#i know i never mentioned losing it but i misplaced it when i got sick cuz i couldn't stand the little thing on me :)

[keeps-ache]

spent like 2 hours or so sketching stuff from my michelangelo art book, practicing my signature (and also struggling to change the ink in my pen), and listening to jazzy stuff :)

[uglypastels]

Following the Herd // dark!cult!Eddie x reader

summary: Eddie Munson has never been anything but sweet and caring to you. He had always made sure you were alright and safe and always helped you with anything you asked for. So now, that he needed you, how could you possibly refuse?

PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING TO READ THIS FIC AND IF YOU DO NOT LIKE THE SOUND OF THEM, DO NOT READ IT. if you do and still have any complaints about the content that has been tagged, that's on you. <3

word count: 14k

warnings the occult and cult stuff. blood. ritual sacrifices. inflicting non-lasting injury on self/others. subliminal indoctrination. Manipulation and taking advantage of the naive and innocent reader. Eddie is protective, possessive and controlling. has issues. mention of character death [the Creels]. mention of drinking, smoking and drugs.

Explicit Content! 18+ only. Minors DNI! fem reader. PIV sex. unprotected sex (big no-no). heavy s/d dynamic. thigh riding. extended orgasm denial. overstimulation. innocence and corruption kink + virginity. knife kink (kinda). spitting. oral [f receiving]. debatable dacryphilia. blindfold. Eddie's handcuffs. praise. "whore" x1.

If I missed out on any warnings, I severely apologise. Please let me know and I will add them

"Just as every cop is a criminal

And all the sinners saints

As heads is tails

Just call me Lucifer

'Cause I'm in need of some restraint"

-the Rolling Stones, Sympathy for the Devil

The thing one must understand about Eddie Munson is that he never meant for anything bad to happen. On the contrary, he had nothing but good intentions for you, for anyone. He was a kind, deeply caring person who wanted nothing but the best for others. It was not his fault that people didn't understand him. 

So what? He didn't dress like all the other conservative assholes in town. He was different and dared to speak up for himself; since when is that a crime? He had his beliefs to fight for, just like anyone else; why would that make him the bad guy? People have started wars over way less, and yet, Eddie had been the one cast out from society, branded as a monster. He, who had never done anything wrong in his life. 

You knew like no other how wrong these misconceptions about him were, having experienced his kindness first-hand. It was only a year ago, but it could have been a lifetime. It was almost a coincidence how he found you at that party over spring break. There were so many people, and the music was so loud, that it was easy to get disorientated. The air was thick with smoke and the smell of liquor, making you sick. He had helped you then. It was Eddie who took your hand and led you outside into the fresh and cold night air. 

'You alright?' He looked deep into your eyes with a soft smile, to which you could only smile sheepishly. Maybe that is how he had thought of his cute nickname for you? 'What's a cute little lamb like you doing out here, all alone, anyway?' 

'I'm here with my friends. Just… seemed to have misplaced them somewhere.' You had laughed, not wanting to show how scary that had actually been. The music from inside the house was still blasting, beating against your chest. Eddie nodded in understanding. 

'You've got to be careful, sweetheart, don't want to lose yourself to this chaos.' He brushed some hair out of your face; your skin was burning up from how warm it had been in the house. You only noticed it when compared to the cold touch of his hand. His eyes were still on you, focused, the deep dark of his irises pulling you in. 'Haven't been drinking, have we?' He smiled innocently, clearly teasing, intensifying the burning heat in your cheeks. 

'No.' You could say it earnestly, but the reasons behind your honesty felt a bit embarrassing. You almost didn't want to admit that you had never had a drink before and were still apprehensive about alcohol. He would surely think it's silly, to be 18 and never even have had a beer or a shot. There were so many things you still hadn't done, in fact, that he would probably see as normal.

But his smile grew bigger, and he almost sounded proud when he continued with the conversation: 'Good. Good. You don't want that stuff in you.' 

'I don't?' You blinked as he shook his head. Anyone else would have told you to suck it up, but not him.

'No, all it will do is ruin that pretty mind of yours. And we don't want that, do we?' His voice made your heart flutter in excitement, which proved everyone else's suspicions wrong. Because no evil could make you feel that good, could it? 

And it never really stopped. Neither the feeling you felt when you were around him nor how he treated you. Eddie had a very protective and caring nature. He needed to be sure you were safe and alright. At school, he would ensure you ate your lunch, had a good night's sleep the night before, and weren't too cold or too warm. He invited you to hang out a lot– an offer you could hardly refuse. He walked you home and would help you with your homework or take you back to his trailer, where he would play you songs on his guitar. The music he listened to sure was different from what you were used to. Heavy, gritty and dark, but all of that talk that it was Satan's music was ridiculous. Anyone who would listen to a few bars of it could know that. And the artistry of these musicians was also undeniable. 

Eddie had never expected you to enjoy his kind of music as much as you did, but it brought the biggest smile to his face, which, in turn, made you that much happier. You couldn't get enough of his happiness and could do anything for it. It would be the fair thing to do, considering everything Eddie's done for you... 

When your parents found out you had started hanging out with a boy like Eddie Munson, they were, quite honestly, scared. They did not want his likes to influence you, making you stray down to a dark and dangerous lifestyle. 

But it couldn't be further away from the truth. 

Eddie ensured you stayed away from things such as alcohol or drugs, even cigarettes. He didn't even want you talking about it, didn't want you anywhere near the stuff. And even though he used all of it, he made sure to never do it around you. He would hide away the weed and the liquor bottles in his trailer, and he'd control his need to smoke until you had left. 

'It's too late for me, I'm beyond saving, but that doesn't mean you have to go down that path too.' He would say, stroking your hair, if you ever asked why he was so adamant about keeping you away from these vices. 'Can't have my little lamb be ruined like that.' And he would kiss your forehead, ring-clad hand upon your cheek. His rips were usually chapped, and fingers roughly calloused, but you didn't mind. His touch still felt divine. 

Eddie protected you from more than just these substances. He knew you were not the most experienced in living life, which was something he appreciated and praised, but the shock on his face when you had told him you had never even had your first kiss… the idea of that made his head spin. It excited him more than he had ever thought imaginable, but it also scared him. Since he had found that out about you, you had noticed how much more protective he had gotten over you around certain people. It was cute, how possessive he got when other guys looked at you. 

'Believe me, baby, they're no good for you.' He would hold you close, turning your back to whoever had been trying to catch your eye. 'Guys like that… they only have one thing on their mind.' 

'What's that?' you asked, but he never gave you a direct answer. It was nothing his little lamb should be worried about. You were his pure, innocent girl, and he couldn't have the evils of others corrupt you. He wanted what's best for you. 

He really did make you feel safe and comfortable, in a way no one had ever done before. You felt like you could tell him anything, no matter how personal or embarrassing. Things you wouldn't dare tell any other guy. 

'Uhm, Eddie,' you mumbled one time. You were in your bedroom, sitting on the ground with your backs against your bed. Eddie had you sitting between his legs. His hands around your middle, rubbing small circles on the bare piece of skin between where your shirt and trousers met. The sensation it left on you spread across your whole body in sparks, particularly between your legs, making it very hard to focus on the book you had been trying to read.

'Something wrong?' He asked, head propped up on your shoulder as he spoke, so his words came out with his warm breath against your neck, not helping your situation. 

'I uh–' you were flustered; the only thing you could think about was how his fingers were creeping over your stomach, inching your waistband. 'Nevermind.' 

'No, no, sweetheart. Now you got to tell me.' 

'It's a bit warm in here, don't you think?' You breathed out slowly. 

'Not really.' He shrugged. 'But you can open a window if you want.' 

You took the opportunity to get away from his touch. Not that you minded it or that it wasn't pleasant. On the contrary, you had to escape it because of how good it felt. You had never felt like this before. Hot and bothered, all over. It wasn't something you were used to or even knew how to handle. 

'Are you sure, you're alright?' Eddie asked once you came back to sit in his lap. You hummed out a response, but he could tell it wasn't all true. 'C'mon, it's me. You can tell me, can't you?' Of course, you could. You could tell Eddie anything, that much you knew. 

'I just– feel a bit hot. That's all.' It still all felt a bit silly. A bit difficult to put into words.

'Hot?' He asked for a clarification, to which you only nodded your head. You looked down at your lap, embarrassed even though you knew there was nothing to be ashamed about. Eddie wrapped his arms around you, but his hands were low, pressing at the hem of your trousers, and it wasn't making matters any better. 

'What are you doing?' You gasped when you felt him slip past the material of your shorts, fingers sliding over your panties slowly. You arched your back in anticipation; it was an automatic, subconscious reaction. Still, it felt wrong, though. He had always told you how that part of you was sacred, off limits for others. 

Others. Yes. 

Not him. 

'I just need to check something.' His voice was a mere hush as his fingertips brushed over your core, just the thin layer of cotton keeping up the barrier between you. But he wouldn't actually touch you there. Not yet. He couldn't ruin you like that. It would be inconsiderate and selfish, and that's not who Eddie was. He just wanted what's best for you.

'You are burning up, baby,' he clicked his tongue when his fingers added some pressure to the touch. Your back stiffened, and you held your breath, unsure what to do. 'I wish I could help, but I can't right now.' Of course, you would never actually protest anything he did, knowing he had his valid reasons, but you wished he hadn't pulled away. 

'Why not?' your voice was shaky. 

'It's not the right time,' he pressed you back against his chest, taking in your sweet scent. Your shampoo, your perfume, even the ink of the pen you had been writing with for the past few hours, and your arousal– all mixed into something that could only be described as you. 

'Right time?' you weren't sure what he meant by that, but Eddie talked a lot about funny things that you didn't understand. Mostly, it was about the game he played at school with his friends, Dungeons and Dragons. He had tried to explain it to you several times, and most of it was easy enough to grasp, but he could talk on about it for ages, and it was almost as if he was pulling you into a trance of attention. Words would lose their meaning as you were too focused on Eddie himself. The sound of his voice and his movements– he always used his hands to emphasise what he said. And maybe it was for the better you didn't understand everything that was happening in the club. 

Not that it mattered, anyway. It was nothing his little lamb should be worried about.

'Yeah, got to wait a bit, sweetheart. Patience is a virtue, isn't that what they always say? And believe me, if you wait a bit longer, it will be so worth it.' 

'How long?' you already didn't want to wait. His featherlight touch had been enough to ignite a fire in you. But, unfortunately, it wasn't enough to subside whatever feeling was gnawing at you there. If anything, the memory of his touch only made it worse. You needed more. 

'Not too long. I'll let you know when it's time, ok?' He started rubbing his hand over your arm. 'But you got to promise me one thing.' 

'Of course.' Anything for Eddie. He knew what was best. 

'Do not touch yourself there, ok? It might be difficult because you might not feel much better without it, but it will feel so wonderful in the end. I promise.' He made plenty of these kinds of promises and had held up to them every single time. That was another reason you trusted him; everyone else was simply wrong in their perceptions. An evil person would not keep to their promises as Eddie did. 

Eddie cared

Deeply

About you. 

So you listened to what he asked of you, nearly blindly. 

The feeling inside of you grew much to your frustration, but you kept your promise to Eddie. The days went on rather slowly, not helping your problem, and neither did Eddie. His touches seemed to linger more than they used to. He was always at your side, keeping you close to him; that didn't change that much. But he would let his hands wander over your body. 

Perhaps he was nervous about something, and the way he coped was to draw invisible shapes all over your body when he had his arms wrapped around you. He'd mumble to himself, little nonsense things you couldn't make out. He also got a bit forgetful; at lunchtime, he would forget to save you a seat, leading you to have to sit in his lap. Not that you minded. But what was a bit frustrating was how antsy he had gotten, letting his leg bouncing up and down. (What was he so nervous about?) Other times you wouldn't have minded, but how his jeans grazed over your sensitive and already frustrated core made you want to cry out. 

'Eddie, could you maybe stop that? Please?' You looked up at him, trying to get rid of the lump in your throat. 

'Sorry, baby,' He stopped, but the friction was just replaced by the hand he had put on your thigh. So many people were around you, all chatting and enjoying their free time out of class, yet there was only him for you. His big brown eyes sucked you into a place where it was just the two of you. So you weren't even embarrassed when he asked you: 'have are you feeling? Been a good little lamb for me?' 

'Yes.' As if on cue, you couldn't help but rub your legs together, needing some kind of stimulus to keep you away from that burning feeling between your legs. It had been going on for days, only getting stronger, and you could do nothing about it. 

Your action didn't escape Eddie's vision, and he was quick to pull your legs apart. However, his hand remained sturdily between them. 

'Haven't been touching yourself?' He wasn't whispering or trying not to be heard, but no one was paying attention really anyway. But even if they had, you didn't care. 

'No. Of course not.' He would ask you the same question each day, and each day you could happily respond. Even if every time it got harder and harder to do. 'But… Eddie–' 

'Hmm?' he hummed, pushing some hair out of your face with the hand that had not settled over the warm gap between your thighs.

'I feel like it's just getting worse,' your voice was almost lost in the ocean of others, but he heard you, and he smiled softly as you continued. 'I don't know how much longer–' but that is where he cut you off. 

'I know, baby. I know. But you're not ready yet, and we don't want all of this to go to waste, do we?' He looked you in the eyes until you shook your head in agreement; what you agreed to, however, was a bit vague. 'But it's not much longer anymore, and then just think of how good it will feel. Your reward will be grand.' 

'Reward?' He had never even said anything about a reward. 

'Oh, of course. My little lamb deserves a prize for behaving this well.' He squeezed you into a tight hug, pulling you in. You could feel his thumb press against your sensitive bud again for just a second, but you pushed aside the urge for more. He propped you up, helping you sit up better in his lap, but this again only made you feel his hand on you more prominently. His lips were nearly against your jaw when he spoke up again. 'How about you come over to my place later, and I'll try to help you with your problem, hmm? A… little taste of what's to come?' 

'Are you sure?' You didn't want him to do anything that could end up hurting either of you. If he said, you weren't ready… 

'Yeah, I can't have you walking around like this, all flustered. It's making all the other guys stare.' 

'What?' This made you stiffen up a bit. Why were they all staring at you? Could they tell, see even, how enkindled you were? You hadn't thought so. 

'Shh, it's alright. I'll take care of them. Don't you worry.' He would make sure you were safe, that much you knew. 'Meet me at the car later. I'll drive us home.' The bell for the next class would ring soon, and you wouldn't see Eddie until after school ended. Those were always the hardest times of the day, besides maybe when you were lying in bed alone, wishing he was with you to help you fall asleep and make that ache between your legs finally disappear. 

The classes were almost impossible for you to get through, as all you could think of was Eddie. Minutes were passing by so slowly, that you wanted to scream. Was no one else upset about how time just did not seem to move forward? That could not be possible. But, then again, you were the only one irking to get out of there to meet Eddie in the parking lot. 

You practically jump into his arms. The wind blew in your face, bringing his dark locks along and tickling your neck. He smelled like incense and his musky cologne. Someone like him should have something more bitter about him, you had thought at be beginning of your friendship, but Eddie was sweet. Not just in his actions, but in everything else around him. Because even with that smokey scent, mixed with his cologne, there was still a sweetness around him that you could not identify. It pulled you in, the familiarity of it, and yet you could never quite place it in your mind as to what it was. 

Eddie's hand never left your body as he drove you to the trailer park. You loved when he drove his car, but it was also frustrating that his hand was all he could give you. His eyes were, of course, entirely concentrated on the road ahead, and you missed them. 

Fortunately, the drive wasn't too long, and before you knew it, he led you out to his trailer, into the back of it, where his room was. It was messy, like most days, and there were things strewn about all over the place, which Eddie tried to sort out as he went along. He picked something up that looked like a long glass vase from next to his bed and put it in his closet. 

'What was that?' you asked curiously as he sat down on the bed. You were still standing by the door. 

'That? Oh, nothing, baby. Just c'mere.' He held out his hand for you to take once you had made your way over to him. You were ready to sit down, but Eddie pressed the palm of his other hand over your stomach, keeping you up. 'Hmm, no. Wait up.' He took both your hands in his, kissing your knuckles. 'Before we start, I need you to listen, really carefully, to me. I got to know you understand.' 

Eddie rarely spoke in such a serious manner, so it made you a bit nervous. He held your hands tightly, and you stood between his spread legs. He looked up at you, almost with pleading eyes, as if he didn't know that you were already listening to him intently, taking in each word he gave you desperately, never wanting him to stop giving you his attention or time.  

'I'm listening, Eddie, always,' you smiled, and he hugged out a little laugh. 

'This is just really important to me,' he chuckled lightly again, 'I want to make you feel good, sweetheart, but I can't make that feeling that is bothering you go away just yet. It shouldn't go away just yet, because you're not ready, we're not ready… but we can do something to help with it; for now, does that sound alright?' 

'Yes.' Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as he kissed your knuckles again. 

'Good, come sit here,' he tapped onto his right thigh, and you sat down, but apparently not in the way he had meant for you to do, as he laughed. 'No, baby. Like this. Here.' He shuffled a bit back onto the bed and made you sit with your legs on either side of his, locking him in between you. He put his hand on your hip, pushing you into him. The material of your jeans pressed into you, releasing some of the tension that had been building up in you over the past few days. Then, with his guidance, you started moving your hips over his leg. 

'Feels good, doesn't it?' Eddie asked, and you nodded your head quickly. 'Yeah, and it will only feel better the longer you keep doing it. Go a bit faster– that's it.' 

'It– oh my- aah,' you gasped out at this foreign sensation that rushed through your body. 'Thank you,' the words came out with a heavy breath of air as you found your rhythm.

'You're very welcome, sweetheart. You've been doing so well for me, haven't you? Deserve a little treat.' Your faces were nearly at the same level with you on his lap, and his mouth ghosted over yours. You could feel it there, not even an inch apart, but he couldn't– no matter how much he wanted to kiss your perfect lips, they would remain untouched for now. But it wouldn't be long anymore. Soon, he would make all this wait worthwhile. 

'Keep going as long as you want, baby,' the sight of you pleasuring yourself on his thigh made him short circuit, but he had to keep his mind clear. 

'It feels–' you didn't know how to describe the feeling that started to overcome you. You were tensing up again. Suddenly the release you felt from this friction didn't feel as satisfying anymore. It was urging you on to keep going, to tense that tight feeling in you until it snapped, but it was getting worse. Finally, you had to squeeze your eyes shut. 'Eddie!' 

'Woah, Woah, Woah.' He halted your hips tightly. 'Stop.' 

'What-' you were confused, not sure what had happened. The tight feeling in your gut loosened, but the satisfaction you had felt also reclined. 

'You were close, weren't you?' He asked, and you weren't entirely sure what he meant by "close", but somehow, on a deeper level, you knew that that is what you had felt, and so nodded a bit meekly. Eddie nodded along in understanding. 'See, you're not ready for that yet, baby. So if you feel it again, you got to tell me and stop, got it? If you feel that tightness coming, do not keep going. It can be too much for you right now, I don't want you to ger hurt.'

'I get it,' a lump formed in your throat again. 

'Alright. Do you want to do it again?' He squeezed your hips, and you bit your lip. You did want to keep going, as it did feel amazing when you could release some of that tension your body had built up. Eddie just wanted to help you; it wasn't his fault that he couldn't get rid of this hollow feeling inside you. He did everything he could to make you feel as good as possible. He let you writhe over his leg for an eternity, replaying the cycle of your pleasure, letting you inch toward that unattainable high. Every time you felt the knot in your stomach, you would gasp out his name, and he would hold you still. It was torture you brought upon yourself to keep going over and over again, but it felt so good. It didn't matter that you could never actually get it to completion. That initial feeling of bliss compensated for the pain of unfulfillment. 

'You're so good for me. My sweet little lamb, always listens so well.' Even if there was nothing to inherently pleasure Eddie, he still felt fantastic. Seeing you like this made him feel like never before, and to see you obey his requests as you did… it was pure euphoria. 

Tears were stinging your eyes, but he was quick to brush them away, right at the corners of your eyes. You could not possibly go on much longer. Your grip on his shoulder weakened, and your hips started jutting forward haphazardly, exhausted.

'Eddie,' you gasped out a final time; you didn't even have energy left in you to reach that edge anymore. Your body shut down as you fell forward into Eddie. He fell back, holding on to you as his back hit the mattress. 

'Did so good, baby. So good.' He held you tightly as you caught your breath. You were shaking, so he grabbed the covers and pulled them over you. 

'I– thank you.' You nuzzled deeper into his hold. No words were exchanged for a while. His arms stayed wrapped around you, caressing your back gently as the seconds on the clock ticked by. 

'How are you feeling?' He eventually asked, whispering, in case you had fallen asleep on top of him. But you answered, voice weak and tired: 

'I'm alright.' Everything was still spinning a bit; you couldn't quite tell up from down. The only thing grounding you was Eddie. He started to draw more random shapes over your back, mumbling nothings to himself, and you were ready to doze off. Peace was coming over you. Then his voice turned up a bit louder as he spoke directly to you.

'I'm so proud of you.' It was still a whisper, but his voice vibrated through his throat. 

'Thank you, Eddie.' 

'Mmm, did so good, you know what?' He kissed your forehead. 'How about we go to the mall tomorrow. Get you something nice?' 

Your head shot up in the excitement, and you looked into his eyes. 'Is– that my reward?' 

'No, I just want to spoil you,' he chuckled, petting your hair flat, 'Your reward will be so much better. Just you wait.' He rolled over to his side, taking you along so you'd fall onto the mattress beside him. 'Want me to take you home?' He asked, and you had nodded yes, and maybe had even said it, but your eyelids were so heavy, and you were so tired, that soon sleep came over you, and you had never felt quite as peaceful as you had in his arms. 

Eddie not once thought of letting you go. He did what he had to do to keep you close and safe. 

His pure and innocent little lamb. 

All his. 

✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮

The next day, he did indeed take you shopping. It was a lovely day full of sunshine, and he held your hand as you walked past stores. Even if you hadn't realised it, he already had something in mind he wanted to get you, and it just so happened to be at one store you frequented. 

He watched you go through the racks of clothing and smiled anytime he caught your eye. He had to pull you back. Otherwise, you would have missed the one thing he had wanted you to see. 

'How about this one?' He picked a dress up from the hanger. It was a long and flowy white summer dress. You furrowed your brows, not having expected that to be his choice of outfit for you. It was neither his nor your style, yet he handed it to you with plenty of enthusiasm. 

'Are you sure?' You asked, watching him nod his head adamantly. 

'You'll look gorgeous, I can already tell.' he pressed the dress against you, looking at how it would look on you. 'Wanna go and try it on?' 

'Yeah, of course,' you smiled, and the next thing you knew, Eddie was opening up the door to a dressing room for you. He hung the dress on a hook next to the mirror and closed the door behind him. He said he would be right there if you needed anything, and you knew it was true. He would be sitting right there in one of the fuzzy chairs, waiting for you to come out and spin around for him. 

But unfortunately, the zipper in the back of the dress was not as easy to pull up as you thought, so you called out his name. Not a second later, Eddie popped his head inside the little room, eyes closed for your decency. 

'It's alright, Eds,' you giggled, 'you can look. I just can't get the zipper up.' 

'Ah, well, let me,' he came up to you, and his hands were on the small of your back, holding the two sides of the dress together so he could pull the zipper up. It was cold against your skin, and Eddie moved extremely slowly, not wanting to accidentally snag the fabric or get your hair caught in it. He pulled it all the way up and smoothed out the dress at your sides, not that you thought it had been that wrinkled. You had been facing the mirror, so he put his head on your shoulder to look along with you. 

'Absolutely beautiful.' He whispered, imitating the confined intimacy of the dressing room. Your cheeks heated up at the compliment, but also because you did actually feel beautiful wearing the dress. It fitted perfectly, wrapping around your body at every angle. It was light, comfortable, soft… just the white colour felt slightly off for you. Eddie noticed this apprehension in your face. 'What's wrong, sweetheart?'

'I'm just not so sure about white. It doesn't really feel like me, does it?' 

'Thought you might want to try something new. And just look how good it looks on you.' Then, with a finger under your chin, he made you look in the mirror again, 'An angel.' 

'Oh, Eddie,' you swung around to hug him. 'Thank you.' you mumbled the words against his chest. 

'Anything for you, baby.' His hand moved up and down over your back. 

After the dress shopping, the two of you walked around, with no real goal or destination in mind. The presence of each other was more than enough. But as the day went on, you couldn't help but feel down. Eddie had done so much for you over time, especially in the recent days; you wanted to repay him somehow. Show him that you cared for him just as much as he cared about you. Did he even know that you would do anything for him? You hoped so. 

You kept on thanking him as the day went on, which only made him laugh. The message had been quite clear after the first three times, and now it was becoming almost excessive. But he could never complain either, loving how much you appreciated him, but enough was enough. Surely. 

'I just wish I could do something in return.' 

'You really don't need to.' He cupped your face in the palm of his hand. 

'But I want to.' You persisted. 'There must be something I could do for you.' 

'Not that I can think of, but if anything comes up, I will let you know.' And that was that. You didn't want to press on the matter; why nag on a little thing like that, ruin what would be a lovely day? So, you went and had coffee at a café on Main Street, where Eddie again demanded to pay the bill, and then he drove you back home. Only when the car stopped in front of your driveway did you realise that this had been the longest time you had ever spent with Eddie: Almost an entire day. And it had also been one of the best days ever. Not because of how he had spoiled you– you couldn't care less about that stuff– but because you had not once stopped smiling. With him, you felt like you were on cloud nine, seventh heaven, paradise, and you never wanted it to stop. 

'What are you doing tomorrow?' you asked hopefully. It would be a Sunday then, and like most Sundays, you would have nothing to do. Eddie tapped the steering wheel.

'I got some things to take care of. Nothing too exciting.' Perhaps he saw your deflated expression. 'We'll hang out another time, yeah? I'll see you at school.' If you had been two different people, you would have leaned in and kissed goodbye, but instead, Eddie cupped your face again and tapped your cheek lightly with his hand. You did lean into his touch, not wanting it to leave you, but it always did at some point. 

'I'll miss you.' You pouted, which he mimicked. 

'And I'll miss you too, but this thing– it's really important. I can't miss it, and it will most likely take me the whole day–' 

'Why don't I help you?' You interrupted as the idea jumped to your mind. 'Then we can still spend time together and maybe you might even finish sooner.' 

'Oh, you don't want to–' 

'But I do,' you persisted. This was your chance. You could finally prove to Eddie how much he meant to you. 

'Are you sure?' Eddie raised his brow inquisitively. You nodded your head once but very clearly, indicating your standpoint. He couldn't get rid of you even if he tried. He knew it too, as seen through the deep sigh he took, but he was smiling. Your persistence was adorable. 

'Ok, fine. Do you know where the Creel House is?' 

'The creepy old boarded-up building?' Yeah, you knew the Creel House. Everyone in town did. Everyone had heard the story of what had happened there all those years ago, and it still made you feel uncomfortable to think about it. 

'I'll see you there at 5, ok? Wear the pretty dress we got today, too. I can't get enough of you in it.' And this time, he did lean in to kiss your cheek. Or, almost your cheek. It had been where he had intended for his lips to touch you, but it had only missed your own lips by less than an inch. The kiss was also just like all the other formalities. It probably lasted less than a second but left you wanting more. That warm feeling in your body resurfaced, much to your dismay. After yesterday, you had hoped it would stay hidden a bit longer, but apparently, one tiny featherlight kiss on the apple of your cheek was enough for it to come back up. 

'Who knows,' Eddie took your hand, 'maybe tomorrow will be the day, too.' 

'You mean–' you looked up at him with wide eyes. 

'We'll see. Now go, sweetheart.' He left you thinking about it for the entire night. Were you finally ready? Would this unbearable ache in your pit finally disappear? You hoped so. You were jittery with excitement about the next day. You could barely sleep, even though you knew Eddie wouldn't appreciate that (he always needed you to be well rested). And then the morning came, and you couldn't get a bite of your breakfast down your throat as you jumped in your seat from anticipation. You knew it was silly, but after all this time, you finally got a chance to show Eddie everything. And you had waited for weeks to touch yourself, and it was as if your body could tell that the waiting time was almost over. 

It was almost over; you told yourself as you made your way to the house. You were too early; you knew that, but better too early than too late. Maybe Eddie would already be there, and then… that is when you realised you actually had no idea what you were coming into the house for. What did he want you to do there? 

A harsh wind blew, pulling at the hem of your dress, which you had to hold not to let the street see your backside. The steps to the porch creaked under your footsteps, and the door you knew was once covered in wooden boards was now broken open. The beautiful stained-glass window was broken into shards, with a large hole in the middle– exactly where the rose used to bloom daily. 

'Hello?' You called out as you stepped inside. The temperature immediately seemed to drop, and the air had a moist hint, thick with dust flying around you. Footsteps were coming from upstairs. 

'Baby?' It was Eddie, and the sound of his voice immediately made all your worries go away.

'Yes! It's me!' You wanted to tread the stairs, a large and eccentric staircase, but Eddie showed up at the top of it. His hair was fastened up with his black bandana. You had imagined he would appreciate your early arrival, but a grimace covered his face instead. 

'You're early. I told you 5.' The old clock in the back of the hallway still clicked away and pointed to ten minutes to five, so you weren't that early. 

'I'm sorry. I walked faster than I expected.' 

