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mypoisonedvine · 4 years

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Ties That Bind, Debts That Burden | Curtis Everett x reader

for @stargazingfangirl18 and @navybrat817‘s august challenge! my prompt was the gif!

summary: you didn’t expect the man who bought you to be so kind. you didn’t expect to fall for him, either.

warnings: death of a parent character, kidnapping, implied noncon/mentions of noncon, sexism, sexual slavery (mentioned), dub con (but not in the way you’re expecting), implied age gap (everyone is over 18!! as always!!), semi-public sex, breeding kink, loss of virginity, pain kink (slightly)

word count: a bit over 4k (and I wrote it all in one day... hey that rhymes!)

[this is another one of those things where the fic itself is dark due to the subject matter, but the character in question is not ‘dark’ in the traditional sense. so, curtis is a good dude, it’s everyone else that sucks; this is a dark fic tonally, but not sexually per se]

Life in the tail section was ruthless. It was all about survival, and survival was about being stronger than others. You weren’t strong. What you did have was your father, and he had kept you safe all your life, even before the two of you had lived in this terrible place. He was a sort of leader; people looked up to him, and as a result, they obeyed his wishes to stay away from you. Even so, you could sense that a lot of the men in the train were just waiting for their chance to take you. Women who didn’t have significant skills to offer, women like you, were seen as a commodity with only one purpose. Less like wives and more like slaves, they were traded, sold, and bartered for like clothes or rations. It made you feel sick, but most of all it made you terrified for what would happen when your father couldn’t protect you anymore. He was strong, but old, and so tired. You hated to see how hard he had to work so late into his life, just so that you wouldn’t have to suffer.

When he died, it almost didn’t feel real. Even though it was sort of expected with the way his health had been declining for months, it was nothing you ever could’ve imagined. A world without your father meant a world you were truly alone in… and only now did you confront the real cruelty of life in the tail section.

You woke up to being dragged by your hair; you screamed and kicked, but there was little you could do as you were thrown down onto the floor. Your worthless fighting was muted as rags were used to bind your wrists and ankles, and a gag silenced you. You looked up to see you were surrounded by men, with one-- you were pretty sure his name was Jamie, you’d seen him around before-- standing up and hovering over you.

“Her father is finally dead!” he announced to the crowd with a dirty smile that was missing a few teeth. “I got my hands on her first, but I’m willing to sell her to any reasonable bidders.”

“Five rations,” one voice quickly jutted in.

“Five-- what the fuck are you talking about, man? Everyone’s been drooling over this little tart for years and you offer me five rations?! Get a grip,” Jamie spat.

“Twenty,” another called out.

“Getting warmer,” Jamie laughed. “Come on, boys, she’s never known a man before. This is truly a priceless opportunity.”

“Thirty!”

“Thirty-three!”

“Best I can do is thirty-five.”

“This is preposterous,” Jamie scoffed. “She’s a virgin, and look how cute she is when she cries! If nobody’s gonna make me a suitable offer,” he growled, suddenly grabbing you by your neck and putting his face right against yours, “maybe I’ll keep you for myself, hm?”

You sobbed and tried to squirm away but it was beyond useless, your bound limbs overpowered easily as he held you down and licked a stripe up the side of your face, just to hear you scream behind your gag.

“I’ll take her,” a deep voice boomed suddenly. “A hundred rations.”

“A-- what?” Jamie stammered.

You tried to look around at who it was but you couldn’t see very well in the dark.

“It’s more than enough,” the man continued. “Hand her over.”

“Curtis,” Jamie greeted awkwardly, and your eyes went wide with recognition, “I… didn’t take you for the bartering type.”

That was an understatement. You knew Curtis, like some of the more chivalrous men of the back car, was a long-standing boycotter of this sort of activity. He didn’t even seem interested in the women who wanted to sleep with him, let alone those who were being sold against their will. Seemed like his patience had worn out, and he was finally giving in to his biological needs, no matter who would suffer cruelty along the way. Just your luck that it would be you for sale when he gave up on his morals.

“I didn’t take you for the type to stall when he’s offered a great deal,” Curtis replied coldly. “Now give me the girl and take your payment.”

Something must have changed hands, but you were too busy staring at the corrugated steel floor and hoping it was all a dream that would end any moment.

You lurched back as Jamie picked you up again, tossing you to Curtis who caught you awkwardly.

“Have fun with her,” Jamie encouraged, “make sure it’s loud enough so we can all hear; a little consolation prize for the rest of us.”

Curtis said nothing as he turned and dragged you to his bunk, ignoring your muffled pleas. When he set you down, he kneeled beside you and put a hand on each shoulder to brace you.

“I’m going to take off this gag, and your ties,” he offered, “but you need to stop crying, okay? Everything will be alright. I won’t hurt you.”

You weren’t sure you believed that, but you tried to steady your breathing. Maybe if you did what he said, he would be gentle with you…

You nodded slowly, and he untied the gag. Your sore mouth appreciated the reprieve as you wiggled your mouth around to stretch your lips. You had sort of assumed that whoever bought you would leave the restraints on, so that you wouldn’t fight back. But Curtis was so strong and healthy, he didn’t even need to bind you: your body tensed up again at that realization.

“Shh, shh, calm down,” he requested as he worked on the knot around your feet, “you don’t need to be afraid of me.”

Finally your limbs were freed, though that freedom was wasted on exhaustedly falling to the cold steel floor.

“Use this rag to clean off a little,” he instructed, handing you a cloth that had been soaked in water, “and go back to sleep for the night.”

“You… you’re not going to…?” you murmured, confused.

“I don’t believe in enslavement,” he shook his head. “Your father was a good man; he did a lot for me, even when I had nothing to offer him in return. He told me to pay him back by keeping you safe after he was gone.”

You hadn’t realized your father knew Curtis so well. You’d seen him around, sure, but he was more a stranger than anything.

“Thank you…” you whispered, your voice hoarse and ragged.

“You need to rest,” he whispered back. “You can sleep in my bed-- someone’s already claimed yours, I’m sure. I’ll be on the floor beside you if you need me.”

Your cheeks burned with guilt. “Curtis, don’t do that. You spent so much on me... I don’t want to be any more of a burden.”

“Don’t worry about that now,” he soothed, “we can talk in the morning. Get your sleep.”

After washing yourself hastily with the rag (focusing most on wherever Jamie had touched you), you slipped into the sheets on his mattress, finding him different from the ones you were used to, but comfortable in spite of the unfamiliarity.

Curtis settled in on the floor, and in the near-darkness you could just make out the silhouette of his face as he closed his eyes and relaxed against a roll of tattered clothes as an improvised pillow. You’d always thought he was handsome, and the impression you’d gotten was that he was patient, and honorable, but kept to himself. You could remember just a few nights ago when you never could’ve imagined this being your new life. Although you did wonder if Curtis was simply waiting for the morning to claim you, in the meantime you decided to take him at his word and just be thankful that someone seemingly kind had bought you instead of Jamie or his fellow bidders.

Two weeks later...

If anything, it was odd how little Curtis had asked of you. He didn’t even really talk to you. Even your father expected you to help him with anything you could; sometimes it was just keeping him company, listening to him. But Curtis all but avoided you. All that said, his presence was rarely needed to keep you safe. People respected your father, but they feared Curtis. He wasn’t violent-- well, he wasn’t violent typically. Nearly a week ago he had gone to fisticuffs for you after a man had tried to grope you. The weird thing was that you hadn’t even realized Curtis was nearby: one moment you were alone and being pulled into a stranger’s oppressive form as he purred in your ear, the next Curtis had appeared and shoved him off of you. That seemed to get the point across that Curtis’ things were not to be touched.

Feeling guilty, you decided to do whatever chores you could think of while he was away from his ‘room’ (which was, of course, not a room at all but a bed draped with a canopy of tattered fabric in order to create some privacy). You waited for his return with a little smile on your face, sure he would be grateful for your service and maybe would start to warm up to you more.

“Hi, Curtis,” you greeted with a peppy grin when you saw him approaching, jumping up from where you had been sitting.

“You washed my clothes,” he noticed instantly.

Your smile fell when you realized that he wasn’t happy. “Did I do something wrong?” you asked sheepishly.

“You are not my slave; I cannot make that more clear,” he frowned. “Never do a chore on my behalf again.”

“Please, Curtis. You’ve done so much for me, just let me prove my usefulness.”

“You want to be useful? Stay out of harm’s way.”

“Oh, I see,” you sneered, “you don’t want me to do your chores because I am your chore. Is that all you see me as? A debt you are repaying to my father?”

He seemed confused by that question. “What else could I see you as?”

“A partner!” you protested. “A woman!”

He grabbed you suddenly, pulling you into him by your wrists. “Stop talking like that. I won’t hear any more of it. Just stay quiet and take care of yourself.”

He dropped you as you began to cry, crumpling into a ball on the floor.

“Don’t cry,” he frowned. “Why could you be crying, when all I told you was that you don’t have to do anything?”

“I suppose I should be thankful that you’re not sadistic,” you explained with a shaky, weak voice, “but you’re still plenty cruel to me, I hope you know that. You ignore me completely-- and no one else will talk to me, because they’re afraid to upset you. I’ve never been so alone.”

He sighed and sat down beside you on the floor. “I never meant to…” he trailed off. “I bought you to save you from them. Not because I had any purpose for you.”

“I have no purpose,” you stated plainly, moving from sad to stoic. “Don’t you hear how sad that sounds? Can you blame me for being upset when you’re telling me straight to my face that I’m useless?”

He seemed to at least see where you were coming from with that, looking to the side with an oddly guilty look in his eyes.

Suddenly, he reached to pull up his shirt and you gasped when you saw a cut along his side.

“I fell,” he explained, “and scraped against something.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you comforted to the best of your ability, “I hope it’s not giving you too much trouble.”

“It’s not, but I’m worried it’ll get infected.”

You thought for a moment. “I could… help you clean it?”

“Sure,” he nodded, “that would be nice. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” you shrugged as you grabbed a rag to dampen. “I’ll be right back.”

You cleaned his wound in silence, carefully washing away the dried blood, even when he sucked in breaths through his teeth as you touched the sensitive places. The task at hand distracted you from your previous outburst; this was exactly proof of why you needed things to do, you’d go crazy otherwise.

“I don’t think it’ll need stitches,” you informed him as you put the rag away and rolled his shirt back down. “We’ll just clean it again tomorrow and I bet that’ll be enough.”

“Good,” he nodded.

The day was winding down to a close already, and you looked around to see a lot of the people nearby starting to prepare for bed, if they weren’t already on their mattresses with their eyes and ears covered to block out the distractions of those still awake.

“I think you should take the bed tonight, since you’re injured,” you offered. Up until now, you’d been alternating nights on the floor; it was the only compromise you two could come to.

“I couldn’t ask you to sleep on the ground two nights in a row,” he shook his head.

“You’re not asking me to. I’m telling you that I will.”

“I won’t take the bed.”

You crossed your arms and grinned stubbornly. “Then we’ll both be on the floor.”

“Fine,” he sighed with defeat, “I’ll take the bed, but only if you share it with me. I can never sleep well when all I can think about is how cold and uncomfortable you must be.”

You were surprised to hear that, because you had always felt the same way on the nights you were in the bed. Seemed both of you were getting worse sleep than you let on.

“F-fine,” you stammered, realizing how little space the two of you would have to work with on the mattress, “we’ll share it then.”

“Might help with the cold anyway,” he shrugged as he stood up, removing his outermost layer of clothes before slipping behind the curtain that surrounded the bed. You swallowed, as if you hadn’t realized until now that you were going to be in bed with him so soon.

You removed your jacket as well; even though you normally liked to sleep in something less bulky than the dress you were wearing now, you figured he would protest if you were in any state of undress while sharing a bed with him.

As you pulled the curtain aside, you found him already on the farther side of the bed, facing away from you. He was so far off the edge that he surely would’ve fallen if there wasn’t a wall on the other side.

“Curtis, you’re twice my size and you’ve left nearly two-thirds of the bed for me,” you chuckled, slipping into the covers with him and noticing how much space was still left between you. “Relax, won’t you?”

“Alright,” he relented, laying back a little as his shoulder brushed against yours.

“Goodnight, Curtis,” you mumbled as you settled in and got as comfortable as could be reasonably expected, letting your eyes fall shut. Sure, it took awhile, but with a forced relaxation you were able to drift to sleep and stay that way for quite some time.

At some point, you awoke to the softest noise beside you. At first you thought it was just your dream, but then you heard it again-- Curtis was breathing strangely, and you jumped up when you heard a strained noise of pain.

“Curtis!” you hissed into the dark. “Are you hurt? Is everything alright?”

“What?” he stammered, jolting away from you.

“You were--” you started to explain, but then you realized he was palming at his trousers; specifically, he was stuffing his cock back into them. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, “I didn’t-- sometimes you just-- I never meant to--”

“Are you feeling… frustrated?” you asked him softly, moving a little closer to where he was pressing himself back against the wall.

“It’s fine,” he assured you, “I’m fine.”

“Let me help you,” you pleaded. “I wanted to help you so much, but there was nothing I could do. Let me do this, please. I want you to feel good…”

“Your father, I promised him--” he began, but you interrupted.

“Don’t talk about my father,” you requested. “You kept your promise. I’m safe. Let me thank you for all you’ve done.”

Your hand reached out and made contact with his heaving chest through the thin layer of his shirt, beginning to trail down over his stomach and finally to the hard outline inside his trousers.

“W-wait,” he stuttered quietly, even though you felt him quietly sigh with relief as you palmed at his erection.

“I don’t want to wait anymore,” you whispered-- so quiet even you could barely hear it-- as you leaned in and your nose brushed against his cheek. “I wanted you for so long, Curtis, did you not know? Wanted to touch you… wanted to make love with you…”

He let out a long-held breath as you reached into his trousers and wrapped your arm around his length. It was so hot in your palm; it warmed you in the most intoxicating way.

“R-really?” he murmured.

“Of course I did,” you answered, moving your hand and slowly stroking him. God, the poor man must’ve been so pent-up: he was bucking into your touch already, his cock so hard that you wondered if it was hurting him. “Every woman on the train lusts for you. To have you so close and not be able to do anything about it, it was torture.”

“Nothing compared to what it was like,” he groaned softly, “to want to have you for so long and feel horrible for it.”

You began to pump his cock faster, seeking more of those beautiful noises he was making. The way his length flexed against your palm made arousal tingle all throughout your body.

His hand slipped to the back of your neck, his fingertips brushing up against your hairline and making you shiver. He whispered your name and you felt like putty in his hands, so distracted by your own need that the pace of your strokes faltered briefly.

The two of you stayed like that for a few moments longer-- foreheads pressed together, shivering and shaking and panting in each other’s arms-- before a rush of adrenaline gave you the confidence to speak.

“I want it inside me,” you whispered against his ear. “Please, Curtis, I want you inside me.”

You swung your leg over to straddle him, pushing yourself up off of his chest. He whispered your name with shock as you lifted your tattered dress and pulled it over your shoulders.

“Touch me,” you begged. “Didn’t you want to? I wondered if you did. I wondered how your hands would feel…” you trailed off as you grabbed his wrists and guided his hands to your waist. They were strong and rough, and so hot against your skin that you thought you might just burn up right there. He moved them on his own then, sliding them up to your breasts which he gently grasped. You sighed a little and melted into his touch.

His thumbs teased your nipples, which were already hard and alert. You tried your best to suppress your moans, aware that many other passengers were sleeping nearby. Secretly, the idea that they would hear Curtis pleasuring you was almost titillating. You hoped it would make them all jealous.

“You’re so soft,” he whispered, “and… smooth…”

“Did you long for me?” you asked, your curiosity getting the better of you.

“Yes,” he finally admitted, “yes, I wanted you. I want you now.”

You reached down and grasped his cock again, guiding it to your wet, swollen opening. He made a noise that sounded something like a whimper and a groan as the head of his cock moved through your folds.

As you sunk down, you tried to ignore the burn of his cock stretching you open, though a pained whimper escaped your lips.

Curtis’ hands gripped your hips tight enough to bruise as you slowly took more and more of him into you. His head fell back with a groan, lost in the way your walls gripped him tighter than he thought possible. In that moment, he wanted more than anything to hold you close and never let go.

You shivered as your hips met his, feeling full in a way you could’ve never imagined. It still stung as he forged a new path inside you, moulded you to his shape, but you didn’t mind because it was him.

You were so weak that you struggled to lift yourself on top of him, but he gently guided you to lessen your load. Your body adjusted to him rather slowly, and every time you rocked your hips made you hiss with discomfort along with the sparks of pleasure burning through your gut. Even when it hurt, you wanted more; if nothing else, the noises of his restrained ecstasy spurred you on.

Leaning down, you laid yourself on his chest so that you could hear him better, and him you. His arms wrapped around you and you felt small; normally, feeling small meant feeling weak, vulnerable, scared… but in his arms, it was wonderful. You felt vulnerable, yes, but protected.

Your name tumbled from his lips like a whispered chant as you moved on top of him, and you whispered his name back. The way his cock rubbed against your insides felt so good that you couldn’t even remember that it hurt before, but then again, you couldn’t remember anything from before right now and you didn’t want to.

Your moans got louder and louder, though they were still relatively quiet, but either way they were like music to his ears, sweet and soft and all for him-- just like you.

“S-stop,” he groaned, “you have to stop.”

“Why?” you gasped, feeling a little guilty for not instantly obeying, and yet too lost in pleasure to stop moving your hips.

“If you don’t stop, I’ll come,” he explained breathlessly, “and you could get pregnant.”

You bit your lip, feeling your face warm with an emotion you were sure you hadn’t experienced before. “What if that’s what I want?”

“Fuck,” he sighed.

“What if I want you to come inside me? What if I want to have your baby?” you continued.

You managed to suppress your yelp as he grabbed you and flipped you both over until you were on your back and he was hovering over you.

“Is that what you want?” he asked with a low growl.

“Yes,” you gasped, “Curtis, it’s all I ever wanted.”

“Fuck,” he moaned, pulling back and thrusting into you again. He lifted your legs to rest on his shoulders, nearly folding you in half as he fucked into you so deep that you could scream. You didn’t, but you wanted to. “Gonna fill you up so good… you’re gonna be so full,” he promised, “you’re gonna be mine.”

“I already am,” you promised, “I always was.”

He leaned down to dominate your lips with a searing kiss, fucking you deep and slow but with an increasing ferocity. Each thrust was harder than the last until the most prominent sound was the slapping of skin, your arousal so prominent that it was beginning to leak and drip down your thighs and ass.

“Tell me who you belong to,” he growled, right against your ear.

“You,” you moaned, “I belong to you, Curtis.”

“Fuck yeah you do.”

You gripped his arms tight as you felt your walls spasming with your orgasm-- it was unlike anything you’d felt before, even though you’d touched yourself plenty of times up until now. Already you knew you were going to be addicted to this feeling. Poor Curtis; you were going to be begging him to fuck you day and night if this was how good it felt.

The tightening of your body around him, and the way you bit down on your lip to keep from screaming with pleasure… it was all too much for him to hold back any more, and with a stuttered groan he spilled himself into you.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into another kiss. He relaxed on top of you as he reciprocated, both of you basking in the glow of the moment.

“Don’t pull out yet,” you pleaded as the kiss ended, “just hold me a little longer, won’t you?”

“Of course,” he smiled softly, placing one small, delicate kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Did you really want me for so long, like you said?” you pressed, remembering what he’d said and fearing it was just a sweet nothing in the heat of the moment.

“You have no idea how long,” he sighed. “I dreamed of this; of you being mine.”

“Was it everything you imagined?”

“And more,” he assured with a soft laugh. “Best hundred rations I ever spent.”

#how did this turn out so fluffy??? lmao #curtis everett x reader #curtis everett smut #chris evans x reader #chris evans smut #ehhh that's enough tags right?#shamelesshoesforchris

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headcans-oneshots-and-stuff · 4 years

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Changes... (Batsis OS)

Warning: Angst, self-degradation, OOC Bruce, Angst again, body-shaming (mentioned) Word count: 3094 Summary: Your family notices that you start to change. When you deny the changes they start to investigate... What they find doesn’t make them happy.

This was requested by an astonishing Anon: Hi! First of all, I love your blog! I was wondering if you could write about the bat family defending their bat sister from a fat-shaming boyfriend. Please and Thank you!! 😁 A/N: This went way further and into a completely different direction than I had expected...But I still like it and I hope so will you. It’s not really about the defending and more about the consoling, but I added some defending (more or less) at the end. I also knowingly tried not to actually say what body type the reader has so that everyone can imagine they’re own version. Body shaming can go in both directions after all.

Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. They couldn't quite put their finger on it, but something about the way you acted and held yourself seemed different to your family. Other than one would think it wasn't one of your siblings who lived with you who noticed it first. Maybe it was because they actively tried to ignore it, or it was because they didn't want you to be different than usual, but nonetheless, the person who noticed first was Duke. Ever since he became the signal, ever since he became part of the family, you, as the heart and soul of Wayne Manor, made it your personal quest to make him feel included. And as part of this quest, the two of you met up bi-weekly for- how you called them- "brother-sister-dates". You always made 100% sure to cancel everything else in order to attend. So when you cancelled one, saying you didn't feel well and that you'd make it up to him the next time, he was confused. But it wasn't enough to worry him. But when you cancelled the next date because you had "other business that just couldn't wait," was when it started to bother him. But he didn't have any real proof that there was something wrong so he couldn't do anything but mentioned it to the rest of the family when they were going through Gotham on your day off.

It was then that the rest started to realize it too. At first, they saw little changes. That you went to your room almost every day as soon as you came home. That you sat there quiet when it was time to eat dinner. That your smile stopped reaching your eyes. It was almost uncanny. But when they asked you about it, you smiled and waved it off. Said things like: "Don't be silly, everything is alright," or "Don't worry your pretty little heads, I'm fine." That calmed them for a while, but it still gnarled on their minds. But then the big changes came. You started to stay out after school longer, coming back in the evening saying- much to Alfred dismay- that you've already eaten. You asked Bruce to be excused from Patrol for a while, saying that you didn't feel like you were on top of your game and since he also realized that something was wrong, but didn't know what to do about it, he allowed it, saying that a few weeks without you, while you were training, wouldn't be a problem. The biggest change where your clothes. You usually wore things with fun, colourful prints on them. Dresses with roses and tulips. Skirts with numbers and signs. Blouses with Avocados on them. And you usually wore fitting pumps or sneakers. Some people would compare the way you dressed to how they imagined a modern fairy to dress. But now... Now you wore dull oversized sweaters over duller oversized shirts with grey, black or dark-blue jeans and black shoes. Jason recognized some sweaters to be his, others looked like they could be from Bruce himself. It was like you were trying to disappear in the fabric. But again, when they asked you, you found a way to escape the question. It was then that they had enough. Something was very, very wrong with you and they intended to fix it. They wanted their sunshine back. Their Y/N. And so the trailing began. After a rather violent fight about who would be the best choice, it was Cass who was waiting on the roof of Gotham Acadamy for the bell to ring and you to leave school. What happened after wasn't what she expected. When you stepped out of the building there was a boy walking along with you. He had his arm around your shoulder and smiled at you, but- even though you also smiled- your whole posture told Cass that you felt uncomfortable and inferior. The two of you walked to an old, rusty car parked on the school ground and got into it, immediately driving away. It was easy for your sister to keep up with the car, but something bothered her. Here and there she caught glimpses of you on the passenger seat and there was a darkness in your eyes that made her blood boil. The car stopped at an apartment building in one of Gotham's nicer neighbourhoods and the boy, who held your wrist tightly and dragged you along as if you were an in-obedient dog, entered and drove with the elevator to one of the higher level apartments. With some swift movements, Cass found herself standing on one of the windowsills that allowed insight into a room that seemed to belong to a boy your age and was this highly likely to belong to whoever you went with after school. Her thesis proved positive when the door opened and the boy, still dragging you by the wrist, came storming in. After he had closed the door he finally let you go and Cass noticed how you started rubbing the spot where his hand had been. Her anger started bubbling up further, but she couldn't intervene. She watched as you sat down onto his bad, seemingly making yourself as small as possible, while the boy ravaged through his room. Talking constantly and keeping on making a mess with his things, seemingly no real goal in mind. Sometimes it seems like he asked you questions, but he never waited for an answer, only looking at you annoyed before getting back to what he was doing before. That went on for almost an hour, now and then he stopped on one spot for a few minutes, playing with something or just looking at you with some unidentifiable look in his eyes. You never said a word, never moved either. Then he finally stopped and sat down beside you on his bed. His hand found yours, but you made no move to escape his grin. In fact, you returned the hold and kissed him on his cheek. Cass's eyes widened and she was utterly bewildered when the boy turned his head and his lips met yours in a kiss that would be sweet if the boy wasn't such a brute about it. The hand that didn't grab yours moved to your thigh and harshly grasped it. Cass's hand was raised and she was close to crashing the window and getting you out of his grasp, but then the boy stopped kissing you and moved away. He looked...disappointed. Cass saw that he sighed and she saw the look of displeasure in his eyes and the look of regret in yours. You said something and Cass read the words "I'm sorry," from your lips. That seemed to anger the boy even further and the following conversation- or rather monologue- was loud enough for Cass to hear it through the window. The family really had to do something about this situation.

