#but I’ve been prohibited from ever mentioning it to him

[bigjaws]

How do you tell someone that you believe they might be on the spectrum? He’s 26 😕

[mitskicain]

navi | m.list

. ⁺ . ✦ the doghouse — ken sato x reader

© mitskicain all rights reserved. the modification, translation, and plagiarism of my work is strictly prohibited.

synopsis: with things getting complicated, you and ken have a talk about the future of your relationship

content warning: mentions of sex, profanity and cursing

word count: 1.2k

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005: showing teeth

Sweaty, tangled mess of bodies. Deja vu. The two of you lay side by side, sprawled on your bed, comforter kicked off—it was too hot to touch. The ceiling fan spun circles above the two of you, with little fruition. Nothing was going to beat the summer heat.

“I read your little notebook,” Ken says, breaking the silence. “It’s some pretty heavy stuff.”

You shrug your shoulders.

“It’s just me. I’ve always found I wrote best when I was at my worst.”

“The tortured poets thing is true?”

You laugh.

“Maybe, I mean, I guess it just inspires me, y’know?”

He nods his head.

“I don’t think it’s true though, what you said in there,” he props himself up on his elbows, looking at you, his gray irises shining in the moonlight that seeped in through your window. “About being unfixable.”

You give him a sympathetic look.

“Thanks, but I guess being unfixable isn’t what scares me the most,” you bite your lip and fidget with your fingers, picking at the skin, “it’s being alone, I think—because that would just prove I’m unlovable.”

Ken reaches for you and presses a kiss onto your shoulder. His touch feels tender, his lips like the paper-thin wings of a butterfly. You want to ask him to do it again. You rub the spot where he kissed you in little circles.

“I don’t think you’re unlovable.” He says, in a whisper—almost like a prayer. You feel sucked into his gaze—like his eyes were bottomless pools that you wanted to drown yourself in. You feel your breath hitch in your throat and the salty pang of chlorine hitting your nose.

“Don’t,” you whisper back, voice trembling slightly. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you could love me.”

He frowns at your statement but knows better than to try to convince you otherwise. The ability to do so was something difficult to prove, and it would take years for you to ever convince yourself of something like that. Let alone coming from a stranger—someone who should’ve been a one-night-stand. So instead of saying anything he wraps his arms around you combs his fingers through your hair, your cheek resting on the nape of his neck.

When morning came, you had to tear him away from yourself, remind him that he needed to go to practice.

“They won’t miss me there, but I’ll miss you,” he says, trying to get another kiss. You laugh. You parted out by your door, kissing each other goodbye (again) and promising to see each other whenever your schedules allowed. You told him where he could find you and he promised to come visit soon, next time with only one kind of takeout and something for the dogs.

The two of you saw each other frequently throughout the next couple of months. Like clockwork, he came over every Wednesday and Sunday night—arms open and wide smile, barely having taken off his shoes in your hallway before rushing over to pepper you with kisses. You would binge TV shows together, scarf down food, walk the dogs, and make wild, passionate sex whenever allowed. The noise complaints from neighbors came back, but it didn’t bother you one bit. You were finally happy, having felt that deep bout of loneliness begin to shrink in size. You went back to writing too—having the mental energy to finally do it and write about things that weren’t as depressing. Sometimes you’d read them to him over dinner, or while you were on top of him.

“You’re gorgeous,” Ken says, cupping your cheek while you fucked yourself onto him. “My gorgeous girl.”

His girl. God. It was like he knew all the right to say, knew exactly where to touch you so that you were a shivering mess underneath him. You would never tell him but you caught yourself hopeful for the future, wondering whether or not you would still be with him in five years time. One night, Ken walks in on you getting ready in front of your vanity, all dolled up—hair curled, makeup done and all that.

“Woah,” he says, leaning on your bed frame, mouth open in awe. “Putting on a show for me?”

“No,” you smile at him, “I thought we could go out for dinner. I haven’t been outside except for work and errands in a while.”

You walked over to him and traced your fingers up his arm, smoothing over the creases on his shirt. “Could be fun.”

A flash of panic across his face.

Huh?

“Uhm,” he says, scratching the back of his head and tearing his gaze away from you. “I don’t know.”

This was new. Ken had never been the type to say ‘I don’t know’. He was always sure of what he wanted, what he took—this was something entirely new. What was this? The sudden doubt? The nervousness?

You arched an eyebrow, suspicious over his reaction. He sees this and again, that same flash of panic.

“What?” You ask, your voice stern, borderline annoyed. “Spit it out.”

“No, I’m just,” he trails off, “not in the mood. Let’s just stay in. Please?”

You cross your arms, and huff out. Begging wasn’t going to get him anywhere this time. “No, something’s up. You’re hiding something.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“No, I-”

“Look, we could go about this all night, or you could come clean.”

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“We can’t go out,” he says, exhaustion and worry evident in his eyes. “It’s bad for me.”

You feel your heart drop.

“Bad for you?”

“The paparazzi, the press,” he says with a pained look on his face, “they’d tear me to shreds.”

“So like, what? You knew this from the beginning and you were never going to tell me?”

He looks away.

“Ken,” you say, almost pleading, “were you just leading me on?”

No response from him.

“God that’s,” you’re in disbelief, tears welling up in your eyes. “That’s cruel. That’s so cruel of you.”

He stares at the ground and says nothing. You sit at your vanity table and slowly begin taking off your accessories, getting un-ready due to the night being ruined. During this almost ritualistic act, a symbol for something ending—a date night, a relationship—you hated what you found yourself thinking about. It was that you would’ve been okay with having to put your career on hold if it meant being with him, you could stand to be his secret, but you couldn’t stand the fact that he knew was going to hurt you and did nothing to warn you about it.

This is why I don’t do one night stands, you thought to yourself, reminiscing about slipping way from his house at dawn and how it should’ve stayed that way. You shouldn’t have opened the door for him when he showed up at your place, you should’ve slammed the door in his face, cussed him out, let Lassie and Strauber at him, tear him to bits and pieces. But you didn’t, and now you’re here.

You look behind your shoulder, Ken sat on the floor looking humiliated and dejected. A part of you ached at the sight, wanted to walk over and comfort him, but he didn’t deserve that. Not after what he did. Why would you comfort the person who caused you so much hurt?

“You should go,” you say, hoping he would put up a fight to stay—show he cared.

“Yeah, I should,” he says, getting up.

Fuck.

prev | next

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author’s note: it is with a heavy heart that I’ll announce that the doghouse will be my last kenji fic in a while :”) I’m forever grateful for all the love and support that my kenji fics have gotten. It truly astounds me as to how welcoming the tumblr community has been with me and I am so happy I have gotten to be a part of this :D will this be my last kenji fic? No. I’ve got a few drafts cooking up :) but I will be focusing on other fandoms, namely haikyuu. All in all, I’d like to thank everyone again who liked my works and support me throughout, I’m forever grateful. I’ll see you guys in the epilogue !! <3

taglist: @luneariaa @moonjellyfishie @sweetcheeksbby-deactivated20240 @shittingonyourgrave @shauu @witcwitchy @fcklxnaa @despacito-uwu16 @mqshido @miffysoo @ybbayk @hore4ken @mochminnie @femmefqtqle @miratastic @lovingyeet @mythicalmo @yourfellowmarzipan @softdumplingposts @strayy-kidz @floppy-aura-koi

[luminetti]

𝑶𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒖𝒆 𝑨𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒚 ༺♡༻ Chapter 1

༘⋆ Summary: In the world of Faerûn, a new season of love begins for the upper echelons in the nation's capital Baldur’s Gate, gathering a plethora of unwed Lords and Ladies from across the nation. For Miss y/n Neredras, the season only promises another disappointing series of suitors and failed courting, until one night she suddenly finds Lord Gale Dekarios of Waterdeep on her doorstep with a gunshot wound through his stomach, seeking discreet refuge and recovery after a devastating duel. ༘⋆ Pairing: lord!gale dekarios x fem!reader/tav, brief wyll x reader, mentions of (previous) mystra x gale ༘⋆Warnings: blood and bullet wounds, eventual hurt/comfort, mystra's weird predatory behavior (fuck mystra) ༘⋆Notes: set in the regency era and very loosely inspired by bridgerton (I’ve never watched it). i had to make a lot of edits to make this work out how i want so keep in mind that the following changes have been made: - Faerûn and Waterdeep are neighboring countries - Baldur’s Gate is the capital of Faerûn - Mystra (and all the gods) is human - Mystra lives in Waterdeep - Gale is 21 and reader is around 19 (something something, regency age for marriage, something)

༘⋆ Chapters: ┆[1] ┆[2]┆[3]┆[4]┆[5]┆[6] ┆[7] ┆

ao3

You cursed yourself for getting in such a position as you heaved a bloodied body onto your goose down bed sheets, dark sticky crimson clinging to your skin and the front of your white nightgown. The body landed with a soft flump, leaving a suspicious looking trail of blood towards the center of your bed. Normally you were against opening the door for strange men in the middle of the night, but a gunshot wound to the stomach usually prohibited acts of violence, unless the attacker wanted to bleed out to death, so you deemed it safe enough. You made sure to grab a fire poker from the fireplace on your way back from the medicine cabinet, just in case.

Blood was beginning to pool underneath the man, signaling that if you were to do anything, it had to be done with haste. Fighting back a gag at the tangy metal aroma, you undid his vest and undershirt, pulling it off and discarding it somewhere on the floor. The bullet had thankfully wedged itself near the surface of his flesh making it an easy grab with a pair of tweezers. The wound itself proved to be more of a challenge. Stitches were required to stop the bleeding, but the needle slipped around between your fingers, and attempting to wipe the slick blood off your hands just made more of a mess. After a bit of adjusting, and a lot of wiping, you finally managed a messy line of seven uneven stitches.

For the first time in the past half hour, the thumping of your heartbeat began to fade from your ears, allowing you to process what had just happened.

You took a moment to look him over. He looked around your age. Around twenty– no, twenty-one? It was hard to tell with so much hair in his face. From what you could make out, he appeared to be a reasonably attractive man. Perhaps a bit unkempt, you thought, but as to be expected at this time of night. With his chestnut brown hair, he vaguely reminded you of Clyde, your childhood dog. Though intended as a compliment, you made a mental note to keep that one to yourself when–if ever–he awoke. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep that was drawing you to the curve of his jawline, but with a start, you realize you had been staring for far too long. Blinking away your daydreams, you see the scene in front of you as it truly is.

There was a body in your bed.

You frantically reach over the bed to press two fingers firmly against his neck, feeling around for a pulse. Was he even still alive? A slow and faint periodical throb against your fingertips pulls a heavy sigh of relief out of your weary body, and you slump against the side of the bed. Thank the gods.

Unfortunately, the fact he was alive did not solve the strange-man-in-bed issue. Once he had been securely wrapped in several layers of bandages–any more and he may appear mummified–you weren’t sure what else there was to do. So, you recruited the only person in the household that could keep their mouth shut. Your older sister, Euphemia. 

“By Jove, sister… you’ve killed a man…” Euphemia looked pale-faced and wide eyed in horror at the seemingly lifeless body and blood adorning your room.

“Stop it.” You hissed under your breath, closing the bedroom door behind her. “He’s not dead. And would you keep your voice down?”

Euphemia looked from you to the body, then to your crimson hands and nightgown. “Are you to tell me he is… sleeping?” She asked, incredulously, her voice quavering.

You sighed, exasperated. You grabbed her wrist, much to her resistance, and forcefully pressed her fingers against his neck. “There. He is very much alive. Now will you please help me?” 

Your sister sighed in relief. “Gods… He looks mauled.” She eyed your butchered stitchings. “Not a slight on your abilities, of course. Spoken from a place of love.”

“Mock me all you want when we break fast, sister.” You toss her a wet washcloth. “As for now, make haste and wipe down the headboard. I’ll deal with the floor.”

“I merely jest.” She replied, rounding the bed beside the body.

As she approached the unconscious man, she froze, the cloth in her hand dropped to the ground as you heard a sharp intake of breath. Startled, you jump up from your knees.

“Hells, are you hurt?” You turned, expecting to see a splinter or bruise. Alas, Euphemia just stood shell shocked, staring down towards the body. You looked at the man yourself, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

Euphemia leaned closer to the body and swept the hair from his face. “I’ve seen this man’s portrait before.” She crouched beside him, studying his features. “It was in a museum of art from other nations.” Closing her eyes, she recounted the museum. “It was a family portrait. So this must be…” Euphemia turned back to you, mystified. “The Viscount of Waterdeep.”

You stared at her. “...Who?”

“The Viscount, Lord Gale Dekarios.”

✣ ✣ ✣

The rest of the night–technically the early morning–passed surprisingly peacefully, with the only hiccup being a lack of bed space. Euphemia made sure to chide you thoroughly for even suggesting that she take Gale to her room instead. In your defense, he had a larger bed than yours. After some back and forth, Euphemia declared that she’d be ruined if someone found her alone with a foreign Viscount, and her hopes of being courted would be gone. You, however, were newer to the season and very much single–which she didn’t hesitate to enunciate–and therefore could afford a scandal or two.

Cursing her under your breath, you reluctantly slipped under the covers, a good sixteen inches apart from the supposed Viscount. Despite everything, you easily drift off into a sound sleep.

A sudden shift in the bed startles you awake. Groggily, you sat up to see early morning sunrays softly beaming through your windows. Your mind clouds with exhaustion as you attempt to recall the night prior. In your fatigue you barely manage to picture a sharp jawline and soft brown hair. A dream, you conclude. Just another fantasy to forget about. You were about to lean back down when you heard the soft squeak of your bed spring from beside you, followed by a hushed murmur.

“Shit.”

Turning towards the voice, you came face to face with a pair of warm chestnut eyes, staring straight back at you. Lord Gale Dekarios–very much not from a dream–stood with one knee on your bed and his other foot on your floor, attempting to leave without a sound. His face was tense with pain and his hand pressed over the wet bandages covering his wound.

You made no move to stop him, merely watching as he gawked at you dumbstruck like a child with his hand trapped in a cookie jar. “What are you doing?” you asked.

It was as if you had two heads with the way he stared at you.

“My deepest apologies for the intrusion last night,” he managed to stammer out, quickly collecting himself and beginning to stand from the bed. “By Jove, I will leave right away-”

“Why?” You cut him off.

He choked out a confused sputter. “Pardon?”

You gestured to his bloodied bandages. “You are injured. Are you not?”

His eyes flicked to the wound before returning to your questioning gaze. “I am.” He replied, slowly.

“So sit. Unless you mean to walk home.” Standing from the bed, you scoured the room for the remainder of the bandages you brought from before.

Gale hesitantly perched himself on the edge of your bed frame, unsure how to proceed. After a couple moments of watching you flit around the room, he cleared his throat. “Pray tell, which residence am I in the company of?”

Upon gathering the materials and medicines, you sat across from him, laying out the paraphernalia in between you both. “This is the Neredras Manor,” you replied, beginning to work on replacing his dark, oxidized bandages.

From up close you could finally make out his facial features in detail. His jawline was as you remembered, but his hair was finger-combed back against his neck, almost brushing against his shoulders. His atmosphere had changed as well. Despite his grim injuries, a warm feeling surrounded him, almost like an aura of liveliness. You leaned into him, passing the bundle of old bandages around his body as you unwrapped. In such close proximity you just barely manage to make out faint traces of spicy cinnamon, crisp parchment, and freshly lit firewood.

You froze and pulled back sharply. You had completely forgotten yourself. He hadn’t noticed, had he? You glanced up briefly, only to be immediately met by chestnut eyes that bore into you with a thousand-yard stare, and lips ever so slightly muttering to himself as if he was lost in thought. 

“...Pretty.” Gale whispered, barely intelligible.

“What?”

Upon realizing you were staring right back at him, he quickly averted his eyes, finally breaking out of his stupor. “Sorry?” He cleared his throat, struggling to meet your gaze.

“Pretty?” You repeated, confused.

Gale sputtered, seemingly caught off guard before a look of mortified realization crossed his features. “Morning,” he declared abruptly. “Y-You are morning.” He paused. “I mean, it is morning.” He paused again. “I mean, It is a pretty morning,” he finally managed, eyes settling back on yours as a pale flush of pink crept up his neck, threatening to wrap around his cheeks.

You attempted to raise the back of your palm to feel his forehead, concerned, only to be intercepted by Gale as he caught your wrist and brought it back down to your lap.

“I assure you, I am perfectly well,” he took a deep breath, composing himself. “And usually better at this.” He added, pressing a customary kiss to the back of your hand. “All this and you don’t even know my name.”

“Well, actually–” you began.

“Gale Dekarios,” he vaunted, chest almost puffed, and you swear you’ve seen images of birds of paradise performing similar moves during a mating dance. Knowing he was a Viscount made the visual match far too well and you failed to stifle a chortle.

“Pleased to make your–” Gale faltered slightly at your reaction. “Did I do something?”

Struggling to pull yourself together, you shake your head breathlessly. “No, it’s nothing. It’s just, I know who you are already.” 

He looked puzzled. “You do?”

Nodding, you let out a deep breath, overcoming your brief laughing fit. “My older sister is quite the socialite. She recognized you from your portrait.”

From his impressed expression, you caught yourself wondering if they would be a good match. Euphemia was always fond of the idea of marrying a Viscount, like your mother had, not to mention she was up to date on all the drama of the ton.

An unfamiliar sensation twisted in your gut, unnoticeable until you focused on it. You hadn’t had breakfast yet so it was likely just hunger. But strangely, this hunger was creeping up from your stomach, almost residing in your chest with a faint pang.

You stood up sharply, pushing down the strange feelings. “You must be hungry, my Lord.”

Gale’s eyes flicked around your face, almost as if he was studying you. “I could eat,” he finally spoke. “And please, just Gale.”

Nodding quickly, you turned on your heel and briskly left your room, closing the door behind you. The twinge in your chest finally simmered, leaving your cheeks slightly flushed and blood nearly warm. You let yourself fall against your door, breathing deeply.

Suitors had come and gone before, and once he healed, Gale Dekarios would be nothing more than a man you met for a day.

[tsukimefuku]

I have a Higuruma sfw crack head canon and I’m about to turn it into everybody’s problem

This has been written by an actual criminal defense attorney specialized in continental law (which is the system in place in Japan) with free time on her hands.

So, from what we’ve learned, Higuruma has dedicated his career exclusively to being a criminal defense attorney. Given he’s 35 during the events in JJK, it’s safe to say he has been working with it for at least a decade.

So, as it is to be expected, since he has been called a genius numerous times, his knowledge of criminal law and criminal procedure law is probably off the charts. That has also been demonstrated when he’s debating the possible outcomes to put Sukuna under trial during chapter 244 (also, chef’s kiss 🤌 for mentioning the statute of limitations and code amendments that came in 2010. Whoever consulted for Gege did a WONDERFUL job).

From what Higuruma has told us previously, Judgeman uses the six Japanese codes to give the sentencing: the Constitution, the Civil Code, the Criminal Code, the Commercial Code, the Code of Criminal Procedure, and the Code of Civil Procedure. I believe this might be a mistranslation, though, because the pachinko parlor prohibition seems to come from what we would call an ordinary bill, not one of the codes, but I digress.

Also, according to him, considering Judgeman is his shikigami, what he believes is feasible under interpreting a law becomes a possible verdict.

With all that, I need to settle some things of being a specialized attorney for a long time.

What happens, more often than not, is that you become incredibly rusty (and kinda bad) at comprehending and interpreting other areas of law. That happens simply because the rationale of each area works very differently. For instance, I don’t understand or remember most of what I studied regarding labor law during law school, and I’ve been working exclusively with criminal law (as an intern and then a lawyer) ever since 2015.

So here’s my question: if judgeman, for whatever reason, had to judge civil, labor or commercial matters, considering it is bound by Higuruma’s own comprehension of the Japanese laws, would it give bizarre verdicts that wouldn’t make ANY sense in an actual Japanese Court of law?

My head canon is that YES, THAT WOULD DEFINITELY HAPPEN, AND IT WOULD BE FUNNY AS HELL.

Anyway, that’s it, thanks for reading my brainrot. 🦉

[kurocamille]

❝i’ve missed you, daddy❞

nanami kento x reader mdni

2.5k words

Nanami has been gone on a mission and you’re worried that he won’t ever come back. One night, on a whim, you decide to take a pregnancy test while he’s away. It turns out to be positive, and when Nanami finally returns that same evening, he can barely believe he’s going to be a father. Later, before going to bed, the two of you discuss how it’ll be raising a child and you make the mistake (or not) of calling him daddy. After that, something in him is unleashed and you’re in for a good hot and heavy night.

warnings

afab reader with no mentions of pronouns, angst at the start, fingering, daddy kink, kinda pregnancy kink, mating press, unprotected sex, pet names (darling), established relationship, husband!nanami, au where shibuya is successful?? idk i actually haven’t gotten that far

(i switch tenses A LOT. i think it makes sense but i can always change things around. pls lmk)

Nanami had been on this mission for longer than expected. The special grade curse had managed to destroy a batch of seasoned sorcerers like it was nothing, only surrendering when he and Gojo had shown up to the scene. This was definitely his last mission, he decided.

Nanami drives home after the showdown as if his suit isn’t covered in blood, as if he doesn’t look like he’s on the brink of death. He just wants to be home with you, kissing you and holding you.

—

Unfortunately, Nanami’s work prohibits him from sparing the details of his missions. His last words to you before he left were, “Two months won’t be too bad, Darling. I love you and I’ll be back before you know it.” 

After a tender kiss on the lips and a firm hug, you were left all alone with only your thoughts to comfort you.

Every time Nanami goes out on a job, you fear he’ll never come back. Although he’s never told you what he does, you know it’s dangerous—dangerous enough for him to have warned you he might die one day.

It’s been an extra two weeks since he said he would be home. The small hope you have of him returning dwindles every time you wake up in an empty bed. You know you can’t think too lowly of him. He’s come back every other time, but you can’t help but worry that this time is different.

Normally, your husband would send loving voicemails to you while he was away, or at least a simple ‘Goodnight’ and a heart. Your phone hasn’t received any new messages from him in the last 20 days…

He’ll be back tomorrow, you promise yourself. You fall asleep in your cold, empty bed.

—

The time is just past seven o’clock and you’re drying the singular plate and glass you used for dinner.You place the tableware back in its respective place, looking back at the table, wondering if you should put away the plate you had left out for Nanami. 

Leave it, a voice in your head says, but you go and clear the table instead.

