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heyyyharry · 3 years

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Deep End - Chapter 2: Birthday Boy

…in which Harry gets the birthday surprise he didn’t ask for.

Word count: 4.7k

AU: famous!harry, siren!mc, adult modern retelling of the little mermaid? lol, fake dating, enemies to lovers.

WARNING: MATURE THEMES

All chapters / Synopsis / Moodboard / Playlist

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A/N: Thank you for all the love for Harry and Ezi after chapter 1. Please let me know what you think about each chapter so I can be motivated to write faster 😆

“Humans are so funny. You make up false stories about us and refuse to believe anything that isn’t the same as your imagination,” the siren said.

Harry tossed his head back and laughed. He held out a finger at her. “No, mermaids aren’t supposed to exist. You’re not supposed to exist.”

The siren narrowed her sharp gaze, and Harry quickly moved back a bit in fear of her grabbing his leg and pulling him into the water. To his surprise, she said, “And who are you to decide that? A useless human with a useless tail–”

“Okay, enough with the tail joke.”

“–can’t even survive the drowning deep. You don’t want to believe we exist, so you won’t have to carry the guilt of trashing our homes and murdering our kind.”

Baffled, Harry worked his jaw while silently cursing himself for never taking part in those debate classes back in school. Well, to be fair, he couldn’t have known that one day he would have to debate with a deadly siren in a cave on his goddamn birthday!

He shut his eyes and sucked in a breath. “Look, lady. I’m only one small human, with a bigger than average human tail, FYI.” The siren eyed at his crotch in disbelief, so he quickly crossed his legs. “But that’s beside the point! What I was trying to say was that, if you’re seeking revenge, I can’t satisfy you because I’m not responsible for trashing the ocean or shit like that. I’m a singer, alright? And I don’t even live here. I’m from London. A land far away. If you wanna murder a human, I suggest looking for Elon Musk.”

The siren stared at him like he was the mythical creature. “I’m not familiar with all the names you mentioned,” she said, folding her arms across her chest, which had been a big distraction for him. Good to know that he could still get horny while facing death.

“Don’t you guys have fish Wikipedia?” he asked, and she tilted her head, looking rather confused. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed that you should know all the facts about humans. That sounded like discrimination against sirens.”

For the first time since Harry met this siren, she actually smiled at him. “You have a lot of funny words, you strange creature,” she said, her eyebrows knitted in fascination.

“You know what?” Harry exhaled sharply. “Since you’re my kidnapper, I’m gonna stop arguing with you in case you still wanna kill me. But today is my birthday, so I can’t be kidnapped. I haven’t posted a thank you message on Twitter yet, and I might get cancelled for that. Celebrities get cancelled for literally anything nowadays. It’s annoying.” The siren blinked at him, her pink lips slightly parted. “Right,” he breathed. “You don’t have a Twitter account.”

“You said you were a singer.”

“That’s all you got from my long speech?”

“What is it? Singer.”

Harry bit his dry lip and frustratedly combed his fingers through his damp hair. “I sing. Use my voice to entertain other people.”

“Oh, like sirens.”

“I guess.”

“Except that we use our voice to kill people.”

“What?”

“Sing for me,” said the siren despite Harry’s horrified look. She seemed excited as she rested her folded arms on a boulder and gazed up at him with a twinkle in her crystal clear blue eyes. “Let’s hear it. I didn’t know humans could sing. Let’s see if it’s good.”

“Fine.” Harry blew out his cheeks and cleared his throat.

He began to sing.

“Walk in your rainbow paradise–”

“What’s a rainbow paradise?” the siren asked, but he didn’t stop singing to answer her.

“–brown skin and lemon over ice.”

“Why are you singing nonsense words?”

Once again, he ignored her, this time, closing his eyes. “I get so lost inside your eyes. Don’t you believe it? You don’t have to say you love me.”

“Love,” the siren repeated the word as if she had never heard of it in her whole life.

Harry opened his eyes and found that she was looking at him as if she could see right through him. He went on, “You don’t have to say you’re mine. Oh honey, I-i-i-i walk through fire for you. Just let me adore you.”

“Why would you walk through fire for someone?” the siren wondered out loud as she stared off into the distance, her strong brows knitted. “That's stupid. Fire is hot. I saw the humans on the boats use it one night. I almost burned my fingers trying to touch it.”

“Yeah, don’t play with fire.”

“Then why would you walk through it?”

The siren pouted, and Harry caught himself smiling at her naivety. “It’s supposed to mean that you’d do anything for the person you love. Even risking your life.”

“That’s stupid,” the siren repeated her earlier remark. For a second, Harry saw a curious little girl and not a dangerous sea creature from earlier.

“Well, it’s just a song,” Harry told her. “I personally wouldn’t do that for anyone, either, but some people do love with all they have, and would sacrifice everything for the one they love.”

An angry frown had replaced the siren’s previous perplexed expression. “Some humans murder the ones they claim to love,” she said in a cold voice. Harry felt a chill running down his spine, but then the siren went on with a softened expression. “Sirens are not supposed to love. Love is a weakness for my kind.”

Harry nodded. “Bet you don’t even have a heart.”

The siren cocked her head; a corner of her mouth raised subtly. “Every living and breathing thing has a heart. Sometimes it’s valuable. Sometimes it's not.”

“Only valuable if it’s the heart that you want,” replied Harry.

For a long moment, the siren looked into his eyes as if she was trying to read his thoughts. Could she do that? Read his thoughts?

Beads of sweat were trickling down his back as his heart began to race; he could hear it in his ears. Suddenly, the siren was pulled beneath the water. Harry stiffened at once. The ocean was still for a moment, then two sparkling tails burst through the surface. Harry’s jaw fell slack with a soundless scream when he saw another siren sinking her fangs into the first one's neck.

The other siren had bright red hair and a silver tail. There were visible scars all across her pale, lanky arms, and he couldn’t see her face. Legs too stiff to run and hide, he stood on the edge and watched in absolute terror. The scene in front of him was madness as the sirens screeched, their tails flapping, creating violent waves as they sank their claws and teeth into each other’s flesh. Harry could see blood. The first siren was not as strong as the one that was attacking her. He must save her. Maybe a part of him knew that she wasn’t entirely evil. Maybe because she was the only hope for him to get home. Either way, he couldn’t just stand by and watch her die.

Before Harry could even think of a way, a bony hand wrapped around his ankle and dragged him into the sea.

Harry’s dreams were thick with blood and haunted by the siren’s face. He’d been in the dark water, drowning, and the last thing he’d seen was her sapphire eyes glowing with the sunlight above as she’d stretched out her arm to grab him before he sank deeper. He woke up gasping, still feeling the saltiness of the ocean on his tongue and the pressure of water on his lungs.

He found himself lying on his bed, fully naked under the covers. Had he been dreaming?

Kneading his temple to chase away the headache, Harry scanned his sore eyes around the room and screamed when he saw her sitting in the corner. Naked. He looked away as soon as he caught her ocean blue eyes staring back.

The siren was in his room. And she had legs!

“You’re alive!” she exclaimed.

He heard her standing up but couldn’t bring himself to look. She sat down on the edge of his bed, smelling like the ocean. Not the fishy kind of smell; one that was unique, and Harry liked it even though he shouldn’t.

“This is a dream. This is a dream. This is a dream,” he mumbled to himself while clutching the duvet to his chest.

The siren, now a human girl, let out a sigh. “It’s not. This is real. I’m real.”

“You’re not.”

“Look at me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“You’re...naked.”

Even though Harry wasn’t looking, he could feel her questioning gaze pinning on him. He grabbed the covers and shoved them at her. “Cover yourself.”

“Oh...okay.” The siren did as she was told as Harry quickly placed a pillow on his private part. He finally looked at her, and she smiled while covering her upper body and the area between her legs with the duvet.

Harry let out a sigh of relief. “Better. Okay, why are you here?”

The siren’s eyes widened. “You don’t remember?”

Harry shook his head.

“We were talking when my sister attacked me, then dragged you into the water. You were lucky I saved you twice and brought you back to where I’d found you. This is the only palace on this beach, so I assumed it was yours.”

Harry sat and stared her face, trying to detect a lie but failed.

The siren rolled her eyes. She seemed disappointed as she swept her long black hair over her shoulder, exposing the huge bite mark on her long pale neck. The skin had healed, and the blood had dried, but the area was still bruised. Harry fought the urge to touch it. There was no way this was really happening.

The siren shot a glance at his ankle. And that was when Harry noticed the red claw mark around it. He shivered at the flashbacks of a siren with red hair and a silver tail charging straight at him with her mouth wide open, her sharp teeth ready to tear off his flesh.

“Sorry about my sister. She could be very...deadly,” the siren in front of him said, looking remorseful.

Harry eyed her up and down once again. Finally, he broke his silence, “What happened to your tail?”

The siren refused to look him in the eye as she said, “My mother found out that I saved you, a human, so she cursed me.”

“Cursed you?”

The siren said nothing; the corners of her mouth lowered as she stared down sadly at her legs.

What kind of The Little Mermaid plot is this? Harry thought to himself, yet didn’t say it because it shouldn’t be a joke. She’d lost her tail, which meant she couldn’t go back to the ocean. Ariel from The Little Mermaid had wished to become a human. This girl had been cursed with the life she never wanted just to save him twice.

Harry buried his face into his palms. “Shit. Fuck. I’m sorry. This is all my fault.”

“It is your fault.”

His head whipped up at her honest response. “You always say what you think, don’t you?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

Harry sighed and ran his palm over his face. “Never mind. How...how do I get you back to your mermaid form?”

“Siren.”

“Sorry, siren. How do I help turn you back?”

“I don’t know,” she said sadly, clutching the duvet to her chest. “But I need a place to stay until I figure it out.”

Harry thought for a moment and nodded. “I’ll pay for your hotel room.”

“What’s a hotel?” the siren asked, her eyes round. “And why can’t I stay here in your palace? It’s big and you live alone.”

“This is a house, not a palace,” Harry said. “But I’m going back to London tomorrow, and I can’t take you with me.”

“Where is London? I want to see London.”

Seeing her so excited made Harry laugh. “No, you don’t; trust me. It’s not sunny there. Always dark and gloomy and raining.”

“It’s not sunny underwater, either.”

Harry held up a finger and kept his mouth open for a moment as he pondered over what she’d said. “Good point. But I’m still not taking you to London. That’s not a good idea.”

The siren’s eyebrows drew together. “It was your fault I’m in this situation.”

Harry gasped. “You’re so manipulative!”

“I don’t know what it means.”

“It means you say things like that to get me to feel sorry for you, and so I have to help you.”

“Oh, then, yeah, I’m manipulative,” the siren said. “Take me to London with you, or I’ll find you in London and make your life hell.”

Harry tossed his head back and groaned. As if he hadn’t been traumatised enough by all the events that had happened today, now he had to take responsibility for the life of a mythical creature. If he had been a bad guy, he would have just let the government have her and keep her in a lab like that Oscar-winning movie about the dead girl and her fish lover. But Harry wasn’t a villain. Sure, he could be an asshole, but he couldn’t betray someone who’d risked her life to save his. Twice.

Maybe if he’d just say yes and then leave quickly in the morning, he wouldn’t have to deal with her. He’d ask someone to take care of her, pay for a place for her to stay and her food. Her mother would have to take her back eventually. He didn’t know about sirens, but even in the animal kingdom, mothers never abandoned their children.

“Fine, I’ll take you to London,” he said. Seeing the smile on her face, he was lowkey thankful that he was so good at lying. “First, you have to put some clothes on. Wait here.”

Carefully, he slipped out of bed, holding a pillow in front of his crotch and one behind him to cover his butt, then padded awkwardly to his closet to change and get her something to wear. When he returned, she was still sitting on his bed, humming a familiar song and kicking her feet as if testing out her new body parts. He found it endearing, but of course, he wouldn’t tell her.

He handed her a bathrobe. “Put this on. I’ll find some real clothes for you later.”

The siren accepted the bathrobe and stared at it as if she’d been told to put it in her mouth and chew. She glanced up at him. “I don’t understand the purpose of this.”

“To cover up your private parts.”

Suddenly, she seemed sad. “I think I’m broken.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

She looked at him again, pouting. “I don’t have a tail.”

“I can see that.”

“No, I mean, a tail like yours.”

When Harry realised what she meant, his face burned, and he cleared his throat into his fist. “You’re not supposed to,” he said awkwardly. “You’re...a female. I bet male sirens don’t look the same as you, right?”

“There’s no male sirens,” she told him.

Harry cocked his head to the side, squinting his eyes. “Huh? Then how do you guys...you know?”

She blinked innocently at him. She didn’t know.

“Mate.” The word made Harry cringe. “How do you mate?”

“Sirens mate with mermen. We only need them for children.”

“Okay, that’s...new…”

Harry would be glad to find out more, but this was definitely not the right time. He waved his hand, urging her to hurry up. Clumsily, the siren got to her feet. Harry didn’t intend to stay here while she changed, but since she could barely keep her balance, she had to hold onto his arms. He stood there, staring at the ceiling as the duvet dropped. She was completely naked in front of him now and so dangerously close. The voice inside his head was telling him not to peek. Fuck. Why did she have to be sexy?

“Do you...um...do you need help?” he asked as she seemed to be struggling with the bathrobe.

“No, thanks. I got it!” she said between ragged breaths, then, “Hey your tail is growing!”

Harry’s eyes dropped to the front of his boxers, his face heating at the sight of his erection. He gently pushed her back onto the bed and rushed to the bathroom.

“Where are you going?” she shouted after him. “I need to see it in its full form!”

“This is its full form!”

“It’s still small.”

“Shut up! It’s not!”

Ezili felt bad for lying to this human.

Well, lying was the whole point of her mission, but he had been so nice to her when he found out she couldn’t return to the ocean. She blamed her new human heart for these emotions. Siren Ezili would never feel sorry for this ugly creature. No, wait, this one wasn’t ugly. The mermen were ugly. As much as she despised humans, she must admit that most of them were beautiful.

When this human wasn’t looking, Ezili would regard him with as much curiosity as he had regarded her in secret. The way his brown curls swept back messily. His defined jawlines. The deep dimples in his cheeks. The look of wonder in his eyes. He looked about her age, but his eyes were innocent, greener than seaweed.

She looked away as he caught her gawking. They were sitting at a small table on the floor. The room was darkly lit by the light in the corner. On the table was a mushy pile with little fire sticks on top.

“What is this?” Ezili asked, inspecting the object.

The human smiled at her, the firelight dancing in his leaf-green eyes as he said, “It’s a cake. We’re celebrating my birthday.”

“You told me not to play with fire.”

“We’re gonna put it out anyway.” He winked at her. “A little fire won’t hurt.” Ezili watched the human take out a little black thing and flick his thumb. Fire flared out, making Ezili flinch. “Relax,” he chuckled and the fire vanished. “This is called a lighter. It makes fire. This is a cake. These are candles.”

“What do we do with the cake?”

“We eat it.”

“You eat fire?”

The human laughed at Ezili’s distressed look. “No, silly. We blow out the candles, then eat the cake.”

“Oh,” she said, making him laugh harder. She found it disrespectful and annoying. Was this creature making fun of her? “What’s so funny?” she asked through gritted teeth.

The human stopped laughing, yet his dimples were still visible. “I can’t believe I’m celebrating my twenty-fourth with a siren,” he said.

“Who do you usually celebrate with?” Ezili asked.

“My friends or family,” the human said. “My friends were supposed to be here but their flight got cancelled due to bad weather.” The sadness in his eyes disappeared as he gave a dismissive wave and laughed. “Oh well, it’s not bad being alone. In fact, I’ve been alone my whole life.”

“That’s sad,” Ezili murmured, mesmerized by the candles.

“It’s not,” replied the human. “Some people live their whole life surrounded by others, and yet, they’re still lonely.”

As he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, smiled, and blew out the candles, Ezili sat there and pondered over his last words.

They didn’t eat the cake right away, because the humans said they ought to eat it after dinner. Apparently, humans ate three main meals a day—breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Sirens ate when they were hungry, so this was very new to Ezili. She picked up the small shiny thing that shaped like her mother’s trident and pushed around the foods on her plate. “What is this?”

“Fish,” the human said with a smile.

“Dead?”

“You expect me to eat alive fish?”

Ezili scowled at him. “That’s what we eat.”

“You’re human now. Try cooked fish.”

When she didn’t do anything but stare at the plate, the human nudged her hand with his knuckles. “Come on. If you don’t like it, I’ll get you the raw fish in the fridge.”

Ezili doubted that this imbecile creature would poison her with these colourful foods to get away with his responsibility, but at the same time, nothing was impossible.

However, she would probably faint if she didn’t eat. This dinner actually smelled good, and her stomach was rumbling because she hadn’t eaten since yesterday. And so she stabbed the fish’s burned flesh with her little trident, closed her eyes and put it into her mouth. It was soft, salty and a bit spicy, and...surprisingly delicious. She quickly took another bite, and another, and another.

“Wow, you’re really hungry, huh?” The human chuckled. “You like it?”

Ezili nodded fast, unable to answer because her mouth was full.

The human seemed satisfied. “Good. Means I’m a great cook.”

Ezili chewed fast and swallowed as the human began to eat. She tried to copy the way he held the little trident and the knife, and felt like she’d changed. Her mother would hate her so much for enjoying this. And Koa would make sure everyone in their kingdom knew and turn her into a laughing stock.

“Do you have any questions for me?” she said, breaking the silence, mostly to distract herself from thinking about the mission and her family.

The human thought for a second. “Hmmm, I have a bunch so I don’t know where to start.” Then, after a pause, “Why did your mum do this to you? Doesn’t she love you?”

Ezili wished she could stab him for bringing up the topic she’d been trying to avoid. Instead, she sucked in a breath. “She does. It’s just...the way sirens show love is different from humans. We teach our children to be strong from the moment they are born. Sirens live dependent on one another to survive, and so we always have to look out for one another. I guess that’s love for us. My mother is the Sea Queen. She’s very powerful, and so she has high hopes for my sister and I. My sister is better than me, though. I’ve always envied her.”

“Your sister is scary as hell,” the human remarked. “But if your mum is the Queen, you must be a princess.”

“Yeah.”

“Wow, so does that make me Prince Eric?”

“Your name is Eric?”

“No,” the human chuckled. “It’s a reference from The Little Mermaid. You should watch that film. You’d probably hate it though. Anyway, it’s so weird that we don’t know each other’s name. I’m Harry.” The human, well, Harry, put his hand across the table. Ezili didn’t know what to do with it so she just stared.

“I’m Ezili.”

Harry smiled, picked up her right hand and shook it. His hand was bigger than her and warm. She liked it.

“Cool name. Can I call you Ezi?”

Ezili instantly pulled her hand back. “No, you filthy creature. That’s not my name!”

“Ezi is short for Ezili.”

“What?”

Harry ignored the look of confusion she was giving him. “Or I could call you Bubbles. That’s a cute nickname.”

“Why Bubbles?”

“Because…” He tossed his head back and groaned. “Damn, woman, you gotta read the story, too. I can’t make these jokes if you don’t get the references.”

Ezili had so many questions. Just as she was about to ask, the black thing on the table lit up and started playing a song that startled Ezili.

“Sorry. My mum’s calling,” Harry said as he picked up the thing and swiped his fingers across it. “Right on time.”

“Is your mother trapped in that thing?” Ezili asked, clutching the hem of the shirt Harry had told her to wear. It was too big on her but she loved that it was comfortable and kept her warm.

“No, this is a phone,” Harry said, shaking the magical device with light coming out of it. “So my mum’s in London, and when she calls me on the phone, her voice gets transferred through it, and I can hear what she says.” He pushed himself up and told Ezili, “I’ll be right back.”

Once Harry was gone, Ezili sat there and tried her best to process all the new information. It was only her first night on land and she was already going through it. This mission was harder than she thought. Still, she had no choice but to continue. She must have that heart, and her mother would be so proud.

When Harry woke up this time, he was on his private jet.

“Hey.”

He screamed, causing Ezi to fall back into her seat in front of him. He whipped his head around and saw that they were the only two people in this cabin. Before he could even come up with a question, Ezi got up, her hand resting on either side of his seat as she leaned forward, until her face was so close to his that he could smell the vanilla scent of the cake in her breath.

Her eyes sharpened at once. “I know you were trying to get rid of me.”

“No...I didn’t.”

“You did, Harry. You were going to leave me at your beach house. I heard you talking on the phone last night with someone else after talking to your mum. You mentioned a hotel room.”

Harry had booked a room for her on the phone last night. He should have done it on the website.

“But guess what?” A corner of her mouth lifted. “I might not have the ability to control tides anymore, but I still have my voice. And so I can control humans with it. I sang you to sleep last night. Then when your servants came to take you to this metal bird, I made him carry you to the magic black carriage and I came here with you. You think you’re one step ahead, you’re wrong. Try that again. I dare you.”

Harry swallowed hard. He could feel his palms sweating as he rubbed them against his thighs. “Okay, I’m sorry for that,” he said. “But you can’t control people like that. If someone found out what you’re capable of...what you are...you’d be in big trouble.”

Ezi arched an eyebrow as she slowly backed away and stood straight with her arms across her chest. Thank God, Harry’s mother called just in time. He immediately got up and excused himself to answer the phone. He left a pouty Ezili in the cabin and went to the exit to talk to his mother.

“My precious boy, are you on the plane right now?”

“Yes, Mum,” Harry sighed.

“Good. I just need the name of your date for the seat arrangement.”

Harry stiffened for a second then quickly glanced over his shoulder to check if Ezi was eavesdropping. Fortunately, she was distracted by a magazine.

“Like now?” he asked his mum.

“Yes. Last night you told me you found one.”

Yes, Harry remembered that part, but he’d only said that so his mum would stop pestering him.

He took a deep breath. “Yeah, I did.”

“Her name?”

He hesitated before saying, “Ezili Hans.”

Hans as in Hans Christian Andersen. The writer of The Little Mermaid. If he had the energy to be happy, he’d give himself a pat on the back for the creativity.

“Great,” his mother said, sounding as if he’d just told her he was getting married. “I’m so excited to meet this girl.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, dear?”

“I-I said ‘Well, of course’,” Harry said and covered it up with a nervous laugh.

When he got off the phone with his mum, he felt a light tap on the shoulder and turned around to see Ezi. Shit, had she listened to–

“I promise I won’t use my singing voice to control you again,” she said, to his surprise. "Please. I cannot survive on my own." She twisted the hem of his band-tee uneasily. Even though she looked super cute in his t-shirt and joggers, she was still too underdressed for someone that was travelling on a private jet.

“Fine. You can stay,” he heard himself say while trying to imagine her with actual clothes that fit her.

Ezi’s blue eyes lit up, and the smile that rarely showed up on her face caught Harry off guard. He almost forgot what was happening.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “But we need to set up some rules.”

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212 notes · View notes

itsclydebitches · 2 years

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Lovely write-up. I think what struck me is not only the strange emotional indifference, but the how often emotions are misplaced. If I may put my hat in the ring? Yang and Ruby are meant to be sisters, and while siblings should be allowed to argue in media, after their split in volume 8, Yang is concerned about Blake over her own sister that she argued with. It frustrates me. Her lack of worry and her obsession over Blake in that moment is almost inhuman to me (bias being the eldest of 4 kids).

Thank you, anon! <3

Yes, to me it feels less like the emotion is misplaced—since there’s nothing wrong with also being worried for your maybe girlfriend—but rather that characters aren’t allowed to experience more than one emotion at a time. Yang can be worried for Blake or Ruby, not both. The emotional indifference in that part of Volume 8 (Jaune doesn’t experience fear, Ren has completely gotten over his problems with the group’s choices, he’s then able to tell the Ace Ops what they feel and think so that they too can presumably get over it) hits Yang in that she’s simply not allowed to deal with the complexity of being worried for two different loved ones for two different reasons. So that’s a problem all on its own but, as you say, anon, we have the secondary problem of the story choosing the wrong character to turn Yang’s limited focus on. And in the context of the story, I do think it’s an objectively wrong choice because it involves dropping plot threads and picking up new ones that, until now, never existed. Yang drops her status as Ruby’s canonical older sister to focus on the non-canonical status of being Blake’s girlfriend. Yang drops the canonical fight with Ruby to instead pick up the non-existent fight with Blake. It’s a scene that acknowledges the audience’s expectations because Jaune also assumes that of course Yang is worried for her sister, only to reveal that—gotcha!—she doesn’t care about any of the things we’ve established that she would care about. That moment, intentionally or not, pokes fun at the viewer for assuming that RWBY will be internally consistent. We, like Jaune, think Yang would be worried for Ruby since she’s been established as a loving older sister since Volume 1 and literally just parted after a massive disagreement. And the show responds, "Why would you think that?"

Making characters choose just one (1) person to focus their emotions on is already a terrible idea when this is a cast of 10+. That’s how we’ve wound up with moments that the writers clearly wanted to be impactful, but aren’t because these characters never formed a relationship despite existing together for 8 volumes: Why is Blake claiming she looks up to Ruby? Who is Yang to tell Ren what’s okay to be upset over? Why is Jaune the one to kill Penny? In a bid to answer the criticism of, “Why don’t these characters ever interact with anyone else?” the writers went straight to Big Moments for new duos, missing that we needed foundational work first to create payoff here. But even beyond that, this singular focus means that when the story does wake up and realize that Character A should interact with someone other than Character B, that relationship feels like it has been lost while this new relationship is (kinda) formed. Because the story is incapable of writing the characters caring about both. So when Yang is playing the part of a girlfriend, we’ve lost her status as an older sister. When Weiss is playing the part of a sister, we’ve lost her status as Ruby’s BFF. When Nora is playing the part of Penny’s short-term friend, we’ve lost her status as Ren’s partner—kinda literally now that she’s decided she wants to discover who she is without him. Notably, that moment comes after Ren says, “I love you.” In order for a character to start developing a new relationship (even with themselves), they have to temporarily drop the last one, resulting in fans understandably getting upset that a core part of their characterization has been put on the back-burner for an indefinite number of Volumes. I personally think Yang and Blake need to get some distance after everything we’ve seen since Volume 6, but that doesn’t mean I want the story to straight up ignore their relationship for a couple of years before deciding it’s relevant again (especially when we’re still waiting for that queer rep). What fans want is an organically written, ensemble cast where everyone has different types of relationships with everyone else, consistently, forwarded both by small, everyday exchanges and larger arcs to develop specific pairings or trios… but RWBY doesn’t seem capable of giving us that. The size of the cast has proved too much for the writers to keep up with, resulting in unnatural interactions where characters focus on one person and one person only, even when that’s contrary to what we’d expect of them in that moment.

Does anyone remember how much fans loved that two second scene between Blake and Oscar in Volume 6? When they’re at the farm waiting on the bike, talking about how much they want breakfast but nope, I’m not gonna be the one to cook it? Those are the sort of interactions we should be getting constantly. It resonated because it’s rare in RWBY to see two characters outside of their designated duos talking with one another, specifically about something other than the plot. Small as it is, it helps develop both their relationship and the team’s dynamic as a whole…

…but now, two and a half Volumes later, Blake hasn’t said a word to Oscar since.

#rwde #rwby #mymetas

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txemrn · 3 years

Text

The Missionary's Daughter

Ch. 1: "Meant to Live"

Need to catch up? Prologue: "It's Over"

Chapter Song Inspo: "Meant to Live" by Switchfoot

Series Song Inspo: "Changed by You" by Between the Trees

Pairings: Drake Walker x OC (Margot Hughes); Liam Rys x Riley Brooks

Series Warning: 🛑 for mature audiences only (🔞); series contains angst, language, NSFW🍋 material; trigger warning: heavy discussion/depiction of drug and alcohol abuse, suicide, religion, mental health; please be advised and exercise discretion

A/N: When I say that this took a village, it would be the understatement of the century! Huuuuuuuuge thank you to all of my amazing sweet writing sisters that encouraged me and helped me pull this together, but especially to @charlotteg234 for brainstorming and mapping this out with me, @kat-tia801 for doing the same, but then having to deal with me incessantly asking, "Does this sound right?" and @chemist-ana FOR GIFITNG ME MY FREAKING AMAZING MOODBOARD! It's SO beautiful, and it literally puts me in the mood to write about my Druggy Drake and Margot! Thank you so, so much, friend! Most of the characters and some of the plot belong to our friends at Pixelberry.

A palpable crackle ignites the sterile air of the staff locker room. To say she was ‘nervous’ is a painfully severe understatement to the jitters that spark from her fingertips. But, rather than dance chaotically like cut wires on pavement, she is lightning, mesmerizing, lighting up the sky with excitement and power.

***

Dressing for another Monday morning at her weekly volunteer job at the prestigious Cordonia Family OB/GYN, Margot Hughes swiftly shimmies a monogrammed ceil blue scrub top down her curves. Pulling her brilliant strands of autumn harvest into a high bun, she slips on her work clogs while nudging her locker closed with her knee.

Before leaving the changing area, she catches her visage in the mirror, the unflattering fluorescent lights casting more shadows onto her worried features. She can feel the rumble of her rapid heartbeat echoing in her ears; her chest constricts tightly as her breathing becomes shallow. Her eyes begin to sting with fear as the whites burn red, threatening with a glaze of tears.

Today is the day her entire life will change; everything she has ever wanted, everything that she has ever worked for will suddenly determine the course of her future in a single moment. Seeing the all-too-familiar terror in her eyes, Margot flutters her eyelids shut. Her fingers nervously trace along a simple chain around her neck until they finally grasp tightly to a dainty sterling silver charm: a cross.

“Take my anxieties, Lord,” she whispers with prayerful conviction, her sparkling blue eyes gracefully opening to look at her necklace. She exhales deeply. “Your will be done.” Margot stares at her reflection for a few more moments, focusing on her breathing to calm her restless heart. “You are strong, Margot. You've got this,” she affirms herself in a hushed tone, a bright smile breaking across her face. “This is your day--" suddenly overwhelmed with peace, a joyous smile paints across her face. Chuckling to herself, she glances upwards: “I'm counting on You.” Taking a deep cleansing breath, she eagerly exits the stillness of her thoughts, and joins the bustle of the morning's clinic appointments. Today is her day.

***

Halos of blurred auras bleach his vision as Drake cautiously opens one blood-shot eye. His tongue sticks to the roof of his roughly parched mouth as he massages his pained forehead. Clueless of what day it is--much less what he did last night--he is greeted with a sudden glorious sensation: a supple wet mouth on his hardened morning length.

His body relaxes back onto the dampened, disheveled sheets of his bed; he releases a pleasurable exhale as he blindly reaches for the head behind the lips. He strains to focus his view, but can only make out a foggy shape of a nude woman with long, tousled brunette waves.

It’s her. His love.