The sun was already leaving the sky when you came home. You hadn't noticed Cass following you on your way, nor did you notice the eerie quiet filling the manor. You only noticed something was off when you got to your room and found your dad sitting on your bed. He was looking at a picture that usually sat on your bedside table. It depicted a scene that happened on a stormy fall day a few years earlier. You had made big plans to go to a fair with all your siblings, but they all had to cancel because of the weather. The disappointment had been crushing, but Damian, Cass and Tim wouldn't let you stay so sad. They came into your room, told you to get dressed in rainproof clothes and immediately left again. When you came outside in your bright yellow rain boots, jacket and hat, you were welcomed by the sight of your family in matching rain outfits in all different shades of black, red and, in Steph and Babara's case, purple. That was how it came to the picture. On it, you were sitting on Jason's shoulders, your arm around Damian who sat on Dick, with the rest of your family in similar positions beside you, all of you soaking wet. Soaking wet, but happy. Bruce noticed your presence and looked up, meanwhile laying the picture back at its place, a sad smile on his face. He patted the space beside him. You sighed, but complied with his silent demand and sat down beside him. As soon as you were beside him he embraced you with one arm and pulled you to him, laying his chin onto your head and keeping you close. You reciprocated the hug warily, not quite knowing what this could be about. Had something happened? Did someone die? were the thoughts that immediately filled your head. After a few minutes, Bruce let go of you again but kept his hand on your shoulder. "Is-Is everything okay?" you asked worried, your brows furrowed. "Don't worry, everyone's fine, I'm not here to give you any bad messages." "Then why are you here?" you asked, now rather confused by the situation. Your father wasn't a cold man or anything like that, but he wasn't the most emotional person either. you were happy to get a hug or an "I'm proud of you" once in a while, but that was how things were with him. "I noticed," he started, but seemed to wrestle for words, "that you have been absent lately." You flinched, hoping he wouldn't notice, but knowing that he most likely did. It wasn't easy to hide things from the 'greatest detective in the world'. "It's really nothing, okay?" you said softly as if you were the one who comforted him, "I'm a teenager. I'm just going through some girl stuff right now." That was your ace. The 'girl-card'. Something Bruce couldn't quite refute and would hopefully get him off your back for the time being. He would most likely ask one of your sisters to ask you again a few days from now, but you would be able to think something up until then. Now you just wanted some peace. "I know that you're lying," blocked Bruce your excuse with a hesitating voice. It threw you off. "What?" "Listen, I know I should've tried to talk to you first, but," he sighed and you noticed that he took his hand away, "I asked one of your siblings to follow you." Your eyes widened, while what Bruce just said sunk in. "You- You did what?" you asked, your voice trembling dangerously. "We all noticed that something is wrong with you. I didn't know what else to-" "How could you!" you screamed, jumping off of the bed and backing away from Bruce. "Y/N, listen-" "NO! YOU LISTEN! IT'S MY LIFE AND, AS LONG AS I DON'T WANT IT TO BE, IT'S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS WHAT'S GOING ON INSIDE IT!" Now Bruce stood up, trying not to seem threatening, but still towering over you. "Y/N, we are just very worried okay? You're keeping things from us, then you start your wardrobe, and now-" he stopped and looked at you unhappily. His eyes were full of sadness and something that you identified as pity. Seeing that expression cooled you down a bit. Your trembling shoulders coming to a rest. Bruce sat down again and looked at his hands as if you were a wild animal that could be driven away when you got looked at wrong. You stayed where you were, maybe not as furious as before, but still angry. For a while, it stayed silent in your room, neither of you moving from where you were. It was as if time stood still. It was Bruce who broke that stasis. "I know about the boy." Your breath hitched and you crossed your arms in front of your chest, thinking that you knew where this was supposed to go. "I wanted to tell you, okay? We only become an item a few weeks ago, I was still searching for a way," you said somewhat bitterly. "That's not what I meant." "It's not?" now you were confused again. "Then- then what do you mean?" "Cass heard what he said to you. What he called you." Your heart skipped a beat and not in a good way. You wanted to say something, but the words got stuck in your throat and all that was left were the tears build up in your eyes. Bruce was still not looking at you, but you noticed that he was clenching his fist angrily. "How could you just let him say these things to you?" You managed to swallow the lump of unsaid words in your throat, finding the energy to say something. "It's not like that... He- He really loves me," you mumbled, still not being able to fight the tears that now threatened to spill. Your dad finally looked at you with a look of utter unbelief plastered over his face. "How can you think that?" "He told me," you mumbled weakly, avoiding his eyes and sliding down onto the floor below you. "Y/N, sweety, please look at me." You kept looking at the floor, not wanting to see the disappointment in his eyes. "Please," he said again and his shoes came into your field of view. You took a deep breath and rubbed over your eyes to clean them from the tears that fogged your sight. Then you looked up and met the loving, caring eyes of your father. Not the disappointment you expected, you were used to lately. "Y/N you can talk to me." Now the sobs started to shake your body. "He said he loves me," you stated again, this time louder, shaking your head. Bruce sighed again, clearly not happy about the situation and still worried, and sank down beside you, but still keeping some distance between you. "Do you love him," he asked the question that you had been frightened off. "I do," you said firmly, before looking at your hands and at the still slightly red mark on your wrist, before you paddled back: "I-I don't know. I don't think so." "Then why are you with him? It is okay to change your mind, it is okay if you change. You don't have to be with him just because you liked him a week ago, you know that right?" You didn't answer, you didn't look at him, you didn't move. "Y/N?" "I know... but-" you shake your head and returned to your previous silence. "But what?" "It doesn't matter if I love him. I can be happy that he likes me." Bruce was speechless at what you said but quickly caught himself again. "What do you mean?" The sobs started again and you buried your face in your hands. "You know what he says, what he thinks about me... about my body. He says that no one could ever like someone like me." It was hard for Bruce to understand your muffled speech, but the parts that he understood combined with what Cass had told him about was enough for him to know what you were talking about. "Oh honey," he mumbled and engulfed you in his arms, pulling your sobbing form into his chest "Why would you ever believe him?" Even though he asked a question, he knew not to expect an answer. And he knew it anyways. When someone you liked, even if it was not romantically yet, told you again and again that you were too fat/thin, ugly, a disgrace... After a while, you'd start to believe it. "I know this might sound hard to believe right now, but you're beautiful the way you are. You don't have to change for someone who doesn't deserve you. And if you ever feel the way you do right now, I want you to know that you can come to me, come to everyone in this family, and we will tell you just how amazing you are," Bruce mumbled into your hair, loud enough for you to hear, in a soothing manner. As if on cue the door fell open and your siblings all came tumbling in. And seeing the great vigilantes of the bat family laying on top of each other on the floor managed to get you to let out a mix between a sob and a giggle. Maybe it was time for you to come back to your family...

After the talk with Bruce (and later your siblings and Alfred who all wanted to let you know just how much they loved you), you stayed home for a few days with your father's permission to get back to your old self, not answering a single call or message from your (now Ex-)boyfriend. But you couldn't stay out of school forever so your siblings made a plan. They'd deal with that douche of the equivalent of human trash. Obviously (since some of them were grown-ups with jobs and responsibilities) not all of them were able to come, but the next Monday morning when you, Damian and Cass left the car and stepped onto the school ground, Jason, Tim, Duke and Harper were already waiting near the brick wall surrounding Gotham Academy. When they saw the three off you, they came over and immediately encircled you like your small private army. You slightly rolled your eyes at them, knowing that they couldn't just walk with you through school the whole day, but smiled nonetheless. That smile faltered when you saw him standing in the entrance, looking angry. Around the same time you caught sight of him, he saw you and immediately started to stomp over to you, seemingly not noticing the people surrounding you. His eyes were focused on you and made your skin freeze, it was like you were fixed to the ground. Harper, who had been walking behind you, noticed your lack of movement and followed your eyes. "Is that him?" she asked loud enough for your other siblings to notice. You nodded. "Damian, take Y/N to her first class please, the others and I have a few things we want to talk about with that jackass," stated Jason with no room for discussion. Not that Damian cared who tried to anyways: "But I also want-" "I appreciate the enthusiasm, but we just want to scare him, maybe rough him up a bit, but not kill him." Damian scoffed, but still took your hand uncharacteristically soft and walked with you to another entrance to the building, taking you away from the riot that was to follow. Let's just say that your Ex never bothered or even talked to you the way he did before (or in general) again.

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honeymoonjin · 5 years

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𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 namjoon x reader || 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 9.7k || 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆 smut

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 desperate to finally break your masturbatory dry spell, you seek out a professional.

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 explicit sexual content, cursing, sex work, masturbation (f), fingering (f), soft dom!namjoon, sub!reader, light degradation, roleplay, oral (f), use of sex toys, crying during sex woo, namjoon is a professional

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“So; you’re having problems in the bedroom?”

You choke on your own spit and your cheeks flush a violent red. “Um, I- I guess? It’s not, uh…” You trail off uselessly, keeping your eyes firmly focused on the bland, off-white wall behind the man’s head.

He doesn’t seem fazed by your response, choosing to move past it. “Are you having problems being pleasured by a partner, or problems pleasuring yourself?”

If your cheeks could get any hotter, they do then. You let out an uncomfortable laugh. “Sorry, that’s a little… I didn’t realize this would be so…”

“So personal? This is a sex clinic, Ms. L/n, it’s why you’re here. There is nothing to be ashamed about. How about this? I’ll ask you yes-no questions, and then you don’t have to give up information yourself. Saying it is often the hardest part, I’ve found. Alright then; are you having problems bringing yourself to orgasm when masturbating?”

You bite down hard on your lip as you nod, beyond ashamed. It was good that the doctor seemed so blasé and unbothered and professional about it, but you were starting to regret coming.

Doctor Kim flashes you a reassuring smile and clicks his pen against his chest to open it, scribbling a note on his clipboard. “Okay, that’s fine. Is this a recent issue?” You nod stiffly. “Alright. You used to be able to achieve orgasm, but in recent times that’s changed, correct?” Another nod. “Would I be correct in assuming you have had a lot of stress in your life crop up?”

You let out a small huff. “Look, I wrote all this down on the application form. I don’t see why we have to go through it all again if you already have the answers.”

You jump a little in your seat as he slaps the clipboard down on his desk, fixing you a focused stare. “Y/n- may I call you Y/n? Y/n, quite frankly, if you’re not mature enough to hold a conversation about sexual activity like an adult, then I’m afraid you’re not mature enough to be using my services. This isn’t some back-end business; I’m not a prostitute, this is my profession, and I take it rather seriously, you’ll find. Sex is natural. Our bodies are natural. Now, do you want to stay and talk to me so that I can help you, or is this too much? If it is, I suggest you take your leave.”

Inexplicably, his firm tone has a heat rising deep within, something you haven’t felt in a while. When you speak, your voice is hoarse. “I’ll stay.”

And with that, his body and face relaxed, as he leans back in his chair comfortably. “Wonderful. Continuing on, then. What exactly have you tried to get an orgasm? Just your fingers, toys, what?”

“I thought…” You swallow hard. “I thought you said you’d give yes-or-no questions?”

“And I thought you said you wanted this.”

You sigh again. Fuck, why was it so hard to just say it? “Um, I use fingers and… that’s about it.” You swallow again and clear your throat.

“No, it isn’t,” he shoots back immediately with a raised brow, clicking his pen against the surface of the paper. “Honestly, Ms. L/n, I’ve worked at this clinic for six years. Nothing you could possibly say would faze me. I once had a client who confessed he had tried to reach orgasm by putting a blunted letter opener into his urethra.”

Your mouth gapes open. “He what? Wait, you’re not supposed to give details about clients. Isn’t that breaching, like, patient confidentiality?”

The doctor simply shrugs. “I asked his permission to use it as a teaching moment. I found it’s been rather helpful to assure people that there is nothing too ‘wild’ or ‘out-there’. Everyone has different tastes. As a matter of fact, that man found it incredibly effective.”

You blink. “Well, uh, mine isn’t anything like that. I just have a, you know,” you break off to gesture at your crotch in a vaguely penetrative motion.

Doctor Kim pinches his lips together, a dimple appearing on one cheek. “A dildo? Or a vibrator?”

“First one,” you admit. “Is that… That’s all the questions, right? What else could you possibly ask?”

He raises an eyebrow, taking some notes before he puts his full attention on you again. “Plenty. How fast do you penetrate yourself with the dildo? Could you indicate the speed of your hand?” You go dead pale. He holds a neutral expression for a moment longer before he cracks, laughing loudly with his eyes scrunched shut. You go limp against your chair, cheeks red for a different reason. “Sorry, I’m just playing with you. The inquisition is complete, I promise. Now, Sandra at the front desk can make you an appointment, and I’ll be sure to send you out an email with any instructions prior to our session. Thanks for coming in.”

With the session being made for that Friday, it was Thursday afternoon that the anticipated email came through. You were at work, stuck in meetings all morning and desperately trying to catch up on your personal stash of work after lunch, when a ping sounded, lighting up your screen with a notification from [email protected]. Hurriedly, you fumble to turn the screen dark, glancing around to make sure no one around your desk had somehow read it.

You stewed in nervous energy for the rest of your day, only opening the email once you were in the privacy of your own home with a freshly made hot drink to calm you down.

Expecting the instructions from the donotreply email address to be generic, you were surprised when it instead instructed you to click on a link to their database, with a random string of letters and numbers as an access code.

On the official website (which looked unbelievably slick and professional like any other business’ page), under a section titled MyHealing, you put in the code as requested, eyes widening as you saw just how organized the system was.

There was a tab for Customer Info, one for Session History, one for Calendar, and a final one with no name, just a little envelope symbol with a small, red 1 above it. You click on it and are taken to an inbox with a single message from Doctor Kim Namjoon.

Y/n,

Thank you for booking an appointment. Your session is slotted in for Friday 9th, 5:15pm. Should you need to cancel or reschedule less than 24 hours before, keep in mind the $40 fee will apply. Personalized instructions for this appointment are below. Please note that new instructions will be sent out for every appointment; these are not intended to be used for anything other than this specific session.

You take another sip from your mug as you read that line. ‘Every appointment’. How often did he think you were going to be coming back? You had booked in imagining once you got some sexual release, you’d be fine again. Perhaps it was a blanket statement he told every customer. You let it slip your mind and continue reading.

I advise you first and foremost to get a good night’s sleep on Thursday. Since your appointment is late in the day, I would also suggest a midday nap if possible. I assume you’re at work during the day. Make sure you have enough water, and if your job is at a desk, use your lunch break to go for a walk, preferably outside. When it comes to orgasms, one part is physical, one part is mental, and only a small part is the actual stimulation. So, you can understand how important it is to make sure your body is physically primed and ready for exertion.

Secondly, the mental side of things. I know it’s hard but try not to get too stressed out about the appointment during the day. It’s understandable that you might be nervous but putting too much pressure on yourself will only make reaching orgasm more difficult.

Instead, keep yourself occupied with things you enjoy as much as possible. Consider taking the afternoon off if you have enough leave.

Finally, stimulation. We didn’t cover if you’re still currently attempting masturbation regularly or not, but I would like you on the Thursday night to get yourself as aroused as you can. Watch pornography, read erotica, touch yourself. But don’t try to actually achieve an orgasm. If you simply-

You toss your phone on the couch beside you and huff. Fuck. He really wrote you a whole essay, huh? Did he do this for every customer, for every appointment? He had said he took his job seriously. You just didn’t realize it was to this degree. Hopefully he was as thorough in the practical side of his job as he was in the administration.

Later that night, you decided to treat yourself to a hot bath. Relaxing in the perfumed waters, you lazily bring a hand down to rest between your legs. As Doctor Kim said, he didn’t know whether you were still trying to get yourself off or not, but in reality, it varied greatly. Some evenings you'd spent hours, with aching wrists and tears of frustration, to no avail. Other days you gave up completely and wallowed in your sexual frustration, haplessly grinding against a pillow between your legs for the minimal relief it provided.

But you had re-read over the notice a couple of times, and it was clear that Doctor Kim didn’t want you cumming tonight. Just getting a little riled up in the hopes that your body would be more desperate to cum tomorrow.

Water always gives a weird kind of friction, so it’s somewhat of a hassle trying to rub at your clit, but once you settle into a natural rhythm, you close your eyes and lean back until the water laps over your shoulders. You hitch a leg up over the side of the tub and let out a deep breath.

It always started out nice. You’d get a false sense of hope, that the flicker of pleasure would ignite into anything more than a low smolder, but it never did. Although, this time, knowing full well that cumming isn’t a goal, you find yourself enjoying the relaxing stimulation for its face value. You knead lazily at your breast, rolling a nipple between your fingers as your other hand continues its circling motions. Gradually, your mind naturally begins to float, and a scene begins to materialize in your imagination: in your mind’s eye, your fingers are replaced by much larger and thicker ones, and instead of the grazing of your fingernail it was teeth latching around your nipple, tugging lightly to make your toes curl. Fingering yourself is generally a fruitless endeavor, but you can’t help but clench, longing to be filled by him.

Him… Whether by the context of your relationship, or genuine attraction, it’s Doctor Kim Namjoon that fills your thoughts, the way the water would stain his button-up sleeves rolled up to the elbow, but not quite high enough to avoid the sloshing of water. You hear the scribble of a ballpoint on that clipboard, like he’s taking note of your reactions, like you’re something to be studied and analyzed.

Below the water level, you grind your hips into your hand, rubbing yourself with the flats of four of your fingers know in an effort to increase the surface area. One of your nipples is flushed from being pinched and tugged at, so you clumsily cross your arm over to the other side, whining into the damp air of your bathroom once you begin repeating your ministrations. You should probably open a window. The vents aren’t great and the last thing you need is a moldy ceiling.

You grunt low in your throat, shaking your head. You can worry about that later, dammit. With added vigor, you press at your clit, biting down on your lip to try and out all your focus into going faster and harder. Only it doesn’t feel as good as before.

Where was I? Doctor Kim’s arms. Maybe he’d forgo the button-down shirt completely and decide to strip down, getting into the tub with you, wrapping his arms over your front and pulling you down onto him. You huff, furrowing your eyebrows, holding onto your breath, feeling that pleasure slip away from you. Come on, imagine him fingering you or something, what’s wrong with you, he’s hot! That smile, the thick thighs straining under pants material. Not long before you’d see him again, tomorrow night. It was strange that he worked nights, though you supposed considering his job it made sense that people might prefer-

“Fuck!” Your hands have come to a halt, too distracted to continue, and that slow burning of pleasure in your gut has been extinguished as if from the now-lukewarm water you sit in. You let out a frustrated cry and kick out with the leg that’s still in the water, splashing water up the wall in front. “Fuck off! Are you serious?” You force yourself to take a deep breath and tamp down your rising frustration. The kind doctor had told you not to cum, so it was probably for the best that you didn’t get too into it. Still, it’s irritating you that even the thought of a… a sex professional getting you off isn’t enough to actually get you off. You huff, picking up the bar of soap off its dish, and begin to lather yourself up. “Good luck, Doctor Kim,” you mutter.

Surprisingly, you sleep well and have a productive morning. Missing the morning traffic and arriving at a quiet office lifts your mood, and you have just enough work to remain mentally and physically occupied. In fact, you’re sure you would’ve spent your whole day in this calm working mentality, were it not for the phone call that comes just after midday.

Most of the office is out on their lunch break. Only a few of you hang around this time; you know others just prefer to eat earlier or later, but you actively hang around because you appreciate the chance for some peace and quiet. That tranquility is broken by the aggressive buzzing of your phone on your desk. Anticipating a call from a client later on, you figure they’re just phoning in a little early, and you answer it without checking the number.

“Y/n L/n speaking,” you rattle off automatically, “how may I help?”

A low chuckle on the other end gives you pause. It certainly doesn’t sound like the retired seamstress you were expecting to hear. “Did you give me your work phone number, little miss?”

A shot of electricity shoots up your spine and you sit bolt upright in your office chair, instinctively glancing around the five or six people milling about the office floor. “Doctor Kim,” you reply in a low voice.

“Correct. Have you suddenly entered a library or is there another reason you’ve gone all quiet?” His voice is lilting with amusement and you can almost picture him sitting back in his office chair, dimple sticking out as he grins.

Your fingers curl around your phone, and you use your other hand to cup over your mouth, leaning forward over your desk. “I, uh, wasn’t expecting you to call,” you reply honestly, “is there a problem?”

“Of course not. My clinic has a policy of always giving a reminder call the day of or before the appointment.”

You pout. “Oh.” Somehow, the fact that he calls everyone makes you feel something akin to disappointment. “Shouldn’t your receptionist do stuff like that?”

“Would you prefer I put Sandra on the phone?”

“No,” you blurt out reflexively. The doctor rewards your honesty with a breathy chuckle. You press your knees together and clench your thighs. “So, just a reminder then? Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten. Thanks for the call, though.”

“You haven’t?” You can hear the teasing smile in his voice, and it affects you more than you care to admit. “You’ve been thinking about it, then? Have you been trying to guess what I have in store for you? What I’m going to do to you?”

You clear your throat awkwardly, sensing the conversation taking a decidedly sexual turn. “I’ve been trying to focus on my work, actually. Like your message said.”

“Ah, that’s good. Did you take the afternoon off like I suggest, or are you just on your lunch break?”

You barely hear him speak, your heart skipping a beat when a crowd of some of the older employees starts filing back in. Fuck. 12:32pm. People were going to start getting back to work now, you couldn’t be on the phone with a sex therapist. “Is there anything else I can help you with, sir?”

He pauses for a moment. “Are you still at work?”

You clear your throat, ducking your head as one of your superiors walks past. “Uh, yes, sir. Will that be all?”

He chuckles, though it’s more a sharp exhale through his nose, slightly crackly through the receiver. “Spending company time talking to the man who will fuck your brains out tonight?” You cringe at how loud he speaks, mind going blank with shock. You can’t find your voice to reply, though you have no idea what you would even say. He listens to you splutter for a few moments, your lack of response an answer in itself. “Naughty girl,” he chastises. “What would your coworkers think if they knew who you were talking to? I bet you wish you weren’t at work right now so you could just slip a hand into your panties, isn’t that right?” You bite down hard on your lip, using the ruse of sliding your office chair further in as cover for rubbing your core against the seat for some relief. “Come on, Y/n,” Doctor Kim’s voice echoes in your ear, “what did we say about yes-no questions?”

“Yes, sir,” you make out through a tense jaw, hoping your voice sounds as bright and customer-friendly as it normally would be with anyone else, even as your thighs clench together. “My office hours are 8:30am to 4:30pm Monday to Friday.”

“Oh?” His laugh bubbles through your phone and makes you absentmindedly start scrunching up a scrap bit of paper on your desk. He was enjoying this. “So, you’re there for a while still, hm? I wonder if you can make it until 4:30pm or if you’ll have to sneak into the bathroom and get some relief. It’s a shame I can’t stay on the line; I’d have loved to hear you moan over the phone, unable to keep quiet as you touch yourself. Oh well. I’ll make you moan for me later tonight.”

You slowly slip your hand down, tucking it between your legs and shifting your hips slowly beneath your desk, grinding against the delicate bones of your wrist for some friction. “The, uh, the appointment is confirmed, sir, thank you. Is there anything else I can help you with before I go?”

You hear a pen clicking, and some hurried strokes against paper in the background. The thought that, like your fantasy last night, he was writing down notes on all your reactions and desires, brought a rush of heat between your legs. You can feel the fabric of your panties, wet through to the outside of the fabric and dampening the skin of your arm. Oh god. “That will be all, Ms. Y/n. I look forward to our appointment tonight very much. Don’t forget to drink enough water to prepare for the fluids you’ll be depleting in our session. Have a splendid day.”

All the energy leaves you the moment the line goes dead, and your top half slumps forward onto the desk. You pull your arm out from between your legs, rubbing away the slippery patch on the side of your wrist before anyone can see it. You didn’t think you were going to get much work done for the rest of the day.

“Are you nervous?”

You lift your gaze from your trembling hands to the man sitting across from you. The two of you were the only ones in the cosy waiting room you had been led to. It was something halfway between a bedroom and a spa, with a great long bed covered in cushions and blankets, a bench laden with food and drink, and several diffusers spraying gently perfumed mist into the air.

The stranger was there when you had arrived moments prior. A green silk robe loosely tied around his waist was the only thing he was wearing as he lounged on the bed, lazily scrolling through his phone, black hair curled and damp, sticking haphazardly to his temples and cheekbones. He had watched you in mild curiosity as you walked in and stiffly sat down on a cosy armchair, and didn’t take a moment before initiating conversation.

He looks at you now with an expectant glimmer. You recall the question and flick him a shy smile. “Mm. First time,” you explain with a sheepish shrug. You let your gaze linger on his attire. “Are you...waiting to go in, too?”

His brows lift in surprise, along with a toothy grin. “Oh, no! I just got out of my sesh with the doc. This is just the whole aftercare shtick. I’m Jungkook, by the way,” he adds with a jaunty wave of his hand.

His languid ease has you relaxing a little, and you crack a smile. “I’m Y/n. So, how many times have you come here exactly? I thought surely once he fixed you, you’d be fine?”

The corner of his mouth quirks. He tosses his phone carelessly onto the bedcovers and sits up a little, the robe falling open to reveal his chest, all defined muscle and tanned skin, glimmering with a sheen of sweat. "Hey, that's what I thought. But honestly? This shit's addictive. I work an extra ten hour shift every week now to afford one hour of bliss. I think I may be in love with him. Or at least, I'm definitely in love with his mouth."

Your eyes drop to the thick carpet as you flush with the mental image that provides, but you can't help but glance back up out of curiosity as his words sink in. "Wait, his mouth? I thought he was meant to just..."

"Jerk people off? I mean, sure, he can do that, but the doc tends to mix it up. With how packed his schedule is, he'd probably get fucking carpal tunnel or some shit if he just jacked his patients off all day. He's a pretty creative dude when it comes to this, you know?" He breaks off with a faraway smile. "Actually, I consider myself a bit of an innovator, too. One time I had this letter opener, right, and-"

"Mister Jeon," an unimpressed voice drawls from behind you, "please refrain from accosting my clients with your sexual history. I am sure they don't find it as enlightening as you do."

You whirl around, heart immediately returning to its aggressive thudding, palms dampening in moments. Standing in the doorway, in a three-piece suit, is Doctor Kim Namjoon, one leg crossed over the other as he tucks a hand into his pants pocket. It's a vast difference from the simple shirt and pants combo he had on when you last saw him, and it seems he takes note of your startled reaction.

"It's casual Friday," he jokes with an easygoing grin, and it only strikes you then, as his eyes lock with yours, that you're about to have sex with this man. Maybe not in the traditional sense, but you'd be leaving this building feeling fully fucked out if all went well. Your nerves return with a vengeance, and his face softens. "Come on inside, Y/n."

A scoff tears your attention from the doctor. "Oh, so I'm Mister Jeon, but she's Y/n?"

Doctor Kim's jaw ticks, though it's bemusement rather than anger on his face. "Would you like me to call you Y/n?"

Jungkook pouts, picking at a loose thread on his robe petulantly. "No." He pouts deeply, looking up at the older man reproachfully. "If you keep being mean to me I won't come back anymore."

The doctor nods patiently like he's heard it a thousand times. "I'll see you next Friday, Jungkook. Do well on your bio exam next week and I might just show you how mean I can really be."

Jungkook's face clears and his eyes gleam. Without speaking, he simply gets up and jogs over to the little set of lockers by the exit, gathering his belongings. Doctor Kim doesn't spare him any more attention, and simply gestures for you to follow him.

You make your way down a dimly-lit corridor with wobbly legs, trying not to stare at the way his pants strained around his behind with every stride he took. Although there’s a distant wisp of relaxing piano emanating from the waiting room, the silence is unbearable.

“So,” you blurt, cringing at how loud your voice sounds in the stillness of the corridor, “what do you have planned?”

“Well, if Jungkook inspired you, I did bring along a letter opener,” the doctor calls out pleasantly, tilting his head, though he doesn’t turn to look at you.

Your step falters uncertainly. “Oh, I don’t…” You watch in dawning realization as he stops in front of a closed door and swivels, face scrunched up with delight as his shoulders shake silently. Although it was a dig at your naivety, you can’t help but crack a smile at him. “Aren’t doctors meant to be nice to their patients?”

He fumbles in his pockets, producing a keycard to scan at the entrance. Once it’s opened, he holds it there and turns to you expectantly. As you catch up to him and slip through the opened door, you can’t help but brush past his chest with your shoulder, breathing in his soothing scent of raspberry and vanilla. You hadn’t expected him to smell so...sweet.

You hear the door click shut behind you, self-locking, and that layer of security reassures you. Your attention, however, is quickly caught by the contents of the room itself.

It’s this disconcerting mix of a massage room, a doctor’s office, and a sex dungeon, and your head whirls as Doctor Kim preoccupies himself with messing with the heatpump settings on the far wall.

In the centre of the room is a traditional massage table, lowered to around the height of his hips, covered in a lush-looking slate grey towel. You figured the usual white wouldn’t fare so well with his line of work. Two of the walls make great use of shelves and cabinets, and you can’t help but be bewildered at the strange way they’re organised. A man like him surely had a system to keep everything in track, but dildos were beside bottles of massage oil and ropes, and a collection of gags and leashes hanging from hooks dangled above a little pyramid of neatly rolled towels and a steaming metal bowl of warm water.

“Please, take a seat anywhere you feel comfortable.”

You jerk out of your gaping stare and clear your throat awkwardly, moving to take a seat on a little wooden stool that sat in the corner of the room in front of a small dresser covered in props like handcuffs, some blindfolds and, strangely, a black ski mask with eye and mouth holes cut out. The image of the friendly doctor fucking someone in a full burglar outfit makes you snort out a laugh before you have the time to clap your hand over your mouth.

You press your lips together with a muffled giggle as the man himself flattens a stare.

“Is my job funny to you?”

Your smile drops as you recognise the change in his tone. Gone is the somewhat clumsy, joke-cracking doctor. Now he’s in his role. The session has begun. “No,” you deny weakly.

His deft fingers gravitate to the buttons holding his suit jacket together, and you feel the room become hotter as he walks the perimeter of the room slowly, eying up all the offerings he has to play with while he slips off the expensive material. Hanging the jacket on a coat rack beside the black cape and what looks like priests’ robes that already reside there, he turns on a heel to face you. His eyebrows are low, narrowing his eyes, but you can see the dark heat that radiates off him. You tuck your knees together. God, he’s good and he hasn’t even done anything. “My profession isn’t something to be laughed at,” he chastises lowly. “We had this problem the other day, didn’t we? With you not taking this seriously. It’s disappointing, Y/n.”

Your heart thuds uncertainly in your chest. The natural instinct to get upset from being told off mixes with the warmth building between your legs. “Sorry,” you offer up, voice lifting at the end like it’s a question.