As you bend down to put away the table runner you notice a lonely box on the counter. It was a pregnancy test, one that you had convinced yourself that you didn’t need. After all, stress could make you late, right?

But now you’re realizing it hasn’t just been a few weeks, it’s been three months. In a trance and against your will, you pick up the test and trudge to the nearest bathroom.

Ten minutes go by all too slowly and you pick up the plastic with shaking hands. You flip it over in your hands and your mouth goes dry.

Two, very much solid, lines show up on the small screen. Pregnant.

At first you feel happy, of course you are. You and Nanami had once discussed children and agreed that they would come eventually. However, that eventually is now, just as you fear your husband is gone.

It seems like you sit on the bathroom floor for hours. Your eyes are wide from the shock but no tears fall. Maybe the reality will finally come crashing down tomorrow, and you’ll curl up in a ball and cry your heart out. For now, you grasp the plastic stick in your hands, as if to cherish your one last piece of Nanami.

You notice the sun is long gone from the sky when you finally look out the window. It’s 10 o’clock, supposedly your bedtime. You shakily get up after sitting for so long, allowing yourself to regain the feeling in your legs.

Toying with the idea of throwing the kit out and buying a new one, your hand hovers over the open garbage in your kitchen. It’s not like a negative or a positive would help you in your despair, but it would at least take your mind off of things. You decide to throw the test in some old ziploc bag and lazily pick up a pen to scribble ‘buy new test’ on a scrap piece of paper.

Then, suddenly, you hear the door knob rattle and somebody’s keys turn in the lock. You freeze in your place when you hear the familiar sound of the creaking front door. The sound is followed by the presence of a person in your front hallway.

“Y/N?” A soft voice reaches your ears, and you see your husband’s figure entering the kitchen.

“Kento!” You all but scream, rushing to embrace him.

He grunts when you make contact, but gladly accepts you into a tight hug. Tears threaten to fall, but Nanami releases you to wipe them away.

“Don’t cry, Darling. I’m here now,” he whispers against your head.

“I’m so glad you’re home, Kento. I was worried sick,” you sniff.

Nanami allows you to clean the dried blood off the side of his face, but doesn’t reply when you ask what happened. He silently pulls out his phone from his pants pocket. It’s completely and utterly ruined, the screen so destroyed you could not possibly contact someone with it.

“I know your job is dangerous, but this was too much for me. Not hearing from you for weeks, or knowing if you were even alive was so scary. I can’t keep watching you do this to yourself.” Your eyes are still watery when you finish wiping the last bits off his skin..

You think you’re about to have the same fight you always have when Nanami comes home, but this time he stays silent.

Following his gaze to the countertop, you see that he’s looking at the items you had haphazardly left out. More specifically, he’s focused on the bag containing the positive pregnancy test.

Silently, he walks over to investigate what’s left inside. You know exactly when he sees the results as his head snaps up and his gaze meets yours. Nanami sports the most shocked expression you have ever seen on him.

“Are you really pregnant?” He doesn’t sugarcoat his words.

“Well, I’m not sure…” You reply, hoping that he isn’t as upset as he looks now.

All of a sudden he drops the test and pulls you into another hug. 

“Are you happy?” You say into his neck.

“Of course… And, you won’t have to worry about me leaving again. I promise I will be here for every moment of this.” He says after a moment of silence.

—

Later that evening, you slip into bed beside Nanami after a long relaxing bath. Your husband looks up from his book when he notices the dip in the bed. 

“How are you feeling, Darling?” He asks.

You snuggle against his chest and pull the covers up. “I’m better now that you’re here.”

“How do you feel? You know, about being a father,” you say once you’ve settled in.

Nanami sighs, “I’m not sure yet… I feel lucky that you’re their mother and that we get to start a family together.”

“Can you imagine yourself being called Pops, or maybe even Daddy?”

Nanami tenses almost unnoticeably. If you hadn’t been staring at him, you wouldn’t have noticed the way his ears turn pink either.

“Kento,” you grin. “Do you enjoy being called Daddy?”

He sputters his next words while his cheeks flush. “I- don’t know!”

Feeling brave, you lean over into Nanami to whisper in his ear “I think you do, Daddy.”

Kento pulls you into his lap abruptly and holds you against his firm chest. He breathes in the smell of your hair and shakily sighs.

“Darling, you don’t know what you do to me.”

“Show me what I do to you,” you whisper into the nape of his neck, unconsciously rolling your hips against his.

Nanami eyes glaze over with a look of lust. He brings your face to his and presses his lips against yours in a passionate kiss. Next thing you know, Nanami gracefully flips you over and hovers over you. 

Your husband makes his way down your neck slowly but surely, leaving a trail of love bites behind. 

“Kento! Don’t leave any marks!” You gasp when he bites down on your shoulder.

“What happened to Daddy, hm?” He doesn’t stop nipping at your skin. “I’ll only stop if you call me the right name.”

“Fine, Dadd—“ Before you have even finished your sentence, Nanami presses a fingertip to your clit, slowly swiping it across.

“There we go,” he grins, lightly peppering kisses on your collarbone.

Nanami’s touch against your sex changes in pace so that it’s both his index finger and thumb rolling against your sensitive bud. In turn, your mouth drops into an ‘o’ while he works his way into your pussy. Then, tentatively, he pushes one finger inside you.

In the time that your husband was away, you hadn’t touched yourself once. Now that he is back, you can’t help but be so reactive. With every shallow dip into your core, you feel yourself tighten.

“Please, please, please,” you moan, but you don’t know what you’re begging for. All you know is that if he continues to play with you like this, you’ll be cumming in under a minute.

He chuckles as your body lurches unintentionally. “What would you like me to do, Darling,” he stares into your eyes.

“I want you to fuck me. I need you inside of me,” you gasp with shallow breaths.

Nanami’s lips form a smile and withdraws his hand from your core. Slowly, he positions himself on top of you, letting his hard dick rest on your thigh.

As you anticipate him being inside of you, you feel your walls clenching in a desperate attempt to snare him. Then, fulfilling your wishes, your husband pushes into your depths with a low groan.

“Ahh, feels good, Darling. I missed this pussy so much.” He closes his eyes as he fully bottoms out.

“Please move, Kento. I can’t-” You lift your groin against his, trying to tempt him into thrusting into your aching cunt.

Grasping you by the hips and giving an experimental thrust, Nanami moves you further down the bed. You feel his thickness in your stomach, making you feel more full than ever. Over those few weeks he had been gone, you had forgotten how much he stretched you out. Now that he was home, you wouldn’t have to worry about losing the memory of his big cock.

Kento continues to pump in and out of you, so slowly so that you can feel every vein and ridge on him. Then, after a momentary pause, he decides to increase his pace. When you look in between your bodies, you see him bulging out of your hole whenever he pushes back in.

The feeling of your husband moving quicker and quicker inside of you leaves you gasping for breath. He, in turn, is breathing heavily, letting out groans whenever you tighten around him.

Suddenly, Nanami wants to change positions. “So you can feel me even deeper,” he says, patting a hand over your stomach.

You nod, and in response his strong arms tangle between your legs as he brings them up to your chest. You both feel the change in pressure when he starts to move. Your pussy tightens around his length when you feel him breaking further into your cunt. 

After whispering a short “I love you,” Kento thrusts harder, soon moving in and out of your wet hole with ease. 

Still just above your ear, Nanami’s hot breath hits your neck  as he leans in to press open mouthed kisses along your jawline. Suddenly, you feel his teeth move to the shell of your ear and bite down.

You can’t help but giggle, “Kento! What are you doing?!” 

He doesn’t stop, and instead moves on to your neck, pressing his nose against your collarbone. Every time your pelvises connect, Nanami breathes out with a deep groan. Although he is a quiet man to the public, he is a much different person in the sheets—the type of person who doesn’t care about making noise, the type of person whose groans make you feral.

“Darling, am I fucking you well?” He asks before sitting up to admire you.

“Yes! Yes, Daddy,” you cry out when he goes so deep you’re practically cumming.

Your reply spurs Nanami on and now he thrusts perfectly on your g-spot with a perfectly calculated force. With every harsh brush against that spot, you let out a ridiculously lewd moan. Within a few seconds, you feel yourself spasming out of control. 

“You’re close,” Kento says, and it’s not a question. He is too, you can tell by the fact he is suddenly doubling over and throbbing wildly against your walls.

You can feel yourself reaching your orgasm, which you know is going to end in you crying so loud that the neighbours can hear. While your pussy clenches in an attempt to milk your husband, you feel his cock readying itself to cum as well. 

Nanami puts everything into his last few thrusts before he stops fully pressing into you and cumming inside, his seed filling you to the brim. Before this, you and your husband hadn’t explored the idea of sex without condoms but now you know you can never go back. The idea of him cumming in you is so taboo that, despite already being pregnant, you’re sent over the edge.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head, and you’re cumming harder than you have in your entire life. Moans escape you uncontrollably and you’re barely aware of what’s happening. All you know is that you have never ever felt this way and you don’t want it to end.

Grinding into your husband, your orgasm slowly fades and Nanami finally lets your legs fall to his hips. Kento pets at your hip while his hips slow in their movements,, then, finally, he stops while fully pressed against you. Lowering his face to yours, he places one last chaste kiss on your forehead. 

“I love you,” he says quietly. “Let’s get to bed.”

Tired beyond compare, you nod and let him pull out to rest beside you. After flicking off the light, he rejoins you under the covers, letting you rest your head on his shoulder and body against his. The comfort of being intertwined is something you had missed desperately while Kento was gone, and it puts you to sleep nearly right away.

When your breathing has fully settled and you’re close to dozing off, you whisper a quiet “I love you” into the darkness of your room. In reply he just hums and pulls you tighter to him.

As you find your consciousness leaving you, you smile at the thought of Nanami as a father. Although he has a tough exterior, Nanami is going to be the most perfect caring father. When that baby is finally born, you can only assume your lives will be more hectic than ever. For now, however, you get to enjoy your husband as he is—the loving man who’s going to be a daddy.

a/n: well. in honour of jjk s2. my mannnn. and also, so sorry this is similar to my shoto fic but people are still eating that up sooo

[fancifulplaguerat]

Time to put Daniil back on the vivisection table because I am not done with him. I’ve been thinking recently about Daniil’s reaction to Aglaya’s ‘betrayal,’ because honestly I feel like people don’t talk enough about how much it affects him, or how much it influences his decision in the Cathedral. When I finished the Haruspex Route, I was kind of surprised by how central Aglaya’s death was to Daniil’s arguments in favor of the utopian ending—when Daniil tries to convince Artemy to save the Polyhedron, one of his main points is that in doing so, Aglaya will die. I also remember being struck on Day 12 of the Bachelor Route by that lengthy dialogue with Artemy, where he defends Aglaya and Daniil insists upon her betrayal. In the Bachelor Route, this breach of Daniil’s trust is a fundamental aspect of what informs his final decision, and is arguably centred more than the Polyhedron or Kains’ miracles. 

This makes sense to me, because I don’t think Daniil has such a strong reaction to anything else in Patho, not even Simon’s death—even though there’s much customary Dankovsky rage in his reaction, it seems underlined by genuine hurt. For instance, when he asks, “Aglaya, how could you do this? This is an honest to God betrayal. I trusted you...” It even feels a little childish, for want of a better word, how he says “I don’t want to talk to you. I despise you.” It’s also ridiculously hypocritical how he lashes out at Aglaya, telling her that revenge is a poor companion for someone like her, while simultaneously saying shit like “I do not want to take revenge on the Powers That Be anymore. I want to take revenge on you, Aglaya,” or “Watch me sign your death sentence.”

Returning to that dialogue with Artemy, I enjoy how his defense of Aglaya sort of picks apart this reaction: 

Haruspex: You're just holding a grudge, oynon, nothing more. You only feel betrayed because you've entrusted yourself to her—but that was your own choice. It's unwise to brand someone a savior beforehand and then denounce them when they fail to live up to your expectations—even though they didn't know you had them.

> She knew. That's the difference. She knew and exploited my hopes.

[...] 

Haruspex: The feeling that hinders you now is rage, oynon. You feel deceived because you put too much hope in those who have been guiding you all this time. Consider the fact that Aglaya has been guiding you according to her own truth. She is a servant of the Law.

> It doesn't matter—she has deceived and betrayed me. She treated me like a pawn, and I won't ever forgive her for that.

I feel Aremy’s emphasis on how Daniil feels hurt because he put too much hope and trust in Aglaya gestures to that Daniil seems pretty trusting by nature. I think how he acts in the Haruspex Route in particular suggests that he might not give out his trust completely right away, but he still strikes me as quite a social and collaborative person, despite everything. Just in how he quickly refers to Aglaya and Block as his best friends, or works amicably with Rubin and Artemy, or refers to his relationship with characters like Saburov as friendship, rather than an alliance or something similar. And it seems that Daniil truly did trust Aglaya, because when Clara first tells him about her plot, he shoots back, “You liar. Aglaya is my best friend and the most reliable ally I have.” So again, I think there’s an undertone of personal hurt here that goes beyond anger at being a pawn or made to tell lies (though in my opinion, they weren’t *really* lies).   

In this vein, I want to mention that Daniil already seems to associate lies with deception and a breach of trust, given this dialogue: 

Herb Bride: Do you really never tell lies?

> I hate lies. 

> Nothing is more villainous than deceit.* 

Herb Bride: Why? I didn't say 'deceit'. Telling a lie doesn't equal deceit.

> All my life those who pretended that black was white prohibited me from winning. Every deceit hides someone's dark intentions.

Herb Bride: What makes you think they have to be dark?

> Because they replace the true state of affairs with a false one to profit from someone else's suffering.

> It's in their nature.

The exchange provides some interesting insight into why Daniil despises lies so much—they have been used to fool him before, and prevented him from accomplishing his goals. I doubt this is his singular reason, but he seems to see lies as inherently manipulative and exploitative, which probably added salt to wound in the Aglaya situation. Daniil likely assumed that she had the worst intentions and took it as a personal attack against his victory, when really, Aglaya’s deceit was in their mutual interest in terms of getting back at The Powers That Be. After all, they wanted the Town unchanged, so to destroy part of it would indeed allow Daniil and Aglaya revenge. 

A final thing I want to mention is in an opening dialogue, when an Executor tells Daniil that “He who trusts everyone is asking to be deceived.” One of Daniil’s replies is, “Yet he who trusts no one is deluded. I know that from experience.” Which potentially makes this even more depressing, if Daniil was previously rather guarded. I could see how Daniil could  fall into considering himself his only ally, as he has rather outlandish goals that many people likely wouldn’t take seriously. Or perhaps it was from a place of ‘I know better than everyone else,’ which drove him to not take others seriously. Either way, the dialogue implies that Daniil was initially not as trusting as he seems in the game proper.  

I like that Daniil is trusting and hopeful; I personally dislike the idea that that is somehow more naïve than being guarded or pessimistic. I consider it one of his strengths, which allows him to work with others (even if he can be exceedingly ornery sometimes) and is an important foundation for his ideals. It’s all just sad to me how Daniil’s own virtues end up being used against him, but it makes an interesting case study of his character 

[sailoryooons]

Break | ksj (m)

☾ Pairing: Witch!Seokjin x cursed!reader

☾ Summary: Seokjin has been at your side for the last few years. He’s your closest friend, and the one person you don’t think you can live without. But what happens when you discover that he might be the source of the curse he’s been trying to help you escape from?

☾ Word Count: 18,990

☾ Genre: Supernatural, smut, angst

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: Death and implied accidental murder of a sibling, childhood trauma, creepy vibes, heavy angst, a lot of internal monologue featuring angst, physical and verbal abuse from members of the town toward reader, sometimes confusing mentions of magic systems, explicit language, explicit sexual content including vaginal fingering, nipple play, oral (m. receiving), rough fucking from behind, dom/sub dynamics if you rEALLY squint, subspace/blacking out post sex, unhappy and ambiguous ending!!!!!!

☾ Published: May 22, 2023

☾ A/N: Hi hello this is one of the most random things I’ve ever written. I made a last minute choice to nosedive into this fic at the last second, which was certainly a choice. While it’s not my favorite work because of how hard I struggle to write it, I have a feel people are going to like it regardless and I shouldn’t be so hard on myself about it. Once again, Hali writes way too much for a small project and doesn’t even dip into the lore the way she wanted to! Thank you to @here2bbtstrash who was the amazing beta on this and fixed easily over 200 errors that I made while rush typing this. I handed this over unedited and unread from myself and they put this through the wash to have it in tiptop shape! 

❀ A/N 2: M created their own Little Hut rhyme and I have opted to feature it here for reader’s enjoyment:

Little hut, little hut

Killer dick game

Little hut, little hut

All men is the same

Little hut, little hut,

Murdered your twin

Little hut, little hut

Time to fuck Jin 

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | A Spring Offering Collab

Seokjin is good at holding grudges. Even as a child, his mother always said he had a tough time letting things go. He never knew how right she would be. His mother’s words are all he can think about as he storms through the dark of the forest, shadows whispering about him as he looks for the lone hut in the very dark of the woods. 

Little hut, little hut

Hidden in the wood

Little hut, little hut

Up to no good

If his parents could see him now, he knows they would be broken. Tear-streaked and shaking, a lost boy alone in the woods and drowning in anger so hot that the ground scorches beneath his feet. Looking for a salve. Looking for vengeance. 

Little hut, little hut

Alone in the gloom

Little hut, little hut

Silent as a tomb

Blood witches are dangerous. Seokjin knows this, everyone knows this. A blood witch is the reason why his parents are dead and he is storming through the darkness in the throes of madness. But Seokjin is only thirteen and full of pain and desperation, vowing to never let something happen like this again. If he has to use a devil to defeat a devil, he will. 

Little hut, little hut

Across the dark stream

Little hut, little hut

Wait for the scream

A dark stream wends its way through the trees. Seokjin gets a running start and jumps across the whispering waters. When he lands on the other side, he waits. It took a lot of searching to find someone to tell him how to find the witch in the woods. No one comes here, especially not in the dead of night on Beltane. 

They say only evil comes from the little hut in the woods. Seokjin knows now that it isn’t true. Evil comes from anywhere and everywhere, even from the people that one least expects. Evil killed his parents. Evil is why he is alone, crying on the edge of the stream, waiting for the sound of a banshee's call. 

He hears it then. A one-note wail, thin and high-pitched. His blood goes cold and the fight in him nearly goes out at the sound. His heart begins to pound so loud that it’s all he can hear, the thundering beat of panic and terror as he realizes what he’s about to do. 

“Little hut, little hut,” a voice that he cannot see calls to him. There is no hut that Seokjin can see. Only omnipresent darkness, cloying the air in front of him. A tingle skitters over his arms and he becomes acutely aware of another presence there with him in the dark. “I call to thee. Little hut, little hut, come to me.” 

Seokjin blinks rapidly a few times and sees the outline of a hut in front of him. It has a blurry shape like it’s really the idea of a house. It’s so shadowed and opaque that he’s not entirely sure if it’s really there. He walks toward it anyway, one foot in front of the other, looking at the hut. 

If a home could be a phantom, he thinks this is what the hut is. There is a vibrational pull here, a dull buzz in his veins as he gets closer and closer to where the blood witch lives. His stomach turns and his instincts beg him to leave. There is evil in this place. He knows it. Can feel its oily presence like a poisonous slick in his veins. 

A door - or rather what he imagines is a door shape - stands open in the hut. Inside is eternal darkness like Seokjin has never seen before. The buzzing in his veins has become stronger, an itch he can’t scratch. A ringing in his ears. 

Sometimes to beat evil, you must use evil. So Seokjin steps into the house despite all the reasons he should turn around and run. Because he is alone, he is in pain, and he needs some sort of penance. Justice. 

So he asks the blood witch for a favor. 

Little hut, little hut

Hear my strife

Little hut, little hut

Ruin this life 

-

When the rock hits you right at the top of your spine, you know it isn’t an accident. All the same, you spin on your heel and look at the edge of the lake where the kids are skipping stones. They squeal and look away from you, huddled together as they giggle and look over their shoulders with frantic and excited faces. 

You clench your fists and keep going. What can you do to a group of kids? Tossing them into the lake while you’re an adult seems unfair, though it certainly crosses your mind. It isn’t necessarily their fault that they were taught to have such hate in their hearts at a young age, after all. 

So, you keep going, grinding your teeth as you march up the slope toward the main pathway that cuts through the park, gravel crunching beneath your feet as you quicken your strides to put distance between you and the cackling children. You’re not positive they won’t throw another rock at you, and you think that it might send you over the edge.

Early preparation for the Beltane festival is in full swing all over the park. There are trucks unloading carts and piecing together stalls, vendors and contractors with clipboards walking through spray painted grass with city officials, and a giant maypole waiting to be constructed. 

Living in a town of witchy folk can be fun, you suppose. The only downside is that most of the witches in your town despise you and think you’re an abhorrent blight to the earth. If killing and sacrifices hadn’t been outdated and frowned upon, you’re sure they would have stuck you to an altar as a child the first time you showed signs of being a leech. 

Leech. 

It’s an unkind thing to call witches who siphon magic. It isn’t something you can control - it isn’t even something you were born with. Most witches who siphon magic are born that way. A sort of magical defect in the way they interact naturally with the world. 

Most think of siphoners as a plague to the witch community. Thieves and monsters who can only feed on magic to make magic, a perversion of the natural balance of things. The way you look at it, witches who siphoned aren’t really any different from the natural order of the world. All living things need an energy source: food for animals, sun for plants, bacteria for amoebas. It isn’t different, really. 

Perhaps you would not be so kind to leeches, though, had you not began your existence as a siphoner at thirteen years old. 

It isn’t a night that you enjoy remembering, but it is certainly a night you can’t seem to forget. One moment you could command your magic like most other witches. Most, because you were a blood witch with raw talent and a powerful relationship with the earth’s energy. 

Blood witches were as revered as they were feared, witches who needed no spells. Who could use the magic within them instead of their connection with the earth to conjure. To blood witches, all other witches were leeches, really. You didn’t tell that to your coven, though you thought about the irony often. 

Your blood magic had vanished, though. It happened while you lay asleep in your bed, pressed up against your twin sister. Twins were a special thing in covens, a rarity in the magical order of the world that was seen as a good omen. There was a connection you shared with her deeper than the connection to your own magic, a bond that rooted the two of you together. That made you seek one another out for comfort. 

It had been storming that night and you had sought out the warmth of her bed and the vanilla sugar of her hair to soothe your nerves. You didn’t like storms and thunder very much, but she was wide awake in her bed, watching out the window as purple lighting cracked across the sky and thunder shook the house. 