Drake smiles; delicately tangling his grip in her strands, he admires how even the afternoon sun catches her beauty perfectly. He quietly smacks his lips. He can still smell her on his stubble; he can still taste her on his tongue.

Had she told Liam? Were they celebrating that they could finally be together?

As she takes in the head of his girth, he arches his back, relaxing his body into her hungry touch. Closing his eyes, he offers a guttural groan deep in his chest as she swirls her tongue around his firm thickness.

“God, you’re incredible, Riley--”

---

Pulling out a pen, Margot reaches across the counter to grab a patient’s clipboard--that is until Iris, the front desk manager grips her long, manicured nails to the other side of the particle wood. “Miss Mary-Margaret,” she leans in conspiratorially, lowering her voice, “do we know anything yet?” Margot chuckles, shaking her head. “Child, you better come find me the moment you know!”

“Only if you promise to start calling me ‘Margot’” the young blonde jests, opening her client’s chart.

“How about I start calling you what we’ll all be calling you in just a few short years: ‘doctor’?” Rosy pink swirls splash across Margot’s face, warming her cheeks to the touch. She bows her head coyly at the mention of her dream becoming a reality. The thought that she will soon find out if a medical career is in her future makes the twenty-one-year-old’s heart leap with unbridled excitement.

For as long as she can remember, Margot has had a strong desire to serve and help other people. Much of that selfless attitude was instilled into her heart by her own parents. They were called to be Christian missionaries when Margot was only eight years old. After much planning, church fund-raising, and prayer, Roy and Mary Hughes left their comfortable home of Lafayette, Louisiana, and settled in the small Mediterranean country of Cordonia.

Many of their friends and family were shocked that the church would send them to such a beautiful area of the world. Typically missionaries humble themselves to serve the needy, the homeless, the lonely and the sick. They sacrifice the luxuries of home for the sake of loving humanity. They help people in war-torn countries, third-world countries, countries that don’t have electricity or running water. But, this country?

Cordonia itself is a lavish nation, rich in heritage and traditions. And funds. Thanks to the ideal weather conditions, the fruitful soil produces bountiful harvests and exquisite supplies for fine textiles that remain in high demand throughout the world. The Cordonian government, a monarchy, discovered a new opportunity to expand their wealth in the late 19th century: costly tariffs to international investors. Within the first ten years of increasing the taxes on exports, the national treasury was not only in the black, but their funds had exponentially increased every year. Farms were flourishing as the working class became larger, stronger.

But, the treasury began to dwindle quickly due to the extravagant demands of the royals. For the first time in the country's history, commoners were wealthier than some of the nobility. Disdain from the upper class quickly ensued until finally, in the early 20th century under the rule of William I, a new tax law was implemented to all of Cordonia: anyone involved with international exchange would have to pay into the treasury to handle such business.

Unfortunately, there were no limitations to this new tax law, and many farms floundered, property ownership being seized by the government. Families were uprooted; jobs were lost, and worse, assets were sold for even more money, filling the pockets of the greedy leaders. The people that once had a plethora of goods at their fingertips were now starving and unsheltered. And vengeful. The Cordonians were outraged by the gouging, many of them forming violent riots, banding together with outside influencers in hopes of overthrowing the government.

On the cusp of a civil war, King William I decided to rezone the country, providing a place for the displaced working class to claim safety and sanctuary, a place that would offer shelter, education, and more affordable options for goods. To appease the people even more, he named the project ‘the Core,’ paying homage to their greatest export, the Cordonian Ruby. It was also a way for him to forever express his gratitude for such a fruitful nation: they were the core reason the nation was thriving so richly.

Like many government-assisted programs, it didn’t take long for the cracks to show in the infrastructure. And with funding cuts over the years, the Core began to crumble, striking a sharp contrast from the rest of Cordonia. The Core, now often referred to as ‘the slums’, have become a breeding ground for crime, drugs, and prostitution. It is the blemish of Cordonia, its existence often not acknowledged amongst the elite.

But, according to the Hughes, ‘God saw the need’. They were sent to serve in the slums of Cordonia, starting up several free programs, including a nightly soup kitchen, afterschool programs to keep children out of trouble, and trade classes to help adults out of poverty. The people accepted the help and adapted quickly to the missionaries; but even more importantly, they embraced these Americans as their own, many of them forming important and lasting relationships with the Hughes.

But, still there was something missing, something that burdened the missionary’s oldest daughter: healthcare. Having good health and access to a doctor is still treated as a privilege in Cordonia, and time and time again, the curable were disabled or buried. A change needed to take place. And Margot, although unsure of how, knew she would devote her life in making it happen for the Cordonian people.

As she makes a few notes on her clipboard, an olive-complected arm stealthily reaches around Margot, gracefully grazing her sun-kissed skin before gently placing a cup of piping hot black coffee in front of her. Staring at the hand, she instantly knows who it is. And she titters, playfully rolling her eyes. “Tadd! Another coffee?” She grabs the coffee, twirling on the ball of her foot to face the clinic’s young ultrasound technician. "My tab must be over a hundred euros by now!"

"Oh, don't you worry about that," he chuckles, rocking on his feet. “Plus, I figured with your new gig at Bríki--” he jovially shrugs his shoulders.

“You figured what?” Margot playfully punches his shoulder. “That I could sneak you free coffee?” She gives a mischievous smile, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t think Mr. Pavlis would appreciate me offering free drinks, especially since I haven’t even started yet--”

“That’s right!” Tadd eyes widen. “Today’s the day--!”

“As if I didn’t already have enough to be nervous about today,” Margot’s voice becomes shaky, as she clenches her teeth in a forced smile.

“Hey,” Tadd’s voice turns into an endearing whisper. He shifts his head until his piercing jade eyes meet Margot’s baby blues. “You have nothing to worry about. We both know you did well on that American doctor test--"

"The MCAT," Margot stifles a laugh, rolling her eyes into an appreciative grin.

"Whatever," a crooked smile grows across Tadd's handsome features. "And as far as the coffee shop, you're a fast learner. And a hard worker. Plus, if they see what we all see in you--" he sighs, his gaze never breaking free from hers, "-- they're going to love you."

Margot looks down at her feet, hugging her clipboard tightly to her chest. Feeling her palms begin to sweat, she coyly looks back up at her dear friend. "Thanks, Tadd."

After a few silent moments of staring at each other, Tadd clears his throat. "So, um--" he starts, "have you heard anything yet? About the test?" Tadd changes the subject. Margot shakes her head as she takes a pull from her coffee. "Well, when you do, um, maybe we could, I mean, I thought we could--"

Suddenly an intercom buzzes overhead. "Thaddeus to exam room four. Thaddeus to exam room four."

Tadd furrows his eyebrows, looking to the ceiling before resting a kind half-smile back on Margot. "Duty calls," he nervously sighs as he bounds down the hallway. Halfway down the corridor, he spins around to face Margot. "Hey, um, come find me! Before you leave at noon!" He finger-guns the air before returning to his pursuit.

Margot awkwardly finger-guns him back before smacking her forehead with the palm of her hand. "Seriously, Margot?" she mutters to herself, turning her attention back to the central desk of the clinic; however, she realizes quickly that the attention is all on her.

"When are you two going to make it official, Miss Mary-Margaret?" Iris chokes in the midst of her belly laughs, nodding with other scrub-adorned coworkers.

Biting her bottom lip feeling her heart flutter, Margot straightens out her demeanor, becoming stoic. "I--I don't know what you're talking about--"

"Margot, isn't it obvious?" Chimes in a jolly intake nurse. "That boy loves you--!"

"Who? Tadd?" Margot feigns innocence. She fixes her attention to the chart as she scribbles down more notes. "It's not like that--I mean, we're not, um--" she sighs. "We're just friends--" An instant roar of laughter abrupts from the reception desk, making it impossible for Margot to hide her toothy-smile paired with her scrunched up nose.

"You say that now, baby girl--"

"That's right," chimes in another giggling co-worker, "friends for now!"

An older plump nurse places a tender hand on Margot’s hand, a knowing smile spreading across her face. "Some of the best relationships come from friendships, moró. Give it time. Let the love grow," she winks at Margot.

Margot fidgets with her pen, delicately licking her bottom lip. She then tries to form words with her mouth, but no sound is heard. Her pink cheeks reveal she is flustered. She quickly closes up the chart, pushing loose hairs behind her ear. "Have a good day, ladies."

Hearing the squeals of her coworkers diminishing behind her, Margot quickly escapes into an empty exam room. Closing the door behind her, she leans against it, looking up at the textured ceiling tiles. She can feel the butterflies in her stomach bouncing through to her heart as her legs wiggle with weakness like gelatin.

The idea of 'falling in love' excites Margot, an idea she has dreamed about ever since she saw Baby meet Johnny. But, so far in her young life, she has never experienced it first hand, let alone a romantic hand- hold. Was this love? All she knew for sure was today was not the day to figure it out.

***

As soon as Riley’s name escapes his breathless moans of ecstasy, a searing sharp pain instantly ignites around his hardened girth. And Drake sees red.

"Fuck!" He lets out a guttural roar until no sound comes out of his mouth. He gnashes his teeth, trying to breathe through the agony, but only froths at the corners of his lips. The veins in his neck and his forehead protrude violently as streams of tears roll down his face. Petrified to move, his face turns a deep ruddy color. Before turning violet.

A sudden sensation of relief washes over him as the stabbing sensation fades to throbbing. Drake nervously looks down at his softening cock, relieved to see his member in one piece. "Goddamnit, Brooks," he pants furiously, "you fucking bit me--"

The brunette quickly tosses her curls out of her eyesight right before her fist meets Drake's jaw. "Oh, shit!" The cracking of the joints in his face echoes around the room. Drake starts to gently massage his chin. "You're not Riley--"

She climbs off of his body, standing her naked body in front of him. "No shit, Sherlock!" She slinks her short black spaghetti-strap dress over her dangerous curves before hastily grabbing her clear platform heels and racing out the door. "Fuck you, Drake Walker!"

***

A heartless, cocky laugh pours over the phone speaker. "Shit, Walker. Just--" the baritone voice trails back into a fit of laughter.

"It's not funny, Leo--" Drake warns, accidentally shifting his weight in bed, stirring a soreness to his recent injuries. "Ow!” he sucks air quickly between his gritted teeth, “fuck!" he whimpers to himself, adjusting the cold packs on his genitals.

"But you actually called her a different name, bro. A different name! With her mouth on your salami, your pocket rocket, on your--on your anaconda--" Leo's words fade back into cackles.

"As if you remember every goddamn hook-up’s name--"

"Dude," Leo interrupts, "if she's going to go all hungry, hungry hippo mid-blowie, I'm going to remember her name."

Drake scoffs. "Bullshit--"

"What? I'm serious, bro" Leo's voice becomes sincere. "All of these bitches we meet are looking for one thing--" he pauses dramatically for his wounded friend to finish his sentence; but the silence proves Drake is clueless as to where Leo was going with this. "A connection, Walker!" Leo's voice drips with conviction. "These women don't want to feel like they're disposable, even though--" he chuckles to himself, “let’s be honest: we’re doing them a favor--”

"--’A connection’, Leo" Drake interrupts, urging the conversation back on track.

"Right! ‘A connection," reaffirms Leo, circling back to his point. "Now, okay,” he knowingly titters, “I can’t remember all of these names--”

“Ha! See?” Drake barks.

“--Which is why--” Leo enunciates over Drake, “I use a single pet name. ‘Girl’.”

"'Girl'? That’s your trick? You call them 'girl'?" Drake raises an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Hear me out,” Leo continues. “If you call them something like ‘baby’ or ‘sweetie’, it can be seen as patronizing, that you’re clearly looking to smooth-talk your way into their pants--” Drake rolls his eyes, moving the phone to his other ear “--but now, calling them ‘girl’, I’m showing I want to be a friend, that I just simply want to connect. And then when you’re having your way with her, call her whatever the fuck you want as long as you finish the name with ‘girl’. Good girl. Dirty girl. Naughty girl. Sweet girl. Or in your case, hungry girl--”

Drake clears his throat, stifling a laugh. “--That is the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard--”

“Hey!” Leo interjects. “Who is wearing a bag of frozen peas on his one-eyed trouser snake?”

“Touché,” Drake sighs. “So, where are you right now?”

“With Jason up at his shop.”

“Who?” Drake lets out yawn, looking at his bedside alarm clock.

“Shit, Walker, you really were fucked up last night," Leo sighs. "Jason. You met him last night.” Leo’s voice lowers into a whisper. “He helped you get fucked up last night.”

“Oh! Right, right,” Drake rubs his head, “that was--wow, that shit was--”

“Good, right?” Leo finishes. “Hey, come join us at his shop. We’ve got coffee, and he’s got some new, um, product he’d love to show you--”

“Oh, Leo, I don’t know--” Drake removes the melting bag of vegetables from his lap. Gently lifting up on the waistband of his boxers, carefully inspecting his bruised parts.

“Does Liam have you working today?”

“No, no, it’s not that--” Drake hesitates.

“Oh!” Leo knowingly exclaims. “Does Riley have you working today?” He begins to chuckle. “You might need to let her know that you’re currently indisposed for --”

“Leo--” Drake warns.

“Then what's the hold up?"

Drake glances over at the mirror affixed to his antique dresser, but he doesn't recognize his own reflection. There's an emptiness in eyes, an inexplicable turmoil overcoming the man he once was. How did everything get so complicated? How did he get to such a place that it's better to be absent in life than to live it?

She was just a friend--at least that's what he convinced himself when Riley Brooks first caught his eye. Beautiful. Extremely witty with a fight he had never seen before. When they first kissed, he swore it was a mistake. Hormones. It had been so long since he had touched the delicate petals of a woman's lips.

But, this wasn't just any woman. It was her. And he soon would find himself wrapped up in her bedsheets, wrapped around her finger, wrapped in an awful web of lies.

And, all of his transgressions were against him, his very best friend, the man he regards as closer than a brother, his closest ally and confidant. Normally, Drake would turn to Liam in a heartbeat with any troubles, but this? How could he? How could he talk to Liam about his own devastation when the truth would devastate Liam?

It's been four days since that fateful night of Liam's coronation, four days since the love of Drake's life walked away from him, forcing his hand into harboring secrets from the crowned prince. It's been four days since Drake heard his own voice in his head, four days since he's been sober enough to even think. Even though he deemed the temporary escape necessary, the sudden twinge of discomfort in his groin makes him realize that taking another hit right now is the absolute last thing he needs.

"I think I better stay put," Drake answers, combing his fingers through his disheveled tresses.

"Suit yourself," Leo jovially retorts. "If you need any oxy for your boo-boo, hit me up--Oh, and Drake?"

“Hrmmm?”

"Her name is Whitney."

"What?"

"Jaws? You know, the bitch who chewed on your Moby Dick?" Drake sighs heavily, regretting that he ever told Leo what had happened. "Her name is Whitney."

Drake furrows his eyebrows. "Now, how do you remember her name--?"

"Oh, bro, you don't forget WAP Whitney--oh shit, you probably haven't gotten a good look at your sheets this morning, have you?"

With a grunt, Drake ends the call. “Fuck me,” he mutters under his breath. He carefully gets up, waddling to grab his clothes before heading to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

In the middle of splashing his face with cold, soapy water, Drake's phone rings. Grabbing a hand towel he carefully saunters back to his room, answering the call without hesitation. "Just let it go, Leo--”

"Drake?"

An icy chill shoots down Drake’s spine, freezing him in his steps. He knows that melodic voice anywhere, a voice that reminds him of early morning sunrises and late night silver moonlit paths. “H-hey, Riley,” he stutters, caught off guard. A brief awkward stillness falls over the conversation. “How are you--?”

“I miss you, Drake,” she interrupts.

Drake’s vision suddenly begins to spin as the air in the room becomes stagnant. Stiffening his bottom lip in anger, his breathing quickens as he reaches out carefully to brace himself against the wall.

“Drake?”

“I’m here,” he chokes out. “What do you want, Brooks?” He can hear the tears in her voice, but he wills himself not to care, he wills himself to not even ask.

“Drake, I think I made a mistake--”

“No,” Drake barks out, “no, you can’t do this to me--”

“Drake, please,” Riley sobs, “I’m on my way to the doctor--”

“The doctor?” Drake’s tone suddenly changes. “Are you okay? Is everything with--um, you know--” he slaps his forehead with the palm of his hand, “--okay?”

“Yes--” she sniffles, “--no. I just, I can’t do this alone, Drake. I can’t do this--”

“Riley--” he roughly says her name to grab her attention, “you made your decision: you chose Liam. You want to raise our baby--my baby with him--”

“Don’t you think I want to have this baby with you? That’s all I can even think about Drake,” she takes a moment to calm down her shaking voice. “I love you, Drake. I want a life with you. I want you to be there when this baby is born, when this baby needs his or her father--when this baby needs you--”

“Riley--” Drake exhales with frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose, “--but Liam--”

“I know, Drake. I know--” Riley takes a deep breath, “Can we just talk? In person? Just so we can figure this out? I can come over there--”

“Brooks, I--” Drake stumbles over his words as he runs his fingers over his coarse, overgrown stubble. Of course, he wants her to come over. And to stay. But, has anything changed? Liam just proposed, and she made it clear what her intentions were. But, still, it’s possible she had a change of heart, and this was a second chance he may never get again. He sighs heavily. “Sure. Okay."

After finishing his impromptu conversation with Riley, Drake realizes he needs to make another phone call. He scrolls through his call history, and clicks the green send button.

"Did you change your mind, Evander Holyfield?"

"Funny, Leo," Drake sarcastically responds. "So, yeah, um, what's the address to the shop?"

***

“Does that--does that say what I think it says?” Margot nervously stammers. "I think I saw my score--oh gosh!"

“Here. Let me look--”

Margot quickly covers the computer screen with her hands, "No, Mrs. Iris!” Margot squeals. “I’m not ready--I’m not ready for this!”

“Child, you have been ready for this for months. Now, if you don’t get your hands out of the way--"

"What's with all the commotion?" A few technicians and nurses pile into the room, each giving an endearing rub to Margot’s back. Everyone begins craning their necks to see the computer, covered by Margot's arms. "Is it time? Have they posted the scores?"

"They sure have!" answers Iris before turning to Margot. She tucks several blonde wisps behind Margot’s ear before putting her finger under her chin. "C'mon, baby," she smiles encouragingly, "it's more fun celebrating than worrying."

"I'm--" Margot takes a deep breath, biting back her tears, "--I'm so scared--"

"--and the Lord knew you would be, baby." Iris wrinkles her nose at Margot, her voice becoming stronger. "That's why He called you to be courageous. C'mon."

Margot bites her lip, slowly nodding her head. Feeling the storm brew in her eyes as the weight of the world sits on her chest, she carefully peels back her hands. Her eyes scale the black and white on the screen, but nothing seems to make sense. A burst of silence overwhelms her hearing, time standing perfectly still. Her only company is the beating of her heart.

Take my anxieties...

You have nothing to worry about…

Your will be done…

Be courageous...

Like suddenly breaking through the surface for air, an abrupt roar of cheers fill the room, shaking Margot from her trance. "Our baby girl got a 519!" screams a tearful Iris, pulling Margot from her seat and into a tight embrace. Other coworkers join in, creating a giant group hug.

Margot remains speechless, shocked by her score. She always knew she was an excellent student, studying hard all through school and excelling in her classes. When it came to the MCAT, she was confident she would score better than average, a score of 500. But, to even be noticed by top medical schools, she needed to score in the top 5%, a score 517 or greater.

News swept like wildfire through the clinic, and shortly thereafter, Tadd and some other technicians filed into the breakroom with a decorative chocolate cake and punch in tow. "I knew you could do it!" Tadd cheers victoriously, offering a chaste hug to Margot. "Dr. Hughes," he swipes his hand in the air as if to paint an imaginary portrait. "It has a nice ring to it."

"I still don't understand why you put yourself through all of that," mentions an older phlebotomist. "Cordonia has a medical school right down the road--"

"Because Margot wants to go to one of the best medical schools in the world," interrupts a deeply demanding, yet sincere voice. “To Harvard. Like me.”

"Dr. Ramirez," Margot smiles brightly, jumping up to greet her mentor with a hug.

"That is, you are still looking at my alma mater for medical school--"

"Yes ma'am!" Margot's eyes light up with the thought that her dream of going to Harvard Medical School is becoming her reality. "It would be such an honor to go there, let alone to follow in your footsteps."

Dr. Ramirez pulls Margot in for another tight hug. "My word, Mary-Margaret, 519?" she presses her cheek to Margot's, "I am so proud of you."

"Thank you, Dr. Ramirez," Margot warmly responds, "thank you for taking a chance on me and helping me so much with my studies and research--"

"You know I did that for selfish reasons, right?" The practitioner stifles a smile while Margot squints her eyes with suspicion. "Cordonia needs more female physicians, and more importantly, physicians that will make a difference in its healthcare," she grips tightly to Margot’s hand, "for everyone. I believe you will lead this country in a health care reformation."

"I don't know what to say," Margot clears her throat as she fights back the tears. "I hope I make you proud--"

"You already do." Dr. Ramirez gently touches Margot's cheek lovingly before turning to exit the room.

"Oh!" Margot quickly chases after the obstetrician, “can I talk to you? Privately?” With a nod, Dr. Ramirez leads Margot into a quiet corner. “I know my work-study ends in two weeks--”

“I know. Don’t remind me, Margot--”

“Well, I was wondering,” Margot chews on the side of her mouth, fidgeting with her fingers, “if by any chance I could possibly stay on?”

“Oh, Margot, I wish I could. Unfortunately with budget cuts--”

Margot shakes her head. “No, no, Dr. Ramirez, I meant if I could stay on, shadowing my usual Monday and Thursday mornings, I mean, if that’s alright. Learn more? Keep up my skills?”

“You want to continue volunteering with us?” The doctor gives an inquisitive look. “Don’t you want to get a job to earn money before you move to the states next year?”

“I already got that covered,” Margot assuredly answers. “I just got a job at Bríki, the coffee shop past the square--”

“Oh my gosh,” Dr. Ramirez’s eyes light up. “Does Aleksi still own that place?”

“Mr. Pavlis? Yes! Him and his son run it together, I believe--”

“They have the best coffee,” she energetically smiles, “now I have another reason to stop by.” She kindly places her hand on Margot’s shoulder. “Of course, you can stay on as a volunteer. Whenever you want, however much you want. It is a pleasure to have you around.” With a squeeze of her arm, Dr. Ramirez turns to go to her next appointment, but stops halfway down the hall. “Oh, Margot? My nurse stepped away to make an important phone call. Do you mind escorting my next patient to the exam room?”

Margot dutifully nods with a grin. She twirls around, bounding for the front desk to grab the chart of Dr. Ramirez’s next patient, a new patient. After making a few small notes, Margot opens the door to call her back.

“Brooks? Riley Brooks?”

*****

Tags: (this is my original tag list for this series; if you wanted to be added or removed, please let me know!) @alyssalauren @ao719 @bbrandy2002 @burnsoslow @charlotteg234 @chemist-ana @choiceskatie @forallthatitsworth @gkittylove99 @glaimtruelovealways @kat-tia801 @khoicesbyk @lovingchoices14 @lovelyladyk88 @lucy-268 @mainstreetreader @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @neotericthemis @nestledonthaveone @sfb123 @shannonwrote @shewillreadyou @sweatyrysconnoisseur @taniasethi @tessa-liam @texaskitten30 @thefrenchiemama @thegreentwin @twinkleallnight @yourmajesty09

#the royal romance #the royal romance au #the missionary’s daughter #drake walker x oc #choices fanfiction #trr fanfiction #liam x riley

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pink-flame · 3 years

Text

Lucky it Was Hotdogs

So! This is my gift for the @jatp-gift-exchange celebrating 6 months since the show came out. I just so happened to be assigned my friend @tmp-jatp as my giftee. Which is awesome because she’s awesome. She asked for angst and my first thought was my reputation is just going to get worse. 😂 And then I started writing, started over, changed to a different prompt two more times...had a few breakdowns but here we are! Basically all of my friends had to hear about my spiral the last couple of days so thank you and my apologies. 🙏

T, I hope you like it! 💜💜💜

In some ways Luke thinks that it’s lucky it was hot dogs.

Of course, if he had been asked to choose a way to go back in 95 he probably would have said old and in his sleep. Or maybe he would have been a smart ass and said jumping the grand canyon on a motorcycle or playing an epic show in bad weather and having some sort of electrical incident (Reggie wasn’t the only one who had been involved in that amp incident not that he was in a hurry to tell Alex that). Contaminated hot dogs in an alley on the night of their big break probably wouldn’t have occurred to him and it definitely wouldn’t have cracked the top ten list of his requests.

But now that he’s in the future, with his band and with Julie and with their dreams once again a real possibility...he thinks the hot dogs would have been the right choice.

The truth is it doesn’t matter how tragic it is that three kids had their lives cut short at the same time it’s always going to be at least a little bit funny that they went from death by hot dog. It lets him use the tragedy as a means of teasing Julie as she bites into her sandwich and it lets Willie give Alex an affectionate nickname that’s only a little in bad taste. It lets Reggie hover behind Ray when Julie’s dad gets the grill out and clutch his stomach dramatically in a reenactment for his friends amusement. It lets Julie look at Luke like the fact that he is a ghost is mildly exasperating but not inherently upsetting, not like it would be if he was a walking reminder of a car accident or the cancer that took her mom.

So yeah, it’s lucky it was hot dogs.

Except...sometimes Luke wishes that it wasn't.

Sometimes he wishes that he had died from an illness or an accident or anything that would prompt someone to look at him and ask if he wanted to talk about it. Because...he does. Just sometimes. Wants to talk about how much it hurt. Wants to talk about how scared he was. Wants to talk about how even though being able to make music still (being able to make music with Julie) matters most it does bother him.

It bothers him that Julie is the only lifer he can touch (even though she would clearly be his first choice).

It bothers him that he fades into non-existence as soon as they stop playing.

It bothers him that he can’t even thank Julie’s dad for hosting their garage gig or show her brother that he’s holding it all wrong when he catches him strumming lightly on Luke’s guitar one day.

It bothers him that he won’t ever be anything other than what he is, a teenager with a guitar and a longstanding suspicion about the consequences of wearing sleeves while performing.

It bothers him that Julie will always be what she is now (an amazing teenage girl with a wrecking ball voice and a heart big enough to keep them with her through sheer force of will) but she will also become so much more.

An adult.

Someone with a job and a family and…

He can’t think about it.

Except he does.

Not all the time but often enough, especially at night when Alex is off with Willie and Reggie is watching tv with an unsuspecting Ray and Luke is wishing more than anything that he could find the escape of sleep.

So usually he ends up writing when he feels like this, seeking out the familiar sensation of pen flying over paper, words tumbling from the deepest recesses of his mind to collect into the shape of a song.

I know I’m being selfish

But feeling alive isn’t being alive

Feeling you breathe isn’t breathing

I just want this feeling forever

Instead I count every moment I’m stealing

“Why are you writing in the dark?” Julie’s amused voice cuts through the silence causing him to jump, a remnant of a time when he had anything to fear other than his own uncertain future.

He’s not sure if it’s a ghostly superpower or just the fact that he had been peering at his notebook from only about an inch away but it’s true, he hadn’t bothered to turn the light on and he saw it just fine.

The dark felt more appropriate somehow when he felt like this anyway.

She flips on the light and crosses the room to sink down beside him where he’s spread out on the floor. He’s so distracted for a moment by just how Julie she always manages to be (beautiful and amazing and distracting in the best way) that he doesn’t realize that she’s reaching for his notebook until it’s too late. He tries to snatch it back fruitlessly as she turns her eyes to the words he has scrawled across the page. He hopes momentarily that she won’t be able to make out his infamously illegible handwriting but his hopes are dashed when she reads out the last few lines in a thoughtful tone. He has a brief flash of affection at the realization that she must be his soulmate if she can read his handwriting.

He’s distracted from that thought though when he sees the smile slide off of her face only to be replaced with a tight frown before she turns to face him, concern shining in her eyes.

“I’m fine,” He says quickly, hoping to prevent any of his dark mood from seeping into the girl beside him.

The girl who has already known enough darkness for a lifetime.

“Every moment you’re stealing?” She quotes back to him, setting the notebook carefully back on the floor. “That doesn’t sound fine.”

He considers brushing off her concern, playing it off, claiming he’s not even writing from his own perspective anyway, that he doesn’t know where the idea came from.

He can do that because he may be dead but the culprit was hot dogs and that gives him an out to make a dumb joke and change the subject and keep things the way they are now.

And if it was anyone else he would have. But it’s Julie. And he’s Luke.

She can read his handwriting.

And she can read him too.

If he lets her.

“You know how you said your dad made you talk to someone after your mom died?”

She tilts her head, clearly not expecting this question. She answers it anyway.

“Dr. Turner,” She nods. “Three times a week for a while.”

“Did it uh…” Luke swallows hard, his throat suddenly impossibly dry considering he was pretty sure he wasn’t actually producing spit anymore period. “Did it help?”

Julie’s hand twitches in her lap and he can tell she is deciding whether she should touch him. He reaches out to toy with the frayed edge of her jeans where they burst open at the knee. The answer to whether Julie should be touching him is always a resounding yes in his opinion but he also wants to let her come to him. It hasn’t been that long since they’ve even been able to touch each other and despite how much they crave it there’s a lingering awkwardness after all the build up.

“Talking to someone?” She asks carefully. “Yeah, it did. After a while I felt like I needed space to sort through things on my own but by then I was able to talk with my dad and Flynn too.”

He nods, keeps his eyes firmly on the hole in her jeans.

“Luke…”

Damn.

He has to look at her when she says his name like that.

He raises his eyes slowly, meeting her soft ones with nerves he can’t quite place.

“You know you can talk to me, right? Always.”

Her question is so small and yet so big at the same time. Such a simple offer containing such a big promise.

Always.

Wasn’t that the problem?

His always might not line up with hers.

He could forget that fact for a bit when the band was hanging out and laughing over nothing or rocking a crowd’s face’s off or when Julie was smiling in that certain Julie way that seemed reserved only for him.

But he couldn’t forget forever.

And he couldn’t promise always.

So where did that leave him?

“Luke?”

She breaks him from his thoughts again and he pushes past his caution this time, reaching out to link her hand with his, their fingers slotting together effortlessly despite the way one of them isn’t really there.

He isn’t really there.

Is he...real?

Luke suddenly feels a strange rush of panic, all of the thoughts he’s been pushing aside for months crashing through him at once.

He must have squeezed Julie’s hand inadvertently because he sees her flinch.

“Sorry, sorry,” He says breathlessly (not that he needs to breathe, he’s breathless, literally, he’s dead), drawing her hand up to press an apology against the skin there, his lips lingering for a long moment before he pulls away.