He’s on the other side of the room to you. You wish he were closer, though now that he’s unbuttoning his shirt cuffs and beginning to roll the sleeves, eyes locked on your hunched-over form with an unreadable look, you don’t know that you could handle it. “No, you aren’t,” he brushes off, “and it’s very important that in this next 90 minutes, you only say things you absolutely mean. Understand?”

You take a steadying breath, feeling it expand your chest. “Yeah. I understand. It’s just… a lot. I’ve never done this, and I don’t know what’s going to happen, and-”

The tension disappears from his jaw and his eyes soften. In mere moments, he’s crossed the room in strides to crouch in front of you, catching your lowered gaze. “Woah, settle. First of all, everyone starts somewhere, so don’t feel anxious. Secondly, how many times have you had sex and known exactly what was going to happen in advance?”

His palms are warm and grounding as they gently rest, wrapped around your calves. You breath deeply again, appreciating this break in character. “I… But we’re not having sex though, right? This is, I don’t know,” you shrug futilely, “different.”

He returns your shrug, but with a far more carefree attitude. “It doesn’t have to be.” As he talks, his grip tightens a little on your calves, gently pressing into the tensed muscle. You find yourself relaxing without noticing, going lax in his touch, as non-sexual as it may be. “But, for the most part, people that come here do want it to be different. More exciting, more taboo, more intense. You need to communicate with me now. Do you want me to go easy on you, or do you want me to be thorough?”

Your mouth goes dry. With his hands on you, with the room you’re in, with the way his eyes linger heavy on yours, the word makes your toes curl. “Thorough,” you croak out.

He searches your face once more, then a slow grin spreads across his. “Excellent. Then get up on the massage table.”

He stands up; the lack of his touch on your legs makes you shiver. You follow him over, feeling your palms damp with nervous sweat. “On my front, or…?”

“Just sit on it for now, baby.” His eyes are alight with mirth when you blush at the petname, but he’s quickly snapping back into that dominant role, jaw muscles popping out as he watches you get up, facing him as your legs dangle in the air, not quite reaching the ground. You wait for him to get closer to you, but he ticks an eyebrow in affirmation and turns abruptly, stalking across the room to a tall, thin cupboard. He reaches in without speaking, and when he turns, in his hands he carries a vibrator in his hand, a relatively friendly-looking, gold bullet that looks rather small in his hand.

You think you recognise the brand, and if you’re right, it’s unbelievably high end. As he makes his way over to you, his gaze drops to your legs, which you’ve begun absentmindedly swinging back and forth. “Cute,” he remarks with a small sneer, and you abruptly stop, embarrassed at the childish action. “Don’t be so shy,” he advises, “I plan on hearing you scream for me tonight at some point or another. These walls are soundproof, you know. Every little sound you make will only be heard by me. Now spread those pretty legs.”

Suddenly, even though arousal steadily rocks through you, your legs lock up and you go stiff. The room is being pumped with warm air and yet your skin breaks out in goosebumps.

The doctor notices this, of course he does, and fiddles with the bullet, flipping it over and over in his palm as he makes his way back to you, stopping when his upper thighs brush against your knees. “What’s wrong? Second thoughts?”

You shake your head hastily, though you’re no less tense. “Just- just really nervous.”

His eyes warm in sympathy. “Hm, that’s no good. I can’t get you to cum with your legs shut tighter than a vice.” A quirk of a smile. “Well, I could, but we don’t have time for that today. So, let’s help you relax.” His free hand reaches up to brush against your shoulder. Even though he’s fully clothed as well, you still feel strange still wearing the large sweater and leggings you had arrived in. The fabric feels itchy on your skin, and you yearn for his palm to warm your skin instead of your sweater.

He lets out a breathy laugh as his hand rubs slowly up and down your upper arm. “God, look at you,” he marvels, “I’ve never seen someone so stressed still look so beautiful.” You manage to crack a reluctant smile, cheeks heating. He places the golden bullet vibe on the towel beside you, and pats your knee warmly. “Would it help if I kissed you?”

Your mouth drops open a little. You have to swallow away the dryness. With eyes unable to leave his perfect lips, you nod.

“Good, I can do that,” he soothes, “can you part your legs for me so I can get a little closer?”

The moment you shakily do as he asks, his hips are pressing against your thighs, pushing them wider still. You hastily dart your lips out to wet them, but he’s in no rush. The doctor slips a hand into your hair, brushing it off your face with fondly gleaming eyes.

It’s an expression you’ve never seen someone look at you with before, and you let yourself sit in the fantasy that it’s anything more than acting.

“C’mere,” he murmurs softly, before pressing lightly on the back of your head so that you straightened up to meet him halfway. You sigh into him when your lips touch, unbelievably soft yet insistent as they move against you.

He’s clearly experienced; you quiver inside with every movement, and he barely moves at all, drawing out the languid embrace. Your jaw falls slack, and you let yourself be guided by him, following his patient lead.

The room itself is quiet, and you can hear the way he lets out the smallest of grunts, delicate sounds of affirmation as you part your lips and feel the very tip of his tongue swipe against your lips, sucking the bottom one into his mouth and tugging it lightly, chuckling when you let out a throaty whimper.

“Do you feel better now? Hm?”

He pulls away but your eyes stay shut, your whole body stretched up towards him. You nod, licking over your slightly swollen lips, humming in agreement. You smile dopily when he caresses your face, leaning into his touch, as his silken voice reaches your ears. “Are you ready to play?”

Your breath leaves you in one shuddering gasp. “Yeah,” you whine pleafully, eyes slowly slipping back open.

He’s standing over you, closer than you realised. Only a mere few centimetres rest between his crotch and your spread legs. Still, he uses that space to dip his hand down, brushing the back of it between your thighs, knuckles pressing teasingly lightly over your clothed core. “I bet you want these pants off, huh? You wanna take ‘em off for me?”

You nod obediently, kicking off your shoes before you wiggle your leggings and underwear off your hips awkwardly, lifting your legs up onto the bench to tug them off your ankles. Doctor Kim takes them and places them in the corner of the room by the door, and by the time he comes back, you’ve crossed your legs, leaning forward so that your sweater hem covers your naked center.

His eyes fall down to that dip in the hem, darkening. His fingers come up to lazily tug at his tie, loosening it and undoing his top shirt button so that the white pressed fabric parts, revealing a golden upper chest. “You sure seem to like that, don’t you?”

You frown. “Like what?”

“Acting innocent like that.” He’s in front of you again, hands immediately wrapping around your thighs, and the touch is electric, making you more aware of how naked you are. “There won’t be any of that innocence left when I’m done with you,” he promises lowly, before bending down to capture your lips again.

You let yourself be taken over by him, drunk on the arousal that glows warm within you. The heat your own body is enough that you don’t notice the missing presence of a palm resting on your inner thigh, until your sweater is shifting and something ice cold is slipping between your folds.

You hiss in a breath and jerk in his grasp, causing him to shush you, lips still firmly attached to you, though they leave your mouth and migrate southward, nibbling along your jawline up to your ear. “The vibrator,” he explains gruffly, “I’m going to turn it on. Just relax.”

Your legs shift, ankles uncrossing slightly so that you’re more open to him, though you can’t bear to open your eyes, trying to stop the nerves from getting to you.

The moment he turns it on your back arches from the immediate shockwave of pleasure that radiates from that tiny yet strong vibe held directly against your clit. You swallow your moan, breathing heavily through your nose as you fight to keep quiet, letting the mechanic buzz fill the silence instead.

“Is it good?” the doctor questions, making you tremble as his lips dip lower, brushing over the column of your neck with just the slightest hint of tongue. You nod feverishingly, attempting to push your pelvis forward for more of it, rocking your hips in small circles to increase the surface area. The hand still on your thigh tightens, and you open your eyes blearily at the grip. Doctor Kim’s eyes are hard. “It doesn’t sound like it,” he comments flatly, turning up the vibe to a higher setting, making your mouth drop silently open.

“It is good,” you force out, beginning to pant.

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you. I know you want to moan for me, baby. Let me hear you lose control.”

You whine through a closed mouth, eyes screwing shut again in focus as he lets you chase your own please. How could he seriously expect you to moan in front of him? He was basically a stranger, and although the way he pinned your thigh spread for him, holding a sex toy to you as you got off on it was hot, you were still in a room alone with him on a Friday evening, paying for him to bring you to orgasm. He was probably just staring at you, waiting for you to hurry up and come already.

“Stop thinking, Y/n,” he chastises, “stay in the room.” You shake your head, wishing you could, but it’s too late. The weirdness of the situation hits you, and you open your eyes, searching for a clock on the wall.

The price of this 90-hour appointment was practically highway robbery, and all he was doing was something you could’ve done yourself at home. And as your eyes coast around the room and the curve of your spine settles, you realize that what’s worst of all is that he won’t even be able to do it. You’ve lost that thread, the one that leads you over the edge, and he won’t have time to get it back before-

You shoot up straight when a stinging slap lands on your thigh. You gape at the man in front of you in shock, hand instinctively going to the pinkened flesh to soothe it. “Ow!”

You realize belatedly he’d turned off the vibe, now holding it between two fingers and a thumb. It’s shining with your slick, but less than you’d have expected by this point, and he sighs in disappointment and tosses it onto the towel beside you.

You suddenly feel, as he cocks an unimpressed eyebrow and tenses his jaw, like you’re a child being scolded for breaking a vase or skipping class. Your legs tighten up together, and you gather a fistful of sweater fabric in your hand, pushing it down to cover yourself.

“You know why I stopped?”

You nod shamefully, eyes dropping to the carpet below. “You couldn’t do it. There’s something wrong with me, I guess. Sorry for wasting your time.”

He pauses for a long moment. You almost glance up out of curiosity but can’t stand to see the look of disapproval that no doubt resides in his eyes. “No, Y/n,” he explains tiredly, “I can see clearly now that your problem is that you’re too in your own head, and no amount of stimulation can break through an unwilling mind. So, like any good doctor, if something isn’t working for one of my patients then I stop and reassess. What was on your mind?”

You breathe out heavily, not wanting to have to sit and talk about feelings, but he’s not satisfied when you shrug, simply pulling up a stool and waiting for your answer.

Your mouth tightens and you stare at the ceiling. “I just feel stupid,” you admit finally, “like… you’re just standing there waiting for me to cum and I’m just… not. I don’t know.”

Out of your peripheral, you see him nod slowly, processing your words. “Well, no wonder it wasn’t working. You feel pressured to cum.”

You furrow your eyebrows and look back over to him. “Well, yeah, that’s the whole point of this session.”

He just opens his palms out in a shrug. “Of course, we had booked it in for that, but that’s not my only job as a sex therapist. I have clients that come to learn how to better pleasure a partner, clients that want to explore their kinkier sides without judgement, clients that perhaps are wanting to indulge in something that could potentially be dangerous and want a professional to spot them. I’ve had couples come in and have sex with my supervision because they’re trying something new and are concerned about injury. My point is, not everybody comes here for me to simply bring them to orgasm and go.”

You shake your head quickly. “Oh, I wasn’t- I wasn’t trying to say that your job was just-”

“I know, I know,” he soothes, “I just want you to know that sessions with me aren’t a complete failure if the client doesn’t orgasm. Perhaps you need a little more trust and we can work up to it.”

You bite your lip, uncertain. “I can’t really afford a bunch of sessions like that other dude. If you can’t do it today, I’ll just go-”

“How about this?” The doctor rests his elbows on his knees and clasps his hands together. With the nearly see-through white shirt rolled up to the elbows, a slackened tie, and straining pants, he strikes a powerful image. “If you promise me to come back, I’ll give you the next session for free. Since you came here expecting to be brought to orgasm, we can call it fair compensation. Today you won’t orgasm. Sound fair?”

You relax a little as you perch on the massage bed. “Okay… But what would we even do then?”

“Like I said, orgasming isn’t the only thing I offer. You mentioned earlier you felt uncomfortable with me waiting for you to come, is that right?” You nod slowly. “Well, perhaps if you didn’t feel that I was expecting anything from you, you could relax more.”

“I don’t understand,” you admit, trailing off.

“Stand up, I have something for you.”

You do so immediately, needing to use the massage bed for support as your knees buckle slightly. The doctor slips a hand under his waistband slightly, drawing your gaze lower to his crotch, where a bulge strains against the fabric.

“I think you would benefit from focussing on yourself a little less,” you hear him say as his hands pop open his pants, dipping into his underwear to pull his straining cock loose, “and focus on me a little more. Do you see how horny you made me, grinding on that vibrator?”

Your eyes widen. You watch his hand, defined by thick veins and delicate bones, stroke himself, a thumb dragging over the slit to spread the beads of precum that were produced. “Is this what you have for me?” you question in confusion.

He laughs. “No, although I do love the way you’re looking at it like a three-course meal. Eyes up,” he commands with a bite of humor in his voice. You hastily obey, and his warm eyes crinkle as he jerks his head to the side. “Let’s go; we’re changing location.”

You frown. “Sorry, what? Changing to where?”

You watch in wonder as he casually strides over to a bookshelf near the far corner of the room, clothes disheveled and leaking cock still in hand. What you had failed to notice when entering the room was a sliding door just past it, the same unassuming wood finish as the shelves. He slides it open, removing the hand from around his dick to wave you through.

Tugging on the hem of your baggy sweater to attempt to cover yourself - though you weren’t sure there was anything of you left to hide - you let him lead you through the small opening into a far darker room. You squint, eyes adjusting, and slowly the gentle light of several flickering candles is enough to see by. They’re scattered around the room, and you notice soon enough that they’re all electric.

“Safety hazard,” the doctor explains. “Me, not the candles.” The rest of the room, in a hazy warm glow, is outfitted in a very different vibe from the previous one. Instead of containing all the erotic bells and whistles, this room could be easily mistaken for a honeymoon suite. On the outskirts are a bar fridge, a few armchairs, and a coffee table, but the main event is the gigantuan bed that takes up almost all the floor space, even more lushly covered with blankets and pillows than the one you had seen in the waiting room.

“Far out,” you breathe, “this is impressive.”

With a rakish grin, he remarks, “what? The purpose-built sex room didn’t do it for you?” Doctor Kim gently slides the door shut behind the two of you, making his way over to a small bluetooth speaker resting on the coffee table. “I had suspected when you responded so well to that kiss that you might be the type to need a comforting environment to keep you in the moment.” He fiddles with the settings, slipping a phone out from his back trouser pocket to select some gentle instrumental song with a muted beat and hypnotic melody. “I’d like to propose a roleplay scenario.”

You bite your lip. “Don’t we… There can’t be much time left of my appointment now, right?”

“Don’t worry about that.” You’re not convinced. He gives you a warm smile, leaning against the arm of the chair. “My next slot is empty. How about we let you book out that one as your compensated session? As far as that pretty little head of yours is concerned, we have all the time in the world. Now: roleplay. Have you done it before?”

You shrug awkwardly. “Not really. I’m not a good actor or anything.”

He shakes his head. You appreciate the way the flickering lights play with shadows over the planes of his face, his neck. “This isn’t the Oscars. And it’s not going to be anything difficult. I was thinking perhaps an anniversary date night. We rented out a fancy hotel room to celebrate. We’ve hand some drinks from the mini fridge,” he waves a hand towards the aforementioned appliance, “and now that the evening is drawing to a close, we’re going to share each other’s company on a more… intimate level.”

You take a deep breath and nod slowly. “Okay, that sounds good. Thank you, Doctor Kim, I appreciate your-”

“Shh, baby,” he soothes, pushing off from the armchair to stroll over to you. He waits until he’s in front of you, hands cupping your face tenderly and looking deeply into your eyes, before he continues. “We’re married; this is our anniversary night, remember? I want you to call me Namjoon.”

“Namjoon,” you repeat dreamily, blinking up at him. In the dim lighting, he looks even softer than before. There’s no tension in his face, and his rumpled clothing looks awfully… domestic.

His eyes turn up at the edges with his smile. You feel safe yet weirdly vulnerable with your face in his hands and his gaze deeply focused on you. “Do you want me to kiss you again?”

You nod eagerly, just about pushing his hands off you, and his lips quirk up. Without any further words needed, he ducks his head down and slants his mouth across yours, reigniting that flush of want inside you. One of his hands slides around into your hair, playing with it lightly, and the other presses on your jaw, tilting your head back so that he can deepen the kiss. You whimper when you feel his tongue make contact with yours, teasingly swirling inside your mouth, and your hand flies up to curl around his wrist, needing to anchor yourself to him as much as possible.

“You’re so perfect,” he murmurs against your lips, pressing his body against yours. “I missed you so much. Did you miss me?”

You pause, feeling his lips keep moving against you, nibbling at your bottom lip when you don’t answer. “Y-yeah.”

“Yeah? You don’t sound like you miss me.” He laughs breathily, taking his hands away from your face. One links up with yours, squeezing your fingers reassuringly, and the other snakes around your back to hold you even tighter against him. “I wanna show you.”

Your eyes flutter uncertainly, so overwhelmed by the sensual kisses he gave you that you only process what he says belatedly. “Huh? Show me what?”

“How much I missed you,” he replies, the arm around your back sliding lower until it’s slipping under your sweater hem to grasp at the flesh of your ass. You tremble, knees going weak. He leans down to your ear, dragging his spit-slicked lips your face like he can’t bear to part with it. His voice is like honey in your ear, whispering in between teasing nips at your earlobe. “Can I show you how much I missed you?”

“Please, show me,” you plead, not even sure what he means by that, but letting him walk you backwards until the backs of your thighs hit the bed. He lays you down gently, rubbing soothing circles over your naked flesh. You gasp with anticipation when he drops to his knees in front of your legs, pushing your knees apart to slip in between.

The bed is comfortable and the room is perfectly tiered for a romantic environment. You try and keep yourself grounded, letting yourself drink in the sensation of his hands on you.

“Can you scoot forward a little for me? Legs over my shoulders.” Namjoon’s instructions are easy to comprehend but harder than expected to execute. Your body feels a little dead, and you shuffle your butt lower, thigh muscles complaining when you lift them up. He helps you, hands on the backs of your knees to hook them up onto himself. “You look so beautiful, spread out for me. Will you let me have a little taste?”

If orgasms weren’t so hard to come by, you’re sure you would’ve come from that statement alone. You make a whined noise of agreement, shuffling your shoulders down the bed so that you can arch your back a little more, needing to feel him.

With palms sliding up to wrap around and hold down your thighs, the doctor gives you no other warning before he descends on you, slurping noisily against your center. Your mouth drops open and you clench around nothing automatically, simultaneously embarrassed by the loud sound and turned out by his enthusiasm.

He wastes no time in teasing, instead devouring you like a starved man, putting everything into it. Your brain has no time to process the sensations your nerves are being assaulted with; his tongue is inside you and his nose is bumping your clit, then he moves up to wrap his lips around that little bud with a demanding suck, slicking his chin with your wetness. He changes from place to place, never the same speed or intensity. If your lack of orgasms are like a failing heart, Namjoon going down on you is the defibrillator, the shock to your system that you needed.

Your fingers clench tightly onto his hand, moaned-out sighs and shuddering muscles the only sign your body is able to give that he’s doing well. In the back of your lust-addled mind, you feel a single finger slip between your folds, passing over your center to collect wetness before dipping inside. You clench at the intrusion, feeling him groan against you at your tightness.

He crooks that finger, slowly thrusting it in and out like he has all the time in the world, and you whine, mouth dangling open and drooling, eyes clenched tightly shut. With its proven success, it’s not long before that one finger becomes two, and he has you writhing on the bed.

You whimper when he gives your clit a final flat drag of his tongue before lifting his head up again, continuing to work his fingers inside you. “When was the last time I got to make you feel this good, huh? It’s been so long, hasn’t it?”

Your body curls in and you keen as a third finger joins the other two, beginning to provide more of a tight fit, preparing your inner muscles for what was to come. You realize he asked you a question and force your tongue to form words. “I, ah, I can’t think,” you blabber out in a slur.

“Good.” And with that, his mouth is on you again, this time with renewed vigor. When he speaks again, he doesn’t even bother removing his lips from you, lapping at your clit between words. “I want to see you fall apart on my tongue, baby,” he confesses, “gush all over my fingers.”

Like a train hitting you, you feel your nerves deep inside shortcircuit at his words, and you let out a little scream when an orgasm abruptly hits, your legs closing to tighten like a vice around his head as he works you through it, speeding up his tongue and grinding against that rough patch inside you with his fingers as your pussy locks up. Your muscles push against the intrusion, though he refuses to let up as violent tremors wrack your body and leave you shuddering hopelessly under his ministrations.

You don’t realize until wetness hits your temple and slips past your hairline that you’re crying, but when you press a shaky hand against your eyes, they’re soaked with tears. The fact that you’re crying, as well as finally achieving the orgasm that was feeling more and more impossible, just makes your lip tremble harder until you’re sobbing against your hand, beyond overwhelmed.

Your legs are taken off his shoulders without ceremony. They flop limply over the edge of the bed. “Hey, hey,” Namjoon’s voice is concerned, though not surprised or frantic, and you suppose he must deal with this often, “you did it. I’m so proud of you. Do you want me to get you some water, or stay here with you?”

“Stay,” you plead brokenly, voice breaking even on the one syllable. He acquiesces, crawling up on the bed to lie beside you, rubbing your shoulder. You feel yourself calm down slowly with his presence, letting out one shaky exhale. “Fuck.”

“You can say that again,” the doctor jibes. “I don’t mean to be crude, but the way you came like that? It was fucking hot. Shit, I’m harder than a rock right now.”

You laugh breathily, sniffing and wiping away your tears. “I can help with that if you want.”

He swears under his breath. “You can’t say stuff like that. Sex with patients is where I draw the line, and as much as I’m hating that rule right now, I need to keep at least an inch of professionalism here.”

You turn to face him, propping your head up on your hand. “I regret to inform you, Doctor Kim, but I won’t be needing your services after this session. There; now I’m not your patient anymore.”

You watch his pupils dilate, eyebrows narrowing. In mere moments, the more dominant personality from earlier has been brought out again. “Well, then. I’m not going to fuck your tired little pussy, because I’ve worn it out for the day. So if you’d like to give me a helping hand, you better get on your knees.”

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boltwrites · 4 years

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hEY bolt! its sweetbabybolin! the prompts this week are *chef's kiss* :) can i please request shotgunning w bolin, w some frottage/humping shit thrown in there? high sex w bolin would be SO sexy but also just so sweet, perhaps a sesh/getting handsy w him leads to something else? thank you!!

kinktober 2020 | this week’s list

anon asked: shotgunning with bolin!! omg that’s my fave thing to do with a blunt lol

A/N: well, uh. here we go! i had to stop after a little bit of frottage bc this was getting so long, but i hope you enjoy it!

by clicking read more you verify that you are at least 18 years old

you had actually been introduced to weed by Asami and Korra - you three were close friends, and when you mentioned wanting to smoke with Bolin sometime, they grinned and giggled

“oh spirits, can you imagine Bolin trying to take a hit,” Korra giggled, definitely higher than she should be. Asami could hold herself better, and she just giggled, shaking her head

“Maybe Y/n could help him out,” Asami suggested, and when you inquired further, she told you about shotgunning, and demonstrated on a very enthusiastic Korra

you had to leave soon after that, but the idea stayed in your mind as you thought of Asami gently blowing smoke into Korra’s waiting lips. you would love to try that with Bolin

before a recent event, you had never even thought to ask Bolin if he wanted to smoke with you. he just didn’t seem like the type, and you hadn’t wanted to pressure him

however, a few days ago, you were smoking by the window in the living room, and he had asked if he could try it. you were shocked, but felt like slapping yourself for assuming that just because Bolin was cute meant that he didn’t want to smoke

unfortunately at the time, your bowl had been just about dead, and you were all out, so you promised him the next time you stocked up again, you would smoke with him

and that day, was today. Bolin sat next to you as you packed the bowl, watching as you prepared it with curious eyes. you grinned at him, because he was so cute, especially when he was watching something so intently

“alright, so here’s what you do,” you said, leaning back on the couch. he followed, pressing close to you to watch your movements. it was sweet - and you loved it when he sat so close to you or cuddled up, so it just made you smile as you fired up your lighter

“so, you light it-” you mimed lighting the bowl, but didn’t, instead, flicking the lighter off. “then, you breathe in, and hold it for a little bit. it doesn’t have to be for that long, but you need to actively breathe in if you want to feel it. it might tickle your throat a little, but try not to cough if you can manage it. then, you just blow it out again.”

you turned to Bolin, looking at him to see if he understood. he nodded, but you didn’t know if he really got it - he was very sweet, and he was smart when it came to other people, but sometimes, instructions... just kind of went over his head

“let me show you,” you offered, and you took a hit, deliberate with every step. you also covered the end of the pipe with the butt of your lighter after you took the hit, to snuff out the flame and preserve the rest of the bowl for longer

Bolin watched, and then you handed it to him, keeping the lighter for yourself. “i’ll start it off, and tell you when to go, ok?” you offered, and Bolin nodded

and he did exactly as you said, but - poor thing - he took way too big of a hit and coughed so hard that he almost dropped the pipe. you took it from him quickly, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as he coughed

“oh, Bo,” you mumbled, and he kept coughing as you set everything down to pull him close and rub him back as he shook.

“that burned,” he whined, his eyes actually tearing up a little from how violently he had coughed. you kissed his cheeks, even as your first hit started to take effect, and everything started to... go a little slower.

“I’m sorry, baby,” you mumbled. “here, why don’t we try something else. i promise that this won’t burn.”

you had honestly expected him to not inhale properly and you would have to finish off the rest of his hit, but man, he had gone for it and was paying the price. he nodded, though, and you pulled him close and kissed him, mumbling that you would be right back before grabbing him some water from the kitchen

as he took a few swigs from the glass, you took your own hit - a little less intense this time, because you knew you would get a little hit of your own when you shotgunned with him

“how do you feel?” you asked, blowing the smoke out as you cuddled up to him again. he was watching you with a more serious gaze.

“i’m ok - sorry about that,” he chuckled, you assured him that it was fine, that he didn’t do anything wrong, and that he just really went for it. you could tell he felt a little bad that he wasn’t some sort of smoking natural, but you promised that it was fine

“this way’s more fun anyway,” you promised, with a wink

“now, here’s what you do - actually, let me get in your lap,” you were grinning, and Bolin quirked a little smile as he pulled you on top of him

“ok, so this should burn less. i’m gonna take the initial hit, then i’ll pass it to you. as soon as i start blowing out, you inhale, and hold it like a normal hit. got it?”

Bolin nodded, but you could tell he didn’t really realize what he was in for - at least, not yet

“alright, here we go,” you mumbled, and took another drag, longer this time. then you leaned close to Bolin, and his eyes went wide as you cradled his face with your free hand, gently nudging him forward. after a second of freezing in place, he got the memo, and you brushed a finger along his lip, and he opened his mouth for you

you blew the smoke into his mouth, and he inhaled as best as he could. your lips gently brushed his, and he shivered, but this time when he inhaled he didn’t cough. he exhaled a few seconds later, surrounding you both in smoke as you leaned forward to place a sweet, gentle kiss on his lips.

you pulled back, and Bolin looked at you in wonder. “that’s a thing?” he whispered, and you laughed - a little louder than usual. oh yeah, it was hitting you. “yeah, it is,” you replied, wiggling closer on his lap “want more?”

he did, and you passed him three more hits, until he leaned his head back against the cough and groaned.

“oh, i think it’s working,” he mumbled, and you laughed, leaning back to set the lighter and bowl (which was basically dead at this point) back on the table

“hey - don’t go,” Bolin whined, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close. you giggled, wrapping your arms around his shoulders “i wasn’t going anywhere, you dork. i was just putting everything away”

he pouted at you, making a little indignant noise. “aw, but i wanted more kisses,” he grumbled, and this time you cackled, rocking a little violently on his lap

“you know we don’t need to smoke for me to kiss you, right?” you chuckled, pressing your foreheads together. Bolin was still pouting, embarrassed that he had apparently forgotten about kissing outside of shotgunning, so you took initiative and leaned forward the few centimeters it took to press your lips to his

the makeout session was lazy, but it progressed quickly. Bolin licked into your mouth far quicker than usual, and you moaned at it, the touch of his tongue against yours feeling far more electric than normal

he was feeling it too - you could tell how hard he was as you sat on his lap and he pressed against you, hard just from kissing for a few minutes. you didn’t blame him - you felt like this whenever you were with him.