You’d slipped into her bed without a word and she stood guardian over you, hand tucked in yours as she watched the sky light up. You remember her laying down next to you after the storm passed. The warmth of her breath on your cheek as she fell asleep. The hum between the two of you, soul recognizing soul.

She’d been dead by morning, magic siphoned and drained dry in the middle of the night. 

The memory of it is metallic in your mouth. You head toward your apartment, hands tucked into the pockets of your jeans, head down. Beltane always makes you think of your sister. Makes you think of the morning you woke up on your thirteenth Beltane to find her cold and dead, magical signature gone. Severed. Torn away from you. 

Losing your ability to generate magic was only second to losing your sister. You still feel adrift fifteen years later. Moving through the world with a piece of you missing. Two pieces of you, if you count the fact that you can feel the magic around you but not reach for it. You never reach for it, though you suspect that no one believes you.

Except maybe Seokjin. But even he doesn’t know the story of how you became what you are. All he knows is that you can’t create your own magic, and yet he’s never shamed you for it. Never turned his back on you, or berated you or bullied you. 

That sort of kindness is a rarity in your world.

Your small northeastern town is easy to navigate. There’s not much that happens that doesn’t immediately become the knowledge of all citizens, and there’s not really a way to get lost unless you’re a tourist coming to visit the country's spookiest and most magical town. The locals are pretty firm believers in magic, but the out of towners don’t really believe. They just want camp and kitsch. 

It’s busy season, the streets filled with people buying decorations to celebrate Beltane, restaurants full of tourists trying out local fare between going shop to shop. The festivals always draw a big crowd to your corner of the world, making it easier for you to blend in with all the rest of them. It almost makes you feel normal when someone doesn’t recognize you and immediately scowl. Sometimes you can even get away with eating at places that wouldn’t normally serve you, the workers too busy to really look at your face and see you. 

A few people have taken pity on you outside of Seokjin. Namjoon and Jimin would never turn you away, always welcoming you with open arms, a warm cup of tea and free books for as long as you like at their bookstore. You’re not technically allowed in the metaphysical store on Fourth, but as long as Yoongi is working, you can walk through the rows and rows of crystals, grimoires, spices and charms. Seokjin is where you’re really home, though, his bakery a place of safety and fresh-smelling sugar cookies. 

It’s where you go now, sticking to the shop windows and away from the tourists flowing all over Main Street like ants. There’s a line stretched out the door when you get to Magical Moon Bakery, and Jungkook looks helpless behind the counter as he nods while taking an order, wide-eyed and terrified. 

Seokjin is at the delivery counter, flour staining his cheek and brow as he nods politely and hands a box of cupcakes over to his customer. As though he can sense you, he lifts his head and swivels, eyes scanning until they land on you, immediately shining. Your stomach leaps the way it often does around him, especially when he breaks out into a beautiful smile and jerks his thumb at an apron.

You roll your eyes. You’re not technically an employee at the bakery, but you help often enough that you tease Seokjin sometimes that he should start paying you. You never mean it, of course. Your reward is his unearned and unlikely friendship, and the fact that his friends have taken you in even when other covens have turned their backs on you. 

Perhaps if he’d grown up here he’d hate you. It’s a thought you have often, even when you’re pulling the loop of a lavender apron over your head and tying it around your waist. You can’t imagine Seokjin ever hating you for no reason, but sometimes you wonder if he had the influence of the other kids of your town if it would be different. 

“Can you take over the order counter?” he asks, the blush on his face the only sign that he’s getting a little frazzled. You nod and he winks at you, leaning over to press a quick, chaste kiss on your cheek. “Worldwide best friend.”

“Mhmm,” is the only response you manage to string together, flustered by his proximity. 

It’s no secret that Seokjin is one of the best looking men in town. Even among witches, who are unnaturally beautiful to begin with, he stands out. Dark, silky hair swept back off of his forehead, dark eyes with a spark of caramel right around the pupil, lips full and lush like Aphrodite, and a face molded from the finest clay, glazed and perfected. 

Loving him isn’t hard. He’s as kind as he is beautiful, and Seokjin is silly. Able to make you laugh and draw you out of the melancholy that is permanently affixed on your person. It’s been that way since you met in your early twenties right after he moved to town, and you’re grateful for it. 

Even if loving him is pointless. He can never be yours - would never want to be yours in that way, anyway. 

So you settle for less. Settling for crumbs is what you’re good at. What people think you deserve, being the little leech that you are. 

No one you’re serving at the bakery knows you’re a leech, though. All they know is that they are eager to try the best baked goods in town, wondering at the menu as each item has a list of things it’s good for. Rose scones to make someone fall in love, marshmallow fluff cupcakes to soften the blow of bad news, gumdrop cakes to summon rain. 

Everything on the menu has a charm to it, both literally and figuratively. Seokjin is wildly creative in his carefully crafted menu, and he imbues magic in everything he makes from the eggs to the whipped frosting. 

Being here is nice. Jungkook grins when he sees you behind the counter, happy for the help. He still gets overwhelmed behind the till, and he’s more than happy to step back and chew his lip nervously when he processes a discount wrong. You’re up next to him before he can ask for help, typing on the screen while gently walking him through it again.

Jungkook is a good kid, an elemental witch who is prone to cause rainstorms when he gets stressed. For now, he is a bottle of sunshine, thanking you shyly and letting you know that he saved you a bag of butterscotch cookies in the back. 

“I put in a little extra sunshine,” he promises. By that, you know that he means magic. To give you. You open your mouth to scold him but he shakes his head furiously, long, wavy locks shaking. “I wanted to do it. Please don’t yell at me.”

That gets you. It’s hard to be mad at him, especially when anger is likely to set him off into a rainstorm. Jungkook’s round eyes are pleading and he pouts, a tactic you know he has learned from his boyfriend to use as a weapon. You think about sending Taehyung some choice text messages but instead, thank Jungkook for the cookies and continue to help him.

This is what keeps you going most days. The unfettered kindness that Seokjin and his friends show you. None of them are locals to town, but they had formed their own coven a little at a time, a circle under the broad umbrella of the town's overall witch population.

Covens are difficult. You’re both in and not in Seokjin’s coven, an unofficial member by friendship. But you don’t practice anymore - won’t let yourself - so you’re on the outside looking in most weekends and during spiritual times of the year. 

But by witch standard, you are a part of the covenstead of the town, the larger collective of witches who are loyal and responsible for one another, all answering to the high priestess. Who has begrudgingly let you stay as a member of the covenstead for the sheer fact that you’re her niece and nothing more. 

When the rush of customers and crinkling to-go bags slows, you lean against the counter and reach a hand out just as the door to the back swings open. Seokjin has a glass bottle of soda ready for you, and he blinks  in surprise when he sees your hand ready for it. You’re a little surprised as well. Though you have no magic on your own, you still sometimes predict things before they happen. Or at least, your instincts do.

“It’s freaky when the two of you do that,” Jungkook comments, eyes bouncing between you and Seokjin as the older hands you the bottle. “You’re always so in-tune.”

“She’s a witch,” Seokjin snorts, leaning against the glass case of mostly empty dishes as he takes a swig of his own. “Divination and all that is sort of what we do.” 

“Yeah, but it only happens with you.”

You don’t meet Seokjin’s eyes as you swig from the bottle, the carbonation fizzing on your tongue. “I can’t help it that I inspire magical abilities,” is Seokjin’s answer. Always deflecting. You're grateful for the way he rolls with the punches, easily accepting the way others talk about you two as an item so you don’t have to. “Plus, even witch-adjacents have the ability of foresight.” 

What he doesn’t say is that even in your dishonored position as a siphoner, you can get sensations and feelings. While you can sense magic and you’re still in tune with the world around you, Jungkook is right: you only have this sense of knowing with Seokjin, like there is a tiny string of fate connecting the two of you.

When it’s time to close down the shop, you help the two of them out. Seokjin goes to the back to begin batching things anew: fondant, bread, frosting - anything that he can let sit overnight or prep while the lights are out and he’s gone home. You focus on cleaning with Jungkook, letting him put on a pop playlist while he sings along, siren voice lulling you into a steady rhythm. 

Part of you wants to ask what they’re doing for Beltane. Celebrating the holidays use to be your favorite, threading flowers through your hair, blessing your hearth and home, weaving new spells of prosperity and happiness alongside your sister. Now you don’t participate in any of the rituals with the others. 

Most of the time, you celebrate alone in your room. Mark the points of the elements and the compass on your bedroom floor alone. Sit in front of a single candle, watching the flame flicker as you draw your circle of salt, murmuring blessings. It isn’t a powerful place of practice and you have no alter to command, but it's something. It’s yours. 

Instead of asking, you follow Seokjin and Jungkook out of the door on the promise of dinner. It is the one thing that does feel like a ritual you’re allowed to participate in, holding chapel at Seokjin’s dining room table and elbowing with Jimin and Taheyung to reach for the food piled high. 

Evening sky stretches overhead as you walk between Seokjin and Jungkook. You cast your eyes upward, watching the gray clouds float by. Seokjin throws an arm around you, pulling you in close and squeezing you to his side. He smells like vanilla and sweet orange from making his tangerina vanilla cakes for Yoongi. You breathe in his scent, letting it wash through you like a balm. 

His arm presses a little too hard on the bruise where the rock from earlier nailed you, and you hiss, reaching behind your head automatically to adjust his hold on you. 

“What?” he asks, lifting his arm and slowing his gait. Seokjin’s face is picture-perfect concern, mouth tilted downward, a crease in his brows. Before you can explain, his hands are pulling at the collar of your shirt. “You’ve got a welt here, what the hell is that?”

You smack at his hands and step away from him, pulling his warm fingers from your shirt. “It’s nothing.”

“Whenever you say ‘it’s nothing’ it's always something. Why do you have a lump on the top of your spine?”

Dancing away from him, you grab Jungkook who grunts, mouth full of corn chips as you shove him between you and Seokjin. More unhappy noises come from the youngest as Seokjin grabs for you but you squeak and use Jungkook’s broad body to block him again. 

“Yah!” Seokjin yells, reaching both arms around either side of Jungkook to grab you. He manages to get one of your arms, pulling you toward him - and by default, Jungkook - and keeps a firm grip while you swat and fight back. 

“Nooo!” Jungkook howls between the two of you, adding to the chaos as he shoves both of you away from him. “Stop using me as a battering ram! I’m going to drop my chips! Guys!” 

“Tell me why you have a wound!”

“It isn’t a wound!”

“It’s a type of wound!”

“Ugh let my arm go, hulk!”

“Stop hissing at me like a rat!”

Jungkook drops his bag of chips and lets out a long, forlorn wail. “My chiiiiiiiiips!” 

After a struggle, you manage to shake Seokjin off of you, taking a few steps back as you huff angrily, fists at your side. Seokjin sidesteps Jungkook who is pouting and looking at the ground, wavy bangs falling in his eyes as he stares at the spilled corn chips. Seokjin makes it worse by stepping on them, earning a shriek from Jungkook that goes ignored.

“Did someone hurt you?”

A rumble rolls through the sky from up above. You cast your gaze upward, looking at the clouds that are a little more swollen than they were a few minutes ago. You can sense the static in the air, a promise of lightning if you don’t diffuse Seokjin’s anger quickly. 

Similar to Jungkook, Seokjin is sensitive to the elements. Where Jungkook has an affinity for the sky and the rain, Seokjin has a lot more skill with fire. Still, Seokjin is a powerful witch and his rage on more than one occasion has disturbed the sky and the lake in the middle of town. 

It’s partly the reason he works so hard on never getting angry. 

“It’s nothing, Jin,” you answer softly, eyes pleading. You desperately want him to drop it. Part of you is honored that he cares, but the other half of you can’t bear the way he looks at you. “Please drop it.”

“Someone hurt you. Again.”

Thunder echoes across the sky. Jungkook looks upward. “That isn’t me, even though I am mad about my chips.”

“Jin, it isn’t a big deal. Please.” You glance upward, thunder rolling again. “You’re going to make it rain.”

“I’ll make it do more than that when I find out who did it.”

“They were just kids, Jin. You can’t-”

He swears loudly and there’s a flash of lightning above your head. It makes you think of that night with your sister, laying in bed to let the storm pass. You clap your hands over your ears and squeeze your eyes shut, automatically crouching to make yourself small. 

Behind your shut eyes, you try not to let the memories come. Try not to imagine the vanilla scent of her hair, warm hands on your skin turned cold the next morning. You block out the screams, the way your mother shoved you away and your father yelled and yelled and yelled.

Above, the thunder stops. The rain doesn’t fall, and the air pressure returns to normal. Shivering, you crack an eye open to look at Seokjin, terrified at what you might find. His anger is so rare but flips on a dime, catching you off guard any time it happens. 

Jungkook is murmuring in Seokjin’s ear now, voice hushed and urgent. Seokjin’s eyes become unfocused as he nods, Jungkook’s hands grasping the older’s biceps firmly. When Seokjn’s eyes find yours over Jungkook’s shoulder, they’re fathomless. Endless pools of black and something else that you can’t decipher as he murmurs something back to Jungkook, who steps away.

Licking his lips, Seokjin offers you a hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m sorry.” 

You swallow thickly. Reach out a tentative hand. “It’s okay.”

“You know I would never hurt you?”

Of course you know that. You aren’t afraid of Seokjin or the power he holds. You aren’t afraid of what he can do. You are afraid of the memories that nip at your heels like a pack of jackals, waiting for you to grow weak and fall before they attack. You are afraid of the way that it makes you feel when he cares about you. 

“I know that,” you murmur, letting him pull you to your feet. “It’s just the thunder, that's all.”

His smile is soft. “I know, I’m sorry.” He squeezes your hand. It’s a perfect fit, your palm in his. His skin buzzes with magic and you’re careful not to take any, always keeping your guard up so that you can never siphon again. “Let’s go home, yeah?”

-

Home isn’t the small apartment on the west side of town that you keep by yourself. Home is Seokjin’s two-story house in the suburbs made of brick and mortar. It’s the crowded dining room with eight chairs pulled close to the wooden table and a chandelier full of burner candles and incense. It’s Seokjion’s cat familiar running yowling down the corridor as Yoongi’s maine coon chases it, hissing. 

Home is seven witches who don’t care that you can’t generate your own magic, all of them laughing and pushing empty plates toward the middle of the table where Namjoon collects them with a snap of his fingers, the cutlery lifting and stacking neatly with the soft click of ceramic. 

Bloated and overly satiated, you lean back in your chair, sighing heavily. Yoongi is next to you, quiet and staring off into space the way that he often does. Next to him, Jimin and Namjoon have their heads bowed together whispering, a blush flushing across Namjoon’s wine-glazed expression and tops of his ears. 

Namjoon and Jimin strike something in you. A longing that tugs at your heart strings, drawing your gaze to the man sitting on the other side of you. Seokjin is leaning back in his chair, arm stretched over the back of your seat as he yawns mid-conversation with Hoseok. 

Seokjin is barely touching you, but just the warmth of his arm is enough to make you dizzy. It’s barely there, just against the top of your back. You lean into him a little, resting your head on top of his arm. He maneuvers his hand to scratch the top of your head lightly. It feels so nice that your eyes flutter shut, letting him play with your hair as the noise in the room drifts to a dull buzz. 

In another life, you think that this touch could be something more. Sometimes, you let yourself wonder if it is. Let yourself pretend that maybe Seokjin’s lingering gaze and lingering hand is more than the platonic affection he has for you. 

It’s a silly dream. 

When the dishes are washed and the others have said their goodbyes, it’s just you and Seokjin leaning against the counter in the kitchen. He has a glass of wine, sipping it thoughtfully as you put the cork back in the wine bottle. When you meet his gaze, you see something there. Hesitance. Anxiety. 

Seokjin chews on his lips and swishes the wine in his glass. The red arches elegantly along the sides of the glass, slowly dripping back down to pool in his cup. You remember once at a winery you could measure the legs or something when swishing wine in a glass to learn some small factoid about the wine, but it’s far from your memory now.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, taking a sip of your own. It’s a strong mulled wine with notes of cherry, you think. “You look nervous.”

“I wanted to talk to you about something.” 

Your heart beats hard once. Then twice. Speeds up. Instead of answering right away, you take a sip of your wine, mind running through all of the things you think he might say. Maybe this is it, he’s going to tell you that you can’t come around as much. That though you’re his best friend, you have to stay away from his coven. 

Instead, Seokjin says, “You know I’ve looked into your situation.” You wince when he says it but he pushes forward, leaning off the counter as he grows eager. “You said you weren’t always a siphon, that you could control your own magic as a child. I’ve been researching similar cases, and there is a lot of evidence that supports that it might be a magical block.”

“Jin.”

“Look, I’m happy with the way you are. There’s nothing wrong with you. But I know that you aren’t happy with it.” His jaw flexes. “And I care about your happiness. I just… Yoongi and I have been reading up on rituals to release magical blocks, and with Beltane in a few days, we thought…”

Warmth bubbles in your chest. You know how much this means to him, trying to help you. To free you from the burden that you carry with you wherever you go. This is not the first time he has brought up trying to figure out your ailment. Your situation. And though you’re glad he cares about you enough to try, there is something humiliating about it. 

“You don’t have to decide tonight,” Seokjin murmurs. You look up at him and his gaze is soft. Vulnerable. “But if you want us to try, we discussed it. And our circle is strong enough to try it on Beltane.”

Licking your lips, you nod once. “I’ll think about it. Thanks for thinking of me.”

“I’m always thinking of you.” You give him a look and he smiles, a little sad. “What? I am.” 

“Stop trying to be charming. I’ll only say yes if I want to.”

“I have no doubt about that. However, it is impossible for me to stop my charm. It is a natural gift.”

You roll your eyes. “Along with your insufferable humor.”

“There is nothing insufferable about me. Especially with Yoongi around.” 

You don’t push the argument. Seokjin grins again before opening a drawer in his kitchen, pulling out a small, cloth bag. There’s a green ribbon tying the top of it shut, and you smell the herbs inside of it immediately: cedar, bay leaves, mugwort. 

Seokjin holds the bag out to you and you frown, taking it. It’s weighted with crystals. You squeeze the bag a little, feeling the crunch of crystal fragments and herbs. There is a vibration that travels from your fingers up your arms and you feel a sense of solid warmth.

“A protection bag,” you deadpan. “Really?”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t need this.”

“The welt on your neck says otherwise.”

“Please stop!” Your voice is loud in the empty kitchen. He pulls up short, leaning against the counter and watching you with wide eyes, lips parted slightly. You sigh deeply and close your eyes for a moment, calming yourself before you open them and say, “I don’t mean to yell, it’s just - it’s hard when I feel like all of you coddle me. It’s humiliating.” 

“It wasn’t my intention. I’d never want to make you feel that way.”

“I know.”

You do know. The intentions are good, but you can’t help the raw, venomous edge of frustration. It makes you feel less than, this constant need to help you. To do things for you. 

“I don’t want to be a problem that everyone feels like they need to solve. There’s more to me than being the covenstead’s leech.”

“You know that isn’t how we think of you.”

You give a frustrated noise. “Then please. Let me ask for help when I need it.” 

Seokjin is quick to catch the protection bag when you toss it back to him. He nods silently, eyes fixated on the floor. It feels like a hot stone has been dropped in your stomach, burning and weighing you down. How quickly a good dinner has turned sour, how the light air between the two of you has gone cold. 

“Thank you for dinner. And for looking into a way out of this,” you gesture wildly to yourself. He nods, but there’s no mirth in his face. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah of course. Let me know about… you know.” 

“Yeah. Yeah.”

That night, you have trouble sleeping, just like that night when you were thirteen years old. 

-

The back door to Shadow Metaphysical opens, creaking as Yoongi sticks his head out. His long hair is styled behind his ears and he’s in a soft-looking black sweater and jeans. He smiles when he sees you, gentle and kind as he opens the door a little wider, beckoning with his head to enter. 

Slipping through the back door, you enter a dark office. It’s only lit by candles spread over various shelves and desks, and a few hovering candles near the ceiling. It’s warm and cozy, and you spot Yoongi’s familiar napping on the chair pulled up to the desk where a computer shows some sort of accounting system. 

Yoongi leads you to the front of the store. It’s closed for the evening and he has receipts and cash laid out on the counter as he balances his drawer for the day. The shop has tall ceilings and is lined with rows and rows of dark shelving. The lighting here is not powered by candles or magic, but rather golden cafe lighting strung on the ceiling.

Shadow Metaphysical is one of your favorite places. It smells different each time you go in, the magic and the herbs and the spells inside of its four walls shifting with the energy of its employees and customers at all times. Today, it smells like night rain and crackling lightning. 

Wordlessly, Yoongi gestures at the shelving, signaling to do whatever you need. He busies himself with going back to counting bills, head down and trusting you not to steal anything. Not that he would care, as he’s always emphasized he has no problem not taking your money.

Still, you always pay him, especially since he lets you in after hours where no one can yell at you for being inside. The covenstead has barred magical stores from siphoners, convinced that they would cross the threshold and drain the shops of magic. 

It isn’t true, though you can feel the ebb and flow of open magic sources around you. You’re not here for magical purposes, specifically. There are things you can buy yourself and keep in your apartment to ground you to the earth, and there are still rituals and practices that you keep up with, even as your connection is severed.

As you pass rows and rows of books on rituals, you think about Seokjin’s offer to help you figure out your block. It wouldn’t be the first time you tried and failed to figure out what happened. With magic, the point of origin is always the key to any spell. The how and the where of your condition are important elements to figuring out the solution, but no one really knows the how and the where. 

Your friends don’t have full clarity on that night. You’ve never told them in explicit detail of how you woke up, full of your sister’s magic. The town calls you a kin killer and a leech, so you’re sure they know enough to know the source of your hesitation is violent and personal. 

Still, you slow as you pass a grimoire. The runes on it shine gold when you pause, winking at you, begging you to touch it. You feel the whisper of the spells of dozens of witches inside of it, their phantom fingers brushing down your arms. Your spine. You shiver and look away from the book, pressing on to the herbs section.

It would be nice not to feel the lure of power. Not to feel the itch and the cunning voices of magic begging you to use them use them use them use them-

“Stop,” you growl out loud. You don’t know who you’re talking to - yourself, the magic in the store, the universe. Taking a deep breath, you gather your wits and complete your shopping, moving with a robotic pace around the store to get what you need.

