing and changing, becoming more powerful.” He finally finishes, scratching the back of his neck.

You nod weakly but remain silent, trying to gather your bearings as you grip the bottle tight. He holds your gaze, finding something that eases his worries, and Will jumps behind the wheel. He easily navigates out of the inner city, his hand brushing periodically at yours on the seat between you as he zig-zags the streets until the truck is on the freeway and he can grasp it in his palm.

You have a million questions running in your mind, trying to make some sort of mental list to ask the elders while building up the shields once more. You feel nervous, untethered and all over the place, wishing you had a better grip at your emotions. The analytical side of your brain is excited for the oncoming flood of information but the rest of you is scared you’ll be turned away once you reach his pack.

As you feel your shields slowly settle and become a little stable again, you send out a small prayer to whomever is listening that even if you are turned away, Will’s pack won’t turn on him. It’s been less than 24 hours of knowing him but you don’t want to see him hurt, ever. The gnarly feeling twists your gut and you think for a second to ask him to stop and leave you by the side of the road. The second the thought hits, another follows that tells you that he would never agree to it. It calms you a little and you twist on your seat to fully look at him.

He truly looks gorgeous, you muse. His large frame looks at home behind the wheel, the grey Henley accentuating his muscles tantalizingly. As your eyes drift lower, you take in the comfortable-looking jeans hiding powerful thighs and the black watch on his hand before you focus on his tattoos, wanting to trace them closely and learn all their secrets. All of his secrets really and make them yours too. It’s a sobering thought that you will guard whatever secret he lets you in on with your life if needed.

“We’re almost there. Just a few minutes more.” Will turns to look at you, eyes flashing red again and this time you latch onto it. You remember it happening previously at the precinct and yesterday at the pub. “Will, your eyes…”

“My inner wolf, he knows we’re close to the pack and wants out.” He offers while turning the truck from asphalt to gravel as he guides it towards a parking place, filled with trucks and bikes and cars of all sizes. He kills the engine and takes both of your hands to his. “I promise I’ll explain them in better detail later, but I need to warn…”

Will doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence before the front door of his truck is wretched open and something large crowds it.

“William Arthur Miller! Where the fuck have you been? You better explain yourself!” A male voice booms and you can only watch as the man is dragged out of the seat by his shirt and a smaller, leaner version of him embraces him tightly. Two other men appear in front of the truck as well, moving closer to the couple and soon you watch all four men embracing together.

Carefully you step out of the truck too, leaning against it as you witness the men that are oblivious to the world for that moment. It’s endearing, the love that they have for one another, so clear in the gentle touches and noses burrowing into each other's skin to confirm that they are really all here.

It takes some time for the group hug to disperse, allowing you to study the minute movements and shifts and build up your own strength for what’s to come. But once they do separate, suddenly three pairs of eyes look at you curiously. You see two sets flash yellow and one bright electric blue as the men study you, but the colors are quickly hidden when they realize you are not a wolf yourself.

“Will, who is this?” The same voice speaks up again, the man looking at you with doubt in his eyes. The electric blue flashes in and out of his eyes and you wonder what it means and curse yourself for focusing more on other things than wolves. You can feel tension rise in the air as the men close ranks, form a sort of a wall in front of you and the truck, blocking all exits.

“Sweetheart, I would like you to meet my brothers. Ben,” Will feels the tension too and shifts to stand next to you and points at the man who has spoken. Ben’s eyebrows rise at the term of endearment but he only tips his head in acknowledgement as the man beside him nudges his ribs. “Frankie,” He nods towards the man next to Ben who is wearing a baseball cap and a grey T-shirt. Next to him, a shorter man with inquisitive eyes and salt-and-pepper curly hair steps forward and holds out his hand.

“Santiago, but you may call me Pope. And you are?” You grasp his hand, the firm and dry handshake, something you expect from a man who holds himself like a soldier. You introduce yourself, nodding to Ben and Frankie before dropping Pope’s hand. Will’s large hand comes to rest at the curve of your hip.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call or text last night, but something came up.” Will looks down at you, softness creeping up his features as he speaks. You answer him with a tiny smile and he squeezes your hip.

Ben is about to open his mouth, maybe to throw a joke or a barb but a quick grip of his wrist from Frankie stops him. He flashes his eyes at the younger man who snaps his mouth shut immediately. Santiago takes one look at the closeness between your and Will’s bodies and he nods, his eyes flashing yellow as he narrows them before adopting a neutral look quickly.

“Understandable. Maybe we could take this into a more calm place and we can talk?” It’s phrased as a question but you feel like it's more a command as the others all nod quickly and begin walking along the path leading away from the parking lot. Will guides you in front of him, taking up position right behind you and not letting his hand fall.

Up the path, you see several houses, most of them built so that the backyard leads into the forest surrounding you. After a few minutes of walking, you stop and turn to face one of the houses. It’s beautiful, full of warm wood tones and a beautiful garden. “Santi’s wife works as our healer, hence the full yard. There’s more in the back,” Will whispers in your ear, chuckling low at your interested look. “I’ll introduce you later, I think you and Yovanna would get along well.”

The inside of the house smells of herbs, cooking and love and it feels so homey that it makes your chest ache. You wish to soak all the scents and feelings deep into your bones, bask in the glow and allow it to centre you. This feels like everything you’ve ever wanted and you never want to leave the foyer, but that is not in the cards just yet. With a small tug Will guides you to the living room, gesturing you to sit down on the loveseat. Ben takes up the armchair and Frankie plops down on the couch, followed by Pope.

The energy in the room changes once more, becoming more charged as the men study you again. You brace yourself, upping your shields and unconsciously lean towards Will as you wait for someone to talk.

To your surprise, it’s Will. He speaks calmly, explaining what transpired in the pub and you see the men sit up straighter as they realize what could’ve happened had their brother not interfered. He then tells his brothers about the pull he felt as he took you home and how he was unable to leave the street, his need of protecting you outweighing everything. You watch Pope’s eyebrows raise in surprise as Will describes the warmth and the hunger he felt, still feels, as you are close.

Frankie rises up from his seat and mumbles something about making a call and you know that the elders will come here, soon. Your hands find Wills and you squeeze it between yours, drawing strength from your connection. As your skin touches his, the tendrils appear, dancing on your skins though they are more muted now and Ben gasps.

“Holy shit! What the fuck is that?!”

“That’s what we need to find out, Benny. All we know so far is that we are drawn to one another like magnets, these appear when we touch and as of this morning we can feel each other's emotions. They don’t affect me as much yet, but there is definitely potential for it to incapacitate.”

Pope remains silent, his eyes flitting between yours, your intertwined hands and Will. “What are you?” He questions finally, just as Frankie returns to the living room. Before you can answer, the man slaps Pope’s head. “You can’t go around just asking that, cabrón, you know that.”

“Well, this isn’t anything I’ve ever seen before. Either you are something very powerful and do this on purpose, or something nefarious is at play here,” Pope offers. Dark eyes study you, the tension in the room growing as seconds tick by. Your eyes move from his to Ben’s and to Frankie before you turn your head to look at Will. He gives you the tiniest of nods and you roll your shoulders before looking at Pope again.

“I was raised as a mundane, but I’ve been studying potions and spells for a long time. I work as a researcher at the museum's antique artefacts and extracts department. I know the basics but I promise you, any power that I possess is tiny compared to practising witches.”

You speak calmly, wanting to diffuse any malice before it takes root. You glance at Will again, your eyes betraying you as they are filled with worry and fear. He smiles reassuringly and cups the back of your neck, kissing you fast, unafraid.

It’s a possessive move as he devours your mouth, not caring an inch that his brothers are in the same room as you are. He pulls you in closer so that you are leaning towards his chest, hands on his pectorals and neck as he continues kissing you. You know the tendrils make another appearance as someone, maybe Frankie, gasps softly but you are lost to the kiss and in Will.

A cough finally separates you from one another but his large hand on your cheek doesn’t allow you to move far. “It’s going to be alright, I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you,” he murmurs to your lips before straightening himself to look at the other occupants of the room. There’s steel in his eyes, challenging any of his brothers to start anything, but none of them do. You watch intently as the men eye one another, the bond they share crackling in the room. Benny is the first to rip his gaze off, followed shortly by Frankie and Pope.

“Ironhead, we always have your back, you know that.” Frankie finally speaks in a calm tone as he takes the lead and diffuses the situation. “But .. You glow when you kiss. Literally glow in gold and silver. How is this happening?” He glances at Ben and Pope, both nodding in surprised agreement.

A knock on the door shuts up any explanation you want to give and all four men rise to their feet quickly. Following their example, you lift yourself up too and Will tucks you under his arm.

You can feel his emotions rush in his veins, mixing with yours but you are prepared this time and as they brush you, you embrace them and do not fight. You can feel your shields opening up minutely, the calming effect spreading through both of you as the connection sings in approval. You turn to face the door as Pope opens it.

The elders are here.

Of potions and myths taglist: @mylifeisactuallyamess @luxmundee @innerpaperexpertcloud

Everything taglist (I fully understand if you want to skip this one, please let me know and I’ll remove you!) @clydesducktape @wayward-rose @themuseic @miraclesabound @clydesfavoritegirl @a-true-janian-reply @10blurredsmoke10 @caillea @mariesackler

#william miller #will miller #will ironhead miller #will miller x f!reader #cw: mythical creatures #cw: werewolves #will miller fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #charlie hunnam fanfiction #my writing

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secretshinigami · 3 years

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Title: Zombie Note Author: @izaori For: @llawlietofficial Pairings/Characters: Light Yagami, Ryuk, L, Matsuda, mentions of other characters Rating/Warnings: Teen, nongraphic violence, potentially unsettling descriptions of zombies (the effects of death on the human body are interesting, right? Now make that corpse jiggle) Prompt: Light didn’t read the fine print on the death note and now everyone he killed using it has turned into a zombie Author’s notes: Interesting idea! I wanted to explore Japanese folklore in either the fanart you requested or fanfic but I quickly discovered that these ideas are popular because they are specifically western. That being said, I tried to incorporate a couple cultural things since Death Note is so Japanese culture heavy, and I figured it would make sense if something like a “zombie note” happened would have something related, too. Then I got wrapped up in the details… I hope you like reading. It’s much more than 750 words. Thanks for the fun idea! It was a great last prompt to go out on! I wanted to do the fanart but it just wasn’t coming out right. Bonus sketch at the bottom based on those requests, though. Mods feel free to ditch that if you want just the fanfic.

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There’s a saying that life doesn’t always go as planned. Light Yagami, top student in the country and owner of a death note, knows this very well. He’s quickly learned that sometimes death doesn’t go as planned, either.

With someone more average, less motivated, maybe even scared and cowardly, there could have been minimal damage. An incident or two at most, enough to be written off as something silly like someone eating bath salts. Unfortunately for Light, and for people around the world, the young man had written names of hundreds if not thousands of criminals in the span of a week, along with scheduling many more to die that he cannot reverse. Death cannot be erased.

News of the first revival popped up in Japan, of course. Light had tried to space out the deaths enough that authorities could keep up with the stream of dead bodies, but there was bound to be a build up at first as society gets adjusted to a new, less crime ridden world. In a morgue somewhere, apparently one of the first criminals he had killed as a test subject got up from the table. The previously dead man scared the undertaker out of his mind, reaching out for him, clearly wanting to take a bite–!

It really was a stroke of luck that the undertaker had already sewn the corpse’s mouth shut using wire. After getting a quick yet confused grasp on the situation, the undertaker took the nearby fire extinguisher and made the corpse still once more.

News got out fast across the world. Dead bodies coming back to life. Unfortunately, not many people were nearly as lucky as the undertaker. Those killed by the zombies were turned into zombies themselves so long as they were salvageable. The very smallest relief is that the zombies seemed to ignore small children.

Light paces around his room, death note on his desk, untouched. It was obvious to him from the first occurrence but even the news is broadcasting what everyone is thinking now. Kira has created zombies. Any of the praise he had previously is gone, replaced with fear and disgust. Only a select few loons are absurd enough to support someone turning criminals into zombies! A few minutes pass, and Ryuk laughs, breaking the tense silence.

“This is funny to you, Ryuk?” Light asks, tone sharp. He stops in his tracks, glare icy.

Ryuk stares at him, unblinking. Can a shinigami even blink? “Very,” Ryuk states, “since I thought you read all the rules.”

“None of the rules say anything about zombies!”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Light.” Ryuk floats over, snickering to himself, and flips open the death note. He points to a seemingly blank page on the back. Upon closer inspection, in a different more similarly colored ink, there is a rule that clearly states that humans written in the death note by another human that have died will come back as zombies after 72 hours from their time of death, provided their body is intact enough to be reanimated. Not only that, but a second rule states that these reanimated humans are able to do the same to other humans with the same restrictions.

Light can’t help but gawk at the hard to notice rules. He had been so careful to read over the rules before, but had missed this. Shameful trickery. Ryuk laughs again, watching the gears turn in Light’s head. These people are already dead, the death note can’t kill them again. Even if it could, they’d simply be zombies another time over.

Meanwhile, government officials that had already been pointing fingers about conspiracies on the deaths of criminals across the globe are now making much more serious accusations. This has now escalated from planned death to some kind of biowarfare, involving what is assumed to be a state of not actual death followed by this zombified state. There are arguments, with some people insisting that these are genuine zombies, not flukes. These people would be right.

L sits in solitude, listening through his computer to the chaos in Interpol. This Kira person, was this their intention all along? It’s not the feeling L had first gotten from them, but it had also only been a week since the Kira murders started. For all he knew, Kira could have planned this from the beginning. L feels rather confident that this was not, in fact, Kira’s goal, for if he was Kira and wanted to bring around the death of many people to become zombies, he wouldn’t have picked criminals. There would have been some overlap with criminals for sure, but just criminals? Not a chance.

Watari brings in L over the conference call, and L lays down the law. To prevent as much further tragedy as possible, no more reporting crime as much as possible. In fact, try to keep everything on paper. On the possibility that these aren’t genuine zombies, a cure for this zombified state should be researched. Furthermore, the finger pointing needs to stop. No country would have willingly inflicted this upon themselves along with the rest of the world. It goes on similarly with L heading to Japan.

Just how many criminals did Light already sentence to death? Pages upon pages, names and names, all over the world criminals continue to die. All over the world, corpses begin to reanimate. In more fortunate, more savvy places, people have already begun cremating all the corpses to circumvent the problem. It’s hard for a zombie to happen if it’s a pile of ash. Some places, however, are already under total lockdown. Mass zombie infestations turning people left and right.

Light pours over ideas, drilling Ryuk for answers, but Ryuk doesn’t give. He laughs, giving vague responses and going on about how interesting humans can be in a crisis. Light has had to completely halt his plans in cleansing the earth of criminals. By the sound of it, he won’t be able to continue his plans at all. The death note was just a farce, a false hope. Something designed to be dangled in front of his face like bait that he took like a starving fish.

“If I’m the one who created these zombies, shouldn’t I be able to control them? Since I’m able to control the actions of people before their death, to an extent.”

“No,” Ryuk laughs, “You can’t control a thing. This isn’t about you, Light. The power isn’t yours. You’re just using it.”

Of course. To a shinigami, to Ryuk, this is all just a funny game. Light feels burned by something he didn’t fully understand the scope of to begin with. It truly wasn’t his power, but he felt it was given to him with purpose. Bestowed upon him by some divine intervention because he is able to sway fate with a written name.

Zombies. Walking the streets, drudging, semi-intelligent despite being functionally brain dead. Varying degrees of rotted bodies. It’s funny and unfortunate, really, because one would think that a lockdown because of an actual zombie outbreak would mean people would stay inside as much as possible. That’s not the case.

“The government can’t take away my freedom!”

“The zombies are misunderstood!”

“There are no zombies!”

An actual zombie apocalypse could be in the works and there are people denying the existence of the zombies. Some people believe the zombies are real but straight up don’t care whatsoever. Then there are the people who think of the zombies in almost an animalistic sense, thinking that since they were once human they shouldn’t be killed again even though they are actively trying to eat at and therefore turn more humans.

It’s impressive. It makes Light want to double down and get rid of criminals more, give people a reason to think more clearly, but the more he tries to create that ideal world the more damage he’ll do.

L’s solution is simple, after an autopsy. Or vivisection, depending on how one would argue the inspection. The zombies are just animated corpses. It isn’t a disease. It isn’t a mass case of doctors and undertakers around the world collectively thinking all these bodies are corpses. Something impossibly otherworldly must be happening right here, right now. A force beyond their mortal comprehension is making these corpses come back.

“Kill them again,” L says bluntly, “Destroy them. If it’s a zombie, it’s already dead.”

“Ryuzaki, what about their families! Surely they wouldn’t want their loved ones being destroyed!” Somebody argues with L, of course. “What would you do if Watari became a zombie?!”

L puts a finger on his lip, dragging it down. His eyes go to the ceiling. “Unfortunately, I’d have to kill Watari. If the situation was reversed, he would need to do the same. Regardless, there is no saving them. The zombies exist only to destroy, so we must destroy them.”

Watari doesn’t respond, but what L said is true. He doesn’t want to think about it since he considers L to be his son, but if something were to happen that led L to become a zombie, he would want to be the one to put L down. He’d be much more upset if someone else did it.

Gun shots. Bats. Sledgehammers. People running over zombies with their cars. Some people have taken this as an excuse to let out their violent urges. Light sees this on the news and feels his blood boil. Something he wanted to prevent, senseless violence, has sprung up even more because of this damned note. Telling Ryuk to take it back is pointless. The damage is done. What would happen, though, if Light held onto it without using it? Would Ryuk kill him?

Light glares at the shinigami. “You said I was the first human you’ve seen write this many names so fast. That implies other humans have had a death note. Wouldn’t somebody have noticed a zombie before?”

“Who knows?” Ryuk floats over to the window, looking out at the abnormally empty street. “Maybe it’s been forgotten.”

There’s nothing Light can do to reverse the chaos, nothing he can do to end it. Fine, then. The worst have the worst have already been written, many other well-known and otherwise publicly known criminals have already been written. More zombies are bound to appear, but this is it. On a regular piece of notebook paper, Light writes himself a note explaining the situation, knowing he won’t necessarily believe it when he reads it.

“The death note is worthless to me now. If this is its purpose, I don’t want it. Take it back!”

“I’ve had a lot more fun than I expected already.” Ryuk laughs, grabbing the death note away from Light. “Too bad. I wanted to eat more of your apples. They’re so… juicy.”

“Leave already.”

Having excellent marksmanship, Matsuda is part of the force assigned to patrol. It’s not his favorite thing in the world, in fact, he’s a little scared of the zombies. Too bad for him his skills are simply too much to pass up on in a time like this. He’s got not just one, but two guns locked and loaded, ready to go. It’s unusual for him to have even one on him most of the time, but the circumstances are grim.

Think on the bright side, Matsuda. According to sources around the world, the only new zombies popping up are ones being turned by already existing zombies, which are dwindling. He’s already taken down a couple. It’s unnerving. Most of them look almost like they could be okay if they put on a little weight, got a little color. Initially, Matsuda was surprised that rigor mortis let them move at all, but was quickly informed by an irritated Aizawa that at most rigor mortis lasts up to 84 hours. Then Matsuda felt grossed out by the idea that the zombies might be overly squishy. That idea was quickly stamped out, as the zombies are probably not squishy at all due to dehydration. Would they even really have blood? Probably, right? The one he shot had some blood.

What disturbed Matsuda even more was that when he went to check the body, taking hold of the hand, the skin came clean off like a glove. Admittedly, it made him sick. None of the sighted zombies have looked particularly bloated, though, which is a positive for him. Matsuda wasn’t sure what he would do if they smelled any worse than this.

Smelled. Can they smell? Matsuda was lost in thought, wondering how the zombies managed to find their way around, when he was interrupted by his earpiece.

“Focus, Matsuda.”

“Sorry, Ryuzaki!”

He taps something on a device that lets a cleanup team know the location of the zombie before moving along, wondering again about a zombie’s senses. Depending on how they died, their eyes might be all dried up, so surely, they couldn’t rely on vision. Maybe hearing is the way to go unless they died already deaf. Then Matsuda remembered that these zombies aren’t actually a result of an ailment. Not the original ones at least. The ones turned after the fact were declared uncurable as well, and Matsuda had his doubts, but the human body can only take so much decay before it’s irreversible.

Another shot rings out. Matsuda means business.

Light sits at the dinner table with his family, discussing the zombie topic. Light now has no memories of ever having owned or used the death note, and his brain has filled in the gaps for him. His dad insists that they all continue to remain in lockdown, that he can make the runs himself if they absolutely need anything from the market. Light encourages his dad and offers assistance. Why wouldn’t he?

Sayu and Sahicko have a brief argument that ends with Soichiro telling Sayu to respect her mother. Light smiles. For some reason, he was beginning to miss this.

By the time the zombies are cleared up, L is unsatisfied. He was never able to pinpoint who or what exactly caused this out break. Many people try to tell him it was a freak accident, but he knows better. Even if it was an accident, it was no accident. L wanted to know so badly who the face behind the operation was. He clenches his fist and bangs it on the table.

“Kira…” Yes, whoever Kira was, if they’re still out there, might have been killed by their own creation. What a twist of fate. L decides for his own sanity that Kira is still alive, but he doesn’t press the subject. How could he? Kira is seemingly no longer active, and the zombie situation has been solved. If something like this ever happens again, L will be ready to track down and find Kira.

#fanfiction #death note #submission #light yagami #l lawliet #touta matsuda #ryuk #shinigami #ratings: teen #izaori #llawlietofficial #Near's Bday Finale 2k21

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skellebonez · 3 years

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Smoke, Flasks, and Unfinished Tasks: Chapter 6

AO3 Link!

Chapter 1 Link!, Chapter 2 Link!, Chapter 3 Link!, Chapter 4 Link!, Chapter 5 Link!

Summary: Revelations. History. Collision.

Warnings: Descriptions canonical violence in Journey To The West, smoking and drug use on others.

Author’s note: So... this was supposed to be up on Saturday last week... I thought I had posted it, but due to issues offline I had completely forgotten. But I went over this chapter, edited it, and moved some things from it into the next chapter for a better flow and therefore it is a smidgen short! (No special spoilers here.)

Chapter 6: Knew you weren’t human but who’d guess?

“Jin! Jin, what’s happening!?” MK yelled, watching as the Gold Demon in the form of his mentor fell to his knees and screamed. His entire form glitched and rippled as the world around them shook and shook and shook so hard that they could barely keep on their feet. The world rippled around them, wisps of pieces of the ground and building glitching in front and between them blocking their vision. “JIN!”