She’s not unaffected by his sudden actions, the way her eyes widen for a fraction of a second is proof enough of that, but she’s also determined and she doesn’t let him off the hook.

“Talk to me, Luke,” She says like an order and a request and a prayer all at once.

And he can’t deny her anything.

Not even this.

“I’m fine, I am...it’s just...I’m so happy that we ended up here with you Julie no matter what. I need you to know that ok? I just..I don’t...I don’t want…”

She waits as long as she can for him to finish that sentence but when he doesn’t seem prepared to, she leans closer, squeezes his hand, gives him that last push off the cliff he’s been teetering on the edge of for months.

“Don’t want what?”

“Don’t want to be dead.”

The words escape him in a hurried rush, one blending into another until it sounds like one long syllable of pain rather than a proper sentence. Still. He’s pretty sure the message got through.

“I know,” She says simply, her eyes sad but her touch impossibly gentle as her free hand comes up to cup his cheek. “I know, Luke, I know.”

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until she’s brushing his tears away with the delicate tips of her fingers.

And maybe he is real, at least a little bit if his eyes can still muster up the ability to leak like this and damn it why is that what he’s thinking about right now when the girl, the living girl, he loves is waiting for him to say something.

He wants to think of the perfect thing but what ends up coming out leaves a lot to be desired.

“Julie...I love making music with you. I love y...I love being in your life. But I’m dead. And maybe...maybe it would be better…”

“No,” She cuts him off firmly, gripping his chin lightly to turn his face more fully towards hers. “Whatever you think you’re about to say, the answer is no.”

“Julie…” He tries again.

She’s already shaking her head.

“I don’t care if you’re about to suggest some noble sacrifice or push me away or blame yourself for something...just...don’t.”

Any protest he has prepared dies on his lips, the slightest quirk of a smile taking their place even as a few stray tears make their way down his face.

“Ok,” He agrees simply.

Julie brings her other hand down to grip his knee as though she’s trying to keep him with her by anchoring him physically, making him part of her, making him real.

And that’s that.

It takes time.

A hundred aborted conversations with half confessions and unspoken requests for comfort and love freely given if not freely spoken.

But eventually he gets used to talking to Julie the same way he got used to writing with Julie and singing with Julie and falling in love with Julie.

So steadily he doesn’t feel the progress until one day he looks up and there’s no going back, not that he would ever want to.

He’s dead.

He can’t get around that.

He ate some bad hot dogs, and that will always be a little bit funny. It’s also sad and scary and tragic.

He’s dead.

But he’s also so alive.

He can’t promise always but he can promise as long as I’m here.

And he does.

Over and over and over again.

#JATP gift exchange #juke #jatp #my fics

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bbangsoonie · 3 years

Text

one more minute

member: sangyeon genre: angst word count: 2,487 synopsis: survival of the fittest is the reigning rule of nature. so when a zombie apocalypse breaks out, you don’t have much hope but sangyeon is set on keeping you safe. warning(s): death

When the apocalypse first broke out, you lost all hope and will. With your physical condition, you knew you wouldn’t be able to last long. And quite frankly, you didn’t want to.

Your chances of survival were low. Your asthma and lack of athleticism didn’t give you a good hand. And on top of that, you weren’t sure if you wanted to survive if it meant being unable to live.

What were you fighting so hard for? To merely stay alive in the midst of chaos?

But Sangyeon refused to let you give up. He claimed responsibility for your life and pushed you to fight. You two banded together with a group of other survivors. And for a while, you created a system that worked. The thirteen of you managed well by relying on each other.

Until you lost Hyunjoon.

Then the group was shaken to the core. Fear kept you all locked up in an abandoned warehouse. And inevitably, food and supplies began to run low. Including necessary medical supplies.

You always felt bad about having to risk everyone’s lives to raid hospitals. You knew that your existence was more of a burden than of help. You couldn’t contribute much but required a lot of things. Honestly, you were tired of it as well. But you were too ashamed to tell that to Sangyeon, who had given his very best into keeping you alive.

After another asthma attack, you were laying on a makeshift bed with your hand tightly wrapped around the last inhaler. And as always, Sangyeon remained by your side.

Meanwhile, Jaehyun, Juyeon, and Kevin had returned empty handed. Their search for food had been futile and only ended up with Kevin sustaining an injury. You watched as Jacob tended to his wounds and Changmin rationed the remaining cans of food.

“This world has gone to hell,” your breath rasped in your throat.

“Hey, it’s not completely unbearable. We still have each other,” Sangyeon forced a smile.

You and Sangyeon had grown up as childhood friends. Of course, you were no longer just friends anymore. Yet, you also weren’t anything more. You couldn’t afford the luxury of dating in the middle of a zombie apocalypse. You were too busy meeting basic needs to pursue a romantic relationship.

The love between you two remained unspoken but you both knew each other’s feelings. It was why you continued to live in such a shitty world. Sangyeon was quite literally the reason you were alive. Without him, you would have died long ago.

But you had a feeling you wouldn’t be able to last much longer. At least, not without obtaining more inhalers.

“How are you holding up, Y/n?” Haknyeon asked.

You weakly offered a thumbs up in response. He understood the true meaning behind your answer.

Chanhee was discussing logistics with Younghoon, who was quietly nodding his head as he listened. Seeing Sunwoo and Eric having a serious conversation brought you a sense of pity. Hyunjoon’s death had stripped them of the last sliver of joy that they had left.

Sangyeon, who had been observing your features, brushed a stray strand of hair away from your face. At his touch, your attention returned to him.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you more medicine,” he reassured.

“I want to go alone this time,” you hesitantly stated.

His expression immediately hardened as he quickly rejected your idea. Not wanting to hear more, he stood up to leave but you caught a hold of his wrist.

“I can’t keep placing you guys in danger for me. It’s time I pull my own weight,” you insisted.

“Then I’ll go with you,” he said.

You knew he wouldn’t back down. So with a sigh, you meekly nodded.

When Sangyeon brought up the proposal to the group, Jacob instantly shook his head. He asserted that it was way too risky. The group had always traveled outside in trios, minimum.

But you held your ground, even after Jaehyun offered to go as well. Unable to win over your stubbornness, the group reluctantly agreed to let you and Sangyeon go by yourselves.

When the morning came, you awoke to Chanhee packing you a backpack full of emergency tools. He had tried to stay aloof during his time with the group but you could tell that he had grown fond of everyone. He didn’t show it but Hyunjoon’s death had impacted him a lot.

“You have to return. No matter what. You must come back unharmed,” he demanded as he handed you the bag.

You surprised him with a hug. It took him a second to register what was going on before he slowly patted your back.

“Thanks for everything, Chanhee,” you smiled.

“Don’t say that. It sounds like a good-bye,” he frowned. “You can thank me later.”

Chuckling, you nodded as you slung the bag around your shoulders. You said your farewells to the rest of the members, promising to come back by the evening. Eric, as always, teared up watching people walk past the doors of safety.

You and Sangyeon stepped into the pending hands of doom, unaware that it would be the last time walking down these flight of stairs for one of you.

Sangyeon’s hand tightly held yours as you two navigated your way to the hospital. Luckily, the trip there was rather uneventful. The streets of Seoul were eerily quiet. You could barely remember what the booming city used to look like.

Once you got to the hospital, you snuck past roaming zombies in the hallways to quietly reach the supply room. Carefully closing and locking the door behind you, you let out a sigh of relief.

You began to grab bottles of whatever medicine there was and stuffed them into your backpack while Sangyeon searched for inhalers. Unfortunately, there were only a couple left in stock. A wave of disappointment and stress washed over him.

Peeking at his troubled expression, you tried to show him the bright side. You now had a bunch of disinfectants and pain killers.

At that moment, a crash was heard outside. You clung onto Sangyeon’s shirt and your eyes widened in shock. He held a finger up to his lips, signaling for you to stay silent as he tried to hear what was going on beyond the door.

“Bomin!” a female voice shrieked before another crash was heard.

Then you heard it. The crowd of growling zombies rushing towards whoever was outside. Your heart pounded fiercely against your chest as they struggled to fight off the monsters. And then broke when human voices were no longer heard.

When you and Sangyeon didn’t arrive by nightfall, Sunwoo couldn’t help but assume the worst.

“You don’t think something went wrong, do you?” he nervously bit his lip in concern.

“No. There must have been a slight delay. They’ll be back tomorrow,” Younghoon gulped. His words were more to convince himself rather than Sunwoo.

“Let’s trust them and wait,” Juyeon said, comforting Eric.

Meanwhile, you were stuck inside the supply room. Leaving was no longer a feasible option with the hoard of zombies outside the door. So you spent the night there, sleeping next to Sangyeon to stay warm.

When you woke up, you knew that you couldn’t hide forever. If you didn’t die outside, you would die of starvation inside.

After coming up with a strategy, you and Sangyeon prepared to escape. You waited until most of the groaning sounds faded further away to slowly open the door and check your surroundings. To your relief, there were only a few of the creatures nearby.

Sangyeon’s heart sank at the sight of blood on the floor. It hadn’t been there the day before.

Quietly, the two of you crept towards the emergency staircase. As you went down a few floors, you relaxed, thinking that you were now safe.

It turned out that it was too early to let your guard down.

Right before you got to the basement parking lot, you heard a familiar noise that sent chills down your spine. You didn’t have time to warn Sangyeon before a zombie jumped on him. He fought with all his strength but the surprise attack had caught him off guard. He was struggling to stop it from tearing him apart.

Without thinking, you flung forward to shove it off of him. The action prompted the zombie to focus on you instead. You yelped as you were thrown to the ground and panicked as you tried to avoid its aggressive mouth.

In unlucky timing, you felt a sharp pain in your lungs.

“Oh no,” you thought. You couldn’t be having another asthma attack. Not now. Not when you were already on the brink of death.

That brief moment of weakness was enough for the zombie to gain an advantage. You screamed in pain when you felt another sharp pain. This time, it was on your arm.

Sangyeon barely managed to kill the zombie by bashing its head into the wall. Your hands shook as you desperately rummaged through your bag to find an inhaler. By the time you sprayed the drug, Sangyeon rushed to your side.

In a hurry, you tugged your sleeves to cover the bite mark. He helped you sit up as he made sure you were okay.

“Y/n, are you crazy? What were you thinking?” he yelled.

“You’re safe. That’s all that matters,” you weakly smiled. You tried your best to act fine but your mind was occupied with the pain from your arm.

You leaned on him as you entered the empty parking lot. Finding refuge in an unlocked car, Sangyeon urged you to rest for a few hours before making your way back home.

Home. What a funny word.

In the span of a year, a rundown warehouse had turned into your home. And before you knew it, a group of strangers had become your new family.

Your head was already starting to blur. Flashes of memories flooded your thoughts.

Sangyeon, your best friend. Your could’ve-been, should’ve-been, would’ve-been lover. You still vividly remembered the day he pounded on your door after the mayhem first broke out. Since then, he had been your survival partner. Even throughout all the turmoil, he always brought you a small gift from every outing. In the spring, it was a flower. In the fall, it was a cookie he managed to find.

Jacob, the angel. He was a breath of fresh air in a society where people’s hearts had turned stone cold. He had been the one to gather the survivors together.

Younghoon, the quiet one who took care of people behind the scenes. Like Chanhee, he seemed distant at first. But he was just shy and clumsy at expressing himself.

Jaehyun, the fighter. He was the first to volunteer for any task. He always burdened himself with the responsibility of keeping everyone out of harm’s way.

Juyeon, the one everyone relied on emotionally. He could sense when you were down and brought it upon himself to cheer you up.

Kevin, the selfless one. He prioritized others’ needs before his own. He had trained extra hard to become one of the strongest members.

Chanhee, the secretly soft-hearted one. Your last memory of him handing you the backpack brought a small smile to your lips.

Changmin, the level-headed one who turned into an innocent child when hanging out with the younger members.

Haknyeon, the goofy one who had matured way too early. Despite his young age, he was skilled and dependable.

Sunwoo, the one whose heart was too pure for this world. You hated to see the light in his eyes slowly fade throughout the months.

Eric, the moodmaker who received so much love from everyone. He truly cared for each and every member and never lost touch with his humanity.

And lastly, Hyunjoon. The one who had departed from the world too soon. He had so many unfulfilled dreams and you missed his bright smile.

By the time you regained consciousness, Sangyeon had fallen asleep next to you. You shakily took a breath as you examined the wound on your arm. You knew you didn’t have much time left.

You glanced over at his sleeping face. He seemed at peace. Wanting this to be your last memory, you spent some time watching his chest slowly rise and fall in rhythm. You endured the growing pain as you prayed for just one more minute with him. Just one more second.

Eventually, it became too hard to hold back the groans that fought to escape your throat. You dug into your bag to find the gun meant to be used as a last option. Your grip on the weapon tightened as you trudged away from the car.

Before you got too far, however, Sangyeon stirred from the sounds. Alarmed by your sudden disappearance, he quickly exited the vehicle to see you with a firearm.

“Y/n,” his voice held so much fear. You didn’t have the confidence to face him.

“It’s too late,” you choked.

It was only then that he finally noticed the blood dripping from your arm. He felt his world crumble down as you started to convulse.

“It’s okay,” he said as he approached you. “I’ll still take care of you. I’ll make sure that no one hurts you and that you won’t hurt anyone either.”

“I don’t want to become one of them. You know I’d rather die than become something that’s stuck between life and death. Something that threatens your life,” you cried.

“But I can’t let you die!” he yelled.

“It’s time to let me go, Sangyeon,” you begged as a tear rolled down your cheek.

“Y/n, look at me. Please,” he pleaded.

You didn’t want him to see you like this. But you didn’t have a choice when he tugged at your sleeve to make you turn around. Your skin was already beginning to discolor and he knew what was coming.

Full of desperation, he pulled you in for a hug. One arm clung onto your torso as the other embraced your head. He sobbed into your neck, making you weep as well.

“I lived a lot longer than I should have,” you assured.

“24 years is not long at all,” his voice cracked.

Wanting to spare him from having to shoot you himself, you slowly detached yourself from him. You had to do it yourself soon.

“Take the bag and go back to the others,” you sadly smiled.

“I can’t leave without you,” he cried. But he knew he had to.

You told him to close his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see your end. With your vision clouding more and more, you stumbled away from him and hid behind a van. You fell to the ground and your hands trembled as they brought the gun to your head.

“I love you, Lee Sangyeon,” you whispered before pulling the trigger.

a/n: heavily inspired by the character park yoori from sweet home and golden child’s “burn it” music video

#deobiwritersnet #the boyz angst #tbz angst #sangyeon angst #the boyz sangyeon angst #the boyz #tbz #sangyeon #the boyz sangyeon #the boyz fic #tbz fic #sangyeon fic #the boyz scenarios #tbz scenarios #sangyeon scenarios #the boyz imagines #tbz imagines #sangyeon imagines

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octania · 4 years

Text

Midnight stalker ( Dabi x Reader NSFW 18+)

Dabi x Reader

Warnings: Stalking, yandere, death (not Dabis nor readers), smut, NSFW.

Word count: 3300

Short description: A lot of scary things lurks in the dark, but when two blue electric eyes stick to you and don't let go, you'll see what the face of a villain who has a very specific way of showing his feelings looks like.

PART 2 - MIDNIGHT HUNTER

_____________________________________________________________

"I have no useless feelings." - That's impossible. He would repeat those words to himself over and over again, but the only thing that’s useless in the end are exactly those words. He does not understand what's going on. And lack of knowledge is one of the first things that makes him angry. At one point, as he was following you as some kind of maniac for the fourth night in a row, hiding behind every wall bathed in darkness, he tried to convince himself that what was happening must be the result of your quirk. Yes, that is the only explanation. You know he's there and you bewitched him to follow you like a sad puppy.

"I am going fucking insane here." He cursed under his breath, rubbing his eyelids. Of course this was not the result of your quirk, you had no idea he was following your every step for days, you lived your most normal life, and despite everything, he saw you using your quirk on a third day of his mission, and it had nothing to do with what he had just claimed.

He noticed you quite by accident. Damn that moment. He was walking down a dilapidated neighborhood in the middle of the night, minding his own business, when he heard a gentle female whisper from the corner of the street. Such a sweet sound was not at all characteristic for the place where he was, in fact, the only thing that could be heard from the corners of these streets was the screaming, swearing or unrestrained moaning of the lady of the night, not a gentle whisper. The devil did not give him peace, he had to see what was happening. When he leaned behind the wall of the building in the dark, all the filth of this place was gone. He had an eye for beautiful women, but none of them made him look at their faces longer than a few seconds before his gaze continued to their enticing curves. You knelt beside a pile of cluttered boxes, touching something small and fragile between them. A puppy. You stroked his soft head, whispering that everything would be fine and that he was safe now.

He became a part of the shadows on the street, he managed to blend smoothly with each one as he followed you for the first time. You carried the puppy on your chest, not even looking back at the potential dangers of the neighborhood you wandered into. But the truth is, there was no real danger, not while Dabi was following you. He wasn't even aware that he would defend you to the last spark of his flame if something went wrong, and he didn't even know you.

You were more than ... interesting to him. Yes, that was the word he decided to use. Everything he saw in life was gray and suddenly he discovered color. He had to see what the difference was, why his interest was growing. Fast enough, you got to your house. He stored the place, the street number, and the exterior of the house in his mental map, not even knowing that the place would become his obsession.

That night he slept worse than usual. He rolled around on the rough sheets of his bed, trying to fall asleep and have a nightmare, what he used to do. But instead of the bloodthirsty scenes of his reality, before his eyes was an act of kindness and tenderness, a scene of you rescuing a puppy. It made him angry ... no, it made him furious.

"Tch ... damn it." He sat up, running his fingers through his charcoal-colored hair. It didn't take him long to open his eyes completely and jump off the bed, grabbing his dark blue hoodie, pulling it over his naked muscular body and diving into the cold night.

He is in front of your house. He stands helplessly staring at the window. His eyes are half closed, but not from being tired. Fearful thoughts run through his head. "Damn bitch ..." - he wanted to hate you, he had to. People like Dabi, if only a little attempt is made to scratch the surface of their feelings, they defend themselves with hatred and denial because it is a place they never go into, because through life, they have learned that feelings bring nothing but pain and despair. So they decided to lock them up. Bury, hide, deny, and eventually destroy ... prevent them from surfacing, as was the case with Dabi.

He is in front of your window. He is looking at you. He found where your bedroom is. He watches you as you sleep. His electric blue eyes stare at you like a target. "You don't deserve to sleep so carefree ..." His intention was to finish you off at that point. Delete this irregularity. His hand was already bathed in blue flames, ready to obey his orders.

The light woke you up, disturbed your sleep. You opened your eyes, but there was nothing but darkness around you. You would swear the light woke you up. You laughed at yourself. Those crazy dreams. You rubbed your eyelids, which were still closing from the weight of sleep. You glanced at the clock on the wall. 02:45, that was the time the hands were pointing. Back to sleep, a simple decision. You turned on your side, your back was facing the window, but before you sank back into sleep, you turned once more to check on what your new hairy friend you had rescued from the street that night was doing. "That is odd ..." the little puppy sat on the edge of the bed, wagging his tail and looking out the window.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! What the fuck?!" - He banged madly against the wall of abandoned building back in his neighborhood. A gang of villains who decided to lurk innocent victims there that night fled like insects seeing a furious Dabi approaching, bathed in his own flames head to toe. As soon as his fist slammed into the bricks of the wall for the first time, they disappeared with their tail between their legs. "Why did you have to look at me ... why ..." - you didn't even know that you looked him directly in the eye and that was what saved you. If you only woke up a few seconds later, you would never wake up again. He wanted to set you on fire and the place where you lived, to erase you as if you didn't even exist. But then your gaze caught his and a Pandora's box opened in his chest that he so desperately wanted to leave sealed. The kindness and tenderness your eyes carried seemed to shed light on his inner darkness. You froze him, a funny thing for someone bathed in flames. He escaped from there like those thieves from this building just now. Dabi doesn't run away. Dabi never runs away and does not dodge an opponent. He stopped hitting and sat down on the cold concrete. He leaned his head against the wall, his eyes searching for the large yellow moon that sat on the dark clouds. "Yeah ... that's exactly how you are." - in the monotonous darkness of his life, now something bright and big emerged, throwing its light on the shadows he kept inside. He compared you to the moon once more, this time again with a taste of hatred in his mouth. "That's it ... you are exactly like this, a big fucking irregularity."

At first he didn't want to go back, but he had to. He literally had to. His body ached from the mental prohibition he issued to himself. As a drug addict, he was drawn to another hit. He justified his action quickly enough, convincing himself that he wanted to check if this was all one big misunderstanding he had with himself. That he drank a few extra drops of alcohol yesterday before he started following you. Anger piled up in his chest as he realized he was lying to himself. He drank only one whiskey, nothing compared to what he normally drank. Before he could muster more hatred directed at you, he had already came close to your house. The interior was lit. She is home. The thought of you breathing only a hundred yards away from him lifted the hair on his head. He needed to stop those breaths, because that would surely stop his dilemma. He decided to put an end to this circus once again. On his burned neck, the culprits for that catastrophe were climbing on it again. A blue flame hugged him around the neck. As it appeared, so it withdrew, quenching his anger as if it had never been there.

You came out with a cheerful smile. Playfully jumped over the new leash you bought for your furry friend. You went for your first late-night walk together. You and ... a pair of bright eyes lurking in the dark.

When he saw you, he felt like a match whose flame was put out with the weakest exhalation. That smile again. A smile that drew everyone to itself with its angelic vibe. Everything, even the dark and opposite of the angelic, Dabi. He has decided not to think about what he is doing, again patiently following you and watching from a safe distance. He realized that any attempt to explain or draw a conclusion resulted in his anger, and now he was rather tired of it. He could tell he was feeling defeated, not only because he failed to attack you, but because Pandora's box was now throwing its chains of dominance. He won't admit it, ever. He didn't even realize how hard it would be for him to deny it.

You came to the lake, after running and jumping with your puppy, you decided to sit on a bench and enjoy the murmur of the water. You tilted your head, removing the rubber band from your hair and loosening your ponytail. You inhaled a fresh breeze as it caressed your cheeks. Until your puppy suddenly jumped. He barked, wagging his tail merrily, looking toward the corner of the street. "What is it boy?" - you have to admit, you were lightly concerned. You haven’t seen anyone, and your friend apparently still feels someone. Although crime was not at a high rate in this part of the city, you were not far from the part where it was. You were far from an ordinary frightened girl, you knew how to defend yourself, you were brave, but you didn't ask for trouble if it wasn't necessary. You decided to head back home. Getting up, you picked up the puppy and headed the other way home. You checked behind you few times, but there was no one. Although, the feeling of someone watching you was not lost.

Damn traitor... he slipped away at the last moment before you saw him. This clumsy hiding was not in his style. He was usually pretty good at it, it was a part of his job, to go unnoticed. However, the others didn't have a curious dog sniffing you out from five blocks away. And after all ... he can only blame you for his slow reaction. Watching curls of hair falling over your bare shoulders that looked silky to the touch and your lovely face enjoying the breeze ... he swallowed more than once, fascinated by your every move. For the first time, he decided not to whip himself because of his weakness, but the desire to punish you for bringing him into a situation like this was growing.

The days went by and his night occupation did not change. Due to his absence from duty, he had a clash with other members of the LOV. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t do his part of the job. He forgot his responsibilities, following you instead. He remembers exactly what he learned about you that night when he was supposed to work. You like lollipops. You like lollipops a little too much. Of all the things you carried in those grocery bags on your way back from the store, lollipops of different fruit flavors took up most of the space. Hell, not only did you take them home but you ate three pieces on your way there. First you lick them a couple of times, traveling with your tongue around the round candy, then you put the whole thing in your mouth, sucking greedily. That evening he stopped a few blocks before your house, turned, went to the park, went behind a large tree whose century-old trunk could hide three adults, and helped himself. The way you swirled your tongue around that candy drove all the blood into his lower body. His dick was hard in a second. He saw you on your knees in front of him, first crossing over your full lips with his tip. How he pulls you by the hair as he fills your throat to the point where you can’t breathe. How he decides when you will get oxygen. How obediently you give him pleasure by sucking his dick juicier than you did a lollipop. How he touches your lips with his thumb while you still receive it in your mouth. Scenes popped before his eyes, while he jerked his rock hard cock. He growled under his breath, feeling that he will reach the climax soon. He would make you swallow every drop, and only after he was sure you were an obedient little girl would he let you inhale when he took it out of your mouth. He came on a dry tree trunk. What a pity, it could all be in your mouth.

Who ... the fuck ... is..he ...- he saw red in front of his eyes. His blood was boiling and his hands were shaking when he saw you walking your dog with someone. That someone was a guy. You talked and laughed, walking pretty close to each other. When the damn idiot brushed his shoulder against yours, Dabi could clearly see how he is tearing that limb off that morons body. Up to this point your smile had been creating a warm feeling in his chest that wasn’t there because of his fiery power, but now he felt disgusted every time you laughed. Repulsive, the only word that could describe the scene in front of his eyes. Something so disgusting must not happen again, there are already enough disgusting things in this world.

You and your friend parted quite far from your houses. He has been around for over a year, trying to get out of the friend zone you have putted him in from the moment you met. Before he left, he hugged you. You carefully returned the hug, not wanting to give him false hopes. You patted him on the back and walked away slowly, shouting “See ya’!” to him. You should have said goodbye, because you'll never see him again.

Never before had he been so happy to take someone’s life as now, and the list of people he hated was long. However, this transcended hatred. He fed the horror in his eyes as he burned him slowly, so slowly that the unfortunate young man lost consciousness a couple of times from the pain and agony. But Dabi did not give him the satisfaction of dying in ignorance. He would punch him in the face, welcoming him back with his crazy smile every time. He wanted him to feel what he felt when he saw you two together. He wanted him to spend his last moments in hell and be fully aware of it. He burned him layer by layer, first the outer layer of skin, in order him to be alive for as long as possible. As he began to burn his inner organs, soon after the soul of his victim left the mutilated body. He threw it in the dumpster, like garbage that belongs there, and went looking for you.

You loved the night. You were always attracted to the mystical, the mystery of darkness and what is in it intoxicates your desires. Although you are a good person, you had a taste for dark things. Maybe you didn’t show that side of you so much in front of others, and because of it you had to endure endless efforts of the goodies just like your friend, who wanted you to share the softness of romance with them, but that wasn’t enough for you. You used to not even know what you wanted. Your thinking was interrupted by an instinctive sense of danger. You couldn't even turn around to check what was behind you when your eyes were covered by complete darkness. The pressure on your eyelids made your head hurt. A rough palm gripped you mercilessly, and before you tried to defend yourself with your hands, like handcuffs another hand wrapped itself around your wrist. An unknown person pushed you against the wall, squeezing you with his weight. He was strong, he squeezed the air out of your lungs with his pressure. Before you could speak, you felt a breath on your cheek.

„Make even a sound and I will bite that lips off your pretty doll face.“ Observation alone was no longer an option. After feeding the need to destroy what approached something that was his, he had to feed another need. He had to taste you. He had to know what the poison tasted like. You disrupted his way of life even without knowing he exists, you can’t do anything more when you finally feel his presence. At least he thought so. He forgot that like any addict, overdose is an option. He felt its sting the moment he pressed his lips violently to yours. With his lips he savagely parted yours, his tongue searching for yours, absorbing your taste and the sobs that came from your throat. The surface of his tongue traveled along yours. The longer he greedily kissed you, the worse the need to continue was. He kept your eyes still covered, fighting the urge to grab you by the jaw and let go of your arms just to turn you over and lift you up against the wall as he lit your clothes. But his need to absorb you was stronger than his sexual desire. Pandora's box was now bursting, releasing the thoughts and feelings that haunted him like devils, and the fact that you didn't return the kiss voluntarily gave birth to more anger in him. He moved his head away from yours, breathing hard.

"If you don't want to become a living torch, you better not turn around." You could feel the pressure on your body being released, your hands free again, and the other person's sense of presence fading a bit. You stood in shock, eyes closed. Of all the fears and horrors you have imagined when he first grabbed you, this was the last thing you thought would happen. That he will force you to kiss him and then disappear. I must not turn around, I must not ... the curiosity and fearlessness that were your most pronounced traits made your head turn and your eyes absorbed the sight of the person who attacked you. You saw his strong broad shoulders getting more and more away... you shuddered when you saw the scars on his arms and neck ... the black pointy hair... The last thing you saw was exactly what you shouldn't have seen, the look of blue eclectic eyes disappearing around the corner of the building into the night.

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morgana-ren · 4 years

Text

Come Down to the Black Sea III

Summary: The sea seems to call to you, but it’s not the tumultuous clash of the waves you should fear. Something lurks deep beneath the black waters, something sinister with a piqued interest and ill intent.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Siren!Shigaraki, graphic depictions of violence, heavy sexual innuendo, implied noncon, foul language, sexual tension you can cut with a knife, and just general sexual grossness. Joking daddy kink also, if you count that.

PART I, PART II

Here you go! The third installment. Your seafaring friend finds your hot button and decides to plant some lovely ideas in your brain. Listening to them probably is not the smartest idea in regards to keeping your heart beating, but it certainly gets your thighs clenching.

Taglist: @lemonzoey, @babayaga67

You know, it's really rough to explain to your superiors at work why you're so distracted when it happens to be because a mythical being is giving you the cold shoulder.

You’re not entirely certain why it bothers you so much that your last encounter with him ended rather sour. He had made it perfectly plain from the get-go that his intent with you was far from pure. Murderous, in fact. He had almost drowned you on your first meeting and insulted you incessantly during your second. Not exactly a friendly track record.

Regardless, he’s made a permanent home crawling beneath your human skin, like some itch you can’t scratch away. You can try to justify it however you’d like, but you can’t ignore the truth. In a word full of mundane existence, you’ve found an oddity and as much as you’d like to pretend you aren’t, you’re drawn to it. It’s part of why you returned to the beach despite the clear and present danger. You’d found a living, breathing mermaid. Even more impressive, you’d managed to piss him off.

Mermaid? Is that accurate? He’s so sensitive to being classified wrongly, but still never told you what he was. Considering the circumstances, maybe you should be a little bit more concerned about other things rather than offending him, but it still bothers you.

Your ignorance isn’t due to lack of trying. You’ve done extensive research in the spare moments you have during the day, but nothing quite matches his description no matter how deeply you delve into the weirder parts of the internet, even going so far as to browse around on conspiracy sites on the darknet. Mermaid? Merman? Siren? Fish-guy? Some distantly related offspring to that Ripley’s Believe it or Not monkey fish? Relentless searching proved fruitless. Plenty of old sun-crazed fishermen claim to have seen merfolk in the waters or sirens on the rocks, but more often than not, it was a walrus or stage 4 sea madness. No one had a legitimate account of meeting with a real, intelligent creature of the deep. Nothing that came remotely close to him, anyway.