'It's alright, just– just wait here. I'm almost ready.' Oh, was he setting something up for you? A surprise? Your reward? It brought back all these fluttery feelings in your stomach. 

You could hear Eddie shuffling around the upper floor, right above you. He was walking up and down the room, carrying things around. You wanted to go up and help him, but since he had told you to wait– you waited. Five minutes went by, ten, fifteen, and you were getting restless at the bottom of these tall stairs. With each creak in the floorboards, you hoped Eddie would appear again. 

That only happened a bit later, when you glanced up and saw him walk out of a dark room. He grinned down at you, and your body screamed to run up those stairs, but again, you waited for him to let you. 

'C'mere, I want to show you something.' And that is how you eagerly made your way upstairs finally. Eddie waited at the top step and watched how your dress flowed with your movements. Truly angelic, if such things existed. Holding you by the hand, he led you into the room he had just come out of. 

All the large windows were plastered shut, covered with wooden planks or plastic tarps, and while that should have made the room pitch black, you could still see everything inside clearly. That is because Eddie had set up candles all over the surfaces near the large bed that stood in the middle of the room. The orange flames gave the room a warm glow, and it must have been the most romantic thing you had ever seen. 

'Is this for me?' you glanced over at him, still in awe and shock. He laughed at this lightheartedly, squeezing your hand. It must have taken him hours to prepare all of this, but it was so worth it, you could tell him. The atmosphere brought to the room was fantastical, otherworldly. 

Eddie led you to the centre of the room, where the candles on the ground were positioned in a circular shape, with just enough space for you to stand. 

'You look beautiful, y/n,' Eddie spoke in a hushed whisper. 'Divine. My little lamb.' He pushed the hair out of your face again. Why did it always get in the way? Such a gorgeous face should not be covered up with anything, which is why he was glad you hadn't put on make-up today. You were standing in front of him in your purest form. The white dress accentuated it. 'You know why you're here, don't you?' 

'Because you asked me to?' you spoke, voice shaking for some reason. The fire of the candles flickered on. In the dim light, you could make out some kind of graffiti painted on the walls, strange symbols you did not recognise. 

'Yes, but I meant, why I asked you to come here.' The entire house had been left in its original state, never emptied out after the original owners had… left it. This meant that the old bedroom still had all its furnishings around. The bed was behind you, but you could also see a dresser and an armchair in the corner. Eddie walked up to the dresser and picked something up. Long, thin, the silver reflecting the golden flame light– 

'Eddie?' You wanted to step back at the sight of the sharp knife but remembered the candles positioned all around you. 'What- what are you doing?' 

'It's ok, baby. I'm not going to hurt you,' Eddie smiled kindly. He toyed with the sharp tip of the blade, twirling it against his hand. 'I would never hurt you. You know that, right?' You did know this, so you didn't bother to back away when he came closer. Eyes remained locked, ignoring the fire, the symbols, and the blade. There was just you and him. 'You know that, right?' Eddie repeated his question, to which you nodded. But he needed you to say it and hear your voice.

'Yes.' He only wanted what's best for you, to protect you. But, of course, he would never do you any harm. 

'Good. Really, sweetheart, you don't know how happy I am I found you– you're so– you're just so perfect.' His perfect little lamb. All his. You couldn't tell if the heat burning inside you came from the candles or his words. 'You have always listened so well, always been so good. And you'll keep being good, won't you?' 

'Mhm.' The power of longer words escaped you. Eddie cupped your cheek in his hand, patting it gently.

'Because I really need you to listen and do as I say, baby. This is really important to me.' 

'But-' you pushed the words out, 'what are you doing?' You still couldn't quite make sense of the things around you. But Eddie smiled at your question, as if he had been expecting it, had wanted you to ask. Your hair was poking from behind your ears again, sticking at your cheek, which he brushed off. He could cut it right off with the knife in his hand– he always thought you would look prettier in shorter hair, it would frame your face so nicely–  but it would probably not be appreciated. Maybe one day, if he asked nicely if you would still have him after today.

Of course, you would. 

'We're going to heal the world, sweetheart.' He smiled his big gorgeous smile, but you were too caught up in his words. 'Restore the order of life, make everything wrong right again– you want to help me with that, don't you?' 

'Well, yes, but–' the fire was heating up the room quickly, and you could feel it on your skin. The knife in Eddie's hand kept reflecting the light, making you look at it, but each time you would, Eddie would press his fingers into your cheek so you would find his eyes again. 

'You don't have to be scared; I'm not going to hurt you. I need you to trust me, y/n.' The way your name flowed out of his lips, so smooth and sweet, you felt terrible just for having a thought of doubt ever sour mind. But even if you told yourself not to be scared, he did see that fear in your eyes. It was frustrating to see, because how many times could he comfort you? What would it take for you to understand him? Finally, he moved, turned slightly to the side, and the cold blade hit your arm. It did not cut or hurt, but it made you flinch. 

'Eddie–' your voice was so weak, nothing like he was used to. 

'Can I tell you a story?' He watched you nod your head. ''Humanity is a pest, y/n. We are poisoning our world with this structure and order, depending on these vices as if we were not the ones who had created them in the first place– there is nothing structural about us! We live our days just waiting for them to be over, numbing ourselves and telling lies to make it feel like it means something while it is entirely useless. It is hard to find a pure soul out there, yet… here you are. 

'Me?' you couldn't possibly imagine why you would have anything to do with this. 'I don't understand–'  

'You are at the centre of it all. My sweet sweet little lamb, fresher than fallen snow on a meadow. You are the prime example of what we all could be, a special gift. He sent you to me.' He had been gaining more and more energy and enthusiasm through his speech

'He?' You were starting to feel silly, being able to only respond with more questions and poorly phrased ones at that.

'Vecna,' he breathed out the word in a hush. You had heard him say the name before, but you had never questioned it, figuring it had just been one of the endless characters in his game. Eddie's eyes were bigger than you had ever seen them as he kept on talking passionately. 'He spoke to me, showed me everything. He was the one that made me realise just what a cruel and messed up world this is– and– and I'm not the only one. The people that lived here that died here… You know why they died, don't you? It had all been a part of this plan, you see. A… an offering. They gave their lives subject to a higher power. It was all for a greater cause.

'But they had not meant to die, it all just went so horribly wrong. They didn't know what they were doing, the Creels. But I do! Vecna told me and showed me everything I had to do in order to make this work. I've spent months making sure everything will go right, and you are the key. I need you to do this, y/n. Please.' In the time that you had met Eddie, you had seen a lot of sides to him. You had seen him be happy, sad, angry, tired, hyper, everything between and around it, but this was new. As he spoke to you, he almost seemed desperate. He was shaking with his words, purely out of the need to get his words out, for you to hopefully understand what he was trying to do.

The presence of the cold blade didn't get lost to you anymore, as you could feel it with every breath you took, pressing against your stomach with its flat side. You looked deeply into Eddie's eyes, trying to figure out what his intentions were with it, with you. Surely, he would not actually hurt you? That wasn't him. You could not imagine Eddie, your Eddie, doing such things as your scared mind was conjuring up at the moment. 

'You wanted to help me, didn't you? This would be the most wonderful thing you could ever do for me, y/n. It would be glorious. Just think about it, when it works, the life we will have together. Vecna will show you, help you as well. You just have to let him, let me.' 

Let me guide you, my little lamb. 

Let me help you, my sweetheart. 

Let me use you. 

He needed you. Truly needed you, and only you. You stood there, in your white dress, surrounded by the golden flames of the melting candles, Eddie just far enough not to press his body into yours. As he waited for an answer, maybe bored or nervous, he started tracing the knife over you. The tip of it pinched at your skin, teasing, over your arm up to your collarbone, down your sternum. It had hagged on the strap of the dress, and you had been sure he would have snapped it right off. It would have probably been enough for the whole dress to fall apart. It would pool at your feet, leaving you in nothing but your underwear in front of him. The thought of it should be flooding you with fear, but to your surprise– it excited you. All of it did, in fact. 

'What- what do you need me to do?' You pushed down the lump forming in your throat, but you didn't need much force for it as it dissolved at the sight of Eddie's relieved grin. He kissed the top of your head, the blade in the same hand he brushed your hair with, so you felt the steel at your ear. It made you shiver. You could hear him whisper some more of those little words he always mumbled, still unable to make any sense out of them. Then, he made you leave the circle of candles and walked you to the side of the room, where the symbols were painted onto the wall. It is then that you noticed that the black paint was still wet in spots, freshly applied, but long enough to have already dried up for the most part.

'Give me your hand,' he asked of you, and you eagerly obliged, placing your hand over his palm. But then he pulled that knife up again, and you flinched, which made him visibly upset with a frown. 

'I'm sorry,' you apologised before he had even said anything. 

'I understand, baby, all of this is new, but you have nothing to fear. I'm here, and I've always made sure you're safe, didn't I? Right, so you know you can trust me. Look–' he put up his own hand, flat in front of you, and dragged the sharp knife over the skin, breaking it from the centre of his palm, right to the edge. The blood immediately started to spill out, colouring his pale skin crimson. But what you focused on was how he had not winced, not twitched, barely moved a muscle as the blade penetrated his outer layer. His eyes had been focused on the cut, just to glance up at you momentarily, to ensure you were looking at him. He wiped the knife on his shirt, letting the cut drip out onto the wooden panels of the floor. 'See? It doesn't even hurt.' Then he wiped his hand on his t-shirt, smearing the blood all over it. With the small and shallow cut, it would dry up in a few minutes. There was really nothing to be scared of. Eddie never wanted to hurt you. He just wants what's best for you– what's best for everyone. Just like he had said: restore the world order, make what's wrong right again. 

So, you held your hand out, steady. But as much as you trusted him, you couldn't get yourself to look as he pressed the blade into you. It stung as it moved over your palm. 

'Open your eyes,' Eddie told you. You were greeted with dark red stains on your hand when you did. It was already pooling in the small cup of your manus, dripping between your fingers. It stung as if he had kept on cutting, even though you had heard him put the knife away. It was lying untouched on the set of vintage drawers now. 

Eddie's next words were another request, as he guided your fingers to close in over your palm. 'Squeeze it.' And he pushed your fingers closed. You yelped at the shooting pain that came from it. The indentation splurged for more blood to come out. You saw flashes of white in front of your eyes as Eddie pressed it harder. 

'You see it, don't you?' He asked you eagerly. You nodded, keeping your tears at bay. You didn't want him to see you cry, not when you didn't even mean to. It was just sort of happening. 

Then, Eddie pulled you a step forward, pressing your bloody hand against the wall. This again pulled a wince out of you. It was so sensitive, and he pressed it so hard. He needed the blood to make its mark. He used you like a paintbrush, adding strokes of red over the black, making new symbols out of the already existing ones, finishing what he had started. 

'Look how great this looks. And it could only be you, to make it all work. Only someone as pure and innocent as you has that kind of power.' He had everything prepared in advance, so when he dropped your hand from the wall, he reached for a towel that he had also placed on that dresser earlier. He pressed it into your hand, applying the right kind of pressure this time to hopefully stop the blooding rather than encourage its continuation. He took care of you, just like any other day, showing you that he was still your Eddie after all. There was nothing to be scared of. 

'Is this it?' You looked up at him, the towel still wrapped around your hand. His sympathies peaked through the corners of his lips. 

'Not just yet, baby. There's one more thing, but this we can do together, and I promise you'll enjoy it much more than this.' 

'What is it?' 

'You already started the cleansing process, but we have to show Him that we mean our loyalty, and for that, a sacrifice is needed– just a small one, don't be scared,' he hushed, taking the towel away. 'And don't be nervous. I know you will do well; I made sure of it. That's why we waited. Had to know you would be able to handle it, but you're ready now.' That funny feeling in the pit of your stomach emerged again, covering your body in a flash of heat. It was that frustrating sensation you just could not get rid of that even Eddie could not help you with… but now you were ready. So what the two of you did in his bedroom last Friday… the cycle would be complete. There would be no more torture and pleading for a release. He could bring you to it, finally. 

'You're ready now.' Eddie didn't show it, as he repeated his last words, but he was conflicted about it all. It broke him to see you lose some of that innocence, but it had to be done, and it was an honour that he would be the one to do it. Better him, who understood the value of your purity, rather than some boy who would use you for his own pleasure. In a way, he was doing this to protect you, too. By letting you join him in his venture, he was ensuring safety for you. He would protect you. Vecna will protect you. 

But for this, he actually had to make you his. 

Again, holding your hand, he led you through the room. Avoiding the candles spread out over the floor, he got you to stand next to the bed. Both your hands were sticky with drying blood. The cut still burned when he squeezed at your hand, but neither of you showed any signs of discomfort. 

He wondered if once this was all over, your eyes would still be full of the innocence he was so enamoured by. Would you still look at him with this naive bewilderment, or would he ruin you completely? If so, that would be his sacrifice. He would give up the pleasure of the sight for the sake of the greater good, naturally. 

This would then perhaps be the last time you looked at him this way, so he would have to cherish it to the fullest extent. He let his fingers draw down your face, caressing the soft apples of your cheeks. Finally, his thumb moved over your chin, barely touching your bottom lip. How long he had needed to feel it, touch all of you, but held back. Now he finally could, though. 

Too immersed in his deep brown eyes, you didn't see what was happening around them. You only heard him pull something out of his pocket– material. It was a handkerchief. But not the black skull he would wear often around the school. This one was white, like your dress. However, it was quickly getting tainted by the pink of the last remaining blood that could still transfer from his hands. How you had not noticed it on him before was a bit silly. 

The material was smooth and pleasant to the touch, warm, as Eddie pulled it over your face. The metallic scent of blood wavered over it; no one could tell whether it was his or yours. Eddie tied it behind your head, making sure your eyes were covered, and just like that, you were enveloped in darkness. 

'By taking away one sense,' he whispered into your ear, 'all the others get heightened. It is an experience like no other, to submit yourself to the elements. An honour. Now– ah.' He hadn't even needed to ask you anything, as when his thumb fell over your bottom lip, your mouth immediately parted, like an impulse, to let him enter. He pressed the finger over your tongue and watched you suck on it desperately. This was it—the first touch. Just like that, one simple act had already been enough to corrupt you. 

'Sit down. On your knees. There we go, so good for me.' If he hadn't known better, if he hadn't made sure you never lied to him about what you have or have not done, he wouldn't have assumed you had experience, that you knew exactly what you were doing. That his little lamb was, in fact, just a whore like everyone else. But no, of course, you weren't. He had prepared you for this moment, let out what was only in your nature already. It was the right thing to submit to his touch like this. 

But eventually, after a few seconds, he had to pull his hand away from you. The action came unexpectedly, and you were ready to follow him, even though you couldn't see where he had moved to. You tried your best trying to figure out what was happening, using those other heightened senses to their fullest potential. You could hear the flickering of the flames around you, and the burning smell came with it, which was still not strong enough to cover up the musky scent of Eddie, how the wooden floor dug at your knees, even through the fabric of your dress. And even though you could not see him, you could feel his presence towering over you. 

It didn't matter how much you tried to focus on your surroundings; nothing would have prepared you for Eddie grabbing you by your chin to pull your face up, hollowing your already open mouth into a perfect little O-shape. Next thing you know, you heard a strange noise and felt something wet touch your mouth, spill into it. The sensation made you squirm, no idea what it was that Eddie had just done. You didn't know what to do. 

'C'mon, baby. You know what to do when you have something in your mouth. Swallow.' He shut your mouth with his grip on it, helping you take the spit– because that's what it is, you realised– down your throat. He hummed in satisfaction through your whimpers. 'It's ok, baby. This is all a part of it. Got to get used to each other, it's all bonding.' He wanted to be closer to you, connected, and that idea warmed your heart. The way his hands then brushed over your hair, you nearly mewled into the touch. 

Trying to position him was difficult, as he seemed to walk circles around you, his lips filled with those mysterious words and mumblings again. If you could see now, you would have stared at the ground or the hands you had placed over your lap. His flavour was still in your mouth, and it felt strange, but not in the wrong way.

He had walked another circle around you before stopping at your back. You felt the tension on the dress as he pulled at one of the straps, letting it slide down your shoulder. Then the other. Eddie undid the zipper from behind you as slowly as he had pulled it up the day before in the dressing room. Except for this time, you were not wearing a bra underneath it. It wasn't the kind of dress that would really work with one, you had thought in the morning. It certainly wouldn't look pretty, with the undergarment straps visible, and you wanted to look nice when seeing Eddie… so, that is how you ended up sitting on the floor in this old house, hands on your lap as Eddie pulled the dress off of your top half, revealing your breasts to the hot air.

'So beautiful.' he said, mumbling something under his breath again. 'Absolutely beautiful. He let his hand wander over to your chest, toying with the nipples, taking turns in giving attention to them. To think he was the first person to have the pleasure to touch you like this. To make you arch your back with just a simple pinch– oh, and the sounds that fell from your lips as he pulled at them, he started to feel the constraint of his jeans. Stand up. 

Your legs were already sore from the position you had been sitting in, and they trembled as you got up. The dress fell off your legs, down to the ground as you did. You stepped out of it, accidentally kicking it to the side. A bitter smell erupted from somewhere in the room like the smoke was getting stronger. 

'What is that?'

'Nothing,' Eddie's calm tone had wavered for a moment, or so it seemed his following words were just as smooth and charming as before. 'Nothing you have to worry your pretty little head about. Just, c'mere,' It would have been difficult for you to do that with the blindfold in front of your eyes, but he had reached out with his hands to you.

And then, his lips were on yours. They were chapped as always, feeling a bit rough compared to how soft yours were. He tasted like the cigarettes he smokes when you aren't around, combined with another bitter flavour you couldn't place. It was soo much to take in, your senses all going into overdrive trying to keep up with him. You didn't know what to do with yourself, so you stood still, letting your lips move accordingly to how his did. But he kissed you with such an urgency, such hunger and vigour; you could hardly keep up.

It was messy and left your head spinning, nothing like you had actually expected your first kiss to be, but it was still perfect, as it was with Eddie. 

You were now completely naked, standing in this attic room filled with candles; Eddie was holding on to your sides, kissing your neck. Each time his lips left your skin, it didn't even matter as you could still feel him on you. The trace he left behind was sloppy and needy and seeking out the weak spot on your neck so you could roll your head back in pleasure. All of these feelings were so new to you, so overwhelming, but you understood why Eddie wanted you to wait, why you had to be ready for this… and it was only the beginning. 

Perhaps Eddie got a bit over-excited, for he suddenly picked you up off the ground, hands around your thighs. The suddenness made you scream out. You were utterly disorientated as he took a few stops and then dropped you down onto the bed. It could not have been a drop of more than a foot, but your stomach twisted. The mattress creaked loudly underneath you, but didn't continue as Eddie had not joined you in the bed just yet. So you lay there, waiting for whatever would come next– which was that Eddie had grabbed you by the hand and pulled you across to the head of the bed. A shriek left your lips. It would have been better if he had told you what he would be doing. The constant uncertainty of it all made your brain whirl. 

And then he took your other hand, before you could even say something and gripped both your wrists tightly. 

'Eddie, what–' you felt the cold metal against your skin and the faint clink of something locking. When he released your arms, you wanted to pull them away from what you assumed was the headboard, but you could barely move anymore. 

'Remember those handcuffs that always hang in my room,' Eddie had leaned down beside the bed to be at your level. As you could not see anything, you kept your head straight up, directed at the ceiling. Your breathing got heavier, the constraints confusing you, but Eddie had his reasons. 'It might all get a bit too much for you at a certain point, so this will help you keep grounded. And a physical restraint helps us as a reminder that we should restrict ourselves in indulgences, the things that only break us more. We do not want to get carried away, so this will help, I promise. Just trust me.' He kissed your cheek, which felt wet for some reason. His thumb brushed over the same spot his lips had just met, and then, for a short time that felt like an eternity, there was nothing. Eddie had moved to another part of the room; you could still hear him, walking, shuffling around, mumbling his usual incoherent phrases to himself. You tried to listen to them, finally trying to make out what he was saying, but it was too soft of a whisper that ended too close to his mouth. 

'My little lost sheep has finally found her way,' he said when he came back, the weight on the bed shifted, 'I have done my best guiding you towards this point, y/n, have done anything I could to protect you, to make sure you ended up here, where you belong. Now, you have to tell me, make the final decision– do you want this?' 

'Yes.' You wanted him. He had been gone far too long, and you were already missing his touch. The anticipation was building inside you, coming together at your centre, burning with a need for him. You had thought that hunger and thirst that had been torturing you over the past weeks, the one Eddie had told you to ignore, that it had died down after the little help he had given you, but it was all coming back ten times worse. Something in you was eating you alive, and you couldn't lay still anymore, closing your legs, trying to get some kind of friction from the movement of rubbing them together, trying to find an angle at which some kind of relief would come out. 

'Should have brought something to tie those pretty legs down as well. Stop, please.' He placed his hand over your thigh, rubbing circles over it slowly, 'you're gonna hurt yourself, moving like that.' So, you did stop, both the wiggling of your legs and tugging at the cuffs in frustration. His touch on your leg got rougher as he spread your legs wide open, revealing you to him. 

'Yes, there is no doubt about it, sweetheart. You are ready.' He said voice laced with something that you had never really heard before in Eddie– pure lust. So ready, and he touched you. Right there, between your legs, this time with no panties or jeans to keep you apart, you felt his calloused fingers slide right over your slit. He moved his hand up and down, stroking lightly, and with each lap, he would add a bit more pressure, letting his fingers slip past your folds but not entering you quite yet.  

You moaned; you didn't whimper, mewl or giggle. You moaned out his name. He had broken you now. Unsealed you. He was going to make you his. 

His little lamb. 

His fingers started moving faster, slipping inside you now and then, teasing. But you took it all so well, taking anything he gave you with the most gratitude. It was all so new, so much all at once; even a tease of his fingers was enough to make you see stars. He broke your barrier, broke you; there was no going back now that his fingers were deep inside you. Each time shooting up sparks through your body, letting you revel in it. You pulled at the handcuffs again, not because you needed to get out of them, but because you felt the urge to react somehow, and this was the only thing you could do. Hands tied up in the metal, legs spread out, and hips pushed down by Eddie's grip, you were stuck in a prison of delectation.  

As his fingers continued making you feel ecstatic, he kissed your thighs over and over again. A sweet and haste peppering of his lips at your sensitive skin, hot and needy for both of you. When he pulled his fingers away from you, you could hear a smacking sound, followed by a hum. 

'You know what you taste like, sweetheart?' 

'No?' you could not say that had ever been something you thought about, but now that he had subjected the question, you were eager to find out. 

'You taste like the sweetest nectar,' he kissed your stomach, 'Perfect and pure.' He could not get enough of your authenticity, your unadulterated and untouched body. It still hurt him to think that it would not last much longer, this vestal beauty and glow that seemed to radiate off you, but something so much better would come. Just you wait and see… 

Eddie started repeating his little phrases anew as the kisses continued, and, this time, you could hear his mumbled words more clearly, each syllable emphasised with a breath of hot air against your core. The exact meaning of the words might have escaped you, but it did not stop them from sounding like what it was. A prayer, a blessing, finished with his sigh of "Hail Lord Vecna" in almost a whisper, before delving between your legs and kissing you there passionately. 

The scream had not meant to come out, as the only thing you felt was a foreign pleasure. It was just a heavy shock to the system. Never before had you felt something like that. 

Eddie's tongue pressed deeper into you, dipping at your sweetest spot, licking at your arousal. Before this, the handcuffs had not felt much like a nuisance, but you understood it now. All you wanted to do was to grab Eddie by the hair, pull it, show him how good it made you feel– but it could be distracting. It could pull him out of his concentration, ruin his whole plan, everything he had worked so hard on. 

Yes, he had prepared, as he knew exactly what he was doing, reaching your desired spots, kissing you in a way you never expected a kiss to feel. You were glad he didn't tell you to keep quiet, because it did not seem to be a possible task. Moans kept leaving your mouth constantly.

'Eddie! Oh my–' your eyes rolled back, hips bucked up, which Eddie quickly pushed back down. But, to your horror, he pulled away from you entirely, and if you could see him, you would have seen his eyes, now almost as dark as a starless night, stare at you. 

'It's not me you should be thanking,' he kissed your pelvis before whispering another "hail Lord Vecna". 

'Hail Lord Vecna,' you repeated after him, but much breathier. 

'Yes, good, sweetheart. Say it again, Louder. He will be so happy to hear your voice say his name.' he encouraged. 

'Hail Lord Vecna,' you dared to say it, and Eddie supported it with a new kiss toward your clit. Then, with each repeat of the phrase, he extended it and kissed you longer and deeper until he was back to eating you out completely. 

Hail 

Lord 

Vecna

Not long after, the feeling came back, except ten times harder, as if you had already been circling around it for hours. Again, the knot in your stomach tightened. It was coming closer and closer– 

But Eddie pulled away again, at which you mewled out. 

'No, please, please,' you whined, much to his amusement. Eddie started making his way up again, hands on either side of you, leaving kisses all over your body, his metal necklace chain trailing behind until he reached your lips once more. His chin was wet with your juices, and you could taste yourself on him as he kissed you. A flavour that turned your stomach, but Eddie's hands were still on you, kneading and squeezing at thighs and hips, and then he pulled the blindfold off of you. It was dimly dark in the room, but you still had to get used to the light of the candles. Most of them had already started burning out. 

Eddie hovered above you, the white handkerchief in his mouth before he spat it out next to you. His hair fell down his face, the tips tickling at your collarbone and neck. All you wanted to do was to brush your hair through it, but you couldn't move your arms more than an inch away from the ornate headboard. 

'Eddie,' you whimpered, tugging at the handcuffs again. He just smiled and leaned in to kiss you again. That's when you noticed he had also taken off his clothes. You were both naked, piled on top of each other, in the most intimate and compromising position a person could find themselves in. 

Your heart was beating faster and faster, pushing against your chest, drumming in your ears. This was it. This is what everything had been leading up to. The moment Eddie had been preparing you for. The climax of his plan. 

He kissed you once more, tenderly.

'This might hurt, baby, but it should. It will be a good pain. The best feeling you've ever felt, so don't be scared, ok? It's all going to be ok.' He spoke with his eyes locked on yours; you were dazed and confused, unsure what he was talking about. You had already felt so good, couldn't possibly imagine something that would feel even better. 

But then the pain did come. There where his fingers, and his tongue, had been, and now you felt something stretch you out on the inside. Eddie pushed inside you, ripping you open, stretching you out. 

'Eddie!' You tugged at the handcuffs, but they didn't budge just like before. 

'Shh, this is good. It will be over soon. Trust me. Just trust me,' he repeated as he moved his hips. Moving out of you, but the pain didn't stop. Not when he pushed back into you or when he moved back out. With every thrust, it seemed to get worse, harsher and rougher, the pain not ceasing to stop but instead shooting up your spine. Soon, the tears started to roll down your cheeks again. 

'It's ok, it's all alright,' Eddie whispered, kissing your nose, but he let the tears roll this time, dropping down your ears into your hair and onto the mattress. Just another sign of your loss and what you were willing to give him. How good you were, so willing to give yourself up for the cause. He was so proud, and then your moans returned, and he felt his heart grow twice in size. You looked, sounded, and felt so perfect. 'Yes, that's right. So good. C'mon, baby, doesn't this feel good?' 

'Yes, yes,' you managed to say. The pain had finally receded and slowly turned to the promised pleasure you had been waiting for. The moans were now seeping out of you, body shaking at the force he was taking you with. His lips had made their way down to your breast, kissing at the valley between them, kissing over your pebbled nipples, sucking lightly, stimulating an even higher scream of pleasure from you. He kept on going, hard and fast. 

How right he had been, saying this would be the best feeling you'd ever feel. There was nothing like it than to feel him inside you, stretching you out, hitting at the right places that made your toes curl. He kept this power over you with just his movements, controlling your body with his, giving you so much to respond to. He had prepared, knew what to do to the right reactions out of you, what would please or not, what to do to make it all work. Not much longer now. It was so close, all coming to an end. 

'So beautiful,' his voice was airy but in a lost sense. He was seeking out oxygen as he continued his strikes. Both your breathing started to get heavier; everything was getting hotter and hotter around you. Your stomach tightened, and you remembered what Eddie had told you the first time it happened. 

'Eddie! I- I'm–' what was it that he had called it? You whimpered the words out before it got too much. 'I'm close! Please.' What you were pleading for, you weren't sure. But you had waited so long, so excruciatingly long, you couldn't take it anymore. 

'Wait, baby. Just a bit longer.' He huffed out, his thrusts becoming sloppier. 

'Eddie,' you cried out. How much more could you possibly wait before you would explode? 

'Be good for me. I know you can do it.' You wanted to cry and scream. He had made you wait so long, then said you were ready, just for you to wait even more. When would it finally end? When could you finally gain your euphoric release? 

Was this the sacrifice? This torture he put you under, was it all for the sake of his plan? Would this appeal to Vecna? Your tears and screams as you lost a piece of yourself to him, would that heal the broken part of the world? 

'Hail Lord Vecna,' he grunted with his final juts of the hips. It made your ears ring and your skin rise in goosebumps. And this gravelly coarseness stayed in his voice. 'Come. Come to me.' 