The demon didn’t reply, the longer he screamed the more none of the trio was even certain that he could, curling into himself and bending at the waist so much that his forehead dug into the ground beneath him. And suddenly the shaking was gone while the pained screaming remained.

“What is happening!?” Mei whirled around in the hopes of seeing anything that could give them a hint as to what was happening. “W-what the hell?”

No one was reacting. Every single fake person in the Calabash city just kept on going about their day as if the visage of the Monkey King doubled over and screaming in agony wasn’t in front of them at all.

“Oh please,” a voice rang out from all around them. “Did you think I wouldn’t catch on? No cheating allowed in my little game you four.”

The trio looked at each other with wide eyes. They didn’t recognize this voice at all. It was feminine, that was much was certain, smooth and calm like nothing was happening at all and it was spoken as if through the opening to a vast cave that made it vibrate the very air surrounding them.

“What did you do to Jin!?” MK yelled back, kneeling down to put a hand on his back. Jin’s screams had begun to die down and now he was shaking violently, though whether it was because whatever had caused him to start screaming had stopped or if it was because he physically could not anymore.

“Just a little incentive for him to cooperate while I do a little something something,” the voice rang out again, a high pitched and haughty chuckle following soon after. “It’s amazing what these two little buffoons have managed to create while being sooooo bad at figuring out how to actually use it. Almost as clever as growing little kits.”

“Kits?” Red Son muttered, looking to the sky and narrowing his gaze.

“Shit...” Jin suddenly groaned out, not getting up from his place on the ground. “What did you do to me?” He tried to turn his head but didn’t seem to have the energy to do so and the sight of this happening with Sun Wukong’s face made MK feel sick to his stomach.

“Incentive, I said,” The voice sounded exasperated now, a low drawn out groan sounding out. “You should be very familiar with it by now, though this batch is more of the paralyzing variety than the sleeping one so maybe it should be expected for you to not realize what I had blown into your secret little calabash.”

Vapor. The voice was most definitely Vapor, or whoever was hiding behind that moniker. The realization they had had been caught before their plan to escape could even really start sent ice cold shudders down all of their spines.

“How did you even k-”

“You thought I actually left?” Vapor cut Mei off with a tut, and suddenly the world started shaking violently for a few seconds before calming down. “I wouldn’t be dumb enough to turn my back on these two for a second, they may not be the best plotters but they’re not dumb. No no no, I knew they had a little something up their sleeve. That’s why I pretended to leave. Muuuuuuch easier to deal with one of them than both of them, less costly in supplies as well.”

“What did you do to my brother!?” Jin screeched, just barely managing to push himself to his feet with a snarl that dissipated instantly. “Wh-what... did you do to me?”

“You like it?” Vapor giggled this time, still high and haughty. “Why wear the face of Sun Wukong remotely when you can just be him instead? Much easier to keep track of you when you’re all in one place...” The sound of a crunch could be heard, ringing in all their ears as Jin’s face dropped in horror at the realization that it had been the calabash he was originally in. And no longer in. “As for your brother he is taking a much needed nap. He’s veeeery comfy I can assure you, very safe. Safer than you will be.”

“You let us out of here right now you damned fox!” Jin yelled, finding his anger just in time for a whooshing sound and smoke to start billowing from the sky and to surround them. “Aw shit, no! No, cover your mouths!”

The warning came far too let, the smoke seeping into their mouths and eyes before the trio could even attempt to cover them. They coughed and gagged on the sickly sweet and bitter taste on their tongues, eyes burning and tears failing to relieve them.

“F-fox?” Red Son coughed out, trying his best to remain standing and failing miserably as he joined the others in the ground in only a few seconds. “It’s n-not possible, you’re-!”

“Dead?” Vapor’s voice rang out again as a form glitched in front of them, a patchwork tapestry of people before eventually forming a whole person who’s face lit up as Red’s fell into one of horror and recognition. “Awww, you do know me! I was afraid your father had never kept any of my portraits.”

She stepped forward, tall and regal and draped in rich silken robes of old fashion. Hair half up with intricate pins and a jade comb, the tell tale giveaways of a fox spirit showing in her long tail and large ears.

Princess Jade Face knelt down, smile softening even though no kindness shown through it as she cupped Red Son’s face in her hands. “Oh my dear little kit, I am terribly sorry you had to meet your step-mother like this.”

----------

Thunder and lighting surrounded them, electricity and bangs that could shake the ground itself the backdrop to their battle. Princess Jade Face gritted her teeth, growling low in her throat. If she knew this is what would become of her after moving from being the demon Bull King’s concubine to his second wife she would have never taken the chance.

“This altitude ain’t the only thing I got over you!” That damned pig, Zhu Bajie, yelled from the rocky alcove above her with a wickedly proud smirk. He swung his rake, mythical energies emanating from it in a clear warning to stay away. She couldn’t afford to listen to that warning, not if she wanted to keep her position. She’d worked so hard to gain the bull’s favor and she wouldn’t just give it up now.

“Big words traveler, but can you back them up?” Jade Face snarled, allowing her fangs and claws to morph in. Damn this pig for forcing her to reveal herself. Damn that monkey for demanding the fan. Damn the monk, the fish, the dragon-horse! Damn them all!

“Oh I can back them up and than some, show me what you got!” With a yell the pig leapt off the rocks.

“Gladly, your journey ends here with me!” She leapt forward in turn, allowing her herself to fully become her fox-woman form. She grabbed the rake before it made contact with her skull, swinging it and it’s owner to the other side of the field.

“Knew you weren’t human but who’d guess?” The pig sneered, swinging the rake again to show off. “A fox spirit all along. Doesn’t matter what you are though, this rake will rend your soul regardless!”

Oh, rend her soul would it? Not without a fight! Jade Face dropped to all fours, running around Zhu Bajie and cartwheeling once behind him to catch him off guard and kick his legs out from under him.

She lengthened her claws, swinging down to gore at his throat before the blunt end of the rake slammed into her stomach and sent her flying with no air left in her lungs. Barely landing on her feet she just managed to catch the pig lunging at her with nine teeth aimed right at her face, falling back just in time to be missed. She rolled, kicking him in the stomach in retribution and grabbed one of his ears to bite at his neck.

That’s when she felt all nine of those barely missed teeth sink into her back.

She froze, jolting only when they were pulled out and the pig moved to let her fall face down into the dirt.

“Gotta admit,” she heard him say distantly, growing further and further away. He was leaving, no doubt to return to his master and companions. “You ain’t half bad. No match for me, but still not half bad. Maybe if I ever end up in the underworld we could have a rematch.”

Rematch. Rematch, that word spun around in her head as she laid in the dirt. Warm blood seeping from her wounds and painting her back in a deep red. A rematch.

‘He will get much more than a rematch some day,’ Jade Face thought to herself as she finally moved once she was sure he had left, crawling through the field to hide away and lick her wounds. ‘He’ll learn not to leave things unfinished.’

----------

Princess Jade Face leaned back in her chair, hands typing wildly at the keyboard in front of her as she turned the memory over in her head. She watched the chaos unfold on the screens before her, a smile forming on her lips as she finally turned away to empty her smoking pipe to fill it with another concoction of her own making.

Yes. Zhu Bajie would learn not to leave things unfinished.

Zhu Bajie would learn the hard way.

She was sorry for getting Red Son involved, but her husband... well. Not him.

#the whole time i wrote her I was thinking of cindy robinson's voice #and I have no idea why #queen beryl maybe?#monkie kid #lego monkie kid #fanfic #sfaut #smoke flasks and unfinished tasks #mk #Qi Xiaotian #mei #Long Xiaojiao #red son #traffic light trio #jin #villain shall remain unspoiled

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shishinoya · 4 years

Text

the mistake of loving you || k.t

— PAIRING || Kageyama Tobio X Reader — TYPE || Story [Cheese Cult Hanahaki Event] — WARNING || Pure Angst — WORD COUNT || 3.2k words — AUTHOR’S NOTE || aucbaosn so i basically took 5 days to write this and it’s one of my chonkiest fics i’ve written. ;;;; i wanna thank @cupofkenma, @kawanisshi, and @haikkeiji for beta reading my 5am writing <33 i love you all aiscbasnc

i also didnt mention the flower that kags was coughing up and it’s the [Delphinium grandiflorum] flower or “Summer Blues” || they are used as symbols of hope and tranquility and i used them because they show the hope kags has for the reader, the hope that they will return his love

“Love is such a beautiful feeling!”

“Oh, you haven’t lived yet if you’ve never fallen in love.”

“I can’t wait to fall in love.”

Love? Love sounded so unfamiliar, so distant. Like a foreign country, Kageyama understood their way of living, he knew the name, he recognized the language, but he never fully experienced the culture. The descriptions that frolicked and slipped their way from the mouths of peers, were overlooked and watered out. He could care less about something that others dreamed of - his own blinding the ability to sympathize with them. Love just seemed like a bundle of letters, strung together and people used it to label an emotion. He had no use for the sentiment; it was a waste of his energy. His effort. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. He pushed it aside. He couldn’t strap onto the idea of love.

If love was something that everyone craved for, why isn’t everyone in love? Why did some chase after it as if it held jewels and the answers to every question in the world, while others loathed the sight of it. Kageyama kicked a pebble on the side of the road as he thought about the concept once again. He detested its mention but when virtually everyone talked about how thrilling it was, it was hard to stay indifferent. Gazing at the lush green hills, he nibbled on the plastic straw that was already brutally bitten. The lukewarm liquid trickled down his throat as he carried out his trek. He didn’t have a plan, nor a specific place to go, but he was going. He basked in the rays of the sun, occasionally placing a hand on the heated brick wall that stood tall and shielded him from the gusts of wind. He should be practicing, not wondering about a useless emotion. But the mind simply doesn’t work like that.

Turning a corner, he clicked his tongue when he realized he ran out of milk and only air was exiting the straw. A scowl drew itself on his already frowning face. With a grumble and brows furrowed, he threw away the box, only to shove his hands into his pockets. The sun was out but it wasn’t shining in Kageyama’s world.

His walk skidded to a stop when a bold colour struck his eye. Strange. He glanced further, head tilted with curiosity. His eyes raked over the golden petals, the rich green stem. The honey-toned flower was only one of the many different colours painting his vision. Plants of various sizes, height, hues, were all beautifully decorated behind the white picket fence. He loomed over the edge, trying to get a closer view of the scene. How funny that a simple plant, that had no voice nor opinions, was able to entice him into noticing its beauty. His eyes darted from one to the next, quickly analyzing each flower, but then he caught onto something more than a plant, more than just velvet leaves. Something that made his breath hitch and shook his body. Something that stilled his quick eyes.

You should have seen the way he stared at you; as if you were something so unreal, something he’d never even imagined. He could watch all day at the way your hair danced to the tune of the wind. He gaped as your skin glistened at the touch of the sun. Everything about you was breathtaking. From the way you pushed loose strands away from your face, damp from the long hours under the heat, to how you poured the watering can, with grace and care. His throat became dry. He hadn’t realized that he was holding his breath until he felt a throb in his chest. Was it his lungs or was it his heart?

“Are you going to keep standing there? The plants kinda need the sunlight.” He sighed at the sound of your voice. It was silvery, clear and light; soothing his ears like aloe over a wound. He replayed the tone in his mind like his favourite song, only processing the words after memorizing the colour of your voice. He flinched. His head shook, rattling his mind to think of anything but how he thought your voice was enchanting.

“U-uh…” He stuttered, teeth clashing with his tongue. No matter how many nervous swallows he did, it was not enough to quench his desert-like mouth. Heat rose to his face, colouring it like the blush of autumn leaves.

The words fought their way from his throat, tumbling over each other, all wanting to let themselves be known by you. They lumped in his throat as he panicked to find the correct things to say. Compliments, excuses, apologies, even a simple greeting would do, so why wasn’t anything flowing?

“Hello?”

“Erm. H-hi.”

“Ah, so you do talk.” Although it was teasing, Kageyama noticed you didn’t smile. He couldn’t believe you were so close; he couldn’t believe you were talking to him. Your beauty captivated him, held his eyes in a vice and hushed any thoughts. Mesmerizing.

But your eyes. They showed something different, something that contradicted your appearance. Compared to the glow you illuminated, your eyes were dull. Drained of colour. Tired. The dark circles under your eyes only added to the fact that you had restless nights.

“Well if you’re going to continue to stand there, you might as well help me carry those pots.” You pointed towards a stack of new caramel coloured pots. He should have followed your hand, but he was more interested in your movements. So graceful and perfect that it seemed like you practiced that one movement over and over. “I could do it myself but after five hours of pulling out weeds, my arms are a bit ti - are you even listening to me?”

“Yes!” He jolted when your eyes met his ocean-like ones. “I-I mean, yes. Of course. Why wouldn’t I be listening to you? You’re speaking, right? So, the right thing to do is listen.” He was repeating himself. You simply nodded without batting him an eyelash. He was making a fool of himself. “I - uh, I would love to help you out, but I got to - um, you know - uh, feed… feed my pet orange…” His voice trailed off at the last syllable. He called Hinata dumbass a lot, but maybe he was the dumbass. Without waiting for your response, he took off. Tripping over his feet and wiping his baffling sweaty hands over his track pants, he didn’t spare you a glance. His ears felt hot. Was the sun shining too hard now? It was causing his face to heat up. Was it you? Did you do this? He didn’t even touch you. How did you have the power to make him feel like this?

You quizzically watched him jog - no, stumble his way down the road.

Odd.

Why didn’t he agree to help you? You could have sworn he was captivated.

You found the male interesting. He was able to find a spot in a small corner of your mind and called it his own. You questioned it. You’ve never had a proper conversation; you don’t even know his name, and yet, you wondered about him. You lightly shook your head, mentally pulling the weed that invaded your brain. A weed that might wither in your grasp.

He shouldn’t be there. You shouldn’t be thinking about him. He shouldn’t get involved with you.

But he was persistent.

Kageyama was confused. He would always look at the path he took that day; the day where he thought his eyes had been blessed. The images of the flowers would waltz their way into his head at random times. How rich they were; how bold and vibrant. It was as if he was introduced to colours for the first time all over again. The memories played like a film while he was washing dishes, going on a jog, when he was doing literally anything. The scenes of plants slow dancing, the beaming sun, you, assaulted his poor mind.

Just the thought of your hair falling slighting and framing your face, caused him to blush. He remembered how clear your skin was, practically glittering, similar to the glistening of the sun over ocean waves. Those lips. Those plump soft lips that he imagined touching, wondered how they would feel like, sound like, taste like; he wanted to experience them. Such erotic thoughts. How could he think of that when he hadn’t talked to you? He didn’t know why you were all he could think of. He didn’t understand the way you made him feel. Unknowingly, he was slowly falling into your hands.

It all happened so quickly, so subtly. He questioned why he was teased for his distant stares or his beet-red face. He didn’t quite believe that what he was experiencing was called “love”. This was nothing to what people described it as. He didn’t expect to be constantly thinking about you, to get nervous every time your image popped in his head. No one told him his chest would feel heavy. No one told him it would be painful.

A scratch tickled his throat. He tried quietly clearing it.

The scratch turned into claws. He tried silencing them with a cough.

His throat felt like it was being pierced. Dry wheezes escaped his mouth.

He coughed and coughed, each one using more force than the previous. He coughed till he gagged, wincing at the feeling. He steadied himself, knuckles white from the strength he was gripping the edge of the sink. Panting, he stared at himself in the mirror. Pale and large beads of sweat dripping down the side of his head. Another wave washed over him and his body shook.

He coughed, gagged, vomited. Repeated. A cycle that lasted until blood tainted his teeth and dribbled from the corner of his mouth. He looked like a mess. He felt like a mess. He was a mess.

The pool of sky blue petals, sticky and stained from his saliva and blood, served as evidence. It was more than enough to tell him.

He made a mistake. The mistake of loving you.

The petals were the beginning, just the start of his blooming love for you. They clung to his throat, littered his tongue, flooded his lungs, made it impossible for him to breathe. He was confused, scared even. What were these? Why did they hurt so much?

He searched for answers. He browsed the internet until his eyes burned and watered. His fingers stung from the many paper cuts he acquired flipping through books. But gained nothing; just a mason jar overflowing with blood-stained petals.

He turned to you. Surely you had some answers; something, even if it was just the name of the flower. Anything. And so he visited you. Of course, his heart banged on drums that echoed and surged through his entire body, but he needed explanations. Maybe he wanted to see your face again, but he was masking that fact with his goal for answers. He needed it to keep him sane; to make sure he didn’t overheat.

He came back? The puddle of water that soaked your sandals and your gaping mouth made little effort in trying to hide your surprise. Blinking several times, you tried to think of a reason why he was here, why he would come back to you. Was he going to try again, going to try and capture your love? Was he going to fail? Crash and burn just like the rest of them?

“Hello again.” You played passively. “Are you finally taking up the offer to carry those pots-”

“I have a… a question.” His voice trembled, you wondered if he knew you could hear it. He swallowed. In his hand, he held tiny blue flowers. “What - uh… what are these?”

“You came all the way here to ask me that?” Furrowing your brows, you approached him, ultimately causing him to tense. You picked the petals from his hand, ignoring the way he flinched and the visible droplets of sweat layering his palm. “Have you tried the internet?”

“I couldn’t find anything.”

“Books?”

“No, nothing.”

“And so you thought the girl who has a garden could tell you.” He looked away.

“Yeah. Basically.”

“Well, I don’t.” His expression dropped. “But,” You tested the waters. Would it be alright? Would it be okay to suggest this one little thing? “Maybe if you come back tomorrow, I will have an answer.”

That hopeful look on his face made a strained smile appear. Hadn’t you had enough? Are you not satisfied with the number of people you’ve tormented? How many more did you want to fall for your tricks?

let him go. but he can save me. stop lying to yourself. i’m not! it’s true! you don’t deserve it. i can change. you’ve said it before and look what happened then.

Your mind and your heart played tug-o-war over your feelings for Kageyama. Although the guilt and fear bit at your legs, slit your skin, churned your stomach, you listened to your heart. You allowed him into your house. You allowed yourself to smile with him, to laugh at his jokes. You allowed him to drag you to new places, trying new restaurants and video game cafes. Your heart wanted you to be free, but your mind held you by your neck.

you let him die. i didn’t mean to! it wasn’t my fault. yes, it was. you knew his love, you knew how much he cared for you. he only cared for my looks. you know that’s not true. would you like me to remind you? no, please don’t. too late.

Your mind loved to see you suffer, to hear those sobs of agony. It loved the way you desperately tried to wipe the tears, only making the swelling worse. It showed you the first time he met you, to when he gave you that big bright smile of his. It showed you the way he looked at you as if you were the only girl in the world. It made you relive those memories - no, nightmares.

do you see his love now? … do you need another reminder? how about your next victim?

The throb of your temple could never compare to the slap you received that day. You could still feel the sting. You could still hear their cries and accusations.

“You killed her! It was you! It was all your fault! How could you let this happen? Why didn’t you notice her? She was such a sweet girl. She just wanted you to be happy and now she’s gone. She’s gone. Gone because you didn’t love her back.”

Your knees ached. Your heart wept. Your empty stomach bubbled.

i’m sorry. please... please just stop. you think sorry is going to bring them back? to fix this mess? laughable. you think that pitiful garden of yours is going to make up for their existence? you think caring for their flowers will make up for the care they had for you? what a joke.

You were a joke, something so foolish it was comical. No matter how much you convinced yourself you were caring, that you were giving back to those who lost their lives because of you, it wasn’t enough. And he was going to be another.

“What are you thinking about?” He whispered. The stars freckled themselves all over the midnight sky; one even winked at you. You hummed in response.

“Why I’m allowing myself to be with you like this.” He pretended it didn’t hurt. The familiar scraping hit the back of his throat. The flowers were getting worse. They were growing, getting larger. It was harder to cough them up. They drew more blood on their way up.

“So why do you?”

“I don’t know.” Your gaze fixating on the moon, its radiance illuminating your exhausted eyes. “You shouldn’t be around me.”

“But I am.”

“Then I shouldn’t be around you.”

“Why are you?”

“I don’t know.” You repeated with a sigh. “I don’t know a lot of things, but I do know that you’ll only get hurt when you’re with me.”

“Listen (Y/N),” he shifted his position, “No one forced me to hang out with you. I did it on my own so I think I know what’s good for me and what isn’t.” You didn’t meet his eyes.

“You know I can’t love you back.” His jaw clenched at the statement. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he searched your face for some regret or restrain.

“Am I - am I not enough for you?” He breathed out the question, afraid that it was coated too much with his fears.

“It’s not that.”

“Then why can’t I be the one? Why can’t you love me back?” It wasn’t like you didn’t have an answer, but it was more like you didn’t know how to answer.

The silence was interrupted by a fit of coughs. Kageyama was gasping. He dug his nails into the ground, not caring if mud and dirt made themselves home under them. He clenched his trachea, attempting to quell the needle-like pricks. One, three, seven flowers fell from his pale lips. He coughed until his head spun. Coughed until his arms gave out. It truly felt like he was dying while living.

“Kageyama?” You didn’t care that your indifference quickly snapped into concern. You patted his back and grabbed his shoulders. “Kageyama, are you okay?” The coughing didn’t stop; he couldn’t stop them. Several flowers littered the grass, enough to make multiple bouquets. Your grasp on his shuddering body tightened. His chest heaved. For once, you were looking into his eyes.

“They - they weren’t your fault. You couldn’t control your feelings.” So he knew. “Let yourself cave to your emotions. It wasn’t your fault.” He was too pale, growing colder. “You don’t need anyone’s approval to love. They wanted you to be happy. So go and be happy.” His voice croaked and cracked, the flowers clogging his vocal tube. His breaths were short. His lids were closing. He was dying.

“Kageyama?” You called, this time it was your voice’s turn to crack. “To-Tobio. Please. I won’t be able to handle it. Don’t go.”

“I wish I could be there for you. I wish it were me. But I just want you to be happy. Be happy even if I’m not the one making you happy.” He tried to smile. You didn’t know. Your vision was blurred.

He took one more glance at your face, still with that grin plastered on his face, before closing his eyes. You panicked, eyes wide and shaking his head.

“Kageyama?” You were alarmed.

“Don’t do this to me.” You were afraid.

“Come… Back.” You were devastated.

Your sobs turned into gasps. Your lungs felt like they were being squeezed and popped like a balloon. Your tears fell onto his still warm skin. A gulp of air was caught in your throat. It caught you off guard and you coughed. You coughed and choked. Was this how he felt? Was this how they felt? How painful. You couldn’t care less about how you sounded. You felt numb. The taste of salt and metal filled your mouth.