Despite being unable to focus at your job, getting home only doubles the anxiety. Restlessly sitting and twitching on the sofa, repeatedly trying and failing to read or watch some vapid TV show. You’re unable to keep your mind from returning to the ocean, to him no matter how hard you try.

Over the course of time, you become acutely aware that staying home clearly isn't an option, but you're not really sure what to say to him if you see him again. Why do you even care? Aren't you supposed to be ignoring him? You can excuse your obsessive thoughts about him since most people would have the same reaction to seeing something supernatural not once, but twice in front of their very eyes, but a lot of people wouldn’t continuously return to see it especially if it was malevolent.

You love that preemptively planning what to say to a sentient supernatural sea dweller is a part of your day. That's awesome. Can't look that one up on google.

You’ll compromise with your compulsiveness instead. Go a little early and watch the sun set down over the horizon instead of watching the moon rise. Most parents won't allow their children near your rock because it’s slippery and dangerous, and frankly, you don't think he'll show up when others can see him. He’s deadly, but a mob of terrified parents and curious beach goers has few rivals.

Maybe you can get your fill before he appears. It's better to keep away from him anyway. He wants you dead.

He wants you dead, you remind yourself.

And so you do. Tread the sandy trail down to your favorite little hideyhole and plop down on the hard surface. You kick your feet absentmindedly on the rock beneath you, watching the small particles of sand splay and regather with every motion of your foot. The crash of the waves, still tumultuous and ornery, slap the side of your makeshift perch and splash you with speckles of water every few moments. You don't mind. You needed to shower anyway.

You can't help but feel a bit more lonely than normal, even surrounded by so many more people than you usually are. Flustered moms urge their children in from the shore to wipe them down with towels and flighty young twentysomethings hoot and holler, laughing loudly as they pile into their cars to find their next big spot for the night. The moon rises and the beach empties, leaving you alone again. The ocean settles, and even though it feels better, you feel alone.

You close your eyes, resting your head sideways on your knees with your arms buckled around your legs. You're close to the edge, precariously so. You just want to be close to the water. You should move back.

In. out. in. out. in. out. in. out.

The waves seem to move in line with the beating of your own heart, a tranquil feeling that dulls your restless thoughts and engulfs you in quiet solace. The hum of the ocean resonating deep within you with each breath you take of the briny air.

You're aware enough to recognize that the sound of the sea is luring you into a false sense of comfort. The darkness seeping over the horizon doesn't make it easier, and soon your slowly wandering mind is on the brink of unconsciousness. You're dangerously close to falling asleep, and given the circumstances, that probably isn't the best idea, especially since you're precariously close to the water.

You can't help it, it's been one hell of a week. You haven’t slept. Haven’t relaxed. Haven’t felt at home in so long...

Listen, there's no guide online to look at that can help you through what to do when a malevolent fish-man hybrid has decided he wants to drown you. You can imagine it would say something along the lines of 'Stop going near the water then, dumbass' but that's like asking a religious person to stay away from church. It's the one place where you feel any semblance of peace, and you'll be damned if you're going to let the moonlight water marauder take that from you.

Still, it makes things in your life exponentially more difficult when you can't explain to anyone what's on your mind.

'Yeah, I met a mer...thing, and he's decided that he hates me and he wants to drown me, and that makes me sad. The one supernatural creature I get to meet and he doesn't like me. Bummer.'

They'd probably have you committed. That’s a bit much even for your eccentric proclivities.

Your body occasionally jerks you awake, probably its way of saying 'You cannot sleep when there are enemies nearby', but it feels like it's been weeks since you've had a decent night's sleep. The endless procession of days marked by existential crisis with the tacked on bonus of being aware of the existence of a nefarious fairy tale creature makes everything feel awfully surreal. It feels as if you've been running on pure adrenaline and are about to crash. Hard.

If you were smart, you'd go home and try to bank on the feeling of sleepiness currently plaguing you, but you just can't bring yourself to move. Even barring the flaxen haired fish dude just chomping at the bit to drag you under, napping this close to the sea is a bad idea in general. Tides change rapidly and all it would take is a few minutes of you being unaware for the waves to snag you and haul you off to a watery grave. They'd probably never find you, just like the others who disappear here at night.

But that's probably his doing, isn't it?

What does he do with the bodies exactly?

You really wish he wasn't trying to kill you, cause you have an endless list of questions you'd like to ask. What does he eat? Where does he live? Does he sleep at all?

Musing on all the things you'd like to know about him and his life leads you into fantasizing about being a talk show host interviewing him, and one thing leads to another and before you know it, you're conked out cold. You've managed to find an extremely awkward position to slump into, but even the horrid crick in your neck isn't enough to shake you from the dreamless slumber. Your body doesn't even have the energy needed to produce a dream, so instead, you just float through an endless void.

It could have been minutes, or even hours, really. You're not sure. The only thing strong enough to jar you awake is a sudden and intense feeling of dread that blooms in your stomach and gives you a form and sentience again. Your eyes snap open instinctively, and you're greeted with a pair of spiteful red eyes far too close to you for comfort.

"Jumping jesus-!"

Surprised is a nice word for what you feel, an ugly screech emanating from your throat as you kick out your feet, knocking yourself over and almost falling in the water in the process. You hit your head nice and hard on a particularly jagged portion of the rocks, and by the time your vision undoubles, the danger is just barely settling in.

Except danger is too busy cackling to be a threat.

You try to grapple with the panic in your chest and get a grasp on reality again after your literal rude awakening, but it's a bit rough when the sadistic jackass who perpetuated it in the first place won't stop laughing. Apparently he's too amused to take the opportunity to seize you, so you take the moment to scoot much further back and out of his reach, resisting the urge to plant your foot right on his stupid face.

Eventually he quiets down, but the grin never leaves his face. Much like everything about him, it's hostile somehow, mocking and disingenuous.

"Humans really are so stupid."

"Joke is on you, tunabreath. You wasted the perfect opportunity to actually grab me."

He shakes his head, tutting you. "I couldn’t resist. We like to play with our food too, sometimes. Scared ones taste better."

Is he implying he eats people? Okay, you know what? You don't wanna know. You doubt he'd be honest about it anyway, and would probably say whatever unnerves you the most. He seems a prick like that.

"I thought the entire point was to drown me and get it over with. You’re borderline obsessed with it."

He scoffs, little head fins twitching as he waves you off. "If I’m going to waste my time, don't make it so easy. It's less fun."

Okay cool, this is all a game to him; your life is a game to him. Nice. Fun. Great.

Something on your face must have given away your ire, because he simpers at you and another raspy laugh bubbles in his chest.

"It's not my fault you're stupid. You're the idiot sleeping next to the ocean when you know what's waiting for you when you get too close. It’s like you want me to devour you."

"I thought after your little tantrum last night, you were gone for good. You really can throw a fantastic hissy fit."

That wipes the smile from his face.

“Little brat.” He taps a claw on the rock, narrowing his eyes at you. “Tough talk from someone afraid of getting a little wet.” He drags out the final word with a mocking tone, clicking his tongue against his fangs with the final syllable.

“For the last time, I’m not afraid of getting wet-” It takes it a second to sink in but wow this all sounds so wrong. Your face darkens and a familiar tingle worms itself in your gut. Are you really that lonely? “And don’t say it like that!”

His brows furrow and he studies you with a slightly quizzical expression. “Like what?”

How do you explain to a dude who presumably has no cock and no human sexual experience about the sexual insinuations of human expressions? Wow. This is not a talk you thought you’d be having. The entire situation is weird, but this really sets the bar.

“I know you’re probably not familiar with it, but that sounds... weird. It just sounds weird, okay?”

“I don’t understand.” His lips curl downward in annoyance, arching a pale brow in your direction.

“Look, when a human and another human... do stuff, things happen to their bodies and-“ a twisted sense of shame curdles your stomach and you go to scratch the back of your head, avoiding his eyes. Your words trail off somewhere mid sentence. If you were looking, you could practically see the gears turning in his head, but a few seconds later, his face pops in realization.

“I’m fully aware of your human mating habits.”

“Don’t say it like that either! Jesus, you’re so awkward.”

A slow smile spreads over his face and he leans closer to you, tail swishing in a steady rhythm beneath the water. “Why? You’re over the ‘age of consent’, as it’s put, right? A sexually mature human female? Does it make you uncomfortable when I say things like that? Or does it make you something else?”

He trails his claws in a walking motion towards your out of reach leg, and embarrassment isn’t a strong enough word for the emotion that colors your face as you recoil from his wandering fingers. “Knock it off!”

“Has it been a while since someone touched you, little human?”

“None of your business! You’re such a creep! And what do you know about it anyway? Don’t you fuckin’ lay eggs or something?”

He ignores your pointed jab, licking at his chapped lips as he runs his piercing eyes over you a bit too invasively for your liking. “You wanna know, huh? I can show you.” He reaches towards you again and you wiggle back a few more inches, caught between his words and the friction igniting feelings you’re desperately trying to ignore between your thighs.

“I’m getting mixed signals here. Are you trying to drown me or fuck me?”

“Who says I can’t do both?” He tilts his head, gaze lingering on your lips before drifting down to your chest without shame. His attention still feels utterly predatory, but for a different form of predator entirely. “Your death doesn’t have to be entirely painful, you know.”

“S-stop it.”

He’s giving you whiplash with his intense mood swings, but you can’t deny the less than appropriate places his words drag your mind to. Heat ignites inside you, warmth spreading through your navel as your cheeks burn deeper than they did before. You will it away, trying to shake loose the thoughts from your mind. No fucking way are you even considering this.

“Look, even if our bodies were compatible, which they aren’t, it’s not like you wanting to kill me is a turn on.”

He gives you another lilting grin, flicking his tongue and hissing in a foreign laugh. “Are you sure? I know that some of your kind are into that sort of thing. Hard. Rough. Dangerous. And judging by your face-“

Another bout of blood colors your cheeks so intensely that you can literally feel it. Oh God, make it stop.

“-You might be.”

“Shut it, shark bait!”

“And who’s to say we’re not compatible? I know plenty. Something about the beach is an aphrodisiac to you humans. Not to mention~” Another grin, but this one gives off the undeniable air of ‘I know something you don’t know.’ “You have no idea what I can do.”

You can’t help but look back at him as he says it and you can tell he means every word. The unnatural scarlet glow of his eyes seems far too welcoming, calling to you like some sort of beacon in the darkness. The soft gleam of his silvery hair in the moonlight far too inviting. You want to touch it, wonder what it would feel like entwined between your fingers, what it smells like and how those claws would feel like scratching against the sensitive skin of your ass as he holds you steady against his hips.

You bet those fangs aren’t just for show, and judging by his attitude, he’s probably not afraid to use them. You bet they’d feel all sorts of nice scraping and digging into your flesh, biting you and licking that thick tongue up and over your neck, maybe even a bit lower if you asked him nicely. He’s so lithe, so strong, he’d have no problem fucking you against the rock even with the water resistance. His slick skin rubbing against yours, webbed hands squeezing your waist, kneading your tits, pressing the rounds of your neck until you gave yourself over to him completely and the taste of him is the last thing you ever knew.

Okay, you admit it. You are really curious to see just what it is he can do. You’d probably be the first human in history to find out, the first girl to be fucked to literal death by a siren. Would it really be such a terrible way to die? Being dragged under metaphorically and physically and spending your last moments in pleasure wholly unknown to the moral realm?

He smiles softly, watching you toss it around in your mind as he cradles his head in his palm. He’s beautiful, and you loathe it. You hate that you’re even considering this, even toying with the thought as if it’s really an option. What the hell are you doing? This is complete madness!

“You aren’t serious, are you?”

He gestures you forward seductively, nibbling gently on his scarred bottom lip, keeping your eyes squarely trained on his mouth. “Come a little closer and find out. I promise I bite. Extra hard if you beg.”

Another clench between your legs. Shake it loose, shake it loose! “Look, even if I believed for a split second you wanted to seduce me, you really think I’m going to literally die for the chance?”

“What else are you going to die for?”

Oddly deep. Not a thought you wanted to ponder right now. Expertly deflect it with sarcasm and ignore the fact that he has a very good point.

“Of old age, in my bed, surrounded by loved ones and piles of money I didn’t get the chance to spend yet.”

He scoffs, blowing air through his nose. “Sure.”

“Just what is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs, shucking aside your irritation. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”

“Prick.”

He giggles, finding your crass human mouth oddly endearing. “Well, the offer stands. I told you I’m not going anywhere until you're under the water with me.” He pauses, considering you for a moment before grinning darkly. “I might just do it anyway, but it’s better if you’re willing. Not that I’ve ever been averse to a little struggle.”

“What?”

“It’s hard to say no when you can’t speak. I could easily bypass this little game of playing hard to get, but I want to see you squirm.” He eyes between your legs and you pray to the Gods that he thinks the dampness residing there is because of the watery environment. “I want to see you beg before the light goes out in those pretty eyes.”

“You’re a fucking perv!”

“I told you I’m going to watch you drown, you really put it past me to not take other forms of satisfaction from you while I’m at it?”

He presents a good point. You resent the fact that you don’t entirely feel repulsed by the thought. You should. You should be mortified and terrified and other words that end in ‘fied’. You should run and never come back. You know you should.

You lean forward.

“I’d like to see you try, fish boy.”

A strangely genuine smile spreads across his lips and his face seems to light up at your words. It's still menacing, but oddly cute; like a child getting ready and excited to play their favorite game.

"You really think you can win this, huh?" He muses, looking up at you through those pale lashes. "You sure are something, little girl."

"What do I have to lose? If you win, you kill me, and whatever else, but I won't care, because I'll be dead. If I win, I get to see that arrogant smarminess wiped off your face when you don't get what you want. You'll have wasted all this time for nothing, and I guess that's a small consolation prize alongside my life."

“Time means nothing to me, but if it makes you feel better about the situation.”

From the way he says it, you don't deny it. It dawns on you that you really know nothing about his people. Do they age like you? Do they age at all?

“How old are you?”

"Older than you by far, I promise. What a rude question. How old are you?"

“Old enough. But that doesn’t answer my question. Don’t deflect.”

"No manners, you humans." He ponders it for a minute. "You count the passing of time in revolutions around the sun, right? I'd bet I had been an adult for a very long time while you were still learning to walk on wobbly little legs."

It's your turn to laugh now, and he doesn't seem amused. "You're an old man! Ew! You're an interspecies cradle robber!"

"I'm not old! We live exponentially longer than you! I'll still be in my prime when you're an elder!" His pallid face is dusted slightly red in frustration, and it's almost funnier than his reaction.

"Whatever you say, grandpa! Do you have an undersea walker? Drink sea prune juice? Is that why your hair is silver? Cause you're old?"

Self consciously, he strokes the front of his long bangs between his fingers. "No! You're an immature little brat!"

"Back in my day~" You barely dodge a swipe from one of his claws as he jumps as far forward as he can and swings at you. "Careful gramps, you don't wanna hurt yourself. You’ll break a hip or whatever it is you have."

He sneers at you and you bask in the minor victory.

You sit in silence; him with a scowl tightly pulled across his thin lips, and you with a smug little grin. So it’s not impossible to get under his scales.

He’s a world class pouter, you’ll give him that. He doesn’t strike you as vain, but this is probably uncharted territory for him; actually talking to a human and subsequently being made fun of for his age. He’s probably not used to being mocked in any sense of the word, seeing as he’s a ‘non existent’ mythical creature. Maybe his kind are prideful, if a little childish. He claims to have existed for ages, but he still has the mannerisms you’d attribute to a male around your age. Maybe a tad immature and explosive himself. You guess some things don’t change with the species. Aggression, domination, and sex. And murder, in his case.

Some things are universal, it seems.

He’s making a show of ignoring you now, clicking his claws together in a subconscious attempt to threaten you. They are awfully sharp. You swear looking at them makes the gashes on your arm start to ache all over again. Occasionally the fins on the side of his head twitch in an almost catlike manner, turning toward whatever source of sound can be heard. It’s so strange to you, you can’t help but stare. He looks ethereal, even as impudent as he’s acting. With the backdrop of the ocean and the moon behind him, he looks like a painting that belongs in a gallery. You can’t stop yourself from leering at him.

You’re trying to ignore the fact that he definitely takes notice.

He's angry at you, displeasure still slightly evident in his face, but a small smile crooks his lips. You've clearly offended him but your leering goes a little way towards soothing the hairs you've rubbed the wrong way. For whatever reason, knowing you find him attractive puffs his feathers- er, scales- with pride. Body language relaxes between the two of you and a few minutes of quiet follows.

Yet, it's difficult to keep a pleasant silence when the company you keep is far from familiar. This isn't two friends relaxing on a beach; at least unless most friends are malevolent ocean dwelling creatures with an end goal of filling the other's lung with sea water.

The lack of noise makes you antsy, almost like you're anticipating something but you're unsure of what. It feels false somehow, like you're trying to turn this isn't something it isn't; comfortable. No matter how his casual demeanor tries to lull you into a false sense of security, you have to remain vigilant. One little slip and he'll drag you into a watery grave- among other things if he was serious.

“So… What do you eat?”

He slow blinks at you a few times before grinning, light glinting off his all-too-sharp fangs. “You mean besides you?”

There’s multiple implications to that, neither one of which you want to ponder for various reasons. Your panties are already uncomfortably damp.

“Yes. Besides us.”

Shrugging, he flicks at a small pebble on the rocks edge and plunks it into the water. "Same thing you would if you were one of us. There's plenty of fish down here, only difference is I can eat them raw."

Your nose crumples and you stick your tongue out slightly, imagining him taking a bite out of a still-twitching fish. "Ew."

He rolls his eyes, brushing your obvious disgust aside. "If I recall, don't you humans have multiple dishes you eat raw?"

"Well, I mean, yeah, but it's different. We actually prepare it."

"Sounds like a whole lot of fuss over nothing. Your weak stomach just can't handle it and mine can, and you seem to find that to be some sort of bragging point. Also, don't you humans have a tendency to put things in your mouth that don't belong there?"

“Didn’t I already tell you to shut up about that?”

"I don't know, I'd say the occasional raw fish is a lot less dirty than a human male c-"

“Oh my god! I am so sorry I fucking asked!”

He cackles loudly and you realize that he's officially found your hot button. Even worse is he knows it. "I mean that's not to say we don't have our own filthy habits, but you guys are inspiring-"

"Dude! Make like a tunafish and can it! I don't want to hear any of this!"

"Oh? Is that so? Because around 10 minutes ago, you were half ready to rip your clothes off and jump in here and let me try you even if it meant your death."

"Momentary lapse in judgement. Don't get too excited, grandpa."

He frowns again but seems less offended now that the initial moment had passed. "If you insist upon calling me a nickname pertaining to my age, I'd prefer daddy."

All humor drops from your face. How the fuck does he even know about that?

As if he can read your mind, he responds. "A lot of you humans like to reproduce here. I've seen quite a bit and heard even more. Like I said, you’re absolutely filthy creatures.”

“Ah. Yeah. That makes sense.”

“My offer stands. Come a little closer and I’ll show you just what I learned.”

“Creep.”

“That makes two of us, now doesn’t it?”

"I'm not the one bringing up sex every 3 seconds."

Hey, do you know how awkward it is to be having this conversation? With him? Right now? Do you know how utterly surreal this is?

“No, but you’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

Your cheeks burn and you know it doesn't matter what you say. Your face is a dead giveaway. He knows it too, crossing his arm and arching a cocky brow at you.

“And I’m the pervert, huh?”

You wrap your arms around your legs again in a subconscious show of defense. "Yes, you are. This is a natural response to embarrassing topics. Topics you keep coming back to."

He shrugs again, his head fins twitching a few times. "I don't deny my nature. If I feel lustful, I act on it. Another reason you humans are inferior. You deny what comes naturally in the name of some form of... shame, is it? I have no bonds holding me back, while yours are pointless and dictated by some invisible and shallow form of ‘morality’ and ‘purity."

He’s… technically right. Still.

"You realize you're saying this to the person you're trying to kill, right?"

"I'm aware. Consider it a parting gift. You can feel what it's like to be untethered before I end you."

You roll your eyes so deeply that you’re almost certain you’ve detached the retina. “Oh, how very kind of you. So thoughtful.”

"It’s not entirely altruistic, but it's better than I was originally planning. I was just going to rip you apart the second I pulled you in. Of course, that was before I got a good look at you. It'd be a shame to waste such a pretty thing without getting a taste first.”

It's a twisted compliment, but you appreciate it, at least as much as the circumstances allow.

“Thanks… I think?”

"It's a good thing, I promise. I won't just touch anyone, you know. Most of your kind repulses me. I'm not an easy please."

"Oh." Another awkward silence. "What makes me so special, anyways?"

His face blanks over, eyes hardening and mouth pursing in a tight line. He opens his lips a few times to speak, but seemingly stops himself. His expression flashes confusion, then rage, then apathy in quick succession. "I don't know. It won't matter for long anyways, soon you'll be dead and I can move on."

“Not if I win.”

"You won't. I don't lose. Besides, I've already almost gotten you twice. It's only a matter of time before you slip up again, and I'll be there to catch you when you do."

"Put it like that and it almost sounds sweet." A smile tugs at your lips despite yourself.

His face flushes and he looks away from you, expression contorting. “It’s not. Don’t twist my words.”

“Spoilsport. Go eat a mackerel or something. You’re not yourself when you’re hungry. Or maybe you are. Either way, you’re cranky.”

"It's hard not to be cranky when there's a meal right in front of me and I can't indulge."

"Quit threatening to eat me. I get the point, it's just weird.”

His thick tongue flicks out and runs across those glimmering teeth and he just smiles. "Who said anything about eating?"

“Give it a rest.”

He swipes a small amount of water at you with his thumb and forefinger. "Deny it all you'd like, you enjoy the attention."

"Definitely. I love being the first human to be hit on by the world's first mermaid fuckboy."

A hybrid mix of a groan and a growl rumbles from his chest. "I'm not a fucking mermaid!"

"Oh, sorry!" The sarcasm is palpable, and he scowls at you again. You love the fact he doesn't deny the secondary insult. "I meant merman."

"Don't insult me. As if your petty, unimaginative fairytales could even come close."

"You have a tail, you live underwater, and you're half human. Sounds pretty damn close to me."

The look on his face is as if you just forced him to swallow something extraordinarily disgusting. "You have no idea what I'm capable of. And I'm not half human. You're half us."

Now that takes you off guard.

“What did you say? What do you mean?”

"It doesn't matter." He pushes himself away from the rocks, his tail slightly flapping above the surface. "Besides, you were right. I am hungry. I should probably find something to eat for tonight, unless you’ve changed your mind." He doesn’t bother waiting for you to retort before skillfully diving down back beneath the waves.

You want to stop him, but he’s gone before you can think of a creative way to say ‘hell no’. The slight dash of silver hair makes out towards the horizon and before long, he's gone. As always, he leaves you feeling more frustrated than anything.

You want to stay, to enjoy the ocean like you used to before he barged his way into your life, but it all just feels too strange now. He won't return tonight, you know that much.

Heaving yourself off your asleep butt, you begin your bowlegged walk back to civilization, left with nothing but the ache of a cramp in your hips and a strangely heavy feeling in your gut.

#Shigaraki x Reader #Shigaraki Tomura #Come Down to the Black Sea #See warnings up top

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sombreboy · 4 years

Text

Mused obsession (5)

Written by @sombreboy as Jungkook & @chimoona as Jimin Banner by @carly-bean-blog

[ masterlist ]

⇢Explicit (18+) ⇢Pairing: Jungkook & Jimin ⇢Genre: yandere, smut, mxm ⇢Word count: 10.7k of literal filth ⇢Ch.warnings: profanity, my peeps there’s 3 smut scenes in this bring some damn tissues, so much sexual tension, Jimin's praise kink skyrockets, masturbation, exhibitionism, voyeurism, dom!jjk, sub!pjm, blowjob with a brief moment of faux sub!jjk, degrading dirty talk, petnames, Jimin is so good at begging I'm in tears while editing this uff, anal (this is fictional they're ok, jimin loves getting his ass stretched pls use lube irl), Jk has a FAT cock, obsessive behavior, lots of cum in Jimin's ass (like, a lot. several times.), some fluff if you wipe the cum away, fingering in the shower (im sweating), more fucking in the shower, even more cum in Jimin's ass istg he's such a cockhungry slut, a smidge of jealous/possessive jk, more fucking sorry not sorry these men are insatiable once they got a taste of each other, cum eating.

Industry famous Jeon Jungkook of GJK photography takes an interest in a model and up-and-coming fashion designer, Park Jimin. After an opportunity to study the man behind his trusty lens, he thinks he may have just found his new muse.

The ride back to Jungkook’s place was pure torture. Jimin struggled to keep his hand off his throbbing length—the image of the metal rod gliding through the photographer’s smooth and blushed cock head, burned to his memory. Every time he closed his eyes it was like the image imprinted itself on the backs of his eyelids. He didn’t acknowledge the other man until they pulled up to the front of the house.

When the younger man leant across his lap to open the door, he was left no choice but to finally look him in the eyes. Jungkook’s childlike innocence was hardened by coal black pupils that devoured Jimin whole. As he’s naturally wanting to do, Jimin shrinks beneath the other’s gaze and tries to assess exactly what he’s in for.

At this point, Jungkook neither cares for or bothers to ask whether Jimin would like to go to his place or go back to his own house. No, Jimin's home didn't exist anymore. He knew the blonde would blindly follow him, completely caught in his web.

''We're home.'' Jungkook's warm breath hits Jimin's ear before he leans back, allowing him to exit the vehicle, following quickly behind. He caught up to open the door with his gaze growing darker the second it closed behind them, the chime of the electronic lock almost too loud in the tense silence. ''Park Jimin,” he says clearly, sounding more like he simply wants to say his name rather than to get his attention. ''Let me see your tattoo once more, I want to give it a proper look.''

“R-right here?” Jimin looks around the foyer and notices, as per usual, the room is vacant aside from the two of them. “Okay,” he meekly replies, unbuttoning his pants and sliding the fabric midway down his leg, exposing the fire-red petals as they bleed into his thigh. He feels the temperature of the room increase despite the thermostat’s untouched dial. Jungkook’s encroaching presence was more than enough to heat every part of his body, especially his bare legs, which were studied intently by the younger. “Let me see yours too,” he challenges, bravely pushing his pants down to the floor and kicking them off his feet.

“Oh, you want to see.” Jungkook smiles coyly as he steps closer to the elder, getting rid of his shirt within those few seconds to carelessly throw it on the floor; the maid would take care of it later. “I bet there's more than just the tattoo that you want to see, hm?” He cooes while one hand finds Jimin's hip, the other smoothing over the lines of the blonde's tattoo. ''You know what I'd absolutely love, butterfly?'' Jungkook continues as he inches his face closer to Jimin—his gentle yet strong gaze fails to hide the excitement of the idea in his mind, “I haven't taken photos of you in such a long time. And right this second, no artificial light can compete with the sun.”

It’s golden hour. Jungkook is ecstatic over the little things. He thought of this moment all day, taking Jimin to his large balcony and taking the perfect photo to add to his growing collection.

“More photos, hm?” Jimin smiles and leans into Jungkook’s touch, granting him full access, wherever he likes. He takes the opportunity to feel the man’s bare chest as it closes over his small frame.

Safely inside Jungkook’s impressive home, Jimin feels he can truly do whatever he wants. He presses his lips to the fresh arm tattoo, feeling the heat of the healing skin pulsate into his plush pout. The faint taste of rust lingers as he pulls back and wets his lips. The earthy flavor of the other man’s raw artwork is intoxicating—more than he likes to admit. It’s tender and receptive. He almost swears he feels him shudder as he pulls back to look him in the eye.

“Anything you want, sir.”

Jimin surely isn't the innocent angel Jungkook had initially thought that he was, and being around the photographer surely doesn't do much but bring him deeper, down into the perfect level of corruption that Jungkook craves.

"Good boy." Jungkook whispers, his voice a bit shakier than he'd admit. Jimin has a hold on him that he can't quite place. He wants the model for himself only, to spoil in every way possible.

"Come with me." His lips curl up in a playful grin as he roughly grabs Jimin by his wrist, pulling him along as he strides towards the balcony. His free hand reaches out for the camera he'd left on the counter along the way. “Ah, look at the sky,” Kook chimes in awe as they step outside, the golden glow of the sunset providing the perfect filter. “So pretty.”

“It is,” Jimin agrees, not even pretending to admire the view. All he wants is to watch dewy droplets of sweat bead on Jungkook as the setting sun hits him directly.

Jimin steps close enough to kiss, stands on his toes and flattens his tongue against the base of Jungkook’s smooth fawned neck. “Mm,” he moans, gently sucking the moisture from his skin, “watching you get that piercing...” he glides his hand down the front of the man’s pants and feels him, already responsive, stiffening quick, “...you were so brave. I couldn’t look away, it was almost too much. I wanted to taste you so bad, Jeon. Right there in the shop, in front of Namjoon. I wouldn’t have given a fuck.”He breathes his hot wanton breath against Jungkook’s jaw, nipping up to his cherry lips and claiming them in an ardent kiss. “And now you’ve brought me to this balcony, to do what, photograph me?” He steps back and peels his shirt over his head, tossing it on a lounge chair. Then his underwear, until he’s fully exposed on the sunlit balcony, letting the evening glow illuminate his silhouette. He strokes his aching cock with a soft hand and let’s Jungkook watch his every move. “Is this what you expected?”

Jungkook takes a mental note of the quick mention of the elder 'Not giving a fuck' in the same sentence as 'In front of Namjoon'. He'd remember that one, without a doubt.

“More than I could ever imagine,” Jungkook's eyes glue to the delicate movements by Jimin's smaller hand. “So fuckin' pretty.”

Jungkook is genuinely in awe, licking his lips at the show he's given as he fumbles with the camera. There's no way he'd let this kind of imagery slip through the cracks.

“Sit on the ledge, keep touching yourself. If you do really well for me..” He peeks at the blonde through the camera lens. “I'll grant you one wish. A reward of your choice,” he jokes, but his tone has a serious undertone.

He would grant Jimin anything he desired, whether it be jewelry, a car, clothes—he could have it all. But something tells Jungkook that there's something else he'd rather have, something that both of them would rather have. Something that no money can give, only Jeon Jungkook himself. The latter knew very well what the blonde would want, and he ached just imagining his pretty tune begging for it, after doing his absolute best to be a good boy.