You would follow him anywhere; you knew that. And as he stopped to let his pleasure release into you, you followed right after. Stars were crossing over your shut eyes. You couldn't breathe, move, or do anything but let it all wash over you. A million butterflies fluttered inside you. 

Eddie cursed as he pulled out of you, and you immediately felt empty. It was like a spell had immediately dissolved out of you, and the fatigue took over. 

Just like that, it was over. 

'Here we go,' he breathed out, pulling the chain off his neck, where his guitar pick hung, but now it was also joined by the little key that fits into the handcuff lock. With a click, one cuff opened, then the other, and you were free to let your arms drop to your sides. 

You thought that moving was not an option anymore as you lay in that old bed, staring at the cracks in the wooden ceiling. The muscles in your arms were already souring, only to get even worse by the time the sun would rise again. You'd have to get home, but the idea of just getting up off the mattress was making you tired. Even rolling over to your side to greet Eddie's face was too much at the moment. 

But you could not stay there forever; the candles would burn out entirely soon, shrouding you in darkness and the cold. So, slowly you managed to get up, ignoring how everything seemed to sway around you. Just had to close your eyes for a second. 

You rubbed at your wrists, which were now red and sore from the handcuffs. Eddie had gotten off the bed, too, pulling his shirt over his head as you looked around to see your dress on the floor. The white fabric was covered in red stains. There was no way you could wear this outside now; what would your parents think if they saw the blood?! And maybe, relatively, it wasn't even that big of an amount, but the contrast on the snow white enhanced each drop to an extreme. 

'Eddie,' you gasped, reaching out for the garment, and that is when you noticed the scorch marks underneath. That bitter, smoky smell– it had been your dress burning. You wanted to cry. It was the only thing you had brought with you– your special gift from Eddie nonetheless– and it was now completely destroyed. 'I don't–' 

'Shhh,' he sat back down on the bed, taking your hand in his. The wounds on both of you had stopped bleeding entirely and were closing up, but it still hurt when he dragged his finger along the harsh line. Then, he leaned down and pulled a duffel bag from underneath the bed. It must have been where he had carried everything in. when he opened the bag, you saw a sealed candle, identical to some of the lit, nearly burned up ones around you. But he wasn't pulling the candle out of the bag. Instead, Eddie showed you clothes you recognised all too well. 'I brought these for you in case the dress wouldn't work out after all.' And he handed you the shirt and shorts, both yours, which you had had for years, your favourite until you had lost them, so you thought. Things got misplaced; after all, you could have easily forgotten them once you had been at Eddie's place. 

The fact he had kept them for you and brought them along to this house in case you would need a spare change of clothes… warmed your heart. 

With happy tears threatening to escaper your eyes, you hid your face in the crook of his neck. 

'I'm sorry, Eddie', you mumbled against him, still feeling horrible that his gift to you had been ruined. 

'It's ok, baby. We'll get you a new one.'  He caressed his hand over your back, giving you something to find comfort in. after all, that's all he wanted, for you to be safe and happy. Nothing but the best for his sweet little lamb. Always leading her in the right direction, straying from the dark and the dangerous. 'How about a black, this time? Or a pretty red one?' 

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[ibims1seb]

Merry Whumpmas

Day three: fever

Let’s just ignore the fact that I completely procrastinated 1 and 2

TW: fever, mentioned kidnapping, mentioned torture/hurting, mentioned threatening, mentioned broken in in a house, bruises, lmk if there is more

The kitchen was a lot quieter than usual. And also a lot colder. The snow that had started to fall a few days prior had turned into mud, and the white wonderland had turned into a depressing sight to see over the night. The heater in the basement was working at full capacity, but the house was old, so only a few rooms could be kept warm at a time. And those rooms had to be the bedrooms and baths, not the kitchen.

Whumpee was searching through the cupboards to find the peppermint tea. They were sure that they had some left from yesterday, but it seemingly disappeared. That had happened a lot, since caretaker got sick. At first it seemed inconvenient but now it was just straight up suspicious. Yesterday, they misplaced their coffee mug. The day before that, tissues started to disappear and now the tea? And they thought caretaker was the one with the fever. Well, at leaste the medicine was still there.

With some other herb tea, a pill and grandma’s soup, they got back to their patients bedroom. When they stepped into the room, it got noticeably warme. Still, a shudder walked down their spine while they closed the door behind them.

Whumpee stopped dead in their track when they looked back at the bed. They would have dropped the tray, if their hands didn’t cramp up into tight fists. Their knuckles turned with and it started to hurt, but they couldn’t stop.

“They aren’t getting better, it seems.”, they couldn’t see Whumper’s face, leaning over caretakers sleeping form, but they could hear the smile. They could hear his amusement of both Whumpee’s and the sick one’s helplessness. “What kind of medicine have you been giving them?”

Now, the man turned around, unfazed by the situation. The two just stared at each other, Whumpee with a mix of fear and disgust and Whumper with unreadable demand for an answer to his question.

“How did you…?” The rest of the question was caught in their throat. How did you get in here? How did you know where we were? How did you find us? But every word got stuck on the way out and nothing was heard.

“I asked you a question, Whumpee.”, the man tried to get to them, but they knew. Knew what would happen once he did so, so they stepped back. Away from him and from caretaker, who was now turning uncomfortable in their sheets. They needed food and their pills and something to drink, and comfort and—! A hand creeped around Their forearm, semi gently dragging them closer to Whumper.

“You really did lose all your training, didn’t you?” The second hand took the medication, inspecting it closely. “Their fever is too high for that to work.” He let go of them, but they didn’t move away. There was no escaping now anyway.

“We don’t have anything better…”, their voice was quiet but strong nonetheless. For now, there was no reason to fear him. If he wanted to hurt them, he would have done so already.

“Why didn’t you go and get something better?” The man had taken the tray by now, and put it on the nightstand. His movements were as precise as his actions were confusing, but that didn’t come as a surprise. He had never cared to explain himself.

“There was a snow storm up until two days ago and they seemed to be getting better…”, the man nodded absentmindedly before getting up und disappearing into the bathroom. When he got back, the cloth from Caretakers forehand was wet again and he placed it back on top of their head. It all seemed so… caring… but Whumpee couldn’t believe that!

“Why are you here?” They asked, finally. Both had settled in around the bed, a noticeable yet not at all comforting distance between them. Whumper had ordered the new medicine like it was fast food, but they didn’t want to question it.

“Why does that matter?” They could only stare at that sentence. Was he seriously that delusional to not even realise how weird the situation was?

“Because you kidnapped me, hurt me and promised that hell would break lose once you find me again! And now you broke into my house and cared for my best friend!” Whumper did not meet their eyes. But he also didn’t seem to look at Caretaker, even though his eyes were trained in that direction. He also seemed nervous, but that didn’t suit him. None of this did, honestly. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Don’t talk to me like that!” His voice wasn’t as harsh as they remembered. Now that they thought about it. He also didn’t look like the man they remembered. He was a lot skinnier and there were a few, mostly healed, bruises on the little amount of skin he was showing.

“Where’d you got them?” For the first time, he actually met their gaze. His eyes had lost the cruel fire they once housed and his face was pale. Too pale to be healthy for sure. And for some reason, he still thought he was in control.

“What?”

“The bruises. Where’d you got them?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”, it would have convinced them if he didn’t immediately take his hands to the places they meant. Honestly, no, it wouldn’t have.

“I know that behaviour.”, both looked away from the other. If it was because of shame or defiance, they weren’t sure. “I used to be like that too, when I first got back.” The room got quiet again, before Caretaker shifted in their bed once more, this time waking up.

“We can talk about it later…”, his voice was weak quite and his gaze was unsure. He probably hoped they wouldn’t hear him.

But they did! So, yes, they would talk later.

———

I did not reread this so it is very possible that there are mistakes :) let’s just ignore those pls

Masterlist

[high-warlock-of-brooklyn]

It's been a long time since I've started thinking my parents are aromantic. Both of them never had a romantic relationship in their life aside from the arranged marriage. Neither wanted particularly to get married but it was the 90s in conservative families, who thought the rest of the siblings can't get married till the eldest are so decided to marry them off to a family friend's eldest child in the same situation. They've never expressed any romantic attachment to each other or any such past in my presence or any other family member. They've explicitly said how they 'don't get all the love shit on tv', especially how two separate aunt and uncle of mine eloped.

But they love each other. You know how I know?

My mother loves this vegetable that both me and my dad hate. But every winter, like clockwork, he'll bring it so she can cook the dish, and eat it without a single complaint because she loves it. My father is often forgetful, so my mother makes sure all his things are in place, puts the wallet and car keys on a hook right next to the door so he never misplaces them.

My mother has a temper, my father is one of the most patient people I know. I love my mother, but not enough to bear her often unjustified rage. But my father is. Calm, patient, gentle. My father does not always understand me, my emotions, my hurt, and often says things that upset me in the moment. Never intentionally, just, offering me solutions when I really need advice and vice versa and other such things.

My mother, my hotheaded bad-tempered strike-fear-with-three-words mother, explains patiently what he did wrong, how he should have reacted. Pulls me aside and tells me to forgive him, to understand, to let it slide. I've seen my mother break down when my father got sick few years ago. I've seen my father lose his mind when my mother started getting sick with thyroid.

My parents love each other, and I have long suspected not in a romantic way. There have been too many hints to miss, and they're too personal to mention here. But I think they're soulmates, because there is noone else who would fit.

I have never dated. There have been various reasons, most notably would be my reluctance to settle for mediocrity. I'm not easy to love. I have baggage. I have trauma. I'm a neurodivergent who needs a lot of allowances when it comes to a relationship. I'll forget important dates, I'll react impulsively. But I will not accept someone's tolerance just because. I will put in the work and try my bestest, and in return I will have love and acceptance, and love and acceptance only. If not, I have myself. And I am enough.

I think a lot of it generated from the fact that my parents are not romantic soulmates. It's a hard truth to accept for some people, I personally don't relate. You see for me, love is not the gooey stuff you see people talking about. Love is belonging. Love is turning off the ac in the middle of summer heat because the other one is fresh out of a shower and catches cold easily. Love is keeping their bookshelves stocked up because they love to read. Love is doing their share of chores before they wake up because their knee pain got bad but they'd never say it out loud.

My parents caused me a lot of bad days, to be frank. And I'm still learning to forgive them for that. But I'll forever be grateful to them for giving me this clarity about love, so if I ever choose to pursue it, I'll know who to let in and who to keep away.

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Pregnant!Female!Reader) pt. 12

Cult girl deals with an unexpected and unwelcome guest.

@wisesandwichshark @pearlstiare

Trigger warnings: pregnancy, emotional manipulation, emotional abuse, infidelity, threats of violence

Step three: kill Anna

So maybe there was an understanding that the pregnancy was to be kept secret from Anna.

The withdrawal of Archie and Max from the picture left a hole in the plan. Just when it looked like you had secured that much-needed victory, it shriveled up and died right before your eyes. That much was certain. Everything else was a big question mark.

Ever since he felt the baby kicking, Hannibal became even more hopelessly enamored with the idea of being a father. He never mentioned it, of course, but it was there. It was there in the way he cooed at your stomach and how his hand lingered after he felt a kick. He was in heaven.

For a few days, it looked like the downward trajectory was beginning to flatten. Then you remembered your favorite line from Ryan Reynolds' Deadpool:

"Life is an endless series of trainwrecks with only brief, commercial-like breaks of happiness." You repeated to yourself as your phone flashed Theresa's call icon.

It took you a minute to remember that Theresa in your phone was actually Anna, because you hadn't bothered to change it. In a way, it was symbolic. Theresa was the head you cut off, and Anna sprouted up in her place. All in the pursuit of making your life unbearable.

You pulled the toothbrush from your mouth and placed it next to the sink. Lazily, you brought the phone to your ear. "What?"

"Hey pretty girl!" Anna said, using her most transparently fake cheery voice. "How's it going?"

Then it clicked. You felt kind of stupid that you didn't see it coming. In the world of cults, this was known as 'lovebombing'; a manipulation tactic in which the cult leader showers their target with affection, compliments, validation or anything that would make them associate good feelings with the group. In any other context, it would be called 'ass-kissing'.

You narrowed your eyes in skepticism. "What do you want?"

"Jeez, who crapped in your corn flakes?" She scoffed. "Can't a girl just call her little sister to say hi?"

It would have been one thing to say 'cousin', which, despite your bad blood, would have been technically accurate. But 'sister' was crossing a line. The blood that binded you and Anna together was thinner than water.

"We're not sisters, Anna." You corrected. "Why are you calling?"

"I just wanted to let you know that all is forgiven." She said, slipping back into that phony cheerful tone. "That little fiasco at the funeral, it's water under the bridge."

What Anna didn't know was that the water under the bridge was never water, but gasoline. Every drop that flowed under that bridge only created a more dangerous blaze for when you finally burned it down.

"Awesome." You said, flatly.

"I also wanted to say, 'may the best woman win'." She jeered. "I don't want to alarm you, but Liam and I have been fucking like bunnies."

You gagged. "I'm not alarmed but I certainly didn't need to know that."

"I've been keeping track of my ovulation," She disregarded your objection and continued the conversation she wanted to have. "And I even put child locks on the computer so Liam can't watch porn. Can't spare even a drop, y'know. It's too crucial."

"I will literally let you have the entire inheritance if you please just shut up right now." You said through gritted teeth.

"Oh?" She perked up. "Come on, don't give up. Don't make it too easy. Winning is just more fun when someone else loses."

She was growing into her Theresa shoes quite well.

"Seriously, though," You raised your eyebrows. "If it means I never have to see you again, by all means. Take the damn money."

"You know I love you, right?" Anna blurted out, pretending to be offended. "You may not think so, but I love you like a sister."

Again, you fought the urge to feel bad for her. Her model of sisterly love was Theresa. She could use the word to invoke sympathy, but would never know what it meant. It hit your ear exactly the same as when fundamentalist christian strangers said they loved you and that's why they were harassing you. Just an empty annoyance.

You rolled your eyes. "Goodbye, Anna."

"Wait!" She shouted as if she was about to die.

You threw your head back in exasperation. "What?!"

"I wanted to give you a little good-luck gift." She said.

You were slightly interested. "Oh?"

"Yes." She answered. "Can I swing by and drop it off later?"

You sighed. "Whatever. As long as you make it fast."

You were most certainly noticeably pregnant, but a fluffy robe obscured any misplaced curves just enough. You just hoped she wouldn't ask why you were wearing a fluffy robe in July. Anna arrived at the house, with Liam, who was holding a small basket of colorful jars and bottles.

You waited a minute to see if she would just leave the basket on the porch, but she didn't. You resignedly opened the door.

"[F/N]!" She shouted with that hyper-enthusiastic smile. You cringed, trying not to let her presence trigger your morning sickness.

The smile disappeared from her face. "Jesus H, you look like hell."

You desperately wanted to inform her that it was the strain of growing a human inside your body, but you held your tongue and thought of an excuse.

"I'm hungover." You said. Yeah, that would work.

"The usual, I see." Anna snipped at you under her breath.

You eyed the basket. You didn't even bother to mask your disappointment when you realized it wasn't food. "What's this?"

"Oh, this?" Anna said as if she were starting a sales pitch. "This is my olive branch. My exclusive DoTERRA fertility rejuvenation kit."

Your brain refused to process that Anna had been sucked in to an MLM, as it was really only a matter of time. You just didn't think it would take this long.

"Dude, you're twenty-nine and I'm twenty-six." You narrowed your eyes at her. "What on earth are we rejuvenating?"

She pointed to a collection of little bottles. "So these are for the initial cleanse. Put a few drops of this in your food, and some of this in your bathwater-"

She rattled on with practiced certainty about the fictitious health benefits of thyme and geranium oils, how they promote fertility and whatnot.

"Thanks, Anna." You cut her off, reaching for the gift basket. You didn't intend to use any of it, but you could pawn it off on some struggling hunbot for less than they would buy it new.

Anna pulled the basket out of your reach. "Oh. I wasn't giving it to you."

Nothing surprised you anymore, and this was no exception. "I thought you said it was a gift?"

"Oh, god no." She shook her head. "This whole kit costs, like, five hundred dollars."

You grimaced. "So you came here to show me your snake oil collection?"

"I came here to tell you in person about this amazing business opportunity." She said, returning to her fake smile. "For just $1000, you can be part of this amazing company-"

"Anna, what am I studying right now?" You cut her off.

She looked at you with round, clueless eyes. She looked back at Liam for help. He tapped his head to give her a hint.

"I want to say..." her voice trailed off. "...brain surgery?"

You shook your head. "No. Liam?"

"Clinical psychology with a specialization in cults." He answered. "You want to be the next Steven Hassan."

Anna didn't deserve Liam.

"So you're saying you're too smart for me?" Anna said, crossing her arms. "You're too busy going to your fancy college, living with your fancy boyfriend to support your own sister's hustle?"

"I'm saying you're in a cult." You countered. "A pretty obvious one, at that."

"Oh, when your only solution is a hammer every problem looks like a nail." She scoffed. "You think everything is a cult. Why can't you just be happy for me?"

"I'll be happy for you when you accomplish something that isn't built off the backs of people you fucked over." You said, allowing yourself to finally snap.

Anna's jaw hung open. "Do I even need to gesture to this house? Those clothes? That degree? All paid for by your rich boyfriend."

It's time.

You stepped on to the porch and shut the door behind you. "Liam. I have something to tell you."

Liam handed the basket off to Anna and approached. "Alright."

"No she doesn't, Liam." Anna objected. "Don't listen to her. You know she's a liar."

"Liam." You said, looking into his eyes. "Do you remember Nathan Sparks?"

"Anna's ex from college?" Liam folded his arms and looked at his wife. "Vaguely."

Anna gritted her teeth at you. "I swear to fucking god, [F/N]-"

"Anna, stop." Liam cut her off. "Let her speak."

"Anna continued to see him for two years after you got together." You smirked.

Liam's dial-up internet brain sputtered to life.

"Oh my god." His mouth hung open. "...is he 'pineapple'?!"

"Nope." You said. "You are."

"Is this true, Anna?" Liam said, in the overlap between denial and anger. "Did you keep seeing Nathan after we got together?"

Anna threw the basket on the ground, jars shattering, releasing a noxious cloud of concentrated snake oil. She was too busy glaring daggers at you to answer her husband.

"Fine. Don't tell me." He spat, turning back to you. "I'll hear it from you, [F/N]. You're the only one in this family who's been honest with me."

"She only wanted to get with you because your uncle is CEO of that publishing house." You added. You felt bad for essentially rubbing salt in the wound, but he was right to assume he wouldn't hear it from anyone else.

He placed his hand over his head as if to nurse a migrane. "How could I be so stupid..."

"Liam-" Anna said, her voice jumping a few octaves.

Liam put up his hand. "I don't want to hear it."

"I'm sorry, Lee." You offered. Even though you loved seeing Anna caught, you felt bad for every person she victimized along the way. Liam was no exception.

He dropped his shoulders and sighed. "Thank you, [F/N]. I'll be out of your way, now. Anna--"

He stopped himself, presumably to avoid saying something he would regret. "...find your own way home."

He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked away, leaving Anna with you.

"Thanks for coming." You sneered at her, feeling around behind you for the door handle. "I'd call an uber if I were you."

"You twisted bitch." She scowled, hands hovering in your direction. "You just get off on ruining people's lives, don't you?"

"Oof, that's some serious projection, Anna." You said, unconsciously untying the belt of your robe and pulling it off your shoulders.

"You're-" She sputtered, her eyes growing to the size of personal pizzas. "You're fucking pregnant?!"

Shit. You thought, cycling through whatever braincells you had left for an idea of how to play this off as if you meant to do it.

"Surprise." You shrugged. Yeah, that would work.

"That's impossible!" She stammered. "You're- you're not even married!"

"Grandma never said anything about marriage." You grinned.

Anna struggled to find her words. "That is unfair!"

"So now that you're not winning, the game is unfair?" You raised an eyebrow.

She pursed her lips and pointed at you. "You aren't going to get away with this."

"Just like you didn't get away with cheating on your husband?" You taunted.

"I'm serious, [F/N]." Anna said, backing down the porch steps. "I will destroy everything you love just like you did to me."

For a half a second, the voice in your head told you to beware, that the threat should be taken seriously. Upon remembering it was coming from Anna, you pushed the thought from your mind.

You shouldn't have.

[mimithings97]

How to Make Him Cum 101 (M)

Summary: You’ll love each other in sickness and health, hungover or hangry, sexless or… well, it’s becoming a little harder for the pants to stay on despite the calls of ‘let’s take this slow’ on the first date.

Pairing: Jungkook x Y/N

Genre: University AU, Smut, Fluff, Angst (tiny bit), Crack

Warnings: (Plenty my friend) Handjob, Fingering, Squirting, Sex without protection, Tongue fucking, Jungkook being whipped, Chocking (brief), Dry Humping, Jungkook cumming in his pants, lots of swearing, lots of alcohol consumption, consumption of weed

Word Count: 15k (it was meant to be 10k, but I fucked it)

A/N: I love Jungkook in this, he’s a sweetheart who has no fucking idea what he’s doing. Took me way too long to write this and I’m sorry if it drags, but I split it into little scenes to make it more manageable. It’s also pretty casual - no real storyline. Enjoy and suggestions always welcome x

“I swear to fuck, if he throws up my £2000 bourbon...” 

And by some miracle, neither the end of Taehyung’s sentence nor the £150 shot Namjoon halfheartedly threw back makes an appearance.

“Nah big man can handle his shit right Joon,” is the mere drunken support offered by Jimin. It’s also accompanied by an all-too heavy hand to the back that has the elder spluttering on air, the shot well and truly burning a hole in his stomach by now.

You observe from the distance of the kitchen, fortunately barricaded from the testosterone fest by the island and several misplaced sofas. It was Jimin’s idea to upgrade the sofa scheme to one that was more ‘drinking and smoking friendly’ so he liked to call it, taking a sufficient 30 minutes just to manoeuvre several pieces of furniture into a circle that centred around all too expensive liquors and cheap weed - the irony of the contrast had most certainly dawned on you. 

Your unexpected appearance to the gathering was on the account of boyfriends hazy state. He was all ‘come save me’ and ‘i’m dying’ over your texted conversation but upon arrival, the boy was all over that tequila bottle like he was downing chocolate milk. 

Despite your best intentions of remaining inconspicuous and merely Jungkook’s driver for the night went to shit when Jimin, unapologetic and somewhere between happily stoned and confident drunk demanded you join their escapades. 

“Booze or bud but not neither Y/N.” Nothing like a typical Taehyung to welcome you to the action.

“Well you didn’t say I couldn’t have both,” is your reply that’s laced with a brazen tone and paired with a smirk.

You’re met with Taehyung tonguing his cheek.

“That’s my girl,” Jungkook shouts mid-laugh and gives you a smack to the ass for good measure. You find comfort in the gesture, so following his drifting hand to the point that you settle in his lap.  

Jungkook must have drunk his weight in alcohol because it’s all touches from behind you, cold hands finding their way under cloth and onto warm skin, lips clamping down on your neck and teeth unforgiving on your ear lobe. Your boyfriend’s a modest guy even at worst, so his provoking actions are met with raised eyebrows on your behalf.

Slowly but surely, with the burn of smoke in your lungs and the even harsher burn of rich whiskey (because £2000 bourbon is a harsh no), Jungkook’s hands roam freely.

“Jesus mate, if you’d have fucked her the second time you would’ve had that pussy on hold, swear down.” Somewhere between your silent touches and unauthorized smoking of all of Namjoon’s weed, the conversation had delved into the topic of Jimin’s overly privileged sex life.

“That’s exactly what I said but the bitch pussied out,” Hobi pipes up from the corner where he’d faded away from being too legit faded - boy never could handle his smoke.

“Fuck off did I pussy ou-”

“Nahhh she had you whipped babe, that second shag wasn’t even on the cards,” you mouth speaks for you. Or more like your high speaks for you at this point.

You feel Kook smile into your shoulder from where his head was perched.

“This’ll be good,” it’s under Taehyung’s breath but not inaudible.

“Fuck do you mean, ‘she had me whipped’, she was all over me that night at Joon’s...” Jimin swigs mid-sentence, flushed from the buzz of liquor and his overly defensive tone, “had her wrapped around my little finger.”

… the opportunity was too good to miss.

“What little finger?” You refrain from laughing at your own remark for dramatic effect but Jungkook’s squeezing your sides and the lightness of your head betrays you. 

Jimin’s eye contact with your falters as if his ego broken, and the others pass around comments along the lines of ‘fucking brilliant’ and ‘unlucky mate’. 

You take a final drag before passing it behind you to the already seeking hand of your boyfriend who’s still amused by your smart-mouth.

“Jimin, I’m just saying,” you elaborate in hopes of restoring his cracked masculinity somewhat, “from what Stephanie told me, Mina had four guys on hold at that party and wasn’t inclined to let any of them stick in on her cos she’s got a full-on guy waiting for her away from uni.”

He huffs, throwing himself and his bottle backwards onto the sofa, causing it to slosh around and out. You peer over at Taehyung, waiting for the boy to morph into an expression of disgust because god knows, this sofa cover costs more than your rent, but he never does - eyes glazed and a small smile instead.

“Fucking brilliant, I was fifth on a girls ‘need to shag’ list.” You almost feel bad for the sod, but one thing Jimin could never do was keep his mouth shut when it needed to be. “At least I’m doing better than you, Y/N, you can’t even get a fuck off your boyfriend and you’ve been together for months.” 

Taehyung’s smile drifts, Hobi shifts in his seat and Jungkook stiffens from behind you - the air dries up.

“Jimin, mate, come on,” Joon tries to reason, but as per usual Jimin keeps his mouth moving.

“I said what I said.”

Yeh, he sure fucking did. And if one thing was known to be uncharted conversation between the lot of you, then that was your and Jungkook’s abstinence. But in true style, Jimin just had to pry.

----------------------------------------

“Fuck it, maybe we should just have sex,” he finally says as you stall over wiping off your eyeliner to laugh at his exasperation. Jungkook wasn’t insecure but he was easily influenced when something hurt his pride - and you could tell, from Jimin’s comment, throughout the awkward air that lingered in the car, to just now, that he had been stewing on the dent to his ego from the moment it was spoken. 

You want to tell him with all the sarcasm in the world how ‘romantic’ he’s being about it all, but you refrain to save further damage.

“Kook-”

“Nah, seriously Y/N, I’m tired of this shit…” you want to diffuse his state, but he persists, “and- I don’t really know what I’m waiting on now.”

“Baby,” you finally get a grip on his attention as he lets out a huff and welcomes you onto his lap. “You’ve had your reasons to wait on this, I’ve always respected that. But…” he groans and you lean into him as a warning to let you finish, “buttt, I’m not gonna respect any shit when you’re letting Jimin decide for you. Just cos the boy can’t get his dick wet doesn’t mean you have to.”

You feel him snicker against your shoulder as he lowers his head in frustration.

“You do this on your own time. Not mine,” you weave your fingers through his locks and anchor him to you, “not Jimin’s, not anyone but yours,” and finalise your sentiment by situating your lips on his temple.

With eyes fluttering shut into your touch and a heavy breath out he indulges in his insecurity. “I just can’t afford to lose you.” And you know it takes his booze-filled conscience to let you in.

You have to admit that there was some level of hurt you managed to hide at this point. That even after relishing in one another's company for 5 months, Jungkook still couldn’t find it in himself to trust you in that way. It was a mental thing, an emotional instinct of too many failed relationships where he was a victim to being cheated on, left after being used for sex and prayed on for good looks and unfortunate vulnerability. You knew within yourself you would never and could never do what so many have done before you. Fuck, you couldn’t even see yourself being sane and capable without him, ever, period. For that, you respected his decision - whilst frustratingly prolonged - because you knew he was worth the wait.

“I need you just as much as you need me.” You sense the slump in his shoulders, the heaviness of too many pressures and burdens weighing them down. That and his drug-induced state causing unwanted fatigue. “Hmm?” So you lift his chin and search his eyes till they meet yours, passing on a reassurance that he finally accepts with a curt nod.

“Yeh, I know.” 

You press a kiss, or two to his lips and lean back to raise an eyebrow at him.

“Now are you gonna keep sulking to yourself like a bitch or let me make you cum?” His instant response is his eyes blowing out in shock of your statement before laughing into your chest. You know him well enough that he is using your chest to hide the blush in his cheeks but you don’t mention it. 

Instead, you wiggle your hips with no subtlety into the twitch of his groin that seeks your mouth so desperately, laughing when he grabs you at the cheeks and pulls you away to say, “You’re fucking mental.” But against his lips you can’t help the, “-Nd you love me for it,” that is mumbled.

Yeah, this boy was definitely worth the wait.

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Weekends seem to roll around at a quickening pace when you have a needy boyfriend and even more demanding party schedule to fill the gaps. And by some freak of nature, you hadn’t managed to drop your education off a cliff in the meantime - in fact, you had begun to make a living off having beer in one hand and highlighter in the other.

University wasn’t a walk in the park, but you’d been enough of a devoted intellect in your first two years of it to allow yourself to drop off the map a little. So, after becoming a co-captain of the swim team somewhere into your second year, it was only a natural, human instinct kind of reaction that your fellow captain, the hunk of abs who graced poolside, would slip a few too many flirty remarks at you before you called him your boyfriend. He’d pined and you’d fallen - simple as.