At the register, Yoongi gives you a wary look as you set things down on the counter. He takes his time scanning them, glancing at you occasionally. You can sense he wants to ask a question, dark eyes lingering a few times. That’s the thing about Yoongi, though. He’ll never ask, he’ll just wait until you give up.

Which you do, sighing and saying, “Ask.”

His lips twitch as he bags a few jars of thorns. “How often do the books in here talk to you?” You level a stare at him and he rolls his eyes. “I can hear you. And every time you’re in here, it’s like they all turn to look at you. Is it often?”

“Yeah,” you admit. “Since it happened, there’s always been a pull or like magical objects to taunt me.” You chew your lip and rub your sweaty palms on your jeans. “It’s worse around the sabbat holidays.”

“Stronger magic.”

“Yeah.”

“Did Jin explain what ritual we talked about?” You shake your head. He pushes over a paper bag filled with all your things and you hand over your card. As he swipes it, Yoongi explains. “Two smaller rituals wrapped into one. Namjoon found a really old binding ritual that was used to form a bridge between multiple rituals.”

“So like when you chain spells together,” you offer. “Impressive. I guess that would be used for improving upon old rituals?”

“Yeah, exactly that. Seokjin had been doing some research on magical blocks and shit, and found one that locates a point of origin of the block whether it’s internal or external.” 

“External?” He nods. “Like a curse?”

“Yes. Any reason anyone would want to curse a thirteen-year-old?” 

Yoongi phrases it like a joke and chuckles. But you don’t laugh, stilling as you think about his question. Your immediate answer is no, at thirteen there was certainly nothing you could have done to be cursed. But you think about your parents, thinking about the fear revolving around their gifts for blood magic, think about the way they were always regarded with equal parts fear and reverence as coven leaders.

Curses aren’t common. It would take a coven of extremely skilled witches to curse someone, but it could take a single very skilled blood witch to toss one. Hexes aren’t long-term and are far more manageable, but you think about the way your power vanished, the way you bled your sister dry. 

The misery you’ve faced since, the loss of your parents shortly after, the hatred from the covenstead. 

“Holy shit, you don’t think you’re cursed, do you?” Yoongi’s question brings you out of your daze. All of the amusement has been wiped clean from his expression, eyes deadly serious. “Who would curse a child?”

“People were really afraid of my parents,” you admit. “My mom used to lead the covenstead here, you know?” That surprises him and you nod, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “Yeah, before my aunt. She isn’t a blood witch. My mom was and led the covenstead until um - my sister died.”

“I never knew that. No one talks about it.”

There is a question there. Yoongi won’t say it outright, but you sense the curiosity nonetheless. You feel your throat constrict a little as you murmur, “She stepped aside when my sister died. It was more political than anything, but no one talks about it out of respect for my aunt.”

“But still, to curse a child?”

“There was…” You think back to the time when you were thirteen. Those days are painted so painfully when you think about them that it is hard to remember anything else. “My parents were involved in the Trials that were going on at that time. Hunting Dissenters.”

Yoongi’s face darkens. “I see.”

“They had a lot of enemies. So maybe… I don’t know.”

For a few moments, Yoongi doesn’t say anything. He busies himself with packing away the rest of the till and waving his hand, dousing all the lights in the store with ease. There’s a little pang as he does it, such simple magic that costs him nothing. That you have no access to.

“Well,” Yoongi sighs, a little awkwardly. “Think about it. If - and it’s unlikely - that someone cursed you, you’ll know if we go through with the ritual.” He pauses and levels you with a look. “It is dangerous though. So consider the risk before you agree, hmm?”

You nod and thank him. He leads you out of the store and gives you an awkward smile goodbye. Never affectionate, but always polite and warm nonetheless. 

Sunset-purple skies stretch above you. It smells like fresh rain and earth outside. Town is quieter now that the evening crowd has finished dinner and gone home or back to their accommodations for the evening. You pass places with patio seating and small diners tucked between stores, wary eyes of the workers following you as you walk down the sidewalk. 

No one says good evening. Some don’t look at you at all. 

Curse. 

The word weighs heavy on you. You’d never considered that your condition could be from a curse before, but now that you think about it, you can’t stop the thoughts racing through your mind. 

The Trials had been a scary time for witches, Dissenters leaving covensteads to start their own, dark and forbidden spellwork becoming more and more popular among covens. Your parents - especially your mother and her sister - had been a huge part of cleansing the covenstead from witches who practice dark magic.

Especially the few blood witches. 

You had been a blood witch, though. Like your sister, like your mother. People had always been wary of them, which is why your mother worked so hard to get rid of the Dissenters when she was the head priestess. 

They give us a bad name, she would say darkly when you and your sister asked why she was getting rid of witches like you. Like her. In times like this, we have to work extra hard to prove we aren’t evil. 

And then you bled your sister dry. Drained her magic until she couldn’t fight you back and you woke up to that feeling of her cold hands on your overwhelmed skin. Your mother had never really looked at you the same after that, stepping down as the high priestess immediately. 

You suspect she protected you in the only way she could. Disallowing you to use magic of any sort, placing hard restrictions on how you could live, outlawing you from spaces where you had grown up. It was better than death. 

At least, you used to think so. 

Yoongi’s words weigh heavy on you as you sit in your apartment alone. You don’t bother to put the TV on, knowing that you won’t be able to pay attention to anything. Magic always comes at a price, and two rituals wrapped into one is going to take a toll. 

And yet, you think about getting to the bottom of this sickness, this curse. This inability to do anything but steal magic, to leech off of others. You think about how your magic used to feel, the way you could command fire with a snap of your fingers or make stars fall from your bedroom ceiling. 

An ache settles in your chest as you lay back on the couch and close your eyes, throat tight and eyes burning. You have been without magic for so long. Part of you thinks what's a little longer? But deep down, you crave it. The spark, the life, the touch of magic. 

You want to be able to enter stores without the itch underneath your skin, an addiction you can’t cure nor divulge in. You want to be able to be a part of a community again, to do rituals with Yoongi and Jungkook and Seokjin. You want to be able to help him in his bakery, imbuing his scones and cupcakes with love and a little spark of something extra. 

Tears flow hot on your face. You know what you want, and you know that it’s going to cost you to get it. You know that to do this, you’ll have to be open and honest, because there are only two possible options for your magic block: you are cursed or you have a mental block. 

It’s hard to know if being cursed as a result of your parents’ policing is worse than potentially having an internal block, an innate refusal to do magic because of what you did. 

That night sits at the back of your mind like a stone, sinking sinking sinking. Pulling you under as you think about it in explicit detail. Maybe you simply killed your twin. A horrible accident, but perhaps it was just you. Your magic. Your fault. 

And your magic had fled because of it, a self-inflicted punishment. 

Before you’re aware of what you’re doing, you have the phone in your hand, sniffing and wiping your tears with the back of your hand. Your face feels swollen and sticky with tears and overwarm and it’s hard to get a breath as you press the phone to your ear, listening to the ringing.

Seokjin picks up on the fourth ring, his voice cheery. “What, did Yoongi forget to let you in the store?”

“No.”

“I’m coming now,” Seokjin says, completely forgoing humor when he hears you sniff, hears the waver in your voice. “Are you home?”

“Yeah.”

“Did anyone hurt you?”

“No,” you hiccup. “I’m just really sad and I don’t want to be alone.”

“I’ll be there in ten. Do you want to stay on the phone?” You shake your head and let out a little sob. Something about knowing he’s coming over to be with you cracks your resolve a little more. You realize he can’t see you when he prompts, “Hey, you there?”

“Sorry, no. Drive safely, please.”

“For you? Anything.”

Despite your tears, your mouth wobbles into a weak smile at that. It makes your heart squeeze just a little, underneath all the hurt. 

It doesn’t take him long to let himself in the apartment. You can sense him before he even gets to the stairs leading up to your unit, his crackling energy like a beacon to you. When he opens the door with the key you gave him, he fills the space with static, magic snapping and tinged with worry. 

Magic always belies how Seokjin feels. Like now, as he rushes across the apartment, he is lightning, all energy and anxiety popping and snapping as he sits on the couch next to you, pulling you into his chest. 

Seokjin is warm and smells like vanilla and sweet orange from the bakery. It’s soothing. You close your eyes and clutch the hem of his shirt, resolve cracking the rest of the way as he becomes your anchor as you drift out to sea, holding you so that you can be lost in the overwhelming feeling of loss without getting too far. 

He doesn’t tell you not to cry. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong. Seokjin leans back on the couch, pulling you into his lap, holding your knees so that he can hold you. One hand rubs your back and he rests his chin on the top of your head, leading you to use the crook of his neck as a place to hide - and turn into a waterfall for your tears. 

This is what you love about Seokjin though. He doesn’t pry. He just lets you use him, lets you cry it out and he waits. 

When the tears begin to dry and you find it easier to breathe again, you shift away from Seokjin and wipe your face. He smiles down at you, eyes glittering and expression so fond that you find yourself staring blankly into his face.

“I’m sorry,” you sniff. “And thank you for coming.”

“Anything for you.” You hate the way it makes your heart flip when he says that. You start to pull away from him to sit on the couch properly but his arms constrict you, keeping you to him. You frown but he asks, “I want to know what happened, if you’re ready to talk about it.”

Seokjin is so close his breath fans your face. You look up at him. Silky, long lashes that you could individually count with your proximity, beautiful tan and smooth skin with a glow all witches have, strong brows that you always thought made Seokjin’s face the perfect balance of boyish and beautiful. 

Your heart starts to speed up and your mouth dries out with the way he looks at you, intense and searching. Suddenly you’re afraid if he looks too hard, he’ll see down to your core. 

“I- yeah. I need some water,” you croak, pulling away. He lets you go this time, unaware that what you really need is space between the two of you, a barrier so he can’t see. So he won’t know. “Turns out sobbing makes you thirsty.” 

Before you can get all the way to the kitchen, there’s a soft clink accompanied by a full glass of water on your counter. You glare at Seokjin over your shoulder and he winces and shrugs in apology. 

As you gulp down mouthfuls of cool water, you wonder how to word exactly what you’re upset about. How you’re tired of existing in the world without your magic but you’re also unsure if you want to know the truth about why your magic left you. 

Seokjin is iffy on the details about the night your sister died. He’s never asked you explicitly for the story before, but if you want to go through with finding out the root cause of your block, you know you’ll be exposed. To him. To all of them. To his coven.

The desire to be one of them is so strong that it makes your knees weak as you walk toward the couch. You sit abruptly on the couch arm, staring into the distance as you drink the rest of the water. You want to join them so much, to celebrate the sabbat holidays, to feel the rush of a closed circle of magic and yet…

Would they accept you if they knew you killed your sister? You’re not so sure. 

You look at Seokjin. He waits patiently, watching you with soft eyes. Moonlight seeps in through the blinds behind him, wreathing him in silver light. He looks like a god, then. Of shadows, of night, of mystery. This best friend of yours who you love so much and who has loved you indiscriminately when he didn’t have to. 

“I talked to Yoongi about maybe doing the ritual,” you start slowly. Seokjin nods, encouraging you. “And I think I came to the conclusion that I want to do it. I’m tired of feeling everyone’s magic pull at me, like a vice that I have to ignore every day. And I’m tired of wanting to do things I used to, to feel the world around me. But most of all, I just want to be a part of something. A part of a coven, a family.”

Understanding paints Seokjin’s face. He reaches a hand out and takes yours, giving you a firm squeeze. “You know even with no magic, you’re our family, right?”

“It’s different.” He starts to protest but you shake your head. “I want to be in a coven and to feel the power of a circle. I want to celebrate and do rituals with you, I want to be a part of something magical. I can’t do that like this, not without the fear of draining everyone.”

He nods. “Of course. We’ll have you either way, you know? We’d still welcome you like this.”

“But I’d never be able to close your circle.” Seokjin nods. He knows the truth of this. “But this ritual requires truth, and there’s some things about me that I’ve never talked to you about. Things about the night I… I could no longer do magic. I want you to be informed, to know what we might find if we do this.”

“Only if you want to tell me.”

“A coven and a working circle requires trust and honesty. I can never be one of you if you don’t know me completely.” 

He nods. “That is true.” 

“I’m going to tell you about the night that my sister died.” He squeezes your hand and nods, but says nothing else. “My sister and I were twins, both blood witches. Unusual enough for our parents and the covenstead to be incredibly proud of us, but not unusual enough for people to be afraid, you know?”

“Twins… That’s incredibly powerful.”

“Yeah,” you agree, throat tight. “We were really fond of the connection too, you know? It was nice to always have someone to rely on who was my perfect balance. We were never-” You take a breath. “Neither was more powerful than the other. There was never any jealousy or overpowering the other. We were always evenly matched.” 

“Whenever it would storm,” you continue. “I would go lay in her room. I hated storms but she loved them. I did this countless times up until we were thirteen. I don’t know… Jin, I don’t know what was different that night. I think back to it every single day, what did I do differently, was there an object I touched, a spell I used? And I come up with nothing. But on Beltane when we were thirteen, it was storming. We’d already finished the festival and our parents were out doing their duties and I went and I fell asleep in her room and… and I woke up…”

For a moment, you can’t get the words out. They get trapped in your throat and you stare, unseeing. You imagine the lightning against the window. The warmth of your sister's hands. The tree tap tap tapping against the window with the strength of the wind.

“I drained her in the middle of the night,” you whisper. It’s out now and you can’t stop, can’t look at Seokjin’s face to see his reaction. “I went to sleep as normal and when I woke up, she was freezing and lifeless and I felt more powerful than I ever had before. Like I was this magical battery charged up and sparking.” 

For a moment, you pause and look at Seokjin. You expect to see horror or disgust or a variety of negative emotions, but he’s still watching you. Fond. Waiting. No judgment. When he sees you staring, he gives you a tiny smile and a squeeze of your hand. 

“I’m still listening.” 

“Aren’t you…” You trail off and shake your head. “I killed my sister. Are you not horrified?”

He frowns then. “You didn’t kill your sister.”

“Yes I did.”

“You weren’t born a siphoner, how could you possibly predict that would ever happen? You didn’t get in that bed with her and then leech her magic, no matter how much it must feel that way. It wasn’t your fault, though I know hearing me say that doesn’t make it feel any less true in here.” He reaches forward and taps your heart lightly. “There is nothing I can say to ease the pain and guilt of that, but what you’re describing to me isn’t the tale of a murderer. It’s the story of someone who had a freak accident, which is more common among the magical community than one might think.”

“I don’t know what happened,” you admit, a tear escaping your eye. Before you can wipe it though, Seokjin’s thumb is there, swiping across your face and collecting it. You watch with wide eyes as he cups your face, looking at you with so much something that your head spins. “But in the morning, I was alive and she was dead. And my parents and everyone else hated me for it. That’s why they treat me the way they do. That’s why my mother stepped down as high priestess, why my parents were driven to grief. Why I’m alone.”

“You’re not alone. Not anymore.” 

“How can anyone accept me like this?”

“Because it isn’t what defines you. We are not made up of only the things we do and the things that happen to us, and I promise you, this is something that happened to you.” 

“But why? Why me?”

“I don’t know,” Seokjin admits. “But we’re going to find out, okay? 

“What if the others don’t want me?” 

“They would never,” he’s quick to say. He’s still holding your face, wiping tears from your eyes. “And if they did, I don’t care. I’d do the ritual myself, just to prove to you that this burden you carry isn’t your fault.” 

You crack a grin, despite the dark topic. “Yeah? You’d try and do a circle for you?”

“I would walk through fire for you.”

You pull your face out of his hands and shove him a bit. “Fire is your favorite element, Jin. That’s not impressive.”

His laughter fills the room and he tugs at your hands. You grapple with him as he tries to pull you down, your ache forgotten as you laugh and squeal. “Yah! Let me try and be poetic! It was the first thing that I could think of.”

“You’re a witch, you’re practically impervious.” 

Seokjin overpowers you and pulls you down against his chest. Suddenly you’re very close again, your palms pressed against his chest, the thrum of his heartbeat vibrating through your fingers. You make a surprised sound as he looks up at you, gaze a little darker. A little hazy. 

Gently, Seokjin reaches up and brushes his fingers across your chin. It’s featherlight and more intimate than you expect, making you blink in surprise. You’re frozen, limbs stuck and heart racing as you watch the corner of his mouth twitch upward. Suddenly the moment feels different - this feels different. 

“Not impervious to you though.”

When he says it, you don’t answer at first. You think you imagine him saying it. That suddenly this has blurred into a fantasy of yours. Perhaps you’re actually asleep, soothing your pain with dreams of Seokjin. Of being like this with him, pressed closed and intimate with his gaze burning. 

“What?” you whisper back, unable to string together a better response.

He doesn’t seem offended though, huffing a laugh. “Fire might not get to me,” he says. “You certainly did, though.”

“I don’t…”

“We’re practicing honesty because you’re right. If we’re going to lift this block on you and let you join our circle, there can’t be secrets between us. There’s so much to tell you, but I need you to know before we do this how I feel.”

“How you feel?”

“Yes. As the leader of our circle, it’s my duty to be honest with you and to give you an out. I don’t want you to cast our first circle and suddenly be able to see - feel - how I feel and then there’s no way out.”

“I don’t understand.” 

“I’d walk through fire for you - hey, stop laughing at me! Because you are an amazing person. But I would also do it because I have fallen head over heels for you. Chaotically so. Painfully so.” 

This is a dream. It has to be, because there is no way that Seokjin is lying under you, face so close to yours, hands gripping your forearms, and staring at you like that, gaze dreamy, smile on his face. 

“It’s not a dream,” he laughs, making you realize you’ve said it out loud. “Or perhaps it is a dream and I am once again imagining that I am the hero to your tale, a knight saving you because he likes you and you will let me because you like me. But that would be a silly dream, because you have always been the bravest person I know and you have always refused to be saved.” 

“You like me?”

“I do. And it’s okay if you don’t like me back. But I wanted you to know before you step into a circle with us. The others know - can see it light up inside of me every time we cast. But I didn’t want to surprise you with that. Not with this, not when it’s about you. It would have been cruel.”

Seokjin could never be cruel. The word cruel doesn’t even exist in the same plane of existence as this man. This witch who has never done anything but ask if you need help. Who simply enjoys baking things for the community and its visitors, filling every good with magic. A little extra something to make their lives more manageable, more fruitful. 

This man, who would have you even as you are in his coven of witches. Even if a circle couldn’t be drawn and salted correctly. Even if they have no use for you. This friend, who has heard what you’ve done - or didn’t do - and looks at you all the same. Doesn’t see a monster or someone terrible, doesn’t see someone capable of murder. 

The very thought of Seokjin loving you even as you are is enough to send a shiver through you. 

“You know why I thought I was dreaming, right?” you ask him. Seokjin shakes his head, watching your every move. “Because I have dreamed of you saying that often. It was always a comfort to me when I was sad or my longing to have you was intense. I just thought I never could. Wasn’t worthy of it, wasn’t-”

Seokjin moves faster than you can finish your sentence. He surges forward, hands skimming up your arms roughly to cup your face and pull you down to him. He presses his lips firmly to yours and anything you were going to say vanishes, thoughts a wisp of smoke. 

Sparks fly quite literally. Seokjin’s magic crackles and you resist to pull it in and consume it, too distracted by the soft feel of his lips. It’s just an innocent press of mouths at first, making your head spin as you realize you’re kissing Seokjin. 

Then, he pulls away to look at you, face aglow. You’re a little breathless and reeling when you open your eyes to see his grin. 

“You’re worthy of so much more,” he whispers. 

There’s no time to respond as he pulls your lips to his again, this time kissing you properly. He tastes sweet, like one of his meringue treats. The slide of his plush mouth against yours makes you dizzy. He sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, nipping slightly and you become ravenous. 

Your tongue brushes against his teeth and he makes a throaty sound, opening up to let you deepen the kiss, tongue sweeping against his. He’s a slow kisser, dragging his tongue against yours and letting you fall fall fall into him. 

Seokjin’s hands slide from your face down your shoulders and past them, stopping only at your hips where he squeezes. Your stomach flips at the contact and you twitch a little bit, grinding down into him as his kisses go from languid to a little needier. 

“Fuck,” he gasps, head tilting back. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” you ask, mouth going to his jaw. You press wet kisses there, messy lips followed by your tongue, leaving a spit-slick trail. His skin makes your tongue tingle, magic vibrating. 

He slips his hands under the hem of your shirt and digs his blunt nails into your hips. “You know what?”

Grinning, you bring your mouth up to his. Slowly, you lower your hips so you’re pressed flush to his, rolling them again, this time painfully slow. Your breath catches in your throat at the slow-drag friction, the feeling of him shivering underneath you.

“That?” you ask, breathless against his mouth. 

“Enough,” he hisses.

The world spins. Seokjin grabs you and in a single, swift movement sits up and stands, carrying you with him. You squeal, hands shooting to grasp at his shoulders as he walks toward your room. He kicks his shin on the coffee table as he stumbles with you, balance off with the added weight.

He curses loudly and you can’t help but laugh, clapping a hand over your mouth when his sharp gaze snaps to yours. His eyes are dark dark, hungry and fathomless now as he raises a brow. “Yeah, you’re laughing?”

“Sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” you admit.

“You’re gonna be.”

A wild thrill shoots through you as he carries you to the bedroom. You forget how strong he is, muscles flexing as he shifts you again, careful not to drop you. It makes you feel giddy, but you squeak in a moment of terror when he drops you unceremoniously on your bed, the brief moment of freefall startling.

You land with a huff and he grins down at you as he stands up against the edge of the bed, knees squeezing your legs together as he reaches behind his neck to yank at his t-shirt. You watch, slack-jawed as he pulls the material up and over his head in a way that is somehow hot, as benign as it is. 

Seokjin is all gold and tan planes, body perfect in the low light of your room as he tosses his shirt. You take a second to admire his broad chest, dark nipples pebbling in the cool room. Dark hair trails from his belly button and vanishes in the waist of his jeans.

Seeking warmth, you reach for him. He leans forward, pressing his palms into the mattress to hover over you, knees placed on either side of your thighs. His muscles jump when you brush your hands up the softness of his stomach toward the harder muscle of his pecs. 

It feels like the sun is trapped underneath his skin, burning its way out of him as your fingers explore. You’ve never touched him like this, slow and reverant and full of unbridled desire. He watches you, drinking in the way you take him in. The way you take your time. 

“You’re beautiful,” you murmur, looking up at him. His ears turn red and he rolls his eyes. You grin, dragging your hand up to rest over his chest where his heart thuds wildly beneath your palm. “I mean here, idiot. Yeah you’re hot too, but you’re beautiful in here.” 