Jimin is quick to take direction, hazy with lust but still well-trained. However, it doesn’t take an expert to know where this is all leading. ”A reward of your choice”—Jungkook’s promise repeats itself in his mind. While he’s given the option to choose, there’s only one thing he wants out of this, and that’s to finally feel Jeon Jungkook inside him...with that new piercing.

He leans against the ledge, not feeling brave enough to sit on it fully without the fear of plummeting to the ground. He arches his back and tilts his face so the sunlight bathes his upper body in warm light. It’s as easy as breathing, posing for the photographer, knowing exactly what he likes to see. Shot after shot, Jimin adjusts his posture and shows off a different angle, even more seductive than the last. His hand wraps around his hard cock and strokes with purpose, looking directly into the camera lens as he does so.

“Beautiful,” Jungkook murmurs to himself as the flickering sound of the camera goes off—one of his favorite sounds. Surely, there were other sounds that would top it by the end of tonight's session.

Jungkook's prominent erection strains against the caging fabric. He uncomfortably adjusts, growing annoyed and unzipping to let his pants fall to his hips, still hanging on. It’s somewhat of a relief, but not enough. He isn't used to the new addition of jewelry on his cock, pleasantly rubbing against his boxers everytime he moves. Eventually, he deems he’s had enough content, wanting to indulge in reality as it is, and places the camera on the ledge next to Jimin when he steps close. He positions himself between the elder's spread legs, hands settling on his thighs. He feels the heat radiating off the fresh artwork on Jimin's skin and traces the shape with his fingers.

“As always, your performance is nothing but flawless,” Jungkook breathes against Jimin's plush lips. He’s too beautiful, like an actual angel, and Jungkook is the polar opposite. Darkness, the corrupt devil that wants Jimin as his own personal plaything for all of eternity. “You deserve a reward,” Kook's blunt nails scrape against the sensitive, tattooed skin, surely causing it to sting. “What do you desire?”

The pain of Jungkook’s nails digging into Jimin’s tender broken flesh makes the model shudder. The pleasure mixed with the pain is a welcome feeling. He wants more.

“I’ve been a good boy?” Jimin asks in the sweetest airy voice. He looks at the other man with the most wide and innocent eyes he can muster—lips pouting gently as he speaks. “Anything I desire?”

With a nod from the photographer, Jimin reaches up and tangles his hand in Jungkook’s hair, gripping it roughly and tugging his head down to eye-level. “I think it’s time you got on your knees, puppy.” His cock stiffens impossibly hard at the mere thought of the younger man becoming submissive for him, even if for just a brief moment. “Take me in your mouth and I swear I’ll make it worth your while.”

Jungkook bites back a hissed groan at the tug of his dark curls. Jimins sudden switch into dominance catches the younger by surprise. It isn't terrible, but rather exciting.

Cute, Jungkook thinks. As much as he loves to inflict pain, receiving it is a close second. There’s his kink for tattoos, and the spontaneous piercing was more than enough proof for his masochism.

“Ah, fuck...” Kook curses, but his tone is laced with lust. “Puppy?” he huffs with a small smile, eyes staring down at the elders throbbing length. Okay, he'll play along. “Yes..” his tone changes, softening as his gaze shifts to meet Jimin's. His dark, doe eyes suddenly display need, as if he is indeed a puppy that wants to do well. Jungkook is a great actor, but only because part of him truly does enjoy this dynamic.

He swiftly drops to his knees and smoothes his hands down to settle on Jimin's knees. “Want me to be your little puppy?” Kook licks his lips, inching closer to the blondes painfully hard cock, his hot breath coating the velvety skin.

Jimin is already overcome with arousal and the pleasure of both watching Jungkook between his legs and the feeling of breath fanning over his length, teasing him with the sheer proximity of the younger’s open mouth. “Y-yes sir—I-I mean...” he flounders as he tries to adapt to his temporary role, “...puppy.” He grips Jungkook’s hair even tighter and pulls him forward to forcefully graze the younger’s pout along his leaking tip.

He wishes he held a camera to capture this moment from his point of view so he could watch it over and over. The world of fashion would erupt at the leaked footage of golden boy Jeon Jungkook on his knees, but he wants to keep it all for himself. He releases his grip on Jungkook’s hair and grabs the camera from the ledge beside him. He tries his best to turn it on, but suddenly realizes it’s already recording video.

“Dirty puppy,” Jimin scolds lightly, aiming the camera at Jungkook’s blushed face. He isn’t surprised in the slightest, seeing as how infatuated the recluse raven-haired photographer is with capturing him in precarious positions. “Look at me and part those pretty lips.” He holds his throbbing cock in his hand and rubs the tip over the younger’s pout, coating them in his essence. “Taste how ready I am for you.”

Jungkook scrunches his nose in a small, bunny-like smile at Jimin's slip up and the reaction to the camera recording. The blonde never seems to mind his kinks. A small part of Jungkook feels a pinch of hesitation in his body when the camera is suddenly on his face—a very controversial image if it was to ever be released to the public...but, the thrill of it is more arousing than he expects.

“You're so sexy when you tell me what to do.” He coos, mimicking the tone of voice he knows too well from Jimin, familiar with how a sub should sound. Jungkook's eyes sparkle as the rays from the sunset hit his face. He holds intense contact with the lens and presses his flattered tongue on the underside of Jimin's length, slowly dragging his wet muscle upwards, meeting the tip, swirling, collecting precum. A low hum vibrates in his throat—Jimin tastes sweet.

“Fuck—“ Jimin gasps, involuntarily bucking his hips, pushing his shaft shallowly into Jungkook’s mouth. Just locking eyes with the younger man while he tentatively laps is enough to make him shake. It’s unusual handling a camera while feeling the overwhelming heat of Jungkook’s skilled tongue. After a minute, he relaxes and lets the younger take control while he films as best he can.

Jimin thinks this exhilarating feeling must be what Jungkook loves so much when he’s behind the camera. The separation between reality and a curated virtual realm is wholly satisfying to experience. It’s as if the man on the other side isn’t real. He’s too good to be real. Jimin focuses solely on the camera screen and feels blushed each time Jungkook locks eyes with the lens while taking him deeper, teasing him with his innocent gaze while his lips encircle him devilishly.

“Good puppy,” Jimin coos quietly, rocking his hips slowly, begging for more friction.

“Mm?” Jungkook crooks a playful eyebrow at the camera, knowing Jimin's focus was tunnel visioned on him only. His hands mindlessly roams up and down the model’s thighs, using nothing but his mouth to tease the pretty head of Jimin's swollen cock. The photographer is already crumbling, just as easily as when he’s above.

“Ah, hyung…” Kook whines deliberately to test what kind of reaction he'd get, wrapping his plushy lips around the tip to give it a harsh suck.

Jimin curses under his breath and tangles his hand in Jungkook’s messy hair again, pulling him down onto his cock until he gags. The honorific catches him by surprise, not expecting the younger to take on this submissive role with such commitment. It makes Jimin want to push him further, to use him a bit until he snaps.

“F-fuck, Jeon, you’re being such a pretty whore for me.” So pretty. The sun darkens as it dips beneath the horizon and casts pale shadows over his angelic face. “Do you like worshiping my cock?” He gives a few rough thrusts and brushes his tip past Jungkook’s gag reflex until tears prick at the corners of his eyes. “Do you like being treated like this, or would you prefer something we’d both enjoy?”

It’s slowly becoming a bit too much for Jungkook. He is a glutton for pain, but being somebody's whore, or gagging on a cock like some...toy? It’s endurable, and the way Jimin's thighs tremble under his touch tells the younger man that he seems nervous, as he should be. Who wouldn't be cautious while having Jeon Jungkook on his knees?

Screwing his eyes shut while punished by Jimin’s cock, Jungkook forces stray tears to trickle down his cheeks, coughing. It triggers the younger to dig his blunt nails into Jimin's thighs, grazing the latters cock with his teeth as he slowly withdraws his mouth. He keeps the tip between his teeth. It would be so easy to make the model scream, and he would, but not this way.

“Hmm? Something we'd both enjoy?" Jungkook's nails continue to dig, deliberately trying to draw whines from Jimin. “I'm not sure what you mean unless you tell me. I rather enjoy being down here.” He lies with a coy smirk—the doe-eyed gaze now shifts into something more sinister.

Jimin curses again, louder this time and strangled by his throaty moans. Jungkook’s onslaught on his thighs is almost enough pain to distract him from the pressure around his cock. He knew it would be a challenge for the younger man to drop to his knees and submit fully. So, he takes his punishment gladly and begins to shake as he reaches his threshold.

“Shit, Jeon,” he tugs the man’s head off his length with a sharp snap, grazing Jungkook’s teeth along his sensitive tip as it pops out of his mouth. “You know what I want.” He sets the camera aside on the ledge with the wide lens pointing at the two of them. “I-I want you to...” his cheeks flush as his intimidating demeanour fades by the second. He pleads with his dark chestnut eyes, “...fuck me, please.” He glances down at Jungkook’s aching cock and wonders how good it will feel to have that metal barbell brush against his prostate while he gets fucked dumb on the exposed balcony.

Jungkook doesn't hesitate to get back up on his feet in between Jimin's spread legs, hands snaking around the elders waist to pull him closer, pressing their erections together. Never has the younger despised a piece of fabric as much as he did now, tugging them down as he bites back an eager moan at the skin-to-skin sensation.

“I know you've wanted it for a while.” Jungkook's breath comes out in heavy huffs, one hand reaching down to stroke himself and Jimin within the same grasp, cocks rubbing together. “I've wanted to shove my fat cock in you since I laid my eyes on you for the first time.” He groans at the memories, so happy that he's gotten this beautiful angel to be his, under his mercy and control. “Do you trust me?” Jungkook suddenly asks, eyes growing more serious beneath a haze of lust, one hand still stroking them both whilst the other snakes around the blonde's waist to hold him close.

Just as he did the first time, Jimin nods, “I trust you.” He rolls his hips to grind his hard cock against Jungkook’s. This is what he only hoped to have since his first interaction with the man. The way he takes control of every situation, and the way he makes Jimin feel...so special makes him weak in the knees. “I-I want your fat cock inside me...” The mounting pleasure of their leaking cocks sliding against one another is just a tease. Jimin spits into his hand and strokes the younger’s length, preparing him to line up at his entrance. He isn’t above begging. The thought of being stretched and claimed by his partner makes Jimin whimper needy moans, desperate to finally feel their bodies connect. “...Please, I need it...”

'I trust you.', 'Please, I need it.' It’s all Jungkook needs to give in to his desires. A low moan slips through his teeth when Jimin's delicate hand strokes his twitching length. It looks even bigger in the blonde’s small grasp, and it drives the younger mad.

“Feel what you do to me?” Jungkook groans into Jimin's ear as he roughly puts his hands behind the blonde's knees, pushing them up and forcing him to lean backwards on the ledge. His grip is firm though, and it keeps him in place with no risk of actually letting Jimin fall from the wide surface. But the knowledge of possibly being able to—having Jimin's life in his hands… It makes Jungkook's cock throb heavily. “I need it too. Need you.” He kisses Jimin's jawline, trailing down to his neck before sucking on the tender tissue as if it was his own personal canvas, all for him to paint with purple and pink bruises.

Slowly, but eagerly, Jungkook uses one hand to properly press his tip against Jimin's tight hole. “You won't be able to think about anything but my fat cock, will you?” Kook adds as he drives his hips forward, finally sinking into the elders tightness that squeezes around him. “Fuck... So tight.”

The pressure of Jungkook’s girth causes Jimin to involuntarily roll his eyes to the back of his head. He opens Jimin up deliciously, pushing his tender piercing deep into his wanting heat.

“I-I,” Jimin whimpers pathetically in his arms, overcome with pleasure and adrenaline. “Jungkook—fuck...” He peeks over his shoulder and tenses at sight of how high up he really is. It adds to the moment, surrendering his entire being to the photographer and laying his whole life on the line. The sheer height is unnerving yet intoxicating. “Deeper, pleaseee. Your cock stretches me so good—shit.” Jimin grabs Jungkook’s biceps and uses them as leverage to rock the younger man’s studded length as deep as he can bare, shaking from the sensation of the heated metal gliding over every ridge of his sensitive tissue.

Jungkook obliges to his wishes and pushes deeper until the bulbous head of his cock lodges inside Jimin's deepest parts. A throaty moan slips through his lips when Jimin's ass clenches down on his length.

“I've dreamed of this for far too long, shit…” He takes a second to get used to the tight warmth, squeezing the blondes flesh between his fingers, hard, before he finally starts to grind his hips into Jimins. "Oh fuck yeah..." he pulls back to look straight at the smaller male, wanting to memorize every single expression he’s able to draw out of him.

”I’ve dreamed of this for so long...” —Jungkook’s words replay in Jimin’s mind while his thighs slap against bare skin, groaning with a new pulse of pleasure. His ring of nerves contracts as he wonders just how long the younger has dreamt of this moment. Weeks? Months? ...years? Jimin cranes his neck to taste Jungkook’s blush-bitten lips, nesting them between his in a feverish and parted exchange, laving his tongue over each other’s.

Is this what he wanted all along? ...Was it everything he hoped for? It certainly is for Jimin. His own cock aches for relief, so incredibly hard and leaking precum.

“Me too,” Jimin confesses through heavy breaths. “Dreamt of you burying this thick cock inside me...christ. I could barely focus at the studio. The tension...mmf...” He chokes back a gasp as the studded mushroom tip sinks deeper. He wets his full lips and holds tight to the taller man, letting him cradle his weight in his arms and move him any way he pleases. He focuses on the erotic stretch of his soft velvety walls as he accommodates the younger’s girth—he’s much bigger than he expected, filling him up completely with barely any room left to maneuver.

“Yeah, that damned studio. I wish I could've had you sooner,” Jungkook confesses mindlessly. His judgement clouds with a haze of lust taking over him. He continuously grinds his hips deeper, stretching out the elders' smooth walls until the glide feels less suffocating. Then he begins to pull out until only the tip is buried inside. “You're mine, Jimin.” Kook possessively nips back at his plush lower lip in between kisses, hands moving from his thick hips to his waist. "My gorgeous little butterfly, I want to be the only one taking your photos...touching you, fucking you.”

“I-I want it...” Jimin’s mind blanks as a wave of euphoric pleasure tears within him. His head rolls to the side and he tries to focus on the moment—on Jungkook. His attention is pulled by the red blink of the recording camera just off to the side. Was the photographer putting on a show, or were his words genuine? He wants to be the only one to fuck him, and...to photograph him? He’s not sure how well his manager would take the news, but the offer is incredibly tempting. Belonging to him, entirely? Putting aside the materialistic items and the glitz and the glam of a public relationship, Jimin feels blazing hot over the idea of being the one object of the man’s desire.

Jimin can’t take it anymore—he reaches down and begins to stroke himself to match the rhythm of Jungkook fucking him deep. “I need you. ...I want you to fill me with your cum.” The pace of his hand on his cock increases as he adoringly looks up and watches sweat glisten on Jungkook’s neck—fluffy black hair dampening and tacking to his forehead.

''It's all yours, Jimin, all yours. Anything you want,'' Jungkook's low words pause as he grunts, his hips maintaining a rougher yet slow pace. ''Everything I can give you, everything I have, it's nothing—it's yours. All I need is for you to be mine.'' He continues, his words barely audible in between his heavy breaths. He means it, he already has it all-- but it’s dull, boring, worthless. All he’s grateful for is that his status brought Jimin to him so easily, the one thing—person that he desired. There isn't a single object Jungkook has ever photographed that was more valuable to him than Park Jimin.

''You need me.'' Jungkook smiles at the elders' whiny words, noting how Jimin's eyes shift to the camera for a short second, licking his lips the moment the attention is back on him. ''You'll always need me, won't you? Tell me.'' It was neither a plea nor a command, but a necessity. With one hand still keeping a hard grip on Jimin's waist, the other reaches down to squeeze Jimin’s hand tight, preventing him from stroking himself. The grasp tightens further, squeezing Jimin's length inbetween their hands—a form of control in the youngers mind, still fucking deep into him. ''Swear it, and I will fuck you full of my cum.''

“Mmf—“ Jimin stifles his groan into Jungkook’s arm as his strong hand holds him tight at the hip. The pressure of the grip makes him tense and release sporadically, causing him to inch his hips forward to try and regain friction. He needs a little more to reach his high, but the feeling of Jungkook’s fat jeweled cock head is dragging against his prostate deliciously, he could probably cum just from the mere thought of it inside him.

“I do, I do, I need you,” Jimin whimpers pathetically. He wants to cum badly but the desire to surrender himself to the photographer supersedes any other. Whether it be for show, impulse or raw passion, Jimin swears with staggered gasps, “I’m all yours, Jungkook. Every bit of me...belongs to you.”

Jungkook glances over at his camera for a split second, his small smirk growing at the blinking red light that greets him. Perfect, he thinks. Now he has everything.

“Perfect,” Jungkook voices out his thoughts in a rumbling groan, removing Jimin's grip to wrap his own tattooed fingers around the latter’s pretty dick, jerking him off without mercy. He pounds harder, faster, deeper into him. “The most gorgeous,” he moans again as frenzied thrusts lose their rhythm. He keeps going, feeling the heat pool in his lower abdomen. “And all mine, gonna fuck you so full of my cum, your body only needs me, shit...!” He throws his head back, lips parting as heavy huffs slip through. Sweat drips down his skin and muscles flex as they're put to hard work. “Gonna cum, f-fuck—say it again Jimin, you’ll see no one else, just me. Say my name.”

Jimin feels small and fragile, precariously balanced on the balcony ledge as Jungkook’s thrusts become sporadic. One false move and he could easily plummet to his death, but he needs to trust. He wants to trust. He’s spent far too long pushing others away to progress his career. It’s tiring. A life without someone has been exhausting, and he’s never felt anything like this before.

He locks in on the younger man’s predatory gaze and gets lost in the intensity of the moment. His heart thumps in his chest faster than the rapid rate in which Jungkook fucks into his sensitive heat. There’s a fire in his feral eyes that makes Jimin think, for just a moment, that perhaps this is moving too fast. But his body is light in Jungkook’s hold, and despite the dangerous circumstance, he feels the safest he’s ever been.

How is that possible?

In a matter of days he’s irrevocably fallen for a stranger—allowed himself to become marked permanently and even begged for more. He doesn’t recognize himself when he looks in the mirror, and if he’s completely honest, he likes it.

“Jungkook, Jungkook,” Jimin pants in a whiney voice, ragged and raw. “I only want you...I want you to own me...ruin me if you want, just—“ He wrenches his eyes shut as his high creeps up and tries to get the words out before Jungkook’s slender hand works him to finish. “Fuck your cum in me, please. I’ve been so good...I need it so bad. Only want to be filled by you.”

Jimin is so good, it has Jungkook foaming at the mouth. There are no other words he could ever imagine wanting to hear more. Actually, that’s a lie...but he'd get there. Jungkook can't handle the way Jimin squeezes around him with such force. It’s as if the blonde's fleshy walls are pleading to be filled with cum, just as much as the man himself wants it. He’s so close, so close...

''Fuck, yes.. You're mine, mine mine!'' Jungkook growls lowly, eyes blown wide with his admiration, his obsession for Jimin. He sloppily snaps his hips into the model’s abused ass, gradually losing the drive he once had. Jungkook feels himself slowly crumble down as he digs deeper into Jimin's clenched insides, desperate to fill him up, desperate to get him to cum too. He keeps a firm grip around Jimin's slick cock, adamant to hurl them both over the edge.

“Cumming,” Is all he manages to cry out—a drawn out, low moan replacing his ability to speak as spurts of white gush into Jimin. “Oh fuck, yeah..” Jungkook keeps his head thrown back as the muscles in his throat strain, adam's apple bobbing heavily in unison with the way his body tenses while disposing of his warm cum into his Jimin. “So good, so fucking good…” He murmurs, eyes closed in bliss. It’s as if he’s in a different world. The darkness gives him the ability to focus solemnly on feeling Jimin's tight ass milk him completely.

Jimin’s aching cock twitches in Jungkook’s grasp as he strokes him rapidly with his own release. Even with eyes closed in blinding pleasure, he can still feel every bulging muscle and pulsing vein in the younger’s arms as his nails dig into them.

“J-Jungkook—cumming for you...” His sweat-slicked abdomen tenses as his orgasm takes hold, causing him to clench sporadically around Jungkook’s spent length, still nested deep within him. “Don’t pull out, don’t—f-uck.” He claws his nails deeper until he feels the skin break beneath them. “Stay inside me, it feels too good...don’t leave yet.” It’s a swirling mixture of gripping bliss and codependence that causes Jimin to nearly sob his needy begs into the younger’s chest.

Jungkook’s fresh piercing drags deliciously against the model’s abused prostate as his high wears thin and his body begins to relax.

“Don’t leave me,” Jimin pleas, pressing his plush lips blindly against any bit of the man’s exposed skin, tasting the salt of his sweat and exertion. “...not yet.”

Jungkook pulls Jimin closer, the clammy skin of their bodies pressing together as he wraps his strong arms around him—pulsating cock still lodged deep inside.

“I'll never leave you,” Jungkook promises, pressing his nose into the damp blonde curls on the crown of Jimin's head. Being connected with his butterfly like this is all he ever wanted. "I'll give you me every day. My cum...my love,” he murmurs, pulling back a bit to grasp Jimin's jaw, guiding him to meet his eyes. “You're mine forever. Okay?” Kook smiles, his toothy grin a contrast of childish joy compared to the fire swirling in his gaze.

Jimin is all his, in every way. Jungkook draws in the blonde by the jaw, kissing his swollen lips softly. A low hum vibrates in the younger's throat, content with the moment. Jimin melts into the kiss, feeling warm and wholly satisfied as Jungkook’s embrace protects him from the night air that slowly wraps around their naked bodies.

“Okay,” Jimin nods with lips still connected. “And you’re mine, Puppy.” He smiles against Jungkook’s lips with a light blush. It’s a bit odd to use the pet name as a genuine term of endearment, but he likes it a lot. It suits the man perfectly—with his sharp bite, innocent gaze and shaggy soft hair.

The sun set. They’re left in the blackness of night with just the thin veil of the moon and twinkling property lights to guide them. He loosens his grip around Jungkook’s arms and lets him slowly withdraw, wincing as the pierced head slides past his ring of nerves. He tenses to keep in the younger’s tacky cum, enjoying the warmth of it inside him. He looks towards the balcony door and back at Jungkook sheepishly. He’s sleepy after the long day, but not ready to crash yet. There’s comfort in this newfound domesticity and he even begins to feel like he’s found a second home. After such an intense scene on the balcony, he can’t resist the desire to remain close and enjoy the evening together.

“Before bed...could you...” His eyes gleam with childish excitement, “Could you teach me how to play Overwatch?” He hates his pathetic defeat in the last round, and while it led to a very eventful night, he needs to prove he can make a comeback.

Jungkook tilts his head to the side like a confused puppy. ''You want to play Overwatch?'' He asks, even if he clearly heard the question. His smile grows wide, then nods quickly, supporting Jimin by the waist to help him come down from the ledge and on his feet. He thought to carry the model, but is too tired to do so. ''Let's play, but first I think we should take a ahower.''

Jungkook grabs Jimin with one hand, and the camera with the other. Completely unbothered with the scattered clothing and their nudity, he guides Jimin to the bathroom with him and mindlessly stops his recording to begin skimming through it. Perfect, Jungkook thinks, placing the camera on the large sink before turning on the hot shower. He steps inside with Jimin quickly following behind. He sighs in content when the water streams down over their bodies, sweat and other bodily fluids quickly washing down the drain.

“You still got my cum in you?” He asks. With his attention to detail, he realizes he never saw a trace of his spilled cum on the balcony. He steps closer, pressing chests pressing, and snakes his hands around to spread Jimin's cheeks. “Need me to clean it out for you?”

The sudden grasp of Jungkook’s hands on Jimin’s ass makes him jump a little. All that work and the man wants more. It doesn’t seem he could ever get enough.

“Yes,” Jimin replies, barely above a whisper.

The one thing better than feeling Jungkook’s slick cum inside him could be the feeling of It getting fingered out. He has yet to experience the handiwork of the man’s long tattooed fingers. He knows it’ll feel different from his thick cock; slender, yet deft and agile. His pretty length stiffens. His abused prostate aches but the rest of his body is blazing hot and receptive once again. Even after getting fucked hard and ruthlessly, the model is eager to have his tight hole stretched even further. The hot water cascades down his small frame and loosens his muscles to relax for the other man. He inches his ass closer to Jungkook’s ministrations, giving the younger an extra push to do with him as he pleases.

Jungkook hums in approval with the way Jimin hands himself over thoughtlessly. With need, greed, and trust—all at once, giving the younger complete power of his little butterfly.

“Can't have your pretty little ass dripping with my cum all night, can we…” He muses out loud with strong hands twirling Jimin around, firmly pressing him against the tile wall with a flat palm between his shoulder blades. He presses hard, leaving enough room for the model to move his chest away from the cold surface, but tight enough that he’d have trouble breathing. “Or maybe we could…” Jungkook continues, not really expecting any sort of response as his free hand tugs at Jimin's hip, forcing him to arch his back. “Maybe I'll just clean you just to fill you up again.”

Jungkook exhales a shaky breath and sinks his middle finger inside of Jimin, feeling the warmth of his sticky release swirling inside. He presses deeper, forcing the cum to dribble down his hand as the digit takes up all the space.

Jimin’s eyes flutter shut. His tight little ring is sore, but the sting of the stretch feels so good he’s glad the younger is holding him stable against the wall, otherwise he might sink to his knees. The width of Jungkook’s finger fills him deliciously—it’s easy for him to relax further as the digit sinks in deep, forcing the warm cum to slide out and down his thigh.

“J-Jeonnn,” he whines aloud. His needy voice echos off the cold hard tile. He’s not exactly sure what he’s whining for—perhaps something to bite onto. Everything feels too good, all at once—the warmth of the water, the tight press of their bodies, juxtaposed by the chill of the wall. “Your fingers...fuck, Jungkook...” Even still, while he only has one finger inside him, he can’t string together a single coherent thought.

“You like this?” Jungkook's lips curl up into a smile, knowing the answer by the way Jimin shudders and whines under his touch. He shoves his finger in deeper, past the knuckle to slowly massage the elder’s sensitive prostate, forcing more of his cum to dribble out and wash down the drain. “You'll take another, won't you?” He coos, pressing his chest against Jimin's flushed back, teasing soft lips against the blonde's ear. “Want your little hole to always be ready for me.” Jungkook adds a second finger, then a third with some ease from the slick cum coating his digits, pumping them mercilessly into his ass. The wet sounds ricochet off the tiled room. Jungkook presses his body further against Jimin's—the hand that once pushed on the elders back now wraps around his own cock to stroke himself in tandem to the pace of which he fucked his fingers into Jimin. “Fuck, I can't get enough of you.”

The heat of Jungkook’s breath and the tight press of his chest makes Jimin’s body tense with arousal. He can hear the slick sounds of the younger man pleasuring himself as he fucks his long fingers in and out torturously.

“A-are you going to—“ he cuts himself off, realising just how pathetic he would sound, begging for cock once again. But he can feel the brush of Jungkook’s hard length against his ass as he works it steadily with his other hand. It’s too distracting not to think about. “A-are you going to fuck me with your big cock?” He’s never been so needy for anyone, always taking care of himself when the mood strikes. However, he can’t picture a world where he’s alone forever after experiencing the way Jungkook possesses every dip and curve of his body.

Jungkook's lower lip becomes swollen from biting on it so much, eyes widen at Jimin's needy state. The elder seems completely consumed by every touch, and it makes him feel so powerful. Jeon Jungkook knew power. He had it all. But none of it compared to this. Having power of another human being on such a deep level. Jimin needs him, and him only. And right now, all the blonde needs is his cock.

"Yeah." Jungkook simply states. "Gonna fuck you again, and again and again until your insides are shaped for my cock only.” Jungkook withdraws his fingers from Jimin's hole, quickly replacing it with his cock by driving his hips forward, filling up the blonde with one swift motion. A low moan slips past his lips, with one palm flat on the wet tile next to Jimin's head, seeking leverage while the other hand firmly grips his hip.

Jimin’s small hole is gaped and hungry for Jungkook to drive in deep. It’s all he can think about until he’d had it; then, it’s pure gut-wrenching pleasure.

“Fuck me hard, please, pleeease,” the blonde begs in pitchy moans, voice quavering each time Jungkook’s hips slap against his pert ass. He winces as the pace increases without warning. It’s a pleasure in every sense of the word to be used by the photographer like this. He can feel the sting of his fresh tattoo as the hot water hits it between light rubs into the chilled wall. Each time it’s grazed by hot and cold, Jimin is reminded of the permanent claim the younger has on his body, and the matching claim he has over his.

Jimin rolls his hips back onto Jungkook’s cock and shudders as his walls contract around the hot prodding barbell. “Wanna cum just from your cock. Gah—” He rolls his hips faster, rushing to reach his high at an impatient speed. “Use me,” he pants, barely above a whisper as he begins to lose control of his hoarse voice.

"Shit...you're such a slut." Jungkook growls out as his overgrown fringe hangs over his eyes and looks down at the way his cock disappears into Jimin's ass. “Your hole is so greedy—fuck, squeezing and sucking me in like it never wants me to leave." He’s just as greedy, wet skin smacking against Jimin’s, echoing loudly in the room.

Needy for more momentum, the younger takes a step back, pulling Jimin's ass with him in one hand and pushing his back down into a stable position. “Arch your back for me baby."

Jimin does as he’s told without question, just the way his partner likes it. Jungkook places both of his strong hands on Jimins ass cheeks and spreads them to properly see his cock drill in and out. His clawing grasp taints Jimins skin red, fucking into his abused hole with more strength, tugging the boy’s hips back to meet his powerful thrusts.

“A cockslut. Jeon Jungkooks personal little cumdump. That's what you want to be, isn't it? Haa.." Kooks muscles tense up, feeling the heat of his orgasm pool in his lower abdomen. He desperately chases the feeling, paying no mind to Jimin’s aching cock. He'd cum anyway, especially with the way the younger's thick, pierced tip repeatedly jams against his prostate.

Jimin swears his knees could buckle with each new punishing thrust of the younger’s heavy cock. He can already feel his orgasm building as his smaller frame is bent and contorted to be used, walls pulsing around the swollen shaft.

“Yes! Y-yes!” Jimin arches his back deep to grant the other man all the leverage he needs to push in entirely, sinking his reddened tip nice and deep, causing Jimin to drool onto the tiled floor. “I’m a cockslut...I’m your fucking cumdump...”