He came with baggage though. Six boys and a whole lot of booze and weed. You were no saint before Jungkook, hell, you almost weren’t allowed swim captain because you’d slept in one too many of the guys beds. But as soon as you’d said ‘yes’ to the going out for drinks invitation he offered, you had also said ‘yes’ to the party on Saturday at Hoseok’s, and the one on Sunday down at the river, and for every weekend for the next 5 months. And slowly but surely, it was no longer, ‘this is my girlfriend’ as an introduction, but you asking the familiar face around the party with all urgency where the nearest bottle of tequila was.

It’s also how you’d landed yourself filthily hungover in your Monday lecture, listening to Professor Snape (nah, it’s his real name and all) with a noticeable shake in your hand and last nights mascara somewhere down your face. 

“If you look that shit, then what the hell does Kook look like.” Mina, the best friend, the only one allowed to hold back your hair whilst you would throw up in a second-floor bathroom, and the roommate who made student life just a bit more bearable than the shit show it was.

She takes the seat next to you, her question probably rhetorical but you make the effort to reply, all the same.

“Still asleep in the bathtub I reckon.” Ah, yes, the boyfriend. At somewhere between 1 in the morning and blackout drunk you, Jungkook and your infamous competitiveness called for beer pong - minus the beer, add the vodka. So it was only gonna be a certain amount of time before both you and him were pushed into a cab on top of one another and drafted back to his flat so he could throw up in his bathtub. 

“Jesus,” Mina mutters with a laugh, probably just relieved someone ordered your taxi to go to his and not your shared apartment - like hell was she listening to Jungkook throw up at 5 in the morning.

“Honestly, why does Yoongi host that shit on Sunday,” you groan into your laptop, turning down the brightness because you can already feel the afternoon hangover headache arising. 

“He doesn’t have a 9am like the rest of us.”

“Fucker.” 

Good host though, Yoongi. A postgrad, with his own two-storey apartment and too much time on his hands. You’d known him before the boyfriend too, working shifts with him in your first year at a music production company, both in the catering section because you had time to fill and tuition to pay and he was hoping to find his break into the industry. He fucked it though and has ended up with some crazy paid apprenticeship at a financial branch in the city centre. 

“Oi, Bob’s this weekend?” Mina poses the question as the lights brighten in the lecture room and everyone starts shutting laptops - yours was shut ten minutes ago when you stopped listening and started wallowing in self-pity.

“Bob’s?” Bermuda Bobs. A club in the centre of town, and somewhat of a regular for Friday nights, when Hoseok had had just about enough of hosting. “Yeh. Yeh, I can do Bobs.”

Mina’s up and off before you can even open the zip on your bag, something about she’ll miss her lift to training, but you mumble that you’ll see her at the apartment later before you can see the back of her head. 

All you can think as you conquer the steps to the exit of the hall is how much of a blessing a shower and a cup of tea would be - ‘so easily pleased’ Mina would say. So, when you look up from your phone to see Jungkook opposite where you walk out, a cup of tea in hand, you might just believe in fate.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he says, throat hoarse as he takes you bag from your shoulder and places the coffee into your welcoming hands. You laugh at him, a snort because it’s ironic considering the bloodshot eyes and beer-stained hair he sports.

“You were passed out in the bath legit an hour ago,” his hand finds yours despite your teasing and when you finally take the first sip of tea as you walk, anyone would think the noise you made was nothing short of an orgasm - Jungkook certainly takes notice. “Did you bring the car?” 

He snorts, “Like fuck did I bring the car, I’m still drunk.”

“Babbbyy,” it’s a whine as you throw your head back and pull his hand to make your point into a tantrum. 

“It’s literally a 5 minute walk babe, suck it up.” He continues ahead, but you go full 5 year old tactics on him, stopping in your tracks and whacking on your face the biggest pout your lips will allow.

He merely rolls his eyes and kisses it away before presenting his back to you, arms out, legs bent and you hop onto him like the spoilt girlfriend you are.

“You’re a brat, you know that.” Is all he says as he starts the walk out of the building and towards his, so you kiss behind his ear. 

“Mmm, call me that again, it kinda turns me on.”

“Fucking filty,” but you see the crinkle in his eyes that lets you know that he loves you for it.

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Friday nights roll around quicker than you know when Bob’s is calling. They start earlier than most nights as well - lecture leads to swim training, swim training calls for afternoon drinks at Warehouse and then Warehouse blurs into Pre’s that blurs into Bob’s. 

So with beer curdling in your stomach, trying to flick the wing of your eyeliner and failing for the fifteenth time is as funny as Jimin’s pinkie to you and Mina. 

She is, of course, ready. Has been for almost 2 hours, so whilst you struggle to slip into your dress, she finishes your eyeliner for you.

The buzz of your phone has both of you looking to the vibrating device in confusion, having to double-take with each other because the taxi isn’t supposed to be here until Jungkook is and he isn’t supposed to be here for another half an hour. 

Your fumbling with a zip so it’s Mina who reaches for it, and when the screen lights her face, her features go from confused to ‘for fucks sake’ in less than a second. She turns it and that god awful photo of Jungkook and his swimming goggles on lights up the display. 

“I’ll get the door.” She’s exasperated. He’s early and she can’t stand that - all it took was him showing up at the wrong time on a Wednesday whilst she was naked on the sofa with a girl between her legs that caused the ‘come when you’re fucking asked to come’ attitude - poor boy didn’t even know she was gay.

You do a once over in the mirror before the door swings open, Mina has a scowl but your boyfriend has a lime in one hand and tequila in the other, so you don’t care.

“Shit, you look hot,” Fuck, so does he, but he’s pressing a kiss to your lips before you can drink him in fully, “s’that dress new?”

“I did the makeup, thank me.” Mina was always loud, and speaking at the wrong places and in the wrong conversations. 

“Kindly fuck off, you did the eyeliner and shit all else.” You turn back to Kook, now leaning against your wall, eyes still trained on you, or at least, your legs, and he looks fucking thirsty that’s for sure. “And yeh, got it when I went in the city the other week.” He replies with a nod and a smirk. Those damn bedroom eyes, they hold your gaze, as you fiddle with the clasp on the side of your dress. 

Mine pipes up from the sidelines, “God, it’s like I’m watching a fucking mating ritual or something.” Jungkook scoffs and his shoulders ease as though he’s calming himself down, “Well, I’m ready so shots it is.” She grabs the bottle of tequila from Jungkook’s hand and is off into the kitchen without looking back.

“Who put a foot up her ass then?” He only says it once the door is closed, knowing he’ll get a whacking if Mina heard him, so you scowl at him, albeit through a smile.

“Oi, watch it,” you’re in front of him now, leaning into the arm he stretched out to embrace you in.

“Sorry,” and he means it. He genuinely likes Mina, you’re sure of it, but they go at each other like cats in an alley when you’re not there to referee it.

He’s warm around you, his shirt with buttons undone at the top so that the cologne he’s wearing goes right to your head - and to your core - either one. The proximity does the same to him as he takes a handful of your ass, groping so that when you gasp and try to pull away, he administers a slap. 

You can’t deny you’re horny for him, and the way his trousers frame his bulge perfectly - you lick your lips subconsciously at the thought - but you can almost hear the sadness of Mina pouring and downing Tequila shots by herself.

“Fucker,” you whisper and lean out of his hold almost, only to see that fire in his eyes. 

“I love this ass,” hands now sneaking underneath the fabric of your dress - like it was covering much anyway, but that doesn’t change the way his cold fingers spread across your behind and almost make you moan out. It’s when he takes your bottom lip in his teeth and pulls back agonizing slowly until it pops back into place that the moan you were stifling releases, slowly, seductively, and his crotch stirs at the thought of you making the same noise around his dick. 

But if Kook can restrain himself enough into denying you a fuck for 5 months, then you can be just as disciplined now - whether the wetness on your thighs tells you something different or not.

You toy with him though.

At a pace nothing short of tormenting, you lean your leg into the space between his, drag your lips across his cheek to his ear and let your fingers draw a line from the gap in his shirt, underneath and across his chest, “But you know what’s better than this ass, baby?” You play the seductress with you voice, and you know it does bits to him. 

Your question was rhetoric, but when he doesn’t reply, you can’t help but grab at his belt with a hand and tug his crotch into your leg. He sputters out breathily into your neck, “W-what?”

You lean back, wait for his eyes to open and gage the lust and excitement brewing within them before opening your mouth against his…

“...Tequila shots.” You smack his thigh, turn and are out the door before his erection can say ‘shit’.

Two can play at his game of denial. 

Your all kinds of worked up despite your best efforts, but Mina’s got lime in her mouth and her face crinkled into an expression of disgust as you eye the empty shot glass on the counter, so it’s not like she’s gonna be sniffing out your hormones any time soon. 

“Fucking shit, rancid, I hate it, don’t wanna drink ever, absolutely not,” you laugh at her outburst as you refill her shot glass for yourself. 

“Lightweight,” you tease her as you throw it all back, wincing internally as you feel the hole burn in your throat, but suck it up for the sake of your competitive streak. She merely scoffs at you as the bedroom door swings open, Jungkook - still a fine piece of ass right now - tucking his shirt into his trousers. No way did he just finish himself off in that time, but your eyes travel down to his hard on that is very much still there. You can’t help the smirk.

“Kook, get your shot down you then we’re off,” Mina announces.

“Taxi here already?” he questions but she shakes her head as she now sports a wine bottle in her hand, and clearly a mouth full of wine as she fails to verbalise. 

Shots are down, wine is drunk, and heads are well and truly dizzy when you reach the club. The cab was early much to Mina’s dismay, but that didn’t stop her from grabbing the tequila bottle from Jungkook and downing a healthy portion of the liquid before collapsing in instant regret - ‘we’ve all been there Min’ was your only advice. As for Jungkook. Well, the boy never showed when he was drunk until he would take his shirt off and shout he was wasted, so the only way you could gauge his state was by the way his fingers dug into your thigh the entire journey - you just couldn’t work out whether it was the alcohol or his dick talking.

“Y/NNN!” you hear before see Jimin, despite the music that reverberates through the floor and up your body. As always, he has bottle in hand and a girl in the other, but he releases her to embrace you.

It’s a love, hate with Jimin, but he was Jungkook’s best friend, so there was and could not be bad blood between the two of you - much the same to Jungkook and Mina. Jimin swam as well, so you were no strangers to sharing situations that required great comfort with one alone - such as you in a swimming costume and him in his damn speedos. There was only one thing better than Jimin in speedos though, and that was Jungkook in speedos.

“Where’s your boyfriend, he owes me a fucking drink,” and you point to the bar, where he leans over the counter in all his glory and much to the fortune of your eyes. Jimin escorts himself and the girl he’s with over to the bar before you can catch her name - she’s pretty, though, which is no surprise with Jimin’s taste. 

It takes the next 30 minutes, or possibly longer because alcohol tends to blur hours to minutes before you’ve made conversation with everyone there. It’s almost admin now, having to do the rounds when all the people from swimming go out - a swim captain apparently has certain obligations of seeing everyone had a drink in hand and a ride to go home in. Kook was doing the same too, across the club, slowly but surely making his way towards you as he talked to some of the guys. He’d winked one too many times at you for it to be coincidence, and the alcohol you’d been consuming was screaming out to you now to fuck the pointless conversation and grind on your damn fit boyfriend.

“Fuck Josh, Mel, the boy can’t even get it up, and you’re too much of a hot piece of ass to waste on him,” Mina’s on one of her motivational talks with the social sec, Mel - absolute sweetheart, heart of gold and awful taste in men. Also the subject of Mina’s subconscious flirting for the last hour or so, but you don’t have the heart to tell Mina to stop - she’s drunk and probably horny knowing her.

“Y/N,” you’re face first in your vodka red bull (double), to hear Mina, having zoned out from her pining after she started getting emotional. “Y/N!” You finally ease up on the drink when you hear her this time. 

“Hmm?” mouth half full.

“Have you ever seen someone get eye fucked?” Her eyes flicker from you to something else, but you’re too caught up in the absurdity of her question to notice.

“The fuck?”

“Because I’m watching it happen right now,” and it’s a nod that finally directs your questioning gaze away from your best friend and to a figure at the bar, elbows tucked behind him, a bottle of beer at his side, legs to die for and eyes boring right into yours. He’s playing dirty tonight, is all you think. So despite the way your core tightens and the hair on your neck unknowingly rises, you feed into his game, the cat and mouse kind of thing he seems to be grabbing at, and put up your facade.

You're slow to get to him, but it’s deliberate. And instead of giving in to his gaze or his touch, you place your feet right beside his, leaning towards the bar and into the sight of the bartender. 

It’s the raise of her eyebrows at you and the curt smile that prompts you to talk, “two shots of tequila please,” she begins to spin but you stop her, “oh, and plenty of salt and lime.” 

It takes physical energy not to give in to human instinct - to touch and to grab him, to let go of the role play. 

“Anyone would think you’re ordering for two,” his voice is gravely, and fuck if it doesn’t shoot straight down you. But his comment makes you smile, smirk actually.

“You say that as if I can’t handle my alcohol,” you raise an eyebrow to yourself, still feigning your confidence by not looking his way.

Two shots are lined up in front of you, limes perched on top, and a generously filled salt shaker to the left of them. 

“Well tequila is a dangerous game to play,” you pick up either shot in your hand, and fight the urge to shiver as his words that are breathed against your ear. You round from the side of him, eyes finally lifting to his and filling some void that was there, but by no means lifting any tension between the two of you.

“Then let’s play dangerously,” you say, eyes sultry and him waiting on your every move, “the first one to have their salt, their shot and their lime gone first is the winner..” 

“And what does the winning get?” Damn, he’s eager.

You lean in, but still don’t touch. “That’s for the winner to know, and the loser to find out.” 

You can see a vague pick up in his breathing, a sheen of sweat forming against his brow and a vague smirk pulling at the edges of his mouth. Lifting the lime off your shot, he almost proceeds to do the same, about to take the shot to his lips but you stop him, instead pushing your shot into his vacant hand. The only explanation offered is when you take your lime down the column of your throat and down to your cleavage, before reaching to the salt that’s behind him. You pour a small mound of it onto your finger and follow the path that the lime drew. He eyes you like artwork, and doesn’t lift his gaze from your cleavage where you nestle the lime. 

You pour more salt onto your forefinger, and his eyes finally lift in an expression of confusion, but words evade him - hell, he hasn’t taken a solid breath for the past minute. Slowly, tourturningly, you lean into him, carefully avoiding his shot, and catch his breath hitching as you press the point of your tongue into the base of his neck, dragging it upwards until you meet his jaw. You almost couldn’t stop yourself from proceeding further, drinking in the salty taste of him and eating away at his sanity with your tongue - but you refrain, all in the name of dramatic effect.

“Fuck,” is all he says as he keeps his breath hitched, and you push your finger down the line your tongue drew, spreading salt southwards.

He almost looks tapped out when you take his lime from between you, eyes completely glazed, and fortunately for you they blow out even further when you tug the belt of his trousers and place your lime in the waistband - like his erection wouldn’t have held it up anyways.

Retrieving one of the shots from his grasp, where his knuckles had turned white against the glass, you hold his gaze.

“I think you should go ahead,” you’re more breathy than you realised, even despite it being your game.

“I-I thought,” he has to clear his throat, “it’s who can do it the fastest,” it’s barely even a question with how quiet he mumbled the words - you’re not even sure he knew what he was saying.

“Who said I wanted to win, baby?” And he lets out a moan, a full blown moan before he encases your throat with his mouth, and he’s almost animalistic in the way he growls against your skin at the taste. He bites down when he reaches just above the lime and your eyes roll back unconsciously before opening to see him throw his head back with the shot, not a single wince in his eyes because they are so driven by desire. The shot glass is slammed behind him before he dives into your cleavage to retrieve the lime, and in some display of masculinity that almost has you keening he rips the lime from his mouth and tosses it behind you, juice rolling down his face and onto his jaw to linger with the line of salt that glistens there.

You don’t even realise you're on his throat until the overly salty taste pricks your mouth and you can feel his jaw tense beneath you. You're almost in a haze when the tequila sets your throat ablaze but you become fully conscious of the way he grabs a fistful of your hair, pushes you to the floor until your dress bunches and has you sucking at the lime that rests mockingly above his hard cock. 

By some miracle you find yourself back up at eye level, chests heaving to the point of almost touching, and if you didn’t have a lime in your mouth right now you’d either be swearing obscenely in some gesture of saying ‘your so fucking hot’ or your lips would be around his dick.

With a gulp and a tilt of his head backwards, he gains a level of composure that allows him to ease the lime from your lips with his fingers, letting them brush at your skin to have you shivering.

It’s almost comical the way you both pant, eyes ablaze in each others, and completely oblivious to the outside world and how many, way too many people have seen your display. But there is nothing but the burn in your bodies right now as he grabs your hand wordlessly and drags you as fast as your heels will allow. 

It’s like a switch had flipped in him somewhere back there. Even if this whole thing was roleplay, at least you knew how to play it with your boyfriend back there, knew the way he ticks and what would make his cock twitch - Jungkook’s normally easy to read like that. But when he almost breaks the disabled toilet door down with his hand, there is no game left to play - the restraints are off and the fire of lustful rage is fueled.

“You-” he slams you back against the door before its even swung shut and you can get a single word in. It’s carnal the way he’s latching onto your mouth, grabbing your hands that try to clasp at his neck and throw them up next to your head, and shoves a knee between your sopping thighs.

“I almost fucking came in my trousers back there when you got on your knees,” you don’t think you’ve ever heard his voice so low and rough before but it courses through you more than the heavy bass of the club music. “You had me stood there ready to fuck your mouth open, but you thought you’d fucking tease your way through it.”  

He’s domineering and your completely and utterly keening for it. Even more so when the grip he has on your wrist tightens and brings it down to his crotch, forcing your latch onto the erection that strains sinfully, painfully in his trousers and you feel intimidated enough at his display that you don’t palm him, don’t give him a pleasureful squeeze like you normally would when you had more control of your emotions. But you're shocked and fucked out - beyond that even.

“You feel that shit. Fuck, I’ve never been this hard before,” you moan out lowly, finding it increasingly difficult to control your breathing, the nature of the lust in your body calling out for some friction on your body. But he stands there, eyes ablaze, panting his taunting remarks into your agape mouth. “You’re making it so damn hard not to fuck you.”

“Do it,” you whisper without even knowing and neither does Jungkook because the ringing in both of your ears is deafening.

“I’ve always wanted to see you fall apart around my cock… lose it as I fuck you,” his crotch starts riveting into your hand and you know he’s imaging what it would feel like with his dick nestled deep in your walls right now, “God I want to pound into you.”

“Fuck.”

Fuck, because never have his words been so dirty before.

“You’re so damn hot I actually can’t control myself right now,” and his dick follows his words. Your hand now acts as your pussy - in his head anyway - as the friction of his trousers begins sending him neck deep in pleasure. 

You actually think you could come from watching it. How his head now bows into your neck and his teeth set into your skin because he can’t even control how slack his jaw has become. The way he’s getting harder and harder against your hand and his movements are constantly seeking more. Fucking hell, you’re both fully clothed, his dicks rock hard in his pants but he’s so pent up on you and the desire you’ve caused that he’s chasing an orgasm basically untouched. 

“I- oh fuck.”

“Come on baby,” you feed him, words moaned against his ear and hand flattening more purposefully against him, “fuck me harder.”

“Argh- fuc-fucking hell,” he’s spurred on by the illusion you offer. His eyes rolled back in his head as he imagines the feeling of being balls deep in you. 

“Think how good I’d feel. Fuck, you’d be so deep uhh,” you moan out at the end as the harshness of the way his hips snap into yours causes your hand nestled between you to deliciously rub on your clit. 

You hadn’t realised that your dress had ridden up in the commotion of you sex driven states, that your ass was pressed up against the cool surface and gave you goosebumps despite the way you body oozes heat, that you panties were so wrecked by your arousal that your hand might as well be rubbing you raw. And with Jungkook’s quickening pace, the friction against your clit makes you all too driven to seek your end as well as his. It’s filthy.

“Ko-uh. Fuck, Kook, I need you fingers- ah,” your walls are throbbing at the thought, but his teeth remain deep set in the junction between your neck and shoulder, his hips still thrusting up and into your hand, so you think you’re desire has gone unheard.

But all too quickly, he forgets the end he was chasing. 

Suddenly, he backs away from you, leaving you untouched and leaning forward into the air, whilst his cock screams in the confines of his trousers. He growls at the way he had to stop himself from cumming too soon.

“Baby,” it’s a whine from the back of your throat that you had no plan to release. But the way your chest heaves and your thighs cross one another for friction just spells to you and him just how inflamed your body is. 

His eyes move away from your desperate ones, and his neck reclines back as he swallows - trying with all his strength to keep it together, to not cum from merely watching your cleavage, drenched in his and your sweat, rise and fall with the way your breathing staggers. Watching him is torture for yourself, but you don’t want to miss the way his cock throbs. 

You have no idea how long you’re there, him grappling at his sanity and you watching him.

“Baby, I-”

“Fuck, don’t talk,” his face almost contorts in pain and his head lowers into his chest to halt his urge to look at you. 

But, you’re horny and you're a brat, so you persist.

“Jungkook, I need you right now.”

Silence falls for a mere second.

Like a man possessed he lunges back towards your body, and before you can react he’s on his knees violently pushing the thin fabric of your dress up and ripping your panties down your legs.

“What don’t you understand about shut the fuck up.” And with that he’s on your clit, hands shoving your legs in opposite directions and over his shoulders so you lose your balance and end up speared on his tongue.

“Kook!” It’s a cry that’s shouted into the air when your head is thrown back - a reaction to both the immense feeling that tightens at your core and a warning to the man below you that you might just crush him.

But he’s devouring your pussy whole. He’s no longer tending to your clit, but lapping his tongue up and down the entire expanse of your slit, letting the muscle of his tongue slip into your entrance making your stomach drop every time. He’s hellbent on making you cum that’s for sure, because no matter the tug of your hands at his scalp to let up even just a little, he’s growling into you and plunging deeper. 

You want to pull away, to finally take a break from the intense pressure on your core or maybe to breathe for the first time since he decided to drop to his knees. But you’re feet don’t touch the ground, literally, and he’s suspending you on his tongue. 

His hands push you down further onto him and he growls into you, vibrations coursing through you that almost makes you cum then and there. But he breaks away.

“Fuck,” he sounds fucked out himself, taking in all the air he can, because god knows he was eating your pussy like it was oxygen. “Baby, you gotta cum on my tongue, please.” 

He was the one eating you out, yet you had him pleading. Boy always did submit in the end, whether he liked it or not.

“Fingers then. Use your fingers,” and he obeys, releasing your thigh in favour of thrusting two of his digits deep into you. All your weight goes onto his shoulders and the two fingers set so far into your womb that you were crying out in pleasure. It wasn’t until his mouth resumed sucking on your clit that you lost all control of your tongue and rambled into the air like a mad woman. 

“F-Fuckkk Kook. I want ah- fuck I want your cum inside me. I want your dick so bad,” he’s moaning with you and with your words, being spurred on by the image you paint. He curls his fingers deep inside you, and you lose yourself on the feeling - being so stimulated that you miss the fact you’re grinding on his face, thrusting up as if his fingers were really his cock. He’s moaning at it, at the way your pace picks up on his tongue and you’re seeking your end.

“Don’t stop, oh fuck, oh fuck, please- don’t stop.”

You’re driving yourself deeper and deeper into him and fuckkk if the pleasure hasn’t taken over your senses beyond belief. Your stomach pulls so tight with the need to release that you’re grappling at the strands of hair on the back of your boyfriend’s head and using them to anchor yourself. He’s purely a mouth and two fingers to fuck yourself on at this moment and you couldn’t stop yourself even if you tried.

“Shit, fuckk,” his fingers start going at a rate, not even your hips can keep up with, and he’s so deep you almost choke like the pressure inside you has reached up into your throat.

“Come on baby, fuck,” his gravelly voice seeks out for you to come all over him.

“Holy fuckin-” the feeling comes on so intense inside of you that you struggle to warn him, your breathing constricted almost into nothingness. You feel like you’re about to cum with such strength that you might die.

“I can’t Kook- oh fuckk.”

“Give it to me.”

His teeth clamp down on your clit at the same time as his fingers curl against that spot inside you that suddenly has everything spiralling at once. 

“Don’t stoppp, don’t stop, oh fuck,” you sputter into the air as a band snaps in your lower stomach, blood pumping everywhere and anywhere in your body so that your hips begin spasming and convulsing on top of his mouth. 

He whines into you as his mouth keep fastening all too strongly against your bud. It’s when the pressure that keeps falling in your stomach and Kook is forced to pull his fingers out of you that you feel your juices spill and keep spilling all over you and him.

“Holy fuck baby… Y/N shit.”

You tumble further and further and miss the noises that are pushed from your throat. In the intensity of the pleasure you also miss the way Jungkook’s body, his tongue on your clit, his fingers on your thigh and the ones lodged deep inside you, all tense up. 

Shit.

You wonder if you’ve blacked out when the slump of your body takes over, the eventual air you take in in one large breath making your senses begin to come back all too strong. You’re broken from the waist down, legs numb to the point you can barely feel Jungkook’s teeth tight on your thigh and breath glazing the skin strongly. Shit, you can’t even feel how wet you are yet.

You know the weight he’s bearing on his shoulders, but you can’t muster the strength to move, merely loosening your hands from how tight they were wound in his locks and instead soothing down to his neck with your trembling fingers. 

Finally, the spin in your head stops and your eyes are open enough so that you can look down at the sight below you.

He’s breathless and wet. Wet from sweat and the way you’d just squirted all over his tongue, fingers and trousers - well that’s what you figure anyways. His eyes are sewn shut though in the aftermath of it all, and your thoughts begin to piece together.

“Baby, you good?” you’re scared he has too much literal weight on his shoulders. You’re also scared he’s still painfully hard. “Kook?” and finally a coherent mumble of ‘yeh’ against your thigh tells you, no, you didn’t just kill your boyfriend by cumming on his face.

It’s a slow process the way he lets your legs down, and you wince as he does so because you swear his fingers just split you open. You also forgot about the heels practically taped to your feet, stumbling a little one foot at a time as he lowers you off his shoulders.

His eyelids still hang low, and he makes no move to join you at eye level, instead, pressing his face into your thigh and running his ragged breath there for too long. 

“Fuck, seriously, you good baby?” your pussy still throbs, but your boyfriend is too still for you to take notice.

And suddenly he’s laughing. Wholeheartedly laughing into your skin, back, that’s slicked with sweat, raising up and down as he does so.

“Shit,” is all he says when his eyes, crinkled in laughter and exhaustion finally meet yours, peering up from his squat. It’s infectious and has you laughing too, albeit half heartedly because your throat hurts and you’re not sure if your lungs can take much more unnatural breathing.

“You literally just made me cum in my pants.”

Fuck. You’re eyes bulge and pass between the look of disbelief of his face, to the, now, very noticeable stain on his crotch, and back again. Boy literally just came untouched because you can still feel the imprint of one hand on your thigh and you’re pretty sure the other hand was occupied if you remember correctly.

“What the fuck!” Is all you can say.

“Yeh, I know ‘what the fuck!’ Sorry but since when could you squirt.” His legs are still shaking beneath him. “It made me just fucking shoot my load on sight.”

You’re laughing, bending at the waist to help the poor boy up to his feet, and he accepts the help as he finally towers over you and meets your eyes - both looking at each other with warmth and a vague emotion of disbelief, because as if he just came in his pants!

“Seriously, don’t know what the hell you just did to me, but I don’t think I’ll ever be that turned on ever in my life again,” he’s sputtering out now like a boy charged on drained hormones and ageing drunkness. 

You laugh at his state and the way his eyes still bulge, grabbing the skin of his neck that’s thick with sweat and push a kiss to his lips. It doesn’t linger because you’re too spent and oxygen is like gold dust to you right now.

“So you enjoyed yourself I’m guessing?”

“Fucking hell did I!” You both can’t stop the way your laughter spills at the situation. 

You see his shoulders eventually relax, his breathing less frequent and the look in his eyes turns soft. 

“Fuck, I’m so in love with you.” Despite your heart still beating like it’s on steroids, you feel it skip a beat, equal to the way you can’t help the tug on the corners of your mouth. 

“Cringy bastard,” you whisper next to his lips, a whole new warmth spreading through you at the way his eyes are filled with adoration.

“Only for you.”

“You make me sick.” But in your head, you’re saying the opposite, because you can’t fight the blush despite how generic his cringe worthy compliments hit.

With clothes vaguely realigned, you’re ready to join society once again, albeit hobbling, but your boyfriend refuses to break the bubble you’re in for just a second longer.

“Say it back.” And when you turn from the door to him, he’s actually pouting, eyes a little less bright as though you’re unspoken words have hit harder than you realised. “Please.”

Your relationship with Kook was built off backhanded compliments and competitive sarcasm, both equally easy-going people with a knack for not taking anything seriously. It was how you two worked. But there’s some things you can’t feign, and the way he said “I love you” with deliberate sadness was one of those things, because hell, you sure loved him too.

His cheeks nestled in both of your palms now as your soft eyes met his ones, vulnerable with the way he’d bared himself and pleaded after you, you spoke softly.

“I love you.”