Unreadable emotion flits across his face. Something like joy and pain - the pain of wanting to hear that for so long, waiting for the admission. You understand the same pain of desire filled so unexpectedly that it hurts. 

Seokjin kisses you again and this time with intent. He shifts and slides a knee between your legs, pressing up to the apex of your thighs. You groan and lift your hands, sliding them through his hair. The strands are silky soft and long. You twist your fingers at the nape of his neck, pulling him to you as the kiss turns messy.

Whatever this is between you is more magic than you’ve felt in years. You feel breathless as he kisses across your jaw and toward your neck, sucking harshly on the soft skin underneath your ear. You whine and he chuckles, hot breath hitting your ear.

“Why don’t you do that thing you love so much, hmm?” he asks, nipping your ear lobe. “Are you shy now? Don’t wanna grind on me?”

You do want to, but you hesitate. He encourages you, taking a hand and skimming down your waist to your ass, sliding under and squeezing your cheek as he lifts your hips in a motion to grind against him. The friction is good but not nearly enough and you let out a pitiful sound. 

“Come on,” he urges. “Do it right, then.”

Fuck. Fuck. 

You grind your cunt on his leg properly, planting your feet on the edge of the bed for leverage as Seokjin’s mouth ravages your neck. You’re lost in him, letting your mind go a little empty as you seek friction, needing to relieve the pressure throbbing in your cunt.

Arousal gathers in your stomach and you feel yourself slow-drip into your panties, so turned on by the sudden confidence Seokjin has when kissing you, when telling you to move. This is a side of him you’ve never explored and you dive in head first.

One hand leaving his hair, you grab his hand that’s on your ass as he continues to nip your collarbones, tongue laving over the sting of his bite. He lets you lead him by the wrist, and you guide his hand between your legs where you press his fingers to your zipper. 

“Please,” you rasp. “I need more.”

He sinks his teeth into the top of your right breast, tongue tasting your skin. “Is that so?”

“Please. You said you’d walk through fire for me.”

His laugh is loud and he buries his face in your neck. You can’t help but laugh too, pausing your greedy hands in exchange for mirth. “Yeah,” he agrees with a chaste kiss to your throat. “I did say that, huh?”

“Yes, so gimme.” 

“Yah. Of course I am.”

Years of friendship have erased any ability to feel awkward with Seokjin but for a moment, you’re afraid it’ll be weird, touching one another like this. Seokjin has no such qualms, unbuttoning your pants and yanking them down your legs with ease.

When he comes back up to lean over you, he doesn’t slot a knee between your legs. Instead, his fingers press firmly to your clothed cunt, a curse falling from his mouth as he feels how damp you are. You’re hot all over and yet you feel hotter still as he circles his fingers gently over your clit. 

“Fuck,” you sigh, lids fluttering closed. “Feels good.”

“You’re fucking drenched, all from a little kissing huh?”

“And grinding,” you add.

“Yeah, like a hungry little vixen, huh?” You nod, biting your bottom lip as you get lost in his lazy ministrations and pressure on your clit. It’s relieved some of the ache, but not nearly enough. “I can see on your face you already want more.” 

This time, Seokjin doesn’t make you ask for it. He hooks a finger in your underwear and pulls them to the side. Immediately you feel cold air against you, but he’s quick to slide his fingers up and down your wet folds, slicking them up to trail back up and circle slowly around your clit.

“Damn you’re fucking wet,” he curses. He leans up a little, eyes fucked out. “Take the rest off for me, baby.”

Baby. It shivers through you and you comply, though a little haphazardly. It’s hard to remove your shirt and bra with the way his fingers are slowly pressing your clit, making you thrash and gasp. 

As soon as you lay back down, no shirt and no bra, Seokjin is leaning forward, tongue darting out to flick against a stiffened nipple. You let out a loud moan and he hums in response, attacking his mouth to you and sucking. Fuck it feels good. You arch off the bed and his fingers leave your swollen clit to slide down your sticky mess to circle your entrance.

Gently, he sinks in a single finger. Your eyes roll back a little, pussy fluttering as he strokes your front wall. You’re tingling all over, buzzing with pleasure as he slowly fucks you with his finger, mouth busy plucking at your nipple with his teeth. 

You’re lost in it, melted into the bed as Seokjin plays you like a well-tuned instrument. The heel of his palm presses against your clit, providing just enough pressure as he fingers you to send the room spinning on its axis. 

He tongue-kisses across your chest, mouth ravenous against your heaving gasps as he finds your other nipple. The tip of his tongue circles, making you keen and squirm underneath him. He watches you with dark eyes, teasing the aching bud before nipping you lightly. 

“Sensitive,” he mumbles, dragging spit-slicked lips against your breast. “Can you take another finger?”

You nod eagerly, hungry to be filled. Your orgasm is starting to build slowly, worked up by the way he mouths at you, by the way Seokjin’s fingers reach so deep, pressing against your g-spot as he sinks another into your heat. 

“Shit,” you pant. “That feels so fucking good, Jin.”

“Mhmm.” He brings his mouth up to yours and your tongues tangle, teeth clinking together as he fucks you harder, the wet smack of your pussy against his palm loud. “Tight fucking pussy,” he pants, pressing hard against your front wall. Your heels dig into the bed as you try to keep up with the pleasure blooming in your stomach. “Gonna need to fuck you open a little if you’re gonna take me.”

If you’re gonna take me.

The promise of more has you rolling your hips up to meet his hand. He lets you fuck yourself on his fingers, dropping his gaze to look between your bodies. Your thighs and his stomach are slick with your juice, leaking around his fingers uncontrollably. 

When Seokjin introduces another finger, you hiss. The stretch is hard and it burns. He doesn’t keep thrusting right away, letting your cunt stretch around his three digits. But he’s pressed up against your soft spot, making you see stars as he puts unrelenting pressure on your nerves. 

It feels like insanity, the way he does this to you. The way Seokjin buries his face in your neck, your chests pressed together to provide friction against your teeth-marked nipples as he starts to build up a pace again, thrusting. 

“I’m gonna come,” you whisper, hands grabbing frantically at his sweaty shoulder blades. Your thighs are shaking and it’s hard to get a breath in. Your voice quakes as you gasp. “Fuck, Jin I’m - ah ah ah.”

“So come,” he says, as if it’s that simple. He puts weight behind the hand fucking you, quickens the pace. Presses so fucking hard you think you might blackout. “If you’re gonna come, then do it.” 

And you do. Just like that, nails digging into his shoulders, eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenched, you come around his fingers. He fucks you through it, breath hot in your ear. Your knees squeeze around his hips until you’re spent, collapsing against the mattress, boneless. 

Seokjin retracts his fingers. The sudden feeling of being empty makes you huff in protest and he laughs, lifting his face from your neck. You pout up at him and he kisses you again before leaning upward, straddling your legs. 

Your eyes zero in on his hands as they undo the top of his belt. His hand is covered in a wet sheen, cum-slicked and sticky. He doesn’t care, popping up the belt and pulling down the zipper of his pants. You grow eager, leaning up as he pulls the waist down, revealing the dark briefs that do nothing to hide how hard he is. 

With no warning, you reach for his clothed cock, squeezing firmly. He hisses and drops his hands, jeans only pulled halfway down his thighs. Seokjin tips his head back and moans at the ceiling as you lean forward and mouth at the damp spot on his briefs, tasting salt. 

“Fuck,” he swears and you grin, pressing and holding the flat of your tongue to the cloth to wet it. “You’re a little slut, huh?”

You hum in agreement. Fingers dancing up his thighs, you pause at the elastic band, looking up at him through your lashes. “Can I?”

Seokjin tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes half-lidded. He nods, watching and dazed as you peel the elastic down his hips slowly. You lean forward as you do, pressing a soft kiss to his hip bone. He twitches and sighs in response.

You look at his cock as it bobs against his stomach, brown tip smearing precum against his navel. You lick your lips and drag your hand up, fingers gripping his velvety shaft. He’s thick and heavy in your hand as you grasp him firmly, stroking upward. 

“Oh fuck,” he whispers, hips twitching. You grin up at him, swiping a thumb over the crown of his cock to spread the wetness down his shaft. He hums, entranced. “More.”

You don’t have to ask what he means. You lean upwards, pulling the tip of his cock toward your mouth. You slide just the tip into your mouth, suckling generously and running your tongue along the slit. His hand slips to the side of your neck, resting there but not doing anything. It’s a comforting weight as you take him in your mouth properly. 

Seokjin is art above you. Chest flushed, mouth open, eyes closed. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was on his knees at worship. It is a sort of worship, the way you sink down on his cock, lips stretched wide, drool dripping down the side of your mouth and running down your jaw and neck. Is it not the spirit of loving him moving through you? Is this not heaven, looking up at him and seeing someone that has chosen you over and over again?

No pagan ritual in your life as a witch has felt like this. You swallow around him, eyes watering as you choke on his length, pulling back a little to catch your breath. Your hand squeezes him at the base, slick with your spit and his precum. Your mouth is wet and swollen as you lick the underside of his shaft, never looking away from his face.

“Fuck that mouth,” he sighs, eyes opening and looking down at you. He squeezes the side of your neck a little, fingers right against your throat. “Come on,” he murmurs. “I can’t hold out if you keep going. How do you like it?”

Instead of answering him, you pull off of him with a sloppy, wet noise. You make a show of running your tongue along your lips before turning around and crawling up the bed, wiggling your ass a little. Seokjin groans as he sheds his jeans and briefs the rest of the way. 

The bed sinks when he crawls behind you. You go down on your elbows, ass up high. He smacks each cheek firmly with both hands, making you yelp as he grips the stinging flesh, squeezing. “You have a good ass.”

“You have a nice dick.”

He laughs loudly at that. Seokjin’s hand skims down to your thighs, grabbing them and pushing them open. You sink a little lower on the bed, face pressed to the sheets and letting your eyes shut. The hair on his thighs sends a shiver up your spine as his legs brush against yours, hands roaming and squeezing your hips, your butt, your thighs.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he mutters. His hands come back over the globes of your ass and sink toward your wet cunt. You moan as his thumbs peel you open, pressing around your clenching hole. “Shit.” 

The bed bounces as he moves again and then your eyes are snapping open, fingers twisting in your sheets when you feel the flat of his tongue swipe up your pussy. He hums in delight and you’re reeling, trying to catch your breath as he licks at you.

“Just wanted a taste,” he says, more to himself than you. He sucks your clit into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it a few times and you nearly crumble right there at the unexpected stimulation. He slow-licks up to your hole, tracing it once before retracting his mouth. “I have all the time in the world for you to come in my mouth. Right now I just wanna feel you.”

“Yes, please.”

Your breath gets stuck when you feel the head of Seokjin’s cock catch your entrance. He’s thick, and even though you’re dripping down your thighs and stretched from his fingers, the pressure of him sinking into your heat slowly sends you moaning like a wanton whore, unable to stop the sounds escaping your mouth.

Seokjin is precise, hands holding your hips firmly until he’s fully seated in your cunt, your walls fluttering around him. You feel so full, his cock reaching deep enough to feel in your gut. When he pulls all the way out, you think something is wrong, but he fucks back into you hard.

“Oh shit,” you gasp, feeling the full weight of him spear you. “Holy shit.”

He doesn’t say anything but he grunts, setting a slow but deep pace. His hips snap into you with force, your knees spreading a little bit wider. He leans into it more, moving his hands to press into the small of your back. The full force of his weight pushing your hips into the bed as he slams into you makes you dizzy. 

An orgasm starts to build deep in your stomach. You claw at the bed, breaths coming out in a hiss. Seokjin grabs one of your hands, pulling it backward to pin it against your lower back before doing the same to the other. You’re completely pinned under him, pushed so far into the mattress you think you might fade and vanish into foam and sheets. 

Nothing here matters but the way he fucks into you, unrelenting, heavy, precise. He says your name and it rolls off his tongue sweeter than any pastry he’s ever made. Your orgasm creeps up on you, shaking and thunderous. It feels stronger than before, a pressure that makes you start to shiver, feet kicking under him.

For a moment, he slows, pulling off you a little. “Okay?”

“Keep going,” you beg him, voice high-pitched and strange to your ears. “Please don’t stop, I’ll tell you if I can’t take it.”

That’s all he needs. He redoubles and this time, changes his direction, hits that spot inside of you head on with his cock and you think you’re going to pass out. You become lifeless under him, unable to do anything but take it. The wave of your orgasm builds and builds and builds until finally, it breaches. 

You come for a second time, no noise coming out of you. It’s all white vision and squeezed thighs and ringing ears. You think you feel something like a bolt of lightning, a snap of power so strong as you clench around Seokjin that you taste static in the air. 

It’s hard to know how long it lasts. One moment you’re shaking and the next, you’re drifting, feeling weightless and exhausted. The weight of Seokjin’s touch keeps you tethered and from straying too far, but you’re somewhere in between nonetheless. 

Slowly, reality drips back to you. You think you may have dozed a little, your eyes dry as you blink them open. Seokjin is lying next to you, arm wrapped around you and eyes closed. He’s not breathing deep enough to be asleep, confirming it when his eyes open, sensing your gaze.

A smile lights up his face and you smile tiredly at him. Your cunt aches and your legs and arms are sore from being pinned, and you’re still a little shaky. Thoughts of your orgasm make you twitch, post-sex tremors that you can’t escape.

“Hi,” you rasp. “Did I fall asleep?”

“I think you blacked out.”

“I- what?” 

“I sort of…” he frowns. “There was like this electrical snap when I came. You clenched me so fucking hard I just… let go. I think we sort of had a magical orgasm.”

“A magical orgasm.”

He grins. “Just say thank you for the witch orgasm.”

“Ugh.” You smack his chest and he laughs hoarsely. 

It did feel like that though. Like a crackle of energy, like being struck by a storm of electricity and heat. You feel tired and heavy-limbed, but you feel sticky and sweaty too. “I need a shower.”

“Mhmm. I was waiting for you to come to.” He starts to sit up. “Come on, I’ll shower you. Then we need to sleep. We have to prepare you for your big day.”

“My big day?”

Seokjin grins as he reaches a hand for you. There’s a spark again when you touch and you hesitate, feeling the well of his magic there. It hums in him, a thunderhead of power and fire. He sees your expressions and softens. “You can’t hurt me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Baby, I just fucked the everloving shit out of you and you know what you didn’t do?” Your brows pull together and he smiles. “You didn’t pull an ounce of my magic from me. I think you’re a lot better at control than you think you are.”

Licking your lips, you nod and let him pull you from bed. You are good at control. You had to be after your sister. It’s something you’ve practiced nonstop, the unconscious control of your desire for magic. Even when you sleep, you wake up often, fearful of losing your grip on yourself while you slumber.

It hasn’t happened yet. And as Seokjin leads you to the shower, you think… maybe it never will. Especially if the ritual goes right. Especially if you can get your magic back. 

Perhaps for the first time since you were thirteen, you feel a sliver of hope. When you look at Seokjin and you feel your heart stutter, you know that even without your magic, you’ve found something.

-

“Oh for the love of the land,” Yoongi groans when you appear in the basement of Seokjin’s home. “Look at the two of you.”

Everyone swivels to look at you and Seokjin, who are hand-in-hand. You freeze, pulling up short to take in the candle-lit room and the six other men who are all looking at you with equal parts happiness and a little bit of amusement.

You shift from foot to foot and chew your lip. Suddenly you want to turn tail and run back up the stairs and away from the watchful eyes of your friends - of Seokjin’s coven members. But Seokjin holds your hand tight, tugging you down the rest of the stairs into the gloom of the room.

Perhaps gloom isn’t the right word. The room is much too warm and smells of sage and thyme, a good feeling if not a little overwhelming. Outside this house, there is an entire festival going on at the park. The covenstead witches were furious when Seokjin let them know that he and his six would not be participating this year, as they had private matters to attend to.

It’s common for covens to use the holiday for something specific. Perhaps to bless a witch in need, or to strengthen a spell, or to defeat some evil. You remember that night that your parents left you alone for Beltane duties to fight and remove Dissenters, and how that turned out for you.

Magic hums all around you. It’s in the sigils on the ceiling of Seokjin’s sanctum and it’s in the ley lines that you can feel now more than ever as the veil between worlds thins. Each member of the coven has magic humming in their veins, a sort of signature taste and feel to it. You sense Yoongi’s deep shadows and Namjoons vibrant green, taste Jimin’s clean water and feel Hoseok’s pure air. Taehyung and Seokjin are the flickering flame that fills the room with light and heat, and Jungkook’s crackling storm greets you in the corner.

It’s hard to imagine where you fit in with them. But they don’t have a blood witch, who is all of these things wrapped into one. You know that they support you. The eight of you have gone over the ritual what feels like a hundred times at this point, perfecting it and making sure you know it inside and out.

The two rituals are wildly different. One to seek and find the source of your pain, led by Yoongi and Hoseok. Yoongi’s shadows and connection to the other side will help seek answers and provide clarity on whatever signs and hints come through the vision you’re supposed to have, and Hoseok’s strength with air will help keep you protected and clear of any negative energy.

Then, a small spell to build a bridge between the two rituals that Namjoon will handle with Jimin. Namjoon has it down to a science and has previously used it to link spells, and his affinity for earth will ground the entire circle. Jimin’s skill with water is to help guide you from ritual to ritual with ease and clarity. 

It’s the second half of the ritual that’s the most demanding, which is why it’s Taehyung and Jungkook conducting the destructive half, breaking whatever stands between you and your magic. Two warriors meant to sever your block or the target of your curse, whichever it may be.

And it’s possible that you’re cursed. You have briefly spoken about what that means. About what to do. It will most likely mean something damaging and life-threatening for whoever did curse you, if you forcefully try to shatter it instead of finding the cause. 

But there’s also potential for you to be harmed if the two of them try to break it and it���s too strong. It’s a risk that you have to assess in the moment, which is terrifying. You want to do it anyway, and you’re happy to find that they support you. That they’re there for you.

Coven members already, really. 

All seven of them are dressed to perform a ritual. Dark robes, anointed element symbols in dark ash on their brows. Yoongi has a small circlet around his head, making you pause and tilt your head as you glance at Seokjin. He sees your confusion and smiles. “Yoongi is our high priest tonight,” he murmurs. “He will start and end the circle so I can be here with you.”

Yoongi is blushing and looking up at the ceiling when you turn back to him. For him to step up and hold the circle as the beginning and end is a huge risk on him. He’ll be providing the most magic and taking on the most risk second only to you, all so that Seokjin can move freer and have more control.

“Yoongi is a very powerful witch, as you know,” Seokjin murmurs, steering you to the center of the room. “He holds circles for a lot of our rituals when we feel he’s better suited.” 

“Which is often,” Yoongi mutters at the ceiling where he keeps his gaze. 

“Yah, shut up, hag. Everyone get in their places.”

Seokjin puts you in the very center of the room. There is a pentagram chalked in powder, but there is no glow to it, no light to signal that it’s being used. He squeezes your shoulders and you look at him, wide eyed and afraid. His smile is warm and a little nervous, but he leans in and kisses you once.

“Trust us,” he says. “This will be hard on you. But we’ve got you.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t break the circle,” he reminds you. “If you have to break, do it when Namjoon is at the middle part and before we start the second ritual. He will open the circle a little, but it’ll be just for a moment before the second is started and locked.”

“Right. Ten second escape if I need to.”

“You only have that window if we need to stop. Once we start the second, there is no stopping until the full ritual is complete.”

“Got it.”

“Good luck,” Seokjin whispers and kisses you on the brow. “I’ll be right here.”

With a deep breath, he steps to the side and grasps your hand. The two of you stand alone in the middle, you and your anchor. Silence settles over the room. You haven’t been in the middle of a circle since you were a little girl receiving her first welcome into the coven. You had done that with your sister by your side and your mother at the head of the circle.

Now, you’re with Seokjin, with Yoongi at the head of the circle. Yoongi doesn’t really make eye contact with you, but you sense his calming aura even from where he stands at the first point of the circle. He rolls his shoulders and closes his eyes, lifting his palms upward. “I stand at north, the beginning and end, start this circle, spirit ascend.”

You feel the ripple of magic in the room. Fire crackles at Yoongi’s feet, making you flinch. You watch as the red flames lick toward Hoseok, who is quick and light as he murmurs, “I stand northeast, to cleanse and protect, continue the circle, spirit to the next.”

You watch the flame as it sparks to life, moving clockwise around the room. Every time a member joins the circle, you feel the power thrum through the room, the pentagram beneath your feet beginning to glow. The flame comes all the way back around to Yoongi and he closes it, eyes opening and looking right at you.

Yoongi looks different than before, eyes shadowed and full of stars. “Begin,” he commands, voice like a thousand whispers. 

A little spike of fear goes through you as Hoseok begins to chant. You recognize the Latin immediately but your unpracticed ears lose trace of the meaning. It’s picked up slowly in the room and you feel your palms slick with sweat as the light of the pentagram pulses beneath your feet, the flames flickering around the feet of the coven members.

Yoongi’s voice picks up the chant like you’ve never heard him before. It’s uncanny and you lean into Seokjin, who squeezes your hand and looks down at you.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “This happens when he leads a circle. Veil is thin.”

Nodding your head, you turn to the front again, feeling the itch to pull power from the circle, to draw their magic into you. There’s so much of it filling the room, an open tap of water spilling into the sink. You dig your teeth into your bottom lip, worried that you won’t be able to resist, worried that you’re going to pull from the magic and-

A wave of dizziness hits you. You gasp and bend over, hand circling your middle as though you’ve just been punched. Seokjin’s hands are on your back but you can’t hear him, a high-pitched ringing drowning out the sound of his voice. For a second, you’re lost in the sensation of having the air sucked from your lungs and the whine in your ears getting higher and higher.

Just when you think that your ear drums will burst, the ringing stops. There is a hushed whisper filling your ears and you still can’t catch your breath. The room spins a little and when you look up expecting to see Yoongi, all you see is dark trees and a blurry shadowy… building. Something. 

The whispers creep up on you. There are so many of them, hundreds - no, thousands - of voices brushing against you, dragging their fingers along your skin, touching you, hissing, singing, screaming. It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced and their words are jumbled, sliding over one another.

Terror begins to claw at you. You try to remain calm, remembering that these are not the voices of spirits or something evil. Hoseok is commanding this ritual, an element of purity and guidance. He won’t let anything bad happen to you.