“What if,” It was quiet but audible, your throat too tired and bruised to be strong, “I loved you?” The single warm petal sat on the side of Kageyama’s cheek, taunting you and giggling at how foolish you were. it’s your turn it sneered.

cheesey bbs || @akaashichigo @drainedjaz @haikkeiji @annalyn-annalyn @mlkytobio @sosugasweet @cali-writes-sometimes @simping4ratsumu @ushiwakaa @from-left-to-write @akaashit-baeji @kxgeyamasmilk @agaassi @hanibuni @cupofkenma @kawanisshi @milkandc00kiez @thiccbokuto @shinsukestan @sufiawrites @wakaitoshi @skyguy-peach @fern-writes-ig @briswriting @kawaiikraykray @bubbleteaa @miyuswriting @raevaioli @ouikarwa @hakueishirei @pineapplekween @estherwritess @keiji-n @achoohq @badlywritten-hq @mochibeaa @oinkanna @chxrry-wxne @spudicide @airybby @asranomical @karmasuna @nekoglasses

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spencersstrawberryjello · 3 years

Text

Potential Lead (Chapter Two)

Chapter Two - You Might Be Right

Previous Chapter < - > Next Chapter

Summary: After a four am call with Spencer, Lex rushes into the local police station to help him out with the case.

Warnings: Descriptions of graphic violence!!, swearing, mentions of the Tobias Hankel case (season two), and brief mentions of psychotic breaks and mental instability

Word Count: 3433

A/N: Here’s a link to the crime scene diagram that I drew up! (CW: More descriptions of violence, as well as a visual depiction of a map of a crime scene - no actual blood or gore, just red pen and a house floor-plan). On the side I wrote out some further information on cause of death that wasn’t mentioned in the chapter.

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I planned to call Dr. Spencer Reid in the morning to get an update on the case. He said they were speaking with Brian, and I was far too invested in what that scumbag had to say for himself.

What I hadn’t planned for, though, was to receive a call from the very same Dr. Spencer Reid, around four in the morning.

“Lex? Are you up?”

“What the fuck - Dr. Reid? What time is it?”

“Like four or something, I don’t know; listen, I’m sorry to wake you, but I think you might be right.”

“As much as I love to hear that, I’m gonna need you to be more specific.”

“Right about Brian, about your sister, the murder, all of it. I think you might be right.”

“Well shit.” I was fully awake now, sitting up in my bed as I’m sure he paced in front of a whiteboard somewhere downtown.

“Can you come in? Like, to the police station.”

“Now? Dr. Reid, you are aware that it’s four in the morning?”

“Lex, please just call me Spencer. And I know, I know and I’m sorry, but you’re our best lead on this so far. You saw what your sister’s marriage did to the both of you, and you know what you’re talking about. Like I said, I think you’re right. But we need to prove it.”

“What does the rest of your team think about this?” As much as I was already dying to jump back into this mystery, I really didn’t want the wrath of the FBI on my ass.

“They’re at the hotel right now, I couldn’t sleep - I’ll explain everything to them in the morning, but right now I need your help.”

“Spencer… why is this so urgent? What aren’t you telling me?”

“We had to let Brian go.”

“What? That douchebag killed someone and you let him leave?”

“We didn’t have any cause to keep him in holding! We have to let people go after 24 hours -”

“I know how the criminal justice system works, Spencer. Do you think there’s a chance he’ll kill again?”

“I - there’s a chance. Based on some stuff we found at the crime scene -”

That was all I needed to hear. If there was a chance this asshole could kill someone else, I wasn’t going to go back to sleep. “Fucking hell - I’m on my way.”

As much as my exhausted body protested, I practically jumped out of bed, pulling on a t-shirt and some jean shorts before grabbing a jacket and gym shoes and heading out to my car. It was pitch black outside, the streets of Tallahassee surprisingly quiet for a Saturday night. The hot air hit me the second I left my building, and I internally groaned, speeding up my walk to my car so I could reach the safety of the air conditioning.

I sped out of the parking lot, air conditioning cranked despite the lack of sunlight outside. There was a little voice in the back of my head telling me that I should’ve spent more time on this outfit, or put on a bit of makeup, but I pushed it away, filling my head with thoughts of the case instead. Spencer wouldn’t care if I looked a little bedraggled.

Not that I cared what Spencer thought, of course.

The police station was about twenty minutes from my apartment complex, but I got there in fifteen, swinging into the parking lot and shutting off my car before making my way to the front door. I considered knocking, but I wasn’t sure who else was working this late. So I opted to text Spencer instead.

I still had his number from when he called me earlier, and I shot him a quick text to let him know I was here. No less than a minute later, he was at the front door, opening it up to allow me inside.

“Hey - I’m sorry about this, I really shouldn’t have called you so late. Honestly, if you want to go home, I’d understand; I don’t know what I was thinking, there’s no reason to make you -”

“Spencer. You didn’t ‘make me’ do anything. Trust me, if I didn’t want to help, I would’ve told you as much. I’m not one for secrets.”

He smiled a bit, and I offered him a reassuring one back. “Well, I’m still sorry,” He said, “But the case information is all in here. Follow me.”

He led me back through the main hallway that Penelope Garcia had walked me down yesterday, but instead of turning right at the fork to go to the interrogation rooms, he went left, leading me to a series of empty conference rooms. One of them had multiple large rolling whiteboards up against the farthest wall, most of which were covered in pictures and writing. That was the room that he walked towards, before he turned and blocked me from getting through the doorway.

“Ok. So, I know that you know your sister is dead. And I know you know she was most likely murdered by her husband. But… you haven’t seen the crime scene. You haven’t seen exactly why we were called in. We don’t just get called in for regular homicides. There has to be a specific behavioral element, something that would make the local police believe they’d have more luck solving the case if they had a profile on the killer.”

I knew a bit about criminal justice, and behavioral science, from a couple classes I took my senior year of college. But I didn’t know much about the BAU, and the dead serious look on Spencer’s face was making me uneasy.

“So what you’re saying is… this isn’t gonna be pretty.”

“In layman’s terms, yes, this isn’t gonna be pretty. So I want to make absolutely sure that you want to help, that you’re ok with seeing stuff like that. That you’re ok with seeing your sister like that.”

Yes, I fucking hated my sister. But I was still hesitant to enter that room. Spencer could tell, because he followed up with.

“If you’re not comfortable with that, if you’d rather not have those images in your head, you can go home right now and forget I ever called you in here. We’ll update you on the results of the case, and you don’t have to be involved. It’s up to you.”

I shook my head. As hesitant as I was, there was no way I could leave now. I was far too invested. “No, I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure? 100%?”

“Yes, Spencer. I’ll be ok.”

“Ok.” He nodded, turning around and heading into the room, making a beeline for the boards. I followed him, trying to figure out what could possibly be so bad that he would need to give me that kind of warning.

Now, I consider myself to be a pretty tough person. There wasn’t a lot that could phase me, I generally took a ‘go with the flow,’ nonchalant approach to life. But when I saw the crime scene pictures stuck to that board, I felt my face pale.

“Holy… fuck - you really think Brian is capable of this? I mean, he’s a dick, and I can fully believe he’s capable of murder, but… god -”

The pictures in front of me depicted a brutal scene… honestly, I’d never seen anything like it. They centered around one image: my sister, dead, on the kitchen floor. Her body was slumped up against the island, blood pooling around her. The other pictures also showed most of the blood spattered on the lower cabinets across from her body, but it was still pretty much everywhere around her. She appeared to have been stabbed multiple times, and yet, despite all the blood, there wasn’t a single fingerprint, footprint, hair - nothing that could point to the murderer. Nothing that I could see in the pictures, at least. I felt my heart start to pick up as I studied the scene, and I turned away, steadying my breathing and trying to fight back unexpected tears that pricked the corners of my eyes. When I glanced over at Spencer though, he wasn’t even looking at me. He was reading a file in front of him, responding to my question as he read.

“Well, I know that our prevailing theory is that he killed her in a fit of rage. But based on the overkill at the crime scene, I feel like something inside him might’ve snapped when he committed the murder.”

I regained control of my breathing enough to ask, “Like, a psychotic break?”

“Something like that, yeah. Which is why I’m so concerned. With this level of brutality, there’s a high probability that he’s already mentally devolving, and he could potentially go on to target other women who haven’t been able to follow through with their pregnancies.” He put the file down and finally turned to look at me, noticing my expression as I steadied myself on one of the conference table chairs.

“Lex, are you ok?”

“I’m fine. It’s just more gruesome than I expected it to be. I’ll be ok,” I insisted when his face fell, “It just caught me off guard.”

“I know, that’s why I warned you - are you sure you’re alright? Do you want… a hug? Or water, or something? I don’t know -”

I smiled a bit, my heart warming against my will at his concern. But my mind quickly dipped back into a territory that was a familiar distraction, and I smirked.

“As much as I’d love your hands on my body, I think I’ll have to take you up on that offer another time.”

He blushed, and I laughed, taking in a deep breath before returning my attention to the pictures on the board.

“Ok. So, what all do I need to know? Like, what’s going on here? Because from what I can tell, she was stabbed, and this guy - assuming it’s Brian, of course - fucking knows what he’s doing. No fingerprints, footprints, anything?”

“Nothing. The CSI team searched the entire house. The only noteworthy thing that we found were trace amounts of the victim - Sarah, sorry - her blood in the bathroom sink, in the bathroom across the hall from the kitchen. But there’s nothing at the crime scene that can directly connect the crime to anyone specific.”

“So how the hell are we going to prove it’s him?”

“Well, we always try to come into every case with no suspects in mind, so that it doesn’t impact our profile at all. Brian was the police’s prime suspect, he has been since the beginning - the husband almost always is, in these scenarios, unless they have a really good alibi - and I think he looks good for it now, but we didn’t know that when writing this.”

He handed me the file he’d been reading, open to a page that was a written account of their original profile.

“This is where I feel like you can help us most; I mean, you met Brian, didn’t you? Like, you attended their wedding, at the very least?”

“I met him a grand total of one time, at the wedding. I wasn’t in the wedding party, but I met him when I was talking to Sarah. He pretty much avoided me the whole time, which in retrospect, should’ve been a red flag, but I guess I didn’t really notice. When I did talk to him though, he was really rude. Like, he’d give me curt, one word answers, and then directly after disengaging from conversation with me, he’d turn around and start whispering to some of his buddies that were in the wedding party - the best man and all that shit - and gestured towards me. I still have no idea what he was saying, honestly.”

“Perfect - I mean, not perfect that he treated you like that, of course, that’s awful, and I’m sorry; I said ‘perfect’ because it means you can confirm that he matches up with the profile behaviorally. My mind kind of jumped ahead -”

“Spence, calm down. I understood what you meant.”

I felt a blush creep up the back of my neck at the accidental nickname, and I saw the same thing happen to him as we both came to an unspoken agreement to ignore it.

“Right. Ok. Um, anyway, would you mind reading over the profile and seeing if you think it sounds like a good description of him? Since you have the most experience with him outside of an interrogation room.”

I agreed, turning my direction to the profile I had in my hands.

The unsub is most likely male, and based on the overkill at the crime scene, most likely someone with a personal connection to the victim. Based on the disorganized nature of the kill, he is probably younger - late teens to early twenties - and has probably never killed before. However, there is a high probability that he is someone with deep rooted anger issues, and that may have caused him some problems in his life before this. He may have a history of issues at work or school from lashing out over small frustrations, and it’s most likely gotten him in trouble throughout his lifetime. Sarah was small, so it wouldn’t be hard to overpower her, but based on the blood spatter patterns, we do know that the unsub is right-handed, and slightly taller than the victim.

I skimmed the rest of the paper - which just contained concluding notes and instructions for local police - before looking back up at Spencer, who was staring at me as I read.

“It definitely sounds like him. I mean, based on what I know about him at least. Like I said, he generally avoided me - though there was this one time when they first started dating, before Sarah cut me off entirely,” The memory came rushing back to me, and I was shocked I hadn’t thought of it sooner, “I had already gone to my room for the night when I heard her return from a date with him. She was crying. I was going to go ask her what was wrong, but my mom beat me to it, seeing as both of my parents were in the living room watching TV when she got back. I heard her telling them that her and Brian had gotten into an argument. I can’t remember what they were arguing about, but the gist of it was that it was something completely ridiculous. And yet, she was crying like he had really hurt her. My parents were consoling her, so I just went back to bed, but honestly it sounds like he could’ve been aggressive, and that’s why she was so upset - I don’t know anything for sure, I only know what I overheard. But it would make sense.”

“But you’re immediately making assumptions to make him fit the profile; that’s exactly why we don’t go into cases with any suspects in mind. It’s an interesting conversation, and I’m happy you remembered it, but we can’t assume he was being aggressive just because your sister was upset.”

“That’s true… so where does that leave us?” I plopped down in one of the chairs, throwing my feet up on the table and laughing when Spencer gave my action the same look of disgust that he did when I put my feet up in the interrogation room.

“Do you think that he fits the profile?” He asked. I nodded.

“The age is a bit off - he’s 27, so it’s more late than early twenties - but everything else fits what I know about him perfectly.”

“Age is the hardest thing to profile, so it would make sense if that’s a little bit off.”

“So you really think he killed Sarah?”

“I mean, all signs point to him - I feel like we at least need to find a way to keep tabs on him. If he is the killer, then he’s devolving. Despite the lack of evidence at the crime scene, the crime itself would still be classified as disorganized, and disorganized crime scenes usually point to the unsub being more unpredictable, unstable. Like I said, I think he might’ve snapped when he killed your sister. Which means that other people could be in danger.”

“Well if people are in danger, then why don’t you tell the police chief or something? We need to get Brian back in here, or at the very least we need to get someone to stay up to date on his location. I don’t know what you guys have jurisdiction to do.”

“I’m not sure we’re going to be able to get him back in here without any actual forensic evidence… I’m calling Hotch right now. Give me a second - hey Hotch,” He had his phone up to his ear, and he filled Hotch in on his thoughts about the case. He paused his profiling for a minute to defend why he was still awake and working, but after about five minutes he hung up the call, turning back to me.

“The team’s on their way.”

“And they know I’m here?” I had heard him tell Hotch that I was, but I wasn’t sure if he was going to tell everyone else.

“Yes; I’m assuming Hotch will fill them in, at least. Your confirmation of the profile is what made him agree to come in - having Brian as a confirmed prime suspect gives us grounds to move forward.”

I nodded my understanding before asking, “When do you think they’ll be here?”

“The hotel they’re staying at is only about five minutes away - we always try to stay in hotels near the police stations in the cities that we’re staying in, that way we’re able to move quickly if we need to. I mean, there was one time where the team stayed directly at the unsub’s house, but that was an… exception.” His face slowly fell as he finished the sentence, almost as if he regretted saying it, but I was too intrigued to wonder why.

“Directly at the unsub’s house? Holy shit - what happened on that case?”

“Well, uh, I actually got kidnapped?” He phrased it like a statement, but the way he said it sounded more like a question. Probably questioning whether or not he should even be telling me this.

“Oh my god, Spencer, I am so sorry.”

“No no it’s fine, it was about two years ago at this point,” He was trying to shut down the conversation, but I’d be lying if I said that finding out that the man in front of me had been kidnapped wasn’t concerning information.

“Two years is not that long… are you ok?”

“I’m fine. I mean, I’ve gotten counseling… there are still days where I - you know what? My traumatic past isn’t important right now. You - you don’t need to be worrying about me; I’m sorry that I brought it up, I was just talking and not processing what I was saying and -”

“Spence.” He was rambling now, his hands moving quickly as he spoke, anxiety clearly clouding his mind. I grabbed his hands to still them, stopping him from speaking. “It’s ok. I asked what happened, you don’t need to worry about me worrying about you. Honestly, I just wanted to make sure that you were alright, that sounds fucking awful.”

“It was.” He looked like he was going to say something else, but he glanced down at my hands holding his, and cleared his throat, a blush coloring his features as he pulled his hands from mine. “It was. But I really am ok now. Trust me.”

“Ok,” I nodded, trying to ignore the way that my heart stung when he practically ripped his hands from mine, “I’m glad.”

He gave me an awkward tight-lipped smile, something I’d noticed him do a lot, and I was about to start another conversation when I heard the conference room door open. Both of our heads snapped in the direction of the sound, and we turned to see the team pouring in through the door.

“Lex Raymond, I assume?” Hotch asked. I rose from my seat, nodding and accepting the handshake he offered me. The rest of the team took seats around the table, and I noticed multiple of them desperately chugging coffee out of disposable paper cups. Someone passed one up to Spencer, who was standing in front of the board still. I took my seat again, and a man sitting near the back of his table leaned back a bit in his chair before addressing Spencer.

“Alright pretty boy, tell us what you got.”

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frospino · 4 years

Text

A Tale of Two Bards

Jaskier x f!Reader

Warning: Porn with feelings. Very vanilla, but: cunnilingus. Unprotected sex (... Insert magic potion here?)

Summary: Reader is a bard who met Geralt and Jaskier in a tavern. Some talk of feelings, but this is mostly smut.

Word count: 2.563

A/N: Hoo boy am I in love with That Bard. I heard his voice and just knew that he would be my new favourite idiot to write about. I‘m a musician, so I leapt at the chance to use as many cliché music metaphors as I could. (I won’t apologise, because this was way too much fun to write. w) I usually don’t write pure smut, and am still trying to find a way to incorporate it into my usual writing style - feedback is appreciated!