---------------------------------------------------------

“Fuck you, Kook. Stop acting like you own me.”

“Then don’t try to sleep with the whole swim team.”

Dick.

This shit is rare. Fighting Jungkook is rare. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen. Because whilst you’re both too easy going for your own good and take most things on the chin, jealousy hurts like a bitch. 

“Jesus you’re fucking testing my patience.” You settle yourself deep in his kitchen, long strides over there because his presence alone is making you want to rip hairs out of your skull. But he’s there soon after, leaning to try to get into your line of sight as you busy yourself with a glass and fuck, where’s that bottle of wine.

“Nah, don’t act like I’m pushing you. I asked you why Jimin’s asking to meet you, and you can’t come up with a damn straight answer or show me your phone.” You find the wine in the fridge, pretending Jungkook is background noise like the petty bitch you are, but his words are ringing in your head louder than you care for. “Don’t treat me like I’m delusional.” 

You slam the bottle down a little too hard on the counter and his eyes jump to the sound. But your expression is dead set, angry, persistent, but he’d say stubborn.

“You’re actually dumb. The whole fucking issue is that I shouldn’t have to tell you why someone texts me or not.” His mouth opens to argue but you’re off on one, “Whether it’s Jimin, whether it’s my mum, whether it was your fucking maintenance guy, it’s my phone, don’t check it, and don’t pretend you’re entitled to.” 

His eyes narrow and you almost think there’s something in him contemplating your words, maybe, just maybe trying to hear you out and understand where you’re coming from. But if you were stubborn, then Jungkook was competitive - he wouldn't stop until you thought he was right.

“Why the fuck did he text you.”

You want to scream. You want to smash his glass against the floor and scream fucking murder. But instead you find your body tensing and you face heating up with the need to cry. He’s getting in your head and you hate it, because he’s never like this. He’s easy. He’s such good company and probably your best friend but why is he making it so hard to like, let alone love him right now.

“Fuck it. Here,” you fish in your pocket, eyes still on his despite the feeling of them heating up and the wetness pooling. You unlock your phone and push it to his chest. “God knows, we were just trying to arrange something for your birthday without you finding out, but you and your fucking jealousy can’t take that, can they Kook?”

You have so much more to say. Your head is spinning with the need to empty your gut of all the words you want to throw at him. About how jealousy is certainly not a virtue in this case, about how you can’t bear that he doesn’t trust you despite all you’ve given up for him, about how damn unfair he is being right now. But you hit his shoulder with yours and are half walking half running to his bathroom before you can contemplate what you’re doing.

“Y/N, fuck,” and of course now he’s apologetic. Calling after you in a tone that screams innocence but to you, he is anything but that right now.

You close the door with haste and push your back against it even faster. 

The worst part is you’re not even that angry anymore. The tears fall in sadness. 

“Baby,” his knock rattles the door but only gently in an attempt to be sensitive with you. He’s fucked up and he knows that, but there’s a combination of not wanting him to see you cry and the need to be away from him for a minute that has you still sitting by the door, not making any attempt to open it.

“Baby, I didn’t know- I wouldn’t have.”

“Jungkook can you give it a rest for one minute,” you sound pained. You feel it as well. Maybe you’re overreacting, you think, as you hear him sigh and mumble an ‘okay’ before his footsteps peter out into another room. 

You cry more and continue to do so as you begin to run the bath, and then more tears flow when you watch yourself in the mirror as you tug at your stained cheeks with a cloth. Your tears are still wet on your cheeks when you lower yourself into the warm water and become absorbed in the feeling of it, melting away until you fall into the slumber of sleep. It’s the same slumber that doesn’t cause you to be startled when the door creaks open, your boyfriend pausing to take in your state before he strips himself down to join you.

You know he’s there when he gently sinks into the water behind you, but you make no attempt to move out of the way his knees encase you. His touch is apprehensive and careful, and you can practically hear the thoughts in his head move at a thousand miles an hour.

You know Jungkook. You know all too well that right now, he’s cut up inside, thinking of every way possible to take back time and to undo the stupid shit he was spouting earlier. He’s thinking about how fucked up he was to let jealousy do that to him, to get the better of his, and he’s thinking of every which way to make it right to you. You know, because you’re the same. We’re all in the wrong at some point, and everyone is more than the worst thing they’ve ever done.

So you grab at his hands that still hover in the air with unspoken uncertainty and you pull them to yourself, tight, and on your neck there is a desperate sigh of relief.

“I’m so sorry,” his tone is so apologetic you almost start crying all over again, but exhaustion and the need to forgive are all too strong. “Y/N, I’m so sorry, I-”

You know there are more words he wants to say, maybe to show you how bad he feels, maybe he’ll try and justify himself, but either way, you’re pushover ass forgave him before the argument even happened. You also simply like the boy too goddamn much to see him splutter in your neck because he’s scared he’ll lose you.

With your lips pressed to the back of his hands that you’ve encased in yours, you mutter, “Shhh, I know you are.” 

The water sloshes in the distance somewhere as he pulls you tighter to him like you’re an anchor and if he lets you go he’ll be lost. Kisses are placed down your neck gently and you let your eyes flutter shut again because you can’t lie in that he is the most comforting place to you right now.

Silence falls but not uncomfortably, fingers brushing skin like its china and breathing soft as you both give into each others touch.

“I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you.”

Maybe you are too forgiving Your mother always told you you were - ‘people won’t be so kind to your patience one day Y/N.’ - that’s what she’d told you. And she’s probably right that one day you’ll come to find that you’ve been used and abused for all the ‘it's okay’s’ and ‘I forgive you’s’ you’d uttered. But you didn’t use forgiveness as an easy way out, you used it when it was deserved. And Jungkook’s jealousy, whilst fucking annoying, was a human instinct - possibly more of a male instinct than female, you think - but it’s a natural reaction all the same. Compromise instead of conclusion.

“You have to start trusting me, you know.”

“I know,” a hasty response, maybe because he actually has realised he needs to trust you or maybe he just doesn’t want to prolong discussion. You hope and believe the first,

“You can’t keep this jealousy thing up. Particularly not with Jimin, I don’t want to be the reason your shit is ruined, it’s too good.”

The two of them best friends from the womb. But boys apparently will be boys and think any dick that goes near their girlfriend is aiming for one place and one place only, whether 21 years into friendship or not.

“I know.” The repeat of words makes you think he’s not listening to you, but then he sighs. “It’s just- I can’t- Fuck! He drives me up the wall, says all kinds of shit behind your back and mine about how fit you are because he knows it grills me.” This is new. “And then he sends you texts when I didn’t even know you had each others number and you won’t tell me what they are. It just fucked with my head and when you end up picturing the worst it’s hard to get that picture out of your head.”

It made sense, and he was getting angry with himself by the way his tone spiked, so you diffuse the tension.

“Hmm but if you weren’t so jealous your birthday wouldn’t have been ruined,” you feel his head slump and then he laughs, and you laugh, and then he’s squeezing you and forcing your eyes to his.

“You make me mental that’s why,” you’re close but he makes no move to kiss you, “and I’m sorry that I got like that when I had no reason to do so. I’ll change that I promise,”  he sounded sincere, looked sincere, and you’re a sucker for the way he’s naked and so close his breath hits your smile that you’re kissing him before you can feign trust. 

-------------------------------------------------------------

“You know you almost got me in big shit the other day,” the bell rings above your head as you and Jimin leave the cold in favour of the warmth of the bar. Thursday nights didn’t call for many people, so you found a seat easily at a booth, casual wear on and smile dancing across that idiots face.

“Kook told me.” Of course he did, “As if he got his dick caught between his legs because I sent you a text. Like does he really think I’d shag you.”

You scoff, “Cheers for that.”

“You know what I mean. If I got the chance I’d fucking take it, but Kook’s my brother,” and to be fair you did know what he meant. In fact it was a miracle Jungkook had been all calm and breezy when you’d told him you were meeting Jimin for drinks - maybe it was this new thing he was trying called ‘play it cool and let her do her own thing’ - even so, you liked it. 

You end up ordering beers, after all, it is only a Thursday so that means no hard spirits, but it’s also the afternoon so that means alcohol.

“I’m glad to hear you’re not gonna pounce Jim.” He laughs, you laugh, thank god, because ever since you and Jungkook had shouted about the texting and Jimin issue, you were scared you’d have to keep a distance from the boy to prevent awkwardness. “How you been anyways?”

“Is that another way of saying who’ve I fucked since we last spoke,” his eyebrows wiggle like he’s got something to be proud about.

“Jesus, you only do think with your dick don’t you?” 

“Come onn, ask me who I took home the other night,” he’s leaning forward with a smile that you want to smother, but you humour him for the sake of conversation.

“Which unlucky bird shared your bed the other night then?” You say it with a downward tone to express your distaste for the way your conversation has headed. You also nod a thank you to the waiter who’d brought beers over, pint on either side of the table.

“Well, maybe you should ask your roommate.”

Beer must fly out of your nose, mouth and ears with the way you choke. Literally, you’re spluttering everywhere and he’s laughing and you’re sure it’s a sick joke, but his smile says otherwise.

“She’s fucking gay!” That’s all you come up with. You know your roommate like the back of your hand, or so you think, and every part of you is wracking every part of your brain right now for some conversation where she said she’d shag Jimin, or shag a guy in fact. Nope, nothing.

“I thought so too, clearly she didn’t.” You’re angry at him by the way you scoff and take another long sip of your beer but you don’t even know why. Maybe you’re angry at her, but that also kind of feels invalid.

“As if she didn’t tell me.” He just shrugs. “... nah what the fuck man!” 

“Listen, talk to her about it. I’m pretty sure I was mad drunk, so was she, and she left before I woke up so…” The last bit sounds about right, Mia was never one for sticking around for morning cuddles, but it’s all just wrong and it’s stewing in your head like a bad memory. 

You're still questioning your entire existence it seems like when the conversation moves onto why you’re really here, or as Jimin says it, “So if the fucker knows we’re doing something for his birthday now, does that mean we actually have to do it?” 

God, he’s hard to talk to. You find yourself for half your conversations with Jimin either saying ‘fuck off’ or your scoffing. You do the latter now.

“We were doing something anyway, don’t act like you don’t care. But yeh, he knows, so why don’t we just fucking put in money for alcohol and bud and hit up the beach or something at Hobi’s. Simples.”

Jimin downs his pint - it’s a Thursday and you don’t know why - and then nods, “Yeh, sounds like I can fuck with that. But let’s tell Taehyung cos he’s rich and loves weed more than the next person.”

----------------------------------------------------------

Like hell was there booze and weed. Taehyung had done the most, with Namjoon, and there was enough for 200 people to get fucked 10 times over, which with the 70 people that were apparently already at the beach, seemed like a mass death wish.

Hoseok, poor Hoseok, was hosting. You’d asked and he’d accepted like the selfless man he is and also because he loves Jungkook like a mother loves her child. It wasn’t his uni place, but his parent's beach house on the part of the coast where the beach stretched 20 yards deep and the water felt like the arctic on your skin, but even so, the parties out there were sick. 

You can just tell by the boyish grin on your boyfriends face he knows exactly the way this route takes you, the taxi driver, however, keeps giving you evils through the mirror probably because this journey is long and you’re not even on a real road at this point. But the vodka already in your system means you don’t care and you hold Jungkook’s hand in full-fledged excitement.

You swear you’re not corny.

He keeps his hand in yours even when you pay the driver, and tightens it further when everyone around the back of the cabin rings out in a chorus of ‘surprise’. He even holds your hand when he’s handed both a beer and a joint, somehow juggling them both in his free one.

Somewhere along the line between sharing conversations and drinking yourself silly, he whispers a ‘thank you’ in your ear, and presses a grateful kiss onto your lips.

The sun had been low for a while, with the expanded horizon offering the perfect view to watch it set. 

Still not corny, you promise.

But the smoke flowing through your system and the light hum of alcohol to accompany it just doesn’t allow for you to leave his side. Even through conversation after conversation, ‘happy birthday’ handshakes that made him switch which hand he was holding you with just so he didn’t let go, and even when the boys attempted a birthday bumps, you were there, glued tight.

“Fuck it, I wanna skinny dip!” Oh Jimin, oh that poor poor boy and his utterly delusional brain.

“Mate, that’s the high talking, leave it out.” You’re glad your boyfriend speaks sense when intoxicated because Tae’s there behind him clapping his back, encouraging him.

“Jim, legit 5 degrees right now, your dick’ll fall off if you go anywhere close to the sea.” And Namjoon, also ever with the straight head. Ah, you say that, but when you turn to the geez he chucks the small end of a lit blunt in his mouth and then swallows it down with beer - I guess his head will be going sideways now, in T-minus 5 seconds.

“You guys are pussys, my dick’ll just shrivel a bit…” 

“Fucking rancid, don’t wanna hear it.” Throwing your half empty beer can also seems to do the trick of shutting him up about his dick as he hangs his jaw that’s dripping with beer, warm from being half finished.

“Bitch.”

“Oi! None of that, Park.” Jungkook’s tone is serious but he’s smiling all the same, content in the setting he’s in, not despite of but because of the deluded conversation, the weird dynamic you guys all have, the way he’s just himself, and the fact you’re there too, with a vice grip on his hand.

It’s all breathy laughs and the occasional pressing of lips on your neck from where you’re sat on your boyfriend’s lap, as the conversation delves from somewhere between Jimin’s sex life (surprise surprise) to what Hoseok would look like on steroids - the mutual group decision, so, so, wrong. 

“Baby, I wanna get going.” 

“Hm?” You were caught in laughter and didn’t think you heard him right, so you turn in his lap to throw an arm around his shoulder, all eyes and ears for your man.

“I kind of wanna get going home.”

You’re surprised, looking through the glaze in his eyes to see if he’s too stoned or not having a good time, but you just see him content gaze, boring adoration into yours. Leaving now would also make you the first to leave, and it was his party.

“You wanna go like right now, right now?”

“Mmm,” and there’s something you can't pinpoint in his expression, apprehension maybe.

“Okay, should I be worried? You’re good right?” 

And his head drops to make you think ‘shit’, but then he’s laughing, shoulders shaking under your tense arms before he grabs at your face and places a kiss on either cheek. The blush creeps up on you before you can hide your face in his shoulder.

“I’m fine, so good.”  It’s almost a shout of a confession as he throws his head back to demonstrate the emotion behind the words, but the way his smile lifts to his eyes tells you all you need to know. You’re still not quite getting why the happy boy you’re perching on wants to ditch his own surprise party, but each to their own, you think.

“Okay? You’re sure you don’t want to stay?”

Affirming you’re correct with a head shake, he leans in once again, squeezing at your sides ungraciously tight before smashing his lips to yours in a rough, open mouthed kiss that is neither something you were ready for or something you’re about to do with Jimin and Namjoon next to you.

So, you’re both laughing, him attempting to plaster his lips to your face and you swatting as his arm that fixes you in place to him.

“Kook fu- baby,” you begin to scramble away and he lets you, laughing out at the way you flatten your hair and fumble at you jeans as a means to compose yourself, “Time and a place, you dick.”

Stares and smiles are all you give each other as the ambient sounds of others continue around you. It’s like that with him - the world keeps buzzing around you but you’re not in that world, you’re somewhere too deep in his.

Please believe me, you’re not cringy!

“Come back,” hand out, legs spread wide to make room for you and you cannot help the way your feet appease his every word.

You’re eyes down on him, and his up at you, blown full with love, lust and everything in between and you settle in the warmth of his proximity and in the heat of his gaze.

“I love you.”

So you kiss him, because, “I love you too Kook.”

“Now order that fucking taxi, I wanted to go all of two hours ago.” And there he is, earning himself another smack to the arm.

“You bastard, you’re lucky I’m whipped.”

“Yeh you fucking are Y/N!” Jimin can suck a dick, the wanker. Throwing a final middle finger up to the offending boy and holding the other hand out for your boyfriend, you get onto the route home.

Silence is not always a bad thing. You’d told yourself that the whole way home. You especially knew how car journeys when inconceivably high and drunk could make the head spin and the voice mute, but neither of you were inconceivably high or drunk. His hand was still there on yours from beach to taxi, taxi to apartment, apartment to bedroom, but the smile was gone. 

“Baby, what’s wrong, talk to me.”

“Mmm?” Playing it off, yet he still won’t look at you - the boy never could do confrontation or telling you what he wants.

He’s across the room, carrying the tea he’d made you to your side of the bed when you told him you’d felt a headache coming on. And you’re there just watching, the moping, the shrug and the way he now stops as you reach out your hand to tug at his shirt. 

“Oi, look at me.” Eventually, and what looks like with effort, he does. “You gonna talk to me now, or what?” And you begin to worry at the way his gaze digs into your face, eyes pouring emotion that is scattered in so many different directions you can’t keep up. Is he sad? Nervous? Why would he be nervous?

“I love you.” There’s more to be said just in the way those three words come out, and it scares you.

“Okayy…”

“Like I really love you. So much sometimes I don’t know what I’m doing with you.”

“Koo-” He grabs at your neck and finally takes control of his voice, no longer apprehensive and filled with mixed signals, but so affirmative that it takes every word from your mouth.

“You’ve waited for me Y/N. So fucking long. I’ve been shit to you as well recently. I just can’t fathom that you’re here and you’re mine and it fucking scares me, you have to get that.” Eyes well on both his and your side, as words unspoken, are finally spilt. Maybe it’s the occasion or the alcohol but you don’t care. “Everything about you is everything I ever want and what happens if I fuck it up and lose it. I can’t lose you.”

“I can’t lose you.” It’s a mantra spoken by him on so many occasions, like if he says it, it’ll never happen.

“And what if I feel the same, Kook.” Forehead to forehead now and so deep into the caverns of his eyes, you’d give him your whole soul if he asked. 

“You do?.. Feel the same?” You’re sure he knows you do. You’re sure he hasn’t been deaf to the thousands of ‘I love you’s’ and wholehearted confessions made by you. But he’s fragile to the extent that he needs to hear it. Needs to hear you say that you’re willing to lose everything here.

In a passing breath you whisper your confession, “yes,” and he squeezes at the hairs at the back of your neck that stand on end with every goosebump in your body. 

The tears fall just as he puts his lips to yours and oxygen becomes gold dust with the way you’re so breath taken. But it’s the happy kind of breath taken, that feeling right before christmas as a kid when you know everything’s waiting for you on the other side of sleep, that feeling where the sinking dries up in your stomach and every fibre of you body buzzes uncontrollably, the kind of breath taken where you smile and laugh in full-fledged giddiness.

Pulling away, you do just that, laugh against his mouth, smile without thought, and despite the tears that drip onto your lips you keep kissing at him, peck after peck because he’s laughing and crying with you.

Fuck, this was the moment you were converted to cringe. You didn’t give two shits about it either.

“I thought you were about to fucking break up with me, you absolute knob!” He thumb scoops up the tears as he laughs at you, sniffling to himself in the emotion of the moment that you two were still somewhere swept up in.

“You’re an idiot.” 

“Maybe.” 

Before the last tear is swept away at the motion of his thumb on your cheek, Kook ducks down and sweeps you up, over his shoulder and then with a not so forgiving thump to your back, you hit the bed - looks like he forgot his bed was made of fucking rocks, great for sex though, no squeak. And suddenly it dawns on you as hard as you just hit that mattress. That look in his eyes, now, earlier at the beach, the entire strung out fucking monologue he just gave you. All in the name of sex. 

“Can we- you want to- do it.” 

Fuck, it’s actually happening.

You suppress the butterflies with a laugh that surfaces from the way he stutters. 

“Well, what the fuck dyou want me to say. We’ve waited 5 months and you want me to just say, ‘oi Y/N, let me fuck you’.” 

But the laughing doesn’t seize. 

“I’m sure fucking not saying I want to make love to you, because imagine that gettin relayed to the boys. Instantly my dick goes from a 7 on hard to a 5.”

“Aw babe, give yourself credit, you’re at least a 5 and a half.”

“Bitch.” 

And with that he presses his full weight into you, smiling into the kiss that sucks deep into your lips, harsh but tender in all the right places. It turns you on the way he goes slow with you, maps outlines on your skin with his touches, and it makes you even hornier when his boner slowly grows into the meat of your thigh. 

It’s a moan in response to him biting your lip that has him off you and flipping the position so you straddle him. But tight jeans don’t accommodate for being on top, the fucking inconvenient bitch, so it’s with the slow teasing pace, that he seems to be going for, that you take as the jeans come off. 

“Fuck,” is whispered somewhere between you purchasing yourself right on his crotch and the way you raise you crop top over naked breasts. 

This is not uncharted territory. The two of you aren’t nuns who have abstained from everything and anything in your relationship. No, you’re far from holy. But the way your boyfriend gapes, eyes blown and breathing sharp, he’s like a virgin on steroids.

When you lean into his body, claiming his lips once again you notice the shaking, the way his body uncontrollable shivers underneath you despite the perspiration that soaks through his shirt.

“Baby, you’re shaking,” you whisper into his mouth, and he simply nods a frantic ‘yes’ against you. “Kook, calm down, relax, baby,” and after grasping gently at his chin to pry his lips off yours, you find his gaze, eyes blown in lust and fear. 

“Okay? I’m all yours,” you take his hand and lead it to your breast, then ushering it towards the steady beat of your heart, felt beneath trembling fingertips. “All yours.”

Running your hands over the tension in his biceps, you attempt to put him at ease with the roll of your hips. His bulge hadn’t gone unnoticed for a second and it was perfectly place with the tip resting on your clit, that you could probably both go to town like that - who said romance was dead! 

“Fuck Y/N.” 

“There you go,” you push him on, sucking into the rift between his neck and his shoulders and strong arms now scoop over and round to your ass. The squeeze is convincing, hard enough that you don’t fight back the moan and hard enough that your hips move that little bit harsher. 

Breaths are heavy in your ear as you find yourself slipping deeper into the pleasure of the moment, but you know he’ll never take the initiative and make the first move.

“You’re so hard Kook.”

A groan in all he responds as you hit that spot just on his tip that he loves so much.

“I want you so bad.”

“Fuck, me too,” and desperation for more than the slow grind you opted for overcomes him. Lips latch onto yours in a harsh display as he flips you once again. 

You can’t help but smirk to yourself, pure filthy excitement taking over the fibres of your body as he stares down at you now, hungry and horny.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted this so bad for so long Y/N you have no idea.” 

“Off,” and he gets the message with how his shirt is off and somewhere across the room without his dick leaving its place nestled in your crotch.

“I’ve been dying to have you, all of you.” His teeth are clawing at the skin of your neck as he pants out his dirty confession to the rhythm of his hips. 

“You’ve been dying to fuck me, Kook?” It’s a teasing tone, but there’s no hiding the breathiness behind your voice.

“Fuck yeh.”

“Then go ahead and fuck me.”

When his gaze meets yours, his eyes are wide and disbelieving. But you’re more focused on the stain of his lips from sunken teeth and the way his hair sticks to his face from sweat. You also haven’t failed to miss the bare, toned torso pressed neatly onto your chest - abs to die for and v lines that leave the eyes wandering an unholy amount of southward.

“You want me to go in raw?” You feign laughter at how giddy he looks at the prospect.

“Birth controls a saint innit.”

“Fuck, I’m scared I’ll come in two seconds.” Great turn on. You think, you don’t say.

His trousers are off fast but when it comes to your panties, he’s calculated in the way he lowers himself to eyes level with your core, breathing haphazardly in his lust induced state into the material that he proceeds to run down the length of your leg and off at your feet.

Eyes trail up your body as he crawls his way back to your now exposed core, “Jesus, you’re so sexy.” 

“Jungkook! What would God say if he heard you talk about his son that way!”

His head literally drops and he groans, as if the turn off button hadn’t already been switched when he told you he’d blow his load as soon as dick met pussy.

“I literally have no words Y/N.” 

“Well, you better put that mouth to better use then baby.”

“Bitch.”

But his tongue is darted out and into your folds, no matter the reluctance, and he soon finds that same taste, bitter and sweet all at once that draws him in every fucking time.

“Fuck Kook.” The reaction is instant, spine arched away from the mattress as his tongue sets to work inside you, darting in and out so fast that your hips couldn’t keep up if they tried. It’s when he flattens it against your clit and the hand once pinning down a thigh pushes two fingers in so fucking deep that the moans spill. 

“Shit that’s tight,” he mutters to himself more than anyone as his delving fingers reach that spot that has you stringing his name and curses into an aimless sentence. And the scene below you is even hotter than the feeling at your core, Jungkook, nestled between your legs with lips to clit, hand to pussy, and hips rutting desperately into the mattress. He’s a whole fucking view and it has you keening with your hands rooted in his hair that are telling him wordlessly not to let up.

When his eyes meet yours, you knows its game over, smirk overtaking his features as his fingers piston and fuck you open, thumb taking over the role his lips had on your clit just so he gets to watch you fall apart under him.

“That’s it baby, cum for me.”

“Holy fuc- shitt. Jungkook.” And your moans are the hottest things he’s ever heard as you tumble into a hell of a fucking orgasm. Shocks ripple through your body with the rate of his fingers and everything pulses as you cum, and keep fucking cumming.

Kook can barely help the way his cock seeks better friction against the mattress because of the bliss written on your face. And he almost forgets to let up on the frantic way his fingers still fuck you because your glistening chest lifting up and down in the light has his focus completely elsewhere. 

“Kook, I can’t.”

“Sorry baby,” he lets up with one final kiss to your clit, the jolt of pain and pleasure causing you to whine briefly. His cock twitches at the sound.

“Y/N I’m so hard, please.” 

You drag him up with the hand still woven deep in his locks so he’s eye level, and dick level with the place he wants it most. Wordlessly and still driven by the buzz from your orgasm, your hand guides him into you and fuck if the moan against your mouth isn’t the best thing you’ve ever heard.

“Holy fuck.” Nestling his head into the crook of your neck with deep breaths to accompany it, you can tell he’s trying to hold back the feeling of his balls tightening and ignore the way you still pulse from your orgasm. It’s tight and it’s so fucking bare because he’s never gone raw before. Fuck, neither of you have had sex in six months so the feeling might just make you both combust on the spot.

“Slowly baby, it’s been a while.” You’d known he’d reach your stomach just from the way he fucked your throat every other day - his girth is nothing far from impressive and it’s stretching you without even moving.

Light kisses press their way from neck to jaw to mouth as he pulls out to the hilt and then back in, slowly, tantalising slowly so that you both moan into the other's mouths, breathy and completely consumed by the feeling of each other.

“Fuck I’m never gonna get enough of this now.”

“Mmm,” you really hoped he wouldn’t.

“God I love you so much, your pussy is actual heaven.” And you hate to say the way the praise goes straight to your core, but your boyfriend can most certainly tell from the clench you hold his dick in. “Fuckkk, so good.”

It’s slow and it’s deep and he’s hitting your g-spot and clit with every roll of his hips. Throughout the murmurs of affection and sex filled admissions, you grasp at each other's skin, his hands pulling your hair so your mouth meets his and your hands across the muscles in his back that flex under your fingers with each thrust. 

It’s when he drags one hand to your throat and grips at it to balance his sped-up movements that you’re finding yourself teetering towards the edge again, spilling words never spoken and sounds never heard but he’s saving every one of them to memory.

“Faster baby please,” and he obliges instantly as he dives into you hard and fast, “babyy oh shit.”

“Y/N you’re clenching so fucking hard right now,” but he’s left you breathless to the point of no reply.

Several punishing slams that also attack your clit have eyes rolling and you biting down into his shoulder, suppressing the scream that surfaced without your consent.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He keeps pounding away, forcing you deeper and deeper into a spiral of pleasure, until his lips are on yours and he ruts a final few times, grunting and moaning into your mouth. “So good, so good,” and he repeats this until he’s still above you and finally the hand wound into your neck lessens it’s pressure so the throb in your body and up to your head dies into a tingle. 

It’s the most content and blissful silence, post orgasm, wrapped in the warm and wet body of your boyfriend. That is until he begins mumbling inconceivable words into the shoulder he decided to rest on.

“What baby?”

“I said,” lifting himself to eye level, and he’s a fucking sight for sore eyes. “Worth the fucking wait.” 

And with a tired, fucked out smile, light kiss to his lips, you can most certainly agree. 

Worth the fucking wait.

[loveisnotadagger]

Love Is Healing - Chapter Five

Chapter 5/?

The next day Arianna focused on healing Loki's burns since she hadn't been able to the night before. Arianna knew that Frigga and Thor had to leave that day, so she let them stay in the room with her as she worked. Plus, she didn't want to be alone with Loki. He had gotten under her skin the night before and she was still a little irritated with him.

Loki had been right about one thing, however, and that was that she hadn't been able to draw power from the Tesseract the night before because she'd been too tired. She had since slept and was using it fine now.

She worked on Loki for a few hours before leaving him, leaving the tower to go out and see how much destruction had actually been done.

"Oh my God," she said as she stepped out of the building and into the world outside.

She hadn't really seen everything the day before. There were buildings still smoking from yesterday, and there were piles of rubble on the ground from the buildings and the streets having been hit. Seeing as this wasn't a residential area, most of the buildings were businesses and restaurants. It hadn't lowered the death count or the amount of people that had been hurt.

Police were still out, so she wondered if they were still searching the ruins for victims.

"Let's go," Natasha said from behind her. "Tony has a helicopter waiting for us. We'll go to the closest hospital and work our way out."