As he’s fucked dumb Jimin abstains from touching himself. Without looking, he knows he’s painfully hard, dripping pre-cum. “Feel my tight ass gripping you...s-shit—your fat cock stretches me so good.” He peeks over his shoulder and watches Jungkook nip his bottom lip so tight that he’s sure the skin is breaking. Jungkook’s cheeks look hot and dewy from exertion; small beads of combined sweat and water drip down his soaked fringe and trail down his tensed muscles. “Gonna—oh, god...” the blonde strains against Jungkook’s hold and cums untouched, streaking his release down the tile wall, cut off by the younger cursing and stilling within him, so close to pushing every drop into his spent hole. “C-cum in me,” he whines, feeling the younger swell within him as his pitch gets louder. “Please, please, pleaseee.” He locks eyes with Jungkook and loses himself in his dark feral orbs. “Fill me up again...and again—“

Jungkook's eyes remain open, focusing on Jimin's desperate face as he cums, buried to the hilt, ensuring his blonde receives every single drop of what he has to offer. His cock throbs heavily and cum erupts like a volcanic explosion, thick and hot inside. "Oh my god, my little butterfly."

His throaty, strained moan reverberates as he empties himself inside, smoothing his large hands across Jimin's back before wrapping around his torso, pulling him up and holding him close against his flushed chest. A soft kiss on his neck follows before Jungkook pulls himself out with a quiet whine of oversensitivity.

"You're so perfect for me," Jungkook praises, wasting no time in carelessly shoving his fingers inside Jimin to prod the cum out, letting most of it simply dribble out and wash down the drain. “Still down for overwatch? I'm not sleepy…”

Jimin stretches and feels his body become slack with exhaustion. It has been a LONG day. He doesn’t care much for the game himself, but any opportunity to see Jungkook’s childish joy is a coveted one. Plus, he has to get better so he could beat him one day. The man is good at everything, he muses internally, recalling the beautiful photography sets he made just for him. There has to be a weak point somewhere.

“I’ll need one of your bananamilks if I’m going to stay awake much longer,” he yawns, resting against the younger’s side as they walk into the living room. “And then get ready to fight for your life, Jeon,” he smiles. “I won’t go easy on you.”

Jungkook hands Jimin a cozy bathrobe to wear to the living room and opts for boxers for himself. He’s generally warm, and nothing beats sitting in your couch, gaming in only his underwear. Well, maybe being naked, but that'd be cheating if he taunted the blonde with his goods during an Overwatch session.

“Let me get some, you start up the game okay?” Jungkook points towards the large TV as he diverts from their path to go find the fridge. He pulls out a couple bananamilks—more than one is surely going to be needed, at least for him. He shoves a few drinks into his arms as he carries them to the living room, letting them plop down on the glass table in front of the couch. “Alright, drink up, let's do practice rounds first to warm you up.” He grabs a drink for himself and sips on it as he raises a coy eyebrow towards Jimin.

Jimin exhales a big yawn and stretches one arm to the ceiling while the other brings the sweet milk to his lips. He takes a couple gulps and lets the cool liquid swirl along his taste buds, already familiar with the taste, nearly addicted to the artificial flavor.

"Practice rounds?" He blinks up at Jungkook with glassy eyes, snuggling deeper into his fluffy and luxurious robe to get cozy. He sets the sugary drink aside and grips the controller with both hands, ready to try his best. "No bets, this time around," he winks at the younger man, "After I beat you, it's time for bed."

Jungkook fake pouts, slumping down on the couch with his controller in one hand and his drink in the other, chugging it down fast. “One bet. The winner gets backrubs.” He glances over at Jimin with his childish grin, finishing off his milk before starting the game.

"Hmf." Jimin smiles ahead at the tv screen and fiddles with the controller in his hands, already sweating, having lost in his mind. Why did he propose this idea? He must be a glutton for punishment because there is no way he can win against the younger. Yet... "One bet," Jimin emphasizes with one finger, "But if there's backrubs on the line, just know, I will try my best to win." He's overly ambitious. Even when he knows he's complete shit at the game, he can't help but fully commit to everything he does, whether it be a quick round of Overwatch or a spontaneous tattoo.

“Bet you'd love that. I'm great at back rubs,” Jungkook counters, nudging the elders shoulder with his own before he starts the match. “Okay, best out of three. I'm a bit tired.” He admits, rubbing his eye with one hand before grappling at his controller the second the round starts. Kook loves back rubs, but in all honesty, there isn't much else he wants than to be on the giving end in this... He knows he can easily have his way without the bet, but there is this part of him that feels more satisfied if it is earned.

As the match carries on, he shows no mercy on the first round. Second round, he slacks slightly, giving Jimin the illusion of getting better. Actually, he is getting better. Kook can tell Jimin tries really hard, but in the end, he’s still no match compared to the younger. Now Jungkook wants to lose. So, on the last round, he deliberately slacks off and gives his reactions more time as he eventually would be at a disadvantage.

“Damn…” He chuckles as if he wasn't just allowing Jimin to absolutely crush him.

Jimin tucks his lip in concentration, feeling a small bead of sweat trail down his craned neck. He squints his eyes to see the screen clearly—everything is moving so quick he doesn’t fully compute his next move until it’s already made. But his efforts seem to pay off, surprisingly.

“A-am I winning?” he asks, aghast. He can barely believe it, but he isn’t one to argue with a good thing. He haphazardly mashes the buttons on his controller, physically moving it to the motion of his character on the screen. His head tilts to the side to follow the virtual battle until it’s confirmed—he won. He sets down his controller with a shy smile and looks up at Jungkook with puppy eyes. “You’re a good teacher, Jeon. Too good.” He stands from the couch and nods his head towards the direction of the bedroom. “I’m ready for my reward now.”

Jungkook groans in his fake annoyance, throwing the controller to the side as he stands up, quickly wrapping his arms around Jimin only to pick him up and carry him to the bedroom.

“You did well, Jimin-aaaah~'' He draws out the endearing twist to the elders name, knowing it will make him a bit flustered, however, certain he’ll love it.

Jimin is so small, and despite the muscular build, he’s light in Jungkook's arms. The photographer kicks the door closed behind them with his heel, approaching the large bed and gently placing the blonde down on the soft sheets.

“I'm a decent big spoon, just saying.”

“I know,” Jimin smiles, remembering the previous night. Jungkook held him close and breathed heavily in his sleep, utterly dead to the world. It’s as if his presence made the younger sleep deeply, or at least that’s how Jimin likes to remember it.

Jimin touches his own cheeks to feel the heat radiate off them. He’s an absolute puddle after Jungkook said his name. It seems that now it only takes the smallest bit of effort from the younger to make him pliant and soft. With his easy defeat and the way Jungkook happily slung him over his shoulder, Jimin wonders just what’s gotten into him. Must be the sugar rush off the bananamilk, he thinks.

Jimin wriggles out of his robe and crawls under the covers, warming his body within the plush designer material. “I make a great little spoon,” he smiles, contentedly nestled in the warm embrace of the oversized bedding, “...so I’ve been told.”

Jungkook manages to keep his face straight, for the most part. His lips twitches, not so subtly displeased with the sentence, '...so I've been told.’ He’s not surprised that Jimin has likely had many partners in his past, but he will surely be the last.

He joins Jimin underneath the covers and presses his warm skin against the blonde's small back. Kook's hands reach between them, smoothing his palm across the fine, prominent line showcasing Jimin's spine... He thinks that sometime he should get a proper photograph of this visual.

“I'd love to have your back tattooed as well,” Kook adds, not exactly directing his words towards Jimin himself—more so discussing out in the air, all while his hand mindlessly rub up and down, feeling every dent and curve of Jimin's body.

Jimin closes his eyes and enjoys the slow sensation of Jungkook rubbing him, from the wide expanse of his shoulder blades down to the small dip of his lower back. A small moan presses from his lips as the pressure builds around the tensed muscles of his deep tissue, then softens around his delicate spine. It's all the more reason to fall so quick and deep with the photographer. He can be rough and treat Jimin like he isn't a breakable model, then treat him like the most precious and fragile being on earth. He's soft and sweet yet wholly motivated and demanding at times. Perhaps it's his sleepy state of mind, but Jimin instantly nods in agreement, committing to the plan. Even if Jungkook's musing wasn't directed at anyone in particular, he is interested in what exactly the younger has in mind.

"What would you like to mark onto my back?" He asks, rolling his hips gently into the crook of Jungkook's groin.

Jungkook feels his cock twitch at the small sound emitting from Jimin's plushy lips, and the way the elder gently presses against it surely doesn't do anything but spur his erection to awaken. One would say he's insatiable, but truly he's never been this hungry for a person before.

“I would love…” Kook inches his hips closer, making it known that he's already feeling needier by the second. “A snake,” he adds with a low voice. His calloused fingertips trace from Jimin's shoulder down to the dimples on his lower back. “All the way down.” His hand movee to settle on Jimin's hips, softly digging his fingers into his skin to feel how the flesh protrudes between his digits. He presses his hardened cock against the blondes ass as a quiet sigh slips past his lips—the memory of being inside is still fresh on his mind. Seemingly, his cock remembers vividly as well. “I'd love to see it every time I play with you.”

Jimin rolls his hips again, deliberate and tight against Jungkook's hardening length. "Mhm," he hums. "Okay, I'll get it." The mere thought of the man playing with him over and over while his hardened cock grinds against his bare ass makes Jimin's arousal pit in the hollow of his stomach. He melts into the younger's touch as he grips and holds tight to his hips. Less and less, Jimin worries about the repercussions of his actions. If it feels right, he's doing it. The same philosophy goes for his clothing line, and it extends to each new step he takes with the photographer. He reaches between his thighs and palms his aching length, so desperate and needy for more relief. "You can mark me with whatever you want."

"I know." Jungkook breathes into Jimin's neck. Huffs fan against Jimin’s skin, hot and shallow, and hands travel down further to his ass, shamelessly grabbing at the plump cheek. "I will mark every inch of your body one way or the other. You're mine, right?" Kook presses a soft kiss on Jimin's neck, loving the way his body shudders slightly under his simple touch.

"Yes, sir," Jimin breathes, arching his back so his ass is flush with Jungkook's aching shaft. "I'm yours to mark and claim and fuck." At the peak of his desperation, Jimin says whatever comes to mind, paying no mind to how needy he sounds. It's so late and all his body wants is to be impossibly close to the other man, by any means. He wraps his hand around his rock-hard cock and strokes languidly, muffling his pitchy moans into a nearby pillow.

"That's right." Jungkook whispers into Jimin's ear before lightly sucking his earlobe between his teeth, giving it a playful tug. Kook glances down at his clothed cock, aching and staining the fabrics with droplets of his precum. “Fuck...you already got me wet again." He chuckles through a breathy sigh, not hesitating to undress, freeing his heavy length to fall onto Jimin's bare ass. He uses his hands to spread Jimin, just enough to place his cock against the puffy hole, rubbing his entire length between the plump cheeks in a teasing manner. His hips move lazily with no care to how needy his own sleepy, raspy groans must sound. "I'm gonna fuck you again. I'm sure your little hole doesn't need any preparation this time, no?"

Jimin shakes his head; face buried deep in the soft pillow. He quickens his pace, stroking his throbbing cock as Jungkook lines himself up and prods his glistening tip at his entrance. Without much coaxing, the younger slips inside, using the glide of his precum to ease in and out with shallow prods. Jimin's mouth falls open as he tries to compose his thoughts, but the words fall out into the open as filthy little confessions, telling the younger exactly how he'd like to be used.

"Fuck me slow...and deep. Please." He whimpers into the pillow, clutching it desperately in his free hand while the other works his own precum over his reddened tip, teasing the receptive head of his cock while Jungkook plays with his ass. The soreness from earlier has completely subsided. All he feels is an overwhelming desire to be connected to Jungkook at all times; to be insatiable, together. "Cum in me. I'll keep it warm—fuck..." His breaths become uneven and labored as he strokes his hand down his shaft in a smooth motion. "...fill my ass. Wanna feel you inside me while I sleep."

Jungkook adores Jimin's filthy mouth. The more riled up the blonde gets, the filthier his language becomes; needy, begging and whiny… He doesn't say anything, but responds with actions. He grasps Jimin's leg and lifts it up slightly to grant himself access, slowly thrusting himself in deeper—jewelry on his swollen tip grazing the deepest parts with ease. His other hand is used as a cushion for his head as he lays on his side, hand tugging at the back of Jimin's curls to bring his ear closer to his lips.

"You may keep fucking your hand all you want, but be wise with your orgasm.'' Jungkook moans when he feels Jimin's ass clench around cock, moving in and out of him at a tortuously slow pace. ''But I won't stop if you cum too fast into your pretty little hand...fuck...I can fall asleep like this, cock buried in you, using you like my own little cockwarmer." He let go of Jimin's hair, laying his head down comfortably on the pillow as he hookw the elders leg over his hip, lazily grinding his hips into his ass, low breathy moans taking over his ability, or want, to speak.

"But Jungkookieee," Jimin whimpers aloud, unable to reel in the tone of his voice once the younger man slowly drags his thick cock in and out of his tight hole torturously slow. The fresh piercing glides against his velvet walls and teases his sensitive prostate; swollen and throbbing from overuse. Jimin pumps his dick occasionally but temporarily refrains from going too fast out of fear he might cum too soon. He was already so close when Jungkook entered him that he could cum just from the delicious stretch.

"Mmf--" Jimin muffles his needy noises into the pillow and focuses on their connection, hot breath and sinful praises falling from Jungkook's cherry lips as he melds their bodies together with a gentle roll of his hips. "G-gonna..." He smothers his face in the pillow and starts to stroke himself when the pleasure becomes too much to bear. "Gonna cum around your cock...Gonna—ahh—" He loses his composure and shakily shoots his release into his small hand, smearing the fluid messily as he clenches, then lets go of everything.

If Jimin hadn’t been used three times already, Koo could have been less considerate. He would have wanted the elder to continue to stroke himself through the oversensitivity, but he'd been so good. Koo decides to just let Jimin relax and take what the younger one gives.

"I love the sounds you make. You sound so desperate for me... fuck..." Jungkook's hips grind faster, no longer pulling out all the way, instead keeping himself snug and deep inside as he shallowly drives his pelvis against Jimin's ass, piercing still prodding and abusing the elders prostate. "Keep squeezing, keep going, I'll cum..." Jungkook moans through his dampened lips, swollen from biting down on them. "Oh, fuck... you're so tight, I'm gonna cum—" his low words break into a silence, heavy breaths replacing them as he grabbed Jimin harshly only to press his hips flush against his ass, reaching as deep as possible. His cock desperately throbs inside of Jimin, gushing with spurts of his thick, sticky cum claiming it's spot. "Mine..." Jungkook whispers, letting go of Jimin and wrapping his arm around to hug him. He keeps his pulsating cock lodged inside to keep all the cum securely in place. "You're so cute. It's the third time today and you're still so so needy... ahh, you're perfect for me." He mumbles as he presses his cheek against the pillow, closing his eyes to finally get some sleep.

Jimin pulsates around Jungkook's cock as it remains deep inside his abused hole. He feels calm and secure, connected together, used for the photographer's pleasure. He could slip off to sleep at any moment, but the sticky mess tacking his hand to his slick cock distracts him from fully surrendering to his heavy eyelids.

"W-wait." He remembers back to Jungkook's personal studio—how wide his deep brown eyes got when Jimin crawled on hands and knees to lap his own cum off the floor. Jimin lifts his sticky hand from his twitching cock and looks over his shoulder at Jungkook. The man is already halfway asleep, but his eyes are open to slits, watching him patiently. "Look how hard you made me cum, Jeon..." He holds his dripping fingers to the light and marvels at how the thick fluid slides down his palm. Before it falls onto his wrist, he captures it on his tongue, flattening it on his skin for the younger to see. "Mm," he moans, moving his hand to lick away every drop.

Jungkook's doe eyes widen at the sight, swirling with admiration. Jimin truly was perfect, everything he wants and needs. "C'mere," he sleepily whispers as he reaches to grasp Jimin's chin, turning the man’s neck to draw him in for a kiss, humming in content at the taste of the elders' release mixed with their spit. Jungkook pulls back with a coy smile and eyes, struggling to stay open as he buries his face in Jimin's back, arm secured around him as he remains still inside, keeping his cum from seeping out. "Goodnight baby," Kook murmurs into the smaller man's back, mouthing a silent 'I love you' before pressing his lips against his clammy skin, quickly drifting off to dreamland.

#fic: mused obsession #yandere jungkook #yandere bts #jungkook x jimin #jikook #jikook smut #jungkook smut #jimin smut #bts mxm #bts mxm smut #kookmin #kookmin smut #sombreboy #chimoona

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bangtanblurbs · 3 years

Text

autumn leaves

song: autumn leaves by BTS

first experience: my first listen of autumn leaves was when HYYH pt. 2 released. thanksgiving had just ended -- it was 2015. i was well into my fourth year of undergraduate studies and going through both a rough patch in some respects but also in others -- hitting my stride. i remember my first listen through of HYYH pt. 2 was in my tiny dorm room, perched on my bed, avoiding the responsibility of studying for my final exams. autumn leaves followed skit in the tracklisting, and before skit came baepsae. talk about whiplash... my emotions were all over the place. immediately i was taken by the unique backbeat and the beautiful blend of devastating vocals with emotional raps. for me, autumn leaves was immediately a favorite of mine from the album -- following closely behind butterfly. i can confidently say today though that the song is one of my top ten bangtan songs of all time. something about the sound, the lyrics, and the emotions i can hear in their voices makes it one of the most powerful rap ballads in the bangtan repertoire. i can remember distinctly i came to this revelation around christmas of 2015 as i continued to loop HYYH pt. 2 and really feel each beat and sound within the individual tracks.

at this time i was going through a period of great change in my life - and autumn leaves is the perfect song for change. it’s a song about losing a love but also about feeling as if you are losing a piece of yourself. there are many ways to interpret the song outside of just being another sad love song -- that is something that struck me. the lyrics speak to several facets of what happens when you give pieces of yourself to others, or when you reach crossroads in your life. finding this song at this particular moment in my life was like finding energy and light at a time of extreme darkness. it was healing. soothing.

feelings: i have too many. as always. autumn leaves is special to me because when i listen to it i’m reminded of both the place i was in when the sound found me, but also more recent development in my life that continue to relate to the song. when i first heard autumn leaves, i’d recently ended a relationship i’d been far too invested in despite knowing it was going to be a dead end - for about three years. i felt like i was at a point in my life where i needed to figure out who the hell i was without the one i’d loved. it’s funny though - i was happy to be free of that relationship, to be free of him, the pressures he’d put upon me. what do dead leaves mean if not a new spring right around the corner? perhaps i was feeling lost, but in my mind it was only temporary -- the dead must fall away to bring forward the spring.

that being said, i did mourn. not in the way you might think, but in the way that one mourns for lost time, lost identity. so often we, as women, give up our identities when we are in relationships. we allow others to define us in terms of those that we are in relationships with. i’ve realized this now that i’m older -- now that i’m more at peace with my bisexuality -- the notion that our patriarchal society defines us in terms of the men within our lives rather than our own talents and identities. this particular blog isn’t a space for my feelings on that topic though -- what i will say is that autumn leaves comforted me. perhaps i felt that i was at a point where my leaves were dying -- but does that mean the tree is dead? absolutely not. spring would come. my life would be reborn with a new focus taking over.

this being said -- i’ve always been one of those people that holds onto the past. i always wanted to be solid, non-changing, someone with convictions that they carried along from life. i think this stems from experiencing the death of a close friend while i was very young. i cherished the memories associated with her to the point where i didn’t want to lose the person i was when i knew her. so that’s always complicated change for me -- made the moments where the last leaves fell from the autumn trees that much harder. sure, spring was on its way, but what did that mean? would i lose the memories and the moments when my leaves where at their brilliance the previous season? or would i still carry those with me? what if i needed to correct course and completely rewrite who i was over the past -- would that mean losing who i was when i was loved by those i valued in the past? of course not -- but for some reason the more emotional sides of me didn’t see things in such a fluid way. lost was more profound when i was younger because it was also accompanied with these fears over the loss of my identity.

as i’ve gotten older i’ve realized that identity can have staying power whilst also being something that is fluid. transmuting something doesn’t mean destroying or overwriting it. it means building upon the base and modifying it so that things are more brilliant. the me that existed before and during my long-term relationship was the same me i’d carry into the future, but with many more improvements for my own wellbeing and ability to express myself. for me, autumn leaves is just that. whilst on the surface it may convey the emotions of a breakup -- it also simply conveys the feelings that we get when we progress from one period of life to another. we leave parts of ourselves behind in order to improve. does that mean we are fundamentally changed? absolutely not. it means that we have learned from the past -- that we have made progress. in the same way that trees grow and change over the years. perhaps they look differently (taller, greener in hue? more branches?) but they still provide us with lushness and shade.

personal connection: perhaps i’ve jumped ahead... i’ve already delved into this in the feelings section. that being said... i hope that my story can bring comfort to someone else. or perhaps help you all think about the ways in which bangtan songs can promote healing in your own lives.

since my initial experience with the song i’ve had many other moments where i’ve turned to autumn leaves for comfort. i didn’t just leave it in the past -- it’s come with me as i’ve gotten older and moved into new spaces in my life. particularly i quite literally moved and started a huge new chapter in my life. and on this, autumn leaves has been a song i frequently find myself searching for. there’s a line in the song that resonates with me -- it’s in the bridge: “i hold on to these faded memories / is this greed? / i try to look back on these lost seasons / i try to turn back”

initially i’d been excited for my big move from atlanta to washington dc. i thought it’d be the moment where i finally showed people back home that i wasn’t a failure, that all the pride i’d held in myself and my intellectual accomplishments was valid... but partnered with that came the intensive homesickness, the feeling of being an alien. i wasn’t really welcome here in dc. i still don’t feel welcome, but that’s a story for another day - another song. the reality is though, i moved just as the seasons turned to fall. it felt like my old life was falling away, i was bidding adieu my old life -- the community that had raised me since i was eighteen -- it was all gone. i was scared, terrified my friends wouldn’t keep in touch, afraid i’d have to change who i was to experience success (mask my accent, dye my hair, use the language of the elites)... while it’s not a breakup in the way the autumn leaves reads, i felt like i was having to plead with myself not to let go of who i was just for the sake of being accepted here, or for the sake of making my day to day life easier. the beat of the song brought me comfort as i walked to school, where i received the fake smiles of professors and classmates... i pleaded with myself -- to never let the parts of me that had gotten me to where i was fall away... to always let those dead leaves be the fertilizer for who i was becoming, for the me that would deliver myself closer to my dreams.

even now -- i listen to autumn leaves and think about what i’m going to carry forward as the seasons change and we begin to work our way into a new normal in this pandemic. what parts of me will remain? what relationships will i keep? what *should* fall away, and what will i beg to keep around rather it’s healthy or not? i’m not sure. but closing my eyes and listening to the steady sound of autumn leaves brings me nothing but comfort.

song breakdown

musically: autumn leaves is one of the most iconic songs from the HYYH era. the beat is iconic, the mix of vocal line and rap line from verse to chorus is completely seamless, it’s almost like a ballad rap (so iconic of the HYYH era, with songs like love is not over). the asian style beats, and synth... the sounds of the song are flawless from start to finish. the underlying beat of the song is so smooth, it feels almost like constant crashing waves, the ebb and flow of the beat with a few accents to highlight the emotional pick-ups of the verses.

now -- it was controversial at the time -- many claim that autumn leaves samples beats from deadroses by blackbear. rather that’s true or not, i don’t know. but i find that listening to both songs back to back, they’re speaking to a lot of similar themes but with their own distinct sound and messages. there’s something about the genius of the back beat mixed with the emotionally charged rapping that sets autumn leaves apart -- also the use of vocal line is completely distinct and adds to the emotion in the sound.

vocally: i don’t have as much to say about the vocals in this song. they’re beautiful, with vocal providing honey belts throughout the choruses, which sound more like a repeated bridge. we also see the slower, more emotionally accented rap style from each of rapline. the integration of the vocals and rap are iconically HYYH and BTS. we see the raps pick up, and slow down providing for pre-choruses to build into the beautiful vocal ballad ranges.

autumn leaves performed live -- it’s something incredible. something i’m thankful i was able to experience. bangtan obviously never disappoint, but you can really hear the emotions in their voice with autumn leaves. the perfect adlibs, the changing rap paces, the roughness of rapline’s lower registers... it delivers the sadder themes of the song perfectly.

lyrically: time for a DEEP dive yet again. autumn leaves is about change, the loss of a love. of course meanings can be layered, it can be about change, but on the very surface its a song about loss of love because of changes over time.

jin and jungkook start out the song beautifully. the lyrics lead in directly addressing the theme: “fall like those dry leaves / just falling without strength, my love.” indicating that the song is like a letter - it’s a message to a love. the speaker is comparing their situation to a dead leaf, useless... time has run out... time to leave and fade away... something new to come a replace. falling without strength, it seems as if the speaker is saying they’ve got no more fight in them anymore, they’ve given up and realized continuing the fight is futile. it’s time to just let everything fall away, fade into black. “your heart just goes far away / i can’t catch you / i can’t catch you anymore, anymore / i can’t hold onto you, yeah” as much as the speaker would like to hold onto the moment they are in, hold onto the person they’re with... they can’t anymore. the other person is too far away. time has led to them drifting further apart, their relationship falling away like a dead leaf.

yoongi starts off the first rap, leading in with heavy emotions and continuing the story, and theme of a tree moving into fall. “those fallen leaves that look so insecure / seem like they’re looking at us.” the leaves have already fallen off the tree now, they’re dead on the ground -- peering back up at the speaker and their partner. i interpret this as the leaves are looking back at something they used to be a part of, something familiar to them, just as leaves are a part of our lives, trees spectating our lives as we live. these leaves were a part of their lives -- and now they’re gone, a piece is dead now. “if i touch your hand, even if it’s all at once / it seems like it’ll all become crumbs” -- this line illustrates again the analogy that the leaves are like the speaker’s significant other, someone that might just crumble away like it was never even there before, like a dream, it’s that distant. “i only looked / with the autumn wind” the seasons have changed, it’s that time, it’s been that time, and now the wind is a force that finally pushing the leaf off the tree, finally pushing the relationship or moment of life to end. “your words and expressions that become cold at some point / i can see that our relationship is fading / an empty relationship like the autumn sky” this line directly refers to the relationship like the seasons -- there was a spring, beautiful and blooming, love blossomed. and in summer it burned. but as time went on, the clouds went away and the rain stopped (the autumn sky doesn’t bring the spring showers to nurture the relationship anymore) and the fire consumed everything, burning it out and leaving nothing. “an ambiguous difference compared to before / today of all days, the much quieter night” there’s nothing left -- there no more crackle of the fire burning, no more love. it’s empty, and gone. but nobody knew when it became this way or why, it just did. “one lead left clinging to a branch / it’s shattering, i see the end.” there’s something hanging on -- perhaps it’s just the memory -- perhaps it’s just the part of them that is afraid of change, that wishes they could stay in the warmth. but even so, it’s beginning to crumble, it’s beginning the process to fall away. “dead leaves becoming dried / the silence inside your aloof heart / please don’t leave me / please don’t leave me, crumbling dead leaves” from dead to dried, the emphasis is made that at some point things have moved past ending or that they have been done for quite some time and for them to now also be dried. that being said they’re dried, not gone, the memories exist the emotions have left their place. someday the marks of this relationship will impact and provide the basis for another with someone else -- for better or worse.

then, we reach the bridge-like chorus. it’s simple in lyrics despite emotion packed in tone. “i want the you that meets my eyes / i want the you that wants me again” this line indicates that the partner in this situation has walked away and had decided not to even acknowledge the speaker. to pretend they don’t exist, to remove them from their life -- perhaps to not even keep them as a memory. “please don’t leave me / please don’t fall / never never fall / don’t go far away” the speaker begins to beg, holding onto the last few minutes of whatever they believe is left of the relationship. the begging of “don’t fall” is at odds with the previous verse about a leaf already fallen -- perhaps the chorus is coming from a more desperate state, or a moment before the inevitable happened (the season changed, the leaves fell).

the post chorus brings in jin and continues with the same lament - the same desperate begging. “baby you, girl i can’t let you go / baby you, girl i can’t give up on you” the speaker is determined to hold onto the moment before the final fall. they are unwilling to let it all go -- hanging on to the last moments but also to the memories it seems. “like those falling dry leaves / this love, like dry leaves / never never fall / it’s fading.” at this point the chorus has progressed to where the leaves are fading and falling -- morphing into something that is no longer a leaf anymore. what is the speaker holding onto any more? just as memories too fade -- is there anything even left?

the next verse brings in namjoon, it plays off of the themes and tones in yoongi’s verse. it begins with the leaves already having fallen. there’s no more grasping onto what was, it’s much more about moving on and the ways the memory frames our ability to go forward. “like all the dry leaves fall / like all the things i thought would last forever are leaving / you are my fifth season” the speaker couldn’t imagine this happening -- a fifth season, there is no such thing. the leaves have fallen, despite him never imagining that it would occur, he’s dumbstruck. there’s a level of naivety here -- speaking to the things they thought would last forever -- which harkens back to the entire HYYH era theme. youth. learning growth. namjoon is speaking to new steps in life happening after finding out that what was familiar and comfortable is gone, and will not return as he is stepping into a fifth season and uncharted territory. “even if i try to see you, i can’t look / you’re still green to me / even if the heart doesn’t move, it moves by itself / lingering feelings hung out piece by piece like laundry” namjoon is charging here that he’s placing more emphasis on the past and the memories he holds rather than wanting to confront the reality that the other person has changed. they’re still green - young, fresh, healthy... he can’t help but still be in love because he cannot confront the fact that the other person has in fact changed. and at the same time all of this change and loss has made him raw, he cannot conceal his feelings even when doing mundane day to day things... his emotions hung out for all to see. “only crimson memories fall / from above me / even if my branch doesn’t shake / they constantly fall” the colors have changed from green to crimson, he is forgetting the hard times -- the memories that are rotten. the other memories, even if he keeps trying to hang onto them, they’re also going - being tainted by the dark and unhappy reality of things begin done. “right, my love must fall / in order to rise” he realizes, he need to cut the baggage, cut his false belief that things are still good, so that he can start a new season and try again. embrace his youth once again and heal. “even when you’re near, my two eyes / are far away, it’s happening / i’m being thrown away like this / inside my memories, i become young again” he emphasizes again that he cannot confront the reality of loss of this other person but realizes that it’s completely out of his control - he is the one being thrown. but he knows he can retreat to whatever space he needs to in order to cope or heal, he can hide inside his youth in his mind. he can stay there until he heals and can emerge once again.

the chorus the repeats again, but this time it moves into the beautifully delivered bridge by taehyung. he begins with his low and smooth range “why can’t i give up on you yet / i hold on to these faded memories” which calls directly to namjoon’s verse. the seasons are changing, but he cannot let go of the past. things are fading but they remain his refuge. “is this greed? / i try to look back on these lost seasons / i try to turn back” he begins to realize that there’s an element to these emotions that might be toxic, that he wants but he knows he cannot have what he wants, or that he wants too much. he wishes he could retreat back to the summer, or the spring. turn back time and hide in those brighter moments.

the final verse is beautifully delivered with hoseok’s unique style. he offers an unexpected conclusion to the hopelessness of yoongi’s verse and the denial and dismissal in namjoon’s. “burn them brightly, woosh / it was all beautiful, right, our path / but they’ve all faded” hoseok remembers fondly the memories, reflects positively on the way that things had been going... but he recognizes that that path exists no more -- those leaves are dead and gone. he uses the word “burn” which is often what happens with dead leaves, they’re burning brightly those memories -- like they’re seared into his mind and heart. they’ll never leave his essence. “dry leaves come down like tears / the wind blows and everything grows apart all day” this line beautifully captures the mourning process and the confusion that follows -- the learning to unlearn and untangle your life from another person’s. to move away from something that was so permanent in your life and mind. “the rain is falling and you’re shattering / until the very last leaf, you you you” the weather references in this verse are fitting for the theme of seasons but they also take control away from the speaker - make reference to the fact that even as they speaker would like to, he cannot control his emotions just like he cannot control the situation and relationship coming to an end. the very last leaf -- he tried to hold on, he waited till the end, but finally the hope is gone.

the chorus repeats with some additional lines bracketing it by taehyung. ultimately the song leaves us with a feeling of being unsettled as things came to an ended. time passed by and things changed -- and end was inevitable. memories are what is left to hold onto. seasons change, just like we grow up or change. things in our lives will run their course, especially relationships. we learn from them, and even if we don’t want them to -- they leave scars... no matter how much we plead. but the reality is, we can retreat to whatever place in our mind or memory that we need to in order to repair ourselves to try again.

performance: the main video that is available online for autumn leaves is a performance from HYYH on tour. i cannot pinpoint the location of the filming, but it is the same as it was when i saw BTS live in 2016 in macau for HYYH the epilogue on tour. you can find it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UrM53Y9hHV0&ab_channel=lestwins1524

the performance is very much understated but beautiful. vocals and raps are delivered with more emotion than was captured in the recorded version. members do not perform any choreographed dances, but lights and graphics highlight each member as they come into focus to deliver their portion of the song. it’s beautiful and it’s just what was needed to portray the emotion and depth of the themes in autumn leaves.

in my own personal experience, seeing this song performed live was incredibly profound. the entire arena was silent. all eyes on bangtan and listening for each of the incredibly raw verses to be peformed. the crisp emotion laden in the vocal line choruses. the song is beautiful. it’s somber and mature. it exemplifies the drama of the HYYH era -- with lyrical and performance genius that is unparalleled. i’ve uploaded to this post my horrible video but i hope you enjoy ~~

tl;dr: autumn leaves might seem like another breakup song, but there’s more to it. it beautifully emphasizes the power of memory, time passage, and the desire to hold onto past versions of themselves. which for many listeners is far more profound than just a breakup -- there’s so many times when we need to leave behind moments in our lives, friends, family members... and while we want to hold onto something that is familiar, we can’t. they’re leaving, we are moving on... seasons come and go no matter how much we wish they’d just stay constant. dead leaves fall away, even when we’d wish the summer and spring would stay, they can’t. life is cyclical in nature. which harkens us back to the themes in spring day as well. the sun will always come out, the seasons will change... but we have to confront the fact that sometimes we will experience pain, loss, and change.