The piano produces a nostalgic melody as your fingers dance over the keys. Your body sways, moved by both the rhythm and emotion of your song. It had been a long journey on the road, and finally being able to touch your favourite instrument again is pure bliss. You had joined the famous Geralt of Rivia and the bard Jaskier in a small tavern in the Northern Realms. Jaskier, being ever the faithful companion, had sung hymn over hymn about the adventures he witnessed. You knew from experience not to trust the word of a bard, and you highly doubted he was actually involved in any of the things he sang about, but one thing was certain: Travelling with the Witcher was a deep well of inspiration. The decision to leave the town was made quickly, and you didn’t accept Geralt’s protests at having two useless bards at his side. (You didn’t correct him—you were confident enough in your abilities to quench a political revolt with your words, but swinging a sword? Nope. Not in a thousand years.) Nevertheless, you had hoped to eventually prove less of a nuisance than his current travelling companion. Jaskier, in his baby blue outfit and youthful charm, did not seem like someone made for long tracks in the wilderness. What you had not anticipated was how very little you wanted to get rid of him the more you got to know him. Your hostility towards the other bard soon turned into a friendly rivalry including a few games of “Who can annoy Geralt the most” and “Who is allowed to wash him this time”, turned into friendship, turned into more. A few kisses under the moonlight and a number of disgusted Wither noises at your loving eyes later, you are still unsure about how to classify your relationship with Jaskier. You dread the moment he becomes just another love song in a tavern, a poetic description of what should have been, and a tug at the heartstrings of drunken nobles. And yet, you cannot bring yourself to ask the question that burns in your throat whenever you look at him. So, for now, you fully immerse yourself in the instrument. It is like coming home to family, or like falling into the embrace of a lover. A piano is impossible to carry on the road. Not that you don’t have other instruments to spend the time with, but this is the one you were made to play. You can feel the mood of the room change with every new chord you strike, and you wonder just how long you can make the crowd dance to your heart’s content. You open your eyes to see the faces of your audience, but are instead struck by the piercing gaze of your fellow bard. Jaskier is watching you closely, and you notice a tenseness in him that you hadn’t witnessed before. His arms are folded in front of his chest, as if to build a wall that would protect him from the outside; his lips form a thin line, and his usually bright eyes are darkened—by the dim light in the tavern and the distance between you, or by something else? He has never watched you like this before—you can feel his gaze follow your every movement, and even though he is as much of a music lover as yourself, the notes barely seem to reach him. Now or never, you think. I might not get a chance like this again. You let your song flow into a booming crescendo, feeling the tension in the crowd rise—just to end abruptly, and leave everyone wanting more. You love this tactic, have used it on… more than one occasion, and know just how well it works. You grin, and bow before your audience: “I apologise, but I have pressing matters to attend to. If my esteemed listeners could wait but a little longer, I will be with you again!” You leave the piano and make your way through the crowd, allowing yourself another short moment to revel in the applause and wolf whistles. “We need to talk,” Jaskier says before you have the chance to even open your mouth. Up close, you can see his eyes are still dark; not a trick of lighting and distance, then. Not wishful thinking either. You nod, and follow him upstairs, to the room he and Geralt have rented together. You thank whatever monster the Witcher is currently hunting for his absence. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” “What?” You bat your eyelashes at Jaskier, feigning ignorance. “Playing like that. Moving your body in such—you must know what it does to me.” Jaskier keeps a respectable distance between you two, and you long to be close to him with every fibre of your being. His hair, perfectly styled to look just the right amount of unkempt; his big eyes that betray his every emotion; his voice, almost husky from the tension in his body; his chest hair, just peeking through his not fully buttoned shirt. You have been a fool to think you would be able to get rid of this man. Still, you don’t want to lose the game that quickly. “I don’t know what you mean, Jaskier. Pray tell?” He squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose, as if to will you away. Yet you remain there, rooted in your spot, and wait for his answer. Jaskier exhales a long, shaky breath. “I thought my feelings for you were obvious.” “Feelings? Or lust?” Another long exhale, but this time, his eyes are fixed on yours, and an earnest look settles on his face. “Contrary to what people say about me, one does not come without the other in my case. I thought… I thought I had made it clear.” He sounds pleading, and you have the urge to stop your game and release him from his torment. To tell him you feel the same, and turn this moment into something sweet rather than act on the sexual tension filling the room. But you can’t. Your bard routines are hard to suppress, after all. Closing the distance between you with a few wide steps, you grip his shirt and pull him a little closer still. “Why don’t you show me your feelings then?” The encouragement is all Jaskier needs. His lips are on yours, and they feel like fire burning away all the worries and insecurities of the last months. On and on the fire rages, through your chest, where it makes your heart flutter; on to your arms and hands that can’t stay still any longer and have to pull Jaskier in even closer; further still, until it reaches the lower half of your body and makes the wetness between your legs throb. Nothing is left of the man who was so desperate to verify his feelings just a few moments before. Jaskier’s hands roam your body, stroke and pull on your hair until you can’t hold back a moan, fall to your sides and explore every curve there—you are glad for the support, for your legs can hardly keep you up, such is the intensity of his kiss. It is almost impossible to believe that just the touch of his lips can have you quivering and aching and softly cursing under your breath. For the first time in your life, you think no song could ever capture how your body feels in this moment. You feel Jaskier’s tongue ask for entrance and gladly allow it. It is a wet kiss, but not in the way that kisses turn wet after too much wine; it’s sensual, and exploring, and a promise of so much more. You push Jaskier towards one of the beds, hoping—in a hazy but still so pressing way that only the deeply preoccupied know—that it is not the Witcher’s. As you push Jaskier even further back, until he’s situated on the bed and you can comfortably sit on his lap, and you feel his length press against you just so, all thoughts of Geralt are forgotten. Fuck Geralt. You want, need, Jaskier inside you. The sooner the better. Your desperation must show—you hear a quiet chuckle escape the bard. “Not so quick, my dear. I have… things I’ve been dreaming about for a while, and it would be a shame to rush this.” In one skilful motion, Jaskier turns the both of you around. You find yourself lying on the bed, Jaskier above you, resting on one forearm and stroking your cheek with the other. For a moment, you wonder how your positions could have reversed so quickly—weren’t you in control just seconds before?—but then you see the look of complete adoration in Jaskier’s eyes, and nothing else matters. “Do you trust me?” His voice is barely above a whisper. “Yes. Yes, I trust you, Jaskier.” Your consent is all the encouragement he needs. His fingers work on your blouse much the same way they do on a lute—a nimble, confident dance that ends with the cold room air meeting your flushed skin, the piece of clothing discarded somewhere on the floor. Your sensitive buds react to the new sensation, and you can see Jaskier’s eyes get ever darker at the sight. One hand comes to touch your breast—slowly, pausing just a moment, in case you change your mind. As you push your torso towards him, needing him to do something, anything at all, he grabs them, kneads, strokes, pinches—always changing his touch, to find out what elicits the most delicious moans from you. He kisses you again, and that and his touches almost make you lose your mind—more, more, more. Your mind races as your heart beats on in a wild rhythm, and Jaskier whispers into your ears—“You sound so delicious. I’m going to devour you, make you scream my name until—“ You don’t let him finish, instead push him further down, and wriggle out of the rest of your clothes. You know you should be doing something to him, but you need to feel his touch, and anyway bard’s trousers are wide enough, and he starts kissing down, between your breasts, to your navel, dipping his tongue in, further down, until he finally reaches the place where you need him most. As his blue eyes look up from between your legs, and his lips touch yours—just watching, breathing against you, pure torment. You push into him, and his tongue finally, finally darts out to touch you. Jaskier takes his time to get to know you—alternates between slow and quick strokes, sucks on your sensitive nub and brings you close, so close—your moans fill the room as you try to hold onto the headboard, the sheets, anything you can grab a hold of. Just then, Jaskier reduces his pace and draws lazy circles instead. Devoid of your high, you start to protest—and feel Jaskier’s grin against you. “You bloody bastard. That is my tactic!” He laughs and pulls himself up so that he rests next to you, head propped up on one head. “More than one bard can play that game, you know.” He kisses you again, and you taste yourself on his lips. Finding your dominance threatened entirely, you decide it’s time to take the lead again. You kiss Jaskier fiercely and rip open his shirt, not bothering to even attempt to be graceful about it. Just as he opens his mouth to protest, you tilt his head back with a soft motion of your hand and lick his throat. That gets the desired reaction—his body shudders, and Jaskier shuts up immediately. You suck and bite your way down to his collarbone, leaving a mark that would be hidden under whatever he decides to wear tomorrow. Just knowing that it’s there is enough for you. You palm Jaskier through his trousers, and it is your turn to watch and grin as his at most times so carefully chosen words turn into moans and curses. His eyes are closed, and you feel him lean into your touch, lost in the sensation. Your wetness drips down your thighs—it’s just plain unfair how good Jaskier sounds even when he isn’t singing. “Jaskier.” The bard opens his eyes. “I want you to fuck me.” You aren’t aware that “just making his pants vanish” is a skill Jaskier possesses, but alas, he does. One second he was clothed, the next, you have a good view of his cock, fully erect, dripping with pre-cum. The sheer anticipation of what is about to come is enough to make you moan again. For weeks and weeks, you have been thinking of this exact moment… You pull Jaskier closer again, until you can feel his heart beating against your chest. “Please, Jaskier. Fuck me.” The bard kisses you as he takes his cock into his hand and slowly, excruciatingly so, pushes into you. Your slick heat welcomes him, and you feel your walls stretch. He gives you a moment to adjust, and when you are ready, you clench the muscles between your legs. It takes Jaskier by surprise, and he hides his face in your shoulder as he fists the sheets. “God, please, do that again.” You do as he asked, and are rewarded with another of his delicious moans. He fills you so good, but you need him to fuck you, and preferably fuck you senseless. You move together, looking into each other’s eyes, listening to the stories your bodies told of lust and passion and desire. The slapping of skin on skin, of moans and curses and begging fill the room, weaving a melody unsuited for anyone’s ears but yours. This, this is what music is, you think to yourself, as Jaskier pushes inside just so and hits the right spot. You cry out his name, and he releases a breathless laugh, proud of the way he makes you feel. He moves faster, and harder, and you are so close again. You pull him in for another kiss, hoping that it communicates how you feel about this man. Jaskier answers by pulling on your bottom lip, and you feel his hand move on your clit, and there is nothing stopping you this time. Heat washes over you, from your toes to the tip of your head, and you throw your head back into the pillows as your orgasm hits you. You feel rather than see Jaskier’s eyes on you. You scream his name again, and want to stretch this moment for as long as you can. As it so often is, the moment does not listen, and the sensation ebbs away into a throbbing between your legs and a content haze falls over your body. Jaskier follows not soon after, pushing inside you one last time with a scream. He pulls out slowly and rests on his forearms again, peppering your lips, your cheeks, your eyelids with soft kisses. Lying down next to you, he pulls you into his arms. His coarse chest hair tickles—it’s not quite as soft as you imagined it to be—but you don’t move. You are content, right in this moment, in the arms of the man you’ve desired for so long.

#the witcher imagine #jaskier x reader #jaskier/reader #jaskier imagine #my writing

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plethora-of-imagines · 4 years

Text

Can’t run away

AN: Look at me posting a second fic this week! It’s another thing inspired by an old anon to @queerconfusionthings

Word Count: 2137

Warnings: suggestive/citrus

Description: The Master doesn’t like how you were looking at the Doctor.

Tag List: @c-s-stars

Some of the most interesting schemes you got to be involved with when traveling with the Master were the ones where the Doctor showed up to stop the two of you. The Master on his own was a force of chaos, he fed off of the panic he could cause. Full of almost boundless energy, barely ever staying still. That energy got even stronger when the Doctor was there. She brought with her an even more intense energy. One that you could practically feel in the air. Things got bigger and better when the Doctor was there to taunt.

She served as an audience that would fully understand what was going on without the need for explanation. Instantly horrified by your actions. Always challenging the two of you to keep things on track or adapt as she worked to stop the Master.

As such you were normally excited when the Doctor showed up. It meant fun, and energy, and a challenge. But not this time. Not when the Master had just finished setting up. He hadn't even had time to explain the plan to you! How were you supposed to help the Master if you had no idea what was happening?

Ah, right. You could always just listen to the Doctor's ramblings. She was currently explaining to her companions what was going on. Honestly, you needed this briefing more than they did. Not that they were really paying attention. She kept looking towards you as she realized that you were the only one being fully attentive. Well, that wasn’t fair to her companions- they were trying to understand. They just looked completely lost anyway, asking each other questions to try and catch up. It could be hard to pay attention when something was beyond your understanding. You had to wonder why she didn’t travel with people who were trained scientists...

You personally were captivated by every word, every gesture. The Master had outdone himself, the plan was brilliant. You couldn’t stop the awe that shone in your eyes. You couldn’t wait to help the Master put the Doctor in her place. An eager smile filled your face. She hadn’t even realized the part of the plan that was going to trap her! Too focused on her explanation of the operation as a whole.

You were so focused on the Doctor's oblivious explanation that you didn't notice the Master moving. That is until your whole world abruptly shifted. You let out a squeak as your view of the Doctor shifted into a view of the Master’s back. Wide-eyed you threw your head up so that you didn’t hit it against him. You were bewildered. Why had he just thrown you over his shoulder?

Looking to the Doctor for her reaction to his actions you could see her pursed lips. Okay. She was just as confused by his actions as you were. Nothing from her explanation gave a reason for the Master to take you away from the action. You gave her a small shrug, well as close to one as you could give while thrown over the Master’s shoulder like this. Who knows what the Master was trying to accomplish by separating you from the Doctor. You would ask once away from her and her curiosity, just in case it was part of the Master’s plan that she hadn't realized.

The Master kept his fast pace away from the Doctor and her "fam" until you were in his TARDIS. He didn’t really slow down once in the TARDIS, but it did feel like he was moving less urgently. Less concerned with getting as far away as possible from them. You were carried all the way to a bedroom before he let you down. You waited until he had placed you onto the bed and you could look into his eyes to question his dramatic actions.

“So... why did you carry me back here?”

“You’re staying here.”

“No, I’m not! At least not without a reason!”

You didn't want to miss a moment of the action.

“I don’t like how you were looking at the Doctor. You! Are! Mine!” he fiercely enunciated each word.

He looked truly upset over this. Your eyes softened as you looked at him. That wouldn't do. You moved to cup his face, to ground him away from his worries. He tilted his head further into your hand. You could feel his stubble poking into your skin. He was so touch-starved; always moving into your touch, chasing your affection. You were determined to provide him with enough affection that over time he would lose his touch-starved desperation. Not that you would ever get tired of his clear desire for your touch.

“I wouldn’t leave you for her, ever,” you reassured him.

His one hand came up to hold yours in place against his face. Rubbing his thumb back and forth on the back of your hand.

“You didn’t see the way she was looking at you, she might not give you a choice."

"Well, then I'd fight my way back to you."

The Master awkwardly intertwined his fingers with yours while your hand was still against his face. As he pulled your hand away his fingers dug into your palm. You bent your fingers, covering his with your own to strengthen the strange connection.

"I refuse to give her the opportunity to take you from me," he growled.

His growl always served to turn you on- which at times was very inconvenient. This time however you there was no one around to make you self conscious. You were already in bed too. It was a convenient time to let your body respond to his growly voice. In one fluid movement, he took your intertwined hands and he cuffed you to the bed.

“Do you just keep handcuffs attached to the posters of this bed?”

Amusement colored your voice. Looks like something would be done about your arousal. Nice.

“Yes, I find it can be very convenient.”

You didn't struggle against him. In fact, you made sure to move your body to where he needed it to be in order for him to cuff you spread eagle on the bed. While you knew you were his beyond any doubt, the Master seemed to need reassurance. If this is how he wanted to reassure himself that you were willingly his you would gladly submit.

As he cuffed your other arm his hand trailed along your pulse point. Nails gently scratching across your skin. Goosebumps rose on your arms with his sensual attention.

Once your arms were both secure he moved onto your legs. He took your shoes and socks off with care. Dropping them to the floor once they were off your feet. Both of you hated having shoes on when in bed, it caused such a mess at times.

You struggled not to kick him as he dragged his nails down the soles of your feet. It tickled. He gave a small chuckle at how tense you were in your efforts not to kick him in the face. The gentle click of the cuffs as he finished securing you did something wonderful to you. You had no idea what to refer to it as but it was a nice feeling that filled your whole body. All of your nerves coming alive in anticipation.

"Nothing too tight? Too loose?"

You pulled at the cuffs one at a time to test that they were comfortable. His eyes followed the movement of each one intently.

"Secure and comfortable enough," was your response to his questions.

You always loved it when he was possessive. He made sure that you were a puddle underneath him when he was done with you. Being cuffed spread eagle on the bed beneath him was really adding to your growing arousal.

“Comfortable enough? You might be here for a few hours love. Will you be comfortable for that long?”

Oh. Oh! That was a very nice thought. A shame to abandon his plan, it was a really good one this time. But spending a few hours beneath him was definitely worth the loss to you.

“Yes, I’ll be comfortable for that long Master,” your voice was longing as you drew out his name.

"Good. I'll be back once I'm done dealing with the Doctor. I'll let you go once she is far enough away that there is no chance of her taking you from me."

“Wait. What?”

Your protests were ignored by the Master. He left immediately after telling you his intentions. Great! You had thought that he was going to be possessive and have sex with you to remind himself that you were his. Not leave you alone while he completed his latest plan. You should have realized that nothing was going to happen. You were still fully clothed! Curse your horny mind for not realizing that important fact. It would have been a bit hard to have sex when your clothes couldn't be taken off. So the handcuffs were not for sex this time. Instead, the handcuffs were to keep you from -literally- running away.

It was not fair. The Master gets you turned on and then leaves. With no intention of doing anything when he gets back. You pouted but stopped when you realized that it was pointless. He wasn’t here to pout at! What were you supposed to do for the literal hours you were going to be stuck here? Handcuffed to a bed with nothing to entertain yourself with. He could have at least given you something to do.

You stared up at the ceiling. It was blank, solid white. Well, guess you weren't going to count panels or make patterns to keep yourself busy. Looking around as best as you could nothing in the room caught your attention. So you returned your attention to blankly staring at the ceiling. Not like there was anything else to do. Besides, at least staring at the ceiling wouldn't hurt your neck.

You must have eventually fallen asleep. The next thing you knew you were startling awake when the Master opened the door. He shuffled over to the bed, looking down at you with a tired expression.

“Oof,” all of your breath left you as he flopped down on top of you.

His whole body relaxed into yours. His head pressing against your chest to hear your heartbeat. You would have moved to hold him, if you could move your arms that is.

"I take it that it didn't go as planned?"

"No. Also wasn't as much fun without you there," he seemed to be hesitant to add something.

You couldn't move to reassure him but you tried to project a feeling of comfort. He was safe with you. You wouldn't judge him when he was uncertain and vulnerable like this. No matter how strange the request. Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. If it was truly bizarre request you would probably question it in your head. But you wouldn’t hurt him by questioning him out loud.

"Would you run your hand through my hair?" He asked in a quiet, vulnerable voice.

If the room hadn't been completely silent you didn't think you would have heard him ask.

"Of course. You just need to uncuff my hands so I can reach."

"Oh right."

"Did you forget you tied me spread eagle to the bed!"

He didn't bother answering that. Making quick work of freeing your hands. You took a moment to rotate your wrists once freed. You almost couldn't believe he forgot that he had cuffed you to the bed.

Your hand hesitated just above his hair. You had to ask," Aren't you going to free my legs as well?"

"No."

His voice was firm, nothing would change his mind anytime soon on this.

"No?" You asked incredulously.

At the very least he could give you an explanation for his refusal.

"You can't run away if you can't move your legs."

His grip on you tightened. As if he was afraid that even with your legs cuffed to the bed you would find a way to flee.

You sighed and started to run your hand through his hair. It was soft, you wish he would tell you what he used in it. All of your attempts to find out in the past had failed.

"I'm not going to run away," you reassured him. "You'll have to untie me eventually, but if it makes you feel better I won't complain right now."

He nuzzled into you, as if he needed to touch as much of you as he could to be sure you didn't disappear. You simply keep up your attention to threading your hand through his hair. After a few minutes he spoke again in that quiet voice that you almost couldn't hear.

"Thanks."

#Dhawan!master x reader #the master x reader

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littlenoona · 5 years

Text

You need us: The Forced Reconciliation.

You need us: The Buried Secret.

You need us: The Torturous Truth.

You need us: The Forced Reconciliation.

Summary: Your relationship with the 7 heads turn toxic.

Warnings: Character death, kidnapping, drugging, torture, blood, violence, reference to raping(no actual rape or description of it appears, someone is just being disgusting), basically this chapter is full of shit and triggers, reader beware.

Genre: Angst, minimal fluff.

Pairing: DomMafia!OT7 x Reader(F).

Word Count: 13,928.

A/N: In this chapter you will be referred to as F/N by some characters, which will stand for Fake Name - I haven’t really proof proofread it, so I’m sorry if you find mistakes.

Masterlist.

A year - 365 days - 8760 hours.

Today marked the anniversary of you leaving your old life behind, along with 7 men you used to trust with your life.

You sighed deeply as you stared out over the cliff you had been coming to ever day since that day - it was your place of serenity. You could see the entirety of the city from here, you could feel the fresh air flowing through your hair, the smell of nature filling your senses.

Considering yourself lucky that the 7 heads hadn’t found you yet, or maybe they hadn’t even tried looking, you closed your eyes and let your mind clear of today’s problems.

Moving across the country, to the very outskirts wasn’t easy - it was even harder doing so while your world laid shattered around you.

The 7 heads of the organisation had taught you how to disappear should you ever need to, in case something ever happened to them - never in your wildest dreams had you imagined that you would use those abilities on vanishing from the very men that took care of you.

You felt your throat hurt as it expanded in preparation for the tears that you so desperately tried to push away day in and day out, your eyes stinging as your heart ached, never fully healing from the holes they had left behind, nor did you ever think it was going to.

Dying your hair a different colour, wearing contacts to cover your eye colour and more often than not, wearing clothes that were way too big and not your style, you didn’t even resemble yourself anymore - you felt like you had lost yourself as well.

You went by a new name, a new birth date and a new birth city, you claim that you were adopted, that you were an only child and your adoptive parents had died in a car crash when you were younger, leaving you with nothing left, it avoided people asking you any further questions about anything as they often didn’t want to invade your privacy and the whole story kind of made them uncomfortable, just as you wanted it.

Withdrawing all the money from your accounts and closing them down, you pulled your roots from the ground and relocated - an unknown guy in the underground system providing you with the necessary documents to obtain a new identity.

He wasn’t affiliated with the organisation and he assured you that he would never expose you, as he hadn’t so many times before for many other clients. You trusted him, more so because you told him that if you were ever found by unwanted people, you would come looking for him with a taste of blood on your tongue.

Hearing an engine behind you and dirt being tossed by the tires attached to it you opened your eyes to look back, only to see the car pass by without stopping - thank god.

Your eyes returned to the lights of the city, the darkness of the night falling down to ease everyone into the void of slumber, not that you had experienced much of it lately, a certain unease in your chest and stomach preventing you from fully submitting to your sleep, every twig breaking, every wind gush, every cat howl waking you in the dead of night, covered in sweat.

It was probably best that you head home, before one of the old ladies in the houses around you called the police, stating there was a stranger by the cliffs, despite having been here every day for a year, they didn’t seem to remember you - just as well, being remembered wasn’t something you wanted.

Jumping off the hood of your car, you walked around it and opened the door to get in, turning the key in the ignition, the growl of the engine awakening providing little comfort. You missed your old car, but you couldn’t risk keeping it in case the heads could track it.

Backing out of the small spot you turned your nose towards your apartment, a small and cosy place in a neighbourhood you had only heard good things about - the people living there were friendly, they always wanted to help and you always offered help to them, it was a small community that had you feel some sense of home.

The majority of your neighbours were your age, busy lives, busy families, busy jobs, though they always found time to smile, how they managed you couldn’t ever figure out, even less so since all you wanted to do every day was curl up on your bed and hope you didn’t open your eyes again.

Turning your car into your street you saw the faded lights of every apartment, people settled in for the night, watching TV, playing games, talking, some maybe even working, studying.

You turned your car off, got out and locked it behind you, walking towards your door, the air down here a little warmer compared to the cliff, as to be expected you hummed to yourself.

Pulling your keys from your pocket you unlocked the door, closing it behind you before you started twisting the multiple locks you had on the inside - pulling the Glock from the holster you had attached to your stomach, placing it on the table next to the door with a deep sigh as you flicked the light switch on the wall.

You don’t even remember when you started carrying a weapon around, you never used to before, you hadn’t even used one previously, but when you moved here you took lessons, you bought one and you even took martial arts classes, Krav Maga specifically.

Dragging your feet out of your shoes you brushed your hand through your hair as you stood in front of the mirror in your entrance, your nose smelling something familiar, but not something that was meant to be in your apartment.

Sniffing a few extra times you couldn’t quite place your finger on it, but it was out of place and it made you feel uneasy.

You picked your Glock off of the table again, treading carefully as you walked through your apartment, checking your bedroom first which was right next to the front door, peaking your head in to look around - nothing.

Standing by the door to your bedroom you could see your kitchen, nothing that you could spot there either.

Walking towards the kitchen, the living room became more and more visible, a light emitting from it that you knew you hadn’t left on when you went out this morning.

You continued to tread carefully sideways, holding your Glock at arm's length, ready to use it should you need to, the edge of the sofa coming into view as you continued your near silent steps.

Feeling your chest run cold and the pace of your heart increase, you saw a figure sitting in the centre of your sofa, their face slightly illuminated by the light on the table next to them, their dark hair draped over their face, wearing a white dress shirt with a few open buttons and black slacks - their head lifting to look at you as you came into full view.

Your entire body started shaking and you could barely keep the weapon in your hands up, your eyes widening at the face in front of you, feeling like all the air in your lungs had been ripped from you.

“Hey noona.” Jungkook spoke softly with a small smile.

Your mouth fell ajar, repeated no’s going through your head.

“I almost couldn’t recognise you.” he continued.

Desperately trying to keep the weapon in your hands steady and pointed at him, you wanted answers.

“How did you find me?” your words shook.

He stood up from the sofa with a smile knowing you wouldn’t be able to pull the trigger, “I admit you did really well, noona, it was hard, but we’ve got our ways, you know that.”

“Why are you here?” you breathed, trying to gain control of yourself as the first tear fell down your cheek.

“We need to talk. I was the only one we were sure you wouldn’t shoot on sight, so here I am.” he stated, his smile disappearing from his features.

“What makes you think I won’t still shoot you?” you hesitantly spoke, your brows furrowed.

“Because my family wasn’t involved in the bloodshed of yours.” he sighed.

“I’m not interested in anything you have to say. Please leave. Now.” you spoke harshly.

“Please just listen to me, noona.” his voice softened as he stepped closer to you.

“Get out!” you yelled, pointing your Glock at him, moving back as he came closer.

He sighed but continued to walk towards you until your back met the wall behind you, placing his hand on your weapon, taking it from your hands so easily, your body frozen in terror.

“We both know you won’t use this.” he whispered, placing the weapon on the table next to you, his gaze never leaving yours, “I’ve missed you so much..”

You averted your eyes from his black ones, “Please don’t, Jungkook.”

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, like it was going to burst through your rib cage - he was so close to you, the smell of his cologne finding its way to your nose, his body heat reaching your skin, his muscular build towering over you, making you feel so small, his soft yet intimidating facial features sending memories flashing through your mind of every moment you’ve tasted him, felt him, come undone in his arms.

He was tearing you apart - your eyes glazing over and stinging as the tears started falling.

“Hey..” he cooed, “Why are you crying?” his hand coming up towards your cheek, presumably to wipe the tears away.