They had to cross the street and use the helipad there because the one on Tony's tower had been destroyed. As they walked Arianna began to feel as if she were in a movie about the end of the world. The apocalypse had come to Manhattan.

She felt like crying, but tears were for victims and people who had time to cry. Arianna, however, had a job to do.

"We've got clearance, right? No roadblocks?"

"We should be good." ----------

When all was said and done, the injured were numbered in the hundreds, as were the dead. Arianna healed in a logical, systematic way, starting with the most injured and ending with the least.

She spent about two hours each day with Loki and by the end of the week his burns and lacerations were completely healed. The only injury he had left was his broken ribs.

She brought him meals each day – breakfast, lunch, and dinner – and he was now able to eat solid food. She noticed he had quite the sweet tooth when she brought him some ice cream and a small piece of pie for dessert once. He's asked for more and had neglected his dinner.

It made sense when she found out that Asgard didn't really have any sweets. The sweetest thing he'd ever had was fruit, so she hoped the extra sugar didn't make Loki sick.

On the day Fury was supposed to come and retrieve Loki Arianna brought Loki pancakes for breakfast. He didn't know what they were, but he enjoyed them. Arianna had basically drowned them in syrup. Loki was able to eat only one, but Arianna ate the rest.

"Those were mine," he said, though Arianna could tell he really didn't mind.

"I made them," she reminded him.

"They were quite delicious."

"Thank you.

"So . . . Fury is supposed to come today. I'm not sure exactly what that means. He'll probably take you away and lock you up. I don't think he'll put you with other people, so you'll be safe at least."

"Or they might just torture me some more.," Loki said quietly. "Even mortal I have much information that could be useful."

"Then don't let them know."

Arianna didn't know why it made her almost want to cry at the thought of Loki being hurt further, but it did and she had to take a deep breath to steady herself.

"Pretend you have memory loss if you have to, but don't let them know you know anything that they don't unless you intend to tell them."

Arianna was under no delusions of thinking SHIELD was all good. It was a government agency and, therefore, could get away with a lot of things nobody should be allowed to do. They would torture him if they found need of it.

"Would you like to go outside? If you don't today, you may not be able to for a while."

Loki considered for a moment before smiling weakly. "That would be nice." ---------- Loki didn't know what he had expected, but being allowed to go out of the building without any restraints wasn't it. He hadn't expected the other Avengers to let Arianna go out alone with him either, but there they were.

They'd just stepped out of Stark Tower and onto the sidewalk, and Loki suddenly wanted to go back inside. Things outside were horrible. Buildings had been destroyed and roads had been turned to rubble. The costs of the war he'd brought upon this city . . .

He really shouldn't have left the tower. What if someone recognized him? They would probably try to kill him. Try and fail. He knew Arianna would never allow harm to come to him while under her watch.

"This isn't what I want you to see," she said. "But we need to cross the street to get to the helipad."

"We're going to fly?"

"For a little bit. Low enough so you can see things. I don't know if you should be walking around outside."

Loki couldn't help the relief he felt at Arianna's suggestion. He shouldn't walk around outside.

Once they had reached the helipad and the helicopter and were in the air, Loki felt a freedom he hadn't felt for a long time. He'd learned to fly when he was just a boy – not a helicopter, of course, but they did have machines that could fly in Asgard.

Arianna was silent for the most part until they had been in the air for a while. She didn't even seem to be enjoying the view, and what could be seen now was beautiful.

"May I ask what is bothering you?" he asked.

"I hate this," she said immediately. "This . . . us giving you up to Fury. I mean, no, you're definitely not the most upstanding citizen, but you were pushed into this, pushed into coming here and trying to take over. You would've been tortured if you hadn't. Most people would've done the same as you have."

Loki stared at her. Arianna had this way about her that made Loki feel as if he was cared about. His heart craved it and rejected it at the same time. If he was being honest with himself, Loki knew he craved affection from someone who could love him for what he was. He was nowhere near as bad now that Thanos wasn't playing with his mind, but he was far from what a normal person would consider good.

Arianna could accept him as he was, but he also had to admit that such open affection wasn't completely welcome. Feelings got in the way of other things.

Besides, right that instant he was feeling only gratitude. This girl had done more for him in a week than many had done in his entire lifetime.

His thankfulness wasn't misplaced. ---------- Fury was already at Stark Tower when Loki and Arianna got back. Arianna came to a halt and she felt Loki run into her before he stopped as well. He'd barely touched her back and she barely moved.

Fury stood between two agents, both of whom had a gun. Tony was there, as were the other Avengers – minus Thor, who, along with Frigga, had left days before taking the Tesseract with them.

"Are the guns really necessary?" Arianna asked. "He's in no shape to put up a fight."

"The guns aren't for him," Fury said, firm but also somewhat uncertain. "It's to ensure that you don't put up a fight."

"Me?"

Arianna was honestly confused about this. She wasn't a threat to anyone.

"Yes. My superiors are not happy about you siding with the man that attacked this city. Consider this a warning. You were dangerously close to treason."

"I was doing what I knew to be right."

"Not to mention, she'd promised Loki's mother that she would take responsibility for his healing," Tony said. "Who knows what would've happened had she refused?"

"Indeed," Fury replied. "I wasn't finished. Agent Grace is a valuable asset to this team. One I don't wish to lose. The Council and I agreed that she could very well help the Asgardian acclimate himself to our ways."

"What?"

"In exchange for information Loki can remain free. He'll be under constant surveillance, of course. Agents Barton and Romanoff will be watching him. Everyone will remain here, and –"

Tony interrupted. "I think everyone keeps forgetting that this is my place."

Fury ignored Tony's words. "If you are amenable," he directed at Arianna, "I will alert the Council and things can proceed as usual."

Arianna looked at Natasha and Clint. "Guys? Are you willing to give up time to do this?"

Arianna already knew her answer was yes, but it wouldn't matter unless the others went for it as well.

Natasha agreed, but Arianna knew it was only because Fury had asked it of her and not because she had any real desire to do so. Clint agreed because Natasha had agreed.

"Tony?"

Arianna turned to him now. This was his home. He could turn them all out at any time and Arianna wouldn't blame him.

"You guys haven't been too much of a nuisance," Tony quipped. "You can stay. But no touching my stuff."

Arianna grinned. "Seeing as to how I don't know how to use most of your stuff, that won't be a problem."

She then looked at Loki, who had been strangely silent throughout the entire exchange, only to find that he'd wrapped his arms around himself and was staring suspiciously at Fury and the two agents with him.

"Loki?" She touched his arm gently. If he'd withdrawn into himself, she didn't want to alarm him. "What's wrong?"

"Why?" he asked. "Why not lock me up?"

"Information," Fury answered. "As long as you cooperate . . ."

Arianna tensed, as did Loki, though each had a different reason for becoming tense. Arianna was angry but not surprised that the people she worked with would stoop to threats to get what they wanted. She was also furious that Fury and his superiors were no better than the monster named Thanos.

Loki had tensed because of the threat itself. It had reminded him of the words Thanos had said about him failing to conquer Midgard and failing to bring Thanos the Tesseract. There would be pain. He was in the same situation now with another enemy.

"Loki, just say yes and you can stay," Arianna said. "Don't make this harder than it has to be."

"Okay," he said. "I accept the arrangement." ---------- That night Arianna made plans with Tony to have someone get her things from her apartment in Washington D.C. and to have them brought to the tower. She also needed to break her lease, which she was going to get Fury to take care of since it was his fault she had to relocate in the first place.

She talked Tony into giving Loki an actual room, which really just meant that Loki would be able to have more than just the bed and closet space that he had at the moment. He would eventually be able to have things in there.

Loki still had the room next to hers, which she didn't really mind. He actually was fairly harmless at the moment. She could probably do more damage than he could right now.

It was true that she had healed him almost completely, but he still wasn't at a hundred percent energy-wise.

That first night, Loki caught her before she could make her way into her own room.

"Agent Grace?"

His voice stopped her. He'd never said her name before, had never even shown that he'd thought to remember her name, but here he was using her name with what could only be described as respect.

"Yes, Loki?"

She turned to him. He was standing in his doorway, his posture a little slouched due to his still injured ribs. He didn't have any hostility in his face or eyes, so she assumed it was safe to approach him. When she reached him he grabbed her hand, which she hadn't expected at all, but he was being gentle and careful so she didn't pull away.

When he set his lips upon the back of her hand for a few brief seconds she froze. Heat traveled up her neck and settled upon her cheeks. Loki obviously noticed because he smirked slightly before lowering her hand back to her side.

She would have been angry, but she couldn't see a hint of an ulterior motive in Loki, and she would've felt it from the skin-on-skin contact if he'd had a negative reason for kissing her hand.

"Thank you," he said. "For everything you've done for me. For what you're still doing. I don't quite understand why you're doing it, but I don't think I have to. My mother said I should befriend you because you have a good heart. I do believe she was right."

Arianna had no clue what she was supposed to say to any of this. No one had said such things to her before without wanting something in return. What did one do in a situation like this?

"Um . . . thank you?" She sounded unsure to her own ears, so she had no idea what Loki would think. She told herself she didn't care.

"There's no need to be nervous. It's just a thank you."

Loki gave a small but genuine smile, and Arianna answered with her own.

"Well, you're welcome," she said sincerely. "And you can call me Arianna. Good night, Loki."

"Good night . . . Arianna."

@smallangryandpink, @purplekitten30

[worlds-smallestviolin]

Mother

Masamune x MC

genre: angst/fluff

word count:2208

summary: retelling of Masamune’s love’s union gacha story from MC’s POV

a/n: It always bothers me how MC just decides to stay in past without care about her family, so for stories sake let’s assume Sasuke went back to the future.

           With everyone asleep, Aoba was a quiet place; quite a contrast compared to how loud and lively it was during the day (it is Masamune’s castle, after all). Having changed into my sleeping robe, I was sitting on the futon, waiting for my lover to join me ( I’d say to sleep, dear reader, but we both know that would be a lie.).And my handsome Masamune was still at his desk, working despite the late hour. He may be a wild tiger, but he took his responsibility as a head of the clan very seriously. He did everything he could to make life easier for the people of Oshu. And I’m not just talking about him going to war or battling demons of paperwork. I mean little things as well, like cooking a meal for his men on patrol, or writting letters to his vassals to thank them or simply talk about what’s been going on lately. “You shouldn’t write in the dark. It’s bad for you’re eye.”, I broke the silence hoping to convince him to put down the brush for tonight. “I know, I know. I’ll be done in a second. You just wait for me like a good kitten”, he said, raising his head to flash me a smile that made my heart skip a beat or two. “Meow!”, My god, I’m such a dork. I hugged my knees to my chest, rocking back and forth. Masamune returned his attention to the letter he was writing, and again silence settled in.

Having nothing else to do but wait, I soon got lost in my own thoughts. Some time has passed since I started living here in Aoba. It still surprises me how quickly I’ve gotten used to the life here. Masamune encouraged my worked as a seamstress. He had a room prepared for me, where I could sketch and make clothes; I already had a few clients. He would often keep my drawings to hang on the wall, always repeating how much he loved my art. I’ve made friends with maids, and Kojuro and guys were always there to lend a helping hand. I spent my free time with Masamune, getting into all sort of adventures, and sometimes troubles. We would go for a ride, or a walk around town, we ate delicious food, we cooked together, we laughed and we made love. All in all, life was good. I remember how nervous I was in the days before we left Azuchi, worrying if I would be accepted in Oshu as I was among Oda. Not to mention that I’m still not completely used to the life in Sengoku period. Yes, things are great so far. But from time to time, I can’t help giving voice to my old insecurities. What happens if this doesn’t work out? The picture of my parants forms in my mind, only to slowly morph into that of Masamune and I. And their insults and shouts fall from our lips, that so far know only sweet kisses and sweet nothings. No, I don’t want to think of that.

I quickly try to banish those thoughts back into the dark corners of my mind. Luckly for me, a voice calls from outside our room. “Pardon me for the intrusion this late at night, my lord. There is a letter from Lady Yoshihime.” Masamune receives the letter and tells both man to get some rest. Once we are alone again, I couldn’t help voicing my curiosity: “Who’s Lady Yoshihime?” “My mother.”, he says, and something about his indifferent voice makes me feel uneasy. “I’ve noticed she doesn’t live in the castle with us…”The first day I came here they held a feast to celebrate Masamune’s return and my arrival, where Masamune introduced me to a lot of people that are important to him. You’d think that his mother would be among them. “She poisoned me when I was young. There’s messy politics with her side of the family, so it seemed best we live apart.”, he said it as if he was informing me about the weather outside.“I’m sorry, WHAT?” I misheard that, right? He did not just say his mother tried to have him killed. I stared at him, trying to process what he just told me. “It’s not that strange. When it comes to the succession of a clan, things often get ugly. With the loss of my eye, she must have thought I wasn’t fit to be the head of the Date and decided to take matters into her own hands.” Shock quickly turned into anger. She tried to kill her own child because of something that wasn’t his fault, something he couldn’t change. For a moment, I thought of my own mother, who believed motherhood to be the most sacred and joyous role a woman could have, who loved and supported unconditionally and would give up anything and everything for her children. I could not imagine how difficult it must have been for Masamune, being sick and losing your eye. And the one person who was supposed to love him more than anyone betrays him like that. My heart filled with sorrow. It must have shown on my face, because Masamune tried to reassure me with a smile: “I barely remember it. Must not have been that bad, or I wouldn’t have forgotten, right? If I let it trouble me, I wouldn’t be fit to be a lord, and that would only prove my mother right.” His words reminded me of what Master Kosai told me about Masamune. “One who would stand above others must be most strict with oneself. They must work as hard as their hardest workers and be always deserving of the praise their station affords them. Their pain they must learn to bear with on their own, for they will at times be alone. Those were the lessons I instilled in that young child. He survived by embracing what I taught him. So much that he no longer needs to ‘act’ to be the ideal leader from his lessons. But our nature is unchanging. In the deepest part of Masamune’s heart that injured young child remains.

Having read the letter, Masamune joined me on the futon. Smile on his face, he patted my head. But for a moment, a mere second, I saw something in the depth of his eye. You never tamed you’re demons, Masamune, you just kept them on a leash. And the wounds of heart are never quick to heal. You could try to ignore them, you might even forget them. But they remain there somewhere, waiting for a chance to overwhelm you. And if you cannot entrust them to anyone else, at least entrust them to me. So I pulled him down to bed with me, holding him close to my chest, his cheek resting against my breast. I run my fingers softly through his hair. “I want you to listen carefully to what I’m about to say. I love you, so you don’t ever have to hide how you feel when you’re around me. You’re not my lord, Masamune. You’re the man I love; a fun guy who acts all cool but has the most adorable blush, the one who can kiss my heart into a full stop and then restart it with a touch, someone who always protects me and encourages me. And I will always be here for you. So leave the perfect leader outside this room, and just be my Masamune.” He tried to protest but, I wouldn’t let him. Then he turned his face from me, and for a moment I thought he might cry. But after a while he met my eyes again. “I’ll try.”, he said with a smile. I guess old habits die hard. “That’s a start.” I kissed his forehead and continued running my fingers through his hair. Eventually I felt him relax as he drifted to sleep. But my brain was too busy for that. I was angry at Lady Yoshihime, I was sad for Masamune. And in the stillness of the night, my mind wandered to that dark corner again. I was afraid.

Hearing about Masamune’s mother made me think about my own parents. I knew they must be worried about me. Sasuke promised to deliver my letter. Hopefully, that will ease their hearts. It wouldn’t be the first time I disappeared of the radar. They were good parents, for the most part. Well, when it comes to my father, the best I can say is that he tried. He never failed to tell me he loved me. I never once doubted it. But he wasn’t the easiest man to get along with. He had his opinions and his expectations, and those were set in stone. Being his eldest child, the bar was set especially high for me. He worked two jobs to save money for my education. And though he never understood my passion for fashion, he supported me, so long as he didn’t have to listen to me talk about it. He never raised his hands on us, but his anger was something to be feared. My mother, on the other hand was a saint. I’ve never heard her raise her voice. No matter what troubled her, she always wore a smile. She was the one who took care of us when we were sick, fed us, helped us do homework or study for exam, attended every parents meeting, every school play… She was there to listen to us for hours and comfort us. She was there for every tear and every smile.

But as good as they were in their roles as parents, they were the worst couple I’ve ever seen. I could count the times I remember seeing them being affectionate towards each other on the fingers of my hands, if those hands were in a terrible accident and were missing a few fingers. Instead, there were fights and shouting, and then days of them ignoring each other, and us walking on eggshells around them. They would act more affectionate towards me and my brother, as if they were competing for our love. And it was always about something small and insignificant, a misplaced item or misheard word. It always ended with the ‘talk’ where my father would insist they just forget and move on. There were never any apologies, they never talked things through.

My parents didn’t marry for love, or at least if they did it was quickly spent. They did their best not to let their fights affect the kids. My childhood was for the most part a happy one. But the older I got, the more I noticed the cracks that began to show. They were not happy, although they stubbornly maintained that illusion. What makes someone choose to stay and live a life next to a person that makes them miserable? Why don’t you just leave him? I heard my aunt say to my mum one time. I do it for my children. I could never leave them. They are my everything. Maybe that was the moment when the fear was born, squeezing my heart each time she smiled. I was causing her pain just by being, a cage to a bird who otherwise could simply fly away. And I started to wonder if one day I too will be like that. “Mom, I love you. But I don’t want to become you.”, I said on the night before my cousin’s wedding, when the conversation inevitably turned into wedding talk, and I tell her I don’t ever want to marry. I see a heart breaking in those eyes. A single shard of glass melts and runs down her cheek; on its way, leaves my heart bleeding as well. Still she smiles: ” So long as you’re happy, I’ll be happy too.”.

The sky is still pale yellow-blue. I stared at the eye of a calm sea, and I felt calm as well; last night’s shadows fleeing before the morning light. Or maybe it’s Masamune’s touch that chases them away. He was always good at that, erasing my insecurities. Though I now know he was plagued by them too. Both of us are with hidden corners in our hearts, echoing with the words “You’re not good enough.” A doubt dwells in the back of the mind; his slumbers deep within, mine lingers just beneath the skin. Still I believe we’ll be alright. “ I want you’re face to be the first thing I see in the morning. Whether we’re at war, or everything is peaceful. I want that tomorrow, and the day after, and forever more.”, he brushed his finger along my cheek. I knew it won’t always be easy, I knew many things will try to break us apart. Still I believed in us. Whatever we might face, with you by my side, I was confident enough. “ My love for you will never change, Masamune.” He drew me to his chest, I felt his tears touch my head. The beating of his heart told me they were not tears of sorrow. I remained quietly in his arms, as another tear slides down my cheek. Mother, I’m happy now.    

[chloebeale]

UNTIL I’M OKAY (preview)

AUTHORS: @bottombeca & @snowbritt. RATING: M. PAIRING: Bechloe. WORDS: 1,794. ABOUT: Bechloe ‘Dead To Me’ AU.

This is purely a preview of chapter one, the entirety of which will be posted shortly. While this fic is based heavily on the show Dead To Me, it has been altered, adjusted and added to to create a Bechloe story and universe.

We hope you enjoy the below preview of our collaborative baby!

Warnings: Mentions of death and miscarriage.

***

All morning, there have been signs; signs that Beca shouldn’t be here. Firstly, Ryder’s cheeks had looked a little more flushed than usual. No, maybe he didn’t have a fever or anything, but Beca is not a doctor, he totally could be getting sick. Maybe she should’ve kept him home from school for the day, stuck around to take care of him.

Next, the Atlanta traffic, typically insufferable anyway, had been even worse this morning somehow.

It also doesn’t help that this isn’t necessarily voluntary on her part—court-ordered attendance doesn’t care about signs, or so the judge told her the last time she skipped. 

And now this: a broken coffee machine. At least, Beca thinks it’s broken… She is positive there is no way anybody would try to pass off what she can only consider the sludge floating around in her styrofoam cup as actual coffee, right? Not that she has tasted it yet. Rather, she simply eyes it with a scrutinizingly raised brow, attention shifting distractedly to the view ahead.

If she has to endure cheap coffee and even cheaper cliches, at least there’s a view. The river will be a nice distraction when everything inevitably starts to get a little too weepy for her tolerance, she supposes.

Perhaps Beca is a little too caught up in the serenity of it all, in fact—the aforementioned view—because she seems to lose herself for the briefest of moments, at least long enough to bring the coffee cup up to her lips.

Instantly, she regrets it.

“Dude, what the—” She doesn’t know if she should choke it down or spit it back in the cup.

“That bad, huh?”

The voice to break into her quiet outburst is an unfamiliar one, though it comes from close enough by to have Beca’s attention drifting toward its owner. She is unfamiliar, too. Beca doesn’t register her own blank expression until the other woman speaks again.

“The coffee…” There is a distinct lightness to the nameless face’s voice, one that Beca really does not have the energy for this morning. “Kind of looks like you’re not enjoying it.”

“Oh, right,” Beca nods, tone disinterested. “Yeah. It tastes like shit.”

The melodic giggle to ring out from the stranger’s lips seems somewhat misplaced, all things considered. “Guess I’ll avoid it then,” she says, tucking a chunk of curled red hair behind her ear. She hesitates for the shortest moment, before pushing a bright, welcoming smile to her lips. “I’m Chloe, by the way. This is…” Chloe motions vaguely around them, “Kind of new to me.”

Beca is not here to make friends. In fact, she doesn’t even want to be here. Regardless, she nods politely in response to Chloe’s introduction—it is really not her fault Beca cannot control her temper, after all. “Beca.”

“Beca…” Chloe repeats in a breezy tone, almost as if trying to commit it to memory. “Pretty.”

Though Beca’s brows tug together slightly, she offers Chloe a small smile, one that definitely does not meet her eyes—then again, when does Beca’s smile meet her eyes these days?

Chloe’s wide gaze seems to be staring at her expectantly, as if awaiting a response. What is she even supposed to say to that?

Fortunately—if anything about this situation can be considered fortunate—a new voice cuts into their conversation.

“Ready to join the circle?”

If Jesse were here, Beca would make a mumbled comment to him about how semi-threatening the request sounds. But, he isn’t… And that is why Beca is even here at all. So, exchanging a brief glance with Chloe, whose subtle amusement appears evident, Beca sets down her cup of lukewarm sludge, before dutifully making her way toward an empty seat.

“Looks like we have a few fresh faces here today,” the previous voice announces cheerfully.

Beca glances up to the blonde wearing the neatly pressed Fallen Leaves t-shirt, taking note of the way she is now looking expectantly between Beca and the redhead seated beside her.

Taking no further prompting, Chloe sends a small wave toward the group, before introducing herself with a polite, “Hi. I’m Chloe.”

Following a brief silence, Beca registers the countless sets of eyes now training on her.

“Oh. Um, hi. I’m Beca,” she says awkwardly to the group, the distinct difference between she and Chloe’s greetings palpable. The way she straightens in her chair seems to display her level of discomfort, if the way the blonde shoots a sympathetic look her way is anything to go by.

“Well, welcome to Fallen Leaves,” she says, evidently taking over, “My name is Aubrey. As some of you know, I like to start out our grief group by sharing the loss that got me into this work.”

Beca braces herself for the first of what she’s sure will be many sob stories to come, though she takes comfort in the focus no longer being on her.

“During an acapella competition in college, under extreme pressure, I violently vomited on stage,” Aubrey begins to explain somberly. “My co-captain slipped in it and fell off the stage, breaking her neck in the process. It happened with the whole crowd watching, not to mention on live television.” She pauses briefly, giving the group a moment to digest the information and evidently ignoring the look of mild horror displayed across Beca’s face. “And I live with that every day.”

Shrinking back into her chair a little bit, Beca is beginning to regret everything that led to her being here today. She doesn’t want to talk about it with anyone—let alone someone who anxiety-puked their way into killing someone. 

“Oh, my god,” Chloe murmurs sympathetically.

Aubrey presses her lips together. “Thank you. Is there a loss you’ve had that you’d like to share with us today?” Her gaze moves toward Beca briefly, though Beca is quick to shake her head in response.

“I do,” the voice beside her pipes up. The group’s attention, Beca and Aubrey’s included, moves toward Chloe, and Beca finds that she is grateful to lose the spotlight yet again.

Apparently, Chloe doesn’t share Beca’s disdain for all eyes on her. She looks comfortable enough as she shoots a small smile toward her audience. “Okay,” Chloe begins, straightening slightly in her seat. Just because she seems to be okay with the attention does not mean that whatever she is about to say is something she is comfortable with. In fact, it becomes quickly evident that it is not. “Well, um, my fiancé and I—ex fiancé—were trying to start a family. We tried a bunch of times, in fact,” Chloe explains, settling into her story.

Beca notes the way her gaze lowers, as if she is mentally disappearing somewhere else.

“About eight weeks ago, our baby died. It was sudden. Really sudden. I was…” Chloe’s voice gets small and strained as she wrings her fingers together.

Beca is about the least affectionate woman in all of Atlanta, but something about Chloe’s small voice and shrinking demeanor almost makes her want to reach out and settle a comforting hand against her shoulder. She doesn’t, of course; she just focuses her own sad gaze on Chloe as she continues.

“I was five months along, so we weren’t really expecting it, you know? Maybe we should have been. There were four before this. And the miscarriages… No one prepares you for how hard they really are. But this time, I guess I just thought we’d made it. That I was really going to have a family.”

Chloe is looking down at her hands, folded into each other to keep from fidgeting. “This time we’d set up the nursery. We hadn’t done that before, not since the first…” She clears her throat. “I keep coming back to this baby blanket that I’ll never get to wrap around my baby. Or lift it to my nose and breathe in her smell when I miss her.” She blinks a few times and looks back up, like she is coming back to the present. Beca notes that her eyes are a little harder to look into now. “So, yeah,” Chloe murmurs. “There’s nothing I can do about it.”

That same somber expression, already familiar, has returned almost automatically to Aubrey’s face. “We’re here for you, Chloe,” she says, a genuine air to her comforting tone. “Let’s hear it for Chloe, guys.” 

Like conditioned robots reading from a brief handed out before Beca’s arrival, everyone except for Beca, who is unintentionally watching Chloe, says in monotone, “We’re here for you, Chloe.”

Beca’s is the lone voice to say, much more personally, “That sucks. I’m really sorry.”

Despite the sea of eyes trained on Chloe, Chloe’s gaze lifts to meet Beca’s, auburn brows drawn tightly together. They seem to relax a little as she looks at Beca, though. Eventually, she just says, “Thank you,” quietly, a small nod of appreciation accompanying her words.

A moment passes between them before Aubrey speaks. “Thank you for sharing that.” While Beca may not be used to this, to people opening up so deeply and personally, Aubrey evidently is. It seems to be business as usual for her as she continues in a clear voice. “Last week, we started talking about the F-word.”

Instantly, Beca’s eyebrows jump up. She glances around at everyone else, but they don’t seem to find anything strange about this—something Beca finds strange in and of itself. Out of the corner of her eye, Chloe’s gaze catches Beca’s, and Beca notes that it looks as though she’s trying to suppress a confused chuckle.

“That’s right. Forgiveness,” Aubrey says. “Forgiveness can be really difficult. It can even take a lifetime. But no matter the circumstances, everyone is deserving of forgiveness.”

Beca can’t keep the indignant scoff from leaving her lips even if she wants to. Aubrey stops talking, her mouth slightly open in offense, while piercing eyes seem to narrow in on Beca directly.

“Do you have anything to share about forgiveness, Beca?”

Beca’s lips purse, armor falling briefly. “Yeah, I do,” she nods. “How do you forgive someone who hits your husband with their car and then drives away, leaving him to bleed to death on the side of the road?” Beca mutters flatly. “How do you forgive the person responsible for you lying awake every night, wondering how your boys are supposed to cope without their father? How do you forgive that?”

Wide eyes stare her way incredulously, but before anyone has the chance to respond, she leans back in her chair, closing herself off to further conversation. “You know what, I actually don’t want to get into it, so someone else can go,” Beca exhales sharply, trying to push her anger back into its usual box, stored up on the highest shelf where it belongs.

[pandoraswrld]

SHE

— in which juliet reveals her darkest fears

characters / juliet kang, boo yuna

words / 1.8k

warnings / this is sad, angsty and quite a heavy piece, mentions of past self harm, suicidal thoughts — if i missed anything please let me know!

Juliet’s always felt like this. She’s always felt like crap, right from the beginning. She’s not entirely sure what caused her to feel bad today, maybe it was the fact that she had woken up at six o’ clock today which would be the third day in a row she’d woken up after the sun had gone down, or maybe it was because she had missed two dance practices and the third was looming over her as she chose to lay in bed in the darkness instead.

With the comeback happening awfully soon Juliet knows she’s disappointing her trainers, she’s disappointing the team, heck, even disappointing the company as Jangmi would say. She wished she could get out of bed but it wasn’t that simple, something was dragging her down, she constantly felt as though she had this weight on her shoulders and no matter what she would do it would never leave her.

As long as she’s known, she's always had this weight. She was hardly the favourite child, never the girlfriend or never even the ‘best’ friend, she always thought she had little to lose. Juliet would care more about her role in life if only she hadn’t realised she was nothing but a downgrade or a placeholder at such a young age, still, she felt weighed down. Lately, the weight had become more and more suffocating and way more harder for her to deal with, like it was pushing her down into a deep river and drowning out any last positive thoughts she could conjure up.