“hey,” he pulled back, only slightly, and you were so high you almost surged forward again on instinct, not letting him finish his sentence. you caught on at the last second, mumbling a breathy “yeah?”

“can we lay down?” he asked, his words drawled in that specific weed-dialect that was difficult to describe. you nodded, accidentally konking your head on his before you both laughed

“yeah” you replied, still giggling, and Bolin took initiative, turning you so that he was on top of you on the couch, your legs tangled

the kisses were so much more intense like this, and you bent your leg (so strategically placed between his) just a little, to see him react. and react he did. Bolin moaned so sweet against you, rocking against your thigh

you gasped, just at the feeling of him, as his lips left yours and he nuzzled into your neck. you knew he was probably feeling a lot like this, so you just wrapped your arms around his back and held him as he kissed sloppy along your neck

“‘s ok,” you mumbled, hoping he would understand that you meant he could rut against your leg all he wanted. you actually loved it - the feeling of him hard against you

“yeah?” he replied, with a little shift of his hips that made you both moan - your noises a reflection of his because just the thought of him feeling good turned you on

“yeah,” you replied, with a kiss to his temple, your hands tangling in his hair, wondering why you hadn’t pet through it before. the texture mesmerized you now, and as Bolin rocked forward against you again, you tugged on it lightly, gasping at how good he felt, even like this.

#bolin x reader #asks #anon #mine #kinktober 2020 event #weed mention

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jincherie · 5 years

Text

mystery gang; unsolved | PT. 1

☾ — pairing: taehyung x reader ☾ — genre: demon au, supernatural/paranormal au, buzzfeed unsolved au/inspired, smut (oncoming), f2l ☾ — words: 8.1k ☾ — rating: adult! this one is sfw, but future part/s will be nsfw ☾ — warnings: demons and haunted houses, supernatural & paranormal themes! some slight dark themes too. ☾ — notes: part one of 2! or maybe three. depends how the next parts go. I’m finishing this over the next few days-- it was meant to be done completely by now, but a combination of life and my usual “accidentally giving the story too much meat” antics have resulted in this! I wanted to stay at least a little true to my word, so here’s the first part!

ever since you met taehyung in one of your first year classes at university, you seemed to click and you hadn’t parted from each other’s side since. you’ve been his friend for a few years now, and your mutual interest in the supernatural and taehyung’s propensity for finding the spotlight wherever he goes led to the two of you starting up your very own supernatural investigation vlog series. friends isnt the only thing you want to be, and one night close to hallow’s eve when the two of you get a little in over your heads in a way you never have been before, you find out that maybe it’s not only you that feels that way.

— posted; 01.11.2019 // masterlist | next⇥

MYSTERY GANG; UNSOLVED — PART ONE

Every creature, past or present, had one true weakness. This weakness was cut from the same cloth of creation as them, complimentary in every sense of the word and a match so perfect and natural it shook even the most corrupt of creatures to their very core. The universe moved to reunite a creature with their weakness only every so often, and when it did there was no question, no refusing it.

Centuries he’d lived, walking the planes of the mortal realm, the underworld, and the space between. He was young, for a demon, and had spent most of his youth chasing pleasures of the flesh and wreaking havoc in the mortal world. He’d had a riot doing so, too, until the fateful day the universe shifted and he met you. A weakness, his weakness. He was thousands of years too young to ever have considered the possibility of such a rare occurrence happening for him, and as such wholly unprepared for what the future held for him. Try as he might he was unable to resist the strings puppeteering him so, and it was with great reluctance that he resigned himself to the remainder of his time spent guarding, protecting, shielding this weakness.

He never imagined he’d end up enjoying it so much.

– x – x – x –

“Can you pass me the lens, Tae? I need to clean it before we pack it all up ready to go.”

Instead of the heavy weight of the camera lens you were expecting, it is a ticklish sensation against the palm of your outstretched hand that greets you. Unimpressed, you look over to see Taehyung tickling your palm with his fingertips, a large grin tugging his lips. When you shift, preparing to smack him, he ceases his movements with a loud laugh. The requested camera lens is quickly placed into your palm to appease you before you get too violent.

“Thank you,” you emphasise, shooting him a sarcastic grin despite the fact you admittedly found his antics a little funny.

“You love it when I tease you,” he scoots closer, huffing and blowing silvery strands out of his eyes so he can nail you with a smouldering look without hindrance. His next words escape on a low breath that has shivers running down your spine that you do your best to hide and ignore. “Admit it.”

“Hmm, don’t think so,” you offer a rebuttal, shooting him a sly look before returning your attention to the lens and cloth in your hold. “But keep trying, maybe one day it will work.”

Taehyung snorts, leaning back on his hands with his legs crossed before him as he lets out another loud laugh at your response. You can feel his eyes on you still, and do your best to ignore it despite how it makes heat crawl and trickle like lava down the column of your spine, dripping slowly into your gut. Year three, month two of pretending the male you befriended so quickly and easily in your first year of university doesn’t have such a powerful, swaying effect on you, and it isn’t getting any easier. His stare alone has the little hairs along your skin raising to attention, body constantly on high alert. If only, if only you had the same effect on him—then perhaps there wouldn’t be such power imbalance in that regard.

As mentioned, you’d met Taehyung around halfway through your first year of university, when the first semester ticked over into the second and you were dealt a whole bunch of new classes, new people, and new seatmates. The second you saw him enter the large lecture theatre your next class was to be held in, you registered that he was far too attractive and therefore painfully out of your league, and made a note to avoid him at all costs to save yourself any future embarrassment. Like any respectable individual who was actively attempting to avoid someone, you shrunk into your seat and focused on scribbling nonsense onto the back cover of your notebook, allowing your hair to fall from its style and shield your face somewhat for maximum sleuth as the walking Adonis began to climb the steps of the aisle.

Your efforts were for null, however, as you’d caught his attention the second he stepped foot into the room. A scent so divine it bordered on sinful brushed his senses upon entry, and he was suddenly aware of one distinct heartbeat amongst the eighty-odd others in the room. His gaze was drawn to a seat in the far middle of the theatre, besides the windows and pushing the title of a back row. There, it was you. The source of the intoxicating scent, the owner of the heart beginning to race in what he pinned to be a mixture of excitement and anxiety, and the most captivating human he’d ever laid eyes on. He made a beeline straight for you.

Of course, you would never be privy to any of that. You just knew that one second you were scribbling aimlessly, waiting for him to pass, and the next you were jerking your head up at the sound of chairs nearby squeaking as people pulled out of the way and—oh god he didn’t go past he was walking straight for you. While you aren’t proud of the flustered, discombobulated manner in which you’d handled the situation and introduced yourself, you are proud to say that after that initial interaction you were quick to develop a resistance, a filter of sorts. You aren’t immune to his wiles and charms, his odd flirtatious remark and heavy-lidded gaze, oh no, no, no. You aren’t immune, but you’ve gotten better at handling it, hiding it. And for that, you’re pretty proud of yourself. Kim Taehyung is a hard man to resist.

You were pleased to find, upon engaging in that initial conversation, that Taehyung wasn’t just a pretty face—he had many interests and hobbies, most if not all of which aligned with your own. The most notable of these, was an interest in the paranormal. When you’d first mentioned it casually, feeling gingerly for how your keen interest would be received before opening yourself up about it, you’d been surprised at the more than eager response you’d received. His eyes had lit up, and something curled and gleamed behind them but you couldn’t pinpoint exactly what—a sense like he was smiling to himself registered in your mind but you dismissed it quickly. The more extroverted of the two of you, he’d had no problem diving deep into the topic and dragging you with him.

You can’t really remember any of the finer details of how exactly you’d gotten from point A to point B, but by the end of the semester you were closer friends than you’d ever anticipated and recording the first episode of many to come of your very own paranormal investigation vlog series.

Admittedly, investigating paranormal hot spots and haunted places is something you’ve always thought about and an idea you’ve always toyed with, ever since you were younger, but you’ve always been too much of a… well, too much of a pussy. Something about Taehyung, though, had you changing your mind and agreeing to go through with it. You don’t want to be sappy and say that you feel safer around him, or any of that garbage… except you kind of do. Perhaps it’s less that you feel safer, because some of the locations you’ve been have definitely made you feel anything but—perhaps it’s more so that you feel even if things go haywire, Taehyung is capable of protecting you.

That sounds even sappier than what you were trying to avoid, damn it.

All of that aside, the two of you managed to establish yourselves pretty early on as a strong paranormal investigation team on a few different streaming sites—aptly and humourously called Mystery Gang; Unsolved, after a night spent drinking where you lost a bet to Taehyung and he got naming rights. Despite the odd name, over the years you’ve been doing this, you’ve managed to build up quite an impressive fanbase. A part of you likes to think it’s because you’re so damn funny, but really you know that it’s because Taehyung is drop-dead gorgeous and there’s a solid ratio of about eighty-twenty of females to males that watch your vlogs—and you know Taehyung has all the females and about half the males in the bag as well. Not good odds for you for finding a partner in either gender, really. It’s fine. You’re content with the odd comment directed to you among thousands. You’re fine. Really.

It’d be a bit hypocritical of you to be upset about the sheer amount of individuals attracted to Taehyung since you, too, happen to be sitting quite decisively in his bag as well. Sue you.

“Are you gonna clean the camera or sit there staring into space for a while longer? I know we’re kind of freelance, but we still have a window we gotta grab, you know. The witching hour isn’t at ten in the morning.”

Jerked from your reminiscing, you immediately slide Taehyung the stink-eye. He’s awfully rude for someone so attractive, you can’t help but note and grumble internally.

“How about you clean the cameras? Ever since we’ve arrived you’ve been sitting around doing nothing!”

There’s not an ounce of bite in your tone, and you feel like even if there was it would have rolled right off Taehyung’s shoulders as he shrugs, grinning lazily. His pose on the hotel bed has shifted, now his long form is draped indolently across the surface, elbow propped on the mattress and hand cupping his cheek. His long lashes brush his cheeks as he blinks slowly at you.

“I don’t need to stress-clean, I know we have this in the bag,” he says, lips curling as he speaks in his usual low drawl. “You were so nervous the second we got here that I thought if I tried touching anything you’d simply burst into smoke or something.”

The male’s reference to your odd cleaning habits irks you, but only slightly and only because it’s true. The rest of what he said is true, too. As much as you’d like to complain, cleaning your equipment meticulously and probably more than needed has been doing wonders for your nerves. You always tend to have a healthy, respectful dose of fear with every location you visit, but for some reason your nerves seem to be off the charts, tonight.

Perhaps it’s because you’re visiting a church. You always hate it when the haunted location is a church. Something about somewhere meant to be so holy becoming so desecrated that evil spirits haunt it… you don’t like it.

You sit for a moment, feeling your face contort as you assess the nauseous feeling beginning to churn in your stomach. Instead of answering his previous comment, you allow your thoughts to spill from your lips, somewhat distractedly. “I don’t… have a good feeling about tonight.”

Your words must be somewhat unexpected, as silence follows for a few moments after they enter the air. You regain control of your gaze where it had been centred on nothing, directing it towards the male on the bed. Taehyung’s eyes are on you, and you swear you catch something akin to a flicker of concern flitting across his features, before the tension leaves his face and he slaps on a silly grin.

"If ghosts and ghouls were real, y/n, you'd almost be begging them to haunt you," he quips, brows quirking in a sly manner. "Them's invitin' words, darlin'."

You're not sure what weird-ass accent he just pulled out of his rectum, but you're definitely sure your body shouldn't have reacted as shamefully into it as it just did. You throw a glare his way to mask the way you just shivered, at a damn pet name of all things, and turn back to cleaning your lens. He laughs, and you resign yourself for the millionth time to the fact that you'll probably never stop being so affected by him.

"Oh yeah? Well it really sounds like you're inviting a smack right now, mister. Don't make me break out the sandal."

At that, Taehyung bursts into loud laughter, flopping back onto the bed to let out his howling cackles unhindered. You can only sit and shake your head as you continue to rub your equipment clean, fighting a smile but allowing the fondness of the moment to sink in and cover the weight in your stomach.

Taehyung isn't worried, so you probably shouldn't be either.

X x x x

"You're a monster."

Your gaze is petulantly pointed out the window, but you can feel Taehyung fighting a smile from the driver's seat. It's almost silent in the cabin, aside from the low hum of the car beneath you and the smooth sound of slow r'n'b thrumming from the speakers. You do like that about Taehyung's choice in cars; he always managed to find some with excellent speakers for the bass-y songs the two of you enjoy listening to.

"You said you didn't want them!" Taehyung protests, a slight whine to his voice. Oh, he thinks he can get out of trouble by acting cutesy? The absolute nerve.

“No! I didn’t!” You’re affronted, unable to help the way you turn in your seat to pin him with an incredulous glare. “I said I was going to give them a break while I had some of my thickshake! I didn’t say you could have them!”

“You left your fries alone for more than a minute, what was I supposed to do? Let them go cold?”

“It wasn’t an invitation! Honestly, how could you… after all we’ve been through?”

Taehyung makes a choking noise, and you presume it’s because he’s trying not to laugh. You haven’t broken character yet—despite the fact you’re genuinely a little miffed that he finished off your fries while your back was turned earlier—so if he does before you, then he loses. The two of you are far too competitive for this to be anything but normal in your friendship.

"I can't help it," Taehyung says at last, apparently having managed to squash his laughter for a while longer. "They looked so good sitting there, so tempting... I was only going to take one, but you know I can't help myself when I see something I want."

As your eyes train on the scenery beyond the window as it blurs past, you snort, unable to help but quip playfully, "Glutton."

Taehyung finally lets a laugh loose, the sound rich and low, an almost indecipherable smile curling his lips at the corners. "Not the only sin I'm guilty of, but definitely the big hitter."

You roll your eyes, deciding you don't need to add anything more to that since it's definitely true. Sometimes you find it a little odd, how the two of you managed to become friends when you're both so different in subtle but significant ways. It isn't unusual to be unable to reach Taehyung some weekends, which you'd found out through a mutual friend (Yoongi, his roommate and an absolute tattletale whose loyalty is easily bought with wine and lamb skewers) was due to the fact he either didn't come home or brought someone else home. That knife had hurt when it entered your back, but you weren't, and still aren't, in any position to actually be upset about it. Taehyung's often extracurricular activities are probably one of the biggest differences between the two of you; not because you've never gone out or done things, no, but you've never been one to be comfortable with a stranger in your bed every other night. You're not so much into flings and one night stands, as Taehyung seems to be.

Another difference is probably the fact that despite the fact you're a definite ambivert and not one to shy from social situations, you've never actually met anyone as blatantly extroverted as Taehyung. His aura and presence are truly something else; all he has to do is step into a room for all attention to be drawn immediately to him, and for it to stick for the entirety of the time he's there. His confidence is unshakeable, and you think that probably has a lot to do with it. It's as though he has this sense of assurance in himself that no matter what a situation could throw at him, no matter which way it could turn and end up, he can get through it and come out right on top. It's impressive, you admire him for it, but also in a way... it's a little bit unnerving. Slightly intimidating. You can't put your finger on it, but sometimes it feels like there's something more to that confidence, something you're not quite aware of but lingers just under the surface of what he shows you.

He's a bit of an enigma, your Taehyung. You've known him for what feels like so long, and you know enough about him to fill about three encyclopedias, but at the same time... it feels like there's so much you don't know, an ocean behind each page you file away in your mind. It's like the difference between possessing a painting or a photograph of the sea, and actually standing on the shore with your feet in the sand, basking in the beauty of it in person.

Now that you think about it, the ocean is probably the best metaphor you could've chosen for describing Taehyung.

"You still nervous?"

Taehyung's inquiry, somewhat softly spoken but unmissable with how primed you are to hear him, is what pulls you from your light reverie. Blinking and interrupting your gaze where it was staring into the darkness beyond the window, you turn to the male and allow yourself a moment to analyse his features.

Taehyung is one tough cookie to read, you have to admit. He's expressive, sure, but sometimes you feel he has a bit more to offer in terms of what he's thinking and feeling at the moment. You've yet to crack that code but you'll get it one day, you know it.

Currently, his eyes are directed forward (as they should be-- he's been threatened many times with a smack whenever he lets his eyes stray even an millimetre while driving), but what you can observe of his side profile is a somewhat neutral expression. You're used to looking a little closer though, and when you do you find the barest creases of concern at the corner of his eye, brows drawn together just slightly. Aw, he's actually a little concerned for you. How sweet.

"Well, yeah," you answer after a moment, forcing your eyes away from his face and averting them back out the window as you lift a hand to rub the back of your neck. "But I mean, when aren't I? I don't think we'd have a show if both of us were skeptics."

The male hums, shaking his head to dislodge a silvery lock of hair that has fallen across his forehead. "That's true. I guess then we'd really be relying on my face for viewers, huh?"

Somewhat outraged, you let out an angry noise and hit his arm— just the reaction he was looking for. He snickers, still distracted as he watches the road and takes in the signs as he passes them. Sooner than you expect, he's flicking on the indicator and taking a left, down a road that is more dirt than tarmac and feels like it's leading nowhere good. The nerves that had left you momentarily, courtesy of the good mood eating put you in, return now in full force— twisting and writhing and tightening in the pit of your stomach. You take in a deep breath, the exhale a little shaky. Taehyung's eyes flick to you for the barest moment before they return to the front.

Trees line each side of the road, the twenty-plus minute drive having taken you a slight ways out of town. Beyond the trees at the edge of the road, you know there are miles and miles of fields; the odd house is scattered around, of course, but you know that the locals are far too wary of this little area to want anything to do with it, despite the acreage on offer.

The road twists and winds just barely, before Taehyung pulls the car into a partially obscured driveway on the right and you gulp, feeling more nervous than ever. The headlights drill holes of illumination into the pitch black, casting across blurred greenery and bushes for a moment before finally falling upon something lighter and firmer. Stone basks in the ray of the headlights, and gleaming glass windows just barely beyond the light's edge.

"We're here," Taehyung announces in a singsong manner, seeming entirely too happy about your arrival at what you consider to be one of the most cursed destinations you've included in your travels. The car rolls to a stop, Taehyung's large hand pulling the handbrake up and deciding your fate. You feel the weight in your stomach sink further.

Well, no time like the present. If you're gonna die in here, you may as well go on and get it over with.

x x x

The first ever haunted house that you explored with Taehyung, was probably the scariest.

Before becoming friends with him, and subsequently being roped into forming a paranormal investigation duo, you’d never stepped foot in a haunted or otherwise allegedly supernaturally afflicted building. Of course, you’d read your fair share of online accounts and retellings, and watched more investigative programs than is probably healthy, but even you are capable of telling what has been dramatically exaggerated and digitally edited. Before that first house, you’d sort of teetered on the edge of scepticism and being a believer. You were open to the idea, but weren’t cemented in your beliefs. That first house pushed you decisively from the middle and into one of those sides.

Your biggest regret is that you didn’t have the proper equipment to record what you witnessed that night. Since you were just starting out, all you really had was a crummy recording device and a handheld camera, in addition to your phones. Kind of humiliating, in hindsight. How on Earth had people taken you seriously back then?

Everything had gone fine, up until the point where the two of you decided it would be a neat idea to spend a few minutes alone in the most ‘haunted’ room of the house. Before then you were having fun, but you weren’t exactly convinced anything paranormal inhabited the place. In the middle, you remained. Taehyung had been somewhat distracted as you went, but not so much that he didn’t manage to slip in the odd witty quip. Sometimes, you’d turned and caught him staring into space for a few moments longer than expected, before he was once more moving on. You’d figured he was just deep in his thoughts.

As you’d ventured through the house, there were a few little things you both observed, but they were also easily dismissible things; items falling as you moved past them, creaking sounds, windows and curtains moving, shadows out of the corner of your eye. Nothing solid and material, and some to be expected when you were moving about an old, creaky abandoned building with no light save for some battery-powered torches and the flashlights on your phones.

Nothing that would hold up as evidence—at least, nothing until you entered that room alone.

The basement, said to have been where the most activity was and where some not-so-nice things went down while the house was still occupied, was the final stop of your little investigative tour. You’d originally planned to go in there together, but a small argument about jelly beans led to the proposal of going in there one at a time, and spending a few minutes in there alone in an attempt to get some interaction from any spirits that might be there.

From the very second you set foot on the first step, you’d known intrinsically that the experience you were about to have wasn’t going to be a good one. Your skin had crawled even then; it was as though you’d stepped into a freezer instead of a basement, immediately chilled to the bone with the air weighing so heavy against your body that each step was an effortful struggle. You’d been nervous before going down, yes, but this… it was different. Before you could have even turned to act on your second thoughts, the basement door had closed behind you with a final, resounding thud.

“Go down to the bottom! Your five minutes starts now.”

You’d felt disproportionately scared as you reluctantly continued your trek to the bottom, as you’d originally intended. It was colder at the foot of the stairs, if possible, and the small torch in your hand had started to flicker. It smelt rotten, too, and the further into the room you went the stronger the smell. For the first time since entering the house, you felt unsettled, for reasons almost indiscernible.

Some of them became clear to you as soon as the beam of your torch illuminated over the walls.

Deep scratches in the cement and brick, sigils and symbols drawn across the expanse of the wall. Something akin to black sludge was smudged intermittently across places, dripping from cracks and oozing from gaps in the ceiling. There was a disrupted circle on the floor, dark maroon flakes and drops of wax scattered and highlighting more smudged symbols and lines. A copper bowl lay turned over and discarded, its apparent contents scattered across the floor; bones, dried leaves and flowers, rocks, a tooth. You hadn’t even realised how your breath had begun to speed up, chest tightening. Of course, you’d tried to calm yourself and rationalise— someone just did this for a prank, they planted these things to feed the stories.

But then you’d felt a gust of hot air against the back of your neck, so stark in contrast to the chill of the room. Alarmed, you’d jerked, and your torchlight had moved with the flinch of your arm. It whipped over shapes veiled objects in the room, angles creating deep shadows that seemed to have no end, and you’d managed to look up just in time to catch sight of something as it was illuminated in the corner; a long shape, a silhouette, present in the light just long enough for you to see the gleam of two eyes staring right at you—

The torchlight flickered off in tandem with the sensation of your heart dropping through your stomach; something hot and sharp dragged across your sternum, and driven by nothing but fear and instinct you threw yourself back—or had you been thrown? A voice, disembodied in the pitch black, had grated the outskirts of your ears, warped and distorted and registering in your senses in such a way that even now, you can’t be sure whether you’d really heard it or not.

“A human girl walking right into my den… And you smell so good too. Won’t you stay, girl? I hunger.”

You don’t recall screaming, but as you would be informed later, apparently you did. You’d stumbled backwards, crashing into a number of items and feeling something grip your arm. It burned, and of course you’d jerked away once more.

Whether it was the ruckus or your own sounds that concerned your companion, the basement door had quickly been thrown open and Taehyung had bolted down the stairs. Disoriented, you weren’t even aware of where you’d stumbled in the room once your torch had gone out, but when you’d looked up to see Taehyung darting over to you, the room now illuminated, you’d been several metres from where you’d first stopped.

As Taehyung would tell you later, you were shaking as you sat there, partially curled into a ball on the floor. Your torchlight had been all the way on the other side of the room, and your phone a few feet away. He says that when he asked you what had happened, you’d only babbled incoherently, somehow simultaneously telling him off and yet clinging to him in distress.

Your memory of events after that scare is a little hazy, but you do recall that he’d surveyed your form, freezing as his eyes fell upon your arm. When you’d looked down, you’d caught blood trickling down from three irregular lesions across your bicep, the entire flesh of your upper arm red and inflamed and sore, yet in the cold of the room somehow still numb. Despite the horrified look on Taehyung’s face, and the way he’d fussed over your wound from that point onward, he was quick to dismiss it.

“You must have cut it on something when you were tripping about,” he’d said later, once you were out of the house with all your things packed away, back in the safety of the hotel room. His touch had been nothing short of tender as he cleaned and dressed the cuts that just would not stop oozing blood. Perhaps that night, is when you’d really first begun developing feelings for Taehyung. That hadn’t stopped you being secretly frustrated at his words, though. “There were a lot of sharp things down there, I’m not surprised you managed to cut yourself on one of them.”

Even as, days later, the red welts on your arm developed into bruises—long and thin, like imprints of spindly fingers that had wrapped around your arm— and the cuts didn’t heal quite as they should, Taehyung stuck with that story. He insisted on being the one to take care of the wound and still insisted you’d just bumped into something lying about down there in the basement. Once, you’d gone to tell him exactly what you’d seen and heard, but thought better of it. You’d just be annoyed when his sceptical ass tried to dismiss and rationalise it. It didn’t help that the recording you had of the experience had somehow corrupted on your phone.

Oddly enough, ever since that first house you’ve never gotten as scared, or witnessed anything quite like it. It kind of makes you wonder—did you hallucinate it? Was your brain just overactive and scared, and making you see and hear things that weren’t there? You think about it a lot, an especially every time you venture into a new location. Like now, as you’re in the entry of the church and preparing to film the introduction segment of your little vlog.

“Lot on your mind, babygirl?”

Flinching and feeling your cheeks heat as they usually do whenever Taehyung hits you playfully with that particular pet name, you break from your thoughts to send him a glare.

“Only the usual amount,” you answer, a hand coming to unconsciously rub your arm where those cuts had first appeared. They’d never quite healed as expected, didn’t scar as things usually do on your skin. Normally you heal pretty seamlessly, but those scratches had healed in three pink lines, not raised but stark on your skin. Sometimes you think you feel them ache and sting, but it’s just a phantom pain. More often than not, they’re just a bit itchy.

“Camera is ready to go, are you?” Taehyung inquires, holding up the hand-held and leaning around it to flash you a cheeky smile. He has a torch attached to his headband, and combined with the light of the torch attached to the strap over your chest and the torches attached to each camera, the entrance of the building where you stand is somewhat illuminated. It is, admittedly, in a poor state. Cement and brick are in various states of disrepair, the odd piece crumbling whenever you move past. You’re actually more worried about a part of the ceiling falling on you tonight than anything paranormal. Although, you suppose you’d developed a bit of a stronger resistance over the years. These days, as Taehyung says, your bravado is through the roof.

You hold your thumb up for him, waiting for his subsequent nod and the blinking of the light above the camera lens that tells you it’s on and running. As soon as you get the signal, you slip a smile onto your face.

“Hello and welcome to another episode of Mystery Gang; Unsolved,” you launch right into the introduction, the name of your little duo coming easier every time you say it. At this point, there’s almost no resistance at all; you’re barely embarrassed by it these days. “Today we’re here in a small town on the East Coast, and we’re investigating the abandoned and allegedly ‘haunted’ grounds of FigTree Church.”

Taehyung has a small smile on his lips as he watches you talk, something you catch as you glance down at your phone for the notes you have prepared. Awfully cheeky he is, as always.

“Now, you might be thinking—that’s quite an odd name for a church, right? Doesn’t it have an official name, something a little bit more proper? Well, no, actually.” You shift, taking a few steps to your left and bringing your arm up to gesture to the rest of the church. It’s pitch black, and you ignore the way the hairs on your arm begin to stand. “This church, nestled in the corner of FigTree Pocket and hidden away from the rest of the world, was never given a name. And when we investigated further, we found that there was never actually any record of this church in any registry or archive for this region.”

“For our research, we had to turn to the townsfolk and some ledgers hidden deep in the town library to unearth just what this church is and what happened that earned it the reputation as one of the most haunted locations on the East Coast.” You pause briefly, glancing to your notes. “As it turns out, the reason there are no records of this church and no name ever given to it, is because this church… was technically never meant to exist.”

Taehyung makes a surprised face, and you sense a question oncoming. “Allegedly, this church, built in the late 1800s, was formed in secret by a small faction that split from the branch residing in the nearby capitol. There is no consensus as to whether the original branch is Catholic or Christian, or something else, and a lot of the lore surrounding it is more hearsay than actual recorded facts. What is known for sure, though, is that this church was formed and built in secret, operating under forged papers and fostering a religion that didn’t quite fit any preconceived ideologies that were around at the time.”