Your mind went into overdrive, grabbing at anything and everything to remove yourself from the situation, you couldn’t handle this, your heart ached, your body was shaking, the lump in your throat expanding enough to make you feel like you couldn’t breathe.

Flickering your eyes up to meet his, you could barely make yourself audible, “Swing Set.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened, his movements stopped immediately, he had never heard you use your safe word before and he had always hoped he never would.

Leaving him surprised you took the only chance you knew you would have, your hands moving quickly towards his chest, your palms hitting him, leaving him to stumble backwards at your push - grabbing the weapon on the table next to you, instantly positioning it under your chin, watching as his features turned from surprise to fear.

“If I can’t shoot you, I can shoot myself..” you choked.

“Noona.. Please..” Jungkook spoke softly, “Don't..”

“Leave.” you spoke with a stern voice, your eyes boring into his.

“Just-” he tried, but you instantly interrupted him.

“Now!” you spoke louder, your finger finding the trigger on your weapon, threatening him.

He sighed deeply, his shoulders slouching as he finally agreed, not saying another word when he walked towards your door, opening it but looking back at you one last time with clear pain in his expression before he disappeared into the darkness again, just as quickly as he had appeared.

You leaned back against the wall behind you, putting your weapon on the table, realising and trying to comprehend what had just transpired.

It felt like someone had punched you repeatedly in the chest, barely able to catch your breath, a deep suctioning feeling in your stomach, your body shaking from the adrenaline running through you - you bent over, trying to recover resting your hands on your knees, your body feeling weak.

This was bad.

‘How did they find me?’ was all that was running through your head, ‘How was it possible?’ you had changed your appearance, gotten a new name, changed your style.

Fuck.

You needed to calm down, you needed someone to be here with you, you felt unsafe.

You pulled out your phone, opening the messages to the only person you currently trusted, you were still deceiving them, they didn't know your real name or your previous life, but they were the only one you had let in, the only one you had let come close to you.

21:24 You: Hey. I know it's late, but can you come over?

21:25 Jae-ho: Sure. Is everything okay?

21:26 You: Yeah - just a visit from the past that has gotten me a little upset.

21:26 Jae-ho: I'll be there in 10.

You locked your phone and put it back in your pocket, looking at your pistol on the table, quickly grabbing it, walking towards your bedroom to put it into your bedside table.

He probably shouldn't see it.

You sat down by the dining table, waiting patiently for him to arrive, knowing he was probably speeding beyond belief as he always did.

He was a thrill, a forbidden fruit you hadn't allowed yourself to indulge. You weren't in love with him but you were extremely attracted to him, he was handsome and a "bad boy" but without the danger attached to him.

He was, a safe place where you could get the excitement you used to with the 7 heads, but without the killing and threats from other organisations.

You'd been out driving at high speeds, late nights of roaming the town like teenagers, he made you forget everything, even if it was only for a little while.

Thinking back he had wiggled himself into your life despite you trying to keep him at bay, acting cold towards him, declining his kind gestures and offers and yet he persisted.

You knew pretty much everything about him, but he knew little about you and you intended to keep it that way - it wasn't like he hadn't asked but when you showed clear discomfort about the questions he asked, he often just pulled away from them, changing the subject, reassuring you that you didn't need to tell him anything, that he just wished for you to be okay and if that meant him not knowing, then so be it.

Finding common interests you had no problem maintaining a conversation with him for hours on end, it filled you with a sense of relief and comfort, a small remedy for the gaping hole in your heart and soul.

The rapid knocking on the door bounced you back to reality, your body quickly springing into action as you stood up and practically ran to the door to greet him.

You opened the door, finding Jae-hoe's emerald green eyes, his black hair lying in separated strands around his face, wet looking, he had probably just showered and planned to go to bed when you texted him - a black oversized t-shirt draped over his large torso, a pair of ripped jeans hugging his legs tightly.

"Hey F/N." he spoke softly with his deep voice, his eyes studying your red eyes, realising you had been crying he instantly reached his arms out to you, wrapping around you and pulling you close as he stepped into your apartment, closing the door behind him with his foot.

You buried your face in his chest, a small relief for your soul, but not the ache soothing hug your body were begging for - no one could ever give you that, no one except the 7 heads and you hated that.

"You okay?" he asked softly, his hand moving up to the top of your head, gently combing through your hair, "It's unlike you to let anyone see you cry, even me."

"Mhm.." you hummed into him, but you both knew you weren't okay and you were questioning yourself if you were ever going to be.

"Let's sit down and get you something to drink." he tried to sound cheerful, trying to remind you that things were going to be okay.

He stepped away from you, his hand cupping your cheek for a moment, his thumb caressing your skin before he stepped past you and into your kitchen, reaching up to grab a glass, your feet automatically following suit behind him.

As he put the glass under the flowing water it dimmed the wild sound, the only sound apart from your own still somewhat rapid breathing in your entire apartment, your eyes avoiding his figure - you didn't want him to see you like this but you also needed him here.

'Need.' you scoffed internally, 'I hate needing people.'

Jae-ho handed you the glass, the coldness of it sending spikes through your skin as you lifted it up to your lips, drinking a good amount to avoid a headache that would surely come your way if you didn't.

You put the glass down on the counter top, sighing deeply, opening your mouth to speak, but you were interrupted by several knocks on the door again - your head turned to the source of the sound, your eyes pinning, a sinking feeling in your stomach setting in.

Did Jungkook come back?

You looked at Jae-ho quickly, offering a soft smile as reassurance before you walked towards the door.

“Are you expecting anyone else?” Jae-ho questioned.

“No.” you confirmed, trying to sound as calm as possible.

You cursed yourself for putting your Glock in your bedside table and not the table by the door as you always did, if this was an unwanted guest, you were fucked.

Opening the door, an unfamiliar face came into view - he was bald, dressed in a suit, on the heavy side, black eyes and stubble across his chin and cheeks.

“Can I help you?” you questioned sweetly.

“Y/N?” the man spoke clearly with a deep voice.

A shock of cold was sent through your body, your eyes widening at his use of your real name. How? Shit!

“I’m sorry, I don’t know anyone by that name, I’m F/N. I’ve lived here for a year.” you confirmed, your heart racing in your chest, the palms of your hands becoming damp.

He held up a picture beside your face, his eyes flickering between it and your face, “Then why do you look like her and why was Jungkook here?” he asked with an evil grin.

You withdrew yourself from the door quickly, slamming it but the man on the other side held it open with his foot, shouting something that was muddled by Jae-ho’s worried yells, several other footsteps approaching at an alarming speed.

Multiple men broke through the door, Jae-ho running towards you as you fell backwards, but one of the large men wrapped his arms around your waist, dragging you back through the door, Jae-ho desperately trying to get to you when a loud sound rung through the apartment, a white flash in front of your eyes and then his movements stilled, his body going limp as blood started pouring from his forehead and he fell lifeless to the floor, his eyes losing their vibrant colour.

You screamed at the top of your lungs until no air was left, tears streaming down your cheeks, your vision blurry as you continued to fight against the man holding onto you, your arms thrashing in every direction, your legs kicking in equally frantic motions - you threw your head back, hitting the man holding you resulting in a loud cracking noise.

“Drug her, god damnit!” he yelled at another man before several came up to you, holding your limbs still as one of them pulled out a needle and pierced the skin of your upper arm.

Your body became weak, your muscles relaxing despite several attempts to use them, your head getting heavy, your eyes closing, your conscious screaming for you to stay alert, but no part of you would listen.

A hand placed on your shoulder rocking you from side to side violently awoke you from your forced slumber, your body jerking alive as you took in your surroundings with wide eyes - your ass firmly placed on a hard wooden chair, your arms behind your back, zip ties around your wrists.

A warehouse, barely anything around except stacks of boxes and wooden pallets - it looked run down, rusty, the windows high up by the ceiling broken, the doors wide and made of thin metal.

A large man came to stand in front of you, unlike the others around, he was muscular, tall, well kept, shaven, black hair slicked back with piercing black eyes, his jawline sharp, his suit a dark blue, expensive.

He eyed you up and down, turning to the lackeys that had brought you here, “Are you sure it’s her?” he questioned them all.

“Yes, sir.” one of them nodded, his nose bandaged, must’ve been the one you threw your head back into, his nose probably broken, a small smirk on your lips as you looked at him, happy that you had caused some damage, the area around his eyes clearly swollen, “Jungkook was at her apartment and she has the same features as the picture you gave us. Her hair is dyed and she was wearing contacts, but it’s definitely her.

“Very well.” the muscular man spoke, turning his attention to you, “I’m not going to give you my name, for my own safety, I’m sure you can understand, but for now you can call me Bale.”

“How about I call you fuckface instead?” you growled at him.

“Cute.” he smiled, “I wish I had a woman in my life as loyal as you, or at least as loyal as I think you are, but let’s put that to the test, shall we?”

He leaned forward, his face close to yours, his aftershave tickling your nose, a smell, nay, a stench you didn’t like, “Where are they?”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” you shrugged.

“Okay.” he voiced, clearly not impressed with your lack of answers, “I’m a busy man, I’m sure you can understand that and I really don’t have time for this, either you can tell me where they are or I can leave you with these lovely men and they’ll eventually get the answers anyway.”

You should be scared, you know you should, but you weren’t, you knew you weren’t going to die in this warehouse, they wouldn’t dare kill you, you were too valuable to them alive, but pain, pain was coming your way for sure.

“Fuck you.” you smirked, collecting the saliva in your mouth you spat on his suit.

“Ah well.” he shrugged, turning on his heels to walk away, “She’s all yours boys.”

The 3 of them stood still, waiting until Bale was out of the warehouse and completely out of sight, the sound of a car leaving quickly not soon after the steel door slid shut.

“I wouldn’t mind a few hours alone with her, before we rough her up.” one of the men spoke, a smirk on his face, his hand going down to rub his member through his slacks.

A hand from another man quickly pushed against his shoulder, “We’ve got no time for that shit, maybe if you treated your wife better she’d let you fuck her some more.” he laughed.

The third man joined in, teasing the first, “Maybe it’s because he doesn’t satisfy her enough, so she doesn’t see the point in letting him roll around on her, groaning like a whale?” the two men joined in laughter, the first not particularly enjoying the topic at hand.

You took the time to study their bodies for any obvious marks, tattoos, features that you’d be able to remember, should you ever find them again, something the 7 heads had taught you to do, no matter what was happening around you, look for things, things that will help you, a way out, a feature to remember, a discarded weapon, weaknesses, anything.

The first man had a small cross on his hand between his index finger and thumb, red in colour, a mole under his right eye.

The second man had a scar going across his neck, quite visible, old, probably couldn’t heal properly and would remain the same for the rest of his life, in addition he was missing one of his canine teeth, left one

The third man was missing a pinky on his right hand and had, what looked like, a small moon tattooed on his chest, between his collarbones.

Their laughter died down, turning their attention to you, your furrowed brows softening as you realised your pain was impending - you kept talking to yourself, just keep remembering what the 7 heads had taught you, you were going to be okay, just keep focused.

You will get out of this alive.

The man with the small cross tattoo on his hand squatted down in front of you, looking up at you with a smirk on his face, “We won’t touch that pretty face of yours.” he then eyed you up and down, “The rest of you however, is free game.”

‘Don’t show them fear, don’t show them they’ve got the upper hand, even if they do.’ you heard Yoongi’s voice in your head.

“I’ve probably been fucked harder than what you’re going to do.” you sneered with a smirk.

“Oooh, you gonna take that kind of back talk from this little girl?” the man with the scar across his neck laughed.

“No, I’m not.” he growled, standing up, his hand going to the back of your neck, grabbing a lump of your hair, forcing your head back as his other hand tightened into a fist and he punched you in the stomach.

You leaned forward, all of the air in your lungs exhaled, a sharp pain throbbing inside you - you tried to take a breath to get the air back but all you could do was cough.

“Tell us where they are!” he yelled.

You didn’t respond, you didn’t let out a single sound - you could feel the anger rise in the 3 men, they wanted the 7 heads, they wanted to please their boss, they wanted blood on their hands.

‘Cunts.’ you mumbled internally, ‘Not through me.’

“There’s only more to come.” the man with the moon between his collarbones snickered, sticking his hand into the pocket of his slacks, pulling out an all black switchblade, pressing the button on the side, the blade appearing in a matter of milliseconds.

Every muscle in your body tensed as he approached you, a wicked flame in his eyes - he got off on this. His figure overshadowed you, bending down, his blade running smoothly up your thigh, closer and closer to your core, your eyes following it tensely.

He dug the very tip of it into your flesh, blood trickling slowly out from the pierced skin, “Even an indication of where they are would be good enough.” he whispered, “Be a good girl and tell me.”

Your eyes snapped from his blade to his eyes, “A good girl?”

“Yes.” he grinned, “For me.”

You smiled softly, “You haven’t earned the right to call me that.” you rushed your head forward, your forehead hitting the bridge of his nose, his large body stumbling back, the blade in your skin dragging along your thigh, leaving a large open wound, blood pouring out from it, the sting causing a loud groan to leave you.

“You stupid whore!” he growled, his leg lifting, the sole of his foot meeting your chest as he kicked you back, your chair falling backwards, your body hitting the cold pavement below with force, your eyes closing on impact, your jaw clenching at the pain.

He instantly pulled you back up by your shirt, blood running from his nose, his muscles tense with anger, his eyes piercing yours.

‘If you know they need you alive, make them think you’re insane, that they cannot break you, that you’re already broken.’ Namjoon’s voice rung in your head.

“Someone’s bleeding. Can’t handle a real woman, can you?” you laughed wickedly at him with your whole chest.

“Bitch is losing it.” the man with the cross tattoo uttered.

They spent hours beating you, cutting you, yelling at you, depriving you of water, the pool of blood below the chair growing by the minute, your clothes soaked, sweat forming on every part of your skin, pain shooting through you from every corner of your limbs.

Repeatedly asking the same questions, you stopped responding, your head hanging low as they continued to torture you - Where are they? Why can’t we find them? What are their weaknesses? Who often goes alone?

Your mind clocked out.

‘Remove yourself from the situation, go to your safe place. Imagine yourself somewhere else, somewhere you can’t be hurt, remember that place, somewhere you love.’ Jungkook’s voice whispered, ‘With people you love.’

The safe place had always been the 7 heads, you didn’t have a safe place anymore, you had to think of one on the spot, somewhere you felt happy, somewhere you had peace, space - the cliff, the view of the city, the silence, the wind flowing through your hair, playing softly with you, a place you had repeatedly gone for so long, the only place you felt something other than hurt.

One of the men grabbed the hair on the back of your head, pulling it back, forcing you to look up at him, all of them having melted into the same person now, your mind too tired to distinguish them, your eyes giving out, your body feeling weak from the loss of blood.

“Why are you still protecting them?!” he sneered.

A question you hadn’t asked yourself, a question you were scared of, a question you didn’t want to answer. Why were you protecting them? Why didn’t you give them up? Let them fight their own battles?

‘Don’t think it.’ you sobbed to yourself, ‘Don’t say it.’

Your eyes grew blurry, a faint and familiar sting in the corners, a twist of your heart as he let go of your hair and your head fell forwards again, limp like the rest of your body.

‘Conserve your energy.’ Hoseok’s smile beamed in your thoughts, ‘Don’t waste it on things that are not essential, let it accumulate to repair your body, for your escape.’

“It’s nearly morning.” one of the men sighed, “Let’s go home, recover and continue tomorrow.”

Another confirmed, “Let one of the newbies watch her for tonight.”

Your mind blackened and awoke repeatedly - between consciousness the 3 men had disappeared and a younger man had appeared, sitting by the wall not far from you, his own eyes seeming heavy, maybe even heavier than yours.

‘Be aware of your surroundings but don’t let them know that you are.’ Jin hummed to you, ‘Use it to your advantage.’

The young man wasn’t able to see your eyes, your hair acting as a shield in front of them, though you should see him through the strands, noticing how he was closing his eyes for longer and longer periods at a time.

Your eyes flickered over to the wall opposite you, a low and broken window - a possible way out, low enough for you to get out, wooden pallets in front of it, a shield from the man's view. You continued to look around, if there was no broken glass by that window, you needed a back up, something sharp to help you with the zip ties around your wrists, you needed your arms free.

Searching the warehouse with as little movement as possible, you saw no apparent glass for you to use, your heart frantically beating in your chest the more you looked.

Nothing. Shit.

You looked over at the young man, his eyes now fully shut, his breathing had slowed down, his body relaxed.

Now's your chance.

‘Assess your situation, noona!’ Taehyung growled, ‘Do you need to be quiet or do you need to be loud? Can you be fast or do you need to be slow?’

Quiet. Slow. Take it easy. Don’t rush it.

You tensed your legs, lifting yourself from the chair, careful not to move it, careful not to make a single noise, controlling your breathing as much as was humanly possible, the pain protruding from your every wound and bruise only increasing the difficulty.

Positioning the soles of your feet carefully, treading as if on glass, you could barely hear yourself sneak, the closer you got to the window, the more desperate you grew.

‘Please, please, please.’ you pleaded whatever force in the world that could possibly help you.

The wooden pallets were within reach, just a little further and you could turn the corner of them - you stopped dead in your tracks, looking back for a single second to ensure you were still undetected.

Sure enough, the young man was still sleeping.

You turned the corner of the pallets, a relief rushing through you as glass came into view - there wasn’t much room between the wall and the pallets, barely enough for you to walk over the glass and bend down to grab a piece.

The glass in the palm of your hand nearly cut through your skin as you held it tight, worried you were going to drop it, rubbing it against the plastic of your ties, the adrenaline in your veins picking up speed, the throb of your heart felt in your open wounds.

A small snap was heard as the ties finally broke, a shock sent through you because of it, worried the sound might’ve caused the man to stir and awaken you took no chances, grabbing a hold of the edge of the window, ignoring the small triangular pieces of glass still situated on it digging into your fingers as you pulled yourself up, your leg swinging up on the ledge too to support you, finally falling through it and into the open space beside the warehouse.

‘Find us.’ Jimin’s voice lulled you, ‘We will help you, protect you, no matter what.’

You barely managed to see anything around you and figure out where you were before you heard a loud voice behind you.

“Hey!” a young voice called.

No time, run!

Your gained traction the dirt, quickly obtaining speed you pointed yourself towards anything that had lights, anything that looked like part of the city, you didn’t have time to turn around and see if the other way was better, you just needed to get away from this warehouse and whoever was in it or near it.

Through grass, trees, the outskirts of the city, weaving in and out between small houses, until you finally reached a part that you recognised. You stopped for a moment, catching your breath, nothing more than pants were extracted from you, your lungs burning, your mouth prickly and dry.

Come on. Keep going. Not far.

As much as you didn’t want to, you knew you had to go where your feet hadn’t been in a year, for now, it was a place you needed to go, but the closer you got to the building, the angrier you got, the more hurt coursed through you, the more you remembered.

Jae-ho. Your family. The games. The deception. The lies!

Reaching the stairs leading to the building, the guard noticed you, the same guard that had always been there, you didn’t even glance at him, his figure clearly unsure whether he should stop you or let you through, ultimately deciding against preventing you from entering, clearly the 7 heads hadn’t revoked your permission to come into the building.

Pressing the button of the elevator like it was second nature, waiting for it to arrive, your thoughts running rampage in your head - the elevator finally coming down, letting you in as if nothing had ever changed, taking you to the top floor, your eyes stinging at the overwhelming amount of emotions you were feeling, everything crashing down on you all at once.

You came here for protection, but your intentions had changed.

Storming through the hallway, through the door and into the office, your footsteps loudly echoing through the silent space around you. Turning the corner, your eyes met those of the 6 heads, your head twisting to your right to find Jungkook’s, his figure standing tall in surprise at your dishevelled look, his mouth gaping.

Your eyes burned with rage and tears as you stepped close to him, raising your hand immediately, swinging it towards him, the skin of it meeting his cheek in a slap that rung loudly through the office - Jimin instantly moving close to you, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you away from Jungkook.

“They found me because of you!” you screamed at the top of your lungs, your body burning with hate, Jimin struggling to keep you under control, your every muscle fighting against him, “I was tortured because of you!”

Jungkook’s head hung low, his hand placed on the cheek you had slapped, his eyes staring at the floor.

“My friend was murdered, because of you!” you continued yelling, your heart feeling like it was going to give out at any second, your eyes peering at the rest of the heads, standing puzzled around you, “Was my family not enough for you?!”

Taehyung quickly moved to Jungkook to make sure he was okay while Namjoon moved to you, his eyes inspecting your body, the bruises, the cuts, your ruined clothing, Jimin’s arms around your torso softening slightly as you stopped fighting against him.

“What did you tell them?” Yoongi questioned.

You didn’t even look in his direction, he didn’t deserve your attention, a loud scoff leaving you at his incredibly stupid question, “Does it fucking look like I told them anything?” you growled.

“Hoseok-hyung, could you grab the first aid kit? We need to clean her wounds and she needs stitches too.” Namjoon spoke as he sat down on his knees in front of you, inspecting the multiple deep cuts on your legs.

“There’s no need, I’ll do it myself when I get to a hotel.” you spoke as you tried to get out of Jimin’s hold to leave, but he wasn’t letting go of you.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, but we can’t let you leave again, especially not if someone is trying to use you to get to us.” Jin stepped forward, his voice soft as if trying to soothe you into not feeling trapped in their world again.

“W-what?” you hesitated, not really believing they were actually going to keep you here against your will, turning your head to look at Jin, wanting him to confirm his words to you again.

“I’m sorry..” he spoke again, tilting his head to the side, his features turning gentle and apologetic.

“No, you can’t do this..” you scoffed, half a smile on your features, sincerely hoping he was joking, but his averting gaze spoke loud and clear to you, your body fighting against Jimin’s hold again, leaning forward, thrashing against him, “No! You can’t do this!” you yelled, Namjoon quickly moving away from you to avoid your movements.

“Let me go!” you screamed, desperately pushing your arms away from your body and against Jimin’s, hoping he wouldn’t be able to keep his grip on you, lifting your legs off the ground, thrashing them around to see if he would accidentally let go.

Nothing worked - his grip on you never loosening.

You stood still, your head hanging low, your hair covering your face as you realised you weren’t going to get out of his hold by fighting against him, you had to be smarter than that, smarter than him because he was stronger than you.

Planting your feet firmly on the ground you let out a small breath, pushing yourself to the side and towards the wall, turning so Jimin’s back hit the wall and his arms finally released you, a loud groan leaving him behind you in pain, your toes digging into the soles of your shoes as you gained traction on the floor and ran out into the hallway, your shoulder hitting the emergency stairway door with a loud thud, a pair of loud running steps behind you following you closely.