She’s tried all the remedies. She has used her mother’s advice of getting up and out, enjoying the outside world, getting some exercise in but that never worked. She’s tried to find healthy coping mechanisms, art, dancing, singing, but now she’s not even sure if she likes it anymore. This job has taken so much from her. She used to enjoy the rush of performing on stage, the cheers would give her so much adrenaline and the fans always made her day. Now every day is more draining than the last, the choreographies bored her and she could barely muster any energy to sing.

None of those so-called solutions worked, they never did. Even the temporary relief from the bad decisions never lasted as long as she wanted it to, as long as she needed it to. Her hand fell down to her thighs, the scars were faint, a simple reminder of just how much she feels all the time. She has regrets, god she has so many. She can never get back all the dignity she had lost during those months, sometimes she questions if she wants it back. Was her dignity even worth losing? It’s not like she had much of it to start with.

Some days she wishes she just hadn’t run away and auditioned for SM, then maybe she’d still love the things that used to make her happy. Occasionally, she does imagine what her life could have been like if she didn’t audition for SM, for one she thinks her parents would love her a lot more than they do now, not that they’ve ever said it. She could’ve continued down whatever path they chose for her, making them “the happiest parents ever” and her brother wouldn’t have had to carry the burden of fulfilling the family legacy — not that having a baby at the ripe old age of nineteen was really helping that.

She liked to describe her life as a line, a long red line that would twist and knot with every significant moment. To Juliet she felt as though she could just cut the line at any point, no thoughts. Just like the fates, she was Aptropos and she had the shears to decide when things would end. She always thought, what was the point of continuing the line if all that was left were ugly little knots.

“Hey Juliet! Where we–”

She hadn’t realised it until her bedroom door had burst open but she had balled herself up into a corner on her bed, her hands were bunched up in her hair and strands had fallen all around her.

This was probably Juliet’s worst fear, someone seeing her in one of her weakest states. She didn’t want to look up at whoever just came in, simply hoping that they’d leave.

“Are you okay?” It was Yuna. She sounded uncomfortable, she wasn’t sure what she should do, Juliet was clearly not okay, anyone could see that.

The silence was thick between them. Juliet had started shaking, almost rocking back and forth in her corner.

“Juliet?”

“I don’t know what to do,” Juliet’s voice was shaky, “I don’t know what to do.”

“What are you talking about?” Yuna kept her voice soft, quickly closing the bedroom door and rushing over to the bed.

“I-I keep having these th-thoughts and I’m so scared, Leyla.” The last half of her sentence came out more like a choked sob, her English just barely coming out. She had to admit the truth to herself, she’s scared. She’s scared of everything. Every year always seems to add on something worse to the last and she couldn’t take it anymore. She feels hurt, even when she’s not supposed to be. She doesn’t know what to do anymore and she’s afraid of the places her mind can take her.

Yuna’s eyes widened, she had called Yuna by her English name, something she was so sure the other girls had forgotten about. God, Yuna hadn’t heard that name in ages but in all honesty she loved hearing it again and it warmed her heart that Juliet had remembered, even that she had called her that.

She placed her hand on Juliet’s back, finding that she was freezing cold. Yuna was not expecting the face that had greeted her when Juliet looked up. Juliet’s face had been replaced by what looked like the shell of her once bright expression. Her eyes were deep-set and dark, her cheeks hollow and her skin so pale it almost looked like she was dead. Her mind raced as to what could’ve possibly got Juliet to this state, she always seemed so happy.

“It’s okay, this will pass.” She wasn’t sure exactly what to say in this situation, if Juliet’s talking about what she thinks she’s talking about.

“You don’t understand! It won’t!” Tears ran down Juliet’s face like it was nothing, she doesn't even notice them anymore. “Do you know how many times I’ve heard that? How many times I’ve repeated that to myself in hopes that it would come true?” She knows her anger is misplaced, Yuna’s just trying to help, but she can’t help it.

“I’m so tired, Leyla, I just want to go,” Juliet swallowed thickly, “I just want to go to bed and never wake up, I’m tired of living a life that I can’t enjoy.”

“Jules...” Juliet could almost hear the disappointment in her voice, just like everybody else she’s ever dared to tell this to. She drags her eyes away from Yuna’s and down at her duvet, she really didn’t want to know what Yuna was thinking.

“Can I just talk to you? Like just... just words, between us?”

Yuna nods, propping herself up on the bed, shivering as her back touched the cold wall. She pulled Juliet into her, if there was one thing she always knew to do it was to keep her close in her arms.

“Everyone has something they hate, right? Whether it be irrational or not.” Juliet fidgets in her seat, “I don’t know about everyone else but mine’s irrational, so irrational you’d probably think I was disgusting.”

Juliet could just tell Yuna’s chuckle was slightly forced, anyone would try and laugh in what felt like such an uncomfortable silence.

“It’s showering. I hate showering, it’s so... vulnerable and I can’t stand it.” Even she had to laugh just at how pathetic she sounded. “You know I try, I do, I can’t just not shower because that actually would be disgusting and that’s not what I want. It’s just that everytime I think I’m okay I go and have a shower and suddenly every bad thought I’ve ever had comes rushing back.”

Yuna can only nod in understanding.

“Ever since Lyra left I’ve had to drown out silence with anything, usually it would be music but some things I just can’t bear to listen to anymore and it sucks. It’s like everything that happened to her was my fault and I can’t handle it. I can’t be left alone anymore, I can’t and I know this. However, there’s nothing I can do to change that.” Her tears had stopped, instead her head was turned away from Yuna’s, resting against the wall and on top of her arm.

“I feel like whenever I’m around other people I bring destruction, y’know?”

“Oh that’s not true!” Yuna frowned.

“How would you know? No offence but you’ve only been in my life for like a year and a half and clearly you haven’t seen everything.” Juliet scoffs.

This would be the perfect time to tell her about what really happened last year but Juliet quickly decided that that would be another can of worms she’d rather not open. Not now.

“Well that’s gotta stand for something, I mean you haven’t hurt me and I don’t see you doing it in the future.” Yuna’s hopeful, Juliet’s glad that she is but she knows the truth — that she’ll always push those closest to her away until it’s far too late.

“And hey, if you can’t be alone then you don’t have to be!” She squeezed Juliet’s arm, “I’ll always stay by your side and if you get sick of me I can go but I’m always available!”

For the first time in a while Juliet smiled, she genuinely smiled. It was comforting to know Yuna wasn’t going to give up on her, she knew that any of her other members would probably give her the same sentiment but she’d known them for three years and they all had their own shit to deal with, none of them would ever really stick by her side at all times. Of course she had no way of knowing whether Yuna would live up to her words but through the year she’s known her she didn’t think she wouldn’t. Yuna seemed like the sweetest, even back when she watched her on Produce she was only nothing but nice to the other trainees, and she always looked a little lonely around the dorms, she didn’t even have a roommate which wasn’t exactly helpful when moving into a group of six other girls she didn’t know. It wouldn’t hurt for them to bond a little.

She stuck out her pinky finger, “Promise?”

“Promise.” Yuna grinned, locking her pinky into Juliet’s.

[ariesbilly]

Ok but I think constantly about the physical issues fred and fp both are going to deal with as adults and older adults and the long term health issues I know their broke asses have never addressed like....

u got the obvious ones like fps alcoholism and freds pill addiction and those side effects. then they're both fucking depressed and never dealt w that. they both worked hard labour for most of their lives especially fred and never took a sick day from that... and in fps years off he was like getting in gang fights which can't be good for long term health.

both were very serious athletes as teens which can fuck up your body for life... not just w injuries (though mostly injuries) but pushing yourself to extremes when your body is still developing in puberty can be a mess. Then obviously u got fps years of childhood abuse that stunted his growth physically and emotionally as well as all these injuries he never dealt w that still affect his body and are probably gonna come out as he ages... he honestly might not even be aware of all the issues he has cuz it's always been his normal. He's also canoncially a veteran however the show chooses to define that on the day lmao

And this is just staying with canon like if we go into side effects frm everything we've headcanoned for them they're fucked.... like fps past motorcycle accidents... his PTSD..... Not to mention just the debilitating stress of living thru whatever events have happened to them onscreen I do not know anymore what they've lived thru but it's been a lot. Anyway. They need to take care of each other as old men this is my thesis 😭💕

i think about them being old men together so much... dealing with all the typical aches and pains...and neither of them are good at going to a doctor for different reasons like fred just pushes through things because hes got a million other things to worry about and he never puts himself first and if hes not able to take care of everyone around him then who the hell is gonna do it hmm?

meanwhile fp is just straight up in denial any time somethings wrong with him because he cannot POSSIBLY be old enough to throw out his back and sure his joints are starting to go but like... when have his joints ever been fine. just an old football injury. hes still young and spry 

but of course they do not hold the same attitudes towards each other. they will physically drag the other one to the doctor if they have to because god forbid its ever anything serious.... they cannot lose each other 🤧

and fp eats like SHIT god knows what heart issues are going on there. clogged arteries... cholesterol.... i mean freds not much better but the first time either of them starts complaining about chest pains theyre like alright, enoughs enough. pantrys getting restocked. (which doesnt last long. they stay on the healthy eating for like a week before someones sneaking in snacks and then before they know it theyre back to their old habits and the cycle repeats)

fps mind is definitely gonna start to go at some point tho.... and itll be little things like he misplaced his keys or he cant remember the date at first that fred doesnt pay too much mind too because these things happen, whatever. its normal. but then fp starts forgetting peoples names in the middle of telling a story and hes stumbling through his words trying to recall things and hes forgetting birthdays and 😔

[lucisfavoritedemon]

Almost There

Pairing: Tony Stark x C.I.A platonic!reader (Gender neutral)

Request: The reader is a real life federal agent, and is task to go into the mcu to bring tech out. The reader is given a teleporter, fake ID, money, and a pistol. The plan is to steal a truck full of Stark tech and be transported back. When the reader enters the MCU they wake up in an abandoned warehouse. They spent several months gathering information, practicing and discovering what'sx different inside the MCU. One day they put the plan into action everything goes to plan until the transporter is broken at the rendezvous point. (From the real world point) The reader is then captured by stark and interrogated about them not existing. The reader in the end stays quiet but before they're arrested the battle of N.Y happens and they escape wondering what to do.

Warnings: some cursing, cocky reader, being rude to Tony Stark (sorry to Tony lovers)

Word Count: 1663

A/N: This was requested by @iawaythrown. Thank you so much for the request. I hope you like it. I also tried to keep this as gender neutral as possible. I’m sorry if I did not. This is not Beta read, so all mistakes are mine.

Enjoy!

I had a mission. It was all planned out, all I had to do was follow instructions. Of course things here never seem to pan out the way you want, and of course I was seemingly suspicious. No wonder he caught me. No wonder I’m now trapped here. 

Okay, I’m getting way ahead of myself. I’m not from this universe, reality, or whatever you want to call it. I’m from a world where this character was just that, a character! Now I’m here with no plan, no mission, no escape, and no Stark Tech.

Yes, you heard me right, I was after some Stark Tech, but here I am being interrogated by Tony Stark himself. Now, for how I got to this point, that’s easy. I’m a CIA Agent, and given the almost impossible task of gathering as much Stark Tech as I possibly could in a truck, and bringing it back to my world. Most likely to be used, or improved, to be given to the people in my time. You know, to speed up the process of technological advancement.

I never asked questions though, that wasn’t my place. All I know is that I had to come here with the transporter, gather as much Stark Tech, as discreetly as possible, and meet at the rendezvous point before anyone found out what I was doing.

Alright, enough of me summarizing what happened, and didn’t happen. Allow me to enlighten you a bit. I’ll spare you the details of the full mission brief, not very brief if you ask me, and get down to my adventures here in the MCU.

“You ready for this?” One of my coworkers asked, helping me prepare for my journey.

“I’m so excited. I have studied every single person I will be getting to know in this world. I spent hundreds of dollars, and did lots of bargaining to get every last copy of the comics for the 6 members of the Avengers. As well as all the Avengers comics.”

“You’ve worked hard for this mission. You seem more dedicated than usual.” They spoke, handing me my bag and wallet with fake ID and money.

We walked over to the transporter where everyone else was waiting. I was given one last bit of information on how to get out before I was told where to stand.

“Just a warning, you may feel a bit nauseous, or you might pass out on entry. Just find Stark and the others as soon as you can. We cannot waste any time.”

“Yes sir.” My commanding officer then starts up the transporter, and I’m sent away in a flash of white light.

When I awoke I was in a warehouse. I got up quickly, and walked outside. I had studied every map of New York City I could find. I knew how to get to Stark Tower from every possible place I could land. I started to make my way to the tower. 

My disguise was his new secretary, and I honestly thought that was a genius idea. When I got to Stark Tower, I was greeted by the doorman asking me for my identification. I gladly obliged and he allowed me inside, showing me to Tony Stark’s office.

“You are my new secretary?” He asked, laying eyes on me. He didn’t seem too impressed with me, but that didn’t matter.

“I am. If you have a problem with that, then I will see myself out. Just so you know though, you won’t find anyone better than me.”

“I see your people skills are lacking, but your persuasiveness is impressive.” He smirked, and showed me around.

I was in! This was my chance to get as close to him as possible without him realising why I was actually there. Tony started with his part of the tower. He said that it would be mostly off limits unless I truly needed him. 

The next part was my favorite. He was showing me where he came up with all his inventions, and that’s where I made my first grab. Of course he had to be something small that he would barely notice was gone, and a discarded prototype, which he showed me plenty.

This went on for about a month. I would always end up finding him in the lab, purposely of course. As he would leave, I would sneak a piece of tech. As time went on I gathered bigger and better tech and loaded them into a U-Haul truck that I rented to take back to my world. 

I only hoped that no one had caught on to what I was doing, but I didn’t think so. The day finally came, and I had to tell Tony I had to part ways with him. He seemed to really enjoy the work I was doing for him, but I guess I would just have to live with that I guess.

“Hey there is my favorite secretary.” He grinned, chuckling some

“I’m currently your only secretary.” I said, not very amused.

His grin faded, and he cleared his throat, “anyway, I want to show you something. My latest invention.”

My curiosity peaked, and I had almost forgotten what I came down to the lab for, “latest invention?”

“Yep, granted the project had been set back. For some reason I kept misplacing some of the tech needed to complete it.”

“You misplace things? That’s shocking to me.”

“I don’t usually, but for some reason more recently my mind has been clouded.”

“I wonder why?” I asked, being genuine. I may be stealing him, and making him think he’s losing it, but I’m not heartless.

Tony just chuckles, and brushes off the question. He always liked to share as long as there was a little pity to him, then he would move on. It annoyed me a little, but at the same time, I was used to it.

Tony led me to where his new invention was. He did warn it may not intrigue me, for it was more of an upgrade for his Iron Man suit. When he showed me, I was absolutely amazed. There would be no way that I could sneak this new piece of tech, but you bet I was going to try.

“Tony, I have something I have to tell you, and you probably won’t like it.”

“I knew it! All of my tech started disappearing after you showed up!” He jumped to conclusions.

“Uh, I was going to say I have to leave. My mother has fallen ill, and I am the last close family member to care for her. So, today will be my last day.” I spoke, looking confused at his accusation.

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. What is she sick with, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“She is in severe kidney and liver failure due to her heavy alcoholism after my father left her.” I said too casually, but he did not question me.

“So, where ya headed?”

“Maine. Specifically Augusta, Maine.”

“I see. It will be hard to see you go, but I understand how important family is. Before you go, come up to the penthouse, so I can give you a proper goodbye.” With that, Tony walked upstairs leaving me alone.

I knew him leaving me in the lab alone was a test. He was obviously on to me, and as much as I wanted to steal that new piece of tech, I had to leave it be, but I now had a lot of the tech to recreate it myself.

I of course did not want to say goodbye to Tony properly. He was just a pawn in a bigger game. I knew that I wasn’t playing a better, or bigger role, but more important than him. I made my way outside, and back to the abandoned warehouse where I kept the U-Haul truck. 

I climbed in and headed to the rendezvous point. I was of course nervous about everything going wrong now that I was so close to getting back home. I made it to my point, and it was almost time to head back. Though, when it was time to head back, something went wrong. I couldn’t get the transporter to work.

That’s when I heard a car heading my way. I couldn’t help but begin to panic, and I kept hitting the transporter button. That’s when I heard the car stop a few feet behind me. The car door opened then closed, but I dare not turn around.

“This is the opposite direction of Maine, sweetheart.” Of course, this was just my luck.

“Yeah. I realise that.” I was extremely frustrated at this point.

“Open the truck.”

“Absolutely not! You do not have the authority to search my things.”

“I could get the proper authorities involved.”

I glare at him. I was not going to be threatened like this, but I could not use my authority here in this world. I technically didn’t exist. Not to mention I would blow my entire cover and mission.

“Or you could come with me, and explain what you’re doing with a truckload of my tech.”

I had no choice but to follow him. I had to remain as innocent as I could until he had enough evidence to prove I’m not.

Now you are all caught up to now. Nothing else has happened since then. Tony has since left me alone, and hasn’t returned. I think I hear something happening outside. This may be the only chance I would have to run. You bet I will be making a break for it. If I no longer update on my story, assume I made it back home, or I haven’t been captured by Stark and his posse of weirdos. 

That’s it for now. Thanks for listening to my weird story. Just make sure to burn this once you have finished. Unless you’re Tony Stark, then you can suck it. Y/n out.

[hearthandhomemagick]

The Cottage Witch Journal Entry - Very Human

I used to think that I felt Alien.

Sticking out in the crowd, not quite fitting in. Only offering abstract thoughts to a world that seemed to defy my character. I assumed I was misplaced, that somehow in this sea of wander and frustrating commodities, I was the one sticking out in the world.

As of recently, though, I have felt very clearly Human in nature.

The thing is the two feelings are quite similar and often muddled in perspective. The only difference being age and understanding.

To clarify, when I was younger, from about 4 up until more recently, I had always felt as though I was the odd one out. No one really wanted to be friends with me, I was either annoying or ugly. I often got picked last for things because of my weight, and I wasn't allowed to say "no" to anyone because of that. People pleasing was grafted into my Survival Tactics with ease, and eventually became so natural in my actions that "everyone loved me".

I still felt wrong, though. As if being myself was too much of an inconvenience for this world. As if saying "no" to anyone would surely result in desolate solitude and continuous abandonment. Nothing I enjoyed or liked matched anyone else, and I liked it that way for a very long time. Being different, feeling alien, felt good.

Like I said, though, the big difference between feeling alien and all-too-human is only time. And realizing how very similar I was to everyone else was not only a disheartening wake-up call, but it also proved to be the slow downfall of my own mental health.

I had never been called "Human" until someone informed me, "You're just like everyone else. Fucking Human's, the lot of you are all the same."

I had always referenced that same sentence in passing thoughts, allowing it to create a rift between myself and everyone else. When being told I was just like everyone else, I was obviously hurt. Or, my ego was, at least.

In that moment, I was highly aware of not only my innately human traits, but also of my mundane lifestyle. The idea of losing my individuality not only bit me in the ass, but also stunted my growth. If I was such a sheep, so wearisome and basic, then how could I move forward?

The thing about separating yourself from humanity for so long, is that once you learn of your own hypocrisies, your own humanity, you kind of just....spiral at first.

I made a drastic decision to try and feel different again after that.

I didn't want to be cocky, I didn't want to be cruel or judgmental. I also didn't want people to walk all over me. Finding that balance I have never been able to satisfy before.

I did a few small things, like buying lingerie, to make myself feel better. I also did a few radical things, like almost developing an eating disorder. I was living to please another, yearning for the attention and needing to be different. When someone stereotypes you, you try hard to break it. And you still end up becoming the stereotype.

Obviously, these newer tactics to revamp myself didn't pan out the way I planned. I ended up throwing up in front of my boyfriend simply at the mention of a past affection he had for someone and furthered the sting with a tantrum in a failed attempt at trying to express my turmoil.

My short point at this rate....I tried too hard in an endeavor to be discrete. To be new. To NOT be myself.

I took to heart a line that I, myself, used to convey my very own frustrations. In times where I felt people were wrong or as though people had wronged me, I felt completely alien. But this was the one time I felt very human, and I fucking hated it. I didn't want to be human anymore. I didn't want to live anymore.

It's tough. Because I never wanted the person I love to see me throw myself to the ground in a fit of rage and hurt screaming how much I hated myself. I never wanted to fall into the hyperventilating panic-attack again, and I did just that.

Through the worst mindset I had ever gone through, I was reacting like a toddler. And I hated myself even further for it. Wanting to punch myself because no matter how many times I tried explaining myself, it only made things worse. I felt worse, too. I felt like if I moved, I'd sink. And if I stayed still, I'd explode.

I often blamed myself for not communicating right. I felt like I was the problem and the reason I couldn't convey my emotions correctly. Like every effort I put in was so off from the result that I should just give into the pain all together and bash my head in.

Ever since that day, I've done nothing but reflect.

Sitting in my thoughts and pondering how I even got to that point. And it reaches back much further than simply being called human, I believe.

I feel like this all started when I got sick in 2019. When I was 20, as some of you may know, I got extremely sick with a stomach problem that doctors never really did solve. It was, at first, a week straight of nothing but vomiting and eating nothing. Hospital told me it was a stomach bug, but the problem never stopped after a week. I would wake up the same time every morning and throw up everything in my stomach. No matter the day, it never failed. This went on for over a year. It stopped once I left my job as an Advocate, but then started the tinge of pain in my ovaries. I would hurt even if I wasn't on my period and even had pain during sex.

I noticed that I was so happy before I got sick. I was confident, I was elated and I was learning to love myself. It's hard to love yourself when your body feels wrong, despite your efforts. When you can't perform the same things others can because your body won't let you. It's a lack of control over my body that kills me. But, that mindset will also be the reason I never see change.

Navigating my reflections at this point started shifting in perspectives. I started realizing that being human wasn't a terrible thing. Being myself isn't wrong, and every single human has their own very intricate problems that they themselves get to navigate. I am a part of the learning curve and growing experience not only for myself, but for others as well.

Being human doesn't just mean evil and anguish. It is also the greatest kindness you can experience. It means awareness, understanding and cognitive thinking. None of us are perfect, but we were never promised perfect in the first place. And yet, we strive, everyday. We try.

The idea that one person is more interesting than the other is totally subjective, and life is too short to not enjoy the things that make you happy. Whether you find comfort in books, or sports, doesn't matter. Whether you look thicker than a snicker or lithe like a lilac, doesn't matter. What matters are the very human traits you embrace and love in yourself and others, including the ugly. As a matter of fact, I see myself in others more recently, and even find my battles not being battles anymore, rather tasks to accomplish.

I'm not perfect. And I will have my bad days, but that doesn't mean the rest of my life has to be a total sob story. I don't have to be mean to myself in order to grow.

Making myself aware of these negative human traits in my life isn't a bad thing. Making myself aware has started making it possible for me to accept and heal myself. To get to the deeper root of my emotional attachment and learn to break the bond that holds me back. It’s been teaching me to stop trying so hard and to simply be.

It’s much harder than anticipated, too. But no one ever expects to feel these feelings, I’m sure. And no one ever really expects anyone else to be going through something similar. We don’t ask for it, and yet we all experience that detachment from reality in an attempt to make ourselves feel better about us being human.

Acceptance, I’ve learned, doesn’t mean laying down. It doesn’t mean not trying. And it doesn’t mean failing. Acceptance is preserving yourself and thoughts. Acceptance is knowing who you are and knowing that growth comes with experience, and that's okay. What you know now may be different later. It's the openness to growth that expands your person.

It's time to simply live, and let be. I never understood that quote until now. And I never cherished time to myself until I lost it. Letting go is hard, and stopping the worried kid inside of me is very much like re-parenting myself. It's like seeing the kid me crying, and rather than screaming at her, I want to comfort and love her. She deserves to be healed, not damaged any further.

I will read more. I will dance when I am happy. I will sing when I want to. I will not take things personally. I will be myself, unapologetically. It's time. I've known it's been time but....it's time.

Thank you for reading if you've made it this far. This entry, along with my other entries, are simply journal entries that assist my processing and coping techniques. If you relate or if you feel the need to say something, feel free to! I am always open to listening and opening dialogue!

You are appreciated and recognized. Thank you.

[miraculous-mare]

Hi everyone! I'm Imbri, I made this sideblog earlier this month when I got super into MLB and DCU from a more fanfic-esque perspective and wanted to try my hand at fic writing. I've since been pretty sick and I'm only just getting better, so I wanted to throw some possible story arcs and headcanons on here so I could preserve them somewhere and hold myself accountable for writing them. If this gets long I'll make separate posts but for now enjoy my tired ramblings

1. To All the Vigilantes I've Loves Before (TALTBILB AU)

We're starting with a fluffier one bc I'm in that kind of mood. You know how in To all the boys Lara Jean writes her letters when she has a huge crush? To her, the letters are a way to immortalize that feeling, to preserve it forever. She locks her love away until she wants to acknowledge it again, preserving it and ensuring her feelings are never tainted by the reality of these people. I don't think Marinette would do that. No, Marinette gets too caught up in the rosy side of love, especially when she's younger. She doesn't need a constant reminder of the good things about her crushes, she needs to be reminded of the bad, of the harsh reality of these people. Young Marinette dives in too deep too fast with Adrien, ignores his character in favor of her fantasy, and she never forgets how much it hurt. So in a moment of clarity, when he tells her not to stand up to Lila and abandons her, she writes him a letter. It's not mean, or attacking, and she doesn't intend to send it (she still addresses and stamps it, of course, because she's extra like that, and makes sure not to seal it so she can reread it, but she plans to keep it locked away). It's just an honest reflection on how he's not who she thought he was. How her affection for him was toxic, how she can't go back to being the Marinette who's obsessed with him, but he will always be the first boy she ever loved. Loved, past tense. And she intends to keep it that way.

Luka is the next one to get a letter. She writes his in the middle of the night. She couldn't sleep, had randomly decided to design a new stage outfit for him, and was quite impressed with her work until she found herself coloring his eyes green and his hair blond. She stops herself before she adds black cat ears, but the damage is done. Mari realizes he had always been a distraction for her, that she was trying to use his affection to bounce back from heartache. She rereads her letter to adrien before taking out a clean sheet of paper. Luka's letter is about how she can't hold on to love or the idea of a relationship so as to ignore her feelings and her hurt. She writes about how she was lucky to make new friends when her class turned her back on her, but she was trying too hard to pretend nothing had changed. Luka was filling the void Adrien had left, and marinette knew that she couldn't fall back on her unhealthy habits. She mentions that she still loves Luka, of course she does, but not like that, never like that. The next day, she tells him, in no uncertain terms, that he means a lot to her, really, and she doesn't want to lead him on, but he's honestly just a friend. Luka smiles and hugs her and tells her that's fine, and they remain close.

Chat noir gets his own letter when she starts to see herself with him but he won't stop flirting. She writes that as much as she can get caught up in the daydreams of their superhero power couple, he never wants to give her space or let her figure anything out. When they defeat hawkmoth and she finds out who he is, she pens an short paragraph about how hypocritical it was of him to tell her to back off Lila and let things work themselves out while being so insistent in his relationship with ladybug. She puts all three letters into one envelope and seals it. She knows now she can never love Adrien, that she will never look at him the same. She's learned her lesson, and she wants to leave this chapter in the past.

As Marinette grows up, finishes high school and her Guardian studies, as she gets her business degree, the pile of letters only grows. But Mari has become too hurt, too cautious with her heart. Her letters, once testaments to her growth and maturity, are now filled with excuses. Too scared to let anything develop into more than a basic crush, she pens a letter every time she lets her guard down, every time she feels even a sliver of non-platonic affection for anyone, and stashes it away with the rest of her unresolved feelings.

When she pins Kim down for a second too long during one of their sparring matches, she writes that she cannot jeopardize their friendship. They train together less frequently after that.

When she finds herself laughing too hard at her seatmate's whispered jokes in Intro to Business, she reasons that they're probably a player and sits somewhere else from then on.

On a visit to Paris, she loses herself in Kagami's eyes and her letter is about how stupid it is to even try long distance. So on and so forth, until her letters are nothing but quick notes and her reasons become meaningless.

This post is too long so I'm gonna rush through the next bits I'm sorry. She finally moves to Gotham, opens up a little boutique, and ladybug accepts an invitation to join the League. Soon after, she meets the Robins (it's hard not to come in contact when everyone enjoys jumping off the same rooftops in the dead of night), and she has a new, albeit secondary, team/family (because of course they know each other's identities).

At this point, Marinette has over twenty letters, all wrapped in twine and stuffed into a small box she keeps at the back of her closet. Her kwami try to push her to date again, insist this terrible habit needs to be broken, but she insists she's fine alone. Most are okay with this, but Plagg and Trixx? Not so much. One day, while she's down in her Atelier in the middle of a fitting, they rifle through the box, pick out a single letter, and convince kaalki to (begrudgingly) open up a portal straight into someone's PO Box (p sure Plagg used cataclysm by himself once so it's possible. If not let's ignore that and pretend it is lmao). Tikki is not impressed, but she doesn't do anything to stop them either.