“So this was, like, an extremist sort of situation? They didn’t quite agree with the workings of their original church so they went and made their own?” Taehyung speaks as soon as you leave him a gap, looking at you with intrigued eyes and a shit-eating grin from behind the camera. “Exactly what kind of things did they get up to in here that they needed the place to stay a secret?”

“I’m glad you asked,” you say, referring to your notes for a brief moment before continuing. “Apparently, according to stories passed down through generations in this town and some accounts in the town history books, some pretty dark shit went down in here.”

Taehyung tilted his head, sweeping the camera over the rest of the room before centring it back on you with a shrug. “I could see it. What kind of sins are we speaking here?”

“Well, some stories are more believable than others,” you offer. “The less popular ones say that this was less of a church and more of a cannibalistic cult. Others—”

“Cannibalistic cult?!” Taehyung sputters, lowering the camera slightly so he can meet your eyes over the top of it. “Are you for real—?!”

“Yup,” you affirm, fighting a smile. “The next best one after that says that this wasn’t a real church, but a cover for a satanic cult that operated in the night time hours. Apparently they performed their rituals either in the basement, the attic, or a secret room behind the altar.”

Taehyung chortles at that, the denim jacket he has on over a dark hoodie making a loud scuffle as he slaps a hand to his stomach in his laughter. You’re glad he’s amused by what you’re saying, as usual. “This is great. I wonder whether we’ll find skulls or pentagrams.”

“I don’t know which is worse,” you admit, rolling your eyes when he laughs again. “Anyway, those are just outliers. The consensus on the history of this place is a bit of a different tale, actually. Still kind of dramatic, though.”

Taehyung hums to urge you on, gaze flicking to the side for a moment at a particularly loud chirp of a cricket. You shift where you stand, retreating closer to the wall—you don’t like the feeling of having your back to the expanse of darkness.

“From what I was able to gather, most people say this operated as a normal church for a few years. They held mass, you know, did the usual church things. The common thread that everyone mentioned, though, is kind of in line with what you said earlier. In a sense, the principles of this church were kind of extremist, and very misogynistic, moreso than you usually see from the old days. The women that were part of this church were apparently treated no better than property, in-home slaves expected to sit and be pretty, cook, clean and bear children.”

Taehyung winces, apparently noticing the unimpressed tone to your voice. “So if the ghost of one of the pastors is here, you’re gonna beat him up?”

“Maybe so,” you utter, shooting him a sly smile. “But don’t you wanna know what the big happening was? What really gave this place a name—well, I guess it didn’t give it a name, but it did give it a reputation.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, silvery strands of hair flicking from the motion of his head. “Of course, why else do you think I do these little investigations.”

“For the ghouls?” you suggest, grinning in anticipation for the face you know he’s going to make in response. He doesn’t fail to deliver, and you let out a laugh before continuing your initial spiel.

“Like I was saying, for a while this operated like a normal church. There were pastors and priests, and proceedings as normal. But before long, their operations were brought to a screeching halt.” A glance to your notes, then a somewhat nervous glance over your shoulder. “In what would unknowingly be its final year, the church was to hold a wedding. Meena Law, the daughter of two dedicated churchgoers, was to be wed on November 1st, 1899— to a man her parents chose, who was twice her age and, according to accounts of the time, quite an unsavoury character, but someone of a high standing within the church.”

“Oh yuck,” Taehyung utters, almost making you break character and smile.

“Unlike her parents, Meena wasn’t content and complicit with the rules and principles of the church. She was against the wedding from the beginning and fought it with everything she could. It was no use, however, and by the time the eve of her wedding arrived, she was desperate.”

Your thumb scrolls across your notes, and you take a breath. You’re not sure if you’re imagining it, but you think the air feels a little colder suddenly; you have to fight a shiver from rolling down your spine. “Here is where the stories diverge a little. One account says that what happened in this chapel was nothing but a tragic accident. As she walked up the aisle in her wedding dress and arrived at the altar to stand beside her would-be husband, the heavily embellished wrought-iron chandelier came loose above them and fell, crushing the two of them and the minister officiating the marriage—who happened to be head of the church at the time, Lui Fonset.”

“The chandelier is actually still over there on the floor, glass shards and rusty metal and all,” you supply, pointing your flashlight in the direction of the altar. You don’t like the way it gleams beneath the torchlight.

“Wait, they never cleaned it up?” Taehyung joined you in shining his torch in that direction. He let out a soft noise of interest. “They just decided that’s it? They’re gonna leave it there?”

You snort. “Actually, this incident seemed to be the beginning of the end for them. Understandably, the tragedy of three deaths within their church, their head included, was quite a blow. It took a while before they gathered themselves and attempted to fix the place up.”

Taehyung shoots you a curious if somewhat confused look. “But they didn’t…?”

You shine your torch in his face to be annoying, and he levels you with a glare. The harshness of the light makes the dark brown of his irises gleam reddish-brown. You ignore the way your neck tenses as a result.

“They didn’t,” you confirmed, “But it wasn’t for lack of trying. This church sat in disrepair for a short while, vacated and momentarily abandoned, but the remaining churchgoers returned to fix it up. No one ever managed to, though, because ever since that fatal incident, it would seem that any activities within the church walls would be met with the most unfortunate, awful luck.”

“To paraphrase an account from one of the townspeople, it was like the building had obtained a life of its own and was hellbent on fighting back against anyone that stepped on the grounds. Windows shattered right as people walked beneath them, pews fell and chunks of statues weakened at just the right times. Some people also reported hearing things, seeing things, feeling things that made them feel so uncomfortable they left and refused to return to the site.”

“Is it the ghosts of Meena and the two that died with her?” Taehyung queries, going for a quick pan of the room beyond the little entrance nook. Rotting pews lined the large space, some reduced to splinters and others weak and sagging. None were in neat order and a few of them were sprinkled with glass and stone and dust—oh, the dust.

“That’s what some say.” You shrug. “But there is another version of the events that happened here. It’s a little more interesting but since we are here tonight, I think I like it a little less.”

Your companion was curious now. “What is it?”

“The night before her wedding, Meena was desperate. So desperate, in fact, that she would have done absolutely anything to stop the marriage—and some say that, in her darkest hours that night, she was driven to do the unspeakable.” You pause, because you know that Taehyung is about to take the piss out of what you’re about to say. “Some say, that on Hallows Eve, the night before she was to be wed, Meena performed a ritual to summon a demon, and then made a deal with him to ensure that the wedding wouldn’t go through.”

Your eyes flick to Taehyung’s face but surprisingly, he doesn’t seem like he’s about to make fun of you. Instead, he seems deep in thought, staring blankly for a moment as he’s consumed by whatever is on his mind. Odd. Usually he’s well on his way to making fun of you by now. He knows you’re especially scared of demons.

“Of course, as is usually the case in stories like these, it seems that Meena wasn’t aware of the little loophole she provided,” you say, preparing to continue before Taehyung speaks suddenly and cuts you off.

“She left it too open,” Taehyung says, shaking his head and clicking his tongue. “I mean, the wedding was stopped, but at what price? Amateur.”

“Don’t insult the ghosts,” you say, more of an automated, habitual utterance than anything at this point. “And yeah, that’s how the story goes. The unfortunate nature of her death and the despair of her last moments allegedly caused her to linger, whatever soul she had left attached to this place. It’s said that the spirits of the priest and the groom are here too—different sort of entities, apparently. People report a range of weird occurrences in this building, some antagonistic and some merely… supernatural. But they’re not the only presence rumoured to be here that gives this place such a foreboding reputation.”

Taehyung’s head tilts, before his eyes light up in realisation. “Oh, the demon? But how would he be here? Aren’t they meant to be unable to enter holy places such as this?”

For some reason, you swear you detect the slightest bit of humour in Taehyung’s tone. You raise your brows at him, but answer his question anyway. “Yeah, that’s usually the case, I guess. There are a few theories as to why a demon could enter here. First, some people propose that it’s because this was never a legitimate church. Which… I think makes a bit of sense. The second theory that floats around is that when she summoned the demon, she actually did it within the church walls. I mean, I’d think that wouldn’t work, but hey, maybe it did.”

Taehyung purses his lips in thought. “Hmm, I think it could work. Maybe it’s a big boss demon.”

You roll your eyes, locking your phone and sliding it into your pocket. “If that’s the case, I don’t wanna hear about it. I don’t need to be thinking about high level demons lingering in the halls as I walk through a haunted church, thank you very much.”

Taehyung lets out a laugh, passing you your own camera. You turn to the one currently in his hold, offering a smile that you can feel has somewhat of a nervous tinge this time around.

“Alright, lets go catch some ghosts!” you cheer, feeling like you’re painting a target on your own back, as you usually do. Taehyung nods, smiling to himself as he cuts the camera for a break before you both begin recording and venturing through the church.

“I hate this,” you murmur into the sudden silence, rubbing your arms as a wash of cold air touches your skin. “Why do we always have to film at night? Late at night? In the dark and cold?”

Taehyung snorts, stepping over and slinging an arm over your shoulder somewhat distractedly as he fiddles with settings on his camera, hand rubbing your arm. The action brings out a wave of butterflies in your stomach that you don’t even bother to quell.

“Everyone knows ghouls only come out at night,” he chuckles, flicking wavy strands out of his face. “Demons too.”

You groaned, already feeling much worse than earlier about the night ahead of you. This wasn’t going to be fun in the least for you. Before you’d entered the church, the crickets in the forestry outside had been loud, almost as though they were screaming at you to leave, attempting to ward you away (maybe you’re reading a little too much into it). In here, though, you can barely hear them. Only softly, subtly; whispers of the living world outside slipping in through the broken glass and crumbling stone. In contrast, it’s very still in here—and very cold. Probably from the stone and brick. You slip your arm around Taehyung’s waist for warmth, grinning at the way he jumps and looks to you in surprise.

“Bold of you,” Taehyung wags his eyebrows. “How am I supposed to seduce the ghosts if they think I’m taken?”

“Dirty ghostfucker,” you utter, instantly annoyed enough that you don’t feel like using him for body heat anymore. You pinch his side and withdraw, turning your camera on and moving towards the large room beyond the entrance. Taehyung laughs when you stumble over a piece of rotten wood. Great.

If you don’t end up dying in here tonight, then you just might end up killing Taehyung instead.

Taehyung fires up his cameras once more, his torchlights aiding in illuminating your path as he follows behind you. Right, on with the tour you go.

a/n: pls let me know what u think and pls heart or rb if u read and liked it!!! it helps me know how many people have interacted and enjoyed it!!

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maplecornia · 4 years

Text

Thoughts on the bullying scandals going around in the kpop community at the moment

Things to know before I begin:

Since I'm a small blog this probably won't be seen by much, I just wanted to basically talk about this since it's been bothering me for a while

Bullying is a VERY serious issue, and I suggest that you take it seriously. While these accusations may or may not be real, please understand that real people go through this and shoving it under a rug will not do anything.

Regardless of where you are BULLYING IS BULLYING. Doesn't matter where in the world you may be. Just because you live somewhere else doesn't make the pain or the trauma any less real.

If I have gotten any of my facts wrong or have missed something, please respectfully bring it to my attention. I am human after all and I will make mistakes from time to time.

Okay now that that's out of the way...

I wasn't originally going to blog about this. I mean I didn't see what good it would do and there are so many different people talking about this who are more influential than I so I didn't see the point.

However a lot of the things that people are saying and a lot of the things that are happening to the artists just don't sit right with me. So I decided to say something.

As you all know, this started in Korea after after bullying scandal happened to volleyball twin sisters. They turned out to be true so they were suspended and were prevented from competing in the Olympics.

Following this, they moved on to actors and actresses (the outcomes of which I am unclear on so I wont say much more than this)

And then of course kpop idols.

These started with Soojin, moved to others such as Soyeon, Sunwoo, Kihyun, Minhyuk, Chuu, Aisha, Hyuna, Hyunjin etc (if I have missed any please bring it to my attention).

Now while some of these accusations may have been true accounts (such as the volleyball ones) the ones where it involves idols seem to be more old middle school drama that was never resolved.

Allow me to explain.

Whereas before the idols had moved into the picture, most of the actors and actresses were being accussed of bullying younger classmates as their "sunbae" or senior.

Since Korean culture relies heavily on respect and hierarchy, you can imagine how these alleged victims would feel entirely helpless and unable to do anything. They would be mistreated, called awful names, get things thrown at them. If you need examples look at Korean dramas, I'm sure you'll find many there.

The volleyball twins turned out to have actually done these things and are paying heavily for it. Their actions were no doubt inexcusable.

And these cases of bullying actually do happen in Korea and it's a big issue.

However, there's a fine line between bullying and mere arguments or drifting apart. There's also a difference between being immature and/or a bully.

For example, Soojin was accused of being violent with a past friend, drinking underage, going to group chats to make sure said friend was outcasted, having older boyfriends, smoking and driving motorcycles.

While she has said she has tried cigarettes in the past, most of these allegations are false and somewhat immature. You shouldn't be judged for driving motorcycles or having an older boyfriend. When it comes to underage smoking and drinking, that's just immature thinking.

However, with the incidents with her past friend, those turned out to be a misunderstanding. Soojin said that she did have an argument with her that led to their falling out, but never did she resort to violent acts nor go out of her way to me sure she was outcasted.

You can also see these trends with the other idols being accussed including Mingyu and Hyunjin.

Mingyus accusations have turned out to be mostly false, as Pledis is still undergoing investigations. I must commend them for doing a great job of handling this and am pleasantly surprised. Mingyu however has halted his activities for the time being, and I'm sure it's for his health after dealing with all the allegations directed his way.

For Hyunjin, he is also pausing his activities, but the way JYPE is handling it seems as though they regret him joining Stray Kids. This could be just my opinion, however.

In any case, while his accusations have turned out to be an argument/misunderstanding as well, people are still throwing him hate and requesting he leave the group.

Mind you this is also happening with Soojin, and many model companies or brands are removing their pictures/taking them down so that it doesn't conflict with business.

When it comes to the other idols I know very little so I won't say much.

Soyeon: accusations seem to have smoothed over

Chuu: accusations turned out to be false, accusser apologized for the post

Aisha: accusations also turned out to be false

Hyuna: accusations are false

Kihyun: accusations are false

For some of these idols, the original accusers posts have been taken down, which obviously shows something fishy there and I believe that means the accusation wasn't real in the first place.

Many of these idols have come out with apologies like Hyunjin, Soojin, Kihyun, and Hyuna have. Many of them towards their fans and towards those they may have hurt in the process.

So...here's my take on the whole thing.

While bullying is a serious issue, I couldn't help but find a trend in the idol accusations.

They all happened in middle school

Regardless of the time period, bullying is nkt okay and i understand that. However, middle school is a hard time for all of us. We are going through a lot at that stage and I think many of us lash out in different ways. People grow up from that immaturity, I know I have.

They all come from past friend and/or relationships which have fallen apart

A lot of these originate from people who claim to be in the same class, or be a past friend of the idol. They talk about arguments and things that they disagreed on ghat led to a friendship being cut off. Soojins came from a victims alleged sister. Let me make one thing clear. ARGUMENTS ARE NOT BULLYING. If that were true the whole world would be bullies by now.

That being said...do I think the idols should apologize whether or not these are true?

Yes.

And here's why.

Regardless of how much you have grown or matured if there was a time in your life where you had hurt someone, indirectly or not, I believe you should apologize for that. You don't know how that might have affected them, nor how much they may have suffered. So yes, I believe you should always apologize and hopefully be given a chance to resolve the issue.

Now do I think we should automatically cancel an artist if their apology isn't to our king and/or they dont make one?

No.

For one thing, we are not involved in the issue. We are, in fact, just bystanders. Unless you were bullied by that particular idol or involved, you don't have a right to reject or accept someone's apology. That is up to the victim and the victim alone.

That being said...what is the best way to act as a fan?

Keep quiet and support the idol as best as you can during these tough times. If the rumors turn out to be true, then decide what you want to do. Unstan, don't listen to their music anymore...whatever.

But please do not spread hate.

You do not know these idols nor what they go through. If they decide not to apologize then that's pretty douchey, but you don't know their reasons so please do not act as though you do.

You must understand that they are human too. And they have made mistakes. They will continue to make mistakes.

Does that make it right? No.

But they deserve a chance to become a better person in spite or because of it.

That's all from me! Thanks for reading. ♡

#kpop news #kpopidol #kpop industry #random #my opinion #kpop bullying #hyunjin #mingyu #soojin #kihyun #thoughts on the kpop bullying scandal

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bnha-imagines-all-around · 5 years

Text

Jealous (Mirio Togata Headcanons)

Request: “Hi! I loved “Please Don’t leave me” with Togata, legit made me cryyy! Can I request angsty headcanons with Togata?? Best friend secretly loves him but gets distant, cold and jealous bc girls flirt with him? Togata notices and feels hurt and confused and tries to talk to her but she avoids him till he physically stops her and breaks down cause he’s afraid of losing her cause he also loves her? You can pick the ending (fluff, angst, both, anything is good)! Thanks!”

Author’s note: YAY MORE SUNSHINE BOI!!! These turned out way longer than I anticipated (my bad) and probably read more like an imagine than headcanons (again my bad), but hope it’s okay! Also, my request box is OPEN, so please send in all the requests! :D

Warnings: Angst, some fluff

- You couldn’t help but notice how girls tried to talk to Mirio all the time, to the point where you and him were never alone together anymore.

- You would literally just be getting to a moment where it was just you and him, alone, when a group of girls would seemingly magically appear, giggling and flirting with Mirio right in front of you. They acted as though you were a ghost, as though you weren’t actually there with them. You were insignificant to them because Mirio was there.

- You began to feel your blood boiling and your heart pounding almost viciously in your chest as you watched the girls fawn over your best friend. They would bat their eyes at him, smile wide and laugh at every joke he made, twirl their hair, lean slightly too close to him, rest their hands on his arms or chest. And the worst part? He seemed to be enjoying every second of it.

- “Mirio? Hey, are we still going to that cafe you spoke about? Cause my lunch break is almost over,” You called out just a bit too loudly, trying to regain your best friend’s attention.

- However, Mirio simply waved his hand at you and payed you just enough attention to smile sheepishly, “Sorry, (Y/N)! Maybe another time. Guess I got too caught up chatting!”

- This went on for days; you trying to hang out with Mirio and your plans being blown off because of random girls.

- Eventually it became a week, and then another. Mirio was your best friend, and yet, he had barely said so much as “hello” to you in the past few weeks. He always seemed caught up by some group of air-headed, flirty girls and you had seemed to fade out of existence to him.

- Your heart was breaking a little more with every passing day. You loved Mirio, more than just a friend, and yet it seemed as though you weren’t even that to him anymore. You had truly become a ghost, invisible to him.

- The jealousy you felt every day from seeing the same scene play over and over again, paired with the loss of your best friend and the boy you loved, was starting to tear you apart.

- You started to spend less and less time with Mirio, leaving sooner and sooner each time the other girls came up and began to flirt with him. Mirio was a gentleman, you knew that, so he’d dedicate his full attention to them as they spoke to him. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

- It eventually got to the point where you didn’t even bother making an attempt to be around Mirio. You just couldn’t do it anymore, it hurt too much.

- It even progressed to you actively avoiding Mirio at every turn; if you saw him coming towards you, you would either turn and walk in a different direction, or just walk straight past him without acknowledging that you had even seen him. Not that Mirio noticed, anyways.

- The pain and heartbreak you felt each day began to affect you more profoundly than ever before. You no longer ate properly, only picking at whatever was on the plate in front of you, you barely slept anymore, and most of all, you withdrew into yourself more than ever.

- Your appearance changed drastically; you suddenly looked worn down and exhausted, and despite hearing other students whispering about it in the hallways, you couldn’t really care less about it anymore.

- Nejire and Tamaki would also notice the drastic changes almost immediately, pulling you aside to speak to you one day.

- “(Y/N)-chan! What’s going on? You look super exhausted, are you sleeping at all? You don’t talk to us anymore, did something happen? Did we do something?”

- Nejire asked you a billion questions in quick succession, but all you could do was shake your head in reply. You had no energy to give her a proper answer.

- “(L/N)... what happened? We wanna help you... we’re your friends,” Tamaki asked quietly, but again, you just shook your head and vaguely mumbled something about you ‘being fine’.

- “Don’t lie to us, (Y/N)-chan, we can see that something’s wrong. Maybe I should get Mirio! He was always good at cheering you up!” Nejire suggested.

- the coldness and harshness of the look you suddenly sent her took both her and Tamaki aback. You always went to Mirio if you were upset; what had changed?

- Then, for the first time in days, you spoke.

- “I want nothing to do with Togata. I don’t want to see him, I don’t want to be around him, I want nothing to do with him anymore. Understood?”

- Nejire and Tamaki both stood there, absolutely stunned by the coldness and resolution in your voice as you swiftly spun on your heel and walked away. You hadn’t referred to Mirio by his last name in years. This was bad.

- Of course, what you didn’t realize was that Mirio DID notice you. He noticed everything about you; your change in demeanour, your change in appearance your absence, everything.

- It took him a little while, but Mirio did notice that you weren’t ever around him anymore. What’s more, you never even made the effort to come talk to him or be with him anymore, and it broke his heart.

- Mirio was constantly brushing off the girls who came to speak and flirt with him as he tried to find you and talk to you, but to no success.

- When Mirio caught glimpses of you in the hallways and over lunch breaks, he saw how run-down you looked, and he quickly began to feel your loss.

- While the attention the girls gave him was nice, it often proved more annoying than anything and, well, Mirio being Mirio, he was just trying to be polite. He wasn’t interested in any of them because he had you. You were his best friend, his partner, and his number one person to turn to whenever he wanted to talk about anything. You were his (Y/N).

- Or rather, he’d hoped you’d be his (Y/N) one day. Mirio had been in love with you for a long, LONG time, and you were his favourite person in the whole world, always by his side. And now, suddenly, you weren’t there anymore. It was like there was this huge hole that had been punched out in his chest. You weren’t there anymore, but... why?

- It broke his heart even more every time he looked at you; you looked so tired, so sad, so... fragile. Mirio felt heartbroken, confused and scared. What had happened? What had he done to lose you?

- Mirio quickly realized that not only were you not seeking him out anymore, you were actively avoiding him. He couldn’t help but feel a pang in his chest when he saw you turn around and walk in a different direction when you had noticed him coming towards you.

- “(Y/N)! Hey, (Y/N)! Wait up!” Mirio had shouted to you one day, but as you always did, you quickly turned around, ignored him and walked away even faster, eventually losing him in a crowd of students returning to class.

- Mirio was beginning to feel hopeless and panicked; he needed to do something. He needed to speak to you, no matter the cost, to make things right. He had to fix this.

- “Mirio! I don’t know what happened between you and (Y/N)-chan, but you gotta fix it! She said she wants nothing to do with you anymore! She even called you “Togata” when I suggested I get you to cheer her up! I haven’t heard her call you that since before you became friends! You need to fix this!” Nejire would exclaim one day during lunch, and Mirio felt his heart sink to the floor. It reaffirmed what he already knew; this was really, really bad.

- Mirio’s heart would pound violently in his chest as he sprinted through the halls of the school, trying desperately to find you. His mind was racing through a million thoughts per second, but there was one constantly reoccurring thought:

- ‘(Y/N)... where are you? I’m sorry... please, let me fix this!’

- Fate was on his side that day, because Mirio managed to find you curled up tightly in a windowsill in the library, with one of your favorite books in your lap as you gazed out the window.

- “(Y/N)! I found you,” Mirio exclaimed, panting slightly as he approached you.

- His words had startled you out of your revelry, and you quickly turned to see Mirio standing there, looking straight at you with sadness in his eyes.

- You wouldn’t speak a word. The scene of Mirio flirting with countless girls flashed in your mind, and as your heart broke a little more, you would swiftly put your book away and get off the windowsill before heading towards the exit of the library behind Mirio. You couldn’t do this.

- “No, wait! (Y/N), please don’t go!” Mirio shouted, his hand extending to grab your wrist as you passed him.

- His sudden action startled you, and you found yourself frozen on the spot for a moment before you felt a familiar sense of anger rising in you.

- You jerked your wrist out of his grasp before snapping, “Why? I don’t owe you anything, Togata. Don’t you have some girls to flirt with? You’ll be terribly behind schedule if you waste your time talking to somebody like me.”

- Mirio visibly winced at the sound of his last name, but he reached out and grabbed both of your hands this time, not giving up the fight. He couldn’t lose you.

- “Please just, listen to me! Please, (Y/N), p-please...” Mirio’s voice cracked as he begged you to listen, and he felt his eyes sting as tears suddenly pooled in them; he was so, so afraid. He didn’t know what was going to happen, and he didn’t know if he had already lost you, but he had to try.

- “(Y/N)... I don’t know what happened, but I’m sorry if I hurt you, (Y/N). I honestly didn’t mean to hurt you. Please... let me set this right. I can’t... I can’t lose you.”

- You found yourself listening to him, but all the hurt and jealousy and heartbreak from the past weeks suddenly came rushing back as Mirio spoke.

- His voice was quiet, and you could hear it trembling slightly as Mirio tried to keep calm. Your heart lurched in your chest; you had never seen him this way before. He looked so scared.

- Tears suddenly filled your eyes and slid silently down your cheeks, your body shaking with silent sobs as you tried to keep yourself together. Before you knew it, all the words you had wanted to say came spilling out of your mouth.

- “Well, you did hurt me, Mirio! You hurt me, and you hurt me bad! I tried so hard to be around you, to put up with being ignored and shoved aside like I meant nothing to you every single day. Do you know how that feels?! Do you know what it’s like to have the person you’re in love with cast you into the shadows because other girls wanna flirt and giggle with and fawn over him?! Do you know how it feels to watch yourself being replaced?! Because I do! YOU made me go through that, Mirio! For days, weeks!”

- At any other time, you would’ve felt awful for shouting at Mirio the way you were doing now, but there were so many things you needed to say that you couldn’t make yourself stop.

- “Yeah, at first I was just jealous, but it became more than that, Mirio! Seeing that, it was tearing me apart, piece by piece, and I couldn’t do it anymore! I’ve loved you for so long, and I tried so hard but I couldn’t do it anymore!”

- You took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to collect yourself before finishing shakily, “If you’re trying to play the hero now because you feel guilty, you’re too late. I had to save myself because you couldn’t even see me.”

- A heavy silence would fill the air, which would be pierced by a sound you did not expect; a sob. But not one that came from you.

- You would watch as Mirio silently broke down in front of you, tears spilling down his cheeks and you began to cry again too.

- Then, before you had time to register what was happening, you found yourself in Mirio’s embrace. He was hugging you tighter than ever before, and your heart did a funny jolt; you faintly registered that you had admitted to loving him in your speech.

- Mirio would just hold you and hug you tightly until both of you calmed down. Once he was collected enough, he would begin to speak quietly, not letting you go for a moment.

- “I’m sorry I hurt you so badly, (Y/N). I’m so sorry. I honestly didn’t mean to. Those girls, they didn’t mean anything. The attention was nice at first, but... it quickly grew to be annoying. I was just trying to be polite. I didn’t realize what it cost me. Please... let me try to make it up to you. Please, (Y/N). I can’t bear to lose you. You’re my best friend and I love you too much to lose you this way. I love you, (Y/N). I do, and I have for so long. Longer than even I know! Please... let me fix this.”

- You would think about his words for a good few moments, but all you could hear was his voice saying those three words over and over; “I love you.” You didn’t realize just how much you had missed Mirio until now; you’d missed his embrace, his voice, his eyes, his smile, his spirit, everything about him. Even just this one moment with him was healing.

- You believed Mirio and what he said, so you made your decision.

- “... Alright. You’ll have a chance to make it up to me. But don’t screw this up. It’s the only chance you’ll get, understood?”

- “Thank you, (Y/N). I won’t screw it up, I promise!” Mirio would pull his head back just enough to smile down at you, to which you returned a small smile. Then, in a moment of courage, Mirio leaned down and gently pressed his lips to your forehead, causing you to blush violently.

- “You know... I meant what I said, (Y/N). I love you. I do,” Mirio whispered, his own cheeks turning bright red.