You kept your eyes facing straight ahead, focusing on the stairs below you, focusing on jumping down the stairs and not falling, shocks repeatedly sent through your feet as they met the hard pavement.

“Y/N!” Hoseok yelled behind you.

Your heart pounded in your chest, small sweat beads forming on your temples and soaking into your hair as you tried as fast as you could to get to the bottom of the building and out of their reach - the adrenaline in your body expanding your veins to allow your blood to pump faster, almost hurting you, the fear piled in your stomach creating what felt like a black hole sucking the life from you.

Turning corner after corner in the stairwell you started seeing Hoseok in the peripheral of your eye as you turned, knowing he was gaining on you, he was faster than you.

The stinging pain in your throat was increasing every second, your lungs hurting trying to keep up with the pace you were holding, the tips of your fingers tingling.

Jumping the last few steps, you nearly fell, your shoulder hitting the exit door with extreme force, face twisted in pain your eyes meeting the opening of the basement car park, your freedom, your legs never stopping their movements.

That’s when you felt it, something in your hair tugging you back lightly before an arm wrapped around your waist as well and you were stopped dead in your tracks.

“No!” you screamed, the sound echoing through the empty lot.

Hoseok’s hand let go of your hair and instead wrapped around your chest, capturing your arms, turning you around, pushing you against the wall next to the exit door.

“Let me go!” you screamed.

“I will! Just fucking listen to me!” he yelled back, his grip on you tightening.

You put your forehead against the hard surface of the wall, relaxing your body in his hold, your rapid and shallow pants filling the air along with his.

“We didn’t know, okay? We didn’t know..” he panted into the back of your neck, “We didn’t know about our fathers and your family until a year before you left.. Our fathers left us in charge of the organisation so everything they would want done after leaving, had to go through us.”

“Why should I believe you?” you spoke softly.

“Just listen!” he growled, your body flinching at his change of voice, listening as he continued, “They came in one late night, you were with Jungkook at his house, he never knew anything about this until the night we asked you to go to dinner with Won-Shik, his family was never involved in this.”

Hoseok buried his face in your neck, his voice faint and broken, “They ordered a hit on you.”

You felt your heart drop, your eyes widening at his statement, “W-what?”

“They dropped a file on Jin’s desk, watching as he opened it, saw your pictures and a short description of you, where you would be and how they wanted it done. He stood up and asked what it was about, they refused to tell us to begin with, but eventually they did.” he paused with a sigh, “They told us everything. They told us that you were the only one left and they wanted it finished so it could never come back to them.”

“You didn’t do it..” you whispered, turning your head slightly to the side, your cheek meeting the softness of his hair.

“We explained who you are, how loyal you were to us, how you had been with us for years before they even found out you were still alive, that you had helped us so many times, been an asset to the organisation.” his voice broke as he whispered, “How much we love you.”

He lifted his head, you could see his eyes were glazed over and red, “You don’t need us, Y/N. We need you.” Hoseok’s grip on you loosened, his arms slowly moving from you to hang against his own sides, letting you go.

You turned around, looking at him, your eyes flickering between his, searching for any indication that he was lying, almost begging that he was lying to you, but you couldn’t find anything - he hung his head, closing his eyes, letting his tears drop as you stepped past him and walked away.

Your heart writhed in your chest as the distance between you and Hoseok, ultimately all of the men, grew wider, your eyes stinging, your throat expanding, barely able to breathe despite reaching the road outside, the cold air of the night hitting your skin ruthlessly.

‘No time to break down, no time to cry, no time to think, not now.’ you thought to yourself as your legs picked up the pace and you found yourself walking towards the hotels around the industrial estate, there was a unit close to there where Ae-Cha kept her emergency pack, it will have all the things you need, a new identity, some money, clothes and keys to a car not far away.

There are very few hotels around the city that does not ask for your name or proof of identity, specifically because of the large crime organisations around, whether it be because they want to protect people trying to get away or because they want to protect themselves matters little to you, one of them will be your safe space tonight.

Reaching the small unit, you located the key at the back of it, under a small broken piece of the frame - quickly opening the door you begged the bag was still there and she hadn’t used it.

It was.

Quickly grabbing it, you left the door open and they key in it, not caring if anyone noticed, when she would eventually come to check up on it she would know it was gone and she would replace it.

The hotel you had chosen wasn’t far from where the unit was, it was medium sized, quite nice and, despite being a get away for a lot of criminals that just wanted a quiet life, had a lot of reviews and stars on their website, presumably from tourists that didn’t know any better.

Hidden away between restaurants the only give away that it was the place you were looking for was the large blood red flower above the entrance, with a small sign beside the door reading: 꽃 (kkoch). It gave no indication of how large the hotel actually was as it masked itself into the buildings.

You stepped through the door, the bag heavy on your shoulder as you reached the reception, an older man greeting you with a soft smile, his eyes looking like they had seen heaven and hell, his grey hair lying in small curls on the top of his head.

“1 bedroom, please, for an unknown amount of time.” you asked kindly.

His eyes gazed down your body, taking in your dishevelled clothes, the cuts and bruises on your legs - but he didn’t question it, he simply nodded as he turned and reached for a key, handing it to you.

You reached into the bag, pulling out a bundle of cash, wanting to pay for the first night up front, which was usually what you needed to do when you didn’t give your name, but the man waved his hand, stopping you.

“Please, just take care of yourself.” he spoke softly, you bowed to him and took the key before you walked through the building, towards your room for the night.

As you reached the door, you thanked whatever force had made sure there were no people in the hallways while you walked to your room - putting the key into the hole you walked through it quickly, closing it behind you, resting your back against it as you dropped the bag next to you and slid onto the floor.

Your thoughts caught up with you and you were finally in a place where you could process everything, a somewhat safe place that allowed you to think.

Though all you achieved was a heart wrenching in your chest and teary eyes - you almost wish Hoseok hadn't told you anything, it made everything feel worse.

If he was telling the truth that is, but what did he have to gain from lying to you? He had already lost you and was willing to let you go as long as you listened to him, he could've taken you back inside, protected him, you and the other heads, but he didn't.

Why?

You sobbed silently, your eyes piercing the ceiling above you, the tears flowing freely down your cheeks. You knew why you had protected them, you knew why you went to see them, you knew exactly why you were aching, even before all of this had happened.

You still loved them.

Despite all of it, despite what had happened, you were so utterly lost without them, Hoseok’s words only sent you further into the darkness you had entered when you left them a year ago.

Rubbing your face free of tears, you took a deep breath, ‘Get up, you bitch.’ you growled at yourself, ‘Take a shower, you stink, clean your wounds before they get infected.’

Your inside voice wasn’t always as harsh, but time hadn’t been nice to you.

Standing up, you discarded your clothes, the dried blood ripping your skin, your face wincing in pain for every bit you had to rip - dropping them in the bin by the mini fridge you walked towards the bathroom, turning on the shower, looking at yourself in the mirror.

Your eyes were swollen and puffy, your cheeks equally so, your hair bunched up and in knots, ‘A mess.’ you sighed, ‘But a living one.’

The mirror slowly started fogging up, so you turned and stepped into the shower, not pulling the curtain to cover yourself, you wanted to be able to see the door, not that you thought anyone would enter, but, for good reason, you were on edge.

Hot water ran over your broken body, removing the outer layer of today's past, but it wasn’t a day you were going to forget for a long time, no, you’d probably remember it until the day you died.

Looking at the small complementary shampoo bottle in the shower, you found a little fun in something so seemingly dull, pondering how angry people with really long hair got every time they saw these tiny things as they stepped into the shower?

You picked it up, squeezing a good amount in your hand, ruffling it through your hair, quickly washing your body before you washed it out and got out of the shower.

As much as you wanted to stay in the warm stream of water, you were much too tired - grabbing the towel hanging on the wall, drying yourself off, walking back into the room to rummage through the bag you had stolen to see what clothing was available.

A black t-shirt and a pair of black underwear, that would do you for the night - not like you had to look good for anyone, you just had to recharge.

Grabbing a small first aid kit in the bag, you bandaged your larger cuts, putting plasters on the smaller ones, you didn’t want to bleed on the nice old man’s sheets - none of them really needed stitches, or at least you just didn’t care enough to endure more pain today, despite a needle and string readily available in the kit.

You stepped towards the bed, grabbing the duvet, throwing it back, quickly plopping yourself onto the mattress of the single bed, it was a little hard, but your body did not care, not tonight.

Trying to fight the thoughts, you closed your eyes, begging for your mind to let your soul rest - no more aching, please.

The thick duvet draped around your body, kept you warm in what seemed like an all too cold room, seeming to make you feel more safe and at peace.

You couldn’t tell if it was your mind playing tricks on you or not, whether you had fallen so close to the edge of your sleep and dreams were starting to creep on you or if there was actually a clicking noise coming from the door.

Shaking your head, you woke yourself a bit, peeking your ear in the direction of your door, trying to tell if the noise continued or if you had shaken it away along with your much needed sleep.

It continued.

You sat up just as the door opened and Taehyung’s figure appeared - his eyes instantly piercing yours as you threw the duvet away from your body, quickly getting off the bed, moving to the window on the other side of the room, far away from the man that had just appeared, a man you used to run towards, not away from.

Taehyung calmly entered the room and closed the door behind him, turning his figure towards you, his features returning from piercing to the same loving ones he used to have whenever he looked at you - it hurt you to see.

"How did you find me?" you questioned, "I didn't even give a name!"

"There's few hotels in this city that allows you to do that, so it really wasn't that hard, noona. I used my ''persuasive" skills to ask at the reception."

You knew what that meant - the poor old man had a gun stuck to his head and had to choose between you and him, he probably knew who Taehyung was and knew he wouldn't hesitate to kill him and search every room for you.

Taehyung moved into the room and closer to you, your body pressing against the wall behind you, worried about what was to come.

"You've left poor Jungkookah in quite a state." he said sternly, his feature displaying clear disapproval, "You know, after you slapped him and all."

"Taehyung.." you spoke softly, trying to plead with him.

He stepped close to you, close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from his body.

"That's not going to work, beautiful, not this time." he said with a slight smirk, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, "I need you to come back with me."

You looked up at him, meeting his eyes, softly shaking your head no.

"Tsk. I'm not asking. I'm telling you." he spoke with a harsher voice, "You can come with me willingly or I can take you with me."

"I'm not going to say anything to anyone, I promise. I've already proven that.." you tried to bargain.

"That's not why I'm here. I'm only here because of Jungkookah and what you did." he leaned his face in closer to you, his body overshadowing you're, you had no way of escaping him, your heart running a marathon in your chest.

"I would do anything to protect my brothers." he whispered, "That includes being less than nice to you, noona."

He was so threatening and yet, not at all, his features were kind and loving but his words spat venom against your skin.

You knew you had to get away from him, you couldn't allow him to take you back, you knew that if he did they'd keep you in a place no one could find you until they were sure the threat against them was neutralised, no matter how long that took.

"What's it gonna be?" his voice sliced through your thoughts of your impending lack of freedom.

You slapped his hand away from your cheek, trying to run past him but only managed to take a few steps before his arms swung around your waist and he pushed you forward onto the bed, trying to control you, his body lying heavily on top of yours.

"Wrong fucking move, Y/N." he growled as you felt a sharp prick in your thigh, your eyes feeling heavier and heavier until everything went dark.

Your eyes flickered open, sensitive to the bright light above you, your head throbbed like mad, your body feeling heavy - the sudden realisation of where you were setting in as you remembered Taehyung in your hotel room.

You sat up quickly and looked around, you were alone, nothing but the bed you were in, an open door to the bathroom, a TV and a desk with a laptop, though there was a bottle of water next to it with what looked like a piece of paper.

Pushing the duvet covering your body to the side, you stood up but nearly fell over as your legs shook beneath you, quickly holding onto the bed next to you for support, the blood rushing to your head certainly didn't help your aching brain.

Taking great care you walked over to the desk, following the wall with one hand on it for support, grabbing onto the edge of the desk as soon as it was within reach.

"Noona,

I'm sorry - I did what I had to do, I hope you can forgive me.

Please drink some water, it will help with the headache.

There are some painkillers behind the mirror in the bathroom.

See you soon,

Taehyungie~."

You groaned, slamming your hands down on the table - damn you, Taehyung, damn you and your protective behaviour.

Grabbing the bottle of water you opened it and drank a little, the cold water sending shivers down your throat and through your body - you took it with you as you walked into the bathroom, opening the mirror cabinet, grabbing the painkillers, the contents rattling as you angrily opened it and took 2, quickly throwing them in your mouth to down them with more water.

Fuck it - at least you knew you were safe here, even if you didn't want to be here, they still provided you with all the stuff you'd need if you were at home, you knew you weren't going anywhere any time soon so you might as well make yourself comfortable.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, your ruined figure and tired eyes making you grimace at yourself.

Sighing deeply you turned around, walking back into the room, plopping yourself down on the bed, grabbing the remote, turning on the TV to find something mindless to watch.

Flickering through the channels you didn't find anything that piqued your interest, the sound of a key in the door turning your attention toward it as it opened and Jimin appeared, a large gym bag over his shoulder and a white case in his hand.

He met your curious eyes, his features not changing from their harsh look, no smile, no worry, nothing, just a blank canvas. A small white beanie on his head accompanied by a white t-shirt that sat snugly around his torso and a pair of jeans with rips down his thighs and on his knees.

You couldn’t help how attracted you were to the man as he dropped the gym bag and closed the door, walking over to you with the white case, the casual version of Jimin always took you off guard, seeing him in everyday clothes rather than a suit was always something that got to you.

He squatted down in front of you, inspecting the cuts and bruises on your legs as they hung on the edge of the bed, the blank expression on his face finally changing to what resembled anger and hurt - his hand reached out to touch your leg, the warm palm of it causing goosebumps to rise on your skin, his thumb grazing over one of your bruises.

A sigh left him before he opened the white case next to him, a full first aid kit appearing - a needle, stitching thread, antiseptic creme, bandages, large absorbent pads.

Turning his head up to face you, he asked gently, “Can I take care of your wounds, please?”

You nodded softly in return.

Removing the bandages and plasters you had put on, he dropped some alcohol onto a cloth starting with your biggest cut, running across your thigh - as soon as the cloth hit you the painful sting shot through your body, a hiss leaving you as your hands grabbed fistfuls of the sheet below you, your jaw clenching.

When he felt it was clean enough he opened a tube of numbing creme, dabbing it gently around the skin before he reached into the case and grabbed a needle along with some thread.

While the creme was setting in he tried to get the thread through the needle but his hands were shaking so much he had trouble doing so - you watched as he struggled until he finally let out a sigh of annoyance.

You reached out, putting your hands on his, watching as he looked up at you, you took the needle and thread from his hands, offering a small smile while trying to get the thread through the small hole yourself.

Whether it be because you were still drugged up or just not completely in the moment, you seemed a lot calmer than him, easily getting it through, tying a small knot on it and giving it back to him.

“Thank you, noona.” he whispered, both his hands returning to your thigh to stitch you up, his face close enough to your skin for you to feel his breath, “Tell me if it hurts.”

“It’s okay, Jiminah.” you hesitated, “I’ll bite through it.”

“That’s my girl.” he giggled, his eyes instantly going up to meet yours, his face turning surprised at what he had said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”

You shook your head, “Don’t be sorry.”

He returned to the mission at hand, to stitch you up nicely, avoiding as much scarring as possible - clear focus on his face as he stuck the needle through your skin the first time, not hearing or seeing any discomfort he continued.

It was like you hadn’t ever left, you fell back into the same old habits so easily and comfortably, so content in his presence - you know you should be angry, you were moments ago, you know you should hate him, all of them, but it was just so damn hard, you made excuses for them but they seemed so valid to you.

Were you in a situation where you could no longer tell what was right and what was wrong? Were you so blinded by the love, the hurt, the longing for them that you simply didn’t care anymore? They were all that you had known for so long, the ones that had taken care of you for so many years, protected you, killed for you, given you everything you ever asked for, no questions.

Would you have done the same as them?

You wanted answers for so long and now that you had them, you didn’t know what to do with them. It would have been easier if they had just said that it was them, that they had organised the whole thing, that they were in on it, but they weren’t - they even went against the ones that did to protect you, their own parents.

Did you hate them? Could you hate them?

Yoongi once asked you in the late hours you where you were lying with him under the stars, having pulled a mattress outside at your request, you were half way asleep on his chest, barely paying attention to his words as his mind went into overdrive and he realised more and more how much he loved you.

’Would you take a bullet for us? Would you give your life for us?’

In their line of work it may very well come to that some day. They all know the other would lay down their life to save another - that’s how they measure love, the need and want to protect someone so much that you would give up everything that you are to ensure that they continue to be. Your survival instinct is no longer about keeping yourself alive, it is about keeping them alive.

The answer back then was a definite yes - is it still?

“I’m done, noona. How does it feel?” Jimin’s small and hesitant voice sliced through your hazed mind, blinking your eyes a few times to regain the moisture in them you looked down at your legs, fully bandaged and stitched.

“Perfect.” you giggled lightly.

“Good.” he smiled, “Do you have any other cuts or anything?”

You shook your head, no.

He raised a brow at you, his hand moving onto your stomach, a groan of pain instantly leaving you - he looked up at you, the pain lingering even though his hand had moved, small gasps leaving you as you tried to calm down, a dagger like throb settling in your middle section.

Jimin pulled out his phone, quickly dialling a number and putting it to his ear, you heard very few rings before someone answered on the other end, “Hyung, come down here, please.” his voice sounding panicked, he instantly hung up after and his attention returned to you.

“Lie down, please, noona.” he asked.

“I’m fine, Jiminah, really.” you panted, but you didn’t really sell it to him.

“Please, just lie down for me.” he requested again, his hands pushing gently on your shoulders and you obliged.

He moved his knee onto the bed next to your hip and steadied himself, hovering above you, his hand moving under your shirt, lifting it up to have a look at the damage underneath it.

“Fucking..” he growled before he stopped himself, his hand applying pressure in certain places on your stomach, your muscles tensing underneath it because of the pain.

“Jiminah!” you cried out.

“I know, noona, I know. I'm sorry, I just need to make sure everything is okay.” he said soothingly.

The door burst open and Namjoon's panicked figure came into view.

“What happened? What's wrong?” he asked quickly.

“Hyung, come look at this.” Jimin urged him.

He walked quickly over to the side of the bed, his eyes wide as he saw the bruise on your stomach almost covering your entire middle section.

“Shit..” he whispered.

“I don't think she needs to go to a hospital, but you're better at telling than I am.” Jimin spoke as he moved off the bed and away from you, letting Namjoon get closer.

Namjoon bent over you, his hand replacing Jimin's as he pressed down on several places on your stomach, just as Jimin's had, your face contorted in pain, desperately trying not to scream out in agony - his other hand moved to hold onto yours, your fingers immediately intertwining with his while your eyes were screwed shut and your jaw tight.

“Please..” you sobbed, wanting him to stop.

He sighed, his hand moving from your stomach though still holding your hand, “She'll be okay.” Jimin finally released his breath, relieved at Namjoon's verdict.

Gathering the white case, throwing out the bandages and plasters he had taken off you, he looked down at you, his hand softly touching your arm, “There's clothes in the bag that I brought. It's what you had at our houses.”

“Mmhm..” you hummed softly, “Thank you.” the throbbing pain from your bruise not subsiding as quickly as you wanted it to.

His head turned to Namjoon, “I'll see you upstairs, hyung.” Namjoon nodded in response and you heard Jimin's footsteps fade as well as the door opening and closing, Namjoon's hand not leaving yours, your eyes still closed.

He let go of your hand gently causing you to grumble in response as you opened your eyes and looked up at him. He didn’t return your gaze as he bent over, his hands softly grabbing your legs, placing them back up on the bed so you could lie on it properly, grabbing a small cover nearby to drape over your body, sitting down on the edge of the bed, staying with you, his hand finding yours again.

You turned onto your side, moving close to him, your body moulding in a curve around his as you pressed the back of his hand against your forehead, “It didn’t hurt this bad before..”

“The bruises probably took effect when you were knocked out and you didn’t really notice until we made you aware of them.” he spoke softly, soothingly, his hand moving your hair behind your ear, “Do you remember anything about the men that took you?”

“I remember everything.” you said with a blank stare into the nothingness ahead.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, opening the notes on it, “Can you tell me?”

“There were 3 men that were responsible for my injuries, but I also saw what I think was their boss. Bale. He referred to himself as Bale, it wasn’t his real name, he made a note of that.” you sighed and closed your eyes, “He was large, muscular, well kept unlike the others, black hair and black eyes, he didn’t have anything that would make him stand out like the others, but I would recognise him in an instant.”

“Okay.” Namjoon whispered.

“One of the three..” you choked, remembering the pain they inflicted on you, “He had a small mole under his right eye and a tattoo of a cross between his index finger and thumb, it was red.”

He continued tapping on his phone, writing everything down that you had to tell him, hoping to find these men, not only for the heads sake, but for the sake of keeping you safe and maybe a little bit of revenge.

“Another one had a scar across his neck and was missing his left canine tooth.” you spoke with a small voice.

Namjoon typed the last bits out, then his eyes turned to you, as you had stopped talking, noticing small tears collecting by the corners of your eyes, his chest clenching at what you had to say about the last one, “Hey..” he cooed, “You’re safe, it’s okay..”

You sighed as you opened your eyes, your brows furrowed with anger, “The last one was the worst one..” you gritted your teeth, “He got off on hurting me, the sick fuck. He had a small moon tattooed between his collarbones, in the indent by his throat and he was missing his right pinky.”

He squeezed your hand in anger without realising at your words, a certain burning fire in his eyes - you wiped the tears from your eyes, “That’s all of them.” you left out the young man that had been watching over you, he was probably in enough trouble, possibly even dead for letting you escape.

“Thank you, Y/N.” he sighed with a clenched jaw, “We’ll find them, don’t worry.”

You closed your eyes, feeling a certain relief at his words, “I know you will, opp-..” you stopped yourself before you let the word slip, returning to your old habits so easily, but Namjoon didn’t say anything, he let you take your time.

A low growl emitted from your stomach, both your attention as well as Namjoon’s turning to it.

“When was the last time you ate?” he questioned.

“I don’t .. I don’t remember..” you whispered, feeling the ferocity of your hunger setting in.

He saved the notes on his phone before he put his phone to his ear, looking at you with a soft smile, a few rings passing before it was picked up, “Hyung, could you bring some food down? Y/N’s hungry.”

You could hear Jin’s ecstatic voice on the other end, “What does she want? I’ll make anything, my expert cooking with satisfy her nicely!”