It's three days later when Marinette finds out it's missing, a flirty encounter with red hood sending her rifling through her stash for Jason Todd's name. She needs to remind herself that he's too much of a bad boy, too flirty, too dark, that she’s too close to the bats to ruin it with feelings. She decides she misplaced it until Jason stops by her flat two days later, letter in hand.

Now, Jason technically comes over to confront Marinette, but he’s not sure about what, exactly. she seemed to have liked him at some point, but was convinced it wouldn’t work out. Part of him wants to prove her wrong, part of him is wondering why she’s so mistrusting to have written him off so soon. Marinette, upon seeing her letter, panics, but she ends up having to explain everything. Jason isn’t sure if he should be more concerned that literal gods have decided to take her relationship into their own tiny hands or that she’s so scared of loving she’s got this stash of letters about nearly everyone in her life. Eventually he convinces her to pull them out, and Jason is so shocked by the sheer number of them that he almost wants to wrap her in his arms and show her that love isn’t all bad. Instead, he slips and offers to help set her up on dates, and before they know it they have a contract: he’ll plan a new blind date for her, with anyone from one of the open letters, every two weeks. She promises to go in open-minded and do her best to actually make it work. In exchange, he’ll model for her newest line (something she’s been begging him to do for ages). When she says the contract is all in her favor, he throws in that she can be his date to the Wayne Christmas Party at the end of the year. They shake on it, and the pieces begin to fall into place.

Cue six months of a heavily pining Jason setting Marinette up on dates she progressively wants to go on less and less. Cue them meeting for fittings and clothe designs in Marinette’s atelier and grabbing coffee together. Marinette starts to open up to the possibility of love, but with Jason, who’s obviously not interested or else why would he still be setting her up on dates? it’s all incredibly messy and complicated and a little angsty but just a ton of fun.

Idk I feel like this idea low-key sucks now that I’ve written it out so uhhh let me know what you guys think? I have other ideas but I’m gonna put them into other posts bc this is too long as is. 

[fiercestcorpse]

lan zhan transmigrator au part 2

part 1 is here. i will most likely be putting this up on ao3 once i’ve settled on a title.

By the time he and Lan Xichen had made it down from the Cold Pond and into the buildings of Cloud Recesses, Lan Zhan had started to realise it was later in the day than he’d thought. He needed more information, but he wasn’t sure how to ask. Where had he been earlier that day, what had this body been doing? Lan Xichen had mentioned something about a fever. What was the story behind that? Lan Zhan didn’t recall anything about it being mentioned in the original novel, but maybe it had just escaped the protagonist’s notice.

“Brother,” he asked delicately. Addressing Lan Xichen by name seemed a bit too friendly for this reserved character. Lan Zhan certainly couldn’t call him by his personal name, because he didn’t know it. “How did you know to look for me in the Cold Pond?”

“One of the guards at the front gate came to tell me he’d seen you, and you were heading that way,” Lan Xichen replied. “He said you looked unwell. What were you doing leaving the Cloud Recesses, Wangji? You should have been resting.” A soulful expression of brotherly disappointment graced his perfectly proportioned face.

Of course Lan Zhan couldn’t answer his question! He had no memory of what this body had been doing before he’d occupied it. In the original, it had been implied that Lan Wangji had just returned from a night hunt, but Lan Zhan wasn’t sure if that was actually true or not, or how the original’s mysterious illness might have affected things.

However, this did give him one piece of unwelcome information: If Lan Wangji had come through the gate and re-entered the cloud recesses, then he had probably already encountered the Jiang disciples… and stopped them from entering!

There was not a lot Lan Zhan could do about this right now. Lan Xichen seemed to be leading him towards a specific building. From the sign above the door, it seemed to be the healing room, where sick or injured members of the Lan sect would go to be treated.

Lan Zhan had no idea that such a building had existed! It had never come up in the novel, though of course it made sense that it would be there. It would be difficult to go all the way down the mountain to the nearby Caiyi Town for a medical emergency, and the common people there might not know how to treat some of the problems a cultivator might encounter.

The room Lan Zhan was led into was elegant and spacious, with an astringent, herbal scent in the air. It had an overall light colour scheme-- white paper in the windows, white drapes dividing the room into sections-- but was furnished with contrasting dark wood. The source of the smell was a Lan disciple sitting at a low table, grinding some presumably medicinal herbs with a mortar and pestle.

Lan Xichen led Lan Zhan over to sit at a low bench, and hovered anxiously around him as an unfamiliar man came to attend to him. The man must have been some sort of doctor, but Lan Zhan had no way of knowing, as once again he had never been mentioned in the novel. The unknown doctor man pressed two fingers to Lan Zhan’s wrist to take his pulse. Lan Zhan gave what was surely a very OOC flinch at the feeling of foreign spiritual energy coming into contact with his own.

In his previous life, Lan Zhan had of course been aware of the idea that there was a network of qi flowing throughout his body. But having heard about a thing really couldn’t be compared to the experience of actually, viscerally feeling it! The tingling, flowing sensation felt somewhat similar to the time Lan Zhan had been in hospital when he was younger, and had been put on an intravenous drip. But this sensation wasn’t present in his veins, it was happening throughout an entirely new network that this body apparently had.

The doctor shared a brief look of concern with Lan Xichen. Lan Zhan frowned minutely at being glanced around as if he wasn’t there. “Is there a problem?” he asked.

“Lan-er-gongzi has had a minor qi deviation,” the doctor said, addressing Lan Xichen. “But he seems to have somehow brought his own meridians back into the proper alignment.”

A qi deviation! In the setting of Proud Immortal Founder of the Demon Way, that was serious! It wasn’t something that could happen due to just a minor issue, it was a symptom of something being very badly wrong with a person’s cultivation. And qi deviations were often fatal.

Now that he was aware of their presence, Lan Zhan noticed that this body’s meridians felt somewhat fragile, almost bruised. He didn’t really have anything to compare it to, but surely they weren’t supposed to feel like that.

“You will have to take extra time each morning to meditate and circulate your qi until you are fully recovered,” said the doctor. “It would also be beneficial for us to check up on you in the future, and determine if there is some imbalance or blockage that could cause another qi deviation.”

“Of course, we will make sure to do that,” said Lan Xichen. He was now looking extremely pale and worried. “Wangji, it seems like it really was the right thing to do, to go meditate in the Cold Pond,” he added. “You may have averted a catastrophe.”

Although he maintained a stoic expression, internally Lan Zhan shuddered to hear this. Averted a catastrophe? More likely, the feverish Lan Wangji had overtaxed himself, and caused his own qi deviation in the first place! And now… now he was gone, and Lan Zhan was occupying his body. Lan Zhan didn’t know if the qi deviation had been deadly, or if it had simply caused enough of a weakness for something to force Lan Wangji’s soul out of its rightful position, and replaced it with that of a clueless transmigrator. Either way, the original inhabitant was gone.

Still, Lan Zhan refused to feel bad about it. Lan Wangji was a fictional character, why should Lan Zhan be upset if he died? He was going to die anyway, due to his own bad decisions. It had simply happened a little sooner. Now that Lan Zhan was in his place, he’d take care to do a better job of it.

“Thank you,” Lan Zhan said to the doctor. That wasn’t out of character, right? Lan Wangji was always polite to people in positions of power or influence. “I think I will go and meditate now.” And change out of this damp clothing. He rose from the bench, ignoring Lan Xichen’s anxious gaze, and prayed he could find the disciple dormitories without getting too obviously lost.

--

As the head disciple, and son of the clan leader, it made sense that Lan Wangji’s dormitory was one of the biggest, set slightly apart from the rest. Lan Xichen accompanied him there, and Lan Zhan was able to walk behind him without making it look too obviously like he was following him. Lan Xichen kept shooting little glances at him back over his shoulder, like he was afraid Lan Zhan was going to fall over and start gushing blood from his face or something.

“Wangji,” said Lan Xichen. “I know you’ve volunteered to patrol Cloud Recesses tonight, but I think you should reconsider. You should stay behind and rest.”

Lan Zhan was about to agree, when he was interrupted by a ding. [Lan Wangji patrolling Cloud Recesses is an important plot point for establishing his rivalry with the protagonist! If this plot point is missed, 200 B Points will be deducted!]

… Tell me again, how many B Points did I start with? Lan Zhan asked the system.

[You were awarded 100 complimentary B Points at the start of your user experience! As you have done basically nothing so far except follow the character Lan Xichen around, your number remains the same!]

And if I lose more B Points than what I have…

[Your account will be terminated, and you will be deported back to your original world.]

Back to my original world, where I’m dead. Great. So there was no chance of skipping this encounter with the protagonist, then. 

“I will consider it,” Lan Zhan told Lan Xichen, meaning I am absolutely still going on patrol tonight, I haven’t got any choice.

But just because he still had to show up for the encounter, didn’t mean Lan Zhan had to act the same way. In the novel, Lan Wangji had scolded the protagonist for breaking curfew and drinking. He’d drawn his sword on him, broken the protagonist’s bottle of Emperor’s Smile, and reported his rule breaking to Master Lan Qiren. There was definitely some sort of compromise Lan Zhan could make, where he could still be in character but maybe let the protagonist off with a lighter punishment.

This reminded Lan Zhan of something else important. Before entering his dormitory room, Lan Zhan turned back towards Lan Xichen. “If you have the opportunity, you should send somebody to the main gate. The Jiang disciples misplaced their invitation.”

There! That shouldn’t be out of character, right? He’d just ratted the Jiangs out to an authority over their missing invitation. Knowing Lan Xichen, he would ensure the Jiang disciples were brought inside regardless, which was what Lan Zhan wanted, but he hadn’t actually asked Lan Xichen to do that.

[... 5 B Points deducted for clumsy loophole exploitation] said the System. Its mechanical voice sounded somehow exasperated. Well. That wasn’t too harsh a penalty.

“Of course! I’ll have it seen to,” said Lan Xichen. “In the meantime, take care of yourself.” Lan Xichen beamed at Lan Zhan, before leaving him in peace.

As Lan Zhan pushed open the door to the dormitory, the jade token attached to his belt gave a little flare of spiritual energy. Was it like some sort of keycard? Only people with the right level of permission could get into certain buildings in the Cloud Recesses? That was another element of worldbuilding that wasn’t in the novel! He wondered if there were any rooms he couldn’t enter, and what would happen if he tried.

Lan Wangji’s dormitory honestly looked quite acceptable, by Lan Zhan’s standards. It was almost uncomfortably sparse and tidy, much like Lan Zhan’s old bedroom had been. There were many books, carefully lined up on the shelves, and neatly stacked writing materials on a table, beside a cloth-covered guqin. The only hint of individuality was a tiny vase sitting by a window, containing a single purple-blue gentian flower.

Who could have guessed, one-dimensional villain Lan Wangji apparently liked flowers? Or maybe it had been put there by someone else. Soft-hearted Lan Xichen seemed like a likely culprit. Lan Zhan supposed it was up to him now, to decide for himself whether Lan Wangji liked flowers or not.

Ding! [Now you’re getting it! Good luck on your mission of adding sympathetic nuance to this scum villain, and improving this story’s many failings!]

Let’s not go too far. Lan Zhan wasn’t interested in being sympathetic, much less in improving the story now that he was living it rather than reading it. He just wanted to stay out of the protagonist’s way, thereby avoiding his own death. If he could read some interesting books and learn how to cultivate, maybe continue improving his guqin playing, that would be enough for him.

Of more immediate interest was the small mirror attached to one wall. On a shelf underneath it was a hairbrush, and a small jar of some sort. Lan Zhan immediately headed over there, to get a look at his new face.

It was… actually quite handsome! Just as expected in a cultivation setting. Lan Wangji had smooth skin, attractive features, and dark, piercing eyes. But wasn’t he a little bit too good looking? Pathetic minor villains shouldn’t be overly handsome, they would outshine the protagonist.

And anyway, weren’t he and Lan Xichen supposed to look alike? They had a somewhat similar bearing, that of an elegant and refined young master, although Lan Xichen had a friendlier look about him. But where Lan Xichen had broader shoulders and a square jaw, Lan Zhan’s new face was somewhat narrower and pointier. Still, he couldn’t complain. He thought this face rather suited him.

He forced a smile at the mirror, just to see what it would look like, then twisted his face up in a look of sadness and regret.

“Wei-gongzi, I apologise for my earlier actions,” he tried. That neither looked nor sounded appropriate for this character. And wasn’t it too dishonest to apologise for something he hadn’t even done? From the protagonist’s perspective he would still be that person who refused them entry, but to Lan Zhan, it didn’t feel right. Anyway, hadn’t he thought to himself that if he’d been in that position, he’d have done the same? If you carelessly leave behind your possessions, there should be consequences.

With or without the OOC function enabled, I can’t just go around lying about things. I don’t want to give the protagonist cause to kill me, but I don’t want to shamelessly pander to him either.

Having made up his mind on this matter, Lan Zhan got changed into another, nearly identical set of white-and-pale-blue robes. He also found his sword, which was a relief, as he’d been somewhat concerned he might have dropped it in the Cold Pond.

It wasn’t quite dark yet, but Lan Zhan didn’t want to miss the protagonist’s arrival. Not to mention, he thought he might have to search around to find the location where they would meet. So with this in mind, he set off early to find the perfect rooftop.

--

After spending a little while strolling through Cloud Recesses at a measured and dignified pace, Lan Zhan thought of a problem. He knew from the description in Proud Immortal Founder of the Demon Way that Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian would confront each other on the roof of an outlying building. But he wasn’t actually sure how to get up on the roof in the first place. In cultivation settings, characters seemed to jump great heights and fly through the air like it was nothing. But Lan Zhan wasn’t actually a cultivator, he was only pretending to be one! He had no idea how to do any of that!

Could he just find a likely looking spot, and clamber up onto the roof the regular way? He might have to. And what would happen when it came time for him to draw his sword on the protagonist? Lan Wangji had been quite athletic in his previous life, but none of the sports he’d ever done involved swordfighting.

Forget deliberately breaking character, he might accidentally reveal himself as a fake whether he wanted to or not!

Lan Zhan frowned, and glanced around. He was in a quiet, secluded courtyard, and there was no one else out here. So no one would see him if he just…

He gave a little jump in place, and immediately felt rather foolish. Nobody is watching! He reminded himself. Your life might depend on this!

He tried again, this time reaching for the places where he’d felt that weird, tingly sensation when the doctor had been probing his spiritual pathways. There were several major channels of them, flowing throughout his limbs, forming little whirlpools of energy at certain points, and all flowing towards-- or possibly out from?-- some sort of central point deep within his body. If he jumped this time, while using this pool of energy to give himself a little push…

Lan Zhan went rocketing up into the cool night air. High above the rooftops, he felt his robes flare out dramatically around him as he hung there for a second, and then began to plummet back to earth. He had just enough time for a brief flare of wordless panic, before he grasped wildly for his qi again and somehow managed to slow his fall.

Hm. Maybe a bit more gently. This time, the qi-assisted boost he gave himself was just enough to get him to roof height, and then hover there momentarily, before he allowed himself to descend back to the ground.

Lan Zhan felt a quiet burst of delight. He was actually doing it, he was cultivating! It had felt quite natural to do it, almost instinctive, like his body had built up quite a respectable level of cultivation, and was used to reaching for it regularly. He was sure if he’d had to start from scratch, it would have been a lot harder, but this body already had a fully formed golden core and everything!

He remembered the assertion in Proud Immortal Founder of the Demon Way, that Lan Wangji had been jealous of the protagonist’s prodigious cultivation, and had wanted to sabotage him. But to Lan Zhan, that seemed ridiculous. As a newcomer to this world, there was no way he could manage to be the strongest or most talented cultivator, not without some practice. But to be able to cultivate at all was incredible.

In his previous life, Lan Zhan couldn’t precisely be called competitive. But rather, he’d known what he was good at, and strived to become even better. He didn’t worry about what other people were doing, the only standards that mattered were his own, and those of his uncle. In this life, he thought it would be much the same. He wanted to be good at cultivation, because it seemed like a worthwhile thing to work towards. But there was no point in trying to impede other people’s progress simply to make himself look better. In the end, he didn’t care how he looked to other people. He’d still know whether he was actually succeeding or not.

With this in mind, Lan Zhan practiced a few more jumps in the privacy of the empty courtyard. He managed to do some flips in mid-air, and didn’t even seem to get dizzy from it. Then he decided it was probably time to be moving on. It was nearly fully dark, and he didn’t want to be late for his meeting with the protagonist.

--

With the System’s help, Lan Zhan soon found the spot he needed to be in. There was a sort of upper balcony on one building, which gave a pretty good view out over the Cloud Recesses. Given that the Lan sect were all very well-behaved and went to bed early, and there were supposed to be wards preventing people from entering the area outside of curfew, Lan Zhan was not entirely sure what kind of wrongdoing he was expected to find on his patrol. If he didn’t already know the protagonist was going to attempt to sneak in after hours, he was sure he’d probably find the whole exercise pretty pointless. As it was, he simply stood on the balcony for a while, and watched clouds pass over the face of the moon. He also took a moment to smooth down his hair after his earlier acrobatics, and make sure his forehead ribbon was on straight.

He was alerted to the protagonist’s presence by the sound of a grunt as someone hoisted their body over the ridge of a roof, then the gentle clinking of ceramic jars, and a muffled giggle.

And there… there was the protagonist, Wei Wuxian. Right there in the flesh. He wasn’t looking in Lan Zhan’s direction, but rather gazing out over the courtyard below. He was maybe a little shorter than Lan Zhan had pictured him, and he looked very young, but his mischievous expression was exactly as expected.

Of course he looks young, he’s still a teenager like me at this point, thought Lan Zhan. Wait, is he even old enough to be buying alcohol? Lan Zhan knew some kids whose parents were fine with them drinking, but his uncle would have grounded him until he was thirty for trying to sneak alcohol into the house. Much less into somebody else’s house! That was just rude.

The protagonist jumped in surprise when he spotted Lan Zhan’s impassive figure on the balcony. “What a coincidence! We meet again!”

Lan Zhan was in no way prepared to actually be spoken to by the protagonist, and simply stared at him.

“Lan-er-gongzi, you’re out at this hour!” Wei Wuxian tried again. “Are you going to admire the moon?”

As a matter of fact, he had been doing exactly that, but he couldn’t just say that. He would be docked some points for breaking character for sure.

“Lan-er-gongzi,” said the protagonist, persistent in the face of adversity, “I came for my shijie. Oh! I found the invitation! It’s right here, I’ll show you.” He began to rummage inside his robes, presumably for said invitation. This confirmed Lan Zhan’s earlier suspicions that he had indeed met with the Jiang disciples earlier.

“Breaking through the wards is a violation of the Lan clan’s principles,” he said. He had to say something, and this was roughly what he remembered the rules-obsessed Lan Wangji having said. Really, that was a pretty mild rebuke, considering that Wei Wuxian had essentially just done the magical equivalent of throwing a rock through the Lan sect’s window. “Those who come at night should not be allowed in until the morning. Two violations of the Lan Clan’s principles. Unauthorised carrying of liquor. Three violations of the Lan Clan’s principles.”

The protagonist did not look thrilled by this stony reception. “Lan-er-gongzi, I am new to the Gusu Lan Clan, and not familiar with the rules. But I swear, these things won’t happen again!” As he said this, he held up three fingers in an earnest salute. Of course, having read the original novel, Lan Zhan knew he absolutely didn’t mean it. “Also, I was just in a hurry to find Jiang Cheng and shijie.” A calculating look stole over his face. “How about this? Just let me in for a glimpse. Just one glimpse!”

Seeming to consider the matter settled, the protagonist got to his feet. Acting purely on instinct, Lan Zhan vaulted over the edge of the balcony, and thrust his sword out to block the protagonist’s path. It slid a short way out of the scabbard, revealing a length of shining blade. The protagonist gave a nervous laugh.

“Well then, the Emperor’s Smile, I will spare you one pot,” he said, holding up one of the ceramic jars that were looped over the end of his sword. “Forget about this, deal?”

[That’s bribery!] the System sang out helpfully. [That is also a violation of the Lan clan’s rules!]

This actually… genuinely annoyed Lan Zhan! He may not have agreed with all of the original Lan Wangji’s actions or motivations, but the rules were the rules, and Wei Wuxian had broken them. But instead of apologising for his ignorance, he’d assumed Lan Zhan was so weak willed and dishonourable that he could be persuaded to reverse his decision with a jar of alcohol! “Attempting to bribe a law enforcer,” Lan Zhan snapped. “Doubly guilty.” Law enforcer, maybe he was taking himself a bit too seriously, but breaking the rules was a pretty serious matter.

“Lan-er-gongzi, are you seriously so inflexible?” the protagonist complained. “When we were at the gate, you put the silence spell on me for no reason! You are somehow responsible for that case, right?” saying this, he pushed Lan Zhan’s sword back into its scabbard, and attempted to leave again.

Lan Zhan didn’t need the System to tell him that he could not let the protagonist just run off like that. He thrust out his sword in much the same way as before-- and then found himself twisting back from Wei Wuxian’s block, and coming around for another strike. Before Lan Zhan could really comprehend what was happening, they were fighting, actually fighting! Wei Wuxian was blocking and ducking under his slashes, then tumbling up and out of the way.

Lan Zhan remembered how to jump, of course. And he remembered how to use his qi to keep that momentum up, as he soared through the air after Wei Wuxian’s graceful, fleeing figure. They faced each other from opposite sides of the roof, as Wei Wuxian eyed him consideringly. Lan Zhan couldn’t help but wonder what he saw.

“I’m occupied today. Excuse me,” the protagonist said. His perfect veneer of audacity hadn’t been so much as chipped by their fight. He turned and fled once more, and once more Lan Zhan gave chase. They clashed again, and this time Lan Zhan actually managed to sever the cord connecting the two jars of Emperor’s Smile. The protagonist dived off the roof to catch them, but he missed one, and it shattered on the white gravel path below.

“Lan Wangji!” the protagonist called out, all pretense at politeness abandoned. “Pay for my Emperor’s Smile!”

Lan Zhan leapt down from the roof after him. He was glad now he’d gotten in a bit of practice earlier, as he now managed to make a perfectly elegant landing. Composing his face into a stern glare, he stared the protagonist down. As he did so, he noticed something he hadn’t seen earlier.

“Turn around,” he ordered.

“Ah? What’s this?” said Wei Wuxian, walking over to study it more closely.

It was a large block of stone, with column upon column of writing carved into it. These were of course the famous rules of the Gusu Lan sect. Lan Zhan realised he’d better take a look over them himself, at some point, if he was going to be trying to enforce them.

“The principles of the Gusu Lan Clan,” Lan Zhan answered.

The protagonist was astonished. “This many?” he said, sounding horrified. He clutched his remaining jar of Emperor’s Smile protectively to his chest.

“Put the alcohol down,” said Lan Zhan. “Since you came for the lecture, let’s count how many principles you have violated tonight.” He paused. He knew there were at least four by now. Wasn’t there some rule about not fighting, too? But that probably didn’t count, since Lan Zhan had actually started the fight! Oh no, had he just added “hypocrite” to the list of scum villain Lan Wangji’s numerous misdeeds?

The protagonist shook his head and scoffed. “Well, I’m so fortunate that I wasn’t born into the stiff and horrible Gusu Lan Clan.” With that, he took the opportunity to run off again, leaping over to a nearby roof. He then sat down in a most inelegant manner. “Liquor is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses. Well, I can stay outside and sit here to drink! This won’t count, right?” Saying this, he unstoppered his jar, and tipped a stream of clear, fragrant liquor into his mouth.

Lan Zhan was infuriated. Now he knew how the System had felt earlier, when he’d tried to argue technicalities with it! The protagonist’s behaviour had seemed amusing as a reader, but from this position, Lan Zhan was beginning to find him impossibly smug and arrogant! Who would make such a big deal about not being permitted to drink alcohol? Just apologise and follow the rules next time!

“So disobedient!” Lan Zhan snapped. He felt his hand, held behind his back, clench into a fist.

“The female cultivators in every clan are all admiring the famous Lan-er-gongzi!” the protagonist called down from the roof. The return to Lan Zhan’s title was clearly not meant to be a gesture of respect. “What a pity!”

“A pity?” Lan Zhan found himself baffled by these words, and also distracted by a single drop of Emperor’s Smile that had beaded on Wei Wuxian’s chin. What on earth did he mean, about the female cultivators admiring Lan Wangji? That hadn’t been in the original novel!

Wei Wuxian grinned. “What a pity that they don’t know the person they are admiring is relentless, unreasonable, and rigid!” 

Lan Zhan glared. Well, he wasn’t wrong, Lan Wangji certainly was all those things. And maybe Lan Zhan was too! But that was better than being a shameless, disrespectful, irresponsible rule breaker, who tipped illicit alcohol all over his chin!

Ding! went the System. [Would you like to spend 50 B Points to unlock the Lan sect special ability, “Silencing Spell”?]

Yes! Anything to shut this smug protagonist up! Lan Zhan was accepting the offer before he’d even thought it through, or considered the fact that the cost was over half his remaining B Points.

“But it doesn’t matter,” Wei Wuxian continued, like he was giving a speech to a greater audience than just one mad and frustrated teenager glaring up at him from the ground. “When I go back to Yunmeng, I’m going to--”

His words were suddenly cut off, and his lips appeared inseparably sealed together! Lan Zhan had cast the silencing spell!

Wei Wuxian leapt back down from the roof, and got up in Lan Zhan’s personal space. He was able to make inarticulate noises of protest, though it appeared somewhat painful to do so, but he could neither continue with his speech nor drink any more of his Emperor’s Smile.

Lan Zhan had won. This fact was suddenly more important to him than the story, or his original plan not to get on the protagonist’s bad side. He’d made his point, and now he was going to take Wei Wuxian to receive the proper punishment.

[Congratulations! Achievement “Youthful Rivalry” unlocked! 200 B Points awarded!]

“Let’s go,” Lan Zhan said, turning on his heel to walk off. The protagonist, inexplicably, followed him.

[agentmanatee]

AOS 30 Day Challenge

Day 15: Saddest Death(s): Eric Koenig, Hope Mackenzie, and Leopold Fitz

Honorable mentions: Antoinne Triplett, Raina, Rosalind Pryce, Andrew Garner, Charles Hinton, Lincoln Campbell, Agnes Kitsworth, Holden Radcliffe, Glenn Talbot, Phil Coulson, Melinda May (even if it never stuck)

This show has had a lot of pain, including many deaths. It also makes a point to show how the losses affect the surviving characters. Eric could have only served to reveal Ward to the team, but the writers and Patton Oswalt made him more than that. He was a brother before we was an agent and a brother to his fellow agents. He and his family are some of the most trustworthy people in the MCU. Just ask Nick Fury, who entrusted secret bases to them. Losing a loved one is the worst feeling and Eric left behind 3 brothers and a sister. They weren't only brothers but quadruplets, so his loss must have been especially hard for his brothers. Sam, Billy, and LT dig their heels in and fought for Shield and their lost brother, but Thurston blamed Shield. I wonder what his feeling about Shield were before Eric was killed. On other shows, he would never be mentioned past season 1, but of AOS his absence was not able in an episode focusing on the Koenigs.

Mack lost Hope twice thanks to the Framework, and both versions of Hope count here. My parents lost a child to anencephaly, and my great aunt's daughter was buried before she got to hold her (Don't worry, she told her pastor she was excited about meeting her when in hospice), and while they didn't talk about it a lot they always felt it. I'm certain losing a child is the worst pain. So Mack had to first lose her in his life before getting to know her and losing her in the Framework. That scene was the among the shows most heartbreaking. She's crying about not wanting to die and he's holding her until she disappears from his very arms, all while YoYo watches helplessly. How could Mack nor be haunted by that moment? What's even worse is that the pain of that experience made Mack feel like a bad father. She wasn't real but the experience of being her father was. Poor Mack.

Speaking of Mack in gut-wrenching scenes: We have to talk about Fitz. I know a lot of people talk about how it was easier knowing there was another Fitz who belongs to the new timeline, but I can't think that is true for the characters. That would make the grieving process harder and messier. It's good that Mack insisted on a service because they would have regretted it if they didn't. May seemed to be the only one not using denial by the time s6 roles around ("Does [Deke] know about Fitz?"..."we don't know we lost him yet"). Mack and May helplessly watched their very real friend, who was like a brother to him and a child to her, die in front of them. How many times have we seen May cry? What's more is Mack had been arguing with Fitz and implied he was becoming a bad man before this; they never got a chance to make up like Fitz knew they would. With Jemma's memory, we got to see the team's reactions. Daisy's shock was palpable. That she would never forgive him doesn't change how much she loved him, and he died before she could make sure he knew that. He knew he could make amends with Mack, but did he know Daisy did still care about him and loved him? He certainly deserved the anger she directed at him but not the treatment [locking him up and not letting(wanting) him (to) help, quaking him into a wall, calling him Hydra (before what he did to and knowing he was unknowningly held by Hydra's last head for 6 months to boot)], and she likely felt some retroactive guilt since he did die soon shortly after. She may have felt some guilt even if her feeling were right for her situation and her actions understandable. Actually, knowing Daisy there would be misplaced guilt somewhere there. We are talking about the Shield team here. And Coulson, leaving his sick bed because he "had to see him" and just standing over the body in grief and reverence, thinking of these things he said and the things he never got to say, how he would never have a chance to see him again. Ugh 😢😢😢😢😢😢