With faith in your future coven member, you try to focus on the voices. Try to decode them. Namjoon warned you that the messaging might be confusing. That you might not follow or understand what it’s saying. Symbols, images, key words. You need to reach for anything that seems like something, that can point to the origin of your block and follow it. 

Yoongi’s presence presses at the back of your mind. It startles you at first, to feel who you know is innately Yoongi. You follow the press of whatever he’s doing and you catch a few words that fly by you: little hut little hut. Little hut little hut. Little hut little hut. 

Unsure what it means, you cling to that. Little hut. It means something… you remember something about it. Yoongi’s presence fades away, satisfied that you’ve picked up on whatever it is he sees or senses. 

Flipping through memories, you try to remember why a hut might mean anything to you. There were no huts by your town… nothing that you can remember no one you know of. 

Little hut, little hut.

One memory sticks with you. Your sister playing in the background, hopscotching to a little tune that Mila down the street whispered to her about a witch in the woods. 

Little hut, little hut

Hidden in the wood

Little hut, little hut

Up to no good

Yes, you think. A rhyme about a witch who lived in the woods. More thing than witch, really. A shadowy being that took the shape of a hut, a creature of magic and curses that could be found in the darkest part of the woods when the veil is thin. 

Little hut, little hut

Alone in the gloom

Little hut, little hut

Silent as a tomb

You see it now. The blurry shape of a house that’s not really a house. The witch in the wood was a blood witch once, it was said. A witch who had long since dissented and practiced arcane magic, following a path that led her here. That led her to this. A thing of the woods. 

It occurs to you the weight of the appearance of her. This hut in the woods. Yoongi’s flippant remark about you being cursed is suddenly real.

Dread drops down in your stomach like a weight. You can’t hear anything beyond the rhyme, the chant to find the witch of the woods. You’re cursed, you realize. All the fear that your condition was self-inflicted, that it was your fault, that this was something you did. 

This is something that happened to you, Seokjin had said.

And he was right. Someone cursed you - did this to you. A child. 

Out there in the world, there is someone responsible for the death of your sister. Someone who took your magic, who turned you into a leech. The reason for your family's pain, the reason for them throwing you away. For your father and mother being driven mad, for the town turning against you.

You think about the rock that hit you just days ago. Thrown by a child taught to hate you. Taught that it was okay to hurt you because it was you. The town siphoner. A witch who couldn’t make her own magic, a parasite. 

Anger wells up inside of you and you latch onto the rhyme swirling around your head, clawing through it. This is the thread you must follow to find your curse giver. This is the clue.

Little hut, little hut

Across the dark stream

Little hut, little hut

Wait for the scream

Dully, you are aware that Seokjin is next to you. You see him from the corner of your eye but it’s not Seokjin at all. Well - not as you now know him. This Seokjin is younger - a teenager by the looks of it. He’s not doing anything except staring out into the darkness. He fades in and out like a bad TV picture, glitching and blurring. But you know it’s him. 

His face is different though. Twisted in grief and pain, a frozen picture of angst. You imagine this is what you looked like when your sister died, a tableau of hurt and hate. 

Little hut, little hut

I call to thee

Little hut, little hut

Come to me

The Seokjin in front of you fades away. You reach out for him but your hands cut through empty air and darkness. He’s not really there and you have a hard time grasping the meaning of this. The voice sounds almost like Seokjin but not quite. Not as mature. 

Young Seokjin doesn’t show up again. You can feel the real Seokjin somewhere in the mess of the vision and the darkness, but you can’t hear him. Can’t see him. There is only the omnipresent darkness of the hut and the whispers of voices. 

Little hut, little hut

Hear my strife

Little hut, little hut

Ruin this life 

There’s a flash of lightning. A storm in the darkness, splashes of purple and blue electricity. You cover your eyes as you hear thunder, low and soft somewhere. Across from you, your sister appears. She’s a fraternal twin who looks nothing like you except in the eyes. Your eyes look right back at you.

She’s the same age she was when she died. When you took her magic away. When you were cursed. She looks the same age as the apparition of Seokjin, and you try to understand. To make the connection from what you're seeing as the lightning lances again like it did that fateful night.

The rhyme keeps circling in a hurricane of whispers. 

As the ritual comes to a close, the vision begins to fade. You’re no better off than where you started and in a panic, you reach for the vision of your sister. You just want to hold her one last time, to feel the warmth of her skin.

But she isn’t real and she fades as Hoseok’s chanting falls to a murmur and then to a whisper, the air returning to normal. You can breathe again, and as you look up from where you’re bent over, you see Seokjin kneeling on the ground in front of you, holding you by the shoulders. His face is swimming with fear and concern, gaze searching.

Seokjin looks so much like his younger self. He’s matured into his face and is a handsome man, but he was a cute teenager. His face now is full of love and concern, but you think about his face in your vision. Twisted in pain and years. 

Little hut, little hut

Hear my strife

Little hut, little hut

Ruin this life 

You straighten up suddenly, knocking him over on his ass as you do so. It feels like you’ve been slapped as you stare at him, a sudden buzz in your ears as you stare and stare and stare. The ritual comes to an end and Namjoon opens the circle - a foot in the door, more like - and begins to start his spell for Taehyung and Jungkook to weave the new ritual into the circle. 

Without thinking about it, you dash for the edge of the circle. Seokjin yells but you’re fast, surging between Namjoon and Jimin where the door exists. Namjoon’s head snaps to look at you, eyes wide and mouth open.

“Close it and close the circle,” you pant. 

“I-”

“Close the fucking circle!”

Seven pairs of eyes look at you then. They hesitate for a moment, the flames around them wavering. You can feel the power licking at their heels and something like rage shudders through you. You don’t know where to channel it yet and you begin to pace as Namjoon recloses the circle and turns to Yoongi. 

Slowly, Yoongi begins to finish the ritual. They work backward from Yoongi to Jungkook to Taehyung to Jimin. You don’t look at them, wringing your hands as you pace back and forth, heart reaching a wild beat. 

Images fly by. The hut, the whispers, Seokjin’s face, the thunderstorm, your sister. 

The narrative isn’t straightforward. You don’t quite understand the rhyme, or its function, but the second half sounds bad, sounds perhaps like a plea. A bargain. A need for a curse. You recall the thunderstorm on the night of Beltane, the way your sister watched with wide eyes while you sought her out. You think of Seokjin’s affinity for fire and storms, the way he can command thunder just by being upset. You think of his face, so full of pain and hate. 

Finally, they finish the circle. Seokjin rushes to you, hands outstretched and a question on his mouth but you jerk away from him. 

“Did you curse someone?” you demand, making him pull up short. He opens and closes his mouth. The silence in the room is deafening. You can hear your own heartbeat, pulse throbbing in your ears. “Seokjin, did you curse someone?”

“I… what does that have to do with-”

“Little hut, little hut. Hear my strife. Little hut, little hut. Ruin this life.” 

Three things happen then. The first is Seokjin’s confusion as he shakes his head, lost as to why you’re repeating a rhyme back to him. Then a flicker of memory followed by the drain of color on his face. He straightens up, blanched and shaking his head back and forth as he takes a step away from you.

“No,” he says and takes another step back. “That’s not right, I didn’t curse you.”

“What did you do?” 

“I didn’t curse you,” he says again. He seems lost in it though, like he’s saying it to himself. Yoongi takes a step toward Seokjin and he holds out a hand, warding Yoongi off. “I cursed the witches responsible for killing my parents. I didn’t curse you.” 

“You cursed someone?” Taehyung hisses from across the circle. “And you never thought to mention it in preparation for this?”

“Shut up, Taehyung,” Seokjin snaps. “I didn’t curse her. I did go into the woods that night to find the hut witch and I cursed the people responsible for killing my parents. I didn’t even know you then.” 

“Did you give a name? What did you say?” 

“I didn’t know their names!” He answers, frantic and looking at you pleadingly. “I didn’t - no. I remember it, I shared my blood with her, to show the memory. I saw their faces, but I didn’t know their names. We were -” his voice cracks and he clutches his hands against his chest, tears in his eyes. “I was so afraid when they came. We’d been going from town to town, trying to get away. My parents wanted to go back home, overseas. We just had to get there and then these witches, they came and blew down the door and they killed them.”

“So you cursed them based on a memory?”

“Yes,” he insists. “Baby, I didn’t curse you. How could I? How would I?”

Little hut, little hut

Hear my strife

Little hut, little hut

Ruin this life 

“Seokjin.” You say his full name, voice ringing and calmer than you feel. Your stomach is in knots and you feel your mouth water, hinting at the nausea working its way up your throat. “Did you ask the blood witch in the hut to ruin the lives of the witches who killed your parents?”

“Yes.”

“Were your parents Dissenters killed on the night of Beltane?”

A long stretch of silence takes up the space between you. You stare at Seokjin and he becomes a stranger. Become another person on the street that looks at you with hate. Another face in the dozens of the town who don’t care if you exist. 

When Seokjin says nothing, it says everything. The final piece of information slots its way in and you feel like you’re going to crack open like an egg and spill out. Gooey and yolk-yellow. 

“That was why there was a storm,” you whisper. “Because you were angry and upset, wherever it was that you were. And you cursed my family. Not my parents. Our entire family. That’s why I lost my magic and siphoned my sister to death. That’s why my parents were driven to madness and their eventual end. It’s why everyone hates me. You cursed me with ruin.”

“I…” Seokjin shakes his head but can’t make the words come out. 

There is no way out now. You get everything picture perfect for the first time. It’s the perfect curse, really. Driving your family to ruin in different ways. Pushing you, the final member of the family, to the person you would eventually fall in love with, to the person that cursed you.

You can’t break it. Not knowing that it’s most likely at the cost of Seokjin’s life. Giving his blood to the witch was a terrible thing. She used it to cast the curse and likely to bind it to him. Which means if you want your magic, you must kill Seokjin. 

Instead of standing there to consider the possibility, you turn and run. He tries to run after you but someone stops him. He has his coven to comfort him for what he’s done and you have nothing and no one. Just how you started. 

Your runaway is messy. Tripping over thresholds, slipping down stairs. Night stretches over the world and the air is thrumming with energy. You think it would be so easy to tap into, to take and take and take the magic around you that echoes from the Beltane festivals. Would anyone even notice if you took a little?

Still, you don’t. Hot tears blind you as you stumble into the woods behind Seokjin’s house. It’s not the best shortcut when you’re distraught and overcome with tears, but you think you can get to your apartment building by memory alone. 

Around you, the world grows darker and quieter. Eventually, all you can hear is your ragged breathing and sniffling as the tears freefall. Something prickles on your skin and you slow your tangled escape to look around you.

The woods are unfamiliar. At least, they seem darker and hazier, like you’re somewhere that looks like the woods behind Seokjin’s house but isn't quite right. You’re more careful as you move forward, one foot in front of the other. 

A breeze cools the back of your neck. It makes you shiver, feeling more like a finger running down your spine than the actual wind. A whisper of noise wisps by you and you stop, frowning. Trying to grasp the words as they float by, indiscernible. 

You start walking again, following the sound of a voice that is always just a little too far ahead. A little too soft spoken for you to make out the words. When you do manage to catch up, you hear a soft little rhyme. 

Little hut, little hut

Hidden in the wood

Little hut, little hut

Up to no good

Little hut, little hut

Alone in the gloom

Little hut, little hut

Silent as a tomb

Little hut, little hut

Across the dark stream

Little hut, little hut

Wait for the scream

Something like a high-pitched wail rings out behind you. Your limbs lock and goosebumps explode over your arms and legs as you slowly crane your neck to look in the direction that you came. There’s no clear path, just tangled trees and darkness. 

A soft buzz tingles along your skin. You sense the magic, static that you can’t hear but you can feel and taste on your tongue. Slowly, you turn back to face the direction you’re walking. There is a tiny little stream in front of you, trickling and black.

Carefully, you step over it. Your hands quake. Sweat gathers on the nape of your neck and your upper lip, your mouth trembling as you see the vague shape of a hut. Or perhaps it's just the idea of a hut, with a hole for a door that looks endless. Void. Dark. 

You think about your sister. See her face swimming in front of you, so full of life. Then it drains of color as you bleed her dry and steal everything from her. Every drop, turning her from a beautiful girl full of the sun and the sky into a husk. 

You clench your fists. 

Vengeance can’t bring her back. Vengeance can’t make them love you. But it can take away this fucking hurt inside of you, the pain that you have carried for so long that it feels like a wound that will never close. So you decide to take a page out of Seokjin’s book.

“Little hut, little hut,” you whisper, voice shaking. “Feel my ache. Little hut, little hut, make him break.” 

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Hi! How are you? Could make a story where the Dark! Steve Rogers meets The Reader at a live music bar, where she sings a song? Steve Rogers ends up falling in love with her. He spies on her for a while before finally taking her to be his wife.

Favorite Singer

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

(female reader)

WARNINGS: Kidnapping.

AN: Thanks for requesting and I hope you like this :) Make sure to reblog and give me feedback.

--

You pour your heart into the song, a hand glued to the microphone. Your eyes are closed so it’s easier to forget about the large amount of spectators in the pub and to focus on the lyrics and the tone.

It’s always an overwhelming experience to sing in public but you still do it. Afterall, singing is your passion and finding good gigs is extremely hard so when you got the chance of a part-time job as a singer in the pub you really couldn’t decline.

Small steps towards success, you guess. 

The song slowly comes to an end and you open your eyes as applauses start to rain down. A shy smile makes its way to your mouth and you quickly bow your head, thanking the audience.

You wave at the rest of the live band members, bidding them goodbye before returning to the backstage as they keep playing. Heading towards the shared room for the artists, you stop on your tracks once you notice a tall man standing next to the door.

You don’t recognize him. 

Blonde hair, muscular body. He looks strong and something in his posture reminds you of a soldier. 

His eyes turn towards you and you are instantly surprised by his beauty. He's almost perfect.

He gives you a smile, taking a step towards you. 

“Hey.” his voice is surprisingly soft yet deep. You remain in silence, wondering what he’s here for. It’s prohibited for customers to come backstage, they only congratulate you while you’re in the pub. 

He awkwardly moves his feet, eyes fixed on you and for a moment they trail down your dress, down to your bare legs before he quickly raises his eyes back to your face. 

“I’m Steve. Steve Rogers.” he says, a hand rubbing his neck. “I’m a big fan of yours. I’m always here whenever you sing and you have an amazing voice.” 

You raise your eyebrows, returning him a smile. 

“Oh, thank you so much. It means a lot that you’ve enjoyed it. I hope the others also did.” 

“Everyone loves you around here. I’ve been watching you sing. You’re very talented. And gorgeous.” he adds, a shy smile on his face. You press your lips together, feeling both flattered and hesitant. 

You wish someone would appear to break the awkwardness. You can almost predict what he’s about to say and you really wish he doesn’t. 

“Hum, thanks. Sorry, I really need to…” you point towards the door and Steve immediately rushes to the side, freeing the door. 

“Of course, my bad. Hey, I was just wondering if you’d like to have a drink with me? My treat.” he looks at you with hope in his blue eyes and you feel bad to refuse him. 

“I’m so sorry but I can’t.” you blurt out, biting your lip in discomfort, nervously fiddling with your hands. 

Steve’s eyebrows raise as he catches the simple golden ring on your left hand. His expression hardens but he still gives you a tense smile.

“Of course, I’m sorry about bothering you then.” with those short words he leaves, disappearing from the corridor. 

The next few weeks your life settles back into a comfortable routine. The pub ends up offering you a full-time job, with a better pay and the proposal to sing there more nights.

The crowd seems to enjoy you more and more every night and it fills you with joy to see your skills being recognized. 

You never mentioned to your husband the awkward incident of that night, but you often see Steve in the pub, catching a brief glance of him seated in the back of the room.

He didn’t approach you again yet you always felt his sharp eyes following you and it made you more uneasy than ever. But he kept his distance and that was enough for you. 

Tonight it was no different. 

It was a good night for you, many people felicitated you for the performance you did and even the owner complimented you endlessly for how well you’ve sung. 

It’s with a wide smile that you head out of the pub, your heart bursting with happiness.

The streets are empty and dark, only the dim light from the streetlamps illuminating the way. You hold your phone as you head towards your car, quickly sending a text to your husband to let him know that you’re on your way home. 

You barely hear the light footsteps before one hand covers your mouth with a soaked cloth as another tightly grips around your waist.

In horror, you drop your phone as you try to fight against your assailer but to no avail as you breathe in from the cloth, the strong smell immediately causing you to doze off, fading away into the darkness.

You wake up with a sudden jump, eyes opening in a flash. The room you’re in is completely dark except for the little moonlight that shines through the curtains.

A small whimper comes out of your mouth when you feel a painful thud in your head and you bring your hand to your forehead, trying to ease the pain that cuts through you. Your thoughts are all confused, unable to think straight with the searing pain.

Your eyes slowly start to get used to the darkness in the room and that's when you notice a figure sitting on a chair, in front of the bed.

An icy feeling invades you as the memory of being grabbed in the street returns. You halt your breathing, completely immobilizing the body. 

What should you do?

You look discreetly around the room, trying to figure out where the door is when the figure suddenly speaks.

“There is no way out, if that’s what you’re trying to find.” you feel like you’ve been stabbed in the heart as soon as you hear the deep familiar voice.

You’ve only heard it once but you’re more than capable of recognizing it. 

Steve. 

A small click is heard and a lamp lights up the entire room, allowing you to see Steve sitting in the chair, arms crossed as he cynically watches you. His face is an indecipherable mask and you feel exposed to him. 

“Steve? Please, I don’t-”

“You’ve had your opportunity and you’ve lost it.” he cuts you, his jaw angrily ticking.

“We could’ve had a sweet, loving relationship but you blew that chance. So now we’re going to do things my way.”

[holdingforexo]

Hello. I have a question and hope it's not too controversial. If it is, you can ignore this. Twitter never talks about the former members, but I was going through your blog and saw you actually found EXO through Tao. Do you still stan him? I'm a relatively new EXOL so I don't know too much about how it all went down. Is there bad blood? Like, does EXO still keep in touch with them? I'm most curious about Lay since he was in EXO-M with them and also in China now. I wonder if they ever talk.

I think this came weeks ago... I haven’t gotten around to replying, not because I think it’s a controversial topic, but because it’s one that requires some time to think through and type out. This is going to be lengthy, but hopefully, I address all that you’re curious about :)

Disclaimer: I’m only going to mention Luhan and Zitao. The other one does not exist.

I think it’s normal for the fandom to not talk about the former members... at least, in relation to EXO, anyways. I know some people who still follow and support the former members, but they do so separately, as individual artists outside of EXO. I see nothing wrong with that. I do it, too, actually.

I didn’t actually stan Zitao. Flashback to 2018—I was watching Negotiator, which Zitao was the male lead. I found his character enduring, so naturally, I looked up the actor. Found out Zitao started in Kpop, which led me to EXO, and I’ve been in this “We are one! EXO saranghaja!” nonsense ever since. Of course, with my luck, it was around the time Minseok enlisted.

I don’t stan Luhan either. But I like his music, so I pay attention to his discography. And because of that, I’m also somewhat updated on his other projects. I don’t follow Zitao’s projects, but both he and Luhan are doing great for themselves. They each have over 60 million followers on Weibo, and are considered top of their field. They’ve also stayed close friends since their EXO days. They’ve collaborated on music. They hang out together. Luhan is currently on his China tour, and Zitao was at one of the shows recently. They’re doing good.

As for their relationship with EXO—truthfully, I think it’s nonexistent. I obviously wasn’t around during both of their exits, but from what I gathered, everyone knew they were leaving. It wasn’t sudden, and I’m hopeful conversations were had among the members. But, while there might not be bad blood, I think it happened so early in their careers and lives, maintaining relationships afterward probably didn’t happen. It’s like when you’re in high school... those years were great, but keeping those friends in your life gets harder after you graduate. It probably also didn’t help much if SMent was actively prohibiting communication. I’m not saying they did, but I wouldn’t be surprised.

The only public interaction I remember was Luhan liking Minseok’s IG post before he enlisted. Luhan still follows five of them on IG, and Yixing follows him back. Zitao doesn’t follow any of the EXO members, and none of them follow him.

Yixing has been true and loyal to EXO. He talks about EXO normally and casually and have always referred to them as his brothers. But I don’t remember him ever mentioning the former members. It’s actually quite funny because the three of them (Yixing, Luhan, and Zitao) are arguably three of the most well-established young singers in China, but there’s a known awkwardness whenever Yixing is at the same function as the other two. A couple years back, Yixing and Luhan were on the same stage for an event, and Yixing avoided Luhan’s eyesight the entire time. I think I’ve seen Yixing and Luhan interact in public all of two times—both very casual, short, awkward greetings.

For the record, I do not think there are any negative feelings between Yixing, Luhan, and Zitao. I think Luhan and Zitao grew closer over their similar experiences, while Yixing chose EXO. I’m sure no one regrets their decisions, it’s just the way it is. I also don’t think being in the same country impacts or affects their relationships. Yixing and the rest of EXO aren’t in the same country, but Yixing consistently talks about keeping in touch with them despite the distance. At the end of the day, I think it’s the effort you put into maintaining the relationships you choose to keep in your life.

[abbatoirablaze]

The Girl With Two Dragons, Chapter 6

Word Count:  1.7k

Warnings:  smut, unprotected sex, slight jealousy and manipulation.

“You know, the more I think on it, perhaps your daughter should be taking my son as a lady wife instead of it being the other way around,” Viserys chuckled  at his brother, “blossoming has done her well…possibly too well when it comes to Aemond.  He seems to have gone from an adventurous warrior back to a dog chasing after its owner for scraps when it comes to her.”

Daemon’s jaw clicked at the joke, “Daemhyra has no real interest in Aemond.  He has no real goal of status to her.  Playful cousins, that’s all they’ve ever been.  And as for his skills, they matter not.  She’s been trained since she learned to walk.  She could easily best him.  He was being lewd in his trickery, treating her like she’s a handmaiden to be toyed with.”

“I would not call that playful cousins, brother,” he chuckled, referring to the display that they’d both witnessed, “it looked very much to me like they were courting one another with swords.”

Daemon spat on the ground, “she did it for a bigger prize.  If anything, it was to play with Aegon’s ego.  He was, after all, the one that had issued the challenge in the first place.  She was simply proving her worth to him.”

“Aegon?” the king asked in an amused tone, “and how do you figure that?  Hmm?”