You couldn’t help the breathy laugh you let out at hearing him so happy, looking up at Namjoon finding his eyes questioning you.

“Fried veggies with noodles?” you beamed.

“The usual, please, hyung.” he smiled before he hung up the phone, letting Jin get on with his cooking.

Namjoon was just as casual as Jimin today, wearing a pair of jeans and a large navy coloured t-shirt, his tanned skin showing on his arms and face, as if he had been outside working for a long time.

A small knock sent a shock through your body and you immediately flinched, groaning in pain at the muscles flexing under your bruises, Namjoon’s hand instantly cupping your cheek to reassure you, “It’s okay, it’s okay.” his attention turning to the door, “Yes?”

The door opened and Yoongi’s face appeared beside it.

“Hyung, you scared her.” he sighed.

“Sorry, I thought it would’ve been better to knock than to just come in.” he spoke with a pout.

“It’s okay.. I’m just a little jumpy.” you added, relaxing your body again.

“Understandable.” Yoongi confessed, entering the room, closing the door behind him, coming over to sit on the chair by the desk.

Namjoon got up from the bed, his hand still in yours, looking down at you, “I’ve got to get this information up to Hoseok-hyung to see if we can find them.” he squeezed your hand one last time before he let go, offering a small bow to Yoongi as he walked out the door.

You sighed, burying your face in the pillow below you, wishing your body would stop aching.

“I’m sorry.” Yoongi spoke with a quiet voice.

Turning your head, you looked at him, his hoodie draped over his torso, he was almost swimming in it, his black jeans tight around his legs, his expression fiery and solemn.

“What for?” you questioned.

“This. This happening to you.” his fists clenched as he leaned forward and let out a small huff, “Jiminah told me how bad it is.”

Yoongi had a hard time hiding his anger when it came to you, he wanted to protect you at all costs and when he failed, he wasn’t kind to himself about it.

“Don’t be sorry. I knew the risks when I got involved. I knew what could happen, you trained me for it.” you hummed, keeping your eyes fixated on him.

“I know, but I had always hoped it wouldn’t.” he tensed, “But you did well, really well.”

“I had good teachers.” you smirked.

He couldn’t help but smile at your comment - standing up and coming closer to the bed, sitting down on the floor next to it, just tall enough to still see your face.

“I’ll make sure they regret it.” he growled, “I’ll make sure their families regret it.”

There it was - the click - the thing you had been searching for.

What their fathers did to you, to your family, it was all business, they didn’t see you as humans, they saw you as a liability, as work. They didn’t think about what it would do to any survivors or friends, they didn’t think that far - what you had seen the heads do for years, their work, even things you had been apart of, what happened when you were younger was exactly the same as this.

You were no better.

“No, leave the families, please.” you spoke quickly with a panicked voice, Yoongi’s head turning to look at you with a questioning brow, “Please.” you begged.

“Okay.” he nodded softly, “Just them.”

“Thank you.” you whispered, your eyes darting from one end of the room to the other as your brain worked through what you had just realised.

Did you really go this many years without even giving it a second thought? Could you have even changed anything? You had become so accustomed to the thought of the things that they did on a daily basis, so desensitised to it that you never thought what they did, was what happened to you.

You could feel your heart race in your chest.

Yoongi’s hand took yours, his thumb softly caressing it, “Are you okay? What’s on your mind? You look bothered.”

Smiling softly you tried to avoid letting him in, not yet, not this, “Yeah, I’m fine, just tired, hungry and in pain.”

“Jin-hyung should be down soon with your food.” he smiled, “Do you want me to go get you some more painkillers?”

You shook your head no, “Not until I’ve eaten a little, makes them work better I feel.”

He simply nodded at your answer, sitting in silence with you, enjoying the fact that you were actually here, with him, even under these circumstances.

You always enjoyed Yoongi’s company, that much hadn’t changed, to be honest, you don’t know if anything had changed, Hoseok’s words from before echoed through your head, the anger and hatred you felt a year ago had subsided progressively and you weren’t sure where you were even going to go from here or when you were going to find out.

One day at a time, for now.

The handle of the door wobbled and then stopped, then wobbled again and stopped, Jin’s growling on the other side causing a small laugh to extract from your lungs, Yoongi getting up from his spot next to you to open the door and let him in.

Jin came into view with a large tray of food and several drinks, his blinding smile and clear pride at his work showing - your nose flaring at the aroma of the food flowing towards you, your stomach growling again.

He walked over to you and you sat up with a pained groan, his features falting for a moment because of his worry as he put the tray down in front of you, your eyes feasting on the meal he had prepared for you.

Yoongi disappeared into the bathroom to get the painkillers you had requested, coming back out quickly to put them on the tray for you, giving you and Jin a small smile as he decided to leave you alone with Jin for a little, walking through the door without another word.

Jin pulled the chair from the desk over to you and sat down, awaiting your verdict of his food with excitement.

“I really hope you like it, Jagi-..” he stopped mid word, “Y/N.” he corrected himself.

“I’m sure I will.” you smiled, “I always do!”

You picked up the chopsticks, digging them into the food, lifting them to your lips and embracing the food between them, a small moan like sound leaving you as you closed your eyes and chewed through the substance.

“Good?” he smiled.

“Better than ever.” you chuckled, “I’ve missed your cooking.”

He showed a tiny bit of shyness at your words, letting out a small laugh, the signature sound warming your chest. You continued to stuff your face with his delicious mixture of foods, the hungry pain in your stomach finally going away.

Pulling out his phone he started tapping away at it, wanting to stay in your company, but letting you enjoy the food he had made - his pink sweater was just as baggy as it always was, his grey jeans sitting tight in some places around his legs, his hair a little messy, but still placed in a way that made him look good.

Damn all of them, always looking so good, even when they didn’t try.

It didn’t take you long to finish your food as you basically wolfed it down, grabbing the painkillers Yoongi had left for you and throwing them into your mouth, downing them with a big gulp of water, feeling like your stomach was almost going to burst at how full you were.

Jin’s eyes turned to you as he heard your movements stop, “Feel good?”

You smiled widely with closed eyes, a content hum leaving you as you thought you were close to a food coma.

“I’ve got something for you.” he cleared his throat and you opened your eyes to look at him.

His hand went into his pocket and he pulled out a very familiar item, your phone.

“I found it not long after you..” he stopped himself, his eyes dropping from yours to the phone, “It still works.” he continued as he handed it to you.

You took the device, powering it on, unlocking it and feeling its all too familiar heaviness in your hand. You immediately went to the gallery, wanting to see all the pictures you had on it, not that you had forgotten, but you wanted to feel the sensation of seeing them again, the happiness.

The first image was the last one you had taken, an image of yourself lying in bed with your thumb and index finger in the form of a heart, one that you sent to Hoseok.

A smile grew on your face.

Jin got up from the chair, moving the tray over to the desk before he sat down next to you on the bed - seeing what you were seeing on the screen.

“Cute.” he smiled.

You hummed in response, flickering through more images, Jin’s shoulder leaning against yours as you both remembered and laughed at the pictures you saw.

Coming across an image of yourself along with the 7 heads at a beach, you remembered fondly the day, Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook splashing each other in the water, Yoongi lying in the shade, Namjoon looking for crabs, Hoseok next to you and Jin on the other side, laughing with you.

A normal day, with normal men - not killers, not powerful leaders of an organisation.

You felt a sense of tiredness wash over you, a yawn creeping onto you, the food having fulfilled you.

“Tired?” Jin questioned softly.

“Yeah..” you hummed, “Still recovering.”

Jin moved off the bed, “Maybe you should sleep a little.” he smiled, his finger going under your chin in a loving manner.

“Okay.” you smiled.

“I’ll see you soon.” he whispered as he turned around and left, closing the door softly behind him.

You laid down on the bed, hugging the cover tightly under your chin, turning the TV on for some background noise, your eyes dry and heavy, quickly allowing you to fall into the abyss of sleep.

You didn’t know how long you had been asleep, but you heard the door opening slowly and gently, Jungkook's face coming into view around the corner of it, looking at you with worried and soft eyes.

You were pale, your eyes tired, your body weak. Looking up at him you met his eyes, he looked so small and hesitant, not knowing if he should approach you or stay put.

Standing up from the bed you walked slowly towards him but he took a few steps back, as if he was scared of you, of all people, this large and muscular man that had killed people, beaten people, probably even more brutal things than you could even imagine, it didn't stop you though, you continued to walk towards him until you reached him, your arms instantly wrapping around him in a tight hug that he instantly returned, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his arms around your waist squeezing you closer to him.

"I'm so sorry, noona, I didn't mean for you to get hurt, please, I'm so sorry!" he whispered with a shaky breath.

"Hey.. It's okay." you cooed.

His body shook in your hold, tears falling from his eyes as he slowly sunk down on his knees in front of you, your heart aching at his actions, seeing him like this was sending a wave of ice through your chest, your own eyes welling up.

Jungkook sobbed into the softness your stomach, "Please don't leave me again, noona, please."

Your hand ran gently through his soft hair, he had nothing to do with it, any of it, he didn't do anything wrong, an innocent party in this horror story, just like you.

Should you stay?

Even if it's only for him?

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unexploredcast · 5 years

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BEHIND THE SCREEN: GM Prep for Deliverance, OH (Mystery 1)

Thank you so much to everyone who left a review of our show in February! I’m so excited to be able to share my GM notes and a little bit about how I prep for our sessions with all of you, which are contained in quite a long post beow, and I’m more than happy to answer any questions that come up, so send them my way and I’ll get to them as soon as I can!

Fair warning: this post contains spoilers for... the entire first eight episodes of Deliverance, OH, quite literally, so if you haven’t finished listening to the first arc, it’d serve you best to listen to episodes 00-08 before reading my notes. I don’t think there will be any other spoilers for future episodes, but if there are I’ll be sure to mark them with plenty of space for you to stop or skip reading them.

Thanks again for your support, and enjoy this little walk through my brain on Monster of the Week!

-Christine

ORGANIZATION

I do the majority of my GM prep for this game in one big google doc I call “Session Outlines” which I store in a folder that has all of my worldbuilding notes, monster ideas, intro scripts, alternate playbooks, etc. I like having everything in one place so I can cross-reference with old arc while I work and on the fly, and this is as close to organized as I get.

The “Session Outlines” document’s got a handy table of contents with links that I can follow to quickly get where I need -- the breakdown is based on the Mystery prep system that Monster of the Week gives, so each arc has it’s concept, hook, monster, minions, bystanders, locations, and countdown. I’m going to go through each of those, but this is what the outline/table of contents looks like on the first page of my doc:

As you can see, I give each arc a catchy, stupid name that no one else ever sees, just to entertain myself.

Also in this doc, right at the end, I have the countdowns for various long-term arcs so that I can reference them when those intersect with things happening in smaller mysteries:

I’ll get a little deeper into countdowns further on in the post for anyone who hasn’t run Monster of the Week before, because they’re my absolute favorite part of prepping for this game.

PRE-MYSTERY PREP

Now, the first mystery in Deliverance was the first time I’d ever run Monster of the Week, so there are some aspects of prep that I’ve altered a little as I’ve learned more, but let’s just go through each page of my original notes from that arc.

The first page of my notes is always where I put the high-level thematic stuff that I want going on. The Concept for the arc -- in this case, a complicated question of morality, responsibility, and control that comes up when you find out that the monster that’s killing people is just a kid that doesn’t really know any better. I knew that with this arc I wanted to immediately set up the season with the question of: can we say that a monster is intrinsically evil, and if they are not, how does that effect our moral responsibility in re: trying to stop/hunt them?

Some of that came from my own agenda coming into the game, and some of that came from our episode 0, with Andrew flagging an interest in this strict anti-monster sect with rigid morals and absolute obedience, and also with Roman flagging an interesting in the nature and morality of monstrosity by choosing the Monstrous playbook. I figured a question like this would instantly give them both a strong agenda, and build an interesting tension between two of the four main characters if I could get them to butt heads about it.

The hook is pretty straightforward: what direct action or effect of the monster’s presence are they going to notice first, what’s our “opening shot” so to speak. I’ve been reading the essay collection Dead Girls by Alice Bolin lately and feeling guilty about having killed Delaney off before she was ever even on screen, but at the time I chose what felt like a trope-y establishing shot for the season so that it would become very quickly apparent where I was attempting to turn certain other tropes on their head. Anyway, someday we’ll be returning to Deliverance again and all I can say is that we may or may not have seen the last of Delaney Chapman... but that’s all stuff for later.

I also always put Chase’s start of mystery move on the first page of each mystery’s notes for a few reasons -- mostly so I don’t forget to ask him to roll it, but also because his result will, in part, develop the tone that mystery’s going to have. If he rolls a 10, this is going to be a mystery where the Kindred is working closely to solve the same problem, but if he rolls a 9 or below, the group is going to be more splintered, he’ll have fewer resources on hand, and on a 6 or below, they’re going to be actively obstructing him in some way. In play, I bold the result he rolls on this page so that I don’t forget, weeks and weeks later when we’re recording the third session in the mystery, what it was that he rolled, and so I can look back later and remember the progression of his relationship with the sect.

Anyway, after all of that’s set in place, I move on to firming up the details of the monster -- powers, attacks, weaknesses, all of that good stuff. Most important is the MONSTER TYPE, which is one of my favorite things about Monster of the Week.

For anyone who hasn’t taken a look at the Keeper preparation sheets for Monster of the Week ( HERE! ) I’ll put in a screenshot of what I’m talking about so that it makes sense.

The first thing I do in creating each monster is pick its type/motivation. Some of them are really obvious, but sometimes having the opportunity to pick an unexpected or non-traditional motivation for a traditional monsters is even better. I’ll elaborate more on that some day when I do one of these posts for a later mystery, because Clara is pretty straightforward in terms of monster type. Here are her full stats:

Now-- I’ll admit, at the end of the day Clara maybe wasn’t the monster in this arc. I went back and forth a lot on how to frame this arc in terms of monsters and minions, because the crew was never actually meant to fight or kill this kid. But, again, I was so interested in setting them up immediately against someone that made them question their internal concept of “monster” that I went with it. She was for me, ultimately, the central focus of the arc: the cause of the conflict, the motivation for the other involved characters, etc., even if she didn’t end up being the climactic conflict of the whole arc.

Clara didn’t appear on screen nearly as much as I expected her to: I’m not sure I ever got as far as her physical description as written here. I picked her type as BEAST because, in her uncontrollable werewolf form, that was what she would do -- so if they hurt her, and she transformed in response to that injury, that was what she’d do.

I also write this neat custom move for werewolf bites, but then none of the PCs got bitten by anyone. Still, I stand by the possibility of time-pressure and tension inherent in that 7-9 option.

As for weaknesses, my understanding of the werewolf healing process changed a little bit in play as I started to describe it happening to Evelyn, so between sessions I crossed out the original idea. I honestly have no idea, in retrospect, where I was going with the second bullet point, but thus is the fun of digital ephemera, it still lives in this google doc even though I have clearly ignored it for the rest of forever.

That link about mercury, for the record, goes to an instructables page I found for “how to kill a werewolf” -- Andrew still gets mad at me that “quick silver” not being literal is the reason he has to clarify whether anything I say is a metaphor or literal, but I thought it was way more interesting than Chase’s already having the perfect weapon (his silver knife) on hand.

Minions are up next:

As you can see, most of the heavy lifting here was in picking their Bystander Types since all three of them were werewolves with basically the same ability. I even copy and pasted from Clara to the point where I forgot to change the pronouns in Henry’s “supernatural powers” section. You can also see the little copy-and-paste checkboxes I use to represent harm on Henry’s stats -- there was so much happening at the end of that battle that I never fully caught up with filling those checkboxes in, and I think I also had them in my paper notes (which we’ll talk about later in this post).

The big motivation here was to differentiate Evelyn and Henry as two sides of the coin: both doing “bad” things to protect their sister, but going about them in different ways, with Evelyn -- who has an investment in this town, a life here she needs to protect in addition to protecting her sister -- being subtle, less destructive, really focused on protecting more than on doing whatever it takes, where Henry -- who has just moved back, and has no attachment to Deliverance itself except his family -- was going to do anything it took to get people off Clara’s scent, killing anyone who got suspicious.

You can see that I’ve face-cast Evelyn, here -- I do this for maybe 25-30% of the NPCs I make for this show, either ones I think are going to be particularly important or ones where an image of them just immediately comes to mind. In addition to Evelyn, I think I have actors in mind for Damaris, Van, Larkin, Blanche... Maybe that’s it? I also originally had one for Remedy (blonde Zoe Kravitz) but some incredible fanart has swayed me to having at least 3 different mental images of Remedy.

I should note that my actual writing process for these notes is not in the order they appear in the doc: at this point, I usually try to at least sketch out the countdown because I’m in the mindset of thinking about the monster and what they’re going to do -- and then I fill in the bystander and location details to suit the countdown, making any adjustments to the countdown that I need to to accommodate new ideas.

But, in my notes Bystanders and Locations are next, so:

First thing of note: somehow, Sheriff Commander-Jones’ wife, the medical examiner, never made an appearance. She is just chilling in the background of this show, waiting for someone to need to talk to a coroner at the morgue, happily married to a very overwhelmed Sheriff. There are a ton of details here that never came up, and one of the things I learned from this first mystery is that I’d over-prepped the hell out of it. My bystander notes these days are a lot simpler: name, pronouns, age, brief physical description, type/motivation, and a one-word trait usually is about it.

(Melissa was going to be so good, I’m still so sad I’ve not found another way to bring her into things. Maybe someday...)

You can also see here the common symptom where I leave something (Yasumoto’s trait) blank to come back to and then instantly forget about it and it just stays blank forever. Also, I don’t know why the hell I wrote “charming” in Jason’s description. He was never truly meant to be charming.

I keep the little Keeper list of bystander types/motivations in the doc below all of my pre-made Bystanders in case I need to come up with some on the fly, but more often or not I forget to write them into the notes. Evidence: Remedy is missing from this document after I made her up on the fly when Chase needed healing.

Locations are notoriously my least favorite part of prepping. I’m not good at coming up with interesting locations so I struggle through outlining the important places. I spent a lot more time on it with this arc than I do later on in the show, but my go-to is a few keywords describing the feeling/appearance of the place, and what information they might come across there.

After that, we get to my favorite part of designing a mystery: the Countdown.

For those who haven’t read or run Monster of the Week, the Countdown basically represents the steps of what the monster would do if the hunters didn’t interfere, and it gives a sense of direction as to how things will progress. It’s broken up into 6 steps, and the story can move from step to step when the heroes take too long or fail rolls, etc. Here’s my countdown for the first mystery:

This one was super concrete compared to some of the ones I’ve written. A recent countdown ended “And then the world ends” or something like that, so this one was a nice, concentrated countdown for a first foray into the game.

I italicize countdown lines in my notes as they happen in play: when people stall for too long early on, or when they fail and I get to make an off-screen hard move. I think the shadows line here was activated when they took the time to take Chase back to the farmhouse to get healed, which meant they wouldn’t be able to find the information I had for them in the morgue. The rest of the countdown was altered by their decision to go after Evelyn -- because Evelyn couldn’t go after Damaris, Henry did, and thus didn’t go after the police.

I hang out on the Countdown page while we play, until I need to reference something else: it gives me a broad overview of where things are going to go, so switching back and forth between that and the list of Keeper moves on the Keeper reference sheet helps me improvise my responses to failed rolls and decide what’s going to happen as the characters go to specific place. I like keeping this focused outline of what the monster is trying to accomplish in the front of my brain at all times, because it makes it easier to decide what conflicts might arise and what threats are out and about.

The last section I prepare before we start the first session for the mystery is a broad mystery information section, which isn’t necessarily in the outline of Keeper prep that Monster of the Week provides. For some mysteries I use this a lot, for others it’s just a line or to, but it’s my catch-all space for any information I can’t fit anywhere else but think I might need.

In this case, it was both notes about werewolf transformations and also a sort of CSI-esque explanation of what had actually happened with Delaney and Jason the night before:

Again, most of this information didn’t get used -- and I’ve sense balanced out my over-prepping problem, but I almost always have something I want to remember that doesn’t fit in any of the other prep, so that’s what this section is for.

I think the biggest thing to note here is that a lot of this information is in flux: I’m always playing with what things will work, what things won’t, what will make for interesting decisions based on what the PCs are doing, and adjusting my information and planning from there. Less kill your darlings and more let go of cool ideas when better ones come up, but it’s all about being able to adapt on my feet when things aren’t going to plan. I try really hard not to imagine the full arc of the story and how I think it might go, because when I do they inevitably go in the opposite direction. My focus is more cementing the ideas and themes and questions I’m interested in so that I can find ways for those to come up no matter what the players decide to do.

Now, that’s all the prep that I do before the first session. But most of our mysteries for Deliverance take 3-4 recording sessions, so what do I do during and between?

DURING AND BETWEEN SESSIONS

During sessions, I tend to make notes on paper because it makes less noise while other people are talking than typing does (I am, as anyone will tell you, a notoriously loud typist), so write some brief notes from the session on a page for that session, and then another page of notes of whatever I’ve scrawled down immediately after we finish recording where I make note of where I want the next recording to begin -- what hooks there are for each character/group of characters, what needs to be addressed, what they’ve been in the middle of, etc.

I dug through the pile of papers I brought back with me when I moved back to the US this summer to find my scratch page notes for the first mystery (recorded August-October 2017), which are below -- a few handwritten, and one pre-game section that I decided to type because, if I remember correctly, I was making these notes during a lecture because I had procrastinated until the last minute. Major apologies for my oft-indecipherable handwriting; I’d translate, but most of the time I, too, have no idea what it says.

This one below was my post-session 1 notes, along with my general on-hand notes during the recording of the first mystery -- I’ve got harm checkboxes, Andrew’s description of the farmhouse for reference (which, admittedly, I have not looked at again until just now), and then some notes about where people are headed and what they’ve encountered and/or promised.

Looking back at those harm checkboxes, I think I nerfed Henry’s harm-count because I was pretty sure I was going to kill Chase if I didn’t. I was very much still getting the hang of how much harm monsters can do vs. how much harm hunters can do.

No, I don’t know what those numbers on the top are. I want to say that was Jason’s iPhone password?

This one above is pretty typical for what my pre-session notes look like in the middle of a mystery -- each character or character group and then a quick note about where they are/what they’re going to be doing. This looks the most like the notes I take these days, now that I’ve been playing the game for a lot longer. They’re fairly sparse! Basically enough to give me an opening introduction as we start recording and then ask “what do you do?” and go off of whatever their answer to that is.

Another important note: much of this NEVER HAPPENS. “storm begins, takes them back to the station” who????? The quickest lesson I learned with this game is to not hold on to anything too tight because better things come up so quickly that you can’t afford to hesitate before abandoning ship and jumping to them.