#bangtan #bts #lyrics #analysis #army #autumn leaves #bts army #hyyh #most beautiful part of life

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anika-ann · 4 years

Text

Of Jewels and Gems (B.B)

Type: One-shot, Reader-insert Word count: 1740

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Medieval AU with thief!Bucky and princess!reader.

Based on a prompt: ‘I snuck in the castle to steal the royal crown but I’m stealing you instead au’.

Warnings: briefest violence, mention of anxiety if you squint

A/N: Prompt is a courtesy of @caplanbuckybarnes ‘s challenge! Thank you for gathering so many wonderful ideas! Also, I did not follow the prompt entirely, but I’m sorta hoping that it’s okay 😇

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Your heels were clapping softly as you wished to blend with the shadows of the castle’s corridors, sweetly lit by many torches, casting a lovely game of shadows on the walls and warming the otherwise cold space. Most importantly though, the space the lit up was empty – and you allowed yourself to inhale and exhale in relief, tension leaving your shoulders at last.

Your sky-blue dress, threaded by silvery white as if to compliment the feast, the celebration of winter solstice, brushed the hard-stony floor with every step, a rustle tender like a breath, remaining elegant even as the door to the royal ballroom closed after you.

You had sought a moment of refuge from the attentive if not downright prying gazes, which never seem to leave your person as if expecting to find a flaw – a living proof of the princess not belonging on the throne, on her rightful place to take in only a few years’ time.

Not one guard dared to follow you; whether the expression on your face was to blame or your status of Crown Princess, you couldn’t find yourself to care, simply grateful to Gods for such blessing. Endlessly grateful for a brief moments of serenity and solitude with nothing but a literal whisper of ‘Thank Gods’ on your lips.

Should you take Gods’ name in vain, Queen’s voice echoed in your mind, they will punish you for your insolence.

And as mother had told you on numerous occasions, they truly did, the punishment appearing in front of your eyes as if from thin air.

With a muffled thud of expensive boots, a dark, strong male figure, clothed in an attire barely suitable for such memorable day, emerged from the shadows four feet from you, almost as if falling from the ceiling.

“Halt!” a strict voice ordered to the stranger instantly, the sound fazing you only for a fleeting moment as realization dawned to you; it was your own voice that had found its way out and echoed in the otherwise abandoned walls. “Show yourself!”

The man indeed halted in his steps, clearly taken aback by your presence, and slowly turned around to face you; only then you took notice of his hands cladded in black gloves, clutching a sack no bigger than his head.

Much to your surprise, a grin swiftly replaced the grimace twisting his unfamiliar face and his bright eyes seemed to light up while his gaze rudely roamed your figure, finally landing on your frowny expression.

“Ah, the princess herself! What an honour!” a deep timber of a voice called out.

Then the stranger attempted and failed to curtsy, giving you an impression of a man mocking you.

A righteous offence taken warmed up your head in an instant; yet, you had been taught to be nothing short of polite, ever, and so you approached the man with kindness and caution as if to battle his rudeness.

“What are you seeking in these corridors, my lord? You should not-“

“My lord!” he echoed, a blend of more mockery and awe colouring his voice in deep marron, his next slurred words giving away his origin – one that could have not be noble, ringing all alarm bells in your mind. ”Whadda polite thin’ ya’re.”

“Excuse me? And who do you believe to be to address me in such manner?!” you snapped back, forgoing all the manners you had been taught and reaching to your bodice for a hidden slot instinctively. “What is it you hide in your sack?”

His eyebrow rose in bewilderment, his smile widening visibly under his thick dark beard – however, you did not miss how his eyes flickered to your side, where your hand had sneaked to take a hold of your dagger.

One single step in your direction, a minute shift in his posture, and your weapon was drawn, blade in the height of his eyes; his pupils enclosed in blue-grey irises swiftly refocused on the sharp object, his hands slowly lowering the sack. Under your attentive gaze, he went to unwrap it.

“Do you not come closer or I shall call the guards!” you warned him, your voice rising in volume to emphasize your point, to show him that your actions and threats were as far from a jest as he could imagine.

“Just showin’ ya’ the sack, Princess, no need to get jumpy,“ the stranger grumbled, eyes never leaving yours as he revealed his secret.

A gasp of pure surprise and horror left your lips, a momentary weakness swaying your strength and causing you to lower the blade only a fraction. Spots danced in your vision upon the revelation.

In an instant, faster than you could ever hope to comprehend, a slightly painful twist of your wrist had you drop your weapon, a rustle of fabric the only warning before your back gently hit the wall with a soft thud, pinned by his body, entirely immobilized.

Before you could attempt a scream, a calloused hand covered your mouth – a dirty, filthy hand, one which had touched the royal crown (!) without permission, without any right--- and as if such insolence wasn’t insulting enough, the man, momentarily touching you as well, clearly attempted to steal it.

Attempted to steal the crown jewels!

Oh Gods-

The clank of your dagger on the stony floor broke the vicious circle of your consternation; however, you couldn’t bear tearing your gaze away from the handsome face as you found it in such close quarters with yours, few inches only. Hard warm body had found its way to press against yours further, hard and yet almost soft, as if holding you down with care.

Perhaps you should have tried and alert the guards even incapacitated--- however, you couldn’t. Your shock at the impertinence of this man was long gone, its rightful place taken by awe at his startling beauty.

Your heart was attempting to beat its way out of your chest, for reasons you seemed to be unable to fully grasp; never you had thought fear was so near to excitement and fascination. You never hoped a man’s body touching yours could feel so wonderful.

“I don’t like bein’ rude, doll.”

Not even the contradiction of such sentence – calling you a doll, which for an explicable reason brought you pleasure, and the exclaim of his aversion to disrespect – could hope to snap you from your trance.

The huff of exasperation against his palm was more of an instinct, half-heartedly meant, as your eyes seemed to have a mind of their own, unable to escape the trap of his gaze.

“So I gotta introduce myself,” the stranger hummed, observing you with equal interest as if he saw you for the first time, as if all of your people didn’t know your face. “They call me Winter.”

Every muscle in your body tensed at the exclaim and yet, you turned nearly limp in his hold as you succumbed to the sudden faintness.

Winter.

You have heard of that name, clad in a fog of mystery. Winter, the fabled thief, given the name for he was always coming on days of celebrations of the winter solstice; and yet, while all kingdoms remained at highest alert for the fear that he would arrive at their doorstep, he always managed to slip through their fingers, almost as if being a master of mystical arts.

Some didn’t believe in his existence as such at all; however, the losses in royals’ and noble’s belongings were far too real for the man to be a mere legend.

In this moment, Winter – especially since standing right in front of your own eyes – appeared indeed startlingly real.

And as much as such realization was disconcerting, you felt yourself being thoroughly charmed and fascinated.

Your mind could not but race to solve the mystery – how many gems he had stolen before they began to reflect in his face? Eyes like topazes, threaded with silver lining, precious ruby lips hidden in a rich dark beard covering a jaw worth of royalty. A golden crown would complete the picture and perhaps its glow already twinkled in the thief’s irises.

“I don’t wanna hurt ya’, pretty doll. So, don’t ya’ scream, yeah?” Winter whispered a secret, a plea, and you couldn’t but comply, even if you found yourself missing the warmth and weight of his palm. A smile graced his lips again, your heart replying with a flutter. “I’m gonna walk away and you’re not gonna say a thin’ ‘bout me, yeah?”

The gems glimmering in his eyes shone brighter as they indulged in observing your face with something resembling attraction as you she battled with yourself, vainly attempting to overcome the spell he put on you, causing you to only nod – rather than acting upon a rational thought and calling for guards to capture the infamous thief.

The most skilled thief you had ever encountered; though you had not met many.

Rough fingers with the softest touch brushed your cheek and you wondered how only was it possible to steal someone’s breath, the air from their lungs; for this was what it felt like, a brief encounter of skin and skin, fleeting, yet eternal as your face appeared to absorb the heat of his touch.

A playful smile, a smirk blending into a tender grin, spread your assailant’s mouth.

“Next time… I’m stealin’ the real crown jewel, Your Highness,” a confident exclaim left his lips before they encountered yours in a hasty peck, pleasant warmth only lasting a moment, yet long enough to ignite fire in your bones. Your eyes nearly fluttered shut in an unexpected bliss.

He had the audacity to wink at you as he took his retreat, claiming both his price and your dagger for a good measure, still smiling, as if the weapon meant a memento to him.

He left you in your stupor, form unmoving besides the swift motions of your chest as you hoped to catch your breath, to calm your fluttering heart and tingling fingertips and most importantly, to regather your wits.

Winter had already taken his leave long ago when you, in your mind, proclaimed him the most skilful thief in seven kingdoms indeed – for he had stolen your breath… and perhaps captured your heart as well.

Of that you were certain when the next day, you could feel your face light up as a brand-new dagger was brought to you by your loyal handmaiden Wanda, along with a note written in charming cursive, without a name signed yet self-explanatory:

Till next time, Jewel mine.

And you felt as if the next-time couldn’t arrive soon enough, your body already aching for your missing heart.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Of Thieves and Queens of Hearts (sequel, ‘one-shot’)

B.B. masterlist (...yes, it’s that short)

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Thank you for reading!

And wow, look at that, I wrote something short again; I blame my poor attempts at writing Bucky 😄

#cappysforeverchallenge #fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x you #winter soldier imagine #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #winter soldier #captain america #medieval au #au #thief bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #of jewels and gems #anika ann

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aesthbaby · 4 years

Text

Her Secret

Summary: We’re all aware of Emily’s untold secrets that she took to the grave with her but what about Lauren? The one thing both woman have in common is you, and the memories they took with them in both of their deaths

Pairings: Emily Prentiss x Reader

Prompt/request: None, just an idea I’ve had in my head for a while.

Warnings: Cursing | Death

Wordcount: Almost 4k

Master List

AN: Time line might be a little spotty because the show did not give many details but I promise its still comprehensible.

Its beautiful for a sad event. The white flowers are such a stark contrast to her personality. The color reminds you of a time before, before they knew her and before all of this happened. One of your eyes feels kind of funny so you reach for it, pulling back to examine the small drop of water on your finger. You compose yourself and push the large, black, sunglasses up your nose. Maybe you shouldn’t be here. You were dressed in all black with a black umbrella. Despite it being a sad day, it was unnecessarily sunny.

You spot her team making their way down the walk way. Three men carrying the dark coffin with one Caned man in the front and the women in tow. You take a step back into the shadows as they near the podium. As the service progresses the amount of speeches and tears are--overwhelming. Images of Emily, once known to you as Lauren, flash across your mind as you hold back any and all emotions associated with this event.

You knew she wasn't really "dead," she couldn’t be. Emily Prentiss is invincible and would never go like that. You saw the woman known as "JJ" glances your way but she says nothing about it. Probably assuming you were another one of Emily's secrets taken to the grave.

Emily’s not dead. Emily wouldn’t die like that.

You kept repeating it in your head.

Italy - 2004

The violets surround the mansion like a protective field. Their peaceful existence mocking your volunteer imprisonment. You only took this job because you and this other agent were the only ones who spoke fluent Italian. She was supposed to take it and you were the understudy or whatever but then she got knocked up so here you are. Being mocked by fucking flowers. Your thoughts are interrupted by Doyle approaching you with his brunette arm dealer on his arm. You turn away from the balcony upon his approach.

“Lauren deve restare qui mentre scappo. Per favore, tienila d'occhio.” Lauren has to stay here while I run out. Please keep an eye on her. He’s always been so bossy, and for what? To make himself seem more powerful than he actually is? We’re all aware of the danger working for him provides.

“Si signore.” Yes sir. You turn to acknowledge the woman in front of you but she speaks first.

“Perché? Non posso venire con te?” Why is that? Can't I come with you? She whines.

He gives her a look and she backs down. The Captain heads out with his guards behind him, leaving you alone with his lover.

You’re not sure what to do with her. Is this a form of babysitting?

She clears her throat. “I know.”

Hearing her speak English was a surprise but it makes sense, there was always something different about her. You arch an eyebrow and reply, “Sai...che cosa?” You know....what?

She holds up a finger for you to give her a moment. She turns around and sticks her head out the door; then closes and locks it. “You’re not really from Tirana, are you?” Who is this woman? You maintain a neutral face while she continues. “The fact that you never eat with us was a dead give away. You’re always held up in this room.” She gestures to the large room filled with files, records, and books. “Like you’re trying to avoid something. I’d also like to point out how you rarely present any Albanian customs.” Where are you going with this Reynolds... “At first I thought, ‘Maybe they’re one of Doyle’s assassins that I’m not supposed to know about.’ But then I started paying attention and realized you’re nothing like that.” You let out a sharp breath. “Its okay.” She takes one of your hands. “I won’t tell Ian. There’s already enough death in his life and I wouldn’t want to see you be one of his next victims.”

You’re stuck in the moment and words are hard to form. All of your training is slipping through your fingers. For all you know she could be bluffing, trying to get you killed. You go with your safest option because you don’t know this woman at all. You pull your hand from her and take a step closer. Peering into her eyes for any sign of fear and when you find none, you proceed. Leaning in as close as possible to her. “Non farei acquisizioni così pericolose se fossi in te.” I wouldn't make such dangerous acquisitions if I were you. You whisper. You could never be sure if your suspicions were correct but this, this was all the confirmation you needed. What’s that old saying? Takes one to know one. “Agente.” Finishing off that last word you brush past her.

Virginia - present

Being back in The States with Doyle still running around is unnecessarily risking. Emily’s defeat is the only reason you’ve come back. To watch her team grieve over the coffin is saddening but having to hide is the shadows is unfair. Am I not allowed to publicly grieve? Are my tears not worthy? The grip on your umbrella tightens. She’s not dead. Emily doesn’t loose. Emotions are running high and the speeches are getting long. Last time you talked, she claimed to be alone. No family and no fiends but clearly she was wrong. What you’d give to be laying under a plum tree on a wool woven blanket with her head in your lap. Eating pastries you raided from the kitchen and telling the Captain that you needed her to help analyze costs. What a fool.

You were so entranced with the memory that you didn’t notice when the pale, dark haired agent approached you. Aaron Hotchner, the unit chief if I’m not mistaken. “Agent.” He acknowledges.

“Sir?” You mumble.

“Your profession was easy enough to guess, though I’m not sure of your name.” Those knitted brown sweaters and golden, dainty necklaces. The short chestnut hair with soft curls that smelled of honey shampoo. The way she’d nudge your foot during dinner while casting discreet glances. Its all gone. “Agent?” He calls again. “Are you alright?”

Before you say anything you make sure your voice is clear. “Tell me Agent Hotchner, did she suffer?” That question didn’t need to be answered but you just had to know. A favor was called in on your behalf by Lieutenant Parks, he gave very few details about her death but you’ll take that over nothing at all. This was the one question you didn’t have an answer for. With nothing but silence from the man, you have your answer.

Reaching for your pocket there’s a small clear box; inside of the plastic is a handful of pressed violets. Without looking you hold the slim box out to him. “Please, make sure she gets them.” After he takes them you make one last note of the sight in front of you. All of her friends, family, and coworkers gathered in one place with Emily’s grave as the centerpiece. You turn to finally face the man, tilting your shades so he can see a bit of your eyes. “Dead or alive.” And then disappearing in to the back of the cemetary.

Italy - Spring of 04′

Two months ago you were staring off of Doyle’s Spanish-styled balcony thinking, “What would happen if I called it quits?” You had enough evidence and entail for him to never see freedom again. So what was stopping you?

Her. She was making you second guess.

After having her call you out for being a spy, you were very careful about what you did and said around her. Its not like she had any definitive proof but at the same time neither did you. What you said that day was a total bluff. Its a miracle you’re still alive. You were left with only two conclusions: one was that she herself is a spy, or two, she’s one of the smartest people Ian has ever brought home.

Then came a day where the boys went out to wherever and it was just you, her, and the maids. Most of them are Russian and speak poor Italian so they usually keep to themselves. You’re at the dining room table pretending to run numbers since that’s literally your job- well that and vetting backgrounds of sellers and buyers. Essentially a secretary with dangerous patrons. The position is mind numbingly boring but it does allow you to remain invisible while observing the operation. Think about it, who’s going to notice the secretary while discussing millions? They’re idiots. They allow you to sit in on every single meeting because you’re just the person who runs numbers. A debatable perk to this job is the amount of free time you posses. Usually its spent digging around the operation, sending information back to HQ, or actually enjoying small aspects of the city. That brings you to right now where you’re doodling random shapes on the bottom corner of the paper.

Lauren is on the couch wearing a button up satin dress, quite short for Ian’s taste so you’re surprised to see her wearing it. She’s read something you’ve never heard of, not that it matters. With no idea why she’s in here with you, you retreat back into your own mind.

“The maids have left.” You suddenly hear beside you, nearly jumping out of your skin.

“You scared me!” At the realization of your chosen language you gasp and watch as Lauren smiles widely. You shoot to your feet repeating no over and over. Actively trying to take back your words while she looks rather amused.

“I knew it!” She points at you all accusingly and shit. You keep shaking your head no and trying to get her to be quiet. “I was right about you!” And here’s the perfect time to have a maid to walk in. Lauren says something to her but you’re too wrapped up in your head to translate. All your years of training, expierence, undercover work has just been thrown away over your stupid mistake.

They’re going to kill me. They’re going to have my head on a stake in the middle of the garden for the world to see- or worse! I’ll be tortured for my crimes by one of Doyle’s men.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by the brunette waving her hand in front of your face. “Don’t worry,” She say softly as you notice the house keeper is no longer with you. “I told her they could take a break...” At your confused face she continues. “So now we can talk.”

Virginia - present

To say you had no idea where you were going, was an understatement.

You hadn’t been to Virginia in years so everything felt unfamiliar. You took quick peaks at your surroundings as the rented porshe pushed through the traffic. Everything hurt, not the traditional pain you experience over a broken toe but the emotional kind that coursed through your entire body.

Is this what a broken heart feels like?

You kept telling yourself she wasn’t dead; couldn’t be. Not your Emily, the woman you know is a fighter. She’s fucking invincible and would never let herself die at the hand of that monster. If she was really dead, wouldn’t you feel it? Wouldn’t you feel your connection to her sever?

At the reorganization of the build ahead of you, you pull the car into the left lane.

Italy - Spring of 04′

She is so fucking clingy. Always starring at me when no one is watching and going on less missions with Doyle. Speaking of him, the man likes to take her everywhere; calls her “Ho il mio portafortuna” his good luck charm. She usual goes out with him whenever he’s traveling but lately she’s been making little excuses on why she wants to stay for the day. Instead of spending the day recuperating from a headache (like she’s told him) she’ll bother you.

That accent and the way she pronounces her R’s makes you wanna melt, but then she starts asking you a million and one questions. What’s your favorite food? When’s your birthday? Have you ever broken a bone? Do you enjoy reading? Its always something with her. I think she’s trying to annoy me. So far you’ve been answering her questions in Italian to insure that you don’t fuck up again.

Doyle is none the wiser, he still sees you as a secretary and her as arm candy.

But you must admit that Lauren is growing on you. She hasn’t said anything in English to you lately or exposed you to Doyle. You’re rarely ever alone but when you are, she gives you one of her finished books and sits in the room quietly. Its comforting. Today she’s given you Niccolo Ammaniti with a note scribbled in pencil on the 5th page, “Hang in there.” Smart woman, writing it in light pencil so I can easily erase it without leaving a trace...also paranoid woman but rightfully so.

Virginia - present

You adjust your shoe so as not to slip before going into the building and suck the shades into your pocket. The giant letters, I. O. D. S. stare back at you in Ariel font.

Maybe I shouldn’t be doing this. Just accept her death and move on.

Inside of Investigations of Death Services you nod to the secretary, an ex of yours, and continue on to your destination. While in the elevatored your vision feels blurry but now isn’t the time for tears. Arriving at your floor, you spot his office and walk in without so much as a knock or invitation.

“One second,” he speaks into the phone. “Can I help you?” His dark eyes look angry, like he doesn’t recognize you. You take a step forward, offering your closed palm to him. “What? What is this? A fucking magic trick?” You slowly open your palm towards him, revealing the silver clover pin. The suited man looks like he’s just seen a ghost. “Shane, I’ll have to call you back.” He hangs up the phone, then reaches from you hand. “Where did you get this?”

Snatching you hand back and putting the silver back in your pocket. “You really don’t remember me, do you?”

He narrows his eyes on you before answering. “Can’t say I do.”

“Back in 03′ you knocked up Carin and proposed I go on assignment. Granted I was the only person who was fluent in Italian--or so I thought. Come to find out there were five other agents who could’ve been assigned there. You chose me because I was up for your job.” Your anger is boiling over quickly. “You were a shitty employee and they were ready to fire you.” You take a daring step forward. “Until you proposed infiltrating Valhalla with one of the foreign operative agents. You told them there were only two fluent agents. Back then we had never met but I knew who you were, Hell, we all knew how much of a screw up you were. Guess you don’t recognize me anymore? I mean in your defense its been years and I’ve lost a few pounds due to the stress you caused me but that’s for another day. How about we go back to 2003.” For a man with toxic masculinity issues, he looks pretty scared. “You couldn’t just out right suggest me so you have to offer up someone else. Coincidently Carin got pregnant right around the time she was starting her training, by you I might add, and could no longer go.” A wide smile starts to grow on your face. “Bet you were counting on my death, huh?” Awe poor baby seems to be shaking. “No...you’re too much of a pussy for that. I bet you were hoping I’d go to Italy and screw things up for the whole operation.” Now you’re toe-to-toe with him. “Mess up so bad that they’d have pull me out and demote me. Or! Reveal myself and hope Doyle’s men killed me or I’d go sprinting home with my tail between my legs.” His silence is starting to irritate you. “So which is it, Mark? Hmm? Cat got your tongue?”

“I’m sorry!” He yells with a reddened face. Out of the corner of your eye you see his co-works looking through his glass walls but you couldn’t care less. “I’m sorry, y/n. What do you want from me? I’ll do anything!” Now we’re getting somewhere.

You push the pin into his face “Where is she, Mark?”

“Where is who?” He’s still fucking shaking.

“Asking me another stupid question and there will be hell to pay.” You’re not really going to hurt him but considering the circumstances, this is justified. The man put your life on the line over some stupid position, a bit of threatening wouldn’t hurt.

“Okay okay. All I know is that after you left she was taken by ALPHA and later faked her death. When Lauren Reynolds died, Emily Prentiss got to go home and Ian Doyle went to a North Korean prison.”

“And now...”

“Last I heard she was working for the Behavioral Analysis Unit at the FBI but was recently killed under suspicious circumstances.” At your expression, he continues. “We know she died during a scuffle with Doyle and there was a funeral but we are yet to have a death certificate on record. Sometimes it take anywhere from a week to a month for us to receive proper records on agent deaths. I thought that-”

“Stop, talking.” You cut him off through gritted teath.

Italy - Autumn 04′

“What is your problem, Lauren?” You’re out on the patio in front of the pool on a warm day. Lauren has a four course meal on the table, courtesy of the chefs.

“Nothing...” She shrugs with a mouthful of strawberry.

“You want me to leave.”

Another fucking shrug.

“Be serious.” You’re trying to stop yourself from stomping your foot.

She puts down her food and clasps her hands together. “Yes I want you to leave.” You watch as she gets up and smooths her skirt; taking your hands in hers. “Your time is thinning and you’ve been her a lot longer than me.”

“And leave you here alone? No way, I know you’re invincible but even Superman had his down fall.”

“Superman?” She loops you in closer. “Why not superwoman? Awfully sexist of you.”

“Oh, shut up.” You nudge her back a bit. “But wouldn’t you miss me?”

She gives you one of her wide smiles. “Let me show how much I’d miss you.” She leans in for a light kiss against your lips. You pull away quickly so as not to be seen. El, like the letter, picked out a blind spot that’s covered partially in shadows. “I have to leave in 15 minutes but until then...” She trails with a very telling expression.

“Where?” You laugh. “Not in the second floor bathroom again because that was...tight.”

Her perfectly plucked eyebrow arches upward, “And you were loud!”

You hop past her to sneak a grape. “Hey! You do know that was mine, right?”

“What are you going to do about it, Superwoman?” You turn to grab another grape, while doing so you feel her presence behind you. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, L.”

“Oh why not?” She lightly trails down your backside. “It’ll be so much fun.”

You turn back to her. “Ten minutes?”

“In the library?” She smirks and you nod along.

Virginia - present

This four hundred dollar airplane ticket is going to serve its purpose but paying it back is going to suck. Your government salary was nice and all but $400 is still a lot.

Just two days before, you rushed around you place to pack all of the essentials for a quick flight to Paris; charger, hygiene, two outfits, and the pin all tucked into a stylish backpack.

That brings us here, standing in the streets of downtown Paris alongside the buzzing mopeds weaving through the streets. In front of you is the little café Elle would go on and on about, naturally this is the first place you could think to look.

You didn’t even know what you were looking for. The woman you fell for was a brunette with light curls and bangs.

You were looking for Emily. The woman Lauren introduced you to. The woman you grew to love in the same way you love Lauren, but Lauren is dead. Has been for awhile, now its time to find Emily. Your Emily.

You find nothing, no one who even slightly revels Emily on your first day there. So you find a hostel to lay your head in and continue on the next day. Again and again with the same routine for five days straight.

You wasted all of your time here for what? A memory? A dream? Two woman who no longer exist on the same astral plane as you?

That’s when you see it, a head of dark brown hair a few tables ahead of where you’re standing. With all hope lost you almost think its a mirage.

You sit a few tables ahead of her, careful to keep your face hidden. When the waiter comes around to take your order you give him very specific instructions.

Emily’s POV

Being a dead woman is lonely and isolating...at least the coffee is good. The waiter who dropped off the hot beverage not too long ago has circled back with a cheese croissant in hand. That’s odd, I hate cheese croissants. “Cette personne là-bas m'a demandé de te livrer ça.” That person over there has asked me to deliver this to you. He points over his shoulder to a person who’s face I can’t quite make out. “Ils m'ont également demandé de vous donner ceci.” They also asked me to give this to you. He reaches from his front pocket and softly places a silver clover pin that I haven’t seen in years, and a pressed Violet. I can feel the air drain out of my lungs at the objects in front of me. “Merci beaucoup.” The only person who knows what these objects mean are Doyle and-

At the sense of being watched my head shoots up at the source. At first there’s nothing there but then I spot the familiar figure. Its been weeks since I’ve actually seen them, it can’t be. I must be seeing things. Closing my eyes and taking in a deep breathe, I open them to see that they’re gone.

“Boo.” I hear in my right ear; looking up to see y/n standing beside me with a bright smile.

“You scared me!” Realizing how loud I am, I take a breath.

“Miss me Elle?” I left you behind, twice. I died twice without letting you know. You’ve had to start over too many times and its not far.

“Y/n, how did you find me?”

“Really, Elle. Did you really think I’d fall for that party trick you pulled at the BAU? I’m not dull, and besides,” Y/n/n gently puts their hand over mine on the coffee mug. “You’re my Superwoman, you’ll never die.”

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･**･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*˚✧₊⁎ ⁎⁺˳✧༚ ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟ･*:.