- “I know. I love you too, but I think we have some work to do first,” you replied, looking up at him.

- “Well... how about that coffee date I promised you?”

- “I though you’d never ask.”

#mha #mha imagines #mha x reader #mirio togata #mirio togata imagine #mirio togata x reader #mirio togata headcanons #lemillion #lemillion x reader #lemillion imagine #bnha #bnha imagines #bnha x reader

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angstyaches · 4 years

Note

This is a fic request for Shayne of him yelling at maybe Elliot, semi trying to protect Charlie by saying that they are not friends that he’s just being around him to get rid of the demon and that’s it aaaaand Charlie over hears....

After the events of the prompt (and the Ouija board session), while Charlie’s processing what Shayne said to Elliott in light of him leaving town without saying goodbye, as well as his childhood trauma.

The idea for not being able to get up to turn off the light also came from @mxnsterparty; I hope it’s alright that I added a little CT twist.

CW: headache, demon whump, medication, non-prescribed meds, anxiety, very brief mentions of near-death experience, platonic comfort

Swallow the World: The Rift

On a normal day, it should have taken about ten seconds for Charlie to make it from his own bed, across the hallway, and into the upstairs bathroom. Today should have been a normal day, too; however, the stab of pain going through his skull, practically blinding him in his left eye, was not normal, even for him.

The walk took closer to ten minutes, by the time he’d caught himself on the walls several times, guided himself around the top of the stairs by the bannister – trying not to imagine himself wobbling and falling down and ending up a broken heap in the front hallway – and stumbled through the bathroom door. The light in the bathroom reflected harshly on the white wall and floor tiles, and the brightness cut even deeper into his retinas than the pain originally had, but even in this state, Charlie knew he needed the light, needed to be able to read a label, if he was about to shove pills in his mouth.

He couldn’t tell if his hands were actively shaking or if he just didn’t have the energy to lift them, but reaching up into the cabinet for his dad’s back pain medication felt like pushing his fingers through a wall of quicksand.

Is this a good idea?

“It’s the only idea,” Charlie slurred out loud. He had felt compelled, the past few days, to speak aloud when communicating with Charlie Two, as though he couldn’t form the sentences properly in his head.

It most definitely is not.

It was easy for Charlie Two to judge; it wasn’t their head that felt like it had been clobbered with a bat. So, Charlie One, the owner of the human body, was going to do as he pleased.

You know this is just a band-aid for the real problem.

Charlie caught glimpse of his own sickly grin in the mirror as he shook two pills out of the plastic container, miraculously getting them in the palm of his hand.

The real problem, according to Charlie Two, was that Charlie wasn’t letting himself feel. Which, again, was easy for a demon to say to a human, when there was such a giant rift between their respective definitions of feeling. And the key to fixing everything was to remember. Fully remember. Acknowledge.

“It didn’t happen, CT,” Charlie whispered before tossing the pills in his mouth. It was probably the sixtieth time he’d said it by now.

He turned on the water at the sink and lowered his lips to take a mouthful to swallow them back with. And another few gulps for the road, because he had a feeling that once he made it back to bed, his bones wouldn’t be getting up again for the rest of the night.

The beach didn’t happen. It couldn’t have. The visions he’d had during the Ouija board session had just been hallucinations. Surely, if he’d almost drowned as a child, he wouldn’t have blocked it out of his memory for over ten years. Charlie could remember the freckles on the faces of childhood friends, remember tasting his first strawberry ice cream, remember the sting in his palms from all the times he’d fallen off the monkey bars at the park.

“How could - how could I just - just forget something like that?”

It happened, Charlie. I should have said something sooner, but I thought I was protecting you, by letting you forget.

“You can protect me now by being nice and quiet,” Charlie droned, cradling his head and closing his eyes on the way back out of the bathroom. He bumped his shoulder softly on the door jamb, and almost sent himself stumbling across the landing. He smacked at the wall until he found the light switch again, his vision too pierced through with light to keep his eyes open. The drowsy effect from the pills was already kicking in, it seemed, as the heady warmth of sleep began to gather in his cheeks.

You’re not going to forget about him, either.

Charlie gasped and slid a hand along the wall as his legs decided enough was enough. He sank to his knees, easing his forehead down against the floorboards and letting out a whimper. He hugged his arms around his head to try to block out the hallway light. It was like a giant hand had reached down from the ceiling and was pressing him deeper and deeper into the floor, like a cookie cutter into a slab of impossibly hard dough.

He weakly twitched his wrist and imagined the light switch clicking to the off position, but he didn’t hear any such click. He peered out from under his arm, flinching back and gasping sharply as the light continued to pain down on him like pins into his eyeballs.

“Why?” he groaned. Why wasn’t his telekinesis working? His jumper had started to slide up his back because of the angle he’d positioned himself in, and the cold was rapidly settling into his skin and bones. He couldn’t bare to uncover his face again to fix it, so he just began to shudder helplessly while he winced at the pain.

I’m not helping you if you’re going to ignore me.

“Since when is that how this works?” Charlie whined, pulling his arms even more tightly to his head.

Since we developed this rift, the night of the Ouija board. It’s thrown us off-balance.

“Well, maybe – maybe if – if you told me what happened in the forest,” Charlie muttered, “we wouldn’t have a rift.”

Maybe if you were willing to remember –

Charlie sobbed drily from deep in his core.

Friend? Shayne had said the word like it was something that revolted him. The harshness of it twisted in Charlie’s gut, even now. You think I’m stupid, that I go around letting myself get attached to people?

“Just…” Charlie whimpered towards the floorboards, his body not finding enough moisture to form any actual tears. “Just turn the light off, CT.”

You seriously think I’d be anywhere near this god-damned place if I didn’t have to be? If there was anybody else who would do it?

“CT…”

You think I’d actually make friends with someone like Charlie? I don’t have friends, Elliott, I have a fucking job.

“Turn the light off, please,” Charlie cried. His fingers grabbed so violently at his head that he felt his nails dig into his scalp, clumps of hair being crushed and tugged. He was about ready to scoop his own skull clean with a spoon, just to be rid of the agony. Light flashed behind his eyelids, penetrating every layer of him, it seemed.

“If you won’t help me now,” he asked, “and - and you couldn’t stop my best friend from leaving, what the hell good are you?”

You think I meant for him to leave? You think I knew that night in the forest would be the last we saw of him?

“That you saw of him,” Charlie whimpered. “The last I saw of him was...”

Shayne had been trying so hard not to show his pain as he’d left the Mulberry house during the Ouija board session, but Charlie knew it was there. And still, still, the very last words Charlie spoke to him were to tell him to leave.

That was what he was left with; hollow looks, horrible words, and the terrible bloody pain that felt like it was splitting the side of his head open –

A slight click made him open his eyes a crack. He made a small gap between his arm and the floorboards, and sighed when he saw that the landing was in darkness.

“Thank you,” he muttered, tucking his head away again.

Aren’t we going back to bed?

“Can’t,” Charlie mumbled, his back arching slightly at a sharp draft that ran like nails over his back. His muscles didn’t feel like his own. They felt like a hundred splints set over his bones, locking him in place. It was almost like waking up in a state of sleep paralysis, but he hadn’t been to sleep yet.

Charlie.

Charlie?

___

He didn’t know how many times he heard Charlie Two try to stir him, or how long he had to remain on the cold floor before he next felt something warm. Hands, scrubbing at his sides, trying to loosen him. The voice saying his name became warm too, and CT began to retreat into silence again.

“Charlie Bear,” the new voice whispered, “say something to me, please.”

“R-R-R-” His jaw was so stiff that he could barely form the sounds, could barely force his neck to turn. “Rin, how - how did you -?”

“I got your text,” she said softly, sliding her hands up and down his back as though to push out the tension. “You picked a hell of a spot to fall down in a heap, Charlie Bear. It’s freezing out here.”

Charlie hummed in agreement, too exhausted to tell her that he hadn’t sent a text, hadn’t been able to move an inch for God knows how long.

You’re welcome. You were able to use my phone? Charlie leaned against Rin as she tugged him up from the floor, pulling an arm around her shoulder. At least he could once again communicate with CT inside his head, which was aching considerably less. His thoughts were less scattered too, less pinched, as though something had clicked into place.

“Charlie?” Rin squeaked, her eyes widening behind her glasses.

He leaned one hand against the wall again, afraid he was going to drop right down at Rin’s feet. Everything was spinning, and his chest hurt, and he hadn’t even realised he’d started to cry.

“Oh, god, okay,” Rin said, flapping about him and trying to direct him towards his room.

“No; no light,” he managed to mumble as he saw her reach for the switch. He could just about make out the shape of the bed with the light trickling up from the downstairs hallway, and that was good enough for him.

Her smile was sad and concerned as she tilted her head, and Charlie could hear everything from the way each line tentatively curved on her face.

“Rin,” he whined. “Thank you, for - for coming over.”

“Hey, shut up with that,” she half-laughed.

Rin sat with her back against the wall and beckoned for Charlie to lay his head down in her lap. He groaned, almost overwhelmed with gratitude, as her hand came down to gently rest on top of his head, palm smoothing over his hair. Her fingers didn’t instantly trace down over his left brow, like Shayne’s always did, and he swallowed a lump in his throat as he reached up to guide her fingers downwards.

“This is where it hurts?”

“Yeah,” he choked out. “Feels like something’s burrowing out of me.”

Rin sighed as she began to work small, gentle circles over the side of his forehead.

“Sorry if I pulled you away from studying,” he murmured.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” she chuckled softly. “I’ve basically burnt myself out. I’m not glad you’re in pain or anything, but I am glad to have a distraction. Have you managed to get anything done?”

“No,” he said, terror lurking in the pit of his stomach at the thought of the looming exams. “I think being able to focus on schoolwork would actually be a distraction for me.”

“I’ll help you tomorrow, if you’re feeling better,” Rin offered. “If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s study tactics. Might as well put it to use.”

“Thanks.”

Silence drifted down onto the sheets in the darkness, broken only by their breathing, and a slight thud as Rin let her head roll back gently against the wall. The creak of a bedspring as Charlie pulled his legs up tighter to his torso. And finally, a hitched breath as all of the swirling blackness in his chest solidified, forming a dull ache in his chest rather than a sharp one.

“Hey,” Rin whispered, looking down and sweeping his hair back from his forehead. “You’re okay, Charlie Bear.”

“No, I’m – I’m not. He said…” Charlie gulped back a sob, curling his hands into fists and pulling them hard against his chest. He had told Rin the story days ago, after he’d recovered from his fainting spell, but he’d told it robotically, casually, as though he’d been describing a mediocre movie he’d just seen. “I – I almost drowned, Rin, I almost died.”

Rin smoothed the palm of her hand down the back of Charlie’s head. “I’m very glad you didn’t,” she said softly, though anything she said in that moment probably wouldn’t have mattered. She just continued to stroke his head and gently hold his shoulder as he cried. He cried like a floodgate had been opened, like the crying had always been going to happen.

“He…” Charlie began to fight the sobs. “He said he was never even my friend, Rin. He said being around me was just a job he had to do.”

“That was why you were both acting weird that night,” Rin realised.

“And in the forest, Charlie Two… I, we, we left him,” he whispered, the memory of the interaction soft and dark, but unnervingly familiar, in his head now that things had settled down. “He was asking these questions, and – and I didn’t realise he was asking because he was thinking of leaving. If I’d just listened properly, Rin, maybe he wouldn’t have…”

As the words trailed off, Rin let out a sigh. “Maybe. Maybe it would have made a difference, but maybe it wouldn’t have. I’m sure whatever Shayne’s said or done, it was to protect you.”

Charlie sniffled, rubbing the end of a sleeve to the end of his nose. “You really think that?”

“Well, I – okay, so I’m not sure…” Rin cleared her throat. “I used to think I had a pretty good handle on people, you know? But recently, it’s like… it’s like I’ve just found out I’m a different species to everyone else.”

“I can understand that,” Charlie said, a soft laugh bubbling up through the tears. The dry sound quickly tapered into a whine as the pressure in his head pulsated.

“I guess you can, Charlie Bear,” she said, circling her fingertips over his brow again. Her movements were beginning to slow as both of them sank further into the warmth and comfort of just being there in each other’s warmth and company. “Maybe that’s why you’re the only person I can be myself around lately.”

Charlie gave a deep hum of agreement. “Screw Katie,” he whispered. “The girl clearly doesn’t know what the perfect friend looks like, even when she’s right in front of her.”

Rin bent down to kiss the top of his head, smoothing his hair down again where she’d disturbed it with her chin. “Thanks, Charlie.”

He hummed again, bringing his fists to his mouth to cover up a yawn. He couldn’t even remember at what point he’d closed his eyes.

Rin folded up her legs and began to move across the mattress to the edge of the bed. “I should go home and let you rest.”

“Unless…” Charlie slowly sat up a bit, freeing Rin’s legs and rubbing at his head. The tears had dried up, but he was still holding himself the way a wounded animal would, leaning in her direction like he was just seeking heat. “Unless you want to stay? I thought I’d love having the house to myself, but it – it sucks a bit, actually. Especially on nights like this. I don’t really want to be alone.”

“Of course I’ll stay, babe.” Rin leaned across and slipped her arms around his shoulders. She sighed deeply as he lifted one arm to loop around the back of her neck, his face disappearing over her shoulder. “I don’t want to be alone tonight either.”

#sickfic #sickfic boys #demon sickfic #demon whump #charlie #rin #my ocs #platonic comfort #hurt and comfort #headache #emotional whump #platonic caretaker #charlie two #hurt comfort fic

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foxofthedesert · 4 years

Text

RedQueen & Mythology Part 2

Hey, @loudestdork, guess what? Here I am again, this time at 4 am, because your fucking glorious manip has me obsessing over this brilliant little universe where Regina and Ruby are Hades and Persephone. I don’t know whether I should love you or hate you for fueling this hopeless addiction.

While I decide about that, you can read the latest installment. I can’t promise any more but holy shit there are so many ideas to play with. Hope you enjoy it you absolutely magnificent enabler!

Also, please forgive the song insert at the end. It has long been an earworm and this was the perfect ficlet, IMHO anyway, to use it in. The song is “Listen To The Wind” by James Horner (one of my most favorite film composers and I was utterly devastated when he passed) for the Terrence Malick film The New World. The whole score is incredible, but this one in addition to “An Apparition in the Fields...” are the standouts for me. I’ll post the URL to the referenced song after the ficlet. Give it a listen if you are a James Horner fan or a connoisseur of film scores in general.

“Would you please stop? Your needless fretting is tying my stomach into knots.”

Clutching the sheets to her bare chest, Ruby observes her spouse’s restless pacing as anxiety crawls up her spine. She hates this time of year – a twist of fate she could never have predicted when she was a maiden free to roam the Earth at her leisure.

Before she was married there were no seasons. The land was healthy and green year around. Birds and butterflies and wolves, her very favorite animal, flocked to her side, forgetting their natural impulses in the presence of Ceres Eugenia’s progeny. Ruby always had an affinity for animals and had always felt as if she were a part of their various cycles. When younglings were born she rejoiced in song and danced in celebration, and when they perished she mourned as if having lost a member of her family.

Common sense should therefore dictate that she prefer spring over autumn if only to spare herself the grief of watching the whole world die year after year in endless repetition. And yet nothing could be further from the truth. Already a thousand years have passed since she struck the eternal bargain with Jovia Zelena to bind her to Dīs. A thousand years she has observed the flora and fauna endure the frigid snows and gales of winter. A thousand years she has buried her four-legged friends in the frosty loam and held vigil over millions upon millions of trees and flowers and insects alike as they struggled, often fruitlessly, against the remorseless cold intent upon feeding the insatiable engine of death. She has cried enough tears in that millennium to replenish both the Mediterranean and Aegean were they to succumb to a terminal drought and still she would rather endure another rather than spend the coming six months away from her beloved.

Speaking of Regina, as she stops abruptly and swirls around, Ruby can’t help but notice that her sheen toga clings wonderfully to her curves and that the part in the garment has separated to reveal nearly the whole length of a shapely leg her lips long to taste. Eyes blazing, hands on her hips, raven hair spilling over her shoulders, Regina cuts such an impressive and irresistibly handsome figure that Ruby can hardly keep herself from drooling. And how very embarrassing that would be!

Not for the first time, she silently contemplates how anyone with functioning vision and a shred of reason could choose Venus as the fairest of them all. Lips red as the rose, hair black as ebony, and skin white as snow; surely Ruby’s closest childhood friend possessed all of those physical virtues and more, yet even Venus Mater Caelesti – known to those who lover her as Nix Alba (or in the common tongue Snow White) – failed to compare with the banished goddess that all with breath either feared or loathed.

In the vaulted halls of Olympos they derisively referred to the ruler of the Underworld as Regina a Malo, the Evil Queen. But to Ruby she will forever be Regina in Corde Meo, the Queen of My Heart.

Survival for half the year without the sovereign owner of her love and devotion is a torture so unbearable that the Deam Optimus Maximus is no doubt thrilled that her faux attempt at leniency was failing so spectacularly. Were it not for the unyielding support of her mother and Snow, she cannot imagine how she would even function.

True Love, as it turns out, is not only a source of unimaginable happiness but also of indescribable misery.

“Needless fretting?” Regina says, responding to Ruby’s request in a less than accommodating tone. “In less than a fortnight you will leave me once again to the mercy of my imaginations. I can do nothing else but fret when you are not by my side! Beyond the borders of Dīs I cannot protect you, cannot watch over you, cannot...”

“Hover like a mother hen over her chicks?” Ruby supplies, interrupting in an attempt to forestall her wife’s spiraling descent lest she succumb to one of her abyssal depressions.

There is scarcely anything to be done when the darkness has taken hold of Regina in earnest. In such instances, Ruby does what she can to provide whatever comfort her ailing partner will accept. Usually space and time are required for Regina to wrestle off the impossibly heavy blanket of sadness that has engulfed her. But sometimes she lets Ruby sing to her until the fog lifts or hold her hand while they go for a walk through the Fields of Gladness or the Blessed Groves. When the despair becomes too much, Regina will curl into Ruby’s body while they lie abed and it is all she can do during those evenings to keep from empathetically sobbing as her beloved trembles miserably in her arms.

Thankfully Ruby has discovered through trial and error that humor is a method of dispelling Regina’s souring moods that is effective more often than not.

“I resent that comparison,” Regina says, brows furrowed in objection. Ruby breathes a sigh of relief, though, when her shoulders relax into a more neutral posture. “For your information I am nothing like your disgustingly virtuous mother, and I’ll thank you not to imply such again any time in the near future.”

“Aww. Don’t be cross, love. I meant no disrespect,” Ruby says, then invitingly pats the empty space beside her. “Now, be a good girl and come back to bed.”

One sable eyebrow quirks up as Regina eyes Ruby with a small grain of incredulity. “’A good girl’? Do you address Zelena with such remarkable insouciance when you deliver your annual report?”

Said report is part of the deal with the chief goddess Ruby acquiesced to so that she could have six months of the year with Regina instead of the originally intended three. Her first destination each spring is Mytikas, the summit of Mount Olympus upon which the great temple of the gods was erected eons before she was even born. There she is to give account of Regina’s activities, however benign, as assurance that Zelena’s grasp on power remains uncontested. It is a distasteful duty that Ruby executes with all of the precision she can muster, especially since it always makes her feel dirty, as if she is being employed against her will as a spy in her own wife’s domain.

“Of course not, silly,” she replies, smiling at how cute Regina is when acting absolutely ridiculous. “I try to keep interactions with your sister to a minimum, and when I report to her I make sure to maintain the proper formality she most certainly does not deserve. Now stop beating around the bush and come to bed. As you said, I have a fortnight left with you and I do not intend on wasting even one minute.”

When Regina remains mulishly still, Ruby switches to a tried and tactic: batting her eyelashes and pouting shamelessly. To her delight, Regina caves within seconds and responds with an affectionate if not exasperated roll of her eyes.

Once they are settled back in together, Ruby’s back nestled flush with Regina’s front, they both heave sighs of contented pleasure. An easy, familiar silence reigns over them for a space that Ruby does not care to account for. Not when the only thing she needs and desires is right here in this room holding her just right, nuzzling into her cheek and neck in between pressing patient kisses against the skin of her shoulder and arm.

This is her home, Regina is her home, and there is no other place where she feels more safe and loved and cherished in all the universe, which has garnered a fair few questions as to her sanity when she has admitted as such to her friends and loved ones in the planes above Dīs. Some of them have been so bold as to declare to her face that she is insane.

“If that’s true,” she told one such acquaintance, “then sanity is not for me. Better to be deranged and blissfully happy than a sensible busybody like you who will never experience real love or understand how it feels to be desired for your heart instead of your tits!”

That particular individual has not spoken to Ruby since, not that it is a big loss. Drizella always was and always will be a vacuous hussy.

“What am I to do when you’re gone?”

Regina’s plaintive whisper shatters the silence as if she had screamed. Ruby’s heart lurches from a pang of acute melancholy. She already knows the answer to that question, and has since it was first asked a thousand years earlier.

While Ruby cries herself to sleep upon her plush bed in the Aventine Temple, Regina will be working herself ragged by micromanaging every last operational detail of the entire realm. She will spend countless hours draped in thick furs brooding upon her throne while being buffeted by cutting winds that sweep through corridors and hallways of the palace – for while above the spring breeds balmy, gentle breezes, in the Underworld the atmosphere turns ever more frigid and capricious and violent in tune with the temperament of its ruler. Against all logic she will refuse nourishment far too frequently and eat meager portions only when necessary, forego rest until she is too haggard and weary to perform even basic functions, harshly dismiss all attempts to lighten her load until the majority of the staff is too frightened to even approach her, and generally wear herself down until all that is left is an exhausted husk that Ruby will have to revitalize all over again come the fall.

She hates that her beloved will segregate herself to such a degree, but there is little she can do to prevent it. The Laws of Olympus cannot be broken, not even by those who decree them. However, that does not mean they cannot be bent. She may be forbidden to physically see and touch Regina during her time on the surface, but the laws Zelena established dictating their separation make no mention of the metaphysical.

Although eternal beings such as themselves do not require sleep, it is a luxury that provides many physical, emotional, and mental benefits. For them, though, something unique occurs when they are asleep at the same time. Somnus himself had taught her that they are what mortals refer to as Soul Mates. They are, he had told her, two halves of one whole and because of that no force known to heaven or earth could keep them completely isolated from one another. Space and time are irrelevant to them when they can bridge any distance to be reunited in their dreams. Unfortunately learning how to control this ability was quite complex and required many secretive lessons over the centuries for Ruby to even summon the most simple of dreamscapes for herself.

Thankfully this past summer she had at last managed to recreate the broader forest in which she and Regina first met. And tonight she was going to draw them both there as indisputable proof that there was a place beyond prying eyes they could always be together.

“Close your eyes.”

“I bet your pardon?” Regina replies, and when she attempts to prop herself up by an elbow, Ruby latches on to her arm to keep her close.

“For once do what I say without being difficult, would you please? I need you to hold me and close your eyes.”

For a long moment Regina does not comply, and though it starts to appear like she never will, Ruby continues waiting all the same. She is very good at that – waiting on Regina. In her experience, doing so never goes without reward. The woman may be more intractable and ornery than the hound that guards the gates of her dominion, but she is worth the expense of every single second of patience expended and every last ounce of effort exhausted on her behalf.

As if determined to prove her correct, Regina eventually settles back down and snakes an arms beneath the covers to wind over Ruby’s waist. A cool hand then settles in the valley of her breasts, fingers splayed wide over her heart, and Ruby shivers more in response to the welcome touch than to the algid temperature of her wife’s flesh.

“Alright then,” Ruby says, wiggling further into the embrace, “are your eyes closed?” Regina hums confirmation into the shell of Ruby’s ear. “Now, just relax, breathe, and listen...”

And when all is still and quiet once more she begins to sing:

“Time is a river that flows endlessly and A life is a whisper, a kiss in a dream.

Shadows dance behind the firelight,

And all the spirits of the night remind us: We are not alone.

Tomorrow, a sun soon rising, And yesterday is there beside us,

And it's never far away. If you listen to the wind you can hear me again.

Even when I'm gone you can still hear the song

High up in the trees as it moves through the leaves.

Listen to the wind, there's no end to my

Love is forever a circle unbroken.

The seasons keep changing; it always remains. Spring will melt the snows of winter and the summer gives us days of light

So long till autumn makes them fade.

Remember the sound of laughter. We ran together through the meadows;

Still we thought our hearts could break.

If you listen to the wind, you can hear me again.

Even when I'm gone you can still hear the song

High up in the trees as it moves through the leaves.

Listen to the wind and I'll send you my love. Listen to the wind where the sky meets the land.

I'm not really gone I've been here all along

High up in the trees in the sound of the leaves.

Listen to the wind there's no end to my...

Time is a river that flows to the sea

And a life is a whisper, a kiss in a dream.”

As the song draws to an end, there is no sound or movement from Regina save from her steady breathing, by which Ruby can tell she is fast asleep. With a soft, peaceful smile, she shutters her eyelids closed and inhales deeply.

By the time she has fully exhaled, she is already kissing Regina in their meadow.

youtube

#red queen ouat #regina mills #ruby lucas #once upon a time #fanfic #hades and persephone myth #starring james horner's amazing music #gift for:#loudestdork #KEEP REDQUEEN ALIVE Y'ALL!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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johnnydeppfuckyeah · 5 years

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Abuse a Man Unjustly, and You Will Make Friends for Him

“Tell the world Johnny, tell them, I Johnny Depp, a man, I’m a victim too of domestic violence… And see how many people believe or side with you.”

A survivor of hellacious abuse, who was falsely accused of being the abuser, has gone above and beyond to prove his innocence. Despite the profuse amount of evidence in his favor he still is not being believed in the court of public opinion. He did everything and more that one would expect from an abused party. Detailed notes in the form of gruesome photographs, video footage, medical records, audio confessions from his abuser, fleeing the area when violence would erupt, sinking into the bowels of depression as those around watched and could do almost nothing to help or stop it.

This man begged for there to be no more violence. He pleaded with his abuser, “there can be no physical violence..” in the audio tape. “Don’t tell me what it feels like to be punched”, as she tried to redefine his words and experience for him. “I lost a finger man..” He reminds her as she chastises him wildly for insinuating he is a victim of anything at all. The first tape is the result of couples therapy according to the accompanying documentation. We also know he was seeking professional help for his addiction issues. He was trying to change and do better for her. Little did he know at the time it would never be enough. There is nothing he could have done that would ever satisfy her lust for violence, nothing that would have made her stop abusing him. In fact he’s lucky to have gotten out when he did because in all likelihood it would have only continued to get worse for him. Amber Heard is a sick individual who lacks self control and thrives on brutality and combativeness. She is only truly living when she is sucking the life out of someone.

She managed to insert her tortuous ways into his opioid detox by withholding medication from him that would send him into spasms. This is an act that easily could have killed him by triggering him to go into cardiac arrest, not that she likely would have cared much if it had. She sought vengeance on him at all times. Her jealousy and envy of him and everything that he’s accomplished, everything that he has, and everything that he is are unmatched. Certainly by anything I’ve ever encountered anyhow. She didn’t just want what he had but I believe she truly want to be him. Right down to the cheekbones. She dressed like him, she mimicked him, she pretended to be interested in his interests. She tried to turn herself into a female version of him and lured him into her villainous talons. A literal siren.

Johnny Depp has several very impactful witness statements but the one that stands out most to me is from Tara Roberts in the Bahamas. She is his property manager there and has known him and his family for over a decade. She talks about watching a man that she knew as jovial, active, and family oriented suddenly resort to sleeping all day and becoming more reclusive. She goes on to describe several events which took place with Amber on the island, one of which sees Johnny fleeing his home on his ATV just to get away from her monstrous behavior. It proves futile as she catches up with him anyhow, continuing to attack and berate him at length. This man was fleeing his own homes to escape her on a regular basis. His security guards attest to this, having to pick him up from the Eastern Building on multiple occasions after a Heard rampage and taking him back to his West Hollywood home. Heard wanted him to stay and take her abuse because it only made her more angry for him to leave. She became enraged because he refused to stay and be her personal punching bag. It’s vomitous that anyone holds this woman up as a pillar of justice for women when in truth she is the voice of abusers everywhere.