As you can see, sometimes these notes are a “here’s what happened” or “here’s a thing you need to remember” note, sometimes they’re a “this is an interesting place to start” note, and sometimes they’re a “how the fuck am I going to get them back on track” note. Usually, I’d say, it’s that last one, with this particular group of characters. QUESTIONS are huge, in these notes -- “Where are you going now that Zeke’s kicked you out of the farmhouse?” is, I would say, the ideal kind of note for me to start off a session with.

Anyway, all that to say: for me, the real work of Monster of the Week is asking the right questions. Having a monster is important and having some idea of setting and bystanders is important, but if I had ten minutes to prep a Monster of the Week mystery, I would have: monster, countdown, and a strong hook, and I could probably improvise it all from there.

#Monster of the Week #ttrpg #GM prep #the unexplored places #motw rpg

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carlkrogen · 5 years

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On The Edge Of A Knife P3

((Character death and description of violence. Also trippy effects below break))

Being alone inside the belly of something much bigger than ourselves, it’s not something I recommend. Farendar is gone, and without him I won’t have a chance in getting the dagger. The whispers still tried to slip through my mind, but they were cut down by my last push back from them. They tried to remind me I would be alone, but now, I won’t be, and that means I won’t be forgotten either.

Slipping through the tunnel, I suppose I should be grateful I still have the book. Though the further I went, the more I wondered, if the owner of the book never finished the book, that means he never escaped this place. In that moment I made a choice. I quickly put the book away and started to walk, following my instincts as I sensed for air movement, and more importantly, reaching out to feel the void itself.

The path I take becomes more narrow. But just when I think I might be lost, and alone, I hear it. More my mind comprehends I’m hearing something and I quickly close the channels to my ears so I can’t hear the language of the void be shouted. Doing the thing I would not advise other explorers, I followed the path until it opened up into a large dome like room. One with jagged spikes around all the walls. In the very center was the thing I was looking for, a pedestal that looked to have been made from the living material the tunnel was made from. It pulsed and moved, but that wasn’t what I was focused on.

What I focused on was Farendar stripped naked from his robes and speaking in a language that if I heard it, I would go insane. Farendar himself was facing away from me, but his hands moved into view and I could see they were covered in blood. If I’m careful enough, he might have lost his sanity that I could sign his soul over to fully be with his gods before he even knew I was there.

Stepping low and slow I draw my tonfas out as I watch Farendar’s erratic movements. One step, two steps.

I didn’t even notice when the tendril hit me in the side until I was face first in sand and my world had turned black. Something grabbed my arms and pulled me violently up and back so I was on my knees with my body up right and my arms held behind me. The darkness vanished as did my mask that was ripped off of my face.

“You are a naughty boy Dr. Krogen.” A voice said coming from all around me. I should mention that Farendar was a very accomplished void user, one who had lost his mind, but one who was powerful. “Do you want to know what the Gods have to say about you.”

“You know, I would love to know, but I would rather they use common.” I quipped and started to pull on the tendrils. Around me the world was not darkness, it was nothing. The color of nothing is far more than I can tell, but far less than I can explain.

The world shifted and Farendar is there, as naked as the day he was born, only his skin was covered in cuts, his eyes were black with the void, and his mouth was coughing up black bile. This, is where void madness can go very very wrong. “They say you are a child who only thinks about himself. That you are always looking to be more, but every cut you make makes you less. No one is ever going to want something more broken than whole, and your perfection will destroy you one day.”

The void, it gives half truths. I might be cutting away more of myself than I have left, but I am forging someone better, someone who makes me happy, not who makes others happy. If I’m going to be alone, then I will be alone and me, than alone and not me. This is the only way I know how to fight back, by accepting the faults I have and pressing harder on. More I know there is more to the void than the Old Gods. The Void… is forever, and forever is where I want to be.

Entering a quiet space, the space I keep to connect to the void on my own terms. In one moment I hear Farendar continue to speak.

“You wanted to kill me. To send my soul to the void.”

Finding that quiet place I smiled up at him “Of course I wanted to send you to the void. It’s been all you’ve ever wanted. To be sacrificed would mean being in the void, forever.”

“I WANTED THE POWER.” Now, his shout was of a man so lost to himself, that I’m not surprised by his actions. His outburst though was what I was looking for. As he yelled at me I was able to slip away, calling on the void myself so I could phase in and out until I was suddenly away from the tendrails and preparing to launch myself back into combat.

This time there was no sneak attack to catch me off guard. Farendar summoned up more maddening void tendrils, they were like eels undulating out from the jagged nothingness. Now I see them coming I was able to dodge them and continue to make my way towards the naked and insane elf i had dragged along.

The thing that caught my attention was the dagger. The pedestal was pulsating more and I started to wonder if it wanted this conflict so it could have the most angry soul going to pay for it’s release? It didn’t matter though, I know I'm not the most angry, and I am not going to die here and end up a slave to the void. That isn’t my dream, that is a dream for men with more insane plotting than I’ll ever have.

Closing the distance Farendar was laughing like he thought that me getting closer would let him win. I should be taking this as a warning, don’t ever get closer to a lost void user, not unless you know they won’t hurt you. In layman’s terms, never get close to a lost void user, ever. The moment I got within striking range he reached out and summoned a curse to be placed on my body. My skin started to feel like it was on fire, when your body is on fire, it’s not the heat you feel, it’s the cold because your body doesn’t know how to process that much heat. You shiver you shake, and that agony ripped through my body.

But I’ve had worse, I’ve felt worse than that. Pushing through the curse I pulled my bades up and started to press forward, only to be met with tendrils blocking me and pushing me backwards. Their force at first took me off guard, that and the agony ripping through my body I was pressed back several feet until I felt something sharp threaten to poke my side. Farendar’s tendrils had pressed me all the way back to the spike covered walls. If he got one more good push, I could be impaled on the unsanitized material. My life was quickly flashing over my mind. That as a child I thought I was going to die, as a young man I lived a life I didn’t love until I found things I did love. The loss of my family, me finding my true self… Now I have even more to live for. I feel like if I died now, it wouldn’t just be my wishes dying with me, I would be letting someone alive down as well.

With a new resolve I started to push back. My touch with the void became stronger as I let myself again meld with it and phase away, only this time I arrive right behind Farendar and take the attack with out a second thought. My bladed tonfa sank into his chest with minimal resistance. A luck of the draw with not hitting any bones or stubborn cartilage. The sound he made, it’s not a whimper, not a groan, there’s something wetter involved as I noticed I must have punctured one of his lungs with my hit. Instead of removing the blade from him I knew I would need to cause as much damage as possible to the man if I was going to survive this night.

Twisting my blade inside of him I made sure to drag it to the side, taking along any more damage I could soak out of him. When I finally removed the blade I retreated back to the alter and called out. “You wanted a sacrifice for the blade, here he is. A soul loving of the void and ready to become one with it.”

My blow had been harder than I thought, Farendar’s body was shaking as he turned, his hand touching his chest where I knew he was struggling to stay alive. His blood was starting to be drained into the sands below, and I knew he was not long for this world. I wondered if I should feel pity for him. He was like many cultists, wanting power from things larger than themselves. But in the end, he was no longer human in my eyes. I’ve seen him torturer people, I saw him kill villages in Uldum so we could go after relics. In the end, this wasn’t just my greed for the dagger, this was me cleaning up one person who would make this world worse if they stayed on it longer.

The alter started to shake more, something stronger was drawing Farendar closer to it. The man shook his head, his eyes cleared of the void and there was obvious fear of what was about to happen to him. He looked out to me. Reaching for me “Carl, don’t do this to me.”

“I asked you to not do something, did you listen?”

It was then he saw why he was here, what had caused his life to send to this singular point. As he whimpered and started to cry I just looked on when his hands touched the pedestal and the light left his eyes. Seems it’s not blood, but the soul was the direct sacrifice for the void. The moment his body hit the floor the room around me started to shake. I’m not stupid enough to stay long once a place starts acting like this. Reaching out I find the dagger is easy for me to pick up.

Normally at this time I’ll use my hearthstone, or for quicker escapes use void walking. Only as I try to reach out I find my energy was already waning. There was no time to hearth out and not wait for whatever fate these tunnels have for me, and I won’t have the energy to void walk. Looking down to the dagger in my hands I know the one solution, and it’s one I don’t like. Sometimes in my profession one has to take calculated risks.

Unsheathing the dagger I summoned up the small amount of mastery I had and sank into the air, like i had hit Farendar with my tonfa’s. There was a mind altering moment where the blade stuck still and let me cut directly down… inside…

One should never talk directly about the void. So I won’t. I do what I’ve always done. Taking one last breath I stepped into the void and out into the wastes outside of Ahn'Qiraj. The whispers lingering just behind me, one of the voices louder than the rest.

‘Walk where we walk, and see what we’ve seen’

Safely out of the tunnels I looked down to the dagger and shivered. In my line of work there are risks to be made. Moments where we have to make the call that could lead us to salvation or, damn us for all times. I don’t know if this dagger is going to provide me with money and strength. Or, will it throw me into insanity like Farendar, will this be a step closer to the madness that I have seen so many others fall into? I can only hold onto the words of my friend, the more people who know me, the less likely it will be that I’ll fall. I have to believe that, or the void wins our game.

((Mentions: @olivia-lovecraft And Quest by: @singing-over-bones))

#On the edge of a knife story #Some future problems for Carl incoming

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perlocutionary · 6 years

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After Hours - Lawyer!Stiles

Description: You and Stiles work for Stilinski’s law firm, but your relationship goes beyond work - SMUT.

Warnings: This is smut. So basically a warning for all things smutty - I am lazy tonight.

Relationship: (Lawyer!)Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Word count: 2822

I glance at the front door of Stilinski’s office as I make my way up the path. Being here at this god forsaken hour could mean two things: one, another high-profile client decided to make an urgent phone call, or two, Stiles was sabotaging me again.

Working for such a big law firm as Stilinski’s had more advantages than I could count. Of course, publicity and getting all the big cases were just a few. The largest disadvantage though - I had to listen to Stiles.

Obnoxious, sarcastic and too good to be true Stiles Stilinski was my boss.

Of course he had been the reason I got hired in the first place. And i only bumped up a few places on the ladder when Stiles took over his dad’s firm - that’s when the money started rolling in.

“What could be so fucking urgent that it couldn’t wait until morning?” I’m already proclaiming my displeasure before I’m fully inside Stilinski’s office, the rapping of my heels coming to a halt as the door clicks closed behind me. The rest of the house is eerily quiet, lights turned off as everyone has turned in for the night - but not Stiles.

Stiles doesn’t grant me an ounce of attention, his eyes glued to the papers scattered along his desk. It had been a rough week - to say the least.

I let thirty seconds pass before I scrape my throat loudly, my foot tapping against the beautiful marble below my feet.

“What? Oh, sorry. I didn’t hear you come in.” Stiles apologetically grins before he casts his eyes back to the files in front of him. “Please, take a seat.”

I huff as his outstretched arm points to the chair in front of him. “I am not in the mood for pleasantries, Stiles. It’s friday night, my work day ended over five hours ago. Why did you call me here?”

It seemed to have become habit of Stiles to call me back in way after our work day had ended. Of course, some days would be neverending right before one of our clients had gone to trial - but usually, we had a decent nine to five policy which Stiles would never keep. Stiles was one of the best in his business - but that came at a price for my well-being. I was dead tired. Cases had been piling up lately - it was hard to keep track.

“Do you have better things to do than to focus on this case, Y/N?” Stiles scrutinizes me, his gaze penetrating me through hooded eyelids.

He licks his right thumb, flicking through the files as his gaze is cast down once more. I feel my skin start to prick in irritation, my lips pursing into a thin line. My hand roughly collides with his expensive mahogany desk.

“You knew I had a date tonight, Stiles!”

He doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he leans back in his chair, crossing his legs over one another and folding his hands in his lap. He cocks his head to the side, tongue darting out to wet his dried, chapped lips.

“We go to trial in five days. And we are nowhere near winning this.”

Another scoff slips me - even though involuntarily. I push away from his desk, pacing the open area as his eyes remain glued on mine. He remains stoic, his pointer finger running along his defined jaw up to his chin as he stays silent.

“Oh, bullshit! We have never had such a strong defense and you damn well know it.”

Still, I provoke no response from him. His face remains stoic as his leg starts nervously bouncing. “So, perhaps, you need to tell me what this really is about.”

A flicker of realization seems to strike through me and I stop dead in my tracks. I cannot suppress the smirk that crawls onto my lips as I flip on my heels, slowly threading closer to Stiles’ desk.

“Are you jealous?” There is a hint of amusement laced through my tone as I circle his desk, walking around and leaning my skirt-covered ass against the edge. His hand immediately reaches for my exposed knee, tapping his fingertips against the inside of my knee to his own rhythm.

“Ha. Of what? That sleazebag?” His eyes don't meet mine when he speaks. Instead, he follows his fingers trail across my inflamed skin. My own curl around his wrist, slowly, reluctantly pulling his touch away.

“The fact that you call him that without ever lying eyes on him speaks for itself.”

He snatches his wrist away from my grasp and turns in his chair, locking my frame between his bend legs. His hands find mine, fingers intertwining leisurely.

“Oh come on, Y/N. I heard you talking to Lauren. Sleazebag is the nicest thing I could possibly say.”

A frown etches its way onto my features - I didn't realize he knew just how unhappy I had been in my current relationship. Although it was partially from the guilt eating at me knowing what I was doing in this office after hours, but he could never make me feel as Stiles did. “So now you’re listening in on my conversations?”

I don't try to push him away this time, letting his fingertips ghost over my arms before resuming their place on my knees. He slides closer, forcing me to sit on his desk as my feet dangle in the air. A lone kiss is pressed to the inside of my thigh.

“Perhaps you should not kiss and tell in the office.”

My hand raises to course my fingers through his well-maintained brown locks. I had always preferred seeing Stiles’ unruly hair after we had shared the bed together. It reminded me that he was human and not this machine he claimed to be when the working day started. “I am not. That way, I would’ve told everyone about this.”

He stops in his tracks, bottom lip brushing against my gooseflesh covered skin. He briefly glances up, smirking against my skin before squeezing my thighs affectionately. “But how would that be beneficial for any parties involved?”

When I don't answer immediately, he resumes his kisses along the inner side of my thigh, pressing my skirt higher up my waist as he moves along. My head slightly tilts back, savoring the gentle pressure of his chapped lips.

“You not calling me in the middle of the night - claiming you are having trouble with this case and you need my presence immediately. That would be beneficial.”

I mutter, hearing Stiles hum as a simple reply. He continues his slow torment upward as my voice fills the silence again.

“Perhaps that way, I could just come into your office and not have to hide the fact you continuously try to arouse me every chance you get.” A chuckle slips past my lips as Stiles nips at my skin in response, raising his head slightly to regain eye contact.

“Does it work?”

I press his head back down again, Stiles getting the hint and pressing his lips briskly against my skin again. His fingertips hook in the hemline of my underwear, running his clipped nails against my skin. “I don't think that matters.”

He slowly drags my underwear along my legs as he whispers his words.

“If it does, I know I’m doing something right.” Without any further ado, he licks a bold stripe up my folds - a shudder passes through my body at his sudden movement.

My voice resonates through the silence like a rough whisper, my breath hitching in my throat as I focus on Stiles’ movements. “I didn’t think you would be one for needing confirmation of your actions, Stiles.”

He stops his assault to glance up, his smirk glistening in the dim lighting from me. He wipes the back of his hand against his mouth, raising to his feet and leveling.

“I am not. It’s just nice to hear the pleasantries of you praising me for all my hard work.”

The wink that accompanies his words sends a chuckle along my spine.

“You’re quite unbelievable.” My flat hand pats his chest affectionately, my knees locking his hips in and pressing Stiles unbelievably closer to my frame. He hums before his lips find my collarbone. “That, my dear, I have heard a lot.”

None of us speak. Instead, I savour the feeling of Stiles’ lips touching and kissing their way up my body. No man has ever had me erupting in goose bumps, but Stiles could do so with just the tiniest flicks of his tongue. When he is peppering my neck with kisses and small bites, he speaks. “I missed you. I missed your legs wrapping around me. I missed your lips.”

He trails up, bottom lip dragging along my jaw as he lingers near my earlobe. My eyes are tightly shut, my lips pursed into a tight-lipped smile as I feel his large hands cup my thighs and bring me closer to his bulge.

“It’s been less than a week since we hooked up…” I laugh, cupping Stiles jaw as his lips trail kisses along my neck and cheek. He trails back over to my earlobe, flicking the small appendage before his whisper sends a shockwave through my body.

“You render me ravenous, Y/N. I can’t get enough of you.”

I don’t speak. Instead, I moan, boisterously loud, and throw my head back to grant Stiles all access he desires. He takes it upon himself to continue his teasing assault of kisses and licks, speaking in between.

“Seeing you come in every day with a skirt so skin-tight it looks like it’s going to rip at it seams drives me insane. And still I believe you do it to taunt me.”

I force myself to open my eyes - to glance at the dapper man in front of me. Right now, he was all mine. My fingers curl around his dress shirt, pulling him closer and pressing my bite-swollen, red lips against his jaw.

“And if that were the case, what were you going to do about it, boss?”

He cups my jaw and forcefully addresses me to look at him. He hums in content, licking along his bottom lip while his eyes glance from my eyes to my lips.

“Call you in every day after work until I’m satisfied - until I don’t feel that hunger anymore.”

I lay my hand on his wrist, slowly pushing his hand down as it courses along my body. I stop the pressure when his flat hand cups my breast, his fingers twitching immediately in recognition. I lean back in again, pressing my breasts against Stiles’ firm chest, scraping my teeth along his bottom lip as he remains stoic.

“And do you have an estimate on when that day will arise?”

Laughter slips him - although I don’t think it’s meant for my ears. His hand curls around the back of my neck, gently tilting my head up to him as he leans in closer.

“God, no. I’ll always be craving you.” Without a second for me to register, he presses his lips firmly to mine - erupting a passionate and feverish battle for dominance.

One of his hands roams along my back as the other roughly squeezes my ass, pushing me further into him and forcing our cores together. “Good,” I whisper against his lips, biting the bottom one and slowly dragging it away before letting it slip, “Because I don’t think I will ever stop craving you either.”

The most animalistic groan I have ever heard slips Stiles lips, his rough hands ripping the buttons off my shirt and exposed my bra-clad chest to him. He pushes in my blouse, behind my back, to unclasp my bra. I whimper as his teeth bite down on my nipple, his hands working its way to rid me of my pencil skirt.

It leaves me almost bare to him, with him fully clothed. I immediately grasp his belt and undo it, pushing his trousers down his hips in a swift motion. I don’t waste any time, grasping his erect cock through his boxers as my other hand leisurely unbuttons his shirt. Stiles’ head is tilted back, mouth hanging open and I kiss along his neck.

“I can’t wait any longer.” Stiles growls, his hand resting on my shoulder as he pushes my body down onto his mahogany desk. He frees his precum-leaking cock before grasping my knees and pulling me closer toward him.

“Well, Stiles? Let’s go.” I chuckle but it’s short as he pushes in without a warning, a low moan slipping me involuntarily as I tense around his member. “So impatient, and here I thought you had better things to do tonight.” Stiles smugly grins, his flattened hands roaming along my hips, stomach, and up to my breasts.

His pace is relentless, drawing moan by moan from my parted lips. My fingertips are trying to grasp onto something, feeling papers crumbling underneath them. Stiles grunts fill the spacious office together with my whimpers and moans.

Stiles bends over, this tongue darting past his lips to lick a bold stripe over my bare stomach. Shudders erupt all over my skin, my hips involuntarily meeting Stiles’ roughly snapping hips in hopes of gaining more friction. He seems to realize, and lets his hand dart between our bodies to roughly press down onto my clit.

“Oh my - Stiles - “ I moan loudly, my back arching off the desk as my fingernails dig into Stiles’ firm fore arms. I always trailing a finger along the prominent veins of his arms, and feeling his blood pumping between my vice grip only ushers me on even more.

“Come on, moan for me.” Stiles pushes me, his thumb starting slow circles along my clit - I’m sure he is spelling his name, which he admitted to frequently do whenever we were together. “Stiles!” Another loud moan erupts from within my body as he picks up his pace even more, his hips snapping loudly against my hips as his thumb digs into my sensitive spot.

I feel myself dwindle on the edge of my release, slipping over it when Stiles leans down and bites down on my breast once more. My moans are breathless, my head thrown back and my back arched off the desk. It ushers Stiles on to pick up his pace, ready to chase his own release. He becomes sloppy when he is near, toppling over as he stills. His body turns rigid before it drapes my own like a blanket, Stiles trying his best to regain his breathing.

When his heart has stopped hammering, and I’ve run my fingers along his back and through his hair while waiting, Stiles lifts himself off him and holds his hand out to help me up as well.

“Can you stay the night? There’s still some clothes left of you here.” Stiles questions, handing me my underwear and skirt as he grins sweetly. I shrug my shoulders, trying to remain stoic but my own grin breaks through almost immediately.

“Mhm. I could.”

He leans in briefly, pressing his lips briskly against mine before retreating and heading for his trousers. “Great. Let’s head upstairs.”

The thing that ushers us to get dressed immediately is the slam of the front door. “Fuck.” Stiles groans as he buttons his shirt with fever, throwing his blazer in my direction to cover my upper half. We’re dressed just in time when the office door clicks open.

“Mr. Stilinski I have the documents you requested. Y/N?”

I whip my head around, the slight widening of my eyes not getting unnoticed by my work-friend. I nod my head, pursing my lips as I try to hide my frame from her wandering gaze. “Lauren.”

Stiles’ tone is dismissive when he doesn’t grant Lauren a second glance. Instead, he tries to seem busy by flicking through a folder. He holds it out to me, motioning to an empty page. His hum means I have to play the game along and I pretend to intently read what’s on the page as Stiles ditches Lauren. “Just put them there. Have a good weekend, Mrs. Schmidt.”

I wait until I hear the front door close again before I let my flat hand smack Stiles across his chest. “Did you know she was coming?”

Stiles shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly, stepping closer and running his hand along my arm. “It took her so long I figured she wouldn’t come over tonight!”

“Stiles!” I gasp, squeezing his trouser-clad ass, pushing him between my legs.

“Un-be-lievable.” His head disappears underneath my hair, his tongue darting along my neck, causing goosebumps to flicker from his light touch. “I’ll make it up to you.”

I push him off, stepping away from the desk as I pat his chest, winking.

“Mhm. You bet you will.”

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