“Aegon is a jealous prince,” Daemon chuckled, “he may be the first born son, but he’s spent far too much time chasing the skirts of the women in this kingdom for any scrap of attention that he can get.  And Daemhyra would be a real prize to him, more than Helaena.  She’s a warrior through and through.  One that would only strengthen the family should she carry a child to him.”

“Daemon…”

“Think on it, brother,” Daemon added in, “she knows that Aegon looks for attention.  Everyone knows how Aemond and her would follow one another around as children.  She’s being calculating and smart, brother.  How else to attract the attention of the prince and then rip it away by ‘playing’ with his brother.  My daughter adds more value than you are counting on.  Stop treating her as a child and as a favorite niece, and look at the intellect she provides.  The strength she adds with simple motions.”

Viserys chuckled once more, clapping his brother on the shoulder, “now that sounds more like the daughter of Daemon.”

“But you know what I’ve come to King’s Landing for, brother…”

“I do,” he agreed, “you wish to leave her in our stead.”

“Indeed,” Daemon nodded, “Rheanyra and I are with child, and I feel it is necessary to pay my due diligence to the kingdom, by offering up my daughter for the crown.  It makes sense, does it not?  To provide an heir to your heirs so that we may strengthen our family through and through.”

Viserys nodded, taking into account what his brother had said as they both started towards the council’s room.    Inside, nearly everyone was already waiting in their seats.  Alicent was standing obediently behind her husband’s seat. 

“Are you suggesting that I marry your daughter off to my son?”

Alicent’s eyes lit up when she heard the question, “Daemhyra?  To marry Aemond?”

“I’m suggesting that Daemhyra marry Aegon!” Daemon replied quickly, “a second wife might do your son good and keep him out of the red district entirely.  She has no filter to keep her words to herself, and would surely prohibit him from leaving for those nefarious reasons.  Not to mention that it would bring favor with anyone in the kingdom who follows the old gods.  We-“

“Absolutely not,” the hand of the king, Hightower growled, “the way of the kingdom is through the one god.  There is no place for multiple wives here!”

“Hightower…how quaint to see you!  But I ask for the King’s preferences, not the hands,” Daemon scoffed before turning his attention to his brother once more, “look, I appreciate that the hand is looking out for what he believes is the kingdom’s best interest, but think on it, brother.  Daemhyra is a good piece to have in your pocket.  She can tame any man on this planet and put a sword to any that oppose what her husband’s wishes would be.  She knows trades that not even many men know, and she is resourceful in many ways.  She will make the family stronger!”

The king quieted himself, thinking on the proposal.

“My king, I implore you to consider the request,” Daemon smiled from his spot at the table, “it would only serve in the best interest of the kingdom, would it not?”

“Two dragons,” Aegon smirked as he watched her looking longingly out the window, sipping her wine.  He nudged his younger brother, “imagine what one could do with dragons like Wyntrsun and Shaedowir.  They are both under her command.”

“Careful, brother…” Aemond warned to his sibling,  “She is a gentle woman, as mother said.  Sh-“

“I could show her gentle,” Aegon smirked, “I could show her just how gentle I could be while I impale her on my cock and fill her with my seed.”

Aemond felt his rage in an instant.  Off in the distance, Vhagar bellowed, feeling the anger in her master’s bones.  Aegon turned to his brother fully when he heard the dragon, “oh, come now, brother.  You cannot hog her now that she’s of age…your childish love has surely been outgrown.”

“I-“

But before he could contest it Aegon chuckled and shook his head, “take my advice, brother…do not waste your time.  I heard father talking to Uncle Daemon.  She is to become the lady wife of someone, and the union will strengthen our families’ ties…I jest with you, but she is not meant to be yours.”

“Cousins?”

Both of the brothers stopped their conversation and looked to Daemhrya as she turned towards them, swirling what was left of the wine in her cup before looking at them, “No one has shown me to my quarters tonight…”

“I’ve got…plans,” Aegon winked, “But I will let Aemond be ever dutiful and show you to your room for the evening.”

And with a simple bow he was out of the room.  Daemhyra looked to her cousin, and stepped towards him, “Aemond…do you mind me being a bother to you?”

“Y-you could never be a bother to me, Daemhyra…”

She closed the distance between the two of them, until there wasn’t a gap between their bodies, “my sweet prince…you are far too kind to me…”

“Only to you, my sweetest of princesses!” he whispered in reply.

He was too afraid to move, too afraid of the rejection, but he felt his chest tighten as she placed her cup on a table and her hands slid up to cradle his face.  She gently guided his face to hers, and their lips met in a soft embrace.  Aemond felt a peace within himself, as his arms slipped around her waist, “Daemhrya…”

“Please don’t reject me, Aemond,” she begged through soft kisses, “my heart could not bear it if you did not love me as I love you, my sweet prince…”

He broke from their kiss, surprised to think that she had the self-doubt that he wouldn’t love her, “Daemhrya…yo-you are a fearless princess.  A dragon rider with two dragons.  You could have any man that you chose as your own…and yet you want a beast like me…you choose to love a broken thing like me.”

“You are the only thing that keeps me whole,” she whispered against his lips.  Her forehead pressed against his and her hands were shaky as she touched his face, “when we were children…I almost lost you, Aemond…i-I will not make the mistake of leaving you again…”

“What are you saying?”

“I know why father has brought me here…” she whimpered, “Bae and Rhea are set to marry Luke and Jace…I will be given to the king and queen so that they may use me as a political bond to another family…”

Aemond found his chest tightening once more, “I-I won’t allow it…”

“If I have this one night of freedom, I wish it to be spent with you,” she whispered lovingly.  Aemond was so taken back by the statement that he almost didn’t notice when she pushed him backwards onto his bed.  He swallowed down his nervousness as she undid the corset of her dress and stepped out of the fabric.  Aemond felt his cheeks go rosy as she stood naked before him.  His heart roared in his chest, and he could hear Vhagar mimicking another roar in the caves not too far off.  She knelt between his legs and looked at him through thick lashes.  He didn’t move as she pulled his trousers off him.  His eye never left hers, “I want you to have all of me, Aemond…so that you may always know where my heart lay, even if I am not promised to your bed.”

“Daemhyra…”

“Take me, Aemond,” she begged softly.  She crawled over his body until her core brushed against his hardened cock, “I’m yours to have, if you want me.”

“I want you, Daemhyra!” he answered honestly, his hands reaching up to grip her hips.  He groaned as she rolled her hips, letting the slick from her core glaze his cock, “I want you more than anything, princess.”

“Then take me,” she whispered softly as she leaned down to kiss him.  He groaned as his cock bumped against her thigh, the soft and supple skin making a shiver run down his spine.  She leaned up, pressing a series of kisses along his throat.  His breathing got heavier as she gently tugged on his hair, “I’m yours, Aemond.  Take me.”

With an animalistic growl, the prince rolled himself and Daemhyra.  She gasped as her back hit the bed, and she braced herself against Aemond’s chest.  The prince tore off his shirt, and her hands instantly went up to touch him.  She moaned when Aemond positioned himself in front of her entrance, her nails digging into his abs,  “Aemond…”

“I-it’s my first time,” he admitted slowly.  Their eyes met once more and she pulled him down to herself by his face, their lips colliding.  His arms nearly gave out with the intensity of the kiss.  He whimpered into her mouth, “Daemhyra-“

“It is mine as well!” she called softly, “I want to belong only to you, my prince.”

“I love you Daemhyra!” he called as he began pressing himself into her, inch by inch, “I love you, Princess.”

“My prince!” she moaned, lacing together their fingers as he sank into her, “I’m yours.  Forever yours!”

Chapter 7

[lady-bess]

Just A Date - Agent Ortega

Part of the LadyBess Valentine's special! 8 Characters; 8 Dates 💜

Agent Ortega x GN!Reader Mature/18+ (Minors DNI Please✨) WC: 2.8k Notable Tags: Running Away, New Lives, SFW, Reader is a Whore, Sorry, Soft Ortega, Caring Ortega, Obscene Levels of Fluff, Forbidden Romance, Established Relationship, Implied Sexual Relationships, Reference to Drinking, References to Prostitution.

And last, but certainly not least, is our Pinkerton! Unlike Jack, Agent Ortega is a genuine cowboy (sorry, honey, but he’s a freaking Pinkerton!). And while his appearance in the Pedro Pascal Cinematic Universe was brief (i.e. a single pilot episode of The Sixth Gun), you best believe this author still managed to take a liking to him (and who is shocked?).

I’ve made it my own head canon that there is a link between Ortega and Jack before, but for now let’s go back to the basics! This one-shot will be based on the limited information we know, plus a bit of fan-canon!

Happy valentine’s, my lovelies, however it is you choose to spend it!

A/N: I was unsure about Ortega’s timeline and Valentine’s Day being something to mention, but I found in my research that by the 1850’s it was popular to send what we now know as Valentine’s cards! In 1856, the following was published to the New York Times;

"Our beaux and belles are satisfied with a few miserable lines, neatly written upon fine paper, or else they purchase a printed Valentine with verses ready-made, some of which are costly, and many of which are cheap and indecent.

"In any case, whether decent or indecent, they only please the silly and give the vicious an opportunity to develop their propensities, and place them, anonymously, before the comparatively virtuous. The custom with us has no useful feature, and the sooner it is abolished the better."

I just found it rather amusing, so thought I’d share with y’all!

Now, where were we? Ah, yes; off to Brimstone!

February 14th, 1889

Ortega opened the doors to The Silver Palace, Brimstone, hoping to find you here before it was too late. He didn’t approve of you working in a place like this, but times were tough out here in the West, and he could hardly fault you for doing what you had to in order to survive. That still didn’t mean he liked the thought of others having their way with you in exchange for a few measly cents. His job meant that he knew, intimately, the lives of the people in this town. And what he did know about the men and women who came your way was that they were often more of the unsavoury nature.

He wanted to protect you so badly, even though you were fiercely independent and insisted you didn’t need his help. That had always been your dynamic, though. He would pay you for your time, not your body, and somewhere along the way you’d gone and fallen in love. Your boss would forbid you from ever seeing Ortega again if they knew that the two of you were involved with each other beyond an exchange of services, so you kept things quiet.

But tonight, of all nights, he wanted to get to you first.

And, if this went to plan, you’d never have to work at The Silver Palace again.

He scanned the sea of faces that met him as he entered the establishment, eyes desperately searching for yours to meet his. A panic began to rise in his chest, a tightness, a despair, as for a moment he was met with nothing but vacant expressions from other patrons. People who were probably waiting around for someone like you to become available, so for ten minutes they could forget about their woeful existence and treat you like an object just so that they could feel like that had an ounce of power in this world.

But Ortega did have power. And tonight, he was using it.

“Fuck,” he hissed, sucking in his lip and biting down a little too hard as he searched for you, pushing past others who were drunk out of their own minds on moonshine, and other alcohol likely not made legally. Prohibition can get them later, he thought as he traversed through the crowd.

And then, cowering in the corner, there you sat. Surrounded by men and women, various hands trying to take off some of your clothing. One man pulled at the collar of your shirt while another undid your belt buckle. A woman sat on one of the men’s laps kept pouring you drinks, clearly hoping you’d sip enough that you’d lose all inhibitions and just let them have their way.

You looked terrified.

Ortega knew that it wouldn’t work simply asking you to go to a private room with him right now; he would have to either force these people off you or pull out the big guns to assert some form of authority. Fortunately, he came prepared.

“Excuse me?” he said, approaching the table entirely. Behind the fright in your eyes was a slight twinkle, like a glimmer of hope had found its way to the front of your mind, allowing you for a second to believe you were going to be okay.

“Yes, sir?” you spoke, timid as anything, even though you knew you were safe now with Ortega around.

“I hate to impose on such a…beautiful moment between y’all, but you, flower, owe me,” he said, voice dropping slightly so he appeared like a disgruntled customer. It was something the two of you had agreed he could do, especially if he ever found you in a situation that was difficult to get out of. There was nothing that would ruin the party quite like a patron who didn’t think they’d had their fill, and Ortega would use the act whenever he needed you out of a situation as quickly as possible.

“I-I’m so sorry sir, but as you can see I’m a little busy right now,” you said, playing your part as always.

“I thought you might say that,” Ortega began, before reaching into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a small brown leather bag, dropping it to the table. The sound of clattering metal could be heard from inside the bag, indicating it was clearly filled to the brim with money. The eyes of everyone at the table widened, your own included.

“Brought you a little something so you might…prioritise me?” he said, then turned to the men and women sat around you, “I’m sure y’all can understand?”.

The people surrounding you scoffed, shaking their heads before finally getting their hands off you. Ortega smiled at you, reaching his hand out for you to take. Grasping it softly, you allowed him to tug you out from the booth, maintaining the act he had to put on.

“Take your coins, whore, and let’s be having you,” he sneered, and you had to fight back a slight chuckle. Ortega was never anything other than a gentleman with you, and even though your relationship had become physical recently, it was oh so more special in that you actually cared for one another. You grabbed the brown bag with your free hand and nodded at him, then let him tug you along by the hand to one of the private rooms in the back of the building.

He shoved open the door with his hand and dragged you inside. Him letting go of your hand sent you spinning slightly, and as you stabilised yourself he closed the door behind him, bolting it shut. You both breathed out a sigh of relief once the door was closed, and now it was just the two of you together within these four walls.

“I’m sorry, flower, I really do hate doin’ that,” he said, dashing over to you and grabbing you by the waist. “But I hate others being on ya’ even more,” he whispered, before planting a tender kiss on your lips.

You kissed him back fiercely, your hands grasping at his jacket and bunching the material in your fists as your whole body relaxed into his arms. It had only been a couple of weeks since you’d last been able to see each other, but every moment without him by your side was agonisingly painful. There was nobody you wanted in this world except for him – your very own Pinkerton.

“I missed you,” you said softly against his lips, there barely being any space between the two of you to talk. The rim of his bowler hat brushed against your forehead, and you could feel every metal buckle and button that was on his clothing. But after being apart, you couldn’t get closer if you tried.

“I missed you too, my flower,” he said, kissing your cheek as he slipped his arms around you for a tight embrace. “But you don’t gotta miss me no more. I’m taking you out of here,” he said.

You pulled back slightly from your hug to look deep into his coffee coloured eyes. He had a look of sincerity that you’d never before seen, so stern and serious that it borderline scared you. You whispered his name, his real name, while caressing his cheek.

“What are you tryna say?” you asked, speaking quietly so not to alert others in nearby rooms of whatever he was about to say. He smiled at you lovingly, his face softening under the hold of your delicate hands.

“I’m bein’ transferred, flower. I’ll be outta here by morning. And I’m taking you with me,” he said. He slid his hand to cover yours, grasping your fingers softly, and moving to kiss the palm of your hand. His eyes never left yours as he did, wanting to gauge your reaction.

“I- I can’t just leave. Honey, they’ll kill me if they catch me sneaking off. You know they got me bound under that damn contract,” you said, that familiar feeling of being trapped rising. There was nothing more that you wanted to do than to run away and leave Brimstone behind, but you’d heard horrors of other men and women before you trying just that, and paying the price.

“I know, I know,” he sighed, resting his forehead against yours. “But we gotta try, doll. If we don’t then I-,” he sniffled, “then I’ll never see you again,”.

“Ortega…you’d be risking everything. And all for me? A prost-,” you began, but he cut you off.

“No, stop!” he said, eyes watery and pleading, “Don’t call yourself that. You’re so much more, flower. I don’t wanna ever hear you call yourself that again, you understand? I’m freeing you from this Hell,” he said.

You nodded slowly, allowing your lips to gently slip across his, planting a soft kiss there. You breathed the same air as him for a moment, just standing in silence.

“Alright. I won’t say it. But tell me this, love, how are we getting out of here?” you asked. Ortega smiled, a slight grin even, and that mischevious glint in his eye returned.

“I got Agent Mercer outside waiting with a wagon filled with everything we’ll ever need, sweet thing. I hope ya don’t mind, but I also had him pick the lock on your place earlier, and anything valuable he’s packed up for us,” he said. “Darlin’, he’s outside this building now. All we gotta do is slip outta this window and run like Hell.”

Ortega explained every plan like he had a handle on everything, but in a way that was comforting. Right now you wanted to feel like someone did know what they were doing, even if the plan was just to run for your fucking lives. But Ortega trusted Mercer, and if he’d got him on board with the plan then you at least hoped that enough preparations had been made to make this a clean getaway.

Without realising it, you were already nodding along with his plan. Ortega grinned and scooped you up into his arms, lifting you into a hug and spinning you round for a second. You laughed, clinging to his body, and then let him put you down.

“Okay, well, if Mercer already has my valuables then there ain’t nothing in that dump of an apartment I care an iota about. I just need a cloak, and we’re out of here,” you said, heading over to the closet of the room he’d chosen. Normally the two of you went upstairs to a room you often frequented with other patrons, and as such had more clothes of your own in there, but today he’d chosen a ground floor room. Now it made sense why…

“You find something, flower, and I’ll get this window cracked open!” he said, dashing over to the weakest looking frame. The windows weren’t huge, but if he could pop the glass out the frame then you’d both be well on your way.

While he worked away, fiddling with the wooden frame with a couple of tools he’d stashed in his jacket pocket, you opened up the closet. A man’s black woollen shawl was hung up; not yours, you noticed, but it would certainly do you well in the cold weather you’d be travelling in. Ortega hadn’t said where you were going, truthfully you didn’t care, so long as it wasn’t here. But you felt it better safe than sorry, and threw the shawl on for some extra warmth.

With the shawl on, you quickly went through the other drawers. You knew you were basically helping yourself to other people’s possessions, but as you had no plans to ever return, you figured one act of selfishness to get away from a life of selling yourself for next to nothing was the least you were owed. Grabbing a small satchel, you filled it with extra supplies; underwear, predominantly, but also a small handgun that was tucked away in the bottom drawer (something that was stashed in each of the private rooms – just in case).

“How’s that window coming on?” you asked, turning round to see Ortega skilfully just about to set down the glass panel inside the building so not to create noise.

“She’s come along a treat, flower,” he said, setting the glass down and then looking up at you, “Now come on! Grab that money, and let’s go!” he said.

You did as he asked, throwing the satchel over your body and stashing the brown bag of coins he’d given you on the belt of your clothing, securing it in place. You took Ortega’s hand and let him pull you through the window once he’d dropped outside, and then you made a break for it. It would surely not be long before your boss noticed your prolonged absence, given that Ortega didn’t pay them for use of that room all night like he usually did. So, you booked it.

Hand in hand, the two of you barrelled away from The Silver Palace, heading out towards the edge of town where Mercer would be waiting for you. The night was beginning to set in, and with not many gas lamps erected yet there was very limited light. A few homes gave a slight glow out onto the street, but aside from that you both ran together in the dark. Darkness that, eventually, gave way to a few lamps aside a carriage.

It felt like all your birthdays came at once as soon as your eyes lay upon the wagon, two horses at the head of it, readily strung up. Mercer was waiting next to it, fastening down the last of a white sheet which covered all the belongings he’d packed in for you both.

Blood rushed around your body as your heart struggled to keep up with the adrenaline that was coursing through your veins. Ortega kept on dragging you with him, not wanting to risk anything going wrong.

“Ortega! You made it!” Mercer said once you were finally packed up. He tipped his hat towards you as the two of you stood and collected your breath.

“Is it all ready to go?” Ortega asked, and Mercer nodded.

“Yes, sir. All packed up and ready to go. Here, take this,” he said, pulling out a sheet of paper from the inside pocket of his jacket, “It’s a map to where your new place is. Your new lives,” he said, smiling over at you.

“Mercer, we can’t ever thank you enough,” Ortega said, “I wish you well, my friend”.

“Take care of yourself, agent. You too,” Mercer said, tipping his hat towards you.

“Come on, flower, let’s go,” he said, hopping onto one of the horses before reaching down to give you a hand up onto the other. You took his hand and let him help pull you up, before swinging your leg over onto the saddle.

“Alright, you settled?” he asked, and you nodded as you grabbed the reigns.

“Yes, my love. Shall we?” you said.

“Yes,” Ortega grinned, then chuckled, “Oh, flower?” he asked.

“What is it, honey?”.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said, and you couldn’t help but laugh as you and Ortega set off, carriage in tow, and rode into the night towards your new lives.

For more from this series, check out the Just A Date Masterlist! For more works from me, here's my main Masterlist! ❤

LadyBess xox

[thejournalisttintin]

I’ve also mentioned that I would be going back and revisiting my older Tintin OCs, as well as giving them updated backstories.

So we’ll be starting with the very first Tintin OC I’ve ever made.

This is Maxine Ravenswood.

I originally created her back in 2011 when the Tintin movie came out. Because I thought to myself, “What if Tintin had a female friend?” Thus, Maxine was born.

I originally named her Malina, but since I wanted to do an update on her, I thought of doing a name change.

(Anyone who liked Malina, I apologize!)

When I started reading a few of the comics, plus looking at others’ Tintin fan OCs, I thought of making her an official Tintin fan OC.

Her basic profile (bit of a TW for mentions of misogyny):

Maxine is the eldest daughter of her family.

She’s also a year older than Tintin, having been born in 1913.

After her younger sister Hanna was born, both girls had lost their parents during the onslaught of World War I. And soon, they were sent to an institutional orphanage.

As a kid, Maxine was a troubled child. She hated being told to act like a lady, and often times picked fights with the other children, the majority of them being boys. They mostly picked on her and called her names, the worst one being “stupid pig”. And more often than not, it was Maxine who got in trouble with the people who ran the orphanage.

Maxine was adopted by a British Royal Air Force commander named Benjamin Gallagher, who allowed her to keep her surname Ravenswood.

Her home life was relatively better than what she experienced in the orphanage. She was treated rather pleasantly with Benjamin and his wife, but that didn’t prevent the usual family squabbles.

In her later teen years, Benjamin decided to let Maxine enlist in the Royal Air Force. She was initially given a position of secretary, but was allowed to train in routine flight procedures.

Sometimes, she was permitted to stay in the countries she visited for a week-long period or two during her training. While doing a residency in Belgium, she met Tintin.

Sometimes, more often than not, Maxine would join Tintin and Haddock on their adventures.

When Benjamin was asked to head his troops into a war, he didn’t want Maxine to be left out. So he decided he wanted to enlist her into his troop. While Maxine was on board with it, his commanding general wasn’t supportive of his decision.

Benjamin's commanding general, Frederick Williamson, prohibited Maxine from enlisting for the obvious reason that "women are not soldiers". Even though Benjamin acknowledged her extensive piloting knowledge and weapon building, Frederick was not convinced at all. He thought women fighting alongside their male counterparts was "a waste of valuable resources".