She and her supporters try to say his witnesses are unimportant because they’re his employees. Taking into account that there are over forty of them are we really to believe that all these people agreed to be bought off with not a single soul showing conscience? Beyond that not a single soul ratting the others out and turning on them all? To the contrary several of Amber Heard’s friends have pivoted on her. Her interior decorator and friend Laura Divenere submitted a declaration that Amber had never spoken of domestic violence nor did she ever appear injured in Laura’s presence. We have recntly learned that her own personal assistant will be testifying against her in The Sun trial as well. Not one person from Johnny Depp’s camp has flipped sides. Out of all the people he has spent significant time with in his life not one person has stepped up behind Amber’s claims to echo any sentiment of violence. I don’t mean the inaneness that will inevitibly be brought up if I don’t mention — The Mark Hotel incident, the paparazzi incident with Vanessa Paradis, the crew member on City of Lies who was already proven to be a liar multiple times. I’m talking about claims of true personal violence against someone he was romantically involved with. The time was more than ripe after Amber accused him and not one other woman came forward, in fact they all defended him. I find that astonishing in a marvelous way. Character profiles are extremely important here as abusers usually have a pattern over many years. There is one person in this relationship with a pattern of abuse and abusive behavior. Hint: it’s not Johnny Depp. There is also one person here on whom you can easily find distasteful comments about meeting, interacting, and working with. Hint again: it’s not Johnny Depp.

There’s so much here already and I know we, the public, have not even seen a drop in the ocean compared to what Johnny Depp has in his possession and evidence. People aren’t thinking about that though. They see everything that comes out as some kind of diabolical “leak” from his side, designed only to slander Heard in the media. They don’t realize where these leaks come from. In the United States we have the Freedom of Information Act. All of this documentation is available to the public for anyone who cares to go and look. In the UK I understand the laws are a bit different but a member of the press can go and request the records be released to them. Why would he deny it? He has everything to lose by not being 100% open during both of these proceedings. The antithesis to this is anything coming from Heard’s camp. Anything she (or her lawyers) releases is seen as the smoking gun and people seem to forget there are two recordings out where she professes her lunacy to him let alone two trials looming with an exorbitant amount of evidence yet to be revealed. To be clear, what’s come from her side has been feeble attampts at character assassination and pathetic bids to make him a sniveling, mustache twirling, villain more than anything of real value to her case -which she only states she’ll prove, “if necessary.”

Amber Heard has now requested in both the defamation lawsuit in Virginia and The Sun suit in the UK that her evidence be kept private. In the US that request has already been denied along with two attempts to have the case dismissed flat out. She has a third dismissal attempt still pending as of this writing. That just doesn’t sound like someone who wants to prove their claims beyond a reasonable doubt. It sounds like someone who wants to shut the whole thing down by any means necessary because they cannot substantiate what they say. The courts even agreed in 2016, she can never refile these domestic abuse claims against Johnny Depp and she had hired a criminal defense attorney at that time. Does that not sound suspect to anyone else? She’s been subpoenaing irrelevant people, productions, and companies left and right. She also avoided sitting for a deposition like it was the coronavirus. After multiple excuses and delays they finally got her into the room where she threw a nine hour temper tantrum and refused to be questioned under oath. It was ultimately completed and what has come out of it doesn’t look good for her either.

She has contradicted her own stories so many times I don’t even know where to begin. For starters she seems to not remember when she got married or when her honeymoon was. She stated she only ever hit Johnny one time in defense of her “baby sister” whom she suggests he was about to push down the stairs. We now know, thanks to her deposition and audio confessionals, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. She wholly admitted to multiple violent attacks against him along with the throwing of pots, pans, cans, and vases. She admitted to kicking a door into his head while he was hiding from her in a bathroom and proceeding to punch him in the jaw directly after. Other’s have declared they’ve seen her violently assault him, spit on him, throw purses, and heavy TV remotes to name a few. The list is frankly and sadly endless, and when all is said and done I can’t imagine that Amber Heard comes out smelling like anything less than a thousand year old egg. Johnny may never be fully redeemed by all, just look at the reaction to the absurd necromancer text, some genuinely believe a man must be without any fault to be a victim. He will have his day(s) in court and he will prove himself.

Please feel free to look up any of her declarations and filings to verify the information stated here. I don’t often use a ton of citations but that’s because I assume the base of my readers to be people who are intimately familiar with the case already.

Johnny Depp is a very powerful man, just not in the way the media wants you to believe. Although it may not always seem like it, Depp has made friends around the world throughout this ordeal. People who are victims of abuse have flocked to his side after seeing what, to them, seemed like extremely obvious proof that he was the victim. Men have begun speaking up for themselves about violence they have suffered at the hands of their significant others. They no longer feel ashamed or put down because a woman laid hands on them and inflicted injury, sometimes very seriously. If nothing else Johnny should be extremely proud of himself for speaking up. It may well have been the hardest thing he’s ever done in his life and people should take him seriously. He should take pride that he influenced a large number of people to speak out about their own experiences and find catharsis with him in finally letting it out. He should be proud for giving people hope and he should be proud that he survived and continues to thrive and fight for what’s right. I hope that even in his darkest moments, and when he might be feeling most alone, he can find that one little synapse in his mind that reminds him that we are all here for him, and that he has been there for us. Johnny Depp is innocent. Johnny Depp is a survivor. Johnny Depp will have justice and Johnny Depp has already begun to rise from the ashes of this hideous ordeal. May the film offers pour in and the musical fulfilment be never ending. The best is yet to come.

#article #johnny depp #amber heard #johnny depp is a victim #justice for johnny depp #justiceforjohnnydepp #amberheardisanabuser #amber heard is an abuser

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darth-void · 4 years

Text

On the Streets of Coruscant

Chapter 1

AN: Well, I guess there was actually interest in having me post this on tumblr!

I originally posted this to AO3 if you prefer to read it there (or want to give me comments & kudos, that would be much appreciated)

Rated: G; No warnings, just first encounter; pre-episode I

Words: 1,767

Chapter 2

You had decided to make a stop at a market for the last ingredients you needed for dinner that night. Work at the senate was as stressful as ever, with your motions for bills getting bogged down in petty squabbling. You definitely haven’t made many friends with your fellow senators trying to get the Jedi under more control under the Republic.

Wanting to put the day's events behind you, you told your security escort that you needed just a little while alone at the market, to let the noise of the public drown out your thoughts.

Finally heading out, you were ready to get back to your apartment and cook this indulgent meal. Luckily, you chose the market within a walkable distance from your place.

Not having your security detail, you were keeping an eye out for suspicious activity around you, trying to stay cautious as an unpopular senator. Looking over your shoulder, from the corner of your eye, you noticed a dark figure move quickly around a corner. You stepped a little faster, holding your bags tight, wishing you had taken the blaster your security captain offered while you were left alone, at least for some peace of mind for the both of you.

You glanced again over your shoulder to try and spot the figure again, not seeing anything until to your right, a fast-moving cloak swished behind a market stall. You started to run, turning down a street on your left, hoping to lose your apparent stalker. Taking quick turns around corners and down alleys, you tried to keep track of where you were going so you wouldn’t get lost. Only a few blocks from the apartment building, you found yourself accidentally turning down a dead end.

You turned around to try another way but found your path blocked by your shrouded pursuer. Fearing for your life, you didn’t know whether to call for help or attempt to fight off the potential attacker. Until another figure stepped out behind them. Somehow without any physical touch, this second mysterious being pushed the first to the wall with such force, they stumbled to the ground with a cry, but then they got up and pulled out a blaster, pointing it at the person. A red glow then emanated from something in the second person’s hand, it looked like a lightsaber. But Jedi only wielded blue or green as far as you knew. This person couldn’t be a Jedi, could they? Whatever they were, they made quick work of your pursuer and swiftly struck them down with a single blow, their body falling into a heap on the ground.

Your savior returned their lightsaber to their belt and turned to you, taking off their hood. Beckoning to you with an extended hand, you started to walk towards them, then faltered at noticing the horns protruding from their head. Hesitantly walking to them, you noticed he was a red and black-skinned Zabrak man, covered in black robes and with piercing yellow eyes.

“Thank you for helping me, I don’t know what to say,” you tell the man, a little awestruck at his overall presence. You couldn’t help yourself from staring, and the man looked away from you to the ground. Was he shy?

“It was nothing, my Lady,” he replied quietly. So reserved for someone seemingly so violent.

To break up the awkward silence, you finally piped up “I would like to repay you in some way, it really means a lot that you helped me. I was going to make some dinner when I got home, would you care to join me?”

He seemed surprised at your request.

“I do not know if I should.”

“What is your name?”

“I am Maul.”

You introduced yourself, extending your hand.

“Please, Maul, I would be happy to cook you dinner. It’s the least I can do after what you have done for me just now.” You don’t know why you were so insistent, but something about him intrigued you.

He thought for a moment, finally looking you in the eye and nodding. Apparently not a very loquacious person.

You looked down, disgusted by the body that lay there, stepping around it. You honestly didn’t feel like reporting it, and no one else seemed to be around to have seen what happened, so you decided to just walk away. Maybe not the best decision to make as a senator for the Republic, but you wanted the whole nasty affair behind you. Maul walked beside you, the two of you in silence as you led the way to your apartment.

Occasionally glancing over at Maul, you notice he seems to wear a perpetual scowl, making you wonder what he was thinking, and if he always looked so mean or if that was just his natural face.

After finishing the dinner in near silence, you attempting to make idle small talk and Maul not responding, you came back to the cleared table with some wine, pouring out first for your guest, and then yourself.

“Come, let’s sit in the lounge,” you said as you took your wine and walked away. Maul followed and sat on the sofa with you, keeping a little distance.

Taking a sip of the wine, he broke his silence and asked, “So, why do you believe this person was following you?”

“Because I’m a senator and not a very well-liked one, might be the reason. To be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised if that was a bounty someone put on me,” you replied.

Thinking this only brought you apprehension as to whether you should be taking this more seriously right now, but some other force had you thinking of other, more present matters. You made a note to tell your security captain later.

“Why are you so unliked, to have someone want you killed?” Maul asked. “You seem like a decent and nice Lady.”

“Because of my politics. It is no secret amongst my colleagues and the populous that I am against the Jedi. They are too wild and need more control. I suggest they be contained by the Republic, given less room to run free.” You had to stop yourself from going on a tangent. You were becoming a bit too passionate and shouldn’t have said so much. It is likely that he is like the rest of them and disagrees with you.

Maul looked at you in interest, seeing a little bit of your anger seep through your face.

“I agree with you,” he finally replied.

You quickly looked at him in shock, which seemed to make him tense. “Excuse my surprise. It is not often that someone agrees with me on that subject.”

Looking into his face, you noticed that slowly throughout the evening, the scowl on his face had been softening. At that moment, he truly seemed earnest looking at you. But that moment passed, the scowl was back.

Relaxing a little into the couch, he began speaking again. “The Jedi are no friends of mine, I can assure you,” he nearly growled. “They are a corrupt cult that believes they are above every creature in the galaxy.” He sneered as he finished speaking, taking a gulp from his glass.

Enticed by his bold words, but also wanting to stay cautious, you asked, “if you are not a Jedi, then how is it you came across having a lightsaber?”

He glanced at you in surprise, then quickly looked away. Noticing his hesitation along with his absence of a response, you switched tactics.

“What do you do?”

Maul had a ponderous look on his face, deciding on the exact words he could use.

“I am… an apprentice. For a mechanic.”

You hummed at that. “I am sure. You must be quite accomplished then.” You knew by his response that he was not telling the whole truth, but you didn’t want to be so pushy when he was opening up to you a little.

“What kind of things do you work on? Speeders? Droids? Ships?” Your eyes flickered from his face to his belt and back.

“All kinds of things, Senator,” is all he replied with. He looked away, knowing what you were trying to get at. He was good. You began to wonder if maybe someday you would find out what he was hiding, but what was the likeliness of the two of you meeting again.

He tried again, calculating what to say. “I am learning to work on all types of machinery, but often find myself intrigued with building things from scratch. Speeders, droids, cybernetics. Anything that can challenge me.”

You imagine that meant the lightsaber and were satisfied with his answer. You hummed and took another drink of your wine, finishing off the glass.

“Are there no other senators that agree with you? Who also wants to put the Jedi on a leash?”

“There are only a few, really. I have a committee of just a handful of senators.l and we attempt to pass bills but they get shot down every time. Senator Palpatine from Naboo in private has said he has some hesitation for the Jedi and wants to support my bills, but he never supports me on the Senate floor. I feel I lose what few allies I have left every term.” You looked down at your lap a little defeated. “I don’t even know if it’s worth fighting for anymore.”

He turned to you and looked into your face with a fierceness, “no, do not give up. I believe it is a worthy fight, and you must continue.”

“I am afraid I do not have enough popular opinion from the common people as well. The damn holonews are always publishing slander about me, all false and all ways to try to discredit me at every turn. No, I do not believe that many, apart from you, understand.”

At some point in your deep conversation, the two of you had shifted closer together on the sofa. He looked at you pensively and took your hand, a gesture you were not expecting. “There are others who will side with you, I do believe that,” he told you, looking you straight in the eyes. “Continue your work, I am sure people will see your way one day.”

Once again you were staring at him with curiosity, but this time he was also looking deeply at you. You were all too aware of his warm hand holding yours, and for a bit longer than would have been usual. There was an intimacy stirring between the two of you, a slow simmer building up.

#Maul #Darth Maul #maul x reader #darth maul x reader #may become a series depending on response/motivation #also this is my first solo fic please be kind #personal #On the Streets of Coruscant

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yandere-sins · 5 years

Note

This may sound like a bit of an odd request, but out of the Kou bunch (from magi) who would you say make the worst and terrifying yanderes (like worst yandere to less worse) and why? I hope this makes sense!

I am finally back from all the celebrations and from commission-work I did, woohoo! Sorry for the long wait on all the requests and asks!

Mhm, I am going to count in the Haku’s and Gyokuen because I am not sure if you wanted it narrowed down or all of them!

»»————-———— ♡ ————————-««

On first place, I’d put Gyokuen/Arba. Not a hard decision considering that before Hakuryuu’s rising, she had everything. The power, the money, the army. If she had wanted, she could have legally kidnapped her darling in a matter of a mood change. At first, she might think it’s nice just to keep them around, having them humor her - after all, no one can refuse the empress when she asks them for tea. So no matter what, she can see them as often and as long as she likes anyway. But there might always be the occasional person trying to steal her darling away, or maybe they are getting a little bit too aware of her, so it’s only proper and no bother at all to have them restrained and wrapped nicely for her, literally served on a silver tray if she wishes for it. It’s a hell to endure to be with her too, so they are most likely to submit to her on some point, just to withstand her madness

Second, I’d put Kouha. He has more violent thinking than he has reason, and though he obeys his oldest brother, he’s still doing his own thing nonetheless. He can be quite manipulative if he wants to since he knows what the people talk about him. It will be easy to make his darling seem like just another mad person that he takes on, and even if it takes a little longer, eventually, they might end up thinking everyone else is right, and they have lost it too. That will be his shining moment, as he can swoop in and make them believe he is only doing the best for them. However, he doesn’t stand back from big, painful punishments, the bloodier, the merrier until he’s as feared as he is loved by his darling(s)

Number three is Kouen, who, after Gyokuen, is the most influential person. He has a harder time to get away with kidnapping and keeping his precious locked away, but still not enough to make it a challenge for him. Kouen also tends to be hard to read, and what makes him happy, might come as a surprise and a scream to his darling. Aside from that, he can be moody, ignoring them for days on end until they beg for his attention, or being too rough, too violent, too stressed with them until they flinch from his gaze only. Kouen is a really tough nut to get on his good side with too, making it incredibly hard to please or gain some merits from him, and they’ll start to like being locked away alone because it at least means he’s not locked in the same room with them

The two in fourth place would be Kougyoku and Hakuryuu both. They tend to act similar in the way they handle their darlings, which is tantrums and crying fits at first whenever they fear their darling to leave them, restraining and punishment if the crying doesn’t help. They both want to be pitied and loved by their lovers, but they are not as stupid as to leave doors unlocked, and they will pull all of their backstories and tragic life on display whenever they feel their darling slide out of their hold. They don’t necessarily have the back-up from their families to do what they are doing, so like Kouha, they need to be more manipulative and bringing the darling to the point they’ll stay on their own - out of fear or feeling bad for them doesn’t matter

Hakuei is an angel compared to her brother and cousins. She is very understanding, motherly even. Her darling will be blinded by her determination and ‘good’ intentions for them and actively choosing to stay with her. But every pretty rose has thorns and her darling better not mess something she imagines them to be up while they are with her. Her beloved would never think about going out alone, or accidentally drop their tea-cup. From one moment to the next, she’s not that nice and holy anymore. Suddenly she’s the embodiment of rage, and they cower before her anger and strength. But if they apologize and shiver long enough, she is sure to forgive them, pulling them in a hug and comfort them. Hakuei’s darling does good with learning from their mistakes though, as she might not be so forgiving next time

Last but not least, Koumei. He’s a lovely yandere with neither the time nor the state of awareness that he can really keep his hold on them. His darling is mostly free, up to the point he actually managed to sleep for once and hunted them down to satisfy various needs like social interaction or desires. Luckily, he learned from the last few dead darlings that he shouldn’t lock them, up or they will die pathetically as he doesn’t have the time or mind to look after them. However, they are still somewhat restrained by him forming political connections with them as his concubine and, as such, keeping them in the palace. His orders are absolute, so if he says no going out, that’s that. But they might catch him off-guard with a wish while he is too busy to care, allowing them to go shopping with a guard. Really, as long as they comply with him, they will have a good day

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mwolf0epsilon · 4 years

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Hello! Writing prompt for you! in your after studio au what about the point of view of the toons finally free inside an unknown world? Do this only if you want or if you haven't already done it. Thank you very much ^w^

Summary: After the studio, there's a lot of new development with the toons.

Another case of getting two birds with one stone. I had a request on AO3 for some Sammy X Norman goodness for Post-Studio AU and I also wanted to play around with the toons, so here you go!

[[MORE]]

One of the hardest challenges was without a doubt healing and rehabilitating the twisted and imperfect toons that had come out of Joey's revolting experimentation. Creatures that had once been broken, feral and horrifying to look upon if just from how wrong their forms had turned out. Pipers, Fishers and Strikers that hadn't been good enough to be Charleys, Barleys and Edgar's, among a few other creatures that had evaded Henry during his journey through the damned cartoon studio.

Toons that were slowly stabilizing and becoming less what he associated with danger and more similar to what they were truly meant to be, if not a little unique in their own way.

Well, not counting the ones that had been absorbed by those who had "donated" pieces into their creation that is… Some toons just weren't meant to be and others were just the missing piece that a Searcher needed to ascend into higher thought as a Lost One.

Still, even after a series of purges, there remained a few sets of Butcher Gang clones as well as one singular Chester creature.

There was also something else that had been a little alarming at first. What Henry could only describe as pulsating "embryos" (not really but he didn't know what else to equate them to) that had been formed from excess ink that had sloughed off from the more stable studio employees.

A process that didn't start immediately after leaving the studio, rather, a few months after everyone started to settle.

Henry still couldn't forget the vivid image of Sammy being sick for an entire week, spitting up ink every so often, and then throwing up a massive blob of congealed ink that had slowly shaped itself into a Bendy clone with the most unsettling pair of eyes he'd ever seen. He doubted Sammy himself could forget the disturbing experience, and was also pretty sure he was a little traumatized by it.

Even so he seemed to almost have taken to toon in as if he were his own child. Not as worrisome as veneering the little fella, but still quite hard to grasp considering his… unorthodox birth…

"Any more Searcher incidents since I've been gone to check on the girls?" Henry had asked as he was let inside by Allison, catching a whiff of breakfast being cooked. Pancakes and coffee from the smell of things. Like a quaint little cafe or the Stein household in his youth. Comforting.

"Not since two weeks ago. All Searchers have actually become Lost Ones since you've been gone." She'd responded as she led the old cartoonist into the spacious kitchen.

The table was quite long, and the seats provided were no longer mostly composed of pillows and stacks of books to boost certain inhabitants of the house. The Projectionist was still forced to kneel to eat thanks to the added weight of the machinery that was a part of his body, but he didn't complain from where he was leaning into Sammy and his height more than compensated for it anyway. Henry could just about see Susie carefully braiding the many tangled wires and thick cables connected to the Projectionist's head and back.

"Uh, really? How many toons left then?" Glancing around he noted that not everyone had come down to eat yet. Tom and Buddy likely both being in the bathroom washing up from running outdoors. A favourite activity of his.

"Three sets of Butcher Gang clones. Two are incomplete." Allison explained. "We think we know who was the originator of the complete set, but their Charley has stated that the trio is fairly happy to remain as they currently are. They are nearly perfect if you ignore the heavy scarring and prosthetics."

"I take it that's Mr. Allwine's set?" Henry guessed. Humming in understanding when she nodded rather than verbalizing her confirmation.

"I recall Mel now that things are coming back to me. He really enjoyed voicing those three, so I'm not surprised he'd rather remain as the Butcher Gang." Susie added as she finished the messy braid of wiring. "I'll miss his jokes though…"

"I certainly won't. He was a jackass at best…" Sammy huffed, eyeing the unblinking toon currently hiding under his chair. "Don't repeat that around the Edgars… Charley and the Barleys will wallop you into fine impish ink."

"M'not stupid." The little imp retorted in Sammy's own voice, although it sounded much younger. Less weighted down by a bitter and heavy conscience.

"I'm not implying that you are, just giving you a fair warning. Socialized or not, those crooks are always eager to pick a fight." Like a parent passing on sage advice, Sammy offered the little wandering menace a pat before pressing a kiss to the Projectionist's neck.

The larger ink man rumbled happily and seemed content between his two favourite people, and even passed a piece of toast to the little devil hidden under the chair. They made for an odd family unit, but Henry was very sure they were happier than they'd been for a long time.

"Sometimes I forget you had to raise a kid before all this…" Henry chuckled, amused by the domesticity of it all, before turning back to Allison. "The incomplete sets?"

"Not a clue. Well, there's one that's just an Edgar, but we know he was part of Grant… Although he reformed without needing to assimilate that piece." She shrugged "The little guy is more mature than the other two Edgars. I'd say he's more of a teenager even."

"And the remaining incomplete set?"

"An Edgar and a Barley. They lost their Charley a while back, but they haven't clung to any particular employee that we can tell… Grant's Edgar has been around them a lot though, so they seem content." Allison flipped the pancakes over as she spoke. "They also orbit around Mel's Butcher Gang. I think his Charley makes them feel safe."

"Good to always have an emotional safety net I suppose…" Henry was at least glad that they hadn't reverted into feral creatures. Socializing them had been pretty difficult considering how messed up they'd been from their failed creation process. Like teaching feral cats to trust. "Anything else?"

"Norman's been leaking a little." Sammy offered. "Not enough to be alarming, but just about enough that we're sure we're uh… Well. Expecting extra company."

As if to prove Sammy's point, the Projectionist let out a choked wet cough, the tube connected to his esophagus uncoiling and shuddering before a blob splattered onto Sammy's lap.

Henry winced at the mess, and gave the curly haired musician a sympathetic look as his face went completely blank. Likely registering what had just happened.

"Ewwww…" the not quite perfect Bendy clone inched away from the drippy mess, while Susie shook her head and got up.

"I'll get the napkins…"

In the Projectionist's defense, he looked quite sheepish for a creature that couldn't properly emote. Hunched shoulders and claws tapping together as he looked down at his knees in shame.

"Lovely…" Sammy pinched the bridge of his nose and just let the blob fall to the ground. It twitched slightly but remained as it was. "You'd think the miracle of childbirth would be nicer to bare witness to..."

"Even if it were the more conventional and biologically sound method, I can assure you it's not as beautiful as most would have you believe." Henry offered with a tight smile as he tried not to think about the tiny inky organism that was slowly reshaping itself into the vague figure of a comic strip character. "And I was there to see it happen twice."

"I take it there was a lot of screaming involved?" Sammy smiled at Susie as she returned with the napkins. He started patting the stains carefully, letting the ink soak into the napkin.

"On my part? Plenty." Henry winced "No one ever told me there's more after the baby comes out… And it didn't get easier the second time around. Linda nearly crushed my hands…"

It didn't take long for breakfast to be done and every single household member to rush down to eat once called upon.

Only now the Projectionist was holding a toon of his own, while he vacuumed up cut up pieces of pancake and orange juice.

All things considered, having a new playmate for the other toons wasn't a bad thing.

If only the little blighter wasn't a troublemaking super villain… His first action was to shoot the pancake pieces out of Tom's fork and the large toon wolf was none too pleased when the little jerk started giggling about it.

Binky was surprisingly the easiest of the toons to get along with, right after Buddy. Outside of the studio, the Ink Demon was no longer a sinister figure that haunted the imagination of those who'd suffered in Joey Drew's nightmare.

Instead he was something closer to the cartoon character he was meant to be. Except he was much less troublesome than the mischievous and often misguided devil darling himself. In fact, the lanky imp was rather shy.

Sure he still looked far too human in proportions, and he was still learning how to speak, but honestly nothing about him was as off-putting as Henry initially thought. He felt bad judging him on appearances alone. Just like Joey had…

And, knowing what he did now, Henry didn't blame Binky for any of what he did in the studio.

The tiresome plotline, the living Ink's conflicting will, and the isolation had been the source of the Ink Demon's violent actions.

A scared and confused toddler following the bad examples of others.

But not anymore.

Not for as long as Henry was here to protect these people and help them grow.

Binky's less rumbustious disposition also meant he had a tendency to opt for calmer and more relaxing things to do. Like sleep under the shade of a tree when the weather was nice, watching the fish swim by in the stream, or pick flowers of all shapes, sizes and colors. Often doing so while watching the other toons run around and frolik like wild children.

Most often the poor guy was the unsuspecting victim of the Wanderer's shenanigans (despite Sammy's constant reminders to play nice).

With the addition of Cameraman, things were more hectic.

Others had lost their own excess ink in the span of the few days of Henry's visit, so the roster of toons consistently grew the better some people recuperated.

Jack had actually come down to visit as well, looking positively happy to find so many were experiencing something similar to himself.

In the first week of living with his husband and roommates, he'd apparently shed some more of his own ink and later found a small cartoon sheep staring up at him from under his bathroom sink. That had been an interesting night for the Fains.

Said sheep was eager to meet two others who'd been formed off of two other members of the Music Department. Johnny Brokeheart, the organist that had once been imprisoned inside his beloved instrument, and Julian Whitaker, the cellist that had sometimes visited the Prophet's domain for protection as a Lost One with a prominent limp.

The Woolly Triplets were happy to be together for a few hours before Jack returned home with his third of the trio. The little guy was reluctant to leave Jack's side, and both he and Theo had grown attached to him anyway.

It'd feel strange to part ways so suddenly.

Henry had marveled at the interesting cast of characters that were still coming together.

There were now three wolves, three angel, a demoness, a living camera, two imps, a leprechaun, two pirates, a living pirate chess, and three spiders.

He could only imagine what else might pop up the next time he came around to check on everyone.

It was truly a full house.

One full of silly shenanigans and exasperated parents that didn't want to admit their kids were adorable but little hellions. Such an odd thought, being a parent to a cartoon character that had at one point been their means to earn money… Odder still how easily they connected with them.

Perhaps because they'd come from them? Like an actual offspring?

That seemed to be the case with Sammy at least. If anyone had reasons to resent a certain grinning devil, it had to be the false prophet who'd grown disillusioned.

He loved the little Wanderer though.

Unsettling eyes and grin be damned, he was a proud da and did what he could to raise him.

Same with Norman who actually had proper experience as a father, and then even Susie who'd been a little miffed that she didn't have a little Alice to tend to, but still took on the responsibility of teaching Miss Twisted to not be too much of a nuisance (she loved her really, like mother like daughter they ended up becoming in less than an hour).

Even those who Henry hadn't pegged as the sort to want to be parents were doing grand with their own toons.