@beyondprincess @confused-and-really-hungry @millipop18 @supercorp8388 @groovygoob @emilyprentisswife@covetedcoven @justaghostmonument @rabid-wild-misfits @nomit16 @afuckingshituniverse @mys2425 @fanfictionfangirl04 @aaron-hotchner187 @lisztomaniacalice @thestrawberrygirl @miidguardian-exe @criminalmindsmoodrn @ssacandice-ray @davidrossiismydad @garcias-batcave @ssaemxlyprentxss @andreaxxg13 @emilyprentissistoocute @mortallythoughtfulgurl @iamyouknow-yours @aesthbaby

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bullshittierlists · 3 years

Photo

Spoilers for DR1, obviously. I decided to remake this list because my opinions on all of the characters have changed significantly since the last time. I’m honestly not even super happy about this one.

I see no god up here other than me:

Kiyotaka Ishimaru - Oh my lord, he’s perfect in every way (except for the thing, which I’ll get to). He’s funny, he doesn’t feel entirely insignificant, and he’s got a cool, sad backstory to dive into if you like him enough, but it isn’t required to do so throughout the main game. Everything about his genius/hard-working motif is brilliant. I think it’s incredible how he’s actually the opposing force to Komaeda rather than Junko, even though no one talks about it and the game doesn’t really use it that much. His whole backstory with his grandfather and father is so sad and I’m so proud of him for getting to be where he is today, even if it didn’t quite happen how he wanted it to. The one exception to this practically perfect prefect is, of course, the elephant in the room, Kiyondo Ishida. Here’s the thing: I think Kiyondo could’ve worked really well. However, as far as I know, Taka was swapped out last minute with Hiro and had to die in chapter 3. I honestly think this was the worst decision the franchise made after making Mikan... the way that she was. The only reason people hate Hiro is that he survived the first game. I’ll get to this more later, but I honestly really enjoyed his character for the first three chapters. After that, though, he got a little stale and even a bit annoying, especially the Kyoko being a ghost bit. I feel like Hiro really overstayed his welcome and his presence could’ve been more than made up for by the comedic duo of Hina and Taka. I understand that choosing the survivors of each game is difficult and a very meticulous process, but let’s just consider the interactions with other characters for now. To start with, Hiro hardly had any positive interactions with any of the other characters in the back half of the game outside of Hina calling him out for being an idiot. If we put Taka in his place, he could’ve had serious moments with Kyoko and Makoto, helping them to solve some of the mysteries. He also could’ve played off of Byakuya and Toko’s relationship in telling them that PDA is “not welcome in a school environment.” And the crowning jewel of missed opportunities, his interactions with Hina. They’ve both lost their best friends in the whole world and have no one to rely on. In canon, Hina had to do a character 180 just to keep up with Hiro’s idiocy and not break down about losing Sakura. However, if we had Taka, he could’ve helped her to get through it because he would’ve already gotten over Mondo with the help of Ishida. See? I brought it back around. If Taka had been able to resolve his issues with Ishida in chapter 3, he would’ve been able to help Hina to develop her character through the loss of Sakura in chapter 4. I think this would’ve been so much better for both of their characters and I weep for what could’ve been. But for some reason, Hiro just had to stick around.

Mondo Owada - I’m honestly surprised I talked about Taka for that long without mentioning Mondo. I don’t actually have a lot to say about Mondo that I won’t get to with Chihiro, but this is basically your warning to be ready for another rant and it also serves as a break from the last one. Mondo and Taka are perfect for each other, Mondo is the most sympathetic killer, bar none, and even though I’m not a huge fan of dogs, Chuck is so precious.

You’re the best:

Celestia Ludenberg - Pretty goth lady. That’s about it. She could’ve been better in chapter 3, but I honestly still really liked her plan and her breakdown was phenomenal. My favorite thing about her though is her execution. Her execution fits into the thin category of executions that include the element of specific despair, basically meaning that Monokuma made it specifically to make her sad apart from the fact that she was dying. She was ready and honestly excited to be burned at the stake because it would guarantee her an interesting death and therefore an interesting life. But then, she ends up just dying in another boring old car accident, many of which happen every day. It’s fun to watch her expression and demeanor change throughout her execution, it’s one of my favorites.

Chihiro Fujisaki - Oh boy, it’s the one I expect to get hate for. Buckle up, lovely people, it’s time to get personal. I personally headcanon Chihiro to be a cisgender male; however, I also believe that you can headcanon anyone to be anything you want. There is an exception and it’s when that headcanon specifically derails something the character was trying to present. In this case, it’s toxic masculinity and the importance of appearances in society. I’ll preface this whole section with a statement: I’m not trying to be transphobic. I could see Chihiro being a trans male, but cis or trans female just feels counterproductive to me. Let me explain. Chihiro’s entire existence is used to parallel Mondo’s. Chihiro has a strong will with a weak body, while Mondo has a strong body with a weak will. Mondo is seen, in canon, as a super manly character who is strong in both heart and body, but he doesn’t believe himself to be this way. The only strength he’s ever seen is through aggressive violence, and that’s how he shows his strength. This is proven in the fact that when he felt weak against Chihiro’s strong will, he killed him out of fear, which he had grown to believe was strength. However, since Chihiro had a weak body, people treated him as unmanly, even though he was strong-willed, so he believed that everything about him was weak and learned to be submissive to everyone else’s desires. This is proven in the fact that he dressed and acted the way he did specifically to please others, not himself. It’s shown in multiple free time events that he hates the way that he looks and that he hates dressing to appease other people. It’s not even necessary to turn to the FTEs to gain this information, it’s obvious from the fact that he goes to Mondo specifically to get stronger in what he thinks is both mind and body, as he’s been known to think that the two are connected. It can also be understood from his dialogue that he wasn’t trying to get physically stronger for himself, he was perfectly comfortable with his body, he wanted to get physically stronger so that other people would leave him alone. These are the effects that bullying had on him. Maybe I’m misunderstanding, but whenever I see Chihiro as female, trans or otherwise, it feels as though those people want Chihiro to subject to the bullying because it more closely fits their ideal. It just feels like evidence of toxic masculinity because since Chihiro is feminine, he must be female, even if he says otherwise. The difference to me between this and say, trans Gundham headcanons is that with Gundham, there’s nothing in his character that goes either way, so it’s fine to headcanon him however you want. But when Chihiro explicitly states that he wants to be seen as male, he’s ignored and pushed aside as “another missed opportunity for trans representation.” But he’s not a missed opportunity for representation, he’s just representing something else, toxic masculinity. It’s obvious that it goes over people’s heads because they don’t seem to understand this at all. I’m not trying to be rude, I just want people to understand that just because the representation isn’t specifically for the group you want, doesn’t mean that it isn’t good representation. I can talk about this more if anyone wants me to, but it’s almost 1 AM and I’m not sure how much longer and I can form cohesive sentences and I’m not sure this is the best argument to test that on.

Genocide Jack - Idk, she’s funny. I’ve already gotten past most of the characters I have strong opinions on. Whereas in the second game, I have strong feelings about my favorites *and* my least favorites, I really only have favorites in this game and everyone else is pretty neutral.

Byakuya Togami - He was actually originally my second favorite character, but I realized a good way into the series that I didn’t actually like him that much. He’s not as smart as he claims to be and he isn’t as well written as Komaeda or Kokichi. However, he does have one truly fantastic moment in the first game and that is during chapter 4. When it’s revealed that Sakura killed herself, he shuts down. It’s impossible for something to have happened that he didn’t predict and he truly believes that. It’s incredible to see his complete shift in character (at least for this trial) and I absolutely adore that moment. Everything else with him is still kinda meh.

Hey, I think you’re really cool, I like you a lot:

Sakura Ogami - There’s literally nothing about her that I can say that hasn’t been said already. She’s perfect and I love her for it.

Aoi Asahina - Like I said during my Taka rant, I think she would’ve been much better if she didn’t have to accommodate Hiro. The first game had a much darker tone than the second and Toko/Genocide Jack already had the comedic relief role covered. She and Taka could’ve still had their fair share of funny moments together, but I feel like she could’ve gone through Akane’s arc during the second game, but better because she would’ve been able to build off of Taka, who already went through the same thing. Either way, she’s cute and I adore her and Sakura’s friendship.

Sayaka Maizono - So I actually made this list back in January (it’s currently the middle of April) and just never got around to making it and since then, I’ve fallen in love with Sayaka. It may or may not have to do with me being cast as her in a secret project that I’ll announce later, but she has my heart regardless. Now, I’d probably put her behind Chihiro and ahead of Genocide Jack. She’s just such an interesting character and while it’s a shame that she died so early, I still think she wouldn’t have been as good if she didn’t die so soon. For the record, I think both Sayaka and Leon were morally in the wrong. However, Sayaka was doing it for her friends, while Leon could’ve stopped at any time and really only went back for himself. Sayaka is not a snake. Thank you, goodnight.

Mukuro Ikusaba - She’s definitely my neutral point. I have one of these in every DR game, even if I don’t realize it. I just don’t really have any opinions on her and it’s not even because she wasn’t in the game for very long. I just don’t know how to feel about her. I just finished Danganronpa: Zero and that boosted Junko way up in my book, but it didn’t really change my opinion on Mukuro at all.

Kyoko Kirigiri - I get the hype, I really do, but I just can’t get into her. For starters, I don’t like Naegi all that much, so of course I’m not going to like the people that hang around him all the time. The most I’ve ever liked her is while watching videos of her along with “Not So Bad A Dad” from Phineas and Ferb. Other than that, she’s extremely neutral for me.

Toko Fukawa - I’m including her appearance in Ultra Despair Girls, but it didn’t really help her much. I liked her in the first game, but it was only because I was going through a weird phase of obsessing over people and now I just think it’s weird because it is. I went into Ultra Despair Girls knowing that she got character development and then completely forgot to pay attention to it because I was so enraptured by the Warriors of Hope. So, I don’t know, she’s just kinda creepy and I didn’t really notice her (or Komaru, for that matter) in UDG.

I remember you:

Junko Enoshima - Like I mentioned during Mukuro’s segment, I just finished Danganronpa: Zero and it was a wild ride. I made this list before I had even started the book and I was mostly just confused by Junko. I didn’t understand her motivations or any of her plans, much less how she was able to achieve anything she was. But once I finished DR0, it all made sense. I won’t spoil it here, but she was incredible in that book and I wish I had caught on to everything earlier.

Makoto Naegi - I feel bad, but I have to compare him to the other protagonists. He’s just so boring, and I know that that’s the point of a protagonist, but Hajime proves that it doesn’t have to be that way. Makoto’s just kinda there all of the time. For example, in DR0, he shows up for one scene, but he literally doesn’t even do anything. He stands there, talks to Ryoko, is scared during a fight scene, and is never seen again. It’s really frustrating to know that he’s only there because he was the protagonist of the first game and it’s like “Wow, you know this character!”

Yasuhiro Hagakure - My only opinion on him is that he should’ve died in chapter 3. My only explanation for why he was so high on the original list is because I watched this one hysterical panel for DR1 and Hiro was by far the best character there. In the game itself, I liked him until he overstayed his welcome and cost Taka his shot to be memorable.

Leon Kuwata - I honestly can’t explain why I dislike him so much, I just really, genuinely do. He’s just kind of annoying, but that’s about it. Like I said before, I don’t really hate many of the characters from this game, they’re mostly all loved or neutral and he’s just the most negative neutral.

You are literally the worst. Actual scum. Leave this planet and never return:

Monokuma - You know the drill by now if you’ve seen my other DR tier lists, it’s kind of an obligation at this point.

Hifumi Yamada - Why. Why is he like this? Why is he this way? Honestly, he’s not nearly as bad as Teruteru or Kazuichi in the perv department, but I just hate him so much. I don’t understand why he is the way that he is, but I do understand that I’m happy he died in chapter 3. Honestly, I could’ve done with him dying earlier, but it is what it is.

It’s 1:15 AM and I am done writing. I’ve been putting this off for months and I figured it was finally time to get it over with and it definitely didn’t have anything to do with the fact that I can’t sleep. I hope you enjoy all of this and if you would like me to elaborate on anything, just drop me an ask and let me know. I’m always happy to explain any of my opinions and want to make sure I’m as clear as possible. Please do not spread hate about me until you’ve made sure you understand my point. Then go to town.

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merryfortune · 3 years

Text

You give me flowers of love

Written for 100ships Challenge on Dreamwidth

Prompt #39 - Pink

Ship: Nodoka/Hinata

Fandom: Healin’ Good PreCure

Word Count: 3,757

Rating: M

Warnings: No Warnings Apply

AN: title comes from Bloodflowers by The Cure and is recommended listening for this fic.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Hanahaki, Horror, Gore, Emetophobia/Emetophilia, Angst and Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Past/Referenced Eriko/Hinata, Minor Blood

Hinata was not the type of girl who could handle horror stories, urban legends, or anything spookier than a rom-com set against the background of a popular coffee shop. However, there was something about this creepypasta that caught her attention. Maybe she read it to prove that she wasn’t a scaredy-cat or maybe she read it because something about it was almost too real.

It came across her Curestagram feed, screenshots reposted from another site with long form text functions rather than the optimized for photos aesthetic of Curestagram. It wasn’t late at night, quite the opposite, Hinata had just been scrolling as she was half nibbling on a banana muffin for morning tea. So she was kind of bored and not already unsettled by a vague anxiety sort of mindset so she stopped her scroll to read this totally true story from a friend of a friend that had happened upon her timeline.

The story involved a sickness. A lovesickness, hooking Hinata immediately since she was a hopeless romantic and leaving her vulnerable to what was hiding down below a few paragraphs after and Hinata realised she was reading a surreal medical horror story.

Supposedly, some girl from a high school in the next town over had been hospitalized due to damage to her stomach and esophagus but ultimately culminated in her passing away from brain damage due to suffocation. The suffocation that was the outcome of the damage she had taken to her stomach and esophagus had, supposedly, been caused by the growing of flowers inside of her. Doctors couldn’t explain it. They were baffled by the impossibility of it. Yet where they failed to posit theories at all, their patient had her own she desperately desired to reveal.

The nameless girl, as weak as she was in her final moments of speech and cognition, was certain with the most crystal clear clarity that she could muster said that reason for the flowers growing inside of her was due to a crush that she had been fostering for quite some time. A crush that was so powerful and deep that it had manifested as literal and impossible distress in the form of tiger lily flowers. Though her claims were dismissed as nonsense, despite the very given evidence that she had been vomiting exotic flowers, except by the narrator who was sharing her story online on her behalf.

Hinata got to the bottom line of the final screenshot and she dropped her phone on the table. She shivered and flinched as her phone clattered. Nyatoran looked up, alarmed, from the milk that he had been sipping.

“Heh? Are you okay Hinata?” he asked.

“Y-Yeah, I just lost my grip.” Hinata replied. It wasn’t a lie.

“Really? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Nyatoran pointed out.

Hinata made an expression that was both guilty and embarrassed, “Er, sort of… I read a ghost story online and I haven’t the stomach for them.”

“Oh, well, no worries then. I’ll keep ya safe from all the ghoulies then.” Nyatoran boasted.

Hinata laughed, “Thanks, Nyatoran.” she replied.

And that was more or less enough to keep her mind off what she had read for the rest of the day as she did her Sunday homework and such. At least until well after lights out.

Hinata cursed herself. She knew endless walls of text in screenshots never bore good news but it was under her skin now. It wasn’t even that scary, she tried to convince herself. It just so happened to play off something she had been thinking about in ways that cut deep and yes, even scary.

Hinata had a crush of her own. One she didn’t think she ought to act on. Or didn’t know how to act on.

Hinata had a crush on Nodoka. She was sweet and gentle yet so motivated. Hinata felt like she learned something new about either herself or Nodoka after every time they hung out. Things never felt old between them despite how natural their companionship was between them.

Catching feelings for Nodoka was inevitable, Hinata felt regarding their dynamic as close friends and their friendship was relatively intense due to their bond as comrades being Pretty Cures but that made Hinata sick to her stomach with fear. This wasn’t her first crush that she had on another girl.

In the not so recent past, Hinata had been wrong reading other girls’ opinions and feelings regarding her before. She and Eriko had been so close, childhood friends with a pact that seemed fit to stand the test of time when they had made it, and Hinata didn’t think it was a coincidence that already scarce contact between them after Eriko moved was when Hinata had confessed her feelings to Eriko.

The rejection had been crushing and Hinata had never told a soul about it. The wound was older now but it still hurt so, as lovely as Nodoka was, Hinata didn’t want to gamble their friendship due to that prior rejection. Yet her feelings crackled like electricity near a lightning rod whenever she was around Nodoka anyway. She could only hope that Nodoka was oblivious since she was so inexperienced socially due to her childhood spent mostly in the hospital.

(And that Chiyu never brought up the blatantly obvious which she would hopefully never do since she knew there was a place and a time and it wasn’t her place).

Thus, for all these different and entangling reasons, that horror story Hinata had read this morning really resonated. The thought of her unrequited feelings becoming literal, even in the form of pretty and seemingly harmless flowers, and suffocating. It was a very real fear to Hinata despite that fantastical execution that it was captured inside.

All because she was a magical girl infused with the power of light and thunder. She fought villains who caused infections in nature and created monsters. To her, it didn’t seem too far outside of her sphere of tried and true reality that such a floral disease of the body could exist. Heck, maybe it did exist and was tied to the war that she and her friends were fighting in secret on behalf of the Healing Animals. It was entirely possible this flower vomit disease was another agent or power of the Byougens.

Hinata groaned and the more she scolded herself for thinking about these horrible possibilities, the more she thought about them. She tossed and turned all night, in the dark and under the covers of her doona. She knew Nyatoran would live up to his boasting over morning tea if she asked but he was totally conked out in his little room. Hinata couldn’t bring herself to wake him, to unnecessarily burden him, so she just hid from her fears as best as she could in her blankets.

The following morning, Hinata was a wreck. She had bags under her eyes and was generally a drag. She hasn’t slept a wink last night but just like she was hiding from the horror story in her head, she decided to hide from the aftermath too. She touched up her eyes with concealer and finished off her make-up with a nice little kiss of lip balm, too. She chose a nice tropical flavour: pineapple with vanilla undertones and wore nude in practice. With that, she was ready for what was no doubt going to be a long, long day of school.

A prediction that she was very right in having. Just making it to lunch felt like an eternity and a half on low energy. Worst still, despite the precautions that Hinata had taken, both Chiyu and Nodoka had noticed that she wasn’t exactly her bouncy self today. Even with her favourite lunch box in her lap with fried chicken and a fruit drink, too.

“Are you okay, Hinata?” Nodoka asked and she batted her long eyelashes in concern.

Hinata knew she couldn’t lie or deflect around Nodoka, at least for the most part, and deflated, “No…” she moaned. “I slept awfully last night.”

“I expect that it wasn’t due to over studying?” Chiyu asked, sniping.

“No, I just. Couldn’t sleep.” Hinata shrugged.

“Well, be sure to put yourself early to bed tonight then. There’s nothing worse than being tired.” Nodoka said.

“Will do.” Hinata sighed.

“Also?” Nodoka prompted her.

“Yeah?” Hinata glanced at Nodoka was she tried a spoonful of rice from her side dishes.

“Your lip balm has a very strong smell today, I can smell it from here.” Nodoka laughed.

“Oh, joy…” Hinata hung her head in misery. She didn’t think it was so pungent in the tube.

“I didn’t mean that in a mean way.” Nodoka panicked whilst Chiyu had a discrete giggle at Hinata’s misfortune. “I really like it. I think it smells nice. Like cherries. I love the smell of cherries best.”

“Huh?” Hinata mumbled and she stared straight at Nodoka in confusion.

Nodoka stared back. Also in confusion. “Is something the matter?”

“Er, no,” Hinata awkwardly began and she forced herself to laugh and she flapped a hand about too to disguise her weirdness, “I must have been so tired this morning that I though I used one lip balm and instead used another.”

“That is a little odd…” Chiyu murmured.

But Nodoka seemed to buy it, she gasped, “Fwow, you must have been really tired this morning to make such a mistake. Promise me to get a good night’s rest tonight then.” Nodoka fussed for her.

“I promise, I promise.” Hinata replied.

Just as Hinata spoke, the end of lunch bell rang. She moaned with the utmost misery as she hadn’t finished her lunch even slightly and roused much sympathy from both Nodoka and Chiyu. So, Hinata crammed what she could into her mouth and swallowed before returning with her friends indoors to their classroom.

She plopped down in her chair and desk, her stomach growling almost immediately. Were it not for the teacher at the front of the classroom, Hinata would have flopped down and keeled over right there and then. She would have killed for a nap. Not even a luxurious nanna nap at this point, she would take a horrid power nap. Anything would have been better than nothing. Instead, the best she could muster was some daydreaming whilst scribbling in her work book so she could at least pretend to be paying attention.

Her mind strayed to Nodoka. She couldn’t help it. A silly little pining schoolgirl was exactly what she was after all. She doodled Nodoka’s name in her margins, surrounded with love-hearts, paw prints, and even flowers. It was a little bit childish but Hinata was a lot childish so she didn’t mind, she was more or less on cloud nine since Nodoka had shown her care for her over lunch, fussing for her like that.

It was such a small act but it was more than enough to launch Hinata’s heart in a million miles an hour race. So much so, she began to taste something at the back of her throat. It was a sweet taste accompanied by a fizzy sensation. Hinata liked it and it seemed to get stronger the more she daydreamed about Nodoka. Even though it was the middle of class, Hinata was letting her mind completely run away from the contents of what the teacher was attempting to educate on them.

Finally, after what felt like a day of self torment because of reading some stupid horror story about puking flowers, Hinata felt free of that gnawing anxiety. But just as she revelled in this, her stomach wretched. She dry gagged with the searing taste of bile at the back of her throat and her hand automatically clamped over her mouth, pen and all. The prior anxiety might have dissipated but a new one had spiked in its place.

Hinata frowned. Was it because she hadn’t eaten all her lunch that she suddenly felt nauseous? Or was it something else? She begged that it wasn’t her period, she was still quite irregular so this felt off or early to her.

Then she gagged again. She swallowed it back down. Hard. Whatever she swallowed was thick and sweet. It wasn’t vomit, Hinata had the startling realisation. She tried hard to keep it down but she failed. She vomited into her hand, or at least something similar. The motions were awful, worse than anything else she had ever had to eject from her body orally before.

Hinata felt sick to the very bottom of her stomach. Her hands shook as she slowly removed the one over her mouth and… and she couldn’t believe her eyes. They widened in shock as she saw the head of a flower in the palm of her hand. It was a cherry blossom, she realised. The pale pink petals were frayed at the edges, burnt by stomach acid and wet with her saliva; the anthers of its centre drooped and dragged, splayed across the petals. Her skin crawled as she marveled at the insane gravity of the situation. She quickly paled.

And the teacher noticed, “Hiramitsu, are you okay?” he asked from in front of the chalkboard, looking up concerned from the book he was reciting from.

“I-I, um, I need to go. To the nurse.” Hinata eked out her words with strained difficulty.

Her stomach flipped and she could feel another one coming up. It slithered up her throat and she hated the slow, dreadful sensation of it, the way it made her mouth taste of bile and cherries in horrible combination. Hinata bolted to her feet, afraid, alarming the whole class. She hid her mouth behind her hand again, holding tight that first flower that she had vomited.

“I need to go.” Hinata mumbled and she fled.

The feeling of her classmates' eyes on her felt like broken glass digging. She knew, deep down, they didn’t mean harm but their gazes only served to amplify the terror she felt as she fled. She was fast at first, escaping from the classroom but her stomach lurched and she vomited another flower and then again but two at once this time.

Hinata stopped in the hallway, she had to rest her shoulder against the wall just to stand as she looked down into the palm of her hand. The flowers were accumulating against her skin, wet and heavy, and accelerating in pace of production. Already she felt another lurch and this one was dire, Hinata didn’t think she would be so lucky to only vomit one or two this next time.

She had to get to the sick bay. She wasn’t sure what she would do there but anything had to be better than nothing, so she hobbled on in immense pain. By nothing less than a miracle, Hinata managed to get to the nurse’s suite without collapsing. Or with leaving too many flowers in her meagre wake.

The school nurse panicked almost immediately when she saw Hinata in this state. Hinata sputtered out a thank you whilst she was put to bed. Hinata curled up under the sheets, her stomach lurching and mangled petals dripped out of her mouth. She had to hide her ailment from the nurse. She just had to. She didn’t know how to explain it or anything else pertaining to it but fortunately, the nurse bought her some time by going to use administration’s phone to let her father know that Hinata was in immediate medical distress.

Hinata held her scrawny belly with one hand and her mouth the other. No matter how hard she tried, these flowers kept dredging up from inside of her and it was worsening. There was distention building inside of her, it was as if she could feel the bushels of cherry blossom flowers forming inside of her and something else too. It was raw and firm and poking up through her like a stick. Hinata moaned in utter agony as she tasted not just sweetness and bile in her mouth, but the cutting, metallic taste of blood too.

She whimpered as she tried to swallow it down. Attempting so, just made the nicks and cuts to her throat worsen and the petals to clog. Her lungs ached sharply as she struggled to breathe. Her eyes squeezed tight and she begged every deity she could think of for a saviour.

The door to the sick bay opened again. Hinata murmured to herself and the curtain was pulled aside, “Hinata?” a sweet voice greeted her.

“Huh?” Hinata slurred.

She rolled over, still holding herself but even a simple and slow motion like that was enough to rouse her illness violently. Her grimace was deep on her face as she tried to look at Nodoka, even feebly.

“A-Are you okay, Hinata?” she asked. “I couldn’t sit by and worry when I saw you ill you were, what’s wrong?”

Hinata opened her mouth. Mostly to reply, but that’s not what happened. She threw up in front of Nodoka and Nodoka couldn’t believe her eyes. Hinata was throwing up bushels upon bushels of flowers. Cherry blossoms. Nodoka blinked. She couldn’t believe the sights - or the smell. The smell was disconcerting with how almost pleasantly fragrant it was, heightening Nodoka’s realisation that this wasn’t Hinata pulling pranks.

“H-How on Earth did this happen…?” Nodoka asked.

She was horrified yet found herself unable to resist the impulse. She picked a blossom out of the pile that Hinata had vomited up. It was soft in her hand, even if it was grotesquely wet.

“I - I don’t-” Hinata tried to speak but she cut herself off when she felt something jut out of her mouth. An entire branch of cherry blossoms began to spike out of her mouth.

Her eyes began to roll back on themselves as Nodoka watched, in abject and frozen horror, as Hinata contended with this stick inside of her. It emerged slowly from the depths of her throat and made her chest convulse. Her fingers spasmed as she choked around it, flowers blooming along the thin and coarse branch.

“H-Help me.” Hinata sputtered out.

Nodoka nodded. She was scared, her heart was pounding, but she was first and foremost a helper of most empathetic ends. She had been on the receiving end of a strange and bizarre illness that had rendered most her childhood for naught. She couldn’t just let Hinata struggle. Suffocate.

So, she got onto the bed with Hinata. She straddled her so she could best approach the foreign object inside of Hinata. She focused her eyes and was as ready as she could ever be for an amateur operation quite like this one. Nodoka reached out and pinched the end of the branch delicately. It was entirely unsafe, Nodoka knew that, but she began to pull. She peered into Hinata’s pink mouth was clogged with twigs and petals, and tried her best to dislodge what she could.

Hinata gagged. Tears in her eyes and she plead, silently and afraid, that Nodoka could handle this. Nodoka’s hands shook but she did, in fact, manage. She tried her hardest and she did succeed even if it felt pyrrhic as Hinata screamed out as the last, and thickest, part of the cherry blossom branch was removed.

Nodoka flinched hearing the scream, dropping the cherry blossom branch between them. Hinata spat out blood and petals but the cherry blossom branch had been removed. She caressed her neck and it was raw with what it had been through. Her touches did little to soothe or quell her pain, she looked up at Nodoka with pathetic, red rimmed eyes.

“What was that?” Nodoka asked, her heart quaking. “How could any of this be possibly real?”

“I - I don’t know.” Hinata mumbled but that was a lie. She choked on her words all the same as she had choked on those cherry blossoms. Her hands squeezed tight. “No. I’m sorry. I do know.”

“Pardon?” Nodoka quietly exclaimed.

“There’s a very rare disease,” Hinata began, hasty, “that causes flowers to grow inside of someone suffering with a crush that they just can’t handle.”

“That’s horrible…” Nodoka murmured.

It was now or never, Hinata realised. Or she was going to end up exactly like the girl from the story that she had read yesterday. She knew it. She just knew it.

“Nodoka, it’s you.” Hinata confessed, half a sob in her voice. “I’m crushing on you.”

Nodoka was stunned by Hinata’s admission.

Hinata panted, her face was going bright red whilst her heart pounded like a hammer at her rib cage. She couldn’t believe it. She had done it. But it felt like a weight off, she had to admit, she didn’t realise her crush had been such a burden until right now. She felt herself lighten with the confession, from the very pit of her stomach, upwards and outwards.

Nodoka averted her gaze and Hinata was reminded once more why a crush was called a crush. That borderline feel good feeling from before popped. Burst. Nodoka played with her hair, fidgeting, and then managed to speak in a very calm and very quiet voice.

“I have a crush on you, too, Hinata.” Nodoka replied. “I admire so much how you sparkle and shine. It’s very refreshing to be around. I like you too. A lot.”

Nodoka reached out to Hinata’s hand and held it. She was so warm and she was still trembling but Nodoka’s caress of it did soothe her. Hinata hazarded a smile, like she couldn’t believe her ears, through her scarlet expression. Nodoka leaned in and kissed Hinata.

Hinata was unable to kiss back, afraid of her own breath but Nodoka didn’t mind. It was pungent with cherry blossoms and wet but she found the kiss sufficiently sweet, kissing Hinata’s soft, balmy lips. They were tinged with pineapple and vanilla beneath that overwhelming sensation of cherry blossoms.

“Thank you, Nodoka…” Hinata murmured and somehow, she didn’t know or understand how but she wasn’t going to complain, she was cured, prettily, of her affliction.

The cherry blossom flowers on the bed or in her gut, disappeared. All with seemingly little aplomb. Even the branch that had to have been removed from her throat, all with a soft, fizzling noise that Hinata could hardly hear over the sound of her pounding heart. She still had the cuts and scrapes, but she was no longer growing flowers inside of her stomach. Hinata was cured and Nodoka was her blessed, angelic cure.

#100ships challenge #femslash #nodohina #healin good precure #healin good #precure #nodoka hanadera #hanadera nodoka #cure grace #cure sparkle #hiramitsu hinata #hinata hiramitsu #writing tag #i really like this fic so i hope you guys enjoy

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