But Benjamin never gave up on Maxine. He secretly gave her permission to enlist, but only under the condition that she adopt a male alias and disguise.

Maxine did so, under her fake identity Maxwell Ramsbottom. The only ones who know about her disguise are her sister Hanna, Benjamin, her aunt Juliette, and her fellow soldiers.

Knowing that she had to keep her true identity a secret, Maxine had to get creative. Her resources in hand? A corset wrapped around her chest, a man’s wig, hair net, and a shit ton of bobby pins to hold her hair in place. The only time she never needed the wig was when she wore helmets or hats.

During her service in the military, Maxine also doubled as a spy for her troop. And in the process, she might have made some…enemies along the way. Some who even found out her real identity.

After a few years in the war, Maxine returned home to London. Benjamin had allowed her to move in with her sister and aunt, after he managed to track down her aunt’s house in the countryside.

However, that didn’t stop her from being outed by Frederick, who eventually found out about Benjamin going against orders and letting Maxine enlist, as well as Maxine’s disguise. Frederick had Benjamin discharged as commanding general, putting him out of work.

Maxine and her fellow soldiers were outraged by the news, so they took it upon themselves to actively campaign for Benjamin to get his job back. But most of their efforts were a little unsuccessful. But Maxine wouldn’t give up.

Maxine found it a little challenging to readjust to life after war, due to the trauma from not just battle, but being outed as a woman.

More often than not, she tended to react violently if someone made misogynistic remarks at her. But over time, she’s learned to manage her anger properly.

She also helped Tintin and Haddock in many of their adventures from time to time, acting as the secret weapon if anything went well out of hand.

So there you have it. That's Maxine’s story.

[luminetti]

Overdue Apostasy ༺♡༻ preview/teaser

this is more of a test since i don't have any experience with tumblr so bear with me! Feel free to leave constructive criticism!

༘⋆ Summary:

In the nation of Faerûn, a new season of love begins for the upper echelons in the nation's capital Baldur’s Gate, gathering a plethora of unwed Lords and Ladies from across the nation. For Miss Tav Neredras, the season only promises another disappointing series of suitors and failed courting, until one night she suddenly finds Lord Gale Dekarios of Waterdeep on her doorstep with a gunshot wound through his stomach, seeking discreet refuge and recovery after a devastating duel.

༘⋆ Pairing: lord!gale dekarios x fem!reader/tav

Future chapters: brief wyll x reader and mentions of (previous) gale x mystra relationship)

༘⋆Warnings: blood and bullet wounds

Future chapters: predatory/pedophilic behavior (fuck mystra all my homies hate mystra)

༘⋆Notes: set in the regency era and very loosely inspired by bridgerton (I’ve never watched it)

more info to come when the full chapter is finished!

You cursed yourself for getting in such a position as you heaved a bloodied body onto your goose down bed sheets, dark sticky crimson clinging to your skin and the front of your white nightgown. The body landed with a soft flump, leaving a suspicious looking trail of blood towards the center of your bed. Normally you were against opening the door for strange men in the middle of the night, but a gunshot wound to the stomach usually prohibited acts of violence, unless the attacker wanted to bleed out to death, so you deemed it safe enough. You made sure to grab a fire poker from the fireplace on your way back from the medicine cabinet, just in case.

The blood was beginning to pool underneath the man, signaling that if you were to do anything, it had to be done with haste. Fighting back a gag at the tangy metal aroma of blood, you undid his vest and undershirt, pulling it off and discarding it somewhere on the floor. The bullet had thankfully wedged itself near the surface of his flesh making it an easy grab with a pair of tweezers. The wound itself proved to be more of a challenge. Stitches were required to stop the bleeding, but the needle slipped around between your fingers, and attempting to wipe the slick blood off your hands just made more of a mess. After a bit of adjusting, and a lot of wiping, you finally managed a messy line of seven uneven stitches.

For the first time in the past half hour, the thumping of your heartbeat began to fade from your ears, allowing you to process what had just happened.

You took a moment to look him over. He looked around your age. Around twenty– no, twenty-one? It was hard to tell with so much hair in his face. From what you could make out, he appeared to be a reasonably attractive man. Perhaps a bit unkempt, you thought, but as to be expected at this time of night. With his chestnut brown hair, he vaguely reminded you of Clyde, your childhood dog. Though intended as a compliment, you made a mental note to keep that one to yourself when–if ever–he awoke. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep that was drawing you to the curve of his jawline, but with a start, you realize you had been staring for far too long. Blinking away your daydreams, you see the scene in front of you as it truly is.

There was a body in your bed.

You frantically reach over the bed to press two fingers firmly against his neck, feeling around for a pulse. Was he even still alive? A slow and faint periodical throb against your fingertips pulls a heavy sigh of relief out of your weary body, and you slump against the side of the bed. Thank the gods.

Unfortunately, the fact he was alive did not solve the strange-man-in-bed issue. Once he had been securely wrapped in several layers of bandages–any more and he may appear mummified–you weren’t sure what else there was to do. So, you recruited the only person in the household that could keep their mouth shut. Your older sister, Euphemia. 

***

“By Jove, sister… you’ve killed a man…” Euphemia looked pale-faced and wide eyed in horror at the seemingly lifeless body and blood adorning your room.

“Stop it.” You hissed under your breath, closing the bedroom door behind her. “He’s not dead. And would you keep your voice down?”

Euphemia looked from you to the body, then to your crimson hands and nightgown. “Are you to tell me he is… sleeping?” She asked, incredulously, her voice quavering.

You sighed, exasperated. You grabbed her wrist, much to her resistance, and forcefully pressed her fingers against his neck. “There. He is very much alive. Now will you please help me?” 

Your sister sighed in relief. “Gods… He looks mauled.” She eyed your butchered stitching. “Not a slight on your abilities, of course. Spoken from a place of love.”

“You can mock me all you want when we break fast, sister.” You toss her a wet washcloth. “Make haste and get the headboard. I’ll deal with the floor.”

“I merely jest.” She replied, rounding the bed beside the body.

As she approaches the unconscious man and freezes. The cloth falls from her hand and you hear a sharp intake of breath. Startled, you jump up from your knees.

“Hells, are you hurt?” You turn, expecting to see a splinter or bruise. Alas, Euphemia just stood shell shocked, staring down towards the body. You looked at the man yourself, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

Euphemia leaned closer to the body and swept the hair from his face. “I’ve seen this man’s portrait before.” She crouched beside him, studying his features. “It was in a museum of art from other nations.” Closing her eyes, she recounted the museum. “So this must be…” Euphemia turned back to you, mystified. “This is the Viscount of Waterdeep.”

You stare at her. “Who?”

“Lord Gale Dekarios.”

Author's Note:

thanks for reading! I really appreciate it :>

do you have a preference whether the full fic should use y/n or tav? (or give the reader a nickname of my choice while still technically being y/n or tav)

[fruit-of-infidelity]

♱ DIABOLIK LOVERS: Haunted Dark Bridal ー Sakamaki Ryuuto | Ecstasy 09 ♱

⌜ Scene: Flashback ー Living Room ⌟

Cordelia: Wipe that gloomy expression off your face, won’t you?!

ー She slaps a young Ryuuto. ー

If anyone should be upset, it should be me! After all, Karlheinz’ present is completely ruined, thanks to your childish antics!

Ryuuto: M-Mother, I don’t understand…!

Cordelia: You trampled all over Karlheinz’ bouquet, didn’t you!?

Ryuuto: B-But――

( Y-You said your heart hurt seeing that bouquet from Him… So, why aren’t you happy that I destroyed them for you…!? )

ー She slaps him once again. ー

Richter: Cordelia.

Cordelia: You! Obviously he gets his impulsiveness from you! How else can you explain this kind of behaviour?

Ryuuto: U-Uwwah…

( These tears… why won’t they stop? )

( Mother will only get more angry if I cry… She hates when I cry, after all… )

Richter: …Cordelia, there’s no need to reprimand the boy.

Cordelia: What on earth are you saying?

Richter: My influence… is to blame. You are right.

He is merely a child; Influenced by my selfish deeds regarding my older brother… I take full responsibility on behalf of him.

ー He bows to Cordelia. ー

Cordelia: It’s unlike you to fault yourself on behalf of another… But, in that case?

ー Cordelia stands on his foot as he bows. ー

…Fetch me a new bouquet.

And pluck the thorny roses from the bush with your teeth, whilst you’re at it.

Richter: At once.

ー She teleports away. ー

Ryuuto: ( F-Father… )

ー Richter now rises, and comes to console Ryuuto. ー

Richter: Your cheek, we’ll need to put some ice on that at once.

Ryuuto: … …

Richter: Listen very well, Ryuuto… Your uncle is one man who you should never cross. Call me a hypocrite, for I may not respect him as best I should…

But I respect Her. It is in both our best interests if we keep our heads down when it comes to that man. Do you understand?

Ryuuto: …Sniff, sniff…

ー Richter wipes his tears. ー

Richter: Haa, let’s wipe away those tears first and foremost, now…

ー The flashback dissolves, and the scene opens in Cordelia’s room. ー

Yui: Sigh…

( What are you sighing about? I’m the one who’s feelings have been crushed… )

I couldn’t expect you to understand.

After all, a Vampire’s love is far more complex than that of a human. That is… if I can even call what you two had more than unrequited love.

Ryuuto confirmed it, after all, being one-sided. Aren’t I right?

( … … )

ー A bat taps at the window. ー

Aah, and there it is!

ー Cordelia rushes up to greet it. ー

You have his response? It is about time! Hand it over, please.

ー It hands over a letter. ー

( What’s that…? )

A letter, straight from Karlheinz himself! I’ve informed him of my return, and I expect he is over the moon to hear from his first wife, again!

Ryuuto: Karlheinz?

Yui: Tut, Ryuuto. You would frighten me like that?

Ryuuto: I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to spook you. I just had to wonder, though, when I heard you had Father’s familiars correspond on your behalf.

Do go on… Read it, won’t you?

Yui: You’re certainly eager for this response. Why the change of heart about him? Have these decades apart let you reflect since?

Ryuuto: Please, don’t mistake my curiosity for complacency…

Yui: Nfu, no need to be so on the defensive now.

 ー Cordelia goes to open it. ー

… …

Ryuuto: What is the matter, Mother?

Yui: Did you tamper with this!?

Ryuuto: Why ever would you think that? The seal was unbroken, wasn’t it?

ー Cordelia hands him the letter angrily. ー

Yui: Then why has he given the cold shoulder? It’s clearly marked with a “return to sender”, although it was sent directly to him!

Ryuuto: Ah, I forgot to mention...

Yui: What’s that?

Ryuuto: Karlheinz has prohibited personal contact, I heard. Father, himself, attempted to contact him a few months ago, and could not get hold of him.

In fact, I think the prohibition has applied to the entire Vampire Court, now.

I’m afraid there is little way for you to get into contact with him right away, not lest you personally see him yourself, in this form…

Yui: I can’t do that! Not like this, as a human!

This is totally unacceptable! Just how long am I – the Demon King’s daughter – expected to wait to contact him? My own husband!?

I… I…

ー Suddenly she collapses, Ryuuto catching her. ー

Ryuuto: Woah there…

Yui: Ryuuto-san…?

Ryuuto: …!

Yui? Is it truly you?

Yui: ( I feel… too weak to move, but… )

You… can hear me?

D-Does that mean I’m back…? Your… “Pet” is back?

Ryuuto: …!!

ー Ryuuto turns away for a moment. ー

☆ Limited V Edition/Grand Edition Roses ☆

“You have a knack for making your Master worry, don’t you? Good grief.” “It is a good thing I was here to catch you; I couldn’t allow for you to cause yourself harm. Don’t flatter yourself, though… It’s only because you’re an irreplaceable vessel; a special woman.”

So, it is you?

Yui: ( Just now, he turned away from me completely… )

Ryuuto: It appears you’ve came through temporarily, after Mother fainted; I’m afraid her anger went straight to her head, seeing that forged letter.

Yui: F-Forged? You mean…

Ryuuto: I tampered with it. Naturally.

I couldn’t allow her to contact someone like Karlheinz. She would run off the first chance she gets, and find her heart broken once more…

ー Yui seems a little distressed. ー

Yui: …Caring about her broken heart, when you didn’t even care about mine…

Ryuuto: Did you say something?

━─┉┈◈ Selection ◈┈┉─━

　　❈  Express your relief (M)

Yui: I… You know? Ryuuto-san, I’m so relieved to see you again…

I got so worried I would never get to talk one-on-one with you.

And the more I think about it… the more worried I get that we’ll never get a chance to talk one-on-one again, after this…

Ryuuto: You should make this moment worthwhile then.

I’m certain it won’t last for much longer. Cordelia may be waking as we speak…

Yui: ( Please… just tell me you’re happy to see me, as well… )

　　❈  Give him the cold shoulder (S)

Yui: …There’s no point talking too much, Cordelia will be back any moment.

And, once again, you’ll ignore me… Right?

Ryuuto: …I suppose that will be the case, indeed. After all, what is there to talk about between us when we are constantly third-wheeled?

Yui: ( I knew it… He really was ignoring me, wasn’t he? )

━━─┉┈┈◈◉◈┈┈┉─━━

Ryuuto: That being said, if there is something you wanted to say, now is the time.

Yui: ( I want… my Ryuuto-san back… )

I guess there is one thing.

Ryuuto: Go on.

Yui: I… I wantーー

( ーー“You”! )

Oh dear, I have to cut that conversation short.

I didn’t realise getting worked up in a weak vessel like this could leave me so light-headed. At least you were quick to catch me〜

Ryuuto: Fufu… Would kind of son would I be if I didn’t?

Yui: Exactly. And just like you protect me, I protect you.

It’s for the best I cut her off quickly just then, after all. She’s got quite the selfish, perverted mind on her, by the sounds of it.

Ryuuto: Oh? I’m grateful, Mother. Although…

What do you say we forget about this letter, and that girl? I’ll have the servants fetch us some refreshments, and we can enjoy the sunrise together.

Yui: That sounds splendid, nfu.

( … … )

⌜ Monologue ⌟

The farther I sink, the harder it is to swim.

But my first breath of fresh air with Ryuuto-san was no relief;

To briefly chat with him again…

It did very little to settle the anguish (苦悩) deep down in my heart;

I want to believe this isn’t the Ryuuto-san I fell in love with (恋におちた),

However, since the very beginningーー

Cordelia has been his primary purpose to remain by my side.

Was it all a ploy to expose my vulnerability?

Were these feelings all at my expense?

Part of me never wants to hear those answers.

✥ TO BE CONTINUED ✥

─────── ≪ °♛° ≫ ───────

←  [ ✥ Ecstasy 08 ✥ ] ⎥ [ ✥ Ecstasy 10 ✥ ]  →

[rohanseoewe]

“Rev.” Jeremy Cheezum Complicit in 11 Years of Lying, Abuse

“Rev.” Jeremy Cheezum Complicit in 11 Years of Lying, Abuse

This post was formerly titled, “Uncle Phil Said He’s a SICK F–K.” That phrase was one I was labeled with in a document submitted to the police by the brother-in-law of “Rev.” Jeremy Cheezum, whose four children are the inspiration of this post. Those children’s aunt, uncle, and grandfather, who are today prohibited by mandate of the court from harassing me further, endeavored to have me imprisoned based on false, filthy, and/or frivolous allegations. They employed unscrupulous attorneys and exploited laws that are typically criticized by conservatives as destructive to the family, conservatives, it’s worth noting, like those of Pastor Cheezum’s evangelical Christian congregation, which Montrose Mirror columnist Gail Marvel has reported is mostly “young families with children.” Conservatives criticize the laws for good reason: While advocates of these laws pay lip service to child welfare, children are arguably the predominant victims of the laws’ commonplace abuse. Among the ways children are damaged is exposure to the twisted games that self-indulgent adults play. Jeremy Cheezum

You Sick Fuck

This message was communicated to me by email on the first day of what would become 12 years of legal harassment by the aunt and uncle of the children who inspired this post. Their uncle Phil I had never met. Their auntie Tiffany I knew better than I ever should have. She had nightly lingered outside of my house for months and taunted me with references to her body and underwear, apparently relishing the attention. Then she lied to the police and the court to conceal her misconduct when I learned she was married and demanded an explanation—and she has lied over and over since (as testimony I’ve included below shows plainly). The message above was sent after Phil and Tiffany Bredfeldt had obtained a court injunction forbidding me from responding to it. Sort of like a four-letter nyah-nyah. The couple thought it would be cute to send a copy of the message to the police, apparently to reinforce the idea that they were afraid for their lives (because why wouldn’t you provoke someone you were afraid of?). I was an aspirant kids’ writer with a puppy and a parent in chemotherapy. Maybe the spoiled brats. Rev Jeremy Cheezum

Like many or most of those who visit this site and identify with its accounts and criticisms of false accusation and abused and abusive laws, I’ve been lied about a lot and for a long time, and the lies may continue today.

I have no way of knowing.

What I do know, because I know I’ve been monitored for as long as I’ve been lied about, is that there’s no one I’ve appealed to for help over the years who can possibly be unaware of the truth today.

That includes Jeremy Cheezum, today minister of Trinity Reformed Presbyterian Church (TRPC) in Montrose, Colorado. If mention of his name attracts any of his congregants to this post and site, so much the better, because I think they’re exactly the kind of forthrightly ethical people who are offended by the excesses of feminism and MeToo movementeers. I appealed several times to Rev. Cheezum for aid in gaining relief from persistent false accusations made by his brother-in-law’s wife, Tiffany Bredfeldt. I reckoned a pastor, a person who might well identify himself as an evangelist of truth, would be eager to serve the truth and promote peace.

Not only did I never hear from him, but his wife’s father, Dr. Ray Bredfeldt, a Presbyterian deacon who got rich flacking health insurance, volunteered to testify in court five years later to have me jailed while my father lay dying and to have me forbidden, besides, from ever sharing the truth with anyone in any way for the rest of my own life. He wasted his time and years more of mine.

In my appeals to Pastor Cheezum, I had told him that cleaning up Auntie Tiffany’s lies would be costly and that those lies had left me in no position to foot the bill. The good reverend passed my appeals along to his in-laws whose shyster lawyers represented them to the court as extortion (and threatened a felony prosecution in federal court). The allegation was baseless, and it was abandoned when I declined to be intimidated and submit Pastor Jeremy Cheezum

Their terms boiled down to disappear and die.

Here’s a synopsis of statements Fletcher Cheezum, Bailey Cheezum, (Philip) Logan Cheezum, and Lydia Cheezum’s aunt gave in evidence to the court or, in one instance, to the police only between 2006 and 2017. The story they tell isn’t the half of it, but it’s succinct, and its contradictions are palpable. The children’s aunt has lied impulsively, randomly, and wickedly and then lied to conceal the lying. (The children’s uncle Philip, Rev. Cheezum’s brother-in-law, after whom one of the kids may be named, was incidentally privy to all of these statements and has supported them fully, including under oath.)

I’ve never met Rev. Cheezum or his kids. The children, however, I pity, because I don’t think this conduct is a kind that should be role-modeled. Some might consider deceiving law enforcement officials and judges against the law.

Rev. Cheezum and his wife, Kim, like me a former teacher, have seemed cool with it, and to me that’s worse role-modeling yet. And what a simple Google search suggests is that their kids spend a lot of time with Grampa Bredfeldt, a man who sought to have me shut up and locked away to save face and expense (but who probably supports the Cheezums generously. Presbyterian Church in America

Copyright © 2019 RestrainingOrderAbuse.com

*My father starved to death in 2016, without dignity or grandchildren, alone in a cramped room in a cut-rate nursing home, while the latest series of prosecutions brought or motivated by the family this post concerns was raging. I spent the last night of my dad’s life preoccupied with another family’s dysfunction. These people have allowed their disease to corrupt and diminish others’ lives for almost 14 years.

**My impression of Jeremy Cheezum’s reaction to this post (which may g.https://restrainingorderabuse.com/2019/07/28/presbyterian-minister-jeremy-cheezum-and-family-complicit-in-11-years-of-lying-and-abuse/

[heejayy]

Reiner Braun || Let’s get married…

Warning: swearing, mentions sex

Genre: a lil crack (squint to find), fluff

Paring: Reiner Braun x Black Reader

Wc: 493

“Fuck it let’s do it” Reiner whispered against your shoulder.

“Reiner we’re not fuckin’ tonight I had a long day” you groaned pulling the covers toward your shivering body.

“Haha no babe let’s get married” the dark room grew silently as you slowly turned around with your eyes trying to focus on his dark figure looking at him like he’d grown two heads.

“If you take anymore shit Connie gives you I’m gonna straggle that boy” he threw his head back and laughed harder. His laughing calmed and he sat up to turn on the lamp.

“Babe I didn’t take anything from him I’m fully sober and I’m being serious” he smiled admiring your tired face.

“I’m just saying…i know we’re young but I love you y/n and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You are my light in the dark, my best friend— you make me so happy my dear. Even in past relationships I’ve never felt like this before, no one’s ever been able to make my heart flutter like you do. Your smile, your eyes…just you. You’re so beautiful in every way even with your so called flaws.” he held up his fingers doing quotation marks making you smile.

“You never have left my side even when I wasn’t doing my best in life you fought beside me, and that’s when I knew you were the one. My little ride or die” he smiled stroking your cheek.

“My darling y/n will you give me the honor of being your forever loving husband.” Your eyebrows raised and a tired grin plastered on your face. Reiner hasn’t always been great with expressing himself in words or being in touch with his feelings and but over time he’s opened up and let you know every emotion that made him happy or bothered him so you two could talk it out.

He’s the man that everyone prays to meet and fall in love with but you’re the one that got lucky. Plus he’s your Prince Charming how could you say no.

“Reiner- I don’t know what to say but-“ his face fell.

“It’s ok if your not ready my love I just wanted to let you know” he grabbed your cheeks and place a sweet kiss on your lips.

“If you would’ve let me finish you big teddy bear I was gonna say yes” that smile you loved replaced the frown he was wearing.

“Really?! Oh- YES!! Oh shit I thought you were gonna say no” he placed his hand on his bare chest letting out a breath of relief.

“No fool how could I say no to my baby boy” you kissed his cheek and you both laid back down with you placing your head on his chest.

“Now my future husband let’s get some rest” you knew those words made him blush even though you couldn’t see.

AOT Masterlist

©heejayy 2022 — any reposts or translations of my works are strictly prohibited unless granted permission.