Grant was an exemplary father despite his neurotic personality, and even Bertrum and Lacie seemed fond of acting as an uncle and aunt to the toons. Teaching them things and letting them get away with things their parents wouldn't.

It was… honestly very nice.

Nothing the toons didn't deserve after such a rough start.

#eps writes:#bendy and the ink machine #batim #Post-Studio AU

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yanderelovebites · 5 years

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If it isn’t too much to ask, can I request how Yandere Dabi, Shigaraki, Kaminari, villain Deku, and Shinsou would react to a darling who comes from an abuse situation?

Fuck I love these. I had to quickly make an outline questions but okay!

Dabi

- Dabi knew you were abused before he stole you away. He knew exactly how he would hurt them. He also knew you'd probably need some convincing, not everyone is willing to run from their abusers for whatever reason. Oh but he would have you and he would make sure you'd never have to deal with this ever again. Even if he has to reevaluate how to keep you in line–even if you'd fall submissive by default.

- He is both sensitive and manipulative of it, even using his own former abuse situation to keep you in line. It's always along the lines "You don't think I understand?" and follows something his father did. He likes bringing your past up right before he switches up and says "So of course I get you're sooo confused right now." He is going to touch those topics all just to bring it back to one thing, his sensitivity to your situation. While he may get loud, he'll suddenly get softer and say "So, you need to follow what I say, I can help you." After all, shouldn't a lover help their s/o after they experience trauma?

- When he went to get you, he basically tied you and your whole family up. You alone were not in a chair around the table. He had a few choice words to say to your family as they screamed and begged to be let go. Many throwing you under the bus but that's exactly why they're in this mess, aren't they? You were so scared, you didn't know what he meant by "You'll love the bond fire" until he carried you outside and burnt your home to the ground. Your family screamed but all you could do was watch or turn your face away from the flames.

- The main differences between an abused Darling and a normal darling is very much just how he keeps you in line–if he needs to at all. He won't physically hurt you because he knows that would make him hypocritical. He does, however, still uses your past–your biggest insecurity about you–to his advantage. This includes any sexual interaction if you weren’t abused sexually–if you were, he’s very adamant on making you feel safe and has probably asked if anything in particular would remind you too much of the abuse–specifically kinks.

- Dabi is one of those who can get their darling to submit fairly quickly. It seems like they resign to it at first and maybe the love does but once you’re there for more than three months, you start to appreciate the actual change. No pain, just pleasure. He isn’t there? No need to fret, you just stay in your room by the closet. You want affection? All you gotta do is walk up to him. He very much just drowns you in all these ways of affection and false security that you have no clue how dangerous your situation is. You don’t care anymore, though, do you? You’re safe with your capturer and protector, after all.

Tomura Shigaraki

- Tomura knew you were abused before he kidnapped you. You see, while you caught his interest, he also saw signs that most wouldn't pick up on. Coming from an abusive home himself before AFO found him, he knew when a smile was faked or if a gleam in one's eye wasn't quite right. After all, he had such a look within himself once upon a time. He looks into your home life and find your situation quite...obscene. So of course he had to take you away! You're his, it's only natural for him to take away all the pain.

- Tomura isn't as physical as he would've been. Will he still force himself on you? Yep. Will he degrade you? Not in the same way. Doesn't he manipulate you? Fucking hell. He loves bringing up that he's the reason you're no longer with your abusers. He'll sugarcoat his treatment by saying at least he loves you. At least he's not leaving horrible burns, cuts and unsavory marks. At least his marks are made through love making. He loves manipulating your feelings to make you compliant. Ohhh and there are more sweet moments! Did you have nightmares surrounding them? Don't worry, he'll comfort you. Panic Attack? He's with you all the way!

- He killed them once you were safely in his room. He records the whole thing! He wanted you to see their torture like they had tortured you! Honestly, deep down in your sweet heart... you enjoyed it.

- The main differences between abused victim darling vs normal darling is that Tomura is more sympathetic than cruel. He treats more like a pet in the beginning instead of a trophy. He's far more protective of you. He takes more into consideration. You're still his player 2 no matter what though. In fact, you're far easier to sway as an abuse victim.

- When it come to Tomura, it's a mix of resignation and worship. You've become compliant but at the same time you have the need to worship him. Tomura admits it might have something to do with his manipulation tactics but at this point he doesn't care. You're player 2 and only his player 2. Only you get his affections. Worship was indeed a form of affection so Tomura never tried fixing it. Over all, you become a sweet darling that he adores and while sensitive to his darker desires, still takes his Sadistic tendencies in bed. You still are who? His player 2.

Denki Kaminari

- He had not known you were from an abuse situation when you were caught in his grasp. Your family seemed really nice and he had no idea. He should've seen the signs, but he only recognized it after you clutched your head as he yelled at you. He wasn't 100% sure though so he asked you. This would've happened before he had the chance to show his more aggressive side, only starting. He would be offput by your reaction to his yelling. Instantly covering your head? Flinching away? He's gonna calm down but it'll be creepy... firstly, he's gonna get you to trust him not to hurt you and get you to admit it. Whatever he was mad about, he'll set it aside for now while he holds you.

- Since he wants you to stay with him and he learns about the abuse, he openly avoids hurting. This is good for you but not those around you. He will hurt more people so his anger isn't put out on you. Have you accidentally walked in on it? Yeah. Does he appear scary? Fuck yeah. Your instincts tell you you're gonna get hurt but don't worry... his anger only goes towards the victim. He just gets really creepy. If he's done, he simply calms you and makes you help him remove the body. If he isn't done, he will make you watch. Again, he'll make you help dispose of the body with him. Next thing you know he's praising you for helping him. (Why am I getting Heathers vibes?)

- Denki will seem like he's being sweet and inviting your family over. You will be completely informed because you should want them to pay, right? Once they're trapped with no hope of escape or ability to receive help, he'll ask who hurt you the worst. He'll make you tell him how they hurt you, mainly the worst way. He will punish all of them based on how bad their abuse was before snatching their life from them through high voltage.

- As I've put in the original Headcanons for Denki, you were abused and oversexualized by Denki but seeing as you already were a victim of abuse, Denki won't be inclined to hurt you. What would've been pain becomes death. What would've been sexualized becomes quality time by helping him clean up. Of course he'd still do such things but it's far more sweet. That's the main difference between you being from an abuse situation vs not.

- You would believe him to be your savior and worship him in your own timid way. In some ways it's soothing him after missions or classes, in others pleasing him in more adult activities–although he overall has to guide you.

Villain Deku

- Deku knew you were abused after following you. He couldn't stand you hurt but at the beginning he wasn't who he was now. As time kept going, he evidently became a Villain. He was far more willing to take you. He was far more willing to end your suffering and take you away where only he could reach you. That he did.

- Deku does use your trauma to his advantage. Your trauma makes you far more willing to follow his rules. To obey. He decides to treat you probably the kinkiest way to be honest. He basically forced you into a DDLG relationship but to be honest...you didn't really fight or go against it. Perhaps you liked being small? Perhaps it was enticing to you compared to what you've known as 'family'. Either way, it hard for anyone at first to think he forced this on you by how you act.

- The day he kidnapped you, he killed them. It was all so traumatic. Imagine doing what your told, perhaps a chore or something, and suddenly you hear mom or dad scream. You run to hide and next thing you hear is literally more screaming until you're the only one left. He finds you hiding. All you hear is someone singing "and I...can't...help...falling... in love... with..." and you're pulled out of your hiding place as he says "...you." You don't see the bodies but your can smell their blood as it hangs thickly in the air.

- The main differences between a normal darling and an abuse victim Darling is how he treats you obviously. As where he only occasionally uses DDLG related thing with a normal darling, that's the basis of his relationship with the abused darling. He may even give you excuses unlike a normal darling. You tried running? It okay! This does seem too good to be true! You're still getting a punishment even when he gives you excuses but unlike the brutality with a normal darling, it's usually spankings or maybe sitting you through a movie genre you absolutely despise. You hate horror? You're watching a random horror movie he has! You don't like comedy? Let's look for the cringiest comedy! There's far more less violent stuff he uses as punishment. Also, his sexual activity is a up a notch compared to a normal darling. He can't help it! He has to spread his affection to you!

- Once you accept this life, you aren't exactly praising or resigning to your life. No no you've been completely brainwashed into it! Could anyone blame you for it? Someone comes along, while scary at first, takes you from all your pain and fear and brings you into a world of love and shelter from the cruelty of the world you're too familiar with. How could anyone not want to go along? It's not resigning if you crave it, right? Yet you aren't praising him or seeing him as a savior. No, you don't think he's god! An abused darling of Villain Deku would see herself as his equal even if their relationship doesn't suggest it as such. Deku wouldn't mind that either, as it's not like anyone will find you!

Hitoshi Shinsou

- Shinsou had no idea you were abused until after you started dating. You had refused to wear your swimsuit without a shirt over top it and then refused to go in the water… Shinsou used his quirk on you and because the shirt was white and cotton, he saw your bruises along your stomach and some on your back. His reaction? Commands you to tell him how you got them and while you fought in your consciousness, you told him what your family does. He is furious with them and mentally vows to make sure you’re not in that situation for much longer.

- Shinsou isn’t physically abusive tbh. He will, however, be more aware of your feelings and will question the length of your abuse. It’s sexual? He will keep things like that on the down low. Any verbal abuse? He’ll watch his word choice, will try using less cuss words for your sanity. He will make the top priority to make you feel loved and safe.

- Their destruction happens in steps. Your family doesn’t deserve mercy, right? He’ll first break any means of connections they have to the world one by one. He’ll make them humiliate themselves and hurt others. He’ll force them to hurt themselves. Then, when all is said and done, he’ll make them all go to their own suicide. All high buildings. All of them will jump.

- The main differences between an abused darling and a normal darling is comes from the abuse itself. Shinsou in either relationships would never physically harm his darling; however, he won’t blackmail this darling but instead entice them with his vengeful solution. They’re very submissive because of their trauma and would do anything to get out, therefore blackmail wouldn’t be necessary. Another difference is his delicacy with your emotions.

- At the most intimate height of this relationship, you definitely would be a little on the worship side. Shinsou doesn’t ask for it nor does he stop it. He does not see it necessary either but he does enjoy it. He makes you feel safe and like nothing can hurt you. He does have to coax you into some activities (normally of the sexual variety) but in the end it’s not as bad. He still controls you and people have tried separating you two but…they always end up dead. And you always end up in shinsou’s arms, listening to him. Even if you begged him to not kill some victims.

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danyka-fendyr · 5 years

Text

Unknown Subject

Yes this one is named after an episode of Criminal Minds. Sue me. (Please don’t though CBS you would not have much of a case but I don’t have the money for it even if you tried). Anway, this was a request from the lovely @lettersofwrittencollective and should I be writing other things? Yes. But hey! I got inspired, okay?

Summary: Spencer finds himself falling for the mind of an unsub as the team tries to navigate their way through a tricky series of puzzles, but...are things what they seem?

Warnings: Generally disturbing themes of violent death. The usual Criminal Minds murder stuff. Also, I’m giving the reader a brother, so if you don’t have one...just pretend you do. Y/B/N is Your Brother’s Name. Also, the reader is in their mid-twenties for plot purposes.

Wordcount: I could have counted the words in this fic but instead I got distracted staring at Spencer Reid’s beautiful hair. Like...who is his stylist? I need to know for science and also because I’m considering a haircut.

“Well this is interesting,” Rossi grumbled, examining the body lying cold on the table.

“The kill was fairly efficient, but inexperienced as you can see,” the ME said. “The victim was poisoned, but judging by the blood samples we have, it was clumsier than intended. We’re guessing this was a first kill, since no experienced poisoner would use a mix like this.”

“So the swelling on the face and the purple coloring are a result of that?” Spencer leaned in closer.

“That would be exactly right. The victim actually asphyxiated from other problems caused by these chemicals before the poison could reach his heart. It should also be noted that it doesn’t take much to get these ingredients. Most of them can be found commonly around the house. Take bleach, for example.”

“How did the unsub force the victims to take poison like that? It can’t have been administered orally,” Rossi said.

The ME shook her head. “It wasn’t. Interestingly, it seems the unsub injected it through the victim’s nose, like one might with a nasal clearing device, the kind you would normally put saltwater in. It would appear that the victim’s mouth was taped shut, and if the killer plugged their nostrils, they would have had no choice but to swallow.”

“It would have been a reflex,” Rossi said.

“Exactly. We can see this in the chemical burning in the nostrils as well as the mouth. Additionally, it appears the victims were all lured from well-populated places, then drugged and taken somewhere more remote.”

“What could convince these men to follow someone out of a party though?”

Reid was leaning in closer to the body. He spoke into the brief silence. “What is that? In the throat there?”

The ME reached for her tools, fishing in the victim’s throat until she found...a note.

“Something borrowed and something blue

Only he can save me from you

Where men fall to their knees and wind chimes don’t sing

When you are ready, give me a ring.”

Rossi recited the poem aloud.

“Well call me crazy, but it sounds like this unsub wants to get married,” Jennifer said.

“Yes, but look at this,” Reid said, pointing to the second verse. “‘Only he can save me from you’. What does that mean? It almost sounds like it was written from the perspective of the victim...But then who is he?”

“Maybe the unsub imagines all of these men to be unworthy suitors. I think, given the victimology and this message, we can safely conclude that this unsub is a woman. We know that she’s kidnapped multiple men all with roughly the same physical appearance between the ages of 20-30, and we know that the kills have been clean and efficient with no signs of sexual sadism or torture. Maybe ‘he’ is the one true love who will save her from all of these other ‘lesser’ men,” Hotch suggested.

“Maybe, but something about it doesn’t quite add up. If we know she’s holding multiple men hostage, then why the specific usage of ‘you’? Why send this message to us, the FBI, to find? In fact, if it’s meant for some white knight, why leave it with the body at all? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Yeah. What about this line with the wind chimes here? What does that mean?” Morgan pointed it out on the board where Reid had copied the message over.

“It would appear to be a clue to the unsub’s location,” Rossi said.

“This lady has got to get better at her clues,” Garcia said from where she was on speakerphone.

“Garcia, can you look up levels of low wind activity in the city and neighboring towns? This unsub has a pretty clear comfort zone, so this might narrow it down some, assuming that ‘where wind chimes don’t sing’ is a specific reference to geographical location.” Reid spoke.

The sheriff of the town poked his head in. “There’s been another body found.”

“Well, our unsub is definitely getting bolder,” Morgan observed.

This body had been left out in a park, in contrast to the carefully hidden body that had washed up on the riverbank before.

“Check for a message in the throat,” Reid suggested.

Sure enough, there was another one.

“I hope that you can understand

Know that this was not my hand

All the cards are on the table, but who signed the deed

Can you solve the riddle, Dr. Reid?”

“Oh that ain’t good,” Morgan said.

“So it’s a riddle for Reid?” Hotch questioned.

“It would certainly seem that way,” Morgan said.

“Listen to this, ‘know that this was not my hand’. That almost sounds like the unsub is saying she didn’t do it.”

“Well it seems pretty clear to me that she uh..did,” JJ pointed out. “Y’know, seeing as she’s leaving notes in corpses. Plus, look at the line about all the cards being on the table. Maybe she’s saying it wasn’t her hand of cards.”

“Even if you’re right, though, that still implies a claim of innocence. Like the unsub is deflecting blame,” Rossi said.

Reid set down his coffee cup on a map, and Blake moved it so that it wouldn’t leave a stain.

“I just got the toxicology report from the lab. It looks like the same chemicals as before were used, just a more refined combo. You guys...I think we need to look at the very real possibility that we might be dealing with a younger unsub here. Maybe even a minor. If you combine the fact that her victims are mostly in their early to mid-twenties with what we know about her poison of choice...these are all common household cleaners. Something you could snag while your Mom wasn’t looking.”

Reid shook his head. “The text doesn’t match up with that theory though. Both notes are written from an almost poetic standpoint as if whoever wrote them comes from an educated background. Someone with this kind of literary prowess would have to either be very well-read or much older than you’re suggesting, likely both. Look at the rhyming patterns and the choice of words. This kind of messaging system, this kind of crime is simply too organized for a teenaged girl to pull off.”

“Wait...you guys.” JJ stood, crossing to the board that still had the first message sprawled across it for comparison. “Remember who we couldn’t figure out who ‘you’ could be? What if we’re dealing with multiple unsubs here?”

Rossi’s eyes lit up with understanding. “And one of them wants out.”

“Likely the submissive one,” Hotch said, latching onto the theory. “If we assume that the line about this not being her hand is a claim of innocence than it’s entirely possible that the dominant one roped her into this against her will somehow. It could be that the submissive one is the one luring these men away from the clubs and bars most of them disappeared from and drugged them, but it’s the dominant one doing all the killing.”

Spencer stood from the table, crossing to the board. “But by that logic, we’re assuming the older party is the submissive one, which almost never happens.”

“The unsub could have leverage against her,” JJ suggested. “Garcia, look up all missing men that fit the age parameters and type of this unsub, and then check to see if they have sisters, mothers or even aunts that have also gone missing recently.”

“On it!”

It wasn’t long before Garcia had an answer for them, with a search that specific.

“Bingo! Your hunch was right, my clever crime-solving friends. Y/B/N and Y/N Y/L/N both went missing when they went on a road trip together two weeks ago.”

“That’s right when the kidnappings started. Garcia, is it possible that Y/B/N was the dominant unsub’s first victim?” Reid asked.

“Oh, definitely little Einstein, but not for the reason you’re thinking. It was actually the sister who filed complaints of a stalker with local police. They assumed that the stalker nabbed the two and that at this point, they were probably long dead.”

“Was a suspect ever identified for the stalker?” Morgan asked.

“You know there was, lover. And you’re never going to believe this, but the suspect was, in fact, a teenage girl. Joanna Bridges, 18 years old, still in her senior year of high school. Apparently, Y/N was something of a friend to the girl. Reportedly Joanna was a bit of a loner, and Y/N, a senior, took pity on her lower classman. That all changed though when she went off to college.

“Joanna brought a whole new meaning to separation anxiety and things got real nasty real fast. As one would suspect, fights ensued, the friendship fell apart, and then for the next four years our dear Y/N thought no more about it. Flash forward, she’s coming home, and Joanna is finishing up her senior year of high school, but she is less over it. She starts showing up at Y/N’s house making all kinds of unwanted advances, but after being rejected several times, she turned to more subtle methods, including but not limited to lurking in the background, leaving anonymous gifts, and just generally being creepy. Unfortunately, the police could never find concrete evidence, which brings us to the present. And before you ask, yes, I have addresses for both parties, and I am sending them to your cells now.”

“Thanks, baby girl,” Morgan said.

“You can thank me when you get home,” Garcia purred.

“Reid, you and JJ go to the Y/L/N house. Rossi and Morgan can go to the Bridges residence, and Blake and I will stay here and see what more we can find out about the wind chime clue.”

“Okay,” JJ said, coming back from interviewing the parents. “Apparently, like most teenage girls, Y/N pretty much lived in her room. Everything we could possibly need to know about her life before she went off to college is going to be here. If this is all really about her, then maybe we can find some clues here.”

“I mean, that much is obvious. Look at this room. It’s lived in,” Reid said, tracing a finger over a picture frame on the desk. “There’s dust here, but not much, indicating that the room was cleaned at about the normal intervals for the girl she would have been at the time.”

“Okay, Y/N, where did you hide your secrets? A diary?” JJ checked the bookshelf and then classic hiding places for a diary. “Nope. Doesn’t look like she’s kept a diary in years. Not since before middle school, even. That’s weird. Reid, if you were a teenage girl, where would you keep a diary?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t keep one. It’s like asking someone to read your thoughts. The concept always seemed incredibly invasive to me. The only journals I kept were scientific. I’d much rather have people read my work, personally.”

“Wait, Reid, that’s it. If Y/N was like most teenage girls, she would have been intensely private. But you said that her writing was advanced. Not just the work of someone who well educated, but someone who was a literary enthusiast. What if, instead of keeping a diary, she wrote poetry about her life? That way, if anyone asked, she could just dismiss it as a story.”

“Her writing does indicate experience. That was part of why I thought it couldn’t be a younger unsub. It’s too well established, too firm in its identity and style. It would make sense if Y/N is as clever as we think she is. With her poetry, she would have been hiding in plain sight, just like she was when she left us those notes.”

Sure enough, after further going through the girl’s room, they found notebooks filled with poetry. Upon first glance, they could have been mistaken for school notebooks, classic yellow and black spiral bounds, but their contents read very different.

“Look at this, Spence.” JJ ushered him closer from where he stood reading across the room reading at a much faster pace than she could. “This one talks about someone in her life who tried to hold her back. Someone who couldn’t grow up and was mad at her for trying to. That sound like anyone we know?”

“Here, let me see that.” He flipped through the notebook in a matter of seconds. “From the sounds of it, there was some serious emotional manipulation happening her. Joanna guilt-tripped her hard and made some serious attempts at gaslighting. If she had been a little older and more experienced, she might have met with more success, but her attempts were too clumsy for Y/N not to identify them as what they were eventually. She wanted to believe the best, but Joanna aggressively drove her away. ironically in an attempt to keep her close.”

“Well Joanna is older now, and probably has enough experience to be a master manipulator if she started that young.”

“We have to tell the others, see if they found anything,” Reid said, dialing Morgan’s cell and explaining what they had found.

“Yeah, that’s pretty consistent with what we’re seeing here,” Morgan said. “This girl could write the textbook on emotional manipulation, from the way her family tells it. Not that they knew what was happening. They were just as under her spell.”

“Wait, Morgan...do you think the kidnappings could be to try to manipulate Y/N into killing with her?”

“Could be,” Morgan said. “I mean, think about it. It would be the ultimate sign of dedication. I would die for you, but would you kill for me? Just do this one thing and everything will be forgiven.”

“The only problem is, Y/N doesn’t want to be forgiven. She’s smart enough to know that she’s not the one in the wrong here.”

“It’s only a matter of time though before eventually, Joanna convinces her otherwise and she breaks though.”

“Well let's hope we get there first,” Spencer said before hanging up.

While he and Morgan had been talking, JJ had been wandering the house, investigating. “Spence, come take a look at this!”

He headed out onto the back porch where JJ was, only to find dozens of wind chimes.

“Mrs. Y/L/N, where did all of these wind chimes come from?” JJ asked.

“Oh, they were gifts. Most of them were from that sick, twisted stalker who kept sending her all the anonymous messages.”

“Were any from Joanna?” Reid asked.

“As a matter of fact, one was. She used to make them, and she made one for Y/N before they grew apart.”

“Which one of these is it?” JJ asked.

“Oh, it’s not any of these. It hangs inside, in the kitchen window. The glass it’s made out of was stained by hand, and it will fade if left out in the weather. Most of these are the same, but Y/N never cared if any of these got damaged. I think the only reason the first one is still in the kitchen is because it reminds her of a better time.”

“Ma’am, you said these were made by hand?” JJ said.

“Why yes, I believe so. Joanna’s family had some land by the water, I think, and they used to melt down the sand into glass. Very crafty, they all were.”

JJ whipped out her cell to call Garcia.

“Your resident Bill Gates impersonator in the house, what can I do for you darling?”

“Garcia, can you tell me if Joanna and her family had any kind of craft business having to do with glass? Wind chimes, maybe?”

“One moment, please....Yes, as a matter of fact, they did. The Bridges own a little arts and crafts store famous for their beautiful wind chimes made from sand gathered from a plot of land they own near the water here and all-natural dyes. Unfortunately, these little beauties have to be kept indoors to stay at peak condition, meaning that they will never make any cheerful tinkling noises.”

“That sounds remote enough to be a holding location. Garcia, can you give me an address on that beach house?”

“Sending it your way now sugar plum. PG out!”

The team raced for the house, and Spencer couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. Something told him this girl wasn’t a bad person. Well, actually, she had told him that. Specifically him, which was odd. How had she decided that he would be the one who could save her, and how had she even heard about him?

When the team made it into the house, they found Y/N held at gunpoint by a hysterical Joanna. The missing men must have been held somewhere else, but one that resembled Y/N lay on the floor unconscious.

“Joanna Bridges, FBI! Put the gun down,” JJ said.

“No!” Joanna screamed. “She doesn’t understand. I did this all for you. I never cared about him.” She gestured with the gun towards Y/B/N. “It was only ever you. I brought all of these men here to show you. They could never love you like I do. Don’t you understand?”

Spencer locked eyes with her. She was terrified, not that much younger than him. For a second, they seemed to click, and the look in her eyes changed.

“I understand, Joanna.” She reached out even though she looked like she might puke. “I understand now. You don’t have to do this anymore. It’s over.”

Joanna shook her head frantically. “Not until you kill one of them. You have to prove...you have to prove it.”

“Prove what, Joanna?” Spencer asked. “Prove that she loves you? She’s already proved that. She kept all the wind chimes you sent her. She wrote about you, in her poems. She loves you, I know she does. Don’t you, Y/N?”

You nodded frantically. “I do. I do, so just put down the gun JoJo.”

“You love me?” Joanna softened.

“Of course. Of course I do. So you see, you didn’t have to do this after all.”

“Say it.”

“Say what?” You asked, confused.

“Say that you love me.”

You swallowed, fighting the sick feeling in your stomach. “I love you.”

The second Joanna dropped her guard, JJ was on her, and you collapsed. You fell to your knees, but it wasn’t long before Spencer had an arm wrapped around you.

“It’s alright. It’s okay. Your clues lead us here. You were so brave and so clever,” he muttered.

“I thought,” you said, your breaths coming in shuddering gasps, “I thought if they would just call in the FBI...I read about you. I knew you could save me if I just left the breadcrumbs.”

“You did great Y/N. You did great.”

“She said, she said if I didn’t do what she said she would kill my brother,” you cried.

“It’s all going to be okay.”

A couple months later, you and Spencer were meeting for coffee. In the process of studying you and your...somewhat unique case, you two had become friends. A little more than that, actually. It was safe to say that you had a crush on him, but you had no idea if the genius reciprocated. If you had to take a guess, probably not.

“Hey uh...sorry I’m late. Paperwork.” He fiddled with the straps of his bag, an undeniable smile tugging at his lips.

“You don’t seem nearly put out enough to have been doing paperwork. Are you lying to me, Dr. Reid?” You teased.

He made a face. You had taken to calling him Spencer or Spence, and only called him Dr. Reid when you were teasing him or flirting with him. Not that he noticed the latter.

“You know I would never lie to you. Besides, I’m a terrible liar.”

You laughed. “Now that I know is a lie. You forget I’ve seen you in action. Put you in the same room as a murderer and you are one smooth criminal, Spence. Pun intended.”

He shook his head, but laughed anyway, sitting down across from you.

“Took the liberty of getting you a coffee. It’s only half full though to leave room for the sugar.”

“Actually, sugar is highly soluble-”

“I know, Spence. I was joking again.”

“Oh...Right.”

He looked bashful, so you took pity on him, reaching out for one of his hands. It was your turn to be shy though when he intertwined your fingers. You blushed, finding it difficult to make eye contact.

“Sorry,” he said, pulling his hand away. “I can not do that if it makes you uncomfortable.”

You took his hand back, pointedly intertwining the fingers despite your continued shyness. “No. It’s okay. I like this.”

“Yeah? That’s good because I like you.”

He blurted it out without thinking like it was one of his facts and he just couldn’t stop himself from saying it, consequences be damned. You could tell by the surprised look on his face that he hadn’t been planning on saying that.

“That’s a relief. I was afraid you didn’t feel the same way.” Your confidence bolstered by his confession, you leaned a little closer. “I like you too, Dr. Reid.”

His brow wrinkled in confusion. “Are you sure? Because you only call me Dr. when you’re teasing me.”

“For a genius, you can be really dumb sometimes, you know that? I don’t just call you Dr. when I’m teasing you. I call you Dr. when I’m flirting with you. Like I am right now.”

You had leaned in closer so that your lips were inches apart now.

“I’m all out of witty things to say now,” you breathed. “Your turn Spence.”

Spencer opted for action instead, kissing you gently.

“Mmm, you should do paperwork more often. I like what happens afterward.”

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